#easy fractions for children

[presswoodterryryan]

Fractions Made Easy: Multiply with Confidence

By Alice Hi, friends! It’s me, Alice! And guess what? My big sister Ariel wrote another awesome paper, and this time it’s all about fractions and multiplying them by whole numbers! 🧮✨ Now, before you run away thinking fractions are scary, let me tell you something… fractions are EVERYWHERE! From baking cookies to cutting pizza slices to measuring how much time I spend playing with Mr.…

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Five

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, jealousy, manipulation, brief mentions of sex

Word Count: 4k

At breakfast, an unfamiliar soldier comes to apologize. Ghost’s jealousy rears its head.

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

It’s the noise that hits you first. A visceral gut punch of sound that sends you reeling toward homesickness. The dining hall is packed with people. They sit at long tables and round ones, talking and eating and talking. Living their lives. Simply existing.

But the realization of where you are is far stronger than any yearning for home and community. There are no children chasing each other, their joyful cries echoing off the walls. There is no lazy strumming of a guitar from the corner. No cheerful faces eager to greet you, to invite you to the table, to break bread and ask about your day.

The room is full of soldiers. Blood-drenched creatures. Unknown faces. Male gazes.

A sweaty staleness hangs in the air, mixing with the salty bite of bacon on the griddle. This space is a gnarling twist of enemy territory and diner. A submergence in a warped reality of the past. There is something hauntingly nostalgic about the wood walls and metal ceiling, as if you’re child again at summer camp.

When it rains, do the droplets ring against the metal? Do they sing soft pings to the soldiers as they eat?

“Two legs,” growls Ghost from behind you, the fabric of the balaclava a teasing scratch against the curve of your ear. “And yet you refuse to walk.”

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

And you allowed this man to tongue your pussy? To slide his cum-coated thumb into your mouth? It doesn’t matter how good he made you feel, or how, for a fraction of a moment, the reality of your situation melted away, leaving you only with lust. Survival cradled you, and delivered you into Ghost’s arms because it’s all you know.

Foolish.

Reeling Lieutenant Riley in didn’t have to involve you spreading your legs for him. A kiss or two would have suffice. But loneliness is a fickle disconnect of melancholy, leading you quickly toward a mistake that could have upended everything. You don’t know Soap, but you silently thank him for knocking on the door and dissolving whatever haze invaded your senses when Ghost had you under him.

The easy thing would be to snap at Lieutenant Riley. It’s what you want to do. But this is not the place to tell him off or cause a scene even if he deserves a bit of lip. You are surrounded—caged in by people who’d have his back before yours. There are no friends here. Not even Ghost.

You glance over your shoulder, that whiskey gaze of his biting back with a hint of a spark.

Ghost. Lieutenant Riley.

Your sentinel. Guardian. Protector. Captor.

Best to be the quiet doe here and bow before the stag.

“I don’t know this place,” you reply softly, lowering your gaze in submission.

Ghost’s head tilts slightly, assessing. “No,” he agrees. “You don’t.”

Timidness is the key to his gentleness as much as your dagger tongue. It’s a bit debilitating—nearly a whiplash. Navigating Lieutenant Riley is a windstorm. But like any storm, it will pass. You need only weather him.

Ghost’s gaze turns outward into the dining hall, eyes narrowing. “Stay close to me,” he murmurs, and the tenderness in his voice makes you pause.

Like the gunshots that seemed never-ending, Ghost spoke to you in the same tone, covering your ears, coaxing you to look only at him. These fleeting moments of kindness and affection make no sense. It’s like he wants to possess you and yet smack you down with equal measure.

You sense a phantom hand on your lower back, simply hovering, a breath away from touching. Ghost doesn’t need to touch you to herd you where he wants. A few steps, unbidden, and you move forward into the communal dining hall. No longer hiding just inside the door, you’re out in the open now, on display.

Soldiers at tables nearest you glance in your direction. Their voices become murmured whispers or fizzle out entirely. Here, you are an oddity. Perhaps an apparition. This is not a place for civilians, and the way some of the men leer is a clear indication that if Ghost weren’t standing next to you, they’d approach. The very threat of it forces you to take a step closer to him.

Whether Ghost notices your nervousness or not is an entirely different matter. Lieutenant Riley walks with heavy confidence, his head held high as if he’s proud that you’re at his side, and the men staring at you means nothing. For you, it takes more effort to act like him, to pretend that this isn’t a curling nightmare.

You want to go home. You want your bed and your books and your archive.

Ghost’s footsteps are easy to follow. One. Two. One. Two. With his phantom hand at the small of your back, Lieutenant Riley keeps you at his side and just to the front of him, urging you closer to the front of the communal dining hall where a massive buffet lines the wall. Soldiers move along the queue at different intervals, filling their plates with the morning fare. Unlike Lieutenant Riley and the rest of his team, not everyone is in all black. There are plenty in green fatigues, even dark blue that remind you of sailors. A few are clad in tactical gear like they’re trying to shovel some food down before taking off. There are others that are completely dressed down, more casual but still in uniform.

A whiff of cooking food drifts toward you, stirring your stomach to rumbling.

Ghost’s hand finally connects, purposefully steering you to an open spot in line. A small spike of anxiety flares. It’s just a goddamn food line but you don’t know the order of things, and you’re surrounded by strangers.

But the worry is silly, because you don’t even lift a finger.

Ghost brings you to an open spot and promptly grabs a black tray, placing it in front of you. A plate appears, followed by a few napkins and silverware. You stare; a bit surprised by how he handled it so calmly. You didn’t have to think about anything. Not a single neuron fired.

Ghost nods toward the immense line of food. “Eat whatever you want.”

Whatever you want? Truly?

Briefly glancing over the long buffet line, you turn back to Lieutenant Riley, a hint of disbelief in your tone. “I can do that? Put whatever I want onto my plate?”

Ghost inclines his head. “You’re under my protection.”

As if that answers your fucking question. Sometimes he’s so damn cryptic.

“And what about you?” you ask. “Are you eating?”

Eating in this room with all these eyes on you is daunting. Eating alone sounds worse.

“Already ate,” replies Ghost with a husky drawl.

Images of Lieutenant Riley’s naked body invade, reminding you of your lusty mistake, and how nice he looked when his lips and chin were glossy with your arousal.

“You hardly finished,” you mumble, quickly glancing away in embarrassment.

Ghost makes a humph sound, and though you can only see his eyes, the curling pinch of lines in the corners tells you enough. This man is fucking smirking.

He starts to lean in, and your heartrate quickens. The intimacy is akin to a shared secret.

“Lieutenant Riley!”

Both of you turn abruptly. Ghost pushes off from the metal rail, his shoulders straightening, demeanor changing completely due to whoever’s just addressed him. You scan the unfamiliar faces, only for an older man to appear through the crowd. It’s clear from his uniform that he’s above Ghost in rank, but you wouldn’t be able to say how. Military ranks and the hierarchy of authority isn’t clear to you. And this isn’t the “Price” you met last night. It’s someone else. Someone you don’t know.

“Grab what you want, love. Find an empty seat. I’ll come to you,” says Ghost, not even looking at you as he says it.

Then he’s gone. Poof. Like cigarette smoke drifting into the air.

The large communal dining hall suddenly shrinks, becoming insufferable and stuffy.

Run. Run.

Run. But where to? Where the fuck can you go on a goddamn military base? If you bolt out of here, Ghost would chase you, knock you down and shove his boot into your back. Or maybe he’d take you back to the private barracks, toss you onto the bed, and deal out a bit of punishment. Either would be fucking embarrassing, and no matter how much the animal in you wants to flee, you remain firmly in line, staring at the food as you breathe in through your nostrils and out through your mouth.

Calm. Calm calm calm. Zen. Deep breaths.

You’re fine. Everything is fine. You’re safe.

Saliva pools in your mouth, and the fresh aroma of baked bread creeps up your nostrils. Food. You can focus on that. You can feed yourself and then take the next step after, whatever the fuck that might be. Before you are a plethora of options. Back home, breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all set affairs. Everyone eats the same unless someone has a dietary restriction for medical reasons. There is no display. No bounty. No cornucopia of a feast.

After the world fractured, this amount of food was unimaginable.

Fluffy pancakes. Greasy bacon. Scrambled eggs. Potato hash loaded with vegetables. There are bowls full of color fruit. Oatmeal with different toppings. Grits. These are American classics, but they aren’t the only options. There are fried eggs over rice and even a stuffed flatbread that smells faintly of cumin. It’s made to accommodate many tastes. Options for everyone. Beyond that, you glimpse baskets piled high with fresh bread, and next to that, condiments. You even spy a bottle of hot sauce and a container holding kimchi.

For a moment, it feels like before, as if you were waking up in a hotel and down in the lobby standing before a continental breakfast.

Is this normal? Do the people who live in the safe zones always feast like this? Or is this simply reserved for those willing to pick up a gun for the sake of humanity? Are they fed well to keep them happy?

There’s no use in worrying over what you don’t know. Eventually you’ll find out. Lieutenant Riley intends to take you to the safe zone after all, and once there, you’ll get your answers.

