#4107

[stephanieinge]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: "Scoop" The Pelican Ty Beanie Baby Plush w/Hard Case 1996 Retired.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #4107:

What fetishization actually is: taking an entire group of people and treating them like nothing more than sexual objects for your own personal pleasure.

What fetishization isn't: fictional gay character having an active sex life and/or talking about sex in one scene.

(in all seriousness, are queer people just... Not allowed to have or enjoy sex? Or even portray themselves enjoying or having sex? Because that's not "proper representation", that's pearl clutching under a nicer sounding label)

[bobbie-robron]

Funny innit? Farmers are always whinging on that they’re skint and work too hard.

Just a few seconds of Robert (with a tiny bit of him in the background while Nicola and Rodney talk). Jack finishing off a pint with Robert and off to Andy’s he goes.

24-Jul-2005

[zeroloop]

Smallrig 4107 Porta schede di memoria

La confezione è minimale e contiene solo il porta schede SD card/Micro-SD e CF Expres. La custodia esterna di questo porta schede  è in alluminio e presenta la scritta “Smallrig” in bianco nella parte superiore, sul lato sinistro della custodia è presente un punto da premere per far uscire il cassetto contenitore (ABS arancione). Questo cassetto  e suddiviso e può ospitare quattro Micro-SD, due…

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟐

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, memory loss, Soldier Boy gets hurt, reader gets hurt, established relationship, trust issues, reader is manipulated, everyone is a liar, suspense

Word Count: 4107

A/N: English is not my first language.

Butcher hidden what had transpired months prior from the other members of the team while he waited for you to fully heal in the same room, guaranteeing that Kimiko and Frenchie would never discuss your abortion ever again. Butcher had told them nothing about you other than that you had amnesia.

He did not want to listen to other people discuss something they did not completely understand. He knew there was no other way for you to live your life without putting yourself in danger, even though he wasn't particularly fond of making such a brutal decision about your body. In the end, it was him who first made you inject Temp-V into yourself. Thank goodness you didn't die at that time. Furthermore, considering your circumstances with Temp-V, it would be impossible for you to continue a pregnancy while carrying a supe fetus.

That was for the better.

After the operation, three months had gone by, and Butcher had told the physicians to get you as much sleep as possible to avoid showing any obvious scars and to avoid raising any suspicions. He also erased anything that was online about you, including your videos, images, and anything else that may have been obtained by cameras, all with CIA assistance. He was aware that the game he was playing was risky.

You were so exhausted that you wanted to close your eyes again and grimace at the sight of a white light shining straight into them. 

When you saw him playing with his phone on the chair next to your bed, you said, “Butcher?” 

“Hey,” he said as soon as he touched you gently and slipped his phone into his pockets. “All right, darling, let me talk to the doctor. Try not to get up or do anything.” 

You groaned in agony as Butcher exited the room, attempting to make sense of what was happening. There was a great void in your mind, even if you forced yourself to recall the things that had happened to you. All you could recall was that you, Butcher, and Hughie were in some filthy room trying to talk to Translucent. 

When the female doctor began to examine your eyes and everything else, you opened them again. “You appear to be in good health. How do you feel?” she inquired softly. 

You muttered, “I actually don't know. How long have I been sleeping?”

She smiled and added, “It's okay; you just need some more rest, and it's been three months.”

You mumbled, “What?” amazed at how much time you spend sleeping. Butcher nodded at you when you looked at him to see how he responded. “What happened to me?”

The doctor opened her mouth to speak, then gave Butcher an odd look as if she was having trouble coming up with the right phrase. 

“What's the last thing you remember, doll?” Butcher asked while closely inspecting you. 

You muttered, trying to force yourself to remember something, but all it did was give you a terrible headache. “I...Translucent is all that I remember from that time. I had been trying to talk to him with Hughie.”

Butcher took a deep breath and gave the doctor another look. 

You inquired, perplexed, “Did something very bad happen to me? Is Hughie okay?” 

“Of course, nothing horrible happened,” Butcher said with a smile. “You just gave yourself a really hard head hit on the table. Very hard one. You'll feel well very soon, right, doctor?”

“Yes,” she responded quickly. “You just need to rest a little bit more.”

You said, “Can I leave though? Would you let me, please? I believe I can walk, and I don't think I can feel my limbs here anymore if I continue to sleep. I'd better not spend any more time in this place.” 

“Of course. I was about to say that. You are allowed to go,” she said, maintaining her grin and turning to face Butcher after she had carefully placed some clothing from the wardrobe on your bed. 

Butcher said, “Okay, you change your clothes while I talk to her, right?”

Nodding to him, you watched them as they left the room.

Carefully closing the door, Butcher said, “You think her memory loss is temporary?” in a low voice to make sure he wasn't being heard.

“There is no certainty when it comes to medical issues. Especially, not when it’s about brain.”

“That's not my kind of conversation, doc. Just advise me on what not to do, and she will remain that way.”

“Make sure there is nothing—not a photo, document, or anything else—that would prompt her to recall someone or something you don't want her to. That's the best advice I can give you; otherwise, you can push her to constantly recall other fake memories, which will give her a headache and possibly worsen her trauma as she tries to recall. I'm not promising you anything, though; she might not even need them to remember someday. Even something small, unimportant can trigger her memories.”

Butcher sighed and replied, “Well, that's enough. Is there anything more I should know?”

“Butcher, you have to understand that you are powerless to stop what is about to come. If she ever finds out, she is going to hate you. I'm not even going to question which Supe got her pregnant. I don't want to know. This is a pretty dangerous game that you are playing in a very messed-up setting.”

“I paid you good, didn't I?” Angered by her words, Butcher spoke up. “I completed the tasks at hand, and moving forward, everything will be OK. All I'm asking is that you simply never discuss what happened here with anyone, as you are told.”

“I would never,” was her quick reply. “I hope to never have to deal with anything similar again, and I hope you will stay away from me for a very long time.”

Butcher winked meaningfully at her and said, “Okay, call me when you're needy or high, love.”

When Butcher knocked on your door and you told him to come in, he asked, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” 

He informed you that there were new members of your team in the car when he noticed you were deep in thought. “In three months, a lot can happen, you know. We still had to work about Vought and the Seven.”

“Oh,” you replied, unsure of how to reply appropriately. “Are they reliable?” 

“They are, of course. However, there is one new thing that may surprise you. One of them is a member of the Seven.”

You exclaimed, “No way,” sounding both shocked and thrilled. “I thought our purpose was to kill them all.”

“Well, not every one of them is a total asshole who loves to be bitchy around. Starlight is an excellent and smart young lady.”

“Oh my god,” you said in a whisper. “It seems like I may have missed the whole episode. However, how did she learn about your team and decide to join so quickly?”

“A lot of things change every day. She's fucking Hughie. Love wins at the end of the day, doesn't it? She claimed that before joining the Seven, she was ignorant of Vought's true face.”

You just said, “I understand.”

“What happened to Translucent, by the way?”

“He's in the grave.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, shocked, putting your palms to your lips while Butcher continued to stare at the road. “And how did you even manage to do it?”

“When you passed out, Hughie blew up his invisible cunt. That's it. Don't you think you have way too many questions? Nothing further significant occurred. That was all.”

“All I want is to stay up with the team. I've been asleep for so long that I cannot remember anything at all.”

You said, “I feel like I disappointed you and Hughie,” while he remained silent and kept staring at the road. “I'm sorry.”

Butcher touched your shoulder and said, “Hey, don't you talk like that silly again. I am myself a big failure and a mess in fact.”

He went on without letting you say anything. “You're doing well. I'm happy to see you back at The Boys, and be sure, there's still much to do. Please, don't

worry about anything.” He gave one of his sly smiles. “Everything's going to be alright.”

Everyone was staring at you when you hesitantly went inside the house. You felt awkward trying to decide what to say. Soon after, Butcher was the center of attention for everyone, which simultaneously made you feel foolish and embarrassed.

When at last you succeeded in saying “Hello,” you said, “Butcher told me about you. Since you're all new here, I suppose it would be best if we introduced ourselves right away.”

You gave Butcher an odd look after introducing yourself, and then you cautiously sat down on the couch because you were still feeling a little lightheaded. The worst was the headache. An uneasy tension filled the air.

Ignoring the accusing looks from Frenchie and Kimiko, Butcher began to sip whiskey and tried to forget about the incident, similar to you, but voluntarily. 

“Yeah, I mean, she's Kimiko, and I'm Frenchie.”

You were taken aback when Kimiko came down next to you and gave you a strong hug before you could respond, but you soon went back to give her a hug. 

Annie looked at Butcher and continued, “I suppose you're familiar with me already. I am Starlight. However, feel free to call me Annie.”

“Yeah, he told me you and Hughie are a thing, right?”

Annie nodded to you and smiled.

You felt a little better because everyone appeared friendly and welcoming. You were worried that during the months you were asleep, you had missed a lot. To feel like you have a place, it would be a good idea to make connections with new people. 

