#if you have them and would be so kind as to send them to me I would really appreciate it alkhfgkhfg

[conkreetmonkey]

Fun story: My last job was at a restaurant. They hired me among many other workers all at once. This is because the kitchen had recently burnt down, thankfully after hours and without hurting anyone, so they had to temporarily close and rebuild; can't very well run a restaurant with no kitchen, after all. Presumably they'd laid everyone off and were completely restocking their labour pool in like a week. My first day was wonderful. People were patient about training me, the manager was sweet and made sure everyone was staying hydrated, and she even personally brought me a glass of water while I was on my break. Like any person would have, I took this as a good sign. Then, over the next few months, things began to devolve. There's like 5 stories in there about the extortion, ER visits, second-degree burns, and explosive stress diarrhea, but basically that once sweet manager slowly became a demon, and my once fun and kind coworkers began doing things like threatening to harm my work bestie unless I performed unsafe work that was guaranteed to burn me due to inadequate PPE, or yelling obscenities at me for asking perfectly reasonable questions. It went from heaven to hell over the span of a single damp, mild autumn. So, as you can guess, I came to resent the place. But there's another element to it:

in my time working there, I would come to learn that the fire that destroyed the place was entirely preventable; there was a known gas leak in one of the deep fryers, and management knew, but refused to shell out the $15 to patch the line (just like they refused to give us PPE, or generally fix anything ever). Quite a long time after they found out and after many staff reports of this gas leak, one night, it somehow finally ignited, and a $15 expense suddenly turned into tens of thousands of dollars. One night, while I was manning the fryers, I noticed one of them was producing bubbles of opaque white smoke from under the oil. My coworkers assured me it was "normal" and "just some food stuck under there." I've worked many a deep fryer, and had been working those particular ones for months, and never seen such a thing before. It was pretty easy for me to put two and two together on that one. The lifers weren't having it and insisted I ignore it and get back to work. A few weeks later, I quit on the spot after getting cussed out over asking if anybody had put an order in the oven yet. My work bestie was fired shortly afterwards, for what she claims was written down as "disobeying orders." She was very allergic to the fryer oil we used, it made her break out in painful, swollen hives, but the lifers kept insisting on making her clean the fryers, so it was probably that, I imagine. Who knows, though? There came a point where it was never enough, no amount of speed or cleanliness or quality. We were always understaffed, and now they'd fired one of their best workers. I met another one of the coworkers I'd bonded with working elsewhere. It was retail, under a notorious asshole boss, but at least it wasn't there. Her arms were covered in deep burn scars the day she'd walked in, so I imagine she's used to it. I hope she'd okay. I should probably try to check in on her, actually. I never asked if she left or was fired. I know they never patched the leak. They didn't the first time. Of course they didn't learn their lesson, the whole place was just a number in the bloated investment portfolio of some silver spoon fatcat from Toronto, he didn't give a fuck. None of us ever even met him, or learned his name. Fully hands off. We'd pull like $15,000 or even $20,000 some nights, but all made minimum wage, and were always one call-in away from total collapse. They kept cutting hours. They would send people home in the middle of dinner rushes because "we're spending too much money on labour." Schedules became mere suggestions. We were never given end times to begin with. 11 or 12 hour shifts weren't uncommon on my end, but sometimes I'd only get 3. It was a coin flip every night. My point is, the place was managed, on all levels, by people who'd drown if it rained. Thinking about how perfect the place could have been still makes my heart rate increase. It filled a niche with absolutely no local competition. Our profit margins were absurd. And yet the dullards filling the office chairs didn't understand that you need cooks to produce food, and the place began creaking under their weight. I left before something gave. I suppose me leaving was something giving though, in a way. I worked my ass off for that place. I made them thousands, IN PROFIT, every night. I feel like maybe that triggered the exodus that followed, idk. Don't want to aggrandize myself too much. As far as I know, the second burning hasn't happened yet. But it will. It's all but guaranteed to. I hope that, just like last time, nobody's there when it happens. But I also hope that, unlike the first time, this time the entire place completely, unsalvageably burns down to ash, reduced to a concrete foundation. I hope there's nothing left to rebuild. I hope the cycle finally ends. I pretty much never got to take my legally mandated break again after that first shift, btw. Should have seen it as a sign, but it was just one shift right? They needed me, they said. They needed me.

[ozzgin]

Ozzgin more than ever I really need a hacker yandere out to fight injustice done against me. Because why was my bank account hacked and someone tried it ed to steal 500$ bucks from me. Luckily I was able to lock my card and my bank is sending me a new one but I'm so so anxious at this point 😭

Yandere hacker would never let some twerps swindle me for my money like this(I'm sure they're a bunch of kids since the person tried to buy cs go ). He cares deeply for my digital footprints.

Oof, sorry it happened to you, pookie. Though I doubt a yandere would help you out of the goodness of his heart... content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, manipulation, stalking

Yandere!Hacker always makes sure that your digital presence remains untouched. Through some sheer luck or unknown forces, you've never had to deal with any kind of online misfortune. You'll offer your friends a sympathetic smile whenever they bemoan the persistence of some internet pervert, but you've been spared of such predatory approaches.

You'd almost be tempted to believe that these said malicious attacks are mere myths meant to scare the unseasoned traveler. You've never been hacked, never been scammed, never had your data or photos stolen from anywhere. Maybe you're just particularly careful, you tell yourself.

In reality, you've been under the watchful gaze of your online stalker. He dutifully keeps track of every move and every click you make. If someone were to save one of your photos for later purposes, for example, he'd immediately track them down and make sure they can never access a computer again.

Yandere!Hacker doesn't protect you out of pure, selfless intentions, however. When it comes to invading your privacy, he's a meticulous sleuth constantly outdoing himself. It's just, you see, no one else should have this kind of control over you. From the moment he stumbled upon your profile, he knew you'd be his. Thus, he can't allow anyone else to interfere with his grand adoration.

Your dating apps always fail to show you any matches, your flirty messages from suitors never arrive. He'll watch through the webcam he's hacked into as you sigh, disappointed, from yet another case of being ghosted. Oh, sweet, darling (Y/N), give him a little more time.

Yandere!Hacker isn't quite satisfied with watching you from afar. While it certainly is endearing to observe you in your raw, innocent obliviousness, while he frequently touches himself to the exhilaration of voyeurism, being a passive bystander can become exceptionally boring. He often wonders if your skin is as soft as it looks, or if you smell as sweet as he likes to imagine.

"This can't be..."

Tears well in your eyes as you stare, helpless, at the notification: your bank account has been drained. Someone must've emptied it, and - as a consequence - you are now utterly penniless. Just as another sob escapes your mouth, your screen lights up with a new message. An acquaintance you don't remember too well.

"Is everything alright with you, (Y/N)? I just wanted to remind you that you can always count on me for anything. I mean it."

He leans back in his chair with a grin. Now he waits. You're desperate enough that it shouldn't require much convincing for you to move in with him. Of course you can have his spare room. No, he truly doesn't need anything in return. You're his dear friend, and he's at your service.

You can always rely on him.

[More Yandere Stories]

[demonic0angel]

"Jason, stay out of this."

"Seeing as thats my Wolf you're going to interrogate. Fuck no."

(When I'm stressed and anxious and a kind anon sends me an ask about Anger Management with Jason being protective over his assistant 😭🫶 y'all know me so well)

Part 2

Batman froze. "What?"

Red Hood pushed past him in his moment of distraction and entered the interrogation room, where Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter were sitting across from Wolf. They all looked at him when he entered, eyes wide at the sight of the gun in his hands.

He pointed it at Wolf.

"Hands up," he said. She raised her hands calmly, the chain that linked her to the table clacking before he shot it off and strode over to pull her to her feet.

Red Hood handed her the gun and used his left arm to lift her into his embrace, holding her up into the air as he took out his other gun and held it securely. Wolf wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other to hold the pistol, leaning on him with an exhausted sigh.

Her weariness made him even angrier and he ignored the protests as he marched past all of them, even Batman.

"What is the meaning of this—!"

"You cannot just—!"

Batman interrupted and said sternly, "Hood. She is a criminal who murdered 2 people. Why are you—"

Red Hood tightened his hold on Wolf. She curled around his head further, trusting him completely. His fury waned underneath her faith and he was calm when he responded, "She's mine."

Batman froze completely, mouth slightly open. Underneath the helmet, Red Hood flushed before correcting himself, "She's one of mine and she was protecting me. Those two that she killed had attempted to attack a little girl to threaten me into backing down."

Wonder Woman opened her mouth. Surprisingly, it was Martian Manhunter who said, "We understand. We do not like it, but we realize that this is a Gotham issue... right? We shall let you go, but none of us want to see this again."

Red Hood pocketed his gun, reassured as he then used his free hand to rub Wolf's leg comfortingly. He nodded once and then turned to leave, leaving the three Justice League members staring at his back.

"Thank you for saving me," Wolf said quietly, their helmets knocking together in a soft clinking noise. She finally put down the extra pistol and wrapped both of her arms around him, sighing as she relaxed into his carried embrace.

Red Hood blushed and then said curtly, "It's whatever. Where would I even find another assistant if you're gone?"

She giggled and he held her tightly. Yes, she was safe and all was well now.

From where they still lingered, watching the intimate relationship between the Red Hood and another woman, Batman slowly turned to Martian Manhunter.

"... why did you let them go?"

"Red Hood is one of yours, correct?" Martian Manhunter asked. Batman nodded slowly.

"I felt as though neither of you would appreciate it if we hurt someone that Red Hood loved," he said with a casual shrug. Then with a swish of his cape, he walked off.

Leaving Batman floundering and shocked once more. Wonder Woman brought a hand to her mouth, hiding a delighted grin.

"Oh my. I suppose you'll have to welcome a daughter-in-law soon?"

[sinofwriting]

Faking It - Max Verstappen

Words: 850 Summary: Max finds out his girlfriend faked an orgasm. Note(s): NSFW, Talks of Sex, Mention of Semi-Public Sex. Part of a kind series where drivers find out reader faked an orgasm.

Max pauses just before the entryway to the living room. “Have you ever y’know?” His brows furrow at the vague question from his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Have I ever what?”

“Faked it. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

She scoffs, “Before Max, yes.”

His cheeks turn a bit pink at the conversation he was overhearing, but he also stands a bit taller.

He knew that their sex life was good, that she was getting orgasms, they had of course talked about it, but it was different hearing her talk to someone else about it with no idea he was there.

His brows furrowed in confusion when she speaks again, “well, I don’t really know if it counts as faking it.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s been a few times when we’ve had sex where I didn’t orgasm.”

His mind starts screaming at him, because what? He always made sure she came, usually before he did.

“Not because it wasn’t good or because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t.” He can practically see the shrug she gives. “The sex was still good though.”

“Y/N!” Her friend screeches and it breaks up a little through the phone.

The words replay in his head as he goes back to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He tries to think of when she would have faked it but nothing comes to mind. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t hear her call his name or get onto the bed until she’s laying down on top of him, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her.

“What you thinking about?” She asks, pressing kisses to his jaw.

It normally relaxes the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin but not quite where he wants them, a lovely prelude to before she kisses him, but he can’t get past what he heard and he’s never been practically shy.

“When did you fake it? Having an orgasm with me?”

Her fingers pause where they had begun to lift his shirt to slide under. “Max, it’s not a big deal.”

His frown deepens and he’s pushing her upwards so they can look at each other. “Yes, it is. I always thought that I made you orgasm, usually first. And now I’ve found that isn’t true.”

She shakes her head. “You do! I promise you do.”

He doesn’t say anything and she sighs.

“It’s only happened twice.”

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that it only happened twice or pissed that he failed twice. It should have never happened but twice was far too much.

“The first time was after the FIA gala last year.”

His eyebrows furrow, “But you talk about that night a lot.”

