#so many awful people. those poor girls

[willowchild]

When I watched dance moms as a kid i thought holly was the nice mom but honestly every single mom on there was a horrible mom. Either abusive or ok with their kid being in a toxic, potentially traumatic environment for YEARS.

[plagasitize]

[kaisaerinlover]

kaiser x very tragic and isolated reader. and innocent. and idk how else to describe this but yeah just read ok

he’s a bit ooc here especially for my writing cause he’s being nice

you don’t feel like you have any purpose, you’re a girl in a world full of people with so many talents. so much beauty and so much of, well, everything. but you’ve never fit into that. never had anything of your own. you are you, isolated little you. every day you’ve lived has been to please others, you don’t ever recall actually living a life of your own volition at all. everything is for everyone else, or was, it’s for kaiser now.

he’s glad he found you, because he likes you a lot. you’re similar to him, after all. maybe not in the way you’d imagine. you’re isolated, because you have no one. you were used by everyone around you for whatever personal gain they had and discarded again after as if you were some sort of tool and not more than that. he’s isolated because he thrives in restriction, thrives in loneliness, thrives from the idea that nobody likes him and he’s a piece of shit; because that’s all he grew up knowing anyway.

he likes that you have no friends, likes that you’re the same as him. likes that he can have you to himself, in his own sick way. he knows it’s wrong but he can’t help it. he remembers when he first met you and you were nothing more than an empty shell counting down the days until you finally disappear. any outsider would consider it a curse that someone like kaiser entered your life at such a fragile and tender time; a time when you’re so clearly depressed and suffering, but you deem it a blessing. he remembers the dates you would go on, the love bombing and manipulating he did, that never seemed to work as intended on you. you were just so grateful for everything he did in general, so happy, so eager to please. it was endearing. you’re really his first love, he can promise you that. you’re the first person who really ever opened his heart up. and, he hates admitting it but, the first person he’s ever truly pitied.

he’s sorry for you, real sorry in fact. sorry that you feel the way you do, that you are the way you are. you don’t even allow him to give you as much affection as he’d sometimes like to. and it angers him a bit. he’s not one for these things, so the fact you deny him of them sometimes when it’s exceedingly rare of him to be so kind pisses him off. but it also makes him like you more. and pity you more. and loathe himself more. he likes taking you out for a stroll in the quaint little countryside town he moved you both to (he prefers the isolation he has with his huge mansion a bit further off the road from the village), he likes it. and you’re so in awe every time, without a doubt. big eyes looking around at everything curiously. he feels sorry for you, really really fucking sorry. so new to the world and everything to do with it. he has one memory in particular he’s fond of.

when he brought you out into the village for the first time and you excitedly ran and started picking flowers from someone’s garden. “you can’t pick those, those aren’t public property” he chastised you. and you didn’t listen, you just handed him the handful of tulips you just plucked from the ground of some poor old couple’s front garden and hopped over to the next one to pick some more. he mentally sighed but god your naïveté was so endearing, it still is. he’s always reminded that you’re living for the first time too, but maybe not just in terms of just existence. you’re experiencing life for the first time, he can tell you’ve never lived for yourself before. simply kept inside and made to abide by whatever it was everyone had you doing before. he hasn’t much context on your family, or whatever bunch of people it was that you lived with before him. but he knows they aren’t nice since the first time he met you you were preoccupied with obeying whatever orders they barked at you. you looked so empty, you were at a shopping centre carrying everything. he remembers seeing you so often around town with these people, looking so empty and doing their bidding, he just had to have you for himself. he likes pathetic things, but now he realises maybe he’s the pathetic one for you. he’s entranced by your innocence. he likes crushing beautiful things beneath his thumb; would gladly spit on a flower and stamp on it, so he’s not sure why his psyche is constantly making him be oh so fucking kind to you.

he remembers that same day you vandalised the poor village folks gardens, you sat on top of the roof of the church clocktower, in front of the huge ticking hands of time, doing nothing but eating rusk and ice creams. his hand over yours and your hair blowing in the wind. you were so fascinated by the sunset, how the sky changed colour into something so impossibly beautiful. you were just so enamoured by everything; such innocence is refreshing. his heart actually skipped a few beats. you stared at the sunset which was so astonishing and new to you after so many years of whatever the fuck it was you were doing (he doesn’t want to know, he can’t let himself feel even more pity for you, too many human emotions felt by him and he’s sure he’d explode) but all he could look at was the tragically beautiful girl next to him.

he tried to invite you out more after that, and he can’t forget what you told him. you looked up at him and smiled, a sad smile if he’s being honest, and all you said was “don’t worry, this was more than enough for someone like me”. someone like you, he hates the way it rolled off of your tongue so naturally. it sounds like a curse. someone like you. everyone deserves a break, you don’t even think you deserve it. god. he hates the fact it actually twists his insides and makes them churn so disgustingly. he remembers when he finally helped you escape whatever life it was you were living before too, how you insisted he didn’t have to, how the memories of your very very few escapades out were enough to tide you over for the rest of your life, hell, even all of eternity if you were to live that long. he wasn’t having it. maybe he saw himself in you, someone who needed help and just never received it. when he was living with his piece of shit dad still, he knows he would have loved some help. he remembers when he stopped merely existing and started living for himself. the feeling is liberating; maybe he wants to give you that liberation too. but you’ll never do that, it’s fine though, you live for him and it’s more than enough.

you’re really tragic. even kaiser admits that. you’re still as kind and sweet as the day he met you years ago. and it’s just sad, because sometimes he’s so mean with you. but he really cares about you, he does. that’s why he’s scratching your head now as you’re laid on him drawing something random on a notebook he bought for you. he bought you some colours from the village and a book and told you to go wild, and you did. he doesn’t even know why he did that, he likes hiding behind a facade of luxury. spoiling his girls rotten, giving them whatever expensive brand he saw first and showering them in gifts worth more than their entire family combined. but he doesn’t want to with you. it’s not that he doesn’t want to spoil you; the opposite actually. those gifts are just… not you. don’t get him wrong, you have a wardrobe of clothes that costed more than a pretty penny. but he’d rather get you items of sentiment. money also seems dirty to him, he’s not sure why that’s the association he holds with it. you’re pure; he doesn’t want to just turn you into some whore who’s obsessed with cash. a dirty slut. you’re too good for that. he thinks your childlike wonder of the world doesn’t suit this. and besides, your drawings are pretty cute. he likes watching you like this, watching you get so lost in something. seeing you have a bit of passion/a hobby. at first, he couldn’t quite get you to indulge yourself in anything at all, not even something as simple as doodling on paper. you always just gave him that mellow look and shook your head. he remembers when he first handed you the colours and book: “micha i don’t need it, don’t worry, i just wanna be useful to you” he hated that answer. he’s not even sure why.

he doesn’t know why he cares so much. he’s staring at your head so hard whilst in thought he’s surprised you haven’t noticed it yet. well, you have, you’re just pretending you don’t know. you don’t want to bother him.

he’s never cared so deeply about anything before other than football. he’s heartless. he’s not human so he shouldn’t have any feelings remotely similar to human emotions. this doesn’t align with the warmness in his heart he feels when he looks down at you drawing away to that sweet heart of yours’ content. and he just audibly growls in frustration. man, every fibre of his being is telling him he needs to take care of you and treat you right, and he agrees with it, that’s the worst part. you perk up at his growl and look up at him. and he just takes your notebook off of you along with the pens, puts them down on the table and grabs your hand. you know where you’re going, so you walk with him to the door to slip your shoes on too.

it’s evening now, and you’re sitting in front of the clock again. ticking away. watching the perfectly orange sky as the sun slowly descends ready to be replaced by the moon. licking away at a popsicle. both of you wrapped in one of kaiser’s coats. doing the same stupid routine as always. you looking in awe at the beauty of the world, the universe in general. and him looking in awe over the beauty of you. it’s like the sun only rises and falls to kiss your face with all of its light. you’re so pretty like this, hair falling down your face slightly and your face glowing in the radiant light. he likes the routine (though he hates admitting it). it’s comfy for him. the public thinks he’s some put together luxurious princeling, which is true he supposes. but with you he doesn’t have to. he feels… poor again. in a weirdly comforting way. sitting in front of the huge church’s clock, where you both definitely aren’t allowed to be sitting. licking at some cheap popsicle he bought from the small supermarket. holding your hand and admiring you. this feels like the most real version of him, and he’s glad he can show it around you.

as he snaps out of his thoughts, he notices you looking at him. big eyed with popsicle dripping a little down your mouth, so he reaches out with his thumb to wipe it away. god, he’s almost melting in his spot. he tries to conceal it, but he can’t be sure if he’s doing a good job or not. he hates how you’re the first person to make him feel like he’s in his puppy love phase all over again; he’s fucked countless women, had so many escapades you wouldn’t believe it, so much psychology books read and embedded into his brain, so much control over his stimuli, so good at pretending he doesn’t care. but with you he simply can’t. “thanks for this” you say. your voice is smooth as honey in his ears “for doing this for someone like me.” he hates when you say that. he just sighs and moves a little of your pretty hair behind your ear. “anything for you” it’s true. he would do anything for you. anything for someone like you, he knows it even more as you giggle at his simple action.

he’s more similar to you than either of you think, never quite believing you’re human and worth much. kaiser referring to himself as a subhuman, and you always dancing around the subject. “someone like me”. bullshit, kaiser thinks.

you shuffle a bit towards him and cup his cheek to kiss him, blushing the whole time as you do it. and he’s taken aback too, still kissing you back though. you’ve done this countless times but there isn’t a single kiss that doesn’t make him feel butterflies inside. not a single kiss for you either that doesn’t make your stomach fold in on itself. as he kisses your sweet lips he can’t help but to think about how he wants to take you out more. to see more places, more dates, more of the world. he wants to spoil you with life. he wants you to live, he wants you to feel as liberated as he felt the first time he discovered soccer. he wants to fix you.

and you are slowly fixing him too. it’s funny, you’re both so human and you both have trouble accepting that. both so human and both so deserving of love. both need to live for themselves, but there’s always going to be room for the other in this dynamic.

that’s something you can both agree on. both of you thinking of the other as your head rests on top of his that’s laid on your shoulder looking at the sky ahead. it’s comforting, two humans, breathing in sync, thoughts in sync, seeing the same thing, holding hands. a love so pure, purity michael kaiser didn’t even know he could welcome into his life. but he doesn’t mind, he likes it. you like it too, love you didn’t think you’d ever be able to accept before, here in your hands.

as mean as he tries to act, as evil as he might be, unfortunately he just can’t quite bring himself to fully commit to it when it comes to you. when he’s around you.

and you, albeit a little stupid at times, recognise this. and maybe, just maybe, it makes you feel happy inside. selfishly happy. maybe living for kaiser is like living for yourself, you’re like one soul divided into two bodies. he agrees.

[drysdalesworld]

them with a highly energetic child

headcanons of the boys with a highly energetic child (& x fem!reader)

the boys who have a highly energetic daughter:

QUINN HUGHES

— poor man’s trying his best fr. his patience is always tested with his daughter

— he’s always tired before the day ends due to how energetic she is but he doesn’t complain as he tries to soak up as much time as he can with her as he’s usually gone due to hockey

— poor dude gets all blushy & awkward whenever she waved to strangers & talks to them. quinn mumbles an apology to them before whisking her away, telling her how careful she needs to be to those she does not know as some people aren’t that friendly

— loves loves seeing his wife/reader interact with their daughter. she looks so much like you

— ^ like she got all of your good qualities & he’s just in awe every time he sees the reader & their daughter interact. nearly brings him to tears every time

— accidentally falls asleep sometimes during playtime but his little girl honestly doesn’t mind! she always ends up joining him & reader finds them both passed out on the couch, cuddled together

— baby girl is NOT afraid to speak her mind so she always ends up saying lovely things to the tv or the refs during quinns games. very passionate about the game & her fathers safety on the ice

NICO HISCHIER

— he’s able to switch from being soft & gentle to highly energetic within seconds

— his face always lights up when he sees her it’s the sweetest thing ever

— loves picking her up in his arms & just kinda tossle her around as he knows she loves it. her high shrieked giggles is what always wakes you up in the morning

— is quite literally the only person that’s able to calm her down enough to get her ready in the morning. does her hair & gets her dressed for you before he has to leave for morning skate

— also got her a backpack leash. it’s a pink poodle & she ALWAYS has that thing on (she loves bolting)

— the devils absolutely love her & nico always ask if she can tag along for a practice & the answer is always yes

— nico wanted to put her in dance bc he secretly wants to be that dad that dances with his daughter on the stage for her first recital

— makes “parkour” obstacles for her during playtime to get her energy out

— randomly throws her over his shoulder sometimes & just runs around the house

— he always asks if the three of you could take his pregame nap with him just so he could have the reader & his daughter close to him before he has to leave

— he goes all out on halloween & all three of you have matching costumes. your daughter is so excited about it that she can’t shut up about it

KIRBY DACH

— he’s such a gentle giant w/ her & lets her climb him like a monkey without complaint

— ^ eventually he’ll take her into his arms & just dangle her by her legs & gently shake her as she laughs or blow raspberries into her stomach/neck

— she always runs through or around his legs so he’s always on the lookout for her whenever he’s home just so he doesn’t topple over her on accident

— he skates up to the glass wherever you two are sitting & puts his hand + forehead on it. she copies him before smacking the glass, letting him skate off before blowing reader & their daughter a kiss

— likes to take her wherever he goes, especially if it’s a new city she hasn’t been to yet while they’re traveling ( & when they’re allowed to attend the away game). he likes showing her his favorite places & her face is so cute when she sees all the pretty lights

— dances with her while the both of you make breakfast, lunch, or dinner. sometimes throws her up in the air & catches her

— they both have matching bracelets that she made. he never takes it off

— likes to take her energy out through painting/arts & crafts. she likes to get messy so she’ll be covered in paint with a gummy smile. kirby joins in at times so both of them are covered in paint (there’s too many pictures on your instagram of the two of them like that lol)

— she literally gets whatever she wants w/ just one look & kirby’s already putty & taking out his card 😭

JAMIE DRYSDALE

— poor man is a struggling first time father & having a highly energetic child on top of that as an extreme introvert is something he’s working on

— he absolutely loves her to death don’t get him wrong but there’s a reason why everyone chirps him for being so shy & quiet

— whenever he’s home, she demands for jamie to play w/ her & he’s immediately following her into the corner of the living room where all of her toys are

— always playing tea time with her & he loves loves it

— he’s always tired after playing with her & he gets tired super easily but he’s def getting better at it!

— jamie’s managed to convince his daughter that she needs naps throughout the day to maintain her energy & to play so she always has him whisk her off for naps. he gently tucks her in & lightly sings her a lullaby to sleep (something he does during bedtime too). these are probably the only times reader & jamie has some peace & quiet so they definitely take advantage of it by relaxing or catching up

— is so gentle with her when he brings her along for morning skate. the entire team is, they adore her fr

— when he gets traded, he was a bit nervous to introduce her to the flyers but baby girl was so excited she practically wiggled out of his arms & introduced herself to every one on the team. he could only sit back & admire how friendly his child was

— super proud & thankful to have a child who is a splitting image of reader. he loves reader so much that he’s glad their daughter looks just like her. like, you both made that person? he feels like the luckiest man on earth

— doesn’t hesitate to let trevor babysit (when he’s proven himself worthy lol). trevor is ever more energetic than his daughter so she’s always passed out in her bed when jamie & his love get back from their date

COLE CAUFIELD

— his daughter may look like reader but she’s 100% coles kid with her attitude & personality

— literally bolts anytime she gets. she thinks it’s a game & always giggles when cole or you chase her around the house trying to catch her

— she climbs cole like a tree. climbs anything like a tree really

— the only time she is calm is when reader reads her a bedtime story. baby girl is literally silent as she grips onto every word you speak to her. it’s kinda eerie to see her like this as she usually speaks hundred miles per hour to you & cole

— cole always takes her to morning skate with him when granted permission. he slaps some skates on her & she immediately takes off. she’s not super well balanced on skates yet but she still has so much fun nonetheless. more often than not, she falls asleep in the car on the ride home

— cole attempts to dress her most days but it always ends up in a disaster as she most likely will look like she herself dressed herself lol

— always gets her a piece of jewelry for her birthdays. it was his signature with reader & now it’s also his tradition/signature with their daughter as well. it was usually small things when she was little & then he began to get her things like necklaces or rings when she got older & could keep more track of them

— holds her at any chance he gets

the boys who have a highly energetic son:

JACK HUGHES

— is 100% delighted to have a son that is literally a splitting image of himself

— ^ they’re partners in crime fr

— always takes him places during roadies when reader & their son join him. he loves showing him all of the places he’s visited & getting him cute little souvenirs for memory’s sake

— neither of them know how or when to shut the fuck up sometimes

— jack signed him up for hockey lessons when he was super young & started to show signs of being highly energetic but reader pushed back a bit bc she wanted their son to explore other sports than just hockey

— ^ he was a little heart broken when he found out you signed him up for soccer & that your son seemed more interested in that than hockey but little dude is such a menace on the field just like his dad so he can’t really complain about that

— poor reader is always tired out by both of her boys that they always catch her asleep on the couch or in their bed. the two join her in her naps & it’s one of the rare & peaceful moments they have where jack & his son are willingly quiet & calm as they join reader in her slumber

— he always makes new friends wherever he goes & always has a great time no matter the weather

— reader & jack’s son is so much like his father in the way that he’s protective over his mother & respects her

— ^ once at jack’s games, their son had noticed some rando trying to pick up on reader & boy was he having none of it. their little boy glared at the stranger & pulled reader closer to him before saying “my mommy” & shooing the dude away. jack literally high fived his son once he was told the story from reader (“that’s my little man! good job buddy!”)

