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sunflowersteves · 2 years

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another day, another dollar || b.b.

pairing || bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader

summary || Is Rooster jealous that some random aviator won't stop looking at you? Definitely not.

author’s note || i'm so glad you guys enjoyed my last rooster fic!! i have so many ideas for rooster and i hope you guys enjoy this one! <3

warnings || jealousy, misogyny (not from rooster), fem!reader, some mention of violence, smut, oral sex, blowjob, praise kink, a little sub!bradley, [18+ only]

“Getting pretty busy, huh?”

You turned your head around to the unfamiliar voice. You almost raised an eyebrow—he looked smug. “Yep.” You replied, short and sweet.

You gave him a strained smile in hopes to keep up some customer service facade. You whirled back around to continue to pull the tap and fill up more beers.

He decided to talk to you again. “Think you can handle all this by yourself?”

At the Hard Deck on a buzzing Friday night, you were the only one tending to the bar. Ever since dusk peaked at seven-thirty in the evening, you had been busy refilling beers and taking orders—then occasionally ringing the bell when someone couldn’t pay their tab.

Penny asked you for a favor when Amelia came home from school with a really bad case of the flu. You knew she felt bad enough leaving you alone on the busiest night of the weekend, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit. You had wished Amelia a speedy recovery.

You were doing pretty well from the rush of Navy officers, lieutenants, captains, and everywhere in between asking for ales and lagers.

It had actually been somewhat fun chatting up conversations with people. Out of nowhere, though, this lanky twenty-something man stationed himself right in the front of the bar.

He had been staring at you for more than five minutes, and when you paid him no mind—since you were quite frankly busy with customers—he decided to strike up a mundane conversation. It was almost nauseating.

When you had turned your head the first time, he had his elbow resting on the bar and twirled a pint of beer in his hand. He had a fresh face and flirty twinkling eyes that almost made you gag a little. You knew exactly what he was doing, and you weren’t interested.

You could tell he was a Naval Aviator with the whole khaki color suit and hat on his head. You could also tell that by the looks of it that he’s new.

You didn’t spin back around, though, when he asked you that question. You didn’t want to give him any attention—hopefully, he will get the goddamn hint.

“Think you can handle all this by yourself?” Gross.

“I’ve been doing this for a while. I think I can handle it just fine.” You then turn to Coyote with the four beers he asked for—a genuine smile on your face. He thanked you kindly before sauntering back off to your group of friends by the pool table.

“Really? I’ve never seen you in here before.” He locked eyes with yours before trailing down your figure and admiring the curves of your hips in tight jeans—a shudder of disgust ran through your body. “I would’ve remembered someone like you.”

Yeah, he was definitely new because if he saw the six-foot-four Top Gun aviator—the top one percent of fighter pilots in the world—that was glaring daggers into him, he would have shit his pants on the spot. You were sure he would never set foot in the Hard Deck again.

You were Bradley’s, and Bradley was yours. Everyone in the vicinity of the bar knew that. You were always perched on his lap while he spread his skilled fingers across the piano. His arms were always wrapped around your waist as you destroyed Hangman in darts. You two practically couldn’t get your hands off of each other every second of the day.

No one in their right mind would disturb the pure, raw love between the two of you.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you were forced under the confinements of the bar area, giving this newbie the perfect opportunity to try and stake his claim.

“Maybe you’re the forgetful one, kid. I’m here every weekend.” You fought the urge to smile in victory when he gave an annoyed expression as the word kid left your mouth.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

“You gonna do something, Rooster?”

His eyes never left your cute irritated face. He watched you give the guy a one-worded answer with a mundane expression. As much as he wanted to give you the kiss of a lifetime, he stood back. “No.”

With Bradley’s answer, Jake was even more amused. “No? I’m surprised. I’d figure by now you’d be trailing over to her like some lost little puppy.”

Bradley bit his cheek to keep from snapping back. He knew that Jake was just giving him shit. He knew that he was just trying to get him all riled up.

It’s what Jake does. But he couldn’t let anything get to him, or he would trail over to you like some lost puppy. Hangman was undoubtedly and stupidly right.

Jake’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the brooding silence. He expected some little quip and then a smack upside the head from Phoenix right next to him.

Damn, this must be really grinding Bradley’s gears. Jake almost felt guilty for his friend sulking in the corner of the Hard Deck.

“Don’t let Bagman get to you, Rooster. He’s just jealous that your girlfriend rejected him first.”

Phoenix grinned with a teasing smile, and Jake just grumbled to himself. At that, Bradley snorted and shook his head. He was still silent, but his demeanor had at least changed. All of the pilots smiled at Rooster’s shoulders relaxing just a smidge.

Bradley hated feeling jealous—the angry green monster that sprouted in his chest and sat home in his head was relentless in its hold on him.

His heart always throbbed in his chest, and anger bubbled through his veins when some guy or girl gave you a bashing smile and feather-light touches to your shoulder.

He always stayed silent—brooding—as he watched you from afar. He never wanted you to feel like he didn’t trust you because he did. Oh, he did. He trusts you more than anyone else in the room, and he flies life or death with some of them. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if you had asked him to.

He figured it is most likely some unresolved tension from the tragedies that have struck during his thirty-five years of life, and anyone that wanted to take you away from him burned a hole in his chest.

So, to combat these ingrained feelings, he sat idly by as that guy’s hips were attached to the bar and watched you dodge every single flirtatious glance and awkward pick-up line. He knew you could handle yourself, and there was a whole gaggle of naval aviators that would stop at nothing to make sure you were doing okay.

“Need another beer?” A peace offering. Jake was already standing up from the bar stool and about to make his way over to you.

He nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Bagman.”

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

You looked bored. You looked so absolutely uninterested in this guy still speaking to you, and now, he was over-explaining how F-18 engines work and fly. You were a mechanical engineer. You knew how plane engines work.

You tried to tell him you did, but he was quick to interrupt to continue telling you about how F-18s have more than one-hundred thousand horsepower.

If you didn’t respect Penny’s establishment and reputation, he would’ve been thrown out of the bar by now. Typical men with their typical egos. Though now that you think about it, you’re sure Penny would have encouraged it.

Your eyes locked with Jake’s, and your eyes lit up at the familiar face. Finally, someone you actually enjoy talking to. Not that you would ever tell Jake that.

“Need savin’ over here, hot shot?” Jake had interrupted the aviator and ignored the very irritated look that was sent his way. It was almost like the guy was insinuating that he had caught you—that you were going to be his tonight. The feeling of possession he exuded made you want to gag again.

Jake could tell you wanted this shift to be over as soon as possible. Your eyes glanced at the random man staring at you before turning your attention back onto Hangman. “Nothing I can’t handle. How many beers?”

“Two, please.” Jake smiled—cocky little shit. “I think you should go talk to your boyfriend over there. He’s been stewin’ for quite a while.” He paused, eyes sliding over to the stranger. “I could even help ya with the bar.”

You turn around to fill up the empty glasses that he handed to you. “Don’t I know it, Bagman.” It was like the aviator that had been hitting on you all night had disappeared—though, you wish. Just you making drinks while your friends entertained you. It was nice for a moment, actually. “I’m due for a break soon enough.”

Jake spoke too soon, though, because Bradley was already making his way over to the bar. He couldn’t help himself when he saw the guy stare straight at your ass and bite his lip. The action made his blood seethe with vexation, so his feet started walking before his brain caught up.

“Boyfriend?” The guy looks shocked. His eyes were wide as he stared at you. “What the fuck? I’ve been trying all night, and you didn’t say a fucking thing?”

You pursed your lips. Irritated. “I did.”

“Huh?”

Rooster stood tall near the bar, watching the scene before him. He studied the menacing glare you struck at the guy and a hand resting on your hip.

“I told you multiple times when you were talking about damn plane engines that I have a boyfriend—who’s a naval aviator by the way. I’ve made it crystal clear.”

He didn’t miss a beat. The stranger’s eyebrows were furrowed in rage. He stood up from the bar in an irate stance. “You’re a fucking bitch. Do you go around eye-fucking all the guy's then?” His eyes move over to Jake’s.

“You allow your slut to do this, man?”

You, Jake, and Bradley all froze. The whole bar dulls out into silence from his loud gestures, and all eyes are on you four now.

The audacity of this kid to insult and degrade you when all you were doing was listening to this guy talk and talk. You gave clear signs of being uninterested. Clear. Not to mention he also had the sheer audacity to make a scene in Jake and Bradley’s presence.

“The fuck did you just say?” You were almost in his face as you leaned over the bar—a hard glare set on him with your fueled anger. The grip you had on the bar counter was starting to ache, but you didn’t care.

“Tame your fucking girl, would you?” Jake’s hands clenched by his side at the comment.

Bradley’s chest heaved up and down, and he could feel the burning emotion consume his entire body and soul. His hands were almost trembling by his side as his thoughts of tearing this asshole to shreds simmered inside his head.

The guy scoffed. He tried to turn around to leave but was met with Bradley’s hard chest. Clearly, he had no idea what was coming.

Bradley was sweet—a kind, gentle soul. He has picked you up from your lowest and drew you back up. He has told you things about himself that not even he understands. Bradley Bradshaw was a good man—one of the best, you would even argue.

However, he had a temper. Call it the jet fuel that was practically injected into his veins, but when that temper was pushed to the brim because someone fucked with you? Yeah, they should hope to be six feet under before Bradley could get to them.

Bradley towered over him, almost making the guy tower down. He was seeing red—fully unsaturated rage at the disrespect toward you. The guy tried to regain some confidence, oddly enough. “Move out of my way.”

Bradley didn’t move—he didn’t even blink. His jaw clenched and unclenched. His eyes bore into the stranger to assess him. His hand twitched at his side as if it was gearing up to make a move.

“Apologize. Now.” His voice was deep—it was gruff and hollow that immediately went straight to your chest. He didn’t look like the Bradley you knew, the Bradley that would carry you for three miles from a sprained ankle.

This Bradley looked menacing. This Bradley looked deadly. And you weren’t going to lie, it was hot as fuck.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Bradley’s eyes flashed with something you were unfamiliar with. He has been jealous before, yes, but it has mostly been the reassuring kind. This was pure seething rage. His eyes were almost red from the amount of anger that pulsated through his body.

“Apologize.” Bradley breathes out, but his eyes are digging into the man in front of him. “Or I will rip your fucking kneecaps off.”

Jake stood tall—back stretched out as he watched the interaction. He would spot for Bradley any day, especially to assholes like this random guy. He wanted to be ready for anything that could come Bradley’s way.

The guy opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut as Bradley took a step closer if it was even possible. He almost dared him too—almost wanted him to so Bradley could get in some punches that this guy deserved.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” The guy tried to take a step back but was met with the bar counter. “I didn’t mean—”

“Not me.” Rooster pointed directly at you. “Her.”

He spins around faster toward you than you had seen a person spin in your life. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He looks up to your boyfriend for approval, but Bradley’s eyes locked with yours. You nodded as a signal to your boyfriend that you were okay—things were okay. All you wanted was for this guy to leave and Bradley to be by your side again. It’s all you could think about.

Bradley’s eyes retreated back to the stranger, and you could have sworn that the guy almost flinched. “If I ever see you in here again, I will not hesitate. Do you understand?”

The aviator nods vigorously and tries to ignore the deadly glare from Bradley. His hands picked at his sides in nervousness. “Do you understand?” Bradley repeats.

The aviator’s eyes widened. “Y-Yes. I understand.”

