that he's known what kind of woman she is from the start

Prince Aladdin

i just rewatched aladdin with the roommates and it got me thinking

aladdin wishes to be made a prince, but all genie does is get him a lot of stuff and money. that’s not what a prince is. a prince is the son of the king, someone in line for the throne. someone with a lot of money is just - rich. so what i think is:

genie goes okay, that’s a big one - and i can do it! but not on my own, not if you want to do it right. not if you truly want a chance to marry your princess for real, as a prince. and aladdin is a foolish, moral, kind boy - and he agrees. he’s fallen in love with jasmine, an innocent all encompassing love, and he’ll do anything for this sweet, clever girl he only knew for a few hours. so genie takes him across the desert, far from agrabah, and plops right in the middle of a skirmish and is like okay, good luck! and aladdin is like ?????

but there’s assholes with swords attacking a young girl, and aladdin doesn’t even have to think about that, just like when he stood in front of the whip for those little kids. there are three men against him, but he’s fast and clever and has been against a dozen trained palace guards. so it’s not easy to get out of there alive, especially with the little girl to protect, but he manages it with only a thin slice on his upper arm, and he’s endured worse for less. so he picks up the little girl and says “i think we should get out of here, hmm?” and she’s in a pretty red silk getup with tiny jewels encrusted on her like stars against sunset. and she nods and throws her arms around his neck. she won’t talk, only points in the direction of home, but aladdin’s okay with that, he’s used to quiet, scared kids. so he keeps up a steady stream of stories of agrabah, which seems almost like this other desert land. but there are more men with swords and aladdin is like what the fuck is going on, but he hides the girl in a corner and fights them too. and that’s how it goes all the way home. there’s no one on the streets really, and they all scatter when the men attack, and they keep on attacking, he fights his way all the way through the city with the girl on his hip or hidden away.

and he should have known, of course, but he was tired and bruised and bleeding by the time he realized the little girl is silently guiding him to the palace and he’s like why can’t you princesses stay inside??? but he walks up and the guards get one look at the child in his arms and whisk him through and multiple people try to take the girl away but she won’t budge from him, a stubborn pout to her lips as her hands remained locked behind his neck. and he’s finally tossed into a throne room where a tall old man is sitting in agony and two young men pace in front of him, each at least a decade older than aladdin. “they’ve taken our sister!” one of the younger men hiss, “i don’t care about their power or their connections, they’ve taken esfir, and we must go get her!”

“uh,” he clears his throat, “hi?”

and all three men whirl on him and the old man stumble-runs to him. esfir finally lets go of aladdin to picked up and twirled around by her father. the two men are rahim and shapur and they look in wonder at this dirty boy of fifteen who’s returned the girl to them, and he speaks with an accent and clearly is not from here and they get the story from him - he’s traveled across the desert because those in his own country want him dead. “you know,” rahim says as the king clutches at esfir in desperate relief, “you could have held her for ransom. you almost died saving her, and we would have paid handsomely to have her returned safely.”

and aladdin gives him a flat disapproving look, appearing in this moment four times his age, and says “people are not objects or bargaining chips. especially not lost little girls.” and rahim and shapur share an impressed conspiring look and they each grab one of his arms and lead him away. “hey! what are you -”

“do be quiet little brother,” shapur says cheerfully, “we really have to get you out of your rags.”

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Did you ever have a genuine psychic/medium experience?

Although many readings can be attributed to cold readings or sheer coincidence sometimes it’s uncanny how accurate psychics/mediums can be. Here’s a collection of supposedly genuine experiences from threads. If you have an experience feel free to tag me @sixpenceee!

by reddit user Jinuxxx

I never believe in palm /card readings. I don’t actually believe in it nowadays. BUT when I was in 9th grade, my friend took me with her to a fortune teller so she can have her future read. Surprisingly she mentioned about her love dilemma, a blonde guy and dark haired guy. She was completely convinced about her reading powers while I was meh… We’re teenagers, it’s natural we’ll find ourselves in situations like this. And then she predicted the scores she’ll get at the exams when you finish high school (in our country there are some mandatory subjects for the exams, thus multiple numbers) she guessed that right. If I think really hard about probabilities and stuff I can find a logic explanation to that as well. 

by reddit user GoobyBear22

About 5 years ago I saw a psychic that a family friend had told me was the real deal. I went in skeptical and came out a believer.

She used tarot cards and knew things that could have been lucky guesses, like that I had just bought a house and was renovating it, but she also knew specific things that no one else could have known.

The most amazing part of the whole thing was that she knew that I had some complications with my hormones and had a surgery in the past that would make getting pregnant very difficult, but she told me Despite all this, I would have a baby later in life. Toward the end of the reading she hands me the tarot cards and tells me to shuffle them. Then tells me to ask three questions in my mind one at a time. I decided to really test her authenticity so the first question I decided to ask was am I going to have children, and halfway through laying the five cards down, she stops and looks at me and scolds me saying “I already told you that you were going to have one child!” hah this is when I knew.

by reddit user wobblerss

This was before I was born. My mom had a neighbor who was a grandpa who could see the future. He told my mom that my sister would be really sick when she became a preteen and not to worry because she’d be okay. When my sister was a preteen she was diagnosed with cancer and after a year and a half she was perfectly fine. My mom was pregnant with me when she met him again and he told her that I would be a c-section baby. My mom already knew this and said she had scheduled the c-section already since I was breach but he was adamant that she would have me on a certain day and that the c-section wouldn’t go on the planned day. I was born on the exact day he predicted.

Nothing too crazy but the fact that he knew that my sister would be sick and would be okay is crazy to me. He also didn’t want any money and approached my mom and asked if he could do a reading for her.

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My players are morons and I love them

Context: I’m a new DM with new players, and I’ve planned little mini sessions for each of my players to ease them into the game and let them develop their characters a bit! So far I’ve done a session with the Half-Elf Druid and the Orc Fighter. Some highlights below:

**FOR THE DRUID’S SESSION**

Druid: My family is known for dying their horses coats with berries; a fun little side effect is that they’re poisonous and we often have to put the animals down after they groom themselves.

Me: Cool so you slather your pets in poison, got it. Aren’t you supposed to be the animal guy?

Me: Alright, what do you do before you embark on this adventure? Do you say your goodbyes to family, pack, what’re you doin?

Druid: I go to the bar.

Me: Alright.

Druid: Then I find the prettiest woman there and use my 20 charisma on her.

Me: Are you-

Druid: I’m trynna FUCK.

Me: Roll Perception for me.

*Passes*

Me: Nice. You hear something rustling in a tree to your left, and upon inspection you realize it’s a cloaked figure-

Druid: I wink at them.

Me: They ignore that and spring out of the tree, roll initiative.

Druid: Wait! Are they hot though??

**FROM THE FIGHTER’S SESSION**

Fighter: *Had just been approached by a small dragonborn girl begging for help. He didn’t reply, just turned and walked away.*

Me: This little girl had been holding your arm before you left - you just wrenched your arm from her grip and started to amble off.

Fighter, snorting ooc: Yup

Me: Okay. She runs to keep up with your longer stride and kind of jumps a little, grabbing onto you and hanging there. Are you still walking?

Fighter, quietly laughing now: Yeah - I’m going to get my axe so I can leave!

Me: ALRIGHT MY DUDE. You walk into your cabin with a sobbing 2 year old dragonborn dangling from your arm and pick up a massive axe. Roll intimidation purely for the fact that you haven’t said a word.

Fighter: Nat 20. But I-

Me: The little dragonborn falls to the ground and promptly soils herself, and begins to scream in absolute terror. A few of your neighbors shuffle out of their homes nervously to see what’s causing the commotion. Congratulations, you’ve just made a baby piss herself and probably ruined your good standing with the locals.

Fighter, ooc: nooooo

accidentally?

Based on this prompt I said I’d fill a few days ago:

boss: “know why I called you in here?”
me: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic”
boss: “accidentally?”

yup.

(on ao3)

“You need to stop pining after people you haven’t even spoken to,” Lydia says one day, probably because Derek—er, Mr. Hale, their boss—has just stepped through the front door of the cafe where they’re having lunch, and Stiles has trailed off mid-word to watch him walk up to the counter. In Stiles’ defense, he’s never seen Mr. Hale outside of the office before, let alone Mr. Hale wearing a leather jacket over his dress shirt. God, and Stiles thought the tailored suits were bad enough…

Anyway.

“Uh, I have too spoken to him,” Stiles says indignantly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s broad back across the room. “One day I was coming out of the break room and I almost walked right into him and he said, ‘Excuse me,’ so then I said, ‘Oops,’ and he smiled at me. Kind of. A little bit. I mean, I interpreted it as a smile. There was some prolonged eye contact.”

Lydia abruptly stops stirring her fat-free latte to stare at him—one of those Oh god, it’s worse than I thought kind of looks. “That’s it?”

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FACTS ABOUT CONNOR MURPHY (spoilers)

So I have decided to post all the facts and hints about Connor Murphy’s past that are shown in the musical. It’s hard to make out considering people in the fandom usually focus on the lies Evan tells to figure out Connor’s personality.

To get this conclusion (which I will post in a second) I literally skipped all scenes concerning Evan’s lies and went directly to the Murphy family and what they say. None of these facts/hints involve what Evan said about Connor.

First of all, I’ll say now that I have put my own interpretation on each of these facts.

And so, I will put all FACTS in BOLD.
Anything out of bold is my own interpretation and how I see it to be. It’s up to you to agree with me or disagree.

First, I will post my conclusions on each family member, and then afterwards, I will post the reasons for each one.

Zoe

Zoe was an emotional and verbal abuse victim. There is no evidence of physical abuse, although there were threats that could have potentially led to that. She has all the right to not grieve over Connor, in all honesty, she could have sent him to the police for what he did, but as an abuse victim, that is very hard to do. Connor was probably the cause of most of her insecurities and she hated him for that. The unhealthy habit of taking out his anger on the nearest person to him probably made him lash out at his sister whenever he had a panic attack. Judging by how he really did care enough to keep the creepy letter about his sister, written by Evan, in his pocket for 3 days before he committed suicide, it’s safe to say that he really regretted being mean to his sister and actually cared about her.

Connor’s mom, Cynthia

Connor’s mom was a woman obsessed with reputation. She’s known as the rich man’s wife, and wants more than anything to be a regular family. But because her son had mental illnesses, her perfect image was ruined. She acted as though she was there for him but when it came down to it, she did nothing. She pushed for therapy but after a while, her husband took him out of it because “it wasn’t worth the money,” and she basically went, “welp, I tried.” I will quote what I say later: Connor’s mom might not actually be sad that her son is gone, but rather, she’s ashamed that her family actually doesn’t care. It seems like Connor’s mom is filled with regret for not being there for her son, and she’s forcing her family to act like they regretted it too, because that’s what a real family should have been like. But this is only a personal theory.

