#but fucking hell i need to dig DEEP to get this story right

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

.

[whateveriwant]

Actually I'm not done talking about Mr. Simon Fucks-Himself-Stupid Riley just yet :(

I'm picturing a scenario where you, a civilian, are visiting your boyfriend at his base. Maybe you're there to deliver something, like a file he forgot at home or the lunch he said he didn't need. Either way, whatever your cover story for being there is, the end result is the same: you, on your back, knees up by your ears, sprawled across Simon's desk as he fucks you like his life depends on it.

Being a Lieutenant grants him the luxury of having a private office where he can engage in such extracurriculars, but that doesn't mean it's without some major risks – namely, prying ears that might be lurking in the hallway outside.

But being discreet shouldn't be an issue, should it? I mean, a man known infamously as “Ghost” should have no problem staying quiet, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, not only does that tight hole of yours reduce your boyfriend to a dumb, drooling mess, it makes him a dumb, drooling mess who can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

So while you have the wherewithal to clamp a hand over your lips to try muffling your lewd noises, Simon is out here moaning and groaning unabashedly like something sent forward in time from the Paleolithic. You could try asking him to cover his mouth, but it seems an impossible task; his hands are a little preoccupied with making sure he doesn't fuck you right over the edge of his desk.

While you don't want to stop, you also don't want to get caught, so you settle for urging him to keep it down. It's after a third softly gasped ‘N-Need to be qu-quiet, Si’ that your warning finally worms its way into his brain, and he acts in a way to appease you, just… not how you expect.

Swiftly, Simon removes his hold of your waist and brings one of his arms forward. He grabs for the center of his t-shirt, tugs the material up, and quickly stuffs the fabric into his mouth.

It only takes a split second for the action to happen, but immediately, you see how effective it is. The moment that standard, army-issued tee is captured between Simon's teeth, there's a drastic reduction of noise in the room.

Now, he can fuck into you with reckless abandon, and he snaps his hips forward with enough force to make your whole body ripple. Even as you pulse and constrict around him (sometimes inadvertently, sometimes not), the sounds that climb their way up Simon's throat are heavily dampened by his cotton gag.

It's as Simon begins the ascent to his peak that the cloth in his mouth really comes into play. As he pumps into you, he starts grunting lowly, gutturally, exhaling through his nostrils in quick, harsh bursts. It's a deep sound, animalistic in nature, like a bull huffing before it digs its heels into the dirt and charges.

His thrusts turn sloppier and sloppier the closer he nears his high, his hips propelled forward only by some basic hindbrain instinct. His lashes start to flutter, his eyes roll towards the back of their sockets, and when he cums, he throws his head back in a full-blown snarl.

Simon's a bit shaky on his feet after he climaxes in you, but he manages to pull out before he stumbles backwards, plopping down heavily into his chair. As you start cleaning yourself up, you see how he makes no attempt to move. He just sits there, completely brainless, pants around his ankles and t-shirt still tucked between his teeth. You have to walk over to him and purposefully tug on the shirt to get him to release it, and once it's freed, you see the damage that's been done.

In the center of Simon's shirt rests a big, blotchy wet spot, like he's tried to do his own slobbery take on the classic Rorschach test. The fabric's been wrinkled to all hell and there's a few imprints left behind from where his teeth had bitten down, and if you were to inspect the hem closely, you'd see where he popped a stitch or two in his ecstasy.

The sight of his mangled shirt has you tutting in disapproval. He can't walk out of his office looking like this, and he certainly can't forgo wearing a shirt altogether. What would the people around base say if they saw their normally put together Lieutenant looking so unkempt? You don't think he'd ever hear the end of it, nor would you for that matter.

In the meantime, as you wait for Simon's brains to un-liquify themselves, maybe you can scrounge up something else for him to wear. There's got to be something lying around here to help make him presentable once again. It's too bad as part of your cover you didn't think to bring an extra set of clothes to change into.

You'll have to remember for next time.

[dimlylittorch]

Could you do a story about a transmasc pre op reader, who's used to giving and servicing others and not receiving anything in return so their really touch starved and a bit insecure when (your choice of character) is interested and wants to show reader what it's like to be on the otherside, aka receiving for once.???

anon. come over here and let me kiss you bc HOLY SHIT your brain is so big and beautiful i love and adore you. to me this was perfect for a reader x roommate/neighbor trope and i was looking through my character list..

My Masterlist🌱

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x pre-op!transmasc!reader

18+ drabble MDNI

Working on base with the 141, hooking up with some random recruit that happens to be next door to Ghost. Ghost is constantly stuck hearing the guys moans, but after a few nights he realizes- he’s never heard yours. He watches as you leave the guys room one night, seeing that it’s the sweetheart from the records room. Starts going down to records more and more often, saying Price needs some things (liar liar pants on fire).

He manages to get you into his bed, watching how you get on your knees almost instantly without a word. He has to admit, it did make his cock chub up a bit, seeing what a good boy you were. But he knew this wasn’t the time for that, no. He wanted to hear how pretty you’d sing for him. The thought was what made his masturbation sessions interesting.

Listening to you slurp another man’s cock, jerking his dick furiously, only to let out a groan of annoyance when the moans of the other guy were audible. Multiple nights he thought about storming into that guys room, slapping a hand over his mouth and offering himself up to you instead. He could only cum now if he was thinking about you- and christ that was annoying.

And now he finally had you in his room, looking up at him so sweetly as you reach for his fly. A little part of his heart breaks when he makes himself grab your hand, pulling you up onto the bed instead. “Sorry sweetness” he’d grumble, starting to pull off your pants. “Need tha’ cunny too bad, eh? Promise I’ll make it up to ya’” he smirks as he shucks your briefs off, bringing them up to his nose and taking a deep breath. “Fuckin’ hell..” he groans, making quick work of his own pants.

Your face is radiating heat, legs snapped closed as you watch him undress, trying to ignore how your hole was leaking onto his comforter. “S-Si-“ you say weakly, trying to find your voice.

It doesn’t take long for him to put you on your knees, your face hiding in his pillows with embarrassment flooding your system. The cold air of the room blowing just right over your boycunt had your hole clenching, which of course had Simon’s mouth watering. “Be good f’me” he grunts, leaning down as licking a stripe up your slit, making you jump. “Bloody hell” he moans softly, shifting so his lips could wrap around your little bud, his nose digging into your tight heat.

You whine as you hide against his bed, body trying to move so you could close your legs- but he quickly had his large hands on your shins, keeping you in place while his tongue massaged your clit. “oh f-fuck- simon” you cry out, legs shaking already. The worst (best) part was when you could feel your cunt leaking onto his face, each gush of fluid sending a shiver up your spine.

A low chuckle fell from his lips, the vibration making you jolt. “Pretty boy” he says slowly. “Haven’ had this cun’ eaten much b’fore ‘ave ya?” He smirks, his tongue dipping higher with an amused glint in his eye. “s’a shame, really” he mutters. “Always givin’ away tha’ mouth. But yer pussy is where it’s at, eh?”

You whine at his words, embarrassment flooding your features. “I- I just-“ you try to say, cut off by his tongue teasing your hole. “I like giving.” You say weakly.

He grunts, planting a gentle but sudden spank to your ass. “Never gave ta’ me now did ya? Can’ like it tha’ much.” He spits, jealousy riddling his words. “On yer knees for some stupid recruit. Ought’a let ya’ suck me off under my desk- for makin’ me listen to yer gaggin’ every oth’a night.”

A small dog slips past your lips, his tongue working you over so well- it was definitely the best head you’d gotten in a while. Fuck, maybe ever. “M’sorry!” You plead, pushing back against his face, begging for more. “Please- please, let me suck you off. I want to..”

He scoffs, forcing his face deeper into your cunt. “Not ‘till ya cum on my tongue.” He mumbles, ignoring the very clear stain forming on his boxers, his hips bucking against nothing. “Cum f’me. Then maybe ya can have me.” He grunts.

It doesn’t take long for you to come undone around his tongue, a smirk plastered to his lips. When he pulls away he uses his fingers to gather up some of your slick, slipping them past his lips with a hum. “I lied to ya” he murmurs, popping his fingers out of his mouth and sinking them into your cunt. “Ya won’ be suckin’ me off for a while. Gotta get a few more out of ya.” He muses.

Needless to say.. it was going to be a long night.

hey guys!! I’m finally back in a writing mood :) to my anon, i’m sorry this took like 2 months. I hope you enjoyed :3

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Handle Critique

I’ve got to admit, I wish I was one of those beatific saints that could take critique with a grateful smile. Instead, I am constantly suppressing a horrible little gremlin at the back of my head hissing at anything from legit plot critiques to grammar corrections. I’m well aware I used that comma wrong, GOD.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very good at suppressing that gremlin, but the little bastard is still there. He exists because even though your brain knows critique can help, it also knows you worked damn hard on the thing being critiqued, and goddamnit, isn’t that enough???

Anyway, here are some tips on getting that gremlin to shut the hell up.

It is okay to be upset. You worked really hard on this thing, and now someone’s gone and pointed out all the things that suck about it. You cannot control how you feel about one thing or another, but you can allow yourself to feel that way and let it pass through you. Let your critique partner you’re taking time to reflect on it, and go for a walk. Do something else. Let those feelings pass through you before you get back to the page.

Give yourself time. Don’t feel like you need to correct things right away (unless they are minimal grammar tweaks). Some pieces of feedback might take awhile to sink in, especially when you’ve got a whole novel to wrestle through. Set it aside, think about something else for a week or so, and get back to it when you’ve reset.

Get a second opinion and/or ducky friend. It can be very hard to tell the difference between good and bad feedback sometimes. Someone who means very well could give feedback that just doesn’t work for you, and someone who doesn’t give two shits could have spotted that fatal flaw right away. You can bring in a real third party or just make use of the old rubber duck technique, where you talk through the issue with a friend or a Naruto poster telling you to Believe it. Working it out out-loud is a really effective technique to figure out what needs fixing and what doesn’t.

Guide critique-givers toward the feedback you want. I, a person who prefers straightforward fantasy and sci-fi, cannot give the fine-tooth points on how a romance novel should work. However, I can give feedback on what works for me and what doesn’t story-wise. Giving your beta reader or critique partner a list of questions to look for will help avoid vague feedback based on how they don’t like the genre. There are many ways to do this, but consider using the following as a base to tailor your own questions:

Did you get a good sense of the setting? Did the worldbuilding make sense to you?

Was this story clear? Where there any parts that seemed confusing?

What characters did you like and why? What characters didn’t you like?

Did any parts of the story feel slow or repetitive?

Did the beginning draw you in? Did the middle keep you engaged? Did the ending feel satisfying?

If you were to write [insert plot point here], what would you do differently?

Again, all of the above questions are up for debate depending on your goal, but we are rarely taught how to give good feedback, and a guided feedback session would work better for you than a free-for-all.

Figure out what kind of advice doesn’t work for you. It is really hard to give good feedback sometimes, even with guided questions. It can also be really hard to figure out why some feedback doesn’t click with you, and that’s a matter of digging deep to figure out what you really want. You may lean toward characters who are horrible fuck-ups, but your partner prefers more steady characters who always strive to do the right thing. Your characters, therefore, may never click with this person, no matter how much they want to help you. And that’s okay! Figuring out where your critique partner is coming from can help you figure out what parts of their feedback isn’t working for you. Sometimes the only thing you can do is thank them and move on, but you might also want to guide them to focus more on the plot or the worldbuilding when looking at your work.

And last, don’t focus on grammar. It’s great if they point that out, but if you end up changing everything, trying to fix that first is a waste of your time. Grammar tweaks last, plot points first.

And, I dunno, give yourself a treat to get that horrible little mind gremlin something else to focus on. Sometimes patting those bad feelings on the head and sending them away can help way more than ignoring them.

[womenlovee]

Hers

pairing: rosita espinosa x fem!reader

summary: rosita can’t stand when someone thinks they can have her wife, so she shows them just who her wife belongs to

warnings: MINORS DNI, fingering (r!receiving), finger riding, slight degrading, jealous rosita, spencer basically being a creep

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: no one asked for this but i genuinely need more content of this woman so i decided to make some myself

“Yeah, just like that. Keep riding my fingers like a good little slut.” Rosita purrs, watching as you desperately grind up and down on her lap.

Rosita knows exactly what she’s doing, especially considering who’s downstairs—Spencer. The limp-dicked excuse for a man who can never seem to look anywhere but your breasts, and who clearly doesn’t know what respecting women looks like.

She can handle someone mistakenly flirting with you before realizing you’re hers—but Spencer? That’s a whole different story.

You’ll openly call Rosita baby or my love, and he’ll just claim it’s friendly. Rosita will grab your ass right in front of him and stick her tongue down your throat, and he’ll say it’s just a phase. Hell, you’ll even flash him the ring Rosita recently proposed to you with, and he’ll still find an excuse.