— the summers at the lake house are always interesting. jack loves scaring the shit of you by holding your son in his arms as he wake boards. reader yells at him to not drop their son & has a heart attack when he “pretends” to drop him only to tighten his grip on their boys body. the two of them always go off & have their own fun during the summer while the reader enjoys her break talking & laughing w/ ellen

— jack puts your son to bed by 8pm bc he’s always hella tired by that time due to how much he’s running around & playing w/ his dad

LUKE HUGHES

— everyone should be concerned for this man bc his child does not give a single fuck

— ^ his son always wakes up in the wee hours of the morning just to run around & play. it’s lukes job to wrangle him back into bed

— luke bought his son a backpack leash so he doesn’t go running off when something else catches his attention (it’s a monkey one too)

— always has time for his son though so he’ll literally drop ANYTHING just for him

— is the one to put him to bed & read him a bedtime story. you always catch luke fast asleep on your sons tiny bed, his hand unconsciously rubbing the boys small back

— luke may not be the first person to wake up in the morning but he’s usually the one to keep your son busy while the reader makes breakfast or takes care of herself in the morning

— sometimes he just tossles him & carries him like a bag (yknow those tiktoks where they carry their kids by their jackets when they don’t want to walk) & he absolutely loves it. his son giggled so loudly as he just hangs or is getting thrown on the couch pillows

— during the summer, your son tends to burn more than you or luke so luke kind of goes overboard on the sunscreen & makes sure that he has a rash guard on for extra protection. puts a towel over him too on the boat if luke notices that his son is even a little red

— ^ throws his son into the lake all the time. he always asks for it too, practically climbing up luke as he begs for him to throw him into the water. his giggles always bring a smile to both of your faces as he shouts “again! again!”

— luke likes to gather the both of you into his arms & guide you guys into bed for his pregame naps. it’s usually luke, your son, & then you all cuddled together but sometimes it’s luke spooning you while you hold your son. it’s a cute sight

TREVOR ZEGRAS

— off the walls ecstatic to have a son that can match his energy

— this man is so happy to have a mini him it’s crazy

— loves running around with his & creating games for him to play

— def gets him into sports very early on & not just hockey. trev signs him up for soccer, basketball, baseball, golf, etc.

— he also sometimes just carries him or dangle him by his legs to “shake” out all the energy his son has before bedtime. it’s something that his parents used to do to him when he was younger & it seemed to work & help him so now he does it to his son too

— loves to post on his instagram story about their play times & adventures. it’s so sickeningly cute

— if his son were to scream out of nowhere randomly, then so will trevor. if his son just gets up & starts running out of nowhere, trevor will follow right after

— these two love to have cereal for dinner all the time it actually upsets reader sometimes lol

— you three are obviously invited to the lake house during the summertime by the hughes family & it’s always such a blast for trev & his son

— ^ yknow the picture of chris hemsworth w/ one of his children? the one where he has them by their feet at the beach? yeah that gives me major trevor vibes w/ his son at the lake house

— ^^ your son does not burn at all. he only tans, just like his father. but trevor still makes sure to put sunscreen on him just to be sure

LUCA FANTILLI

— also off the walls ecstatic to have a kid just like him

— his son looks & acts just like him (praying for reader)

— the entire umich team loves your son so often not, luca always brings him to practices, games, & other team related events

— he always informs either you or luca whenever he needs to get his “jitters” out. so when he gets the green light, he always just ends up violently shaking or running in circles around luca

— uncle adam is definitely his favorite person but dude purposely gets his brothers son all riled up just for the fun of it & it’s something you always scold adam for

— luca always deals with his son whenever he’s overstimulated or reader needs a break & he’s always happy to do so

— he’s the one to wake up your son in order to let you sleep in. luca holds him close to his chest & squeezes him tight before gently “shaking” out his morning jitters. they then have a race to the kitchen where luca gets started on breakfast

— ^ always gets him dressed too. he lets his kid choose his own clothing of choice for the day & always tells him how handsome he is, no matter how weird the outfit looks. then they’re both off to the nearest park to spend some time together before heading back home to wake reader up with a dog pile & breakfast in bed

— always give him a puck during warm ups before a game. he literally screeches in delight when it happens

— loves showing off his son & reader so much. his instagram is full of just you & your son

— on the days he’s allowed to bring him to practice he brings in his son to monday questions & have him also answer the question

— always spins him around when he picks up up after a game

— so so gentle & patient with his son too

[red-doll-face]

Out of the Morgan Brothers, ironically, Abel Morgan is the one with the worst reputation. His twin brother, Arthur, is often the shining star of morality between the two. Though very different, unfortunately their taste in women is much the same, landing on poor you. 

High Honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader x Low Honor Twin Brother (Abel Morgan) (OC??)

This has probably been done before but I love this idea and I think having two sexy cowboys chasing after you sounds like too good a time to pass up 😊😊😏😏😏😍😍 i just think naming arthur's licheral evil twin abel is so funny, sorry... thanks for reading ! and lemme know if you guys like it bc i definitely have a part 2 ready to go LMAO i wrote like 7 pages of this but thought it was too long 😔😔😔😭😭😭

Warnings: low honor arthur (or his twin i guess) as a warning, some mentions of blood and violence, alcohol

You had never met twins before the Morgan boys, it was a little surreal, the same eyes, the same hair color, the same face and body. But they were extremely different. Arthur was sweet, kind, and patient. He can act the grump that his brother is but he softens much quicker. You like how he greets everyone politely and asks how they’re getting on, does all of his chores. Never have you seen him be rude or perverse with the women, he’s nice to the girls as well as you. He takes after Hosea more than he does Dutch, whom you’ve always preferred, his almost grandfatherly attitude was much more welcoming than Dutch, who liked to act like a lord amongst his servants.

Arthur may still be an enforcer but he gives people second chances, and is more forgiving. However, he doesn’t let people mistake his kindness for weakness.

Abel is the one who is more Dutch like. All power, all strength, he is every bit the brutal enforcer Dutch wants him to be. He gives no quarter, he has no qualms. Nothing about his attitude is put on, he really is mean spirited. If you annoy him, he’s more than grumpy, he becomes irritated easily. Insults and threats are mostly used to keep people at arms length but sometimes it feels as if he’s genuinely having fun, taking advantage of people’s insecurities. You do your best to stay out of his way, keeping your nose down around him. It’s hard to avoid people in a shared space, once or twice he’s perhaps nudged you out of the way and told you to move, no ‘excuse me’ comes from him. But nothing like his harsh criticism for everyone else. Maybe he thinks you are a ditzy girl always standing in his way but you can never be sure.

The only way for you to tell Arthur and Abel Morgan apart is their facial hair and their clothes. Arthur wore cooler colors and wore his facial hair a bit neater, and he wore an old gambler hat that had certainly seen better days. He’s always covered in a layer of fine dust and dirt, working more often than not. Abel dressed several shades darker, deep reds, dark browns, and a pitch black stalker hat. His hair is always just a bit longer than Arthur’s, his facial hair a little more scruffy. Though you don’t get to see him much, it’s obvious he gets into many more physical altercations, always coming home with rough knuckles and blood stained shirts. Sometimes you think he wears red so the blood doesn’t show as easily. But you always know when you’re washing his clothes, the water always turns a deep rusty color.

You like Arthur a lot more anyway. You can tell he has a soft heart under his thin shell, which cracks so much more easily, for those in need, for people he cares about. He never fails to greet you nicely and when he sees you, he tips his hat.

You don’t notice if Arthur likes you, you just think he’s sweet to all the girls the way he is with you but your easy kindness and soft smile pull him in. You catch a peek of him drawing and you compliment his pretty landscapes. The awe in your eyes is making him fall even deeper.

Arthur really takes the courting stance towards trying to get you to notice him and he spends a long time pining after you first. He takes his time talking to you in the morning, bringing you things you mention in passing. He loves to see you smile and hopefully laugh even if it’s at him. He loves to hear you compliment him, he's ready to die happily when you tell him how good he is at something, while spectating a game he’s playing with Lenny, or if he wins a hand of poker.

Abel probably doesn’t even notice you until he sees Arthur talking to you more and more everyday. He doesn’t spend a ton of time around camp so he won’t catch it at first.

All you know about Arthur’s twin brother, Abel is that he’s…different. You probably won't pay him much mind either. You’re just happy he doesn’t spot with you his sharp eagle-like stare. He’s aggressive and evasive. You don’t think he has any of the softness you can see with his brother.

He spends most of his time outside of camp. The chores he does are not many, mostly robbing and hunting. Sometimes, he comes back, covered in blood and drops a stack of bills in the box full of money in the center of camp.

He’s nowhere near as terrible as Micah; in fact he butts beads with Micah more often than not, but the camp air feels lighter when he’s not there. He’s mean and can snap like an alligator at anyone but he mostly treats you like you don't exist. You haven’t seen him be as bigoted or perverse as some of the other men but he has a way of picking people apart, wearing them down. Grating on people’s nerves. He thinks it’s funny when they lash out, especially when he gets into tussles with the other men, he relishes in a good fight.

Abel thinks all of Arthur’s pining and his mooning at you is sort of pathetic, thinks it takes his attention from where he needs to put it; robbing and stealing and killing. It was bad enough with that Mary girl, he can hardly stand to listen to him sigh and watch him send wistful gazes at you. He tries to ply Arthur with alcohol and some broad over at the saloon but Arthur still refuses, fussing over the girl at camp, sweet little you. How you’re always there to say hello to him, how you love to look at his pictures.

Arthur gets drunk and just about starts crying thinking of you. Rambling about you, asking Abel if he thinks he has a chance with you. Abel sighs and takes Arthur back to camp. He does silently wonder what his brother sees in you. You’re not much different from the other girls in camp, perhaps not as boisterous as Karen and you don’t have your head stuck in the clouds like Mary Beth. You aren’t angry and snappy like Sadie or as resourceful and brave as Tilly. In fact he doesn’t know much about you at all.

Abel starts to investigate this woman his brother is getting sweet on. He’s had enough of seeing his stupid grin and his hand bashfully rubbing the back of his neck while he talks to you. He sees how you smile at Arthur, touch him softly on his arm to show gratitude. Let him sit with you when you eat. Arthur’s soft look he gets when he makes you laugh makes Abel want to throw up.

Maybe he wants to see if you’re the kind of girl who’s sweet on everyone, just to get a bit of attention. But you don’t greet him like you do Arthur, perhaps a shy strained smile is all he’ll get from you. You certainly don’t touch his arm, or laugh at him. Sure, you’re polite but you don’t talk to him like you do his brother. It sort of pisses him off. What’s so different between him and his brother? ( a lot ).

Arthur tells you that he’s going out today, he offers to take you with him but you say you have chores to do today and you’ll get in a heap of trouble if you don’t get them done before the end of the day. He nods and he just about explodes when you thank him for the offer and kiss him on the cheek. You’re shy about it but not as bad as Arthur who clears his throat and turns bright red. He keeps turning around before he rides away.

Abel’s been waiting for this, a moment alone without Arthur looming over his shoulder, watching over you like some old hound dog. He stomps on the cigarette he was smoking, pouncing on the opportunity.

He finally has the moment to come up to you while you’re doing some mending. He’s thinking maybe if you’re giving out kisses, he might get in line. The gentle ‘Oh…hi, Abel,’ from your lips and he's under your spell, right next to his brother. You look so cute, looking up at him from where you’re darning some nasty piece of clothing that if it were up to him, you wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. So pretty on your knees, nervous that he’ll lash out at you. He’s immediately thinking of you doing other things on your knees.

His name sounds so nice from your lips and your sweet voice. If he were Arthur he’d be smitten, greeting you politely, asking about your day. Too bad he's not. When he kind of just stares at you, you're confused. You expect him to say something, at least a good afternoon. You prick your finger while nervous and whine but he just smirks and exhales something of a laugh underneath the shadow of his hat before stalking off.

He hadn’t intended to like you as much as he did but he can’t help himself. Abel can’t figure out if he’s just more like his brother than he thought or if he just wants to try his hand at stealing you away from him to wreak havoc on Arthur’s life. Either way, he’s stuck with his brother, chasing after you, Arthur will just have to deal with it.

Thanks so much for reading! any feedback is appreciated 🥹🥹🥹

[corazondebeskar-reads]

how to break a girl in ten easy steps - part four

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

words: 600

summary: rewind. play it back from the start.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, non-con, captivity, predator/prey, capture, non-linear storytelling, brief mentions of car accidents - no graphic description. there's nothing explicit in this chapter, but it's still fairly dark.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: please read and heed the series and chapter warnings. this is very dark. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. please read responsibly.

Step One Once you’ve selected the perfect girl, make arrangements to bring her home. Remember all the elements of a successful acquisition: stealth, strength, and speed. Follow the tips in Appendix B to avoid unwanted attention. 

He’d been looking for a girl like you. A dumb little thing who no one would miss. He had everything else he wanted — his land, his cabin, his truck, his guns. Everything his shriveled old heart could want, except a warm cunt. 

And, admittedly, he was just a little lonely. Not enough to want to be around people more. No, he made his chit-chat on monthly shopping trips.

The townsfolk liked him an awful lot. Sure, it was mostly pity, but he’d fixed enough fences and done his part at a few barn raisings. Always asked Billy at the hardware about his grandkids and tipped Sheila generously at the cafe. Kept the boys at the Sheriff’s department flush with venison and took care of any mountain lions that wandered too close to the residential areas. 

He heard them whisperin’. Poor Old Man Miller, what a sad bastard, living by himself out in the woods since the accident. 

You’d stayed at the little motel for a night, and seemed to have moved on in the morning. 

Seemed to. 

What was left of your shitty, banged-up little sedan was in his tertiary barn. Your shitty sedan, an old truck he’d been halfway through fixing up a long time ago, and the remains of another truck covered by a tarp (which, in turn, was covered by a thick layer of dust) in the back corner. 

A little graveyard of sorts.

He’d known when he saw you sippin’ coffee in the diner. Eyes darting around you, clearly put off by the dinky little country town you’d stumbled across for the night. All alone and so sweet. So fuckin’ pretty. You were perfect. 

And by the next night, you were his.

You’d been just passing through. But you’d driven through the night, and now that it was the next afternoon, you knew you had to call it soon. The only thing around was some pit stop of a town; all huddled around the off-ramp on the south side of the mountain pass. A Holiday Inn was nestled behind a gas station, and you couldn’t tell if either were really open. 

The Speedway was a success, doing yourself the favor of filling your tank tonight so you could hit the road at first light with no extra stops. The Holiday Inn, however, was way out of your budget. Luckily, on the other side of the highway was a dinky motel and a cute little diner whose neon sign was speaking all the right words—and those words were “24-hour breakfast.” 

As expected, there weren’t too many people inside. It was dubiously clean and probably was a nice place fifty years ago. Now, the Formica tabletops were cracked and stained. The bench’s vinyl cover was ripped, but you didn’t mind any. Not when you can smell eggs and pancakes already.

There was a grizzled man at the counter with a cup of black coffee. His dark eyes narrowed and followed you, sending spidery shivers down your neck. You ignored him, even though he kept looking at you while you ate. Every town had its old perverts, and so long as he didn’t try anything, you’d forget all about him by the next day.

Or, you would have. If only he hadn’t been the one to pull you from the wreck of your little Toyota after that pickup drove you off the road. 

If only. 

[ilikepjo24]

Lol another dumb take on reddit

https://www.reddit.com/r/CharacterRant/s/ER8SmBToSm

WOW! There are so many things to unpack here...

"Iroh, the most-" Iroh!? IROH!? THE Iroh!? The "redeemed" warlord that only gave a fuck about being a warlord after it affected him personally? That Iroh? The Iroh that left a child to bare the weight of a nation just bc he, the mature responsible adult, wanted to sit on his ass instead of being mature and responsible? THAT Iroh? It seems awful like both those actions appear to be those of a selfish and unempathetic person. And let's not forget that even after his "redemption" he assaulted June. So how exactly is he the most understanding and kind person in the show, exactly?

