#ever long tablet review

[onlinebeautyshop]

Everlong 60mg Tablets in Mansehra 0301-0893333

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓤𝓼: 0301_0893333

مخصوص مردانہ کمزوری کاعلاج، ہر مرد کی خواہش ہوتی ہے کہ وہ ایک صحت مند زندگی گزارے اور ایک بھر پور جوانی کے ساتھ اپنی زندگی کے بہترین لمحات کو گزار سکے لیکن یہ لمحات تب عذاب بن جاتے ہیں جب مرد کو مردانہ کمزوری کا سامنا ہو ۔مگر سوال یہ پیدا ہرتا ہے کہ مردانہ طاقت کو بڑھایا کیسے جائے،تو اس کے لیے آپ ایک بار (اوریجنل ایورلانگ ٹائمنگ ٹیبلٹس) کا استعمال کریں۔

[magicbystarlight]

Star Crossed — Prologue

Hux x Reader, Ren x Reader

Summary: Years after leaving behind your life as a Jedi, an unexpected encounter forces you to confront the past you wanted to forget. Divider.

Warnings: 18+, canon-typical violence, sexually explicit scenes later, additional warnings as needed. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1.1k

Lieutenant Atrox stalks through the halls, his face pulled taut with displeasure. It’s an expression you've grown familiar with in these last three months. You’re on his heels, nonetheless, with a datapad clutched tightly to your chest.

The Lieutenant and yourself had only arrived on board the Finalizer the night before from the Exheres System. He had spent the the time drunk while you spent it combing through three years worth of trade routes, ship manifests, store inventories, and planetary exports. It had been to quell the nagging feeling you’d gotten during a review of the last audit of an inconsequential clothing shop on an inconsequential planet, but it had paid off.

"Please, sir, if you would just listen I can—"

"I don’t have time for your theories. Ren will be here at any moment."

An unnecessary reminder. The headache that plagues you is evidence enough that the Sith had already boarded and subjected some poor soul to the Force. A day early of his expected arrival. Normally, you'd have found sanctuary far from any Force User. Twice before you'd been on the same vessel as Kylo Ren and twice before you'd shoved yourself into a dark corner far, far away. But this is important.

You hope.

"But I found it, sir. There's a bimonthly shipment of polyfibe that—“

“Polyfibe is the most common fabric in the galaxy.”

The hallway ends at two large doors. They open with a whoosh, revealing a room with a long table. It’s thankfully still empty. “It is, but it can’t be made on Sentrena which is where the shipments originate. Or any of the planets in that star system. They don’t have the proper resources or machinery.”

His steps came to a halt with a defeated sigh as the doors shut. “Could it be imported and shipped from there?”

“If they wanted the price quintupled.”

“Some people are stupid with their money.”

“Yes, but,” the datapad lit up as your fingers work deftly to bring up the list, “there’s no inventory of polyfibe or anything made of polyfibe in the shop.”

He takes the offered tablet, eyes roving over the list. His brows scrunch and he shoves it back into your hands. "When is the next shipment?”

“Today.”

“Send a squad to intercept.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His fingers grip your upper arm, pulling you back harshly as you try to turn. “You better be right about this or you’ll find yourself shoveling shit somewhere for wasting my time.”

A nod in understanding is all you muster before he releases his grip. Scurrying away, the door barely opens in time for you to squeeze through. Or at least, you thought you had before you collided with a solid surface.

With a glance up, you meet the icy gaze of General Armitage Hux. A scowl adorns his face as it has in every hologram you've ever seen of him. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

You can hear the sneer in his voice as you continue past him. "I'll never understand why we use civilians for secretaries."

—

"Chromafiber?"

The hologram of Sergeant Eviena is shaky, but her voice comes through clear. "Yes. It appears they were making suits of it."

You nod, pacing the small, sterile office. “For camouflage. Stealth suits.” Chromafiber is expensive and difficult to work with in unskilled hands. "The best money could buy. Who are they for?"

"They wouldn’t say, but" she reaches into her pocket and produces what appears to be a clothing patch with a familiar, flame-like insignia, "we found a batch of these hidden away."

It’s the worst case scenario. You expected smuggling of some sort, perhaps avoiding taxes or bringing in some other outlawed substance. But they’ve been providing a lethal advantage to the Resistance, possibly for years. “Detain them. Send me every file you find. On the ship, in the shop, on any droid. Everything."

Despite you having no authority to give such commands, Evenia nods. “Yes ma’am.”

The hologram dissolves and you’re left alone once more. You don’t linger to soak in the victory, retracing your steps across the ship to where the meeting had been taking place. It’s been nearly two hours since you left and you've heard nothing on comms about them being finished. By the closed doors and the sweating lower officers waiting just beside them, it’s safe to assume the meeting continued. The pain in your head is dull. A good sign. Perhaps Atrox will be in a decent mood for once.

You wait, leaning against a wall further down a hallway that leads the opposite way of the docks. Two dozen reports have already chimed on your datapad. They’re easy enough to run through the programs you’d created to find key phrases, locations, names, patterns, etc. There’s nothing the programs recognize in them, but names pop out to you as you skim. They’re all common names. Too common.

Fake names designed to be overlooked. You’ll have to consider adding a program to make sure something like this isn’t missed again. You pull information aside as you continue to scroll, letting it drop in a new document for later review. No matter how well they hid their connections, there was always a trace left behind.

A commotion has you looking up. The doors open and the sounds of someone in hysterics floods the corridor. A man backs out of the room, pleading. Only one person inflicts that sort of fear. You don’t have time to flee.

Pain erupts in your skull. Blinding, burning white pushes from every corner. Something cracks. You try to resist, to push back against the Force, but it’s too much, too close, too late. A locked door that had held for more than a decade splinters and explodes beneath the pressure. The pain disapperates, but it’s no relief. Every part of the world around you turns bright and vibrant, connected and overwhelming. A sense suppressed for so long snapped back like a rubberband.

There’s a hand on your face. Green eyes boring into yours. "I love you." Brown Eyes. "Stay with me." Yellow eyes. Blinding red.

Gasping, ragged breaths drag air back into your deprived lungs. Cold seeps through the gloves. Your hands are on the floor. Shattered datapad between them. Black boots behind it.

He sinks to his knees. “You’re alive.” The robotic overlay can’t hide his surprise. Fingers on your chin make you stare into the abyss of a mask. Kylo Ren. But beneath the mask you feel him. A twisted, darker version, but still him. Alive.

Ben Solo is alive.

[liquid-luck-00]

Marks of Magic

Day 1 Moon

Maribat Spooktober 2023

Next

I don’t know if this is going to be a stand alone or a short part story or if it will be the whole month.

Let’s see where it takes us.

I’m restarting my permanent taglist since I’ve been inactive for so long. Sorry!!!

Language and cursing is used

1500 words

~~~~~~~~~~

Three years.

THREE YEARS!!

she has dealt with this stupid Moth's reign of emotional terror. And she is done.

She is done with Chat's dumb jokes and worse, his unwanted advances. she is done with having no one she can trust. she tried giving second chances to Alya, Nino, and even Chloe. But each time she did they broke her trust again and again. She stopped calling on other holders.

She is done with fighting this war alone. She reached out to the Justice League but they laughed in her face. So she stopped asking for help.

The Akumas would target the non-holders group of heroes so often and defeat them or worse until the cure would be cast. that they either left the city or gave up.

she is done being alone and fighting this uphill battle alone.

She doesn't know when the change happened but it did. Her suit darkened and changed, to a point where most was a pitch black. Accents of red and black spots littered the suit, but it darkened.

She couldn’t stand it anymore, her hero life is suffering because she had no one to turn to. That leaked into her personal life as well, she couldn’t trust her friends, so as the guardian, she wiped their memories of ever being a holder, and in Alya’s case the fact she is Ladybug. On top of that Lila held on to her threat, and it came to pass, the class turned on her, as they iced her out of their lives she did the same. She focused herself into her brand and grew her client list.

•••

"Seriously Gurl!" she heard Alya starting to stomp up the steps towards her. Marinette didn't look up from the tablet she was currently reviewing before class started.

"You could at least look at me!" Her hands slammed down on the desk infront of her.

"Alya." She responded, making a note on the document. "What can I do for you?"

"Cut the Snark, Marinette, we all know what you did."

"Oh really." A smirk played on her lips. she looked up at her ex-friend. "Do tell, what did I do?"

"Lila can't even stand being in class since your here."

"And.."

"You really are a bully, Mari, how can you not even show remorse for what you did."

"Your right, I don't." Marinette stood up. "Granted you haven't told me what I did yet." she crossed her arms, watching the other girl get madder at her 'attitude'.

Alya was about to respond when in walked Lila, but with one big difference. Gone was her long hair and stupid sausage pigtails that framed her face. Now it was cut short, a Pixie cut that now showed off her high cheekbones and her eyes, that were Puffy and rimmed in red from what she assumes were tears. The girl looked at her quickly before averting her gaze and dove into her seat. Mari didn't say anything. It was shocking to see her this way, so much she almost dropped her defensive posture. Luckily she didn't say anything as Mdm. Bustier walked in to start the class.

Mari quickly sat down as Alya flew down the steps to console the Italian.

The class period seemed to stretch out longer than normal, but that only caused her mind to race more with every tick of the clock.

All to soon Mdm. Bustier clapped her hands, pulling her from her stupor. "I would like to congratulate Marinette for being our lucky winner to spend the next semester at our sister school, Gotham Academy."

Every one turned towards her, if she looked closely their smiles were forced, almost sneers.

She never applied for it.

Her eyes travelled to her ex-friend, Alya who looked triumphant.

But jokes on them. She was glad. Glad she wouldn't have to deal with them for almost six months now.

So she smiled.

Not one of her strained smiles that had become so common place, but a true genuine smile.

The rest of her day went by in almost a blur. Teachers and other classmates would congratulate her but it didn't register fully. A plan forming in her mind.

•••

She was glad that there was no akuma today. As soon as school let out she got to work.

Through the photos she took of the grimore she learned, during dire situations, the butterfly could embue its own holder as a champion. Gabriel Agreste, then came back into the forefront of her suspects.

She didn't suspect to act on it, but while outside she saw him. Gabriel moved to a subterranian green house, where she then saw a kwamii.

She didn't think and acted on pure instinct.

she dove through the window, Agreate turned and before he could say anything she charged at him.

The yoyo in her hands extended into a weighted bo staff. Agreste getting over his shock called on his transformation. The two of them danced circles around the other as their weapons clashed in the underground room.

"How?!?!" she heard him snarl at her, but she didn't answer.

She was tired of this bull shit.

Tired that this peice of crap of a man made her life a living hell for three years.

Until ...

A flash of light enveloped the room. There Gabriel Agreste knelt on a knee, his hands balled into fists as he glared up at her. The butterfly Miraculous clutched in her hand.

A spark eminated and from it out came the kwamii of transmission, Nooroo.

"Ladybug... I..." The kwamii tried and failed to speak.

"Please go and retrieve the Peacock and the Grimore." She said never taking her eyes off of Agreste.

When he returned she placed both Miraculi in her yo-yo and finally spoke again. "Why?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you." He practicaly spat.

"No you don't, but I want to know the reason before I deal out a verdict." she hummed.

"And why would you be doing something like that, Ladybug." He tried to stand but fell back, too tired or too hurt, she doesn't know. She lowered down to meet his eyes, but didn't say a word.

In that moment he was so defeated, he finally collapsed to the ground barely able to lift his head to speak. "No use telling you now. You’ve already won."

He attention pulled towards the large window, seeing the full moon overhead illuminating their conversation.

"I guess that’s true. But why wouldn't I want to know why. Why I fucking fought for three years against you for so long. I need to know why." She stared up at the moon not sparing the man a glance.

"For her." There was a silence but she didn’t look at him, not yet. "All she wanted was a child, but in order for him to grow, she had to..." He didn't finish his thought.

She looked back at Agreste, she took in his battered spirit and body before standing again. She looked around the room until her eyes landed on it, a cyro chamber with who she assumes is Emily Agreste. "No matter what, there’s always a price for a wish. to bring her back something else must be taken from you."

"Please. Please just do what you have to."

"No. You have to live with the fact that your decisions ensured she would never wake up. That she was wrong to place her faith and love in you." She pulled out her Yoyo and flew out of the room, back home. The moon's light guideing her.

She fell onto her bed dropping her transformation as she thumbed through the grimoire until it landed on a page of spells.

She doesn’t know if it’ll work or not, but it’s worth a shot.

"As the guardian of the miracle box I, Ladybug, call upon the powers of the Kwamii held in my protection."

She closed her eyes and continued to recite the word she’s read over and over for the past few months.

"For my conviction is absolute and I release the Kwamii from their jewels, never to be used again by mortal beings."

Several voices were heard in front of her now, all the Kwamii she’s met floated in front of her in between her self and the moon. She doesn’t know how but even Plagg was among the others.

"Is this truly your wish guardian?" Was spoken by both Tikki and Plagg.

"Yes." That’s single word rang resolute within the empty room.

One by one each kwamii approached her, said a goodbye and thanks before disappearing.

Plagg came towards her and was the first to place his miraculous in her hand.

"Your one hell of a kid, Pigtails. Be unappoligetic. If you ever need to." He held up a paw. "Just give me a shout."

"Plagg!" Tikki exclaimed.

"I said what I said." He cackled before dissapearing.

She heard Tikki sigh before hugging her cheek. "You've grown so much, my little bug. "She pressed a flipper to her earring." Plagg's right though. If you ever need to. Call upon our power and we will lend it to you."

"Thank you Tikki." she felt tears beginnig to sting her eyes. Tikki dissapeared. "Thank you. All of you."

