#prompt: give me a last hurrah

[frogwithapen]

Curiosity killed the cat, Satisfaction destroyed the world

Clyde turned around on the spot, taking in the destruction all around. The team had been sent in, mankind's last hope against the end of the world. And now Clyde was the only one left.

Clyde and Bonnie, the little robot helper.

The name had been a joke, when Kailym presented her creation to the group. “It’s a service-bot, because we can’t take a dog with us on jobs, but just as capable as any of us at looking after itself,” she had said. “I’ve been calling it Bonnie in my head, but it needs a proper name.”

“Like Bonnie and Clyde,” Sam had chucked, and the name had stuck, despite Clyde’s protests. Many, many protests.

Clyde would be happy to keep arguing until everyone was blue in the face, if it only meant-

Bonnie beeped, signaling an oncoming panic attack.

Clyde took a deep breath, a second, whispered a stern reminder to focus on what could still be changed. Check the insulin pump just to be sure.

Bonnie chirped again, lighting up in success. It unhooked its tendril from the cave wall and started rolling down the lift cavern. Clyde hurried after it.

Apart from being pitch dark, lit up only by Bonnie’s little LEDs, this part of the cave system wasn’t dangerous. It was labyrinthine, but Clyde has been in more danger taking a stroll through the park.

It’s actually terrifying, after all the effort to get this far.

Kailym had been the first to fall. She had walked through fire just to open the door for them. She wasn’t really close with any of the team at first, always tucked away with her machines, but after Bonnie, Clyde had been starting to think she just didn’t know how.

The triplets had been next. Mack, Meek and Mike had fought a giant beast, some kind of robotic minotaur. An ancient golem shining with the sigil powering it. Mike’s screams as he attacked it with everything he could had been blood-chilling.

Finally, Sam. Team leader in that they were the one who provided meals. Sam, who had been Clyde’s world since first becoming a ward of that government orphanage. Sam, who had pushed Clyde out of the way of a falling stalactite.

The world shook and Clyde stumbled, kicking a worried Bonnie.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Clyde gasped, reaching down to console the poor robot, to hug Bonnie close. “Psychological horrors, now. We must be getting close.”

And they were, but so were the quakes. There wasn’t much time left.

Finally, there was a cavern at the end of the tunnel. It was lit up by sigils all over, older than recorded history and pulsing with power. At the centre was a plinth, with a malagium orb set in the middle. Malagium - the uranium of magics; once bespelled, it would hold that spell with a half life of millenia. But those spells would be magnitudes more powerful than those cast with more common ores. And the side effects to humans was just as bad.

Some ancient spellcaster had, by Clyde’s understanding of the array, built an ‘end of the world’ switch. And some student moron, visible once Clyde rounded the plinth, had activated it.

“Alright Bonnie,” Clyde said, mustering up courage. “Looks like this is it for us. Give me one last hurrah.”

Obediently, although Clyde thought it a little mournfully too, Bonnie played a little fanfare. It was time.

Clyde would rejoin the rest of the team in death, but the world would survive a little longer.

And I, a little robot, am here to tell the hero’s story.

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[eyesthatroll]

GIVE ME AN ANSWER!

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

warning(s): cursing, angst(??), not sure what else, not edited

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: not super happy with this, it feels a bit underdeveloped, but i can’t watch it sit in my drafts any longer. i didn’t write this with a part ll in mind, by the way. this was supposed to turn into something else, but that didn’t work out + i lost inspiration so it is what it is. sidenote, if you have any angsty/sad prompts/requests, pls send ‘em in, it’s my favourite thing to write! sending love, —mari

You couldn't help but feel like a creep, huddled in the corner of the dimly lit booth, your gaze fixated on them from across the bar. In front of you, a nearly forgotten gin and tonic sat, its ice cubes melting as you absentmindedly swirl them around with a small black straw. If anyone were to inquire, you'd insist that your attention was solely on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall behind them, broadcasting a wrestling match you had zero interest in.

You wondered if He was somehow aware of your unwavering gaze fixed upon him from across the room. It crossed your mind that perhaps he was deliberately flirting with the stunning redhead as a sly ploy to put on a spectacle, fully cognizant of your watchful eyes. Did He hope to incite jealousy within you? You nearly chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. The notion of feeling envious over a girl with her hands lightly grazing his arm seemed laughable. After all, just a few days ago, he had been lying naked between the sheets in your bed. So, no, you weren't jealous, and you certainly weren't about to let jealousy rear its head.

Yet, there was a gnawing irritation within you. He had, after all, extended a personal invitation your way, urging you to join him and his teammates for what he touted as their "one last hurrah" before the start of the new season. It irked you that he was lavishing so much attention on someone else, given this context. The annoyance was unmistakably etched across your features. Your poker face had long deserted you, and you didn't care to conceal your disdain. Several drinks deep, with a pleasant buzz now enveloping you, you found yourself in a carefree state where your demeanor wasn't a primary concern.

You eventually shift your gaze from him, an uneasy feeling retreating in your stomach. You instead direct your attention to Baby Hughes, who is engrossed in a game of darts with John. A small smile graces your lips as the younger boy, with his earnest enthusiasm, throws a dart that sails far wide of the board, disappearing into some unseen corner. John throws his head back in laughter, and it's evident that he's playfully ribbing Luke, who responds with a melodramatic explanation for his errant throw, punctuating with wild hand gestures. You contemplate joining them, when a towering figure looms over you, casting a shadow that demands your immediate notice.

"Is this seat taken?" You find yourself under the scrutiny of a tall, attractive blonde who's looking down at you. A hopeful smile adorns his lips, revealing dimples that only add to his charm. His right hand holds a beer, while the other rests casually at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging the hair. Your eyes travel appreciatively from his warm gaze, down his well-dressed figure. Blondie sported black slacks that complement a maroon long-sleeve dress shirt neatly tucked in, with the top buttons lazily undone, revealing a small, glimmering gold cross. The choice of attire piqued your curiosity; he seemed a bit overdressed for a local, family owned bar.

Your minds flickers back to Him, and you contemplate stealing a quick glance in his direction to see if he's still in conversation that girl. However, you are somewhat physically trapped behind the man standing in front of you, preventing any discreet surveillance without making your intentions obvious. Opting for a polite smile instead, you gesture with a welcoming hand for the handsome stranger to take the seat in front of you.

You observe the visible sigh of relief escaping him, his eyes momentarily betraying his unease. With a sheepish smile, he gently places his drink on the table and eases himself into the booth.

His voice, raspy and honestly deeper than you expected, breaks the silence. "I'm Anthony, by the way." He extends his hand toward you, but halts for a moment, perhaps feeling slightly awkward at the formality.

You respond with a light chuckle, reaching out to meet his hand with yours for a firm handshake. "I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

The conversation with Anthony flows effortlessly, each word weaving a tapestry of connection that unravels the initial awkwardness. You discover that he's in town for a friend's wedding, which explains the formal attire, and that he's a native Rhode Islander. He confesses his nervousness about approaching you, and when you jest about whether it's due to your so-called "resting bitch face," he denies it vehemently.

He smiles, his eyes sincere as he offers, "It's always a bit nerve-wracking to approach the most beautiful girl in the room."

You can't help but snort at his compliment, your hand quickly covering your mouth in embarrassment.

Unbeknownst to you, your surprised snort captures His attention, and his head snaps in your direction, drawn by the sound of your voice cutting through the bar's lively atmosphere. His gaze lowers at the sight of a guy in front of you, and the smile on your lips as you laugh again at something he's said. He watches, as the guy's hand moves to rest on yours, and his jaw tightens, his mind racing with questions about what could possibly be so amusing in your conversation.

"Jack, are you listening to me?" A manicured hand slides into his view, weaving through the air in a bid to recapture his attention. Clearing his throat, he absentmindedly runs a hand through his unruly brown locks before reluctantly refocusing his eyes on the redhead before him. She beams at him, her lips quickly resuming what she had been saying before his lost concentration. The truth was, he hadn't been listening to her at all.

He can't focus on her words, not with the image of you and that guy now engraved into his mind. The mere thought consumes his every breath, causing him to bite at his bottom lip out of agitation. He racks his brain for a way to gracefully escape the everlasting conversation with the redhead, and as if on cue, the universe seems to answer his silent plea, when the girl in front of him glances at the clock. Her eyes widen in alarm as she realizes the time.

"Shit, I didn't realize it was this late. I've got to get going," she apologized, her lips forming a slight pout. Jack sends her a reassuring smile, nodding his head in understanding.

"It's cool, it was fun while it lasted," He replies plainly, standing up from his barstool with a nod.

She frowns, mirroring his actions. "Did you want to maybe exchange numbers, or something?" Her voice holds a glimmer of hope.

He pauses, pretending to think for a moment, even though he doesn't really need to as the answer was always going to be the same. "No, sorry. Have a good night, Isla."

You don't even notice Him walking over to you, too consumed in the vibrant conversation that you shared with the man in front of you. It's only when Anthony's gaze travels past your head, his lips pausing mid sentence, that you finally catch sight of him. You follow Anthony's gaze, angling your body around in the small booth.

You open your mouth to speak, but His cold palms cup your cheeks, drawing you into a passionate, yet utterly unexpected and somewhat unwelcome kiss. Your eyes widen, caught off guard, and your lips don't have time to react before he gently pulls away. His fingers tenderly brush aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your face, and he looks down at you with an innocent smile. "Hi, my love. Is everything okay?"

You're too dumbfounded to formulate a response, still struggling to register what just transpired as Jack gently nudges you aside and smoothly settles into the booth next to you. As you lock eyes with Anthony, it's evident he feels extremely uncomfortable, his gaze darting uneasily between you and Jack.