“It was a good night. I felt good, amazing. I loved everything we did, I just wasn’t able to orgasm. I didn’t feel unsatisfied or anything. Especially not with my wake-up call.”

He smirks at the reminder of the next morning. He had woken up just as the sun was rising and had ducked under the covers and ate her out until she was begging for him to stop. His jaw and tongue had ached for hours after, but it was worth it for the taste of her stayed just as long.

“The second time was in China. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what if someone walked in.”

“So, I didn’t fuck you good enough.”

She slaps his chest lightly, sending him a disbelieving look. “I was limping a little after. And you're lucky I was wearing those heels and everyone believed me when I said I twisted my ankle.”

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes again, picking up her hand and kissing it. He still felt a little bad that their first foray into semi-public sex had been so rough. “Why didn’t you tell me though? That I didn’t make you come?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.” She tells him. “I love having sex with you, it always feels good regardless of me orgasming or not. And in those two instances I was just happy to be that close to you.”

He stares at her, looking deep into her eyes. He still feels like he’s failed but the way she’s looking at him, all gentle wide eyes filled with truth. “I’ll let it go.”

She snorts and he covers her mouth with his hand.

“But only if you tell me next time. Just so I can immediately make it up to you.” He says, removing his hand as he says the last word.

“Okay, I’ll tell you next time.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing their lips together.

She hums into the kiss, her one hand slipping out of his and returning to the hem of shirt, drawing it up so she can slip her hands underneath and his stomach flexes at the feeling of her fingertips and he’s rolling them over. Easily putting himself in between her legs.

“Feel like making a mess for me?”

She lets out a happy little sigh, teeth lightly sinking into her bottom lip as she nods. “Please?”

“Of course.”

[long-furby-marty]

1. Chipotle order?

Burrito with extra chicken. Perfect shape. 

2. Thoughts on veganism?

Some people just aren’t meant to be apex predators, good on them for admitting it. 

3. A specific color that gives you the ick?

Hot pink.

4. Mythical creature you think/believe is real?

Flesh furbies, the kind the mechanical ones were based on. 

5. Favorite form of potato?

Whole. Greased up and right down my gullet. 

6. Do you use a watch?

Nah. Phone in muppet hole. 

7. What animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

Eels. 

8. Do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

My cool sunglasses, back when I had them. I couldn’t fit them in my muppet hole (or even Flytrap’s!!) so I had to leave them on the side of the road with my Wii :( 

9. Do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)?

I try not to get fluids on me, I don’t like having to get clean again. Do you know how hard it is to wring yourself out?

10. On a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice?

I ask for milk. 

11. Anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

Well right now I have nothing. But before I got kicked out, I collected littlest pet shop toys. 

12. Brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%?

Blood. 

13. First thing you’re doing in the purge?

Killing Donald Trump. Second thing would be killing all the other Nazis. 

14. Do you think you’re dehydrated?

Probably. 

15. Rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning.

Burning is the worst, then drowning, then freezing. 

16. Thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

I prefer pistach. There should only be one green flavour. 

17. An anxious compulsion you do every day?

Your mom. Gottem!

18. Your boba/tea order?

Broth. 

19. The veggie you dislike the most?

Fucking, lima beans, dude. They freak me out. 

20. Favorite Disney princess movie?

Cinderelmo 

21. A number that weirds you out?

Any number that sometimes has a line through it. 0,7, they’re doing too much. Oh and 4. Why is it written two different ways? Fuck off. 

22. Do you have an emotional support water bottle?

No. I’m not gen alpha. Wait, am I? Nevermind. 

23. Do you wear jewelry?

Yes, I have this lovely ribbon around my neck. 

24. Which do you find yourself using, American or British English?

Canadian. 

25. Would you say you have good taste in music?

Yes. The Chipettes are inspiring. 

26. How’s your spice tolerance?

In books or food? I don’t season my food. Books on the other hand…

27. What’s your favorite or go-to outfit?

My vip wristband when I had it :(

28. Last meal on earth?

CHICKEN!!

29. Preferred pasta noodle?

Egg

30. Ask me anything!

If I have an ask I'll send one like everyone else.

weirdly specific and unrelated asks to know someone well:

chipotle order?

thoughts on veganism?

a specific color that gives you the ick?

mythical creature you think/believe is real?

favorite form of potato?

do you use a watch?

what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)?

on a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice?

anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%?

first thing you’re doing in the purge?

do you think you’re dehydrated?

rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning

thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

an anxious compulsion you do everyday?

your boba/tea order?

the veggie you dislike the most?

favorite disney princess movie?

a number that weirds you out?

do you have an emotional support water bottle?

do you wear jewelry?

which do you find yourself using, american or british english?

would you say you have good taste in music?

how’s your spice tolerance?

what’s your favorite or go-to outfit?

last meal on earth?

preferred pasta noodle?

ask me anything !

leave an ask for the person you reblog it from!

[romerona]

The swan Princess; Westeros Version.

Okay so, I can’t this out of my brain so just imagine this with me:

The reader-insert Targaryen Princess, the younger sister of Rhaenyra by about 16-17 years, and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it).

However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, setting the stage for a classic love-hate relationship.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: kids being kids.

The towering walls of Harrenhal surround you like sentinels, their dark history hidden beneath the banners of red and black for your name day celebration. It's your sixth name day, and the great hall is alive with music, laughter, and the scent of roasted meats. Nobles mill about in their finest, offering you warm smiles, expensive gifts and endless congratulations. You curtsy, thank them, and do all the things a proper princess should.

You’ve been told countless times how loved you are—how your bright smile and kind words can soften even the grumpiest lord. But the truth is, your feet ache from standing, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and you missed you sister Nyra, she couldn’t attend because she was about to give birth to her babe. You’re already planning your escape.

Your father’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Come, sweetling,” King Viserys beckoned warmly, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “There is someone I would have you meet.”

With his guiding presence, he led you across the hall to a man of imposing stature, his broad shoulders and solemn expression marking him unmistakably as a lord of the North—Lord Rickon Stark. Beside him stood a boy, perhaps a few years your elder, with a mane of dark curls and piercing grey eyes that seemed to observe the world with unnerving precision.

“Lord Stark, I trust your journey was swift and uneventful?” your father inquired with the easy grace of a king accustomed to courtesies.

Lord Rickon inclined his head in a deep bow, he straightened from his bow, his voice deep and steady, carrying the weight of northern formality.

“Your Grace, the journey was as kind as one could hope this time of year. The North sends its regards, and I am honored to stand in your presence once more. Thank you for the honor of hosting us.” He glanced at you and also bow, “May the princess’s name day bring joy to all who celebrate it.”

You smile politely, dipping into a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you and your family.”

Rickon gestures to the boy at his side. “This is my son and heir, Cregan.”

Cregan steps forward, bowing stiffly. It’s obvious he’s not used to it. He’s taller than you expected, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that reminds you of the knights in your father’s court—serious, reserved, and trying far too hard to look older than he is.

“Princess,” he says in a deep, measured voice, “happy name day. I hope it has been a joyful celebration.”

You smile at him, tilting your head.

“Thank you, my lord. It has been lively.” Your tone is polite, but you can’t help teasing him a little. He seems so serious, like he’s never laughed a day in his life.

Your father turned to speak with Lord Rickin about something you honestly had no interest in. Instead you turn to the boy, the young Lord, Cregan Stark.

“Do you always speak like that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Cregan blinks, clearly taken aback. “Like what?”

“So formal,” you say with a grin. “Do you practice in front of a mirror?”

His ears turn red, but he doesn’t lose his composure. “It’s important to speak with respect,”

You’re about to tease him further when your father nudges you gently. You remember your manners and curtsy again, leaving Cregan to stare after you as you’re whisked away to greet the next guest.

Later that evening, after what feels like hours of endless conversation and feasting, you finally find your chance to slip away. The gardens outside Harrenhal are quiet and cool, a welcome escape from the noise of the hall. The moonlight dances on the fountains, and the scent of night-blooming flowers fills the air.

You’re wandering down a stone path when you spot him—Cregan Stark. He’s crouched under a tree, poking at the dirt with a stick.

“You’re not supposed to leave the hall,” you say, your sudden voice startling him.

He shoots to his feet, hastily brushing dirt off his tunic as though it might erase his guilt.

“Neither are you,” he counters, his tone careful yet edged with a hint of accusation.

You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “I’m the princess. I can do as I please.”

“That’s not true,” he retorts, his grey eyes narrowing as he mirrors your posture. “The king said the garden is off-limits.”

A sly smirk curls your lips, your lilac eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, my father isn’t here, is he?”

Cregan’s frown deepens, his expression growing more serious. “If something happens to you, it’ll be my fault.”

Ignoring him, you take a step closer, letting your gaze drop to the stick he clutches. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Were you digging for treasure?”

His shoulders stiffen as he quickly moves the stick behind his back. “That’s none of your concern.”

Your grin widens, delighted at his discomfort. “So you were digging for something!”

“I wasn’t!” he insists, his ears tinged with a flush of embarrassment.

“Let me see,” you say, darting forward with a burst of energy and snatching the stick from his hand before he can react. You hold it aloft like a trophy, inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. “What is this supposed to be?”

“It’s just a stick,” Cregan replies, his tone laced with exasperation, as if he couldn’t believe you were making such a fuss.

You tilt your head, pretending to examine it like it’s some ancient artifact. “Were you digging for dragon eggs? Gold, perhaps?”

His cheeks flush, and he glares at you. “Stop teasing me!”

But teasing him is far too entertaining to stop now. You smirk, twirling the stick.

“Or maybe you’re looking for a duel,” you say, taking a step back and mimicking a defensive stance you’d seen knights adopt in the courtyard during their sparring sessions.

Cregan raises an eyebrow at you, incredulous. “I’m not fighting a girl. And a princess, no less.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your grin growing wider. “Why not? Afraid, Stark?”

He bristles immediately, straightening his posture. “I am not afraid,”

“Really? Then prove it,” you challenge, tapping the stick against the ground like a knight preparing to strike.

Before he can respond, you jab the stick lightly at his side, making him jump. “Ow!”

You laugh as he lunges for the stick, easily sidestepping him.

“You're slow," you taunt, spinning the stick like you've seen the knights do.

It's far too big for your small hands, but you make it work, grinning all the while.

Cregan narrows his grey eyes, his jaw tightening.

"I'm not slow," he says, his voice low and deliberate.

"Prove it, then," you say with a smirk, backing away a step. "Show me what the great Stark of the north can do."

He hesitates, glancing down at the mud smudging his boots, as if weighing the consequences.

“It wouldn't be honorable," he says stiffly, his tone full of the self-importance you've come to expect from boys who think they're men.

You roll your eyes. "You're no fun, Stark. What's the point of being a lord if you can't even defend your honor from a girl with a stick?"

His cheeks flush redder. "It's not proper to fight a princess!"

"Then you'd better run," you say, raising the stick and charging at him.

Caught off guard, Cregan stumbles back, his hands flying up in defense.

“Stop that!" he growls, but you've already jabbed him lightly in the side.

"First blood!" you declare triumphantly, poking him again before he can react.

"That's enough!" he snaps, grabbing for the stick, but you dance out of reach, laughing all the while.

"Not until you admit l've bested you," you tease, circling him with the mock seriousness of a seasoned warrior.

"Never," he mutters, his brows drawing into a stormy line.

But you don’t stop. You jab him again, then again, each time with just enough force to make him flinch. His face turns red—not from pain, but from anger—and you can’t help but laugh at how easy it is to rile him up.

“That’s enough!” he snaps, lunging forward and grabbing for the stick. His sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble, the stick slipping from your grasp.

The two of you freeze for a moment, glaring at each other, breathing hard. Then, as if on cue, the tension explodes again, and the scuffle resumes, this time with both of you trying to wrestle control of the stick.

