#but now my doubting my ability to physically do so

[rockingthegraveyard]

.

First day of my job and I hope I have a heart attack and die actually.

[xvysarene]

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Words: ~3.1k Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual fluff Notice: Y/N is not MC, Profanities, Mentions of wounds Summary: There was a connection between you and Sylus that went beyond the typical boss & his right-hand woman dynamic. When you finally had enough of his recent behaviour since his return, you decided it was time to quit.

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

“We agree to your terms, and as soon as we finish the down payment, we expect to see the firearms—”

Before you could even finish, the heavy double doors swung open with a crash. Sylus strode in, a dark aura clinging to him, and you knew that nothing good would come out of it.

“The deal is off.”

You gasped. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Ms. Y/N, I thought you said you could handle this deal solo?” Marcel—that cunning eel of a man—drawled lazily. “Looks like Mr. Sylus here still doubts your ability, even after all this time.”

On any other day, you would have knocked the smug grin off Marcel’s face. But your attention was fixed on your boss, Sylus, whose expression was a cold, impenetrable mask of indifference.

“I’ve worked on this for months. Alone. When you were gone chasing shadows,” you hissed, “You have no right to dictate me.”

Crimson eyes met your gaze with a fire of his own as he stepped closer. “And do I need to remind you who’s the leader of this organisation?”

How dare he!

It took a while for the others in the N109 Zone to stop belittling you, to finally trust you as Onychinus’s indispensable weapon who could hold her own ground, even entrusted to run the organisation in his absence.

And he knew this.

“I don’t meddle in your affairs, so stay out of mine.”

He exactly knew what, or who, you were talking about.

Somehow, this conversation was no longer about the deal; it was about something else that had been creating a rift between you both.

“You don’t understand—”

“You have no idea what I understand!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his firm chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Luke entering the room to usher Marcel out.

“If you’re looking for a new job, my organisation is always open for a pretty little thing, buttercup.” He threw a mischievous wink your way.

The man was clearly not uncomfortable with the commotion; it was satisfying to see Onychinus crumbling before his own eyes.

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. “Boss, Y/N, let’s take a moment—”

“You think I wouldn't find out about your little escapade with ‘Miss Hunter’?”

That struck a nerve; Sylus’s eyes narrowed. 

“What?” you continued, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “Mephisto accidentally charged your card with millions just to buy every single protocore in the auction?”

Any heartfelt emotion you held for him was swallowed by fury and disappointment that had been building for some time. This was the last straw, a volcano ready to erupt.

“I’ve warned you before, Sylus.”

Ever since he came back from doing who knew what, he had been distracted. Physically, he was there—but he wasn't present.

Conversations that once flowed easily between you were now peppered by half-hearted responses.

As a last resort, you decided to prepare dinner for him and the twins that one night, something you periodically did when the mood struck, in the hopes of getting him to come around.

Luke and Kieran were happily munching on the lasagna and sipping wine from Sylus’s favourite bottle, their lively chatter filling up the dining room.

But the man who was supposed to be the centre of it all took only a single bite before abandoning it for his phone.

“Sylus, could you please put your phone down and enjoy the dinner?”

The twins froze, eyes flickering between the two of you, sensing the impending storm.

Yet Sylus didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention firmly fixed on the screen in his hand. Somehow, it was more important than the company around him.

“Sylus—”

“Can you get off my back for once?” Red eyes snapped to yours, flashing with irritation.

“You are losing me,” you repeated the words you had uttered that night. The tremble in your voice was a blend of rage and a deeper, more vulnerable feeling.

Sylus's eyes flashed, revealing the first hint of emotion that you recognised—a wounded look, perhaps, or something else that you didn’t dare to think about.

Kieran, determined to defuse the tension, squared his shoulders. “We all should take a breather and approach this with clearer heads.”

Eyes still fixed on your boss’s handsome face, the words came out with unwavering finality, “I quit.”

Ripping the brooch from where it rested just above your heart, you hurled it with such force that it bounced off his chest before skidding across the floor.

The sharp, unmistakable crack echoed throughout the silent room.

Sylus's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Fine.”

And that was it. There were no apologies, not even a 'thank you' for your dedication to Onychinus all this time.

“Please, don't do this. We need you,” Kieran’s voice had a note of desperation in it.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Your boss has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need me anymore. Apparently, he has more pressing matters than ensuring the organisation's interest.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his voice cutting like a cold knife. “If you're going to leave, then leave. We don't have time for theatrics.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Luke, having just returned from escorting Marcel out, caught sight of the unexpectedly angry tears in your eyes and called out your name as you rushed down the hallway.

What you didn’t expect from quitting was the depth of void it created in your life. You missed the twins’ oddball humour and even found yourself longing for Mephisto’s often irritating caws.

It felt strange not to see the black bird outside of your bedroom window or atop the lamppost, as it normally would.

Despite the financial cushion provided by Onychinus’s paycheck, restlessness drove you back to the N109 Zone before long.

“Thought that we’d never see you again, missy.”

The familiar surroundings of Elysium provided a soothing balm to the loneliness gnawing inside you—the rich scent of aged booze mingled with the sound of rolling dice filling your senses.

“You’re not the only one surprised,” you muttered lowly, sitting down on one of the stools.

“Guess you are more used to staying here than Linkon now,” the young woman behind the bar chuckled. “Many might see it as a slum, but the N109 Zone has its charm.”

During Sylus’s absence, you had called the base as a second home. Staying there made it easier for you to manage the daily operation, sparing you the hassle of travelling back and forth to Linkon.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house.” Before you could answer, the woman beat you to it. “Rum and lemonade?”

A sudden feeling of yearning washed over you. It was Sylus who had first introduced you to this concoction right here, you had even questioned his taste at the time, but it had since become one of your favourite drinks.

You gulped the emotion down. “Yes, please.”

She sent you a sympathetic smile, obviously understanding what crossed your mind.

The burn of the rum started to warm your body as the second glass went down easily. Each sip brought back memories of standing side by side in battles and conversations shared in quieter moments, a foolish longing that settled deep within your chest. 

As you set it aside, you felt someone slid on the vacant stool beside you, encroaching on your personal space.

“What’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?”

“Leave me alone.” You didn’t even look at his direction.

Funnily enough, though you normally no longer felt the weight of the brooch—a symbol of your affiliation with Sylus and Onychinus—you now felt its absence vividly, like a phantom heaviness above your left breast.

With it, no one ever truly dared to come near you, wary of crossing paths with Sylus.

Without it, however, meant you were no longer under Sylus’s protection.

The man sidled closer, clearly not taking the hint. “Still playing hard to get even without Sylus behind you? You should have seen him dragged out of the raid like a ragdoll by his pair of thugs. It was pathetic.”

Your heart stuttered, finally looking at the man beside you. “What did you say?” 

Sylus, hurt? It was unthinkable. You had seen first-hand how his wound healed quickly.

“Heh, you really don’t know, do you?” His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “The idiot went to finish Marcel off by himself last night. Imagine taking down dozens of Marcel’s men alone, with all their weapons.”

He daringly placed a hand on your thigh, fingers digging in. “So bitch, you’d better get off your damn high horse and listen. Without Sylus, you’re just another pretty face.”

In a quick manoeuvre, you slammed his head on the bar. His painful howl was cut short as you drew your concealed gun, the barrel pressed firmly against the back of his skull. “Touch me one more time and I’ll paint this bar with your brains.”

The barkeeper approached, her expression impassive as she took in the sight of your gun pressing against the man's head. However, when she noticed the colour draining from your face, a look of surprise crossed her features.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, her tone softer than you expected. “I thought that was the reason you came back here.”

Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, you stormed out of the bar, the weight of fear heavy on your shoulders.

The city's familiar streets blurred past as you made your way to the base, and you thought you heard familiar caws in the distance.

You didn't spare a second thought as the electronic lock still buzzed with recognision when your palm and iris scans were verified. The reinforced doors opened, granting you access just like usual.

Luke and Kieran met you in the hallway, no doubt alerted to your arrival. Whether by Mephisto or the security alert, you weren’t sure.

Even with their masks on, their surprised body language was unmistakable.

“How did you find out? Boss made sure that none of us tips you off,” Luke asked.

“It’s true?” you demanded, your voice was tight with anxiety. “About Sylus?”

The twins exchanged silent glances. “He’s in his quarters,” Kieran said slowly. “But be warned, he is in a foul mood.”

As you moved swiftly down the familiar corridors, your heart pounded in your chest. The smell of antiseptic hit your senses as you slid the door open, revealing the dimly lit room.

Sylus was seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he changed his bandages. “I told you guys to leave me alone. I’m fine,” his voice gruff.

You took a steadying breath. “Sylus.”

His silhouette tensed, and the set of his shoulders turned rigid. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was rough.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. The sight of bandages covering his injuries made it difficult to articulate your thoughts. “Why did you go after Marcel?”

“This isn’t a place for someone like you right now.”

That comment was odd, but you dismissed it as you crossed the room, closing the gap between you. Up close, you could see the bruises and wounds peppering his body—dark, angry splotches that marred his skin, evidence of the brutality inflicted by Marcel’s men.

While the healing process was slower than usual, it was still significantly faster than it would be for an ordinary person.

You had been working with him for quite some time yet you had never before seen him in such a state.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, catching your concerned gaze.

“You don’t look fine,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what happened.”

Sylus shifted on the bed, wincing slightly as he rested his back on the headboard. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, “Marcel was the one behind the bombing of the hunter’s grandma’s house.”

As much as you felt sorry for the UNICORN hunter, you couldn’t understand why he would put his life on the line for her.

Was it because of the connection they had with the Aether Core? Or was it something else?

Unconsciously, your steps faltered backwards. The anxiety for his well-being took a backseat as the grip of jealousy clawed at you.

It was stupid to feel this way.

Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot, your body freezing in place. The unexpected use of his Evol caught you off guard. 

“You came all the way here, so you’d better damn well listen to me before jumping to any conclusions.”

Even in his weakened state, he managed to pull you back to the edge of the bed and keep you seated there. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but not so far that you couldn’t see the fatigue etched into his features.

“I kept her around because she was useful. Marcel had been trying to frame Onychinus for the bombing.” His fists clenched, knuckles white. “But that wasn’t what set me off, that scumbag had been running his mouth about you, spreading lies of your incompetence, claiming that you’re nothing more than an empty shell.”

You looked at his injuries pointedly. “You took on his entire army because he taunted me?”

He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Don’t you see? I was the one feeding him that narrative. He had the front seat to everything that happened that day. I’m the one who unravelled the respect you worked so hard to earn.”

Was that a hint of guilt you heard in his voice?

“He’d been saying that you’d be better suited working in a whorehouse.”

Well, that explained the man's aggressiveness back at the bar, you thought.

“I’m not your responsibility anymore, you don’t need to protect me.”

Sylus looked away. Despite his rough edges, there was a glint of raw, exposed emotion that he struggled to conceal.

“It’s not just about responsibility,” his voice low, “Some things... they’re not as simple as just walking away.”

This was the Sylus you recognised—the same man who, in fleeting moments, had looked at you with an intensity or a softness that spoke of unfulfilled longing.

Everything had shifted since that one kiss, an impulsive act born from an evening of too much drink and unspoken feelings. A kiss that, in its haze, blurred the lines between what was accepted and what was desired.

Yet, every subtle brush of his hands, every act of ensuring your safety, was a quiet rebellion against the boundaries he had set from the start—this was not a place where work and pleasure were meant to mingle.

“That was the reason you called the deal off that day.” You fit the puzzles together.

He nodded. “I had a feeling that he was up to something.”

“And yet, I still don’t understand why you had to go behind my back with the hunter. This”—you gestured to his injuries and the distance between you—“could’ve been prevented.”

You tried to mask the hurt. “I thought you trusted me.”

Sylus shifted closer, and even though you felt that his Evol no longer held you in place, you allowed him.

“It wasn’t about trust, not in the way you think,” his voice was softer now, “If he found out you were involved, I couldn’t risk him coming after you.”

“I don’t need your protection as much as I need your honesty. And you were being a jerk.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning in closer, he cradled your jaw with a careful touch.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat at the intensity in his eyes that he didn’t try to mask any longer. “For caring. But I’d rather not see you get hurt again.”

“Can’t promise,” he murmured, “I will always stand between you and anyone who dares to harm you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath before his lips touched yours, moving in a gentle, unhurried rhythm.

He wanted to savour this moment, to truly taste you with a clear head, unclouded by any alcohol.

Though, before long, a more primal voice seemed to overtake him. The intensity of the kiss grew, fueled by the unfiltered emotions coursing between you.

It was a fierce, unrestrained need to claim you.

No longer feeling tender, his tongue urged your lips open with a determined persistence. Sylus groaned into your mouth as you parted easily, the need to taste you becoming more urgent.

As he took a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, your gaze locked with the searing flame in his eyes.

A sudden weight pressed against your neck, and you looked down, startled, to find a crow whose wings arched protectively around a red diamond pendant. It was similar to the brooch he had given you, but this was more than an accessory.

It was more personal—more intimate.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming my partner again?” His voice was husky with emotion. “Onychinus needs you. I need you.”

Carefully, you pushed him down the bed, legs spreading daringly caging his form. “Maybe if you beg a little more, I’ll consider it.” 

