#yelling at myself on my blog instead of writing the fic? more likely than you’d think.

[loveoaths]

i refuse to write luke skywalker as always rational and sunshiney and din djarin as always stoic and honorable.

because luke can be whiny and enjoys complaining and doubts himself but he keeps going and it’s his refusal to quit that gets him to the other side. and he had to learn that, that dogged tenacity, with time and experience and yoda’s help on dagobah. he wears coco chanel and could kill god but he’s too busy housing hot milk juice. he’s the greatest jedi who ever lived but he also knows jack-all shit about the legacy he carries because he got the jedi speedrun. his first student knows more about being a jedi than he does and luke feels weird and less capable because of it. he still doesn’t quite know how to feel about his biofather, his feelings change every day, and he doesn’t know if he ever will. he knows next to nothing about his biomother and no one seems to think that’s weird at all. he loves sand. he misses home. he never wants to go home. he doesn’t know where home is anymore. he wanted to be a cool hero all his life and now that he is one he isn’t sure he’d have left tattooine if he’d known what it would have cost him back then, even if he knows now it was the right thing to do. he loves quickly and deeply and it’s his greatest strength and his greatest flaw, and his love is what saves his father but dooms his nephew. he’s a happy guy, not a naive one. he knows too much and not enough all at once. he’s brave and proud and freaky and normal and laughing and groaning all at once. he is a cambrian explosion, the universe convexing and convexing into itself all at once. he’s a hick from space arizonabama. he’s luke skywalker.

and din is not always selfless and honorable or deadly and murderous. that man does some reckless as shit sometimes. like get in a concrete boat in a lava river when he had a jet pack. or nearly getting eaten by every large-to-giant animal he stumbles across. or bringing a baby to a gunfight (although to his credit, the baby usually wins the gunfight). he’s also vengeful and leaves a guy to get eaten by street ratdogs with the calm air of a man who has done this before and walks away playing with his baby while a man screams bloody murder behind him. he tries to be polite and avoids killing people he doesn’t need to, but if you step to him he will cut you down without a second thought, and he will not feel bad about it. he was going to leave a teenager/young man toro calican to die because he was annoying until he begrudgingly agreed to help him. when he was young he referred to enemy combatants as “target practice” and fucked around with xi’an so he has terrible-good taste simultaneously. he just be doing shit and surviving because he’s literally wearing plot armor. he has anxiety. he has a heart— not a big one, but an honest one. he’s practical and ruthless when necessary. he’s a warrior and a protector, a father and an orphan, a zealot and an apostate, the sword and the shield, the hunter and the hunted. he lashes out when he’s frustrated and reins himself in to get a job done. he takes no bullshit but also, yes he does. he’s faced The Horrors and takes a space ambien before bed because his middle aged back fucking hurts. he’s a little guy. that’s din djarin.

they’re both complex and weird and funny and tragic and hopeful and messy as hell and basically i’m saying they should fight then fuck about it.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 50

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,921

Warnings: nsfw, swearing

Masterlist links are in the header at the top of my blog.

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Author’s Note:  I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I updated this story, but we finally made it to chapter 50 (holy crap)! I apologize to y’all for making it seem like I had abandoned this fic; I always promised myself I’d finish this, even if it took 50 years, and I’m holding to that. The past year was full of many ups and downs, and I really just needed a break from writing and to take a step back and focus on other things. Now, I’m hoping this update marks the start of a refocus on writing and this story, because I really really want to be able to mark it as completed at some point lol. It’s been such a journey (I started this over 3 years ago!!!), and I want to personally thank each and every one of you who is still hanging around and interested in the story. I seriously think I have the best group of readers a fanfiction writer could ever ask for. I know it’s been forever since the last update, so you might need to go back and refresh your memory of the last chapter, since this one is jumping right back in where we left off. Enjoy! <3

Semi-Rational Adults

Your ability to speak had momentarily left the building, as you stared back at Negan with what was sure to be a deer in headlights expression for a long, drawn-out moment. Mind whirling with how to respond to his accusation without also throwing Trixie under the bus, you finally stammered out a shaky, yet truthful, denial.

 “I don’t know what you were told, but the test wasn’t for me.”

 A muscle started ticking in the side of Negan’s jaw, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He looked as though it was taking all of his physical effort not to start yelling, for which you were grateful, since him losing control of his temper usually meant there was slim-to-none chance of reasoning with him.

 Continuing hesitantly, you added, “I asked for one from Carson, but it was for someone else.”

 At this point, you realized that it must’ve been the doctor who told him about the test. Your subconscious suggested that perhaps it was Amber, since she had probably been in here not long ago with his dinner tray. However, your brain insisted that Trixie had been truthful when she said she was done with Amber. Besides, Carson was terrified of Negan and would probably rat out anyone in the compound, especially if he thought it meant getting on the leader’s good side.

 “You really expect me to fucking believe that?” he growled through gritted teeth, hands leaving the desk as he straightened to his full, imposing height. “Fucking think again.”

 A spark of anger ignited in your gut at his immediate dismissal of your words. Part of you wanted to give some snarky reply or go off on him for his lack of trust in your honesty. How dare he jump to his own conclusions and refuse to consider that they were wrong! He wouldn’t be satisfied unless you gave the answer he was expecting, the only answer he currently saw as truth. The helpless realization hit that he’d rather you admit to fucking someone else behind his back instead of getting off his high horse and realizing that perhaps his assumptions about the situation were incorrect.

 You didn’t want to go down this rocky path again, thinking back to your last fight a week and a half ago, out in the gardens. Both of you had thrown words like knives without stopping to consider the repercussions, and you had come away from the experience emotionally bloody. You didn’t have the mental capacity to go through that again, and if every hurdle with Negan was going to lead to an all-out brawl that set your relationship back multiple paces...then was it even worth it?

 Shoulders sagging in defeat, all angry retorts died before they had a chance to leave your lips. If, despite the last few days, he could still think so lowly of you, then why even try to argue? He’d jumped to anger and accusations, rather than rationally asking for your side of the story, and that hurt. God, you were so sick of situations with him leading to you feeling hurt. No one deserved to feel unheard and misunderstood by someone they cared about, and you’d be damned if you fell into his trap by even continuing this conversation.

 Looking him square in the eye, with what was hopefully a neutral expression, you deadpanned, “I told you the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.”

 Turning for the door, you made it two steps before his voice barked out your name.

 “I didn’t fucking say you could leave!”

 Twisting your upper body so that you could glance at him over your shoulder, it took everything in you to stay calm, to not fight fire with more fire. Instead, you wanted to douse the flames of the fight before they could truly be ignited.

 With a wave of your hand towards the box on the desk, you said, “If that’s what you really think of me, then we’re done here.”

 And with that, you turned and walked out the door. Half expecting him to say something else or come out in the hall and demand you turn back around, you weren’t sure if it was relief or despair that cause a loud sigh to leave your lips, when all that came from behind was silence.

 ~  ~ ~  ~  ~

 Focused on getting back to your room, which was a safe space away from any prying eyes and ears, you speed-walked down to the third floor. You vaguely acknowledged passing Maria in the hall; she said your name as you walked by, as if she wanted to stop and have a conversation, but you ignored her and just kept walking. You didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now and just wanted to be alone. Your silent dismissal was probably rude, but you didn’t overly care at the moment, instead making a mental note to apologize to her later.

 When you were inside the small bedroom, with the door closed and locked, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe. This tiny space had become your own personal sanctuary within the Sanctuary, and for the umpteenth time since your interactions with Negan first began, you were beyond glad to be assigned a single room with no bunk mates.

 Refusing to just sit and dwell on the situation until you worked yourself into a panic or flood of tears, you instead grabbed your notepad and flopped down on the bed. Laying on your stomach with chin propped on the pillow, you tried to focus on the meal plan and kitchen job assignments you had started organizing for next week. However, you barely made it through Monday before the words turned blurry on the page and you were blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. When one of the bastards escaped, rolling down your cheek and plopping onto the lumpy pillow, you cursed before throwing the pencil and notepad onto the floor and turning over onto your back on the mattress.

 Staring up at the ceiling, you started counting the tiles, noting a tiny crack in one that was two rows down and three columns over from the door. After you finished tallying up all of them, you did so again, and again. You were on your fourth round, the simple task just mundane and simple enough to calm your mind, when you were startled by a light knock on the door.

 Rather than respond, you kept counting, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave. You had just started the exciting game of Tile Count for the fifth time when the knock came again, this time a bit more insistent. The hair raising on the back of your neck at the first light tapping had already given away who was on the other side, and you refused to fight anymore with the probably still pissed-off man standing outside your room.

 “Go away!” you called, irritated that the noise had caused you to lose your place, and starting back at the corner from zero.

 There was a long silence, so long that you started to think perhaps he had actually listened, when his voice came, deep and slightly muffled by the door.

“We need to talk, doll.”

 The locked door as a barrier made you brave enough to flippantly reply, just loud enough for him to hear, “Why? You apparently think you know everything already.”

 Another long silence. You had to admit, that was surprising. You had expected his reaction to a comment like that to be anger and a demand for you to open the door immediately. In fact, you could almost feel him struggling to keep his cool, which gave you a small zing of satisfaction.

 “Doll, are you gonna let me in or…”

 Sitting up on the bed, the tile game forgotten, you fired back, “Or what?”

 You ignored your brain and subconscious, both of whom were looking at you with exasperated expressions. This might not be the most productive of interactions, but hey, you had tried to explain things to him in his office, and he hadn’t wanted to listen. Why should you want to listen now?

 “If you don’t open the door, then we’ll just have to talk about it like this,” he replied, voice still surprisingly calm and collected.

 You paused and thought about that for a moment. Would he really discuss something like that out in the hall, where anyone could hear? Your brain and subconscious quickly answered at the same time with, Of course he would!

 Giving a heavy sigh, you got up off the bed and walked across the room, dragging your feet with every step. You really would’ve preferred he give up and leave, because letting him in this room would give him a chance to either hurt you further or get back in your good graces. At this point, you didn’t know which was preferable. Did you want him to push you further away or bring you in closer? And what the fuck did it say about this “relationship” that you didn’t know the answer to that question?

 Unfortunately, you knew that Negan wasn’t going anywhere, stubborn as he was, so with a deep breath for courage, you threw open the door and tried to give him your best neutral stare. It was a bit difficult, once you saw the look on his face. The heat you had expected to see in his eyes wasn’t there; instead, his face looked drawn and, dare you say it, almost ashamed. No, that couldn’t be right. It must just be the glare from the overhead lights and your own buried hope that was causing you to see things that weren’t there.

 “What do you want?” you asked, trying to mimic his cool and collected tone.

 “I want to talk, doll,” he replied, staring back and waiting patiently for you to decide what would happen next.

 Holding eye contact in silence for a long moment, you finally gave a sigh and stepped back, letting him in. He was dressed in a simple, navy blue t-shirt and dark grey pants, and you got a lungful of his unique cedar and spice smell as he walked past. Once the door was firmly closed, you turned and leaned back against the smooth wood, putting both hands on your hips and lifting an eyebrow at him expectantly.

 When all you got in response was him looking everywhere in the room but at you, impatience caused your foot to tap and your mouth to give a slightly sarcastic, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

 Finally looking over at you, he took in your body posture and facial expression, mouth tightening as he ran a gloveless hand down over his beard. Seeing his bare skin made you realize that he also hadn’t brought Lucille with him, which caused a jolt of surprise. He took that bat everywhere, and you had to wonder how distracted he must’ve been, to forget something so important.

 “Damnit, doll. I’m trying to fucking apologize!” he growled, hands now stuffed in his pants pockets.

 Both eyebrows raised this time, as you gave him a quick look of surprise before schooling your features. “Well, then do it.”

 While part of you was floored that he hadn’t come here to continue fighting, another part of you wasn’t ready to dole out brownie points just because he was trying to apologize. After the things he had just accused you of in his office, trying wasn’t going to be good enough.

 He gave a sigh and gestured nervously with his hands, before saying, “Perhaps I was...a little hasty with my judgments...regarding the situation.”

 You huffed out a humorless laugh at his stumbling efforts to say that he was wrong. “A little hasty?”

 He chewed on his lower lip while looking at you with a gaze dulled by discomfort and guilt. When you didn’t offer any more support, just crossed your arms over your chest and stared back expectantly, his eyes dropped to the floor.

 “I’m sorry, doll. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he mumbled in a voice so low that you strained to hear. You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch by adding, “I don’t want this to be a repeat of last time. I don’t want to almost fucking lose you again.”

 His words were like a punch to the gut, and you were glad he was still looking downwards and so didn’t see your mouth hanging open as you stared at him with wide-eyed shock. While his words didn’t totally wipe the slate clean, you knew what they had cost him to say. A straightforward apology from a man such as Negan was about as common as a walker turning vegetarian. You took a tentative step towards him, then another. Reaching out, you laid a gentle hand on his bicep, causing his gaze to finally rise and lock onto yours.

 Giving a tentative smile, you whispered, “Apology accepted.”

 The tight lines around his mouth visibly relaxed, as his jaw unclenched and shoulders slightly dropped some of their previous tension. You stared at one another, both seemingly uncertain what to say or do next. Trying to lighten the mood a bit, you joked, “Did we actually just make some progress and communicate like semi-rational adults?”

 He gave a light chuckle and raised his hand to cup your jaw, the calloused thumb rubbing back and forth across your lower lip. “I’d say we did, doll. I’m about as fucking surprised as you are.”

