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railingsofsorrow · 3 months

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I hate you, until I don't

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: three times you annoyed Spencer and three times Spencer annoyed you, proving the two of you cannot stand each other. . . until the one time that there was less annoyance and more sexual tension.

pairing: s.reid x reader

w.c: 3.6K

warnings/content: inaccurate medical procedures (don't come for me); language; flirting; enemies to lovers; case-related violence; suggestive content (no smut but I'm classifying this as +16).

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[The Coffee]

Smoke should be coming out of his ears by now, from the way his neck is pink and you're sure he's also got his jaw clenched by how his furiously he's writing on the board, connecting the leads.

You've been fifteen minutes out of the room and Spencer has figure out the whole case.

“Why are you so angry?”

“I'm not angry.”

You do not need to be a profiler to know he had that answer on the tip of his tongue, ready to give the excuse to someone who asked the inevitable question. Right, you're not gonna fall for that.

“Um. Okay.”

Spencer clicks the pen twice before you settle beside him, perching your hip against the table. His tongue travels across his lips slowly, he's trying to focus but can't.

You don't know the reason. It could be a thousand things given that the local police you were working with have not been exactly welcoming to the FBI butting in on their case. Some cops acted hostile towards the team, but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

By handling it you meant switching your focus to something better: Reid. You both draw limits to be around each other. It's nothing personal (maybe?) but you just don't get along as you do with the rest of the team. That doesn't mean you don't work well together in the field, no. In 80% of field work, you have Spencer by your side exchanging ideas to come up with good conclusions. The other 20% is the time apart you require to breathe away from each other.

You don't hate him. If anyone hates Spencer Reid, they just might have to do a CT scan, that man doesn't have a single bad bone in his skinny body.

You, however, have a field day while annoying him. Though you're not particularly close, you throw harmless jabs at one another once in a while.

You are bored and Spencer is here, therefore...

“I'm not angry.” His tone is final as he lets his eyes fall on you to look back to the board. The crease between his brows deepens. You tilt your head curiously. You don't really care about what got him mad, though it is an interesting fact to see him actually pissed about something. It's a rare image. “Not angry at all.”

You kick his converse playfully, standing up fully. “I said okay, honey. You don't need to jump on my neck for it.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, clicking the pen three times this time. You watch his fingers clenching and unclenching around the pen.

“Don't call me honey.”

Blinking up at him innocently, you turn around and say, “sure, honey. I'm gonna go and grab some coffee.” You raise your index finger before leaving the room, interrupting him mid-speech. “For me only, of course.”

His mug was empty, you had seen as you walked into the room. He had dawned three of those already so of course you said that because you care about his health. Obviously. His scoff as you leave is the icing on the cake.

By the time he finishes the geographic profile, he finds his mug magically refilled with freshly brewed coffee.

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[The Ambulance]

“If you had listened to me—”

“Don't you even fucking start. I have a gash on my forehead. My arm is numb and my knee is throbbing. You really think is wise to come in here and tell me I told you so? Disappear from my sight, now.”

Those words seem to go on deaf ears because he proceeds to crouch down to survey the damage on your face the paramedic is already assessing. His gaze barely falling on yours until it fixates on your head injury, amber eyes narrowing slightly as they usually did while he is concentrated and is about to sputter out some incredibly intelligent fact.

He does exactly that.

“She should have an X-ray of her neck. She's been flinching every time you're turning her head. And a CT scan, she was also hit in the head with a—”

You groan, not sure if it is because of the stitches or just deep-rooted anger towards your coworker.

“God— can you please...” You give a begging look to the paramedic, who seems to be having too much fun by the lifted corners of her mouth.

“— blunt object. Actually, you should be kept for observation for the entire night. Two days if possible.” He glances up at you, who presses your eyes shut instead of glaring, uncomfortable with the way the paramedic touches the sensitive spot on your neck. When you open them again, he's offering her a look of victory.

“Shut up, Reid.”

“It's a good idea.” The woman says for your distaste. Of course it is. Of course you agree with him.

“No, it isn't. I have a flight to catch to get back home and sleep on my comfortable bed, I do not need hospitals or needles or blood.” You intervene, mentally dreading to spend the night alone at a hospital in a city you have never visited.

“Do you have space for one more?” He questions suddenly, eyeing the inside of the ambulance. Your eyes widen at the implications of his actions. Before you have the chance to smash his head against the floor, he has already climbed into the ambulance, sitting comfortably in a corner.

You stare in disbelief. The paramedic isn't hiding her amusement anymore. she's outright laughing.

“Him? Not coming,” you say with finality, aggressively climbing into the ambulance, limping, to lie down on the stretcher.

However, he does come, rubbing in your face the whole way to the hospital about how right he was about the situation and that you shouldn't throw yourself in danger at any chance you get.

Hypocrite, as if he didn't do the same thing.

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[The Book]

“Did you just skip to the end?” Spencer's voice laces with disbelief as he stares holes into the book between your fingers as if you have committed a heinous crime.

You glance up from him and back to the book briefly. “No?”

“You're an FBI Agent, you should know by now not to answer a question with a question.”

“You're an FBI Agent with three PhDs, you should know by now how rude it is to interrupt one's reading.” You send the jab as quick as he had thrown his, rolling your eyes.

“That doesn't apply if you're skipping to the end of the book—”

You sigh, tired. “I have to see if the process is worth it.”

“What?” Spencer shrieks out, switching his gaze from the book to you repeatedly. You press your lips shut, trying to suppress a smile. “What is that supposed to mean? You're supposed to enjoy and get surprised, not know everything—”

“I'll forget about the end if I start reading it.” Which is true, if you read one part of the story without the context from the previous pages, then your mind just wipes it out as you come back to where you were. You had a bad memory of story plots.

Spencer proceeds to get more offended by each word that comes out of your mouth.

“No.”

You let yourself chuckle this time. “What do you mean—hey!” You hiss as he yanks the book out of your hands, shutting it and hiding it behind him as some kid that's trying to hide his favorite toy so others won't find it. “Give it back, Spencer!”

“You have to promise me to not read the end.”

“I don't have to promise you anything.”

“You want this back?” He waves the book in his hands. Your book. He threatens you with your book.

You gape at him, then huff petulantly, crossing your arms like a toddler. To anyone who was watching, the both of you looked a lot like children bickering in the park. “Fine.” He offers you a skeptical gaze, narrowing his eyes with a slight scrunch of his nose and you can't help your reaction, really. Your lips twitch in a smile and you bite your cheek so hard it draws blood so you stop being stupid.

He gives you your book back and pointedly studies your figure as you read, making sure you do not, in fact, skip to the end of the book.

Spencer Reid is absolutely infuriating. No matter how cute he is.

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[The Drunk Confession]

“I would've gotten a divorce if you were my secret lover.” You tell Emily with a slurred speech caused by the seven shots and two margaritas — maybe three, you stopped counting at the fourth shot. The table erupts in laughter at your claim. “No doubt.”

Emily smirks at you, leaning as close as she can across from you, Luke is watching the exchange as if on a tennis match. Garcia slaps his shoulder.

“Every. Time.” JJ mumbles with a roll of her eyes, turning to Spencer who looks bored out of his mind. “Don't you get tired of seeing them flirting every time they get drunk? It's getting old.”

Spencer shrugs, a scowl setting on his face as he glances at you and Emily. He looks away.

“Just ask her out, for god's sake.”

JJ almost spits her drink. “What?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “you. Emily. Date. Do it.” He doesn't really feel like repeating himself again. Spencer doesn't know why he's so annoyed all of a sudden.

“Well, why don't you do it?” JJ snaps, narrowing her eyes at him, who blinks at her. “Yeah, ask her out instead of judging me like that.”

“No offense, but I don't see Emily that way.”

“Of course you don't and I'm not talking about Emily, Spencer,” JJ says pointedly. “You know I'm not.”

It doesn't take long for all of you to call it a night. The sober ones, at least, because the rest could stay until the morning without complaining, driving themselves to an alcoholic coma. That would have been your case. Fortunately, it isn't.

And now, Spencer is in charge of driving you home against his will because you live close by.

Great.

“I can put on my own seatbelt, thanks.” You frown as he lifts his hand to help you put the seatbelt on. He retracts it with a roll of eyes.

“Be my guest.”

“Yeah,” you mumble quietly, leaning your head back and closing your eyes as you feel the car being turned on. “Don't worry, m' not gonna puke in your car or whatever.”

Spencer freezes on his way to changing gears. “Are you feeling sick?”

“I just told you—”

He rolls his eyes, “I just meant that driving may make it worse, so if you want, we can wait and then I'll take you home.”

You open one eye to narrow him down suspiciously. It wasn't that bad. You just had drink a lot, and your body is having a completely normal reaction, though it was a bit annoying. But you don't think you're about to throw up.

“Careful, you almost sound like you care about my well-being.”

Spencer drove off the parking lot with a huff, “sure. If you do puke in my car I'll leave you alone in the middle of the avenue.”

A hiccup came out at the same time as your laugh and it ended up turning into a snort, which was not that graceful and you quickly covered your mouth.

He gave you a sideways glance and you told him to keep driving, ignoring the twitch on his lips you thought you saw. No, that was definitely not there.

“You would never do that to me.”

“Try me.”

“I can't believe I had a thing for you.”

“What?”

He almost had the urge to hit on the brakes but controlled himself. You hummed, watching the trees move as the car drove past them in the avenue. You rolled your window down, leaning your face outside a little, scrunching your nose when droplets of rain poked your nose.

"Oh, it's gonna rain."

"It's already raining- what do you mean you had a thing for me? What does that mean?"

"Are you nervous?"

"What- No!" He shifted his attention between the road and you quickly.

You nodded, pretending you believed him and folding your arms across your chest as you leaned back on the seat, closing the car window so you wouldn't get wet.

“You're kinda my type, Spencer.”

“I'm- I'm your type— what does that mean?” He insisted and you rolled your eyes with a groan, you wished you were drunker than this.

“... pretty boy with pretty brown eyes ... smart as hell and has a questionable sense of style. C'mon. It's like you're begging me to fall in love with you." You cleared your throat. "I had a crush on you, as in the past sense."

Spencer squinted. "You just spoke in the present tense-"

"Yeah, I knew you were going to focus on that, leave me alone, I'm drunk."

He pressed his lips together to avoid laughing at your expense.

"Right."

How come he never noticed it? He couldn't stop thinking about it.

“Are you still thinking about it?”

Spencer turned on your street, biting his cheek. “No.”

“Why not?”

He spun his neck to look at you and almost drove into the sidewalk, which made you huff out a laugh.

“Careful, genius. You might crash us because you figure out somebody has a crush on you.”

Spencer scoffed, turning the engine off to glance at you in disbelief. “Are you serious? You just spoke in the present tense again.”

Shrugging, you leaned back on the seat, sideways to stare at him, a little smile playing on your lips because you were enjoying the banter too much.

“Did I?”

“Yes.” he frowned and his nose scrunched in the cutest way possible you just felt like biting it.

“It started when I saw you in glasses.” You admitted, nails scratching against your jeans distractedly. “You were like a knock-off Peter Parker, just cuter and way more attractive.”

He scowled at you but you were able to see the clear pink cheeks he had acquired upon being called attractive. You weren't lying. The biggest lie and cruelty of this world was that Spencer Reid wasn't looked at twice by girls or boys. You would've been fanning over him at high school.

“You're mocking me,” he concluded.

You denied with a hum from deep within your throat. “Nu-huh. I'm not.”

His eyes analyse every micro expression of your face and you stare as he does so. His lips twitch before he speaks and your eyes fall on them.

“We're here.”

He chose to say instead, his brain on slow thinking mode as you stared at him like you were contemplating something in your head.

“You want me to go?”

Spencer blinks up at you, big brown eyes wide as a deer caught in headlights, the corner of your mouth lifts upwards slightly.

“What do you mean? I gave you a ride.” He replied, confusedly. “Do you need help to go up to your apartment? Are you dizzy?”

“Not dizzy.” You shifted, pulling your knees up to hold them. Shoes off ever since you entered his car. “It was just a question.”

“Are you testing me?”

You tilted your head, causing a few strands of your hair to be released from behind your ear as you rummaged through his glove box. A book — of course there was a book in there —, a lens cleaner spray — you wondered if he still used his glasses, just not on the field —, two hair ties — you lift a brow at that — and lastly, his license and vehicle registration — you smile at the picture. He snatched it out of your hand to pull it back on the glove box and close it.

“Why would I be testing you?”

“To make fun of me.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits.

“I don't like making fun of people, less alone you.”

Spencer held your stare for a hot second before he leaned back on his seat with a sigh.

You poked his hip, laughing when he jumped in surprise.

“You're so cute.”

“Stop that.”

“Calling you cute or tickling you?”

