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janaem · 13 days

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Let Me Rule You

Jareth x f.reader

This is chapter 1 Synopsis: She never imagined that she would once again be drawn into the enchanting world of fictional characters, a place she had not ventured into for many years. However, on a warm summer Saturday night, everything changed as she found herself captivated by the enigmatic goblin king, Jareth, while watching the mesmerizing film "Labyrinth." Word count: 5.4k (20 pages)Warnings for this chapter: swearing and arguments Key: Y/n= your name | L/n= last name | M/n= mom name | d/n= dog name For visual purposes, here is the house you are living in. Author note: It's sure been a while since I wrote something as long as this. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter as much as I did! I don't intend for this to be a slow burn, but I'm sure not rushing to the climax either. Things will definitely start to progress in the chapters to come at a reasonable pace since I'm aiming for this to be only a few chapters. I will also be publishing this on ao3 and wattpad:)

The dusk was calm, and the only movements were the swaying of the trees in the warm midsummer breeze. The dark green leaves of the trees fell sporadically on the fresh pavement street of Evansville. It is a typical upper-middle-class suburb located on the outskirts of the great city, beyond its beautiful lake. During the summer, Evansville is usually bustling with life. Kids can be seen racing on their scooters while their parents watch from the front lawn of their craftsman and single-family-style homes. Teenagers speed down Sherhigh Avenue by the Lakefront with their windows rolled down, blasting music and singing the lyrics. The beaches are always full from morning till nearly midnight.

Nestled close to the tranquil lakefront was Nordstin Street, which exuded an air of a close community feel. From afternoon till night, the neighborhood was painted with playful children and their parents' laughter on their lawns, the jingle of ice cream trucks, and frequent splashes from small backyard pools.

But once dusk faded away, it was different. The winds picked up abruptly around four thirty and leaves started dancing in a choreographed frenzy while flower petals broke free from their delicate confines. The windows of these sturdy homes rattled, adding a discordant note to the chaos. The tides of the lake were more than violent, threatening to engulf anything in their path. The crashing waves against the cluster of boulders are reminiscent of clashing symbols.

In the heart of Nordstin, a grand single-family home exudes warmth and elegance. The gray fiber cement exterior, adorned with white accents, perfectly complements the intricately decorated gray brick roof. The beautiful porch is a work of art, supported by sturdy white stone pillars, making it both practical and stunning.

In the vast living room downstairs, an eighteen-year-old, Y/n, lounged on the cream sectional sofa, surrounded by plush beige pillows of varying textures. With one pillow snug against her torso, she tuned into the news forecast, her gaze fixed on the screen as she observed the latest updates.

The male news reporter's voice filled the room, his words a solemn warning. "The winds are blowing at 26 miles per hour," he announced, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. "It's best to stay home if you don't need to be outside, especially away from water."

Suddenly, a harsh voice from the kitchen shatters the tranquility, disrupting Y/n's peace of mind.

Y/n’s mother, m/n, walked urgently from the kitchen and halted at the entrance of the living room, wearing an unpleasant expression. She holds a meticulously cleaned empty Tupperware container in her left hand.

“Y/n, did you eat the last of the lasagna?” She asked, shaking the container so it was brought to Y/n’s attention.

Y/n looked over at her displeased mother and replied dryly, "Yeah."

Her mother gives her a repulsed look, “Why? What makes you think it’s okay to eat up everything in this house and not leave anything left for anyone?”

Y/n gave her a look of offense, sitting up from her leisure posture, her voice remained level, “Those were the only leftovers I ate. And you told me that I could help myself to whatever I wanted today.”

“That doesn’t mean you eat a whole thing of lasagna, Y/n. You can’t always think about yourself!”

“It wasn’t even half of a container mom, relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax. I know what was in there.”

“Can you please stop yelling?”

“I’m not yelling! This is how I talk.”

Already feeling fatigued from the ongoing conversation, Y/n released a small, exhausted sigh, grabbed the remote, and switched from the news channel in search of something else to ease her mind.

However, the fuming woman continued, “You could’ve called me asking if you could save me some because that is a lot for one person.”

“It wasn’t.” Y/n had completely given up.

“Okay, Y/n,” m/n scoffed, walking back into the kitchen, “This is ridiculous, you think about nobody else but yourself. Your dad and I are already paying for your college, and the least you can do is not act selfish all the time!”

Y/n turned up the volume of the television, finally finding a show that piqued her interest. Unfortunately, she could still hear the immature mutters of her mother’s complaints.

“It’s all about Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…never thinking about anyone else…that’s sad…this is ridiculous!...eat something healthy…never seen anything like it…eighteen years old…”

“So fucking extra,” Y/n huffed, turning down the volume of the television. She throws the pillow from where it landed with the other pile of pillows on the couch and walks up to her room, considering watching a movie there instead. Maybe she’ll Facetime her friend to vent about how unbearable her mom was acting again.

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n and her mother to engage in disputes, which seemed to arise almost daily, creating an atmosphere of constant tension. By now, Y/n was used to it, maintaining a more composed demeanor. However, there are times when she'll mirror or even exceed her mother's outbursts. Their relationship wasn't entirely negative, but it was far from fulfilling. As for her father, Y/n's connection with him was characterized by neutrality with a more manageable dynamic. He was currently on a trip with her uncle and a few friends at Turks & Caicos and won’t be back for another five days.

Y/n walked into her room, paying no attention to the insistent buzzing of her phone on her eider white desk. She sank into her plush queen-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of pillows and stuffed animals, and disappeared under the soft covers, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

She didn't want to get too hot under the covers in her oversized hoodie, so she shifted to a more upright position, reached under a nearby pillow, retrieved the remote, and switched on the television. The clock on the top right-hand corner of the starting page displayed 9:45 pm. She then clicked on one of the streaming apps and started browsing through the movies, uncertain of her current mood.

Y/n, with a deep appreciation for classic films, gravitated towards the 80s-90s subcategory. The screen was filled with a vibrant array of movie covers competing for her attention. As she scrolled through the seemingly endless list of movies, Y/n's eyes eagerly scanned the colorful and nostalgic offerings.

She scrolled through rows and rows of movies of all kinds, eventually getting bored and heading over to the sidebar for a better selection. There, subcategories of the 80s and 90s movies appeared: Action, Romance, Documentary, thriller…

Fantasy.

It has been a while since Y/n watched any fantasy-related films, especially older ones with effects that she found to be somewhat uncoordinated and eerie. However, curiosity got the best of her, so she clicked on it, and a series of other subcategories dropped down: Animation, Fairy Tale, Steampunk, Vampires...

Cult films.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at the name, “Cult?” she whispered as if she was sounding it out for the first time.

As she clicked on the remote, a rush of warmth and excitement filled her chest. Her eyes eagerly scanned the screen, searching for a familiar movie. Despite having watched The Neverending Story countless times, she scrolled past it along with other movies like The Dark Crystal, Short Circuit, Big Trouble in Little China, and The Goonies.

Yet, an inexplicable urge drove her to keep searching. After a few more minutes, she suddenly paused, as if an unseen force prevented her thumb from clicking the arrow button, and her gaze settled on a movie she had never come across before.

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth.

Y/n felt an overwhelming and unexplainable sensation coursing through her body as she gazed at the movie cover and its title. It seemed to evoke a powerful wave of nostalgia, captivating her as she fixed her eyes on the glowing screen.

She clicked on the movie, reading its summary.

“Sixteen-year-old Sarah is given thirteen hours to solve a labyrinth and rescue her baby brother Toby when her wish for him to be taken away is granted by the Goblin King Jareth.”

“Poor girl,” Y/n commented as she pressed play, where the credits roll while a white barn owl flies around. Her dog, D/n, shoved the door open with their nose and climbed into bed with her, lying at her legs.

Y/n was captivated by the film's cinematic elements and grainy aesthetic. In particular, she found the character Sarah Williams, to be incredibly gorgeous. Despite her beauty and gentle appearance, Y/n observed that Sarah's behavior didn't align, from her furious stomping into the house to her tendency to catastrophize minor inconveniences.

Y/n grimaced at the first appearance of the goblins, all jumbled up as they awoke from their slumber. Their raspy and grating voices matched their grotesque appearances. When they emerged in the bedroom after Sarah's brother went missing, they appeared in various parts of the room--- under the bedsheets, inside closets, behind the door. Sarah looked around frantically, unable to catch a break. Then, suddenly, the same white barn owl from the movie's beginning barges into the room through the balcony doors and lunges at Sarah. Startled, Sarah shields her eyes, and then a human shadow emerges at Sarah's feet.

The once barn owl had been mystically transformed into a human being. Y/n took in his lithe stature, which stood in a way that excluded flamboyance and regal confidence. His long, dark, and dramatic coat, adorned with intricate designs and embellishments, billowed in the wind as he made his captivating presence known on screen.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King."

The Goblin King tilts his head, offering Sarah a proud smirk. Y/n couldn't help but notice his untamed, tousled blond locks that framed his face, enhancing his unconventional and otherworldly allure.

"Sarah…go back to your room. Play with your toys and your costumes. Forget about the baby."

His voice flowed like honey, smooth and melodious. Y/n had heard that voice before, possessed by others, yet the Goblin King made it uniquely captivating with its rich, velvety timbre.

"I've brought you a gift."

"It's a crystal, nothing more."

The Goblin King outstretched his gloved hand, and a translucent ball appeared out of thin air. Y/n's eyebrows raised in awe as he effortlessly juggled it about his hands in a way she'd never seen before. It rolled from one hand to another, from his fingertips to the palm of his hand.

"But if you turn it this way and look into it, it'll show you your dreams."

As the film played, Y/n was entirely captivated by the intricate and fantastical journey unfolding before her. She couldn't help but admire Sarah's courageous interactions with the strange and repulsive creatures, except the adorable worm at the beginning. Fairies, goblins, and monsters filled the screen, leaving Y/n in awe of the film's grungy artistry. She started taking a liking to Hoggle, although he is a coward, he truly cared for Sarah and her wellbeing, which is the type of friend that anyone could need in such desperate times. However, above all the characters Y/n found remarkable, the enigmatic Goblin King, Jareth, captured her attention every time he appeared.

The ballroom scene, in particular, mesmerized Y/n, watching as Jareth's intense yet affectionate gaze lingered on Sarah in a way that set Y/n's nerves ablaze, leaving her breathless. Amidst the dancing figures and smooth song, Y/n couldn't help but imagine herself in Sarah's place, enveloped in the lingering sensation of Jareth's possessive regard.

As she watched, a soft sigh escaped her parted lips, tinged with wistfulness. She pondered what it would be like to be looked upon with such desire in a crowded room, to be longed by someone you secretly desired, as you sought them out in the hopes of meeting their eyes again. She briefly fantasized about being in Sarah's place, feeling the electricity of Jareth's presence, drawing her closer every second.

Y/n's growing desires and anticipation danced amongst the sea of masked faces and whispered secrets. What would it feel like to be carefully handled the way Jareth did Sarah at that moment as she nearly lost herself in his eyes? She wondered this throughout the rest of the film, as the last scene with Jareth played on screen.

“Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave.”

A sickening sweet feeling aroused in the very heart of Y/n’s chest, causing her breath to abruptly become shallow as if it were her first time trying to breathe. Eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, she took in the lithe being presented on screen in front of her. Everything in her room surrounding her began to fall and fade away—all she could see was him.

“Yes,” she subconsciously whispered, “say yes.”

“You have no power over me.” Sarah’s voice rang triumphantly, as the goblin king gave in, taking the form in his owl self once again.

As the film came to a close and the end credits started rolling, Y/n sank further into her pillows and covers.

“I feel like there should’ve been more to the film,” she said to herself, “something’s missing. I’m not satisfied.”

D/n stirred in their sleep, not paying mind to a work y/n just said. The girl sighed, seizing the remote once more to watch something different.

That was until the door flew open and her moments of peace were shattered once again by the sharpness of m/n’s tone.

“Why didn’t you help me with dinner,” she questioned, “let alone, make dinner?”

“It’s too late for dinner,” Y/n replied, “plus I’m not hungry.”

“So, you disregard everyone else in the house after you ate two servings of lasagna?”

“I guess so.” Y/n deadpanned, refusing to fuel the fire with the rebuttal about the lasagna being enough for one person.

“Unbelievable,” M/n huffed, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room, “your room’s a mess.”

“Okay.” Y/n replied dismissively.

“No, I’m being serious, Y/n. You’re going to have a roommate in college and I sure hope you two get along through all this mess.” Her mother turned on the lights abruptly, waking up d/n and irritating Y/n.

“Mom, what the heck,” Y/n fumed, getting out of her bed, and rushing to the wall to turn off the lights, the room went dark once again, “It’s eleven o’clock!”

“I expect you to get up tomorrow and clean this room,” m/n declared, walking to the food frame, “I’m going to bed, and I want you to think about ways you can use your time more productively.”

Before y/n could fire back, M/n was already gone, shutting the lights of her room off.

The eighteen-year-old girl couldn't catch a break even before bedtime. M/n, while not overly strict, had this unspoken rule that Y/n should just think like her. It led to endless clashes between them, leaving Y/n feeling weighed down.

Talking to friends helped a bit, but the constant disagreements with M/n still felt like a heavy burden on Y/n's chest. Trying to find common ground with someone who seemed to see the world differently was tough, and Y/n knew there was little to do about it.

"It'll all be over in a few months," Y/n told herself while she returned to her bed, submerging into the covers once more, turning off the television, and falling into a deep sleep, searching for peace of mind.

It was well into the morning when Y/n woke up to the sound of a mourning dove, the clock just nearing 10:45 am. She knew her mother was already awake, perhaps reading a book and having breakfast in her room. She planned to say good morning to her later.

D/n, who was once at the foot of her bed, was now propped up, wagging their tail in excitement to see Y/n, who smiled as she melted into the dog’s soft and loving gaze as she ruffled their fur.

Y/n decided that this morning she would clean up her room and place all the unnecessary things in a giveaway bag. She immediately went downstairs, grabbed a garbage bag and a glass of water, and rushed back upstairs to get to work in her considerably well-kept room.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to; she was doing this so she wouldn’t be greeted by a nagging mother.