Spencer gets under her skin in ways she never thought possible. So when she was mid-way through stripping you out of your clothes and heard the annoying sound of his voice downstairs, a whole new animal came out.

Usually, she has to clamp her hand over your mouth or throat to keep you quiet—but now? Now she wants the whole town to hear you.

Hear you as she claims you again and again and again, until your legs are basically dead.

And here you are—grinding on her lap, thrusting your body up and down on her long, tan fingers, whimpering like a desperate little thing, every noise spilling from your lips just fueling the fire burning hot in Rosita’s chest.

“That’s it, baby.” She coaxes, her voice thick with lust as she curls her fingers deep inside you, making you arch helplessly. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. Let that puta know you belong to me.”

Your hands clutch at her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt, but Rosita doesn’t slow down. If anything, she picks up the pace, driving her fingers into you harder, faster, her thumb finding that sensitive spot that makes your whole body jerk.

“Rosita.” You gasp, hips stuttering against her, thighs trembling.

“Uh-uh.” She growls low against your ear, biting down lightly on the shell of it. “You don’t get to cum yet. Not until you tell me. Tell me who you belong to.”

Your mind is fogged with pleasure, your body strung tight, but you manage to choke it out because you have no other choice—not when she’s got you like this.

“You, Rosita.” You sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

“Yeah? What does this say then?” Rosita asks, using her free hand to grab your left wrist, lifting your hand in front of both of you to see the glistening diamond ring.

“That I’m yours until forever falls apart.” You gasp out, her fingers hitting the right spot inside of you.

A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbles from her chest. “Damn right.”

She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t let you breathe.

She’s relentless, fucking you open on her fingers until you’re practically falling apart, crying her name like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

And downstairs, Spencer’s probably listening. Maybe he finally gets it now.

He gets to listen to Rosita fucking you. Her wife.

He doesn’t get to see the way you tremble in her lap. The way your pussy grips her fingers so tight when you come undone. The way you slump into her and pant in her ear, telling her how good she makes you feel.

Rosita slowly slips her fingers out of you, her touch suddenly gentle, almost reverent. She brings her hand up to her mouth, sucking her fingers clean with a smug, satisfied hum—her dark eyes never leaving your flushed, fucked-out face.

“You’re so good for me, mi amor.” She murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

Your body shudders weakly in her arms, and Rosita chuckles softly before pulling you closer, cradling you into her like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Let’s go get you something to eat because I am far from being done with you.” Rosita rasps as her hands trail down your warm, naked body.

She swiftly stands up with you wrapped around her waist before setting you down gently onto the bed. After scavenging through the dresser, she pulls out one of her baggy sleep shirts and tosses it softly over to you along with a pair of comfy shorts.

“As much as I’d love to keep you naked, there are people downstairs, and they’ll never get the privilege of seeing what’s mine.”

Her words send a jolt straight through your core, causing you to shiver slightly.

Rosita must have noticed, because she leans down with a cheeky smirk before giving you a breathtaking kiss—slow, deep, claiming.

You sigh into her mouth, your body already buzzing again just from her touch.

Rosita pulls away with a soft growl, resting her forehead against yours. “Get dressed, baby. I need to feed you before I really break you.”

There’s a promise in her voice—dark, wicked, and so full of love that it makes your heart ache.

You slip on the oversized shirt and shorts, still feeling the aftershocks of what she just did to you. Rosita watches you the whole time, possessive and hungry, like she’s already planning the next round.

Hand in hand, she guides you down the stairs, stepping one down in front of you while holding your hand up to keep you steady. Abraham, Spencer, and Eugene all sit in the living room, Abe and Eugene conversing about god knows what while Spencer tries to subtly look at the two of you.

His gaze catches the sight of the hickies blooming down your neck along with the slight tremble of your legs with every step you take.

Rosita doesn’t hide it.

She wants him to see.

She wants everyone to see.

Rosita quickly pulls you into her lap at one of the seats of the table, handing you the now opened can of peaches along with a fork. Her arm remains protectively wrapped around your waist, pulling your back further into her chest, not that you mind.

Spencer tries to mumble something under his breath, but when Rosita hears the words ‘I can make her feel better’. She sees red.

“Hey, pendejo!” The girl shouts across the room before squeezing your face gently between one of her hands, turning your head towards the target. “You see this?”

Spencer doesn’t answer, but when he makes direct eye contact to her, she knows he’s listening.

“This. She is mine. She’s in my clothes. She moans my name. She. Is. Mine.” Rosita’s teeth grits harder with each word before she removes her hand from your face and places it flatly below your chest.

Abe watches with a sly grin, but pretends his focus is on something else. Spencer on the other hand has no idea what to say. No smug or cocky response left on the tip of his tongue.

“Keep your fucking eyes to yourself unless you want to lose them.” She says coldly, her voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

Silence.

Spencer doesn’t say another word.

You smile to yourself as you lean back into Rosita’s arms, feeling safer, and more claimed than ever.

You’re hers.

Until forever falls apart.

[mr-crawlings-wife]

Hii can you do some geon yeob headcanons from study group?

Honestly...there was so little of him shown in the kdrama..that I don't really know where to start. And it doesn't help that I didn't really read that far into the manhwa before losing interest.

BURNT CINNAMON<3

Warnings: Mention of intercourse.

He might not look like he cares at all most of the time. But he's someone that experiences emotions really intensely. When he cares, he cares a lot but when he doesn't, it's like he'll walk right by your dead body.

He's a ride or die type of person. If he gets into a relationship with you, you better believe he's intending on being buried beside you. The thing is...he just doesn't know that about himself.

What I'm trying to imply is, it takes a while before he realizes his feelings for you. Yeah that bubbly ticklish feeling in his tummy whenever you flash that radiant like the sun smile at him? He doesn't know why that's happening at all and he's too busy to dig deep.

It's hard to crack through his shell when he's so focused on revenge.

The best way to get his favour is to aid him in his quest for vengeance.

Otherwise you're as good as a pebble on the sidewalk to him.

Even if he converses with you nicely, all gentlemanly and sweet, don't let that fool you. He most definitely couldn't wait for you to shut up and leave him alone.

God the tension would be so good if you were Hanwool's sister.

Moral of the story, be useful.

Anyway, his go-to dates are movie nights, restaurant or cafe hopping, trying out new things with you etc.

He's a very sensitive person.

So let's imagine you guys' first kiss was after you two had vegetable pizza with pineapple. Now every time he eats a pizza with pineapple or vegetable pizza, he'll be reminded of that moment. That time when your mouth tasted like spice with pineapple against his.

This phenomenon also translates for songs, clothes, movies etc.

No matter what type of person you are, a cute dork or a badass girl boss, in his eyes you're always a small helpless cutie patootie.

He absolutely abhors cheesy nicknames. Especially anything that sounds like something his mom used to call him or would have called him. But he's okay with anything else cause it's coming from you. Yep, he doesn't bat a single eyelid at schnookums or pookie. He's still a bit annoyed but he doesn't wanna give you the satisfaction of his irritated expressions. A remark does slip through sometimes though.

He's definitely the possessive type. He likes to let you borrow his sweaters and hoodies and then act like you stole them from him forcefully. He always acts annoyed but he absolutely adores when you do that.

He also likes when you draw all over his arms with colourful markers. He loves the therapeutic-ness and also the fact that it felt kind of like you were marking him.

He's also the type to kinda stalk you. Both physically and online. He's just worried about your safety okay? His mom was snatched away from him. He doesn't want to lose you too. The only person he has ever opened his heart up to.

Might be the right time to mention that, he's overprotective. Like a hell lot. He doesn't let you be around the general area of anything YB related. Likes to keep you out of his revenge plans. Even if you were helping him at one point, he wants you to stop. He can't risk losing you or he might actually go insane.

He also always walks behind you in public.

He doesn't like PDA that much but he makes sure to keep himself within 3 feet of you at all times.

He likes to buy you hairpins.

Whenever he looks at you doing something sweet, like feeding a stray cat, crouching down and sweetly talking to a kid, he feels a warmth blossom in his chest. And he just knows that his mom would have absolutely adored you.

He might act all tough and try to be the big spoon but he's a little spoon through and through.

He really loves to play with your hair and curl the ends around his fingers.

He's also stress fucks a lot.

That's it for now. I need sleep.

[darylsfavoritegirl]

HEYYYY IM HONESTLY SO FUCKING EXCITED WHAT DO YOU THINK ABT THESE HEADCANONS bc i wanted to do smth like for a while i just never could come up with anything but its easy in a sense sooo here you gooou

SFW

• I don't think his mommy issues are necessarily sexual, sometimes you would do something that would invoke that "motherly" "safe" or "warm" feeling inside of him. He would never be able to understand what it was or would tell anyone about it. It'd be one of the reasons why he'd care for you as much as he did. You'd make him feel safe by saying something or embracing your arms around him in a certain way which would make him commemorate his mother, though because his mom died when he was young, he wouldn't be able to understand it at all bc he doesn't consciously remember those moments with her. This man fr would think you'd cast a spell on him :D

• I just know this man is a feminist in the core. Growing up, he'd always hear Merle running his mouth about women and how they were like this and they were like that, overall his ignorant, blunt, dumb thoughts about women. He would witness his dad going off on benders with different women each time and how he'd vulgarly talk about them later. And hell maybe he's disrespected women or been really cruel to them but he still regrets it to this time and yeah we all know this man suffers in redemption, always trying to make up for his past mistakes and wrongs. Yet I'm %100 sure he loves seeing women thrive, turning into their best selves or just witness them be real badass and it might even give him some kind of arousal 👀👀. He is into that shit. I said what I said.

• One of his love languages is definitely showing you the places he'd used to spend his time in. Could be a special spot in the woods, could be a small cabin he'd used to get lit with people. Hell it could be random corner in town whenever you'd have to be in downtown for various reasons. He wouldn't even mind if those places brought him bad memories or unpleasant ones. He'd just like being there with you, doing whole ass story times and watch you react them with a wide-eyed expression. He did have a weird and a "crazy" life before the fall that'd make him feel like he was on mushrooms everytime just thinking about it. He'd love letting you know more and more about his past. It would just give him a reassuring feeling deep down. He would feel like it would bound you two together.

• That.man.has.a.sweet.tooth. He loves anything that has sugar. He'd always snack on candies or cookies or chocolates after a hangover. Or when he'd be on drugs. Sugar wakes him the fuck up and he loves the energy boost. He'd carry some candies in his pocket back in the day, eating them throughout the day when he'd feel his blood sugar dropping.

• He is definitely a car-date type of guy. He got more into it after the apocalpyse started and he met you. Sometimes you'd go on runs and you could sit in the car for hours, smoking, eating, talking or yk👀👀 if supplies you found weren't an emergency need. He absolutely savored those moments. You could sit for hours without speaking, in a complete silence. He appreciates quietude.

NSFW

• I know him having a breeding kink is well known and acknowledged but he's insane about it that it hurts. He loves seeing you all squirmed and whiny underneath him with all his cum inside of you, some of it dripping down your thighs. You couldn't always find the right pills for unplanned pregnancy risk and it WOULD drive him crazy to not be able to it.

• He just loves to see you messy beneath him. Hair all tangled, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Your fingers digging so deep on his shoulders that you'd cause his broad shoulders to bleed sometimes, he loved it. Your eyes are all glossy with pleasure. You both would love to go wild and leave sloppy kisses on eachother's bodies and wouldn't mind them drying on your bodies at all, leaving it all sticky.

• He loves being submissive as much as he loves being dominant. You can't convince me otherwise. If you gained his trust, he will be all yours, all needy beneath you while you ride his soul out of his damn body. Again, he adores a badass woman, a woman to take the lead. You would place your hands on his chest and sometimes hold his strong large biceps and he wouldn't dare to move an inch. He liked being vulnerable like that.

• He is just so patient it physically throws you over the edge. He'd get so close making you cum and he'd stop, teasing you with his tip or fingers or sometimes his tongue. He'd smirk at you and even make fun of you in a taunting way to overstimulate you and don't worry he'd make up for it with better ways. He knows what he is doing. It's just come natural to him.

• It's safe to say you are the one who teases him in the public most of the time, your feet tracing his legs up until it stops on his bulge under the table and he'd give a stern stare, trying to shrug and look indifferent as others would notice his suddenly-changing demenour. However, there'd be boring Alexandria dinners that Deanna would host and if you sat next to eachother, he'd place his large hand on your thigh and even dare to slip a finger on the fabric of your panties, starting to rub his middle finger harshly in circles while having full ass conversations with people and try to hide his subtle smirk bearing his face. He would do it rarely yet he'd be so good at it because no one would suspect a thing, he'd always make it look like he was resting his arm on your lap. You'd squirm under his warm touch and heat waves would wash all over you while trying to look normal as ever. And believe me, after those nights, when you'd confront about him about what he did at a dinner with 20 people, he'd act as if he doesn't understand a thing you're saying or would say "Don' kno' what yer talkin' 'bout." while shrugging his shoulders and turning to his side with a wicked grin.