Would you like to know who actually is the most understanding and kind person in the show? AANG.

The boy who found it in himself to forgive and learn to have affection for the dude that chased him around the world and almost hurt/killed him and his friends multiple times. The boy who found it in himself to forgive the nation that genocided his people enough to want to help them, teach them their old ways and bring them back to the light. The boy that found it in himself to spare Ozai, a sadistic, manipulative, abusive warlord that wanted to watch the world burn in an attempt to satisfy his narcissism. And may the record note that Iroh did not extended his own brother the same mercy. He believed Ozai needed to die, when Aang didn't. So Aang is more empathetic, understanding and kind that Iroh.

And do you know what Aang has to say about Azula?

That he believes in her ability to do good and be good. That he trusts her to do so. He could have had her executed. He didn't. He could have taken away her bending. He didn't. He could have said she's born evil and a bad egg. He didn't. He put in a good word for her. He said she did something good. That can be good. THAT'S what the actual most understanding and kind person in the whole franchise has to say about Azula.

"She smiles when-" So did everyone else and so does everyone ever alive when justice is served. Because for the audience, the event was unfair and traumatizing. But for the people of the Fire Nation it was justice. And it's only normal for people to be happy when justice is served. When a groomer goes to jail you don't think "oh, that poor groomer", you think "good, this piece of shit definitely deserved it". Similarly, in the Fire Nation, an imperialistic dictatorship, when someone disrespects their Firelord, which they worship as almost a god (if not more, bc we see them worship their Firelord more often than Agni), and that person gets punished they don't think "oh, that like boy", they think "good, this piece of shit definitely deserved it". That's not called "being a bad egg", that's called propaganda and borderline mass brainwashing.

"She mocks-" She's repeating what she heard from adults in her life. That's not being a bad egg, that's bad parenting.

"She tortures-" Not cannon in any way. We've heard that she threw bread at them. Not only was that told from Zuko's pov, who's known to be a biased narrator when it comes to Azula, but it's also not even that freaking bad. It's bread, when it hits the water it becomes soft. No one ever died because they got hit by a loaf of bread. And she doesn't burn them with.

"Her mother's comments-" Oh, you mean the "what is wrong with that child"? That comment? That comment that was thrown at a child after doing a very normal childlike thing? I used to to play execution with my Barbie dolls and beheading them by pulling off their heads and my least favourites would always be the ones that got executed. Kids break toys they don't value and/or like. Azula is not obligated to like or value a gift that wasn't for her. The doll was a gift for every little girl. It wasn't personal. It wasn't hers. She doesn't have to like or value it. She doesn't have to not break it. The only reason that she chose fire instead of execution is because she had fire handy. That comment Ursa made was absolutely not justified.

"She's never given an excuse-" Not only is this take proof that media literacy is dead, it's flat out anti-intellectualism. We see that Fire Nation schools brainwash kids by shoving propaganda in their faces and we know Azula went in a Fire Nation school. All that's left to do is put 2 and 2 together. It's 4. It's fucking 4. Azula was brainwashed in the Fire Nation school that she went to that brainwashes Fire Nation kids. Canon fact. Use your brain.

"Her vision of what she wants is twisted-" What, exactly, is twisted about wanting to be acknowledged by your family that is proud of you, being loved by your family that is supposed to love you anyway, and completing the mission you've been brainwashed into thinking is the right thing all your life? What is twisted about reaching expectations and having a happy family? I'll wait.

"We're supposed to sympathize with the spi- No, we're not. The spirit is very obviously a liar and a manipulator as we've seen throughout the whole damn comic. And it wants to eat her. The spirit is the villain of the story that has been continuously twisting reality to weaken Azula's ambition and will to fight back, so that it could kill her. By the end of the comic we're supposed to know that the spirit is a full of shit and we shouldn't trust what it says, since all it has said throughout the whole comic is lies. Not sympathize with it.

"Rationalizations of her behavior are believe yet unprovable and based on subtext." It's almost like she's not the main character. The show isn't going to take time diving into her background. They are going to only give us subtext and we have to use our critical thinking skills and come to a believable conclusion, as we do. Zuko loving Ursa isn't outright stated at the show at any point, but we know it's a fact because we see it in the way they interact. We know his mother matters to him because he thinks of her and misses her. That's subtext. And we know Azula is not to blame for the person she was bought up to be because Fire Nation schools canonically brainwash their students. That's subtext. You can't selectively decide that this subtext is enough to prove this point, but that subtext doesn't prove that point because it's not outright stated. That's called double standards.

"The show portrays her as being inherently evi-" The show? You mean the same show that didn't even portray the genocider, treacherous dictator (Sozin) and the abusive, manipulative dictator (Ozai) as inherently evil went out of its way to portray the manipulated, abused, brainwashed child as a bad egg? ...Sure. That's what happened.

"Mai and Ty Lee do the same stuff but are portrayed differ-" No, they are not. Mai is portrayed as somebody who abused the power they have over others, since she views ordering servants around as a fun activity, and as somebody who has no empathy towards their family, as she didn't hesitate to agree that her brother has less worth than a king. Ty Lee is portrayed as sadistic, since she's animated to smirk and sneer while taking down soldiers defending their homes. I think she even goes as far as to mock them at sons point, but take that with a pinch of salt. They are portrayed to be classist, sadistic, unempathetic people that only give a fuck about the select few and mystery everybody else. Y'all just refuse to see it because Ty Lee is cute and is constantly infantilized because of it and because Mai protected your lord and savior, Zuko, right after she was done being classist and unempathetic. They are not portrayed as better, you just go out of your way to portray Azula as worst.

"Even in LoK-" Azula is given Freudian Excuse. You just refuse to see it because, as opposed to Legend of Korra, the creators do not chew your food up and spit it in your mouth for you to swallow. You have to put the pieces of the puzzle together and make realization. Which can understandably be hard for people that have a brain the size of a peanut, like yourself.

"It feels weird for a show like Avatar to imply somebody was evil from birt-" It feels weird because it is weird and it is weird because it's something they would never do which is why they didn't do it. You literally just created this narrative inside of your head while understanding that it goes completely against the philosophy of the show. And now it's weird to you that it doesn't align with the show? Make it make sense.

This isn't asking for an Azula redemption arc (although "this fourteen-year-old who was acting under orders of a tyrannical fire lord can't be redeemed" seems incredibly harsh), this is just me wondering why the writers consistently, across mediums, refuse to suggest that she's even the slightest bit a product of her environment? But Zuko gets a pass for pretty much everything more or less? Alright then lol.

This is close to being the smartest thing you have said during this post. Unfortunately it is easy to notice that some of the creators just don't like Azula. That's it. That's the reason why. They don't like her and they don't want her to have a happy ending. So it's good that somebody else is riding this show now. Faith Erin Hicks, as we see from her comic, is not afraid to treat Azula as the victim she is, and is not afraid to lay the blame on the adults that failed her. As opposed to previous creators, she seems to be willing to apply the general philosophy of the show in Azula's character as well. Which is something she's able to do because Azula is not, in fact, inherently evil. She's a victim of abuse and a manipulated child that has done some very fucked up things but has all her life ahead of her to grow up and be better.

Give us a scene of Ozai molding her into the cruel person she is

Supporting and praising bad behavior is enabling it. A good parent would say "I understand that you were upset at feeling as though you were underestimated when you got efficient results, but it's important to keep your cool and respect your instructors since they have more experience than you. If you feel as though the inability of this instructor to stray from traditional paterns is holding you back, communicate that problem with me, and I'll find you a new teacher if it's necessary." Does Ozai do that? No. What does he do? Praise her. What will Azula do in response? Repeat the same behavior to receive praise again. What is that called? Nursing cruel/bad behavior.

Give us a scene of Azula being at least a normal child at some point.

Stealing sweets at a sleepover and recreating scenes from a movie/play with your sibling? I recall doing both those things as a child. We're talking about universal normal child experiences.

Don't vindicate her mother being cruel.

The narrative itself is not excusing Ursa. Azula herself goes to lengths to hold her accountable, actually. The only ones excusing Ursa's actions are Zuko, who's looking at her through rose colored glasses, because she's one of the first people to show him love, and he wants to sing the best of her, and the fandom, for the same exact reason.

Have Iroh say something slightly more insightful than "she's a crazy bitch leave her alone"

Personally, I don't value Iroh's opinion at all. I think he has to work through the issues that he obviously has with himself, instead of projecting those issues onto Azula, which is what he's doing. But since you care about his opinion so much, here's him saying Azula has the capability to find peace.

Here's an easy one: instead of smiling when Zuko got burnt, Azula looks visually horrified. That tiny, tiny change would've made her far more nuanced! It wouldn't be much, but not only would it make the fire lord's actions seem even worse, it shows us that deep down, she does--or at least, did--care! This is more in line with the show's themes and far more interesting than "she's just gonna be super evil hehe".

Here's the thing. Azula doesn't smile because she's just so "evil hehe". She's smiling because Zuko is receiving a just punishment for his actions. At least as far as she's concerned.

Think about it, in the Fire Nation they treat their King as a god. They pray/say an anthem/swear loyalty to the Firelord and the crown every single day. It should be needless to point out that nobody would question the actions of the Firelord. They would just assume that this is the correct course of action because this is what the Firelord is doing.

Azula not only is a subject of that Firelord but she is the daughter of her father. She was 11 when the Agni Kai. At that age, kids do not question their parents. The think things are right because the parents do it. If Dad is upset with Zuko, then Zuko must have done something wrong, because Dad can't be wrong, he's Dad, he's never wrong.

So both as his daughter and as his subject, Azula has been conditioned from the day she was born to think that he's always right. So when he decides to punish Zuko, that's just another instance where he's right. So why would Azula be upset with him for being right? Especially considering that if she were upset with him, it's possible that you would also receive a punishment for disagreeing with his methods.

So imagine you are Azula. You see your dad, who is always right, and is also your king, who is also always right do something. Anything. Do you think to yourself "Why would he do that? That's bad!" or do you think "He's right for doing what he does because he's always right."? She's under the impression that he's a just ruler and father, so why wouldn't she be satisfied at the sight of him rendering justice to the foolish subject that disobeyed? Especially when having a different opinion can result to being in danger?

Do we get anything from the answer to her personality being "bad egg"?

No, we don't. Which is why this isn't what they did. You just have a false idea of pretty much everything regarding Azula's character and how it was handled.

Thus proven.

[arminsumi]

hii!! hru?? i hope ur doing finee!! :))

so i have a request 😭😭 imagine olden times gojo satoru x reader, reader comes from the lower class poor family and gojo is the higher rich class 🤩🤩 gojo and reader go to school together and gojo is rlly known and popular in school so reader gets curious and tries to talk/start a conversation with him!! then they become friends but they eventually both develop feelings for eachother 😭😭 but because of their differences they cant get together/love eachother and gojo's parents dont rlly support gojo marrying a poor girl and want him to marry someone with a high status!! (u can make gojo have a future arranged marriage if u want, i jus need an angsty fluff fic 😭)

✎ runaway lovers

💗 さとる

note : i found this buried deep in the drafts !! :( i'm late but i wrote this in one go and it was so fun, i got so absorbed into the story... ugh i'm a sucker for olden day gojo stuff. one of my fav posts was that hanahaki gojo fic. anyways!! aaa i swooned a bit at the part he says "i will always find my way hom and she is my home" 🥹

content : one day at school, those six eyes catch you spying through the gap in the door, and from that moment on gojo satoru grows fascinated with you. he just has to introduce himself to you. he doesn't care about the whispers around him and just falls right in love. unfortunately, his parents frown upon you two being together, and they try their best to pry the two of you apart.

warnings : fem reader, angsty fluffy, misunderstandings, gojo gets put into an arranged marriage, forbidden romance trope

playme : you're in love

"gojo satoru...?" you question curiously.

your friend nods, starry-eyed. "you know, from the gojo clan? oh, he's so... he's just... you can't even envision how good-looking he is; you just have to see him with your own eyes. come on."

"alright..." you chuckle, letting her lead you down the corridors. she trips clumsily on the way.

the two of you peer into the senior student's class. you whisper under your breath to her, "which one is he? there's so many people in the room... and i can barely see."

"just search the room. you'll know him when you see him. he stands out." your friend whispers excitedly.

your eyes look searchingly. and then they land on a head of snow-white hair; there's a boy, two years your senior, sitting upright like a stick and clad in a blue-toned kimono with an endearingly simple pattern on it — but you're not fooled, that's the highest quality silk. a clan crest stares at you, as his back faces you.

You peer through this slit in the door.

you're staring at him like you're spellbound. and... those hyper-attentive six eyes catch onto you right away.

gojo curiously peers behind him over his shoulder. when you see his face, it immediately makes sense why your friend — like so many other girls in this school — is completely taken by him.

and he... he's taken by you, the instant the two of you make electric eye contact. you look away as if singed by spilled boiling tea.

gojo's heart thumps in his chest.

who was that, just now, peering through the slit in the door? she was...

"good-looking, isn't he?" your friend smugly nudges your shoulder as the two of you scamper away like mice, escaping outside.

gojo's class concludes moments after catching you spying through the slit in the shoji door, so he quickly makes a path to follow after you as you escape to the taiko bashi bridge with your friend as if you're two criminals.

and he ends up eavesdropping on your conversation at a prime moment.

"...he looked like an angel..." you say in awe. his heart flutters and he widens his eyes, straining his ears to hear more but the bush of flowers is fluttering so loudly in the wind that it makes it difficult. so much for six eyes... what he wishes he had right now is six ears.

he picks up fragments of your voice. it gives him... butterflies, for the first time he understands what it means to have butterflies in one's stomach.

"...ah, don't tease me...!"

he blinks his pretty eyes and listens to you.

"...i can't possibly introduce myself to him...he's not just my senior...he's the prodigal son of the gojo clan..."

his heart... does something. a smug look forms on his face.

well... if she can't find the courage to introduce herself to me, then i'll introduce myself to her.

and so he does. when his best friend accompanies him on a gliding exit walk along the bridge, he stops by you and...

he bows deeply, like you're a very important person. but you're not, you're a commoner in most eyes at this school... and yet he doesn't treat you as such. it even takes his best friend, suguru, by surprise because he knows satoru to usually be a bit pompous.

electric eye contact is made between you and satoru when the two of you rise from your greeting bows.

"have we met before?" he begins smoothly, "your face reminds me of a girl i met in a dream."

your throaty stutter endears him, but makes his best friend snicker.

"satoru... don't go around flirting with monkeys." he says meanly.

for the first time, satoru ignores something that his best friend says. a reality-shattering moment, really, suguru widens his eyes as satoru asks; "what's your name...?" as if he's desperate and determined to know it.

and that's where it all begins. on the taiko bashi bridge. one spring.

it doesn't take long for his parents to find out that he's conversing with a commoner, and they put a stop to it immediately. not only because of your status... but because they don't want him to be "distracted". he needs to keep a "narrow focus" on his studies. and... they refuse to let some commoner mingle romantically with their precious prodigal son.

girls snicker in secret about you. rumors spread that you forwardly introduced yourself to gojo.

"i heard that she chased after gojo-senpai and desperately tried to introduce herself to him. she's obsessed with him or something, it's really pathetic!"

speak of the devil... no no, he's an angel like you said... satoru appears. not a word slipped by him. it makes his blood surge, is stomach twist; they had some nerve. he wants to cuss them out, be improper and raw and visceral. but he refrains. because consequences.

"i'll have to correct you two," satoru's sudden appearance shocks them out of their bodies. that voice is chilling. "it was actually me who initiated that introduction on the bridge. she was too lovely to ignore..."

oh, satoru... why did you choose the word 'lovely'? now rumors begin to circulate the school that you two are dating. they rapidly make their way to his parent's ears, and while his father may be lax on his lectures, his mother is strict.

she parts the two of you. cleaves your budding friendship. rips the two of you like paper, refusing to let her son be tainted or distracted by someone like you.

but does he listen to his mother's orders to never speak to you? no. he sneaks out to meet you after school. he squeezes in through your window at night with a toothy grin. he secretly invites you to his birthday parties ("where has the birthday boy run off to...?"). he holds your hand when no one is looking.

and he cups your cheeks and leans in for forbidden little kisses when it's just you and him in the vacant school corridor.

your faces melt like butter against each other. it makes his heart lurch to have a forbidden fruit touching his lips like this... it makes him feel weak, which is just laughably ironic. so weak, that he wants to take a bite... even if it puts both the reputation of him and his family in jeopardy.

there's a sad twinge in his chest when he thinks about how you and him are forced to keep your love secret.

"i'm sorry that... i can't show off something as beautiful as you without getting the both of us in trouble. i wish we could kiss right in front of the whole world's face." he admits in a soft murmur.

it's simple, these sad times. but then the future comes and delivers despairing news on gojo.

one day, while having tea with his mom and dad, they tell him that a marriage between him and another woman is being considered.

he violently jumps up from the table. a teacup shatters on the floor.