"Hey, man. How's it goin'?" Jack asks with a casual grin, his tone laid-back as he eases into the booth. His arm naturally drapes around your shoulders, as if it's a habitual gesture that's been repeated countless times. You go to shrug him off, but his grasp tightens, pulling you even closer against his side.

"Hey... hi," Anthony's gaze leaves Jack, focusing solely on you as he speaks again. "You didn't say you had a..."

Jack interjects, cutting off Anthony before he can finish his sentence. "Boyfriend? Yeah, she does."

Your elbow makes sharp contact with Jack's side, prompting a quick release of his arm from around your shoulder. He winces, but swiftly regains his composure, though not without a slight scoff escaping his lips. "He's not my boyfriend."

"You weren't saying that last night?" Jack didn't come to yours last night, and even if he had, he was the one requesting that whatever was happening between the two of you to remain casual.

I don't have time for a full blown relationship, he said.

All of my focus needs to be on hockey, he said.

Things are fine as they are, let's not ruin it, he said.

And what? He gets to flirt and fuck around with as many puck bunnies as he wants, but the minute you try and do the same, it's suddenly a problem? Not only was he not your boyfriend, but he didn't even want to be, he had no right to get jealous. And he especially had no right to rush over here and kiss you the way he did.

You pivot towards Jack, your fury emanating from every pore. His T-zone area has a faint reddish tint, and his breaths come fast and heavy. "Aren't you busy entertaining Jessica Rabbit?"

He tilts his head back in laughter at your nickname for the redhead he's been conversing with all night. Clearing his throat to regain composure, he gazes at you with a grin, teeth lightly grazing his lower lip as he tries to suppress a smirk that manages to break free regardless. "Jealous?"

You scoff, an incredulous look overtaking your face as you stumble over your words at his accusation. "Me? Jealous? Jealous of what? Listening to you talk about yourself for an hour? God, you're so full of it."

"Wouldn't you like to be?" He mumbles under his breath.

His perverted insinuation prompts a gasp to escape your lips, and your face ignites with embarrassment. Anthony's eyes are locked on the awkward exchange, his expression a mixture of horror and discomfort. You hurriedly bring your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes intensely, yearning for this nightmarish moment to come to an end.

"I don't... I don't know what's happening," he stammers, slipping out of the booth to rise to his feet. Anthony takes a final sip of his beer, his head shaking in disbelief. "But clearly, there's... something between the two of you."

You find yourself at a loss for words because, in a way, he isn't entirely wrong. You and Jack weren't in a defined relationship, but there was undoubtedly something brewing between the two of you, despite both of you attempting to ignore it. It wouldn't be right to involve Anthony in the midst of your complicated situation, no matter how appealing and genuine he seems.

"I'm sorry." You apologize.

He shakes his head. "It's alright. It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Maybe I'll see you around." With those words, he walks away from your table, heading toward the exit.

Jack shifts next to you, a content sigh escaping his lips. "He seemed nice."

"What's your problem?!" You hiss, jabbing your finger into his chest. "You invite me out with you and then completely ignore me the whole night? What the fuck, Jack!"

He meets your intensity head-on, responding in self-defense. "You started it!"

"How, Jack, how? How did I start it?"

"You were flirting with Dawson!"

A scoff escapes your lips, followed by an incredulous laugh. "I was not flirting with Dawson!"

You needed to escape the bar. The conversation had spiraled into a heated exchange, and the air in the crowded space felt increasingly suffocating. You were determined not to create a scene, but it was clear that staying any longer would only escalate tensions.

Without hesitation, you start pushing Jack, who reluctantly lets his body be forced out of the booth. He struggles to regain his footing as you forcefully move past him, heading straight for the exit.

As you pass through the door and step outside, the brisk New Jersey air envelopes you, offering a welcome contrast to the heated atmosphere inside. The chill grazes your exposed skin, providing a refreshing respite from the intense emotions swirling within. Jack hastily follows you, his fingers gripping your arm in an attempt to halt your departure, but you had no intention of walking away this time.

You pivot to confront him, your gaze unwavering and filled with a determination that mirrored the intensity in his own eyes, which held an enigmatic spark you couldn't quite decipher.

"It's not fair," you assert, your hands gently settling on his chest, seeking the warmth of his presence. He remains silent, leaving you to fill the void with your thoughts and emotions, or leave, and say nothing.

You stand there, torn between two choices. The option to say nothing and simply walk away, leaving behind all the headaches, the arguments, and the pettiness, but also bidding farewell to the good days, the shared laughs, and the nights spent wrapped up in each other. It's a choice to say goodbye to Jack Hughes, the one who has become the only constant in your life for the past three months.

Or the second choice, the most daunting path to take. It's the option where you stand in front of him, your heart pounding in your chest, and confess everything you've been holding in. To leave it all on the floor, a vulnerable offering for him to accept or decline. It's the scariest option of all, baring your heart to the boy on the hockey team, even after he's made it clear many times that he isn't looking for anything serious.

"We're not exclusive, Jack." You begin. "You can't keep swooping in and acting like you have some sort of ownership over me when you don't even want to be my boyfriend."

He waits, the stillness between you heavy with unspoken words, expectancy etched across his features. When your silence lingers, he takes the initiative. "Let me take you home," he offers.

"Either you want me, only me, or I'm done."

He pressures. "Let me take you home."

"Give me an answer!"

He sighs, a deep and exasperated sound, his fingers instinctively tangling in the roots of his hair as he grapples with the complexity of the situation. "I can't give you the answer you want."

[jungle-angel]

An ask for domestic prompts..

24 and 28 for hannix 🙏😍

Ooooooh honey you had me at 24 and 28 (lol). Sorry if it's so short, I felt the need to stop where I did.

Punalu'u Beach, Hawaii

The waves crashed onto the black sand beaches outside the cottage that Jake and Phoenix had been sharing for the last few weeks, just the two of them and all the other Daggers back home, preparing to move out of California. It had been a rough ride, that last year. Jake and Phoenix had been so stressed to the point where Cyclone and Warlock had forced the Daggers to all take a vacation. Well, lo and behold, the land offers in Montana had all gone through without a hitch, leaving one last big hurrah before the move.

Sunlight poured in through the window and into the bedroom where Jake and Phoenix lay naked under the covers, tangled into each other from their little act the night before. Phoenix was the first to wake, kissing Jake's chest and taking extra care to run her tongue over his exposed nips.

"Well good morning to you too, Minx," he groaned.

"Hey sexy," Phoenix chuckled.

Jake rolled right on top of her, an unusual position given Phoenix's temperament towards being the dominant one in bed. Their lazy kissing became much more heated than usual as he slipped his still raging hard-on between her legs and into her core, sliding in and out with ease, just to hear those gorgeous moans of hers.

"Wanna give you a baby, Minx," he groaned. "Wanna give you a honeymoon baby so bad."

Whether it was the dirty talk or the thrusting of his hips, Jake somehow managed to draw a loud moan out of Natasha, her high reaching fever pitch before she felt something hot bursting between her legs.

"My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," Jake said before kissing her on the lips. "Whaddaya say we sleep this off and then go for a walk on the beach?"

"Sounds like a deal," Phoenix answered, returning the kiss.

[celestialsister0918]

Fic Writing Review 2023

Thanks for tagging me, @gammacousin!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either. (Copied and pasted)

Words and Fics

Word Count:

142,081

Fic Count:

6 started. 5 completed

Most Productive Month: February by far, thanks to Kinkuary!

Top Five by Hits

The One He Needs Right Now: Jim Gordon's Kinkuary: 5941

What I'm Thinking About (Sirius x Ginny): 3600

A Window Not Missed (Bruce x Nat): 2107

A Window Closed (Bruce x Nat): 1101

In the Sepulcher by the Sea (Sirius x Severus): 684

Top Five by Kudos

A Window Not Missed (Bruce x Nat): 96

What I'm Thinking About (Sirius x Ginny): 61

A Window Closed (Bruce x Nat): 47

In the Sepulcher by the Sea (Sirius x Severus): 32

The One He Needs Right Now: Jim Gordon's Kinkuary: 24

Fandom events:

Two @trulymadlydeeplyfest fests! 1 in February and 1 in October. Both Harry Potter. I'm so bad at knowing where all the fests are so those are my only two.

Upcoming Plans:

To Complete:

Finish "A Window Closed" (Bruce x Nat)

Start "A Window Opened" (Bruce x Nat)

Start "A Special Election" (Jim Gordon x NEW OC) - I have one chapter written and some dialogue prompts for chapter 2. I'm soooo excited for this one.

Other Ideas:

Continue one-off Sirius and other Gary Oldman character one-shots on Tumblr.

Write a Jackson Lamb piece

Maybe write a Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova one-shot if the mood strikes

Write another Gary Oldman RPF (many dialogue prompts already written). Here's my first Gary RPF if interested... it was set during the Dracula filming. The new one will be set after his divorce from Alex but before Gisele.

Reflection

I took a couple long breaks from writing this year. After finishing "Submissioner Gordon" in December of 2022, I was at a pretty bad low from lack of interaction with that fic. My heart has NEVER been in something as much as it was that fic, so to have so many hits and so little interaction made me think everyone hated it. Yet I continued the story with the Kinkuary prompts, where I wrote a short fic every day for 28 days. Again, I feel like it bombed.

At the same time, I made what I thought would be my last hurrah in the Harry Potter fandom, and it didn't do so great either. I was in a BAD spot comparing myself to other writers, so I took a long hiatus.