~~~~~~~~~~

Next

[thmles]

| Self Love.

- He don't love himself, tryna love me.

[pairing: miguel o'hara x gwen stacy!reader]

[warnings: mention of death, sweet to angst, marriage, miguel being a player, barely proofread]

[a/n: so i was listening to self love from the across the spider-verse album/soundtrack and i kept on listening to it while playing ranked so i ended up writing this while playing and really ran with it! gwen's dialogue really pushed me to write this. it would've been longer if it were an actual fic but i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻]

Miguel considered himself a player back in college. Infamous for swooning over girls to try and get them in his bed. At least, that was the rumors. He targeted almost every girl in their major, from freshmen to graduating. His favorite target was you, Gwen Stacy.

You were an only child trying to keep up the appearance that your parents raised a perfect young lady. You rarely went out and only ever had one boyfriend. You were finishing your undergraduate degree in hopes of pursuing a PhD in Biology and to hopefully work for Alchemax, one of Nueva York’s biggest chemical corporations.

It was finals and truthfully, you were cramming almost everything. You had a paper due in a couple of hours and you had to review all of the syllabus word for word if you want to ace your exams. So here you were, in your quiet university library trying to finally finish your undergraduate degree when a certain someone decided to disturb you. You were looking at the screen of your laptop while taking notes with your tablet. A few strands of your hair managed to get itself on the side of your face. You raised your hand to tuck it back in when a hand beat you to it. You looked at your left to see the most annoying and smug face you have seen. Ever.

“Hey. Gwen Stacy, right? Daughter of Chief of Police, Chief George Stacy and Doctor Helen Stacy?” Miguel asked with a smirk. You raised an eyebrow at him before looking back at your laptop to continue reading the slideshow. He chuckled and sat on the long table beside your bag.

“Hard to get, Miss Stacy?” He asked again with another smirk. You looked at him and narrowed your eyes. “Very.”

Miguel let out a chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. “Care for a coffee date?” He asks again. You rolled your eyes in annoyance. What did this human turd want? You just wanted to finish university and get your PhD and start working. He’s just a bother. “No.” You answered sternly before going back to your notes.

“C’mon. It’ll be my treat.”

“...”

“Please?”

“...”

When Miguel realized you weren’t going to reply, he slammed your laptop shut. “Hey!” You exclaimed in annoyance. He laughed and crossed his arms. “Will you answer me now?”

“No.”

“Please with a cherry on top?” He asked again with hopeful eyes.

“Look, Miguel is it?” You stood up and looked at him. “I said no, already didn’t I? We all know about your very colorful affairs and I am not going to be one of them.” You were yelling by now and the rest of the students in the library were looking over at the pair of you. You glared at Miguel and you could see a hint of hurt in his eyes. You quickly stuffed your laptop and tablet in your bag, leaving him by himself as you left the library to study at your house.

-

The very next day, you were woken up by your dad knocking on your door. “Honey, someone wants to see you.” His voice muffled by the door. You groaned and sat up, rubbing your eyes as it adjusted to the lighting. “Who?” You asked tiredly, slipping on your fuzzy slippers your friend had gifted you. “A guy named Miguel.” As soon as you heard those words, it was as if cold water was poured over your head. “Uh, I’ll be right there, dad!” You replied and sauntered over to your bathroom to make yourself decent. No way were you letting that human turd see you as a mess.

After a while, you headed downstairs and saw your father and Miguel conversing in the dining room. A maid placed a plate for Miguel to which he accepted gratefully. Your dad seemed pleased with Miguel. “What exactly are you doing in my house on a Tuesday morning, O’hara?” You spat out rudely. Miguel smiled as you entered the room and sat across from him.

“Gwen.” Your dad warned you. You crossed your arms as the maid from earlier put a plate in front of you as well as a cup. She poured orange juice in the cup as you glared at the man across from you.

“Dad, Miguel and I aren’t even close. We aren’t even friends!” You exclaimed as you tried to decipher why your father decided to let him in. “Well, if you aren’t friends, why did he just ask me if he could court you?”

That morning was eventful. Miguel and your father had been bonding and had even approved of Miguel courting you. Hell, Miguel brought flowers for you and your mom. You don’t know how he even knew your favorite flowers when you never conversed before. You had to pull him aside and asked him what the hell was he doing to which he answered: “I’ve liked you for years, I just want to shoot my shot.”

Somehow, you don’t know how, you warmed up to him. He went with you to Alchemax and was very supportive of your choices. Miguel bought you your favorite chocolates every week, and surprised you with romantic dinners. A few months into him courting you, you made it abundantly clear that you wouldn’t sleep with him until after a year you started dating. He also became your boyfriend that day. Miguel respected your choice and made an effort to give you a secure relationship.

Even after years, when Miguel managed to get his DNA spliced with that of a spider’s, you stood by him. You left Alchemax to work for a pharmaceutical company as you could never forgive what happened with Miguel. You supported Miguel in being Nueva York’s ‘Spider-man.’ You gave him massages, left food for him to eat, waited for him to come home. He was very much grateful for you. He knew he wanted to marry you the moment he laid eyes on you at an orientation of a class you took together freshman year. Miguel only proposed one night after a brutal fight with the Vulture.

-

Miguel stumbled in through the unlocked window of your shared bedroom. He was badly bruised and his whole body ached. The commotion caught your attention from the kitchen and was quick to run in the room. Miguel tugged off his mask and threw it on the bed. When you saw Miguel’s bruised face, you let out a gasp and helped him sit on the bed.

“I told you to not get hurt, didn’t I?” You exclaimed as you ran to the kitchen to get a pack of frozen corn to help soothe Miguel’s swollen face. He let out a chuckle and only looked at you as you held the pack to his cheek. “Jesus, what am I going to do with you, hm?” You asked softly as your fingers brushed over his other swollen cheek. You sniffed as you felt yourself becoming teary-eyed at Miguel’s state. He was badly bruised and you knew he would do it all over again to keep the city safe. To keep you safe. “You should marry me.” Miguel replied softly with a smile. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He shuffled to his nightstand and with a few grunts and groans he held out a small velvet box. You dropped the pack of frozen corn beside him and looked into his eyes.

“Marry me, Gwen Stacy. You’re the love of my life. I knew I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you in Professor Jacob’s class. You gave me a chance to love you. You stayed with me throughout everything that happened at Alchemax and sacrificed the career you built there for me. I can’t see myself with anyone else besides you. Will you marry me?”

Needless to say the wedding was grand. Almost the whole police department of Nueva York showed up to ensure that the wedding was secure. Your batch mates who were genuinely surprised at the pair you and Miguel had even showed up. And after a week long honeymoon in Switzerland, you were ecstatic. But good things come to an end, right?

-

When an anomaly from another dimension managed to severely injure you, Miguel was set on figuring out how to travel the multiverse. And when he did, he recruited every Spider-Men, Spider-Women, hell even a Spider-Car to ensure that anomalies are dealt with accordingly so they couldn’t do the damage they did to you.

As you were recovering from your injuries, Miguel was quick to discover that for every Spider-Man that had a Gwen Stacy, she always dies. It led him to spiral into keeping you safe and he almost always made sure that you call him when you leave the house and get home.

However, despite the best of his abilities, he was unable to save you as the Green Goblin threw you off a clock tower. Miguel managed to wrap his makeshift webs around you but it was too late. Your head hit the ground and you were gone.

