golden engraving

My contribution for Inktober 2017.
I haven’t worked with ink/ traditional media in years. Doing this was rather nerve-wracking, but I was determined to do at least one thing for Inktober this year!

From my upcoming fic This Side of Paradise (the canon bookstore AU)

The first time Credence saw a moving painting, it was inside of Borgin and Burkes. It was a painting of Saint Sebastian, speared to the trunk of a tree with dozens of arrows, spiked like an urchin, trails of blood oozing sluggishly from his wounds. 

He had nearly jumped out of his skin when Sebastian’s head had lolled over the curve of his shoulder, the brush strokes juddering to life, and Credence could hear Sebastian’s weak moans of pain. He had backed hastily away, nearly crashing into an intricately carved cabinet and almost knocking over a glass display housing a heavy golden locket engraved with a serpentine ‘S’. 

Credence had hurried out of the shop, not wanting to think about how the spikes of arrows reminded him of the spears of light the Aurors had aimed at him in City Hall not too long ago. 

Coming soon.


♈ ARIES // A fiery inferno. An organ set ablaze. Unimaginably hot and wildly untamable, fervently consuming all it is fed; the good and the bad. It radiates a heat that can thaw cold cheeks and frost from shivering lips – or engulf you, swallow you whole and leave you as nothing more than smoldering ash. This heart needs generous kindling and constant stoking. Never to be smothered or snuffed out. It beats in booming thunder, and bleeds in plumes of smoke.

♉ TAURUS // A whittled heart of knotty pine, with intricate floral patterns etched deep into its wooden surface. A lacquered finish makes it sleek and glossy. A natural beauty. Carved and hollowed out, so that it can collect all the beautiful trinkets it finds, and lock them away. This heart needs an antiqued key, and reliable eyes that can cherish each and every lovely treasure they’ve buried so deeply in their chest. It beats in gentle echoes, and bleeds in sweet, sticky resin.

♊ GEMINI // A gilded, golden cage, with ornate engravings on every spindly, metallic bar. Glinting and gleaming in playful light; it dazzles and draws many admirers near. However, if they step too close, or extend their fingertips to touch – the hundreds of tiny, frightened finches inside release shrill and frantic chirps from silver beaks. A flurry of ruffled, rosy plumage. This heart needs a patient hand to release the latch. To let the feathers fly, and simply listen as the birds sing. It beats in the flutter of wings, and bleeds in pastel sunrise.

♋ CANCER // Tessellated sea glass and elegant vintage lace; smooth and embellished with pearls that glow soft and argent like the moon. It contains the entire ocean, with all it’s depth and warmth and comfort. Churning, swirling, salty waves flood the arteries and fill it will the soulful beauty of the seas. A home for many – a drowning place for some. Love flows uncontrollably, unconditionally. This heart needs lungs that can breathe underwater. Hands both strong enough to carry it, and so gentle it won’t shatter. It beats in the ebbing of the tides, and bleeds in soothing moonbeams.

♌ LEO // Lustrous sunlight encased in crushed red velvet. Luxurious and sparkling. Bold and rich. It transfixes others adoration and desire with the scintillating light that leak from its seams. It brightens and blinds all those who gaze upon it. Illuminating only the pleasant things, and melting the affection it is fed. This heart needs amorous eyes that have never beheld such a wonder, and will never forgets it’s beauty. It beats in boisterous trumpets, and bleeds in liquid gold.

♍ VIRGO // Precision cut and polished clockwork. Burnished brass and copper coils. Silver springs and cogs and gears that mesh and mash in a complex, synchronized rhythm unlike any other. When well-oiled, love ticks and tocks effortlessly; consistent and hypnotic. It winds and unwinds as it chooses. This heart needs feet that can get lost in a waltz, but still keep time. It beats like a syncopated metronome, and bleeds in bubbling amber.

♎ LIBRA // A twinkling, paper lantern; thin as the wings of a butterfly, and just as weightless. It emits a faint glow from the romantic light flickering inside, yet drifts listlessly through the chest cavity – as though no love can pin it down. It can be folded and creased to look like all that intimacy should be – but isn’t. This heart needs real romance. To be held with grace and loving balance. It beats in charming laughter, and bleeds in floral perfume.

♏ SCORPIO // A twisted labyrinth of thorny vines and ruby flowers. Dark and intimidating, but oh-so alive and growing. Roots constrict and thorns prick to fend off deceitful lovers. But if they’re willing to bleed – each rose that blooms will do so just for them. An endlessly beautiful garden; secluded and full of the richest reds and luscious greens. This heart needs love that is true and unafraid of hurt; that will not let the petals shrivel or wither. It beats in whispered “I love you”’s, and bleed in twilight skies.

♐ SAGITTARIUS // A gluey patchwork of auburn leaves and borrowed things. Stitched together from pieces of foreign hearts to form a hot air balloon-like contraption. Tethered only by heart strings, and fueled by an single spark. Always eager to take flight, to feel new heights, and caress the clouds. This heart needs a skyscape that never ends. A spirit with no map. It beats in whistling fire crackers, and bleeds in afternoon sunshine.

♑ CAPRICORN // An impenetrable exterior of compressed coal; smoky black and unattainable. However, if one stays and chisels for years, they’ll discover this hardened stone is a literal diamond in the rough. A glittering, jewel encrusted cavern. Its walls and arteries lined with vast riches; emeralds and rubies and sapphires. Resplendent and full of love. This heart needs one worthy of holding such a valuable chasm. It beats in refined symphonies, and bleeds in the boldest red wine.

♒ AQUARIUS // A sparkling prism lodged ambiguously in the rib cage where a human heart should be. It’s crystalline surface clarifies the cloudy, and gives the dull new splendor. It isolates and captures the smallest, most imperceptible glints of light, only to reflect and dissect the spectrum of color in it no one else would ever notice. This heart needs eyes that can peer through a kaleidoscope and see new rainbows every time. It beats in neon flickers, and bleeds in cosmic stardust.

♓ PISCES // Wispy gossamer and creamy silk, loosely woven together like a dream catcher. A tattered tapestry of delicate, warm fabric; embroidered with strands of silver thread and tiny beads of amethyst. This heart absorbs all forms love, and unfortunately, all sorrows. It is stained with the fingerprints of every hand it’s held. Soft and sensitive; it should be handled with the most tender care. It beats in soothing lullabies, and bleeds in shimmering, lavender bubbles.


It’s Fine Press Friday!

This week we present pages from the 1927 Golden Cockerel Press edition of The True Historie of Lucian the Samosatenian, printed in an edition of 275 copies in both Greek and English, with an early 17th-century English translation by Francis Hickes (1566-1631) and original wood engravings by Robert Gibbings, who was also the owner of the Golden Cockerel Press from 1924 to 1933. This was the first of the Press’s large-scale publications with illustrations by Gibbings. The main text block in English is set in 14-pt. Caslon, with the Greek text, composed at the Oxford University Press, and/or Gibbings’s engravings wrapped around in smaller blocks on three sides.

Book historians Roderick Cave and Sarah Manson note that of the seventy-or-so publications produced by the press during the Gibbings era, eighteen were illustrated by Gibbings himself, and they consider The True Historie to be among the top-five finest productions of the press, and “among the foremost English Illustrated books of the twentieth century.” The press crew for this production was quite seasoned, and had been with the Press since the first owner Hal Taylor hired them in the early 1920s. These included the compositors Frank Young and Harry Gibbs, and the master printer Albert Cooper. Young and Cooper quit the press when it was sold to Christopher Sanford in 1933, but Gibbs remained with the press, moving to the Chiswick Press in London where Sanford had transferred all of the press’s compositing and printing work.

Our copy of True Historie is another gem from the Jerry Buff donation.

View more posts related to the work of Robert Gibbings.

View more posts about the Golden Cockerel Press.

View more Fine Press Friday posts.

Good Girl Ch 21: This Is Not A Date

“This is ridiculous,” Baekhyun groans from my bed where him and a few others are sprawled out on, all voicing their hatred for this whole endeavor.

