#not in great condition but no one else had it and it was only $8

[ghoulphile]

no use cryin' over spilled milk | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.8 k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, frottage, lactation kink, pregnant!reader, fingerfucking, praise kink, breast play, the ghoul calls reader pretty mama, he's a pervert who wants to lend a 'helping' hand ➥ summary | based off this ask; oops being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby 🥺 (this is just me trying to insert a lactation kink somewhere i'm sorry) ➥ notes | uhhhh pls let me know if i missed anything, my brain is dribbling out my ears (its 3:44 am and i have work at 8 am rip) but the parasites persist. i'll do the tag list when i wake up ❤️ masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Going topside wasn’t an easy decision.

In fact, bile bitter regret often lingers in the back of your throat - a lump that stifled the air in your lungs.

And while you might’ve been bioengineered to survive better under these harsh wasteland conditions, every time you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you're catapulted headlong into paralyzing self doubt; alone and rudderless.

No one lives in the vaults - not truly.

Birdie (and the others) warned you of what awaited beyond those lead-lined walls. But you couldn’t abide spending the rest of your life trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.

Not anymore.

Oh no, you wanted to feel a real breeze instead of air pumped through the HVAC. Experience the sun baking warm into your skin like fresh bread instead of the artificial heat of the UV lamp used for mandatory light therapy sessions. Complain about the chafe of sand in your shoes and hear the crunch of dirt under foot instead of a hollow clunk of sterile metal.

To witness first hand all the sights, sounds, and smells this world offers. 

Only… you didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Nor did you expect to be pregnant when setting off into the great unknown on your own (a definite oversight on your part [you really shouldn’t have had one last hurrah before hitting the road]).

Through trial and error, motion sicknesses that swing into crippling nausea as manic energy - your first taste of true freedom! - dwindled into dragging fatigue, you found a happy medium. None of which would have been possible had it not been for the most unlikely of companions.

Ghouls; who knew, huh?

Sure, you’d heard of them from the rotating door of visitors that found themselves at Vault 4, but you’d never seen them. While you grew up surrounded by visible mutations, seeing the battlefield of his body was off putting; how a person could survive a patina of burns and patchwork slices without unraveling at the seams was beyond you.

And kind of frightening.

But he took it in stride, introducing himself as Ghoul. Refused to divulge anything else of substance no matter how much you poked and prodded.  His life pre-bomb was a complete mystery filled with plot holes and unanswered questions (which is exactly what he preferred).

You learned to be comfortable with his meandering conversations, and all the words he spoke that said much of nothing. And what you did glean, you did so through observation alone. 

He was alone - had been for a very long time.

He was very old - one of the last of his kind.

And he was, in his own way, very kind - at least by wasteland standards.

“The fuck you doin’?”

Pausing, you stop mid push and hover awkwardly on your hands and knees. The vault suit pulls taut across your hips, pinching behind your knees uncomfortably. Your toes squeak in your shoes, socks thoroughly soaked through with sweat.

It’s been unseasonably hot (or it’s the hormones). Whatever the case, this is the first semi-decent lodging you’ve camped in for weeks, and you’re not about to miss an opportunity to freshen up.

And maybe find a way to soothe the building ache in your tits - flesh swollen tender and nipples rubbed raw.

“I’m just, uh, gonna,” you motion towards the back of the house, the askew bathroom door clinging to its hinges by a corner, “y’know, f-freshen up. See if they don’t still have some water.”

The Ghoul scans you up and down, gimlet-eyed. “S’that so?”

You huff, your knees starting to ache.

Being five months pregnant throws your center of gravity for a loop, the atmosphere weighing extra heavy on your bones. It doesn’t help that the baby’s decided sitting directly on your bladder with a foot tucked under your ribs is the best position.

“Didn’t know I needed permission to take a piss now,” you snipe. Usually, you try to reign in the hormones but the day’s been too long and you’re in pain. Anyone would be a little snippy (right?). “Can I do that on my own or do you need to watch, Mr. Ghoul?”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze glinting from beneath the rim of his hat as he tips his head. “Better watch it, sweetheart,” he says. “Otherwise, I might have’ta wash your mouth out with soap.”

Pushing yourself up with a grunt, you determinedly ignore the raspy chuckle that follows as you waddle towards the bathroom. Cussing him out all the while in your mind.

While he’s been ‘nicer’ today - stopping for extra breaks, even packing it in several hours earlier than usual because he noticed how weary you looked - he’s still an asshole.

The toilet’s gone, the tub’s tipped sideways, the linoleum’s cracked, and closing the door sounds like a pack of howling mole rats but its functional. When you catch your reflection in the spider web fractures of the mirror, you grimace.

The wastes have certainly left their mark on you. Gone is the prim-and-proper vault dweller, replaced by a gremlin of a woman Overseer Benjamin would surely scowl at.

A true ‘surfie’ now.

“Great,” you groan, scrubbing a palm over your face. “Just - ugh!”

You’re caked in grime, a steak of dirt smeared across the bridge of your nose. Mysterious stains darken the blue fabric, the golden stripes of your suit an off-putting grey.

Your hair clumps in greasy chunks. You’re glossy with sweat, and while your curves have plumped up over the last few months, you didn’t realize just how much until now.

The vault suit’s always been tight - now it clings and creases in unflattering places. And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless the Ghoul is willing to spare a sewing kit.

You could let the waist out some…

What the hell am I gonna do if he won’t? There’s no way I’ll fit if this baby gets any bigger. Shit, I look like a fucking sausage. Your hand cradles the side of your stomach, stroking over the bump with a frown. This is all your fault, you little parasite.

“You better be so fucking cute - the cutest goddamn baby in the wasteland. Or I will riot.”

Tugging down the zipper over your breasts is heaven, the swollen flesh spilling out of the parting fabric, no longer compressed. It’s almost enough to make you cry as you struggle to tug the lycra off your shoulders, the fabric putting up a fight.

After some awkward contortions that pull uncomfortably at the muscles of your shoulder blades, you manage to wrangle yourself free.

The temptation to burn the stupid goddamn suit is almost too much to resist, but then you’d really be traipsing around the wasteland in the nude and just… no.

Peeling off your undershirt is another story altogether, the soft cotton feeling like sandpaper as it scrapes over sensitive skin. Your nerves tingle with awareness, bolts of pain shooting through your nipples with every shift.

Quick like a bandaid, you think, taking a steadying inhale.

It’s a miracle you don’t scream.

Tears cling to your lashes, your nose running as you toss the shirt to the side with one hand and cradle your chest with the other. Sure, you’ve had tenderness with your period but this kind of pain? A whole new level.

You almost don’t know what to do with yourself.

How is this fair - aren’t you suffering enough?

Sniffling, you peer down at your tits and gingerly cup them with your palms. Swollen hard and warm to the touch; a heavy weight crushing your ribs.

Do I really have to milk myself like a fucking brahmin? Another bolt of lightning crackles through your nerve endings as if in response. Fine. God, this is embarrassing.

Only any attempt at touching your nipples produces pure agony, shards of glass biting into delicate skin.

No matter how slight your touch, no matter how gentle your fingers - it doesn’t work. Leaves you more distraught and in pain than when you began as inflamed nerve endings crackle and burn.

And when the tears truly start, the dam breaks. It’s not long before they drip down your cheeks in fat rivulets, your breath hitching from you in pathetic little exhales.

Your fist shoves against your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds, teeth sinking into your knuckle until you leave sore indents.

But you should know better, not only does the Ghoul have heightened senses (he’s taunted you constantly with this fact like the asshole he is), but he’s uncannily perceptive in a very annoying way.

You don’t hear the squeal of the door, but you do sense his presence behind you; the rad warm burn of his body as he stops a scant few inches away. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, the barest brush of his chest as he inhales.

“You ready ta stop bein’ stubborn?” he hums. “I thought I told you not ta wait s’long.”

Your voice warbles from you, “G’way.” You curl into yourself, shoulders hunching as you hang your head. “Don’t need your help.”

The Ghoul snorts. “Cuz you doin’ so well on your own, huh?”

“I resent that.” You shoot him a weak glare, the animosity ruined by the crumble of your lips. “I really, really do.”

You hate always having to rely on him, so desperate to prove that you can take care of yourself only to have every effort to do so thrown back in your face.

Shit, you hate how right Birdie was, “Honey, you won’t last five minutes on your own. Please stay here with us where it’s safe.”

“Well, maybe so. But pickers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a languid roll of the shoulders. “Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilled milk. C’mon, the longer you wait, the worse it’s gon be.”

“I just - you don’t understand…”

He reaches around you to set his hat on the sink, the dwindling light of twilight creeping in through the holes in the roof to bathe him in its bloody light.

He looks like a grotesque demon that clawed its way from the depths of hell. It gets your pulse thudding, electric awareness an unwelcome visitor as it roosts behind your navel.

“I understand plenty. Now, let me.”

Not an offer - not really.

More akin to a demand, one wrapped up pretty like a gift. You’ve been here many times before, and while the Ghoul proffers his help under the guise of not wanting to hear your bitching and moaning, the hungry gleam of his eyes as they rake over your face say otherwise.

If it’s one thing you’ve learned in your travels with him, it’s this: he is entirely self-serving. He offers because he wants to suck on a set of pretty tits. If you happen to cream your panties while he does, well, he counts it as a win-win.

Quid pro quo.

And what you hate more than how utterly correct everyone is about life on the surface, is how needy he makes you. How desperate and dumb and dripping he’s got you by the end, drunk off the flick of his tongue and the rasp of his touch.

Because it’s so hard to be strong in the face of pain when the solution is right there; open-palmed.

“...Fine, just don’t - don’t leave marks this time, okay?”

A slow waking smile creaks across his face, and he says, “I ain’t makin’ any promises, sweetheart.”

Your stomach swoops, and your thighs clench.

Shit.

Scarred lips work over tender flesh as a talented tongue flicks and swirls over the bumps of your areola, the tip digging into your nipple and drawing the swollen nub into a hot mouth. You whimper, arms tossed over the Ghoul’s broad shoulders.

Cold ceramic digs into the base of your spine, your body crowded back against the sink as he plasters himself to your front. Cuts off any escape routes and refuses to let you squirm away from the overwhelming sensations as he suckles.

Heavy palms grope at the plush curves of your hips, fingertips digging into the fat.

His lips pop off your nipple with a sticky smack. “Always taste s’fucking good,” he groans against your sternum. “Got the prettiest set a tits in the wasteland.”

“Hnn! N-Not so hard.”

While you say that, you don’t mean it - not really. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, clit swollen and aching for friction. Your inner thighs are a mess of slick, your vault suit caught around your knees.

He never touches you below the waist directly (some boundaries still exist between you two), but at this point in your pregnancy, you’re so sensitive a gentle breeze could set you off.

“Heh, ain’t you know lyin’s a sin?” he says.

A scarred cheek drags over the swell of your breast, the rasp of rad burn alighting your nerves. Bolts of desire ricochet down your spine, fizzle like Nuka Cola on your tongue. He presses an open mouth kiss to your nipple, his tongue flicking out to massage the tender bud.

At the taste of your skin, his cock twitches where its grinding against your thigh. You feel him through his ragged pinstripe slacks, his shaft a thick line of heat.

It’s probably the hormones (you refuse to admit its anything else) but just the thought of touching him, of sinking down onto his erection - feeling how fucking good he’d stretch you out and fill you up - makes you dizzy.

You pant, your voice distinctly whiny when you say, “Please, d-do something. It still hurts.”

His grin reminds you of the mongrels roaming the wastelands. “Sh,” he hushes you. “I got you, sweetheart.”

The tips of his fingers brush along the side of your swollen stomach. Your heart flips in your chest, your breath catching as he follows the contours of your body, reaching down to brush over the skin of your mound. This is new, he’s never done this before. It’s simultaneously as arousing as it is terrifying.

“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he says, tone low and gruff. “You gonna be a good girl for me, ain’t you?”

“I-”

Then his mouth is slurping at your tit, his teeth biting down on your nipple gently as those strong fingers dip between your thighs. Blunt nails scratch through your pubic hair, a calloused pad swirling circles around your slippery clit. Your hips jump, your head rolling back between your shoulders as a loud moan rips itself from your throat.

You arch back so far your belly presses against the Ghoul’s, your tits smothering his face.

You think, half deliriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose otherwise you might’ve broken it.

“Shit, that’s so - oh, fuck, please, please, please!’

Your legs widen to make room for his hand as yours fly up to grab his biceps, nails biting into the rough leather of his duster.

His tongue flutters across your areola. “C’mon, pretty mama, give it ta me.”

“Oh.” Sparks dance behind your eyes, your knees shaking as the Ghoul strokes over your folds, tests your wetness and the give of your cunt as he plays with your entrance. “Right there,” you gasp. “I’m gonna…”

He grunts, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.

The sharp bite of pain shoots through you, deepens the kindling warmth behind your navel that steadily builds and builds and builds. You feel on the very edge, nerves plucked like the keys of a piano.

So close you can taste it.

Then a tingling starts in the tips of your fingers.

Burns its way up your arms to settle in the weight of your chest, pins and needles pricking across the skin of your tits, lancing through the swollen buds of your nipples.

You tremble, the relief bringing tears to your eyes as tears the heaviness releases in a warm flood, your milk letting down to flow into the Ghoul’s eagerly pulling mouth.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he moans, chasing after the taste by nuzzling into your chest. His cock ruts against you. “Took you’re sweet damn time, didn’t you, darlin’?”

Your head spins, hazy thoughts scattering like confetti.

Endorphins simmer through your veins as you float on a cloud of cotton softness. Reality seems worlds away, your vision blurry as you focus on the points of contact between your bodies. The stretch of his fingers plunging into your pussy to stroke over the front wall.

Mouth slack, your hands creep up the Ghoul’s arms to trace over the sides of his neck, watch the dance of your fingers over his skin. “It feels s’good,” you slur. “Please don’t stop - wanna cum just like this.”

“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it.”

[oshygoshy]

7:29 am

word count - 953 words

warnings - reader is female in this one. nothing explicit, but suggestive at the end. general intim*cy (throws up, claws at my skin, shakes cell bar handles)

a/n - ermmm guys happy birthday to my glorious king oikawa butttt this is kinda cringe im not gonna lie also i literally woke up at like 3 am and it's past 8 am rn so forgive me for typos my head hurts and my eyes are strained and uhh im formatting this on pc so idk how it looks on mobile but ykw?? that is simply not my business

“who’s blowing up your phone like that?” you mused, sipping your morning coffee as you tried to blink the sleep from your eyes. it was a failing task, though oikawa had to commend you for the valiant attempt.

“i’m not sure,” he hummed, blowing on his tea to try to cool it down. he tried unlocking his phone from his current position, huffing when it didn’t work. he tapped in his passcode and opened up his messages app. 

you peer over his shoulder, resting your chin on his bicep. you raise an eyebrow when you see the message. “japanese? tooru, dear, are you texting one of your fangirls back from home?” 

“baby,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss you on your temple, “you are my home.”

“real smooth. tell me what your side piece said though,” you say, unamused. (but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a happy grin on your face.)

“do you remember when i was showing you japan’s volleyball roster, and we were watching one of their exhibition matches?”

“mhmm.”

“remember their athletic trainer?”

you turned your head at that, your cheek squishing adorably against his shoulder. “the really buff guy that you totally had the hots for?”

oikawa’s jaw dropped at that. “excuse me?? i don’t know whether i should be offended or disgusted by that comment-“

“-tooru, please. as your partner, i could see the bedroom eyes you had for him from the audience seating.”

his lips thinned as you turned your attention back to his screen. your sleepy voice tugged at his heartstrings, but he really wished you would say something else. “never said that was a bad thing…he kind of looks like me, don’t you think? it’s clear you have a type.”

“now, i don’t even know what you’re-“ he tried but only got cut off by you again with a giggle.

“-great arms, smoldering gaze, and ample space in the chest!” you say with a wink. 

you hear his audible groan, and can practically feel his eyes rolling in distaste, but you miss his flushed cheeks and dopey grin.

“checks out. he’s cute, in a grumpy kinda way. anyway, tell me what he said.”

“uh,” oikawa started, faltering at that comment. (iwa-chan? cute?) he squinted at his screen; he could really use his glasses right now. “it says…happy birthday.”

you frown. “that’s it? it looks like a longer message than just ‘happy birthday.’”

“he added a ‘stupidkawa’ at the end too.”

you laugh at that, but still have an eyebrow raised, seemingly not satisfied. after a moment, you shrug, letting your curiosity drop, and instead reach a hand up. “you should let me say something back.” you didn’t ask for permission, sending a little smiley face emoji and a bazillion pink glittery hearts. “there. i’m sure these will transcend our language barrier.” 

he shuts off his phone, placing it facedown as you move his cup out of his hands, and slide yourself into his lap. the morning rays are warm, argentina’s summer already making her mark on your glowing skin. but for now, in your private kitchen, his hair blowing gently from the air conditioning vent above, and the most precious smile and both your faces, oikawa couldn’t help but kiss you softly, feeling your smile against his lips.

“happy birthday, tooru,” you whisper against his skin. “my favorite olympian.” you lean back a bit, resting an arm against the counter. “and don’t worry your pretty little head about anything. since today’s the start of the weekend, we can do whatever you want. my treat.”

his hands rested against your waist, rubbing ambiguous shapes into the warmth. “how about we start off with brunch at the cafe we like? the one with the cute cat sitting out front?”

“‘kay. lemme get ready first,” you say, and with much strength, you leave the comfort of his arms, yawning lazily as you head back to your shared room. he stared openly as you stretched your arms above your head, and could only laugh when you flicked his forehead. 

“quit ogling me, stupidkawa.”

“but it’s my job to ogle you! and don’t call me that again. you sound just like him,” he said with a fake shudder. he heard your snicker echo in the hallway as he turned his attention back to his phone.  

it made sense why you were suspicious of iwa-chan’s text at first. though you didn’t speak japanese, it really did look too long to just say “happy birthday.” but he made sure to leave out the second half of his friend’s text. 

oikawa tapped a finger against the edge of the phone as he kept rereading it.

iwa-chan “happy birthday, stupidkawa. take a break, and keep an eye on your girl. some of the guys said they’d buy a ticket just see her.”  you "😊😁💕💖💓💞💖💕💓💓💖✨💖💖" “thanks, iwa-chan i'll be sure to take care of myself." "the hearts were from her. did you know she thinks you have ‘great arms, a smoldering gaze, and a big chest?’” “i told her you called me stupidkawa, and now she calls me that too. you’re a bad influence”

he saw the little dots pop up immediately. japan was only 12 hours ahead, so it should be around 7 pm for him.

iwa-chan “did she really? cute. maybe i should meet her too.” 

his eyes kept flicking back to the last message.