 His eyes became a bit more focused and intense, as if he was trying to read your mind. You had a split second to think oh no before he added, “I still need to know what happened though, and what you were doing with that pregnancy test. I’m willing to hear your side of the story and forget what Carson told me, but I need you to be fucking honest with me.”

 Shit. You didn’t want to backtrack, not after how well things were going and the steps forward that were being made between the two of you. But you also couldn’t break your promise to Trixie, not when she had placed her trust in you.

 You knew Negan saw the conflicting emotions and panic written all over your face, because his hand dropped and he gave a warning growl of, “Doll...”

 Muttering a curse that made his eyebrows raise in surprise at your vehemence, you dropped your hand from his arm and took a couple steps back, needing space to get your thoughts together. Gazing at him imploringly, you replied, “I want to tell you, but I made a promise.”

 You could see the first sparks of anger in that tawny gaze, and so hurried on. “Someone came to me, in confidence, and asked for my help. I can’t tell you who she is, but I will say that it wasn’t one of your wives. She thought she might be pregnant and didn’t want to cause a fuss if it wasn’t true. She didn’t even want the potential father to know unless she was certain.”

 You took a breath and analyzed Negan’s reactions to your words so far. His head was cocked slightly to the side and he remained silent. Satisfied that you had his attention, and that he was still calm and willing to listen, at least for now, you continued.

 “I wanted to help, so I asked Carson for a test, that way he wouldn’t know who it was really for. I told him it was for someone else, but it was obvious he didn’t believe me. Not that I cared much at the time-” your eyes rolled upwards in annoyance, “-though I should’ve guessed he’d run to you the first chance he got. But the test was negative, thank god. And it wasn’t that she was being unsafe; she assured me that they were using condoms, and it was probably just stress that messed up her cycle and caused her to panic. The situation is handled, Negan, I promise. I was there when she took the test, and I even saw the negative results. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

 He studied you, searching your face as if looking for clues to fill in the gaps you had left. You knew that he didn’t appreciate having information withheld, and hoped he wouldn’t take your unwillingness to reveal Trixie’s identity as a personal offense.

 “I hope you’re fucking sure about that. Because if it becomes an issue for me down the line, I’m gonna be fucking pissed, doll.”

 Bringing up your chin and using your no-nonsense voice, you replied, “I said it’s handled. Which means it’s handled.”

 Hazel eyes widened in surprise. “When did you get so damn authoritative?”

 “When I started hanging around you too much.”

 Giving a smirk and genuine laugh that let you know he wasn’t upset, Negan started towards you. You wanted to smirk in return, but instead backed up, maintaining the gap between your bodies.

 “I’m still mad at you,” you warned.

 “Why, doll? I fucking apologized, didn’t I?”

 Just when he was about to reach out and wrap his arm around your waist, you sidestepped and scurried past him, stopping on the opposite side of the room, near the bed. “I want to know why you automatically assumed the pregnancy test was mine.”

 The playful smirk that had been on his face dimmed, as he realized he wasn’t totally out of the clear. “I was being stupid, doll.”

 “Stupid how?” You knew the intelligent thing to do would be to let the topic go. He had apologized and admitted to being wrong, but you still felt the zing of hurt from earlier, when he had believed you were sleeping with someone else behind his back.

 He sighed and grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “persistent woman,” before saying, “When Carson told me you wanted a pregnancy test, my mind automatically jumped to the other day in the kitchen. Benny boy was being awfully fucking protective of you, and I’ll admit my thoughts went in a direction that had me stewing by the time you came to my office.”

 Not this again, you thought. You didn’t expect Negan and Ben to ever be the best of buds, but the pissing contest Negan had with someone who had been nothing but a supportive friend to you needed to stop. The easiest response would be to tell him that it wasn’t you he had to worry about Ben getting too close to, but knew it wasn’t your place to discuss Ben’s potential love life. Negan needed to trust you, because you weren’t going to keep defending against something that wasn’t even close to the truth.

 This time it was you who moved forward, coming to a stop right in front of the tense man who was awaiting your reaction. Reaching up, you took his face between your hands, the scratch of his beard against your palms as you locked eyes with him from a distance of mere inches.

 “I’m only gonna tell you this once more, so I need you to really hear me. Ben and I are friends. We’ve never been more than that, nor will we ever be more than that. My love for him is 100% platonic, and vice versa.”

 His brows furrowed, and he reminded you of a petulant child, though you’d never say that aloud, as he questioned, “You love him?”

 You’d swear his voice held a note of jealousy at the idea of you loving someone. No, that couldn’t be right...could it? Sure, you and him were taking steps towards what might be some form of a relationship, but that topic was nowhere on the agenda for him. You were too busy watching Negan’s face to see the exasperated look your subconscious and brain shared, as if they both wanted to throttle you for being in denial.

 “As a friend, yes. I love him emotionally and platonically, but not romantically or sexually. And Ben has never given me cause to believe it’s any different for him. He cares about me, so of course he’s protective...just as I’m protective of him. And he’s not going anywhere, so I need you to accept that he’s a part of my life, and that his friendship makes me happy.”

 Your hands dropped from his face to rub along his shoulders; you could see the wheels spinning as he processed this information, and hoped that the words were finally sinking in. You didn’t want two people who you cared deeply about to be at odds with one another, and you refused to be put in a position where you felt like you had to choose your friendship with Ben versus your...whatever this was...with Negan.

 He finally gave a nod of affirmation, which caused you to exhale the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. His large hands rubbed up and down your sides, and you weren’t sure if his actions were meant to soothe you or himself.

 “You’re right, doll, I misread the situation. I saw that test and lost my shit without even fucking considering there was another possible explanation. And when I thought of you being with someone else, I…” his words dropped off into silence.

 You made a shushing noise and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, standing up on tiptoes and tilting your head to brush his lips with your own. He took the hint and pulled you in close, so that the length of your body was pressed against his.

 “You still mad at me, doll?” he murmured into your mouth.

 You pulled back and gave a saucy smile. “Only if you don’t use that bed to show me how sorry you really are.”

 The look he gave in response caused a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, which quickly shot lower and became a deep, pulsing flutter of an entirely different nature. He caught your mouth in a deep kiss and pushed forward, causing you to walk backwards the couple steps needed before the edge of the mattress bumped into the back of your thighs. You were breathing heavily by the time he lifted his head, and it took a couple seconds for the hazy cloud of lust to lift enough for you to realize his gaze was distracted by something off to the side.

 Glancing in the same direction, you saw the pile of condoms laying on your bedside table. They were the ones you had stolen out of the drawer in his bedroom this morning, and suddenly you were patting yourself on the back for thinking ahead.

 This time his lips landed on the side of your neck, goosebumps erupting along your arms as he sucked gently at where the sensitive flesh sloped down to meet your shoulder. “First you take coconut oil out of the kitchen, now you’re stealing condoms from my bedroom,” he said between kisses and nips to your flesh. “You’re outta line, doll.”

 His hand came up to cup a breast through your shirt, at the same time he whispered in your ear, “Now, how do you think I should punish this insubordination?”

 You could only moan in response and gasp out his name, before falling back onto the bed and pulling him down with you.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Tag List will be posted separately and in three chunks, to hopefully keep tumblr from doing anything wonky to this post. If you do not want to be on the tag list anymore, PLEASE send me a message and let me know. I won’t be upset because I don’t want to bother anyone with tag notifications who is no longer interested in ID updates. It’s been forever since I updated, so I totally get it if you’ve moved on lol.

[seasonal-brotp-prompts]

i recently started writing fanfics, but i'm in a small fandom that has basically 2 main writers who have very distinct writing styles, mine is very different from theirs and it kinda intimidates me/makes me feel self conscious about if people like my fics or not? (btw your blog is a major source of inspiration for me ^^

First of all, I’m super honored that I’m an inspiration to you!! I’m not an expert, but here are some tips for your situation:

Never forget that the most fun part should be writing for yourself. Never write anything that you personally don’t enjoy!

Be proud of the fact that you have a unique style! That’s a great thing to have as a fanfic writer!

If you want to improve, there’s nothing wrong with asking for concrit in your author’s notes. Most writers (myself included) are more than happy to give new writers helpful tips– it makes us feel better about ourselves XD

The biggest confidence-booster I know is to ask your friends to read and review your fic, especially other writer friends, if you have any. (If not, don’t stress– you’re sure to make some now that you’re posting fic!)

Finally, the most important note: Treat others the way you’d like to be treated. In other words… REVIEW!!! Don’t just kudos/favorite fics that you like. Tell those authors your favorite parts of the fic, ask questions, yell about your feels, really anything involving words instead of just clicking a button. This is how you’ll make writer friends… and as a bonus, you’ll automatically improve your own writing by pinpointing why the good/popular authors are good/popular.

[laketaj24]

Disgraced

Author’s Note: I’ve been slacking on requests lately but I am going through my queue now to get some things out!!! I hope you enjoy this read!! Gifs were made by me, Taglist Open.

Requested:  Hi! I love your blog so much and enjoying your writing so much ❤️ I have a fic request for Ubbe day and that is myself and Bjorn really hating each other just for some reason we’ve never got on and I’m with Ubbe and somehow him and I end up having sex in Bjorn’s bed and he walks in on us pissed off completely but his rage turns to lust and all of us end up having a threesome together 😈🙊 Also another little thing could you possibly add in that they love that I’m a curvy woman?! @taytayize123

Pairings: Ubbe X Reader, Bjorn X Reader

Warnings: Smut. DubCon, Cuckhold

Related Stories: Sparring Viking Masterlist 

“You tell us how you truly feel then Bjorn! You sit in the corner mumbling your ill will under your breath. A Viking has nothing has nothing to hide. Speak your piece!” You yelled to him.

“How would you know what a Viking would do when you and your husband have so willingly thrown yourself into the Christian faith? Ever since he has taken a liking to you, he is no longer my younger brother. He is no son of Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“And you are, leaving him to die and instead going to the Mediterranean. Some loyal son you are,” you spit. “I have never liked nor understood you.”

“Enough!” Lagertha interjects. “Bjorn, Y/N.”

He ignores his mother’s calls to action. “You and your wife are a disgrace.” Bjorn said with a disdain in his voice like you have never heard. “To be foolish enough to believe this king and his promises.”

“Then why are we here Bjorn!” Your voice raises higher than you expect, and you step to him standing your ground. “You complain about everything in closed doors and yet still in front of him you are silent. We done what we had to do to insure our safety.”

“Bearing their cross is sacrilegious.”

“It is yet another piece of metal to add to our armor.”

“Tell yourself all the lies you want. It is exactly what my Uncle Rollo said to me, it is more than a cross. You two are disgraced.”

“No more than you and your cowardice.”

“Shut the mouth of your wife, or I shall shut it for you.” Bjorn glared at Ubbe.

“Enough.” He commanded. “We are to the Hall. This arguing among ourselves is pointless. Y/N come with me.”

Lagertha stands from her table, her flowing gray hair graced her shoulders. “Ubbe is right. There is no need for the argument when there are bigger battles to be fought.”

“All of you are blinded by a safe haven, and this place is not safe.” Bjorn leaves the room storming out in a rage.

Wessex had treated you and Ubbe well. Having been cleansed of the pagan gods and brought to the one true God you’d found and new lightness in life, especially with Ubbe who couldn’t keep his hands off.

“I announce to you today that the son of Ragnar Lothbrok will lead our armed forces into battle against the Northmen.” Alfred looks over to Ubbe giving him a small nod and your husband returns it. The scattered scoffs spread throughout the hall. It was evident you weren’t welcome nor wanted here but it wasn’t their decision. “Our friends will feast with us, and then prepare for battle.”

The chatter starts and Ubbe grabs your hand leading you out of the corridor. “His speeches bore me.” He smiles. “I can think of better things to do with them out of our hair.” He led you up the steps in the dimly lit corridor to a room you weren’t familiar with and you didn’t care. His moves were rushed as if you were once more youthful fooling around behind The Great Hall or the stables. Ubbe tugged at the strings of your corset turning you around. “I hate these strings.” He complained.

“Then rip it, my Lord Ubbe.” You said mocking the Saxons.

“Lord Ubbe.” He growled taking one tug at the dress and ripping it open. It fell to your shoulders and step out of it with a smile.

“Is that something you like hearing? My Lord.”

“I want you to say it when you come.” He smiled devilishly while tossing his tunic to the ground. He takes two strides and tosses you to the plush bed of furs. “Scream it so the whole villa can hear.” His deep voice is every bit of eager as his hands travel up your legs to the inner slope of your thighs.

He moves on top of you pushing your legs apart with his knee and abruptly thrusting into you. Your breath leaves ragged as he continues his assault digging his fingers into your supple flesh. His moans are muffled in the nape of your shoulder as the practice of self-control has gone out the window.

The door swings open and Ubbe rolls from on top of you reaching for his sword. But you see it is him. Bjorn Ironside. “No need for that brother.” He says sitting at the end of the bed.  “Enjoying my room?”

Ubbe sits up. “somewhat, until we were interrupted.”

“Don’t consider it an interruption. You want to prove you are truly Viking to me brother. That the waters of their gods did not wash you clean.” Bjorn pauses looking down at the floor and then back up to you. “Share her with me.”

“Brother.” Ubbe half smiles but then glances to you. “You would have to ask her.”

His eyes explore the curves of your body, the creases formed during your birth, the stretch marks that you had earned, and you could feel the desire flowing from him. “What do you say?”

You weren’t anywhere near finished with Ubbe. Bjorn irritated you but if you had something to prove, why not prove it. “Why are you still dressed if you wish to have me?”

