#she opens them a war criminal comes out

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[reginaldqueribundus]

the Sarek family is hilarious to me because you have so much drama in one place. there have got to be at least 3 like, holo-documentaries or whatever about them. how could you not?

you have Sarek, the patriarch: one of the UFP's top diplomats, who knocks up a Vulcan princess then goes “hrm I am ambassador to Earth therefore I should marry a human” and he does, upsetting all sorts of the worst kinds of people on his home planet and causing racist hate groups to try to blow him and his family up multiple times, and seems honestly more put out by his son joining Starfleet than his other son becoming Vulcan Moriarty

Amanda, the matriarch: an accomplished educator and quite possibly the only well-adjusted member of the family, but when her son Spock shows up on her doorstep after growing a beard, having a mental breakdown and apparently murdering several medical staff she still shrugs and hides him in the family mausoleum

Sybok: Amanda's stepson from the aforementioned princess fling, who becomes an antiestablishment criminal mastermind with an edgelord fake name, hooks up with a hot space pirate, finds religion, starts a cult, takes an entire colonial government hostage sparking a diplomatic incident involving three galactic superpowers, and hijacks a Starfleet ship to the galactic core to find the Vulcan Garden of Eden, where he dies fighting god in hand-to-hand combat

Michael, a traumatized human girl Sarek brings home from a work trip, who joins Starfleet, becomes their first-ever mutineer, goes to prison, saves the Federation from a war most people think is her fault and gets “killed” in a highly classified, very suspicious incident involving an experimental starship and a series of red lights that appeared across the galaxy like a divine omen (oh, and returns 900 years later to solve the dilithium crisis, kill the head of the Emerald Chain and save two entire star systems including her siblings' homeworld)

and last but not least Sarek & Amanda's one-of-a-kind hybrid baby. Spock, who gets accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, tells them to go fuck themselves when they're racist about it, runs off to Starfleet instead, gets so famous his arranged marriage falls apart resulting in him publicly strangling his own captain to death except not really, steals the Federation flagship twice, invents time travel, saves the entire planet Earth, dies and comes back to life, goes into his dad's line of work and achieves peace with the freaking Klingons as his opening act, then after a long successful career suddenly dips to go do extremely dangerous underground activism on one of the most paranoid authoritarian worlds in the galaxy to unify the Romulans & Vulcans who've hated each other for over a thousand years — and he isn't around to see it but it eventually works. then he fucks off with the VSA's high-speed prototype ship full of the most dangerous substance known to science and gets sucked into a black hole of his own creation, never to be seen again. and this is just the stuff that's public knowledge!

then you dig into the novels where Sarek's ancestor basically makes out with Zefram Cochrane 5 seconds after meeting him and Amanda tells the press her husband has a huge cock

I love them

[threepandas]

Your Biggest Fan: Villian/Yandere Izuku

You Ruined His Plan.

No one was supposed to CARE. They NEVER care. NEVER ask questions. They look, at the red shoes, the note, then shrug it all off. Just another statistic. One more gone, of an already "dying breed".

The Quirkless had been a "dying breed" for a while now.

He bet they didn't even know where that phase came from. It was WAR propaganda. Quirkless population numbers were supposed to level out a decade ago, according to estimates. But noooo! They kept DROPPING!

Dropping, Dropping, DROPPING!

Like notebooks and little boys off roof tops.

No Heroes coming to save them. Smiles for everyone ELSE. Just burns and bad grades they didn't earn, ruined lunches and funeral flowers on desks. Kicking and kicking and PUNCHS until they break! Until they fight back. Until THEY are the problem. THEY are the monsters!

Dreams destroyed and online friends who go silent.

Funerals. Mothers who cry but don't protect you.

ANGER and where are the HEROES?

Here... apparently.

She is... she is standing HERE. Arms crossed. Mouth in a furious line as she listens to the principal spew his excuses. She does not look like she believes a single one. Does not look sympathetic or dismissive in the least.

The disgusting trash around her isn't used to it. Are slowly beginning to sweat. Panic. It is beginning to dawn on them... that there could be CONSEQUENCES for their actions. Their criminal neglect and cruel allowances.

She looks disgusted. Furious. And... when she glances at the supposed last words of Hanako-chan? Utterly heartbroken. She stands, feet planted, shoulders back, as she argues and pulls rank. Threatening to ARREST even the police officers THEMSELVES unless they DO THEIR JOBS.

As is her RIGHT. Because this is not JUSTICE. Nor Vengance. But can bring, at least, closure to the soul of a little girl wronged. Prevent others from harm. And she stands as a shield against that harm. It is her JOB, her DUTY, and so help her, if she must hunt each and every one of them down and HAND DELIVER them to a cell? She WILL.

She stands there, in the cold afternoon light, like...

Like A Hero!

He has to slap both his hands over his mouth. To stop his dreadful muttering habit from escaping again. He... he hasn't found anything INTERESTING enough to mutter about in so LONG. Gotten out of the habit of controlling it. His control is shot. And... and OH~!

Ever since Kacc-... Since All Mi... THEM. He hasn't... hasn't BELIEVED in Heros like he used too. He WANTED too! He did! But...? It was like it just... died inside him. Slowly. Painfully. Screaming.

It HURT.

It hurt so, so much. Everything was angry and grey and TERRIBLE. B...But? But! BUT NOW? It's like a giddy spark of light has struck a match inside the empty cavern inside him, lighting up the massive caves where his belief once lived. I..It's so small and fragile. So WARM.

He scrambles back. Hands pressed to his mouth, eyes shut tight, uncaring of the rough brick he's pressed too as he slides to the wet ground. It scrapes him up. But what's a few more scrapes amongst the rest? He's always hurt. It's his life. It's ALL their lives.

He breathes. Savors the fragile warmth in his chest.

"Hey, are you okay?" That voice. No, no it can't be... his eyes shoot open. Startled he looks up. Directly... into... a.. mask.. "You're looking pretty banged up. My Quirk doesn't have many medical uses, so unless you think you've cracked a bone or something, I hope you're good with band-aids. Fair warning though. All the Froppy one's are already gone. Kid's LOVE frogs."

It IS. His Hero. THE Hero. She must have finished up. Noticed him somehow. Sloppy...

Ah!

Already kneeling, she gently takes his hand. Is already pulling out a medical kit from her thigh pouch. He spots "good job!" Stickers and a few lollipops. He... he has QUESTIONS. For the first time in YEARS. Who is she? What school did she go too? What Quirk does she have? Where does she work out off?

Why did she CARE?

Is it a one off? Would she care AGAIN? Her hands are firm but gentle. She keeps him "distracted". Asking him inane questions to take his mind off his pain. Kind. So KIND~! He manages to get her Hero name before she goes. Sends her off with a smile that hurts his face. Reminds him how many years it's BEEN since he's truely grinned.

He races home. Fingers flying on his phone. His lieutenant can deal with Hanako. Get her settled with her new family. He... he NEEDS too... TOO-!

He SLAMS his shoebox of an apartment open, ignoring the bellowed demands and insults of the filth that live around him. It's only muscle memory that has him locking the dozen locks behind him, to keep out the scum that would attempt to prey upon him.

He... he NEEDS-!

Where?!

There!!!

His "work" laptop. So bleeding edge I-island will be cursing their own bigotry for centuries. If only out of GREED. They don't know what they've lost by turning down those engineers and applicants. But Izuku does. He collects them ALL.

And now it pays off once again.

It take less then a moment. Easier then breathing. And he has EVERYTHING.

Her arrests records. Her case load. Her school records and medical files. Social media. Current audio book. Hero ranking, media presence, the chatter about Her online. EVERYTHING.

It's... it's beautiful.

A "troublemaker" who wouldn't shut up about the injustice she saw around her. Wouldn't stand for it. Got into fights to protect the weak and defenseless. Helped where she could. It put her on the wrong side of the narrative. When she wouldn't shut up about how everything WASN'T fine and what those in power were doing was WRONG.

She was a child, they were not. She HAD the option to shut up and pick her own future over the well being of those around her.

She chose to be a HERO instead.

Like... Like HIM. She was robbed of her DREAM. Of going to UA. The future she wanted, she fought for, needed like AIR.

But... but Aaah~♡ she was so COOL! Didn't give up! She sued. Made a RACKET. And when it got her record wiped but not her chance to enter any Japanese Hero school reinstated? She took the winnings from her lawsuit, her parents reluctant consent, and WENT ABROAD.

Came BACK with a hero license that the Japanese government had to recognize as per international accords. Let her take the final test HERE.

They BURIED her in the rankings. Must HATE her. A real hero, come to SHAME THEM for all they've become~♡ Or, well, HE thinks she will. How can she NOT? When she is so much BETTER?

He needs everything. Bedspread, pillows, posters, sweaters, slippers, MERCH! There's not enough. He should commission some. Where are his notebooks? Ah, no. He needs a NEW one! A better notebook! Oh! Oh! He could COMMISSION a notebook! Oh that's PERFECT!

He may have just met her today?

But he can already TELL~ He's gonna be her NUMBER 1 fan!

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt.1 (intro)

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, mention of law terms, Human rights violation (genocide), cursing

>> Part 2

The dim, sterile lights of the briefing room flickered overhead as the members of Task Force 141 gathered around the table along with Core, a fellow private military group that was hired along with 141 for a mission. Soap MacTavish leaned forward, eyes locked on the Price as he gave the mission report, his fingers drumming quietly on the polished surface. Price, ever the sentinel, stood at the center of the room along with Leopold; the captain of Core a fellow private military company. Ghost remained an imposing figure at the far end of the room leaning against the side wall. Gaz who was sitting in the seat next to Price listened in on the report on their course of action as well as all information gathered on their target. 

"Intel checks out," Soap muttered, his accent thick with the fatigue of too many nights spent in hostile territory. "I think we’ve got it locked down."

Price didn't respond immediately, waiting for the Core captain to add any information on their part. "Just keep sharp. We're not totally out of the blue just yet," Price said.

“Not much to worry about, luckily, but who knows, maybe if we find these bastards as fast as we can, we can have some fun with them,” Leopold snickers in a sadistic tone. 141 just staring at him with disdain in their eyes. Even though they are fellow operatives in this mission, 141 and Core did not see eye to eye on matters surrounding how they handled the enemy combatants. While 141 would be over and done with it. Core, they came to find out they were ruthless and would like to “play” with the enemy, much to the discomfort of others. 

“Prick,” Ghost rumbles under his breath, low enough that it couldn't be heard. 

Before anyone could reply, the door swung open, and all operatives in the room shot from their seats at the sudden interruption. Two armed guards came in and following after them a woman wearing a suit that screamed of legal authority rather than combat experience walked in. The woman’s eyes flicked across the room, taking in each of them, her gaze cold and unwavering.

"Hello Gentleman, I do hope I'm not interrupting at a bad time but I have a pressing issue at the moment" the lawyer’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. Not waiting for an invitation, stepping fully into the room, and looking directly at Price and Leopold.

"Excuse me?" Leapold barked, his brows furrowing as he straightened, clearly not amused. "And who exactly are you? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

The lawyer didn’t flinch at the sudden hostility. "I’m ___, a lawyer assigned by the United Nations to prosecute violations of international law," she said, her voice laced with authority. "I’m here on a matter of grave importance. It seems there have been violations in more ways than one."

Price exchanged glances with Ghost, each sensing the impending storm. "What’s this about?" Price asked, his tone sharp but controlled.

___ walking further into the long table in the middle and held up a folder, its contents heavy with the weight of documents, before dropping it onto the center table "Leopold O'Reilly you are being detained on violations of International Humanitarian laws along with all other soldiers under the command of the Private Military Company “Core”," she said, letting the words sink in. "Violated the Geneva Conventions, among other things. you’ll either face prosecution or give up your position and pay a hefty fine. The decision is yours, but I’m here to make sure that happens and you're brought in." She says as the 2 armed guards come around cuffing Leopold, 

“What the fuck do you mean violation I haven't done shit, and Im a private actor, not a state, so the Geneva Conventions don't apply to me,” Leopold screams at the lady as he struggles against the 2 guards. 

“Under certain circumstances, yes, but 3 years ago, you were hired by a state official in Nigeria to clear out a village to make way for oil drilling in the area where you were not, and while there, it was reported that your team violated multiple human rights law including the violation of the 1948 genocide convention, and since you where hired by a state official you are considered a state actor under contract,” ___ states with a cold glare towards Leopold. As she motions her head to the 2 guards to escort him out.

"You can't Fucking do this to me- fuck stop let me go!" Leopold yells as he's dragged out of the room by the guards.

“Hold, you can't just come barging in here like this,” Soap says as he stands up, half yelling at the lawyer.

___ not flinching turns to him saying. "This is a matter of international law, and as of now out of yalls hands. So unless you want to see the rest of your operation crumble under legal scrutiny, I suggest you start taking this seriously and just let me do my job,"

The room seemed to freeze, the air thick with the weight of her words. Ghost’s gloved hands tightened into fists, his gaze never leaving ___. The lawyer wasn’t backing down. She had a mission, and She would not be swayed.

Price stepped forward, his voice low but filled with command. "We have a mission that we are carrying out. We can't just up and stop this. You think you can just waltz in here and disrupt everything we’ve worked on?"

___ met his gaze head-on. "I don’t care about your mission. What I care about is justice. And that’s what you’re going to face, whether you like it or not," she says, ending the conversation as she turns around leaving the room. 

Price’s phone rings soon after. “Laswell, what the bloody hell is going on right now?” He half yells through the phone. 