D/n remained on the bed, peering over at Y/n curiously as she continued. Y/n opened the cabinet of her desk and began rummaging through items she’d touched in recent months, setting aside everything except for one particular item. Tucked away at the back of the stacks of read novels and old workbooks rested a pristine bin.

She tossed the workbooks aside, intending to dispose of them, and placed the novels on top of her desk next to her computer, calendar, and another smaller stack of books. She then reached for the bin she hadn’t seen in over a few years. It was a simple clear plastic bin with a turquoise lid.

As she eagerly lifted the lid, a rush of nostalgia engulfed her senses. Beneath the lid lay a jumble of crumpled lined papers adorned with intricate drawings, stacked on top of older notebooks, comics, and mangas, which in turn rested upon other well-loved books from her middle school days. It was a veritable treasure trove of memories that Y/n found impossible to resist. Without hesitation, she reached for the first item on top - a character sheet.

Growing up, Y/n's love for storytelling and creativity knew no bounds. She had especially displayed a remarkable talent for crafting complex characters and their elaborate backstories. While progressing in her budding artistic skills, her true passion lay in building and immersing herself in fantastical worlds. She was engrossed in the worlds of anime, mangas, and fiction which surpassed the typical interests of children her age. Her mind was a treasure trove of knowledge, brimming with insights into various fandoms, literary works, and both contemporary and classic fantasy films.

“No way!” she chuckled, flipping through a notebook full of her drawings of characters she’d seen in anime along with anime characters she'd made up. Each page was adorned with meticulous side notes containing non-canon theories, potential romantic head-canons, and intricately woven backstories that she had crafted from her boundless imagination.

As Y/n spent the next twenty minutes soaring down memory lane, she felt a sinking in her chest, leaving her feeling empty and yearning for that same sense of creativity to ignite within her once again.

She continued sifting through the pile of memories until she reached the bottom, where she found a black velvet notebook with plain white pages. Upon picking it up, she discovered that it was empty. Feeling a bit disappointed, she placed all the objects back into the bin, carefully arranging them in the small compartment.

As she did so, she recalled the various stories she had created in the past - witches, vampires, fairies, and superheroes. She especially missed the sense of accomplishment she felt upon completing each small project, as well as the innocent crushes developed on fictional characters from specific scenes and fan fiction.

Y/n missed how she didn't have a care in the world between what was real and what was fake.

She got up and ascended the stairs once more with the garbage bin at hand and placed it at the bottom of the back door. She figured that once her father came back he’d drive it over to the Salvation Army warehouse. She walked into the kitchen welcomed by the blaring sound of the blender her mom was using to make a smoothie.

M/n stopped the blender and poured some of the smoothie into a glass cup, handing it to Y/n with a “Good morning sweetie.”

“Good morning, Mom,” Y/n replied, taking a small sip of the berry enriched smoothie, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, I slept fine,” M/n replied, unplugging the blender and setting it aside on the kitchen’s white valley granite countertop, “the bed feels empty without your dad in it.”

“I’m sure.” Y/n agreed leaning against the counter and taking another sip.

“Did you sleep alright?” M/n asked.

Y/n nodded.

“Good,” M/n noted, about to sip her smoothie once more; she then stopped, “Where’s D/n?”

“Upstairs,” Y/n replied.

“You should always take your dog out for a walk in the morning.” M/n inputted, setting her smoothie down.

“I know, but she was asleep and I was cleaning my room and disposing of things I didn’t need.”

“So, you were up this entire time and didn’t bother to walk your dog or make us any breakfast?”

Y/n studied her mother’s furrowed expression, not sure of what to say.

“Your room would have waited, Y/n. You need to start—”

“Mom, I don’t wanna hear it, it’s too early.” Y/n interrupted, feeling her boiling blood course through her veins.

M/n disregarded her daughter's advances, “It’s nearly noon, Y/n and we’ve barely eaten. I need you to start thinking and be able to multitask and take the initiative. What you’re doing right now won’t get you far in your career.”

Y/n had heard M/n repeat this thousands of times, using as many things to say back in previous times, Y/n was now worn out.

“Whatever.” She uttered making her way to the kitchen’s exit.

“Excuse me?” M/n’s tone was sharper now.

“Nothing, Mom.”

“Y/n, I tell you these things so you can become more mature. The behavior has gotten too far. You’re eighteen years old and it’s ridiculous the way you act at such a grown age. I constantly have to repeat myself—”

“Then don’t,” Y/n argued.

“Then give me a reason not to,” M/n fired back, “I’ve never seen your age treat her mother the way you do and act selfishly and dismissively.”

Y/n sighed, “This is so unnecessary. All of this over breakfast.”

“You belittle everything, Y/n. Grow up.”

“You can relax now.”

“Grow up.”

“Telling me to grow up won’t do anything.”

“What I’m saying, sweetie is that you–”

“Okay, mom. I get it. I’ll do better.” Y/n surrendered, not wanting to ignite the flame any further. She was already getting a sickening feeling in her stomach.

She exited the kitchen and rushed up the stairs and back into her room, shutting the door behind her. She set her smoothie down on her desk and paced her room feeling a lump forming in her throat.

“It’s like she always has to start a problem no matter what I do!” She hiccuped feeling her eyes sting with tears.

“Can’t she just let me live for once, God, for fucking once!”

Tears streamed down her face, hanging at her chin, she looked outside at the clear blue sky with the sun well overhead.

“Y/n! Walk your dog!” Her mother yelled from downstairs.

“Okay!” Y/n’s seething voice cracked, “shut up.” she muttered sniffling.

“Now!”

“Give me a minute!”

More tears started spilling down Y/n’s face. She sobbed and hiccuped quietly, continuing to look out her window, which was only a few feet away. Her heart was aching, and her throat was twisted in a knot of sorrow; her chest heaved with exhaustion. She started to cry harder after she attempted to swallow her tears; she knew M/n was going to notice her tear-stricken face.

Y/n grabbed her phone and trudged over to her bed and plopped down on her back, sighing in defeat. She figured that before she walked D/n she would at least distract herself from the pang of sorrow that knocked at her chest.

She opened her web browser and typed in “labyrinth 1986,” and thousands of search results appeared, including links to websites, articles, videos, and even books and comics.

The girl's eyes widened in disbelief as she clicked on the first image that showed the same book with a striking red cover that Sarah had been carrying at the park.

“No way, there’s an official novelization of the labyrinth,” she gasped as she further searched. To her surprise, there were comics and mangas as well.

The pain Y/n was feeling suddenly subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement as she eagerly read through the summaries and reviews for each comic, book, and archived piece available.

“Finally back in print and for the first time in hardcover is the novelization of LABYRINTH written by A.C.H. Smith and personally overseen by Jim Henson. This is the first in a series of novels from the Jim Henson Archives.”

“Labyrinth: Coronation is a 12-issue comic book series written by Simon Spurrier and illustrated by Daniel Bayliss, published by Archaia from 2018 to 2019. It is a prequel to the 1986 film Labyrinth that takes place in 18th-century Venice and tells the story of how Jareth became the Goblin King.”

“You’re lying” Y/n muttered, enticed by the various series of books presented before her, she clicked on the official novelization first, seeing that it was available in her local bookstore for $30, seeing that there was only one in stock, she made a reservation to pick it up today on her walk with D/n.

“I have to have it.” She said putting in her online payment, which had been successfully authorized.

Thank you for your purchase! The book you have requested will be available within 20 minutes. You have two days to pick it up.

“Oh, shit I gotta go.” Y/n gasped frantically getting out of her bed. She rushed to her closet and grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a simple scoop navy blue cami top, throwing on white socks. She grabbed her mini purse with her wallet inside and made her way down the stairs, D/n followed.

“I’m going to the library, D/n is coming with me,” Y/n said as she passed the living room where M/n sat on her computer.

“Okay. Take the car of course.” M/n replied in deep concentration on whatever was on screen.

Y/n unlatched the garage door, the sound of its metal creaking filling the air as she stepped inside. She slipped on her comfortable slides and made her way to her car, with D/n following closely behind her. The afternoon sun poured into the garage as she settled into the driver's seat, and D/n took their place in the passenger seat. Y/n rolled down the windows, feeling the warm summer breeze on her skin as she carefully reversed out of the garage and onto the driveway. She made her way down Nordstin Street, making a right onto Seems Street, she marveled at the vibrant activity around her, knowing that the lakefront was only a couple of streets away. It was nearly one o’clock, and the streets were alive with the energy of people going about their day.

It didn't take long before Y/n reached the library. Finding a snug parking spot near the entrance.

She turned to D/n, letting all the windows up, leaving the passenger’s side slightly cracked.

“I’ll be right back, the window will be cracked for you,” she said leaning in and giving her sweet dog a peck on the nose.

She quickly exited the car and walked up to the library and opened the dark wooden doors, where she paid no attention to her surroundings as she marched straight to the front desk, which was occupied by a lady cashier. They greeted each other warmly.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I purchased Jim Henson’s Labyrinth today.” She spoke clearly.

As the lady behind the counter heard Y/n's request, she paused, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she searched for the book. With a few swift clicks to confirm the order, she leaned down and carefully retrieved the treasure Y/n had sought. The rich, crimson book with the elegant golden title "Labyrinth" embossed on its cover was presented before the younger girl, its allure captivating her gaze.

“You’re all set Miss L/n, have a good day!” She chirped sweetly.

“You too!” Y/n returned as she made her way to the front door, her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation as she made her way back to the car. Luckily, there was a park just across the street from the library.

Y/n opened the car door and let D/n out, the leash making a jingling sound as the dog shook its fur. Y/n shut the door and grabbed hold of the leash, holding the book in another hand and the two made their way to Gillson Park.

Gillson Park was one of the more popular parks in Evansville because it was known for its stunning natural landscapes that are cherished by both locals and visitors alike. Characterized by lush greenery, serene ponds reflecting the sky, and winding walking trails on steep hills. Tall trees provide a cool respite from the summer sun, while colorful blossoms add vibrancy to the surroundings. Many may describe it as a meadow away from the bustling suburban life.

Y/n found a nice bench by an open field, letting D/n’s leash to wander about the grass and flowers. She propped herself so that she was lying across the bench comfortably, her elbow resting on the arms of the bench. She opened the first page and began to embark on her reading journey.

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child you have stolen.” She read aloud, attempting to capture the determination in Sarah’s voice, she chuckled to herself.

“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great…”

An Owl glided over the sky unnoticed as it emerged amongst Gillson Park. A creature of pure elegance in the backdrop of the midday scenery. His plumage, a pristine canvas of a bold white, seems to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun like a cascade of fire woven into feathers. He settled on a branch of the tree that was hovered over Y/n, as she continued to focus on the compelling words in the book.

His large, dark eyes were fixed on her as she sat with rapt concentration. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes moved swiftly across the crisp, white pages. Her hands were holding the book motionless on the crimson red cover as if she was hesitant to disturb the stillness of the moment.

The Owl’s trance was interrupted by the barking of D/n, his heart shaped head turned to the direction of the galloping dog making its way to Y/n, who looked up from her book, set it on her lap, and petted D/n softly.

“This is a good book so far, D/n,” she said with a smile, “I appreciate its detail.” she leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur, smothering her pet with the love and affection they deserved.

Unbeknownst to them, the owl had been silently observing Y/n's every move from the highest branch of the nearby tree. Y/n shut the book and got up from the bench to grab D/n's leash. As Y/n closed the book and rose from the bench, the owl maintained its vigilant watch, its piercing eyes following their every step. Y/n secured D/n's leash, and the two began their stroll back towards the library's parking lot, the owl gracefully gliding from tree to tree, never losing sight of them.

Once both were in the car, the owl perched on the concrete edge of the library's roof, its keen gaze fixed on the departing car as it merged into the occupied street.

Only when the car disappeared from view did the owl spread its feathered wings and take to the sky again, disappearing into the horizon.

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franceblr · 10 months

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super halfbaked sasodei hc, modern edition

despite their frequent arguments and bickering, sasori and deidara are an extremely stable couple. like, ride or die type of committed; they’re thoroughly enamoured and obsessive and totally dependant on each other and not the best communicators but even with their many differences, they understand each other on a molecular level and couldn’t imagine dating anyone else. it’s them or nothing. they may be toxic and neither knows what they’re doing, but they’re dead set on making things work and learn along the way through trial and error. deidara is entirely devoted to sasori, body and soul; to sasori, deidara is everything he saw in others and wanted for himself, but never dared to even dream of.

though both sasori and deidara are resolved on staying together no matter what, they did discuss hard limits in their relationship; boundaries that if crossed, they’d never be able to recover from. one both of them agreed on is cheating. with their pasts and the way they are, neither of them would be able to cope with the other cheating, and would take it really really badly. another hard limit for deidara is substance addiction; he’s familiar with its effects, and he’s absolutely positive he cannot have that in his life, ever again (though this is more like a fair warning prompted by his personal trauma, than something sasori is likely to fall into). for sasori, dishonesty is an immediate deal breaker. under no circumstances is deidara allowed to lie to him, ever: no white lies, no omission of information: sasori asks, and deidara has to answer.

entire honesty on deidara’s behalf came with a lot of work: he’s by nature evasive and not one to trust easily, so in the earlier days of their relationship, it was a lot of deidara tiptoeing around answers and sasori seeing right through his bullshit. eventually, deidara learnt that he owes sasori the truth under all circumstances, even if he has to force it out through tears. it’s non negotiable.

quite the feat considering deidara is a compulsive liar. or a rehabilitated one at least. lying is what gets him the most attention, doesn’t matter if it’s positive or negative. deidara HAS to be seen and heard. it’s not that he enjoys deceiving others either, it’s more a thing he learnt to pick up quick as a child, in order to survive in an unstable environment created by abuse, addiction, neglect and fostercare. deidara has perfectly mastered the art of keeping a chill and laid back façade, of always being friendly and upbeat and yet never letting anyone in too close to see if there’s anything deeper than that. not that sasori ever fell for it: there’s something so twisted and damaged and somber and guarded about deidara, that sasori can see it bleed through even when he’s all sunny smiles and quick jokes. even when he thinks nobody is looking. once the layers were peeled back, for sasori it was like looking in a mirror: sasori sees the darkness, the hurt, the resilience, the maturity that comes too soon, the shame, the anger, the compulsive and the desperate, and instead of being turned off by it, he wants to observe and touch and devour deidara whole with all of his fucked up quirks and habits. feels the animalistic urge to put deidara on a table and vivisect him and analyze every fiber of his being, learn and consume all there is to deidara so intimately, it hurts and makes him want to hurt. he wants to squeeze out the life out of deidara, brutalize him and put him back together. wants to know and own him inside and out.