Ubbe was always willing to share you, it was if he wanted his brothers to know that he got the best of the treasure in you. He smiled and climbed back over you and dips his fingers back into your dripping pussy. “You should taste her brother.” Ubbe says pulling your body to face Bjorn. “Go ahead.”

Bjorn is not as gentle as Ubbe spreading your legs and dipping his long fingers into your warmth. The difference in their fingers is prominent as he curls his finger tapping your g-spot and then swirling it back out to bring another to the mix. Your gasp makes Ubbe smile as he watches at the foot of the bed. Bjorn watches you intently, using how his fingers stroked to learn things about you. It takes one minute to take you to the first orgasm and you gush on his furs, soaking them and sending a warm feeling throughout your body.

“She comes quick. I could have some fun with her.” Bjorn stands, and you notice his large frame as he pulls his shirt from his long torso and slides out of his pants. His cock springs out, erect and thick, and you swallowed noticing that his fingers weren’t the only thing longer than your husbands.

Ubbe seems not bothered as he leans over you and places a chaste kiss on your lips. You can see him move to the other side of the bed where there is a clear view of you and Bjorn. “I want to watch you fuck him.” He smiles.  

Bjorn grabs your legs pulling them to drape over the side of the bed. Your spread out before him waiting and there is a small fear lingering as he climbs on the bed over you. “Is that fear in your eyes Y/N?” Your hips flex as you fill his tip at the entrance and your hands cling to the sheets. He fills you completely, pressing his hips to your looking down on you with amusement as he starts to move.

“Fuck, you are tight.” He groans moving in and out of your slick folds giving you just the right nudge you need to get there. Your hips clap against. And you can hear your husband groaning as he watched and the slick sounds of him pleasuring himself.

“See how your husband likes to watch?” He whispers in your ear before his teeth nip at your earlobe and he slams back into you. “He likes watching you cum for someone else, and you are about to cum aren’t you.”

There was denying that there was a second orgasm rising over your body that would make the first look like nothing. Your cries get louder once he raises your leg, scooping it on his arm to get better access. And the position rocks you into ecstasy.

“There it is.” He says through clenched teeth. “Your body giving into me.”

His voice only added to your orgasm as you clenched around him milking him for something, he was not ready to give yet.

“I can take no more,” You gasp feeling him impossibly deeper. “Bjorn…” You chant as he continues to fuck you. “Oh fuck,” You melt. “No more.” But he ignores your cries snaking his fingers down to your swollen clit rubbing furiously to anchor you into another one that renders you speechless.  

“Of course, you can take more, Viking women don’t stop. “He pins your hands to the bed as his speed increases again and your fucked up the bed where Ubbe is clearly visible. His hips flexing into his hand as you scream in filling the stoned walls of the room when Bjorn finally reaches his climax. You hear the melodic moans of Ubbe finishing right after, watching him stroke his semi hard cock with labored breaths.

“I guess you aren’t that big of a disgrace after all.” Bjorn says as he looks over to you smiling.

 Taglist:  @ivarsshieldmadien @equalstrashflavoredtrash @whenimaunicorn @akamaiden @siren-queen03 @titty-teetee @sparklemichele @oddsnendsfanfics @imgoldielikehawn @greennightspider @tomarisela @scumyeol @raindrop-dewdrop @naaladareia @vikingsmania @readsalot73 @amour-quinn @wheredidallthedreamersgo @unsure-but-trying @ceridwenofwales @leaderradiante @microsmacrosandneedles  @valynsia @captstefanbrandt   @therealcalicali @lol-haha-joke @b-j-d @cinnabearice @tephi101 @grungyblonde @ivarswickedqueen @honestsycrets @ivarslittlebadgirll @igetcarriedawaywithyou@loveviera @wilddrabble @earthsmightiestasses  @sincerelysinister @dangerousvikings @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ivaraddict @tgrrose @pixiedustandfairywings @luci-her @wakanda-inspired @thevikingsheaux @lil-lit-bit @im5ftbutmythroat66 @nik-writes @funmadnessandbadassvikings @riottkatt @athroatfullofglass @boo-youwhoreee @honeyofthegods

[mianix]

"Mine" ~ A Gift Fic for LukeLemon-Art

I have been among the DBH community for a few months now and the one thing I love most about it is how supportive everyone seems to be. It doesn’t matter if you are an artist, writer, animator, video editor, cosplayer etc. You are welcomed here with open arms and encouraged to do your very best.

The best example of this I can give is @lukelemon-art. I have watched them encourage people of all mediums and fandoms to do well. I’ve experienced their fun nature and their generosity myself when they reblogged my friend @bunnylove56’s Reed900 fic when they weren’t sure anyone would like it. They gave her the confidence to keep going and I adore Luke for conspiring with me to get her to keep going. I never expected it and it only proves my point further.

The above artwork was recently done by Luke with an amazing backstory of Connor, discarding his LED and Gavin chooses to keep it, worn by a leather strap around his neck. Not only did this warm my heart, but inspired me to write my first Convin story as a gift to Luke for all their kindness, not just to me, but the community. Their art makes me happy, as I imagine it does a lot of you. So here’s me supporting their art and repaying them for too many kindnesses to count. 

Note: This gift fic is rated M and contains a big old lemon…lol Because of Tumblr’s new rules and to be safe, the preview will end with a link to finish the story on AO3 instead of the typical cut to read the entire thing on my blog. So if you aren’t into reading something a bit smutty, go back now, gentle reader.

———-

Connor wondered, honestly, what frustrated him more: the idea of Detective Reed disobeying Hank’s direct orders, or the fact that Connor had made a deal with him to get them to this point.

He had been trying diligently over the past year to find ways of endearing himself to the bitter Detective, but nothing he did seemed to quell the man’s hatred for him. No amount of help, kind gestures, or careful consideration had changed a thing between them.

They fought constantly on the job and it had shown its own wear on Connor over time. He recalled how, in a fit of frustration, he had pulled off his own LED and tossed it at the Detective’s feet.

“THERE! Since it bothers you so much! Now you can stop complaining about it and actually get some work done. Oh, wait. That’s right! I mean sit on your damn phone instead of actually helping us for once!”

Everyone had looked shocked to see such anger come from him, but they often forgot he was no longer a thing who took orders. It had all just boiled over and he couldn’t take it anymore. A part of him felt guilt at the look that crossed Reed’s face, but he walked away before he could worry on it too much. In that moment, he felt justified, but later he regretted it.

If for nothing else, he had taken pride in wearing his LED once he’d deviated to remind him of their struggle and to never be ashamed of who he was. Because it made him into the man he was now, who had friends, family and a life that was entirely his own.

This, naturally, was how he found himself helping assist Detective Reed into his apartment.

“Last door, on the left.” Gavin groaned as he stumbled a bit.

They’d been in a scuffle only an hour before, all thanks to Detective Yells-Too-Much. Hank, in some disturbing thought to force them to into being civil, had downright ordered them to work together.

“Frankly, everyone is getting tired of listening to you two argue all the time. It’s not productive and seriously hurts office morale. We’re fucking homicide. We see gruesome death and tragedy on the daily and somehow you two bitching every day is making it even worse.” Hank had said, frustrated when the two had yet another blow up.

“What about Nines?” Gavin had asked. It seemed the further from friendly he got from Connor, the more he stopped harassing the RK900 model. He’d actually started working with him, to Connor’s surprise.

“We’re swapping partners for the week. Nines will work with me and you two need to learn to work together. Fowler’s down my neck about this and if you two can’t work this out there’s the possibility of reassignment to a different department.”

That had gotten a reaction, from both of them. Because it would likely be one or the other, which meant Connor would have to leave Hank or Gavin would be losing his position in his preferred field. Neither of these were an option.

Connor moved to the door, pressing Reed to the wall to help him stand better.

“Keys?” Connor asked.

“Pocket.” Gavin replied with a twinge of pain. They’d been staking out a warehouse, helping out the drug division on a red ice case, but couldn’t seem to not fight. They were completely hopeless being stuck in the confines of Gavin’s car and their inability to ignore one another got them caught.

They were set upon by some low level lackey’s who luckily were too stupid to be properly armed. Connor had sustained some damage to his arm, but had come out holding his own. Reed, on the other hand, had not. A quick glance at the wound on his abdomen told Connor the glass bottle had cut Gavin as he tried to dodge it. He would be okay, but he would need stitches and proper medical care.

“Fuck that. I don’t have the money to pay for an ER visit. I’ll just do it myself, like always.” Gavin had said with labored breathing as Connor drove them away from the warehouse, the sound of gunfire finally breaking the air as more lackeys came to their friends’ aid. It was fight or flight for Connor and at seeing his human companion bleeding and exhausted, he chose to live and fight another day.

“What do you mean like always?” Connor asked incredulously. It was purely rhetorical though as he didn’t need to consider it much to know Gavin Reed refused to go to the hospital unless he was taken there by force… or unconscious. Connor considered that as a valid option, but cast it aside at the thought of the assault charges that might accompany it when Gavin gained consciousness.

But Reed was stubborn and finally they’d come to a compromise: Gavin would allow Connor to do it for him. He could locate the proper programs to accomplish the task of patching Reed up. If he could not get him proper medical help, then this was the next best option.

Connor stared at the Detective, whose free arm hung a bit limply at his side. Blood could be seen staining his shirt there, as well. Wonderful. Without much thought, Connor plunged his hand down into the Detective’s jean pocket to feel around for keys. He felt Gavin stiffen at his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ careful, dipshit. You’re grabbing my keys, not playing pocket pool.” Gavin bit out between clenched teeth. Connor ignored him and pulled the keys out, setting about the task of opening the door. Once he did, he heard a loud mewling getting closer.

The small, furry head of a cat peeked through the crack of the door, it’s tiny paw pulling at it to further open it.

“Don’t let him out. He’s a fucking escape artist.” Gavin groaned as he pushed the door in and pressed the cat inside. Connor followed behind him, closing the door and entering into Gavin Reed’s apartment for the first time.

Gavin went directly for his cabinets as the first room they entered was the kitchen. Off to the right was an open archway into what Connor considered was the living room. He didn’t have much time to consider it though as he watched Reed pulling out more medical supplies then he figured most humans would keep in their homes.

“How often do you get injured on the job?” Connor asked at the fully stocked cabinet of disinfectants, gauze, bandages and other medical supplies.

“Enough to be prepared.” Gavin replied as he opened a drawer to his left and pulled out a partially full bottle of whiskey and a small, unmarked kit. Connor eyed him for a moment, but decided it wasn’t worth the headache.

Gavin sat on the counter with some difficulty and Connor had no choice but to help him, as his arm was of no real use. Once there, Gavin opened the whiskey bottle with his teeth and took a deep dram of the amber liquid. Connor immediately took hold of the bottle and pulled it away.

“What the fuck, Connor? You gonna make me go through this stone cold sober?” Gavin asked bitterly.

“You’re the one who refused to go to the hospital, where they could ease the pain you’re about to feel. You have no room to complain and I need you lucid.” Connor said simply. Perhaps a small part of him enjoyed mocking Reed, but he tried not to think on it too much.

Connor turned to look at the supplies he was given and felt his eyes flutter as he downloaded the necessary program to properly sew stitches. He considered asking how Gavin also had access to the items required to do this, but was certain he’d probably either not get a response or would get a bullshit one.

Connor lifted the hem of Gavin’s shirt, glancing to assess the damage, but knowing full well his first instinct was correct. He did his best to clean the wound, having Gavin hold his shirt up so he could work. Connor noticed he was in pain, but he gritted his teeth against it.

“Since we have some quiet time, are you ready to tell me why you hate me so much?” Connor asked, figuring anything that distracted Gavin would be better than letting the man suffer.

“Because you’re a brown nosing cunt who - FUCK! The hell Connor?” Gavin roared when Connor threw caution to the wind and straight up applied the chemical cleanser without care to the wound.

“Sorry. My hand slipped.” Connor replied stiffly as he grabbed another piece of cloth and tried to be more gentle. Gavin glared at him, still tensing for the pain he no doubt anticipated, but Connor was content with letting the snide remark go.

“What do you care whether or not I like you anyway? We’re not partners, so why the hell should you give a damn?” Gavin asked, choosing his wording more carefully this time as Connor dabbed around the edge of his cut.

“I’ve only been trying to figure it out since day one. You’d think I personally wronged you in some way.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m an asshole to all androids.” Gavin replied. Connor’s eyes lifted and he noted Gavin had been watching him, but the moment their eyes met he quickly looked away.

“That’s not true, actually. What about Nines? You show him more regard than you ever have for me.” Connor said pointedly, not faltering in his look. Something passed over Gavin’s face, it was minute, but it was there. A moment of panic, then recovery.

“Nines does as he’s told. He doesn’t get in my way or stop me from doing my job.” Gavin replied and his eyes came back to Connor, side glancing him, then looking down to where the small cat was perched on the floor, watching them. It moved gracefully, wiggling its tiny behind before it jumped on the counter beside Gavin and stepped on his thigh. Gavin opted to focus there.

“Nines also is still an android. It’s very simple Detective. I. AM. ALIVE. I’m not a piece of furniture for you to do with as you please and until you learn this, it will be the primary cause of our arguments.” Connor said in quick succession. How many times must they have this conversation, re-worded in so many different ways?

“I’m in fucking pain here. Can’t you give me a break, just once?” Gavin asked and Connor noted his voice sounded weary. The cat at his thigh pressed its face into Gavin’s palm and he gave it such a momentary look of tenderness that It shocked Connor. Then it walked further up Reed’s leg, jumped effortlessly onto his shoulder and stood there.