FOOTNOTE

well this actually took shorter than i thought idk why i believed it would take me couple of days to finish one lmao i deadass wrote this in like an hour max ???? anyway i wish there were more but idc i was so impatient to post one of theseeee :)))

[loserboysandlithium]

Just thinking about being out with the gang and teasing Billy. Sitting on his lap, grinding on him and then him finally not able to take it and takes you to the bathroom and…

“Stop it...” Billy grumbles in your ear making you smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you reply sweetly as you shift in his lap once again, purposefully grinding across his clothed cock. You’ve been teasing him for about a half hour, his dick has been consistently growing harder and harder beneath you.

His large hand grips your waist tightly as he holds you in place, his lips come to your ear once again. “If you don’t fucking stop, then you’re gonna be in trouble, baby.” he growls, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Mmm.. how much trouble?” you giggle as you turn to face him, fluttering your eyelashes up at him. His blue eyes bore into yours as a delicious smile appears on his pretty lips.

“Bathroom, now.” he snips, standing suddenly, lifting you with him.

“We’ll uh- we gotta- we’ll be right back.” Billy says to the group, giving up on trying to come up with a story. His hand is firm on your wrist as he pulls you toward the bathroom of the bowling alley.

He swings open the door, spinning you against the wall as soon as you’re inside. His lips slam to yours, a hard kiss making you moan instantly. Your fingers tangle in his curls as your tongues swirl together wildly.

He quickly pulls down his jeans and your eyes land on his cock standing erect.

Fucking hell...

He pulls your dress up to your hips, yanking your panties to the floor roughly. "You're so perfect, baby." he praises and your stomach flutters as he steps closer.

You gasp as he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you off the ground with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist and you can feel his hard cock resting against your warmth.

“Little slut couldn’t even wait til we got home?” he taunts and you shake your head.

“Need you, Bills.” you whimper, your pussy aching for the familiar pleasure.

He places himself at your entrance and lets go of your thighs just a bit allowing you to slide down onto his cock slowly. You feel the delicious stretch.. he's so fucking big.

“Better baby? Just needed Daddy’s cock.” he mumbles drunkenly as he slides in a few more inches.

Your mouth drops open with a whiny gasp as you feel him enter you completely. He lets out a beautiful moan as your legs tighten around his waist.

“Y-Yes Daddy.” you stutter as your hands rest on his shoulders and he begins to thrust into you, holding you up against the wall of the bathroom.

The feeling of him inside of you is overwhelming every single time. You meet his blue eyes as he continues to thrust in and out.

“So needy… such a needy little thing.” he grins and you can’t do anything but cry out as his hands grip your ass and he begins really slamming you into the wall.

"Fuck!" You cry out as he hits deep inside, so fucking deep.

"God, that pussy feels so good." Billy groans as your breasts bounce wildly with every thrust of his hips.

"Billy.. I.." your head falls back against the wall as you struggle to speak.

Moans pour from your lips as your nails dig into his back. You’re trying to keep quiet but you can't control the noises coming out of your mouth as he pounds into you.

"Harder, baby! Harder!" You beg him and he chuckles wickedly as your head falls forwards onto his shoulder. He fucks you faster and faster. Each thrust somehow reaches deeper.

He rolls his hips up into you and you cross your ankles behind his back, holding him in deep. "Mmm... fuck my pussy, baby." you whine in his ear. "I'm so fucking wet.. so wet for you, Billy." You moan loudly before you bite down on his shoulder roughly.

"Jesus, baby." he moans raspily.

Your face is buried in his neck. Your moans are getting louder and louder in his ear making him fuck you harder and harder with every fucking one. Your pussy clenches around his cock and you’re fucking soaked.

"Does that feel good, baby?" he burns in your ear as your head rests on his shoulder.

"I...y-yes.." you try but it quickly turns into a moan as he quickens his pace even more. "Billy! Don't stop.. fuck baby.. don't stop!" You squeal and he begins lifting your ass, dropping you down onto his cock faster and faster until you’re a mumbling mess.

“Gonna- Billy I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, sweet girl.” he moans, keeping his fast pace, slamming into your drenched pussy.

Your head falls back into the wall and your fingernails dig into his shoulder as you cum all over his cock. His lips find yours, swallowing your cries as his thrusts get sloppier and sloppier until he pumps you full of his cum.

He collapses into you, pressing your body completely against the wall as he buries his face in your neck.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.”

K byeeee

[endwersed]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by the wonderful @hedwig221b 🩷

I'm giving my brain a (brief, I promise!) break from my current WIP to work on the start of the top voted idea from my recent long fic poll - thank you to everyone who joined in with that! My planned next story is going to be an A/B/O neighbours AU, where Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a single parent. I've actually got the whole first scene already done, so... here's that! 😊

-

It is already gone midnight by the time Derek stumbles into his apartment building, exhaustion running bone deep as he crosses the lobby as quickly as his aching legs and weary feet will carry him. The imposing wall of mailboxes slides quickly past his consciousness as he steams by, the key to his own bitingly sharp where it digs into the meat of his thigh through his pocket, but he won’t take the time to stop and check it. Not tonight. Not with every strained muscle in his body screaming at him to dump himself into bed as soon as is physically possible.

Stuttering to a stop before the chipped-metal doors of the elevator, he summons what truly feels like every ounce of strength left within him to raise a hand up to the little grey button to his left. It takes him a moment of slow, sluggish, heavy blinks before he notices that grey has not shifted green, is not lit up with the promise of an imminent arrival. It takes a few moments more for him to realise there is a note, taped up to the door before his sapped-stupid face.

OUT OF ORDER

There it is. Spelled out right there, right in front of him. A stark white sheet of paper, blocked out with this bold, bright, blood-red lettering that makes his temples throb that kick harder. Out of fucking order.

“Fuck,” he mutters out loud, stinging eyes shut as he palms at his forehead. “Can today get any fucking worse?”

A question as rhetorical as it is futile. It’s not like there is anybody around to answer him.

His teeth grind together as his hand falls away from his face, dropping to hang limply down at his side. It is a real, genuine internal struggle to fight against the agitated claws that want to slice through his fingertips, and it is only his years of practice that keep them buried inside his skin, keep his palms safe from anything worse than the blunt score of ordinary nails.

Forcing his eyes open again, he twists away from the broken elevator and stomps the few paces it takes to be able to push through the solid door that leads him into the dimly lit stairwell.

Eight-oh-two. The number to his apartment, all the way up on the eighth goddamn floor. This truth puts an unreasonable and infuriating number of steps between his drained body and the familiar comforts of home right now.

Back when he first moved into this place, a little over a year ago, signing on for an apartment on one of the highest floors hadn’t even registered as a thought, as something worth even taking notice of. He is a werewolf, after all, with werewolf strength and werewolf stamina. An alpha werewolf, at that, and with all of the preternatural advantages that come along with that particular status. A few measly flights of stairs were nothing, not to him.

That arrogance is coming back around to bite him in the ass now, though. He was perhaps a little too hasty when he signed his name on that dotted line; perhaps lacking in the foresight needed to anticipate the apparent inevitably of returning home off the back of the shift from hell, only to find himself staring down the barrel of concrete stair after concrete stair after concrete goddamn stair.

He bites back the fatigued groan that wants to rip from his chest and lifts his leg to drop the first boot down onto the first step. Fantastic. Now only a hundred fucking more to go.

Climbing and climbing, heavy footstep after heavy footstep, his entire body singing its raucous protest with each and every stride onwards and upwards. He makes it up one flight, then two, then three and four and five, and it is when he is turning the corner for the sixth, rolling his neck to stretch out the deep crick in his joints, that his ears catch onto a nearby sound, quiet and unexpected.

It sounds like… shit. It sounds like a kid. It sounds like a child, a boy, young and scared and alone, definitely nowhere near old enough to be roaming the halls of this not-very-nice apartment building in their not-very-nice neighbourhood, this late at night and without any supervision.

Instantly, Derek stops short. He tilts his head to the side and holds his breath, listening, tuning into the sound of the boy humming a tune that Derek does not recognise, softly and shakily. The footsteps that Derek can hear are light, aimless and hesitant. The siren call of home, of bed, leaves him in a flash. He turns to follow where his ears can lead him.

With each hurried pace forwards, with each hastily rounded bend, the sound grows louder, easier to pinpoint. The humming in constant, quiet and rhythmically repetitive, but those footsteps falter, more than a few times, halting with a short catch of breath, a skipped beat of a heart. As Derek draws closer, his nose wrinkles around the sharp, sour scent of fear.

The kid isn’t far now. Derek can tell, because the boy has stopped moving entirely. Listening in to the faint thump of a back hitting a wall, the slow slide of fabric against painted plaster as the boy slides down it, another soft thud as he meets the carpeted floor beneath. He carries on humming, never deviating from that same, lilting tune. But Derek can still hear the small, broken, hiccupping sobs, choked and breathless in a way that makes Derek’s heart clench, makes him break into a speed he would not have considered himself capable of, only moments ago.

He is practically sprinting as he crosses that final stretch, pushing through another set of heavy doors and out into the hallway of a floor he has never ventured to before, until – he finds him.

Curled up on the floor, with his knees tucked up to his chin and his arms wound tightly around his shins, is the child. He cannot be much older than six, if that. He is wearing pyjamas, fire trucks printed all over the soft cotton pants, a large one taking up the middle of his chest. His brown hair is a messy mop on top of his head, sticking up wildly close to his temples, and his face is pale around his flushed cheeks, spilled tears staining tracks against his skin.

It is clear that the boy hasn’t noticed him yet. Derek can tell from the way his face stays buried against his legs, his wet eyes screwed shut and his lower lip wobbling with his tears. Derek slows himself down to a cautious kind of pace, careful to press on with light feet to avoid spooking the boy with any sudden noises.

At only a few steps away, Derek pauses, keeping his hands held out in front of him. He silently curses himself for not bothering to take the time to shower and change back at the station. He doesn’t need a mirror in front of him to remember that his white tank top is a mess of black soot, his face smudged with smoke and dirt. He knows that he hardly looks like the kind of adult a frightened little kid is likely to trust.

He has to give it a try, anyway.

“Hey,” he says gently, and the boy’s wide eyes snap up to look at him. “Are you lost?”

Now, Derek is not typically very good with kids. Something about him tends to just… scare them. Laura says it’s his face. Derek generally tells her to fuck off. He doesn’t necessarily disagree, though. Today, add in the fact that the last fire of the night left him looking like, well, this, and he finds himself at even more of a disadvantage than usual.

No answer comes from the boy. He simply blinks up at Derek, his eyes red and damp. He sniffs, a breath that trembles as he pulls it in, and he unwraps one arm from his legs to wipe at his cheek with the edge of one sleeve. His heart beats unsteadily as the scent of his fear takes on a bitter, panicky edge.

Derek lowers himself down to the ground, dropping down to his haunches, intentionally unhurried. He meets the boy at his level and does everything he can to look even just a little less terrifying than Laura always tells him his resting face is.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, hands clasping between his knees. “I just want to help you. Do you live in this building?”

A heavy beat passes in silence. He breaks into a soft smile when the boy finally gives him a slow nod.

“That’s good, that’s great,” he carries on. “Do you remember what floor you live on?”

This time, the boy shakes his head. The corners of his mouth turn down, his eyes growing watery again, the air salty with nearly shed tears as his chin wobbles. Derek takes one look at the boy’s distress and has to swallow around a thick lump in his throat, forcing the reassuring smile at his mouth not to waver.

“It’s okay, that’s fine, we can figure this out together.” He presses an open palm against his own chest. “My name is Derek. Can you tell me your name?”

Another pause. A good few seconds where the boy simply peers at him, merely stares with those big, brown, tearful eyes, so full of nerves, wide open with apprehension. Derek makes sure to hold the boy’s gaze steadily, not allowing the curve of his mouth to slip. He waits quietly, patiently, as the boy sniffs again, chin still trembling as he tilts it up into the air.

“Johnny,” he says.

His voice is so small, shaking as he speaks. Derek lets his smile open around his teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Johnny.” He nods down to Johnny’s shirt. “Do you like fire trucks?”

Johnny blinks owlishly at him for a second, before returning that smile with full force. His grin is huge, crooked and gap-toothed, and the scent of fear dissipates so quickly that Derek actually finds himself a little taken aback at such an abrupt shift in emotion.

“I love fire trucks,” Johnny says, with all of the childish sincerity in the world. “Did you know not all fire trucks are red? Sometimes they’re yellow, or green!”

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek, a slight ripple across his shoulders with his soft laughter.

“I did not know that,” he replies. “I’m a firefighter.”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack immediately. Derek doesn’t bother tamping down his next breath of laughter.

“That is so cool.” Johnny pushes forwards onto his knees, hands flat to the itchy carpet as he inches a little nearer. “Do you get to ride in the trucks?”

