cinched tight

So this is a totally useless rant, but as a skinny girl, I’m getting extra, extra tired of fat-shaming.

I work for a corsetier at a Renaissance Faire. We sell corsets. Not flimsy bullshit costume corsets; like real, durable, waist-training corsets. Today a woman came in with her boyfriend, so I helped her pick out a corset and try it on. While her boyfriend—who was decidedly enthused about the whole corset thing—sat watching me lace her in, he told me, grinning, “Of all the good jobs at the Renaissance Faire, I think you have the best.”

I shrugged in agreement. “I touch butts and reach down cleavage all day; I mean…” Because we like to be a bit rakish at the Faire, and, y’know, it’s true. Tying people into corsets pretty much invariably requires getting handsy.

The couple laughed at that, and the boyfriend said, “That’s the job I would want!” But then he chuckled again and said, offhand, “Or maybe not; while we were looking at the racks, there were some pretty big sizes on there!”

Our sizes are all done in inches, and the biggest we make is a 46. And you’d better believe our large sizes sell. For a second I wasn’t sure what to say to the guy’s comment, but I answered him casually. “We get a lot of beautiful big ladies in here.” Because we do. “We make corsets for real women, not Barbie dolls,” I added. Wasn’t trying to be smart, just kind of tossed it out there because that’s the line we like to use when people ask about larger sizes, and because, again, we do.

The boyfriend went quiet at that; I didn’t think anything of it, I just kept on lacing. A moment later, he said, a little awkwardly (but sincerely enough), “Didn’t mean to be offensive.”

I quickly smiled and brushed it off, said he wasn’t, said I was just saying. (Don’t want to make the customers uncomfortable, you know?) And that was the end of it. His comment had rubbed me the wrong way, but it wasn’t a big deal. Now, I wear a 20-inch corset. I’m a few cup sizes short of being one of the Barbie dolls. Like his girlfriend, I’m one of the “hot chicks”; he doesn’t have to worry about offending me by implying that I wouldn’t be fun to poke and pull at.

Honestly though, of all the people I fit sexy technically-undergarments to in a day, fat girls are maybe my favorite people to lace up. Because they are just so damn happy that we have stuff that fits them. They are so damn happy that the corsets we make in their sizes are all the same pretty, shiny colors and cool flower/dragon/skull/etc. prints that the smaller corsets are, not ugly beige and boring “granny” colors. They are so goddamn happy that at least one (of several on the grounds) corset shop carries things that they can wear, that they actually want to wear, and that they look fucking awesome in. This is only my second season working, and we’ve fit 60+ inch waists and double-K busts. The only people we’ve ever had to tell sorry, we don’t have anything that fits them, are twelve-year-old kids.

It’s half-wonderful, half-heartbreaking how excited those women get. Women who say with sad smiles, when we ask if they want to get fitted, “Oh, no, you don’t have anything that fits me,” and then are stunned when we’re 300% confident that yes we do, and we have options. Women who can’t stop smiling and looking at themselves in the mirror after we’ve got them laced in.

I had a lady last week whose waist I measured (cinching the tape tight, as per procedure) at 41 inches—honestly not all that big. So she picked out a 41-inch corset to try on. I could tell halfway through getting her laced that it was going to be a bit big for her, so I mentioned it and said she might do better to try a smaller size. She started crying on the spot. She was so overwhelmed; she couldn’t believe someone had just told her that a 41 was too big. She told me about how hard clothes shopping was for her, how her mother would tell her she needed an XXXL instead of an XXL, how she had recently lost weight but still couldn’t wear certain colors because they didn’t fit or she wasn’t confident enough.

She did end up getting her corset, and after I checked her out she asked if she could give me a hug, so we ended up standing there hugging each other for a minute. While we did, I told her, “Do not ever let anyone tell you any bullshit. You are gorgeous.” She said, “I have a new boyfriend and he keeps telling me that.” I told her he was right, and to just keep telling herself she’s gorgeous; it was okay if she didn’t always believe it, but to keep telling herself anyway. (That’s how I talked myself through shit when I had bad anxiety.)