“I agree with you all, this is being made a bigger deal than needed,” I glare at Tao who is in charge of getting me dressed for my dinner with Jiyong. Like I expected, they couldn’t do much to stop his demand for my company, not that I mind. It felt like forever since someone treated me my age.

“Tao,” Kris growls, “Is the fancy lingerie really necessary?” All twelve men scan me from head to toe, taking in the pretty lace bralette and matching panties I’m standing there wearing.

“It’s cute, plus we get to think about it the whole time she is out and he’ll have no idea how amazing she looks underneath.” Tao smirks devilishly at me.

“And the outfit?” I question staring at the dozen dresses he has thrown on the floor, only one hanging up still, it’s the one that Jiyong sent with a formal invitation to dinner.

“I want to find something close to it so you’re wearing the clothes we bought for you, not the ones that asshole did,” He glares at the beautiful dress. I sigh, tired of this drama, and grab the dress off the hanger before pulling it on. “Baby!” Tao whines.

“Daddy,” I say sternly as I pull on the heels that go with it, “He would notice and get mad. I don’t want to get you guys in trouble for something so small.”

He sighs, coming over he places a hand on my back that brings me close, “You shouldn’t have to be doing things like this, we should have protected you from him.

“You guys are doing a great job protecting me, I’m well fed, happy. And I don’t have to do anything, I’m going because it causes less drama for you and your business and because I enjoy my conversations with Jiyong oppa.”

“I’m very annoyed with how perfect that dress is on you,” Kai pouts from the bed. I click into the closet to give myself a once over. Like normal Chen helped me with my hair so the curls are resting naturally down my back, I let Baekhyun do my makeup, which he is surprisingly very good at. Looking down at my outfit I’m very happy with Jiyong’s choice. It’s a black A-line with a sweetheart neckline that makes my natural curves standout more, the matching stilettos with a bow top it off. Kai is right, it’s perfect, cute but sexy.

“Thank you guys for not rallying and starting a gang war about this.”

Suho chuckles, “Chanyeol tried but with only Kai, Baekhyun, and Sehun backing him, he lost majority vote.”

I eye the giant, “I would go to war for you baby,” He gives me that smile.

“Please don’t, I am not worth a war.”

This time Xiumin approaches me, obviously upset by my words, “You are worth a war a million times over. If he wanted more than dinner, there would be a war without question. If he tires to hurt you or even makes you uncomfortable you tell us, we will start a goddamn war.”

“Daddy, I said no war. We will both behave, have dinner, and he will bring me home.”

“God,” Luhan groans, “I feel like we’re actual fathers getting our daughter ready for her first date.”

“Don’t say that,” Baekhyun shakes his head, “I’m not having thoughts any father should have right now.” Chen swats at him.

“Do I have a curfew?”

“I don’t know, if we can set rules on like that when it comes to something like this,” Suho thinks.

“He should be here in a few, we can talk about it down stairs,” Xiumin decides taking me hand and leading me out of the room with the other boys in tow. By the time we reach the door someone is ringing the doorbell; as expected it’s Jiyong in a nice black suit. He looks right past the boys to me, beaming he walks right in and up to me.

“You look beautiful!” He is grinning ear to ear, I can’t help but smile back at such a handsome face.

“I already want to change my mind,” Xiumin grumbles as he continues pulling me along into the living room.

“You’re new ring goes wonderful with that outfit,” Jiyong scans me, but when he notices the other ring on my hand he stops. “That one, not so much.” He grabs my hand once we reach the living room to look at the new addition. It’s the ring my daddies bought me as soon as we left the office, it’s a beautiful golden ring with xoxo engraved on it and a pretty good-sized diamond on it.

“You’re the one that said they could claim me as well,” I tease the older man.

“I’m regretting it.”

I scoff, “We both know if I’m taking one of these rings off it’s yours.”

He sighs, “I know, forget I said anything. Lets go eat.”

“Wait a minute,” Suho blocks the doorway with Sehun and Kai flanking him, their arms crossed over their chests, now I understand what Baekhyun meant earlier. “We need to talk about a few things before hand.”

“Like what?” Jiyong snaps.

I take my hand away from him to stand closer to Xiumin, “Like what time they want me home, where we will be going, no excessive touching, no running off to Paris.”

“You guys talked about this in detail?” He cocks an eyebrow at me.

“No, you remind me of Jihyo and she tends to forget these kinds of things so I figured you were the same.”

“Fine, what time would you like her home by?” Jiyong cross his arms over his chest and looks at the wall of men in front of the doorway.

“9,” Sehun deadpans.

“It’s already 7. Midnight.”

“She has a bedtime,” Suho says this time.

Jiyong gives me a questioning look, “You weren’t kidding about the whole daddy, rules thing.”

I shrug, “Told you.”

“You are making an acceptation.”

“I agree,” I smile at my daddies. “I promise we will be good.”

“You guys are going to all of that time at a restaurant talking?” Kris doesn’t seem to believe us.

“It’ll take us an hour to get into town, we’ll eat and talk for three and I’ll have her home by midnight.”

They all share a look and I can tell they are about to cave. Grinning big at the idea of my first time out since this all happened I quickly kiss each other daddies on the lips before grabbing Jiyong’s hand and pulling him to the door. I yell over my shoulder, “Love you all, be back tonight!” Jiyong is grinning next to me, he quickly takes the lead throwing me into his black sports car before climbing in on his side.

“I’m not having you back by midnight.” He quickly whips out of the driveway and speeds down the road.

“Shit, at this rate we’ll be in town in half the time,” I pull on my seat belt, worried for my safety.

“They seem very strict.”

I shrug, “They aren’t that bad, more rules than I’ve ever had but I don’t do much anyway.”

“You aren’t a crazy girl with boys blowing up her phone every second of everyday?”

“You are confusing me for Jihyo.”

“There is that name again, Jihyo, I would like to meet this girl if she reminds you of me.”

“She is probably more your type anyway.”

He glances at me, “What makes you think you know my type? We don’t know each other that well for you to know those things.”

“I can just guest.”

“Please tell me what kind of women I like, oh wise Jooyoung.”

I sink lower into my seat as I stare at him, “You like the beautiful bad girl. The one with short skirts and leather pants. She spends more money on her shoes than her rent, that is if she pays for them at all.”

“Not bad, I have to admit. That is a very close description to the sluts I normally fuck with, but very far from the type of girl I see myself in an actual relationship with.”

“Relationship? You want to settle down?”

He nods, “I want nothing more than to have someone at home to welcome me warmly with a smile on their face.”

“That isn’t hard to find.”

“Try living like me Beautiful. My life isn’t simple, most women who see me, fear me, or want me for power. It is hard to find someone like you.” We ride in silence the rest of the way, I feel kind of guilty for assuming so much about him when I know nothing beyond the fact that he’s the head of the mafia. I switch from staring at his face that is being illuminated by the dash and looking out the window into the darkness. When we finally get into town it’s only 7:30, he’s speed only decreases slightly but he continues to follow his own traffic rules. By the time we pull up to the restaurant my hands are cramping from gripping the door handle so hard.

He chuckles as I massage my hands once we step out of the car, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I glare at him, “I’m calling bullshit.”

“Come on Beautiful, I’m starving,” He offers me an arm that I wrap mine around. With a little smirk he walks me towards the set of tall black doors, they burst open scaring the crap out of me, I tighten my grip on Jiyong’s arm. “It’s okay, they are just going to greet us.”

“Greet us?”

Beyond the door are two lines, one on their side of the door, all bowing deeply to greet us, but mostly Jiyong. “Welcome Black Dragon,” The group says in unison.

“Everyone scram, you scaring my guest,” Heads turn up to look at me at his words. Men and women alike were utterly surprised to see me on his arm, their wide eyes and hanging jaws told me it all. When no one moves Jiyong snaps at them again, “I said scram!” With that they all scattered, creating chaos for a moment as they run around like chickens with their heads cut off.

I laugh, “Do they do this all the time?”

“This is a first, they usually respond right away. They must be distracted by my date.”

“This is not a date,” I deadpan taking my arm away from his.

He pouts, “This is a date.”

“We are two friends out getting dinner.”

“Beautiful,” He huffs.

“Oppa,” I huff back.