“I do,” Derek says.

“That is so cool,” Johnny repeats breathlessly.

Derek can feel his eyes crinkling with the spread of his smile, head tilting as he takes in Johnny’s earnest excitement. This kid is absolutely adorable, he cannot help but think. His parents must be missing him very much, if they’ve woken up and realised he has disappeared into the middle of the night.

“How did you end up out here?” Derek asks.

The easy smile falls away from Johnny’s lips at the question, pressing into a tight line instead, his eyebrows drawing quickly together. His eyes drift just over Derek’s shoulder, sliding to somewhere behind him, and Derek follows his gaze with a twist of his neck, finding himself staring through the window on the opposite wall, the night out beyond it black with darkness and white with stars.

“I couldn’t see the moon,” Johnny says when Derek turns back to him, his voice melted soft and scared once again. “I just wanted to see the moon, but then I got lost, and papa always says I should sing my lullaby and find a nice person to help if I get lost, but then I couldn’t find anyone, and I don’t know how to get home, and I –“

“Hey, hey,” Derek comes soothingly in, two palms held placatingly out. “It’s okay now. You found me, and I’m going to help you.”

Biting down on his bottom lip with the one front tooth he has left, Johnny nods. He chews for a quiet second, tilting his head slightly as he considers Derek, before crawling that tiny bit closer, still on his hands and knees.

“You live next door,” he says, quiet but confident. “I remember.”

Derek blinks. He doesn’t recognise this kid at all, cannot honestly say he has ever seen him before. He isn’t exactly pally with his neighbours, though. He isn’t exactly pally with anybody except his sister. Hell, he’s barely even pally with her.

Vaguely, he does recall that he got some new neighbours, a couple of new people moving into the vacant apartment beside him, maybe just a little under a month ago now. Now that he thinks about, he is relatively certain that it was a guy, an omega, a single parent with a young kid. It would make Derek’s job of getting Johnny home a whole lot easier, if true.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks.

Johnny nods, quick and sure.

“I’m sure,” he answers. “You have a doggy. He’s brown and he has floppy ears and you call him Buddy.”

Oh. Okay. Well, that clears that up, then.

“You’re right. I do have a dog called Buddy.” Derek puts his smile back in place as he extends a hand out. “Can I take you home now?”

Derek can sense Johnny’s hesitation even before he smells the faint wave of worry in the air.

“My papa says I shouldn’t go with strangers,” Johnny mumbles.

“Your papa’s right,” Derek replies immediately. “But I’m your neighbour, and I just want to make sure you get back home safely. Is that okay?”

One more long pause. One final slow nod. Johnny fits his small hand into Derek’s palm, fingers curling around Derek’s knuckles, taking Derek’s help as he clambers to his feet, limbs clumsy as he arranges himself into a standing position. Derek rises up with him, rolling up to full height and finding that the boy barely comes up to his waist.

A tilt of his head lets Johnny look up at Derek. That lopsided smile is back on his face as their eyes meet. He keeps his firm grip on Derek’s hand as they stand together.

“Okay,” he says. “I’d like to go home.”

“Okay,” Derek echoes back. “Let’s get you home.”

Any earlier exhaustion has faded into nonexistence as they climb the stairs in tandem. Johnny chatters away about what seems to amount to literally anything and everything that comes into his mind, and Derek is more than content to simply listen as they ascend, supplying a little him here or a quiet ah there, just to make sure Johnny knows he’s still listening.

It is only a few more flights until they reach their floor, Derek swinging the door open for Johnny to pull him through. Derek leads them deftly through winding halls, all the way to the far end, where Derek knows his apartment is, and, apparently, Johnny and his papa’s, too.

“Derek,” Johnny says, tugging at an attention he never actually lost, Derek humming an acknowledgement, anyway. “Can I meet your doggy?”

“Not tonight.” Derek holds back a laugh at the immediate pout that juts Johnny’s lower lip out. “We need to get you home, your papa will be worried about you. You can meet Buddy another time.”

Johnny’s eyes go wide as he gapes up at Derek. Derek smiles back down at him.

“You promise?” Johnny asks.

“I promise,” Derek vows.

A few more paces, and then they are coming to a stop in front of a closed door. Johnny falls quiet all at once as they stand before it, chipped metal numbers nailed into the wood, reading out a number close to Derek’s. Eight-oh-three. He wastes no time in raising a fist and knocking just beneath them.

Seconds pass. He does not hear even a shuffle of movement coming from inside. Maybe Johnny’s father is out. Maybe he woke up and discovered his kid missing and is out looking for him, roaming these halls in search of his wayward son. Derek tightens his hold on Johnny’s hand and knocks again.

This time around, something stirs to life on the other side. Bedsheets rustling, a lamp flicking on. A grumbled curse under breath and bare footsteps padding along a wooden floor. The click of a lock, a moment before the door inches cautiously open.

It really is just that, though – an inch. There is barely enough space between the door and its frame for Derek to peer through, to see into the darkness of the quiet apartment, to make out the shape of a sleep rumpled figure standing just inside, narrowed eyes fixing Derek with their suspicious gaze. If Derek didn’t have his superior vision, this would mostly be a blur to him, right now.

He is a werewolf, though. He can see what humans can’t.

The omega in front of him is clearly just roused from a deep sleep. His dark hair is a mess, entirely reminiscent of his son’s, and he is wearing nothing but a loose t-shirt, falling down slightly over one bony shoulder, a pair of boxer briefs keeping him modest on his lower half. He has freckles sweeping across the soft slope of his nose, moles dotting the height of his cheekbones, a sharp jaw and a pink mouth, currently pulled all the way down into a severe sort of frown. Even in these shadows, Derek can see that Johnny gets his big, brown, soulful eyes from his papa.

Absently, Derek wonders how the hell he didn’t notice an omega who looks like this moving in next door. He pushes the thought quickly aside and plasters a trustworthy smile onto his face.

“Yeah?” Johnny’s father prompts, his voice sleep-rough and palpably impatient.

“Uh, hi,” Derek says. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

Derek tips his head pointedly down towards the space just at his side. He watches on as the guy follows with sceptical, unhappy eyes, right up until they take in the sight of his son, still holding tightly onto Derek’s hand, pressing firmly up against Derek’s leg. The very moment his gaze lands there, is widens with shock, not a second passing before he is swinging the door abruptly open with the harsh knock of his shoulder.

The heart beating away behind his ribcage ratchets into overdrive. The scent filling the air snaps instantly into fear.

“Johnny!” His face shifts into fury as he stares at Derek with apparent disgust. He reaches out immediately to snatch Johnny’s hand out of Derek’s, pulling the boy quickly into the apartment even as he still sneers at Derek. “What the fu– heck, dude? Who are you and why do you have my son?”

Derek takes a sensible step backwards as he throws two palms up.

“I found him downstairs,” he hastens to explain. “I was just helping him get back home, that’s all.”

“Derek lives next door, papa,” Johnny chimes in, blinking up at his father with a dopey grin, free arm clinging around the leg nearest to him. “He has the doggy. You remember the doggy, right, papa? The one with the ears?”

For a second, Johnny’s father just blinks right back down at him. His teeth grit together as he lifts the hand not gripping onto Johnny’s to scrub roughly over his face, skating up to run through his messy hair afterwards. His mouth purses around a shuddering sigh as he leans down towards his son.

“What were you doing downstairs in the first place, kid?” he asks.

It doesn’t look like Johnny wants to answer that one. Not for his father, at least. He drops his head to stare at where his socked feet are scuffing into the wooden floors, his mouth studiously shut and his eyes fixed anywhere but at his worried papa. Derek wonders just how many times this kid has gotten in trouble for pulling stunts like this before.

“He said he wanted to see the moon.” Derek isn’t entirely sure why he hasn’t backed off for his own apartment just yet, but he jumps in to help explain, all the same. The omega’s sharp gaze snaps back to him and Derek tries not to let himself be too bothered by the mistrust in his eyes. “I think he just got a little lost. Right, Johnny?”

“Uh huh,” Johnny mumbles, still not looking up.

Johnny’s father’s mouth is parted as his eyes swing between Derek and his son.

“He wanted to see the…” He trails off with a shake of his head, a crease between his eyebrows as a sigh pushes out from his lips. He drops down into a crouch, lifting a finger to crook beneath Johnny’s chin to tilt his head back up. “Johnny. What have I told you about wandering off without me?”

“Not to do it,” Johnny whispers.

“Exactly,” Johnny’s father breathes. “So why, kid?”

Instantly, Johnny’s chin wobbles. Derek genuinely has no idea how this kid’s father stays strong in the face of that. Especially not when his eyes go glassy, eyelashes starting to clump wetly together.

“I’m sorry, papa,” he says quietly.

Johnny’s father pulls him into a tight, quick hug. He lets Johnny press in closer, lets him tuck his little face into his neck, the fingers of one hand carding gently through the dark mess of Johnny’s hair. Derek simply watches silently, helplessly, and a little awkwardly, on.

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” Johnny’s father says softly. “I’m not mad. I just – I need you to be safe. Okay?”

“Okay,” Johnny sniffs wetly. “I am sorry, papa.”

“I know you are.” Johnny’s father presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple, a moment of touch before he pulls out of the hug just enough to look Johnny in the eye. “Now, I want you to go into your room and get back into bed. I’ll be in in just a minute so we can talk a little more. You understand?”

“Yes, papa.” Johnny turns his gaze up to Derek with a small, still tearful smile. “Thank you for helping me. I can’t wait to meet your doggy.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Derek offers a real, genuine smile in return. “I’m sure Buddy can’t wait to meet you, too.”

Sparing a final, impish, excitable grin in Derek’s direction, Johnny allows his father to guide him further inside the apartment with a firm hand pressing against his back. He throws an overly enthusiastic wave over his shoulder as he disappears into the darkness. Derek can’t help the fond smile that sticks to his mouth as he watches the kid go.

That smile slips entirely when he tears his gaze back to the boy’s father. This guy looks decidedly less impressed by Derek than Johnny did. With one eyebrow arched, he folds his arms defensively over his chest, pinning Derek in place with a long, hard, parental sort of frown, a clear accusation clinging to its edges.

“So,” he says. “You.”

Derek feels his eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead.

“Me?” he replies. “What about me?”

The omega catches his tongue between his teeth. His big, brown eyes are narrowed down to slits.

“You just happened to be lurking the halls at,” he pauses to glance at something on the wall beside him, “one o’clock in the freaking morning?”

Derek forces himself to stay rigidly still, forces himself not to give into the almost overwhelming urge to capitulate into some kind of false confession under this guy’s harsh unwavering glare. He tips his chin up and shoves his hands as nonchalantly as he can into the depths of his pockets.

Even more so than his first encounter with Johnny, he is achingly aware of how the events of his shift have left him looking right about now.

“I work down at the fire station.” Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get anywhere near the levels of enthusiasm from Johnny’s father as he did from Johnny when he reveals this career path. “I was just getting home from a shift when I heard him walking around on his own. Figured he could use some help.”

Johnny’s father purses his mouth, openly appraising Derek with the slow drag of his eyes. They sweep down and up the length of him, from his old jeans to his dirty tank to his smoky face. Eventually, the omega blows a sharp breath out through the slight parting of his lips, letting his eyes widen from their suspicious squint, at least just a little.

“Fine,” he sighs out. “I guess I should probably say… thank you, then.”

Derek scoffs a laugh at the complete absence of sincerity in his tone. He gives a short, disbelieving shake of his head as he stares incredulously back at this guy.

“Don’t strain something on my account,” he replies drily, before letting his own eyes narrow right back. “You know, you’ve got a good kid there. Smart. He only agreed to let me help him because he recognised me as your neighbour.”

Johnny’s father clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He rolls his eyes as he uncrosses his arms, letting them hang loosely down at his sides.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “He’s obsessed with your dog.”

“I gathered that.” Derek hesitates a second before ploughing on. “He really is welcome to meet him, if he wants. If it’s okay with you.”

It looks as though Johnny’s father barely even registers this offer. He waves a flippant hand in the air between their chests.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says. “Look, it’s late. Thanks for not turning out to be a creep, I guess. I’ll see you around.”

Derek already has his mouth open around a response. A cutting, caustic, offended retort to this guy’s apparent indifference, apparent agitation, that Derek literally jut helped his son get safely back home. But, before a single word can pass through his gritted teeth, the door slams shut, right in his face. Echoingly loud and blatantly final, leaving Derek standing out alone in the harshly lit hallway.

He sighs. He was looking forward to getting his ass home, he supposes.

Digging his keys out of his pocket and only grumbling under his breath a little bit, he takes a quick sidestep until he can stand in front of his own front door, until he can shove the key into the lock and twist his wrist to kick it open. He hears the instant shift of Buddy waking up inside, soft paws against the wooden floor as he pads from his bed in the corner over to where Derek is stepping over the threshold.

