#the induction at home if that’s okay with you’

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[fingertipsmp3]

If some idiot at the doctor’s gave me a cold right before I’m supposed to start my new job I swear I’m going to launch myself into space

[hyperions-light]

Someone was being a fucking hater on my explicitly positive DATV post AGAIN (u all know I can see your tags right. They get delivered to me express mail style) so here’s an essay about how I thought the Grey Warden plotline was great:

First, it was extremely lore-consistent. I don’t know how to tell people this, but the Grey Wardens simply are sort of shady— it’s part of their charm. In DAO alone we found out they:

- kill anyone who refuses the joining

- are definitely using a blood magic ritual to induct people

- tried to usurp the throne of Fereldan

In DA2 they:

-Forced Malcolm Hawke to perform a blood magic ritual against his will to contain Corypheus, by threatening to kill his family

- Built a giant prison in the mountains they didn’t tell anyone about and that someone could wander into and not be able to escape

- the entire Corypheus thing. They didn’t even tell the other Wardens like what he was or how dangerous he was.

DAI:

- the demon army thing was pretty bad

And that’s not even mentioning any stuff from the books or comics or shows! That’s just stuff in the games!

So they’re shady. It’s okay! They’re my little woobie guys, idc if they’re sort of shady!

But the plot in DATV is about all of those previously established issues coming back to bite them in the fucking ass, as they should! Knock knock, it’s the consequences of your actions, baby! The chickens are home to roost

(Which is just good storytelling. Like if you set up a bunch of issues and then never pay them off or anything that’s bad.)

Destroying Weisshaupt was inspired! Firstly bc Davrin is Weisshaupt, metaphorically (bulwark against the darkness, etc, I already made a post) so it serves his character arc. But also because it strips away the pageantry and the grandeur from them; no more castle for you! No more myth!

Davrin explicitly tells you that the First Warden is a traditionalist; he represents the historical attitudes of the Wardens. They do not accept help, they do not give up their secrets, they are standing alone against the dark. And it doesn’t work! He’s fucking wrong (and very punch-able). Being secretive and isolationist is a mistake that costs them nearly everything.

But also, and I’m not sure how many people experienced this on the first go-around, the game does ultimately come down on the side of the Wardens always trying to do the right thing. You CAN talk the First Warden down, because in the end he’s a Warden, and he might be stubborn and curmudgeonly and miserable but he CARES about the world. He came to do good. He admits he was wrong and he helps you. Because the heart of the Wardens is about selfless service to other people. In Death, Sacrifice.

Stripping away Weisshaupt and the glory and pageantry leaves the Wardens at their most vulnerable and forces them to return to their fundamental principles: helping people. That’s what Lavendel is about. Helping individual people and preserving every life possible even if it doesn’t feel that glamorous or heroic. Lavendel isn’t a significant place; it doesn’t matter, but it matters so much.

And then, the Cauldron.

First off, do not at me about Last Flight. I don’t think people should have to read external materials to play this game and understand it. If the information is vital it should be presented to the player in the text.

The Cauldron is the repository of the Wardens’ secrets; it’s where the keep the bones of the Archdemons, the secret to the Joining, ancient and dangerous weapons, as well as the bodies of the griffons, which represents their most shameful errors. Isseya is the avatar of the Wardens’ mistakes; she’s been hurt by what they made her do, and her pain was never acknowledged by them. They buried her story and her suffering like they bury everything they don’t want to deal with and are ashamed of. They left the bones of the griffons, whose deaths they directly caused, to rot because they were too sad to acknowledge them.

But it was wrong to walk away, it was wrong to bury it. Isseya makes sure that they can never do that again, that they have to own what they did and take responsibility. By discovering who she is and by restoring her personhood to her, by reminding her of her love which drove her to her anguish in the first place, Davrin saves her and he saves the griffons. He doesn’t do it using violence, because another sin of the Wardens is just assuming that they can kill their way out of their problems, which the game disproves by revealing the origin of the Blight. You can kill as many darkspawn as you want, you will never fix it! The Titans’ dreams do not need to be slain, they need to be healed.

Isseya is in so much pain because of her incredible love for both the griffons and the Wardens, and because of her guilt. Look what she builds! An alternate Weisshaupt, a distorted reflection of her home. She entreats both Davrin and Assan to join her, because she doesn’t think she’s trying to destroy anything. She’s trying to save them! She wants them to come home. “I am their mother,” she says, and she’s right. She saved them, then, and she ends up saving them now! Because she made Davrin and the other Wardens look, unflinchingly, at what they had done, it will never happen again. She was going about it wrong during the game, but she was ALWAYS trying to save them.

Davrin, Antoine and Evka represent the Wardens’ commitment to being different. They let Flynn undergo the Joining without becoming a Warden, they reveal secrets to non-Warden Rook, they offer to help the Viper without asking for anything in return. They ask for help and offer it freely. If the Wardens are going to persist into a world without Archdemons, they HAVE to change. They can’t be what they were anymore. The game is asking what a Warden is when they have to be more than their oath, when they have to live. It’s a great exploration of and expansion on previously established lore.

Anyway, my advice if you hated the plot and the game and the characters is to a) make your own post b) don’t bother me about it, because I have the time and I will be loudly positive in response!

[freedomfireflies]

Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun pt. 2*

Summary: The sequel to Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

You find yourself sat next to the Harry Styles on a plane.

And what better way to get to know each other than a quick induction into the Mile High Club?

Word Count: 2.1k

(Thank you for letting me spam you guys for one whole year🥹💞 I love you!!!!!)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Hi, Stranger.”

Harry grins as he pulls the small door shut, secluding the two of you in the world’s smallest bathroom. “Hi.”

“Gonna be honest, I didn’t expect you to show,” you admit.

“Oh?” His arms cross as he takes a step closer, effectively closing the only gap between you. “And what about our earlier conversation suggested I wouldn’t?”

“Well, maybe the fact that you’re all talk and no game,” you retort, eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Or the fact that you don’t seem like the quick-airplane-bathroom-fuck type.”

“I have a song about eating pussy, is that not enough?” he teases, a smirk dancing across his lips. “I feel like that should solidify my case.”

“Yeah, you’d think…but no.” Your eyes trail across his jaw, drawn to the sharp curve, intrigued by the subtle beauty. “Maybe if this were the first-class bathroom. Which would make a lot more sense for you.”

“What’s wrong with coach?”

“Nothing. When you’re poor. Which you’re not.”

“And that has to do with us fucking…how?”

You hesitate, mouth clamping shut. “I…don’t know.”

Nodding with an amused grin, he reaches out to place his hand on the small sink and lean forward, trapping you to the wall. “I think you’re nervous.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

He hums, kind eyes helping to relax you. “Guess we’re both more talk than game.”

And maybe you are. Maybe this is nothing more than you calling his bluff. Or calling your own. Maybe this was you getting swept up in the idea of Harry Styles. The man, the myth, the legend. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that you could.

Either way, despite the nerves, you’re oddly tantalized by the idea. Wanting to seize the moment, the opportunity that most people would kill for.

So, you surge forward, and press your lips to his.

It’s a hesitant kiss. On both ends. The first few seconds a tad awkward as you work to wrap your heads around how you got here. How you really feel about it.

And then…something changes.

He steps closer, straightening up to deepen the kiss, and you nearly wilt when his large hand slips around the back of your neck to keep you against him.

Things suddenly feel effortless. Practiced yet relaxed. Mouths and tongues moving together like they were always meant to. Molding seamlessly until all of your air belongs to him.

His other hand finds a home on your hip, pushing you against the small bathroom wall while his knee takes its place between your thighs.

And when he finally pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, it feels as though everything makes sense.

“We can go back to our seats,” he whispers, giving you an out.

But you don’t want an out. 

“No,” you murmur, fingers tangling in the shirt on his chest. “No, you promised to make me scream your name. Can’t pussy out on me now.”

The smirk returns as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “So I did. But I guess it depends on which name you call me by.”

Your breath hitches.

“You can call me Harry,” he begins softly, dipping back down to ghost his lips across yours, “or you can call me Daddy.”

And discovering that Harry Styles has a Daddy kink makes more sense than it should, and you have to grin as you press your mouth to his. 

“Okay, Daddy,” you agree, just to watch him swallow. “Then why don’t you make good on your promise to fuck me?”

You watch the most beautifully dark expression flash across his face before he’s grabbing onto your waist to spin you around.

Your cheek is pressed to the wall while those large hands that have been taunting you for the past half hour begin to tease you again. Crawling up the inside of your thigh until he can grab onto the waistband of your jeans and yank the material down your legs.

“Just so you know,” he grunts in between the rustling of his belt, “I’m normally pro-foreplay. But I figure we don’t exactly have the time right now.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s fine.”

He reaches around your hip to slide his palm down your cunt, and you sigh when you feel him cup you in his hand. 

“What’s this?” he hums, rather sadistically as his nose brushes against your cheek. “Guess I didn’t need to work you up, anyhow. Seems you’re already dripping for me.”

Your lashes flutter as he kneads your pussy for a moment before he lets go to take hold of his cock. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, angel?” he whispers, dragging the tip through your throbbing folds just to make you whimper. “You gonna be loud for me? Or are you gonna be quiet?”

More of a rhetorical question, you figure, because the answer is given to him when he pushes in, and you moan fervently.

He chuckles from behind you before it melts into some sort of delicious grunt. “That’s it. So fucking tight, darling. Take it, just like that.”

He pulls out, giving you only a second of reprieve before pushing back in. Stretching you a little more as he drives himself deeper into your cunt.

Your lip flies between your teeth as you swallow a string of curses and whines, desperate to feel him in every way possible.

“You all right?” he calls, and you feel his fingers gently squeezing your hip for reassurance.

It makes you smile. “Yeah,” you say back, nails scratching down the wall. “Go. Keep going.”

He obliges, working himself in at a quicker pace, and you see him watching out of your peripheral.

He seems mesmerized by the way his cock disappears into you. Addicted to the sounds now beginning to echo around the small space. Mixing in beautifully with his soft pants and your anguished whimpers.

“S’a good girl,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost as if it wasn’t meant for you. “Fucking taking me so well, look at you. Pretty pussy just stretching for me. Likes having Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?”

And maybe you shouldn’t be surprised by the filth coming from his mouth, but you are, and it makes you clench until you’re both gasping.

“Shit, angel,” he groans, burying himself a little deeper as you keen. “Like it when I talk to you like that, hm? Not so vanilla now, yeah?”

You want to thank your lucky stars for that damn book that led you both to this moment, nodding quickly as you squirm back against him. “Yes, Daddy—”

He pushes in to the hilt, overcome by the pleasure your words provide. His chest presses to your back, and instantly, you reach over your shoulder to grab onto his curls. Needing to hold him in some way.

“Fuck,” you sigh, vision hazy as your body works to accommodate him. “Okay go. Go, Harry, go.”

He smiles at the use of his name, and it does something strange to the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he agrees, pulling back and readjusting his grip on your waist to keep you steady. “Be good, yeah?”

The faster pace begins. Hard thrusts that nearly knock the wind from your lungs as your body shakes with each snap of his hips into yours.

It’s oddly satiating. Perfectly full and teasingly relentless. Quick fucks aren’t normally your forte, but this? With Harry? In the world’s tiniest bathroom?

Euphoria.

“Fucking squeezing me, darling, shit,” he exhales, gripping you tight in his hand. “Pretty little pussy looks so good clenching around my cock. Like it, angel, don’t you? Like letting me fuck your sweet cunt the way you’ve been needing?”

And you don’t know how he knows you’ve been so desperate, but he does, and it makes you mewl as you drag your nails down his scalp.

“Oh, I know,” he coos but it’s dark. “Can just tell. So fucking cock drunk. Desperate for anything I’ll give you. Even let a stranger fuck you, hm? Let me take care of you the way you deserve?”