During that break, I started watching the entire MCU with my son, start to finish. My brain grabbed onto Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff and would NOT let go. So in May, I began publishing the "Never Say Never" series, where I try to fix their story.

The feedback from the Marvel fandom and Brutasha readers/writers really warmed my heart and got me back in the groove. I am forever thankful to them, because it truly restored my confidence in writing.

I will always be thankful for my Wizarding World series and the Submissioner Gordon/Daddy Issues universe, and my brain loves to revisit those stories and characters. It's just bittersweet because it never really found its audience. However the feedback I got from my foray into the MCU fandom has built my confidence enough that I am able to write in HP and Dark Knight without really worrying what others think. I am just doing it for me and my love for the characters. I know my writing isn't bad--- it's just not a lot of people's cup of tea.

I also want to give a shoutout to the small but steadfast Gary Oldman fandom I have found on Tumblr and Instagram. They've become very dear to my heart, and I love that we can share random thirst posts together when so many others just don't get it.

If anyone is reading this, please share your 2023 stats and reflections as well! I love writers supporting writers. Happy 2024 to you all!

[double-j]

*STARDUST REBLOG CHALLENGE NOVEMBER WEEK 5 MASTERLIST*

[FOR ALL FICS, CHECK THE STARDUST REBLOG CHALLENGE TAG]

*reminder to please heed the author’s warnings on individual fics!*

~ splitting the list up into weeks this month because the post editor has been giving me a hard time ~

TGM: JAKE HANGMAN SERESIN FICS

more than this from @hangmanbrainrot

douche bag jar deposit: $50 (from the douche bag jar series) from @jupitercomet

what to expect p. 1, & p. 2 from @topguncortez

my girl p. 3 from @/ereardon

operation apollo p. 14 from @/sunlightmurdock

the third amendment from @gennyanydots

less talk p. 1, & p. 2 from @tongue-like-a-razor

out of the blue, clear sky p. 2 (this was both a fic rec and a coffee rec, and a re-read) from @theharddeck

signed away p. 9 from @seresinhangmanjake

damned (from the look away universe AKA sugar daddy jake) from @fuckyeahhangman

prompts 30+27 & 14 & 8+14 (from the house we share, plz read this series, it is perfect) from @rolycolysficrecs

in your dreams (part 2 to drink up, aka hangman loves a hurricane shot) from @/fandomxpreferences

please come home for christmas, & i'll be home for christmas from @madsnowstorm

grounded p. 5 from @enchanting-eloquence

until i found you, & is that okay with you?, & beginning of it all from @auroradawnwrites

"were you ever going to tell me?" from @/bradshawsbitch

she is both hellfire and holy water p. 6 from @chemistryread

settling (from the best benefits series which will have you ready to *lovingly* smack jake and val for their idiocy) from @writercole

something that will haunt me when you're not around (from the better man universe that will make you feel all the feelings) from @sweetlittlegingy

ego check, & just how far i'd go, & fuck, marry, protect thy love, & vows (from the to have & to hold series) from @ohtobeleah

is this a joke? p. 1 & p. 2 from @edensbuttercups

strip from @welcome-to-my-multiverse

back for more from @/seresinhangmanjake

kiss the sun (fight the fire) from @callsignvalley

a glimpse of us (get the tissues ready) from @call-sign-jinx

TGM: BRADLEY ROOSTER BRADSHAW FICS

come back p. 13 from @ereardon

the deployment diaries p. 9, p. 10, p. 11, & p. 12 from @roosterforme

christmas angel from @archivallyfound09

'cause no one breaks my heart like you (plz get out your tissues now) from @heartsofminds

lips on you from @/roosterforme

last hurrah from @cherrycola27

g.u.y. from @notroosterbradshaw

the lakehouse from @ayorooster

one for the history books p. 15, & p. 16 from @pisupsala

oops preview, p. 1, & p. 2 from @fandomxpreferences

safe and sound prologue, & p. 1 from @/fandomxpreferences

whiskey sour from @bradshawsbitch

afraid of flying p. 1, & p. 2 from @youvebeenlivingfictional

when all is said and done from @/sunlightmurdock

hollywoods bleeding preview, & p. 1 from @disturbedbeautywrites

TGM: ROBERT BOB FLOYD FICS

king of my heart from @croimilis

what are you thinking? (sobbing still tbh) from @/ereardon

all fun & games p. 1, p. 2, p. 3.1, & p. 3.2 from @purelyfiction

make it proper from @rassvetsky

office christmas party from @notroosterbradshaw

TGM: MISC FICS

safe zone p. 4 from @sunlightmurdock (love triangle w/ jake and bradley)

something in-between p. 7 from @/archivallyfound09 (love triangle w/ jake and bradley)

the one where episode one teaser from @/auroradawnwrites (friends au w/ the dagger squad)

NHL FICS

that which we are, we are p. 5 from @spine-buster

BINGO

[nirikeehan]

Hi Niri! Mashing up "flustered and tongue tied" with "This made me think of you" from Fluffuary prompts! Happy writing!

hellloooo this was great for some shady bestie brainrot

something something something tattooing as non-sexual intimacy, i swear i will write the actual tattooing part someday. right now it's just feels idk

set sometime near It's Never Sunny in Barovia end game (bold of me to assume I'll ever get that far in the chronology, but I digress)

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 731

---

“What’s this?” Thalia asks. 

Metrion has shoved a folded, crumpled piece of parchment into her hand. He shrugs, as if the wind blew it in, not something he’s surreptitiously produced from one of his coat’s many pockets. “Just something I doodled last night.”

Thalia’s eyebrows shoot skyward. She gets the profound sense he’s trying to downplay a skill of which he’s actually quite proud. He keeps glancing away, then back again, as if eager to see her reaction. “I didn’t know you— ah, doodled.”

“Yeah, well, you know me,” he says with a sly giggle, “I’m a better diddler than a doodler—”

“Please stop.” She unfolds the parchment before he can make another off-color joke. She is met by clean lines and an impressive design: a small dagger piercing the blossom of a rose, stray petals transforming into droplets of blood. 

“It’s beautiful.” Thalia looks up, mouth open in awe. “You drew this?”

Metrion shrugs, but he’s grinning wide enough for her to see his gold incisor. “Yeah. I dunno. Made me think of you, for some reason.” 

“I’m flattered,” Thalia says, gratitude spreading its warm across her chest. “Do you mind if I keep it?” 

With Castle Ravenloft looming so close, she would like to hold on to whatever pieces of this friendship she can. Metrion stares at the ground, kicking at a clump of grass with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, er. About that.” Although she has grown used to the intense pigmentation of his true complexion, she finds it difficult to tell when he might be blushing. “I had an idea.” 

“Oh? Do share.” 

He clears his throat. “You got that tattoo on your face.”

Thalia’s fingers stray to her right cheekbone. She remembers what he said the first day they met, when he’d used stage makeup to cover it up for safety’s sake, about being an amateur tattooist. She hadn’t known at the time whether to believe him, or if that was another of many colorful falsehoods. “So I do.”

Metrion glances up through the messy strands of white hair that have fallen into his eyes. “You want another?”

Thalia stares. “On my face?”

“No, no, no, no.” His shoulders are hunched, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, gaze darting. “Well, I mean. Anywhere you want. If you want. As like, I dunno, a final hurrah? One last fuck you before we go.”

“You want to give me a tattoo?” Thalia is stunned. 

“Only if you want one, love.” Metrion shrugs, meeting her eyes. “I remember what you said. That the first one wasn’t your choice.”

And she recalls what he said, about knowing what’s like to have something done to you against your will. She hadn’t believed it then, thinking him to be all bluster and flattery. Thalia swallows hard. “I appreciate that.”

“It doesn’t have to be terrible. The experience. That’s all I mean.” He’s back to kicking the grass, turning up clumps of dirt; she suspects the innkeepers won’t love that. 

Thalia finds, quite suddenly, that she is blinking back tears. She surges forward, forgetting that he doesn’t like sudden moves, that true physical affection is difficult for him. She throws herself against him and hugs him hard. 

“Oof,” he says, staggering backward, but he doesn’t flinch. “Hey. It’s not that big a deal, m’lady. Hey.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbles, mortified. 

She tries to disentangle herself, but he wraps his arms around her and gives her a squeeze. “Nah, it’s all right. Think I saw a bat skulking around; let’s give that motherfucker a show.” 

Thalia laughs in spite of herself. The giggles mix with her sniffling. She pulls back finally, wiping her cheeks with the back of her palm. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. No one’s ever— I mean, usually, when people know, they just pity me, or think it’s a sign I should be back in a tower somewhere. No one’s ever suggested I should get another, to make this one hurt less.” 

Metrion watches her closely. His shrug is careless, but his expression is raw. “Well, first time for everything, yeah? Think about it, maybe. Then we can—” 

“Yes,” she says, cutting him off. “Do it. Now.” 

He cocks a silvery brow. “Right now?”

She laughs. “Do we have much time otherwise?”

Metrion sighs, casting a glance in the general direction of Castle Ravenloft. “Guess not.” 

[joanquill]

Fortune telling + Graveyard date

character: William James Moriarty prompt: Fortune telling and Graveyard date relationship: romantic story type: Fluff story idea: can you do this with my William James Moriarty x Romani! Reader based off the song "Rhythm Of The Tambourine" from Hunchback Of Notre Dame Broadway Musical request I asked for a month ago? William meets (Y/N) after William watching (Y/N) perform on the streets. (She dances with a tambourine while singing the Esmeralda parts of the song "Rhythm Of The Tambourine")

William James Moriarty

A/N: I apologize for using the g-word and thank you to the anon who informed me.