Butcher stated, “Well, I have to leave for the time being. Let's give everyone a little rest. Unfortunately, even your lazy ass cheeks deserve a vacation.” He then turned to face you and said, “And you can rest a bit more, doll.”

As if you haven't had enough sleep. You didn't reject him, though.

You said you wanted a little more sleep when Butcher left the house and got up. The way everyone looked at you was weird and strange somehow, but you didn't give it much thought. Soon, you would grow accustomed to one another. 

Though your footsteps led you as if they had their own memory, you were unable to recall which room you had been sleeping in when you took the stairs. 

You shut the door and turned on the lights. You pushed your memory to recall even a single, insignificant detail, but it was blank. But when you took in your surroundings, a feeling of sadness and regret overcame you, as though you were recalling this place. You were unable to comprehend the misery in your heart as you listened to the room's silence. 

Although it seemed like you had been in this room for months, you could sense the presence of another person. It was difficult to define. 

You touched each piece of furniture as you moved around the space in the hopes that something, no matter how small or pointless, would remain in your memory. You looked through the closet, but nothing was there. Everything seemed intentionally empty. 

With a heavy heart, you sit on the bed and run your fingertips over the soft sheet. The inside of your head was hurting like crazy the harder you tried to remember. You gave up and laid on the bed after making a few more attempts. As you inhaled, the comforting scent of the cushion beneath your head slightly eased your discomfort. 

You had the impression that you belonged here, and vice versa. 

In your heart, you sensed that something was missing. You simply couldn't tell if it had to do with something in the room, a sensation, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, your heart and feelings understood it, even though it was hazy and no longer in your recollection. You were yearning for something that was beyond your memory. 

You hugged the pillow under your head and wept uncontrollably as you curled into the bed even deeper with a heavy heart. Your heart squeezed in pain as you continued to cry, and you did not even know why. 

Someone patted your arm and said, “Hey, want to have dinner? You fell asleep here hours ago. You must be starving.”

“Frenchie?” you asked in a sleepy voice. 

“Yes, it's me. Are you hungry?” 

You rubbed your head and nodded to him. Your head ached from weeping so much. 

“Well, I suppose,” you muttered. “Frenchie, who is staying in this room, by the way?”

Just as he was ready to add anything, Frenchie abruptly stopped talking, as though he were trying to think it through. “Not in particular. I mean, everyone. What happened?”

You said, “I don't know,” as your gaze wandered the room. “Just a feeling.” 

“It's just an empty room,” Frenchie simply said, assisting you in standing up. “Nothing else.”

Annie called your name three times in a row; you were unaware that you had not even touched your meal. 

You apologized. “Sorry, I couldn't catch you.”

"Hey," she muttered in a worried tone. “You know, it's best not to overthink things. Everything will work out. We are with you. You only spent three months there. You didn't miss too much. Actually, thanks to you, we didn't have to put in as much effort because Butcher watched for you till you healed.” 

“I'm not sure,” you simply said, giving her a ghostly smile. “I sense that something is off. I'm not really sure what it means, but it seems like I lost something.”

Your face turned red with guilt as she remained silent. “I apologize; I didn't want to give you a negative first impression. I know I sound weird right now.” 

Kimiko, who was seated next to you, comforted you by resting her chin on your shoulder and smiling sympathetically. She was somewhat serious and genuine, which put you at ease, and she was communicating with you using sign language. In fact, you needed to speak with someone like her. 

“No way,” Frenchie grumbled, continuing to eat the pasta rapidly. “You don't leave a negative impression or anything; we work as a team. You are at least more civilized than MM and Butcher's nasty asses. That's good enough.” 

The way Frenchie talked badly of Butcher made you all laugh. 

He winked at you and pointed a finger at your face, saying, “I think there is a way to solve your situation, Y/N.”

“What is it?” you inquired immediately. 

“I honestly believe that after the past few months of exhausting work, we all deserve to relax and enjoy ourselves. It wouldn't harm the CIA's ass to take a little vacation. Ladies, what do you say?”

Kimiko grinned and gave him the thumbs up, and you agreed. Perhaps engaging in some pleasant activities might help relieve the oppressive sensation that has been troubling you since you got up. 

“And after that,” Frenchie continued. “I've got to work on this virus a little bit more.”

“What virus?” you said, startled. There was too much to catch on to. 

“A virus capable of causing the murder Homelander. It's a supe killer.” 

Annie and Kimiko looked at one another worriedly. 

You said, “Oh my god,” looking shocked. “Is that even possible?”

“If I can figure out how to generate the virus, then it should be possible. Homelander cannot be killed by a simple virus. It's difficult to construct anything so strong because that motherfucking is just too powerful to kill, but hope is the last thing that dies in this world.”

As you watched Hughie give Annie a sad face, you couldn't help but wonder, “What if Annie is infected with this virus as well? If in the wrong hands, it would be genocide.”

“We'll simply kill Homelander and the remaining members of his team. Not Kimiko or Annie, of course. We already have enough blood on our hands. This must finish quickly.”

“Let's avoid talking about such things today,” Annie said, appearing visibly uncomfortable. It made sense. 

Annie wanted you to dance at the club instead of spending the entire evening sitting down, but you told her you weren't feeling well enough to be active and all that. You were fine physically; you just didn't want to at that particular time. 

You smiled at Hughie and Annie as you watched them dance. There was no denying their obvious chemistry. It pleased you that Hughie could choose to move on. No matter how harsh and cruel life is, it always continues because every day brings with it a fresh start. 

Perhaps that was how they had each other's backs throughout the worst. You wanted to have something so strong and intimate as well. 

Kimiko touched you on the shoulder, and her expression changed to one of concern, as if she wanted to know how you were doing. 

You said, sipping the whiskey, “I'm okay.” You didn't want to drink since you thought it would worsen your situation. Still, a glass or two wouldn't harm you. “I just can't get over this headache. Perhaps I'm pushing myself too much.”

Kimiko communicated with you via her phone because you were completely unfamiliar with her unique sign language. However, you made a self-promise to learn it as soon as possible.

“Avoid pushing yourself. You have to maintain patience. You'll be fine soon enough, I'm sure.”

You also brushed Kimiko's shoulder and said, “I hope so. Thank you. I'm not sure why, but I just can't get over the sadness that I feel. It makes me want to cry. What if something terrible happened and no one was telling me? God, please don't think I'm some sort of paranoid person. Butcher isn't here, and I simply needed to talk.”

“What makes you feel sad?”

“When I went into the upstairs room today, I felt really bad about it. Do you know someone who stays there? Perhaps I was staying there, and my memory is not helping.”

Kimiko nibbled on her bottom lip and briefly looked around. then displayed her phone to you. 

“Yes, you were staying there sometimes.”

You were about to speak, but you changed your mind and decided not to share what Frenchie had told you. 

Kimiko again held up her phone and said, “I just want you to be okay,” as she noticed you lost in thought. “Perhaps it would be best not to push yourself to bring back memories. If those memories are strong enough, they will find a way to get back to you. No matter what”

“That felt better, Kimiko. I appreciate you listening to me. You're right. There's no need to worry if they are unimportant; in that case, it's preferable not to remember.”

Kimiko smiled a little and offered you a hug. She looked at you, and you gave her a nod as soon as she noticed that Frenchie was grinning at her. As if the team was made up entirely of romantics. 

Just as you were all about to head back home, Frenchie pulled over, and you all gathered around the large screen to see something. Based on the large Vought symbol that was displayed on the screen beforehand, you could presume that it must be about the Seven. 

“What's happening?” Annie questioned, perplexed. 

Everyone on the street had been glued to the large TVs. 

Frenchie muttered, “I guess there is some latest news. I wonder what Homelander did this time.”

As you left Frenchie's van and joined the other people on the street, you glanced at one of the screens. 

The Vice President claims that Homelander himself ordered the release of Soldier Boy, who was found not guilty hours ago. Homelander discovered that the CIA had attempted to use Soldier Boy to bring down the president and Vought. We've been informed that the release of Soldier Boy will bring Americans together once more during these days of change. The public will soon get further information. 

You stared at the massive image of Soldier Boy on television as the reporter filled you in on the latest events. 

“Oh, no, no,” Frenchie mumbled to himself. Annie gave him a scared expression. 

“What is going on” You uttered, “I thought Soldier Boy died a long time ago,” not fully grasping the gravity of the situation.

“I suppose we should give Butcher a call. Now,” Annie spoke harshly.

You gasped when Frenchie pushed you to go and get in the van before you could say anything, but you continued to stare at the image of Soldier Boy.

“Hey, what's happening?” As they exchanged glances, you repeated the question, speaking louder. “Why have you all turned pale?”

Annie opened her lips to say, “I-,” but she suddenly changed her mind. “Let's speak with Butcher first; he can guide us on what to do. Butcher just sent us a new address, Frenchie. Let's go there.”