Grabbing the scoop for the scrambled eggs, you dig in, lifting up a heaping amount to place onto your plate.

“I’d avoid that.”

The masculine voice nearly makes you jump right out of your skin. You drop the scoop, the egg returning to the chaffer with a splat. Little specks of egg go flying, landing on the surrounding metal.

“You’ll be in the latrine the rest of the day.”

Jesus.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unsure of the sudden newcomer.

He’s a bit shorter than Lieutenant Riley, perhaps by a few inches, and he wears a similar uniform of all black fatigues. On his upper bicep is the flag of the United Nations and the United States.

He shrugs. Inclines his head. “Or you’ll be fine. Bit of a hit or miss. Depending on the day.”

There’s a slightly southern lilt in his voice. Not Deep South like Mississippi or Louisiana. It’s too neutral. Perhaps northern Arkansas. Maybe even southern Missouri.

But it’s not like you’d ask. In fact, you’re fucking annoyed. There’s already one annoying man in your life. You don’t need two.

“Which is it?” you ask, feigning a smile.

The stranger gazes over the glass, gaze narrowing slightly. Finding whatever he’s looking for, he nods in affirmation. “It’s a good batch.”

How long do you have to amuse him before he’ll move on?

“How can you tell?” you ask, adding some of the eggs to your plate.

He runs his fingers through his dusty brown hair. “It’s who’s at the griddle.” You open your mouth, a reply on your tongue, but this stranger trudges on. Continues talking. “If Four Fingers is on the griddle, you’re good. Always cleans between whatever he’s cooking.”

No. No. This is fucking weird.

“I’m sorry,” you say, holding up your hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Please get the fuck away from me.

And where the fuck is Ghost?

“Sergeant Noah Fields.” He extends his hand in a warm greeting. Reluctantly, you take it. The shake is firm but not overly domineering. “I was with Lieutenant Riley’s group,” he says when you drop your hand.

Not really helpful, and you don’t hesitate to say so. “You were all wearing balaclavas,” you reply, taking a step forward to indicate that you’re leaving the conversation. “Can’t say I recognize you.”

Sergeant Fields doesn’t take the hint.

“No, ma’am,” he laughs, some of that southern drawl making a quick appearance. “Suppose you wouldn’t.” he shrugs, walking beside you. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Everything compounds, pushing you back into a place you don’t want to return to. Running for your life. The whizz of bullets flying through the air. A gun at your temple. It wasn’t only Lieutenant Riley that you met. There were others. Three for sure that touched you. Many more looking on.

And which one is he?

You take another step, skipping what looks to be eggs baked into a tomato sauce. A whiff of spice drifts up, and your nose twitches.

“Listen,” continues Sergeant Fields, tone sheepish. “I ow you an apology.” You pause at the hash, briefly glancing at him but saying nothing as you scoop some onto your plate next to the eggs. “A big one.”

“Do you?” you muse, returning the scoop to its cradle.

Where is Ghost? He’d put an end to this conversation. For that, you’d be grateful.

“It’s why I’m interrupting your breakfast.”

That’s obvious.

“And what are you apologizing for?” you prod, entertaining him for the sake of it.

While part of you would enjoy blatantly ignoring him, you also know that you’re not in any position of leverage. Ghost has stepped away. There is no brooding buffer to chase off Sergeant Fields.

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck in apparent agitation. A little red flag waves in your head. It’s clear that he’s working up to something, but you don’t know him. They all wore balaclavas. This man is a complete stranger.

“Look,” you say, starting to lift your tray. “Whatever it is—”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. You deserve an apology.”

You go to step around him, but Sergeant Fields backs up, forcing you back to the buffet rail. “Stop. Just—stop. Did Lieutenant Riley put you up to this?”

“Did—” He blinks. Startled. “No.” He rubs at his chest. “I’ve been wanting to apologize since we’ve arrived at base. Heard from the others that you’d been cleared. That you’re being taken back to the safe zone.”

“Per the mandate,” you say slowly.

Sergeant Fields disregards this, moving on. “I treated you poorly. Called you…”

A coldness creeps in, turning your bones and blood to ice. Only three people talked to your directly. And only one called you a name that made you snarl.

These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.

“Breeder,” you finish for him. “You called me a breeder.”

This motherfucker. Ghost might be a bastard, but this asshole is a fucking villain. He didn’t just call you a “breeder.” He did much worse—insinuated worse.

Sergeant Fields flushes slightly. “I did,” he affirms like a kicked dog.

Time to dig in. To show a bit of fang while you have the upper hand. “And you stuck your fingers in my mouth to look at my teeth.” The venom in your voice is lethal.

The sadness on his face deepens. “I did,” he confirms, denying nothing. “And I’ve come to apologize. To ask forgiveness.” Sergeant Fields sighs. Licks his lips. “I thought you were with—fuck.” He pauses. Starts over. “I judged you. Treated you poorly. That was wrong. Even if you were with them, I know how they treat their women. I should have been kinder with you. And I wasn’t.”

You don’t know this man, but you may not see him again after this. Perhaps you’re about to stroke his ego, but there is nothing on the surface that indicates nefarious intent. Sergeant Fields doesn’t leer, and he doesn’t glance away to stare at your body. He looked you in the face as he gave you his apology.

“I accept, Sergeant,” you sigh.

His solemn demeanor changes, a grin spreading across his face. “Noah. Please.”

“Noah,” you repeat.

“Well, ma’am.” He points to the chaffer next to you. “I’d recommend the pancakes. The grits aren’t too bad. Just add some honey and butter. Or if you’re of the savory kind, a fried egg with a dash of hot sauce.”

“Noted,” you smile, because this is much better conversation, even if you’re ready for Ghost to come rescue you. “Is this standard? The variety?”

Noah takes a step back, allowing you plenty of space to slide your tray down the line. “A few things rotate. Depending on availability. All the safe zones trade with each other.”

So, there are more? But how many?

“Sometimes, the safe zones south of us send citrus. It’s always a rush to the line when lemons and oranges make it here. Bananas, too. But we see those maybe once a year.” Noah snags a bowl of colorful fruit, placing it on your tray. “You can imagine the mayhem when they send us avocados.”

As you open your mouth to answer, a large shadow falls across the two of you. Noah’s charming smile melts like a vaporized ice cream cone. Straightening, Noah becomes stiff and stoic, staring just off to the right of your shoulder.

You turn slowly and find your masked kidnapper hovering there, arms crossed over his chest, the middle of his brow a sharpened v.

“Sergeant Fields,” growls Ghost.

Oh. This is interesting. There’s something here. Something you might be able to manipulate.

“Lieutenant,” you greet with a sunny smile. “You’re back.”

You’re far too cheery, and Ghost knows it. When his gaze slowly slides in your direction, his irritation with Noah turns into a silent “really?”

“Noah was helping me.” You turn toward Sergeant Fields. “Isn’t that right?”

He visibly swallows. “That’s right, Lieutenant.”

Ghost is unwavering. That whiskey-brown gaze of his locks onto Noah like bloodied daggers. “I can take it from here, Sergeant.”

“Course, sir,” nods Noah. He briefly turns toward you. “Glad we can start over.”

As he walks away from you and Ghost, you start sliding your tray down the line. Ghost grabs the edge, halting all forward movement. You don’t even entertain him with an answer. Instead, you attempt to shove your tray into his hand.

“What did he say to you?”

You narrow your gaze. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“What,” says Ghost slowly. “Did he say?”

Fucking hell, this man is insufferable sometimes.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “We made small talk.” You jerk the tray again, but Ghost keeps his hand firmly in place. “Is there an issue, Lieutenant?”

“First names. Fresh starts,” he lists. “A flirt.”

“Let go of my tray.”

“What did he say to you?” repeats Ghost.

“You know, Lieutenant,” you sigh heavily. “I think you’re jealous.”

It’s a flicker. An ember that flares then cools. Ghost’s pupils dilate slightly then retract. It’s unnerving the way he’s staring at you.

“Stay away from him,” he breathes, the command smoke-laced.

In this, he wants you to obey—to submit to his authority. The commonality here is that Ghost can take orders as well as give them. But unlike Sergeant Fields, you won’t allow Ghost to push you around. Not all the time.

“Look at you, Lieutenant. Didn’t even deny it.”

The tease is a poke. Like a needle under the nail.

“Like I said. Stay away from him.”

“Why?”

“He’s untrustworthy.”

“Wow,” you exclaim. “That is super helpful. Thank you so much for explaining. I totally understand now.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” replies Ghost, releasing the tray.

The release in pressure nearly sends you stumbling. With a huff, you brush by Ghost, purposefully catching his arm with your shoulder. Keeping your focus on the trays of food, you add more to your plate. Some of the options are foods you haven’t seen in over six years. It’s all sitting there in front of you, begging you to take it.

“Do you know him?”

Ghost’s question startles you.

“Do I know him?” you ask, a bit baffled.

“Glad we can start over?” he prompts, repeating what Noah said just minutes ago.

