#but that involves riding the wave unfortunately

[starkeysbaby]

When the turtle incident at the beach happens the reader gets hurt saving the turtle 🐢 and rafe snap. Everyone sees a different side of rafe

a/n: i LOVE this idea. - Unfortunately i feel like i didn’t do it justice 🥲🥲 but hope you enjoy!! <3

“if i ever see you round my girl again…”

pairings: s4 rafe cameron x kook but not kooky!reader [est. relationship]

warnings: S4 E4 SCENE DESCRIBED/USED (not sure if it’s really a spoiler tho as nothing plot wise is revealed) turtles being hurt, blood, death threat, canon rafe lol, use of swear words. (pls lemme know if i forgot any)

summary: you just wanted peace between everyone, unfortunately you and a turtle became collateral damage over a kook vs pogue contest. rafe is not happy…

navigation ⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊˚ ⋅ obx masterlist

You were a kook? Well that’s what your bank account said. However, you were closer with the pogues and basically hung out with them or your boyfriend.. rafe cameron. that was the weird part. It had been awkward since the pogues all returned from El Dorado. You had sort of become the middle man in between rafe and the pogues including his sister, sarah. It was an unspoken rule between you and rafe that you just don’t talk about them with him which you respected. He’ll come around in his own time you thought.

When the swell came in, your boyfriend and his friends were eager to hit the beach and have a surf day to which you wouldn’t turn down. meeting up at tannyhill, you saw that topper had bought his new girlfriend, ruthie who you weren’t too keen on. You had mentioned this to rafe a while back but he said that it isn’t yours or his business to get involved with toppers love life and told you to just stay away from her if you didn’t like her to which you couldn’t argue.

Arriving at the beach you saw your friends, jj, john b, kiara and sarah and quickly told rafe that you were going over to say hi. Rafe just mumbled something as he set up his towel and told you not to be long as he stared daggers at sarah.

“hey!” you wave jogging up to the pogues, hugging sarah then kie. “what’s up y/nn (your nickname)” kie asked. “not much. just thought we’d hit the waves. i told them we should go a bit farther from here but they didn’t listen… sorry” you explained, knowing it’s best if the kooks and pogues don’t cross paths today. “you’re good. it’s them we don’t trust” jj butts in. “yeah, no. i’ll tell them to lay off..” you smile then turn to sarah. “he’s trying. he’ll come around. i know it..” you tell her, referring to rafe. Sarah just shrugs, pretending as if not being on good terms with her brother isn’t bothering her. “wanna surf?” you smile and take sarah’s hand dragging her to the water as you both laugh.

After surfing with sarah and the pogues for a while, you had joined rafe on his towel and spent an hour or so just chilling with him. He showered you in attention and you did your best to ignore ruthies little comments about the pogues and how jj is a poor sport. At one point, rafe saw you side eye ruthie for shitting on the pogues again. “hey. don’t frown.” he mumbles turning your head to face him and pats your cheek. “i don’t get her problem rafe.” you sigh. “yeah it sucks, but cmon” “no. it’s unnecessary. they aren’t doing anything to her.” you tell him, referring to the pogues just minding their business apart from that tiny squabble with jj and topper in the ocean but topper didn’t seem to care too much so why does ruthie? “i told you, ignore her” rafe says a little sternly taking your hand in his, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “yeah yeah…” you smile as you peck him, letting it go as you didn’t want ruthie to ruin the day.

While you packed up, unknown to you and rafe, ruthie was convincing topper to just ride the truck over to the pogues to mess up their set up. You in the meantime went over to the pogues to say bye, only to find them saving a turtle hatch in which you started assisting with. The next thing you know, you see ruthie driving her truck at a high speed straight at you. While sarah and kie do their best to get the turtles out of the way in time, you stand in front waving your hands trying to get ruthies attention to stop her. “hey! hey!!! stop! there’s a hatch!” you call out but she doesn’t hear you. you can vaguely see topper yell at ruthie, probably to stop but she’s just laughing. kiara notices ruthie has no intention of stopping and quickly pulls you out the way.

Luckily no turtles were hurt at that point but you see ruthie circling around to go again. You stand up again, trying to stop her. Rafe has also noticed this and starts making his way over to get, in his words, your stupid ass out of the way. You realise ruthie yet again has no intention of stopping so you quickly go to pick up a turtle that was in the way but you get hit slightly by the truck, knocking you out.

“what the actual fuck?!” kiara yells rushing to you, she takes the turtles from you and calls for rafe who’s at your side in seconds. He looks up at a shocked, somewhat guilty looking ruthie. “what the fuck is your problem?” he spits “did you not see her fucking standing there telling you to stop!” he yells as he takes off his shirt to wrap around a bloody scrape on your knee from something in the sand. Overall you weren’t too badly hurt but might need some stitches. That was enough for rafe to see red though.

As sarah goes to fetch water to splash you awake, ruthie stutters “i.. i thought she’d get out the way. why would she just fucking stand the-” kie cuts her off “there was a turtle hatch! look what you did! she was tryna save this turtle” kie yells at her, showing her the hurt turtle to which ruthie turns her face away from. “why the fu-” rafe cuts himself off on questioning you to wake you up with the water sarah got. As you felt water being splashed on your face, you sit up. “what happened?” you groan. “y/n im so so sor-” ruthie starts to apologise but rafe cuts her off. “no. you shut the fuck up and stay away from my girl” rafe snaps causing topper to get involved. “hey now rafe-” but again rafe cuts him off. “control your bitch, top” he huffs shutting topper and everyone else up.

He lifts you up and walks towards his truck. “my head hurts..” you mumble. “i know baby.. gonna get you to the hospital aight” he gently whispers to you to which you just nod. With a final “don’t pull shit like that again” from rafe, he places you in the passengers seat before shutting the door and quickly going up to ruthie. “if i ever see you round my girl again… i’ll kill you” he murmurs up close to her face in a terrifyingly dangerous way. Apart from sarah and a few of the pogues, no one has ever seen rafe like that.. so scary.. so threatening… so murderous. Ruthie just nodded which was enough for rafe to leave the scene so he could take you to the hospital.

a/n: hope you enjoyed - kinda struggled to find a way to set the dynamic where reader is dating rafe but close to the pogues at this point in the show cuz i couldn’t see rafes defending someone so furiously unless he was dating her 😭

requests are open!! enjoy lovelies - liv <33

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some guy gets arrested

Inspired by @medium-sized-ghost addition to the Original Post.

Masterpost

“So sorry about this, Mr. Wayne.”

“No, I understand. I’m just glad to see the law doing their job so well.” Bruce continues pleasantly through the police station with Commissioner Gordon leading the way.

“We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible, but in the meantime you will need to unfortunately be placed in holding.”

“Of course. It’s really no problem, it was my mistake missing my court date like that. Time just gets away from me sometimes, you know?” Nevermind the fact that Bruce hadn’t even known about said court date or the speeding ticket it was for. He couldn’t prove which child had taken his car for a joy ride, but his prime suspects were Jason or Dick. (He would later find out that it was Stephanie upon a dare from Duke. He already attempted to banned them from playing Truth or Dare after Tim convinced Dick to do a handstand on Jason’s bike going 95 down the freeway. Not that Dick really needed any convincing.)

“Well you’re in luck, one cell is mostly empty.” It was a small cell closer to the front. Bruce could see a teenager laying on the bench to the right. Gordon opened the door and stood to the side so Bruce could enter and locked the door behind him. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Bruce smiled, “No, thank you.” Gordon nodded and looked past Bruce at the only other occupant in the cell, “What about you kid? Anything?”

Bruce watched as the kid, one he unfortunately recognized, lifted his arm from where it was thrown over his eyes and waved it in the air at the commissioner, “I’m good.” The arm went back down. Gordon grunted, “alright Officer Mitchell is keeping watch, call out if either of you need anything.”

With that Bruce was left alone with the boy who had befuddled and befriended his many children. He sat on the opposite bench and thought about how best to approach the young man. Danny had never responded well to Batman and there was no telling how he would respond to Bruce. According to Tim, Danny actually had some respect for Bruce and the money he dumped into bettering Gotham. (When it was announced that the public library was being renovated Danny had interrogated Tim about it and then offered his own opinions on how to involve more of the general population.)

Bruce didn’t think the time called for his “Brucie” persona and he couldn’t be Batman at the moment. He could approach the boy in a “fatherly” manner but that approach rarely worked on his own kids, he didn’t think it would work on this one.

“Have you called anyone?”

Danny looked out from under his arm and stared at Bruce suspiciously. In hindsight it was a creepy question.

Bruce brought his hands up and breathed a laugh, “I’m sorry, I meant have you been given your one phone call?” Danny didn’t move. “Why? You a lawyer?” He eyed Bruce in his nice suit and watch.

Bruce smiled at the boy, “goodness no, I don’t have the attention span for law school. I actually did pre-med before dropping out.”

Danny seemed too curl a little more into himself. It was the most cautious Bruce had ever seen him. He was locked in a Gotham police cell with a man in an expensive suit who seemed completely unconcerned about being arrested, it was wise on Danny’s part to be wary.

Bruce stuck out his hand, “Bruce Wayne.” Slowly, Danny sat up and crossed his arm scoffing, “why would Bruce Wayne be in a holding cell?” Bruce continued to smile at the kid and shrugged, his hand still in the air, “speeding ticket I’m afraid, missed my court date. I do have to say, though, the updated traffic cameras are a good investment by the police department.” “Wayne Enterprises payed for them.” “We did?” Bruce asked, knowing full well it was to give Oracle better camera footage. “You were at the press release.” “Huh.” Bruce looked thoughtful for a minute, “mm no, not ringing any bells. I go to so many of those press conferences, they just bleed together after a while.” “Mhm.” Danny still didn’t take the offered hand. Bruce sighed and let it drop back to his lap, “I’d offer to show you my ID but I don’t exactly have it on me.”

They sat and watched each other for a minute. Danny shifted and seemed to make a decision, “I work at a coffee shop and one of your sons is a regular.” Bruce slapped his thigh as if a light bulb suddenly went off, “You’re Danny! Tim’s mentioned you! You know he’s the only one with a weakness for caffeine, the others like to tease him but I don’t think he has an addiction. However, he does seem to spend a lot of time at that shop.” Bruce leaned forward as if confiding a secret, “to be honest, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”

Dropping his own arms, Danny sighed. “Yeah, he’s not really that subtle.”

“No, I’m afraid he’s never been good at that. At least not when he’s interested in someone.” Tim was great at subtlety when it came to the mission but never in his personal life. The funny part was he didn’t even draw that distinction on purpose.

“I called a family friend. To answer your question. He should be here soon.” Bruce nodded, “so you do have people you can rely on in town?” “I could have a whole family I can rely on in this city.” Danny said, catching the older man's slip. He shifts further in his seat and stared hard at Bruce.

Bruce knew Danny had no one in town. He did the background check, Danny's whole family lived in Ohio with the exception of his older sister who was in one of the top psychology programs in the country. They seemed to visit each other often but rarely their parents.

The older man dawned an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I assumed when you said ‘a family friend’.” Bruce leaned back against the wall behind him, “are you from Gotham?”

“No,” Danny shifted further back in his seat and didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

It was different from how the boy interacted with Batman. To the billionaires alter ego Danny was defiant and outspoken. He always seemed to say what was on his mind, completely uncaring of the audience he had.

——-

“Mr. Fenton, your god-father is here for you.”

Danny never thought he’d feel this relieved to know Vlad was picking him up. While Mr. Wayne had been nothing but polite, something about the man felt off. Danny also didn’t appreciate the questions. What was it to this man if Danny had family near by or not?

One of the cops opens the door with Vlad in his nice suit and overly polished shoes right behind him.

“Daniel, let’s not make this a habit.”

“I was just feeding the homeless dogs!”

“Strays.” Vlad corrected, “while trespassing?”

Danny rolled his eyes and continued pass his “uncle”.

“How am I supposed to know an abandoned building is considered ‘private property’?”

Vlad just sighed.

——

Bonus:

Stephanie would continue to stick to her story, thank you very much. She had every right to punch the creep and she wasn’t backing down. Not even if “the creep” was apparently the son of a very influential prosecutor. A corrupt one, but he was influential nonetheless. Such is the justice system in Gotham.

Even if it landed her in a police station, handcuffed to a desk while said creep cried about the bloody nose she gave him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she crossed her legs and continued to glare at the door way that led to the holding cells. It was her night off and she still had to deal with this godforsaken city’s degenerate citizens. God forbid she have a day off.

It was while glaring at said door that Steph noticed a familiar boy walking out with a gentleman she wasn’t familiar with. He was a little behind Danny but reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before leaving the hallway. Steph slid her gaze away but kept her ears open, grateful she was close enough to hear.

“You need to be more careful, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t respond and Steph looked over to see him pull his shoulder away and start walking again.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to bail me out. I could have called Jazz or Sam.”

“Nonsense, it’s good to get out of Wisconsin.”

Steph wrinkled her nose, Wisconsin? The pair continued out of ear shot and shortly out of the station.

When Bruce was released a few minutes later, Stephanie smiled and took great joy in his obvious (to any member of his family) despair and exasperation at seeing her.

Part 8

[seat-safety-switch]

Do you kids like Jeep Cherokees? On average, you must, because virtually every car today is a worse, softer version of that classic AMC ride. And to be entirely honest with you, this constant low-temperature immersion in crappy unibody SUVs is making me yearn for the original article.

Now, I'm not one of those folks who is going to chase you down the block, waving Kenosha propaganda in your face about how Chrysler is actually the anti-Christ. I'll leave that to the Eagle folks. I am, however, going to be incredibly tiresome about whether anyone you know has a mostly-intact XJ sitting in the garage. A lot of my friends have owned Cherokees, and they've been great shitboxes for all kinds of hillbilly adventures over the years. Unfortunately, they are now almost all gone.

You see, in my part of the world (and pretty much all others, if I'm honest,) rust has devoured the innocent Cherokee. The tinworm crept inside all their guts and found the many, many places that the original automakers just didn't bother painting, or welding, or sealing. I've seen them split straight in half, which is neither conducive to long-distance driving, nor to storing old car parts in (the raccoons will steal them.)

What used to be cheap, fun, beater off-road transport has now become expensive, depressing, and involving several years of meticulously cutting and shaping metal to do major structural repairs. Once you've invested that much effort, there's no way you want to go bang it down some trails, or use it to flee across a cornfield every time the cops light up your illegal fireworks party. Then you have a very nice Jeep Cherokee that you refuse to abuse, which is not at all what owning these things is about.

