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. . . . . please note most of my fics will be centered around mlm relationships and masc readers. not all, but most. it'll be specified at the top of each fic.
. . . some of my content will be nsfw or darker, including the possibility of dead dove, so be warned. i always provide content warnings.
. . . . . i am now uploading my fics on ao3 !!! you can find me there under the same user here, higgspup !!
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. . . the particle of god . . .
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how do you work on 4 different fic/blurb ideas without getting torn between which one to work on and end up not doing anything because of decision paralysis !! ive been meaning to write something this week but im stuck on what to work on 😭 help
this is why ao3 is superior 😭 I hope op has a copy of their work because, from what I’ve been told, wattpad won’t even warn or give you time to backup your work beforehand. they will just deadass delete your work. my friend once had their entire work—with multiple chapters—deleted by wattpad with no heads up. just a notification that says “your work has been deleted”.
seriously people, ao3 is your safe haven. there’s no censorship. no capitalism bullshit. you can post the most taboo, most shockingly messed up thing there and the site will protect you and your works. they even have their own team of lawyers to protect writers, writers’ works and writers’ rights to create whatever they want. no matter how controversial or taboo or explicit or dark or messed up your works are, they are protected and welcomed on ao3. stop wasting time with wattpad 😭
Following the execution of Ned Stark for "treason," Queen Cersei orders Ned's eldest son, you, to be Sandor Clegane's squire. While she attempts to disguise this decision as a "token of appreciation" for Sandor's services to Joffrey, both he, Sandor, and you know it's to keep you, Ned Stark's heir, in King's Landing and away from Winterfell, away from the rest of the House of Stark, and under her surveillance. How will you fair as a squire while you grieve the loss of your father? What happens when you get closer to the Hound than either of you anticipated? What happens when the buds of romance start to bloom?
(reader is implied to be 18+)
link to the ao3 version here !!
⚠️ !!! do not repost my works anywhere !!! ⚠️
Sandor Clegane never wanted a squire. He didn't have one before, and didn't see why he needed one now. He didn't want to worry about some clumsy highborn boy getting his way, much less about teaching one how to fight and be a knight. Not to mention, he wasn't even a knight. He was Joffrey Baratheon's bodyguard before he was named a member of the Kingsguard when Joffrey claimed the Iron Throne. He wasn't fit to have a squire. Yet here he was, standing in front of Queen Cersei, with Eddard Stark's eldest son, you, now standing awkwardly beside him. The Queen had just given an eloquent speech on how "Ser Clegane's service and current circumstances" meant it only made sense to provide him with the eldest Stark boy as his squire.
Ser Clegane wasn't dumb, however. With the execution of Eddard Stark being held mere hours prior, Ser Clegane could imagine what Queen Cersei's intentions were. With Lady Sansa being King Joffrey's expected wife and Queen, she was held in the Red Keep along with the rest of the royal family. Not just that, it was well known that Queen Cersei had called for Arya Stark to be found and brought to the Red Keep as well. Anyone with eyes could see that what Queen Cersei wanted was to keep a close watch on all of the Starks still in King's Landing. Better yet, what more effective way to keep the entire House of Stark under her thumb than by keeping their heir as a squire for a member of her Kingsguard.
You were staring blankly at the ground and didn't catch when Queen Cersei dismissed you and Ser Clegane. When he turned to leave the throne room and didn't hear you follow, he dropped a heavy, leatherclad hand on your shoulder.
"Come on then, boy."
You jumped a little, but didn't hesitate any longer to follow him. Your focus was elsewhere, still trying to process the cruel execution of your father, but you knew that if you wanted to avoid the same fate, you would have to obey Queen Cersei and serve Sandor Clegane. You were timid and quiet, but you weren't stupid either. You knew as well as Ser Clegane did why you were appointed to squire for a man who wasn't even a knight, regardless of his position as a member of the Kingsguard. Queen Cersei hated your father, and you were well aware it wasn't for his "treason," hated your mother for imprisoning her brother, Tyrion Lannister, hated you and the rest of your brothers and sisters for being the children of Ned and Catelyn Stark, and likely hated you especially for being their heir.