Connor’s dad, Larry

Connor’s dad might be one of the main sources of his depression. It is very obvious to me that Connor’s dad believed him to be a disappointment. He didn’t grieve for his dead son and only played along to make his wife happy. He’s annoyed by the whole situation. It even seemed like he hated the fact that there was fake remnants of his son in Evan. Almost like he wished Connor wasn’t friends with Evan so he could just forget all about him and not need to deal with it. At some point he was a kind father. When they went to the orchard together for picnics, it seems like they were a happy family. Connor’s dad had played with their toy plane together and had some great memories. The whole family practically forgot about this, though. Connor’s dad didn’t cry at his own dead son’s funeral. I think that sums it up.

Connor Murphy

Connor was a complicated person. He had many different mental illnesses. I could research which ones he probably had, but there’s probably already a post somewhere on it already. One thing for sure, is that he was unstable. He might not have been like that his whole life, but at the time of knowing him, the time he was briefly alive in the show, he was incredibly unstable. Everything and anything could set him off, and he probably hated that about himself as well. Pushing away everyone near him that could possibly help and hating himself for doing so, spiraling himself into a closed minded world of self-hate and regret, which is something that many people can relate to, including me. He did a lot of horrible things to his sister and to his family. I don’t blame his family for not actually grieving him, he was a really bad person. The problem is, he could have been a good person as well. He had all the potential to get better. He talked to Evan, probably wishing to say sorry about pushing him earlier in the hall. He was trying, he wanted to try. He wanted to get better. He just gave up too soon.

This post is very long! I’m sorry. If you’d like to read more, I’m putting the reasons I’ve come to these conclusions under the cut.

Remember, ALL FACTS ARE IN BOLD. Anything else is my personal interpretation.

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From The Dining Table

13 Hours Later.

When she woke up, she was still alone.

Initially, she’d forgotten all about the night before. The first thing she noticed was the strange buzzing sound of the thermostat in the corner, which was obviously not working at all because the room was freezing. The chilly air nipped at her cheeks, and she snuggled further into the mattress as she tucked her head into the comforter with a soft whimper, trying to ignore the buzzing in her head.

Her eyes were still stinging from her tears the night before mixed with the lack of sleep. She’d managed to finally drift off at around four in the morning, but she couldn’t tell by the window whether it was eight in the morning or two in the afternoon.

Their screams from the night before still echoed in the walls.

She slid the covers off of her head and opened her eyes slowly, staring at the pale yellow motel ceiling. It was the color of Easter yellow, she’d decided, and it reminded her of chocolate and gardens and everything happy. It reminded her of some distant life where she probably would have done something to be proud of.

The ache in her chest resonated throughout her entire body, and her head was pounding to the rhythm of her heart—it was the only way she could be sure it was still beating.

She felt like someone had torn it out of her chest.

She turned onto her side and looked at the space in the bed beside her, clutching onto the soft material of the comforter until her knuckles turned white. Waking up on her own wasn’t new to her—she’d done it time and time again in the past two years, so much that she’d become numb to the loneliness that came with it. But this time was different…

This time, she knew he wasn’t coming back.

She suddenly felt a tear roll down her face, and just like that, she couldn’t get him out of her head.

He was everywhere.

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general li mulan

okay so i LOVE mulan okay. as far as i’m concerned it’s a Perfect Movie and doesn’t need any fixing. but i was thinking today and -

- what if mulan didn’t go to war to save her father?

say her father is dead, okay, killed by the previous war. so she’s raised by her mother and grandmother, women who’s complacency and softness has been worn away by necessity. she needs to marry well, for her family’s sake, because her mother has refused the hand of every man who offered. but mulan is even more rough around the edges than before, is educated not only in books (her mother said men wouldn’t find smarts attractive and grandmother pointed out that men aren’t always around and off to school mulan went) but in the sword too, taught to her by her classmate, ping.

mulan is considered in the lower end of the upper class, coming from a family of military men and scholars and successful merchants. ping is near the top, the son or nephew of an advisor to the emperor. his family is very rich and very important, and the reason they become friends is because mulan manages to notice something about him that he’s been hiding from everyone else - he’s going blind.

not totally blind, enough to get around, but blind enough that reading is difficult and swordplay is even worse, although once he has it down he has it. ping is no fool, he’s not weak or bumbling. his eyes just don’t work. so mulan notices and confronts him about it. she promises to keep it a secret, and hey, she’ll even help him with his assignments by reading the books out loud and helping him study. but in return he must teach her the sword, must teach her about military and tactics. he agrees.

ping and mulan become very good friends and there’s some raised eyebrows about it but they are TOO far away in class for it to be inappropriate, so they make tutting sounds and disapproving faces and let it go.

then the draft happens. ping can’t go to war, he won’t survive it. not with his eyesight like it is. so mulan offers him a deal - she’ll go to war for him, in his place. in return, if she survives, he must marry her. if she dies he must take care of her family.

ping can’t make this kind of family decision on his own, so he goes to his mother and tells her everything, about the eyesight and how he’ll die if he goes and mulan’s offer. his mother says he must keep it a secret from his father, but agrees - if mulan fights in her son’s place and survives, a wedding will be arranged. either way, mulan’s family will be taken care of. ping will be sent to live with some cousins in the meanwhile.

“you’re not in love with me, are you?” ping asks, helping mulan saddle her horse in the middle of the night. she scoffs and rolls her eyes, “not even a little. but marrying you will make my family happy, and besides, you’re my best friend,” she says, smiling, “better you than some grabby old man.” he smiles and hugs her and says, “i’m not in love with you either. but don’t die out there. we have a wedding to plan.”

so mulan goes to the camp, pretending to be ping, and she’s a little bit less lost but things still go as they go. she’s educated and trained, so it’s not hard for her to pass as ping. shang is keeping a special eye on her, thinking that she’s the son of an advisor, one of his father’s friends. and he sees how easily she excels, how quick thinking and smart she is, and starts giving her more and more responsibilities. by the time they’re called out, shang considers ping ie mulan to be his right hand man, and possibly his best friend.

he’s also a little bit in love with ping, and he’s long known he’s attracted to both genders, so he watches ping laugh and smile and the crease between his eyes when he frowns and does his best to let his feelings chase away the best soldier he has. every time shang looks at ping his heart clenches and he things to himself: i wish i could have you, i wish this was a time and a place where one man could have another, i wish you were a girl, is wish i was a girl - i wish we could be together. he’s literally a step away from doodling ‘li ping’ with little hearts over his battle plans. 

so the battles happen. shang and ping lead their men together, respected and loved. they each get promoted, and promoted, and promoted. it’s been years, and it comes to a point where they’re both generals in their own right. they trust each other, care for each other. and are both secretly in love with the other.

mulan is so conflicted. because she wants this war to end and to go home and settle back into life and become ping’s wife, so she can have an easy life spent studying and learning with her family taken care of. that’s what she’d wanted. but now what she wants is shang, her best friend, her brother in arms, her fellow general. she wishes to be everything to him, aches to be the woman on his arm and in his bed, but knows it’s the one thing she can never be.

then that final battle happens. mulan’s quick thinking saves them all and ends the war - but she’s injured.

shang finds out the ping has been a girl all along. he demands explanations - so she tells him everything, that she traded places with ping to save him, to become his wife.

and the lies should sting the sharpest, but they don’t. she’s still the same person, after all. it’s that she’s promised to another man, for one second he’d thought he might have her, but no. so he agrees not to reveal her but he’s furious and furious at himself for being furious and they’re not the same now, broken and splintered and neither of them know what to do.

the war is over. they leave. mulan returns home, and thanks to her ping is now known as a respected general. she’s done her part and survived, and now she gets her reward - ping’s hand in marriage.

but she sees ping for the first time and flings herself into his arms and starts crying. she tells him everything, because he’s still her friend, her very best friend besides shang, the man whom she lied to and betrayed and loves. and ping listens and takes her by the shoulders and says - i’ll uphold our bargain, if that’s what you want. you can be my pampered wife, you’ve more than earned it. but if you want to go to shang, i won’t blame you. you deserve your happiness.

and mulan goes back and forth, but ultimately she decides she has to try. if shang rejects her she’ll return and marry ping and uphold her family honor. but if shang wants her - he’s not as high up as ping, but he’s high up enough to satisfy her family, and also she would love him and want him if he was no more than a farming peasant so it doesn’t matter much anyway.

she rides to the capitol. she finally meets ping’s father, running into him while looking for shang. “ah mulan,” says this man who was never supposed to know of her until she became his daughter-in-law, “i didn’t expect to see you here. how fortuitous. walk with me.” she does, wary, and that’s how she discovers - he and the emperor had discovered her deception a year in, but at that point she’d already proven herself too skilled and valuable to lose. he tells her that he will uphold his son and wife’s deal and gladly welcome her to his household - but that she’s earned her rank as general, and that he and the emperor have no problem with letting her keep it.

she says thank you, shocked and joyful, but that she has to talk to someone first. “ah, yes, young general li,” he says, eyes twinkling, “i do believe he’s around here somewhere.”

she has no idea how he seems to know everything, but she finally tracks down shang who’s ecstatic to see her and hates himself for it. she confesses - says she loves him, that she’s engaged to ping but willing and able to break this engagement for shang. who is dumbfounded and elated and says yes, of course, finally and forever.

and mulan accepts her rank and marries shang, and they become the literal power battle couple of the general li mulan and general li shang. ping becomes a scholar and marries a very nice young woman who loves reading and is happy to read aloud to her husband with his failing eyes.

and they all live happily ever after.

Sure, okay, corrective rape could happen to anyone! Fair enough! But when an asexual gets raped because of their asexuality, it becomes an issue of the asexual community. I’m not saying it is an exclusive issue of ours, but I am telling you guys: when someone decides that an asexual person needs to understand what Real Sex™ feels like and ignores the fact that we are not consenting, they are doing it out of a need to show the error of our ways.

Sure, it could’ve happened to anyone. But it happened to an asexual BECAUSE OF THEIR ASEXUALITY. You can’t pretend an attack on my sexuality happened just because—it didn’t. It happened because to someone else, our lack of sexual attraction felt childish (you just don’t know any better, let me teach you), immature (how would you know if you don’t try it?/i can make it feel good, you’ll see), absurd. So yeah, it could’ve happened to anyone. Sure. But it happened for a very precise reason.

And okay, we aren’t oppressed because of our sexuality on a constitutional level, sure, I’ll give you guys that. Fair enough.

But how does that somehow mean people accept us and treat us equally? Like, the thing is, we aren’t even well-known enough to be oppressed on our own, and the more people who know us, the more people who start hating us because of our asexuality.