“Alright.”

You followed up with more questions, but when you realized they wouldn't discuss them, you closed your mouth and lost yourself in your own thoughts until you reached the location Butcher had instructed you to go to. 

Butcher was smoking when you walked in, and he had his eyes fixated on the wall.

You patted his shoulder and said, “Butcher,” to get his attention. “What's going on?”

He said, simply, “We're staying here from now on.”

“And it's about Soldier Boy,” you asserted firmly. “How about him? I assumed he was long gone. What are all of your concerns? I guarantee I'm well now and I got enough sleep, even though I know you don't want to push me or anything. So, will you kindly simply give me the details? Did something occur when I wasn't present?”

Butcher inhaled deeply and got to his feet. “Well, I suppose we must begin someplace. A few months ago, Soldier Boy was released. We were the ones who did this. Eventually, he promised us to help kill Homelander.”

You responded, “So he wasn't dead,” and he nodded in agreement. “And?” 

“It came out that Soldier Boy had betrayed us, and Homelander is his son. With the assistance of the CIA, we were able to cover his face with a mask and send him back to sleep. With the help of his father, Soldier Boy, it appears that Homelander is eager to work with him from now on and will be undefeated.”

“Oh, my god,” you muttered. “We can't even kill Homelander; how are we even supposed to deal with both him and Soldier Boy? Why the fuck you even released Soldier Boy?” 

"I fucking don't know," Butcher exclaimed as he became angrier. "But we'll be cautious and stay here. Frenchie will work on the virus, and together we'll develop an efficient method of killing them both." 

You said, “Maybe we can try to talk to Soldier Boy. He is our nation's first superhero. He is undoubtedly beloved by the public, but perhaps he will reconsider if we can persuade him that Homelander committed atrocious crimes, like mass murder. Don't you think?”

“Stop being naive,” Butcher sharply remarked. “You are mistaken if you believe Soldier Boy is innocent and not like Homelander; they are a father and son. He killed a lot of people in New York on the day we let him go. He just knows how to kill, betray, and deceive. Soldier Boy must die.”

Next Chapter

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆

A/N: Comments are very much appreciated. I’d like to know what you think about this one. ♡

Taglist: @smexydilflover @deebris @coolrobloxkid28 @endrfairy @libby99hb @raynamorono23 @cwutesygrl @ladysparkles78 @seokjinluvb0t    @deangirl96 @whendiditendalthoughenjoyment @mostlymarvelgirl @dilfsandmartinis @deans-spinster-witch @mayafatimakhan @riah1606 @ilovecooperhoward @unleashthelion @cnmcgee @ahoytothestorm @hells-dragon @bitchykittenconnoisseur @peachhiz

[binhourly]

Sanctuary

Summary: A princess bound between an indefinite pull of duty and forbidden love.

Word Count: 4107

Tags: Royalty Setting / Forbidden Love / Lightest Political Intrigue / Love Triangle / Angst / Unrequited Love.

Pairing: Royal Guard!Lee Minho x Princess!Reader

Trigger Warning: Discussion of Forced Marriage / Mild Sexual Content, Implied Intimacy / Foreseeable Infidelity / Manhandling / Self-Harm Ideation.

Songs: i. Once Upon a December by Liz Callaway ii. Skin to Skin by Amira Elfeky

NOTE: welcome! i’m still figuring out the ropes and ends of tumblr so i’m not the best at handling this website, please be patient or lend me a helping hand. with that, enjoy and leave some feedback!

MINHO STANDS in his uniform on the opposite side of the Garden Sanctuary, a level of strict authority still etched in the bends of his spine despite being far away from the court ball.

He observes you with such fine quality, each trace a long drag of a sharp knife against every curve of your skin. Usually, his training makes him skilled enough to go unnoticed, but it's as though the moon itself betrays him, hanging fatly in the sky, its reflection coming down and sitting on the rippling surface of the fountain's water, crystallising back in the royal guard's eyes.

Despite knowing the boy for so long, you occasionally forget that his constant watchful eye is simply part of his duties—a fact that remains unchanged.

Your face grows hot regardless.

"Many people seem to think me foolish for believing the world could change enough to grant me a choice in who I love," your voice is low, like it's far too ashamed to ask the question in his company. "Do you think of me in that light?"

The boy moves further inside, black boots pressing into the cherry blossom petals that continue to swirl down around him. "Perhaps," he finally speaks, his voice incredibly close now.

You sneer up at him in annoyance. He doesn't seem moved at all by the obvious tremble in your voice. "Then I'll hold you in the same way I think about everyone else: a dead, soulless, ugly being." Your words go against all sensible thinking. It's as if the torture that comes from his willingness to forget the history between you makes you lean into childish remarks.

Minho still peers over you with a tight pull to his back, never allowing one strand of his long hair to fall out of place. "And am I to believe those images you've conjured up of me are true, Princess?" There are pieces of a smug grin found in his eyes, a strange sense of pride that these emotions you harbour for him are strong enough that you've turned irritable. Albeit his stoic attitude, this is also him giving sound to his fiery jealousy after the sudden marriage proposal in the banquet hall.

"How dare you call me that!" you gasp, nails digging into your thigh. The year hasn't fully completed yet since Minho was appointed to your father's high council. Even after the weighted armour was added to his muscular body, and his presence at revels is no longer by your side drinking away the night, but to watch over your family, you still hold no doubt that he'll ever divert from the boy you love.

"Is that not what you are?" Oh, how wrong you were.

"Yes..." Your eyes gloss over with tears, but this time you mean for him to see all your suffering. "I am the kingdom's princess, but I only become one to you when you wish me away."

There's an almost fierce glimmer in your stare, a silent proclamation that you've tried and exhausted yourself from acting out this contrived narrative that was roped in your hands by the newly appointed royal guard in the first place. You're done keeping quiet for the sake of your family. You want some semi-balance of peace, not to hold all of the war that comes each time Minho stalls near the entrance of the palace to guide you into a carriage, his gloved hands holding onto yours.

The royal guard finally crouches down, kneeling on one leg, the sheathed sword by his belt jutting out behind him. "That's not far from the truth." Minho does not allow the domineering nature of his face to change despite being a mere inch away from you.

A couple of months ago, the lining of his eyes and lips would have struggled under the weight of your gaze and softened immediately at the sight of you beckoning him over.

You've become the jester to your own memories.

     "It is precisely why I am here, to offer my deepest apologies, Princess. I was so young," he says, voice quieter now, as if he's speaking more to himself than to you. "We were both so young, weren't we? Free in a way I never understood at the time. I let myself believe in things I had no right to, and I pulled you into those beliefs... I mislead you." There's something effortlessly elegant in the way you sit on the dirt ground, your gown spilled out around you in sparkling blankets of purple. Minho looks away, but he cannot, for the life of him, train that idea out of his head and thinks he'll forever live inside the torment of his own hypocrisy.

     "But we've grown, and that entails more responsibilities—duties that need to be fulfilled."

Minho looks down, undoing his crossed arms behind his back and exposing a pair of pointed shoes in his hands—you hadn't even noticed he was carrying anything this whole time. Being swayed by raging emotions makes anyone irreversibly selfish and tardy, especially when sprinting away with a dress clutched to your chest. The boy gently pulls at your ankle, allowing the material to rub against your heel.

     "Your loyalty should not go to me. I am one man against a nation that needs you, my Princess." Your brows furrow at his response. At the name. Recognising that Minho is soothing the blow of the truth by doing something sweet.

In a silent outburst, you shake your legs in his hands, kicking the material off your feet again.

"Go! I want you gone. Now!" Against the serenity of the Garden Sanctuary, your yells are the driving knife to a portrait painting, the chirping sounds of roaming critters nowhere to be heard. Just the continuous echo of your words each time the royal guard tries to capture your springing ankles before they hit him in the face.

It lasts for a few minutes before he successfully takes you by surprise and locks them closer to his body, the position having you open and perfectly snug around him. With that, you learn just how in control Minho has always been. It makes you feel a little giddy having successfully coaxed it out of him.

You breathe heavily. "I order you." Instant dread coils in your stomach at the sudden use of authority.

Something lively swims in Minho's eyes. It rips into the clouded fragments that have settled there for some time, allowing a piece of him to peek through. You almost want to riot against anyone who claims the royal guard was ever ruthless and arrogant. Maybe he was.

"I take my orders from the King." His eyes slit back into their vacant stare.

After many months of feeling him watch you—in your place at your throne while he guards the door, when you slink back into your chambers and can't help but wince at the burning residue on your backside—you can no longer foretell his actions or what he's thinking.

His hand has perched further up your ankle, the expensive fabric of your gown bunching up, showcasing it rests warmly on your bare knee now. The placement doesn't seem to reach Minho, but it's contributed densely to why you can't keep a steady flow of air pushing past your lips. "And do I have the pleasure to blame my father for your little crusade to find me?"

