i want to be a crony

A. 17 is too old to binge eat Oreos.

B. if in the weeks following hot night he ate the sadness from your mouth, your aura turned lavender, your eyes went moony: you’re not in love. say it with me now. sing it like a gospel song, build a church with chicken bones.

C. you we’re alive before he kissed you. you are such goddamn sap it’s pathetic to share a skin with you.

D. don’t think anything has changed just because you feel wanted. you still watch horror movies when you’re sad until you lose your empathetic capacity and stop recoiling when the knife shoves and twists, when you hear bones snap, until bodies look like toys that just have but red stuffing inside and you’re so numb you think you’re in a video game.

E. you’re still not afraid of running with scissors.

F. you still get wet between the legs at the thought of stealing concealer from rite aid.

G. you are still fucked. his tongue will freeze against that heart of yours. don’t kick yourself.

H. you can kill yourself if you want, though, lol.

I. 17 is too old to repeat funny things you hear in movies and slip them into loud group conversations you feel left out of and pretend you made them up.

J. he has an ex, and he told you about the long entangled pain of her hands (probably more feminine than yours) around his heart for 3 years. how did it hurt the most when she finally stopped clogging his arteries with her acrylics? how did it hurt more when she finally let go? she wrote him a poem about the break up, you smirk, and look evil, and try not to laugh, cause in your mind it’s drawn in crayon and rhymes “lies” with “eyes”, and she spent nearly two hours on it, and posted it to her private instagram without context. fucking poem, yeah right. fucking writer, yeah right. you could write a love song about garlic bread and it would make him break down on his knees.

K. in regards to the aforementioned, you are fundamentally mean. you can take pills for that. or: you should take a blade to where that shit lives. you should carve it out and use the hole to hide a flask so you can swallow something to burn the venom when it starts to bubble up again. and it will bubble up again.

L. simultaneously you are kinder than you think. she makes him believe he’s lonely, and so he stays and loves her. you make him believe he’s lovely, and so he leaves and loves himself.

M. you hate your body because you think it’s too strong. you force yourself to eat pounds of sugar so the hem of your skirt will glitter like your eyes don’t, and boys will pay attention to that and not your droopy face. your stomach regurgitates. armor doesn’t work when you wage war with yourself.

N. keep your hair in braids. keep your entitlement on a yoke.

O. you’re old enough now to stop pulling out memories from the back of the fridge at the bottom of the leftovers and force them down my gullet even when their 8 years old and buzzing with mold.

P. you have stopped pretending you don’t have a gag reflex just to get rotten things into you, just to get a boy to swear you’re an angel. (the pretty white birthday cake. with the pink frosting between the layers, with the red frosting “a” in “Happy” smushed into the plastic tupperware like all splat! like red dead bird guts on the window, and everybody stops and turns their heads and is quiet for a in a minute long funeral made of wrinkled skin and blue eyeshadow as high as the eyebrow).

Q. I’m not living off of dead things anymore.

R. yes this is in first person now, I can feel the blood coming back to my toes, pins and needles has never felt this good, I think i love this body,

S. i think I don’t need a reason to live anymore, because I had to die so many times before I could cut this nostalgia out of me, this pregnancy of memories, and eat it raw again like placenta, that blood around my mouth is my search warrant for purpose.

T. And everybody has told me the meaning of life, everybody has told me I look beautiful in white, but I have never agreed with either. But I’m so beautiful in red, when I’m covered in blood. I go all splat, my neck snaps like in the horror movies i have gotten so good at being numb to, and everyone stops and stares.

U. it is a celebration not a funeral, or a celebration of a funeral.

V. but I can use this, this wrench was made for broken things, this fork and knife was not made for surgery, don’t treat yourself like a slab of meat

W. yeah you are not a prodigy in any right, yeah you can be such a bitch sometimes, yeah you have not had real friends in about 2 years, yeah he doesn’t want to fuck you, so don’t be happy. don’t be happy, that way you can cut yourself with this poem and heal yourself with it by the end. get your music on, lock your razor with your pressed flowers, this roadtrip is gonna take sometime, I need to know you’ll stay alive for the whole thing.

X. this is not a happy poem. i don’t know how to write a happy poem yet. this is a poem with both of my eyes open, not written at 3 am. i will write a happy poem when I’m fucking happy, so for now i feed this sad poem the buttercups and raw meat that clot your veins to grow it big and strong

Y. and this monster will come alive to pull me to the light someday.

Z. 17 is before the storm, as traditional as it may be. So run after the ice cream truck, eat all the Oreos you want, buy them with your pocket change, scrape them from the bottom of a glass of milk.

17 is too young to feel so hurt. 17 is to young to hold back like some boring cubicle crony. 17 is too young for all these rules.

—  hey, happy birthday!! the big one seven lmao, what do u want? I mean like if u could have anything, what would u want?

so, i know everyone likes to talk about how luke, after showing up in his new black jedi outfit and fresh lightsaber, levels up and suddenly is capable of killing everyone on jabba’s sail barge but like

think about this. luke grew up on tatooine. he might have lived out in the desert equivalent of the sticks on a farm his whole life, but tatooine was his home, and the inhabited region is relatively small. luke knew about slavery and he knew about the hutts, he had to know his history. he knew about jabba, everyone did. maybe he heard uncle owen and aunt beru at night when he was supposed to be asleep, dejectedly discussing how they were going to pay the tax imposed by the hutts during a drought. maybe his uncle took little luke into anchorhead for errands and he saw a child, just like him, only not, because she was not free. maybe he went to school with a boy who didn’t return the next year because his parents were killed by jabba’s cronies for failure to pay tribute to him. 

luke grew up on tatooine, and to grow up on tatooine is to grow up in the shadow of slave traders and crime lords, chief among them jabba desilijic tiure. and luke, who wanted to save everyone, never could do a damn thing about it.

so when he finally does have a chance to rid tatooine, to rid his home, of that monster, he doesn’t hold back. “i used to live here,” he tells han, and it’s not an ironically sentimental remark. it’s a resolve. and when he fights, it’s for his friends, yes, but it’s also for his planet.

and isn’t it fitting? tatooine, after all, remembers anakin skywalker not as the chosen one, but as a slave who made it out. tatooine, after all, has the biggest claim to the legacy of shmi and anakin skywalker. after all these years, all these trips around the galaxy, the children who despite everything are formed of the dust of tatooine return to deliver this desert world and its people from the evil that is the hutt clan.

and i like to think that, after the empire is defeated, they return. it’s partially for personal reasons, leia needing some sort of explanation and luke needing some sort of closure, but when they have found all the answers that can be given, there’s still something else. luke sees to it that the last of the slaves are freed, and leia uses the resources of the new republic to organize a resettlement initiative. they destroyed the old order in anger, in defiance, in desperation. now there is a void to fill, and this time, when luke looks out at the setting suns from the spot that was once his home, it is with compassion and hope.

I think the reason why I surprisingly loved The Cursed Child was because it was finally a story about kids who didn’t enjoy school, who didn’t think they were living the best years of their lives. I guess we all always wanted to go to Hogwarts because it’s magical and amazing, but realistically, high school life is more about never wanting to go back, being bad at everything, wanting to be invisible and holding onto one good friend than whatever Harry or “Sirius Black and his cronies” had

Imagine saving Obi-Wan’s life

Requested by Anonymous: Ooohhh what about one where the reader is a civilian and obi wan is on a mission and obi wan is being cornered by a bunch of people and the reader sees this and runs to help even though she doesn’t know obi and she kicks butt and he takes an interest in her. (Fighting kind of like Rey style with a bow staff thing) thanks a ton love!