Tag/s: Romani!Fem!Reader

Song: "Rhythm Of The Tambourine" from Hunchback Of Notre Dame Broadway Musical

"Come one come all!" a man shouted as banners and tents were placed all over the streets.

"Hm?" William muttered, seeing the confetti in the air fall onto his new books.

"Hurry, hurry - here's your chance! See the mystery and romance," the man quipped, playing along with the kids as he ran through the streets.

Raising a brow, William followed, trying to see what was going on.

"Come one, come all!" he repeated, spinning around on a banner as crowds gathered around.

"See the finest girl in England, make an entrance to entrance...!" he quickly jumped beside William, squeezing him by the shoulders.

"Dance La (Y/N)... Dance!!" the man jumped back on the stand, throwing pink dust and glitter on the ground in an explosion.

The crowd gasped as the man disappeared, and you stepped out of the mist.

William's eyes widened at the trick, smiling at the sight of you.

You two locked eyes for a split second, making you smile and wrap your scarf around him with a wink, making the crowd hurrah.

William chuckled at the sensation as you blew a kiss, giving attention to the rest of the audience.

"A Romani performer, I see..."

Finishing your whole troupe's performance, the crowd gave you one last roar as they threw flowers and money your way.

"Good work, everyone!" Clopin shouted, making you all cheer.

"I'll be going then," you smiled, grabbing your bag and waving to the others.

"What? Not even for a drink?" your friends pouted, making you chuckle and shake your head.

"Fortune-telling, remember?" you answered, putting on your coat as you walked out of the tent.

You playfully rolled your eyes at your friend's shouts and calls, closing your tent as you greeted your lined-up customers.

"Welcome to (Y/N)'s Parlor of Wonders!" you greeted the customer absentmindedly as you rummaged under the table as they sat in front of you.

"You were quite the dancer," he complimented, catching you by surprise.

You looked up and saw a man with blond hair and red eyes.

"Thank you," you smiled, shuffling your cards.

"And I see you're a man of logic," you stated, catching him by surprise.

"And what makes you say that?" you looked over to the math and science books on his lap, making him chuckle.

"Quite the sharp eye," he complimented, making you shrug.

"You develop one in my line of work," you smiled, laying the cards in front of him.

"(Y/N)," Clopin called out as he knocked on a wooden post.

"Ah, sorry..." he bowed his head at the customer, "We need your help,"

You internally sighed as you cleaned up the cards.

"Sorry, dear customer," you apologetically bowed as you gave him back his ticket pay.

"Keep it," he smiled, refusing your offer.

"Perhaps you can pay me back later?" he offered with a wink, surprising you.

"I believe I would still be performing," you politely denied, "And at a graveyard, to add,"

"Then it's a date," he smiled, kissing your knuckles as he waved goodbye, leaving you and Clopin in shock.

"...Should we celebrate?" he asked with a grin, making you frown and push him away as you walked out of the tent.

[popchoc]

Congrats on 3000 and hurrah for more prompts. I'd like to read your take on 5 (do you love her) for Gini, please </3 (ps read your note, I will say hi via dm, hope that's ok too)

Gigi Ghorbani & Dani Nuñez, The L Word: Generation Q

5: Do You Love Her

****************************************************

Six nights have passed. Six terrible nights, filled with pain, tears, doubt and regret - not just for Dani, and not just for Gigi, but for the both of them. 

Yet for the first time in months that's something they don't know about each other.

Ironically enough they find themselves on the same park bench where they had lunch over a year ago, a few hours before the best chapter of their lives started - or at least that's what Dani believed until only a week ago. Right now she doesn't know what to believe anymore.

Just like then, they're sitting a full arm’s length away from each other. Out of reach, in so many ways.

"Thanks for coming," Gigi speaks up quietly, "I wasn't sure if you would."

Dani gives her a sullen look. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because last time you threw a bunch of oranges at me," Gigi shrugs.

Sighing in frustration, Dani shakes her head. "Wrong answer."

"Wh—" Gigi blinks in uncertainty, then exhales deeply and lowers her gaze. "Because I hurt you," she corrects herself. "I let Nat kiss me - that should never have happened. And I... I don't know. I acted all weird. Giving you these mixed signals. But..."

"But what?" 

Dani's voice is sharp like a raiser. Nevertheless Gigi forces herself to meet her eyes.

"But you hurt me, too."

"Good," Dani thinks, but she doesn't let her anger win this time. "How?" she asks instead.

When Gigi draws a shaky breath, a wince of pain flashes over her face; a pain that's not just caused by broken ribs.

"By dismissing me," she answers. "By punishing me for the confusion I tried to share with you. For the fact that I wanted to figure things out. Not just for me, but for us."

"Us... and Nat?" Trying to keep calm, Dani shifts in her seat. 

Gigi nods. "In a way, yeah. I'm sorry, but she became part of this mess."

Dani bites her lips, restlessly and harder than she probably should. She needs to ask, needs to know, but what if...?

Shaking off her fear, she looks Gigi straight in the eyes. Here goes nothing. 

"Do you love her?"

"Yes." 

Gigi's quick and honest answer hits Dani like a punch in the stomach, making her gasp for air.

"I- I would lie if I said I didn't. I will probably always love her. But not in the way I love you," Gigi goes on. "That part I'm sure of."

"What does that even mean?!" Dani blurts out, fighting the urge to walk away again. "That I'm a nice fling, but she's the actual love of your life?!"

"No!" Gigi exclaims. 

Instinctively, and ignoring a new wave of pain, she scooches closer - yet that only makes Dani flinch away from her. After another deep breath she tries again, a little calmer this time. 

"No, it means the opposite. Nat is the mother of my children. She's family, and I love her as such. But you... Dani, you're it. I'm so, so in love with you. Deeply, still and - I'm sorry, but - probably forever."

Dani stares at her, then narrows her eyes. "You sound pretty sure. I thought you were all confused?"

"Yeah, well, let's say I got hit... again! By you, leaving me. Turned out I prefer heavy car crashes over being without you."

"Gigi..."

"Look, I know I was an idiot. And I wasn't fair to you. But I see it now. I see that once it comes to it, my kids are my number one. I'm not apologizing for that. I would never choose anyone over them - not even you. They are the ones who come first - and thus who first come to mind. And with that, Nat is just... in the same frame. That doesn't mean she shares the same meaning though. She doesn't," Gigi emphasizes. "Not ever again."

Her stream of words is followed by a long, heavy silence, awaiting Dani's response.

Dani, taking her time, sits back and blows out her cheeks, closing her eyes for a second. When she finally faces Gigi again, she looks tired, but also slightly less agitated.

"I'm not apologizing either," she sighs. "For the oranges, that is. But I am sorry for leaving you behind like that."

Exhaling in relief, Gigi shows her a small, cautious smile. "For dumping my ass, you mean?"

"Well... yeah." 

The light shrug of her shoulder is followed by the faintest hint of a grin. Gigi catches it though, gaining enough courage from it to shift closer again. And this time Dani doesn't move away.

Gigi turns towards her. "You think there’s a way you could... undump me?"

Looking pensive, Dani tilts her head at her. 

"I think after this week we both have some recovering to do," and then, chuckling and with the first real smile in six days, "How’bout we start with a fresh squeezed orange juice?"

****************************************************

celebration prompts (closed)

[breedaboyd]

The Club Excursion ~ Klaber

(Gif by me.)

Prompt: Klaber watches Wolff dance at a club or party. Whether Wolff's good or bad at it, Klaber loves watching Wolff's body move and asks Wolff to dance for them privately.

Pairing: Eli Klaber ☓ Stephan Wolff.

Word Count: 4.2k+

CW: Face-sitting, hurt/comfort, lap-dances, oral sex, vaginal sex.

The night is alive with pulsing rhythms as Klaber, Wolff, Hauke and Cyrus step into the club. The bass thumps through the floor, sending tremors up their legs as they make their way to the bar.

It's been a long slog in Berlin but tomorrow they'd finally be heading back to the US and Klaber had insisted on one last hurrah before heading home and, strangely enough, Cyrus had agreed. Finally, something they agreed on.

Multicoloured lights sweep through the dimly-lit room, casting shifting patterns on the dance floor packed with enthusiastic club-goers.

Cyrus, ever the instigator, is quick to grab Hauke's hand and tug him toward the dancefloor, their flirtatious  banter mixing with the music as they disappear into the throng of bodies. (Well, Cyrus disappears. Hauke not so much.) Klaber grins, watching his teammates twirl and sway to the infectious beat, but his attention is on Wolff. He sidles up to the older man, who's nursing a drink at the bar and looking painfully out of place here.

"Come on, Herr Doktor! It's a night to cut loose, enjoy yourself." Klaber says with a nudge and Wolff raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.

"I'll need a bit more liquid courage before I hit the dancefloor, Klaber. I'm not twenty-five anymore." He replies, taking a sip of horribly cheap whiskey. Klaber chuckles and orders a couple of shots from the bartender, sliding one to Wolff.

"To a fun night?" He offers and Wolff nods, clinking his glass against Klaber's, and they both down their shots. The burning warmth spreads through their bodies, and Klaber can see Wolff's reluctance starting to fade.

A couple more rounds of shots follow, and Klaber keeps up the banter, teasing and cajoling Wolff until he finally relents.

"Alright, alright." Wolff concedes with a laugh. "Let's see what this dancefloor is all about." Klaber's grin turns positively feral and he tugs the older man to his feet and toward the gyrating mass of bodies. Wolff shuffles behind the younger man, slightly unsteady on his feet. They squeeze into a clear spot and start swaying to the music. Wolff lets the rhythm envelop him and starts moving his hips with a little more coordination. Klaber watches him; this tall, gangly, white-haired old man, unsurprisingly, can't dance for shit. But damn if he's not trying.