Did you know that Almudena Grandes, a Spanish writer, said in a famous TV Show over here that she hates “the asexual people” because being asexual makes us evil by our very nature? That we are incapable of feeling love and are boring and no one would want to be close to us because, well, we are Evil™?

Did you know that Flex made a nice little ad about asexuality, and that comments towards it ranged from mild “asexuality is stupid” to “they just need a good fucking” while implying that our consent wouldn’t be needed for them to do it, because they would be doing us a favour?

Did you know that no straight ever has looked at us and associated us with them? That for them we’re just as foreign and weird as the rest of the LGBT, that for the kind of people that hate homosexuality, bisexuality, pansexuality, for them asexuality is just one more thing to hate?

Did you know that my best friend looked at me in the eye and said: “I’m so sorry for you” when I came out to her? Did you know she told me she would rather DIE than “become” like me? Did you know my brother made fun of me for weeks after I told him what I was, that my mother took years to even be able to talk about it, that I can’t mention it around my grandma because it makes her so fucking uncomfortable?

Did you know one of my friends asked me not to tell guys I was asexual, because he mentioned it once to his friends, and they all laughed and said they would fuck an asexual woman anyway because that’s what she clearly needed? We’re talking people who actually respected other women, saying shit like this. Did you know he gets scared for me, not just for being a woman, but for being an asexual one?

But then I have to come here and see shit of how we are privileged because Straight people see us as straight (throwing not only us under the bus, but anyone who is “straight passing”, as if that didn’t have psychological consequences, as if it didn’t feel constricting to be forced to act like someone you aren’t), how nobody would ever hate on us or hurt us because of our asexuality, how There Are No Issues With Asexuality In The World.

Haha, there wasn’t any war in Ba Sing Se either.

So okay, keep us out of the LGBT, I don’t even care about the Tumblr community tbh. But don’t come at us using arguments like “you don’t experience hate because of your sexuality!” “aces are just straight anyway!” or variants of these, because, guess what? You’re wrong.

You’re fucking wrong.

Using prophecies in fantasy without making eyes roll

Good ol’ stand-bys, ubiquitous fantasy tropes, are difficult to avoid. And sometimes we don’t want to avoid them. Goddammit, sometimes you just need a good, solid prophecy to write the story your want to write. 

“It’s not my fault all these other people before me have written prophecies, too!” you say. 

And you’d be right. Unfortunately, they did. So us modern-day writers have to live with the it. So what do you do when you want or need to use a well-worn trope? 

Know the trope. Make it your own. 

Know that, no matter what you do, some readers will still hate it.

But you can’t make everyone happy, right? So let’s get started.

How-to guidelines from our predecessors

Prophecies in fiction have been used countless times. But there are reasons why we continue to use them. And while you don’t want to completely copy how it has been done before, we can all learn something from the basic form of real and fictional prophecies. 

1. Prophecies are often vague and general

The language and phrasing used in prophecies, because of its important and symbolic nature, tends to go for sounding mystic and grand over sensible and utilitarian. This language achieves its poetic goal, but as a price, the meaning can be allusive, vague, or even seem contradictory. 

A man named Jerry will kill a man in a fight on the corner of 3rd and Main on the fifth of January, 3820. 

On the dawn of winter in a forest of gray, when one life dims, another remains.

One of these actually gives you some useful information. The other could mean a vast array of different things at any point in time, but technically applies to the same situation. One of them (though poorly) reads more like something you’d find in a piece of fiction. 

2. Prophecies are often misinterpreted

There’s likely to be disagreement on the meaning of any yet-to-be-fulfilled prophecy. If it’s well-known, then common folk might take it to mean one thing, while the wealthy another. The well-educated might take it to mean one or two (or three or a thousand) things, while the uneducated take it to mean another. If there are two prominent schools of thought, then people might passionately disagree about the meaning. It’s possible that none of these interpretations are true. 

‘Tis the nature of vague and metaphorical language.

The culture of your world will influence how people treat the prophecy. Conversely, the prophecy and its interpretation might have a huge impact on the culture, government, or religion of your world. 

3. Prophecies are given in context

In the example above about the murder in winter, with no context that “prophecy” means basically nothing. Part of what creates nuances in interpretation of prophecies is variations in the understanding of the prophecy’s context. 

Upon the rebirth of the emperor, the dark messenger will be slain; the eagle will conquer the land.

In this sample, very little is made clear when there’s no context. We have no reason to care, let alone believe, what these words are trying to convey. But say that our myths tell the story of a vanished young emperor who would someday reappear to take his throne, that the messengers of evil are immortal, and that the eagle is symbolic of peace…

It all starts to make a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Any alteration in context, however, could vastly change the meaning. 

Prophecies don’t stand alone. They only work within their context. They aren’t created in a vacuum and they are not understood in a vacuum. Creating the vibrant world that surrounds your prophecy will go a long way to making it interesting and important.

4. Prophecies require a prophet

Why do people believe the prophecy? Why don’t they? When implementing a prophecy into your world, you need to pay attention to how people receive its message and ensure that that belief has a sensible backing. 

A prophecy came from the mouth (or pen) of a prophet. If the people of your world totally buy into the words of this prophecy, then there needs to be a reason. What made this prophet reliable? 

What not to do: There was this old woman and everything she said was totally batty…all except this one thing. This one thing will definitely be absolutely true, so help me, God.

Like any aspect of culture, the “why” factor is important. Why do people believe the prophecy? Why has it survived so many years? Or perhaps people don’t believe the prophecy…so why is that? 

Consider Nostradamus. He’s a pretty infamous prophet, even though only some of what he said every seemed true (and almost entirely in retrospect). For the most part, when you mention him, people will kind of laugh it off. It’s mostly a joke. However…his words might also be true! But it’s best not to put all your money on it. 

How are the words of your prophet generally received? How will this affect how your Important Prophecy™ is viewed and understood by the people?

“This Important Prophecy™ is believed because my story needs it to be believed,” is not a good reason. So make sure it runs deeper than that.

Pitfalls to avoid

1. Using a prophecy as a matter of course

Your prophecy should have a very integral part in your story and world. Using a pointless prophecy or using one just because you think, since you’re writing fantasy, you probably should, are one-way tickets to eye-rolls. 

Like any trope, if you’re sticking it artlessly into your story, then you doing the trope and yourself a disservice. Every element you choose to include in your story should drive it forward, should deepen your conflict or characters. No inclusion should be made flippantly. Be sure that if you’re including a prophecy, you use it to its full potential.

2. Making it too simple or mundane

If you’re doing it right, then your prophecy will be super important to your story. And if it’s super important, you’re going to want it to be super interesting. If a dull, run-of-the-mill Chosen One prophecy is, unironically, what your story hinges on, then you’re likely going to get some eye-rolls and, worse, readers who put down your book.

3. Going for too much

On the other end of the spectrum, prophecies that are convoluted or require the ten-page backstory to put into context are likely going to take too much attention away from your actual story. Prophecies tend to focus on one (general) event. It can cover a few facets of this one event, but if you try to outline too much you risk detracting from the here-and-now or getting too far in over your (or your character’s) head. 

Things to consider

  • Is the fulfillment of the prophecy a mystery even to your reader? Or does the story give the answer, leaving the path to the fulfillment to be the mystery?
  • Is your prophecy immutable? Is it Destiny and it will come true no matter what anyone does?
  • Is the prophecy self-fulfilling? How do the characters’ knowledge of the prophecy affect events? How might their ignorance of it? 
  • How does the fulfillment differ or align with the expectations held by the characters?
  • Did the prophet speak of their own freewill, with true foreknowledge, or were they a vessel for a deity, or some supernatural being?
  • How was the prophecy passed down to the present? Was it done so flawlessly, or might there have been translation, oral, or interpretation errors that happened along the way?
  • How widely accepted, or known, is the prophecy among the common people? 
  • How common are prophecies in general? Does this one stand out in some way? If so, how and why?
  • Does the prophecy give away an outcome, or does it simply set up a situation?
  • How detailed is your prophecy and how have those seemingly specific details been misinterpreted?
  • How certain is anyone that they understand the prophecy? 
  • If the prophecy proves to be false, how does that element find resolution within the structure of the narrative? (i.e. if you placed great importance on the prophecy with the intention of pulling the rug out from under your reader, how are you going to resolve the situation to keep them from feeling cheated?)

What do you think about the use of prophecies in fiction? What are some of your favorites or least favorites?

Happy writing!

Many years ago, I used to be a feminist. At first it was merely a “yeah, girl power! Feminism!” kind of thing. And then I moved back home from an abusive relationship, and started hanging out with one of my best friends more often. He was one of the few guys that was a genuine friend and didn’t want to try to get into my pants. Or so I thought. After several months, having found some peace and routine with him, he brought up the prospect of being anything more. Thing is, I felt nothing for him in that aspect. I mentioned this, told him that it wouldn’t feel right forcing myself to be in a relationship with him when I didn’t actually see him in a romantic way and that it would only be cruel to him. He was disheartened, but he didn’t bring it up again for a while.

He was a pharmacy student who was on the cusp of graduation. He studied well and had high grades, and part of our hangout routine was him using his homework and notes to “teach” me (I didn’t really pay attention, but it helped him to better understand his material). One weekend - Halloween, actually, as I will always remember it - he was picking me up from my place so we could spend a few days lounging and playing video games. His car broke down and we spent hours waiting for the tow truck. The next night, we were playing video games per usual. He asked about whether or not I wanted to go somewhere and do something different. I told him that, understanding his financial situation, it would be best if we just continued with our normal routine. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I figured “Hey, he must just be bored and stressed.” He seemed flustered and excused himself to get us some drinks from downstairs.

He came back with some drinks. I remember that mine tasted odd. I chalked it up to flat soda and allergies to the cats. Soon after, I got extremely tired. I thought it was because I hadn’t slept a few days and it was catching up to me, and I was with someone that I trusted.

I woke up feeling weird. My clothes were gone, I was in his bed, and he was on top of me. His tongue was down my throat. Every ounce of trust I had went down the drain. I was enraged. He was the ONLY male I had trusted. He was my best friend. I hardly trusted my own father to not hurt me at this point in my life because of how rocky our relationship had been. The man I had just left was sexually, physically, and emotionally abusive. This man, the man I so foolishly had considered my best friend, had broken every ounce of trust. I don’t even know the full extent to what he had done to me. But I demanded a ride home.

I never went to the police because I didn’t think they would believe me and at the time I still cared for him as a friend. I didn’t understand at the time everything that had happened. It didn’t completely sink in for years that he had drugged me. It didn’t sink in that he was the one who took off my clothes, that he had touched me in places he knew I would never allow. And I didn’t want to ruin his life over it. But it hit deep enough that I began to hate all men. Every one of them.