Bradley’s posture somewhat succeeds back into a relaxed form, his eyes already returning back to you in comfort and warmth. Every tipsy person located in the bar had shouted in celebration for kicking out the guy that ruined all the fun. Coyote and Fanboy unkindly escorted him out of the bar and threw him out onto the sandy beach. “Don’t fucking come here again.”

In the bar, everything and everyone had gone back to normal. People started laughing and smiling once more—shoveling more drinks into their mouths. Some even started racking the balls on the pool table and throwing darts.

For you, though, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bradley.

He was on you in less than a second, taking two full strides around the bar in desperation. His hands gripped your hips harshly and his lips collided against your own. Your back bumps into the bar, which causes the bottles of booze to rattle against the glass.

His tongue is shoved into your mouth, and he groans deeply at the taste of beer. His nose harshly bumps against your cheek—messy and harsh with every swallow and molding of your mouth.

You almost whined into him. “Bradley.” Your breath fanned up against his cheeks, and his knees felt so fucking weak for you.

His body starts to sloppily drag you away from the bar and into the back corner of the Hard Deck. His lips never once left yours in a fury to feel you—to be inside of you at any and all cost. His hands make their way down the back of your thighs, and you instinctively jump. Your legs wrap around his torso as he continues to walk backward.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Go fuck like bunnies. I’ll man the bar, I guess.” But there was a hint of a small smile on his face. Finally, you two could cut the shit and fawn over each other once again.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Bradley pulls you into the supply closet near the break room at the back of the bar. His back hits one of the shelves, and you could hear the sound of cleaning bottles falling onto the floor.

Neither of you could stop your fluttering hands that followed each other’s curves. Bradley’s lips trailed down your jaw and neck, which left you breathless and aching for more. Your body feels hot—and elated—from his calloused fingers digging into the flesh on your stomach.

“Bradley, please.” He thinks he knows what you are begging for. He wants to taste you on his tongue. He wants you creaming into his mouth until you’re so dumb that you don’t even remember your own name.

To his chagrin, though, you stop the trailing hand that is trying to make its way between your thighs. “I wanna taste you, Bradley. I wanna swallow your cum.”

His eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell—” Bradley breathes out, fast and light. He watches you sink down onto your knees and clumsily drag his shorts to pool around his ankles.

You weren’t very graceful from your pure desperation to have his cock in your mouth. Bradley didn’t mind, though.

His cock jumped from the sight and thought of you in such a state of yearning. “Pretty baby.” He whispered, but it sounded more like a whine.

Your lips trailed kisses around his thighs. “Do you know how hot it was to see you almost lose your shit on that guy?” Your words slurred together from the intoxication of his broad muscles and lips that were sucked in between his teeth.

You pull down his boxers and almost drool from his ruddy tip dripping in pre-cum. You lightly graze your fingers across his shaft and your mouth waters from his shaft twitching. Your eyes flickered up to see his reaction, his hooded eyes watching you pump his cock.

“You had been watchin’ me all night, Roo. I could feel it.”

He licked his lips. “He-He—” He moans your name. “F-Fuck. He-He can’t take you. I–” God, you’re so hot from your lust-filled eyes racking over his hopelessly hard cock. He withers in your grasp, and he couldn't help but say your name over again.

“Oh, Roo, no. He can’t take me, hmm?” You hum out the last part of the sentence so your mouth can gravitate to the bulging vein on the side of his cock. “I’m fucking yours, Roo. I’m yours.”

You swirl your tongue and suck your lips around his tip. His hands latch themselves into your hair, and he tugs and tugs. How is he already so close to the edge?

You’re barely touching him, but he feels like he’s on cloud nine, and the knot in his stomach twists and pulls.

“F-Fuck, pretty baby, yeah. You’re mine. You’re mine.” He repeats the saying as his hips involuntarily hump your mouth. You gag around him and his cock shoves further deep into your throat.

You want to guide him to a sweet release for being such a good partner to you. He is yours. He is your Bradley.

“Oh, fuck–fuck baby, please. My fuckin’ girl—yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He lowly groans out—deep, guttural, and sultry—while his cum paints the inside of your mouth. Thick ropes shoot into your mouth, and the salty taste made you salivate even more. Your eyes watch his hung-open jaw and his eyes trailing down to watch you suck around his cock.

You swallow all that he has to offer, and you moan out his name while still stuffed with his cock. His eyes widened slightly at the action, and his heart swirled in his chest. How did he get so lucky with you?

You go to stand up and pull his pants back up, but he catches your hands.

“Oh, pretty baby, you aren’t leaving me so soon, are you?” His palm rests below the back of your neck and pulls you into him. His breath fans up against your cheeks, and he presses sweet kisses on your jaw, working his way up to your temple.

“Roo, if you don’t fuck me right this minute—”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, pretty baby, we’re jus’ getting started.”

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw smut #smut #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #rooster smut #top gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun smut #top gun maverick smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

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In Aeternum

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: your life with Lloyd is a lot of work. Or rather, he is.

This is one of my birthday drabbles. Thanks again for your input :) Enjoy.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A birthday drabble for Carpe Noctem

You stare at the small screen of the smart device. The smell of cinnamon fills the kitchen as you stand in wait of the baking desserts. You lean in to get a better view of the news segment. Your ears tweak at the reporter’s words.

‘The sole survivor remains in the ICU with severe burns but healthcare personnel see a full recovery. As for those who passed, the survivor’s parents, they have been interred in the local cemetery and the service brought out hundred.’

They show images of the funeral; flowers, solemn faces, the front of a church.

“Why are you watching that shit?” Lloyd, as always, knows when to barge in.

“Alexa, stop playing,” you command the device and the screen returns to rest, showing the time and weather. “Just the news.”

“I told you not to worry about that idiot.” He grunts as you face him. He tries to cross his arms then puts them straight, shaking out his left. He’s slick with sweat and his workout gear clings to his muscles. “I fucked up. Thought I killed him but the damn cockroach managed to drag himself out. What a pussy. Can’t even save his own parents.”

“Lloyd. You--”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, mimi, your soft heart.” He leers at you and winks. “Softer body.” He sticks his tongue out and wince. He bends his elbow and rubs it.

“What wrong with your arm?” You sigh.

“Nothing. Old college injury. You know I was varsity, right? Coulda gone national but I made more money... doing something else.”

“Right,” you sniff and go to the oven. You peer through the lit window at the spiral cookies.

“What’s the point of me putting in all this work in the gym when you’re just fattening me up?” He scoffs.

“You don’t have to eat the cookies.” You glance at the time on the small screen above the stove.

“I have a nose and a stomach. I can’t resist.” He shuffles around the kitchen and surprises you as he comes up behind you. “Just like I can’t resist you.”

“The cookies are for the shelter.” You stiffen as he wraps his arms around you and pulls your ass against him. “I told you several times not to touch.”

“Mimi, you’re spending all my money.”

You huff and look around at the spacious kitchen; stacked ovens, a hug marble island, a fridge with a glass door, a whole other fridge for just wine, and every single appliance you might need but have yet to use. You grab his wrists as he squeezes your hips.

“I think you have more than enough. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Have some wine, put on a thong, hop on my dick,” he purrs and rocks you with him, locking his hold on you. “You got your choice. The hot tub, the pool, sauna, hell, sit out in the sun and read one of your Austen joints. Want me to dress up like Darcy? Bit of role play?”

“Stop,” you push on his arms and writhe.

“What’s a matter, mimi? You weren’t so shy last night. Or yesterday afternoon. Or after lunch. Or in the morning.”

You sneer and tear his hands away from your hips. You turn to him and poke his shoulder. He groans and rubs it.

“Ow, you know that’s still healing.”

“I told you to go to a real doctor,” you snip.

“Mimi, they don’t touch me like you do.” He furls his fingers and his throat bobs. He runs his thumbs along his shorts and tugs. “Damn, just the thought—how about a cool down? I just chugged a protein shake, I gotta get it out.”

“No.”

“No?” He tilts his head. “Mommy, please.”

“No, especially if you’re going to pull that.”

You spin as the timer dings and you grab the oven mitts. You shut off the buzzer and take out the cookies. You put the pan on the counter to cool and hang the mitts again.

“Mimi...” Lloyd drawls out as he closes in.

You evade him. Keeping a step ahead as you scurry along the island. He pursues and you turn to face him as you round the corner.

“I said no. I’m not in the mood.”

“Why? Because that limp dick is in the hospital--”

“Stop.” You whine and backpedal away from him as his advance continues. “Lloyd, I’m telling you to stop. I have to make a trip downtown to deliver the cookies--”

“Really? You do? Because you don’t leave without me. Remember? Those are the rules.” He gets closer and closer.

You peer around as you feel blindly and walk back on your heels. You pass through the doorway into the front room. You barely dodge the sofa and the little round table next to it.

“Lloyd.”

“Mimi.”

“Leave me alone. I’m telling you.”

“Keep telling me. It's making me hard.” He snickers.

You veer through the next doorway and stumble as he lunges. He pulls back and laughs again. He’s taunting you.

“Oh, I like this game, Mimi.”

“I’m not playing,” you reach to grab the banister as you step towards the stairs.

He takes a deep breath and stops. “Neither am I.”

His smirk sends a chill through you. You freeze at the bottom step and gulp. You look up then back at him. In an instant, you’re barreling up, desperate to get to the top. As your feet slap on the stairs, his treads trail you up calmly.

Shit. This is the last thing you need. No matter what or when, you always manage to provoke him. Every breath, every blink, every word only entices him. It’s tiring. Without a job, without your friends, it feels like your nothing more than toy. Any search for a different purpose just amuses him.

You race down the hall. You have to make a quick decision. You burst into the bathroom and spin to swing the door shut. It bounces back as Lloyd shoves his sneaker between it and the frame. He shoves in after you with a taunting grin.

You stagger back and search for any form of defence. You know it’s pointless. There’s no escape, no fight to be had, but you just want him to let you think for two minutes without mentioning his dick. You grab the bottle of hair spray and aim it at him. You push down and he coughs, waving his hand through the cloud of stickiness.

He swats the aerosol from your hand and grabs your other arm. You whimper as he wrenches you toward him. He turns and pens you in against the floating counter. He tuts down at you as you push on his stomach.

“Oh, mimi,” his eyes flick above you. “That’s a great fucking idea.” He grips your shoulder and twists you around to face the counter. “I’d love to watch.”

He keeps you trapped as you slap a hand on the marble and try to shove him away with the other. He stretches the elastic of his shorts and they fall to his feet. You wriggle as he wraps his arm around you and leans you against the counter.

His other hand snakes under your skirt. One of the many pieces stocked in your closet. None of them fit right. They all flutter a bit too high on your thigh.

“Lloyd,” you beg. “Later. Not—now.”

“Too fucking late. My dick hurts.”

“Stop!” You throw and elbow back into his ribs. He grunts and nuzzles your hair.

“Don’t mess around.” He warns.

He kicks your feet apart and peels your panties down your thighs. The strip of lace strains around your legs. He bends you further as he feels around. He brings his tip down to your cunt and prods you, tapping, and rubbing.

“Mm, I feel you shaking for me, Mommy.”

“Please--” you gasp.

“You don’t gotta beg,” he boats.

“Urgh, get—off!” You bend your arm awkwardly and once more poke at his shoulder. He exclaims but persists.

He lines up as he bares his teeth, hooking his jaw over your shoulder. The anger pulses in his forehead as he glares at your reflection. He snaps his hips and impales you with a growl. You cry out and brace the counter as your legs buckle.