           “Stop right there, Jedi scum!”

           The cry startles you, nearly jolting your carved wooden staff out of your grasp as you whirl around, searching for the source of the voice. A Jedi? In my neighborhood?

It was almost unheard of for anyone higher than a member of the underworld police to visit this dank, dark corner of Coruscant’s underbelly. In the hazy, artificial lighting, you glimpse a robed figure sprinting through the crowded street, trailed by a gang of some rather repulsive looking convicts- straight into a shadowy alley. You recognize their filthy garments as a particular mob you had faced off to about a week ago, and a sliver of curiosity pricks at your consciousness as you wonder momentarily if a legendary creature such as a Jedi could defeat them.

           Despite your better judgement, your legs stealthily pull you in the direction of the unfortunate Jedi, whilst doing your best to remain unseen by any other criminals. Breathing in and out steadily, you inhale the revolting scent of the garbage-ridden under city, a stench which you have grown accustomed to after spending your youth scrabbling out a living for yourself amongst corruption and riff-raff. More likely than not, you probably reeked of the refuse yourself, but you didn’t care. Cleanliness is all but a foreign concept to your mind, as is the sun, which never had shone in this slum a single day in your life.

           As you near the alleyway, an unfamiliar sound catches you off guard, and you stiffen uncertainly. Gingerly peering around the durasteel wall, you glimpse the Jedi holding a lazer sword- no, a lightsaber! Its cobalt beam illuminates the warrior, a young man only a few years older than you, clean shaven, with short fair hair that contains a long, thin braid behind his right ear. His blue eyes sparkle in the illumination coming from his lightsaber, and for a moment, you are enthralled by the way he wields the anciently designed weapon with practiced ease and grace.

           However, the moment soon dissipates as you realize that the number of cronies surrounding him is far more than you had recently expected. Although the nearby lighting is incredibly dim, the Jedi’s saber illumes at least fifteen gruesome assailants, and you can tell from the expression on his face that he is coming to the same conclusion.

           “You don’t want to do this,” the young Jedi states, doing his best to reason with the convicts surrounding him. His voice is surprisingly peaceful and smooth, despite the anxiety written across his face. “I have the stronger weapon here, and you would be fools to try and combat it.”

           “And what’s to say we don’t have other weapons?” one of the larger, more overpowering delinquents barks, laughing to himself coldly. A sense of dread comes over you, as well as pity for the young, terrified Jedi.

           Before you can stop yourself, you burst from your hiding place, brandishing your staff and doing your best to appear as commanding as possible. “And what’s to say that the Jedi doesn’t either?”

           Suddenly, the crowd shifts as the convicts turn to face you in the darkness. A worried look crosses the Jedi’s face, and he shakes his head slowly towards you, warning you against protecting him.

           “Y/N!” the larger felon greets you in a mocking tone. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here! Causing trouble again, I see?”

           Before you are given a chance to reply, the cronies are suddenly attacking you left and right, and it’s all you can do to fend them off with your strong, wooden staff. However, as they each come, you become more confident, as though an invisible force is guiding your movements, and the staff collides with their pale, pallid skin. Everything around you is a wild blur, and then it is over as soon as it began, with unconscious bodies lying in each direction and the remaining convicts fleeing from you.

           Exhaustion creeps over your body, and you slump against the wall, gasping for air as sweat drips down your forehead. Amidst the smoke and haze surrounding you, the young Jedi appears in front of your vision, a wide smirk painted across his features.

           “That was incredibly fine, brave work you did there,” the Jedi grins, pulling you to your feet. “Thank you. What is your name?”

           “Y/N,” you pant, meeting his bright blue eyes. “You?”

           “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the Jedi replies, tucking the hilt of his lightsaber into his belt. “I am a Padawan at the Jedi temple, and was sent down here on a mission of importance when I ran into those disheveled fellows. You truly saved my life back there, and that was some impressive combat with your staff.”

           “Thank you,” a smile breaks out onto your face. “It was really no trouble at all. That gang is particularly nasty, and they have no regard for anyone who isn’t one of their own.”

           “It would seem that way,” Obi-Wan laughs. “It is getting late, and I would like to repay you for saving my life. Would you allow me to buy you dinner? It is the least I can do for you.”

           “Seriously?” you feel your jaw drop in surprise. A Jedi is asking to have dinner with me? A homeless person? “I- I mean- yes! Yes! Thank you!”

           A chuckle emerges from Obi-Wan. “Come along then, Y/N. There’s a particularly nice place on the upper levels I’ve been meaning to try for some time now…”

           As he begins to strike up a playful conversation with you, a wide beam comes over your face as you consider the once in a lifetime opportunity placed before you, and when he offers you an arm to escort you to the upper levels of the city, you don’t hesitate to lean into him.

Anon asked: For hs au angst- maybe something where dean and Cas are best friends and the entire school knows Cas likes dean except for dean (too paranoid about people realizing he likes Cas to notice) and some school bullies give Cas a fake love letter from dean. Cas tells dean he feels the same way and dean is really confused. The bullies laugh and Cas realizes it’s fake and runs away and starts angsting all over the place so dean has to calm him down and then happy ending where dean says he likes Cas too

Castiel walked into the high school on the first day, keeping his head down and trying to stay pout of everyone’s way. He almost made it to his locker before he felt hands on his back, shoving him. He fell into the floor, smacking his head against the linoleum. He looked just in time to see the jerseys of several football players go by and hear their laughter.

“Stay out of our way, fag!” One of them said and the others laughed again.

Castiel said and pushed himself up a little, quickly gathering his books. Another pair of hands appeared and he looked up into the face of his best friend. They stacked the books and Dean helped him up off of the floor.

“You okay, Cas?” He asked, brushing his fingers over the red spot on his forehead. Castiel hissed a little, but nodded.

“I’m fine.” Dean looked doubtful, but he didn’t push.

“I went by your house to pick you up this morning,” He said, as the continued down the hall. “But your mom said you had already left.”

“I walked,” Castiel told him. “I figured you’d have Sam and Lisa and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“You’re never in the way, Cas,” Dean leaned against the lockers next to Castiel’s. “Besides, me and Lisa broke up.”

“What? Why?” Dean shrugged.

“It was just getting old, I guess.” It was Castiel’s turn to give the doubtful look. Dean laughed a little and threw his arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“Seriously, Cas, we just weren’t into each other anymore. It was summer fling.”

“Right.” They stopped in front of Castiel’s home room and he studied Dean for a moment. “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay?”

“Course I would.” Castiel nodded and gave Dean a small smile before going into his classroom. He took a seat beside Charlie, who immediately started questioning him.

“So, Dean and Lisa broke up.” Castiel rolled his eyes at her and pulled his book from his bag.


“And? He’s single now. You have to go for it!” Charlie exclaimed.

“There is nothing to ‘go for,’ Charlie. Dean is straight.”

“Oh, puh-lease. It’s so obvious that you guys have something going on!”

“All that’s going on is our friendship,” Castiel mumbled, hiding behind his book. Charlie was quiet for and a moment later she was in front of him, gently lowering his book so that she could meet his eyes.

“You should at least give it a try, Cas. The worst thing that could happen is that he says no.”

“No, the worst thing that could happen is that our friendship would be ruined. Just let it go. Nothing is ever going to happen.” Castiel buried his face in his book again, hoping that she’d go away. Charlie sighed and ruffled his hair lightly before moving back to her desk.

Castiel hoped that that would be the only time his and Dean’s relationship would be called into question this year.


The first few weeks of the semester went smoothly enough. Dean remained single, though he did hook up with quiet a few girls when he had the chance. Mostly, though, he spent time with Castiel and Sam, watching movies and playing video games. Castiel didn’t even mind when Dean chose the same five movies over and over again, he was just happy to bask in his presene for a while.

