#but for some reason I always drift when I'm doing the rotation

[bladeobrona]

I am looking forward to next week, because 6.3... but also not looking forward to it because I have to become a decent Dragoon by then for progging several new people through P8S.

[misfit-mccoward]

wait okay more on my "big tiddy deidara released into a non-porn world" AU (contains both an outline and some nsfw writing under the cut)

the gist:

big tiddy deidara falls into another AU and her boobs are so powerful that she infects it with porn world logic

this big tiddy deidara is NOT the same as "...and titted downward" deidara. "...and titted downward" deidara is ridiculous, but THIS big tiddy deidara runs 1000% on porn world logic.

deidara immediately fucks dudedara

she doesn't actually want to have anything to do with the akatsuki, but she DOES want a mold of dudedara's dick. for personal reasons. so they go back to sasori together to see if he can help them out

somehow deidara ends up with the akatsuki despite hating them as a concept, and fucks her way through all of them

the AU deidara falls into is, unless i decide i need to split this into two separate stories, a "minato and kushina live" AU, so i guess itachi is not akatsuki. in fact, he can't be akatsuki, because i ship itadei too hard and she wouldn't fuck anyone else with him around

konan upon meeting her: i'm straight

konan later:

*****

The thing about “straight” women and Deidara is that they always end up in a public bath or a hot spring together. And, given Deidara has a habit of sitting around at those with the back of her hand laying out on the seat next to her, they always end up accidentally sitting on her hand. It’s happened to Deidara at least eight times. 

So, when the hot water at the Akatsuki base breaks, Deidara figures it’s only a matter of time before it happens again. She puts on a full face of makeup and heads to the public baths. 

Because the universe caters to Deidara, all the people in the bath when she arrives are attractive ladies in their twenties and thirties, plus one smoking hot woman in her fifties who’s probably unappreciated by husband and hasn’t actually orgasmed in years. Deidara makes sure everyone gets to see her bend over in her thong as she undresses, and spends a very long time rubbing soap suds over her breasts as she bathes. Everyone’s eyes are on her, and she figures her chances of getting laid are high. She happily breasts boobily over the to the baths to soak. 

She only has to wait a few minutes before Konan to also show up. Deidara’s breath hitches. No way will ice queen Konan go for this. 

There’s a handful of other women in the bath, and Konan eyes them briefly before stepping into the bath and heading toward Deidara. She drops her towel at the side of the bath. Deidara is excited to see that Konan’s belly button is pierced, and that her neatly trimmed pubes are the exact same indigo blue as her hair. Her stomach is toned around the pretty piercings, although her hips are round and soft looking. Deidara watches, entranced, and the water line raises up around Konan’s thighs as she steps into the bath and walks across it to Deidara. 

Deidara holds her breath, and Konan sits next to her. Like all straight girls, Konan manages to accidentally sit vag first on Deidara’s hand. Deidara’s hand tongue has been lolling out, drifting in the water of the bath, and it slides in between Konan’s folds without Deidara having to do anything. 

Usually, the girl’s eyes will widen in surprise, and she’ll make some cute little squeaky noise. Konan’s gaze just lowers thoughtfully in the direction of her lap. Deidara is too wound up in anticipation of Konan’s reaction to actually move her tongue. 

“Hmm,” Konan says. Deidara stares at her, frozen. 

The seats in the bath are benches, detached from the sides of the bath. Konan rotates to the side, wedging one leg between the wall of the bath and the bench as she faces Deidara, straddling her hand. Her cunt is fully against the hand mouth now, and Konan shifts her hips slightly, grinding herself against Deidara. 

“There are people watching us,” Konan murmurs, but her face is challenging. She reaches forward, taking Deidara’s free hand in hers, and guides it under the water between her legs. “Don’t be loud.”

****

MEANWHILE, as the direct result of deidara infecting the universe with porn logic, minato is the one sane man as everyone around him starts acting bizarre. oh, and he now has a special porn disease which gives him a huge dick and requires him to have sex all the time or else his dick explodes

kushina has been wanting a third for a threesome for a while, and now minato is like "oh no maybe i do have to take finding one seriously"

eventually, deidara has some falling out with the akatsuki, and leaves them, resulting in her being captured by Konoha

this happens:

Minato is summoned urgently in the middle of the night, so he ends up talking to a T&I agent outside the holding cell in his pajamas, which consist of a hole-filled old t-shirt and his boxers. 

The T&I agent is squirming nervously, and Minato politely doesn’t look downward at the obvious reason for his discomfort. Sometimes shinobi get called up in the middle of doing… intimate things… and it’s not the first time he’s seen an agent show up to work with a boner. As long as the agent can do his job, there’s no reason to comment or acknowledge it. 

“Just so you know,” the agent says. “We, uh… well, she’s an explosives user. Her shirt caught fire during the battle.”

“She’s injured?” Minato asks. He’s of course not concerned for a missing-nin out of the goodness of his heart, but it will be inconvenient if an injury delays interrogation or progresses into an infection, and burns can be pretty bad. 

“Er, no,” the agent says. “The fire left her completely unharmed, but burned off her shirt.”

Minato raises his eyebrows. “So get her a new one then.”

“We… we couldn’t find any that fit, sir.”

The agent squirms some more, clearly having feelings just by the thought of her. Minato frowns. This is highly unprofessional, and they can’t even figure out a replacement shirt? The prison uniforms go all the way up to sizes that could fit an Akimichi. There’s no way there was just no shirt available. 

“Call in your next in command to replace you for this assignment,” Minato says firmly. “Then go home and prepare yourself for a more detailed formal reprimand tomorrow.”

“But, sir,” the agent says, eyes widening in evident anxiety. “I’m trying to warn you�� her pants–”

“Dismissed,” Minato says, then walks into the holding cell. 

Deidara is restrained in the way typical for highly dangerous ninja. She’s seated in a chair at the center of the room, the legs of which are welded to the floor. Her ankles are in shackles and bolted to the floor and her legs are tied against each chair's leg to prevent movement; one leg is bare form where her pants leg has also been burned off. Against regulation, her hands are tied behind the back of the chair, her shoulders pulled back. She is indeed not wearing a shirt, her top only covered by a black sports bra. Four ANBU agents are stationed around the room, weapons trained on her. 

It might look ridiculous to an outsider, to treat such a small young woman with so much fear, but Minato has seen her file. This is lax compared to what someone like her needs to be held safely. 

Her hands should be tied apart, Minato observes. Tied together risks her managing to form hand signs. He raises his hands to make the command to fix this error, but then something truly horrifying happens. 

Deidara inhales deeply. Her chest rises. Minato abruptly realizes that her breasts are truly massive, bigger than Tsunade’s, bigger than the Icha Icha Miniseries lead actress’s. Jiraiya’s own prose would struggle to express how huge they are, how much sheer space they consume. It’s like they have their own gravitational pull, every set of eyes in the room is drawn to them as they rise. 

And then, as they reach their peak of Deidara’s inhale, Minato realizes to his own terror that their size is so impressive that not even Deidara’s own bra can contain them. The band of the bra sits not on her comparatively tiny rib cage where it belongs, but instead hovers inches away. As her breasts rise with her breath, Minato can see the bottoms of them from under the band. With her arms pulled back, Minato can see how the bra can’t even cover the sides of her breasts properly, and he can see the full curve of her soft flesh on either side.

Fuck me, Minato’s dick thinks, and it’s suddenly completely hard in his boxers, pushing against the thing fabric with all its might. 

Not now, Minato thinks, fighting back the sting of humiliation in his mind. After he’d just told someone off for doing this, too! To his dick he thinks, Why can’t you behave for just a few minutes?

Deidara exhales, and Minato watches her breasts lower. As they descend, he notices the straps of her bra don’t even touch her shoulders, hovering around them. Her breasts are so big that her bra is completely taut over them, but the straps are too large for her narrow shoulders, slipping off the the side. He can fully see the tops of her breasts, shiny with sweat and smeared with soot and dirt and blood. 

“Excited to see me?” Deidara asks, smirking at him. Her eyes are clearly focused on his groin, dark with something he might identify as pure horny lustful hunger if he didn’t know better. 

“Hardly,” Minato replies. He’s stunned that he succeeds in making his voice sound calm. 

He can’t believe no one gave her a shirt, even if his dick is thrilled to see her like this. Konoha should be better than this. 

“Guards,” he calls. “Her hands are tied improperly. I’m going to put a shirt on her while you fix it.”

He steps toward her and realizes that the way her legs are tied mean her knees have been forced apart. Her pants are baggy, but the entire leg of one has been burnt off, all the way up to her hip. He can see a hint of her blue underwear between her legs. 

Hrrgh!! goes Minato dick, and Minato feels the cool air of the room as his tip somehow pokes out from his fly. 

Deidara’s smirk widens, and her eyes stay on him and his embarrassing erection as one ANBU holds a kunai to her neck. She looks excited, somehow, and Minato chooses not to think about what that means for the moment. 

Minato pulls off his own shirt, and Deidara’s eyes seem to actually sparkle as she very blatantly looks him up and down. Her arms are untied, and Minato feeds them through the arms of his shirt one by one. Something wet hits his wrist as one of her infamous hand tongues lolls out, and Deidara smirks knowingly up at him as if she too can feel how this makes his dicks simply ache with longing. He has to pull the shirt wide and then yank to get it over her chest, and it will definitely be stretched out forever, pulled as tight as it, but the shirt definitely fits. Just… really tightly, so the holes it are pulled into wide shapes, and hole holes are definitely already bigger. He can still see chunks of her black bra through them.  

Somehow, the baggy shirt has completely formed itself to Deidara’s body, so impossibly tight over her chest that it gives the impression of holding her in place and compressing her despite the thinness of the fabric, and then denying the way baggy t-shirts work to cling to her waist to show off the exact shape of her. 

“Congratulations on being the first to cop a feel and live,” Deidara drawls when Minato steps back. Her lips quirk upwards. “Unless you’re about to join the many victims of little deaths I’ve caused.”

“You needed a shirt,” Minato tells her. “Unlike Iwa, Konoha believes in human dignity.”

Even though the shirt… did that…? Also, why the hell had his first instinct been to give her his shirt?

I’m being a gentleman, Minato thinks, sounding desperate for an excuse even in his own head.

Deidara yawns. “Right. Sure. That’s why I’m tied up like this, yeah.”

“You’re tied up because you’re highly dangerous and highly volatile,” Minato says, “and because we want you to tell us about Akatsuki.”

Deidara regards him for a moment, her eyes studying his face, then his bare chest, then eventually landing on his dick. Her lips twitch upward in a nearly manic smile, something clearly occurring to her. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “Fuck me, and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Uh, Minato thinks. What?

YES, his dick screams. 

“I’m being completely honest,” Deidara continues. “I hate Akatsuki, so I’ll sell them out for very little, and I can see how much you want me, yeah.”

“You’re…” Minato stumbles over his words, distracted by how annoying the hardness of his dick is, then clears his throat. “Surely you have something more worthwhile to bargain for.”

Her freedom, for example. He’d come in here with the idea they’d be negotiating that. 

“Nope,” Deidara tells him. “You’re hot as fuck, and I’ve been imagining you inside me since I saw the outline of that huge dick. I want you so bad right now it hurts, yeah.” She shifts in her chair, pushing her hips up. “If you come over here and touch me, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

It turns out the ties on her legs are too loose to stop her from swinging her knees further apart, and the motion pulls the torn fabric of her pants back, so Minato can fully see the strips of her panties over her slit. She is indeed, uh, wet. 

His dick twitches hard, desperate for her. He ignores it. 

“You’re insane,” Minato decides, stunned. 

“No, I’m…” Deidara squirms, glaring at him. “Look, don’t make me beg for it, yeah. I’ll give you what you want, just give me what I want first. I know how these things go. Why aren’t you on top of me already?”

 “Guards,” Minato says, turning to the closest one. “I’m done for tonight. She’s clearly unstable.”

“No!” Deidara objects loudly. “Oh my god, you can’t just tease me with the most perfect cock and your stupid abs–”

Minato ignores her. 

“Let her sleep, but have her prepped by eight o’clock for a chakra sealing,” Minato continues. He eyes her. “We’ll do the permanent one.”

“Fuck you,” Deidara snaps. She bares her teeth at him. “I didn’t want you, anyway. I can just see that you’re such a disgusting pervert that one good lay would make you do whatever I want, yeah. I bet your wife hasn’t touched you in years, you disgusting old man, and you don’t want her to because she’s got old saggy tits–”

The guards move forward, holding her down to change her restraints for transport. Deidara continues to rant about how bad she thinks Minato would be in bed, and he can feel his dick finally starting to calm down. A common side effect of his condition is that he can’t just let erections fade on their own, but his dick seems to have at least stopped demanding to wiggle its way inside any and every part of Deidara possible. 

“FUCK YOU!” Deidara shrieks, and then somehow manages wrestle herself free, body slamming one guard. 

Minato is on her without really thinking about it, pinning her down to the floor. 

“Asshole,” she spits at him, struggling against him. He’s got on her back with both hands over her head, and her wrists are small in his hands. “Fuck you, I bet you’re enjoying this. You’re a coward for not fucking me.”

“Hokage do not fuck their prisoners,” Minato tells her seriously. 

“That’s stupid,” Deidara tells him, she’s still struggling against him, and his dick perks up aggravatingly. The thin shirt Minato put on her holds her breasts in place better than just the too small bra, but he notes several of the holes across her chest have grown in size as the shirt struggles to contain her. “If I had me under my control, I’d control me by fucking me until I couldn’t walk any more– oh!”

