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#but then again i guess it must be pretty easy to grow use to never committing to anything

yandere-wishes · 11 months

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ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance.

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her?

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that.

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom.

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing.

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe. They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it.

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile.

"What's the old man saying this time?"

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face.

When did you fall in love with him, again?

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless.

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him.

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money.

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be.

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders.

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right.

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero.

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy.

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference?

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now.

Even though you doubt Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders.

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain.

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask.

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek. Sliding from one universe to another.

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home.

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again.

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind.

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror.

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one.

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian.

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth.

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm.

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit.

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside.

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor.

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses.

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul.

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too.

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions.

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms.

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gripefroot · 5 months

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Cross-eyed and Tongue-tied

Follow up to this piece. Or rather, a prequel.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Only years of practice not being startled by Law’s habitual reappearances and disappearances keep you from jolting in surprise. That, and the sixth sense you’d learned, noting how the air changes right before he does his little tricks.

Hunched over the pottery wheel that dominates your living space, you don’t flinch when he looms over to take a look at what you’re doing. The delicate work of slicing the tool through clay makes a pattern around the bowl sitting on the wheel, which took most of the afternoon. Only a few more minutes of decent sunlight remain, and they must be utilized. Your back hurts from strain, but that’s outweighed by satisfaction. Nearly done, but he can see that for himself.

“I’m hungry,” Law adds, like that will finish your process faster.

Teeth gnawing on your bottom lip, you don’t speed up at all. He knows how you work. His fussing is purely meant to set you on edge, you don’t doubt.

“You can leave without me,” you offer. “I’ll catch up.” Only a few more times around the rim. With a deep breath you pull away, spinning the wheel to the next side of the pot.

“Ha!” Law says. “If I leave without you, you’ll never come. You’ll probably find another pot to trim and get distracted making that.”

He has a point. The tool slices through the earthy-red clay, swirls for decoration that litter tiny shavings around the pot. Law leans closer, close enough for you to smell soap on his skin and hear his even breathing. He doesn’t put his hands on the wheel to brace himself, which is a mercy for both of you, because last time he’d done that, he’d been stabbed by the knife you’d been using and the platter had been sprayed with blood.

“Looks good.” His voice is a rumble that sends awareness up your spine.

“Thank you.” As far as you can go again. You turn the wheel. One more section and it’ll be done. Before you put the tool back against the rim, a sudden kiss on your cheek has you blinking, startled out of focus. “What was that for?” you ask, bemused. Glancing up for the first time to see Law grinning, his face barely inches away.

“A bribe,” he says.

“I’m almost done,” you tell him, crabbiness sharpening the words.

“And if we don’t leave soon, they’ll be sold out.”

“You must think the market is a bustling metropolis.” Bending over for the final time, you sink the tool into the pattern to continue. No sign of a break shows in the clay. A smile grows on your face, pleased at the outcome.

“Is it not?” Law asks. He still hovers. “My crew doubles the population.”

“Your crew single-handedly provides enough economy to keep the town afloat.”

Done. Setting down the tool, you slowly move the wheel around to admire the pattern in the bowl, snaking and criss-crossing through the red.

“Pretty,” he says.

“Complimenting won’t rush me,” you say.

“But you like it.”

“I love it.” With a laugh you stretch out your arms and back, the muscles protesting from overuse and tension. Law’s hands immediately go to your arms, rubbing in all the right places as a sigh and a moan fall from your lips.

“I can sell your stuff if you like,” he says.

“Huh?” The movement has made lights pop in your vision, shutting out your workspace as reality jerks you into the present. Work has a tendency to shut part of your brain off. “Sell it? Where?”

“Here and there.”

Stiffly you rotate on your stool to stand, shaking out your arms and legs. Law doesn’t back up (he never does) but he does tilt his head to the side, regarding you up and down. Then he starts to untie the apron around your back, a feeble attempt to keep your clothes tidy every day.

“Yeah?” you ask, amused by this offer. He loops the apron over your head to toss aside. “And let me guess. You’re going to upcharge for imports and make an astronomical amount of money, most of which will go into your pockets.”

Law frowned, pushing the rim of his hat higher. “It’s not easy, trade,” he says.

“It’s not easy being scammed by the man in my bed, either.” Most of the feeling has returned to your extremities. Enough that you tip forward on your toes to kiss that frown on his face, which eases into a crooked smile.

“I’m not scamming you,” he insists. “I’ll take a small cut. Not even enough to compensate for the time and effort it’ll take, so I’ll be losing money.”

“How very generous.”

“It’s a perfect plan,” he says. “You can’t ask for a better negotiator than me.” “Here’s what I think would happen,” you say with a smile, reaching over to pick up the tray the newly-decorated bowl sits on to take to a drying shelf. A nudge into your rear from behind doesn’t break your concentration, lifting the tray and turning on your heel with a narrowed glare at Law, who shrugs like he’d done nothing wrong. “You’re going to upcharge the heck out of my wares and people will buy them because you’re scary and mean.”

“Maybe.” He follows you into the next room, lit by the sunset through the cloudy windows. The earthy scent is home, stacks of fired dishes and drying pots filling the space to the brim. With a heave you hoist the tray onto a shelf, brushing your hands after stepping away.

“And then they’ll find out, eventually, that my products aren’t worth the price you charged.” Chin high, you regard Law across from you. Unrepentant, as always. He shrugs again, this time with a smile. “And who do you think they’ll take out their discontent on? You, scary and mean? Or the lady who made the subpar wares in the first place?”

Something flashed in his eyes. “They wouldn’t come after you.”

“Prove it. My name is stamped on the bottom of every single item.” You wave your hand at the room. Labeling all the products with your name is more vanity than anything, as everyone on the island knows you and your name. How could they not? Every one of their tables bears your dishes.

“Not your location,” Law says.

“But my location isn’t a secret, either. Plenty of people from this island have moved away and would recognize my name in an instant. I’d expect an angry mob at my door within six months of you carting away crates to charge an arm and a leg for.”

He snorts. “I don’t need to charge for an arm and a leg.”

“You know what I mean.”

“They wouldn’t dare attack someone with ties to me.” He seems to believe it, too, because as he says it his shoulders straighten out, standing a little taller. Hot, but not entirely convincing. Law acts mean, but behind that brittle exterior, you know better. How no one else seems to notice the melty tenderness in his eyes is a mystery. It’s so obvious. To you.

Then again, you wouldn’t want him as an enemy, either. He’s much better in bed.

“This is silly,” you say. “Let’s go get dinner.”

“I changed my mind.”

“What!”

A glint in his eyes betrays his desire. His intense desire. “Let’s go to bed early,” he says in a rough voice. A tingle has your toes curling, but you ignore it.

“No.” Lips pursed, annoyance flickering but too tempered by fondness to go anywhere, you stomp past him. The house is getting dark, and you grab a coat by the front door. One arm in, then the other.

“We can eat tomorrow.”

His voice in your ear makes you hiss, less equilibrated than you’d been while working. Why did he do this? Spring up on you without warning? He could walk like a normal person!

“You’ll be miserable all night, whining about being hungry,” you tell him.

“Promise I won’t.”

“I’ll be miserable all night, whining about being hungry.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll keep you too busy to be hungry.”

“How did we arrive here?” Halfway out the door, you turn with a laugh bubbling out. Law looked so miffed in the indigo night, hunched over and surly. “Does it turn you on when we bicker? Is disagreement foreplay to you?”

“So what if it is?” He pulls the door shut behind him. At the water pump in the front yard, you draw water to rinse your hands. Without a brush and soap it’s a cheap job, but works. Once your skin gleams you shut off the water, shaking your hands to dry. Law takes the steps down the yard one by one, gaze on you the entire time. Hands in his pockets. No coat.

“If it is,” you say, pulling the collar of your coat tighter against the chill in the air. Autumn’s claws dig into the island, especially at night. How he managed in a barely-buttoned black shirt, you don’t know. “Then I can be nastier.”

He stops where he is.

“Cruel,” you enunciate, but you can’t help smiling. “Absolutely villainous.” “Nah,” Law says, and resumes his way down the steps until he stops at the level of the water pump where you wait. “I don’t think you have it in you. How about you continue to be you and I’ll keep my thoughts about your mouth to myself?”

“No,” you say. Wait a minute, shifting your weight, and then prompt, “Did that turn you on?”

“You’re ridiculous.” But he smiles, shadowed by his hat. “Let’s go.”

You loop your arm through his, though he didn’t offer it. “What were you thinking about my mouth?” you ask softly, and his barked laugh echoes to the stars.

“Telling you would definitely constitute foreplay,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s save it for the walk back.”

Stars twinkled as the sky darkened, the worn trail to town only navigable by sheer practice. You could walk the path by memory, eyes closed and hog-tied. Leaning your head against his shoulder, his low hum tickles your ears.

“It’s almost winter again,” you muse, pointing at a constellation just visible on the horizon above the sea. One that only appeared during the cold months.

“Are you going to move to town again?” Law asks.

The cottage on the bluff is gorgeous in the summer, but winter winds from the sea tend to wriggle their way through the ramshackle windows and sagging walls. Cold hands make clumsy pots. Winters, for you, look like renting a room above the bakery to paint and fire dishes all winter in one of the baker’s ovens in exchange for new mixing bowls and jars for leaven.

Winter tastes like fresh, hot bread, and aching loneliness.

“Will you visit me if I do?” you ask. He rarely visited in the winter.

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “How thick are the walls of the bakery?”

“Not thick enough,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t like the idea of the baker’s six children peeping in,” Law says.

“The tailor says this winter will be mild, anyway,” you tell him. “I’ll chance it in my house.”

Ahead, the shining lights of the town appear between the slopes of the hills that, miles down, gives way to the sea. The track descends through dusty soil, scuffing into the air. The first houses of town are built in the hills, candlelight and firelight twinkling on either side as the path widens into a road and the noise of the market becomes audible.

“We’re lucky to find seats,” you say to Law a few minutes later. Stools at the noodle maker’s are hard to come by, especially with visitors. But Law’s crew appears to be occupied elsewhere; some flirting with women across the street, some notably absent.