Being kept in King's Landing as Ser Clegane's squire meant Robb, the second eldest Stark, would be a placeholder until, or if, you returned to Winterfell. You always thought he was more fit to take your father's place than you were or would ever be. That's why Ned Stark brought you to King's Landing with him after Robert Baratheon asked him to be his Hand. Your father wished to teach you what it meant to be a lord and how to oversee your people through the example of how he advised the late King Robert. He planned on teaching you how to fight as well. Not that you were a terrible archer or swordsman, but you second guessed yourself more than any soldier should. Your father knew you were a smart boy, you always had been. You spent any free time you had studying the history of the seven kingdoms, even studying military strategy and combat. He would never complain about you "studying too much," you just relied on your book knowledge of fighting more than you let yourself feel what your next move should be.
You remained deep in thought until you felt yourself bump right into Ser Clegane. You quickly took a step back and bowed before the large man. You attempted to apologize for your clumsiness, but your voice failed you.
"Enough of that bullshit," Ser Clegane spoke before you could muster out your words.
You sat up straight, and quickly. "My apologies, Ser Clegane." You couldn't even meet his gaze when you spoke to him, you only looked through him.
"This will be your room," Ser Clegane ignored your apology.
You nodded in acknowledgment.
"Bring whatever shit you had here. If you have nothing, clean or rest. I don't care."
You nodded before speaking, "If I may, do my responsibilities not begin today? It is still early in the day."
"No. When you wake in the morning, meet me in this hall. You start tomorrow." Ser Clegane shifted on his feet and looked above and past you for a brief moment before returning his gaze back to you.
This time around, you found yourself unable to keep from looking up at the man in front of you. When he did look back at you, you nodded in acknowledgement once more. Ser Clegane lingered for just a moment before turning to leave the hall and return to his duties for the day, and you took at that as an opportunity to get a look at your new room. You grabbed and turned the doorknob gingerly before stepping into the room slowly.
The room was small, and full of what was probably too much furniture for the cramped space. There was one window on the opposite side of the room, and the sun shone directly through it. You could see the dust you must have stirred up floating in the air through the rays of light that cut through the dreary space. Stepping further in and closing the door behind you, you noticed a small bed in the corner directly in front of the door, and beside it was a small, round table with two dusty and half-melted candles stuck on its top. Against the wall between the door and the bed was a large armoire with a short dresser beside it. Above the dresser was a rack of small glass jars, some empty, and others half-filled with liquids unfamiliar to you. At the center of the room was a large, tattered, brown and almost golden woven rug, and while stepping closer to make out some of its details from under a thick layer of dust, you noticed the sill of your window was decorated with flowers that were now dried out and wilted. The large red and gold-trimmed curtain that hung in front of the window was, as everything else in this room, covered in dust and in disorder. It was hanging unevenly, draped partially over the round bedside table, and partially resting on the floor. Now, you were starting to appreciate Ser Clegane giving you the day to clean and settle into your new room.
You turned to the left side of your room where a table and chair were. The table had old papers and an old book with a few pages torn from it scattered across its surface. The wood was ink-stained here and there and chipped in a few places, but it seemed to be in good enough shape regardless. Behind the table and chair was an empty bookshelf and an old woven basket on the ground next to it. On the other side of the room was a particularly detailed dresser with vases of dead herbs and flowers sitting atop it, and an empty, tiered glass display case sitting between it and the door.
After a few more moments of taking in the room around you, you began tidying up a bit. Picked up a few stray papers, opened your window, did some light dusting, and got rid of the withered, old floral decorations in the room. While shaking the dust from your bedding outside your window, you remembered you still had to move your belongings to the room you previously shared with your father to your new one, and quickly remade your bed to avoid having to do so while the sun sat.
You left your room, closed the door behind you, and did your best to make your way through the Red Keep's halls and find your old room. To your luck, it wasn't hard to find. The two rooms weren't terribly far apart, but the corridors were long. Once faced with the correct door, you couldn't help but hesitate. Your father was the last one in that room. Things were uneasy after King Robert was fatally injured, you could see the tension your father carried in his shoulders, and you could feel the tension any time you passed a member of the royal family while roaming the Red Keep.