Deidara’s eyes widen in genuine surprise. The holes in Minato's shirt join together, the meager fabric between them snapping all at once. The multiple small holes are, suddenly, one big hole, right over Deidara’s chest. Her breasts in their ill fitting bra burst forward in one explosive moment, bouncing on her chest like they obey a completely different type of gravity from the rest of her. 

Minato dick hitches, and he finally loses control over it. He comes all over her, ropes of cum splattering all over her chest.

Deidara blinks up at him, wide-eyed and amazed, like he’s something she’s never seen before. He thinks about fleeing her, but teleporting away means leaving her unrestrained to attack her guards again, and turning and shooting cum all over the cell and maybe his guards also seems like a bad idea. Deidara’s face turns to absolutely wicked delight as he just sits there, having one of his exaggerated orgasms all over her. 

“I knew it, yeah!” she cries, pleased and cruel at the same time. “God, fuck, look at you–”

“Guards,” Minato calls, now done. “Come re-restrain her. Properly this time.”

He tells them to let her shower and find her real clothes, then watches them march her off down the hall. She smirks over her shoulder at him. 

xXx

“You took your shirt off?” Kushina asks, covering her mouth with one hand while the other jerks him off. She’s not up for sex this morning, not when they have to do a joint sealing on Deidara in an hour and a half, and she goes at it with the mild attention she might give a chore. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Minato replies, mortified. “I wanted… I wanted to be a gentlemen, I guess.”

“So you came on her?” Kushina proceeds to laugh so hard she has to stop pumping him for a bit. She wipes tears from her eyes. 

“It’s not really funny,” Minato says, pouting. “That’s a disgusting way to treat a prisoner.”

“Eh, I think she was into it,” Kushina says, waving her hand dismissively. She turns back to her handjob. “Actually, if we’re doing a permanent seal, that’s a fully body one. Are you going to be okay?”

“Well, I can’t be worse,” Minato reasons. 

“I’ll take lead,” Kushina offers. “I can at least hide it when I get turned on.”

“You’re not going to get turned on,” Minato protests. “This is a totally standard, nonsexual sealing of a dangerous criminal. It embarrassing and unacceptable that I lost control, and I have a condition as an excuse–”

“I don’t know,” Kushina says, tapping her lip with her free hand in thought. “I feel like it might be kind of hot. The most complicated part of the seal goes over the heart, so I’ll have to paint all over her boobs, moving them around, making sure the brush doesn’t tickle and make her squirm too much…”

Minato bans himself from thinking about Kushina touching Deidara’s boobs specifically, making sure his brain considers her description completely divorced from Deidara. The result is his mind zooms in on the image of his wife’s beautiful hands playing with a pair of huge, soft breasts, rolling them over to test how they’d move, squeezing them to test their firmness. 

His breath hitches and he comes in her hand. Kushina cackles with laughter. 

****

i'm not sure where it goes from here??? i want to write big tiddy deidara hooking up with minakushi, but also then what. THEN WHAT

we DO need minato realizing the source of everyone acting strange is just deidara's boobs and staring at them in horror

i do want to have the porn logic progressively getting more and more ridiculous. like, IDK, one day deidara is like "yeah i have a g-spot in my throat. who doesn't?" and minato is like WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

i'm kind of thinking about an ItaDei end game? like deidara is SO READY to be minakushi's live-in sex doll but they're too nice to her. itachi? itachi is an asshole. she hates him. she wants him so bad

idk if i gave minato a porn disease maybe itachi has one too. "itachi has forcefem disease but the difference between masc!itachi and fem!itachi is so negligible no one notices"

deidara, about to put itachi's entire perky little tit in her mouth: no the difference is so important

[obscurecurse]

my favorite thing about KPTS fic is the prevalence of unnamed warehouses lmfao. i have done it too. MULTIPLE TIMES. but truly...

what the fuck is in there? shipping containers. shelves. machinery. crates. rust. dust.

un-knowable.

like yes - you got the architect-author who gets picky about descriptions of place and materiality on the case

buuuUUUUuuUUUuut

i will throw out some warehouse concepts for your repertoire: hastily duct-taped polycarbonate windows. metal mesh security screens - wait, what was even stored in this massive cage? loading docks and dumpsters are often located together. a tangle of mechanical ductwork hanging from the exposed steel structure. slowly rotating industrial fan blades whooshing lazily. barbed wire framing a chain link gate. Authorized Personnel Only sign. Low Clearance sign. the pull-in-case-of-emergency lever. does the emergency system still work? do the lights flicker? are you surprised it's still hooked up to the power grid? what color is the water that comes out of the taps? you try to turn the door handle and the handle pops off.

if it's an old warehouse, is it Rusted? Weathered? Is the paint faded? Chipping? Blistering? Sun-bleached? Does it smell like machine oil? Like wood? Like chemicals? Does the breeze from the nearby river drift in through the broken windows - and the air is surprisingly fresh? Does it smell like decaying wood? Like garbage? Like blood?

Has it been 30 years since someone swept the cracked concrete? When you trip and fall are you covered in the dust of time - years of pollen and wood splinters and flaking paint?

it often works, narratively, to not describe these things too much. because most people who are in a warehouse in some crime-related situation are not going to, for example, search the nearest pallet and check the contents. like, Chay is not going to mentally process the industrial nuances of his kidnapping (lmfao) [unless he's been stuck in this room for a long time and now very, very bored.]

(but honestly Kim might. Porsche might. those two are detail-oriented, though, in completely different ways. porsche is always trying to get the upper hand/get himself out of situations. kim needs all the answers on some 5D chess shit. You never know what might be a lead.)

but if it ever comes down to it again i'm going to describe the fucking industry. maybe there's faded lettering painted on the outside of the warehouse which describes that it is a logistics company. they ship things. maybe it is a glass manufacturer and they are boxing windows. garments. ceramics. electronics. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY THINGS ARE MADE AND SHIPPED OUT OF THAILAND?

i know KPTS is some richboy mafia shit... but gangs, organized crime - they are often borne of the working class and thus entwined with working class industries. i do not reason the theerapanyakuls tango exclusively with other richboy mafia. somewhere along the line it's the working class and a fucking array of industries.

maybe that industry is a cover for something? or maybe they just broke in to this abandoned place and there is no connection at all? maybe there is evidence of a previous usage? was this once an auto-factory with car-sized elevators that's been retrofitted into an industrial-scale bakery?

you can continue to gloss over whatever the fuck is going on in this warehouse beyond a single kidnapping, a single deal. you have my blessing. i have not always given ~the bad guys~ much of an identity. but just a sentence or two identifying the industry these thugs come from can actually really shape your plot in interesting ways. it is like a freebie. you can make the crime sequences so much more dynamic:

suppose its a pillow factory and then there's a shootout and when the machine gun rounds run a line through that giant cardboard box over there, feathers explode out of it and now everyone is inhaling bits of down and coughing. and now you found the last guy that was hiding behind a shipping container because he couldn't stop choking on goose feathers.

(DOWN GETS FUCKING EVERYWHERE.)

the point of this post is to help you workshop your CONTEXT - not to shit on the vague warehouse full of unidentified bad guys. sometimes it is just not necessary to the plot to describe these things

gonna end it like a work email.

hope this helps

[flowers-for-the-grave]

Secret Santa

This was really fun to write, and was also my first time doing something like this, so for my first ever thing like this, I'm pretty happy with it. I hope my person likes this a lot :)

@writeblrcafe hosted the event

This is my gift for @kittrrrr - hope you enjoy!

A Recurring Face

Word count: 979

At first his name had been Kestrel. He’d liked it; for what reason, he couldn’t quite say, but when he first heard the word he knew he loved it. Later on, he found out that a Kestrel was a bird, but he didn’t mind it too much. They were lovely birds.

Over time that name had to change. It was only natural. As humans developed, so did their languages and the names they went by. His name would be seen as unusual or strange, and thus it had to change to something else. In his heart, though, he was always Kestrel. No matter what name he took, he was always just Kestrel.

Humans had nice literature, Kestrel decided.

They were amazing; artfully woven words into strings of sentences. Each word was carefully selected to have an intended effect. They could make him laugh or - on rare, memorable occasions - make him cry.

Some of his favourites belonged to the Greeks.

Kestrel walked through the town, his eyes wandering across the shops and men walking around him. The sun was high in the sky, its golden rays beating down on him pleasantly, if a little too hard at some points in the day. There were no clouds that would drift by. The fact made him frown a little, but he recovered soon afterwards when his attention was captured by a man arguing with a vendor.

The man was not dressed like the other men and women roving around. He wore a white button-up shirt underneath a leather waistcoat, accompanied by pinstripe grey slacks and shiny shoes. His hair was a ruddy red and his eyes bright green, like moss in a forest. The man was trying to bring down the price of an urn, to which the vendor was trying to maintain his composure whilst explaining to the man that “This urn is incredibly valuable, it cannot be sold for such a price.”

Smiling, he approached the two men slowly. His arrival caught the attention of the vendor.

“I can pay for it,” he said. Kestrel took out some drachma and handed them to the vendor, taking a glance at the strangely-dressed man beside him. “Is it enough?”

The vendor’s eyes bugged out of his head. “This is too much.”

“Consider it a bonus, for putting up with my friend’s antics.” Kestrel turned to the man with a smile, hoping he would play along. “Come, let’s go back home.”

He placed his hand against the man’s back, but not before taking the urn and handing it to him. Kestrel escorted the man away from the shops and people and down a more private road.

He stopped when they were far enough from other people that no one would overhear.

The man looked at him curiously, his gloved hands shaking a little as he held the urn. He rotated it, tilted it, looked at it from every angle imaginable, then began to smile brightly. “Thank you,” he said, “I do not think I would have made it out of that unscathed.”

Kestrel laughed. “I’m sure you would’ve managed it.”

“I’m Thomas,” the man - Thomas - held out his hand. “And who are you, good sir?”

“Kestrel.” he answered, shaking Thomas’s hand with vigour.

---

His love for Greek literature was threatened by the appearance of Shakespeare. He couldn’t help but adore the man’s craft; his way with writing and creating likeable and repulsive characters; his amazing skill for both comedy and tragedy; the way he had risen to fame and even earned the favour of the queen herself.

He had arranged tickets to see one of his favourite plays and took his seat. It was a more private area, since he found that sitting with other people was quite tedious, at times, and that  plays were far more enjoyable with less clamour.

A man walked in. “My apologies, sir, but there aren’t many more seats available. Would you mind sharing with another?”

Kestrel nodded. “I see nothing wrong with that. Tell the fellow that he is welcome here with me.”

Bowing his head in response, the man scurried away, then returned with—

Oh.

The man disappeared, and Kestrel was suddenly alone with Thomas. He hadn’t aged a day; no wrinkles, no crow’s feet around his eyes, nothing. He was just as youthful as the day Kestrel first met him.

Which couldn’t be possible, since it had been several centuries since their last encounter. Unless Thomas was also…?

“I recognise you,” Thomas said, breathlessly. “You— you’re that man. From Ancient Greece.”

“How are you still alive?” he blurted out.

Thomas’s brows furrowed in thought. His eyes took in Kestrel’s clothing, his hair - which he had to cut short, sadly - and his face, lingering a bit too long on certain features.

Kestrel felt his cheeks colour, and looked down at his lap. He nervously fidgeted with his hands. “Why don’t we enjoy the play?” he suggested. “Then we can talk afterwards. Perhaps go for a nightcap.”

Hesitant, Thomas sat down beside him. Their shoulders brushed against each other for a brief moment.

“I think I would enjoy that very much, indeed.”

He wanted to never see Thomas go. He wanted to learn everything he could about the man who had disappeared for centuries and then came back.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

It took a short while for that to sink in. He wasn’t alone anymore. Kestrel didn’t know what to do. He could sing, he could cry, he could dance for hours on end and never stop!

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked, a nervous smile on his face.

Kestrel beamed back at him with an expression akin to a child on Christmas day. “Yes. More than alright, in fact.”

Their attention was snatched by the commencing play as the actors rushed onto the stage.

He was not alone anymore. Maybe things would be different this time.

[jujutsubaby]

chemical reactions (part 3)

☆ pairing: zeke jaeger x pieck finger ☆ summary: when pieck traveled to faraway trost for a prestigious research position, she expected to feel lonely. what she last expected was to find a bit of home in her supervisor. ☆ warnings: chronic illness and parental death discussed ☆ tags: modern AU, academia AU, slow-burn, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers ☆ a/n: another slower setup chapter, but we get to see more of pieck and her dad's relationship (and more of that sweet sweet angst) in this one. side note, i can't believe isayama just straight up named her dad "finger"? lol. i'm gonna hc his name as "pieter" in this since i think it'd be cute for it to kinda match pieck :3 masterlist

After her meeting with Zeke, Pieck had just enough time to return to her apartment, get her suitcase, and head to the airport for her afternoon flight back to Marley. She was excited to see her father and friends — Pieck had not realized it, but these few months had been the longest she had been away from Liberio. For all its flaws, it still was her home.

Pieck could not imagine someone like Zeke, who had been so far from home for over a decade. She was usually able to tell if people were from Marley, but it had been difficult for her to tell with Zeke. She supposed that living in Paradis for so long had estranged him from Liberio. Would the same happen to her eventually?

After boarding the airplane and hauling her suitcase into the overhead bin, Pieck settled into her seat. The flight was several hours long, but she was still grateful for that — until recently, the only way to reach Paradis from Liberio had been through a weeklong sea voyage. Still tired from her late night, early morning, and general jitters, she was looking forward to using the empty hours ahead of her to catch up on sleep.