You roll your eyes. “Fucking ridiculous,” you mutter. Lifting your tray off the rail, you walk around Ghost, heading for the baked bread.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You grab the tongs and pick out a few pieces still steaming from the oven. “Am I allowed to eat my breakfast in peace?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” you muse flatly, moving over to the beverages. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask, changing the subject.

“Told you,” replies Ghost. “I already did.”

“I don’t count.”

Ghost leans against the counter, his back to the carafes of coffee, his front facing the dining hall. There’s movement in your peripheral. Someone approaching. You don’t even have the chance to see who because Ghost growls at them like a dog giving a warning.

“Really?” you side-eye, grabbing a glass of water.

“He was staring at your arse.”

Placing the glass on your tray, you turn toward Simon, one hand resting against the counter. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sergeant Fields.”

“Oh, please,” you guffaw.

“Noah. Since the two of you are on first names.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ghost grabs your water glass and moves it. “Balance is off. Tray will tip when you lift it.”

“Can we just have a normal morning?” you ask. It’s a simple request. “Without—” You gesture between the two of you. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Ghost’s upper body shifts in your direction, but you suddenly realize that you’re not finished. That you’re not actually wanting an answer.

“Also. How the fuck would you even know that? He was standing directly in front of me. When did he even have the time?”

Ghost inclines his head, speaks casually. “I caught him staring before he came up to you.”

“You’re making shit up.”

“I don’t lie.”

You lift your tray off the counter, deciding it’s best to go find a seat and leave Ghost behind. This conversation is exhausting. And your eggs are going cold. But before you even take a step, Ghost is right there, grabbing the tray out of your hands and putting it back on the counter.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Ghost moves in. Dangerously so. “I. Don’t. Lie.”

“Do keep stroking your own ego.”

His voice lowers, becomes that soft croon when he spoke sweetly to you. Promised you things. Promised you protection. “Please,” and you realize he’s begging. “Stay away from him.”

This is beyond ridiculous. It borders on possession. Ghost may have ripped you from your life only to thrust you into a new one, but he’s not anything to you. He’s simply an instrument. Something you can wield so that you make it out the other side alive.

You take a step forward, leaning into him in the same way you offered yourself. “I was willing this morning,” you whisper. “I…wanted you.” Your confession is sin-drenched, and it pulls the reaction you want. The middle of Ghost’s brow softens, and then there is nothing but pure longing. “In a way,” you continue. “I think I still do.”

It’s not untrue. It felt good to be beneath him, for his hands to roam and touch, to taste and consume.

But this confessional is not to please him.

You withdraw the allure. Find the devil in you.

“And now you’re fucking hurt because another man spoke to me.”

Even the balaclava cannot hide his sharp inhale. “Sergeant Fields is a fucking snake.”

You say it slowly, each word like the prick of a dagger tip. “Choke on my dick, Lieutenant.”

It starts a soft, musing chuckle. Then a laugh. All that fire within you extinguishes, put out by the flood that is Ghost.

“Oh, dove,” he purrs. “You’ll look bloody gorgeous choking on mine.”

[acid-ixx]

Planned Fanfics !

ft. platonic/ yandere batfam, superfam, villains, au's & many more!

— Disclaimer! This contains massive spoilers and all my plans for future works that I'll soon publish. This is posted because I wish to update my readers upon the contents of what I'm working to write and for them to leave inputs and whatnot. Sorry for the delays and all, life is hectic and as much as I love writing, I also have a life outside of this site sadly. By the way, this is not even half of my drafts and if anyone is interested in the things written beneath here, then please do tell!

To Be His Child is All I want (A&A, Chapter 5): Confronting Jason, one of your brothers who played a role in neglecting you, and being partly the reason why you ventured out the manor to seek love, away from the unhealthy environment, was no easy task. Back and forths with him, and reasoning why you don't wish to return back 'home' only poured fire into the flames of your already aching heart, as you scream about only wishing to be loved by even a fraction of the compassion Bruce feels for all his other children was all you needed to feel happy in life. It was enough to leave Jason breathless, muddled with emotions he couldn't quite grasp.

As you drown in a seamless fit of arguing and sobbing into the arms of your brother, the manor holds a meeting regarding your sudden disappearance. Bruce is promptly disappointed at Jason's absence; the others are just as intrigued with Dick and Damian's urgency to find you. Yet all are unbeknownst to your plans of escape, and most especially to a certain Kryptonian's scheme to have you in his arms all for himself.

Family Dinner (A&A): Silly, old you can't seem to stomach the fact that they're all looking at you now at the elongated table when months ago you were a mere ghost in their eyes whilst they chatter happily amongst each other. Unfamiliar with how communicating with a family who estranged you works; you end up having a panic attack in the middle of dinner when Damian attempted to hug you.

To Love and To Cherish (Random): Bruce Wayne loves his spouse and everything about them. They're everything desirable in his eyes and he couldn't help the urges that keeps him running back to you every time he patrols to ensure not only the safety of Gotham, but for the sake of his growing plans to fully integrate you as a full-time house spouse. The problem Bruce faces, though, is that he's not actually married to you, yet, and you're unaware of his prying eyes on your form as you live alone in your shabby apartment.

Flowers on My Grave (A&A, Hanahaki AU): Flowers don't only bloom inside your lungs when you're rejected by someone you love romantically, they can also manifest through platonic love unrequited. Vomiting a bouquet of yellow carnations and an arraw of purple and blue hyacinths, you set to sever the bond of love you once felt for them once and for all.

Cold House, Lone Spouse (Loving Family, Unpalatable Desire): You come home from Clark's farm to sleep in your own room to make sure nobody suspects a thing; expecting to power through the pain of loneliness in your room. But you end up waking up to Bruce's body pressed against your back and his arms caging you, unrelenting in its pursuit to make sure you never seek out another man's hold again.

Once Your Son, Always Your Son (Loving Family, Unpalatable Desire): Your routine with your beloved son, Jon, leaves nothing else to be desired as you set about your usual nightly schedule of helping him clean up, fix his bed, and read him bedtime stories— something you've grown accustomed to love naturally as being a parent does. But when Damian comes to visit you once Jon falls asleep, he enviously demands you do the same to him and to return to the manor where a better family is waiting for you.

The Confrontation (Loving Family Unpalatable Desire): Clark's night with you always ends up with him hovering above your body, kissing all the exposed parts of your skin, and worshipping your body which lays upon his bed every night. It's the perfect fantasy, yet it's promptly shattered when he sees the familiar silhouette of his comrade, clad in all black, demanding that Clark returns his spouse back in his arms; as if he's not the very same man who left you all alone that night at the gala, available for taking.

A Father's Strange Case of Gift Giving (A&A): To make it up to you, Bruce tries to spoil you rotten with a bottomless allowance and unrestricted access to all his credit cards. Even a mansion built on your name is built as one of the family's vacation houses. One unsettling fact, though, is Bruce's proficiency of capturing every detail of all things you prefer in such a short span of time after kidnapping you. (i.e. You're unaware of the cameras planted in every corner of your room trying to capture the things that makes you smile).

Mind Games and Mind Control (Brutus): What if it were The Riddler and Scarecrow who saved you from nearly dying? With your emotional reception, and both their wits, you end up stirring more trouble for Gotham's vigilantes. But during times where you've nothing to do but watch as both villains enact upon their master plans, itching to satisfy the ache of bloodlust coursing through your veins, you start to notice the abrupt bouts of energy they exert upon tormenting whoever stares at you (sitting comfortably on a cushioned couch, treated like royalty no less) or talks behind your back— crazed for your words of approval and praise as if it's not them who are capable enough of controlling you instead.

The Powered, and the Powerless (Random, Romantic Batfam): During the night, they are your city's saviors, the light that shines bright on darkness, the hope that never wavers through moments of fear. Daytime, meanwhile, they're portrayed as a rich, socialite family who donate millions on charity and everything that promotes good costs. Power comes to them naturally, and praise is served to most of them in a silver platter for all their hard work. You can even say their status is akin to that of Gods, except you don't think of them the same way others do; choosing to utilize your immense knowledge of internet safety to publish articles and conspiracies pertaining to each member of the Wayne family through anonymous forums. Yet all this results in their interest in your secret identity.

Fate Unwanted (Random, Soulmate AU): You're a simple person living on the outskirts of an unnamed town on the boundaries of Gotham. Curious on why your parents are protective of you, forcing you to live with countless of strick rules written boldly on paper and plastered on the front of your refrigerator, and why you just can't seem to produce or perceive any soulmate bond; you set out on a mission to find the mysteries of your unmarked soul. Little did you know that the strangers you stumble upon who chose to assist you on your journey, all from every city and every known state, have found their soulmate that they're unwilling to share.

[valardohaeriss]

Nesting -C.S

Okay so this was an ask from an anon and I was talking about it a little with @thewolvesofthenorth

We love dad Cregan in this house. So here’s a quick Drabble about it

Warnings: pregnancy. Birth.

Requests are open

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Female Pregnant Reader

Summary: you’re nesting and Cregan is ready for his first child with you

———

“That’s what we have staff for, you know?” Cregan reassured you as he saw you pacing through your shared chambers as you tidied things and organized everything that didn’t even need it.

