#like either she never knew about it or i had mentioned it but it was never really an important thing ig

[aakeysmash]

maybes and sunscreen

college!sukuna masterlist

after almost a year of living together, you and college!sukuna are so accustomed to one another that you naturally slip up in the other’s conversations. maybe it's because you're both homebodies, or maybe it's because you've reached the silent agreement to keep the activities you do with yuuji hidden to preserve his innocent childhood (you learned that rumors run a long way inside your campus), or maybe it's because you started to ask sukuna less private questions, since he now seems to want to answer them even before you formulate them.

either way, the two of you always mention the other in conversations, and you don't even seem to notice, but your friends do.

"how about your house, man?" suguru asks sukuna from across the table, sipping his soda. they're sitting outside with satoru for lunch break, slouching on white plastic chairs, waiting for practice to start in less than ten minutes. days are getting longer the more summer break gets nearer, and the breeze flowing through the newly green leaves of the trees is a nice change from the humid stench of the locker rooms.

"dunno. the woman of the house is gonna bake cookies today," he shrugs, scrolling through his phone. he finds himself on a blurry zoomed in photo of a kitten covered in milk, and he smirks, hitting send after having selected your contact. you're going to love it.

"and?" geto asks, confused.

"and i don't know if she wants me to help her or not," sukuna continues, not bothering to look up from his screen, acting like he's not going to pester you until you let him help. and steal some of your cookie batter, too.

"it's the finale, bro, we've been talking about it since december. are you really not going to watch it for some cookies?" his raven haired friend exclaims, baffled. satoru only lowers his glasses on his nose, crossing his arms on his chest.

"oh, i'm going to watch it. got her hooked up on it too," the pink haired man says, a certain tilt to his voice matching the tilt of his head, as if he's saying are you crazy? i'm not missing it. "i don't know if she'd want you there, though."

geto rolls his eyes and satoru snickers, shaking his head. "we just want to watch the game on your tv. are you afraid she's going to feel uncomfortable with us there, my lord captain?" he mocks, sighing. lazily, sukuna glances his way.

"it's not her i'm worried about," he says, raising one of his eyebrows, maroon eyes squinting on a spot behind his friend's back.

"what does that even mean?" mutters geto, even more confused. it’s not like they’ve never seen you or have never been inside your house when you were there, so what’s different this time?

suddenly, sukuna grins like a madman, uncrossing his legs from on top of the table and standing up with his helmet under his arm.

“where are you goi-“ his dark haired friend starts, but satoru puts one of his hands on the other’s shoulder, effectively stopping him, whispering just wait.

sukuna takes a couple of steps, getting out of the gentle shadows of the trees above the table, still grinning.

“hi, baby. did you miss me so much you had to come to see me at practice?” he asks your nearing figure. you’re wearing a dress, the breeze soothingly flowing through your hair, and he takes a second to admire how graceful you look in the middle of the green garden. are the flowers you picked with yuuji the other day still fresh? maybe he should get more. maybe you’d like that. maybe you’d smile. maybe you'd thank him.

“i’m here because i knew you were never going to bring sunscreen with you, dickhead,” you huff, blowing your hair out of your vision, frowning. his grin only grows before he forces it away. typical.

“i don’t need that shit,” he rolls his eyes, turning on his heels and going towards the stadium. he knows you’re going to follow him. and you do.

“put it on! i’m not joking, sukuna,” you whine, trying to fall in step with him. “it’s going to be so good for your skin, come on.”

“it’s sticky and i don’t like feeling like a pussy,” he growls, going faster toward the benches inside the stadium and plopping down on them.

“you like pussy, though,” you shrug, forcing yourself between his parted legs, rummaging through your bag.

“i like you too, baby, but that doesn’t mean you’ll let me stick it in your pussy, does it,” he asks you smugly. you punch him on the shoulder, bewildered.

“you’re so disgusting,” you scoff, opening the little spf tube you brought in your purse just for him. "and don't tell me you like me when you never listen to me in the first place," you playfully add, caressing his face to smooth it out, and he lets you get his unruly hair off of his forehead. maybe he likes how you don't take the things he says to heart. maybe he just says them because he knows he's getting a snarky comment back.

“you didn’t say no, though,” he chuckles, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in your presence. your touch on his features is relaxing. he honestly thinks he could fall asleep if you were in any other setting.