There is some hope, though. If you look at the Wikipedia page for the Cherokee (hey, use a new tab, not this one) you'll notice that some Chinese automakers made a whole bunch of these things under license. They don't have rust in China, probably, and I'm sure their assembly line workers were slightly less drunk than the Chryco squad who banged these things together over here. All I need to do is get a big cargo ship, and then I can load it up with Shuanghuan SHJZH213s until the cows come home. You've got some frequent flyer miles, right?

[hannahbarberra162]

Struck Twice By Lightning, Chapter 13

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Link to all chapters

TW: jealousy

A few days later and you were laying on the bed in the early evening, resting after a huge supper. You felt like a snake, basking in the sun after a large meal. And like a snake, you didn’t think you’d want to eat again for another month. Damn Lucky and his fantastic chicken pot pie. Laying there, you heard the ringing of your den den mushi.

Puru puru puru puru puru puru

You looked at the Buggy snail and your mouth twisted. You still hadn’t called him back after all his missed calls. You didn’t want to worry him but you hadn’t wanted to hear how he was right, how you screwed up, and how you shouldn’t have gone with Shanks in the first place. The worst part of it all was, he was right. But he didn’t deserve to be left hanging for so long. You rolled off the bed and grabbed the snail, bringing it to sit on the bed with you.

“Hi.” 

“About time, babe. I was getting worried. I was gonna leave for the Grand Line if I didn’t hear back from you soon.” You felt guilty, Buggy really was a good friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just kinda…going through it.” Buggy hummed through the snail.

“Yeah, I’d imagine so. Everyone and their Captain saw the article. That's all anyone is talking about.” You cringed. You had some small naive hope that everyone would forget about it after the next big story broke. “You looked great, though. At least they got a good picture of you.” 

“Yeah, I mean but did you see Shanks? That asshole has never taken a bad picture.”

“Fuck him, did you at least stab him? I have no doubt that it’s his fault somehow.” You laughed, something Buggy could always get you to do. It was Shank’s fault, but you didn’t want to poison Buggy against Shanks even more.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t. Thought about it though.”

“Do you want me to come get you?” You knew Buggy’s offer was sincere. But you’d thought about that too - the only place that you’d really be safe would be with an Emperor. Buggy was strong, but not if someone like Linlin or Kaido wanted to get you. They’d send wave after wave of powerful fighters, Emperors had a shared quality of being goal oriented when they wanted something or someone.

“No, but thanks. I’m gonna ride on the Dead Horse with Stanks. I think it’ll be OK, at least for a while. If I need you, I’ll make my way out to the East Blue.”

“Like hell you will, if you need me, I’ll come out there. We can stab that idiot together, as a bonding activity.”

“Hi Buggy!” The man himself had appeared, entering the cabin through the doorway. He walked over and sat next to you on the bed, leaning back on you as if you were a sitting pillow.

“Fuck off,” Buggy replied angrily. This was the first time they’d directly interacted since you’d been on board. 

“Aw, c’mon Bugs, I haven’t talked to you in forever.” Shanks was pouting. He had a lot of love for Buggy, but it wasn’t always reciprocated. You understood why, but it still made you a little sad.

“Fuck off,” Buggy repeated. “Why do you have to fuck things up for everyone you’re involved with? It’s like the Mierdas touch, everything you touch turns to shit.” Shanks laughed.

“That’s a good one, never heard it before. But it's not true! How was I supposed to know -”

“- that your actions have consequences? Gee, Shanks, I don’t know, it’s a lesson most of us have learned by our thirties. Anyway, fuck you. Doll, listen, say the word and I’ll set sail. Kisses.” 

“Love ya, Bug.” You hung up the snail. Shanks was looking at you with an amused expression. “What?” 

“Why did you call it the ‘Dead Horse? ‘Stanks’ I get, no questions asked. Buggy’s been calling me that since we were 12.”

“Oh, ‘cus the presence of your ship is like beating a dead horse. We get it - you’re Shanks and the Red Haired Pirates . No need for all the fuss.” You waved your hand at him dismissively.

“It’s not my fault we’re greeted with fanfare everywhere! I didn’t ask for it, people like me!” Shanks scoffed.

“ Some people like you, sure,” you said, rolling your eyes with a smirk.

“And some people like being tickled,” Shanks replied. Your smirk dropped but as soon as the words came out of his mouth, he’d grabbed your foot with his hand and yanked your leg into the air. 

“Ha! Whatcha gonna do now? No other hand to tickle with!” You were weakly trying to kick him.

“This.” Shanks licked the sole of your foot, causing you to shriek. 

“Shanks!! That’s absolutely disgusting! Don’t do thaaaaa-” but you couldn’t finish your sentence as he licked it again and you were laughing. 

“You’re right, that’s too hard with one hand. How about here?” He pinned your legs under his and started tickling the inside of your thighs. You were laughing hard.

“Stanks! Stop!” You weren’t serious, you knew he’d stop if you changed your tone.

“Stanks, is it? You really want to play hard ball, huh?” He pinned your arm under a knee and tickled your side up to your armpit. You were laughing so much tears were coming out of your eyes.

“O-k ok ok I surrender! I won’t call you Stanks!” He moved off you, freeing your arm while your giggles subsided. “Fake surrender!” You launched yourself over him and started tickling him back. You knew Shanks was letting you hold him down, but it was still fun. The two of you were goofing off for a while, ending with you leaning down over him, breathing heavily, with his one large hand pinned by both of yours.

“So, what do I get for defeating the Emperor?” 

“You can keep me as a prize of war,” Shanks rasped, wrapping his legs around your waist. You moved your face closer to his. 

“Mmm, not sure about that. What makes you worth keeping?”

“This,” he said as he leaned forward and kissed you on the lips. You pressed forward, lying down on top of him, releasing his hand. You ran your nails down his chest, feeling the muscle twitch under your fingertips. You’d been having a lot of soft moments with Shanks recently. You still fell into bouts of sadness and loss, but there was no other solution you could see. You were sailing back to your island and you’d be there before you knew it. Life would continue in some kind of way, but right now you were enjoying time with your…husband.

You kissed him along his prominent collar bones, leading to the hollow of his neck. You spent some time there, flicking your tongue on the sensitive areas. Shanks was moaning, gripping your ass and thrusting up slowly, turned on by your actions. You whipped off your shirt and bra, throwing them onto the floor. You leaned forward so your breasts dangled in front of his mouth. He quickly captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting. He released it only to put the other in. You had undone his belt and were shimmying his pants down his legs. You didn’t want to wait any longer, you could feel you were already wet. 

You didn’t even remove your own clothes, just moved your skirt aside. You sat up a bit, taking your breasts away from Shank’s eager mouth. You hooked your panties to the side and sank down onto Shank’s eager cock. As you lowered yourself, you groaned. This is exactly what you needed. The stretch always felt good, but this time you wished you could make it last. You started bouncing on Shanks, pulling your hips down harder with every stroke.

“Come on, Love. I’m here for you,” Shanks was talking to you sweetly as you used him to get to your peak. You suddenly felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes but you didn’t know why. You shifted yourself to lay down next to him, hoping Shanks would take up the mantle and fuck you while spooning. You wanted to continue but were feeling too raw to have Shanks watch you. Shanks looked down at your face but didn’t say anything. He pulled out and fixed your panties, covering you up once more. He pulled your back flush to his front, gently kissing your face, while your tears threatened to spill.

“Where’d you go? Come back to me,” Shanks said softly. That made the dam break and you started crying.

“I’m s-sorry Shanks. I don’t know what’s w-wrong with me,” you cried, covering your face with your hands.

“Nothing’s wrong with you. Take whatever you need, I’ll always wait for you.” That just made you cry harder. Shanks comforted you until your tears ended, letting you cry into his chest. 

“S-sorry,” you eventually said. You felt bad about starting something you couldn’t finish and ending it with a huge crying session. Shanks turned your face to his and kissed you. 

“Don’t be. I love you.” You blinked. That was the first time he’d said it directly. Maybe you weren’t the only one guarding your heart this second time around. He joked and teased and beat around the bush but rarely expressed his emotions so frankly.

“I love you too.” You put your forehead against his. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he replied. 

~~~

It didn’t take too long to get to your island since you’d only been with Shanks for a few weeks at that point. The closer you got, the more anxious you became. You were nervous to see what remained in and of your house. You were on edge as the Red Force docked near your island and you were chewing your nails to shreds as the dingy brought you to the wharf. Unfortunately, the article had brought notoriety to the island and to you, so locals were waiting to catch a glimpse of you and Shanks together.

“Leave,” was all he said. He was serious, intimidating, and had his hand resting on Gryphon's hilt. The villagers, all of whom you knew, quickly dispersed to their houses. 

“You didn’t have to do that, they’re just townsfolk.” You felt awkward that the people who sold you milk were being threatened by one of the most powerful pirates in the world.

“Did you want one of them taking another picture of you and I together to sell to Morgan?” You pursed your lips. You were hoping the story would die down, Shanks had a point. You walked hand in hand towards your little house. From the outside, it didn't look too bad. Your garden was a little trampled, but someone had been watering it.

You pushed open the now unlocked door, braced for the worst. Shanks trailed in behind you, inspecting various trinkets you’d gathered over the years. You were surprised to see most of your belongings still in their places. You went from room to room, looking for your favorite possessions - a knife from Buggy, an empty bottle from the first sake you’d sold, old pictures of friends, and they were all where you expected them to be. You went into your office and found someone had rifled through all your documents, but you had been expecting that. You yelled to Shanks through the open door of your office.

“Shanks, you’re not going to believe this, almost everything is still here! And unbroken, too. I was so sure this place would have been looted, but no -” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shock of blond hair.

“You’re welcome yoi,” said a familiar voice.

~~~

You skipped up to your old friend and gave him a hug around his middle. “Marco! What are you doing here?”

“Buggy called in a favor and asked me to watch over your house yoi. Prevent looting, stealing, that kind of thing. He said you’d be by soon and I was in the area anyway.” God, you loved Buggy. You really needed to send him a gift after all he'd done for you. 

“Honeydew, I can’t believe you kept this old shell from that beach -” Shanks was walking back to you, holding a shell in his hand. He stopped short when he saw Marco. Internally, you groaned. 

“Shanks, Marco’s the reason the house wasn’t looted. He’s been staying here.” Shanks smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks, Marco. Owe ya one.” 

“That’s so kind of you, Marco, I really appreciate it.” You beamed at The Phoenix, who popped a tomato in his mouth. “Was it you who watered the plants?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t leave them parched. You have a great little house yoi. It’s so cozy and comfortable, I relaxed more than I have in years. You have great taste in interior design yoi.”

“Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?” Shanks had come to stand next to you and hooked his arm around your middle. You wanted to roll your eyes - you’d already told Shanks you hadn’t slept with Marco, he didn’t need to be jealous. 

“Thank you, I spent a lot of time over the years getting everything just right. Listen, I’d like to invite you to dinner, it’s the very least I can do,” you said. You were incredibly grateful, he’d saved you a lot of heartache. 

“-That WE can do,” Shanks interrupted with a laugh. You’d meant the invitation to include Shanks, but hadn’t specified. 

“Thank you, that sounds great. But it really was no problem yoi. Always ready to help a friend in need,” he said, smiling. He leaned against your office bookcase, holding a tomato from your garden in his other hand.

“Here, would you like it? They’ve been coming in, they’re good yoi.” Marco underhand tossed the fruit to you. Shanks let go of your waist and caught it. 

“Thanks, bud.” Shanks was trying to speak casually but was failing. He looked like he wanted to throw you over his shoulder and haul you off to the nearest cave. The twinkle in Marco’s eyes told you he was enjoying riling up Shanks. This time you did roll your eyes. This would not end well for someone, probably you. 

“Quit it,” you whispered angrily, turning to Shanks. Marco pretended not to hear. You turned back to Marco. “Please, feel free to stay here as long as you’d like. I’ll get dinner later today, I still need to get my house in order. It will be our pleasure.” You dragged Shanks out the back door of the house by his empty sleeve.

“What are you doing?!” you whisper yelled at him.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” he wasn’t yelling, but Shanks wasn’t happy. “ You’re the one trying to go on a date with Marco.” You tutted at him.

“You’re being ridiculous, and you know it. Marco was helping as a friend after Buggy called him. You heard all that, right? Behave or I’ll uninvite you to dinner.” You would too, you didn’t have a lot of patience for Shanks’s jealousy. Shanks huffed.

“Fine, we’ll have the rooster over for dinner. But I’m gonna call you my wife the entire time .” If your eyes rolled any harder, they’d be out of your head.

~~~

You hadn’t specified that you’d be the one cooking dinner for a reason. You weren’t the best cook on the Grand Line, to say the least. You bribed Lucky to make the dinner for the three of you with a large bottle of sake. He obliged and made a fantastic orange duck dish with jasmine rice. Of course, you brought out a nice bottle of wine and some sake, unsure which Marco would prefer. You were setting the table while Shanks sat in your overstuffed armchair.

“This thing’s great, we should bring it back to the ship.” You hummed in response.

“I know it’s great, that’s why I bought it. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the house and most of my belongings. It’s not like I can bring it all with me.” Shanks was messing around and finally found the lever for the footrest. He pulled it and launched himself backwards, enjoying the full recline.

“Oh yeah, this is definitely coming with us. Now, if I had this chair when you first came on board I wouldn’t have had to sleep in the bed.”

“Shanks, be serious for a minute. What should I do with the house? I can’t be here at any regular intervals. I guess I’ll have to sell it.” The thought made you sad - you really loved this house. 

“Sell it? Why?” Shanks asked.

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be here to stop anyone from taking things, and I don’t want to ask Marco -” Shanks cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“No one’s gonna take anything from here. I’m gonna spread the word that this is my vacation house. No one will touch it. And maybe we really can vacation here, this place is great.” 

“Do you think that will work?” You gnawed at your fingernail, while setting the final silverware down.

“Sure, I’m not an Emperor for nothing. Keep your house, keep your stuff, take whatever you want with you. But we’re bringing this chair.”

~~~

The dinner was lovely, except for two things. The first was Shanks and the second was Marco. Shanks was in a pissy mood, trying to cover it up but not quite succeeding. Marco kept making little comments to annoy Shanks and they hit their mark every time. 

“Thank you again for watching over my house, Marco,” you said, pouring him a cup of sake. Shanks had sat right next to you and kept trailing his fingers up your thigh during the meal. Which was incredibly obvious because he had to stop eating to do it, due to having only one hand. You slapped it away as discreetly as you could.