"No, that one is my own hanging." His voice drags, each word affixed to a thought he won't fully admit. One image in particular clings to him—the sight of you, tear-streaked and marked by the King's hand after disobeying him—owns him completely, every part of his being bound to the memory.

Quickly, he composes himself, slowly standing up, letting his hands grip the sheath of the sword, his knuckles splayed white from the sheer force of erasing the image out of his head.

"I might've become someone you deem dead and soulless, but I thought it was best to end the night with the dance you were promised. I'm a firm believer that you can still reclaim something lost. But again, it's your choice whether you want to accept it from this ugly man."

Softness rewrites the chided look on your face. Embarrassingly enough, it took no more than a minute before you agreed to it. It wasn't even a small nod. You followed him up like you were always linked to him, a shadow to a body. And perhaps that was the whole point of this strange bond—constantly accepting offers that were already his.

Minho pulls you in closer by pressing his palm into your lower back, surprising you greatly when he bends slightly, wrapping his whole arm around your torso, fingers giving your heart the same suction a corset would, before gently lifting you off the rubbled floor, the end of your dress, crumpled and stained, swinging against your ankles.

You stare at him in wonder, the moonlight failing to pale his skin. "You know, I do have legs. Quite capable ones, at that." There's a hint of amusement in your words.

His eyes flutter over the expanse of your face, the dim lighting darkening his stare into perfect black pearls. "Yes, you're right. I was given a taste of that power when I tried giving back your shoes and nearly got kicked in the face for my sincerity." Minho leans in a fraction closer, his voice dropping lower. "Still, it's part of my duty to protect the royal family, and I extend that same oath to stubborn twigs or insects."

The royal guard leads you, swearing each pull around the garden was a secret dance that awoke ash-filled ancestors, all in tune with each other. It feels so ethereal and otherworldly, like a kaleidoscope of colourful ball gowns around the gushing fountain.

"And you? What would you do if I said you've become my greatest torture? How would you protect your princess then?"

Minho pauses, the statement crashing into him like a tidal wave. "Even in your torment... so long as you think about me, I've already done my part."

The confession catches you off guard, half-expecting the royal guard to respond curtly, the same way he dismisses you by naming you by your status. But his hunger for you was just as devouring, has always been secretly consuming. So, you allow it to swallow you whole—in the same darkness that eats mostly at your heart.

"Princess?"

The sudden urgency of your name being called in the distance diminishes the magical glow, and the idea of being caught, arm interlocked with someone other than the awaiting King, makes the frantic glances over your shoulder near the tall arch opening turn jittery, fear running deep into the small passage of yourself that believed—begrudgingly—in the role your father had carved for you.

"You need to hide," you whisper hurriedly, crawling out of his grasp. The royal guard remains in a trance, his two brown eyes drinking in every detail of your face, committing it to memory. He only snaps out of it at your frantic prodding and pushing. "Minho! Take cover behind that statue there."

After quietly ensuring that no part of him is visible to any witness, you reposition yourself, sitting on the cool stone of the fountain rather than draping yourself across the floor. All parts of your previous sadness feel inconsequential now that Minho has lowered his guard and danced with you. Now, you wait.

The arch has intricate carvings of flowers—honeysuckles, red carnations, and white lilies—all woven within the stringy pieces of the vines. It doesn't look wild, as though it gradually grew and found its home around the arch. These flowers are carefully plucked and placed, constantly attended to, ensuring every beautiful piece of the garden is enhanced. When Prince Hyunjin waltzes through and hesitates by the open gateway, you swear his long red hair could set them ablaze, orange flames haloing above him.

Hyunjin is completely unaware of the full-bodied man hiding in plain sight.

"I found you." The boy wears a small smile, uncertainty weighing down each corner. Hyunjin expects you to yell. "I understand I'm not welcome, but I want to—I don't think what your father did was in good grace, and I beg for a chance to properly introduce myself. It could help ease the nerves and the surprise a bit."

"I know who you are; that should save us this conversation." There's no interest in your eyes. His words, no matter how gentle, could never penetrate your heart. They don't make you feel anything.

Hyunjin continues regardless, his hands ruffling the ends of his blouse that tie in lovely bows. "Then not an introduction, but a moment. Although this is a marriage of convenience, I'm not a selfish fool to deny you the chance for organic love, and I won't force your hand either."

You've heard stories about this prince. The most infamous one was when he disguised himself as a civil servant. It was said that he was hired as the village healer's apprentice after rumours spread about the boy's miraculous access to expensive medicine. After months of suspicion and a tragic arrest, it was revealed that he'd been stealing from the palace's cabinets and distributing the medicine for free. Hyunjin is undoubtedly the sweetest soul, so your hatred towards him only willed you to want to be alone so you could continue under false pretences.

There's a certain stillness. You're waiting in the breaks of silence, searching for any sign that Minho is still there, watching.

Hyunjin sits beside you on the stone, avoiding your gaze. "I'll make sure no one speaks against you for taking your time. With enough power, I can also silence your father." Hyunjin shows no distaste for his sensitivity, no trace of second-hand embarrassment crossing his features. He means every word he says.

"Would you like to see what I bought you?" At a simple nod, Hyunjin pulls out something blindingly gold in the midst of the dark night, a vibrant fire emblem in the middle of it. The conclusion that it was a hair accessory only came when the prince politely asked if he could do the honour of fixing it into your locks.

"What you're wearing is a sacred piece from my lineage," he speaks, breaths away from your face, the feeling of his hand heavy above the crown of your head. "It's traditional to wear it at important ceremonies to welcome harmony and good fortune. My parents were hoping to see it on me at my own coronation, but I think it's only fitting for you to wear it at our wedding." Hyunjin reclines back, watching you with keen eagerness, disregarding the idea that you only crossed paths through allyship and Kingdom honour. "Going into unfamiliar grounds could be easier if you had a constant token of hope."

Curious and flustered, you peer down into the still puddle of water inside the fountain. Your reflection greets you among the fallen petals immediately, hair pulled up halfway with pieces cascading down around a face so undoubtedly... royal.

The awaiting king deeply sighs. "You torment me with your beauty, Princess."

The sentiment around the hair accessory has turned you attentive to what you've constantly ignored.

Hyunjin notices the change. It felt like you were scrying the black pool, face entranced and eyes wet, looking for something he can't quite put his finger on. It was like your whole future was constellated, and you were desperately trying to read between the stars, hoping just maybe a meteor shower would smudge the already promised destiny.

You were a princess birthed with a written story, similar to how being birthed from a warrior father already gave Minho the necessity to grow into a warrior son. That he never needed to learn devotion, that it came to him instinctively, like a person finding a lone drum and knowing to slap it to make a roaring sound.

Minho was who he was. And yet, the royal guard entwines his fingers around the leather hilt of his sword behind the statue, his mind so far drawn with a splitting anger that cleaved and reconstructed his sworn oath to protect the kingdom that he was ready to use it against the awaiting king.

SILENT MURMURS are being passed around behind your bedroom door. It wasn't what originally brought you out of your sleep on this quiet night, the scheduled wedding tomorrow morning attributing greatly to that, but it was the one thing louder than your anxious breathing.

The guard assigned to your care, Kim Seungmin, seems to greet the incoming person with more authority, which could only mean the unknown person was of higher rank than the other guard.

The two don't let you ponder for too long as the suspect's name is spoken all too soon. "Commander Lee, what are you doing in this wing?" Minho.

Fleeing the comfort of your bed, you flatten the side of your head against the door, eavesdropping on their conversation.

     "The King ordered closer surveillance in the awaiting Queen's room." His voice is low, smooth—but the words send a cold chill down your spine. You knew better than to take Minho's words at face value. He had always been skilled at hiding his true intentions behind a mask of loyalty, a master of keeping secrets tucked beneath the surface.

Seungmin's reply comes quickly. "There must be a mistake—"

     "Is there?" Judging from the slight edge to his controlled question, Minho wasn't searching for confirmation. It was a chilling assertion, daring Seungmin to challenge him.

     "No... of course not, Commander. I'm just respectfully asking why I wasn't told this before my shift."

A moment of silence lingered. "You seem to misunderstand your position." A soft, deliberate step echos, and then another, until a dark shadow slithers beneath the door, alarming too close to the other. You could only imagine how terrifying he must have looked—teeth grounded, jaw clenched. "Courtesy is not required here, only the demand for your obedience. If there's new orders it's in your best interest to follow without concerning yourself with the specifics. Do I make myself clear?"

     "Without questions, Commander."

     "I will stand guard here, post yourself below her window."

The hurried, precise shuffling beyond the door could only be from Seungmin, surmising that he was carrying out his Commander's orders. With the guard now gone, nothing stood between you and Minho. He would come inside at any moment—his authority granting him the right to cross the threshold.

In panic, you quickly push off the door and move to the middle of the room, watching the door creak open slowly.