We all know fat-shaming is bad. The stupidity, fatphobia, and misogyny of it has pissed me off since I first became aware of it. But working with clothing, especially as figure-hugging and precise as corsets, has given me a new perspective on it—how much it affects people and just how shitty it is. Like, what does it say that I had a grown, only average-big woman crying into my shoulder because she was so overjoyed not to be the uppermost extremity of what a manufacturer can clothe?

My job rocks and it’s really rewarding, but sometimes it highlights some of the ugliest shit about society. I’m so glad I work at a shop that’s not bullshit about body types and operates with more people in mind than just scrawny white chicks like me. The fat women I work with are a ton of fun to lace up, and they’re so much more than their size—they’re cool, they’re smart, they’re funny, they’re sweet, they’re great to talk to, and yes, they’re hot. I’m so damn done with them getting short-changed and shamed by petty fucks who refuse to make them nice clothes, who refuse to even try to work for them, who refuse to consider them pretty. This whole rant was useless and won’t get read, but I had to vent because it’s been driving me nuts.

So actually, screw you, random dude. Fat girls are the highlight of my job.

“When he tightened his fist, it caught. His arm was torn violently to the side, enough to nearly wrench it from his socket. Ritsu yelped,

But the noise Teruki made was worse.

It was something wet, rasping, forced from his lungs. The blur solidified. Teruki stood, his knees just a bit bent, his hands raised and digging at his neck, forcing their way beneath the tie cinched tight at his throat.”

Took some creative liberties from the fanfic A Breath of Trust by @phantomrose96!

Fighting

Dean x female hunter, reader insert


Warnings: SMUT/NSFW text (if you’re not 18, come back when you are!), mild canon typical violence, adult language


Word count: about 2,100


A/N: Hey y'all!! Sorry it’s been awhile, writer’s block has been killing me! But hey, here’s a little something I finally got around to posting! Hope you enjoy it, cause I spent way too much time trying to get it finished!


This was written for two challenges! The first is for Jenn’s Birthday Challenge! Happy birthday @avasmommy224!! Here’s your SMUT, my quote was, “We must all face the choice between what’s right and what’s easy.”


The other challenge is Katie’s 1K challenge!! Congrats on the followers milestone @casbabydontgoineedyou! My quote was, “Just let it be, we’ll figure it out later.”


Be sure you’re following these two amazing writers, they are totally worthy of your attention!!


Here’s my masterlist for more stories!


XO

————————————————————-


You were sure he’d be furious. You’d jumped in and now you were a bloody mess. If history had taught you anything, it was that Dean Winchester was going to be livid with you. You’d never hear the end of how reckless and dangerous your actions had been, even though you’d saved his ass. Fighting with each other, both of you spewing venomous words, at each other’s throats for hours, was the only way the two of you knew how to release your frustrations and break the always building tension in your friendship.


When Sam had yelled that he needed more time to find the artifact keeping the ancient vengeful spirit around, you dashed into the grand hallway of the mansion where the older brother was being tossed around like a rag doll. The ghost suddenly appeared above Dean, her white Victorian dress billowed around her as she plunged her hand into his chest and he screamed out in agony. Instinctually, you yanked the iron candleholder off the wall and swung it unceremoniously through the woman’s torso and she vanished momentarily.


“Hurry it up, Sammy!” you yelled over your shoulder, before you were violently throw by an unseen force into the wall. The impact was severe enough to shatter the large stained glass window above. You threw your arms up to cover your face and the shards showered down on you, nicking your exposed skin.


The malevolent spirit reappeared, rushing forward, her hands closing in around your throat. She slid you up the wall, fingers crushing your windpipe as your feet dangled inches above the ground. The sound of Dean screaming your name was starting to fade as the blackness began to creep in the edge of your vision. Just as you were about to lose consciousness the ghost erupted in a flash of sparks and flames before disappearing altogether. You came crashing back to the floor, gasping for air.