“Yes,” you breathe, mindlessly reaching back for his other hand. Once you find it, you intertwine his fingers with yours and drag his palm up toward your neck. Placing it against your throat until he seems to get the hint.

He says nothing, simply squeezes you in his grip. Until the corners of your vision get fuzzy, and the small bathroom gets smaller.

“That’s it,” he hums, almost as if luring you into the darkness. “Let go for me, baby girl. Just like that. Daddy’s got you.”

Everything is heightened. Every sense, every second. You can feel his facial hair rubbing against your cheek. Can feel the calloused tips of his fingers cementing to your exposed skin. Can taste the drink he had on your tongue.

There’s a knock on the door. A hard tap, and Harry’s pace doesn’t falter for even a moment as he calls, “Fucking occupied,” before slamming back into you.

The noise you make is loud enough to be heard by whoever was on the other side. Perhaps his intention, and it makes your pussy clench once more at the thought.

“Bet you’d look fucking perfect on your knees,” he continues, unrelenting. “With my cock down your throat. Fucking drooling for me. And you’d take me, wouldn’t you? Take my cock like a good girl. Make me proud.”

The suggestion is exciting. The image in your head of you looking up at the glorious stranger from your place on the floor. Getting to feel him on your tongue. Down your throat. Anywhere he’ll have you.

You bet he likes to see his cum painted across a partner’s skin. Likes to run his fingers through it. His tongue. Collect it and taste it before spitting it into their mouths.

Your entire body shudders from the mental picture and even if Harry doesn’t know what garnered this response, he seems pleased with it. Tugging on you tighter until you’re practically sitting on him.

You’re running out of time. Running out of willpower, and he releases your throat to find your clit. The first time he’s truly touched it, and the sensation that follows nearly kills you.

You hadn’t anticipated being so sensitive, but you are, and it’s apparent to you both from the way you jolt when he pinches you.

“Oh?” He’s chuckling again, entertained by your reaction. “S’that all it takes then? Poor little cunt just needs some extra attention?”

He presses into you and begins to rub small, hard circles along the delicate nerves. Ignoring your cries and pleas for more.

Instead, his foot kicks your legs further apart, and his mouth attaches to your neck. Nipping just below your ear as he whispers, “Bet you taste fucking divine, hm? Bet I could write a whole song about the way this pussy tastes.”

He lets go just to bring his hand to his mouth. Sucking on the soaked digits and groaning in your ear.

A shiver rolls down your spine before he drags his saliva coated fingers back to your clit. “So fucking sweet, angel. But you already knew that, didn’t you? S’why you were teasing me all fucking day. Cause you knew I’d get addicted to you.”

You’re so close to release, you can see it. Can actually see the blinding stars barreling toward you like meteors. 

“And what if I am, huh?” He goes faster. Gets sloppier. Needing to get you both there. “What if I’m fucking addicted to you now? What if I can’t go without the taste of you?”

“Have it,” you sough, rolling your hips back against his cock. “Have me, Harry, please—”

“I will,” he growls, and you feel his cock twitch the closer he gets. “Fucking will, angel. Need you to come for me, yeah? Come for Daddy. Let me feel you around me, darling. Right fucking now—”

Everything is a blur. Maybe he comes first, maybe you do. It all melds together until it’s one, long string of orgasms and pleasure. 

He doesn’t let you go for quite some time. Pushing you to the very brink, making sure it goes as far as it can. Even after you’ve come down and are squirming away from the ministrations to your clit.

The sadistic need to make sure you’re ruined is evident, and he only stops when you begin to collapse in his hold.

“Okay, easy, angel, easy,” he whispers, grasping onto your hips to keep you upright. ��You’re all right, yeah? You okay?”

You nod weakly as you catch your breath, and he takes this as a good sign. Allowing you to stand on your own when you’re ready.

But he doesn’t go far. He bends down and pulls your jeans back up. Makes sure you’re all right.

You notice he purposefully leaves the mess between your thighs, and when you shoot him a questioning eyebrow, his only response is, “For later.”

Which you don’t mind at all. 

I KNOW, I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER!!!! I'M SO SORRY BUT THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME AND BEING SO NICE, ILY ALL 😭💞💞💞

Previous Part:

~ Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282

I'm also tagging you guys from the first part just in case, but if you've already moved on, I can absolutely understand 😭💞: @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart

[pocket-watcher]

A yandere fic where someone has a secret hypnokink and the yandere learns this?

Oh anon, I hope you enjoy!

I’d been watching you…

I knew the routes you walked, the food you liked, the way you liked to do your hair. Everything about you was perfect.

Did you know your lip twitches a little when you’re nervous?

It started small. I would be where you were. I’d watch what you did with my own two eyes.

Putting my whole body into it.

But it wasn’t enough.

Hacking your phone was easy. Your search history was definitely interesting.

It was about a week after I first got ahold of your phone activity that I saw the spike in… searches.

Spirals. GIFs. Inductions. Hypnosis.

You were awful curious, weren’t you?

Made a whole new account just to scroll and watch and touch yourself to?

It was like unlocking a whole new side of you. And I wanted more.

So, I made an account. And I liked and reblogged everything you did.

After a while, you even followed me back!

That was when I started posting for myself…

Subtle triggers, burrowing in your brain, taking hold of you. I kept pushing you to message me. Message me.

After about a week or two you did just that.

I sent you spiral after spiral. Words to send you deeper. Sound files of my voice. You were such a cute and obedient subject!

After I was sure that I had you, I decided to test it out in person…

“Hey!” I called out to you. You turned around, distracted from your morning walk. You’d been up all night, talking to me - unknowingly. You were tired.

Your guard was down.

“Uh… hi?” You said, confused. You didn’t recognise me.

That’s okay.

“Sleep.” I said, snapping my fingers.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

You dropped your phone, silly you!

“Come on, let’s get you home.” I said, leading you back to my house, excited to test out all the work I’d put in over the last few weeks…

[moonlit-imagines]

Robin and the Stray (Part 2)

Dick Grayson x Kyle!reader

warnings: blood n death ment and urge to puke teehee

a/n:

prompt:

part 1

Joining the Titans wasn’t exactly something you had in mind. The Titans were all kind-hearted heroic-types with these clear cut motives and tragic or powerful backstories that drove them to do good. You were here for two reasons: Dick moved to the other side of the country and you were being “rehabilitated” from your kleptomanic ways while Selina was serving a short sentence.

It felt awkward being in their presence, every glance felt like a glare. They must be thinking how dare y/n stand and fight beside us, theyre nothing but a common criminal, a petty thief, we can’t trust them. Dick had always assured you that they didn’t think less of you, but when anything was misplaced they always seemed to look to you for an answer.

You and Dick had been together for a few years now, and not all of those years were you a cat burglar. Maybe here and there, mostly for kicks or just to prove you still had it in you. Sometimes just to mess with Dick and Bruce. But Dick never stopped trusting you, he found it amusing more than anything and you grew to love each other deeply. Nothing could change that.

You were already sort of a vigilante before you were inducted into the Titans, usually sticking to the lower levels of Gotham and helping women steal their purses back or a kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stuff like that. Unless, you know, Batman and Robin needed a hand.

As far as the Titans went, you were genuinely happy in San Francisco. It was a nice change of scenery after growing up in dark and gloomy Gotham. Dick felt free without Bruce standing by, doing what he could to make you feel comfortable here. Taking you on dates to new restaurants and going to beaches on your days off became a regular thing, something to make you forget you felt like you didn’t belong.

You had your own room, which was a nice change considering you and Selina typically shared or one of you slept on the couch or somewhere else depending on the night. Although, you spent most of your time in Dick’s room, it was hard to sleep alone most nights, he was like home to you. He’d mindlessly play with your hair and rubbed you back to ease your worried mind. He kept you sane.

But missions were different in so many ways. You had each other’s backs, sure, but you knew well enough that the two of you were more than capable of handling yourselves. Years of fighting against each other and beside each other made the team observer you two in awe, your fluid teamwork was incredible. To you, it was just another day.

“You okay?” Dick asked with your cheeks in his hands, looking down at you with a wet washcloth pressed between your cheek and his hand. “Don’t tell me you’re concussed, I’ll have to stay up all night with you.” You both chuckled weakly.

“I’m fine, just wiped from the past few nights.” You sighed as he wiped grime and blood from your face. You winced when he brushed against just below your eyelid where a bruise was budding. “I really got my ass beat tonight, huh?”

“We all did.” Dick wiped stray hairs from your forehead. “You seemed distracted, though. Thinking of me?”

“Gotham. Just homesick.” You told him and he kissed your forehead and continued you clean your wounds. He was pretty banged up, too, but he could tell you needed some TLC. “I love it here, but you know. I miss all that stuff. I miss Selina. I miss my cats. I miss Commissioner Gordon giving me shit for stealing and then helping him. I miss Bruce giving us lectures about staying focused. I miss Alfred trying to give us ‘The Talk.’” You rambled on while Dick nodded along, and your dull laughter caused another wince as you realized you maybhave a bruised or broken rib. “I miss you sometimes.”

“I’m right here.” He told you.

“Will you always be?” You asked.

“If all goes well.” He pulled out some bandages.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You continued to question.

“It means I don’t know the future and I won’t promise something I might not be able to control.” Dick explained in his smart-ass way. “It’s just the job, y/n. You know I love you.”

“I know you love the job.” You said tilting your head down and eyes up before he picked your chin back up.

“I don’t.” He replied.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Your sigh left his stomach slightly drop and you slid down off the table you were perched on. “I have to get a quick shower in, I’ll be back.” You trotted off the the bathroom to do so and left Dick alone with his thoughts, which you might have sparked something in him at this time. Unbeknownst to the two of you and the rest of the team, your lives were about to b me turned upside down in the worst of ways when Deathstroke entered your lives.

Your head was spinning at the time you heard the news of Garth’s passing. You fell into Dick’s arms and he held you so tightly. You felt as if you might puke and the rest of the team was right with you. Any barrier keeping you and them was broken down, there was no more tension or fear that kept you from getting close, the grief brought you all together.

It was Donna who apologized to you first, letting you know your worries were not that far off and there was a lot of distrust in you, but they moved on from it. It was the load off you needed after this tragedy. And Dick felt guilty he put you in that position, started blaming himself for so many things. You’d thought he’d get distant in all this anguish, but he wouldn’t let you go. He held on tight and began to worry for you more than usual, which worried you greatly. And it sucked because after all that happened with the Titans, you two had no choice but to go home.

“It’s what you wanted, right?” He asked you on the plane ride home, sitting across from each other on Bruce’s private jet.

“Not like this,” you stared out the window, picking at the seams of your jeans, “I just started feeling like I belonged. Now I’m leaving a place that felt like paradise. I really did love it there.”

“We can go other places. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” Dick leaned forward and grabbed your hand. “I hate this, too. I love you, though. Wherever you go, I’ll go. It’s fine.” You closed your eyes and nodded.

“For now we’re going home.”

And you were home and it was dull and lifeless and you felt all the joy you had slip away as you fell back into old habits. Started to realize you stole because you were bored, you roamed the same streets and rooftops over and over because it was just what you did, you laod around all day and played with the cats but nothing was ever different. Not even when there was some huge debacle with a villain that belonged in Arkham Asylum. Not Two-Face or Riddler or Joker or Mr. Freeze or whoever’s weekly turn it was to enact a failure-destined plan to take over Gotham or kill Batman. It was all the same.

You sat on the same ledges and ate the same Pizza with Dick. You had meals at Wayne Manor with Bruce and Dick, a spot reserved for the late Alfred was an unfortunate change and maybe the only one. Bruce was paying your rent, offering you a bigger place or maybe one for you and Dick to share, but for some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to it. It already felt like you were taking advantage of him.