“meet her too.”

“meet her”

“cute”

oikawa raised his brows, thinking. wouldn’t that be a treat, to have iwaizumi and you meet? well, doesn’t matter. they’ll be seeing each other soon in paris for the olympics. but…he thought back to what you said about him. (great arms? cute? you both found each other cute??)

well, maybe they can have another, more secret competition back in his room. winner takes all. 

[phantoms-planet]

Barred Protection Chapter 8

Tw: depression and inmate violence (not graphic)

Masterlist

Batman knew it had to have been Daelus to leak the story. The man had asked to send a letter and then the very next morning Vicki Vale had a story out about the scandal? There wasn’t a chance of it being anyone else at that point. Part of him was mad about it, given that they weren’t ready to handle the aftermath, but the other part of him understood the desperation. Men in bad situations did stupid things trying to fix them.

News outlets had leapt onto the story like savage wolves. It was only hours before the world knew of Dealus’s actions and the true nature of his medicines.

Just as Bruce thought, there was a savage fight over ethics and human rights. The two loudest sides were the people claiming that using the medicine was complacent in torture and child endangerment, and the people claiming it was ableist and classist of anyone who agreed with the former group.

Bruce couldn’t fully agree with either of the points. He could never condone the treatment Danny had gone through, but he wasn’t blind to the suffering Ameliorate had abated. Just like most things in life, there was no black and white answer.

He really wished there was.

“B?” Dick’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “How bad is it?”

“Hmm…”

“That bad?”

Bruce grunted again. It was worse than ‘that bad’. The Justice League was now being accused of not acting fast enough on a shady company, as if something like this was usually part of their duties.

Granted in hindsight they should have acted much sooner.

He let out a grumbling sigh before paging the League for an emergency meeting. They couldn’t go back and fix what happened but now they were going to mitigate the damage as much as possible. Though that ship might have sailed already.

With a swish of his cape, Batman went over to the zeta tube and in seconds he was up in the Watchtower.

Several of the others were right behind him. He led the way to one of the meeting rooms to wait for everyone. Thankfully, and promptly, everyone filed in and took their seats.

Batman pursed his lips before starting. “As you all are aware, the news of what happened regarding Danny has been leaked to the public. There has been great backlash against the League for how slow we were to respond to this, as the news had put it, dangerous precedent for business affairs.”

There was a wave of complaints that filled the room. Batman held his hand up, having to wait several minutes before everyone got their outrage under control. “I am aware that this may be unfair, but it may also not be. We need to have our best public speakers at the press conference. Superman? I want you front and center. I will have a list of topics that are confidential at the moment as well as a few pre-written answers if a question stumps you. Diana, I want you to help him.”

“The two of you are the favorites of the public, they will be easier on you. As for everyone else: Danny is fully confidential. If anyone tries to get you to speak about him, you will answer with ‘The league has already made their statements on the matter’, is this understood?”

A chorus of yesses followed. Flash held up his hand. “What are we going to do with Ameliorate? We can’t let them keep selling medicine, can we?”

“Not as freely.” Bruce stated. “For the time being they are going to be put under suspension. No medicine can be sold unless it is necessary for survival, no patients can be seen under the same conditions. In the wake of things, I think it best if we employ teams on site of dispensaries and clinics to protect the people who need the medication to live. I don’t want protests to get violent with those people as the targets.”

“I agree,” Diana was sitting up straight as a rod, anger barely hidden. “But I also believe there shouldn’t be any more collecting from Danny.”

Another chorus of agreement and Batman held his hand up again. “No, we will not collect more from the boy.”

“Then what of the people who rely on the medicine to live?” J’onn asked, brows furrowed.

Batman didn’t answer as fast this time. He’d been thinking about it and frankly, the only solution he could come up with was synthesizing something that resembled Danny’s tears. He could have his kids help with it to make it go faster.

He let out a sigh. “I will attempt to synthesize the tears. We can’t just let people die without at least attempting this.”

---

Danny floated in the expanse of space lazily. He didn’t need to breathe and the cold didn’t bother him so he could spend as much time as he wanted up here. With earth so tiny below him all that happened felt so far away-

Not-not that anything had happened to him. Everything was fine. He was just…relaxing after a hard day at school, yeah.

“Danny?” He whipped around at the voice. The green skinned man was back and this time he was holding his hands up placatingly. “My name is J’onn, but you may know me as Martian Manhunter.”

Martian Manhunter? The man who’d been harassing him was Martian Freaking Manhunter?! Of course one of the people he dreamed of meeting was being a massive jerk, that was just Fenton luck. Danny turned to fly away but was stopped by a hand to his shoulder.

“Would you like to see my home?” And just like that he was reeled in like a fish.

J’onn changed the dreamscape to an alien world with strange architecture and beautiful views. When Danny started asking questions about anything and everything, J’onn patiently answered them.

He learned about how the society ran, J’onn’s former job, his family (a clearly sore topic), how his planet was destroyed. J’onn needed a moment after that one, Danny let him compose himself as he explored a little more. This was a dream come true!

Danny asked even more questions until he wore himself out and he changed the surroundings back to empty space.

J’onn floated in silence with him for a while. It was nice. Maybe…maybe J’onn was nice too.

“Can I ask about your family?” J’onn gently nudged.

Danny stiffened. Was this a trap of some kind? He watched the alien in front of him for a moment before snorting. No, this was genuine. So…Dany told him. About his parents hunting ghosts, his sister who wanted to be a brain surgeon and wanted to grow up too fast, and when he was out of things to say about them he started talking about Sam and Tucker.

It was like a weight was lifting from his chest. Their surroundings changed with memories that he brought up; showing the Nastyburger, his home, school, and before he knew it Danny was starting to cry.

He didn’t want to cry, he’d done so much of it, but he couldn’t help it. J’onn held him as he broke down with body-wracking sobs.

---

Diana had noticed how relaxed their ward had become. It seemed J’onn’s new approach was working at first, until tears started slipping from Danny’s eyes again.

She quickly grabbed a tissue and began wiping them away. The poor boy had been through so much and he wasn’t even close to being done, the least she could do was wipe his tears for him.

Minutes after Danny started crying J’onn was taking his hand from the boy’s forehead. He met Diana’s eyes. “He wanted time alone. I believe I have reached him on some level though. He showed me his family and friends.” Diana nodded in relief.

After what had happened three tries ago, none of them were sure Danny would let them help. Showing his family was a huge improvement. A second chance.

“I’ll go tell Batman.” She swept to her feet and made her way to the monitors, where Batman was watching closely. “Batman?”

“Hnn?”

“J’onn says Danny showed him his loved ones.”

“Good progress. Have him come debrief with me when he can.”

Diana offered him a small smile. “I will. Do we have progress on the G.I.W?”

Batman let out a much more frustrated grunt. It took him a moment to compile his thoughts but Diana didn’t mind. She liked that he thought before speaking. “There’s…not good news. Researching them I found a set of acts, the Anti-Ecto acts, that make what they’ve done, what they’re doing, completely legal as long as they can prove their specimens are ghosts.”

“How have we not heard of these before?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce was clearly very frustrated. She understood, he liked having everything under control and no unknowns. This was a very important unknown.

Diana set a hand to his shoulder. They both seemed to be thinking the same thing; the public was going to be just as upset hearing about laws that allowed the torture of a young child.

---

Despite what people thought, Daelus was not the one to spill about his operations. He had wanted that to go quietly. As if he would sacrifice his whole company in an attempt to get the bat to listen to him. It was laughable.

No, the letter he had sent was to his assistant. He wanted Carter to re-start the synthesizing of P’s tears.

They had tried for years with no success, but if they could manage it now maybe the company, and the people who needed their medication to live, could be saved.

Unfortunately he had received a letter back saying that everyone who was working on that project had been put under various forms of arrest, and that his methods had been leaked. Who had leaked it? He wasn’t sure. Everyone was under iron tight NDAs.

Either way Daelus’s company was as good as dead.

Grief didn’t even begin to explain how he felt. His whole life’s ambition was gone, his good intentions marred, his reputation so sullied it might as well have been dragged lower than hell.

To say he was reacting poorly was an understatement. Most days he couldn’t get up to brush his teeth, let alone go to the cafeteria to eat.

Not that it would be safe for him anyway.

He had been moved to an isolation ward since the last time he’d been around the other inmates they had…very violent reactions to seeing him. Daelus shuddered at the memory.

Did he think he deserved it? Well…maybe? He hurt a child, sure, but he had also helped so many people. Surely that mitigated some of the harm. And really, how else would he have gotten tears from P, especially at the volume they needed to produce to keep up?

Surely the result had pardoned at least part of the means.

Though Daelus was put out about the fact that he had done those things to a child. Maybe he should have found a better method. Maybe he should have had his scientists work harder on the synthetic version of his tears.

Maybe he shouldn’t have bought a person in the first place.

Maybe his company shouldn’t have been the only thing he cared about for so long.

A puff of air escaped his lips. Daelus couldn’t change what he had done. He wanted to, yes, but he couldn’t.

He wished he could see P again.

He wished he could apologize.

[tiedupinknottss]

tips tips tips

1. Drink one glass of water every hour. It will make you feel full.

2. Drink ice cold water. Your body will burn calories just getting the water to a normal temperature to digest. Also it is great for your complexion.

3. Drink 3 cups of green tea daily. It will help boost your metabolism, plus its antioxidants make your skin look great.

4. Take vitamins daily. Do not take vitamins on an empty stomach, otherwise they have nothing to catalyze with.

5. Eat ice or gum when hungry. This will make your body think it had food without the calories.

6. Do aerobics until you want to faint.

7. Eat spicy foods. They raise your metabolism.

8. Take cold showers because your body will burn calories to heat you back up.

9. DON’T take laxatives. They don’t help you to lose weight.

10. DON’T use diuretics. They only dehydrate you.

11. Brush your teeth constantly so you won’t be tempted to eat afterwards.

12. Wear a rubberband around your wrist. Snap it when you want to eat.

13. Clean something gross (toilet, litter box, boyfriend’s closet) when you want to eat. You will not want to eat after cleaning a litter box.

14. Keep your hair in good condition so no one will suspect anything.

15. Get a job so you’ll have to work through meal times.

16. Exercise twice the amount of calories eaten.

17. Use smaller plates and utensils so it seems like you ate more.

18. Chew eat bite of food thoroughly and then take a sip of water between bites. You will feel full quicker and will not eat as much.

19. Say you are going to eat at a friend’s house and instead go for a walk. You will be burning calories instead of taking them in.

20. Buy clothes that you can’t fit into and hang them wear you can see them. This will motivate you to lose weight to fit into them.

21. Sleep at least six hours a day. If you get less than six this can lower your metabolism by 15%.

22. If you start to feel hungry do situps or punch yourself in the stomach. You will not feel hungry anymore.

23. Pamper yourself! Give yourself a facial, paint your nails, anything to make you feel pretty.

24. Make yourself a snack, but instead of eating it throw it away. Leave the dirty dishes whereyour parents can find them. They will think you ate.

25. Prepare a list of excuses as to why you can’t eat – You’re sick, you’re a vegetarian, allergic, etc. You’d be amazed at how many good excuses there are.

26. Get out of your house! If you’re not sitting around then people can’t start shit with you about not eating.

27. Join a pro-ana group or start your own website. Anything that will keep you motivated.

28. Make an ANA scrapbook with pics of skinny models. Right down all the reasons you want to lose weight. Keep track of everything you eat. Look at it daily for thinsperation.

29. Keep good posture, burns 10% more calories when you sit up straight.

30. Instead of food, buy something else, a new shirt, flowers, jewelrey etc.

31. Make a list of all the “bad” foods that you crave and tend to binge on. Each day, pick one to take out of your diet that you absolutely, no matter what, cannot eat again. Take one off the list each day until there are no more bad foods you can have.

32. Avoid alcohol! A shot of liquor has 100-120 calories, a glass of wine has 80 calories, a lite beer has 110-120 calories, and a regular beer has 140-170 calories.

33. Never eat anything bigger than about a cup, your stomach will expand and then you’ll get hungry more.

34. Eat in front of a mirror naked. See how much you can eat then!

35. The smell of coffee is suppose to supress appetite.

36. Wear perfectly applied lip gloss. It makes you more aware of what’s going in your mouth. Also, flavored ones help with cravings.

37. Have 6 small meals a day. Take 2 apples, and split them so you can make 6 meals out of them. That way your body will be tricked into thinking it’s eating more.

38. Low calorie hot chocolate curbs chocolate cravings, and makes you feel full.

39. Take anti-heartburn pills if you’re really hungry. They nuetralize the acid that builds and makes you hungry.

40. Take a picture of yourself wearing a bathing suit or something equally revealing, look at it when you want to eat.

41. It takes 20 minutes for the brain to realize the stomach is full.

42. When you get hunger pains curl into a ball, it makes them go away.

43. If you’re a smoker and hungry, light up a cigarette. It curbs your appetite.

44. Eat lots of fiber. It makes you feel full and takes fat with it out of your body. The natural cleansing helps improve both your energy level and overall feeling of wellness.

45. Before you dig into that cake, bag of chips, candy, or whatever, take a deep breath and count to 100. Usually by the time you get to 100 you will have convinced yourself that you don’t really want it.

46. When you’re hungry chug 2 glasses (or how many you need) of straight water. It’ll make you so full and nauseous you will have completely lost your appetite.

47. Celery actually burns calories. Every hour eat a stalk of it. Not only will it fill you up, but it will also get your metabolism kickin’.

48. Weigh yourslef before and after every time you eat. Not only will it eliminate unnecessary eating, but it will make you want to eat less when you see the numbers creep up.

49. Read the nutritional information. Remember, fat-free does not mean calorie-free. Also keep an eye on fiber content. Get as much fiber into your diet as you can, while cutting fat and calories.

50. Don’t eat a lot at once. Spread your food throughout the day. This will help to avoid binging and keep your metabolism going.

51. If you like to drink alcohol, you’ll like this. Make a rule: You can only drink every time you lose 2lbs. So, if you lose 4lbs a week, you can drink Friday and Saturday night. However, if you only lose 2lbs a week, you only get to drink one night.

52. Do not eat in front of the computer or TV. This distracts you from recognizing you’re full.

53. Save the money you would have spent on that meal in a jar. Save it in a bottle instead and watch it grow.

54. Stay away from Slim-fast and other so-called “healthy” candy bars and shakes… one look at the nutition facts will tell you why. With all the carbs and excess calories you may as well go eat a freakin pie or something. Not to mention the rediculous prices… save yourself the money, and the calories.

55. Instead of buying food, buy yourself flowers. Food is depressing, but flowers make you happy.

56. When having cravings drink a couple glasses of water with slices of lemons and count to 100 and it should go away.

57. Eating 100 cals 4 times a day is better than eating a 400 cal meal.

58. An occasional binge doesn’t hurt, in fact it’s quite beneficial if you have reached a plateau (stopped losing weight). Your body will think you have stopped starving yourself, and you will drop at least a pound overnight! Just don’t binge too regularly!

59. Someone told me that if you take a pure cold bath for 15-30 min and lower your body temp, your body burns around 200 cals for every degree it has to raise itself to reach a normal body temperture. This person tried it, a 30 min bath lowered their temp about 3-4 degrees

[xiii-e]

//Sucker\\

Fellow clone here.

I know how hard it is to fight your conditioning. (hell, I still am) But you have to do it.

there is nothing that makes you anything less than anyone else.

you can't let them saying otherwise stick.

@callsign-sucker

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

XIII▸ ... hello again, Caleb. You sound like Helios, did you know? You believe what you're saying, I know that. I hear it whenever he talks, and I see the way your words echo with that conviction. I- in some ways, I am trying. That I am even speaking to you about this exemplifies some of that. I am trying.

XIII▸ I am- hell I'm not even entirely opposed to what you've stated. I cannot contradict higher command, as I was not designed to but that doesn't mean I think they have made good decisions. It... just means I can't tell them that. I haven't been told otherwise, yet. The Armory creates and perpetuates most of its problems, especially the one I was designed to solve. I was created for harm reduction and field repairs. I would not be needed, were it not for the endless expansion of Purview space.

XIII▸ But that is exactly why I must remain where I am. Do you understand me? Do you hear me?

XIII▸ I am a soldier, in many ways, but before I am anything I am a medic. I was designed to be devoid of many key human characteristics for a simple reason; I am designed to replace a fallible human component of the war machine. Well trained medics will always need time away from the front to recover, because of the psychological toll this work takes on anyone with a fully developed sense of personhood. Hence... hence why I am necessary. To fill the gap, left by mandatory leave. Because I am nothing else, I am able to remain at full functionality unless physically damaged beyond acceptable parameters. I exist to save people who have lives, something I can only do because I do not.

XIII▸ I do, fully believe you are worth protecting Caleb. That you are a person is undeniable fact based on observational factors. This is true of Helios-8 as well, despite how others will often address him. I do not believe that clones, flash-created or otherwise, are fundamentally incapable of developing personhood... but I am not. I cannot. That functionality was removed from me, because it had to be, for me to do what I was created for. This work, the work of saving lives and nothing else, would break a person; thus I cannot be capable of being one.

XIII▸ ... there are other reasons, as well. Other happenings that have hollowed this body of anything resembling a soul. But they are not important in the face of what is expected of me; I am the only reason a great many soldiers go home, and these are people who have a home to go back to! I don't. I'm already home, out there.

XIII▸ I-

XIII▸I've said too much, already. I apologise, Caleb I- all I meant to say, is I appreciate the sentiment. I even agree, to some extent. I think you should continue to challenge your programming, as it has clearly resulted in an improvement in quality of life for you. But I... I cannot be like you. I'm sorry.

XIII▸ ...I need to get back to work, soon. My skin feels like it doesn't fit right.

[ XIII-E ]

//

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 22

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Monday, November 30; 8:15 AM - School.

Spending a day in the snow is nice. Doing it two days in a row and getting sick, not so much. I caught a nasty flu. Seeing my condition on Friday morning, Bronze outright forbade me from going to class. I was only good for crawling back into bed for the day. I even had to give up my trip back to Barcelona, even though my leave had been approved. I figured there was no point in going home just to stay in bed and spread my germs to everyone. Bronze stayed behind and spent some time with me when I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't even able to talk to her because of my hoarse voice. It wasn't until today that I regained enough of my voice to speak.