The bullies didn’t give Castiel much trouble either. Occasionally he would be shoved into lockers or have cruel names thrown at him, but they ignored him for the most part.

One day, Castiel was walking down the hall, a bit late because he had stayed behind in his English class to ask about an assignment, when he was suddenly surrounded by a group of boys in jerseys.

“Well, look what we have here, boys,” Gordon Walker said, an evil smile spreading over his face.

“Please, leave me alone,” Castiel said, looking at the floor, as if making eye contact would cause them to attack.

“Please leave me alone,” Gordon mocked, stepping closer. “We don’t want fags like you in our school, Novak. Watching you and Winchester together, makes me sick.”

“There is no romantic connection between Dean and myself,” Castiel told them, hoping that it would sway them enough to leave him alone.

“We’ve still got to teach you a lesson. You don’t need to try to recruit anyone else.”

Castiel wasn’t sure which of them struck first, but before he could try to get away they were all hitting him. He curled innon himself and tried to protect his face, praying that they would be bored with him soon.

“Hey!” All the jocks froze as a voice echoed down the hall. Castiel caught a glimpse of Bobby Singer, one of the teachers and a close friend of Dean’s family, storming towards them. “Don’t you try to run from me! Get back here, you’re all going to the office.”

Castiel ended up sitting by himself outside the principals office with an ice pack on his face. The door opened and the other boys filed out.

“We’re going to get you for this, Novak,” Gordon growled as he walked by. Bobby laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“You alright, kid?” Castiel nodded. “You let me know if those botys bother you again, okay?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The principal made Castiel fill out an incident report and informed him that the other boys had been expelled for three days and would sit out several games. Castiel thanked him and went to class.

He was getting his stuff out of his locker at the end of the day when gentle hands grabbed him and spun him around. Castiel looked at the floor as Dean took in the bruises on his face.

“Jesus, Cas,” He said, softly.

“I’m okay. Bobby caught them before they could cause any serious harm.” Dean shook his head, smiling a little.

“I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?”

He threw his arm over Castiel’s shoulder and they walked out to the parking lot, Dean questioning Castiel about what happened as they went.


Castiel opened his locker and a folded piece of notebook paper fluttered to the floor by his feet. He placed the books that he didn’t need in the locker and shoved the rest into his backpack before stooping to pick it up.


I don’t really know how to say this out loud, so I tried to make it make since here.

I like you. I have for a long time, I just didn’t realize it. I tried to fight it atb first because you’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose you, but I’m sick of fighting it.

I want to be with you, Cas. Let me know if you feel the same way.


Castiel stared at the note, shocked. He looked down the hall and saw Dean leaning against his locker. Their eyes met and he smiled at Castiel in a way that made his heart race.

Castiel took a deep breath, summoned all of his courage and walked down the hall to him.

“I do.” Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion and he tilted his head a bit.


“Your note,” Castiel said, dread filling his stomach as he held the paper out. “I want to be with you, too.”

“Cas,” Dean said, looking at the note, then meeting his eyes again. “I didn't–”

Loud laughter echoed down the hall. Castiel and Dean both looked at the same time and saw Gordon and the others watching them. The note slipped from Castiel’s fingers as he realized what was really going on.


He didn’t stay to hear whatever Dean was going to say. He ran for the quickest exit, ignoring the shouts of complaint that came from the students he pushed out of his way.

How could he have been so stupid? What could possibly make him think that Dean actually wanted him? He had ruined everything.

He wondered if Dean would be willing to overlook this and continue being friends or if they would just never speak again. He was so worried about what happened that he didn’t notice the car pulling up behind or the boy calling his name.

“Cas!” Castiel cried out in surprise as Dean grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel babbled. “I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. Obviously you would never–”

He was interrupted by Dean’s mouth on his his. The kiss lasted just long enough to take his breath away and leave him wanting more.

“I may not have written that note,” Dean said, softly, his lips still brushing against Castiel’s as he spoke. “But it was exactly what I could never say.”

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and kissed him again, making a mental note to thank Gordon and his cronies for bringing them together.

Who should you fight?: Star Wars Rebels edition
  • Kanan: Yeah, you probably COULD fight him, but really the poor guy has already been through enough. Plus, he'd kick your ass and look good doing it.
  • Hera: Why would you want to fight Hera? Don't be mean to space mom, you'll have the rest of the family on you in half a second, IF she doesn't just shoot you first herself.
  • Chopper: Are you insane!? One does not simply fight Lord Chopper.
  • Zeb: Do not fight Zeb, He can and probably will rip your head off your shoulders.
  • Sabine: Fight Sabine. You will die but it will be worth it. Who knows, maybe she'll even make you part of her latest piece of art!
  • Ezra: Sure, go ahead, fight him. He's probably done something to earn it. There's a 50% chance he'll make a fool out of himself and it will be hilarious and totally worth the eventual ass whooping.
  • Kallus: You will be doing a great service to the galaxy by fighting Kallus. Please knock his pompous ass down a few pegs.
  • Maketh Tua: This is one fight you can win easily. Absolutely go for it.
  • The Grand Inquisitor: I would just start running now bro.
  • Seventh Sister: Do it for the children. Save them from her creepy obsession.
  • Fifth Brother: If you can fight smart then you might last a little while against this dude. Just don't try to fight him head on you'll probably get curb stomped.
  • Vizago: He won't even fight you himself, the coward. He'll just let his IG-RM bodyguards fight you instead.
  • Azmorigan: It will be so much fun kicking his ass. Definitely do it, but only once you've got his cronies out of the way.
  • Hondo: You can't fight Hondo. It's pretty much impossible to get into an actual fight with him because he just doesn't. Stop. TALKING.
  • Cham: pLEASE DO! This asshole deserves to be punched in the face. Do it for Hera.
I got the government involved.

(warning: long story)

So a couple of years ago I worked as a CDL driver for a small construction company in a dumpy little oil town in Utah. Right when I had my interview with them, I knew they were real jerks by their attitudes, but hey I needed money and was still going through flight school. The owner and his cronies would drive up in their huge trucks every morning and belittle anyone who didn’t have a huge truck or be in their circle of douchiness with them. (I drove a Subaru)

Since nobody had a CDL except one other guy, I had to drive their crappy dump truck and pull a work trailer. This truck wasn’t licensed with DOT and neither was the trailer. They wouldn’t pass inspection, so the cronies would drive out to the job site ahead of me and scout out any DOT vehicles waiting to pull people over. If the coast was clear, I would drive out to the job site. It gets worse.

They also had a hydrovac truck. This was a piece of equipment that would blast a jet of high pressure water into the ground to break it up, and then suck up all the mud. It was primarily used to expose leaky oil pipe lines to be later fixed, and then suck up all the remaining contaminated mud after it was sprayed. It’s a glorified wet vac. You could tell where a pipe was leaking because the ground turned grey and black. I had to drive this piece of equipment too.

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[KaiKeiKou] My place to be (is by your side)

Kei, Kai, Kou, and the place they call home.

A self-indulgent story where everything is over and everyone gets a happy ending.

Available in AO3

I want to do something about Satou!

Being with Kou was like sitting close to a fire that burnt so brightly that you are afraid that it might catch you and set you ablaze. But Kei was water and he flowed gently at his own pace, never afraid that he would be burnt and yet he stayed close. He had promised, too. And Kei didn’t like to break promises when he could help it.