“Both!” He shrieked out, holding your hand as you attempted to tickle him again. You adjusted yourself on the seat, studying the way he seemed intrigued by your hand. Or the fact he hadn't let go of it. “I can help you up to your apartment, ” he said after a moment of silence, something stirring in his stomach at the way you were looking at him.

"You want to help me up to my apartment?" Now you are just riling him up for the sake of it. You hold his hand before he can let go of yours, a smirk dancing around your lips. "Sorry, I'll stop."

"You're so annoying,"

"You think so?" Your voice is low, careful. You lean forward slightly.

"Yes," he says with uncertainty. He lifts his other hand slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear because it kept falling on your cheek.

Your throat feels dry all of a sudden, and you swallow hard, shivering as his fingers trail down your cheek. "Spencer."

"Mhm?" He's not paying attention to what you're saying, too busy entranced by your lips to do anything else. You just wish he'd pull both of you out of your misery. Since he doesn't move, you take matters into your own hands and break the gap between the two of you. His breath halts and he takes one or two seconds to reciprocate the kiss, lips parting in surprise. You bask in the effect that you have on him before he pulls you in by the back of your neck and it's your turn to react surprised by his actions. Your back arches and a sound of contentment escapes your throat when his fingers press against your thigh.

You're straddling his lap in no time, his hands all over your body. You lower your lips to his neck, nibbling at his skin, satisfied with the moan he lets out in response to your touch.

Spencer says your name once. Twice. It's the third time that you actually hear him.

"What?"

"You're drunk," he breathes out, chest going up and down unsteadily. "We should- we should stop."

"I'm not drunk." You tilt your head, tracing his swollen lower lip with your thumb.

He chuckles nervously, grabbing your hands to pull it away from his neck and his neck so he could think straight for five minutes. "You are. You taste like tequila."

"Mhm, is that so?"

He groans, eyes dropping shut. "Don't do that."

Your smile widens into a menacing grin.

"Do what, genius?"

"This. You. You know what you're doing." Spencer insists half-heartedly, eyes fluttering open to stare at you. He can't help but stare down at your lips again, letting out a sigh.

Finally, your shoulders slump in dissatisfaction as you realize he wouldn't want to go forward as long as you have an ounce of alcohol in your blood.

"Who's annoying now?" You mumble, burying your head on his shoulders. His fingers trail up and down your bare arms, his hands then settle on your hip, drawing invisible circles there. You feel his lips press against the crown of your head. "You're gonna be the death of me," you whine, wrapping both arms around his middle. Spencer shakes with a chuckle and you smile into his skin.

There is no going back from this. You either screwed up your professional relationship or just initiated something really good.

You don't know which one is worse.

He goes up to your floor with you and you expect him to say goodbye as you step out of the elevator. He follows you to your door and finds the key in your purse that you had spent more than a minute trying to find it.

"You want to stay over?" You eye him, trying to sound nonchalant but in reality, you are expecting a yes.

It's not what you get.

"No." You conclude you screwed up your whole dynamic. He holds your wrist before you walk in and leave him in the hallway, pulling you back and cupping your cheek to press his lips to yours in a rather gentle and less frantic kiss than the ones you had just shared in the car. "Ask me when you're not drunk," he mumbles into your lips and you frown when he withdraws himself from you.

You understand his reasoning, but that doesn't mean you enjoy the thought of spending the night without him, finishing what you started.

"Will you want to stay over then?"

Spencer knows what you mean. You're asking if he will want to stay over after tonight, after the moment has passed and it's another day, or if he wants to forget and pretend it never happened.

"Yes." He doesn't hesitate, kissing your forehead before he takes a step back, ready to leave but not wanting to with the image of you leaning against your doorway, face slightly flushed after your make-out session. "Goodnight."

You munch on your lower lip, opening the door to go inside. He waits for you to close it but you walk out again, his eyes widening as you pull him into another kiss. Just as he's about to place his hands on your waist, you pull back, patting his chest.

"You're still annoying." You say, stepping back to enter your apartment, leaving him completely unresponsive in the middle of your hallway for a few minutes.

God, he hates you.

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

#criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #self insert

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odinsblog · 8 months

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Game of Thrones stars and other actors read South Africa's case file charging Israel with genocide at the International Court of Justice.

Transcript:

It was already known that repeated exposure to conflict and violence, including witnessing and experiencing housing demolition, combined with Israel'siege of Gaza since 2007, is associated with high levels of psychological distress amongst Palestinians.

Indeed, the United Nations Security Council Resolution 2712 expressed its deep concern that the disruption of access to education has a dramatic impact on children and that conflict has a lifelong effect on their physical and mental health.

This disruption and its dramatic impact on children must be considered in particular and in the context of the number of Palestinian students and educators who have been killed, 4,037 and 209 respectively, and wounded, estimated at 7,259 and the number of Palestinian schools having been damaged or destroyed 352 or 74% of the schools in the whole of Gaza.

Medical professionals assess that the health effects on all Palestinian children, women, men, older people, people with disabilities and people marginalized identities are immense.

An emergency coordinator for Médecins Sans Frontières interviewed on her return from five weeks in Gaza, describes: It's even worse in reality than it looks. The amount of suffering is just something incomparable. It's really unbearable. I'm speechless when I try and think of the future of these children. Generations of children who will be handicapped, who will be traumatized.

The very children in our mental health program are telling us that they would rather die than continue living in Gaza now.

The extreme levels of bombardment and lack of any safe areas are also causing severe mental trauma in the Palestinian population in Gaza.

Even before the latest onslaught, Palestinians in Gaza suffered severe trauma from prior attacks. 80% of Palestinian children experienced higher levels of emotional distress, demonstrating bed wetting, 79% and reactive mutism, 59% and engaging in self harm, 59% and suicidal thoughts, 55%.

Eleven weeks of relentless bombardment, displacement and loss will necessarily have led to a further increase in those figures, particularly for the estimated tens of thousands of Palestinian children who have lost at least one parent and those who are the sole surviving members of their families.

For the families who remain intact or partially intact, quote, “It's about doing everything you can so your child doesn't realize that you've lost control.”

There are reports of Israeli forces using white phosphorus in densely populated areas in Gaza.

As the World Health Organization describes, even small amounts of white phosphorus can cause deep and severe burns, penetrating even through bone and capable of reigniting after initial treatment.

There are no functioning hospitals in the north of Gaza in particular, such that injured persons are reduced to waiting to die, unable to seek surgery or medical treatment beyond first aid, dying slow, agonizing deaths from their injuries or from resultant infections.

Large numbers of Palestinian civilians, including children, have reportedly been arrested, blindfolded, forced to undress and remain outside in cold weather before being forced onto trucks and taken to unknown locations.

Medics and first responders in particular have been repeatedly detained by Israeli forces, with many being detained in communicado at unknown locations.

Videos published by Israeli media on Christmas Day appeared to show hundreds of Palestinians rounded up inside al-Yarmouk football stadium in Gaza City, including children, older people and persons with disabilities, being forced to strip to their underwear in degrading conditions. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian affairs, or UN OCHA, reports video footage showing bruises and burns on the bodies of detainees.

Images of mutilated and burned corpses, alongside videos of armed attacks by Israeli soldiers are reportedly circulated in Israel via a Telegram channel called, 72 Virgins Uncensored, billed as exclusive content from the Gaza Strip.

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major-comet · 6 months

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“why is bones always hanging out on the bridge instead of doing his job”

he is doing his job!! going up to the bridge from time to time and flirting with jim and flirting arguing with spock gives him a chance to see what the mood on the bridge is like, and how the CO’s are holding up. thus assessing crew morale and whether or not he needs to come up with a thinly veiled excuse for jim to take a break tonight.

that bridge is full of workaholics who probably avoid sickbay at all cost for fear of being made to take time off for recovery. they truly do it for love of the job. they won’t go to him, so he needs to pop in and check up on them every now and then to ensure the health of the enterprise - as is his duty as cmo

#comet posting #star trek #star trek tos #star trek aos #bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #dr mccoy

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thelampisaflashlight · 6 months

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Aether, in the infirmary doing an interview: "People ask why we have a medical wing here at the abbey, and it's partly because we're so remote, but also because it helps to have a place to take sick and/or injured individuals to recover where they can be safely monitored and assessed properly before we determine if further intervention is needed." Omega, sitting down: "There's a lot of stuff we can't do in house, like MRI's, organ transplants... Basically anything that would require more invasive treatments or examinations, except for, say, a broken bone, that we can handle." Aether, nodding: "For the most part, we're just here to answer questions people might have in regards to their health, and to make sure all of our residents are up to date on their shots." Omega: "Speaking of which..." -getting up and grabbing a broom handle to prod a hissing Dew latched onto the ceiling- "Get your ass down here and let me give you your booster shots, you feral possum of a man-" Aether, poking at him with a yard stick: "You have to kind of push at his hands or his claws won't retract-"

#lamp rambles #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #aether ghoul #omega ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc

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thewulf · 4 months

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Until the Morning Light || Aragorn

Summary: Request - I wanted to see if I could request an Aragorn x reader. You don’t have to write anything! No pressure <3 It is a bit cheesy, so…Maybe something where they started having strong feelings for each other during their travels to destroy the ring and are so desperately longing after the other, just that they never confess and even the encouragement of the fellowship doesn’t help... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just adore this man! Thank you for the request always!!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: Violence, orc violence, death, blood, crying, angst, Battle of Helm's Deep, lotr warnings

Born under the vast skies of Rohan you grew up amidst the rolling plains and the echoing calls of horses. From a young age you were not just a child of the land but its protector, honing your skills with a blade as well as you could listen to the whispers of the earth. Your heart was fiercely loyal and brave and tempered by the tender tales of your mother. She bestowed upon you a rare gift, a deep connection with nature that allowed you to sense and communicate with the world around you in ways few others could.

This unique ability was distinct from the innate affinity that elves hold with the forests and rivers. Unlike the elves whose communion often involves a harmonious coexistence and a capability to influence nature’s growth and health your gift did not extend to bending the will of the woods or the waters. Instead, it manifested as an intimate understanding. An almost magical perception that let you hear the secrets of leaves rustling in the wind and feel the subtle shifts of the earth beneath your feet. It was a communion, but of a different kind. A silent dialogue that did not seek to alter but to understand and empathize, providing guidance and comfort where it was most needed.

Such a profound connection to nature brought with it a heightened awareness of the creeping darkness that threatened to engulf Middle earth. The very land you communicated with now echoed with the distress of encroaching evil. A warning you felt deep in your bones. It was during this time of growing shadows that tragedy struck your life profoundly. You lost a beloved family member to the dark forces spreading across the land. An event that shattered the peace of your world but also forged a new resolve within you. Carrying the weight of this loss, you vowed with a heart heavy yet unyielding to protect your homeland and its people. This vow was sacred and resolute. It sharpened your resolve as much as your blade and became the echo of your every step on the path of the Fellowship.

It was during these turbulent times that Gandalf the Grey came to your village. The wise wizard saw in you not just a skilled warrior but a unique spirit whose abilities were as rare as they were needed. With words as compelling as the winds of your homeland he requested your presence in the Fellowship. "Middle-earth needs hearts like yours," he said. His eyes twinkling with a mixture of seriousness and kindness.

Thus, with a heart full of resolve and a spirit called to a greater cause, you joined the Fellowship. Not just to honor your vow but to fulfill a destiny that seemed written in the very leaves of the trees you so loved. As you set out from Rohan the wind seemed to carry whispers of encouragement and the land itself seemed to nod in approval. Its daughter now a guardian in its most desperate hour.

Upon your arrival at the rendezvous point where the Fellowship was gathering you were immediately aware of the intense gazes of many. Their eyes scrutinizing every new face—evaluating, assessing. Yet, when you first met Aragorn his gaze was different. It was calm, welcoming, devoid of any judgment that demanded you prove your worth. He seemed to see right through the facade that others often expected you to wear. The mask of a warrior constantly proving herself. Instead, Aragorn acknowledged your capabilities as if they were as clear to him as the daylight.

As you both shared the duties of setting up camp that first evening Aragorn asked you about your journey from Rohan. His genuine interest was refreshing, and soon you found yourself teaching him about the unique properties of the athelas plant found in your homeland. Its healing powers far greater when used with the right incantations. A secret you had kept closely guarded. To your surprise he not only listened intently but also shared his own knowledge creating a beautiful exchange of wisdom.

As the journey progressed Aragorn often sought your company for the watch shifts. During these quiet hours under the vast, starlit sky, you both would sit by the fire. The crackling flames casting flickering shadows on your faces. It was here in the solitude of the night that you shared stories of your pasts. You spoke of your family in Rohan. Of the laughter and tears of your childhood and the deep connection you felt with the land.

Aragorn, in turn, shared tales of his travels. The burdens he carried and the hopes he harbored for peace in middle earth. These exchanges that were filled with laughter and sometimes a comfortable silence laid a strong foundation for your growing affection. There was an ease between you. A mutual respect that flourished without the need for words making each shared moment a treasure.

