#and i have to wonder if the [starters] are just taking this on the chin or

[the-physicality]

.

[ssahotchnerr]

hi babe! was wondering if you could write something abt hotch + reader having their daughter’s first birthday and all of the team is there and it’s so cute and we get big brother jack.

maybe it including light bickering between them but it’s so clear they love each other so much still and it really is just pointless bickering. something fluffy for sure.

up to you! i trust your wonderful writing , thank u bunches !

- 🕷️ [is this anon emoji taken yet? oops if it is!]

take the bench

AHH that's so adorable 🥹 cw; fem!reader, jack calls reader mom, domestic banter <3 and aaron being very dad <3

"are you kidding, look how cute!" you exclaimed, holding up the little outfit for all to see. your daughter's tiny hands immediately made a grab at it. "this is perfect for spring."

"after two boys, i can't express enough how fun it is shopping for a girl." jj gushed, resting her chin comfortably on her hand. "new section of the store unlocked."

all had gathered for baby girl's very first birthday, and it's been quite the eventful afternoon. lively conversations, a plentiful spread of food, cake on the horizon.

currently your daughter was sat comfortably on your lap, while you orchestrated the whole present-opening extravaganza.

at her young age, she could pull the tissue paper out of the gift bags as instructed, you and jack helped with the actual paper ripping as needed. whether it was you tearing off a starter piece, or jack proudly fulfilling his big brother duties - simply unwrapping it entirely himself and excitably showing his sister what she had received.

and meanwhile, aaron had the most dad job: trash bag duty. it was right up his alley naturally, being sure to punctually collect the scraps of paper before they touched the ground; preventing a mess at all costs.

which ultimately, led up to a new game.

"jack," aaron grabbed his son's focus, holding the bag open and jack caught on instantly. he grinned, balling up and throwing the tissue paper in hand in aaron's direction.

it started off gentle; quiet cheers when jack made the shot, not to mention the growing smiles on both ends. but then it soon turned into them firing off at each other, a bit too aggressive in the constraints of the living room. jack's laughter heightened with each throw, and henry even began to join in from time to time.

while still enamored by the gifts, all thanks to her brother and father's volume, baby girl's attention was quickly drawn to them. she let out a high pitched squeal every time wrapping paper flew over her head and through the air, attempting to wiggle her way off your lap.

as much as you loved aaron and jack carelessly enjoying themselves, and the addictive giggles emitting from your daughter, you also didn't want to take the focus away from everyone's generous gifts. they had spent time, and money, and deserved the proper recognition in return.

"aaron." you warned lightly, raising an eyebrow when his gaze shot to yours - a silent, but loving nonetheless, quit it.

"alright bud," aaron caught the last makeshift ball from jack with his hand, shoving it into the trash. "take the bench. the ref is giving me that look."

"but dad-"

"you heard me. and your mother."

jack let out a small whine, but promptly complied. he returned to the stack of his sister's presents, shifting through and looking for the next one to give her.

"for someone on clean up duty, you sure are making quite the mess." you teased once you caught aaron's eyes again, jack placing the next gift in front of you, "a larger one, if i may add."

"mess isn't in my vocabulary." aaron quipped right back, a delightfully smug look on his face. "you shouldn't be the one talking."

you cocked your head to the side, comically, "oh?"

"who's side of the closet is currently exploding?"

"who's sock drawer has seen better days?"

"the parents are fightingggg." derek stretched out his voice, murmuring humorously under his breath and nudging penelope with an elbow. while the soft tone, his statement was for all to hear.

now, it was your turn to (lightly, as to not jostle baby girl) chuck a ball of wrapping paper at him. derek ducked, barely, laughing loudly as he straightened his posture back upright.

"good try, but not good enough mamas. you gotta work on your aim."

"see, i'm not making a mess." aaron teased as he came near to grab it off the carpet, taking a detour as well to give your lips a quick peck. "you have that title perfectly under control, darling."

you playfully rolled your eyes, a smile dancing its way onto your lips. aaron couldn't resist the sight, kissing you once more. "oh bite me, hotchner."

[hawkinsbnbg]

sweet tooth

prompt: stuff | word count: 483 | rated: M | tags: established relationship, bad innuendos, fluff | @steddiemicrofic | ao3

“Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie glanced up from his sketchbook. “I thought everyone already knew about that?”

“I didn't, obviously,” Dustin let out a self-righteous huff. “I just found out recently because you keep running late to Hellfire's meeting.”

Eddie was confused at first, but then he remembered those bad innuendos he had told Dustin as a joke.

“Were those cakes that good?” The kid asked curiously.

“What cakes were good?” Steve returned from the kitchen with a tray of snacks.

Eager to be helpful, Dustin launched into telling Steve the tale about Eddie’s tardiness and the reason behind it.

Poor Steve was bright red by the time Dustin finished.

“Yup, those cakes were tasty, man,” he nodded sagely and winked at Steve’s not-so-subtle glare. “They were soft, sweet, and stuffed with cream cheese. Needed to take my time ‘cause high-quality goodness like that deserved to be appreciated.”

“And where did you find them?” Dustin squinted suspiciously. “If they're as good as you said, then I must've heard about them before. But I haven't,” a finger wiggled at Eddie, “ergo, you're either lying to me, or just talking out of your ass.”

Aha, what a nosy little shit. No wonder he was Eddie's favorite.

Ignoring Steve’s Don't you dare look, he grinned slyly.

“Why don't you go ask your mother, Dusty Bun? ‘Cause he made all of ‘em for me.”

And watched on in amusement as Dustin whirled around to pester a mortified Steve.

Once the kid left for the Wheeler house, Steve immediately rounded on him.

“Creampied cakes? Seriously, Eds?” Steve scowled, adorably flustered and irritated with Eddie's antics.

“My bad,” he chuckled and coaxed a pouting Steve into his lap. “Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

“How?” Steve arched a brow at him.

“For starter, I can help you stuff your cake with my–”

“–dick?”

“I was gonna say ‘with my love’–”

“Try again when you're not having a boner, babe,” Steve snorted in mirth.

“To be fair, I’m always horny for you, baby boy,” Eddie pecked his boyfriend’s chin with an impish grin. “Emotionally and physically.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly, “You're such a dork.”

“But I’m yourrrr dork,” Eddie sing-songed, and smiled in triumphant when he was silenced by those pretty lips.

Once they eventually parted, Steve traced Eddie's cheekbones and jawline with gentle fingers as if cherishing something precious, something worthy of love and tenderness.

“Yeah, you're mine,” Steve said softly.

God, Eddie was so in love that it hurt.

“And you're mine,” he gazed at his sweetheart and felt his chest swell with adoration. “What d’you want, my darling boy?”

And like a dream, Steve smiled at him sweetly. “Wanna be stuffed with your love, Chief.”

As their lips melted together—like cotton candies and marshmallows—Eddie knew he would burn down the whole world if it meant he could keep his baby forever.

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

part ii

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Heyy!! first of all your writing is SO GOOD i have come across an amazing writer such as yourself in a long long time. I was wondering if you could write something for remus lupin with the promt 44 in the list? probably like co-workers to lovers kind of a thing. i love him sm i wish he were real ( not that i'd have a chance but still ). THANK YOU SM <33 LOTS OF LOVE

STOP IT, you're making me blush!! You’re so sweet, and I appreciate you taking the time to tell me that—you’ve officially made my day!!

ivy's 1k celebration ❄️ navigation ❄️ prompt list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ REMUS LUPIN #44: "Tell me three reasons why I should put up with you." "Well, for starters, I'm cute."

You leaned against the staffroom door, your eyes locked on the brooding figure hunched over a pile of essays. The quill in Remus Lupin’s hand moved furiously, his brows furrowed in concentration. Honestly, he looked a bit like a kicked puppy—a really cute, endearingly grumpy puppy.

"Oi, Lupin." You sauntered in, plopping into the chair opposite him. "You look like you’re grading the downfall of humanity, not essays."

Without looking up, he muttered, "If you'd read this one, you’d think the same."

You laughed, the sound bright in the dull, parchment-scented room. "Careful, Professor Lupin, your grumpiness is showing."

Remus sighed, finally meeting your gaze, his tired eyes tinged with exasperation. "Some of us take our work seriously."

"And some of us," you shot back with a smirk, "know how to have fun while doing it. You should try it sometime—fun, I mean. It’s delightful."

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he caught himself. "Why are you here, anyway? I thought you were done for the day."

"I was," you said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "but I heard you were holed up here, looking like a medieval monk. Thought I’d check on you."

"How thoughtful," he deadpanned, though the faintest blush dusted his cheeks.

You grinned, knowing you were getting to him. "You’re welcome. Now, I demand your attention for at least five minutes."

"Why?" he asked, tilting his head and raising a brow.

"Because I’m adorable," you quipped, twirling a strand of hair.

"Debatable," he shot back, though his cheeks flushed pinker.

"Rude," you gasped, clutching your chest like he'd just insulted your honor. "You wound me, Lupin."

His lips curved into the tiniest smile, and you knew you had him.

"Fine," he said, sitting back and crossing his arms. "You want my attention? Tell me three reasons why I should put up with you."

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, your smirk growing. "Well, for starters, I’m cute."

"Debatable," he repeated, but his voice was softer, teasing.

"And second," you continued, ignoring him, "I make your dull, miserable days brighter with my sparkling wit and charm."

His eyes rolled, but you caught the corner of his mouth twitching.

"And third," you finished with a dramatic sigh, "you secretly like me and would miss me terribly if I stopped bothering you."

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes studying you like you were one of his more perplexing students. You felt your pulse quicken, the usual banter hanging in the air like a question left unanswered.

Then he smiled—small and shy, but genuine—and looked down at the essays in front of him.

"You’re insufferable," he said, but there was no heat behind it.

"You’re blushing, Lupin," you teased, your grin widening.

"I’m not," he mumbled, his ears now undeniably red.

"Oh, you are. I win."

"Win what?" he asked, glancing up at you again.

"Whatever this is," you said, motioning between the two of you.

"Well," he said softly, "if this is winning, I think I’m alright with losing."

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in. Was Remus Lupin—grumpy, shy, always-buried-in-books Remus Lupin—flirting with you?

"Careful, Lupin," you said, leaning back in your chair, though your voice was softer now. "You keep talking like that, and I might start to think you like me."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and for the first time, he didn’t deny it.

[kit-williams]

Plague Soup for the Soul

Plague Witch!Rader x Typhus the traveler, Herald of Nurgle

Tag list: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@plegg

Song on repeat: Hold, Release; Rakshasa & Carcasses

Word Count: 3242 3602 words too many

tw: Casual body horror? Gonna be real people idk how to tag this. Lots of insect stuff, update: SMUT

Food was important for Nurglites. It was embedded deep into their worship, their mythos, always a key part in their legends, and of course highly important to Grandfather Nurgle. For Plague Witches they acted as conduits for two important aspects of their god... as their bubbling cauldrons contained eternal soups and through these soups is how they would preform their magic & spread the love of Grandfather. They say the most skilled Plague Witch would even get a drop of the eternal brew into their cauldron if their soup and their skills of incorporating plagues into the broth was as skilled as how Grandfather did. A good base was the key like with any good soup! Just as much as Love, good ingredients & along with their own ways of enchanting their soups kept them going century after century. But, to get them that far wasn't easy as some would too quick to ravage the body fizzling out rapidly after infecting many... and others would get cold before the potency was there.