Miguel tried his best to move on, focusing on his work and the Spider Society. As he looks at the picture of you in your wedding dress smiling at the camera, in Miles’ world, Gwen was looking at Miles as they sat upside down.

“In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spider-Man,” She paused to look into Miles’ eyes before gazing out at the city. “And in every other universe, it doesn’t end well.”

[fanfiction-blep]

Imma need a part two of caught please lol. Like reader is a bad b either with a new man or single but had a glow up and doing good while miles is a wreck and has to suffer the pain of messing up

A lot of people wanted this! And honestly It's a great idea.

Caught: Part Two.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited feelings. mentions of cheating.

The balls of (Y/N)'s feet hit the cold floor or her room, she had swung her legs over the bed. She knew this day would come, but she didn't think it wouldn't happen so soon. She had been reassigned to security, she had spent the last four months reinforcing security for the new structures being built throughout Pandora. Yet she was needed, apparently the blue team had began to falter. their efficiency had depleted. And she had been brought in to fix the problem. She racked her hands over her face a sigh leaving her lips. She really didn't want to see him, she hadn't gotten back into the dating scene the opportunity for causal dating isn't as abundant on Pandora as it is on Earth. She didn't want to show up see them together and be single. She couldn't think about her personal life with this task, she could make it a quick job. Figure out what's going wrong write up a report listing a solution and then she could leave. She stood up stretching, muscles aching from her late night gym session. Her shoulder length bob brushing against her skin. Instead of focusing on getting back into dating she had focused on herself, working through the emotional trauma of what her ex had done.

She needed to work on herself, build herself back up again. She wasn't about to jump into a rebound and get hurt all over again. She needed this, she needed to build herself up. So she could come back faster and stronger than ever, a glow up. She brushed through her hair, she was in off the record today she didn't need to be strict with her appearance, despite this she dressed herself in long camo trousers and a black tank top. She exited her room, having arrived in the early hours of the morning, no one knew she was here. And she would prefer it stayed that way until absolutely necessary. But that moment was arriving in twenty minuets. She left her room a pit of anxiety forming on her stomach, she wanted to never see him again. She wanted to leave and never have to look back knowing he would be two steps behind her. He had tried to reach out the first few weeks she was gone, and she never replied. In fact she had him banned from accesing her private channel. She knew he would try and talk to her while she was here, she knew he would try to win her back even if he was dating. Her.

She froze, Z-dog was the first in the briefing room. Her face growing pale at the sight of the human in front of her.

"Morning" (Y/N) Spoke trying to be neutral. It would be harder than she thought, but she was too petty to not be the bigger person. Walking over to the hologram projection table she picked up a tablet flicking through the blue teams reviews over the last few weeks. After a few moments she realised the decrease in activity and efficiency had started two weeks after she had left. 'no fucking way' she thought. She heard voices in the corridor increasing by the second she kept her back turned beginning to throw the stats and reports onto the screen. Her job was the present how shit they had been over the last few weeks kick them back into shape and leave. She had the most experience with the recoms and had served with them all as humans. She knew each and every one of them personally, and thus she was chosen for this job. No one bedsides Z-dog had noticed her, the other men just laughing while Miles stood in the corner not paying attention at all. "Right" She spoke turning around, meeting his gaze. Shock and pain filled is expression. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen her when he walked in. "I have been brought back here for one reason. You lot are not doing your job. So in the next day I will tail you. I will see exactly why you aren't performing to standard, I'll write up a report and I'll be out of your hair. Until then, I will be up each and every one of your asses, understood?" There was an unenthusiastic mumble of agreement "See you all on the flight deck in fifteen, get too it" Quaritch just stood there, mouth a jaw. In awe. She was more beautiful that he imagined, her new hair cut suiting her perfectly. Her appearance took his breath away and he didn't know how to respond. She turned her back to him, not giving him any kind of reaction. However a slight smirk was plastered on her lips, seeing how shocked and sad he was to see her made her happy in some way. And seeing that they were obviously not together, even happier. She knew she didn't want him back, but knowing that she had moved on and he hadn't felt like penance in a way. Maybe she wouldn't hate being back Afterall.

[nuclearforest]

surprise gift for @cry-ptidd because i wanted to write a werewolf with a predatory side and a BAMF middle aged woman. partly inspired by a convo we had. i can probably be convinced to continue it.

closest you'll get to a TW is threats of gore and predatory behaviors. Laura is a werewolf.

Laura is not permitted to go hunting as often as she’d like; no outings into the night in general, much less the violent sort that ended with men’s limbs gripped between her snarling jaws as they cried in agony. That was almost never. But tonight must be special—her very own Sir Integra had deigned it a night she was allowed to go out. Not for a violent hunt, no, but for something to sate a different kind of hunger.

She stands in the head office at her master’s side where the traitor once stood, rigid in posture with her hands clasped at her front. The marble floor is painfully clean and shining, even under the low light of the too-high crystal chandeliers. Even after all these years, Integra’s wide mahogany desk and tall upright chair remain the only furniture in the room. An expendable agent stands before the two women, rattling something off from a newfangled tablet. It was the kind of technology that had an unpleasant whine in her ears more often than not.

But after listening to the nightly debrief from operational intelligence, Integra waves her hand. “It sounds like a sleepy night,” she muses, “truly a rarity.”

Laura finds herself tensing in anticipation, hair on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end. That wasn’t how Integra usually led into training exercises or the housework given on other dull evenings. The middle-aged heiress to the Hellsing name cracks open the center drawer of her desk to unearth a golden cigar case. Through the tall windows behind them, the dark sky and full moon called, speckled with the faintest of stars and framed by red curtains. The werewolf’s eyes widen a sliver and her nose twitches.

“Better than the alternative,” the man quips back with a smile, straightening the pages and laying them on Integra’s desk for her to review. The arteries in his neck pulse ever so faintly with his heartbeat. His hair is salt and pepper grey, with movements slow and sluggish in the werewolf’s eyes. If not for the red armband on his suit and the woman at her side, Laura would’ve thought him a fitful, lean snack.

“I suppose so,” she hums, “but I can’t leave my girls bored forever.” For a second, something flutters in Laura’s chest at the possessive tone. But she just as soon crushes it, forcing it away as Integra flicks open her case and plucks a cigar. “Laura.” Integra snips the end of the cigar for a crisp start. “Be a dear, will you?”

The werewolf reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a golden lighter, offering a flame with a quick flick.

“Good girl.” The praise sends an imperceptible shudder down Laura’s back. “That will be all.” She replaces the lighter in her pocket and the lowly peon bows, turning his back to shuffle away like he wasn’t one wrong step from being picked up and shaken like a ragdoll.

They are far too comfortable around her.

The door clicks shut behind him, echoing in the high ceiling, and the ever-lovely Integra swivels her chair to look at the werewolf over the rim of her glasses. Laura just stares back at her piercing blue eye, waiting for an order.

“Do you think I should approve Seras’ request?” Integra asks before inhaling slowly from the cigar. The strong smell is almost enough to make Laura’s stomach churn with memories of dingy pubs and disgusting pigs but on her master? It is another matter entirely.

“What did she request?” the werewolf replies, nose almost wrinkling as Integra blows out another puff of smoke.

“A night on the town with you.” The Hellsing cracks a wry smile. Something in her eye glimmers. In the back of her mind, Laura wonders how long ago this request had been placed. They didn’t exactly go out frequently, and the vampiress frequently complained in her ear the next evening about how she’d snuck away.

“And why ask for my approval?” Laura’s hand twitches with the urge to brush a strand of hair, slipping from her ponytail, away from her eyes. Almost like she was a schoolgirl again. Distant memories of flowers crushed in her tense grip for some faceless young thing; a first crush. She swallows.

“Figured I’d see if you’d like to go,” Integra muses with the cigar between her lips, “If you were up for behaving tonight.” Heat almost rises to Laura’s cheeks at the thought of the last time, almost getting caught by all-too-perceptive humans. Funny that the woman hadn’t put together the teeth and the eyes until they were almost to her home. Funnier yet that Laura had been on her best behavior at the time and simply disappeared.

“I am bound to your command,” Laura replies gruffly, finally breaking eye contact to look away.

“Fine then.” Integra blows an almost playful puff of smoke at her. “I command you to accompany Seras for the night with nothing but your very best behavior.”

A smirk crawls up on Laura’s face at the thought of innocent women at the bar, straying like a young rabbit from its den. Tonight is a night for hunting bunny rabbits. With wide eyes and rosy cheeks. Soft skin and a dainty perfume. The big, bad wolf would eat them right up. “Oui, sir.”

[oneshotnewbie]

Maybe a oneshot where B!D gets diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

---

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair for seemingly the three hundredth time in half an hour while you were nervously waiting for your GP, who had summoned your sisters and you to her office.

For weeks you had no idea what was happening to you, denying every symptom as if it were kind of like a flu that caused them but didn´t break out properly; the excessive drinking and double the amount of urination, the increased hunger and urge to eat while losing weight and throwing up at the same time, getting up tired from a nine hour sleep and the weakness your body carried with it.

Not to mention the most violent mood swings your sisters have ever experienced with you.

The silence and your ongoing thoughts were interrupted by a heavy swing of the opening door before your doctor walked in. She was young, in her early thirties yet she was far better than anyone that has ever treated you in your life. "Hello, Y/n. Nice that you could come so quickly."

"You said it was urgent so I wasted no time."

Convincingly, she nodded with a soft smile and shook hands with each of your siblings in greeting. Wasting no time, your doctor settled into her much more comfortable looking chair than you were sitting in, being careful over her coat so it didn´t crumple under her.

"So Y/n, I have good and bad news." she started to speak, looking down at her tablet to review your blood results, letting the panic in you rise further with each second that passed. "The good news is; your blood results are almost perfect and you have no signs of kidney failure or anything close to the symptoms."

At that moment, an incredibly large stone fell from your heart and the adrenaline disappeared from your body. However, the panic was not immediately banned; only afterwards did you think about her choice of words and got stuck on one- almost.

"Almost perfect? Doctor, what does that mean?" Kara had taken the question out of your mouth; she too was probably confused by what the doctor said.

"Well, all but one." your doctor now shifted her gaze between the blonde and redhead, probably to add depth to her words. "An increased glucose value can be seen in your sisters venous plasma, and auto antibodies can also be detected in her blood, which should not normally be there."