The tugging begins. You yank the stick one way, he pulls it back with equal force. The push and pull grows more intense with every second, the dirt beneath your feet slipping as you both struggle for control.

“Let go!” he growls through gritted teeth, his stance wide and firm.

“You let go!” you fire back, gripping the stick with all the determination of a dragon refusing to yield its hoard.

You yank the stick back with all the determination your small hands can muster, and Cregan pulls harder in retaliation. The scuffle becomes a tug-of-war, and with one final, unsteady pull, you both lose your footing.

You fall first, landing ungracefully on the grass. Thankfully, you’re spared the mud, but the same cannot be said for Cregan. He topples beside you, landing with a loud squelch in the wet muck.

For a moment, the garden is silent save for your uneven breaths. You push yourself up, brushing grass off your skirt, and glance at him. His tunic is streaked with mud, his hair tousled from the fall, and a dark streak smudges his cheek like a careless smear of war paint.

You press your lips together, trying to stifle it—but it’s no use. Laughter bursts out of you, uncontrollable and bright.

Cregan turns his head sharply, his grey eyes narrowing as he sits up stiffly.

“Why are you laughing?” His tone is formal, but there’s a sharp edge to it, his annoyance barely restrained.

You hold your sides, laughing harder at his expression.

“Because—” you manage between giggles, pointing at his face, “—because you look ridiculous! Like a pig in a mud pit!”

Cregan stiffens, his jaw tightening. “You are hardly in a position to jest, Princess. You’re the one sitting in the dirt!”

His words make you laugh even harder, and for a moment, it seems like he might let it go. But then his temper flares, and with deliberate precision, he scoops up a handful of mud.

Before you can react, the cold, wet clump splatters across the front of your gown. You gasp, your laughter replaced with sheer outrage gasp.

“You big brute!” you exclaim, rising to your knees. You scoop up your own handful of mud and hurl it back at him with all the righteous indignation of a wronged queen.

The mud hits his shoulder, leaving a dark smear on the fine fabric of his tunic. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks genuinely shocked. Then his lips press into a thin line, and he glares at you with all the gravity an eight-year-old can muster.

He grabs another handful of mud, flinging it with far more force this time. You shriek as it lands on your sleeve, and without hesitation, you retaliate.

The garden becomes your battleground. Mud flies through the air as you dodge and lunge, your giggles ringing out as Cregan growls in frustration. He tries to maintain his formality even as he hurls clumps of dirt at you.

“Your behavior is unbefitting of a princess!” he calls, though the mud streaking his face makes him look anything but dignified.

“And yours is no better for a lord!” you reply gleefully, tossing another clump that narrowly misses him.

By the time your attendants arrive, the scene they stumble upon is one of complete chaos. You’re both caked in mud from head to toe, your gown a ruined mess, and his tunic utterly unrecognizable.

“Your highness!” one of your handmaidens exclaims, rushing forward. “What in the name of the Seven happened here?”

“She attacked me!” Cregan says immediately, straightening his posture despite the mud dripping from his hair.

“You threw the first mud!” you counter, pointing at him with a haughty tilt of your chin.

The attendants exchange exasperated looks as they pull you both to your feet, fussing over the state of your clothes and muttering about what your fathers will say when they see this.

[blood-smiles]

𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐎 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀࣪ ִֶָ☾✴︎˚｡⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 - MDNI TW!! suggestive thoughts and actions coming from yandere . yandere character . defo unprofessional behavior from reader . TO BE CONTINUED!!

╰┈➤ the white flashing of your camera lit up the room, capturing a perfect moment in time inside your device.

Scrolling through the pictures with your thumb, you nodded wordlessly at the various pictures. Perfect and beautiful.

Just how you liked it.

Packing up your gear, you decided it was time you went home, you were tired. Really tired from taking so many pictures, you felt a migraine coming from a mile away.

The soft patter of rain met your eardrums, letting you know it was drizzling and would probably last for a while.

You walked slowly, umbrella in hand, staring at the moon above while rubbing the sides of your head. The soft crashing of the waves hitting the rocks nearby.

Plugging in your headphones and playing some soft music while you walked to your house.

You counted the stars in the sky as you walked along the beach.

“ ♪ Luna quieres ser madre?.. y no encuentras querer que te haga mujer, dime Luna de plata.. Que pretendes hacer con un niño de piel.. ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.. Hijo de la luna.. ♪ “

You came to a stop, seeing a taller (wo)man (?) leaning against the railing, strange that they were out so late. It was so dark already, what could they possibly be doing out here, in the rain of all places?

Their heterochromatic eyes gazed up at the sky too. Their face solemn and distracted, the rain pouring down over their head and back, their light blue—almost white, wavy hair dampened and forming beautiful coils.

They were so pretty, looking like an angel under the moonlight.. Were your spidey senses tingling right now? You just felt like you should approach them.

“Excuse me.” You interrupted softly, holding out your umbrella over their head, stopping the rain from dampening them even more.

“..What?” Oh, they had a deep voice.. you were caught off guard, they had very feminine traits and flowing long hair, so you just kind of assumed..

“Here.” You handed him your umbrella, which he accepted hesitantly, his hand shaking as he held the handle of the umbrella.

His eyes snapped towards your face, looking deeply into your eyes, looking for a sign of deceit or malice, but only finding kindness and genuine empathy.

His cheeks flushed a little, his ears turning red as he admired your features… how would it feel like if he ran his tongue along your cheek?—What. What was he thinking?!

His fingers slightly grazed your own, sending shivers down his vertebrae and sending his heart into overdrive. 

Snatching the umbrella, holding it close to his chest as he stepped back a little.

“You know, I hope this doesn’t sound creepy but, you’re stunning— You should try modeling! Who knows, maybe one day I’ll photograph you.” 

You joked lightly, putting your hands above your head to shield yourself from the water.

His free hand shakily lifted to cover the bottom portion of his mouth, pupils blown wide as he stumbled back a little. 

..That was the cutest interaction he had ever had up to this point in his entire life. That bashful smile— The twinkle in your (e/c) eyes— everything about you had him in a trance!

“G-Get lost!” He yelled, tightening his hold around the umbrella and running away, his heart beating in his ears, heart swelling and feeling the wings of a swarm of butterflies nicking his guts.

You were left standing under the rain, rethinking your wording and kicking yourself in the stomach  internally for scaring off a potential client.

And… that was the last time you saw him, or so you thought.

Oblivious to you, he just ran off because his heart was in over drive and might have exploded from a cuteness attack.

He glanced down at your umbrella, his eyes zeroing in on the small writing on the handle, ‘Y/n L/n’? That was the name of the cute idiot he met?

Looking up the name all results showed up, your face everywhere! He shakily touched your “face”,  staring into your eyes for an alarming amount of time.

A famous photographer, huh?.. He thought about what you said.. A model? Him? Well, wouldn’t hurt to try.

3 years later…──★ ˙📷 ̟ !!

You had been hired, a big shot model was coming to your studio to get some magazine pictures done.

You opened the models portfolio, checking out some news about him too, he had gone viral lately. 

“Son of the moon’? Huh, interesting.” You mumbled, taking in the model’s proportions, his face rung a bell in your brain. But as hard as you tried to get your synapses to connect, you just couldn’t form a coherent memory..

‘Mikhail White’ …

You chalked it up to seeing him in magazines or social media.

Putting the portfolio aside, your feet pushed you on your own feet, walking over to your setup and making minor tweaks to your studio.

“(Y/n), they’re here.” The voice of your assistant interrupted your movement, nodding your head you put your hands over your professional camera and looped it over your neck.

You stepped back, letting the makeup artist enter with their big box of makeup supplies, then came in the manager of the model, eyes sharp and analytical as she clasped her clipboard in her arm.

And finally, the model entered. The star of the show, Mikhail, A pretty average sized person, for a model, that is. He stopped in front of you, staring you down with those uniquely colored eyes.

You got that feeling again, was it Deja vu, perhaps? Their eyes hit a chord in you, yeah. You had seen them before.. Just where?

“Welcome, thank you for hiring me.” You smiled warmly, turning your gaze to the manager, extending your hand out for a friendly handshake.

The woman scoffed softly, shaking her head “No thank you, I don’t do handshakes.” The tall woman gently replied, although it sounded more like a mother scolding her child.

“O…Okay.” You laughed nervously, letting your hand begin to drop to your side.

“Thank you for having me here, (Y/n).” The model suddenly spoke, gently taking your hand and shaking it before it could totally fall.

“Oh, um. Yeah, for sure!” Taken off guard you reciprocated the hand shake before letting go, his hand not letting go completely.

You pulled your hand free with a soft tug, turning to sit down on your chair as you wait for the makeup artist to doll up the male.

You stared at him from a distance, you felt like he had curly hair, but instead were met with silky, straight hair running down his back.

Mikhail was shaking, his hands quivering on his lap as he looked through the mirror on the vanity. He stared at your form through the reflective surface, watching how you scrolled through your phone or opened the portfolio with his pictures.

Did you think he was attractive? Did you like his hair? He decided to try something new for you, he hoped it caught your eye…

He gently bit down on his bottom lip, looking down to let the artist work on his eyeshadow, he wanted to physically recoil from the person’s hands, wishing it was yours instead.

He had worked up to this point for three whole years, all just to be photographed by you, one of the best photographers in the whole industry.

Ever since that night, under the pouring rain, he couldn’t wipe you off his brain, you were like a drug,the image of you gnawing at his sanity. It hurt so good though, so good he couldn’t stop and soon found himself addicted.

You indirectly changed his life, he went from being a pathetic nobody to one of the most popular and influential models of his time, and honestly.. It was all thanks to you, even if you don’t remember him.

Mikhail dressed in a lacy attire, showing off part of his stomach and most of his thighs, his hair decorated with small silver clips and silk bows, beautiful diamond earrings hanging off his ear lobes.

His face sparkled with glitter, long white eyelashes fluttering, his visage was that of perfection. Comparable to an arctic fox nestled in silks and diamonds, you could see why the media called him the ‘son of the moon’ more clearly now.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” You complimented, leading him to the middle of the shot, he looked up at you, not saying anything, however the flush of his ears said different.

Now, if you remembered correctly, the theme was ‘wedding after-party’ although you didn’t know it was going to be this suggestive..? You did agree to it so no backing out anymore, you suppose.

You had something in your mind already so you just ran with it, the manager agreed with your idea too, you expected her to spit in your face and tell you no in all honestly..

He gazed at the camera with a sultry gaze, imagining it was you he was looking at, he did as you asked, allowing you to brush some of his hair or to position his soft strands as you wished.

He peered up at you through his eyelashes, looking almost desperate, leaning into your touch subconsciously. This had been a fantasy of his for a long time, a real wet dream for him.

In fact, he had pressed for the theme to be more suggestive, wanting you to see him in a more intimate scenario.

In the last shots of the session, everyone came to an agreement to put some false cake frosting pieces over Mikhail, leaning more into the wedding cake aspect.

You dipped your hand in the substance, grabbing some in your hands and leaning down to smudge some over his face, dropping some here and there strategically.

You took your camera back in your hands, positioning it perfectly for it to capture the scene’s beauty and allure.

The ice blue haired man bent and arched his body any and all ways you desired, placing his hands on his lap as he took some of the frosting on his finger and brought it up to his mouth, licking it, sending you the most loving and passionate gaze he could muster. 

Wordlessly hinting with just his sharp eyes how much he wanted something other than a few pictures, something that was spelled with four letters, D-A-T-E.

That..wasn’t scripted, but you just went with it and snapped a few pictures. You leaned back in your chair, stretching out the knots in your back and listening to the pops in your spine.

That was the last of the shots, all you need to do now was transfer the pictures to his manager and get a sweet sweet wad of cash back.

You smiled at the thought, sighing pleasantly.

You bid the trio of workers goodbye, although the rosy cheeked model stayed back, approaching you and putting a small piece of paper in your hand shyly.