Both his eyebrows arched in surprise, visibly taken aback by your boldness.

“But, weren’t we supposed to keep work and pleasure separate?” you teased.

A hint of a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. “I’m the boss. I make the rules. Besides, this is more than just a pleasure.”

His large palms settled on your hips, fingers splaying across the curve of your body with a possessive yet tender grip, pulling you closer.

“Can I start by begging you to kiss my wounds and make them better then?”

As he whispered his request, his masculine hands sneaked their way inside your clothes, fingers trailing a line of fire against your skin. Just as the moment heated up, a rustling noise came from outside the door.

The two of you paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open just a fraction. Before either of you could react, Luke and Kieran let out a startled yelp.

“Oh no! They’re doing the hanky panky!” Luke whispered loudly, scandalised.

In a flurry of hurried movements, the twins slammed the door closed and bolted down the hallway, leaving you both staring after them in stunned silence.

Sylus sighed, hiding his face in the soft bend of your neck. “We’ll definitely have to set some new rules about privacy too.”

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[pedrospatch]

strawberry

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (TW) daddy kink, lots of dd/lg lifestyle elements, reader is collared (day collar) age gap that is self indulgent, reader is mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but tweak that to your imaginations if you like. SMUT; p in v sex, rough sex (that reader asks to try), spanking, possible overstimulation (if you squint??) Joel basically fucks reader too much and too hard. USE OF SAFE WORD. aftercare and lots of fluff, references to a pop culture film that i haven’t seen in forever but it’s fine. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF TAGS AND WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, no worries just scroll on by.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is totally self indulgent, all for me as someone who has dabbled in the lifestyle before. if this is not your thing, no problem at all but kindly keep any negative comments to yourself. huge shoutout to the lovely @swiftispunk for inspiring this with the snippets of her own upcoming series that i am oh so excited for, darling han thank you for not only inspiring this, but for listening to me talk about it and encouraging it! and also to sweet mya @cavillscurls because truth be told her own fic brought back so many memories of a time in my life where i was genuinely so happy, in love, and felt safe with a partner. okay, i am gonna run away to the gym now to listen to 1989 tv (again) and pretend posting this is not nerve wracking as hell.

He��s fucked you plenty of times before.

But never like this. No, never, ever like this.

He’s relentless.

His thrusts are coming quicker, sloppier, harsher.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense. Too intense.

Joel Miller is truly testing your limits tonight.

No, he was pushing you past your limits.

Because that’s what you’d asked him to do.

“Alright, sweet girl. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you before we get started. Are you absolutely, one hundred—no, one thousand percent sure that you wanna try this out tonight?” he had asked you beforehand, skimming the strap of your light pink, lace lingerie with his index finger, his feathery soft touch sending a plesant little chill down the length of your spinal column. Of all the sets you owned, it had to be Joel’s absolute favorite. Normally, it was him who would pick out what you would wear, but tonight he’d decided to let you choose for yourself and oh, you did not disappoint. He fucking adored you in the color pink; loved how sickeningly sweet, precious, and innocent you appeared in the hue as you did the filthiest things to him, with him. When you nodded eagerly in reply to his question, a sigh fell from his lips, the doubt written all over his face as he remarked, “I really don’t think you’re ready. I think we should wait just a little a while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you’d insisted, stubbornly. “I promise. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I thought I wasn’t. But I am, I promise, promise, promise I am.”

“Daddy knows what’s best for you, sweetheart—”

Fingers curled around his bicep, you’d batted your eyelashes, giving him those eyes that brought him down to his knees for you a lot more often than he cared to admit, those eyes that made Joel feel like he was learning his role all over again, despite over two decades of experience under his belt. He used to pride himself for his ability to stand firm against pouting lips, fluttering lashes, and pleading gazes. And then you come along and suddenly it’s like he is in his thirties again and he’s navigating this kind of dynamic for the first time. Even after a year and a half with you, he’s still trying to figure out how to completely unwrap himself from your little finger.

“Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Christ, you made things so goddamn difficult.

“You really think you’re gonna be able to handle it? You think you’re gonna be able to handle me when I get real rough with you, baby? Hm?”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Yes, Daddy. I can handle it. I know I can.”

You had been so certain that you could.

Confident, even. So confident that when he began going over the rules and reminded you to use your safe word if you needed him to stop, you’d giggled and stated, “I’ve never needed to use it before and I don’t plan on using it tonight.”

Oh, how very wrong you had been about it all.

You’d overestimated yourself, and underestimated Joel. Severely.

His hips snap roughly into yours without an ounce of mercy, over and over, again and again. Beads of perspiration start trailing their way down the sides of his face, the tip of his nose. His chest is flushed, red, and also slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

You’ve already shattered, unraveled, come undone all over his cock several times—every time with his granted permission, of course. Because you knew better than to come without Daddy’s permission.

Your cunt is swollen, sensitive, too sensitive and at a point where it could start aching if he doesn’t let up soon. However, it seems like Joel’s only getting rougher and rougher as he chases another release.

“Joel—Daddy,” you manage to correct yourself at the very last second through a slew of frantic little gasps for air. “Daddy, please! Daddy please—”

His large hand tightens around both of your wrists pinned to the mattress above your head. Surely he must think you’re begging him for more, when the reality is you’re about to start begging him to stop because it’s just too much and you can’t handle it; but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to stop, the part of you that doesn’t want to disappoint the man who means the whole, entire world to you.

The man you belonged to, the man you loved.

Even through the haze, you try telling yourself that it’s all mind over matter, mind over matter, mind—

“Stop,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I—can’t take it anymore, Daddy, I can’t take it—!”

Releasing your wrists, Joel pulls himself out of you and you breathe out in relief, until he flips you over onto your stomach without warning. You let out an audibly loud gasp when his hands reach down and take your hips, pulling them up off his bed, putting you on your hands and knees. He brings down one of his hands on your ass in a stinging slap. “That is just too bad, ‘cause Daddy ain’t done with you yet, darlin’ girl. Not even close to bein’ done with you.” Wrapping his other hand around his base, he grins to himself as he glides the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. When it grazes your clit, you jerk forward, away from him, and he tuts, bringing you back to him, his fingers digging into the pillow soft flesh of your hips. “Oh no baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But Daddy, I just can’t—”

You’re cut off by your own cry when you feel Joel’s length stretching your walls all over again. It’s just too much.

And you really, really can’t.

He leans over you and presses his lips to your ear. “You asked for this, didn’tcha? Asked to be fucked like a big girl, huh?” He bucks forward into you, eliciting another strangled cry followed by a string of pathetic whimpers. Bringing his palm down in a second strike, he demands, “Answer me when I’m takin’ to you. You wanted this, said that you could handle Daddy bein’ rough with you, ain’t that right now?”

“Strawberry.” You say the word so quietly, you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Joel spanks you for a third time, in the exact same spot—so hard, there was simply no way you would wake up without a mark in the morning. “I need’ya to speak up. You’re such a big girl after all—”

“Strawberry!” You grasp fistfuls of bedsheets and the signal for it all to end tears itself from the back of your throat. “Strawberry, Joel! Strawberry!”

It’s only a millisecond that he freezes, if that.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel curses under his breath, pulling out of you. The bed shifts as he climbs off of it and scrambles to pull on his sweatpants before he’s at your side—you’re still on your hands and knees, an unmistakable look of panic on your face. He puts a gentle hand on your back. “Baby, are you alright?”

Your heart is pounding, your breathing labored but you manage a small, tight nod of your head. “I-I’m fine. I just—” Stopping, you grip the sheets tighter, warm tears brimming your eyes. Shame over what you’ve just done is already creeping in and sinking into your bones.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

Joel’s voice is calm, but you can hear the concern that laces his tone.

“No.” Your own voice is small. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Is it alright if I move you?” he asks. When you nod your head, he reaches out for you and helps you to sit on the side of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he takes your hands and his and feels his stomach sink when he realizes they’re ice cold; he begins rubbing them between his own to warm them up. “Baby if I hurt you, you need to tell m—”

“I promise, you didn’t hurt me,” you reassure him, swallowing the thickness rising in the back of your throat. You clock the skepticism in his dark brown eyes and a tear slips out, rolls down your face, and splatters onto your bare thigh. “I’m not lying, Joel. I swear.” Tugging one of your hands out of his, you reach up and instinctively clasp it around the blue sapphire pendant hanging from the delicate, gold chain around your neck—he’d presented you with his birthstone last year, not only as a symbol of his ownership of you, but also as a beautiful reminder of your commitment to one another. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’m telling the truth?”

Joel’s expression softens. “‘Course I do, baby.” He cups the side of your face gently, brushing away a second teardrop with his thumb. “But I’d really like to know what happened so I can figure out how to best help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”

Embarrassed, you try turning your head away, but he holds your cheek in his hand, gentle but firm.

“S’okay. You can talk to me,” he encourages softly, his gaze meeting yours once again. “Tell me.”

“It was just too much,” you mumble, meekly. “And too intense.” Heat floods your face as you admit to him, “You were right. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for that yet.”

In an effort to lighten your mood, Joel lightly gives your cheek a delicate pinch and chuckles.

“Daddy’s got that real annoyin’ habit of bein’ right ‘bout a lot of things, don’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters. “Sorry for what?”

“For using the safe word—”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Y’know you ain’t supposed to apologize for needin’ to use your safe word, right? That ain’t how it works, darlin’.”

Dropping your necklace, you place your hand over his on your cheek. “But I feel bad,” you confess. “It makes me feel like—like I let you down, you know? And that’s the last thing I want to do. I just wanted to be really good for you.”

“Oh baby.” Joel lifts himself from the floor. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, brushing his lips against your temple. “You are such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“But I couldn’t take it,” you sniff. “I had to stop.”

“And that’s okay,” he assures you. He wraps you in his arms and gives your body a gentle squeeze. “It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed ‘bout. You’re still really new to a lot of this stuff, y’know? S’why I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

He winks. “You should always listen to Daddy.”

You offer him a tiny, watery smile. “I know.”

“And say we try this again one day and it’s just not somethin’ you like or that makes you feel good—or maybe you never wanna try it again at all,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s okay too. You are still my good girl no matter what—my perfect girl. Always. You understand me?”

“Really? You promise?”

Joel holds up his pinky.

“Oh, you’re being really serious,” you tease him.

“Sure as hell am, darlin’.”

You lock your finger around his and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur against his lips. You giggle again when he clears his throat and smacks your ass lightly, playfully. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Joel pulls away and touches the tip of his nose to yours. “How’s ‘bout we get in the bath and get all cleaned up? Hm?”

���A bath?” You instantly perk up. “With bubbles?”

“With bubbles. And I’ll even let you throw in one of those smelly ball things you fuckin’ love so much.”

You swat at his chest. “Hey! My bath bombs smell really good, thank you very much!”

Joel doesn’t particularly like emerging from a bath smelling like a petunia, but for you, he’s more than happy to bathe in a sea of them, glitter and all.

You trace his collarbone with your index finger.

“Daddy? After our bath can we just cuddle in bed? Maybe watch a movie?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly, adding, “Please?”

“‘Course. Pick any movie you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we have ice cream while we watch too?”

He pins you with a stern look. “Alright, now you’re just pushin’ it and takin’ advantage.”

You jut your lower lip. “Please, Daddy?”

There’s no arguing with that, not tonight.

Joel decides to let you have your way. “Alright.”

The two of you spend quite some time in the bath; normally a bath together ends with him inside you all over again, but tonight, all he’s doing is running a soapy wash cloth with your favorite shower gel—japanese cherry blossom—all over your body as he sits behind you, lips pressed against your ear. Joel washes you slowly, carefully, and all the while he’s whispering sweet, tender praise.

My good girl.

My perfect girl.

I’m s’proud of you.

I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.

After the bath, once you’re both dried and dressed in comfortable clothes—him in a clean pair of gray sweatpants and you in nothing but his t-shirt, Joel gives you the remote and instructs you to pick out a movie to watch.

“Make yourself real comfortable, baby,” he says to you, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be back with that ice cream.”

You shoot him a hopeful glance. “Strawberry?”

“You tryin’ to be funny with me, darlin’?”

“No! That’s just my favorite flavor, silly.”

Joel grins to himself as he leaves the bedroom.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

It’s why he always keeps a pint of it in his freezer.

You hop into bed and pull the blankets around you as your scan through the guide for a movie—you’d just decided on The Notebook when Joel appears again, a bowl and two spoons in his hands.

“You picked The Notebook again, didn’t you?” he asks without even looking at the flat screen that’s mounted on his wall over the fireplace.

“You said I could pick any movie I wanted.”

“Was just hopin’ you’d pick one we haven’t seen a thousand times,” he chuckled, sliding into his bed next to you. Joel places the bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap and hands you a spoon. “C’mere, my sweet girl. Come closer.”

You snuggle up to him, and the two of you dig into the frozen dessert as the movie begins to play.

“Baby?” Joel speaks after a while, just as Allie and Noah share a passionate kiss in the pouring rain.

“Hm?” you ask, your fixed eyes on the flat screen, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, you look up at Joel, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer honestly.

“‘Cause if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you…”

You purse your lips together and let out a tiny hum as you mull it over for a moment.