Alex shifted uncomfortably in her seat and leaned further forward to rest her elbow on the young woman´s wooden desk. She had covered her mouth with her hand and widened worryingly her eyes at you as if she knew what was about to come.

After all, she was the only one of the three of your who had completed medical school.

"Y/n, unfortunately I have to tell you that you have type 1 diabetes." Your heart suddenly dropped and your stomach felt like a roller coaster, the lump in your throat expanded to an abnormal size. You slumped back in your seat, eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

Diabetes. You´d had it for roughly four weeks, hence why you felt like crap.

"For understanding; Type 1 Diabetes is a chronic autoimmune disease caused by your pancreas not producing enough insulin. Insulin is the principle hormone in regulating the glucose in your blood and without it, the glucose will not be absorbed properly, resulting in higher blood glucose levels. Higher glucose levels can result in polyuria and polydipsia which means an increase in urination and in thirst which you´re already going through- they are the first steps into this illness."

You only understood half of what she said to you, some words that she had in her vocabulary so complicated that you would have needed a dictionary and a ten-page guide if she wouldn´t explain to you how the further process would work.

"You need to start poke your finger with this little needle poker device here." From a drawer in her desk, she pulled out a burgundy, funny-looking thing and laid it in your hands that you had already outstretched, longing for this device that´s gonna save your ass probably more times that you´re going to count.

Your sisters also leaned into you to see for themselves what it was. They listened intently to offer you the best support they could give you, swallowing every information they could get. "And then you have this little thing here, which will read the level of your blood sugar. Also you have to inject yourself insulin manually into your leg or stomach- wherever you´re comfortable."

You rolled your eyes and put the thing back on the table; annoyed.

To put it into other words- type 1 diabetes was a fucking annoying disease where your body randomly decided to give you a big "FUCK YOU!" and stop giving your body what it craved. And unless you got it under control, your organs could fail.

But you didn´t seem aware of this.

[freckle-face-ace]

Portgas D Ace X CisFem Reader

<typed>

«signed»

17

Rosinante chuckled from your kitchen table as he sat with your tablet propped up in front of him.

Your face was burning as you sat across from him thoroughly embarrassed. His amused eyes flickered from you back to the screen.

"I didn't know you were gonna watch it in front of me." you groaned.

He was reviewing the project he'd assigned you - to translate one of your favorite songs into sign language.

«Sign only, please.»

It wasn't that you had done a bad job, but your discomfort and embarrassment was very apparent in the video. It made you stumble and sigh often. Also something you weren't aware of, was Ace's voice singing along as if he'd known the song his entire life between chuckles and celebratory words when you managed to get a whole sentence correct. It wasn't just funny, it was down right adorable.

«Mean.» you pouted.

He rolled his hazel eyes and leaned forward locking the tablet.

«This was very good.» he smiled encouragingly, «There are still some words and letters you need to work on.»

«OK» you sighed and rubbed your face, «I'll work harder. »

«You aren't in trouble.» his smile remained, «We're going at your pace. You've come a long way in the last month and a half.»

«If you say so.»

He shook his head at your behavior as Kuma rested his chin on your lap. You wish you could say you didn't know why you were being so difficult, but you knew.  Signing forced you to make movements you weren't entirely comfortable with. It was like dancing - you hated dancing. Not only that, it wasn't something that was incredibly common. At least you had never met a hearing impaired person before, which meant when you were at the store with Ace having a conversation people were staring. You felt it. Being on display like that was the last thing you wanted.

Kuma left your lap drawing your attention back up. He waddled to the door excitedly and sat with all of his attention focused on the doorknob.

Ace was home.

You glanced back at Rosi who was gathering his things.

«I'll see you on Friday, keep going over your alphabet and the words we discussed.» he swung his messenger bag over his shoulder and turned somehow getting his feet tangled.

"Rosi!" you gasped hopping to your feet as he caught himself on the side of the counter.

Ace rushed passed you to help the blonde up, "Are you alright?"

Rosi straightened himself out, «I'm fine, sorry to startle you.»

"As long as you're not hurt." you stepped next to your freckled mate.

You really should have been used to his clumsiness by now, but every time was a complete surprise.

After some reassurance and some small talk with Ace, Rosi made his exit.

You were stretched out on the sofa, the back of your head resting in Ace's lap while he brushed his fingers through your hair and watched TV. He'd been a bit down the last few days, after having a dream about Pops. He claimed it wasn't a dream - who were you to deny him? For him it was a very real experience that apparently Thatch had as well one night a couple of months ago. Finally reaching the closure he didn't know he needed with his father figure.

Finding out about Pops' death hit Ace harder than even he ever thought. He knew the old man would pass away eventually - he'd been very ill over the last year. Something about knowing they perished on the same day in the same place hit him in an unexplainable way. There was a silver lining, as there often is with this sort of thing - he was free of that illness. He also died knowing he was loved by his sons.

Your gaze rested on his melancholy expression. His eyes were cloudy but fixed on the television as he mindlessly messaged your scalp. You knew he was in some place far away. Slowly you reached up caressing his freckled cheek forcing his rubies to focus on you.

"You ok?"

You couldn't hear what he said but you were getting better at reading lips.

"I am." he smiled softly and rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip.

With a small smile you reached for the tablet laying on your stomach.

<I have an assignment from Rosi for tomorrow. Have you seen Kuma's service vest?>

His brows pinched together as he read, <You're going out?>

You nodded, <I'm meant to have my first public experience alone, well, with Kuma at least.>

<Should I have Thatch take you?>

You could tell he really wasn't ready for you to go out, hell, neither were you.  It was going to happen eventually and as Rosi said, "the sooner the better."

<I'll just Uber. I've got some work to get done.>

His pout tugged at your heart, <Where are you going to go?>

<Just the craft store, I'm more comfortable there. Nothing crazy I promise.>

<Promise you'll text if you need me.>

You nodded and pulled him down for a sweet kiss.

_____________

The next afternoon you waited on the porch for your Uber driver to arrive. After loading Kuma into the back seat you tapped the driver on the shoulder and showed him the note on your phone informing him that you were hearing impaired. He nodded and proceeded to take you into town.

Kuma's head rested against your shoulder, having sensed your anxiety beginning to peak. You hadn't been in a car many times after the accident, and when you were, Ace was with you. You rubbed his head until you arrived at your destination.

It was so strange to enter a busy store and not hear anything. You almost missed the 90's pop music playing over the store's speakers, it would have been better than the overwhelming nothingness.

With a soft sigh you tightened your grip on Kuma's lead and grabbed a cart. Looking around, you realized everything in the store had been reset.

Not off to a great start.

You were hoping this would be a quick trip with minimal human interaction. Now, unfortunately, to make it a quick trip you were going to have to ask for help.

Reluctantly you made your way to the nearest employee and tapped her shoulder. She turned and glanced at you, then down at Kuma.

As her lips began to move you held up the same note you'd shown your driver.

«I sign a little.» she smiled sweetly, «What can I help you find?»

Your anxiety ebbed a little, which was unexpected. You didn't expect to find someone who could sign.

«Paint, fabric and...» you paused and snapped your fingers trying to remember how to sign what you needed, «wooden...» you could feel your face heating up with embarrassment.

She watched you patiently.

"Dowels." you muttered.

«Still learning?»

You nodded bashfully, «Car wreck.»

«That must be hard. You'll get the hang of it.» she gave your shoulder a reassuring pat.

«Thank you.» you gave her a small smile.

With that she walked you through the store to find the things you needed.

___________

Ace sat at the bar in the restaurant flipping his phone in his palm while he waited for Thatch. He was a little worried that he hadn't heard from you. After your accident leaving you alone was difficult for him. This was the first time for you to go out without him, and you didn't check in when you got home.

If you got home...

A huff pushed passed his lips as a hand came down over his left shoulder.

"Calm down, you're weirding out the customers."

"She didn't text me." he muttered turning to the brunette.

"You said she had work to do. I'm sure she got busy." Thatch assured checking his phone, "C'mon, let's go."

The drive home was more or less quiet. Ace couldn't stop being bothered but Thatch managed to distract him with stories of things that happened before he'd arrived in your world.

Trailing off his laughter the raven glanced out the window a bit alarmed. They'd driven passed the house and were on a dirt path that led to the man-made pond near the forest where you discovered Ace. As they approached he spotted you standing in front of a small paddle boat with Kuma not far away.

"What's going on?" he asked looking at his brother.

"You'll see." Thatch's demeanor had gone a bit serious suddenly which made the younger male cautious.

Finally he parked as Kuma nudged you alerting you of their presence. You turned toward them, an adorable smile up turning your lips as the setting sun warmly lit your features. Ace's heart pulled in his chest. Seeing you so happy just to see him made his chest flutter.

After hugging you tightly and kissing your head he stepped back, «What are you doing out here?»

«I wanted to help...» you stumbled a bit with your signs, «with close.»

"Help with close?"

"Closure, I think." Thatch interjected.

You huffed and pulled your tablet from your hoodie pocket, <Come look. I'll explain.>

The brothers followed you the short distance to the bank of the pond where you had beached a small beat up wooden row boat. Ace's eyes widened as they scanned the very familiar jolly roger painted on black fabric that was pulled taut with dowels over a neat little pile of logs.

You handed a large smooth stone to Thatch and gave the second to Ace.

<I know that in some sort of dream scape you both got to say goodbye. Part of saying goodbye usually involves a ceremony. In our world pirates were honored by their crews and given back to the sea.>

Thatch was already sniffling as the app on the tablet read your text aloud.

<Sorry this isn't the sea but it is a place you can visit and hopefully feel a connection.> locking the tablet you slipped it into your hoodie pocket.

The brothers stepped closer as you motioned them to place their stones at bow and stern. After that you opened the white container that had been sitting on a tree stump with a box of matches. You squeezed the bottle dousing the vessel and its contents in lighter fluid.

Ace and Thatch gave the boat a push as you struck a match and quickly tossed it into the logs igniting it. The sun had gone down quickly allowing the flames to be perfectly mirrored on the water as boat drifted out. Ace's arms wound around you tightly while you all quietly watched it begin to sink.

His damp freckled cheek nuzzled against yours as he muttered into your shoulder.

The End

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Reviews and Critiques and how to handle them.

So the second best treaties about this was Holly Lisle's Mugging the Muse (2000), which, BTW, I read much later, because she'd stepped down by then from Forward Motion. At the time I read it, it was free, but now it's paywalled, so it has gems in there, the most useful of which is don't jump on paychecks and budget. Learn how to do Writer Tax returns. Remember to truly LIVE to write better *cough Barthes should have known this one. And the last one is how to take critiques.