Sleep did not arrive as quickly as Pieck anticipated, and she found her mind continually wandering to her childhood acquaintance-turned-research advisor. What a bizarre turn of events.

What was curious to Pieck was that Liberio was a relatively small city, tiny when one considered just the Eldian community. Like many tiny communities, one individual's news always became everybody's news. Pieck had at least heard of most of the Eldians from her hometown, and what they were doing now. But she had heard so little of Zeke — little enough that she had even been able to forget him, as shameful as it was to admit. The silence surrounding Zeke's name in Liberio was enigmatic, bordering on suspicious.

Eventually, the low hum of the airplane lulled Pieck to sleep, and she drifted off with vague memories of a mysterious former classmate in the back of her mind.

When Pieck disembarked, feeling significantly better rested, she was surprised to find her father waiting for her at the arrivals gate of Liberio International Airport. Unable to help herself, she ran like a child into his arms, her suitcase clattering about precariously.

"You didn't have to come, Dad! I could have caught the bus back home!" She chided unconvincingly; in truth, she was overjoyed to see him, even if she knew the trek to the airport might have exhausted him.

Ever since her mother had passed longer ago than she could remember, it had always been just Pieck and her father. The past few months without him had been difficult and alien, but she was pleased to see a little more weight on his frame and color in his cheeks. The medical care he received must have been helping.

On the drive home, Pieck talked her father's ear off about the first semester of her program, and he listened eagerly. She was especially excited to tell him about her new position with TITANLab. As Pieck explained more about the project to him, she noticed that she was avoiding naming Zeke, for some reason. Why does it feel strange to bring him up? She wondered, but not for long; soon enough, the conversation rotated to its next topic, and she and her father chatted about anything and everything they could think about. This was always how it was with them; Pieck had missed this dynamic sorely.

Soon, Pieck's father pulled into an unfamiliar driveway, and she recalled that he had moved to a new place. Rather than the rundown apartment she was used to, her father now lived in a small, comfortable bungalow. As she walked in (empty-handed, in spite of her efforts to wrest her suitcase from her father, who insisted on carrying it in for her), she noted resplendent, well-tended rosebushes that lined the entryway.

"Taken up gardening?" She asked with a soft smile.

Pieck's father chuckled.

"I have to pass the time somehow."

His response was tongue-in-cheek, but Pieck still couldn't help feeling guilty for leaving him alone. Her father must have sensed this, adding,

"It's nice to live somewhere with room for plants; I've always wanted them but never got the chance. I wouldn't have been able to come here without your help, Pieck. You understand that, don't you?"

Pieck just smiled back and went into the house, afraid her voice would shake if she responded. She knew it was true; she suspected that her stubborn sense of guilt was just a different manifestation of homesickness. Sooner or later, though, she knew she had to overcome these feelings, especially at her age.

After they both had settled in a bit more, and Pieck quickly got the lay of the new bungalow, Pieck's father put on a kettle of tea and poured out two mugs for them.

Pieck cooled the tea and raised it to her lips. The flavor that hit her tongue was gorgeous, a symphony of flowers and herbs. She had never tasted anything like it before.

"This is delicious! What is it?"

"Nothing special, just some mint, lemon balm, and rosehips," her father shrugged and responded.

"Nothing special?! Where did you get all of that? This must have cost a fortune..." Pieck murmured thoughtfully.

"I actually got it from right out there," he said, gesturing vaguely towards an array of pots in the small backyard. "I started growing plants to make tea blends. I share them with the neighbors now, and one of them said she'd stock them at her market stall, in fact. I'm just glad anybody likes them!"

Pieck fondly noted the pride in his voice. "That's amazing, Dad! How did you choose to make tea blends, of all things?"

"Well, I actually always dreamt of doing that kind of thing, but never got the chance til now. You probably don't remember, but your mother and I used to be great tea enthusiasts."

"I didn't know that about you," Pieck said softly.

"You never got a chance to, sweetheart. When did we ever have time for our hobbies before?"

It was true, and Pieck was happy to see her father rediscovering his old interests, but it was still bittersweet. It was becoming increasingly clear that, with the right resources, her father could thrive independently of her. She hoped that she could find her own path and do the same.

She thought again about Zeke, who felt like her polar opposite in this area. Where she was afraid to disappear from her life in Liberio, it seemed he had done just that. But why? Pieck resolved to find out more.

Taking a sip of tea and steadying her voice, Pieck spoke up.

"Hey, Dad? You know that research project I was telling you about?"

"Yes, with Titans Corp!"

"Right, TITANLab. I forgot to mention earlier, but one interesting thing is that it's actually run by someone from Liberio."

Pieck's father hummed thoughtfully. "That is interesting. Who is it? Maybe someone I was friends with? But I don't remember anyone I knew going off and becoming a professor in Trost..."

"Well, he's actually a bit younger, I guess, more like me." Why was her heart beating so quickly suddenly? "He actually went to school with me for a bit!" Pieck said, her voice going too high for her to maintain her false casualness. Why was asking perfectly normal questions getting her so flustered?! "Maybe you remember him? Zeke Jaeger?"

"Jaeger...oh." Pieck's father put his mug down. "Oh yes, I remember him now. Vaguely, I suppose. The name does sound familiar." He sounded suddenly serious, almost disapproving. But that wouldn't make much sense. She must have been overthinking his tone.

"Well, isn't that interesting? Nobody's talked about him in so long. It's almost like we all forgot about him, isn't it?" She persisted, trying in vain to sound lighthearted. Pieck knew she would not win any accolades with her acting skills.

"Yes, I suppose so." He said with a tone of finality. Pieck recognized that tone, and she knew he only used it when she kept asking questions about a topic that brokered no further discussion.

An unexpected dead end...she would just have to continue her fact-finding mission elsewhere. Luckily for her, she was planning to get drinks with some friends the next evening. Reiner and Porco were unabashed gossips, while Annie and Bertholt could usually serve as a reliable sounding board for when they exaggerated too many details. Marcel would luckily be there as well to moderate; Pieck knew that some of her friends could get quite heated in discussions for no good reason. Between the lot of them, Pieck was sure she could get at least some answers.

Later that evening, Pieck and her father got to work preparing a stew for dinner. As she chopped carrots, he spoke up.

"Piecky, I know you just started, but have you given any thought to what you want to do after you finish your program?"

Pieck nearly took her finger off at that (given her surname, the irony was not lost on her).

"Not really...why do you ask? I guess a few people continue the part-time Paradis Labs work full-time, or otherwise go full on into the whole academia gig. I was thinking of just coming back, though. I could probably get a job that pays well enough here at that point. Wouldn't that be best?" She asked, setting down the knife before she caused any accidental injury.

Pieck felt her father seize her shoulders and turn her to face him, his expression suddenly serious. She couldn't help but note that his treatments must have been working well if he had the strength to spin her around like that.

"Listen to me, sweetie. I know you've always thought of me and my needs first. As your father, it's difficult for me to see you taking care of me the way I should be taking care of you." Pieck opened her mouth to object to his unfair appraisal of himself, but he silenced her with a look. "But I'm so proud of the young woman you've grown up to be. It's time for you to put yourself first, now. Imagine I didn't need you anymore. What would you do then?"

If he hadn't brushed a thumb across her face right then, Pieck would not have noticed that her eyes had filled with tears. She didn't like when he talked like this — it usually meant he was asking her to plan her life after his.

"I— I don't know, dad. I...what if I still need you?" Her voice was steady, but the tears started streaming down her cheeks, catching on her lips and salting her tongue.

While it was true that Pieck made her father's health her priority, it had never felt like self-sacrifice to her. Regardless of his opinion on the matter, Pieck knew that he had raised her as carefully and attentively as he had his herb garden, and she was well aware of how challenging that had been for him to do on his own. To her, putting herself first did mean putting him first too, as she knew it did to him.

Pieck tried to stifle a sob by pressing her hand to her throat, but a strangled sound still escaped.

Her father hugged her tightly.

"I'll always be there for you, no matter where you are, no matter where I go. It's just that the last thing I want is for you to limit yourself."

Feeling her beginning to sob, he hushed her as he did when she was a baby, patting her back consolingly.

Once she calmed down, they both resumed the dinner preparation, and it was as though the discussion had never happened.

That night, however, Pieck lay awake in her old bed in the unfamiliar new bedroom. What was she even planning? She had gone to college on her father's recommendation, and she had applied for this program on Professor Magath's. She had accepted the offer for the money she could send home.

If she lived in a vacuum, what would she do?

People did not live in vacuums, however; it was an impossible scenario to imagine.

After Pieck's mother had died, her father had raised her largely singlehandedly. But hadn't the Galliards delivered meals from their family restaurant when Pieck's father was paralyzed by his grief? And hadn't Reiner's mother taken Pieck aside to help prepare her for her first period when she would not have a mother to turn to? And hadn't Annie's father picked her up from school on the days her father was bedridden?

This had always been the way of the Eldians in Liberio; they banded together, partly out of necessity, and partly out of loyalty to one another. Asking Pieck to be selfish was asking her to forsake a part of herself that all her forebears had taught her by example. An Eldian leaving Liberio for good was very rare.

But she did know one notable exception now.

What had made him leave the way he did?

As sleep finally claimed her, Pieck wondered if she would ever feel brave enough to ask.

[titanicfreija]

First Bath

So I had fun with the bath scribble, and I found another excuse to play with it.

this would be before Sunny had her name, shortly after their first Dawning and a few months into a Freija's rising.

~

"Ghost?"

"Freija?" The Ghost braced herself. The New Light got used to Tower Life fairly well, with some instructions from new friends and helpful residents, but she had so many questions!

"What do you normally do to get cleaned off? I held the cloth after the cookies, and I used the little gun brush for the sticky spots, but I assume you took some kind of bath?"

Ghost couldn't help some suspicion. "Why?" She rarely got questions directly about herself. Sometimes the Guardian would ask about Ghosts in general but she seemed unwilling to ask much of hers in particular.

"I'm trying to be nice, but I'm gonna go ahead -- your ball core body thing has a big smudge on it, presumably ashes of something I burned. It's on the bottom to the five o'clock.

The Ghost blinked at her Guardian, embarrassed, and she dematted to her backpack. "I would find ways, usually by dipping into water and rubbing off in brush or grass."

"You want me to help?" Freija asked. "Doesn't have to be much, can just hold the stuff for you to rub in."

The Ghost didn't answer.

"Ghost?"

The Guardian pulled the backpack to check for the little Light, to see her twisting against the bottom trying to rub off the smudge. She rotated to look up at Freija and blink the blue eye. "....Would you do that?"

"Yeah....?" The Guardian's brow creased. "Do other Guardians not help their Ghosts? Seems kinda mean."

Ghost didn't emerge, still hiding the mark on her core, but she did come up to the lip of the pack. "I always thought it would be mean to wake you up and then ask you to do stuff for me," she explained. "I would have to ask other Ghosts, but I guess it depends."

The brow relaxed and the Guardian closed the pack. "Makes sense. That's fine, but if you want me to help you with anything, I'm fine with that. I like helping."

~

"Do we need to get you a bowl or a vat or something?"

So far it was just a scrub brush from supply, a wash cloth, and a few pieces of gun cleaning kit, and Freija felt they were lacking but had no idea what.

"Maybe?" The Ghost bobbed around her Guardian, studying the items. "I don't know, I've never done it before, either."

"You wanna just go to the sink?"

Ghost considered it visibly, tick-tocking her shell, before she bobbed an affirmative.

Freija started the sink and held her hand at the stream demonstrably. "How hot or cold do you want it? I know you feel temperatures."

"Maybe a little cooler than your usual?" The Ghost asked, easing a flap in to splash the metal core. It warmed up, and Freija eased the temperature over until Ghost said, "that's good!"

"Sit where you're gonna sit, say when to turn it off." The Ghost drifted into the water and let her shell fall away, then rested on the bottom. The Guardian left her hand on the faucet until the Ghost said, "this is good," when the water reached the top of her eye.

"So you can go underwater?" Freija asked. "For some reason I thought you couldn't get wet."

"I am both waterproof and perfectly safe for waterlogging for short periods, much like humans," Ghost said brightly. The voice in her comm sounded normal, but the vibration made the sink ring amusingly.

"Humans can't get water logged the same way you can without some catastrophic shit," the Guardian mumbled, but she dismissed her argument in favor of picking up a flap.

In wiping it off, Freija found a firm layer of blasted on black dust. It took effort, even in her strong hand, to fully scrub clean.

She didn't realize she had stepped away from the sink to work until the Ghost called, "Guardian?"

"Ghost?" Freija held up the tiny petal flap. "It was dirtier than it looked. Kinda like when you pressure wash something. It's all the same level of dirt so it looks normal but there's a whole layer," she babbled, but the blackened cloth and two flaps, one clean and one dirty, spoke for themselves. "Want me to see if you buff out, too?" She smiled, but the Ghost understood.

Normally, the Guardian held Ghost by the shells, but this time she grasped the core itself, careful to leave herself space away from the eye, which she tried to leave exposed for vision.

The wash cloth scrub started gentle and worsened, but peaked at a high pressure rub. "I'm seeing that you do indeed have a coat of stuff, but I'm also seeing that I need another cleaning tool," the Guardian said. "Scrub brush okay?"

"Try it," Ghost agreed.

Freija dipped the brush and scrubbed gently, apparently succeeding because she didn't get nearly as rough as before.

