#really wish I could feel hope about something again you know?

[mulloey]

unwelcome • pt 2

read part one here

stepdad!mingyu x fem!reader

words: 3.8k

warnings: this is pretty fucked up. stepfather relationship, infidelity, mingyu n u are not good people rly, brat/brat tamer dynamics, mean hard dom!mingyu, daddy kink, dirty talk, punishment, pussy slapping, gyu refers to you as ‘daughter’ and himself as ‘father’ in a sexual context a couple times, not really dubcon but there’s certainly a power imbalance, breeding, pregnancy mention, heavy degradation, choking etc. this is pretty intense.

you’ve been appropriately warned of the content of this fic and are solely responsible for what you consume. don’t like, don’t read. hate is blocked.

-

it’s been a week since the incident in the kitchen— since mingyu had finally snapped, since you felt his firm hands and long fingers restraining and touching you as he pleased. since the event that you thought would have changed everything with your stepfather. except it hasn’t.

mingyu has said nothing about what transpired that day, and neither have you. you tried to, once, but a hand around your neck and whispered warning that “that wasn’t what you thought it was” had shut you down quickly. he’s still strict, but it’s from a distance now— he doesn’t scold or reprimand you, but nor does he praise or really interact with you in any way. you never thought you would, but you miss it. you miss him.

your mother is gone, again. she seems to have picked up on the energy shift in the house over the past week and, like you, doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. so she’s chosen to stay away, assuming that whatever’s going on will resolve itself as it always does. you had hoped it would too— except mingyu won’t let you get near him.

today you’ve been mulling it over; holed up in your room with your blanket around your shoulders. you’d gone down earlier to grab a piece of toast; you’d felt your stepfather’s eyes on you the whole time you were in the kitchen, but you paid him no mind, grabbing your toast and quickly retreating back upstairs without a word. you wish you hadn’t heard his sigh of relief when you walked away.

you can’t live like this anymore, you know that. whatever thick, immobilizing tension is separating you two, pulling at one and pushing at the other, needs to break. and you will break it, even if just to have back the annoying, obnoxious man you used to hate. it’s better than… whatever this is.

you discuss it at length with your best friend, pearl, over drinks at your favourite bar downtown. she’s the only one you could turn to with something like this— the only one you can trust not to judge you. not that you don’t deserve to be judged; you’ve done an awful thing, after all. you’ve allowed your mother’s husband to touch and finger you. you’ve not just helped him to betray your mother, but you’ve betrayed her yourself.

you’re past that now, though. you’ll make it up to her later. and if mingyu’s willing to do that to his own step daughter then clearly he’s not the right man for your mom anyway. it doesn’t make you feel a whole lot better.

but pearl doesn’t judge you; she never does. you’ve known each other since you were babies, for one, but more importantly, she has (to your annoyance), been saying from the start how utterly delectable your new stepfather is. if anything, she’s probably annoyed she didn’t get to fuck him first.

she listens silently and thoughtfully as you run her through the events of last week, tapping her manicured nails against the wood of the table. by the time you finish, a sly, knowing smile has reached her face.

“isn’t it obvious?” she asks.

you hesitate, confused. “isn’t what obvious?”

“what you need to do,” she says. “to fix this.”

“not to me,” you say. “i mean, i need to fuck him, i think. but i can’t do that when he barely even talks to me now.”

she shrugs, twirling the little cocktail umbrella between her fingers. “so make him jealous.”

“what?”

“piss him off, y/n,” she says. “bring someone home and let him see that you’re moving on. i guarantee you he won’t like it.”

you slump back in your seat, thinking for a moment. it’s a good plan— if it goes right. if it goes wrong, well… you doubt anything could be worse than this. “okay,” you say. “i’ll do that.”

it takes two more days to find the nerve to bring home a boy from your campus. you were careful to choose someone you wouldn’t have to interact with after today if it all went catastrophically wrong, which means the TA in your thesis group who makes eyes at you from across the room is off the table (sorry, wonwoo), but who you’ve seen and interacted with enough that it won’t seem weird when you invite them home with you.

you have no real intentions with joshua, but he’s nice enough, around your age and very horny, so you figure he’ll do fine; indeed, he can barely keep his hands off you as you walk into the house and accidentally-on-purpose make your presence known with a loud laugh. his wandering hands only leave you when your stepfather rounds the corner into the lobby.

he’s dressed in his pyjamas still, and he looks tired and irritated until he spots the boy next to you— and the non-existent, certainly non-platonic gap between you. in an instant he’s awake and the irritation is gone, replaced with anger. his palms twitch at his side, desperate to break the calm demeanor that he’s hanging onto by a thread. little slut.

“what’s going on here?” he asks. he tries to keep his voice cool and leveled but the resulting sound is low and dangerous, like a predator about to strike.

joshua swallows and you feel him tensing up nervously beside you. whether it’s to calm him down or to provoke mingyu further, you're not sure, but you grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. joshua relaxes slightly, and mingyu’s eyes narrow.

“hi,” joshua finally says. “i’m jo–”

“i don’t give a rat's ass who you are,” mingyu says sharply. “tell me what you’re doing here and what your hands are doing on my daughter, now.”

joshua’s eyes widen and he seems to shrink further into himself, wishing he was anywhere else. “look, man,” he says, “i don’t want any trouble. we were just gonna hang out.”

“yeah?” mingyu asks. “not anymore. plans changed, i’m afraid. we’re busy this evening.”

“oh yeah?” you challenge. “busy with what?”

mingyu says nothing, just raises a cool eyebrow at you with a blank expression. you feel joshua’s gaze flicker between the two of you in confusion and discomfort.

clearly, he wants nothing to do with this. you don’t blame him; and he’s served his purpose anyway. you’ll make it up to him another day. buy him a coffee or something. doesn’t really matter right now.

“i’m just gonna go,” he mutters. he catches your eye as he walks past, face contorted half in sympathy and half in fear— fear for you, it seems. if only he knew that you’re halfway to getting exactly what you wanted.

“see you around, josh,” you say, but your eyes are already locked with your stepfather.

the door slams shut and he’s on you instantly, hand on your neck as you’re shoved harshly against the wall. the impact is so sharp and sudden that it sends the small painting hung up next to you crashing down, but neither of you notice; not when you’re looking at him with such lust and he’s looking at you with such ire. you could cut the tension between you with a knife, but even then, you’re not sure if it would break. the tiny gap between his face and yours and the heavy breathing as he looks you up and down is electrifying like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“min—”

“shut up,” he says. “i’ve had it with you.” his voice is almost shaking with rage and he stares at you for a moment before his large hand impacts the side of your face. you shriek in pain and surprise, reaching to clutch your stinging cheek but he grabs your wrist with the hand that had just slapped you, holding it firmly above your head.

“fucking slut,” he says. “parading your little boy toy through my house as if i wouldn’t know what you’re doing. debasing yourself like a cheap whore. is that what you thought i wanted?”

your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. you both know the answer but you don’t want to say it. he shakes his head, chuckling dryly.

“no, it’s not,” he says. “because you never cared or even thought about what i might want. only ever thought about yourself, didn’t you?”

you feel yourself shrink under his gaze and the venom of his words and he smiles briefly. his eyes roam your body, lingering on your chest that rises and falls with your heavy, panicked breathing. fuck, he’s practically drunk on the power he has over you right now.

his grip on your neck tightens momentarily— just enough to remind you of how small and breakable you are under his grip. “too fucking cock drunk to think about anything else,” he says lowly. “fuck. i should‘ve made your friend stay so i could fuck you in front of him, shouldn’t i? teach you both a lesson.”

his words hit you in the stomach, knots of arousal twisting in your gut. you know he sees the way your thighs clench together at the image. “i…” you trail off; you have nothing to say. he knows it too. he lifts his hand from your neck to stroke your cheek with a surprising tenderness.

“pretty thing,” he mutters. “my little girl.” he’s silent for a moment, eyes raking over your face, so small and fragile in his strong hands. his grip tightens, squeezing your jaw. “apologise,” he says.

you frown, confused. “for what?”

he snorts like it’s obvious. “provoking me, for one,” he says. “using that poor boy to get a rise out of me. and being a rude, bratty little girl simply because i wasn’t giving you enough attention.”

you roll your eyes before you can think it through and he’s quick to react, his hand slapping you again before returning to your neck. “no respect,” he mutters. “you obviously need an attitude adjustment. and that’s exactly what daddy’s gonna give you.”

you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning at the name he’s given himself, but it’s no use. your stepfather is far too tuned in, far too in control, to let anything slip past him. his lips curl into a thin, sneering smile. “liked that, did you?” he asks. “you like being fucked by your fucking father?”

“mingyu,” you whine. your face burns at the humiliation of not just his words, but the truth of them— mingyu is your stepfather. he’s married to your mother. and you’d do anything to have your hands on his dick right now.