“My pleasure yoi. I always enjoy coming here.” Marco gave a little half smile as he sipped his drink. Shanks stiffened incrementally. “This is excellent, is this aged?”

“Yeah, this is an older batch. It’s pretty good, I was thinking of entering it in a competition.” Maybe you could enter neutral territory by talking about work.

“My wife is so modest, it’s better than ‘pretty good.” Shanks kissed your cheek. He had kept his word and was referring to you only as his wife. 

“Mh. Speaking of which, were you thinking of gifting Whitebeard another bottle for his birthday? I can bring you that tokkuri if you want to use it again.” You rubbed one temple. These two idiots were going to be the death of you.

“I didn’t know you made sake for Whitebeard. How…thoughtful of you.” Shanks said through his teeth. 

“Just once, and no, I don’t think I can. I’ll be sailing with Shanks now, and the ship isn’t a great place for brewing.” Maybe you could move to Laughtale and live happily ever after by yourself.

“So you are still married? Last you said, you wanted to get divorced yoi.” Marco said it like he was talking about the weather but you swore Shanks’s haki was starting to build. Maybe you’d kill Marco before you moved to Laughtale. Or Shanks, whichever made your life easier.

“We’re still married,” Shanks gritted out, taking your hand in his. “My wife couldn’t get rid of me so easily.” He kissed the back of your hand. Marco smiled calmly. 

“It’s rare to see you like this, Shanks,” Marco said with a raised brow and knowing smile. Shanks was already moving his hand towards you under the table. 

“Like what?” You said as you swatted Shanks’s hand for the millionth time off your inner thigh.

“Jealous. I only ever see you relaxed or serious, with nothing in between yoi. Your wife is the only person I’ve ever seen inspire such feelings in you. It’s endearing.” Shanks barked a genuine laugh.