"You're gonna be so confused when you see the mirror," Freija teased. "A full inch smaller in diameter. Do Shaders color on top of the crap or what?"

"Shaders bend light, so it's less that I now have a new color myself as things just look different. Just means the base doesn't matter."

Freija grunted noncommittally and continued her scrub of the little metal body, carefully avoiding palming her eye as she worked her way around.

"This is actually kinda nice," the Ghost admitted. "I mean the scrubbing part. The bath part is really nice. This was a good idea, thank you."

"You're welcome," cheered Freija. "You want to soak some more while I get the shell? And what do you think I can use for soap? Can we clearcoat stuff?"

"I don't know," admitted Ghost. "Maybe just dish soap for now, and we can see if something else sounds good later."

Freija gave the same grunt as before and gently placed the Ghost back in the water to let her soak, remembering the soap after a second. "Might need to wash the other shells," she said. "I can get it. Dunno why I thought this wouldn't be a thing. Figured some magic kept you clean. Light or something."

The Ghost giggled.

Freija finished the flaps after a few millennia. She then leaned over the sink and gently placed the brush to the rear of the Ghost and scrubbed when she didn't run away. "Rex has the turn-y slot on his back, yours is more like a slide button."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. His eye is round where yours is a rectangle, too." Her voice dropped when she said, "I can see where the relic touched."

The Ghost nudged the brush and rolled to look up at Freija through the water. "You did really good that day," she promised. The Guardian gulped and nodded, returning to her work. "I can't feel a difference. Is there a dent or anything?"

"Just a dark spot. I thought it was dirty until I remembered."

"It's okay."

"Do you need me to clean your eye? How would you like me to do that? Just glass cleaner and a chamois like my helmets and visuals cams? Wanted to avoid micro scratches."

"That should work?"

"If it leaves any streaks, we'll try stuff until something works or we have to ask."

Ghost rolled in the water so Freija could target missed spots, and finally emerged to spin dry. Freija held a hand up to block the flying water with a laugh, then went to retrieve the glass cleaner.

"I'm gonna do my best not to hurt you," the Guardian vowed. As if afraid she'd break, Freija gently grasped in her off hand and leaned close to watch what she was doing. The motions started at the top and looped along from top to bottom, left to right, and then swept along. Ghost didn't realize it was dirty, either. The sharp red of Freija's hair almost glared in her vision.

She did the spirals again, clearing everything but the very outermost edge. "I'm gonna have to get dedicated tools to get your little cracks and crevices clear. Special scrubbies. Think you need polish or anything?"

"Polish?" the Ghost echoed.

"Bath time not come up amongst the others?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling. "Maybe ask? I'm sure someone does something like it. We can look into metal cleaners and the like. You don't feel like anything I've touched before."

"Maybe," the Ghost agreed. "Thank you, Freija," she said.

Freija placed a helmet on the table and grinned at her Ghost. "I'll get you a little mirror to hang and look in, soon."

@annieruok94

[ebonyslasher]

Yasssss your back , I hope your ok love 💕☺️ . Can I request Asa Emory and Jesse cromeans poly ( if you can or you can do them separately if you want ) with a reader who gives them a lap dance and a strip tease at the same time . 😊

Been a while, I had some big life changes happening lately. Also, writers block is a bitch! I'm good tho love, Hope you're doing okay! And of course

....you know as i wrote this out I forgot to incorporate the lap dance. I can do that separately. Sorry about that love!

Light Grown Folks Business coming up~

Poly!Asa/Jesse Strip Tease:

You, Asa, and Jesse were hanging out, sitting on the couch. Asa was doing some light article reading, Jesse watching a random show on TV, and you scrolling through Twitter. A standard day in your lovely poly relationship, which you were beginning to loathe. Not the relationship (never!), but the routine

Especially right now.

You wanted to do something different. Maybe a game you all can play?  No, last time you did that -Asa threw a knife at Jesse's head while he was laughing at his defeat. Thankfully, the knife missed but you all would not be doing that again soon.

As you pondered, a low thrum of arousal drifted through your lower abdomen. As minutes passed, the thrum got stronger. Making you want to do something sexy.

Sexy times were always smooth sailing for the three of you. And that's where you get your idea.

"I'll be back," you said, promptly jumping up and walking towards your room to change clothing. Your current outfit was not suitable for what you were about to do. Through your rummaging, there was this sapphire blue ruffle skirt that caught your eye. You had bought it months ago, wanting it for daily wear. Although, the reason why it didn't escapes you. It wasn't until it was put on that you remembered why. The skirt barely covered the bottom of your ass.

Perfect.

And what went better than a white crop top and some green rhinestone thigh jewelry?

You idle a bit in the hallway, silently connecting your phone to the Bluetooth speakers in the living room. A random drum and bass song was chosen to start.

Strutting into the living room confidently, Jesse is the first to see you, tensing in surprise. Asa, however, was glued to the article he was reading -ignoring the music. Turning the music up louder to interrupt him, hoping he would start watching when you started dancing.

Your hips sway. Promiscuous hands start lightly rubbing the sides of your neck, sliding down your shoulders towards your chest.

Asa sees movement out of his peripheral and looks up. He's glad he did so- the image of you dancing blessing his vision.

From the outside looking in, it was an awkward scene. 2 stiff, unmoving white guys (one with a shiny skull mask) watching a sexy, but slightly awkward black woman rotating her hips. But, between you three, the whole scene was invigorating.

The drum and the bass were sitting in the back of their heads while the image of you was at their forefront. Your hands were rubbing and grabbing at all your lovely assets, stopping at your breast at some point. You take off your bra and throw it on the ground. Your hard nipples were begging to be seen through the shirt. How exciting!

You turn around, butt protruding as you bend over. You touch your cute toes, fingers gliding up your fantastic legs into the skirt, where you take off some sexy panties and throw them at the boys.

Asa and Jesse were -of course- mesmerized. This was the first time you've ever done a striptease. Those sultry looks you gave them made them hot.

Throughout your tease, you noticed that Asa didn't even blink. Turning your head away to keep from laughing you begin to take off your shirt. The loveliest of brown areolas come into view, your breast finally out of that white confinement.

Ending the show with a wink, you slowly walk to the bedroom. Both guys shoot up out of their seats and quickly follow, erections in tow. Before Jesse goes in, he realizes that he forgot to record you dancing.

Damn.

[getlostsquidward]

Divine Intervention

Irina Spalko x fem!reader

A/N: For the anon that requested another Irina fic, here you go! <3

Warnings: violence, blood, nudity

Summary: The knowledge-seeking woman gets what she wants, and more.

gif from here

“Tell me everything you know.”

“I want to know everything! I want to know!”

An ominous sound can be heard in the Akator. Debris of rocks from the ceiling was starting to fall, the walls of the temple were rotating, and there was a very bright light coming from above. Akator was slowly deteriorating, but Irina didn’t falter; spellbound by the creatures who will give her the knowledge she always wanted to have. The people around her either got away in time or were sucked in by the spaceship. She stood ground in the middle of the thirteen crystal beings, graciously accepting their great gift.

“Tell me. I’m ready. I want to know!”

A smoke-like thing transferred from their skulls to Irina, passing her the wisdom she so desired.

“I can see. I can see!”

The crystal skeletons started to merge, incorporating to form a body. “Cover it! Cover it!”

Irina was overwhelmed by the knowledge she had gotten. It was too much for her, a human brain to handle; her eyes started to burn, her body disintegrated and turned into ash.

-

Irina was woken up by the blinding ray of the sun peeking in between the tall big trees, in the middle of the woods. She touched her face, her arms, to check for any burns or wounds, but she found none. She also found herself… stark naked. No clothes, no shoes, not even her trusty rapier. Blindly believing that she was alone in this vast forest, she roamed around to find clothes and shelter.

She was incredibly hungry and parched, having walked for hours now. Her feet had small cuts now, her arms with insect bites, due to the absence of garments to protect her body. Yet, she doesn’t plan to stop searching even if the sun is setting down.

It was now dark, but she can slightly see a faint flicker of lights not far ahead. She followed the light, determined to get what she needed even if she had to kill someone if they refused. It was a two-story cabin, inhabited, based on the fruits and vegetables growing outside. She looked around the house, searched for another entrance beside the front door and windows. Irina found a back door, but it was locked. She stared blankly at the doorknob, wishing she had something with her to open the damn door that wouldn’t alert whoever was inside.

The knob clicked. Thinking that someone had opened it from the inside, she shuffled for a fighting stance, ready to attack. When the door didn’t open, she pushed it and peeked inside. There was no sign of people, and the lights were off. She peered in the dark, searched for something she can eat. There was none lying around, and instead, she met was some new shiny appliances.

Her eyes caught the knives in the corner, so she took one, just in case it was needed. The sound of stomping feet from the wooden stairs alerted the Colonel-Doctor. She hid in the dark and waited if the person was threatening enough to kill.

-

You skipped the last two stairs, rushing to the fridge to get a tub of ice cream. You skimmed the items inside, looking for something to snack on while you watch your favourite show. It was rather empty aside from the half-full ice cream tub, and some leftovers. You really have to get groceries tomorrow. As you closed the door, a sharp object was pointed at your neck. You retreat away until your back hit the table. You can faintly see the woman hovering over you thanks to the dim light from the kitchen island.

You slowly raised your hands on your head, “Woah, lady. What do you want? You wanna rob my kitchen? Well, consider this your unlucky day because there’s barely anything ther-“ you stop blabbering as she pressed the knife into your skin.

“I need clothes and food. And tell me what this place is.” Her thick accent sent shivers on your spine.

“Okay. First, this is my house, and well, we’re in the middle of nowhere; and this middle of nowhere is in the Y/C. I will get you clothes, but I need to get upstairs to my room. For the food, there’s a leftover in the fridge. I’ll heat it for you if you want. Please, just please don’t kill me,” you pleaded.

She stepped back enough for you to stand, but her hand grabbed your shoulder as a precaution as if you can outmuscle her. You walked towards the fridge to get her food and put it in the oven. After setting the timer, you head to the stairs, the woman still behind you. Once you got to your room she closed the door abruptly and gave you space to rummage on your closet. You don’t know if your clothes will fit her so you settled on giving her an oversized shirt and one of your comfy shorts. “Here,” you turned around to give her when you finally noticed that she was naked. “What the fu…” your eyes trail down her Alabaster skin, but abruptly faced away when she cleared her throat. Blushing from being caught, you merely tossed the clothes to her.

Gathering your courage to speak, you asked, “Lady, who are you and why are you very nude in my house?” You’re insanely beautiful too, and I mean that with utter respect.

“Irina Spalko. I woke up in the middle of these woods earlier. You can turn around now.” Once you did, she continued, “And thank you.”

“Well, I don’t really mind the company, as long as you don’t kill me, please.”

“Insanely beautiful.”

You stared at her dumbly, "What?”

“You said I’m insanely beautiful,” she said smugly, her lips tugging upwards on a smirk.

Now, what the fuck did she just said? “I- I didn’t say anything like that. You must be hallucinating, Ms. Spalko. Your hunger makes you hear things.” You scurried off downstairs to get as far away from her, and your ice cream. It must have turned to a puddle now.

You set her food on the table and wait as she took her time before following you out. She must be so sure that you wouldn’t take off and call for help.

The princess had finally descended, you thought as you watch her sit at the table and eat silently. “Colonel-Doctor. Not a princess,” she declared. You opened your mouth to speak but remained in an O-shape as no coherent words were coming out. “H-how- what- I- I don’t understand. A-are you a mind reader or something? A witch?”

“Neither. Just… a chosen one.” After that, she paid you no mind and continued eating.

You walked out of the kitchen, fearing that she would hear your thoughts again. Instead, you whispered to yourself, “What have I gotten myself into? I'm like a hostage in my own house, okay. I feel like the main character that dies first in a horror movie.”

You sauntered back in the kitchen and asked the woman, “I take it you’re staying here for the meantime? So do you wanna sleep in the living room or the guest room?” you probed. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? If I want to stay alive?”

She only nodded. “Thought so; Uhm, so, where?”

“Guest room.”

“Got it. If you’re finished, just throw the plate into the trash. I’ll ready the room.”

You just finished placing some sheets into the bed when she arrived. “Okay, housemate. Bed’s ready. It’s been a long day for the both of us, and I really wanna sleep now, so let’s settle what we have to settle tomorrow, ‘kay? Good night,” you finished your speech and closed the door. You leaned onto it and breathed out a deep sigh. When did you become such a hospitable host that you just let a dangerous woman into your house?

-

Sleep didn’t come to Irina that night. She tried to remember what happened before she got here. Right. They had returned the skull to Akator; she requested knowledge and they gave it to her. Her brain was overloaded with too much information that she disintegrated. Irina still remembers the excruciating pain, the feeling that someone was drilling holes into her head, the feeling of being burned, but here she was, alive and well. In the middle of nowhere, with someone who looks very vulnerable. You proved to be of use to her, so she won’t harm you… as of now.

Her mind drifted to you. How was she able to read what was on your mind just by sparing you a glance? Before, she needed to be close to the person as possible before she can read them. Her psychic abilities had her family ostracized; the reason she sought knowledge and her purpose. How about the doorknob? Did she do it? Did the interdimensional beings amplified her abilities, and possibly gave her more?

How many days have passed since she was in Akator?

64 years.

At first, she couldn’t comprehend how time had passed, seeing as she didn’t age one bit. But since Irina had encountered aliens herself, nothing was odd for her anymore.