“Son of a bitch…” Dean was rushing to your side, kneeling haphazardly over the broken glass that surrounded you. “Dammit, Y/N, I thought I told you to stay with Sam…” he said, examining you.


“Yeah, and let you become ghost chow? You’re welcome…” your voice was hoarse, but still forceful. You knew he wasn’t a fan of bringing you along, the two of you spent almost as much time fighting each other as you did fighting evil, but frankly you didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought. You’d been hunting long before you met the Winchesters and Dean’s shitty attitude wasn’t going to stop you now.


Rather than arguing with you, as you expected, he simply grabbed you by the hands and stood, pulling you up with him, “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.” His unusual calmness made you worry. Fighting is what you and Dean did best and you weren’t used to him conceding this easily.


Once on your feet, you winced painfully as a sharp pain pierced your left side. You lifted your shirt to find a large piece of glass embedded at least two inches deep into your skin right below your last rib.

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The Price 6/?

Summary: A visitor brings news of the goings on in Misthaven.

an: Recommended listening this chapter: Bishop Briggs - “Wild Horses”, Clairity - “Don’t Panic”, Woodkid - “Iron”

tagging @artielu, @jadeddiva, @kmomof4 @dreadpirateemma, @the-captains-ayebrows

Chapter List: One/Two/Three/Four/Five

Chapter Six

Her footsteps echo down the corridor as she leads him out of his rooms, winding their way through parts of the castle he’s explored before, past a grand ballroom and the library and the kitchens, until the scenery becomes less familiar, the uneven winding staircases leading him towards a destination he’s not quite sure of. It’s the middle of the bloody night, their only light the bobbing orbs along the hallways, glowing into life as they move along, snuffing out behind them the further they go.

She’s still in the clothes she’d worn to dinner, the jacket tight across her shoulders, her boots clattering against the stone floors, and he wonders, not for the first time, if the woman ever sleeps.

He’s surprised not to receive an immediate response to his silent query - whatever has happened, it has left her distracted enough not to pry into his thoughts, or at least too tired to answer his benign questions. There is a sense of relief in knowing that she isn’t constantly in his mind, and yet, he almost feels disappointed to get no response from her.

She is silent, and it gives him far too much room to mull over things, like the pinch of her face while she’d watched him tug his boots on, like the thrumming magic, not his own, filling the rooms and corridors like wildfire, consuming the air as they walked. Like the dream.

Already pieces of it were falling away, but he remembered just fine the call of the ocean behind him, and the desperate pull to find his brother. The taste of gunpowder is strong against his tongue, still, and the tang of blood sticks in his nostrils, but worst is the terror of not knowing whether the attacker had gotten to Liam.

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8

Spotted this hot DILF at a farm show.  Dam near cummed in my jeans!  Can we say 100% American beef!  Tight Cinch jeans, belt buckle,  and cowboy boots.  Dam love to spend a night in bed with him!

In The Hands of Evil

~*~

Because Ashi deserves better than an abusive mother and an unfeeling idol of Aku.

Warning: Contains spoilers for the first two episodes of Samurai Jack, Season 5.

Read it on AO3 here

~*~

First, they were many. Now, they are one.

Ashi returns to the temple where she was born, with a stolen sword and a heart full of grief. She doesn’t quite get the welcome that she wants- but she might finally get the chance she deserves.