Seeing your father so stressed worried you, which, in turn, rendered you unable to sleep. On the final night of your father's freedom, and while he slept, you spent the night wandering the gardens. When your legs ached from pacing, you sat in a hidden corner until your father found you the next morning. You hadn't eaten in at least a day and a half, and you had run yourself ragged with worry. You couldn't stop thinking about what King Robert's death would bring. You didn't know what changes would sweep over the seven kingdoms, and you didn't know what would happen to you or the rest of your family. You were well aware the Queen was less than fond of your mother and father, and, knowing the grudges she held, that likely extended to you, your brothers, and your sisters. The distress was eating you alive.
When your father found you, he handed you some bread and sat next to you. You remembered how he didn't say anything at first, already knowing what was running through your mind. He brought you with him to King's Landing to teach you how to rule by his example. He wanted the advice he gave to King Robert to be lessons for you. And, of course, because you were a smart and very observant young man, you knew King Robert's death would inevitably lead to many substantial changes, for better or for worse. When your father did speak, he told you there would be tension and aggression amongst the royal family after the King's death. He didn't sugar coat the situation for you, didn't lie or conceal the truth, but he did tell you that he knew that if anything bad did happen, to him or in general, he knew you would prevail and survive. He knew his children would prove to all of Westeros the strength and resilience of the House of Stark.
You grabbed the doorknob, but couldn't help but recall the rest of that day, when news of King Robert's death reached you and your father, and the two of you met with the newly crowned King Joffrey and the Queen Mother, Cersei, in the throne room. You remember how your father handed King Robert's will to Ser Barristan the Bold to read aloud to the royal family and all ears around. You remember it declaring Ned Stark as King of the Seven Kingdoms until Joffrey was older and ready to inherit the Iron Throne.
You pressed your forehead to the rough, wooden door as you replayed how Queen Cersei tore King Robert's will and declared your father a traitor. The look your father gave you before he was taken to the dungeons was burned into your mind. The look of a man whose honor was about to be his undoing, and who knew death was in his near future. The look of a father who was being taken away from his children, who knew his heir wasn't yet ready for what he would be faced with, and who hoped, prayed, his children would survive whatever was to come for the House of Stark. You remembered the sting of tears threatening to overflow, the tightness in your chest, the pit in your stomach, the ache in your throat, and the heaviness in your legs when the gravity of the situation sunk in. You remembered the scared and uncertain step forward you took, and how you reached out to your father like a scared little boy. You remembered the final words your father ever said to you when you tried to call out for him before your voice could fail you.
Your hand tightened around the doorknob until your skin was pinched between the metal and your bones. "Don't. Be strong. Look after your sisters, they'll need you." Those were the last words your father said to you. You knew he was right, your sisters were going to need you, especially now. You pushed your forehead harder into the wood, your free hand now tightly gripping and pulling at the thick fabric of your quilted doublet. You felt the sting of tears return again, despite your attempts to blink them away. You thumped your head against the door, muttering over and over about needing to be strong for Arya and Sansa.
Your grip on the doorknob loosened, and you sunk to your knees. You curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest, and hiding your face against the door. Your fingers dug into your arms while tears flowed from your eyes, now squeezed shut, down your cheek, and dripping from your nose and chin. You choked on your own sobs and held your breath until it ached to do so, and you couldn't help but let out a loud, painful wail. You sobbed until your throat hurt and your eyes burned. Every muscle in your body was taught and ached. Your ribs were sore, your head throbbed, and you felt like you were close to puking. You longed for your father. You wanted to feel him hold you, you wanted him to hold you like he did when you were a boy and snuck into your parents' chambers after a nightmare. You wanted him to tell you it was alright, that you were alright, you wanted him to be alright.
At some point, you had fallen asleep in the hall, in front of the door to your old room. Exhaustion from the weeping, the stress, and the grief had finally taken over. You were only jostled awake when you felt someone kick your thigh. You jolted ever so slightly and looked up at whoever had just woke you. When your eyes met the face of the man responsible, you saw that it was Ser Clegane, and you saw his expression shift ever so slightly.
He saw how you were curled into yourself, leaned against the door; and how red and puffy your eyes were and the way your hair stuck to your still tear-streaked face didn't go unnoticed by him. The poor, dependent boy you were just watched the brutal execution of your father earlier that day, he wasn't surprised by the state he found you in. Though he didn't say anything at first, he reached his hand out to you for you to take.
"C'mon, up you get."