"huh...?" his shock and surprise slowly morphs into pure anger, "like hell! you can't j-just spring this on me. i refuse to be married to anyone except y/n—"

"—that commoner? you... still speak with her?"

his face drops. oh, shit... now he's given it all away.

and what a consequence he faces. locked into his room, like some funny version of rapunzel. he paces around, mind racing and heart palpitating.

his contact with you is cut off in the most brutal of ways.

his mother comes to you, and tells you with a convincingly icy lie;

"gojo is too kind to tell you himself... so he asked me to inform you instead; he never wants you to see him again. his heart has found a wife, and he doesn't want you to seduce him away."

you remember choking up and sputtering broken sobs at this reveal.

he couldn't tell you from himself... ah... did those kisses mean nothing? am i the other woman?

gojo doesn't know why you avoid him so violently the next time he sees you at school.

"hey — wait. can i talk to you? it's important." he asks.

you give him a bitter look. "i'd rather we not. i don't fancy being the other woman in your life..."

you confuse him. and he blinks at you astoundedly. what caused this? he's a smart boy, he tries to figure it out. but it leads to long nights of brooding in his futon, body sinking deep into the plush until he feels like gravity is accelerating on him alone. but it's just his thoughts. he tosses and turns.

he doesn't give up his determination, though. he will find out what deterred you from him...

oh but when he figures it out, through suguru's admittance, he bursts in through his mother's tea ceremony one day and confronts her with the rage of a dragon. right in front of guests. completely embarrassing her.

"you told her! you lied to her? do you think you can keep us separate forever? — NO. I WILL ALWAYS FIND MY WAY BACK HOME. AND SHE IS MY HOME!"

his yell is so piercing and raw that it makes his mother drop into her seat. the guests have mixed looks.

the backlash he receives for lashing out and denouncing his arranged marriage is severe. the scowling looks he receives are not nearly as bad as the ones you receive. unkind words is putting it lightly; the whole village and school turns against you. they still view gojo as the star child of his clan, but now as a star that has strayed from its rightful place in the sky.

he meets with you in secret. what begins as a tearful explanation and angsty bunch of confessions to hidden truths, turns into a steamy make out.

gojo needs your kisses like he needs air, like he needs water, like he needs food. you're his essential, he tells you that;

"my vitals would fail if you left, as if i would be stabbed."

he mutters against your lips other things... and then cries with you. it hurts to see such a pretty boy cry.

"satoru..." you begin soothingly.

he presses his forehead against yours. tear drops roll off his cheeks and splatter against your face.

he draws out your name. the wind stills. there's a long silence.

"...run away with me..." he murmurs. "please, let's leave this place behind... and start a family somewhere no one knows our names."

© arminsumi 2023

[oacest]

fic: kenet, dragon!liam, 3.6K words

When Liam was little and did something to annoy Noel, whether it be stealing his stuff, whining, chattering, following him around everywhere, or generally just existing in his space, he used to tell him they weren't really brothers.

(This was before Liam's fire came in, before his explosive tantrums were a threat to the structural integrity of the council house.)

Liam was bad at school – his head was in the clouds years before he ever managed to wing his way up there. If he'd paid any attention to his special classes, he would've known Noel was only having him on, that it was one of those genetic fuck-yous that riddled their family. They had a grand uncle in County Mayo like Liam; he was locally famous for having a few too many and terrorizing pilgrims off Croagh Patrick.

As it was, it didn't take much to convince Liam he was adopted; it wasn't like Noel or Paul occasionally had a tail, now did they.

You're lying, Liam would moan. As if he wasn't already tearing up.

I ain't. Da won you in a card game. Pair of sevens was all he needed to bring you home.

It didn't matter to little Liam that their family was dirt poor and kind of awful; the idea of not really belonging to it filled him with an instinctive terror. Noel never knew if that was because of his condition or just being the baby of the family.

Of course it always backfired, because Liam would go running to Mam, and then she'd twist his ear for telling his little brother he came from an egg like one of them turtles down by Cringle Brook.

Noel pretty much forgot about it by the time they left Tommy and got the new house. The old taunt got buried under years of other insults and lies, under a mountain of reluctant fondness and occasional wonderment, and then other things.

By the time they were in Oasis, the fact of their brotherhood was not only obvious to anyone who looked at them, it was also central to every facet of their waking lives. It was the first thing people knew about either of them, which is a bit fucking much when you considered Liam occasionally shifted into a winged, fire-breathing creature the size of a fucking tank.

Nevertheless: Noel Gallagher, big brother to Liam. Liam Gallagher, little brother to the entire fucking country it sometimes seemed. But first and foremost Noel's.

So yeah, Noel forgot what he used to say.

Liam never did, though.

–------

Most dragons? Proper ugly fuckers. Bullish heavy foreheads and beady eyes, ill-formed features like they got jumbled about after a lifetime of being rearranged all the time in the shift. It's just one of the many ways Liam was blessed at birth that he seems to be the exception.

In some lighting you wouldn't even notice the faint iridescence of scales just under Liam's skin where it gets thin: the underside of his wrists, the imprint of his spine. The bleach of his knuckles when his hand is in a fist.

He has a slight pebbling at the ridge of his eye socket, but somehow through the magic of his brother that gets turned around into something beautiful too. Beautiful and occasionally terrifying.

Between the two of them, Noel is the one who looks like he'd be the dragon. But he's never been jealous, except for a brief stretch of years when he dreamed nonstop about what he'd do if he could grow bigger: if he could smash Tommy into bits or breathe fire, transform his entire ugly world into cinders.

He got over that, though. And Liam went on to live his life in such a way as no one could feel jealous of it.

1994

“Is it true you're telepathic?” asked the girl from Em Tee Vee. They were in some hotel room, where half these interviews seemed to take place.

Truth was, they used the hotel rooms because their schedule was so crazy, and also because Marcus hoped Liam would behave better if he was in a space he felt he could own. What Marcus or anyone had yet to understand was that Liam felt he owned any and every space he happened to be in at the time. And that he was hardly more likely to behave if Noel was present.

“No,” said Noel.

“'Course it is,” said Liam. He waved a hand between them and then at himself. Wiped his nose; the fire made his sinuses tingle sometimes. “But not – not like this.”

“Not ever,” said Noel firmly. Liam couldn't communicate in his other form; he could barely communicate in this one.

“He's lying,” said Liam. He took a drink from his pint, looking sullen. “I remember, when I was little and could still like, perch on his shoulder—”

“So when you were two?” said Noel, shaking his head at the girl.

“You let me do it until I was at least five. Anyway, I could talk to him then. Hear 'im in me head too. 'Course I did, how is a kid supposed to get on if he can't talk to anyone and he's hungry or, or gets lost up a tree or summat? But he stopped talking back. Now he never listens neither.”

“None of that is true,” said Noel, and the world believed him because the alternative was insane.

2015

Noel.

Noel.

Noel, Noely G, Noel Gallagher. You fuckin prick, let us in. Noel, you awake? Noel, I know you're awake, the cousins always drag us out when we're in Dublin. Nole. Noel! NOELNOELNOELNOEL—

He groaned and finally pushed up from his marvelous big bed. There was the not-lately-familiar feeling of someone trying to tweeze out thoughts from his head with a pair of serrated chopsticks, and he half-hunched over in pain as he made his way over to the window of the rented flat.

He dragged aside the floor-length curtain and grimaced up into the glowing blue eyes of his brother, who had somehow wedged his elephantine body into the narrow space of the balcony. The wrought iron railing was battered and bent outwards, the grill and wicker chairs toppled over. This was going to do wonders for Noel's reputation for partying.

He rubbed his eyes and considered shutting the curtains again.

Liam, as if he could read his thoughts (he couldn't), huffed a massive breath that caused half the glass door to immediately fog over, and then thumped his head against it. Once, twice. He blinked his massive eyes down at him.

Let me in, cunt.

“Why are you here?” he demanded as he slid the balcony door open. Liam's head immediately pushed inside, followed by his long neck. “Aren't you supposed to be in New York for court? What the fuck, Liam?”

Liam shook his head like a dog and wiggled forward a few more steps. Out on the balcony, the railing groaned and shrieked as his heavy, razorback tail slid free of it.

He shifted as he walked, because even those massive balcony doors wouldn't fit his shoulders. In a minute he was standing naked in the middle of Noel's bedroom, looking around like he'd never seen one before.

“What the fuck?” said Noel again for good measure.

“In the morning,” he grumbled, rolling his neck and already stepping towards the bed like it was his. “Man, 'm completely knackered.”

“Long day being unemployed and a wanker?” But he was tired too and, while he had long since learned that the path of least resistance did nothing to actually ameliorate their relationship, he couldn't be bothered when it was four in the morning and he had a busy schedule the next day.

He got back into bed and Liam wasted no time cuddling up, like they still did this all the time. As always, his chest was like a reactor core. It was like trying to sleep on a bed of hot coals.

“You're sneaking out tomorrow morning,” said Noel, shoving a pillow in the nonexistent space between their bodies for some insulation. “I mean it. Tour's only starting, and if I have to spend it talking about you drunkenly winging across Ireland sky-writing tweets instead of promoting my album, I'll kill you. I really will.”

Liam ducked his head and chewed on the corner of the pillow. “Your album,” he muttered, muffled. “I used to have albums. Loads of 'em. A lovely, bright collection.”

Noel rolled his eyes. He said nothing and hoped for sleep to instantaneously claim them both.

“And fans,” continued Liam mournfully around the pillow corner, which was starting to get singed. “And music every day.”

His eyes slid up the length of Noel's body, faintly glowing again. If he tried shifting and broke the bed, Noel would find this flat's fire extinguisher and spray its contents down his throat.

“You could still have all those things,” he pointed out, exhaustion masquerading as patience. “If you got off your ass and put your name on the line. You know, you'd think you'd want that – your name over everything.”

“That was always the difference between me and you,” said Liam. “Didn't need my name over something to know it was mine.”

He slid his knee forward and up over Noel's legs. His dick was a hard burning line against his thigh.

Noel chewed on his lip and held his breath for a long moment of possibility. It had been years since they did that. Stopping was probably part of the reason things got so bad; generally speaking, dragons did not like being told no. But it was the only way.

Noel had worked too hard to start saying yes again on some random night in March on the eve of his second world tour.

“Go to sleep,” he said, and he rolled over so his back was to him.

2018

People were too fucking precious about it these days, the way they were about everything. Fucking snowflake millennials. Suddenly naming something for what it was or describing how it fucks with your day was simply not on, apparently.

Back in the nineties, people would meet Liam, spend maybe half an hour with him, and come away wincing sympathetically at Noel for what he had to deal with all the time. Twenty years on, neither of them have changed and yet now Noel's the bad guy for simply stating Liam is obsessed and jealous and thinks even now that Noel is part of his—

“Ooh,” says Donald from Radio 2, “I don't think we should use that word.”

It takes a moment for Noel to realize which one he means. “What, hoard?” he says incredulously.

A click signals the producer on the other side of the glass has hit a button. Cathy's voice pipes into the booth. “It's considered othering, Noel.”

“Then it's doing its job, because my brother is as other as it fucking gets.”

“That – may be,” says Donald bracingly, “but our listeners are not, and we wouldn't want to blindside them.”

Blindside, fucking christ. As if they were not talking about the man who once went on a three-day bender and passed out in broad daylight in Notting Hill on Michael Hutchence's jag, crushing it.

Noel sits back and crosses his leg, then his arms for good measure. “What word should I use, then?”

Donald looked back through the glass to Cathy for guidance. They waited while she considered the question or, more likely, googled it.

Another staticky click and she came through, clearly reading off her phone, “People avoid the H-word because it puts the compulsion at the center of the experience. This can be avoided through the use of people-first language—”

“People-first language,” repeats Noel. “Well, there's your problem right there. Liam's not a person.”

There's a beat of silence and then Donald gives a short, uncomfortable laugh.

–---

Any-fucking-way, here is a list of everything Liam considers part of his hoard:

When he was really little, Noddy toys; thereafter their childhood bedroom and everything in it; Noel's apartment in India House; Noel's first apartment in London; a series of very stupid hats; every fucking song Noel ever wrote for Oasis, including the ones Noel kept back to sing himself; every fuzzy layering garment he has ever clapped eyes on through a shop window; Noel's time; Noel's attention; and lastly but also firstly and everything in between: Noel himself.

1996

It was probably really fucking dangerous, flying while they set off fireworks below. But Liam was off and running before anyone guessed what he was doing, and then it was too late to even worry. It was always too late to worry about Liam.

Anyway, after a show like that, everyone kind of thought he was untouchable. He'd make the universe bend around him.

The massive crowd continued to cheer; music poured from the speakers. Noel leaned against the fence and sipped his beer, watching along with everyone else for glimpses of his brother through the explosions and smoke overhead.

His chest felt like it was bursting full of warmth and light. He might start floating any second. He wondered if this was how Liam felt all the time.

1985

C'mon, wheedled Liam.

“Not a chance.” It was the fourth time he said it, and it was growing harder with the repetition to say it casually. He tried smiling at Diane, who was sitting on the park bench drinking a lemonade and managing to look absolutely stunning as she did it. She smiled back, sorta.

Liam put his head down like an anteater and started trotting at him. It took Noel a baffled second to realize he thought he could scoop him up like that. It was really embarrassing, but it would've been even more embarrassing if he succeeded, so Noel evaded him by darting and jumping behind a tree.

So then he was hiding behind a tree from his kid brother while his potential girlfriend watched. He hated his life sometimes.

A furnace blast of air ruffled Noel's hair as Liam wound his head around the tree. Why not? He sounded plaintive in Noel's head.

People who saw them only could see the surface of things. They saw a little guy getting harassed by a massive blue-green dragon with a lazy eye. And then they looked the other way, because that's what everyone in the world did when things were happening to little guys.

“The last time we tried flying, I damn near broke me arm,” he said, pressing back again the bark like he could become one with the tree. “I said never again, and I meant it.”

I was ten. My balance is way better now. I been practicing.

“Practicing with who?” he scoffed.

Girls, mostly. But Polly Lynch let me take her guinea pig up once. I reckon if a guinea pig can manage it, so can you.

“Oh, that's just what Mam needs, you killing some poor girl and making us pariahs in the neighborhood.”

Liam nosed forward and chucked his chin with his snout. Not gonna kill nobody. Told you, I'm good at it.

“Answer's still no.”

Why not? I wanna show you things, like Black Chew Head and this one geezer's office in City Tower, you won't believe it, he's got a whole wall full of—

“You ain't supposed to be going into the city,” says Noel sharply. “How many times we gotta tell you that, you'll get in trouble. There's rules, Liam.”

Liam chucked his chin again, but more roughly this time. Noel could feel the sting of scraped skin along his neck and clapped a hand to it, grimacing and cursing.

His little brother stepped back, long tail shambling in a large circle over the park lawn as he turned his back on Noel.

Unease trickled in, too late. Noel started after him. “Liam!”

If you're not coming with, you don't get to tell me what to go.

And then he was taking off with a heavy, sulky beat of wings. Noel and Diane watched him go. He favored his right side, listing badly. Better balance his arse, thought Noel. He would've killed Noel for sure.

“What did he say?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing, I don't – I don't know. He can't talk when he's like that.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “But I thought—”

“What?” he asked, real fast (too fast).

She looked at him in steady appraisal. Eventually, she shrugged and said, “Nothing. I just thought you could hear him, is all. Your mam made it sound like you could. Said you were the only one.”

Noel looked back at the sky, where Liam was only a small dot now. He was going too high.

“I'm a good guesser, is all,” he said.

2019

He didn't need the tell-tale shadow or the sound of beating wings overhead to know his brother had just left. It was obvious from the scorch marks spelling out CUNT in the lawn. The letters were large and crooked, somehow identical to his scrawl when he signed something for a fan. The T was still actively on fire in two spots.

It was just as well Sara and the kids weren't here yet and wouldn't be until the end of the week. The Hampshire house was still mostly empty. Noel was only out there to oversee the relocation of some of his more precious items (that is, his guitars).

He walked across the lawn, already hearing his wife's voice in his head: this has gone too far, we need to get a restraining order, he's dangerous, can't you see he's not well? How are we supposed to sleep like this? What about the boys, what if he takes the boys? After the things he's said and now he's over here proving he knows exactly where to find us?

The problem is, Liam will always know where to find him. There's nothing he can do about that, short of murder and/or suicide. He's only not done at least the former because the mere thought of the Cain and Abel references in all the headlines and book titles and documentaries made him disgusted.

Noel stamped out the two small fires and wiped his shoes on the grass to get the ash off. He took out his phone and made two calls standing there in the center of the lawn. The first was to his landscaper.

The second was to his mother.