“i’m letting you talk just because i’m in a male dominated field and even if i don’t agree i don’t want to die,” you deadpan. you smear the white cream on his nose, on top of the horizontal tattoo, and massage it into his skin. then you do the same thing with his other markings, making sure they’re protected enough to shimmer in the blazing hot sun.

“i wouldn’t let you die on me anyway,” he mutters. he gets both of his hands on your exposed thighs, keeping you closer, softly rubbing his thumbs in your muscles. "are you fucking finished? i hate this," he bites, frowning. you hum, lazily smiling down at him, rubbing his frown away with your fingertips.

"you're going to be the prettiest girl on the field," you coo. you can feel his mean glare from beneath his eyelids, and you almost shiver. "you're so going to thank me in a couple of years," you add, resting your palms on his cheeks and turning his head up. he opens his eyes slowly, staring into yours intently. his thumb catches on the fluttering hem of you dress while he draws little circles on your legs. he hears his coach screaming for his team to start running, but in this moment, he doesn't care that much. maybe the heat is getting to his head. maybe the soft smile you're looking at him with is making him a little bit weak in the knees.

"wanna make cookies today? we can watch the match together, perhaps ask the brat if he wants to join too," he says, rough voice kept low, almost as if this was a you and him kind of thing. maybe he already planned to ask you to do something with him when he was talking to his friends just a couple of minutes ago. maybe he lied, telling them you were the one who chose to do something, when it's not true. maybe the way satoru is patting suguru on the back with an "i told you so" look on his face isn't casual. maybe the one he was worried about all along was himself.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with your friends?" you ask him, tilting your head, positioning your thumbs on the fake tattoos on his cheekbones. almost as if you could cover their pupils and make him see less.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with me?" he genuinely responds, a somber look on his features. you think it's the first time he doesn't have a mocking grin on his lips. you ruffle the pink hair just above his left ear.

"maybe."

[inkedinshadows]

A Place Called Home

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Follow Azriel as he recalls all the places where he's lived but never belonged, until he finds the one where he finally does.

Warnings: a bit of Inner Circle slander, I guess? But not really tbh. Mentions of wing clipping

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I don't know what I think of this one tbh. It's not exactly what I had in mind, but I've made my peace with it. @azrielappreciationweek

Azriel had never belonged in his father's mansion. He never once believed he did. But he didn't belong in Illyria, either.

Though he was Illyrian, he always disapproved of their backward traditions, especially regarding females.

He had seen how his mother was treated; he knew what had happened to Cassian’s, and too many times during his training in Windhaven, he had to witness brutal clippings without being able to stop them.

How could he belong in such a place? A place where females were treated as little more than objects and breeding mares, where children were taught to fight as soon as they could walk and left to care for themselves in the mud and cold?

He had done horrible things—most of which to protect his family and court—and they still haunted him in his sleep at times. But he liked to think that he was at least better than the Illyrian brutes he had grown up among. That there were certain lines even he wouldn't cross.

Illyria was a beautiful land, with its snow-capped mountains and frozen lakes. It could be merciless and harsh, but that was nature. Its inhabitants, however, chose to be that way, and Azriel had long since lost faith in any change.

~~~~~~

He didn't belong in Rosehall, either.

He was always welcome there and visited as often as he could, but that was his mother’s house. He had bought it for her as soon as he had enough money.

It was her safe place, her haven, where she didn't have to worry about anything and where she wasn't anyone's servant. Azriel remembered the tears shining in her eyes the first time he brought her there, when the house was still empty and cold.

It had taken him a long time to convince her that she didn't need to worry about money. He worked directly for the High Lord now, and he was paid well enough for her to furnish the house however she liked.

She had still tried not to spend too much, but she had chosen each piece of furniture and decoration with attentive care. It was the first time she had a place she could call her own after centuries of living, and Azriel liked what she had done with it. The place was simple yet elegant, with cream-colored walls and wooden furniture. Colorful flowers bloomed on the windowsills, and paintings hung in the hallway and the living room. She had even made sure to have a bedroom for him, so he could stay as long as he wished.

But Azriel's favorite part of Rosehall was probably the delicious smell of food wafting through the rooms. Now that she no longer had to cook for domineering males, she had rediscovered her passion for cooking. Whether it was spices, freshly baked bread, or roasted meat, the smell never failed to make his mouth water.

Yes, Azriel enjoyed his time in Rosehall and tried to visit as often as he could, but it was still his mother’s house—not his.