~*~

Keep reading

What I love about each B.A.P member

Zelo:

  • Likes watching skateboarding videos on Instagram 
  • He follows so many skateboarding/architecture/travel accounts on Instagram 
  • He always looks so pure and good 
  • So soft
  • I think he’s just a baby angel sent here to spread happiness 
  • The way he blinks
  • His nose ring
  • Goes from adorable cute to damn boy in .0000001 second 
  • But mostly he’s in his adorable state
  • Constantly dancing 
  • His speaking voice 
  • His incredible rapping 
  • He comes up with a lot of their choreography 
  • “BAP THE KING IS BACK”
  • “BAP WE CAME FROM HELL”
  • Likes to put his hood on and cinch it tight lol 
  • It makes him look like a lil baby 
  • He’s just sooooooo cute
  • I want to squish him 
  • My son 
  • Very interested in fashion
  • His fashion has his own flavor 
  • Sometimes it can be a little questionable but he pulls it off well 
  • His random V lives in the dance studio
  • Apparently is a potato
  • Same
  • Mochiiiiiii
  • Bless him for creating an Instagram for Mochi 
  • Tol yet smol
  • His Pillow Talk solo…
  • We’re not gonna talk about that 
  • Quirky 
  • Dances as if there are no bones in his body 
  • He’s so flexible and wiggly 
  • Beautiful, pretty, handsome
  • His face is so unique and that’s what makes him soooooo pretty to me
  • His hair has been every color 
  • And each color looks great 
  • “Shutdown, sorry”
  • Loves skateboarding
  • Sock fairy 
  • King of Socks 
  • Took all the socks in the dorm when he moved out bc he thought they were his
  • Did he really believe ALL of those socks belonged to him????? 
  • Since the members showered by age, he was always last but would fall asleep before it was his turn
  • Use to slam doors and punch the recording room walls when he was angry 
  • He was so smol and young back then I don’t blame him, puberty is rough
  • But oh boy look at him now 
  • Was basically raised by the members 
  • Hugely influenced by Yongguk
  • Banglo 
  • I love their relationship with all my heart
  • He is the man he is today thanks largely in part to Yongguk 
  • When Bang was talking about him back at that concert in 2014 and precious bby couldn’t hold back his tears
  • This kid is amazing 
  • I still can’t believe he was 15 when he debuted 
  • Look how much he’s grown
  • Not just height wise 
  • He is very aware of the darker side of things 
  • But continues to be a shining beacon of sunlight 
  • No Title gives me chills every time I hear it 
  • He’s unbelievably talented 
  • Leave some talent for the rest of us
  • Jk take it all my amazing child 
  • He improves with every song 
  • Super cool dances to go along with his raps 
  • Constantly working to improve his performances
  • Never sits still
  • Always moving 
  • Doesn’t care about being weird 
  • Daehyun was so done with him during that one V app 
  • You know the one where Zelo threw Dae’s shoe 
  • And was making a bunch of funny faces at the camera 
  • And kept singing about wanting to go to Mexico and Brazil
  • Just another day in the life of Choi Junhong 
  • Destroyed his hyungs in the Vring U episode with the banana cushion 
  • That one time he pulled the string out of Daehyun’s hoodie during a game 
  • You cannot win against the maknae 
  • Extra af 
  • Loved and adored by BAP and BABYz alike
  • The members can’t get enough of him 
  • He is so loved TT^TT
  • I have so much admiration for him 
  • Pick whatever word you want to describe him
  • But there are not enough words in this world to describe how truly remarkable he is

Feel free to add some of your favorite Zelo things! Our golden child.

YG | HC | DH | YJ | JU | ZL

Fic: Anniversary (M)

Author’s note: Here it is, the promised Frozen Jewel smut! This is dedicated to @wordsmith-storyweaver and she knows why. ;) This is set in the We Own Tonight universe, so for those of you who enjoyed that story, here’s more of our favorite Queen and her Captain! 

Also posted: FF.net / AO3

Anniversary

Liam went about the room, carefully lighting as many candles as he could find. This was a special evening and he wanted everything to be perfect for his Queen. His wife. The night before they’d hosted a party to celebrate their first anniversary as a married couple, humoring both his sister in law and their subjects. But this night, they wanted that for themselves. They’d left the castle in the gray light of dawn, the few belongings they needed tucked away in the carriage. It was the same cabin they’d spent their honeymoon in, exactly one year ago; it was secluded, giving them the privacy they craved.