“Only person I ever met who was worth being jealous over.”

~~~

The rest of the dinner went slightly better but not by much. You were doing the dishes while Marco insisted on clearing the table. Shanks had gone back to reclining in the chair, still drinking.

“Leave them, I’ll do it.” You felt bad your guest was helping. 

“I don’t mind yoi,” Marco replied. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with your house?” You nodded.

“Shanks is going to spread a rumor that it’s his vacation home to keep it safe. I think that’ll work. You can come here when you want though, it’s not like we’re going to be here all that often.” In your house inspection, you’d found that Marco had fixed a number of small projects you always meant to get to. That alone had earned him a permanent visit invitation. 

“Thank you, I just might. Nice to get away from my siblings now and again.” You hummed in response, still working on the dishes. “By the way, yoi. It seems like things are patched up between you two. But if you ever need to go somewhere else, you can come aboard the Moby yoi.” You paused for a moment. You hadn’t considered the possibility of staying with Whitebeard. He was another Yonko, you'd be safe. Before you could answer Shanks was by your side, leaning against you casually. But nothing about his demeanor was relaxed. Laughtale was looking like a better and better plan.

“You invited my wife to come with you?” Shanks was speaking in a clipped tone. Marco was unphased, still carrying plates. You looped your arm around Shanks, to attempt to calm him down.

“Shanks, stop. Marco, send my thanks to Whitebeard, but I’m staying with Shanks.”

“You’ve gotta be needed back on your ship, you’re the doctor after all,” said Shanks coolly. Marco laughed.

“You’re right, and I’ll be leaving soon. It’s nice to see you both again, yoi. Thank you for the dinner.” Marco deposited the remaining dishes in the sink. You said your goodbyes and you walked him to the door, giving him a final hug goodbye. He partially transformed and flew off into the night. You sighed, it was always so beautiful to watch him in his Zoan form.

“Show off,” Shanks grumbled. You walked back to the living room and plopped down on your couch. Shanks laid down next to you with his head on your lap.

“You’ve been such a brat all night! Marco was just being helpful.” You weren’t mad at Shanks but you’d wished he could contain his jealousy better.

“Inviting my wife onto another Yonko’s ship isn’t helpful, ” he replied. “Besides, Marco was provoking me!” Shanks’s mood was already on the mend with Marco gone.

“Mmm. And the all powerful Emperor just had to take the bait, right?” You jiggled your legs, making his head bounce slightly.

“I can make your thighs shake more than that,” Shanks said, turning his head towards your body.

“Show me, husband .” Shanks grinned. You hadn’t called him that yet. Hopefully the last of his jealousy would dissipate. And if not, well, jealousy sex was always fun. 

[autisticlancemcclain]

In all the love songs Keith has heard (and he’s heard many, both his Pa and Shiro were big ballad fans), he’s always heard laughter described as angelic.

That’s how it is. Over and over again. When you fall in love with someone, when cupid’s arrow strikes, their laughter will be like musical bells, like windchimes, melodic and beautiful and entrancing, and you will never want to hear anything else.

Lance sounds like a hyena on crack when he laughs.

Keith is obsessed with it.

The love ballads got one half of it right, he supposes. He does shut the fuck up and listen when Lance laughs. It is like the only sound he can hear.

It’s just not…musical.

“Your sighs get any dreamier and he’s going to hear you,” Shiro says idly, colouring his nails with Sharpie.

Keith drops his chin from his hands, turning away from where he was watching Lance laugh with Hunk and Allura and scowling at his asshole brother. “He is not.”

Shiro snickers, not even bothering to look up. Keith wonders if it’s morally acceptable to smack the shit out of someone with only one arm, or if Shiro will call foul and convince everyone that Keith is somehow the asshole here.

“Is so. You’re so besotted that even I’m embarrassed for you, and I usually just laugh when you’re being humiliating.”

Keith decides that the potential reputation tarnishing is worth it.

“Ow!” Shiro cries, clutching his flesh arm with way more drama than necessary. “My arm!” He glances over at the scattered stares he receives, from various uniformed officers, and pitches his voice louder to get more attention. “My only remaining human arm!”

“Keith, stop trying to kill your brother,” Coran admonishes. “He’s sensitive.”

Shiro shoots him the tiniest smirk before returning to his fake pout. Keith’s jaw drops in indignation. “Wh — he antagonized me — it’s not my — Coran!”

Coran only raises his eyebrows. “Is there a problem, Number Three, or shall I get your mother involved?”

Pidge makes an obnoxious oooooooooh sound, wiggling her eyebrows at him, because she and Shiro are the worst, actually, and for good measure Coran is too.

“I hate this family,” Keith mutters, sinking into his seat. “All of you suck.”

“Okay, emo boy,” Shiro says patronizingly.

Unfortunately, Iverson walks in and starts the Atlas briefing before Keith can smack him again. He settles for glaring at his dumbass brother, who sticks his tongue out at him like the toddler he is, and then vows to pay attention to the meeting. He is the black paladin, after all.

He lasts four whole minutes.

It’s not his fault. If anything it’s Iverson’s fault. The meeting is boring as hell, and a quick glance around the meeting table shows that the only person paying attention is the note-taking robot Pidge made, and that doesn’t even count ‘cause it’s a robot. Several senior officers are outright sleeping. The MFE pilots are quietly passing around a game of dots. Hunk has blatantly pulled out an engineering project of his and is working on it in full and total view of Iverson (he still hates the man for what he did to Lance when they were cadets, claiming that since Lance has forgiven him, someone needs to hold a grudge). Pidge and Matt seem to be communicating in Morse code. Allura is directing her mice in some kind of acrobatic performance, and Coran is helping her. Shiro is trying to see how many spitballs he can land on Iverson’s blind side before he notices (he’s riding the line with 34). Lance is staring at Keith.

Lance is staring at Keith?

He startles when he meets Lance’s brown eyes, but Lance only smiles, wiggling his fingers in a little wave. Keith tilts his head in confusion, trying to wordlessly ask Lance why he’s staring, and also manage to keep his rapidly creeping blush under control.

(He likes it when Lance stares at him).

Lance squeezes his eyes shut instead of answering, and a moment later Keith feels a prodding in the back of his mind; a familiar presence, hot and fiery and all-encompassing.

Red.

He lets her in, lets her familiar feeling envelop his mind. She struts primly in his mindscape, nosing at Black as if to say I was here first, so just remember who’s boss.

Black lets her prance around with fond amusement.

Before Keith can ask her why she’s pushed her way through — not that he minds, he’s happy to have her, but she hasn’t felt the need to visit him in a while so he’s curious — he feels another presence almost knock on his subconscious, request access to his mindscape.

Red has…brought someone else?

Can she do that?

Red looks at him flatly, like his doubt is a personal offence. Before she can start admonishing him, the presence pushes again; not urgent, but insistent, almost as if someone is knocking on the door of Keith’s mind and doesn’t want to be ignored.

Beyond curious, Keith lets them in.

The second Keith opens his mental door, it’s like they rush in, flowing in like the white rapids of a river, strong and fast and excited, cool and bubbly. There’s so much of them that it takes Keith a good couple of minutes to conceptualise just who exactly has followed Red into Keith’s mind. The rushing water takes shape into a person; tall, gangly, broad-shoulders with a mop of curly brown hair and bright brown eyes, freckles spotted over their nose and grin wide and sparking.

Keith gapes.

“Lance?!”

“Is everything alright, Kogane?”

Keith blinks open his eyes to find the entire meeting table staring at him, expressions ranging from confused to knowing to outright teasing. He realises all of a sudden that he’s spoken aloud, and not only spoken but called Lance’s name out, loudly, for seemingly no reason, in the middle of a crowded meeting.

His face flames.

“All is well,” he chokes out. “Please carry on.”

Iverson narrows his eyes at him for a moment, but eventually shakes himself and continues. Keith stays bright red for several minutes, staring pointedly down at the table, ignoring the various sniggers he can hear with every ounce of his effort. Unfortunately, some of the teasing laughter is inside his actual literal brain, what the fresh fuck, so it’s a fruitless endeavour.

Are you still freaking out? the Lance inside his head (???) asks.

What in the gall brained fuck is going on, Keith thinks back at it, looking at Real Lance in a decent mix of panic, confusion, and the actual phonetic sound that an exclamation point mixed with a question mark makes in your brain. Real Lance has his eyes closed, brows creased in concentration, and the tiniest of smirks pulling up at his lips.

Close your eyes and meditate, doofus, Mind Lance tells him. I’m using a lot of energy right now so I don’t have the space to try and reign you up here.

Despite the fact that Keith is so confused that a thousand professors could not explain his current situation to him in any way that makes sense, he listens, closing his eyes tightly and visualizing his physical bond with Black, like he does when he flies. It helps him sink into the semi-astral plane of existence, usually so he can meld with his lion and the rest of the team when they’re forming Voltron, but whenever he’s trying to reach his own mindscape, too. He’s still aware of his physical body, he’s not quite projected out of it, but he’s not wholly in it, either. Most of his essence is focused on seeing as his mind sees, without the constraints of the physical plane.

“Took you long enough,” Lance huffs.

“What the fuck,” Keith responds.

He packs quite a lot of questions into that what the fuck, he thinks. Like ‘what the fuck are you doing here’, for starters. Or ‘what the fuck just happened with the water and Red and everything else’, if he wants to be specific. Or, if he really just wants to cover everything, ‘what the fuck is happening’ might just do it.

“Your internal monologue fascinates me,” Lance informs him.

Keith flushes. (Does he flush in his mindscape? Does he have the blood and physical body necessary in order to flush? Or is he just embarrassed, so his perception of himself is blushing because that’s the only way he knows how to conception use the feeling? God, Voltron magic shit is so weird. Keith lowkey misses mapping energies alone in the desert and wondering if he was delusional.)

“Stop hearing my internal monologue,” he orders.

Lance pouts. “You’re no fun. I want to hear all the juicy gossip you think about me because you’re too emotionally stunted to say it.”

Lance is only joking, Keith knows he is. He’s leaned forward slightly, like he always does when he’s teasing, and his smile is close-mouthed, unserious.

But Keith of course panics anyway.

A million snapshots of Lance flash through his mind — Lance laughing, head thrown back, barely holding himself up; Lance dancing around the briefing room at two in the morning as he plans a mission; Lance with his tongue stuck out of his mouth, concentrating hard on tiny knitting needles and tiny little mouse-sweaters; Lance with tears shining in his eyes, glancing at a projection of Earth, long before they finally made it home; Lance dirty and hurt, cradled to his chest as Keith runs him too a pod after Sendak. A thousand moments of Lance when Keith was fondest of him, when just looking at him made the ballads Keith grew up with play in his head.

He hurries to shove the memories in an obscure corner of his head and prays that Lance doesn’t see them.

“Can you actually hear my thoughts,” Keith asks, a little desperately.

Lance waves a dismissive hand. “Nah. I get emotional impressions, but that’s about it. I can’t even see anything in here expect you and Red, basically. And Black. Hi, Black!” He waves excitedly to the lion, who sits regally in the dead centre of Keith’s mindscape. She turns to the red paladin in amusement, nodding her head once. Lance beams.

Keith feels a rush of fondness for him so potent it makes his heart hurt, a little.

“Woah,” Lance says, looking at him a little wide-eyed. “I felt that, Willie Nelson. Holy softie.”

“How and why are you here,” Keith says, blatantly changing the subject and not giving even one single shit about being subtle about it. Lance is looking at him too closely.

Luckily, Lance indulges him, or is too excited about being here in general to resist talking about it.

“Isn’t it so cool?” he gushes. “I’ve been working on it with Red for ages! I figured since we all have that emotional bond with each other and the lions during Voltron, and we keep our lion bonds outside of Voltron, we should be able to communicate with each other outside of Voltron, too. Red wasn’t sure if it was possible but she helped me try, and I figured I’d try with you first because it would be the easiest, since we’re so close and all. And you’re more likely to let me in your head.”

He says it so matter-of-factly. Like it’s obvious that they are so close, and that Keith loves him so much that he wouldn’t mind Lance in his head, not really.

The worst part is that he’s right.

With anyone else, this would feel like an invasion of space. Keith would be defensive immediately, angry even, throwing them right the hell out of his head and yelling at them as he does it.

But with Lance?

He’s a little shocked, sure. And worried, that Lance is going to see all the parts of him that Keith isn’t ready yet to show him; the parts that he doesn’t yet know how to say, how to show. The parts of Keith that soften every time Lance smiles at him, the parts that light up with gleeful competition whenever Lance eggs him on, the parts that chafe and ache but smooth over when Lance sits with him quietly when he’s hurting.

Keith knows that Lance knows that he loves him. He doesn’t exactly hide it. He’s not sure he would, even if he could.

But he’s not ready to tell him. Not yet.

He takes a deep breath. (Or whatever the mindscape equivalent is).

He knows Lance won’t go looking.

“And you decided to pull this telepathy shit in the middle of a random meeting?” Keith teases, allowing some of the worry to slip away.

This is, after all, cool as shit, even if it’s weird.

“It’s not an important meeting!” Lance defends. “It’s boring, and I needed entertainment! Besides, Pidge’s bot will give us all the notes anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. Slacker. Some right hand man you are.”

Keith spends the rest of the dead-boring meeting teasing and chatting with Lance in his mindscape, which is great because he both gets to mess with Lance, which is always a net positive, because he has the upper hand in his own head, and because he gets to look like he’s paying attention in the meeting and actually be completely checked out.

“Oh, hey, I think the meeting’s ending,” Lance says. “I can hear Iverson winding down a bit.”

“Time to get out of my head then, you squatter?”

Lance rolls his eyes, waving to Red to get her attention. She stalks over, nosing him in the head like a mother cat to her kitten. Lance bats her away. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll head out. But only because I’m not practiced enough at this thing, so if I stay in your head it’ll look like I’m frozen or something. Once I figure out how to look normal and still beam my thoughts into your head, you’re never going to be without me even once in your life.”

Lance is teasing again. Keith can tell. But still, he’s totally helpless to stop what comes out next.

“I’d be okay with that.”

He sounds so besotted he wants to smack himself. But before he can even have the space to be embarrassed, he feels a wave of emotions that aren’t his — Lance’s, from the other end of their connection, a mix of embarrassment and selfish pleasure so thick that Keith can feel it even though they’re in Keith’s mindscape.

His jaw drops.

Lance wants Keith’s undivided attention. He’s preening over it.

“I gotta go,” Lance says hastily. “Uh, meeting ending and everything.”

Before Keith can so much as stop him, he feels the same strange feeling as before, the cool, rushing water of a river, only this time it’s flowing out of of his head rather than into it. Lance has retreated hastily from his mindscape, and Red follows, much slower and much more smug, visibly laughing at her paladin.

When Keith opens his eyes again, Lance is bright red, and won’t meet his eyes.

Keith smiles. Maybe he’s not the only one who’s not quite ready to spill his guts.

———

part two

[honey-crypt]

hello! Can I ask you for the disability write-a-thon a farmer with social anxiety who has a hard time socializing and interacting with elliott/harvey but really tries, and also has panic attacks because of it!

I'm sorry if you don't understand, English is not my language. :(

ps: I love what you write, you are very good! 💕💕

★ elliott & harvey with a farmer who has social anxiety and panic attacks ★

elliott

★ your social anxiety kinda goes over his head, he just thinks you’re shy and finds it to be quite cute

★ he tries his best to chat with you but 99% of any conservation he attempts with you involves you running away after the first exchange of pleasantries

★ elliott gets worried that he might have slighted you in some way so he goes out of his way to send you apology gifts, ranging from as simple as seashells to as extravagant as flower arrangements

★ that, however, just made things worse on your end, as you struggled to find the means to thank elliott for such nice things and end up having a panic attack in front of him for it

★ elliott helps you through the panic attack, offering you a shoulder to lean on while you ride the wave of emotion; afterwards, you’re able to finally talk to elliott and thank him for his kindness

harvey

★ bro’s kinda socially anxious himself but your social anxiety could eat his for breakfast

★ he doesn’t recognize that you’re dealing with social anxiety because his social anxiety is telling him that you actually hate his guts and that’s why you run away every time you see him

★ luckily, harvey figures out that it’s your social anxiety and not that you hate him; unfortunately, he discovers it when you have a panic attack in front of him because you couldn’t get the words out to order something at the saloon

★ he manages to override his own social anxiety in order to help you through your panic attack

★ once you calm down, harvey reveals that he also has social anxiety and you two end up finding common ground on the topic, able to talk to one another without the other person losing their mind

[chicgeekgirl89]

Summary: While responding to a multi-car pileup, Carlos is involved in an accident that leaves him fighting for his life. A/N: This was a request from @rubinsteinsilva126. They requested: I’d want a Carlos Whump story! Carlos getting injured, riding in the ambulance that TK responds to the call of, and then TK later holding Carlos in the hospital bed because Carlos was in pain and needed comfort 🥺 (Also, they requested this almost a literal year ago. So I am no longer taking requests because I am clearly bad at following through on them! 😂)

Read on AO3

T.K. does not want to be at the scene of a multi-car pileup. T.K. doesn’t want to be at work in general today. What T.K. wants is to be at home, in his bed, with the covers pulled up over his head, his moody playlist blasting in his ears.