“no,” he says. “you don’t get to call me that. if you could act like a mature fucking adult then maybe i’d let you but you can’t, can you? you’ve been a little fucking brat since i met you and it’s about time i treated you like one.”

there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen since that day in the kitchen, only now it burns both brighter and darker than before. as he finally releases his grip of you against the wall, only to drag you by the hair through to the living room, you get the feeling you’re about to see mingyu in a way even the episode in the kitchen couldn’t have clued you into.

he shoves you down, watching you stumble to the floor with a surprised shriek. you sit yourself up, leaning on your hands as you stare up at him where he towers above you— tall, imposing, and terrifying.

he’s silent, watching you closely before he sighs and walks over to sit himself down on the couch. “come here.”

your legs are shaking as you struggle to pull yourself up from the floor. his jaw twitches, fists clenching. you’ve never looked so pathetic, never felt so humiliated and you still have all your clothes on. he reaches out to pull you towards him and you stumble forwards until you land on his lap— over his lap. you feel your short skirt flip up over your ass from the sudden motion, exposing your black lace panties. he chuckles, grabbing one of your ass cheeks and squeezing it firmly. your breath hitches.

“mm,” hums appreciatively. “this is how i like to see you, daughter mine. bent over and ready to submit.”

you squirm, thighs clenching at the low timbre of his voice; the deepening of it as he calls you his daughter. jesus. this is so fucked up.

his finger trails the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of your pussy. he fingers at the hem of your panties, right next to your pussy, watching the way you react to his touch as he teases the edge of your underwear like he’s inspecting it. he sees the wetness seeping through the black fabric and chuckles. “that desperate, baby?” he asks.

you say nothing, still processing the situation you find yourself in and he slaps your ass harshly, making you jolt. “answer,” he says darkly. “or i’ll just spank you and send you to bed without release. is that what you want, little girl?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head fervently. you won’t deny it; the idea of being spanked by mingyu, not for sex, not for foreplay, but solely for punishment, is embarrassingly tantalising. but you’ve been waiting too long to have him touch you like this again and if you don’t get to feel his dick inside you tonight you might actually go insane. “no, i don’t,” you say.

he laughs, pinching the sensitive skin of your thigh and rubbing the red mark soothingly. “look at you,” he chuckles. “so bratty and disrespectful but so quick to submit once i use a bit of force. can’t believe i wasted my time on your mother when i had this little kitten here waiting for me.”

his words are like cold water as they wash over you— your mother. this isn’t just your stepfather— this is your mother’s husband. this is the man she loves and relies on, who swore to be hers for the rest of his life. and you’re bent over his lap and trying desperately not to grind against his thick, strong thigh. you’re the worst daughter ever.

and if you weren’t before, you certainly are when you mewl out a desperate, “please, daddy, fuck me.”

“hm,” he says. “such good manners, i’m almost tempted.” his finger trails along your panties before finally sliding over your covered pussy. you gasp, squirming again when he ghosts over your clit. he presses down a little, enough to make you pulse slightly, then lets go. “what a shame you had to be such a brat.”

you make a noise of confusion, craning your head around to see mingyu sliding your panties down to your ankles, exposing you fully to him with your skirt by now halfway up your back. you catch his gaze and he raises an eyebrow. “turn around,” he says. “i’m gonna teach you how to fucking act around me.”

swallowing, you obey, turning around to bury your head in the pillows of the couch. you feel him raise the thigh you’re bent over, giving him easier access. you close your eyes, bracing for the first hit against your ass. you’re ready for it, you think— what you’re not ready for, is for him to suddenly tilt you forwards and start slapping your pussy instead.

the first strike makes you shriek and he gives you no time to recover before continuing. your pussy is far more sensitive than your ass, not to mention dripping, but he hits you with the same brute strength he’d used on your ass and face. the pain is white hot and searing and you hear the impact of each slap; and the wet, squelching sound of his hand against fluid gushing from you. strings of cream are connecting to his hand, following it each time he pulls away to wind up for another hit. you feel him hardening beneath you and adjust yourself a little without realising, trying to grind against his cock subconsciously. he grabs your waist to tug you back into place and delivers an extra hard swat right on your clit.

it’s so painful and so arousing that you don’t even notice when it’s over. not until he’s pulled you off his lap and pressed his leaking cock against his entrance do you finally realise what’s happening. he’s going to fuck you. finally.

he leans over where you’ve found yourself on all fours on the couch, lips pressing against your ear. “ask me to fuck you, baby,” he whispers. you gasp as he rubs himself against you and he chuckles. “c’mon, filthy girl. ask me nicely.”

“p-please,” you stutter. all your nerves are on fire and pushing against your skin, senses heightened as he slowly starts to push into you. “more,” he groans.

“daddy,” you gasp. his hands are on your waist as he guides himself into you, moaning at the way you sob his name. “fuck,” he grunts.

when he finally gets in all the way it’s overwhelming; mingyu is huge, beyond huge, and you’ve never been this full before. you feel him pressing against your cervix even without moving yet there’s none of the pain or discomfort that someone of his size would usually bring. it feels right. like you were made to take him and he was made to take you.

he starts moving without a word; slow thrusts that get faster and harder until he’s completely pounding you, fucking into you desperately like a wild animal. he sounds like one, too; you both do, yelling and grunting as you pushing yourselves deeper into the other. his grip on your waist is bruising but comfortable and you sink into it, lost in pleasure.

you chant his name on repeat — “daddy, daddy, daddy” — the only word that comes to you as he fucks you open. he leans over you, pressing his face into the back of your neck and kissing down the top of your back before straightening up again, angling himself to go deeper.

“you love this, don’t you?” he spits. “love being whored out by your stepfather. is that why you moved back home? to make yourself available to me?”

you groan at his words, clenching around him. you both know that’s not true, but it may as well be— you certainly won’t be moving back out again anytime soon now. you want to stay with him, be available for him— a waiting hole for him to use. fuck, you're depraved, but so is he; he groans when you say it out loud, thrusting harder. “that’s right,” he grunts. “just a hole f’me. just a fuck toy for your daddy, yeah?”

you choke, crying out when he slams into you again. you reach your arms back, trying to touch him and he grabs them, folding them against your back and holding you down.

“i knew it,” he laughs. “knew from the moment i met you that you just needed some dick. knew it had to be mine, fuck.”

“yes,” you gasp. “yours, yours, gyu, has to be yours.” you’re babbling and delirious now and he’s fucking high on it. he presses more of his weight onto you, trapping you beneath him— as if you’d ever want to get away.

“good girl,” he whispers. “i’m gonna fuck you every fucking day. every time that bitch leaves the house you’re gonna come and fucking present yourself to me, understand? gonna come offer up your holes to daddy.”

“yes,” you whine. “always, daddy.”

“i’m never fucking your mother again,” he says. “i’ve got this perfect little pussy now instead and it’s all mine.”

by now the sensations of his dick slamming into you have become a constant rhythm, allowing you to cling to it as you go dumber and dumber on his cock. you could stay like this forever; split open and abused while he spits filth into your ear; but you can tell from the clenching of your pussy and the throbbing of his cock that you’re both close to the edge. he grunts, grabbing your hair to pull your head backwards and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “good girl,” he says, movements speeding up. “i’m gonna cum in you. gonna put a fucking kid in you. you want that?”

you know mingyu knows you’re on birth control; he’s seen the pills you keep in the medicine cabinet and heard you discuss your prescription with your mother. but fuck, the idea of him getting you pregnant, your own stepfather knocking you up, is so twisted and exhilarating that it propels you towards your orgasm. you feel yourself releasing over his dick, drenching the couch and he makes a noise of delight. “didn’t know you squirted, baby,” he moans. “that’s so fucking perfect, god.”

“daddy,” you moan. “mingyu.” you’ve gone limp on his dick now, fucked out and exhausted but you’re smart enough to recognise that this stops when he’s finished. he’s almost there, though, you can tell; his grip on your tightens, moans getting louder until he spits out a “clench, slut,” and releases into you the moment you obey.

he collapses on top of you once he’s done, face pressed into your back. you’re both filthy; covered in sweat and cum and drool but you don’t care. you’ve never felt so satisfied in your fucking life.

mingyu pulls you into his arms and you relax into his hold, breathing deeply against his chest. it’s perfect peace, utter bliss— while it lasts. minutes later he jumps up, looking panicked.

you stare up at him in confusion. “mingyu?”