Don’t get me wrong, you loved Dick with all your heart, but he was off, too. It was obvious he fell back into his old ways. And something about it made it obvious he’d grown too fond of his life as a Titan. The independence and emancipation from Batman, where he called the shots and could do nice things with and for you. Maybe the guilt set in after another year or two or three. Because one day you were fine and the next, it was over. You looked back and realized that that promise you wanted him to make was never going to be fulfilled because he never felt secure himself. But that was his problem now, you would have helped if he’d let you.

It was awkward seeing each other in passing. After all, neither of you gave up your vigilantism. But avoidance was key. It was only a matter of time before he decided Gotham was too small for him now. You heard he’d moved to Detroit, good for him. You hoped he’d moved on and was doing well, you sure weren’t getting there anytime soon.

Then one day a few weeks later, you heard your phone ringing. Blocked Caller. You stared at the screen for a few moments grabbing the phone and holding it for a few more before you pressed the answer button. You put the phone to your ear but said nothing.

“Y/N? Y/N, it’s me. I need your help. I just—I need you.”

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[amuhav]

     “They’re really letting you home tomorrow?” River asked.      Sky chuckled. “They might. Seems we’re all fine, so.”      “Crazy,” Bay agreed. “To just push you out the door so soon with two entirely new humans.”      “They’re so tiny,” River said in quiet disbelief as he stroked the mitten on the boy’s curled little fist. “Is it because they’re twins? Were we all this small?”      “Just me.”      River’s head swivelled around. He had almost forgotten Loch was standing near the door, seemingly unwilling to get too close. His eyes were slightly glazed and distant, like he wasn’t fully present.      “You sure? I wouldn’t be surprised if Sky beat all the nutrients outta me for nine months.”      “Eight.”      “What?”      “Eight months. You were born early, too. We all were.”      Sky piped up. “Yeah, they warn you when you have twins. Still, woulda been nice to make it to my planned induction date rather than a scary mad dash. Guess you’ve got no excuse for forgetting their birthday, though, huh, Riv?”      “Bold assumption he’ll remember his anniversary either.” Bay laughed as River glared at him.      “Speaking of, is Chad okay?” Sky asked. “With you postponing the honeymoon and all?”      “It’s fine.” River shrugged off her concern. “I think we’re just gonna fly out and see some of his family sometime instead.”      “Before or after he shows?”      “Very funny,” River mumbled at his twin, too sidetracked by the cute sleeping baby to think too much on her words.      “I’m just gonna get something to eat from the shop,” Loch said suddenly, pushing off the wall. “You want anything?” he asked Sky, and she shook her head.      “Not gonna ask us?” River snarked.      “You’ll live,” Loch muttered, clearly not seeing the humour.

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[fandomwritingbit]

Battered & bruised

nightclub owner/William Afton x (fem)reader

synop: You've struggled getting employment because of your shady past, but the tides finally turn in your favour when a club owner called Henry gives you a job. And you're ready to work your arse off, not only in your security role but also with the other owner, William.

warning: swearing, violence. (reader is described as small)

A/n: Hello! This was my first ever au for William, so the ideas are genuinely 5 or 6 years old but the writing is today's lol. This is gonna be a series because I think the slow burn will work best this way.

A bloke called Henry Emily had given you a job. A security gig. Without an interview, without discussion of your role and without an induction. Just bam. He’d taken one look at you - then looked you up and down again for his own personal enjoyment - then listened to your whole speech about ‘wanting a chance to work hard’ and just gone: okay.

No CV. No experience. Nada. And that was exactly what you were looking for. Rent was due and to be honest you were in great need of some money. Plus it was hard for you to find work, especially given your... history. 

He’s hired you because you’re brazen and easy on the eyes, it’s all a bit sleazy really, you’d thought so at the time too. But at least sleazy men are easy to manage.

He’d grinned at you. “Yeah alright, we’ll give you a try. You seem like a nice girl. Uh why don’t you rock up on Friday and we’ll show you the ropes?” 

“Yeah that’s great, thank you so much.” You smiled at him, offering your hand for him to shake it. God if this fella had looked into you this would never have happened, he’s a sucker in that respect. But you wouldn’t make him regret it. You were after nothing but a regular income and it’d been fucking hard to find acceptance, to jeopardise it would be a fool’s errand.

His use of the word 'we' hadn't crossed your mind, you assumed he was the owner, after all you asked for the owner and he was brought to you. But maybe that’s some just desserts for not applying properly. 

~ 

On that Friday, you arrived early, really using all that punctuality shit that had been drilled into you since secondary school. But a little prickle of anxiety settled in when you didn’t see any cars in the car park. You were only 10 minutes early; your start time at 20:00 ready for doors to open an hour later. But How will you get in if no one is there, for fuck’s sake? Your thoughts manifested in your head tilting the whole way back, a hefty sigh accompanying it.

Doubting yourself all the way, you go to the front doors and mercifully, they are unlocked and you walk into the nightclub you’d now call your home from home.

The lights were on, so someone must be there. Yet no one came to meet you at the door, even though you said hello fairly loudly. You smirked to yourself, walking inside uninvited and musing at how some cleaner was probably going to tell you off. They must be hidden away and now you’d have to tiptoe around trying to find them. Not too bad though, at least you can have a look around.

Moving further inside, you walk down a grey corridor with garish black and white dado rail the whole way down. It was peculiar décor to say the least, though obviously, it would look completely different with people inside. 

Your footsteps were foreign in the quiet building, but you tried to keep a bit of confidence as you began your exploration. It took a while to find your way around - a few doors opened to cupboards stuffed with mops and loo roll, spilling out while you tried to shove all the shite back in. Surprisingly, you’d found a kind of lounge area, a few grey and red sofas, some big arse speakers lining the walls: a lot of money in that room, you thought. A past impulse echoing through you.

Eventually, you make your way to the ‘main area’, if you like. The part with the huge floor for people to dance, a small stage before it, with old looking lights and stuff, maybe you’d get to see a few local bands perform during your tenure, could be nice. You walk over to it, the back of the stage pitch black, so dark you couldn't tell if it was a curtain or not and stood on your tippy-toes like an idiot trying to decide. 

Rustling from behind you, makes you turn to see a brightly coloured poster flitting to the floor after clearly having fallen from a board on the wall. You’ll pick it up, but before moving to do so you glance back to the stage offhandedly; the sight of a huge figure standing in the middle makes the skin leave your bones.

You can’t even help yourself, raising your hands almost immediately, “What the fuck are you doing, mate? You scared the shit out of me!” The figure moved further forward so that you could see him, it wasn’t Henry. This man was overly tall and slender with dark greying hair. Your anger quickly subsides at the expression on his face and you chuckle, the shock catching up to you. “Jesus...” 

The man standing on the stage looked... fuming, to say the least. His brows narrowed and jaw stuck forward. He looked so pissed that you panicked for a minute, ready to backtrack a fair bit. But that feeling didn’t last long, the figure stepped down off the stage and walked towards you. As he stood in front of you, you found yourself stepping backwards, tilting your head to meet the eyes of this ridiculously tall and broad bloke. 

“I scared you?” The man spoke slowly, voice deep and raspy. He wasn’t shouting, he didn’t need to. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing in my club?”  

Well. Oh. Dear. It appears that you’d just been rather rude to someone important. Who’s first impression of you as an employee was now you effing and jeffing at him. Shit.

“Look... I’m sorry, mate. You scared me is all.” You speak quickly, trying to claw back a semblance of civility. Searching his face for some emotion other than boredom/anger, but nope there was nothing.

You think you see a flicker of amusement cross his face but it doesn't last two seconds. “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh uh, I’m y/n.” You look at him for a look of recognition but he appeared none the wiser. “Mr Emily hired me... told me to come in today.” 

You notice the pinch between his brows got more severe and you pick up on the hostility between this fella and your boss. He looked at you blankly, making no effort to fill increasingly brutal silence. You’re just about regretting ever being born, thinking about walking out and knocking on doors ‘til you find another idiot willing to hire you. But to your surprise a demeaning smirk appears on the man’s face as he looks down at you, and you breathe out slightly. 

“Henry hired you?” He scoffs, moving his hand up and down in front of you to illustrate your height, “To do what? Sit on a pot of gold?” You get the feeling that he was trying to annoy you, make you want to storm out or some shit but you can only smirk at that terrible joke. 

“Security, innit.” You say shortly, smiling back because... yeah you weren’t exactly the typical bouncer. “Uh who are you then?” You ask, half a shrug awkward on your shoulders.

He did not look best pleased by that question and folded his arms, eyes daggers at you. “Henry hasn’t told you shit, has he?” A scoff of a laugh came from this bloke but it looked coated in resentment. 

“No, made me look a fuc.... mug.” You mumble.

“We’re co-owners, for some fucking reason.” He looked you up and down but not in the way that his counterpart had, if anything, it looked like he was sizing you up. And after a moment he just said, “William.” With a curt gesture to himself.

Once such an introduction had been made, he continued to complain, pissed that Henry hadn’t even told you what to do or where to get your uniform. You were thrusted upon him like a shitty diagnosis and he was left to sort you out? Always sorting out Henry’s shit he was.  

And he did sort you out, giving you orders to your responsibilities, going into a store room to get you a uniform, a room you weren’t allowed to enter because of asbestos in the walls. A really comforting thing to hear on your first day, though you'd come to learn that that summed up the whole of this shitty club. 

The whole thing was falling apart, left in this William's hands to sort out. And he was clearly working hard, but it was like trying to piss a fire out.

 ~

You’d thought that the frosty reception from William could have been just because you were new, that he’d probably warm up to you as you got a few weeks under your belt. Well, that wasn’t the case.

From the first day it became abundantly clear that he was just as snippy and unreceptive with everyone else. Be it ignorance, arrogance or plain uninterest, no one really knew, but he went about his role and gave you shit if you dared to overstep into his path. Which was enough motivation for you to put some graft in with the bastard. Fuck’s sake, everyone else was getting on well with you, from security to bar staff, Henry was damn-near obsessed! You’d get him on side, by hook or by fucking crook.

It started with a simple ‘good afternoon’ spoken loudly at him through his office door, letting him know your presence in the building, which was nearly always much earlier than everyone else. Then a smile any time you encountered him, not a suck-up kind of sweet smile but the kind that had raised eyebrows, self-deprecating and the like. 

Yet it still felt like he bloody hated you. Not even a passionate hate, like you’d done something to genuinely offend him or run him over on the way there. A bored kind of vague dislike that he held for everyone else.

That won’t stand though. And you’re determined to fix it.

~

You’d come to learn over your short tenure there that Friday nights were fucking brutal. It seemed fuckers from all over would crawl out of the gutter to get pissed with their mates here. Course, it was good for business but as an employee not an owner you got all the hassle and none of the tassel. You were on duty in the main area and stood a post near the back corridors, watching for any odd behaviour and making sure everyone was as happy as you can be in a crumbling nightclub.

You find yourself clock-watching about half-way in and cross your fingers that the night will go mercifully quickly. Your counting of the minutes ‘til you could clock off is interrupted by a youngish lass coming up to you. Instantly your eyebrows are high, the person on the door dropped the ball on this one, this lass barely looked 18. 

“Hey, do you uh work here?” The girl asks, looking over her shoulder for a second, before returning to you. You almost want to roll your eyes, of course you fucking work there, no one would do patrol for fun, would they? Carry a radio around for the craic of it? But her wide eyes make you bite your tongue and assess the situation more levelly. 

“Yeah, is everything alright?” You smile wryly, hoping it comes across encouragingly, but your tiredness might have prevented that. 