Kou is stupid, he himself admitted it, and Kei always had soft spot for people who didn’t know much but tried their absolute best to make a difference. It was always interesting to see other people try and try for a better world without thinking much about themselves, being around such people made him a front-row spectacle of a fine life that he aspired to have but didn’t have the capacity to actually be a fine human being.

(And a fine human being was the something he absolutely couldn’t be. He wasn’t even a human, let alone a fine one. Nagai Kei is a cold-hearted ajin who didn’t even change after he was tortured into the brink of insanity. That was just who he was, a selfish being who thinks nothing other than himself…

…but it was enough to watch others strive to make a difference, Kou was a better human being (?) than he could ever be, anyway)

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anonymous asked:

More obikin, with suitless Vader please?

The bells around his ankles chimed with every step he took with his bare feet and as much as he wanted to wince from the sound alone, the former Jedi managed to keep his face blank. If only because he didn’t want to give more fodder to the Empire’s cronies tales.

Instead he made his way to the top of the table and stopped at Vader’s side. “You summoned me?” He asked quietly.

“You’re late.” Lazy eyes peered up at him, silvers of amusement in them, recognizing his former masters dislike of the bells at his ankles.

“I was with the twins.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and felt a twinge of discomfort as yellow eyes traced the v of his tunic that showed part of his collarbone and neck.

“Of course. I’m starting to regret giving you permission to come and go to them as you wish, since its depriving me of your company.” Vader drawled before standing, peering down at his former master. Obi-Wan hated how his shoulders hunched in on themselves on instinct, trying to make himself seem smaller in front of the man that had once been his padawan.

Vader however seemed to enjoy it as he smirked and nodded to the rest of his entourage before slipping his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and leading him away. “The Emperor has been kind enough to give me control of Naboo and a few weeks of leave from my position.” He drawled.

“How magnanimous of him.” The former Jedi murmured before yelping as he was pushed against the wall, the back of his head cracking unpleasantly against the durasteel wall, pinned between it and Anakin’s warm body as the robotic hand rested against his throat, cold and heavy.

“Considering the pardon he extended to you at my behest, very.” Vader growled at him, a warning that Obi-Wan was overstepping himself once again.

The copper haired man flinched when a softer human hand caressed his cheek.

“You shouldn’t fear me, I wouldn’t harm you Obi-Wan.” Vader lost the growl.

“Not sure I believe that Va-” The hand at his throat tightened slightly in warning. “…Anakin, you have proven yourself quite capable of many things I did not believe of you.” Obi-Wan offered and Vader hummed at him, leaning in to gently nose at his neck. “I know the transition from honored Jedi Master to pampered war prisoner has been a rough transition for you, but aren’t you happy I let you see the twins at least. I don’t want to harm you former master of mine, I only want you safe, cared for, with me.” He slipped his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, dominating hands settling on his narrow hips and pulling the redhead from the wall and against his own body.

He nudged the others head to the left with his nose, exposing more of the others throat to his lips. “We are leaving for Naboo, today. The twins will visit Padme’s grave, we’ll stay at one of the summer palaces and we will enjoy ourselves. I hope this is agreeable?” He murmured against the pale freckled skin.

He felt the other hesitate before Obi-Wan sighed and gave a slight nod.


Dealing With Draco - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warning: Graphic Smut & Strong Language.


It was a brilliantly hot midsummer’s afternoon and for once you were looking forward to heading down to the coolness of the dungeons for your potions class. 

Your friend Phoebe Entwistle however, was not so excited about the prospect as she knew she would have to be in the presence of Draco Malfoy, a tall boy with shockingly white-blond hair and grey eyes that bore into you whenever he spoke to you - or more likely took the piss out of you.

Draco fancied himself as a ladies man and would go to extreme lengths to make girls feel nervous in his presence.

He had this effect over Phoebe in particular, and she hated him for it. 

“Can we not skip Potions today Y/N? I’m really not up for it.” she questions, already knowing the answer.

“You know we can’t Phoebe, we need to finish this potion today and Snape will be furious if we miss it,” you answer sympathetically. “Listen, if he starts with you, I’ll tell him precisely what I think of him and his sharp tongue.” you jokingly add.

Phoebe gave you a half hearted smile as you walk into Potions and took your seats at the back of the classroom. 

Sure enough, as soon as you sat down Draco was there, perching himself proudly on top of his stool with Blaise Zabini taking the stool to his right. 

You felt Phoebe begin to shift in her seat as Draco shot her a sarcastic smile. 

“Afternoon ladies.” he smirks. 

You begin to open your mouth to let him know that today isn’t the day for stupid games when Professor Snape swooped into the class and you thought better of it and simply gave Phoebe a reassuring smile. 

Throughout the lesson Malfoy did his best to make Phoebe feel uncomfortable and when the lesson ended and your best friend scurried to the common room without so much as a backward glance, you decided it was high time someone brought Malfoy down a peg or two and marched after him. 

“Malfoy!” you snap.

“Oh, hey Y/L/N, come to ask me to dinner?” he jokes, looking around at his cronies for support. 

“Why the fuck would I want to go to dinner with an obnoxious brat like you!?” you fume at him. “What is your problem anyway? Why can’t you go through one potions lesson without arsing around with Phoebe and making her feel so uncomfortable that she’d rather skip lessons and have detention than go to class?” 

“Oh I see what the problem is here, you’d rather me ‘arse’ around with you instead Y/N?” he sniggers. 

“WHAT!? No, I err, NO that’s not what the problem is Malfoy.” you splutter, feeling his piercing eyes travel up and down your body and subconsciously wishing that it was winter so that you’d have had more clothes on. 

“Boys, you head up to dinner while I chat to Y/L/N about all these problems she has with me.” his friends look at each other knowingly and leave with a smirk. 

Draco takes several steps towards you and you can feel his minty breath on your face. 

“Do I make you nervous Y/N?” he asks, backing you up against the cold stone walls of the dungeons. 

“No.” you lie, gazing up at his grey eyes and realising for the first time how good looking he really is. 

“Well then why do you look like a rabbit caught in the headlights?” he grins, his eyes roving and coming to a halt at your chest. 

“Oh, yes, I do like this,” he hooks his fingers into the top of your partially buttoned shirt, pulling it down and revealing more of your cleavage. 

“Mm, I like this very much.” his eyes flick back up to yours and you can do nothing but stare at him; how his cold eyes feel like they undress you on the spot, how his defined jawline moves every time he speaks, the perfect pout of his lips. 

You feel your fingers entwine in his as he raises your arms above your head, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want me Y/L/N?” he whispers into your ear, making sure his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your lobes. 

Letting out a reluctant moan you feebly try to protest; What would Phoebe say? What would anyone say if they knew you were down in the dungeons with Draco Malfoy, him pinning you against the wall with your arms held above your head? 

But you can’t help yourself, you’re loving every second of it and you can feel your underwear getting wetter and wetter. 

“Do you want me?” he demands, his eyes once again delving into your own. 

“Yes.” was the only word you could muster.

“'Yes’ what?” he asks.

“Yes, Draco.” you whimper.

“Good girl,” he smirks “now come with me.” he commands, as he leads you towards the Slytherin common room and into his bedroom.  

“I’m not supposed to be here.” you state.

“That makes it even better, besides, everyone’s at dinner.” he whispers, loosening your tie and unbuttoning your shirt with ease, leaving them both to drop to his floor. 

His eyes, filled with lust, wander down to your breasts.  

“You’re so fucking hot.” he breathes, reaching up to massage them. 

“Kiss me.” you demand. 

Pulling you closer to him, you feel his hardening member underneath his trousers as he tilts your head upwards to kiss you violently. 

You take off his shirt and he lifts you off the ground. Wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively, you moan in delight as you feel his now rock solid penis through the thin lace of your underwear.