He's all skinny limbs and angular joints, too soft in some places, sharp edges in others and that doesn't pair well with his unsynchronised, offbeat moves. He looks utterly ridiculous and for a moment Klaber just stands there, watching, captivated because, ridiculous or not, Stephan Wolff is really fucking cute when he's having fun. With every beat that passes, Klaber feels this slight ache blooming inside his chest. It's the first time he's seen the stoic, reticent doctor so at ease, so playful and young.

"What are you looking at, Liebchen?" Wolff asks, giving the younger man a grin so wide it hurts to look at. Shaking his head fondly, Klaber closes the distance between them.

"A complete disaster." He replies as he moves in close, laying his hands on the medic's hips. Wolff laughs, grabbing onto the younger man's biceps.

"I know. There's a reason I need a drink before I step anywhere near a dancefloor." He says, leaning down slightly to whisper in the blonde's ear. "You know, I always pinned you for the type that could dance, Liebchen. All that..." He runs his hands across Klaber's body, across his broad shoulders, down his chest. "...lean muscle, all that agility and strength." Klaber's briefly taken aback. It's so nice, having Wolff's hands on him, but he's not used to it in public. Usually, they have to be so careful in public, not even able to hold hands, but here they are, in the middle of a crowd, and Wolff's feeling him up like crazy with hardly a glance from the other club-goes. It's official; Klaber loves German clubs.

"They have some good clubs in Kentucky. Maybe not so lively as this one but..." He says, wrapping his arms around the German's waist and pressing closer. "Could teach you. Give you a taste of American nightlife."

"If this is a taste of it, maybe I'd better pass." Wolff laughs, a little huskier than before. Klaber replies and Wolff slides his hand to the back of Klaber's head, scratching the short hairs at his nape before gripping firmly and pulling him in for a sudden, rough kiss. Klaber's anxiety suddenly skyrockets as he glances around but, again, nobody seems to care that two men are kissing each other in the middle of the dancefloor. He melts into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the medic. When the kiss finally breaks, they rest their foreheads together and just sway, riding the shared electricity coursing between their bodies. The beat changes, suddenly, and Wolff laughs, backing out of Klaber's arms. "Think I'm done. I'm getting too old for this." He chuckles as he passes a hand through Klaber's thick blonde hair.

"Then, maybe you could...give me a private dance, when we get back to our room?" Klaber asks, sounding more shy than he wants to. Wolff grins, raising his eyebrows and pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"Maybe." He replies. "I'm going to freshen up. Then I'll meet you back at the bar and we can go from there?" He brings a hand to the blonde's stubbly jaw and rubs his thumb along his chin. Klaber nods, smiles at the touch and leans up, giving the older man another, gentler kiss. Wolff smiles back, squeezing his hand before heading toward the washroom.

Unsurprisingly, the bathroom is dingy and damp and, when Wolff steps in, he finds Hauke braced against the sinks, Cyrus on his knees, cock down his throat.

"Cyrus. Hauke." He makes his way over to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing his face. The younger man pulls off and wipes his mouth.

"Hey, Stephan. How is it out there?" Cyrus asks, breath coming thick and fast, as he works the larger man with his hands. "Didn't think this was your kinda scene."

"It's not." Wolff says as he wipes his face with the sleeve of his wrinkled dress shirt. "It's too busy, too loud, crowded." He says as he turns, leaning his back against the counter.

"Too many people for you, Herr Doktor?" Hauke chuckles as he pushes Cyrus's head back down. The smaller man whines wordlessly at Hauke heavy-handedness and Wolff smiles at the two younger men. He's grown very attached to the both of them and they've grown close, if that wasn't obvious with how blasé he is about this whole bathroom-blowjob situation. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Mhm. It was fun, actually, dancing, although apparently I'm not too good at it anymore." He says, watching Cyrus's enthusiastic ministrations. "Du solltest dir besser nicht weh tun, Langstrom. Ich würde es hassen Ihre aufgerissene Kehle im Hotel behandeln zu müssen.¹" He says and Cyrus just moans, sending hot shivers up Hauke's thighs. "I'll leave you two to it." The doctor says, giving Hauke a pat on the bicep as he leaves the bathroom.

Klaber's stood at the bar when Wolff comes back.

"Ready to head off?" The medic asks and Klaber nods, slipping his arm around Wolff's waist as they head for the exit.

Once outside, Klaber takes Wolff's hand, lacing their fingers together as they make their way back to their hotel.

When they get back to their hotel, Klaber takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He likes this place. For a budget motel, it's nice and the beds are comfortable and, now he thinks about it, this place will be a lot nicer now that he's had a couple drinks and he's got Wolff all to himself. Klaber sits still as the German locks the door, sets down his things and kneels down to take off his shoes.

"So... Uh... How about that dance?" Klaber pipes up with and Wolff smiles at him.

"Do you really want a dance, Liebchen?" The doctor chuckles as he stands, loosening his tie.

"Maybe...just a little?" He asks and Wolff wanders to stand between his legs, running a hand along the blonde's jaw.

"Alright. Let me turn on the radio and see if I can't find something I fancy." He pecks Klaber on the lips and heads for the old analog radio sitting on the nightstand and flips the dials. It takes a couple of moments before he settles on a station, the song slow, rhythmic, sultry. He turns back to Klaber and pulls the ribbon from his hair, letting thick, white locks splay across his shoulders. He pulls his glasses off and sets them aside. "Lap dance? Private, exclusive, just for you. What do you think, Liebchen?" Wolff chuckles as he straightens. "But no touching without my say-so." Klaber gets a good look at the medic's body. He's always so long and lean and his tall frame almost serpentine. He stalks toward the younger man, popping open the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Klaber watches him, biting the inside of his cheek.

He's completely transfixed as Wolff moves, bending and swaying to the music and he slowly strips out of his clothes, slowly pulling off his dress shirt to reveal the soft, plush flesh of his swollen chest. God, Klaber just loves Wolff's tits, how they add a kind of softness to his otherwise angular body. The medic takes his time, settling in the blonde's lap. Klaber can't touch, not without being scolded and Wolff wriggles and grinds against him, hips pulsing in his lap in a way that's far too torturous for how he feels right now. The tempo of the music is slow, hypnotic, undulating and, God, Wolff looks positively sinful. They haven't even *done* anything yet. The medic swivels in the blonde's lap, feet planted on the floor as he grinds back against the younger man.

"O-Oh, fuck... Herr Doktor... You're so...so fucking sexy..." Klaber grunts, face flushed and Wolff just chuckles. Just when they've found a rhythm, when Wolff is grinding back against him in a way that has Klaber falling in love with the medic all over again, he pulls off. He turns back toward the blonde, hand skimming along the thin trail of light hair below his navel, hand finally landing on his button-fly. Klaber bites his lower lip as he watches Wolff slowly, teasingly, unbutton his slacks, sliding the heavy fabric off his slim hips and revealing a pair of tight boxer-briefs. The medic's already so wet, slick oozing out and dampening the crotch of his underwear. But Klaber sits and waits, like a good, little mutt.

And then Wolff is back in his lap, ass planted in the blonde's lap as he grinds back against him. They find a rhythm, slow and grinding, as Wolff starts playing with his hardening clit through his underwear. Klaber groans as he watches, Wolff's hips, rolling back and forth, as he slides his underwear down over his hips and down those slim, creamy thighs, now completely bare to the blonde's eyes. Klaber wishes he could grab the medic, turn him around and bury his face in his cunt, licking and sucking until the older man can hardly remember his name. It's got Klaber licking his lips because, fuck, he loves eating Wolff out; listening to his husky voice quaver, the breathy moans and stuttered expletives spilling from his mouth. Klaber licks his lips, feeling his cock throb at the thought of Wolff's wet cunt smeared across his cheeks.

"Alright, Liebchen, you can touch."

Klaber exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding and pulls the older man into his lap. It takes a couple of tugs but soon he's got the medic straddling his head, Wolff's hot, slick pussy right above his face, dripping onto his chin. Klaber, overcome with his arousal, reaches out with his tongue, licking a wide, sloppy stripe between those plump lips. Wolff shudders and slumps forward, resting his palms against Klaber's hips as he spreads his thighs, giving the younger man more room to work.

"God, Liebchen...so desperate for it..." Wolff pants as he rubs his cunt against the flat of Klaber's warm, wet tongue. He blonde lifts his jaw a little to swirl his tongue around the medic's clit, feeling it twitch at the attention and Wolff gasps. "Ahh! That's it... Good dog..." Klaber brings his hands up to grip Wolff's soft, milky thighs as he continues to lap and suck at the wet cunt hovering over his face. For a second, the medic goes cross-eyed as his head lolls forward. Fuck, he forgot how good Klaber was with his mouth. The blonde pushes his tongue up against his throbbing clit, one hand sliding up to slide his middle finger into Wolff's slick, ready hole, relishing the hot walls wrapped around his fingers. He curls the digits, digging up and twisting in just the right way to make the medic gasp and moan and the way his long, lithe thighs tense up around the younger man's ears is so amazingly hot.

It's not long before Wolff's properly riding his face. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, the medic groans as he thrusts down, clit grinding against the flat of Klaber's tongue, cunt filled up by those long, strong fingers. Klaber loves it. This is his dream. He's such a dog and he absolutely adores it, laid on his back, happily eating the older man out. Hell, even his own pleasure is pushed to the side as he wraps his lips around the older man's clit and sucks, curling his fingers against the smooth, hot inside of his hole. Wolff whines, thighs trembling, face flushed as Klaber's ministrations have him trembling on the edge.