Typhus was the Herald of Nurgle... so deeply tied to his god... so he could tell that something had agitated the Lord of Plagues as the Nurglings were not giggling they were frustrated and impatient... no mischievous glint in their eyes, "Dearest little ones," He spoke to the hoard of Nurglings that kept him company the closest one looked up at Typhus with a dopey grin, "What displeases Grandfather? Have I not done enough to sway the Great Game in his favor? Have I not brought his love to enough planets recently?"

Grandpa is pleased with you!" One shouted over the rest before the hoard babbled out, "However, there is a plague witch in your fleet with the most delicious soup! But! They offer such a meager portion that it has taken Grandpa this long to figure out where they are." They babbled excitedly.

Typhus drummed his fingers against his stomach... it couldn't be any of the Plague Witches in his direct service as they all had large bubbling cauldrons and he knew for a fact they gave him & Grandfather their portions; even if it was a new brew they were trying. It had to be a fledgling... a newly blossomed witch with a starter base... Typhus drummed his chin humming. Such a potent base for a young soup... would mean they would be a powerful witch long term and if Typhus mentored him or her... "What is the soup like?"

"OH!" One shrieked as his hoard of nurglings had heard Nurgle praise the concoction, "Grandda says it hits right in the soul! Truly made with love! A perfect base that will lovingly cradle any plague! Grandda must find this witch! They hide from his blessings! I wonder if they are shy?" They all talked over each other leaving Typhus to wonder how to lure the witch out...

The wizened crone rubbed her chin as she was far more pus and pestilence than human at this point as she spat to the side onto a nurgling, "It has to be a fledgling doing this my lord... only one like that would offer so little, not out of being selfish but simply because of how little they have. Cauldrons like these take up so much room." Behind her was her brood of nurglings giggling & babbling as they worked around her cauldron for her as she talked to Typhus. Mortal helpers got ingredients ready passing them off to the bloated demons who giggled as they tossed them into the pot, "There are a couple of fledglings on this ship that I could think might be the ones you're after but their soups aren't even twenty years old... but if it is a fledgling they'll be feeding the masses and perfecting their craft. Though... I question if they are even trying." The crone says dismissively as a nurgling brings a ladle over for her to try and she sips her soup.

"What makes you say that?" Typhus inquires as he is not a Plague Witch and does not peer into the coven politics as why would he they simply have to make sure they give him their best.

"This mythical soup grandfather is looking for doesn't sound like it has any plagues in it. No one on your ship would dare try to make a soup like this without plagues. They might be simply dabbling in the techniques which has made something that infects the soul, a grand base if it exists, which would be wonderful for converting others to the cause. But, there are a few upstarts on other ships in the fleet... that I've heard grumbles and groans from of such young things competing with others whose cauldrons have been bubbling for centuries and millennia. But this is all I can theorize to help my lord." In the list that she gives to Typhus... your name is amongst them.

Your bells jingled as you carried your tiny portable cauldron now full of donated ingredients, used bones, scraps of meat, a few fungi, and other scavenged or bought items. Three tails behind you with bells tied to them via ribbons jangled behind you as you moved through the packed halls. You were excited as you got a small bit of pork as you had arrived when it had been freshly butchered. A small amount for you and the rest for your soup! So then everyone who ate what you cooked would be able to share even if they weren't as lucky as you.

You were almost home and you could maybe take a small nap before- you stop as you look down at the small hoard of nurglings just waiting in a pile outside of your door. You looked up at the many mouthed cultist with them giving you a haphazard grin at you, "I'm sorry miss they had heard about your soup..." You watch as one of them starts to lick your door, "They've been patiently waiting."

"I... I've got enough for them to share a bowl." You sigh softly but you can't help but smile at their antics... you suppose you didn't mind a late dinner. As you unlocked the door they were wonderfully well behaved as none of them rushed inside when you opened it and walked in just letting them watch you. Your own "cauldron" full of soup wasn't much larger than the portable one in your hands as you place it on your small counter. You pulled out your nicer wide rimmed bowl as it was for nurglings... "How paitently did you say they were waiting?" You ask as you grab your ladle.

"Very." The man said with a charming smile as your three tails whiped about behind you causing the bells on them to jingle as you walked over to the pot and gave them a large serving.

"Well I hope you all enjoy." You say putting the bowl down and then handed him a small cup full.

"Oh! Thank you." He says as you walk back into the room just barely hearing his mutter, "Divine Excrement... that's fucking amazing."

Moments like this you lived for... the way others eyes would light up as they would enjoy your cooking. It was always hard to refuse their request for seconds... just as you stood there as they all looked up at you holding the bowl politely asking for another bowl... "Ah ah ah fellas remember what she said. She could only spare us this amount and I'm certain she'll have more tomorrow?" He looked over at you and you nodded.

"Tomorrow I'll have a full cauldron and if you come early enough you can ask for seconds." That got the happy little creatures to cheer as you waved them off as you closed your door.

The cultist looked down at the nurgling with a large eye on its stomach as its iris was beloved grandfather's symbol... it was excited, bouncing all around as it was certain that this was it! The cultist pulled out a small device and radioed his lord, "Lord Typhus we found the witch."

You were tired as all you had left to do was enchant the soup and then you could finally enjoy your dinner. You rubbed your eye with the palm of your hand as the bells on your clothes and tails felt so heavy by this point but just a little bit longer. You thought to how you were close enough to be able to afford a proper cauldron and then you wouldn't have to limit yourself too much on how many people you could feed. Sure it would take up more of your already limited space but you knew it would be worth it! You were getting ready to enchant when you heard the door unlock... you looked worried as no one should be able to unlock your door even if they had good intentions. Your hand grabs the wood of the cleaver handle as not much of a fighter but you were going to try... why was there suddenly a buzzing noise and why was it so loud? The door opens and it gets even louder as you back yourself up into a corner as a Space Marine wedges themself into your door... and not just any Space Marine but the Herald of Nurgle himself... Typhus the Traveler... when his yellow eye lenses look right at you, you drop the clever out of fear and press against the wall.

He chuckle softly, "Well the blossoming Plague Witch that has been eluding Grandfather..." He looks around the room and right at your cauldron, "I can see why your offerings have been meager. Let me have a taste."

You swallow the lump of dread in your throat as you dare speak up, "It's not done yet.. my lord." You quickly tack on.

"Oh?" He said as he regarded you like a scared cat as you were pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with fear not daring to leave the threat in your sight, "When will it be?"

You swallow again, "Four minutes... I have to enchant it first." You hoped he would leave.

But you were not that lucky as he gestured to the cauldron, "Well do not let me keep you little witch. I might be patient but I do not possess Grandfather's long patience."

You inhale as you have to be a brave girl. You peel yourself away from the wall and stand in front of your bubbling cauldron, your back to Typhus. Your mind began to play its song as your head bobbed before your body started to sway as your bells began to jingle. The mouth on your lower back opened up as you sang with two mouths. Your movements were bouncy and at time violent as you focused on the words leaving your mouth and the way the bells rang with such pleasing chimes. You had forgotten Typhus was there watching you. You made your bounding way around your cauldron singing loudly as you were having fun, like you always did, putting your hands together as you crouched before jumping back up with a grin on your face.

Typhus watched as your hair bounced free from its ribbon holding it back. Your eyes glowing a bright green as you were lost in the ritual process as small jars of spices, herbs, and powders floated their way over to you. You took handfuls, pinches, and scoops as you added them in time with parts of the ritual where you weren't singing. The smile on your face wide as you sang louder and louder in a language unfamiliar to Typhus but that hardly mattered. Witches all had their own ways of enchanting and if a nonsense song was your way... he wouldn't question it.

You stop for a moment before violently spinning in place, your bells clamoring, as you sang in a high pitched voice... and Typhus could hear something respond in a voice that wasn't your own. You did this call and response three times. The climax of your enchantment approaches and you sing so loudly before your mouths howl in an otherworldly way. Your cauldron bubbling violently as you grab a handful of a spice blend from a pouch as you pause and chant out the last words before throwing it in. A cloud appears as it bubbles violently changing color from a dark brown to a yellow.

You deflate as you finish dancing. It was always so physically demanding to enchant your soup but it was worth it done this way... to see the happy faces of those eating your food! You turn around and yelp as you see Typhus in your doorway as you remember he was there watching you the whole time. You quickly grab your small portable cauldron and fill it, trying your best to not let any spill as you offer it to the Herald. He takes it and opens up the mouth plate and you avert your gaze as for Typhus he finally gets to taste this soup that Grandfather Nurgle has been pining after.

Typhus takes large gulps from the tiny thing you handed him... Oh! He can feel it worm its way right to his soul like some burrowing parasite! Yet it was like getting a warm embrace from a parent... or even a lover... that filled his limbs with a tingling warming happiness. Yet he could feel it also be akin to a gentle kiss from death... the sweetness of the lips leaving a mark on the skin and yet death fails to collect. He could feel his powers swell... his connection to Nurgle strengthen even! It washed over his SOUL and it was absolutely INVIGORATING and perhaps even a little ADDICTING like getting praise from Grandfather Nurgle.

"Fill it again." Typhus demands of you and of course you obey.

"Someone tend to her cauldron." You hear him bellow out as he pulls himself free of your door and you look confused. As another woman walks in and starts to tend to your soup. You put a lid on your small portable cauldron.

"Wait... what is going on." You say as you are led outside and other cultists lead you after the Herald of Nurgle. "Where am I being taken too." You ask fearfully.

Typhus decides to answer you, "To the Plague Cathedral upon the flagship, my ship. Grandfather demands a serving. And what better place to offer it to him."

You swallow as you follow him as those around you make sure you will be taken to the Cathedral.

You had only been here once before as the Cathedral on the flagship was more like a massive hive as unlike the giant fungi that grew around the church you went to... this was massive with so many insects around. You were led closer to the large ornate altar as it oozed honey as you could feel your shoes stick to the floor as well it went from floor to comb. Large insects of Nurgle skitter on the walls and ceiling as they watched and buzzed the closer you got.

"Come now little blossom." Typhus coos as you notice that the cultists with you stop at the last row of pews closest to the altar and yet Typhus gestures you to follow. The lump in your throat grows heavy as you say close to the herald as your new companions are a hoard of nurglings and the swarms that enter and leave from the large structures on his back.

"Open it up and leave it on the altar then come back right here." Typhus orders and you obey, putting it on the altar before you take the lid off and rush back to Typhus' side. You jump as the braziers suddenly blaze to life with sickly green flames.

You might not have been as connected to the warp as Typhus was but he could see a visage of his deity looking down, it was still a small offering but... it didn't matter as Nurgle finally had a taste of this soup that was eluding him just like the plague that made Ku'gath.

"Typhus! Have you tried this?" The voice said to him as you just flinched not understanding the loud voice filling the air around the alter and you wanted to hide behind the marine but you stayed.

"I have." He replies just looking up at the loud buzzing swarm that seems to gather. You try your best to not cower.

"Blessings! Blessings! How old is this soup?" The Grandfather inquired.

Typhus turned to you, "How long have you been tending to this?"

"Five years my lord."

"All of this in such a short amount of time! Blessings Typhus! Blessings! The garden will surely flourish with her delicious food!"

"Of Course Grandfather." He slammed his scythe into the comb keeping it standing as the destroyer hive buzzed loudly and you flinched.