2006

They had told Liam from the very beginning he needed to take special care with his voice, because of his condition; the fire was harsh on his larynx, made the cartilage more brittle. But Liam said fuck you, first just in his head, and then in Noel's, and then a few times aloud to anyone who dared tell him how to live his life over the years. And now that voice was gone: shredded and hoarse, you'd never guess what he used to be able to do with it.

“What do you mean, you're going on tour without me?” he said. They were in his local in Primrose Hill, in a corner booth. Noel had wanted to break the news somewhere familiar, so Liam wouldn't destroy the place if things went really poorly.

“It's not a tour,” he said, downplaying it like that has ever made a difference. “It's a few acoustic shows. I've always done those on the side.”

Liam shook his head. “But not like this, not as a tour.” He sat back, putting his arm over the back of the booth. His eyes traveled over the room, already seeing past Noel to the ranks of invisible enemies lying in wait.

Like a fool, Noel leaned forward to reason with him. “Look, it's to promote our album. You cannot possibly have a problem with this. I promote the album, you don't have to do nish, we both rake in the money.”

“Fuck the money,” said the man who's been a millionaire for a third of his life. “You're running off with my shoes, trying them on for size. Well, I think you'll find they're too big for you, little man.”

Noel tapped the table. “Right.” And then, to himself, “Why the fuck did I even bother.”

“Yeah, why did you?” he asked as Noel began sliding out of the booth. “I'll tell you why – you wanted to be able to say to people, I gave him fair warning. But I see through you. I got that third eyelid, brother, I'm always watching.”

He informed him, “I didn't have to tell you anything, actually. I don't need your permission to tour and, as I won't be dealing with your sulking on the road, your cooperation is also irrelevant. But I thought you deserved to hear it from me, that you might handle it like an adult and not a puffing little skink.”

For some reason, this is what cause Liam to flip his colours. His arm shot out and he grabbed Noel's wrist in his hot little hand.

He stood there looking down at it, for some reason not pulling away immediately.

“My voice is recovered from the spring, if that's what this is,” said Liam quietly. “I'm ready to go, Noel. Just name the date. I could do Knebworth tomorrow, man, you know I could.”

Despite a lifetime of proof that it wasn't any good, sometimes Noel caught himself wishing they could speak telepathically like this. Maybe it would be better, if it were these eyes he was looking into, this hand he was holding, when he lied and told him it wasn't about his voice.

[ronsenthal]

Ron Speirs x Nurse Reader

Summary: During wartime some stories were created to scare and keep the soldiers on the line, but some other ones were slowly written to have a happy ending, just like fairy tales.

A/N: This was based on a prompt kindly sent to me by a lovely anon who wanted something with Ron x Nurse Reader and since then I was so OBSESSED with this idea so I had to try something. So dear anon if you are reding this I hope you like it, I had to change it a little bit because I'm truly awful with requests, hope you don't mind. Also this was slighthly based on the Rolling Stones song, because it so Ron coded and apparently I can't write anything not related to music? So here we go!

The first time you saw him was one week after D-Day, everybody was still scared and lost, many people went missing so naturally the first place the men went looking for their friends was the Aid Station. It was completely madness, you couldn’t take a pause to catch your breath even when your feet hurt, even when you couldn’t tell what time it was, when your stomach made loud noises, you pushed through pain, tears and tiredness. 

During one of your shifts you were attending to a private who was hit in the head by shrapnel after a potato masher exploded close to him. He was bleeding heavily since he arrived so you had to change the bandage from time to time. The Aid Station was always a noisy place with some people screaming in agony, others nurses and doctors were giving orders trying to save someone else and a few lucky ones were just chatting to pass the time. But in that afternoon it went quiet as if some spell was cast and suddenly the world was frozen, you could see heads following the footsteps of this soldier who walked in.

He slowly walked in your direction, you couldn’t see his features until he was at the other side of the stretcher of the man you were aiding. At first he didn’t say a word as he was looking at the other soldier, as if studying the damage that was done by the germans. He took a deep breath and finally asked quietly, “Is he gonna make it?” and looked at you with those big dark green eyes to which you couldn’t lie, so you honestly said “I don’t know”, he only shook his head giving you one sad look before turning into his heels and heading out.

You were awfully quiet that evening trying to eat some bread while the other girls were chatting. You tried your best but your long-suffering patient didn’t make it and yet you could only think about those sad green eyes. Some weeks went by, people would come and go but your thoughts would often drift aways to this face you couldn’t even put a name to. 

The second time you saw him was even less fortunate than the first one, this time he came in angrily shouting that he didn’t needed any help and assistance, but anyone would notice that he was limping and there was even blood on his uniform coming from his leg, his hands also were bleeding. 

Poor Jane, your friend was the closest nurse available, you only watched from a distance as she was addressing his wounds. At first he was reluctant but then finally gave in and let the woman quickly put some bandages on it, she only asked a couple of questions, filled a piece of paper and gave it to the man. Just as he went in he was suddenly gone, as he was heading out he saw you and nodded with his head before putting back his cap. 

Dinner was always gossip time and that night you made sure to sit near Jane to get some food but also try to get some information. 

“So who was that guy who came in earlier making a scene?”

“Are you kidding Y/N? That is Lieutenant Speirs, he is the one everybody keeps talking about, he killed 15 german POW or something on D-Day” Linda said, swinging her spoon 

dramatically.

“I heard it was more like 20 guys, he even offered some cigarettes before shooting them” the other nurse called Grace. 

“And do you believe those stories?” you asked them not even daring to take your eyes off your food. This couldn’t be true right? 

“I don’t know Y/N, I heard it from one of my guys the other day, he was telling his friend that they sergeant saw it” Grace told you two before changing the subject to talk about some soldier named Talbert that they both find so cute.

Lieutenant Speirs so that’s him, after that day you were always looking for his name in the morning reports at the Aid Station, you heart almost skipping a beat at the letter S but you never saw his name. You never forgot his name nor his eyes or his dark hair. 

From time to time you would see him with a cigarette on his lips from one side to the other, he was always followed by strange looks and a couple of whispers, his bad reputation was growing as time passed by, some stories were clearly too absurd to be true, others were creepier to say the least.

Third time's the charm right? Bastogne was a real nightmare, you had to move to the front line due to the heavy losses of people who had basic medical training, the supplies were short and the was was getting brutal, specially due to that fucking cold. One night you were trying to get some warm soup in the foxhole you shared with Eugene, you both couldn’t feel your fingertips as if they seemed to be frozen so you decided to try and warm your hands while eating something. 

“Y/L/N” came from a hard and harsh voice from behind, you were caught by surprise as you jumped from the scare “Y/L/N did I get your name right?”

“Yes sir!” you quickly said

“Pleased to meet you, I guess you know who I am. What are you and Roe doing here? It’s not safe enough you should stay aways from the line” he said as you both nodded quickly taking your belongings and starting to move, he kept watching you and offered his hand to pull you from the foxhole to which you said a shy “thank you”, his hands were strong and warm and you had to fight the urge to ask him how he could keep them so warm in the freezing temperature, but you didn’t said a word. 

Holding a gun in his hand he slowly and carefully escorted you through the white snow. Eugene was following you two but suddenly Joe Toye called for his help with something else. Speirs even helped you to settle in the new foxhole, putting some twigs and sticks to reinforce the cover. He then wished you goodnight before disappearing again. The man walked like a shadow between the lines, you took your time to thank the guy from above that he was at your side in this war, you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you thought that he was the enemy.

Just a couple of days later the only thing the men would talk about was how the now Captain Speirs ran through the streets of Foy to link up with I Company after he released Foxhole Dike from his position and how bravely and fearlessly led Easy. The guys were so happy to have a good leader again, you were happier too because it meant now they were saffer.

The fourth time he was shot in his butt during one of your night shifts back at the Aid Station, he was soaking wet, pale and so tired that he didn’t have the energy to be stubborn. You asked what happened and Sergeant Lipton said he was hit while going across the river into the germans territory to get some information on the germans. You promptly gave him some medicine and started to take care of his wound as fast as you could. 

It was strange but you kept your cool and gave your best to stay calm and do your job as if he was just another guy. Except he wasn’t, after the bullet was removed he let out a big sigh of relief and as the medicine was starting to kick in he slowly falled asleep in a feverish state.. You couldn’t help yourself and stare at the man you’ve been thinking about for so long, you stayed by his side trying to quietly read a book but your eyes would move away from it and watch how his eyelashes peacefully rested, how soft his facial expression was and how his now slightly wet hair was falling in his forehead. 

You reached your hand to it with the excuse to feel his temperature, he was burning hot and as you were taking a wet piece of cloth to use it to cool him off a bit he opened those same green eyes you’ve been thinking about.

“Am I gonna make it?” he said with a weak voice and caught your hand in his

“Yes” you said, but this time you were 100% sure and when you realized you were smiling at him, he gave you a cute smile back before closing his eyes and falling asleep again. He was certainly a handsome man but on that night you could swear he looked like one of those princes from fairy tales your mom would tell you at bedtime. You couldn’t help but think how he could be soft and yet so stern, so scary but also so gentle and caring, you felt sympathy for the Devil after all. 

The next day he was feeling so much better and tried to get away as quickly as possible but you preferred to stay cautious and ordered him to stay a bit longer, which he couldn’t refuse and finally gave in. After some minutes of awkward silence he started to small talk asking where you are from, if you had any siblings back home and even if you had a boyfriend. You tried your best to keep talking just to keep him with you a bit longer but your peace was interrupted when a couple of soldiers came by heavily wounded and you were required to take care of them. 

When you finally came back he was gone, he only left a note apologizing for leaving without a proper goodbye but promised he would somehow make it up to you later. 

Of course he did it as soon as you set foot at Berchtersgarden, there the mood was totally different, especially after the german army officially surrendered. He took you out to enjoy some coffee at this beautiful place with an incredible view of the mountains, even through you thought that the view of the captain in front of you was even better.

You were so happy with everything that you couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear and as you reached from his hand across the table, he didn't moved it and intertwined your fingers, then gave you a sincere and beautiful smile, you felt butterflies all over your stomach because you felt more than just sympathy for the Devil.

Taglist: @mads-weasley , @footprintsinthesxnd , @sweetxvanixlla , @xxluckystrike , @malarkgirlypop , @lostloveletters , @next-autopsy , @ewipandora

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.3K 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, pining, angst, fluff, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of depression

A/N: Alright, I struggled to write this chapter. I wanted to get the interactions between Dean and Reader right but also, wanted to give you more info on Reader. So, I really hope you’ll like this chapter.

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

Masterlist || Join my tag list

Tag list: @lyarr24, @deans-baby-momma, @hell0-ki11y111, @kr804573, @zepskies, @impalari, @urinternetmom, @sushiumex

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You poured the salt on the corpse. You cracked a match and threw it on the body. Flames engulfed the bones. You stood there for a little while longer. The poor girl had not stood a chance. Her family had been horrible to her. Put her through torture. And that was decades ago. She had no reasons to remain amongst the living, no reasons to haunt them. They weren’t the one who had hurt her and yet, she still wanted revenge. Blinded by her rage, the spirit had killed the people that had lived in her mansion over the years. Some were classified as natural deaths, and others as freak accidents. With so many deaths in one mansion over the years. All happening at a specific time of the years, you had to check it out.

It was a run of the mill hunt. Quite easy. You threw your bags in the trunk of your car, and climbed in the driver’s seat. Your goal was to get out of town as quick as possible, to disappear. You drove through the night. You wanted to get to your small flat as quick as possible.

Your two bedrooms apartment was your refuge. You could go there and recuperate for a few days. You loved hunting, you really did but you sometimes needed a break from it. Adding to the dangerous nature of the job, and the constant near death experiences, it was also draining. And rarely, was it ever rewarding. But that was not why you were doing it. You truly believed that everyone in this life was born with a purpose. There were people born to be doctors, or cops, or even firemen. And some were born to be hunters. That was you.

One fateful night, you found out that monsters were real. Everything that went bumping into the night, the monsters under the bed, the witches, vampires, werewolves, they were all real. That fateful night was also the start of your aversion for woods, camping and wendigos. You hated all three of those things, and you avoided them at all cost. But it had not deterred you from getting into the life. After finding out about them being real, you could not just ignore it. You could not keep living your life as though nothing had happened. As though you knew nothing of monsters and of the people that hunted them.

So, you became one yourself.

The sounds of gunfire welcomed you as you pushed your door open. And the voice of your youngest brother swearing at the television followed. You pushed your door closed behind you with a tired sigh. Sure, you had texted him to let him know that you would soon be back. But you had not expected him to be there still.

“That’s not why I left you a key, you know?” You said dropping your bags by the door, after you locked it.

He put down the controller on the coffee table. “Your plant is taken care of.” He shrugged turning to you. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.” You answered dryly. You dropped your keys on your dinner table, and moved to your kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah,” He got up and followed you into your kitchen. “So, how was it?”

“Matt—”

“Come on, you can tell me.” He leaned on the counter behind him.

“I don’t want to tell you.” You shook your head. “I’m not talking about it with you or anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“Because—we are talking about hunting monsters. And I don’t want any of you into the life.” You moved back into your living room. “And what the hell are you still doing here anyway? Don’t you have a girlfriend to go back to?”

“Just wanted to make sure, you were alright before I left.” He shrugged.

You smiled fondly at him. “That’s so sweet.” You cooed at him, pinching his cheek. He swatted it away.

“Stop.”

You snorted. “I’m alright, not injured. So, you can go back to your girlfriend.” You slapped his shoulder.

“you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” You nodded. “Go.”

“Alright, call if you need anything.”

“I won’t.” You called after him. “And don’t call me for the next few days, please.”

“I will.” He walked and locked behind him.

You spent the next few days locked up in your apartment. True to his words, your brother called you. But you really did not mind. Your youngest brother only wanted to make sure that you were taken care off. After all, you were living alone while he and your two other siblings had people to come home to.

Building relationships with anyone had never been easy for you. Especially romantic ones. Something always went wrong. You felt as though you were giving more than you were receiving. You always thought that you were not understood as you did them. And instead of expressing those things, you kept quiet. You let things go, hoping they would solve themselves. And ultimately, it would lead to break-up.

You never stayed home too long. You gave yourself a few days off, away from hunting and monsters, before going back into the fray. It wasn’t surprising to find you back on the road within days. And you always let your brother know when you did.

Out of all your siblings, he was the closest to you. The one that truly worried about you and made sure you were alright and taken care of, when you were home. And to think both of you hated each other growing up, was just laughable now. You knew you had failed him when you were younger. Always siding with your parents, trying your best to keep peace within your family. It had put a strain on your relationship with your siblings over the years.

“Agent Prentiss, FBI.” You flashed your fake FBI badge to the officer on the scene.

“Officer Davis.” He introduced himself. His eyes inevitably landed on your cleavage area.

Your white buttoned-down shirt was a little tight around your breast, you had left a couples of buttons undone. Which was giving him a glimpse of it  

“What brings the FBI into this neck of the wood?” Davis said, clearing his throat.

You smirked as you caught him ogling at your cleavage. “The bureau has taken an interest into the recent strings of death that has been happening lately.”

“There’s nothing interesting in a couple of animal attacks.” Davis scoffed.

“True but these are quite unusual.” You pointed out. "Hearts missing. And nothing else. Doesn't really sound like an animal to me."

“Look, it’s better if people think it’s an animal.” Davis said quietly to you. “We don’t want them to panic while there’s a killer on the loose.”

“I completely understand your situation, trust me.” You told him. “I’m only here to help you. Maybe, a set of fresh eyes may help you see things a little clearer.” He seemed to hesitate. “I don’t want to step on your toes, here. I really do want to stop the killings. So, let me help you.”  

You looked up at him. He ran a hand on the back of his neck. Hesitating on letting you in the investigation.  He looked around you, the crowd at the edge of the crime scenes, the journalist looking for sensational news. Clearly, he was at a loss. He needed to provide answers to the victims’ family.  

The killing spree had started a few days ago. It was pretty gruesome. Dead bodies had been found recently; their hearts had been ripped out. For you, it was quite an easy hunt. It was clearly werewolves. The deaths started with the full moon, and their hearts were missing.

“What can you tell me about the victim?”

“Young woman, early twenties,” He cleared his throat. He started to lead you toward the victim, where the Medical Examiner was getting a look at the victim. “She was found by a couple of joggers.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow to him. “People jog in this area?”

“Yeah, there’s a short trail that go into the woods for a few miles, before it cuts back into the park over there.” He gestured over your shoulder.

You looked over your shoulders briefly, and did a double take when you recognized a couple of familiar faces. “You have got to be kidding me.” You said under your breath.

“What was that?” Officer Davis asked you.

“It seems there was a mix up at the bureau.” You smiled tightly at Davis. “Anyway—” You turned to the M.E. “Anything you can tell me on the cause of death?”

The M.E. looked to the leading officer for approval. The latter nodded at her. “Same as the others.” She said, moving the head of the young woman to the side. “No apparent defensive wounds, she was hit over the head. Same spot as the others,” her hands left her head and went to victim’s wrists. “Ligature marks, and of course her heart’s missing.”