Minho stands at the outer shell of the doorway, his uniform barely hiding the rise and fall of his chest. You could only assume it was the aftermath of watching you in the full glory of your sleepless state. The commander says nothing, but his eyes quickly trail up, catching the way your hair piles and pins perfectly on your head with a gold embellishment.

Shame instantly hits you. The whole night had been such a daze that you had forgotten to remove it by the time you entered your room. But it was too late; Minho's stare had already hardened, and the urge to tear it off felt fruitless.

     "What are you doing here?" you ask, the tone of your voice never really sounding as surprised as you'd hoped. Minho can practically sense the way your eyes glitter at his presence.

The commander's attention is fractioned. He knows he should answer you, even though there isn't a well-crafted one, but Minho chooses to let his eyes wander, following the way his gaze lowers, drinking in every detail of you. From the way your collarbones sit to the sheer nightgown lazily draped over your shoulders, leaving nothing to shield your body from the intensity of his stare. But you don't move to grab your robe, because you think he deserves to see you like this—completely open to him.

Minho abruptly walks into the comfort of your room, his steps unsteady, as if the space around you collapses, leaving only the unspoken truth that even when you were children, he had never reached further than the foot of your stairs.

It's almost maddening when he kneels in front of you, and you can't help but feel skeptical as you note how his eyes look almost cleansed from the service of the palace. Then, by some strange force of nature, Minho unsheathes his sword, allowing the steel to rest placidly in his open palms as he offers it to you.

     "What is this?" you ask, and perhaps out of frustration—or perhaps because he knows there's never enough time alone with you—Minho forces the sword into your hand. The new weight alarms you as the tip clinks against the floor.

     "Minho, speak! You're scaring me to my wits' end."

He grips the tip of the blade hard enough that it should tear into his skin, but his eyes—sharp, unwavering—never flinch, revealing no trace of pain. With deliberate slowness, he aligns the blade to his shoulder, adjusting it a few times when Minho senses your hesitation.

     "Your father will handpick a group of guards for your protection," he finally speaks, his voice steady but distant. "They will follow you to the new kingdom and serve you as I've done these past months."

His stare briefly flicks to meet yours, but quickly returns downward, focused on the task at hand. "I will be among them," he continues, a hint of desperation buried beneath his rigid composure. "But due to my inexperience, I will not be chosen unless you personally vouch for me."

The words feel rehearsed, as if he's reciting a script, unable to show the full depth of the vulnerability you so desperately wish for. Even now, his plea for you to choose him is masked in formality.

     "I—I can't. Minho, my father... he's a force of nature—"

     "And soon you'll be a woman. A wife. A queen. He would be a fool not to listen to you."

His tone is unshaken, a surge of power stirring you to your core. Then, he tilts his head, baring the curve of his neck to the sharpness of his own blade.

     "For you, it would not take an ambush to end me," he says, the words carrying the familiar weight of the boy you've always known. Minho lifts the sword again, allowing it to touch the other side of his neck, the cold steel grazing his skin like a self-made vow, knighting himself with a warrior's solemnity. "Only with your permission."

You feel the truth in the way he kneels now. You know that the only love a commander understands is forged in war. Never gentle—always a violent and sacrificial offering, trusting you with the one thing he's never entrusted to anyone—his vulnerability, hidden beneath armour.

In a flash, the sword is discarded on the floor where your knees meet the cold stone. You throw an arm around him, pulling the only man that has ever mattered into your embrace, because Minho would never dare to make the first move.

Your silk gown, which was gifted by your mother to wear on your first night with Hyunjin, crumbles and gathers above your waist as a result of Minho positioning himself between your legs. His fingers burn your skin as they trail down to haul your knees closer to him, tenderly palming your lower half in slow but aggravating movements. You consider the proximity isn't close enough, that you need more than his chest pressed flat against yours, and think that if there were a way to bring him closer, you would steal it in a heartbeat.

Minho weaves his hands into your hair, bunching a fistful with a sharp tug to the side, eliciting a lewd sound that slips past your lips. He meets the sound with a stare that's nothing short of sinful, a smile playing on his lips more wicked than anything you've ever seen—like a portrait of Hades himself. He leans in, his mouth washing over your neck with open-mouthed kisses, working the plushness of his lips and tongue to distract you from the sudden, violent yank as he rips the gold accessory from your hair—the one gifted by the prince he so clearly despises—and hurls it to the side, as though ridding you of everything poisonous.

[chu-diaries]

100 days of mental healthcare: day 70/100

Today my husband woke up sick so I canceled my plans to take care of him. I spent the whole morning and half the afternoon at the hospital waiting for his tests and it turns out he has some kind of bacteria. I was so stressed about the whole situation that I barely ate anything and I really hope that my mental health doesn't pay the price for my choices today.

I worked a little in the late afternoon on my candle safety labels, played with my cats and organized the house. The weather today is quite cold and it has rained continuously - perfect for listening to the peaceful winter tunes from the Stardew Valley OST.

Answering 2/30 self-knowledge questions: what are my main values ​​and why are they important to me?

Well, I would say that honesty, integrity, respect, justice and loyalty are the most important values ​​for me. I'm not sure how they became my main values ​​- I always felt like I was born with them along with me. I believe that they make me a better person and that I blend better with society when I remember these values. I always practice them, in any situation, as they are natural to me. I find it strange when I don't see them in other human beings and I wonder how they can live without this internal sense of self-correction. Unfortunately, these values ​​also made me very harsh on my own transgressions and on those of others around me. I'm trying to be more flexible and to not judge anyone who doesn't follow the same values ​​as me.

🥀: day 17/28

💧: 2 L

🏃🏻‍♀️: 4107 steps

🏋🏻‍♀️: 🚫

📝: worked on my safety labels (2 h)

🎧: stardew valley ost

🎮: 🚫

📺: 🚫

📚: hp and the half blood prince

🛑: I’m having trouble with resisting the urge to pick but I’m currently 11 days pick-free

💊: took all my vitamins

[dangerousthingobservation]

158358 | McDonnell Aircraft Corp. | F-4S Phantom II | USNavy

McDonnell Aircraft Corporation (USA) F-4J-46-MC Phantom, 158358 (MSN 4107) upgraded to F-4S. ''1985 : Third Playboy "Black Bunny" of VX-4 (''Vandy 1'') at NAS Point Mugu, Ca. 1987-1988 : 158358, VX-4 as XF-1. 158358, coded '1' VX-4, 'Bunny 1', seen at London AirShow, Ontario on 4 June 1988. WFU April 1989. Converted to QF-4S drone.'' Scanned from the single original 35mm slide, which is part of my own personal collection. It is therefore with pleasure that I share this photo with the people of FLICKR. Obviously, I also thank its author (T. Panopalis) to whom I give him all the credit.

[oneterabyteofkilobyteage]

original url http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Meadows/4107/ last modified 2008-08-31 21:11:25

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Elvis Presley Fics Masterlist

Promise Me? Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2622 Rating: Explicit

The Way I Loved You Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader, Austin Butler x Reader Word Count: 4348 Rating: Mature

Treat Me Like A Fool Pairing: Elvis Presley x  Female Reader Word Count: 7950 [2 Parts] Rating: Teen

He’ll Have To Go Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2555 Rating: Mature

Better Man Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2717 Rating: Teen & Up

Trading One Heartbreak For Another Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3192 Rating: Teen & Up

Trying To Get To You Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2464 Rating: Explicit

Lonely In a Crowded Room Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 11279 [3 Parts] Rating: Mature

Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3208 Rating: Mature

Wrapped Around My Finger Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3492 Rating: Teen

Made For Each Other Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2982 Rating: Explicit

Late Birthday Present Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3197 Rating: Explicit

Last Past The Post Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader x Memphis Mafia Word Count: 3951   Rating: Explicit

Hide and Seek [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 3170 Rating: Explicit

The Needs of a Man [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x  Female Reader Word Count: 1776 Rating: Mature

Details [Requested] Pairing:  Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 1466 Rating: Gen

A Girl Like That [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 1986 Rating: Explicit

Every Step of the Way [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3227 Rating: Mature

It’ll All Come Out in the Wash [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 1765 Rating: Mature

The Best Place To Be [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2660 Rating: Mature

Ever Since Germany [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 4029 Rating: Explicit

A Few Good Men Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 10735 [3 Parts] Rating: Mature

Elvis Fuckin’ Presley Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 3509 Rating: Explicit

Does He Love You? [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader, Elvis Presley x Ann Margaret Word Count: 3225 Rating: Explicit

Helping [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 2435 Rating: Gen

In Your Arms [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader Word Count: 1024 Rating: Explicit

The Art of Gift Giving [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 2110 Rating: Mature

The Price of Loving Elvis Presley [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 2256 Rating: Mature

Shut Up and Kiss Me [Requested] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 3400 Rating: Teen

Made For The Mafia [Series of Fics] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader x Memphis Mafia Word Count: 34,000 [In 8 Parts] Rating: Explicit