“So you’re saying you’re from the ’50s?”

“Yes.”

“How did that happen?” you curiously asked. “I mean, one day, you’re in a temple in the ’50s, then you woke up in the woods in 2021?” she nodded. “Actually, you know what, whatever. I believe you. The world is in shambles right now and I wouldn’t be surprised anymore if aliens were real,” you finished as you parked your car.

“Here’s the deal, Irina. You’re a woman out of time, and so much had changed since you… since then,” you paused, “And you’re a very physical woman. Like I think if someone bumped their cart onto you you’ll tackle them to the ground, and I don’t wanna cause a scene. So, stick with me, please.”

So far, so good. Irina wasn’t causing a scene yet, except when she snatches out the item you were holding. She was intently reading the label and then muttering about how it wasn’t good for the body and then putting it back on the shelf.

The cart was nearly full; mostly food, toiletries, and some tools. Irina didn’t add anything save for a toy sword. Okay.

She was mostly quiet, but you see that her eyes silently wander around the place, on the people around, frequently landing on you. You spent shopping in comfortable silence, letting her absorb the state of the world. She may be listing off her questions in her head and then ask about them later.

You look at your grocery list and cart simultaneously, checking if you’ve got everything you needed. As you confirm that you’ve had, you gasped as Irina took your hand into hers and laced your fingers together. You looked at your joined hands, feeling how warm and soft her hand is. You remembered that she can read minds, so you jokingly asked, ‘What hand cream do you use?’, testing her ability once again.

“There are two men following us since we got out of the car. I doubt you noticed, but good thing you take so long in every aisle, I was able to confirm that they were indeed following us,” she whispered, her hot breath tickling your ears. “They intend to steal from you.”

Fear taking over you, you stammered “Oh. Stealing in the light of day, okay, uh can’t you do anything to them? Any more abilities? Clearly, you can defend yourself based on how you introduced yourself last night.”

“I could, but you said you didn’t want to cause a scene. And I wasn’t certain until now.”

“Yeah, I take that back. Do what you have to. I trust you.”

Irina found this as an excuse to measure her abilities. You continued to act normal, proceeding to the counter to pay for your groceries. They have no idea that you and Irina have noticed them already. The men split up, keeping themselves at a distance, as one queued at the counter beside yours. The other had gone out of your sight.

She planned to lure them into the alley at the back of the shop. Once you arrived, she had noticed the other man nonchalantly leaning on the wall ahead, waiting for you. You continued to walk slowly until you felt the second man behind you, effectively trapping the both of you in the middle of the back alley. The moment they got near, the man behind spoke, “You, the one with the bags. Give me your money,” he hissed, referring to you. “Your phone and keys. And no one will get hurt.”

You would’ve run for the life of you if there wasn’t another man waiting on the other side, flipping a knife. Eyes locked on Irina, you patiently wait for her instruction, hoping she wouldn’t turn on you and leave you alone.

“I won’t,” she murmured, side-eyeing either man at your side.

The Ukrainian wasn’t sure if her hunch was right, but if she wasn’t, she could still take both men with bare hands. She stared at the knife and envisioned it impaling on his stomach. The man’s grunt had confirmed her hunch as red stained his clothes, and blood trickled to the ground. She then pulled the knife out and willed it to pierce through the other man’s thigh. Once he was down on his knees, Irina’s hand that never left yours yanked you to run to your car. She gave them a last glance and hurled their bodies to the wall for safe measure.

Afraid that someone might have seen what happened, you started the car immediately and drove out. None of you spoke until you’re sure that you are far enough from the store. “What the fuck?” you blurted, adrenaline still coursing through you. “Did you- did you do that? No, no don’t answer. You definitely did. Uh, telekinesis and mind-reading? Any additional powers you’re hiding?”

You glanced at her, her eyes straight on the road. “Because if you’re planning to stay in my house for God knows how long, you might wanna tell me about them.”

She was silent for a while, contemplating her answer. “I don’t know if there’s more.”

When you didn’t respond, she told you everything that had happened to her since she was a child. How they were exiled in their village when her psychic abilities had manifested, how her own mother feared her for her naïve innocence, which led her to flee the village and search for answers.

You listened attentively, though lost yourself when she mentioned that she was part of the Soviet Union. You only hear and see on the internet how these people were trained, and uneasiness was creeping up. Her intentions weren’t clear; she hadn’t yet thought about what she’s going to do now that she’s in a society she outgrew.

When she noticed that you trailed off, she spoke, “I don’t use a hand cream.”

It was a good thing that you’re not stepping on any pedal right now because you would have pressed the brakes heavily. You raised your brow at her, amused, and a chuckle coming out from you. Though her eyes were still cold and impassive, a genuine smile tugged from her lips.

[yandere-sins]

Could you do 47 with a vampire Tsukki from Haikyuu? I'm not sure what the situation is, but could the reader be chubby or plus sized?

 First HQ request >-< Am I nervous? A little, but it’s the good nervous! Thank you for requesting! ^-^ Since it’s an xReader, their looks are to up to individual interpretation, I don’t have too much say in it for a reason! Check out my PSA on requesting if you want to know more.

“I am not disappointed. In fact, I’ve been alive for almost a century now, so this is just a small setback.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««    

Waking up never had felt so strained before as it did now. Your eyes slowly opened, your view all blurry even when you blinked a few times. The first thing you could see again was the top of your thighs, and it made you quickly realize you were looking down on your seated form. Using some core strength to sit upright again, you were hit with dizziness in your head and pain in your neck, figuring you must have sat hunched over for a while.

Groaning, you tried to focus on the things around you, turning side to side, only to find a restrain on your body. Begrudgingly, you looked down once more, pulling and rotating your wrists, bound by a red rope to the chair you were sitting on. Even though you couldn’t see it, you felt the same tight, restraining force on your ankle, and a slow panic rose.

“Okay, think,” you instructed yourself quietly, pinching your eyes closed again as remembering hurt more than you thought it would. You had been at home when some bandits showed up. Jumped out of the window, ran into the forest, sought shelter in an abandoned house you found. You had thought yourself to be safe inside the mansion, wanting to hide out there before going back home and see what was left of your belongings.

So how did you end up in this peculiar situation?

Was that the bandits work? Did they string you up like this? Did they follow and find you? All your memories after you slipped inside the mansion were unavailable to you; you just couldn’t remember anymore.

But that didn’t help with the panic, as you suddenly heard wood creak in the distance, imagine it were the floorboards budging under the weight of someone approaching. Helpless, you looked around, surprised that you could actually see something from candles being placed all around the room sporadically. Otherwise, it was dark as night around you, thick, heavy curtains covering the windows, so you didn’t even know what time of day it was. But aside from bookshelves, a desk, a bed, and a couch across from you, there wasn’t much to find here either. It was enough to live for one person, but who’d live all alone in an old house out in the dark woods?

Then again, if it was the handful of bandits you encountered, you really didn’t care how they lived. All you cared about was what they were going to do.

You grew frantic as you heard the door handle being pushed, not having noticed any steps coming closer than when you listened to the wood creaked. Your head jumped into the direction, the fast movement causing another wave of dizziness on you as you watched a blonde tuft of hair slip in through the gap.

“Oh,” the man spoke as he noticed you watching him. He didn’t look like he was one of the bandits, with fine, delicate clothes on him, fitted and sharp - nothing that simple bandits would need. His glasses didn’t hide the brilliant orcher color of his eyes, shining strongly behind the black frame, and his skin was fairer than the fairest maid in your village had. “Someone decided to wake up.”

In his hand, he carried a small plate, packed with chocolate rips that he set down on the table in front of you, picking up a piece to hold it in front of your face. With a shake of your head and a small grunt, you bit your lips, unwilling to take anything a stranger so casually offered to you. Surprisingly, after another initial, demanding shake of his hand, he let off, throwing the piece back to the other’s while sighing.

“Who are you?” you finally asked, adding a quieter, “And where are we...” at the end of it. The man sat down, leaning forward with his fingers in the gap between his legs. “My home that you intruded in, and I am Tsukishima Kei, the owner of the mansion.”

“Can’t be,” you blurted out without thinking. No one lived in the mansion, it was long abandoned, and everyone in your village knew it, so he must have been lying. Frowning, he took in your words, shaking his head slowly. “Humans, always so quick to judge. Don’t you remember when you first entered the mansion?”

Taken aback, you had to admit you didn’t remember. “No... not really...”

“Oh,” he noted bluntly. “I guess that's my fault, loss of blood can cause short-term amnesia.”

The questions in your face must have been prominent as he huffed, a smirk falling over his lips. “Just because it looks abandoned doesn’t mean it is. You were quite taken aback with how beautiful my entrance hall was, but I reacted out of instinct. My bad.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand... Bandits attacked me, and I fled here and--”

“Ah, yes, the bandits. I took care of them. I am sure you don’t mind.”

“N-No, I don’t mind?” Confused, you tried to calm yourself, realizing you were still bound to the chair, having this awkward conversation with whoever he was. “So, how did I end up like this?” Emphasizing your question, you twisted your wrists, the rope straining and making noise.

“The ropes? Well, you see, I can’t let you go,” Tsukishima spoke calmly, nonchalant even. “But why? Please, I was just trying to get away from the bandits--”

“And I told you, I took care of them.” Pushing his glasses up, he folded his hands in his lap, leaning back. His eyes pierced you, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms, when he suddenly got up again, rounding the small coffee table in a matter of seconds. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for the trouble of dealing with them? I haven’t had some human blood in a while. It’s only fair you’d stay until I am satisfied.”

“B-Blood?!” you squeaked, trying to follow him with your head, but he passed you by, getting behind you where you couldn’t see him anymore. All the more, you flinched as his arm suddenly came up from the side, holding up a mirror in front of you. You saw your own frightened look on your face, as well as a prominent, familiar mark on your neck. Though, as you inspected it more closely, your eyes drifted to something even more unnerving, and you noticed that despite you feeling him standing behind you, there was no reflection from him in the mirror next to you.

“V-Vampire...” you whispered, and you heard him let out a long, amused hum. “Why are you still surprised?”

He was right. Memories started to flood back into your mind. Of you, getting torn to the ground by what you thought to be a raging animal. In reality, it must have been him, starved and alerted by your approach, and the realization made you shudder. You could have died from it, but you were still there, completely at his mercy.

“Unfortunately, you tasted so bitter, I could barely enjoy the experience.”

Arm and mirror disappeared as he walked back forth into your field of view, and you did your best to keep face in front of him. He picked up the chocolate again, holding it to your lips. Through clenched teeth, you denied it, staring him down despite feeling weak to the intense gaze he had while appearing to be downright bored by the situation. “I am sorry to disappoint, but I won’t eat that.”

“I am not disappointed. In fact, I’ve been alive for almost a century now, so this is just a small setback.” His free hand was by your nose before you could turn your head away - at least try to fight him - pinching down hard, so you yapped for air as you were cut short of it. The moment your mouth was open, he shoved in the chocolate, and you were tempted to bite him as he clasped your mouth shut too, releasing your nose so you could breathe.

“Stare all you like,” he taunted you, while the sickeningly sweet spread on your tongue, daring to simply slip down your throat through the saliva your body produced. “We’ll be here as long as I want to, so you better start learning what your place is in this, Human.”

He held up a new piece of chocolate, and you got aware of his doings. Tsukishima was trying to alter the sugar level in your blood before emptying you completely, presumably, even vampire's had specific tastes they prefered. “I am sure someone will come to look for me!”

“How scary,” he laughed, teasing you with the knowledge that no one could do anything against him. “You better be good, or they might end up hurt too, you know?”

How awful, you thought, using all kinds of dirty tricks on you so you’d comply. Yet, when he brought the chocolate to your mouth, you took a bite, never stopping your eye contact with him, causing his brows to flinch for a moment as he didn't expect your compliance. “I wonder if you’ll make it any more interesting than those bandits. I really can’t stand all those screams and bones breaking.”

Shuddering at the prospect of dying by the hands of a monster like he was, you chewed away on your chocolate in frustration before announcing, “I’ll make it hell for you.”

“Oh,” he noted, lips curling into a wicked grin. “I’d like to see that.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««  

Feel free to request from the Supernatural Prompts too!

[joaquinwhorres]

Hi! Idk if you write headcanons, but I please get one of Sweet Pea taking care of the reader after having surgery? I'm having surgery next week and this would be gravely appreciated and would help comfort me a bit! Please and thank you!!!! 💜💜💜💜

I don’t usually write head canons, but this definitely deserves one. Sorry it’s a little different from what you asked: 

- When you find out that you need to have surgery, you’re nervous to say the least.

- Someone was going to be cutting you up. And sure, it was going to be a highly trained professional and it was going to significantly improve your life and health and you wouldn’t feel a thing, but someone was going to be cutting you up. 

- But if you thought that you were nervous, Sweet Pea was a MESS. 

- Jughead would frequently point this out and ask what was going on.

   - Fangs would ask “Awww is this what you were like when I was in the hospital?”

- Sweet Pea usually told them to shut up.

- When Toni pressed him on it, he stated that he didn’t trust Northside hospitals–or hospitals in general. 

- Toni would smile. 

- Fangs would tell him that he made it out ok. Hardly even a scar.

- And for some reason you always assured him that you’d be fine. Which was actually really helpful in convincing yourself that you’d be fine.

- But the day you went in, Sweet Pea pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go.

- Even though friends generally didn’t have hugs that lasted a solid minute. 

- You thought about the feeling of his leather jacket against your cheek and your fingertips as you drifted off to sleep. 