The one on critiques goes like this: She used scream and shout when she got critiques and sometimes cry. She'd go into the bathroom and scream and let her do this. And then force herself to act professionally. The BEST of us at this process still fucks up once in a while. The trick is to not fuck up too often.

This is my second best treaties I've seen and heard about it. The first treaties I ever learned about how to take critiques is from my former teacher/advisor, Thomas C. Joyce, who unfortunately died of cancer some years back.

I do remember the names of the people. But as I don't have permission to use their likeness and I don't want them to be harassed. The people who are living (as far as I know) I will not name. I am also including my own fuck ups, because it's only fair. But the core of this is mostly Tom Joyce. Who said something on the order of don't call me "Mr. Joyce, it makes me feel weird. Call me Tom."

He was my advisor at the Young Writer's Camp–a summer writing camp. For this reason, I'll call him Tom.

I wanted to write this treaties out because he never wrote it anywhere... and I might remember parts of it wrongly, but I 100% used this to post to Nanowrimo's first critique threads, and then for the critique forums, which served as the core of a lot of critique groups online?? (not sure about that). And I listed the rules he gave me during critiques. Also that there has been a rise in people who can't take or give critiques and they think doing so won't help their writing. So, I won't write it as eloquently as him, and honestly I'm writing this quite sad because I do wish it was his words here instead of my fuzzy memories of him.

Let me dip a bit into memory lane first, so you get a sense of who Tom was. Tom smoked. He knew he smoked a lot and didn't particularly care. He liked to give this lesson on perception. with music, showing that the simpler things in life aren't always first. And that the source of stories can come from anywhere–not just writing.

When I met him he was a bit portly, which he'd sometimes point out about himself and had salt and pepper hair, which was curly. He'd often talk about how he wanted to lose weight.

He had this calm and cool demeanor about him, but also warm. So when he gave you a critique, it felt like he was reaching into your writerly soul and he could pull out your intentions in an instant. He not only saw where you were, but more importantly, where you were going and intended to go. I aspired to be that sort of critiquer.

He never judged you on your process to write. He had no lessons about that. And he based the entire time around critiquing and making sure you had something for the group. If you wrote on clay tablets, I think he wouldn't care. He'd likely joke loosely about it, but he wouldn't care and say, can you share it?

We did not write the same genre. We did not have the same process to write by a long shot. I never really read his writing and since he was an advisor, he rarely talked about his own writing or boast. He was a cool character because he was HUMBLE and he pressed it into you that YOU MUST STAY HUMBLE at every point of the process. Brave enough to share, but humble enough to take critiques.

He loved anedotes. I probably got my love of making up extended analogies from him.

He was not just a good writing teacher he was the BEST writing teacher I've ever had. And fuck it—I've read a TON of ass novel writing manuals from Aristotle to the present and I've heard author interviews all over the best, I would rank him as the best.

He was so memorable that when I finally got something published he was on my top list of people to show because I'd promised myself I would do so, but when I looked him up so I could pass the story to him, I had found that he'd died of cancer. I was DEVASTATED.

The fact we didn't write the same didn't matter because his lessons around critiquing. His process was this:

You write. You get critiqued. You take the critique gracefully to your face. You learn to critique. You learn both of these processes and perfect them and apply them, and you get better as a writer. He had several large arguments for this process and why he didn't want it to be regimented into telling people how to write.

Remembering his lessons, I posted his loose list of critique rules to early Nanowrimo boards–I posted the first critique threads for first pages and queries, but never his justification for them, because I didn't think it was my place to, but he's not published it himself and I think the internet is forgetting. And I don't think we should forget Tom Joyce since he taught me some really excellent lessons that I think you need to know.

So loosely, Tom's treaties on taking a critique goes something like this:

On receiving a critique:

Stay silent when people critique you. No. Hold your tongue (Fuck, I'm really still working on this one).

Remember any time they put into the critique is a blessing.

Only open your mouth to fact check the person. If they think the US flag has green, you can POLITELY correct them.

Stop explaining your work before you give the piece. He taught me this one. I still struggle with it. I still repeat the advice, but I still have issues.

Do not argue with your critiquers. I've fucked this one up too.

Critiques aren't always right and sometime you have to divine what they are really getting at.

On giving a critique:

When you give a review try to balance the review out. You give 3 bad things, you give 3 good things list them out. Do a summary for your review. YOU MUST find something good to say about it.

Try to read the entire piece before you comment.

Honor the wishes of the author. If they don't think something is working, try to figure out why.

Do your best to separate "Not for you" versus objectively written bad.

Be SPECIFIC. That's more important than the length of your review. He drove this into me.

He argued, the more you critique other people, the better writer you become. And the more you consume, in general, the better writer you become. The more you recieve critiques, the better you become. It's a two-way process, not a one-way process.

His arguments are pretty much why I dislike the whole idea that people don't "have time to give critiques" and thus don't want to give one back. No. If you do 10,000 critiques and get better at them and get 10,000 in return and learn to apply them well, you get better as a writer. Focus on your craft and the writer you want to become.

And now you can see why even though we did not write the same genre, I did not know his writing work, I did not have a matching writing process, that I treasured his lessons. He also had this thing where he was super, super cool with however people wrote. He never, ever disciplined how one should or should not write. He simply said, produce the writing–that's the most important part. And then get it critiqued. We did do occasional writing lessons, but he never ranked that as important.

Now for his arguments on why he thought these things.

So, as a younger writer I struggled and still struggle quite a bit with the first rule. The shut up and listen to someone tear your baby apart.

How to Receive Critiques

First Rule: Stay silent when others critique you and NEVER argue with your critiquer.

His argument went this way: You, the writer are never going to win against a critic. Your entire existence is going to be criticism. You have choices. You suck it up, and accept it is part of the writing thus owning it. You incorporate the suggestion. Or you do better next time.

He had an anecdote, which he liked to tell about this writer who fought against a critic and screamed and shouted and the writer lost.

The result of you fighting against a critic, according to Tom, is that you gain a bad reputation. ALWAYS. Never fight your reviewers.

As Holly Lisle said, go scream into a pillow somewhere, but shut the fuck up and get off the internet. Don't post it onto boards. Tell a friend privately, but don't post it in public. Give yourself a set amount of time to get back to it.

He liked to say stop throwing stones at glass houses. It's not going to work.

No lie, his cool attitude over this still has me screaming at times, HOW DID YOU DO IT? I still try to override the impulse. It's so hard.

Second rule: Every time someone bothers to critique you it's a blessing.

They spent time, and effort consuming your product. As he liked to say THEY ARE A PAYING CUSTOMER. Treat your customers correctly.

And if they are not paying, they were paying their time with you. They cared enough about your work and you to give you a critique.

You have to suck it up and do better.

BTW, if you watch the Youtube Channel, Wait in the Wings, this argument comes up over and over again. When you fight the critics, you lose the majority of the time. When you honor they came to the show and did understand it,

They really cared about you and your art to do this, no matter how cutting it is. Learn to breathe, move on and figure out what to do next.

Third Rule: The only time you open your mouth AFTER the person is done, is on two cases:

The first is to say thank you. The second is to fact check something obvious.

There is no green in the American flag, for example.

DO NOT ARGUE WITH YOUR REVIEWER and don't use this opportunity to try to feel superior to them. WTF man, go back to shutting up. TT

I still struggle with this. I'm swallowing my own feelings as I'm saying thank you. And I'm fighting the voices. And Tom acted like it was easy.

Fourth Rule: Stop explaining your work before you show it.

No lie, my other professors who have given critique sessions also said this. My typography teacher said this, which I keep repeating to myself, "Stop explaining your work. Say that you did the best that you could for the time you were given."

But Tom's logic went like this: Every time someone picks up your work, are you going to be beside them to explain what you MEANT by this or that. Will you be in their ear to talk about your intentions? Let them read the work themselves.

No, it's on you the writer to communicate it better.

Most of the time it's on you, the writer to do it better. (go back to rule number 1 on why).

Fifth Rule: No really, don't argue with your critiquers

It will only end in a bad reputation. Learn how to let it go. Move on. Either take the advice or leave it. See if it works, but at least try it. But arguing with your critiquers will result in nothing good.

How to Give Critiques

First rule: When you give a review, try to balance the review out.

If you give 3 bad things, give three good things, but remember that the person has feelings, so put the good things first. The best critique is good things, bad things, summary. We'll get into how to sort a critique later.

Tom liked to say, remember there is a human being behind that work. And that you won't get that mercy in real life once your work is "out there."

Second rule: Try to read the entire piece first before you comment and then make your comments.

This is your basic reasoning of trying to figure out what the writer is trying to achieve instead of hyper focusing on what they did wrong.

Third rule: Honor the wishes of the author

Spoken and unspoken. If they think something is not working, try to figure out why and some solutions one can do to fix it. Don't just say this thing is wrong. Figure out why. This process will make you also a better writer.

Try to make the piece in front of you better for the author, not how you would write it. He repeated this a lot so you got it. It's not about you and OMG, I would insert dragon here because I could do it better. No, face the piece in front of you and find ways to help the author where they are. You may ultimately disagree and they might not take your advice, but make sure it's about the author, not you.

Rule 4: Do your best to sort "Not for you, versus objectively written bad."

He didn't write romance, fantasy, or Science Fiction. It didn't matter to him or this process. Because there are some commonalities and if you read widely enough, you will know what is good or bad. Don't discriminate like that. If you're struggling with this go to the previous rule about honoring the wishes of the author.

Rule 5: Be specific as possible on why you like or dislike the item in front of you. This helps to sort it out later.

If you say, character is lame. That's not helpful. If you say I dislike the character is diving off the cliff without motivation and I don't know why and the physics don't make sense, that's a lot more helpful to the writer.

He would say too, that the more you're specific and drill down to why, the better you become as a writer. This is why DOING critiques is as important as receiving them. Do the best you can as a critiquer and be specific as possible. It will develop your writer brain and editor brain better.

And I should insert around here:

Revenge critiques are counter productive to you becoming a better writer.

He didn't say this. But I think he would agree given the previous treaties, especially on the idea that the writer is always going to lose.

OMG, you said info dump in MY STORY was bad. So I'm going to find every instance that you info dumped and point it out to you.

Your hurt feelings shouldn't be entering into critiques. Go outside, do something else, come back. You aren't in a place of learning. And sometimes what works for one story will not work for another. Sometimes people do it on purpose and go back to the previous rule about the intentions of the author.