It looked like a werewolf kill alright. Although, the ligatures marks did not make much sense to you. Neither did the head trauma. Werewolves were pretty strong creatures and this seemed to indicate that they needed to restrain the victim before the kill, but why?

You turned around to see Dean and Sam Winchester were walking up to you. You excused yourself and met the brothers halfway. Dean looked a little peeved by your presence there. You approached them under his glare. You really did not get why he was mad about you being there. And you didn’t care.

“Winchesters, we meet again.” You said as a form of greeting.

Sam smiled down at you. “It’s good to see you.” Dean scoffed at that.

“Not everybody agrees.” Your eyes drifted to Dean briefly before you returned your attention on Sam.

“You’re not working the case.” Dean said and you glanced up at him confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not working the case.” Dean then gestured between him and Sam. “We are.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “I already have an in with the officers. I got this under control. You can sit this one out. You do look like you need some rest, you look tired.” You patted his shoulder; and he recoiled from your touch.

“I don’t need rest.” He pointed an angry finger under your nose. “And really?!” Dean’s eyebrows went up into his hairline. “You got this under control?”

“Yeah, I do.” You nodded.

“So, you have it all figured out already?” Dean questioned, clearly hostile.

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged. “Dead bodies, heart’s missing. I’d say—werewolves.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“And you do?”

“How can you be so sure it’s werewolves?” He questioned.

“Because it makes sense.” You argued back. “What else could it be?”

“Skinwalker.” He shrugged smugly.

“Please.” You scoffed. “You’re just pulling something out of your ass.”

“Dean’s right.” Sam sighed. “It could be a skinwalker. We don’t know that for sure.”

“We do.” You retorted. “It’s a full moon.”

“It won’t matter if it’s a skinwalker.” Dean shook his head.

“Alright.” You snapped at him. “I’ll take that in consideration. Thank you for your help. Go home.”

You turned away from Dean and stomped to your car. You were angry with him, now. He was talking to you as though you didn’t know how to do your job.

Dean grabbed your arm, stopping you on your way to your car. “Listen, kid—“ You looked between him and the grip he had on your arm. “You could barely handle a vampire hunt on your own and now you want to take on werewolves?” You ripped your arm out of his grip. “You should really leave this one to us.”

“First, not a kid. Never was.” You replied. “Second, I called for help because I had never hunted vampires before.” You walked closer to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. “I know how to handle myself on a hunt. Not that’s any of your business, Winchester. I don’t need you or your brother, I can take care of this.”

You turned around and ripped the door to the driver’s seat open, before slamming it shut. And peeled out of there. How dared he? He treated you as though you were an amateur. This wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew how to hunt. You weren't new to this job. You should have reminded him that you saved his life on this vampire hunt. Had he forgotten?

You couldn’t care less if he stayed in town or if he left. You would just proceed with the hunt. Whether it was a werewolf or Skinwalker; as they suggested; you’d kill it and be out of town. After all, it was an easy enough hunt.

As you’d soon find out, they, in fact, did not leave town. You crossed path with them at the diner. You sent a glare Dean’s way as you walked up to one of the empty booths. You were determined to ignore Dean Winchester and his brother. You were determined to show them that you could handle yourself, and take care of it all on your own.

You didn’t need them. You had never needed anyone.

You sat alone in your booth and ate your lunch while reviewing the victims’ files. They all had been found by the trail near the small wooded area. Heart’s missing, ligatures marks, slight head trauma. The heart being ripped out, indicated a werewolf kill but the ligatures marks and the head trauma suggested something different. You didn’t understand why they were there. Why did they tie up the victims?

There was only one way to find out but you did not like it. You had an aversion for the wooded areas by night. More than anything. However you were a hunter and sometimes, you had to do what you had to do. So, you traded your FBI pantsuit for dark jeans that hugged your large hips and thick thighs perfectly. You traded your dress shirt for a tie-dye crop top that showed a sliver of your skin, and the stretchmarks that peeked out of your waistband. Scars that you had gained over the years as your body changed. It had grown and suffered. It wasn’t slim or thin, it was curvy and big. You had large hips, thick and plushy thighs, a large breast. You loved your body and you had learned to flaunt it.

Flaunting your assets was not what you were going to do tonight. Anyone who knew you, would tell you it was the worst idea you’d ever had. Especially knowing your aversion for the woods at night time. Garth would advise you to ask the Winchesters, since they were in town, to accompany you. And in retrospect, you probably should have. But he didn’t need to know about that.

“Son of a gun!” You breathed out shakily. You tightened your dark green flannel and your thick jacket around your torso.

You were too stubborn to ask for help when you should. But asking for help was like admitting weakness. And you refused to appear weak in front of Dean Winchester. He already thought you were incapable. You didn’t want him to think of you as weak. You were not going to give him the satisfaction.

Your fingers were tight around your lamp torch. Your heart beating wildly beneath your ribcage. Every breath you took was shaky. Everything in you was screaming at you to run. To go to safety. But you were a hunter. You needed to put an end to the killings. You needed to take care of the werewolf. Or the skinwalker.

Crunch. You froze. Crunch. You pulled out your gun. Crunch. A snort. You knew it wasn’t human. You took another shaky breath. A failed attempt to steady yourself. Your feet remained rooted to the ground. As the sounds were coming closer to your position. You needed to move. And fast.

When your body finally obeyed your brain, it was already too late. You had barely moved when the beast pounced on you. You let out a scream as you landed on your back. The wind got knocked out of you. Your gun flew away from you.

There you were, defenseless. And alone.

Yellow eyes staring into yours. Bared fangs as it snarled at you. Its breath was hot on your face. You did not wish to die here. Alone. Away from your family. This seemed much too familiar to you. A feeling of déjà-vu. You hated it. You hated the woods. You hated that monster breathing down on your face.

A shot rang. Its head snapped up to the sound. Two tall figures were rushing to your aid. You could have sobbed with relief at seeing them. But you weren’t out of the woods yet. No pun intended.  

Its snarled at them. They fired their guns again.  The creature fled as fast as they could. Sam rushed to your aid while Dean pursued the monster.

“Hey,” He helped you up. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. You were still shaken up. This was too close. You could have died tonight. All of that because you weren’t prepared. Because you wanted to prove something. You screwed up. You clenched your fists repeatedly. You just wanted for your hands to stop shaking. If they could only stop shaking.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” Dean snapped at you, once he came back.

“What?”

“We were tracking it down and now it’s gone.” He continued. “You screwed it all up.”

“Dean.” Sam put a hand on his brother’s chest.

“Excuse you!” You snapped back at him. “I screwed up? I was being attacked.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t know what you’re doing, princess.” Dean stepped closer to you, glaring down at you. “I don’t know how you survived this long on your own, but it won’t last much longer if you keep pulling stupid stunts like that. Leave this to us before you get yourself killed.”

What he said wasn’t untrue. You could have gotten yourself killed tonight. It was reckless to go in before truly knowing what was behind the attacks. Although, that was unfair of him to say. You didn’t set out to be attacked or get yourself killed. You were only trying to do your job. You were a hunter and this was what hunters do. This was what they were doing. So, why was it okay for them to do but not for you?

No one believed in you. No matter how hard you tried they still thought you were uncapable. You had met hunters like him before. Doubting you and your skills. You were too soft, they said. You scared too easy, they said. However, you had proven to them that you knew what you were doing. You had proven to them that you got the job done.

You glared back at him. “Like you care.” You wanted to sound harsh, angry. You wanted him to know that you won’t let him get to you. But that wasn’t how it sounded coming out of your mouth.

You sounded tired and defeated. No one would care if you did die. Not the Winchesters. Not even your own family. Those words had always been floating in your brain for years. After all, you had done so many things for so many people. So many things that went unnoticed. Of course, if you were to disappear. No one would notice the difference. They didn’t need you. Not as much as you needed them. You felt the tears pressed against your eyes.

You would not give him the satisfaction to see you cry, on top of everything else. So, you turned around and walked away from the Winchesters. You heard Sam called you but you ignored him.

You needed to get away from the woods. You needed to get away from Dean.

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Marion Davies (Show People, the Patsy)— JUSTICE FOR MARION DAVIES. I am always so upset when I learn that some people STILL think she was some untalented pretty face who was only a success because of her relationship with Hearst. Please watch literally any of her movies, silent or sound, to see how untrue this is. She was successful in spite of Hearst's constant meddling. She really shines as a comedienne. Just watch her imitate other silent stars in The Patsy, or her screwball antics in Show People. I've watched so many silents just for her, but she was also really good in sound films, too, like Blondie of the Follies. She's absolutely adorable, and she deserves to be recognized for her talent, alone.

Rita Hayworth (Gilda, Cover Girl)—Absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. She steals every movie she’s in; she was Fred Astaire’s favorite dance partner, as you can see in clips from their movies [link][link]. Born Margarita Carmen Cansino, Rita's story had its tragedies—her father was awful and had her performing in nightclubs way, way too young; the studio totally remade her look because they were afraid of her hispanic image, putting her through painful treatments and diets; she had a string of failed marriages. But beside all that, I think there's something about Rita that still glows through—an inner beauty that has nothing to do with the studio, or the men who pinned their dreams on her. Rita brings an incandescence to roles that's impossible to replicate, and was truly a great actress in that she could switch from herself—shy Margarita—into a bold and glamorous femme fatale so convincingly everyone fell in love with her as Gilda. She's my favorite movie star, and I think she was a beautiful human through and through—Rita, gorgeous and real and shining bright.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Marion Davies:

the queen of comedy

 If anyone is looking for a tragic infamous funny fav, this is your girl! She came from a catholic convent to become a showgirl! As many of these early Hollywood stars, she fell victim to falling in love with the wrong man. She had a long lasting affair with a older powerful married man, William Hearst. Their story was so iconic and scandalous that it is largely what inspired Citizen Kane. She gained her fame through him, which eventually gathered her the reputation of being social-climbing and taking advantage of more her looks than her talent. This made her controversial, which wasn't helped by her flirty fun personality and attitude towards other actors (including Charlie Chaplin). All of this hate meant that she was eventually ostracized by Hollywood and even blamed for Hearst's death. My poor girl was excitable, funny, charismatic, energetic, and extremely talented. I believe that at her heart and soul, she was truly a clown. She possesses an incredible gift for mimicry, a deceptively animate face, and an absence of on-screen ego that allows her to throw herself into anything, no matter how foolish or potentially embarrassing, with all of her considerable energy. And it's those ridiculous moments that are almost always her best in film, because to me, that's really who she was. She was silly and sweet and so so so so so funny! And she deserved better than the tragedy of the life she got.

Rita Hayworth:

Do you need any other propaganda? Here’s the video.

She was not called "the love goddess" for nothing: beautiful, glamorous, despite playing sexy and provocative roles her inherent shyness somehow also would shine through sometimes, creating this contradictory and incredibly attractive image

Often played "the bad girl" who tempted the male hero away from "the good girl"; but did have roles that broke her out of that mold. She was also the inspiration for Jessica Rabbit. THE pinup girlie.

HELP

She was soo beautiful when she was young and she MAINTAINED that beauty into her later years and I think that old lady glamour is hot. bombastic sex appeal

every line she delivers in gilda is so flirty and passionate or absolutely desolate and it's so good

I just have a lot of feelings about her

[ramayantika]

The Guard Awake

Shankara was a newly recruited guard appointed by the defense ministry of Mathura, under its new ruler, the tyrant Kamsa, who had forcibly imprisoned his father and the former ruler of Mathura, Maharaja Ugrasena, and usurped the throne.

In addition to this folly, he had made his dear sister's life a living hell. The young and beautiful daughter of king Devapa, Princess Devaki had tied her nuptials to the handsome son of Shurasena, Prince Vasudeva, and was about to begin her marital life when a holy voice boomed from the blue skies announcing Kamsa's death by the hands of Devaki and from that day onwards, Mathura saw torture, pain and bloodshed, every day, every moment and every breath.

Shankara had been married to a wonderful girl from his village a month ago before moving to Mathura for work. Shyamala, his wife, a doe-eyed innocent beauty was in awe of the grand city, and had slowly begun blending with the people here.

It was late evening when Shyamala realised her husband hadn't arrived their humble cottage still. The sky had donned on the dark shades of purple and blue. The moon in pale silver was slowly illuminating the sky, and her eyes restlessly roamed outside the doorway searching for her husband.

"Shyamala, are you inside?" Shyamala hears Bharati at the doorway.

Bharati was the wife of Mahendra, their neighbour who worked with Shankara at the palace.

"Jiji... yes." Shyamala wipes her hands with a small towel and jogs towards the door.

Bharati looks up at Shyamala and says, "My husband had sent a message to you from Shankara bhrata. Bhrata has been assigned night shifts starting from today at Mathura's prison."

Nodding her head in understanding, Shyamala replies, "I see. That is why he hadn't come home by evening. He generally sends me a letter though if he shall be late home, but he didn't today."

Bharati sighs. "Well it might be because, your husband is tasked with holding the two new hostages in tight security. Devaki and Vasudeva have now been moved from house arrest to the dark prisons."

Shyamala's eyes widen in shock. "What!"

"Yes. The king is afraid and obsessed with the divine forewarning about his death, so he decided to shower all atrocities on his one's dear sister and her husband."

"Poor woman!" Shyamala laments. "A princess reduced to a prisoner. A newly married woman has so many dreams, but look how cruel her fate crushed it all."

Bharati rests her hand on Shyamala's shoulder. "Anyway, we mere citizens can't do much. Let's pray that the newly weds are delivered of their suffering. You take care of yourself." She looks around at the dark skies. "It is getting dark now, and well thievery and dacoit activities have been on a rise."

"Sure. Thank you." Shyamala smiles and closes the wooden door. Locking the door from inside, she double checks the lock before heading inside towards their single bed chamber.

Shyamala sits on a thin mattress. Her eyes drift towards the pale silver moon. Closing her eyes and folding her hands in devotion, she mutters an earnest plea. "Oh Vishnu! Take care of Devaki."

A gentle breeze blew by carrying the fragrance of sandalwood.

--xx--

Shankara stretches on the bed for a good moment until sleep and exhaustion evades from his limbs. His eyes automatically squint at the afternoon glaring sun causing him to rub his palm over his face.

"Shyamala...?" He calls out.

Shyamala enters their room. "Oh! You are awake."

Shankara tiredly smiles and nods at her. "I felt so tired that I couldn't wake up early. I feel as if I have slept an entire day."

Shyamala sits beside her husband, and presses her soft palms over her husband's shoulders. "I figured it out that you were exhausted. That is why I didn't wake you up." Looking at her husband's reddened cheeks from his deep sleep, she continues, "Why don't you freshen up? Lunch is prepared. You will have to leave for your duty soon."

A groaning Shankara replies, "Yes, those dreary dark dungeons await my presence."

Shyamala passes a small smile and gets up to go towards their kitchen when she hears Shankar speak. "By the way, Princess Devaki is pregnant with her first child."

"Oh," Shyamala mutters. "Such a shame that she must experience the journey of motherhood in a dark and dingy cell."

Shyamala heads to her small kitchen. Peeling of the lid from the cooking pot, her mind thinks about the Yadu princess and her pregnancy. A mother to be forced to be a prisoner.

She takes in the aroma of rice and dal. She wonders if the princess would be properly fed or not to support the existence of the foetus as well as to nourish the mother's body to sustain new life.

"I am done. Let's eat together. I can feels the rats hungrily running inside my stomach." She hears her husband.

"Coming." Shyamala thanks her stars. Sure, she did not lead a very luxurious life like the royalty. She was just a simple village girl, slowly blending in with the city. Far away from politics, throne usurpers, and brothers who attempt to jeopardize their sisters' lives.

She often thinks of the princess sometimes especially when praying to the tiny idol of Vishnu. Maharaja Kamsa had banned the worship of Vishnu. Shankara had asked Shyamala to hide all images of the deities in case some eager follower of the king would report them for committing treason against their king.

Shyamala had sculpted a tiny idol of Vishnu and placed it under her sarees.

She gazes at the ceiling and mutters another prayer for the poor couple. "Chakradhari, take care of the mother and the child."

--xx--

Shankara blinks his eyes and averts the sweet call of sleep when a shrill baby's cry wakes him awake in both body and mind.

The guard beside him runs off to alert the other guards to carry the message to Kamsa.

Shankara looks at the tired body of Devaki. The thin white sheets are drenched in blood and maybe a few dark coloured tissues, he marks, before sadly muttering to himself. "There isn't even an healer to check upon the princess."

He looks at Vasudeva who pats Devaki's hair. He gently kisses her head and looks at the baby boy cradled in her arms. The baby is still crying out loudly, as if, he is fearful for his life ahead.

Devaki coos at the crying child. Gently laying its head on her bare chest covered with her now patched saree, she tries calming the baby.