“Sorry, John, I guess you just met the reason for my call,” Laswell says from the other side of the phone, sighing. “That was __ a UN litigator. It seems like they are starting to push harder to crack down on violations by sending out their dogs to bring them in. And Leopold was apparently on the top of their list. I tried to call you about the situation as soon as I caught word, but seems I was just a tad bit late,” 

Price grumbles “So what do we do now?”

“Nothing, the mission is being called off, think of it as an early break let off to go home,” Laswell says in a monotone voice before ending the call.

Soap leans over looking over to Ghost with one of his trademark grins. “Well that was something,” he says with a chuckle. “But I will have to say seeing a lassie like that being so commanding is kinda hot, ain't it LT,” he says.

Ghost looks at him with annoyance through his mask, saying, “Can it, Johnny” as he pushes off the wall, leaving the room annoyed with the whole situation. Thinking back to the lawyer. Hoping for his annoyance that he doesn't have to deal with that shit again.

Okay hey, y'all this is my first fic ever so not the best but will edit and add more here and there as I figure out what I'm meant to do and how this app works lol.

I'm always open to little imagine ideas or other stuff. but this fic will take some time also will make a masterlist for it as soon as I figure it all out.

but yeah hope you like this kinda a law nerd but to make it interesting it's not 100% accurate but if I can help it I will be in some.

[6rookie-writer0110]

Love and The Moon

Clark Kent x Male Reader

Request - Clark Kent (Henry) x male magic reader, them just both being hopeless romantics.

You have been away for two weeks and you are finally home. You used magic to get home faster and Clark is in the living room.

“Y/n, you are back!” Clark smiled.

“I missed you” You smiled back.

Clark wrapped his arms around you and he starts to kiss you. You start to smile and he hugged you tight. For a minute or two Clark still had his arms around you.

“Just glad you are back,” Clark said.

“Me too. I'm hungry” You said.

“Get comfortable and I will cook dinner. I found this new reprice, I think you would enjoy” Clark said.

“Oh, my boyfriend the chef” You smiled.

You head to the bedroom to change clothes, while Clark starts to cook dinner. A few minutes later, you come out of the bedroom wearing pajamas. You watch him cook and he starts to talk about what he is cooking.

After dinner, you and Clark cuddle in bed. You have your head on his chest, and you two don't pay attention to the movie. You and Clark just started to talk about everything.

---

Clark was busy fighting aliens and criminals. His suit got ruined and he takes off the top piece because it got ruined.

“What happened to your suit?” You asked.

You noticed the cape has holes and so does the sleeves.

“I was fighting an alien who spits out acid. Y/n, are you staring at my chest?” Clark said.

“No, I'm listening to what you said,” You said.

Clark laughed and you were staring at his chest.

“Y/n,” Clark said.

“What? Okay, fine I was staring at your chest” You smiled.

“I knew it” Clark smiled.

“I think you should maybe, upgrade your suit?” You said.

“Maybe. You think you can help with the suit?” Clark said.

“Sure,” You said.

You used your magic to fix his suit and the cape. Now the suit looks brand new and he starts to smile. Clark wrapped his arms around you and starts to kiss you.

---

You and Clark are having breakfast and he is drinking his coffee.

“I forgot to put sugar in my coffee,” Clark said.

“You don't have to get up,” You said.

You used your magic to get the sugar and the sugar pour into his coffee. The sugar lands on the table gently and Clark used the spoon to stir his coffee.

“I like having a boyfriend who has magic” Clark smiled.

You winked at him and he starts to smile. Later, you and Clark go out and he would hold your hand. You and Clark do take selfies together, in one of the pictures he kissed your cheek and you smiled.

✬ ✬ ✬ ✬

Bruce is having a Christmas party at his mansion. Everyone agreed to do the Secret Santa gift exchange, and Clark got Barry Allen and you got Arthur Curry.

“You think, Arthur will like it?” You asked.

“I think he would like it,” Clark said.

You give Arthur his gift and he starts to open it, then he smiled.

“Y/n, I love it!” Arthur smiled.

He puts on the leather vest and he can't stop smiling. He gives you a strong hug and you can't move your arms.

“Thank you for the gift, Y/n!” Arthur smiled.

“Glad you like it. You can stop hugging me now, I can't feel my arms” You said.

Clark starts to laugh and Arthur did let go of you.

“Y/n, I didn't know what to get for you so I got this for you,” Selina said.

“Thanks, Selina,” You said.

She gave you a Christmas card and inside it's a gift card for a bookstore.

“I don't what you are into, besides Clark. But I figured you might like to read since you use magic... So, I thought you might like books” Selina said.

“I like the gift, again thank you and it was nice of you to do it,” You said.

She kissed your cheek and walked away. It started to snow and everyone goes outside, some people start to play in the snow. Someone started a snowball fight now everyone is throwing snow at each other. You got targeted by Jason Todd, Barry Allen, and Damian Wayne they start to throw snowballs at you.

“Too slow, Y/n” Barry laughed.

“Oh, this means war,” You said.

Damian threw a snowball at your chest. Your eyes start to change colors and your hands start to glow. You used your magic, to form snowballs now snowmen starting to get formed, and they start to throw snowballs at guys. Damian, Barry, and Jason start to fight back.

----

You came home and Clark kissed you on the lips.

“I made dinner” Clark smiled.

“It does smell good,” You said.

He still has his arms around you and you start to smile at him. Then he starts to set the table and you used your magic to get the food out of the oven. Then you and Clark sit down and start to eat, he starts to ask about your day.

Later, you and Clark go to the movie theater. While waiting for the movie to start, Clark plays the claw machine and he is trying to win a prize for you. It took a while but Clark didn't get the prize, but you kissed him on the lips.

“Thanks for trying,” You said.

“I was close” Clark smiled.

[charliehoennam]

sweet stranger

A/N: request made here by @annekelovesreading

Summary: the war veteran Alfie seeks comfort in a stranger in hopes of returning to his old self

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, reader is a sex worker.

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

part two

"Thanks for the ride, James. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

You climb out of the Bentley and adjust your coat, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress before strutting towards the hotel, your heels clacking against the pavement and then marble floors of the lobby.

You sense the judgemental eyes already on you, but you've learned how to ignore them. If their judgement paid your rent and bills, then you'd finally be able to retire. But until then, you did what needed to be done.

The service you provide is simple and clear. You meet the client, humor them a bit and fuck them before leaving at first light.

You are lucky enough to work for a powerful and strict madame that actually recognizes the importance of her employees' well-being and ran a high-end business.

Her rules were clear. No marking, no hitting and contraceptive must be used.

Just because her empire dominates the professional area of sexual pleasure does not mean she runs a funhouse. Many would mistake Madame's care for benevolence when it is really just a matter of logistics.

Black eyes don't allow her employees to escort her wealthy clients to prestigious social events. And the only reason her business dominates is because she assures clean employees to her clients. An employee with the clap gets the boot and replacing them is expensive.

After giving your name at the front desk, you take the keys you're headed with a smile and head to room 403.

The name is not unfamiliar. You've heard plenty of Alfie Solomons and part of you is afraid of what he'll be like, judging by what you've heard.

The ring of the lift snaps you our of your thoughts. You flash a smile at the liftman and thank him before stepping into the hallway.

Alfie Solomons is not your first client - nor will he be your last - but knowing he is the first gangster you're about to meet and sleep with has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You mentally repeat Madame's rules to yourself to try and ease your nerves. But then again, do rules hold any standing to criminals?

Taking a couple of deep breaths, you manage to relax as best as you possibly can in the situation and simply remind yourself that he is no different than any other client.

You lift your hand to knock on the door. There's movement behind it and the metal of the lock on the side rattles as it slides to open.

Your lips pull into a welcoming smile at the broad, tall man that opens the door. Taking in his features, you quickly notice his wet hair.

The smell of soap emanates from his large frame along with a faint scent of rum and an irresistible natural musk that almost lured you to touch him.

It's obvious that he took the time to wash himself and, to be honest, you're quite thankful for that.

"You must be Mr. Solomons."

"Punctual little thing, ain't you? Come on in, love. Don't mind me."

His tone is rather calm even with his heavy Cockney drawl. His fingers, however, seem to confess his nerves with the way they flick back and forth.

"Punctuality is a necessary characteristic in my line of work, Mr. Solomons."

"Right, right" he nods as you walk past him. He still can't seem to look you in the eye, but you've yet to discover why.

Most of the nervous clients that you've had were first-timers, young men eager to lose their virginity especially before being sent to war.

Alfie is very attractive and pleasing to the eye with his large strong build, but he is no young boy. You find it hard to believe that this would be his first time being as wealthy, cunning and wealthy as you heard he is.

"May I take your coat, love?"

"Yes, please."

You turn to back to him to allow his assistance, taking in the sight of the hotel room. You've been in this hotel before, but despite that, the lavish decoration of the suite never fails to impress.

Alfie can't help but feel intimidated by the simple scent of your perfume as he stands behind you, taking your coat to hang it for you. He doesn't want you to pick up on the fact that he feels so out of his element.

Before the war, Alfie had his fair share of women. He used to be so different. So young and naive and confident - which is the only characteristic he can successfully feign more than well in the wicked world he treads in.

But now, he's in foreign territory. So much has changed for him.

Getting his affairs back in strict order took so much work, sweat and blood from him that he hadn't prioritized his romantic desires.

If age hadn't been enough, the night tremors made it impossible to sleep beside anyone. Red blotches were beginning to spread throughout his body due to the psoriasis. His sciatica only worsened with age and the harsh conditioning the war had forced onto it. And now the fucking cancer, which only added to his list of secret insecurities.

The confident young man he used to be was gone. Alfie was still human, however. And like many other humans, he yearned for companionship. The problem is that a man like Alfie can't confide in just anyone. He can't expose it without the risk of his enemies seeing it as an opportunity to use it against him.

Good thing about Madame's business is that her turf is neutral and independent ground. For now, at least.

Alfie knows he has to overcome this hurdle if he plans to get married one day and start a family and he just thought this would be the best way.

He's got a beautiful woman in his hotel room; he knows what you came here to do. He's just not sure what to do at this point other than to confess it to you. He doesn't want to say it, but deep down inside, he feels a bit humilited.

It shows in the way he avoids your eyes, the way his head hangs low.

"There's no shame in that, Mr. Solomons. I'm happy to help however I can. We don't have to rush into anything just yet... Do you drink?"

"Not often. Clouds the mind."

"Precisely. What do you drink?" You smile warmly at him.

"Wine is my favorite."

"Let's get you a glass then, Mr. Solomons."

Just as you expect, the wine is successful in loosening him up a bit.

You're careful enough to avoid asking any questions that concerns his business, so you focus on asking him to share things he enjoys like music and books.

After a couple hours and a couple glasses, he's warming up to you as you listen attentively to his childhood stories. Despite the wine, he is cautious enough to leave out certain details that are too personal for you to know that could bring him or his family harm if they ended up in the wrong hands.

You can't take it personal, and can only imagine that trust does not come easy in his line of work which only confirms that pressing him on such information wouldn't be very smart.

No matter how easy the conversation is flowing or how comfortable he may seem to be, you can't forget who he is beyond these four walls.

As he finishes his glass of wine, he sets it down on the table in front of you while raising a hand to his shoulder to rub at the aching knot in his muscle.

"Would you like me to take care of that for you, Mr. Solomons?"

"With what, love? Oh, this?" He asks glancing at his shoulder. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that."

It almost like he's forgotten the reason you're both there.

"Really, I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do for you, sir."

With a sweet smile, you stand as you finish off your glass and set it beside his on the table before walking over to his chair to offer him your hand.

"I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."

His blue eyes narrow their gaze at you for a moment as if he's trying to read you. You can see him physically tense before accepting your hand.

The talkative Alfie is suddenly replaced by a quiet and insecure version as he watches you, from where he's sat in the bed, take your heels off - your almost bare feet still covered in your black stockings - before climbing onto the bed.

You stand on your knees , which are spread to accommodate him between them, and sit back on your feet after taking the small bottle of rose scented intimate oil from your purse.

"It's like riding a bike. Your body knows that to do, but it needs time, patience and practice, so you have to go slow."

Your breathe on his neck has chills racing up his arms as you reach to his front to unbutton his vest and slide it off his wide shoulders. You do the same with his shirt, but pause before sliding it off as his hand instinctively hold your wrist.

"May I? I'd love to see you, but if you don't want to, I can just slide it down a bit."

He ponders for a moment but replies with a silent nod as he releases your wrist.

You slide it off and much to your impression, he seems even wider and stronger than you'd imagined.

A couple scars and red blotches already here and there on his skin, but they don't stop you from marveling at the rippling muscles.

"My goodness... Mr. Solomons, with all the utmost respect, but you are quite the work of art."

He can't help but smile at your compliment, although he thinks that you're just saying what you think he wants to hear, so it's hard for him to believe.

You let your palms gently wander over his large back and arms, with a gentle squeeze to his biceps.

"Carved from stone, are you?" You joke, bringing a chuckle out of him.

"No, love. Just flesh."

"Fortunately."

Using the pipette, you pinch a couple drops of the oil onto his shoulders before closing the vial to set it aside and letting your fingers get to work.

Alfie groans softly and his eyes instantly close as you start massaging to undo the knot that's been bothering him for weeks now.

"How is that, sir? More pressure?"

"No, love. That's just fine...just perfect," he sighs relieved. "Fucking 'ell, love. That feels fucking great. You've no idea how long that's been bothering me."