A couple of months later, after barring him completely from my life, I was hanging out with my female best friend. She took me out with two of her male friends, who I didn’t like or trust. And a guy that I’d liked from high school met us at the place we were hanging out. He pulled me off to a secluded area and started kissing me. At first I didn’t mind. He was cute, and seeing him kind of rekindled the old flame. But then he wouldn’t stop. And I started pushing him away from me, but he would pull me closer. I’d tell him to stop, and he would tell me that I didn’t really want that. I started struggling and yelling.

My best friend with her friends came across us. I came to find out that she didn’t know he had taken me away and had been looking for us. He friends separated us. I was crushed, because once again a man had broken my trust. My friend, instead of consoling me, lashed out at him. Accused him of “using me to get to her because he knew she liked him.” She didn’t try to make sure I was okay. But her friends did. Her two male friends, who I hadn’t liked simply on the basis that they were male, told me that if they had known the extent to which things had happened they would have beaten his ass instead of telling him to leave. One, who had just gotten out of jail, said that if I knew where the guy lived he would be more than willing to go back to protect me from the guy. These two men were more understanding than she had been.

They took me home. I was too shaken up to be fun. My dad saw how I was, and asked me what happened. The guy worked with my father. I told my dad what he did. He asked me what I wanted to do. My only words were “I want him to go away.” My dad said he could make that happen. And he did. The guy moved to California within the month.

I began having doubts about whether or not all men deserved to be hated simply because of their penis.

Months later, I began going to school the place my dad worked at. I realized that a lot of the ladies there liked my father. He wouldn’t ever do anything to return this “friendliness” from the women. My father prided himself on being professional. He was a completely different person than he was at home. One of the women who consistently tried to advance on my father began to feel spurned. So she and some of the other girls conspired together. They made false accusations about my father. Saying he would touch them and speak inappropriately to them. The school wouldn’t even listen to my father. They wouldn’t even allow him to defend himself. “The accusation alone is proof enough” were their official words. They made him resign.

My father began working as the general manager of a chain of luxury refinery. The girls that he hired took a liking to him, and when he turned down their advancements, they did the same. They accused him of sexually harassing them. When he didn’t. Once again, he was forced to resign. “This has happened twice. If it happens again, we will be forced to revoke your license.” Once again, they didn’t even allow him to defend himself. They wouldn’t see the video footage of him telling them to stop. They wouldn’t see the texts of him telling them to calm down. Because he was male.

And I realized that I, as a woman, held more power than any man ever could. I realized that all it took was mere words to destroy a man’s life. That wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t oppression, not on a woman’s part. I realized that there were shitty men and shitty women. But there was no shortage of good men either. And there was no shortage of good women.

My resentment for men faded, and it faded fast. My resentment for feminism grew for forcing me to be so scared of men, because despite my terrible experiences there were men who were willing to go to prison to defend a woman that they hadn’t known for more than five hours.


My entire point is that you are allowed to be hurt by your past experiences. You are allowed to feel, to grow past it. But don’t harbor the hatred. Don’t turn it against the people who didn’t actually do anything to you. If a man abuses you in any way, shape, or form, it’s on him. It isn’t on the shoulders of every other man in existence.

Misandry isn’t the answer. Don’t let your fear turn into hatred, please. Learn to grow past it. Because no matter how scared you are, there are people strong enough to protect you, who are willing to do so in the blink of an eye. People who don’t even know you who still love you enough to treat you like family. And it’s not their fault that there are fucked up people. People, not just men. People.

Carousel | 05

Character: Min Yoongi x reader (oc)

Genre/words: Angst, Implied smut, Arranged Marriage! AU / 10,288 words

Summary: He is the successor of his family’s business empire, and you are the female heir of yours. After the trouble his older brother had created in the past, he now must face certain requirements needed for the sake of the family’s future and to save his rights of inheritance, and you become his only way out. Everything might seem so simple, just the way they are supposed to. But everything isn’t always what it seems, is it?

Playlist | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

Cr.


Keep reading

Good Girl (Dom!Sherlock x reader)

A/N: SOMEONE reminded me of Sherlock using the riding crop week ago and I realized I had not thought of it enough, or even enjoyed it enough. So let’s dig into it, shall we? Also I might be writing about Molly a bit too harshly on this one, but I really like her character, so don’t think I’m trying to bully her.

Warnings: smut, so much smut, riding crop, bondage, it ended up with dom!sherlock I think that’s the riding crop’s fault, some swearing.


”Oh, you’re here with that again.” Molly Hooper gasped at the sight of the riding crop in Sherlock’s hand. She had not expected to see him with it ever again. Her fingers fiddled the files she held so dearly against her chest, nervously taking in uneven breaths, her eyes wide and a warm smile creeping it’s way on her thin pink lips. Those brown beaming eyes fixing on the man’s face in front of her, trying to get an answer to an unsaid question that was right at the tip of her tongue and since she got none, deciding to make herself heard she squeaked out, ”Another experiment?”

Sherlock’s expressionless face was still blank, his pale skin almost shining under the bright white lights that shone from the lamps above them in the hallway down stairs in St. Bartholomew’s hospital at the morgue section. He faked a smile, trying his best to seem sincere, but the curve on his lips disappearing as fast as it appeared after he answered to Molly’s presumption by, ”Yes, obviously.” He then gazed over Molly’s shoulder to the door she had just exited, her spot where she examined the bodies brought in for crime consulting. ”Is your room free for use?” The smile reappearing on his face, eyes shining as he sweetly pointed towards the door.

Molly too gazed over her shoulder, dumbfounded by Sherlock’s straight forward demeanor, her pony tail swishing while following her head’s movement back and forth. She sharply turned back to Sherlock and looked disappointingly doubtful. In these occasions Sherlock would need to give Molly numerous compliments to get her bend to his will, usually two or three would do it, and he still had some laying about in the deeps of his mind. He didn’t usually settle for being told no, but even as easy as Molly was he hated to go through the trouble. Then again he didn’t need to feel bad. He was in a relationship, she knew it too. He could point out a nice thing or two about her appearance without feeling guilt.

”Well, I actually just cleared the hall and was about to get home…” Molly muttered biting down on her lower lip. She was still staring right back as Sherlock with her big eyes, much like a puppy. As Sherlock stared back at her she tried to find something, anything, to fix her eyes on so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable by the silence that took over the hallway the both had blocked. Her fingers drummed the surface of the file on her arms and before Sherlock got to test his new compliment on Molly she sighed, ”I could stay for an hour longer.”

Sherlock genuinely smiled, thanked Molly and followed after her as she turned on her heels and headed back to her spot, keeping the door open for Sherlock as he followed close behind. He was a step away from Molly, but he was careful enough not to step on her heels, keeping the distance long enough to avoid doing so. He instructed Molly what he needed, a body, in what position and age, which actually at this point were all unnecessary to him, but to keep with his habits he went by it anyway. He picked an older woman, not over fifty years old, chubby, about a day old corpse.

When you entered the hospital after receiving a message from Sherlock, where he suggested you to meet him at the morgue before going to Baker Street, you took the elevator to the down floors. He rather would company you on your way to his flat than have you wait him there for fifteen to sixty minutes when you could wait for him hear, right next to him.

You knew he was there for an experiment, but you hadn’t been informed which kind, but it wasn’t the first time. He didn’t much go with explaining everything and every part of his work to you, only when he saw fit. You exited the elevator, turned down the hall, through a door and saw Molly Hooper standing close to a window. She was flinching at the sight ahead of her that you were unable to witness. This made your imagination run wild. If Sherlock was cutting a corpse to pieces, scaring Molly you would let him hear from it for sure.

You and Molly were rather good friends, though you didn’t see each other that often. You had known her longer than Sherlock and back then, when you finally met the man Molly had been daydreaming about, constantly talking about him, you felt really bad for finding him charming, sexy and interesting. You wanted to know him better, you could point out just how unique person he was by first standing and that intrigued you. Sherlock, back then, didn’t much try to approach you and actually acted very cold toward you, but as time passed he did become interested in you. The truth was that he had found you just as interesting as you had found him, but, incapable of handling feelings and emotions he tried to push you away. But when Sherlock did tell you how he felt you fought back, for Molly. You didn’t want to be that friend that steals boyfriend or a crush, though Sherlock and Molly had never dated. Time went by and Molly realized how much Sherlock cared for you, she insisted you to let him take you out and you did. Now you had been dating for almost a year with the detective and it didn’t bother Molly, she still did fancy Sherlock, yes, but would never do anything, or try anything because she knew you and him were together.

You approached Molly with long strides, your hands sway on either side of you, your shoes hitting the floor and the sound echoing loudly, but it wasn’t enough to bring Molly back from her trance. Only until you were right beside her, already talking, she jumped realizing you were there. She was holding a file in her arms, her white long jacket almost burying her form under, her hands barely showing as she held the file high, the top touching her chin. You took a stand next to her after you had greeted her and asked her, ”What’s he doing?” Molly simply nodded towards the window.

You turned to look through the glass and what you saw almost stopped your heart, the breath you took getting stuck in your throat. The reflection of your boyfriend on the other side moved fast, mirroring his movements as he kept whipping the pale lifeless body, hair falling on his face, sweat drops lining on his forehead. He was so concentrated on what he was doing that he hadn’t even noticed you, much like Molly just now. You and she stood there in silence for a minute, admiring Sherlock in his tight purple dress shirt, black jacket and trousers that hugged his body perfectly, not too tight to bother his doings.

Your eyes were captivated by the show. You pressed your thighs together, trying to evade the wetness that increased between your legs from growing, your cheeks turning pink. You could hear your own breathing, deep and long breaths. You felt ashamed that you were standing by your good friend when your boyfriend was right there, making you feel like this. The whip was drawn back then coming down in a fast swish, the end of the crop must likely echoing in the other room. Sherlock’s hair pulled back when he straightened his back, readying for another spank, then falling over his eyes when his head lowered. It took all of your efforts to move your gaze away from Sherlock and to finally concentrate on Molly, to try and be polite like a normal human being should.

”How have you been, Molly?” You asked and even if you had tried to sound as friendly and natural it didn’t show. You ended up reminding of your shy demeanor where you had only just met the woman in front of you and this was the first time talking to her which was not true. She was your closest friend. You had seen Molly repeatedly just last month. Of course these days always Sherlock being precent. ”I haven’t seen you in a while.” You gave her a warm smile to which she answered with one of her own. You started a conversation that was irrelevant to Sherlock’s on going spanking in the next room, and you kept up with it for about ten minutes. You were talking about work and Molly’s life. She had met someone who she considered worthy of her time and you cheered her to go for it, just like she had done with you on Sherlock. After those ten minutes she looked at her phone screen to see the clock and gasped. She had two missed calls and she was late from seeing this mysterious man of hers.