- It was the first thing you saw when you woke up. 

- Recovery wasn’t so bad.

- Because Sweet Pea your friends were there all the time

- They were on a constant rotation of taking care of you afterwards. 

- It wasn’t that big of a deal, but they refused to ever leave you alone.

- Especially Sweet Pea

- He was also the best of them all because all you had to do was wince and he offered to get you drugs or food or pillows or anything you needed.

- Most of it was because he hated seeing you in pain.

- A small part of him loved the fact that you had no filter on your pain meds.

- Listening to you roast Cheryl while slightly high was absolutely hilarious

- Listening to you roast Jughead was close to euphoria.

- These were the reasons he gave to you and the other Serpents as to why he took more shifts than anyone else.

 - It had nothing to do with the fact that he loved that small smile you’d give him whenever he came through the door. 

- Or how sometimes while the two of you were watching movies so that you’d relax and not overexert yourself you’d fall asleep against him

- Or how he got to wrap an arm around you and hold you close against him when you did this. 

- One time when he was handing you a glass of water you requested (because you never had to lift a finger as long as he was around) you let it slip.

- I love you

- Damn drugs.

- But then the most brilliant smile crossed his face.

- Which was rare and beautiful and it made your heart beat faster than maybe was good for someone who just had surgery

- Sweet Pea said it back.

- AND HE WASN’T EVEN DRUGGED.

- Then he sat down on the couch and wrapped an arm around you, gently pulling you into him. 

- And he kissed the top of your head.

- And whispered all of the things the two of you would do once you were done recovery.

- You were fairly certain that it was these promises that convinced your body to speed things up a little and get better sooner than expected.

[marshaeb]

"P.S: I'm Mated With The Cursed Alpha!"

Chapter Two

Hey guy! Don’t forget to Like, Comment, Review, and Follow for more updates! My apologies in advance for all the grammatical errors. Book will be professionally edited when completed.

It all happened in October of last year. Five days after spending the most magical night of pleasure and ecstasy with Jackson.

I could still remember the bright sunlight piercing through the morning’s autumn sky. Hitting my sleepy face as my eyes fluttered open.

The fresh smell of pines, fuming the air from the forest was strong that day. I’ve even gotten up before the pack’s guards rippled their howls throughout the territory, which was something a non-morning person like me was never famous for.

I would either be awakened by Talloc flapping her wings loudly against the window post after returning from her late-night hunt. Or, from Mom bursting through my room door. Irritating me as she tore open my blinds and scolding me about the little mess and feathers laid around. Then ranting in my head about being late for work again.

Yeah, It was definitely a particular day. Talloc wasn’t back as yet from her late-night hunting and mom was probably still out on her morning run she does every day. Being the perfectionist that she is.

I rolled within the thick comforter of my bed, shivering slightly as the drafty air whisked over my body.

The time clock, stationed above my wall, was only three minutes away until the hand struck twelve, making it precisely six o’clock. I stripped away my covers and placed my bare feet onto the cold wooden floor. My mind had instantly drifted to Jackson. I hadn’t seen him since that night we spent together.

Ever since graduation, and being enrolled in our elected work fields, we were too busy to spend time with each other. He was a trained warrior wolf and I worked in the hospital as a nurse, under the head nurse, Mrs. Osborne.

After I had stuffed my bag with my scrapes of notes and my anatomy textbook, Talloc had suddenly appeared at the window, frightening me half to death.

“Talloc!” I gasped, holding my heaving chest. “You scared me there!”

I paused and took a quick glance at the clock once more then back at my sassy snowy owl, who was rolling her neck at me with a little too much attitude.

“You’re three minutes late, Miss sassy pants,” I said walking over to her when I found a drop of blood, stain on her white features. “Gosh, were you at war with your food last night, Tal’?”

She screeched aloud and rotated her neck once more to agree.

“I figured.” I chuckled, trying to quickly get dressed. “I’m working the early shift today so... you know where to find me.”

After I had finished getting dressed in my baby blue scrubs, a loud shrieking sound, like nails raking against a chalkboard, came through my window. Instantly I recognized that sound. It was my best friend Sarah’s male owl, Gideon. He was a feisty one himself. Always snapping at someone’s finger whenever he got the chance to.

I looked over and noticed the beige envelope, caught in the crook of his beak with my name on it.

“Sarah wrote to me?” I was baffled, taking the thin envelope from his sharp beak before he snapped at me. I’d already gotten too many peeks and bruises from talloc whenever I attempt to groom her, I don’t need anymore.

I tore open the envelope and unraveled the folded note.

Read:

Hey there you! I’ve given Gileon half an hour to deliver this to you. You and I know he can get a little sidetracked and probably arrived an hour later instead.

But my intentions were for him to reach you before you leave for work to read this. So if he did made it before you left, bravo Gileon! If not...let’s not acted surprised.

Anyway, I just wanted to remind you of the graduate’s after-party at the St Pete’s Tavern this afternoon. Everyone’s going to be there and you better be too! I don’t want to go alone, Joe-y!

You know the routine if your mom happens to gets in the way. Be ready at seven o’clock. I’ll be there to pick you up after I’m done marking my fourth-graders test papers.

~~~

A heavy sigh had left my lips thinking heavily on everything I had just read. A graduation after-party with the same people I scarcely liked during high school was the main reason I felt so hesitant. Then, I had to sneak out again and risk the chance of getting in trouble for it. Though I was done with school... I wasn’t eighteen as yet. So, therefore, mom was still responsible for me and the places I go and it was definitely not partying.

Unless she was there or it’s something to do with the pack. A werewolf graduation party where there’ll be heavy drinking and smoking, skinny dipping, gambling, and many promiscuous, immature activities was one thing she or any strict mother would not approve of.

At the last graduation party, a girl was so intoxicated, she fractured her head which left her in a coma diving headfirst into the shallow end of the pool. Obviously, Mom was furious about the incident seeing that she’s the leader of the pack, and took great pride in her reputation. Having by St Pete’s was risking being that it’s out of the territory, but Sarah was my best friend and I would hate to let her down. Plus, I might get the chance to see Jackson again.

He’d been on my ever since the other night. The kissing, the cuddling, and those sweet-talk alone had me craving him like a crazy ex-girlfriend...I wouldn’t mention the mind-blowing sex. I wanted more... I wanted him.

My thoughts were instantly intervened by the sudden ruckus coming from my window. Talloc and Gileon had caught themselves in a nasty encounter like they always do when they see each other. They were picking and clawing at each other like vicious monsters with their beaks and talons.

“No! Stop that, now! I said launching at them to break them apart. In return, one of their talons had accidentally slashed me deeply on my wrist up to the inside of my forearm.

“O-ouch!” I yelped through clenched teeth, gasping my bleeding wound. Before I could stain my clothes with blood, I held my bleeding arm a few inches away from me, apply as much pressure as I could.

I shooed them both outside and glanced up at the clock once more. It was thirty-five minutes after six. Any more time wasted, I would have been late for work for the third time this week.

I rushed into the bath and ran some warm water over my aching wound. It burned like hell, but I suck up the pain and rushed downstairs to the first kit.

Surprisingly, mom was still not back from her morning run. I wondered where she could have been so late. I thought maybe she was at the office or had dropped the twins, Sammy and Samantha a.k.a, Dwight and Angela at school. Which I highly doubted since everyone knew mom the alpha. They hated the attention she always caused.

I didn’t blame them either. Mom could be such a pain sometimes...well most of the time.

After wrapping up my wounded, sore arm, I rush out and took the quickest shortcut to work before Mrs. Osborne report to mom again about being late to work.

~~~~

By the skin of my teeth, I made it on time three minutes before Mrs. Osborne began marking the register, then assigned us to work.

“What happened to your arm, Ms. Hunnings?” She asked as the other trainee nurses looked our way.

I quickly hid my arm behind me, trying to throw it off like it was nothing, though it ached so badly.

“I can obviously see that you’re hiding it from me.” She said, raising a sharp brow at me.

I held my breath, praying she would just let me be from drawing more attention than she already has.

“I-its nothing, seriously...” I choked slightly on my words. I said, trying to convince her.

“Probably got that, trying to sneak out her window again.” I overheard two girls whispering about me to my left. “I bet she still gets tucked into bed at night too...poor baby.”

I recognize their voice immediately and wasn’t surprised by who it was. Chelsea and her little sidekick, Eugenia always had something to say. It was one thing dealing with them, causing trouble and telling rumors about me in grade school, now I had to deal with their crap here at work too.

I immediately took a deep breath, trying my best to control my wolf growling within me.

“Ms. Lincole and Ms. Robinson, we will not have that kind of behavior in this environment!” Mrs. Osborne said. “This is a hospital, not high school.”

A small smile had formed on my face seeing their faces as they got set in their place. Our homeroom teacher, Ms. Potters never set them straight like this. Finally, someone was calling them out on their bullshit!

“You all can get to work now,” she dismissed the trainees. I too was about to leave when she stopped me from taking another step.

“Not you... Ms. Hunnings.” She seethed through her teeth. “I wasn’t through talking with you, was I?”

I paused and looked her in those large hazel eyes, piercing through her thick glasses at me.

“No ma’am,” I cleared my throat nervously. “I-I’m--my apologies... Ma’am.”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, she sighed deeply and said, “Show me your hand, Ms. Hunnings.”

Having no other choice, I showed her my injured arm. The untidy bandaging I had done was covered in blood.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “This is nothing? You’re losing too much blood.”

My eyes widened at the sight of it. I hadn’t realized how bad it was. I was in a rush when it all happened. She sat me down and rest my arm across the table, collecting a few gauze pads and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Undressing the bandaging, she gasped at the long, deep gash in my arm.

“Goddess! What happened?” She asked applying the solution onto the pad, patting it gently onto my cut.

Instantly, I bit back the pain as the peroxide began to foam in my open wound.

“My friend Sarah’s owl... and my owl had a little scuffle. I tried to intervene...but...” I said, holding back the pain. “I was clawed.”

“This isn’t a thin gash...you might need a few stitches,” she explained. “It’s really deep and needs a thorough cleaning. An owl’s talon is very infectious. Especially since they use them to catch and eat disease-carrying prey.

I panted and swallowed deeply. “How many do you think I need?” I asked.

She observed it carefully and said, “I’m not quite sure. Probably nine...the most.”

I blew out a deep breath and hung my head. “That’s a lot.” I sighed.