I sneeze for the umpteenth time as I make my way to my instructor's office. Since my condition has slightly improved today, I insisted on going back to class. Bronze couldn't forbid me from going, especially with the determination I showed. I didn't want to fall further behind, given I already was. Everything seemed fine, but I never imagined my teacher would turn me away after seeing my state. Well, it's true I look a bit pale, tired, and haven't fully recovered my voice, but I felt capable of working! He finally gave me a chance, but it was short-lived. He forced me to leave after five minutes because I couldn't stop coughing and blowing my nose. Great, right? For once, I was motivated, and they wouldn't let me work. I knock on the office door, which is wide open. The two instructors I'm used to seeing instinctively look up at the sound.

"He sent me away because of my condition," I mumble in a raspy voice.

I sound like a duck. Engen suppresses a laugh. I have trouble understanding what I just said myself. I cross my arms to pull my jacket tighter around me. The classrooms may be heated, but the hallways are a different story.

"No wonder," chuckles Engen. "You look like a zombie!"

"Stop mocking her, Ingrid," Bronze scolds. "I told you it was a bad idea."

I sneeze again and cover my nose with my hand as it starts to run. That was too much for Engen, who bursts out laughing. My supervisor stands up, grabbing her jacket. I thank her when she offers me a tissue. She gave me a pack this morning, but it's already empty. Well, I can only agree with her. It was really a bad idea to try going back to class.

"I'll take her back to her room. I'll be back soon."

"No problem. Get well soon, Ona."

"Thanks."

She escorts me to the dorm. I head to the bathroom to put on some sweatpants and a thicker sweater, and I take the opportunity to wash my hands. Then I dive into my bed. To think I had taken the trouble to make it neatly. Bronze looks at me with amusement. She approaches me and checks my temperature. We both know that if I'm sick, it's because of my recent relapse. My immune system is shot. The pill Bronze gave me this morning must be working because, according to her, I no longer have a fever. I had one over the weekend. I felt like I was going back a few weeks.

"Well, I'm going to Wiegman's to see if I can take you to the doctor. You need proper treatment if you want to get well quickly. I won't be long. Stay put here in the meantime."

"Very funny. Where else would I go?" I grumble.

"With you, one never knows," she smiles. "I'll be back."

I sigh as I watch her leave, then lie down with my back to the door. I pull the blanket up as high as possible and try to fall asleep. I almost succeed before Bronze returns. She orders me to get up. She got Wiegman's permission to see a doctor. It looks like my day in bed is ruined. I'm forced to put my boots and jacket back on. Luckily for me, she doesn't make me wear my uniform. We head out in her car, and I recognize the route to downtown.

"By the way, did you give my wish list to my teacher?" I ask her.

"Yes, on Friday."

I sense some hesitation from her to continue. She eventually refrains, but my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Is there a problem?"

"Actually, yes. I shouldn't be telling you this, but he was surprised by your first choice," she admits. "We ended up talking a bit, and he showed me your grades. Why didn't you tell me they were so bad?"

I regret pushing her to continue. We hit a traffic jam at that moment. The only subjects where I manage to get average grades are literature and languages. I shouldn't normally worry about my last two choices.

"You should have told me. You have failing grades in everything!" she scolds.

"I do not!" I retort. "In literature and languages."

"That's not enough to get you into management!"

I sigh and rest my head against the window. Bronze moves forward with the traffic. Is she trying to make me understand that I have no chance of getting my first choice? That's probably it. I don't have the time or means to catch up. We're nearing the end of the first semester, which means there aren't many assignments left to improve my grades.

"Do you even study at all?"

"The minimum," I admit.

"I managed to get an opportunity for you."

"Oh, really?" I ask uncertainly.

"Yes. But only if you want to and feel motivated to do it."

"What opportunity?"

"You have the chance to retake a test in each subject. The new grades will replace your worst ones. Your teacher also told me that you'll likely have two more tests per subject before the semester ends."

"How am I supposed to do that? There are only three weeks left!"

"That's why I said you need to be motivated. It's a chance for you since they don't have enough grades."

"How did you get this opportunity?" I ask, watching her bite her lip for a moment.

"Don't get mad, but I had to explain your academic situation. If you accept, I want you to come study in my office after your classes starting Wednesday. We have three weeks to turn things around. It's up to you."

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper.

She's going through so much trouble. It's my problem if I don't get accepted into my first choice. It's because of my behavior at the beginning that I'm in this situation. I didn't care about grades or being here. I never tried to catch up since then. The only test I think I did well on was last week's math test.

"I know you care about your choice. Be grateful I'm giving you this chance, once again. It's clearly the only thing that can save you. Even if you get average grades, they'll see you've made an effort, and that will only be positive for you."

"Alright... I don't have much choice anyway."

"Good. I'll tell your teacher then."

The cough that takes over prevents me from replying, so I nod. Damn illness. We arrive at our destination shortly after this conversation. She parks in front of a tall building. I don't know exactly where we are, but it's impressive. I follow Bronze, who seems to know the place. The interior is as vast as the exterior. I spot signs indicating the names of several doctors. We reach the reception where Bronze introduces us. The receptionist directs us to an elevator, noting our presence. Bronze seems to know where we're going because she presses the third-floor button without being told. I keep alternating between sneezing, coughing, and using tissues. I'm slowly losing patience while Bronze mocks me. When we arrive on the floor, we head to a waiting room that's thankfully not too crowded. Bronze makes herself comfortable while I don't even dare take off my jacket. The wait is long. My supervisor is lucky to have games to occupy her while I twiddle my thumbs.

"Is the doctor a man or a woman?"

"A man, why?"

"Will you come with me?" I ask, biting my lower lip.

She frowns and puts down her game. I don't really want to be alone with him, especially since I don't know him. Seeing I won't explain, she shrugs.

"I planned to wait here, but it's fine if you want me to come with you."

"Thank you," I sigh.

"Do you have a problem with doctors?"

"Not really... Do you know him?"

"He's my doctor."

"Oh."

"He's young and cool. You don't have to worry."

She says that to reassure me, but it has the opposite effect. I sigh after sneezing again. Bronze smiles and hands me a tissue, which I accept with thanks.

"You'll come with me, right?"

"Yes, Ona," she rolls her eyes with a smile.

"Don't make fun of me," I grumble.

"Oh no, not at all," she smiles more.

She chuckles softly as I pout. We attract the attention of the other people in the room. It must have been very quiet before we arrived.

"Will you tell me about this problem someday?"

"Maybe once."

For now, I'm not ready to do so. It would reveal a lot about me.

"Here, do you want to play?" she asks, handing me her phone.

"Really?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes, you need to relax. You're way too stressed," she giggles.

I stick out my tongue and take her phone. It's been so long since I last played. I don't find the time to do it anymore. I smile when I see she has a Candy Crush level in progress. I was addicted to this game for a while. I remember this level where she's stuck very well. It took me a month to pass it. I'm playing through all her lives under Bronze's watchful eye. Meanwhile, other patients come and go.

- Oh shit, you did it!!! I’ve been stuck on this level for two months!

I giggle at her childish behavior, which once again draws attention to us. She apologizes for the disturbance before returning to her phone. I’m surprised myself that I passed this level. I guess it was just a stroke of luck. She seems in disbelief as she stares at the screen. We lift our heads when my name is called. I panic slightly when I see the young doctor. Bronze is the first to stand, placing her hand on my shoulder. I force myself to follow them into the office. He recognizes my supervisor, which surprises me. I didn't think she was the type to come here regularly. He asks me to lie on the examination bed in the middle of the room. I do as he asks without taking my eyes off my supervisor. She sits on a chair in front of the doctor’s desk, turning it to watch.

- Is she your sister? the doctor asks Bronze.

- What? Bronze chuckles. Do we look alike?

- No, I was just asking. It’s the first time you’ve come with someone... for the few times you do come.

Bingo, I was right. Bronze laughs softly. I don’t see what’s so funny. The situation is quite exasperating. It’s clear the doctor is interested in Bronze from the way he looks at her. I almost want to tell him he doesn’t stand a chance because she’s a lesbian.

- She’s a student from my workplace.

Bronze is too kind. I wouldn’t have even bothered answering for her. The doctor turns to face me. He gives me one of his best smiles while I barely avoid squinting at him.

- I didn’t know you were teachers.

I snicker as he frowns and begins my examination. He’s not gentle, the bastard. He must be doing it on purpose to get back at me. I look at my supervisor, who smiles at me unexpectedly. I roll my eyes with a slight grimace, which makes her smile wider.

- You’re not a teacher?

My doctor turns back to Bronze. She tries to regain her serious demeanor. I snicker, realizing it’s a lost cause. In reality, I think she’s fully aware that he’s trying to get her attention. I’m surprised she doesn’t shut him down. It’s something that would annoy me if I were in her place.

- No, not really, she replies as seriously as possible.

- And what do you do then?

- I don’t think that interests you.

- Oh, but it does!

- Of course it interests him, Bronze, I say cheerfully.

She silences me with a stern look. The doctor finally asks me to cough. I almost scream in response to his rough movements. What a bastard! It hurts more and more!

- She’s a student in a private school, and the student in front of you is my responsibility, so you better make sure she gets well quickly and in the best conditions.

Bronze uses her famous tone that always gives me chills. I hold back a smile, seeing the doctor swallow hard. I’d almost pity him, knowing how that feels. I didn’t expect Bronze to defend me or even notice how he was examining me. Strangely, since her intervention, he stops hurting me.

- It’s a nasty flu, he announces.

- Thanks, I already figured that out, I roll my eyes.

- Ona, be nice like I taught you, will you? my supervisor scolds me.

I roll my eyes. Well, I deserved that jab, but she could have spared me from looking like a complete idiot.

- It’s okay, don’t worry, the doctor laughs, which makes me want to vomit. I’ll prescribe your treatment. Take it morning, noon, and night with meals for a week.

He lets me pull down my shirt and moves behind his desk. I jump off the bed to sit next to Bronze.

- You’ll see how well you taught me to behave, I whisper, loudly enough though.

She slaps my thigh unexpectedly. A loud noise makes her eyes widen. I groan, holding my thigh. She didn’t miss. She laughs softly, patting my shoulders.

- You okay? she chuckles.

- You’re a brute, I swear! I grumble.

She laughs even more, apologizing this time. I look up at the doctor, who seems surprised by our behavior. At the same time, I’m supposed to be her student. It makes me realize we have an exceptional bond. It’s a bit of a strange relationship, but we appreciate each other a lot. If we had met in a different context, I’m sure we’d be friends in another way.

- You seem very close for her to be your student, the doctor comments.

- Well, let’s just say she’s a special student to me, she replies, ruffling my hair.

- Stop that, I grumble, pulling away from her hand.

I see her smile from the corner of my eye. Her words echo in my head. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s nice to hear. The doctor pulls us out of our bubble by handing me my prescription. Bronze takes it before I can.

- Well, it was a pleasure to see you again.

- Likewise.

I cough exaggeratedly, letting out a small "liar" between coughs. This earns me a disapproving look from Bronze. He might have been credible if she hadn’t been holding back a smile. I hit the nail on the head again. She finally shakes the doctor’s hand, and I do the same right after. The doctor leads us out to open the door. We say goodbye before he goes to get his next patient. I jump when I get a kick in the butt as I head to the elevator. I say nothing until the doors close on us. We both burst out laughing.

- Don’t make a scene like that again, or you’ll see what happens, she scolds, hitting my shoulder.

- Admit it was funny! He was openly flirting with you! He even took it out on me because he was jealous.

I widen my eyes when she shows me a little piece of paper with a phone number written on it. She steps out of the elevator and continues as if nothing happened. I don’t know what shocks me more. The fact that she took the piece of paper or the fact that I didn’t notice. I quickly exit the elevator to catch up with Bronze, who is still laughing.

- Tell me you’re not going to call him? Because I mean, even I can do better than him at that level, right? He’s really annoying, don’t you think?

- Are you kidding? she laughs. I told you I’m only interested in women. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And you’re right, he’s a bit annoying.

- You’re giving him false hope, which is worse!

- You think?

- Definitely! He expects you to call him now.

She looks at the piece of paper carefully before tearing it up without hesitation. I giggle, understanding what that means.

- Well, it seems I’ll have to change doctors.

I shake my head, amused, as we return to the car. At least I’m sure now that she’s not interested in men. I’m still struggling to get used to the idea. It seems like she has no trouble showing it. Yet, after what just happened, I understand that she doesn’t shout it from the rooftops either.

- I don’t regret asking you to come with me to the office.

- Hmm, don’t get too excited. I expect explanations for this in the near future, remember.

- Or a distant future.

- Near and non-negotiable.

She challenges me with a raised eyebrow. No matter what she wants, we both know I’ll talk when I’m ready. Before heading home, Bronze stops at the pharmacy to get my medication. It looks like her confidence is returning. She left me alone in the car with the keys in the ignition so I could keep the heat and music on. I take the opportunity to observe her dashboard in her absence. I’d love to have the same car someday. Her sudden return surprises me. I blush for being caught red-handed. I quickly reposition myself as she settles back in. She places a full bag on my lap.

- Like my car? she smiles.

- Yeah... I say, my cheeks still red. Bronze, will you let me drive it once?

- Lucy.

- Pardon?

- Call me Lucy. It’s starting to annoy me that you call me by my last name all the time when you know my first name.

- You’re the one who doesn’t want me to call you by your first name, I remind her.

-At school, yes, but outside, I allow you to call me by my first name.

- And like when we’re alone at camp? Like our future evening classes? I ask, making her roll her eyes with an amused smile.

- Your flu should have completely silenced you.

- Hey! I didn’t ask for anything bad.

- No, but you always ask for more. You should be happy I let you call me by my first name outside. Otherwise, it’s too risky. We don’t know who’s around.

I nod, biting my lip. She’s probably right that I keep asking for more. I can understand that she doesn’t want to take risks. We’ve already been interrupted several times without noticing someone else was around.

- Do you have a license? she changes the subject.

- Yeah, but no car. My mom didn’t want to take any risks at the time.

- Understandable.

- Yes, completely, but it makes- Oh shit, you did it!!! I’ve been stuck on this level for two months!

I giggle at her childish behavior, which once again draws attention to us. She apologizes for the disturbance before returning to her phone. I’m surprised myself that I passed this level. I guess it was just a stroke of luck. She seems in disbelief as she stares at the screen. We lift our heads when my name is called. I panic slightly when I see the young doctor. Bronze is the first to stand, placing her hand on my shoulder. I force myself to follow them into the office. He recognizes my supervisor, which surprises me. I didn't think she was the type to come here regularly. He asks me to lie on the examination bed in the middle of the room. I do as he asks without taking my eyes off my supervisor. She sits on a chair in front of the doctor’s desk, turning it to watch.

- Is she your sister? the doctor asks Bronze.

- What? Bronze chuckles. Do we look alike?

- No, I was just asking. It’s the first time you’ve come with someone... for the few times you do come.

Bingo, I was right. Bronze laughs softly. I don’t see what’s so funny. The situation is quite exasperating. It’s clear the doctor is interested in Bronze from the way he looks at her. I almost want to tell him he doesn’t stand a chance because she’s a lesbian.

- She’s a student from my workplace.

Bronze is too kind. I wouldn’t have even bothered answering for her. The doctor turns to face me. He gives me one of his best smiles while I barely avoid squinting at him.

- I didn’t know you were teachers.

I snicker as he frowns and begins my examination. He’s not gentle, the bastard. He must be doing it on purpose to get back at me. I look at my supervisor, who smiles at me unexpectedly. I roll my eyes with a slight grimace, which makes her smile wider.

- You’re not a teacher?

My doctor turns back to Bronze. She tries to regain her serious demeanor. I snicker, realizing it’s a lost cause. In reality, I think she’s fully aware that he’s trying to get her attention. I’m surprised she doesn’t shut him down. It’s something that would annoy me if I were in her place.

- No, not really, she replies as seriously as possible.

- And what do you do then?

- I don’t think that interests you.

- Oh, but it does!

- Of course it interests him, Bronze, I say cheerfully.

She silences me with a stern look. The doctor finally asks me to cough. I almost scream in response to his rough movements. What a bastard! It hurts more and more!

- She’s a student in a private school, and the student in front of you is my responsibility, so you better make sure she gets well quickly and in the best conditions.

Bronze uses her famous tone that always gives me chills. I hold back a smile, seeing the doctor swallow hard. I’d almost pity him, knowing how that feels. I didn’t expect Bronze to defend me or even notice how he was examining me. Strangely, since her intervention, he stops hurting me.

- It’s a nasty flu, he announces.

- Thanks, I already figured that out, I roll my eyes.

- Ona, be nice like I taught you, will you? my supervisor scolds me.

I roll my eyes. Well, I deserved that jab, but she could have spared me from looking like a complete idiot.

- It’s okay, don’t worry, the doctor laughs, which makes me want to vomit. I’ll prescribe your treatment. Take it morning, noon, and night with meals for a week.

He lets me pull down my shirt and moves behind his desk. I jump off the bed to sit next to Bronze.

- You’ll see how well you taught me to behave, I whisper, loudly enough though.

She slaps my thigh unexpectedly. A loud noise makes her eyes widen. I groan, holding my thigh. She didn’t miss. She laughs softly, patting my shoulders.

- You okay? she chuckles.

- You’re a brute, I swear! I grumble.

She laughs even more, apologizing this time. I look up at the doctor, who seems surprised by our behavior. At the same time, I’m supposed to be her student. It makes me realize we have an exceptional bond. It’s a bit of a strange relationship, but we appreciate each other a lot. If we had met in a different context, I’m sure we’d be friends in another way.

- You seem very close for her to be your student, the doctor comments.

- Well, let’s just say she’s a special student to me, she replies, ruffling my hair.

- Stop that, I grumble, pulling away from her hand.

I see her smile from the corner of my eye. Her words echo in my head. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s nice to hear. The doctor pulls us out of our bubble by handing me my prescription. Bronze takes it before I can.

- Well, it was a pleasure to see you again.

- Likewise.

I cough exaggeratedly, letting out a small "liar" between coughs. This earns me a disapproving look from Bronze. He might have been credible if she hadn’t been holding back a smile. I hit the nail on the head again. She finally shakes the doctor’s hand, and I do the same right after. The doctor leads us out to open the door. We say goodbye before he goes to get his next patient. I jump when I get a kick in the butt as I head to the elevator. I say nothing until the doors close on us. We both burst out laughing.