You put your hands comfortingly on her shoulders, promised her you and Sherlock would finish things in here while she went to change so she could clean up after Sherlock and get to her man. Molly thanked you and rushed to change, typing on her phone and then as she went to enter through a door she lifted her phone over her ear to call. You turned back to Sherlock who still kept spanking and couldn’t but freeze for another minute. He lifted his gaze, took couple of uncontrolled steps and flinched, or so it looked like, as he saw you there instead of Molly. He smirked and nodded his head, out of breath he was, to which you answered by a wave of your hand and mouthing ’Hi’ to him. He beckoned you to company him on the other side of the glass and you did as you were asked.

”Hello, Sherlock.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. The soft click heard by you both, your hand lingering on the handle while you stood near the entrance. Sherlock smirked at you and your weariness, a chuckle leaving his lips, his hands gripping the riding crop, eyes fixed on it, but not concentrated by the object. He spun on his heels, his eyes were gleaming by now, at the sight of you, and he was greatly humored  by something. He tilted his head and asked, ”Did you enjoy the show?”

”Molly needs to leave soon so better finish up what you’re doing.” You informed in an ordering tone trying to change the subject, but still held a playful smile on your lips. You walked right beside Sherlock, the room was probably a degree or two warmer than on the other side. Your steps were short, but fast enough as you approached him, not letting him grow impatient while he already waited to embrace you. He held his left hand stretched inviting you for a side hug and as you reached his arm he pulled you to his side, kissing your right temple. The riding crop was still in his right hand, his fingers gripping on it, holding it on his side and the tip of it brushing close the floor.

”I’m almost ready.” He said and his left hand’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, then a smirk spread on his lips. ”So you did enjoy the show?” That bastard just checked your pulse, you realized. ”Someone’s exited.” He stated and you looked up at his bright shining eyes and a smile he tried to keep away from spreading on his lips. His hair looked more black than dark brown in the dim light in the room you were in and it shadowed his whole face, strands of hair hanging loosely over his face. You wanted to hit him, but Sherlock pulled you closer, your hands pressed on either side of your body making it impossible for you to inform him of your opinion. You settle for a frown which wasn’t as effective as a fist to his shoulder would’ve been.

He laughed at your expression, you reminded him of an unhappy child and he rubbed your left arm with his that was still wrapped around you. He leaned closer, his breath tickling your skin, lips brushing your ear, ”There. Finished.” It came out in a choked chuckled he had tried to hide, but failed. You suspected he really even cared you had caught him finding the situation humorous, then again you didn’t even know what the situation was in the first place, so you gave him a suspicious grin, your body leaning inches away from him to your left to get a better look at him.

”You didn’t even do anything.” You pin pointed, eyebrows low and eyes slightly narrowed but not scowling, amusement clear on your features but still doubtful. You could see Sherlock smile wickedly at your statement, his head turning towards the window to see had Molly already come back but fortunately was met with a sight of an empty hallway. He laughed and pulled you close again, whispering to your ear, ”Tell me, how long had you been watching?” You answered with, ”Ten minutes or so.” Of course you weren’t hundred percent sure. Sherlock nodded in agreement and looked away again. He had had hard time looking straight back at you for some reason and you kept trying to catch his attention, but failed.

”Guess that’s enough.” Sherlock admitted to himself. He pulled away from the hug and started to get ready to leave, he took his jacket near the doorway, from a hanger as well as his scarf. He didn’t give you any answers from there on. You met Molly before exiting the hospital then headed to hail for a cab. Sherlock opened the door for you, he was smiling constantly and in very good mood. He sat right beside you in the cab, closer than usually and what he did through the whole ride gave away what he was up to. His hand was on your thigh, caressing and massaging the surface of your pants, inching higher and higher. You couldn’t stop smiling. So this was one of those days then. His eagerness surprised you, that you had to admit.

When you finally got to Baker Street, Sherlock paid the ride, rushing to open the door to his flat for you and when you went inside, he shut the door with a loud bang. You were taking your coat off when Sherlock took a stand right behind you, his front pressed firmly against your back. His breath lingered on your shoulders and you could hear him panting. He was so deliciously needy for you by now that you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

”Leave your coat and shoes, get upstairs to my bedroom and start stripping.” He growled in your ear. You knew he would get impatient in a second, but you wanted this. He had made you go through his show, now he had to go through yours. The coat you were wearing had now fallen off your shoulders, hanging on your elbows when you gazed at Sherlock over your shoulder, peeking at him sexily, biting your lower lip and asked, ”Do you want me completely naked or in my underwear?” You teased, pulling your hair back so he could see you better. He sucked air in his lungs, his eyes narrowing when he hissed, ”Everything on the floor. And don’t make me wait for another second, or I will have to punish you.” You tried to keep the chuckle in. Oh you would enjoy this.

”Are we in a hurry?” You purred, now fully facing him, on your tip toes. Your hands found their way on his shoulders, your lips touching his chin as you went to whisper, ”Are you too eager you can’t wait any longer?” That was when Sherlock snapped. He growled, lifting the riding crop to his mouth and bit on it, lowered his shoulders, his coat falling on the floor, he ripped his scarf off around his neck, that too on the floor in a blink and then he hooked his hands behind your thighs, pulling you to him, lifting you up. Your chest was pressed against his, your hands now behind his back, legs around his hips as he started to carry you upstairs. You giggled at his sudden dominance.

Sherlock carried you straight to his room, kicking the ajar door open with his foot and threw you on the bed, closing the door just as loudly as the front door. He gave you a wild, lustful look, taking the crop from his mouth and ordered you, ”Clothes off. Now.” And you did as he asked. You took your time though, giving him a show you slid your pants down with slow motion, your shirt pulled over your head, your hips swinging while you stripped. You could see the bulge in Sherlock’s pants. You bit your lip again, now taking the top that had been under your long sleeved shirt, lifting it to shield your eyes and while you were at it, Sherlock approached you fast, pulling the cloth off you and throwing it somewhere in his room. You unclasped your bra, taking it off while Sherlock went down on you. You heard him moan as he took a whiff. ”So wet for me already.” He moaned, taking your knickers, ”Just as I suspected.” then pushing you back down on his bed.

His room was dark, the only light came from through the thin and light curtains, but it wasn’t much. Then again you didn’t really care was it day light or moon light in which you fucked, just that you could see his face. You crawled back on the bed, Sherlock taking a step closer, he hungrily studied your now naked body. You lifted your head and dared to ask, ”Aren’t you going to take yours off?” That made Sherlock smile. It was one of those dominant smiles that gave you the answer. This was going to take time. You were in for a good and long play, wether you liked it or not, and Sherlock would make sure you would suffer. This wasn’t going to be one of those fair fights, but a foreplay with Sherlock was never fair. He would make sure to torture you with a long teasing. ”I don’t need to take mine off.” He chuckled. That cocky bastard.

”Shame, I would love to help.” You smirked. You made a risky move, lifting your leg up in the air, your toes touching the bulge in his pants and rubbing the fabric that shielded his cock. You looked at Sherlock daringly, about to inch closer to unbuckle his belt when he shoved your leg away with a grunt. He took a hold of your ankles, pulled at them so you were laying on your back, towering over you and whispered with a low, threatening tone, ”One more move and I will tie you to the bed, darling.” This sent a shiver down your spine, your folds pulsing. You gave out a shaky breath, not able to contain yourself. You didn’t know was that what you wanted, for Sherlock to tie you down or to just go with what he had planned already? He was already warning you and you knew he could be very ruthless towards you in bed, but you also knew when you were challenged you couldn’t back up.

You kneed his groin fast but softly enough to not hurt him. His back arched and he moaned out loud in your ear. You moved your leg, your knee rubbing his bulge. You couldn’t continue it longer than five seconds before Sherlock pulled away from you. You sat up, half disappointed how long he lasted but half amused by his angered expression. He took fast long steps, took a pair of hang cuffs from his locker and turned to you. You playfully whined and pouted. ”Aw, come now Sherlock. I was just returning the favor.” You pulled your hands behind your back as if that would stop him from cuffing you to the bed and like you had suspected, it didn’t.

”On your stomach, woman.” He ordered coldly. You knit your brows together. You knew you were in for trouble as he addressed you by ’woman’ and you felt hesitant on turning your back to him. This resulted Sherlock rolling his eyes at you, he walked over to you, took you by the shoulders and turned you over. His hands were awfully forceful and powerful and you couldn’t fight him nor did you want to. You were in a state where every move he made, every touch he gave you made you tingle. His fingers wrapped around your left wrist, cuffed it and pulled it around one of the headboards iron bars. Then he took a hold of your right wrist, securing it with the other and got up from the bed. You looked at Sherlock over your shoulder, he admired your exposed body and you could tell that you disobeying, ending you cuffed to the bed had only turned him on even more.

He took the riding crop from the floor where he had dropped it when he had helped you strip, eyeing the object dangerously interested in it. He let his fingers caress the crop, taking his time admiring the item. Your breathing started to quicken. You had never done this before and were honestly nervous by now. You knew you could deal with pain, but you had never experienced it while sex, not like this. You had to admit that you had found it hot when he had whipped the dead body back in the hospital, secretly wanted him to use it on you, but now that you were there, laying naked on your stomach ready for a beating you couldn’t help but worry.

”This is going to serve as your punishment, for starters.” Sherlock informed, his eyes now back on you. ”But only for starters as I am aware this will also turn you on even more, so do not think I am being nice to you.” He warned with a low voice. He then lifted the crop and swished it through the air, the tip hitting you hard on your left butt cheek. You chocked out a sound that was a mix of yelp, gasp and shriek. The touch of the crop was so sudden and the pain so fast like a big elastic band hitting your rear you couldn’t make out sound louder than the snap itself that echoed from the spank.

”Now, count out with me.” Sherlock instructed coldly and showed no remorse which only exited you more. ”When you are unable to feel the blows only then I will stop. That was one.” He waited, but you said nothing. He huffed in irritation, then hit you again with the crop, hearing you gasp. ”One!” He yelled and you repeated his words shortly. ”Good girl.” Sherlock cooed, pleased at your cooperation and you felt the words sink in. You were getting wet by his hits, but him dressing you like that, so dominantly made you lose your mind.

You had reached to five when Sherlock stopped. He let his hand caress your red, sensitive behind with his tender fingers. You had never imagined that the sensation that came from being hit repeatedly and then caressed could feel this good, it really felt like a reward more than a punishment. Your body shook under his touch, anticipating to get a real reward from your dominant boyfriend, but your movements back fired. Sherlock mused, ”I see you can still feel my touch.” You whined when he withdrew his hand from you and gripped the crop. He held it high, over his head and calmly said, ”Keep counting with me, love.” And he brought it down hard. Thankfully it took him only six more spanks to find you silent, not responding and he stopped. He sat beside you and started caressing your behind.