"I can imagine. You've got knots like this all round. It can't be easy to live with them.

Slowly but surely, Alfie starts to relax. It's impossible not to. It's been a while since he's been touched by anyone, much less massaged by them.

The tension is his body begins to ease as your fingers work away not only the knots caused by the stress of his days, but the anxiety of being intimate again. It doesn't seem so foreign suddenly.

Building up the courage to place a gentle kiss onto the back of his shoulder, you lower your head and press your lips to his skin.

"Is this alright?" You whisper.

"More than alright."

"I can go lower if you'd like me to."

He nods, so you glides your fingers down the middle of his back, pressing against ether side of his spine.

"Fuck, love... That is heavenly."

You smile at the praises and take it a sign to continue the gentle teasing, moving your kisses up to the crook of his neck.

You take your time to ease him into his arousal. The lower you go down his back, the more convinced he becomes.

"Would you like me to touch you?"

You ask nuzzling your nose against his ear and he nods.

You reach a hand to his front and rub your palm against his clothed crotch. Although you can't see his cock, you can tell the man's been blessed with girth as it twitches against your touch.

Alfie gives in to the instant pleasure and moans, letting all his worries melt away. He can't remember the last time he's been able to feel so at ease.

As you whisper encouraging praises into his ear from behind, Alfie allows you to unbutton his trousers and slither your hand under the fabric to stroke his cock with a firm grip.

The room seems to spin around him. His head feels heavy from the pleasure as it leans back against your shoulder.

"That's it, sir. Just let me take care of you" you smirk kissing a sensitive spot on his neck that he didn't even know could make him tremble.

He isn't sure how much longer he can last. It's been a while after all.

"L-love, you feel so good."

You chuckle, letting his thick cock spring free from its confines.

"You're fucking beautiful, sir."

"Oh, you think so, yeah?"

You nod as your hand strokes his dick, coating it with his own pre-cum and the essential oil you'd brought.

"Lemme get more comfortable, love. Wanna see more of ya," alfie says holding your wrist to stop your movement for a moment.

He stands to kick off his trousers, standing in all his naked glory before sitting further up the bed with his back against the upholstered headboard.

"C'mere, love. Lemme see you hm?"

His invitation is made with calloused hands guiding you to straddle his lap. You make quick work of unbuttoning the dress and sliding the straps off your shoulders to reveal your chest with a sultry smile.

"May I?"

You can't help but smile at how he's a gentleman in such a moment. Most clients wouldn't even bother to remember asking, but Alfie makes you forget that he is just another client.

His large hands reach to knead your breasts, giving them such attentive appreciation as he licks his pink lips, eager to get them on you.

"It's alright, love" you whisper, seeming to read his mind.

The way his beard scratches your sensitive skin has your back arching into his warmth. His gentle and considerate admiration lures you into a trance; into a heated dream where you are able to finally feel like a woman loved.

You welcome him with fingers lacing into his messy brown locks still damp from his bath earlier. Your hips move mindless as you grind your clothed sex against his exposed cock, reminding him how good he feels and how you want him to feel the same.

Shifting onto your knees between his legs on the bed, you pepper tender kisses down his chest and stomach as your breasts dangle down and rub against his cock.

The anticipation has Alfie balling his fists into the white sheets.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, love. Fucking 'ell," he mumbles as your hands run up and down his thigh, giving gentle squeezes to tease him on.

"It's gonna be a long night."

[luveline]

could you do one with aaron or spencer?

maybe reader and hotch/reid are on a case together and end up being taken hostage by the perp and then reader has a panic attack while they’re stuck, just them two and the perp in the room, and hotch/reid comforts her??

💕💕

ty for ur request ♡ —hotch calms you down when you panic while being held prisoner. fem!reader, 1.1k

cw criminal minds typical gore and violence, reader having a panic attack

The floor is spotted with blood spots like black mould, a fine spray of dark red interrupted by the place where you'd been kneeling. Pulled back now, the unsub has you handcuffed to a pipe under a snug sink, short, your neck bent to fit. You think I won't fucking kill you? Sit still.

You're trapped. Tied and trapped, waiting for the unsub to snap. And the worst part is that Hotch is here to watch it happen. 

Hotch tried to de-escalate the situation, and for the most part it worked, but the unsub has yet to let you go. He stands panting and lilting from side to side, barrel of a gun tapping bruises into his temple. Every thwack makes you jump, sure that this will be the moment he turns his pistol on you. You're trained for this, you know what to do, but training can't prepare you for the reality of a hopeless situation. 

You're going to die here. Hotch is going to die here. 

You can't breathe. Legs crossed, you're slouched into yourself, the flat of your chest tight like the air has been suctioned from your lungs. The room is dark, shadows bouncing in the corners. The only light comes from a yellow strip above the sink mirror. 

"Fucking stupid," the unsub mutters, his voice choked with tears. "Stupid, stupid." He sounds agonised. 

You've all the raw panic of a bear trapped in metal maws, sharp pain at your wrist like certain death. You've given up on breaking free, rivulets of blood streaking from the broken skin ringing your arm down to your elbow. Every breath teases another drop. 

"Breathe," Hotch says, the metal on his cuff rattling. It's the first time he's moved since he woke up, a picture of calm while you'd been ragging yourself raw. "Y/N, listen to me… Take a nice, deep breath." 

"Shut up! Did I say you could talk?" the unsub seethes.

"My talking won't affect how this situation ends," Hotch says, with the gentle tone he uses while speaking to victims. "But if she panics, you won't be able to control her. I can calm her down." 

"Shut up shut up! Make her shut up!" 

Hotch's handcuffs rattle again. "Y/N, give me your hand. Reach out for me." You shake your head, your one free hand wedged between your legs. "Reach out for me. Please." 

You try to keep your gasping contained, that pushing, pulling war for air, a pervasive ache all the way to your fingers. You slide your hand across the floor. Hotch can't reach you fully, but he can lay his fingertips on top of yours. They're cold for once.

The unsub changes his mind, irate, a hacking cough of a voice as he grabs you by the back of the head and forces you up, ripping your hand away from Hotch's. "Fucking useless bitch. Keep your head up or I'll kill you. I'll kill you." 

You bite back a sob. You truly can't breathe, the panic attack twisting and twisting like a hand between your ribs, a corkscrew opener, your hyperventilating a white hot heat that eats up your throat. 

"You have to let me calm her down," Hotch says.

The unsub grabs you by the hair and turns to Hotch with fury on his face. You frown at Hotch through tears in a plea for help, knowing there's nothing he can do and wanting it desperately anyways. His eyes set, the line between his brows deepening, and his voice hardens. 

"I promise you that if you keep hurting her, I'll pay it back tenfold," Hotch says. 

The unsub lets you go, but his voice is dripping with smarm as he drawls, "Opposed to the gentle care I'd receive otherwise." 

Hotch pulls at his cuff, the radiator pipe it clings to buckling but not breaking under his strength. The unsub doesn't like this, doesn't like anything, and his splitting personality shifts away from cruelty and toward regret once again. He retreats to his corner. 

"You're okay," Hotch whispers, ignoring the other body in the room. "Honey, you're alright." He has a talent for surprising you, the pet name he uses like a soft touch even while your hands are bound and you're held apart. "It's going to be okay. I promise you that." 

"I'm– I can't breathe," you force out.

"Yes you can. I'll do it with you." 

Hotch looks at you steadily. "Breathe," he mouths, his face relaxing. He forms an 'o' with his lips and demonstrates a slow exhale, a bigger inhale. 

You follow his command. Hotch holds your gaze for what feels like hours but is more like ten minutes. He breathes in and out with a reassuring look about him, as though the unsub isn't there, as though you aren't both covered in blood and sitting in the gore of a dead calf. 

Your terrified panting turns to sorry sobs and then to gutted sniffles. Later, you'll feel embarrassed for losing your cool at a time that was so high stakes. Now, you unfold your legs and stretch them out, pressing the side of your shoe to Hotch's. He presses back

Morgan finds you, of course. You never should've doubted him. He floods the building with SWAT and takes your unsub alive personally. He's an amazing agent, a better friend —when he uncuffs you, he pretends not to see the way you crawl toward Hotch. 

Emily uncuffs Hotch at the same time, his big hand quick to hold your face. Then, in the same second, he wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders. 

"I'm sorry," you say, remorse thick on your tongue, apology squeezed out like a scared little kid's.

"Careful of your hand, your wrist. Don't hurt yourself worse." His voice drops to a murmur, for your ears alone. "Don't panic yourself again. Everything's okay." His hand moves down your back slowly, firmer now, "I got you." 

"Actually, I've got you," Morgan says. "Can you guys walk, or should I call in the EMTs?" 

Emily scoffs. "Morgan." 

Hotch drops his head back against the wall and sighs a long-suffering sigh. You can't see the relieved slouch of his shoulders, or the daunted look he sends Morgan. Your panic took more out of him than he's willing to show you. 

"I'll call them in," Morgan says decisively. 

[mochasenby]

𝚂𝚒𝚗 𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚂𝚘 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍

_________________

Valeria Garza x F!Reader Y/n was assigned to watch over the war criminal and drug trafficker, Valeria Garza. While keeping watch, Y/n notices that Valeria seems to be interested in her. A little too much. She refuses to give in to Valeria's tempting words. It looks like Valeria will have to use some force. Tags: Knifeplay, Pet Names, Cunnilingus, Edging

Find more on Ao3!

"Where's the other missile?" Ghost snapped as Valeria didn't respond, a smug smirk on her lips. 

"She's not going to say shit," Alejandro hissed, throwing his hands up in frustration. Valeria watched as the men barked and snapped at one another like pathetic dogs.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs to get comfortable-- When the door swung open. And entered the most ethereal woman Valeria had ever seen. 

Valeria's eyes stared intensely at the woman as she made her way through the room, just stopping beside Alejandro.

"That's enough. It's been hours since this interrogation started. Take a break," She spoke, her voice soft yet authoritative. The men looked at one another, scowls on their faces.

"Watch her, Y/n. And don't let her try and smooth talk you; she's a witch," Alejandro hissed, squeezing Y/n's shoulder firmly. To others, it would've looked like a warning gesture. But not to Valeria. 

Valeria's gaze locked with Y/n's. Y/n felt a slight shudder run down her spine from the intensity of Valeria's look. The room cleared out one by one until only the two women remained. Y/n adjusted her weapon, sliding it over her shoulder before leaning against the wall.

"I don't think we've met," Valeria spoke suddenly, her eyes slowly taking in Y/n's figure.

"I don't typically meet with the cartel. Gives a bad reputation," Y/n replied before wincing at her words. They were the truth, but she didn't mean for them to come out that harsh.

Valeria's lips twitch upwards.

"I have my reasons," Valeria uttered, her gaze darkening. Another shudder ran down Y/n's spine. The look in Valeria's eyes was hungry. 

It was a look that Y/n often got when she jogged around the base in her sports attire. But for some reason, Valeria's gaze wasn't unwelcomed. 

Y/n couldn't help but stare as well. Valeria is gorgeous. Yet what drew her in the most was her eyes. Despite all the years of training, Y/n felt like she was about to melt. 

"Why'd they assign you to watch over me, cariño?" Valeria asked, her head tilting to the side with a smirk.

"Did they think I'd spill everything to you?" She laughed as Y/n shrugged, crossing her arms.

"Possibly. Perhaps they thought placing a woman with you would make you feel more comfortable speaking to me," Y/n said as Valeria leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Perhaps they're right," Valeria uttered, her gaze dropping to Y/n's figure. "Dime algo. How long have you and Alejandro been close?" She spoke, her voice just above a whisper.

 "What?" The question took Y/n off guard. "No seas tímida, cariño," Valeria mocked, a smirk moving to her face again. 

"I saw that look he gave you before he left. He used to be such a wild man, I guess he hadn't changed," Valeria spoke, her eyes drinking in Y/n's reaction.

Y/n's face seemed to lose its composure. Her body language changed from collected and calm to embarrassed.

"Alejandro and I have nothing going on between us," Y/n defended as Valeria crossed her arms, clicking her tongue with fake disappointment.

"Mentirosa." She uttered as Y/n looked away. "My relationship with him is professional. And it's none of your concern."

"It is when I noticed that shudder of disgust you did when he touched you," Valeria mocked as Y/n's eyes widened. 

"How did you--?" 

"I notice lots of things, cariño. Rage, deception, disgust... And desire." Valeria uttered.

"You poor thing, how long have you gone unsatisfied?" She fake pouted, cocking her head to the side. Y/n was caught even more off guard. "I don't-- Why are--- What--?" Y/n uttered, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"I am satisfied with my love life."

"Are you?" Valiera challenged. "Eyes don't lie, cariño. And neither does the face. Right now, I can hear all those thoughts in your pretty head," She cooed as Y/n looked away. 

Valeria was right. No matter how often she tried to force herself to fall for Alejandro's charm, she couldn't. No one had ever made her feel so giddy or anxious. 

Except for the woman in front of her.

Y/n quickly cleared her throat. "This is inappropriate," She declared.

"¿Lo es? Creo que estás mintiendo, preciosa," Valeria cooed once more, making Y/n's face heat up. "Please stop--"

"Or what? What's wrong with just a little flirting?" Valeria interrupted as Y/n looked away. She couldn't look at Valeria anymore. She feared if she did, she fall for the charm that Alejadnro had warned her about.

"I don't think you should look away from your captive. It's a way you get eaten."