He sighs, “Fine, this is not a date. Now may we please go eat?”

“Yes,” I give him a victorious smirk, looping my arm with his once again. He leads me past the beautiful entry way into the darkly lit dining room. I’m surprised to find it empty and all the candles on the table are out. Without hesitation he leads me to the single table with a candle still lit, like a gentleman he pulls out my chair for me. “Did you buy the whole place out?” I tease, placing the napkin on my lap as he takes his seat across from me.

A smirk spreads across his face, “This is my place.”

I roll my eyes, “Of course it is. You didn’t have to close the place down, that is unless you are embarrassed of being seen with me.”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t have put that ring on you if I didn’t feel anything but fondness for you. I just want all of your attention.”

“I can focus on someone when other people are in the room, you know.”

“People would be staring, trying to talk to me to be polite, I can’t stand people. I liked the bubble we had at the office, just us, I wanted that again.”

I nod, “Fair enough. What are we going to be having for dinner?”

“You can pick from the menu, we have a very wide variety of foods,” He hands me one of them menus in front of him. “Anything to drink? Martini, wine, margarita?”

“Water is fine.”

“Please get something other than water.”

I sigh, “Fine, some wine would be great with a steak.”

“That is easy enough,” He claps his hands three times, right away there is a man coming from the kitchen doors to our table. The man is probably not much older than me, early twenties, he’s handsome even with such a cold face. “Two glasses of my favorite wine and begin bringing out number three.” The man nods before rushing back into the kitchen without a word.

“So tell me Mr. Mobster, why did you want to have dinner so bad?”

“I’m not 100% sure, it may be the lack of fear in your eyes, or you’re cute curiosity in things you should run away from.”

“Could I ask you something?”

He nods.

“Are you above my daddies?”

“Above in ranking?” I nod. “They are the head of their group, I am the head of mine, we are technically on the same level.”

“What do you mean by technically?”

He relaxes into his chair as he explains, “We may be the same position but our groups are on different levels. We are involved in different things, they are focused on guns, animals, and information.”

“And you?”

“You promise not to be upset?” I hesitate answering, not sure I can promise something when I don’t really know how I will react. After nibbling on my lip for a minute I nod, letting him know to go on. “We deal with drugs, people, and moving money.”

“People,” I echo.

He nods, “Do I need to give you a minute?”

I shake my head as I try to let that information go in one ear and out the other, “Don’t give me time because I will only talk myself into a hole I don’t know if I’ll be able to get myself out of, can we talk about something else?”

He tires to change the conversation, “How was school?”

I’m happy with his attempt but bust out with, “How do you expect me to talk about something as boring as school when you sell people?”

“I sell people,” He confirms.

“How can my daddies think I would get upset at them for selling guns, animals, and information, when you sell people?” For some reason I can’t seem to wrap my mind around how a person could do that to another human being.

“They have to do a lot of bad things to get those things, they have to kill and torture to keep their secrets and to get other peoples’. Like I said Beautiful, my life is not simple. Either is theirs’.”

“How much more dangerous are you than them?”

He doesn’t understand at first, “I don’t know how you want me to answer that.”

“Lets say on like a scale of 1 to 10, what are my daddies?”


“And you?”

“Solid 12.”


“Because they have sort of a democracy amongst each other, they can’t do things unless they have a majority rule. They also have each other, even though they are half siblings they grew up raising each other. They have things to loose, things people could hold over their heads, friends, parents, more family. I, on the other hand, rule alone. I have no one but my right hand men and even most of them are expendable. They all know I wouldn’t bat an eye if they got taken. I’m alone, no friends, no family, no lover.” There is a coldness growing in his eyes that gives me a chill.

I feel the need to be playful to get that horrible look away. “What does that make me? I thought we were friends.”

He cracks a smile, “True, you are, for the first time in my life, my weak spot.”

“Wow, your weak spot already after a few days? What does that get me, a look and a phone call to ask how much the ransomed is?”

“It means I would make sure no one can take you in the first place,” He is suddenly serious again as he stares at me from across the table with affection in his eyes. The first course comes along with a bottle of wine, my mouth is watering at such a delicious sight. The food is absolutely amazing and so is the wine, that I’ve somehow already downed two glasses of. Time flies by quickly with many different conversions that I would have never thought I would talk about, soon the bottle is empty and I’m pretty sure Jiyong is only on his second one by dessert, oops.

“You shouldn’t let me drink.” I’m a bit passed buzzed where my little side has been popping her head into the conversation, giggling like an idiot and making me feel like a dumbass.

He laughs, “I’m happy I did, you are adorable.”

I groan, “Everyone loves me when I’m drunk because I’m so cute and loveable and not a bitch like I am normally.”

“You are not a bitch. I prefer you when you are your normal self, I like your fiest.”

I give him a sad smile, “Thank you for being one of few. My daddies hate it when I’m big.” There it is again, my constant insecurity about how the men who abducted me feel when I’m not little.

“They do not hate you.”

I sniffle, “Yea they do. Xiumin and Kris only scold me now because I want to do things for myself. Kyungsoo won’t let me watch him cook anymore since I keep trying to help but it’s too dangerous. They all just get so distant when I’m myself. I know Chen told me it’s because my big side is too much temptation but I’m calling bullshit! They just hate the real me,” I cry. Once I realize how stupid I’m acting I try to stop the tears but they don’t want to listen. “God I’m such an idiot! Who cries over shit like this?”

Jiyong is around the table with his arm around me shushing me sweetly, “I told you, they do not hate you. I’ve seen them with women they hate, you are a queen in their eyes. Please stop crying.”

“Can you take me home? I just want to go to bed,” I sniffle, letting him wipe away a few of my tears.

“Of course, can you walk?”

I nod but still accept his arm when he offers it. I sway slightly but manage to make it to the car without an incident. The drive home is not as awkward as I thought it would be, we didn’t talk but he refused to let my hand go. It was comforting the way his thumb drew circles around on the back of my hand. He drove the speed limit on the way back, giving me time to cool down before I have to deal with the dozens of questions that we both know are going to come.

Pulling up to the house Jiyong reaches for his door to walk me up, “It’s okay, I can walk to the door myself.”

“Let me walk you in,” He says sternly but I shake my head.

“I was stupid and drank too much of your probably thousand dollar bottle of wine and cried because people don’t like me on only our second time meeting. Let me have some self respect tonight.”


I smile at him gratefully, “Thank you so much for a night Oppa, I had so much fun. I’m sorry for ruining it by crying.”

“I’m happy I was there to comfort you. We’re friends, it’s what I’m here for. If you ever need someone to talk to about this, I’m here. I’ve never been anyone’s person to call when they are upset, but I’d think I could do it for you.”

“So cheesy Oppa,” I laugh. “Thank you again for dinner and being a good friend, I’ll see you again.”

“Of course, you have a good night.”

I give him one last smile before getting out and going to the door. The door is surprisingly unlocked, but I still go inside, locking it behind me. Standing in the door for a minute a sad feeling settle in my belly when the whole house is dark. Did no one wait up for me even after throwing a fit about me going? It’s 1 in the morning so of course they went to bed, why would they wait up for me? I’m a big girl remember? I don’t need anyone to take care of me! Than why do I feel so small right now, why do I feel like crying at the fact that no one cared if I got home okay? Like the baby that I am I start to sniffle once again, not caring now that I’m alone how stupid I might look.

“Joo-ya?” Daddy calls from the living room.

“Daddy.” I say back in a small voice.

I hear him shuffling to me from the living room, “Are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“No one wanted to greet me,” I cry. “No one cared that I got home safe. But I’m a big kid so I shouldn’t cry about stupid things.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes I’m drunk! So you should be happy, I’m little right now. I’m small and weak and crying and all I want right now is a hug.”

His arms are around me in a second, holding me to him firmly, kissing my hair, “Why in the world is my baby crying?”

“Because no one was happy that I’m home, because I’ve been big lately. No one likes me when I’m big.”

“Baby, we love you all the time.”