Vasudeva's eyes meet Shankara's who quickly flits his gaze to the ground, and turns his back to him.

Kamsa's booming footsteps alert the guard. Shankara immediately holds his spear in his hand and straightens his spine. Kamsa stands near the iron bars with a servant unlocking the small prison door of their cell.

Devaki sits up and holds the child tighter in her arms as Kamsa bends down towards the crying child. A menacing maniacal look harbours in the king's eyes, as he comments, "You gave birth to a beautiful baby indeed, my sister. Alas! He isn't blessed to live a long life like his parents."

Snatching the crying child by his leg, he laughs. Devaki shrieks and pleads, "This is the first child, Bhrata!. The warning had mentioned the eighth child not the first one. Leave him, please!" Her hands are outstretched to her brother who smirks evilly.

"The gods always have some trickery up their sleeves. I don't trust them. Every child of yours shall be killed by me, sister. Let me see, who shall then defeat Kamsa then."

Devaki stands up holding her bloodied saree. Shankara's body had gone cold hearing Kamsa's plan on killing every child of Devaki's.

Doesn't he have a heart at all? Who kills an innocent baby that too of one sister's? Shankara wonders but keeps his thoughts quietly to himself.

Kamsa dangles the child like a toy in his burly arms. Devaki cries and screams for her brother to let go. Vasudeva holds his wife to his chest, fearing if Kamsa decides to kill Devaki for asking her son back so he may prove the divine voice wrong of their prediction.

Devaki hits at Vasudeva's chest."Do something. He is your child too. He will kill my son. Why are you standing like a statue?"

A tearful Vasudeva embraces Devaki tighter in his arms.

Kamsa brings the baby in front of his eyes. Shankara turns his head back slightly to check on Devaki and Vasudeva only to meet a gruesome murder of a baby.

Kamsa had banged the baby's head against the wall.

Thud thud.

Devaki screams until her voice turns hoarse. Shankara catches Vasudeva's gaze causing the former to gulp.

Devaki had expressed her rage and grief but he noticed that Vasudeva nursed only a silent rage as he caressed Devaki's back with gentle hands.

Kamsa haughtily carries the dead baby's corpse in his hands and laughs with glee as he walks through the exit doors.

And soon the Yadu princess looses her consciousness. She lies on the dirty sheet drenched in her blood as well as her lost child's. Vasudeva sits down on the ground, his dejected eyes pinned to the flowing blood of his child's from the wall to the prison's floor.

The prison dungeons were lit by fire torches at night. Shankara looks at the burning flames and prays to Vishnu.

"Come soon, my Lord. Come soon."

--xx--

"I saw the king kill the child, Shyamala."

"But the voice had mentioned the eight son, hadn't it?"

"Looks like he doesn't want to take any chances."

"How is the princess?"

"Can you lend me a few of your sarees? We have an extra blanket too. That shall suffice I think."

"Sarees and blanket for what, swami?"

"For Devaki and Vasudeva. I can't free them, but I can help ease their dreadful days a bit. Not even a healer was made to visit, Shyama. I saw her lay on bloodied clothes.

"I will pack a few nutritious meals too then."

--xx--

A loud wail makes Shankara turn towards Vasudeva's cell.

He sees thick blood drip down her legs as she presses her palm to her lower stomach. Vasudeva helplessly stares at Shankara and shakes his head at him.

Devaki had miscarried.

The seventh born had died in her womb itself.

Vasudeva makes her sit against the wall. He holds her hands in his and whispers something in her ears. Shankara can't hear him but his eyes moisten too at their plight.

He had seen how the evil monster of a human Kamsa had killed six of her children. Sometimes he would bang the child's head or if he felt too malicious, he would slice the little one in two with his sword.

And this man called himself the strongest warrior. A warrior whose sword is drenched in the blood of innocent children.

Vasudeva with great difficulty had made Devaki go to sleep. Shankara observes the exhaustion on Vasudeva's face.

"Aren't you tired, my prince?"

"Of what?"

"This. Why bring in children when you know what fate they will meet at the end. Kamsa spared none. Why must you both go through such grueling moments. It is only bringing you pain." Shankara points at Devaki. "How more pain must a mother go through? Losing seven children. Seven!"

Vasudeva answers, "This pain is written in our destiny. The only reason we want to bring children is because we both still believe that He shall come. He will take revenge for harassing the mother, my Devaki and for the lost innocent babies. I know that one day I shall see that Kamsa die. He made a spectacle of my children's death. I shall see Kamsa's death be a spectacle too. The Gods need a mother to enter the mortal world. Devaki and I must do our part." Vasudeva's eyes light up with a surge of energy. "The path to reach God has never been easy for a devotee. Then how can the path be easier for the ones who shall bring the God to our world, Shankara."

Shankara goes quiet. The light in Vasudeva's eyes raises goosebumps on his skin. He quietly fidgets with his bag. Looking around to avoid any snooping guards, he passes a bundle filled with fruits and nuts to Vasudeva.

"My wife sent it."

"Thank you, my friend."

"Only doing my duty, my prince."

A small smile curves into Vasudeva's lips. He places the bundle in the corner before heading to rest near Devaki.

Devaki's tears have left dry paths over her cheeks. Vasudeva wipes them off and whispers, "Our Lord shall arrive soon, my dear."

--xx--

Lately Shankara had been noticing a different glow on Shyamala's face. She was humming some melodies under her breath, would secretly smile to herself while fondly gazing at his face in the early hours of dawn, and was now eating a lot of sweets these days.

The rooster crows at the onset of dawn as Shankara makes his way towards the narrow lane of his house. The sun is barely up in the sky. It looks pale as if the Sun God himself is slowly rising from slumber.

Some parts of the sky are shrouded in darkness with the faintest hues of blue diverging from the dark blanket enveloping the skies. The moon still illuminates his path ahead and Shankara rubs his arms for warmth as a gentle cold wind brushes by.

It is the month of Margashirsha, the first month of the winter season. He observes how the days have grown slightly cooler. The temperature at night feels just the same everyday thanks to the desolate prison at the hill top. The lonely hill and the surrounding forest cover always feel cold. The hundreds of fire torches don't bring warmth to the prison ever.

This is why he carries a shawl with himself, and now with the beginning of the winter season, he had decided to smuggle a shawl for Devaki and Vasudeva too.

He makes a mental note of that thought and walks ahead, his eyes waiting to land upon the walls of his home and the familiar presence of his wife waiting for him.

The high pitched crowing of the rooster reaches his ears again, but this time Shankara has reached the dusty path of his house. To his surprise, he notices his wife standing at the doorway, her eyes immediately finding his and brightening.

With hurried steps, Shankara stands in front of her, asking, "Why are you standing here? It is cold. You should be inside." He holds her hands and checks for the temperature. "See, your hands are cold now. You fall sick easily, priye."

Shyamala laughs. Shankara looks at her laughing face. The sound of her laughter is music to his ears. It takes away all his dark and dreary moments from his rounds at the prison cell.

He observes how glowy her face looks this early in the morning and wonders how he must look with sunken and reddened eyes from lack of nightly sleep.

Shyamala stops her hearty giggles and pulls him inside the house, shutting the door with an excited slam. "I have some news for you, husband."

"News? What kind of news?" Shankara asks. Marking the constant smile on Shyamala's lips, he says, "It definitely must be a happy one which is why you are smiling and giggling so much."

Shyamala nods her head rapidly in agreement. "Indeed it is. You will be happy too. Joyous even."

Squinting his eyes in confusion, he looks at his wife, wondering what wonderful news could she bring to him that made her wait for him so eagerly.

"Okay. Go ahead."

Shyamala shyly smiles and looks to the floor. Shankara tilts his head thinking what is making his wife blush like that at dawn.

'Surely, I am not looking handsome enough after work this way which might make her want to-' All his thoughts come to a halt, when he feels Shyamala take his hand and press it to her stomach.

She looks at him with a bashful gaze and bats her eyelashes at him, her eyes look at his, searching for the look of realization in those tired eyes.

Shankara looks at the hopeful and love-filled gaze in his wife's eyes and then at his hand over her lower stomach, at her womb.

Realization strikes him like a thunderbolt.

"You..." He holds her by her shoulders. "Pregnant?"

Shyamala beams at him. Shankara immediately brings her into a bone-crushing hug.

"We are going to be parents!" Shankara exclaims before peppering Shyamala's face with kisses.

Happy tears spring up in her eyes as she nods at him. "Yes, and I have conceived in the holy month of Margashirsha. Vishnu's month."

With all the love and warmth, Shankara could muster in his eyes, he gazes deeply into Shyamala's eyes. Holding her face as gently as he can, he says, "Let's hope our child is born healthy and in the time when God walks on earth again, annihilating sin and vice."

Shyamala leads him to their bed. "Come, rest, swami. You must be tired."

Shankara closes his eyes as soon as his head hits the soft pillow. Shyamala darkens the room by drawing the curtains over the windows. He can feel his wife gazing at him, but he pretends that he has dozed off.

The sound of anklets lull him to sleep as Shyamala hums a morning melody to herself. Her feet exit the room, and he slips into a comfortable dreamless sleep with no thoughts of bloodied babies and wretched motherhood.

--xx--

In the quiet hours of the night, Vasudeva beckons Shankara closer to the iron bars. Some other nearby guards were dozing with loud snores, and the soldiers meant for hourly rounds still had an hour left to come back for checking.

Vasudeva whispers to Shankara. "The eighth child. Devaki is pregnant."

Shankara's eyes drift to the sleeping form of the Yadu princess. Unlike her previous pregnancies, Devaki looked the most healthiest and happiest in this pregnancy.

Her face suffused with a divine glow. She looked as beautiful as the motherly form of Shakti. Her frail body, a consequence of the poor diet and nutrition standards of the prison had plumped up. She was happier now, Shankara observed.

The primary motto of her previous pregnancies had been to quickly bring the children to the world, watch Kamsa kill them and patiently wait until the one who would avenge her would finally take form in her womb.

Of course, she would be heartbroken each time Kamsa mercilessly slaughtered tiny babies in front of her, but with time, the gods had blessed her with enough mental strength to push through and bring Kamsa's killer to earth.

Shankara quickly scans the guards behind him. Some were idly chatting while the majority had dozed off.

"Perhaps, God will descend soon now. It's only a matter of time." Shankara bows his head, his mind thinking of Shri Vishnu, the Preserver of the Universe.

Shankara opens a pouch and fetches a small ladoo. Offering it to Vasudeva, he says, "My wife is with child too, prince. I would like to offer this sweet to you." Motioning to Devaki, he hands over the entire sweet containing pouch into the hands of Vasudeva. "Please feed the princess too and share the happy news with her too."

Vasudeva's eyes soften. Not one soul in the prison except Shankara had shown kindness and compassion to him and Devaki. Some would pass a few sympathetic glances at them, but that was all. A friendship had blossomed between the guard and the former Yadu prince.

Vasudeva wanted to embrace the guard, but the large iron bars proved and obstacle. He shakes his hand with Shankara, saying, "You have shared a happy news with me, Shankara, as a friend. I would like you to feed the ladoo to me as a friend."

Shankara stutters. "Me as a friend?" He smiles but his shoulders shrug uneasily. "Kamsa may have imprisoned you, but to me, you will always remain my prince. I am a mere guard, a commoner."

"Oh, Shankara, what joy has being a prince brought me? You are the only soul who has shown kindness and compassion to the both of us." He passes a glance at Devaki and then turns to Shankara. "We will forever be indebted to you and your wife."

Vasudeva eats the ladoo from Shankara's hand. "May your child be healthy. Take care of Shyamala and send our regards to her."

Shankara bows down to Vasudeva and turns ahead. Grabbing the spear in his hand, he assumes his role as a guard once again.

--xx--

It was the eighth day of Krishna Paksha in the month of Shravna. The morning had been bright, but as the day progressed, the skies had grown overcast.

Low breezes blew throughout the evening, telling everyone the news of the incoming storm that was making its way ahead.

Shankara hears the wind howling around the prison. The sound is eerie, and he is reminded of scary ghost tales which the old grandfathers of his village often narrated to the kids at night.

The large fire torches feel the brunt of the wind too. The golden flames dance to the wind as dust blows in. Shankara hurries back to the prison to check on Devaki.

To his surprise, he sees every guard fall to the ground, their eyes closed in deep sleep. Not one being is standing awake except Devaki, Vasudeva and him.

Devaki however clutches her stomach and crouches on the floor. Grabbing Vasudeva's arm, she yells, "My eighth baby. He is coming."

Vasudeva begins assisting Devaki in giving birth while Shankara decides to check for any soldiers nearby for their hourly rounds.

Not one soldier in sight.

"Strange," Shankara thinks to himself. "It is as if everybody passed out."

He walks back to Vasudeva's cell and rubs his eyes in shock.

A beautiful baby boy lay beside Devaki.

"No way, did a baby come out so fast." He looks at Vasudeva. "I was away only for mere moments some time ago. How come-?"

In the loud rumbling sounds of the thunderstorm, a sweet breeze carrying the smell of sandalwood fills the prison cell. Shankara hears the divine sound of the conch in his ears, and he wonders if it is the loud thunder or has he lost his mind.

The prison cell glows in golden light. On the brown wall of the prison against the golden light cast inside the prison, a tall shadow forms.

The four armed lord, each arm holding a conch, a discus, a mace and a beautiful lotus, stands in front of the trio.

Shankara's eyes grow moist in devotion until the divine spell breaks. Vishnu vanishes and he hears a charming boy giggle.

A beautiful baby boy with the complexion akin to stormy clouds beams at him. A smile equal to the radiance of a thousand suns light his face.

The baby coos and Vasudeva's chains fall to the ground.

Vasudeva holds the baby in his arms. The prison lock falls to the ground with a loud clang, yet not one eye drifts open.

"I must make way for Gokula and hand him to my friend, Nanda. This boy shall be safe there."

Devaki kisses the baby's forehead for one last time and bids farewell to her child.

Shankara bows down and presses the baby's tiny feet to his forehead. "Om namo Narayana."

--xx--

Shankara doesn't drag himself to his house. He rather sprints the entire way back, to eagerly tell the news of Devaki's eight born to Shyamala.

He notices Bharati stand at the doorway. Ushering him inside, she leads him inside his room. He spots a sleeping Shyamala, her face bearing a peaceful expression. Sweat beads shine on her forehead.

Beside her lies a little girl wrapped in a cloth secured tightly around her.

"Ghar mein Lakshmi ka aagman hua hai, Shankara bhrata."

--xx--

@krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @krishakamal @ma-douce-souffrance @jukti-torko-golpo @prettykittytanjiro @thegleamingmoon @krishna-sangini @chaliyaaa @kaal-naagin @ramcharantitties @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic

I guess this was a long post. I had this idea on janmashtami. I actually have my internal exams going on. Still squeezed this through hehe so here you go. I hope you all like it.

I never wrote on krishna's birth and i began thinking of some good guard helping out devaki and vasudeva. Then somehow added shyamala as his wife and provide glimpses into their life. Hope you all enjoyed it.

Would love to listen to your views. I am sleep deprived and academically well.. slayy is struggling but i will definitely end up doing something nice there too. See you soon

[veryace-ficrecs]

Young Justice Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Big girls don't cry by siren_of_the_ocean - Rated G

For Bart Allen, it's a random weekday in the middle of a random year. For Tim Drake, it's the day after his birthday and his whole world had just fallen apart.

Rest and Relaxation Post-Mission by Cherry_Sofa_729 - Rated T

After a mission that leaves everyone in safe condition but exhausted, all of Young Justice decides a little R & R is in order. Granted, when you’re young, together without any supervision, all dating each other, and a bunch of superheroes, a chill night in looks a little different

Dick needs to learn to stop listening when young justice starts talking by allmywritings - Rated T

Dick wished he could stop overhearing the things Young Justice said. At this point, he’d make a deal with the gods. Or://Dick keeps hearing the absolutely wild things that come out of Young Justice's mouths and then has to carry on with his day like there's nothing wrong.

Running in Place by d3ssie_r0se - Rated T

"Tim. How're his vitals?" She forced a calm into her voice. Like her, Tim was almost certainly itching to be out there looking as well. Still, it's not like either of them stood a chance. Cassie maybe, if he wasn't trying. Tim? At the end of the day, Tim was human. "Heartrate and BP through the roof. I can't tell if he's running low blood glucose yet. Both flashes have done this for days without crashing but... It was rough after." Cassie fought to keep her breathing steady. It was awful feeling helpless like this. Conner threw his bottle of water to the ground, "Okay. I'll give it another go." Then he was gone. Again. Cassie glanced to Tim. His usually cool blue eyes were betraying signs of stress as he clicked through various tabs on his laptop. They couldn't activate anything global without alerting the league and putting Bart in danger. Not to mention further stressing him out. -- most speedsters run off their problems when things get to much. where it gets dangerous is when they don't (or can't) stop.