The door snicks shut behind him as he crouches, scratching fingers going right to the spot behind Buddy’s ear that he loves. He is granted a low rumble and a wagging tail for his troubles.

“Hey, Buddy,” he greets. “I met a big fan of yours tonight.”

Buddy pulls his head away from Derek’s hand in favour of rolling himself onto the floor, belly-up in open invitation. Derek breathes out a laugh even as he immediately dives in to give pets as so politely requested. He lets his mind drift to next door as his fingers move through soft fur.

He wonders just how much of a scolding Johnny must be getting right now. He hopes the kid will actually listen this time around, will actually let the warning to not go roaming around the building late at night ever again on his own sink in. He tries to imagine how Johnny’s father must be feeling, scared and relieved all at once, such an instant flood of overwhelming emotion at being handed the kid he hadn’t even realised he had lost.

It would explain why he was so rude to Derek, just now.

Or maybe he’s just a dick. Who knows?

Either way – there is no point dwelling on it. In all honesty, that is very likely the first and last interaction that he will ever have with that pair, with that father and son, that omega and his kid. Derek should be putting his mind to more important things right now, like getting his ass into the shower, and then getting his ass into bed, precisely where it should have been a damn while ago already.

“C’mon,” he says as he stands up, Buddy rising with him. “Time for bed.”

If he happens to dream of big, brown eyes and a panting, pink mouth…

Well. That’s nobody’s business but his.

-

Low pressure tags! @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @demonicfaerie @eevylynn @like-lazarus

@lucky-bishop @patolemus @raisesomehale @seaweed-water @violetfairydust

[plussizefantasia]

It's Always the Wife

Bucky Barnes x BlackCat!Reader

Chapter 4/6

<Prev / Next>

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: It's the danger part of the story so we've got guns and threats, talks of murder, alcohol, and language.

A/N Not a huge fan of this part but I got to the point where if I kept tweaking it I would go insane so.... here ya go. Part 5 coming this week!

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

How the hell had you missed this? How had you not realized that the lynchpin behind all of this was the wife? It’s always the wife, how could you miss that? 

Fuck Bucky Barnes. You’d bet your whole life savings on this somehow being his fault. If he hadn’t made you go to bed early you could’ve done some more digging and you probably wouldn’t have missed it. It was his fault. It was his stupid worrying and caring about your well-being that got you into this mess. 

“Ms. Longborne, I have to admit, you’re not exactly the first person that comes to mind when I think of a potential investor in our little… business. Didn’t you say that money should be used to help others, why are you interested in making more if you have all you need?” Mrs. Bowman looks you up and down, far more critically than she had when you two had first met when Bucky was at your side. He’s not here now, you’ll have to cover your own ass. 

“Mrs. Bowman I’m sure you’re well aware of the more theatrical part of society, playing the role of the wholesome heiress is good for business that's all.” 

“Dear, I’ve been playing my part for longer than you have and I never once had to lie to people to boost myself up in the world.” She takes a sip from her glass and sends you an all too condescending smile.

Thats bullshit shes not a natural blonde first of all you can see her roots growing out, and secondly, your pretty sure backroom and under-the-table dealing while keeping the facade of a happy and wholesome nuclear family to the American people counts as lying.

“Mrs. Bowman, lying is a bit of a harsh word I don’t think I ever lied to you. I find that when my money goes to charities and the like it makes people less likely to look into the way that I make that money. A small contribution to the commissioner’s wife’s favorite cause and suddenly he’s all the more willing to loom the other way. It's strategic, that’s all.”

“So, that’s what the sizable donation to my charity was, a red herring?” 

“Yes and no,” You take a sip of the whiskey in your glass, and resist the urge to make a face, you have no idea how Bucky drinks this stuff it tastes like disinfectant. “I needed to make sure that I got an invitation and I knew that such a large sum would draw some eyes, it cost a pretty penny but it got me this far didn’t it.”

“That it did, but I have to ask, why did you want to meet my husband so bad?” Mrs. Bowman placed her drink on the table next to her and began sauntering towards me. “I wouldn’t normally feel the need to step in when it comes to deals like this, I prefer to stay in the background I’m sure you understand. But you… Your very presence sends off alarm bells so tell me. Deborah, why shouldn’t I just kill you now and be done with this.”

The gun cocking behind you makes the hair on your neck stand up, you slowly turn and make eye contact with Hunter, a Smith, and Wesson leveled at you. He doesn’t make eye contact.

If you get out of this you’re going to slap the shit out of that metal-armed bastard. Didn’t he say he’d be right behind you?

You take a deep breath, if you show any weakness any hesitence you’ll get a bullet between the eyes. And you aren’t planning on dying today.

“Other than the fact that if I just suddenly go missing it’ll only raise questions? I think you’re bluffing. If you didn’t trust me even if a little bit you wouldn’t have brought me back here and you definitely wouldn’t have let me get a glimpse behind the curtain. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this was a test. And judging by the smirk spreading across Mr. Bowman’s face I think I just passed.” You cock your hip out to the side and rest the arm holding your glass on it. “Am I right? Or can Hunter get on with it and pull the damn trigger already.” 

“I wasn’t sure about you Ms. Longborne but anyone who can look a pistol in the eye and come out on top is someone I want on my side. So… let’s talk business.”

Holy Shit, that was too close, for a moment there you had a glimpse into an entirely different end, one where Bucky hears a gunshot and runs into the room only to see you bleeding out on the carpet, unable to do anything but hold you as life slips between your fingers. You can’t die, not until you tell a lot of people a lot of things. 

You shake your head to pull yourself back into the moment. 

“That’s the thing, Mrs. Bowman-”

“Julie, if we’re going to be partners we have to do away with the formalities now, I don’t deal with kiss-asses.”

“Alright, Julie, I need to know more about this business before I decide on anything. I may not have the most strict of morals but there are some things that even I won’t be involved in.” 

“Smart girl, alright what do you want to know.”

“Hunter let me in on a little bit of the financial aspect, said that you were looking for investors. Is that as far as I’ll go, I give you money and you give me back my returns or will this partnership be a more… involved one.” 

“Investor is a fun word, it implies that you have power. That won’t be the case. See unlike the shareholders of the corporate world I won’t be bowing to your whims, trying to satisfy whatever hold you think you have over me. I’ve worked far too hard to have someone think they can wave a couple thousand dollars around and control me.”

“I'm not in the controlling business Julie, I just want to be sure that my money isn’t going to be going to waste.” 

“So you want to know what’ll happen with your buy-in is that it?”

“Precisely, I don’t need to know all the gory details after all, I’ll need some plausible deniability if this whole thing falls apart after all.”

“Dear, why don’t I explain this part after all, it was my idea.” The governor cuts in, and you almost jump. You had forgotten he was even there, to be honest. 

“Sure, dear.” Julie pats her husband on the arm, her tone that of a mother speaking to a child. 

“Did you know that 8.8% of people in Alabama didn’t have health care as of two years ago? When I was elected I quickly and quietly ran a bill through the Senate and the House that mandated health insurance coverage. It’s now illegal to not have coverage which made a lot of people mad but created a big opening for opportunity. So I came up with an idea, and the best part is that It’s just on the right side of legal, legal enough that is. NexCare LLC; an insurance company entirely on paper, runs through several shell companies, and all the profits are shuffled into offshore accounts but it's mostly legit. And it insures over 25% of Alamaba’s citizens. They pay 24 Dollars a month for ‘complete coverage’,” he puts air quotes around the words and you start to feel the urge to punch his teeth out, “The coverage is just enough to make sure that people are following the law, but just convoluted enough that we don’t actually have to pay out for anything. We have the right to deny all claims yada yada. Essentially, we’ve created a way for the fine people of Alabama to essentially deposit their money right into our pockets.” 

Now you really want to knock this guy the fuck out. If he’s right and this is all on the right side of legal then there really is fuck all that you can do. You can’t arrest the man for owning an insurance company and if he’s crafted the contracts just right so that he doesn’t actually have to shell out for anything then there really isn’t anything you can do.

“Well Mr. Governor, that really is a spark of genius. And it’s all legal?” 

“It’s legal enough, we paid a lot of lawyers a lot of money to make sure of that.” Julie pipes in.

“And nobody knows that you own NexCare? How’d you work that out?” You bat your eyelashes at the man, hoping, praying for him to spill anything that you can use. 

“More legal mambo jumbo, I’m not too sure. Like you said, plausible deniability.”

“So why do you need my money, seems like you're pretty set up?”

“Expansion is expensive and the lawyers are demanding a higher cut in order to keep their mouths shut, this way everyone stays quiet and happy and we get to get more money from more people.”

“I don’t know, if you’ve already got people on the verge of spilling the beans then why would I want to be anywhere near that.” 

“Trust me Ms. Longborne we have ways of keeping people quiet.” 

“I’m going to need a little bit more than that Mr. Governor, I’m too pretty for prison.”

“God, Charles stop beating around the bush, Debrah here can handle some dirty work, can’t you darling?” Julie stepped in. “Being in power has its privilege and with an extra 3,000 a month into the hands of some police captains, we ensure that specific deaths don’t get investigated. That’s all, it’s a small percentage that reaches that point but it has happened.”

You can sure as shit arrest them for that though, bribery and accessory to murder at the very least. With enough digging, you could probably get the captains being bribed too. That wasn’t your job though, leave the digging to the team at Shield and they could do their arrest too for all you care. You just want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

“Let me get all this straight, you have a little arrangement with some shady as hell lawyers who are constantly on the verge of turning you in or extorting you and you need my money to keep them quiet so we can all keep charging the good people of Alabama for insurance that they’re legally required to have but will never see a single dime from?” 

Hunter sorts from his position lounging on the old couch behind you, “Pretty much nailed it, I told you guys she was smart.” He nods to his parents.

Julie purses her lips and looks back at you, “She may be smart but she still hasn’t given us an answer.”

“No, I haven’t, and I don’t plan to. At least not tonight. I’ve got some thinking to do but you’ve certainly piqued my interest.”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what might happen should I hear that you’ve been a little loose-lipped about what we’ve told you.” Julie raises her eyebrows at you. God, you really hate these people.

“No, you don’t. I can assure you word getting out that I was even meeting with you about this would ruin my reputation as much as yours, my lips are sealed.” You sink back the rest of your drink. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been away from my date for a little too long and I’m sure he’s wondering where I am. He’s a worrywart.”

“Well, I look forward to hearing from you.” The governor grabs your hand and shakes it, his grip just a tad too tight to be comfortable.

You don’t say anything after that, just push your way through the doors and sag against the wall once they’re closed. 

“Bucky? Can you still hear me?” 

“Loud and clear Kitty.”

The nickname makes you smile, leave it to Barnes to lift the mood after one of the most tense moments of your life.

“Did we get enough?” 

“The comms recorded the confession and the fact that all three of them are in on it, yeah we got plenty. You did good work.” You nod your head.

“James?”

He just hums.

“I’m ready to go home.”

“Two steps ahead of you.” The voice is all of a sudden much closer, you look up and see him standing over you, holding your coat in one arm and offering the other to help you off the floor. You don’t even remember getting down there.

He pulls you up effortlessly and you stop yourself from crashing into his chest by putting your hand out, it lands on his chest.

He practically pushes you off of him and shoves your coat into your arms. 

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t look to see if you’re following him, he just begins to stride away. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? One moment he’s complimenting you on a job well done and helping you off the floor and the next he’s acting like being too close to you will set him on fire or some shit.

You follow after him nevertheless, you weren’t lying when you said you wanted to go home, and you aren’t going to let Barne’s shitty attitude keep you from doing just that.

Bucky is handing some bills to the valet when you finally catch up to him, the car that the two of you drove here pulls up to the curb you’re standing at. You move to open the door to the passenger side, but before you can get there Bucky already has the handle in his hand and he swings it open for you. He gestures for you to go ahead and you don’t even try to stop the scoff that bubbles up your throat.

You get comfortable in your seat as Bucky walks around the trunk of the car and gets in on his own. He doesn’t buckle just pulls away from the curb quickly.

You don’t like this sense of deja vu, being trapped in a car with James Barnes, neither one of you speaking it’s all too familiar. Except this time, you aren’t uncomfortable, you’re angry, more than angry actually you kinda want to rip off this asshole's metal arm and beat him with it for being a dick. 

Minutes tick by. You don’t speak but you silently fume from the passenger seat. You look over at him a couple of times, you can’t read him. You’ve never really been able to read him and this time is no different. What you wouldn’t get for a glimpse inside his head though.

The car pulls up to a red light, the two of you are bathed in the deep color.

“What the fuck is your problem this time Barnes?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He shrugs.

“Obviously you do or you wouldn’t have acted like my very presence is annoying to you and you wouldn’t be giving me the silent treatment right now.”

“I don’t have a problem.” He insists again.

“Fine. Whatever, when you’re ready to talk to me like a goddamn adult then I’ll be here to listen but if all you’re going to do is ignore me then you can let me out of the car right the fuck now.”