“Ow!” You plead with him in the mirror. Eyes misty, eyes pouting.

His lips curve deeper as he thrusts, jerking your hip bones into the marble. His hand crawls up to your chest and he squeezes your chest with a snarl. He tilts his head and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He ruts as his eyes blaze back at you from the glass.

His hand snakes down your stomach and delves beneath your skirt. You hide beneath your eyelids as he finds your clit. He flicks over your hood and you spasm. You mewl as he does it again and again. Worse than his strength is his talent at toying with you. Even as you resist, he finds your weak spot and needles away at it.

“Mmm,” he purrs as he unlatches his teeth and kisses up your neck.

His mustache tickles as he pounds against your ass, fingers sliding around your slickness, breath fogging around your chest. Your thighs quiver and your feet arch. You bend forward a little more and he hits just the right spot.

You cum in a ripple of pathetic moans. You’re breathless and weak. You slump onto your elbow and he growls as you open to him completely.

He frames your hips and pumps into you until his motion turns erratic. He groans and grunts, digging his nails through the fabric as he pulls out. He cums down your thigh as you hang off the counter.

He lets out a gurgle and snaps his knuckles against your ass. He moves rigidly as he turns and leans his bare ass on the marble beside you. He rubs your back as you gulp and catch your breath.

You stand up but he stops you from grabbing a tissue to wipe up. He’s shameless as his shorts still cling around one ankle.

“Hey, baby cakes, get my shorts for me? Think I pulled something.”

You scowl at him as he emphatically clutches his side. You sniff and wave him off. You grab a washcloth and wet it under the faucet. You wipe yourself off and toss the balled fabric into the sink.

“Pull your own shorts up,” you sneer.

“I mean it, Mimi, my back’s all sorts of locked up. You got me all bound up.” He gives a pathetic whimper. “Please, take care of me like you always do.”

You shake your head and squat down to grab the shimmering puddle of shorts. This is ridiculous. He lifts his feet to hook it through and as you tug them up his legs, an odd weight hangs in the flimsy fabric. His dick twitches just as you cover it up and let the elastic snap him meanly.

“You feel that, Mimi,” he catches your hand and pulls it back to him. You try to shake him off but can’t. “Am I happy to see you or is that a ring in my pocket?” He brushes your palm over his dick and to his pocket. The shape you felt is sharper than you expect. You look up at him in confusion.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to get on one knee.”

He guides your hand to the top of his pocket and lets go. Your heart thumps as you reach inside and pull out the heart-shaped box. The lid opens like wings from the middle. You reveal the sapphire trimmed diamond inside. Each stone bigger than the next.

You gape at the sparkling cluster. Lloyd chuckles and strokes your cheek. He cups your chin and raises it. As you look at him, he smirks again.

“You take care of me, I take care of you,” he traces his thumb along your lip. “Speaking of, I’m fucking serious about my back. Can I get some help?”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #carpe noctem #drabble #roo's 32nd #the gray man #in aeternum

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on-a-lucky-tide · 23 days

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Poly omegaverse for poly 141. Ghost is Price's beta; there to mediate between the natural ferocity of the omega and the over exuberance of alphas looking to mate and serve. When Price begins to go into heat, Ghost makes the necessary arrangements.

CW: the start of the fic 'In Service', poly 141, omegaverse. No actual sex yet. Non-traditional dynamics. Omega Price, beta Ghost, alphas Soap and Gaz.

Ghost knew before even Price himself. It came with a beta’s territory and he was the only beta in Price’s life, which, he reckoned, was one of the reasons they had mated in the first place. There were other reasons, ones he didn't like to ruminate on too much because there were certain old wounds that were scarring over quite fucking nicely, but either way he took his role seriously.

It was a subtle change in Price’s sweat at first, a shift towards sweetness over the usual musk. The change in appetite followed. Price loaded his plate with protein and sweet treats, almost doubling his calories on some days, and his energy spiked to match it to the detriment of his health. Six hours sleep became four, and the bags under his eyes grew a little darker.

Then came the attitude problem.

The captain became harsher with the recruits; gone were the amusing rituals, flipping off Gaz’s company on recces or asking them to fetch him headlight fluid for the jeeps. It was all business, every little slip up identified and sanctioned accordingly. It was as Simon watched Price beast his third cowering rookie of the day that he decided it was time.

The captain's heats weren't regular - body fat percentage too low, life too stressful - but when they hit, they lasted a day or two, and there were two plucky alpha sergeants on hand to make sure he was well satisfied. Simon’s role was to make it happen without casualties and ensure his mate was cared for in the aftermath.

Paperwork finished for the day, Simon tidied up his quarters, avoiding heavy bleach and ensuring there were some used blankets in amongst the fresh sheets. They never did this in Price's territory. It was too risky; the older an omega got, the more territorial they became when they felt vulnerable in heat. An omega with Price's strength and training would tear an alpha to pieces if provoked.

It was traditional to use a beta’s nest for the fun part anyway, and Simon liked the opportunity to flex on it. When all three of them were fucked out, it was on his pillows they slept, and in his hoodies they curled.

The last bit of prep was the leather harness with its metal rings and thick cuffs. Price took no prisoners before his first knot, and even after that Simon needed to be nearby to make sure he didn't sink his teeth in too hard as he used his willing alphas. Speaking of…

“Book leave,” Simon said to Johnny and Gaz over a game of pool. “Captain’s in heat.”

Johnny’s cheeks flushed and Gaz smiled that sweet, lopsided way he did when he was feeling bashful. “Aye, sir, thought he was gettin’ a bit feistier,” Johnny said, nudging a red ball into the far right pocket with an impressive little trick shot.

“How long? Same as?” Gaz asked, considering a handful of options across the table.

“Three days should do it. Two for the heat, one for recovery.”

“Fuck, last time…” Johnny’s eyes took on what Simon could only describe as a dreamy little glint.

“Make sure you're fighting fit, Johnny. I'll sort food and everythin’ else. Report to my room at 2100 tomorrow night.”

Simon left them to finish their game and took a deep breath through his nose. That was the easy part out the way. He enjoyed the next part, because he knew Price would always give in to him eventually, but it was a difficult code switch, from subordinate to beta mate. It required a delicate balance of respect and dominance, because Price had always struggled accepting the help and he bristled at the idea he might be losing any form of control, even if he had no such struggle with his affection for Ghost.

Simon rapped his knuckles twice on the office door. “C’min,” came the tired reply.

“Sir,” Simon greeted as he stepped across the threshold.

“I don't know who filled out these bloody requisitions, but I'm gonna shove my boot up their arse,” Price growled. “What do you need? Double time, this shit is gonna take me hours.”

Simon sat on the edge of the desk, hands folded on one leg. “You.”

The scratch of Price's pen stopped. He glanced up at the tacky calendar on his wall first, open to some scene from a 90s action movie Simon didn't recognise, and then briefly looked up at Simon. It was a furtive glance, like he was checking he'd understood correctly; denial was always the first step. “Can't be. My last one was only–”

“Six months ago. You're overdue.”

A healthy, young omega would go through a heat every two months. Price was healthy enough for the work he did and Simon had no reason to doubt that, should he retire now to the comfort of a civilian life, his body would return to its normal ebb and flow. But then, they would lose what they had now, and Simon couldn't really picture a life beyond the living-by-the-skin-of-their teeth present.

Price growled. “You're mistaken…”

Simon hummed noncommittally but reached for Price anyway. There was a scent gland on his wrist, one which had little impact day to day, but to an omega on the cusp of heat it would make them feel suddenly weaker; nothing too heavy, just enough to make their knees shake and their lips quiver. As his fingers brushed through Price’s beard, the scent on his skin was potent enough to make his omega's eyes flicker. Price had a lot of self discipline, came with the territory, but Simon knew every single one of his tells. “Don't think so, sir.”

“Fuck.” Price’s fists clenched, his teeth gritting, and he turned his face from Simon’s arm. The silence that followed was heavy and Simon watched as the man he respected more than any other in the world fought a private internal battle with himself. Sometimes it took a few hours and Simon would drift away, come back later to insist, but the last few weeks had contained a high level of fuckery of the unfun kind, and it had worn much of Price's stubbornness away. “How long do I have?”

“Tonight, tomorrow morning, by your scent, you'll be ready to drop by the afternoon.”

Price pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed whatever knot of misery had formed in his throat. He didn't like it, the giving in, but once he was in the throes of heat, with his beta nearby and two energetic alphas fawning over him, he relaxed and enjoyed himself. Simon made sure of it.

“Fine,” Price said tightly, and then he shuffled some papers, before saying, “Fine,” one more time. Resignation. Price was a pragmatic man; it wasn't logical to try and struggle through a heat, longing it out for a week with a fuzzy head and your boxers soaked through. Simon had always admired that strict sense of perspective.

“Have dinner at 1800 tomorrow, somethin’ light, and head over.”

“Thank you, Simon,” Price said quietly. “Dismissed.”

Simon nodded and left without ceremony. Another beta might have stayed to try and reassure their omega that everything was going to be fine, fawn a little, but Simon knew that Price would be rankled by such overbearing fuss. It was a waste of time when what was about to happen had to happen either way, so Simon left him alone and didn't concern himself when the captain took his dinner back to his quarters. He was self-conscious, even though an alpha wouldn’t be able to smell it on him until the heat had well and truly started. It was just the way of things.

The following day ticked over much the same. Simon ran drills with Bravo Company in Price’s stead, and took a small amount of pleasure in giving a recruit a smooth pebble as an inspectable item within his kit. They outpaced Johnny’s Delta Company on the hills and they hit the showers with hours to spare. Simon scrubbed up, grabbing the non fragranced shampoos and soap from his shelf, and checked his stores. Grenade bars and red bull for Johnny, the blue Powerade and Doritos for Gaz, and for Price it was chocolate protein shakes from Optimum Nutrition and Space Raiders. Pain in the arse to find these days, those.

He checked the harness next, the bedsheets and pillows, and the soft sweatpants and shirt he kept for Price because the stubborn git would absolutely arrive in his usual kit. Once he was sure everything was in order, Simon finally sat down to leaf through an old paperback he’d been chewing through for a few months on and off. Isaac Asimov, meant to be a classic, but Simon wasn't too invested in it.

He'd just turned over to a new chapter when Price knocked at his door. He knew it was Price from the sound; side of the fist, just twice. As predicted, his heat sat on the cusp. His eyes were hazy as he walked into Ghost’s room, his scent sweeter and more potent than before.

“Top marks, Lieutenant. Not a dust particle out of place,” Price said, his eyes sweeping around the room to avoid settling on the bed.

“Thanks, sir.” Simon closed the door carefully at Price’s back, watching his bearing as he approached. Omegas could be unpredictable at every point, even onesyou knew every inch of. Simon approached carefully, leading with his hands first, brushing them over Price’s shoulders and down his biceps. The responding shiver was reassuring.

“MacTavish and Garrick… they agreed to…?” Price asked, trailing off as his mind struggled to cling onto the thought. He was naturally relaxing with his beta and a nest near, which made it harder to maintain his composure.

“Yeah. They'll be here in a bit.” Simon rolled his mask up to above his nose. Price still hadn't looked at him, but was gazing now at the bed like it was a live mortar.

“And you'll… Simon, you'll make sure I don't…”

“Mmhm.” Simon drew in close, placing an arm over Price’s chest as his other hand stroked around to his belly. “You know I have your back.”