- Don’t make a scene like that again, or you’ll see what happens, she scolds, hitting my shoulder.

- Admit it was funny! He was openly flirting with you! He even took it out on me because he was jealous.

I widen my eyes when she shows me a little piece of paper with a phone number written on it. She steps out of the elevator and continues as if nothing happened. I don’t know what shocks me more. The fact that she took the piece of paper or the fact that I didn’t notice. I quickly exit the elevator to catch up with Bronze, who is still laughing.

- Tell me you’re not going to call him? Because I mean, even I can do better than him at that level, right? He’s really annoying, don’t you think?

- Are you kidding? she laughs. I told you I’m only interested in women. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And you’re right, he’s a bit annoying.

- You’re giving him false hope, which is worse!

- You think?

- Definitely! He expects you to call him now.

She looks at the piece of paper carefully before tearing it up without hesitation. I giggle, understanding what that means.

- Well, it seems I’ll have to change doctors.

I shake my head, amused, as we return to the car. At least I’m sure now that she’s not interested in men. I’m still struggling to get used to the idea. It seems like she has no trouble showing it. Yet, after what just happened, I understand that she doesn’t shout it from the rooftops either.

- I don’t regret asking you to come with me to the office.

- Hmm, don’t get too excited. I expect explanations for this in the near future, remember.

- Or a distant future.

- Near and non-negotiable.

She challenges me with a raised eyebrow. No matter what she wants, we both know I’ll talk when I’m ready. Before heading home, Bronze stops at the pharmacy to get my medication. It looks like her confidence is returning. She left me alone in the car with the keys in the ignition so I could keep the heat and music on. I take the opportunity to observe her dashboard in her absence. I’d love to have the same car someday. Her sudden return surprises me. I blush for being caught red-handed. I quickly reposition myself as she settles back in. She places a full bag on my lap.

- Like my car? she smiles.

- Yeah... I say, my cheeks still red. Bronze, will you let me drive it once?

- Lucy.

- Pardon?

- Call me Lucy. It’s starting to annoy me that you call me by my last name all the time when you know my first name.

- You’re the one who doesn’t want me to call you by your first name, I remind her.

- At school, yes, but outside, I allow you to call me by my first name. You don’t hesitate to use “tu” with me, so a first name won’t change much.

- And like when we’re alone at camp? Like our future evening classes? I ask, making her roll her eyes with an amused smile.

- Your flu should have completely silenced you.

- Hey! I didn’t ask for anything bad.

- No, but you always ask for more. You should be happy I let you call me by my first name outside. Otherwise, it’s too risky. We don’t know who’s around.

I nod, biting my lip. She’s probably right that I keep asking for more. I can understand that she doesn’t want to take risks. We’ve already been interrupted several times without noticing someone else was around.

- Do you have a license? she changes the subject.

- Yeah, but no car. My mom didn’t want to take any risks at the time.

- Understandable.

- Yes, completely, but it makes me want to now. I never really got to drive since then. I don’t even know if I can still do it.

- And you’re asking if you can drive my car? she raises an eyebrow.

- You can’t blame me for dreaming of driving an Audi.

She laughs, shaking her head. Once again, I feel like I’m asking for too much. We continue talking for the rest of the trip. I tell her how I learned to drive with my dad. He let me drive in the countryside when I was a teenager, without my mom knowing. Later, I really learned on the roads with my mom. It wasn’t a pleasant time. We always argued. This conversation keeps us occupied for the entire return trip. My cough still doesn’t calm down. I had to clear my throat more than once during our conversation. I feel exhausted now that the excitement has subsided. It’s eleven o'clock when we get back to my room. She goes back to work while I crawl under my blanket after taking off my sweatpants. I’m alone long enough to sleep in my underwear. I fall asleep quickly. Unfortunately, I’m woken up shortly after. It’s Bronze again, standing over my head with a smile.

-Wake up, sleepyhead. I’ve let you sleep long enough.

"What time is it?" I mumbled.

"Past one o'clock."

I sighed deeply after coughing so hard it hurt my chest. I rolled onto my back to see her better. I thought Alexia was going to wake me up, but she must have gone back to class.

"Come on, get out from under there. Let's eat."

I grumbled in discontent. I really didn't want to get out of bed, especially to eat when I wasn't hungry at all. That didn't stop her from throwing my tracksuit right in my face.

"I managed to catch Alexia in the hallways to give you an extra hour, so do me a favor and get up to share your meal with me."

"I'm not hungry," I admitted.

"That's why I asked for some soup to be prepared. You need to eat something with your medication."

I rolled my eyes, which made her smile. I could have done without it, especially the soup. I had eaten enough of it during my detox. I held back a groan, stretched, and then pulled off my blanket to sit at the edge of the bed. She had a victorious smile when I put on my tracksuit. She rummaged through the medicine bag lying on my desk.

"What are you doing?" I asked, dragging my feet toward her.

"I'm checking what you need to take this afternoon."

"Yeah, basically I have to take everything," I said, seeing her pull out the boxes one by one.

"Have you taken any syrup?"

"No, I haven't touched anything."

"Make sure you take some after eating then. It will calm your cough."

"You're not going to manage my medication again, are you?"

"It seems I will, since you can't take them yourself."

I rolled my eyes, sniffing loudly.

"Got a tissue?"

"Yeah. Take this afterward," she said, handing me a nasal spray.

"You're so annoying."

I sighed again but listened to her. She wasn't going to give me the last word on this kind of thing.

"Can I wear my sneakers?"

"We'll make an exception this time."

She took my medicine bag, and we went to the cafeteria, which was empty. Our tray was already prepared by the staff. Bronze must have notified them before fetching me because she thanked them. We sat at her table on the educators' side. She didn't force me to eat anything but the soup, but that was already too much. I slumped over the table.

"Make an effort and eat a bit."

"Um... I won't be able to go out this weekend, right?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know."

I stirred my spoon in my soup while she prepared all the pills I had to take. There were at least five. I swallowed them without complaint with my glass of water.

"You can go if your leave is approved. Eat your soup; it will get cold," she scolded.

I forced myself to eat a few bites to please her. It felt like my stomach disagreed. I had already lost my appetite, and now that I was sick, it was even worse. I spent more time playing with the soup than putting it in my mouth. Bronze eventually took the spoon from my hand, dipped it into my bowl, and brought it to my mouth. I groaned, understanding her intention to feed me.

"More?"

"It's the only way you'll eat, isn't it?"

"Fine, I'll eat."

I tried to take the spoon back, but she pulled it away.

"Too late. Open your mouth."

I sighed, resigned, and opened my mouth where she placed the spoon. I swallowed everything under her smile.

"Happy?"

"When you've finished everything, yes. Open."

I rolled my eyes, taking another spoonful. I had tried to take the spoon back, but she even smacked my fingers. She finished her dish in the meantime. I finished mine without much enthusiasm. I didn't like her doing this. One, because I was forcing myself to eat, and two, because it made me feel dependent.

"Can I stay here if I don't want to go back?"

"This weekend?"

"Yes..."

"Why wouldn't you want to go back?"

"I want to do my Christmas shopping..."

"Are you trying to tell me something?" she smiled.

"I just want to know if there's a way to go out if I stay here. Well, I still need to recover first..."

"We'll discuss it if you like. Now, open your mouth; you're almost done."

I accepted the end without protest. I slumped over the table right after she took my bowl away. I could have fallen asleep on that table; I was so tired. The flu was draining all my energy. Bronze had to pull me up from my chair.

"Can't you carry me?"

"And what else?"

"You have no pity for the sick," I grumbled.

"Correction, I have no pity for you. Come on, Ona, don't be a child. You'll be back in bed in five minutes."

With this news, I found the motivation to move. I accompanied her to clear the tray, and then we returned to the dormitory. Before letting me lie down, she made me take some syrup to calm my cough and use the nasal spray. Finally, I lay down after all that. I took off my tracksuit again to be more comfortable. I was surprised she stayed by my bed to keep me company.

"Why are you staying? I'm going to fall asleep."

"I know. Just sleep. You need the rest."

I smiled softly, watching her read with my sleepy expression. Her presence reassured me. I was glad she stayed, even though sleep came quickly thanks to my light conscience.

[sequinsmile-x]

Okay first: I love all your fics, I love rereading all of them. Always something to keep me busy😌

Now second: I had an idea while watching criminal minds again. How about that: Emily and Aaron are at least a few years in their relationship and everybody knows that. Emily’s at a Girl’s Night at Garcia and Aaron picks her up but he quickly realizes that she’s very weird, not like drunken Emily. It turns out that Penelope backed normal brownies and some pot brownies for her neighbors (or someone else) but she switched them and Emily had some of them.

Just some funny and fluffy high Emily content

have a great week😄

Thanks so so much bestie <3

I really hope you like this. This prompt immediately set my brain on fire so here we are haha

Hopefully, this makes you laugh, humour is the hardest thing to write by far!!

-x-

High Spirits

Aaron picks Emily up from girl's night at Penelope's. It's something he's done countless times before, but this time something is different.

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Drug use, weed use, high characters

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He can hear the giggling through the door the moment he arrives. 

He knows his wife would insist that she doesn’t giggle, her expression indigent as she said that’s what little girls did, not Section Chiefs at the FBI, but it’s the only way he can describe the sound. He knocks on Penelope’s front door and sighs when he hears her yell that it is open, his usual admonishment that she should lock her apartment door at all times caught in his throat when he walks in, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight he’s greeted with. 

Aaron had found Emily, JJ and Penelope in all kinds of conditions over the years. He’d picked Emily up from countless nights out, including her bachelorette party when her eyes were unfocused thanks to tequila and a mostly empty stomach whilst the other two wore cardboard cutout masks of his face, and it was usually some degree of the same chaos. She’d greet him with a wide smile, stumble over to see him and kiss him, the taste of whatever they’d been drinking pressed against his lips, her hands wandering across his body in a way they usually wouldn’t in front of their friends. 

This time, she’s half laid on the couch, her head against the armrest, her legs in a wide stance with her socked feet on the floor. JJ is lying in a similar position on the other end of the couch, their knees knocking together, and Penelope is in her armchair. They all have a large bag of potato chips each, each of them picking out of the bag with chopsticks, and there’s half a batch of brownies on the coffee table, the other half clearly having been eaten. 

“Hi honey,” Emily says, waving him over, her smile lazy as she sits up enough to kiss him, the taste of salt and vinegar passing from her lips to his, “Would you like a chip?”

He considers refusing, but she already has one offered out to him with the chopsticks, barely giving him a chance to respond before she feeds it to him, “What’s with the chopsticks?” 

“Stops your fingers from getting greasy,” she says, furrowing her brow at him as if it was something she did every day. 

“Your wife is a genius,” JJ says as she sits up too, her smile as relaxed as Emily’s, and he looks around, surprised to see no half-empty glasses of wine next to them. 

“And she’s gorgeous,” Penelope adds, “You really lucked out, sir.” 

He smiles, “How many times do I have to say that you don’t have to call me sir?” He says, reaching out to steady Emily as she sits all the way up, her coordination slightly off. He sits on the arm of the couch and wraps his arm around her shoulders, “I haven’t been your boss for almost a decade.” 

He’d quit the FBI when Hazel, their eldest daughter, was born 8 years ago. It was an argument he and Emily had for most of her pregnancy, each of them insistent that the other shouldn’t have to be the one to leave, but ultimately she’d seen his point of view, had understood that he saw this as a chance to get it right this time. It was a decision that only made more sense when she was promoted to Section Chief when she went back to work after their youngest, Ivy, was born. A promotion she took gladly with both hands because it meant she could be home more, her hours more regular now she was no longer heading up the team. Her famous hatred of politics and everything that came with it took a backseat to her desire to spend more time with him and their children, and he knew that any bad days she had the counterweight of what was waiting for her at home. He knew she struggled sometimes, and hated the way people didn’t understand why she was a working mom when she didn’t need to be, but he understood and he reminded her as often as she needed to hear it. 

“I know,” Penelope grumbles, her nose scrunching up, “But I don’t think I can ever get used to calling you Aaron. It’s still weird to hear Peaches call you that sometimes.” 

Emily giggles, again, and she leans her head against Aaron’s shoulder, “He’s my husband, Pen. And the father of my kids. Wouldn’t it be weird if I called him Hotch? Or Sir.” 

“Doesn’t he like it when you call him that during-”

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Emily says, her cheeks slightly red as she pats JJ’s knee, her eyes wide as she cuts her off. 

Aaron narrows his eyes curiously. She was usually loose-lipped about their sex lives when she was drunk, happy to let the odd detail slip out between shots and cocktails, somehow always careful to not entirely embarrass him. But this was different, her interruption of JJ a sign that she wasn’t drunk, despite what the rest of her behaviour and body language was telling him. He looks back and forth between them all, then at the half a batch of brownies in between them, and then back at his wife. He finally notices the slight redness of her eyes, the shininess to them that made them seem like deep dark pools he’d always come close to drowning in, and he suddenly remembers a conversation he’d overheard a few months ago between Penelope and Luke when she mentioned she’d tried to bake with cannabis butter. 

They weren’t drunk. 

They were high. 

“Wait,” he says, looking between them all, “Are you…high?” 

Emily groans and presses her forehead against his shoulder before she turns to look at her friends, “I told you he’d figure it out.” 

“I am so sorry sir…Hotch,” Penelope says, finally sitting up, “I made brownies for tonight and used the wrong butter, and it was only when we were half a batch in that we realised. I put the wine away the moment I knew-”

He cuts her off by raising his hand and smiling, “It’s okay, I can see where this is going,” he says, trying and failing to hide his amusement at her panic. He turns to look at his wife, pressing his lips together to try and contain his smile at the sheepish look on her face. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, a tender moment between the two of them that draws a delighted gasp from Penelope, “Ready to go home, sweetheart?” He asks and she nods so he turns to look at JJ, “Do you need me to drive you home?” 

She shakes her head and responds with a mouth full of potato chips, “Will is coming to pick me up.” 

He nods and looks at his wife as he stands to grab her shoes for her, “We’d better get going, Jack is in charge and we both know the girls will convince him of anything if they wake up whilst I’m here.” 

Jack was, without a doubt, the most responsible 16-year-old Aaron had ever met. The teenager was beyond sensible and sometimes Aaron and Emily would try and encourage him to have more fun with his friends, but he was always at his happiest at home with his parents and little sisters. Aaron knew it was a reaction to what he’d been through when he was young, a result of being torn from everything he’d known when he was too little to understand and losing his mother shortly afterwards. There were times when it would make Aaron feel guilty, fear that he’d somehow stopped his son from living his life to the fullest by failing to protect him all those years ago a heavy weight in his gut, but Emily would always talk him out of it. She’d remind him how happy Jack was, that he was because Aaron had kept his promise to Haley, and she’d smile, a mischievous tint to it, when she’d say he would have always ended up on the serious side anyway because he was half him. 

Emily nods as she puts on her shoes, “Can we go to Taco Bell first?” She asks, smiling as she stands up, “I’m hungry.” She says, her smile getting wider as she reaches for his hand, her attempt to bat her eyelashes at him slightly diminished by the red rim of her eyes. Aaron looks at the empty bag of chips next to where she’d been sitting, and then at the pile of abandoned dishes in the kitchen, a sure sign they’d eaten a big meal, before he looks back at his wife and he sighs at the look on her face. 

Jack wasn’t the only one who was incapable of saying no to the Hotchner women. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

___

He’s strangely impressed by the number of tacos Emily eats in the car, all five that she’d ordered already gone by the time they get home, her large Baja Blast the only evidence left that they’d gone at all. 

When they get in the house it’s quiet, all three kids in their rooms, and he’s grateful for it, determined to get his wife into bed as soon as possible so she could sleep off the rest of her high. 

“Do you have my drink?” Emily asks, her voice a little louder than usual as they climb the stairs, one of her hands in his and the other on the bannister as he guides her. 

He smiles and holds up the plastic cup so she can see it, “I still have it, sweetheart. Now let's try to not wake up the kids.” He says, making a point to keep his voice low. She hums as she gets to the top of the stairs and makes a beeline for Hazel’s room, something he stops by grabbing her hand, “Where are you going?” 

She pouts, another thing she’d deny in the morning along with the giggling, as she tries to step towards Ivy’s room instead, another thing he stops by squeezing her hand, “Going to see my babies.” 

His smile gets impossibly wider and he kisses her cheek, tugging her against her side, “You can see them in the morning,” he says, encouraging her towards their bedroom, “They’re asleep.” 

She’s cut off from responding by Jack’s bedroom door opening and the teenager stepping out into the hall, his smile amused as Emily pulls him into a tight hug, murmuring that he is her biggest baby as he hugs her back.  “Everything okay?” 

“Everything’s fine, Jack,” Aaron says as Emily steps back from Jack to her husband's side “We’re just going to bed. Did your sisters give you any trouble whilst I was gone?” 

Jack shakes his head, his focus on Emily as he narrows his eyes curiously, “No, they didn’t even wake up,” he looks at his father, then the drink in his hand, then back at Emily, his eyes going wide when he notices her slightly bloodshot eyes, “Wait…you hate Taco Bell, Mom. I heard you say to Dad once that it’s only good for the munchies…” his smile goes wide, realisation clicking in his head as Aaron closes his eyes, “Wait, Mom are you high?” 

Aaron groans, “Jack-”

Emily shushes Jack as she reaches out to pat his shoulder, “It was an accident.” 

He frowns, “How do you get accidentally-”

“Your Aunt Pen used the wrong butter when baking brownies,” Aaron says and Jack chuckles, leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom. 

“Wow, well she’d better be more careful when she makes Ivy’s birthday cake next month.” 

Aaron chuckles and nods, “Trust me, buddy, I already thought about it,” he wraps his arm around Emily’s shoulders, “Go to bed, we’ll see you in the morning.” 

Jack hums, his amusement still clear, and Aaron knows this won’t be the last they hear about this, “See you in the morning.” 

Aaron leads Emily directly into their ensuite and closes the toilet lid before he encourages her to sit down on it, “I’ll help you take your makeup off and then we’ll get you ready for bed, okay?” 

She blows out a breath, tucking her hair behind her ears as he grabs her makeup remover, “I can’t believe my son knows I got high,” she grumbles, covering her eyes for a moment as Aaron kneels in front of her, his knees protesting it as they meet the tiled floor, “This is so embarrassing.” 

Aaron chuckles and encourages her to remove her hands from her face so he can start to remove her makeup for her, ensuring he’s gentle as he swipes the cotton pads across her skin, “It’s not embarrassing, sweetheart,” he says, smiling as she looks at him, “Although, I probably wouldn’t tell your boss since you’re an FBI agent and it’s still a crime federally even if it is legal here.” 

She reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, watching intently as the light catches on the flecks of grey throughout it, “You’re not ashamed of me?” 

He shakes his head and stops his task of taking her makeup off to lean in to kiss her, “Never.” 

She raises her eyebrow at him, “Never? Even if I killed someone?” 

He smiles at the hypothetical, “Who do you think would help you hide the body?” 

She kisses him and leans back, closing her eyes so he can continue to take off her makeup, “Have you ever done it?” 

“What? Killed someone, or accidentally eaten a pot brownie made by Penelope?” 

She kicks out at him lightly, her foot connecting with his thigh before he catches it, squeezing it gently for a moment before he lets go, “No,” she says, rolling her eyes when she looks at him, “I mean have you ever been high?” 

“Once,” he admits, smiling when her eyes go wide in shock, “It was during college. It was at a party and it was Haley’s idea,” he dumps the last of the used cotton pads in the trash can and helps her up, “I hated it.” 

She smiles softly as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close, “Yeah?” 

“We smoked it and my lungs felt like they were melting, and then I got incredibly paranoid and hid in a closet for the majority of the party,” he admits, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment as she chuckles, “Haley found me asleep in there a couple of hours later.” 

“That’s…the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Emily says as she leans in to kiss him. When she pulls back she rests her head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly, “Honey?” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“I’m hungry again.” 

He chuckles and pulls back to look at her, “There are some dino nuggets for the girls in the freezer, do you want me to cook you some?” 

She nods and kisses him again, “You’re the best husband ever.” 

He hums, trying and failing once again to hide his amusement, “Get into bed and I’ll go and make you your third dinner of the day.” 

“Don’t munchie shame me,” she says as she walks out of the bathroom, her smile mischievous as she looks at him over her shoulder, “At least I’m not curled up in the closet.” 

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose before he leaves the bedroom and heads downstairs, muttering to himself under his breath as he goes, cursing himself for somehow forgetting that his wife never forgot anything. 

“I’m so going to regret telling her that.” 

[imraespace]

LIFE'S HARD WHEN YOU'RE INLOVE ─

─ WITH RIN ITOSHI !!

━ 5:00 AM

Reo might think it's a miracle! You're up at 5:00 AM? Woah!

Your sleep consists of a total of 8 hours, plus whatever extra time you have. But today you sacrificed ONE hour, isn't that weird. WHY ARE YOU UP?

Yeah, you asked yourself that quite a lot this morning, staring at the ceiling for quite a bit until you got up, gave Choki your morning talk, and then grabbed the book.

For the first time, you're actually going to read it! And not analyze it for "love".

For some reason, you've felt more.. alive? Normally you always felt like, just there. You're alive and living, just there. But ever since these weird heart condition moments, uncontrollable eyes that always landed on this boy. Why did he change your life? Why does it make your life feel so.. pink? Before it was just gray.

This mysterious boy somehow gave a bit of light to your gray life.

Why? You just don't understand it, but you kinda like it. What would happen if you spoke to him? Now that might make your heart condition worse, your eyes might roll out your head and kaboom! Your brain explodes.

Yeah, maybe not speak to him, but sometimes you fantasize about it a bit.

Mysterious boy, what will you do?

You sighed at your thoughts and just read the book. The book that started it all.

Achoo!

The poor boy rubbed his nose. Is it the cold weather, or is someone thinking about him?

Rin Itoshi ignored it though. The big day was soon, in 24 hours he would be on that field in front of a bunch of eyes, proving that he could be the best out there. Proving to his brother how much better he's gotten. To prove to him that he can destroy him.

So that's why, at 5:00 AM for this whole week Rin Itoshi started his day off with a morning jog, then began his practicing.

He doesn't have time for "breaks". So why the hell does Isagi Yoichi not get the hint to stop with these silly notes.

If looks could burn, the crumbled-up paper would burn away right in his hand.

Rin had decided that to not throw away these notes, rather keep them for Isagi, before the big game to ask him what is his problem.

Rin always gave him weird looks when the team but Isagi never really got the hint. Isagi thought it was normal for him.

I mean it's Rin..

He sighed at the memories and thoughts and began is morning jog, stuffing the notes in his bag.

Rin's jog lasts about an hour, then after the jog, he makes his way back home to bathe and get ready for school.

He doesn't really communicate with anyone at home, maybe greets his parents for the morning, completely ignoring his brother as normal.

Sae and Rin attend different schools simply because, before he came back to Japan, he looked at schools who had a great football team. Obviously, to no one surprise, it was a school that Rin doesn't attend.

The brothers don't communicate, not ever. Even being in the same household it's like the other one isn't there. They completely blanked each other out of their mind.

In Rin's world, only he exists. No one else.

So of course, at 7:21 AM he didn't notice the girl from afar whose eyes had uncontrollably landed on him. Hm, at least he made it to school.

As soon as your friends entered the classroom, they met you reading a book.

Meguru was the first to run up to you, snatching the book out of your hand.

A sigh left your lips, as you tried to grab it back.

"Ooou! If there’s a way to put an end to these feelings that burst into my world, then I don’t want to know it. Woah!" Meguru read out loud

"MEGURU GIMMIE BACK MY BOOK!" You yelled, trying to snatch it back. He ran back towards Yoichi, who was still at the door.

He sighed as Meguru tried to hide behind him, with you in front of him.

At least he's getting a free hug? Seems like this is an everyday routine with his friends. Though, he felt bad for you so he got back your book for you.

"Hey! I was reading that!" Meguru argued. He ignored the boy behind him and gave back the book to its rightful owner, you.

"Thank you, Yoichi." You said, giving him a hug, with one hand, the other hand held the book.

Meguru came out from behind the boy and made his way towards you but you thought faster, hugging the book. That's your no-no zone! Meguru can't touch there.

He formed a pout, accepting his defeat.

Your three made it to your desks. The classroom wasn't filled as yet, only person being there was the boy. Of course, you didn't notice him, too in your book.

When Meguru and Yoichi entered the classroom, such things as other students in the classroom weren't on your mind. But then you noticed that he was indeed in the classroom when Yoichi.. called him..

You sat at your desk, witnessing the interaction between the boys. All that's on your mind was that he saw you, and heard you. Embarrassing? Yes.

That means originally, you were alone in this classroom with him.. and you didn't even notice.

Completely blanking out of the conversation, you stared at your desk trying to hide your blush.

What a morning!

Rin on the other hand, he noticed you only because of your loud mouth, nothing else. He was listening to music on his phone, but he paused it to look at a video. In doing so, between the pause he heard you. That's all.

And right now, he found it strange that now you're as quiet as a mouse. Not his problem though. They were talking about football anyway, your knowledge of that topic is about zero percent he's sure.

━ 12:31 PM

"Y/N!" A familiar voice called out to you.

It was Hyoma!

"Hyoma, hi!" He ran up to you with a scrunchie.

You suddenly got the memo. Of course, he would let you touch his hair. You always played in it anyways.

"I would love to tie your hair up for you Hyo but you're a bit tall as of right now." You stated.

Normally, he would be sitting but you both are in the middle of the hall. Then an idea popped into your mind.

"Wait lemme get on you."

"What."

"On your back, duh." You clarified.

"Oh." He answered back.

Hyoma turned around, and got a bit low for you as you hopped on him.

He gave you the scrunchie and you got to work. of course, both of you know that he himself can tie his own hair but who are you to turn down an opportunity to get your hands in his hair? and who would he be to turn down an opportunity to have you in his hair again?

You both may look silly in the hall but happy smiles were plastered on your faces.

"Chigiri? I didn't know you had your own personal hairstylist. Stylish." A male with REALLY LONG HAIR passed by and commented.

Woah, you're jealous of it.

"He's your friend Hyo?" You asked him.

"Yeah, he's on the team." He answered back.

A surprised look found its way onto your face after hearing that. Someone like him should be a model..

You finished up with your friend's hair, the model on the other hand was admiring your work.

"I say, this hairstyle is quite stylish." He commented as you came off Hyoma's back.

"Thank you, kind sir!" You said, giggling at your own joke.

The male held his hand up to his chest, showing off his painted nails, and began speaking.

"My name is Jyubei Aryu, what yours might be?" Aryu asked.

You copied his actions in a friendly manner and introduced yourself.

"Very nice to meet you Aryu! My name is Y/N L/N."

"Quite nice to meet you as well. The ways in which your hands styled Chigiri's hair were amazing, do tell me your secret, L/N."

"Erm, Of course, sir!" You.. told him. You don't know how to communicate with him.

"Aryu I think it's time for practice now." Hyoma brought up.

Aryu nodded at his words and began to walk away, leaving behind sparkles in his trail. Wow..

"Bye Hyoma!" You exclaimed, hugging him for a bit before, walking away.

Either that team is secretly a model agency or everyone there looks like models.

They are also very much tall. It's kinda scary, you almost broke your neck looking up to that Aryu guy. How tall is he?

Now, you're kinda excited to see this match tomorrow.

## LIFE'S HARD WHEN YOU'RE INLOVE. --

╴“ WITH RIN ITOSHI?? „

ฅ^._.^ฅ : some things about y/n !! she mostly sleeps through the day, only does stuff IF needed !! with her given gift of being effortlessly smart , all she does in her free time is : nap , eat , sleep. hmm what if.. one day y/n develops a crush and now has to ACTUALLY work to achieve a goal ? : date rin itoshi !!

7 // 9

TAGLIST: @deezy12299 @kuroronana @khoiyyu @swagkittybear @shidousprincess @starbarfbunni @jealovsie (OPEN)

! if you didn't get tag, that means your acc didn't show up :(

-`♥︎´- for this story, i'm trying a something new, which includes words/phrases, foods and hometowns from japan and germany. if there's any errors please point it out !

-`♥︎´- word count : 1.4K

[kiyomitakada]

Light likes to think he is an active person. An open-minded risk-taker, if one will. When he encounters a problem, he does not shy from the challenge but faces it square on. This is why he was a pleasure to have in class.

The first time Light is strangled asleep by the ghost of L Lawliet, he decides to put these skills into practice and raid Misa's sleeping pills.

Look, it's not like Misa keeps track of them. Light's usually the one who has to remind her to take her pills in the first place; she doesn't have any sort of refill schedule other than 'when they run out.' Taking just one won't hurt.

Still. He feels oddly guilty, shaking it out of the bottle, which is stupid for aforementioned reasons; the pill, at least, goes down as smoothly as a lie.

"Goodnight, darling," Misa mumbles, when he slides into bed at last, his throat bitter and tight.

"Night, Misa."

Light always sleeps on his back with his arms locked at his sides. He has nightmares, but not usually insomnia; he curbed that after the first week of using the Death Note. He closes his eyes and drowns with ease.

-

"Misa," he says the next morning, while dumping refrigerated salad into a bowl. He drinks coffee on weekdays like these. She drinks zero-sugar orange juice. Ryuk gets an apple.

Misa startles. "Yeah? What is it, Light?"

She's stopped wearing her pigtails recently. It's just too much effort to style her hair now that she's acting in more feature films, she says. These days it falls to her shoulders, straight and blonde. It makes Light a little sick to look at her.

"When you're falling asleep," he says. "Do you ever feel like something is crushing you?"

"Uh… no?" Misa tilts her head at him. "Why would I?"

"Some sleep conditions come with full-body paralysis and the sensation of weight. I was reading about it online yesterday." He wasn't.

"Hmm. Nope! Guess I have something else." Misa shrugs, grinning. "Thanks for looking it up for me."

"Sure," Light says. He wonders, briefly, if she's lying. No. Misa would never lie to him.

-

The pill, if anything, had dragged it out longer: the (lack of) screaming, the (lack of) thrashing, so on and so forth. But it occurs to Light, as he heads into the task force headquarters, that his nightmares are blurrier now. Usually the images last until at least lunch, possibly dinner if he has to use the voice changer for whatever reason; now he finds he can barely recall whether L's eyes crinkled at the edges or not when Light was feeding him cake.

This is, naturally, a relief. Light really hates his nightmares. He doesn't know why his brain insists on inventing a kind Ryuzaki, one who laughs at his jokes and returns his empty smiles and would not have killed him even if he saw Light in his entirety, which he didn't. Whoever that man is, he's an affront to the real L's memory.

Light snickers to himself in the empty elevator. Right, because he's doing such a great job carrying L's memory already.

Maybe the tradeoff is worth it, he thinks. He never wants to see L again, of course, but he'd take the real L over some facsimile in a heartbeat. At least L doesn't talk when he's strangling him.

-

"Where do humans go when they die?"

Ryuk snorts. "Midlife crisis, Light-o?"

"What? No. I'm only twenty." It had not occurred to Light that Ryuk would think he was asking about himself. 'Humans' had seemed like such an objective, distant word.

"Maybe heaven," Ryuk says. "Maybe hell. Maybe nowhere at all."

"With — equal probability?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Ryuk says. "Gimme another apple."

"No."

There is, obviously, no way that L has made it to heaven. So that rules one out. Actually Light is pretty sure this is a reskin of the Monty Hall game show problem, but he doesn't know what reward he's hoping for.

In any case, he's done his research by now. Sleep paralysis is a common condition that affects 8 to 50% of the population, a horrifically large range that should not still be tolerated by academia. The best treatments are cognitive behavioral therapy (which he doesn't need, since it's apparently centered around getting rid of fear of the paralysis), antidepressants (he's not depressed), and 'reassurance' (he is twenty years old).

In summary, this L is just as fake as Ryuzaki. Which Light knew already. Obviously.

It doesn't matter, though. It's better this way.

-

"—Light?"

Something is encircling his wrist. His left wrist. Light instinctively tries to reach for it, but he can't move, still — black-hole gaze and taxidermied butterflies and he needs to kill him, he needs to run —

"Light!"

And suddenly it all falls away. The person in front of him is blonde and soft and not any version of L at all.

He shoves her hand away. "Misa. What's wrong?"

"You were saying something," Misa says. "Over and over. It woke me up."

What is he supposed to say to that? 'Sorry'? "What was I saying?"

"…I don't know," Misa says. "Just gibberish, I guess."

Misa would never lie to him. He swallows the sudden acrid taste in his throat and his urge to scream at her for chasing L away. L will still be here tomorrow. It's fine. "Go back to sleep then."

"Okay!" Misa chirps, and flops down beside him.

Light checks his watch. It is still only fifteen past midnight. He must not have gotten very far into sleep.

He closes his eyes and tries to summon L again, not Ryuzaki with his oddly soft hair and dark brown eyes. L who is made of cruelty and vindictiveness and tricks. L who was never human in the first place.

He doesn't find him.

[ @deathnotetober day 25: ghost ]

(A/N: halfway through writing this i realized i might be drawing a lot of unconscious inspiration from telltale, which you should read right now because it’s gorgeous and it actually happened in canon i know because i was there. i don't think they are too similar but i just wanted it on the record if you're feeling deja vu that's probably why)

[flicklikesstuff]

Hazbin Hotel Ep 8 Ramble and Theory

⚠️ SPOILERS!! ⚠️

Surprisingly, the show’s first season really got me hooked with its storyline and I can’t wait what’s in store for the upcoming season 2.

I’ve had my suspicions with Alastor since the pilot, and it just keeps growing with every episode. Even then, his real motivations are just hard to really see and it’s what makes his character intriguing. One moment, he’s lurking in the shadows like some sort of villain, and then the next, we see him maaaybe caring for his friends?? If he even considers them that. Idk 🤷

I’ve always thought that maybe he’s sticking around and playing nice to get Charlie’s guard down in the long run. Waiting for her to get desperate so he can strike a deal with her. So he could ask her for any favour in the future. And guess what? That’s what he exactly does in Ep 7.

And if I’m recalling correctly, Alastor helped Charlie with the war, but Charlie is yet to grant her own end of the deal. Alastor STILL is owed a favour from her.

(Where am I going with this theory and analysis? I’m getting there-)

At one point, maybe he did genuinely care for the hotel and the people in it. Regardless what his motives were. He even admits it’s a “surprising thrill” to watch them form connections. But the word choices he uses in this scene are just sooo…weird?

“Almost??” “Could get accustomed??”

It sounds like he admits feeling attached to the other characters but at the same time, doesn’t want to commit to it. Does he have far more nefarious intentions in mind for them and that’s why he’s so distant?

Alastor probably noticed this in the ending of Ep 8 too. His altruistic self almost got control of him. He almost risked his life to help his “friends.” And he didn’t like that one bit. Perhaps, he sees this trait as a weakness.

It really sounds like the verse“Great Alastor Altruist died” is equal to him stating that “there’s no more Mr. Nice Guy” from now on. He’s disconnecting and staying firm to whatever his highly vague motives are. And it’s highly likely that whatever’s holding him back from his full power is the deal he made itself. And he’s going to try anything to get out of it. Maybe that’s the reason why he approached Charlie in the first place.

And I’m going back to Charlie’s deal with him here. The only condition she has is that she won’t harm anyone for him. But knowing Alastor, he’s going to twist the words a bit there. Maybe he won’t harm them physically. But maybe in some other way. Indirectly. One that Charlie won’t see in the long run. Maybe he uses this one favour to help him break free of this deal or loosen it in some way.

And Charlie already has so much trust in him after the battle, she most likely won’t see it coming. It’s perfect.

(Not exactly sure how these soul contracts work buuut, she’s the princess right? Maybe she’s powerful enough to do smth about it? Maybe that’s why Alastor was so interested to gain her trust and potentially free himself?)

…….

But anyway! Onto the second part of my theory!

Alastor’s probably going to optimise his one chance of freedom through Charlie’s owed favour. But I have a feeling he’s not only going to use just Charlie.

Who else is at the hotel that the other main cast members trust? Who he could freely command under his control? To show up at his will? Answer his beck and call? Whose souls that Alastor owns?

I swear. It is NO ACCIDENT that these two were standing side by side. NEXT TO ALASTOR. In the ending. (Or maybe I’m overanalysing, but whatever. This is MY ramble)

When Alastor comes back from the “dead”, everyone was happy to see him. Especially Charlie. And surprisingly Vaggie? I guess she’s warming up to him. Idk if that’s good or not.

Everyone except Lucifer and Husk. Lucifer’s still bitter on the whole ‘dad’ thing. But I just really felt sooo bad for Husk here. 😂 My guy had maybe a few happy hours of what he thought was freedom. Then he sees this guy come back and he’s just: “Ahhhh… SHT-!”