You were out of breath, your ass tingling and cheeks wet from tears. You had to admit you had liked the spanking, the crop would definitely need to stay around, but you intended that next time it would be drawn on his skin, not yours. You relaxed as much as you could on the bed, the soft blankets underneath you caressing your skin nicely, warm from your body heath. You nuzzled your head to the pillows, moaned while Sherlock treated your stinging arse.

”Spread your legs for me.” Sherlock ordered after a while of silence and this time, without any nasty remarks or witty comebacks you did as he said. You couldn’t see, but you heard from his voice that he was smirking. ”Someone has learned their lesson.” This sent a spark through you and you instantly wanted to show him just how submissive you had become, it was in your nature to keep fighting and resisting. ”Good girl.” Sherlock purred and that made all the thoughts of resistance fade. You were a slave to that word. Oh how much you loved hearing him say it.

Sherlock got closer to the between of your legs, he took the riding crop out again, holding it loosely in his hand. You reacted to his movements and went to close your legs, but Sherlock stopped you. He took a hold of your calves and kept them in place with an iron like grip. ”Don’t close them.” He warned. You forced your legs to relax and let him do what he was about to. You jumped on the bed when he brought the tip of the crop up your wet slit, gathering some of your juices to it to examine how wet you were. You heard him groan, pleased by your wetness. He then threw the crop away, it ended up on the floor far away from the bed. You smiled, thinking finally you could get you release.

Sherlock reached over your body, his breath tickling your neck and he placed his lips on your bare skin, kissing you softly. He went down your spine, his hands on both side of your waist. He lingered at your lower back, his breath warm against you, kissing and licking your skin, worshipping you. You were breathing loudly, ready for him to take, to give you your release, but Sherlock was far from that. He went back up, his lips guiding him, back to your shoulders and to your neck. His curly hair ghosted on your cheek, his hands cupping your breasts. Oh how you had needed that. He massaged your nipples with his fingers, making sure to keep you moaning.

”Please.” You moaned in between deep breaths. ”Please, Sherlock.” You gasped. Sherlock grinned. You were already begging, how sad. ”Sherlock, I can’t take this anymore, I need you.” Your voice grew louder and louder, but Sherlock kept his pace steady, horribly slow. You didn’t want him to treat you this way, not now when he had started so dominantly, turning to your gentle lover that took his time to give all your body parts equally the same amount of love. His voice surprised you. It was nothing like what his actions gave out. He almost growled in your ear, ”You think you have learned your lesson?” He asked. You were baffled. What lesson? If he didn’t mean you disobeying his orders then you had no idea what he was talking about. ”When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. No questions asked.” Good, so you were on the same page. You nodded your head, then moaned, ”I’ll be good. I’m a good girl. I’ll do what ever you say.” An evil grin spread on Sherlock’s lips. ”That is what I am counting on.” He gave you a last kiss, then pulled away. You heard him get off the bed, starting to strip. You were about to turn on your back when Sherlock snapped, ”I didn’t tell you to move. Don’t make me punish you again, love.”

You waited as he agonizingly slowly undressed himself, he could see you twitch on the bed, your eyes taking in every new naked part of him as he pulled the clothes off. ”How does it feel?” He asked. ”To have to wait for me?” You frowned. So this was payback time? ”It’s killing me.” You whispered truthfully. Sherlock hummed in agreement. ”Good.” He stated, now finally fully naked, his wonderful cock rock hard, pointing towards you. He walked closer, you moved on the bed but not changing your position. ”Now on your fours.” He said.

”Aren’t you going to uncut me?” You asked truly surprised. You longed to touch him. You longed to turn over and kiss him, bury your finger in his hair and pull him close. You heard Sherlock chuckle. ”You didn’t really think I was done with your punishment, did you?” Your eyes flew open. He knew how much you hated to be bound to the bed when he did give you your release. So this was it. This was one of his punishments. And you had thought it had been the riding crop. Stupid you.

”I did mention knowing you would get aroused by the riding crop before. This is your real punishment. You have been a very bad girl and I think your release will be rewarding enough. No need to untie you, maybe now my naughty girl will learn.” He purred and you cursed, but just inside of your head. You knew now that you had crossed a line. Why did you have to tease him so?

”Please, Sherlock, I promise I’ll be good from now on! Just please, untie me!” You pleaded as Sherlock positioned himself behind you. He put his hands on your ass that was now in the air, your legs slightly spread. ”No. You need to become more obedient and if I am to back away from my methods you will never learn. Now, embrace your reward, love. Next time I even might let you lay on your back.” And he thrusted in. You moaned louder than expected, your hands pulling the cuffs. You were sure you would have awful bruises on your wrists by the morning.

Sherlock pulled out slowly, then thrusted back in, his nails digging deep into your flesh as he pounded into you in a way that made you scream from pleasure. He was rough with you, his right hand finding it’s way in your hair and grasping it, pulling your head back as he thrusted. It didn’t take you long to come, and Sherlock came right after you, pulling out and spreading his cum over your holes and running down your thighs. You tried to even your breathing, your head hit the pillows, Sherlock retreating from you and laying next to you, opening the cuffs for you so you could lay down next to him.

Sherlock pulled you to his embrace, hugged you and kissed you. You snuggled close to him, both of you sweaty and still out of breath. Sherlock was first to talk, ”I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.” He whispered. You shook your head. ”No, just the right amount.” You admitted. ”I really didn’t intend to be so ruthless.” Sherlock told you, but he didn’t sound so sincere as he had intended. ”It’s alright, as long as you let me use the crop next time.” You chuckled, your eyes starting to close. Sherlock laughed at that and said, ”Didn’t I tell you that next time, it will be you, once again cuffed to the bed on your back?”

”You were serious?” You asked, your eyes opening. Your boyfriend laughed at your puzzled expression. ”Of course I was serious. Your punishment is far from over.” He explained and kissed the top of your head. ”You fucking sociopath.” You sighed.

Archie Andrews Soulmate!AU

‘Technicolor’

Request: aa can you do a soulmate au with archie wherein all you see is black and white until you touch your soulmate? like he bumps into you in the hallway or something and color just blooms before your eyes?? i dunno of that makes sense or not but your writing it great!! <3

Summary: (a Soulmate!AU) [In a black and white world where you find your soulmate when you touch for the first time. After your skin touches theirs, the two people can see each other in color, later on expanding into seeing the whole world in color.] Y/n has just moved to Riverdale and is starting her first day at Riverdale High. Will today be the day where she’ll find the one she’s been looking for?

Word Count: 1804

a/n: First of all lmao the summary I just wrote for this was so cheesy I apologize. I had fun writing this so I hope you have fun reading it but if not sorry I suck. I’m posting it without editing it so if you see any mistakes I promise I’ll fix them tomorrow I’m just currently being lazy. Don’t forget to request!

 —

You heard it happened to another girl from your old school last week. She’d been visiting family in another town when it happened. You heard it happened like some sort of rom-com. Apparently, she’d dropped her wallet and he’d tapped on her shoulder to return it to her. She turned and saw him, like actually saw him, in color. You’d heard it a billion times. When you touch the right person for the first time, you finally start to see in color. At first, it’s just them you see in color, everything else stays black and white, but after a while you can see everything. Something in you goes right with something in them and the rest is history.

It was hard to even conceptualize. You’d lived your whole life seeing black and white, what did it even mean to see in color. They compared it to The Wizard of Oz, like seeing in Technicolor. Before you touch them is like Dorothy in Kansas, but after was like when she went over the rainbow to Munchkinland. People who could see it had tried to explain it to you many times before, but they always ended up saying it was impossible to explain to someone who couldn’t see it; you’d see one day. But what if you didn’t? There were people who lived their whole lives and dies still seeing black and white. Maybe you would be one of those people.

You felt stupid even thinking about it. You were only in high school after all. There were people who didn’t see their person until they were 30, people who didn’t see their person until they were 60! Why were you so anxious?

You knew you didn’t need another person to survive or anything, you could take care of yourself. It’s just the thought of spending your whole life by yourself sounded pretty unappetizing. Even though so many people hadn’t found their person yet you couldn’t help the feeling like you were late. You knew a couple that had seen each other since second grade. You were patient, but you just wanted to know what you were missing.

Your first day at a new school. You’d moved into your new house in Riverdale a couple days ago, and it seemed like a nice town. All the people you’d met seemed welcoming enough and your room was bigger than in your old house. You hadn’t moved here to find your person or anything, your mom’s job had a great opportunity here for her, but you thought maybe this would be that place where it would happen. You didn’t want to get your hopes up… but what if?

You pulled up into a spot on the far side of the parking lot at Riverdale High. You took a deep breath before ripping the band-aid off and opening the car door, making you way toward the entrance. Various other students were laughing and talking with their friends. To say you were nervous would be to say that Mount Everest was a bit of a hike: a huge understatement. It was the first day back from summer, but you’d never been the new kid before. You didn’t know a soul.

You’d been to the office once before over the weekend to register for classes so you found your way there relatively easily once you got inside. You walked into the bustling office and tried to avoid getting hit by a receptionist who at that speed could have easily passed for a linebacker. You hesitantly approached a woman behind a desk who looked busy, but at least noticeably less busy than everyone else. She was typing up something with a level of ferocity that had to be breaking some sort of record. You waited uncomfortably for her to finish what she was doing and notice you standing in front of her. Was she going to finish?

After half a minute and a few final loud smacks on her keyboard, she pushed up her glasses and looked up at you with a weary but genuine smile. “Can I help you with something, honey?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said fumbling through the front pocket of your backpack for the right paper. “Here it is.” You slid the paper to her with your name and information they had given you when you’d registered. “I’m new.”

Her eyes scanned the paper and she turned to grab something from behind the desk. She turned back to you and passed a piece of paper to you. “So, this is your schedule. The school is a bit of a maze so let me see if I can find someone…” She looked around the office and her eyes landed on someone. “Aha!” You followed her line of sight and saw a boy with his arms full of books walking toward the door. You strained your neck to see his face but he was turned away.  “Mr. Andrews?!” The boy stopped in his tracks and swiveled around in search for the source of his name. Whoa. The receptionist waved him over and he made his way over to you.

You had tried your whole life not to think about the boys you met too much so you wouldn’t get too attached to them only for them to see someone else. But boy, oh boy, he was kind of a babe.

“Mr. Andrews, she doesn’t know her way around the school yet; Could you show her to her to her first class?”

He glanced quickly at you then back to the receptionist, “Oh, yeah. No problem!”

You smiled graciously at the receptionist and she turned back to her work.