“Yeah…” Price croaked, his head lowering as Simon nosed across the back of his neck. His hands were shaking by his sides, muscles relaxing and tensing in fits and starts, like he was fighting for control.

“Le’s get this off,” Simon said, grabbing the bottom of Price's shirt. He shed his own at the same time, drawing his captain back to his chest so that warm skin could meet. The first rumble of pleasure vibrated through the broad chest in his arms and Simon hummed back, rubbing his chin into Price's shoulder.

#poly141 #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #omegaverse

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cchapsticck · 9 months

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UNTITLED RECORDING rcd ca. 1987-1988 by cchapsticck

The stick and poke above his left knee says 1965-1986-1986- surrounded by little flowers like you’d leave on a headstone, or that’s what they’re supposed to be, at least. It’s upside down, legible to him when he looks down at himself, if he were to take stock of his remaining entirety. --- He’s a serviceable artist, with all his years of DMing and drawing battle maps and NPCs and magical items, but he’s not like. Great. So the flowers all look a little samesey, and some of the ink had bled and pooled so the lines are a little blown out in places but he wasn’t necessarily giving himself a tattoo laid up in bed to show off. Because the haunted house of a body he’d grown up in was different now, and it would be forever. And some days in recovery he’d wake up in a cold panic and not recognize it. Looked down at himself and not know what he was seeing. A stranger in a strange land only it's what’s left of the body you were born into that you can’t leave. Or look down at himself and know exactly what he was seeing and its creation would replay and replay and replay. Forced on him. He couldn’t leave. He’s trapped in here. He didn't read the book when it was assigned in 10th grade English, but he saw the movie, and maybe he understands now what Boris Karloff had been so terrified of. →Chapter 9: VIII - Shedding of Teeth

#fic: metalhead #metalhead is 1 year old today!#that's wild!#so i'm thankful for it and the people who have interacted with it and given such kind and generous feedback #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve x eddie

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follow-up-news · 2 months

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The federal wildlife service on Tuesday proposed that a wetland plant once in danger of going extinct be taken off the endangered species list due to its successful recovery. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is asking that the northeastern bulrush be delisted. The plant is a leafy perennial herb with a cluster of flowers found in the Northeast from Vermont to Virginia. The federal service’s proposal opens a 60 day comment period. The plant was listed as endangered in 1991 when there were only 13 known populations left in seven states. It now has 148 populations in eight states, often in vernal pools, swamps and small wetlands. “Our important partnerships with state agencies, conservation organizations and academic researchers have helped us better understand and conserve northeastern bulrush through long-term population monitoring, habitat conservation, and increased surveys in prime habitat areas,” said Wendi Weber, northeast regional director for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Detailed surveys of the plant’s unique behavior have aided the recovery effort. The bulrush can disappear for years and reemerge when conditions are right.

#endangered species #fish and wildlife #northeastern bulrush

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freesia-writes · 1 year

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Chapter 25: Repentance

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance. COVER ART BY @zaana!!

Master List of Chapters

The surface of the dark water bubbled lazily as Vel relaxed back in the spring. The moonlight filtered through the glass roof, bathing the room in a peaceful glow. Stately vines wrapped around the pillars that were peppered throughout the recovery wing, and although that was its official title, it felt more like a garden retreat than any sort of medical structure.

"I didn't think you meant right away, and I didn't think you meant to come along, but I'm glad we got that all sorted out," Vel said, smiling blearily at Tech, who was perched on a bench across from her, his helmet at his feet. They had been chatting for what felt like a few minutes, but judging by the moon's journey across the sky, it had been significantly longer.

"I intend to ensure your safety and comfort for the duration of our stay," Tech responded. "And for the duration of any future endeavors we may share. Romantically or otherwise."

Vel laughed, feeling the delight wash over her as she grew reaccustomed to his mannerisms. "Look at you, a regular Lasa Nova all of a sudden. What happened?"

"I assume you refer to the infamous literary figure of Ryloth, with whom I share very little in common, but if your intent is to question my more forward nature since our reunion, it is simply because I realized, after time away filled with deep thought, that every potential scenario I can envision for my future appears more desirable with you in it. My only option was to pursue you, in the hopes of your agreement."

"And what am I agreeing to?"

"Rejoining our crew as the ship's assigned mechanic, employed by the Machinist's Guild of the Galactic Republic, for as long as you consent. And... considering my attempts at affection."

Vel sat up, nearly forgetting her nakedness, concealed only by the dark green waters of the hot springs. She dipped back down, still processing the offer. "But I still have to complete my service here to pay for all the treatment I received," she said.

"Actually, that has been taken care of by Senator Bail Organa," Tech informed her, "After we shared about your involvement in some of our missions together."

"Everything is changing so fast," Vel said, head spinning. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head, tied up with a spare strap, and she brought a hand to it as if to calm the storm within.

"Indeed. It has been a tumultuous evening for you," he agreed, rising to his feet with a large towel in his hands. He stood at the end of the steps, holding the towel open invitingly, and turned his head as far away as he could, "You may be assured of your privacy."

Vel smiled, taking a moment to be grateful for his respect and kindness, and got up out of the hot spring with only a few jerky movements. She wrapped herself in the towel he held, tucking it snugly under her armpits, before turning around to him. "I'll see you at the door?"

But Tech remained in front of her, arms moving from his sides to loosely clasp together in front of him. He looked at her intently, with his signature head tilt, his eyes dark pools of emotion and warmth in the soft light. "Yes, but... May I try something?" he asked.

Her stomach lurched and her chest tingled, and Vel couldn't remember a time that she had felt safer or more comfortable. How was she back here so suddenly? She thought the months apart had buried it all deeply, but all of it had erupted back to the surface in a mere week. "Yes," she said, almost breathlessly.

Tech took a step closer, unclasping his hands to reach for hers. He gave them both a gentle squeeze, moving to leave only a few inches between them, before gliding his hands up the outsides of her arms, coming to rest on her shoulders. One hand remained there while the other moved toward her face, caressing her cheek with the backs of two fingers and tracing their tips down the side of her neck.

She closed her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath in, savoring the moment fully. His fingers traveled across the top of her shoulder and came to the end, dropping off her arm as light as a feather but meaningfully enough that she wanted to preserve that sensation forever.

"Thank you," Tech said quietly, and Vel could swear she heard a husky tone to his voice. "I shall see you at the door," he finished, picking up his helmet and quietly walking to the exit, leaving her there in a blazing wildfire of tingly bliss.

* * *

Vel couldn't believe her eyes as she lowered her bag onto the cot in the corner of the hold of the Marauder. It was if she had been here yesterday, both in its appearance and in the way it made her feel. The only reminder of the whole ordeal on Alderaan was the tingly weakness that surfaced occasionally.

She had reveled in the reunion with the squad, arm still smarting from where Wrecker squeezed her too hard in a massive hug, and remained overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement as she pondered what lay ahead for them. Tech's injection into the unconscious Arthen apparently served as some sort of selective short term memory loss; Vel had been surprised at the repertoire of tricks up his sleeve and had also made a mental note to look into the legality of it.

She had always been the type to want to have a solid plan for her life, reaching far into the future, but if the last few years had taught her anything, it was the total unpredictability of it all, especially around this team. She took a deep breath, aligning her shoulders with a new sense of resolve, and turned to the lift, to see what the Force had in store.

***

A couple months' worth of missions had been punctuated by Tech's absolutely adorable attempts at romance, and Vel's heart had truly found its home in his. They had fitted various opportunities into their free time, ranging from blurrg jousting on Ryloth to the reenactment of the civil war of Florrum. The latest had been an art class on Bimmisaari, where she had been thoroughly embarrassed to turn her canvas around at the end, revealing a primitive rendition of the sunset, while Tech had produced a breathtakingly detailed portrait of her. She gasped as he showed it to her, his lips pursed as he continued to scrutinize the finished product.

"I didn't know you could paint!" Vel said breathlessly, a million other things fighting to be said next.

"I simply applied a variety of artistic principles common in dramatic realism," Tech said matter-of-factly, as if anyone could have done it.

"Naturally," Vel replied, laughing quietly, "But how did you choose that moment to capture?" She was flattered by his creation, but she found a part of herself wishing it had been an image of her in some heroic pose during one of her few but notable accomplishments on a mission. Instead, he had opted to recreate their exploration on Kashyyyk, specifically her rather dorky-looking delight in a close inspection of a tree trunk.

The image was as colorful as it was moving: wisps of her brown hair fluttered in a light breeze as she bent close to examine a tree trunk with no bark. Tech had preserved the exact pattern that she remembered marveling at: lines swirling around knots, sprinkled with reddish brown dogs that looked like an entire galaxy. She was enthralled by the expression on her face, which she didn't think she'd ever worn before: it was unbridled curiosity and childlike fascination, and it made her feel a need to smile as she looked at it.

"My mind seems to return to that experience more frequently than any other," Tech replied, eyes moving from his painting to her, "And upon further reflection, I believe that may have been the moment that I first..." He drifted off without finishing, tilting his head, eyes flitting back and forth as if searching for the answer in the air. Vel waited patiently, for what seemed like an agonizingly long time, before he finished: "I am unable to accurately put it into words. I will ponder this further."

She laughed again, reaching up to tenderly touch his cheek. She yearned to embrace him, to show him how deeply she had come to feel for him, but while he had been clear in taking the lead in his pursuit of her, he had been notably reserved in physical affection. She didn't want to push him further than he was comfortable, still enjoying the waves of ecstasy that washed over her at a single touch and trusting him to explore at his own pace. He was receptive to her touch, although it always caught him off guard, and his surprised reactions always brought a smile to her face.

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#the bad batch #star wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #tech fanfic #tech fanfiction #tech x oc #romance fanfic #star wars romance #sweet romance #tech romance

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serenelia · 2 months

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𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓰𝔂

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Content includes: SFW, pair of Kokomi and reader who is named as "the scholar" in this fanfic (and who is probably autistic), use of non binary pronouns, lengthy thought process- except it's in Gorou's head so it's a little less long, use of dog traits.

Scroll away if you do not entertain fanfics of a sibling-ish relationship with Gorou, slow burn, and a multi-chapter series. previous part.

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The Sangonomiya clan, one of the major noble clans of Inazuma, sprouted from the worshippers of the serpent god, Orobashi, whose undying will of maintaining defense and desire to protect the dwellers of Watatsumi lives on throughout decades of time. Despite having passed many moons ago, a great number of heirs shouldered the heavy responsibilities of having inherited the will of a god, fulfilling their duties with utmost dedication. It’s preceding relationship with the Shogunate is, in a simple explanation, on relatively poor terms. For the differences in faith between two gods in a time of an ancient war were too grave to ignore, culminating in the death of the serpent god. In the recent era, the current heir to the bloodline is a young lady named Sangonomiya Kokomi, who was bestowed with the title of Divine Priestess. Her commendable knowledge of the art of war and keen insights into military affairs prove her to be a suitable supreme leader of Watatsumi Island. There is a famous saying amongst the people: “Never fear; Her Excellency Sangonomiya is here,” for no matter how rare she appears before them, a constant feeling of invulnerability is distributed throughout the island.

An experienced leader such as herself, an abundance of affairs all have tested the limits of her capabilities, for managing an entire island is no easy feat, especially considering her tender age at receiving such a great achievement. Lost it is to her the count of numerous retreats that had to be done due to the overbearing weight of the world. A pool of her own tears marks the treacherous path she had taken to prove herself to be the leader her subjects needed for the lustrous future of her home.