His Bird With The Broken Wing Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Teen Word Count: 5128

Tennessee Orange Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 2407 Rating: Teen

Die From A Broken Heart Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 1837 Rating: Teen

You Ain’t Woman Enough [To Take My Man] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 4107 Rating: Mature

It Hurts Me Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader, Reader x Jerry Schilling Word Count: 7849 Rating: Teen

I’m Not Going Anywhere Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 6734 Rating: Mature

Don’t Ask Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 4483 Rating: Teen

Birthday Boy Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader Word Count: 1248 Rating: Teen

Love In Trouble Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character, Austin Butler x OFC Word Count: Ongoing Rating: Mature

Elvis & Addison

The Girl He Left Behind Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Word Count: 126,532 Rating: Mature/Explicit

Here You Come Again [Sequel To The Girl He Left Behind] Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Word Count: 127699 Rating: Mature/Explicit

Untethered  Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 4319

Little Bird Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 4553

Fractured  Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 15430 [In 2 Parts]

Our Little Secret Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Teen Word Count: 5012

Closure Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 7145

Top of the List Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 9639

Meant To Be Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character Rating: Mature Word Count: 3120

[arcielee]

Farewell Wanterlust

Warnings:  Sexism because it it the 9th century, tw: noncon, sexual assault mentioned, violent actions and torture describe. MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 4107 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior.      Author’s Note: This will be a hybrid of the books and TLK show. The timelines will be adjusted for the plot and the names will match the Old English/9th Century. Please be mindful of chapter warnings as this shit will have dark moments and mature themes.     Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika​ ♥ Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aspen-carter @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @randomdragonfires @httpsdoll @triscy @assortedseaglass @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek​ @heavenly1927​ @greenowlfactif​ (bold for those I could not tag, but requested!) 

 Chapter 2

It had been ten days since the brothers, Erik and Sigefried, besieged Lunden. 

The city fell easily, which was something Keavy knew was inevitable from the mumbled worries of his lordship Æthelstan, something that he shared between her and his mug of ale. Though he had been baptized, she still saw the Dane that thrummed beneath the flesh and how it vibrated with that instilled knowledge, haunting him late at night to know that despite the structured wall that surrounded them, they did not have the manpower to keep it properly guarded. 

Keavy had been sent to Lunden after her refusal to join the nunnery in an official capacity. She was well aware of the weight of her decision, how it would uproot her, but the abbess did not fault Keavy for her choice; she knew this from the soft touch of her hand to her cheek that was not damaged, her simple gesture of understanding before she left Ebchester. 

She had grown into a strong-willed woman, both bright and vivacious. In all accounts, she was lovely as her mam claimed: she possessed womanly curves that pressed the seams of her simple frocks, with a milky white complexion and dark ringlets that billowed with her every determined step. 

Though Saxon men admired these physical traits, they all were overlooked the second their eyes fell to the parting gift from her mam. Her scar had healed dark, with blood red markings from the crude sutures that knitted the flesh together; it curled below her chin and stretched back towards her ear, with a second slash into her cheek downwards to her jaw bone. 

She was aware she was a gift for the baptism of Æthelstan of East Anglia but did not mind him; she was pleased to learn how he almost pitied her, which in turn allowed her a freedom within the city limits. He had noted right away how the Saxon men would be quick to look away with the superstitious whispers that she was a witch, some with a visible shudder, and were quick to disregard of her existence; he understood the blemish would allow her to be overlooked and she served as a set of eyes and ears amongst the cityfolk. 

Keavy ignored it all, their reactions, readily accepting her role and requesting to be trained alongside his men, so she could properly handle a sword. And he allowed it. 

It was a freedom she now mourned as she found herself pinned under the dark gaze of Sigefried these last ten days. 

The Danes had come under the cover of night and she awoke to the screams that rolled from the shores, echoing in the stone halls of the manor. She moved from the bed, throwing on her frock and cloak, grabbing her dagger and tucking the silver Celtic cross beneath her neckline. Keavy moved quickly from the castle, hiding in the shadows of the city as she made for her escape. 

She had come across a guardsmen, a young man she recognized from training in the courtyards, and he reached to take her hand. They moved together, quick and quiet amongst the bloodshed, slipping into an alleyway of cobblestone where they found a lone Dane taking a piss. 

The lad pushed her backwards, perhaps with a gallant effort to defend her but instead he was killed quickly. This distraction allowed her to draw her own blade and plunge it into the softness underneath the Dane’s jaw, far enough to gut his tongue so he could not scream. 

As she watched the blood seep between the stones, she thought back to the night when the slavers came and she knew from the haunting echo of slain screams that Lunden was lost. She wiped and sheathed her dagger, removing the silver cross, and wrapped both in her blood stained cloak. Keavy then picked up the sword and used it to lift some of the stones, burying it beneath, then dipping her fingers into the fresh blood that pooled and marking the stones.

She swore that she would survive this as well, that she would return for it, but if not, let it remain buried rather than be taken. 

Once she finished, a looming figure stepped to block her path. His face was shadowed and closer she saw his pupils were blown, which made his eyes as black as the night. He looked past her. “Did you kill them?” His tone gravely, and he said it with a smile that reached his eyes in a way that made her skin crawl. “You have killed one of my men so I ask how will you repay for this loss?” 

Her arms trembled with her grip on the sword, her fear rooted her stance but wavered under his dark eyes.  “I am not afraid to die tonight, Dane,” she spat back at him, but her bold tone cracked and betrayed her. 

His laugh was deep and reverberated around her. “I can see this,” and he was quick to close the space between them, knocking the steel from her grasp. It clamored to the stone and she felt his hot breath on her face. “You are not Saxon,” his larged palm grabbed her face and she felt the burn of her scar from his hold. “Do they teach their women across the Irish sea to fight?” 

She would not answer him, but she also did not look away. He only chuckled, his hand moving to grab a handful of her curls and pulling her as he made his way back towards the castle. Keavy grit her teeth, struggling to keep with his steps and ignoring the cheers from the Danes they passed as he took her to one of the rooms. 

Her fear now settled into her core, but she would not give the satisfaction of screaming as she knew still that no one would come for her. Lunden now belonged to the Danes and she knew her mam never considered that the marr given would not be a deterrent for their heathen cocks. 

It was fortunate and unfortunate how Sigefried seemed entertained by her stubbornness, her refusal to seek his favor and, in return, he would try and frighten her, to see the cracks in her practiced stoic mask. “When my cock tires of her, I will hump her with my good hand,” she once heard him say to his brother, the blonde Dane named Erik, and they laughed as he lifted his knifed arm.

Keavy just watched him with her steeled gaze, ignoring how her fear shuddered the length of her spine. I am cursed, she thought. Whatever faith the abbess tried to behest from the days spent in Ebchester died in the bed she was forced to share with the Dane. 

Each day dragged with her pettied struggle to remain alive. The Danes seemed insatiable in every sense, but she made sure to serve and refill their cups as the ale, which allowed her to slip from his grasp some nights, but the following day he would return his attention to her with a hungover vengeance. 

On the tenth day, she remained in the shadows of the courtyard, watching as the Danes nailed men to crosses. They were priests sent from Æthelstan to negotiate and the brothers treated them as sport. 

She watched, stone faced and her heart heavy, trying her best to block out their screams. Just the prior night she had been tasked to feed them and she managed to slip them apples from the orchid and hard cheeses along with the bread rationed for them. They begged her to free them but one had been quick to shush the men. 

“Do not risk their fury,” he warned her. His head was shaved, his beard haggard and his expression severe on his already hardened face; he made sure to thank her for the fresh fruit before she left them. 

Now she watched these same men with her solemn expression as they were nailed to the wood, the screams echoing throughout the courtyard. Keavy felt the eyes of Sigefried on her and he beckoned her closer; her steps felt heavy as she brought herself to stand behind and between him and his brother. 

“I still do not understand how this kills a man,” Sigefried casually commented, unaffected by their tortured cries. 

His brother shifted his weight, his unease more apparent. “Sigefried, take his head and be done with it,” and there was the hint of him pleading. 

“A cross kills a man slowly, lord, over days,” and their attention turned towards the same priest that spoke to her last night. In the sunlight, she saw the dirt on his face and the dark circles that framed his dark eyes. “It is both torture and execution.” 

“There,” his brother clasped his hand onto his shoulder. “You have your answer. Now take his head and be done with it.” 

And Keavy could no longer hear their exchange, her focus now fastened onto the men that walked towards them; her eyes watched the one who led them, his presence perking the interest of one of the heavier Danes that stood off to the side. 

“Uhtred Ragnarsson,” he announced. 

His very name breathed fire into her chest, a renewed flame for hope. 

Uhtred of Bebbanburg. 

Her mind returned to the stories that Lady Gisela had shared, how she swore of his honorable spirit. Keavy watched him like a beacon presented for her freedom. “Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg,” her voice rasped to interrupt and the eyes of the men fell to her, stopping the exchange they were having. “My lord, I know your lady wife.”