~~~~~~

He belonged in the Inner Circle, he guessed. Though sometimes he felt like he didn't.

Azriel cared about Amren; after all, he had known her for centuries. But it was still Amren. How many times had it been just the two of them, spending time like normal friends? Once, maybe twice, and even then, their conversations had mostly revolved around Court matters. Sometimes he wondered if they would have ever approached each other at all if it hadn't been for Rhys bringing them together.

And then there was Mor. He had spent centuries quietly loving her, longing for something he could never have. He had long since stopped believing that her concerned glances and gentle touches meant anything beyond deep affection—sisterly affection. Yet he'd held on to those feelings even when they started to fade, because he had never known anything different. It was a twisted form of both protection and punishment: if he still loved her, then he wouldn't risk his heart being broken by another rejection. Yet knowing Mor would never feel the same, that she had her own lovers and relationships, was like being stabbed in the chest. He wasn't sure when it started to hurt a little less each time he thought about it.

With that pain easing, the resentment he'd carried buried deep down for most of his life began to fade as well. He never once held it against Cassian. He knew it wasn't his fault Mor had chosen him. Who would have chosen Azriel anyway? He wished things were different, but he didn't blame either of them. It still chafed, though. It was something he couldn't shake, like a shadow lingered on the edges of his heart, and it resurfaced whenever he saw Mor and Cassian together.

And his brother… Azriel loved him deeply, and he was grateful to have him in his life. But there was no denying how different they were, and sometimes it felt as if Cassian didn't really understand him. There was a rage inside Azriel, rarely rising to the surface but it was there, born the moment he'd seen his mother's fear in the presence of his father. That rage never left. It grew until Azriel had to learn how to contain it, to live with it, for the sake of the people around him and his own.

Cassian never really understood it. Rhys did, though. Azriel knew that if he pushed, Rhysand would match him. Yet his brother still tried to thaw and tame that icy rage he had grown so accustomed to, which was probably an honorable aim—if Azriel hadn't lived with it so long that he wasn't sure who he would be without it.