“No!” I snap back pushing out of his embrace. “You have been avoiding me! You constantly ask me where is your little girl, where is she? I’m not always going to be in a little state of mind, why? Because I’m not a little kid! I’m fucking 17 years old. You guys tell me that you love me and that you’ll protect me but I’m calling bullshit on all of that because the moment I become myself you all treat me like I have the plague. I should just leave now before you guys get bored with me so I can still have some pride.”

His arms are around me again, holding me tighter, his is in the crook of my neck, “Don’t say things like that. You are not going anywhere.” He kisses me softly at first on neck, leaving a trail of kisses up to my jaw, just before he reaches my lips he says, “I’ll prove how much I love you.”

Suga and spice and all things not nice (give me even more of that Nicotine Sweetness)


Trigger warning: gun play, knife play, blood play, bondage, degredation/praise kink (they are kinda mixed together at points), sensory play, overstimulation, squirting, daddy kink, pet names, collaring/choking, impregnation kink/cum play. This is not for the faint of heart, if this is not your cup of tea then please don’t read it.


You woke up to a cold bed, not a common occurrence for you. Yoongi was practically married to his bed and he wouldn’t leave it, unless his underground empire required it (anyway he one pretty good reason to stay wrapped up in the sheets already in his bed).

Just as you started to stir, you heard Yoongi’s raspy voice, “Good Morning Kitten~” As soon as you heard your pet name leave his lips, you knew that you wouldn’t be leaving this bed for the rest of the day.

You saw Yoongi rise from his chair before walking up to the foot of the bed, holding a few things behind his back. “Kitten, I hope you got lots of sleep because you’re going to need your energy. Daddy wants to play with his Kitten. Do you want to play with Daddy too, Kitten?” You nodded and that’s all Yoongi needed to step into action.

You slept naked, which allowed Yoongi to proceed to place a diamond encrusted collar around your neck. “A beautiful collar for his equally beautiful and obedient Kitten,” he said. The attached leash left laying between the valley of your breasts. He then repurposed some old black silk sheets into restraints, tying your four limbs to the bed posts.

Only when you were in the position Daddy wanted you in did he show you what he had hidden from you before, your two favourite toys, Suga, his engraved golden Colt hand gun and his equally impressive bowie knife.

“Daddy promised you last time that he would let you cum from Suga but first I want to use my other toy. Does that sound good Kitten?”

“It does Daddy~”

“Good, you’re such a good slut for Daddy.”

Yoongi took his time admiring the knife and your naked body before he even bothered to touch you. His heated stare and the completely vulnerability of your tied up state already making you wetter than you’d like to admit.

Yoongi started off by using his bowie knife, lightly tracing your lips, before leaning down to give you a kiss, in a rare display of romance, or his brand of romance anyway. The tip was then traced down your neck and collarbone.

Your Daddy then used the tip to break the skin, carving out a design on the skin, just below your left collarbone. The pressure was enough to draw blood but not enough to permanently scar your flawless skin. He watched in fascination as drops of crimson slowly ran down your heaving chest, the actions already causing you to drip onto your thighs.

Before the drops could hit your perky buds, Yoongi collected it on his finger and offered it to you. You immediately accepted it, using your tongue as you would on Suga or on your Daddy’s throbbing cock. Yoongi couldn’t help but groan, his Kitten being too much for his own good sometimes, but he loved his filthy Kitten and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yoongi then pulled on the leash, forcing your upper body into a more upright position and in the process choking you out in the most delicious way. This caused more droplets to fall. He let them fall to your hardened nipple this time before he took your pebbled nub into his mouth. His skillful tongue licked up all that dripped down, whilst simultaneously using it as an excuse to flick your nipple using the muscle. You would scream out in pleasure, if you had any air left in your lungs and just before you couldn’t take anymore, you were released, your upper body falling back into the sheets.

As you caught your breath back, Daddy Yoongi diligently disinfected the knife and your skin. You even found the slight sting of alcohol wipe to be strangely pleasureable, causing you to hiss in a similar way to when you would be spanked. To that he chuckled and leant in to whisper by your ear, “Is this too much for you Kitten? I hope not because I’ve only just gotten started.”

Yoongi then took a photo to show you his masterpiece, a small scratching of the name Suga into your skin, a temporary reminder of your favourite toy and your favourite kingpin. You would have brought up your own index finger to admire your Daddy’s work but your hands were tied, both of them. However, Yoongi did it for you. As he admired it he thought about how he loved to leave his marks on you, hickeys and a spanked bottom, but knife play was by far his favourite. He would never permanently scar you but he loved to just scratch the skin with his own tags for his very own special little Kitten.

“Kitten, I want you to close your eyes now.” When you closed them you heard, “You’re such a good little whore for Daddy. Make sure not to open them or Daddy will have to punish you.”

You then shivered as cold metal traced the skin from your index finger to your left shoulder. It was far to blunt to be Yoongi’s bowie knife, leaving only one other option, Daddy was using Suga on you.

He made sure to avoid his marking, letting it heal, as the barrel was traced down between the valley of your breasts, causing the leash to be pushed against one of your mounds. He then smacked both perked nipples with the side of the barrel, much like you did last time you were using Suga. It had turned Yoongi on now end and now that he had his Kitten all tied up, Daddy was going to have his fun with his perfect little slut.

Yoongi took his time tease each area, your torso, your other arm, your feet, your calves, only now just reaching your thighs. You were now absolutely soaked, a wet path already formed on the silk sheets, making them even blacker than black. You were struggling to not open your eyes or snap at Daddy because you were so riled up, but as much as Daddy was a tease, he could be merciful too.

“Open your eyes Baby and look between your legs, look at Daddy, look at what Daddy is going to do to you.”

You felt it before you saw it, Yoongi rubbing Suga against your neglected clit. God was your Daddy good. DAMN GOOD. You were already so turned on that you didn’t know how long you could last, not that your Daddy cared, he would always make you cum multiple times.

All it took was one firm tug on the leash and you were gone. Your body arching off the bed, as much as you could given the restraints. The pleasure leaving you breathless, wordless.

Yoongi lapped at your dripping essence as if it was a gourmet meal, and to him, it was. In your Daddy’s opinion, your pussy was a divine delicacy.

Even when he has lapped up all the cum you could offer, he still licked between your folds, Suga still being rubbed against your clit. It was starting to very on painful, but a pleasurable pain nevertheless. You would have closed your legs if you could, but Daddy wouldn’t subject you to something you couldn’t take and you had your safe word if you needed it. You just needed to get over the first aches of overstimulation and then you would feel even better than before.

Just as you were starting to like the clit stimulation (or put better, the overstimulation), Yoongi pulled away from you, tongue and gun. You could literally scream at him, Yoongi could be so frustrating sometimes, but as you said earlier, your Daddy could be merciful.

Yoongi smirked and rubbed Suga against your glistening lips, silently asking for permission before sliding it would inside you. This was a novel experience, whilst Suga had been a permanent fixture in your playtime, or at least the times you calmed Yoongi downed, you’d never actually been fucked by anything other that your Daddy’s cock or fingers. You had to say that shock of the cold metal against your warm velvet walls was strangely pleasent in the most masochistic of ways. The sensory shock had caused your walls to clamp, making Yoongi groan at the thought of your walls doing that around his throbbing cock.

When you had relaxed, Yoongi lent down and whispered against your lips, like you had done to him days earlier in his office. “Kitten, I said I’d used Suga to make you cum, and I’m going to do it again. I want you to cum as I fuck you with my gun and I want you to cum again when I fuck you. Do you think you can handle that, my slut?”

“Yes, Daddy.”


Suga was slowly pumped in and out of you, Yoongi taking great care of not being too harsh. Whilst he liked to be rough, he’d never want to harm you.

His other hand went down to rub at your abused clit. At least you could say that he never forgot to stimulate it.

Once you got used to the novel feeling, you had to say that you’ve never felt so good. Just thinking about the pure debauchery you’re engaging in, the purest of sins, made you unintentionally clench around Suga again. Yoongi smirked.

He lent in and whispered by your ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps, “Hmm, that’s it Kitten. Be a good little whore and cum for Daddy, cum over Suga.” And that’s all you needed.