“your mother’s coming back,” he says. your stomach drops. “in 30 fucking minutes.”

panic takes over and you force yourself to your feet; it’s dizzying and disorients you for a moment, but mingyu is quick to catch you when you stumble, helping you steady yourself before he releases you. mercifully, most of the mess is on the two of you; the couch is pretty much clean. mingyu orders you into the shower and you obey, scrubbing away all the evidence of what you’ve just done. you hear him run past your room a few minutes later, and when you emerge, you’re both clean and in your pyjama. only the way he looks at you as you walk downstairs together gives away what’s happened.

your mother looks tired when she walks through the door, but smiles sweetly when she spots her husband and daughter waiting in the kitchen for her. she plants a long, wet kiss on mingyu’s lips and you feel your stomach twist in envy. looking away, you turn back to see his eyes on you, dark and scrutinising as your mother sits down at the table.

“how are my loves?” she asks. you smile weakly at her, wracked with guilt but at the same time wishing she would just get the fuck out so you can fuck her husband again.

mingyu puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it fondly, but his eyes never leave you as he speaks.

“we’re perfect.”

-

requests open! feedback, reblogs and comments are appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[hai7ani]

mmmm no super great ideas for you but im craving for virgin!rindou and single mom reader… aaaaaauhagghg.

collection

慢一點，久一點，真一點。

Rindou initiates the talk first.

It happens on a game of WNRS in your living room, takeout boxes long forgotten on the coffee table. The TV is playing a movie you're sure neither of you are really watching, yet you still want to pretend that you are.

You've been giggling at him for the past hour. He's a pretty funny guy, you think. Doesn't have as big of an ego you thought guys like him would have.

He's a nerd who's always so observant and nice. He's nice to you, your son, the ladies living in your apartment complex who always needs help switching light bulbs because they're too old for that now. One time behind doors Yuzuha's said that she'd smash if he weren't such a loser all the time.

(You think he is, too.

But it's what that makes him so... fuckable.

You think it's bad that you keep having these thoughts, knowing that you're most probably leading him on.

You're not ready yet.

But your heart still thumps weirdly when he comes to visit with warm food and occasionally new toys that you can tell he's had a hard time picking for your boy 一 because he's somehow always one colour off, or one category away.

When he bought Hot Wheels, the kid's already moved on to playing Legos. And when he gifted an expensive Star Wars set that he saved up for, the little shit just has to be in his Mommy phase.)

He gets embarrassed easily and you can just tell he's a virgin with the way he treats porn magazines that Yuzuha has somehow gotten her hands on, stuffed behind cabinets so that Shou doesn't find them. Neither of you let her know that she's been exposed, but it's more fun this way.

He's just a guy. Genuine, very smart despite what he says. Not book smart, but he reads up on things a lot. A bit clumsy at times, but he's still responsive than most men.

He's easy to talk to. Easy to know.

Easy to一

"What's a compliment you wished you received more frequently? Oh, dang. I gotta think about this." He flips the card around, throwing his head back onto the couch.

And yet again一

"Do you wanna go first?"

What are guys like him?

"I wish more people told me I was pretty."

Your response came to you naturally. It poured like waterfall, thorny chain tightening around your heart, squeezing your flesh tight, and you busy yourself with a loose thread on your blanket.

Rindou only stares at you from the other end of the couch. Almost like a deadpan, but not really. His violets pierce through your soul, dissecting you up one by one. You don't make eye contact even when you can hear the silent screams for you to look at him.

"You're kidding."

"What? It's true."

"No. I mean, no one tells you that all the time?"

You crack a smile, glancing up to take just one quick look. He's still as handsome as ever, boyish features much more prominent under the yellow light illuminating the room.

Soft nose, pretty doe eyes. Cracked lips pink from the Malatang you love eating. Veiny hands 一 one thick, desirable finger twirling around the drawstring of his pants 一 that draws you in so close you can't help but go wild at the sight.

"What, you think I'm pretty?"

He doesn't cough like you'd expected him to. Doesn't get embarrassed or act any more like a classic, textbook virgin at your poke.

"Yeah. You're pretty." His voice gets softer with every syllable. Dodgy eyes looking away with each word.

You don't respond at that, but you can't lie that his compliment did make you feel something swirling on the inside. Something blooming in your tummy from the way his eyes look into your own.

It's true 一 you haven't been told for your looks as much as you've always wanted. You're hot, you're sexy, sure 一 but you haven't been pretty to them. You've always hoped that they could see past your body 一 to see you for who you are on the inside.

"You're一" He shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling a little too hot, heart beating a little too fast in his chest. "You're pretty, okay. You always spend too much time in the mirror but I think you're fine just like this."

You purse your lips, listening.

"You're... Shit, I'm一"

You understand him when he throws his pillow to the side to run fingers through his hair. He's not always good with words, hasn't always been. But he still tries, and you like that about him.

He always puts in effort.

"You're pretty, like music. There's no boundaries, no... box. You can be anything. It's cool."

You grin at that. "Really?"

A nod. "I can tell you that everyday from now on."

An awkward silence too heavy for any of you to handle covers the room like blanket too fast. The soft, anticipating smirk on his face drops when you shift in your seat, clicking your tongue. Fingers scratching at your brows, teeth biting into the corners of your lips.

"Rindou, I'm sorry if I have been leading you on, I一" You sigh. "I don't think I'm ready for一."

"No, wait一" He tries inching a hand towards you but you dodge. "I thought we一 Aren't we onto something here?"

Rindou feels pathetic. He feels as if he's reaching for something that seems close but is still so, so far away.

"No, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back for tonight's dinner. And I don't think you should come over so often anymore. I'll talk to Shou-chan, have him understand."

He lets out a breath too short, standing on his feet as if it'll help him figure you out better. "Why? Is it me?"

"I just don't think it's fair to you, okay? We should stop. I'm sorry."

"What isn't fair to me?"

You give him a look so sad that his heart hurts.

"You're gonna be dealing with a kid that's not yours. He's hyperactive and naughty before bed. He's picky with food and doesn't like taking showers. Worst of all you're gonna be dealing with me. I'm not easy. I'm difficult to manage, to handle, to一 You'll not like me anymore when you see it for yourself. Guys like you deserve better things."

Fuck.

Rindou scrunches his brows, face twisting into one of confusion, one that makes you seem crazy for saying what you said.

"Why do you say these things about yourself? Why do you say these things about him? He's just a kid, I'm not good with kids but I'm sure I can handle him out of all." He throws his hands up in the air a little. "And, seriously, guys like me? What am I like? Why do you assume that way about me? I'm not that kind of person. I don't like doing that."

You fight the tears threatening to fall. It hurts, to say the least.

"Like, why do you think I've been around for so long? I would've turned on my back long ago if you and Shou were so hard to love."

requests are open

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone it's another Wednesday <3 I was tagged by the wonderful @ladytanithia @changelingsandothernonsense @lillxart @theoneandonlysemla

Tagging: @captain-of-silvenar @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @bougainvillea-and-saltwater

@umbracirrus @firefly-factory @thequeenofthewinter @lucien-lachance @sanza-17 @hircines-hunter @scholarlyhermit @sulphuricgrin

Was hoping to post some more Vevora/Aicanatr stuff but unfortunately it just ain't working rn but! I was able to get some writing done on a wip that's been sitting around since November. Below is some of my Theomar love confession rewrite <3 Man down so bad he volunteered to go to Windhelm post-Civil War as an excuse to see her <3 <3 <3 Under cut for length, one slightly horny line, and she takes that mer drinking at the Cornerclub :P

There could not be a worse time for him to fall for her, become so entangled in wanting her that it made him desire to abandon his post. But if that were a doable feat, then the standards that made him feel that way would not be as strict as they are. Their deeply grim reality did not stop the love, admitting it to himself had been like a dam bursting; the drops of sustaining professional praise could not compete with the rapids of intimacy. Her hands on his face, letting him lie on her breasts and listen to the calming sound of her heartbeat, how her legs would pull him in closer until he was- Enough. There he went getting too far ahead and wrapped up in her yet again. The sigh heard from him sounds more of a stifled groan to which he gets a confused, yet intrigued look from the Imperial woman. He provides a quick cover up. 

“My apologies, it would seem I let myself get distracted by you again.” 

“Why Commander, you really must get better about that.” No. He had no intention of pushing her from his mind, it had already proven to be a losing battle. He prayed to be freed of her to now welcome the torment, retreating further into her. If had any power in the situation, he would absolutely not be in Windhelm right now, planning how to tell this Imperial soldier that he loved her. “I wouldn’t want you losing sight of things.”

“Oh, I think you would like it very much.” Finally, he remembers her question. “And yes, I did come all this way to see you. You ran through my mind constantly these past months, how could I not take advantage of the opportunity?” 

“I’ve missed you as well.” Controlling the elation he feels is difficult, uptick in his voice.  

“Is that so?”