He loved his family deeply, and he knew they loved him back. But they didn't always understand him, and he often felt out of place among them.

~~~~~~

Velaris was his home, and he'd do anything to protect it. He tortured and killed for that very reason many times. But at the end of the day, the City of Starlight was just that—a city. No matter how beautiful or welcoming, it was too vast a place to call home.

He had never bothered buying an apartment or a town house for himself. Maybe he should have. But the House of Wind had always been enough, with its views and endless rooms. It was practical living there—there was the training ring, the hall where Rhys held court, and the library for when he wanted some quiet.

But the House of Wind belonged to Rhys. Now that he had given it as a mating present to Nesta and Cassian, it was theirs. They assured him he could still live there, that his room would always be his, but Azriel had preferred to move out. He had no interest in living there during their mating frenzy.

The townhouse and the river house belonged, once again, to Rhys and Feyre. They never made him feel like he owed them anything for staying there—Elain lived there too, after all—but Azriel longed for a place he could call his own. Yet the idea of buying an apartment had still felt too definitive. He had tried, but none of the places he'd seen made him want to own them.

He had almost given up hope of finding a place he could call home, but then he met you. And he realized, after five hundred years, that maybe home wasn't a place at all.

“Az?”

Your voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present, to the feel of you in his arms and your big eyes staring up at him.

“Baby, are you listening to me?”

Azriel blinked, slightly shaking his head to chase away the remnants of his past. He looked down at you, and his heart fluttered at the love shining in your eyes.

“Hi,” you said with a soft smile. Your hand came up to cup his face, the touch warm and familiar. “I lost you. Where did you go?”

“Sorry,” he breathed. “I was just thinking.”

You waited patiently, giving him the freedom to continue or return to your conversion. Embarrassment flooded Azriel as he realized he couldn't remember what you were talking about.

He held you imperceptibly tighter, trying to find the right words to convey what he felt.

“I never felt like I fit in anywhere,” he said eventually. His voice was quiet even in the silence of the room, and he struggled to keep his eyes open when all he wanted to do was lean into your touch. “I've been looking for where I belong for centuries.”

It came easy to voice those thoughts to you. You never judged. You listened, and then you gave your opinion or simply shared your own thoughts. You saw all of him, and you didn't run from it. You accepted him. You loved him.

Sometimes, Azriel still wondered if it was all a dream or if you were really a part of his life.

“And have you found it?” you murmured, your thumb brushing his cheek just below his eye.

Azriel nodded. “I found it.” He took your hand, gently removing it from his face to bring it closer to his mouth. He pressed a tender kiss to your palm, his lips lingering on your skin before he repeated the gesture with your fingertips. Your smile was soft as he murmured, “I found you.”

Your eyes, which had been following the movements of his lips, shot up to meet his. Even after a year together, he was still mesmerized by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. It was so easy to read you, and right now, blended with your unconditional love, he could see curiosity and amusement playing on your features.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice a murmur.

Azriel nodded once more, letting go of your hand only to bring his own up to your cheek. “Yes, you, my love.” He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathed in your scent. “It doesn’t matter where we are. You’re where I belong. You’re my home.”

Wherever you went, he would follow. If you woke up one day and told him you wanted to move to the Spring Court, or even to Vallahan far east on the continent, he would go with you. He would go with you to the end of the world if you asked.

He could feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and a playful smile appeared on your lips as you pulled back to look into his eyes. “So… is this the right moment to tell you that I wanted to ask you to move in?”

Azriel stared at you, eyes wide, a huge grin slowly spreading across his face. His arms tightened around you, and then you squealed in surprise as his hands found your backside and he picked you up. The sound was quickly swallowed by his lips crashing against yours, and you could do nothing but kiss him back and wrap your legs around his waist, careful not to brush against his wings.

You were both breathing slightly faster when Azriel pulled back, but he didn’t let you go. If anything, he held you tighter, as if worried you might disappear.

“I’ll take it that’s a yes?” you chuckled. Your fingers brushed the hair on the back of his neck, his wings rustling quietly at the sensation.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Of course it’s a yes, love.”

He didn’t care if your apartment wasn’t suited for an Illyrian, if he had to carefully maneuver his wings to avoid knocking things over. He had already spent so much time at your place that he was used to it by now. The thought of staying there permanently—of waking up with you in his arms every morning, of coming back after a long day knowing you’d be there too—filled him with so much joy that his heart could burst.

You beamed, and all Azriel wanted to do was to spin you around and never let you go. And so, he did, because nothing was stopping him. He was going to share a home with his love, and nothing had ever made him this happy before.