one thing they both had to learn and get accustomed to was trusting the other, and giving up control. both sasori and deidara are by default weary, hyper independent, and over all not well versed in emotional vulnerability. it took a lot of experimenting, frequent check ins, and reassurance to make things work. sasori is paranoid to the point of the pathological, and deidara would rather eat a shoe than show a single weakness. slowly, the Talks became less dreadful, they started picking up on each other’s patterns, thought processes and non verbal signals, and communication got much easier. the hurt lessened, the ever crushing weight of loneliness lessened, the guard came down and sasori and deidara went head first from hyper independent to codependent. deidara makes always sure to keep all of his promises to sasori, never betraying his trust or casting doubt over his love and devotion for him.

they’re both in it for the long run. and still, despite them both being ready to take it to the next step, it took months of persuasion and time to get deidara to move in with sasori; sasori still pretends he’s not aware deidara keeps an escape bag packed with clothes that still got the tags on, passport, cash and his most important documents stowed away and ready, in case he ever has to get out and fast. deidara keeps it underneath the driver seat of his car, and sasori found it accidentally while fixing an issue with deidara’s car on his request. at first sasori was terribly hurt and betrayed. but he eventually understood that his partner’s reluctance to move in with him and fear that he’ll be thrown out every moment now, has to do more with deidara’s continuous home insecurity throughout his childhood and teenage years, than with any sort of plan of leaving sasori.

they both need SO much reassurance. jesus. deidara has the insufferable tendency to treat sasori like he’s made of glass: he makes sure to caress him and repeat disgustingly sweet, gentle, comforting words to him until they’re engraved in his frontal lobe, like he’s stupid, or a baby. sasori hates that it works. sasori hates how he feels the tension melt right off of his shoulders and jaw, how he feels his brows unfurrow and his traitorous body always nestles deeper against deidara. how he feels the ache, the doubt and the worry slowly uncoil from the deadly grasp they have on his throat, his ribcage, his stomach. can barely stand the way his heart breaks in two whenever deidara’s upset. hates hates hates the way he seems to always know what to say and where to touch him, to placate deidara’s inner turmoil and restless mind.

#headcanon #sasodei #deidara #sasori #idk where i was going with this but i’m getting sleepy #hope any of this means anything lmao

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indieninja92 · 7 months

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Hello again! This is the anon that was asking about all-caps. Buckle in because it is a TALE. (One that ended up being about 800 words. You have been warned)

So. It’s four years ago. I just picked up Good Omens in a bookstore, since the authors sounded vaguely familiar and I needed something to read. I binge it in about two to three days.

YOINK we’re fast forwarding and it is now TWENTY-TWENTY-THREE and FATHERS DAY oh boy this sure is gonna be interesting (said while putting on a very stylish hazmat suit) WAIT! Lo! Behold! Lo and behold! On thee website of Tumblr, what doth mine eyes see, reblogged by one of the people I follow? A message! (Spoiler: it’s the father’s day post you did over at monstrous agonies/monstrous productions) And now! I am having ~feelings~ NEW BLOG TO CHECK OUT WAHOOOOOOOO

“Ah, this blog seems themed,” I contemplate, looking upon the tastefully spooky art that’s been reblogged. “Oh, a new episode? This is most mysterious. OHHHHH it’s a PODCAST BLOG okay yeah that makes a lot more sense now” (puts down the salt and garlic) “whoop-de-doo time to listen to this cool little podcast! Yippee!” SIKE it’s FEELINGS time BUCKAROO (still not over “there is no amount of normal you can become that will wash the river from your skin. You're soaked the bone, my dear.” By the way) Oh no it’s almost over! Oh yay I’m not all the way through yet so there’s still more to listen to! (Insert fiber crafting while listening to Monstrous Agonies montage here)

(In the opposite corner of the circle I lurk in on Tumblr) wow, those sure are some really pretty gifs! It’s from the TV adaptation of that book I read? That’s nice, good for them :) oh wait there are. More. Pretty gifs. That’s intriguing. (This continues on and on and on until okay, fine, guess I’m watching the gay demon/angel show. If I must.)

DAVID TENNANT AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

*rereads books. It’s really quite good*

Oh wow I guess I’m in a new fandom now :)

(back in MA land) Aww, I just finished the last episode :( LOOKS LIKE IT’S Q&A TIME :DDDDDDD oh hey, Hero posted something on the Tumblr blog! It’s a reblogged poll about if vampire!prev would kill you or not? And it mentions the creator of Monstrous Agonies? I was wondering if they had a main account! (A moderate amount of clicking through links later) “Queer, quaker, chronic daydreamer” that’s nice, good for them :)

Now. This, my dear reader, is where it gets interesting. You see, I’d started following Good Omens blogs, or at least, blogs that posted a good deal about Good Omens. One of them (fellshish) frequently and enthusiastically shares fic recommendations (they are also an avid reblogger of fanart. In some ways, their blog functions like a community space. It’s quite lovely.) Furthermore, their fic suggestions are typically of a very high quality, and I greatly enjoyed one of their previous recommendations (Slow Show by Mia_Ugly on ao3), so when they. Continuously. Posted about the glory of The Good Omens Grindr Fic (tm), I, of course, had to check it out.

At this point, the question may be raised of who the author of The Good Omens Grindr Fic (tm) is. This would be a very reasonable inquiry. It would not, however, be an inquiry made by me, for once I started reading I was ENRAPTURED. Enthralled. En-another thing that’s really really intense (I’m running out of appropriately accurate adjectives). The only breaks I took from reading it were to bounce around my room and do flappy hands because the banter oh my god the banter “angelic tummy” aaaaaaaaaaa (or sometimes the smut oh my god the smut holy SHIT guess I have a new thing now. I can’t even be mad about it because it’s so good).

Alas, I do need to occasionally sleep, and so one night I knew that I really didn’t have time for another chapter, but wanted to see what the author was up to. So I licked on the “come hang out on Tumblr! :)” link. Wait. Wait. Hold up. I recognize this. “Queer, quaker, chronic daydreamer.” WAIT. WAIT A GOSH DARN DING-DANG DAGNABBIT MINUTE. YOU. YOU. YOU ARE TELLING ME THAT ONE OF MY FAVORITE FICS OF ALL TIME. IS WRITTEN BY. NONE OTHER THAN THE CREATOR OF MY FAVORITE PODCAST WHO IS ALSO THE INTERNET DAD???????? ON TUMBLR DOT COM??????????? (Q&A flashbacks, paraphrased) “What Hero doesn’t want to say is that they’re a very good writer” MY GOOD FRIEND SOHPIE B. THAT IS PUTTING IT LIGHTLY. HELLO????????????????

So that’s the story of how I found out that author of one of my favorite fics is the same person as the creator of my favorite podcast and the internet dad. I am thoroughly delighted and not at all normal about this :))))))))) so, thank you!!! You’re very very cool and a marvelous writer :D

(p.s. I'm so excited for Travelling Light!!!!!!!)

asdkjfhslkdjf this is such a wild ride haha my favourite part is you looking in the author notes to follow the link to get to my tumblr... despite me having the same name here and ao3 😅

anyway, thank you for sharing your excitement, its very sweet! i dont usually make much fanfare on the podcast side of things about my fic writing - not that its a secret or anything, but i feel like if you come to me for cosy affirming monster agony aunt stuff then you might not be in the market for explicit gay pornography 😂 but theres definitely some overlap between the two audiences and im glad you're enjoying being in both camps!

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sandolier · 2 years

Text

Take the Thread (i'm coming undone) {1}

pairing: f!reader x ateez f!reader x Seokjin rating: 18+ genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut word count: 5k warnings: mentions of (emotional abuse, stalking, kidnapping), reader deals with anxiety summary: When you decided to attend a market in a far off, country town, you didn't expect to get stranded on the way back. You also never expected to run into a group of friends with their own tiny house community. And while at first it seemed fantastic, things aren't always as they seem as you slowly uncover more and more secrets. But is it too late for you to leave?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For such a small town market, it was surprisingly busy. But maybe that shouldn’t have been a surprise. The smaller the town, the more likely people were to support smaller businesses after all. And that held true as the makeshift aisles between the popup tables with temporary tents propped over them were crowded with more people than you would’ve assumed lived in town.

Or maybe it was everyone in town. It didn’t seem like there was a lot to do here. The nearest city was a good two-hour drive. And that was a drive you wouldn’t have made of your own free will unless you had found literally any other market to sell this weekend. A drive you were pretty sure that most people wouldn’t end up making out here unless it was for a special occasion.

But you weren’t going to complain, already having sold more than enough to cover the table fee and gas to and from. It was another surprise to see how willing the people here were to spend on your skeins of yarn and woven goods. Maybe they were swayed by the sight of you at your spinning wheel in between customers, an authenticity added to your booth that you had long ago picked up from your second attempt at selling your goods.

It was a pain to pack up your spinning wheel, but it allowed you to sell at least twice as much as if you didn’t bring it. And it helped kill time between people, especially as the day waned and fewer and fewer people would show up.

There was a simple pleasure in the rhythm of your foot on the treadle, the soft hum of the wheel and flyer. The twist slowly climbed up the yarn only eased as you drafted more wool for it to climb out of. The entire thing a waltz between you and this simple machine. One that had made you fall in love with fiber arts in the first place.

“So is that just for show, then?”

You jumped, losing the rhythm of the treadle and causing the wheel to suddenly stop. A man stood at your booth, about average height but that was the only thing that seemed average about him. His hair was dyed a soft pink, slightly long and swept back from his face. His face looked cut from marble, angular cheekbones offset by how kind his eyes looked and the slight smile playing across his lips. A silent apology for scaring you.

He pointed at the loom you had set up just on the other side of your spinning wheel. While not your first choice of things to occupy your time while vending, it was a nice change of pace when you felt like you just couldn’t be at your wheel for a second longer.

“Ah, right. Yeah, you caught me. It’s just a decoration to make people think I made any of my woven pieces.” You barely bit back a laugh at that. Really, warping up the scarf you had on there was 90% of the work. One that you absolutely would rather avoid doing if you could.

The man seemed to have caught the joke, his smile growing wider. “Well, at least you admit it. Shame though, I would’ve really liked to buy that scarf when it’s finished.”

“Feel free to take one of my business cards. My Etsy shop is on there and it’ll be posted when it’s done.” It wasn’t often you had someone interested in something you were currently working on, let alone something on your loom. That was harder to grasp what it would eventually be unlike seeing the pretty colors you were spinning into a straightforward yarn.

He took one of your cards, turning it over in his hands as he studied it. “So are you not from around here, y/n?”

You shook your head, giving your wheel a soft spin to start it back up again. “Live in the city. Heard good things about this market and decided to come out.” There was something about him knowing your name that seemed dangerous.

That really should have pretty much been the end of the conversation. And most people would’ve taken the cue that unless they were buying something, you weren’t going to talk about your personal life. The question was prying, something about it setting off a red flag. But maybe he was just trying to figure out if he could find you at another market nearby and avoid buying off of Etsy.

Still, he hadn’t moved. Hovering just at your periphery, you tried to focus on the bright pinks and purples slowly twisting onto your spool. Maybe he had just decided to watch you spin. It wasn’t that unusual. You tried to let the tension leave your shoulders as you continued on. He was just making small talk, nothing more. Not everyone was like him, you tried to remind yourself. Not every man who asked you questions would end up in a police report.

“Is that hard?”

By the time he spoke again, you had almost convinced yourself that he had left. And it wasn’t his fault that he asked the one question that you found most annoying. But you wished, more than anything now, that he would just leave.

“Depends on what you mean by hard.” You tried to keep your voice light and friendly. Tried to not let the irritation slide into your tone. “It can be hard to get the hang of at first but it’s second nature to me now. If you wanted to try I have some drop spindles and wool bundles for sale too.”

You could see him move over to that section of the table, examining the packages of the wooden spindles and small tufts of wool. Most people who bought them would try them once or twice and get frustrated and give up. As you said, it took a little trial and error to figure it out.

“Are these on your Etsy as well?”

“Yup.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, hand fidgeting with the package before setting it down. “Maybe I’ll pick one up when I buy that scarf.”

You felt bad for a moment. He was trying to be friendly and here you were being standoffish towards him. It wasn’t his fault that he reminded you of him. This time you returned his smile genuinely, an apology for the cold attitude from before.

“I’ll keep an eye out for your order…”

“San.” He said, face brightening as he tucked your business card into his wallet before leaving one of his own on the table. “Choi San.”

“Well, San, your scarf should be up on there by the end of the month.” You made a mental note to remember to grab that business card before too long, but you were just so close to finishing this spool that you really hoped you could avoid an interruption before the end.

“I’ll look forward to seeing the final product! Have a good day, y/n.” He tapped the table lightly as he left, pink hair vanishing into the crowd.

Not all people were like him. You reminded yourself again at the momentary surge of panic. Not all people result in police stations and lawsuits.

You let the rest of your tension go with the last bit of wool, watching as the wheel and flyer slowly spun down as you stopped treadling. The small bit of unspun fluff of wool marking the end of the thread just spinning round and round. Deep breath in and out. Nobody was out to get you. That was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Not everyone was a stalker.

Not everyone was a kidnapper.

San’s business card was just as mysterious as the man himself. It was a matte black, red symbol that looked vaguely astronomical on the back. The front is just as vague:

San Choi Acquisitions

You couldn’t think of a single business that he could possibly be in. Maybe entertainment. Maybe a recruiter for a company. He certainly presented himself as neat and polished, poised to try to recruit someone at any moment. Or maybe acquisitions meant that he was just a buyer for a retailer. That he visited these small markets to try to find products to stock his store with.

Still, there was no means to contact him on the card. Maybe he had two different versions of it. One with no contact information for the people he wanted to placate and one with for the people he actually wanted to contact him. And if that was the case, should you be… offended?