“Are we?” he asks in a vague sort of voice. His tattooed fingers rub a pair of chopsticks together, as if seized by the sudden need to be busy. Barely visible beneath the rim of his hat, his eyes dart to his crewmates, narrow, and then drop to his hands.

“It’s a nice night. Everyone seems to be out enjoying the weather.” After the long, hot summer days, people in the town emerged to have their fill of company. It’s the same in spring. Smiling, you tap your feet to the beat of a guitarist nearby playing a lively tune. “It makes me want to dance,” you say.

Law snorts. “Don’t say that to Sachi.”

“Why, would he want to dance with me all night?”

Any amusement Law may have felt disappears. “Yes,” he says in a stony voice. Lips twitching, you nudge him with your elbow.

“Jealous?”

“I don’t want to dance with Sachi,” Law deadpans.

“No, would you be jealous of him? If he and I danced all night?”

“You aren’t going to dance all night with Sachi. You have a strict bedtime.”

“Since when!”

“Since just this second.” Law’s further bickering was smothered in a polite smile as two bowls of steaming noodle soup were slid across the bar of the stall. Fragrant steam fills your nose, stomach rumbling in response.

“Thank you, Saizu. It smells delicious.”

The noodle maker beams ear to ear. You’d never once seen him frown. “Ingredients have been cheap lately,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron. With no other orders, he’s inclined to chat. Law is disinclined; he starts to eat. “Ships to and from have been making their routes without getting harassed lately.”

The broth tastes even better than it smells. Saizu’s best batch yet: whatever ingredients he’s been getting must be made by the gods. It’s a few moments before you’re composed enough to ask,

“Pirates?”

“None that I’ve heard of,” Saizu says.

“I suppose I haven’t, either,” you say. Swallowing a clump of noodles, you turn to Law. “You’re the only one here that ventures out on the sea. Are there fewer pirates this year than normal?”

He chokes on his own noodles, a few splashes of broth hitting your coat. “Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Must be.”

Saizu nods wisely. “A few of my bowls have been dropped lately. Can I put in an order for a dozen more?”

“Of course,” you say. “Matching design or something new?”

“Whatever you’re inspired to do. I haven't seen anything you’ve made yet that I don’t like.” His smile never falters, never hesitates. “But I will say, the last batch you gave me is my favorite yet.”

Saizu has always been one of your best customers. And most generous with compliments: while you and Law eat, he picks up a bowl from a stack and holds it to the light, pointing out the colors and details he likes the best. The black accents, the flecks of minerals shimmering in the fired clay.

“I don’t know where you get your ideas for these designs,” Saizu goes on, tracing the ribbons of black around the base of the bowl. “Then again, I have the artistic abilities of a monkey.”

“Funny you say that,” you tell him. “Because I have the cooking abilities of a monkey.”

Saizu bellows with laughter. Law even snorts his amusement, finally coming up for air as the food in his bowl dwindles. Out of the corner of your eye you see him do a double take at the bowl Saizu still holds up to one of the hanging lanterns above the stall.

“That’s your bowl?” he blurts. “You made that?”

You meet Saizu’s eyes. “Are you asking me or Saizu?” you ask. “Because it’s his bowl. I made it. He makes what goes in it.”

“Are they all like that?” Law grabs his bowl of broth and lifts it, eyes widening as he sees the similar design on his own. He sets it back down slowly, though his knuckles have gone white.

“Don’t like it?” Saizu asks. Heat rushes to your face, aware of the reason behind Law’s reaction. It was no secret to you that Law is your muse. But you’ve never told him so.

“It’s fine.” Law’s voice cracks on the word. “Just fine.” He doesn’t meet your gaze, though you’re looking straight at his face. Before you can prod him for more, or confess, or something, a body straddles the stool on Law’s other side. And yours. Caged in by white uniforms.

“Hi, Penguin,” you say. “Sachi.” “Hiya,” Penguin says. “Captain.”

Law grunts. Not entirely pleased by the company.

“Good to see you again,” Sachi says. He’s on your side, facing you on his stool with significant enthusiasm. “Did you know Captain won’t drink out of anything but your mug?”

How many months Sachi has been holding onto that tidbit of information, you can’t begin to guess. But the speed at which he says it suggests many. Raising a brow, you ask,

“Is that so?”

“Sure as I’m sitting here.”

“Yeah,” Penguin chimes in from Law’s far side. He leans toward the bar to see you, half-concealed by Law’s slumped shoulders. “I’m surprised he doesn’t sleep with it.”

“Sounds chilly,” you say. Then, to Law’s defense, you add, “I didn’t know ships were the standard for dishware choices. How many mugs do you have to choose from that consistently choosing mine is so remarkable?”

“We have one set,” Law says. “And I have one cup, thank you.” His glare for Sachi zooms past your face.

Despite knowing Law for so long, he’d never commissioned you for his ships’ set of dishware. Gnawing on your lip, you remember, “You stole that cup.” It had been before dawn, over a year earlier, when you’d stayed in bed to blearily watch him dress to join his crew on his ship. He’d stopped at the door, plucked a mug out of a crate ready to be taken to the market, and left with it.

Penguin gasps. “Captain! You didn’t!” “Her prices are really reasonable,” Saizu chimes in.

“It was a memento.” Law pushes his empty bowl towards Saizu, who takes it.

“Of what!” you laugh.

Silence. Sachi breaks first into cackles, then Penguin, and then Saizu, clutching his belly for a laugh that echoes across the street.

“Of what?” you repeat, leaning closer to Law. His cheeks stain tomato-red, casting you a look. “No,” you say in a hushed voice. Laughter tries to bubble out of you, face burning, but you clap a hand over your mouth to keep from giggling.

“I meant to pay you back,” Law mutters.

“Wow!” Sachi grabs your hand from your mouth, splaying out your fingers like some sort of zoo creature. “Your fingernails are really long.”

“Yes,” you say. “I have no better tools than my own hands.”

“Ah,” Penguin gives a wise nod. “That explains it.”

“Definitely explains it,” Sachi agrees. “We’ll be sure to alert the crew that there was nothing to worry about.”

“Do you mind?” Law grits out between clenched teeth. “You’re not on shore leave to spend the entire time harassing me.”

“They’re harassing me,” you assure him. Then to his crewmates, “Explains what?”

Law grabs his cup to down water, as if the action will hide his blush. It doesn’t.

“Why Captain came back last time with his shoulders and back all torn up,” Penguin says. “I could’ve sworn he was attacked by a wild animal. Bepo said he lost a duel with a tree branch.”

Water sprays across the bar. Law hacks and hacks, face turning even redder. Penguin thumps him on the back several times before Law pushes him away.

“Oh,” you say. The prickling danger of Law lashing out is a cold tingle down your spine. As embarrassed as you wanted to be by this topic of discussion, the best course of action was clear: diffusement. “Are you sure that was me and not someone else?” you ask in a light voice.

“No, ma’am,” Sachi says. “You’re the only one.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Saizu wipes down the bar from Law’s spat water. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything about the conversation, or the mess it’s making.

“He rolls his eyes if we tease him about women favoring him anywhere else,” Sachi says.

“We mention you and he swaps our ears,” Penguin adds. “Sachi’s look terrible on me. Even worse than they do on him!”

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself!”

“If you’re jealous that Law has something of mine and you don’t,” you interrupt. “I have a few dog bowls I can send along.”

Law’s cough turns into a choking laugh. To Saizu he says, “If I tell you these two hooligans are pirates, will you run them off for me?”

“Ha!” Saizu grins. “Your whole crew is so good-natured I wouldn’t believe it for a minute. Best merchants in the North Blue.”

The rest of your broth has chilled with the dropping evening temperatures. But you down it, anyway, smacking your lips together as you drop your chopsticks in the bowl. “Thanks again, Saizu,” you tell him. “And sorry about the highly-inappropriate interruptions.”

“It’s not every night I get a free show,” Saizu says, eyes twinkling.

Law slams a handful of coins on the counter. “Keep the change.” Saizu chuckles, and sweeps them into his pocket.

“I don’t think that pays her back for the cup, Captain,” Sachi says.

“Go kiss a sea sponge,” Law retorts. Twisting on his stool, he hops down in your direction, fingers curling over your wrist. “Let’s go.”

“Good night, Saizu!” you call, already dragged away from the warm lights. Law is mightily determined when he chooses to be. “Bye Penguin! Not with tongue, Sachi!”

“You!” Law hisses when the noise of the market was fading behind you.

“Me?” you ask indignantly. “You stole my cup! And you never paid for it!” “I thought you noticed!”

“I did!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

Away from the main market thoroughfare, the night was dark, and darker between buildings and houses. Law stops in his tracks outside the baker’s, where only a faint light could be seen from upstairs where the family lived. You squint to see his face better, backlit by the market lights.

“I forgot,” you admit.

“You forgot,” he repeats.

“Yes.” Another rush of heat rises from your neck to your face. “Call me crazy, Law, but when you’re around my mind is on other things than a missing cup!”

His eyes close briefly. When they open again, they’re gleaming, fastened on your face. His intensity makes you squirm more than Sachi and Penguin’s teasing had. He’s standing near enough that your neck cranes upward. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you lift your chin to meet his eyes.

“I’m glad you took it,” you say. “That way you won’t forget me.”

“Forget you?” Law’s laugh is low and rough. After a pause he adds, “I’ll take the dog bowls. Add them to my tab.”

“Oh, you have a tab now?”

“Don’t I?”

Mulishly you scuff your shoes in the dirt. Nose crinkled with unwillingness to relent. “I’ll require down payment,” you tell him.

“Oh?”

“It doesn’t have to be cash.” Gnawing on your lips, and glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, you tack on, “Does getting your mouth and tongue all over that cup remind you of me?”

“No,” Law says. “It doesn’t talk back.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I don’t tongue it. That’s weird.”

“Tongue me, then.”

“Take off your pants and I will.”

“Oh, yeah? Here and now? Where a few dozen people will be walking by in the next fifteen minutes?”

“I’ll do it,” Law says. A shiver goes up your spine. The rumble of his voice is difficult not to believe, the breadth of his chest only a whisper away. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. Lower, now, he continues: “But you have to tell me why you’re putting my tattoo designs on soup bowls and selling them.”