Right before you were about to say something he shut you up by pecking your cheek gently.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, his voice soft and heartfelt, it was more…intimate, more meaningful than a simple ‘thanks for taking my pic’, he made it sound like you had just swooped in like Superman and saved his life.

He clasped his hand over yours, making sure you kept the paper in your hand as he began leaving hastily, not lingering for a moment more or less.

‘Go out on a date with me..? XXX-XXX-XXXX ♡’

Well shit. Things just got a whole lot interesting.

[torpublishinggroup]

This advertisement is for Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne, a cozy fantasy steeped in sapphic romance about one of the Queen’s private guards and a powerful mage who want to open a bookshop and live happily ever after…if only the world would let them. Cover art by Irene Huang.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

All Reyna and Kianthe want is to open a bookshop that serves tea. Worn wooden floors, plants on every table, firelight drifting between the rafters…all complemented by love and good company. Thing is, Reyna works as one of the Queen’s private guards, and Kianthe is the most powerful mage in existence. Leaving their lives isn’t so easy.

But after an assassin takes Reyna hostage, she decides she’s thoroughly done risking her life for a self-centered queen. What follows is a cozy tale of mishaps, mysteries, and a murderous queen throwing the realm’s biggest temper tantrum.

[verushkak70]

I understand what you're trying to do but in my experience it doesn't work

I've debunked literally hundreds of insane, factually & scientifically wrong crap a friend has been sending me off social media since the FIRST orange asshole campaign

It has not made a difference & I recently realized why (aside from, y'know, tens of thousands of Chinese & Russian social media bots gaming algorithms to inject false narratives into the mainstream to influence elections & democracy in multiple countries...)

It's because facts do not matter to him anymore

This is a belief system very much like religion - it might as well be religion

It is impervious to facts & science

Yet this is someone who I once considered highly intelligent & I still cannot understand how he's fallen for all of this except that, deep down, he must have either a hollow core, or a core of hate, that wants everyone else in the world to be as secretly miserable as he is (which I only know because I've known him for decades - since high school - casual observers would never say "this guy is miserable & self-loathing")

Objectively, on paper, he is intelligent or at least was intelligent & high scoring enough to get into Ivy League universities when we were graduating high school (he did not go to any tho; neither of us could afford such universities; we went to the state university that would take literally anyone, at the time, & from which you had to work at getting kicked out)

This was formerly a pro-choice, pro-porn, pro-drug guy who has drunk the Kool-aid - he's still pro-porn & pro-drug but suddenly in the past 2 years, as "throw it back to the states" became the propaganda on X (his favorite social media, ugh), he started saying it should be thrown back to the states

This from a guy who used to say - in his 20s, 30s, 40s - that abortion should be available on demand at drive thrus (which was hyperbole ofc; obvs you can't get one at an actual drive thru; it was the concept of fast & easy access he was championing)

As these right wing evangelical positions have trended on X, they have come up in his speech the past couple of years (really the past decade, but it accelerated like the speed of light once he moved from FB to the post-Musk Twitter/X)

Because I've known him for so long, I've been able to say, "Huh, you never used to say/believe that over the last 40 years... Why the change, & why now?"

& even that does not get him to realize his opinions are being deliberately shaped by propaganda

He will deny it or say "well I always kind of thought that way" & when I say "dude, you've never been shy of sharing your opinions, whether people wanted to hear them or not, especially if not! so why haven't you mentioned this change of opinion until after X became your main source of 'news'?"

That gets evasions & subject changes because the idea that he didn't come up with these ideas on his own is unacceptable

He will share literally fake news from X & when I ask, "OK, I get that you don't trust mainstream media, with good reason; or the government, with good reason; or the medical/scientific establishment, not without good reason; but you'll just believe anything some clown you don't know on the Internet - who could be anywhere in the world despite his "US Navy Vet" trucker hat - says, without question?"

& his response is always subject changes & attacks on mainstream media/government/politicians/parties but never an answer to the actual question because there is no rational explanation & he knows it

& if I call him on the subject changes, he just ratchets up the subject changes & attack rhetoric as if I'm one of those easily offended wilting liberal flowers he can steamroll, which I'm not & never have been, so it's interesting (if sad) that he thinks what works on other people will work on me

Or maybe he just doubles down because there IS no rational explanation, idk

This is seriously depressing me because this guy was my BFF for like the first 30 of our 40 year friendship - my older sisters would call him "our adopted little brother" - & I don't recognize him anymore

The only reason I continue to talk to him, really, is my oldest sister, who passed away a year ago in February, & was a big activist & organizer/coordinator of various (large) protests here, said "don't give up on him, don't fight or argue - just keep listening & questioning" because "he's a good egg"

& honestly he is, underneath all the sourball curmudgeon thorny exterior - the man has never not been there when I needed him & lots & lots of times when I didn't, just for fun

But this is becoming exhausting & I'm stressed out from not literally screaming "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!? WHERE IS MY FRIEND, YOU CRAZY POD PERSON WHO TOOK HIS PLACE??"

I'm sorry - I'm just venting, I guess

But please tell me how someone can maintain the cognitive dissonance of a high index of suspicion for the mainstream media, the government, & medicine/science, but not some Joe Blow clown on the Internet - as if somehow that guy (who's probably actually a Chinese or Russian bot) is telling the gospel truth & has a hidden mainline to the secrets of the universe

Because I can't understand it

I can understand it in people who've not had the privilege of university education (my friend has)

or international travel (my friend has, multiple times, with me & others)

or who never left the neighborhood or town where they grew up (my friend did as soon as he could)

I cannot understand it in my formerly skeptical & always shrewd friend

I honestly do not get it 😞

So many people do not understand the relationship between climate change and cold weather.

[wholoveseggs]

I am currently dealing with my mother being in end care hospice for Alzheimer’s, dreading every time my phone makes a noise because it could be the worst news. I am spending my time either sobbing or a complete zombie with a barely functional brain. (I put a spray bottle in the freezer instead of the drink I was chilling). I live alone and have no close friends or family near me and I just wish I had an Elijah to hold me. I just wish I could lay on top of him in bed, him holding me and petting my hair while I cry.

I totally understand if this is not something you’re comfortable writing, but if you are, I’d really appreciate it. If nothing else, I thank you for reading my message.

Anchor

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} Grief threatens to overwhelm you, but Elijah's calming presence becomes your anchor, reminding you that even in your darkest hours, you are not alone.

♡♡ I love you, anon, and I’m so incredibly sorry that you’re going through this. My heart aches for you, and I hope that this fic can offer you even the smallest moment of comfort. You are not alone, and I’m sending you so much love and strength~ ♡♡

672 words - Warnings: angst, grief, comfort & cuddles

When you are a child, your parents are this big, strong figure. They seem invincible and all-knowing. But then you grow up. And one day, you realize that your parents aren't superman. They aren't invincible and they certainly aren't infallible. Your parents, the same people who were your entire world as a kid, are suddenly human. And sometimes, humans get sick.

Everyone reacts differently, and there's no right or wrong way to feel. There's no road map or set of instructions on how to mourn. You can be angry, or sad, or numb, or all three at the same time. It's a roller coaster, a freefall, and you never know when the next wave of emotions will hit. It's okay to feel what you feel. It's okay to want to hide. And it's also okay to want to be with someone, to have someone to lean on.

You can't change the fact that your parents got sick, and you can't change the outcome. The limbo of losing them while they are still alive is a terrible feeling, like an emotional purgatory. All you can do is focus on yourself, and remember that the pain will pass, eventually.

It was one of those nights when the weight of the world felt unbearable, crushing your chest and making it hard to breathe. You sat curled up on your couch, terrified to look at your phone, waiting for a call you dreaded yet knew was inevitable.

You didn’t notice Elijah’s presence at first. It wasn’t unusual for him to move like a shadow, quiet and gentle, especially when he knew you were hurting. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his dark eyes full of concern, before approaching you with the kind of care only he could manage.

"My love," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He knelt in front of you, resting his hand on your knee. "You needn't face this alone."

His words broke something inside you. The dam of composure you tried so desperately to maintain crumbled, and the tears you’d been holding back poured out in waves. Elijah didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as your sobs wracked your body.

He carried you to your bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and coaxing you to lay on top of him. His arms wrapped securely around you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other ran through your hair with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

"You’re allowed to grieve," he murmured against your temple. "You’re allowed to feel lost, to feel overwhelmed. But know that I am here. You do not have to carry this burden on your own."

You clung to him like a lifeline, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though letting go would send you spiraling into the abyss.

"I feel like I’m breaking, Elijah," you choked out. "I don’t know how to do this."

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You don’t have to be okay right now. You’re enduring something no one should have to endure alone. But you are stronger than you realize, and I will hold you through every moment of doubt and despair."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and though the pain didn’t vanish, the sharp edges dulled ever so slightly. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear became an anchor, a reminder that even in your darkest hours, you had someone who cared deeply for you.

As your breathing evened out and the tears subsided, Elijah continued to stroke your hair, whispering soft reassurances. His presence didn’t fix everything. It couldn’t. But it made the unbearable seem just a little more manageable.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you closed your eyes and let yourself rest, knowing that Elijah would be there, steadfast and unyielding, for as long as you needed him.

[larluce]

First I wanted to say hello and tell you that I love your works. They really have me on the edge of my seat every time I read them.

Second. Can you imagine that Merlin, in some new alternative universe, for some reason, upon arriving in Camelot, arrives with a baby? It's all still a Merthur ending, it should be noted.

Like, we know that Merlin was already a bit of an outcast in the village for the reason that nobody knew who his father was and even more so because strange things were always happening around him.

The situation gets much worse when he finds a crying baby in the middle of a burnt tent near the village.

Will and his mother try to help him for a while, but with the visits of the evildoers to the village becoming more and more frequent, Merlin and the baby have no choice but to go to Camelot.

And so the adventures begin!

Only now Arthur wonders if they can make crowns for babies, because he is willing to marry Merlin and legally adopt the baby as his own.

And Morgana… well, she and Gwen enjoy dressing up the baby in all the clothes from her old dolls. Not to mention that she notices that by taking naps with the baby she no longer has nightmares.

The knights become, in some way or another, glorified nannies. The servants and maids must chase after a baby who never stops causing mischief in the castle.

And Merlin just wants to survive colic season and potty train his baby… and everything would be easier if there weren't a murderer or a resentful wizard trying to kill Arthur every 3 minutes.

First, thank you so much for the compliments! 🥹🤧❤️

About the concept. I love it! I don't think going to Camelot to live would be Merlin or Hunith's first option for a baby that can't control their magic at all. So I firmly believe Hunith would send Merlin with the baby there so Gaius can take them to a druid camp so they could take refuge there.

The problem is, before Gaius can do so, Merlin is made the prince's personal manservant. Merlin can't exactly deny the king and he does need the money to take care of his baby so he decides to stay to Gaius dismay. Gaius and Merlin try to keep the baby hided at first so they take turns taking care of her (in my mind is a her) in Gaius' tower in secret. It works out for some weeks but then the plague (Nimueh's Afanc) happens and Arthur searches Gaius' tower.

Arthur: (enters Merlin's room) Merlin: (running inside) Arthur, wait! Baby: (sitting on the bed, looks up at Arthur and gives a cute giggle) Arthur: (Turns to Merlin slowly) Merlin? Merlin: Yeah? 😅 Arthur: Why is there a baby in your bed? Merlin: (in panic, shouts the first thing that comes to his mind) She is mine! Arthur: ... Arthur: What? 😧 Merlin: (repeats more quietly but more firmly) She is mine. (runs to hold her up and embraces her) She is my daugther. Arthur: (thinking) But... but he is so young. (says) Where's the mother? Merlin: (with pain as he remembers the burnt tent) She passed away. Arthur: (his heart hurting for Merlin) I'm so sorry. But Gods Merlin, why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have given you so many chores if I knew... (thinking) And I almost sacked you. I almost sacked a single father with a baby in arms! (says) And why the hell are you hiding her? Merlin: I... wasn't sure if I could keep her. Arthur: Of course you can keep her! What kind of master do you think I am? Knight x: (from outside) Sire? Arthur: (shouts back) In a minute! (to Merlin) What's her name? Merlin: Brigitta. Arthur: (repeats softly and smiles) Brigitta.