The writer who never honestly critiques and revenge critiques and doesn't listen to critiques, never improves and gets better.

How to Sort Your Critiques

Sort them into these tiers/categories:

Grammar

If you're crying over grammar mistakes, get over it. Just take it and agree or disagree. Do better next time.

Facts

The Earth isn't perfectly round, but it's not shaped like a pear either. The Wizard of Oz wasn't originally propaganda. Greensleeves aren't written for Anne Boleyn. These usually hurt less, but often can dissolve entire stories. This is why you should research. Make sure every single quote is true and truly attributed. This is because facts in your story you don't want that to pull out the reader at any point and you don't know who might be reading it.

Core story issues.

This or that character doesn't work. The intention and impact aren't the same. These are the ones that hurt the most. These are the ones in critiques one should be careful of the most. And the ones that are going to hurt you the most.

The problem is often sort story issues are also the hardest to divine and the hardest to fix.

Critiquer might have had a different emotion from your intention, so remember what I said about being able to reach into other people's writing and figure out their intentions and then work with that? Yeah, this is where it comes in handy to make your own writing better. Sometimes they point to a thing, but it's not that thing.

Say comments are,

this character is boring.

This character doesn't do much.

I think this character is lazy.

But you've written the character on a hot summer day where they are baking out of their mind.

How do you punch it up to make it better? Your KEY ideas on why they aren't moving are "Hot summer day." So punch that part up and give more specific details so people get it. So people get that it's so hot people can't move.

And when the person said the character is lazy, the commentary feels more like deprication rather than true laziness.

That's how you divine the comments. It's not well, this character needs to change the entire scene so it has more action. It's how do I do this scene better so it communicates more.

BTW, Botchan by Natsume Soseki is a masterclass in how to get your character into total inertia such that you actively hate them, but at the same time you understand them.

Tom would say something like, once you get the critiques what you do with them is up to you. Ignore them, take them, but realize that what you don't take is likely to show up as a critique later.

Seeee... both critiquing and receiving critiques makes you a better writer. I'd also argue, it makes you a better person, too.

Short anecdote.

I was on a board and this writer was complaining about this review she had which said that the clothing she had was "inaccurate" and she argued that it was an other world fantasy setting so she could do whatever she liked. And she wanted to know if she should reply and get revenge on the critiquer. A few people were comforting her and egging her on.

I pushed against it gently by asking for the specific critique lines pretty much repeating Tom's advice on how to take a critique. The critique isn't always right, you have to divine, etc.

She stated she loosely based the costumes on a particular century of clothing. So I looked it up for her. I pointed out that stays during that century had changed a lot over time and the underwear changed the outer clothing. So it was possible the person was objecting to the underwear and the outer clothing not matching. I named the pieces of underwear that had changed during that time period and pointed out there is a huge difference for us for 1990's clothes versus the next decade. And that previous eras were no different.

What she needed was someone to cold sort the comment, point out she needed to do research and point out that sometimes physics can't be explained away by an other world.

Don't argue with your critiquers. Also, stop encouraging people to do this???

She ended up deleting her entire post. If you can't take critiques. Get someone to cold sort your critiques for you.

Haha. I have an awesome self-nominated writer's assistant who refuses to be paid, even though I tried to pay her. She knows me sooo well, when she gives a critique and I'm in writer meltdown mode saying, but I could do this or do that. She says in a flat voice, "No, you're going to do this and this is why." I hide this from the public, but damn. You need people like this in your life too.

'cause as much as I'm going off on Tom's rules, I also occasionally fail them. I'm still trying to be as calm cool and collected as he appeared to be about this sort of thing.

How to Know you're getting review bombed.

The account is brand new

All of the review ratings are at extremes. No 3 star reviews.

All of the reviews are targeted.

None of them are specific about the book.

The hazards of making the writer the primary marketer such that they have to do the job of 3 people: Writer, Publicist, and Marketer. Separate your modes. Compartmentalization. Learn it. It can be healthy.

But really, go back up and read. The writer is always going to lose. The more you care about it, the more likely you're going to be review bombed. Fighting reviewers never does you any good.

Bonus Round

The person that you're worried is better than you is probably thinking the same thing about you.

In another words, it's not a battle against others.

In my Young Writer's Group, I deeply admired this guy's writing for his ideas, how he was able to cobble things together with this sort of balance. And I had this kind of feeling like I could never do what he did. I mean he had this kind of deeper detail I felt I was missing. Plus his ideas—fucking clever.

All the time he'd come up with the "obvious" idea that I wanted to be able to write. It's the kind of stuff that you go, OMG, of course.

Flat out envy on my side. And then one day, I heard him talking about how was I able to come up with so many ideas so quickly to other people in the group and that he deeply admired my ideas.

I was shocked. I thought it was one way the entire time. Of course, honor code, not typing up his name, and not typing up his ideas, but the spirit of it is this: You're in a battle against yourself. Your critiquers when you're honestly facing them, and not say, trying to get enough points to post your work, are truly helping you, but you critiquing them is also helping you.

There's still a few of his ideas I keep waiting for him to publish, so I can do spins on them. I still hope he's writing, because writing is a community effort.

Stop being intimidated by other writer's brilliance and find your own. You'll get there too. But damn, I still want to see at least two of his ideas make it onto screen/in a book. I keep looking for him. A few of my former critique partners got published. Dave, hello. And another one that too recognizable by first and last name.

If you can't take reviews, don't read them.

This comes from repeating Writing Excuses episodes–people have writer's assistants do it for them.

I had mine (self-nominated one) look up rare cat breeds... but yeah, some people have them do normal things.

Sometimes writers ask agents to filter them for them.

All you writers, stop stalking Goodreads and writing reviews about your stories/books. I know, but it's not going to do much anyway and the more you care, the more likely you're going to get review bombed or pull a Cait Corrain.

Remember, One Star reviews can be good actually

One star reviews tell you how to improve your product. The maker of Instapot in an interview said he oly reads one star reviews.

Also, sometimes one star reviews have told me that I absolutely want to buy the product in question.

If there are 10 reviews of 1 star by white reviewers saying that white writer wrote it better and it's about say, Chinese history. That says to me, I want to buy your book. I want to understand why they think it's substandard. I want to see what you did to break away from the common popular narrative.

If there are a ton of negative reviews on a product that says this item is too small but I have dinky hands and I want the product to be smaller, that's also useful to know.

One star reviews are not the end to the world. People don't go by purely star ratings. They also look at what the reviews say and how they say it and which people think that review is accurate.

One star review that says they don't know how a story about Jane Austen in Outer Space turned into a sex comedy with a tentacle squid monster? Please, please give me that book.

Stop hyper fixating on star ratings. People often will judge for themselves if it's for them or not. And you pushing back, force deleting the reviews giving that sort of guidance isn't going to help you. As Tom said, you're going to lose, so lose right.

[onlinebeautyshop]

Everlong 60mg Tablets in Hyderabad 0301-0893333

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓤𝓼: 0301_0893333

مخصوص مردانہ کمزوری کاعلاج، ہر مرد کی خواہش ہوتی ہے کہ وہ ایک صحت مند زندگی گزارے اور ایک بھر پور جوانی کے ساتھ اپنی زندگی کے بہترین لمحات کو گزار سکے لیکن یہ لمحات تب عذاب بن جاتے ہیں جب مرد کو مردانہ کمزوری کا سامنا ہو ۔مگر سوال یہ پیدا ہرتا ہے کہ مردانہ طاقت کو بڑھایا کیسے جائے،تو اس کے لیے آپ ایک بار (اوریجنل ایورلانگ ٹائمنگ ٹیبلٹس) کا استعمال کریں۔

[eagle-warri]

soooo...i wrote a crackfic based on this post from @darubyprincxx because the idea grabbed me by the throat a bit. i'm sorry if characterization is bad, it's been a long week.

Pix had been investigating another empire. Not one of his friends, but another desert empire: Sumer, one of the largest he had ever seen. Pix had heard of a copper dealer in the city by the name of Ea-Nasir and was looking to make a deal, perhaps even earn Pixandria an ally in materials. Walking through the city, Pix found what appeared to be the place. Going into the shop, he waited for Ea-Nasir, tapping his fingers on the counter. As Pix did, he started reading a stone tablet that seemed to have been absentmindedly left there. It seemed to be a review of Ea-Nasir’s practice, and not a good one. When Pix had finished reading, Ea-Nasir himself had come out, asking “What can I help you with?” Pix deflected with “Oh nothing, just looking” and left the store. Ea-Nasir was obviously not that good of a salesman, but maybe Pix could find a customer in Nanni. If, of course, he could find the guy.

[thunderclaw100]

*Scene part 4*

Tallest Red and Purple are both hovering down the lines hallway. They are heading to their chambers after finishing one of their schedules. Purple is drinking juice from a cut with a straw. The two leaders continued on talking about that idea along the way. That is until they saw something approaching them from a distance. As they got closer, the tallest immediately recognized who it was.

“Viper, it’s been a while.” Red said.

“Who is this with you?” Purple asked.

“greetings my tallest’s. I’m glad to have run into you. I came bearing news of my work. This little guy here is my temporary assistant. Soren. Don’t mind him. He’s just here to take notes.” Viper said. Letting the vortian be seen by the two Irken leaders.

“Eew. Why’s it here with you? I thought you only take shorter irkens as your assistant.” purple beamed his eyes at the vortian from the side. Soren broke the eye contact immediately.

“Soren insist he wants to take part in my project and learn a thing about my methods.”

Purple: what do you have for us?

While Viper began his long speak about his genetic project. Soren stands there silent in the presence of the two tallest. The notes that he was carrying were the ones he wrote down for Viper to use when he makes his presentation but he wasn’t doing any of that. Instead, Viper reverted back to his original idea and told the whole factor of his work to them.

Soren:That moron is going to ruin everything we’ve practiced on! Why is he showing off now? Soren thought. He turned away for a moment to pretend he’s taking important notes for him. Soren wanted to speak up, but ever since he was brought to the irkens, he was told to speak out of turn and only when directed to by them. To be seen and not heard unless needed. Soren toot there, feeling frustrated at everything Viper was saying to the two leaders. Tallest Purple’s antennas perked with interest at the mention of something Viper said. “With the new improvement on the body, the paks will be upgraded again. Our lifespans will double. And think about it. The disadvantage our people have will be eliminated! We will have NO weaknesses.”

Purple liked the idea. Red is considering it but still looked doubtful. He’s the logic one out of the two. He’s looking for any gaps and weak points in Viper’s claims. His thought processes is still running on it.