Valeria moved silently, swiftly pinning her in place. Y/n's eyes widened in shock. 

"Get off of me," Y/n whispered, quickly writhing in her grasp before freezing as Valeria held a knife to her throat. The rough tip lightly dragged across her skin, just barely nipping.

Valeria tsked in disapproval, scolding Y/n as if she was a child. "I admire your bravery. Pero estás jugando con fuego, mi amor." Her voice dripped with a mix of danger and desire, her accent adding an enticing edge to her words.

Her fingers danced along the knife handle, a silent promise of the pain she could inflict.

"Tell me," she whispered, her voice low and husky, "Do you enjoy being pushed to your limits? Do you crave the thrill of surrendering control to someone who knows exactly what you need?" Her tone held a hint of challenge.

"I don't need it," Y/n uttered. "I'm loyal to the task force," She whispered, eyes darting across Valeria's face.

"Well, we all have our loyalties, don't we?" Valeria cooed, her fingers tracing a slow path along the curve of Y/n's jaw.

"But tell me, my little rebel," Valeria continued, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "What if I were to show you a different kind of loyalty? A loyalty that fulfills your deepest desires that pleases you beyond anything you've ever known?"

She pulled her hand back, the knife glinting in the dim light. With a swift motion, she pressed the cool metal against Y/n's cheek, the sharp edge just barely grazing her sensitive skin.

"Would you surrender to me, let me unleash the desires that burn within you?" she asked, her voice a dangerous melody.

"Or would you continue to resist, clinging to your precious task, denying yourself the pleasure within your reach?" 

An ache began to form between Y/n's legs, one that started burning the second Valeria's eyes locked onto her body. "So?" Valeria uttered, stopping her blade just a few centimeters away from Y/n's face.

Y/n stared at Valeria in shock, weighing her options. The task force had always treated her kindly. Yet she was unhappy. The communication was excellent, yet she was constantly overshadowed. She wasn't as unique as the other women they partnered with. She wasn't extraordinary, yet the way Valeria looked at her like she was the last meal on earth made her squirm.

Valeria could see the conflict in Y/n's eyes, the war between the desire to flee and the intrigue that held her captive. She knew she had awakened something within her, a curiosity and longing that couldn't be easily ignored. 

"Is it so wrong to want, preciosa?" She uttered as Y/n met her gaze.

"Fuck it," She whispered as Valeria's lips smirked.

"Good girl." Y/n's breath hitched, feeling the blade trace down her chest, stopping over her military vest. "You don't need it. Take it off." Valeria commanded darkly. 

Y/n's hands twitched, slowly reaching beneath her vest. "The cameras, they'll see--"

"As if I'd let them," Valeria uttered before clicking her tongue, making a clock-like sound. "Go on," She commanded, bringing the knife closer.

Valeria watched with hooded eyes as the vest dropped to the floor. Her eyes drank at the sight of the exposed skin, how Y/n's muscles flexed with each movement.

"Good girl," she purred, her voice a mix of satisfaction and approval. She leaned in closer, the cold blade of the knife still pressed against her throat.

She moved the blade slowly and deliberately, tracing it along the contours of Y/n's chest, feeling the rise and fall of her breath beneath her touch. The cold metal sent shivers down Y/n's spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her veins.

Leaning close, Valeria's voice dropped to a low, husky whisper.

"Do you feel that, mi amor?" she murmured. "The thrill of the blade, the anticipation of what it can do. How it can bring both pleasure and pain."

The blade continued its slow descent, inching lower and lower, tracing a tantalizing path along Y/n's body. She could feel the tension building in the air, the anticipation thickening with each passing moment.

The knife reached the waistband of Y/n's pants, hovering there momentarily, teasingly close to her most intimate areas. Valeria's eyes locked onto hers, her gaze filled with dominance and desire.

With a swift motion, she slid the blade under the waistband, cutting away the fabric and exposing the most vulnerable and sensitive parts to her hungry gaze. Y/n gasped as her pants fell to the floor with a soft rustle.

The cool air caressed her skin as Valeria's warm palms dragged across her thighs. Valeria's eyes roamed hungrily over Y/n's exposed form, taking in the sight of her in nothing but her panties. The curve of her hips and the tantalizing hint of what lay beneath sent a surge of desire coursing through Valeria's veins.

She stepped closer, her hand gently tracing along the waistband of your panties, teasingly tugging at it. "These are in the way."

With a slow, deliberate motion, Valeria hooked her fingers into the sides of Y/n's panties and pulled them down, allowing them to pool at her feet. Valeria's eyes feasted upon Y/n's exposed sex, glistening with arousal.

She slowly ran a finger along the delicate folds, relishing how Y/n's body trembled beneath her touch. Her touch was firm yet gentle, exploring the contours of Y/n's sex with a possessive intent.

"You're so wet, mi amor," Valeria whispered, her voice filled with satisfaction and desire. "Your body craves my touch. It yearns for the pleasure that only I can give." She whispered, bringing her lips to Y/n's neck. 

She nipped at the skin before slowly sliding her long fingers into Y/n's folds. Y/n's hips bucked as soft moans left her lips. Valeria maintained her steady rhythm, her fingers expertly exploring and caressing.

Her smirk deepened as she watched Coli's hips grind against her fingers, the desire and need evident in her actions. Valeria reveled in the power she held over her, relishing in the control she exerted.

"You're so needy for me, cariño," Valeria whispered in a husky voice, her eyes burning with desire.

Valeria's fingers delved deeper, parting the folds and finding Y/n's swollen clit. She circled the sensitive bud with deliberate and skilled movements, applying the right amount of pressure to send waves of pleasure through Y/n's body. Y/n's head fell back, her eyes squeezed shut. 

"Fuck--" Y/n cried, broken moans and gasps leaving her lips. Her legs began to shake, her folds tightening around Valeria's fingers. She was so close.

But Valeria was not one to grant release so quickly. She wanted to push Y/n to the edge, to make her beg and plead for that sweet release that lingered just out of reach. Her fingers continued their relentless assault on Y/n's sensitive clit, alternating between gentle strokes and firm pressure.

"Not yet, mi amor," she whispered, her voice filled with satisfaction and dominance.

"Tell me how badly you want to come," she commanded, her voice dripping with authority. "Beg for it, preciosa. Tell me how much you need my touch."

"Please--" Y/n wailed, her body shuddering as her eyes filled with tears. "Please-- Valeria-- I'll do anything. I'll join the cartel or fuck ever just please---" Y/n pleaded as Valeria's lips twitched upwards. Y/n groaned as Valeria withdrew her fingers from within her. 

Valeria slowly moved onto her knees, looking up at Y/n with a sly smirk. Y/n's eyes went wide as Valeria's knife dragged across her thigh.

"I want you to spread your legs wider," Valeria commanded, her voice firm and authoritative. "I want you to show me just how much you crave my touch, how far you're willing to go for that release."

Valeria pressed the blade against Y/n's inner thigh, a gentle pressure sending a jolt of fear and desire coursing through her body. 

"Keep your eyes on me," Valeria whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "And show me just how obedient you can be, how well you can follow my commands."

Y/n swallowed thickly and spread her legs wider. Valeria's eyes drank in the sight, her hunger growing with each moment.

"Now, touch yourself," she commanded, her voice filled with dominance and desire. "Show me how badly you want that release."

Y/n obeyed, fingers trembling as they made contact with her sensitive clit, her touch light and teasing. She circled her fingers in slow, deliberate motions, her breath hitching with each stroke. The pleasure coursing through her veins was undeniable, but the presence of Valeria, watching her with lustful eyes, heightened the moment's intensity.

With a clang, the knife fell to the floor. Valeria's hands reached up, hooking on both Y/n's thighs to keep them apart. Valeria leaned forward and pressed the flat of her tongue onto Y/n's clit. Y/n's hips instantly bucked at the sensation, her fingers stopping momentarily. 

"Fuck--" She let out a shaky moan as Valeria tsked.

"Did I say stop?" She uttered darkly as Y/n shook her head, slowly moving her fingers again. 

Valeria smirked, bringing her tongue back to Y/n's folds. Y/n wailed in pleasure as Valeria's skilled tongue lapped at her core, teasing and tasting her with deliberate intent. Valeria's smirk grew more expansive, relishing in how Y/n's body responded to her touch and how her moans filled the air.

Valeria's tongue danced across Y/n's sensitive flesh, exploring every crevice and curve, leaving no inch untouched. She reveled in how Y/n's body writhed beneath her, and her hips arched for more pleasure.

Her tongue flicked against Y/n's clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. 

Y/n's legs trembled, tears of pleasure streaming down her face as babbles left her lips. Valeria delved deeper, her tongue flicking and swirling against Y/n's clit relentlessly. She could feel the tension building in Y/n's body, the waves of pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Y/n's cries of ecstasy filled the room as her orgasm washed over her, her body convulsing with each wave of pleasure. Valeria continued to lap at her folds, prolonging her pleasure until she was wholly spent. Y/n shrieked, her hands attempting to pull Valeria away, but a warning glare made her stop.

Y/n could only shake and sob as Valeria patted her tongue over her clit. The pleasure burned as her wails increased. 

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, Valeria slowly pulled away, a satisfied smile on her lips. 

But their session was far from over. With a glint of mischief in her eyes, Valeria whispered, "That was just the beginning, mi amor. There's so much more pleasure in store for you."

[dixons-sunshine]

espinosa!reader established relationship with daryl and carol treats her like a sister she always protects

Something To Prove | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Espinosa!Reader

Summary: Ever since meeting you, Carol has felt an overwhelming urge to protect you at all costs. You were like a sister to her and she would go to great lengths to ensure your safety and your happiness. Now, after you went to her after an argument you had with Daryl, she made good on her promise and decided to give her best friend a piece of her mind.

Additional pairings: Carol Peletier x Fem!Espinosa!Reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff, some angst

Era: Alexandria/Sanctuary, post Saviour war, pre the building of the bridge

Warnings: Swearing, arguing

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I didn't know exactly what to write but I hope you like where I went with this. There's not a lot of Daryl x Reader in this, but it was so fun to write about Carol and reader's platonic relationship. I love Carol with my whole heart.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests. AND NOW THEY'RE ALSO OPEN FOR ANY SCUD FROHMEYER REQUESTS! It's actually criminal how little fics about him there are, so send in any thoughts, headcannons or requests about him, along with some about our wonderful Daryl Dixon.

—

“Woah, woah, woah. Wait a second. He said that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “I understand he doesn't want me to be in danger, but I can tell how much he hates it here. I don't want him to be alone, but he keeps pushing me away. I don't know what to do, Carol. He won't even talk to me about it without starting up an argument.”

Carol pulled you into her embrace, gently rubbing your back as you quietly cried into her shoulder. She slightly rocked you side to side, whispering reassuring things into your ear as she tried to calm you down. She held you tightly, refusing to let up until you felt better.

After a couple of minutes of just being held, you pulled back and wiped the remaining tears from your eyes. You gave her a weak smile and stood up, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“Sorry about all that,” you apologized sheepishly. “I don't know why I broke down like that.”

“Don't apologize,” she reassured you, waving you off. “It's good to let your emotions out every once in a while. Bottling them up doesn't help, believe me.”

“Maybe you should try telling that to Daryl,” you scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “He's done nothing but bottle up his feelings lately. I understand that he's not the most open person when it comes to things like feelings, but he always talked to me whenever something was bothering him. Now he's becoming more like the Daryl I knew when we first met back at Terminus. Reserved and closed off.”

Carol nodded, intently listening to you. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head. “No,” you began, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don't want him to get pissed at you either. I'll be fine.”

Carol pursed her lips and hesitantly agreed. “Okay, if you're sure.”

“I am,” you nodded, before hearing the walkie-talkie go off in your pocket, your sister on the other line.

“There's a problem. One of these pendejos caused a fight to break out and I can't find Daryl anywhere.”

“Mierda,” you cursed under your breath. You looked at Carol apologetically. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“It's okay,” she reassured you, getting up to give you a quick hug. “Be safe out there, alright?”

“Always am,” you quipped before rushing out of the room, talking to Rosita on the walkie-talkie. “I'm on my way. Keep them from killing each other.”

With that, you were gone. Carol looked at where you disappeared into and sighed, a million thoughts plaguing her mind, but she was sure about one thing—she had to confront Daryl about the way he was treating you. Carol was the one who had encouraged Daryl to pursue a romantic relationship with you in the first place, and she'd be damned if he threw it all away because of his stubborn nature.

With determination, she got up and walked out of the door, one destination clear in her mind. She knew exactly where Daryl would be at that moment, and it was as good a time as any to try and knock some sense into the archer.

—

“Figured I'd find you here.”

Daryl looked up at the approaching woman, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He grunted in acknowledgement at Carol, turning his gaze away from her and back to the ground.

Carol sat down next to the archer. She stared ahead and sighed, catching Daryl's attention. “I know I've said this a lot, but I really think Y/n is the one for you, you know?”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, not sure why the Peletier would bring you up as the topic of conversation. “Yeah,” he started, nodding slightly. “I think so too.”

“Really?” Carol asked. When Daryl nodded, she continued. “Then why the hell are you pushing her away? Do you have something you wanna prove?”

“I ain't pushin' her away,” he replied, more confused now. He took a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out, flicking it away from him.

“Then why the hell would she feel the need to come to me for advice on what to do? In tears, might I add.”