“I uh... there’s this guy, he won’t leave me and my friends alone.” She rubs her arm, “You know, just being real creepy...” You nod, what a joy and sadly not an uncommon one. 

“Where are your friends?” You ask, looking at the young lass in front of you in increasing doubt that she should be here. 

She looked over her shoulder, “Over there, in the red.” she said, and you spotted the two girls she meant instantly, and nod, able to pick out the guy she was talking about who was hanging around these girls much too closely. “We’re uh...” she looked down, shame flickering on her face. “We’re minors, please don’t be mad at me, I just... we don’t want to be harassed.” 

You smile, remembering your similar youth, musing that fake IDs must be fairly fucking hard to find nowadays. And decided to take pity on the lass, it wasn’t nice to turf them out when the problem hadn't been their doing at all and to be frank, it’s above your pay grade, isn’t it? “I’m not going to throw you out, don’t worry... though you shouldn’t be here if you’re not 18.” 

You sigh, “I’ll get him to leave but promise me you’ll stick together with your mates, ay?” She nods and thanks you extensively before you wish her well and go to fulfil your promise. Silently noting to tell Ste the doorman that he needs to get a pissing eye test.

The problem man was a heavy-set guy with a beard and a clearly designer shirt. A complete stereotype that you knew already, would be trouble. You take a breath before going over, mentally doing the sign of the cross over yourself, not that you thought it would do anything, it was more for your own comedic enjoyment, but if a higher power should see it, that’d be nice. 

“Excuse me, sir.” You say, loud enough for the people around him to slowly start drifting away. As if sensing the unfolding scene the man looks at you with pre-emptive annoyance. 

“Yeah?” He says as rudely as you expected.

You sigh, trying to remain as diplomatic as possible. “Your behaviour towards the young girls here is untoward and we won’t tolerate that here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” 

'Ask’ is the customer service way of telling him to get the fuck out and his reaction suggests that he knew that. 

“Leave? I ain’t done nothing.” The question was asked loudly, trying to alert people around as to the perceived ridiculousness of what you were saying. Though the double negative hinted at him having done something, to say the least.

“That’s not what I’ve been told. Please leave, sir.” You repeat yourself, more authoritarian this time, your tone firm and leaning towards annoyance. It was embarrassing having to do this, but you knew that it was worth it to keep the girl you’d spoken to safe. The look on her face was enough to make you despise this man. 

“And what if I say no?” He stepped forward after he spoke, squaring up to you, trying his hand at the old intimidation game. And despite his height over you, you keep rooted, looking at him with daggers.  

“Sir. You’re embarrassing yourself.” You scoff, shaking your head. By this point that second-hand shame had caused the others nearby to either watch intently or move away. “A grown man having to be told to leave young lasses alone, for fuck sake.” Stepping forward yourself, you make your disgust visible. It had the opposite effect than intended and the man before you bubbled with rage. 

“What the fuck did you say to me, you little bitch?” 

“Stop being pathetic-” Your words of disbelief and amounting hatred were cut short when the huge bloke grabbed your arm bruisingly, wrenching you towards him. His larger stature allows him to manipulate your frame fairly easily.

William had a nose for trouble and as he stalked out from his office he caught sight of people leaving the main room. He shakes his head already annoyed at whatever he was to discover. Of all the things that he could have seen, an accident, injury etc... he didn't expect a man to be manhandling one of his employees. Least of all you. You who always smiled at him, even though it got nothing in return. You who shouted ‘afternoon!’ at him through his office door, often making him slosh coffee in surprise. You, who talked to him and engaged with him, unbothered by his reputation or generally unpleasant demeanour. How fucking dare someone put their hands on you. 

“Stupid fucking slag.” The man spat, it landed on your skin. 

“Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.” You manage, your teeth clenched as you clasped at straws to try and de-escalate this borderline assault, hoping he’d realise how far out of proportion he’d blown this. He didn’t. Instead, your words were petrol on a fire and the sharp ringing of a slap could be heard over the music. 

It was so harsh and crisp, for a moment you were dazed. The attack launches you into the difficult decision of fight or flight. It wasn’t the heat of the print on your face that made you react, however; it was the piggish sneer on his fucking face. 

Punching him hard, square in the nose, you feel the old familiar sensation of pain blooming through your hand. From the point of contact it fizzled like static down your knuckles and up your arm, though it barely hurt over the adrenaline coursing through your system. 

Your attack didn't deter him though, his grip on your arm not faltering even as the other rose to his face in shock. Taking your window of opportunity you strike him again, blood now pouring down his face, it provokes him to yank your arm straight, the grip blue pain on your flesh.

Powerless to do much else, you had to take his revenge, a punch that made you vision flicker, landing hard below your eye. Then another. You were reeling, your standing knocked with the strikes, it hurt but you burned with indignation that you were unable to hit this fucker again.

Straining to get away from the assault of raining blows, you grab his hair, pulling hard, the sensation of it lifting under your grip apparent in his grunt. It was then with a fist full of this cunt's hair that his grip on you failed. You look through blurred eyes to see your boss taking hold of him, pulling him by the shoulder into a balled fist.

The man wasn't going down easy, even though Afton got a strong hit on him, the man retaliated, striking back and you see the impact on your boss and his slight stumble, but it motivated him to take it to a new level. 

He grabbed the man's head, pulling his stance in half, doubled over and raised his knee repeatedly into his face. Not stopping until he was satisfied, then shoving the larger man to the floor, and kicking him hard in the stomach and teeth, to the point where the attackers' whimpers were beginning to subside. You watched pretty horrified whilst other staff tried to herd patrons away.

Yanking the man up by his collar hissed something inaudible for you to his ear, before punching him again, letting him fall back down.

He was pulled outside by William, the bouncers too shocked to intervene and you just followed the display stupidly. You had no idea this man was capable of such... violence. Cause that was no fight, it was violence.

Afton left the man flicking in and about of consciousness on the curb outside, spitting on him when he mumbled a lisped "fuck you" in his direction.

You were watching in awe, when all of a sudden he turned to you, his face bloody and a hesitation for pain in his jaw.

"Are you alright?" He questions.

You blink. "Yeah..."

"You're bleeding?" He points out as though you were much stupider than you are.

"I'm banged up, but alright." You say quickly, searching his eyes for any acknowledgement of what had just happened. You had a nagging feeling that he was about to shout at you, ask what the fuck that was about. Hell maybe even sack you for the beating he just took.

"Nowhere near as bad as you are." You follow up. And that was putting it lightly, it looked like his nose was broken and his jaw must hurt in some way for how he slowly shuffled it, waiting to find where the pain was.

He scoffs at you, instantly regretting it as blood begins trickling over his lip, you wince alongside him as he wipes it on the back of his hand. With a grunt he turns his back and heads back inside.

Taken aback at his nonchalance, you struggle to get the words out. "Where's the first aid?" You call after him, your question stopping him in his tracks.

“There’s one in my office if you need it.” He replies from over his shoulder, continuing to walk away. You throw a shrug and slightly surprised sigh in the direction of his retreating form, before hurrying to catch up with him. You’d laugh if your head wasn't fucking banging. 

Finally managing to reach him, you force your frame next to him on the corridor, walking side by side towards the back. 

“I don’t know if I need it... you need stitches or something though, mat- William.” 

“Says who?” His response is typically gruff and at this point you’re more than used to it. 

Managing a smirk through the high-pitched pain behind your eyes, you don't let his uncaring attitude deter you. “The cut above your brow. Practically screaming it.”

Letting you follow him, he pauses briefly. To be honest, the strike to the brow had wiped itself from his memory, which was not at all a good sign, but the second you pointed it out he became very aware of the crispening blood hindering any movement of his face. Fucking stitches? And what, you were gonna do that, were you? Just what he needed, a headache on top of the one he already had.

“Seriously, this is my fault. Let me help you out, least I can do.” 

“I’m fine, just need a drink... maybe a co-codamol.” He said not another word to you but made no effort to get you away from him and so you followed, half uncertain like a lost dog, all the way to his office at the back. 

The way he moved it was hard to keep up with him, his huge height gave him a stride and a half. But you get there finally, and he doesn't bother to hold his office door open for you, letting it nearly hit you as it swung closed. 

You survive and slip inside the office, just in time to see him slap the first aid kit on a table at the far side of the room. You go over to it and open it up, delighted to see that what once was a bottle of antiseptic was now half a thing of Dettol with a sewing kit beside it. Not a medical one, just your standard hotel one, with different coloured pieces of thread and a blunt looking needle. 

“I see why you said no to the stitches.” You grin, watching the man sit down heavily at the table. He attempted to rub the space between his eyebrows but had to abandon the gesture as it interfered with his injuries.  

“I told you.” He mumbles.

“Yeah well... Dettol will do something I guess.” You sit as well and start pouring the disinfectant on a cotton pad that you hope hadn’t been used before. 

Just as you move to dab it over the hardened gash, he pulls away suddenly, a pissed off look about him that you should have probably been intimidated by, but your reaction time is fucked by your headache.. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He speaks through his teeth, not at all happy with the sudden movement.

“Sorting out your split brow. I have said it a fair few times now, you’re starting to worry me.” You wait for him to start going in on you, shouting or whatever the fuck he’d normally do to anyone trying to be nice. But he doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you, the annoyed expression unmoving.

Over the past month or so he’d become quite used to your... demeanour. You didn’t offer any tact towards him, or just keep your head down like others. You took the opposite route, always had something to fucking say, some comment to make. It had grated on him, but he didn’t mind it really, though you weren’t going to get special treatment just because you don't know when to shut your damn mouth. 

“So...” You prompt, shaking the cotton bud in front of him.

He didn’t dignify you with a response, just a swift nod.

“This is gonna sting, just don’t move so I don’t get it in your eye.” You warn whilst getting closer, it was quite unnerving to be this close to him, god’s sake you could hear him breathing.

As you pressed the fabric against his cut, he didn’t flinch like you would have expected, just remained reticent and staring forward. Though he let himself glance at you, noting how far you had to lean to reach him. God you were small, much too small to have been wailed on by a massive fuck like that. Being honest, he was surprised you were still standing. 

He surprises himself by breaking the silence. “... Dettol doesn’t sting... better than antiseptic.” 

A smirk finds itself on your face, “Had a lot of experience then?” That isn’t shocking news, there was something practised about the way he took down that man.

A small sound leaves him and you almost stop your action. This man can laugh? Could have fooled you. “You could say that. Don’t often get the shit beaten out of me though.” 

Disbelief washes over you. “The shit beaten outta you?” You scoff. “You’re fine.” You blink a little. This was the textbook definition of ‘you should see the other guy’. Seriously, he couldn’t walk and was barely conscious. This cunt? Pretty much fine, minus a few scratches. 

Once you’re done with disinfectant you rifle through the box looking for something better than the sewing kit. A plaster probably wouldn’t cut it, in an ideal world he should probably be in A&E. But eventually you get your hands on a pack of steri strips and right now they look better than gold. “Here, I don’t even have to mutilate you with the needle.” You grin and it earns a small lip twitch from your would-be pin cushion. 

As you lean forward with the strips in hand, he doesn’t flinch from you even though it hurts to fuck when you push the cut closed to seal it. He notices as you're patching him up that your hand is covered in blood, it could be the bloke's at first glance but your knuckles look bust and there's a stiffness to your movement. 

You finish up with the gash and step back a bit, smirking, it’s a fine job you’ve done there. 

“Thanks.” He offers, just as plainly as you’ve come to expect. It makes you halt a second though, his pronunciation was off, so maybe he wasn’t as fine as you initially thought. Leaning forward, you go to investigate but he pulls himself from your grip. 

“Leave it, it's fine...” It started sharp, but softened a bit as he caught sight of your arm. Holy shit. That was a number alright. Clearly already bruised from that dickhead’s hold, there were three distinct scratches down the length of your forearm where the man had evidently tried to hold on to you as he’d yanked him away, that explains the stiffness. 