Not that it was all bad. They were very happy, just living life day to day, carrying out their duties. Liam was hard at work on Arendelle’s navy, building new ships, supervising the training, sometimes negotiating with his counterparts from other kingdoms. He was lucky that one of those counterparts was his own brother. Killian was still Captain of the Jewel of the Realm, the ship a gift from Emma’s parents at their wedding. But he kept taking on more and more responsibility, with his wife’s encouragement. When it was time for Emma to become Queen, they would be a formidable pair.

Liam found the work rewarding, a way for him to contribute without undermining Elsa as Queen. He’d been adamant about that from the start; he didn’t want to be King. It just didn’t feel right. He had a ship, the love of a fantastic woman and a family; he was content.

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2

The Difference Between Tayuu/Oiran (Historical Edo era High-Class Courtesans) and Geisha (Historic and Modern Performing Artists/Entertainers):

Here, I will explain the aesthetic and cultural differences of the Geisha and the Tayuu/Oiran courtesan. Geisha work as entertainers in the modern world. Prostitution was made illegal in Japan in 1959, though Tayuu (known today, and ever since the decline of the Tayuu line in the 1700s, as Oiran) entertain today sans-sexual favors. 

**Please note: though historically, Oiran were working within the sex industry, neither modern Oiran nor Geisha have anything to do with said industry 

Geisha:

  • Make-up: While the white face and red lips are a feature of both courtesan and Geisha, their overall look is different. Oshiroi/Shironuri white powder is used, just like actors do in Kabuki theatre.
  • Dance and Music: Dance is one of the most important things a Geisha trains for. Her rigorous schedule is based around not only clients, parties and performances, but around her strict and traditional dance classes. Many Geisha attend dance classes until they are elderly and continue to perfect their skills, if they hadn’t retired! The shamisen, hand drum or flute are also some of the things Geisha learn, and Jikata Geisha (special Geisha who are trained in music and singing) provide music for a Geisha’s performance at parties (called Ozashiki)
  • Kimono and Obi Belt: The kimono worn by Geisha are very specific and are worn based on many factors, which include the status of the geisha (apprentice geisha (Maiko) have very different kimono from the older, professional geisha (Geiko) in that Maiko are by default more “child-like” and elaborate, with many bright colors and ornaments, while a Geiko wear more even-tones that are simpler but more womanly and elegant.) or are colored and designed by season and occasion. A Geisha’s kimono has about 5 layers of undergarments, tied to the Geisha to create the outer shape of the silk kimono. The obi belt is many meters long and is tied in the back, and takes the strength of another person just to tie it! Maiko wear their obi belts trailing behind them to accentuate their cuter, “youthful” appearance as it makes them appear smaller, while Geiko wear their obi belts tied into a tight, neat box. These kimono are tied together to allow a Geisha to dance and perform and are made to pair elegantly with each dance performance. If the belt were tied loosely in the front, as a courtesan Tayuu/Oiran’s is, then the geisha would be more limited in their dance and it would mask their subtle, minute movements. It is all a true work of art, and each kimono is unique to the Geisha (excepting the kimono used for some dance performances or ceremonies).
  • Hair Ornaments and Footwear: A Maiko wears many finely detailed hair ornaments–many are made of intricate silk designs. Each ornament is hand-crafted by Kyoto artisans and are very valuable; not only in terms of expense, but to the Maiko herself. Ornaments change with seasons, ceremony and rank-changing. A Geiko wears simpler ornaments like tortoise shell style combs and sometimes jade pins, though the ornaments are not limited to those designs. New Maiko wear six-inch high clogs called Okobo, though more experienced Maiko and professional Geiko can wear glossy leather Zori or Geta sandals, depending on the weather/preference.
  • Hair of Maiko and Geiko: The Maiko wear about six different hairstyles, made up of their own hair, within their time as an apprentice (these are–
  1. Wareshinobu–her first hairstyle
  2. Mishidashi–hairstyle for the ceremony of her debut
  3. Ofuku–”Coming of Age” hairstyle; becoming a more senior Maiko
  4. Shimada–used for dance recitals (and it used to be a traditional hairstyle for married women!)
  5. Katsuyama–Used for the annual Cherry Blossom Dances (Miyako Odori) in the month of April
  6. Sakkou–The hairstyle worn by a Maiko for her final two months before debuting as a professional Geiko/Geisha!