He carries you over to his bed and lays you down gently. 

“Well, well this is a pretty sight,” Draco mutters. “You don’t know how badly I want you right now Y/N.” he states.

“Oh, I think I do.” you giggle, nodding towards the bulge in his trousers. 

Draco kneels down in front of you, sliding your skirt slowly down your legs. 

You sit up to kiss him but he lays you back down and begins to kiss your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin while his hands knead your breasts.

Taking off your bra he leans down to flick your nipple with the tip of his tongue, causing you to moan and writhe beneath him. 

“Ohh, Draco!” you exclaim, feeling his trademark smirk against your skin as he sucks and teases your nipples.

You feel his hand snaking down your stomach and pull at the seam of your underwear. His long fingers tracing your soaking wet folds as he continues to take off your underwear.

“You like that Y/N?” he asks, smirk still in place. 

“Oh, yeah, please Draco.” you moan. 

“Please what, Y/N? What do you want me to do to you?” he asks, lust etched into his voice. 

“Finger me, Draco, please!” you beg. 

“My pleasure.” he says, slowly pushing his finger into your dripping pussy.  

“Oh fuck babe, you’re so tight.” he moans leaning closer to kiss you deeply.  

Your tongues explore each others’ mouths as you rock your hips to the rhythm of his finger gently stroking your inner walls. His pace is so agonisingly slow that you can take it no longer, you need to feel him deeper inside your throbbing core. 

“Fuck me Draco.” you plead. 

But as you sit up and begin taking off his trousers he stops you and pushes you back down onto the bed.

“Oh no, no, no, Y/N. I want this to last. Anyway, I’m an obnoxious brat am I not?” he sniggers, placing himself in between your legs and bringing them over his shoulders, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

You close your eyes and begin to protest.

“Oh please Draco, I’m completely naked on your bed and I’m yet to even see your dick! It’s not fai- Ohh!” you moan loudly as you feel his warm tongue suddenly tracing circles into your clit. Without warning, he dips his tongue inside your tight pussy, sucking your juices from deep inside you. 

“Mm Y/N, you taste so fucking good!” he growls, lifting his head to reveal his mouth and chin covered in your glistening wetness. 

“Oh Draco for fuck sake don’t stop!” you cry out, running your fingers through his hair and pulling his head back down to satisfy your need. 

Your hips buck and you can’t help but grind your pussy into his encouraging tongue, all the while Draco’s grey eyes are fixed onto yours, studying your responses. 

He suddenly pumps two fingers inside you furiously whilst continuing to suck your clit at a torturously slow pace.

“Ugh Draco I’m coming!!” you scream as he brings you over the edge, your legs shaking as he continues tongue fucking you until your writhing subsides. 

When your ragged breathing finally returns to normal, you open your eyes to find Draco knelt between your legs, finally naked, his thick cock eagerly pointing forward, complete with pre-cum glimmering on its bulbous head. 

“You didn’t think I’d finished with you yet did you, Y/L/N?” he growls. 

“I sincerely hoped not, Mr. Malfoy.” you purr, reaching up to pull his face down to yours and biting his lower lip playfully.   

“I don’t know how the hell you’ve managed to not even touch yourself yet.” you utter in disbelief.

“I guess I have a lot of self control.” he replies with a grin.

“I guess you’ve had a lot of practice!” you retort. 

“Rude!” he exclaims in mock offence “I don’t see you complaining about my experienced tongue anyway.”

“Let’s hope your famous dick lives up to all the hype as well then, Draco.” you challenge him. 

Draco begins to rub his throbbing member up and down your wet slit, teasing your pussy with his cock-head. You hiss in pleasure, wanting nothing more than to cum all around his hard member.

“Let’s hope you can still walk back to your dormitory later.” he chuckles and you let out a gasp as he slowly pushes his cock into your throbbing pussy. 

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist and your arms around his back, pulling him deeper into you. His pace quickens and he begins to slam himself hard and fast into your core and your nails dig into his muscular back as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

The sounds of yours and Draco’s moans reverberate around his small dorm room and you briefly wonder if by now people have started to come back to their common rooms. Draco sucks and nibbles your neck and you soon feel your legs begin to shake again as your pussy clenches around his thick shaft. 

“Are you going to come for me Draco? Ungh, I’m so close!” you moan into his ear in ecstasy. 

Almost on queue you feel Draco’s body stiffen and his nails dig into your flesh as you both cum together. 

“Ugh, fuck Y/N. You’re fucking incredible!” he pants as he pumps his thick member into you, releasing his seed deep into your spasming core. 

Draco rolls over and pulls your spent body close to his and gently kisses your forehead. 

“Have I solved all of the problems you had with me Y/N?” he questions smugly.
You look up at his smirking face. 

“For now,” you reply “Although, I would appreciate it if you left Phoebe alone from now on.” 

“Scared you’ll get jealous?” He sniggers. 

You roll your eyes at him but secretly admit to yourself that you wish Draco Malfoy was yours. 

“Not at all, after today’s performance I think it’s safe to say that you’ve been wanting this for quite some time now, Draco.” 

“I think it’s safe to say you’re correct in thinking that, Y/L/N.” he states nonchalantly. 

You get up and dress provocatively in front of Draco without another word, his eyes roving again. 

“Well then, we’ll have to make this a regular occurrence Mr. Malfoy.” You announce before sauntering out of his room and sneaking out of the Slytherin common room with your heart in your mouth. 


My first attempt at writing any type of one-shot/imagine. I hope you enjoyed reading it!


Rejecting Pakistani and Islamic Marriage Stereotypes: why being asexual does not mean I must conform TW: Rape, marital rape, domestic violence

I am single and most definitely not ready to mingle. You may be wondering why an aromantic asexual like myself needs to worry about ‘mingling’ if it’s something I don’t want to do? Well, my fellow peers, I have the great privilege of belonging to the Pakistani Muslim community, and if you happen to be an adult woman in such a community, much like myself, you are expected to take the next step in life: marriage.

Marriage is considered a natural process amongst my people. You grow up, get an education, pursue a career if necessary (because why would a woman need to work when she will end up a housewife?) and get married. The general consensus is that a heterosexual marriage is the final step to completion for a woman. A woman is only ‘whole’ when she has a husband and children. Daughters are just extra baggage for parents until they can be married and sent away. Emphasis is laid upon the daughter, rather than the son, to find a partner, and parents go to extreme lengths and efforts in order to make that happen. Once their daughter is married, parents can sigh a relief and pat themselves on the back for doing such a great job and making it through such a difficult time. And the sons? They can wait, because “no woman is ever good enough for him anyway”. The unmarried daughters who are still trying to figure out their lives already know that we are a burden to our parents, simply because we identify with the female sex.

We know, because the one question you can guarantee any unmarried Pakistani woman has been asked by members of the community is “have you found a husband yet?” Pakistanis don’t care if you are enjoying your studies or managed to get a promotion a work, they just want to know when the next wedding will be so they can dress up and gossip with their old cronies. ‘Why are you not married yet? What are your family waiting for? Do you want to grow old and become a spinster? Is our boy not good enough for you?’ Questions asked countless times seem harmless enough to an outsider, but for the responder, it’s hard to miss their implications. The message is clear: why are you still single when you would be happier and safer with a husband?

 Yes, aunty-jee, once I am married I will be ‘happy’ and ‘safe’. I will be ‘safe’ from your intrusive questions about my personal life. I will be ‘safe’ from my own family’s criticisms and instead fall mercy to the scrutiny of my new in-laws. I will be ‘safe’ from the gossip, societal shunning and violence that unmarried Pakistani women face, and all because I have the immunity of being a wife. Yes, aunty-jee, I will most certainly be ‘safe’.