“You can hold me closer?” you finally suggest.

Joel shifts in his spot. “I can definitely do that—”

You stop him and point to the empty bowl.

“After you go and get us some more ice cream?”

He exhales an amused snort through his nose and shuffles out of bed, taking the bowl with him.

“Don’t get so used to bossin’ Daddy around,” Joel warns you playfully over his shoulder.

“Too late.”

divider credit to @saradika 🍓

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

logan howlett blurb 18+

hi hi im sorry guys this isnt awesome but i love my wolverine and maybe ill make a part two or perhaps something cool like that if ya like it! also just general warning for smut and some kinky age gap stuff! also. reader is fem and a mutant! word count: 1030 edit: you can now read a full version of this blurb here!

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

"Aw, I'll make it up to you," he smirks, "Promise, spitfire."

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Wiped Off the Map

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: You walk in on Rhysand and Morrigan talking about bringing a certain Cursebreaker back to the Night Court. When the destruction of your home started off in a similar situation - how far will you go to convince Rhysand it's a bad idea?

Read pt. 2 to Wiped Off the Map - HERE

Warnings: Profanity, angst.

“She’s not coming back to our court.” You said, your tone biting through any excuse Rhysand threw your way. “Her presence on Night Court soil will start a war.” You tapped your finger on the table to emphasize your point, your eyes narrowing as you saw Rhys’ harden in determination.

“She needs help.” He reasoned, your lips pursed, a pulse of frustration running through you. “She can get it somewhere else, she’s Cursebreaker, she has everyone falling at her feet.” You spat, feeling a spark of anger begin to roil through you. You took a deep, shuddering breath that had Cassian sending you a pointed look.

You had just come back from training, your chest heaving as you greedily sucked down mouthfuls of air, eager to soothe the burning in your lungs. You could still feel the sweat slide down your back, grimacing at the feeling as you brushed away a sweat soaked strand of hair from your vision.

Your eyes locked on Rhys and Morrigan talking about the girl in question, and a pang of fear had struck you so deep you felt your magic force the mountain to shudder beneath you. The event sending the pairs eyes shooting in your direction. They both knew your past, the destruction the same action they were debating right now had reaped on your family’s camp. But their concern for the girl seemed to trump their consideration for your past and by proxy, their entire fucking court.

“A war is going to happen either way.” Morrigan offered, her maroon dress shifting as she turned in her chair to regard you. Your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth coming to hang open as you looked at her incredulously. “So you decide to burn bridges now- are you two fucking with me right now? Do you even realize what this will do to our relations with the Spring Court? Not to mention- the entirety of fucking Prythian.” You waved your hands across the room, as if you could encompass the entirety of the continent in a single sweep. A bitter laugh escaped you, your body in complete disbelief that they were even considering this for a moment.

“She has abilities from every court, that may be worth sacrificing relations with Spring- they’re already strained enough as it is. She is more of an asset than anything.” Rhysand said, sending a look at Cassian. You had no doubt the two were talking amongst themselves, and it only sent more anger coursing through you.

Another tremble shook the mountain which had Rhys looking at you in warning. Morrigan looked between you two, her lips pursed. “You mean powers she doesn’t even know she has? Where are you going to put this girl? Are you going to keep leaving us here to clean up your messes while you go play house at Hewn City?” Morrigan bristled at the mention of the Court of Nightmares, her figure going tense. You noted Cassian steping closer to you two, ready to save the mountain from being destroyed should you start a brawl. You felt a slam against your mental shields so hard you physically recoiled, staggering a step. “Stay the fuck out of my head.” You growled, Morrigan looked at her cousin in shock, surprised at the fact he’d actually try to get past your mental shields. Your anger simmered into a rage, your expression twisting. “You better not think you’re bringing her anywhere near Velaris. You keep dropping everything for this girl as if she’s part of your duties or some shit. It’s a bargain Rhys- one that’s optional on your part. I’m beginning to think you prefer playing dad then spending time with your family- that in case you have forgotten- you’ve left here for half a century.”

Cassian sucked in a breath. Morrigan looked like you had just slapped her. Rhys’ eyebrows rose, but he stared at you silently. Your breaths and the soft ticking of the clock were the only sounds heard as you stared at him, your eyes conveying just how abandoned you’d felt since Under the Mountain.

Nobody dared to speak, nobody moved as you looked between them. You seemed to sag as you realized he wasn’t going to cave. You bit your lip, your head falling as you shook your head. You looked back up, seeing Cassian eyeing you in sympathy, and you felt your eyes begin to sting as your jaw clenched.

“Y’know what Rhysand? You may act like you know what you’re doing, but ever since we came back from Under the Mountain, your priorities have been severely out of line.” Your heart chipped a little bit as your memories flashed back to that dark, agonizing place. Your wings folded tightly to you, the action purely muscle memory from having to keep them tucked in to fit through the passageways.

A scowl grew on your face, and you sent Cassian and Morrigan a glance before turning toward the stairs. “Let me know when you get them back in order.” You said coldly. You didn’t look back at the trio as you came to the landing and took them two at a time. You thought about how Cassian hadn’t spoken the whole exchange, and another flood of anger rushed through you at his inability to back you up. You passed Azriel on the way up and ignored the way his shadows seemed to reach out to you, as if in comfort. You didn’t allow yourself to look up at him either, you knew his face would be blank and you didn’t think you could take more indifference.

You wanted nothing to do with anyone until they realized what this meant for Prythian. One stupid girl, and they were ready to go to war for her at the drop of a hat. Your scowl only grew as you made your way up to the roof, and didn’t think twice before you sent yourself soaring off it.

You knew this was partially immature, you knew they would send themselves into a frenzy when they found your room empty the next morning, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you thought about how this one decision would bring the Night Court to its knees.

You would disappear. Until Rhys saw reason, and until the rest of them stopped following him so blindly. Just like Under the Mountain, you weren’t going to allow Rhys to make decisions for you. And just like after that tiny village on the border of the Winter Court was wiped from the map, you were alone.

[raysrambles]

on the day the election results got announced, one of my friends wasn't at school. she was the friend that I had the most classes with, and I remember as the hours ticked by the painful knowledge that she wasn't sick, not physically, but that she just couldn't bear to be there that day.

i overheard classmates talking. "how are you?" asked one; in a broken voice, another: "I don't know".

"I'm scared," was the most common sentence I heard that day. "i can't live like this," said someone in the hallway; "we've still got each other," said another in what I desperately wanted to believe was hope.

"I prayed last night for the first time since I was five," said a friend of a friend; I looked out the classroom window at the cloudy sky and wondered if there was a god, and if he had heard them.

I watched people break down crying in the middle of class. by the end of the day, several kids had left school early.

"I need to get out of here," I said to my friends at lunch. "we're not going to make it another four years," said one of them grimly. how dystopian, how orwellian was it that a group of seventeen year olds were so casually discussing their escape from the country they had grown up in, the country that had raised them only to throw them to the dirt before they were even able to vote?

after school i drove to another school for a debate tournament. one of the judges who I hadn't seen in a year and with whom I'd only had one or two conversations came up to me and asked "how are you doing?"

"could be better," I admitted, "but I'm surviving." that was a bit of an understatement; there were tears in my eyes even as I spoke.

"I'm here," she told me, this woman who I hardly knew, and I realized that she was asking because she remembered one of our only interactions, a year ago, where I had casually mentioned being trans--

--and her gaze flitted down to my shoes, where back then I had had beads in the colors of the trans flag, beads that weren't there anymore, not because of any change in myself but that of the world around me.

"I'm here," she said again, and we stared at each other for a few seconds. I managed a "thanks", not trusting myself to say anything else.

that night I went onto Instagram. someone I hadn't spoken to since we fell out over a year ago had texted me a simple "I love you and am with you" type of message. all of my friends and even people I hardly knew were posting about the election, and I remembered

back when Biden was elected, the Republicans I saw online reacted with hatred, disgust, doubt for his abilities

but now all I saw from the ones who had lost this battle was fear

when the other side lost, they had the privilege of hatred

now that we've lost, all we can do is fear.

terrified sixteen, seventeen, eighteen year olds, in flurries of messages to long-gone friends and frantic posts. I had never felt more united, and yet I could not relish in our closeness because I knew it was not the closeness of friends but the closeness of soldiers too young for war, huddling close as their imminent death rained down from the sky, searching for some last comfort at the end of their too-short stories.

"I won't pretend this isn't as bad as it is," I typed out, "honestly I'm freaking scared. But we owe it to ourselves not to let this be the end of our beliefs.

"We still know we're right, even if the government doesn't agree. We're still all in this together.

"Love to everyone who's affected by this. I'm right here with you. Stay safe everyone."

I posted the Instagram story, praying to a god I didn't know that the words were true.

the next night when the house and senate election results came in, I cried, and it was not pretty crying, it was a child wracked with sobs in the dark on the floor of their room because they were only seventeen and terrified for their future.

I spent a long time writing that night, something I do to process my thoughts when everything is too much. I will simply offer this passage, which I think speaks for itself.

"Shall I tell them I am afraid because of the election? Shall I tell them that all day I have felt like a child masquerading as a man, scared of the boogeyman as i am scared of the fascist-like creature whose grasp is tightening and whose claws never cease, closing in on lives like a predator its prey? That I am a child scared of insignificance, of a fate I did not choose, of becoming a meaningless name among many, not of democracy falling but of not being the one who felled it?"

So to everyone celebrating the election, I'm glad that you're happy, truly I am. But I ask you to think of me and my friends, still children, most of us not quite old enough to even have our say in this country, as you laugh and rejoice and mock all of us who you defeated.

How many times must we cry, must we fall, must we watch each other die before enough will be enough?

Will it ever be enough?

[gay-dorito-dust]

haii! :33

can i request boothill and argenti (seperately) with a shy gn!reader who gets flustered easily? whether it would be through words, physical touch or stuff like that

thank youu!! ^_^

Jing yuan:

Smug bastard.

Acts like he wasn’t the reason you were flustered to the high heavens from brushing his hand across your waist.

‘Are you alright my dear?’ He’d say, faking innocence as he intentionally held your face in his hands, softly caressing your cheeks as he felt them gradually grow warmer with every stroke of his thumbs. ‘You’re feeling rather warm here, should I get you to a doctor?’ He adds with a knowing smile.

‘N-no. I’m fine.’ You’d say, unable to form actual thoughts as your mind was heavily focused on a plethora of things, from the way that his hands held your face as though it were porcelain, to the way he caresses your skin felt like kisses in their own right.

The acclaimed dozing general raised an eyebrow as his smile only grew more mischievous. ‘Are you sure? You’re really heating up my dear, I wouldn’t want you to faint on me now,’ he then leaned in close, chuckling upon hearing you gasp a the close proximity, whispering. ‘Unless that’s your intention.’

Jing Yuan thoroughly enjoyed being the reason you were flustered and found your reactions addictive, so much that he would start doing things where he got to see that reaction as much as possible.

Touching your hand

Brushing shoulders

Sitting really close to you/ ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on you, etc.

However if you were to ever express that you wanted him to stop, he will as he understands that you might not want to be made to fluster all the time. He’s not a dickhead and respects you greatly for giving him the ability to start living life again.

Argenti:

This man speaks from the bottom of his heart, there’s not a single lie to be found in his words, and it was due to that undeniable truthfulness that left you more flustered then not.

‘I only speak the truth my beloved rose.’ He says softly as he held your hands in his own all the while maintaining eye contact, which didn’t help you in any way shape or form as you felt your face practically burst into flames and your heart going at a mile an hour the longer you stay in close proximity to him.

He smelt of roses and chivalry, which was odd as you didn’t think chivalry could have a smell, but with Arenti anything was seemingly possible.

‘You are the beauty that I’ve been seeking and now that I have you, I have no doubt that I will love you for eternity should it be allowed of me.’

Boom, you’re dead and on the floor as you stare up at the ceiling as Argenti was quick to move to kneel at your side, face full of concern as his face hovers over you all the while his hair acted as ruby red curtains, forcing you to solely focus on his extremely pretty face. He looked like an angel in that moment and you somehow still found it in you to get even more flustered upon gazing at his face.

He’s genuinely concerned about you whenever you got flustered, his heart and soul were just so pure that he wasn’t really clicking onto the fact that he was the reason you were constantly flustered.

‘My dear flower, what’s wrong? Have I hurt you somehow? Should I seek medical attention?’ - him.

‘No, I’m okay. Just give me a few minutes…or an hour.’ -you, flustered to the high heavens and embarrassment for making him worry.

Boothill:

Smug bastard 2.0

The moment you shown him how easily flustered you could get, it’s over for you as you’ve given Boothill ammunition to keep finding new ways to flustered you on the daily.

Your reactions were his drug and he’d gladly overdoes on them if he could but that might be going a bit too far, however he didn’t care because you being flustered from almost anything he did had become everything to him.

So he would nuzzle his cheek to yours.

Playfully nibbles on your earlobe, shoulder, neck, arms, lips and takes enjoyment in your squeals and attempts to get away from him, only to be pulled back in.

Kissing your lips constantly, even more so in public.

The teasing is never ending with Boothill.