“I did think about you on occasion.” When? Despite desperately wanting to know, he refrains, content to know she has noticed his absence. “It has been a few months, it is good to see you. Despite the circumstances…” Her words trail off a bit towards the end, the similar look from before only now she does see him. Staring up at him, her left eye twitched as though she would begin crying again.  

“You wouldn’t want to join me somewhere, would you?” Please he thinks. Please let me steal you from them, just a moment Theodora. Tapping her finger to her chin, she smirks at him. 

“Hmmm, I will but only if you join me somewhere first?” Oh What did she have in mind? He assumed she knew the city better than him, maybe there was somewhere else they could go…

“Tell me what do you have in mind?”

“Well, after the day I’ve had, I need a drink.” A quick glance at their surroundings before she taps his chest. “And I imagine you could use one as well.” 

“It would not hurt.” Anything you would like. That is what he wishes to say. Have his only concern making her happy and if there would be something other than mead available. But he has far more worries than that. 

“I cannot imagine the tavern will be a safe place for us.”

“No it would not be.” Confusing the Thalmor, she laughs. “Do you think so lowly of me to think I’d go there?”

“Where do you drink then, Theodora?” 

Regret is not what he feels, sitting at a table that is continuously blasted with cold air as the patrons of this Cornerclub, as it were, shuffle in and out. Offhandedly he wonders if they were passing by him purposely, seeking out more chances to lour at him in the way only Dunmer could. The scowls form the Nords, the shifted glances half outside his vision, those were all too easy to interpret: Damn elf. Uninspired. But the Dunmer, oh the Dunmer could hate with such sincerity that as the few who uttered something in addition to their glares, they did not need to say it in the common tongue. The Dunmeris meaning of the word unknown, their tone alone conveys the intent of an insult. It’s not important for him to know exactly how he is being insulted, though he could harbour a guess or two, simply saying it for their own satisfaction. It was somewhat impressive, in a peculiar way, but nonetheless, Ondolemar is slightly impressed. Perhaps he was just glad to be in the company of mer, regardless of what type of mer they are. Yet what does rouse further intrigue in him, however, is the decidedly lack of similar treatment Theodora receives. 

Ordering in their language and going relatively unnoticed as she returns to him, two strange jars that resemble nothing he had seen before, he comments on it. Not completely surprised as why would she frequent an establishment she was not welcomed in, this is still strangely welcoming. 

“You’re well liked here.” The woman places one jar in from of him before chuckling at his notion. Lovely to hear her laugh again after the pain that marked her face when they first spoke. 

“I wouldn't go that far, Commander.”

“You wouldn’t?” 

“I wouldn’t.” She opens the jar and takes a mouthful. “But speaking Dunmeris, having lived in Morrowind even if only for a few months, it does help. Still an Imperial bastard but I don’t have to pretend to be interested in mead and a poor rendition of the Dragonborn Comes at Candlehearth Hall.” Cyrodiil natives prided themselves on being cosmopolitan but Theodora was a true example of that. 

“Clearly you get along with many different kinds of people.”

“Clearly.” She rolls her eyes. He himself is the most damning evidence after all, but it is humorous her assessment of her person. 

“Well, I suppose Imperial bastard is correct in the most literal sense.”

“I prefer the term love child I’ll have you know.”

"Equally true, from what you have told me." He takes the lid off the concoction in front of him. “What would I be?”

“I suppose you could go ask, I bet Ambarys would be willing to tell you to your face.” Directing his attention to the barkeep with her eyes, the Altmer instead chooses to remain with the reason he’s here at all. Less interested in what he thought of her choice in company and more in enjoying what he came all this way for; her. 

“I believe my imagination will suffice.”

[unicyclehippo]

Hey, Ollie, you mentioned AGES ago that Show Me the Way Home (Avatrice) had a second chapter, it just wasn't perfect yet-- do you think you'll ever post it? Or is that officially an abandoned fic?

its not abandoned, i actually did some minor editing on it the other day. the problem is that its a very seasonally locked piece in my mind & also im lazy & also a perfectionist & also i want to watch wn again before i keep writing it bc i need to rmbr what the characters are like & basically any one of those obstacles are enough to shut me right down so.

it actually is a four part story & if u want, i can share a little with u now? maybe that'll make me feel better for not posting it yet lmao

thursday 22nd december

// 6:55 //

Beatrice stood by the doorway of her apartment, phone in hand and duffel bag at her feet, and wished she was already at her parent’s holiday home. 

It wasn’t that she thought their reunion would be simple or pleasant; it was more that today had started hot and was getting hotter and her parents kept their home at a crisp twenty-three degrees at all hours of the day and night, environmental impact be damned. As the humidity clung to her, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of her neck, Beatrice’s thoughts drifted to the crystal blue pool and the ocean wind that would blow up from the cove and she checked her phone again for any word from her driver. 

Camila’s voice travelled from the kitchen. ‘Maybe you should take the can opener with you. I mean, what if you need to open a can and you don’t have one? There might be beans. Baked beans, cannellini beans, red kidney beans.’

‘I’m sure my parents have one. They do have a kitchen. And a personal chef.’

Camila heard her. The apartment was too small for her not to have heard but she continued listing off every tinned item she could think of. 

‘Lentils, obviously. Diced tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, peeled tomatoes, puréed tomatoes.’ There was a long pause. Beatrice wondered if Camila was reading the labels of what they had in the pantry; if she was, those lentils had been there for a very long time. ‘Tinned peaches.’

‘I think those come with a tab now,’ Beatrice pointed out. She kept her voice mild, not really wanting to draw Camila’s attention to her hiding place by the door. 

At some point over the last few days, the nerves buzzing under Beatrice’s skin had jumped ship and now Camila was the one pacing the confines of their apartment. She’d picked over every inch of the house in search of things Beatrice might need—which ranged from the useful, like the good phone charger she’d “found” (definitely hadn’t stolen out of her room a month ago) to what could be charitably called not useful, like the can opener—and now she stood at the end of the hall bearing the can opener and a dark frown befitting a serial killer. 

Beatrice cleared her throat. Carefully, she said, ‘I really don’t think I need it.’

Camila looked down at her weapon. ‘Oh. Right. No, sure, of course not.’ She tossed it backward into the living room; it missed the couch, landing instead on the floor with a loud thud, the sound of their rental bond being instantly halved. Beatrice winced. Camila seemed not to have noticed, though, and with her hands now empty she returned to chewing nervously at her thumb nail. She scanned the living room, hawkish, before fixing her attention on Beatrice once more. 

‘Can I help you?’

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘Camila…’

‘Because you don’t have to. You know that, don’t you? It’s not your only option—you could come home with me again! My parents would love it, we’d all love it, I promise. And you wouldn’t be intruding at all, I swear. The boys ask about you all the time and when you’re coming to visit again.’

‘They’re very sweet.’

‘Sweet! When they want something, sure! They’re still hoping you’ll teach them how to throw people—they bring up your match with Conner every time I call home.’

‘Tell them I’ll think about it.’

‘That can be your Christmas present for them. And Pop, he says you’re the only good one of the bunch.’

‘It’s because I don’t talk.’

‘I know. Poor guy. Christmas in a household of me’s. It’s so loud we have to mime everything for him.’

Beatrice smiled. ‘He turns off his hearing aids.’

‘What? That sneak!’

‘Don’t tell him I was the one that dobbed him in.’

‘It’ll be the very first thing I say—then you won’t be his favourite anymore and the rest of us will have a fair shot.’ Laughter shone in her eyes; it faded a little as she stared at Beatrice, gaze flicking down to the duffel at her feet. ‘I’m serious, Bea. You could call up your parents and tell them you’re not coming anymore. I’d prefer you tell them to go fuck themselves but.’ She sucked in a breath, shook her head. ‘Bea. Don’t waste your time on them. Spend your holiday with people who want you around. Who love you.’

It was a tempting offer. Of course it was.

From the day they met, Camila had been Beatrice’s friend; from the second, her sister. She’d gone out of her way to be all that a sister could be—kind, understanding, supportive, deeply irritating—and offered it all without cost. Her family was just the same. 

Beatrice remembered last Christmas fondly. The singing, the laughter, her chair squashed up to the end of the table next to Camila’s, the friendly chatter, the elbows bumping, the squabbles breaking out, the yet more guests arriving and pulling up a chair, the pass the salt, pass the butter, pass the damn water would you I’m dying over here, where’s the champagne, Arthur we don’t need another bottle of champagne it’s not even midday for Christssake, Beatrice do you want a second serve help yourself sweetheart, when do we open the presents. It had been loud, sometimes overwhelming, and wonderful all the same. 

But. 

Beatrice shook her head. 

Camila sighed. ‘I had to try, obviously.’

‘I know. Thank you.’ She set her hand on Camila’s wrist and squeezed. ‘I appreciate it, very much. Please tell them… Please tell everyone I miss them and that I’ll see them soon.’