From then on, Arthur doesn't give Merlin as many chores and raises his salary considerably. And then everybody else finds out about Briggitta and go "I've only met Brigitta for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself".

Some events would change, obviously, and some would remain the same but with a new perspective. I don't think Merlin would have time to make Lancelot a fake seal, for example, having to look after Brigitta and all. I can imagine Lancelot becoming Brigitta's first unnofficial babysiter, then Arthur makes it official so poor Lancelot has a salary and a place to stay in Camelot. The Poisoned Chalice episode would remain the same, except Arthur would be more in panic mode and desperate because MERLIN HAS A DAUGHTER! BRIGITTA CAN'T LOSE HER FATHER TOO!

I think it would be The Beginning of the End where Arthur and Morgana find out about Brigitta's magic and Merlin's magic. Not because they discovered her, surprisingly, but Merlin decided to tell them all the truth about her and himself after seeing how they saved Mordred. Also, since Merlin saw Brigitta's possible future in Mordred, he wants to leave Camelot too to keep her safe. Screw all what the dragon told him about destiny, his daugther comes first.

So Merlin and Brigitta are about to leave with Mordred with the druids. They are having a heartfelt goodbye with Arthur, who scorted them there, but then...

Brigitta: (cries very loudly in Merlin's arms and the earth starts shaking a bit) Merlin: I know, I know, baby, but we have to go. Brigitta: (cries more loudly and extends her little arms to Arthur) Arthur: (barely containing his tears) I'll miss you too, Biddy. But this is the best for you- Brigitta: ATHU! 😭 Arthur: (open his eyes wide) What did she just said? Brigitta: (still crying and making grabby hands at him) ATHU, ATHU, ATHU! 😭 Arthur: (tears roll down his eyes) She said my name... Merlin, she said my name! (grinning widely) Let me hold her one more time, please! Merlin: (gives Brigitta to Arthur) Druid leader: (urgently) We need to leave now! Merlin: (looking at Arthur and Brigitta tenderly and smiles) Leave, we'll stay.

I also can imagine Nimueh going after Brigitta's life instead of Hunith, and having to confront not only a very furious Merlin, but a feral protective prince.

That's how far my imagination can go. If you have any ideas of how Merlin and Arthur or other character would act in other episodes now with Brigitta in the equation, share it in the comments or reblogs. I'll be happy to read you 🥰

[rhiannonsknife]

— thinking about lucy and wasteland pollen…

— warnings: wasteland!reader. fem!reader. nsfw content. so mdni.

lucy is new to everything up here.

so naturally, she doesn’t think twice before bounding into a field of strange-looking flowers, her curiosity leading her straight to them.

“would you look at that?” she says, crouching down to inspect a cluster of golden petals swaying gently in the breeze. you don’t even have time to warn her before her boot lands on something with a soft crunch. the motion releases a faint hiss below, and suddenly a shimmering cloud of yellow spores billows up around her. lucy only waves a hand through it, laughing. “huh, weird plants!” she remarks, completely and utterly unfazed, oblivious to the danger.

“why did you stop?” she calls over her shoulder when she notices you lingering a few feet back, hesitant to follow. “don’t tell me you’re scared of a little flower dust!”

the golden dust of spores clings to her jumpsuit, her hair, her skin. every part of lucy seems coated in them, yet she doesn’t appear worried in the slightest.

instead, she frowns at you.

“you’re acting weird. did i do something?” lucy asks, unaware of the risk she’s already unleashed. the spores are likely already in both of your systems, setting something irreversible into motion.

lucy has always been so unaware of her effect on you. even now, she seems to find a way of making everything harder for you.

you’re the one who has to decide to leave the field and get her somewhere safer, (once again getting both of you to safety as per usual) but even then, it’s impossible not to notice the little things about her: the way the flush begins to creep up her neck. how her fingers nervously fidget with the straps of her pack. or the way, when you sit down at your makeshift shelter for the night, she keeps shifting closer to you without even realizing it

the silence stretches on until lucy, never one to hold back her curiosity, finally breaks it: “why is it so hot in here? Is it just me? Is that…normal?” she asks, tugging at the collar of her jumpsuit, exposing a sliver of skin that feels suddenly too intimate to look at.

you force yourself to turn away, to focus on literally anything else, even as heat pools in your stomach.

“maybe it’s the air circulation,” she muses aloud, her fingers still working at her jumpsuit. “vaults had better airflow! this place is like a furnace!”

lucy pauses, then glances at you again. “your face is all red too!”

she leans in, her eyes locking onto yours. the space between your bodies shrinks. suddenly all you can think about is how close she is, how her heat radiates against you, how easy it would be to reach for her and-

“lucy, it’s not the air!” you blurt, scrambling back with a voice that betrays how strained you feel.

lucy only frowns in confusion.

“what do you mean?” she asks. “is this one of those things i should’ve read about in that wasteland survival guide you made me throw out?” her brows knit together as she stares at you, the weight of the situation still not sinking in.

“lucy, stop!” you finally snap, the sharpness of your voice cutting through the haze that’s currently clouding both of your thoughts.

“why?” she demands, louder this time. “oh, gee, are you sick? are we sick? what’s happening?” her hands flutter in front of her, restless and unsure, and you have to catch her wrists to still her before she completely spirals.

“it’s not sickness!” you manage hoarsely. “it’s something in the flowers outside. it- it does things to people,”

lucy doesn’t miss a beat. “what kind of things?” she asks, and the innocence in her voice sends a fresh wave of heat crawling up your neck.

“it’s like…a chemical reaction!” you try. “a really strong one”

she blinks at you, her expression still painfully blank. “like hallucinations? oh my- is this a drug thing? because i’m not-”

“not hallucinations, lucy!” you interrupt her. “it’s…sexual.”

she stares at you, her mouth opening, then closing again. “sexual?”

you close your eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to stay calm. “it’s an aphrodisiac. it makes people…” you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without your voice breaking.

her lips part in a silent ‘oh’.

lucy shifts her weight awkwardly, her cheeks flushed. “so, is that why i feel…kind of weird?” she asks, looking down at herself. her hands fidget at her sides. “because i thought it was just the heat, but my chest feels tight and i-” she cuts herself off abruptly, her wide eyes darting up to meet yours. “wait, do you feel that too?”

you grit your teeth. “it’s the spores!” you say sharply, refusing to answer her question directly.

lucy sits in silence for a moment, mumbling ‘okay, okay’ under her breath. “this is fine!” she blurts out then, pacing to her corner of the room like she can outpace her own discomfort. she tugs at the zipper of her jumpsuit, pulling it down halfway to reveal the damp fabric of the tank top clinging to her skin.

“it’s just a little warm, that’s all! we’ve been through worse, right?”

“it’s temporary,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her. “it’ll wear off. we just need to wait it out!”

but lucy clearly doesn’t know how to wait something like this out. she doesn’t stop talking once, her voice a nervous stream of energy. “it’s just, like, a fever, right?” she says, forcing a laugh that’s far too loud. “i’ve had fevers before! this is fine. totally fine!”

you don’t respond. you can’t.

your jaw is clenched too tight, and your focus is entirely on not looking at her: not at the way she keeps fidgeting with the fabric of her suit around her thighs, or the way her chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths, or the way the flush spreads down her neck, blooming across her sweaty collarbones.

the air feels thicker by the second, stifling and heavy. you’re biting the inside of your cheek bloody and digging your nails into your palms, desperate for anything to ground yourself, anything to distract from the heat coursing through you, from the way your body throbs in time with your heartbeat.

lucy, who’s the one who got you into this mess in the first place, catches you staring at her. her breath hitches for a moment, her lips parting slightly. “are you okay?” she asks. “you’re being really quiet,”

“i’m fine!” It comes out harsher than you intend, and you turn away, pretending to rummage through your pack. your hands are shaking too much to do anything useful, but at least it gives you something to focus on besides her.

lucy doesn’t let it go. of course she doesn’t.

you hear the sound of her boots scraping against the floor as she stands and crosses the room, and before you can tell her to stay put, she’s kneeling in front of you. “hey,” she says, her hand hovering hesitantly near your shoulder.

“don’t!” you bark, jerking away before she can touch you.

her hand drops immediately, her face falling. “i wasn’t- i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to-”

“it’s not your fault!” you interrupt apologetically. “it’s just…”

you trail off. you want her, that’s what it is. you’ve been wanting her, long before she decided to step onto the petals and release spores that would only make matters worse.

now that they’re in your system, you’re hyper-aware of all the things you didn’t notice before: each breath lucy takes rings in your ears, the scent of her lingering with how close she’s sitting. hell, even the sweat that’s dripping from the side of her neck seems to draw you in.

lucy sits back on her heels, studying your face carefully. “it’s bad, isn’t it? the spores?”

you can smell her from here: sweat, heat, and something unmistakably sweet beneath it all. it only makes it harder to think. you swallow hard, nodding. “yeah. it’s bad.”

she hesitates, then asks the question you’ve been dreading. “is it bad for you because of me?”

you don’t answer right away, but when your eyes meet hers they seem to give her all the confirmation she needs. lucy, who’s very clearly not immune to the effects of the spores, doesn’t seem to fight them as hard as you are.

“i can feel it too, you know?” she murmurs. “it’s like this…heat. it won’t go away,” her cheeks flush deeper and she looks down. “i keep telling myself not to think about it, but-” her fingers twitch against the floor. you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to hold back, even as every fiber of your being screams at you to close the space between you.

“we can’t!”

lucy leans in. “why not?”

the dam breaks.

she freezes for half a second when you surge forward, only to melt into you moments later. your lips crash against hers, hard and desperate, and her back hits the wall with a soft thud.

her arms instinctively come up around your neck, pulling you closer. she makes a soft, startled sound against your mouth, but it quickly shifts into something hungrier, something raw.

lucy maclean, you only vaguely realize as her tongue slides past your lips, is moaning right into your mouth and you aren’t even touching her yet.

her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you shiver as the kiss deepens. the heat between your legs is unbearable now, a steady thrum that pulses through your veins, demanding release.

neither of you can stop the way your bodies move together, hips rolling forward in a frantic rhythm. there’s no relief there, in the way your hips meet halfway, only need, frustration growing with every futile attempt to grind yourself against her.

and yet you physically cannot stop.

it’s almost embarrassing how fast it sends you over the edge once you finally stumble to the dusty ground together and find a good angle to grind against each other, one that actually works.

it only takes a few lazy ruts of your hips until you’re cumming beneath her, rutting through the haze of pleasure. you’re just conscious enough to feel lucy tense up above you too, shaking and trembling with the force of her own orgasm, with her head thrown back and her hair sticking to the sweat on her face.

still, you can’t seem to stop.

a part of you expected this to be the end of the aching throb between your legs and the heat flashes, yet the orgasm only seems to make things worse: like an itch, only intensifying once it’s been scratched.

lucy, seemingly struggling with the same thing, feels greedy when she starts humping your leg all over again, whining: “can’t stop. m’sorry. i can’t stop!” as she drags her crotch over your thigh.

you can feel how damp she feels there, how hot and wet. at this point, you don’t care to think rationally about this. you’ve already crossed the point of no return, so you might as well make use of the…situation.

she is ever wetter than you’d expected from what you felt through her jumpsuit already (you both are): once you’ve peeled the fabric off her damp skin and reach between her legs for the first time, you’re taken aback by the sheer amount of arousal that has pooled there.

lucy is so wet, impatiently humping your fingers until two of them slide into her easily.

her own fingers curl around your wrist, moving it so she’s fucking herself on you.

two easily turn to three, her body gladly accommodating the stretch. and even then, even as the second orgasm crashes over her in record time, lucy is still panting and begging for more.

you know it’s the pollen. you know there’s no way to fully satisfy the urge until it wears off eventually. but how are you supposed to turn lucy down when your own body is aching for her and she’s quite literally begging for more? when she’s gushing down your wrists, her walls clamping down against your fingers so tight it’s hard to move?

of course, lucy gets you off too. you doubt you could’ve gone much longer without feeling her touch.

truthfully, you have no idea if she knows anything about this or if she’s going on some primal instinct caused by the spores.

either way, you’re in no position to question her when she aligns herself with you once she’s gotten you out of your clothes too. when she grinds against you with no restrictions in the way, clutching your hand tightly in her own to somehow ground herself. when her slick rubs against yours and you feel her cunt throbbing and her clit pulsing against your own until you cum with a desperate cry of lucy’s name.

it’s not surprising that neither of you had enough of the other just yet, with lucy already one orgasm ahead.

so she spins you around so you’re on all fours and puts her mouth on you from behind, lapping up your arousal.

her name echos through the night but you’re far too into this to care about the potential dangers you could be attracting. besides, if you die with lucy’s tongue inside of you, it’ll be worth it.