He’s relentless, unyielding and extremely brutal in his teasings that you may as well be permanently flustered. However if you were to shyly give this gremlin a taste of his own medicine by boldly kissing his cheek, he’s suddenly silent and a little fluttered.

He just loves smothering you in love and will continue to do so as nothing else mattered to him in that moment more than you and the effects he had over you.

[shiftinglea]

Death doesn’t exist.

Interestingly, in order for me to accept that I was the creator of my life, I had to learn more about death. It was a missing puzzle piece that allowed me to remember that I am God and can manifest whatever I desire.

But before that, I was quite doubtful about my ability to create. I would persist and believe (or try to anyway), but underneath all that, I had this encompassing fear of failure. Fear that by the end of my life, I would still not have succeeded with my manifestations. Fear of dying in regret and disappointment for not experiencing the life I desire.

And I thank my soul for guiding me to the book “Home with God” by Neal Donald Walsch, which allowed me to remember that there is no death. This book is a dialogue between the author and The God (aka the source of everything). When I was reading that book, it didn’t feel like I was learning something new. It felt like remembering something I already knew.

And in this post, I’ll be sharing information about death from that dialogue. Obviously, it’s your choice to believe it. But I would recommend you not listen to your mind. Listen to your soul; it speaks to you through your feelings. Intuition. Allow yourself to FEEL the information I’m sharing. Do not use logic for that; it’s quite limiting. So here we go:

Learning about death allowed me to stop fearing dying in regret and disappointment, which then produced confidence in my manifesting abilities and feeling at total peace every single day. There is nothing to be afraid of. Why? Because death doesn’t exist, and this is what I mean by that:

When people speak of death, they mean the end of life. But your life never ends. It’s the physical body that dies, and then at that moment, you discover that you are still alive. You keep on existing just in a different form. Death is simply an experience of leaving 3D and entering another dimension. And what’s the most fascinating thing: it’s different for everyone, or the experience of it is more like. Same with your life in physical form: it’s different for everyone depending on your beliefs, perception, and assumptions. You choose the experience of your life (consciously or unconsciously). The same with death: you choose your own experience of it. But what’s the same for everyone is that “death” has 3 stages.

The first stage is the same for everyone. “In stage one, at the moment of your death, you will instantly experience that life has gone on. This will be the same for everyone. There could be a brief period of disorientation, as you come to realize that you are not with your body, but, instead, are now separate from it.” During this stage, you realize even though your body died, your life hasn’t ended. For most people, it will be the first time they realize that they aren’t their bodies. The body is something you have. It’s not what you are. And then you move into the next stage.

The second stage is where everyone’s experience is unique depending on their beliefs about what happens after death:

• If you believe in reincarnation, for instance, you may experience moments from previous lives of which you have no previous conscious memory.

• If you believe that you will be enfolded in the embracing arms of an unconditionally loving God, that will be your experience.

• If you believe in a Day of Judgment or a Time of Reckoning, followed by paradise or damnation for all eternity, you will experience being judged and the judgment will turn out exactly as you imagined it would.

• If you died thinking that you deserve heaven, you will immediately experience that, and if you think that you deserve hell, you will immediately experience that. Heaven will be exactly as you imagined it would be, as will hell. If you have no idea about the specifics of either, you will make them up right on the spot. Then, these places will be created for you that way, instantly. You may remain in these experiences as long as you wish.

What’s important to know is that there is no Hell. But you can create hell for yourself if you choose to or believe that’s what you deserve.

However, you won’t stay there for one moment longer than you choose to. The moment you decide that you are done experiencing it, it’s finished. The same with Heaven.

Everyone remembers in the 2nd stage that they create their reality: in the physical and spiritual. In the physical realm, our creations may be delayed. But in the spiritual realm, our manifestations are instant. So you can experience whatever you desire for however long you wish. You can relive your life again or create a new one and enjoy that life for however long you want, and it will feel as real as in 3D. So during the 2nd stage, souls remember that they create their experiences and it’s instant. When they are done experiencing their creations, they move to the 3rd stage.

During the 3rd stage, you experience Ultimate Reality, which is merging with the Essence (God/Creator of all). You are enveloped with the infinite source of love and peace. You become one with The Creator. This is where you came from. It’s pure void. You are a pure being.

Every aspect of itself, every “good” and “bad” trait the soul thought it had is being absorbed by the Creator. It melts all shame, pride, fears, every character trait and leaves the soul with a beautiful emptiness. Experiencing nothing but Oneness. “Now you are merged with this Light and you feel dissolved. This “melting” completes the change in your identity. You no longer identify yourself in any way or at any level with the separate aspect of being that you called “you” in your physical life.”

The most fascinating thing is that you can experience the merging with everything during your physical life. This is what the void is for. When you reach the void state, you merge with Oneness where creation is instant.

During the 3rd stage of death, you can stay merged with the Creator for as long as you desire. But you won’t stay there forever because that’s it’s not what you desire. Because if you stay forever in this pure bliss and ecstasy, you would stop identifying it as “bliss” and “ecstasy”. Because there is nothing else there. There is no opposite of that. So you will desire to recreate yourself anew and choose your next physical incarnation because that’s the only way for you to experience your own magnificence.

The purpose of death is to reestablish your identity and to help you remember who you really are: One with God, an infinite source of creation. The purpose of physical life is to experience this knowing.

I want to point out the importance of your system of beliefs because they shape your life and your death (during the 2nd stage). You are constantly creating your reality. In physical life and after that. Some people think different rules apply in death (or in life). But no, it’s the same rules, the only difference is that your creations are instant after death. But again, they can be instant in your physical realm if you choose to believe that you can create instantly. It’s all about your beliefs and assumptions.

For most people who aren’t into LOA and don’t know that that’s are creators of their reality, their “death” will be the moment of remembrance that they are indeed creators. That they never stopped creating and they will see it clearly. But they don’t have to wait until death to experience themselves as God and creators. You can do it in physical life. It’s always your choice. You shape your life in physical and your life in spiritual.

For me, knowing more about death allowed me to stop feeling anxious about whether I’ll manifest my dream life before I die. The fact is that I never die, I just change my form. Life is eternal. It’s the body that dies. But you are not your body. It’s something you have. It helps you to experience wonderful things that you have chosen to experience.

[joocomics]

ಬ show me a thing or two

pairing: drummer!hendery x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 2.6k

contains: strangers to lovers trope, sub!reader, unprotected sex, dirty talk, very light degradation (f!rec), pet names, oral sex (m!rec), hair pulling

“50 bucks for a half hour lesson?” You gasp. “Can we do 35?”

“The price isn’t up to negotiation.” Hendery crosses his arms, leaning back against the desk. Not in an obnoxious way, but you can sense that the end of the conversation might be near. “It’s the average cost, I doubt you’ll find anything cheaper.”

The movements of his brows that you manage to peek at under the black cap he’s wearing show that he’s quite intrigued by the small amount of information you came here with.

“I don’t have that much money…” You mumble making sure your bottom lip puckers up.

You don’t have the money, nor the interest to learn drumming. Playing any kind of instrument has never crossed your mind ever, all you want is to get close to him, Hendery, - the hot guy who’s teaching your friend the drums twice a week. You made the big mistake to ask to take a quick look at his instagram account while your friend was texting him about their next lesson, and since then it was impossible to get him out of your head.

Hendery is exactly your type, from the way he dresses to the way he words his sentences and laughs in that boyish manner that makes your heart skip a beat. He plays in a band, speaks multiple languages, but most importantly - he’s single. Might as well give it a shot.

You walk over to the drum kit and let out a fake sigh while your middle finger traces the circular surface. You try to gather all the tricks of seduction you know in your mind in preparation to use them. You’ve won flirtatious games before, but the guys weren’t talented or smart as him. Nonetheless, you feel confident about this.

“That sucks, it’s always been one of my dreams.” You pick up a muffled sound that seems to come from his hands hiding into the pockets of his baggy jeans. He remains silent which is a sign for you take things a step further. “Can you show me a thing or two just so I can see what it’s like?”

You turn to face him. You’re already standing close to the seat and you can only hope you’re this close to getting what you really came for too. The corners of your glossy lips curl up with satisfaction after seeing Hendery’s features relax from the other side of the room.

“Please…” You extend your innocent smile just to add more to the effect you seem to already have on him.

It’s obvious that he’s going to agree, but there is no harm in letting him know how the word sounds from your mouth.

He takes a quick look at the door before turning to you again.

“Sure, take a seat.”

You push your hair back excited to feel him stand behind your back with a pair of drumsticks which you pretend to examine with interest.

“Now, both your hands should be in a similar position, like this, see?” Hendery grabs your wrists gently after you take the wooden sticks. He leans forward while doing so, and as he continues to speak, delightful shivers travel down your spine from the sudden physical contact. Every word of his brings a certain heat to your skin despite the context being not romantic at all. Looks like he just has an insane ability to make everything sound erotic. “Relax your grip, that’s it. You should be holding them lightly like a pencil.”

His slender fingers curl yours around the end of the sticks as he keeps on talking about things you don’t pay attention to anymore.

He shows you a few more tricks that you repeat after him clumsily; a few more that you forget about the moment he explains them to you - you make sure to nod like there’s no such thing though.

When it’s finally over, you return the drumsticks and Hendery puts them aside.

“Got it?” He asks behind you.

Is that genuine curiosity that you hear in his voice?

You stand up and after turning around, so close to him, he doesn’t move a bone. You notice that his cap is flipped backwards, and now you’re able to see his captivating features perfectly clear; seems like he’s really growing out his chestnut colored hair like he mentioned in one of his older social media posts.

“It’s more difficult than I thought, but yeah I think I got it.”

You stare at each other for a moment until he shifts his gaze from your eyes to your lips only to repeat the same thing again, making you reminisce about his touch already.

By the new tense look on his face you can tell he misses it too.

“I should pay you for your time,” you speak at once. “It was really nice of you to do that for me.”

Hendery instantly catches the seductive ring in your tone, and he gulps, swallowing it as if it’s a drop of honey. Something in the atmosphere keeps shifting, and you can both feel it at the same time.

He takes a step closer first, then you follow his lead by doing the same. It results into his arm wrapping around your waist.

Before you know it, your back is pressed against the wall and Hendery’s tongue sneaks through his lips, earning a taste of the sweet flavour of your lipgloss.

Your whole body welcomes him. Your mouth opens to invite his tongue; your legs separate to make room for his knee; your hands tug on his shirt to feel him as close as possible while you try to keep your breathing normal and your heartbeat steady. But it’s hard. The more contact you have with him, the bigger your cravings grow, and after he brakes the kiss you accidentally whine not wanting any of this to stop.

“How?” The question slips through his popular teasing smile as his hand takes a hold of your jaw.

Answering is pointless when your lips wrap hungrily around his thumb after he lets it glide towards the corner of your mouth. You suck it up and down and he observes with eyes heavy from lust.

“I’d like that,” he almost whispers. He’s so entranced by your scrunched lips that he doesn’t even pay attention to your eager fingers unzipping his pants. “You got a pretty mouth. Will it be able to take me the way I want though?” He tugs your bottom lip while slowly taking out his thumb. “Seems small to me, doll.”

He is bigger than you thought; and bigger than the previous ones you’ve had. Despite the black fabric of his boxers that are hiding his erection you can still tell the prominent size by rubbing your palm against it.

“My mouth might be small, but I know how to use it well.”

Hendery can only grin at your confidence.

You drop on your knees and his figure now hovers over you just the way you imagined it would.

His hand rests on top of your head, allowing its fingers to grab onto the roots of your hair as your flat tongue licks a long stripe - slowly with the perfect amount of pressure. The small dark stain that must be caused by his leaking pre cum grabs your attention and you give the spot an open mouthed kiss before resuming to tease him by rubbing your mouth and chin against his hard on.

“Shit—“ Hendery drags out a sigh just as he twitches against your cheek for the first time. His tangled into your hair fingers press you harder into his crotch. “So cock hungry, aren’t you?”

Your tongue keeps gliding onto his clothed dick only to double his frustrations.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” He pulls you back by dragging your hair, not intensely, because he’s not yet sure if that’s what you’re into, but not extra gentle either. “Where did you come from?”

The wider your smile gets as his question repeats itself in your mind, the more his fades away, because he genuinely wants to know.

“Less talking,” you utter staring back into his eyes. Before you came here you thought this would scare you, but fear is far from what you feel in this moment. “For now.”

You use this opportunity to finally tug Hendery’s underwear down and make the first strokes around his thick length that instantly wets your mouth with desire the moment it reveals in front of you.

Hendery sighs deeply from delight as both of you stare at the seductive twists of your hand. Your fist wraps so nicely, squeezing just the way he likes it, and he cannot believe his luck as he watches you roll your tongue over his slit.

The sweet gloss is completely erased because of his underwear, he notices. Your lips don’t sparkle anymore, instead, they’re a hot shade of red and puffy from the intense kissing and rubbing against his cock.

This sight of you turns him on even more.

The warm rush in his core doubles as you spread the transparent essence that’s oozing out of his flushed tip after you got a taste of it. In this moment, it only gets more difficult for him to control his emotions and soon enough the feeling forces a powerful moan to escape his throat.