Looking at him you try to figure out what isn't right and eventually you settle on: "I think your nose is broken."

He reaches up himself, feeling along the bridge of his nose, the scowl on his face telling. "It isn’t." He concludes, briefly thinking ‘somehow’. With that, you start putting the medical stuff back in the box, just ignoring his curtness. You'd done your bit and patched him up, clearly your kindness was too much for him, so off you fucking pop, sheesh.

You hardly even get the equipment back in the box before Afton reaches forward and slides everything out of your grasp. Instinctively your brows raise, unsure of why he did that. “Are we not done?” You ask, uncertainly, maybe this is the part where he bollocks you. 

“Sit down. Your arm needs sorting.” His words aren’t a suggestion. You look down to see what he’s talking about and wince at the sight; how hadn’t you noticed the scratches? They look awful, not that deep but plain ugly and sore now you come to think of it. 

“Shit.” You say in your observation, slowly sitting whilst still watching your arm. So wrapped up in this new discovery that you jump when he reaches forward to grab your wrist, his big hands wrap all the way around it easily, man, this is a scary bloke. He pulls your arm slowly in front of him, not gently but certainly more understanding than you would have expected. 

“I don’t even know how he done that.” You fill the silence, thinking aloud. 

“Rings.” He answers, with a but too much knowledge, “Must have a fair bit of your arm stuck under them.” You almost laugh, but the visual is too grim and likely accurate. Looking up at him you see clear amusement on his face. 

The Dettol is again brought out and when he dabs it too your scratches a cold pain reaches all the way up your arm, making you suck in through your teeth. He glances up at you and all you can say is. “You’re a fucking liar. That stings like hell.” 

The man in front of you grins then, a starling crooked smirk that almost makes him look like a different bloke. It’s a handsome expression that’s made slightly menacing by a missing tooth after his canine above two silver ones. You think to yourself that this man has taken a lot of fucking beatings.

Through his grin, William says, “It’s not that bad.” 

“Yeah alright, tough guy.” You dismiss him, trying to ignore that ache in your arm that makes you want to grind your teeth. 

He looks back down to his task and the unusual expression remains on his face somewhat involuntarily. You notice and soon you’re smiling too, unable to help it, maybe the whole shitshow was catching up to you now, fisticuffs with a man well outside your weight class, only to be ‘rescued’ by your stoic, unnerving boss; and to top off the day of the unexpected, you made the fucker smile. Quite the day.

“So you can smile then?” You ask coyly, it’s a little victory that shows you’re successful chipping away at his frosty exterior, he’ll be a mate eventually. 

He looks up at you quickly, his eyes narrow in that scrutinising way everyone who works here is accustomed to. But where an icy glare would usually have been a cocky, “Must be the head injury.” was. 

~

You’re patched up pretty quickly, the cleaning of the wound taking half as much time as the debate about whether or not you need a bandage. You said it would be fine. He argues it’s necessity. And despite your assurance you’re now standing at his office door with a bandage tightly wrapped around your arm. You notice that the second the door was opened you could hear the dull thud of music, escaping the club and plaguing the managers too; good, you think. 

He follows you out of the room, the two of you must look like a right pair, both beaten to shit. Looking in the reflection of the window to the office confirms as much, you’ve a nasty bruise under your eye, and a swelling that would probably make it difficult to open your eye in the morning. You’ve been in this situation before. As has he. 

There in the narrow hallway you look up at him, feeling confronted by the height difference, now so obvious when you’re both standing. “Thank you for that.” You give him a genuine expression, really meaning it, even though your arm hurts more now than it did before. 

“I only returned the favour.” He answers, pausing for a moment whilst he checks his watch. “You should go home. Obviously you’ll be paid for the whole shift.” He adds the last part as if he thought you’d object, there must have been something about your face that said you might. 

“Yeah, okay.” You smile a little, before you remember that he’s well more banged up than you, his shirt is covered in the blood to prove it, if you get leave surely he should as well. “Are you going-” You begin to ask, but the door to the club opens and a man bursting through it cuts you off. 

“What the fuck?!” Henry’s voice was bordering on hysterical, cutting shrill above the buzz of music and you don’t have to look to see eye rolling of your other boss. “William, tell me why the hell I’ve got 14 missed calls and a voicemail saying all shit has hit the fan?!” You stand awkwardly as Henry comes up to the both of you, there’s daggers in his eyes that are reserved purely for Afton. 

“Easy, you’re a bit late with all this cavalry shit.” William snaps, his head is throbbing too much to deal with the headache that is his co-worker. “There was an incident, some silly fucker got violent. He’s been sorted.” You try not to grin at that, ‘sorted’, that’s one way to put it. 

“So have you, by the looks of it. I swear to God, William, if this bites me in the arse, you’ll look worse than that.” Everyone standing there knows that that’s an empty threat, not that Henry wasn't capable of it, but rather that William towers over him. That seems to resonate with the instigator when he locks eyes with William’s uncaring and hard expression, so Henry moves on. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He asks his voice now sugary, all his attention is on you, as well as a hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. Just a few scrapes, I’ll live.” You keep all traces of amusement from your face, even as he begins to walk you out of the club in the direction of the car he thought you had, talking to you like you're a kid the whole way.

[justalittlesolarpunk]

Hiya! Hope it’s okay to ask, but what were your kind of first steps to living in a more solar punk way?

Hi! Absolutely ok to ask, I love talking to people about this.

I can probably date my Solarpunk awakening, if you want to use the term, to a variety of points, but in the past few years due to both growing eco-anxiety and a new connection with nature (moved out of the city into the country) I became more concerned with the environment and this led me to give up flying and start educating myself on solarpunk topics through books and podcasts. Living with my parents, who have more disposable income than me, helped me see what it was like to be able to purchase organic and plastic-free food. Living rurally meant we got to know our neighbours. When our house flooded, they were the ones bailing it out with buckets beside us at 1am, up to our ankles in cold, dirty water. I learned a lot about community. I started foraging for snacks and treats (hello blackberries are delicious). I got interested in the ecological elements of paganism.

Later on I started incorporating more plant-rich food into my diet and getting interested in slow travel, rewilding, urban planning, etc. Then I started going to XR meetings, which led me to getting involved in (non-arrestable in my case) direct action. I joined some gardening volunteers which encouraged me to start trying to grow my own food at home. I decided to commit to not learning to drive or owning a car.

However, I’d actually say I’d been doing solarpunk stuff earlier than this without knowing it - seeking out positive news stories, attending protests, organising in my community (I was active in my school’s LGBT scene and ran several campaigns about it at uni), learning about indigenous cultures, telling stories. All of these things are solarpunk too.

But the single biggest thing that has helped me to be more solarpunk is changing the way I see the world, and for this the writings of Robin Wall Kimmerer have been hugely influential, along with a bunch of different writers that I can’t list all of here. But unlearning the idea that I am alone in a lifeless inanimate world has been HUGE for me. Today I thanked every element that made up my meal, from the rice in my noodles to mycoprotein that grew my meat substitute to the soybeans that made the sauce, the steel in my pan and the sunlight that powered the electricity that heated my induction hob. I walked along a river and said hello to geese. I noticed each plant and knew the names of many of them. I called my grandmother and tried to really listen as she narrated her experiences of the day to me, even though she can be difficult. Relationality has been the greatest aspect of my solarpunk work, learning to see myself as utterly interconnected with everything and everyone else, to remember that my very atoms were once compressed together with all the other atoms when this expanding universe first began. So a lot of it is about changing your thoughts, though it should also be backed up by action too.

Hope some of this helps!

[shefanispeculator]

Blake Shelton grew up idolizing Country Music Hall of Fame inductee John Anderson. The little kid from Ada, Oklahoma, had no way of knowing that he would grow up to be touring partners and turkey-hunting buddies with his hero. But that’s what happened. Shelton asked Anderson to join him on his Friends & Heroes Tour two years in a row. All the men did was talk about hunting and fishing. Anderson took Shelton turkey hunting in the Everglades, and Shelton returned the favor. He took Anderson hunting on his Oklahoma farm. “It was pretty crazy to be with John Anderson down there in the Everglades and see all the shit that he’s singing about in ‘Seminole Wind’ and be down in there with him, spend an entire day with him down in that country,” Shelton told American Songwriter. “That was cool.”

Songs including “Seminole Wind,” “Swingin,’” and “Straight Tequila Night,” along with his instantly identifiable voice, propelled Anderson to the pinnacle of country music. He’ll be inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame on Sunday. Toby Keith and James Burton complete the 2024 class. Anderson singing “Swingin’” is Shelton’s first memory from an awards show, although he doesn’t remember which one. Fast forward a decade, and Shelton has his driver’s license. He’s riding around in his first pickup truck listening to “Seminole Wind” and “Money in the Bank.” Shelton credits Anderson’s career longevity to his peerless artistry. “I think it is as simple as, for me anyway, to look as an outsider, how unique and different and special he is as an artist to stand out among, at the time, probably a completely new generation of country artists who were out having hits,” Shelton said. “Then here comes John Anderson from the ‘70s and early ‘80s and just absolutely goes on a tear again all the way up into the early 2000s. He was having another string of hits again out of nowhere because his voice just sounds like home.” At 48 and after more than 20 years in country music, Shelton said he relates to Anderson differently than when he was that kid in Ada. “I’ve been doing this a long time,” Shelton said. “I know how hard it is to have a career that long and to have a resurgence and the work that goes into that. And for John, when you hear him sing, you’re like, ‘Oh, those are the good old days, and they’re back again, and everything is going to be okay.’” Shelton is mounting a resurgence of his own. He recently inked a new record deal with BBR Music Group/BMG Nashville.

(Photo by Jason Kempin/Getty Images)

[kriffingmeshla]

To Build a Home

Summary : Post Order 66, Hunter x Jedi ! Reader, established relationship, reader is part of TBB's whole found family thing.

Before Order 66, meditating with your fellow Jedi had always brought warmth, comfort and peace. Now, when all of the people you grew up and fought with are gone, meditation felt cruel and torturous. Hunter doesn't know the first thing about Jedi, but hell if he won't try his best to bring you any peace he can.

Warnings : Grief and loss (Order 66 related), doom 'n gloom, enough hurt-comfort for a lifetime, Hunter would literally die for his found family. Who actually proof reads? I really hope this shows up in the tags :')

During your Padawan years, your Master had fondly chastised you time and time again over your relentless urge to sneak away and gaze at the stars, yet even then he would make no move to get you inside. Instead, your Master would sit at your side and relish the moment with you, turning your adventures into what eventually became routine meditation practice.

Then, after your Master's passing, your friends and fellow Padawans took his place, sitting wordlessly in the temple gardens with you night after night, the stars blanketing you all. Naturally, you had become used to meditating with others, bonding and feeling safe and protected with your force signatures intertwined. So when the end came, when the galaxy turned on the Jedi Order and culled your friends, your family, meditation had never quite been the same.

Where there was once the warmth of the embrace of your peers' force signatures there now remained only cold, desolate emptiness. No more Jedi, no more community, just you and the infinite sky above. Isolation.

Of course, you had a new family to rely on during the daylight. The Bad Batch had carried out mission after mission with you and Anakin before Order 66, so naturally they were fast to take you in and make you one of their own when you were at your most vulnerable, a whole army against you.

Over the months you had built up an even more unbreakable bond with the members of Clone Force 99. One member in particular had built a connection so pure with you that you had eventually been unable to resist, sharing your souls and hearts with each other.

Hunter had always been so gentle with you, had taken the time to get to know every part of you - what made you laugh, cry, fluster. He wanted to know it all, and in turn he shared his own weaknesses with you.