“Cregan, I need to do this please. It helps me feel prepared. She could come at any minute.” You said as you folded extra sheets for the bed should anything happen in the middle of the night.

Cregan stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, feeling so any signs of movement. “She? How do you know that?” He asks. Cregan already had Rickon before you, but never did he see himself having more children, let alone girls. However with you, he’d give you as big of a family as you wanted.

“Because I’m always right…and because the maester thinks by the way I’m carrying her, she may be a girl.” You said with a smirk as you folded more clothes you and your ladies made for the new babe.

Moving to the next task you walk by a worried Cregan. He didn’t like to see you waddle around uncomfortably, he wanted you resting, careful, stress free. Everything you were doing now caused him stress and he couldn’t begin to understand how his stress didn’t stress you.

He didn’t put his foot down about it until he saw you try to climb furniture to reach shelves that were not meant for clothing until now. “Okay, I’ve seen enough.” He said and walked to you, picking you up and carrying you to your bed. “Cregan! I said-“ you started but a pair of lips meeting yours interrupted you.

“I heard what you said, but if I’m to be involved with this pregnancy and birth as you requested, then I request you also listen to me when I please ask you to sit. Even for a small fraction of time?” He pleaded with his eyes.

Cregan Stark was a very convincing man and it was very hard to tell him no. Especially when his requests were for the betterment of you. “I guess I am a little tired.” You admitted, rubbing your hand over your round belly. Cregan smiled at you and kissed your head. “I know. It’s only as if I’ve been watching you flip trophy shelves into clothing piles and trinket holders for the babe. Does she even need this many clothes?”

You took a look at the stacks that you had accrued over 9 months. “Winter is coming?” You retorted and earned a chuckle from your husband. “Indeed it is, fair point m’lady.”

——

Your last couple of weeks in your pregnancy had ended and what seemed to be what you felt to be a night of final relaxation turned into pain, quickly. “Cregan, the maester…please?” You asked him as you squeezed his arm in response to pain. Cregan had never gotten up quicker in his life and called out to the respective staff.

Hours of labor and flipping positions, Cregan rubbing your back, and sitting with you in a hot tub to ease your pain went by for what felt like three winters in the North. Cregan tried to keep himself calm for you, but noticed the staff moving effortlessly finding everything in its perfect spot for when you needed it immediately.

Cregan watched as your calculations for everything paid off. “Told you.” Was all you said as you cradled your head back into the crook of where his neck meets his shoulder. “Told me what?” He asked, grabbing a towel from the stack you folded a day ago. “Looks like my nesting is making everything easy…is it not?” You asked as you tense from another contraction.

Two days of labor and not a single person had faltered in aid. Everyone moved like a well oiled machine to be prepared for the life you were about to bring into the world. “I would say you would be right, Lady Stark.” He laughed as he wrapped the both of you in towels and threw your night dress over your head.

One more hour went by and the baby was on their way. Cregan aided you in each and every position you tried. Finally after just a little bit, your baby girl was here. Cregan never questioned your judgement on anything, but after finding that you were right about your child, his respect for motherhood and what it takes to bring life into this world grew tenfold.

Hours of resting and tending to the baby went by and your favorite sight in the world was watching Cregan be a father. He was already so attentive to Rickon but becoming the father of a girl made something so cautious and protective come from him. Nobody touched her except the two of you, nobody knew what she needed more except for you, and one thing Cregan didn’t do, was touch or rearrange anything you had done to your shared chambers.

You smiled at him as he held her gently sitting next to you. “Alright, greedy. Hand her over. She needs to eat.” You laughed but you didn’t mind the sight of him wanting to give her as much love as possible. This was everything you wanted and more.

——

Hope you enjoyed anon, sorry it’s a quick Drabble and not a novel but I hope you still enjoyed.

[hello-from-nrc-infirmary]

Vern's Hometown: Centennial Celebration

Book 5: Finale

Chapter 3: Sunset

Formal is irrelevant. The firelight gains prominence as daylight fades. More logs are added, allowing smoke to fill the air. The younger children slowly leave for their beds. Others stay, laughing with friends. Their joyful cacophony is almost drowned out by the rambunctious music.

Smoke and ash wisp into shadows. The kaleidoscope of prancing images twirl around them. An illusion of flowers dance underfoot. If any attempted to touch them, they would vanish.

Soot is kicked up with every step. Vern's stained skirts flare out on another spin. It's strange and comforting to have a partner. A familiar dance he can do in the deepest of sleeps now flutters anew with every beat. A few steps bring them back.

Sweat shimmers across their foreheads. The minutes and hours bleed together. One melody into another. An iridescent fish ballet weaves around the dancers. A bubbling laughter spills from Vern. Steel smiles, his own airy laugh joins in.

"What's... so funny?"

The sprite meets his gaze breathlessly, "I'm... really happy."

"Eh?"

Joined hands lift above to spin around. The area around them is barely a blurr. Focus returning to Steel, the sprite tries to calm himself. "I-is he still umm..."

"Yeah, on my six."

"... let's um... not think about him," Vern tries. His head feels light, a mild dizziness buzzes down from it.

".. okay."

He welcomes night's breath cooling his skin like autumn rain. Vern can tell when some musicians would take a break and join back in. A simple rotation, yet easy to get lost in. Forgetting the world is hard, yet indulging in a moment is effortless.

For this bubble in time, emotion vibrates the air. Colorful shapes morph to each beat. It has been too long since his muscles felt like a newborn foal finding it's footing. Who is keeping who from collapsing is unclear. The firm earth underfoot is the only certainty.

A gasp from the onlookers is nearly drowned by the rhythm. A string pulls at his mind. His eyes want to follow, yet a turn blocks his view. His brow creases as he attempts to see behind Steel. "Ver.."

Pink dusts the sprites cheeks. It's only one word, a fraction of his name. The syllables spoken softly warms him. Tearing his focus back to his friend, he tries to stay on his toes.

"Almost," Steel winks, "we have to finish this one."

"Y-yeah," Vern manages a dizzy nod. His amber eyes sting, but not from the smoke. A soothing wave rolls through his veins, easing his tension. He almost misses a familiar, icy crack.

Chapter 4: Dusk

A tight spin jostles his focus. Flashes of magic collide. The music falters as smoke billows through the remaining crowd. Vern squeezes his eyes shut against it. Tucking himself against Steel, he waits for the air to settle. He flinches, as a drop hits his cheek.

"Er.. sorry."

The sprite swears the liquid away. Checking his bandages, he finds an inky substance he's well acquainted with.

"It's alright, I um..." he pauses, ducking as Steel casts another counter spell, "don't mind."

Sparkling green mist flares from Vern's hands. Vines burst from the ground to restrain Victor. "Enough!"

Snowflakes drift around them. Citizens that stayed murmur in uneasy awe. The spring sprite trembles slightly, his muscles begging for rest. "Do you forfeit the challenge?"

There's a rumble underfoot. Stumbling, Vern's spell loosens as spikes of ice shoot out of the dirt. He's tackled. Air is knocked from his lungs despite the cushioned fall.

"You alright? Any injuries?"

Vern slowly blinks up at Steel, gasping while registering the questions. "U-umm... I'm fine... I think..."

"Why," Victor's voice rings out above the chaos, icicles forming in the air around him. "Why do you reject everything I do for you?!"

Ooc// Welcome to the final boss fight.

Tag List: @nrcbookclub @castaway-achlys @nightonthemountain

Songs for the dance:

There's Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes

A Bar Song (Tipsy) by Shaboozey

I Don't Wanna Wait by David Guetta & OneRepublic

Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Stirling

Élan by Nightwish

Songs for Everyone vs. Victor:

It Ends Tonight by All-American Rejects

Liar by Jelly Roll

Ready For This by All Good Things

Trophy Hunter by Within Temptation

[softlypaintedseafoam]

🍓ー thank you for your patronage at the strawberry witch's bakery! here's your order!

requested by: a lovely anon! 🍓 -> luffy + strawberry milk (i love you)

"Tired," you question for the sake of conversation.

Your lips quirk into a smile when Luffy makes a grunt of agreement in reply. 'Tired' is an understatement. It's no overestimation to say the lot of you are exhausted; Whole Cake Island, Big Mom and her vast array of children just barely behind you.

'Exhausted' is best word to describe the feeling of those present on the ship. It's barely the morning but it still feels like you all should be asleep. It would have been nice if the night could have lasted a little longer. You release an audible sigh, at peace. Even with your exhaustion, you're at peace.

Sanji has returned and even with the crew separated ー miles and miles of sea in between ー it feels as all is once again right in the world. Sans the oddity in part of your crew missing, it's like nothing has changed.

Nami draws her maps, plotting calculated yet safe courses for the crew's trip.

Chopper replenishes his supply of medical goods.

Sanji cooks up a storm of seasonings and aromatic fragrances.

Even Carrot's laments that Brook's bones are too hard to garchu properly has become part of your normal. It's nice to see the rabbit mink in better spirits, all the events that transpired at Whole Cake Island considered.

What's important is that you're all alive.

A lot has been gained, a lot has been lost.