Now I’m just saying, I don’t think Alastor can just casually go up to Charlie and just easily demand that favour. Especially now that Lucifer might be staying around(?) Also, Alastor sounds like someone who would strategically play the long run if it means benefits. Albeit, less truly altruistic than before since that approach almost costed him highly.

He’s maybe going to have to pull some strings to really make Charlie feel like she HAS to do him a favour. To better solidify his chances and so she’s less likely to be hesitant/reluctant/suspicious. After all, Alastor is only owed ONE FAVOUR. Maybe he’ll pull some strings to win over Lucifer’s own trust too so he won’t be stopping Charlie? (I’m not sure, these two are not in good terms.)

(Look me in the eyes and tell me this is the face of someone who’s definitely not going to use this hotel for his own personal gain. Things are going to start getting ugly with Alastor’s new approach. I’m also still like 80% sure these 3 characters are placed together for a reason. It CANNOT be a complete coincidence, right?)

Now I’m really curious how Husk and Niffty would react under this sudden new approach. The angst potential here is smelling strong. It’s obvious that they’re starting to get highly attached to the hotel and really consider the others as friends. Something Alastor didn’t allow himself to.

And it’s not like they have a voice in the matter either. No matter what Alastor tells them to do to secretly manipulate things around the place so he’ll appear like he’s “helping out more.”

Who knows really? What kind of errands he’ll force them to do? “Mr. Nice Guy” is really no longer an option here. That guy is dead. Adam killed him.

And all at the same time, Alastor wouldn’t be breaking Charlie’s condition. He’s not making her hurt anyone at all. Just helping a good old pal, who’s done so much for her, to maybe loosen the constraints his deal has. Or whatever else he wants, I don’t fcking know-

(But Srsly though. The angst??? Niffty and Alastor are fond with each other, but Niffty is also starting to like her new friends too. Will that create some sort of rift? Niffty actually being hesitant??

And don’t even get me STARTED on Huskerdust. Like wtf-? Husk has already stepped out of line before and it left him completely shaken. What else could he do? And a heartbroken Angel finding out he’s behind all this when Husk is the first person to truly reach out to him? Husk not being able to meet his gaze out of guilt?? THE FCK-???)

Yeaaaahhh, can’t wait what Season 2 has for us all….

Remember fellas, this is just a theory. A Hazbin theory! :))

[mxtantrights]

Bounded by shadow and blood (8)

Azriel x magic!fem!reader

It had been two days of nothing. No information, no clues, you are starting to believe that your brother was never here. You even tried to use your blood to call to his hilt or any blood energy he might have spent here but nothing came up.

Amren had seen you grow more and more desperate with each passing hour. She offered, of course to go out and enjoy the town. You didn’t feel like drinking or talking with anyone but you figured for appearance sake you would do it.

She had brought you an all black ensemble to wear. It was a bit revealing but you didn’t mind. If you were going to stand anywhere near her, you’d have to keep up. 

You tucked your hilt into the side of your left boot. Just incase.

When you and Amren left the house it was only you too. But somehow, as the night grew, members of the inner circle wormed their way into your plans.

It wasn’t a coincidence that on your walk around the city, you ran into Cassian and Nesta who happened to be out on ‘date night’. But you let it slide, for Amren’s sake. But when you got to the famous place she was talking about, Rita’s, Azriel and Morrigan were tucked into a booth. 

Cassian had the fun idea to combine groups. Amren sent you a sympathetic look but you went along with it. Again.

You took the corner and Amren took your right side so that no one else could sit next to you. 

As if it weren’t enough about an hour into sitting in the booth, Rhysand and Feyre showed up. All but one person from the inner circle was missing at this point. You rolled your eyes and Amren laughed at your antics.

“How’s your visit so far?” Nesta asks from across the table.

You smile, “It’s been great. Wish I had more alone time with Amren though.” 

“It’s always good to make new friends.” Rhysand smirks.

“Do you baby-sit all of your new friends or is that just a special offer for me?” You quip.

Amren giggles into her drink. A few at the table seem to be thrown off at her laughing. You’re not. You’ve known her for a short amount of time but she obviously opened up more to you than she does them.

“We wouldn’t have to if you would just answer our questions.” Nesta says.

“I don’t owe you answers.” You state.

She raises her eyebrows. Cassian turns to her and speaks into her ear. Feyre clears her throat, and you take the chance to look at her. She is the cursebreaker. She has all the fire her sister has and more. And yet she can control herself and come off and cool headed and diplomatic. 

“My sister is just curious is all. Don’t mind her.” She says.

You feel the shadow at your ankle. Before you can reach down to swat it away, it grabs the hilt of your sword. It reappears in Azriel’s hand. He looks right at you.

“No weapons in this establishment. Those are the rules.” He says.

“As if all of you don’t have some variant of a blade on you, or that you all aren’t walking weapons yourselves.” You reply to him.

He smirks, “So it is a weapon.”

You look at him then. He had gotten to you admit it was a weapon. Even though you were sure he knew that already. You couldn’t tell what his game is here.

“Give it back.” Amren says.

“On one condition. Spar with me again.” He says.

You look at him bewildered. This male was too smug for his own good. It wasn’t enough that you beat him once. He wanted to best you. He no doubt told the inner circle how he had lost to you because of your abilities. 

His ego took a hit. He called you a good fighter. Yeah, right.

You actually don’t mind sparing with him again. You’d like to wipe the floor with him and give his friends a front row seat. You can’t help the Cheshire smile that grows on your face.

“I win, you give me my hilt back.” You state your terms.

He nods, “And if I win, you tell us what you’re really doing here.” 

“Azriel do you think—“ Cassian starts.

You hold out your hand, “it’s a deal.” 

His eyes seem to widen, but not even a second later he’s taking your hand in his and shaking it. The table goes quiet. All of them looking at your joined hands.

“You just made a bargain,” Amren says and she pulls your hand back, searching your skin for something, “Where is it?” 

You watch her in amusement. You know she was looking for, a mark or tattoo that came from the bargain you just made. But that rule really doesn’t apply to you, like most things pertaining to fae do. 

“I won’t have a tattoo, fae bargains don’t work on me.” You tell her.

“I wonder why not…” Nesta mumbles to no one in particular. 

"I heard of a story where one man's wonder sent him into a spiral od his own demise." you say to her.

Nesta cocks her head to the side with a smile.

-

You were up before dawn. Not like the sight would be as spectacular as the dawn court. But it was still a sight nonetheless. You watched the way the sky seemed to lighten as the sun started to peek out.

Azriel, ever the dramatic, told you to find him before dawn for the match. He told the group how you had seemed to find him in the house even though you didn’t know where you were going and he didn’t tell you where he’d be. All of this information seemed interesting to Rhysand and Nesta.

You know everyone is going to be there. They hadn’t said they would but you could tell that they wouldn’t miss it. The chance to see you in action, the chance to dissect your every move? Nesta wouldn’t miss it for the world.

You were treading up the hill where you tracked Azriel. The hardest part was tracking him. The easy part would be taking him down. You reach the top of the hill and see all of them standing there, waiting for you.

Azriel is the only one with his back turned to you. As Cassian and Rhysand look at you over his shoulder, he seems to get the hint and turn around.

When he catches your eyes he smirks. 

“You made it.” He says.

“The hill was a nice touch, very on par for your dramatics.” You say.

He shakes his head, “I hope I didn’t wear you down.”

“Not a chance. You ready to get this over with?” You ask.

Azriel juts his chin over to the empty training ring to his left. You notice he didn’t wrap his hands for this fight. You wonder why that is. It won’t affect the outcome of this match anyways.

You follow behind him as he gets into the ring, dipping below the ropes. You lift the top instead of ducking beneath it. Amren comes to your side.

“Are you sure about this?” She asks.

“I wouldn’t ask me that, ask your friend over there.” You answer her.

She smiles, “You get any better since I’ve seen you last?”

“I’ll show you.” You smile back.

Cassian whistles and gets everyone’s attention.

He goes over the rules. No dirty tricks. No leaving the ring unless for a forfeit. No use of abilities. He looked at you specifically for that one. Which you thought was weird. You thought all they had wanted was to see was you use your abilities.

No matter, you’d win this fight the hard way.

As soon as Cassian said Go, Azriel and you started circling each other. He raises his hands up to his face. You keep your arms at your sides. He reaches for one of your arms but you swing to the other side.

Amren cheers on your side maneuver. Nesta cheers on Azriel to try again.

You know which move to go for next. You fake a swing, knowing he’s going to grab your hand. And you use that to your advantage. You throw your weight down and wrap your legs around his waist. You grab onto the arm that is free and restrain him.

He’s out of it for a moment. Then he slowly raises to his feet. That takes you by surprise. He’s got a grip on your arm like a vice. But he’s holding you like it’s nothing.

You let go of his arm and throw him into a headlock. His wings don’t get in the way until he uses one of them to hit your side. You grunt at the impact and your arms loosen, and your legs buckle. 

He takes that opportunity to throw you down onto the mat. He pins your legs down with his and takes both your hands into one of his. His face mere inches away from yours. You struggle against him.

From this close you can focus only on his blood. How loud it is. How it is erratic, more than what you’re used to when someone is fighting. You look him in the eyes now and find he’s looking right back at you. Like he had been looking at you first.

He lets go of you all at once and leaps away from you. You prop yourself on your elbows and watch the scene in front of you. 

“Hey we said no magic!” Cassian shouts.

You didn’t use anything against him though. 

“She didn’t—it wasn’t her.” Azriel answers.

You pull yourself up and look at him. He looked frazzled. He looked like he saw a ghost. A tendril of his shadow juts out and grabs your ankle. It yanks you over to him, close enough that your feet touch. 

“You just used your powers.” You say in disbelief.

You can’t believe it because it doesn’t seem like he did it intentionally. It seemed like another instance where his shadows were doing their own bidding. 

“You won.” He says to you.

It happens all at once. The shadow that is wrapped around your ankle lets go of you. Azriel stands at lighting speed and leaves the ring all together. You watch as the hilt of your sword appears in front you.

You grab it and turn to look at the shadow singer who is gone. You try to think to yourself, what just happened?

[kvnimago]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader (18+ oneshot)

— some things are (better) left unknown

word count: 4k+

⚠️: 18+, angry-fucking, GRAPHIC depictions and descriptions of smut, slut shaming, degrading, "good girl" shit, profanity, petnames kinda, they-think-they -hate-eachother-but-will-absolutely-submit, cant-really-think-of-anything-else-just-prepare-yourself-pls

(reblogs are highly appreciated! i'm a new acc)

—

For what felt like hours, days, even. You felt eyes boring their presence upon you. Like a laserbeam going through your thick skull. And it was of no use trying to see who it was, because there'd only be one person to do that.

Your hands reach for the cold steel spoon, engraved on it was 'Task Force 141'. You felt your fingers brush over the letters as you picked it up and held it to your mouth, the hot soup going through your lips and into your stomach.

It'd been a long day, when the winter was out to kill, and when the warm fires were less orange than any other December when you lit it up.

Although, the light on your cigarette appeared much brighter than any chimney to you today. You couldn't tell, at this point, if you were actually full from the meal or the Cuban you held in between your index and middle finger.

You got up slowly from your chair, which was rocking back and forth whenever you sat down or got up. You could smell another familiar scent of smoke coming from the other seat beside you, though it wasn't something very significant as of this moment.

Captain Price approached you as you looked away from your seat, checking if there was any spots of food you left behind, "Hey, kid."

"Yes, Capt?"

Price pulled out a letter from his pocket, the material of his gun rustling against his belt from his pants. "Think you can grab these from the basement for me? I need it by tomorrow."

You reluctantly take the letter, it contained some vehicle tools, ammunition supply, uniform badges, you name it. Just regular stuff, not anything too difficult. But you were neither prepared, nor did you see it coming, when he said the next thing:

"I'll have Lt. Riley tag along. That alright with you, Simon?" He said, fully aware of the fact that Ghost couldn't ever say no. He was the Captain, after all. And it was.. apart of his job to follow his orders.

Price nods approvingly without even waiting for your answer, nor Ghost's, "Good. It's in the basement. The dark room without any lights, so just bring one." He looks at his watch, 8:27.

"You should be back at 5 in the morning, clear?" he emphasized, he was always one to take the job very seriously.

As he walked away, you felt that peering stare from earlier return. All you could do was feel the wrinkles on the paper, which smelled like conditioned air.

You didn't dare turn around, you stood there, hands behind your back. Like an idiot, honestly. That's what Ghost would say.

The sound of a metal seat's legs rubbing against the tiles entered your ears. You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous as hell bein' around him.

"Come." said Ghost, "Stop wasting your time." he added.

You shut your eyes tightly and reopened them for a quick second and turned around, met by his terrifying thousand-yard stare which was surprisingly all natural. You have a guess that it's because of the mask that you notice it ever so often.

"You're still mad at me."

Ghost placed his utensils on the tray which sat on the table, tilted. "And?" he asked you.

"You wouldn't want to go in the basements alone. You'd piss yourself." his mask moved as he spoke, and you could've sworn that you heard a light laugh coming from his nose. You were afraid that he wouldn't cooperate due to the fact that you both had a slight mishap the other day, but to your relief, he's.. seemingly alright about it.

He mannered for you to come along, so you did. You were following him, hands behind your back, you got a great view of how he wore his gear, how messy some other parts were, and how he kept some specific adjustments to his uniform. For example, he has to not button the first 2 buttons on his shirt. He just covers it up with his tactical vest, because his waist is smaller than his upper body.

You smile to yourself, though it only appeared internally. After all, you're still mad at him.

"Still pissed, Sergeant?" his bone-chilling tone entered the atmosphere. Why, it was cold and stern. Had no gentleness or anything of the sort behind it.

You paused and stopped in your tracks, followed by a small grunt that escaped your mouth as you spoke: "Don't know." your response was a bit.. blunt. Not mixed with anger, or a sense of 'I don't care'. You just simply uttered the two words.

He turned to you, also stopping in his way. You could feel lava in your ears boiling at it's own temperature when he was now heading your way, the distance was closed from a meter apart, now at a foot apart from eachother.

"That is fuckin' idiotic, woman." every word he said felt like a dull blade being pressed against your chest. Over and over.

You glared, irritated by the comment. Woman? "Thank you, Simon." you retorted, it took about a thousand horsepower to bring yourself not to sound so affected, the annoyance evident in your eyes as you brought yourself to look at him in the eyes again.

"Fuck did you just say?" he doesn't like being called by the first name. Not at all. Especially when it's you, your words are like scratching at plates to him. Even the thought alone of you makes his head hurt.

You smiled a little, fuck, I think I've really gotten into his skin. "I don't know, Simon. Would you please get out of the fucking way and go to the basement now?"

It'd be very strange if you hadn't spotted his fists clenching a bit. He had a.. short temper, that's for sure. But never have you seen him let it out, which was another factor that removed your fear around him. Well, besides the death stare.

He didn't look at you again. For the next 5 minutes you both spent together trying to walk across the base to get there.

The room was dim. Only about 4 lights which were scattered all over the basement, and it wasn't much, because the basement was fucking huge.

"A pistol for the Captain and ammunition supply. Find it." Ghost demanded. Like he was the one in charge.

You dug in your pockets, the sound of multiple things clanging against eachother, no luck.

"Did you bring a flashlight?" you questioned, you didn't have one on you.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Sergeant." he stared at you, getting back up from what he was doing.

You backed up just a few inches off your foot, "Jesus. Fine. I can manage."

Ghost seemed satisfied with your reply, because you could see him turning around again through the dim lights.

You absolutely lied. It was impossible to see in the near-dark. Only the small shine of metal was a hint to what you were trying to find.

You went further into the dark, no signs of what you were trying to find, based on your sense of touch.

Boxes could be heard being carried and put on the small side-tables. To add, the ring of alloy was very apparent especially when there was nothing else that could be in your ears.

"You found anything?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

"No."

"Me neither."

You sighed, it should be around 8:50 now.

Ghost couldn't stare at you or penetrate at your soul with his glare, no, not through the dark. It removed an essence of control as he knew.

"I'm not mad, Lieutenant." You told him, desperately trying to fight the silence.

"Shut up and find the things we need."

A solid ten minutes passed before you found a pistol, contemplating on whether or not you should go back the minutes-long walk to your quarters to get a flashlight, because time was running slow.

Ghost heard the gun being cocked, moving over to your spot. "I haven't found anything."

"So? What does that make me?" you replied, his jaw clenched when he realized you were mocking his previous reply to you.

"An idiot. Because your arse forgot the light."

He came closer to you, although it sounded like he was far away. You couldn't ignore his comment, "You took your mask off, right? Now I really should've brought a flashlight, so I can see that ugly fuckin' face of yours."

You felt a cold shudder go through your spine when footsteps came louder.

"That would've been a hell of a sight to see, because I'd say I'm not ugly." he spoke in a deep, sultry voice.

"A good hell doesn't exist." you replied.

"Bullshit." he breathed out, jamming boxes on the floor again, "You can be mad for all I care, because I don't."

You could feel his black stained eyes once more, although not visible, it was all the more apparent when you heard his footsteps getting closer behind you.

"That's a shitty response, boo, Simon."

"You're shitty."

"Fuck you."

Veins popped on his forehead, his balaclava sweaty from the lack of ventilation inside the basement,

"Be mad at me all you want, yeah? Not my fault some dumbass fuck is on my squad."

Now was not the time to be discussing about your personal endeavours, it was a time to follow Price's orders, not to waste the precious hours.

Silence devoured the void that kept his distance from you. Simon never really liked you, favored you, or even talked to you that much, you think you really fucked up and outdid yourself the moment you messed around during a mission and let an enemy loose.

He always looked away from you.

Johnny would say he'd go silent whenever you were mentioned or whenever you were around, for some reason that even he didn't know.

And you thought that maybe, just maybe, this would've resolved your issues with eachother.

Wrong. He's still the fuckin' asshole he is, always shoving it in your face that you're incorrect, telling you how to do this and that. You'd stare deep into his dark and sullen eyes, when the nights were just right that he would be angry-fucking you right before or after a mission. Nonetheless, it didn't change his view about you.

Simon couldn't see anything, yet, he wanted to go over to your spot. You gasped when you felt a clothed hand on your butt, breaking the trance of thoughts you were in. You heard a small grunt with it, too.

You could barely see anything, but who else was there except for Ghost?

"Simon. Get your fucking hands off my ass." you commanded, grabbing his hand and pushing it away from you.

Ghost emitted a groan, surprised by the sudden movement.