One evening deep into the journey after a particularly taxing day when tensions within the Fellowship seemed to strain the very air around you Aragorn noticed your weariness. Without a word he took up your watch insisting you rest. "We all have our strengths," he said softly with a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Tonight, let me watch over you." It was a simple act. But in that moment his kindness felt soothing to your soul. It solidified a bond that was quickly becoming as vital as the quest itself.

These moments under the stars with Aragorn where you didn't have to prove yourself but were simply accepted were what you cherished most. They were reminders that in the looming shadow of war there existed moments of peace and deep, unspoken understanding.

Aragorn's presence became a constant in your days and you found yourself increasingly seeking his company. Whether strategizing for the next leg of the journey or sharing a quiet moment away from the rest of the group his steady demeanor brought a comforting consistency to the unpredictable days. After a particularly fierce skirmish against a roving band of orcs you sustained a slight wound. Aragorn was quick to your side. His fingers skilled and gentle as he tended to the injury. His touch was always gentle and careful. It sparked an unfamiliar warmth in your chest. His concerned eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

As Aragorn wrapped your wound Legolas strolled over with an amused twinkle in his eye. "I see our esteemed leader has found yet another calling… nursing the wounded with such tender care," he commented lightly. His gaze flickering between you and Aragorn with a knowing smile. Aragorn responded with a dismissive grunt. His cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his eyes remained warm and soft as they met yours again.

Gimli has overheard the exchange and joined in with a hearty laugh. "Ah, but it's a good thing we have Aragorn for both fighting and mending. Saves us calling for Elrond every time someone gets a scratch!" he boomed before clapping Aragorn on the back with such force that it drew a surprised smile from the usually reserved ranger.

This playful banter brought a light-hearted moment to the group easing the tension of the long journey. Later that evening as you sat by the campfire the teasing continued. Gimli’s loud snoring eventually became the subject of jest, and you all shared a hearty laugh. Emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere you nearly confessed your growing feelings to Aragorn. But just as you gathered your courage he turned contemplative, his gaze lost to the horizon.

"I sometimes wonder what lies ahead for all of us," he said softly. A distant look in his eyes. "The weight of this quest, it's much to bear—for all of us." His words were heavy with the burden of leadership and the uncertainty of the future, and they momentarily stalled your confession.

Despite this the bond between you only deepened, strengthened by each shared challenge and quiet moment of understanding. Legolas and Gimli’s lighthearted teasing served as a gentle reminder of the friendship and affection that blossomed even in the darkest of times, adding a touch of warmth to the journey's cold nights.

As you and the Fellowship arrive at Helm's Deep the air is thick with the weight of impending conflict. The massive stone walls of the fortress loom over you, their stark, gray surfaces a harsh reminder of the battle that awaits. Shadows stretch long across the ground as the sun dips below the horizon casting an ominous glow that barely penetrates the gathering dusk.

Around you, soldiers move with a sense of urgency. Their faces set in grim determination. The clanging of armor and the sharp ring of sword against stone fill your ears. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Despite the hustle and bustle a heavy silence hangs over the assembled troops, each person lost in their own thoughts of the coming night. The air is cool and carries a hint of moisture. The breeze whispering through the battlements as if in mourning for lives yet to be lost.

In all of this your gaze finds Aragorn. His expression is one of resolve marked by the burdens of leadership and the knowledge of what everyone is fighting for. His presence is a steady force amid the chaos, and you feel a strange mixture of comfort and unease as you stand beside him knowing the challenge that lies ahead.

In the midst of this anxious bustle your childhood friend, a charismatic warrior named Ealdred from your village, unexpectedly arrives to aid in the battle. His arrival brings a sudden surge of warmth to the cold stone surroundings of Helm's Deep. As soon as Ealdred sees you his face lights up with a wide, infectious smile and he strides over with open arms.

His greeting is loud and joyous in the subdued murmurs of the assembling warriors. "Ah, if it isn’t the bravest shield-maiden of Rohan!" he exclaims while enveloping you in a hearty hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. The familiarity and comfort of his embrace, reminiscent of your shared past filled with training and childhood adventures, momentarily lift your spirits.

Laughter rolls easily from Ealdred as he sets you down. His presence a stark contrast to the tense air around. "I told myself I wouldn't miss a chance to fight alongside you again," he chuckles before clapping you on the shoulder with a warrior's camaraderie. The sincerity in his voice and the joy in his eyes are a balm to the unease that has been gnawing at you since your arrival at the fortress.

From a short distance away, Aragorn watches this reunion unfold with a complex whirl of emotions. He notices the brightness in your smile. A glow he has seldom seen during the long and perilous journey. Your eyes sparkle with laughter, reflecting a happiness that stirs a pang in his heart. The ease of your interaction with Ealdred, the way your body leans slightly towards him in familiarity and comfort, does not escape Aragorn’s keen observation.

Each laugh shared between you and Ealdred, each nostalgic look exchanged, seems to draw a line of subtle tension through Aragorn. He tries to focus on the preparations at hand, but his gaze involuntarily drifts back to you. The way Ealdred's hand lingers on your back, the warm, open smiles, the apparent joy of your reunion… it all fans a flame of jealousy that Aragorn struggles to suppress.

Though he attempts to dismiss these feelings as trivial they gnaw at him with an intensity that surprises him. The sight of your unabashed happiness with someone else plants seeds of doubt and worry that even the din of the oncoming storm cannot drown. The moment crystallizes something crucial within him. The realization of how deep his feelings for you have grown and how much he fears the possibility of not being the one who brings such joy to your eyes.

As you and Ealdred laugh over shared memories such as recalling the escapades of your youth in Rohan, his arm casually drapes around your shoulders in a brotherly gesture. The familiarity and ease between you two are evident. But to an observer like Aragorn each laugh, and touch seem to whisper of something more.

From his vantage point Aragorn watches the interaction his chest tightening inexplicably with each passing moment. The way Ealdred looks at you with such open admiration and joy, ignites a flame of jealousy in Aragorn’s heart that he can neither quench nor fully understand. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. A subconscious echo of the turmoil brewing within him.

Ealdred, ever observant, catches the intensity of Aragorn's gaze from across the way. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. "I believe the great ranger isn't just watching out for danger, you know," he teases nodding subtly towards Aragorn. "The way he looks at you... it’s as if he’s trying to will you to notice him. Quite the admirer, our King-to-be, wouldn’t you say?"

Your eyes widen slightly. The comment catching you off-guard. For a moment you're lost in thought considering Ealdred's words. You glance over at Aragorn observing his now averted gaze, the stoic mask momentarily fallen, revealing a hint of vulnerability. The idea of Aragorn, a king, having such feelings for you seems almost unfathomable. Yet the possibility stirs a flutter of excitement deep within.

Laughing softly, you shake your head trying to mask your sudden nervousness with humor. "Oh, Ealdred, don't be silly. Aragorn and I—we're just friends," you reply though your voice lacks conviction. "Besides, how could a king ever see anything in someone like me? I’m just a warrior from Rohan. Certainly not a lady of court."

Ealdred gives you a knowing look, his smile suggesting he sees right through your casual dismissal. "Well, even the mightiest kings need true friends and perhaps something more," he murmurs while giving you a playful wink before turning his attention back to the bustling activity around Helm's Deep. “Go to him, I will see you around.” He gives you a push.

As Ealdred walks away you're left with a curious mix of doubt and wonder, pondering his words. The thought lingers in your mind mingling with the echoes of what might be unspoken truths between you and Aragorn. The idea feels both impossible and thrilling, setting your heart racing as you watch Aragorn commanding his men with natural authority. Could there really be more to your friendship? The question hangs in the air, unanswered but increasingly impossible to ignore. Of course, you wanted more but when you learned of his destiny not so long ago you let those thoughts fall away.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Gimli, having observed Aragorn’s unusual demeanor, seize the opportunity for a bit of light-hearted ribbing. "Come now, Aragorn," Legolas chides with a graceful arch of his eyebrow, "your warrior's stare is more intense than any orc's glare we've encountered. And far more directed at our friend than any foe."

Gimli chortles, adding his own gruff commentary. "Lad, you're as subtle as a dwarf in an elf’s dance," he laughs before slapping Aragorn on the back. "Even the blind could see the way you look at her!"

Aragorn was caught between his role as a leader and his personal turmoil and offers only a rare, tight-lipped scowl in response. Though the corners of his mouth twitch, betraying a reluctant amusement at his friends' observations.

Once the teasing subsides Aragorn's gaze drifts back to you, now mingling with a quiet reflection. The light-hearted jests of his companions echo in his mind, stirring a resolve. Perhaps it was time to confront these feelings. To explore the truth behind the glances, the smiles, and the unspoken yearning that had begun to shape his heart. As night falls over Helm's Deep, the looming battle stirs a newfound courage within him. A courage not just to fight enemies, but perhaps to also voice the truth of his heart.

As the day before the battle approaches the air at Helm's Deep grows tense, filled with the weight of impending conflict. Soldiers go about their final preparations. Their movements sharp and focused, while commanders issue last-minute orders with stern expressions. In this bustle, Aragorn finds himself repeatedly glancing your way. His usual calm demeanor overshadowed by a restless concern that has little to do with the battle strategies at hand.

Finally, unable to contain the turmoil stirring within him, Aragorn approaches you. His stride is purposeful yet there's a hesitation in his eyes that you've seldom seen. "I need to speak with you," he says, his voice low, drawing you away from the others under the pretext of discussing the morrow's tactics.

You follow him to a quieter part of the fortress where the sounds of preparation are but distant echoes. As you stand there facing him in the dim light of the torches, Aragorn seems to struggle with his words. His gaze intense and searching.

"A moment ago, I was thinking about our positions for the battle," Aragorn begins, his tone tentative. "But truthfully, that's not why I asked you here." He takes a deep breath. His hands clenching and then relaxing at his sides. "I... I've noticed a distance growing between us while we’ve been here, one that wasn't there before. And I fear," he pauses, his voice tightening, "I fear it might be due to misunderstandings... emotions left unspoken." His admission hangs between you, stark and revealing. The air feels heavier as if charged with the gravity of his words. His eyes never leave yours, seeking, perhaps, a sign of your feelings.

You feel a knot form in your throat. Your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and revelation. The thought that Aragorn might share even a fraction of the feelings you've struggled to hide sends a shiver through you. But there's also fear—fear of what such an admission means in the face of the darkness that might claim tomorrow.

"Aragorn," you start, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I've also felt something change. But I believed you saw me only as a… friend in battle, nothing more. With the shadow of war over us I thought it best to keep my feelings to myself." Your confession feels like shedding armor you didn't realize you were wearing, leaving you exposed but strangely free.

Aragorn steps closer. His presence enveloping you in a sense of warmth and safety that contradicts the coldness of Helm's Deep. "I have long admired you, more than as a friend," he confesses, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "But I too feared to speak, to disrupt the bond we have with uncertainties of heart. Yet on the eve of such uncertainty… I find that silence is a greater burden than the risk of sorrow."

The distance between you diminishes with his words bridging gaps formed by unspoken doubts. As you look up into Aragorn's eyes, reflecting both the torchlight and his earnestness, you realize that regardless of what the morrow holds, this moment—honest and raw—has changed something fundamental between you. No longer just allies but something deeper. A connection forged not just in the heat of battle but in the vulnerability of shared hearts.

The emotional confrontation beneath the shadowed walls of Helm’s Deep leaves the air between you and Aragorn charged with newfound understanding and fragile hope. As the initial shock of your mutual confessions fades, the reality of the coming dawn—laden with the uncertainty of battle—sets in, lending a poignant urgency to your words and thoughts.

Aragorn’s eyes that reflected a mix of resolve and tenderness, lock with yours. “We stand on the brink of war, a war that may consume us all,” he says, his voice steady despite the turmoil you know roils beneath. “But this moment… this truth between us, cannot be overshadowed by what tonight may bring.”

You nod feeling the weight of every word. His hand was still holding yours. He squeezes gently trying to ground you. “I have carried this in my heart, thinking it unwise to speak, fearing the complications it might bring,” you admit. Your own voice stronger than you feel. “But now, facing the unknown, I see only the folly in silence. My heart, just like yours, cannot bear the burden of what-ifs.”

Aragorn’s face softens. The warrior’s mask yielding to the man beneath. “Then let us make a promise,” he proposes. His gaze searching yours for hesitation. Finding none, he continues, “If we survive this war, if fate grants us passage through this darkness, I promise to explore this path with you. To see where our hearts might lead us, unburdened by duty.”

Moved by his words you feel a resolve awaken within you. “I promise, too,” you respond, the night air around you bearing witness. “To find you again. In a world at peace and discover the depth of what we might become together.”