"Blessings upon thee child! For the Grandfather has told me to bless thee! I come from the garden of plenty overflowing with milk and honey." He says just as if a sermon was being held. "And just as you will be embraced by the garden you two shall be a fountain of plenty... rejoice young witch!" The buzzing got louder and louder as the destroyer bugs all swarmed inside of him. The hand suddenly on your throat has you kicking your feet as they leave the ground as you are place on the altar and he once more removes his mouthplate. "Open up." His thumb rests on your chin and you obey... afraid of what will happen if you don't but equally scared of what will happen if you do.

As you open your mouth he opens his as you watch several destroyer bugs crawl out from his mouth as you can hear the faint noises from him as he... starts to regurgitate something. His shoulders move as his throat bobs and you are left helpless as to what is about to be placed into your mouth. You feel destroyer bugs landing on your face and on your body... antennae drumming against your skin. His mouth pushes to yours as something slowly crawls into your mouth... it's honey.

Your eyes open wide as destroyer hive honey was something that only champions of the Grandfather could have... but only in small amounts as too much would leave one into a mindless warp spawn. You eat the sweet sticky liquid as it just keeps oozing and oozing into your mouth before you... you start to convulse as Typhus pulls away running his tongue around your mouth just licking up the excess and wiping what oozed out onto his chin. Typhus enjoys the sickly sweet smell that permeates from you... or perhaps that is more of the hive's enjoyment as the smell he likes comes from between your legs but he could indulge in that later.

The sickening crack echoes as the side of your skull breaks apart as your hair solidifies into petals and a large, yet lightweight, flower has bloomed. A gift directly from the garden... Typhus lets his hands wander over your form letting his fingers press hard against your breasts and between your legs as you whimper feeling dazed and confused. Typhus decided that later was now as he bit the rough material between your legs and ground his teeth as it was shredded.

His tongue swipes up against your bared cunt as you whimper still confused as to what was going on... why your head was pounding... why there was so much buzzing in your ears... you're cunt quivers as you don't realize how the insects crawl over transformed flesh and lap up your nectar and brush against your pollen. Typhus in the meantime buzzes loudly himself as your honey is far more like nectar as well. His tongue pushing in hard and deep deep into your stigma like an insect pushing their labium deep down the style. His tongue pushed hard against the clitoris trying to get you to orgasm again... give him more nectar... Little Blossom give him more nectar!

You whine out as your nectar is swallowed up by Typhus for his hive to use... and he's not going to leave your flower wanting. He places his codpiece on the altar as Typhus grunts softly pushing the far too large cock inside of you. Your body relents as he buzzes out in enjoyment as he starts to cross pollinate you. Though if he were to go off of his allusion of earlier... this was the milk he had alluded to earlier. But his eyes were focused on the lovely flower on the side of your head... blood pooling in one of the combs on the altar as the pink petals had swirls of your hair in them... the rest was brain matter colored... bones... muscles... a beautiful human flower.

You look up at him still so very dazed but whimpering underneath the space marine as you wonder where you are... not realizing you're being fucked on the altar within the grand Cathedral. "Such a pretty little Blossom." Typhus grunts as he stills and rushes himself to completion as he will have more time to savor you later.

Typhus looks at you as he puts his codpiece on as cum oozes out of you as your flower is slowly closing up as you seem to be passing out. He picks you up and freed his scythe as it was now time to let you rest... for there was much for you to learn.

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 16

⚠️ Erm, not sure what to tag this as...fluffy whump angst? Mainly fluffy!

Timeline starts as memory and ends in the present. Hope you enjoy!

💚💛👨‍🏫🚒🐦‍🔥

Night fell on Tracy Island, and Virgil flopped down onto the cool sheets of his bed. Training had gone well today, despite the odd hiccup; Tam taking to the jet-pack like a duck to water. Jonesy...well, he flew with all the finesse of a drunken penguin. Luckily, the med-scanner had reported no injuries, but for a bruised backside. The merciless ribbing (as to be expected from good friends) was decidedly more painful.

Virgil smiled.

Jonesy had just batted the jokes right back. The firefighter had a good sense of humour, and a thick skin - another vital trait in their line of work. It was like having a second Gordon about the place, which was in equal parts a blessing and a curse.

His piano, for starters; having been somewhat neglected since their guests arrived, had acquired a fine layer of dust. Gordon, of course, had wasted no time at all in scribing messages on its hood.

What's the difference between a piano and a fish? You can't tuna fish!

Jonesy had laughed way too hard at that; and just a few short hours later, another dad-joke (of equal cringe-worthiness) followed. Only, this time, the handwriting obviously not Gordon's.

Why did the GDF arrest Virgil?

Because he got into treble!

Virgil sighed.

"EOS, please can you add piano polish to the shopping list?"

*. *. * .

Virgil drew idle angel-patterns in the fresh bed linen; savouring the luxury of being able to starfish in his king-sized bed after training...well, they weren't really recruits anymore. They had all integrated so well with the family, that it was nice to think that he'd been training friends.

Mac...Mac was quite quiet; that was until he and Brains started chin wagging about Star Trek.

I mean, he liked Star Trek as much as the next person, but those two must have mastered the ability of breathing through their ears. He'd never seen Brains talk so much!

And though he often opted out of their tedious-Trek-talks; it was wonderful to see their resident engineer, and friend, so animated.

Virgil was roused from his thoughts by the strumming of a gentle Spanish folk song; the lilting melody drifting through his open balcony doors.

Someone was humming. By process of elimination; he knew it to be Tamara. It was a female voice, and he had heard both Grandma's and Kayo's over Comms enough times to know that it wasn't them. He padded quietly over to the balustrade, taking in the night air as the music played on.

It was a beautiful night; the father stretches of ocean so tranquil; the surface glittered with dark starlight.

Virgil rested his head on folded arms, watching the seafoam gather and fade along the shoreline.

Usually, all this beauty went unseen. After back-to-back rescues; he was lucky to see a glimpse of his pillow before sleep took him. He sighed contentedly, and the music suddenly stopped.

"Oh God! I had no idea anyone could hear me! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to keep you up!" Tam set the guitar aside with a musical thud.

"No, no, please! Play on! I was really enjoying that," Virgil leaned his head over the balcony.

"I'm really not that good. I-"

"How long have you been playing?" Virgil stalled her from disappearing back from her balcony and into her own room.

"Erm...ever since my mum passed, so that's...six years - but it's all self-taught," Tam flustered shyly. It was the first time Virgil had seen her out of her comfort zone.

"That's really impressive. And...I'm sorry about your mom. We lost our mother, Lucy, when we were just boys. Time doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

"No... but I guess, those who are lucky have, or find others to live for," Tam sighed pensively.

They both stood silently for a moment, lost in memory and deep in thought.

After a moment, Virgil gently cleared his throat.

"Do you like stars?"

"Stars?"

"Mmmm."

"Yes. I mean, especially here. They're so vivid and... ethereal!" Tam enthused.

"Well, if you can spare ten minutes; I'd love to share something with you. You can see it best from the Comms balcony," he gestured.

"Oh...I mean, sure?"

"You don't have to. It's nothing really. I-"

"No, no! I'd love to see," Tam assured, seeing that whatever he was referencing, held a great deal of meaning to him...whatever it was.

"Cool. I'll meet you up there in five."

*. *. *.

Tam found Virgil already waiting outside of the Comms room.

He greeted her with a genuine smile, before turning his face to the tapestry of stars in the near-midnight sky.

“Okay. I'm no John, but you can't have two spacecase brothers without learning a handful of constellations,” Virgil waved vaguely.

“Mmm. I bet.”

"Erm...Do you know many constellations?” he queried, not wanting to patronize another potential spacecase.

“Erm, well...that one over there's the North Star.” Tam pointed to the brightest light gleaming proudly in the sky.

“That's…actually Five. John's obviously overdone his teeth whitening gel.”

Tam snorted as she laughed.

“Spoken like a true brother.”

"Alright...so you'll have to use your imagination...like, a lot..." Virgil smiled.

"Cassiopeia, can you see her?"

Virgil guided Tam's hand up to the constellation.

"Angle your head slightly. It's a..."

"M?"

"Mmm hmm. Now, Auriga - that's your O." He guided her wrist as she traced the shape.

"Bare with me for the next one!"

"Okay."

"This is where you'll have to really use your imagination. You see Gemini - the twins?"

"Erm...yep, got it!"

"Okay, forget their top halves.

"Said no guy ever."

"It's all about their legs." he winked.

"Look..." He guided her hand once more in the final shape of an M.

"Mom."

"Mmm hmm."

Tam hummed appreciatively; the loveliest of smiles forming on her face as she gazed on the astral wonder.

"It really is beautiful," Tam mused.

"Beautiful," Virgil agreed, watching her smile.

Quietly, Tam began humming the melody from earlier, and the palms gently swayed in the light of the moon.

*. *. *

Virgil roused.

Grandma!

He made to move before the rest of his senses had even come back online.

Pain was the elicited result.

He hissed and a gentle hand was felt at his shoulder.

"You're okay, I've got you, I've got you."

The voice was familiar but conscious thought still eluded him.

Everything hurt.

Thinking hurt.

Just then, the voice began humming a familiar tune that filled his darkness with starlight.

[annabethy]

"i won't tell a soul"

There are a lot of things Annabeth had never imagined about her life. 

For starters, she’d never imagined herself making it this far. Twenty years isn’t all that much in the grand scheme of things, but it feels a lifetime away from when she was seven years old, wondering if it would ever get better. Somehow, she’s far from the little girl running from monsters with her tiny fingers wrapped around a hammer. It’s entirely different having the warmth of a home and people to come home to.

She’d also never imagined herself here, lying in the arms of someone who’d walk through hell with a smile if it meant keeping her safe. 

It’s a nice change, she thinks, watching Percy’s rhythmic breathing. It’s dark in the living room, the only light sprinkling in through the icy windows, but it’s just enough for her to make out the shape of him, to analyze the rise and fall of his chest every few seconds and just feel relief that he, too, had made it this far. Annabeth had spent far too many years terrified that each breath she watched him take would be his last. 

Like the snow to the ground, those worries fade away.

Annabeth would drift to sleep, but she finds that she doesn’t want to quite yet, so she watches him some more. They hadn’t intended to fall asleep on his mother’s living room couch, but it turns out watching movies all night is easier said than done when you’re two demigods battling something far more exhausting than monsters: college. She knew he was exhausted that day anyway, and he probably would’ve gone to bed earlier to begin with if it weren’t for her begging for a movie night.

He’s not usually the first to sleep, but she’s not complaining. She’s warm in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest, and she can’t really move without risking waking him up, but there are worse places to be and worse battles to fight. She should know. She’d been running from them longer than she can remember. Until now, anyway. Annabeth hopes it can always be like this, snowy nights in his mom’s apartment. She knows it won’t always be, but maybe that’s okay too. They get to really live now, without fear that each kiss is their last. They get the chance to grow up and have these nights in their own apartment. She imagines there will be marriage, and eventually, a few kids. Sons and daughters.

The thought is bittersweet. As much as she wants that, she doesn’t want to give this up.

For a while longer, she doesn’t have to.

She shifts in closer to Percy, digging her nose into the soft fabric of his sweater, and she just exists. She exists until the world around her fades, until the arms around her back tighten and she feels safer than she ever has. Until she thinks she might drift to sleep, if it weren’t for the warm lips pressing to the curve of her ear, and the sleepy voice that asks, “Are you okay?”