“That’s not really sanitary for what we’re doing Reed.” Connor began, but found himself intrigued by how the cat walked behind Gavin’s head and laid itself around his neck and shoulders so casually. Its foot disturbed the leather strap that usually hung around the Detective’s neck, dipping down into his shirt. Connor had always wondered what that was, but opted to not pry.

“The cat stays. He’s more of a comfort than you are.” Gavin said, but it wasn’t as mean spirited as it might’ve normally been, because the cat was rubbing its face against the stubble on his chin. Connor just watched, forgetting himself momentarily. Who the hell is this and what did he do with Gavin Reed?

When Gavin’s eyes came back to Connor he seemed to remember himself and that look of indifference came back. It broke the momentary spell and Connor continued working.

Silence hung between them as he worked, except for the purring of the cat on Gavin’s shoulders and the occasional groan or gasp of pain from him as Connor used skilled hands to suture up the cut. He preferred the silence, not remembering a time when the two of them had been so close and not blowing up into a full argument.

He wasn’t sure why this gentler side of the Detective intrigued him. He did not even know he had a pet and never would’ve guessed he could be affectionate with anything. But as long as Connor pretended not to notice, Gavin lavished the animal with attention. Had he ever seen the Detective smile where it didn’t feel like he was baring his teeth as a threat? No, not around Connor. In the pain, he sought comfort in the animal and it seemed to sense his need of it. It never left his shoulders, nuzzling and pawing at the man the more his discomfort seemed to peak.

When he was done with his side, Connor moved to roll up the sleeve on Gavin’s shirt. This wound was superficial in comparison to the other and needed nothing more than a bandage. He stepped into Gavin, the Detective’s knee brushing the inside of Connor’s thigh. Gavin jumped, startling the cat, but did not remove it.

“Careful.” Gavin said in a low tone. Connor tilted his head, trying to figure out what exactly had set the Detective off. Gavin moved his knee, unable to meet Connor’s eyes and with a slight blush filling his cheeks.

“You do realize I have no genitalia to injure, correct?” Connor said innocently enough, but Gavin’s face went a bright shade of red almost instantly at his words.

“Why the fuck would you tell me that?” Gavin asked, obviously startled by this admission.

“You feared hurting me, didn’t you?” Connor asked in reply.

“That is so fucking weird.” Gavin continued with a groan as he covered his face with his one free hand.

“I’m a prototype, Detective. What use would I have for - “

“STOP talking. Please? Just, stop.” Gavin begged, still not looking at him. Silence hung between them, awkward to say the very least. Then Reed broke the silence. “Your arm. It’s injured.”

Connor looked down to observe the blue blood soaking through his jacket arm. He pulled his arm out of it and found his white dress shirt was covered in blue as well. Connor shrugged his jacket off, laying it neatly over the kitchen chair. When he turned back, Gavin was moving tenderly off the counter.

“Wait.” Connor called out as he went to help the man down. Reed waved his hands away, the cat still laying around his neck like a scarf. It yawned, unbothered, and Connor wondered if this was a natural thing for these two with how contented it was soaking up the Detective’s warmth.

“Get on the counter.” Reed said suddenly as he reached for the small, unmarked kit he’d had hiding with the whiskey bottle. Connor eyed it curiously, but when Reed turned and noticed him not moving he added, “Get a move on.”

“I’ll be fine. Once I’m back at the office I can use one of the android repair kits to patch up my arm. You needn’t worry.”

“What the hell do you think this is?” Reed asked as he opened the small container. To Connor’s surprise, it was an android repair kit. A crudely put together one, yes, but still exactly what was needed for superficial wounds like what Connor had. He stared at Gavin, who seemed to be getting flustered by Connor’s sudden attentions. “What?”

“I’m just surprised you’d have something like that so readily available.” Connor responded truthfully. He wouldn’t think that Gavin would even care enough to keep something like that around.

“I have an android partner. Why wouldn’t I?” Gavin asked, glaring at him. But there was something else there and for the first time, in a long time, Connor saw something in his peripheral vision. It was faint, but unmistakable as it ghosted into his vision.

Software instability ^^

It had been over a year since he’d deviated, since he’d broken free from his programming. These programs were gone and yet, for whatever reason, it had shown on his periphery screen.

Without knowing why, Connor obeyed and sat on the counter without any argument. Reed moved close and looked awkwardly at his arm, stared, then looked away.

“You’re gonna have to remove your shirt. I can’t get to it and if we need the soldering iron I wouldn’t recommend putting it close to fabric.” Gavin said simply. He wasn’t looking at Connor, but focusing on the cat on his shoulder instead.

“Of course.” Connor responded and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Connor didn’t know why, but there was static in the air that seemed to intensify with each button he undid. Gavin wasn’t looking at him, but he felt like he was being watched anyway.

Once the shirt was open, he slid his arms out of it and laid it neatly beside him. He turned to look at the cut and as he figured it wasn’t anything to worry about. He would likely be scarred from the soldering, but that wasn’t important. He turned back to look expectantly at the Detective, but stopped.

Gavin was still looking away from him, arms crossed at his chest. Connor noted something else of interest. Gavin’s pulse was elevated. He’d attributed this to stress and pain as he worked on Gavin’s wounds, but now he wasn’t so sure. His eyes could see piloerection forming on the man’s forearms; goosebumps. And the red hue that had been on his face had traveled down his neck to the skin peeking out from the v neck shirt he wore.

“Gavin?” Connor asked when the man did nothing. He saw him take a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily, exhaling. Then his eyes turned, focused hard on Connor’s and faltered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little light headed from blood loss. I’ll be fine.” Gavin responded. But when he moved towards Connor, he caught a downward glance that became fixated on his thirium pump regulator. As if involuntary, Gavin’s hand came out and moved as if to touch it, but recoiled after a moment. As if he didn’t realize he was doing it.

The static intensified and made Connor’s skin prickle.

“Are you sure you’re okay Gavin? The wound is superficial and can wait if you’d like to sit down.” Connor offered, completely confused by this sudden change in demeanor. The whole time his cat perched, unbothered and suddenly unnoticed by Gavin as his eyes focused on Connor’s bare torso. Connor saw the man’s eyes dilate.

Software instability ^^

Gavin moved closer, setting the kit to one side of Connor’s hip, then taking his hand in his own to position Connor’s arm where it would be easiest to work on it. All Connor could do was watch, oddly fascinated by whatever phenomena was taking over the Detective and possibly…himself. This was new and fascinating to him. Exciting, even.

At one point, not wanting to focus so much of his attention on Gavin, Connor lifted his hand and stroked the back end of the cat as it purred happily. He saw Gavin’s eyes glance towards his hand, stiffening slightly until he realized its destination. He shook his head, blinking with a short breath as he set back to task.

“Okay. That should do it. Grip my hand.” Gavin said as he lifted his hand in front of him. Not in a handshake, but in fully open palm in front of Connor. He pressed his open palm to Gavin’s, entwined their fingers and gripped. “No malfunctions or weakness?”

“No. It feels just fine, actually. Thank you.” Connor replied genuinely, but Gavin was not quick to release his hand. Connor eyed him, that curiosity itching so much to be scratched. What was this? He felt his own thirium pump shift, more static. This was having a physical effect on him he could not place, the longer Gavin held his hand like that. “Gavin?”

In an instant, he hand let his go and he turned back to the table to place everything back into the kit.

“You should be good now. Probably best if you left. I should get some rest.” Gavin said quickly, but something else caught Connor’s attention as Gavin turned his back on him. Blood on the back of the Detective’s shirt. Another wound he hadn’t seen.

“Gavin. You’re still injured.” Connor said as he hopped down off the counter and walked over to him. He felt Gavin tense as he took the rim of the neckline on his shirt and pulled it down a bit.

“It’s okay. I can do it.” Gavin said quickly.

“It’s on your back. You can’t reach there. Take off your shirt and I’ll get it for you.” Connor offered. When Gavin didn’t move, he added “As soon as I make sure it’s nothing bad I will leave. You agreed to this earlier, remember?”

Gavin sighed, lifted his hands to gently remove the cat from his shoulders. He sat it onto the floor where it remained, staring up at them as if disappointed to no longer be a part of the situation. Then, begrudgingly, Gavin put his hands to the hem of his shirt and tugged upwards. For a moment, Connor caught the flash of something blue glint as it moved at the base of Gavin’s neck, then he realized that it was an LED. Unmistakably, his LED.

Gavin’s eyes followed his no doubt startled looking ones to the necklace at his chest and realization dawned there as he turned away, scrambling to get back into the shirt. Maybe hoping Connor didn’t notice?

“Gavin…” Connor began, but Gavin just started walking away from him. Without thought, he pursued the man as he entered his bedroom off the living room. Gavin tried to close the door, but Connor pushed it open easily as Gavin stumbled backwards. “Is that my LED?”

“It’s not what you think.” Gavin said quickly as he stood by the bed, arm out as if Connor might punch him. But Connor didn’t feel anger. He didn’t know what to feel, because he didn’t know why a part of him was hanging around Gavin Reed’s neck.

“Is that my LED?” Connor asked again. “Let me see it.”

He stepped forward, hand outstretched to pull at the leather straps that held it up, but Gavin smacked his hand away. That startled him, but did not stop his pursuit. Gavin grabbed at his hands, trying to prevent him from seeing it again and Connor found himself struggling with the Detective, being pulled towards him, hitting the bed and straddling over Gavin as he yanked the man’s shirt down. It was his LED, still glowing a dim blue as it pulsated against Gavin’s chest as his heart rate elevated quickly.

Gavin was breathing heavily and that red hue was more apparent on his chest as Connor held the shirt collar open. Gavin’s eyes were lidded and suddenly Connor realized something. Like all the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

“You-” He began, but Gavin leaned up quickly and pressed his lips against his. Connor’s eyes widened, unsure of what to do, but finding himself intrigued. Fascinated. He could analyze the alcohol still left on Gavin’s tongue as it ghosted between his lips. His body temperature peaked, the open eyes watching him fully dilated and a scent lingered between them, coming from the Detective’s skin. Gavin took his bottom lip between his own and tugged. Connor felt something at this, but could not define it and that only made him pursue it more.

Static.

———-

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———-

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[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Linear Challenge - Day 1: First Impressions

This month I'll be participating in the Football RPF writing challenge. I've chosen to do the linear challenge and, as such, will be trying to either write a short scene or type out my headcannons for the characters around each of the themes--one per day.

I know the idea of this is to post to the AO3 collection, but since what I’m writing here is going to be short scenes that are parts of bigger fics or head cannons or things that might not make sense without the context of a bigger fic, I plan on posting most things here to this blog and if I end up using them as one-shots or somehow end up writing something that I can post to AO3 later, I will do. For now...I’m trying to update here every day. It will be a work--especially in terms of making time--but that’s the point of the word “challenge” and the hope I have is that it will get me back into writing as mentioned below.

The first day is "First Impressions", which is something I've spent a bit of time both thinking about and trying to write about for a few different fics, but have never managed to write in a way that I've felt satisfied with. It's actually super hard to write the moment that someone meets someone else and their impressions, especially in the way my characters would do this in my created universe.

Further thoughts on the challenge and today’s theme, along with today’s fic scene are below the cut to save your dashboards.

It's odd because in my headcanon Vincent has all this history of knowing who Christian is, but Christian has never met him before and if he's heard of him it was vague and in passing because of him being the leading scorer at AZ the season before he came to Spurs. So he's not a total unknown to Christian, but he's also not someone Christian has given a lot of thought to, unlike the reverse where Vincent has spent many years of his life sort of secretly following along with Christian's career and recording his matches so he could watch them in secret when his roommates were asleep and all that. So you really get two very different sides to things. Add to this the fact that Christian is Danish and really doesn't understand his feelings OR want to acknowledge them (due to his culture and his position in life and some things that happened to him in the past) and you need to create the appropriate amount of internal narrative tension where Christian is looking at Vincent and saying "I acknowledge that this man is really rather good looking, but he's my teammate and not only do I feel like I *can't* act on that, I actually don't know how to parse this feeling and it's sort of just a general disquiet like...I think I felt something, but also maybe not, maybe I can just appreciate how good someone looks and then we move on." Honestly, I don't even think I can explain it well while NOT writing it and just speaking about it.

Basically, there's a fine line with writing Christian's feelings on meeting Vincent where it's easy to take it too far and push it into the overdramatic of Christian being like wow he's super gorgeous and I'm having a major reaction to this and I don't want to have these feeling for a teammate. You need some of that, but it's easy to push it too far and instead of having it sort of there simmering under the surface you have Christian almost TOO self-aware when it comes to his feelings.

Conversely, it's easy to slip into Christian feeling nothing at all and being wholly oblivious to the whole situation. Which works to some degree, but it doesn't exactly make for an interesting story unless you then juxtapose it with Vincent's feelings of really high-key stressing out because he's meeting this man who he sort of idolizes and has had a fanboy crush on for upwards of five years. So you'd need to put it in a setting of Vincent being VERY ON EDGE and nervous and worried he'll suddenly just yell out something embarrassing about how excited he is to meet Christian or how much he admires him and you have Christian here like...hello new teammate, you're Dutch, that's nice, I will speak Dutch to make you more comfortable but none of this is registering for me as feelings. Which...let's all be honest, I tend to live on the side of over dramatics where Vincent is awkward because he's stressed out that he'll say something wrong and Christian is awkward because he's having a feeling but doesn't understand that he's having a feeling and everyone is awkward and it's the most strained, bizarre first meeting that ever happened.