The fact that unmarried woman are not considered safe and are targets for public shaming seems to be the bigger problem here, but every Pakistani woman knows that. After all, it’s been embedded into our minds practically all our lives. Once we are old enough to understand what it means to be desirable, we are taught to condition ourselves to fit the stereotype of a good Pakistani wife. And this starts young. I’m talking about little girls at 3 yrs old using skin whitening soap so they can grow up for men to call their fair skin ‘beautiful’. I’m talking about teenage girls being told a good girl is unassuming, unassertive, submissive and obedient.

This isn’t just a few among many. I’m talking about a culture from a country perpetuated by a long history of misogyny: where sons are seen as a blessing and daughters a burden, where honour killings, daughters killed for the shame of being female, still take place, and where Malala Yousafzai was shot for campaigning for a woman’s rights to education. I’m talking about the women who are guilt tripped and shamed for their lack of femininity, the female rape victims who are shunned by society for being ‘bad luck’ and the acid attacks inflicted on women because they were ‘too successful’ for a man to bear.

Woe betide the Pakistani woman who chooses not to marry, for she will garner the hatred of all men and women who think a woman’s place is in servitude to her husband. And woe betide the Pakistani woman who wishes to marry but does not want to conform to the housewife stereotype, for she must face rejection from her own community. And woe betide again for the Pakistani woman who does marry, for her family will abandon her to suffer in silence when she becomes victim to the abuse of her husband and in-laws.

And still, you ask me, why I am worried?

I do not wish to marry because I am afraid marriage will destroy me. I am expected to marry a Muslim man, but how many will actually be accommodating to my asexuality? How many will lure me in with lies and sweet promises to treat me well and then force themselves on me once the contract is signed because it is their marital right? How many will point the finger at me, telling me “do not refuse your husband” because it has been ingrained into every single Pakistani Muslim mind that a woman is submissive and obedient. I will try to seek help from my family, who will use my religion against me and say “you are his wife, it is your Islamic duty to obey him”.

I think I do not need love if marriage is the only way to obtain it. I question why my asexuality feels like a burden on me. Why can I not assume my marriage will be a happy one? Are all people so sexually charged that to even deny sex is wrong? I am left wondering, am I a bad Muslim for not feeling sexual desire? Is my asexuality a sin? Why do I not feel pleasure when everyone else does? Why am I unable to be a good Pakistani and Muslim wife?

I look to my religion for respite. What does Allah actually say about women in marriage? Islam encourages marriage because it contributes to half your deen (faith). Marrying sooner is better for men and women who want to avoid committing illegal sexual activity outside of marriage. Marriage was also recommended by the Prophet Muhammad PBUH, and thus is considered a Sunnah. Some of the benefits to marriage are having a spouse who can provide emotional and spiritual support, receiving certain rights upon marriage and having the ability to create a family of your own.

As an aroace Muslim, I do not consider myself in need to marry for the sake of receiving spiritual and emotional support. I understand the benefits this would have for a couple who are romantically and sexually involved (and for aces who wish to marry), but fail to see how this would apply to me. In my opinion, I find it more appealing to establish that type of bond in a platonic relationship outside of marriage as it avoids all the unnecessary marital expectations that a Pakistani Muslim must face, as mentioned previously. For myself, I believe my spiritual and emotional connection to my faith works best with Allah, as there are no societal/cultural pressures which Allah imposes on me and is a relationship I can establish on my own terms.

I can dismiss the benefit of fulfilling my sexual desire without fear of sin as sexual desire is not something I experience nor is sex something I want to do either. Something worth noting though is that the Prophet PBUH did insinuate that marriage was not necessarily required for those who do not experience sexual desire as there is no fear of sin being committed. I guess you can only listen to the best, right?

Regarding the rights received once married, some would be: a wife’s right to a dowry, sexual satisfaction, financial support and good treatment by her husband. Again, for an aroace woman, none of these rights would personally benefit me as I have no wish to be satisfied sexually, nor do I have the need for someone to treat me well (that would just require good friends/family) and lastly, my aroace identity does not really affect my desire for money nor a dowry (although the extra cash would be handy, it’s not worth the hassle to get married for).

The Prophet PBUH encouraged marriage for those who would most benefit from such a contract, and I believe that, as an aroace with no particular desire for a partner, to fulfil my sexual desire nor to receive the benefits, marriage is not necessary for me. Although there is no obligation to marry in Islam, there is still pressure to conform to the general consensus amongst Muslims to get married, especially as it would be following in the example of the Prophet PBUH. As marriage is so overwhelmingly commonplace, the concept of a Muslim choosing to not marry is seen as unusual, and for someone like me, who chooses not do so for the reasons mentioned above, it is even more radical.

Although my asexuality and desire to not marry is not an issue in Islam, I find that the choices I make in how I practise my religion comes under a lot scrutiny, largely due to the fact that Muslims have a monopoly on following the Islam best tailored to their cultural environment. Muslims in general believe that the hetero-norm of marriage is the only correct way of living your adult life. This means that if I am amongst a Muslim community who believe that I should get married for the benefit of society, then I will be under societal pressure to do, regardless of what I or what Islam itself has to say on the matter.

It is here in this grey area between culture and religion that my conflicts lie. In accordance to Islam the decision to marry is my own, so even if my family and my community are pressurising me and I refuse, I am not ‘technically’ disobeying God. I say this sceptically because although it is my Islamic right to refuse, Islam also tells me that I should be obedient to my parents and avoid unnecessary conflict if they do not directly oppose Islamic teachings.

Unfortunately, this is where my culture plays an important role. If I was to refuse marriage and explicitly state so for the reasons I discussed above, my parents would assume I was intentionally causing conflict as my opinion is so obscure to the set Pakistani norm. They would consider my opinion highly disrespectful as it insults the beliefs they have held their entire lives, and as a result, I would be creating a huge division within my family. I care far too much about the relationship I have with my parents to risk breaking it by suggesting something as not getting married. To me, my parents are the most valued people in my life. They are the people who sacrificed so much in order to give me the best of everything, they fed me, clothed me and cared for me like no one else could.

I remember how my father spent 5 days every week after work tutoring us so we were ahead in class and thus had one less worry as Asian Muslims in an all-white Catholic school. How my mother worked during the day and then attended GCSE classes at night to get her UK education as she didn’t grow up here. When I realise that they must have given up their own selfish desires in order to make sure I never experienced that same sacrifice, I think to myself, surely this once, I can return the favour? If my marriage will make them happy, don’t they deserve that happiness? They deserve better than to be hurt by my own selfishness and pride. When I think about my parents in this way, I understand why God said I should listen to them.

In all honesty, I would be quite happy to avoid marriage at all costs if I could, but that would not help my circumstances nor be conducive to my family situation. As a Muslim, it is during these times I remember that this life is not my paradise. I am not a woman free from obligation, I am in subservience to my Creator, Allah, and not everything I wish for will be granted in this world. That is not the life of a Muslim, and I must remind myself that this life is a test.

As a result, I am left praying that in the near future either my opinion of marriage will change or that I will be able to find a partner understanding of my asexuality. In making this choice, I realise some may think I am no better than the society I criticise for making women conform, for I too have conformed to my own fate. Perhaps I am just a hypocrite, slave to the very traps I sought to escape, or perhaps I can reject the notion of accepting my fate quietly and instead choose to control what is inevitable, and turn it into something I will accept only on my own terms. That too, I think, is also a way to not conform.

No One Touches My Girl

Request: hey! could you please do a happy imagine where you get kidnapped by the MCs enemies?