Annabeth smiles softly and lifts her face to catch the eyes that stare back at her. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Percy stretches languidly, but he keeps her gathered close. “Only a little.”

She giggles softly at the nonsensical answer, resuming her place against his chest when he’s done shifting around. It’s the little things she notices, like his index finger tracing shapes into her back beneath her gray crewneck stolen from his closet, light as the feeling flowing through her. It’s the big things she notices too, like the way he moves his hand away from that spot to lift her chin away from his chest so he can give her a proper kiss or two, and one on the nose for good measure.

“We can head to my room,” he suggests quietly, voice still laced with sleep. “You don’t look very comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” she assures. “Go back to sleep.”

“And miss out on your pretty face?”

“You had no qualms five minutes ago.”

“And I feel awful about it, really.” Percy gives her another sweet kiss. She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. “Have you been up long?”

“A bit,” she answers vaguely.

“And you didn’t wake me up? Was I not invited?”

“Your lack of sleep is making you delirious,” she tells him. “Go back to sleep, Percy.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Stare at your pretty face,” she mocks.

Percy gasps, and though she can’t see him, she imagines him shooting her an insulted look when he pinches her side.

“It was a compliment!”

“It was not and you know it.” His hand rubs over the spot he’d pinch in apology, not that it had really hurt in the first place. “Seriously, let’s go to bed. I feel bad keeping you up.”

“You’re not keeping me up,” she promises. “I’m just thinking.”

“Thinking?” She can hear the grin in his voice. “What about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Well, now you’ve got me on the edge of my seat. I won’t be able to sleep until you tell me.”

“You make a good point,” Annabeth kisses his jaw. “But no.”

“You prick.”

“You love me.”

“I really do,” he laughs. “A shame. I could have anyone I want if I so much as look at them–”

“Sure you can, buddy.”

“But I don’t because you love me too.”

“Who said that?”

“Do you not?”

“I don’t not, but I also didn’t say that,” she points out, snickering. “You’re making assumptions here.”

“Okay, aside from the million times you’ve said it before, yeah, I made some assumptions there.” Percy grabs her face and brings her close. Now, she can see the playful twinkle in his eye, and she can feel the breath that hits her lips with each shallow inhale. “But you do, right?”

Annabeth just laughs in his face. “I have a secret.”

And Percy seems to know where this is going. He squeezes her cheeks twice before letting go. “Please tell me your secret. I’ll die without knowing this secret of which I have no idea what it could possibly be.”

“It’s really embarrassing. You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“I will not promise that. Now, tell me.”

“It could destroy my life, Percy. Promise me.”

Percy’s laughing now, and she is too. Their voices are hushed because his mom and sister are a few doors down, and the last thing she’d want to do is risk waking them up. She’d feel guilty if they did, but it would also disturb this carefully balanced peace that is far and few between on nights like these.

His nose nudges hers. “I promise.”

“I love you too.”

It would’ve always come to this. They’ve made it this far. They’ve made it past the worst.

“You can trust me,” he says, pulling her closer. “I won’t tell a soul.”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Six

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.2k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The Red Force is closing in on the port of Ingles, a town known for its construction services and lumber milling. The island itself is forested and sports mountains that Benn has described as a wilderness. It’s no wonder that the logging and construction business booms in Ingles, and you look forward to seeing the looming mountains. Kuri Island has hills—the Bonn manor is perched on one—but it holds no mountains nor thick forests. Even your best efforts to act ladylike can’t hold back the excitement running through your veins.

Now you are just standing on the deck, hands clutching the railing as you lean out and feel the wind and salt on your face. The white sleeves of the tunic you wear flutter and flap, dancing to the turbulent wind propelling the large ship across cerulean water. The town means you can pawn off your necklace and earrings for Berry, and then get clothes that fit you better.

You are more than thankful to be wearing Shanks’ spare clothing rather than your wedding dress, but the fabric dwarfs your body and is ill-fitting. The sleeves tend to drag when you help Lucky in the kitchen, and you have to use one of Hongo’s bandages as a belt to keep the trousers around your waist. Add the cut sandals practically taped to your feet… To put it simply, you look ridiculous!

But even in the ridiculous clothes that your mother would faint over if she ever saw you wearing such, you can’t help but bask in the feeling of freedom. You’ve never had the luxury of being in charge of your own clothing, you’ve never even worn trousers before, and there isn’t even a corset in sight! You sigh in happiness once more and beam, wondering what type of clothes you’d want to get for your new life.

Dresses wouldn’t be particularly useful to you, not when you find trousers so freeing and easy to move in, but you wouldn’t mind having one simple nice dress to have on hand. It wouldn’t hurt to treat yourself to a nice dinner at one of the restaurants Lucky has been telling you about. Even you know that certain dress codes are expected in certain places. So one dress will do. But you’ll mostly invest some money in tunics, trousers, two pairs of shoes, and a nice hat to block out the sun.

Then there is the glaring fact that you need to ensure your safety. You are no fool. The Blues are dangerous and filled with both good and bad people. Pirates. You are going to acquire a blade and learn how to use it (yet another task of learning you have to accomplish). Dropping your elbow to the railing, you rest your chin in hand.

“So much to do, I haven’t a clue where to start,” you speak to yourself, eyes watching the whitecaps forming as waves curl and crash.

“Well, for starters, we’re getting you into clothes that actually fit,” Shanks' voice softly floats into your ears over the sound of waves and Yasopp’s off-key singing. Twisting your head, you look at the red-haired captain with a pragmatic smile.

“Oh believe me, the first thing I plan on doing is choosing my own clothing. I’ve never been allowed to pick what I wear,” you reply as he takes a spot next to you. Your eyes look at the cloak he has draped over his arm stump. A cloak, you should get one too; everyone seems to have some sort of overcoat or the like. Shanks’ eyebrow pops up at your word choice but says nothing. He isn’t surprised that you’ve never been allowed to pick your own clothes. You’ve been nothing but a porcelain doll for your mother to play with. Shanks rubs his jaw in contemplation.

“The stores in Ingles focus on practical clothing, the type of clothes that are good and sturdy for traveling. It’ll be nothing like what you’re used to,” Shanks slowly explains, wondering if you’ll be bothered by less-than-luxurious fabrics. He doesn’t think you will be, but he’s yet to see you interact outside of the controlled environment of his ship. A thoughtful look crosses your face before you reply.

“Oh, I look forward to that,” you sigh in pure happiness. “These trousers might not fit, but they are a dream.” You glance down at the threadbare and simplistic trousers. “I’ve never had the luxury of feeling the wind against my feet and ankles.” Shanks wants to tell you that normally pants don’t reveal ankles and your ill-fitting trousers are far from luxury… but the glow of happiness upon your face is something he never dreamed of diminishing, so he keeps his silence on the topic.

“Just wait until you learn all about shorts,” he chooses to say, a grin creeping onto his face at the idea of how you’ll react to your entire legs being unhindered by layers of fabric. Shanks is sure you might even flop into a faint of excitement the moment you realize you could choose to wear something so revealing! He eyes your face a little more closely, drinking in the faint laugh lines and natural curves. The pirate is honestly stunned that you can still smile and appear so full of life after living in such circumstances as you had fled from. Turning his gaze back to the calm sea waters, Shanks looks forward to seeing what other delights are in store for you.

You are greatly embarrassed to say that your first few steps off the Red Force nearly have you face-planting with a far-from-elegant squawk. Benn catches your falling body early, large hands clutching your waist so you comically dangle in his grasp with your arms cartwheeling. You are sure that your face would be beet red if it were anatomically possible when he steadies you and all eyes are on you. Clearing your throat, you sway a little and take a deep gulp of air, trying to steady yourself again.

“Is it always like that?” you question as if you hadn’t nearly just made a scene of yourself. Your eyes are going everywhere in an effort not to look at their faces, for you feel like you might cry in embarrassment. Before any hot tears welling up in your eyes can fall, Bonk Punch speaks.

“Shoulda’ seen Monster the first day he was on the ship, took to sea like a champ, but when we got back on dry land for supplies…?” The man rubs his bald head in squeamish contemplation.

“Monkey vomit, for days,” Hongo rumbles, moving past you. “Tell me if you feel sick before you vomit on me, okay?”

“I’m not going to vomit on anyone!” you huff out indignantly, still dangling in Benn’s hold while the rest of the crew lumbers off the ship with containers to be filled. “That would be rude and unsightly of me!” Monster lets out a screech and swings himself onto a barrel to glare at you accusatorily. You regard the primate with a frank look. “I am a lady, you are a monkey. You have no expectations to meet, Monster. I do.”

Your words seem to make sense in the monkey’s brain because he leaps back onto Bonk Punch’s shoulder as Benn carefully sets you back on your feet. You still feel like you are swaying, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

“No one expects anything from you, Aria,” Shanks’ voice comes from behind you as he jogs down the gangplank, adjusting his hat. “So if you vomit on Hongo, no one’s going to judge, or care.” The doctor in question begins grumbling while your face burns.

“I will absolutely not be vomiting on anyone, and that is final!” you clearly state, stamping your makeshift sandal on the dock. “Gods, you are all such… such men!” You erupt, flinging your fingers upwards. Shanks only grins at you and holds out his hand to you.

“I’m glad you noticed. Now, why don’t you stick close? We’re going to be splitting up. The men will get supplies while I get you clothes,” Shanks tells you, watching as your face morphs to give him a look. He takes your hand and pulls you along. “And no making passive-aggressive faces at me, Aria. I already said I was paying and that is final.”

As Shanks pulls you along and away from the rest of the men, Benn leans over to Hongo.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna argue with him when it comes time to pay?” Hongo snorts and shakes his head.

“I’ll double whatever you’re placing… there is no way that little lady isn’t going to dig her heels in till the last second. Stubborn as a mule, that one…” Yasopp drops his arms over the two men’s shoulders.

“How ‘bout we make bets on how much he’s gonna spend ‘cause we all know she ain’t going to be allowed to part with a single Berry.” Hongo and Benn nod in agreement, fully realizing that no matter what you say or do, Shanks will be paying at the end of the day. “Alright! Who’s betting what?” Berry numbers are called as the crew makes their way towards the market.

You’ve been led back to the alteration room by Annie, the seamstress of Ingles, and stripped down to your lace bridal underwear and bra set. The woman hasn’t said a word about the clearly too formal undergarments but has informed her assistant that you will also be requiring undergarments with your purchase this day. Annie is no-nonsense in whipping your undergarments off to be measured, and within a matter of only a few minutes, you are wearing a set much more comfortable and appropriate for your new daily life.

Shirts are the easiest to pick out for you. You’ve indicated that you want practical clothing, something that will survive the seas but look nice enough milling around a market. Annie packages up nearly ten shirts of varying designs and colors, all to match the simple trousers you’ve picked out. Two pairs you’ve picked: cream and black. Those colors go with everything. You have picked a pair of grey trousers that are too short for your legs, stopping mid-calf, to wear out of the shop. Annie has tried to convince you to try on a pair that fits the length of your legs, but you have stated that you want to feel the wind on your ankles, so Annie has acquiesced. Now you are picking out a shirt to wear out of the shop and having trouble deciding on a color.

“What about this one?” Annie’s assistant offers, holding up a green shirt that reminds you a lot of the tunic that Shanks often wears. You blink at it, squint in observation, and nod.

“I like that color and style. It’s not too tight but also made from sturdy material,” you speak in approval. “I plan on spending a lot of time traveling. Is it easy to clean?” The assistant nods as Annie walks over, carrying fabric draped over her arm.