But unfortunately his work schedule doesn’t care about his feelings in the slightest and instead he’s arriving in an ambulance at said multi-car pileup in the middle of the highway.

And his husband is here. Because of course he is.

T.K. spots Carlos directing traffic around the accident as soon as they pull up in the rig. Usually this would be a delight. Usually he would smile and wave and feel a rush of joy at seeing Carlos during a call. There’s something special about working together to save lives. 

But today he is not thrilled.

“Oh look, there’s Carlos,” Nancy says as they jump down from the rig and start gathering supplies. “Are you going to go say hi?”

At that moment Carlos sees them, his eyes locking with T.K.’s. Neither of them smile and after a second Carlos looks away, focusing on directing a blue Toyota around the mangled mess of cars.

“Well that seemed a little frosty,” Tommy says as she steps up next to them.

“Frosty? That was downright arctic,” Nancy says, eyeing him curiously. “Trouble in paradise?”

T.K. shifts the backpack on his shoulders, annoyed at how the straps are already digging into him after only a few seconds. “Carlos and I,” he says testily, “are in a fight.”

“Well that explains it,” Nancy says with a roll of her eyes. “You’ve been grouchy all day.”

“No I haven’t,” T.K. snaps back at her in annoyance. The only thing worse than being pissed off at your husband is having your friends point out that you’re pissed off at your husband.

“Sweetheart if looks could kill we’d both be dead,” Tommy says gently. “Several times over.”

“Well I’m—” T.K. huffs, “I’m mad at him.”

“Yeah that doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to suffer,” Nancy says. “What are you so mad at him about?”

T.K. turns his hands into fists, squeezing them tightly as all the feelings of the last twenty-four hours bubble just underneath the surface of his control. “He keeps turning the thermostat down.”

Tommy and Nancy both blink at him. When they don’t speak he presses on. “I turn it up and the next thing I know I come back out and it’s turned down again. It’s like he doesn’t even care about climate change at all!”

“Haven’t you two lived together for like, a long time now?” Nancy asks. “Shouldn’t you have worked out the temperature of your living space at this point?”

“We had to replace the thermostat last week,” T.K. says. “It’s all different now.”

“I understand that must be frustrating, but I’m not sure it’s worth having a fight about,” Tommy says.

“That’s not the only thing,” T.K. continues. “It’s the pillows.”

“The pillows?” Nancy asks.

“He buys allllll these throw pillows and puts them all over the place, but guess what? Are we allowed to touch them? Lean on them? Use them for what they’re intended for? No. Why? Because they’re ‘decorative’ and if I lean on them they’ll ‘lose their shape.’ Isn’t that insane? Why do we have them if we can’t use them?”

“Okay, yes, that does seem kind of annoying,” Tommy says, but T.K. is on a roll, and now that he’s started airing his grievances to the public he can’t seem to stop.

“Also he got his hair cut too short last time!” he gripes, glaring at the back of his husband’s head.

“Um, his body his choice dude,” Nancy says.

“I know that!” T.K. says with a scowl. “But he knows how much I like his curls and he didn’t even tell me he was going to do it, he just showed back up at the loft looking like a sheep after shearing!”

He can hear the words they’d hurled at each other even now, as if he’s reliving them.

T.K. had come out of his shower, still toweling off his hair when he’d heard the whoosh of the AC system kicking on. Eyeing the thermostat on the wall he’d sighed. “Seriously Carlos?” he’d said, turning to look at his husband, who was reading in their bed.

“What?” Carlos asked in confusion.

“You turned the thermostat down. Again.”

“Yeah…” Carlos said slowly. “It was getting stuffy in here.”

“You know that air conditioning is a big part of the issue with our carbon footprint.” This shouldn’t have been a big deal to him, but T.K. had come from a meeting grumpy and in the mood for a fight.

Carlos set his book down and scoffed. “I don’t think using the air conditioning that was built into our home long before we moved in is that big of an issue T.K. We live on the top floor. Heat rises. It gets warm up here without it on.”

“Then open a window.”

Carlos bristled, rising to the bait T.K. was laying out for him.“It’s ninety five degrees outside! The air is so stagnant out there it’s like opening an oven door! Why are you freaking out about this?”

“I’m not freaking out, I’m just asking you to think about the environment and our electric bill!”

“Our electric bill is fine! What do you want me to do, plant a tree every time I turn the temperature down a degree?”

“That would be a start.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “It’s my home too T.K. I should be allowed to have a say in it.”

“Oh, like I have a say with the throw pillows?” T.K. snapped.

“That’s totally different!”

“How Carlos? How is it different? You want to use the air conditioning, I want to use the throw pillows. It’s exactly. the. same.” He gestured sharply with his hand to emphasize his point.

“Because the air conditioning doesn’t lose shape and color when you lean against it! I picked them all out, I’d like them to stay nice so that when people come over they don’t look like shit!” Carlos’ eyes flashed dangerously, a sign that he was well and truly pissed off.

“You think our friends are judging us for our misshapen throw pillows? Wow you really are a control freak.” 

“You don’t care if our friends think our home is nice?”

“I really don’t.” That wasn’t true, but it felt good to say it in the moment.

Carlos rolled his eyes.“Okay. Sure. Next time we have game night we’ll just let our all friends sit against lumpy, flattened pillows.”

“Do you not hear how insane that sounds?!”

“Oh, is it as insane as keeping mealworms in our refrigerator next to our food so they last longer?”

T.K. gapes at him. “You said it was fine!”

“I said it was fine. I didn’t say I liked it,” Carlos said, his lips pressing together into a thin line.

“So you’d rather Lou II starve? Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not T.K.! It is unbelievable to me that you would even say that after all I’ve done for that stupid lizard!”

They’d gone on for another fifteen minutes before descending into frosty silence after T.K. declared he hated Carlos’ new haircut. Both of them refused to move to  the couch so they laid angrily next to each other until they fell asleep. The silence had persisted through the morning as they readied for work, ending in a terse, “Love you, be safe,” from both of them before they headed out the door.

“You’re comparing your husband to a sheep?” Tommy asks, an amused smile on her face.

“Yes!” T.K. gripes. “And that’s not all. He also—“

There’s a screech of tires and a car, a silver Honda, pulls out of the line of vehicles that are waiting to pass the accident and tries to zoom around them. Time slows and T.K. sees what’s about to happen and realizes there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

The Honda clips Carlos and sends him spinning, his body whirling like a top before he collapses to the ground, unmoving. 

“CARLOS!” His husband’s name tears from his lips and T.K. is running before he can think, feet flying over the ground to reach Carlos’ side. He skids to a stop and drops to his knees, backpack falling to the ground beside him.

Carlos is flat on his back, eyes wide, mouth gaping as a harsh, rasping sound escapes from his chest. He looks shocked, terrified, and T.K. can tell his own face is a mirror of the same horror. “Carlos, Carlos, hey, hey talk to me,” T.K. babbles out, hands hovering, afraid to touch, all his training completely gone from his mind as panic takes over.

“T.K.” His name comes out on a whimper and T.K.’s heart shatters inside of his chest. He’s never heard Carlos make such a terrible sound in his entire life.

The world around him feels like it’s moving through sludge, everything slow, muffled out of focus. The only thing he can see is Carlos’ pained expression. And then there are hands on T.K.’s back and everything snaps into real time as Nancy and Tommy join him on the ground.

“T.K. back up,” Tommy says sharply. “Give us some room to work.”

T.K. shuffles back awkwardly, hands clenching into the knees of his uniform pants to stop them from shaking. 

“Carlos, baby, where are you hurting?” Tommy asks as she takes scissors to Carlos’ uniform shirt.

“My…chest…” The words barely come out, strung together on forced gasps that sound terrible and painful. “Leg…”

“He’s not moving air,” Nancy says, a stethoscope pressed to Carlos’ chest. “I think it’s a pneumo Cap.”

“Okay, we’ll have to decompress him,” Tommy says. “Grab the kit. And a splint, he’s got a tibia fracture in his left leg.”

“On it.”

It’s all moving so fast, everything a blur, and T.K. is struggling to keep up with it all. It doesn’t feel real, this can’t be happening. Not to them. Not now. Not again—

“T.K. come hold his head,” Tommy orders.

In hindsight he’ll wonder if she really needed his help or was just giving him something to do so he didn’t come apart at the seams on the asphalt of the highway, but in the moment he does exactly what she asks without question, his hands, cloaked in blue gloves, cradling Carlos’ head just above the c-spine collar they’ve put on him to keep his neck stabilized.

Carlos’ terrified eyes look up at him, boring deeply into his own and T.K. should offer some words of comfort, tell him he’s going to be okay, that they’re taking good care of him, but he can’t. The words won’t come.

He can tell when they finally shove the needle into Carlos’ chest, feels relief when air hisses out and Carlos takes a huge breath. “That’s it, keep breathing Carlos,” Tommy says as Nancy slips an oxygen mask over his face. “You’re doing great. Just relax and let us take care of you.”

She glances up her eyes finding T.K.’s and usually he would grab onto the calm he sees in them, but he can’t right now. His spirit feels wild, like it’s been torn loose from his body and is whirling around in an uncontrollable storm. “T.K., you with me?”

“Yes,” he rasps out. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. Because I’m going to need your help getting him onto the backboard.”

They roll Carlos on and then get him into the ambulance. Later T.K. will find out the entire event took less than ten minutes. In the moment it feels like hours. 

T.K. sits in the back of the ambulance with Tommy as Nancy drives. He watches as Carlos’ body finally starts to relax, morphine doing its work as it drips into his veins. 

He looks up into T.K.’s eyes and it’s only then that T.K. realizes he’s crying, his eyes a darker brown color than usual that only comes when tears are falling. T.K. reaches down and carefully wipes them away.

“I’m—“ Carlos’ voice is breathy and muffled behind the mask, but he pushes the words out anyway, “—sorry.”

T.K. shakes his head his own tears falling now, droplets landing in his lap and soaking into his pants. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he says, brushing a hand gently through those short curls that he said he hated last night and now he loves more than anything in the world. “I’m sorry.”

“Call…my….mom?”

T.K. nods. “As soon as we get to the hospital and you’re checked in okay?”

Carlos’ eyes close and T.K. thinks the medicine and the pain have finally pulled him under, but then the blinks them open again, and they spear him with a terrified intensity. “Scared.”

Oh god. Oh god this is going to break him. “I know you’re scared,” T.K. says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks and resuming brushing his fingers gently through Carlos’ hair. “But you’re okay. You’re stable and we’re almost to the hospital. They’re going to take good care of you and soon…soon all of this will just be a memory. We’ve got you. Tommy’s here and Nancy and…and we’ve got you.”

He hopes that will be enough.

Within fifteen minutes of arriving at the hospital Carlos is taken off to be prepped for surgery. That’s when T.K. finally loses it, collapsing into a chair and sobbing into his hands as Nancy rubs his back while Tommy takes over the task of calling Andrea and his dad.

“He’s going to be okay,” Nancy says, but T.K. can hear tears in her voice too. “It’s a pneumo, some bleeding, broken bones, it’s all fixable. He’ll be all right.”

“What if he’s not?” T.K. cracks out. “What if this is…what if he…and the last thing we did was fight about the thermostat?”

“T.K., Carlos knows it was just a fight,” Nancy says. “Couples have fights. About important stuff and stupid stuff.”

“She’s right.” Tommy sits down on his other side. “Just because you were having an argument, it doesn’t negate everything else. Carlos knows that. And you do too.”

“It was just so stupid,” T.K. says, sniffing and wiping ineffectually at his eyes which will not stop crying. “How could I have been so stupid?” He struggles to push the next words past his throat. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“I know,” Tommy says. “Let’s not go there yet though, hm? Let’s have faith. Carlos is strong. He can pull through this.”

Andrea and his dad arrive and T.K. pulls it together enough to be strong for his mother-in-law who needs to believe that she’s not going to watch her only son die when the loss of her husband still feels so fresh. T.K. explains what happened, interprets everything the doctor told him on arrival, discusses what the surgery will entail, and the possible outcomes. 

It’s exhausting and he takes himself off to the bathroom for another crying jag about two hours after they arrive, returning with red, swollen eyes that they both can see. Andrea immediately folds him into a hug and they stay that way until the doctor finally returns.

He reports that Carlos’ surgery went well. They repaired his lung along with some other internal damage and set his leg fracture. He’s also got three broken ribs and a concussion, but overall he’s in good shape considering. It could have been much worse.

Somehow that phrase doesn’t feel like a comfort.

Tommy and Nancy leave once Carlos is settled into a room. He’s very out of it, the sedation and heavy pain medication taking a severe toll on his ability to stay awake. He manages a hello to his mom and Owen before lapsing back into sleep again. It’s brief, but it goes a long way toward reassuring them all that he’ll be okay. 

His dad heads out after that to grab some things from the loft so T.K. doesn’t have to spend the entire night in the hospital in his uniform and Andrea decides to go to the chapel for a little bit. T.K. is grateful for the space.

He sits in the chair next to Carlos’ bed, picking at a stray string on the cuff of his shirt. God he fucking hates hospitals. They’ve spent more time inside these walls the last few years than any human should have to. If he never has to come here again it will be too soon.

“T…K.?”

The croak has him snapping his head up to find Carlos struggling to open his eyes, pain lining the tension in his limbs, the darkness of his eyes, the creases of his forehead. He has medication onboard, but it’s like his body still knows how broken it is, even if he can’t fully feel it.

“Hey.” T.K. sits forward and forces a smile that feels like it’s straining his face. “Hey baby.”

Carlos swallows, the pain mixing with confusion in his eyes. “Am I—?”

“You’re okay,” T.K. says. They filled him in the first time he woke up, but it’s clear that it didn’t stick. “You were in an accident. Your lung was collapsed and you have a broken tibia and some ribs, but you’re going to be okay.”

Carlos nods, his eyes closing briefly as if he’s struggling to take it all in. “I’m okay?” Carlos asks, like he’s really not sure.

“Yes,” T.K. says firmly, reaching out to cover the back of his hand. “Yes, you’re okay. It’s going to be a long recovery, but you are okay.”

Carlos’ next breath is shaky and full of tears. “I’m not—I don’t want to leave you.”

God damn it just when he thinks he can’t cry anymore. “You’re not leaving me,” T.K. manages to choke out, squeezing his hand. “You’re not—you’re not dying. I promise baby. I promise.”

“I love you,” Carlos is crying in earnest now, like he has absolutely no control over his emotions. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” T.K. soothes, sliding the chair closer so he can run his hand up and down Carlos’ arm. “There’s no need for sorries.”

“I wasn’t safe.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Carlos swallows hard like it hurts him to do so. “Do you want some water?” T.K. asks and when Carlos nods he helps him sip a little bit.

When he’s done he licks his lips and meets T.K.’s eyes. “We can turn the thermostat up.”

T.K. chokes out a laugh, his eyes still damp with tears. “I don’t care about the damn thermostat.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Me neither.” T.K. grabs a tissue and uses it to gently wipe the tears from Carlos’ face. “We’ll bring in a neutral third party to deal with the thermostat setting. Paul can do it.”

Now Carlos manages a small huff of a laugh. “And we can use the throw pillows.”

“Thank god,” T.K. says, trying to lighten the mood. “I was ready to sign the divorce papers on that one.” He reaches up and brushes a hand through Carlos’ hair. “And I love your hair. I love all of you. All the time. Any way you are.”

“I love you too.” He shifts a little bit, trying to get more comfortable. “Was my mom here?”

“She’s in the chapel. I think she needed some time to herself,” T.K. says. “My dad was here too. He went to grab us some stuff. If there’s anything particular you want from home I can text him.”’

Carlos shakes his head. “Just you.”

“I’m here,” T.K. says immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” Carlos closes his eyes and a shudder runs over his frame.

“Are you cold?” T.K. asks. He knows all too well that blood loss brings on a special type of chill. One that settles into your bones, that you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try.

“A little,” Carlos says, shivering again and then letting out a small, pained sound as the movement jars his injured body. “Can you…can you hold me? Please?”

He shouldn’t. There’s barely any room in the hospital bed. And Carlos is covered in bandages and IV’s and the cast on his left leg. But honestly, T.K. needs some physical reassurance as much as his husband does right now.

So he carefully maneuvers himself into the bed, moving so slowly that it’s almost painful, tucking himself up against the railing so that his touch against Carlos is practically featherlight. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep,” he says quietly, running his fingers gently over Carlos’ stomach in a soothing motion. 

It always helps Carlos sleep to have his back rubbed, but this will have to do for today. He watches as the tension slips out of his husband’s body, sleep pulling him down and T.K. breathes out. They’ve survived. Again.

[whispersinthepines]

The Graveyard Shift

Part Three (Smut)

Part One Here

Part Two Here

He sat up and passed his palms over his face as he gazed out the windshield into the night and exhaled loudly, “Nah...I'm ok, Darlin’. You?” He glances at my shaking hands and leans over to gently pry the gun from my white knuckle death grip, placing it on the dash in his eyeline and within easy reach should he need it.

Her eyes quickly scan his body looking for blood, not quite believing that he came out of the fire fight unscathed, “Oh, thank fuck. I thought for sure that you…that they…No. I’m not hurt….Oh my God…I just…I killed somebody…” She was starting to ramble as the adrenaline wore off, her wrist hurt and she began to notice the sharp throb caused by the kick back.