‘You mean for your surprise birthday party?’

Beatrice smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Good. Because mum’s going to need a menu from you—’

‘I thought we agreed we’d buy the food, Camila, I’m not making your mum cook for me.’

‘She likes to cook for her kids. Unless you want me to tell her you’d prefer eating a stranger’s food over hers?’ Beatrice scowled at the bold threat. ‘That’s what I thought. Pick what you want and I’ll tell her. Better yet, text her yourself.’

‘If I know your mother, she has something in mind already.’

‘More like eleven somethings.’ 

They shared an identical grin. Camila’s mother had a small habit of going overboard for parties and events. A buzz broke the moment. They both glanced down at Beatrice’s phone. 

Mr. Morris I have arrived

Beatrice Thank you. I will be there momentarily.

Beatrice nodded. This was it. She slid her phone into her pocket. ‘Mister Morris is here. I should go.’ To Camila’s suddenly stricken expression, she soothed, ‘It will be fine, Camila.’ And, because she was not completely oblivious to Camila’s concern, ‘I will be fine.’

‘I know that. Of course I know that. But I want—you don’t have to be just fine. You should be having fun. You’re my best friend, Bea, I want you to be happy.’

Beatrice paused. She struggled for a moment to think of a way to explain the purpose of this holiday to Camila, explain her purpose, in a way that she would understand and accept. 

‘It means so much,’ she began, carefully, ‘to be welcome in your family. But they will always be your family.’

‘Bea…’

‘You and they are all beyond generous.’ She held up a hand to stop Camila interrupting. ‘I know they love me, and I love them. I do love Christmas with your family. It’s always wonderful and comfortable and fun.’ She paused, considering her words. ‘But this is - this is about me,’ she admitted with difficulty, and was rewarded for the effort when Camila softened. ‘I want to go. I need to find out whether I have a place with them or not. And I’ve been so uncertain of how it might turn out that I haven’t tried. But this invitation is an opportunity. One would like to make the most of.’

Camila grabbed both of her hands and pulled her close. Very intensely, she said, ‘Okay.'

'Okay? Just like that?' Beatrice asked, doubtful.

'Yeah. I’m not going to say I understand because I don’t. It honestly makes me furious and a little bit sick to think of you going back to them. But I love you and I trust you and I want you to call me if you need anything. And whatever happens, Beatrice, you always have a place with me. Always.’

Beatrice smiled. Shifted so that she was the one holding Camila’s hands. Her friend wouldn’t let her go willingly and there was a big part of Beatrice that wanted to let herself be held tight and give in to her friend’s protectiveness, to be bundled safely up into Camila’s terrifying little car and trundling off to visit family. 

It was hard to pull free. 

Beatrice stepped back and opened the door.

‘There’s no need to fret, Camila. I’ll have Ava with me, remember?’

‘Yeah. I know. It’ll be great, you’ll see.’ The tightness around her eyes told Beatrice she didn’t quite believe her own words. ‘And you’ll call me.’

‘Every day.’

With one last hug, Beatrice picked up her bags and left. 

// 7:03 //

The town car waited for her outside the apartment. It was sleek and black, washed and polished; the only evidence of the recent storms were faint specks of grey mud deep in the tyre wells.

Beatrice stopped at the bottom of the stairs, observing the car and its driver—Mister Morris, patiently stood at the kerb—and swallowed around a lump in her throat. He looked the same as when she had left. A little more silver in his hair.

He might not have changed much but she had. Now that she was grown (or perhaps, now that she was not in that household), she found herself full of questions—where was it that Mister Morris had driven from? Where did he live? Had the storms been bad on his side of town? How had he passed the time? Had they lost power? (She and Camila had huddled in their living room—it was, Camila had insisted, the perfect weather for a marathon of gory slashers—and the rain had hammered against the windows with frightening strength but had done no damage. She knew others had not been so fortunate.) Most pressing of all, how had he been? Questions that could not be answered by hiding.

Beatrice gripped the strap of her duffel and, setting her shoulders, marched to meet him.

‘Good morning, Mister Morris.’

‘Miss Turner,’ he greeted her, his smile small but true. ‘A pleasure to see you again. How are you?’

‘Quite well, thank you.’ Then, keeping her tone light and brisk, ‘And yourself?’

‘Very well, Miss Turner. Very well.’ It looked as if he wanted to say something more but then he only smiled and cleared his throat. ‘Your luggage, Miss?’

‘I can see to it myself.’

Beatrice stashed her duffel in the boot then folded herself neatly into the backseat. Mr. Morris retook the driver’s seat. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Beatrice fixed her eyes on the headrest in front of her.

‘We have another stop to make, Mr Morris.’

‘Yes, miss. Do you have the address?’

‘I do.’ She ran a finger along the inside of her watchband, rubbing away the sweat that had gathered there. She made it a notch tighter, then loosened once more. ‘They are - That is to say, she is my—’

Mr. Morris met her eyes in the rear-view mirror. His were green and kind. The kindness did not make it easier to say.

‘She is my girlfriend.’ 

‘Yes. I know.’

‘Oh.’

‘Though your mother used slightly different terminology. Companion, I believe she said.’ He kept his eyes locked onto the rearview mirror. When Beatrice glanced into it again, he said warmly, ‘Congratulations, miss. That’s wonderful. I’m very glad to hear it.’

When she had been younger, there had been a stretch of time where running away had seemed very appealing. Each time she attempted it, Beatrice had never made it further than the park four streets from her home. She’d been too pragmatic, even at ten years old, but she’d also been stubborn so Beatrice had say there in the swing until someone noticed; whomever did notice, it was always Mr. Morris who collected her. She was reminded of it as he started the engine. The sound of its growl scared old memories out of hiding—she remembered how the plastic swing creaked, the feel of the metal chain in her little hands, how the gravel of the park entry had crunched beneath the town car tyres. How the headlights had washed over her and away with the tilt of his park and how invisible she’d felt when the lights turned off. Like a ghost haunting the playground.

Beatrice stared thoughtfully at his back, remembering how he would climb out of the car and sit next to her on a too-small swing until she’d been ready to return.

‘Thank you, Mr Morris.’

He nodded. Then, ‘I do still need her address, miss.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course.’

[illegalpaladin]

Drabble request: spones arguing over how to approach Jim about becoming mcspirk

Thank you for the prompt!! I am ALWAYS down for Spones arguments.

I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

“Would you stop acting like this is so goddamn simple?”

McCoy is standing next to his desk in his office. Spock stands only a few feet away. While McCoy has his arms crossed over his chest, Spock's hands are still clasped casually behind his back.

“I fail to see why you believe the situation is so complicated,” Spock says flatly.

McCoy could scream. He wants to grab Spock by the shoulders and shake him. “Because Jim is the one that pushed us together in the first place, you pointy-eared calculator!”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Once again, I fail to see the significance.”

“Do you really not understand?” McCoy leans in closer, until he's inches away from Spock’s face. “If he wanted us that way, he would've said something then!”

Spock's eyebrow remains arched, and his head cocks slightly. He makes no effort to step away. “You have miscalculated, Leonard.”

“I haven't! We've got to play our cards right! We can't afford to mess this up!”

Spock stays calm and collected, and it's enough to make McCoy feel like he's losing his mind. “If we wish for Jim to know how we feel, Leonard,” he sighs, “we must tell him directly.”

“How you feel about what?”

McCoy's head snaps to the side, towards the doorway. Jim steps into the room, and the door slides shut behind him.

Shit.

“What must you tell me directly?”

Jim steps closer, and it takes all of McCoy's willpower to keep from stepping away.

“Nothing important,” McCoy says quickly. He feels the panic rising. “Just–”

“Leonard and I wish for you to join in our relationship,” Spock interrupts. “He insists that we must win you over. I believe a direct approach to be best.”

Silence.

McCoy feels his cheeks heating up. His heart pounds. His breaths are coming so quickly that he feels dizzy.

He gathers the courage to look at Jim just in time to see the shock on his face morph into laughter.

Jim laughs so hard he doubles over, and McCoy doesn't know what to feel when Jim wipes a tear from his eye.

“I'm afraid Spock wins the argument this time, Bones,” Jim chuckles. He straightens up, finally having composed himself enough, and looks to McCoy with a bright smile. “You’ve already won me over. I've wanted both of you for a long time.”

McCoy opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. He looks to Spock, who looks unsurprised, but McCoy can still see the flicker of joy in his features.

He turns back to Jim. “Why the hell did you set the two of us up, then?”

Jim shrugs sheepishly. “You two were so obviously enamored with each other that I figured I didn't stand a chance. But that didn't mean I didn't want you to be happy.”

McCoy's heart clenches. “Why, Jim–”

“I believe we can both agree definitively that my stance on the matter was correct.” Spock straightens up and looks to McCoy with a twinkle in his eye. “Right, Leonard?”