“That material is resistant to stains and tearing, but don’t go looking for knife fights,” Annie agrees, also approving of the choice. “It’ll be a good one for spending time at sea. The dye used is resistant to sun bleaching, so the green will last longer.”

“I hadn’t thought about sun bleaching,” you softly comment, scolding yourself for not thinking of such a thing. Your clothes won’t be hanging in a closet meticulously cared for by an army of maids. Placing your hands on your bare hips, you nod firmly. “I would like to wear that shirt out, please set it aside with the trousers.”

“Now, dear, you mentioned wanting to have a nice dress to wear?” Annie speaks, tabbing through some fabrics on a shelf. “Something to impress your man out there?” Your eyes dart to the front of the shop where Shanks is presumably reading the town’s paper. Heat fills your cheeks.

“Not mine, not mine,” you utter out frantically, holding your arms against your chest as if they would keep your heart from beating out of your body. Shanks is a very handsome man. Kind and generous too. But he isn’t yours, and it certainly isn’t a good idea to entertain such a thought… never mind that you don’t really know him in the weeks you’ve spent on the Red Force, and for all you know, he is a terrible person having a nice streak!

It would be nice to have a man like him, though…

You clear your throat, quelling the heat within your cheeks.

“Shanks is not mine. He is just being incredibly kind in helping me out of a tough situation I found myself in. Nothing more,” you say that last part more to yourself than to Annie, and the seamstress raises her eyebrow.

“Oh?” she spouts, eyeing you closer. You may think that you hide your emotions well, but the seamstress is no spring chicken. “Well, dear, not just any man spends this much on a single woman unless he’s got a claim.” That makes you sputter.

“But I said I would pay!” you erupt, embarrassment quickly shifting to anger. “I specifically told him that I would be the one to purchase my clothing, and he had already done enough for me!” Annie snorts this time and rolls her eyes. Oh, to be your age again…

“Tell that to the stack of Berry he handed to me when you were changing…” she says dryly, enjoying the way you huff and puff in belligerence. “Face it, dear, he’s paying whether or not you want him to.” You are left stewing in place as the woman begins to build the dress you want from scratch.

Annie has pinned the dress to your body and made adjustments until you are happy with the result, then spent an extra hour fussing over each and every detail of the lavender fabric that matches your hair so well. You don’t understand why she wants to spend so much time on a dress meant to be something that would never see a ball or gala… but she has muttered something about liking details and the beauty of simplicity. So you let her fuss.

Now you are dressing yourself in the grey trousers, green shirt, shoes that actually fit your feet properly, and looking at the selection of hats available. You’ve braided your hair back so it will be out of the way and less of a hassle while sailing the sea. Most of the hats will fit your need just fine, but it is going to be your hat. You don’t want just any old hat. Unconsciously you find yourself leaning towards the straw hats, liking the way they are simple yet will do their job perfectly.

Plucking a straw hat with a wider brim than others, your finger traces the black ribbon wrapped around it until you stroke the neat bow at the back. It is perfect! It is simple, will do the job, and has just enough femininity to it to match your wardrobe. Turning the hat, you place it on your head and adjust it before walking over to the floor-length mirror you’ve spent the morning standing in front of.

Oh my.

You hardly recognize your reflection. Gone is the refined lady of the Bonn family, replaced by a lavender-haired woman who holds herself with regality but looks like she belongs on a ship at sea.

“It’s perfect,” you sigh happily, running your hands along the coarse material of your trousers. There is nothing delicate about your trousers, your tunic, or your boots. They are built for travel, for daily trekking, for use. Fiddling with the strings hanging from your new hat, you turn on your heel and look to Annie and her assistant. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before. Does this look okay?”

“You look like an average traveler,” Annie tells you, walking forwards and nitpicking nonexistent creases in your clothing. “Which I believe is the look you are going for? Of course, nothing you wear will take away from your natural beauty, dear. Can’t hide that.”

“I just don’t want to be found by my family. It was trouble enough leaving them,” you sigh, picking at the end of your short braid. “Maybe I should dye my hair.”

“That’d be a right shame if you did, miss,” the assistant speaks up. “You don’t want to erase yourself trying to find your freedom. You might lose yourself entirely if you do.” She has a point; you can admit that. So you’ll leave your hair alone and hope that your luck will continue.

“Alright then,” you say, turning to address them. “How much do I owe you?”

“A smile, girl, and if you offer me Berry one more time, I’m going to sic your gentleman on you.” Annie tells you with a strict look. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a soft groan, realizing that Shanks has indeed won this battle. Very well. So you give Annie and the assistant one of your best smiles and thank them before venturing to the front of the shop. You can see Shanks standing outside, across the road from the shop, leaning against the railing of the overlook to the port of Ingles. No doubt he has felt cooped up in the shop.

Knowing that Annie will have your dress and clothes delivered to the Red Force when everything is ready and packed up, you depart the shop and quietly walk up to the red-haired man.

“Finally done, eh?” Shanks asks, admiring the view of the ocean and the breeze he can feel on his face. It is a rather nice day, he has to admit, too bad you have spent most of it inside. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll have more of a chance to show you around.

“I am not happy you wouldn’t let me pay,” you announce, stopping beside him and enjoying the view. Shanks chuckles and rolls his eyes. He has practically spent the entire day arguing with you over who got to pay for your clothes. Shanks has ultimately put his foot down and talked with Annie about not letting you pay.

“Consider it a gift, Aria. You’re starting a new life.” Shanks chuckles before giving you a brief glance. Looking back at the horizon, his head snaps back to you in surprise. He knows that you will be leaving the shop wearing new clothes, but he hasn’t realized just how fitting and beautiful you’d look in just pants and a shirt. While he stares at you, drinking in the sight and realizing just how well you’d fit in with the crew now, you blink at him and wonder if you look odd to him. He sure is staring for a long time.

“Do I look weird in these clothes? Annie said I looked fine, but I feel odd wearing them since I’ve never picked my own clothes before.” Shanks reaches up and flicks his finger along the edge of your straw hat, reminded of a certain boy he’d left behind years ago. You have the same passion in your eyes. A frightfully attractive passion he is slowly coming to terms with. Better move on before you catch on to the fact that he is unabashedly checking you out.

“You look like you fit in with a crowd, Aria. The clothes are perfect,” he says before straightening up. “I got word that the men finished with the resupply and found a tavern. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Date Published: 1/11/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[drpeppertummy]

i will be real with you the entire time i was writing this i had absolutely no idea what id already written

[very mild stuffing, mostly just two old fruits eating dinner & cuddling & bein mushy]

Leon slipped his arms around Shel's narrow waist from behind while he cooked, propping his chin against his shoulder. Gently, he snuck his hands under Shel's shirt and rested them on his belly. Shel was a thin person; there was no denying that. Where there had once been hip bones sharply jutting out, though, Leon found only the soft swell of his lower belly. He held his hands there for a moment, taking in the warmth of that soft curve, then gave it a gentle squeeze. Shel smiled and craned his neck around to nuzzle his cheek against Leon's forehead.

Shel had been nothing short of scrawny for just about his entire life. It was only once he started spending time with Leon that he began to soften up a little; perhaps trying to get his dysfunctional sweetheart to eat better was rubbing off on him as well. The two spent many an evening enjoying a hearty home-cooked meal together, just as they were planning to do tonight.

Leon was reluctant to take his hands off of Shel's lovely little tummy, but the dirty cutting board was calling him. He leaned up to kiss him on the cheek before retreating to the sink. Shel remained at the stove, stirring the sizzling vegetables around in the pan. The kitchen smelled wonderful. They had salmon in the oven, drizzled with a glaze of dijon mustard and maple syrup, and cooking on the stove was a colorful medley of squash, asparagus, and broccoli. Leon's belly rumbled, and Shel smiled. He turned away from the stove--the vegetables needed a chance to brown anyhow--and pulled Leon into his arms, nuzzling his face deep into the crook of his neck.

"Shelly!" Leon jerked at the sudden tickling sensation, laughing. Shel hugged him tightly.

"I just like cookin' with you is all," Shel mumbled into his neck. "You're my perfect helper."

"Oh yeah? What are the qualifications?"

"Cute, for starters," said Shel, lifting his head to kiss Leon's cheek. "Sweet. Funny. Uh, warm." He slipped his hands under Leon's shirt to press them into his warm belly, and he gasped at the cold touch. There was little Shel adored more than Leon's plush, pillowy tummy, save for his cats and Leon himself. It was delightfully plump, poking out adorably over the top of his pajama pants, and the squishy little pooch under his belly button fit perfectly in Shel's bony hands. Leon didn't share quite the same appreciation for it, but if Shel loved it so much, he supposed it couldn't be bad.

At long last, dinner was ready, and the two decided to forgo the table and snuggle up together on the couch with their plates. It was a chilly, rainy evening outside, but Shel's cozy living room was warm, and the gentle patter of the rain against the windows was pleasant. Leon's belly rumbled again as they got themselves situated. Shel gave it an affectionate pat, unable to hold back an amused grin.

"Hey, you had lunch today, didn't you?"

"Huh? Um, I think so. Probably?" Leon ran through the long, busy work day in his mind. Shel rolled his eyes.

"Eat your fish, you goofball," he said, smiling fondly. Leon didn't need to be told twice. He gladly obliged, and Shel gladly joined him. Everything had come out perfect. The fish was flaky and flavorful, and the vegetables were tender but still just crisp enough. Leon's empty stomach welcomed the first delicious bites with open arms.

"I don't know if I'm gonna be able to eat this whole thing," remarked Shel, and Leon chuckled.

"Have you ever eaten a whole anything?"

"I ate a whole pea once," said Shel. "Skin and all." Leon laughed out loud, covering his mouth in an attempt to keep himself from dribbling half-chewed squash all over the place, and Shel grinned down at him.

As it turned out, Shel was right. He had the stomach capacity of a stray chihuahua, and, despite a valiant effort, the big hunk of fish proved to be just a bit too much. He set the plate on the coffee table, covering it with a napkin to keep the cats out of his leftovers, and settled himself against Leon's lap, resting his hands on his full tummy.

"Full already?"

"Stuffed." Even not having cleaned his plate, Shel had pushed himself just a smidge too far, his stomach teetering just on the edge of discomfort. His tummy poked out ever so slightly under his soft pajama shirt, and Leon gave it a gentle pat.

"Boy, I'll say," he said, surprised at how firm his belly felt. He supposed it couldn't have felt too bad, though; that pinched pout of discomfort he was all too familiar with was nowhere to be seen on Shel's pretty face, only a content, sleepy little smile. Leon gazed down at him a moment, utterly gripped by his beauty--his delicate features, the crinkles of the smile in his eyes, the sea of silver waves that was his hair.

"Leon, eat your dinner," said Shel, both amused and touched by the look of adoration on Leon's face. It wasn't a look he'd ever imagined anybody might direct toward him, but it was one he was almost growing used to now--used to, but certainly not tired of.

"You're very distracting, you know," said Leon, tenderly brushing one of Shel's remaining mousy brown hairs out of his face before picking up his fork again. Shel smiled innocently at him, batting his eyelashes sweetly. Leon rolled his eyes and took another bite of salmon. He was beginning to feel full himself, although not quite full enough to slow down; each bite was still just as irresistible as the last. He didn't start slowing down until he was nearly finished, his belly growing snug against his shirt.