If you thought the first orgasm was intense, this one was almost unbearable. The deep fire that spread from your loins had caused fireworks to spark in all the nerves of your body, short-circuiting your senses for a while. It had felt different though, not just more intense but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

When you locked eyes with Yoongi, you practically shivered. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, his gaze practically burning into your brain. You had thought you had seen him at his most lustful but you were wrong. This was him at his most lustful.

“Such a dirty slut. Daddy told you to cum on Suga, but not only did you do that, but you squirted all over his gun. You’ve made Daddy very horny, Kitten. You’ve been so good, very good, excellent. You’ve let Daddy have his wicked way with you, mark you. Can Daddy mark you in one more way, Kitten? Can Daddy fuck you full of his cum, and keep on doing so until you’re carrying his child? Would you like that Kitten?”

You were left speechless. You had never really thought about having kids but there was something about the pure filthiness of Yoongi fucking your pussy full of cum, with the possiblity of getting pregnant, especially if you got pregnant, that turned you on more than you’d like to admit.

You would nod but you felt Daddy’s speech warranted a verbal response. “Kitten would love that Daddy. Fuck me full of your cum, get me pregnant.”

And that’s how you got Yoongi slamming into your core. All his patience had gone out the window. Any bruising he’d help to look after later but now all he could think about was your tight walls milking him dry and planting his seed deep into you.

His balls were already so tight from all the previous playtime and you weren’t much better. If your hands were free, you would claw at his back, letting the pain explain how otherworldly all this felt like.

Your body started shaking, your thighs in particular. Your ability to stay still obliterated. You did however force Yoongi still. You’re velvet walls had a vice- like grip on his throbbing cock, forcing his member to stay in at full hilt and fill your pussy full of his seed.

Yoongi held you through your post-orgasmic bliss, cooing and praising you for how well you’ve done. When you had calmed down he cut the restraints with his bowie knife and removed your collar, allowing you to relax properly.

Before his member softened too much, he pulled out and plugged you up gently. “We don’t want this going to waste, do we Kitten?,” was his answer to your raised eyebrow. You both smiled.

As he laid beside you, petting your hair, Yoongi had a revision to make. Scratch what he said earlier, Yoongi’s favourite mark would be his child growing inside his Kitten.


Well done for making it to the end. I warned you that this wasn’t for the faint of heart. I hope that you liked it

Bambi x

I Surrender

did i get the title from that one song by hillsong? absolutely. i love my terrible, narcissistic, sociopathic solipsist with a god complex. i also love my mullet wearing evil baby boy. its a problem. here u go enjoy


”Aw, shit. I think I’m in love.” Summer was over, school was back in session, and the students of Derry High School were less than ecstatic, to understate it. Same faces, as always; when you live in the same, small New England town your whole life, everyone knows everyone (whether they want to or not). Or, at least, that was the policy until you showed up. It was as if a sudden jolt of energy suddenly surged through the building; everyone seemed to automatically sense that there was a new girl in their midst. The Bowers Gang, situated at their usual place below the steps, watched the students shuffle into school with glaring eyes. When Henry himself set his eyes on you, all sorts of thoughts rushed through his head. “I say we go give our new classmate a proper introduction. Don’t you, boys?” he smirked.

”Oh, this’ll be fun,” Patrick agreed. He never ceased to amaze himself. What fun he’d have figuring out your place in his little world! Like all others, you’d soon learn to bend to his will. Everyone did, why should you be any different? “And where are you headed to this fine morning, little dove?” he asked as they approached you, daring to place his arm around you shoulder.

Oh, no, you thought. Not this early. “Okay, no.” You threw his arm off your shoulders; the others scoffed or “ooooh’d.” “Go bother some other poor soul. I don’t put up with this.” You pushed through the wall of people blocking you; a lanky, bleach blond, a heavier boy with a snapback oh his head, and another tall blond with a mullet.

”Watch how you talk to my friend there, babe,” mullet guy said. He walked up to you, getting in your face, until you were backed into a tree trunk with nowhere to go. The other lanky tall boy, the one with dark hair, got up in your space from the side. Starting to panic, throat closing up, you grabbed your Miraculous Medal handing off of your necklace and drew your closed fists to your chest.

”Well now, what’s this?” the creepy boy to your side asked. Grabbing your hands and trying to pry them open, he smirked even wider when you yanked away from him, desperately searching for a way out. “Oh, come on now, you don’t trust me? I don’t bite… sometimes,” he winked. He was right up in your face now, though the blond was still in front of you. He got closer and closer, forcing his leg between yours so you could barely move.

”You’re pretty. I’m gonna have fun with you,” he whispered, face almost touching yours. You closed your eyes shut and turned your head away from the both of them. “Whatcha think, Pat? I say we keep her,” he smirked.

”Please get away from me.” Your voice was barely audible and you sounded like you were about to cry. the boys got a kick out of that. “I’m not confortable with this. Please just leave me alone.”

”Now why would we wanna do that, dove? You’re just too much fun,” spoke the one now identified as “Pat”. He reached his hand into the bag still resting on your shoulder, and pulled out your beloved Bible; the edges were worn and there were multicolored tabs sticking out all over the place. The only things still perfectly intact were the golden engraving that read “HOLY BIBLE” and the message of spiritual salvation written inside. “Oh no,” he laughed, “Look what we got here boys! God’s little prude!”

Mullet boy grinned and chuckled. “Damn! She’s a Jesus freak? Oh, this just got so much better.”

Pat (which, you assumed, was short for Patrick) got up close to you again. “I can’t wait to show you a good time later, babe. I’ll have you on your knees worshiping me, and your ‘God’ can watch.”

This was the tipping point. You could handle the mockery and the bullying for your faith. You knew that there was a place for you in the Kingdom of God when all was said and done, and what people said to try to hurt you would never be able to take the love of God away from you. But you would not sit idly by and let some bullies disrespect you God, your creator, your father, your infinite love, your savior, and theirs (whether they believed in him or not).

“Don’t ever speak about my Savior like that EVER again. I don’t care if you mock me, I don’t care if you bully me, I don’t care if you antagonize me every day until I leave this town. You do not EVER disrespect my faith. I’ll pray for you through the intercession of ALL the saints and angels, because ‘my God’ is a faithful and forgiving God. But I am not going to let you blaspheme His name to my face. Now leave me alone and give me back my Bible!” you finished, snatching it out of Patrick’s hand before any of them had the chance to come back with a rebuttal.

”Dude…” Vic started, as they watched her quickly pacing toward the front door, “That was kinda hot.”

The day went by for you relatively quickly. You thankfully had no classes with those awful boys who had been harassing you that morning. Other than that and having to introduce yourself/be introduced in every class and then having to be seated in the middle of a bunch of people you’d never met, your day was not bad. Some sophomore in your English class even had the kindness to talk to you and make you feel less out of place. (His name was Bill, he said, and the school had let him skip a level of English because he tested out of it.) When you heard on the afternoon announcements that they were beginning auditions for the fall play (The Crucible, one you’d already done before, and one you enjoyed), you made a mental note to check out the department.

Heading out for the day through the big double doors, your eyes flitted to all of your surroundings, the thought of having to face that terrible group of boys again scaring you like nothing else. You glanced over to the far end of the quad at the same time Bill waved to you, smiling. “Have a good night, (Y/N)!” he yelled, before turning back to his friends.

One boy with dark hair and thick glasses let his jaw drop when you actually waved back and said, “Thanks Bill, you too!”

You were startled by a voice jumping out of nowhere. “Oh, really now, bird? St- st- stuttering Bill? You’d rather spend your precious time with him?” It was Patrick again. You internally cringed, but kept a straight-faced façade. “You know,” he said, circling about you like a vulture, “My offer still stands.” He gave you a wink before backing you into the wall below the steps, hands on either side of your head. He rested one arm above your head and his hand shot down to grab yours. If some random bystander had happened to walk by the two of you, they might’ve even mistaken you for sweethearts.

But the both of you knew this wasn’t so.

His hand clasped around yours, he drew it up to his chest. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, “I can teach you how to pray.” Faces almost touching, reminiscent of the encounter from that morning, you received a devilish grin. If you weren’t so absolutely mortified, you might’ve even considered his smile to be a lovely one.