“oh my god!” you cry out, arching your back. she hums breathlessly, her hands on your ass and her lips closing around your clit as they suck.

it’s hours later, after she’s made you cum one final time on her fingers until you were gushing around them, that you both come to your senses again.

lucy is sprawled out on the floorboards by your side, staring at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. her chest heaves with uneven breaths, inhaling the heavy scent of sweat and sex around you.

“oh,” she says finally, hands folded over her stomach. “oh wow,”

while the adrenaline is still buzzing faintly in your veins, there’s something sobering about the cool ground against your hot skin and the way lucy hasn’t moved except for the occasional blinks.

“so,” lucy mumbles eventually. “that was the spores then..”

you let that linger, unsure if you want to tell her that it wasn’t just the spores. at least not for you.

“well,” she chuckles softly. “at least we won’t have to deal with that kind of pollen again! lesson learned!”

[torpublishinggroup]

This advertisement is for Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne, a cozy fantasy steeped in sapphic romance about one of the Queen’s private guards and a powerful mage who want to open a bookshop and live happily ever after…if only the world would let them. Cover art by Irene Huang.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

All Reyna and Kianthe want is to open a bookshop that serves tea. Worn wooden floors, plants on every table, firelight drifting between the rafters…all complemented by love and good company. Thing is, Reyna works as one of the Queen’s private guards, and Kianthe is the most powerful mage in existence. Leaving their lives isn’t so easy.

But after an assassin takes Reyna hostage, she decides she’s thoroughly done risking her life for a self-centered queen. What follows is a cozy tale of mishaps, mysteries, and a murderous queen throwing the realm’s biggest temper tantrum.

[y0ur-lovrr]

—A fighter, huh?

A/n:Im not really sure If this may be a bit out of character for him, but I wrote this when I was half asleep forgive me! 😭

I will also say that I will take requests for posts if you want to leave a submission and what not-enjoy reading! <3

Pairing; Chishiya Shuntaro x reader <3 (no gender applied I don’t think)

—chishiya hums quietly under his breath to himself as he situates himself against the railing of the hotel building, his eyes watching the floors below as the tagger moves, the sound of bullets hitting bodies and the footsteps of players and the tagger.

He got high up to get a good view of the other floors, an advantage point of finding the symbol needed to clear this game of ‘tag’.

Safe to say, it’s been a little boring to him, not having a clear idea of where the symbol is yet, but he doesn’t draw his eyes away.

Until something catches his attention, the sight of an altercation happening at one of the lower floors, between the tagger..and a player, or a couple of players.

“A fighter? Interesting..” he hums with a slightly smirk, leaning forward slightly, the slight breeze making his hair sway slightly from underneath his hood, but he just watches.

He recognizes one of the players as aguni, since he was a military man at the beach, so him being a fighter was expected. But even he was close to be downed. The other being a guy with blonde hair and an orange pull over shirt, bleeding from his side and leaning against the wall-probably got hit in an artery.. if chishiya could recall his name was Karube or something along the sort, he heard his friend call him that earlier at the starting point. But he wasn’t really paying attention.

But the one that caught his attention was the person actually fighting majority of it. Your moves were maybe a little sloppy, but it made it almost graceful with the way you were throwing punches left and right, ducking to avoid any hits-and it works in your favor considering the tagger’s gun was left laying on the floor.

“Hmmm…” he huffs out with a light snicker, clearly interested as he watches, even from here he can see that you were kind of roughed up-but not as much as he thought you would be. A bloody nose and maybe a busted lip, and he can just imagine how scratched up your knuckles were.

He watches as you throw another punch at the tagger-hitting them right in the face, hard enough to make them stumble back, before they suddenly lift their leg and kick at you, the hit hitting you right in your stomach, sending you stumbling back into the railing, back harshly landing into it, and he’s sure it would leave a bruise.

“Damn it..anyone tell you that kicking is a cheap move?” Your voice mumble out with a small grunt, lifting one of your hands to wipe the blood off of your nose. If he was an idiot he would have thought you were done-but he was no idiot.

Chishiya huffs out another light snicker of amusement as he watches as you throw yourself forward and collide yourself with the tagger, sending both you and them down the stairs, and he can hear the noise of you guys thudding down the stairs with grunts, giving Karube and Aguni to help find the symbol.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He mumbles to himself under his breath as he sees that’s theirs only 10 minutes left of the game, taking off his hood and turning and walking, having an idea where the symbol is-Arisu having the same idea

After the game is cleared, Chishiya and Aguni are walking out of the building, before Aguni stops and turns to a different direction, looking at something, making Chishiya raise a brow slightly and look over too.

“Damn kid took on majority of that fight like an idiot.” Aguni huffs out gruffly as he shakes his head, watching as you stand a few feet away from them, your head tilted back with your hand lightly against your nose, clearly trying to not get any more blood on your shirt.

“C’mon…I like this shirt…” you huff under your breath, annoyance in your voice along with a hint of pain, Chishiya lets out a small huff, finding it quite amusing that your shirt is what you were worried about.

“You might have a broken nose, you know..and your priority is your shirt, how straight forward that is.” He calls out casually, hands shoved in his pockets as if he wasn’t just at deaths door with his close this game got.

“So? It’ll heal. And I can’t get blood out of a shirt, it’ll just stain.” You retort with a huff, turning your head to look over at them, and lightly glaring at Chishiya, not finding his comment very amusing.

Chishiya quietly scoffs in reply, a slight smirk dancing across his lips, and Aguni isn’t really amused by your back and forth either. But before either of them can get another word out, you speak up for them.

“Man, you got roughed up, guess we kind of underestimated the dude, huh?” You mumble with a hint of sarcasm in it-referring to how Aguni told you and Karube that the tagger was a human and probably easy to beat with the three of you. Though he won’t admit that it was harder than expected. Aguni couldn’t help but scoff at your snarky comment, speaking as if you weren’t also a bit roughed up.

“But I had fun, so hopefully next time we meet I’ll be able to fight someone with you again.” You mutter with an amused huff and pat Aguni on the shoulder in a sort of mocking way-but he couldn’t really tell, you were kind of hard to read, but once again you don’t let them speak as you push past them and call out to Arisu and Karube in the distance.

“Hey! Can we go see Chota now? I wanna tell him about how I beat the hell out of that guy!” You exclaim enthusiastically as you jog slightly to catch up to them, Chishiya watching as you and your friends figures disappear into the dark streets.

“Hmm…she’s a fighter huh? And a good one at that.” He hums and slightly raises a brow at Aguni who just huffs and rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly and gesturing for him to follow along as he heads away from the building, planning on going back to the The Beach. And Chishiya follows after him, you were definitely a character, that’s for sure. And he couldn’t help but wonder what’ll happen when he sees you again. You’ll most likely meet in another game anyway. But, he was interested in when that’ll be.

[fairytaleendingss]

Inedible

Summary: You feel guilty when your OCD prevents you from eating the dinner James has cooked for you.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

CW: OCD symptoms, food anxiety, intrusive thoughts, mentions of food poisoning.

Hey guys! This is kind of different from some other stuff I've written previously but I wanted to give it a go. I'm kind of nervous for people to read it since it's quite personal so be gentle haha.

For context, I have been experiencing symptoms of OCD for the last couple of years (quite intensely at times) and I've unfortunately been unable to receive an official diagnosis so far. However, I also deeply resonate with many people's experiences with the condition and I have always wished there would be more fanfiction and content in general which depicted these experiences. So I figured, why not give it a go myself?

This is solely based on personal experiences and I'm aware that everyone has different symptoms so it might not be 100% accurate to everyone's experience. But I hope that someone out there is able to relate to it.

Let me know what you think and if you'd like to see me write more fics that involve a reader with OCD.

--

You sat at the dinner table as James bounced around the kitchen. The clattering of pots and pans could be heard as your boyfriend worked on his self-proclaimed "masterpiece".

You had had a long week at work and come Friday night, James insisted on treating you to a surprise homecooked dinner. You appreciated the gesture but James wasn't particularly well known in his friend group for his cooking capabilities and that made you slightly anxious. He insisted that he knew what he was doing, that this was his mother's old recipe and he'd helped her make it 1000 times growing up but something inside of you was still unsure. His determination to exile you from the kitchen wasn't helping matters either.

"Hey, honey, if you're going to use that cheese in the fridge, could you check the expiration date? It's been in there a little while." You called as your foot bounced up and down beneath the table.

"Don't worry, I'm not using that one," he called back. More pots and pans rattled around and you couldn't help but chuckle at the noise (and inevitable mess) he was making.

You leaned back in your chair and heaved out a heavy breath, trying to calm your nerves.

"This is so stupid," you muttered to yourself. "It's literally just dinner."

James emerged from the kitchen a few minutes, carrying two full plates and looking particularly pleased with himself. He placed one down on the table in front of you and took a seat opposite.

"Here you are, love. Dinner is served."

You mustered the best smile you could before glancing down at the plate in front of you. You did your best to contain your disappointment.

Chicken.

Dear god, why did it have to be chicken?

You looked up to see that James was already digging in, while a million thoughts raced through your mind.

What if he hasn't cooked it properly?

You'll get Salmonella and end up in Hospital.

If you eat this, you'll get sick and miss out on your friend's birthday party tomorrow. You've been looking forward to that for weeks!

"Is everything okay?"

James was staring up at you with those big brown eyes of his and you felt guilt begin to flood every inch of your body. He'd work so hard to make you this! He was so excited. You were letting him down by not trying it.

You nodded shortly, sending him a tight lipped smile as you picked up your knife and fork. Quickly you scooped up some of the vegetables on your plate and shoved them into your mouth.

Of course they tasted delicious.

They were sitting up against the chicken! What if they're contaminated with bacteria?

Did he remember to use different chopping boards for the meat and vegetables?

You shook your head discretely, as if in attempt to clear it of intrusive thoughts. It didn't work.

For the next 10 minutes you watched James eat while hesitantly picking at the greenery on your plate, all the while guilt gnawed at the walls of your stomach. You felt so bad that you were almost ready to cry.

At one point you picked up your knife and dug it into a piece of the chicken. You examined the slice thoroughly, shifting it on your fork to see it under the light. It looked fine. Not pink at all. Perfectly cooked.

But what if you just can't see it properly?

What if another section of it is undercooked?

You just couldn't do it. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't bring yourself to eat it. The thought only made the pit in your stomach grow deeper. James was going to be so upset.

As if on cue, the boy looked up at you, observing the anguished look on your face.

"Hey, what's going on? You've hardly touched your meal. Don't you like it?"