You took his hand, and he helped pull you back up to your feet. At first, you stumbled a bit, but Ser Clegane put his free hand on your shoulder to steady you. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your doublet and uttered a weak and raspy "thank you," before turning back to the door.
"I just have to grab my things," you rasped before finally opening the door and stepping inside.
Upon entering the room and seeing remnants of your father's life left undisturbed in the room, you felt your eyes burn again. This time, you didn't stop the tears. You gathered the few belongings you brought to King's Landing, and when you turned, you saw Ser Clegane gathering what he presumed belonged to your father.
"It'll rot or be burned if it's left here," was all he said when his eyes met yours.
You nodded, and the two of you left for your new room. Ser Clegane walked in front of you, and you followed a few feet away from him. Close enough for him to hear your footsteps, but far enough to keep your sniffles and quiet hiccups unheard. He opened the door to your room and looked around for a moment before spotting the large table at the far side of your room, clearing one side of it off, and setting your father's belongings on it. He walked towards you, took your belongings from your arms, and set them on the table as well. He turned back towards your door and stepped into the corridor before speaking again.
"Get some rest, Stark," was all he said before closing your door. It seemed Ser Clegane was much kinder than people knew, and perhaps even more so than he let on.
You sat on the edge of your bed before stripping down to just your under shirt and pants. Laying down slowly, you pulled your covers over you, and rolled onto your side. The sun had already begun to set, and, for a while, you mindlessly watched the shadows the sun's rays cast change and shift around your room. Once your room was mostly dark, you rolled over to face the wall. You closed your eyes to let your exhaustion to claim you as it had earlier, and it did.
That night, you dreamt of your father's execution. You dreamt of Arya, the poor girl lost somewhere unknown to you and the rest of your family. You dreamt of Sansa, who was the promised bride-to-be of King Joffrey. You dreamt of your other brothers and sisters, and your mother. You woke up several times that night in a cold sweat. You missed your family. You missed the good, happy, and peaceful times with your family in Winterfell. You missed Jon, and wondered how life at the Wall was treating him. You missed Robb, the smart, kind, and insightful young man he was. He was your younger brother, but you couldn't help but think of him as your elder. You missed Bran, and Rickon too. You even missed Theon, though he often irritated you to no end, you grew up with him and loved him like a brother. You thought of your mother before you drifted off to sleep for the final time that night, and how she hugged you tightly before you left for King's Landing.
You fell asleep before you could ruminate any longer, but your dreams still tortured you with the memory of your father's beheading at the cruel command of King Joffrey.
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Primarily a Higgs Monaghan x GN!Reader fic but there will be hints of SamHiggs and Sam x Reader.
WARNING: Though there are not now, as this fic develops, there will be more triggering themes in this fic. As I post more chapters, I will tag and warn accordingly. Additionally, you can always check this work on AO3 because I always update there first.
Here is the AO3 link for this work.
You were a Porter for Bridges and had been for a few years now. You were used to the kind of work you had to do, at least for a little while. In recent years, the state of America had gone down the shitter. With the rise of a terrorists group called Homo Demens triggering more and more void outs and an increase in BTs across the country, your job became increasingly more difficult. Not to mention, this led to a decrease in Porters. Not good at all.
Currently, you were working with another Bridges Porter, Sam, in hopes to reconnect America. Sam was less than optimistic about this mission, and to be honest? You shared that same sentiment. What would it accomplish? Delaying the inevitable end of the world and everyone in it for a few more years at most? Not to mention, everyone was already so divided. What could the two of you Bridges Porters do to fix issues like that within an entire country?
To make matters worse, if the Homo Demens being on your tail wasn’t enough, their leader of all people, a man named Higgs Monaghan, was obsessed with you and Sam. You “give him purpose”, as Higgs had put it many times. He kept close tabs on the two of you since you set out to reconnect America to the chiral network and didn’t make any effort to hide the fact that he was or that he was following you both.
It remained relatively “wholesome”—if you could even call it that in the first place—until the Homo Demens trapped you and Sam in a safehouse just outside Fort Knot City. The two of you were headed to Edge Knot City as your final city to connect to the chiral network, and were trying to figure out how to get across the massive tar pit when a Timefall rolled in. BTs started swarming around you, and your only option for safety was a safehouse Sam had spotted a few meters away. The two of you entered against your better judgement (because, and let’s be honest, who the hell would have set up a safehouse all the way out here?) and settled down when figures appeared behind you and apprehended both of you.