Daryl's frown deepened. “Wha'?” he asked, suddenly feeling small under Carol's scrutinizing stare. “She came to ya cryin'?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, pursing her lips. “She came to me about the argument you had with her this morning. From what she told me, you said some pretty nasty stuff. What's that all about?”

Daryl sighed, realisation dawning on him. Memories of the argument he had with you flashed through his mind and he grimaced. He immensely regretted everything he had said to you in that argument, but he didn't know how to fix it. You and Daryl had been arguing a lot more since he started supervising over the Sanctuary. He didn't trust any of the former Saviours and he knew some of them had it out for him, so having you there with him made him scared. Scared that the Saviours would take their anger out on you. Scared that he couldn't protect you against all of them. He felt so scared for you.

Admittedly, having you there did make him feel better. To have your presence beside him and to be able to hold you at night while you talked about your day made this hellhole a lot better for him, but it also made him anxious. He didn't want any of the backlash meant for him to get you hurt. He couldn't watch get hurt. He'd never be able to forgive himself.

“Daryl?” Carol voiced, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked over at her and frowned.

“She tell ya everythin'?” he asked, continuing when she nodded. “Then I dun' have anythin' to say.”

“You do!” she exclaimed in frustration. “Why are you treating her like that? She's your partner, Daryl! That woman would do anything for you!”

“Tha's wha' scares me!” he bit back loudly. When he saw Carol go quiet, he lowered his voice. “She has proven tha' she would do anythin' fer me by bein' here at this shit hole. I can see tha' bein' here is takin' a toll on her. And these assholes ain't makin' her life any easier. I jus' want her to be safe.”

“Daryl,” Carol started, putting a comforting hand on the archer's shoulder. “You know she can handle herself. And even if she couldn't, no place would ever be really safe. There are Saviours everywhere now. At Alexandria, Hilltop and the Kingdom. It doesn't matter whether she's here or there. If she's here, at least you'll be able to keep her safe.”

Daryl pondered over Carol's words. After a few minutes of silence, he finally spoke up. “I messed up, didn't I?”

“Big time,” Carol nodded, chuckling softly. “But it's okay. Just go talk to her, and I mean really talk to her. No arguments.”

Daryl nodded and got up, turning and heading back into the Sanctuary. He only had one goal in mind; find you and beg for your forgiveness if he had to.

“Go get her, tiger!” Carol laughed from behind him, pleased that she was able to get through to him. She just hoped that his stubbornness wouldn't mess it up.

—

“Hey. Ya got a moment to talk?”

You looked up from the papers you were reading, locking eyes with Daryl. You could see him fidgeting with his hands, his body language radiating nervousness.

You nodded at him. “Yeah.”

Daryl inhaled sharply and stepped forward. You watched him anxiously, not knowing what to expect. The longer he took to speak, the more your mind started to wander—did he do something wrong? Was he bit? Was he leaving you for someone else?

“'M sorry 'bout this mornin',” he finally said, taking you by surprise. “I shouldn't have said wha' I said. I know yer jus' tryin' to look out fer me and I appreciate it. I jus' got scared tha' somethin' would happen to ya if ya stayed here with me. Most of these assholes dun' exactly like me and will do anythin' to hurt me. I jus' dun' want them to hurt ya to get back at me.”

You stepped forward and embraced Daryl in a tight hug, catching him off guard. However, he hugged you back tightly in a couple of seconds, burying his face into your shoulder. He breathed in your clean scent and instantly relaxed, his body sagging slightly.

“You should've told me how you felt, Dar. It would've saved us so many arguments,” you whispered, sighing in relief.

Daryl scoffed lightheartedly. “I doubt tha'. We woulda jus' argued 'bout whether ya should stay here or not.”

“I'm not leaving,” you said with a sense of finality in your voice. “I know how much you hate it here, Daryl. That's why I decided to stay. I stayed so that you didn't have to feel alone in this place.”

Daryl pulled back from the hug to look at you, keeping you in his arms. His heart fluttered at your revelation, and he gave you a small smile. “Ya stayed fer me?”

You nodded. “Of course I did. I love you, Daryl. I'd do anything for you.”

Daryl ducked his head down to press his lips against yours, catching them in a sweet kiss. The kiss lasted for a couple of seconds before he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. “I love ya more.”

“I love you the most,” you retorted playfully, giving him a teasing smile.

“Ain't possible,” he replied, scoffing lightly.

“Agree to disagree,” you said playfully.

Daryl rolled his eyes affectionately before kissing you again, this time more feverishly than before. It didn't take long for Daryl to push you back against the table, hoisting you up by your thighs to sit on it.

You giggled against his lips. “Eager much?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled before attacking your neck with kisses, nibbling on your sweet spot beneath your ear. You moaned quietly and leaned your head back, giving him more access to your neck.

However, the moment was short-lived. The crackling of static from the radio startled the two of you, Eugene's voice coming through.

“Daryl, Y/n, we need you down by the trucks pronto, ASAP.”

Daryl groaned and lowered his head to rest on your shoulder, eliciting a laugh from you. You gently pushed him away from you and jumped off the table, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers.

“Come on, they need us. We can finish this later.”

“Gonna hold ya to tha',” he responded, giving you a heated stare.

You smiled at him. “C'mon, pretty boy. Let's go.”

[helloholakonnichiwa]

jesus 😭

bear with me this is likely just word vomit it’s like midnight and i’m running on hot chocolate and a tadc high

I LOVED Zooble in this episode! I’d never given them much thought before, but this is definitely making me reconsider.

I love Caine, he’s my favourite character, but I definitely can’t blame Zooble and the rest of the cast for being so frustrated with him. I mean, he is a self-proclaimed ‘war-criminal.’ However, Zooble is definitely the one most open about their dislike towards Caine. We never got much of an explanation beforehand, besides them being rather blunt and edgy, but Ep3 shows us how they told Caine about their worries before - multiple times in fact - but he had always forgotten them. We don’t know if he forced them to as he did in this ep, but either way it must be frustrating for someone to put so much effort into trying to understand you, before immediately forgetting (and drawing bees while you talk).

I also love how the show shows (hah) the impact of the whole body change thing. I mean, imagine not only being transported to a whole different plane of existence and losing all memories of your life and identity, but also being forced into a body that you know isn’t yours, but don’t quite know what would make it right. It’s even worse for Zooble, who technically doesn’t even have a fixed body in TADC since their body parts can be changed. There’s a chance that the characters’ new bodies could relate to their real life identities, but to Zooble it must feel like they’ve lost out on that.

Although I didn’t relate 100%, as a trans guy I did find myself understanding a lot of what Zooble said about bodies as well. ‘I just want to find something that feels… good.’ God, wow, going right for my heart there.

And then how the therapy session switches to Zooble being Caine’s therapist. This is either because Caine forced them, they realised that Caine’s mental instability and insecurities would damage the circus (what’s up with that btw?? feel like that’ll definitely come up more in the future) or they genuinely feel sorry for him. Assuming it’s one of the latter two options, it really shows that Zooble holds a lot more empathy than they would perhaps like to put on show (I mean option 2 also has a self-saving aspect, but yk).

Also also I love how their reaction to the adventures and generally being in the circus differs from the others. Pomni has constant freak outs but still lets herself be forced into doing everything; Jax acts all tough and sarcastic; Kinger literally went crazy; Ragatha pretends that she’s ok and focuses on supporting the others, but it’s evident that she is really, really struggling; and Gangle also tries to act happily, but her happiness is literally stolen from her not after long so she remains permanently weepy. Yet, they all go through these things during the adventures as well. Zooble simply avoids it all and shuts off.

So uhh conclusions?? Idk man I’m sleep deprived

[gallusrostromegalus]

Secret tunnels: who built them, and who uses them?

So there aren't "Secret" tunnels in the Seireitei.

There are "These are SUPPOSED to be secret tunnels to evacuate the nobles and central 46 in an emergency but you have a better chance of keeping a fart secret in an elevator than you do of any kind of construction project in Seireitei" tunnels.

There are "Well we definitely built this for a reason but it's been eight fucking centuries and fuck if anyone alive remembers what the hell it's for" tunnels.

There are even quite a few "this tunnel is a secret because it wasn't *built* by anyone, it's the by-product of centuries of dubious infrastructure and construction shortcuts and no small amount of subsidence. This is just a gap waiting to collapse, but sure. You can try your luck" tunnels.

---

If there was ever a Master of these Sort-of-Secret tunnels, it was the 5th captain of the 11th division, Tokagero Kenpachi.

Certainly, Unohana and the fourth division collectively are the lords of the undercity now, but Unohana is a busy woman with lots to do topside. So in 1438, she Very Generously allowed the 11th to maintain the sewers and underground infrastructure while she figured out vaccines.

Tokagero regarded this as very kind of Unohana, because Tokagero was a water monitor of gargantuan scale, and regarded the dark and twisting undercity as her natural habitat. Which it may well have been, because that's certainly a space where an already large lizard might be exposed to Kido Corps magical waste or other Suspect Substances and grow to be large enough to swallow the fourth Kenpachi whole and assume his title.

Tokagero and the 11th had many a fine hunt in the undercity, after hollows that had escaped from noble-backed Bloodsports, to fugitives, to other strange creatures of the urban abyss, including a worrisomely large koi fish that Tokagero decided to grant dominion over the undercity's waterways as one Supernatural Beast to another. There was some wagging of tongues that Tokagero was backing out of a fight with Daikoi, but that was quickly silences by Tokagero flicking her own tongue and reminding everyone that she never packed provisions for these trips.

One day however, Tokagero discovered something bizarre.

Ice.

She'd been on the hunt of an escaped war criminal when she found him in an odd corner of the sewers with a very large hole where his head used to be, as if shot with an incredibly powerful projectile.

Weird.

She thought she felt a crackle of reiatsu before, but this was unlike any Kido spells she knew, and her quarry was not the type to do himself in.

Weirder still was the frigid patch of ice smeared against part of the floor an wall beside him. This bastard had no proclivity for Kido and did not carry an ice-type weapon, so where had it come from?

---

"Youre back early." Jugram frowned at Lille Barro as he came in from the unusually intense blizzard outside castle silbern.

"Sewers 're haunted." Barro grunted, hefting his massive gun off his shoulder.

"Pardon?" Jugram blinked.

"Sewers 're haunted." Barro repeated, rolling his eye. "The sewers near the primary spy portals are PACKED with shinigami on the hunt for something- one of them nearly ran into me. So patrols will have to wait."

"Ah." Jugram nodded. "...coffee?" The second-in-cmand offered Barro, for lack of anything sensible to say.

"Hm?" Barro blinked, looking up from hanging up his strange hat. "Oh, yes. Please. Sorry, it's been a while since an enemy got that close and it's unnerved me. I keep feeling like I've forgotten something..."

"Just so long as you didn't leave the portal open." Jugram teased, confident in his commrade's competence.

[thefallenangelsgang]

Fuck it, I'm throwing my hat on the ring about the Emil announcing Nate from Fallout 4 is the bystander Soldier in the Fallout 1 opener.

First and foremost, it was a stupid thing to say. As he backtracks to later, the conceit of Fallout's protags is they are supposed to be anyone (and that issue is precisely why some people hate the extensive prewar character background given to you in Fallout 4). For the lead writer to pull a JK Rowling (why would you do that? None of those went over well) is such a major marketing misstep that it wouldn't surprise me if Emil gets reprimanded for it before we even get into the implication of what he said.

Emil your voice is as good as God when it comes to the canon. You can't just say shit like that and expect it to go well. Especially considering the implications.

Speaking of the implications, I'm not mad about Nate being a war criminal. It's a coloring I actually would welcome if the games discussed concepts like Capitalism, Racism, and War in any meaningful way anymore. And if Emil also didn't say this.

Fallout's canon is rooted in reality. That is part of its whole thing. It's fun to do goofy shit like becoming the Silver Shroud and having a make believe superhero fight with the Mechanist or write a woman obsessed with Nuka Cola so much she traverses two games to basically kidnap the CEO's cryogenically preserved head so she can talk to him for all eternity, but the setting is very much rooted in reality.

You aren't dealing with fictional countries, you aren't dealing with fictional races, you aren't dealing with fictional hypotheticals. That is The Elder Scrolls job. You are dealing with actual countries, actual racism, actual history, and actual fucking politics. You have to be mindful of what you are doing and saying. You can't just do things because it's an interesting plot device without first thinking about the implications.

Fallout's world is a heightened version of our own, a path we seem to stumble towards with ever passing year unless we do something about it. It fucking sucks. I'm sure writing it feels like prophesizing the future and eats your soul a bit. It would mine. But that doesn't mean Fallout can just take a sharp left in terms of story and reality and get away with it.

To have Nate be the bystander Soldier and then meet him when he has a very good thing going for him (an expensive house during an inflation crisis, a robot butler, he gets into a vault for free for fucks sake) very much speaks to life rewarding him for his crimes. There is no hatred in his words when he looks at the flag of the country that made him kill innocents. His speech is speaks of remorse for leaving his family and the cycle of war, it does not speak of the horrors. Of watching you comrades bleed out in the Anchorage snow. Of the scream of shells overhead. Of the fear in civilians eyes as your buddy puts a bullet between them.

You all have to see how it looks like the man is fine with what he had to do during the war, right?

Not interacting with these concepts enough paints a picture of apathy and acceptance. In this day and age where being keeping the government honest and responsible for their actions is so important, that isn't going to slide without it being EXTREMELY purposeful, which it is not. It's tone deaf and lazy.