Whatever the case, you were slightly jealous of the quality of the card. He obviously was very well off in whatever field he worked in. The card had some weight behind it, thick paper that really didn’t bend under a good amount of handling. You tried not to laugh as the business card scene from American Psycho played in your head, sliding the card into your bag where it will probably be forgotten.

The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful, the anxiety seems to leave you alone for now. It had gotten so much better over the years. Therapy was the main reason you were even able to do such a public thing as selling at these markets now. For a long while, you weren’t even able to leave your house. Not until he had finally been locked up, the earliest date of release not for another 15 years.

You didn’t want to think about how you’d react once that timer ran out. Sure you would be in your 40s by then, but would that stop someone like him? Would events spiral out of control again? Would it be worse? Would he look for revenge instead, finally taking exactly what he wanted to in the first place?

It was no use looking that far into the future. Not now at least. You had no control of something that far out. Could do nothing but live your life for now and take each day in stride. That day will come but by then you can have more of a solid plan. Take steps to protect yourself. You weren’t as naive now.

By the time six hit, you were more than thankful to take down your booth and pack everything away in your van. Never had you thought you would drive a minivan at any point in your life, yet here you were. Only instead of shoving a hoard of screaming kids into your car, you were shoving boxes of crafts and equipment in. Really, a minivan was just the cheapest option you could find when you started getting serious about vending and needed the space for bringing your wheel and loom along with you.

If asked, you would say that fall is your favorite season without hesitation. You loved the chill the breeze carried on it, the promise of winter growing ever closer. Loved the multicolored trees, leaves rustling in the wind looking as if they were painted. You loved Halloween and the general reveling of all things spooky.

But you absolutely hated how early the sun set.

That was one thing you hadn’t accounted for when you made the last minute decision to come out to this small town. It was just shy of seven by the time you finished loading everything into your van and got ready to leave, the last traces of the sun illuminating the sky to the west, darkness well and truly falling all around.

Part of you was tempted to just get a hotel room at the run-down holiday inn you had seen coming into town. A larger part of you longed for the comfort of your own bed despite not being able to get to it until after nine. Driving in the dark wouldn’t hurt you. And two hours wasn’t that bad. You’d driven longer before.

You were beyond grateful for the Mcdonald's that you drove by. The fries quieted the grumbling of your stomach into something more bearable. Really, you could’ve eaten a full meal, but you’ve always hated trying to eat anything more than fries while you’re driving and you wanted to be home too bad to stay and eat there.

Driving at night wasn’t anything new to you. Driving at night in the middle of nowhere, however, was. Despite the market closing relatively not long ago and it not being that late right now, the highway out of town was fairly abandoned. Maybe there was a better way back home that you just didn’t know about. But all things considered, you weren’t about to go adventuring in search of a shortcut.

As it was, the dark was oppressive around your car, the road completely invisible outside the range of your headlights. Who knew what was going to be around the next bend in the road. Or even when there would be another set of headlights to break up the illusion of you just floating along a sea of black.

Relief flooded through you when you center console it up, incoming call: jinnie<3 displayed.

“Seokjin.” You said in greeting after answering the call.

“Y/n.” Came his just as neutral reply, though through the years of knowing him, you could tell the barely hidden mirth in his reply.

“How was your day?”

“Adequate. Did you get converted to the country life?”

“Alas, I could not resist the simple life here. I am truly in awe of the number of confederate flags and MAGA signs I have seen.”

Seokjin was the first to break, laughing at the wistful tone you had taken while speaking of such none wistful things. “People are really still on that, huh? Thought they’d be over it by now.”

“Honey, if they’re still holding onto the confederacy after this long what makes you think that they’d give up on a racist white guy?” You sighed. Really you wouldn’t mind living out of the city. Just going out of the city meant… all this. As if to prove your point your headlights revealed a billboard of Jesus staring down at you along the road.

“When are you going to be home?” He asked, deciding to drop the subject that honestly just depressed both of you to talk about. You could hear the clink of pans in the background. Judging by the time, Seokjin would, of course, be cooking dinner by now.

“About another hour and a half according to my phone.” You sighed. If teleportation was an option, you would gladly take it. There was nothing better than Seokjin’s home-cooked meals.

“I’ll wait up for you.” He cursed under his breath as you heard a rather large clank. “Miss you.”

“I miss yo-“

There was a large bang, your van suddenly veering off to one the left. You cursed, pulling your car back from the oncoming lane and towards the shoulder, telltale thudding an omen of what you were about to have to do.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin was panicking, worry leaking through the speakers of your car.

“Fine. Think I have a flat tire.” You groaned. Out of all places and times… What you would’ve given to have this happen not in the middle of nowhere.

“Need me to call someone for you?”

“No. I can change a tire…” You sighed, hitting the steering wheel. “I just really-“

Seokjin cut you off. “I know, I know. But you got this. What’s a flat tire to my beautiful girlfriend?”

“Gross.” You wrinkled your nose despite the stupid grin on your face.

“The sooner you get this taken care of the sooner you can eat this kimchi fried rice,” Seokjin said. “Call me if there’s anything wrong. Or if you just want company on the drive. Or if you miss me.”

“If I called you every time I missed you, we’d be on the phone all day.”

It was Seokjin’s turn to say gross this time. “Love you. Be careful. Stay safe.”

"Love you too. See you soon.” You sighed, leaning your forehead on the steering wheel while getting the will to actually address your tire. Of all fucking times…

Still, nothing was going to happen if you stayed here pitying yourself. You punched the hazard lights on as if you were blaming your car for this situation and reached behind your passenger seat to grab the small emergency kit you stashed there.

Flashlight in hand, you tried looking back down the road to see what you hit, but there was nothing as far as you could see. Maybe it was a nail. Or maybe your tire was just on the verge of blowing for a while and chose this moment to do so. The entire situation seemed so much more overwhelming now that you stood on the side of the road, moving your boxes out of the way to reach the hidden compartment your flat, jack, and wrench were kept in.

There weren’t many things you felt grateful towards your dad for. He wasn’t the best parent after your mother passed away when you were four. You weren’t entirely sure he was a good parent before then either. But you knew that afterward, he was so distant from both you and your brother that it was like you had no parent at all. Looking back, you now knew that he suffered his own trauma, but dealt with it in a way that while he wasn’t physically abusive, he was emotionally.

But despite your numerous daddy issues, he did teach you a few useful things. How to fix a toilet. How to unclog your drains. How to change your oil. How to fix things around the house. And, most importantly right now, how to change a tire.

One thing no one ever told you is how much harder it was in the dark. Hell, even the movies depicted car problems at night in the country as not really all that dark. But it was so dark. Like a physical beast, it hovered around you, waiting to pounce. Sounds traveled so much farther, things rustling in the trees so much more of a threat than the random opossum or bird you knew it had to be.

But the longer you fixated on those sounds, the longer it would be until you could be back on your way home. Somehow you don’t remember getting the jack in place and raising up the car to be so difficult as it was when you were a teen. Maybe Seokjin was right about trying to get you to come to the gym with him a couple days a week.

However, as you raised the body of your van up, you couldn’t help but notice that the exploded tire just… stayed on the ground.

“Well. Fuck.”

This wasn’t good. You grabbed the flashlight from where you had left it on the ground, illuminating your workspace, and lay on the ground trying to find out exactly how much damage was caused. Unfortunately for you, it didn’t take you too long to find out that the axle was snapped in half.

You weren’t going anywhere. Not anytime soon at least. The next steps flew into order as you lowered your car back down and shoved everything back into the trunk. Go look for a towing company. Find a mechanic. Pay anything you might have made this weekend plus some towards the said mechanic. Hopefully, get home in a day or two if you’re lucky.

Maybe you really should’ve just stayed the night at the sketchiest holiday inn you had ever seen. Because you were certain now that you had to have run over something. There was no way your tire alone would’ve caused this. Yet every time you squinted out behind you, there was absolutely nothing near the road.

Just as you were trying to figure out which of the two towing companies you found was cheaper, a pair of headlights suddenly crept up from behind, the first car you’d seen in well over an hour. You paid it no mind, just letting the knowledge that this was, in fact, a road people actually used. Yet the large pickup slowed down and stopped just ahead of you.

Anxiety shot through you. Nothing ever good happened to a single woman alone at night on an empty road. Maybe they were nice. Just stopping to make sure you were okay and see if they could lend a hand. Maybe they were going to kidnap you and you’d end up as a Jane Doe in a few days and true crime podcasts would be talking about your unsolved murder for years to come. Either way, you made sure to lock your doors and that you had the emergency shortcut ready on your phone.

The man who got out of the driver's side seemed younger than you would’ve thought. Taller than you would’ve thought too, but perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised to see someone his height driving a truck that big. He sent a smile towards the driver’s seat as if to reassure whoever was there knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to see anything through the glare of the headlights.

You rolled down your window as he approached. For some reason, you weren’t afraid of him. Something about his energy begged you to trust him. Like a puppy you’d found on the side of the road. That still didn’t mean you were going to let your guard down. Plenty of serial killers were charismatic.

“Hey!” He said stopping next to your mirror. “Having some car trouble?”

“Yeah.” You said, keeping a polite smile on your face. “Just about to call a tow. Got a flat tire and broken axle.”

His brows raised, surprised by that. “That’s more than the flat tire I was hoping to lend a hand with. Any tow place is gonna charge you a fortune to drive all the way out here. Wouldn’t trust John to be sober now anyway.”

He trailed off in thought, seeming to debate with himself about something. “Look, I know you don’t know me and I don’t blame you for saying no to this, but I’m gonna ask you anyway. My pa owns the mechanic shop the town over. I live just about ten minutes away from here. Have a spare room you could stay the night at.”

You blinked at him. He seemed earnest enough… but… “Look, sir-“

“Yunho.” He said smiling. “I know it’s a bit weird and you have no reason to trust I’m not gonna abduct you. To be honest, I’d be taking you to the tiny house village some friends and I have together and if that doesn’t raise red flags after watching Midsommer, I don’t know what would.”

You laughed with him at that. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Tiny house village with friends was one of your own secret life goals. Seeing one in person might dissuade you from actually wanting to do it. And he seemed genuine enough…

“I just don’t want to leave someone alone on the road when I can help.” He said, sensing your hesitation. “Don’t trust half the people out here farther than I can throw them. Not with all the alt-right propaganda they have spread all over.”

You nodded. Maybe… maybe you could trust Yunho. “Are you sure?”

“About trusting most people around here? Absolutely.” Yunho laughed. “And about getting you off the road for the night? Don’t have a doubt in my mind.”

Maybe it was a mistake nod. Maybe you were signing your death warrant as you helped Yunho hook up your van to the back of his truck, slowly testing the tow to make sure it wouldn’t ruin either of your cars. And maybe it hadn’t been too late for you to still leave and save yourself as you climbed into the truck. But you were certain that you could trust Yunho. That you would be far safer sleeping on someone’s couch tonight and heading out in the morning than you would otherwise.

Still, you sent Seokjin a quick text letting him know what happened. Telling him that you’d keep your location on as well and giving him a description of Yunho and a photo of his plates. If you were going to die, at least you’d get justice from the afterlife.

“Honestly, I never thought I’d live anywhere besides a city.” Yunho was saying. He kept the chatter light as he slowly drove down the highway before turning off onto a gravel road. He was happy to basically talk to himself, not really expecting a response from you. As if he was really talking to calm both of your anxiety.

“Hongjoong was the one who convinced us that we should do this. He inherited this plot of land from an uncle or something. And with house prices the way they are… well this was the only way any of us would be able to own something of our own, you know.”

“Tell me about it.” You groaned. Seokjin had been talking about saving for a house for the last two years. Yet every time your savings approached a good amount for a down payment, something would happen and all that you saved up would be used to repair a car. Pay a hospital bill. Go on vacation. Just everyday things.

“It’s actually pretty chill. Just eight of us living here permanently right now, but we have some spare houses for friends who like to visit. I’d offer one of those for you, but none of them have anything in them right now. You’d just be sleeping on the floor.” He wrinkled his nose as if the thought of that was absolutely inexcusable.

“We have some animals and actually farm too. Never thought I’d be doing that either. Thought I’d just be at a desk working a 9 to 5 for the rest of my life.” Yunho laughed again and you were starting to grow attached to the sound of it. Maybe you’d end up with a friend after all of this.

You smiled softly at the thought of having a farm with your friends. “Sounds like the cottage core dream.”

“It really is,” Yunho said, a smile of his own plastered on his face. “Sometimes life throws you a curve ball and it ends up being the exact thing you needed to end up with a home run. And speaking of a home run, welcome to Wonderland.”

You wrinkle your nose at the name. “Sounds like someone took inspiration from Neverland Ranch.”

Yunho laughed again, pulling to a stop after turning off a side road that lead to twelve small houses. “Promise you, we’re not like that. It’s an inside joke, really. Something we started to call the place to tease Hongjoong.”

“Uh-huh.” You laughed. “Guess I’ll take your word for it.”

It was a short walk passed a few of the houses to a house painted in a pretty shade of blue. While all the places would count as tiny houses, they all were a bit bigger than you would’ve thought. Probably at least two bedrooms in each one. Further beyond the houses, you could see hints of the farm that Yunho had mentioned. Lights on a couple of the barns casting fences and crops in silhouette.

“This is me. Well, us for the night I guess.” He said, suddenly awkward. Nervous as he fiddled with his key to open his door. “Sorry for any mess. I’ll get you some fresh bedding for my spare room and let you get comfortable while I heat us up a pizza.”

Pizza. You hadn’t even thought of dinner since your tire. And at the mention of pizza, even frozen pizza, you were reminded of just how hungry you were.

Despite his warning, Yunho’s house really wasn’t a disaster. It wasn’t spotless. Just looked like someone lived there and had just come back home for a day of work. Better than half the men you’d dated before. The bedroom he led you to was just big enough for a bed and dresser. Maybe you could fit a chair in a corner if you were ambitious. But it was enough to serve its purpose of housing a friend overnight.

And, perhaps, that was what Yunho was fast on his way to becoming. The realization hit you as the two of you sat on his couch watching one of the Thor movies. It had been a long time since someone had so seamlessly came into your life, carving out a place for themselves like it had always been there. Maybe it was fate that caused you to run into Yunho tonight.