“You’re good, fuck—“ His jaw stays open after you invite him into your mouth. Your soft lips stretch then close around half of his length while your familiar tongue glues to his skin. “Holy shit—“ It feels even better when it’s not through his clothes. “That’s it, pretty girl…“

Gradually, in a nice steady pace, you begin to swallow more and more of his size, feeling every vein and drop of salty precum on your tongue.

Hendery’s hand is at the back of your skull, helping you out by guiding you back and forth as his arousing moans echo through out the practice room. He doesn’t seem to realise how vocal he is, but you like it more that way, and you don’t stop to think if his sounds are slipping through the walls right into the hallway of the building. His voice elevates after you succeed at taking him down your throat, and you can’t resist the urge to look up with glossy eyes, as his hips thrust forward, craving to feel as much from your warm tight throat as possible. Having this sight of him hovering over you with his attractive face contorted in pleasure makes the delight in your tummy swirl like crazy.

“Fuck, baby—“ Hendery groans once again as you slowly pull back after gargling around him for a moment. “You really do know how to use that mouth, huh?” He smirks at your drooling mouth and your obvious inability to give an answer.

“Tell me your name,” he looks down, waiting for your doe eyes to meet his.

He lifts your chin up to steal your attention away from his slick cock. His other veiny hand is slowly tugging at his base and it’s unbelievable how easily that distracts you from everything including the puddle of saliva on the floor.

“Y/N.”

You can feel the burning soreness still spreading in your mouth as you speak out the letters. You feel some wetness coming inside your neckline.

Your name rolls off Hendery’s tongue as he repeats it once, then twice while you pull your panties to the side.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he notes, sitting down on the chair where you were minutes ago “practicing”.

You dismiss the cliché line, thinking only about what’s about to happen after you strip him from his shirt.

Enjoying the sight of his hanging mouth, you gasp, holding carefully onto his knees for support.

“Oh, God—“ Your voice fades away as Hendery’s firm grip on your lower waist helps you sink all the way down on his dripping cock. “Hen—“

“C’mon, baby,” his fingers sink into your skin while his grasping bounces you up and down with ease. “Fuck, you didn’t say you’re this fuckin’ tight…” His airy chuckle sticks to your warm neck as he leans in to kiss it.

Your one hand drowns into his soft hair; his hat has been tossed on the floor long ago, and you get to pull it as hard as you need as your body feels like it’s melting in his arms from how amazing all of this stimulates you.

“Can…” you mumble out of breath, “c-can someone hear us?”

Hendery stops the movements of his wet lips for a second, and after mumbling back a shaky “yeah, probably”, he continues to make out with your neck. Soon enough a sharp breath slips through his bites, because of a stronger clench that comes from your gripping walls upon hearing his response.

You’re too overwhelmed by the sensation to reply right away, especially after his hands start kneading on your ass cheeks. Every little thing he does to you only adds to your arousal, pushing you closer towards your climax, and forming any kind of thoughts becomes a challenge.

“Can t-they… can we get c-caught?”

The only answer you receive is Hendery’s intensifying moans, sticking hot against your flesh. His hands are sticking to you too, roaming curiously every little place where there’s exposure to your sweating skin. His grip is growing rougher as you now roll your hips and he cannot resist the urge to speed them up; both of you are so close you cannot slow down even for a second.

“Hendery—“ You mewl. He still hasn’t answered your question.

“I forgot to lock the door.” He admits in one quick heavy breath.

You cuss quietly before biting your lip. You can’t start being nervous about getting caught now.

“Fuck, it feels so good,” you gasp.

Hendery grabs your face with his hand, the tip of his fingers dig into your cheeks as he kisses your lips with an electrifying intensity.

You focus on this undeniably ecstatic thrill. It automatically blocks your mind, and all you’re able to comprehend is the feeling of his lips, and how the burning tangling sensation beneath throbs with each rhythmic move of your hips.

Soon enough, Hendery pulls out in a rush and you quickly leave his lap to kneel down. With an open mouth and eyes closed shut you anticipate the moment he’s going to let go and paint your face.

His last moan lasts long and is the hottest sound you’ve ever heard in your life; low and emotional from the deepest part of his throat. His cum lands warm and thick all over your skin and tongue.

There’s a drop right on the corner of your mouth that you lick after taking it with your finger.

Hendery leans back into the chair as his overwhelmed panting fills the small room. You realise that he looks almost nothing to how he looked when you arrived here as you observe him under the daylight which comes through the small window behind him, reflecting onto his pale bare skin. When you entered the room earlier he was so put together; his clothes were neat without a single crease, his hair - all in tact behind his ears and held in place by the stylish hat. Now, his face has a pinkish glow, his hair is messy with a few strands sticking to his glistening forehead. His clothes are scattered in different corners of the room.

Fucked out, he's even more madly attractive.

“Will you come back?” He asks. A note of intrigue and hope causes a tilt in his voice. His sparkling eyes move in your direction as you walk towards the door.

“To be honest, drumming turned out to be kind of boring.” You catch his gaze which shows you that he’s not really sure how to react to that. But a sign of relief quickly settles into it once you add: “But you’re not.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[stilljuststardust]

I fear I'm not practicing the LOA "right" and i'm so anxious. I keep thinking "what if all my persistence is useless because i'm not practicing the LOA right?" I can't tell if I'm truly partaking in imagination or just simply daydreaming. My understanding of the concept of "daydreaming" and "imagination" seems to have no clear distinct difference. Maybe I'm spiralling, but I feel like a fraud and can't seem to have faith in my own abilities. I continue to doubt everything because I wonder "does not feeling fulfilled in imagination mean my 4D has not shifted because I don't understand I have it?"

Is it okay to not feel anything or even feel bad towards your desires but still understand you have it and actually shift realities?

Take a deep breath.

You are going to be ok. There is nothing wrong with you. You are safe. You are stronger than you think. I believe in you. Not feeling anything is OK.

I have a laptop I manifested sitting next to me right now. I didn't feel anything when I was manifesting it and I don't feel like I have it even though it's physically here right now.

Please don't be so mean to yourself. You're going to be ok

Disclaimer: This may be controversial because people have really been shitting on affirmations lately, so let me first say that all methods work. This is just my personal experience. I understand that some of you will disagree with this post, that's OK. Please respect that everyone has their own beliefs.

Emotions don't matter

I normally put links at the end but you should really read this: it's ok to feel like shit

I know you're very stressed out, I am also a very anxious person. Please know that hurting deeply doesn't mean you can't manifest.

Feeling is not what manifests. For a long time I ran in circles because I was trying to force my emotions to conform.

I am a very anxious person sometimes bordering on paranoid. If my reality was solely dependent on what I felt like was happening a girl with long hair would be crawling out of my TV right now.

The truth is emotions are fickle. Trying to force an extremely positive emotional state will most likely just make you hurt more.

Often the most painful part of suffering is our constant attempt to suppress it instead of processing the emotion.

We are not our feelings. We are often subject to dramatic and irrational emotional states that don't reflect our actual thoughts and opinions.

"I feel awful and I don't like how often I'm feeling it" often leads us into thinking "nothing is ever going to work for me", but it's important to ground ourselves and realize that feeling like shit is not divine undeniable proof that it isn't going to work.

So what does manifest?

Your dominant thoughts and mental state.

The thoughts you repeat over and over and over. Your subconscious listens to everything you tell it and it takes you at face value every single time. If you repeat something to your subconscious it will push that experience into your reality.

You ARE manifesting, just not what you want.

I'm guessing your most common thoughts right now sound something like this:

"why isn't it working" "what am I doing wrong" "why can't I get this right"

THAT is what is manifesting right now.

It's not about feeling like you have it, it's about thinking thoughts that imply you do.

So what's the whole deal with the 4D 3D thing? Those are just buzzwords that mean your internal and external world. Your internal world manifests. What part of your internal world is constant? Your thoughts. You may not be visualizing or mediating all day but you ARE thinking all day every single day. (visualization and mediation still do work, I'm not discrediting those methods. Your mental images are still thoughts)

What now? (What I think you should do)

I want you to try robotic affirmations. There is literally no way to do them wrong. They don't require feeling or belief. its ok if repeating them feels wrong.

This is all you have to do:

All of your thoughts and words are affirmations so don't affirm against your desire. I know these are often very very habitual. That's ok, you just need to break the habit. Flip the thought or start affirming.

Repeat thoughts that imply it has manifested. It's best if it's in your own words. What would you say if it his happened? Now repeat that sentence whenever possible. Whenever you are doing something that is boring like a chore or showering instead of letting your mind water repeat your affirmation.

Don't try to feel it or imagine it, just repeat the sentence. That's why they're called robotic. There's nothing else to do but repeat them. Hopefully this gives you less to worry about.

LINKSSSS:

How to break a thought pattern

Affirm and persist

Do I have to believe?

Robotic affirmations

Please please please watch this.

[kcwriter-blog]

Solas and the Orb

I was playing through Trespasser again and something Solas said finally percolated through my brain. I had never thought about it before but found it interesting.

Solas tells the Inquisitor that if he had retrieved the Orb, he "would have "entered the Fade using the Mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil."

In other words, he would have torn the Veil down from the Fade side, not the waking world side.

Dagna says the Anchor reminds her of a key. We know the Inquisitor can open rifts as well as close them. They open rifts in the prologue and in the Fallow Mire. We also know they can open a rift to physically enter the Fade.

We know the Orb gave Corypheus a lot of power but he couldn't use it to enter the Fade. That is why he looked for magic objects. Which means Solas couldn't use the Orb to enter the Fade. The Anchor is necessary.

So what seems to be going on here? I'm putting the rest of this under the cut due to length and possible spoilers for Veilguard.

I would argue that the Orb creating the Breach was the result of Cory doing a similar ritual to the one he and the other Magisters Sidereal did to enter the Fade the first time.

Solas' agents may have let the Venatori find the Orb but I doubt it came with an instruction manual. We know from Dorian that there are pictures of similar orbs in Tevinter. So maybe Cory thought he knew what he was doing.

Solas' plan was for Cory to unlock the Orb and be destroyed. It would have worked if Cory hadn't had the Archdemon ability to jump into tainted bodies - which he had access to since there were plenty of Grey Wardens around.

As an aside, there was no way Solas or his agents could have known Cory could do this because only the highest level Wardens knew Cory even existed. It's never made clear if they knew he could body hop. We also know that rifts occasionally open on their own or can be opened with magic - Telana's rift in Jaws of Hakkon and the rift in the Still Ruins. Both pre-date the Breach and obviously an Orb wasn't needed to do that. So Solas could have opened a rift, using the Mark, without creating a Breach.

So what are the implications? The first is that Solas didn't realize the ritual Cory was going to perform (if he even knew the details) would blow a hole in the sky. He may have thought he would gain the Mark and absorb the power of the Orb. The Breach may have been a side effect of Cory's ritual. Solas understands how the Orb works so his idea was to take the magic, go into the Fade and do whatever he had to do. In other words, Solas would not have created a Breach, although he realized what had happened as soon as he saw it.

Tearing down the Veil would have had consequences for both sides but we don't know how it would have worked if the Veil was torn down in the Fade. We don't even know why Solas felt he had to do it from the Fade side.

In Veilguard we see Solas opening the Veil from the waking world side. There is a hole in the sky and rifts but it seems to be more contained. I suspect that without the Mark, Solas had to do what Cory was doing - gather magic objects to open the door. The only way to open the door from the waking world side would be to open a hole with the accompanying rifts.

When Solas gets pulled into the Fade, The hole vanishes. Which indicates Solas had more control over things than we give him credit for. No Breach and no reason for Rook to close rifts like the Inquisitor. Which adds credence to my theory that Cory's ritual plus the power of the Orb created the Breach.

Okay, so now what? Well Solas may be in prison but he is also where he needs to be to tear down the Veil like he planned. Which is going to make things very interesting if we manage to spring him from jail.

[saphronethaleph]

Nothing Succeeds Like Succession

“Your hatred, your anger,” Sheev Palpatine said, chuckling in what he probably thought was a kindly fashion. “You want to kill me… that is what I want. Kill me, and my spirit will pass into you.”

Rey frowned.

“...I have several questions,” she said. “Firstly, uh… are you trans? Because there are more ethical ways to transition. I’m sure there must be less ethical ways as well, but I’m having trouble thinking of one right now.”

“What?” Palpatine said. “No. I’m not. I have access to matchless genetic engineers and the ability to transfer my spirit into a new body. Cease this nonsense.”

“You have to admit, it’s the first thing to come up,” Rey countered.

“I have to admit no such thing,” Palpatine said, crossly.

“Right,” Rey disagreed. “Anyway, moving on… how does that work, exactly?”

Palpatine tutted.

“I have the ability to transfer my spirit into another body,” he reiterated. “Like this one.”

“So that isn’t the body you were in when you were thrown down a shaft overlooking the Death Star reactor?” Rey asked. “Because, honestly, it looks like it was. If you were going to make a body why would it look like it was over a hundred years old and had been blown up at least once?”

“Because-” Palpatine began, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter!”

“Only, I’ve heard about the Kaminoan clones,” Rey went on. “And I get that the average one would be physically about a hundred and thirty by now, but if your genetic engineers were matchless I just think you could have done, you know… yourself at forty years old.”

She shook her head. “But that’s not the important bit, not really. If you can transfer your spirit into another body, how does that work?”