As he spun you around, you threw your head back and laughed joyfully, the sound echoing off the walls. Azriel’s laughter joined yours when he stilled, and then you were kissing him again.

After more than five hundred years, he finally knew where he belonged. And it wasn’t a place.

It was with you.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[nezuscribe]

As the anon who sent that gossip blurb I am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure.

A woman’s reputation is her worth in the upper echelons and to all outside observers Gojo didn’t just marry down, he married the scum at the bottom of the barrel.

The petty mind games of politics aren’t just at his front door, they’re creeping through the halls of the estate.

He’s been a piece on the board but he’s never actually had to pay attention, the thing between his legs (his dick and his war horse) meant he had an advantage, but now he’s married, now the verbal cat fights of the women and the elderly are right up in his face!

What’s it like in his head? Genuinely. Cause so far he seems quite naive to the interpersonal manipulations and soft power approach of “high society” was he just doing his own thing until his mother said “you WILL be married by the turn of the season!” Cause if it is, than oh boy, he’s gonna have some crises.

this!!

i loved how you phrase his dick and his war horse because to gojo, the gossip that surrounds him has always been in his favor. people either swooned over him or talked about his bravery, something far different from the gossip that surrounds reader.

and like mentioned before, on paper reader should be this high-esteemed lady of the upper echelon. she is her father's daughter after all, and he's near in ranks with the gojo family, but because of her mother true heritage, she might as well be a peasant they found on the street.

so arranged!gojo didn't really see this sort of gossip coming. sure he knew about her history but i always imagine that he was raised to treat people with respect (also because his mom always had a soft spot for reader), so when he finds out people are talking not only outside of his home but in it ?? he's thrown for a loop

and the funny thing is reader is so jaded about it that she doesn't even notice it. he feels the stares and hears the whispers but reader has gotten so good at being in her own world that she's able to ignore it

so when he enters back into high society with not only this woman that everybody else seems to despise, but he actually is beginning to care for her, it's almost like he's experiencing what reader first experienced when she was a kid and had to grow up fast to realize that everybody was out for her

[duskdog]

It's unfortunate that there wasn't more time given to Steph and Helena beyond the early one-shot they had together. That could have been a really good long-standing relationship. Likewise, I think the relationship between Steph and Dinah could have been great if it had lasted longer. In the beginning, Dinah was obviously reluctant/uncomfortable with it, and they never really had the chance to push through that awkwardness because they were all wrapped up in the Bruce Wayne murderer/fugitive case. (This was all made extra complicated by the fact that Steph didn't even know that Bruce and Batman were the same person, so she was entirely lost during this period, confused about why Batman had abruptly abandoned her, while everyone around her knew or discovered the truth but couldn't/wouldn't tell her. Having to hide that from her while dealing with trying to investigate and exonerate Bruce really seemed to make Steph's presence extra stressful and annoying to everyone else. This whole thing was pretty rotten, btw -- Steph couldn't do anything but speculate on the reasons for Batman's absence, and naturally assumed it was because of something she had done, and she was left to process her feelings of rejection and abandonment all by herself.) Ultimately, Dinah also rejected her -- albeit somewhat more gently than Batman did, but telling her to "go back to the Batboys" was a pretty nasty kick in the pants, considering the entire reason Steph was there was because "the Batboys" had rejected her first (and by Batboys I primarily mean Batman; Tim was away at boarding school for most of this, and also hurting over how Batman had betrayed him by revealing his secret identity to Steph without his consent). Babs wasn't really a great mentor until much later, after Steph returned from "the dead" and took up the Batgirl mantle. Prior to that, she was routinely snippy, cold, and sometimes downright mean to Steph. (For example: when Steph claims Cass broke her jaw, and both Cass and Babs claim she didn't, only to later admit to each other that they knew that she did, in fact, fracture it a wee bit -- like yeah, it's minor in the grand scheme of things, but why gaslight her about that at all? Babs even jokes -- in that deadpan way she has that leaves you wondering if it's really a joke or not -- that Cass should have really broken it good. Like damn, Babs, is that necessary?) Steph never actually seemed to hold this against Babs at the time, though, and their relationship improved significantly once Babs decided to give Steph a shot as Batgirl, after all. It was never fraught with as much pain and tension as her relationship with Bruce, and I'd say she and Babs are actually pretty tight now. Steph's mom, though, wow, she deserves a lot more recognition. This woman survived her stupid husband, kicked an addiction, and worked long difficult hours to support the daughter who kept jumping out windows and getting into fights with criminals. It's unfortunate that the vast majority of fanfics that even bother to mention Crystal at all seem to ignore her recovery in favor of either removing her from the picture entirely (death by OD, or sending her off to rehab), or keeping her around to be angst-fodder -- both of these often intended to justify Steph viewing Bruce as a parental-figure instead. It's also unfortunate that Steph has all this history with the Birds of Prey, and yet is being very much left out of their book right now even though Cass -- who was still her roommate and partner, last we saw -- is being featured. Give Steph a team. She's pretty much the only Bat-adjacent who's never actually had the support and friendship of a team. :(