”I know how to pray just fine, thank you. Maybe someone ought to teach you.” With that, you kicked him in his right shin. Dropping your hand and bending over to nurse his wounded leg (and ego, no doubt), you ran off across the street and turned the corner to the nearest church. You hurried inside, blessing God that people were currently receiving Reconciliation.

You sat in a pew towards the back, waiting for the rest of the ley people to confess their sins before you did. You prayed and prayed, asking the Trinity to forgive you for your violent outburst. You prayed for the boys who harassed you. You prayed for Bill. And you prayed just a little extra bit more for Patrick. And then you were the only one left to confess to the priest.

”Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… about 2 weeks since my last confession,” you said as you sat down behind the screen, not quite ready yet to be seen by this priest. “I’ve been especially bitter today. And I held onto a grudge I know I shouldn’t’ve. And I kicked a boy just before I came here. I’ve had a tough day. I know that’s not an excuse, but it is true.”

”Thank you for your confession. We all have tough days. And it’s especially easy for us to sin on those days. But I believe it takes good self discipline and a strong faith in God for you to be so prompt in confessing these sins. Usually, it takes people a couple of weeks, or months, or they never to it at all. So props to you!” he chuckled, and you did too.

”I have a feeling, Father, you might be hearing from me often. Not that I want to sin, but… there’s a boy at school. A mean boy. He and his friends mock me and they harass me for my faith. The boy I kicked? He was being… obscene, and blasphemous and… oh gosh, I must sound so self-righteous. I know that’s not a reason to hurt someone but I… I panicked. So I kicked him and I ran straight here because I just felt so awful about it. The worst part is, I know it will just be worse tomorrow.”

”This boy sounds like he could use some prayers.”

”I pray for him. I prayed for him just now, as I was waiting. And his friends. They think I’m weird, but… if nothing else, it makes me feel better. And I know that God is listening to what I say, even if they don’t.”

”Right you are about that. Look, you are obviously very regretful of what you’ve done. And you sure sound like you’ll try not to do it again. And God loves to see that in people. Go say an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a Glory Be. I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

You returned to your pew in the back corner, quietly finished your penance, gathered up your belongings, and left. Walking out the door to the front steps, you checked your watch. It was about 5 P.M. now. You trekked back to the school parking lot to grab your car and head home; your mother was worried sick by now, you knew.

You were hit by an intrusive thought when your car finally came into view. What if you see those terrible boys again? You prayed that you wouldn’t. You were already so drained and didn’t want to go through the trouble of being harassed by those boys again.

And you were suddenly hit with a passage from a book you once read. “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But what happens twice will surely happen a third time.” And unfortunately, the book was right.

”Oh look! God’s little prude came back to hang with us!” Gross. That blonde mullet boy. Oh well, you thought, the lesser of two evils. He and his posse must’ve been smoking in his car just before you arrived; he smelled thickly of smoke and had a cigarette hanging between his fingers.

He grinned smugly, walking closer and closer to you, the other bleach blond and the larger boy following him a few steps behind. “You gave Patty-boy quite the kick earlier. Had to go home to ice it. It’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You’re not as perfect as you pretend to be, huh?”

He was right in front of you now, but you weren’t entirely cornered. You weren’t backed up against your car and there were a few inches between you and him. “I never said I was perfect. I know I’m not perfect. I’m human. I hope your friend feels better. Tell him I said sorry.” You turned and unlocked your car, desperate to get away from this boy who apparently was such a heavy smoker a cloud seemed to be following him around; you could barely breathe.

He grabbed your arm roughly. “Now why would I do that when you can come on and tell him yourself?” He nodded his head over to a blue Trans Am. “Why don’t you come on with us? We’ll have a good time.”

”I don’t think so. I have better things to do than willingly get into a car with a bunch of boys who I barely know, who’ve been harassing me all day. Thanks for the offer, though.”

You opened your door, got in, and closed it, setting your bag and your book in the passenger seat. Pulling out of your spot, you got a quick glance at the three of them walking back to their own car. Hooligans, you thought.

The next day, to your surprise as well as theirs, you sought them out first. You marched right up to Patrick and said, without a hint of hesitation, “Sorry for kicking you in the leg. I hope you’re okay.

He gave you a strange look before grinning down at you. “Nah. I thought it was pretty kinky, actually. Maybe next time we fool around we see what other kinda stuff you’re into,” he suggested, like a creep. Any pleasantness in your expression vanished.

”Okay. Goodbye.” You turned on your heel and went to walk away before, once again, a hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back.

Backing you into the side of the steps, he brushed some stray hairs out of your face before grabbing your chin and forcing you into a rough kiss.

Your first kiss. And you didn’t like it at all.

Making an exasperated noise, you pushed against his chest, urging him to back off. “DUDE! What the heck? That was so not okay! That’s literally sexual assault? Don’t you know how messed up that is?” you outburst. Needless to say, you were not going to deal with this in a calm, civil manner. You were enraged.

Patrick, however, was having a field day. By far, you must’ve been the best creation his brain had ever come up with. If he were any other person, he might’ve even said “She can’t be real,” but he knew that was already the case. At any rate, toying with you was the highlight of his day, without a doubt. “Aw, come on babe, don’t act like you didn’t like it. Don’t you love the rush you get when you know you just committed a sin?”

The smarmy bastard, you thought, quickly apologizing to Jesus for your outburst as well as bad language. “Let’s get one thing straight- I didn’t sin just now. That was you. All you. And I’m leaving now.”

“Better hope your boyfriend Billy don’t hear about this! I’d hate for him to get his little heart broke!” You looked back at him and merely rolled your eyes. “Or your other boyfriend Henry! You know, he hates competition!” But by this time you were up the stairs and ito the building. Today was going to be a long day.

And this was going to be a long year.


Hola chicas!! I’m not really sure what this is but I mean if y’all want more then I can make more.

And maybe if i do that then it will start to make more sense.

In case you can’t tell, my worst habit is trying to make my fics short, when in all honesty they’re gonna end up being like entire novelas.

Anyways feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

PLEASE reblog if u enjoy dis trash I love validation

AND PLEASE request anything u want i need to write more and i love u all


Portraits of Philip III and Philip IV, Kings of Spain, crowned as Counts of Holland, Zeeland and Frisia

Center: Allegorical Title-page with Holland holding a ship and seated on a cannon with the Dutch lion behind astride the globe, and Neptune reclining in front; putti hovering in the sky carrying coats of arms

Prints made by Cornelis Visscher. Published by Pieter Soutman (Haarlem, 1650), from the series “Principes Hollandiæ, Zelandiæ, et Frisiæ” 

The British Museum (1839,0413.335)

“In 1581, the Estates General of the United Provinces declared themselves independent from the Spanish rule of Philip II (who was Philip III of Holland). Until the Treaty of Münster in 1648, the kings of Spain still used the title Count of Holland, but they had lost the actual power over the county to the States of Holland.“

Number One


Harry’s raspy voice immediately filled your senses once you aimlessly reached for your phone and accepted the call.

“Harry, good evening, love.”

“I know I woke you up, don’t pretend,” he laughed, making you smile and turn the bedside lamp on, rubbing your eyes and still not being used to not wake up beside Harry since he’s on tour.

“Go downstairs. There’s a package outside.”


“Trust me, just open the box downstairs.”

You stood up groggily, coming down the stairs and opening the locked door, a small box in your doorstep.

“You got it now?”

“What’s this?”

He laughed, smiling to himself.

“Just open it.”

You took the packaging tape off, the box filled with bubble wrap, only to uncover a small golden trophy, #1 being engraved on the middle and your name embossed on the bottom part.

“Harry,” you chuckled to yourself, ended up laughing which made Harry more than happy as ever.

“I know it’s random. But I just really miss you.”

“I do too. Did I win something or?”

He blushed, not being able to sleep minutes later because of how the thought of talking to you kept him up.

“Nah. Just to remind you that you’re my number one.”

Caffeine Challenge 10 June 2017

The ship cuts an elegant path through the asteroid field until, abruptly, an asteroid cuts an elegant path through it.