Geiko wear their natural hair underneath a wig, in a style referred to as Shimada

  • Geisha as Entertainers: Geisha are trained from their beginnings in the arts of Dance, Music, Tea Ceremony, and are well educated in the cultural arts. They are expert conversationalists; flattery and sake-pouring, along with lively and educated conversation are what Geisha bring to Ozashiki (the parties/events within the Ochaya teahouses). Contrary (extremely) to popular belief, Geisha are not and were never a part of prostitution or the sex industry. Ozashiki are a place for customers–who are not only men, but women or families, wealthy tourists, famous folk or groups of businessmen–to unwind and experience the traditional arts that Geisha have kept alive.


Tayuu/Oiran Courtesans:

  • Make-Up: The Oshiroi/Shironuri white make-up paired with red lips is used much like a Geisha’s. Red accents to eyes, eyebrows and cheeks are also used by both women.
  • Entertainment and Music: There are only about 5 active Oiran entertainers in the “flower town” district of the Kyoto Hanamachi. These women are trained in the traditional arts just as Geisha are–historically, Oiran were high-class Tayuu and were trained in music, flower-arrangment, calligraphy and social arts, but with the added aspect of sexual favors. These women were elite and had the power to personally reject a client. Today, Oiran, though few, exist as historic actresses and as entertainers very much like a Geisha. These women both keep Japan’s history alive.
  • Hairstyle and Hair Ornaments: The hairstyle of an Oiran courtesan is called Datehyougo–as you can see it is an extremely elaborate hairstyle much different than the styles Geiko and Maiko wear. This difference is important, as the Datehyougo hairstyle has perhaps little or even nothing to do with Geisha or their culture. The ornamentals of an Oiran’s hair are a plethora of combs and picks, arranged by rank/status of the courtesan. 
  • Kimono and Obi Belt: Much confusion surrounds the tying of the obi belt between Geisha and courtesans. It’s simple, really: Oiran had their intricately designed obi tied elegantly, though loosely, in the front of their kimono. This was so that clients receiving favor from the courtesan could undo the kimono. Geisha on the other hand, keep their kimono on, tie their obi in styles on the back and are cinched up tight around the Geisha to hold everything together. Their kimono have many more layers than the Geisha–all in an Edo-period fashion. The overall style promotes a more “loose” looking aesthetic, which was very erotic in it’s time. 
  • Footwear: While Okobo and some Geta can be very tall, the footwear of an Oiran can come in the form of 15 cm high, black lacquered Geta. During the Oiran Dochu (Oiran walking parade), an Oiran can be seen walking with her many attendants, swinging her tall Geta out to the side smoothly with each step. It is very beautiful to see!
  • “Attendants”: A big difference between the Oiran and the Geisha is that while Geisha have “younger sisters” whom they take under their wing as apprentices, Oiran have what are called child attendants. These children traditionally were apprentices who would attend to and shadow the courtesan, and who would later be initiated as courtesans as well. 

Thank you so much for reading! Hope you learned something! :)

- @crylie

Dolorous Edd Appreciation Post.

I will write no meta or add any commentary. I will just compile quotes from the unappreciated wonder known as Dolorous Edd. Enjoy.