A problem regarding a group of outlanders is not alien to her; her involvement in it makes the incident less tiring to provide a solution for. She oversaw their recovery, which came speedily thanks to the assistance of the medical staff. The explosion the night before did fair damage to their bodies, so treatment was less of a problem compared to their demanding behavior. The group, who call themselves eremites, gave more regard to expressing their nostalgia than their gratitude. A chorus of requests and favors, including a trip back to their home, fills the infirmary at their wake. One of the members, a lady named Dwarkanath, was quite clear in her wish to return to her brother back in Sumeru, along with a bulky man who presented himself as Younan, eager to resume his business in trade. When questioned about their reasons for travel, they all had each of their own, but an increasingly common one includes the mention of a scholar inquiring about their services. They criticized the scholar’s choice of action loudly, filled with resentment and mocking, and pointing at them for every word uttered, which Kokomi paid little to no attention to, for judging a situation from only one side is a recipe for unprofessional conclusions and expectations. She sought information regarding the mentioned scholar, resulting to be fruitless as the eremites only resumed their outburst about them; other than the obvious information of their title, name, and their current stay in Watatsumi, they gave useless information.

Kokomi was inclined to ask for the presence of the infamous scholar to settle the hurdle, and her honorable general reciprocated the thought at his arrival, yet at their wish for separation from the group they had previously contacted, he was obliged to follow their request. Fortunately, he had asked the questions she had been itching an answer for and came to a sightful conclusion. Gorou had recommended she leave the rest of the matter with him, one she felt eternally grateful for, and agreed. The fatigue must have been seeping through her for him to insist, much to her embarrassment and the concern in his eyes, and after instructing him to report the closure of the problem, she retreats back to her room.

In a week, with minimal support from Her Excellency, Gorou settled the matter accordingly. And in his journey of returning to the island by boat, he stumbles upon a familiar face taking interest in an abandoned piece of land. He’s inclined to leave them to their business, but a peculiar sight in the garden tugs at his attention.

“Greetings, scholar, I see you’re still in Watatsumi! I hope your stay hasn’t been a dull experience.”

The unsuspecting scholar turns their head from the soil, indifference displayed in their expression as always. “Hello, General Gorou, what a coincidence.”

At the pitch of impatience in their voice, his curiosity became undeniable, “Indeed, but if I may ask, what are you doing?” —he nighed to their object of attention— “Is something the matter with the land?”

“Not particularly, just an object of interest,” they answer after a slight delay.

His ear twitches in taking notice of the obvious display of secrecy. “I see, are you planning to do something with it?”

Another pause, longer than the last passes by, the scholar’s gaze remains unmoving. Gorou had trouble debating whether he had accidentally offended them.

“I am,” said the scholar, “For… planting.” They point towards the containers filled with soil that were dripping with water on the bottom.

Gorou stifled a ruffle to his hair. “Yes, I can see that, but why exactly?”

“To… salvage the agriculture of Watatsumi..?”

His ears perk up. “’Salvage’? how so?”

It’s not a secret to be knowledgeable in the problems the island faces in multiple areas, be it in terms of livelihood or independence on itself, for the regular residents who call Watatsumi their home. And with the scholar, a foreigner from another land, be exposed and aware of the problems they face daily, he couldn’t help the wave of embarrassment pass through him. Egotistic is he not for having settled some matters of the island, well aware he is at the fact the governance over the establishment is far from perfect. In the previous events of a similar offer of help from another scholar reminds him of the sense of pity and mockery felt by the words uttered by her, he decides to observe the scholar before him, checking for an image of reflection.

They hold a hand to their chin, wearing a contemplative expression. “I saw how hard it is for the people in the village to eat. Their diet mostly consists of rice and canned goods rather than a freshly cooked meal, I didn’t mind it at first, but I got curious and wanted to try and think of a possible solution. I saw the condition the soil of the island is in, long when I got here, and thought it might be because of that, so I’m trying to plant some basic plants first in order to provide granny with a proper meal. I passed by here and thought to check it out and placed a bedding for the soil, it’s waterlogged- though I’m sure you know that already- anyway, it doesn’t look like bad place to start, and it is probably used for the same purpose before by probably another scholar too, and it’s near where I’m also staying at. The soldiers didn’t mind when I caught them looking at it so I continued my research. Surely that’s ok?”

Gorou blinks. “Yes, that is… no problem at all.”

“Okay. Then I also thought of the costs it would take, since I’m also thinking of a way for it to profit the island’s budget and for me too, but since it’s not really confirmed whether it would work so I focused on the probability of the chemicals in relation to the island. I considered the underground activity of the soil, so I-“

The ceaseless yammering of the scholar’s discussion seemed endless once they started, drowning out the tranquil sounds of waves rolling in the beach, and the chirping of birds. At the various attempts to correspond to the generous amount of information, his face contorts into one of perplexion, along with the constant moving of his ears and the furrow to his brows, that escapes the observation of the preoccupied scholar. All effort is in vain however, due to the sudden mention of numbers and chemical compositions. Further on, he could only feign a few nods of acknowledgement. It escapes him how they are able to voice out such complicated details, if he were to ask them to explain such, his words are sure to be drowned out by their constant chatter, for their words are endless, not a spare of silence left in the space.

He is quick to muster up the courage to speak up the moment a pause of breath is regained by the enthusiastic scholar, “So, in short, you want to plant some plants in the soil and use the income from it to help yourself get money and for the island as well? but the Akademiya might give you trouble if it doesn’t work out and give you a failing grade?”

The scholar halts and nods, Gorou took note of the penitence in their eyes, causing his tail to slump.

“Well, the idea isn’t bad. But to sell the vegetables I’m afraid, will need to have the permission of Her Excellency since you’ll be selling it under the name of Watatsumi.” He skims in between the subtle expression of expectance of the scholar and the dripping water from the plant beds.

Assuming this whole plan has a fair probability in succeeding, the mere thought of it being a chance of being the beginning of the rise of Watatsumi in the industry can lift a number of troubles regarding the alimentation of the locals he swore to protect. He, after all, is only a soldier, his abilities are limited outside of providing protection from external threats, having proven himself to be praise-worthy in times of a posing threat, it is easy for the thought of nourishing his people to be forgotten, for his capabilities lies elsewhere. Well aware of the imperfectness of his home, he had always praised the hard work Her Excellency consistently elicits, it never occurred to him the help of other people, nonetheless from another scholar.

The image of hopelessness stemming from the previous people who attempted to lend a hand lowers down his confidence in their (the scholar) prowess, for if even an expert in the field they (previous people) so proclaimed to be in, had given up in a similar endeavor, what will change if another scholar had done the same? The current one, so it seems, to be less as smug as the ones prior. Who runs their mind more than they do with their mouth, if one were to avoid asking them a question that is. They are prone to making mistakes, which is rather refreshing to him as he always viewed the students from the Akademiya to see themselves as perfect and omnipotent, perhaps it is something gained from having access to unlimited knowledge. They also are not ashamed to make up for it, if the current suggestion is an apology out of guilt in the scenario. He chooses to believe it is. Apart from the obvious reason of mora for their own benefit, understandable in many ways, they managed to make it advantageous to the people surrounding them, whether they deem the situation as pitiable or not, he is yet to discern the hidden language underneath their indifferent demeanor.

If he were to accept the plausible project, it could very much lessen the many burdens of Her Excellency, improve the economic impact of the island, and provide a better meal to the residents- if it were to be fruitful in its completion.

“I…” he intakes a deciding sigh. “I will mention this to Her Excellency if it shows promise, I’ll send some soldiers to take a look at it every day. If this shows progress, you have my word that I will lend you my support in completing this and take full responsibility.”

He can only hope his trust will not be misplaced, lest this will be the last time he will accept any help from foreign schools.

An inaudible sigh escapes the scholar, to which he could only assume to be one of relief. “Okay. Thank you, General Gorou, I will submit reports if any sign of progress shows. I will do my best to not let you down,” they pipe up, voice void of any appreciation they so speak of, though Gorou is persuaded to think to himself that they mean their words.

“Don’t mention it, and that won’t be necessary, I wouldn’t want to divert your attention by forcing yourself on my account,” he replies, ceasing the crease in his features.

“No, you won’t be forcing me, I just think it will help solidify your statement to the divine priestess once you say this to her. I appreciate it if you were thinking of creating the report yourself, but I think a more detailed report will help convince her further.”

“Ah, I see your point. Then I’ll be expecting your report let’s say, in a week?”

“More or less, yes.” They once again stare at him in silence, which he takes as a sign they’re simply thinking. “If it’s not too much to ask, may I ask you to refrain from mentioning this to anyone? Aside from the soldier you will send.”

A twitch to his ear. “I can do that, sure, but why?”

The scholar, despite their apathy, appeared to be hesitant. “I… do not want to attract unnecessary attention.”

Gorou, at that moment, sees a similar image of his timid sister in the scholar, and a surge of familiarity courses through him. “..Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They nod and teeter towards the flower beds as Gorou’s gaze lingers on them a second longer before ripping his eyes away and resume his journey back to the shrine.

The following weeks felt much like a blur to the general, most of his time occupied with the usual trivial matters of the island: submitting records of the activity inside and out, surveying the borders, dealing with stowaways and adversaries that dare approach near the bustle of the village. Imagination it could be, for an inkling of hope looms over him once a problem relating to frugality is in his hands, comes to him the unwelcome images of a blooming performance by the island’s possible rise. He is quick to dismiss the thoughts; a particular line in the directives he holds high in regard, he chants repeatedly in his head. It shall be disadvantageous in any circumstance to limit oneself to a favorable outcome, resulting in great peril and disappointment. Deal with facts, not opinions. Gorou scolds himself for having to put in great effort to quit his imagination. This series of thoughts went on a loop with every submission of reports, for the papers containing data about the project agreed to came almost swarming. In the numbers themselves, the amount used is limited, but the same is not applied to the written information. Painted with jet black ink, some of its contents being of lighter color, for a reason he guesses is to arrange the contents; the formation of the subject itself is clean, but an interesting experience it is to decipher the queer handwriting of the scholar. The language used is, thankfully, the one he grew up with, yet it helps little with translating their work. Unable to ask anybody else for assistance, he is left to ponder. With that considered, Nami, the soldier he has assigned the task of delivering these reports to them both, has been acting rather odd. And Gorou had seen enough of the same behavior between men alike to tell something was at bay. But when inquired, Nami only dismissed any suspicious activity and fled. He had best of faith in his comrades and resolved that the matter was of no serious importance.

Along with the straining work, he had considered a summary from the scholar themselves; this, he gave up on, for during his endeavors along the garden, attempts to receive an explanation personally only led to another one of the scholar’s lengthy discussions. They still prove to be a challenge to understand. Even if he were to apply his knowledge of living in a family of 10, in which all his siblings have distinct personalities, he only ends up in an even more of a spiral. Even so, he tries his best to interpret their mannerisms, from their total silence to small talk and subtle reactions to certain things, in order to secure proper communication between them both. For instance, they seem to like it whenever Gorou is able to return their report back to them in a timely manner. If he were to hand it in later or earlier, he would be frowned upon, guessing by the subtle curl in their lips. Another thing he has observed is their dislike for surprises. His visits for the purpose of checking the progress, apart from the extra need to remind them to sleep when he catches them idling by in the middle of the night, were regularly disapproved of, except when he coincidentally managed to check on them on the same day and time. For far too long, he has attempted to interpret the reports they send, resorting to a weekly visit to the scholar, who always seems to be loitering around their subject of interest.