The pact, sealed with the sincerity of shared heartbeats, seems to carve out a small sanctuary against the chaos of the impending battle. As you both stand together the day turns to night and the distant sounds of the encroaching army grow louder, yet, in this secluded moment, there’s a sense of peace. An oasis of calm before the storm.

Aragorn gently lifts your hand to his lips. His kiss a feather-light promise against your skin. “No matter what comes,” he whispers, his breath warm against your fingers, “know that tonight has changed everything.”

As you part ways to prepare for the night ahead, each step back to your respective duties is reluctant but necessary. The promise of a future, however uncertain, fuels a quiet courage in your heart. A courage not just to fight, but to survive, to return, to begin anew.

The stars overhead that were witnesses to your solemn exchange, twinkle with a hopeful light. They cast a soft glow over Helm’s Deep. In the quiet before the battle, you hold onto the memory of Aragorn’s words, the warmth of his touch, and the promise of tomorrow. A tomorrow where you might explore the uncharted paths of both peace and passion.

And in the quiet before the storm with the world held at bay, it is enough.

As night envelops Helm's Deep, the distant roar of the approaching enemy fills the air. A grim reminder of the battle that lies ahead. The walls were thick with the tension of awaiting warriors and bristle with weapons as the moonlight casts long shadows across the battlements. You take your place among the defenders. The weight of your armor familiar and reassuring against the chill of the morning.

Across the way, Aragorn readies himself for combat. His eyes briefly meeting yours across the crowded space. In that fleeting glance you find a silent exchange of resolve and reassurance. A mutual understanding that whatever the day brings, you are not alone.

The battle erupts with the thunderous sound of orc drums and the clamor of arms. Waves of enemies crash against the fortress's defenses. Each assault more ferocious than the last. Amidst the chaos you find yourself fighting back-to-back with Aragorn. Each move synchronized with an instinctual precision that speaks of your deep connection. His presence by your side is both a comfort and a spur pushing you to fight with a fierceness you hadn't known you possessed.

As you parry and thrust Aragorn covers your flank. His swordplay a seamless dance of deadly grace. Every time an orc breaks through the line threatening to overwhelm you, Aragorn is there, his blade swift and sure. In return you guard his back with equal vigilance, your own combat skills honed by years of training now coupled with a personal drive to protect him at all costs.

From the corner of your eye, you catch brief glimpses of Legolas and Gimli, their unique partnership effective and deadly against the enemy. Despite the severity of the battle, you see Legolas shoot a quick, satisfied glance towards you and Aragorn, a small smirk playing on his lips as he loses another arrow into the horde. Gimli, engaged in a competition of his own with the elf, nonetheless nods approvingly in your direction after cleaving another orc with his axe.

The battle rages on. Each moment a blur of sound, motion, and adrenaline. But within this turmoil your bond with Aragorn becomes your strength. When fatigue begins to claw at your limbs it is his steadfast presence that reignites your resolve. When despair whispers in the shadows of your mind it is the promise of a future together that keeps the darkness at bay.

As the tide of the battle shifts with every orc felled and every moment you and Aragorn continue to stand, the hope for victory grows. It was fueled not just by the strength of arms but by the power of the unity you have forged in the heart of conflict. The knowledge that someone fights beside you not just for the fate of middle earth but for the promise of a shared tomorrow is more potent than any weapon forged by dwarves or elves. Together, you fight not only to protect Helm's Deep but to preserve the future that you vowed to explore. In the heat of battle that promise binds you ever closer. A promise that against all odds you will survive to see what lies beyond the war.

As the echoes of battle fade and the sun begins to rise over the now-quiet walls of Helm’s Deep, the air is filled with the heavy scent of rain and renewal. The fortress, though scarred by the night’s ferocity, stands resilient. A showing of the courage of those who defended it. Among the weary soldiers there’s a palpable sense of relief mixed with sorrow for those lost. A bittersweet victory.

In the aftermath as others tend to the wounded and recount the close calls you find yourself seeking out Aragorn. You find him standing alone looking out over the battlements at the dawning day. His profile etched against the lightening sky. His stance is one of a man who has carried too much, seen too much, yet stands ready to face whatever comes next.

Approaching quietly, you stop beside him, sharing the view in silence. After a moment he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting the myriad emotions of the night. Without a word he takes your hand. His grip firm and warm, anchoring you both in the now.

“Aragorn,” you begin but he shakes his head slightly, asking you to stop.

“Let me speak before the world rushes back in,” he says softly. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering. “Last night in the middle of this mess I realized something beyond the fear of losing what is precious. I realized what it means to truly love.”

He pauses, searching your face for understanding. “I have loved before,” he continues, “but never like this. Never with such clarity and raw hope. Last night I fought not just for middle earth but for the chance to see what lies ahead with you.”

Tears gather in your eyes as his words wash over you. Each one landing with the weight and warmth of a cherished caress. He continues as he uses his thumbs to wipe away your shed and unshed tears. “You have given me a reason to fight. A reason to return no matter the odds. And if this battle has taught me anything it is that I want to face whatever comes next. Not as a king. Not as a ranger. But as a man hopelessly in love with you.”

Aragorn's confession was simple yet profound. It stirred something deep within you. A surge of love and commitment that mirrors his own. You step closer diminishing the space between you and rest your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “And I, too, want nothing more than to face the world with you, Aragorn. To build a life where love is our strength.”

Aragorn begins to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion, confessing his love and the revelation that had come to him amidst the chaos of battle. But as he speaks, something within you stirs. A fierce, overwhelming rush of feeling, amplified by the adrenaline that still courses through your veins.

Before he can finish you close the distance between you were driven by a surge of emotions too powerful to contain. Your hands find his face pulling him down towards you, and your lips meet his in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It's a kiss full of life, of survival, of shared battles and shared dreams. Your bodies press together, each curve and angle molding into the other, as if you could somehow merge into one being united against whatever may come.

Aragorn responds with equal fervor his arms wrapping around you to lift you slightly off the ground deepening the kiss with a passion that mirrors your own. His touch is both a claim and a surrender. A recognition of the bond that has been forged in the heat of battle and sealed in the quiet of dawn.

As you finally part, breathless and hearts pounding, you rest your forehead against his, eyes still closed as you savor the closeness. "I love you," you whisper. The words barely audible but heavy with meaning. "I fought for this, for us."

"And I," Aragorn replies. His breath warm against your lips, "will continue to fight for every day we have together. For a chance to love you as you deserve, fiercely and freely, without the shadow of war."

The promise hangs between you profound and sacred. As you step back still encircled by his arms the world around you seems to awaken. The sounds of the fortress stirring to life, the calls of soldiers and the distant cries of those mourning their fallen. It all fades into the background as you look up at him, seeing not just the warrior or the king but the man who holds your heart.

The sun was now fully above the horizon. It bathes you both in golden light, its rays like a benediction over your newfound commitment. You prepare to face the new day with him. Not just as survivors but as partners bound by love. Each beat of your hearts proof to the battles you’ve endured and the future you will fight for together.

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somanyratsinthewalls · 8 months

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Burning Hearts Chapter 1

HI WELCOME TO MY FAVORITE PROJECT! This series is what my fic Prescribed Medicine was loosely based on. I've decided to bring it to life in a multi part series! This chapter is sfw and building background. I will probably post to AO3 since the series lovers live there.

Pairing: Wyvern Devil Fruit Reader (female) x Law

Burning Hearts Chapter 1: A Heated End. A Cold Beginning.

Summary: You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

Background: O/C (Rito Daisy) is a Strawhat Pirate. Long hair, dark brown with a streak of grey hair coming from the crown. Heterochromia, one eye brown and the other grey. O/C (Daisy) has a Zoan devil fruit power, although she is unaware what type of creature it came from. She was forced to ingest the fruit as a slave, therefore is resentful and only uses it when completely necessary. The only powers she has harnessed are black, bat like wings, and refuses to explore her powers further. O/C joined the Straw Hat Pirates a brief time before the Water 7 Arc.

— —

Chapter 1: A Heated End. A Cold Beginning.

Milky, iridescent ribbons of northern lights swirled quickly across your range of vision. Were you laying on the ground? You felt your long hair tickling your back, nothing impeding it. With nothing above or behind you, you were whizzing through space and time. You tried to move your hands.

Your feet.

Your wings.

Nothing. You couldn’t move an inch. Your head spun with dizziness and confusion. What happened? Where were you? The last thing you remembered was-

“Wait Sanji-!” You called out after being face to face with the padded paw of Bartholomew Kuma on Sabaody Archipelago.

“Don’t touch her you brute!” Sanji’s eyes flared with aggression as he aimed a kick towards your attacker.

And that was the last thing you saw. You had been bested badly by Kizaru and Kuma, just as the rest of your crew had. You knew you had broken bones. You realized this now that the adrenaline had worn off and you could finally feel your injuries. The delicate tissue of your wings was ripped to shreds and you felt it deep in your flesh. You couldn’t even retract your wings and resume your full human form. You were helpless in your involuntary stasis. How long had you been flying away? The northern lights begin to meld together in your vision and your eyelids flutter closed again…

— — —

*WOOOOSH* *CRASH*

Your body crashed into the side of a snowy mountain like a dropped bomb. Pine branches snapped. Squirrels and foxes scampered away quickly. Boulders shattered at the sheer force of the impact. For a moment you were able to open your eyes.

You were blinded by bright white. After a few moments of believing you had died and were ascending into the heavens, the craggy mountainside came into view. But before you could fully assess your situation, the rock face beneath you gave way and you were falling again.

You scream but your mouth was quickly covered with snow from the incoming avalanche. You feel more of your bones snap. The pain is unbearable. Your head spins…

— — —

“Way too fuckin’ cold…” Penguin struggles to lift his legs from the knee deep snow as he trudges towards the woods on the mountain.

“Captain said to get wood. You wanna tell him you were ‘too cold,’ Penguin?” Ikkaku snapped at her exploration partner while she too, struggled to move through the snow.

“I’d like to see him out here in this shit! I can barely tell my hand from my dick in this blizzard!” Penguin shot back.

“That’s probably because you can barely see your- Ooof!” Ikkaku trips over something in her path and takes a nose dive into the fresh powder in front of her.

“Hah! Karma, bitch!” Penguin laughs and pulls his hat back. Upon clearing his vision, he sees what his crew mate had tumbled over. A pair of denim clad thighs and a slim waist. “Wait… Ikkaku…”

“What is it? Help me up already!”

“It’s… it’s a girl!”

“What?” Ikkaku shakes her head to shake off the snow.

“There’s some lady buried in the snow! We gotta get her out!” Penguin panics and starts scraping heaps of snow off the frozen body.

“Oh shit, you’re right. Let’s pull her out.” Ikkaku reaches through the snow until she feels a lifeless skull lolling around. She places a gentle hand behind the body’s neck and pulls it out of the snow. It was a beautiful woman, long brown hair braided with flowers and vines that had been frozen and wilted in the snow, a large grey streak spread from a corner of her forehead. Ikkaku grabs the shoulders while Penguin grabbed the legs of the lifeless form.

“Why isn’t it moving?” Penguin pulls on the legs.

“Hmmph! It’s stuck on something… Hmmmpph!” Ikkaku tries to jostle the body free of the ice and snow. The duo pull and push on the body until something finally gives and it is released from the grip of the mountain. Suddenly, on one side of the body, a tattered black wing breaks free from the ice and flops back down. The second wing followed and slumped lifelessly next to the unconscious form.

“What the hell is this thing?!?” Penguin exclaims.

“I don’t know…” Ikkaku looks down at the strange person. “But Captain is definitely gonna wanna see this…”

The two wordlessly agree to carry the body back down to the Heart Pirate safe house at the bottom of the mountain.

— —

“Captain! Law! Hurry!” Penguin yells as he runs into the base backwards carrying the legs of the unknown body.

“Bring it to the med bay, if there’s any chance it’s still alive he’s going to want it in there.” Ikkaku hurries Penguin down the hallway to Captain Trafalgar Law’s surgery room that connected to his secluded office.

Doors swinging open quickly, the pirates hoist the winged figure up onto the surgery table. The body laid lifelessly on the table while the shredded wings flopped lazily at its sides, tips nearly hitting the floor. Penguin collapsed against the wall behind him, breath heavy from the long, arduous journey back from the mountain with their new addition.

The door to the adjoining office was flung open.

“What the hell is this?” Law burst in and began pulling on a pair of blue rubber gloves.

D, E, A, T, H.

H, T, A, E, D.

He slipped the gloves over each finger and moved towards the surgery table.

“We found it on the mountain, Captain.” Ikkaku responds. “Under a blizzard and a landslide. I doubt it’s still alive.”

Law wordlessly peruses the body. He stops by it’s neck and presses two fingers against it’s pulse point.

E, A.

“There’s a pulse. She’s alive.”

Ikkaku and Penguin look at each other and their eyes widen.