So, unsurprisingly, your Sergeant had come to be able to read you like a book. In short, this meant that you couldn't hide a thing from him, so when he noticed you seeming more drained and hollow as of late he didn't even give you the chance to make an excuse.

"Cyare, come on now," he spoke so softly, voice scraping the bottom of his range. "Tell me what's got you all distressed, mm?"

Hunter had cornered you in your shared room on the Marauder while the rest of the Batch were in the cockpit.

Sighing in defeat at being caught, you dropped to sit on your cot, avoiding Hunter's gaze. Ever so carefully, not wanting to scare you off, he seated himself at your side. His gloved hand worked its way up to your jaw, gently tilting your head up and toward him.

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you?" For being such an intimidating fighter Hunter could be so soft with you behind closed doors. How could you possibly lie to him.

"I just- I've been trying to-" you huffed, looking for the words to explain it. Your brows must have furrowed, because Hunter's thumb slipped from your jaw to your forehead, smoothing the frustration away.

" 'S okay, take your time to think, cyar'ika."

Soothed by his reassurance, you took a few deep breaths and started over.

"Back at the Temple, or even on missions and just- all the time. We meditated, the Jedi I mean. We were taught to do it ever since we were brought to the Temple as younglings, sort of like an induction to the Order. It was the most important thing to the Jedi. We all used to sit together under the stars, both as kids and right before everything went to hell. It was sort of a tradition, I guess. Anyway- I, I've been trying to do it again recently - keeps me grounded if that makes sense. It's peaceful. Or it used to be. Every time I try now it just hammers in the fact that they're all gone. My friends, the Jedi, everything. Doesn't work the same if it's just me. I just feel so... wound up. It's all getting to be too much, and without the ability to destress by meditating I'm almost becoming disconnected from the force. I haven't truly felt it since before Order 66. I just feel sort of drained."

You already felt some of the tension melt off of you from finally speaking your problems out loud. Hunter would always be there to listen to you, you knew that, but isolating yourself when you were worried had become a bad and unavoidable habit.

Hunter called your name, his voice so incredibly tender. It made you break out of your trance, becoming aware that you had been staring down at your feet while you rambled. Your eyes went wide, snapping up to Hunter's in fear of having overdone it. Instead, when your eyes met his, you saw no judgement, only sympathy and understanding.

"Oh, Love. I'm so sorry," He shuffled closer, enveloping your clenched fist in his large hand. "Look, I uh- I can't pretend I know the first thing about the Jedi and how you meditate, but - if it helps - I'd like to try. With you, I mean. I know I'm not Jedi, but maybe my being with you would help ease your loneliness if only a little. Enough to do your meditation."

As your eyes began to swell and spill with tears, Hunter panicked, thinking it was his words that had upset you.

"Oh kriff, no don't cry. Hey I'm sorry, forget I said anything. I shouldn't have tried to interfere in your Jedi stuff-" he blurted out, speaking faster than his brain could think.

"No, Hunter, no," you choked out, a trembling and watery smile pulling at your lips. He only looked more confused now, like a tooka in headlights. You laughed wetly. "I- I'd love that. Really. I just never thought you'd be willing."

Hunter sighed in relief, shoulders drooping. He lifted his hands to rest on each of your shoulders, lowering his face to meet yours.

"I'm always willing. You don't need to be afraid of asking me anything, you hear me? I'm yours, Cyare, and I hate seeing you like this. If there's anything in the galaxy that will make you feel better then I'm ready."

You let out a shaky breath, more tears escaping down your cheeks at Hunter's tenderness. Keeping his hands at your shoulders, Hunter tilted his head into yours, keeping you steadily against him in a keldabe kiss. You dug your fingers behind his breastplate, knuckles taut. Nodding against his forehead you inhaled and steadied yourself.

"Thank you. Yes I'd- thank you, Hunter."

"Always," he whispered, sealing gap between his and your lips, melting into you so sweetly. "I love you, cyar'ika. I always will. I'm here for you."

"Tonight then," you suggested. "When the stars come out."

"That's a promise," he agreed.

When the sun finally retired for the day and darkness engulfed the planet, you and Hunter slipped out the Marauder, hand in hand.

"So," he began, fingers intertwined with yours. "How's this work, huh?"

"C'mere," you replied, smiling fondly at your love and tugging him to a hilltop tree nearby.

You finally freed his hand as you lowered yourself to sit cross legged in the cool grass beneath the trunk, waiting for him to join you. No questions asked, Hunter sank to his knees at your side, crossing his legs just like yours. You moved a hand to rest on his knee, immediately feeling the warmth of his force signature flowing through your veins.

"Oh," you gasped.

"Everything alright?" he asked, concern lighting his eyes.

"It's- oh, Hunter, you were right. I- can feel the force again, I can feel your presence, it's - thank you, Hunter."

He smiled, briefly taking your hand from his knee to lift it to his lips so he could dust kisses across your knuckles. Letting it drop back to his knee, Hunter shuffled slightly to get comfortable.

"Right then," he grinned, "you gonna show me how to meditate or what."

You laughed, squeezing his kneecap then turning away from him, closing your eyes.

You took time to inhale and exhale deeply, trying not to crack up at Hunter copying your actions by your side. You couldn't wipe the peaceful smile from your face if you tried.

Letting your mind drift, you finally felt that welcoming tug of the force after such a long time, and you let it drown you. Everything felt warm and safe, your heart squeezing, muscles shivering then smoothing out. Wanting to show Hunter just how grateful you were, you used every last ounce of your energy to channel your feelings through the force and into him. You heard him gasp, his enhanced senses increasing the sensations tenfold.

"Oh," he breathed, understanding heavy in his voice.

You felt the peace and happiness radiating from his force signature as you entwined it with yours, knowing without looking that Hunter had become almost boneless with bliss.

And under the stars that night, you and Hunter began your brand new ritual, two presences in the force becoming one.

[amjustagirl]

when the sun meets the moon outtakes: in which Bokuto adopts a dog

pairing: bokuto koutaro x f! reader

genre: romance, family fluff

wc: 900

a/n: as the name suggests, an outtake from my fic when the sun meets the moon.

Bokuto Koutaro is a kind man with a good heart. 

You grew up experiencing crudeness and petty meanness and you’ve grown jaded, expecting nothing more of people, but ever since Bokuto came into your life, he’s made you believe that there is kindness and goodness in the world, if only you stop to look. And so you fell in love with him, your sunshine boy with a heart of pure gold, got married after he proposed to you in front of thousands of volleyball fans, popped out three gorgeous sons.

“A wolfpack”, Kiyoomi names your little Kous, his lips tilting upwards when he’s called in as reinforcement by Hinata when Bokuto brings them into practice . You think the name quite fitting considering the way they boisterously roll around with their father and find themself in mischief in a myriad of ways, though you suspect Kiyoomi’s opinion of said wolfpack nosedives dramatically after his daughter is inducted as an honourary member with a ridiculous ritual involving a homemade obstacle course in his living room, aided and abetted by Koutarou himself. 

In this instance, however, Sachiko is very much the instigator of mischief. 

You should’ve noticed something was off when she yelled a panicked “bye auntie!” and bounced past you at breakneck speed to get out of your front door. 

“Huh”, you say. “How strange.”

What’s even stranger is that none of your sons come out to greet you. Usually they’d be racing to see who reaches her first when she gets home from a long day of work, the winner celebrating by leaping into your arms (and oftentimes knocking you flat onto the floor). What’s a hundred million billion times stranger (Kousuke’s words, not hers, he’s started learning bigger numbers at school) is that Koutaro himself isn’t coming out to wrap you in his arms with a bear hug, peppering you with questions about your day. 

“Kou?” you call. Usually that’s enough to get all four of them running, but not today. 

You slip off your shoes. There’s a suspicious looking packet by the dining table that catches your eye. A happy looking dog in bright colours on the front of the packet is all you need to know. 

Leaving on your socks to dampen your footsteps, you press your ear to your sons’ bedroom. 

“Hide him in the wardrobe ‘til okaa-san sits down for dinner!”

“He’s not going to stay in the wardrobe for a whole hour?!” 

“How d’you even know it’s a he? Sachiko said it might be a she!” 

You throw open the door. Four faces turn to look at you, three a picture of practised innocence, your husband alone looking guilty. 

“Is there something I should know about?” you ask. 

“Nothing!” your sons shout in perfect synchrony. Bokuto stares at the floor. You can almost see his ears droop. 

You take pity on him, striding over to throw open the wardrobe. A puppy with yellow fur and a stub for a tail stares woefully at you. You resist the urge to drop to your knees and squeal at its utter cuteness. 

“And what do we have here?” you do your best at trying to sound stern. 

Finally, your husband speaks up. “Babyyy”, he tries pleading, though he stops short as you raise an eyebrow. “The kids found this poor little thing in the drain and it looked so cold and hungry I said we should take it home and take care of it ‘til it’s okay.” 

Your boys sense a moment of weakness. 

“‘Kaa-sannn it was shivering” Kouji does his best attempt at pouting pitifully. 

“And it was raining”, Kouichi reasons. “We couldn’t leave it there! It’d be sad!”

Kousuke, your youngest, rounds up the rear with his most devastating weapon, puppy dog eyes of his own. “Kaa-san pleaseeee can we keep it?”

“Fine”, you sigh, making a show of exasperation because your boys, if left unchecked, would bring every pitiful critter and being under your roof and you have no desire for your home to turn into a menagerie. “We’ll take it to the vet on the weekend, and discuss if we can keep it if it isn’t microchipped okay?” 

Cheering, your boys run out of their bedroom to acquaint the puppy to its new home. 

You turn your attention to Bokuto. “Kou”, you start to say, but he’s already hugging you close. 

“Sorry”, he chuckles. “I know I should’ve talked to you first about it.”

You poke his chest. “Sometimes, I wonder how that big heart of yours fits into your chest.” 

“I’m sorry -” 

“Don’t be”, you smile. “That’s why I love you.”

He presses kisses into the crown of your head. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re getting out of teaching the boys how to be responsible for our newest family member though. 

“Oh no”, he groans.

Your smile widens into a mischievous grin. “Oh yes”, you say. “That includes walks and cleaning up after accidents and scheduling mealtimes and all of that. I suppose it’ll teach them how to be responsible at the very least.”

His mouth curls up in a matching grin. “I guess that also means Omi-omi’s got some responsibilities too since Sachiko-chan said she has a quarter-share in our pup!” 

You expect another irate call from Sakusa Kiyoomi tomorrow. It’s okay, you’ll divert his calls to your irrepressible husband anyway. 

[scrumptiousstuffs]

okay hopefully this will be a more fun ask. immediate answers only, no thinking. all are for both First and Khaotung.

favorite role

who you want to see them working with (separately or together)

prettiest they've ever looked (I know this one is hard but I want the first thing that pops into your head)

most babygirl moment

the time they broke your brain

photographic evidence is a must!

This was fun, anon!!! So, like you have requested, the first thing that pop into my mind:

1. Favorite role: Akk and Aye no doubt. Those are my babies. I love most of their roles pre-CP and all the one after CPs but AkkAye in The Eclipse has my heart and soul.

I can’t tell you how much I relate so much with Akk and his struggle in high school. I was Akk in my teenage years (minus the pyro tendency) except I don’t have my own Aye (or even Wat/Kan) to get me through those tough years. First was exquisite in this role. The way he conveyed his confusion while trying to come to grasp with his feelings while all his previous beliefs being systematically dismantled was amazing to watch.

And Khaotung as Aye - what can I say, he had me with his swagger and cool cockiness, trying to hide his depression and anger towards a system that cruelly took away his only father figure (also, I am ashamed to say it took me awhile to recognise Khaotung as Aye cause it was such a contrast with his performance in Longtae and Fong 🤣😂 - that’s how much of a chameleon this boy is when acting!)