She saw that her words caught his attention and she burned under his hard stare, but before she could continue, she felt the backhand of Sigefriend catch her across her mouth. Her knees buckled and she fell back into the dirt, the taste of iron in her mouth, but she did not let it falter her words. “I owe her a debt, lord.”

As she prayed that the words would hold weight and take root, Uhtred peered at Sigefried. “Who is she to you?”

From behind, she saw the tension in his shoulders, but his response was nonchalant. “Just some Irish whore we found here,” his tone was sly with his following implication and it made her stomach curdle with disgust, “I have been having my fun with this one.” 

Her jaw steeled, another crack in her mask, and she could feel how she trembled from his words with a white fury that burned within. 

Uhtred paid her no mind, his focus remaining on Sigefried. “She seems irksome to you, but perhaps she would serve my wife better, to repay this debt owed,” a smirk played on his lips. “You claim bygones today and my family grows. The extra hands can be of better use than to play with your cock.” 

She burned, but she heard the dark chuckle of Sigefried. “She may frighten your children,” and he gestured to his jaw with cruel humor. 

“They have strong stomachs,” another voice spoke and her heart lifted with the familiar lilt of his diction. 

Keavy did not dare lift her eyes from the boots of the men that spoke of her like she was not present. Her chest tightened with her struggle to steady her breath and the silence rolled over them with a palpable tensity that stricken her bones. 

“Of course,” Siegfried began, his words were slow and heavy with venom. “As a gesture of goodwill.” 

For the second time in her life, she found her worth being bartered and then a large palm reached to grab her shoulder, shoving her forward. Keavy fell in front of them, catching herself on her hands and knees, and they burned from the impact. 

“Osferth,” and she looked up to see Uhtred watching her. “Take her to the docks and wait for us there.” 

“Yes, lord,” and a shadow stretched over her. She felt a hold that held no maliciousness, no ill intent, just the gentle touch that belonged to the man called Osferth. His slender fingers wrapped above her elbow and he helped her to her feet; she saw how he towered over her, how his eyes bore into her own.

His features, his jawline were sharp but she saw a kindness, a softness to the expression he held; it complemented his eyes, a color that reminded her of the spring days at Ebchester, when the sky was without a cloud to blemish the brilliant blue. 

Osferth began to pull her away from the crowd of men who now called for food and drink, and she followed him, her mind vibrating with the realization that she would soon be gone from this damned city. 

+ + + +

There was something almost akin with how the Irishman instructed his swordsmanship that reminded Osferth of the days he spent with his uncle, years ago. Finan was not as tall as him, but he was sturdy, with a surliness that peaked beneath his dark beard and his dark brow that furrowed above his scrutinous gaze; Leofric had a hardness that had been embedded into his demeanor and would edge into his timbre, whereas Finan’s lilt brought a comfort to his critiques. 

“You have a pretty solid foundation, but your stance is a bit lazy,” Finan chewed on some straw, reaching forward to correct his posture. “But if I was a betting man, I would guess you wouldn’t be killed right away.” 

They remained in Wessex for several days, indulging in the celebration with an insatiable want of women and ale. Sihtric remained knitted at the side of the same woman with auburn hair, while the rest were seated around a table, their cups overflowing and spilling into the wood as they crowed when they learned of Osferth and his virginity. 

He argued his time spent at the monastery hardly allowed women to flow through, but Finan would not hear of it. “There are things in life you must allow yourself, an almost right of passage for any man,” and it was the first time he noted a genuine grin beneath his beard. Finan grabbed the pitcher to refill his cup and Osferth took a grimaced sip, the taste bitter and burned down his throat. “Don’t worry, baby monk, you will learn to love it.” 

Uhtred offered insight about quality over quantity and Finan guffawed in his mug. He continued on about his wife, how when he saw her, he just knew. “With ale, you must accept whatever has been poured into your cup,” Uhtred swirled whatever liquor remained in his mug, “but a good woman is something you must be able to decipher and then cherish.” 

Osferth watched the hue of pink that washed over his cheeks, whether from his thoughts of his lady wife in Coccham or perhaps the ale. “How did you know, lord?” His naivety pressed.

Uhtred smiled at him, bringing his fist to thump against his chest. “It is in here, it is something that tells you.” 

Osferth remembered that moment when they were in the courtyard at Lunden, when he first saw her. 

They had left Wessex on horseback towards the shores of the Temes; Mercian lords had accompanied them and the boats were a reprieve from their ceaseless, loud complaints. They followed the river to the docks of Lunden that bustled with merchants, who seemed unaffected by the siege. 

They followed behind Clapa, who led a wide berth with his large steps as people parted to allow him to pass, and they pushed until they came to the courtyard, halted by the body crudely displayed upright on a cross. Their unease shuddered off when Finan spoke with certainty, “Tis’ a death, nothing more.”

Osferth found that the vulgar show of sacrilege vested a response instilled from his days at the monastery and he crossed himself, his dirty blonde locks spilling forward when he bowed his head for a quick, silent prayer for the dead man. 

The sun poured into the courtyard ahead and Danes were staggered around with a half-interest in the grotesque crucifixion demanded. The attention turned onto them and Osferth found himself fixated the moment he saw her, how still she stood in the Dane brothers’ shadows. 

There was a severity in her green eyes as she looked them over and they brightened with a familiarity, something that flickered across her pale features. She wet her pink lips before she dared speak out loud, claiming their attention as well as the backhand from the dark haired brother. Her knees buckled and she fell back, her lips now red with blood, her eyes burning. 

“Don’t do it, baby monk,” Finan growled, low, and he felt the touch of his hand to his stomach. Osferth realized his fists were clenched. “I see your eyes have not left her–let him handle it.”

Though the words did not ease his rigid stance, he remained rooted at the Irishman’s side, his eyes watchful. Osferth thought back of his last day at the monastery, the warm meal prepared for him and the comfort of the bed he had slept in for the prior eighteen years. The abbot had approached him to ask if he truly wished to leave this humble life behind and he had answered earnestly that he had to go. There was a pull from the echo of his uncle’s words that regaled Uhtred of Bebbanburg, how he was an honorable man, how he was a fair man, and this was what propelled his steps to leave this life behind. 

Destiny is all. 

And in the courtyard, he saw the personification of his uncle’s words with how Uhtred bartered with Sigefried to hand over this woman, with her eyes that burned. 

The Dane had shoved her forward and Osferth moved outside his volition towards her, breaking away from Finan and with the covered command from Uhtred to take her to the docks, a way to conceal his unprecedented action. Osferth helped her stand, pulling her away from the courtyard and the heathens that filled it. 

His steps were not hurried, but his long legs made for a long gait as he moved to exit the city, his hold on her hand keeping her in the wake of his steps as he pushed through the crowds. 

“Please, priest,” he heard her say and he peered over his shoulder, slowing his steps and watching her as she looked over the buildings they passed, her eyes almost frantic. “Please, before we leave, I must take what belongs to me.” 

Osferth stopped and turned to face her, his chin tilted down to look at her. He watched the rose coloring dust her fair cheeks and the tip of her nose, how the pink clashed with the scar that lined her cheek and jawline. His eyes returned to her own and he only said, “I am not a priest.” 

She blinked then tried to correct herself. “Forgive me, monk–”

“I am not a monk, nor a holy man any longer,” he interrupted, his brow knitting over his eyes. “I am simply Osferth,” he added and he felt a warmth that bloomed in his chest from how she peered up at him through her dark lashes; he admired the bright green of her eyes with a halo of gold that burned around her pupil with her stare. 

She watched him for a moment before she reached to take his hand, her palm dry and cool against his own. He allowed her to lead until she made a noise of recognition, moving down an alleyway until they came to where blood had clearly been split, with markings that burned dark against the stonewall. 

Without a word, she dropped to her knees, her fingers desperate to pull up the stones before he unsheathed his sword and offered its leverage. She finally unearthed a dark piece of fabric, almost black with the mixed stain of blood and soil that broke off in chunks as she unraveled to reveal a silver, detailed cross and a dagger. 

She first slipped on the necklace, tucking the pendant beneath her neckline, and then her fingers trembled with its hold as she tried to fasten the belt around her wait. There was a moment he wished to reach forward to help her, but instead he let his hand fall back to his side. 

When she finished, she turned to face him with her face flushed; he saw blood was smeared across her chin and she wiped her hands on her skirt, her dark curls limply falling to in front of her face. Osferth felt that warmth cradling his heart, but said nothing and offered his hand to her. He was pleased how she took it without  hesitation, how well it fit within his own, and they made their way towards the docks. 

Once outside the gates of Lunden, he felt he was able to take a deep breath, though the waste thrown on the shores were still rancid. “Wait here, lady,” he said, his tone low and kind, and he went to find a bucket of cleaner water and rags. 