Your heart clenched and you felt tears burn against the back of your eyes.

"No it's not that. I'm just not very hungry tonight."

James raised a brow at you, setting his cutlery down. "Come on, love, I know that's not true. I've been listening to your stomach growl all evening. Tell me what's really going on."

You sniffled lightly, looking down at your hands which were fidgeting in your lap.

"I'm so sorry James. I feel really bad but I don't know if I can eat this."

You didn't look up at him. You couldn't bare to see the disappointment on his face. Feelings of shame and embarrassment began to join the flurry of emotions that swirled within you. You felt ridiculous. It was only a piece of chicken after all.

"Sweetheart, look at me."

You didn't know when exactly it had happened - you were too distracted with your own shame - but at some point, James had moved from his chair and was now kneeling at your side.

He lifted a gentle hand to brush away the tears that had begun to leak down your cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

You sighed, a new wave of tears beginning to fall as you looked up at him. "I do want to eat it. It looks amazing but I just... I can't!"

You were getting frustrated now. You were annoyed that your stupid brain wouldn't let you do something as simple as eat the meal your boyfriend had so kindly made you.

"Y/n, it's okay. I understand, you can't help it," James comforted, pulling you towards him and engulfing you in his strong arms.

He gently rubbed your back, whispering words of reassurance into your ear as more frustrated tears fell.

After a while, you pulled away, straightening yourself up, feeling absolutely mortified by your reaction to something as simple as a meal in front of you.

James, however, seemed completely unphased.

"Why don't we put this in the fridge and order some take-away instead?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes. "But you just spent so long making this for me."

"Eh, not to worry," he reassured casually. "You're just having a bad day, lovely. I'm not going to pressure you to eat it. Besides, Sirius is coming over tomorrow. I'm sure he'll eat it. He's always keen to go through our left-overs."

You sniffled, letting out a watery chuckle.

"That's my girl," James muttered affectionately. "Now why don't you look up the menu from that Pizza place that you like down the road while I tidy up."

You nodded lovingly, watching James whistle to himself as he wandered back into the kitchen.

You let out a sigh, pulling out your phone. Thank god for James Potter.

[quarterlifekitty]

To add to my earlier ask about how I have more step-dad Nik, your add on was so good because absolutely. Yes. Sweet girl is too fucked out to ask about protection or to think of anything other than Nik fucking load after load into her. She also doesn't think to ask for protection the next day in the shower since Nik gets her so worked up with his mouth first. Makes her cum on his tongue at least twice before fucking a few more out of her and filling her again. Cleans her up too, happy to hold his sweet girl and bathe her. Now I don't know how but she manages to get Nik to let her leave a second time (Nik is getting a new house ready closer to her college so she can attend online schooling, he doesn't want her feeling stir crazy when she's further along after all) and about a month after getting back she finds out she's pregnant. And despite being absolutely terrified of the situation she doesn't want to get rid of it, or at least keeps putting it off out of nerves. She eventually asks Nik if she can come visit and he's like 'oh, I sold that house, too many memories with the ex, new house is much closer to you though, do not worry' and he picks her up. Hand on her thigh the whole way to his (their) new home. She tries to act normal and everything but Nikolai can tell his sweet girl is distressed and presses her for the reason. Eventually she caves and tearfully confesses she's pregnant and she's 'so sorry' that she was so reckless and that she swears she won't bother him with anything and she'll go and he doesn't have to worry about her. And Nik only smiles 'Ah, what makes you think I'm mad? Hmm? And on that note, what makes you think that I'm not going to keep my pretty girl right here where I can take care of her?' and while SD should definitely be nervous and the red flags should be waving she never had a great basis for healthy relationships and she is falling for Nik as ashamed as she was of it at first. She keeps asking him if he's sure and it gets to a point where he just picks her up and takes her to their bed to show her just how sure he is. Funny side note Nik fully shoots her mom a text with something like 'thanks for introducing me to my soon to be wife, you should expect grandchildren within a year. Don't expect to see them though.' (take any dialog I type as an idea of what someone says cause I'm ass at typing in character) Once again thank you for listening to my rambling

Bro please ramble here all the time forever. I love this and I owe you my life.

Nik sending his ex a picture— doesn’t have your face in it, but you’re wearing like the one piece of family jewelry you ever got from her side of the family. It’s got your baby bump, and his hand holding yours— got a pretty ring on it now, too. And then he blocks her <3

Also reader like 100% has daddy issues in this one. Like her mom is piece of work and her dad is completely absent for whatever reason— when was the last time someone took care of her? Probably back when she was physically incapable of caring for herself. From the moment she could dress and feed herself she was on her own. It’s why it’s so painfully easy for her to fall into things with Nik. After a life that kind of treatment, Nik’s brand of doting is like crack.

And I like to imagine, while she might not know this in a full conscious way, she wanted to keep the baby because she fully expected Nikolai to leave her. It’s what she’s used to— and it’s strange for her to depend on him so much when he’s just her former stepfather, no? She’s constantly second guessing herself about leaning on him even a little— that she’s probably bothering him, and he’s just too kind to tell her off. But she does love him. So things would be hard, to raise the baby on her own, but at least she’d have a piece of him with her. She could remember the moments they shared that way, even when he left her.

She’s in for the fucking, no, the lovemaking of a lifetime when she confesses that little tidbit to him.

(This is all just my humble onion as this story is yours lol but this is what goes on in my imagination realm)

[ineffectualdemon]

OP I know irl two transwomen in their 60s who only came out in the last few years and are so happy now and have found community

I knew a person who realised they were non binary in the same age bracket a year ago

I know other people who didn't realise they were asexual or gay or bisexual until similar to you

And I met them at a local queer community group which is just people coming to hang out and play games and talk

And it's been a privilege and a delight to see them grow in confidence with themselves and make connections and form friendships with other people who understand.

You aren't too late

And I'm going to be honest when I first went to my group I worried I wouldn't belong. That I wasn't queer enough or too old. I'm in my 40s and been married to a man for 20 years and while I'm genderqueer a lot of people don't see me as anything but a woman

I thought "I won't have enough in common. I will be seen as a trender. I will be rejected" and I have only experienced warmth and acceptance and a sense of belonging I was missing for too long

Some irl groups aren't as accepting of everyone but I don't think you niece would send you to a group she didn't trust to be kind

Hello, my niece made this account for me and said I should submit my question to your blog. I’m terribly sorry if this doesn’t belong here. I turned 65 this year and have recently come to accept that I am gay. I have never been on a date with anyone in my life and have never had a social circle. I was only ever close to my brother and sister-in-law and their kids. I only came out to my niece because she’s 30 and bisexual and has been a safe person to talk to, but she has been trying to encourage me to go to a group that she has gone to before. It’s a group that meets at a coffee shop in our city and is for the local lgbtq community. Allies can attend so I don’t have to come out, but I’m scared I will want to. I feel too far past my time to join the community or have a “first boyfriend.” Am I too old for all of this?

this absolutely belongs here, i'm glad your niece helped you create an account here to get some advice, i'm actually really touched!! this warmed my heart a lot

you are DEFINITELY not too old for this!! no one is ever too old for community! elder queers are some of the most important members of our community- if anything, if you go, younger queer people will be over the moon to see someone your age, still identifying as queer, still living, still wanting to be yourself and to accept who you are. it's nerve wracking at first to think about. i joined my college's pride group when i was around 19 or so, and i was scared to death. i also felt like i didn't belong. i think a lot of queer people go through that, you are not alone! it's unfamiliar to you. you're taking a big step in life, change can be downright frightening even if it's what we want

i have met lots of people your age who did not realize they were gay, lesbian, trans, bi, or any other type of queer until much later in life! i've known trans men who didn't figure themselves out and start T until they were in their 70s! i met a trans woman last night who didn't realize she was trans until she turned 60! i think that coffee shop would be absolutely delighted to have you! you don't have to out yourself at all, but if you find yourself feeling comfortable enough to share, please feel free to. your story deserves to be heard. you deserve to be able to express yourself in a welcoming environment!

i hope you're able to go, i think that sounds like it would be very healing for you! i'm really proud of you for realizing who you are and accepting it, and i'm glad your niece is able to be there for you! i genuinely teared up reading this. you are a blessing on our community, not a burden. you will never be too old to be yourself, and surround yourself with people who get you. take care of yourself, okay? please feel free to stop by at any point! i am so happy for you and would love to hear how things go if you do decide to hang out at that coffee shop!

[communicationthroughlyrics]

Between the Pain and the Way You Look

You have a less-than-admirable day. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. So how does Emily make it all better? Sex, of course.

TW: Smut, Strap On sex, allusions to somnophilia. 18+ Men DNI

Word Count: 3.5K

You had just about had it with the day. After waking up to a cold bed, your shower running cold, spilling your coffee on your favorite work shirt, and hitting all of the traffic that was never a problem before, you made it to work. Your day wasn't any better there. You had hoped to catch your girlfriend, Emily before you all were called in for a briefing.

But that wasn't meant to be. Hotch droned on about why filing case files was important to handle promptly, and how the escalation process was only for severe cases. You had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that the case you had been working on was severe. It was the kind that kept you up at night, the kind that you saw in your dreams, the kind that made you question humanity. But no, you couldn't say any of that.

The day progressed as you all caught up with your paperwork and case files, the sounds of scribbling pens and clicking keyboards filling the bullpen in the lower level of the BAU. Your eyes kept drifting up to Emily, watching as she chewed on her pen, glancing over various sheets of printed evidence that a local police department hoped would aid in the capture of a suspect. Suddenly, while you were not staring at your girlfriend, an intern made thier way through the center aisle of the bullpen, tripping and sending her coffee and case files all over your desk and into your lap. Paperwork was now saturated and shuffled, as you grumbled and wiped off the paperwork you could.

"Sorry, Agent Y/L/N," she stuttered, her face flushing as red as the crimson stain spreading over your crotch.

You took a deep breath, "It's fine," you said with a forced smile, trying not to let the frustration overtake you. You stood up, grabbed the files, and walked over to the photocopier. You could feel the dampness of your pants sticking to your skin, making you more uncomfortable with each step.

Emily looked up from her work, noticing the mess on your desk and the look on your face. She immediately stood up and followed you, "Y/N, are you okay?"

You nodded, "Yeah, just a little spilled coffee. Kinda just how my day has been, to be honest."

Emily's eyes softened, "I'm sorry," she said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Do you need help with those files?"

The warmth of her hand sent a comforting sensation through you, and for a moment, you felt like maybe the day could turn around. "No, I got it. Thanks, Em."

As you approached the photocopier, you noticed the intern, whose name you hadn't caught, was already there, trying to clean up the mess she had made. She looked up at you with wide eyes, "I'm so sorry," she repeated, "I didn't mean to ruin your papers."

You sighed and handed her the wet files, "Don't worry about it. Just get me some fresh copies, please."

The intern nodded vigorously, "Yes, of course," she said, taking the files and beginning to sort them out. You watched for a moment, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. Emily hovered beside you, her hand still on your shoulder, and you couldn't help but appreciate the way she was trying to help, even in this small way.

As you waited, you couldn't help but think about the case you had been working on. The images of the crime scenes flashed through your mind, each one more disturbing than the last. You had been with the BAU for years, but this one was different. It was personal somehow. You felt a deep-seated rage at the thought of the monster out there, getting away with it all.

The photocopier hummed to life, and the intern handed you the fresh copies, "Here you go, Agent," she said meekly.

You took the papers with a nod of thanks, "It's fine," you assured her, "These things happen."

Emily looked at you with concern, "You should sit down, and let it dry a bit," she suggested, pointing to your soaked crotch.

You chuckled humorlessly, "Yeah, I probably should."

You walked back to your desk, Emily in tow, and sat down heavily in your chair. She leaned against the desk, her hand sliding down to rest on your forearm, "Want to grab lunch together? Maybe get out of here for a bit?"