And, maybe, you were just a little less frustrated with the whole situation as you fell asleep just as Thor ran into Jane.

#ateez au #ateez fanfic #fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez cult #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez imagines

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ao3feed-ds9 · 6 months

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Of Knitting & Other Complicated Knots

https://ift.tt/gmobZHN by Anonymous Elim Garak takes up an old skill. No, not one of those. Words: 1211, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Jade (Original Cat Character), Original Cat Character(s), Molly O'Brien (Star Trek), Keiko O'Brien Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Elim Garak & Molly O'Brien, Elim Garak & Keiko O'Brien, Elim Garak & Jade, Elim Garak & Original Cat Character Additional Tags: Knitting, Diary/Journal, Mental Health Hack, Purring Cats Are Good For Your Mental Health, As Is Knitting and Other Fiber Arts, Cats, Fiber Arts, knitting circles, Teacher Elim Garak, community building

#Star Trek #DS9 #Deep Space Nine #Star Trek DS9 #ao3feed #fanfic

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creativemorningswinnipeg · 6 months

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Join us at 8:15am on Friday, December 15th at CreativeMornings Winnipeg to explore the global theme of Pain with our guest speaker Hannah Pratt. We are gathering at the beautiful Roundhouse Auditorium at RRC Polytech's newest building Manitou a bi Bii Dazigae in the Exchange District.

** ASL Interpretation is available at all of our events!**

The Paradox of Pain: Transforming Struggles into Creative Potential

The most heartbreaking moments of our lives are when we experience grief, loss, and pain.

In these struggles, it can feel impossible to imagine a world beyond them- never mind accepting that through them, we could find meaning, develop creativity, or transform into a more profound version of ourselves.

The journey through grief and pain is complex, with 'Finding Meaning' recognized as its crucial, final stage. In this sixth stage of healing, we can begin to evolve, transforming our pain into something unexpectedly powerful: creativity.

In this month’s talk, Hannah Pratt leads us through a discussion on the Paradox of Pain: Transforming Struggles into Creative Potential by sharing her experiences with grief and loss to find meaning and creative potential while healing.

From personal tragedy to mental health struggles to an award-winning career as a communicator, Hannah will share how pain has led to some of her life's most profound and beautiful experiences.

Together, we’ll work through this counterintuitive concept of pain as a conduit: what it teaches us, how we can heal through creative expression, and connect in a conversation about the heartbreakingly beautiful experience of being human.

Meet our Speaker: Hannah Pratt

Hannah Pratt is an award-winning communicator and strategy consultant, educator, speaker, community leader, host of the Yes You Can podcast, and Founder of the WPG Dress Collective. From leadership roles with the Winnipeg Blue Bombers to the University of Manitoba, Hannah has been a transformative force in launching campaigns that impact the world. As the owner of Hannah Rose PR, Hannah works with non-profit organizations, entrepreneurs, and small businesses to generate more money, create ground-breaking partnerships, and share their impact through PR and visibility strategies. Hannah holds a Master's in Philanthropy & Nonprofit Leadership from Carleton University, a diploma in Creative Communications from Red River College Polytech, and a Bachelor of Arts from Canadian Mennonite University. She recently joined her alma mater (RRC Polytech) as a part-time instructor in the CreComm and Communication Management programs. Hannah is the recipient of the 2018 Manitoba Communicator of the Year Award and the 2019 Future Leaders of Manitoba in her age category.

December CreativeMornings theme: PAIN

Our global theme for December is PAIN. It was chosen by our Lviv chapter and illustrated by Marta Koshulinska.

Ouch! That hurts. Pain is a warning. And a lesson. It teaches us what we should avoid. And just how much we can bear.

Muscles grow stronger after exercise tears the tiny fibers of muscle cells and the body repairs those damaged fibers. We know that physical wounds can heal with time and proper care. But we often ignore the fact that emotional pain can too.

If you need a little relief from whatever pain you’re carrying, talk to someone, make something, or help someone else in need.

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generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years

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Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

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You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

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

That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

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“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

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

Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writing #the mentalist fanfiction #I took some liberties with UT's school of anthros forensics lab #it does exist #DO NOT LOOK UP PICTURES #IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DON'T DO IT #I AM NOT SQUEAMISH AND DO RESEARCH WITH CADAVERS #BUT IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DONT #DO #IT

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kaiyonohime · 2 years

Text

Sherry Tenney; the saga continues

Pinned post on the topic of Sherry Tenney

On Sunday Sherry Tenney, the fleece scam artist in Pennsylvania, posted a rant threatening to sue me.

Here is the video, but I have pulled the relevant info out into text thanks to a transcriber from the Ravelry group Demon Trolls.

youtube

>He read some stuff that somebody uh posted on Tumblr which is 100% deframation of character and we have to sue them now. Um saying I have diseased animals on my farm and that I’m unhinged and I carry guns to go to Rhinebeck and all that, and he’s decided to go ahead and prosecute them. We’re gonna go ahead and sue. But because of that, we have decided..this piece of SHIT on Tumblr and I have the list, and the stuff that she has said is horrible. We have her name, we’re gonna go ahead and sue, but we are not going to hold a class on the property.

She saw my tumblr! She read multiple of my tumblr posts! I’m just so honored to now have a brief starring role in her insanity! I never thought the likes of Sherry Tenney would even know what tumblr was, let alone leave FaceBook to lurk here and learn how to search and read posts!

There are tears. Honest, happy tears. She’s angry because I’m doing my part to warn others about her scam, and help protect other fiber artists. Because, really, that is my goal. The fiber arts community needs to help one another and be warned about the stinging wasps that sometimes prey upon us.

Now, to address her threatening to sue me: she’s been threatening to sue members of the Demon Trolls group for six months now. Not a single piece of legal paperwork has ever been filed or received. It’s all bark and bluff. And, on top of that, she doesn’t have my legal name or information. Nor does tumblr to give to her. Not that I think for a moment that @staff would give her my information without a court order in the first place.

And, honestly, it’s not defamation of character to speak the truth. There are screenshots to back everything I have posted up. Screenshots, and excel files, and video recordings of her rants! The fine folks at Demon Trolls have been documenting every single move she has made, and everything she has said. I’ve just summarized it and posted it here because I know not everyone goes to Ravelry, and especially not the forums.

If anyone would care to go to Ravelry, they have all the video files and screenshots of every single thing I have posted about this mentally unhinged woman. Because, honestly, when you start writing Supernatural fanfiction of you fighting demons at a gas station and pass it off as real life events on your business FaceBook page as an update of your life, you are clearly a mentally unwell person.

But hopefully Sherry Tenney and Jim Tenney can remember to get the uuuuuurrrrrlllll right when they go to the court to try to sue tumblr.

For those curious about the ‘url’ joke, here’s another hour long video rant of hers showing her mental state. Warning, it’s fairly disturbing, and it does not get better. In fact, partway through the video she starts feeling herself up a touch and seems to get some sort of sexual satisfaction about her violence filled rant.

It is divided up into parts on this Google Drive. Everything on this Google Drive, including a hefty screenshots folder of what Sherry Tenney says on her public business FaceBook account, is posted. Please feel free to watch this video and explore the Google Drive for more evidence about what Sherry Tenney has done, and please warn others.

Link to Google Drive and the video rant

And, as always, Sherry Tenney is to be considered dangerous. DO NOT APPROACH. She is currently advertising in her Etsy store that she is hosting a class. Do NOT sign up for that class as a joke. She is considered to be dangerous at all times and to be avoided in person at all costs! We do not want anyone hurt because of this! The Pennsylvania Attorney General is informed and taking actions against her, although the wheels of justice are much slower than we would like. Please be safe and warn others!

#sherry tenney #sherry vondorp #sherry tenney is a scam artist #warning for violence filled video rant #warning for mentions of animal abuse #warning to the fiber arts community

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chemmerson · 2 years

Text

the way you make me feel - chapter 4

Chapters: 4/?

Words: 4.0k

Warnings: a little kissin, swearing, same as other chapters

a/n: i live for the drama

masterpost (with all chapters)

read on ao3

---

the art of meddling

Kakashi didn’t seem to care that you were squeezing his hand with all of your strength, but it was the only way you could communicate with him that you felt very uncomfortable and needed to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

Avoiding eye contact with Itachi Uchiha with every fiber of your being, you took a look at the others that had arrived. Someone with long, messy blonde hair, another with slicked-back grey hair, and someone with short red hair. You thought you might have recognized them in some passing Instagram posts, but other than that, you had no idea who these guys were.

“Hey man, I wanna introduce you to these guys. This is Deidara, Hidan, and Sasori,” Obito said to Kakashi. Meanwhile, you had made eye contact with Rin who was standing next to Obito, both of you staring intensely in unspoken communication. She knew.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kakashi give a single nod. “Yo. I’m Kakashi.”

During this whole exchange, you felt Itachi’s eyes on you. You wondered if he was feeling awkward, too. Maybe he was trying to figure out who that girl was standing in front of him. Oh you know, that’s the girl you were supposed to go on a date with and you stood her up instead and never said a word.

“You already know my cousin Itachi, right?” Obito went on. You went rigid.

Kakashi didn’t respond, just gave another single nod. Itachi nodded back.

The tension was hard to ignore at this point, and Kakashi being observant as ever knew it was time to get out of there. He started continuing to lead you to the hallway where his bedroom was while ignoring Obito’s confused “Hey, where you guys goin’?”

Relief was starting to flood through your body as you walked through the dark hallway and further away from that whole awkward situation.

“Hey.”

You froze, and Kakashi stopped when the handcuffs between you pulled taut. You didn’t turn around to face the voice that was behind you, but Kakashi did.

“‘Sup, Hatake,” Itachi said. You turned around at that.

Itachi glanced only a moment at you and Kakashi’s still interlocked hands, and then his eyes went back to Kakashi, but Kakashi stayed quiet.

It turned into a staring match between Kakashi and Itachi, and you were caught in the crossfire. Kakashi had said he knew Itachi from the camp he worked at, but Itachi was also Obito’s cousin. There seemed to be some…history there.

“I haven’t seen you at all this year,” Itachi went on. “Not since Camp Anbu.”

“I’ve been busy,” was all Kakashi answered back in a husky tone.

It was then Itachi’s piercing eyes finally met your gaze, and then he scanned you over.

“Clearly.”

Your blood boiled in an instant, skin flaring up in anger and reopening the wound that he had left weeks ago. You were angry, so angry that this guy was acting like you had been the one to stand him up!

Kakashi was quick to take several steps forward to stand in front of you and face Itachi.

“Do you have some sort of problem, Uchiha?” Kakashi’s voice rumbled.

“Are you two together?” Itachi shot back.

You tugged Kakashi in an attempt to end this before anything started, but Kakashi didn’t budge. “I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

Itachi scoffed out of his nose and shrugged. “Guess it’s not.”

He turned around to walk away, then stopped. "Sasuke says hi."

Kakashi gave him one look before turning around. “Let’s go,” he mumbled to you. You followed without a word, mind reeling from the confusing exchange.

Kakashi on the other hand…was livid.

———

“Um,” you said as you followed Kakashi into his room and shut the door. “What the hell just happened?”

Kakashi sighed slowly out of his nose and ran a hand through his hair. His back was to you, and he didn’t really want to look at you, because he had to calm himself down.

“Kakashi?”

Itachi Uchiha. It was Itachi Uchiha that asked you out on a date.

Kakashi turned around. “I’m sorry.”

You just stared. “Why are you sorry? Is there…is there some sort of history between you and Itachi?”

Kakashi sighed again, thinking through his words carefully. “Well…there isn’t much to tell, but I guess you could say yes. Itachi and I worked together at that summer camp I told you about. We…didn’t get along too well. I don’t hate him, but I try to avoid him.”

You rubbed your arm nervously. “That must be hard because…well, your roommate is his cousin.”

Kakashi shook his head. “Obito and Itachi don’t hang out much. Itachi is usually with his frat brothers.”

You nodded slowly and chewed your lip nervously. Kakashi hated this. He hated seeing you caught up in things you didn’t need to be caught up in. Like Itachi Uchiha.

It was the truth that there wasn’t too much to tell between Kakashi and Itachi. They just didn’t get along well when working together as counselors. When Kakashi was made head counselor this last summer, Itachi was unhappy. It wasn’t Kakashi’s fault that he had another year of experience than Itachi, but Itachi had treated him differently after that. Itachi had always been a bit entitled and thought Kakashi wasn't a good enough counselor for his little brother. From then on, tensions between them were high.

The tension between them a moment earlier was evidence that things had not changed.

“So,” you piped up quietly, letting out a breath. “I guess…I should explain, you know. The whole thing.”

Kakashi watched you take a step closer to him so the handcuffs weren’t pulling between your hands.

“So, I was supposed to go on a date with him. We had met in a class last semester and had chatted a few times. Anyway, he messaged me in my DMs to catch up a few weeks ago and asked me out. Nothing crazy, but…”

You paused suddenly, brows furrowing like you were having trouble finding the words. Kakashi was patient with you as you sighed out again. “I…I don’t know why I said yes. I mean, Anko pushed me like she always does, lecturing me on how I should get out there in the world,” you laughed dryly, and then you glanced at his eyes for a moment.

“…it doesn’t sound like me, does it? I don’t…I don’t usually do that stuff. I don’t just go on dates with people I don’t know well. But he was Obito’s cousin, Anko was encouraging me and I just…I said sure. Because why the hell not? Of course, I told Anko not to tell a soul because it wasn’t a big deal. And I told myself that it was casual and nothing serious, that I didn’t care about it…but then he never showed.”

Hurt flashed across your eyes, and Kakashi felt himself want to pull you in for a hug. But he didn’t and kept listening.

You scoffed. “I sat there for two hours and he never came. Not a message, not a text, not anything. And I went home and I cried. I cried because the one time I put myself out there I get fucking stood up. I try to go out of my comfort zone and I get fucked over. Of course, then I told Anko to never, ever mention it to Obito because that would have just been awkward. It just—“

You looked down. “I’m sorry. I was babbling.”

Kakashi was careful with his words. “You don’t need to be sorry. You have every right to be upset.”