“All the Sith live in me,” Palpatine said, in case Rey hadn’t heard that.

“That isn’t actually a very useful explanation,” Rey objected. “In fact, so far I haven’t heard anything that indicates you’re not just an insane clone who assumed he was my grandfather.”

“Insolent girl!” Palpatine snapped, then brought his temper under control. “It works, because it has worked for a thousand years. It is the Banite way.”

Rey looked blank.

“...the Rule of Two?” Palpatine tried. “The rule that there are always only two Sith, no more, and no less?”

“Okay,” Rey said. “Who’s the other one?”

Palpatine was silent for a moment.

“The position is open,” he conceded. “Open for you, my granddaughter! Strike me down and become the eternal Sith!”

“At which point there would still only be one,” Rey pointed out, helpfully. “What does Banite mean?”

“It is the way of the Sith!” Palpatine said.

“Helpful,” Rey said. “Well… actually, no, not helpful. Completely unhelpful.”

Palpatine sighed.

“Darth Bane was the last survivor of the Sith, somewhat more than a thousand years ago,” he said, with a semblance of patience. “To put an end to the infighting that had led the Sith to lose the war with the Jedi, he imposed the Rule of Two. That rule is that there will be a Master, to embody power, and an Apprentice, to strive for it. Eventually the Apprentice grows strong, and attempts to take power from the Master.”

Palpatine chuckled. “If the Apprentice is defeated, they were not strong enough. If the Apprentice wins, and slays their Master, then the power of the Master flows into the Apprentice – and the Master live on, in the new Master. And the cycle continues. So all Sith will live as one.”

“...I still have several questions,” Rey said.

Palpatine rolled his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he said. “And no doubt they will be as tiresome and tedious as your previous ones.”

“Who are you, then?” Rey asked. “Are you Sheev Palpatine?”

“Yes,” Palpatine answered. “Of course. You know this.”

“Just checking,” Rey replied. “Because it’s that or you’re Darth Bane. But you talked about Darth Bane in the third person. In the past tense. Which I think means that if this actually happened the you who’s speaking wouldn’t be the Master. Someone else would be.”

Palpatine looked vaguely troubled, then shook his head.

“It matters not!” he said. “You will strike me down, you will become Empress, and we will be one!”

“I’ve already pointed out some flaws there,” Rey countered. “But there’s something else, too. The way you described it, with the Apprentice killing the Master – that’s the way it’s worked for a thousand years?”

“For a thousand years!” Palpatine confirmed.

“It’s always been a Sith apprentice?” Rey pressed. “Always someone using the Dark Side of the Force?”

“Of course!” Palpatine declared. “We were secret from the Jedi for all that time!”

“Then it doesn’t actually sound like you know how this works very well,” Rey said. “You’ve been assuming that my striking you down would turn me into a Sith. But that’s not what happens when you strike down a Sith.”

Palpatine frowned.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” Rey replied. “The Jedi and the Sith went to war in the past, and the Jedi won. Which would be impossible if striking down a Sith made you a Sith. It’s just that up to this point all the people who this ritual has happened to are Sith. It doesn’t turn them into Sith, they were already Sith.”

She waved her hand. “The idea that killing a Sith makes you fall to the Dark Side actually sounds so ridiculously convenient for the Sith that I bet they’d say it a lot.”

“...Anakin Skywalker was not a Sith when he killed Count Dooku,” Palpatine said, reluctantly, as if he wasn’t quite sure if it was good or bad for his own argument. “And he fell to the Dark Side.”

“I’ve heard a lot about him,” Rey replied. “Mostly from Ben, who I think is a Vader superfan, he spent months using our weird connection to talk about it.”

“...what weird connection?” Palpatine asked.

“Oh, and just to be clear,” Rey added. “I know about the Force Lightning.”

Palpatine was distracted from the distraction from his original topic, and blinked at Rey.

“What,” he asked.

“I know about the Force Lightning,” Rey reiterated, drawing both lightsabers – Leia’s one and the Skywalker lightsaber. “You’re both armed and a man who’s credibly declared war on the whole galaxy, which I think makes you hostis sapiens generis.”

“Strike me down, and-” Palpatine said, and Rey did, on both the previously stated grounds and also because as an extremely old man who was literally asking for it it was probably more expedient than going to a specialist clinic.

“Rey?” Ben asked, a couple of minutes later, as he entered the underground room. “I get the idea you’re here?”

He waved the blue lightsaber around. “Thanks for this, by the way, because, uh… otherwise I really would have had trouble with my old followers. Just wondering, what was going on?”

“Oh, right,” Rey replied. “I should probably explain. Shut up.”

“Huh?” Ben asked.

“Not you, them,” Rey replied. “Since I passed you the lightsaber they’ve all been going on about a mythical dyad. I’ve got about… twenty Sith Lords in my head now.”

“Are you all right?” Ben said, worried. “How did that even happen?”

“I struck Palpatine down,” Rey replied. “Which, as he warned me, meant that the Sith passed into me… but, as they apparently didn’t realize, that doesn’t actually give them control or make me evil or anything. It’s just that everyone who’d done it before was a Sith.”

Ben absorbed that.

“Huh,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I may need psychological counselling,” Rey replied. “But I’ve heard of intrusive thoughts and I think this doesn’t really rise much above that. Anyway, I’ve given the proper succession codes and told the Final Order to stop trying to shoot down the Resistance… any idea what I should do next?”

That made Ben pause.

“You’ve got twenty Sith Lords giving you suggestions?” he asked, still a bit hung up on that.

“Yes, but none of them are helpful in this situation,” Rey replied. “Plagueis, for example, is telling me to cut their pay, and I can’t even tell if that’s a good or bad move here because my main concept of money is dehydrated muffin portions.”

Ben had the feeling he had a very strange expression on his face right then.

“...dehydrated muffin portions?” he asked.

“Jakku was not a particularly pleasant place to grow up,” Rey replied. “And Sidious isn’t shutting up about how Naboo was just as bad because it had aliens. I think my grandfather’s mostly just racist.”

She shrugged. “Still, plus side, now the Sith are having an argument about which species is the best, so that should get them out of my hair for a while…”

[varyajc]

Can you do the Hashiras with a partner who is an ex dancer that is very flexible and fast? They became a hashira very quickly and were usually quiet until they became comfortable with the hashiras😺 it can be nsfw or sfw🍕🦄🐺

HASHIRA HEADCANONS

CONFESSING TO AN EX-DANCER - Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyu Tomioka, Shinobu Kocho, Mitsuri Kanroji, and Kyojuro Rengoku

a/n; UGH, THANK YOU FOR THE ASK! These are just headcanons for now since I’m working on a Sanemi fic! (I was originally going to do them dating, but I decided to do confessing, why? Because..I dunno. Pls lmk if you wanted something different!) I’m going to be real here, I don’t write for demon characters often, so this might be out of character. Forgive me.

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

~When you first became a Hashira, he didn’t exactly care for you. He simply thought you were another Hashira, so why the fuss?

~However, you thought he disliked you, which somewhat let you to also distancing yourself from him.

~Soon, you found yourself becoming close with the other Hashira besides Sanemi.

~You attempt to make a conversation with him, getting nowhere.

~Despite all this, you still attempt to speak with him, go on missions, etc. He soon found you quite..alluring? Your voice was extremely soft, you’re good what you do, and even took notice of your physical abilities.

~I wouldn’t say he was exactly impressed, but it did catch his attention somehow.

~Then when he finally took notice of your skills, I would say his respect for you went up more. That’s when he decided to finally make an effort to somewhat form a friendship? He was hesitant to try and become friends, so he stubbornly figured he could at least speak with you more.

~After a while, he devolved a crush on you. Why? Because of your unshakeable character, how attached you are to your family, and is very intelligent.

~He confesses to you, and oh my, he’s so awkward. He’s stumbling over his words, his hands are shaking, whilst his eyes are bloodshot and pupils incredibly small.

~To his surprise, you say yes to dating him, which catches him off guard but also makes him the happiest man on earth.

~The rest is history.

GIYU TOMIOKA

~When you first became a hashira, like Sanemi, Giyu didn’t exactly take notice of you.

~Whenever you tried to speak with Giyu, he’d just stay silent and listen, and after you finished, he walks away without another word.

~You’d speak to Tomioka normally, with you doing the talking.

~However, when you two went on a mission, he finally saw you in action. He wasn’t exactly like mind-blown impressed, just respected you more as a Hashira rather than someone who’s just there.

~However, you started to show interest in him. It was very subtle, but he was very overwhelmed by the way you attempted to give him affection.

~I’m extremely doubtful that Giyu would be the one to confess, I think you would confess. However, he doesn’t accept your confession, in fear he’d hurt you or lose you.

~I feel like he’d use an excuse. “Give me more time.”

~I don’t see Giyu dating anybody..unless; They defend him, go out of their way to speak with him, and definitely gives him space whenever he needs it.

~And when he does reluctantly agrees to date with you, I’ll just say he’s comfortable..for now.

SHINOBU KOCHO

~When you appeared as a Hashira, she was pleased that another one has been added to the mix.

~I can see her making an effort speaking with you, she’s quite pleasant and that’ll make you feel more comfortable around her.

~You guys speak fairly often, often going on missions together, even. She was also shocked to see you being so..flexible and quicker than her.

~However, when you started to show interest in her, she noticed it IMMEDIATELY.

~I can see her confessing, but I feel you’ll crack first and confess. She’s not opposed to the idea of dating you, but you two are hashira, remember that, so you have to somewhat keep the public affection subtle.

(I can’t write for her, I’m so sorry if this is out of character.)

MITSURI KANROJI

~I just know she’s excited she has a new comrade to speak with! I can see her totally speaking to you first, as you are very shy.

~Her bubbly personality makes you most likely open up to her immediately, I guess I can say you feel somewhat safe around her.

~You guys eat together all the time, go out to eat, train together, send each-other letters. I can see herself making hand-made gifts for you as well.

~I can see her falling for you easily, your angelic face and soft voice makes her melt.

~She confesses to you, and she ends up crying of happiness when you accept her confession.

~The love you both have for each-other is so beautiful, you two spend even more time together after you two become official.

KYOJURO RENGOKU

~I know Rengoku would go up to you first, with his loud, booming, voice of his.

~The more he approaches you, the more you warm up and start being more relaxed around him rather than tense whenever you hear his loud voice.

~I can see the more you two interact, the more you two want to spend time with each-other. (In a friendly matter.)

~However, the more time you two spend with each-other, the more you start slowly start falling for Kyojuro.

~Does he notice? No. I feel like he’d be completely oblivious to any romantic interest shown in him, even when you give hints!

~This man is completely shocked when you confess to him, doesn’t accept confession right away because he know if he likes you like THAT.

~After a while, he does chose to date you, and long story short, I’ll say you two are happy..for now.

@varya-jc - DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR CLAIM MY CONTENT AS YOUR OWN! YOU WILL GET BLOCKED AND REPORTED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

a/n: can you tell I got lazy at the end? Wtv, I need 🍃 + 🚬

[cheynovak]

Echoes and Shadows

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N           

Warnings:  Fights, gunshots, mentioning of child abuse, ... 

Side note: English isn’t my first language    

Words:  3800 

Cursive are memories

*Does not follow the boys storyline * 

--    

Autumn of 1950, Soldier Boy, the embodiment of rugged heroism and Vought-American's premier supe, was summoned to a high-rise office overlooking New York City. The meeting was brief, direct, and left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

His new assignment: train a young girl named Y/N, a fresh supe with a "girl next door" persona. To Soldier Boy, it felt like a waste of time. Why did he had to train her, there had to be other tasks for the world’s greatest hero!  

When they first met, Y/N stood in stark contrast to the grizzled Soldier Boy. She had an optimistic gleam in her eyes and a smile that seemed permanently etched on her face. She was eager to learn, but Soldier Boy couldn’t stand her naivety.  

“Listen up, kid,” he grumbled during their first training session. “Being a supe isn’t about smiles and handshakes. It’s about getting the job done. And sometimes, it gets messy. I don’t think you can handle that."  

Y/N shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. “I can handle it. I want to help people, no matter what it takes.” Soldier Boy sneered. “We’ll see about that.” He was relentless in his training.  

Every day, he pushed her to her limits, both physically and mentally. Gruelling obstacle courses, intense combat drills, and brutal sparring sessions became her new routine. Whenever she stumbled, he was there with a cutting remark.  

“Come on, sweetheart, is that the best you’ve got?” he’d taunt. “Real heroes don’t get tired. Real heroes don’t complain.” Despite his harshness, Y/N refused to give up. She endured his gruelling regimen with a quiet resilience that began to chip away at Soldier Boy’s disdain. 

She didn’t just want to be a hero; she wanted to prove herself, and her perseverance was impossible to ignore. One day, during a particularly brutal training exercise, Soldier Boy pushed her to the edge.  

She was exhausted, her body bruised and battered, but she stood her ground. “Why do you keep doing this?” he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and curiosity. “Why don’t you just quit? You’re too soft for this job.”  

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Because I believe in doing the right thing. Because I believe in helping people, no matter how hard it gets. And because I know I can be a hero, even if you don’t believe it.” He rolled his eyes "Sure sweetheart."  