When a third figure stepped into the room, you knew exactly who it was. That cocky walk was unmistakable and belonged to an equally cocky motherfucker. Higgs Monaghan. He and the rest of his lackies had trapped you and Sam in this safehouse that they had set up just for you. The Homo Demens behind you secured you wrists with a chord before Higgs shooed them off.
“Seems I finally caught you two, huh?” Higgs chuckled.
Sam met his gaze with a glare so nasty Higgs almost looked offended.
“Aw, why the face, Sammy-boy?” Higgs removed the chiralium-colored mask from his face, followed by the hood of his cape. “I did all this for you… Aren’t ya gonna at least pretend to be grateful? I do deserve a little credit now, don’t I?”
“Nah, fuck that. Fuck you,” Sam spat.
“Oh, come on now, don’t be like that, Sammy,” Higgs turned to you before continuing. “He’s so cruel, isn’t he, sweetheart?”
A cocky and almost freakish smirk plastered his face before he turned around and walked to the spot in the wall where Sam’s BB was, resting from your stressful encounter about an hour earlier.
“What is it you call these? Ah- Bridge Babies. That’s right. So unpredictable… so high maintenance… so… fragile…” the final word escaped his lips through clenched teeth. Higgs turned around to face you once more. “One wrong move and the bugger is out of permanently out of commission!”
Higgs approached Sam slowly as he spoke, “That’s something our old pal Sammy would know a lot about, now huh? Ain’t that right, Sammy-boy…”
“I said, fuck you,” Sam spat again.
“A goddamn shame the mouth you have on you, Sammy. D’you kiss dear old mommy, Ms. Strand, with that mouth? Well…” Higgs cut himself off with a short chuckle. “I guess I should say ‘did you’, huh?” He looked at you both with a wide, almost childish grin, like he was looking for your approval of his wise-ass remark.
Sam only furrowed his brow and glared at Higgs in response. Higgs’ smile faded when he saw Sam’s expression.
“Tough fuckin’ crowd,” he spoke, and with a wave of his hand, another member of the Homo Demens grabbed Sam before chiral jumping.
“SAM! Where did you take him! Where is he?! BRING HIM BACK!” You yelled.
“Ah, ah- easy now, darlin’,” Higgs spoke softly as he took slow strides towards you. He knelt in front of you and cupped your face before leaning closer to you. “He’s back at Lake Knot City.”
“I swear to God, Higgs fucking Monaghan, if there’s even so much as a scratch on him, I will gut you myself,” You spat.
Higgs groaned, but not out of irritation or anger. “I just love how you say my name. Say it again, why don’t ya… please…” he begged.
Wait a second- begged? Higgs Monaghan was begging you to say his name.
“What-"
“C’mon, darlin’, you say it so sweetly… It’s so cute when you try to be all threatenin’ like that,” Higgs pressed his forehead to yours and let out a chuckle for the umpteenth time that night. He tilted his head to the side, his nose now pressed against your cheek, and you felt something warm and wet drag across your jaw.
He licked you.
You tried to pull away from him, but he wrapped his arm around you and held you close to him by the back of your head.
“Now, now… There’s no need for that, is there…” He cooed in your ear before pulling your head to his chest.
You contemplated squirming out of grasp, but was that really safe? This guy was unpredictable; you didn’t know how he’d respond to that. On one hand, he might just grab you again and hold you against himself again, but on the other hand, he might shove you to the ground, pin your head to the ground, and do God knows what.
Your train of thought was interrupted by a disappointed sigh from Higgs. He tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled, forcing your head back to look up at him.
“It really is no fun when you don’t resist, y’know,” Higgs let go of you roughly and stood up. He glared down at you only to grab you by your hair once again. “Where’s all that spunk you had earlier? Not so tough now? Fuckin’ pathetic.”
You threw your head back to tear your hair from Higgs’ grasp, and you propped yourself up on one knee to stand. Before you could get on your feet, Higgs lifted his leg to put his boot to your chest and pushed you to the ground. He moved to stand over you with one foot on either side of your torso. He looked down at you with a wild, toothy grin and placed a booted foot on your chest.
“Better, but I really expected more from you. All that bark, but no bite? A shame, really,” Higgs sighed dramatically.