The offer was tempting, but you knew you couldn't let the case wait. "Can't," you said, shaking your head, "Got too much to do."

Emily's expression fell, but she nodded in understanding, "Do you want me to get you something?" she asked, and again you shook your head. "Okay, but promise me you won't push yourself too hard." Her dark eyes lingered on you as she walked away, JJ waiting patiently by the door as they headed out for food.

You regretted not going with Emily, just getting out of here for a little bit. You could have stepped out and grabbed some fresh clothes. You didn't live far away. But now that all your thoughts had been caffeinated and smeared, you had twice as much work to do.

Your frustrations mounted all day long, stupid mistakes and accidents hindering your productivity all day long. You grabbed a ginger ale from the vending machine in the break room, and it exploded on you, covering you in a sticky mess. The lunch that Emily brought back for you, despite your refusal, knocked off your desk and spilled all over the floor. All just minor inconveniences that were leading up to you exploding.

Emily, JJ, and Morgan all finished thier case files early, and despite thier offers to help you, you told them to go ahead and enjoy thier nights. Hotch finally kicked you out, telling you that trying to catch up when you're frustrated is a help to no one, including yourself. You made your way to your car, getting ready to toss your bag into the back seat when the strap snapped and slapped you in the face, cutting your eyebrow. You kick your bag into the backseat, cussing at whatever god may be listening before slamming your door and starting your car.

Well, you tried. The oh-so-familiar sound of your car trying to start, but indicating a dead battery caused you to slam your hands on the wheel, before slamming your head into the headrest. You needed to blow off steam. Popping the trunk, you dug out your handy little jump box, popped the hood connecting the cables to the terminals, and jumped the car. You groaned as you noticed your cab light on, the likely cause of your dead battery.

After the car sputtered to life, you drove home, feeling like the universe had it out for you today. You pulled into the garage and slammed the door shut behind you, the echo bouncing off the concrete walls. Entering the house, you kicked off your shoes and tossed your broken bag on the ground as you turned around to see Emily, she was smirking at you in the kitchen.

"Long night, baby?" She called out, her voice taunting and teasing, as she leaned against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand. Her smile was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel a little bit of the tension slip away at the sight of her.

You took a deep breath and let out a sigh, "You could say that." You walked over to her, took the beer from her hand, and took a long pull. The cold liquid slid down your throat, offering a brief respite from the day's frustrations.

"I'm making you dinner, Y/N," she rasped, leaning to your ear before peppering your jawline with kisses. You groaned at her affection, the warmth of her breath on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. "You need to relax. The day is almost over."

You groaned, the feeling of her hands roaming your body causing you to relax further. "Go rinse off the day, babe. Dinner is almost done."

You pouted, turning to face her before pulling her into you. "You don't want to join me?"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, I want to," she murmured, her voice low and seductive, "But dinner's almost ready, and you know how grumpy you get when you're hangry. Especially since you spilled your lunch and then ate a stale bag of chips from your desk."

You couldn't argue with that. With a sigh, you leaned in for a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. You peeled off your sticky, coffee-soaked clothes, the fabric reluctantly letting go of your skin. The hot water from the shower was like a balm to your soul, washing away the grime of the day. You took your time, letting the steam build up around you and the water pummel your tense muscles. The shampoo and soap smelled faintly of mint and citrus, a scent that always seemed to calm you down.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, the smell of something heavenly filled the air. Emily was a fantastic cook, and your stomach growled in appreciation. You padded into the kitchen, wrapping a towel around your waist, and found her at the stove, stirring a pot of something that bubbled and sizzled. She looked over her shoulder, catching your eye, and grinned. "Feeling better?"

You nodded, feeling the knots in your neck and back loosen slightly. "Much." You took a step closer to her, inhaling the mouthwatering scent. "What's on the menu?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs," she said, pointing to a plate of perfectly formed meatballs resting on the counter. "With a side of garlic bread." She winked at you, and you couldn't help but smile. It was your favorite, and she had gone to the effort of making it from scratch. You leaned in to kiss her cheek, and she playfully swiped at you with a spoonful of sauce. You dodged and grabbed a meatball, popping it into your mouth. The flavors exploded, the warmth and spice hitting the spot.

Dinner was a welcome distraction from the chaos of the day. You sat at the table, the candles flickering and casting a warm glow across the room. The wine she had poured was a deep, velvety red, and it complemented the meal perfectly. You talked about the case, but she knew when to listen and when to change the subject. Her laughter was like a salve to your weary soul, and you found yourself smiling genuinely for the first time in hours.

After dinner, she began her clean up of the kitchen, telling you to relax, as she so lovingly put it, "With the day you've had, you'll break all the dishes." You began to watch her as she moved effortlessly around your kitchen, oblivious to your gaze. Your thoughts became louder and harder to ignore as you watched the woman, your desire to bend her over the counter and take her where she stood, especially after the day you had, was strong.

You stood and walked up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and whispering in her ear, "Thanks for dinner," before nibbling at the lobe. She giggled, turning around in your embrace, her hands coming up to cup your face. "You're welcome," she replied, her voice dropping an octave, "but I think I might have had an ulterior motive."

You raised an eyebrow in question, "Oh?"

"Mmhmm," she said, her eyes darkening, "I figured if I fed you, you'd be less grumpy, and I could have my way with you. Help you...blow off some steam."

You smirked, "Is that so?" You leaned in, your breath hot against her skin, "What makes you think that I would let you have your way with me?"

Her grin widened, "Maybe, I want you to ravage me. Use me. I can tell you want to." she growls in your ear, before nibbling on your earlobe in return.

"What makes you say that, babe?" you groan, before tilting her head to the side and kissing up and down her neck.

"Maybe it's the way you're holding me," she replied, her breath hitching as your hands trailed down her body, "Or the look in your eyes," she leaned back, giving you more access to her neck. "Or maybe the fact that you have had your strap-on on all day, even now."

You looked down to see that she had noticed the bulge in your pants and the harness peeking out from under your shirt. You had worn it today in the hope that there would be a moment you could have bent her over and fucked her so she couldn't walk at work. Or if she would have stayed in this morning, you could have fucked her before you both went into the office.

Emily's words sent a jolt of desire through you. You hadn't realized how badly you needed this release until she put it into words. You tightened your grip on her hips, pulling her closer until she was pressed against you, the heat between your bodies palpable. "Is that right?" You murmured, your voice thick with want.

"Mmhmm," she responded, her hands reaching behind her to tug at the strings of your harness. "Let's get rid of these clothes, and I'll show you just how much I want it."

You didn't need any further invitations. In a flash, the kitchen was a blur of fabric and heat as you both stripped off your clothes, leaving them scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs. The tension of the day melted away with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of desire.

You led her to the couch, the cushions plush and inviting. She sat down, spreading her legs wide for you, and you knelt before her, taking in the sight of her glistening pussy. You kissed along her inner thighs, savoring the sweetness of her skin and the way she squirmed under your touch. "Fuck, Emily..." You murmured, your voice gruff with need.

Emily leaned back, her hands tangling in your hair as she guided you closer to where she needed you most. You kissed her softly, her taste a mix of desire and the hint of the wine she had been sipping. Then you kissed her deeper, your tongue exploring her mouth as your hands roamed over her body. You felt her tremble as you teased her clit with one hand, your other hand squeezing her breast.

You kissed up and down her taught body, making your way across her chest, and down her stomach, your eyes never leaving hers. The way she watched you was like a hunger that could never be sated. When you reached her center, her legs parted even more for you, inviting you in. You took her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against it, and she gasped her back arching. You could feel her muscles tighten around your fingers as you pushed into her wetness, exploring her depths. You kept lapping at her clit, your other hand massaging her chest as she writhed and mewled beneath you.

Her nails dug into your scalp, urging you on as she got closer to the edge. You felt a smug satisfaction knowing you could make her feel this way, that you could give her the relief she craved. Her breath hitched and her body tensed, and you knew she was almost there. You increased your pace, your tongue swirling and sucking until she was bucking her hips against your face, her orgasm crashing through her in waves. She let out a guttural moan, and you felt her body relax, the tremors subsiding as she leaned back against the couch, panting heavily.

You weren't going to let her relax long, kissing your way up to meet her lips in a steamy, passionate embrace. She could taste her on your tongue, a sweet and salty mix that made you crave more. She returned the kiss eagerly, her tongue dancing with yours as she pulled you closer, her legs wrapping around your waist. You could feel her heat, her desire pressing against you, and you knew she was ready for more.

You stood, breaking the kiss and smiling down at her. "Bedroom," you rasped, and she nodded, her cheeks flushed with arousal. You picked her up effortlessly, carrying her to the bedroom like a prize you had won. You laid her down on the bed, her legs still wrapped around you as you settled between them. You kissed her neck, feeling her pulse quicken as you reached for the strap-on you had yet to use. You began to stroke it, coating it in a mixture of her arousal and your saliva.

Emily watched you with hungry eyes, her hand slipping down to her clit, keeping the heat simmering. "I've been waiting for this all day," she murmured her voice a seductive whisper that had you hardening even more. You lined the tip of the strap-on up with her entrance, feeling her shiver with anticipation. "Take me," she begged, her voice needy and raw.

With one swift motion, you slammed into her, the sound of your hips meeting hers echoing in the quiet room. She threw her head back, a scream of pleasure ripping from her throat. You didn't stop, didn't slow down, pounding into her with an almost primal ferocity. Her nails raked down your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you reveled in the pain, the pleasure mixing in a heady cocktail that had you on the edge.

Emily's moans grew louder, her body tensing as another orgasm built within her. You could feel it, the way her pussy tightened around you, the way her hips met yours thrust for thrust. You reached down, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the bed, your eyes never leaving hers as you claimed her completely. She bit her lip, trying to keep the sound in, but it was no use. Her cries filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that had your release barreling down on you like a freight train.

You leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her cries as you felt her climax wash over her. You didn't stop, didn't slow, pushing her through the peak and into the abyss of pleasure. Her legs tightened around you, her heels digging into your back as she begged for more. You gave it to her, every inch of you driving into her with an almost scary ferocity. You felt your orgasm coiling in your stomach, ready to pounce.

Emily's eyes rolled back in her head, her body a trembling mess beneath you as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. You watched her, feeling like a god like you had the power to give her everything she ever wanted. You pulled out slowly, watching as she whimpered with the loss of you. But you weren't done yet. You flipped her over, her ass in the air, and slammed back into her without a preamble.

The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, the only other noises being your grunts and her moans of pleasure. You reached around, grabbing her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples as you thrust into her from behind. She pushed back against you, meeting your every thrust with an eager groan. You could feel her pussy tightening around you, her orgasm building again.

You leaned down, biting her shoulder as you whispered in her ear, "You like it rough, don't you?"

Emily nodded, her breath coming in pants, "Yesss..." she hissed, her body moving in time with your thrusts. You could feel your orgasm approaching, the tension coiling tighter with each movement. You reached down, grabbing her hips and pulling her back onto you, the angle changing slightly, hitting her just right.

Her walls began to quiver around you, her cries of pleasure growing louder, and you knew she was close. You reached around, finding her clit once again, and began to rub it in circles as you fucked her deep and hard. She was so wet, so tight, and every time you hit that perfect spot, she would clench around you, her muscles rippling with the force of her impending climax.

With one final, powerful thrust, you felt her come undone, her body shaking and convulsing as she screamed your name. You couldn't hold back any longer, and with a roar of pure release, you followed her over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm. You collapsed on top of her, both of you panting heavily, the room spinning with the intensity of your shared climax.

You remained there for a moment, the weight of your bodies pressing into the mattress, before rolling to the side, taking the strap-on with you. Emily turned to face you, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she traced the contours of your face with her fingertips. "You know," she said, her voice still thick with desire, "you need to have a bad day more often."