Jon was paired with dour Eddison Tollett, a squire grey of hair and thin as a pike, whom the other brothers called Dolorous Edd. “Bad enough when the dead come walking,” he said to Jon as they crossed the village, “Now the Old Bear wants them talking as well? No good will come of that, I’ll warrant. And who’s to say the bones wouldn’t lie? Why should death make a man truthful, or even clever? The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints-the ground’s too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does he get more worms than I do…”

A Clash of Kings.

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Blood and Sand

Hi there! This is just a gladiator au idea that I got and then when the amazing @buckysbackpackbuckle wrote one (ps its very different so don’t worry and also go read it its incredible xxx) I literally was so excited and had to write one myself! So here it is, it’s pretty short compared to how long my updates usually are but I just wanted something easy and fun today :) Let me know what you think!

Thick steel screeches as two blades clash against each other and meet in a shuttering ‘X’. James the Champion of Rome – hiems et miles, or more affectionately named Bucky by the Roman populous, leans forward and brings his face close to yours through the gap in the glinting metal, taking in the intimate details of your blood, sweat, and dirt caked face. You’ve fought and killed 5 trained fellow gladiators before him. In a row. One after the other. And he was at last called upon (because a champion doesn’t fight a mere slave-woman, a gladiator legend like James deserves more honor than that apparently) to finish off the spectacle, to finish off you for you are the spectacle. James is desperate to see what you’re made of as he searches your features for a hint at where all this “unwomanly” and nearly god like strength is coming from, because whatever it is he wants it.

Keep reading

unfinished business

due to my absolute inability to write smut, I’m inventing a new genre: PWPOP (porn without plot, without porn)


At the hospital they’re both admitted with hypothermia and superficial frostbite, though he gets released before her. The nurse looks at his chart, sighs, and says, “You get yourself in a lot of trouble, Mr. Mulder.” She tells him to wear some damn mittens next time and then sends him off, but instead of leaving, he tracks down Scully.

She’s in a different ward, one where the patients have dozens of tubes sticking out of him. But she looks okay enough, considering. Sitting up in bed, she gives him an anemic little wave and a sheepish smile.

It depresses him a little, how normal it is to see Scully in a hospital gown. His brain barely registers it as unusual.

Mulder sits on the edge of her bed and presses a kiss to the reddened tip of her nose. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he jokes weakly, and she chuckles a little and leans against his shoulder.

They sit quietly together while Jeopardy plays on the tiny hospital TV. As usual, between the two of them they know all of the answers. “We make a good team,” she says when they both get Double Jeopardy. She nuzzles her nose against his shoulder. Scully’s not normally this cuddly, but he is not going to complain. Maybe it’s the meds.

He’s also not going to remind her that Jeopardy isn’t a team sport.

After the nurses come through on rounds, she surprises him again. Careful of the tubes and wires attached to her body, she scoots to the edge of the bed and motions for him to slide in next to her.

Mulder doesn’t hesitate. Opportunities like this don’t come up nearly often enough.

He tucks her against him, and even under the blankets, even after five days in the hospital, Scully is still cold. He’d sneaked a look at her charts. When they’d made it to the research station, before they were transferred here, her body temperature was 79.3 degrees. Even though the chart claims that it’s normal again, her skin is still icy against his.

But in his arms she sighs and snuggles closer, saying, “Mm, you’re so warm,” and in that moment Mulder vows that he will never complain about her body temperature again.

He falls asleep there next to her, only to wake in the morning when that same nurse pokes him in the shoulder. “You again,” she says, and Mulder gives her his best, most charming smile. It doesn’t work. Must be getting old, he thinks mournfully. The nurse says sharply, “This woman needs to sleep, and you need to go home before I send you home.”

Reluctantly he complies, but before he leaves the room he catches a glimpse of Scully’s face. She’s trying hard to suppress a grin, and not actually succeeding. She always likes it when someone else yells at him. “That means I didn’t have to do it myself,” she’d said smugly after one particularly unpleasant meeting with OPR.