I respect everyone’s headcanons and all…but!! I really don’t like how Steph’s long line of female mentor figures have been ignored. It feels like in fanon there’s a much larger focus on Steph needing a “Dad” role in her life, usually filled by Bruce or, weirdly, the Riddler (more power to y’all but Steph has at most shown disdain for Eddie in-universe) - when she’s had plenty of teachers, mother figures, or just her plain actual MOTHER (more on her and why she matters here!) that have cared for her & guided her when all the male figures in her life were telling her she was too flighty and irresponsible.

Dinah Lance,

Robin 80-Page Giant

Barbara Gordon,

Batgirl (2009) #3

Selina Kyle,

Catwoman #34

Even Helena Bertinelli for a little bit.

Batman: Huntress/Spoiler: Blunt Trauma They were all really important and defining relationships. I wanna see headcanons about them. Fanfics. Discussions. But I swear, I feel like I hear next to nothing.

I wanna change that. And I want y’all to change that 🥺.

[millersfinest]

can u make some like generic dating ellie headcannons? (tlou universe preferably)

i love ur writing sm!!

dating ellie williams ◡̈

cw: usual fluff, mentioned love languages, mention of joel’s death (i wanted to be as canon as possible), a little nsfw but nothing too crazy.

note: here are some semi-ooc ellie hc’s!! i feel like im so bad at headcanons, but here you go. thank you for enjoying my work, i hope you like this too pookie!

ellie! is a total introvert to her core, so no matter how she found out about you taking interest in her… she’d probably need some time to think about it.

ellie! would have you freaking tf out over it too. but she means well, she’s just a really bad over-thinker—never wanting to say the wrong thing. but she’d come around and never stop apologizing to you.

ellie! would take a little while to open up to you, if you weren’t friends first. she’s been through a lot in her life, and she fears that her trauma could scare people away.

now, if you were already friends (specifically close friends), you probably would’ve already known her deepest darkest secrets and feelings by the time you started dating. every traumatic event and every fixation she’s had since she was a child.

ellie! thoroughly believes in physical touch and quality time as a love language.

for physical touch: it doesn’t always have to be sexual (she doesn’t complain either way), she just likes to touch you—knowing you’re right there next to her. you could be doing the dishes and she’d come up behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, with her hands delicately placed on your hips. or standing by the bar at the tipsy bison, with her fingers dipped into any of the pockets of your jeans. keeping you close.

for quality time: she does love her moments alone, but they’re always better with you somewhere near by. sometimes, when she would spend hours painting or drawing in her art room, she’d ask if you could come sit in. so you’d bring your book, or whatever you were doing, and read silently in the same room as her. while a smooth record played in the background. but sometimes, she doesn’t even ask. you could be doing the most boring thing ever, and she’d float around you like a curious bumblebee.

ellie! love, love, loves being babied—even though she’d never admit it. she has a reputation to uphold, of course. during the spring, due to the patrols and supply runs, her allergies would wreck havoc on her. that’s where you come in to nurture her back to health. she’d have tissue stuck up her nose, with her head lying in your lap on the couch. you rubbing your hand over her hair, soothingly.

“if you kiss me right now, i think my sinuses will re-open.”

“ellie, you just sneezed two minutes ago.”

“baby, pleaseeeee! i need it!” and she’d give the craziest puppy dog eyes known to man. and, of course, you’d give in. giving her the sweetest smooch ever. it didn’t open her sinuses, but she knew that. just know… she’s gonna convince you to give her another to be sure.

another scenario would be coming home after a long day at work (idk i feel like doing patrols would be like her main thing). she probably had a rough day with the lingering infected, and came back with a few injuries. the moment she stepped through the door, she’d be calling for you. wrapped in your arms, smelling like the outdoors, you’d slowly undress her and then run a bath. she loved when you’d cater to her in that way—cleaning her cuts, washing her skin from dried blood and dirt. after all that, you’d cuddle in bed, pillow-talking until her eyes shut before yours.

“goodnight, els.” smooch.

ellie! was a little iffy when it came to holidays, but when it came to your birthday it was a special affair. jackson was a healthy and happy little bubble, but because the idea of loss wasn’t foreign to her—celebrating her loved ones was very important to her.

if you didn’t like grand gestures, she’d keep it lowkey. maybe throwing a little surprise for the two of you at home; cooking you dinner, having a movie night, and giving you little trinkets she found on the road. or painting something for you in secret, then giving it to you as a gift.