“Bepo!” Law shouts.

“Yes, Captain?” A large polar bear in an orange jump suit enters the operating suite.

“Ready the surgery room.” Law eyes Penguin and Ikkaku gawking at each other. “You two, prepare for a procedure. Get Shachi too. This won’t be easy.”

“Aye, Captain!” The duo immediately went to change their uniforms and scrub up for the procedure.

—- —- —- —-

“I need more stitches, Bepo.” Law states, muffled by the surgical mask in front of his nose and mouth.

Law sits on a doctor’s stool sewing up the sinewy flesh on the being’s wings. It had taken him 2 hours, but Dr Trafalgar Law had already sewn up one wing and was finishing the other. It didn’t look good, even Law could admit that. He was just trying to stop the bleeding from the micro veins and tissue in the wing webbing. Bepo had hooked up the creature to machines to monitor its breathing and heart rate.

“I-It’s a vampire. W-we should have left it out there.” Penguin says from the corner of the operating room.

“If you can’t be helpful, leave.” Law states calmly without looking up from his work.

“It’s not a vampire, you idiot.” Shachi remarks from his spot next to the body. “It’s that Straw Hat girl. You guys don’t remember her from the auction house?”

This peaked Law’s interest.

“Straw Hat? She’s with his crew?” Law takes a moment from his hunched position over the wing to look at the body’s unconscious face. He notices her button nose, full bottom lip, and her frostbitten skin. Law cocks his head. He remembers her from Sabaody now. She was with the young man in the Straw Hat. He recalls the information on her wanted poster. They had only left the chaos a few days earlier.

“The botanist…” He mumbles under his breath.

“Yeah! That’s it! They call her the Earthly Devil… Rito Daisy I think..” Shachi confirms.

“Daisy…” Law says pensively. He looks at your peaceful face. His gaze lingers for a moment before returning to his work stitching up the flesh of his new patient.

“Must be a Zoan type.” Bepo says from over Law’s shoulder. “She’s certainly no mink. The question is what kind of Zoan type makes wings like that…” The bear has worry and concern his voice. Law sighs and rises from his chair.

“It’s not important right now.” He ties off his stitches and moves towards the body’s torso. “We need to set the bones. If we don’t do it now, it’ll be a lot more painful when she’s awake.”

Law cracks his knuckles.

D, D, E, E, A, A, T, T, H, H.

His crew members look at him expectantly.

“Well, let’s do it.”

— —

Burning. Bright. Fluorescent.

“Ow… my eyes…” You mumble as you wake from a deep slumber. All you could see was artificial lights and steel ceilings. You knew you were not on the Sunny anymore, ToTo. You try to reach your arm to rub your eyes and found that both of them were shackled to the table you were laying on.

You were a prisoner.

Again.

You heart throbbed in your chest. Your stomach dropped through your whole body. Someone had taken you captive again. How could this happen? You had aligned yourself with the strongest pirates the worst generation had to offer and yet here you were, strapped to a strangers ship just like was 8 years ago.

“Hey…” You try to sit up.

“HEY!” You pull your body up further.

“GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! HEY! HEEEEEY!” You try to lurch your body forward but you were met by sharp, extreme pain throughout your whole being.

“Hey woah hold on relax it’s okay! We’re going to help you!”

A voice comes from the corner of the room you couldn’t see due to your restraints.

“Who… who are you! Get away from me! Let me go!” You shouted.

“I know you’re freaking out right now but I promise we-“

You see who the voice was coming from.

It was an 11 foot tall real-life anthropomorphic polar bear wearing an orange jumpsuit. Your eyes crossed in shock.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME YOU FUCKING CARNIVORE DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” You pull at your restraints, ignoring the searing pain in your body.

“No no! I wouldn’t! Please stop!” The bear raises his hands in front of his chest to signify he meant no harm, but you would’t believe it. You scream.

“AAAAH!” The metal restraints holding you down to the table broke under your strength, the material melting slightly.

“CAPTAIN!!!! HELP!!!” The bear shrieked and cowered.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” You shouted and pushed yourself off the operating table and into the cabinet across the room, breaking the glass. You honed your eyes in on the polar bear.

You spread your broken wings and they crash against the furniture in the cramped operating room, knocking over carts full of medical equipment.

“Shit!” You groan in pain.

“ROOM.”

Suddenly, the air around you tuned light blue. You spun your head around, trying to see where the voice came from.

“Shambles.”

You felt a body behind you. You breathed hard in suspense.

“Shit, that burns!” An arm around around your torso pulls back.

“Wha-?” You felt a sharp jab in your neck and then your eyelids closed.

Three fingers pushed down the plunger of a syringe.

E, A, T.

— — — —- —- -

“I have to go to Marine Ford. Picking up a patient. You stay here and make sure this patient stays sedated.”

It had been a week and Law had been taking care of his new patient in his medical bay at the Heart Pirates safe house. Law had made sure that Daisy would stay unconscious during this time, pumping her full of sedatives. He needed the patient’s bones to heal.

“Keep her sedated. I’ve left the exact measurements of medications in the folder on the desk. Make sure she stays unconscious. If she were to wake up now, the sheer volume of her broken bones would send her into another shock-like state.” Law gives the instructions to Shachi and Penguin.

“G-got it Captain! You can leave it to us!” Penguin nods at his captain.

“It might be a few days. Call only if it’s an emergency.” Law tosses Shachi a transponder snail and heads out of the base towards where the Polar Tang was docked, Bepo at his heels.

“Great. What did you do that landed us in charge of the vampire girl? If she wakes up we are so fucked.” Penguin remarks at Shachi.

“She won’t wake up. If we keep giving her meds, we’re in there like swim wear. It’s an easy gig.” Shachi laughs. “And if she does, so what? We just shoot her full of one of these…” Shachi grabs a syringe from a medical cart and squirts it into the air. “So what if she’s a Straw Hat? She’s their gardener. She’s about as dangerous as their damn musician. No real threat.”

“I don’t feel real great about this, Shach…” Penguin remarks while rubbing his brow.

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pokemonshelterstories · 4 months

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I just saw a wild Tinkaton that was much bigger than usual, maybe 2 ft taller than average? I think it might've had some sort of gigantism, but it scared me and I ran away lol. is this something to be afraid of, would it have been extra strong? or would it just have various health problems?

hard to say just from that description and without seeing and having the pokemon assessed by a veterinarian. pokemon really do have an astounding amount of size variation within species, but that's height is pretty significantly outside the norm.

of course, a tinkaton with a lot more mass behind its attacks will likely be able to do a lot more damage to you, so i think you were right to get out of there. that being said, with how great of a size difference there, i suspect there's some sort of hormone disorder causing the gigantism. this can cause bone deformities, arthritis, and muscle weakness, so there's a chance it wouldn't have been able to lift its hammer well enough to hurt you too bad. still, better safe than sorry, and if it's surviving out in the wild like that it must be strong enough to still hunt.

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokemon biology #tinkaton

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a-killer-obsession · 4 months

Text

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 7 - Trust

You help Mohawk give the crew their annual medical checkups.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

Apparently the Kid Pirates took their health more seriously than Yin would have guessed, because during dinner it was decided that tomorrow Yin would start her new job in the infirmary by assisting with annual medical checkups. Apparently Mohawk was adamant that the crew have regular health assessments, though to be honest only the top dogs ever usually made it through more than one annual checkup. Henchmen and cabin boys didn't often survive that long. Regardless, he kept well organized records of everyone currently on the ship, with manila folders containing sheets of information, from medical history to blood types to work he'd done himself. They were all kept in careful alphabetical order in filing cabinets that sat in the infirmary, organized by first name since many of the ship's occupants didn't have a surname.

With the addition of Yin's skills he was determined to add a new sheet of paper to each file, documenting old bone breaks, as well as any current internal issues that he might not have been able to catch without scanning equipment. The crew wasn't due for their annuals for another month or so, but he was excited to test out her abilities, so he'd convinced Kid to bring it forward.

She followed him to the infirmary after breakfast, where he gave her a quick tour of the room before performing her own checkup. He usually liked to do an initial interview when a new crewmate came on board but there hadn't really been the opportunity to do it till now. Anytime she'd been free, he'd been busy.

She gave him the short version of her life, he wasn't shocked to hear how the marines had treated her. They discussed contraceptives for a short while, but in truth he didn't really know much about them, since he was used to working for a crew of only men. She told him she had some sort of implant the commodore had forced on to her, so he made a note to look in to it, but left it be at that. The entire female reproductive system was something he was going to need to study now. He at least didn't need to inquire about her last cycle, or how irregular her period was, since he'd heard from Heat what happened during her initiation. He'd been unsurprised to discover the slave mark burned in to her skin in the middle of her back, it was long healed since it had been probably twenty years since she was branded.

“Any old injuries to note?” He asked, pulling out the new page he'd whipped up yesterday and photocopied a million times. It had a simple outline of a human, duplicated and labeled ‘front’ and ‘back’, with space around the edges so he could make notes and draw arrows to mark notable injuries.

“I broke my left ankle when I was learning to moon step, when I was about fourteen,” she said, tapping her lip with her index finger while she tried to recall past injuries, “oh and I dislocated my right hip when I was eight”

“How'd you do that?” He asked, making quick notes on the page.

“Got raped by a man too big for me,” she said plainly. He paused and put down his pen, letting out a heavy sigh. She seemed indifferent, like she'd just told him she'd fallen from a tree or something. You know, something normal for an eight year old to have done. He didn't pry further, she'd already given him her life story, he didn't need more information.

“I just need to check your eyes and ears and we can start calling the crew in for their checks,” he said, wheeling his stool over to sit in front of her. She was sitting over the side of the examination table. The infirmary wasn't large, but it was big enough for a decent size desk, an examination table, and a couple of more comfortable beds for those who needed a quiet place to recover, or required observation. The walls were lined with cabinets, many of them under lock and key, bookcases containing medical journals, and several tall filing cabinets. The room didn't have any windows, since it was smack in the middle of the building that sat above deck towards the back of the ship, and it smelt heavily of medical grade disinfectant.

“Can you remove your mask for me?” He asked politely, otoscope in hand.

“I can but you have to be quick, did Killer explain how my mask works to you?” She asked.

“He did, you won't be able to hear or see me properly, correct?” He said, “I'll be quick, just look straight ahead and stay still, I'll put your mask back on as soon as I'm done”

“Okay then, I think I trust you,” she slid her mask off and placed it on the bed beside her, sitting as still as she could, “okay, go ahead,” she couldn't make out her own voice, but she hoped she was speaking.

He gasped as he looked at her eyes and saw the grey-pink, no whites or iris or discernable pupil visible on them. He pushed it aside for now, he had to check her ears first. He moved quickly, knowing that every second he took was another second for her to become overwhelmed. Killer had warned that in the past she'd been known to become feral when she was without her mask, and he didn't feel like getting bitten today.

Her ears looked healthy, so he swapped his otoscope for his ophthalmoscope, rolling his stool to be directly in front of her and gently pulling her eyelids away to see more of her eyeballs. It was useless, he couldn't make out anything remotely human on her eyes other than the shape - whatever was going on with them was outside of his skillset. He sighed and gave up, putting the tool down and picking her mask up to slide carefully over her head. She felt it starting to touch her, so she quickly took over and shimmied it into its usual comfortable position.

“All done?” She asked.

“All done, thanks for not biting me,” he half laughed as he scribbled notes in her chart.

“I only do that to men who ask nicely,” he assumed she winked after that but he couldn't tell past the visor.

“Right,” he tried to brush it off, he wasn't one who was comfortable or who knew how to react to open flirting, “so, with the others. I'll do all my usual examinations, and when I'm done I'll have you scan them. I want to hear about any current or old injuries, and any abnormalities you see. I've never had access to scanning equipment so it'll be mostly new information for me.”

“Okay, can do doc!” She replied, moving from the exam table to the desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet.

“One last thing,” Mohawk said as he stood to go find his first patient. Most of the crew thought medical checks were for pussies and would no doubt be unwilling victims, “everything in this room comes under doctor-patient confidentiality okay? You're my nurse now, everything you hear is to be kept private. And keep it professional, you may be surprised how many of these men have STIs. If I hear a single laugh while I'm looking at someone's dick I'll have Killer drown you, got it?”

“Genitals don't phase me, most of the showers in the marines were mixed gender,” she shrugged, “you may be surprised to hear how many dicks I've come face first with to check for UTIs”

“Okay, good, we should have no issues then,” he said, “get off the desk, it's not professional. Sit in my chair till I need your assistance. I'll be mostly on the stool anyway”

“Roger that, doc,” she gave a mock salute and slid off the desk as he left.