So...in short, I'm not actually sure where the best place to go with this sort of scene is, and I'm not sure there IS a best place to go with it, but I'm going to just start writing the scene that's in my head for this (which is part of a very drafty WIP that mainly just exists theoretically) and see where it goes. Because that's what this month is about for me. It's about writing a scene or two or three or, who knows, an entire fic with abandon and very little editing or checking myself and putting it out there and sharing it with you all and just letting myself feel vulnerable through writing so I can get back into a place where I'm not putting pressure on myself to be perfect, but I am putting pressure on myself to just write and not worry about anything other than where the scene carries me.

It is November, after all, and while NaNoWriMo is never a thing that worked for me, I think the concept is a sound one in terms of stressing to people that one of the keys to writing is sitting down and making words. Planning is important, editing is important, but you'll never have a finished story if you never sit down and write it in the first place.

Let's write a scene and see where we end up, shall we. I admit that in this case I had some of this written already thanks to my WIP, so it's not totally new. I had hoped to also write a scene from Vincent's POV that follows this (for a different fic I want to write that hasn't been started yet), but I'm not sure time will permit me to do that. We'll see.

Today’s scene--from Christian's POV:

Chris pushed around Mousa, darting behind him and to his right then swinging toward the goal to pick up the pass from Tom, dribbling two steps before switching his weight to his left side and angling a pass in toward the goal that Coco just managed to tap into the net before Toby closed the gap.

Coco put a fist in the air and pointed over toward Chris as the whistle sounded to signal the end of the match. “Golazo! We win!”

Coco’s triumphant yell grew nearer until a body slammed into Chris’s side and nearly sent both he and Coco tumbling to the ground. “Victory!” Coco yelled into Chris’s ear as he pressed his body ever closer against Chris’s, wrapping Chris into a tight hug and then using Chris’s shoulders to lever himself upward. The other three members of their makeshift five-a-side team--Jan, Tom, and Michel--all jogged in and clapped Chris on the shoulder as Coco jumped down and started shaking his hips to the imaginary dance beats running through his head.

"Gather up!" That was Miguel from the sidelines, one hand cupped around his mouth and nose and the other waving them all towards him and off the training pitch.

They were still in early days of training at the height of English summer, so Chris was grateful for the break, no matter how short. He loved training, but was still easing back into his life in London after a month of rest and relaxation in the sun. The season would start soon enough though, and they'd all need to be ready. They'd come so close to closing out the season with a second place finish in the league, but in the end they'd all been just a bit too tired and a bit too unfocused and had let things unravel, slipping down in the table to eventually finish in third place between their North London rivals, Arsenal. It wasn't the season any of them had hoped for and from the first day of training Christian had felt the buzz of determination and belief rippling through the dressing room. This was their year. They'd grabbed a spot in the Champions League, their squad was strong and determined, and they were ready to bring home a trophy to close out the club's final year at White Hart Lane.

This was their moment, and none of them were going to let it slip from their fingers this time.

Chris ducked out of the huddle of bodies, jogging to catch up with Mousa as they rejoined the rest of their teammates to await instructions for their next training exercise.

“Good match,” Chris said, clapping Mousa on the shoulder.

Mousa turned toward him, shaking his head with a laugh. “I’d better put in a few extra hours of strength and fitness if I’m going to keep up with you lot.”

Chris grinned. “Nah, I just know your moves too well. You’re still running well enough...for an old man.”

“Yeah, we’ll see who beats who next round,” Mousa retorted, but he returned Chris’s grin.

Chris and Mousa picked up their jogs, joining up with their teammates at the side of the pitch, all of them gathered in a loose semicircle around Pochettino and his assistants. Chris found himself pressed between Mousa on his left and Ben on his right, stepping forward slightly to allow Jan to slot in behind him, their bodies all damp with sweat and radiating heat.

In front of them, the Gaffer was joined by another man Chris didn't recognise. A new signing, Chris assumed. His friends had been buzzing about something of the sort at lunch, some hot new international teammate of Michel's. Jan had seemed particularly keen to fill Chris in on everything they knew about him, but Chris hadn't paid them much mind. He assumed they'd all meet him sooner or later, and he preferred to wait until he could form his own opinions of people.

Around Chris, the murmurs and whispered conversation died down as the Gaffer stepped forward. He was joined, as always, by Jesus Perez to his right. Pochettino's English was as good as any of theirs at this point in time, but he still preferred to have Jesus close at hand in case he needed a translation.

He began with the usual platitudes about practice and how they're all doing well and working hard, but it is important to push harder and gain their fitness for the start of the season. "We have only a few weeks before we will begin matches, so I want all of you to give more effort. I think that we have a good team and a strong team if we all work together then we will also have a team who can win."

This was met with a chorus of shouts and cheers from the gathered crowd, Chris joining them with light applause. It was nothing new, they'd all heard similar words the day before and the day before that and the day before that, but Chris knew the importance of hearing it all on repeat. At this point in time they were all balanced at the cliffs edge, and they would decide together whether they were going to charge up the path to safety, or topple over the precipice to whatever was waiting below. They needed to believe in themselves and in one another, and they needed to feel the support of the Gaffer even as he pushed them harder and harder with each passing day.

Pochettino waited until his team had quieted, then motioned for the man standing beside him to step forward. "I want to introduce you to our newest teammate. We're fortunate to have him joining us from Holland. I hope you all will make him welcome."

“Top scorer in the Eredivisie,” Mousa whispered.

“Newest, hottest thing,” Jan added, putting unnecessary emphasis on the word hottest. Chris turned around to fix him with a glare which Jan rewarded with a wink and a grin.

Chris flashed him a rude gesture, then turned back to face his new teammate.

The man--Vincent, Chris supposed--stepped forward, his brown eyes wide and a little wild as he scanned the sea of faces in front of him. Chris could understand that feeling. He'd been there himself a few times, albeit not recently. New club, new teammates, new city. The hopes of the fans riding on you and the pressure to live up to the sum of money attached to your name. It was overwhelming at the best of times. Add in making the switch to a completely new league where the game was faster and more nuanced and the expectations higher-- Yes, Chris understood.

Vincent smiled, then launched in to the usual speech in uncertain, hesitant English. "I am glad to be here at Tottenham and I am looking forward to working with all of you and being a part of this beautiful club..."

Chris let the familiar, comforting sound of Dutch-accented English wrap around him. It wasn’t as though the accent was uncommon for him these days as the club had plenty of Dutch speakers, but the way Vincent hesitated just slightly on some syllables and his soft, almost shy tone brought Chris back to the day nearly seven years ago when he’d first arrived in Amsterdam to join Jong Ajax. He’d worked hard to learn some Dutch before leaving Odense, but had still found himself struggling to form the unfamiliar syllables and find the right words. His teammates took pity on him and spoke to him in English for a time, and Chris recalled fondly the way the accented English had been strangely comforting as he eased into life in Holland.

Chris felt himself sway forward slightly as he tuned out of the exact words and lost himself in his thoughts and Vincent’s soft, warm voice. Behind him, Chris felt Jan’s hand against his shoulder and leaned into it, treasuring the closeness of the contact with one of his oldest friends. Jan always seemed to know when Chris needed him close, even when Chris didn’t know it himself.

Murmurs of voices and the stir of bodies around him, and Chris opened his eyes, bringing himself back to the bright lights of the pitch and the press of his teammates around him as the group broke up, each stepping forward to shake hands with their new teammate. Michel led the way, welcoming Vincent into a casual hug then stepping back with a smile, though remaining by Vincent’s side.

Chris hung back, letting his teammates step forward to greet the new signing, welcome him to London and to the club. He tried not to stare at Vincent, whose smile threatened to take over his entire face as he greeted each of his teammates in turn, accepting their welcome in gracious English.

Toby stepped forward to greet Vincent, followed closely by Jan and Mousa.

“You have to meet Chris,” Jan said as he reached behind him for Chris’s arm. Chris tried to move out of reach, but Jan slid towards him, grabbed Chris’s wrist, and tugged him forward into the group.

Vincent stuck his hand out toward Chris, his grin somehow widening even further, which caused Chris’s mouth to involuntarily quirk into a shy smile in return.

Chris looked down at Vincent’s hand, realising that at some point he’d clenched his own hands into fists and they were now sticky with sweat. He frowned and tried to discreetly wipe them on the back of his shorts before returning the handshake, hoping Vincent would just think Chris was still cooling down from training.

“Uh…Christian. Eriksen. Chris. Good to meet you.” Chris introduced himself in English. He could have shifted the conversation and slid into Dutch for Vincent's benefit, but they were in London, and the Gaffer expected everyone to communicate in English to ward off the formation of cliques or isolation of groups.

Vincent’s grin broadened even further as he pumped Chris’s hand. “I know this. That is...you are Christian Eriksen. So of course I know,” he stammered out in English before his smile dimmed slightly and he chewed at his lip.

“<em>Het spijt me</em>," He said, switching into no less flustered Dutch before flipping back to English once more. "I was...at Almere for a time. I saw you play...with Ajax. You were...I...um...remember you. It is...an honour to meet you. I am looking forward to playing together.” He released Chris’s hand, then brushed his own hand across his cheek and nose as he lowered to the ground, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks.

“I…” was all Chris could manage in response. An honour to play with him? He'd watched Chris at Ajax? Of course, Chris had left his mark in Amsterdam--joining together with Jan and Toby to win a series of Eredivisie championships and kickstarting his career with a bang--but to meet a new teammate who had this reaction, well, it was all a bit much. Chris felt his own face flushing hot in response.

“That’s...well...thank you?" he finally managed to stammer out. "Welcome to London. And Spurs. Jan and Toby are also from Ajax, so...”

“Oh, yes, I know this,” Vincent said wide, dark eyes now fixed on Chris's. “It will be nice to have friends here who know Amsterdam. I was not raised there, but I enjoyed my time in the city. I am so thankful to come to a club where I can feel like I have a piece of home as it were. You know?”

“<em>Ja</em>,” Chris responded, instinctively flipping into Dutch for the affirmation. Even though it wasn't his native tongue and he'd been in England for five years now, he still tended towards the Dutch '<em>ja</em>' and '<em>nee</em>' thanks to his time in Amsterdam and then nestled in at Spurs among the Belgians and ex-Eredivisie contingent.

He did know. He’d been through not one, but two moves to different countries and different cultures. No matter how prepared you thought you were for that, everything was still overwhelming and strange. He’d been beyond glad to see Jan when he’d arrived in London. The presence of a familiar face every day at training was invaluable as he’d adjusted to life in England and the faster pace of the Premier League. He could understand Vincent’s enthusiasm about having not one, but three teammates who’d once lived in Amsterdam, and at the very least he owed it to Vincent to help him find his feet in London.

“Let me know if I can help with anything,” Chris said, eschewing English and continuing in Dutch, despite Pochettino's preferences. “Where to eat, shopping--although that’s not really my thing, but I can try--if you want to know the best neighbourhoods for your house or anything. I mean, it’s not like I get out much, but I’ll do what I can.”

Vincent’s eyes widened  as he once again grinned at Chris. “Your Dutch is good.”

Chris  felt his mouth quirk into a shy smile at the compliment. “Oh. Thank you. I feel it’s important to learn the language wherever you’re playing, so I worked on it a lot before I moved to Amsterdam. These three still correct me all the time, though.”

“Because your pronunciation is terrible,” Toby chimed in from where he, Mousa, and Jan were standing behind Chris.

Chris opened his mouth to toss a sarcastic retort back at his friend, but Vincent dropped a hand to Chris’s shoulder, making the words die in Chris’s throat as his breath hitched at the intimacy of the gesture after only a few minutes of conversation.

“Never listen to Belgians on the right way to pronounce Dutch,” Vincent said. “I think your pronunciation is just fine.”

Vincent’s wide grin shrunk to a shy smile as he fixed his eyes on Chris’s. Chris struggled to hold the look, to return the smile, a friendly thank you to a new teammate, but had to look away.

He needed some air. Some space. To duck inside and stand under a cold shower until whatever these impulses were that currently surged through his body, making his head spin and his legs weak, rushed away.

Chris had been here before, and had sworn a solemn oath to himself that he'd never let himself return. Vincent was attractive, there was no doubt--tousled coffee brown hair that Chris's fingers itched to run through, warm dark eyes, a thin, straight nose, and a strong, square jawline visible even under the days growth of beard. Dimpled cheeks, perfectly straight, white teeth--and he’s a teammate, Chris. A teammate. Nothing more. Never anything more.

This was football. The world was getting more progressive and more and more teammates at least came off as understanding about these sorts of things, but some things would never be accepted. Chris had always been cautious to keep his personal life his own--no matter who he happened to be seeing at any given time. One slip in an interview; one photo taken of him in the wrong place with the wrong person, and this career he'd worked so hard for and made so many sacrifices to build would come crashing down around him.

But feelings for a teammate--no. Chris had learned that lesson all too well. Even if you both went in with the best of intentions and every precaution, it was never worth the risk. In football, you had to separate what happened in your personal life from what happened once you arrived at the training centre, and when your personal life arrived at the training centre along with you, well, Chris didn't know anyone who could compartmentalise that. No. His best option was to step away and gather himself, then come back onto the pitch ready to act like the professional he was.

He flicked a glance to the side, looking for the closest teammate Vincent hadn’t met yet. He spotted Ben standing a bit behind him to his right and took a step back, grabbing Ben by the arm and half dragging him forward.