Months passed, and Y/N grew stronger, more skilled, and more confident, and as her confidence grew so did her abilities. Y/N seemed to be able to put up a defence barrier, holding back bullets, if she concentrated good enough, she could even use it as an extra force to her punches. Besides that, she healed quick and what time would tell, didn’t age. 

She always kept that kindness in her eyes, but it was now tempered with a steely resolve. She had become everything Soldier Boy had initially doubted she could be. One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Soldier Boy handed Y/N a cold beer.  

It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. She stared at it for a moment, hesitating. "I'm only 18," she said softly, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. Soldier Boy scoffed, rolling his eyes.  

"Stop being such an uptight bitch all the time. It's just a beer." Y/N took the bottle reluctantly, the cool glass against her palm feeling unfamiliar and slightly intimidating. She hesitated, then took a small sip.  

The bitterness of the beer mirrored the bitter moments she had faced during training, the relentless drills, and Soldier Boy’s cutting remarks. They sat in silence for a while, the city’s night sounds filtering in through the open window.  

Y/N glanced at Soldier Boy, trying to decipher the man behind the harsh exterior. “Why did you agree to train me?” she asked quietly. Soldier Boy took a long swig from his own bottle before answering.  

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Vought’s orders.” He paused, his gaze distant. “But you’re not as hopeless as I thought." Y/N felt a small swell of pride at his words. Coming from Soldier Boy, it was high praise indeed.  

She took another sip, the beer tasting a little less bitter now. “Thanks,” she said with a little smile, proud of the first compliment her childhood hero gave her. Soldier Boy grunted in response. 

Present day 

Y/N had left the noise and chaos of the city far behind, finding solace in the peaceful rhythm of farm life. The fields stretched out in a patchwork of greens and browns, and the farmhouse, with its weathered wood and creaking floors, stood as a testament to a simpler, quieter existence.  

She was tending to her garden when she saw them approaching: a group of men, rough around the edges and clearly out of place in the tranquil countryside. Her guard went up immediately.  

Butcher, with his perpetual scowl, led the way, his intense gaze locking onto her. Hughie followed, looking slightly out of his element but determined. Frenchie and Kimiko were close behind, each with their own brand of intensity.  

But it was M.M., standing a bit apart from the rest, who caught her attention. There was a steadiness in his eyes, a calm that seemed at odds with the chaos that surrounded the group.  

Y/N straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron as they came to a stop in front of her. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice cold and wary. Butcher stepped forward, but M.M. gently placed a hand on his shoulder, signalling him to let M.M. handle it.  

Butcher hesitated, then nodded, stepping back with a reluctant grunt. “Miss Y/N, my name is MM, I, no we, need your help. Taking down Homelander.” Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "And why would I help you? I retired to the countryside for peace. "  

M.M. nodded, as if he understood. "I get it. Believe me, I do. But this isn’t just about revenge or taking down supes for the sake of it. We found out about a weapon, something that could kill Soldier Boy. If it can kill him, it can kill Homelander. And... it could probably kill you too. I presume you want to keep living?" 

She flinched at that, the reality of her vulnerability striking a chord she didn’t want to acknowledge. "Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice softer but still laced with suspicion. "Because we’re trying to do the right thing," M.M. said simply.  

"We’re trying to protect people. And I think, deep down, that’s what you’ve always wanted to do too. You’ve got no reason to trust us, but we don’t have any reason to lie to you either. We need your help to find this weapon. If it exists, it’s our best shot at stopping Homelander. And if we don’t, a lot of innocent people are going to die."  

There was a long silence as Y/N weighed his words. She glanced at the other members of The Boys, reading the desperation and determination etched into their faces. Finally, she looked back at M.M., seeing in him a glimmer of the same hope and resolve that had once driven her.  

"Alright," she said at last, her voice steady. "I’ll help you. But only because I believe someone needs to stop Homelander. And if you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you regret it." M.M. smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression.  

"Fair enough. We’re grateful for your help, Y/N." As they began to discuss their plan, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. She had tried to leave her past behind, but it seemed the fight for justice had found her once again. And this time, she was determined to see it through to the end. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the farm, Y/N found herself alone for a moment, she agreed they could stay at her place for the night. She leaned against the porch railing, enjoying the cool breeze.  

Her mind wandered back to her time as a supe, a life that seemed so distant now. Hughie approached hesitantly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He had a look of curiosity mixed with apprehension.  

"Hey," he started, a bit awkwardly. "Mind if I ask you something?" Y/N glanced at him, her guard momentarily lowered. "Sure, go ahead." Hughie shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking around the porch.  

"I noticed there aren’t many pictures of you. Almost none, actually. W-why is that?" She laughed, a sound tinged with both amusement and bitterness. "Vought made sure the world would forget about me," she explained.  

"When I left, they erased almost every trace of my existence. Photos, records, everything. They didn’t want anyone to remember a supe who walked away from it all." Hughie nodded, taking in her words. "That's... harsh. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering Vought."  

Y/N sighed, her eyes distant. "Yeah, that's Vought. Controlling the narrative, always." There was a pause, then Hughie asked another question that had been on his mind. "What was Soldier Boy like?" Y/N's expression softened, a mix of nostalgia and sadness crossing her face.  

"He was... complicated. A real hard-ass, tough as nails, and absolutely relentless. He could be a real jerk, too, always pushing people to their limits, addict... you name it.” A little pause, she added more a reminder to herself than to him, “But underneath all that, he was just... human."  

Hughie listened intently, sensing there was more to the story. "Did you ever get along with him?" She smiled faintly. "Eventually, yes. It took a while." Hughie looked thoughtful. "Do you think he would have been able to help us with Homelander, if he was still around?"  

Y/N shrugged, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "It's hard to say. Soldier Boy was powerful, but he had his own flaws and demons. He might have helped, or he might have made things worse. We'll never know." 

The next day they left for Russia 

The private plane hummed steadily as it cut through the night sky, its cabin dimly lit. The Boys were scattered around, each lost in their thoughts or quietly discussing their plan. Y/N sat by a window, staring out into the inky blackness. 

Butcher had a lead on the weapon that supposedly killed Soldier Boy, and they were heading to Russia to find it. As the drone of the engines filled her ears, Y/N felt herself slipping into a memory, a flashback to a mission that had happened decades ago in Russia, during her time with Soldier Boy.  

-- 

The mission was critical, a high-stakes operation deep in enemy territory. Y/N and Soldier Boy were tasked with infiltrating a heavily fortified facility to retrieve vital intelligence. The plan was simple: she would create a distraction as he got the job done.  

They had worked out the details meticulously, but plans rarely survived first contact with the enemy. Y/N had managed to draw the guards’ attention, using her powers to create enough chaos to give Soldier Boy the opening he needed. It worked, until she got shot multiple times.  

She found herself cornered in a narrow hallway, the walls lined with steel and concrete. There was no way out. Gunfire echoed around her, the sharp sound of bullets ricocheting off the walls. She took cover behind a weak force shield, her heart pounding.  

She could hear the guards closing in, their footsteps growing louder. As one hand shield her the other pushed down on her leg to stop the bleeding. "I’m trapped!" she shouted into her comm.  

"There’s no way out!" For a few agonizing moments, there was only static in response. Then, his voice crackled through. "Hold on, kid." The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as she waited, the sound of gunfire and shouting closing in.  

She fought off the guards as best she could, using her powers as offence instead to keep them at bay, but she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. Just when she thought it was over, an explosion rocked the hallway. The steel door at the end of the corridor burst open, and there he was. 

Soldier Boy, a look of fierce determination on his face. He tore through the guards with brutal efficiency, clearing a path to her. "Let’s go!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. Together, they fought their way out of the facility, Soldier Boy covering her as they made their escape.  

When they finally reached the extraction point, she collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily grabbing her leg. "You okay?" he asked, kneeling beside her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he tied on of his belts around her leg. She nodded, looking up at him with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "Thanks for coming back for me."  

He shrugged, but there was a softness in his eyes.  

--  

The memory faded, and Y/N found herself back on the plane, the steady hum of the engines replacing the echoes of the past. She glanced around at the faces of The Boys, each one focused on the mission ahead. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder of why she had joined them.  

M.M. caught her eye from across the cabin, giving her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a small smile. The private plane landed in a secluded airstrip in Russia under the cover of night.  

The Boys, along with Y/N, moved swiftly through the dense forest surrounding the remote facility where they believed the weapon that killed Soldier Boy was hidden. The facility loomed ahead, a monolithic structure guarded by heavily armed soldiers and state-of-the-art security systems.  

Butcher led the way, his eyes sharp and focused. "Alright, stay close and keep it quiet. We don’t want to alert the whole damn place." They approached the facility’s perimeter, M.M. disabling the security cameras and motion sensors with expert precision.  

They slipped inside, navigating the labyrinthine corridors with a mix of stealth and speed. But their luck didn’t hold for long. As they rounded a corner, they came face-to-face with a squad of Russian soldiers. For a moment, time seemed to freeze.  

Then, chaos erupted. Butcher was the first to react, launching himself at the nearest soldier with a fierce battle cry. His fists connected with brutal efficiency, taking the soldier down before he could raise his weapon.  

The sound of gunfire exploded around them as the rest of the squad sprang into action. Y/N used her powers to create a force field, deflecting bullets and giving The Boys a chance to take cover. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, her senses sharpening as the fight intensified.  

Frenchie and Kimiko moved as a deadly pair, Frenchie’s precise gunfire complemented by Kimiko’s lethal hand-to-hand combat skills. Hughie, still relatively new to the chaos of battle, ducked behind a crate, his heart pounding.  

He peeked out, firing his weapon at the soldiers, hitting one in the leg and causing him to drop his gun. M.M. took advantage of the opening, charging forward and disarming the soldier with a swift, practiced move. He turned, his eyes scanning the room for the next threat.  

"Y/N, cover us!" Butcher shouted, taking down another soldier with a vicious uppercut. Y/N nodded, focusing her energy to create a larger shield, pushing back the advancing soldiers. She could feel the strain, but she held her ground, giving The Boys the chance to regroup and counterattack.  

As the fight raged on, they moved deeper into the facility. The corridors echoed with the sounds of battle, gunfire, shouts, and the clash of metal. They fought their way through waves of soldiers, each skirmish bringing them closer to their goal.  

Finally, they reached a heavily reinforced door at the heart of the facility. Butcher and M.M. worked quickly to breach the door, using a combination of explosives and brute force. The door blew open with a deafening blast, revealing a dark, cold chamber beyond.  

They stepped inside, weapons raised, ready for anything. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with strange, high-tech equipment. In the centre a large, metal cryogenic chamber, Butcher ripped the door off.  

"Bloody hell," Butcher muttered, lowering his weapon slightly.  

Y/N stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and recognition. She froze for a second, unable to believe her eyes. There he was...Soldier Boy encased in the cryogenic chamber.  

The gas began to dissipate, and the machinery hissed as he torn the bands that had its grip on him. Ben’s eyes fluttered open, and he tumbled out of the container, gasping for air. "Ben!" Y/N shouted, rushing forward to catch him before he hit the ground.  

She knelt beside him, her arms around his shoulders, steadying him as he struggled to regain his balance. For a brief moment, their eyes met. She saw confusion and recognition flicker in his eyes, but it quickly turned to something darker rage.  

His expression twisted with fury, and his body began to glow. "Ben, it’s me, Y/N," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. But her words didn’t seem to reach him. The radiation started to build, the air around him crackling with energy.  

Before Y/N could react, Kimiko lunged forward, pushing her aside just as a blast of radiation erupted from Ben’s body. The force of the blast sent through the wall. The smoke and debris settled slightly, revealing Ben staggering through the chaos, his steps heavy and disoriented.  

His chest still glowed with residual energy, and he seemed to be in a daze, not fully aware of his surroundings. Ben, stop!" Y/N cried, her voice breaking with emotion. She took a step forward, her heart aching at the sight of him in such a state. but he walked away.  

As they returned to America, Y/N's mind was filled with a tumult of emotions. They had narrowly escaped Russia, but Kimiko's injuries weighed heavily on her. She watched as Butcher spoke to the team, his tone gruff and dismissive.  

"Soldier Boy isn't our problem," he said, his words cutting through the air. Y/N felt a surge of anger and frustration rise, she wanted to stay and find him. But she understood Kimiko needed help. “Why would he do that?” Hughie asked.  

Y/N’s mind drifted away.  

-- 

It was a late night, the night before the announcement of Payback as Soldier Boy's new team. Y/N had returned home after a long day of training, only to find Ben sitting on her couch, a bottle of whiskey in hand and a weary expression on his face.  

She couldn’t help but be annoyed at the sight of him. "What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, her voice mingled with concern. Ben shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle. "Figured you owed me one since I saved that pretty little ass of yours."  

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Fine. What's wrong?" As she settled onto the couch beside him, she couldn’t help but notice the sadness in his eyes, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "What’s eating you, Ben?" she asked, her tone gentle.  

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a fucking disappointment" he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “What?” Y/N asked before she listened as he opened up about his father’s abuse, the years of torment and neglect.  

Ben's father was a formidable presence in his life, but not in the way a father should be. He was a hard man, cold and unyielding, his words like knives cutting into Ben's fragile sense of self-worth.  