Uh, Who?! by FloatingNebulas - Rated T

Everyone knows the four remaining members of Young Justice: Tim Drake, Bart Allen, Cassandra Sandsmark, and Kon-El. Everyone also knows that the four of them used to be part of a team named Young Justice in their early days, before joining the Teen Titans. However, very few people know what happened on that team. Very few people also know about the missing members of the team. Young Justice was not just those four. Young Justice was populated almost entirely by unknown names in case files and half-forgotten syllables. Or, five times someone learned about the forgotten members of Young Justice and had no idea who they were, and one time they met them.

it’s all fun and games ‘til Santa checks the naughty list by suzukiblu - Rated T

“Because we said we were gonna do it together, Bart,” Cassie says. “Which requires us all being here and contributing. Together. Tim is not here yet, therefore we are not all here and contributing, therefore we are going to wait.” “Tim is an atheist!” Bart says. “A Jewish atheist!” “Christmas decorations don’t, like, stop working if you don’t believe in them, man,” Kon says, then raises an eyebrow at him. “And aren’t you an atheist?” “That’s between me and the Speed Force,” Bart says, making a face at him. “But Tim is. And Cassie knows gods and doesn’t even pray to them, and you just keep anthropomorphizing your broken cloning tube!” “Poor ol’ Nanny McTubers, may she rest in peace,” Kon says wistfully, laying a hand over his heart before shrugging casually. “Or pieces.”

"Don't mess with my friends" by siren_of_the_ocean - Rated T

A phone call can bring many things. Good news, bad news, joy and terror. This particular phone call never should have happened. “Tim. Greta’s missing”

Those still here by Lilac_Demetrius - Rated T

After a week in space, Tim and his team return to earth only to find out that 5 years have passed since they left, and everyone thinks they're dead.

Bat in a Flash by siren_of_the_ocean - Rated T

When Tim is struck by lightning, his whole world changes. Everything moves just slightly slower now. Not because they are slow but because he is fast. Now he has to adapt and live, but with the help of Young Justice and the Flash team, he might actually make it through.

The Case of the Missing Kryptonite by Mouse_in_this_house - Rated G

The Kryptonite ring in the Batcave has gone missing. When such a dangerous weapon is in the wind, the Bats have to collaborate to track it down. Meanwhile, the former Young Justice team obliviously enjoys their piercing party.

Streamer by Day, Vigilante by Night by jupiterliketheplanet - Rated G

Ok, maybe Tim has a problem with working too much. But seriously Dinah, a hobby? or; Four friends accidentally get internet famous in an attempt to get Dinah off their back about having fun outside of work.

Tim Collects Last Names Like Infinity Stones by zetarogue - Rated G

“If we got married, you’d be Tim Allen.” Tim didn’t look up from his computer as he spoke. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just add another hyphen.”

Put a ring on it by Miss_Choco_chips - Rated T

"You’re gonna freak out so badly over this when you actually wake up", she informed Tim’s fluffy hair. Said vigilante only released a cute little snore, face buried on her lap, legs thrown over Kon’s, one hand that had fallen from the couch resting on Bart’s head where he sat on the floor in front of them. "Well, they were going to find out one way or another. And this was probably among the best scenarios." "How? This was probably out of Tim’s ‘worst case’ nightmare list." "I was there and saw their faces. I didn’t even know Batman could express any emotion other than ‘cold’ and ‘overflowing with rage’. That image will bring me joy in future distressing times, I’m sure. My patronus memory, if you will."

[starlightsuffered]

Knives Out

Info - cnc, knife play, knife kink, kidnapped reader, mention of torture, degrading, boot humping, oral (Fem receiving), bondage, blood licking, sub reader, switching between hard and soft, fucking someone with an object, double penetration, spit kink, cheating technically or cucking, trying to get information out of someone, lactating reader, wet nurse reader, messy sex, needy sex, squirting, begging, cutting off clothing, sub space

“She���s not cooperating,” said a guard. Hal punched a wall, knowing he’d have to bring out the Dark King. He had a way with female captures. He knew just how to push their buttons and make them release the information he needed.

“To my rooms with her then,” Hal sighed as he rubbed his bloody knuckles where they had hit the brick.

The girl, y/n she’d finally told us, looked horrified. She wasn’t a princess, not even a royal. The poor thing just so happened to be in the area when Hal’s own cousin had been assassinated. We believed the woman to be the killers lover.

Hal couldn’t have someone going around killing his family without retaliation. Truth be told he had never liked that particular cousin. It didn’t matter in the end. Hal had to do what he had to do to look strong.

Y/n was laid on the bed of the king. Tall, pale, and intimidating, King Henry walked into the room. His boots were heavy and his jewels clicked as he took slow steps.

Y/n squirmed against her restrains. They weren’t awful, it wasn’t torture, yet. Her wrists were just tied to the bedposts. She’d been dunked in water while interrogated. She’d been hit and thrown to the cold stone. This seemed lovely in comparison.

Something made y/n not afraid of King Henry. She knew he would probably do much worse. People feared this king. The man who had started a war over a ball. If a ball had caused all that strife, what would a murder do? Especially the murder of someone he was related to?

“Please, let me go. I truly don’t know anything. I don’t,” she told Henry. He chuckled.

He pulled out a roll of leather from a drawer. He spun it open and there laid a line of bejewelled knives. Some blunt, some rusted with blood, some sharp as the teeth of wild animals, some rounded.

“What are you going to do?” She shivered.

“You know, I don’t think you’ll mind this type of treatment,” Henry purred. “I’ve been told that these knives have been blessed by witches and fairies and many a deity and a king and a priest.”

“Excuse me?” She gulped.

“It doesn’t matter. Those are all stories from my fathers before me. I know they have been lavished with something precious, for I have seen it myself.”

“If you speak of the blood of the innocent!-“ y/n began with a bark.

“No, no, another liquid. A liquid much more precious,” Henry said with a feral grin.

“First things first, I must see that body,” Hal smirked. He picked up the sharpest of his knives. He sliced through her blue dress. The old fabrics fell away.

Her young body was on display. Plump breasts with swollen nipples were heaving. Her petite body was all gorgeous shades of colour. She was soft and looked so innocent, yet so fierce.

“Were you perhaps, a wet nurse?” Hal asked as he ran the flat of the cold blade over y/n’s puffy nipples.

“I-I- Oh!” She moaned as Hal nudged a nipple with the end of his knife.

“You like dangerous men don’t you y/n,” Hal cooed. “I imagine that’s why you were with a man bold enough to kill my cousin.”

“I won’t tell you anything.”

“Well, it’s a good thing,” Henry went on, as if he had not heard her. “I can do dangerous.”

The knife was dragged over her body slowly. Shallow scratches were barely made but the threat was there. She was heaving, her eyes trained on the knife.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he commented, head tilted to the side.

“By the end of this, you’ll be so desperate, you will tell me the name of the man who killed my cousin,” Henry chuckled.

“I won’t-“

She was cut off as Hal dove into her pussy. The woman screamed. She was a reactive one. His tongue flattened and used perfect pressure. He massaged and flicked at her nipples in a way that made her squirm.

Milk was dripping from her nipples as she became wetter and wetter. She was no longer squirming away. She instead, was arching upwards and into the feeling of the king’s mouth.

Pathetic moans dribbled from her mouth as he sucked and lapped. He was sloppy and attentive. His large hands covered her thighs and she made the most delicious little sounds. The blade was in her reach but they both knew she was too far gone to make a try for freedom. Even if her hands weren’t bound, she was addicted.

“Please, oh for the love of god!” Y/n wailed. His mouth was covered in slick as he sucked her clit wildly. She let go of all inhibition as her legs wrapped around Hal’s head.

“Oh, oh, oh, c-close-“

Hal ripped his body away from her. He was smiling like a predator. His eyes gleamed. He was high on the power of this moment. He knew what he could do to an individual. This was better than a bow, better than winning a war, this was pure rule over someone.

“Wh-why?” She asked pitifully. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked needy in a way King Henry adored.

“How bad do you want it?” He whispered.

“So much, just need t’feel good,” she said submissively, demurely, like she she should.

Henry stuck out his boot. The ankle pressed against her folds and her eyes rolled back in her head. His saliva and her juice painted the leather with wet spots.

“Hump it,” he smirked.

“Your highness?”

“Hump my boot you traitor,” Hal growled back.

She began to grind her pussy against his leg. She whined and wiggled, trying to pleasure herself like he had. Y/n was clearly needy. She struggled in her ties to move further down and ride his leg. It wasn’t working and she was becoming impatient. Hal imagined how her swollen clit had been fat and throbbing in his mouth. He was thinking smugly of how it must be shrinking now, not receiving the pleasure only he could truly provide.

“Seems you still can’t listen to orders,” Henry tutted.

“Your majesty!” She actually wept now.

Henry looked at the puddle of a woman underneath him. She was crying. Her pussy was sopping from the mouth of the king and the need of the woman. Y/n’s nipples were puffy and leaking everywhere. Henry spat down on her pathetic form.

“Don’t worry little one, I’ll reach you how to obey. I know how badly you want it,” Henry whispered. He moved quickly, as if pity had overtaken him.

Y/n didn’t know if he’d treat her like an injured bird or like a captured rabbit. She didn’t know which she preferred. All she knew was he had provided a pleasure she’d never known, one she had never assumed she could feel.

Hal expertly flicked a knife from his pack. He grabbed another bottle of something y/n could not see. Suddenly, a different knife, one sharp and lethal was at her throat.

“Stay still,” he smirked. Something was pushed inside her pussy. It was thick and hard, but it was not a cock. She looked down to see a knife stuck out of her. The King was threatening her and pleasing her at the same time.

The long handle of a knife had been eased inside of her. Hal began to fuck her with the slick handle. At the same time, the sharp edge of another short sword was held to y/n’s throat.

“Come on girl, you know you deserve it. Such a naughty little slut. You took so much down there,” he cooed. He did not sound nice. He sounded cruel but oh so beautiful.

“I-I-“ she tried to speak. She choked on desperate whines. How did he make this all feel so good was something she would never know.

“I don’t want to hear a full word unless it’s an admission of the name I need,” he whispered to her and pecked her bottom lip.

Then things went wild. He fucked her hard with the handle. He went deeper and deeper still. She had to stay still and relaxed lest she be cut with the other blade. All the while he encouraged her. He told her to give herself over to him, to do what little sluts were supposed to do. She didn’t want to tell him, but every second she got closer to release. She knew this could all stop if she gave the name, but she didn’t know if she wanted this to stop.

“I see you need a little more, inspiration,” he purred. He stopped the fucking.

“Oh FUCK!” Y/n screamed as Hal shoved his cock in alongside the handle. She was whimpering and biting her lip. She looked completely overwhelmed. Her eyes were rolling back in her head as the knife and the dick were penetrating her soaked pussy.

“You said a word,” he growled at me. “Not good little one.”

Pain bloomed in y/n’s brain as Hal cut a small slit in her throat. Somehow, the pain only enhanced the pleasure. King Henry was now on her neck like a vampire. He licked up the blood and his tongue felt so good she could faint.

“You love the feeling of this don’t you?”

“Y-“

“No, nothing to say but a name,” he whispered.

He was like an angel of death as he kissed at the same time his thumb pressed against her clit. Y/n keened like a wild animal in heat. She undulated, jolted, and convulsed like she was hit by lightning. She got another few scratches from this. Her orgasm made her look like she was possessed and she was. She was completely overwhelmed and filled with bliss. Her pussy walls squeezed a knife and the King’s cock.

“Oh yes,” Hal grunted in satisfaction. He released inside her. Rope after rope of semen from the man who held her captive filled her. She shouldn’t love it, but she was utterly cum drunk.

Hal pulled away from her completely. She was a mess, a complete and utter shamble of fluids. A small amount of blood mixed with cum, juices, and saliva. She was quivering. She mumbled nonsense in a submissive prayer.

“Tell me his name,” crooned Hal in her ear.

“Mmmm, sssssvvvmmm,” she said dazedly.

“See, I told you that you’d anoint my knife,” King Henry said. He showed her the knife that had been in her cunt. The handle wet, and the blade covered in droplets. She had squirted on his weapon, and she had to wonder how many times he’d done this. How many women had this worked on? It wouldn’t, couldn’t work on her.

“I w-wont, t-tell-“

“Oh, but you haven’t heard the best part,” Hal said cruelly.

“Tell me the name or I’ll never touch you again.”

Her eyes went wide. She looked like an addict who had been torn away from their vice. She struggled like an animal against her bonds. She looked at him pleadingly. She looked even worse than when she’d been dragged in here from the dungeons.

“Never, ever again. You won’t feel me again. Unless, you give me the name,” Hal said simply.

“Gideon Elspeth,” she croaked.

“Good girl,” Hal swooned. He kissed her gently, and softly, like she was a deity. She smiled and completely relaxed as though she’d been drugged. She was asleep by the time Hal exited the room.

“Did you get the name?” Asked a guard.

“Of course,” smirked Hal. “Just like I always do.”

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy" - Tex "Oatmeal" Johnson asking for his.. "breakfast" and some exercise to wake them both up 😌

Spooky, here’s your breakfast. Tex Johnson x Fem Reader. Gif by @cristinaricci. TW: somnophilia, dub-con, Tex, spanking, anal play, really nsfw

You should really know better by now; sleeping in Tex’s big flannel and that little thong (or, as he likes to muse, a scrap of cotton on elastic) he loves… just to get him riled up? Tsk.

That’s how you end up with him kissing and nibbling your cheeks while he knuckles over your pussy.

You’re all weak and jello, unable to protest properly when he slaps the band of stinging elastic against you, pulls it aside and flicks your little asshole with his tongue.

“Nah, nuh-uh,” you growl, hands going back to stop him, but not before he catches your wrists and holds them flat against your back with one unfairly big grip—your own personal pair of handcuffs.

“You don’t like that?” He asks, grinning a kiss into your plump left cheek, only letting his teeth graze just a little bit. 

You giggle, and it’s stupid that you honestly think you can get out of this by saying, “go away.”

“Oh yeah?” He muses, nuzzling his beard into your pussy lips, sucking and slobbering. The underwear does little to deter his sneaking, slippery, silver tongue.

You try a different bargain. “Tex, I can’t -“ 

He gives your butt a wicked little slap. “You’re gonna.” 

You groan and bury your face into the pillow while he eats the cum out of you. 

“Fuckin sleeping in these cute little panties to get me hard first thing in the damn morning. You just wanted to tease me, huh, little girl?” 

The generous bastard gifts you two thick fingers curled perfectly.

“Answer me or I’m gonna edge ya til you cry.”

“No no no please. Okay okay yeah. Nah ah ahn oh fu-uh-uck.”

You clench on three fingers without warning, soaking right through those aforementioned cute panties. Fuck, you really liked those.

“Already?” He asks, shaking his head. “Talk about jumpin the gun.”

“Shut uppp Texx—“

“Tell me what I wanna hear.”

“Mmm.”

“Oh, you better fuckin do it.”

“M’ your pretty girl.”

“What honey?” He purposefully ups the force of his fingers to get you louder: “m-mmmmah yuh-ur pretty girlll.”

This is what you get for insulting yourself in front of him that one goddamn time. He had grabbed your cheeks, smushing them between his fingers. “What was that?”

“What?” You challenged, defiance ruined by the comical distortion of your voice.

“Naw, you know exactly watcha said, and if you ever talk like that about my pretty little honey again, you ain’t gonna like me very much.”

You rolled your eyes and batted him away, but he threaded his fingers through your belt loops before you could run. “You hearing me? Only person that gets to be mean to you is me and my cock. Are we clear, pumpkin?” He tugged you chest to chest, usual playful smile turned down into something stern and menacing.

“Crystal.”

And, ever since that moment, he has been making you say it—that you’re his pretty girl. Even in public, around people you know, if he asks, you supply with a bright blush and eyes downcast and pussy clenching.

As he’s stated before, he really likes making you gush around his fingers and then licking it up with his tongue—overstimulate your “poor little kitty kat”. Loves it when you’re swollen and spent, cum dribbling from both holes when he and John decide to make a sandwich out of you. Sure, he can threaten all he wants with edging games, but you know that, if you play cards with this wicked devil just right, he’s going to make you cum many times over, until it fucking hurts—leaves you screaming and crying and kicking your feet, actually missing Wick’s week long edging sessions…as awful as they are.

You’re already sore when he makes you sit on his cock.

“I’m tired,” you whine, draped over his torso so his fat tip isn’t bruising your cervix quite so much.

“Baby,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “You’re always tired. Nappin like an house cat every time I see you.”

“I’m sleepy,” you protest, huffing into his chest. And it’s probably because we fuck like rabbits every six or seven minutes, you think to yourself.

“Aw, poor sleepin beauty.” He gives your ass a sharp smack. “You better start workin on this cock before I do it for you.”