��What?” 

“You heard me, let me out of the goddamn car.”

“I’m not letting you out of the car Y/N! You’re insane.”

“Let me out of the car, or tell me what’s wrong.”

He doesn’t speak, he looks into your eyes and all across your face but he doesn’t say a word.

You nod a solitary nod and reach for the door handle.

“I love you.”

 That stops you cold in your tracks.

[someinstant]

So I think I'm going to do episode-by-episode rewatches, and type up some reactions as I go on my second viewing. Since I know we're early days yet, I'll put stuff behind a cut, but just know I'll be talking generally about what happens in each episode of ANDOR, Season 2 as we go!

So let's start out with Episode 1: One Year Later.

Thoughts:

My joy at hearing the Time Grappler’s gong was immense.

I love, love, love Niya’s conversation with Cassian. She’s marvelous. I want her to make it out. And Cassian’s so kind—and also manipulative. He’s very good at this. No wonder he’s Fulcrum, yeah? That line: you’re coming home to yourself. You’ve become more than your fear. He means it, yeah? And he’s also said it before.

Actually—

I wonder if that’s Nemik. Oh. I want that to be true. I think I’ve decided that’s true: that’s a line from Nemik, and Cassian uses it when he’s got to talk folks off ledges.

And then we go from delicious competency porn to—ohhhhhhh shit I did not study for the right part of this exam. I have seen this look on too many of my students’ faces. Cassian. Baby. My darling perfect boy. You’re so fucking bad at this.

I laughed so fucking hard, I cannot lie, because this is what it’s like whenever I try to play any sort of game with a fucking flying sim. Just—me crashing wildly into every possible wall while I try to figure out the gimble and controls and failing every which way. I actually really love that the first thing he figures out are the guns. That tracks. Good pilot—assuming he knows what he’s flying—but a fucking great shot.

I dig that Bix and Wilmon have an awesome sibling-esque relationship. I was worried that Wil might have some resentment towards Bix given how his dad died, but—they’re great together. I love the teasing about Wil’s girlfriend and their ease together on Planet Monoculture.

Which—

Honestly, the deep shots where the background blurs into the horizon are my least favorite thing in this episode. It feels very Volume-like in its un-place-ness, if that’s a sentence that makes any sort of sense. And what I think ANDOR is usually really brilliant at is creating a sense of specificity: this location, this group of people, this part of the galaxy, this moment in time. And Planet Monoculture feels unmoored. And perhaps that’s what the director is going for—the creation of an idyll—but I didn’t love the soft focus.

Krennic’s just going full-on Eagle’s Nest, huh? Clear your schedules everyone—we need to gouge out the heart of a planet so we can make a lens for something! Don’t worry what for. Just help us figure out how to handle the genocidal stuff.

Side note: that mining that they’re going to do on Ghorman. I wonder if that’s what they did to Kenari. And I wonder if this is going to be thematically resonant moving forward.

At least the catering is top-notch when you’re planning a genocide.

On one hand, ANDOR is the story of a deeply talented and competent individual finding their feet within a revolutionary movement. On the other, it’s a story about Cassian Andor having the worst fucking day of his life for five years, repeatedly, while simultaneously meeting a bunch of Characters Who Keep Making Things Worse.

I’d hate these fucking dipshits so much if it wasn’t so much fun to watch Cassian be pissed as hell at them.

You know how Saw lumped Maya Pei’s “New Republicans” into that long list of Rebel groups that were “lost—all of them, lost!” in season one? I get it, Saw. You’re not wrong, my man. These guys are idiots. Luthen needs to vet his rebel GoFundMe lists a little better, because I wouldn’t be sending these dudes shit.

Kleya is so pissed she’s at this goddamn wedding. Just killing the drinks at the open bar. And—she and Vel were definitely something at some point, right? I mean, there is LITERALLY no other way to read that look that Vel gives Kleya, correct?

AND TAY. My man. You are going through it, huh. Wife gone, money gone, everybody gossiping— none of this is good. Pull yourself together, my dude. But before we can deal with THAT situation, here comes Mama Skulden to let us know that Leida and little Lord Fauntleroy have had their first fight. So Mon hits pause on the Tay situation, because of course she does, she has to!—but man, that’s a mistake.

Oh, Leida. Yes. He’s a child. And so are you. And Mon—that “I’m so, so sorry.” It’s not enough, is it. You sold your daughter for a rebellion.

Meanwhile, Cassian has to listen to the Dipshit Brigade argue with loaded weapons while their blood sugar is low, so obviously a shooting match breaks out and now he’s being frog-marched off under blaster fire by some idiots who fucked up his whole day.

Basically, the best part of Cassian’s day was the part where the cute mechanic-turned-double-agent at the Imperial facility suggested they were flirting as part of their cover. Literally the only time my man got to smile. The rest of it has been stupid TIE Advanced controls and chaos and dipshits in a jungle.

But even if Cassian didn't get to, I smiled a LOT, because fuck it, MY SHOW IS BACK AND I LOVE EVERYONE EVEN FUCKING DEDRA.

[artebris]

I swear I am normal. But.

I think I’ve got like “Ominis month” for 12/12 month, I’m sorry, I need it to be added in LGBTQ+ to be LGBTQO+, personal request.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

I love so many Characters from so many fandoms, but THIS… is different.

Ominis is so deep and complex and simple at the same time. So inspiring. Making you think about so many things… Parents and kids relations, living as a blind, having a friend who is loosing himself in a darkness, loosing people you love, standing alone for what you believe. He is lonely. He suffered a lot. And yet never gave up on his believes, yet being able to be a kind of a trickster, finding joy in a simple things.

HL official description tells is he is more like a secondary character, but hell, how much story he could tell us, it is a whole another vision and perspective of the Gaunts. Seven month passed and I still learn a lot, explore so many different views. There are true gems in a mud, and there was no reason to dig into the Scriptorium to find them.

As for me, existence of Ominis is a prove itself that there was so much more to Salazar Slytherin inheritance that classic Gaunts were translating. Something Noctua Gaunt was searching wa right under her own nose.

So sorry that all is left from it is Voldemort.

But who knows. Blessed we are to imagine different scenarios in our heads, blessed we are to share. If someone from Gaunts ever deserved the proper continuation, it is Ominis and him alone. He could do it so much better.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

I started a game as a regular Harry Potter fan. I was Sebastian fan in origins. But… When I first time saw that graceful posture near the window, mKing fun of first-years, I was streaming to my friend also and I was like “GOD DUDE IT’S A GAUNT WE ARE SO FUCKED.”

Well, as the plot of game ended, I could say I made a huge mistake waiting a weird shit from him. But I made no mistake, I did not expect how much fucked up I will end after diving into the fandom, inspired by this all.

No matter. I am still so into it. I am a person to choose one character and dive in deeply, exploring every corner of their personality and existence to the core. OC and Canon, usually my brains weirdly works as a response-creation, a mirroring of inspiration. I see something inspiring and my brain borns the “mirror” itself, it is beyond my control.

Arlene, my MC, in this case was formed like it. That is why she is so clanged to him, she is his “mirroring”. A response. And the more I get into this one, the more I feel, the more experience I get as a person. It seem still never-ending.

God, please send me a man like him. I would carry such a man on my hands.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

[aplaceinthedark]

UGLY human NATURE

a WITCH story

Word Count: 2.5k+

CW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, supernatural themes, body horror, depictions of graphic violence, witchcraft, description of digging up a body, owls (listen, don't judge, those things are freaky little fucks)

Nicholas panicked as he tried to assemble the pieces of what had once been his best friend.

Tears streamed down his face as he tried to remember what his Granny taught him about healing, but this seemed to be way beyond the healing point. This was probably at the Resurrecting-The-Dead point, and he knew that there would be nothing in Granny’s vast knowledge or hex books about this. 

“What’s dead should stay dead,” Granny had once taught him, in reference to what went on in the woods behind her house. “Those who die in these Woods don't tend to stay dead.” But Granny didn’t know that his best friend, his brother, had been lost to that curse, and Nicholas was not going to lose Noah again.

But it looked like he was going to anyway.

He hadn’t meant to unleash his magic on Noah, but it had acted as a defense mechanism. And Noah… well… he still couldn’t figure out what had happened.

Nicholas had heard the sound of his name being called by a voice he hadn’t heard in a year. That should’ve been his first warning. You don’t go responding to voices coming from the Woods; that was practically Rule Number One in the Appalachian Mountains. Except he would raise hell and haint if it meant bringing Noah home. So he crawled out the guest room window of his Granny’s house and ran into the Woods.

He didn’t call out for Noah. That was a rule he wouldn’t break. But after several minutes of walking, he didn’t need to. There stood Noah, all six foot three inches of him, probably twenty feet away, looking like death. Noah smiled in relief when his dark eyes met his.

They both had taken a step towards each other when Noah had doubled over, crying out in pain, and then something cracked in him. Cracked multiple times as Noah seemed to grow even taller. His limbs snapped and elongated, like he was a tree growing in fast motion. An old nursery rhyme came to Nicholas’ mind as it tried to comprehend what was happening right before him.

The Towering Man will lure you from your home And into the Woods where deep he roams He’ll snap your bones like brittle sticks After drawing you in with his clever little tricks

If you’re good and listen to your mama You’ll have no worries, you’ll have no drama Best keep your eyes upon the beaten path, Unless you want to taste the tree man’s wrath. 

Nicholas tried running, but he knew that his legs were no match for this abomination’s long appendages. Before he knew it, he was pinned to the ground, fighting for his life to get free. He managed to get a hand behind him, and suddenly his eyes were blinded by a bright light, and he was assaulted by a splitting headache. The pressure on him disappeared, and he scrambled up onto his feet. 

But when he turned around to survey what he had released, he fell back onto his knees. 

The creature was back to being Noah, but everything was wrong. Broken limbs, some twisted and snapped clean off. Instead of bones, there were sticks. But that was undoubtedly Noah’s face, staring up at him with lifeless eyes. Play with fire and you’ll get burned; another of Granny’s lessons.

He didn’t know why he was trying to put Noah back together like some kind of twisted puzzle or broken doll. All he knew was that he had to fix this before anyone found out. Tears dripped from his face and splashed onto the mix of skin and bark of his friend.

“Please, come back. I can’t lose you again,” he said. He tried to summon something, anything, to get his friend back. And the Woods answered.

Something was shining on his face. It wasn’t until it dripped down onto Noah’s body that he realized the light was coming from his tears, and where they landed, they quickly dissolved into Noah’s skin. The tears on Nicholas’ hands started to glow as well, and then his hands began glowing. He scrambled to put them on Noah’s chest. 

The light spread through the veins in Noah’s chest and through his limbs. With cracking and rustling sounds, the skin mended together, but retained the bark texture. Noah’s iris’ glowed gold, and suddenly his head twisted with a snap to look at Nicholas. His arm shot out, grabbing a fistful of Nicholas’ short hair to pull him closer. 

A yelp left Nicholas’ mouth, and for a second he thought that he had made a mistake; that he had let Noah’s quest to kill him continue, but Noah stopped pulling when Nicholas was hovering only a few inches over him. If someone happened to see them, they would probably think that they were about to kiss. Memories of what happened between them a few years ago came unbidden to Nicholas’ mind, and he had to fight the rush of heat to his face.

“You… idiot,” Noah gasped out. 

Nicholas laughed as the golden light left Noah’s eyes, and then he fell over, passed out cold.

And that was how Nicholas Ruffilo became the Witch, the practitioner of the Shenandoah Valley.

Nicholas had only ever set eyes on one haint in his life, and that was Noah. The Black Stag didn’t count because it had been a god. So meeting Nick and Joakim was unnerving.

Especially when one was a large, mangy-looking wolf and the other was a literal naked corpse.

“I… uh… hope I’m not too late,” he said, looking nervously between the two.

A few hours ago, he had been mindlessly sketching some tattoo designs for a client, when he felt like his brain was getting lobotomized. At first, it was just one word:

HELP.

It was easy to ignore at first. Just his mind playing tricks on him, probably from the combination of lack of sleep and the blue light of his tablet. But then he heard the voice again, with less pain and more familiarity:

NICK NICK NICK HELP NICK PLEASE HELP.

And with that, he jumped into action. 

If that really was Noah talking in his head, then the first place he should look was where he last saw him: in the old oak grove.

Nicholas practically sprinted into the woods, then doubled back because he realized that he might need a shovel, and then he was back on the task at hand. He felt reassured when he saw  two figures in the hollow, because why else would two random people meet in this place? Then again, why would these two particular… beings be there at all?

That’s when the dog shifted into a teenage boy, and Nicholas’ heart stopped.

“Nick Folio, at your service,” the boy said, grinning. His teeth were too long and sharp to be normal, but that’s not what unnerved Nicholas. 

Judging from the sudden tilting of his head, Nick must’ve been close to knowing why. “Have we met before?” he asked.