Yin really was surprised at how many henchmen had STIs, and by the time they were done she was sure she could recite Mohawk's safe sex spiel of the top of her head, word for word. A few henchmen had been suffering in silence with bad constipation, and one had a badly broken toe. The cabin boys were all relatively healthy, but Mohawk gave them all the safe sex talk anyway, since it wouldn't be long before they started getting curious about the women, and he desperately hoped he could keep them from turning in to disease-ridden henchmen. Some of them were already partaking, but had been lucky enough to not catch anything.

It was well in to the afternoon when they got to the officers and commanders. The officers were all healthy, being that they'd been on the ship long enough to have regular checkups and knew well to follow Mohawk's advice. Yin had to stand on the examination table to check Wire's head, since he was just so damn tall.

She was surprised to find during Heat's examination that he actually had several hidden piercings that she could see through his clothes while she scanned him. She didn't ask why his dick was pierced, it didn't seem like an appropriate medical question. Kid wasn't happy about being examined, and complained the whole time that he was too busy for this shit. Mohawk gave him a long, stern talking to about drinking less beer and more water, if he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. She hadn't realised that the metal arm didn't have a real arm inside, she'd just assumed it was some sort of cover. She bit back a gasp when he removed it so Mohawk could check the stump of what used to be an arm. The base had metal embedded in to it, assumedly to help the prosthetic stick. She did her best to not gawk.

Last up was Killer, who they had to wait quite long for since he had been busy with some new recipe he had wanted to try that required being cooked slowly for many hours. He smelled of freshly cut herbs and bread when he entered, mixed with his usual scent of musk and spices. He locked the door as he entered, and Yin came to the jarring realisation that he was probably going to need to remove his mask. Mohawk went through his usual line of questioning before standing in front of Killer, he was too tall to examine from the stool. He did the same flexibility and grip strength tests he'd done for everyone else, and tapped his knees with a little hammer to check reaction times, before picking up his otoscope and turning to Yin expectantly.

“Right, sorry,” she said, turning and facing the wall. She heard something click and hair rustling as Killer removed his mask. “Hey um.. should I examine his head while the mask is off? I can't see his face if I'm scanning him, I promise”

“My head is fine,” Killer said flatly.

“I'm making notes of old injuries as well though, its important for my records,” Mohawk explained, “she's fast, it'll only take her a moment to check your head if nothing is wrong”

“Fine,” he sighed, “as long as she can't see”

“If my visor is dark green or red, I can't see you, just your insides,” she said, “to be honest I can only make out faces when its purple or like a neon green”

“Neon green is what you had when you killed the seaking right?” Killer asked, “is that some sort of night vision?”

“Yeah,” she explained, still awkwardly facing the wall, “and I can see pretty deep in the water as well, thats how I saw the seaking. I'm gonna turn around now, okay? I'll only be able to see your bones”

“Okay,” he replied. Mohawk finished checking Killer's eyes and stepped aside for her. She couldn't see well, but she'd spent all day in the room so she knew there was no furniture between them, and she could see their skeletons, the metal base of the examination bed, and Killer's mask sitting on the bed bedside him. She used what she could see as a guide to carefully make her way over, but she couldn't see the floor so her steps were awkward and she tripped.

“Woah, careful,” Mohawk said as he caught her, “what's wrong with you?”

“Can't see the floor,” she laughed, “I can only really see your bones and the metal things in the room, like Killer's mask and the base of the bed. Hard to walk without a floor”

She righted herself and stood carefully in front of Killer, who was definitely too tall. “You're too big, I'm gonna need to get on the table,” she climbed up on the side of him that didn't hold his mask, thankful that the base was metal and the mattress was thin so she could even see what she was doing. In her mind she was adding thickness to all the things she could see to account for what she couldn't.

“Ah- my hair-” Killer growled and pulled away, she'd unknowingly knelt on his long blond locks that had been resting against the bed.

“Fuck, sorry Kil,” she said, kneeling behind him, “I couldn't see it”

“It's fine, just get it over with,” he muttered, pulling his hair over his shoulder to the front so she couldn't catch it again.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” She asked as professionally as she could, “I need to turn your head”

“That's fine,” he replied.

She put her hands gently on either side of his head, carefully turning it and moving her hands around as she examined. It felt like he had thick bangs over his forehead, which definitely surprised her.

“Fuck you have a lot of old fractures for someone who wears a helmet,” she noted, “I can see… seven, Mohawk, if you want to note that down”

“Got it,” he replied, scribbling in his notes.

She turned Killer's face to look at her, her thumbs tracing his cheeks as she inspected them. She didn't even realise how intimate she was being, it was a natural process for her. His jawline seemed strong and his cheekbones looked prominent, if she had to guess she'd say he must have a sharp, attractive face. It looked symmetrical at the bone level, but who knows what kind of scars or deformities he might have on top that caused him to wear a mask.

“Old fracture on the left cheek as well,” she said, “I'd bet good money Kid did that”

“It'd be a winning bet,” he replied, suppressing a smile. Mohawk was busy with his notes, and she couldn't actually see his face, but he felt exposed anyway, and he didn't want anyone to see his ugly smile - the real reason he wore a mask.

“I'm gonna switch to red now okay?” She said, removing one of her hands from his face to fiddle with her mask. The visor turned red and her hand returned to his face, “Nothing of note on the front, eyes look healthy, frontal lobe looks fine,” she turned his head and made her way around, checking the side, then the back, then the other side. She paused, holding his head firmly in place. “Mohawk?”

“Mmm?” He looked up from his notes.

“There's something here, on the outside, towards the base of the neck,” she said, running her hand through Killer's hair and pulling it gently aside to clear the area she wanted Mohawk to check, “right here,” she pointed as she saw the bag of organs and veins that formed Mohawk stand beside the bed.

“It looks like a small cyst,” he said, prodding it with a gloved hand, “Killer I thought I told you to let me know if your mask did shit like this, it looks like it's about where the edge would rub”

“It's nothing,” he pulled Yin's hand out of his hair, entirely ignoring how nice her delicate hands felt woven through his locks, “I was just gonna deal with it myself”

Mohawk sighed and returned to his desk, “you're staying when she's done checking you over, so I can deal with that. It needs draining”

“I have shit to do,” Killer grumbled.

“Will you stop being a baby and let him do his job?” Yin scowled as she slid off the bed carefully, “now stand up so I can finish the scan, you can put your mask back on but I still have to check the rest of you”

He sighed and put his mask back in place before unwillingly standing, she tugged his arm to pull him further from the bed so she could walk all the way around him and quickly went about her scan, checking his bones first, then switching back to the red mode. She lifted his left arm as she checked his side.

“Your heart is beating a little fast Kil, you okay?” She noted.

“His heart rate was fine before,” Mohawk mused, quirking an eyebrow at Killer, who scowled under his mask at the clear insinuation.

“I'm just pissed off, now hurry the fuck up and quit touching me,” he growled.

“Anddd mister grumpymask is back,” she smiled, “relax, I'm done. He's all clear, doc, fit as a fiddle”

“Good, thats everyone then,” Mohawk said as he made a few last notes and stood to start collecting the supplies he needed for Killer's cyst, “you can go, Yin, thank you for your help. It won't always be this much work, I promise”

“Its fine,” she replied, unlocking the door to leave, “this was fun, I was happy to help. See you two at dinner,” she sung as she left. Mohawk gave her a weak goodbye, and Killer remained quiet.

Dinner wasn't far off, in fact by the time Mohawk was done with Killer it was time to head to the dining hall. Everyone else was already there, and Killer quickly finished off the special recipe of slow cooked beef and beer stew that he'd been working on earlier, with several fresh loaves of sourdough he'd made earlier to go with it.

“Anything of importance to report from the annuals?” Kid asked Mohawk as he dipped his bread in the hearty stew.

“Just that your henchmen need to keep it in their pants if they can't learn to use a rubber,” Mohawk sighed.

“The usual then,” Kid laughed, “dirty cunts”

“Oi, Yin,” Wire interjected, “I've got a question for you”

“Hit me,” she replied with a smile, inhaling another mouthful of the delicious stew - Killer's cooking really was the best she'd ever had.

“How did you know anything about us or our reputation if you've been locked away for the last five years?” He asked in a serious tone. It felt like an integration, like he was about to crack open that everything she'd told them was a lie, “you knew who Heat and I were, you knew the Captain and Killer, you said you knew you'd fit in here. But you've been in a cell for the last five years, and we only got our first bounties a few years ago”

Eveyone else turned and stared at her, and Kid stopped eating entirely, mulling it over in his head and coming to the same realisation Wire had, that the dots didn't connect. “How did you know about us?” Kid was almost growling, it felt like a threat.

She sighed and put down her spoon, looking across the table at Killer's expressionless mask, like he could offer some sort of support. “You really want to know? You're not gonna like the answer”

“Answer the fucking question,” Kid said sternly, grinding his teeth.

“Okay, fuck, don't bite my fucking head off. I'd been with the commodore you found me with for most of my imprisonment, and I guess you could say he was a fan of yours,” she explained, careful to speak to Kid directly, so as not to incur any further wrath from him, “when you came on to the grandline he started getting a bit obsessed. Every time he came to… visit me… he would tell me about your crew, and the big promotion he was gonna get when he took you down. Which is ironic, in hindsight. Anyway at some point he started bringing in your bounty posters, the four of you, mostly Kid's, and he'd use them against me if I wasn't obediently letting him have his way with me. He'd say shit like ‘you're so lucky you have me here to protect you and make you feel so good’ and then he'd wave Kid's poster in my face and say ‘this cunt would rip your legs off just so he could fuck the bloody holes left behind, he'd rape you to death and then he'd keep going. His whole crew would rape your dead body till you were nothing but a pile of rotting bones’. Sometimes he'd leave the posters in the cell with me, to remind me of my place, so I got familiar with your faces. Of course I never believed that shit, it wasn't hard for me to see that the marines are the bad people in this world, I've seen pirates as the good guys for a long time now. The second Kid let me go the day you found me, I knew I was right and the commodore was full of shit. Not that I think there aren't pirates that rape, I just knew for sure that you guys didn't. Anyway, yeah. That's how.”

Kid was visibly angry, not at her but at the commodore, as he tore a huge chunk of bread from an untouched loaf and dipped it with a little too much force in to his stew, making liquid spill out around the edges of the bowl, “Fucker…” he said through a full mouth.

“I did say you wouldn't like it,” she grumbled, looking mournfully at her stew. She no longer had any appetite but forced herself to keep eating anyway. She didn't want to offend Killer by not finishing the food he'd made them.

“Sorry,” Wire said solemnly, “I shouldn't have pried”

“It's okay Wire,” she forced a smile for him, “I get it. I'm a stranger, you don't trust me, and things didn't add up. You were just protecting the crew. I hope you'll come to trust me, in time, like I'm trying my best to learn to trust all of you”

“Trust is hard earned,” Killer added plainly.

“You think I don't know that?” She almost yelled in clear annoyance. Heat spooked a little as she slammed a closed fist on the table, “You think its easy for me to be sitting here on a ship full of men when every man who has every touched me has raped me? You think I don't know how hard it is to learn to trust someone? Cut me some fucking slack, Killer”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I'm not very hungry anymore,” she said, frustrated and angry. She felt like she was being treated like the enemy, and she'd done nothing to deserve it. She'd been working hard every day to earn their trust, and she felt brushed off. “Sorry, the food was delicious Killer, I'm just… not hungry anymore”

“Leave the bowl, I'll finish it,” Kid told her. He grabbed her hand before she left, “you'll have our trust, Killer's is just a little harder to earn. You're doing good work here, just give it time. I hope I can earn your trust as well, as your Captain”

“Thanks, Kid,” she sighed as he let her hand go. She didn't say anything more, and they watched as she quickly disappeared out of the galley and the doors swung shut behind her.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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still-breathing-au-p3r · 19 days

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[continued from here] [first post for October 18th]

Before Akihiko can even try to think of something else to say, Shinji hunches over and breaks into a coughing fit. It sounds awful, even worse than the ones he’s witnessed before– bone-dry and concussive, each cough jolting his entire body with its force.

And all Akihiko can do is wait, second by agonizing second, for it to pass.

Shinji shakes his head, breathing heavily through his nose.

A minute is more than enough time for Akihiko’s thoughts to spiral to extraordinary depths.

He should have paid more attention to the coughing fits. To the way Shinji had started wearing a winter coat even at the simmering peak of summer. The deeper, darker shadows under his eyes and the occasional tremor in his normally steadfast hands. How many other warning signs had Akihiko ignored because he’d been so preoccupied with the electrifying excitement of Shinji being back; of himself and Mitsuru and Shinji all getting to fight side by side again?

How many had he neglected to notice altogether? The thought alone makes him feel sick.

The hospital had done a thorough examination of Shinji’s body once he’d made it out of surgery in order to assess the extent of the damage done by the suppressants, and the results were… Well…

Akihiko hasn’t seen any of the scans or hard numbers for himself, but with the Kirijo Group acting as Shinji’s de facto next-of-kin, Mitsuru has. She’d pointedly kept the information that she relayed to Akihiko only as detailed as strictly necessary, and it had still painted a harrowing picture.