You shook your head. “I know I just…thank you for listening.”

“Of course,” Kakashi smiled lightly. “Except I feel like I have to mention Anko let it slip you had a date when she was talking to me a few Saturdays ago…I just didn’t know the outcome.”

You chuckled. “Oh yeah, I knew she babbled because Rin, Shizune, and Kurenai all texted me at the same time when I was at work.”

“Obito never said anything to me,” Kakashi said.

“Obviously. He looked completely clueless out there,” you laughed.

“I just can’t believe Itachi never said anything to him,” Kakashi mumbled mostly to himself. And Kakashi was beginning to become confused. How did Obito have no idea that one of his best friends was going out with his cousin? You hadn’t told anyone besides Anko who only babbled to a few people, but Itachi had to know that you and Obito were close. It felt like something was missing…

“Well, anyway,” you sighed with a smile. “Hopefully they leave somewhat soon. For both of our sakes.”

“So Itachi never said anything to you?” Kakashi asked.

“Uh, no,” you said awkwardly. “He basically ghosted me.”

Even though Kakashi didn’t necessarily like Itachi, it sounded weird that he would ghost you, considering he had to know you and Obito were friends. It didn’t sound like him.

“Kakashi?” You said, reaching forward to grab his hand. “Is something wrong?”

His hand still tingled whenever you grabbed it, and he had to force himself to not react. “No, everything is fine.”

You smiled. Kakashi smiled too because he couldn’t help it. You made him smile. A lot.

A silence fell between you too. And Kakashi could feel both you and him remember that just minutes before, you had almost kissed each other in the heat of the moment.

Kakashi felt his cheeks begin to heat with color, and he looked slightly up and away while clearing this throat. He never expected to be in this situation at all, so he was slightly unsure of what he was supposed to do.

Kakashi glanced down at you just to read your expression, and he was surprised to look like you were struggling to hold in a laugh.

“What?” Kakashi looked at you. “Did I do something?”

An amused left fell out of your lips, and then you were holding your stomach as lovely, full laughs kept tumbling out of you. Watching you laugh, Kakashi couldn’t help it. He grinned like an idiot, watching the purest form of your smile compliment your sparkling eyes.

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered in between giggles. “You’re just cute when you look like that.”

You continued to giggle, but Kakashi froze for a split second, his chest tingling at what you had just said.

Cute?

The furious heat in his cheeks grew even more, and he narrowed his eyes playfully at you. “Oh, like what?”

Your hand left him to put over your mouth to silence your incessant giggling. Eyes glittering with playfulness yourself, you spoke quietly. “Like you don’t know what to say."

Kakashi rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“Sorry,” you grinned. “I’m just joking.”

Joking, Kakashi thought. Which part?

It seemed to happen a lot. You and Kakashi ending up so close to each other somehow. It didn’t change the way Kakashi felt when it happened. A fluttering stomach and flushed skin always made him want to move closer.

“You are a good dancer, by the way,” you looked down to hide your smile.

“Really?” Kakashi smirked. “That’s nice of you.”

“It’s just true.”

“You’re a good dancer, too.”

You laughed. “Only when I’m drunk.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Kakashi answered.

“So you would dance with me if we weren’t drunk?”

It was an innocent enough question, but the implication was much more evident in your eyes. It was the first time tonight Kakashi actually realized that you might be interested in him.

That you might really actually like him.

And as you looked at him with those bright, honest eyes, he would still be okay with whatever happened.

“Absolutely,” he answered with genuine honesty.

Something in your face changed, something like relief and surprise all at once. Kakashi couldn’t tell because your faces were so close and getting closer, and he was reminded of the way your lips had brushed against his while dancing. He wondered what that would feel like again—

“Yo losers! Genma and Raido—“

The door to Kakashi’s room swung open with a violent force, and Kakashi watched your eyes shoot open while you took a giant step backward away from him. Kakashi’s eyes shot over to Obito and Rin who stood in the doorway with droopy eyes and lazy smiles.

Obito’s lazy smile shaped into a smirk while wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, my bad, was I interrupting something?”

Both Kakashi and you started speaking together to make up some excuse, but it was no use. You were both obviously flustered and panicked.

Obito laughed. “I just wanted to tell you that Genma and Raido won. The game’s finally over.”

Coming to his senses, Kakashi took a step towards Obito. “Why the hell was Itachi here?”

Obito tilted his head. “What do you—oh yeah, they just stopped by for a bit. They just left.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Obito shrugged. “Didn’t think it was that big of a deal?”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes and watched Obito look at you with a grin.

“Plus, the look on his face was priceless. I mean, you really dodged a bullet with him Y/N—“

Obito paused with his mouth open.

The silence was deafening.

Kakashi watched as Obito began to fumble for his words. “Uh, I-I mean…what I meant to say was—“

“Obito,” you spoke up. “What did you say?”

Obito laughed awkwardly. “I…I said, uh,” he cleared his throat. “I said—“

“I thought you didn’t know about Itachi and me?” You went on, eyes sharpening as Kakashi heard the edge in your voice.

Obito cleared his throat again. “…y-you and Itachi? W-Whaaaat? That’s…that’s crazy…”

“I knew something was weird,” Kakashi was beginning to put the pieces together. “There was no way Itachi wouldn’t tell you that he had a date with her. You knew.”

Obito scratched his head. “Okay…that is true…”

“So you knew he stood me up? And you didn’t say anything to me? What the hell Obito?” Your brows furrowed together in hurt.

Obito’s eyes widened. “He stood you up?”

Kakashi was confused again. None of this was adding up.

“What is going on?” Rin asked, confused as hell herself.

“Wait,” your eyes darted around, the wheels in your head turning. “You knew Itachi asked me out…but you didn’t know he stood me up?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t think…” Obito gulped. “Shit.”

“Obito,” Kakashi said in a stern voice. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Obito squeezed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay! Okay fine…”

He took a deep breath. “Itachi told me that he asked you out a few weeks ago and you said yes. But I wanted Kakashi to ask you out so badly Y/N, and I knew you didn’t really want to go out with Itachi because you secretly like Kakashi.”

Kakashi saw your mouth part open in shock, but you didn’t say anything. Kakashi had to keep himself from doing the same.

“So…I told—well, lied to Itachi a few days before the date and said Kakashi and you had gone out on a date recently. And I might have also said that Y/N told me to tell Itachi that the date was off because you guys were dating. I told Itachi he should text you and just cancel it himself, but I was definitely not counting on him just leaving you in the dust.”

Rin let out a long sigh next to Obito and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Obito…”

“You idiot,” Kakashi seethed.

“You told Itachi that Kakashi and I were dating?” You gaped.

“What? It worked, didn’t it?” Obito shrugged.

His stupidity almost made Kakashi not mad at him anymore.

“You lied, Obito,” Kakashi said. “Y/N was hurt by what Itachi did.”

“I didn’t know he was going to ghost you, Y/N,” Obito winced. “That asshole…”

Kakashi couldn’t help glancing over at you, his anger mostly on your behalf. Your expression was now blank as you stared at Obito, and that made Kakashi nervous.

“Look I understand if you’re mad,” Obito put a hand on his hip. “But I have been watching you both for three years. Y/N, you’re in cold, hard denial pretending you don’t like Kakashi. It’s painful to watch. And Kakashi, you’ve had a crush on her forever and have done nothing. So I just had to take matters into my own hands.”

Obito grabbed the doorknob, causing Rin to stumble back into the hallway. “And I am not taking your handcuffs off until you guys figure your shit out! You’re welcome!”

Obito slammed the door close.

It was silent between Kakashi and you. The only noise was Rin’s harsh whispers outside of the door, and Obito’s attempts at a protest.

“…You should have let them figure it out, Obi.”

“They weren’t ever gonna do a damn thing!”

“You don’t know that! You have to let the universe do its thing…”

Kakashi let out a stressed sigh, running a hand through his hair. His best friend was so incredibly dense. Of course, he convinced himself that his “plan” was good. Of course, he didn’t think about you getting hurt in the process, because Itachi wasn’t supposed to bail on you. And if Itachi didn’t hate Kakashi before, he definitely hated him now because he thought he stole his date.

And just when Kakashi thought he couldn’t be caught off guard anymore tonight, he heard a small giggle escape your lips.

Kakashi whipped his head down in surprise, not sure if the giggle was good or bad. But you looked over at him with your sweet smile, and he was confused.

“This just makes Itachi’s reaction even more priceless,” you said, and then you laughed even harder. “I wish I could’ve seen his face when Obito told him we were dating. Knowing that you guys have some tense history.”

“You’re…you’re not mad at Obito?” Kakashi spoke cautiously.

“Hmm..maybe a little,” you grinned. “I mean, I was pretty hurt when I got stood up. But at least I know it was Obito that was behind it. And that he didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You finally looked at him then, and Kakashi was taken aback by the smile you wore. He didn’t understand. You should’ve been more upset by this.

“Kakashi, I know you said earlier that we should talk when we aren’t drunk and handcuffed to each other,” you said, turning fully to him. “But I think we should talk now. We have a lot we need to say.”

Kakashi felt the urgency to reassure you. “We don’t have to—“

“No,” you interrupted. “We should.”

The look in your eyes told Kakashi you were deadly serious, so he swallowed the protest in his throat. “Okay.”

You looked down and began to fiddle with your handcuff. “I need to finish my apology from earlier. I really haven’t been a great friend to you, at least not as great as I could have. We have been friends for years and I never made an effort to get to know you. And to be honest, I always told myself excuses…and ignored the way I felt about you.”

Kakashi almost stopped breathing at those words.

“I’m sorry,” you continued. “For everything. But now, to make up for it, I have to be honest. Obito was right, Kakashi. About what he said.”

Kakashi had to pay close attention to your words because his heart was beating in his ears.

You finally made eye contact with him. “He was telling the truth. I do like you. I think I have for some time. And I’m sorry for pushing you away…you really didn’t deserve that.”

Three years of being content with never having his feelings returned and living with that. And you just told him that you liked him.

You laughed lightly. “I wasn’t planning on telling you like this…well, really ever at all. I didn’t think you…um, you know. But then Obito said—I mean, I guess I should just wait for you to tell me. You don’t have to, um, r-right now, just whenever you’re ready, I guess…”

Kakashi looked at you stumbling over your words and fiddling with your hands nervously. You pressed your lips together, looking anywhere except Kakashi’s eyes and Kakashi almost chuckled. But he didn’t.

Instead, he lifted his hand up to cup your face, and your sparkling eyes full of hope met his. His thumb swiped over your cheek gently, tenderly like he had wanted to do for years.

“Sweet girl,” he said as he moved to hook his finger under your chin. “Are you going to make me spell it out?”

Like it always did with you, the world slowed to a stop, and Kakashi was lost in your presence. It surrounded him and made him feel warm as he leaned down to draw your face closer to his. He saw your eyes fluttering close, and both of you moved ever so tentatively to close the gap between your lips. He felt your hand reach up to fist his sweatshirt in your hands, and Kakashi couldn’t take it any longer.

He pressed his lips to yours like he always imagined he would. And you pressed back like he always imagined you would. And he was completely, utterly drowning in your everything. Your touch, your lips, your hands, your kiss. And the crazy part was when you sighed into the kiss and ran your hand up to his chest, he didn’t care about Itachi or Obito or anything that had happened thus far.

Kakashi felt you smile against his lips, and he couldn’t help but respond in like. You giggled softly, grabbing the fingers of his hand that was handcuffed to yours. He brushed his thumb once again over your cheek and opened his eyes.

Sparkling eyes lit up with your smile. “I feel like that was a long time coming.”

Kakashi pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth. “I think so.”

“Kakashi,” you spoke quietly.

He hummed in response, tucking some hair behind your ear and still reeling from the kiss.

“As much as I, you know, wanna stay here,” you tried to fight down a grin. “I feel like we should go tell Obito we figured it out because these handcuffs are starting to hurt like hell.”

Kakashi laughed. “Yeah, let’s go.

“Then,” you looked away with that same lovely smile. “We can continue where we left off?”

Kakashi had to keep his composure at your words. “Sure.”

Inside, he felt exploding.

Kakashi never expected the night to turn out the way it did. It was going to be like every other Saturday night with his friends, and if he happened to talk to you at some point, he would cherish that moment. But it was even better than he could’ve hoped for. Talking with you, getting to know you, laughing with you, dancing with you. The unexpected had left him breathless and grateful, and although his best friend had been a complete idiot in more than one context, the art of meddling can do some crazy things.

As you pulled him to the door, holding his hand tight and a beautiful smile on your face, he really was grateful. Though he was definitely going to make sure Obito never pulled anything like that again.

You reached for the door, but for some reason, it wouldn’t open.

Kakashi tried and had no luck.

“I think he blocked the door with something,” you spoke reluctantly.

“Obito! Obito, open this door right now you dumbass,” Kakashi tried to yell through the crack.

“What the hell? It’s not even budging. What did he put in front of the door?”

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him.”

“Rin? Hello? Anyone still here?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s our idiot, though.”

“Hello? Can anyone open this damn door?”

Yes, the night had been full of the unexpected. But Kakashi wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

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headcanon: they dragged genma's drunk sleepy ass to sit and block the door hahahahaha

taglist: @apricitobio @hatake-kunoichi @silverhairsimp @ms-sasa @xjaneeeen @kerouacbridge @sonja3

#kakashi x reader #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi fluff #my work #the way my heart was beating when i hit post lmaoooaksdfkadsj

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bluebrine · 3 years

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While I’ve had a fantastic time with the recent event and all the cool lore around it, I can’t help but find the new Obelisk dragons somewhat…… out-of-place. We see the god of earth himself sculpt them from stone, name and individualize each with his own hands, and the end result just… doesn’t really look like an ‘earth’ dragon.

I really do love the art we got- the flowing hair adds good motion and elegance to the breed, and their big lion paws are very cute (the hatchling pose is one of my favs now!). I just think the design would have been better suited for a different element overall.

I understand they’re based off of stone guardian lions, which is a neat art direction, buuut the species just seems ill-fitting for their rocky homeland (and totally unrelated to Snappers). They mostly just resemble stout tundra/ manticore hybrids to me? And given that tundras already have a cousin strongly resembling them, we don't particularly need a 'tundra v.3' (as the announcement url so helpfully explains lol.)