“I… Umm…”

“We have a task at hand,” the walking corpse said, though it looked like he had been perfectly fine to let the wolf do all the work.

“Do you even know why we’re doing this?” Nick asked, turning back towards the man.

“I do,” Nicholas said. The two haints looked at him. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

Between Nick’s claws and Nicholas’ shovel, they made quick work of the dirt. Nicholas didn’t have a clue how deep they would have to dig, but after a few feet, he had his answer when a dirty hand broke through the dark earth.

Nicholas threw aside the shovel as Nick shifted back into human form once again, and the two grabbed ahold of the hand and pulled. Eventually, another body emerged and crawled out. It was completely caked in mud, but Nicholas couldn’t help but gape at its head.

For immense branches were sprouting from it, giving the appearance of antlers.

“W… Water,” the man gasped in a familiar voice.

Nicholas was dreading this meeting.

He was tired of Granny trying to set him up with women. Didn’t matter where they were, she would ask anyone that looked even slightly close to his age if they were single. And at the old age of thirty, it embarrassed him to no end. He was also unfortunately raised to be a gentleman to strangers, so when Granny said that there was a “poor girl living by herself who needed help,” he couldn’t help but internally scream at his nice guy heart. 

But he was more interested in the fact that this girl had moved into Noah’s old house, despite the warning signs that were placed around the property and told throughout the town. Hell, Granny even told her about the offerings, and who wouldn’t run after hearing someone tell you to chuck a few animal bones into a tithing plate?

So either the girl was stupid, or she was brave - which was another word for stupid, in his mind.

As he got out of his car, Nicholas could sense a familiar presence on the edge of the property. To the unknowing or untrained eye, it might feel like a chill going up the spine, or as Nicholas’ family would say, “like someone walking over your grave.” But he was trained and knowing of what crept through this neck of the woods.

He knew in his soul when his eyes met the creature’s, and he leveled a look that said behave. He could hear a chuckle in his mind, one that would unnerve even the bravest hiker.

GOOD LUCK. THEY’RE SOMETHING ELSE.

Noah’s voice was, of course, no comfort. Of course Noah would’ve spied on the newcomer. It used to be his house, after all. But that use of pronouns at least shed some light so Nicholas could be polite.

Nicholas knocked on the door, acknowledging the silver platter that was neatly arranged to the left of the doorway, and waited. And waited.

And then the door opened, and he realized he might need Noah’s warning.

Their dark blonde hair was half up in a bun, the lower half barely reaching their shoulders. It left their angular face on full display, big brown eyes staring up at him. He couldn’t help the thought of how much those eyes reminded him of Noah’s. 

He managed to find his words before he could choke on his tongue. “I’m Nicholas,” he said. He punctuated his words with a small lift of the corners of his mouth.

They looked like they were surprised by his appearance as well. “Taylor.”

Something was off with the Woods, and with Nicholas as well.

His body lurches, causing his eyes to pop open. He gulps down a lungful of air to still his racing heart, though he knows it’s no use. Not this again…

Taylor stirs underneath him. "Nn… Nick? What's wrong?” they ask, their voice clogged with the sleep of the dead. 

Another nightmare, he wants to say as he sits up, but his mouth is dry and his tongue sticks to its roof. He scrubs his face with a tattooed hand and then rips the hair-tie out of his half undone ponytail. He feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin. He wants to scream. “I need a smoke.”

“Nick, wait–” He doesn’t hear the rest of Taylor's protest as he scrambles out of the bed, pulls some joggers on, and all but runs out the door.

It was chillier outside, despite the sweats and hoodie he managed to pull on over his bare skin. Probably should've put on shoes, he thinks as he lights up a cigarette with shaky fingers. 

Normally he would say that the off-ness he was feeling was because of the Woods, but a part of  him says that it’s different. He can feel the pull of the Hollow calling to him if he closes his eyes long enough.

It’s only been a few months since the events with the reformed Cult of the Black Stag. Only been a few months since his grandmother was killed. Only a few months since… since he died as well.

A shiver rolls down his spine. He pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he could rid himself of that thought. He had died, but he came back. He was okay. 

“Those who die in these Woods don't tend to stay dead.”  

He shakes his head vigorously. No, not because of some weird curse like what happened to his friends. Because of his own soul magic, safely stowed away in his partner's own soul by random happenstance. That was different. He was fine. 

Ever since that night that Taylor went into the woods and Nicholas healed them, he felt like something was missing from him. He thought it would've returned when Taylor brought him back to life, but he still felt off-kilter. Like a piece of him was still out there in the Woods. And of course, there wasn't anything in Granny's hex books about why he was having these nightmares.

Nicholas looks down at the tattoo of an owl on his right arm. Owls were considered guardians of his family, and so he had gotten one tattooed on him pretty early on; before he knew about his grandmother’s practice. Granny had tutted about it, mad that he had “made a mockery of their protector”, but eventually she acquiesced.

“Really wish you were here, Gram,” he mutters to the tattoo, as if Granny was really a part of him now. She would probably have known what his problem was, let alone how to help him. 

The sound of a scream from the Woods snaps Nicholas out of his head. His eyes dart to the trees, but his brain soon catches up, recognizing the sound. He sighs in both relief and annoyance. Just another barn owl; something he's heard plenty of times growing up out here. 

But this time, the sound stirs something in him: something akin to familiarity, but unlike the nostalgia of days past. He tilts his head, trying to get a better sense of what direction the call came from, because what if it came from the Watcher's Grove? What if something was going on with Noah while he was–

"NICK!"

He snaps out of his trance, and he quickly realizes he's no longer on the porch. He's standing on the edge of the property, one foot in the woods. And he has no idea how he got there. 

He turns around and looks back at the house. The porch light is on now, and Taylor is standing on the steps, Jerry in their arms. Even from where he is, he can see the panic in their eyes.

He quickly jogs back to the house. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he says, quickly kissing them on the forehead. Except now he's slightly even more shaky than before. Jerry squirms as he’s pressed in between them, and meows angrily. Nicholas pulls away.

They both go inside and Nicholas locks the door behind him. Taylor looks up at him with dark, worried eyes, and he groans internally. 

There was no way he’s going to be able to keep this from them.

[roonyxx]

The Raven: Part 5

Summary: A new threat to the world brings the boys back in action. She is big and bad, very bad. But is everything as it seems or is there more to her story?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Trope: enemies to lovers

Word count: 2345

Chapter warnings: language, a hint of smut

A/N:  I know it has been AGES since I wrote, i'm trying to get back into it. I know nothing really exiting happens in this chapter but it is one of the most complicated stories I have done and it needs some building. I really hope you like it!

The Raven Masterlist

My Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

“We need to go to Heaven” Sam says as he takes care of the wounds from her nails on my neck, “They’re clearly doing something not good up there.”

“Yeah, but we can’t just go there, they’ll jump on us.” I sigh and Sam finishes up cleaning my wounds and looks me in the eyes.

“You still dream of her?” he asks me.

“No, actually…” I rub the back of my head before continuing, “I only had really good dreams. Like I’m floating in clouds and there are these phantom hands gently touching me.”

“Touching you…?” Sam says warily.

I push his shoulder “Not like that. Perv.” I chuckle.

“That’s kinda weird no? You think it’s her?”

“Why would she do that? Maybe there’s a second player in all of this and we just haven’t discovered yet.” I say.

“I doubt that.” Sam sighs and nods at the wounds on my neck “Try to keep them clean, they’re pretty deep.”

I nod and get up. Looking toward Cas and Rowena we start discussing of what to do next. We talk and plan for hours but everything seems useless, powerless against her.

Rowena went back to Hell with a promise to alert us as soon as she notices something bad about to happen.

Like a dead army rising.

Cas goes I don’t know where after, I lost my attention in the few hours after midnight we talked. I just want my bed.

At four in the morning I’m finally in it.

I hum as lips kiss my neck, hands roaming my chest. With my eyes closed I welcome the feeling. It’s soft and warm.

Plenty of little kisses litter the skin of my neck and I arch my face down in a chance to kiss those plumb lips. A soft chuckle fills my ears and makes my body tremble in delight.

“Always so eager” an angelic voice, as the angels should be, rings around me making me relax even more.

“What can I say, I’m a man who doesn’t mind more.” I answer.

The hands and kisses stop then, just for a minute to then continue downwards, over my chest to my tummy. Hands slither down my sides until they rest on my thighs.

Lips touch my pelvic bone and I draw in a sharp breath, my cock twitching to attention.

The voice makes a warm hum before wrapping a hand around my cock, grip firm, but buttery soft.

I moan and it echoes around us, “y-yes.”

I feel a pair of lips smiling against the side of my shaft before the little kisses start again.

“So beautiful.” The voice mewls. A tongue darts out next and takes a little lick against my skin.

My stomach contracts, it feels immensely intimate, these soft touches and kisses and yet it feels more intense than anything I have ever felt before.

“F-fuck.” I breathe out as the lips wrap around my tip and a tongue starts licking the slit. A humming sound makes my cock vibrate in the mouth, my hand reaches down, wanting to grab some hair. To tug at it. But my fingers meet only air.

The sucking intensifies and I gasp, holding onto my own thighs instead. My nails digging into my skin.

“O-oh god.” I moan and a hand wraps around the base of my cock while another holds my balls, rolling them into their palm.

The sucking grows faster and the hand pumps in time with the mouth while giving a firm squeeze to my balls.

“I- I’m going to come.” I gasp out, my body is arching into this mouth, this sweet delicious warmth.

“Let go for me, Dean.” The voice sings to me right before I explode.

My eyes fly open just in time to see my cum cover my own stomach and sheets, I moan odiously loud as my hips arch off my bed in time with the ropes of cum flowing over my skin.

I pant loud and look at the white ropes covering my freckles, my hands gripping my thighs. A jasmine scent heavily covering my room.

I don’t remember going to bed naked, and I don’t remember having a wet dream since I was a teen. A blush crawls over my face as I quickly grab a shirt to wipe myself clean.

I hope Sam didn’t hear.

Was it her…?

“You okay?” Sam asks me over his cup of coffee the next morning.

“Yes, why?”

“You look… I don’t know. Different. Like on edge.” He shrugs.

I am on edge… I can’t stop thinking of that dream, of the voice and the lips and the hands. I got up, took a shower and had to take care of myself again because I’m so on edge. Even now it takes all my concentration on disgusting things to not get hard again.

“I’m okay, just annoyed by this case. I want it over with.” I sip from my coffee and take a bite out of my bacon.

“Cas is taking us to Heaven today, he still hasn’t enough power to check the timeline himself but he says he knows how we can check it. And he said he knew a side door.”

“Okay, so we’re finding out what she did today?” I hopefully ask.

“Normally yes, at least we will get a step in the right direction.”

That same afternoon Cas takes us up, his side door has no guards or anyone for that matter. Which is perfect for us.

“There is a time surveillance room. There we can see everything that ever happened to the timeline.” Cas says as he leads us through the white halls of Heaven.

“Everything?” Sam says, “Isn’t that like… a lot, how will we ever find what she did.”

“An anomaly in the timeline is usually very clear. It’s not supposed to be there.” His quick gait slows down and we stay behind him. He stops in front of a blue door.

“It’s here. Let me handle the time observers.”

Cas goes in first, Sam and me following after. There is no one inside.

“This isn’t normal” Cas says with a frown, “Not once in history have they left their place. This is why it went unnoticed, there was no one to sound the alarm. I have no idea how she got her hands on them…”

“Well she clearly did, I mean, Sam and I kill angels all the time. It’s not that hard.” I shrug.

“They’re not angels, they’re beings especially designed to be time line observers. God only made two. Their role is as important as Death.” He says worriedly.

“Will it be a problem that they’re gone?” Sam asks.

“New ones should have already come into existence but… I think she’s stopping it from happening. That’s… impossible.”

“Well, she’s done more impossible things, let’s get to what we are here for before these new dudes show up, okay?” I step forward and look into the blue room, the extremely empty blue room.

“So what are we supposed to look for?” I ask.

“You can’t see it. It’s not meant for human eyes. Here,” Cas comes towards Sam and me, “close your eyes.” After we do that he touches our eye lids, we open them again and both stumble a little.

The room is one big ball of fine wires, they give light and there’s a flow to them. Tiny bursts of green, red, purple and yellow light flowing through them.

“Each color is a code. Green is important moments being born, red is important moments dying. Purple is a fixed point in time and yellow is paradox warning.” Cas explains.

“Wow” Sam is turning around in pure wonder “This is incredible.”

I’m looking too, it makes no sense, I have no idea which line is the future or the past. It’s too messy to figure out. I frown when I see a black line that stops and a new white line sprouting from the side of it before continuing slowly.

“What does black mean?” I ask as I point at it.

“It means it’s dead.” Cas goes near it and gently grabs hold of it. “this is what she did. She stopped the current line, killed it and made a new one.”