McCoy narrows his eyes. “You want me to admit that you were right?”

“It would only be appropriate,” Spock answers with the slightest shrug.

“He's right, Bones. It's the least you can do.”

McCoy looks to Jim to find him grinning, and McCoy scowls back. “Is this how it's gonna be now? You're gonna start taking sides?”

Jim shrugs. His eyes are bright, and McCoy has a feeling Jim couldn't stop smiling if he tried.

McCoy deflates as that same joy sweeps through his own body and the fight fades away. “Fine. Just this once, I'll admit that Spock may have had the better approach.” He turns to Spock. “Happy?”

“I am quite satisfied.” Spock's lips are turned into the smallest of smiles. “And this will not be something I allow you to forget.”

[rookieoneil]

Controversial rant 🧍🏽‍♀️

Spoilers (7x03) (not John Nolan friendly)

JOHN NOLAN

Nolan is fucking reckless. He’s doing exactly what Tim did last season. Going after someone for a personal agenda. He’s supposed to be a teacher, how is Celina expected to make it as a cop when her teacher A isn’t teaching, and B is constantly making the job personal (something Celina, Angela, and Lucy got in trouble for) I wish for ONCE they treat him like they treat everyone else.

This episode alone let’s look at this. Seth and Miles got in trouble for saving a civilian successfully (as they should) and Nolan- instead of saving a civilian (that’s protocol) he went after a suspect and made a deal with said suspect (who got away) because it was in HIS best interest.

The man ended up losing over two pints of blood! Which could have been a lot less than it could have been. Idk if he died (probably not) but still this is crazy.

Not the point. My point is he didn’t get in trouble at all.

I know the difference being they are rookies and John’s not but still. John is constantly getting away with shit that anyone else would have been prosecuted for.

Not to mention him talking to a suspect and jeopardizing the case of two teenagers who lost their lives because it benefited him. Like how is any of what he did allowed?!? How is able to continue a personal investigation with consequences??? Tim got “demoted” (fired?) from metro because of his personal investigation. How is this different? Because John let a dangerous guy get away, and almost let someone else die.

“He was doing it for his wife” idc. Let other people deal with this. Not him. He’s too close to this,

As a husband, he’s protective and good for him, as a cop he’s reckless and will get someone killed

Ughhh I just hate John Nolan with everything I am. Never make me like him.

CHENFORD

Despite popular belief, I think that Rachel is here to get Chenford back together. I don’t think she’s here for alternative reasons.

Also I think that this friendship/ team work that they are creating will make their relationship in the future be 10x better. They need this time to reconnect let’s not get them back together for a good minute because they BOTH need to grow.

Lucy

Baby girl is finally getting a friend again. I feel like Celina and she still have a strained relationship and having gotten to a close friendship YET. But Rachel being back is good for her. Look at that trauma dump she needed to let out.

I hope my sunshine girl starts gaining her sunshine back

Jalya

James stf. I 100% agree with his stance cause those teens deserve justice. But that is not the time or place. I think he needs to learn how to leave his work at work. Wesley too.

I think Nyla needs to be more open to conversation and not just stopping James. They both need a lot of growth in communication as a COUPLE. Not communication just about work.

They need to create boundaries. Like please boundaries will save yallll

Wopez

Wesley needs to fucking let it go. Angela is not gonna cheat, and now he’s letting it affect his home life. Like bro I hate to break it to you but in the world she works in, so many of those men think about Angela like that. Like it sucks and those men suck, BUT Angela went into that career knowing that. It sucks that women have to even acknowledging this part of a job. But it’s reality and if Welsey thinks this is the only man who has those thoughts then hes really showing his privilege as man.

He’s acting like this one man has flipped his world over. Like dude. 😐 the detective -idk his name- is an asshole. And he’s not the only one in that police station who has that thought about fellow female officers. If Wesley truly believed that the first one then he’s naive. You can say oh it’s probably because the detective works so close with Angela but like Angela was in patrol, she worked with plenty of men like that. Welsey has to know this.

I don’t like that they’re leaning into this idea that if Angela knows about how this detective feels about her then she’ll cheat. Like I know that they’re not actually saying that but they’re insinuating it and I don’t like that at all. Because she loves Wesley. She wouldn’t cheat on him so I’m like why are we even playing with this plot line. It felt like they picked this plot out of a hat and was like yeah this works because they didn’t know what to do with Wopez this season.

Being a woman in a man’s field is horrible and it sucks, and as a rich white man married to a Columbia & Mexican Woman you shouldn’t be delusional enough to believe she’s respected in the same way you are. You should know about what she’s most likely facing everyday. You should not get jealous over slimes men, and instead educate yourself 👏🏼 it should take you 7+ years to figure that out buddy (btw I love Wesley I just don’t like his plot this season).

[milla-frenchy]

Get to know your moots

Thanks for the tag @yxtkiwiyxt @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ace-turned-confused @thundermartini @joelmillerisapunk 🙏❤️

what's the origin of your blog title?: Milla Jovovich in the 5th element, and also I wanted people to know why my grammar is awful 😶

favorite fandoms: ppcu

OTP(s) + shipname: Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling

favorite color: black 

favorite game: tlou (both games)

song stuck in your head: spite - Omar Apollo. I’m obsessed with it

weirdest habit/trait?: I have a ton, but none of them are weird (to me 😁)

hobbies: video games, tv shows, writing fics, listening to music

if you work, what's your profession? I check whether construction projects comply with the law

if you could have any job you wish what would it be? if I could I wouldn’t work tbh. But I think I’d be happier if I worked in a bookstore or a flower shop

something you're good at: listening, I think. And if I’m invested in something I need it to be perfect, so if someone asks me to do something, it should be nicely done

something you're bad at: I don't always know where my boundaries are until I realize I crossed them, and it's too late. I'm done with the thing or the people that asked too much of me and I disappear (and I didn't even see it coming)

something you love: calm. Being at home, quiet

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: honestly when I’m comfortable with the person, I can talk about everything

something you hate: a lot of things, I can be super grumpy 🙃 Yesterday I was at the movies. Some people were talking too loudly, others were eating during a silent scene and I just wanted to throw them out. In general I don't like noisy people and I hate rudeness. I’m not comfortable with intrusive people or when people come too close to me physically

something you collect: tickets (plane, activities done while traveling, movies, concerts…) I live in nostalgia, and keeping them is a need for me

something you forget: I have a very weird memory. I can remember some details from 15 years ago, and forget something you told me 2 min ago. I still don’t know how this damn memory works

what's your love language?: acts of service, listening, being there when they need me

favorite movie/show: the silence of the lambs, seven, narcos, friends, luther, the last of us, 6 feet under

favorite food: we have some really good meals with cheese and potatoes in France (raclette, gratin dauphinois, tartiflette…) and I love them. And pasta never disappoints (I love italian food)

favorite animal: I’m a cat person, but I’m fascinated by orcas

what were you like as a child? I was quiet and shy, already anxious af and didn’t want people to know it

favorite subject at school? english, geography, history

least favorite subject? maths and sciences. I feel dumb af when it comes to that

what's your best character trait? I’m a good listener, I think. When I love, I love hard. If my friends are attacked I feel like my heart is ripped in two

what's your worst character trait? I overthink everything. And when I don’t, I don’t give a fuck. Which is very disturbing, even for me 🤯

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? I’d stop working and lie on my couch. But today’s a good day, I work from home, so it’s ok

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? Honestly if I could travel in time I’d just want to see my mom again

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): raider!joel @toxicanonymity is my roman empire. I said it a million times, and I’ll say it again 😍🖤

I’m working on a list of my all time favorite fics that I will share soon, I hope. I have old lists here

npt: @aurorawritestoescape @iamasaddie @toxicanonymity @604to647 @schnarfer

@sawymredfox @iknowisoundcrazy @baronessvonglitter @bonezone44 @magpiepills

@pascalssbabyy @tateypots @sunshineispunk and whoever wants to 🙏

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM "THE SECRET OF US" BY GRACIE ABRAMS *  assorted lines from the album, some slightly reworked to suit a roleplay format, adjust as necessary

i felt good about you until i didn't.

you got what you demanded.

i can't believe the way we landed.

we were fighting more than laughing.

they tried to stop me wanting you.

i was never meant to listen.

i felt good about you.

you felt nice for a bad decision.

you really got me thinking.

look at me now.

you said i wouldn't do it.

it didn't work out.

i'm not proud.

guess i'm just scared of you shooting it down.

you can talk.

you could be bad.

i wanna find out.

i feel like i could die 'cause you're not here.

it doesn't feel right.

god, i'm actually invested.

isn't it fun thinking i'm right when i'm probably wrong?

you'll be my favorite mistake.

i wish you could hold me.

why aren't you here in my bedroom?

it's hopelessly boring without you.

it's too soon to tell you "i love you."

i think i really want this. i'm not even kidding.

it didn't hurt.

i still hate the image of you kissing her.

it's all for the better.

is she prettier than she was on the internet?

are your conversations cool?

are you even interested?

i know what you are.

tell me if she takes you far.

they're just blowing smoke.

i'll say what they won't.

i know everything they don't.

i sleep alone. i'm completely fine.

you look stupid going out.

if she's got a pulse, she meets your standards.

i find your books pretentious now.

i was so impressed at your hotel.

i told the truth.

you didn't like it. you went home.

that's just the way life goes.

trust me, i know it's always about me.