In the third week and a half upon their shared agreement, Gorou was treating the day as a regular tour of duty, taking a careful eye on the hidden passages around the area, until a rather enthusiastic pair of hands came waving at him. He couldn’t believe his eyes when the owner reveals itself to be the scholar, looking down at him from the cliff side. They requested for a moment of his time, and he agreed much to his amazement.

Moment of thought for their immediate knowledge of his whereabouts even in such a hidden place is quickly casted aside when they presented, miraculously, a sprout of a plant in the flower bed looking worse for wear only a few days ago. In the shining light of the sun’s rays, it couldn’t have been more of an image of a dream. The very thing no one else had been able to accomplish before, one he had little hope would take root, he is glad to be proven wrong.

He passes his gaze in between the thrilled scholar and the miracle in front of them, a smile, no matter how small, spreads to both of their faces.

At the silence, the scholar felt obliged to break it, “S..so I managed to make it grow, although it took longer than usual, I tried to grow some basic plants first so it can have an ample of time to get use- adjust- the soil I meant.”

“This is great! Wonderful work! I never really expected it to be successful in such a short time!” said Gorou, very much in awe, “Since when? does anyone else know about this?”

The scholar nods. “Me and the soldier you always send. Though, I asked him to keep it a secret for now, since I wanted to make sure it was stable. This had sprouted for about 2-3 days prior.”

The mystery of Nami’s odd behavior turned out to be a product of a wonder, Gorou felt a sense of pride in having avoided pointing a finger at him, “I see, thank you for confirming it before reporting, I applaud your work!”

At the unsteady direction of the scholar’s eyes, only then did he take notice of the steady wagging of his tail. He clears his throat. “I shall be reporting this to Her Excellency right away, I’ll tell you the details when I return. Rest assured I will give you my full support.”

Another nod of acknowledgement is sent his way. Their overall reaction felt rather mundane considering the great success of their work, but Gorou concludes they celebrated their greatest upon calling for his attention on it. And so, after an insightful conversation with them, thankfully with less confusing terms, he went on his way, up till a request of providing their own company with him reaches his ears.

He glances back at them, a twitch to his ear. “I suppose I could do that; I will have to ask Her Excellency for permission first though. So, I will have to ask you to wait outside while I try and convince Her.”

“Okay. What time shall you report? I’ll have to get my reports before going.”

“Ah, right! Forgive me for forgetting, I guess I’ll tell Her in.” -a quick skim at the sky- “About 20 minutes?”

A brief moment of contemplation was needed, “Alright, thank you.”

He was stricken suddenly by their overwhelming need for details and delicately adds, “I’ll be waiting for you here in that time. Will that be alright?”

“Yes. Will I be waiting for you by the bridge while you talk?”

“No, that would be unacceptable, I will escort you to the shrine myself, you’ll be waiting by the entrance.”

“Okay. Should I wear something more formal?”

Gorou spends another 5 minutes assuring the scholar’s concerns. All of which were deeply appreciated and absorbed by the bothered scholar.

They fidget with their hands. “Okay. Thank you, General, I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

The General shakes his head. “It’s no problem, I’m happy to be of assistance to you.”

A look of bewilderment passes over their face. “Thank you,” they repeat.

“I’ll see you there then.”

He foresaw the silent bob of their head and soon continues his journey.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

hopefully the autistic traits I put weren't too over the board since that's all based in my experience (i MIGHT be autistic tbh). Apart from that, this took 6 pages in word. nice ! hopefully I can continue working on this even with school since our end time is like- 5pm. Expect extremely slow updates, no matter how much I don't want it to be. Any form of support keeps me motivated, so don't be shy in spamming if you wish.

#genshin #fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x you #kokomi fanfic #kokomi sangonomiya #reader x kokomi #kokomi x reader #genshin gorou #gorou #genshinimpact #older brother figure #gorou & sibling (not really) reader

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otmaaromanovas · 1 year

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Romanov myths part one: Alexei being injured by sledding down the stairs

Although Alexei was given more freedom than is assumed by many people, and certainly had a rambunctious personality, the long-standing story of him sledding down the stairs and then crashing, causing a haemophilia attack in Tobolsk is a myth.

Both Nicholas and Alexandra do not mention this in their diaries, and surviving letters from the Grand Duchesses also do not record Alexei’s rumoured ill-fated sledding adventure. This especially is unusual, as their letters from Tobolsk included a lot of detail about them having fun sledding and on the snow mountain they constructed, so this omission is telling. Alexei did, however, have a sled and a boat which he, his friend Kolya Derevenko, and sister Olga sometimes rode down the stairs and onto the pond (which appears to be mostly small pools of water with a lot of imagination) outside (Olga apparently lost her balance and then fell out once!)

From Alexei's diary (note how he does not mention crashing or having a haemophilia attack):

Sunday 25/7 March [1918]

At eight o'clock there was a religious service, Mama and the sisters sang because the choir was busy. Kolya came at two o'clock. We played in the garden in the afternoon. We shot at a target with bows and arrows [there is a photo of this - see below]. It's very interesting. After tea, we played hide and seek. I received a sleigh and a boat as a gift from a local trader, models of the sleds and boats of the region. Kolya and I played with them a lot and we went down the stairs in the boat. He left at nine o'clock.

Alexei’s sister Anastasia writes about the boat and ‘pond’ here:

4/17 April 1918

Thank you very much, dear Dalechka, for the letter. It took a long time to get here – since December! But it is good it arrived. How are you? We think of you often. It is more or less quiet here. The weather has been divine, but not very warm the last few days. We continue to chop and cut up firewood, and it turns out pretty good. We fixed up our swing, and started to use it again, but probably the ropes will break soon as it has been done poorly. Our garden is a mass of water and mud. My brother has a little boat in which we, so to say, take a ride (it is a big imagination.) There is still not enough water, so we push it of the tracks with sticks and of course get completely soaked. Well, it is a little bit of fun! And how do you pass the time? Well, we are off for a walk so I must finish. I wish all of you the very best. Big greetings to all! I kiss you firmly. Greetings to your Papa and Seryozha.

Anastasia.

In reality, Alexei injured himself after contracting a bad cough. This was most likely caught off one of the visiting children to the house who kept him company, probably Kolya. The repeated coughing unfortunately triggered internal bleeding, leading to a haemophilia attack which left him unable to walk.

It was this attack that meant Alexei, Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia were not moved to Ekaterinburg with their parents and sister Maria, as the Heir was too ill to move across the country. However, he did make some sort of recovery, at least to the point of being able to be safely transported to Ekaterinburg, and he is photographed sat upright on the Rus steamer, although looking thin. Despite this slight recovery, he was still unable to walk for the rest of his life. The night of the execution he was given a chair to sit on due to being unable to stand independently for any length of time.

A staircase at Tobolsk

So - where did this myth of Alexei sledding down the stairs causing his last haemophilia attack come from?

Robert K. Massie’s 1967 book ‘Nicholas and Alexandra’ appears to be the origin of the story in popular history. On page 490, Massie wrote:

‘[Alexei] was devising new and reckless games which no one seemed able to inhibit. One of these — riding down the inside stairs on a boat with runners which he had used on the snow mountain — led to calamity. He fell and began to bleed into the groin.’

Whilst Massie’s book is a cornerstone in Romanov historical works, it was released 56 years ago, when there was still a fair amount of mystery and rumour surrounding the Romanovs and their final months. The 1971 film, also named ‘Nicholas and Alexandra’, adapted the book into a three-hour epic film dedicated a whole scene to re-enacting this myth, giving it more publicity.

VIDEO CREDIT: Nicholas and Alexandra, Franklin J. Schaffner, 1971, Columbia-Warner Distributors, Archive.org, uploaded by Olga Movie Man on December 26, 2019, https://archive.org/details/1971nicholasandalexandra. Alexei played by Roderic Noble. They make Tobolsk look a LOT rougher and barren than it actually was!!

A floor plan of the Governor's Mansion, Tobolsk, drawn by Prince Vasily Dolgorukov. Translated in red by Helen Azar.

To summarise: although Alexei did have a boat and a sled whilst at Tobolsk and did ride them down the stairs, these games never caused a haemophilia attack and he never crashed them to the point of causing serious injury. Rather, he contracted a cough which caused internal bleeding. Robert K. Massie mistakenly put this in his book 'Nicholas and Alexandra', and the myth became more popular due to its inclusion in the 1971 film of the same name.

SOURCES:

Diary and letters quoted available here

Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings, by George Hawkins

Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings (1907 - 1918), by Helen Azar and George Hawkins

Nicholas and Alexandra - film, directed by Franklin J. Schaffner - free to watch here

Nicholas and Alexandra - Robert K. Massie - free to read here

Floorplan of Tobolsk - Helen Azar's website

Tour of Tobolsk in its current form as a museum - (Russian language!)

Photos: public domain, toptyumen

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johannestevans · 1 year

Text

A busy month for your boy!

Good evening!

I've of course been pretty quiet the last month - as I said in my last email, I expected to go pretty quiet as I went through the moving process, and I have now left Ireland and moved back to the UK.

I'm currently Jean-Ralphio voice ~technically homeless~ as I get all my ducks in a row with my apartment paperwork and move through the conveyancing process, but once the keys are in my hand, I'll be writing about and doing TikToks of the decorating process as I go!

Obviously because I'm currently going between friends and family and juggling paperwork, I'm not writing as much at the moment, as I predicted I would be, but I will be making an appearance at BristolCon next month!

BristolCon is a 1-day literary sci-fi and fantasy convention in Bristol City, this year on Saturday October 21st - there are panels and discussions, readings and signings, a marketplace, and so forth.

As well as taking part in some of the panels and maybe reading from my own work, I'll be selling copies of Heart of Stone and Gerald Poole and the Pirates, as well as a bunch of my badges, and of course I'll be able to sign anything you bring along, whether it's a book you buy from me on the day or a copy you bring with you! I'll be able to take payment in cash or by card on the day!

Can't make the convention but have questions about my work, my characters, or my writing process? Send them with the heading [For BristonCon] anonymously to my Tumblr askbox or to my email at contact@johannestevans(.)com without the brackets, and I'll be filming short videos on the day and answering them!

Now that I am in the UK, I'm available for appearances if you'd like me to come talk to your book club, do a reading, join a convention or discussion panel, or even do some stand-up comedy - you can drop me a line at contact@johannestevans(.)com without the brackets for that too! I'm currently based mostly out of Bristol at the moment until I finalise my apartment up north, so hit me up for anything in the South of Wales or the East Midlands particularly, but I'm willing to travel farther afield so long as the travel costs aren't too prohibitive or you're willing to cover it / a portion of it.

New Works Published

Fantasy & Romance Fiction: Jack & The Cat: Part I

A young man becomes entranced by the Lord's personal assassin.

Part I is 10k, rated M, M/M. When Lord Axley's assassin is out, the people of Roam flee inside and don't even dare to look at him. Jack, a tavern boy, lays eyes on him once, and is bewitched.

Violence and captivity are themes in this one, as are sexual abuse and recovery thereof, social isolation, trauma, friendship as well as romance.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

TweetFic: Mercenary Work

A warrior in an adventurer's band becomes fascinated with their resident elvish rogue.

Read on Twitter

Erotic Short: A Bellyful

A wayfaring mage stops for the night, and exchanges services with the innkeeper.