“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” You spat.
Higgs leaned back to glare at you, and you could tell his entire demeanor had shifted. "You'll need to learn to shut your mouth."
if no one else was going to say it, you knew daryl would. it had been weeks—you’d been in bed, barely getting up to piss, let alone eat or show your face. talking to you was like talking to a wall.
“can’t keep this up,” daryl muttered, tugging on your blanket, though not ripping it off. “got people worried bout’cha. yunno that?”
you said nothing.
daryl huffed, settling on the edge of your bed. he just looked down at you, tired, defeated. your eyes had glazed over, like you weren’t even there.
“i’m worried about ya,” daryl muttered, voice a little raspy.
his hand reached out, hovering over your head. he wanted to stroke your hair, so desperately wanted to comfort you, but would never overstep.
“what can i do to get ya outta this bed?” he asked, voice cracking.
silence.
daryl was about to give up, when your eyes reached his. your expression was still very much blank, but you’d acknowledged him. daryl couldn’t quite hold in his desperation, sad eyes and permanent frown. “please,” he whispered.
your lip twitched.
you hadn’t spoken in days. when your voice finally came out, it was uncertain, broken. “stay,” is all you said.
daryl’s head shook, slow, but not disagreeing. his hand finally planted itself on your head, pushing hair out of your face. “ain’t goin’ nowhere. you know that,” he replied.
after a beat, you slowly leaned into his touch. silently, you begged him to stay close. his warmth, without him knowing, had been the only thing keeping you going lately.
daryl fell into you, swallowing a lump in his throat, and cradling you. he would do nothing if not protect you, arms wrapping around you as if someone might take you away otherwise.
his chin rested over your head, heart aching.
“i’m sorry,” he breathed.
your eyes shut, jaw clenching. there was so much to say, and yet, you couldn’t speak any of it.
silence. quiet understanding. a bed full of grief, and love.
“it’s not your fault,” you murmured, hands coming up to wrap around his arms.
another lump welled in daryl’s throat, painful and sharp, one that said, it’s always your fault.
“i love you,” you added gently. “stay.”
daryl’s own eyes fluttered closed, and he squeezed tighter.
Y’all say this but don’t support fluff nor angsty fics if it doesn’t have smut attached to it. You can’t have both. And then y’all don’t reblog or comment on your favs works so they go back to the smut. In the words of Kendrick Lamar, it’s not enough.
on top of this, the month/year just started, let ppl breath
not to mention, if you dont want to see smut, block smut tags or filter the tags in your searches
and if the issue is a lack of new content you want to see, be the change you want to see. or, as mentioned by prev, give support to authors on their fluff and angst fics. genuinely. if you dont show appreciation for one kind of their work, theyll feel like their audience doesnt want to see it and will be less likely to write more of it.
im all for lighthearted complaining and all, but im tired of smut authors catching the blunt end of the sword when it comes to this kind of stuff
(all usage of you here is meant as a general you, not singling out OP)
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this is kind of confusing but I really need help
i write a lot of m/m hockey romances, and in one of them a character is forced to have a baby with a woman in order to appear straight. he does not enjoy it, but he does technically consent, even though he's being forced by his boss under the threat of being fired. I've portrayed it as SA but I'm not fully sure if it is or not? he consents but its only because he needs to keep his job. help? :((
I’d personally tag it as dub-con, but it’s also understandable if some folks would consider it non-con and sa. some of my own fics are tagged with both non-con and dub-con. sometimes they overlap and it depends on how each person views it.
imagining myself with a yautja rn. except also imagine yourself with a yautja 🫵
[cw for minor violence ? bro kills a face hugger. its not graphic though.]
divider was made by me! do not use it please and thanks <3
like imagine it came to earth hunting down a xenomorph and you're on a hunting trip. his pod crashes a few miles away from where you are in the woods, so you go to investigate the site where the loud crash came from. when you get there, you hide behind some bushes; just barely peeking over to watch a large, muscular figure emerge from the pod that had crashed. you take a few moments to truely absorb the creatures features. its tall, generally large, and generally... unique. which makes sense considering hes obviously an alien but... its almost alluring.