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first.

i was a dick. it is what it is.

i tend to laugh whenever i'm sad.

what the hell was i doing?

do you miss us?

it felt like something holy.

i know. i'm a walking contradiction and it shows.

i've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

here's to hoping you're worth all my time.

i let it happen.

it's the only thing that helps me sleep at night.

turn me into something tragic.

it's whatever, but i could die.

thank god that you're not seeing this.

i'll spare you from everything.

i hate when we fight.

i feel like i'm home.

that's just tough love.

i swear to god, i haven't thought of you in ages.

i heard that almost killed you.

i can't pretend that i'm sorry.

we could talk.

you had the wrong idea about me.

you were my worst time.

am i what you wanted?

i'm just so embarrassed now.

you got bored, and i felt used.

i sat and listened.

when did you slip through my fingers?

it's a normal thing to fall in love with movie stars.

the story you want is the story you get.

maybe that was the beginning of our love affair.

don't worry, i know i'll see you again.

now it all comes down to you.

i hope you're happy.

this isn't what you wanted.

i finally know better than to wait for you back there.

you're the saddest.

i swear that i'm not mad at you.

i was brave when i kissed you in london.

i burn for you.

you don't even know my name.

you could be mine tonight.

i'd give you everything.

just let me be close to you.

[charlottesbookclub]

time after time – chapter one (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: Much to the general's displeasure, Mitaka has arranged for Hux to meet with a captain who has recently transferred to the Finalizer. The meeting does not go particularly well.

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; description of a medical appointment; medical anxiety; description of an injection; description of fainting as a result of an injection; Hux is quite rude lol, but hey he has to start somewhere, right?; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 2752

Author’s Note: hell yeah chapter one babeyyyy!! I'm so excited for y'all to finally start reading this story! I definitely wanted to start Hux from a place where he was very much closed off to others, so that's why we get him being quite rude at this initial point. for me at least, it makes it even more fun to watch the trajectory of both the relationship and him as a character ☺️ I also want to give huge credit to a blog that used to go by armitages-galaxy for their incredible headcanons about Hux hating medical which have lived rent free in my head since I read them (if the person who ran that blog has a new url you'd like me to tag, please let me know!). I hope you enjoy the first chapter! 🥰

Hux’s datapad pinged. It was a message from Mitaka.

Don’t forget about your “exploratory interpersonal reconnaissance mission!" 😉

Hux scowled and snatched the datapad off the desk, furiously tapping out his reply. Ever since he had expressed his emphatic disinterest in using the word “date” for this forced meet-up, Mitaka had been creating ever more obscure and complex names to refer to it.

I never forget anything. Even meetings I do not wish to attend.

He cast the datapad back on the desk, running his hands over his face, pressing his palms against his closed eyes. How could he have let Mitaka talk him into this? Another ping.

Please try not to be so… Mitaka unsent the message, but not before the notification popped onto Hux’s screen. Another rush of frustration ran through Hux before something else took over. What was the last word in that sentence? Hux shifted in his seat, suddenly noticing an odd feeling in his stomach. Then Mitaka messaged again:

Please just try! I think you’ll actually really like the captain if you would just give it a chance

Hux huffed a sigh. This captain he was meant to be meeting was some academy friend of Mitaka’s older sister, recently transferred to the Finalizer from field work. Something about doing recruitment planetside. Hux hadn’t really been listening when Mitaka had explained it, which had been the vital mistake that had led to this whole mess. Somewhere along the line Mitaka had mentioned that the two of you would get on well, and Hux unknowingly made a noise of assent in response to the suggestion of a potential first meeting. He had just been trying to show the lieutenant that he had been listening – which, of course, he hadn’t been, although that was hardly his fault. He was far too busy preparing the plans for Starkiller to entertain the inane comments from his personal staff that he might benefit from someone in his life aside from his work. Hux scoffed at the memory. What idiocy. Someone else would only distract him from the many tasks at hand. But if it would get his staff to be silent on the topic for a while, he supposed he could at least show up.

I will be there. I have to be at medical first, but I will attend the meeting.

Hux sent the message back to Mitaka and checked the time. Kriff – he should already be on his way to the med bay. He combed his fingers quickly through his hair in the mirror, ensuring it met his standards for professional perfection. Another message pinged in.

KRIFF, Hux! Of course you’re doing medical too! You get one day off and you have to fill every second – I can’t believe I’m surprised 🙄

Hux just snorted and clicked the datapad off as he swept out of his quarters. It was true – he barely had time to sleep while operating under his normal schedule, so spending even half an hour in medical was out of the question. But what Mitaka didn’t know was that he put off these appointments as long as possible because he didn’t… he didn’t like it in medical. He couldn’t quite find the words for it – he knew no one particularly enjoyed spending time in the med bay, but there was just something about it that made him feel almost queasy. He had to take his uniform off. The medics touched his skin. They asked him lots of questions. He lied when necessary. They prescribed him new doses of his medications – stims mostly, for when he worked two or three cycles on no sleep. They gave him his required injections and he left. He was shaky for the rest of the day. Even the thought of it caused a little shudder to pass through him, but he tried to force it down. He straightened his shoulders and walked even more briskly through the halls. He had to survive this, then it was just a few hours until that cursed meet up with the captain, and then he would finally be free to continue the work he had been doing on some experimental designs. 

He steeled himself as his credentials unlocked the door and he stepped into the med bay. To the extent he was able, Hux tried to turn himself off to all exterior feeling as the medics completed their examination. Perhaps the meeting with the captain was a good idea after all, he mused, since his feelings of annoyance toward the impending appointment kept his mind occupied during most of the visit. It wasn’t until he was receiving his required injections that he let his concentration slip. The alcohol prep pad was suddenly very cold against his flushed skin, drawing his attention immediately. He felt the tiny prick of the needle, then everything got a little blurry around the edges.

Hux regained his senses laying on his back on the cot in the examination room. He looked up at the dark ceilings that were more brightly lit than elsewhere in the ship to better illuminate the medics’ work. He blinked a few times, struggling to regulate his breathing. The loss of control made him sick to his stomach, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. Then the faces of two medics came into focus over him, their expressions concerned.

 “General, are you alright?” One of them asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m just fine.” Hux forced himself to sit up, even if his vision got a little shaky as he did so.

“Sir, please. No need to get up so quickly. You should rest a moment longer,” the other suggested, her hands reaching out to guide him back onto the cot, but he brushed her away.

“Nonsense,” he retorted, though he knew she was right. “I have duties to attend to.” He pushed himself up to a standing position, careful to hide the way he swayed slightly on his feet. Collecting the rest of his uniform, he turned back to the medics who were still watching him with worried faces.

“Not a breath of this leaves this room,” he ordered, leveling his gaze meaningfully at one then the other, attempting to make sure they felt the weight of his authority even if his state of partial undress and his unseemly faint were making him feel rather less like a general and rather more like a small child.

“Yes, sir – of course, sir!” they both hurried to respond. Satisfied, he ended the interaction with a curt nod. Once the door slid shut and he was alone in the adjoining private waiting room, he allowed himself one long deep breath and a slight lean against the wall until his knees stopped feeling so weak. Then he donned the rest of his uniform and straightened his posture, determined to bury this moment of weakness.

The intervening hours between his appointment at medical and his meeting with the captain were long and unproductive. He alternated between anger at himself for his lapse in composure and frustration at the event that loomed before him. Both emotions pulled him from his work, leaving him sitting at his desk looking absently out the windows into space, his boot tapping the polished floor rhythmically. He debated at length with himself whether he should just cancel, but decided that one display of weakness was far more than enough for one cycle. He would meet the captain, exchange a few words, then say he needed to return to his work and do just that. Set in his intentions, he swept out of his quarters again at the time he had set for himself – it would allow him to be precisely a minute and a half early – and made his way to the officers’ dining hall.