Cis M/trans M, rated E, 2.6k. On his way north from his studies, a mage stops by at an inn and pays for a place in the innkeeper’s bed — all the better to use each other. Overstimulation, oral, anal, and vaginal sex, breeding kink, denial, come inflation, begging, tears, rough sex, size difference, a bit of magic. Pregnancy threats at the end.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

Erotic Short: Brothel Theatre

2k, cis M/trans M, trans M voyeur, rated E. Yvis has never been to a brothel before, but he’s excited to see one of his heroes, the adventurer Amaethon, play a part in a local theatre production: a debauched one, at that.

Consensual non-consent here — the perspective is that of a man watching a play about a prisoner of war being fucked by the warriors who’ve caught him. Featuring voyeurism, huge size difference, public sex, come inflation, CNC, spitroasting, stomach and throat bulging.

Read on Medium

Erotic Short: Paid in Full

A young sex worker is employed by a local lord.

4k, rated E, cis M/trans M. Utterly self-indulgent. A young sex worker is employed by a local lord, who wants to do only one thing to him — and then give him something else. Lots of oral sex in this one, age difference, some power differential, a nervous sex worker.

CWs for referencing to past trafficking / coerced sex work and past dubious / coerced consent.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

Erotic Short: Inescapable

A human and an elf fall into a tentacle trap.

1.7k, rated E. An elf makes the poor decision of doing a magical escape room with a human he doesn’t know too well. They both fall into a trap, but at least it feels good.

Featuring tentacle monsters, oviposition, belly bulging and inflation, overstimulation, multiple penetration, some body horror.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

#update #musings #original fiction #bristolcon

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rumbelleshowdown · 1 year

Text

Author: Rose Daughter

Prompts: Every day. Monster, fear, cold sweat. Celebrity.

Group: B

Tomorrow

“You’re late, dearie.”

Belle jolts, whirling around, her feet skidding on the shelf of wet rock. She manages to keep her balance, wobbling on the edge of the crystalline pool. Two dark eyes bob above the water, sharp and observant, unsympathetic to her flailing.

“I’ve told you not to sneak up on me like that,” she huffs.

The creature lifts further out of the water, looking menacing with his mane of matted curls hanging in his face. Then, he shakes his head like a wet dog and grins.

“Your lack of spa-cial aware-ness has naught to do with me.”

The words are stodgy in his mouth, so he pronounces them slowly. These were acquired from the book she read aloud to him yesterday. Rumple’s mind was a funny wee lagoon; when she cast new words into it, they usually resurfaced as ammunition to tease her.

He slithers to the pool’s edge, moving through the water like an eel. He props his elbows up on the rocks.

“You’re late,” he says again.

“How can you even tell?”

His crocodilian eyes shift to a silver pocket watch that dangles from a knobbly finger of overhanging rock. It looks suspiciously like the one that used to hang from a fob on Jefferson’s waistcoat.

Belle’s lips press into a thin line. “Yes, well, it’s becoming quite tricky to leave my house without being badgered about another ‘recovery mission’. I think I might need to start charging for my services. You’re becoming too…popular in the village.”

Notorious is a more appropriate term, but she knows he would enjoy that label far too much.

It is not uncommon to see Finfolk off the coast of the Orkney Islands. It is, however, unheard of to catch more than a glimpse of talon and tail as they steal a fish off the end of your line. They don’t linger near the shore. And they certainly don’t take up residence in a grotto at the base of the headland, transforming the limestone ledges into a personal museum of pilfered trinkets.

“I hear you’ve been tipping rowboats again,” she says.

“Shouldn’t have rowed so close to the cave,” he trills, “Def-ini-tely shouldn’t have been out on the water if you don’t know how to swim.”

Rumple’s behavior has elevated him from overgrown sardine to local celebrity; a spectacle at the best of times and a menace at the worst. And when Belle’s routine visits to the grotto became public knowledge, the villagers thrust a title upon her as well. Hostage negotiator.

She scans the cave, searching for possible new additions to his hoard. She feels like she’s playing one of those ‘spot the difference’ games they print on children’s menus. Ah, there. Coiled around a stalagmite is a heart-shaped locket, its ruby pendant winking in the reflection of the pool.

“You know, Miss Lucas used to have a necklace just like that. She took it off to swim one afternoon and, by the time she’d paddled back to the docks, it had vanished.”

“Extra-ordin-ary coincidence.” His expression might have looked innocent on a small boy or a puppy, but it only succeeds in making him look all the more devilish.

Belle shakes her head and bends down to unravel the locket. She pockets it, ignoring his cry of protest.

“And I’m going to need the tackle box you nicked from Marco’s boat.”

He scowls up at her. She can just imagine his tail flicking with irritation. He must have known she’d come asking for that particular prize, as he’d stashed it beneath the water rather than displaying it above.

“What if I trade you for it?” she offers.

His gaze darts to the basket cradled in the crook of her arm. His furrowed brow gives a faint twitch, his resolve instantly weakening. Hook. Line. Sinker.

With a profane grumble, he ducks back under the water. His vocabulary has been increasing in color ever since he started spying on the sailors at the docks.

Belle watches him disappear into the deep as she sits down at the pool’s edge and begins unlacing her boots. She has learned the hard way that heels have rubbish traction.

Some say that jewelry and fishing gear aren’t all that the Fin like to steal. The villagers tell tales of those that have been ferried away to a kingdom beneath the waves. The legends serve as requiems for the men and women who were dragged to the depths and eternally imprisoned in unlawful marriages to the Fins that snatched them. Belle thinks that’s nonsense. The Finfolk detest humans and – typically – want as little to do with them as possible. It would be like kidnapping a cockroach from the gutter to keep as a pet.

Still, the superstition persists. Even when begging her to rescue his tackle box from the sea beast’s lair, Marco had cautioned, “Be careful, girl. He’ll steal you too, if he gets the chance.”

Belle dips her toes into the cool water. Marco’s words echo in her mind as she feels a clawed hand latch onto her ankle. Her scream bounces off the cave walls. Rumple’s head breaches the water’s surface again, eyes glinting with wicked glee.

“…for…for god’s sake, Rumple,” she gasps, pressing her hand over her chest, trying to work her heart out of her throat.

He laughs, baring two rows of razor-sharp teeth. She’s reminded of what a terror he must be to unsuspecting fishermen.

His grin wanes when it comes time to surrender his treasure. Rumple reluctantly hands over the tackle box, looking so forlorn that she almost regrets taking it from him. She knows how enamored he is with the little lures and bobbers.

He plants both hands on the rock and, lean muscles straining, heaves himself up onto the rim beside her. His tail hits the stone with a wet slap.

No artist has ever truly rendered the ethereal beauty of a Fin. They refuse to be pinned to a canvas and captured in a frame. There is no shade of paint that can reproduce the exact green-gold color of their tails, nor their iridescent quality in the sunlight. Belle’s eyes follow the scales up his body to where they become a smattering over his belly, just about where most human men have a trail of fine hair.

Aware of where her eyes are fixed, Rumple reaches for the basket with both hands like an impatient child. Her reflexes are a tad quicker and she slides it out of reach.

“No. Don’t grab. It’s not polite.”

He gives her a rude gesture – something else he undoubtedly picked up from the sailors. The effect is somewhat less potent with his webbed fingers.

After the thermos of hot chocolate had gone down so well last week, Belle suspects his serrated teeth might be quite sweet. She produces a small bundle from the basket, unwrapping the gingham handkerchief to reveal a crumbly stack of homemade shortbread. Rumple peers at it, captivated as the scent of honey and coriander hits his nose.

“Dry your hands first or it’ll go all mushy.”

Rumple does dry his hands; not on the handkerchief, but on her jumper, his talons snagging the woolen yellow fibers on her sleeve. He swipes a wedge before she can delay him any longer.

He takes a small, suspicious bite. She can tell the exact moment that the butter-rich biscuit dissolves on his tongue. His eyes go wide and he looks to her with such childlike delight, it makes her heart beat wildly against her rib cage.

“There are otters up the coastline. They have pups,” he says suddenly, as though trying to bolster his half of the trade. “I’ll take you to see them.”

“I’m not dressed for swimming.”

He rolls his eyes. That isn’t something he learned from the sailors. That is something he adopted from her.

“You can’t get these clothes wet, but you can put on different clothes speci-fic-ally to get wet?”

He wrinkles his nose indignantly. His derisive ‘urgh, humans’ is unspoken, but is heard all the same.

“I’ll wear something suitable tomorrow. You can bring me then.”

Tomorrow. He loves that word more than anything.

His sullen expression melts away. He leans in expectantly. Now, this is special. This is something he taught her. Belle meets him halfway, resting her forehead against his. His crooked nose presses into her cheek, their faces slotting together like two puzzle pieces. They stare at one another for a long, quiet moment. His lips twist into a lopsided smile and he pulls back.

That means, ‘I’m happy’. It means, ‘thank you’.

It means, ‘love you’.

Rumple’s tail thumps the rock again, splashing water over her legs, the droplets clinging to her calves like a sheen of cold sweat. She watches him examine a second piece of shortbread like it’s made of solid gold.

‘Yes, tomorrow’, Belle thinks, smiling down at where his fin grazes her ankles.

‘Perhaps he’ll steal me tomorrow.’

#rumbelle showdown #round one #rumbelle fic #rose daughter

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1stthingsfirst · 11 months

Text

This is the Ray side of my previous post about the portrayal of his recovery, in part prompted by @quaintrelle17's comment about Thai rehabs (Thank you! I didn't ignore you, I just took forever to respond).

Note: I use "sobriety" as shorthand. Not everyone who abuses alcohol needs to go sober. Some can drink in moderation. Some need to abstain for their whole lives.

I originally only briefly addressed Ray drinking in rehab. So, the two general ways to stop drinking/go sober are:

Cold turkey -- You go from your current alcohol intake to zero, no steps in between.

Tapering off (aka weaning off) -- You decrease your daily alcohol intake over time until you reach zero/a desired amount.

From this tweet and Jojo's comments, I believe Thai outpatient rehab programs follow a harm-reduction model using tapering and deemphasizing abstinence unless deemed necessary.

Tapering off aims to both decrease the severity of and prevent withdrawal symptoms. Chronic alcohol abuse alters your brain chemistry. Tapering off helps your brain adjust to functioning with less and less alcohol and decreases the likelihood of severe withdrawal symptoms such as seizures and delirium tremens, which can cause disability and death.

Issue #1: Lack of Clarity

Ray is a good candidate for tapering. He carries a flask to drink on the go and his hands shake when he doesn't drink, a withdrawal symptom. It makes sense for Ray to drink while he's in rehab.

However, tapering is a systematic process. You don't just slowly drink less. A professional may determine a tapering schedule specific to you, but the general recommendation is to decrease by 2 drinks per day. When tapering, you should track what drink you're on and even measure to ensure you stick to one standard drink each time.

I would not expect to see this level of detail in the show. However, as is, we see Ray enter rehab at the end of episode 10, and then in episode 11, we see no visible change in behavior. He still goes to bars and drinks beers in the bath and has whiskey in the pool in a tense almost-threesome. We're supposed to intuit that he's changing simply because he says he is.

The show could have made it clearer without dedicating much time to it. It's as simple as a lingering shot of a handout from the rehab center or Ray saying, "last drink of the day" in the tub. Responses to Only Friends have highlighted how little the general public knows about addiction. It's unreasonable to expect us to know that people may drink as part of rehab.