speaking of cooking…

ellie! has thing for making good food. a part of me feels like joel put her on when she was young, and after he died (yeah, i’m sorry) she made an effort to keep it up. playing guitar was much harder for her since she only had two fingers and a thumb on her left hand—so she decided to pick up something else to stay close to him.

so every chance she can get, she cooks for you or both of you. when you would go on patrols, you’d make sure to pick up cook books from before the outbreak since she found them so fascinating. and you loved being her little food guinea pig. spoiler: she was a fast learner so her cooking skills were pretty good.

ellie! 100% taught you to play the song (that we all know and love) that joel taught her on the guitar. and whenever you knew she needed to hear it, you’d play it for her. and, i swear on everything, there’d be tears in her eyes every time.

and for some freaky stuff… (i won’t get into crazy detail but i just wanna be thorough ;D)

ellie! just loves loving you… making love to you—doing everything that she can to almost prove that you’re everything to her (not that she needs to but she does it anyway).

meaning: at the very best, she’s a service!top. however, i can get behind her being a switch/verse (or maybe i’m bias lmao).

ellie! probably wouldn’t strap as often as the fanfics show. especially being in this apocalyptic world—where would you get them?? if they weren’t hella old… and, i feel like she’d think they were a little silly (but if you wanted to try it, she’d oblige because what you say goes).

ellie! loves to watch the expressions of your features contort into visuals of pleasure. it’s how she knew she was being good for you—doing everything that you asked but better!

your first time: of course she was super awkward. not really knowing where to put her hands at first. but once the heat began to rise, and your bodies began to press together, her entire energy changed! she’s her most confident when she’s in service to someone (in some way)—so she makes it her prerogative to make you feel good and comfortable. you weren’t really expecting that from her, though. it only took one airy moan coming from your lips for her to completely flip the script.

her hands were firmly delicate, and she made sure to be very vocal in your ears and over your body.

overall, ellie williams is a very attentive lover. in many ways than just one.

[animalistic0]

Just One More Moment (Part 2)

Part 1: Here Part 2.5: Here

Plot: As the hunt for the crown narrows down, one more moment is all that is needed. The Pogues and Rafe end up separated and fighting for their lives once again, except this is all or nothing. Life or Death.

*Season Four spoilers!*

OC Maybank twin + platonic Pogues x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: OuterBanks, Season 4, Death, mentions of murder and murdering, violence, homicidal tendencies, blood, angst, a bit of fluff, guilt, anger, allusions to abuse, mention of kidnapping.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Note: This is getting split into two parts itself before the heavy angst is posted because I keep getting carried away. I hope you enjoy!

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

Something in JC told her everything was going to change. A voice that screamed louder and louder the closer they got to Agapenta. However, she pushed it down and ignored it. Her family was safe and alive, albeit a little run down but still stronger than ever. There had been times when that little voice was wrong, and she refused to allow herself to fall into the darkness that was slowly rising within her. She had watched JJ dance with death before, hell she had danced with death before. There was just something about his recent death dances that raised warning bells, make her skin crawl, and made her panic. She was going to keep him safe, protect him above all costs, that JC vowed.

JC sat next to JJ in the back of jeep, Kiara sitting on her brother’s lap. She was happen for them. She loved their love and was their number one supporter. Kiara brought a type of peace to JJ that he had never had, a peace that he needed and deserved. Not to mention the love she brought, the love JC knew her brother was worthy of even if he struggled to come to that conclusion himself. JC smiled as she watched her family, these were the individuals that mattered the most. Pogues for life and her family. Wherever they went, it was them that was Poguelandia, it was not a place but them as a whole.

As John B pulled the jeep to a stop in front of a well, JC hoped out of the back stretching her legs. She walked over to JJ as she saw him eyeing something and as she saw the bag she felt her stomach drop. It was Groff’s bag. She could feel the anger and hatred bubbling free from the cage she had stuffed it down into, her eyes darkening as she looked around before her ears registered a voice. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as she marched over to the well, ignoring how the Pogues backed up after they heard JJ say it was Groff. As JC peered down the dry well she felt her hands clench into fists. With no hesitation or remorse she wanted to leave him down there with nothing. Even if she knew he would die, it was almost poetic. He had killed their mother and said she drowned, and then attempted to kill her brother in the water, it only made sense that he would die of dehydration and of heat.