“Viper, you know your presentation isn’t till the next two days, right? Why not wait to tell us this, when the other top ranked members are around? Me and Purple were on our way to our chambers” Red siad. His partner nod his head and stop sipping his drink.

“We had just lest another meeting cant we just have an hour’s rest before you come see us? It’s rude, you know?” Purple comment. Then went back to his drink. Viper bowed his head to his leaders.

“I apologize, My tallest. I did not mean to take up your time. But think of this as a small summary for what I’ll say in the presentation. I only ask for your interest of my part of the project. It will suit the benefits for the empire.”

The tallest shared a glance at each other for a second and then looked back at Viper. “Very well. You may pass along your files to our advisor and we’ll review it later.” Red said.

“Thank you, my tallest.” Viper’s antennas vibrate with excitement from such acknowledgment from his leaders. He stepped aside to let them pass. As soon as the two tallest were out of sight, he turned his attention back to his “assistant.”

“Did you get all that?” Viper asked.

“Oh I got it alright. The part about you lying in their faces….” Soren muttered that last part.

“I told them what they need to know.” Viper started walking. Arms behind his back, smirking. Soren following him. Carrying his tablet and pen with him.

“If that’s true then why didn’t you tell them what you were planning to do? With the REAL experiments you keep in lockup?” Soren asked. What would make Viper not tell the whole exact details of his experiment subject?

“Now why would I ruin the surprise of that? You’re thinking too deep about this, Soren. Leave that to me. Now come along. We’ve got work to do in the lab, and I wan to be done before lunch.” Viper began humming as he walked. Soren let out a tired sigh. He just can’t seem to get through to this Irken, can’t he?

Soren looked back at his notes. They were the things Viper wanted him to write down while he was speaking to the tallest. He wants their feedback soon and then use it as motivation to push through his work. Viper is too determined to let this die down and it worries Soren. He fears that this genetic project is making Viper’s ambition very wrong.

“I can’t let him do this. If the empire starts creating super soldiers. Our worlds will be in danger! I need to stop this, but I’m going to need some help….”

[iraprince]

i've been wanting to get into digital art for a while, and I'm thinking of getting myself a tablet for this christmas. Any product recommendations?

i would say, particularly for a first tablet, i don't recommend a wacom, even though it's what i use currently (and what i'll probably get again if/when i eventually upgrade to a screen tablet). this is because, while the quality is great, they're very pricey in a way that isn't proportionate compared to other brands. it was one thing a decade ago when wacoms were often much better than other options, but now other brands have caught up and there's no reason to shell out that much extra unless there's a reason u need a wacom specifically. (i.e. i got my current wacom tablet as a gift years ago, but i would spring for wacom as a screen tablet bc i've done a lot of research on cintiqs vs other options and i think for my job i do need the extra oomph in terms of stuff like screen resolution/latency/parallax — not because a more expensive tablet/better performance will make me "draw better" but bc i spend so many hours drawing per week that better performance will reduce friction and make my job easier. if you're not concerned about "this device is about to be a massive part of my life so it had BETTER be the best machinery i can afford," i don't think the extra expense is worth it.)

also, specifically, the wacom intuos 4 pro is a piece of steaming fucking garbage from hell and its cord port WILL eventually die for no reason, and wacom support will not help you because how do you prove it died for no reason even though dozens of other ppl online have clearly experienced the exact same hardware failure, and then you will have to buy an external universal camera battery charger and remove the fucking tablet battery and charge it once every other day at an outlet BECAUSE YOU CAN'T CHARGE IT WITH THE CORD ANYMORE and only use the thing wirelessly. not that i know anything about that

so!!! with that said. my very first tablet was a tiny wacom bamboo (idk if they even make those anymore?), and after that when i had to replace it i got a monoprice. that was a long time ago so i can't vouch for current quality — pls look up recent reviews and do research on anything u pick — but my exp w monoprice was that it was crazy cheap and perfectly good quality. setting up the drivers was a complete nightmare, but once it was working it ran like a dream without any problems and i don't remember ever having to fuss repeatedly with driver resets, reinstalling shit, losing pen pressure, etc (all problems i have had with wacoms, and still do occasionally). that thing took me through several years of art school and then several more years after without an issue and only gave out when the actual hardware was starting to go from wear and tear, i.e. wires were getting loose and it had been dropped a few times.

those are the only ones i have personal experience with, but i've heard very good things about huion tablets, and they seem like a good middle ground of higher quality than monoprice vs cheaper than wacom.

general tips: get the biggest one you can afford, you'll be using it for a long time anyway and the very small ones are hell on your wrist. consider getting one with shortcut buttons; if you end up liking them you'll use them all the time, but if you don't (i never personally got into using mine!) they don't get in the way, so it's no harm. and when you get your tablet, find the pressure settings (there will almost definitely be a menu that comes w your tablet software, but also check your drawing program as well) and adjust the pressure sensitivity so you don't have to press down super hard!! this will save ur wrist.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

🎁🎁🎁 Lovely Weather

A SNEAKRET SANTA GIFT DRABBLE

A/N: Merry December and Happy Holidays, everyone!  Don’t mind me, I’m just here to leave another gift under the tree. These are my way of giving back to some of the lovely content creators here whose work brings me joy. I tried to personalize them a little bit for each person they’re dedicated to, but they’re just as much my gift to anyone who has ever shared their work or who has ever read mine. Thank you for being lovely <3

Gift Tag: @writeforfandoms - Who had this to say what I presented her with a choice of characters: “ijhfe;wnofhnwe you were not kidding when you said tough question.” But ultimately Jack won out, and I went with snowflakes, mittens & sleigh ride for the prompts. Jen, I hope this makes up for that devastatingly tough question. I hope it makes you smile and fills you with the kind of fluffy warmth that I feel whenever I read one of your stories. Thank you for being so lovely, and I hope you have the happiest, warmest holiday season! 

 WC: 2,880

Warnings: none. it’s 110% fluff.

“And last but not least, let’s get a look at our holiday weekend weather!”

The sound of a scissor blade being dragged along a length of bright red ribbon filled the few seconds of silence between the newscaster sending things over to the meteorologist, but Jack still heard you suck in an anticipatory breath. Raising his eyes from the tablet in his hand - he’d been reviewing some data that Ginger sent him regarding a prototypical weapon that would be available for testing in the new year - he looked over at you and had to hide the slight grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth. You were staring at the screen, scissors still in hand as you let the coiled ribbon bounce back toward the gift it was secured around, and he could almost hear the hopes and wishes that were swirling in your thoughts. 

Don’t you worry, gorgeous, there’ll be plenty of snow where we’re goin’. 

You didn’t know that yet though, so he kept quiet and watched as you waited to hear what the forecast would be. 

“Thanks Jodi,” the meteorologist said, standing in front of a map of Kentucky. “And it’s looking like a pretty mild one again, folks, which is great news for anyone who is planning to travel to see family or loved ones this year.” The radar screen circled around again, a few tiny splotches of light green popping up to indicate some patchy rain moving through the Louisville area on Christmas Eve the only precipitation showing anywhere on the map. The camera panned back out to show the weather person again, and with an apologetic wince they continued their segment. “But for anyone out there dreaming of a white Christmas, it looks like you’ll be waiting at least one more year.” 

You let out an audible sigh, Jack noticing the sag of your shoulders as the meteorologist handed the broadcast back over to the main newscasters, and even though he knew it would be better to keep his plan a surprise, he hated seeing you let down even if it was only temporary. It’ll be worth it though, he reminded himself. 

Still, he wasn’t about to let you stew in disappointment. “Hey darlin’.” He leaned forward to set the device he’d been scrolling through down on the wagon-wheel coffee table, head tilted to one side as you turned to look at him. “I’m sorry you didn’t hear what you wanted to.” Even though it's better that there won’t be any snow here, because then I won’t have any trouble with-  

Your expression softened, the lights from the tree and the ones hung around the window frame reflecting in your eyes and making your cheeks glow, and the sight scrambled the rest of his thoughts. “It’s alright, Jack.” Moving the gift you’d just finished wrapping into place under the tree, you shifted to your knees and faced him fully. A small huff of a laugh left your lips as you shrugged. “I knew it was a long shot, I was just…” 

Reaching for your hand, he pulled you from the carpet and up onto the couch. “You were holdin’ out for some holiday magic, hmm?” He let you get settled against him and then wound his arm around you, tugging you close enough to press a kiss to the side of your head. 

You hummed in response, one hand coming up to rest in the center of his chest. “I guess I was.” With another sigh, this one far less disappointed, you laid your cheek on his shoulder. “But I’ve got all the magic I need right here.” 

That made him laugh even as it warmed his whole being. “Well shucks, gorgeous, I know I’m good with rope tricks, but I ain’t sure that qualifies as magic.” 

Picking your head up, you rolled your eyes and gave him a playful smack. “You know what I meant, Daniels.” I do. The hand over his heart moved up so that your fingertips could trace the edge of one of the open buttons on the henley he wore. “I’m glad we were both able to get the time off. Spending the holidays with you is all I actually care about.” Your lips met the exposed skin just over the top of his collar, Jack tightening his grasp on you. “Snow just would have been the cherry on top.” 

Having grown up in sunny, southern California, Jack knew that the opportunity for you to have had a white Christmas was less than zero. Instead of snowball fights and hot chocolate, you’d spent your winter holidays as a kid on the beach with your siblings and your friends, building sandcastles instead of snow forts. Though you secretly always longed for the big, puffy flakes and frosty blanket, snowmen and sleigh rides and everything else that you’d seen in holiday movies, it wasn’t until you took the internship at the distillery in 2011 - and moved to Kentucky - that you actually thought it might be possible. 

“Just my luck that the last white Christmas in Louisville happened the year before I moved here, huh?” You’d since moved up within the organization, switching over from being a distillery employee to working in research and development for Statesman, opting to stay in Kentucky for the long and snowless haul. 

Jack let out a snort. “Wasn’t much more than an inch of powder,” he recalled, rubbing his palm up and down your bicep, “and it was gone by supper time.” 

You held up the finger you’d been touching him with, lifting your head as well so you could look him in the eye. “Still counts.”

“I guess it does.” Gonna be a whole lot more than that when we get up north. Wanting to keep his surprise under wraps until the last moment, Jack changed the subject. “Speakin’a weather, you hear from your parents? Their flight get in alright over in London?” 