Ugh. You should’ve known that would come back to bite you.

“Because I think about you when I’m making pottery,” you tell him. Any hint of shame, he’d sniff out. Any suggestion of insecurity, and he’d pounce. He tended to do that, skirting around conversations as if they were battlefields. You’d learned long ago that the appearance of surrender brought him closer.

His brows raise, as if shifting through the meaning behind your confession. “Is that the only time?”

“No. I think about you a lot.”

Most of the time. Almost always. Life didn’t often require your full attention: making pots and bowls and platters was as mindless as folding laundry. And your singing chases birds away. Filling your mind with memories of the past or hope for the future with him kept the hours of dragging on too long.

“So.” Law’s fingers reach out to brush against yours, but he doesn’t take your hand. Not yet. A breeze tickles his shirt, fluttering the short sleeves and the hem. How hadn’t Saizu noticed the similarities between his precious soup bowls and the exposed swirls on Law’s chest? You could draw the patterns in your sleep. “About this down payment.” His half-smirk blooms into a grin. He must have liked what you’d said.

Tipping forward on your toes, you smile up at him. “What do you have to offer, Trafalgar?”

He shrugs. “My body, mostly.” “Best merchants in the North Blue,” you laugh. “Saizu thinks a lot of you. And here you are, offering sex for dishes.”

“I know what you like,” Law says. His fingers press into the inside of your wrist before skating higher, slipping beneath the sleeve of your coat. “I have strong negotiation power.”

“I know what makes you cross-eyed and tongue-tied,” you counter. “My negotiation power is just as strong.”

He grips your arm, tugging you along as he walks backward into the darkened alley. His smile is briefly lit by the market lights before blackness swallows him up. A moment later, and you’re swallowed, too.

Without warning you’re pushed against a stone wall, the gasp of surprise swallowed up by Law’s mouth covering yours with unerring accuracy. His hands are all over your front, his mouth devouring. And you yield: your fingers clutch around his neck, tickled by his hair escaping from his hat.

“Mmm,” resonates from his chest. Your hands slide down, finding his hot skin every inch of the way. Beneath his collar, over his shoulders. The night isn’t so chilly with his body snug against yours and heat building between your legs like a furnace.

A burst of laughter escalates from your middle to your throat and out of your mouth. Law gives a grunt of displeasures when he pulls away. “What’s that for?” he asks roughly.

“I didn’t realize I scratched you up so bad,” you admit. “I’m sorry. Especially since your crew has been giving you a hard time.”

“You’re giving me a hard time.” His lighting quip is punctuated by his hips angling into yours. Not willing to be drawn into a discussion of his crew, then.

“Oh, my,” you coo, still on the verge of laughter. “That feels uncomfortable. Are you suffering?”

“Immensely.”

“And after one kiss?”

“One - ” Law nearly croaks. “I’ve been fantasizing about this all day. Don’t you remember?”

Vague memories from his interruption at your pottery wheel and verbal foreplay surface in your mind. Gripping onto his shoulders, but with the pads of your fingers instead of the nails, you hum, nodding. “You may have mentioned it,” you say. Pinned in place by his body, you tip forward to find his jaw with your lips. “Once.” A kiss. “Twice.” Another. “All-freaking-day.” Down to his throat, where you bite the flesh near his Adam’s apple. Law’s laugh vibrates through your mouth.

“Your fingers are ice,” he says. He wraps his own, much warmer, much larger fingers around yours, pulling them gently away from his shoulders.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” you tell him.

“I’m not. I want to go home where you can get warm enough not to make my balls shrivel up from these icicles.” Brows raised, he makes his point by rubbing your fingers together between his hands, warm blossoming like a summer sun-kiss.

Home. Home. He thought of your house as home?

Law stops rubbing your fingers. “What’s with the look?”

No weakness. He’ll sniff it out. “Nothing,” you say. “It’s a long walk back, are you sure you’re up for ten minutes of chastity?”

Amusement flicks his lips upward, then long-suffering stamps them back down. Mouth drawn in a line, Law drapes a long arm around your waist until your chests are pressed together like clay, ready to be pinched together to be sealed for eternity. A leap in your chest causes a gasp, his eyes sparkling like dark diamonds as he studies your face.

“Hmm,” he says.

His mouth descends on yours. And sometime during that kiss, the building behind you isn’t blocking the wind anymore; but a brisk, sea-breeze sizzles through your clothes to pop goosepimples up and down your skin. With a shriek you jump in Law’s embrace, cheeks stinging with cold. Above his head, the moon shines. No longer blocked out by the bluffs protecting the town, or the town itself; a harsh, pearly light.

“I hate it when you do that,” you say, but it’s a half-hearted complaint. He’s warm and you’re not: you snuggle in closer to his chest, putting your cheek on the top of a black whorl immortalized in Saizu’s bowls.

“I know.” Lips send more warmth from your scalp to your tippy-toes. “That’s why I do it.”

“And that’s your romantic way of trying to earn a long, cozy night of lovemaking?”

“I think I clinched that back in the alley,” Law says. “If not three years ago.”

Little prick. You set your chin on his chest to glare up at him, but he only grins unrepentantly back. He’s right and he knows it. That’s what’s so insufferable.

“Carry me inside and we’ll see,” you say by way of negotiation.

His grin widens. “Actually,” he says. “I have a better idea.”

You catch on when his arm becomes a vise around your waist. “Law, no!”

But it’s too late. The night sky spins in black and moonlight and starlight.

#trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar d water law

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scuttling · 8 months

Text

Devil You Know

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries Pairings: Damon Salvatore/female reader (future) Word Count: 2,107 Tags: Just canon typical violence/blood so far, Episode related 2x14 Crying Wolf Summary: Damon's in love with Elena, would do anything to keep her safe—including forming an alliance with a mysterious newcomer who just might change everything. A/N: I consider this a teaser I guess, as plan to write the rest of season 2's storyline! I hope you like it :)

Keep reading below!

Damon goes to the historical society tea party because he needs to confront Elijah.

It’s absolutely the last thing he wants to do, after blowing off Jenna’s friend Andie, who will almost certainly be in attendance; the last thing he wants to do, knowing that Elena and Stefan are on some romantic getaway to her family’s cabin by the lake. But he needs to protect her, which means finding out more about Elijah and the deal he’s made with her, which means he gets dressed and goes to the party, puts on a smile, charms the pants off everyone like he always does.

It’s not easy, but someone’s gotta do it.

Damon is just walking away from Alaric, heading into the study on Elijah’s heels, when a pretty young woman grabs him by the elbow of his jacket. She fits in at the tea party, in a white sweater, long, tan skirt, and heels, but he can’t remember ever seeing her around town.

“Whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” she says in a low voice. A human wouldn’t have heard it, her lips barely move, but he can and she must know that.

“And who are you?” he asks, cocking a brow. He doesn’t take advice from people he does know, and definitely not from people he doesn’t; all the same, something about her intrigues him, though he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Someone who’s not about to let you make the biggest mistake of your life — or afterlife, whatever you call it.” She lets go of the fabric of his jacket, then smooths it out where she’s wrinkled it. “Trying to kill an Original is suicide, so don’t.”

She says it with an air of finality, almost authoritative, then turns away from him like she’s going to leave.

He can’t let this girl leave, but he can’t let Elijah go either. He’s torn, feels two warring senses of urgency, looks briefly toward the study and then back to her retreating frame.

“Wait—who are you? How do you know–what you know?” She turns back, hair falling over her shoulder, and shakes her head like she’s frustrated that he’s even bothering to ask.

“I know, and that’s all that matters right now. Look, I have to go; I shouldn't have come as it is.”

Damon grabs her arm to stop her from turning again, to stop her from leaving, but she frees herself with one firm, no nonsense tug and walks out the door without ever looking back.

A mystery for another time. Elijah’s in the study, and Damon’s going to do what he came for in the first place.

He gets stabbed in the neck by Elijah because of course he does; he never claimed to be rational or sensible, to think things through or weigh the consequences like his brother. He acts on instinct, with more emotion than most people probably imagine him capable of, and then deals with the aftermath as it comes.

The aftermath of this situation is a very sore throat, and a growing headache, as he mulls over what little they know, over and over and over in his mind.

“Today was a bust,” he punctuates with a sip of bourbon. He says it to himself, to the room at large, but Ric answers anyway.

“Yeah, that Elijah’s one scary dude. I’d think twice before I trust that dagger and some ashes to do the job. You’re gonna need more info.” Damon frowns.

“But I’m out of sources.” Ric stands to pour another drink, grabs Damon’s glass and does the same. When he hands it back, Damon has a flash of memory from earlier in the day—the tea party, the mystery girl who knew more than she should—and he smiles a little to himself, pleased. “Actually, you know what. There might be one person who can help us out.”

“I’ll take anything we can get,” Ric says, drinking down the remainder of his bourbon in one sip. Damon stands and does the same, grabs his jacket from the back of his chair.

As they head for the front door he starts brainstorming, deciding where they are most likely to find her. Strangers always seem to gravitate toward the Grill, so they should probably start there, ask around, find out if anyone who’d been at the event remembered her.

Those plans are cut short by werewolves. Goddamn werewolves.

“You know what the great thing about buckshot is? It scatters through the body. Maximum damage,” the one he knows to be Jules says, the one he hates with every fiber of his being.

They’ve got him chained to a chair—an antique that’s going to be a bitch to restore after this—with some kind of inverted spike collar on him, and he is leaking blood from a hole in his neck for the second time today. It’s a new method of torture for him, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little terrified of the potential outcome.

This is how he knows he loves Elena, really, truly loves her, he thinks. For anyone else, he’d have given up a long, long time ago, out of both boredom and self-preservation. Damon would kill for almost anyone—he kills mainly for himself, anyway—but she’s the only one he’d die for now that Katherine has fucked them all for the last time.

“Where is the moonstone?” Jules yells, pulling him out of his thoughts with a cock of her gun. One of the wolves pulls on the collar, which hurts like hell, but Damon just shrugs, smarmy as shit. Jules rolls her eyes. “Vampires.”