Who knew where Jinbei was. Was he already trailing the Sunny to Wano or was he still within the confines of Big Mom's sea? Your guess is as good as anyone else's. You choose to trust in his promise to Luffy regardless.

Looking at the captain in question, your lap as his pillow, you don't fight the affection bubbling beneath your skin. He's battered, bruised but he's alive and he's yours. In the rare moments Luffy is quiet and not bouncing off the walls, it's almost as if he is in a state of meditation. Pondering things, worlds, you're not sure you entirely comprehend.

"You should get some sleep if you're tired," you murmur, lips brushing against his forehead. Whatever he is thinking, you treasure the moments when Luffy simply wants to be alone together even if not many words are exchanged between you.

"I'm not that kind of tired," Luffy protests softly, brow furrowing. Eyes a brown so dark they may as well be black give you a look too stern for the situation.

"Yeah, yeah," you card your fingers through messy black hair, with a chuckle. You remember distinctly thinking two years ago that his hair must be softer than it looks. You're pleased to tell your younger self that their assumption was correct. Luffy's hair is a texture softer than soft. "My mistake, Captain," your tone has a playful lilt to it, nothing a fraction close to serious. "I don't doubt you at all."

Luffy beams, eyes crinkling at the corners and his smile brighter than the sun. "Good!"He nods with his exclamation. "I love you," light as his tone is, the words he says are never meant lightly. He says it blithely, joyously, like freedom itself has finally been gifted upon humanity. His words are a treasure.

Your index finger and thumb glide continuously over a particular strand of Luffy's hair, a grounding sensation. You have to or you'll float far, far away from the Sunny and back into the realm of the sky islands. I don't think you'd let me, though. It's too easy imagining a stretchy, rubbery arm latching around you after looping your waste ten times over. Wherever you go, Luffy is sure to follow not far behind. "Love you too," you kiss his forehead again.

[kings-highway]

"If nobody in the world loved you, do you think you'd still be okay?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand the question."

The clock ticks slowly, a soft noise that feels like it drags behind time, just a fraction of a fraction slower than the actual count of a second. Tendou tips his head back, looking up at Ushijima from where he rested in his lap. The world has slowed down, and the sky outside could be the deep indigo of night, it could be the brilliant blue of a cloudless summer's day, or it could be burning with the fire of a new morning. He's not sure, and he's not inclined to check.

"If nobody loved you, do you think you'd be okay?"

Ushijima thinks about the question, but something in it doesn't seem to fit in his head. So Tendou keeps talking, letting his own voice fill the air as it so often does.

"When I was little, I don't think anyone loved me. Of course, you say, things are better now. To wait it out, to fight for it. That if you make it long enough, you'll find your people. And that's true. At least, it was for me. But I still think it's a cruel trick, to make the children survive being unloved only for the adult to have it easy."

Ushijima lifts a hand up, to gently run his fingers through Tendou's hair, brushing soft strands back from his eyes. The light from the room, a warm yellow lamp and a cracked open window of moonlight or daylight or sunrise, casts shadows that feel ethereal - timeless.

"So I guess I just mean... Do you think you could do it, as an adult? Maybe we're all weaker than we were as children. Maybe we couldn't survive it. Looking back I don't know how I did it. How I found the strength to put one foot in front of another. I don't think I could do it, if I had to be alone again, and yet I did, for a decade, at six years old."

Ushijima hums softly, and somewhere outside a bird starts to sing, calling to its mate from the perch of an ancient old tree.

"Do you believe love is finite, then?"

Tendou frowns, focusing his eyes on him, as Ushijima slowly leans back to look up at the ceiling, as if seeing through it to the sky.

"I think I'd be okay," Ushijima says, eventually. "Because you love me now."

"Even if I left?"

"Would that stop you from loving me now?"

"I wouldn't be here to keep loving you."

"But you would have loved me. And love, I think, is timeless. The love you gift to me now is the same love I will hold when I am eighty."

Tendou smiles slightly. "Ah. I see."

"And for what it's worth, you were not unloved as a child. I love you."

"You weren't there."

"But I love you now, so I love you then. Love is... Different. Different from time, different from... Attention, different from togetherness. I love you now, and the universe knows that I loved you then. In the way I am made for you, you have always been made to be loved by me. And you were strong when you were six, because you are strong now. It is all the same."

The wind outside sends the branches of a tree waving, interrupting the stream of moonlight, or daylight or sunrise, dappling the world in brilliant dancing lights. Tendou smiles slightly, closing his eyes.

"So you believe in soulmates?"

"I believe in souls."

"Two halves of a whole?"

"Two souls, one love. One time, one universe."

"I think you're describing soulmates."

"I'm not trying to," Ushijima says, lifting his head up, to look around the quiet room, that for now exists as nothing in particular, but could be anything and everything when they needed it to be. A snapshot of a moment that didn't exist, and maybe never would again.

"What are you trying to say, then?"

"You will never be unloved."

[evilminji]

For your SVSSS OCs

What better way to make Binge willingly give up that horrible, corrupting sword than to just. Make him a better sword.

Of course it isn't that easy as its a Legendary blade. But if its been done once it can be done again.

(I totally remember the sword's name, trust me)

Xin Mo! And? I totally did that *holds up finger* *starts to say something* *finds they... actually have less of an argument then they thought* 🤔

Cause like? What IS a legendary sword? If not just... Really Famous™.

It's not inherently STRONGER or indeed THE strongest of all possible swords. There is every possibility some master sword maker creater a BETTER sword and just, like, kept his mouth shut about it. Because he wasn't a fool. And bragging gets sword hunters.

Who tend to kill you for your swords.

Xin Mo is just deep,y, DEEPLY cursed. A WMD class Sword. It ain't special! There are others! Fuck, you could MAKE others! You just need the skill (which is incredible rare), the materials (which are rare and hard to obtain), and the tools to do it with (which are specialized and would have to be specificly made by a DIFFERENT master crafter).

Not... impossible, per say, just? Really, REALLY tough!

Cause Crafters are kinda sparse on the ground. For obvious "Cultivators are treasure stealing murder hobos" type reasons! *cough pointed cough* So like? I imagine ever Crafter graduation goes basicly:

"I am so proud of you!" "Aw, thank you, Shizun!" *does a lil cermony*

*they all look at each other, smiling benignly*

*SLAMS DOWN SMOKE BOMB* "FUCKING SKATTER! Run, children! RUN IF YOU WANT TO LIIIIIIVE!" *everyone bolts in different directions, never to cross paths again*

#You'll-Never-Take-Us-Alive

After all! You can't rat out your fellow Crafters... if you DONT KNOW WHERE THEY ARE! You'll get NOTHING out of me! You STAB HAPPY, FREAKS! *spits blood* (it's a time honored tradition! Find a bolt hole! Make a hidden realm! Maybe steal some slave kids or unwanted orphans and train the next generation! Then you abandon the OLD hidden realm and go make a new one! Hide there forever or until you're either murdered/ascend!)

(It's the ciiiircle of liiiiiife~)

There is a REASON you can't find SHIT. Why you'll CONTINUE to not find shit. Demons, demonic cultivators, general bastards. People are AWFUL out there! And they want your shit! Have swords! Are willing to kill you about it!! Are YOU gonna trust assholes like the old Palace master? Fuck no!

But like... Sects? Great for pooling resources. Meeting up. (NO I will not show you where I live! Mind your business! But we CAN meet at-) Teaching kids. Teaching idiots! Taking on a side hustle. Maybe finding a hook up. Crafter for Crafter, looking to share cozy Hidden Realm? Anyone want to... collab~? 👀

Still! There is a whole ass SWORD PEAK. Their whole THING is making treasure swords. Studying Swords. Rare, refined, and obscure! I bet there is a better sword then Xin Mo SITTING in that pile! Just politely shooing away baby cultivators going "mmm, sry bby. We do not vibe." And not reacting.

Plus? Not all spiritual weapons? Are swords? Xin Mo could very well get it's SHIT rocked by some legendary shield. Or staff. Dagger, ribbon, chain, glaive, etc.

Fuck, there could be a carved tooth out there. Some ancient Primordial spear. A first go of things, made by the master weapon maker/spiritual leader of the tribe. Just sitting in the Heavens vaults. So powerful it would break mountain ranges and boil oceans at this point. TOO powerful for even gods to touch.

And we KNOW that things can cultivate sentence. Human form.

Where's your human form, Xin Mo? Huh? If your so POWERFUL, why you still need a weilder? Why not do it yourself?? Bet you OTHER weapons have! They've walked off with themselves! Became farmers or monks! Ascended to godhood.

There are many paths, after all.

Xin Mo clouds the vision. It makes you THINK it's stronger then it is. But it's fuckin NOT. Mobei-jun, were he just as old, with a FRACTION of the same level of power available to Xin Mo, could do INFINITLY more and with far greater nuance. But Xin Mo? A nuke powered sledgehammer. With shitty wires.

That said?

................... there is no way in HELL anyone giving that man a sword. For one, he got them "Shizun, LOVE ME!" crazy eyes. Which is concerning. But also? Why the FUCK would we ARM the heavenly demon? That sound like the exact OPPOSITE of what we should do! Let's NOT do that!