The way she’d described the x-rays of his lungs in particular…

He doesn’t like to think about it. But as bleak as the state of Shinji’s health seems at the moment, at least it isn’t hopeless.

Shinji’s tone is barbed, but half-heartedly at best. It still snags on his nerves.

Akihiko sighs and shakes his head. At least that hadn’t devolved into a real argument. He’s already irritated and he doesn’t need to add any more fuel to the rapidly growing fire.

How had things gone so sour so quickly? Somehow the easy camaraderie he’d been so grateful for less than half an hour ago feels further away than it did before Shinji had ever returned to the dorm.

Evidently Shinji is going to keep tossing fresh kindling into that fire himself. When it comes to knowing exactly what to say to piss Akihiko off, he’s always been a savant. He’s practically elevated it to an art form at this point.

#akihiko sanada #shinjiro aragaki #akishinji #persona 3 #p3 #persona 3 reload #still breathing au #sbau main plot #sbau canon #sbau october #sbau october 18 #talksprites and fic #(this is fine! i'm sure this is the lowest point this conversation will hit :3 )#(edited to correct the moon phase in the header)

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wellhealthhub · 1 year

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Shoulder Bone Spurs: Understanding Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

Embark on an illuminating voyage through the realm of shoulder bone spurs. Delve into the origins, manifestations, and diverse treatment avenues for a life unburdened by this condition. Introduction Greetings, intrepid readers, as we embark on an insightful odyssey into the intricate world of shoulder bone spurs. Brace yourself for an expedition that will delve into the very heart of this…

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bodyswappertransforming · 1 month

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David Harrison sat in his cramped studio apartment, the weight of his failures pressing down on him. Bills littered the small, chipped coffee table, and the faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound filling the silence. Desperation had become a constant companion, gnawing at him day and night. His dreams of making something of himself had long since faded, replaced by a monotonous routine of odd jobs and perpetual disappointment.

David, in his mid-thirties, was an average-looking man with unremarkable features. He had a mop of disheveled brown hair, tired hazel eyes, and a scruffy beard that hinted at neglect rather than style. His frame was slight and slightly hunched from years of manual labor and poor posture. Clothes hung loosely on him, often mismatched and worn, reflecting his dwindling financial state and lack of care about his appearance.

On this particularly bleak afternoon, he stumbled upon a peculiar job posting in the classified section of an old newspaper he had found in the laundromat. "Want to change your life? Find a new identity. Call this number: 555-8769." The words echoed in David's mind, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. He hesitated, the phone feeling heavy in his hand, but then, with a resigned sigh, he dialed the number.

A smooth, authoritative voice answered, "Thank you for calling. May I know your name?"

"David Harrison," he replied, nervously.

"David, do you wish to change your life completely?" the voice asked.

"Yes," David said, his voice cracking. "I need a fresh start."

"Meet me at 456 East Street, tomorrow at 10 AM. Come alone," the voice instructed before hanging up.

The next morning, David arrived at the address, a sleek, nondescript office building. He was ushered into a luxurious office where a well-dressed man greeted him. "Mr. Harrison, I'm Thomas Whitaker. We're looking for someone to undergo a complete transformation to become a body double for a high-profile individual. This will involve extensive surgery, training, psychological conditioning, and DNA manipulation. Are you interested?"

David nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Yes, I am."

"You'll be compensated handsomely, but you must agree to a stringent vetting process," Thomas explained. "This includes physical and psychological evaluations."

Weeks of evaluations followed. David's health was scrutinized, his mental stability assessed. He underwent rigorous tests, from stress tests on treadmills to psychological profiling sessions with therapists. Every aspect of his being was examined, from his DNA to his deepest fears and desires. Finally, he received a call.

"David, you've been selected. Are you ready to begin?" Thomas asked.

"Yes," David replied, determination in his voice.

The next months were grueling. David was introduced to Dr. Elena Martinez, a renowned geneticist. "We will start with DNA manipulation," Dr. Martinez explained. "You will undergo a series of treatments to alter your genetic makeup to match Mr. Anderson, the billionaire you will be doubling."

David lay on the examination table, his heart pounding. The first treatment involved the introduction of a customized viral vector designed to rewrite his DNA. "This will be the most significant part of your transformation," Dr. Martinez said as she injected the solution into David's bloodstream. "It will change your hair color, eye color, skin tone, and even your bone structure over time."

David could feel the changes happening almost immediately. Over the next few weeks, his hair began to lighten to match Mr. Anderson's perfectly coiffed blond look. His eyes changed from brown to a piercing blue, and his skin took on a healthier, more even tone. The viral treatments were followed by sessions in a specialized chamber that accelerated cell growth and regeneration, molding his body to match the genetic blueprint provided.

David's physical transformation was intense. Personal trainers and nutritionists helped him shed pounds and build muscle to match Mr. Anderson's athletic physique. "You need to mirror his movements, his gait," his trainer, Mark, instructed. "Even his posture must be identical." David's once-slouched shoulders were now squared, his stride confident. Hours were spent in the gym, sculpting his body to perfection. His diet was strict, designed to build lean muscle and reduce fat. Every meal, every workout was calculated.

The most challenging part was the psychological conditioning. A team of specialists worked on altering David's habits, diction, and memory. "You need to think like him, speak like him," Dr. Harris, a cognitive specialist, emphasized. "We'll be using a combination of hypnosis, memory implantation, advanced mind manipulation techniques, and voice modulation through DNA manipulation." David's evenings were spent listening to recordings of Mr. Anderson's voice, mimicking his speech patterns. Gradually, David's diction shifted, his vocabulary expanded. He underwent sessions of deep hypnosis, where false memories of Mr. Anderson's life were implanted. These sessions were disorienting, blurring the lines between reality and fabrication.

"Your voice will also be altered through DNA manipulation," Dr. Harris explained during one of the sessions. "Your vocal cords will be adjusted to match Mr. Anderson's pitch and tone exactly."

As the weeks passed, David's mental transformation took root. The combination of mind manipulation and memory augmentation began to erase his former self. He started to forget his old life, the hardships, and the failures. Instead, his mind was filled with Mr. Anderson's memories, experiences, and preferences. He began to adopt Mr. Anderson's mannerisms naturally, his mind melding with the implanted memories and habits. He started to develop an affinity for Mr. Anderson's interests and preferences, including his taste in fine wines, classical music, and even his favorite sports.

David's thoughts often wandered to his old life, but each time, the memories seemed fuzzier, less real. He could barely recall the details of his previous existence. The pain of his past, the cramped apartment, the bills—it all seemed like a distant, almost foreign nightmare. He began to crave the finer things in life, something that was entirely new to him. The aroma of a fine cigar became a comforting presence, and he found himself savoring the taste of luxurious foods and expensive liquors.

David's facial hair grew to match Mr. Anderson's frequently changing style. Whether it was a neatly trimmed beard, a stylish goatee, or a clean shave, David's face adapted seamlessly to each new look. He was taught to groom it precisely, spending hours perfecting the art. His clothes were tailored to fit him exactly as they would Mr. Anderson, down to the smallest detail. "You must also adapt to Mr. Anderson's lifestyle," Thomas reminded him. "His tastes, his sexual orientation." David was introduced to aspects of Mr. Anderson's life, forming relationships, and experiencing his world. This included adopting new sexual preferences, which was initially jarring but became a part of his new identity.

One evening, after a particularly intensive session of mind manipulation, David sat in his room, staring at his reflection. The man staring back was no longer David Harrison but an identical replica of Alexander Anderson, the billionaire. His mind was a labyrinth of new memories, each one meticulously crafted to replace the old.

Thomas walked in, smiling. "Welcome to your new life, Mr. Anderson."

David's transformation was complete. He had shed his old identity entirely, becoming a perfect double. The weight of his past was gone, replaced by the power and privilege of a new existence. As he stepped into the world as Alexander Anderson, David couldn't help but marvel at the extraordinary journey he had undertaken, forever changed by a simple job posting that promised a new life. The echo of his old self was faint, a mere whisper in the back of his mind, as he embraced his new identity with a sense of wonder and anticipation.

---

Several weeks later, David—now fully integrated into his role as Alexander Anderson—stood in the opulent study of a grand mansion. He was waiting to meet the real Alexander Anderson for the first time since his transformation. The room was filled with the scent of polished wood and expensive leather, the ambiance luxurious and imposing.

The door opened, and the real Alexander Anderson entered. The resemblance was uncanny. Anderson's piercing blue eyes examined David from head to toe, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face.

"Remarkable," Anderson said, his voice identical to David's new one. "I knew the process would be thorough, but this...this is perfection."

David felt a strange mix of pride and nervousness. "Thank you, Mr. Anderson. It's an honor to meet you."

Anderson chuckled, "No need for formalities. From now on, you'll be me in public more often than not. It's crucial we understand each other perfectly."

David nodded, understanding the gravity of his new role. As they conversed, David found himself effortlessly matching Anderson's demeanor and speech, the final piece of his transformation slotting into place.

"Welcome to your new life, David," Anderson said, offering a toast with a glass of aged whiskey. "To a future where we both thrive."

David raised his glass, the taste of the fine whiskey a stark reminder of how far he'd come from his old life. "To our future," he echoed, embracing his new identity and the extraordinary path that lay ahead.

David stood in front of the grand mansion's mirror, adjusting his perfectly tailored suit. It was surreal to see Alexander Anderson's reflection staring back at him, but after months of intense physical and psychological transformation, he had become accustomed to it. He was no longer David Harrison, the man who struggled to pay bills in a dingy apartment. Now, he was Alexander Anderson, a powerful billionaire whose presence commanded respect.

His first task as Alexander was to attend a high-profile charity event. As he stepped out of the mansion, flanked by security and personal assistants, he felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. He had practiced every possible scenario, rehearsed every mannerism, but this was the real test.

The limousine ride to the event was a blur of briefings and last-minute instructions. His assistant, Clara, a sharp and meticulous woman, reviewed the evening's agenda with him. "Remember, Mr. Anderson, you have a speech at 8 PM. It's crucial that you stick to the script. We don't want any deviations."

David nodded, his mind racing. "Understood."

As the limousine pulled up to the red carpet, flashes from cameras momentarily blinded him. He stepped out, greeted by reporters and admirers. He smiled, waved, and moved with the confidence instilled in him through rigorous training. He exchanged pleasantries, shaking hands and making small talk with ease.

Inside the ballroom, David felt a sense of accomplishment. He navigated the social scene flawlessly, his new memories and instincts guiding him. When the time came for his speech, he stood at the podium, looking out over the sea of faces. The words flowed naturally, and the crowd responded with applause. As he left the stage, he couldn't help but feel a rush of pride. He was succeeding.

Back at the mansion, the real Alexander Anderson watched the event unfold on a series of monitors. His team, including Thomas and Dr. Harris, analyzed every aspect of David's performance. "He's doing remarkably well," Thomas commented. "The physical and psychological transformations are holding up under pressure."

Dr. Harris nodded. "Yes, but we need to continue monitoring his stress levels. Prolonged exposure to high-stakes situations could trigger residual memories or behaviors from his former life."

In the days that followed, David seamlessly filled in for Alexander in various business meetings and public appearances. Each evening, he underwent debriefing sessions with Alexander's team, who provided feedback and enhancements.

"You need to work on your eye contact," Clara noted during one session. "Mr. Anderson is known for his intense gaze. It makes people feel valued and heard."

David practiced in front of a mirror, adjusting his posture and refining his expressions. He received voice coaching to perfect the nuances of Alexander's speech patterns, ensuring that every word he spoke was indistinguishable from the original.

Despite the intensive training and constant surveillance, David began to find a strange sense of fulfillment in his new role. The power, the luxury, the respect—these were things he had never known as David Harrison. He savored the fine cigars, the exquisite wines, and the thrill of commanding a room. Yet, there were moments of introspection when he wondered what had become of his former self. The memories of his old life were faint, but they lingered like a distant echo.

One evening, after a particularly demanding day, David sat in the mansion's study, enjoying a rare moment of solitude. He lit a cigar, the rich aroma filling the room. As he took a deep drag, he reflected on the journey that had brought him here. The transition from a struggling, forgotten man to a powerful billionaire was extraordinary. He realized that while he had gained much, he had also lost something—his true identity.

Clara entered the room, breaking his reverie. "Mr. Anderson, we have a situation. There's an emergency board meeting in an hour."

David stubbed out his cigar and straightened his suit. "I'll be there."

As he walked towards the meeting room, his mind cleared. He was Alexander Anderson now, and there was no turning back. The door opened, and he stepped into the room, ready to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead.

The real Alexander watched from a hidden room, a sense of satisfaction on his face. "He's perfect," he murmured to Thomas. "Better than I ever imagined."