I respect a lot of what Emil has done in the past, but I am not above keeping him culpable when he has something so delicate in his hands. I hope this situation is what he needed to get his head on straight, or is the light bulb moment where he realizes he needs to pass the torch onwards. There is no shame in subject matter becoming too much as time goes on. There is shame in letting a previously critical series become the very thing it was criticizing.

He is going to keep getting dragged until he realizes that or he manages to convince the fans to be complicit in the degradation of setting. In doing so he is going to lose Bethesda most of its biggest fans who well and truly love the series and what it stands for.

But that's just my take, and I'm just a kid who studies polisci and history and can't shield myself from the inherent horror of nuclear war no matter how much I try.

War really never changes

[onim5]

Isekai Au

Chapter 1: The beginning

Portgas D. Ace x Female Reader

Warnings: um, Ace fighting.

-----------------------

Ace fought Black Beard with all his might. Refusing to back down. Though, after big attacks from both, Ace collapses in pain. Black Beards laughs and grabs him at the neck. "Men chain him, we give him to the navy, and then I become a war lord!" Blackbeard laughs.

Ace groaned in pain, and then some words an old lady said to say if he ever needs escape. She was a kind old lady, so he would do it, even though it was embarrassing. "%^~`°$%>♤£¥!?&÷/×%=+." Blackbeard laughed at him again as expected. "I didn't hear that, mind repeating?" He asked, squeezing Ace's neck.

"I don't . . . . . " Blackbeard watched, surprised as Ace disappeared in front of his eyes. "What the?" He let out as Ace disappeared completely.

Ace opened his eyes and took in his soroundings. It was dark and dusty. On both of his sides, high towering walls stood. Ace slowly crawled in pain and leaned on one. "Where am I?" He whispered. In one direction, he found a lot of people walking past. And on the other more people walked past. Could he ask one for help? What other choice does he have?

"Hey, lady. Could you perhaps lend a hand?" He mumbled out to a woman walking past. As expected, she didn't hear. Ace frowns in disapair, though he couldn't blame her. "Huh?" Ace glanced up at the woman, now standing before him. "I'm slow, sorry. Do you need help?" She asked, concerned. "Yeah, you wouldn't mind?" He asked, his voice low and scratchy. "I call an ambulance." She said, holding up a flat weird thing. "Don't I just need food and a long nap, then I be fine." Ace mumbled again.

"Oh, okay. You can come with me, I guess. Can you walk?" She asked. Ace very slowly stood up. Losing balance, the lady grabbed him and then allowed him to lean on her. "It's not far." She states.

"The names Ace, Portgas D. Ace." He introduced himself. "I'm Y/n." You see that building. It's the place." You told pointing at a tall skyscraper. After quite a long time, they made it into the building. Ace tried to make them change direction to the stairs, but instead, they ended up going into a small room with a weird door. "Your place is quite small. It's nice, though." Ace states, but she just looked super weird at him. "I don't live in an elevator." You answered, pushing some buttons.

Ace felt so motion sick. As he could feel the room move. He grabbed a pole that hung on the side and practically clung to Omin. After a short while, the room stopped, and the doors opened. Ace stumbled out with you. And then you got out a key and opened the door before him.

Soon laying down on a couch. Ace finally relaxed his body and fell asleep. You, on the other hand, started to cook. Glancing now and then at the sleeping man.

Why did you take him in? What if he's a criminal? If he is, he will regret messing with you. After all, you're a lawyer.

--------------------

End of chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Masterlist

[assortedseaglass]

🌟Wassail | Yuletide🌟

Tom Bennett x Fem!Reader

Summary: A minor indiscretion leads you to chaperoning the yearly children's wassail with none other than Tom Bennett.

Content: Fluff, Language.

Yuletide Masterlist

Spending the evening with a handful of excitable children and Tom Bennett wasn’t too bad, as far as punishment went.

You supposed your father thought the children, full of a night’s sugar after years of rationing, would tire you out with their boundless energy. Perhaps he also thought that Tom Bennett would scare you. A petty criminal that good, honest girls should be frightened of. Well, your father should know that you were far from good or honest. That’s why you needed punishing in the first place.

Word got to your father that you were seen in a compromising position behind the Capital Club with Willie Murphy on New Year’s Eve. You traced the source easily. Your father heard it from that busy-body, Mrs Browning, who heard it from her neighbour. The neighbour’s daughter just happened to be Minnie Goodman, Willie’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. The tale was a tall one, for in truth Willie Murphy snuck his hand up your skirt and you’d given him a smack. If Gossip Goodman wanted that creep all to herself, she was welcome to him.

“Hurry up you!” One of the little lads shouted at you as he made his way to the next house.

“Watch your mouth, Harry Tollet,” you said, coming to stand beside him and the other children. “You won’t be wassailing next year if your mother hears you talking like that to a lady.”

“My mum says you aren’t a lady,” Harry said, knocking on the door. A little girl beside him gasped. Before you could speak, Tom Bennett, who had been silent on the evening’s walk, stepped forward.

“You’ll get a clip round the ear an’ all if you keep on.”

Harry had no time to cower for the red door opened and the children sang a chorus of We Three Kings. Their tin cups were filled with mulled cider by the old lady at the door, and Tom ushered Harry away before his could be filled.

“That’s not fair-”

“Shoulda thought about that before you ran your mouth,” Tom shoved the little boy towards the rest of the group. “Best behaviour.”

One of the little girls whispered in Harry’s ear and gave Tom a wary glance. She smiled awkwardly at you and turned around as the next door of the street opened and the children began their singing once more. The house belonged to old Mr Preston, a widower who lived alone. His only son died in the war. He had no grandchildren. You watched, heart growing as the old man gave the children their cup of mulled apple and presented them each with a mince pie.

Silenced for a while by their full mouths, the children listen to old man Preston telling them tales of Christmases long ago. Enraptured, they forgot all about you and Tom. Thank Christ.

You smiled at Mr Preston and showed him your cigarettes, indicating the pavement on the other side of the street. He nodded knowingly and continued his tale.

Leant against the lamppost, you clicked your lighter and inhaled the heady smoke of the cigarette. Tom Bennett took out his own packets of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth. With his hands safely back inside his pockets, he swaggered slowly towards you, looking over his shoulder in a half-arsed attempt and chaperoneship. You snorted.

He came to a stop before you, clicking his heels together as though he were still in the navy. He looked down his long nose at you a moment, smirking. You weren’t rattled. He brought his long fingers to take the cigarette from your mouth and light his own with it. The end sparkled into life, the tobacco crackling. The low, orange flare of light illuminated his sapphire eyes, which were fixed on yours. That rattled you, just a bit. This was a man who made flirting an artform. He looked at your cigarette as he passed it back to you.

“Lucky Strikes? Very posh,” he drawled in his Manchester burr.

“Got ‘em from a Yank. Better than your filthy Marlboros. Bloody stink,” you took a drag and exhaled the smoke in his face. He didn’t budge, the smoke dissipating to reveal a fully born grin.

“Lucky Strike for a lucky strike?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t be jealous,”

Tom puffed out his chest and sniffed the night air. He glanced over his shoulder. You smiled to yourself; you never knew it was so easy to hurt Tom Bennett’s pride.

Across the road, Mr Preston had finished his story and gone inside. The children were walking to the next house, some hand in hand.

“They don’t need us,” you nodded towards them.

“Nah,” Tom said. “War made them different. Self-reliant.”

You hummed in agreement.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

You stared at him, amusement tugging the corners of your mouth. Tom Bennett always thought so highly of himself.

“What for?”

“Harry.” He stated simply.

“But you didn’t do anything,” you laughed brightly.

Despite himself, Tom smiled. “Hold on-”

“Don’t think I could have handled a ten-year-old myself?”

Tom took a step up onto the pavement and, in doing so, brought himself closer to you. “Oh no,” his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “I heard you can handle yourself very well,” One of his hands slipped inside your coat to rest against the slope of your hip.

It wasn’t his hand that made you bristle. It was the assumption that you were easy. Sure, you’d had your fair share of flings, but you didn’t drop your knickers for any fella with a sly grin and foreign cigarettes.

You took his hand in yours, moving it from your waist and dropping it back at his own side.

“I’m only here ‘cause Dadda believed in a load of old hearsay,” You flicked your cigarette to the ground and stamped it out under your heel. Tom didn’t hide the way he stared up the length of your stockinged leg. “I wouldn’t touch Willie Murphy with a ten-foot barge pole-”

“I know,” Tom said simply, idle hands tucked back into the pockets of his jacket.

You stared at him, lost for words. No-one ever believed you. Seemed to think because you’d had three or four Longsight lads, you’d had the whole lot. “Really?”

“Yeah, course I do. He’s an ugly little bastard with more spots than I’ve had hot dinners.” You laughed. Towards the end of the road, the children were singing again, and the lamplights began flickering into life. “I didn’t try it on ‘cause I think you’re easy,” with another step, Tom was pressed flush against you. “I tried it on ‘cause I like you.”

Your smile of genuine happiness turned to one of mischief. “Tom Bennett, are you going soft?”

In the dim light, his blue eyes twinkled. With a wink, he stepped back and began his slow walk towards the gaggle of children. Falling into step beside him, you walked in silence but for the chorus of We Wish You a Merry Christmas and clack of your heels on the cobbles.

Gently, boldy, you tucked your hand into his. “Not so bad, is it,  this punishment?”

“Not a punishment for me. Not a petty criminal anymore.” Tom said, smiling down at you and tugging you closer so that the kids wouldn’t see your entwined hands. “Nah, I volunteered.”

You stood still, mouth agape with amused shock.

“What?” Tom tugged your hand and you kept walking.

“You really have gone soft!”

“War’ll do that to you.” You bowed your head solemnly. “And the prospect of an evening with you.”

“Even with a headache’s worth of kids?”

“Even so.”  

Finally back with decent internet! The last few days of Christmas are going to be heavy with uploads!

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

[kallie-den]

Cobra's Kiss

Huntress is one of the greatest superheroes of all time, a divinely-blessed amazon who is all but invincible in combat. So, there’s no way one little mind-controlling kiss could immediately defeat her… right?

A commission for Xander!

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As Huntress leaped from the next building and crashed through the already-broken window of the seemingly disused warehouse, landing with enough force to crack the bare concrete beneath her feet, a wild, vicious grin was spread across her noble features - though it dimmed slightly at the bleating protests coming through in her earpiece.

‘Huntress! Please, wait for backup! Qualia is still out of action, Flamespout and Radiance are being held up by other villains, and Axehead is still a long way out. You’re on your own here. It could be a trap. You can’t go in the-‘

Huntress plucked the tiny device from her ear and crushed it to pieces underfoot. Farsight, the group’s coordinator, was always careful - but in this case, far too careful. After all, they had finally tracked The Cobra to her secretive lair. This was their chance to finally take the supervillain down, once and for all. What was Huntress supposed to do? Just sit on her hands until someone showed up to babysit her?

No way. Not in this lifetime. Not after everything The Cobra had done. This was personal.

“Sorry, ladies,” Huntress muttered, as she advanced towards the building’s depths. “This time, the glory’s all mine.”

What did she have to be afraid of? The Cobra was a mastermind and a diabolical manipulator, certainly. There was no telling who she might have turned into a mindless, fanatically loyal double agent with that power of hers. But here, now, in the flesh, all those plans and schemes would mean nothing. In a fair fight, The Cobra was little better off than a mere civilian.

Huntress, meanwhile, was a superhero with godlike strength - literally. She’d started out as a mere vigilante, hunting petty criminals and wrongdoers, but her will and determination had soon caught the attention of Dianae, the ancient maiden goddess of the hunt. Dianae had blessed her with many gifts: strength, stature, a hunter’s instincts, and her own divine armaments. Now, as the goddess’s avatar, Huntress stood seven feet tall, with an amazon’s body, clad in an enchanted, steel blue, leather bodice and cowl, with a colossal, heaven-forged war bow strapped over her back.

Yeah. The Cobra didn’t stand a chance.

Her resolve set, Huntress moved like a stalking wolf. For years, The Cobra had been a ghost. A curse, weaving her malign influence throughout the world without once leaving herself vulnerable to just retaliation. It was only through happenstance that Huntress managed to track her here, to what seemed like nothing more than yet another abandoned warehouse hidden deep within anonymous urban sprawl. It was the perfect place for a cunning supervillain to hide.

But The Cobra was about to learn that she was no match for the cunning of a huntress who had caught her scent.

The disused building was huge, and as Huntress headed into its depths, the open storage spaces gave way to cramped rooms and narrow, labyrinthine service corridors. Huntress moved quickly, faster than any mere mortal could have, but her senses remained keen to any danger and her hunting instincts guided her along a sure route towards her prey. She expected traps, tricks, maybe even minions - but there was nothing. No impediment to her progress as she made her way toward The Cobra’s lair.

Huntress let herself grin. It was so typical of villains. When you finally hit them close to their home, they were all but defenseless.

In turn, featureless, dusty corridors soon gave way to passageways that showed signs of recent use and renovation. Huntress’s superhuman ears picked up on the hum of electricity, and the walls were covered with wires; brand new fiber-optic cables, all of which seemed to lead inexorably towards a single point. Eventually, she came to a heavy, metal door, deep within the bowels of the building. Behind it was the nerve center of everything.

This was it. This was The Cobra. It had to be

Huntress swiftly unslung her bow from her shoulder, notched an arrow, and forced the door open with a single, mighty kick.