“At least vampires have the decency not to enter someone’s home without permission,” someone calls from the foyer. Damon can see that it’s his mystery guest, still dressed for the party, as she strolls casually down the hallway and into the parlor, toward the werewolves. Jules takes a good look at the girl, brows tight, as if she’s trying to place her, but the other wolves growl—actually growl—at her, nostrils flaring. It’s clear they know who she is… and that they actually fear her. “If I were you, I’d go. Now. Before another one of you gets hurt.”

Whether she’s referring to Mason or someone else he doesn’t know about, it doesn’t make a difference; the male wolves run out of the house in a blur, and Jules must trust her pack enough to know to follow, because she speeds past the girl and out the front door with the rest of them.

Damon is impressed. Very impressed.

A minute later, when the house is quiet and the girl seems satisfied the wolves are gone, she steps toward Damon; her heels click across the wood floor, and in that delicate skirt, that pristine white sweater, she yanks at the chains that have him bound to the wooden chair. They nearly crumble in her hands, breaking apart and freeing him from captivity.

Now he’s kind of terrified again. Terrified, and a little turned on, and really fucking confused.

“Should have let them kill you,” she mutters as she unlocks the collar, her hands slick with his blood but no less precise. She pulls each wooden stake carefully away from his neck, and he sighs his relief when the device is completely off, discarded on the ground. “Do you always have such a knack for getting yourself into dangerous situations, or have I stumbled upon a no good, very bad day?”

“Hey. They broke into my house,” he reminds her, standing, and what’s left of the chains join the collar in a heap on the floor. The girl lets out a long sigh and puts up her bloody hands in a gesture of irritation.

“Because you’re fucking with, quite literally, the most powerful, ancient beings, things you know next to nothing about, even though I told you not to.”

“No offense, but I have no idea who you are, what you are… Those guys obviously did, and I’m getting now that you’re kind of a big deal, but it takes a lot more than a mysterious girl leaving a cryptic message at a town event to get me to change my mind.”

With another sigh, she sticks out one of her hands, and after a pause he gets what she’s after, reaches out to complete the handshake.

“Hi, I’m the new resident vampire slayer. Happy to make your acquaintance.” He tries not to show that his mind is a little blown at this, that the prim and proper, frankly beautiful girl in front of him is a killer of anything.

“Vampire slayer? Is ‘hunter’ not cool enough this year?” She drops his hand, then wipes the blood from hers against the fabric of his black henley; it’s not enough to clean them fully, but now they’re merely stained red and no longer dripping with the evidence of his prior torture.

“Hunters are usually guys with personal vendettas, who spend too much time shopping at the army surplus store,” she says with a completely unsubtle look at Ric, who remains dead on the Persian rug. Either she doesn’t care, or she’s spotted the Gilbert ring, knows what it means. “Slayers are different; we’re born with innate power, similar to what you develop when you transition—though I guess it’s all the same when you’re on the wrong end of a wooden stake.”

She takes a step back as he takes a step toward her—toward Ric, really. She watches as Damon lifts him up and drops him onto the sofa, so he can wake up with a little more dignity, at least. “So, vampire slayer. Are you from around here?” he asks as he turns back. He grabs their glasses from earlier, and a third, and fills them all with bourbon. He offers her the drink, which she accepts, sips.

“I get around,” she says lightly, carefully avoiding his question. She walks around the room, exploring, as he cleans up, rolls up the soiled rug so he can dump it later on. “This is my first time in Mystic Falls, though I know all about its… rich history.” She takes another drink, this one deeper, like she’s tired after such a long day. He knows he is, so he can understand the feeling. “I’m drawn to where I’m needed, and I wasn’t needed here until the moonstone came into play. Now you've got doppelgängers, werewolves… I’m just fortunate you dealt with the vampires in the tomb on your own, or we’d be in a hell of a lot more trouble.”

“Hey, I’ve changed since then; I was an idiot in love,” he explains, then he fully realizes that’s bullshit; he’s still an idiot, and still in love—or, more appropriately, in love again.

He throws her a playful smirk, but she’s not laughing when she comes closer and locks eyes with him. It’s the first time he’s looked at her and seen what must be her darker, more dangerous side.

“Love is not an acceptable excuse for your actions, and if you ever give me reason to, I’ll put you down without hesitation. It’s important that you know that.” Her eyes flick over his, as if ensuring that he’s gotten the message, that he understands her loud and clear. “Even when I help you—if I help you—my loyalties are to the slayers who fought before me, who fight alongside me. No one else. If any of you harm an innocent person with intent, I will kill you.”

Damon contemplates that for a moment, he really does; there’s no shortage of people who want him dead, so adding one more to the list isn’t really as impactful as she may believe. He can’t help thinking, though, that if she’s on their side—if she’s willing to fight with them instead of against them—they might actually have a chance against the werewolves, the Originals. They might actually have a shot at eliminating the threat instead of outrunning it, at protecting Elena once and for all.

It means giving up human blood, which isn’t his favorite thing to do, but he’s done it before, can do it again. Will do it for Elena, if that’s what it takes.

“You have my word, slayer,” he says, peering down seriously into her eyes. For once, he means it. “You help us keep Elena safe, and we’ll all be on our best behavior, or you get to wipe out every creature of the night that lives in Mystic Falls.”

She nods, after a moment, then drains her glass of bourbon with an exaggerated, satisfied smack of her lips.

“Alright then. First things first: who’s Elena?”

#the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvd #vampire diaries fanfic #tvd fanfic #the vampire diaries fanfic #damon salvatore #damon salvatore fanfic #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x female reader

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neet-elite · 1 month

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I love your writing, you got me obsessed with DoL lol. Can I request Leighton/player, with him taking the detention punishment further and actually fuckin or something? ur the best

i fucking hate that guy i blackmailed him as soon as i learnt i could because he is such a fucking TEASE right??? i let him play with me for so long but he never FUCKED ME it was a waste of TIME.

MDNI ♡ Warnings: power imbalance, teacher/student

WC: 1130

At this rate, you have him assuming that you're optionally choosing to act out in favour of meeting him in detention, more so than any of the other plentiful attending masochistic students. It wouldn't surprise him, given how often you've visited him in the last week alone. So seeing you show up at his door on recommendation from some teacher he can't remember is more a welcome sight than anything. Aren't you tired of spankings yet? Ah, the thought of it being too sore for you to sit causes his cock to twitch.

Maybe you need something more... Fulfilling to teach you the lesson he's been trying to hammer into you. That is to say, something more satisfying to quench your apparent thirst.

It'd be disgusting if not for how enjoyable you are every time you saunter into his office all high and mighty, giving him that look, as if you aren't a royal pain in his backside. Sharing formal niceties like routine, a welcome hello followed by "You've been bad again, haven't you?"

The little lip bite you give him while nodding your head yes goes straight to his cock— always does. Good thing he's sitting behind his desk, right? Allowing himself to gently pet at his growing erection that started the moment you knocked on his door. He could tell it was you, could see your silhouette behind the frosted glass.

"What was it this time, hm?" He questions, though it's more rhetorical than genuine. He knows why you're there, but it's fun to keep up the theatrics of a caring school board member, no? You seem to enjoy it too, given the way you tremble in the chair sat afront his desk. You're so used to that seat by now, he's sure that the cushions are molded into the shape of you. Appearances matter, especially when it comes to your punishment. Slipping into the dominant persona is so easy with you, his lustful gaze falling on how your frame tilts to the side just ever so slightly; eager, are we?

Whatever you're looking for, he's happy to provide that and a little more. You must need something extra, right? That's why you seeking his detention again, correct?

Though when you fail to answer his query, instead fluttering your eyelashes up at him so prettily, fuck, the things he'd do to you if not for his position as headmaster— flickering your gaze down to where he pats his cock (though you've set to see it, you've been hidden under there enough times to pinpoint its exact location), he takes the opportunity to guess. Fun, right?

"Perhaps... Kissing Mason again, hm?" Jealousy taints his words, prompting him to tug harsher at his cock, a viewable jerking motion present in his arm for you to gawk it. He doesn't care, there's no use hiding it, not with the mutual understanding of your presence here tonight. "Or, were you caught without underwear again? Dirty girl, you know that's against the rules."

"But Sir! If I wear any then—"

A single finger pointed at his lips and you shut up. God it feels good to command you like this, dress pants tight with the throb of his cock as he stands, erection pointed directly at you as he repositions it so. He doesn't truly care for your reasons for being, walking towards you like predator to prey, hiking your school skirt up with one easy flip as soon as he's close enough to. Guilty as charged, no panties.

He gulps at the sight of your pretty pussy drooling all over his chair the second he sees it, beads of precum staining his expensive pants in response. Though it's a common enough occurrence, he's yet to grow used to the sight. Chest tight with want, cock hard with need. He tuts down at you, rolling his eyes in a mix of enjoyment and judgement. Filthy slut, seeking his attention like this? It's so dirty; which is why he can't say no to you. A pervert after his own heart, he bends down to your level as if speaking to a child.

"Bend over, will you?"

And the speed at which you adhere to his instructions has him falling in love. Just a little, not enough to overtake the overwhelming amount of lust pooling in his tummy when you present your cute little holes to him without so much as a complaint, but a little.

Not much more discussion is needed, he thinks. Unbuckling his pants for you to turn back and watch, a shocked expression on your pretty little face that he gasps at. Pretty. "What?" He questions apathetically, lifting an eyebrow your way as his fat cock flops out of his too tight restraints. "Figured you were after something more, right?" Bet you were imagining another spanking, calloused fingers stroking up and down your wet slit to make you mewl.

But before you can properly reply, he steals your opportunity; "Regardless, this is what bad girls get." Lining himself up to your cunt with a quick few strokes up and down the length of his cock before he shoves himself inside in one swift motion. Fully and completely, disregarding any of your discomfort in favour of cursing over how fucking tight you are when left unaware to his intentions. Bad girl turned soft, a condescending coo escaping him at how quiet you've went compared to your usual attitude when he starts an immediate and brutal pace. And he means to follow it up with something; a threat, maybe? Anything to show that he holds the power over you right now, but your cunt sucks him in so sweetly, begging for more of his insidious precum to spill against your walls, the moment he draws his hips back only to shove his full length balls deep inside of you again effectively shuts him up.