“Don’t worry.” She winked at me. “I’ll have you patched up in no time. Then I’ll prescribe you some pain killers for the soreness.”

~~~~

After Mrs. Osborne was done stitching and coating a dime-size amount of antibiotics cream over my wound, she began to dressed my arm and gave me two tablets to take for the pain.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Loved,” I said playfully, but deep down I did. She took my response personally, judging by how serious her countenance had turned. “Sorry, I meant...thank you. I feel much better.”

She leaned away and disposed of the bloody clothes. “I don’t think you can work in your condition, but you could assist me and take notes for today.”

Though Mrs. Osborne is always busy and takes her work seriously, I was thrilled to work under her for the day. It was a perfect opportunity to see and learn more whiles the others carried out their basic assignments.

That day at work continued on much differently compared to the first day I started. I had the chance to work with Nurse Osborne one-on-one. I had learned and seen so much. That day couldn’t get any more stranger than it already was.

That’s what I thought...

After a few hours had passed since knocking off from work and explaining over a thousand times to mom and dad how I got my wound, I was well-rested and got myself ready for the party. I wore a long sleeve midi dress with a pair of sneakers. I braided my puff into a long ponytail, then apply a light blush of makeup on my face.

There, I heard Sarah calling out for me through our mind link. When sensed that the coast was clear, I creep quietly out my window with one arm and hopped inside the passenger seat of her car.

My conscience started to bother me as we made our way to the venue. I was so uneased. My heart was accelerating faster than it normally should. Something just didn’t feel right about this and like always, I took it lightly.

Unaware of the danger that awaited me that would change my life forever.

Read Chapter Three (Click like below)

[zmediaoutlet]

hmm i'm not good with prompts but: one of the boys is having a horrible day for very trivial reasons (accidentally nicked himself shaving, slammed the door on his hand, phone died inconveniently etc) and then other tries help. cue: (DRUMROLL) SEX but with the one still halfheartedly grumpy

(read on AO3)

He wakes up slow, to an empty bed. He lays there for a fewminutes, face half-buried in the pillow and making sure his breath comessteady, even. In half an hour he won’t even be able to really remember whathe’d been dreaming about. No sense in dwelling on it.

He slept like shit, though—they got home late, after dealingwith that annoying bitch of a naiad who’d been drowning guys on Lake Superior,and he hadn’t wanted to stay anywhere near water, just wanted to get back totheir bed. His ribs are all bruised to shit, and his right wrist—he rotates itslowly, shuffling down the hall, and okay, maybe Sam’s right, maybe he didsprain it.

The kitchen’s empty, when he wanders in. No coffee in thepot, and no grounds left in the jar when he checks. Groceries kept slippingdown the priority list, with the last few hunts they’ve been on. He looks intothe nearly-empty fridge, holding his wrist up against his chest, vague uneasestill lapping slowly at the back of his mind. Maybe he can force Sam to makethe run into town. Surely he must’ve earned a day off, by now.

When he heads into the library to try to wheedle Sam,though, it’s empty, too. He checks his watch—it’s already ten, so Sam ought tobe back from a run if he took one, the freak, and—oh. A note, propped on Sam’slaptop. Got a tip on a grimoire in Topeka, it says, in Sam’s goofyhandwriting. Home late. Dean drops the note on the table and sighs,rubbing his eyes with his good hand. Okay, so no lounging around with Sammy. Hecan get some stuff done, instead.

The weird unease from the morning lingers, though, and hiswrist—god, it really is starting to hurt. He wraps it up himself but he’salways awkward with his left hand and the bandage fits a little weird, and itstill aches as he separates their clothes out of the duffels they’d justdropped when they got home, as he starts the laundry. Almost out of detergent,too. The Impala’s due for an oil change and he manages it with one and a halfhands, but it’s a bitch, and he manages to spill about half the old oil rightonto the concrete when he fumbles the tray unthinking. That’s a fun half-hourof cleanup.

He hasn’t heard from Sam by one o’clock, and there’s aheadache lingering behind his eyes. Lack of caffeine, probably, so he forceshimself to sack up and make the damn grocery run. There’s hardly anyone intown, not that there ever really is, and the store’s empty but for him andEstelle at the register, who doesn’t even look up at him when he comesin. Coffee, beer, laundry detergent, milk and Sam’s stupid plaincornflakes and stuff he can turn into lasagna, and Estelle just stares at himdourly when he gets up to the counter and tells him the credit card machine isbroken. “Of course it is,” Dean says, under his breath, and her expression goeseven stonier. That kills the cash in his pocket, though he still slips hisfourteen cents in change into the little canister for cancer kids, or whatever.“Have a good one,” he says, and Estelle just grunts at him and goes back to herUS Weekly. Okay, then.

The bunker’s only about four miles from Lebanon, out in theempty farm country that hides it from normal people. It’s a bright day, humidand hot with summer, and he rolls down the window as he heads out of town,watches the corn and wheat fields drift by. He’s about halfway home, StickyFingers pumping out loud on the tapedeck, when something—shudders, and hegrabs the wheel tight with both hands and then there’s an awful snap andthe engine shrieks and he stamps on the brakes, squeals to a halt with gravelspraying around him, and then—oh, oh shit, and he pops the hood andscrambles out of the car into the thick air and the engine’s still ticking,trying to cool, and—fuck. Fuck. “Fuck!” he says, loud into the emptyeverything, because that was the goddamn timing belt and he can’t tell,not right away, what damage has been done. It’s only been fifty thousand miles,why—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says, propping himself on thesun-hot frame. He closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fix this, I swear. I swear.” Herubs a hand over his face, through his hair. He’s already sweating. Hard to seehow the day could get worse from here.

It’s almost seven when he makes it home, easing the Impalaalong as slowly as possible. When he walked back to town the co-op had had abelt, thank god, but he was going to have to order an actually good one fromChevy and rebuild about four things from scratch to make sure everything’s inorder. They’ve really got to invest in a truck with a tow package.

He’s sweaty and aching and smeared all over with enginegrease when he finally rolls her into the garage bay, babying her down theramp. He just sits there when he turns the engine off, rests his foreheadagainst the wheel.

Sam’s sitting in the library when he comes in, flippingthrough some ancient book with his laptop at his elbow. He doesn’t reallyglance up when Dean comes in, clearly absorbed in whatever crap is in thestupid grimoire. “Hey, where have you been,” he says, apparently to the book,while Dean stands there, still sweating. “Oh, do you have plans for dinner? I’mstarving.”

For a second Dean just stares, and then for another secondhe gets a very real and powerful urge to punch Sam directly in the throat. Heshouldn’t. If nothing else, it would fuck up his wrist even more. “Groceries inthe car,” he says instead, voice something strangled, and heads directly forthe shower.

He’s been standing still for fifteen minutes, eyes closed,just letting the blast of hot water hit him between the shoulderblades, whenthe door to the shower room opens.

“Hey,” Sam says, again, somewhere behind him. Sounds likehe’s actually paying attention, this time. Dean grunts, doesn’t bother openinghis eyes. There’s a pause, and under the rush of water he can’t really hearmuch. When big hands alight on his hips he flinches, almost slipping on theslick tile, but then Sam’s hands tighten and he’s kept upright.

“Don’t sneak up on people in the shower, dick,” he says, andit maybe comes out harder than he meant, but—fuck, cracking his head open wouldjust be the perfect end to the day.

“Sorry,” Sam says, soft, and he does actually kind of soundsorry. He slides his hands carefully up over Dean’s ribs, over his wet back,and the touch feels… nice. “How’s the wrist?”

Dean got rid of the bandages somewhere in the middle of hishalf-assed belt replacement, since it was smeared to shit with grease and thewrap was coming loose, anyway. It’s been throbbing, since then. “Hurts,” hesays, trying for stoicism, but his voice comes out all thick. Sam’s handssqueeze his shoulders, briefly, and then they disappear for a minute.

“Here,” Sam says, tapping his arm, and Dean opens his eyes tosee Sam holding three pills just outside the spray of water—aspirin, lookslike, and Dean sighs and takes them, swallows them dry, and then Sam’s handreappears holding an open El Sol.

“Beer in the shower?” Dean says, and Sam says, “Why not?”and, really, that’s not a bad point. He takes the bottle in both hands, becausewith the way things have been going he’ll probably drop it and slice open hisfoot, and the few cold swallows go easy down his throat. Sam takes the bottleout of his hand and sets it down somewhere with a clink, and then his handsreturn to Dean’s back, sliding smoothly on either side of his spine in long,slow strokes. Dean drops his head, shifts an inch or two so the water’s hittinghim on the back of the neck and pouring down over where Sam’s hands are moving.

After a few minutes, Sam says, “Saw the tool box was out. Andthe cat litter on the concrete.” Dean sighs. Sam digs his thumbs into themuscle at the base of his neck, pushing in slow pulses. “I was going to put thelaundry in the dryer but I think it’s broken, or something.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dean says, groaning, and Samlaughs, quietly.

“Milk was spoiled, too,” he says, and Dean just wants to sitdown and never leave the goddamn shower. “I’m guessing it’s been quite the day.”

“How was Topeka?” Dean says, a little more sarcastic than hemeans to be. Sam doesn’t snark back, just squeezes his shoulders, and the topsof his biceps, and Dean sighs, again.

“You’ve got grease everywhere,” Sam says. He lets go ofDean, briefly, and when he comes back a slick washcloth smears over Dean’sshoulders, scrubs firmly up over his neck and up over the back of his head,even. “Did you take a bath in it, or something?”

“You try removing a crank pulley on the side of the road inJuly and see if you can keep it neat and tidy,” Dean says, and he can practicallyhear Sam rolling his eyes.

The washcloth scrubs down his arms, and Sam moves in closer,his chest pressing up against Dean’s back when he washes over Dean’s good wristand then so-carefully over his hurt one. He tucks his free arm around Dean’swaist, holding his forearm gently and swabbing Dean’s fingers, one by one, andDean leans back into the solid warmth of him, their skin slick together in thewater. It feels good, not that he’s going to tell Sam that. Sam’s mouth pressesup against his temple, though, his jaw prickly against Dean’s steam-soft skin.

“Can I take your mind off it?” Sam says, quiet, his thumbpressing gently into Dean’s palm.

“No,” Dean says, just to be contrary, and Sam snorts, rightagainst his ear. “I heard that.”

“Sure did,” Sam says, and steps in even closer so Dean canfeel his dick pressing softly up into the small of his back, just above Dean’sass. He keeps Dean tugged in close with one arm and with the other scrubs thewashcloth over Dean’s collarbones, over his chest, lets it scrape over his nipples.He keeps his eyes closed, lets his head droop down so his chin’s nearly touchinghis chest, and Sam kisses the back of his neck, the knob at the top of hisspine, and the washcloth smears over his stomach and lower, over the top of histhighs, and then Sam carefully cups his balls, makes Dean’s breath hitch in hischest.

“Spread,” Sam says, voice soft, and Dean obligingly shuffleshis feet further apart so that the washcloth can go—further, dragging slickbehind his balls, all the way behind to his ass, and he grabs at Sam’s armwhere it’s holding him steady, arches a little, and then Sam drops the washclothto the tile floor with a splat and then it’s Sam’s bare fingers, dragging firmover his hole and then back to his balls and then, finally, to his dick wherehe’s half-hard, plumping up just from this. He groans and Sam says, “What wasthat?” with his voice all light, and Dean says, “Shut up,” and curls his badwrist up against his chest, fumbles his other hand around to Sam’s hip to keephim close, and Sam kisses against the back of his neck, smiling, and jerks himfirmly, letting the water slick the way, wrist pumping and his grip just-right.He shudders out a groan and Sam’s thumb drags messily over the head of him,long fingers reaching down to cup his balls, and then he stops playing and just—works,perfect practiced grip and a little harder than Dean usually goes with himselfbut that just makes it better, because he could jerk himself off any time butthis is Sammy, taking care of him, for long steady minutes while Dean’s breathcomes harder, something coiling up deep in his belly, tension knotting, andthen Sam kisses over his shoulder and sets his teeth against the strainingtendon in Dean’s throat and pumps, steady pressure, and he slides his otherhand down Dean’s belly and behind his balls and presses two long fingers deepinto his taint and—oh, god, Dean comeslike that, jerking forward into Sam’s grip, on a long thin groan that tears outof his throat, and he drops his hand down to cover Sam’s where it’s still jerkinghim even as he spurts into the stream of water and his wrist throbs at him buthe—he just holds onto Sam’s hand, follows the movement as Sam pulls everythingout of him, until he’s empty, and he sags back against Sam’s body, thighstrembling.

“Whoa, don’t pass out,” Sam says, catching him around thechest. Sam’s arm squeezes a little against the trailing edge of Dean’s bruises,but he can’t really care right now.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dean manages. It feels like his muscleshave gone liquid. Sam hasn’t let his dick go, is just sliding his thumb up and downthe hot tender skin, and—oh, he’s sensitive, but—but—he just keeps his handlight over Sam’s, shakes and wonders when his breath might finally steady out.Sam’s hard, pressing firm and hot against his back, and Dean thinks yes, in no more detail than that.

“Feeling better?” Sam says, and Dean works up the strengthto turn around, finally, and Sam lets him go just enough that he can fit himselfright back against Sam’s chest, his bad wrist tucked up between them. Sam resettleshis arm around Dean’s shoulders, the other cupped under the curve of his ass,and his dick’s now pressing slick against Dean’s belly.

Dean grinds in a little closer, watches Sam’s eyelidsflicker. His hair’s soaked, plastered close to his skull, and Dean drags itback from his forehead, cups the back of Sam’s skull in his good hand. Sam justwatches him, thumb dragging idly against the lower curve of Dean’s ass.

“No,” Dean says, finally, and Sam frowns at him. He rubs hisstomach against where Sam’s leaking on him and licks his lips, and smiles whenSam’s eyes drop to his mouth. “Think I might need more distraction.”

Sam blinks, eyelashes spiky, his cheeks flushed dark. “Icould do that,” he says, after a second, and Dean snorts, leans back and turnsoff the faucet, finally. Good thing the water heater here is bottomless. Samlets go of him long enough to grab a towel and wrap it over his shoulders, andthen Dean’s being kissed, properly, Sam’s hand big and wide over the back ofhis neck. Dean thinks, well, he’ll take a look at the dryer tomorrow, and thenhe doesn’t really have to think much of anything, after that.

[feynites]

I'm not sure if it's ok but I was wondering if we could see ♖ for Kel/Olwyn please?

Hair washing, Fen’Sulahn AU Edition!

Olwyn always had very lovely hair.

Thick and curly. Prone to frizzling with very little provocation, though she had always seemed to have some mixture or treatment or another that solved that particular problem. Most of the elves in Clan Lavellan had thick hair, though some sported finer locks. Hunters and warriors tended to keep theirs short, though, and Kel had never been an exception to that rule. There were a number of reasons for it. But, an important one was that cutting one another’s hair was a bonding practice between the two groups. Warriors tended to stay with the clan, to safeguard it, acting as sentries and a last line of defence in case of disaster. Hunters, on the other hand, tended to roam. Covering a wide range of territory, making sure to rotate hunting grounds to keep from over-taxing an area. But when the clan travelled, both groups worked together to keep everyone safe. Community and coordination were important. Trusting someone with a blade at your back was easier when you had already trusted them with one behind the soft skin of your ears.