Inside, it was dark, even to Huntress’s enhanced eyes. Light spilled out into the large room only from a huge array of monitors arranged on the opposite wall. Before the monitors was a desk, and before the desk was a woman sitting in a chair, staring up at them. She didn’t look round, not even at the sound of the huge, heavy door to her lair crashing to the ground.

But Huntress didn’t need to see her face to know that she’d found her enemy. At last.

The woman was brunette and considerably shorter than Huntress; even from behind, Huntress would have recognized her anywhere. The true giveaway was what she was wearing: a tight bodysuit, so dark it was almost black, except that when it caught the light, it was possible to see a scaled pattern etched across its surface in the deepest shade of emerald.

“Cobra!” Huntress roared, as she stepped across the threshold. “It’s over! In the name of the goddess, I’m here to bring you to justice.”

There was no reply. The Cobra didn’t even turn. Information kept flickering across the monitors: maps, dates, statistics.

“You’re finished.” Huntress advanced another step. “I’m going to make sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars - and even that’s better than you deserve. You’ve killed a lot of good heroes. You killed my friend. Come on. Come face your reckoning.”

The Cobra still didn’t acknowledge her presence. She remained completely focused on the screens in front of her, and constant flickering as they chanced and scrolled. Huntress felt her choler start to rise.

“Face me!” she yelled. Another step. “I want to see the look in your eyes when you realize you’ve lost.”

Still, nothing. Huntress’s temper flared, and anger drowned out her more cautious urges. She’d had enough of this childish game.

“Face me!” she repeated - and as she stepped forward, she loosed an arrow from her bow. Thick as a spear, it flew through the air and hit square its target: one of the monitors to The Cobra’s left. Impaled, it flickered black and shattered, showering the supervillain in sparks.

But she still didn’t move

Huntress frowned. She stepped forward, reached out to put her hand on The Cobra’s shoulder, and spun the chair.

It wasn’t her. It was some stranger, a woman Huntress had never seen before, with a passing similarity to the supervillain, dressed in her costume and sat in her chair, a telltale look of glassy-eyed, insensate pleasure on her face.

Huntress barely had time to process the sudden, sinking feeling in her gut before the trap was sprung.

The superhero wheeled and instinctively raised her bow - but without a notched arrow, it was useless. Before she could prepare one, she caught a glimpse of a slender outline, darting towards her from the shadowy corners of the room, holding some kind of large weapon that was already trained directly at the superhero. Huntress braced herself - but still, she wasn’t worried. Her divine gifts made her bulletproof. She was ready to take a blow.

What she wasn’t ready for was for the weapon to launch a set of long, segmented, metal cables at blinding speed. Huntress made to dodge - but caught off-guard, she was just barely too slow. The cables slammed into her with the force of a speeding truck. Huntress was able to hold her ground even against that, but she had no defense when the cables started to wrap around her body, flexing with their own momentum and pinning the superhero’s limbs to her sides. She dropped her bow and stumbled, and, before she knew it, Huntress was wrapped up tight from her shoulders all the way down to her knees.

“That’s better,” said The Cobra, as she dropped the heavy cable-launcher. She sighed with relief. “You’re not an easy woman to catch, you know. Even faster than I’d thought. But maybe now we can have a civilized conversation.”

Huntress just glowered furiously at her. The sight of The Cobra’s face made other faces flash through her mind. People she’d lost. People The Cobra had taken from her. At last, she was getting the confrontation she’d long craved, and Huntress wasn’t going to let anything hold her back. She started flexing and straining against the coils of metal binding her, drawing on all of her righteous anger and all of her divine strength. The cables didn’t break - but they groaned from the strain.

“This won’t hold me,” Huntress warned. “Not for long.”

The Cobra just shrugged. “Adamantite. It’ll hold for long enough.”

“We’ll see,” Huntress countered. “Backup is almost here.”

Infuriatingly, The Cobra wagged a finger and tutted. She turned her head, letting Huntress see the earpiece she was wearing. “I’m tapped into your comms. Backup is not almost here. Backup is being misdirected away, on a wild goose chase. No, it’s just the two of us.”

Huntress flashed her a nasty grin. “Bad news for you, once I break out of these.”

It was strange that The Cobra didn’t seem frightened. She hardly had the look of a larger-than-life supervillain. Compared to Huntress, she was slight and slender, with nondescript brown hair. Only her scaled bodysuit and the dark glint in her eyes hinted at her true nature. Huntress knew better than to underestimate the woman standing before her. She knew full well how many lives The Cobra had ruined.

“We’ll see.” The Cobra started walking towards Huntress, preening like a peacock, her voice soft, with just a hint of an alluring, sibilant, hiss. “Actually, I was hoping that if we spent a little time together, you might realize that we really don’t need to be enemies.”

Huntress just laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Huntress’s hatred for the villain was so thick she almost choked on it as she spat out her words. The idea that they could be anything but mortal enemies was absurd.

“Now, now,” The Cobra chided. She was within arm’s reach, and Huntress hated that she couldn’t reach out and strike her. The hero redoubled her efforts to break the metal coils around her body. “You never know. I might just turn out to be your type.”

Humor could only stretch so far. “Listen here,” Huntress growled. “I don’t care what you say. I don’t care what you do. No matter what, I will never, ever- mph!”

For the second time in as many minutes, the superhero found herself taken off-guard - this time, as The Cobra lunged forward and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

Huntress was no stranger to kissing women, but kissing a supervillain like The Cobra filled her with nothing but disgust. Moreover, she was entirely unprepared for the sensation of something long, slick, nimble, and foreign forcing itself into her mouth from The Cobra’s, exploring her mouth, dominating the kiss, and even beginning to push its way into her throat. Disturbed, Huntress tried to pull back, but with her limbs bound, there was no escape.

She was far more disturbed when, moments later, her body started to tingle and weaken, and a kind of strange, warm pleasure began to radiate from her lips.

“My, my,” The Cobra sang, as she finally drew back. “You taste good, Huntress.”

Her vision blurring, Huntress looked at her, and saw the foot-long, forked, tongue protruding from The Cobra’s mouth.

After a moment, her mind caught up with itself and she realized what had happened. This was The Cobra’s superpower, and the reason for her moniker. She had a very long serpent’s tongue, coated with a kind of supernatural venom that weakened the minds of those it came into contact with, drowning them in euphoric bliss and fostering a twisted sense of loyalty to the supervillain. It was the source of all her power: despite her lack of physical prowess, The Cobra could enact all her villainous schemes by using her tongue to turn people into kiss-drunk minions who would do anything to please her; she’d brainwashed civilians, government figures, corporate leaders - and even, at times, superheroes.

But not Huntress. Never Huntress.

“Your tricks will never work on me,” Huntress snarled. “I’m not like your other victims. I’m stronger than you.”

The boast came easy. It wasn’t a mere bluff. Beyond her superhuman strength and unmatched hunting skills, Huntress harbored another talent: her indomitable willpower. It was what had attracted the attention of her goddess in the first place: even as a mere mortal vigilante, Huntress had refused to let anyone or anything dim her spirit or distract her from her purpose.

Huntress was sure of it. Resisting The Cobra was a matter of willpower. And in a battle of wills, what chance did a mortal have against the divine avatar of an invincible goddess?

“Oh? Are you sure it won’t work?” The Cobra flashed her a smug smile. “Are you sure it isn’t already?”

“Of course I… I…”

Huntress grasped at her hatred like a blade, hoping to let it cut her, hoping to let its sting keep her sharp and clear-headed. Her voice faltered when she found that, to her surprise, her hate was dull. It was still there, certainly. All the reasons she should and did hate The Cobra remained perfectly easy to grasp. But it didn’t burn the way it had just moments ago. It didn’t inspire the same kind of biting rage. Her hate felt somehow distant; numb, like she was under anesthetic.

Huntress’s confidence suffered a hair fracture.

And the malevolent grin on The Cobra’s face grew wider still.

“R-ridiculous,” Huntress snarled. “You’re a fool if you think I can be beaten so easily.”

“I suppose we’ll find out.” The Cobra sauntered across the room and grabbed over another swivel chair, just like the one her double was seated in. After positioning it behind Huntress, she gave the superhero a swift shove. With her limbs bound, Huntress was unable to keep her balance and collapsed into the chair. “But you don’t look as confident as you did a few moments ago.”

Huntress was glad to find she still had enough hate to glower up at the villain. “You’ll pay for this. For everything. Very, very soon.”

She could feel the metal cables wrapped around her body beginning to stretch and distend from her efforts. They had to be just minutes from snapping.

“And then the big, bad Huntress gets me?” The Cobra mocked. She perched herself down delicately in Huntress’s lap; the weight was barely perceptible, but the frustration had Huntress growling. “You should remember something, darling. Cobras are hunters too.”

Huntress laughed in her face. Just a few minutes. “Let me tell you who I am. I am a hero. I am the divine avatar of Diana. I have been blessed with powers you cannot possibly comprehend. I have defeated foes the size of skyscrapers. I have defended our world from demonic entities and alien threats. I am Huntress, and I- stop, s-stop!”

As she delivered her monologue, voice booming, conviction in her belly, Cobra let her long, forked, dripping tongue drool out of her mouth again - and then drew it up the side of Huntress’s face in a long lick.

“What are you doing?” Huntress spat. She squirmed, trying to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. “That’s disgust… ing…?”

Cobra’s tongue came away with a wet smack, leaving the side of Huntress’s face coated with her thick, venomous saliva. This time, as it seeped into the superhero’s pores, she could feel it happening: the strange, pleasurable tingle that made her spine shiver in unwanted anticipation. The creeping, inexplicable euphoria that clouded her mind and stole the edge from her rage. Even with all her will and resolve brought to bear, Huntress couldn’t keep it from affecting her.

“Disgusting…” Huntress repeated, but she couldn’t fill the word with any force. The Cobra noticed at once.

“Wow,” she teased. “The almighty Huntress, weak to a little kiss. Who would have thought?”

“I’m nnnot.” The word came out slurred; Huntress tried again, but it didn’t help. “I’m… nnnnottt…”

The Cobra giggled maliciously. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

She licked her lips, and went in for another kiss, nice and slow this time, in a parody of romance. Huntress turned her head this way and that, trying to avoid the kiss, but her movements were already turning sluggish - and besides, The Cobra was on top of her. The villain pressed her lips against the hero’s, and with them coated in her venom, even that chaste peck was another to make The Huntress flush and heave with supernatural bliss.

“You know, maybe you’re not such a good kisser after all,” The Cobra remarked, kicking her legs against Huntress. “A little… limp. But maybe that’s what I should have expected, from the chosen of the maiden goddess.”

The sudden arrogance in the supervillain’s voice was like a red rag to a bull. Huntress tried to glare up at her, to prove her defiance with the fire in her eyes, but when she looked at The Cobra, she couldn’t help softening. Her vision was becoming hazy, and through the fog, The Cobra seemed strangely, undeniably beautiful.

"You…” Huntress gasped, suddenly full of awe. “What are… you…”

“Perhaps I just need to get you warmed up,” The Cobra mused, ignoring her. “Here.”

She leaned in for another kiss. Huntress was so dazed, only at the last moment did she realize the danger she was in. She jerked her head back, but The Cobra’s kiss still landed, just beneath her mouth. The supervillain kissed Huntress again, then again, then again, over and over, trailing kisses along her skin, before finally finding her lips and once again pushing her elongated tongue into Huntress’s mouth.

Huntress couldn’t help it. She let out a soft, faint, but undeniable moan.

“There we are,” The Cobra said, her voice a twisted mockery of affection. “Isn’t that better?”

Her victim was too addled to reply. Huntress was seeing white. She struggled to grasp what had just happened to her. Faster than she had ever believed possible, her formidable will had started to give way and sink into quicksand. Each kiss made her weaker, more susceptible. Her face was burning with flustered pleasure, and it radiated out, filling her body. It was getting harder and harder to think clearly.

“My goodness,” The Cobra cooed. “I have to be honest: it’s quite the power trip, having a literal demigod quaking and shivering under my every… little… touch.”

She punctuated those three words with yet more kisses across Huntress’s cheek. The superhero moaned again. What was happening to her? She’d never felt like this before. So warm. So soft. So palpably malleable and weak.

It was wrong. She needed to fight it. Huntress just needed to keep that thought straight in her head.

“I’m… nnnot…” she slurred, despite how absurd the denial was. “I’m… gonna… get out of here… punish you!”

“You are?” The Cobra mocked. “That’s funny. But you’re not even trying to escape anymore.”

After a few moments of dumbfounded blinking, Huntress realized that the supervillain was right. Somewhere along the way, she had stopped straining against the metal cables binding her, succumbing to the warm, relaxing feeling The Cobra’s tongue offered.

Huntress blushed shamefully, and tried to start struggling again. But she found that her limbs had turned to heavy, iron bars and her muscles to sludge; try as she might, she couldn’t seem to apply much pressure to the cables. After just a few seconds, her strength failed her. The Cobra laughed as she watched Huntress slump, defeated.

“What was that you were saying?” she crowed. “You’re a hero? A divine avatar? Blessed with powers I couldn’t comprehend? To me, you look like nothing more than another one of my mewling little pets.”

Huntress thought back to The Cobra’s double, still sitting in the chair a short distance from them. She thought about the look of utter, mindless bliss that had been on the woman’s face. Was that what was going to happen to her? A fearful shiver raced down her spine.

She wanted to deny the very possibility. But hadn’t The Cobra already proven her wrong? Huntress’s sense of self-assurance was collapsing beneath her feet.