His jaw goes slack, eyes wide and unseeing as he cums, hard, gripping Klaber's head between his thighs. His mouth falls open as he rocks back and forth on Klaber's slick, wet face, panting through clenched teeth as he fucks himself through his release. Klaber works him through the last of it, looking a little dazed but incredibly pleased with himself as he licks his lips, Wolff's slick smeared across his mouth, nose and chin. "That's it... That's a good boy... That's perfect..." Wolff pants as straightens and falls back into the pillows, afterglow claiming every inch of his heaving, thrumming body.

Klaber sits up and untucks his shirt, wiping his face off with the hem and undoing the first couple of buttons, sweat glistening on his forehead and lightly stubbled neck. He stands and turns, loosening his own tie as he rakes his eyes over the medic, watching the older man stretch and purr like a large cat.

"That was perfect, Liebchen. Don't know how you're able to...do that." The medic sighs happily and, to that, Klaber only smiles as he pulls off his tie and unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way. He toes off his shoes and Wolff lifts himself up onto his elbows, pale blue eyes trailing along the expanse of pale skin visible from Klaber's open collar. His body is soft but sturdy. His chest is probably just as big as Wolff's but it's soft with a thin layer of fat instead of mammary glands and the medic loves that softness. His belly is soft too, a little chubby but not too much. Klaber drinks in the older man as he shrugs off his shirt, undoes his fly and finally lets his very obvious erection hang thick and heavy between his legs. The blonde is perfect and Wolff just wants to dig his fingers in, work the flesh, feel him moan against him. And he can't wait anymore. "You're so gorgeous, Liebchen." The medic says as Klaber strips off his pants and underwear, leaving him gloriously naked as he mounts the bed, crawling toward the older man.

"You're actually a pretty good dancer, Herr Doktor, but I don't think you could've pulled that one out in the club." The blonde says with a small grin as he slides a hand up the medic's side, admiring the softness of the skin. Wolff grins and moves further back, allowing the younger man to stretch out on top of him, caging him in. "Mm... How do you want me?" Klaber murmurs as he slots his hips between the medic's thighs, hands on his hips, thumbs caressing the sharp, jutting bones. Wolff reaches up and drags his nails down the back of Klaber's neck, loving the goosebumps rising under his fingertips. He gets a hand in the back of the younger man's hair and pulls him down for a rough kiss. Klaber responds eagerly, deepening the kiss and the medic takes a moment to just sink into it, allowing himself to completely lose himself in his dog's touch. Klaber is so hot and needy, skin warm and solid and so fucking good under his fingers. He gets a hand between them and wraps his long fingers around the younger man's flushed, leaking erection and Klaber moans against his lips, pre-cum oozing onto the medic's belly.

"Like this, like this is fine. I just want to feel you inside me, Liebchen." Wolff whispers, biting his lower lip and Klaber moans softly, lining himself up. He circles the medic's swollen clit with the tip of his cock, drawing a soft groan from the man beneath him. He keeps teasing, keeps dragging his cock against the wet folds of Wolff's cunt as the older man pushes his hips against him, trying to make him slide in and fill him up. "D-Don't tease, Liebchen..."

Finally, he pushes in, eyes squeezing shut as he's enveloped in the older man's tight, wet heat.

"Goddamn..." He huffs out, fingers curling into the sheets either side of the medic's chest. Wolff's thighs tense around his hips and that coupled with the older man's hot, breathy moan right next to his ear makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "You feel so good, Herr Doktor... So hot... Do I...feel good too?" Klaber tries not to whimper, feeling almost overcome by the older man's cunt clamping around him.

"Mhm... You're perfect, Liebchen. Now...enough talking... Please... Please, just start moving..." Wolff breathes, arms wrapping around the blonde's neck, nails digging into his spine as Klaber starts rocking his hips forward. Wolff's gasps with every thrust, urging the blonde to give him more, harder, faster, and Klaber is all too willing to comply, angling his hips so he can drive into the medic hard and deep. The doctor moans, brow furrowed, slick dripping and pooling on the sheets.

Klaber's being such a good dog, giving him everything he wants and it just makes Wolff so hungry for his puppy's hot cum, flooding his pussy, filling him up to the brim. "O-Oh, God... Just like that... Good dog... S-So good..." He pants out, digging his heel into the small of Klaber's back. The blonde grunts at the praise, the heel of Wolff's foot urging him deeper. He tucks his face into the crook of the medic's neck, breathing in the sweet smell of his skin as he braces himself. This angle means he can go as fast as possible, hips pistoning as he pounds into the medic's soft, willing body.

"Oh, fuck! H-Herr Doktor..." The pressure starts mounting and the young blonde has to grit his teeth to try and hang on a little longer because, fuck, he doesn't want this to be over so soon but the friction and pressure have him growing hot, both inside and out, and he can feel his control slipping. "Y-You feel s-so good..." He slows the pace a little, savouring the wet glide of the medic's velvety walls, sucking, clenching and keeping him on the edge.

"That's it, pup. Such a good dog..." Wolff pants out, thighs shaking, as Klaber reaches up, grabbing at the older man's chest. His fingertips dig into the medic's small, spongy breasts, soft and squishy and perfect. Klaber loves them. They're perky and just the right size for his big hands. Wolff squirms under the attention, the mix of a little pain with a lot of pleasure.

"Herr Doktor... I love your body... Fuck, it's so soft..." The blonde moans, grinding his hips in circles. Wolff moans under him, thighs squeezing his hips so tight as they get lost in the steady tempo of the creaky mattress, their stuttered, breathy moans mingling with the slick, filthy sounds from between the older man's thighs. "St-Stephan... You're so...so... F-Fuck, I'm..." Klaber whispers, thumbing one of Wolff's hard nipples. His eyes are half-lidded, looking almost delirious as he slams his hips down against the older man. God, it feels so good, having this beautiful man under him, mewling and moaning, letting him fuck him as good and as long as he wants. Klaber leans down, taking one of the medic's pebbled nipples between his lips and the added sensation has Wolff writhing and panting under him, mouth agape.

"Liebchen! Oh, God... Keep going... Don't stop, don't you dare stop..." Wolff groans, hands smoothing up the back of Klaber's head, tousling his short, thick hair as he urges the younger man on. The pace grows rapid, thrusts turning staccato, as Klaber sucks and tongues at the older man's chest. They grow feral, desperate, hips slapping together as the creaking bed protest their every move. "Klaber... Sweet pup... Need to cum... Need you to make me cum..." He moans, thighs trembling, sweat dripping down his temples. The blonde's eyes roll back at that, hands sliding back down the medic's sides and gripping at his wide, strong hips. He tilts the older man's hips up so his cock hits that perfect spot inside him and that's all it takes.

Wolff arches under the younger man, letting out a long, whimpering moan as he throws his head back, pleasure coursing through him, body wracked with shivers. His grip on Klaber becomes painful as the blonde thrusts frantically, on the edge himself, and, finally, with a muffled groan and a shudder, the younger man reaches his limit. He gives a three more deep, punishing thrusts as he spills, driving himself deep, fucking his cum up into the medic's waiting body. "... That was...perfect, Liebchen... Just perfect..." Klaber's smiling breathlessly when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of the older man, resting his cheek on Wolff's sweaty chest. He's still panting, exhausted but sated, as he shifts his hips, his softening cock slipping free from Wolff's body...

They stay still for a little while, panting and sighing and just basking in each other.

"Can't wait to go home tomorrow." Klaber says and Wolff chuckles breathlessly, hands moving to card his fingers through the younger man's sweat-damp hair. "Hey, Herr Doktor...?"

"Mm?"

"Fancy joining the mile-high club tomorrow?" He laughs, raising his head to flash the older man a cheeky grin. Wolff's smile melts, giving way to a tired, almost resigned look.

"... Don't you ever get tired of me, Liebchen? My body? Aren't you bored of me? Can't imagine what you see in an old man like me." Wolff says with a sigh as he slips from Klaber's grasp.

"Herr Doktor?"

"Just maybe don't get too used to this. I'm almost fifty-three, Klaber. Surely you can get someone better... Someone younger, someone more...suited for you." Wolff goes on, not quite finished punishing himself for enjoying the younger man's company. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, staring out of the window, into the night. "I wouldn't think less of you, Liebchen. I would completely understand if you found yourself some pretty, young thing—"

"Do you really not see it, Stephan?" He shakes his head as he runs a hand down the curve of the older man's hip. Klaber shuffles beside the older man, laying up to look at him, cupping his jaw gently. "You're— But— No, God, how could I ever get sick of you? Why would I want anyone else?" He thumbs Wolff's cheek, brow creased in worry. He's so keen to wipe that sad, pained look from the medic's weathered features. "Can't you tell? Can't you feel it? I can't stand being without you. Fuck, you're such a dumbass sometimes." He sighs softly, gently stroking long, white locks from Wolff's face. Gently, he cups the back of the older man's head, pulling him down to kiss him, passionate but tender. Wolff responds just as lovingly, tangling his fingers in the younger man's hair, breathing in the scent of him.

"How on Earth did I find someone like you, Liebchen?" Wolff whispers with a sad smile as the kiss breaks and Klaber just presses their foreheads together.

"Chalk it up to luck, I guess." He adds with a grin, kissing the medic's forehead and sliding a hand down his back. "Just don't go scarin' me like that, alright?" He smirks and Wolff chuckles, leaning down to kiss the younger man, hands moving to cup his cheek and run through the shorter hair at his nape.