While he only had a few bites left on his plate, Leon's stomach had finally begun to catch up with him, and those last few bites were beginning to seem like a lot. He paused for a moment, letting out a little sigh. His belly gurgled softly as its contents settled, and he brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a quiet burp. Shel gazed up at him adoringly from his lap, appreciating the mundane sweetness of his movements and the way the glow of the light filtering through his thick, dark hair from above made him look like an angel. It wasn't an angle he often saw Leon from, being taller than him. Leon glanced down suddenly, finally noticing Shel's stare.

"Hey, good-lookin'," said Shel with a suave smile, and then he broke into laughter at the cheesy line. Somebody at work had once said that Shel's laugh sounded like an old man being smothered to death, but as far as Leon was concerned, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He grinned down at him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey! I just brushed that," Shel exclaimed, grabbing at Leon's hand.

"You're gonna make me drop broccoli all over your head!"

"I'll just pick it off and feed it to you," teased Shel, reaching up and plucking a piece of broccoli from Leon's plate. "Finish your dinner already so we can get to foolin' around." Leon laughed, and Shel fed him the broccoli, then licked off his fingers.

Slowly but surely, Leon finished off the last few bites of his dinner, his belly feeling snug and tight as he pushed it just over the edge of stuffed. It had rounded out nicely against his shirt, not alarmingly distended but undeniably and visibly full. He set his plate down beside Shel's on the table and leaned back with a sigh. Another little burp bubbled up and escaped, and he rested a hand atop his belly.

"Man, that was a big hunk of fish," he said, rubbing at the taut bulge of his stomach.

"Wasn't it? And you were makin' fun of me," teased Shel.

"I still ate the whole thing, though," said Leon.

"I guess so," agreed Shel. He lifted Leon's shirt up just enough to expose his belly button, then leaned his head in to plant a kiss on his tummy. Leon blushed brightly. With an adoring look in his eyes, Shel sat his hands on Leon's sides, idly rubbing the soft skin of his belly with one thumb. Slowly and deliberately, he placed another kiss, letting his lips linger against the warm surface for an extra moment. Then, he snuggled up against Leon, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist and resting his cheek against his tummy.

He remained there while Leon gently stroked his hair, listening to the soft gurgles of his belly as it worked away at the big dinner. As big as it had been, neither of them felt uncomfortably full, although it wouldn't have taken much more to get them there. Leon rested his other hand on Shel's tummy, enamored with the way it bulged just barely noticeably under his shirt. This was all that "foolin' around" would consist of tonight; they both were full and sleepy and perfectly content to simply stay there and hold each other.

[autistickremylecroux]

Hey!

i know u stated that u are not confident in honkai star rail but, i was wondering if u could do a luka x reader?

i have a prompt which hopefully is not that detailed.

luka and reader try to set up seelie and Bronya but they pull an uno reverse and they are in fact pretending to not be dating to set luka and reader up (becuz them setting seelie and bronya and bringing them together)

i hope this is not too much! also u can call me 🪞 anon!

Fake dates and cake trays : Luka x gn!reader

I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG!ALL MY WRITING MOTIVATION DISAPPEARED 😭 take this apology fic anon-which-i-cant-find-the-emoji-for [also i have 0 idea if my writing Luka was accurate or not :,> ] anyway i edited it so it was like christmas special :D i like ice skating expect ice skating fics WC:1079

Tick,tock,tick,tock. You glanced at your watch, the other two were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

“Calm down [name], it’ll work!Our plan is foolproof” He chuckled to himself, his red hair swaying a bit. You glanced at his meal, he had ordered a starter. You hadn’t been hungry, so you simply got some water. Luca had scoffed everything down, well almost everything. Even the post-match hunger couldn’t convince him to eat some simple vegetables that came on the side.

You smiled to yourself, “are you even going to eat that?” you moved your hand to the side and grabbed your fork, moving it towards his plate. He made a defensive pout sort of expression. Before giving up and sliding the plate towards you. And you continued chatting.

“Are you going to order anything else?It’s been an hour since you both finished your food” The rather agitated waitress said, the still smile not moving. You glanced nervously at Luka, neither of you had seen Seele and Bronya, the entire reason you had been here.

“Yeah! I’ll get… that please” Luka chirped, pointing to something on the menu. “And they’ll have [your favourite meal idk] “ The waitress nodded, walking away quickly. “I mean, we’re here already?Might as well get some food too.” He chuckled and shrugged.

You didn’t question how he knew your favourite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You both waited by the fountain, your eyes were scanning the crowd— and mostly Luka, who was currently trying to pick up a pigeon. To no avail.

FINALLY! You spotted Bronya walk out of the flower shop with Seele, you quickly grabbed the back of Luka’s vest thing, and yanked him towards you.

“Hey— be careful next time” he huffed,rubbing the back of his neck.Before he saw what you saw. “Wait— they didn’t buy anything?!C’mon that was the best plan we have tried so far!” he whined slightly,running his hands through his hair before grinning. “Well! we’ll just have to try again”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You watched as Luka tapped his fingers on the bench, the other two were late again. He seemed restless, or maybe excited. Maybe both. You sighed, resting your chin in your hands.

“do i have something on my face?” He said, and you snapped back. He was looking you directly in the eyes, and for a moment, one moment, you wanted nothing more than to cup his cheeks in your hands and kiss him.

At that thought, you forced a cough, trying to fight the heat rising in your cheeks. “It’s nothing, i just zoned out” You chuckle, and for a second he frowns, before his phone beeps,and he quickly— far too quick to be normal— grabs his phone. He sighs, but you can see his eyes glitter in a way.

“Bronya and Seele aren’t going, apparently there’s some business about the underground they need to sort out.” He says, leaning down to tighten his ice skates. “it’s just us two again”

You stood up, shaking your feet a bit to get used to the weight on your feet, you grabbed Luka’s arm and pulled him up too. He stumbled a bit, but you managed to catch him. You couldn’t help looking at him for a few seconds longer than usual.

He started to walk forward towards the rink, happily dragging you along now, he seemed eager to get on the ice. I mean, it was the best chance ever! If you fell over he could catch you and it would be just oh so romantic, and maybe afterwards he’d be able to ask you to be his partner like he’d been meaning to for the last month. Seele had officially put the boot down, if he wasn’t going to say something. She would do it for him.

You both stood at the edge of the ice, Luka was eager, too eager. He immediately set a foot out, but he clearly didn’t expect it to slip so much as it did.And his leg gave out under him. You managed to catch him , and the look of embarrassment almost made it harder to not laugh than it already was. He was bright red!

He tried again,this time a bit more careful. He stumbled and wobbled around the place,managing to stand up straight while clinging to the railing. After a set of finger guns and almost slipping again. You joined Luka on the ice, it was a bit slippy. But you were able to more or less stay upright. Unlike your friend, you grabbed both his hands, the warm skin of one contrasting with the cool metal of the other.

With some movement you were able to go slightly backwards, you did almost fall. But you got the hang of it, Luka however did not. And every few metres he’d fall again, you’d catch him.

You weren’t able to catch him the last time, he had been improving, and wanted to go a bit of length without your help, but ended up slipping on the ice, and ended up with his palm and knees scratched by the now roughened ice.

Now you were both sitting in an attached cafe, hot chocolates in hand. You watched as he tried to discretely eat the cream before continuing to drink it, but with the low quality wood stir he had picked up it wasn’t going too well. He looked up, and you spent a full moment staring into those damned blue eyes. He tilted his head, and scrunched his eyes slightly in confusion. But you just chuckled in response.

As the time passed, you could sense him getting nervous, his legs were bouncing and he kept glancing around the room. You knew what was going to happen, he wasn’t exactly subtle.

But it was still impossible to not smile when it finally happened. When he finally turned to you and smiled that same damn smile that made your heart feel like it was about to explode. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, so, wanna be my partner?Like officially and all—“

You grinned, and he seemed confused for a moment. Not seeming to get it. “Can i kiss you?”

“what?”

“can i kiss you” you repeated, and he nodded. You moved forward softly, kissing him softly on the lips, his lips tasted faintly like cherry chapstick, and you faintly recognised it as one of your old ones.

“you stole my chapstick again didnt you?”

[dozing-marshmallow]

OTHER FRANKIE X READER ONE SHOT: PHILOSOPHY

You diligently hovered your highlighter over the grid of jumbled letters, a word search you found in the bin. There were twenty two words, and so far, you found seven of them. Currently, you were trying to find "Anselm".

“Enjoying yourself, contestant?”

You nearly jumped and had to take a second to pull yourself together when you saw it was just Frankie, the “rational” one,"You need to stop doing that."

“Life has no warnings! I’m simply preparing your adrenaline for next season!” he chirped, before peering over your shoulder,“You know, you ought to be training your limb muscles, not brain muscles.”

“What’s the problem? Can’t the star of your show take a break to complete a scrunched up word search that probably has more germs than the dollars you promised?” your voice was rich in sarcasm. You went back to concentrating on the word search, hearing Frankie scoff in return.

“Very funny, contestant. Say, you don’t appear puzzled by the terminology in this particular word search.”

“Well yeah, because it’s philosophy. I used to love it when I was younger.” you shared, finding the word “contingent” (it was vertical on the bottom left corner).

“Is that so? So you dictate about the pointless meaning of life?”

You shrugged,“I just share whatever bits of information I still have stored and, it’s always enough to get people to think.”

“Well, I want to think! Go on, lucky contestant. Let that brain be put to use before it’s splattered across the ground.” he commanded morbidly cheerfully.

At this point, you’re desensitised to the concept of your death,“What, you want to be a fellow consumer on this?” you asked, not quite believing it and instead thought he was joking, steering your attention back on the rabbit,“You?”

“Why not? I know so little about the world you come from.” his tone held a childlike field.

You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to show off some of your old knowledge,"Well...” you got done with highlighting another word (Existence, centre bottom),“Okay, it’ll be a lot easier to start with theories on the existence of God. For starters, there's Paley’s Design Argument." you cleared your throat,"He basically argued that if you were walking outside and scratched your foot against a rock, you wouldn't think much of it, but if you saw a watch, you would know instantly it was made by someone with high intelligence. So, in the same way, he thinks the world had to be designed by someone with high intelligence, which would be God."

Frankie rested his chin on his red palm, seeming to contemplate, before speaking up,"I see. It's a clever analogy, but uh, I can already detect many faults with it."

You nod,"Yeah, there are a lot of flaws with this argument. There are the strengths like how it’s easy to understand and makes sense, but what did you think initially?"

"Why would someone be walking outside without shoes on?" You don’t know what you were expecting from a sentimental robot.

"That's...not the point.” you voiced with slight disappointment,“How about going along the lines of "why would it assume I wouldn't question the creator of the rock too?" "

"Oh yeah!" he exclaimed,"But I wouldn't."

"Do you even know what a rock looks like?" you asked jokingly.

"Of course I do!" he huffed, thumping his foot.

"Just checking.” you chuckled, finding amusement from how defensive he got,”What else did you think of?"

"Uh...” he gestured his hand around,“I know from running these wonderful gameshows that even they didn’t start off as the great successes they are now, so with that in mind, contestant, there’s...always room for improvement?”

You nodded again, impressed by how he was applying his own notoriety to make a valid criticism,"That's a good point. Making a watch would mean a lot of trial and error, so it defeats the analogy if we suggest that God had to make mistakes to make the world. Besides, a watchmaker isn't born with the skills to actually make a watch, they had to be taught, so that would imply someone else has greater wisdom. There's also the idea that it can’t confirm any of God's traditional characteristics from any religion."