Thomas nodded. "Yes, but we must ensure he remains stable. The mind manipulation techniques are still experimental. Any cracks could be disastrous."

Alexander smiled. "Don't worry. As long as he believes he is me, there will be no cracks. David Harrison is gone. Alexander Anderson is all that remains."

David, now fully integrated into his role as Alexander Anderson, faced a new challenge. His past life as David Harrison had been straightforward—he was attracted to women and had never been one to indulge in the playboy lifestyle. However, Alexander Anderson was known for his extravagant and sometimes scandalous love life, which included relationships with both men and women. To maintain his cover, David had to adapt to this aspect of Alexander's persona.

One evening, David attended a high-profile party in the heart of the city. The event was a glamorous affair, filled with influential people from the business and entertainment worlds. As he entered the lavish penthouse, he felt the familiar mix of anxiety and excitement. He knew that his performance tonight would be scrutinized by Alexander's inner circle and the public alike.

Clara, his ever-vigilant assistant, whispered in his ear as they navigated the crowd. "Remember, Mr. Anderson, your behavior tonight must be impeccable. Everyone is watching."

David nodded, his mind focused. "I understand."

As he moved through the room, he encountered a variety of admirers and business associates. He exchanged pleasantries and flirtatious banter, careful to emulate Alexander's charismatic and confident demeanor. His new preferences, implanted through mind manipulation, helped him navigate these interactions, but there were moments when he felt a pang of discomfort—a reminder of his old self.

At the bar, David ordered a glass of fine whiskey, savoring the rich taste. A striking man approached him, someone he recognized from Alexander's social circles. The man, Jake, was a well-known model and one of Alexander's rumored past lovers.

"Alexander," Jake greeted with a playful smile. "It's been a while."

David returned the smile, his mind racing to recall the details of their supposed history. "Jake, it's good to see you."

They chatted casually, their conversation flowing with practiced ease. Jake's flirtatious glances and suggestive comments tested David's ability to stay in character. He responded in kind, reminding himself that this was just another aspect of his role.

As the evening progressed, David found himself alone with Jake on the penthouse's balcony, the city lights shimmering below. The air was cool, and the distant sounds of the party created a background hum.

"Alexander, you seem different tonight," Jake remarked, his gaze penetrating. "More...intense."

David leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath. "Life has been full of surprises lately."

Jake stepped closer, his eyes searching David's face. "I've missed you."

David's heart raced, his mind grappling with the need to stay true to his cover while battling his lingering discomfort. He forced a smile, his voice steady. "I've missed you too, Jake."

As Jake's hand brushed against his, David felt a strange mix of emotions. The memories from the mind manipulation sessions flooded back, blurring the lines between David Harrison and Alexander Anderson. He remembered intimate moments with Jake, whispered confessions, and shared nights that felt eerily real. The sensations were undeniable, pulling him deeper into his new identity.

Jake moved even closer, his breath warm against David's neck. "Do you remember the last time we were here? You promised me we'd always have this."

David's subconscious responded, driven by the implanted memories and growing attraction he could no longer deny. He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I remember."

The kiss that followed was electric, a connection that seemed to bridge his two selves. David's initial hesitation melted away as he embraced the new feelings coursing through him. The attraction was real, and the subconscious pull towards men became a powerful force he couldn't ignore.

Their embrace was interrupted by Clara, who appeared at the door. "Mr. Anderson, there's an urgent call for you."

David excused himself, feeling a sense of relief as he left the balcony. Inside, Clara handed him a phone, her expression serious. "It's Thomas."

David took the phone, his mind shifting gears. "Thomas, what is it?"

"David, there's been a development," Thomas said, his tone grave. "We need you back at the mansion immediately."

David's thoughts raced as he made his way back to the mansion, the night blending into a blur of lights and shadows. He entered the study, where Thomas and Dr. Harris awaited him.

"What's happened?" David asked, his voice tense.

Thomas gestured to the monitors displaying various news channels. "There's been an incident involving Alexander's business dealings. We need you to address the media and manage the situation."

David nodded, focusing on the task at hand. "I'll handle it."

As he prepared for the press conference, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Playing the part of Alexander Anderson required constant vigilance, and the lines between his old and new selves were becoming increasingly blurred. He was living a life of power and privilege, but it came at a cost—the constant pressure to maintain an identity that wasn't truly his own.

Stepping up to the podium, David faced the sea of reporters. Cameras flashed, and the room buzzed with anticipation. He took a deep breath, channeling the confidence and authority of Alexander Anderson.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice steady and commanding. "I am here to address the recent events and assure you that we are taking every necessary step to resolve the situation."

As he spoke, David felt a strange sense of detachment. He had become so proficient in his role that even in moments of crisis, he could perform flawlessly. Yet, deep down, he couldn't ignore the lingering question: how much of David Harrison remained within Alexander Anderson?

The press conference concluded successfully, with the media appeased and the company's reputation intact. Back at the mansion, David retreated to his study, the weight of the evening settling over him.

Clara entered, her expression a mix of concern and admiration. "You handled that brilliantly, Mr. Anderson."

David nodded, sinking into the leather chair. "Thank you, Clara."

As she left the room, he lit a cigar, the rich aroma filling the air. He took a deep drag, reflecting on the complexity of his new life. The luxury, the power, the adoration—it was all he had ever dreamed of. But as he gazed at his reflection in the polished wood of the desk, he couldn't help but wonder if he had truly found himself or merely lost a part of who he once was.

#male transformation #bodyswap #mental change #personality change #fantasy #male body swap #male tf #disguise transformation #gay #straight to gay tf #straight to gay #body swap #male body transformation

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bg-brainrot · 7 months

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 8: After Defeating Ketheric

Chapter 8: After Defeating Ketheric

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 2, Canon-typical violence, blood, injuries

WC: 1.5k words, 8/18 chapters

Summary: After defeating Ketheric and learning the truth of the Absolute, Tav feels a lot of feelings.

Ao3 | [Hug7][Hug9] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.

Ketheric was supposed to be the last hurdle to stop the Absolute– but no, he's just one of a tri-headed hydra. And the Absolute isn't anything as mundane as a false god– no, it is an altogether new type of unstoppable impossibility.

Despite all of your posturing when you met Elminster, you feel a small tinge of regret at not bringing Gale to just end it all here and now. Because now, here you are, facing down what's left of the broken man, Ketheric Thorm. The Apostle of Myrkul looms above, its undying visage chilling you to your core.

For the first time since beginning your journey, you feel a sense of hopelessness you've never felt before, and no amount of stabbing is helping. Of course, you haven’t fixed anything. Of course, there’s still a brain worm wriggling in your skull as you fight for your life. But you’ve come this far, and this won’t stop you and your companions from trudging on.

After nearly being leveled by one large swing from the reaper’s scythe, your team is strategically spread out around the monster, with the exception of Shadowheart who is providing ranged support from below. A few well placed hits from Karlach reel the boney creature back, you hear Astarion’s cheery laughter to your right, literally laughing in the face of death. Dame Aylin, is somewhere behind the Apostle– you can’t see her, but her righteous cries ring out in the darkness. It bolsters your confidence, your heart swells with certainty that you will win, but the chill of undeath never leaves the air.

You’re honestly not sure how long you fight, your body drags, your bones ache. The monster catches you a few times and the pain it inflicts permeates to your core. But you keep stabbing, your body mechanical in its repetition, trusting your trained movements to hit.

Perhaps it’s going too well, so well that you’re lulled into complacency– not registering the reaper’s scythe strike on your vampire companion. "Astarion!" You hear Shadowheart cry from below you. In a heartbeat, you turn to where Astarion last was, only see him slumped over, white curls highlighted crimson with blood. Your heart lurches in your chest, and your body reacts in kind.

You run toward him on instinct, narrowly dodging a heavy swing from the Apostle above you. After a running slide next to him, you find that he’s up, but barely. Breathing hard, blood starting to drip into his eyes, he looks up at you with a pained smirk, “Miss me, darling?” He’s leaning heavily on his knee to try to get back on his feet.

“Not now, you–you–” No words come to mind for how foolish he is, trying to stand back up and into the fight. “You need healing!” You dodge out of another swing from the skeletal creature.

“I… tried that,” he says, struggling to rise before falling back on his knees. He winces in pain before continuing, “The health potion didn’t work.” His red eyes fall on an empty bottle at his feet.

Something about this creature’s aura is clearly affecting him, and you now understand why you feel so utterly destitute, why the chill reaches down to your bones. Turning back to the monster, you find it’s occupied with the Aasimar so you take your chance to inspect it, assess the situation.

It’s hard to see if you’ve made much of a dent on the Apostle, and stubbornly pressing on is not worth Astarion risking his life. The rest of your companions are still standing, swings and stances steady. You have to trust in Karlach, in Dame Aylin to hold down the monster. You know what you have to do.

“Love,” you say, your tone a warning. “We need to get off this platform or we won’t get you the healing you need.”

Astarion is clutching his chest in pain, kneeling on the ground, all as the last tendrils of his life bleed out of him. Through gritted teeth, he looks at you and hisses out, “What does that even–” Realization dawns on him. “No, don’t you–”

You act on your warning before he can finish his sentence. You’re not the strongest person in the party, not by a longshot. But you muster every ounce of strength left in your beaten body to tackle your elven lover.

In a jumbled mess of limbs, attempting to avoid unsheathed daggers, your form is ungraceful to say the least. But you manage to wrap your arms around him and push off with your legs, launching your intertwined bodies into the air. As you tumble off the platform to the ground below, you wonder if either of you will remain conscious after impact.

There’s a hard 'THUD' of leather meeting ground, of your bodies crushing together, heard even in the din of battle. A moment later you take a deep breath and open your eyes, determining that you’re still very much alive. Next to you lies Astarion, his motionless body pinning your arm down in place.

You carefully prop yourself up a bit to examine him more closely. Dropping the blade from your free hand, you bring a few trembling fingers to his pale face. His eyes are closed, but at the very least his breaths are obvious, ragged and desperate as they are. He doesn’t have much longer and your hand moves, clumsy in its panic, to your pouch for a healing potion. Luckily, you don’t land far from where Shadowheart is positioned.

Without as much of a break in her combat flow, she shouts “Vos Cura!”, casting a healing light over you both.

Instantaneously, Astarion’s breathing slows, steadies, his wounds begin knitting over. He’s not fully healed by any means, but his condition has stabilized. Your hand comes to rest on his cheek as you stir him, “Astarion, love, are you awake?”

He blinks blearily, as if awakening from a bout of meditation. “Is it over?” he asks, voice a croak.

As if in response, Shadowheart yells “Ignis!” and a burst of flame shoots into your vision. Karlach’s next blows punctuate the air, each swing colliding into the enemy’s skeletal structure with a loud clatter.

They need you… but so does Astarion. You shake your head. “No, but you’re not well yet, stay still.” You uncork a healing bottle and bring it up to his mouth, which he gladly gulps in response.

“Mmm,” he moans in relief. “Thank you, love. We need to get back to–”

His words are swallowed by an ear-piercing shriek, a cry from the Apostle of Myrkul as it reaches to the heavens, burning in the radiant light of Dame Aylin’s Divine Smite. You’re all blinded momentarily while the creature flashes in a bright blaze. As it dissipates before your very eyes, your body releases all of the tension that has been accumulating since entering the domain of the “Absolute.”

Releasing your hold on your lover, your body flops outward, eyes staring sightlessly into the massive, fleshy room. Astarion, despite his own exhaustion, wraps an arm around you, barely able to pull you toward him as his muscles shake from fatigue. Placing your free hand on his arm, you squeeze him to you. You lay there, silently clinging to each other in a tired desperation, as your team deals with the final, painful moments of Ketheric Thorm.

Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to care. Because it’s over, you’ve won. Right?

You blink back tears. It’s over, but you don’t feel any relief. All of your sweetest imaginings, of finally getting rid of your parasite, of arriving back home to Baldur’s Gate, to save Astarion and pick your life back up– all of them have been dashed brutally by the reality that’s come to light. “What’s next?” you speak into the musty air. “We take on an army, the remaining Dead Three’s chosen, and an unspeakable horror.” You hardly recognize your voice, as despondent as it is.

Astarion’s arm around you shifts, an attempt to pull you closer. You turn to face him and lean in to help his efforts. He gives you a sad little grateful smile, and tucks you into his chest, your head resting just below his chin. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, a low rasp to it, “I’m here, dear. We’re in this together.”

Nodding into his chest, you take a few steadying breaths. “I know,” you say. “But is it too much to ask for a break every once and a while?”

“Darling,” a cold kiss graces your temple before he continues, “I’ve been asking myself that question for two-hundred years.” His words aren’t meant to elicit sympathy, just reality, and you both soak in it for a while. Laying in each others’ arms, bodies too exhausted to move, spirits too broken to speak, you allow yourself to weep.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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