Despite the squared set of his shoulders and the comforting weight of his greatcoat draped around him, he noticed his steps falter just slightly as he walked through the doors. He rarely ate in the dining hall, preferring to swallow a few bites of a nutrition bar in his office between commitments. There was no need to turn the consumption of one’s required nutrients into an event. He saw a few of the officers look up, back to their trays, and up again upon realizing they had seen General Hux in the dining hall. He ignored their glances, using most of his concentration to search faces for that of the captain. He had looked up your personnel file of course, and he had a sense of what you looked like from your official identification image. His eyes swept back and forth across the tables until he noticed you sitting in a booth near the back. Instinctively, he moved to pass a gloved hand through his hair to ensure all the strands were perfectly at attention, only to realize his hand was shaking slightly. Scowling, he stalked toward your table.

You hadn’t noticed his approach yet, which allowed him a cursory inspection of you. He immediately wished he wouldn’t have looked. You looked… nice – good. No, professional. Good as in professional. You sat up straight at the table as though at attention, your uniform crisp and well-fitting. The sharp lines accentuated the shape of your body, throwing it into relief against the wall behind you. No, not like that – it was just that you clearly took pride in wearing your uniform, something the general could appreciate. He suddenly felt faintly warm and a bit lightheaded. Before he could notice anything else, Hux swallowed hard and closed the distance to your table. 

“Captain,” he addressed you. You started slightly in surprise.

“Oh, General Hux! I’m so sorry – I didn’t see you. I—” you moved to stand and greet him, but he motioned for you to remain sitting before situating himself in the seat across from you. It felt like he noticed every movement you made; your hands twisted together in your lap, your gaze flitted around nervously, your shoulders seemed to fold forward slightly before quickly correcting themselves. Hux was beginning to think he was having an adverse reaction to the injection. To add to his list of odd symptoms, he now felt sweaty and a bit queasy.

“I got us both a caf,” you gestured to two cups on the table. “I wasn’t sure if you drank—” 

“Not at this time during the cycle,” Hux interrupted. This strange illness was putting him on edge – he didn’t have time for this nonsense. 

“Oh, um… I’m sorry,” you murmured in response, one of your hands moving from your lap to rub mindlessly up and down your arm. Hux watched the motion for a moment before forcing himself to focus. What had been in that injection?

“What is it you want, Captain?” he asked sharply, barely able to keep his foot from drumming on the floor. He needed to get back to his quarters and contact medical. The abrupt question brought your gaze to his in an instant, and Hux suddenly felt like he might be about to faint again. Looking into your eyes, he felt dizzy, like he wasn’t quite sure where the floor was anymore.

“Well… I just— I didn’t want anything really. I just transferred to the Finalizer and Jeela – I mean Captain Mitaka – said her brother knew you and that it might be good to— well, that maybe we could—”

“Do you have a point, Captain?” Hux interrupted you again. The sound of your voice was having a strange effect on him. He was feeling a little breathless and the queasy sensation in his stomach was becoming stronger. He was certain you could see him sweating.

You had stopped speaking, but your mouth remained open in a surprised ‘o’ for a second longer before you appeared to realize and snap it shut. He caught your gaze again for just a moment, but he suddenly felt like he was falling. Then you averted your eyes and the sensation ended abruptly. 

“I think I should go,” your voice was even softer than before, and almost a little… hoarse? You hurriedly collected your things and stood. Hux echoed the movement.

“An excellent idea, Captain. I have much that needs my attention,” Hux said with as much authority as he could muster given his clearly sickened condition. You nodded absently at the statement, and turned to go, your eyes catching his once last time before you left. He thought for a moment that he had imagined the beginnings of tears pooling in them, but quickly ascribed this to his eyesight going slightly blurry as a result of his unknown illness. He turned in the opposite direction and walked quickly back to his quarters.

Within half an hour, he was back in medical, much to his displeasure. The head medic flipped through reports on her datapad, shaking her head slightly.

“Well General, the attending medic says he noticed no adverse reactions to the injection when he performed his examination of your condition just now, though he did make a note of your symptoms. It is not unusual to faint as a result of an injection. I would presume you are simply experiencing some lingering effects of that faintness.”

“You’re certain there’s nothing seriously wrong?” Hux pressed, clenching his hands into fists and trying not to sound too desperate. He had had hours to recover from his faint and hadn’t felt any symptoms in that whole time until he met with you. He was certain it had to be a delayed reaction to the injection; it wasn’t logical for it to still be the effects of the faint.

“Based on these reports, I’m quite certain, General. But if you experience new or worsening symptoms, be sure to contact us immediately. I would recommend trying to get some rest.”

Hux just nodded, collecting his greatcoat and returning to his quarters again, his mind swimming, trying to make sense of his odd illness. Removing his uniform and placing each piece in its designated location, he allowed himself to collapse into his bed for once. Sleeping was not something at which he excelled, but he couldn’t let this strange affliction affect his work, and if the head medic said that rest would help, then he was determined to try. Just as he was attempting to get comfortable, his datapad pinged.

Kriff, Hux I thought I told you to TRY

Hux let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hands over his face before responding to Mitaka’s message.

I was unwell. I had to return to medical.

You treated the captain like bantha shit Mitaka shot back. Anger bubbled up in Hux’s throat. No he hadn’t – he was legitimately unwell, and the captain’s presence seemed to exacerbate his condition. He was completely justified in cutting the meeting short. He cast the datapad aside, deciding not to validate Mitaka’s comment with a response. Anyway, what kind of way was that to speak to a superior officer, even if Mitaka was on Hux’s personal staff? Perhaps he’d write up an infraction report in the morning.

Hux rolled over, pulling the sheet up to his chin. He closed his eyes, hoping the sweet yet fickle embrace of sleep would see fit to grant him some rest. Instead, Mitaka’s words echoed in his head. He let out a huff of annoyance, already drafting the infraction report in his mind. But then those thoughts faded to a remembrance of his meeting with you. Against his wishes, his memories played the interaction over and over again. He saw you once more, the smart figure you cut in your uniform, the small gestures that had captured his complete attention, your soft, faltering voice, the depth of your gaze when it met his. 

For the first time, he realized you were nervous to meet him. How could he have been so oblivious? Every word and action screamed it now as he played everything back. And that last glance – were those tears? Kriff – what had he said? He could see you so clearly, but he could barely remember a word he had spoken. He gripped the sheets and pulled them even tighter around himself, as though the pressure would push the memories from his mind. Mitaka’s words echoed through his thoughts once more, but this time instead of the hot rush of anger, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots. The image of tears forming in your eyes lodged itself in his mind as one cycle clicked to the next.

[xoxoemynn]

the more tired and worn out and sad I feel about the world, the more I just really miss OFMD.

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I frequently feel completely isolated no matter how much I talk to people. So that's fun

[demetrius-haggarty]

Shrub Club: episode 4

'Ah, if only I knew more people that could understand my love for chomping cabbages,' Meech sighs as he feeds one of his 'little' toothy friends.

This particular one grew to be the healthiest in the batch and the Gryffindor still insisted on giving it a little extra each meal. The temperature and humidity of the freshly built greenhouse are close to their Professor's classroom so Demetrius moved his chomps here as soon as he could. He was convinced that they would start biting Leander's ankles if Meech left them in his care for too long. Not that he doesn't trust his dormmate. But he knows his cabbages too well. Whatever the girls did with their charmwork, the cabbages thrived in their greenhouse.

Demetrius didn't realize at first that he talked about his love for cabbages out loud. He turns around to look at the other members of the Shrub Club with his typical frown. Anyone who has known him for long enough knows that he's not really frowning. That's just how his face is.

'That was... rhetorical,' he mumbles. 'How has the decorating been going? I assume everyone agrees with Wren's idea of a beautiful Hawthorne growing under the main dome?'

The Gryffindor doesn't want to sound sentimental when he brings up The Tree but the thought still makes him feel cozy inside. Meech has been expecting a beautiful sapling to arrive all morning today (his gramps pitched in) and now that they are all gathered here after classes he is uncharacteristically nervous. Meech continues.

'I couldn't find a way to get a tree in here that is already as big as on Wren's sketch but I... We got some help with a very powerful fertilizer from Professor Garlick. Our tree should grow in a matter of hours and we get a chance to shape the branches and prune it as it goes. If you guys... want to do it together?'

The flapping of the wings is heard from the outside and Meech hurries over to accept the long-awaited green guest.

'Ta-da,' the Gryffindor says a little awkwardly but surprisingly with a huge grin on his scared face and a delicate sapling in his hands.

@theodoradevlin @justaskmagnoliaellistor @ask-wren-zhang

[femmefaggot]

genuinely very very happy about maya still Do Not get me wrong. I simply wish... the world was better and less cruel. and that I was not complicit in that cruelty. and that honorspren in shadesmar werent such hypocrites.

[autism-corner]

big tragedy

[hoziersong]

do you mind if i ramble in the tags about my weird relationship with making art in fandom for a second