My favourite moments for AkkAye (that doesn’t involve kissing) have to be these 2:

a) Aye seeking comfort from Akk who for the first time realised how much his school is bullying a student

b) And when Aye caught Akk smiling at their candid photo at the vending machine - Aye’s soft smile as he realised “ah…this guy does have feeling for me” while Akk looks panicky but at the same time realising Aye won’t tease him (that much) for his blunder!

2. Who I want to see FK working together (separately or together): I’m going to exclude people they have already worked with in this category (which really just means EarthMix and GemFourth 🤣 - cause as much as I love the other 2 CPs as well, I just can’t see GMMTV putting all 6 of them again like MLC)

For First - Tay Tawan, Arm Weerayut or Mond. Tay brotherhood with First off-screen is one of my favourite thing ever. I don’t care what they play in a show - brothers? Enemies? Best friends? Just give them to me!!!!

As for Arm, I think he is one of the more under-rated actors that GMMTV on their rosters. I know he often plays minor/secondary roles - but he has potential for so much more. I like him so much when he played View’s love interest in 55:15 Never Too Late!

With Mond - Boeing was sussed but his chemistry with First in Not Me?? - 🙌🙌🙌

For Khaotung - Gun (I’m still waiting for Home School season 2 😩), Nanon/Luke or Perth.

Nanon has been absent from acting for god knows how long. I say a good script with Khaotung will be enticing!

And I have always wanted Khaotung + Perth as brothers (the plot is secondary)

As for Luke - it is time for him to be induct in the BL world (plus his ghostship with Khaotung in Safe House? ADORABLE ☺️)

Picture courtesy of @/asianmenarewinning

And as CP, I want FirstKhaotung to act with a GL couple. Personally, I adore June/View (unfortunately, we know this GL is highly unlikely to happen). So, I’ll take NamtamFilm (who so far is doing amazingly in Pluto) or Ciize/Kapook.

Above Picture courtesy from this website

Above picture from here

3. Prettiest they’ve ever look

Khaotung when he became Barbie during one of their event- LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL ANGEL

First was especially exquisite during the Moment magazine photoshoot (truly one of his best photoshoot) - THAT BONE STRUCTURE (I’m still salty nobody has picked my boy up yet as a brand ambassador)

4. Most Babygirl moment (again the first thing that pops into my mind)

When First make those small tiny excited jumps while talking to his bestie during the SFxEMFK DeadpoolWolverine Screening 😬

Khaotung famous pout during School Rangers after losing 🤭

5. That time they broke my brain - so many moments, but alas, the most recent video of FK vibing in PolyCat concert (with a song that is about pining and never confessing towards your bestie on the bg) will have to take the cake! Cause it’s still fresh on my mind (and basically everyone in this fandom) 😫….

[january-summers]

Just thinking about some stuff, whole train-of-thought re: Wash's induction into PFL, (and the idea that it would be hilarious if he was actually one of the first Freelancers selected for the project despite being considered by the others to be a rookie) and it sort of spiraled back into the idea that he and Ohio (Vera) worked together pre-PFL.

Cause like, Wash had to have done at least 7* years in the military, he reached at least corporal (I've seen a head-canon he might have even been a sergeant on his way to staff sergeant but got demoted as part of his court-martial and I'm here for that tbh) and as a corporal he would have been a team leader for a small team, or at least he would be cleared to act in that capacity. (UNICOM Corporal: Enlisted Officer 4th rank - Typical Responsibilities: Fireteam leader)

(*IRL court-martials can come with prison time, so Wash might have been in prison for 'a little while' before PFL, then released with just enough time to realise how hard it would be to get back in the fight before PFL “conveniently” came along with a job offer, or they offered to broker a deal to keep him out of prison if he worked for them instead. If he was discharged right before being recruited and he was recruited at the start of the recruitment period he actually would have been in the military for 9 years at least, which I think we all know by this point?)

Anyway, I'm just picturing rookie!Vera has been assigned to David's team (and yes, as always I'm secretly running “his last name starts with 'C' and his 'call sign' was D.C.” head-canons) and she's not fresh from an academy new, but D.C.'s team is the elite in their field type team, so she's still out of her depth a bit.

Naturally, Military Intelligence has proven to be an oxymoron still, and bad intel has them all in over their heads. The team gets split as they're trying to wipe out a target via ground assault. D.C. takes a flash-bang (or alien equivalent) basically to the face and ends up blind (temporarily) so he's out there with a makeshift blindfold wrapped around his head to stop his eyes taking any more radiant damage and letting Vera steer them through the unfriendly terrain.

And Vera would really like to go home but they still have a job to do, especially if they're the only ones left, so she and D.C. stealth their way to their objective, but they run into a problem, a small covie strike team, and Vera doesn't know how they manage to take them out between her and her currently blind commanding officer, but they do, except for one, who makes a run for it back towards the covie base to tattle on them after the radio gets wiped out.

The covie is way too far ahead of them, they'll never catch up, and they're running out of time before it alerts the base, Vera doesn't know what to do, but D.C. tells her she has to use the sniper and take the shot herself.

“Can-can't you do it?”

“Literally blind kid.”

“Right. … shit.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, okay, I can do this, I can totally do this.”

And Vera fumbles the sniper into position and freezes. She can't do this, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, and the covie bastard is running fucking serpentine!

And then D.C.'s hand is on her back and he's telling her to breathe with him.

“You know where he's running too, look at the ground, he can't stack it now, he'll take the easiest path, that's how he's going to move, aim, lead the target for distance and speed, take the shot. You can do this, look how well you've already done while lugging my blind ass around, you have the potential, the skills, the training. Breathe. Aim. Lead. Take the shot.”

For three long seconds after she shoots, Vera worries she's hyperventilated herself high and imagined landing the shot that turned the covie's head into confetti.

It was an improbably shot and she'd landed it.

"Holy shit did you fucking see that? I mean, uh... sir? boss? -"

"Nope, still blind :) and you know what, you can just call me David; David's fine."

They finish the mission and rejoin the rest of the team, complete success thanks to their maintained stealth.

A few years later, Agent Washington will point to that shot as proof Vera has what it takes to be a Freelancer when he's asked for his opinions on some potential recruits.

It's the reason Wash was the last to know the Triplets were gone. If he'd heard it from on-high, he would have known something sus had gone down, and his penchant for breathtakingly vicious revenge would have endangered Price. Instead, hearing it fifth hand, Wash was left believing Vera had dropped out without telling him because he'd somehow made her think he'd be ashamed of her, and what kind of bastard was he, that she didn't think she could come to him with her worries, that she'd leave without leaving. Did she know he'd put her name forward, did she blame him?

[readychilledwine]

Hi girl!! I don't know how to say this, but I love your writing and your sooo creative. I just wanted to say, im giving birth in a couple of weeks and it just hit me that I'm going to have a KID, LIKE WTH??? I did my research so there's nothing to worry about and I'm financially stable, its just, WEIRD??? I'm going to pop a baby out??please give some advice bc my hubby seems really cool about it and I'm just WHAT??😭

Trigger warnings- baby, mom life, and labor talk. Super long post 💕

✨️Congratulations to both of you and welcome to the hot moms club✨️

I went through an induction that turned into an emergency c section, so keep that in mind when reading my advice since I am not sure what form of labor you are opting for.

During Labor/Your hospital stay:

Bring a comfort idea to the hospital for before "active" labor and after. I brought my own pillow, and that made a world of difference. It was nice having something so familiar afterwards.

Don't eat anything you don't want to risk coming back up. Some hospitals will allow you to eat. Try to stick to the ice, juice, jello, or pudding. Italian shaved ice was also an option for me. And do bring snackies for after. You deserve it.

Don't panic if your birth plan does not turn out to be how birthing goes. I had planned on natural labor, no pain medication. I went in to be induced at 9pm December 13, by 2am I was in a lot of pain, by 7am I had an epidural.

Not to scare you, but the epidural can cause a few different reactions. Don't let that stop you from getting it. You HAVE to allow yourself to be as comfortable as possible, and your birth team will handle whatever curves are thrown their way.

If you are physically able to, do golden hour. In case it is called something different for you, golden hour is a full hour where the nursing staff leaves you and baby alone for skin to skin and nursing time. Tell your man I'm sorry, but he can wait. That hour is essential for building breastmilk supply if you're going to be EBF or EP. He can have baby after.

And let him have baby after. Daddy needs his own hour where baby is getting skin to skin with him.

It's going to be hard, but try not be mad if baby daddy sleeps after labor. He's going to have spent the last how ever long you were in labor in a heightened state of fight or flight because the woman he loves is in pain and there is nothing he can do for you. It's painful and all the exhausting for us. It's mentally and emotionally exhausting for them.

Do not (under any circumstances) let them force you into handling feedings one way or the other. Fed is best. Period.

Do not allow them to force you to have a nurse who makes you uncomfortable in any way. I know it's hard, but if a nurse is making you feel like you aren't doing enough, aren't listening to them, are making a wrong choice, ASK FOR A NEW NURSE. They should be supporting you.

If you're at a hospital where mom and baby sleep in one room, don't hesitate to say yes if a nurse asks if you want baby to go to nursery for a little bit. You both will need sleep. You deserve sleep. That nap will be precious. Trust me.

For home:

During bathing, try a swaddle method. It uses two towels, but it helps baby feel safe and secure. Here's a little link to an article about them

Take. Time. With. No. Visitors. You and baby daddy deserve time to adapt to your LO. It's a totally different ball game. We had 2 weeks alone. 2 weeks with just our parents. 2 weeks with our siblings. Then we opened the house to visitors who messaged us first.

Establish boundaries from jump. I made a post about on SM with a picture of our boundaries. Baby daddy enforced it.

Enjoy those 2am cuddles. They go away so fast 🥺

If you do not mentally feel okay, tell people you trust. Immediately. PPD/PPA can quickly become postpartum psychosis when left untreated.

Remember you're gorgeous. Even if you don't feel that way. You literally grew a human. It is the most selfless thing you could do for your family, and in my opinion, the closest thing to magic.

Remember to be kind to yourself and baby daddy. You're both learning. It's hard. So hard.

Never feel guilty for a few minutes of screen time. Sophia gets about 30 minutes a week spread out throughout the week. Ms. Rachel is a great help.

From my baby daddy to yours

Get her the food she's been craving that she "can't have" which also meant you couldn't have it for her first post labor meal. Lizzy wanted sushi. Baby momma got her sushi.

Take pictures of her with your kid. Constantly without her knowing. Those pictures will get you through the work day.

Get up with her at night. We helped make the baby. We help with the baby.

No yelling. No fighting. I said one thing to Lizzy I regret deeply, and I don't know if she's genuinely forgiven me for it. This is hard on your baby momma. If she needs to vent. Let her. Don't fight her. Just get her down for a nap, man. That's all you can do sometimes.

Never tell her to sleep when the munchkin sleeps. That statement is the most unhelpful thing anyone said to Lizzy. Tell her instead to lay down and try to get some sleep, and you will listen for crying. She needs the comfort of knowing someone else is there.

Don't allow anyone to shame her for anything. I learned I will throw hands over someone shaming Lizzy. Luckily, it was with my brother. We're good now.

Make sure she gets to shower every day.

Love her. Love her and look out for any signs of her not being okay. Lizzy's was staring off into nothing and crying way too much.

Make sure you schedule time for both of you to get away and let her enjoy said time.

Skin to skin. Daily.

Lastly, get her a pump if she's breastfeeding. Trust me. It will help build supply, and it allows you to feed the little one.

If you two need ANYTHING, message me. I don't have all the answers, but I might have advice. 💕

Here's a few products we love for Sophia, too. Some of them are pricy. We apologize.