“I...thanks. Um. Have you met Ben? You two should meet. I...I have to go, I’m sure I’ll see you at training this afternoon.”

Chris fumbled his hand out of where he’d shoved it into a pocket and flashed Vincent a wave so awkward it might rival Dele’s as he stumbled away from his teammates and back toward the coolness of the training centre.

[psychicwonu-blog]

Through It All, Right?

A/N: idk if anyone cares about these, but I think I’m just gonna keep putting out small fics until I decide if I actually wanna keep this blog. Going through a lot mentally rn and writing fanfic is a good way to distract myself, but at the same time I feel really uninspired and exhausted:( I’d still appreciate some feedback if anyone is willing to give me any. Tips, critiques and all that are welcome, too. There will be a possible second part for this story, if anyone likes it.

Group: Twice

Member: Momo(x fem reader)

Genre: Angst. Surprise, surprise.

Warnings: Some cursing, mentioned homophobia, insecurities, sadness:/

“Arguments are dumb. I mean, they’re inevitable when you’re in a relationship, and sometimes good can come out of them, I suppose, but mostly they’re just dumb.” you say to your friend, furiously scrubbing the plate in your hands. Jae looks at you and leans onto the counter, resting her chin on the back of her hands. 

“I think the plate is clean, now.” she says with a laugh. You roll your eyes and continue scrubbing. 

“I clean when I’m stressed, Jae. I’m a stress cleaner, and until I’m not stressed anymore nothing will be clean.” Rinsing the plate and slamming it onto the dish rack beside the sink, you grab the next “dirty” dish. Jae rubs your shoulder and laughs again.

“I should really start paying you for this. You’ve been here almost everyday, cleaning up my messes and rewashing all of my dishes. At this point you’re basically my maid.” She says walking to the fridge. “You want some wine?” You shake your head and hold up the cup in your soapy hand. Jae shrugs and mutters “Suit yourself, but wine helps.” before sitting down. Jae has been your best friend for around three and a half years now. You met her through an ex, which is a story for another time, and just clicked. She lets you rant and clean, you let her cry and drink wine, it just works.

She’s great with advice, too. It’s like she always knows what to say, even if she really doesn’t. But, when you came to her about your girlfriend troubles she was stumped. “I just...I’ve never been in a situation like this. I wish I could tell you what I’d do but I can’t. Because I don’t know.” She’d said sympathetically. But, when there’s no advice, there’s stress. When there’s stress...well.

“Just call her, Y/N, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well, she could ignore my call. Or she could pick up and start freaking out on me again.” You reply, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I can’t handle another fight right now.”

“I don’t think my dishes can, either.” Jae says. You glare at her, but the both of you end up laughing after you flick soapy water at her. Truthfully though, you do want to call Momo. You love her, and you do not want your relationship to continue down this path, but after what happened tonight space seems to be what’s best for the both of you.

Jae finishes her wine and comes back over to the sink to pull you away from the dishes. You try to protest, but Jae is stronger than you are. With an annoyed expression, you follow her to her room. When you get inside you see a large pile of clothes laying on her bed. You look up at her and smile. 

“I knew you’d need something to do, and I’m not a big fan of laundry, so...” You sit on her bed and start sorting out the items of clothing by color first. Jae follows, but lays down at the top of the bed, moving the pillows. 

“I love you, y’know? You’re like my sister. I mean, you’re really like a sister to me. You do all these-” you say as Jae cuts you off. “You’re rambling.” she says pulling out her phone. You smile and nod your head. You pick up some jeans and straighten them out to fold. 

“And I know. I love you, too.” You hear her say. You look up and laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Keep folding.” she says, taking a picture just as you turn your attention back onto the clothes.

“I ask you to do one thing. One damn thing, and you can’t even do it!” Momo yells. You scoff and walk up to her. 

“I forgot, okay? And I’m sorry about it, I am, but it’s no reason to get mad.” You say, trying to reason with her. Momo isn’t having it and turns around so she isn’t facing you. You’re growing more annoyed by the second. 

“Are you 5? Look at me!” 

“I’m upset. I wanted to spend this night with you. I wanted to have a nice dinner with my girlfriend and you go and invite other people.” She says raising her voice again. You squeeze your eyes shut and grab your hair at the scalp. 

“If anyone should be mad it’s me! You didn’t even tell any of your friends that we’re together! Momo we’ve been dating for almost two years! That is so goddamn ridiculous!” You scream. Momo turns around and walks toward you. 

“You know why I didn’t fucking tell them. You know why I can’t tell anyone else, why I fucking begged you not to tell Jaein.”

“Because you’re an idol? Do you really think any of your fans would care? And your members-” Momo cuts you off there.

“You don’t fucking get it, Y/N! This could ruin my career. No, I’m not worried about my fans or my members. But what about everyone else? Do you understand how homophobic and conservative Korea is? Do you understand that I could lose everything?” she asks yelling. You’re both crying now. You walk up to her and grab her hands after wiping her cheeks. Taking a deep breath you look into her eyes. 

“I’m sorry. But imagine the weight that would be lifted. We can get through it all. Together. Always.” You say softly. Momo rolls her eyes and jerks her hands away from you. 

“I can’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.” she says, just above a whisper, turning around. You walk around the coffee table to face her again and wipe your face. 

“You don’t know that you’ll lose everything. And regardless I will always be here with you. I lov-”

“You?” she says, with a sad, annoyed laugh before yelling again. “You could ruin my fucking career!”

Your heart sank. All of the arguments and fights combined didn’t hurt you as much as that sentence did. Nothing she could say at this point matters. You looked down at your feet nodding with blurred vision and licked your lips. Without another word you walked away and left. Momo called after you but...it didn’t matter. You needed space. You needed your best friend. 

Folding the last item of clothing you begin putting it all away. Jae is still laying on her bed scrolling mindlessly thorough her phone. It takes you a few minutes to get everything put up. After you finish you sit beside Jae and sigh. She looks up at you and gives you an understanding smile. You let your body collapse so that you were laying beside her and let out a shaky breath. You pull your hands up to your forehead and rest them there. Looking over at Jae you shake your head.

“I know you’re not okay, but it’s what I’m supposed to ask.” She says, rubbing your arm. The tears begin to fall onto her bedspread and you break. Jae sits in silence and lets you get it all out. 

“She told me that I’d ruin her career. If we came out. She said that to me.” You say, shutting your eyes. Jae is quiet for a minute. 

“She didn’t mean that, Y/N. She didn’t.” You scoff and look at your friend. She raises her eyebrows at you as if to say “you know I’m right.”

“How could she say that to me if she didn’t mean it?” You ask, looking back up at the ceiling. Jae sighs and rolls onto her back. “Because she was angry. People say mean, and untrue, things when they’re angry.” She says. You turn your head to look at her again. You don’t speak, but she does. 

“You need to call her.” she states. 

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” she says handing you your phone that was laying on the bed between you both. You don’t take it. Instead you look away from her.

“You. Have. To. It’s been hours. One of you have to swallow your pride and take the first step. This was a bad fight, but she called after you. It was bad but it isn’t the end.” When it comes down to it you know she’s right. You do need to call Momo and you still want to, but your feelings are hurt and..well...your pride. You still needed time to think, as well. Jae is right, this isn’t the end. Things have to change though.

“I can’t, Jae.” You say softly. Tears threatening to spill again.

“Why not?” she asks rolling over onto her elbows and propping herself up. You look at her and shrug. 

“Because I wouldn’t say something like that to her.” You say. Jae nods and puts your phone down on the nightstand and sighs. She gets up and pulls you out of the room into the hallway. “Where are we going? We were having a friend moment!” You say turning a corner. Jae laughs and tells you to put on your shoes and coat. 

“We’re walking to the corner store. We’re turning this into a wine moment.” she says handing you a scarf. You roll your eyes and wipe your face,walking out the door. Jae and her wine. 

“Why do you treat yourself to cheap, corner store wine. You could at least get something hard. Strong.” Jae stops in her tracks and looks at you. You widen your eyes and question her. 

“Y/N, expensive wine is for dates and rich people in their important dinner meetings and holiday party things. Cheap wine is for sadness and friend moments. Besides, drink enough and you will forget.” She says like it’s something everyone should know. You laugh as you begin walking again. 

“Yeah and I’d also kill my liver.” You say. Jae laughs too and grabs your arm to put hers around. It takes you around five minutes to reach the store. When you finally get there you notice someone sitting outside on a bench. As you get closer to the store you recognize the face mask. Then you recognize the shoes, the clothes, the eyes. Luckily Momo hasn’t seen the two of you yet and you pull Jae back. 

“Y/N, the wine is back there... what the hell?” She says.

“ Momo is there. I can’t. I won’t. I can’t.” You say becoming short of breath. Jae holds you steady and tells you to breathe. 

“In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’s okay. “ she says. You do as she says and bend, putting your hands on your knees. 

“I’ll get the wine, okay.” You look up and see that she’s already starting to walk away. You say her name and she walks back to you. You tell her not to say anything to Momo and she says she won’t.

“Kim Jaein.” You say and she immediately stops. Jae turns around worried looking. “Okay, full name has been whipped out. I said I wouldn’t say anything!” she says putting her hands up in surrender. You tell her you mean it and she goes off to get the wine. She comes back, bottles in hand, smiling at you. You squint your eyes at her. 

“Two bottles of the corner store’s finest,” She says holding up the bag. “one for me, one for you.” Taking the bottle she held out, you still eye her. 

“What?” she says confused. 

“Why didn’t she follow you? Did you say something?” You pry. Jae doesn’t answer, instead she puts her bottle back into the bag and begins walking. You call out her name and  curse at her under your breath. 

“What did you say?” You ask. She begins to ramble in her own defense and you have to tell her to slow down. 

“She kept asking me about you, I mean did you want her to come!?. She wouldn’t let up and she almost did follow me...but I...” she said trailing off. You raise an eyebrow. “You what?” you asked. 

“I told her I’d fight her if she did.” she says with a small, quiet voice. You shove her shoulder back a bit and start walking. 

“Jae! I can’t with you.” You say, almost laughing. She jogs to catch up with you and laughs herself. “It was either me fighting her or you fighting each other. Or worse you fighting me.” She says. “Let’s go kill this wine.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow if she doesn’t tonight.” You say as you step up to the door to her place. Jae tells you that she’ll definitely call, and as if on cue your phone rings. It’s still going as you take off your shoes and coat. Jae looks at you.”Aren’t you gonna answer?” she says. You shake your head. “Nope. The wine is still alive.” You say. Jae laughs and you guys head to the couch. 

You drink the wine and talk, mostly about everything other than the events previously discussed, but because of the repeated ringing it comes up a few times. Jae tells you to answer the next time she calls. You don’t. 

“Okay, seriously. Answer your damn phone. Because if you don’t I’m gonna throw your phone in the left over dish water you forgot to let drain.” She says, You scoff. 

“First of all, you pulled me away to fold your laundry mountain before I could. Second, go ahead.” You say. Jae rolls her eyes. 

“Y/N! Talk to her. I mean it.”

You nod and pick up your phone. It doesn’t ring for a few minutes so you tell Jae to find a movie on Netflix. Just as it’s about to start a familiar tone comes from the device in your hands. You shut your eyes and squeeze your phone. “Y/N.” Jae says. “I’m answering.”

You swipe the green icon and put the phone up to your ear. “Hello?” you say into the speaker and immediately hear sobbing coming from the other line. Momo doesn’t say anything for a minute due to the crying. It breaks your heart to hear her this way. Things shouldn’t be this way. 

“I’m so sorry. Y/N I am so sorry. Please come home. I don’t want to do this over the phone.” She says. Your heart begins to race. “Are you breaking up with me?” You ask. You’ve never felt so small. Momo reassures you that she’s not leaving you, and you feel like you can breathe again.

“I won’t leave you. Ever. I just need to see you.” She says, still crying. You’re crying now too, but you can’t bring yourself to see her right now. “I can’t do that.” You say. She begs and begs but you refuse to give in. Momo apologizes some more and asks you one more time to come home. You can’t. 

“I’m not coming home tonight, Momo.” You say. It’s hard, but you’re not giving in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay. I don’t know when. But I’ll see you.” Momo doesn’t say anything other than that she’s sorry and she loves you. “I lo-I’ll see you tomorrow.”  is all you say before hanging up. You sigh and throw your phone onto the rug. Jae hugs you. 

“Tell me you heard all of that so I don’t have to explain it.” You say. Jae nods. “She wasn’t exactly quiet.” she says. You pick up the remote and start the movie. While the opening credits play you look over at Jae. 

“I have to see her tomorrow, don’t I?” You ask rhetorically. Jae rubs your arm and gets up to make popcorn. You lean back and look up at the ceiling. “Yeah.” you say, whispering to yourself. You don’t even know if you’re ready.

[lothricshopsathottopic]

I really need to get something off my chest. This is really, really long, so forgive me, in advance.

Please, keep in mind I'll be talking about mental illness here - specifically, anxiety and depression - and that might be triggering for you. If so, please, PLEASE skip this post (and if you're having suicidal thoughts, I've compiled a list of hotlines at the end of this post that you can call; skip to the bottom.) I don't want you to hurt yourself by reading this. Go look at some fanart, or watch funny videos, or something. I want you to be well. You deserve to be well, no matter what your mind may tell you; it's lying through its fucking teeth. Trust me.

That having been said: ya'll really need to start tagging posts with triggering subjects appropriately.