He turned to her shaking his head emphatically and tried to stop her train of thought before it overtook her, “Hey, hey come on…it’s ok. You did good. You did so fuckin’ good! You saved my life…and yours too. You think they would have let you go? Nah, Hun…they don’t play like that…bastards would have tapped you in the head like it was nothing.” His eyes seemed to look at her differently, with a hint of vulnerability that she hadn’t seen before. “I need to call this in, ok? I can leave out your part…if you want? I can say you were in the truck and you didn’t see anything.”

With a nod she agrees to keep what had happened tonight a secret just between them, not knowing what the club would do if they knew she had done something she had no right getting caught up in. Or what the retribution would look like, especially since she didn’t have the level of protection that Juice had. “Who were they, do you think?”

“Fuck knows. If we’re lucky it was just a couple of junkies trying to rob us. I'm thinking it was AB though. We’re beefin’ with em’hard right now…I’m sorry…Sorry you got involved, sorry you had to do…that.” he adds with a shuddering sigh, knowing all too well how it will stain her soul, wake her in the night and haunt her quiet moments forever.

Juice takes out an old flip phone and calls someone, Chibs, it sounds like and they talk for a while as she sits there quietly listening to him telling the unfortunate tale, thankfully omitting any part she had played in it and gleaning from it that a car is being sent for them. When it arrives Juice tells her to wait in the truck as he gets out to discuss the next steps with a couple of Sons and she feels slightly unnerved when he gestures to her and they look over but she needn’t have worried as they merely exchange rides and part ways.

The whole drive back is silent and when they arrive at the garage they sit for a while, tired yet grateful to be coming home. The sun is coming up and it's hard to believe how fast it all happened. One minute you’re complaining that you’re bored the next…well…you wish you were still bored…because some things you can’t ever take back. Some things though, she can; and she fully intended to.

“Hey, j? She begins, “I'm sorry for being a dick to you in the office earlier, it just came out before I even thought. I know I'm an asshole but right then I really didn’t mean to be.” She lets out a shuddering sigh and leans her head back on the rest, her eyes closed. Apologising was not her strong suit but it was something she could get behind working on.

“Don’t worry bout’ that shit. I got thick skin. An if I ain’t used to you by now...”he chuckles and attempts to wave away her apology but she doesn’t let him.

“No. No…I can be a cold ass bitch. I just want you to know that out of everyone I kinda…feel like you deserve it the least…” Her words are grudging but heartfelt and it shows, “If you’d have…” she trails off as a wave of emotion threatens to take her out.

Juice had the good grace to look away, giving her a moment, “Look. I ain’t gonna forget what you did for me tonight…you need anything, i'm your man. Always…” When he looks at her again it's almost shocking and it takes him a beat to react. He tentatively reaches out and wipes the tears from her cheeks and pulls her into a much needed hug.

“Shhh…I gotcha.” He whispered as he held her tightly, his hand rubbing her back in slow circles as she sobs into his shoulder. He holds her for as long as she needs, swaying her gently and not letting go until she pulls away. He cups her cheeks and presses his forehead against hers, “You are a pain in my ass, Princess,” he smiles sadly, “but I am damn glad that you were watchin’ my back tonight.” Juice was done waiting. Done thinking that he wasn’t good enough for her. Done making excuses to not bring her in and never let her go. He was claiming her as his, pure and simple and it was happening right now.

Gazing into his deep smouldering brown eyes, her breath mingled with his and the air became infused with need. A need for comfort and safety and above all a need to be utterly enveloped in his strong arms. She pressed her tear damp lips to his in a soft yet desperate kiss which he gently returned. Cupping the back of her neck he pulled her in, slipping his tongue between her parted lips as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Long, languorous and intimate, every lick of his tongue stoked the embers of her arousal. When they part for breath, their lips still touch, betraying the deep attraction that they felt for each other.

“Fuck…nothing quite like a brush with death to light a fire under your ass, huh?” Juice whispered, “You sure about this? You’ve been through hell tonight…you want me to stop, I’ll sto-”

The little growl he made when she pulled him back in went straight to her core. Spreading an aching wetness through her lips and folds. Mirroring her urgency he lifts her smaller form with ease over the console between them to straddle his lap, fully reclining the seat and taking her down with him. Their tongues press and glide sinuously together whilst Juice's strong hands slide down her back to cup her ass, squeezing the generous flesh and grinding her against his rapidly hardening cock.

The need to feel his warm olive skin on hers is maddening, she pulls off her hoodie and t-shirt and casts the unwanted barriers aside as he gazes up at her, awed by the sight. Hands that had lain on her hips now twitched restlessly as he enjoyed the show that he had imagined countless times in his quiet moments, until he saw those perfect lace covered mounds and he couldn’t resist returning his rough hands to her soft skin. Gliding them up to her waist to cup her firm breasts and test their weight in his hands before sliding them around her back to the fastening of her bra and unhooking it, as she returned her hungry lips to his he peeled it from her body and dropped it with the rest on the worn carpeted floor of the car and filled his hands with their yielding softness.

He kneaded her breasts roughly and teased her pebbled nipples until they ached beneath his touch and made her gasp into his kisses. His open mouth dragged over her skin leaving a cooling trail of saliva down her throat and over her collarbone until he reached her tits licking and suckling each in turn as he groaned his praises.

Yanking down the zipper on his hoodie she pushed it off his strong shoulders and hastily removed his white tank. His body was fucking ridiculous, something far too perfect and precious. So smooth and soft and fuck he smelled so good. He was like fuckin’ art, like a marble sculpture come to life. The friction in her pants as she rolled her damp crotch over his hard on was delicious. Eliciting sexy groans as he lavished her breasts with attention, until he eventually gives in to his throbbing cock and releases her nipple with a wet pop. Juice wraps his arms around her waist and scrambling backwards ungainly they somehow manage to switch positions, clambering clumsily into the backseat until she ends up beneath him. He tugs at her work pants impatiently and removes them, boots and all. Juice doesn't wait, once his belt and fly are open he pulls out his aching cock, pushes her panties aside and presses himself inside her with a bone deep groan.

She moaned loudly and arched off of the seat, widening her legs as much as she could in the confined space. His thrusts are shallow and fast at first, taking her for the absolute joy of being alive. Until the abject pleasure of being inside her takes him and his strokes lengthen and deepen, as do his groans of pleasure when the both of them relax into it. Resting on one elbow, his other hand pulls her thigh to his hip and he buries his face into the crook of her neck and loses himself completely inside of her. In the smooth ridges of that silken fist that didn’t want to let go.

Juice pulls back slightly to gaze at the intense pleasure written all over her face, lit up with ecstasy and a little help from the rising Californian sun. Her eyes meet his and a smile plucks at the corners of her lips, earning her a contagious grin that widens hers, bringing her walls down completely.

Her hands slid down his lean muscular back to grasp handfuls of his toned ass, encouraging him to go deeper as she met his thrusts. It earns her a growled chuckle that is almost lost in the moans of pleasure, wet slaps of skin on skin and clinking of his samcro belt buckle as his hips roll and rut between her trembling thighs. His cock hits and drags against her sweet spot making her eyes roll to the whites, melting her pussy into a creamy puddle that leaked out around his dick. She wasn’t quiet either. Moaning and praising his prowess loudly. There was no one around this early but she probably wouldn’t have cared if there was, he felt too good inside.

He's getting close now, she feels it. Hears it. His brow is furrowed, his face flushed. His jaw set as he tried to hold back. Wanting her to come first before he fills her and marks her as his in the most primal way he can. He gave her a warning look and before he could voice his desperate need his impending orgasm triggered hers and she cried out in ecstasy. Fucking her through her climax and his own and coming inside her without a thought of consequence beyond making her his.

As the waves of intense pleasure begin to wane his shaking arms give out and he slumps atop her body and tries to catch his breath and his wits atop his similarly affected lover. His hand snakes up the back of her neck and tangles in the sweat damp hair of her nape and nuzzles her cheek as they pant for air in the now stuffy space.

They lay together quietly on the back seat. Warm in the afterglow, her fingertips ghost along his obliques as he presses soft kisses behind her ear. His nose brushes up into her hairline and he inhales her sweet scent. “So…ah, you wanna maybe go get a beer sometime?” He whispered playfully, smiling into her hair and biting his lip as he waited for her to answer.

“You asking me out on a date, Juice?” She smiled so hard it made her cheeks ache. She hadn’t expected him to ask and her heart swelled with happiness.

He lifted his head and mirrored her goofy grin, “Might be, you gonna say yes?”

She shrugged and felt her face flush, “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to breakfast, I guess.”

With @midnightlitterateur

[mythicamagic]

Hi Myth, I hope you are doing well! I got into love and deepspace because I saw your post about Sylus and was interested. I haven’t yet gotten into his storyline yet but I fell for Zayne so hard lol. I was wondering what is your opinion on the others including Caleb?

Hello there! Ah I hope you enjoy the game! ❤️

Hmnn this will probably be a big long rambly rant about the love interests so I'll put it under a read more. Please don't read if you're sensitive to criticism/dislike of your favourite guy, I am wildly biased.

This pic showing the guy's affection meter in-game is a good indication of their placement though in terms of how I'd rank them from most to least liked:

Sylus: is my favourite and the sole reason I play the game. I'd already preregistered for LaDs right at the beginning of the game but never played because the 3Ds models of the original 3 men just didn't entice me enough to play. When Sylus was leaked I hopped straight in and began grinding resources for his release. When he came out it was pure hype. His introduction is stellar 👌 vibes immaculate ✨️ he holds himself with quiet power but has a sense of humour. He's a killing machine but he's also a dork who cares about which plushies are sitting together on your shelf. I love his gap moe and all sides to him really, including his pride and difficulty in sharing his vulnerable side (his past pains). I like that he sucks at singing and is stupidly smug about no end of things. He's always quietly encouraging MC to train more and hold herself with more confidence. He adores her attitude and that scores big for me (I stan male characters who aren't intimidated by a woman being a bit mean to them every now and then, and Sylus dishes it back so it's part of their banter.) I like every tidbit of information we get about his loneliness and being a space pirate for a while who conquered planets, like what??? Anyway yee, in conclusion I love him.

Zayne: used to be my main for my first few weeks of playing. Irl he'd be my type based on looks and attitude. He's extremely attractive and gives off a mature and solid vibe like he'd take care of you. I like any and all angst involving his ice Evol, like I eat that shit up. (I LOVE Dawnbreaker, give me that yearning sad man.) His JP voice is to die for and I kinda wish the game would let you mix languages so that MC is bilingual haha. Chat to Sylus in EN and then pop into the cafe later to chat in Japanese with her doctor lol

I half wondered if I'd stick to being a Zayne main when Sylus released but nope. Unfortunately, a few of Zayne's cards put me off him a bit. Initially, I really liked MC x Zayne's dynamic in the main story where she picks him up off the roadside to give him a ride on her motorbike and breaks unexpectedly so his chin bumps her shoulder haha they gave off a confident girl x stoic professional man type vibes. In their cards, however, I'm not fond of MC being kind of...in awe of Zayne. Almost deferential. It leads to her feeling insecure in a bunch of instances. In one card when she joins his lecture late (and its a big deal seminar type of thing) she smiles at him and grows sad when he doesn't respond. She starts to feel small and like she doesn't belong there, because Zayne is such a brilliant surgeon and has a lot of admirers. Later on, Zayne drags her into an abandoned classroom and 'then' gives her affection. And this is a common theme. Zayne doesn't like giving PDA. (And I'm not harping on Zayne here for not beaming and waving at her but I'm saying this is an indication that MC does not feel reassured/confident in their relationship and that bothers me)

In another card, MC is coming home on the train. She texts Zayne to double-check that he is picking her up and wonders why he's not responding. When she gets to the station he's waiting there. On his phone. Just ya know, not responding to her. MC wants a hug but he's standoffish and quiet, acting like he doesn't want to be there. It hurts her feelings. Then he drives her home and ONLY THEN does he press against her and start saying how much missed her bla bla. And I'm sorry but I don't like that. You can be adverse to PDA, I don't like it either- but withholding affection is a choice. It bothers MC and hurts her feelings. What gets me is that MCs sad feelings in these instances could've been easily solved with just a quick smile or word, she's not exactly needy. But anyway, at least it made me realise I prefer a guy who is more upfront with affection. These two as a couple, at least from the cards I've seen, can sometimes just have a hard time communicating their needs. I think outside of those instances they can be very cute together, like an old married couple.

(And I'll just clarify right now since Twitter has made me so conscious of how things are said- yes Sylus does force MC to resonate with him and is antagonistic at first so this is 'worse' than Zayne with-holding affection over PDA but the reason the Zayne thing got to me is because it feels closer to an irl interaction hitting home, that's all)

Xavier: is inoffensive to me. He's aight. I usually end up picking him when you get your choice of 3 cards in a multi-banner because his voice and vibe don't irritate me, he seems okay. His voice is extremely lulling, however, to the point that I don't always pay attention to what he's saying and end up sleepy (I'm sorry Xavier 😐). I think he seems nice, and his card where he makes golden shapes out of light is cute, but I don't feel anything much toward him.

Rafayel: this guy is like...frustrating. Sometimes I feel charmed by something he does- but most of the time his attitude puts me off. He SHOULD be my favourite because I love mermen but whenever he's sassy or rude to MC I'm just like - 'sir you are not hot enough for me to be entertaining this attitude.' Again though I do like his JP voice, he puts in a lively tone sometimes that add a touch of comedy to his words, but yeah he's just not for me. I think he has a lot of layers to him and I like the idea of a love interest who (seems to??) feel resentful/hurt about MC forgetting him, like you could go some interesting places with that- but I'm just not interested in going on that journey with Raf haha. Also LET ME PLAY THE CLAW MACHINE, YOU HAD YOUR TURN-

Caleb: ah Caleb. If you could like...hand-pick the tropes I do not like and put them together in a blender you'd end up with Caleb. Granted I do enjoy Yanderes but Caleb is an extremely tame one and everything else about him cancels out my interest. I don't like the childhood friends trope or the semi-incest taboo thing going on between them. I loathe the military aesthetics and the pipsqueak thing. I will say I think his EN voice actor does a great job, I just don't like Caleb at all haha. To go one step further though- I think 'maybe' I could have liked him IF MC had acted differently around him. When she reunites with him and he reveals that he remembers everything and he's just suddenly back from the dead and in her life- MC not being the slightest bit angry took me out of it. I've had family members die and dreamt about them faking their deaths and I remember screaming at them in my dreams and waking up angry lmao. Her becoming meeker and feeling 'younger' around him just added to me feeling put off.

Also EVERY conversation they have, be it through text, phone-call or in person will slip in a line like - 'hey remember when we were kids we would' or 'remember when we were younger you'd-' like I get it, they're reconnecting over past nostalgia, but it's boring imo once you clock it. There's nothing for me to chew on as an audience member. I totally understand why their dynamic is the way it is- and why he's so set on protecting her (because of her bouts of amnesia and past dependence on him) - its just down to personal taste, but yeah, he don't do it for me and the way MC acts around him (non-confrontational) worsened that.

But yeah these are just my feelings, no offense meant if you love these men. Besides, even if you love the men I dislike- I still like seeing people gush over their favourites, because its endearing to see fans passion! ^^

[chososchalupa]

wish that it was me

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The last person you wanted to see at this meeting was your older brother. The same brother who left you in the hands of Chuuya Nakahara and the Port Mafia years ago, but all you can see now are the pleading eyes of Osamu Dazai begging for forgiveness.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Chapter seven - Wish that it was me

wc - 1016

cw - none

chapter eight

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The following morning went exactly how you pictured it, Chuuya was in a rush to get to the meeting on time while you weren't even out of your pajamas. 

“Could you please hurry the fuck up?” Chuuya yelled down the hall

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond. You weren’t necessarily mad at Chuuya himself but you were mad about everything else and unfortunately for him, you were going to make it everyone else's problem too.

You finished getting ready and walked down the hall to see Chuuya standing by the door with his arms crossed, “About fuckin time” He mumbled before walking out the door with you following behind. 

The two of you arrived just as the meeting was about to begin, you glanced around the room as you entered and just like before, there was no sign of Dazai and luckily for you, there was no sign of Atsushi either. You sighed in relief and took a seat next to Chuuya while you listened to Kunikida begin the meeting. 

The meeting had seemed to go on for hours, you weren't even bothering to listen at this point knowing Chuuya would fill you in once it was over. It wasn’t until you heard the door slowly open that you looked up from your doodling, Atsushi walked into the room with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry I’m late” He spoke towards Kunikida