"That's not a promise I can keep, mutt." He whispers against Klaber's lips. "But, if you get tired of me, just put me in the ground, okay, Liebchen?"

"Never."

Translations:

¹ "You better not hurt yourself, Langstrom. I'd hate to have to treat your lacerated throat at the hotel."

[captmickey]

PROMPT: I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having.

I don't know if there's a way to do this with Elaine and Guybrush - maybe it's set between MI1 and MI2 and things don't end up resolving between them, but of course there's still something there?

Only if it's up your alley, of course.

She loved being governor, she loved the parties that were thrown, even if there was nothing to celebrate in particular. But what she couldn’t tolerate… couldn’t stand, more like, were the countless men that threw themselves at her in hopes to either win her hand or try to talk politics to her. 

Elaine could truly do without the fawning men, she had her fill of them, thank you very much. 

And seeing this was one of her last parties of the year as governor, she supposed she would have to just deal with it. A final hurrah as it were.

Heaven help her, Elaine hated it though. Especially as one of them was a supposed Lord of Tortuga (or an off branch, honestly she wasn’t paying that much of attention to the man speaking as he just sounded too haughty. He clung to her like glue for most of the night, others mistaking the two as courting, dating even, and that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. And it wasn’t that Elaine didn’t try to politely brush him off… she had, multiple times, sometimes even pretended to have to go to the restroom, but that creep of a man kept following her, waiting until she stepped out so as to continue their “invigorating conversation.”

(It was about as invigorating as a cutlass to the skull, she thought bitterly.)

She could punch him, she was notorious for her right hook as Carla and others have stated, but seeing as this evening was too important to do as such, it would be criminal to end her year on a bad note, not when the citizens adored her… supposedly. 

It was when the Lord draped his arm around her, pulling her close and having a dead look in his eyes as he stared up and down that had Elaine’s patience begin its countdown. She knew that look, she loathed that look. It was the look all men give her before looking like they were thoroughly possessed and leaning in for a kiss.

Don’t do it, Elaine. She told herself. Don’t do it, whatever you do, do not let instinct take over.

She felt her hand ball into a fist, ready to knock the man out properly when she felt a hand on her wrist and tugged her harshly away from the man and into the arms of her supposed savior.

Her eyes widened when she saw the one who held her was Guybrush, almost pushing himself between Elaine and the Lord.

“Oy, mate, what you think you’re doin’?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thought it was only fair that I get to have a one on one with the Governor since there’s something that needs her attention now, so, y’know. My turn.” Guybrush smiled.

A smile, Elaine knew, that while outwardly looked nice, actually meant he was ready to verbally beat the man into submission. He was a muscle away from giving an almost shark-like grin.

“What are you doing?” She whispered to him.

His smile, unwavering and his eyes locked on the Lord, just whispered through gritted teeth. “I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having.”

The Lord glared bitterly and pointed a finger at him. “I’ll have you know that the governor and I were having–”

“A very lengthy conversation, yes, trust me, we all saw. But I think it’s time for a bit of a break. Alright? Good. Anyways, governor, there was something I needed for you to address.” Guybrush quickly pulled her away, guiding her towards an unoccupied room.

She sighed as she felt the Lord’s eyes melt from her back. “You’re truly my knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”

“Mighty knight in shining armor.” He jokingly corrected her.

“Ah, of course, how foolish of me.” She laughed. “...thank you.”

“Of course.” He gave her a small squeeze. “But uh… why didn’t you tell him we’re dating?”

“Oh… I suppose I could have.” Elaine mumbled, forgetting for a moment that it was an entirely valid thing to say. 

But it was that lie she built up to her citizens, the lie of not being able to date anyone… if word got out that she was, in fact, dating… she didn’t want to think about the outcome. Probably nothing, surely, but it wasn’t a gamble she was willing to take.

Guybrush let go, frowning a little. “Why can’t we tell people?”

“Guybrush, you know why.”

“I know…” he crossed his arms, looking away as the hurt was written all over his face. “I hate it.”

She knows, she did too.

“Anyways, you should probably head back. Should be safe now from that guy.” Guybrush muttered, walking off. 

Elaine looked at him, wanting to comfort him, to tell him to brush it off but it was far too apparent that he was bothered by it all. Bothered that he had to bite his tongue yet again for her sake. Her hand, momentarily outstretched, went back down.

She had a party to attend.

[variousqueerthings]

I like how watching MASH with my mum prompts a dozen comments on breaking the hippocratic oath and medical malpractice, I would be curious where she lands on preventative medicine 

I think this unintentional on the part of the episode, but I wonder how it feels for specifically a doctor to imagine doing that

to take s2 flagg-ep into play, imagining specifically the type of doctor that hawkeye is, who seems to have very quickly cottoned onto it being easy to have the high-ground if you’re not literally in a warzone and so doing what needs to be done for his corner of the world, vs bj who likes to hold onto the trappings of normalcy past when it makes any good sense 

leaving aside anything that the episode/writers wanted to convey, and just poking at the characters, preventative episode is near the end of s7 and so around the time when the “it’s not really about the army being bad, it’s about war-as-concept being bad” stuff took over, and the tone continued to shift into bleaker -- starting s8, but I am curious to see on this watch whether I might not feel like s7 (with peace on us, which also includes army-based antics) starts it, but just creates a last Hurrah of attempts to be ok that on my first watch translated as practically a hopeful atmosphere (lol)

*

it gives enough fuel for me to go, alright, preventative medicine is when hawkeye realises he’s alone in this, and that bj -- despite some earnest attempts here and there -- simply won’t fight on the level that he needs to fight the army + he’s been gradually going up against a higher authority than the army, Death itself (whether or not one wishes to read this as a symptom of mental health issues, I do find resonance in a bipolar hawkeye + a hawkeye who was managing himself and then he up and got sent to a warzone, which is no good for anyone)

(and would Trapper and/or Henry have pulled him aside and gone “buddy, you are not beating Death, death is normal, death is ok, the army sucks, focus on the things you can change, do you wanna take out another appendix? ok, let’s do go that”)

and so essentially this episode as the first in which he really gives up. comparably I don’t think he gives up way back in dr pierce, he “just” has a breakdown -- technically he fights all the way until they sedate him (and not because they’re technically against what he’s doing, but because he Really Needs To Sleep and admirable as shipping toilets is, it’s not what hawkeye himself would think was the best solution were he not several days into insomnia)

and every once in awhile he’ll fight once more (depressing news my beloved), but it’s mostly downhill from there/the goalpost has moved to coping as best as possible -- idk how much it was intended or not, but I feel like “say no more” being so near the end, gives a good and very upsetting blow to hawkeye’s fractured needs, once more zeroing in on who it is that’s causing all the violence. not A War, but an army general, and how he’s let that focus slide in favour of getting through the damn day and pretend-believing (as I hc it) that it’s not a system made up of people that causes all this destruction 

which reframes the ending of preventative medicine as guilt not because it was futile and bad technically for him to do what he did (it wasn’t, fuck you intended framing), but because hawkeye feels a lot of guilt for all the things he can’t do -- he talks a good game about his little corner in that one episode, but like... he literally thinks he’s going up against Death at times, he’s not being entirely rational about this

*

and on bj’s side we’ve got that relentless “I’m looking towards home” narrow focus, in which one can go, ok, well a doctor back home shouldn’t take out someone’s appendix unnecessarily, or indeed, half the shit hawkeye and trapper got up to back in seasons 1-3, which one might with this read assume bj would have not been happy about?” (idk where twice convincing someone they’re very sick lands on the medical malpractice scale, I’ll have to ask my mum)

bj wants to go home unchanged, despite all the mounting impossible-to-ignore-but-he-does-try-putting-on-blinkers-and-going-lalala evidence that that is literally not gonna happen. so it’s less about hawkeye hurting himself, less about ideals, and more about keeping his hands clean and having the high-ground for the sake of his needs 

I enjoy reading bj with all his possible flaws, I think one can say that he both wishes to help hawkeye and is selfishly focused on his own life (after all he has a wife and kid at home, the american dream to return to, unlike some others...) and those clash more and more as the show goes on (I also like resentful bj personally, bj who feels indebted to hawkeye and wants desperately to be there for hawkeye with all his ideals, and dislikes that this is at odds with what he should be doing, which is keeping himself in one mental and physical piece)

he could have done more to stop hawkeye if he really believed that this was wrong and/or it would be wrong for hawkeye. or he could have acceded that hawkeye was making points, but he personally simply couldn’t do it. what he does is stick firmly to the middle path of token resistance and a refusal to carry the burden with hawkeye, and then a somewhat useless holier-than-thou platitude about symptoms and disease that just makes hawkeye feel worse, but then also a hand on his shoulder that hawkeye briefly clings to 

best he can do

*

anyway, I wonder as I continue to watch whether my mum will stick firmly to the ideals she has in a reality in which she hasn’t worked in a warzone, which will put her firmly on bj’s side, or if she’ll poke at things and imagine herself in such a situation (not that I’m trying to torture her, I’m just curious)

there’s something very interesting about doctors vs not-doctors in terms of putting themselves aside from other people in order to do their jobs sometimes, and it’s not necessarily a good thing (it’s a reason I’m scared of doctors outside of my mum and her friends, but those experiences have been firmly not like that, because we all know each other) but it does have a point to it, and the hippocratic oath is one of those things that help you set yourself apart/to a higher ideal, for better or for worse

and hawkeye has a very interestingly loose relationship with it from the get-go, and I think that that’s a much more interesting lens through which to watch preventative medicine than “is he right or is he wrong” -- instead it’s a character drama between his needs and bj’s needs

and on that note my other episode that I’m most curious about my mum’s reaction to is “heal thyself”

humanising doctors, the horror!