You watched the clock impatiently, waiting for your shift to end. Happy had a rare night off and, even though he was rarely romantic, had promised to take you out for a date night. When your shift ended, you said goodbye to your replacement and eagerly left.

You fished around in your purse for your keys but when you finally found them a voice at your side caused you to jump and drop them.

“Are you Y/n Lowman?”

You turned to see a shady looking man standing uncomfortably close to you.

“Maybe. What do you want?” You started backing away from him and tried to reach in your purse for your gun.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The man nodded to someone behind you. The man who grabbed you from behind placed a cloth over your face and everything suddenly went black.

You were late. Happy impatiently chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. You were suppose to have come to the clubhouse to meet him by now. It wasn’t like you to be late, especially since you were so excited about tonight.

Happy checked his phone. You would have texted him if you had to stay at work late but you hadn’t. He called you. No answer. He waited a moment and called again. Still no answer. That worried Happy, you knew better than to ignore his calls.

He told Chucky to have you call him if you showed up at the clubhouse while he was gone and hopped on his bike to head to your house. When he got there your car was still gone, the door was still locked, and all your lights still looked off. You weren’t home and you hadn’t called so hopefully you were just still at work.

Happy immediately noticed your car still in the parking lot of your work. He parked his bike beside it and noticed your keys and purse on the ground.


Happy ran inside the store you worked at and straight up to the man at the checkout counter, completely ignoring the complaints of the customers in line.

“Hey, you can’t just-” The man behind the counter started to say but Happy shut him up by grabbing his collar and pulling him across the counter toward him.

“Where the fuck is Y/n?” Happy growled.

“I-I don’t know. Sh- she left an hour ago.” The man stammered.

“Well, her car’s still here. Did you hear anything? See anything?” Happy questioned.

“N-no, I swear.” The man responded. Happy knew he had no reason to lie to him so he threw him back across the counter.

Happy hopped back on his bike in a rage. This was bad. This was very bad but he was going to find whoever the hell took you and make them pay. For their sake, they better not have hurt you or they were really going to suffer. First, though, he needed to get back to the clubhouse.

“Someone took Y/n!” Happy announced immediately after he stormed into the clubhouse.

It took Happy a moment to realized everyone was surrounding Juice’s laptop and staring at him, slightly horrified.

“What?” He snapped.

“We were just about to call you. Someone sent a dvd into TM and addressed it to SAMCRO. You need to see this.” Jax said, looking worried. Happy pushed Juice’s chair aside so he could be in front of the laptop. He pressed play on the video.

He saw you. You were tied to a chair with duct tape over your mouth. You were inside some sort of basement or cellar, somewhere dark. You were a little bruised up but it didn’t look like anything serious, they must have been trying to keep you fairly unharmed for their own good. That wasn’t going to save them from Happy, though. No, his blood was boiling even more now. The should have never even touched you.

Your red eyes were dazed like you’d been drugged but he could see the fear in them. Your dirty face was streaked with tears.

A man stepped into the frame with a knife in his hand. Happy didn’t pay much attention to what the man was saying due to the fact that his blood was boiling after the man that had taken you had make the mistake of showing his face but he caught what was important. The man wanted guns for his gang but he didn’t want to pay for them. He was using you as a bargaining piece. He stated a place and a time for the sons to come and bring the guns.

The man ran his thumb along your jawline. The knife in his hand followed the path, gently grazing your skin. Your eyes were closed and you cringed at his touch.

“I would suggest you are there on time tomorrow. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, now would you?” The man smirked.

The screen went black.

Happy jaw was clenched and his fists so tight his knuckles were white.

“These bitches are going to pay once I get my girl back.”

“I know.” Jax said, putting his hand on Happy’s shoulder.

Happy was seeing red when your kidnappers had pulled up to the specified location but he reminded himself he needed to keep his cool for now. First he gets you back, then he kills those bastards.

“Did you bring the guns?” The man from the video asked, he seemed to be the leader.

“We did.” Jax told him. “But we want to see Y/n first.”

The man nodded to one of his cronies who opened up a door to one of their vans, revealing you. You still had duct tape over your mouth and your hands were tied. You looked a little more beaten up than before and it took all of Happy’s self control not to kill them right then. He took a step toward you but one of the men stepped in his way.

“Not until we get the guns.” The man said. Happy looked to Jax who got a bag of the guns out of a van and put them in front of the leader. The leader looked the guns over and nodded to the man blocking Happy’s path and allowing him to finally go and retrieve you.

Happy took the duct tape off your mouth as gently as he could and cut off the rope binding your wrists. He kissed you and then hugged you tightly to him as you buried your face in his chest, sobbing in relief. He led you back to the van that the prospect had driven here in and kissed you again.

“Stay in here.” He whispered to you before he shut the van door. He didn’t want to leave you but there was something he needed to do.

As Happy turned around he shot one of the men in the head and the leader in the side. He didn’t want him dead just yet. The sons quickly took care of the idiots who had dared to mess with a member’s Old Lady. When the rest of the gang was dealt with, Happy made his way over to the leader who was bleeding out on the ground.

“What the hell?” The man choked. “We kept our part of the deal.”

“You have no idea who you messed with.” Happy said as he picked up the man by the collar then proceeded to beat him bloody.

“No one touches my girl.” He hissed before stepping back and shooting him in the head. Then shooting him a few more times out of spite.

graywaran  asked:

21 or 22 (from that prompt list) with either Peter or Remus?

21. Someone making fun of you and them stopping it

I decided to use my werewolf boyfriend for this one :)

Originally posted by usthefangirlz

Keep reading

The Shirt (Newsies fic, Javid)

Summary: A tale of the shirt that David lost somewhere between “Once and for All” and the end of the movie.

(Can’t do “read more” because I’m on mobile. Sorry)


“Mouth with you?” The question, asked by Racetrack Higgins, is a particularly stupid one. It is nearly eleven at night, and Jack has been reading in bed for the past half hour.

“I keep him hidden under the blankets,” Jack answers. He flips through his book, not bothering to look at Racetrack.

“Whatever makes ya happy.”

Jack doesn’t have time to say anything, because Racetrack chooses that moment to lob a shirt at him. It is a familiar one, and Jack has to pay attention to it, because it lands right on top of his pages.

“Where’d you get this?”

The shirt is a light shade of blue, with deeper blue pin stripes. There are blotches of ink on it, sweat stains, grime and discoloration, but Jack guesses it’s in ok shape for something that’s been missing for the last four months.

“Some old guy beckoned me over while I was sellin’ and handed it to me. One of Pulitzer’s goons.”

“What’d he say? Did he threaten you?” Jack sits up in bed now. The truth is that he and David had both worried about the shirt when David had remembered, two weeks after the strike, just where he’d left it. They’d even tried to break in again to get it, and nearly broken their necks in the wild escape from Pulitzer’s guards that went on after.

“You’d figure that he would, huh?”

“So he did? What’d he say? What’s he want? Did he say anything about Dave?”

“Relax. He said us kids put out a good paper, and that his boss man sends his love but doesn’t know about Dave undressing in his basement. He’s gonna keep it a secret. It was that one that you talked terms with right after you was finished with Pulitzer. The old one with the ugly disposition. Well, they’s all old and ugly over there, but you know who I mean.”

Jack does know who Race means. Sikes or Sites or Spike or something like that. His disposition hadn’t even been that ugly, especially compared to Pulitzer’s other cronies. That isn’t to say Jack wants to hang around with him, but Jack guesses old Spike isn’t so bad.