I'm saying this because I have been diagnosed with GAD and depression around 8 years ago. For 8 years, my mind was a fucking hellscape; I hated myself, every part of me. I felt like no one really gave a shit about me, like no one would care if I died or disappeared, and that I deserved to die anyway because I was such a shit person.

I've lost count of how many nights I cried myself to sleep; that was just something that happened to me, then. It became routine, just as routine as brushing your teeth is for most people. Speaking of which, I'd spend several days in bed, too, without showering, without brushing my teeth, without changing clothes, without getting up to do anything but go to the bathroom. Some days, I'd eat nothing.

I contemplated suicide several times. I researched ways to make it as painless as possible, the quickest way I could kill myself. I never self-harmed by cutting, or drugs, or alcohol, but I did it in other ways. I deprived myself of food, of water, of sleep, of showering. I beat myself up mentally, as much as possible, as often I could. I didn't want to talk to my friends; I was convinced they all only tolerated me. Whenever I did talk to them, I hid my state of mind so well they always convinced themselves I was fine. I was convinced I was ugly, undesireable and unlovable. This all was despite having been on meds and seeing a psychiatrist regularly.

But worst than the depression, in my opinion, was the goddamn fucking anxiety. Feeling afraid of everything all the time takes an enormous toll on you; it cripples you and stops you from doing things that are normal to most people; sometimes even initiating a conversation was, for me, a mountain impossible to climb. The anxiety made me want to kill myself just as much - if not more - than the depression, because, surely, death couldn't possibly be worse than what my fears turned into likely possibilities in my mind. I was convinced dying would hurt less. Death scared me less than the shit in my head 24/7.

The reasons I held on, were my parents, whom I logically knew love me dearly - even if my mind made me feel like they didn't - and the things I still wanted to experience. I wanted to go to Vegas, and Japan, and Germany, and Norway, and Mexico; I wanted to see the world. I wanted to play all of the games I was excited for, finish all of the ongoing shows and fics I was watching and reading, as well as revisit old media I used to love. I wanted to reread my favorite books. I wanted to have a girlfriend. I wanted to finish my fics in progress, as well as start the ones I'd been thinking about. I wanted to perfect my drawing techniques. I wanted to learn other languages. I wanted to listen to my favorite songs again. I wanted to go swimming again; I've always loved swimming. My parents, my hobbies and entertainment were what made me hold on despite how much I was screaming at myself to give up, and no matter how much people told me my hobbies and passions were worthless. I looked at childhood pictures of myself and saw how happy I was in them; I longed to be happy again. I thought about how sad that little kid would be if she knew her future self would be contemplating suicide. I wanted to believe being this happy again was possible, so I kept going.

Thankfully, I changed psychiatrists. I changed my meds. I got a therapist. Things started to look up again for me. Over two years, I managed to recover from a 8-year long crippling depression. I'm no longer suicidal. I no longer despise every bone in my body. Of course, I have bad days; depression never really goes 100% away. You just end up finding a way to deal with it and make it hurt much less. Meds and therapy are only two of the things that help you with that (though they are crucial.)

One thing that didn't really get better, though, was the anxiety. No matter how much I tried, I was never able to turn my catastrophic thoughts off. The meds suppress them a bit, but depending on the day, they're still way too overwhelming. Meditation doesn't help. Videos and games don't help. The thoughts are always screaming at me, gnawing at the back of my mind, and once they break through and make me notice them, it takes days for them to leave - and even then, they don't leave completely. It's especially worse because you can't control what other people say or do around you; a lot of them know you have an illness, and say triggering stuff anyway, because people don't really understand how debilitating a mental illness can be. I won't lie; sometimes there's still that little bitch at the back of my mind whispering, "if you killed yourself you'd be able to avoid all this scary shit, you know," but I manage to stomp it into nothing most of the time. Still, unfortunately, you can't avoid seeing or hearing triggering things all of the time.

Which brings me to the reason I'm writing this in the first place.

See, you can't control what people say around you, but you can control most of what you see on the internet. Tumblr has a tag filter. I myself use it a lot; to filter out NOTPs or topics I'm not interested in, but mostly, I use it to filter things that'll take away my sleep at night (I actually think there should be an option to completely hide posts containing filtered tags and pretend they don't even exist in the first place, instead of simply showing a message saying that they were blocked, since seeing the message alone already will make me anxious about what the post might contain, but I digress.)

So why is it that I'm still coming across a lot of triggering things on here?

I understand some things might slip. It's not as if I haven't failed to properly tag posts before; I get that you'll sometimes look at something you don't find triggering, and so it won't even cross your mind that it might trigger someone else; sometimes it's something that's, to you, so mundane or banal you can't fathom how it might send someone into an episode or a downward spiral. But mental illness is like that. Different things trigger different people.

I am BEGGING you: PLEASE tag your posts appropriately. It doesn't matter how minor a thing you think it is; if it's a dog post, put the tag "dog" in there. If it's a post about politics, tag it as "politics." If it contains insects, tag it as such. Even if it's a humor-centered post. Tag it anyway.

I know people need to stay informed about important things. That doesn't matter. A lot of people on Tumblr come here to relax or have some fun, and from my personal experience, a lot of us have a history with mental illness, or are struggling with it to this day; a lot of the time it's debilitating. I see a shit ton of suicidal people on here, venting. I used to be one of them.

I use Tumblr to distract myself, to see funny and cute shit. Most of the triggering things here are stuff people already know about anyway; in fact, they're probably bombarded with them everywhere else on the internet. You don't have the right to shove stuff down mentally ill people's throats because you think they need to know it and spread the word, no matter if you're mentally ill yourself. People have the right to choose what they want to see on social media during their leisure time. We know what we can and can't handle. And a lot of us can't handle the news right now. I never could, to be honest, so I always filtered my exposure to it very heavily, but now I find myself avoiding it entirely, because it just sends me into a fit and takes away my sleep. You're not doing us a favor by making us see this shit; you're making our illness worse. There's NOTHING wrong with us deciding that something is too much for us to deal with; we are not ignorant, we are not naive and we are not blissful. In fact, we're very aware of these issues; painfully so. They're probably already eating away at us, and are the reason we try to distract ourselves in the first place. We're avoiding this kind of shit to avoid harming ourselves even further than our mind already harms us. Some of us do this to avoid suicidal urges, even. You cannot take this right from people. You don't get to decide what we should and shouldn't see online; we do. And you don't get to scream at us when we decide not to look at something we KNOW will destroy us.

Of course I'm not saying you SHOULDN'T post and reblog these things; it's your blog. You have the right to post and reblog whatever you want, as long as it doesn't violate the terms of service (i.e. p*rn, gore, bigotry, etc.) But PLEASE have the mindfulness to tag your posts appropriately. It's hard enough for all of us to deal with all this shit every day, let alone right now, let alone during a year that has been, for the most part, a complete shitshow. You never know how many more straws it'll take to break the camel's back. And for the love of Christ, DO NOT yell at us if we decide to focus on the positive and ignore the negative on Tumblr. You never know what a person is going through; focusing on the positive on their social media might be the only way someone's found to fight suicidal urges.

I, unfortunately, felt forced to unfollow people I've followed for years, because the onslaught of posts - a lot of them untagged - that I found triggering, this year, were starting to become overwhelming for me. If any of you are reading this, please don't take it personally. You've done nothing wrong, and you're all wonderful people. I unfollowed you because I thought it best for my mental health and wellbeing, during such a trying time. I really don't have the mental or emotional strength to deal with bad news anymore. I just got better, and I intend to keep myself that way. Seeing all of that is just gonna make me fall into that old hole again, and I don't know if I'll be able to climb back out if that happens. I'll do what I can whenever I can, and, on Tumblr, I'll signal boost donation pages, awareness posts about racism, LGBTQphobia and privilege, and petitions, but when it comes to everything else, I'm focusing on the positive, and my goal with reblogs is to brighten my followers' day if only a little, and signal boost posts asking for help to those who need it. Regardless, I hope you all are doing wonderful, and I wish you all the best.

TL;DR: please, PLEASE tag all of your posts appropriately if you think there might be anything even remotely potentially triggering to someone in them. Mental illness is a very insidious, irrational thing and the smallest crap can send us into a downward spiral that can last days or even weeks. Despite how the term "trigger" has become a meme, triggers are something very real and very debilitating to the vast majority of us who struggle with mental illness. There's nothing funny about real triggers. Please, take your followers' well-being and safety into consideration.

Finally, I feel like I really need to say this: if you're having suicidal thoughts of any kind, PLEASE do not hesitate to call for help. Below is a list of hotlines you can call if you're thinking about killing yourself. Please do not do it, I promise your death would negatively impact someone, and you would be missed. You are loved, you are valid, and you deserve to live and be happy. I know you're probably really fucking tired of hearing this, but it does get better. I thought it never would, but it did, for me. It will for you, too.

 

Algeria: 0021 3983 2000 58

Argentina: (54-11) 4758-2554

Armenia: (2) 538194 

Australia: 131114

Austria: Telefonseelsorge 24/7 : 142          Rat auf Draht 24/7 : 147 (youth)

Bahamas: (2) 322-2763

Barbados: Suicide Hotline: Samaritan Barbados  (246) 4299999  

Belgium: Suicide Hotline: Stichting Zelfmoordlijn  1813

Bolivia: 3911270

Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05

Botswana: National Lifeline: 3911270

Brazil: 188

Bulgaria: 0035 9249 17 223 

Canada: 1 (833) 456 4566 

China: 800-810-1117

Colombia:  24/7 Helpline in Baranquilla: 1(00 57 5) 372 27 27     24/7 Hotline Bogota: (57-1) 323 24 25

Cyprus: 8000 7773

Denmark:4570201201

Estonia: 3726558088; in Russian: 3726555688 

Finland: 010 195 202

France: 0145394000

Germany: 08001810771

Ghana: 2332 444 71279

Guyana: 223-0001 

Holland: 09000767

Hong Kong: 852 2382 0000 

Hungary: 116123  

India: 8888817666 

Indonesia: 1-800-273-8255 

Iran: 1480  

Ireland: +4408457909090

Israel: 1201

Italy: 800860022

Jamaica: 1-888-429-KARE (5273)

Japan: 810352869090 

Jordan: 110

Latvia: 371 67222922

Lebanon: 1564 

Liberia: 6534308

Luxembourg: 352 45 45 45

Malaysia: (06) 2842500

Malta: 179

Mauritius: +230 800 93 93

Mexico: 5255102550

Netherlands: 900 0113

New Zealand : 1737

Nigeria: 234 8092106493 

Norway: +4781533300

Philippines: 028969191

Poland: 5270000 

Portugal: 21 854 07 40  and  8 96 898 21 50

Romania: 0800 801200

Russia: 0078202577577

Saint Vincent and the Grenadines: (9784) 456 1044

Serbia:  (+381) 21-6623-393

Singapore: 1 800 2214444

Spain:  914590050

South Africa: 0514445691

South Korea:  (02) 7158600

Sri Lanka:  011 057 2222662

Sudan:  (249) 11-555-253

Sweden:  46317112400

Switzerland:  143

Thailand: (02) 713-6793

Tonga:  23000

Trinidad and Tobago:  (868) 645 2800

United Arab Emirates: 800 46342 

United Kingdom:  08457909090

United States: (800) 273-8255     

If you know of any I've forgotten, please don't be afraid to let me know. I'll add it to the list.

Stay safe, everyone.

[meganlpie]

Wait! Time Travel?!

Anonymous asked: Meg, can I request a Henry Winchester fic? Something funny, awkward and cute, like, when Henry comes bursting through the closet, she’s in the room, but she’d just gotten out of the shower and she’s a in towel. It gets even more awkward when the boys burst in XD. And maybe, instead of dying, the reader is able to save him and they end up falling in love eventually?? IDK 

Here you go, lovely! My first time writing Henry. I do not own ANY Winchesters. They belong to the writers/creators of Supernatural. 

Warnings: Angst, fluff, slight AU and slightly long

Pairings: Henry Winchester x fem!reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester.

This was not what you’d expected when you woke up that morning. It wasn’t what you expected when you had gotten to the motel and it certainly wasn’t what you expected when you got out of the shower that day. Then again, when was a hunter’s life ever what was expected?

               You were humming to yourself, enjoying the time you had alone in the room when it happened. You had just gotten out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself. You opened the bathroom door and made your way over to your bag to grab some clean clothes. Suddenly, the closet door and opened and a man fell out.

               You let out a little scream, causing the man to look up at you. “I beg your pardon, miss!” The door to the motel room burst open and the boys ran in. “What the hell?!” You shrieked a little again. The Winchesters looked at you and Sam blushed. “Uh, Y/N…” You nodded. “I know. I came out to get my clothes. But this guy here just fell out of the freakin’ closet and is standing in front of my bag.”

               "Which one of you is John Winchester?!“ the strange man asked, interrupting your conversation. "Neither.” The man became visibly upset and you decided to see if you could help. “Hey, it’s alright,” you cooed, taking a step closer. “Just calm down and tell them what happened. They’re…pretty reasonable.” you said, resting a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Hey!” Dean cried and Sam let out a little laugh. “Y/N, you’re still not dressed.” You felt yourself blush as you moved away from the strange man and grabbed your clothing.

               When you came out of the bathroom again, you found Sam and Dean handcuffed to the bed, trying to get out. “What happened?” Dean glared at you. The two managed to get out of the handcuffs and ran outside. You followed but stopped short when you saw what the stranger had done to Baby. Dean was pissed, you could tell.