“Huh? What can’t?” Frankie asked, his inexplicable disconcertion making you tilt your head.

“The Design argument...?” you reminded the animatronic. You might have been saying too much at once.

“Oh, right! Hm...”

You waited five seconds to allow him to catch up,“There's also the idea that whenever we think of intelligent minds, we attatch them to mortal bodies, so the creator of the world could have been mortal and died-"

He interrupted you with inevitable laughter.

You couldn’t help but contribute to the loud expression of amusement, mildly at best,"I know, it's ridiculous."

"Are you sure you’re not just making these up, contestant?” Frankie asked, in the middle of composing himself.

“No no, I swear, these are legitimate flaws.” you clarified.

“Then the other theories must be as terrible!” he dramatically assumed,”How about this one, cosmological? Isn’t that related to space?"

"Oh, yeah." you looked at where he pointed at on the wordsearch and highlighted “Cosmological” (it was vertical, at the top), cheekily pretending he didn’t just give it to you,"The Cosmological argument is basically the idea that all motion in the world is a result of a cause and effect relationship. So, the galaxies, moons, seasons change infinitely, which means there has to be an external agent that causes it all."

He rubs a finger against the side of his head,"That's uh...a pretty big stretch. Couldn’t it control itself? Why try involve a separate entity? Seems desperate."

"Good criticism.” approval left your lips again,“The idea that the universe is its own uncaused necessary being. Aquinas was willing to accept that, since the whole thing is based on sense experiment, not necessary proof."

Somehow, by the end of your sentence, Frankie was grinning wider,"Look at my contestant being all articulate!"

You scoffed,"I’m always articulate, the hell you mean?"

He waved his hand encouragingly, refusing to explain,"Go on."

"Okay well uh, I kinda forgot now." you admitted annoyed, highlighting “Inductive” and “Posteriori” (they were both backwards). Oh, now you remembered,"Ah yeah, flaws. Well, it’s basically the same as the Design Argument, you know, it doesn’t prove that it was just one God that made the universe, let alone a God of any specific religion. One guy would even say that the universe is just a brute fact and there is no way to describe it, which if we claim that everything is a brute fact, what is the point of science?”

The odd silence enabled you to look at him- he was frozen again, so you would wait.

“I...I must say, it’s quite challenging to wrap my head around all these theories.” Frankie commented, spinning his head at 360 degrees on “wrap”,”What is the obsession with theorising whether there’s a God or not? It’s just a waste of time! And there’s certainly no cash in that.”

“There clearly is if there’s one more main argument, if you’re interested.” you chuckled.

“Another one? There you are, just proving my point!” he groaned, comedically tugging on the edges of his ears.

"I’ll keep it short, it’s called the ontological argument and hah, it’s wacky.” you clarified before you went on explaining, finding the name “Anselm” (diagonal in the middle),"It basically argues that anything you think of in your mind, has to be greater in real life since you can think of it.”

Frankie let go off his ears,"Really now?" His face was physically limited to that smile, but his tone molded suggestively as he kept his sight on you.

You scoffed flustered,"Shut the fuck up, Frankie." your highlighter squeaked when you violently pressed it across the letters that formed “necessary” (vertical in the left centre),"But yeah. Obviously, this one is iffy. There was one guy who said something about how the existence of something can’t describe it, so it also links back to how it fails to prove any characteristics of God. There's also the invisible gardener analogy."

"Yes?" he wasn’t looking at you so lewdly anymore so you felt comfortable to explain:

"So these two dudes come to their garden after being away for a long period of time and see how everything is still so tidied. One of the guys suggests it must have been a gardener. So the two wait and wait and wait, and nobody shows up. So the same guy goes aha! The gardener must be invisible. So the two put bear traps, dogs, whatever you could think of, to supposedly catch this invisible gardener. Again, nothing. So the same guy goes aha! There is a gardener, the gardener is just invisible, odorless and intangible! The second person finally replies with well, is there a difference between an invisible, absolutely undetectable gardener to no gardener at all?"

“Hm!” he had the contemplative pose again. You thought he was engaged, until he asked,"Do you like gardens, contestant?"

"Uh...they're okay, I guess?" what were you meant to say?

“Just okay?” this was apparently very important to him,“But don’t gardens grow flowers?”

“Yeah?” Where was he going with this?

He leaned his head close,“And don’t people like flowers to give to their beloved?”

“Uh...” you looked down at your word search and quickly highlighted the remaining words, cheating your way out of escaping Frankie’s elaboration on whatever the hell he was alluding to with that,“Oh no, looks like I finished this one. You wouldn’t happen to have another available, would you?”

[mamawasatesttube]

fluffy soft sentence starters!!! “Never. Never will I stop loving you.”?

Lightning cracks open the sky, a brilliant flash brighter than daybreak. Rain drums against the windowpanes and rolls in sheets down the glass; the Kansas sky is a stormy grey as far as the eye can see. The trees around the farmhouse whip back and forth, bending in the wind, and from the distance comes the low, ominous crackaboom of thunder.

Gotham doesn't really get storms like the Midwest. It makes sense, for a place called Tornado Alley, but it's still a sight to behold. Tim doesn't think he's ever quite understood what Kon means, about the sky out here making everything else feel small, until the first time he saw the magnificent dread of a late summer storm.

Today's, according to all three of Tim's weather apps, has them under tornado watch, but Kon doesn't seem overly concerned. He's halfway to dozing off, his head pillowed on Tim's thigh and Krypto curled up on his legs in lieu of a blanket. He looks cozy.

He's not feeling his best today, though. He hasn't said anything, but Tim knows how to read him. He's been too quiet, and too many of his smiles have been forced.

He scrunches his fingers idly through Kon's soft, springy curls, smiling slightly when Kon hums in appreciation and presses his head a little further into his hand. Krypto does the same thing when he's getting ear scritches.

After a few moments, Kon breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. His fingers curl against Tim's knee.

"Sorry," he mumbles, his voice a little rough from disuse. "For being so... boring today. I know I said we could play Zelda together, 'n' all, and then I've been just... sitting here."

Tim sighs fondly. When will he get it? "I don't mind just sitting here with you. Technically, 'Twilight Princess' is a single-player game. If I really wanted, I could just play it myself, you know."

A flicker of a smile tugs at Kon's lips. "Wouldn't be as funny, though."

"Yeah, no," Tim agrees, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "It wouldn't."

Admittedly, few things are funnier than each of them taking half of the controller for a single-player game and then hoping for the best. Tim prefers to have the joystick for movement control, but that leaves Kon in charge of the camera, except for when Tim overrides him with the target lock-on button. It never really gets them far in a game before they die, but it is really funny.

Thunder crackles and booms outside again. Krypto's ears twitch. Kon heaves another deep, world-weary sigh. His hand reaches up to find Tim's, and he intertwines their fingers, tucking their joined hands under his chin.

"Sometimes, when I get like this," he admits, "I start wondering when you'll get sick of me. Not if, but when. It's so..." He lets out a frustrated breath and bows his head, his lips brushing Tim's knuckles. The stubble on his jaw is a little scratchy against Tim's skin. "I know it's not fair to think of you like that. But my stupid brain doesn't listen to me. It just keeps asking when? when? when?"

Sometimes, Tim wishes he had a time machine just to go back a few years and punt Tana Moon into the ocean. Knockout, too, superstrength and all that or not. And to scream at everybody, his younger self included, for not noticing the kinds of relationships Kon, naive and innocent and so very starved for affection, got groomed into twice over.

In the present, Tim rests his other hand atop Kon's curly head, caressing his thumb over the shaved fuzz behind his ear. "Easy answer," he says. "Never. I will never stop loving you. So tell your brain to suck on that."

That gets a soft, breathy huff of laughter out of Kon. Tim mentally fist-pumps at his success, not bothering to hide his smile. He likes when Kon laughs.

Abruptly, he rolls over in Tim's lap, dislodging Krypto, who lifts his head with a disdainful look in reprimand before he settles himself back down. Kon buries his face in Tim's stomach, sliding his arms around his hips, and lets out a breath.

"Love you too, Rob." His voice is endearingly muffled by Tim's shirt. "...And thanks. For getting it."

"Hey, you always get me," Tim points out, rubbing a small circle into his shoulder. "So, anytime, clone boy. You wanna go take a nap?"

Kon shakes his head. His nose presses into Tim's waist. "Just wanna stay like this a few minutes." He sighs again. "...Then we can make some hot choccy and maybe game after. S'good hot choccy weather."

"Yeah," Tim agrees, resting his hand on his Kon's shoulder. "That sounds good to me."

Thunder rumbles outside again; rain splashes hard against the glass. Inside, though, he feels warm.

[harlowtales]

Reader finds out she is pregnant and doesn’t want to stay hidden in Jack’s life. She gives him an ultimatum.

18+ Drama and Adult Themes/Sweet🤱🏽🤰🏽👶🏼

The news that you were pregnant had Jack over the moon, but he could tell it wasn’t what you wanted at this time “Its not the greatest timing but we’ll make it work.” He said as you were having a tense conversation about keeping it or not. You were holding the test wondering what to do.

“Look I’m not ready” you said. “It’s still early in the game. Why don’t we just take care of this quietly, and we can move on” you were always better at being pragmatic than he was.

“What the fuck are you telling me? What does take care of it quietly mean?” He felt anger starting to bubble up and wanted to remember the state you were in. He couldn’t imagine his mother finding out she almost had a grandchild. Plus he loved you. “Early in the game? This is not a game” he said pulling you close and rubbing your belly. “This is my daughter” he said lovingly.

“Whoah. How do know that?” You said pulling away a bit. “I’m not sure this is what I want Jack.” You saw Jack’s face change. You knew he was so confused and you were concerned he would blame you for derailing his career. White Men Can’t Jump was such a big hit that now he was getting offers left and right. Plus you had your own business going. A child was not in your plans. But it was Jack’s baby making this extra hard because you loved him so much.

“You would be a great mom” he said trying to reason with you. “You’re smart, we make enough money…”

“We don’t even live together Jack. We tried that remember? You said bitterly

“That’s because it became a frat house and the guys don’t even spend much time there anymore. With a baby around they would respect that.” He said “If we do this you have to move back in.” He insisted “Look at me please?” He tilted your chin up with his hand and looked into your eyes. You started tearing up. “What is it?” He pleaded “What can I do to change your mind?”

“Stop flirting for starters and we go public” You said decisively. You looked at him bracing for his protest as it was a constant issue. The way Jack acted everyone on the internet thought he was single and he never talked about you to the press. He sat there for a bit. What you were proposing was a total commitment. You had to play hardball. Jack had a history of being evasive. You didn’t want to hold a gun to his head, but you weren’t going to stay hidden as the mother of his child.

“Hardball huh?.” He said. “ It’s fair, but that means you cut all ties with old boy. No running to him if we hit a rough patch.” Jack countered. You sat there contemplating what to say. Guys never get completely rid of their options. If Jack thought you were falling for that he had another thing coming.

“Ok, lose the problem 3’s numbers. Unfollow them. Even you know who.” You shot back. He knew who the problem 3 were. If you were left without a safety net, he had to do the same. You weren’t worried about randoms, but these 3 girls had staying power causing problems in the past. You and one of them had come to a brief understanding but the other two were huge bitches always trying shit.