From a young age, Ben was subjected to his father's wrath, enduring physical and emotional abuse that left scars both seen and unseen. His father's beatings were brutal and frequent, leaving Ben battered and bruised, his spirit broken.  

But it was the words that cut the deepest, the constant reminders of his perceived failures, the insults hurled at him like daggers. He was called weak, a disappointment, a disgrace to the family name.  

For years, Ben internalized his father's harsh judgments, believing himself to be unworthy of love or respect. He built walls around his heart, his rough exterior a shield against the pain and rejection he had endured for so long.  

He learned to bury his emotions deep, to keep people at arm's length, lest they see the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide.  

Y/N had seen glimpses of Ben's pain before, but it wasn't until that night, when he had opened up to her about his father, that she truly understood the depth of his suffering. She saw the scars, both physical and emotional, that his father had left behind. 

She saw the pain etched into his features, the vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone else. And in that moment, she understood him in a way she hadn’t before. "Why did you put up with it?" she asked, her voice soft. 

Ben shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "It’s not that simple, Y/N. You don’t just walk away from family, no matter how screwed up they are." Y/N reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder.  

"You’ve got people who care about you, you know that right?" As their eyes met, and Y/N saw something flicker in Ben's gaze, a mix of emotions surged within her.  

But before she could fully process them, Ben leaned in, his intention clear. His lips moved towards hers, seeking solace in the warmth of the moment. Y/N's heart raced, her instincts conflicting with her emotions. As his lips hovered inches from hers, her fingers landed gently on his lips, halting his advance.  

"Ben," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with regret. "This isn't a good idea." She had thought about this moment before, wondered what it would be like to be with him. But now, with him drunk and high on who knows what, she couldn't bring herself to take advantage of him in this vulnerable state.  

It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Ben's expression shifted from longing to confusion, then to frustration. He pulled away abruptly, his eyes clouded with anger and hurt. "Fine," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your loss."  

Y/N watched him go, her heart heavy with regret. She knew she had made the right choice, but that didn't make it any easier to see him walk away. She never wanted to hurt him. 

-- 

As she heard MM talking to Frenchie and Kimiko she looked over. Seeing how badly Kimiko was hurt.  

Knowing she needed to find Ben ASAP before he hurts anymore people. 

To be continued...

------

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[stubz]

Drill Day

'Attention participants, the drill will be starting in 1 minute. Take this time to prepare yourselves and to remember that everything that will happen is a simulation. Nothing can or will legitimately hurt you. Should you wish to stop the simulation tap the centerpiece of your vest and you will escorted off, should you be unable to do so simply say 'moon' and you will escorted off.'

"Okay the sound system is good, the holograms and drones are a go, and our actors are ready."

"I still don't know why we need actors when we have perfectly good holograms and drones." Glip didn't want to admit but she was a little hurt that Calis and the Captain didn't trust her work.

"We've been over this. As good as your holograms are they aren't physical which can lower the realism and while your drones are physical they can can be too predictable which is something we don't want. Hence the actors."

"Doubt they'll even be convincing." she grumbled.

.

To Glip's annoyance and Quip's entertainment the actor's where in fact convincing.

"What are you doing you idiot?! Your in a supply closet with tons of stuff around to use and you use a towel?? You deserve to be captured by enemy forces."

The poor Vrool get's tackled to the ground by an actor who roars in their face, fake fangs and mandibles making them ink themselves.

"Aw buddy, aw there we go! Good sportsmanship actor!" the actor uses the towel to clean the Vrool best they can before finding them a new uniform to change into them a before sending them to the 'jail' set up.

"Shlip who did they hire for this?" honestly this was some of the best simulation acting she's seen in a while.

"Some random ship members who had too much time and was down for a free dinner on Cap."

"Huh, any apexes?"

"Oh yeah, like two thirds of them. Those big ones dressed like a Mors Crawlers? That's a tighalax and a rextalian."

"Great asteroids no wonder those orcs were shaking."

"Yep," he said popping the p. "almost as terrifying as the real thing."

..

"Wait wait wait, hold the shlipping communicator, we got younglings doing this?"

"Oh quiznack. . .well it's probably gonna be toned down right, right?" he asked looking at his co-worker.

"Yeah, yeah it should be. Look. Like half the actors are leaving...leaving only the scariest ones left." they looked at each other concerned.

"CAAAPPPTAAAIN??"

"What!? Damnit Quip and Glip don't yell into the comms!"

"Are we actually sending younglings into this??"

"Isn't this like youngling endangerment?"

"The kids have been briefed about this and their parents signed off on this. Perfectly legal and safe. I also brought in some experts on this."

"Experts on scaring children?" who the shlip does that??

"Just do your jobs."

...

"OH MY GODS..HOW THE ACTUAL SHLIP?!"

"how the deq are these kids fine with this..."

Said younglings are being chased by actors, dressed as Mors Crawlers and Domitors, the actors giving them very little breathing room.

One of them swipe at the younglings with their prosthetic claws, catching on the little ones clothes. They yank back and the child is sent sprawling towards the jaws of the Domitor, the child's vest lights up red. They're out.

Some more children get caught by claws, tails, and wings. Each one of them are out.

The remaining few duck into an open vent too small for the predators to follow. They claw and roar at the entrance.

"HA! Can't get them now, score one nothing for the younglings!"

"Nope, look at screen 3."

While the actors at the entrance roared and thrashed a few of them ran through the halls until reaching the other side of the vent. Just as the children were coming out.

They could run but to where? Back into the vent? Forward into their pursuers?

Well they tried both.

The largest and strongest charged forward while the smallest ran back.

While the larger and stronger ones were from species known for their power and abilities, they were still younglings going against adults. After some struggling their vests turned red.

Only a handful of younglings reached the vent without getting caught. The ones inside were safe...for now.

....

'Only 5 minutes before the simulation is over. 5 minutes.'

"Well, looks the kids win this one."

"Good for them. They earned it."

"Yeah-hold up...what are they doing?"

The actors were...breaking the wall. They had grabbed chairs and any heavy objects they could and were using them to break down the wall.

"IS THIS ALLOWED?!"

"THERE'S NO WAY IT IS....gods wrath it is...JUST LET THE KIDS HAVE THIS!!"

When a foot of the vent was now revealed they grabbed it and started to pull. The other side, now aware of what was happening, started to push and increase their efforts in grabbing the younglings.

"They're pulling it...oh my gods they're pulling it out of the actual wall!"

"IT'S 15 FEET LONG THOUGH!!"

"HOW MUCH TIME IS LEFT?!"

"2 MINUTES."

Inch by inch the predators pulled out sections of the vent. Almost a third of the way done. The hole left behind now big enough to send over their smallest predator on the other side.

"BODY CAM BODY CAM"

"I'M DOING IT I'M DOING IT"

The beast crawled as fast as it could through the tunnel. The younglings yell and kick at its claws.

A child screams while being dragged out of the body cams view.

"They're dead."

"Yep, you owe me five tix."

"No, I betted on the other rextali-"

"MOON!"

Quip and Glip quieted. Then went into a flurry finding the right camera, searching for the child who said the safe word.

They found the child; Zyz, age 6 years old, species rextalian, being comforted by an actor. Face pressed into the adults fake fur while stroking the child's spine with their palms. Keeping their face and claws out of Zyz's view.

All the other actors around them softly put down the vent pieces and children already caught.

They then step back and then kneel or crouch. Claws are up or by their sides.

The children go to one another, checking up on each other, a few check on Zyz.

One of the actors slowly approaches Zyz on their knees. Hand out holding a tissue.

A tiny hand takes it. Along with the tissue.

And just like that all the other adults scoop up the children. Some are cradled into their chests, needing comfort and to not have them see their masks. Others are put onto their shoulders and backs, not as riled up or in a more playful mood. Some are tossed and dangled, to put them at ease despite the adrenaline coursing through their small bodies.

Soon the sniffles and hiccups are replaced by laughter and cheers.

The claws are replaced by warm sweaty hands.

Fangs and mandibles are replaced by sweaty smiling faces.

Wings and extra appendages are replaced by children hugging the tired actors.

"...they were HUMANS?!?"

"Hey it's Max! ...Ohhh that's whose a professional in scaring kids. That makes sense now."

[nahoney22]

Hello, me again!

Can I please get 20 from your Enemies to Loves list with Fives?

Foes to Friends 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Fives X Female Reader

word count: 1k

prompt:

"I think we're friends now," / "Dank Farrik, don't say that,"

You thought war was stressful but it appeared to be nothing compared to your rivalry with the Arc Trooper that is Fives. But, how do you feel when he saves your life without thinking of the consequences?

warnings: Mentions of War, Near Death Experience, Platonic Relationship, Enemies to Friends, Female Reader but could be read as GN, Fives gets injured, Separatist’s Enemies.

sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy @sleepycreativewriter 🩵

The blaster fire illuminated the darkened corridor of the starship, casting flickering shadows on the cold, metallic walls. Fives and yourself, both hunched behind a crate, exchanging a quick, tense glance.

For as long as you had known him, the two of you had always butted heads. Supposedly it was down to both of your stubbornness and fierce determination that caused endless clashes during missions and today was no different.

After getting separated from Rex and the rest of the squadron, it was just you and Fives stranded together and things were getting hairy.

"Stick to the plan," Fives muttered, his eyes scanning the hallway for movement.

"I am sticking to the plan," You retorted , peering over the edge of the crate. "If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

Fives shot you a look that said he doubted your abilities, but he said nothing more. Both of you knew that now was not the time for arguments. The Separatists had taken control of the ship, and it was detrimental that you both needed to get to the control room to shut down their systems.

Moving swiftly, your blasters cut through the droids that stood in the way. As you reached a narrow passage, the floor began to shake violently. Your heart began to race as the shaking was then followed by an explosion which echoed through the ship, and suddenly, the ceiling began to collapse.

It happened quickly but without thinking, Fives grabbed at your arm and pulled you out of harm's way, saving you from being crushed into a pancake.

You pant, shaking your hands as nerves and exhilaration flow through you at your close call. "Thanks," you mumble begrudgingly, not exactly used to showing gratitude towards him.

"Just doing my job," Fives replied, though there was a hint of something softer in his tone. It made you pause and think for a moment, watching him but focused back on the task ahead.

Continuing your advance, the tension between you both felt to be easing. Even if it’s only slightly. He had your back covered and you had his

But things went from bad to worse as you both approached the control room where you fell into an ambush of separatist droids. “We’re out numbered, Fives!” You cry out, shooting and dodging at every chance you get, exhaustion getting the better of you. Just when you thought one wave was down, you were drowned by another and another and another.

"Get to the control room!" Fives shouted over the blaster fire. "I'll hold them off!"

"Are you insane? You'll get killed!" You yelled back, heart pounding. No way you were going to let him do this.

"Just go!" he insisted, physically pushing you towards the door. You meet his gaze, wide and horrified whilst his eyes, usually so full of defiance, now held a desperate determination.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting him to face the droids alone but then remembered you had to consider everyone else on the ship too. “Fives…”

“What are you waiting for? Go! Leave me!”

A wave of emotions hit you and knowing you had to do this, you turned and sprinted towards the control room. Entering, you curse to yourself as all you could hear and somehow focus on was Fives' blaster firing rapidly behind you. But you had to focus.

Quickly, you began shutting down the systems, fingers flying over the controls like you had done hundreds of times in training. Your mind is running wild and just as you finished, a blaster bolt whizzed past your head. You spin around, ready to meet your fate as you hadn’t even had time to react quick enough to grab your blaster. Heart stopping and your eyes closing waiting for the inevitable and you can only wish you had done all you could for the others but before you could even process anything, Fives was there.

His blaster takes out the droid in a single shot before he leans on the doorframe in agony. He was bleeding and looked exhausted, but he had made it.

You had never been so happy to see him. You rush to his side, looking over his injuries. “Crap, you’re pretty beaten up there.” You sigh and he can only mumble a response which sounded a lot like ‘no shit’ which you couldn’t help but chuckle at.

"You didn't have to come back for me," you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t understand it but your throat tightened with emotion.

He meets your gaze, "Couldn't let you have all the glory," he replied with a weak smile. "Besides, someone has to keep you out of trouble."

You rolled your eyes, how very typical of Fives.

Letting him drape an arm over your shoulder, you helped him up and together made your way back to the escape pods after getting the all clear from Rex.

Fives however was clearly struggling, every step he took made him wince. The sight of his pain made your chest ache with a new, unsettling feeling. You came to the realisation with a pang that you cared for him. He had saved your life twice and in all the times you had bickered, you had not recognised how much you valued him until you almost lost him.

As you sat in the cramped pod, waiting for the ship to be out of range, you looked at Fives, seeing him in a new light. The lines of tension around his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw, all seemed painfully familiar now… it was like looking into a mirror. How could you not see that you both argued because you were both so similar?

"I think we're friends now," you say quietly, trying to lighten the silence.

"Dank Farrik, don't say that," Fives groaned, though there was no malice in his words, only exhaustion and you even saw the flicker of a smile on his lips.

You giggled softly, leaning back and closing your eyes. "Admit it, you care about me."

"Maybe," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Just because we're similar doesn't mean we can't be allies."

“Friends, Fives.” You reiterate, “We’re friends.”

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