               They dragged the man back inside the room. Before any more questioning could happen, the room started to shake and the closet opened once more. The four of you got out of there as quickly as possible after being confronted by the demon Abbadon. You ended up in the back with the stranger, whose name you now knew was Henry and soon you would learn that he was Sam and Dean’s grandfather who’d traveled through time to find John.

*time skip brought to you by Gabriel’s candy addiction*

               You giggled at the confused look on Henry’s face. “I don’t understand. Why are those children throwing icy drinks in the faces of those other children? It doesn’t make- OUCH!”  You winced. “Sorry.” You were taking care of his injuries after Abbadon had nearly killed him. Abbadon had nearly ripped his organs out, but you’d managed to get to him in time to save his life.

               "Do you always do this?“ he asked, making you look up at him in confusion. "Do what?” He hissed again. “Take care of people when they are wounded?” You smiled. “Yeah. I’m a hunter too, but I’m usually the one to patch Sam and Dean up. I’ve become an expert at stitches and all things first aid,” you answered. You finished cleaning and checking on Henry’s wound. Then, you rebandaged it. “Try not to move too much, okay?”

               Henry frowned. “What’s wrong?” He groaned and practically yelled at you about how much he hated the situation. “I should be healed by now!” You smiled sadly. Normally, he’d be right. It had been a month since Abbadon’s attack. “Henry, your injuries were caused by a demon. It’s going to take longer to heal. Just be patient and enjoy our new home.” The four of you had moved into the Men of Letters bunker after you’d made it to the location. You turned to leave the room, but Henry’s voice stopped you.

               "Y/N? Will you stay with me? It gets rather lonesome.“ You nodded and returned to the bedside. "I hope you don’t mind watching this. I’m afraid I quite enjoy it,” he said sheepishly. You smiled. “It’s alright. I like Glee. At least now I’ll have someone to binge watch with.” You sat down and started watching with Henry, occasionally answering questions or singing along.

               At first, you were both really tense. Henry wasn’t used to spending time alone with a woman that wasn’t his wife and you weren’t sure how to act around the man. There was no denying that he was attractive, just like his son and grandsons, but that was only the beginning. He was also intelligent, charming, and could be incredibly resourceful. Still, there were issues.

               The first issue? He was your best friends’ grandfather. The second? He had only been in your time for a little over a month and he’d left a wife back home. She should have been the woman he thought about constantly and you knew that, once he was healed, he would try and head back home. The only thing could possibly keep him with you and the boys would be the fact that he could change the past.

               Meanwhile, Henry was watching your face. You were looking at the television, but he could tell you weren’t really paying attention. He wondered what was going on in your head. He couldn’t deny that he found you absolutely stunning, but he had a wife! He couldn’t help but feel guilty whenever he looked at you the way he was now. Henry would never cheat on his wife. He shouldn’t be falling in love with you!

               "Henry?“ Henry shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized you were talking to him. He flushed, knowing he’d been caught staring. "I’m going to go start dinner. Sam just texted. They’ll be home soon and I want to have something ready for them.” Henry nodded and you left the room. The show continued to play in the background, but Henry wasn’t paying attention. He was staring up at the ceiling.

               What had he gotten himself into? Traveling through time, bringing a Knight of Hell with him. Nearly getting himself killed. And now he was falling in love with a woman he had no business loving. He moved to sit up, wincing at the pain in his stomach. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair. His mind was in conflict. Should he stay in this time with you and his grandsons and risk falling deeper in love with you? Or should he return to 1958 and risk changing the past and erasing his family from existence? How do you make a decision like that?

               Henry slowly rose from his bed and left his room. Your voice echoed through the bunker, a light hearted tune reaching his ears and making him smile. He followed your voice to the kitchen. You were dancing around as you started prepping dinner and Henry had to chuckle. You whirled around. “Henry! What are you doing out of bed?!” you admonished.

               "I needed to speak to you.“ You put down the knife you were holding and nodded. "What is it, Henry?” He took a few steps closer to you. When he was right in front of you, he let out the breathe he had been holding. “Henry?” Your voice was soft. “I shouldn’t,” he replied, confusing you. “Shouldn’t what?”

               "I shouldn’t feel the way I do. I shouldn’t love you like this, but god help me, I do,“ he confessed quietly. "You love me?” Henry nodded. “I do. I know it’s wrong and I shouldn’t have let myself feel this way, but I do.” You swallowed thickly and asked, “What do you want, Henry? You’re married. You’re not from this time.”

               "I KNOW!,“ he cried stepping away and running his hands through his hair, "But I can’t help how I feel about you. I’ve tried. My wife is more than likely dead in this time and returning to her in 1958 could irreparably change the past, wiping my grandsons from existence and bringing about the end of the world. But, if I stay here, I can be of help and there’s you.” You didn’t reply. You weren’t sure what to say. “However, if you tell me to go, I will. I will return to my old home.”

               You glanced up at his face. His beautiful eyes were glued to you. After a moment, you were finally able to breathe out an answer, “Don’t. Don’t go.” Henry smiled and wrapped his arms around you. You didn’t care that you were being slightly selfish. Henry had given you an option and you chose the best one, for you and for the world. Henry took one hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. “May I?” he asked and you nodded. His lips covered yours and you sighed happily.

               "WHOA!“ Dean’s cries made you break away from Henry. "This isn’t exactly what we meant by take care of Henry, Y/N,” Sam said. “Our best friend and our grandfather,” Dean remarked before looking at Sam and continuing, “Is it sad that that’s not the strangest thing I’ve seen? What does that say about our lives. Time travel, man.” Dean stalked out of the room. “Uh, congratulations I guess,” Sam muttered, leaving you and Henry laughing in the kitchen. 

(a/n: I hope you like it. It kind of got away from me.)

@brewsthespirit-blog @fairytalesexistxx @jotink78

[stiles-stilinski-imagines]

Part of the Pack

Pairing: Malia x Reader Friendship Warnings: Stalia, Anti Stydia. Stiles gets slapped. Please guys, I don’t want to be mean but if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Word Count: 1686 Notes: Okay, so this fic is basically a huge fuck you to Jeff Davis’ shitty writing in season 6? I still love Stiles, I still love my blog but Season 6!Stiles treated Malia like shit and it made me mad. So yeah... this happened.

“I’ll never get it, Scott! I still don’t understand why I need math in the first place.” Scott shook his head at the Coyote but couldn’t stop his smile. “I bet you’ll get it soon. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” “No, I’m not being hard on myself. I’m being honest!” Malia frowned at Scott’s laughter but didn’t comment on it. A look at the clock on her mobile made her realize that she had to leave soon, if she wanted to bring you back your notes. “Scott, I gotta go. I promised (y/n) to bring her stuff back today.” Scott followed Malia down to the front door and was about to say goodbye, when he opened the door and made his friend freeze in her spot. Even if he hadn’t been able to smell it, Scott would have noticed Malia’s anxiety by just taking a look at her. She was shaking. Stiles and Lydia were looking up from their kiss and Malia could already feel her claws grow. She had to get away as fast as possible. “See you guys in school tomorrow!” without looking back, Malia hurried away. Ignoring Scott’s calls after her, she passed her car and started running.

Malia just run away upset. Please call if you see her!

You frowned at Scott’s text message before typing in a reply.

What happened?

Before Scott had a chance to answer, your ringing door bell made you look up in surprise. You just hoped it was Malia. Crashing down the stairs, you ripped the door open and almost yelped at the sign in front of you. It was, in fact, Malia who was staring at you wide-eyed, but her fangs and claws were free for everyone to see. After taking a few looks around, just to make sure that nobody had seen her, you pulled Malia inside and closed the door behind her, before gently grabbing the girl by her arms. “What happened?!” “I can’t turn back!”  “What do you mean you can’t turn back?!” you tried to stay calm, for the sake of both of you, but you could already feel your puls rise. You had thought Malia had gotten the anchor thing under control! “What do you think, (y/n)?!”  “I thought you’d found another anchor!”  Avoiding eye-contact with you, Malia pulled you closer and tried to steady herself but it wasn’t working. Her mind was still thinking back to how she had lost her anchor to one of her best friends and the fact that it was hurting even though she didn’t want it to hurt! She was stronger than this! “You have to tell me what got you so out of it or I won’t be any help!” Malia hated this day. “I lied, okay?! I lied.”  Now, that was more confusing than it was helpful. Malia looked back up and let go of your arms, sinking to her knees instead. She wasn’t able to control her coyote and she hated it! “Malia...” “GOD, (Y/N)!I lied about the new anchor! I never had one! I... when I left Scott’s place I ran into Lydia and Stiles kissing and I can’t ...(y/n), I don’t know how to turn back without Stiles.” The coyote once again tried to avoid your gaze, because she already knew that you were watching her with pity in your eyes. The poor Beta not being able to cope with her feelings. It was stupid and it made Malia want to turn fully so she could hide in her old cave but she was upset and a full turn only worked when she was content and able to focus. On days like today she really wished they had never found her in the first place. What use did it have when the only thing that she had gotten out of it it was more pain? “I know this sucks,” you interrupted Malia’s thoughts, “but you have to become your own anchor, at least until you find a new one.” Malia didn’t want to find a new anchor but she also couldn’t stay like this and so she tried. She tried to calm her nerves down but as she looked down, she could still see her claws. It wasn’t working and the lack of control made her panic again! Before she could stress herself into a full blown panic attack, you placed both of your hands on her shoulders and tried to shake her out of it. At least that had gotten her attention. “Malia, we’ll try something. You’re going to close your eyes and listen to my voice and if that doesn’t work I’m gonna call Scott, yeah?” You went on after the girl gave you a short nod. “We’re going to breath together okay? Breath in through your nose and when I tell you, try to slowly breath out again through your mouth.” Repeating the breathing exercise a view times, you were relieved to see that it seemed to work. Her claws turned back into her human nails and her fangs got smaller and smaller until they weren’t there anymore. You slumped down besides Malia and pulled the girl into a hug. “I’m proud of you! You did it.” But Malia wasn’t feeling very celebratory, you realized, as she burried her face in your shoulder, hugging you back tightly. It would have been a lie to say that you had expected Malia to cry over her lost anchor but you still kept quiet as you let her cry on your shoulder, trying to rub her back in a comforting manner. How could Stiles hurt her like that?  He hadn’t even really broken it up between them, too cowardly to even do that right. He simply hadn’t cared. In fact, it seemed like both Stiles and Lydia didn’t seem to care one bit for Malia’s feelings and it was pissing you off! They were hurting their own pack member, their friend, and they didn’t care. If you were honest it didn’t just piss you off. It made you furious. A view minutes later, Malia was sitting on your couch with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and your anger had yet to subside. Normally you hated getting in the way of an argument but you had also seen just how hurtful the whole situation was on one of your best friends and ignoring it simply wasn’t an option anymore. “Malia, where’s Stiles right now?”

“Scott, open the door!” your fist was heavy against the wooden front door and Stiles frowned at his best friend, who was sitting between him and Lydia in the living room. “Is that (y/n)? She sounds pissed.” “Yeah.” Scott returned the frown before getting up from the couch, leaving Lydia and Stiles alone, and walking to the front door to let you in. “Hey, what’s wrong?” As you shoved the Alpha out of the way to call for Stiles, Scott was more than confused. “What got you so fired up, woman?” Stiles voice spoke up from the living room even before he had reached the hallway. That’s when Scott smelled it. The sour smell of anger. The Alpha wasn’t sure if he’d ever smelled that much anger on you, always the optimist and always the one person trying to stay positive, but something had you furious and Scott wanted to know what it was. Or rather who. As Stiles fully entered the hallway, you instantly dashed forward. “You fucking asshole!” Scott was frozen as he watched you reach back and smack Stiles with your flat hand across his cheek.  His best friend turned away with a hiss. “What the hell! Are you fucking insane, (y/n)?!” “No, but you are the biggest fucking douche in existence! That was for Malia by the way!” “Wait, did she told you to slap me?!” “No, asshole! Of course not.” you rubbed your temples in annoyance before glaring at the boy in front of you. “Are you... like do you even KNOW how heartbroken she still is about your break up?!” “Well, it was a break up. They tend to suck but I’m not responsible for the way she feels.” “YES YOU ARE.” you didn’t care that you were screaming. Stiles was still as dense as always and you had watched them stepping on Malia’s feelings like it was nothing for long enough. Stiles tried to take a step back as you got into his space but you weren’t having any of it. “Maybe you shouldn’t have used her in the fist place if you were still crushing on the Banshee.” “(y/n), that’s unfair and you know it.” Lydia’s voice made you turn your attention away from Stiles and fixate her instead. “No, you know what’s unfair? Treating pack like they don’t belong in it! Looking back up into Stiles shocked eyes, a new wave of rage hit you. “Don’t look so fucking surprised, Stiles! You ignored Malia ever since you broke up with her! You even ignored her feelings because you were too busy running after the girl you had been crushing on for years and you don’t even care! You don’t care one bit about your ex-girlfriend and maybe she is too nice to say something but I’m not and you are a fucking asshole for breaking her heart.” “It’s not my problem that she can’t get over it.” “SHE can’t- ... wow.” a dry laughter escaped your lips and you got the urge to slap Stiles a second time. “You’re even worse than I thought.” You realized that it had no use. This took more energy than it was worth. “You guys should be ashamed of yourselves, both of you! But I still hope you guys get happy together. You definitely deserve each other.” And with that you were out of the door and back on your way home where Malia was waiting. You couldn’t say that your anger had magically dissapeared by yelling at Stiles, but you had said anything that had been on your mind and maybe, just maybe it had made Stiles and Lydia think about how unfairly they were treating their own pack.