Unfortunately, I suspect? If anyone ever pointed it out to him? Binghe would fucking bloodhound his way through hidden realms like a terrifying loot gobin storm. STARTING with "hey, aren't Heavenly Demons both realy old and absurdly strong? They probably had swords built for themselves, right? Possibly even some of the ones they had ON THEM when the original Heavenly Demons were cast out. From, you know, THE HEAVENS. Where they WERE GODS."

Which is a terrifying prospect.

Better the Xin Mo. Because it is a shit sword and should feel bad. But like.... 😬

Oh... Oh No™

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @hdgnj @leftnotright

[smilesatdawnmain]

So in previous post we get overprotective wukong caring for pregnant Macaque. Can we have the reverse, overprotective Macaque guarding a pregnant wukong during a stroll

🥰🥰🥰

Wukong took a careful step down the cobblestone path, clutching the edge of his dress with care.

“Careful, Peaches,” his mate murmured quietly, his presence pressed right against Wukong’s side. A hand was offered, which Wukong took with a shaky hand.

“I’m fine, Moon,” Wukong chuckled. As “fine” as he stated, the King was moving at a snail’s speed and had been for a few days now. As the Months drew closer and closer to the due date, his belly swelled and his energy levels dropped to an all-time low.

He was hungry all the time, a little whiney and attention seeking- but otherwise, Wukong felt blissful. It was frustrating not being able to move like he normally could, but there was also a sense of peace with it. He enjoyed being able to lounge around all day, being fed fruits and honeyed buns by his darling, hardly lifting a finger except to point at where another pillow should be nestled. The Sun had never set so warm and easy on the Flower Fruit Mountain.

Today, however, the urgency of a craving had propelled Wukong from his den. That, and Macaque’s gentle insistence that “fresh air would do him some good.” Which, in practice, translated to Macaque hovering at his elbow, ready to catch Wukong at the faintest misstep.

They strolled past tangles of azalea and the mossy skeletons of old trees, the air thick with the damp of spring.

Many of their citizens lifted their heads in their passing, eyes widening and then filling with joy, smiling and waving to their expecting King. It was hard not to when the King himself was rounded, fuzzy- the very definition of a peach during this time.

Macaque was holding back comments, sooo many comments on how cute Wukong was. How precious he was.

He settled for squeezing Wukong’s hand a little tighter, his tail curling possessively around the Sun’s, and for once, the clinginess didn’t provoke a snip or a jab. Wukong simply leaned heavier into his side, taking a greedy inhale of the sopping, dew-wet scent.

“I’m craving it more the closer we get, you know,” Wukong admitted, as they took the next bend, careful not to disturb a bumblebee dozing in a cluster of lilac. “It’s obscene, really. I never even liked sweet buns this much before.”

“I think the baby likes them,” Macaque said.

“Little Sweet Bun,” Wukong mewled, rubbing his stomach. That was a cute name. He was going to nickname the child this. “Where are the boys and Sying today?” he asked, curious where their assortment of older children had scampered off too.

“School,” Macaque reminded him, easing him over an unstable patching of dirt.

“Rumble and Savage don’t go to school yet,” Wukong was certain of this. Granted, the energy drain of the baby had certainly given him “baby Brain” and he forgot things on a dime, but he was at least positive about that. The Twin shadows were only two, afterall.

There was a moment, just a flicker, where Macaque’s hand tensed a fraction. Protective, as Macaque always was over them in particular. However, he had forced that down today to focus on Wukong, “They are with their Uncle Sandy today.”

“Are they going to come back covered in paint, or mud this time?”

“Most definitely both.” Macaque smiled, squeezing his fingers around Wukong’s palm until every muscle in his wrist seemed to hum. “But I told Sandy to keep them out of your quarters until after bath time.”

Wukong’s snort was something grotesque and nasal, but he couldn’t quite breathe and laugh at the same time these days. “You’re afraid they’ll stress me out.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” but yes, that was absolutely true.

Wukong grinned, sharp white teeth set between plum lips. “Fine, I’ll read your mind instead.” he teased. Not that he had that ability- it was just easy to tell what his Moon was thinking.

“Please don’t. It’s embarrassing in there.” Macaque side eyed him, smirking.

“Don’t I know it~” They rounded the last stretch of path before the storied Bakery, the one that always smelled of fried oil and maltose syrup. Wukong smiled excitedly, vibrating with glee as the shop got closer, his eyes locked and focused.

He hadn’t quite noticed in his state, but his senses had significantly dulled from the drain. While normally he could pinpoint an out-of-sorts energy from miles away, sometimes he struggled to even notice it right in front of his own nose.

It was one of the many reasons Macaque wouldn’t let his mate out of his sight. Precious, lovely, vulnerable.

He could sense the eyes on them, thinking themselves sneaky by being a fair distance away. Foolish to think Macaque would allow anything to even glimpse his mate in this state.

His eyes turned sharply with Wukong distracted, darting over the space to the side of them.

A single blinked and his shadows were moving, shooting across miles, arcing beneath the canopy in silent pursuit. The spying energy was not malicious—just bold and bored, by the flavor of it. He recognized the signature, even as he kept a soft smile pasted for Wukong’s benefit.

No doubt a spy from the Celestial Court. For which member in particular, it did not matter to him. He knew their game. Whether they would attack or not, he wasn’t amused by any amount of information they had on his family.

With a slight twitch of his finger, his ears picked up the faint- CRACK of bone snapping- of a body falling limp- of his shadow consuming the form whole so not to worry any on the mountain should they stumble upon the corpse.

“I want honey,” Wukong tugged his sleeve a little, sweet and pleading. “And powdered sugar.”

“Of course, Peaches,” Macaque purred, the syrup of adoration thickening his voice. His mind flickered back, double-checking that his shadow had truly finished the work—yes, the Celestial’s energy guttered out completely. He’d have a chat with their employer later, but for now, there were cravings to attend to.

Macaque grasped the handle of the door to swing it wide. The kitchen was crowded, as always; the sweet, doughy warmth inside the open-walled bakery made it the unofficial gathering spot for children and adults alike.

Wukong, overpowered, made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. Macaque, bemused, nearly missed the way his mate’s ears went rigid, all attention suddenly turned.

They parted, the crowd, like a river around a boulder, at the sight of their King. Not for fear—but rather in an almost sacred awe, a hush of reverence that said: The Sun walks among us.

…The adorably plumpy Sun.

Many children giggled and cooed in delight, so excited to see what little one came from the couple. Two toddlers in the arms of their nursemaid reached out with sticky fingers to touch the hem of Wukong’s robe. Wukong let them, making a show of holding his belly and grinning wide, fat-cheeked, like the dawn itself.

“Peaches,” Macaque mused, wishing he wouldn’t be so open about it- but knowing he couldn’t stop Wukong either. The child would be adored and loved just as all their other children. And truthfully, Wukong could subsist on this sort of attention nearly as well as the sweet buns themselves.

He led Wukong to the counter, which was crowded with plates of golden, puffy buns and jars so full of sugar they might as well have been gemstones. Wukong all but leaned over the glass, nose pressed to the case, pupils dilated dangerously.

The baker, wide-eyed and beaming, hurried to press the freshest selection to the front. The first day Wukong wobbled in had been a day he had fainted. The King had since visited several times a weak- the amount of customers this had procured them was unpresidented!

“We’ll take six,” Macaque told the baker, who looked like he might faint from the honor. “Add another dozen, actually.” Couldn’t go back without some for the kids.

Wukong, engrossed, bounced on the balls of his feet as crumbs rained down behind the counter, each bun selected with the diligence of a jewel appraiser. “Oooh Ooh-” he squeaked, “And a Jar of mulberry jam.”

“Of course,” The baker boxed them quickly, trembling, and smiling, “Special for you, Great King,” the baker said, voice trembling as if presenting an offering to a temperamental deity. Which, in a sense, he was. “And your little gift,” he glanced at Wukong’s stomach.

Wukong cupped the box in both hands, lifted it and sniffed, a shiver of delight running up his arms. “Thank you, thank you!” he said, beaming. He flicked his tail in gratitude, curling it delicately around the baker’s wrist for a moment before releasing it. The room was melting.

Macaque slid a few coins across the counter, overpaid as usual. He always tipped heavily, especially if their mate or children were pleased by the person’s efforts.

Then, he slipped his arm around Wukong’s waist, drawing him close to ease the transfer of all that precious cargo. Balancing the bun box, Wukong burrowed against his mate’s chest so thoroughly that his face was invisible but for the edge of his golden brow, which glinted over the rim. He allowed himself to be shepherded out, the crowd parting again as if rehearsed.

When they were gone, many relaxed, some cooed, and many more children hoped excitedly, eager to see the next little Prince or Princess of their domain.

------

Another cute little mini story for this au~

Wukong is carrying little Xue~

Whether Wukong and Macaque, both are extremely weak during their pregnancy, as all their energy is being absorbed by the Baby.

Wukong can't lift anything heavy, not even his own staff. He can't use almost any of his abilities, his senses are so skewed, and his own mind is a little fuzzy.