When he returned, she only said, “I am no lady.” She dampened the cloth to wipe away some of the blood and dirt, her pearly complexion showing through the streaks. “You may call me Keavy.” 

He nodded, his eyes still watchful as she cleaned away the grime; his gaze trailed the scarring again, a deep blood red for the new skin. “Was he…” he began and he gestured to his jaw, “was he the one who did this to you?” 

“It was from before,” she answered and he saw how her hands fidgeted with the cloth. “Osferth,�� she spoke his name slowly and he liked how it rolled with her Irish lilt, “have you been in service to Uhtred of Bebbanburg for a while?”

He shook his head, a small smile to his lips. “No, lady, only a few days now.”

“Just Keavy,” she corrected him with the slight tilt of her head and he burned from the tensity of her green eyes. “Do you think he has sound judgment? Is he a fair man?”  

He noted the trepidation of her voice and the concern that lined her question. “From what I have seen and learned about him, he is very just,” and he paused a moment before he added, “I will say that he is a man that respects honesty and will give it in return.” 

Her lips pursed in response and she nodded with the soft movement of her curls.

Osferth wished to reach forward and pinch a tendril between his fingers, to find his tongue and press for more, but instead he heard Uhtred call to them; they both looked to see him and the men in tow, making their way towards the docks. They split to their respective boats and Osferth stepped in, turning to take her hand and help her as she made her way forward to sit on the behind the stempost, where Uhtred now held onto. 

They rowed out with the collective grunts with each pull; Osferth felt the burn between his shoulder blades as they made their way against the flow of the Temes. A silence settled over the men until they seemed far enough from Lunden before Uhtred asked: “What is the debt owed to my wife?” 

Osferth looked up, watching how her shoulders wilted and then squared with her breath. “She saved my life, lord.”

Uhtred looked back at her with an amusement that played across his face. “How did my wife save you?” he clarified. 

“By allowing me to use her name to escape the Danes that held Lunden,” she admitted and then allowed a shaky exhale. “I knew her from when she stayed in Ebchester, until you came for her,” she added with one breath. 

“Ebchester?” Finan called from behind, his tone light. “Did you ever confess to Beocca that you killed a holy man?”

The men chortled and Osferth felt a sly smile of his own that widened when Keavy turned around to watch their response. Her relief was apparent and there was a glow with her smile, the dimples on the left side of her face exaggerated by her scarring.

She is lovely still, came the intrusive thought to his mind. 

“He is aware,” Uhtred called out over their laughter. “And he understands why it was warranted!” Their laughter swelled over their boat alone, while the Mercians followed silently in their wake as they made their way back to Wintanceaster.

previous | Chapter 3 | masterlist

[ao3feed-macgyver2016]

Palmful of Sunlight and Promise

Palmful of Sunlight and Promise https://ift.tt/oujDALW by OrionLady Mac knows he won’t make it out of this latest abduction alive. Not with experimental chemicals being pumped into him in horrific doses. The hallucination wearing Jack’s face—who claims he never died—has other ideas about that. (Touch separated by inches is the greatest torture of all.) Words: 4107, Chapters: 1/9, Language: English Fandoms: MacGyver (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis, Matilda "Matty" Webber, Wilt Bozer (MacGyver TV 2016), Desiree "Desi" Nguyen Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Angus MacGyver & Matilda "Matty" Webber (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Presumed Dead, Fix-It, because Jack is not allowed to die on my watch, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Broken Bones, Crying, Hallucinations, cognitive impairment, Psychological Torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Dissociation, Guilt, Abduction, Starvation, Families of Choice, Found Family, Adopted siblings Riley and Mac, Affection, Tenderness, Confessions, Salt and Light, Jack and Matty co-parent Mac, i don't make the rules, Reunions, copious feelings about Jack's leather cuff, I somehow managed to avoid writing for this fandom for eight years, and got sucked in by one (1) gifset, as the great YouTuber Rachel Maksy would say: ain't that just the way

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Q: You call them The Great Demotions, all of these thoughts which we have so cherished. Well, guess what? The universe doesn't revolve around the Earth. And guess what? The Earth isn't the only world out there. Are we still clinging to any conceits? Such as those which led to the Great Demotions over the past centuries?

Carl Sagan: Well, you would think we should be over it. But we still are battling, at least in the United States, the conceit that humans are separate from the rest of nature. That an unbridgeable gap separates humans from the other plants and animals. That we are the particular beneficiaries of the concern of the creator of the universe, more than any of the 10 million other species of plants and animals on the Earth. When, in fact, all of our vaunted uniqueness turns out to be shared. with other animals, especially with chimpanzees, our closest relatives with whom we share 99.6% of our hereditary material.

Another area in which the demotion is being fought is the idea that there are no other planets beyond those in our own solar system. But in the last 15 years, the most marvelous set of findings has occurred in which it now appears that planets are an ordinary, probably inevitable accompaniment of star formation, and that almost every young star, like the Sun in the early stages of formation, is surrounded by this flat disc of gas and dust over which the planets were formed. And we now have the first bona fide real planetary system around a very unlikely object, a particular pulsar called 1257 plus 12. And the technology is just about to reach out and find whatever planetary systems there are nearby.

[ Note: As of September 2023, there are 5514 confirmed exoplanets in 4107 planetary systems. ]

And a third one is the idea that even if there are an enormous number of planets, only ours has life and intelligence. And there the story is open. We send spacecraft to other planets like Mars to see if there are any simple forms of life. We use radio telescopes to see if messages are being sent to us by civilizations on planets of other stars. So far, although there've been some very curious, tantalizing findings in both of those approaches, we have found nothing definitive, unambiguous evidence for extraterrestrial life. And the debate is still open.

In our ignorance, the geocentrists still find hope.

==

When their methods are so unreliable, hope is all they have.

[kojiarakiartworks]

August 2024 JAPAN

■Podcast No.4107 夜語り：）

My Podcast　It's a Japanese program :)

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© KOJI ARAKI Art Works

Daily life and every small thing is the gate to the universe ：）

[lamaisonsims]

Addy Knit Set

Based on creations by ADDYKNITS. w pieces of Custom Content. S4F. All LODs. Base Game compatible. Custom Thumbnail. Recolors are allowed as long as you follow the rules in the TOU!

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[dichromaticdyke]

I SURVIVED KLOKTOBER 2023 WITHOUT MISSING A SINGLE DAY I THINK I'M INSANE

i wrote 59,199 words over these past few weeks. i did a nanowrimo of mtl fanfic. i need to be institutionalized. (i'm also a nanowrimo veteran, and the median word count for these fics was just over 1667 words, so ain't that crazy.)

thanks to everyone who reblogged or who left likes, kudos, and comments! i even got some acknowledgement from some of my fave mtl creators, i feel so honored. i wasn't expecting to get much attention at all since i've only been kicking around this space for a couple months, so thank you everyone!!

if you missed any of my fics, here is the entire collection:

if you don't want to read them all—and you absolutely don't have to, they're all stand-alone—below the cut are my top 10 favorites and a few other fun things:

10. Nights at the Mastodon (Original Character or Self-Insert, oops i created an oc just to give abigail a gf, 4387 words, M-rated chapter 1/E-rated chapter 2) 9. A Pickle of a Name (Your Choice, inspired by an anon and oops dethklok are idiots, 1673 words, T-rated) 8. Abigail Goes on a Coffee Break (Use Brendon Small in Some Way, don't let these men do anything unsupervised, 1250 words, M-rated) 7. Everything Left Unsaid (In Memoriam: Honor the Fallen, vague dickface and platonic murdertooth, 1670 words, T-rated) 6. A Vacation from the Vacation (Dethklok Goes on Vacation, nickles fluff turns suggestive, 2303 words, M-rated) 5. For His Brother (Your Favorite Villain, edgar jomfru character study, 990 words, T-rated) 4. Pickled Testosterone (Your Favorite Headcanon, trans pierced pickles babyyy, 2211 words, T-rated) 3. Not with Anyone I Work With (Abigail Appreciation Day, oops i gave her depth and a fucked-up backstory, 1700 words, M-rated) 2. Scar King (Inspired by a Metal Song, toki trauma hurt/comfort, 4107 words, M-rated) 1. Gone Too Far (Comedy or Tragedy, skwisgaar pain but also vague skwistok nonsense, 6044 words, M-rated)

just for funsies, here is my kloktober writing playlist! includes songs that inspired some of the fics and some songs that just fit the vibes i was going for. a lot of these songs are definitely inspiring future fics also.

and one last thing, i did also make a ko-fi, since i did all this while being a full-time grad student and part-time library worker. no one is obligated to tip me anything, of course, i’m just putting the option out there, if anyone is feeling generous. regardless of if you tip or not, even if you just enjoyed my writing, started following on ao3, reblogged my posts on tumblr, whatever—i love you all.

more fics will be coming. but holy shit, not for a while. good night. 🤍🩷🩵🤎🖤❤️🧡💛💚💙💜