While the Obelisk’s encyclopedia entry isn’t out yet, I’ve tried to keep the design elements of the 'protector + harbinger’ role they’ve been tasked with. They’re large, stocky, and powerful, but also more suited to their environment & offering cover for their fellow dragons.

The threat the Obelisks need to defeat is an underground menace, unearthed from a deep series of caves. It seems to be able to move through stone? Or is somehow able to pull its prey through the earth- an Obelisk should be able to quickly pursue it! (If the art we got just at least had sturdy claws for digging I would be happy, lol. Feline claws would blunt far too quickly on stone!)

Here's a comparison between the claws of a tiger, and those of a brown bear. Notice that while both would be very good at murdering you, the bear's claws are longer & flatter, instead of being such a sharp, hooked shape. This makes them more efficient at moving earth, while also being lethal weapons!

The features I picked for this earthy-er design are general a mix of bear (1, 2, 3), ankylosaur (1, 2, 3), & armadillo (1, 2, 3) anatomy. (Seriously, have you seen armadillo hands? The giant armadillo is such a perfect source of inspo for an earth dragon. Please put these claws on something, FR, I'm begging you.) These Obelisks have well-muscled forelimbs, which are capped with long, flat claws. They have toughened hide plates running along their backs, with osteoderms lining their flanks. Their heads are flatter and wedge-shaped (though I’ve kept the under-bite, cute lil’ ears, and a bristly mane). Their tails are flattened into a spade- useful for defense, shoveling earth, or slamming into the ground to communicate. Lastly, their wings- they have 2 robust digits for tunneling, and the leathery membranes have been reinforced with fibers and scutes (this makes them pretty useless for flight, but perfect for defending smaller dragons).

These features are entirely directed by the Earthshaker's own words for what Obelisks were built to do. They need be able to:

1.) warn others of danger

2.) protect their kin

3.) and battle... whatever the threat is lurking under Dragonhome.

For this, they need to have strength, a range of defensive abilities, and the ability to combat a ground-based enemy. I think that being a 45-foot-long burrowing tank, with a hide of steel, and huge wings tough enough to stop arrows is the epitome of the earth's protectiveness and power.

Obelisks' armor is so thick and strong because it is made of love for their kin. How better to show the paternal affection of their father than to take an army's worth of blows for their family? While these guys might look scary, I think they're still gentle giants at heart.

Since they’re a newborn species with no known culture/ behavior of their own yet, they’re kinda… a blank slate rn (hopefully that lore article comes out soon). I see Obelisks as statuesque behemoths, watching over their tiny Snapper cousins as their clans travel across the steppes. Perhaps they use the pounding of their great weight to speak across vast distances, to warn other dragons whenever danger is near? Or maybe they can produce far-reaching, low-frequency rumbles, like elephants? I think the 'harbinger' aspect of their lore should be emphasized just as much as their 'guardian' qualities.

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Well, even though I don’t dislike the Obelisks’ current design, I can only hope the next breed we get has a more… distinct elemental concept. (If I have to wait 10 years for water to get ’tundra but with a tail fin’……. sigh.)

#flight rising #frfanart #obelisk dragon #new breed #fake breed #personal #my art #not to be too negative here! I do like the new art #it just could be...... more. you know

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rose-of-redwall · 2 years

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Hello, goodbeasts all! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sable Rose, nice to meet you!

This is a drawing of me based off the art of Laterose (who I have a similar name to, which is special <3)

My story takes place shortly after the events of High Rhulain, which is one of my favorite books. I simply love the cultures that everyone in that book got to meet, it's full of nice characters.

One day, I hope to go on adventures like those in the Redwall books, but I value my time in the Abbey just as much... after all, I've been here forever! I also like creating art of all sorts- but particularly fiber art, so there will be no shortage of such content on this blog.

In reality, I greatly enjoy the sense of community that Mr. Jacques filled the Redwall books with, it's one of my favorite parts of the story. Likewise, I am so grateful to be a part of the real-life Redwall community that I've found through my lovely friends here on the internet. Connections are important to me <3. These stories are a part of my life that I hold dear, and I'm so glad to meet you and share in their beauty!

Just for fun, this is a self-portrait of simpler quality that I also made. (Since creating my introduction, I have collected a multitude of portraits housed in my tags! Please, read on!)

I can be found here on Tumblr, of course, but if you would like some more Rose content I also reside on Instagram (but be warned, there is a large percentage of real-world content on my other social media platforms. I don't forget Redwall, though!)

On Tumblr, I have made some resources and archival works, I've tried to collect them under #the library. Another one of my projects is #queer redwall, and I put all of my things under the tag #rose of redwall. So, see the tags for more!

I hope you enjoy my profile, come rest with me <3 you're welcome to stay as long as you like.

#rose of redwall #redwall series #redwall abbey #redwall #character design #brian jacques #redwall oc

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grumpy-zane · 2 years

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Summary: Being handed the title of Royal Blacksmith is an honor to most in the performing arts world, but when the handover comes with unorganized strings, Lou finds himself in over his head. Luck casts his way when a rather over the top person comes begging for a position to work with him. Featuring: Dareth, Lou Genre: Slice of Life Content Warnings**: Light mentions of family neglect and strict parenting. Alcohol. [Chapter 1] + [Chapter 2] + [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] + [Chapter 5] + [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] + [Chapter 8] + [Chapter 9]

**This chapter is broken into two parts. The second part follows Dareth and is more intense near the end. You do not have to read the second part past the scene break to make sense of chapter 4! View discretion is advised.

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The week dragged on with the informal communication. Not that Lou was bothered by it, he loved writing letters, but it still felt a little strange. The final letter he wrote informed Dareth that he would be at his mother’s house for the time being, and that it shouldn’t be expected that anyone would receive letters where he was previously. He doubted his father would be there, but the potential to burden him with holding onto mail if he were to return home had crossed his mind a few times.

The rift between his parents was strange in that his mother never once tried to turn him away from the career that drove a wedge in their marriage. She knew it made him happy, even if it worried her, and thought it best to let him continue through MOSPA even after the break up. “I’m so glad you found someone willing to help you out, Lou,” his mother pinched his cheek before pulling him into a hug, “I was afraid you would start growing grey hairs from all the stress!” She let go and let him inside. “Yeah, and then I’d really be dad’s replacement.” He chirped, making his way up the stairs to his brother’s room. School wasn’t out yet, so he didn’t have to worry about interrupting him from his homework while he shuffled things around. “Let me guess, you were all by yourself at your father’s house?” her voice carried from the stairwell. “Unfortunately.” He replied, closing the closet door on his coat.

She scoffed, “I figured as such. That man never knew the word ‘break’.” His mother never seemed hurt or bothered when he was brought up, in fact it was quite the opposite. She would laugh and go on about the adventures between her and him and the antics that became nothing more than photos in a very full memory book. It was her third marriage after all, and it wasn’t that she was burdened by having to take care of 3 children either. Although, it wouldn’t be right to say there weren’t moments where she missed him dearly. “Oh yes, your sister will be joining us for dinner.” Lou tapped down the stairs and smiled, “So just about everyone will be over then, wonderful!” “Just about. We’re having tomato basil soup, the weather is just perfect for it.” She hummed and turned, “I should get the tomatoes in to roast."

Aimee opened the door to the light piano playing, the tune drawing out a complimentary hum from her as she leaned against the wall. "Of course it's you playing, Dover still can hardly play more than hot cross buns." Lou smiled and continued to play, "good to hear from you too Aimee, how has the real estate been?" "Losing steam frankly, post-war high is finally dying down. People aren't buying refuge in the city but people aren't leaving either. I'm going to be heading out again for a year to sell places outside of this area, maybe eliminate some displacement by getting investors involved." "You're leaving again?" Their mother called in a sing-song voice. His sister lightly hit the wall, dismissing herself to her mother's call. Just in time too, as Dover emerged from the stairwell and took her place.

Dover didn't have a single fiber of creativity to him, no art, no music, and no literature cast its luck his way. But he didn't mind, it wasn't like he went to a specialized school for anything either. He was a freshman this year in public school being 6 years Lou's younger, and it hadn't gotten too hard.. yet. "You think mom will forget the toast this time?" "If she does it's because she's lost in conversation," Lou stopped, reaching the end of the page in the music book. "Anything interesting happened in school today?" "Nah. Nothing out of the ordinary. Super seniors ganged up again." He scratched at the varnish of the piano. His brother always had stories about super senior antics. How anyone flunked school so much that they had to stay back a year or two was beyond him, schooling was relatively easy, wasn’t it? That’s what public school is for anyway, Lou reasoned, but what did that say about his brother? "So glad you don't have to put up with them. I remember my school had the tradition of trash-can tumbling down the stairs. Can't say I ever had to experience it." "That's because you're the son of a royal blacksmith." Dover pointed, to which Lou nodded. “I mean I am too but I’m not the one making dad proud.” “Boys! Soup’s ready!” Their mother’s voice chimed again.

Bowls of red soup awaited them around the family table, each complimented by a grilled cheese cut up into half triangles for dipping. Their mother took the extra time to light a few candles to add atmosphere, the yellow glow matching the golden beams that shined through the windows. It was tradition for them that no one would eat until she sat down, and so she used that advantage to pass out glasses of water before taking her seat.

“So, I don’t know if he told the rest of you, Lou happened to find someone to help him with his father’s legacy.” the spoon clanged against the side of the bowl. Aimee perked up some, “Oh you found a manager? What are they like?” “Oh well he’s,” Lou shrugged as he thought, “not someone you’d expect- definitely not someone I suspected to be good at organizing.” He blew on the soup and took a bite, “His name is Dareth.” Dover froze, lowering his toast wedge down, “Dareth, wouldn’t happen to be about this tall, dark brown hair, usually wears leather right?” The surprised look Lou gave him confirmed his suspicions. “You two know each other?” “Heh, I know him, *everybody* knows him. He likes to make a scene when he’s late, always making up some excuse. Rumor has it he sleeps in the backstage area.” The bread crunched beneath his teeth.

Aimee and their mother exchanged glances.

Lou continued to stare. Dareth was 19, he presumed he would be out of school, though that did explain the textbooks and schoolwork. “Do you talk to him?” “No, I try to avoid him. I mean everybody does, he’s weird.” Dover mumbled, feeling hot. “I mean he was held back for a reason right? rumor has it that it was because he punched the principal.”

That sounded a little uncharacteristic, but somehow he couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment of him being weird. Lou looked over to the others, his sister giving him an obvious disapproving look and his mother trying to hide hers. ‘Rumors are rumors’ he silently reasoned to himself, stirring the soup, ‘what I know for sure is that he’s good at what I need him to be good at regardless.’

The next few days went as planned. Lou had asked his brother to talk to Dareth while he went out to practice with his quartet. One of those days his father had arrived to visit, though it wound up becoming a forced apology for not being home when Lou was around. Although he hadn’t received a letter, he sent another to Dareth asking if they could meet up sometime to discuss ideas, but he still didn’t get one back afterwards. Even stranger was that, when asked, Dover explained that something about him seemed a little off as of late.

Questions swirled around Lou’s head, but with the week coming to an end, he knew he’d get his answers once he was back at his father’s residence.

The Week Dragged on. Lou went to his mother’s house, and Dareth continued his normal routine of going to school, “going to school”, and being at home. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, he didn’t want to make his mother upset.

“Your father is taking the day off tomorrow,” His mother watched him clean the dishes from the kitchen table, her head in a hand as the cigarette whisps floated out the window. “Said he got a promotion at work, thought it’d be nice to celebrate a little with some time off.” “Mh.” Dareth nodded. ‘Great, another lecture about being a lawyer’ he thought to himself. Mary frowned, “What, are you not happy about that? Isn’t there anything that makes you happy?” He could tell she was annoyed by how innocent her tone was, but he knew better than to fall for that, and in turn tucked his head down into his shoulders. “Dareth, your father works long hours to be able to support us, and one day you are going to get married and do the same,” She flicked the ashes into the tray, “so the least you can do is pretend to pay attention to what he tells you.”

The sentiment caused an eye roll. It was the trend of his life, following in the expected footsteps of his father, but he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life sitting in an office cubicle looking over case reports. He wanted to dance- to sing, to play guitar even, but ‘those aren’t real jobs, those don’t put food on the table’ as his mother would say in all of her disapproval. She saw those things as rebellious behavior, and she would have none of it in her household. ‘If your passion doesn’t make the most money, don’t do it.’ her words taunted him in his mind. ‘What’s the point of having money or a family if you aren’t even there for them?’ the words he thought long after a stern lecture. Those words were never present during the moment, but part of him was glad that was the case. He didn’t want to get his stuff confiscated again, especially not his fish.

Dareth wouldn’t dare speak about his ties with the royal blacksmiths for that reason. The last time he saw them on TV was the last time he had even mentioned them, and his mother had gone on a long winded tangent on how ‘they’re throwing their life away’ and how ‘there’s no real money in performing like that.’ She would never want her ‘perfect son’ to go down that path, and she whined that she would be beyond distraught if he did. And Dareth, not wanting to upset his mother, never talked about it again. It was later that night that he found himself unable to sleep, the mixture of excitement and guilt of doing something he liked, the thin line he walked with his mom, and the fact that his dad was going to be around all day that caused his body to shake. His dad, of course it had to be tomorrow of all days, was perhaps his greatest enemy. He was stern, hard to read, and with a quick temper, three traits that never boded well for him growing up. Luckily his father rarely acknowledged his existence(lest Mary was there), and so there was no reason to think that this wouldn’t be the same so long as he made sure to not be in the way and not go against what he was told to do.