But, well - he spent the night in her bed. (Okay, her hospital bed - but that’s close enough.) She can laugh at him all she wants.

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Kitten; Part Three

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley[Dean Ambrose]/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: *calls in orbital smut strike* Thirst Party Saturday! This is blatant, gratuitous hurt/comfort. Tagging @tox-ambrose and @hardcorewwetrash as is my custom. Enjoy!


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Instincts

No, this isn’t some kind of Pokemon GO Team Instinct fic if that’s what you’re thinkin’! This just happens to be my first ever Werewolf Dean request!  Anon so kindly asked for this and what better way to post my first WolfyDean fic than as a request? :D


As anon requested, “Can you make a Werewolf Dean x Reader? With wolf thought, realizing who his mate is, etc. Thanks!”


This is before the brand split and I’ve never written a wwe werewolf character x reader fic but I’ve read a few here so hopefully those will help :>


This is gonna be one hell of a ride so I got two words for ya…


Let’s go!


Originally posted by bestofkayfabe

Originally posted by canis-lupus-orion



Your name: submit What is this?




“You sure you gonna be alright for our match tonight?” Roman asked worriedly. “You don’t look too good… ” Dean snarled deeply, the sound ripping through his chest as he raised his head to glare at the Samoan with bright gold eyes.


I’m fine… ” he growled as his eyes shifted to it’s usual blue. “Wolf is just…going crazy…” Dean grunted a little as he grimaced. “…I’ll live… ” Find mate…Mate is home… “I don’t have a mate you stupid wolf…” Dean murmured sourly but Roman caught it and his eyes widened.


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today’s happy place, 11/1

Jack has a bay window in his apartment. Bitty’s found him cushions to put on it, and sometimes in the morning when Jack’s gone for a run Bitty will peel himself out of bed and bring a cup of coffee to the window. He sits on the cushions and loses himself staring across the Providence skyline.

This morning, he’s so lost in the view – distant mist and indistinct buildings – that he doesn’t even hear the apartment door open. So when Jack’s cold fingers draw up the hem of his sweatshirt and press against his ribcage, Bitty yowls like a cat and jumps. A few drops of coffee go splashing onto the windowpane.

“JACK!” he protests weakly as Jack sits behind him, lifting one leg onto the cushions and drawing Bitty into his lap. “You sneak. How you creep across this floor without making a sound I’ll never know.”

Jack huffs a hot breath against Bitty’s neck, a bit of a laugh. “You’re warm.”

“And you’re freezing, watch those fingers, Jack!” Bitty wriggles as Jack encircles his waist under the heavy press of his sweatshirt. “I’m trying to drink coffee and you’re being a menace.”

“Mm-hm.” Jack presses a kiss to the shell of Bitty’s ear. At least his lips are warm. “I’m such a menace.”

“You are, though.” Bitty says, weakly, sighing. He’s got no defenses against a Jack cuddle. “A cold, horrible menace.”

Jack kisses his jaw. His stubble scratches Bitty’s skin. Bitty turns his head, ostensibly to get away from the itch, but Jack’s lips capture his, and all at once he’s pressing into that sweet warmth, savoring the warmth of Jack’s tongue as it swipes against his. He whimpers as the kiss ends.

“Menace,” he repeats, lifting his free hand to swat Jack’s arm halfheartedly.

Jack’s hands on Bitty’s stomach cinch tight. They’re warmer than they were. “Stay with me,” he murmurs.

Bitty sucks in a breath and holds it.

“Please,” Jack adds. His voice is earnest.

Shaking his head, Bitty sighs and nuzzles Jack’s flushed cheek with smiling lips. “Well, okay, I suppose.”

Unlike handcuffs and cable-ties the design of the HANDCOP has no working parts that can be exploited. Poor application on any restraint can provide escape opportunities. Always ensure you place the HANDCOP on the detained person with their hands in the rear stack position, cinch, check for tightness, adjust if necessary and then double-lock.