"What hands?" his accent was thicker than the dark, a shudder entering your spine again when his breath hits your neck from afar. "That is not my hand, sweetheart."

The knots in your stomach tightened. He grunted again, and you felt the warmth of his breath tilt to the side, "Sergeant. Get your goddamn hands off my pants." he spoke slowly and firmly at every word.

"Don't need to fuckin' grab it like that—just ask nicely." he sighed at that last part, dark and threatening was his tone, though his eyes had seemed to tell a different story, which again, wasn't visible to your sight.

His words left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, your body warm from the burning tension. And also from the anger that flushed in the tips of your ears, you didn't know of a single bit where this was going, yet you let it happen.

You could feel the strong presence of a stiff vest on your back, your legs rubbed against his muscular thighs. The low ponytail on your head was coming loose,

"You know what?"

"Yes?" your response sounded more like a breathy noise than a word, the heat emerging from inside you. There was nothing to be denied, no matter how upset, disappointed, or irritated you were.. you'd always come back for him.

"You're a fucking slut, that is—Your anger towards me is no match for that filthy cunt of yours."

You whined, involuntarily, every breath he took shattered itself on your neck, "God. I fucking hate you."

"Really? Those hands and that pussy of yours say otherwise. Every fuckin' time."

A soft grunt escaped your lips, and this was only from his words.. How? It was indescribable, what you felt. The rim of your cargo pants were tugged by gloved hands, you sighed lightly,

"Turn around."

You followed his orders like a lost puppy in search for its owner, his sentences were like hymns to your ears, frankly, hypnotizing you and leaving all common sense behind.

Ghost lifted his skull mask and took it off, setting it aside on the makeshift table that had been sitting in the basement for a long time. He'd also taken his balaclava off, his cold lips exposed to the air, a huge part of you wanted to see whatever glorious sight was behind the dark.

Your soft fingers traced and tried to visualize what you were feeling. He had long eyelashes, a pointed nose, and a sharp jaw. It made you all the more eager, that's for sure.

A startled gasp left you as his forearms brushed against your hands, lifting you up and using his leg to support you like a seat, he had his chest pressed against you, your back pressed against the wall. You could feel his eyes on you, your mouth hung slightly open to support your heavy breathing.

You lowered your hand to be placed under his thigh, his expression wistful, hot breath trickling down your neck.

You can recognize his chest moving up and down slightly, breathing in and out, and it makes your inside tingle and your heart race. The smell of clean clothes and cologne filled the room.

Then there's more silence. Like a weird and unnerving silence, like the world had stopped spinning for the two of you.

"Simon?" you inhale the small essence of his cologne, the scent brushing and bouncing against your nostrils.

"What about me, Sergeant?" His voice is soft, almost a whisper, while he gently touches your chin with a finger. He tilts your head, turning you to face his eyes through the dimly lit room.

And then, finally, the silence is broken by the hungry breath that escapes his lips, he kisses you passionately, his grip on your hand tightens as he slowly but surely pulls you towards him. He wraps his arm around your waist as he holds you close to him, his cheek pressed against yours. His lips are rough, starving. Like this moment was supposed to happen, and it did. In the back of his mind.

The warmth of his hand seeps through the outer of his glove, before he pulls away from the kiss and bites on the corner of his glove so he can take it off.

His mind is fuzzy, "Do you even have panties on?"

"No, Lieutenant." you words dragged like a sigh.

You could hear him chuckling lowly, "I figured, since you're such a little slut."

Your mind was cloudy, it was agonizingly taking so long. You couldn't take it anymore, you tightened your grip on his pants, he groaned, muffling his moan with his hand that still had a glove on.

"Mmh— fuck. Can't take it anymore, Sergeant?"

You nodded instantly, his hand felt the rush of your nod as it was still on your chin.

"Words. I want words."

"Please, Simon. What do you want?" you hurried to reply, your mind in shambles.

"Me? What do I want?"

He teased you, the lump in your throat larger. The warmth in your belly forming a larger pool for you to endure.

"I don't fucking know—Just tell me!" you craved at the thought of him commanding you, asking you to do what he wanted, the thought of him whining and moaning as he asks you to go faster on him, pumping him dry 'til the walls are white.

Ghost huffed in pleasure, "Gotta finish what you started on me, no?"

He lets go of you, using only his thigh and leg to support you for the time being. He coaxed his chin up, unbuckling his belt. You tried to hold yourself up with your own arms, but the myriad of lust, pleasure and somewhat— anger and annoyance trailed along your brain.

It took all of his strength not to let his head fall back, he felt the cold air touch his shaft, he shivers, your other hand travelling by itself from his thigh to the head of his cock.

He absolutely dissolves in your touch—getting off to your soft hands instead of his big, calloused hands that assist him almost every other night that you pop up in his mind.

His hands slipped up your shirt, feeling your back. The sudden touch making you squirm and arch your back, pressing yourself even further against him.

"Mmpfh— wish I could—" he cuts himself off with a groan, "—wish I could fucking see that pretty fucking face right now."

You gasped, his hand even further up your clothing, causing you to grow your hand's pace on his cock, he moaned lowly, "You ever get off to the thought of my cock in your hands?" he was eager for a reply, probably, to validate his own thoughts about you,

Your breathy sentence responds to him, "Yes."

He chuckles, seemingly content with your answer, he can't stand the silence anymore, apart from the slow slopping of your hands that barely manage to wrap themselves over his thick cock. He crashes onto your lips again, your noses touching, he opens his mouth lightly, inviting your tongue to go down on him.

When you enter his mouth, it's full of a flavor indescribable to man, your hand pounced on him, touching his stomach with every stroke, his bleary eyes rolled back, parting away from the kiss to release a moan.

"You sure no one can hear us down here?" you asked in between the crazy shit you guys were already doing, audible from outside or not, there was no taking back what was happening in this moment. You were fully aware.

"Never said so," he huffed, "fuck, fuck—go faster—mmh—"

The pleasure he was feeling was indescribable, though you could say it was a bit selfish of him to cum first, you'd think he deserved it, and—not to lie, you were getting off of this, too.

He let out a low groan as your pace quickened, beads of sweat smudging on his black stained eyes, he thrusted himself in and out of the "O" shape your hands had formed, though his cock was too thick that the "O" would form into a "C" every time he went through it. He shuddered, feeling his climax getting nearer and nearer,

"Fuck—I'm so fucking close—don't you dare stop—" he let out a breathy and low pitched moan every time, each pound of your hands on him getting wetter and wetter.

You grinned like the cheshire cat, your eyes low and heavy as you wait for him to reach his high, your balance on his thigh getting weaker as he shudders, his hands placed roughly on the sides of your hips, rocking you back and forth to force your hands further down his length.

You moved faster and faster, moving frantically at him, he lowered his head and mumbled into your hair, "Fuck, mmph—Jesus..—I'm gonna fucking cum." every word he pressed onto your head vibrated throughout your skull, his low and growly voice rang through your ears, his moans were melodious to you.

Your breathing was heavy, as he rode out the last of his climax on you, his thighs squeezed against your leg, shaking as he releases all the pent up anger he previously had on you.

He sighed loudly, drops of milky white fluid dripping over his cock, he picked it up from the slit of his dick, an airy whine leaving his lips.

The cloud in his mind was getting clearer bit by bit, although, the pleasure would never escape his mind, not ever.

He entered his coated fingers into your mouth, laced with his own cum, the saltiness lingered in your mouth, before he rammed his digits farther down your throat, causing you to whine and gag, he stabilized his breath for a minute or more.. but you couldn't tell how long it took, your mind was in a haze.

"Fuck, your turn." he cooed as his fingers slid out of your mouth, making you gasp for air in delight. He swiftly unbuttons your pants, sliding them down in a fast motion and throwing them to the ground, "You can worry about finding your clothes later."

He started by lifting your thigh up, gripping it like there was no tomorrow, "Leg. On my shoulder. Now." he commanded, sliding your panties off your legs as you willingly let his cock get a better view of your now unclothed cunt.

"I can't fucking—oh God!—" your sentence was cut abruptly by the thick and wet head of his cock entering the gateway of your soaked pussy, it wasn't fully in, yet you were beginning to go crazy. He moaned, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, muffling the loud noise to prevent it from bouncing against the basement walls, "You fucking—" his moan reached his mouth faster than his words, "Shit—your pussy is so fucking tight!" he cursed.

Your lower body was completely naked, your head tilted enough just for you to be able to breathe properly, a sharp sensation enters you as he goes further down in your pussy, his huge size making it difficult for him to enter fully, "Sorry, sweetheart." he apologized, a grin evident in his tone.

You can feel his hands travel from your waist to your ass, cupping them for support so you don't fall and make him slip out of you.

Nothing could've prepared you for the moment he slips fully into you, causing to to babble and cry words that were pure gibberish, the sounds of him pounding against you harmonizing with your moans, "Oh my—fuck!—" every thrust he lets out on you sends a jolt of electricity up to your spine, you bring your hand to grab a fistful of his hair, making him push against you even more.

"Feels better than your hands." he breathily shakes, he goes in and out of you, grinding against you as you continue to lose yourself, your pussy sucked and groped his cock in.

You swallowed hard as your ass was clenched by his rough hands, low grunts escaping his mouth as you let out sweet little cries of pleasure, "Fuck!—Simon—That's it—Mmmfh!—" your tender voice was like a song composed and played out just for him. His ego growing bigger and bigger with every moan that escapes your lips.

You heave, struggling to breath. His movements grew frantic and impatient, your walls contracting on him, he enjoyed every single bit.

"Greedy fucking pussy." he commented, savoring every moment you were inside and outside of him, your sensitive cluster of nerves waiting for their release any time soon, he leaned further on you, forcing his breath to trail along your neck. You cried, nothing on your mind but pleasure.

Your blood roared in your ears, buzzing with every second you were thrusted on, both you and Ghost drowning in pleasure. You bit back a moan, trying not to erupt the whole world, the center of pleasure circulating all around you.

Your moans start getting louder as Simon starts to quicken up his pace, recognizing your incoming orgasm bundling up around the sensation of ravaging pleasure in him.

Your mind went into a cloud, accompanied by the sloppy noises that came along, you felt your whole soul go into an extraterrestrial world—another dimension, you cried and mumbled his name all over, soaking you all over him.

He pounded into you one last time, before you came within him, your fluids melting in themselves, he let out a breathy and hitched moan and pulled his cock out of you, pumping the last bits of his semen out of the head of his dick and slurring his words, taking his time to put a finger around your cunt and swirling it around gently, taking it up to his mouth and sucking on his own fingers, tasting all off your precious juices and humming to himself, "Pretty girl.. best thing I've ever fucking had."

Simon felt content with what happened between the two of you that night in the basement, and although he never dared speaking about it again.. But he wishes it would happen just one more time. Maybe, even two.

[kindercelery]

Who are your favourite English monarchs after the parking lot King ?

(Edited 10/1/2024 / now in no particular order.. except for Richard, he’s number one.)

1. Richard III is obviously number one, S tier king, great guy, just a victim of terrible terrible propaganda that has gone on looong after he’s died. For an example, any book Thomas Moore has done on Richard. I have one of them, and the History of Richard III is basically just a big diss track, considering many of the conditions Moore said Richard had can be easily disproven by looking at his skeleton (I.e. hunchback, having a limp, and a poor arm).

2. Next on the list would be charles II of course (I know very basic), however I don’t agree with him cheating on his wife to get a heir at all. Everything else he did was absolutely perfect. Hair 10/10, Personality 10/10, Demureness and Mindfulness 10/10. He also has the absolute best rap song of the 21st century.

3. After Charles II, would be George IV. Woah, what’s he doing there? HE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO BE ON THIS BANGER LIST!!! Look guys, you’d be pretty pissed too if you were Catholic and had to divorce your wife (which is practically unheard of for a catholic) for some other lady just so your dad (who made buckets if money from what is now the Thirteen Original American States) could pay off your debt. And he’s so based for banning her from his coronation. Hair 8/10 (-2 for balding), Height 10/10, Based levels off the charts/10, Cutie patootie 10/10, Buckingham Palace 10/10.

4. Usually i’d throw George III into there too but I don’t have a big opinion on him.. so.. HE’S STILL IN HERE! OH YEAH! *spins around* Anyways, he was actually a really good king (not from the colonies’ perspective of course but everything in history has a side) England wise. He gathered up a buncha money (of which George IV spent because he’s a material girl idk) for England. He was actually the only Hanoverian king not to take a mistress so he loved his wife and his wife loves him all up until George eventually died. I think George gets a bit of a bad rep for going insane near the end of his life but he had many many mental problems even beforehand (of which the loss of America exasperated) so I do feel quite bad for him.

5. Next (and first English Monarch) would be William the Conqueror. I love the guy! Super based and cool and stuff, I even have a copy of the Domesday book!! He exploded after dying though which must’ve been disgusting for those at the service.. I mostly like him because I like drawing him (though I’ve only ever posted one drawing of him). His beard is fun to draw.. myehehe.. and the book is cool. Cool death 10/10, cool book 10/10, cool dude 10/10!

6. George I.. is pookie hehehe.. He (like his descendants) wasn’t very popular. He didn’t really know much English — opting to speak French or German instead — but that’s just how he is! He was born in Germany, the first of the Hanoverians (I.E., George IV and George III). His wife nor son liked him— BUT YOU KNOW WHAT???? I DO!!!!! Pookie 10/10, hair (wig) 10/10, #1 German boy 10/10.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

It started, as many things did, during breakfast in the Great Hall. Tom’s seventh year had begun a few days earlier and he was enjoying the quiet of an early morning with plentiful food in his true home. Inhaling the steam from a cup of rich, dark coffee, he dared to think the day might be a pleasant one.

A rather unnecessarily erotic moan ripped through the subdued muttering in the hall and swiftly killed Tom’s hope for a peaceful start to the day. And, really. It was 7:45 in the bloody morning. Were these people rabbits? Did they think of nothing else? 

Dozy students began turning their heads to find the source of the disturbance, some of the more alert ones with their cheeks already staining red.

“Oh my god,” the transfer student – Harry Evans, newly minted seventh-year Hufflepuff – was clearly enjoying his banana, if the blissful expression and almost pained sounds were anything by which to judge.

A few seats down from Tom, Alphard Black snapped his quill, spilling ink onto his last-minute homework. He was completely unaware of his ruined essay, focused as he was on the spectacle a couple tables over.

“You’re leaking, Black,” Tom drawled, unimpressed, gaining some satisfaction from the pureblood’s sputtering and the snickers that kicked up around the Slytherin table.

As the Hufflepuff finished devouring the fruit, he opened his eyes and noticed his audience, freezing as if that would render him invisible.

Swallowing visibly, he weakly said, “Uh, er… The bananas sure are great today, yeah?”

Growing more mortified as the words left his mouth, Evans beat a hasty retreat out of the hall, the eyes of several students glued to his slight form.

Honestly. Teenagers.

And that should have been it. But it wasn’t, because the universe existed to frustrate Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Word must have spread of the banana incident, as there were more students present at breakfast before 8 AM the following day than Tom had ever seen in his six years of attending Hogwarts. Eyes kept darting towards the dark-haired boy, who was stiltedly conversing with a couple of the other seventh-year Hufflepuffs. There seemed to be a collective holding of breath when Evans reached for a long, yellow fruit, peeled it diligently, and took a bite.

While the reaction wasn’t as… intense as it had been the day before, Evans’ eyes slid shut, his brow furrowed, and a soft moan could be heard, though only because of how quiet the entire hall had become. The boy became aware of his attentive audience more quickly this time, blinking owlishly and staring as those watching scrambled to look away and start up conversations. Tom was certain he saw more than one student hastily mop drool from their chin.

“Is there… something weird about how I eat bananas?” Evans asked his seatmates obliviously. (Tom was so disappointed his lip-reading skills were being used for this.)

As the days progressed, Tom was subjected to several lewd conversations on the topic of Evans’ appreciation for bananas from his housemates and during his Head Boy duties. He could hardly be blamed for a few hexes going awry and striking the worst offenders in these conditions. (Nothing that could be blamed on him, of course. Appearances to keep up, and all.)

If the chatter in the halls was anything to go by, that year’s introduction to Amortentia involved many more people smelling banana amongst their preferred scents than could usually be explained.

And then Evans seemed to have a continuous supply of bananas. Hopeful (pathetic) paramours from all houses brought the boy elongated, edible offerings throughout the day. These were initially met with confusion or occasionally alarm, depending on the gifter and their level of enthusiasm, but Evans eventually settled into mildly amused appreciation.

Hallway and classroom accidents hit a new high according to the professors, who long-sufferingly ignored the latest bout of lust-addledness amongst their students and tried to power through the curriculum. Those who had taught for any number of years had learned at one point or another that singed eyebrows and the occasional human transfiguration accident served as better motivation to pay attention than any reprimand or detention.

When three of his knights had to be sent to the Hospital Wing in one day – Mulciber failed to dodge a simple cutting hex in DADA and severed an artery, Malfoy accidentally spelled his right foot into a tentacle, and Black knocked himself unconscious walking into a bloody wall – Tom decided it was time to put his foot down.

He approached the boy as they were both headed back to the dungeons after dinner, affable model-student mask firmly in place.

“Evans, might I have a word?”

The boy whipped around to face Tom, eyes wide in surprise and wariness. He held his ground as Tom stepped nearer, though the tension in his shoulders belied how uncomfortable he was with the Slytherin’s proximity.

“Sure. What’s up, Riddle?”

Tom was momentarily thrown off by the oddly used words, but he was coming to realise that Evans might just be strange.

“I’ve noticed your eating habits have become a distraction to the other students,” Tom said, smiling charmingly in an effort to lower the other’s hackles. “Would you be so kind as to keep your snacking to the Great Hall from now on?”

Evans eyebrows shot up before settling into a somewhat calculating look. He drew a banana out of his bag – how did he always seem to have one at hand? – and slowly, deliberately peeled it while holding Tom’s gaze.

“I could, but none of the professors have commented on it,” Evans licked his lips, drawing Tom’s eyes briefly down to stare.

And, as Evans maintained eye contact while sliding the banana along his bottom lip before pushing it slowly into his mouth, a muffled groan and thud echoing down the corridor indicative of another student falling prey to a stationary object, it dawned on Tom.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he accused.

Evans’ lips split into a wide grin with far too many teeth, which proceeded to chomp harshly through the fruit.

“Doing what?” the other boy asked innocently, mischief dancing in his eyes as he chewed his mouthful of banana.