This is unusual for two reasons, Lorena thinks absently: 1) the actual density of asteroids in an asteroid field is much, much smaller than your average person thinks, and 2) asteroids don’t generally do “elegant”. Outside the ship, when they’re hurtling through the void at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour and still managing to look like they’re doing it slowly and majestically, yes. Inside the ship, no. But the fact of the thing can’t be denied: an unidentified asteroid has just shown up in the middle of the ship. The scanner says it’s still in the ship, too, sitting in an unused cargo hold.

Lorena gets up from her desk chair, shuts off the scanner, and starts to put on her space suit. This is too weird to be ignored, and plus, if the asteroid had really cut through the ship like that, there’s going to be issues. Of course, there are safety measures in place in case of leaks, but a hole that big opened straight onto the vacuum of space is bound to cause some issues. Luckily, the scanner wasn’t showing any loss of life, so that shouldn’t be a problem. At least, not yet.

Spacesuit on, Lorena grabs her tool box and heads for the air lock nearest the crash site. Strange, too, she thinks, that she didn’t feel anything when the asteroid hit. She’d have thought she’d feel a jolt when the ship took the force of a crash that big.

She’s getting weird looks as she walks through the ship in her space suit. This part of the ship, the only people she’s passing are maintenance people and engineers like herself, and they all know that there isn’t any external maintenance scheduled, and that if there was, she wouldn’t be the one doing it. Ah well. Let them look. She considers grabbing a maintenance person for backup, but decides against it. Better to figure out what the problem is before asking someone to solve it.

When she reaches the air lock, Lorena puts her helmet on and clips her tether to the ring inside, then presses the button to open the external doors. The air lock is closed, thank God. Sometimes people like to leave the air locks inside the ship open for convenience, but someone must have put safety before convenience for once. She makes a mental note to find that person when she finishes here; they may have saved the lives of the entire ship.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0. The air lock doors open.

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The One With Bucky’s Arm

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Request: Hi friend❤Could I request one where Bucky doesn’t wanna wear his new arm all the time but he’s way too self conscious to actually not wear it and the reader is like dude stop it and it’s just sweet? I really love your blog💖💖💖

A/n: Thank you love! I changed it up just a bit and I hope you don’t mind. I apologize for the trash ending lmao.  As always, I hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. Gif credit - @freaktrevors

Warnings: mention of Bucky’s arm/scene from Infinity War, few swear words


Word Count: 1.037

Originally posted by freaktrevors

The soft white light from the moon gleamed across the black vibranium and the engraved gold details. His flesh hand ran up and down the length of the air, which caused a small shiver to crawl its way up his spine. He could not only feel the sensation through his flesh fingertips, but through the arm. A feature Shuri had implemented somehow, a way for Bucky to feel with an artificial arm.

His eyes moved from the metal finger tips up to the elbow where the engraved golden details thickened, finally up to his shoulder and chest, where metal met skin and flesh.

The arm was nothing compared to…to the other one. This one reminded him of hope, of new days. The old arm was constant reminder of what h…what the Winter Soldier had done. The metal plates that’s whirring occasionally haunted him at random points during his days.

His fingers gently brushed against the area where skin met metal, along the markings where he’d harmed himself as of result of attempts in prying off the previous arm. Bucky released a shaky breath as he carefully removed the metal arm.

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glorioustimemachine  asked:

It’s actually my birthday today, so I wanted to ask... Victor and Yuuri going to Disneyland? Any of them, I just... I think it would be so sweet.

(Happy birthday!)

“This is dumb, I don’t wanna wear a hat.” Yurio had his arms crossed, chest puffed out in defiance.

Within the first ten minutes in the park, Victor had found and purchased matching Mickey Mouse ear hats for him and Yuuri. Even had them engraved with golden thread spelling out their names, the two posing for a selfie with the biggest dopiest smiles on their faces. The park made the perfect backdrop.

“You don’t have to wear this one,” Yuuri replied, blush still on his cheeks from where Victor had swiped a kiss a moment prior. “Disney Sea actually has its own mascot.“

“What, a Japanese mouse?” Yurio rolled his eyes. He had made it abundantly clear that he was there for the coasters and nothing more. Maybe a churro. Or the flavored popcorn. The curry one sounded funky and tempting.

“No,” Yuuri started but did not get to finish, Victor springing up behind Yurio to smash a hat with fuzzy white ears down on his head.

“It’s a cat!”

anonymous asked:

I just love mad sweeney! So happy that someone is doing fanfics, can't believe there aren't any really out there. Can I request a fluff where reader patches up mad sweeney either after his brawl with shadow or another time? (lets be honest he is so hot in his suspenders)

Anon this is short but I literally can’t keep my eyes open so if you want a second part I’m totally up for it after I catch up on sleep. This might even get to being a series~ Thank you for requesting something ! (and yes, he is very very hot in his suspenders)

When you were a kid, your parents always told you to be nice to strangers if they came knockin on your door for help. Your mother often said some of em granted good luck. Your father always said that karma would come around and miss because you had done some good in your life. Your parents probably didn’t realize that one day, at the age of 23, you’d be running into a man on your door step, a bloody coin clenched between his teeth, the streetlights bouncing off the golden engravings. He groans as you step up to your front door, you glance over your shoulder, out to the night sky and the sound of approaching thunder and you sigh. You bound back down the steps and swing his arm over his shoulder, he’s fairly easy to pull up, not being as unconscious as you thought, but god was he tall. You struggle to manoeuvre him through your doorway, and since he towered over you, you had to avoid going directly down the centre of the hallway, eying the low hanging lamp. You kicked the door shut, glad you had a lock that would click when the door was slammed.

When you dump him on the couch and switch your lights on, he’s a little more than just got a coin in between his teeth. He’s a mess, blood is matted into his beard and hair, his shirts, torn, stained with grass and what you hoped was mud and not blood. His mouth parted slightly, the coin falling to his chest as he moved his head. You catch a glimpse of his teeth, they’re covered in blood too, stained and smeared. You go to the bathroom, lug out the first aid kit that your father dropped off when you first moved in, and a clean, red towel from the bathroom so you could avoid the blood staining anything else. You tuck on end of the towel under his head, using the other to wipe the blood from his face. You go an grab a bucket and fill it with warm water, always keeping an eye on the doorway. You come back, and he’s still leaning against the arm of the couch, his feet hang off it slightly. You dampen the cloth and start to wipe away the blood that’s already been drying to his skin for what’s been possibly hours.

When his face is clean you reach for the coin, ready to give it a scrub down when a strong hand grabs your arm, just before you can reach it.

“And what do ya think yer doin’ lass?” He asks, his teeth is bared,still smeared with the hintest amount of red.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to steal it or nothing!” You yelp, trying to tug your hand away. “I was just helpin’ you out is all.”

He looks around, his grip still tight on your wrist. “Aight…” He murmurs. “Carry on.” He lays back down, his head now tilted towards you so you can see more of his face and he lets go of your wrist, allowing you to grab the coin. You turn it over in your fingers and stare at the markings, trying to understand what they mean.

“It’s my lucky coin, so don’cha go losin’ it somewhere.” He warns. You roll your eyes before wiping it with the damp towel, smiling at the shine, before putting it back onto his chest.

He gives you a grin and clenches onto the coin with his least battered hand. He smiles up at you and leans forward.

“What happened to you?” You ask curiously, normally you wouldn’t pry but now that he’s semi cleaned up, he looks hardly phased by what happened to him.

His lips turn to a smirk and he leans forward, he beckons you to come closer. You do, curiousity overwhelming your common sense.

“Bet ya didn’t think someone would fight a Leprechaun now would’ya lass?” He drawls in his accent. He rubs his face against the back of his hand before he stands, and at his full height, not slumped over your shoulder. He’s scarier than you thought, definitely taller than 6 foot. You give him a smile that he seems to take in good faith. “Name’s Sweeney, Mad Sweeney. Can I have yers darlin’?”

Your nose scruches at his name, but it doesn’t deter you as you hold out a clean hand. “Y/F/N, Y/F/N Y/L/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if I did find ya on my doorstep.” He chuckles at that, and holds out his ‘lucky’ coin.

“Well, until my luck decides to be on my side, I guess you’re stuck with me.” He says.