He rarely leaves Macaque's sight during this time.

[presswoodterryryan]

Discovering Math Through Playful Problem Solving

By Ariel Math is everywhere! From ancient pyramids to space travel, numbers shape the world around us. We use math to measure time, construct buildings, and even design video games. This week, my homework was packed with multiplication, division, fractions, patterns, and rounding! But instead of just solving equations, I decided to turn math into an adventure! Alice peeked over my worksheet and…

[queer-n-here]

mayhaps...... some corruption, breeding, mating press, cruel levels of edging and some dubcon if ok? with akutagawa and atsushi ♡ or poe and dazai.

second offhand idea would be using a controlled vibrator on them in public uwu

(with poe itd be more so him becoming our little fleshlight, to make it different from last ask with poe ;3) TLDR; I WANT THAT MAN IMPREGNATED!!!also remember to take breaks and not overwork yourself!!

~🕸

Aww thanks! Is 🕸️ the emoji you chose to be? 'Cause it's giving spiderman. Also oh my god?? You totally read my mind???

So here you go, Atsushi and Akutagawa! I changed the contents a lil bit, but I hope you like it!

Contents: Breeding, corrupting and overstimming Atsushi in front of a mirror. Putting a vibrator up Akutagawa's ass in public.

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, nipple play (Atsushi), breeding kink (Atsushi), corruption kink (?) (Atsushi), mirror sex (Atsushi), praise kink (Atsushi), dubcon, overstimming (Atsushi), sex toys (Akutagwa), public (Akutagwa), punishment (Akutagwa).

Nakajima Atsushi

Oh the thought of corrupting this man has me in a trap hold.

Holding him by the cheek as you fuck him in front of a mirror, making him watch every single movement of your cock as it slides in and out of his slutty hole.

Let him try to struggle to pull his face away from your grasp, but you both know that it's no use; if you want him to watch you fuck him then he will.

Make him focus on that bulge that appears and disappears in his stomach every time you thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin almost drowned in the lewd noises pouring from his mouth.

Atsushi would do anything you ask him to, so sit back and tell him to ride you, then watch as he flushes so beautifully you almost lose control and fuck him into oblivion yourself.

And then, as he tries to move his hips in a slow rhythm on your lap, tease and bite his nipples.

Hear him complaining about how he wasn't good enough yet at this, and make him beg for you to fuck him before you do, his tight ass clenching around you at the pleasure.

Tell him you're gonna impregnate him and make him birth your children. It'll make him arch his back like a little slut and clutch at your arms desperately, his brain all fogged and cloudy from the feeling of your cock in him.

Make him cum over and over and over again, only stopping to push him down on his back to put him in a mating press. He'll cry and scream, begging you to stop, to let him take a break.

But don't listen to him. Keep overstimulating his little cock and hole both, stroking in rhythm to each thrust that hits his sweet spots. Wipe away those pretty tears of his even as more drip down from his eyes onto his red cheeks.

Once you're done, take him to the bathroom and clean him up, whispering in his ear about how good he is for you, and how pretty he looks all fucked out, then watch as he gets hard again.

But don't indulge in him all over again just yet, make him beg and try to convince you that he NEEDS you to fuck him, to put your cock inside him and bully all those pleasing spots inside him with your tip.

And when you do decide to listen (because he's YOUR pretty baby after all, you have to take care of him) make sure you have him screaming and writing beneath you again.

Ryunoske Akutagawa

I can imagine Akutagawa being so bratty you have no other choice but to put a little toy in him on your next date.

He'd try to act like it didn't bother him, that there was no way this would even be a punishment that bad, but deep down he'd know what grave he'd dug for himself when he sits down, feeling the toy nudge ever so slightly against his walls.

So don't go easy on Akutagawa, switch the toy only on the low mode in the beginning, and then watch as your sensitive boyfriend tries to muffle his moans with his sleeve, disguise them as coughs and even use fractions of Rashoumoun to stop them from spilling.

But you wouldn't let him off that easily, would you? Sneakily use your own ability to pry Rashoumoun away as you switch the toy to the medium level, making Akutagawa gasp and shudder.

Watch as some people turn their heads to give him weird looks as you guide him to walk through a crowd on your arm, smirking when their gazes make him whine into the sleeve of your jacket.

Turn it up to high every time Akutagawa tries to open his mouth to speak. He tries to suggest sitting down somewhere? Interrupt him with five continuous seconds of the high level that has his legs trembling so bad he needs to clutch you to stand.

Then raise your eyebrows innocently as he pants and huffs, tears streaming down his face at the situation, and ask him what he was saying.

When Akutagawa tries to talk again, repeat your teasing, till he's begging you through whimpers hidden in his sleeve to please, please, PLEASE, just be nice to him, he swear he won't ever be bratty again.

So take him to a nice restaurant, and make him order for you two while you constantly turn the toy a notch higher, making him squirm and shoot you pleading glances with his blurred up eyes.

When the waiter asks if Akutagwa's feeling okay, he has no other option but to jump at the chance, saying that he feels a bit 'under the weather' before dashing away to the bathroom to jerk off.

Follow him to the bathroom, and put your cock in him right next to the toy before turning it to the highest setting.

Akutagwa'll never be bratty again (or so he swears).

[rollinouttahere-writes]

The fact that Corazon has that whole children-hating act going on creates the funnies conflicts with Angel when he's still undercover.

He thinks nothing of it when Angel approaches him and motions for him to lean down to her height. He doesn't know what she wants, but he doesn't see the harm in going along with it. The second that he's in range, she just reels back and slaps him hard enough to make a pimp cry.

Corazon hits the ground like a sack of bricks and thinks he just got hit with fucking armament haki. Angel pounces and just starts wailing on him while screaming that she'll kill him if he ever lays a hand on one of her kids again. By the time she's done, he looks like he got mauled by a damn lion.

After that incident, he can't so much as breathe at any of the children without her staring a hole into him with homicidal intent. Doflamingo does nothing to ease the tensions because in true sibling fashion, he finds it funny that his brother is getting his ass handed to him by someone a fraction of his size. It's like seeing a full grown great dane be afraid of a kitten. Besides, Angel is just doing her job as the nanny, he won't fault her for that.

Corazon feels so conflicted about her at first because on one hand, he can respect a mama bear that loves her kids. On the other, she is probably the biggest bump in the road in his mission. She's so damn loving and sweet to the kids that of course they're sticking around. He knows that he needs to get rid of her, but how? He obviously won't kill her, but he knows that she would rather die than abandon the children.

The most obvious choice would be to get her to leave with the kids, but that isn't easy with Doflamingo and the rest of the Donquixote pirates watching her like a hawk.

They're like the pinnacle of enemies to lovers.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Could you do a fic where the water boys, (aonoung and roxto) save a sully!reader kid from one of the poisonous things? Like she's exploring similar to how Kiri does in the water and is about to touch a poisonous one and they grab her away?? Just a comfort teaching fic about the metkayina wildlife

Love your fics btw <3

(Gif not mine)

Pairing: Ao'nung/Female!Sully!Reader/Rotxo (Platonic)

Warnings: none

Taglist: @alinacecee @mooniequeen

A/N: Another short but hopefully sweet request <3 Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~

Tsireya had looked around the moment Rotxo mentioned Kiri was missing, only to find another girl was missing other than Tuk, "Has anyone seen Y/n?"

"Not another one," Ao'nung rolled his eyes, "How many of you Forest People tend to wander?"

Lo'ak's eyes narrow as they land on the reef boy, "Shut up, bro."

"We can split up and look for them," Neteyam quickly takes charge, likely to break whatever tension was straining between his brother and the chief's son. 

Tsireya liked the idea and offered to take Tuk with her while Neteyam took Lo'ak. As the group of children split up, Rotxo urges Ao'nung to follow him and together the two friends take a deep breath and dive down toward the reef below, looking around for the missing Sully sisters.

It took some time, but they stumbled across you first, the teenaged forest girl aimlessly swimming around the reef, admiring the various different fish and colors without a care in the world, unaware of the reef Na'vi who have taken notice of you. Rotxo and Ao'nung swam leisurely toward you, watching as you inched close to one particular coral, with long, purple soft-looking arms that gently floated with the current, and at the center bore tiny, acid-colored tentacles. You appeared entranced by the peculiar coral and reached an arm out to it. Only then did the reef boys pick up their speed in their panic.  

Rotxo makes a deep grunting sound in the back of his throat, twice, to get your attention. When you didn't hear, Ao'nung speeds forward as quickly as possible, swimming as fast as he could. The moment he was in reach, he reached out and roughly grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the coral and startling you. 

Whipping your head around at your assailant, alarmed until you realized who was holding onto your arm, then you glared at Ao'nung and pulled away. Your eyes wander until they find Rotxo, who then uses his hands and arms to try and communicate one simple word to you. Ao'nung only rolls his eyes when you tilt your head in confusion, closely watching Rotxo sign until you respond by shrugging your shoulders and shaking your head, before pointing up to the surface.

The three of you simultaneously swim up and the moment you break the surface, Ao'nung is scowling at you, "What were you thinking, forest freak? Wandering by yourself when you clearly know nothing about our home?"