“So we’re going to…” He looked over the schedule and mumbled to himself. “Ah, cool.” He looked up at you and smiled. “That’s not far at all.” You could feel your heart flutter. He started walking down the hall way and you stayed by his side, a couple inches away. “I would shake your hand but I don’t really have a free one at the moment,” he said nodding down to the comically large pile of books he was carrying. “I’m not trying to be rude, I promise.”

“No, don’t even worry about it.” You replied. Secretly though, you were kind of upset you couldn’t shake his hand. You wanted to touch him for a second, just to rule him out as your person. Now you were going to be thinking about him all day.

“So, are you a freshman? Or just new?” he asked while maneuvering through the populated hallway.

“Just new. My mom got a promotion so we moved to Riverdale last week. I’m actually a sophomore.” You explained. You had a feeling you would have to be telling this story pretty frequently in the near future.

“Oh, hey, cool! I’m a sophomore too! Maybe we’ll have classed together and stuff.” He said with a hint of excitement. You didn’t even know why you were getting your hopes up. For all you know he had already seen his person.

“I hope so. So far you’re the only person I’ve met at this school. It would be nice to have a familiar face in a class or two.” You tried to keep the sound of desperation in your voice to a minimum.

He stopped in front of a classroom on the right side of the hallway, “Well, here we are.”

You didn’t want to leave yet, but you knew you had to. “Thank you so much for helping me out, by the way.

He smiled and turned to face you, backing away in the opposite direction “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you around later?” It only hit you then that you didn’t know his first name. And he didn’t know your name either. You opened your mouth to speak, some guy rammed into him, knocking down all his books and making him fall right onto you.

The guy looked at the pile up he’d caused, “Oh, sorry dude,” and walked away.

“I’m so sorry,” he said lifting himself off you and turning to pick up his books without looking at you.

You looked down at your backpack and fixed everything that was misplaced. “It wasn’t your fault,” you comforted without looking up. “It was that stupid guy, he came out of nowhere.”

It was then that you looked up at him, and it happened. You could see him. You, quite literally, could not believe your eyes. You could see the way he really looked, with all the colors that belonged to him. He looked even more beautiful that you had thought. His hair was bright – you didn’t know what everyone else’s hair looked like, or what color to call his, but you knew it was special. You could see the blush in his cheeks as he fumbled with his books, you hadn’t known what blushing really looked like. You could see him, and for now, only him.

He still hadn’t looked up from the books. An overwhelming feeling of fear washed over you. What if he didn’t see you in color back? That happened sometimes. What if it happened to you? You looked at him and you wanted to say something, to ask him, but nothing could come out.

“Hey,” he said, “I just realized that I never got to ask you–” He glanced up and you and back down before he knew what he had seen. He froze, calculating in his head. He slowly turned his head up to face you. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at you and for a while, you just looked back.

You broke the silence, “Can, can you see me? In color?”

He nodded his head yes but remained silent. You could see his eyes scanning all over you, looking like it was the first time he had his eyes, because it kind of was.

With wide eyes he darted his to yours, realizing, “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” you laughed lightly.

“Well can you? Please?” He laughed back.

“It’s Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he said more to himself than to you, like he was feeling how it felt on him. “I’m Archie.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you Archie.”

“So… we’re…?”

“I guess so,” You were in as much shock as he was. This was definitely not how you had expected your first day at Riverdale High to start, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Do you want to get out of here? We can talk and stuff,” he asked standing up.

“There is nothing more I want in the world.” You reached out your hand and he pulled you up. You walked right out the school and onto the street abandoning all the papers and books. You had more important things to do. You were finally seeing in Technicolor.

Fire and Ice

Bucky x Reader Oneshot

Summary – Prompt #37 – God, why do you always make me blush so damn much!

Warnings – One curse word, a little angst, a little fluff, and a little PG-13 action!

Word Count – 3,305

Notes – This is my fic for Kait’s @bionic-buckyb 5K AU Writing Challenge.  I’m taking a page out of Anika’s @avengerofyourheart book and using my own life as inspiration for this fic.  As some of you know, I was in the Air Force before I became a teacher.  I was a Medical Technician (med tech for short) which basically meant I was an LPN.  RN’s were the officers (Lieutenants and Captains) and the med techs were enlisted (Sergeants and Chiefs).  This fic is basically the story of my insane crush on one of the doctors I worked with when I was stationed at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base 17 years ago.  He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life and every time I was near him, my face would turn so red!  Most of what happens in this fic actually happened to me. I never got the courage to talk to him, but I saw a picture of him a few years ago and he got old and fat, so maybe I dodged a bullet!  Anyway, he’ll always have a special place in my heart and this fic gives me an opportunity for some closure (and to finally put my fantasies into words!). As always, I enjoy reading all of your feedback, comments and questions!

Special Notes – The military is notorious for using acronyms, so here are the ones that I will be using in this fic.

·         Lt. – Lieutenant

·         LPN – Licensed Practical Nurse

·         RN – Registered Nurse

·         OTS – Officer Training School (boot camp for officers)

·         EJ – External Jugular Vein Cannulation (an IV that goes in the side of your neck)

Masterlist

Originally posted by thespoilerwitchblog

 

“Winter is coming. I repeat, Winter is coming.”

Bucky turned away from the blood pressure monitor to see Steve darting into the room.  “I’ve told you a thousand times to stop calling her that.”

“I’m not the one who started calling her the Ice Queen.  Blame Dr. Stark for that nickname.”

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1. “holy shit, you’re real.”

Grocery shopping in the middle of the night was your favorite thing to do. No long lines. No screaming kids. It was peaceful and you managed to get everything that you needed to without stressing out.

You only needed a few items. Yogurt, milk, eggs, your favorite poptarts along with some other things.

They were playing a song from the 80s on the overhead speaker. You hummed along as you pushed your cart towards the cereal aisle. You needed your Lucky Charms.

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Not Safe (C.H)

{pic not mine}

warnings: cussing, mention of religion

A.N: i’m not christian so i’m sorry if any of what i say is offensive,, im trying not to mention as much religion…

His hands started to give out from holding his weight up for so long, so he hovered above on his elbows for support. That deepened the kiss. Tongue was everywhere, you wouldn’t even know what the goal was with this tongue. His crotch brushed against hers, a slight tough but enough to make him moan her name ever so loudly into her neck.

“Oh, Y/N,” he sighed into her neck. He placed small kisses on her neck and on her shoulder, moving back up to her neck. He was having the time of his life. As for her, she stared up at the ceiling. In lust? In desperation? Was she grabbing onto his shirt, desperate for a deeper touch? No. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes filled with boredom, her breathing stable, her body stiff as wood. The routine was simple and the same. Her five year long boyfriend would come over for steak and mashed potatoes for dinner with her parents, sometimes it was with mac and cheese when her mom felt adventurous! Then they’d go up to her room for their 7-8 study session, only to turn into an intense make out session. Or an intense make out session for him. But it never ended with sex. The Lord would not approve of premarital sex. Please do not break the routine.

He let out a grunt and placed one last kiss to her collarbone, letting out a deep sigh. He lifted his head above hers and touched their noses, rubbing his tip against hers. “God, I want to marry you,” he sighed. His eyes were still closed in lust as he savored her smell, the taste of her. Her eyes were wide open, her lips forming a fake smile to show him she was just as enthusiastic as he was. His eyes opened to meet hers and he returned a bigger smile to her. He kissed the tip of her nose and slowly made his way off of her, letting out a loud groan as he made his way up. He sat back on the bed and watched as she made her way up as well, her hair just slightly messed up from the slight head movements on the pillow, her lips glistening from spit and chap stick. Their eyes met and his smile turned into a smirk, proud of his work of art. She placed her hands in her lap and returned a small smile. He furrowed his eyebrows and reached up to move a strand of hair away from her face.

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Business and Pleasure - Part 13

Summary:  Bucky AU. After a major deal falls through, your father’s business almost falls apart. In a desperate attempt to save his livelihood, he seeks the help of his oldest friend, George Barnes, who happens to be the CEO of one of the most influential businesses in New York. He agrees, but on one condition. You have to marry his son.

Word Count: 1,413

Warnings: Swearing


Originally posted by naih-reedus


“Y/N Barnes?” the nurse’s voice, however kind it may have seemed to everyone else in the room, sent shivers down your spine. You weren’t ready for this. You didn’t want to be here. In fact, you could think of several places you’d rather be at the moment, but you tried to keep a neutral expression as you stood.

“Do you want me to come in with you? Or I can just wait out here. Whichever you’d prefer.” Steve asked, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Nodding, you squeezed back tightly, “Please. I feel like I’m either going to puke. Or pass out. Maybe both. I don’t really know.”


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Carmilla Movie Theory

You’ve asked me to tell you a story, to weave you a theory. My inbox sings with your requests to try and jumble everything together. You ask. I’ll deliver. 

Originally posted by loveisweakness-clexa4life

I’ll give it my best shot because there’s nothing I like more than a challenge. We’re sticking to the usual plan of trying to make the most ridiculous but still kinda plausible theory possible. To start us off, here’s what canon information I have to work with.

  1. The Existing Carmilla Mythos - So we naturally have everything from the 3 seasons to work with. You’ve seen the web series. You know.
  2. The Original Trailer - This is the one on the beach that announced the movie. Frankly, I’m curious as to how much of this will actually apply because from my understanding it was put together before they had a script. As a scene, it’s probably cut.  I’m treating the information as canon because I don’t have enough material to be cutting ANY of it.
  3. The New Cast Information - Literally yesterday, we received the names of three new cast members. Seeing as I’m going to make the case that these are all literary references (stay tuned) just their names alone give me info. They are:
    1. Emily Bronte
    2. Charlotte Bronte
    3. The Woman In Black

Now we do our magical conjecture and fun fact building to try and whip it all together into a coherent story. Basically, I’m going to write you a movie because I’m a novelist at heart and a story structure buff. We’re going to try and figure out what we can expect when the movie releases in the fall (?). Buckle up, creampuffs.

 This is going to get 7k words worth of messy from parents to exes to fish gods to old school novellas. 

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Patater Week - Day 3

Feb. 8 - Fake Dating/Secret (?) Relationship - (2K)

“I don’t care, it’s not weird, I’m going to sit on you,” Jeff says, shifting all 200 pounds of his body onto Kent’s lap.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Kent tells him.

“That’s pretty gay,” an Aces teammate says from where he is sitting on the ground, demolishing his bowl of popcorn that he stole from Kent’s cabinets, even though Kent had specifically told him to not touch his cabinets. “And I have a boyfriend.”

“Shut up, I’m so scared, I’m so fucking scared,” Jeff says, burying his face in Kent’s neck. “Did they make it out of the hallway?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you watch the movie?” Kent says through his teeth as he shoves Jeff off to the side, which is rather difficult considering that Jeff is insistent that he turn into a human-sized suction cup for the occasion. “Seriously, could you let go? I can’t breathe.”