[nothingunrealistic]

21 For Taylor/Philip As Well

21. things you said when we were on top of the world

Philip doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that the crowd’s loudest hurrah yet is for Prince, arriving at last. Cameras flash, flags wave, I Love New York signs shake in their bearers’ hands — and Taylor comes down from the doors to stand on the same step as him.

“We found the real party,” Philip says. Taylor glances his way, makes a face that seems to say I guess we did, and looks away.

Someone in the throng shouts “2028!” over the cheers that keep rolling in. The energy on the block couldn’t be more different from that months-ago news footage of the NYC Olympic Commission’s inaugural press conference, transformed into an anti-Olympics protest by AG Rhoades himself thanks to a traffic jam, a bullhorn, and a handful of easily swayed pedestrians. Real shame for him that, in all likelihood, he’s sitting in a dark room somewhere glaring at Channel 1 and choking on sour grapes, rather than sharing in the joy.

Then again, Taylor’s looking more antsy than joyful — shifting from foot to foot, scanning the crowd — and they’re on the winning team. “Having fun yet?”

“No.”

“We’ve most of a decade to go,” Drache says over Philip’s shoulder.

“Just wait,” Scooter says from the step below. He’s too sharp-eared for anyone’s good. “The fun is coming soon enough.” Taylor nods, and looks like they don’t believe a word.

“New York,” Prince calls out, commanding the crowd’s attention. “We did it. 2028’s gonna be an incredible time in this city.” The cheering redoubles, and fireworks erupt over the skyline, washing the crowd in purple, green, and red. No one can deny that the man knows how to punctuate a moment.

The pyrotechnics push awareness of everything else to the periphery. Applause for the show from those around him on the steps. A thread of movement through the crowd — maybe protestors, maybe latecomers desperate to see Prince close up. Behind him, muttering and the shuffle of shoes on concrete.

“Still not having fun,” Taylor says, which grabs his attention a bit more effectively.

“You have something against fireworks?” The sky is thick with lingering smoke. “Let me guess. The pollution.”

“The noise. So, yes, in a way.”

“You don’t know how loud fireworks can get until you’ve set off firecrackers from over the Pennsylvania line at your cousins’ house upstate. Or how much fun the Fourth of July can be.”

“Wow,” Taylor says, unimpressed. “Should I congratulate you on still having all your fingers?”

“Who says they’re all real?” Philip lifts his left hand. If Taylor looked closer in brighter light, they might see the burn scar on his little finger, but he doubts they will, and that was from a Roman candle anyway. “Prosthetics get better every year.”

Taylor looks at his hand and smiles faintly. “Seamless.”

A burst of blue pulls the spectators’ focus, Taylor included. Philip lets his hand drop. They’re something of an enigma to him — much like whatever arrangement gives them their own fund under Prince’s roof — but after the last few months, he appreciates the chance to talk to someone who doesn’t see him as an intruder or a threat. Cracking that serious façade of theirs is just a bonus.

(send me a ship and a prompt and i’ll write a mini fic)

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

hiiii Lilly my dear beloved friend, this is more than 5 words but can I pls officially give you Molina-Wilson children arguing about the ant song as a prompt

I'm way behind on these cause I got my wisdom teeth out and didn't write for a week, but I'm trying to catch up! Enjoy, my friend :)

This takes place in my Parenting Verse; Julie and Carrie are like 2.5-3 years old here.

Send me prompts (I'm still like 5 short for the month)!

“Good night, my beautiful butterfly,” Rose says, kissing Julie’s forehead as she tucks her butterfly blanket around her.

Then, she moves to the other bed in the room to do the same with Carrie and her Cinderella blanket. “Good night, my sweet princess.”

Carrie, upon being tucked in, immediately wriggles and kicks until her feet pop out the end, and then she says, “Mami, ant song please.”

“Ant song!” Julie agrees, kicking her legs under the covers. “Ant song! Ant song!”

Rose puts her hands on her hips, holding back a laugh in order to feign surprise. “What? You want to hear the ant song before bed? Are you absolutely sure?”

Carrie giggles and joins in on Julie’s chant: “Ant song! Ant song! Ant song!”

“Well, okay,” Rose sighs, dramatically falling back into the rocking chair between the girls’ beds. “I suppose I can sing my babies’ very favorite ant song just this once.”

The girls erupt into laughter again, and the sound makes Rose’s heart glow with the warmth of a million sunny days. She leans back in the chair and closes her eyes, hoping that by modeling tranquility, she can encourage Julie and Carrie to settle down, too, and rocks slowly back and forth as she begins to sing:

“The ants go marching one by one. Hurrah! Hurrah! The ants go marching one by one. Hurrah! Hurrah! The ants go marching one by one, the little one stops to suck his thumb, and they all go marching down. To the ground. To get out. Of. The rain.”

It’s not exactly an efficient lullaby— not when Julie and Carrie have an ongoing competition over who can sing along the lyrics fastest and loudest— but Rose has spent the last two and a half years choosing lack of sleep over making her children anything less than happy, and she’s not about to stop now.

Still, she has to at least try to say, “Settle down, nenas,” after each verse, and eventually, the giggling and play-fighting die down, if only because Carrie and Julie don’t know the words as well the higher the numbers go.

Until they get around to the fourth verse. Sometimes, Rose has the forethought to skip it entirely, since the girls are still too young to notice when the order of numbers is wrong. But tonight, she’s tired, and her daughters are settling into calm more quickly than usual, so Rose doesn’t realize which verse she’s gotten to until the words, “the little one stops to shut the door,” are already out of her mouth.

“Stop, Mami!” Julie shouts, making Rose jump and almost tumble out of the rocking chair entirely.

“Julie!” she gasps, a hand to her heaving heart. “Don’t shout like that, baby, you scared me!”

Julie huffs, arms crossed over her chest. “But that’s the end of the song, Mami.”

“Noooo,” Carrie whines immediately. “There’s one more! One two five!”

Rose starts to correct her, and then realizes now is not the time. “You don’t want to hear about the ants marching five by five, Julie-bean?”

Julie stubbornly shakes her head. “No, a-cause the little one already shutted the door, the house is closed now.”

Rose sighs. “Right. That makes sense, Julie. We can end the song after four ants.”

But of course they can’t, because Carrie shouts, “No! Five! Five! Five! Five! Five!”

“Okay, okay!” Rose says hastily, before a full-on tantrum can begin. “What if I switch them, huh? The ants go marching four by four, the little one stops to take a dive, then the ants go marching five by five and the little one stops to shut the door, and the house is closed, the end? How’s that, baby girls?”

Julie and Carrie exchange a look from across the room, their little faces screwed up in intense consideration. Rose does not have the energy for this right now— she’s about three seconds from tapping Ray or Trevor in.

But then, Julie says, “I guess that’s fine,” and snuggles back down under her covers.

“Four and dive are not rhyming words,” Carrie informs them, “but the ants can switch just this one time.”

Rose lets out a long sigh of relief. “Okay. Time for bed, girls. We’ll sing the ant song the right way tomorrow.”

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs 

[double-j]

*STARDUST REBLOG CHALLENGE DECEMBER WEEK 1 MASTERLIST*

[FOR ALL FICS, CHECK THE STARDUST REBLOG CHALLENGE TAG]

*reminder to please heed the author’s warnings on individual fics!*

~ splitting the list up into weeks this month because the post editor has been giving me a hard time ~

TGM: JAKE HANGMAN SERESIN FICS

what to expect p. 3 from @topguncortez

i can make it from @thedroneranger

hate loving you (from the to have and to hold series) from @ohtobeleah

prompt 16 (from the house we share series, it is perfection, do yourself a huge favor and read it immediately, and if you already have, do yourself a favor and re-read it immediately) from @rolycolysficrecs

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas (from the take me home for christmas series) from @madsnowstorm

fire away snippet (never have so few words made me feel so much, do yourselves a favor and read this!!) from @fuckyeahhangman

what to expect p. 4 from @topguncortez

baby, i'm high octane p. 2 (y'all read this series, it is SO. GOOD.) from @laracrofted

TGM: BRADLEY ROOSTER BRADSHAW FICS

plane doctor from @reaperintheroses

last hurrah p. 2 from @cherrycola27

you deserve an overachiever from @roosterforme

a whole new ball game (from the curveball series) from @jupitercomet

TGM: MISC. FICS

the nap date from @writercole (mickey fanboy garcia)

seven o'clock news/silent night from @hufflepuffprincesse (from the same mistakes-verse, aka heaven on earth!! mentions of rooster but not explicitly in a romantic sense so i've placed it here instead of in that category. seriously though if you have not read this series, DO IT.)

NHL FICS

coming home from @eightmakar (jt compher)

BINGO:

[lastsurvivor]

'why don’t you sit down and let me take care of it?' from “let me help you” prompts

"let me help you" prompts.

Ellen sighs. Maybe it was best to rest for now, given the migraine beginning to form. She usually doesn't like people doing things for her, but she supposed she'd give in just this once.

"Fine," she says, uneasily making her way to the ground. Ripley finds her seating successfully but starts rubbing her temples in hopes it helps rid her of the headache. "I can trust you with this, right? It's not too hard, but if you're sure you can handle it...," her words trail off, frustrated with the situation. Of course, the car would blow a tire when she was tired and stressed. Just what she needed.

Ripley gives one last hurrah as she calls out to Pip. "If you need any help, just ask."