“It’s fine. Where is Dazai?”

“Oh! Um, he told me to tell you that he wasn’t in the mood for a meeting so he won’t be coming”

Kunikida narrowed his eyes at Atsushi's words before beginning to mumble angrily to himself, “Well,” he began, “This meeting is in regards to a mission that directly involves him so if you don’t mind giving him an update once we finish”

“I’ll fill him in” Chuuya responded, “Gotta go to his house after this anyway”

You glanced at the man beside you with a questioning look but the only response Chuuya gave you was a look that made it clear not to argue or complain.

The meeting finished soon after that and the two of you made your way to the elevator, 

“Hey! Wait up!” Atsushi called as he ran towards the two of you, “If you’re going to Dazais, can I ride along? I figured since we’re all on this mission together it would make sense for us to get there at the same time”

“No” You responded quickly

Chuuya elbowed you in the side as he glanced back at Atsushi, “Sure, come on”

“So not only are you forcing me to go to Osamu's house, I also have to spend my whole day with him?” You complained, glaring at Atsushi.

“Will you cut it out already? I’m really not in the mood today” Chuuya responded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You didn’t respond as you got into the car waiting for all of you. Once at Dazais, you were more angry than before. Dazai had greeted everyone else while he only offered you a smile and a slight wave, not that you wanted anything more but it still annoyed you for some reason. 

The four of you sat in the living room as Chuuya gave a brief summary of the meeting Dazai had skipped. While they talked, you sat silently looking around the room. Dazai had many framed photos scattered on his walls. Most of them were random pictures of the city or sunsets but there were a few of him with his friends. You recognized a picture of him, Oda, and Ango when they were younger which caused you to smile, you didn’t think he’d keep anything to remind him of his days in the Mafia. You continued studying the photos before you realized, there were none of you two together. The two of you had plenty of photos from childhood and even a few together as teenagers but he didn’t frame a single one. You swallowed hard, glancing down at your hands as you listened to Chuuya and Dazai continue speaking. 

“You okay?” Atsushi asked you, getting the attention of Chuuya and Dazai.

“I’m fine.” You responded, not bothering to look up at him.

Dazai cleared his throat as he glanced at Atsushi, “We should get something to eat before we go. Atsushi, how about you help me find something in the kitchen?”

Atsushi nodded, although he was clearly confused. 

Once they left, Chuuya looked at you and then around the room. “None from the past, right?”

You pointed at the photo on the wall, “Only one. Him, Oda and Ango.” 

Chuuya chuckled, “Should’ve guessed”

You gave a small smile before standing to get a better look at the other photos, Chuuya watched as you walked around the room before stopping in front of a specific photo. He got up from the couch and stood beside you to see what the photo was.

The photo was of Dazai and Atsushi, Dazai’s arm wrapped around his shoulder while they both had big smiles on their faces as they were laughing while the photo was being taken. 

“He doesn’t have any of us” You whispered to Chuuya, “I wish that it was me. This could’ve been us if he didn’t leave me” 

Chuuya sighed, wrapping his arm around you like Dazai had done with Atsushi in the photo before you, “He had his reasons. You’d understand if you’d hear him out”

“I don’t have to. He made his decision very clear”

And although you thought only Chuuya could hear your words, Atsushi and Dazai stood on the opposite side of the room, having come in to tell you they needed to go to the store but stopped once they heard the two of you talking. 

“We have nothing here” Dazai announced as you two had been in silence for a few moments now, “Chuuya’s coming to the store with me?”

Chuuya turned around with an annoyed expression, “let’s go then, asshole”

Dazai smiled before turning back around to lead Chuuya outside, leaving you and Atsushi sitting in an awkward silence alone.

taglist

@lacunaanonymoused @decaf-nosebleed @till-we-become-monsters

AO3

masterlist

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 14

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 14: A witch's favorite subject in school is spelling.

Anathema Device had always been a very bad speller. That is not quite true, actually: her spelling was not so much "appalling," as her Year 3 teacher Ms Johnson had put it, as three hundred years too late. Attempting to explain this to Ms Johnson went over very poorly, as adults often do not take very kindly to being corrected by eight-year-olds, even if that adult prided herself on being a modern and progressive sort of woman who didn't tell everyone immediately whether or not she's married and whose classes involved rather more guitar than was typical.

Anathema was a quiet and intense child who was usually good at school. It was easy, and she daydreamed her classes away with what she imagined the prophecies that she was mentioned in might be about. Her current favorite idea was that the Four that shalle ryde and the Four that shalle alfo ryde and the Three that sharl ryde the Skye might all be riding horses and unicorns and pegasi that didn't like to be ridden, and the horns and wings were why Deville and Angel were mentioned. Maybe she would get to pet them and feed them apples and get the eleven ryders to leave them alone so they could go back to their horsey lives.

Having bad grades in spelling meant there was a class she wasn't bored to daydreams in, and in Ms Johnson's patronizing dismissal she saw a challenge. After all, Anathema believed she was special and was going to save the world. Unlike every other eight-year-old who read too much and believed this, Anathema had it on authority. And if Anathema was going to defeat the forces of Hell and maybe the Antichrist himself when she was a grown-up, silly old Ms Johnson should be small potatoes.

First, she brought The Book to school. Mum and Dad told her it shouldn't leave the house so that they couldn't lose it, but unlike them, she was very good at remembering where she had put things and so she wasn't worried about forgetting to bring it home. When Ms Johnson called on her to spell a word like "ride" or "diverse" or "make," she would spell it correctly as "ryde," or "diuerse," or "mayk" and then show the Ms Johnson The Book, and she would be vindicated.

Ms Johnson did not call on her in class that day, no matter how urgently she waved her hand to be called upon. And apparently Dad noticed The Book was missing even though it had only been while she was at school and she'd brought it right back, and he took it away for a week as punishment.

Her next idea was to bring in one of the concordances. It was less authoritative and much less interesting than The Book, in her opinion, but Mum and Dad were less likely to notice one of them missing, and Ms Johnson couldn't ignore her forever. Unfortunately for Anathema, she was correct. Ms Johnson ignored her in spelling, even when her hand was raised, but did not ignore her in maths, and asked her for the times tables of seven while she was staring out the window and thinking about whether Elliot the dragon could carry three people, maybe her and Pete and the manne who testeth with a pyn.

Then on Friday, Ms Johnson was absent from school, which was just unfair in Anathema's opinion. How could she defeat her opponent if she didn't even come to school?

Ms Johnson was proving to be large potatoes indeed. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Over the weekend, Anathema made a plan of attack. First, she would attempt plan A again, trying to get called upon in spelling. If that didn't work, plan B was to go to Ms Johnson with the book after school. If Ms Johnson didn't come to school, Anathema would go to her house with the concordance and show her in front of the whole neighborhood, or at least her husband if she had one of those and her guitar if she didn't, and Ms Johnson would be forced to recognize that Anathema's spelling was actually quite good. Anathema went to the town library to borrow a phone book in preparation, and discovered that "Johnson, Susan" lived at 25 Cherry Lane, and a local atlas also told her that 25 Cherry Lane was on the opposite side of the grocery store near the record shop.

Come Monday, Ms Johnson was absent from school again. So, after school, Anathema skipped dance practice and trotted off to the final battle in the spelling war. Knocking on the door at 25 Cherry Lane carrying a 400-page leatherbound book, she made something of a sight, though due to her height, not one that could be seen from the peephole built into the door. The person who answered was not Ms Johnson, or a husband, or even a guitar, but someone who looked a bit like Ms Johnson with darker hair.

"Hello, dear, how can I help you?" said the woman who wasn't Ms Johnson, and Anathema suddenly felt a bit out of her depth. She took a deep breath and powered through it. She'd come all this way, and this was nothing compared to what she'd have to do to save the world as a grown-up, anyhow.

"Hello ma'am. My name is Anathema Device, how do you do? I'm looking for Ms Johnson so I can show her that my spelling is actually very good and she should teach her class better," Anathema said seriously, hoping to convey to this stranger the gravity of the situation.

Not-Ms-Johnson smiled in that tight way that means they think a child is incredibly funny but don't want to encourage them by laughing. Anathema, who was not joking, was annoyed but thankful that Not-Ms-Johnson didn't simply slam the door in her face.

"Well, my dear Anathema, I'm afraid Jane's been ill this weekend but I can see if she's up to a visit from a student. Come in, I'll get you some tea," Not-Ms-Johnson said, and led Anathema into a little kitchen with a kettle already boiling on the stove. Anathema sat very politely at the table as Not-Ms-Johnson fixed her tea and biscuits, and said "Wait here just a tick" before heading off upstairs to fetch "Jane," which Anathema supposed must be Ms Johnson's actual first name.

She heard a groan and then giggles from upstairs, surrounded on both sides by muffled conversation. Ms Johnson's house was smaller than Anathema's but very cozy, with an oldish landline phone with a rotary dial, like the one her parents had replaced with a new Touch-Tone telephone two years ago, mounted on the wall near the garden door.

When Ms Johnson appeared in the kitchen, hair tied back in a simple knot with a dressing gown over her clothes, Anathema had the concordance ready and immediately began presenting.

"Anathema," Ms Johnson interrupted, "I just wanted to say thank you for coming by, but that I don't want you to catch sick. That's why I didn't go to school! I'll look at your book when I come back, I promise."

Anathema pursed her lips, considered and discarded this, and continued presenting. She didn't think she'd get sick; Agnes hadn't put anything about that in The Book. And this was very important.

Ms Johnson looked at Not-Ms-Johnson a couple times, for some reason, but Anathema ignored it. She was so close to persuading Ms Johnson, she just knew it.

Eventually, Not-Ms-Johnson said in a significant voice, "Jane, I think Anathema's made some good points, don't you? Maybe this is something you can talk to her parents about when you're feeling better?"

Ms Johnson smiled suddenly, and Anathema was glad Not-Ms-Johnson had spoken up. Maybe all she'd needed all along was for a grown-up to be an ally; she'd have to write Not-Ms-Johnson a thank you card, like Mum said it was polite to.

"Oh, you're right, sis," Ms Johnson said. "Anathema, how does that sound? When I feel better and come back to school, we'll talk to your parents about this."

Vindication. It was as close as Anathema had ever come to a grown-up admitting they were wrong about something. She got up and went to shake Ms Johnson's hand. "I'm looking forward to it," she said solemnly. "Thank you for the tea, Ms Johnson and Ms Johnson's sister." She collected her concordance, nodded to them each in turn, and turned as smartly on her heel as any eight-year-old could after she's watched Mary Poppins three times and practiced in the mirror.

When Ms Johnson spoke to her parents, Dad would show her The Book to back up the concordance, and Anathema would finally be recognized as being good at spelling. It was just as destined as if it had been prophesied by Agnes herself.

Author's note:

Poor Anathema is going to be in so much trouble.

So far, all my fills this month have been set in TV-verse, but for this one I went whole hog on the book. Anathema in the book was born in 1970 in the UK and in the TV show was born in 1999 in the US, so two completely different worlds, and writing late 70s UK seemed like more of a challenge and less of an exercise in "oh god I'm old." I'm thinking it's 1979, because Pete's Dragon was released in the UK on December 5, 1978, a full year and a bit after its US release, which I didn't realize until after I wrote the daydream about Elliot and I didn't want to change it.

Ms Johnson is vaguely based on my memories of the teacher in Bridge to Terabithia.

Jane and Susan were both popular names in England and Wales in the 1950s, when the sisters Johnson would have been born. The UK has a fun interactive graph you can play with here.

So many thanks to @patolozka who made this post with all of Agnes's prophesies! It was so much easier to reference than flipping through my copy of the book looking for them.

[theworldvsyoshiko]

I accepted a quest to defend some imperials in a crashing shuttle from waves of attacks until their backup ride could arrive... but it just so happened that I had a normal raid trigger at the exact same time. So the entire map was covered in firefights, which at time involved the local wildlife as they were driven into killing frenzies by stray bullets hitting them.

Overall it was manageable, but:

One of my least favorite places to get shot with a hollow-point bullet.

She probably would've survived if Harriet had been nearby, but unfortunately her battle buddy was Onion, who has 0.15 medical skill. 15% of one point. Kena tried to patch herself up, which might've worked if she hadn't passed out from blood loss.

[searchingforserendipity25]

🗡️ for Daeron

Hi, thank you for the ask Polu! I love fighting headcanons, the more unusual the better.

For Daeron, the craftsman and musician, my strongest HC is that he's very involved in making any kind of instrument he makes use of.

Before archery or skinning knives, his favorite weapon was and always remained the dart. He is an expert in making poisons with a variety of toxicity levels and effects, and his aim is excellent. There are several similarities to wooden flute-making and dart-building; the same principle of breath-control applies.

He is a very good archer, and was involved in the big second-wave gut/fiber works in straining thin strands for strings, post-Cuiviénen (post Míriel's initial development of fiber crafts, too).

A great variety of stringing techniques were developed by the Sindar in this period of time, both musical and for the hunt and defense, especially during the search for lost Thingol.

Beleg Strongbow and Daeron had a long collaboration on the area of making a variety of models, of both kinds of instruments, from which the Strongbow itself was built, or its prototype at least. (Daeron starts and ends the collaboration process with an unfortunate workplace crush) (His thing for archers with ride-or-die mentalities and more heart than wisdom roots deep).

Later on, his knowledge of the potency and chemical/alchemical and magical potential of natural resources for poisons and building materials grows exponentially under Melian's tutelage, to the point that he is unofficially considered one of the most deathly people in Doriath, if he needed to be.

There is his music, too, of course. He does not use it as a weapon; outright violent use of it is very against his principles. And he does not need to use it, as such. Violence implies a lack of skill and reach; Daeron does not need to burst veins with a hummed chord or play the spirits of his enemies into confusion.

Breath-control is his first and best skill. It is enough. The beasts and bandits that try to attack him in his wanderings die very gently, a quick unconsciousness before asphyxiation sets in. Unconsciousness, and then a string's cut, a very strong garrote easily wielded. He's very precise, and very quick. There is barely any blood at all; his hands are always very clean, afterwards.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Mind Reading: Character A is involved in an incident and can suddenly hear the thoughts of people around them - but only when those people are thinking about Character A. That’s unfortunately bad news for Character B.

Still working my way through these! Only have about 2 more after this.

Thoughts of You

Ship: Bagginshield

Rating: T

Warnings: N/A

Words: 3052

Bilbo had been clinging to that barrel with all his might as the rapids raged around him, chilling him with its cold spray, threatening to drown him every time he dipped below the waves. Then a particular bump had his white knuckle grip loosening, and that was all it took to tip him under. 

Bilbo desperately tried to claw his way to the surface, catching the briefest swallow of air before being tugged below once more. His lungs were burning, his body aching, and then his head struck a rock, and everything went blessedly dark.

Where is he?! Where is the hobbit?

That was Thorin’s voice…

Please, no. Please don’t be dead. Don’t take him from me, Mahal.

Why isn’t he awake yet? I want more. I want a future with him. Please, Bilbo, just wake up.

Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath. The first thing Bilbo was aware of was a pounding in his skull and a chill on his skin. He took another deep breath nearly coughing at how the cool air tickled his parched, burning throat.

Finally! Any longer and I would have feared for his mind.

“Bilbo! How are we doing, Master Hobbit?”

Bilbo worked on getting his eyelids to cooperate as he turned his head towards the sound of Oin’s voice. 

“Water…” He croaked.

The healer poured him a cup, and gently held it to his lips.

It’s going to be a slow recovery for him, but this is a good first step.

Bilbo groaned, that’s all he needed. Thorin yelling at him about slowing them down once again. Although, there was something that seemed to linger in the back of his mind. Something like a fever dream that had to do with Thorin. He couldn’t ever seem to pin it down though, so he ignored it without another thought.

“I’m afraid you took quite the nasty bump to your head there, Master Hobbit. I would advise no more barrel riding for you.”

Bilbo would glare at him if he could.

I may hold off on allowing visitors to see him. At least not yet. But they’ll be happy to know our hobbit is recovering, especially him. 

Bilbo nodded, thankful that Oin was willing to give him a moment of peace before the company descended upon him. It did make him glad to know they were worried about him though. Bilbo’s eyes were closing, sleep taking him again, not allowing him to linger on the fact that he never saw Oin move his mouth to tell him this. 

When Bilbo next awoke, it was Dori who was keeping him company. The dwarf was just sitting in the corner, sewing on something, but he was talking to himself.

Poor little thing. His clothing is practically rags. Thankfully I was able to talk to that man about getting some old garments for him. Just a few little adjustments and it should fit. Bilbo has just lost so much weight. Not good for a hobbit.