“She killed… time?” Sam says.

“Yes”

“How?” I say alarmingly, time isn’t alive, or is it?

“I don’t know, but she did it. And look” he brings it closer to us. “There.”

He points to right at the end of the line where a faint red light is glowing.

“A moment died?” Sam says.

“Yes. But sometimes a moment can be an important person, like a King”

“Can you see what it was?” I ask Cas.

“I can’t only the time observers can read the signs. But something happened and she erased it from happening and created an entire new line, only God has done that before.”

“So she killed someone, and created a new time line.” Sam says.

“It is possible she didn’t create the time line. The color codes are important points in time. It could have been that she killed someone before their time at that killed the time line and so a new one was born.” Cas explains to us.

“She said Heaven took something from her, maybe she killed for revenge?” Sam wonders.

“Probably yes. But how will we ever find out who?”

“I’ll do what I can in here” Cas says as he looks around the room, “You two should go back, this will take me a while. Maybe I can find what this all means.”

After that Cas sends us back home while he stays in the time room.

“What if she killed Death? Or any other important thing.” Sam begins, “How do we even fix that?”

“I don’t know… It just makes no sense.” I rub my face and when my fingers pass my nose I smell the jasmine strong.

It’s been growing stronger these last few days.

“We need to talk to her again.” I state.

“What… Dean she nearly killed us last time, it won’t stop her this time.”

“Don’t you wonder why? Why she didn’t? ” I ask my brother.

“She said there would be consequences, but I think she can handle those easily if she can kill time.”

“Then why are we still breathing? Like everything else, it doesn’t make sense. I think we need to talk to her again. It’s the only way we’ll find out.” I look my brother down with determination. Because I know I am right. We keep finding little pieces and bits but we will never get the full scope without her.

“How do you want to talk to her?” he sighs in defeat.

“Well, we know where she lives.” I grin.

We’re back in front of her little house in the middle of the forest. Such a strange view, her place is beautiful on this hot summer day. It looks cozy and homey. Not at all the house of a villain.

It is made of wood with a black roof and tiny cute windows on the front. Around the house there are many vines  with white flowers that crawl over the entire house.

It’s been three weeks since we went to Heaven, Cas is still in Heaven, trying to figure out what happened but it takes time.

I’m not extremely patient so I convinced Sam to come without Cas.

I walk up to her front door and notice the smell is Jasmine. Her house is covered in it.

“What are you doing?” Sam alarmingly asks me in a shouted whisper.

“Knocking, the last time we broke in nothing good happened. So I’m trying a different approach.” As soon as I say that last word I knock three times before I lose my nerves to actually do it.

I have mixed feelings about being here. Because she is evil, and terrifying but… there is a part of me that’s not so sure about that. I think there is more about her story. That she is hiding something.

My dreams haven’t stopped… every night I dream of those hands and lips, touching me, cherishing me.

Worshipping me.

And I can’t help but let my mind wander it’s her… it almost has to be. It could be a trick, some way to distract or trap me, I’m not sure. I didn’t tell Sam about it, I don’t think he’ll understand it. Sam can be very judgmental towards me, and I have no need for that now.

I’m judging myself enough for the both of us.

The door opens and there she is. The beautiful version of herself.

Her Y/H/C is lose and dangling down her back, she’s wearing those same sunglasses so I can’t see her eyes. Her skin has a beautiful summery glow to it and for some reason I notice she’s not wearing any shoes under her light summer dress that cuts off just above the knees and has a low cut out, creating a deep cleavage.

“Eyes up here, Deanie boy.” She says and pulls me from whatever enchantment her body has on me.

“Not much for warnings, are you?” she sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, it makes her look so human.

“Why are you here?”

“We want to talk.” Sam says because apparently my mouth is not working but something else is…

I keep staring at her lips and hands, are it those that kiss and touch me in my dreams? The smell is more intense here, but not at all overwhelming.

“Talk? Aren’t you normally the stab first, talk later type of guys?”

“Normally yes, but clearly that doesn’t work.” I answer her.

“And why should I talk to you and not just kill you?”

“Because you keep saying that and never doing it, so I think we’re safe.” I look at my reflection into those sunglasses, wishing I could look into her eyes.

She looks the both of us over and for whatever reason, she steps aside and lets us in.

Forever Tags 2023: @jay-and-dean @wittysunflower @flamencodiva  @lyss-dw79 @waywardbaby @chocolateheart @magssteenkamp @snowlovespie @awkward-and-indecisive @hobby27 @yvonneeeee

Dean tags 2023: @akshi8278 @brilovesdeanwinchester

@mrspeacem1nusone @pink-sparkly-witch @verytoadpapersoul @eevvvaa @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @supernatural79impala @thoughts-and-funnies

The Raven: @globetrotter28 @jerome-valeska-trash @deans-spinster-witch @sassy-pelican

(send me an ask if you want to be removed/ added from my tags, I know it's been a while since I used them)

You can support me here if you loved it :D

[bloodgulchblog]

Have you seen that YouTube video where some guy reads every Halo novel back to back and then reviews them? If so what did you think

The Brian David Gilbert one? Oh yeah, all my friends showed me it when it came out. (It was honestly kind of cute seeing how many people thought of me immediately.)

Rewatching it to refresh myself because it's been a couple years and a full-novel reread for me since the last time...

High fiving BDG because the Master Chief parts of The Flood were definitely the most boring parts.

He didn't have anything to say about First Strike which I think is a shame because I think it's better than The Fall of Reach and actually has A Theme I Find Interesting.

Rightful recognition of Contact Harvest as pretty damn good.

Rightful recognition of the Forerunner Trilogy as dense oldschool-style SF with deep worldbuilding. (Also the San'Shyuum thing.)

I disagree with him about, and have significant problems with, Kilo Five. He is correct that Kilo Five actually delves into some of the dark places in Halo in a way it really needed, and I would even say that its writing is extremely engaging by Halo novel standards. However, while he does notice the obvious parallels between what ONI is doing post-war and the kind of shit the CIA has pulled again and again irl, I think he misses some of the subtext I see where it feels like it justifies some shit a liiiiittle too much if you know the author's irl politics re: the military. He also doesn't seem to notice the character assassinations (particularly of Catherine Halsey) that I and a lot of other fans see/object to in those books. I kind of gaze into the middle distance with a haunted expression at the suggestion that these are the ones to read if you don't touch any of the others just because they are, ironically, so heavy-handed and feel like they treat certain kinds of evil as inevitable in a way that actually feels way worse to me than the excuse plot offered by the earlier/lighter Halo novels. (But idk, that's me? Nobody is committing a crime if they disagree with my frenzied insane person red string diagrams about Kilo Five.)

I'd swap Pariah for Dirt in the Evolutions anthology if it were me, but I think these are solid standouts.

Broken Circle is neat but really nonessential he's not wrong.

A one-sentence review of New Blood is probably not enough space to get into how fucked up the Spartan-IV program is, but yeah. New Blood is fun if you don't find Buck's first person narration annoying. (It comes and goes for me in that one.)

BDG you're an absolute sweetheart, I think Hunters in the Dark is kind of goofy in a way I cannot in good conscience ignore if I'm gonna review it. But it really really is so much fun and I love that one a lot anyway. The "it's like Halo 3... 2" observation is solid.

High fiving him again because I also found Last Light disappointing. And it is also a me problem.

Fractures!

Hell yeah these are all good pulls from Fractures, I would say Shadow of Intent is the pick of the litter in that anthology for me. Interesting that as a Kilo Five enjoyer he didn't single out Rossbach's World, which is the last we've heard about Osman and Black Box. (Also, that one is good.) I think Oasis is worth an honorable mention because I'm an Envoy stan, and the Forerunner stories are interesting but I wouldn't go for them if you don't already have a healthy interest in the trilogy.

This tangent is so fucking funny now that we know more things:

Oh BDG, oh buddy, it's really not for the people like you and me huh. (Disclaimer: I have no idea if BDG likes the Halo tv show or not and I have no desire to dig up evidence about it.)

Also, while you're here, this is the bloodgulchblog origin story:

Smoke and Shadow is fun so it's a little sad that when he ends that sentence with "whatever," I can't actually say he's wrong to. (Sorry Rion your part of the lore just.... hasn't... touched anything that touches anything else anymore.)

ENVOY IS GOOD AND EVERYONE SHOULD CARE ABOUT IT okay okay I'm cool I'm normal, anyway. Envoy is the Halo novel that restored my faith in reading Halo novels and reminded me that authors can care and know how to do nuanced, interesting themes in this space. It's great. Everyone in this book has war refugee trauma (except the Spartans which have Spartan trauma) and that's incredible to me. Please care about Envoy if you have spare room in your heart for Halo side characters.

I am cheered to see someone indifferent to the Veta Lopis stories, but I still feel petty for feeling it.

I don't have a lot to say about Legacy of Onyx here but it's always so fun seeing someone else suffer and care.

Bad Blood, the Blood is Bad now is a fun joke but lol yeah. It does have this very vital moment where Chief and Arbiter talk, though. For the first and only time in years.

PROPS FOR NOTICING THE YA NOVELS they're actually pretty nice.

"The Master Chief is the protagonist and boy does he shoot some people" is most of how I feel about Silent Storm and Oblivion too, I know they have their fans but Troy Denning's Chief books don't do much for me personally.

Renegades hadn't had its followup Point of Light yet but yeah, Spark stuff is interesting.

I had to remember that oh yeah, there are multiple books now that didn't exist when this was made. I wonder if he read them?

OKAY I THINK THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY as always if y'all want specific book opinions, I might have a tag for them. Or just yell in my ask box, I'm sure I can scrounge up some thoughts.

[yesthefandomfreakblr]

I was born and raised in a deeply Christian republican household. Please read if you were one of these or are.

This isn’t a religious or political page but this is so so important. Especially as I see so many dig their heels in or cover their ears. Everything seemed normal. I am one of the very luckiest girls in the world because I was never preyed on by members of my church or leaders. They were nice to me. We didn’t rave about politics in my home and my parents were never racist or homophobic towards gay people.

I was sheltered and indoctrinated. I am now 22 years old. Two decades. I was faithful. Loyal. And praised for being ‘level headed.’ I am not part of any marginalized groups or races. I got the luck of the draw. I’m white. I never experienced gender identity issues. I grew up in a well off home. But I am telling you now.

I have a deep faith in my God but not his earthly worshippers. It’s wrong. I do not trust religious figures. ESPECIALLY any who use their beliefs to justify JUDGEMENT let alone HARM to ANYONE. They are WRONG. It is WRONG and it is EVIL. The seperation of church and state is VITAL. The Republican regime is not pro life. It is not. IT IS NOT. I listened to my ‘smart and level headed’ parents and I have not forgiven myself. I am scared. I feel lied to, betrayed, and guilty all at once. Donald Trump killed his wife. He’ll kill us all. He is a vile and evil man and I can’t look at my parents anymore because I started asking questions and their answers sickened me. They. Are. Wrong. They are wrong. I can’t be here all day but long story short if you fall into the above categories ASK QUESTIONS. GET OUT. Do not dig your heels in. If the shame is too much to bear fucking do something about it. PROVE you are not one of the perpetrators, predators, abusers, and enablers. I voted for him. I thought I was right. I lost best friends and I thought I was right and I’m scared for their safety now. I don’t know where they are or if they’re okay but I have cried several times a week for MONTHS in shame, fear, and grief for everything I thought we were. It’s a lie. Run. Now. Get the fuck out. You need to let go of whatever guilt or fear or WHATEVER is keeping you holding onto those vile groups. Please. It’s not worth it. It never will be. Run now and don’t look back.

Innocent people are dying and being attacked. Our ‘God given’ freedoms are being ripped away and we are descending to a 1930s Germany HELL and organized Christian churches and Republicans are ABSOLUTELY to blame. Get out. Now. Don’t believe your parents. Don’t believe your pastors. Don’t believe ANYONE who is comfortable right now. Yeah I’m white, I have citizenship going back to the mayflower. But I am a human being with a concept of right and wrong and I am a WOMAN first. My big sister is pregnant. She’s at high risk of miscarriage and complications. I am physically sick with how scared I am for her and I can do NOTHING. NO ONE. NO ONE. Deserves any of what this government is doing to not only illegal immigrants who PAY TAXES, work hard, and are here for their own safety, but LEGAL PERFECTLY LEGAL BORN AND RAISED HERE people of color who are being KIDNAPPED AND TRAFFICKED by ICE. Transgender people are safer than cops. Let. Go. Of. Your. Hate. Let go. You are ALLOWED to change and you are ALLOWED to disagree with people who raised you and you are allowed to see danger where it is. You are allowed to persue an individual relationship with god and question the church using his name in the most vile of excuses. Please please listen to me.

I could go on for 16 pages but I won’t. Just seriously start looking at what your groups don’t want you to see. Listen to the people suffering. And no matter what you think you ARE next.