Because to be honest, you've always had all the power in this sick relationship. And to finally have his cock kissing your cervix only reminds him of that fact. He only wears the dress of control, and he finds himself feeling thankful that you've offered your tight little hole up to him like this, whining for more with babbles and sobs of which he happily gives.

He should have done this a long time ago, huffing and puffing above you before proposing a deal.

"Stay— Oh, fuck, keep squeezin' like that— Um, stay out of detention for— for a week, and I'll fuck ya again, 'kay?"

Rewards are a bit out of his wheelhouse, but he can correct your behaviour yet. Especially if it means getting to be inside of you again, rutting his fat cock into you with a pace that almost has you falling off the chair.

#💌mail #dol smut #degrees of lewdity smut #leighton the headmaster smut #leighton the headteacher smut #i had no idea what his title was lol #thank you for ur kind words btw!!!#i think you can fuck him outside of school tho right?#at the strip club?#maybe im confusing him w someone else #not me being just as much of a tease LOL

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astrronomemes · 6 months

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PERCY JACKSON AND THE LAST OLYMPIAN: STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 2009 Rick Riordan novel, Percy Jackson and the Last Olympian. change & alter as needed.

"He's trying to be nice to me, which is almost worse."

"So, hypothetically, if these two people liked each other, what would it take to get the stupid guy to kiss the girl, huh?"

"So I guess you guys have to go save the world now."

"You can't count on friends. They will always let you down."

"They don't show you stuff like that in The Little Mermaid."

"He's a pretty nice guy, but you should always keep one hand on your wallet when he's around, and do not, under any circumstances, give him access to shaving cream unless you want to find your sleeping bag full of it."

"If I die, I die. I can't worry about that, right?"

"Are you still having bad dreams? Headaches?"

"I should never have told you about that."

"You run away from things when you're scared."

"You could honor [name]'s memory by fighting with us."

"You can't prevent a prophecy."

"[Name], at least be safe. Promise me you'll be safe."

"If you ever need a warm place to sit and a home-cooked meal, you are welcome to visit."

"You are a good hero, [full name]. Not too proud. I like that. But you have much to learn."

"They don't serve very good enchiladas in the wilderness."

"As I recall, in the old times we almost died a lot."

"Excuse me, but if you're going to kill me, could you just get on with it?"

"With great power comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later."

"You'll do well, [name]. Just remember your strengths, and beware your weaknesses."

"My family hates me. They don't want me. I ran away."

"I tell you what, [name] — you're pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like you."

"Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters. They don't have the reach or power of a sword, but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife. I have a feeling you're pretty clever."

"You're part of our family now. And I promise I won't let anything hurt you."

"Can we go back to the battle now? I want to do laser mode again. That was fun."

"You should've saved him when you had the chance. You're the only one who could have."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!"

"[Name], this is serious! You are not going to loot a candy store in the middle of a war!"

"Just be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. ...I mean, because we need you for the battle."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? Or are you just extra stupid?"

"Don't I get a kiss for luck? It's kind of a tradition, right?"

"Didn't I kill you already?"

"You're cute when you're worried. Your eyebrows get all scrunched together."

"You are not going to die while I owe you a favor."

"You would have done the same for me."

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

"We'll have to work on your bunny phobia later."

"Oh, demons aren't so bad. You just have to keep them well-fed."

"Your courage does you credit, [full name]."

"The children of the gods must find their own way."

"So it was for my own good? Growing up on the streets, fending for myself, fighting monsters?"

"If I know anything, I know that you must walk your own path, even though it tears my heart."

"I'll bonk him on the head harder next time."

"I don't want him to hurt you anymore."

"And you'll understand if I keep hoping there's a chance you're wrong."

"I didn't know you could fly a helicopter."

"Everybody keeps telling me to sleep. I don't need sleep."

"You know what would help this boy? Farming. Six months behind a plow. Excellent character-building."

"On second thought, I'll be inside."

"That's what I do. I help my friends."

"He promised I was saving lives. Fewer people would get hurt."

"Well... sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror."

"You and me, that wasn't part of it. Our fates aren't intertwined. I think you've always known that, deep down."

"Is it too late to join the party?"

"Do you love death so much you wish to experience it?"

"I hope that was a monster I just killed."

"I survive all those battles, and I get defeated by a stupid chunk of rock?!"

"You were like a brother to me, [name]. But I didn't love you."

"I hope... I hope you know I'm really proud to be your friend."

"No hero is above fear, [name]. And you have risen above every hero."

"Nobody's planning to kill us so far."

"Make us a city for the ages."

"It's just... I've got a lot of life left to live. I'd hate to peak in my sophomore year."

"[Full name], I have had my doubts about you, but perhaps... perhaps I was mistaken."

"[Full name], you might just teach us a thing or two."

#rp meme #roleplay meme #rp starters #roleplay starters #dialogue prompts #dialogue memes #dialogue starters #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #rp memes #roleplay memes #sentence memes #sentence prompts #sentence starters

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breakfastteatime · 9 months

Text

Today's fic is for @garbria, who requested 'Gardening is good for the soul' 🌱

The distant sound of clipping drags Cal out of his meditation. Opening his eyes, he finds himself alone in the engine room. BD has taken off. Cal’s not surprised. They’re tucked up on Bogano before they head back to Dathomir, so he’s probably checking in with his bogling friends.

Standing, Cal stretches out, shakes off a few lingering aches, and heads out. He finds Greez alone, tidying up the terrarium.

“You’re finally looking thawed out,” Greez says without looking up.

“Thanks. I guess.” It is nice that Cal can feel his toes again. That’ll teach him to go plunging into an icy pool on a frozen planet.

“You’ve got caf in the pot and a spice cake I saved ‘specially for you,” Greez continues. “Cere and BD will be back later. They’ve gone exploring. Guess Cere wanted to find some of this Cordova guy’s stuff. She wants you to stay here, rest up before we head to Dathomir.”

Cal glances wistfully out of the hatch. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t. I’m saying it’s alright to stay put for once.”

He’d spent five years staying put. Now that he’s free, he wants to roam…

…although he doesn’t have his boots on right now, and he is still tired, like Ilum’s cold ate into all his reserves and left him with nothing. He feels better than before, and ready for what he must do next, but a nap would really –

“Gimmie a hand here once you’re fed and watered,” Greez orders. “You planted all of these, so you should learn how to take care of them.”

Cal drinks his caf. It’s about as bitter as the stuff Prauf used to make on Bracca, strong enough to wipe the heat scarring off a hull. Cere made this pot for sure. Greez usually sneaks a syrup in when he makes it. Thankfully the spice cake takes the caf’s bitter edge off. He plods over to Greez and looks at where he’s trimming a tiny green puff of grass, complete with little purple flowers. “What’s that?” Cal asks. “I don’t remember seeing something like that.”

“It’s a weed,” Greez says. “Must’ve snuck in with the other seeds.”

“You can’t get rid of it,” Cal protests. “It’s pretty!”

“It is a weed,” Greez spells out. “It could kill the other flowers.”

Cal scoffs. “Flowers are just weeds with better propaganda. Let it stay.”

Greez sighs. “Go down to the lower deck, open the supply locker, and dig out another flowerpot. Grab the extra compost too. If we’re keeping it, it’s going in another container. I’m not risking the others. Weeds could choke the roots or – ”

“I’ll get it!” Cal rushes off and collects everything he needs. He hurries back and follows Greez’s instructions about filling the spare pot with compost, making a hole in it for the plant.

“Weed,” Greez repeats.

“Flowers,” Cal shoots back.

“Fine, whatever. You can keep it back there in the engine room. Decorate your workbench with it.”

“My workbench?”

“Cal, buddy, I haven’t gone near that thing since we picked you up. It’s yours, trust me. Now, let’s get this thing replanted.”

It’s his? The workbench is his? Cal’s never had a workbench of his own before.

“…hear me?”

Cal shakes himself. “Yeah, sorry. Show me what to do.”

Between them, Greez and Cal moved the so-called ‘weed’ out of the terrarium and into the new pot. The green grass and little flowers spill over in a cascade of life. Cal holds it up, poking at it with the Force. He can feel it settling into its new home, roots digging in. He’d never spent much time on botany, but he remembers learning about the Jedi who could encourage plants to grow and thrive. Maybe he could learn how.

“Put that one aside for now and help me with these vines. Next time you find plants on Dathomir, leave them there.”

“You needed the challenge,” Cal says, grabbing a pair of clippers and following Greez’s lead by dead-heading the plant. “Everything else was easy.”

“Nothing wrong with things being easy.” Greez heads off to fill the watering can.

“If you say so.” Cal reaches out to the Force, senses the difference between each plant. He can feel the different worlds in their leaves and flowers. The Force does live in them, as it does in all living things. It’s not as complex as it is in sentient life, but the flowers pulse and glow with their own energy and power. Some are pretty proud of their blooms too, and Cal smiles with them.

A chuckle and pat on the back from Greez pulls Cal’s attention back.

“Yeah, I knew it,” Greez says, handing over the watering can.

“What did you know?” Cal asks, watering the plants he can feel need it.

“Gardening’s good for the soul,” Greez explains.

“Oh.” Cal looks at his ‘weed’. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

#fic requests 2023 #star wars jedi: fallen order #jfo minific #jfo headcanon #cal kestis #greez dritus

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generalluxun · 6 months

Note

It's strange how many people use terms like Breaking Point, Lowest Point, and Rock Bottom when describing the path certain women like Azula and Chloe Bourgeois need to go through to grow. Aaron Ehasz is one of those people. But people never seem to talk about characters like Zuko and Felix Fathom in this manner.

Rock bottom is a sort of myth that came from I don't know where. More villains than heroes are created at rock bottom. People who are desperate and have nothing to lose don't make the best choices.

More people change when cared for and shown another way, than do at their wits end. Keep in mind that care and coddling are distinct things. Support, love, and a healthy environment are free of charge, but not necessarily easy to face, especially for someone whose worldview has been warped. Yet it is in such an environment where people are most likely to make a positive change.

If I'm being generous I would say 'rock bottom' has been missinterpreted, and a better phrase might be 'Must come to see the darkness/outcome of their current path. This might take the form of losing something important and realizing it was only their own actions that caused the loss, but it doesn't have to. That path is ALSO not a one size fits all answer.