The next day at school he slipped into his normal routine of acting smooth. Wave to the janitor? Check. Annoy the prep girls? Check. Avoid the other super seniors and slip into class? Double check. Dareth propped his feet up on the desk, the chair tipping back and hitting the wall as he relaxed. He had a good 10 minutes before it started, which meant 10 minutes of rolling through the rest of the day. He had instructed Lou in his last letter to not, by any means, send any more letters until he was penned back, which both covered his tracks and bought him more time to do more regional research. He had been cutting into his afternoon nap time with trips to the library instead, and so far had about 30 places written down that would be worth performing at(though some really were listed because he wanted to visit them). After school he would go home and turn on the news, lie about a cultural project for the reason why he's home so late, and-

"Uhm, Dareth?" The voice snapped him out of his spacing. He blinked before smiling, "Hey freshy, this isn't your class." "I know," he took a seat at the desk ahead of him, "I'm Lou's brother. He told me to talk to you." Dareth sat up, the legs of the chair snapping onto the ground as he leaned in. "Oh yeahh.. I can see it now, Little Lou huh? You dance too?" "It's Dover, and no," he laughed, "I leave that to my brother. I don't really know what I'm doing yet." Dareth lightly hit his shoulder, "Hey no sweat, you're just a freshman you got time. Besides nothing in life is set in stone, you'll know what you want to do when something comes around." He smiled. Dover shrugged, hearing the bell. "5 minutes to get across school-" he shot up. "Better hurry. Cut through the teachers lounge and utility you'll save a minute." Dareth pointed. Dover stared at him, first surprised but then he remembered who he was talking to. "I'll catch up with you later." He waved on his way out. "Thanks."

He didn't expect to warm up to Dareth so quickly. He radiated an inviting aura and although he did get carried away in conversation, he wasn't blind to social queues. They sat together at lunch(despite the weird looks), and even walked part of the way home at the end of the day. "I'm going to hit the library, see you tomorrow Dover." Dareth parted. Dover waved and pushed his way in to his mother’s house.

The Sun had set turning the sky a red orange, making the time for Dareth to walk his way back home. He had no doubt he missed dinner, but with enough books to break the pavement in his backpack there was no way his mom would suspect a thing. Odd though, the front door was locked and the lights were dim. Did his parents go out for dinner? “Probably..” He mumbled, lifting the welcome mat and plugging the spare key into the lock. “Mom, dad, I’m home!” He announced as he closed the door behind him. His eyes fell upon the kitchen, the only lit room in the house, where his parents were standing around, waiting for him. He slipped his pack off with a loud thud before approaching with an inquisitive yet honest look.

It wasn’t until he saw the familiar parchment his friend used on the table that his facade broke.

“Sit.” His father hissed.

Dareth did so.

He picked up the letter waved it in his son’s face, “What the *hell* is this?” Dareth sucked in his lips, eyeing his mother’s furious expression before going back to the other's harder to discern look. Richard slammed his hand on the table, “Answer me!” “He’s just a friend-” Dareth tried. “Don’t LIE to me like I’m an idiot! I read the paper, you’re working for those damn blacksmiths!” He slammed the paper on the table, which frankly didn’t make nearly enough noise compared to his booming voice. “You think you were so clever to think we would never find out, huh? Your mother and I do everything for you to make sure you have the perfect path into a successful life and THIS is what you do to us? You turn your back, you *lie* about going places, you lie about who you talk to, and you lie about loving us!”

“I-I’m sorry-” Dareth retreated into his shoulders. “BULLSHIT!” He slammed his hands on the table letting the silent, dead air hang. Dareth looked at the grain of the wooden table, brain scrambling for any good excuse. Of course this had to happen now, of course Lou would get impatient, of course his father would be the one to call the shots, his father who was absent for most of his life, who wouldn't dare take a day off to help him in any way shape or form. Who wouldn’t dare to be there as a father figure, or even a figure at all. He was a presence that existed to back him into a corner, to belittle him, to scare him. Dareth met his gaze with an equally intense stare. Richard squeezed his hand before breaking eye contact and shaking his head. “And to think you’re the one who lived instead of your brother. He wouldn’t be the one chasing his damned dreams like some sort of fairy tale, he would be in college by now unlike you.”

Mary bit her cheek.

“How.. dare you.” Dareth mumbled. Richard snapped his hard gaze back to him. “How dare you!” He shot up, the chair tipping over and slapping against the kitchen floor, “What right do you have telling me what I want in life when you aren’t even here!? You think you’re soo scary with your growly voice and your ugly horse-face, you’re just a little fucking office boy who does nothing all day but waste your life! You always talk about how great your ‘other son’ would be, like I could never be him, I never would want to be him, he sounds boring as hell!” “Dareth!” Richard barked. “And you!” He pointed to his mother, “You keep trying to coax me into shit I don’t even want to think about! Marriage? Family? How could you tell me that shit when you can’t even hold your own!”

“Don’t disrespect your mother!” He yelled. “Or what?” Dareth egged with an edge of adrenaline-fueled cockiness, “You going to-” He choked as he felt the wind get knocked from his lungs. He stumbled before getting grabbed and slammed against the wall. Mary screamed as he was punched again and shoved to the ground.

“Get up.” Richard ordered despite reaching for his coat and dragging his son back up. He held him by the rim of the leather and sneered, “You want to be independent? You want to fuck up your life soo bad?” Dareth shook his head no and whimpered. “Well go ahead then! I’ll give you 15 minutes to pack up your things and get out of my house.”

#ninjago #ninjago dareth #ninjago lou #black vinyl

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lifeofresulullah · 3 years

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The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

The Second Phase of the Call: Addressing Makkans on Safa Hill

The circle of conveyance was expanding gradually. Happiness caressed the souls that had testified to Islam while the hearts that had not saved themselves from polytheism were in a state of panic.

“Therefore expound openly what thou art commanded.” When the Divine mandate came, naturally, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) could not stay still. He wanted to show his countrymen the path to spiritual and worldly happiness as soon as possible.

During this time, he slightly expanded his circle and notified the Meccans of his prophethood and the religion of Islam on Mount Safa.

Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) went on top of a high rock on Mount Safa and called out to the Meccans in a loud and resonant voice: O Sahaba! (O Community of Quraysh, come here and convene, I have important news for you!)

The Meccans were puzzled. Who was shouting? Were they in the face of danger? Had an enemy invaded their land or was an important message to be forwarded to them? They did not delay in responding to this call and gathered on Mount Safa at once. What had happened? The person making this call was Muhammad-ul Amin (Muhammad the Trustworthy.) What did he want? What news did he bring? What was he going to say?

With great curiosity they asked, “O Muhammad, why did you gather us here? What are you going to announce?”

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) did not lag in his response. At a moment when all minds fully gravitated towards him, when all eyes filled with looks of curiosity were directly focused on him, when all ears paid full attention, and at a moment when everyone was anxiously waiting, he delivered this eloquent response that was filled with several logical proofs:

O Community of Quraysh! Our similarity is like a man who sees the enemy and runs to his family and shouts “O friends!” since he is afraid that the enemy will harm and reach his family before he does.

O Community of Quraysh! If I were to tell you there were enemy horsemen on the other side of this mountain and that they were about to attack you in the morning or towards the evening, would you believe me?”

They had never heard Muhammadul-Amin (Muhammad the Trustworthy PBUH) tell a lie nor say something that had surpassed the truth. In unison they all replied, “Yes, we affirm your honesty because we have not seen anything but propriety from you. You are not a person who makes false allegations.”

After addressing the public, the Holy Prophet (PBUH) called each of the Qurayshi tribes by their own names and continued speaking:

“In that case, I inform you of a great punishment that is ahead. Allah the Exalted has commanded me to warn my closest kin of the punishment in the hereafter. I invite you to say, “Allah is One, there is no God.” I am His servant and Messenger. If you accept what I have said, then I guarantee that you will enter heaven. Also know that I cannot be of service to you in this world nor in the hereafter unless you say, “Allah is One, there is no other God but He.”

Abu Lahab Again...

Abu Lahab was baffled in the face of these words that addressed the mind, heart, and soul. He took a rock in his hands and threw it straight towards the Master of the Universe (PBUH) and shouted, “'May you perish for this! Is this what you have summoned us here for?”

Nobody else said anything in dissidence among those who were listening. They only dispersed into whispers of conversation among themselves.

Abu Lahab, the Person who Deserves Hell...

With his actions, Abu Lahab now deserved Divine punishment and enmity.

He would pay dearly for his violent hostility, lasting grudge, and hate that he had towards Allah’s Apostle (PBUH). Allah heralded his frightening aftermath in Surah al-Lahab:

“Perish the two hands of Abu Lahab and perish he! His wealth and what he has earned shall avail him naught, Soon shall he burn in a flaming fire; And his wife, too, bearer of slander. Round her neck shall be a halter of twisted palm-fiber…”

Regardless of whoever spoke out in dissidence, Allah would continue to complete our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) light. For that reason, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was neither afraid of nor shaken by the ugly allegations made against him and was able to continue on his path in an immensely dignified and serious manner.

MALTREATMENT AND INSULT INFLICTED UPON THE PROPHET

After our Holy Prophet (PBUH) declared his prophethood and invited the community to Islam on Mount Safa, the polytheists of the Quraysh tortured him and targeted insults at him, and their abuse continued to increase.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) invited them to the doctrine of “Tawhid” (oneness) whereas they insisted upon idolatry and polytheism, which they called “the religion of their fathers.”

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) invited them to the path of virtue and happiness both in this world and the hereafter whereas they tried to keep away from virtue and happiness just as a bat tries to flee from the light.

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) invited them to live humanely and to exhibit dignified behavior while they gallivanted by exhibiting ugly and dishonorable behavior and trampled over human dignity and honor with their feet.

He wanted them to enter Paradise and invited them to commit deeds that would earn them these incomparable blessings whereas they continued to commit deeds that would lead them to eternal punishment and hellfire.

Through his invitation, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) wanted to save them from falling into asfal as-safilin (the lowest of the low) and elevate them to a’la illiyyin (the highest of the high places), ranks of worth, and stations that would empower them to execute sublime duties. Nonetheless, they continued preoccupying themselves with worthless activities that would result in their entrance to the bottom pits of hell (asfal as-safilin.)

Of course, the polytheists who exhibited such desires and behavior would oppose our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) invitation, would struggle against him without mercy, would try to make him ineffective through all their means and break his perseverance, fortitude, courage, and zeal. For that reason, they attempted to commit all kinds of torment, persecution, insults, and murder attempts.

Undoubtedly, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was not the only one who faced such circumstances. Every prophet who has been sent was treated harshly, held in contempt, and subjected to torture and persecution by his tribe and community. Alongside these commonalities and other traits that all of the prophets shared, these prophets did not refrain from explaining their cause and did not make any concessions from their faith despite the torture, insults, persecution, and murder attempts they faced. As the amount of torture and persecution that they were afflicted with increased, their love, enthusiasm, and seriousness in their mission in working towards having the truth heard grew even more.

Abu Lahab is Leading

Abu Lahab and his wife, Umm Jamil, were among the leaders of those that tortured and persecuted the Master of the Universe (PBUH).

Aba Lahab would continuously stalk our Beloved Prophet (PBUH), would strive to get the crowd to stop listening to him, and would attempt to instill doubts and apprehensions in their minds.

That day, Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) was inviting the crowd to testify to the Oneness of Allah and his own prophethood at the Ukaz Fair: “O people! Say La Ilaha Illallah so that you can save yourselves,” our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said to the crowd.

Abu Lahab came from right behind and shouted, “O people! He is my nephew; he is lying to you, stay away from him.”

This was an example that is and was filled with many lessons:

His nephew was inviting the crowd to the path of happiness and to have faith in Allah whereas he, the paternal uncle, was opposing his own nephew by yelling at the crowd to not listen!

Abu Lahab did not stop there.

One day, he threw rancid filth at the front of the door of our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was his neighbor. At that moment, despite not yet having become a Muslim, Hazrat Hamza caught up and spilled the filth and the rancid substances upon Abu Lahab’s head.

All that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said in the face of his neighbor’s ugly action was, “O Sons of Abd Manaf! What kind of neighborliness is this?” as he swept away the filth in front of his home.

This man, who the Quran mentions will burn in the fierce fires of Hell, would sometimes stone our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) home just to bother him.

Abu Lahab Sends his son so that he will torture the Prophet!

Abu Lahab did not want to be alone in torturing and persecuting the Master of the Universe (PBUH).

One day, he commanded his son, Utaiba, to harass our Holy Prophet (PBUH). Utaiba went to our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was reciting Surah an-Najm during that time. Upon hearing this, Utaiba remarked, “I swear by the Lord of an-najm (the star) that I denounce your prophethood” and arrogantly spat toward the Master of the Universe (PBUH).

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) only replied to him with this invocation:

"O my Lord! Subject him to the power of a dog from among Your dogs."

His (PBUH) prayers were never left unrequited; thus, his imprecation was answered sometime after the above incident. While Utaiba was sleeping among his friends in Hawran, a place that was in the vicinity of Yemen, a lion came and tore him to shreds!

The acceptability of his prayers is just one aspect of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) many miracles.

Wood Carrier of Hell

Umm Jamil was the wife of Abu Lahab, the most violent opponent and enemy of the Islamic cause. This woman, referred to as the “wood carrier” in the interpretation of the Holy Quran, had become so mad and so wild in the face of the Islamic cause that she would sprinkle hard, spiked shrubs every day on the path that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) walked without showing the slightest sign of boredom; in fact, she derived great pleasure from this action.

An incident related to Umm Jamil is as follows:

While our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was on Mount Safa and openly delivering the Divine invitation to the Quraysh for the first time, she and her husband, Abu Lahab scolded him and even affronted him. Abu Lahab shamelessly said, “'May you perish for this! Is this what you have summoned us here for?” and hurled a rock that he had lifted from the ground towards our Holy Prophet (PBUH). Upon this incident, Allah revealed Surah Tabbat, which mentions the ugly behavior and aftermath of Abu Lahab and his wife.

Umm Jamil could not contain herself once she heard this surah. She carried a rock and went to the Masjid al-Haram. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was sitting there with his loyal friend, Hazrat Abu Bakr. Umm Jamil saw Hazrat Abu Bakr but did not notice our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was sitting there right next to him. She said to Hazrat Abu Bakr: O, Abu Bakr! Where is your friend? I heard that he has satirized me. I am going to smash his mouth with this rock when I see him.”

Since Umm Jamil’s eyes could only see Hazrat Abu Bakr and failed to notice our Holy Prophet (PBUH), she had no choice but turn back since she could not achieve her goal.

Of course her eyes could not see!! How could a “wood carrier” of Hell dare to see our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was under Allah’s protection and grace?

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