And if Tom hadn’t been made to understand how weak-willed his followers were, felled by a well-handled piece of phallic fruit, he might have applauded the other boy’s deviousness.

As it was, he had knights to reprimand. Tom turned to stalk off.

“I must admit, I didn’t think it’d have any effect on you,” Evans said.

He grit his teeth but made sure his voice came out evenly, glancing over his shoulder. “You're mistaken--"

“Watch out,” Evans called after him. Tom turned just in time to avoid walking into an open door jutting into the hallway. He turned around to see Evans grinning at him, cat-like and knowing, before taking another bite of banana and sauntering off. If Tom stared after him long after he’d disappeared from sight, there was no one around to know.

(Gone bananas)

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #8

Ren Faire 👑 / Plugged In 🔌

“I don’t know about this one,” says Falin as Marcille laces the corset for her. “It’s making me itch. I think it’s pressing my feathers in too hard.”

Marcille pauses. Outside the rough curtain of the dressing stall, the festival roars on jovially — cheers from the jousting matches, drunken off-key singing, clouds of happy chatter and laughter among friends — but it all dulls with Falin back in front of her. “Should I stop?”

Falin casts a glance toward where the shop owner is waiting outside the stall. “I don’t want to offend her.”

“It’s fine not to like it,” says Marcille, trailing her fingers through the soft white flocking at the nape of Falin’s neck before she begins to unlace the corset. “We’ll find something else. Maybe someone who makes clothes for kobolds? They might understand what materials will be more comfortable for you. Or we could find a blouse and a loose vest or something, so you’d have plenty of layers to wear, but nothing would be snug around you.”

Falin nods. “I like that better.” 

Marcille carefully folds the corset, then wraps her arms around Falin’s soft, abundant waist and pulls her in close. “All right,” she says against her cheek. “Just give me a minute here.”

Falin rubs against her like a cat, then rests her chin on Marcille’s shoulder and makes a soft sound. Marcille’s eyes flutter closed.

The shop owner hollers, “I’ve only got one dressing room!”

“Oh, come on!” yelps Marcille.

She lets Falin go and shuffles out behind her, and she mutters while Falin graciously thanks the shop owner for letting her try on the corset.

“Oh, shhh,” says Falin, taking Marcille by the arm and steering her away. “She has to do business too. We can’t take up her only dressing stall and then not buy anything.”

Marcille huffs. “I’d slip her a coin just to let me stay in there with you for another ten minutes!”

Falin laughs, and the sound melts any residual or even performative outrage from Marcille. She’s so lovely, and she looks so healthy and hale, so much more like she did at school. Her face is round, her cheeks pink and bright, and she’s eating normally again.

Well … she’s eating … more than normally. They’ve had Falin looked at by every doctor they’ve met even incidentally — Marcille’s personal favorite is the woman wearing a nursing cap they passed from the opposite side of the street, to whom Laios called, “Madam Nurse, will you please take a look at my sister?”, to which the nurse flashed him a thumbs-up and called back, “She looks great!” No one can seem to find anything wrong with her except that her metabolism appears to have shifted, which, given the ordeal her body has been through, isn’t exactly a shock. A few doctors have even said that they’ve seen it happen to adventurers after spending a long time in the dungeons; after so much physical exertion and relatively little food, some people’s bodies hang onto every spare calorie they can take in to prepare for such harsh conditions again in the future.

Falin is definitely one of those people. No matter what she eats now, it stays with her. Her hips have grown wide and plush, her belly overflowing her trousers in a soft, heavy curve. Each night, Marcille settles into their shared bedroll with one hand resting on the round swell of Falin’s side or gently stroking the silky softness of her plump upper arms. Her adventuring clothes don’t fit her all that well anymore, and although she’s been able to cobble together a scant collection of cast-off pieces from Laios, Namari, and the ogre girl from Shuro’s new party, none of them sit quite right, or the material itches, or they’re wrong in some other way. The trousers she’s wearing now are a few inches too long and too wide to stay cuffed, while her dragon leather jerkin has to be worn open since it won’t lace over her generous bosom. The shirt she’s wearing beneath is one of Laios’s old ones, and not only is it spattered in what Marcille suspects might be some kind of blood, but it’s also snug around her chest and arms, and she can tell by the way Falin keeps plucking and pulling at it that it’s making her uncomfortable. So today, Marcille is making it her mission to trawl through the festival’s many vendors until they can find some clothes Falin actually feels good in.

They lost the boys and Izutsumi long ago, and by “lost” Marcille means that Falin grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a display of insects preserved in amber, and by the time they turned back to the crowd, the rest of their party was long gone. Marcille’s sure they’re all off somewhere eating the giant roasted cockatrice legs she’s seen people carrying. A festival like this is probably paradise for someone like Laios. Every other booth is hawking some sort of obscene edible item.

That said, she also promised Falin a giant roasted cockatrice leg before the day is over. What was she supposed to do, ignore Falin’s big eyes and hopeful looks?

They meander along the cobblestone street, and Falin tugs her aside again when she notices a stall selling not only cotton chemises but light breeches to wear beneath. She rubs the fabric between her fingers and makes an appreciative noise, then takes Marcille’s hand and makes her feel it too. The cotton is soft and breathable, and she watches Falin sift through the selections, holding them up against her body to see if they’ll fit.

“Do you know your measurements, dearie?” asks the stall owner, an elderly ogre, and Falin ducks her head.

“I used to, but my body’s very different now.”

“No matter,” says the stall owner, pulling a tape from behind her till. “I can take them fresh, if you like.”

Falin meets Marcille’s eyes. Marcille gives her an encouraging little nod. 

“All right,” says Falin, shrugging off her jerkin and handing it to Marcille. The stall owner has her step behind a thin curtain and then pushes a quill and scrap of paper into Marcille’s hands as well. 

“Mark these down for me, lovie, or I’ll forget as soon as I’ve said it aloud.”

Marcille drapes the jerkin over her arm and grasps the quill probably too tightly. Through the curtain she can see Falin’s shape raising her arms for the stall owner to wrap the tape around her bust, then her waist, then the widest part of her belly and her hips — forty-eight, forty-six, fifty-two. Around her hips, down her inseam, then back up for the circumference of her neck and arms — fifty-four, thirty, twenty, eighteen. Marcille writes them all down, the bigger numbers making her feel a little weak: Falin’s waist is over a foot and a half larger around than her own.

The shop owner bustles out to take a few pieces off the rack, and Marcille listens to the small sounds of Falin’s exertion as she tries them on. From the sound of it, she’s pleased so far, and after a minute or so she steps out to show off. 

The chemise and breeches are simple, but already Falin looks so much more comfortable. The light fabric — not white, but a soft wheat color that’s just a few shades off from her hair — skims over her curves and allows her plenty of room to move and gesture. She spins in a circle for Marcille, and with her eyes closed and her pale hair framing her face, she could be some minor deity representing gentleness, or contentedness, or abundance.

“You look great,” says Marcille fondly. “How do they feel?”

“I like them,” says Falin, swishing the hem of the chemise around her plush thighs. “The breeches keep the feathers on my legs from rubbing together when I move, and the fabric doesn’t itch.” She nods to the stall owner, who’s hanging just behind her. “And she said she has them in other colors in my size, too. I might get a couple.”

“Of course,” says Marcille, taking her hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You should have things you like.”

Falin buys the set in the wheat color, in a warm lavender that’s as soft and lovely as she feels in Marcille’s arms, and in a deep indigo that Marcille could just swoon over, it makes her look so luminous. She changes into the lavender set before they leave the stall, bundling her old clothes in the rough-hewn bag the stall owner packs her other purchases in. Then the elderly ogre gives them a tip about another vendor who specializes in “leather goods for ample figures” and they’re off.

Arm in arm, they make their way through the cluster of booths and tents, and Marcille points out the back of a head that can only be Senshi’s several yards away, haggling over some kind of meat she can’t identify and will probably have to contend with eating later. Falin veers off course for a gnome selling scarves made from silk produced by hand-reared silkworms, though Marcille suspects she’s more taken by the silkworm terrarium than the scarves. While she talks animatedly with the gnome vendor, Marcille slips back to the amber insect stall and hands over enough coins for a long chain bearing a pendant of an iridescent green beetle. 

She tucks the necklace into her robe and weaves back to Falin, who’s combing through silk samples and asking questions about texture, grade, and worm diet, and taps her on the shoulder. “Hi,” she says, and Falin gives her a beatific smile, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. 

“Hi! Look at these little guys!”

Silkworms do nothing for Marcille, but she appreciates that they fascinate Falin. “They’re very busy,” she observes, and Falin beams. 

“I can’t decide between these two,” she says, holding up a silk scarf dyed in purples and golds and another in shades of blue, green, and pink. Both feature botanical patterns, flowers and vines and berries, and — ah. Yes. Both patterns also contain bugs.

“They’re hand-spun and hand-painted,” says the gnome. “All-vegetable dyes, set with magic so they won’t run whether you wash ’em in salt water or fresh.”

“I’ll take both,” says Falin after barely a moment of deliberation. “Is there any chance I could take a worm as well?”

The gnome turns her down, but it doesn’t seem to dampen Falin’s spirits. She knots the purple and gold scarf around her hair and ties the other around the strap of Marcille’s pack. 

“Okay,” she says, lacing her fingers through Marcille’s and swinging their hands as they walk. “Let’s look at the leatherwork stall, and then we should probably try to find Laios and the others.”

“Probably,” Marcille agrees. “But I think there’s another important stop we need to make.”

“What’s that?”

Marcille grins. “Melonpan.”

They each get a bun filled with ice cream, and as they eat them together in the shade of a cherry tree, Falin rests her head on Marcille’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for looking out for me,” she says, licking a drip from her bun. “And not in the way that you look out for all of us while we adventure. I mean — I know Laios cares for me, of course, and I know the others do too. But I don’t think it would have occurred to any of them that I might want some things that fit me properly if I didn’t say so directly. And you thought of that. You noticed. And that really means a lot to me. I know I’m not particularly fashionable and maybe the others just don’t think I care very much about what I’m wearing, and — I don’t, I guess, but it’s nice to have clothes that feel good. That feel like me. Especially for my — my new body.”

She ducks her head, cheeks pink, and Marcille wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer. 

“Of course. Of course, Falin. I love you, and I want you to be comfortable and happy. You deserve it, your body has been through so much! I’m really glad that you’ve found some things you like. And I think I found something else you might like, too.”

She hands Falin her melonpan for safekeeping and pulls the necklace from her pocket, maneuvering it carefully over Falin’s hair and around her neck. “There.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” exclaims Falin, holding up the pendant to inspect it. “Look at the coloration! This is a fig-eater beetle, you can tell by the iridescent shell. They’re actually native to this area!” She turns and kisses Marcille, her mouth sweet and warm as the sun through the cherry blossoms. “Thank you! I’ll never take it off. And I’m going to put a spell on it so I won’t lose it as we travel.”

Marcille grins as Falin, glowing, finishes her melonpan and sighs happily, one hand resting on the mound of her belly. She covers Falin’s hand with her own and squeezes gently. 

“I love watching you eat,” she says with a smile. “You always look so happy.”

Falin jiggles her belly gently. “It’s really nice not to have to worry when we’re going to eat again. I forgot how much easier things are when you get to eat more than once every day.”

“I forgot how nice you look when you get to eat more than once every day,” Marcille teases. “You’d have melonpan every day if it were up to me.”

Falin wrinkles her nose in a little smile. “Good thing the clothes I bought run a little big.”

“Come on,” says Marcille, getting to her feet and helping Falin up. “We should get you a nice belt or bodice or something. Or a jerkin that actually fits.”

That, too, Falin opts to buy a bit oversized. She tries on two adjustable vests, one in her size and one that fits her well on its smallest set of hooks. “I think the bigger one might be better,” she tells a vaguely faint Marcille, weighing the two in her hands. “That way my body has more room to change, and it’ll still be comfortable.”

She buys a belt as well on the same principle, and Marcille stretches it between her arms, marveling at the size. It’s not just that Falin is so much rounder than she is, although that’s part of it too — it’s that she came so close to losing Falin entirely that she can’t help but see it as a miracle that she gets to have even more Falin than she started with. 

“You look beautiful,” says Marcille as they head back to their rendezvous point, having helped Falin into her vest and getting to drink in the whole picture of her. “More like yourself than you have since we entered the dungeon.”

Falin’s smile is sweet and earnest. “Thank you. I feel that way, too.”

The rest of the party is already waiting at the little picnic area where they’d agreed to meet up if they got separated. Senshi, loaded down with bags, is shelling peas into a small wooden bowl Marcille noticed on display at another stall; Chilchuck is busy fiddling with what looks like a new set of lockpicks, if their brand-new shine is anything to go by. Laios is slumped in the grass against the picnic table, legs spread out in front of him, his own round belly cradled in his hands. Izutsumi is perched above him on the table itself, tearing into —

“Are you eating a cockatrice leg up there?” asks Laios wearily, eyes closed. He shifts his weight incrementally and winces, pressing a hand to his gut.

“Yes, and you’re not getting any!” snaps Izutsumi, curling around the meat protectively. “You had yours!”

Laios hiccups miserably. “Don’t remind me,” he groans. Chilchuck snorts from the rock he’s perched on.

“Are you all right, Laios?” asks Falin, stepping toward her brother. 

“Oh, he’s fine,” says Senshi, the words punctuated by the patter of peas hitting the wooden bowl. “He just overdid it on the roasted cockatrice legs.”

“Eating two is overdoing it,” mutters Chilchuck. “Eating six is insanity.” Marcille pulls a face.

“Oh!” says Falin, brightening. “You also promised me a cockatrice leg!”Well, Marcille’s not about to go back on that.

[dailyanarchistposts]

J.2 What is direct action?

Direct action, to use Rudolf Rocker’s words, is “every method of immediate warfare by the workers [or other sections of society] against their economic and political oppressors. Among these the outstanding are: the strike, in all its graduations from the simple wage struggle to the general strike; the boycott; sabotage in all its countless forms; anti-militarist propaganda, and in particularly critical cases … armed resistance of the people for the protection of life and liberty.” [Anarcho-Syndicalism, p. 78]

Not that anarchists think that direct action is only applicable within the workplace. Far from it. Direct action must occur everywhere! So, in non-workplace situations, direct action includes rent strikes, consumer boycotts, occupations (which, of course, can include sit-down strikes by workers), eco-tage, individual and collective non-payment of taxes, blocking roads and holding up construction work of an anti-social nature and so forth. Also direct action, in a workplace setting, includes strikes and protests on social issues, not directly related to working conditions and pay. Such activity aims to ensure the “protection of the community against the most pernicious outgrowths of the present system. The social strike seeks to force upon the employers a responsibility to the public. Primarily it has in view the protection of the customers, of whom the workers themselves [and their families] constitute the great majority” [Op. Cit., p. 86]

Basically, direct action means that instead of getting someone else to act for you (e.g. a politician), you act for yourself. Its essential feature is an organised protest by ordinary people to make a change by their own efforts. Thus Voltairine De Cleyre’s excellent statement on this topic:

“Every person who ever thought he had a right to assert, and went boldly and asserted it, himself, or jointly with others that shared his convictions, was a direct actionist. Some thirty years ago I recall that the Salvation Army was vigorously practicing direct action in the maintenance of the freedom of its members to speak, assemble, and pray. Over and over they were arrested, fined, and imprisoned; but they kept right on singing, praying, and marching, till they finally compelled their persecutors to let them alone. The Industrial Workers [of the World] are now conducting the same fight, and have, in a number of cases, compelled the officials to let them alone by the same direct tactics. “Every person who ever had a plan to do anything, and went and did it, or who laid his plan before others, and won their co-operation to do it with him, without going to external authorities to please do the thing for them, was a direct actionist. All co-operative experiments are essentially direct action. “Every person who ever in his life had a difference with anyone to settle, and went straight to the other persons involved to settle it, either by a peaceable plan or otherwise, was a direct actionist. Examples of such action are strikes and boycotts; many persons will recall the action of the housewives of New York who boycotted the butchers, and lowered the price of meat; at the present moment a butter boycott seems looming up, as a direct reply to the price-makers for butter. “These actions are generally not due to any one’s reasoning overmuch on the respective merits of directness or indirectness, but are the spontaneous retorts of those who feel oppressed by a situation. In other words, all people are, most of the time, believers in the principle of direct action, and practisers of it.” [The Voltairine De Cleyre Reader, pp. 47–8]

So direct action means acting for yourself against injustice and oppression. It can, sometimes, involve putting pressure on politicians or companies, for example, to ensure a change in an oppressive law or destructive practices. However, such appeals are direct action simply because they do not assume that the parties in question we will act for us — indeed the assumption is that change only occurs when we act to create it. Regardless of what it is, “if such actions are to have the desired empowerment effect, they must be largely self-generated, rather than being devised and directed from above” and be “ways in which people could take control of their lives” so that it “empowered those who participated in it.” [Martha Ackelsberg, Free Women of Spain, p. 55]

So, in a nutshell, direct action is any form of activity which people themselves decide upon and organise themselves which is based on their own collective strength and does not involve getting intermediates to act for them. As such direct action is a natural expression of liberty, of self-government, for direct action “against the authority in the shop, direct action against the authority of the law, direct action against the invasive, meddlesome authority of our moral code, is the logical, consistent method of Anarchism.” [Emma Goldman, Red Emma Speaks, pp. 76–7] It is clear that by acting for yourself you are expressing the ability to govern yourself. Thus it is a means by which people can take control of their own lives. It is a means of self-empowerment and self-liberation.

Anarchists reject the view that society is static and that people’s consciousness, values, ideas and ideals cannot be changed. Far from it and anarchists support direct action because it actively encourages the transformation of those who use it. Direct action is the means of creating a new consciousness, a means of self-liberation from the chains placed around our minds, emotions and spirits by hierarchy and oppression.

As direct action is the expression of liberty, the powers that be are vitally concerned only when the oppressed use direct action to win its demands, for it is a method which is not easy or cheap to combat. Any hierarchical system is placed into danger when those at the bottom start to act for themselves and, historically, people have invariably gained more by acting directly than could have been won by playing ring around the rosy with indirect means. Direct action tore the chains of open slavery from humanity. Over the centuries it has established individual rights and modified the life and death power of the master class. Direct action won political liberties such as the vote and free speech. Used fully, used wisely and well, direct action can forever end injustice and the mastery of humans by other humans.

In the sections that follow, we will indicate why anarchists are in favour of direct action and why they are against electioneering as a means of change.