“That’s alright then,” Jack says. He flops back in bed, shirt clutched in his hands. He brings it up to his nose, and then sneezes so hard that the book falls off the bed with a thud.“

"Guess you’re allergic to David,” Race says. “I ain’t pickin’ up the book by the way.”

“Good. I’m allergic to smart asses. If you touch my stuff I’ll probably break out in hives.”

Jack swings down from his bunk, resigned to the idea that Race is going to be as unhelpful as he possibly can.

“Why’d you sniff his shirt anyway?” Racetrack asks.

This is a fair question. Jack had barely even noticed himself doing it before it had backfired, but he guessed it was a strange thing to do.

“You like the scent of slightly stale David Jacobs in the evening?” Racetrack goads, when Jack doesn’t answer him right away.

“At least it’s better than the smell of overripe Racetrack Higgins every night of the year,” Jack answers.

“Even if he makes you sneeze?”

“Even if he makes me sneeze.”

anonymous asked:

can we get some major hurt!stiles please!! i really crave your type of agony ^^''''

Okay, well… you asked for it! And it’s Sciles day so you can read this as Sciles bromance or straight romance if you’d like!

Warnings: torture, abuse, angst, hurt!stiles



It’s silly but the one thing Stiles remember is that it’s a Tuesday.

It’s a Tuesday and he’s done his exams early and he’s going to drive back to Beacon Hills tomorrow morning and then all he has to do is wait a week for Scott to finish his exams at Santa Barbara and then they will have a whole month of Christmas break. And, yes, as his dad says, they may text literally all the time and Skype at least four times a week (often for hours) but it’s not the same. It’s been two and a half years of college now but Stiles still looks forward to breaks more than anything.

So it’s a Tuesday and Stiles is somehow already counting down the days until he can plant himself on Scott’s couch and stay there until Mrs. McCall throws them both out. And then they will move to his house. Until his dad does the same. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Maybe his mind was already on video games or maybe he was going over the questions of the exam he just took or maybe he has just let his guard down because it’s been two years and it’s Stanford.

But, regardless of the reason, he doesn’t hear them until it’s too late.

Until there’s a flurry of movement and something hits his head and the world goes dark.

(Seriously, it’s a rather dark story, it ends happily but I would not qualify it as fluff. Do not feel the need to keep reading if that’s not your cup of tea!)

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Video Game (Xbox edition)

I’m not a gamer by any means, but do you people have any idea how hard I would play a Hellsing video game?

Seras is once again the main character. She starts out in the church with her buddies, and along the way you can look around and spot bloodstains and shit, maybe fight off a few ghouls with your gun just to get a demo on how to use your weapon. Then you get captured by the vampire priest then shot through the tit and Alucard takes you in. Then you meet the Hellsing crew, and off on your next mission you go, where you learn about your new powers and access them and shit while you go into a blood rage (the screen turns red when you get the power boost to make it more dramatic).

You then get to fight against your ghoulish former work associates while the manor is attacked and help Walter kick the shit out of Jan.

You go on your mission to Rio and have to have a little battle with Alucard, maybe aggressively alternate between A and B when he grabs you by the shirt to fend him off, and if you don’t you die. Then you help him with Alhambra.

And then. AND THEN.

You get to episode fucking six and seven, where you get to battle shit out with vampire nazis. Not good enough? You get to the illusion with Zorin, where you have to fight in the flashback as a little girl against the murderers who broke in. Remember those powers you learned about in the first episode? You learn how to access them WHEN YOU PAINT THE WALLS WITH ZORIN’S BRAINS. Still not good enough? You get to pummel even more Nazi vampires while in the midst of an epic battle with your master lending you some of his ghouls to rid the city. Then you get to aggressively slam the A and B buttons back and forth again to hold Anderson’s blade away from Alucard until he finally comes to.

You fight off the Nazi werewolf with Pip’s help, even though you’re on like your last ten points of health left because you had to take the hits like he told you to.

Seems a little short, right? But along the way, you get to go on a shit-ton of side quests because you’re a part of the mercenary group Integra hires and you get to help out everyone in other numerous battles and go on missions to help them in their personal lives.

Still seems too short? At the end of the game, you realize you’ve unlocked a character. Who?




I know you’re not alone right now, but I really need to talk. I’m supposed to let it go, but I can’t. They don’t get to win, not like this. When we came here, I thought it was finally over. No more running and hiding and lying. I really believed that the truth was going to free us, but now I’m trapped in an even bigger lie. The world doesn’t know that Amanda is alive, but I do, because Ryan believed in the truth. He died for the truth, and I can’t let that be for nothing. Going after her means breaking some promises I made, but I don’t see another way. I can’t trust the system, not with this. It’s failed me–all of us–too many times. Jones and his cronies, they need to pay. I want them to die with the whole world watching so everyone knows who they really are and what they’ve done. Taking them on I can’t do it alone. I know it’s asking a lot, but I need you. Hey. I need your help one last time. I got a message for you. We started this fight together, just you and me. A lot has happened since then, but I know that this is how it’s supposed to end. It’s time to finish what we started.

Creepypasta #843: I Used To Play A Game Called Worryland. I Don’t Like To Play Video Games Anymore.

Length: Super long

Change is terrifying, especially when you’re young. For an eight year old boy like me, moving across the country was the biggest change imaginable. When you’re young, leaving the few friends that you’ve made behind feels like the end of the world. I don’t remember the move to Giliman very well, I just remember crying the whole way there.

My parents repeatedly tried to console me. They assured me that I’d make new friends, and that the town of Giliman had much better parks and open-spaces to play in. I refused to listen.

“Bryan, you’re going to love it in Giliman, I promise!” My dad was driving the moving truck we rented. 

“No. I hate Giliman. I want to go back to Springfield.” 

“Oh Bryan, I’m sure you’ll love it when we get there.” My mom echoed this sentiment. “Roger doesn’t seem to mind moving, does he Bryan?”

Of course my younger brother didn’t mind moving. He was four years old and was too young and dumb to understand what was happening. He just sat in his car seat next to me, playing with his little stuffed alligator toy.

“Ugghh. Mom, Roger doesn’t care because he’s still little! If he was my age, he’d want to go back to Springfield too!”

Roger protested the fact that I’d called him little, but quickly went back to playing with his toy. I continued to cry and moan for as much of the drive as I could.

The drive from Springfield to Giliman is around thirteen hours, so we didn’t arrive until it was almost midnight. Another moving truck had already dropped off our beds and moved them inside, so we could go to sleep when we arrived. As angry as I was about the move, I was happy to be able to sleep in my own bed, even if I would have preferred it to be in a different location.

I went to bed full of resentment and sadness, directed at my parents, of course. Knowing what I know now, I wish I’d appreciated them more. They tried so hard to make me happy. I wish I had been nicer to them, and complained less about the move. I wish I’d been a better son, while I still had the chance. When I think about the fall we moved to Giliman, I think of what could have been different. That horrible game ruined everything.

Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. I grew up in the 90’s. The year we moved was 1995, and like every other eight year old, I was infatuated with my Super Nintendo Entertainment System (which we called an SNES, as I’m sure everyone knows). I plugged more time into that gaming system then I’m proud to admit – it was truly my prized possession.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the game cartridge that was plugged into the SNES across from my bed. For those of you that remember the Super Nintendo, you might remember that almost every game cartridge was exactly the same. They were all plastic, slate grey cartridges, with black or white stickers on the front.

But this one wasn’t. It was bright blue, and had a bright red sticker on the front. I didn’t recognize it – I’d never seen anything quite like it before. I was ecstatic, to say the least. I figured that my parents must have gotten me this game to make me feel better about the move. My reservations about the new house faded away the second I saw the game cartridge.

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