"Take it easy, Ao'nung." Rotxo defends.

Already used to Ao'nung's distaste of you and your family, you choose to ignore him and only address his kind friend, "What were you trying to say to me down there?"

"I was trying to tell you it stings."

You tilt your head in curiosity, "What stings?"

"The coral you almost touched. It is called 'fantail'. It stings."

"Oh." You take a moment to absorb the new information before deciding to be courteous and turn to Ao'nung, "Thank you for stopping me."

The chief's son doesn't expect the gratitude, eyes widening a fraction before he covers up his shock with a scoff, looking away, "Next time, I'll just let you do it. Maybe you will learn your lesson."

Ao'nung then turns and starts to swim away, back the way he and Rotxo had come looking for you. As you watch him go, Rotxo paddles up to you with an amused smirk, 

"Don't mind him. He usually gets that angry when he's scared."

"Scared?" You spin back to Rotxo, "Why was he scared?"

"Ao'nung doesn't like watching pretty girls get hurt."

Warmth spreads up the back of your neck and over your face, eyes immediately darting down to avoid the pleasant grin on the reef boy's face. Flustered, you mumble under your breath, "Or maybe Ao'nung doesn't like getting in trouble if someone gets hurt under his watch."

Rotxo laughs, but it isn't mocking or cruel. The reef boy's laugh was a soft, sweet chime that was followed by a genuine smile, "Stick around us a little more, Y/n, and you'll see what I mean. Just-- avoid the fantail from now on, okay?"

The smile you offered was shy, but a promise, nonetheless, "You got it."

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Tbh, while I was researching for this, I couldn't find any sea life that was poisonous and harmful to Na'vi lol. I checked every wiki page and my atwow visual dictionary and couldn't find anything other than the fantail coral. It has stinging tentacles for catching zooplankton, but it doesn't mention whether or not the Metkayina avoids it. So, for the sake of the story, we'll use it 🤣 But if anyone has a better flora or fauna option I could've used, let me know cause I swear I looked everywhere.

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[thedreadvampy]

fuck I watched a video Al Jazeera put out listing the names of 34,000 confirmed, named dead in Gaza and it's fucked me up so much

it's an hour long. of just names and ages scrolling constantly. around 55 people on screen at a time.

and every one of those are human people. every name is a whole world destroyed. and at the most conservative estimates that's likely to be a fraction of the actual numbers dead.

I know. that over a hundred thousand people have been murdered in the last year. I know that and I know that the numbers health authorities are estimating now are more than the entire population of midsize cities like Carlisle, Doncaster or Norwich. but the scale of that is not easy to make sense of.

and the baldness of a list, small letters, scrolling fast, that takes 10 seconds to list a hundred names and lasts an entire hour - that has really hit home for me the difference in scale between 1,000 and 40,000. Let alone 118,000, or 184,000, or 200,000, or the similar estimates coming through of those still lost, or dead from sickness, injury and starvation.

it is, legitimately, more grief than can be imagined. literally one death can destroy your life completely. one loss is SO FUCKING HUGE. and this FRACTION of the loss Palestine is forced to bear is so immense that each huge world-shattering grief spends less than 5 seconds onscreen in a 59 minute video. It took over 10 minutes just to get through the list of children under 10. Jesus fucking Christ I mean. What do you do with that?

[mesetacadre]

It is not enough to be angry at capitalism, you also have to have a systematized approach to criticism at it and to the alternatives you seek as a result of the identification of capitalism's faults. The easy paths to follow are those dictated by bourgeois logic: resignation and apoliticism, fragmentation down to the individual and identitarianism, the defeatism hidden behind lesser-evilism, nostalgia for past times, ultrareactionary and ultraliberal positions. All of these trends are easily communicated and spread, especially amongst the youth, and all of them are connected multifacetedly to the interests of the corresponding sections of the bourgeoisie.

The current context of the growth in reactionarism and accumulating social tension march in lockstep with the disillusionment felt by wide fractions of the working class towards the management of capitalism by social-democracy. The children of the proletariat have assimilated a present of resistance and resignation at the misery presented to them as the only possible reality.

To demand of oneself the practical task of building a proletarian hegemony means taking that anger, and transforming it into a coordinated, popular response to the capitalist crises. This necessitates abandoning every position of expectation and rearguardism, in the contrary, it demands active and energetic conditions for struggle that can place communism in a disposition to lead, organize and amplify its positions.

[vampiricalxdata]

I’ve tried to let it go but I can’t.

Everything THT did after the season 4 finale has been trash.

Seasons 5&6 could have been Nick & June uniting and becoming a part of the resistance.

It would have been so much more powerful to see the inner workings of a rebellion and the juxtaposition of June and Nick’s inner conflicts as they navigate change and the parts of themselves that were complicit in the rise of Gilead (yes, BOTH of them).

To move beyond the books and continue the tv series doesn’t mean an abandonment of the original themes and motifs. It’s about asking the right questions: What do those look like post escape? How do they present in Canada? Do they evolve or stay the same? What does the evolution of these themes look like?

Nick giving Fred to June isn’t as simple as, “his love language is acts of service.” Dude committed treason. That’s as much a declaration of loyalty as any and a flag flown that is not Gilead is inherently traitorous. If you didn’t think he was anti before, there can be no doubt now.

But they would have us believe his love is one dimensional. That it only extends as far as his reach to June. Sure, okay. Don’t show us what allyship looks like. Don’t show us what love and strength and support can do for a person who believed they might never see that for themselves.

And June whose greatest strength is her heart— what an opportunity to show what happens to someone whose love is twisted and manipulated, not just by Fred, but by Serena. There was an easy route between justified violence and a path to healing. And that path could have been lit by the same beacons who helped her find the strength to stay alive in Gilead: Janine, Alma, Brianna, Emily, Rita, and Nick. Hell even Aunt Lydia, who promised to watch over baby Holly.

Not to mention that’s also your in for a Lydia redemption. If June must be the pole all the ribbons tie back to, then why not actually use her. Lydia could easily feel a higher calling to June’s girls after being made a de facto godmother. To believe it is now well within her divine right to keep an eye on Hannah. Cut to her seeing the actual quality of life for these girls who are children and therefore innocent and pure insofar as a Lydia character is concerned, as opposed to these “ungodly” women she’s attempting to make “righteous.” It’s as good a catalyst for change as any.

And in all of their desperation to put moms on a pedestal, they overlooked an opportunity to showcase motherhood in all its aspects. Because guess what? SOME MOMS ARE BAD MOMS. Some are bad people. Some are hateful, selfish, oppressive people. “June was appealing to the mom in Serena.” SERENA IS A BAD PERSON. SERENA STEALS BABIES. SERENA BEATS AND ASSAULTS OTHER WOMEN. SERENA USES CHILDREN AS MANIPULATION TACTICS. SERENA BELIEVES IN GILEAD AND ALL ITS TENETS.

She believes possibly more than Fred, at least to start. In the flashbacks we see how she pushed him toward Gilead from the beginning. It’s Serena giving the speeches, not Fred. It’s Serena in the movie theatre invigorating the fight in them, not Fred. Even as he stood conflicted, wanting to fight for her voice in that boardroom, she insisted it was a sacrifice she had to make. When she’s lying wounded in the hospital, she basically calls him a pussy so he runs and kills the dude. I’m not saying Fred isn’t bad on his own, but to quote that dumbass traditional saying (and these two are nothing if not traditional): Fred is the head, but Serena’s the neck.

Basically, Serena is the Commander and Fred is her soldier.

Until she’s not.

And only then, when she feels just a fraction of the weight of the life she fought for; only when she’s uncomfortable, does she care. So, when Serena fights for women to read it’s only because she wants to be able to read.

Because Serena only fights oppression after it oppresses her. Because it’s not about the rights of the people, it’s about her individual autonomy. And the second she realizes a version of power exists for her in DC she reneges on her decision to let Holly go.

And to that I have to wonder: what kind of man would a woman like that raise?

But sure, let’s redeem Serena. Let’s give her a fighting chance. Because she’s a mother and all mothers are inherently good right?

Missed opportunity after missed opportunity.

And it’s infuriating because an actual impactful ending was right there.

Lydia vs Serena — 2 women with a similar belief system. One who can change. One who doesn’t want to.

Nick vs. Fred — Men compelled by the women they love. One who chooses to liberate. One who chooses to oppress.

These 4 characters who are moved and transformed, for better or worse, by the roles of June, Hannah, and Holly— with June as the narrative voice at the center and her daughters as the plot device that pushes her story, and the stories of everyone around them, forward.

Because humans are not stagnate. Stubborn though we may be, even when we fall into the worst of ourselves we are still moving.

Instead we watched them all rock back and forth on the same stupid pattern to the point that the only option for an ending was heavy handed soap box monologuing.

Instead they offered up a story that lacked hope. That lacked the belief that love can change us. That implied trauma makes us cruel and single minded entities for revenge. That forgiveness can only come to those whose self lies in their small children. That salvation lies in your ability to give birth.

Because in the end, if Serena could not have conceived Noah, would she still have been worthy of her redemption?