Dreamland weighted Swaddle

Diaper cream spatula

Calmoseptine Ointment

Bums and Roses - softest pj's ever and you can get matching ones.

Momcozy nail file

Lizzy's favorite stationary pump*

Lizzys favorite on the go/work pump*

The bottles baby daddy uses to feed Sophia sometimes

*check to see if insurance will help*

Overall, just enjoy your time together and your sweet little baby.💕💕

Ps- thank you for the compliments! I was so excited to give advice I almost brushed over them 🥺

[five-rivers]

Ancestral Chapter 17

Written for day 1 of Ectoberhaunt's isekai weekend! Ignore how far past midnight we are, okay?

.

Sleep all too often came with dreams.  That was probably why none of them had really wanted to go to bed.  

Along with the anxiety, the revelations, the threat to all of their lives, etcetera, etcetera.  No one was really counting all that.  Much.  

Danny dreamed.  He knew he dreamed.  

Well.  Sort of.  This was really more of a nightmare.  Even though nothing bad had happened yet, the whole atmosphere of the classroom was steeped in unease and tension.  

"Ryv is one of the few Avlynyse words borrowed directly from French, without first passing through English," said Mr. Lancer, as he wrote on the board in Esperanto.  "Most likely due to the popularity of Marie Thérèse of France, who married Prince Alyn, later King Alyn, in sixteen eighty-eight pursuant to the agreement of marriage negotiated when she was five between her father, the Sun King, and Dr. Kahysy Wyrtmyn Royne Tyronoé, when the later saved her from dying of consumption.  Yes, Mr. Fenton, this will be on the test.”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Danny.  

“Queen Marie Thérèse was often quoted as saying ‘Parfois, j’ai l’impression que ma vie ici n’est qu’un beau rêve’ or ‘Sometimes I feel as if my life here is nothing but a beautiful dream.’”

“You don’t even speak French,” said Danny, despairingly.  

“Compare and contrast ryv with the thirteen other common Avlynyse terms for dream, such as ayslyn, traym, and revo.”

“That last one isn’t even Avlynyse,” protested Danny.  “It’s Esperanto.  You’re writing in Esperanto.  I don’t think you know that, either.”

“Compare and contrast King Georg Gyvry’s attempts to acquire royal spouses for his children, thereby securing alliances and diplomatic ties, with Queen Arynryd’s foundation of the School of Heroes.”

Danny stood up.  He couldn’t take any more of this.  He felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, and all that was happening was Mr. Lancer giving a lecture on Avlynyse history.  And getting things wrong, but that wasn’t really relevant.  

“Mr. Fenton, this will be on the test.”

“What test?” asked Danny.  “This is a dream.”

“But you have to pass,” said Mr. Lancer, not looking away from the blackboard.  “You have to pass.  This will be on the trial.”

“What?” asked Danny, unable to help himself.  

“You have to pass the Trials.  Dr. Kahysy Wyrtmyn Royne Tyronoé was born in Royn on the Island of Tyrono, to the herbalists Byryta and Yud Wyrtmyn, also of Royn.  He was later sponsored by a client of theirs, Dr. Uwyn Font, to attend Argyntyn College.  While there, his ideas were instrumental to the resolution of the sixteen sixty-nine Argyntyn Cholera epidemic, and he was inducted to the School of Heroes.”

Danny turned away.  He already knew all of this.  Except where it was wrong, which was annoying.  He hated it when his dreams were wrong, especially when they’d be so interesting otherwise.  Like, one time, he’d had a dream about Jupiter, but it was way too close to Earth, and there was just no way the GAV could fly up there that fast, so, there.

Behind him, Mr. Lancer - that is, dream Mr. Lancer - had stopped speaking.  Danny felt certain that if he were to turn around now, Mr. Lancer wouldn’t even be there.  No.  He’d be replaced by something much worse.  Something terrible.  

He hunched his shoulders and covered his face, then froze as his fingers encountered something around his eyes.  The mask he’d worn the previous night, for the Moon Masque.  Had he even brought it home, after everything?  He didn’t remember.  He had been given back his not-so-ceremonial knife, and it was resting on his bedside table.  His fingers itched for it now.  Normal weapons, even Danny’s normal weapons, wouldn’t do anything against what loomed behind him, but maybe that would.  It had already banished one monster.  

There was only so long he could delay.  He turned.  The tunnel was long and dark, with no forks or turns.  He walked.  Fire and flowers licked from the walls, horribly red, ready to burn, ready to bleed, but did nothing to provide light.  

There was an end.  It was covered in metal instead of stone.  Dull green lines traced between metal panels and wires sprawled loosely over the floor.  He put his hand against the wall as he walked.  If he was right, this was where he would slip–

–click.

Remembered agony shot through his bones and heart and brain and he spasmed.  Through the green he could see Jazz.  Leo.  George.  Iris.  Vivian.  Lewis.  Matthew.  Joanna.  Grandpa Alfred.  Martin.  William.  Aunt Alicia.  Great Aunt Isabella.  Great Uncle Theodore.  

All of them dying.  All of them screaming, dying, melting.  

There was a sensation of cold in his chest and he choked himself awake, his ghost sense slipping past his lips.  He reached for the dagger instinctively, ready to fight.

“Fryth, myne yfyor.  Peace, Danny.  Dreams, only, have troubled you.”  

“Danny?” said Jazz, blearily, from the other side of the large bed.  “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” said Danny, staring.  Gwensyvyr had her hand phased partway into his shoulder, and that was clearly what had triggered his ghost sense and woken him up.  But, more importantly…  “You talked!”

“Yeah?” said Jazz, who was still not entirely awake.  

“Yes,” said Gwensyvyr at the same time.  “Although it would, ah, appear that you, only, can hear me.”  Her accent was strange and heavy, but still familiar and homey in a way Danny couldn’t properly identify.  

“Danny?” said Jazz, again.  “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Yeah, I, um, nightmare.  Portals and murder plots, you know?  Ah.  Ha.”

Jazz was sitting up, now, and peering at the clock.  “It’s two,” she said, making a face.  “The sun was just barely up… What’s that at this latitude?  Nine?  So, five hours?”  She sighed.  “I feel like we just got over jet lag…”

“Mhm,” said Danny.  He wasn’t entirely awake either, and his brain wasn’t up for returning anything but exclamation points on the subject of Gwensyvyr talking to him.  

(And, as a point of fact, they’d been recovered from jet lag even before Matthew’s attempted emergency coronation, and that had been on the… The ninth?  The tenth?  And now it was…  Danny wasn’t entirely sure, actually.  Preparations for the Moon Masque had been a whirlwind.  Late January, anyway.)

(Maybe Jazz was right and they weren’t all that recovered from jet lag.)

“Should we go back to sleep?  I don’t want to throw my sleep schedule off too much, though…”

“Jazz, I don’t… I don’t think that’s really important.”

Jazz made a disgruntled noise, looked back over at him, and abruptly propelled herself off the bed.  “What–”

“Oh,” said Gwensyvyr.  “It might be that she might see?”  She pronounced the ‘gs’ in each ‘might.’ 

“Ohh,” said Jazz.  “She– That–  Hello, Gwensyvyr?”  Then she blinked.  “She’s gone?”

“No,” said Danny.  “Still here.”

“ I just–  I don’t see her anymore.”

“Alas,” said Gwensyvyr.  “A moment, only.  Yet still better than not at all.”

“Y-yeah,” said Danny.  He looked Gwensyvyr over.  “Your arm is better?”  It was, at least, covered in clothing again.

“It appears.”

“This is good,” said Jazz.  “This is good, right?”

“I mean, I don’t think it could be bad,” said Danny with a shrug.  “I can hear her, now.”

“Can you hear the others?” asked Jazz, climbing back onto the bed.  “Vivian?”

“I’ve been awake for a minute,” said Danny.  “And Vivian’s still with Matthew.”

“They have returned,” said Gwensyvyr.  

“Really?” asked Danny.  

“Three, four hours after you began to, ah…  Slevyn?”

“Sleep,” provided Danny.  “But they’re back?”

“I always forget that one,” said Gwensyvyr, mildly.  “Matthew still is awake.”

Danny rolled out of bed.  

“I guess we’re getting up, then,” said Jazz.  She brushed her hair out with her fingers as Danny hunted for something slightly more acceptable to wear downstairs than his pajamas.  Then, Danny remembered that Leo had come down that first day in pajama pants, a blanket, and no shirt, so it wasn’t like it mattered. 

The other ghosts, as silent as ever, pointed Danny and Jazz in the direction of the dining room, where Matthew, Irene, and Joanna were talking quietly and intensely.  They all stopped immediately when the door opened.  

Matthew and Irene looked absolutely awful.  Irene was still in her Moon Masque costume, and it was rumpled and stained.  It looked like she’d been pulling at her hair, with how it had come out of its earlier neat style.  Matthew had changed into a t-shirt and ratty jeans, and his arm was in a sling.  He looked pale, and his other arm had IV tape and various medical bracelets.  His nose was crusted with blood, and he had a black eye.  

“Is Sophia asleep?” asked Jazz, when no one else seemed ready to say anything.

“Sophia is still under medical care,” said Matthew.  He rubbed his eyes with his free hand.  “Nervous breakdown.  Grabbed a syringe from one of the doctors and tried to stab me with it.  Punched me really good, too.”

No wonder he and Mr. Kynbaz had been too busy to answer the phone.  

“Then, I had been given some Revyvtech drugs, because the knife,” he gestured at his shoulder, “had belladonna extract on it.  So I spent three hours after Joanna called getting all my blood replaced, just in case Revyvtech was also poisoning me.  Luckily, Physostigmine is produced by other companies, so Sophia and I were able to take that, and the amount of atropine that got into our systems really wasn’t enough to kill us, anyway.”  He sighed.  “I’m tired of getting poisoned.”

Irene patted his shoulder.  

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “So.  What are we doing about that?”

“Which?”

“The– The thing with Revyvtech.”

“We’re investigating,” said Matthew.  “Unfortunately, you can’t just accuse an entire company of murder.  You have to find the people responsible.  And you need evidence.  Security brought the medicines you tested to a forensics lab, so we’ll see if anything turns up there.  I don’t know what else to do.  I don’t even know if it’s safe to take the Trials, if these ‘blood blossoms’ bioaccumulate, if we’ll all drop dead the minute we finish them, the same way everyone else did.  I don’t know.”

“I don’t think they do,” said Danny, thoughtfully.  “I mean, I had a friend eat some for me, once, and I was still able to do things like phase through him afterwards.”

“There’s that, at least,” said Matthew.  He rubbed his eyes again.  

“You should sleep,” said Joanna.  

Matthew shook his head.  

Jazz cleared her throat again.  “Mom and Dad?” she asked.  

“Kyr Argyn, under house arrest in the Late Wing,” said Matthew.  “Pending an investigation, but of course all the investigators are busy…”  He stood up.  “We’re doing what we can do.  If the spirits are able to give you anything else…?”  He trailed off, hopefully.  

“He should sleep,” said Gwensyvyr.  “I do not believe anything I have to say to you will change that.”  She paused.  “Vivian’s story might.”

Danny shook his head.

“Let me know if that changes,” said Matthew.  He took a breath and held it for a second.  “Joanna, can you–?”

“I’ll keep everyone to the schedule as best I can,” she said.

“Good.  Good,” said Matthew.  He hobbled around his chair, towards the door, Irene helping him.  

“What schedule?” asked Danny, after they had left.  “To prepare for the Trials,” said Joanna.  “We’re going a little fast, but… the full moon is soon.”  She smiled shakily.  “So!  Since you two are up, why don’t you get breakfast - or lunch, I suppose - and we can talk about personal seals.”