you're snapped out of your train of thought when a smaller and very quick creature with eight legs and a long tail jumps towards you. just before it reaches you, the large alien catches it with blades that project from its armlet. you look up from the smaller creature that attacked you back up to the large alien. he just saved your life... he stared at you while making a string of clicking sounds before slinging his arm away, tossing the creature off its armlet's blades. it turns back towards you slowly and tilts his head, as if studying you. you stand still and stare back.
after a few moments, he turns and walks the other way. and as he disappeared, you notice your elevated heartrate and the warm feeling that began to gather at your cheeks. you think you lowkey like this guy
tags: @gummykin @dykewolf-yapping
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(this imagine takes place on yautja prime :3 your yautja boyfriend helps you with chronic pain :3)
imagine your yautja boyfriend taking care of you during a bad pain flare up. he knew you were disabled, and also knew that what came with your disability was often pain. he hates knowing you're suffering, so he does everything he can to help you feel better.
he'll take you to a nearby spring and sit with you in the warm water. after that, he'll gently dry you off and redress you before gently scooping you up and taking you home. he lays you down gently in your shared bed. he brings you extra pillows to elevate your aching legs, and sachels of warm water for inflammation and stiffness.
while he waits for the warm water to cold, he runs his clawed fingers gently through your hair; playing with each strand. after a moment, he gets up and heads to a corner of your shared home where he grabs a pot. it was the tomato soup you had made for the two of you last night. he heads to his campfire, ignites it, and places the pot on the stand above it to reheat the soup.
he comes back to you to take the sachels of water off you and pulls the covers over you. he goes back to the soup and stirs for a few minutes before pouring some into a stone bowl. he sits next to you and helps you sit back up so he can slowly feed you the warm soup.
once he was sure you were satisfied, he sets the bowl aside and helps you lay back down before laying down with you. he gently pulls you closer to him and rubs up and down your arm as he cradles you until the two of you drift off to sleep.
@gummykin @xematary
please feel free to send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist !! :3
(written with a masc reader in mind since it was pretty self indulgent, but it can be read as a gender neutral reader! i didn't specify pronouns or use overly masculine terms! :3)
you have chronic hand pain. of course tenna knows, but he doesn't always know how to help. unfortunately for you, today is a particularly bad day. yesterday you were a busy little bee, crafting away. tenna had warned you to take breaks and slow down because he knew what the consequences would be. he knew the strain would catch up to you... and he was right. you were currently curled up into a ball in the center of mr. tenna's massive bed. you hadn't left his bed since he tucked you in last night, and you didn't plan on getting up. your wrists and fingers ached, and moving them didnt help any. tenna had woken up only a few minutes after you and quickly noticed your small position and unusual stillness.
"hey..." tenna speaks softly, to which you only let out a pained moan in response. "aww... i told you your hands would hurt today... didn't you feel it hurt yesterday?"
"i did... i just got so ensnared in my project..." you respond.
"i know, my busy little bee. but you need to listen to your body. when it starts to hurt, you need to rest..." tenna pulls you closer to him gently as he speaks. you once again only hum in response.
tenna gets up slowly and fetches your hand braces before helping you put them on and adjusting them comfortably. he lays down in front of you and holds your hands in his own; which are large and warm. the warmth helps soothe you ever so slightly.
"do you want me to rub your hands?" he asks softly, to which you nod.
he gently massages your hands and your fingers, careful not to cause any more pain or discomfort. his movements are so diligent and caring it makes your heart flutter.
after a few minutes, he stops massaging your hands as not to over-do it. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him; holding you against his chest. eventually you fall asleep, now in less pain than before and able to relax. he doesn't get up; just holds you until he inevitably falls asleep with you
i think a lot of writers might be quite pleased to know that at a certain point, punctuation is subjective. everything is subjective. if it serves a purpose in your work, then your punctuation and your grammar is not flawed or wrong. and no one can argue that your punctuation and grammar "mistakes" dont serve a purpose in your overall work or in your writing style (wink wink do you get what im suggesting).
besides, if youre writing creatively who cares. even if youre getting it published or plan on doing so, it really isnt something to nitpick. academic and formal writing has stricter rules, of course, but im serious. for creative writing, youre never truly wrong. thats one thing im glad the course work for my degree has taught me.
that means bend the rules!!!! use commas however you see fit. anyone trying to correct you is being annoying and you should ignore them because who does that anyway 😭
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