When you were younger. You told your father and mother that the world wasn’t made of stories, well, who knew, your parents are always right. You gave the Leprechaun a side glance in the mirror as you washed your hands in the bathrrom sink. Who would’ve thought that one day a thousand years old Leprechaun would show up at your door?

Claiming the Crown - rowaelin


Rowan takes on some of his responsibilities as the King of Terrasen.

Notes: Angst, post-EoS, pre-KoA, sorry


Rowan thrummed his fingertips on the stone arm of his throne. It was a way of keeping time, but not for himself. He wanted the guards at the entrance to the throne room to know exactly how many minutes had passed, for them to be aware of every second he was forced to wait.

He had lost count when finally, Aelin entered the room, Aedion trailing behind her.

For a moment, Rowan’s eyes lit up. Aelin’s hair was braided in a crown around her head, and a small, intricate crown sat atop it. Over her forest green velvet dress she wore a golden breastplate, engraved with all the insignia that indicated the power and wealth of Terrasen, but still showing its potential to protect her in battle.

A warrior queen.

But not his warrior queen.

No, Lysandra was just particularly adept at making the same fashion choices that Aelin might. They’d known one another since they were girls, Rowan reminded himself. Of course she would know just what to do. And Lysandra, of all of them, had been raised to play anyone other than herself.

Aelin made her way to the throne, avoiding Rowan’s gaze. Instead, she took in the others, those who had come to offer support and to gawk at the returned monarch. The one who they had all hoped and prayed for, the one who would restore the kingdom, and others, to their former glory. If only they knew the real fate that their queen had been forced to meet, those months ago.

Aelin - no, Lysandra - tilted her head at Darrow, who had yet to bend the knee or even lower his own chin in deference. “Is your age causing you difficulties lately, Darrow?”

“I don’t understand,” he answered. Not even a ‘Your Majesty’. Rowan would remember that.

“Well, I can only assume that the loss of your good sense would cause you to lack basic respect.” Lysandra looked pointedly at the floor, and Darrow grimaced, bowing quickly.

Rowan wanted to laugh. To scream.

Lysandra swept past him, approached the dais, and stood next to Rowan. She turned to him, smiled. It was a tempered smile, not the kind that Aelin would give him. That one held their secrets and told him that they could laugh together about this, afterward. It wasn’t his favorite smile of Aelin’s, the one that began with a scowl and slowly cracked and morphed and turned into something that made his heart skip a beat. Nor was it the unbridled smile she gave him that first time, when they were running and training and there was nothing stopping them other than the limits of their own flesh.

Rowan smiled back, tight, quick.

Aedion stood to Aelin’s right, just behind them. Rowan could only imagine the scowl he would have plastered on. He didn’t need to pretend to be in a loving, committed relationship with a woman wearing his wife’s face, and Rowan was practically envious.

Lysandra patted Rowan’s arm. “Sorry for the delay.” Her voice was strained. Rowan glanced at Aedion, whose scowl was more pronounced than usual. So, that was the tension he felt radiating from Lysandra. Let them sort that out on their own, though. Rowan turned to face the assembly who had gathered.

Lysandra began to speak, clear, strong, the way that Aelin might have. But then, Rowan might not ever know how she would handle a situation like this. The weight of decades of this charade pressed down on him, and he had to keep himself from reaching up to grab his chest. Running from the room was not an option. Acting as if he felt anything other than adoration for the woman seated next to him was not an option.

A murmur broke out in the room, and Rowan began to pay attention. He looked over at Lysandra to see that she rested a hand on her belly, smiling. Aedion turned and stormed from the room, and Rowan understood.

Lysandra looked over to Rowan, serene, pulling him close. He patted her hand perfunctorily. Lysandra rested her head on Rowan’s shoulder and he stiffened. Relaxed. Wrapped an arm around her.

If only he could run from the room, following Aedion, joining the others in their search. Rowan wanted to grab Lysandra by the arms, ask how she could dare put on that face.

A look passed between them and Rowan’s resolve was shattered. Behind Lysandra’s smile, he could see Aelin’s pain. But it wasn’t just hers. It was all of theirs. It was Aedion’s, at knowing he could never claim his child as his own. It was Elide’s, at having lost the queen her mother had died for. It was Rowan’s, for finding and then losing his mate. Lysandra just wore it better than most.

Turning back to the crowd, Rowan did his best to look loving, proud, the King of Terrasen whose queen would be by his side for a thousand years.


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anonymous asked:

Hi, I just found Drunk on You today and then I bindge-read it and all the stories are beautiful! I wanted to suggenst an au where you find stuff your soulmate loses (it's not my idea, I saw it on a post months ago). I imagine Viktor would keep losing so much stuff since he's such an airhead and so rich. But then imagine Yuuri losing one of his Viktor posters?? Idk, I think it's really cute ^.^

Actual footage of Viktor Nikiforov dropping/losing something in front of Yuuri:

Originally posted by highlyflammablex

ANYWAY there’s a drabble (ahem, basically a one-shot) for that soulmate AU under the cut, because you’re right– that idea is adorable! Thanks so much for reading Drunk on You, and I’m sorry I took so long to get back to you!

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us: hey ms kobayashi why was amazons s2 like that

ms kobayashi: *sitting in a golden throne engraved with the words “I wrote ryuki and therefore am absolved of all criticism”* like what

us: n-never mind m’am

ms kobayashi: *silently sipping from a mug that reads “I wrote shinkenger too”*

Rhys wears a scarf and Jack ponders its existence, the fic

Unbeta’d cause I should be in bed

Rhys is wearing a scarf, and it makes Jack—who has through constant exposure come to memorize the two or three outfits he cycles through—pause in the middle of his usual grunted greeting to the PA as Rhys enters the office.

He puzzles over its existence as Rhys settles himself at the slightly smaller desk to Jack’s right and begins to take his personal affects out of his satchel. It was dusty yellow and faded darker at the delicately frayed tips, Fuzzy spots dot the fabric, probably some kind of pattern that Jack can’t make out at this distance.

He finally gets a good look at it when Rhys finishes unpacking his bag and goes to make Jack coffee. Up until a couple weeks back he’d had Rhys fetch coffee on the way to work from one of the Hub’s cafes, but thanks to bottleneck in the elevators it’d arrived cold more times than Jack was happy with. So he’d had the little machine, complete with sugar and cream thanks to Rhys’ bitching, installed in a spare nook of space to ensure it’d come piping hot and in constant supply.

Jack hated cold coffee almost as much as he hated sweet coffee. Whenever Rhys had gotten tied up and it’d gone cold and sour he’d refused to drink it and then ended up irritable and unproductive when he had to throw it away. Sometimes he’d sent it flying out the airlock in an attempt to cheer himself up. But the coffee machine was a much better solution and made him infinitely happier than watching globs of brown liquid float out into space like beads of oil in water.

Rhys places Jack’s mug on his desk, but even the distracting aroma of fresh brew can’t tempt Jack away from stopping Rhys’ with a sharp point to the neck.

“What’s with this frilly lil number, kiddo?”

Rhys’ eyebrow raises as he fingers the scarf at his neck, tucking his chin to look down. From this close Jack can see the pattern—stylized bees crawling over broken pieces of honeycomb, arranged diagonally from one another.

“This? I was just doing a little bit of shopping. Sometimes I like to treat myself a little bit on payday.”

“You know, Helios is kept at a constant 23 degrees, right? You don’t have to bundle up.”

Rhys smirks.

Obviously this is for fashion’s sake. See? It matches my outfit.”

The outfit in question is one of the ones Jack has otherwise memorized. He’s never said it outright, but he far prefers this one to the blue and red one he wears a lot more often. The vest has been switched out for a suit jacket with gold trim defining the lapels, which matches the silky yellow shirt Rhys keeps tucked into a pair of fitted black pants. A golden clip engraved in Hyperion’s name usually holds a black tie flat against his chest, but that’s been left home in favor of the scarf, apparently.

The whole ensemble feels a lot more coherent than the other outfit, and matches better with the bright chrome yellow of his cybernetic. Even with the latest addition, that Jack’s still busy trying to make up his mind about.

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