Kel had missed some of that contact, with the Inquisition. She had been wary of welcoming any humans close, and many of the elves around were expected to maintain a respectful distance between themselves and Herald, and then doubly so with the Inquisitor. She had done Scout Harding’s braids, once. And helped Sera trim her bangs, though Sera had troubles sitting still, and had insisted that it didn’t need to be straight, and finally taken the scissors from her and finished the job herself. Clearly uncomfortable with contact.

“There. Done,” she’d insisted. Kel hadn’t brought the subject up again; she knew some elves who had a great deal of trouble let others cut their hair, or bring anything sharp so close to their eyes and ears. Not all hunters and warriors participated in the tradition, and only some of them declined out of vanity.

When her own hair started growing out, she’d taken care of it herself. Olwyn had found her at it, not long after the incident with Sera. Asking Sera to reciprocate had seemed chancy, and Olwyn herself obviously preferred her hair long.

“Why don’t you grow it out?” she had wondered. Not accusingly, at least. She had settled, tentatively, beside Kel. Wearing her orange robes; the ones that always made her look like a flower that had caught fire. “I have conditioners and oils that would keep it healthy.”

“I know some recipes for such things, too,” Kel admitted, carefully moving her razor-sharp blade over the too-long hairs by her temple. Doing the back, that was going to be the challenge. “But I hate the fuss, and I like a light head.”

Olwyn had nodded, accepting, and Kel had wondered for a moment if she might not find long hair more appealing. Something to touch, something to frame the face... she hesitated, just a little, on the next stroke of the knife.

“May I help?” Olwyn asked.

The offer stilled her even more. 

“Do you know how?” she couldn’t help but wonder. Olwyn only laughed, though.

“Of course! Circle mages can keep their hair however they please, though most Tranquil have it shorn. And I myself have changed styles a few times over the years. There was a time when I had it shaved all around the sides of my head, with the top braided. It was considered fashionable,” she explained, and held out her hand for the knife. An unhurried request.

Kel relinquished the blade, more relieved than not.

Olwyn’s hands had been very careful, and her movements steady as she put her scalp back in order. She had fussed a bit afterwards, too, producing a bottle of sweet-smelling salve from one of the pouches at her belt, and rubbing it across Kel’s scalp. It had tingled, pleasantly, and the next time her hair had started to get long, she had felt no hesitation in going to Olwyn for help. Hunter, warrior, mage - in the end, what was important was trust.

Fen’Sulahn has more beautiful hair than the Olwyn she recalls. Shining, gorgeous curls, often accentuated by glittering jewellery and decorations. It never seems to frizz. Never lacks for care. Kel once broke a brush handle in Olwyn’s hair, by accident, when they were recovering from a trek into the Deep Roads. She cannot imagine doing the same thing to Fen’Sulahn’s hair. It makes her angry, in a strange, petty sort of way, that it is so beautiful, all the time. Makes her wonder if Olwyn missed it a great deal. Missed this a great deal. Having jewels and servants and subjects, and hair that never frizzed.

What a thing to burn a world for.

Kel tries not to glare at the rubies strewn through her curls. Fights the urge to reach over and pull them all out.

Olwyn’s hair had been a wreck, at the end. Burnt and ash-strewn and heavy around her face, as she carried Kel determinedly towards the fold in time. As she stumbled.

Died.

Fen’Sulahn comes back from a hunt with her aunt. An event which has half the hounds and many of her entourage leaving, and Kel itches to go, too, but even the people who don’t much like her seem emphatic that she not be introduced to Andruil or her hunters. That doesn’t make Kel worry any less, even as she finds the absence of a good number of Fen’Sulahn’s people opens up more of her palace to be explored.

When the party returns, they are exhausted, and Fen’Sulahn is angry. Kel knows that face. It’s the same face Olwyn wore when she caught a visiting noble at Skyhold kicking one of the hounds. The same face she wore throughout a good deal of their visit to Halamshiral, and their treks through the Emerald Graves. When they found a memorial to ancient elven knights that had been defaced by Orlesian vandals.

The healer, Sympathy, rushes to the contingent; a messenger in his company.

“Where?” he asks.

“In the wagon,” Fen’Sulahn tells him, tightly.

She is without jewels, now. Her hair and clothes are streaked with mud, and blood, although she doesn’t look injured. Sympathy makes his way to the indicated wagon, which is the same one that Fen’Sulahn rode in when they party set out for her sister’s lands. Kel keeps back, watching, as they retrieve one of the hounds. Not one she she recognizes, she realizes with some relief. Haurshos is still by his mistress’ side, and most of the others she can name are milling around the wagon, ears flat and whines lingering low in their throats.

“What happened?” Sympathy asks.

“Andruil missed,” Fen’Sulahn says, tightly. “We did the best we could on the field, and came straight here. Will he make it?”

The air glows. A few spirits drift closer, radiating their own energy. Kel can only just see Sympathy behind the wall of fur, as the large hound draws breath, but seems to have been put into a deep sleep.

After a moment, Sympathy lets out a discouraging breath.

The party goes silent.

“Let us get him inside,” the healer orders. “Make certain he is comfortable. I will... do what I can.”

One of the elves in the contingent begins to sob, and Fen’Sulahn closes her eyes.

There’s a rush of activity, then. People carrying the injured hound into the healing chambers, and trying to wrangle the remaining ones so that they don’t all crowd in after him. The healing halls become much too trafficked for Kel’s comfort, full of magic and spirits and last-ditch efforts to heal the poor thing. His companion refuses to leave, and Fen’Sulahn herself stays until long into the night; and Kel wanders, watching. Removed in her distance, but still unavoidably captured by the genuine effort Fen’Sulahn’s people go to in order to try and save the hound.

Poison is the problem, she gathers. Andruil was using poison-tipped arrows, meant to slow down her very large prey. The hound, though large itself, is a much smaller animal, and the poison made it to his heart. It’s destroying his body faster than magic can heal it, and there seems to be no way of getting rid of it all. The only hope is countering the effect, but she gathers, from Fen’Sulahn’s tight responses, that Andruil would not share the secret of her poisoncraft over so ‘petty’ a matter as the life of a hound.

The hound survives until morning. Just barely, and its prospects still look dim. Kel watches Fen’Sulahn, as her gaze hardens, and she declares that she is going to parlay with her sister again.

“If you know the poison, can you save the animal?” Fen’Sulahn asks Sympathy.

“Possibly,” he says. “The odds improve a great deal. The wrong antidote could be instantly fatal, under the circumstances. If you cannot tell me what Andruil used, I will have to make my best guess in the next hour, or we lose the hound regardless. Nothing else has worked.”

The hound’s companion has finally fallen asleep on a cot beside him. Kel inches closer, as the lowered activity finally lets her. Many of the rest of Fen’Sulahn’s people have at least given up, after a long day of hunting and subsequent activity. The healing chambers are quiet again. Only Beauty has remained, with his own little dog napping in his sleeves; humming softly, and rhythm that seems to please the Spirits of Healing that are keeping the hound alive.

It’s pure luck, Kel knows. Pure luck, and nothing more, that she looks at the hound’s mouth, and sees brown specks in the foam lingering at the sides of it. And then carefully checks the paws of his feet, certain not to touch, and sees the purple bruises there. Felicidus Aria had been a rare plant in her time, nearly extinct, but there was a wild strain of it that Clan Lavellan protected near their wintering campsite. Normally, it seemed like little more than a harmless flower; good for some dyes and ointments. But combined with hemlock, even a little bit could make a thoroughly deadly poison.

The sort Kel knew tended to act in minutes. She had seen it used on animals before. Never for hunting - the meat would be tainted. But after the Blight, it was a good way of killing off infected wildlife. Lace some rancid meat, and put it out in Blight-touched lands, and kill the creatures before they could roam further north and spread the problem to the hunting grounds. Kel had been there when Deshanna and her First had tested their mix on a captured squirrel.

Brown flecks. Bruised feet.

She doesn’t know the name of the plant in this time, though. And she could be wrong. But...

Fen’Sulahn looks like whatever she is going to do, is not going to be pleasant for her. Whatever Andruil wants in exchange for the poison’s recipe is... probably a lot, then.

She approaches Sympathy.

“I know this poison,” she says.

The movements in the room halt. Even Beauty’s humming comes to a momentary stop.

“You what?” Sympathy asks, sitting up. “How?”

Kel shrugs.

“I have seen it before, I think. Brown flecks in the spit and bruises on the feet, and probably some other places too? It might be different. I do not know the name of the plant, but if you have pictures...”

She barely finishes before Sympathy is up and racing towards a set of shelves at the end of the room. He calls her, and she goes - feeling Fen’Sulahn’s gaze on her all the while. He pulls out a book, and then shoves it aside and grasps another one, with images more clearly overlaid on the pages. He makes her put her hand on the cover rather than flipping through it, though, and for a minute she feels an intense rush of disorientation. Like she’s flying through the pages herself, before she starts seeing the images of plants in her mind’s eye.

It takes her about half a minute to find Felicidus Aria. Hunter’s Trail, it’s called, according to the book.

She offers the name to Sympathy.

“That is one of the possibilities I was considering,” he agrees. 

Fen’Sulahn has followed them over, by then. And for a moment she’s bedraggled enough, and the outline of her in Kel’s periphery is familiar enough, that she looks over at her and forgets, again, that she isn’t Olwyn.

She reaches over, and pushed a muddy strand of hair away from her face.

Awkward silence ensues. 

Kel swiftly retracts her hand, remembering herself.

Fen’Sulahn purses her lips, but seems to decide against commenting on the gesture.

“Ghilan’nain makes many things for Andruil,” she declares. “Is this where you saw it? In her workshops?”

Kel sighs.

“I have never been to Ghilan’nain’s workshops,” she reiterates, for what feels like the thousandth time.

Fen’Sulahn still seems unconvinced.

But today, the persistent misconception works in her favour. And in the hound’s, too, because even though she doubts the word of a ‘broken construct’ would carry much weight with a lot of people, the possibility that Kel saw Ghilan’nain making a poison for her wife is apparently compelling enough to take the chance. Sympathy leaps back into action, focused as he calls for another healer to be woken up, and starts selecting ingredients from those that have been gathered. 

It’s strange, but Kel realizes that however advanced the healing magic of this time might be, the herbalism still seems mostly the same. Measure. Mix. Crush, steep, and pour. Somehow she ends up watching the process from beside Fen’Sulahn; her good arm folded, her mind gradually becoming more and more aware of the fact that if she got this wrong, then the hound might well die, and she could foot the blame for it.

Probably a good thing that she guessed right, then.

She can tell when, about an hour later, Sympathy tilts his head back and lets out a breath of unabashed relief; and the hound opens his eyes, and thumps his tail a little. Looking more bewildered than anything.

Kel barely has time to appreciate the moment before Fen’Sulahn reaches over, and wraps her arms around her. She freezes in shock.

“Oh, you did it,” Fen’Sulahn whispers, fiercely. “Thank you, thank you.”

She clears her throat, trying to ignore the sudden rush of emotion rising up in her. It’s harder, somehow, when she can feel Fen’Sulahn’s all around.

“I think Sympathy deserves most of the credit at this point,” she mentions. Mud flecks down her shirt, and Olwyn - Fen’Sulahn - sags in relief. She lets go of Kel after another moment, and moves to check on the hound herself, and to commend Sympathy. The sky is getting lighter, by then. Sympathy takes the end of the crisis as his cue to banish everyone else still lingering in the halls, though.

“You need rest,” Kel notes. He looks as exhausted as anyone, if not more.

But he shakes his head.

“I need to keep an eye on my patient for an hour or two more,” he counters. “Just in case anything goes awry. Then I will rest, and clean up, and look after myself. I assure you.”

“I will wait with you,” Kel offers.

“No,” he insists. “You have been tense and unsleeping all week, and that is no good. Go to bed now, and then you can worry over everything later.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“I thought worrying over everything was your job,” she jibes.

Sympathy manages a smile.

“It is,” he insists. “So I outrank you at it. Which means I get to keep doing it, while you are relieved from the duty. At least for now.”

It takes a few minutes more, mostly because Kel doesn’t think she could actually sleep right now even if she tried. But eventually, she relents. Heading off towards Sympathy’s chambers, where her own little sanctuary is located, not far from the healing room where the hound had been taken.

Fen’Sulahn is making her way down the end of the corridor.

And it’s not so much that Kel decides to follow her, as the she just sort of... does. Too aware of the exhaustion in the other woman’s step, too adjusted to the habit of looking out for her, of making sure no one in Skyhold might see a tired elven mage, back from a mission, and get some funny ideas. She knows it doesn’t really apply here. Fen’Sulahn is the leader of this place, and more powerful than she is in many, many ways.

But that doesn’t make her invulnerable.

When she reaches the door to her chambers, Fen’Sulahn halts. And then turns, halfway.

Her gaze meets Kel’s, and Kel abruptly realizes that this might actually be inappropriate behaviour.

“Did you want something?” Fen’Sulahn asks.

She hesitates. Too little sleep, she thinks. Too little sleep, and too much stress, and too many things lost. She cut her own hair, the last time she needed it. One-handed and silent, locked away in the privacy of her own little room. Sympathy would have helped, she knows, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him. There’s no kindness she could deprive herself of that would make up for her failures, no action that could ever change what happened, but sometimes, she can’t muster up the will to go looking for any kind of comfort.

Olwyn had seemed like that sometimes, too. Kel remembered. Watching her look at pretty thing in the Val Royeaux marketplace, and sometimes, she would offer to get her something. Just tentatively, uncertain if Olwyn knew the importance of gifts to the Dalish. Do you like that hairclip? I could get it for you...

She always turned her down.

Don’t waste coin on my vanity, please.

The request always seemed less like a coy attempt at humility, and more like a genuine plea. Kel hadn’t understood it well, but she had respected the preference. But now, she feels intimately acquainted with it.

“Do you need any help with your hair?” she asks.

Fen’Sulahn blinks. And then she casts her gaze up towards her forehead, and reaches over, and pulls some of the muddy strands in front of it again.

“It looks a mess, but a bath and a brush will do wonders for it,” she assures Kel.

“I could brush it,” Kel offers.

Fen’Sulahn smiles. Pity, still, colouring something in her expression, that sours everything in Kel’s gut, and makes her feel a fool.

“I can manage,” she insists. “You should rest. It has been a long day.”

With a tight nod, Kel turns, and does her best not to flee. She heads down the corridor, and back to Sympathy’s chambers; to her own room inside, with its small spare bed, and chest of things, and over-sized armchair. She settles down, fighting the sinking feeling in her chest. Black despair and grief, and bitterness. So much bitterness she can taste it on the back of her tongue.

When she finally manages to sleep, she dreams of running her fingers through wet curls of hair; washing blood from it into the waters of a dark and silent stream.