Take Azula: She's been chasing success and recognition her whole life. She bought her daddy's line, she worked to overcome everyone else, to be a ruthless, cunning, perfection of a Fire Lord. She wanted to be her father's successor instead of Zuko. She lost her friends along the way, and that hurt, but what really was 'rock bottom' for her? Do you think it was losing to Zuko? No. She was broken long before he got there. Zuko even comments on it. What broke her was her father naming her fire lord... and then promptly making the title of Phoenix Emperor. The thing she had strived for her whole life suddenly cheapened, and made subservient to a new rank. All her work... and she ended up second, just where she started. *That* was rock bottom for her. And when she hit rock bottom what happened? She snapped. Being at rock bottom *broke* her. It didn't save her.

Similarly where is S5 Chloé? No power, no friends, under the thumb of an abusive mother, dragged to London. Seems pretty rock bottom. Did it look like some sort of epiphany was pending, or just more suffering?

By contrast: What did Zuko lose? He had lost, and he didn't change. It was actually his uncle, it was Aang, it was love, support, kindness, and repeated care in the face of Zuko falling again and again into bad habits. That's what eventually allowed him to see there was a path other than the one he was on, and it took him a while to believe even with so much help. That's because these kinds of changes are *had*.

Felix: Well, umm, Felix hasn't actually necessarily changed at all? He joined a side to further his ends, but he hasn't shown much character growth beyond that yet.

As for why some characters are pushed with this narrative and not others? That depends on the speaker I guess.

#ask #princess azula #chloe bourgeois #prince zuko #felix fathom

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danvolodar · 13 days

Text

Pathologic and the Town's Russianness: 5

In this last numbered part of the miniseries we'll explore the issue that, honestly speaking, prompted me to write on the subject to begin with: the Town's eating habits, and whether they match those of the historic Russian Empire.

As in the previous parts, a warning is prudent - the Town's unique situation must affect its cuisine as much as the rest of its life. So an unusually large share of meat in the local diets, or the shortage of grains and legumes due to the lack of fields we've discussed prior, cannot be used as indicators of difference.

Still, some amount of grains must be making it into the Town-on-Gorkhon, since they do have bread available. It wouldn't be fair to say it's un-Russian for not having black rye bread, though, since it only makes sense the Town makes do with whatever's shipped in, and it's likely wheat grows better in the climes near the steppe (in the Marble Nest demo the Bachelor even notes that "the local [bread] is greyish in color and crumbly to the touch, making you doubt if it was actually made from grain"). What is decidedly un-Russian, though, is the lack of any buns when there's flour available: pirozhki stuffed with beef or fish, rasstegai, or vatrushkas. Those were the street food of choice in the Imperial Russia, so extremely common, which means not seeing them is a strong sign the Town is not a part of anything like it.

And since we've mentioned vatrushkas - it's surprising that there's no stuffing for it in sight, no tvorog. Then again, there are no cheeses other than the steppe qurt at all, so I guess that can be attributed to that. There's a decisive shortage of diary foods in general: other than milk and tan (ayran), ice cream is spoken about but never shown (but at least it must be available), and kefir (widely spread throughout Russia by early XX century) isn't even mentioned.

But those are all foods one can carry; even if not exactly a cornucopia, they got at least some representation. Cooked dishes, the foundation of Russian cuisine, did not, at all. "Schi and porridge are our food" is a Russian saying describing the commoner diet throughout history; but I don't think I've seen even mentions of any soup or porridge in the game. Vegetables might be lacking for a soup (although I imagine it's pretty easy to catch scurvy with a diet like this), but where there's bread, there must be grains, and where there are grains, there can be porridge - especially minding that there's a source of milk always available to make it tastier.

The fruit and berry variety is even stranger. There are raisins, lemons and coffee beans available, yet the Haruspex has never eatern nor even seen in person a strawberry or a raspberry, both widely cultivated in temperate climate - despite him having studied outside of the Town for years, and likely joining the Army for a while. From that alone, one can imagine that the Capital-based civilization must have a climate radically different from the Russian Empire; further supported by the fact that the railroad to the Town is called "the north-western" one. This could suggest a state somewhere south-east of the steppe zone, in the mediterranean clime maybe.

Finally, while there are as already mentioned coffee beans for the healers to chew raw (like a wild animal would), there is a remarkable absence of the quintessential Russian drink: tea. Neither in compressed bricks, which one would expect in the steppe, and which would be the right thing to bite into, nor as the beautiful brew. Minding that a fancy samovar was a common way of showing prosperity at the beginning of the XX century for the lower classes, the absence of these is also telling. Lack of tea in historical Russia was a sure sign of utter societal collapse, only seen in the worst days of the Revolution - and even then people drank hot water from cups, even if there was nothing to brew with it.

Furthermore, drinking tea necessiates having sweets and confections, and there are noticeably few of these, too. As mentioned, ice cream can be found (in the dialogs), Murky says Sticky made her some candy, and Fellow Traveller calls the coupons he sells "candy wrappers", but that's about it - it would be nearly impossible for a Russian to properly drink tea in the Town to begin with!

I think this factor settles the original question decisively: a Town in which no one drinks tea ten times a day cannot possibly be a part of anything resembling the Russian Empire.

#pathologic #мор утопия

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darkesttimelinestuff · 6 months

Text

"Come with me, hurry."

Day 17 of Fictober brings us the cooler Scully brother.

Prompt #13 - "Come with me, hurry."

Find the rest of my stuff here

As family dinners with the Scullys go, tonight’s was pretty easy. Maggie had it catered, Mulder had really hit it off with Charlie and his partner, and Bill was away at sea.

Easy.

The family gathered in the living room after dinner, satiated and happy, passing too many wine bottles around, chatting carefree. Scully pressed firmly into Mulder’s side and things felt right. He was no longer a wanted man. His family was, once again, growing.

“We need another embarrassing Scully children story!” said Charlie’s partner, Rob.

“Maybe one about Bill,” Charlie suggested. “Since he’s not here to defend himself.”

“Oh my goodness,” Maggie laughed, “One time, when Bill Jr. was about 3, he went out with Dad. I forget where they went, but… oh, geez I feel terrible telling this story, since he isn’t here.”

“Come on, Mom!” Scully encouraged.

“Okay, okay! So Bill and dad were out, and it must have been a preschool function. Bill and Dad went to the bathroom and when they came back out, Bill shouted to everyone, all the kids and parents there, ‘Hey guys, guess what! My dad peed in the sink!’”

A raucous laughter erupted in the room.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“Bill had never seen a urinal before!” Maggie explained through laughing tears. “And that’s how he described it to the other kids.” She took a breath and composed herself. “Well, Dad was so embarrassed that he took Bill and left immediately. Never did a school function again until Bill was in middle school and we were several states away!”

“That is the best story I’ve ever heard!” Mulder declared.

Scully leaned in, whispered, "Come with me, hurry," clutching his arm and leading him into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong, Scully?” Mulder asked.

She stood close, rubbing herself on him. “Nothing…” she replied. “I just… I miss your body.”

Mulder stepped back a fraction of an inch. She felt amazing and that was a problem with her mom and brother within hearing distance. Neither one of them was quiet during sex.

“Maybe we can go upstairs,” he whispered in her ear, against his better judgment.

“Mulder,” she purred into his neck. “I like the way you think.”

“Guest room?”

They rushed up the stairs, laughter echoing below.

Safely enclosed in the guest room, they were all hands and mouths and tanged tongues. Mulder rubbed between Scully’s legs until her knees gave out, then guided her to the bed. She rubbed his cock through his pants until it ached and he had to set it free. She lay on the bed and he hitched up her skirt, hid under like a secret fort blanket, kissed her through her soaking undies until she shuddered and then relaxed.

“One more time,” Mulder said, stroking his throbbing member. He slipped her panties to the side this time, his tongue working her crevices diligently.

Just as Scully began to arch off the bed, as she bit her hand to stifle a groan, the door burst open.

“I knew it!” Charlie exclaimed and shut the door.

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theminecraftbee · 1 year

Text

2ND-5 LOG 0010

Back when I uh - in some hives, they uh, have sayings about beauty, and about function, and I used to listen to those. Things that are functional should be beautiful; things that are beautiful are often in their most functional form. Of course, that'd work better if we could use hexagons, not blocks, but, uh, we've got blocks, so some shapes are...

Uh.

So this is to say that today, I tried to build a windmill.

I've been doing a lot of things lately and it, uh, it paid off! I can now, uh, safely start building machines. Currently I'm crushing tuff; it's the only way I've found to get zinc. To uh. Get zinc... really... really slowly, but uh. It does provide zinc! It does that.

It's not the only thing - I got bad about logging big things. I got magic pots? Uh. Hm. That's phrased - they are magic pots though. I can grow plants I can't even grow with bonemeal in them. They're, uh, handy. For... spore blossoms. And also crops. I don't, uh, have to worry about crops anymore, although the villagers - I don't really want to stop their jobs? They're doing alright. But I get bread from vaults and carrots from a pot now though so I guess I just...

Apples. Uh, I still, from them - apples, I haven't figured out how to... Although, with the saw...

I'll think about it.

And magic torches. I got - they're expensive torches, but when I build them, I can prevent mobs from appearing in whole large areas, light or not! But, uh - I think I broke my mob farm? I have better mob farm tools now anyway, but... Maybe I'll put in real torches, in the new platform I built for making machines on.

I was never - I like machines. I tried to design a squid farm earlier. It didn't work. I also made it out of pumpkins, so it's ugly, so it like, super didn't work. And, uh. Building. I don't... I like exploring. I like what I'm doing. But sometimes I feel like I'm... even for someone borrowing the body I'm using, I'm clumsy. I've always been clumsy. It's always felt like my hands are too big for my eyes, like my arms are too big for my body. I've never been able to... let alone well enough to build.

Things that are beautiful work better. That's a saying in the swarm. Things that are functional are beautiful. That's a saying, too.

I tried to build a windmill today, and it's really ugly.

I, uh...

I try to be nice to myself? I do. I built the temple. The temple is almost done now! I have a totem to each god, now. I don't know if it'll do anything, but, uh... The temple looks nice. It's practically the only thing on the island that does, but...