This is a "show, don't tell" error. We have been told that Ray is in rehab, but we have not seen behavior indicating that he's in rehab.

Issue #2: Tone and Narrative

I'd be surprised if Ray's support team encouraged him to casually drink with his partner while trying to go sober. I could be wrong; they could be fine with it. A person could maybe healthily drink a beer in the tub with their partner if it aligned with their tapering schedule, but it doesn't feel appropriate tonally or narratively.

We have seen how destructive alcohol has been in Ray's life: his mom's alcoholism ruined his childhood; he blames himself for her alcoholism-related suicide; he nearly lost all his friends and his boyfriend multiple times; he drove drunk, crashed his car, and had to be hospitalized for his injuries; he was charged with a DUI and has to complete social service (legal consequences); and so on.

Tonally, it does not make sense to show Ray drinking casually at this point. It could make sense to show him drinking, but not in the settings shown in episode 11. Drinking should be portrayed as weightier by now, if not for Ray, at least for Sand when he's with Ray (see my original post). Sand has said multiple times that he worries about Ray's drinking, so it feels odd to see them to chat in the bath over beers while Ray is in rehab. Ray may be allowed to drink then and he may be able to drink for pleasure in the future, but week one of rehab is not the time for drinking for pleasure.

Additionally, from a storytelling perspective, it doesn't make sense to include Ray accepting that he needs to go to rehab with two episodes left unless you then show him either improved or struggling. By showing Ray drinking after entering rehab, it suggests to the viewer that Ray's drinking will continue to be a major plot point.

But I don't know if it is because we have one episode left, two other couples' stories to wrap up, Ray's already in rehab, and they just introduced Boeing to Sand and Ray's dynamic. By introducing Boeing this late in the show, with this little time left, it's pretty clear Boeing is Ray and Sand's final conflict, not Ray's recovery.

I'm normally all about nuance, but filmmakers only have so many opportunities to convey information to their audience. Unless they do want to keep Ray's recovery a main conflict, it is more logical, for both tone and storytelling, to simply not show Ray drinking at this point. Is it less realistic? Yes. But is it clearer? Yes.

TL;DR

There are scientific reasons why Ray would drink during rehab; however, most people don't know that and it was never explained in the series itself, so the scenes of him drinking in ep 11 landed poorly for many viewers. This is a problem with how the show told the story of Ray's alcoholism and recovery. The show would have benefited from prioritizing clarity over realism, unless they plan to take the time to explore Ray's recovery in detail.

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alignfitness · 2 months

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surgery-cyprus · 4 months

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ifreakingloveroyals · 6 months

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20 May 2013 | Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is presented with a posy as he speaks to a army bear during his visit to Tedworth House to officially open the charity's Tedworth House recovery centre in Tidworth, England. During their visit the two Royal Princes met with wounded veterans, serving personnel, and their families. Tedworth House in Wiltshire is one of four new units in England which will offer respite care and rehabilitation to injured and sick service personnel, veterans and their families. (c) Mark Richards - WPA Pool / Getty Images

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 7 months

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You Brought Your Worst and I’m Right Here - Chapter Two: As my life hangs from a string...

Pairing: Gale of Waterdeep x female Tav

Work Summary:

After an explosive falling out between Gale and his academic adviser, Mystra, Tav is left to pick up the pieces.

Modern/College AU.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Epilogue

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1643

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

Just so you're aware, this fic will have mentions of depression, suicidal ideation, grooming and emotional abuse all the way through.

Info about what each of the main characters is studying/what year they're in, check the notes at the bottom.

---

The paramedics wouldn’t let Tav ride with Gale to the hospital, no matter how much she begged. In the end, Wyll had to hold onto her as the ambulance took Gale away. As soon as it was out of sight, she collapsed against him, her fingers curling into his shirt and she desperately tried to keep herself upright.

Wyll had arrived home just in time to hear Tav’s screaming. He’d sprinted up the stairs past a sleepy and confused Shadowheart to find Tav desperately shaking Gale, trying to wake him up.

Shadowheart had stumbled up the stairs a few seconds behind him. She recoiled in horror when she saw the state Gale was in. After checking if he was still breathing (he was) she put him in recovery position while Wyll was on the phone with the emergency services.

Tav scooted away from Gale, afraid to disturb him from the position that Shadowheart had put him in. Neither Shadowheart nor Wyll could soothe her desperate sobbing.

Gale was her best friend. They had met in their first week at university, and had been inseparable ever since.

Well. Almost.

Things had been a little different this year. Some time over the last summer, Gale had started to withdraw. As far as Tav knew, he had a lot of study sessions with his dissertation supervisor, Professor Mystryl. Gale had always been a dedicated student, and it was no surprise that he was getting his head down and working hard in his final year, but he seemed different in a way that Tav couldn’t put her finger on.

He was distant. He stopped spending so much time with Tav, which had upset her a little, but she was also busy with her final year studies, so part of her was glad to have one less distraction.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” she hiccupped. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

She was sitting in the front passenger seat of Wyll’s car, as Wyll drove them to the hospital. How she’d got from Gale’s bedroom to here was hazy.

“Shh,” Jen murmured, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder from the backseat. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve,” Tav protested. “He’s been acting different lately. I thought- I thought-” Sobs stole the words from her lips. She put her head in her hands.

“You saved him,” said Wyll. “He was still breathing and you found him in time. He’s on his way to the hospital now. He’s going to be okay.”

Wyll sounded so sure. She knew he was lying for her benefit – he couldn’t possibly know that Gale was going to be okay – but she was still so glad he was here.

“He’s going to be okay,” Shadowheart agreed. “And that’s thanks to you.” Tav couldn’t find it in herself to agree with them. She was grateful anyway. She leant back and let Shadowheart wrap an arm around her from behind. “I texted Astarion,” she said. “He’s going to meet us there.”

Tav closed her eyes. The sight of Gale, unconscious in a pool of his own vomit, flashed through her mind. Her eyes snapped open and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

She couldn’t imagine a world without Gale in it. Her mind couldn’t process the existence of such a world.

For years, before he’d started to withdraw from her, they’d spent most Saturday nights playing board games or watching movies or studying while their cooler friends were out partying. Even on the nights when their friends had managed to persuade them to come out drinking or clubbing, they stuck together, since neither of them much liked crowds.

The idea of never spending another night like that with him burned in her chest.

She loved him.

She swallowed around the thought, trying to stem the flow of tears. Of course, she had always found him handsome. She could admit that much. She’d been harbouring a bit of a crush on him since that first week at uni. At some point, that schoolgirl crush had become a fierce devotion that would withstand even his romantic indifference towards her.

If he only ever saw her as a friend, then she would be honoured to have his friendship for the rest of their lives.

A choked-out sob escaped her lips. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.

“We’re here,” said Wyll. Sure enough, they were just pulling into the hospital car park.

Tav wanted to jump out of the car as soon as it stopped moving, but her hands were clumsy as she tried to undo her seatbelt. Wyll’s hands, ever gentle and steady, reached over and clicked the button, freeing her. She gave him a small, grateful smile and then turned to the door, which Shadowheart was already in the process of opening for her.

Under normal circumstances, she would’ve been mortified at how much her friends were babying her right now, but these were far from normal circumstances. She managed to get out of the car under her own power, but Shadowheart was hovering nearby, ready to catch her if her legs gave way.

Since her jacket was still soaking wet when they left, she was wearing one of Shadowheart’s. It wasn’t her usual style, but it was cozy on the inside.

Wyll locked up the car and the three of them made their way into the hospital. Tav was barely aware of Shadowheart speaking to one of the receptionists. Dimly, a part of her brain registered that this was the hospital where Jen worked some of the time as part of her medical training. That was good. That meant she knew her way around.

Shadowheart led them to a waiting room, where she stopped to talk to another receptionist, and then to a nurse. Wyll guided Tav over to a chair and deposited her into it.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Hot chocolate,” she said. It was probably a bad idea, considering how exhausted she already was, but she’d never liked the taste of coffee, and she needed something sweet as a pick-me-up.

“I’ll be right back.”

In Wyll’s absence, Shadowheart came and sat down on Tav’s other side.

“Did they say anything?” asked Tav.

“He’s stable,” said Shadowheart. “But still unconscious.”

Tav swallowed thickly. “Right.”

When Wyll reappeared a few minutes later, he was carrying three disposable coffee cups awkwardly hugged against his chest, and Astarion was with him.

“Oh Tav,” Astarion said gently as he took her swollen, reddened face. His pitying tone was enough to trigger a fresh flood of tears. “When he wakes up, I’m going to kill him.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Tav couldn’t even muster a smile. Her chest ached. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Shadowheart giving Astarion a dirty look.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said. He sat down beside Tav and put an arm around her. He wasn’t usually a very physically affectionate person, so the gesture meant a lot.

Strictly speaking, he was the only one of their friends who knew about her feelings for Gale. He had a sixth sense for that sort of thing, and she very frequently found herself on the receiving end of his teasing. She was sure their other friends had their suspicions, but Astarion was the only one who had ever confronted her about it. Her hasty, blushing denial had been enough of an answer.

The four of them settled in for a long wait. Wyll kept them supplied with vending machine snacks. Tav, who had felt like she’d been sleepwalking all the way home from the library, was wide awake now. She was doing her best to keep her mind from drifting to worst case scenarios, but it was hard when the image of Gale’s limp body was so fresh in her mind.

It was past midnight by the time they got the news that Gale was awake. Although it was well past visiting hours, Shadowheart knew the head nurse on shift well, so she was willing to bend the rules for them.

The room Gale was in had two beds, but only one was occupied. Gale was sitting up, looking more alert than Tav had been expecting. The nurses had evidently cleaned him up, and he was dressed in a hospital gown. The tv on the wall was switched on but muted.

When his friends entered the room, Gale grimaced, his eyes skating guiltily over the four of them, before settling on his own hands.

“Uh… hi,” he said awkwardly.

“You arsehole,” said Astarion. Wyll looked like he was about to jump in and interrupt, but Gale let out a laugh.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said. “I am dreadfully sorry for scaring you all.”

There was a long, awkward silence, where no one seemed to know what to say. Tav could feel Shadowheart looking at her, as if she was expecting her to say something. She had no idea what.

Fortunately, Wyll broke the silence. “We’re just glad to see you’re okay, Gale.”

“…Thanks.”

Her friends continued talking, but Tav could no longer make out what they were saying. She felt as though she was listening to the conversation from underwater. Gale was still looking at his hands, which were lying open on his lap. His gaze darted occasionally to Astarion or Wyll or Shadowheart, but never to her. Why wouldn’t he look at her?

“We should probably let you rest.” Shadowheart’s voice cut through the fuzziness around Tav’s brain. “The nurses have been very kind to let us stay but we’re not really technically supposed to be here right now.”

“Right. Of course,” said Gale.

“We’ll come back tomorrow during visiting hours,” Wyll assured him. “Goodnight, Gale.”

“Goodnight.”

It was only once she had shuffled out of the room that Tav realised she hadn’t spoken a single word.

---

Notes:

This is all based on the English higher education system.

Tav is doing a Chemistry degree with a year in industry, and now she’s in her fourth and final year. Gale is in his fourth and final year of an integrated masters in Physics (definitely planning on going on to do a PhD). Astarion (Law) and Shadowheart (Medicine) are both in the fourth year of their degrees. Wyll is a year younger than the rest of them and is in his third and final year of a politics degree.

Next Chapter

#gale x tav #gale dekarios x tav #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #gale x female tav

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