Your brother had moved overseas a few years back after a long study abroad stint, finding a job and then a husband, settling down in the outskirts of the sprawling city. Since then, your parents had alternated between spending the holidays in the US with you and Jack, and traveling to spend time with Paul and Cal. They also occasionally made the trek across the Atlantic, but since you were only ever guaranteed a handful of days off surrounding the winter holidays, you rarely got the chance to do the same. This year you only had off from the 24th to the 26th of December, Jack likely having to go in the day after Christmas, or at the very least attend a virtual meeting via his glasses, so a trip to England was simply not in the cards. 

A trip up to the Adirondacks, though? That was definitely in the cards

“They did.” You answered his question and he nodded. “My mom called to let me know they landed while I was in my office this afternoon.” 

“Good.” A yawn broke free then, and Jack didn’t even try to stifle it. “You all finished wrapping gifts for the night?” 

“Yup,” you responded. “Just need to clean up and-” Then it was you who couldn’t keep a yawn from escaping.

“And then I think we should get some shut eye.” Need to get a good night’s rest so I’m sharp for the mornin’. “What d’you say?” 

Standing so that you could start to gather up and put away the wrapping paper, ribbons, labels, tape, scissors and other tools and decorations that Jack didn’t know what to call, you took his hands in yours and pulled him to his feet as well. “Sounds good to me, Jack.” You bumped your nose against his and then dropped a kiss to the corner of his mouth, where the bristles of his mustache met his lip. “See you in the bedroom.” 

– – – 

Both of you had fallen asleep quickly, the last few days at HQ having been packed ones in order to get things done in time for the holiday, and though Jack would have liked to let you sleep in the following morning, he couldn’t. Because the sooner we get goin’, the better. 

Waking you with a kiss, he waited for you to blink your eyes open, and when you did, the sleepy smile on your face felt like sunshine. “G’morning, gorgeous,” he greeted you through a grin of his own. 

“Hey, you,” you responded through a sigh, reaching up to wipe at your eyes. “What time is it, Jack? Why are you…” You groaned and shifted closer to him, seeking out the warmth of his body beneath the sheets. “We’re off, Agent Whiskey,” you mumbled. “We should be sleeping.” 

“Well, I’m afraid we’re not, darlin’.” It wasn’t the truth, and he didn’t like tricking you, but there was no other way to get you to HQ without raising too many questions, and he had to get you there, because that’s where the Silver Pony waited, all fueled up and packed with bags that Jack had put together for both of you the day before. 

That got your attention fast, and your eyes flew open as you propped yourself up on one elbow. “What?! What happened? Everything okay? I-” 

“Woah, woah there, easy, Iain’t sure yet what’s goin’ on. Just woke up to a message from Ginger sayin’ we needed to report soon as we could.” Jutting his chin in the direction of your nightstand where your work tablet sat next to your phone, he went on. “You probably got the same message. You can check it.” 

Sighing, you rolled to your other side and picked up the device. Sure enough there was a message from Ginger - one that Jack knew would be there because he had asked the woman to send it to you. Thanks, Ginger Ale, you’re a lifesaver. You pressed the heel of your palm into your eye and let out another sigh. “You’re right, I did get one, too.” Setting the device down, you sat all the way up, suddenly alert. “Says to report to the hanger, so I guess that means field work? Why would I need to go to-” 

“Not sure.” Jack shrugged and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “But I know if we don’t shake a leg she’s just gonna keep on sendin’ ‘em, and…” He trailed off and you nodded. 

“No, you’re right.” You tipped your head back to stretch your neck, taking a deep breath through your nose and then releasing it slowly. “Let’s get going, Jack.” 

“I’ll go start some coffee,” he said. “Can you be ready in ten?” 

Throwing the cover back, you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Even though Jack knew that you weren’t thrilled about the prospect of being called into work on the morning of Christmas Eve, you winked at him. “Be ready in seven.”

Perfect.

– – – 

Jack had intended to let the surprise go for as long as he could, but the second that you arrived at the hangar and it was empty, you knew that something was up. Your steps echoes in the large space, and you raised a brow in confusion. “Jack? What’s going on? Where’s Ginger? Where’s Champ or… anyone?” 

“Now, don’t be mad,” he said with a smirk as the two of you stepped up next to the sleek jet. “But there ain’t no mission, and we’re not here on Statesman business.” 

You scrunched your face, still clearly confused. “What? Then… why are we here instead of still at home in bed, Daniels?” 

Lifting one hand, Jack patted the metallic paneling of the plane. “Because we have got somewhere to be this weekend, and I don’t think you’ll mind so much once we get there.” 

That was all he gave you, along with a wink, and then he pressed the button that would open the passenger hatch, helping you up into it. He felt his heart swell at the trust that you placed in him, and then the two of you were in the air and on your way. 

Once Jack got the Pony off the runway and into the air, it didn’t take long for you to notice what direction he was flying in. “Are we… are we going to New York?” Cat’s outta the bag now. 

He knew that you meant the city when you asked, since that was where Statesman had another office in the Northeast, and since it wasn’t a lie he didn’t correct you. “Yes ma’am,” he answered. “Good eye.” 

You hadn’t said much after that, the headsets making communication possible but not convenient as you sat directly behind him, and you’d opted to simply look out the window at the world below you. But when he neared the metropolis and didn’t start to perform descent maneuvers, you spoke up again. “Jack? I think you overshot the city, I-” 

“I said, we were goin’ to New York, darlin’. I never said anything about the city.” 

“Upstate?” You asked, and Jack could hear the excitement in your voice.  “Jack? Are we going up-” 

“Hold tight,” he told you. “You’ll see soon enough.” 

And he was right, the flight coming to an end less than a half hour later at a small private airfield where the runways and tarmac were all clear - but the surrounding ground, trees, buildings and cars were covered by several inches of glittering snow. As he helped you down and out of the jet, your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. 

“Jack…” Your voice was quiet and he knew that it was because you were taking it all in. “Jack, you…” 

Using your still joined hands, he tugged you into his chest and wrapped you in his arms. “How's this for a white Christmas, hmm? Better’n a little dusting down in Louisville?” 

You laughed, though there were tears of joy forming in the corners of your eyes. Jack swept them away so they wouldn’t freeze on your lashes. “Yeah, I’d say so, cowboy.” 

He grinned. Nice segway. “I didn’t fly you up here just to stand on the runway though, sugarplum. Got somethin’ else up my sleeve. But first I think we should bundle up, because it’s only gonna get snowier from here.” 

A glee-filled expression lit your face then as you let out a breathless sigh. “Lead the way, then.” 

– – – 

You got to the ranch about twenty minutes later, layering up in the backseat of the car that had been waiting for you at the airfield. There had been snow jackets and thick, water-proof pants, scarves, hats and mittens in the bags that Jack had stowed, and as you donned them all piece by piece, he kicked himself for not going with gloves instead so that he could lace his wool covered fingers with yours. These are warmer though, and that’s what’s best. You zipped up your coat and he couldn’t help the sly smirk that came with thoughts of unzipping it later when you were in your room, letting his fingers travel all over your body instead of just your hands, doing his best to warm you up after a day spent in the cold. Gotta get there first, though. 

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that, Jack?” You asked, breath puffing out in front of your mouth and snowflakes beginning to land on the crocheted hat you pulled on when you’d gotten out of the car. 

Reaching for your hand, he wrapped his around it. “Just thinkin’ about how much I love you is all.” 

That made you smile, rising on your toes to kiss him and licking away a snowflake that had landed on his lips first. “Love you, too,” you whispered without pulling away. “Thank you for this.” 

Hands going to your waist, he turned you around toward the barn that you’d been standing in front of just as it opened. “Don’t thank me yet. Got one more surprise for you.” 

As the door slid open on its track, a horse pulling an open sleigh made for two appeared, and you gasped with delight. “Are you serious right now?” 

The animal bobbed its head as it walked, puffs of white air coming from its nostrils as it let out a friendly huff. “I am, darlin’.” He leaned forward and around to kiss your cheek from behind. “You wanted a White Christmas like the ones in the movies? Well, you got one.”

Shaking your head in awe, you looked back at him. “How did you… when…Jack…” 

“Found this place when I was workin’ in the city last year,” he explained. “Needed somewhere I could go so I could ride and blow off some steam and… this ranch was perfect.” You muttered a it sure is, and he kissed you again. “Now, this beauty is gonna take us for a ride, and then we’re gonna warm up by the fire and watch the snow come down. How’s that sound?” 

You removed one of your mittens then, shoving your bare hand into one of his, twining your fingers inside the mitten and squeezing. “Sounds like the best Christmas ever, Jack.” 

Seeing the happiness on your face, hearing it in your voice and feeling it in the way you gripped his hand, he had to agree. 

.

.

.

This is the Ranch that I looked up for inspiration. It was the first one that I found in the area that did holiday sleigh rides. and when you see the names of some of the horses that they own, you’ll know why it was just too perfect to pass up. 

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, please feel free to let me know by sending a message or by filling out the form on my masterlist :)  

tags:  @something-tofightfor @paracosmenthusiast @cannedbees @dihra-vesa @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato

[lettalady]

Imagine being Donaka's secretary, he's a total dick with you and one day you decide to tell him what you think of him, but Donaka don't take it really well that you want to quit your job.

Hello nonnie! Oh. Oh dear. Dearest, that is just recipe for disaster isn't it....

Let's be honest, you're an exceptional personal assistant. Not that your boss notices. Actually you're not entirely sure you've ever seen the man smile. Of course he just sees a drone, the nameless and faceless secretary, a pawn to order around.

"Coffee. Black. And it'd better be hot."

It always was. Not that it stops him from the barked remark.

"And where the fuck are those logs I asked for?"

The paperwork in question was waiting in his inbox and printed out and bound in a portfolio and downloaded to your tablet so he would have options. The man liked his data, liked to review stats about the fighters and the odds for up-and-comers.

After years of overtime logged and never acknowledged, where you knew what to anticipate and how to course correct pretty much anything that might come up to disrupt his day, he never so much as saw you. Today... today you're done.

"I quit."

For a long moment after your quiet statement the only sounds in the room are the hum of the world surrounding: the white-noise of the HVAC system, the steady buzz of the overhead lights, the whir of the office computers.

"What did you say?"

Your boss' focus is entirely on you. The man that has never worn anything but all black or ... maybe you remember a day or two where he was in greyscale... has finally locked those dark eyes on you.

Oh, sure. Now he sees you.

Should you repeat yourself, or maybe entertain the better question: why are you still standing here in his office?

[thehenrythomas]

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