“Ok. Deal.” He said much easier than you thought.

“Ok?” You said surprised. “That was too easy” you thought suspiciously.

“To have my family together? My own family? Fuck them.” He said decidedly “They’re nothing but a headache anyway.”

You had prepared for more of a fight and didn’t know what to say. Jack saw how thrown off you were. And smirked a little feeling a sense of victory. “So….” He said pulling you back and unfolding your arms. You melted as you always did when he said sorry or saw something your way. “Soooo?” He asked planting a kiss on you. “Are you making me a father or not?”

You hesitated to answer. Your concerns were real, but you could tell he really wanted this. Jack was a family man and a determined man. He he was close to his family. You weren’t with yours. His family became yours. They took you in and always made you feel welcome. Lately you had even had some heart to hearts with his mom. She said she knew how Jack could get and said she would talk to him and set him straight. It really helped and Jack had been making more of an effort ever since. “My mom told me to get my shit together.” He said “I get it now and I want to be there for you… and our daughter.” He promised.

This had you in full in tears. He held you close now until you stopped sobbing. “I know you’re scared. You didn’t have a family, but I am not going to abandon you or our child. My mom would kill me!” He joked trying to lighten the mood as he always did. Jack couldn’t stand tension. He wiped the tears streaming down your face. “Are you wearing the makeup from your brand baby?” He asked

Jack was random but this was really random. “Uummm yeah” you said through your sniffles “Why?”

“Because none of your mascara is running with you crying! I can endorse this product. Unfortunately I have put it to the test.” He said giggling.

His blue eyes twinkled and dimples flashed beneath his beard that was a perfect combination of being scruffy yet manicured. He had you in the palm of his hand and you hated it. It was then you knew that you wanted with all your soul to see his baby with those eyes and that dimple that you would share. This was a whole life with him. “Jack” you finally said having calmed down.

“Yes baby?” He said

“Ok.” You said

“Ok!?” He said excitedly

“Yeah.” You said “Ok, let’s do this!”

“Holy fuck! I’m a dad?” He said looking at you with all the hope he ever had

“Yes. You’re a dad.” You said smiling rubbing your tummy with the pregnancy test still in your hands.

“Fuck yeah!!!!” He exclaimed loudly flinging you around “Oh shit sorry baby.” He said carefully putting you down. “I’m calling my mom, and Urban, and Clay.”

🏷️ Tag List

@itsyagirljaz @jacks-daycare @killatravtramp @ride4harlow @jackmans-poison @heavyhitterheaux

[good-beanswrites]

How would LCSYS be different if it was "Order of Attack"?

For starters, the only things of OoA that would have happened are the voice dramas.

Hmm, I wonder what caused the admins to decide the attacks would turn out that way.

WAH why haven't I thought to combine the aus yet???

A lot would remain the same, aside from some of the voice drama angst happening differently (both on their end and Es'). I think the biggest difference would be that Shidou and Amane would be forced to interact a lot more -- while their Milgram appearances would be waay more hostile than originally planned, their behind-the-scenes relationship would improve a lot. Shidou spends a lot of time telling her about the side effects of the injuries so she can properly act them out, as well as check in that she's taking off the eyepatch often enough to not ruin her eyesight, none of which are him overstepping on her beliefs. While she still judges him for his profession, she doesn't feel personally attacked by him and can have many civil conversations.

(Meanwhile, Fuuta would have a much harder time acting out these injuries than the canon ones 😅 It takes absolutely all of his willpower not to let his temper get the better of him and jump out of the wheelchair to yell at Es)

As for how it happened...

---

Kotoko knocked on Amane’s door. There was no answer at first, but she knew the girl was in there. She banged harder. 

Amane opened it, lifting her chin to face the woman head-on. Kotoko stared down at her.

“Momose Amane.”

Then, she bent down. Kotoko took her hands into her own. “Are you sure about this?” 

She hadn’t believed it, when she first read the changes to the next trial scripts. Confronting Jackalope hadn’t done much for her; he insisted it had all been Amane’s idea to begin with. He went along with it because he thought the proposed injury swap would be exciting, and grim, and definitely get a big reaction.

Kotoko still had her suspicions until it was finally confirmed, “yes, this is my decision. I stand by it.”

“I don’t want to make you relive something so painful.”

“I do not know what you mean.” 

The way her eyes flicked away revealed that she did indeed know.

“You’ll be more isolated from the others during the trial.”

“Only when the Warden is around.”

Kotoko squeezed her hands. Maybe another route would work. “Injuries like that are impossible to fake nonstop – you’ll need to use medical aid to make it convincing. Will you be alright with that, even if it’s an act?”

“It’s perfect. I will show the warden it is violating to force me into another’s beliefs, without sinning at all myself.”

Kotoko opened her mouth, but Amane interrupted. “Are you afraid it will paint you too villainous?” She wasn’t being harsh – she seemed genuinely worried. 

“I mean, they think I’m here for murder. There’s not much more villainous I can be.” 

It was a truth to hide a truth. Kotoko knew this change would be nothing but a death sentence for her. Yet she’d spent all day planning out her video with the team, shakily writing out notes about a short temper and uncontrollable anger. What if Amane was right? In the heat of the moment, what lengths would she go to in the name of justice?

So the least she could do in return was go to this length.

“I need to make sure you are wholly alright with this. If so, I vow to play the part perfectly for you.” She studied Amane’s expression, but it was difficult to get a read in the dim bedroom. Only the little desk lamp was on, illuminating textbooks and art projects. “Just tell me why.”

“The others asked me about it, too,” Amane said. “They thought it was a dark topic to explore, but I was able to convince them that it would highlight the best in all of us: It would show what a skilled caregiver Mahiru is, when given the opportunity. It would reveal that Fuuta’s passion, his heart, is truly his strength. It would highlight my own virtues and weaknesses, given my beliefs. It would even show your dedication to your ideals, even if not in a fully pleasant light.”

“That makes sense…” She could tell there was more Amane wasn’t saying. She gave her a look.

Amane’s eyes flicked around the room.

Kotoko nodded to encourage her. 

“Well… I also thought…” She swallowed. “The warden saw my punishments in my video, but deemed it righteous when they named me unforgiven. I just…”

“You wanted to see if they saw the things you went through – the things you really went through – would they still think that was okay?”

Amane let her head drop, using the heel of her hand to smear tears that had suddenly spilled from her eyes. “It’s selfish,” she blurted. “I know it’s so, so selfish.”

Kotoko made a sound of surprise. 

“I’ll take it back,” she cried. “I’ll tell Jackalope to undo it. It was wrong of me. I shouldn’t make you suffer for my selfish wishes. I’m sorry.”

Kotoko knew the girl wasn’t the hugging type, but she opened her arms just in case. “Amane…”

After a moment of deliberation, she shocked her by accepting the embrace. 

“You listen to me.” Kotoko held her tight. She kept her voice level. “You’re not going to take anything back. Do you hear me? That is not selfish at all. That is something very reasonable to hope for. If the warden is going to be unjust, then it is our job to teach them, right?”

Amane made a noncommittal sound in reply.

“It is. That’s why you came here – I remember when you told us that. That’s what we’re going to do. You and I both. If anyone dares tell you this is selfish, send them right to me. I’ve got you, okay?”

It was an odd declaration given what she was agreeing to, but everything about this experiment had challenged what was normal.

“I’ve got your back.”

[piratekane]

I'll play the sentence starter game: 13. “Just let me take care of you.” Avatrice obvs. Bonus points if it's Ava saying that to Bea but really whatever you want pls and thank you

On the third day, God created the dry ground, seas, plants, and trees. On the third night, Beatrice has a nightmare.

It doesn't wake Ava at first. Bea isn't thrashing, keening in the moonlight that filters through the dirty window Ava can't quite get the grime off of. But something wakes Ava, an uneasiness that works its way into her dreamless sleep and pulls her from its depths. She blinks at the dark ceiling and she thinks, I'll just go back to sleep, when the hard point of Bea's shoulder comes into focus.

She hears Bea push a single, shaky stream air out and she frowns at the sound, unused to the shift from Bea's steady inhale-exhale. But when her eyes cut to the side, expecting Bea's face, smoothed by sleep, to be facing her - and it's a wonder, to know that Bea is watching her even in her sleep - she finds Bea staring directly at the ceiling instead, eyes wide and unblinking.

Ava lifts up slightly, hair long and tangled around her shoulders. "Bea?"

Beatrice inhales sharply and Ava watches her eyes dart anxiously in her direction, a silent plea that Ava can't quite make out in the darkness. She starts to come further into focus: shoulders pulled up to her ears, knuckles white where her hands twist the sheets, body coiled tight enough to make Ava want to scream, a wet streak down from the corners of her eyes where they fall into her hair.

"Bea," she whispers.

The halo hums mournfully in her skin. She lifts a hand slowly, her palm hovering in the space between them before she eases those few inches closer to Bea. Dark eyes track her fingers nervously. "Bea, breathe."

But just as her fingers set to land - a whole palm to where Bea's heart is surely beating a hundred miles a second, if the wild look in her eyes matches the racing in her chest - Bea's mouth opens in a wide gasp that steals the air out of the room and out of Ava's lungs. Bea's body bends, legs kick out, hands twist in the sheets, hair whips into the air and then there's nothing but the sound of quick feet moving out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

She's alone.

The bathroom door doesn't slam - Beatrice has too much restraint for that. But it can't muffle the sound as a body sinks back against the door and to the floor. Ava doesn't think twice, doesn't think about Bea's privacy, and slips out of bed after her. She slows down the last few steps before the bathroom door and stops just in front of it, hand hovering over the handle.

She doesn't know what to do. She's seen movies, heard stories, about comforting people. There are basic principles she thinks probably come naturally to her; she could always make Diego smile. But Beatrice is unlike anyone Ava has ever met before. There has to be a special way to navigate this, a certain trick she needs to try. She hasn't met many people, can count the ones who know her on two hands and two feet, but Bea is... not them.

So she presses her hand to the door and slowly sits down, twisting so her back is against it. She imagines Bea on the other side, sitting like she's sitting, forehead against her knees, arms wrapped around her legs.

"You don't have to say anything." Bea doesn't. "But... you don't have to hide around me. I know that I... I know that I seem like I might not be able to handle things, but I can. I want to."

She presses the point of her chin into the point of her knee; lets the pain flare for a second before the halo eases it away. "I know things have been... I know things aren't good. That we're hiding until they get better, but we have to rely on each other. It's just us, Bea. We're all each other has. And you've been... You've been so good to me. If I have to hide away here... There isn't any one else I want to do it with."

There's a sniffle, a slight scratch. Ava feels it bolster her.

"You told me to trust my team and you're my team. You're the only part of it I have left. You're..." She tries to quell this rushing feeling in her chest, but it threatens to ebb over anyway. "I'm glad it's you, though," she admits. "Because every step of the way, you've taken care of me. You've always made sure I was okay. It's like you already know when I need you."

No one has ever cared about me like that before stays unspoken between them. She's sure Bea knows.

"But I can be that person for you too. You can... you can lean on me. I'm here." Her voice shakes a little, the truth a little too much for her not to waver on. "I want to be your rock, because you're mine."

She takes a deep and turns, pressing her forehead to the solid wood. She hears quiet shuffling on the other side, pictures Bea rising up onto her knees as she reaches for the knob. "Bea, please," she breathes. "Let me take care of you."

The door opens.