I try to be nice. Some things, uh, will always be ugly.

I think windmills are one of those things that are supposed to work best when they're beautiful, though, or maybe be beautiful because they work well? Symmetry, and sails, and the wind powering the world. It's windy up here. The windmill was expensive to put together, but it's windy, and I thought...

My windmill is very ugly, though. It's made out of grey wool and it makes me think of a hurricane, except those are almost beautiful too, and this is ugly.

It uh...

Ugly as, uh - ugly as a bear, really, but. It works. It works fine. It works so fine I think later I will try to use it to build a cobblestone generator, and use that to also store sand and gravel. I don't have to worry about those anymore! And, uh, after that, maybe build a copper farm, and after that, I may try to make a steam engine that will power a tree farm, and not have to worry about cutting logs myself again, either, and...

It's funny how much I work to not have to do things myself. But I've always been clumsy. It's easy to tell, looking at the windmill.

Whatever. It doesn't have to be pretty. It works.

[ATTACHED: 2ND-5, wearing the create armor, standing in front of their first contraption. the largest item in the background is an awkward shape made of grey wool, which must be the windmill. A crushing wheel device can also be seen.]

#vh logs #sona stuff #vh talk #...been a little bit since i did one of these updates!#anyway i hope you enjoy my World's Ugliest Windmill #the important thing is that it works!#and that it's like. ALMOST windmill shaped?#like. vaguely the idea of a windmill?#it was originally slightly more windmill shaped but i still had like a stack of wool left to reach max capacity and i was like #welp time to start making new shapes up #and then everything fell apart #IT IS NOT A GIANT SQUARE.

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stargazer-sims · 1 year

Text

Eden: I’m so glad this day is nearly over.

Nikolai: It’s been an eventful day for you.

Eden: For all of us. You showed up, and Charlie literally landed his dream job, and I don’t have to worry about Mr. Nishijima any more. That’s like, a lot of stuff to have emotions about all in the same day.

Nikolai: I guess it’s no surprise you’re so tired, then.

Eden: What about you? You must be exhausted from travelling and then everything that happened at the rink.

Nikolai: I’ll be all right. What happened at the rink wasn’t great, but I think it was harder on you than it was on me. I wish it’d gone better, but I’d say we did okay in the circumstances.

Eden: Are you really gonna try to meet with Mr. Nishijima again?

Nikolai: I need to. I have to catch up and find out what went wrong at your first competition this season, so we can get you ready for the next one.

Eden: Okay, but I don’t like the idea of you having to be around him at all.

Nikolai: I’m not thrilled by the idea myself, but it’ll be fine. I can hold my own.

Eden: I know. I just wish you didn’t have to. You wouldn’t have to if it weren’t for me.

Nikolai: We're not assigning blame, remember? We're acknowledging what happened, and we're only looking forward from today.

Eden: I like that. It's positive.

Nikolai: We thrive on positivity.

Eden: We do.

Nikolai: I'm very proud of you, Eden. I know you were scared to talk to Mr. Nishijima, but you showed a lot of maturity and you handled it like a pro.

Eden: But... I cried. Like, how mature and professional is that? I don't know if I've ever cried as much as I have today. It's kinda embarrassing.

Nikolai: It's okay. Crying when you're scared doesn't make you any less mature or professional. You handled it a lot better than I did, honestly.

Eden: I don't know. I think you held it together pretty well for how you were feeling. I could tell you were mad. Did you like, secretly want to grab him and shake him?

Nikolai: *laughing* I’ll bet you wouldn’t be the least bit shocked if I told you I did. It's kind of uncanny, how well we know each other.

Eden: Yeah, but in a cool way. I like that you know me so well. The only person in the world who knows me better than you do is Charlie.

Nikolai: I’d say the same about Natascha. She’s the only one who knows me better than you do.

Eden: Must be a twin thing, ‘cause sometimes our sister doesn’t get me and Charlie at all.

Nikolai: Natascha and I don’t have any other siblings, so I don’t know.

Eden: Is it difficult, being away from her? Your twin?

Nikolai: It Is, but we’re used to being apart at this point in our lives. We’ve both followed our own paths, and they didn’t always take us in the same direction.

Eden: Oh.

Nikolai: You and Charlie have never been apart, have you?

Eden: Never for more than a few days or a week at a time. What am I going to do when he goes on tour with the band?

Nikolai: I wish I could tell you there’s an easy answer to that question. It’ll be a challenge, but you’ll get through it. I’ll be here with you, so you won’t be alone, and you’ll still be able to call and text Charlie every day.

Eden: It won’t be the same.

Nikolai: No, it won’t, but you’re starting to learn that life is full of change, aren’t you? And the more life experience you get, you’re going to learn that change isn’t always a bad thing.

Eden: But, what if I don’t want things to change?

Nikolai: It’s inevitable. You can’t stop it. Don’t worry, though. Everything’s not going to change, and the changes that do happen aren’t going to happen all at once.

Eden: Kolya, why does growing up have to be so hard?

Nikolai: Because we wouldn’t learn anything if it was too easy.

Eden: *sighing* I guess.

Nikolai: Know what I think?

Eden: What?

Nikolai: I think you’re doing a good job of growing up so far, and I also think you don’t need to have it all figured out tonight. Why don’t you rest, and if you still want to talk, we can talk about something else?

Eden: Like what?

Nikolai: Anything you want.

Eden: Can you tell me a story instead? Or just talk about whatever, so I can listen? I missed hearing your voice and being close to you.

Nikolai: Me too.

Eden: You know, that’s one thing I don’t mind about growing up. Nobody loses their mind and starts accusing grownups of bad stuff when they decide they want to be close. It’s… *yawning*

Nikolai: *smiling* I think your light is fading for the day, my sunshine. Go to sleep now, okay? I’ll come up with something to talk about until you fall asleep.

Eden: Tell me about your trip. Did it feel like an adventure? Or did it just feel like you’d be on planes forever and you’d never get here? I wanna know all about it.

Nikolai: I did feel like I was going to be on planes forever, but you know what it felt like the most? You know that feeling you get when you’ve misplaced something important to you, and you search and search for it, and just at the point where you’re about to give up hope of ever finding it again, there it is? Finally getting here and stepping into that rink today and seeing you on the ice… that’s what it felt like. Like… seeing the sun come out after weeks of steady rain.

#ts4 #sims 4 #eagames #snowy escape #sugar valentine #Eden Seong #Nikolai Pavlenko #wearesugarvalentine #stargazersims

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moonydasaltychild · 1 year

Text

The end of the green ninja

Chapter 8 Aftermath of the change

One by one the ninja got up a while after the blast having to accept their defeat in losing Lloyd “He really seems to like blasting us away from him and running away right after.” Jay made his way over to Cole helping him up as Cole had his hand over the wound “Easy for you to say, you didn’t get headbutted with horns.” Zane was gathering some parts that fell off of Echo from the blast to help reattach it “Harumi has also escaped, this could spell trouble for us.” The nindroid noticed that they couldn’t locate Harumi when scanning the area “I just hope that Harumi hasn’t found Lloyd and got him to join her.” Kai hoped but deep down there was some doubt about what he said, Nya added “This definitely doesn’t look good at all.” They were all pretty down, normally they would have Lloyd there to give them an inspirational speech to not give up that they can do this together and that everything will be okay but Lloyd was not here to give that speech in fact they’ll never hear those heartwarming speeches again.

“So is there anything that can revert Lloyd back to normal?” Misako asked Garmadon again this time he was able to think properly, Morro seemed to have rolled his eyes as she spoke “There might be but like I said earlier not many have attempted a transformation so finding a cure is rare.” He thought it over and in came Pixel who was sent to the temple to retrieve the book that was left behind she handed it over to him and he started looking through the pages stopping at one to point at the written text “This seems to be one, we should test it first.” He handed the book over to Wu so he could read the page Garmadon was to be the test subject with a deep breath Wu carefully read over the page and once finished reading it nothing happened “Maybe it hasn’t taken affect yet, same thing happened to Lloyd.” Nya said boosting their hopes up a little but as some time went by nothing happened “Nothing. As I thought.” Garmadon closed the book and tossed it aside “Aren’t you an archeologist? You must know at least something that can change him back, you didn’t just abandon him for nothing.” Morro glared at Misako waiting for an answer, during his time possessing Lloyd he was able to look through his memories and saw on how Misako abandoned Lloyd that didn’t sit right with Morro and it made him understand the bottled anger he felt in Lloyd after being revived and talking about it with him Morro now kind of shares the same anger Lloyd feels towards his mother.

A call was coming through from the monitor they had in the monastery which ended the growing tension as that caught their attention Zane went to answer the call “Hello ninja.” Cyrus had been the one calling he looked nervous “Cyrus, what have you called us for?” Zane appeared to be the only one willing to hold a conversation “Is that uhm...Garmadon with you?” He pointed at Garmadon from his screen “I am no longer a threat if that’s what your concerned about.” He responded “No no, I wasn’t going to ask about that. I guess that explains that.” Cyrus muttered the last part which caught their attention “What do you mean by 'that explains that'?” Wu questioned and Cyrus can be heard making a deep inhale and exhale “Well since Garmadon left the sons of Garmadon have went in hiding in that tower of theirs just a few minutes ago they were seen escorting Harumi and what I assume to be...Lloyd.” Looks like she really did get him to join “May I ask exactly what has happened? All of Ninjago city has been left in the dark after the broadcasting of Lloyd’s outburst and I’m afraid we are going to have to tell them.” He glanced at everyone before finally an explanation was given which made him have the same reaction the others had “That is all I need to tell you, I have to keep this call short or else they’ll track my signal. Goodbye everyone, I wish you all luck with your mission.” The call ended.

“Attention everyone!” Harumi called to get the bikers attention on her “As you all know, Garmadon has stepped down leaving us with no one to lead us but that’s where things change. You all remember that fiasco from a few days ago? Well after being dragged along I was able to find us someone new and perhaps someone better. Everyone. Kneel before your new ruler, Lloyd Garmadon!” She stepped aside to make way for Lloyd, the bikers were all shocked to see him the way he was no one was expecting it and with that they all kneeled. “First order of business. Raid every museum in Ninjago city, only bring back artifacts of Oni. Understand? Now go!” He ordered and like that the bikers all ran out to their motorcycles to go out after that Lloyd went up to where the throne was taking a seat to look out seeing the bikers riding all over the city to museums that would contain what he wants “Might I ask exactly why you need those artifacts?” Harumi brought up and he just smirked without changing his gaze on the city “It’s simple really. With all the Oni artifacts I can find what I need next for my plan to perfection, an Oni army.”