On one hand, Bilbo appreciated Dori worrying after him. But on the other hand, why in the world couldn’t Dori keep that to himself! Bilbo didn’t want to think about his shamefully thin stomach right now. 

“It’s not exactly easy to get seven full meals when you’re trying to hide from the elves.” He grumbled.

Dori perked up, his smile brightening at seeing Bilbo awake. 

“You’re awake! I’m sorry, Master Baggins, were you saying something?”

Bilbo waved him away not deeming it worth repeating. Dori gave him a tender look and a nod.

Probably still having fever mumbles. I don’t blame him after being unconscious for almost two weeks.

“TWO WEEKS?!” Bilbo exclaimed, fighting to sit up despite his protesting body.

Dori dropped his sewing, quickly making his way to his side, fussing over him as he tried to get him to calm back down.

“No, please. I’m alright.” Bilbo assured when Dori threatened to get Oin. “Did you truly say ‘two weeks’? Have I been asleep for so long?”

Dori blinked in surprise as he shook his head. 

“I didn’t say anything, Master Baggins. At least, I don’t think I did. But yes, we’ve been very concerned about you. You were floating in the water half-drowned when Thorin pulled you out. You seemed to have bumped your head best Oin could figure. About two days after that was when the fever set in.”

It was a lot of information to process. Bilbo had no idea he had been under the weather for so long.

“But the mountain, Durin’s Day?” Bilbo pressed.

Dori was quick to reassure him. “We’ve got time. Thorin managed to convince the Master of this town to give us lodgings and food in exchange for some of the gold we will recover. He’s a greedy, slimy sort, that Master, but at least it’s to our advantage this time.”

Bilbo nodded, forcing himself to relax back against the mattress once more. They had time. Thorin wasn’t going to leave him. Dori gave him a soft smile.

“I’ll just go get Oin then.”

And maybe Thorin. Our King certainly has been worse than a warg with a toothache over our hobbit. 

“And just what do you mean by that?” Bilbo demanded.

Dori’s eyes widened. “Mean by what? Getting Oin?”

Bilbo hesitated wondering if he should press him before shaking his head with a ‘nevermind’. Dori gave him another pitying look before disappearing through the door. Bilbo lay there staring at the ceiling. Just what was going on? Was he imagining hearing Dori’s voice without seeing his mouth move? Was it just wishful thinking? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities considering how much he has come to admire Thorin. Convincing himself he imagined it, Bilbo drifted into a short sleep before Oin returned.

Bilbo made sure to watch the healer’s mouth closely, but nothing strange happened. Oin told him about what he was giving him and telling him how much he had improved before promising to send some soup up later. Bilbo was quite certain at that point that whatever had happened with Dori was some sort of remainder of the fever when Thorin walked in. 

“Master Baggins.” Thorin nodded his head, his ever present smirk on his face. “I had heard you were back present with us once more.”

Bilbo had a witty remark sitting on the tip of his tongue when he heard Thorin’s voice in his head.

I’ve been so worried about him. It’s good to see him awake again. To see him smile. To see those beautiful doe eyes.

Bilbo’s jaw dropped, and a frown formed on Thorin’s face.

“Is everything okay, Master Baggins?”

Please don’t let him be suffering any long term damage. It would kill him for his mind to not be as sharp as it once was.

“No, I’m okay. Really, no damage to be found. I think.” Bilbo assured.

A tension was released from Thorin’s shoulders as his smile returned.

“I am relieved to hear it. Oin says your recovery should progress quickly from here. That’s good. I would hate to be without our Burglar for the last leg of our quest.”

I would hate to be without him for even a day at this point.

Bilbo felt his cheeks begin to burn, unable to believe what he was hearing. Or thinking? It didn’t feel like a fantasy of his own creation. After all, he had never imagined Thorin to be so downright…romantic.

“You’re red.” Thorin pointed out, leaning in to feel his face. “Is your fever returning?”

Bilbo shied away, trying to ignore Thorin’s voice in his head lamenting his hurt. 

“I’m fine. Honest. Just a bit…too much excitement for one day I think.” 

“All the same, I think I should get Oin again.” Thorin stated, getting to his feet.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called out before the dwarf could depart completely. “Umm…thank you. For checking on me.”

A bright, breathtaking grin spread across Thorin’s face, lighting his sky blue eyes as he gave Bilbo a single nod.

Of course, sanâzyungê (my perfect love). I love you.

Luckily, Thorin had disappeared before Bilbo could choke on the breath he took. His heart pounded in his chest, his whole body feeling like he was on fire. Perhaps, this was a fever dream. Perhaps he was still asleep, sicker than the gaffer on homebrew. Or perhaps he really could hear other people’s thoughts. A laugh bubbled out of him at the sheer notion. Somehow the ability to hear thoughts was more believable to him than Thorin saying that he loved him. Yet, it was a notion that Bilbo held very closely and carefully to his heart. A notion he named hope. He was going to have to find out for sure before he let it fly him away on the wings of belief.

When Bofur came to visit next, Bilbo decided to try out his new powers on him. 

“Bofur, I need you to think of something, anything at all, but don’t say it out loud.”

Bofur gave him an odd look, but agreed readily enough. Bilbo waited to hear Bofur’s voice in his head, but nothing happened. Bilbo slumped against his pillows in defeat. Great, he had just imagined the whole thing. Of course he did. Thorin wouldn’t actually be in love with him. Why would he?

“Everything alright there, Bilbo?”

“Yeah.” Bilbo sighed. “Just…well, it doesn’t really matter now. Please tell me how everyone fares.”

Bofur eagerly regaled him with gossip and humorous anecdotes from the last couple of weeks. Bilbo could see from the dark circles under his eyes that it wasn’t all fun and games for the Company, but he did appreciate Bofur trying to make it like he hadn’t missed much.

“Thank you, my friend.” Bilbo stated when he finished. “I’ve been in here for so long, I fear I’m about to lose my mind.”

“What do you mean?” Bofur asked, concern knitting his brows together.

“Oh.” Bilbo laughed. “It’s nothing at all. I had…a fever dream of sorts where I was convinced I could read Thorin’s mind. But the content…well, let’s just say it was most certainly a dream.”

Damn, was Thorin declaring his undying love for Bilbo while he was asleep or something?

“That sounds like a scary place to be. Don’t fancy knowing what thoughts sit in our king’s head to make him all serious and brooding.” Bofur teased at the same time his thoughts filtered through Bilbo’s head.

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “Say something else about Thorin!” He demanded.

Bofur gave him a weird look. “Like what?”

Bilbo waited, but he couldn’t hear any thoughts. So maybe Thorin wasn’t the trigger like he thought. But what else did everyone���s thoughts have in common except…

“Bofur, what do you think of me?”

“Bilbo, I…”

“Please?”

“Alright, you’re brave…fussy…clever…complains a lot…witty…too bright for his own good…but mostly, you’re a good friend.”

Bilbo could hear the last one echoed in Bofur’s thoughts, but he was far too flabbergasted and just generally annoyed to be touched. 

“Thank you, Bofur. I think I’d like to be alone now.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Bilbo. Are you sure…?”

“Yes, thank you for your visit.”

Bofur gave him a pat on the shoulder before exiting the room. Bilbo leaned back against his pillows. He could hear people’s thoughts as long as they were about him. What a pointless power. Well, unless it was to spy on a certain dwarf king and his obvious infatuation. At least obvious to everyone who wasn’t Bilbo. And Bofur helped confirm for Bilbo that it can’t be something he was making up. He would never admit even to himself that he was fussy or too smart for his own good. What nonsense. He supposed he had been known for complaining at the beginning of the quest, but he certainly has been much better lately. 

A small smile spread across Bilbo’s face as one thought seemed to creep in his mind and root itself firmly. That meant Thorin really did love him. Thorin Oakenshield loved him, Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to run out of this stupid bed and kiss that dwarf silly. This feeling welling up in him was better than any concoction Oin could make him. In fact he felt like confessing. He should! He should get some flowers and…did dwarves court with flowers?

No, he couldn’t rush this. He needed to do this correctly. First, he would figure out how to court a dwarf, and then he would confess to Thorin. After all, it would be better for him to know before they faced a fire-breathing dragon, wouldn’t it? He would just have to be strategic about it. He couldn’t let the Company know what he was up to. He wasn’t ready for the teasing that would most certainly come from it. Luckily for him, he now had a way to find out without directly asking. He was just going to have to be strategic about how he asked and who he talked to. Wasn’t Kili infatuated with one of the elven guards? He wondered how the young dwarf felt about visiting him…

***

Bilbo walked alongside Thorin on their way to meet with the Master. In the past couple of days, Bilbo had made a full recovery with the exception of still being able to hear other people’s thoughts. However, he credits that to speeding up his desire to heal when Thorin and Balin started mentally expressing concerns about having to leave Bilbo behind. So he hid his cough and forced himself out of bed, not about to miss out on the remainder of this quest. And if Bilbo was feeling a little breathless on their way to negotiate for weapons and passage across the lake, he was certainly not going to let Thorin know. Not when his thoughts were already swirling over worries he had with Bilbo as it was.

Perhaps that’s why he missed it. He was too focused on the wooden bead he carved with Bofur’s knife in his pocket, listening to the poetry Thorin was waxing in his head. He wasn’t focused on anyone else in Laketown. Anyone who might wish them harm until it was almost too late. 

I’ll take out the Halfling first. May even use him as a hostage. Then the guys will jump the dwarf while he’s distracted over his little friend.

“Thorin!” Bilbo warned, looking around wildly.

“Bilbo?” Thorin questioned.

What’s wrong with him? Is he in danger?

Bilbo finally was able to find the man charging straight at him, and pushed Thorin out of the way of his fist just in time. The man must have switched up his tactic at the last minute. 

Stupid Halfling!

The man sneered before coming after Bilbo. Bilbo started backing up wishing that he had thought to wear Sting. The other two thugs that were with this guy were occupied with Thorin whose thoughts were screaming for Bilbo.

“What do you want?” Bilbo demanded.

The man finally managed to wrap his hand around Bilbo’s front, yanking the hobbit clear off his feet. He scrambled, clawing at the man’s hand as he shook him trying to get Bilbo to stop.

“I want the key. The key to Thror’s hold. I know that dwarf must have it, and you’re going to help me get it.”

“I most certainly am not.” Bilbo declared before kicking him hard between the legs.

The man howled as he threw Bilbo. The hobbit didn’t have much time to brace himself as his poor abused skull bounced off the boards below. For a moment, Bilbo just lay there trying to adjust for the ringing in his ears. He was pretty sure he heard Thorin roar his name, but he couldn’t be certain. Something was off. 

“Bilbo! Bilbo? Are you okay? Say something, please!”

Bilbo blinked up at Thorin cradling ever so gently. 

Don’t…hurt…can’t…again.

“Thorin? I can’t…I don’t understand.” Bilbo furrowed his brows.

“I dealt with those three.” Thorin growled, his gaze fierce. “The guards came quickly after. I hope that’s a lesson to any who thought they could try that again.”

“Yes, but…”

Bilbo didn’t know how to explain it. Everything was fuzzy in his head. He couldn’t hear him as well as normal. Thorin’s eyes softened as he ran his hand over the back of Bilbo’s head, causing Bilbo to wince.

“We’re going to have to get you a helm to protect your soft head at this rate, Master Baggins.”

My…poor…brave…hobbit.

Bilbo was able to at least hear the full thought that time even if it did still seem like it was struggling to be heard. Perhaps it was a fleeting power. Perhaps since a bump on the head was what gave him this power, a bump on the head would cause him to lose it. It didn’t matter to Bilbo either way. All it did was solidify for him that the lovely words he had gotten used to hearing from Thorin were temporary unless he did something about it. 

Bilbo reached into his pocket, best as he could with Thorin’s grip around him to reveal the wooden bead. An oak tree decorated one side as a tribute to Thorin, and Erebor with the door to Bag End in front of it stood on the other as a reminder of home. Thorin took the bead, his hand shaking slightly.

He…doesn’t…know…what…he…gives.

“Bilbo…” 

“I wish to court you.” Bilbo interrupted, making his intentions clear. “I asked about your customs, and crafted a bead to braid in your hair. I had meant to ask in better conditions than this, but given the circumstances…”

Thorin gave him a quick grin, but his eyes still remained in wonder. He slowly accepted the bead, admiring the craftsmanship. His thoughts were in a constant state of disbelief though. At least Bilbo’s head had stopped spinning enough that he was able to push himself up into a sitting position. Having full confidence in the answer, he gave Thorin a wry grin as he closed his hand over the bead.

“Well, will you have me?”

Thorin pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s own. His shoulders sagging as if releasing a great weight. His thoughts echoed by the very words he spoke aloud. Finally aloud. 

“Of course, amrâlimê (my love). I accept your court gladly.”

[kyerivers]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

full name —kye rivers

faceclaim — aron piper

gender & pronouns —nonbinary & they/them

species: merperson

powers: typical merfolk abilities

sexuality — bisexual

age & birthday — 28 - march 5th, 1996

zodiac — pisces ☼ , aries ☾, sagittarius↑

occupation — bartender at setting sun

length of time in — one year

pet: none

relationship status: single

Likes: anything upbeat, dancing, energy drinks, drugs, iced coffee, piercings, cigarettes, fast food, the gossip collum in magazines about celebrities, thunderstorms, flirting, sketching, outdoor activities, singing, gas station coffee, and being in the ocean.

Dislikes: confined spaces...that's it for now.

BIO INFORMATION

kye has been living amongst the humans for as far back as they can remember, though their parents have always made it a point to raise them amongst the merfolk as well. every summer they would spend it in the deepest depths of the ocean, amongst their people, learning about who they really were. then the rest of the year was spent on land, learning how to be human. unfortunately for ky's parents they tapped into the more chaotic side of life when living on land. they lived in miami, florida. in ky's defense there was a party around every corner.

from a young age, ky has always gotten into a lot of trouble. a lot of it had to do with the fact that they were learning how to control their abilities, while navigating new stages of both merlife and humanlife, and another part of it was that they loved a good time. especially one that involved everyone else also enjoying themselves.

often times they can be found late at night by the seashore, enjoying the waves gently crashing against them. if not there, then chances are, they can be found at the nearest club or bar dancing with whoever comes their way. they are pretty much fueled by drugs, energy drinks, and music.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

childhood friends- open

ride or die - open.

co-workers - open.

party buddies: open.

***As always, I am down for anything, if there’s ideas toss them out. I will keep adding as I flesh their story out a bit more :D

[mweothe11e]

Hi. I'd love to join your newest game. Here are the following information:

1. Initials: IEKA

2. Go-to-Self-Empowering song: Karera (this was actually a hard question for me to answer since it took me time to think about the answer but this song is by a filipino girl group, BINI. Actually had 2 groups in mind but I went with the recent song I kept on listening atm)

3. Question: I believe my dream life looks like someone who lives in intentionality and with purpose. I believe my dream life would involve me being secure (I don't have to be unbelievably rich but stable enough to not worry about my expenses) and at peace with my decisions and the situation I am in. I would be with people who genuinely love and care for me, the same with me showing love to my community. Finally, I would be action-oriented and driven with fulfilling the purpose I have in this world.

Thank you!

Hi IEKA,

Thank you so much for participating in my new ask game~

Ooooh a BINI fan! Hi! Ahehehe~ That’s a really nice song~

I love that for you! A dream life doesn’t have to always be this big and glamourous ultra rich lifestyle. I hope and wish you achieve the stability you desire~

The cards I pulled for you regarding the Encouragement of your Future Self are:

Page of Wands, 2 of Coins, Wheel of Fortune

These are the things your Future Self wants to tell you:

“Being adventurous pays the bills~ Ahehehe, interpret it however way you desire…”

“If you’re gonna be delulu, be delusionally positive about the outcome of your hard work. People wanna pay you more bonuses because of your cheery personality.”

“Risks are opportunities for the brave and bold. If you want something, dream big about it.”

“You’ll get to the point in your life where we’re actually amazing at living a healthy and sustainable work-personal life balance.”

“Don’t feel low because of unexpected situations. Treat it like a challenge and reap the benefits and rewards in the end. Also, know your worth. If you know you’re being underpaid, ask for a raise. Good luck dealing with that annoying stingy boss though~”

“Being street smart will help us make our dream life a reality quicker and easier. Keywords to live by: adaptability and resourcefulness.”

“You don’t have to sacrifice love for money, or vice versa. Be with someone who elevates and improves your life, not drags you down and drowns you in debt.”

“Learn how to be financially literate as early as possible. Don’t rely on one income and get strategic and creative. Caving into conformity would make us drown in bills more than earn extra income.”

“Never sacrifice your health for overtime. Be abundantly compensated for your hard work. If not, find someone who knows your worth and will support you in your goals in life.”

“Search up FU Money and Infinite Banking. You’ll thank me later~”

“Cut off all deadweight in your life. You know who I’m talking about. Ever heard of Destiny Swap? Yup, it’s those sons of btcxhs.”

“What comes around goes around~ (BGM: Justin Timberlake: What Comes Around) They will suffer for doing you dirty~ Bwuahahahaha, though unfortunately you won’t be able to witness their downfall in person.”

“The scales are balancing soon~ be prepared to ride the unexpected waves of blessings and lessons. Learn to discern which is which. Also, don’t be a stubborn ass. Yup, I just have to say it. You know what needs to be done. You know who tricked you. You know who doesn’t deserve you? *feel my knowing glare towards you from the future* Do it.”

This is all I can read for you.

Do let me know how this resonates with you.

(This reading is for entertainment purposes only)