“And in a few more minutes, that’s exactly what you’ll be,” The Cobra went on. “Another brainwashed slut, addicted to me, doing anything I please just for one more kiss - even helping to bring those precious teammates of yours into the fold.”

That particular jab bit deep with Huntress - but struck iron. The superhero frowned, a fresh surge of anger lending her much-needed strength.

Defeat was one thing. Betrayal was another. Huntress had never once betrayed the principles by which she lived and fought. And she never would, not for anything. Certainly not for the hated supervillain currently perched in her lap.

Yes. Yes, she hated The Cobra. That was right, wasn’t it?

“I… will… never…” Huntress said thickly and slowly, enunciating each word clearly in turn, “do… your… will. Never. With… with all that I have… with all that I am… I’ll keep fighting. To the bitter end.”

She meant it. Every word. Even The Cobra seemed impressed. She cocked an eyebrow and whistled.

“Not bad,” she acknowledged. “But you still just don’t get it, do you? Watch.”

Huntress was braced for The Cobra to kiss her again, but she didn’t. Instead, the supervillain simply opened her mouth and let her serpent’s tongue hang lazily out of her mouth, slowly extending to its full length. That was all. The tips of her tongue’s forks twitched occasionally, tasting the air, and venom-impregnated drool formed thick, looping ropes beneath the supernatural organ.

Against all her wishes, Huntress moaned.

This time, it wasn’t her body, but her memory that betrayed her. Just the sight of The Cobra’s tongue held power over Huntress. It reminded her of everything that tongue could do, and made her throb with longing as memories of that warm, wonderful pleasure washed over her. Already, Huntress could feel her precious willpower once again starting to drain away.

“You see,” The Cobra cooed, her voice poisonously soft. “Don’t you want this?”

Huntress couldn’t help but let out a whiny, plaintive sigh as she realized that she did. That was followed immediately by a deep sense of shame. She shouldn’t want it. It was wrong. It was obscene. Huntress was a hero. She should be above such temptations.

Yet her body yearned for it. She knew, she just knew, that as soon as The Cobra’s tongue touched her skin, the sweet nectar of her venom would wipe away all of those shameful feelings.

“You do,” The Cobra pressed. “Don’t you?”

Huntress managed to shake her head, but the words wouldn’t rise to her lips. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming something else.

“I think you do,” The Cobra whispered to her. “And I think you’ll let me kiss you.”

She started to lean in for another kiss, this time moving tortuously slowly, giving Huntress all the time in the world to jerk her head out of the way. But she didn’t. Huntress couldn’t move. She was paralyzed by her conflicted desires. The superhero opened her mouth, hoping to protest, but the words still wouldn’t come, and her lips remained slightly parted and turned upwards, towards The Cobra’s approaching mouth.

Without resisting or even saying a word, Huntress let The Cobra kiss her. For just a moment, she hated how good it felt. Then, the oncoming pleasure obliterated even that.

Huntress couldn’t help it. As The Cobra forced her tongue into her mouth, she started leaning into the kiss. Embracing it. Kissing back with stupefied passion. It was impossible to do anything else when it felt so good. Every concern about her morals and principles, about the situation, about The Cobra’s schemes - all of them paled in comparison. The kind of euphoria The Cobra’s power inflicted allowed no room for doubts. As they kissed - as The Cobra started fucking Huntress’s throat with her tongue - Huntress was on cloud nine, and The Cobra herself was the object of all her newfound joy.

When The Cobra broke the kiss, Huntress whined. She wanted more.

“There we go,” the supervillain cooed. “That’s a nice dose. Isn’t that better?”

Huntress just nodded dumbly.

“Good.” The Cobra extended her tongue towards Huntress and licked her again. Huntress shivered in eager rapture. “See? Maybe we can get along after all.”

Again, Huntress nodded. That sounded good. She wanted to get along with The Cobra. Why wouldn’t she? The Cobra made her feel so good.

There was something else in her head. A different feeling that she felt towards The Cobra. Something spiky and bitter. Then, it slipped out of view.

“Excellent,” The Cobra told her, evidently pleased. “That’s my good little hunter.”

Huntress’s reward was another kiss. She accepted it eagerly. Each one felt better than the last. She looked up at The Cobra adoringly, panting for breath, a vacant, stupid smile spread across her saliva-slick face.

“Hey,” Cobra said. “Why don’t you tell me your name? Your real name, I mean.”

Alarm bells sounded in Huntress’s head. She had always kept her real name a secret. Allowing it to become public knowledge meant endangering all those who were close to her. She couldn’t.

And yet now, all those alarm bells were so far away, she could barely hear them.

“Susanna,” Huntress told the villain dreamily. “Susanna Callisto.”

“Susanna Callisto,” The Cobra echoed. “Incredible. But you know,” she added teasingly, “if we’re going to keep getting along, I’m going to need you to do some things for me.”

That gave Huntress pause. The Cobra’s phrasing was undeniably menacing. It made her cautious.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” The Cobra promised. Her face was twisted into an impossibly gleeful smirk. “I just want to get to know some of your friends, the same way I’m getting to know you. You can help me with that, can’t you?”

Huntress’s friends. It took her a long moment to understand what that was referring to. Superheroes. Superheroes like her. Didn’t being a superhero mean something important? She thought about what would happen if she brought them here, and let The Cobra work her tongue into their minds. It just seemed wrong, somehow, even if she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I… can’t,” Huntress replied, more than a little apologetically.

In that moment, the reluctance was real. She longed to give The Cobra what she was asking for. But this was the final kernel of her willpower, buried so deep it had still yet to be touched by The Cobra’s venom. Even if she sacrificed all of her dignity, she couldn’t sacrifice this.

“You can’t?” The Cobra seemed surprised, even impressed, by any resistance even at this stage. “How amusing. Why don’t you let me change your mind?”

Huntress let out a groan, but there was nothing she could do as The Cobra started kissing her again. The kisses came fast and furious; passionate, almost, from the supervillain’s eagerness to overwhelm what remained of Huntress’s will. She kissed Huntress again and again, each one deeper and more dominant than the last, making the defeated superhero gag on her tongue and gasp desperately for each breath before the next kiss came.

“Are you sure?” The Cobra whispered to her, between kisses. “All you need to do is bring them to me.”

“C-can’t…” Huntress moaned, more out of instinct than true comprehension. “Can’t….”

It was getting harder and harder to refuse her captor. The more The Cobra kissed her, the more Huntress’s pleasure was starting to congeal into something else: into an instinctive, servile sense of obedience directed towards the supervillain. Disobeying was growing steadily harder and harder to conceive of.

It was simple. Pavlovian. Huntress had become a slave to her own pleasure, and the pleasure told her to listen to The Cobra.

“Bring them here,” The Cobra urged. “Whoever I ask you to. Tell them whatever lies I feed to you. Use that strength of yours to keep them nice and still for me.”

“Noo,” Huntress moaned, though she could already feel her will to resist fading. “Nooooo.”

The Cobra touched one of her fingertips to Huntress’s chin and used it to guide her, making the super stretch upward, begging with her body for yet another brainwashing kiss.

“Yes,” The Cobra said firmly. Compared to Huntress, she sounded so strong. So sure. It was impossible not to believe her. “You’re going to be my ultimate weapon, Huntress. You’ll subdue all those other heroes for me. You’ll bring them right to my bosom.”

“Nnn… mmrfff.” Huntress’s attempt to refuse collapsed into more moaning when Cobra extended her tongue along the side of her face, coating it in slick, wet, mind-warping saliva.

“Anyone who threatens me,” The Cobra insisted. “Anyone who opposes me. You’ll stop them. You’ll help me claim them. You’ll work to make them mine.”

Huntress thrashed and spasmed as pleasure tore through her. Her back arched. It was so easy to see herself doing it, and so very hard to disobey. She craved it now. Everything The Cobra was describing. She was about to break, and both of them knew it.

“Obey me,” The Cobra hissed. “Kiss me, and obey.”

As one final, desperate gambit, Huntress’s overtaxed mind seized upon the words that she’d used many times in moments of true hopelessness: a prayer, a plea, delivered up to the one who had made her what she was.

“D-Diana… s-save me!”

And, by a true miracle, the goddess did.

The Cobra was thrown out of Huntress’s lap and across the room by a sudden thunderclap. She shot to her feet, but found herself blinded by impossible, silver light. It was as if the moon itself had been made manifest inside her lair, but when the light dimmed and her eyes adjusted, she found herself looking not at a celestial body, but at a woman.

Not, not a woman. Diana, Goddess of the Hunt.

There was no mistaking her. In stature and beauty, she was even greater than Huntress, and her body still shone with a halo of moonlight. There was a great resemblance between Diana and her champion, The Cobra noted, although the goddess had the ageless quality of an immortal, and her hair was brilliant silver instead of platinum blonde. She did not have a weapon, but she clearly didn’t need one, either; her gaze spoke of immeasurable power and righteous wrath - and all of it was directed straight at The Cobra.

“Who dares defile my champion?” the goddess spoke, in a voice that made the heavens quake.

Every little hair on The Cobra’s body stood on end. She turned her head left and right, desperately looking for something, anything, that might save her. There was nothing, of course. This was a goddess. What did she have? A long tongue?

“I see,” Diana pronounced, even though The Cobra hadn’t spoken. “Your heart is black. I will deal with you in a moment. But first…”

She turned to Huntress, sitting slumped in the chair, still bound. Diana touched just one fingertip to the metal cables wrapped around the hero’s body, and they dissolved into nothing more than fading sparks.

“Be free,” Diana said to Huntress affectionately. “I have no doubt you will recover, in time. Your firm will has always been your greatest blessing.” She rounded on The Cobra. “Which is why I cannot forgive that you would tarnish it.”

The Cobra started backing away. Dread overwhelmed her. She was still thinking furiously, but she couldn’t come up with any plan or ploy that could help her. The sheer unfairness of the situation was almost comical. She was barely a supervillain, and this was a goddess in the flesh. A petty little trick like using a double wasn’t going to cut it.

There had to be something. There had to be. But what? Her venom was the only asset she had, but even that seemed like a stretch.

“Damn it,” The Cobra hissed to herself. “If I could just hold her still for a moment…”

It turned out, Huntress wasn’t the only one who could have her prayers answered.

And Huntress herself was the one who answered them. The superhero abruptly rose to her feet, seemingly shaking off whatever dim-witted pleasure-trance she’d sunk into. Diana noted her sudden recovery with nothing more than a pleased smile, and kept all her attention on The Cobra.

Until Huntress grabbed her goddess’s limbs and used all of her divine-given strength to pin them to her sides.

“What?” Diana exclaimed, confused. “My champion, what are you doing?”

But The Cobra knew. She could see it in Huntress’s eyes: the telltale, glassy glint of adoration and eagerness that marked those who had tasted too much of The Cobra’s venom.

Slowly, a grin started to creep back onto The Cobra’s face.

“Release me!” Diana bellowed. “My huntress, you must resist this witchcraft!”

The Cobra was already moving towards her by the time Diana started to struggle in earnest. It was immediately clear that Huntress couldn’t hold her for long. A demigod was no match for a goddess. But The Cobra’s commands had taken root deep in her mind, and the brainwashed superhero was every bit of her strength to keep Diana restrained for long enough for The Cobra to reach her.

The supervillain had no idea if her power would work. Her heart skipped a beat as she stretched up on tiptoes and kissed the goddess of the hunt.

The Cobra kissed her the same way she kissed all her victims: long and deep, pushing her tongue into her mouth to make her feel her presence and drink in as much of her venom as possible. She wasn’t sure what to expect from kissing Diana; fierce resistance wouldn’t have surprised her, nor, amusingly, would have prodigious skill.

What she hadn’t expected was for Diana to all but go limp immediately, after just a few clumsy, sophomoric attempts to dominate the kiss.

That gave The Cobra a little optimism. But she still didn’t dare to hope as she pulled back and inspected the formidable goddess towering above her.

Not until she saw the dull, dreamy, blissed-out look beginning to dawn on Diana’s face.

“Oh my god,” The Cobra breathed. “It… it worked.”

The goddess came over flushed, and it was clear that her struggles were weakening. Her eyes flitted back and forth in confusion.

“What…” Diana breathed. The Cobra couldn’t believe she was seeing a goddess look dizzy. “You… mortal… what did you do to me?”

The Cobra couldn’t help it. She started laughing. It came slow, building and building, until it came out as a manic howl that filled the room.

“Oh my god!” The Cobra cackled. “I can’t believe it - although maybe it’s exactly what I should have expected from the so-called maiden goddess. Not a lot of experience with kissing, huh?”

“I… don’t…” Diana bleated. She looked so lost all of a sudden, but The Cobra didn’t miss the hint of eagerness in her parted lips.

“Huntress,” The Cobra instructed, “why don’t you help our pretty little goddess take a seat?”

“Yes, Cobra.”

Huntress’s eyes shone hopefully at the mere prospect of getting to obey her new owner’s instructions. She guided Diana over to the chair she’d just been sitting in. The goddess didn’t struggle. Pathetically weak to The Cobra’s kisses, she was already beyond that.

“It’s OK that you don’t have much experience,” The Cobra hissed, as she poured herself into Diana’s lap and let her tongue drool out of her mouth once more. “I like girls that way, sometimes. And I’ll be more than happy to… educate you. Then, we can see what I can do to the world with a goddess in tow.”

She started kissing Diana again, and the supervillain’s lair filled with wet, smacking passionate sounds as she began to brainwash the goddess into nothing more than an obedient, pleasure-drunk thrall - just like her champion.

—

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