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #cole brookstone #jay walker #kai smith #nya smith #lord garmadon #sensei wu #p.i.x.a.l #ninjago harumi #ninjago misako #ninjago morro #ninjago fanfiction #end of the green ninja

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tarlos-spain · 2 years

Text

You smell like love

OK, @tarlosweeklyprompts, you gave this a prompt and I use it. Sorry, I changed the time becuase I write in the past.

Prompt #2: (The following paragraph must be used in the fic) TK wipes the sweat from his brow as he looks around the field and listens. He’s sure he heard something, a voice, but with how long he had been working out in the field it could have just been his imagination. He turns back to his work and is ready to push the thought from his mind when he hears it again. This time louder and more close.

“Help!”

Adknoledgements: Thank you as usual to my beautiful people, @lire-casander my beta for ideas, @chaotictarlos this is a great cover you did for me and to prompts you give us everyweek and @morganaspendragonss that beta that always help me to improve my English

Chapter 07:

The two weeks that TK had to be in the hospital passed without any scares, the knee healed without any problems and the shoulder was doing quite well. Although he was desperate to go home, he felt more at ease knowing that he was having daily ultrasounds and could see the twins every day.

The babies were doing well, growing as they should, although one was a little smaller than the other. They didn't notice it, they looked the same, two creatures that still didn't look human with a huge head and something like little arms, plus that tail that the doctor said they would lose as they grew.

One had been named Eggs and the other turtle, there was still time to know the sex of the babies, but they wanted to be able to give them a name.

The night before he was discharged, Carlos stayed up talking to him until the nurses told them it was time to go to bed.

"Tomorrow you will no longer be our patient, but until then you need to rest." He was told by Lucy the nurse who had just arrived from New York with whom TK had talked about his favorite places in their hometown. "And you Carlos, starting tomorrow it's going to be your turn to take care of our boy, because I want to see him back around here until it's time to deliver these two babies."

However, since neither of them were sleepy, they continued talking for a while longer until TK fell asleep. "Have you thought of names for the babies?" TK asked.

"Something tells me you have." Carlos smiled and gave TK a kiss on the cheek.

"I don't want to make any demands, but I had thought...I can't get it out of my head that if we have a girl..."

"Let me guess, if it's a girl, you don't know how to tell me you want you want to name her Gwyneth."

"It was pretty easy wasn't it?"

Carlos shrugged and smiled. "I know you and I knew your mother, it would be great if our daughter had her name, that will have her always protected.What if it's a boy? Or two girls?"

"Your grandfather's name was Daniel right?"

"Ty...no need...you never met him."

"But with everything you've told me about him, it's like I knew him and I think being named after him would also have our child protected. If it's two girls, I'd like it to be Luna."

"Luna." Carlos repeated and smiled. "I love it." He rested his head on TK's belly, he wasn't going to hear anything, but he liked to try every day so that when it was time for him to really notice something, he would be the first, along with TK.

The drive home took longer and slower than TK expected and he didn't understand why until he realized until he noticed that the speed Carlso was driving at was well below normal.

"Do you think something bad is going to happen to the twins because of some pothole in the roadway?"

"I don't think anything but you just spent two weeks in the hospital after falling, pregnant, from a second floor. You're lucky your knee and shoulder healed so quickly and smoothly. I don't want to risk it."

TK rested his hand on his boyfriend's leg and waited for him to turn toward him as he stopped at a traffic light. "I'm fine, the babies are fine and I did a stupid thing in that building, but it won't happen again I promise. Can you drive at a normal speed? I want to get home as soon as possible."

Carlos wasn't aware of it and TK didn't say anything to him. But he was realizing that his boyfriend was becoming more protective than he already was of him. He was picking up only daytime schedules, because he knew there was always someone with TK, evenings were no longer worked, because he had to be home with him to prepare dinner and a hearty but healthy breakfast the next day because TK had to take care of himself.

If that wasn't enough, when his mother or Owen couldn't stop by the loft to eat with TK or when his boyfriend didn't eat at the barracks, Carlos would make a request from the station to send him something.

Keep reading on AO3

#tarlosweeklyprompts #tarlos #lonestar #911 #9 1 1 lone star #9-1-1 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #omegaverse #a/b/o verse #a/b/o fanfic #mpreg #Mpreg TK #hurt TK #Alpha Carlos #Omega TK

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poolpartymusic · 6 months

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been a while, forgot old e-mail

I think the last blog I made was 'dutchkidhuffingballons.tumblr.com', the name inspired by the Sam Fender song. I'm pretty sure I stopped writing when I got into my first relationship.

Turns out a relationship(or at leas this one) made me vent to an actual human and turn away from my diary-type blogs for once. Now, three years down the line, I'm still dating this beautiful man. I'm no longer in the honeymoon phase (although at times it does feel like I'm right back in it again), and for the past year/year and a half I've been trying to find my groove back.

It's different. Living and trying to do your own thing while simultaneously spending so much time with such a sweet man. It's easy to let time fly by and forget about my old hobbies. I don't draw as much anymore, I don't see as many friends any more. I also think that's just part of growing up, but I do want to find myself back still.

It's so much easier to journal through my computer than it is writing in my diary, which actually is quite a shame. I don't know why, but words come to me much easier like this.

Anyway, it's been a while. I forgot my e-mail to my old tumblr account. Decided I might as well make my tenth-thousandth blog.

I think I just want to journal about what changes I go through as a person, what thoughts I have and what struggles I must combat. Maybe this will be the last post I ever post on here. Who knows...

Today is the 17th of October 2023. I'm 23. I live in Utrecht, across from my boyfriend in the same apartment complex. Summer is officially over, it's pretty chilly out but today at least the sky is bright blue.

I'm in my third year at college, meaning I'm following a minor ICT at HU. Pro: It's only a 5 minute walk to school, and I only have in-person classes two days a week. I've learned quite some programming in Python and I think I'm pretty okay at it. Con: The business part of the minor is the main part, and I tend to find it a little less interesting. I don't feel very motivated for it.

I've realized that now, for maybe the first time ever, I don't really have a solid friend group anymore. Of course I have loose friends that I feel close to, but a month or two ago I stepped out of my High School friend group because it was no longer a fulfilling friendship for me. They never really reached out to me and I tried to see them whenever I was in my home town, but it was never that meaningful. I do miss it, but I do think it's good I put some distance between us.

My college friends from my film studies don't feel as close to me as they once did. Every time we hang out, they talk about their work and business related things. Interesting, but it does put some distance between us. I miss them, but most of them are always busy. I guess I feel like they don't really have time for me. And I don't blame them, because I haven't been the most active friend to them either.

I miss having a solid friend group...

Okay, well. I think that's good for now. If anyone other than myself ever comes across this blog (which I doubt): hello, welcome. Feel free to read my diary. I'll try to stay anonymous and I'll appreciate it if you'll let me. From experience I know that this isn't going to be that interesting to myself in a few years, let alone for someone who doesn't even know me. But hey, I hope you're okay.

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0thsense · 1 year

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20 12 2022

wow it has been a while since I last posted. i dont remember the pet names i gave people anymore, so ill just have to use new ones. so yea things havent been going very well. after all these years im still unable to do work, so i cant really hope for anything in life. id like to say im seriously considering an heroing but im probably objectively still far from that point. its almost like i wish i was actually considering an heroing because that means ive already hit the bottom and dont need to worry about feeling even worse than i do now. looking back, its hard to see all the factors that led me here, but i guess i can share a couple things i experienced recently. im still not sure whether to write this as if anyone except myself will ever read it, so idk if "sharing" makes sense. anyways, benny visited recently, and shared how after breaking up with his long-term girlfriend of 3 years, he had a "wayward" phase where he just fucked hella girls basically. and he felt super bad about it because hes a pretty devout christian. i understand why he shared it to me because im in a unique position of understanding christianity with my christian background but not actually christian so he wont just get judged extremely hard by the church. despite that, it still kind of felt like a brag to me, and a little insensitive since im a fucking virgin, which idk if ive told him explicitly but he surely must have considered the possibility. its unfortunate because i consider benny to overall be a really good and understanding person. of course i didnt tell him any of this and just took it as he shared for hours about his conquests and his inner conflicts from just having easy access to sex, oh woe is him right. i told him to just never meet girls like me, maybe he got the message after that. more importantly i had a dream, let me try to remember the details precisely. i was in a clubhouse of some sorts (maybe for pingpong?) that was pretty packed with people, it started small but slowly grew since i guess i love fantasizing in my dreams that my presence helps communities grow. one day we were celebrating something, maybe a member's birthday or something, and i was hanging out with one of the newer members jessica towards the back. I forget what we were talking about but it segued into her starting to whisper to me something like, "you know, I might not have made it to this clubhouse ... I was very close to killing myself the week I first came here". by the tone of her voice and her expression, she was clearly being extremely vulnerable and entrusting to me. my first instinct was to say meekly (in my usual style), "well im glad you're here now" or something like that, and then the dream abruptly ended. I realized after I woke up how utterly pathetic that was. I was so concerned with how my response would appear to her, I was only concerned with staying in her good graces. In the past I was not so concerned over my appearances to this pathetic of a level. If I was thinking about her instead, I would have let her know that she did not have to worry anymore, that she should never have to experience that misery again, and I would make sure of it. I really wish I can say that and mean it one day. I'm of the opinion that the most useful individual definition of reality is simply one's experiences. In that sense dreams are real until you wake up and realize you've been dreaming. That's why I never want to lucid dream again, at that point it's as real as simply fantasizing during the day when you know you are fantasizing. Dreams are precious because they are the only way you really experience dreamlike scenarios, and in today's one I fell gravely short. I'm sorry jessica. I have some other things I want to write but I think I will save those for another day, with the usual disclaimer theres a 50% chance this is my last post ever.

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