“Why did you pick a scary movie if you’re afraid of them, Jeff?” a rookie asks. He’s lounging on the carpet, his head using Patrick’s lap as a pillow as he scrolls down his phone.

“I’m not scared,” Jeff says, then curses as the woman in the TV screen turns a corner in her hallway and the music grows more ominous. “This is for a team bonding exercise for the rookies.”

“Which you hosted. At my place,” Kent says flatly. “Without consulting me.”

“You’re the captain,” Jeff says. “It should be at your place.”

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Babysitter-Ashton Irwin

Originally posted by loserxhemmo96

Warning: obviously smut and language

Rating: R


Your phone buzzed next to you on your bedside table. Groaning, you rolled over in your bed and unplugged your phone. Your phone read 8:30am which made you whimper in exhaustion. Below the time was a text from your only babysitting client at the time, Ms. Irwin. You had only acquired the job because your mom had been childhood friends with her, but she was a kind woman nonetheless.

Ms. Irwin was probably the sweetest woman to have ever walked the earth, despite the hardships she had overcame such as her husband leaving her with three kids a couple years ago. But what puzzled you to no extent was the fact that such a kind woman could have the literal spawn on satan as her eldest child.

Ashton Irwin, also known as Hades by yourself and your best friend (Y/BFF/N), was probably the rude human being you have encountered. Despite his stunning looks and musical talent, he was probably the one person you admittedly hated. Although he was a kind child when the two of you where in lower school, right when he hit his teens he pushed you away and never explained his reasons for doing so.

Now, in high school, he never even spared you a glance. It wasn’t as if you were still mad at him, he had pushed you away so long ago but he only angered you when you were babysitting his two younger siblings, Lauren and Harry. It seemed funny how Ms. Irwin always had you babysit even though Ashton was right upstairs in his room playing on his drums, but you both knew he wasn’t capable of taking care of two young children. 

From: Ms. Irwin-8:30am

Hey (Y/n), I’m so sorry to be an inconvenience to you but I was wondering if you can possibly watch the kids starting from 11am today to 7pm tomorrow? Sorry my boss just told me I have to come for a conference this weekend.

You groaned and sat up, running your hand through your hair before responding.

To: Ms. Irwin-8:34am

I’d be happy to (: I’ll see you at 11.

Since you had already woken up you knew attempting to go back to sleep was going to be useless. Hesitantly, you placed your bare feet on the cold wooden floor and quickly scampered to the bathroom to brush your teeth and you went to your kitchen to eat something for breakfast.

Time seemed to fly by and before you knew it you were approaching the front door of the Irwin household with your small overnight bag by your side.

You knocked once and the door flew open seconds later. Instead of the bright and smiling face of Ms. Irwin, you were greeted by the irritated look on Ashton’s face. “Hey Ash,” you smiled, despite the uncomfortable look on his face.

He closed the door behind you, “Don’t call me that,” he mumbled before walking past you to climb up his stairs and probably sulk in his room.

“(Y/n)!” Lauren yelled before wrapping her arms around your legs, followed by Harry.

“Hey guys! Are you excited about this weekend?” you asked, ruffling Harry’s hair.

They nodded in unison and you detached yourself from them to find Ms. Irwin who was in the kitchen making them their lunch. “Hi Ms. Irwin, how are you?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

She jumped in surprise, “Oh hi dear! I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” you responded.

“Thank you so much for coming on short notice. I really appreciate it.”

You smiled, grabbing the plates from her that held the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she had made for them. “Of course, anytime. And don’t you have a plane to catch?” I asked.

Her eyes widened, “You’re right!” she rushed to grab her bags, “Again, thank you and I hope Ashton isn’t too much of a bother. He probably won’t leave his room anyways. Text me if there’s an emergency!” she yelled before running out to her car.

You let out a long breath before turning back to the two kids standing behind me. “So, what do you two wanna do?”

—————–

“That movie was so good!” Lauren yelled from the backseat of your car. The three of you had just went to the theater to see Moana and the kids were ecstatic about it.

You nodded and smiled, “Yeah it was great! What do you guys say? Ice cream when we get home?” They all nodded in excitement at your offer and practically bounced in their chairs until you arrived home.

Once you parked your car in the driveway they ran out of the car towards the house and flung themselves on the couch, awaiting their ice cream. You smiled at their excitement and went into the kitchen and pulled out the chocolate ice cream. 

You groaned when you realized the bowls where just about five centimeters from your reach even while you were on your toes. Suddenly, a body was pressed flush against yours. “You’re too damn short,” a voice said gruffly from behind you. You turned your head slightly to see Ashton’s bare, broad chest.

Before you knew it he had pulled down three bowls and placed them in front of you. “Thank you,” you whispered for no apparent reason, just because of the close proximity. 

His body lingered behind you for only a couple of seconds before he disappeared. You felt your face heat up but you quickly dismissed any thoughts of Ashton before scooping ice cream into the bowls.

“Who wants ice cream?” you asked, walking into the living room but you stopped in your tracks when the two toddlers were passed out on the couch. A soft smile spread across your face at the two softly sleeping. You set the bowls on the coffee table and picked up Harry to bring him to his room. 

After tucking both of them in you started walking down the hall to get to the stairs but you stopped in your tracks when you heard All Time Low blasting loudly from Ashton’s room.

You approached his door and opened it slightly, “Ashton can you please turn down your music? The kids are sleep-oh my god what are you doing!” you screeched when you saw Ashton laying naked on his bed, slowing pumping his length.

His face morphed into his signature angry expression and he pulled on his boxers before slamming the door in your face. You stood in front of his door, shell shocked for minutes until you finally processed what had actually happened and you ran downstairs to grab your bag and you shut the door to the guestroom down stairs.

Trying to get what you saw out of your head, you pulled out the book you brought with you and started to read. As you flipped through the pages you couldn’t seem to focus on what the story was telling you but rather on how hot Ashton looked, panting and grabbing his thick length in his hand.

A hard knock on your door interrupted your thoughts and you stood up from your bed, expecting one of the kids to be asking for the ice cream you promised them earlier.

But instead of the faces of one of the kids, when you opened the door you were faced with Ashton, and he looked more pissed then ever.

“Hey Ashton, I’m really sorry, I should’ve knocked-” your sentence was cut short yet again when Ashton flipped the two of you around and pushed you up against the door. 

You gasped when you felt his hot lips press hard kisses down the base of your throat. “Do you know what I was thinking about when I was jerking off?” he asked as he brought his face up to yours.

“What?” you asked.

His breath fanned against your face in uneven pants. “You,” he said before pressing his lips against yours.

It took you less than a minute to respond and you started moving your lips in sync with his. “Fuck I need you so bad,” he mumbled against your lips. All you could do was whimper in desperation.

“Where did this come from?” you panted, tangling your hands in his sandy curls.

He groaned when you tugged at his hair, “Fuck, I’ve liked you since we were crib mates.” With that his pressed his lips feverishly to yours again. You moaned when he shoved his tongue in your mouth.

His fingers slowly crept from your hips to your butt. He squeezed it lightly and pulled your body closer to his hips. He ground his rock hard erection against your clothed heat. “Fuck,” he drawled out. “I want to taste you so bad princess,” he mumbled against your lips.

He didn’t give you time to respond before he swiftly picked you up and sat down on the bed. With you straddling him, you pushed his chest back so you were on top of him. You tugged at his shirt, indicating you wanted it removed and he soon lifted it over his head. As he removed his shirt, you pulled yours over your head as well and you reached to unclasp your bra.

As soon as you had no clothes remaining on your top half, Ashton flipped you over so he hovered over you. “What do you want baby girl?” he asked, latching himself to one of your breasts. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud and he grazed his teeth over it causing you to tug at his hair. 

“Anything, Ash. Please, I’m so wet.” 

A whimper escaped his lips as he left a trail of kisses down in between the valley of your breasts and he stopped right at the band of your sweatpants. He looked up at you for approval you merely nodded in response to his silent question.

Quickly, he pulled down your pants and continued kissing up your thighs from your knees. He kept stopping right where you needed him most so eventually you sighed in frustration, “Ash, please don’t tease-oh motherfucking shit!” you yelled wen he licked a long strip up your clothed heat.

He pulled down your underwear and left a kiss on your clit. “I love it when you call me that,” he mumbled before completely diving in.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly causing your back to arch. When he added two fingers you almost lost it, “A-Ash, I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you whimpered, pulling his head closer.

He hummed against you sending vibrations that sent you over the edge. You let out a long moan as the knot inside of you exploded and you chanted his name repeatedly.

When he finally came up for air you pulled towards you and attached your lips to his. A hint of you could be tasted on his tongue which only made you more excited.

You dropped one of your hands down and slid it beneath his boxers. Grabbing his length, you slowly pumped it and with your thumb, you spread his precum around his tip.

He shivered, “As hot as you are doing this, can you please save this for next time because I’m literally about to burst and I really want to be inside of you when I do so.”

You didn’t stop pumping him which caused him to growl and grab both of your hands in one of his and he held them above your head. “Fuck you’re such a bad girl,” he groaned, pulling down his boxers with his other hand.

Out of anticipation, you rubbed your thighs together to try and create friction but he placed a hand in between them and spread them so wide you already knew walking would be an issue in the morning.

You felt his pulsing tip at your entrance and your mouth opened wide when he pushed his length all the way in. “Oh my-holy shit Ash,” you moaned, struggling against his grip because you ached to touch him.

“You’re so tight, princess,” he let out shakily.

You begged him to move and when he finally brought his length out and snapped his hips back into yours you could’ve sworn you saw stars. “Ashton, you’re so thick-fuck!” you arched your chest into his when he hit your g-spot.

He finally released your hands from his and brought his hand down to rub your clit. Instantly you brought your nails to his back and slowly dragged them down his soft skin. “Faster,” you moaned and tugged his lips down to yours.

He obeyed your wish and started snapping his hips harder and faster against yours. When he hit you g-spot again you clenched around him and he let out a strangled moan. “Fuck princess, please do that again.”

You clenched around him and without warning, he shot his load into you, making you cum around him as well. “(Y/n)!” he chanted as his thrusts got sloppy as he milked out both of your orgasms. 

Once the two of you had come down from your highs he turned and slowly pulled out and leaned on his side to face you. “I meant what I said.”

“And what was that?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That I actually have really like you since we were crib buddies,” he laughed lightly. “I just didn’t know how to talk to a girl I really like and I didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his. “I like you too.”

A wide smile spread across his face as he pulled you closer so that your head was resting on his chest. He turned off the bedside table lamp next to him and he left a kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight princess.”