As she felt a hand land on her shoulder she met the eyes of her twin, and she could see the hesitation in him. Taking a breath she intertwined their hands, squeezing his hand as an anchor for the both of them. She nodded her head her eyes softening as she looked at her twin, “Whatever you chose baby brother I got you. I’m not going no where.” JC felt like this was his decision, because he had spent more time with the older male and had quickly bonded with Groff in a short time. While JC wanted to kill him or let him die, she knew it was her brother’s choice. JC was not angry when JJ threw down water to the man, she knew he wouldn’t be able to live if he had proved to be exactly like the man.

Their whole lives the twins fought to prove that they were nothing like Luke and now it seemed they needed to prove they were nothing like Groff either. Two fathers, both shitty, and a constant fight to prove to others and themselves that blood or not they weren’t like their fathers. JC was proud of JJ, because he was better than her and would always be better. However, JJ would tell anyone that JC was the better twin. That she was better in every way, and he knew she wasn’t above becoming a villain to others for her family. There was something about the loyalty she had that he wished he had. Not to mention how she always seemed to have a sixth sense about people and situations. JJ thought she was the best, that JC deserved everything and nothing less. That when he looked at her and she held his hand, he couldn’t give Groff the rope.

He couldn’t give Groff the rope not because the older man hurt him, but because Groff hurt both his girls. He knocked Kiara out and locked her up in the ice bucket. Something JJ wish he had known earlier so he could have beat the shit out of Groff. Then when JJ had seen his twins face after they pulled him from the ocean it broke his heart. He had never seen her as distraught as he had in that moment. How appalling she looked. When JJ and Kiara got the bends, JC had been so calm and put together. His sister had soothed and coddled him like a baby the whole way to the hospital, never once crying or showing distress. He had even been told by John B that when he had gotten hit by the machete and was unconscious that JC never lost her cool then either. In fact JJ had always seen JC as unbreakable and tough, having rarely seen his twin ever break down. She was a rock, his rock and the rock of the Pogues. When John B had presumably died, she had cried but held him as he broke down. When nights with Luke were terrible and the twins had to flee for their own safety JC would shed a few tears but check up on him. His sister was the epitome of strength and JJ didn’t like seeing her so hurt. Groff did that and JJ couldn’t let that slide.

JC watched in awe of her brother as he turned his back to the well after throwing down the jug of water to Groff. Her kind and amazing brother, she was proud of him. Always. However, as she heard Groff throw threats towards them, towards JJ she snapped. “Say another word Groff and I’ll kill you right fucking now.” The murder in her tone was promising and she was glad when the evil man shut up. Turning on her heel she walked over to JJ who already had his hand held out. The other Pogues were staring at her but the silence was broken by Pope. “Glad he’s shut up. Was ready to catch another felony for you Maybank’s.” Laughs filled the desert area as JC stepped forward letting go of her twins hand to pull Pope into a tight hug. “Nah, I would have acted first.” JC pulled away and smiled at Cleo before pulling the girl into her hug with Pope. Hugging Cleo and Pope as tight as she could. Before the rest of the group joined in and it was the best but hottest group hug ever.

“Alright, you crazy killers let’s go get our crown!” A bunch of whoops left the groups mouths at John B’s words, and like obedient children they found themselves back in the jeep driving towards Agapenta. Away from the well, and probably one of the most evil individuals they have ever met, Groff. No remorse or hesitation within any of them as they did so. For one doesn’t hurt a Pogue and get away with it, not their family.

JC couldn’t help the gasp of awe as she saw the city beyond the cliff. It was massive and without the map she didn’t know how they’d find the crown. However, as she looked at her friends she knew they would. After everything they’ve been through and done? It would be unlikely for them to not find the treasure, they had a great track record of finding treasure. Keeping the said treasure was another story though. Her eyes met JJ’s and the twins fist bumped each other as they smiled like maniacs. “Let’s get our crown, Pogues for Life!” Cheers left the friends as they repeated their mantra before John B continued driving.

JC hoped out of the back of the vehicle once John B pulled to a stop and turned it off. Announcing that they would do the rest by foot. The group quickly walked along the bushes before JC jumped at the sound of a gunshot. Her eyes narrowed through the bush as she stood next to Sarah. Rafe Cameron stood with the map and the key to read it, in front of the Lupine Corsairs guns pointed at him. Part of JC wanted to leave Rafe, but another part knew they needed him, that she needed to save him. Not just because of the map he held, it was apart of it but because he had saved her life and kept her safe. A debt and loyalty she owed to him. JC turned and looked at Sarah and knew her friend felt just as conflicted, however at the end of the day that was her brother, her blood.

JC slowly connected their hands, smiling supportive at her friend knowing Sarah needed it. Sarah gave a faint smile back and clutched JC’s hand needing the comfort of the other girl. “They’re gonna kill him.” JC turned her head to stare at Cleo with an are you serious look, only to snap her head and glare at Pope as he spoke; “Do we care?” At the same time JJ and JC spoke; “Yeah, that's a good question, Pope.” and “Yes, of course we care Pope.” The twins glared at each other as if silently battling and communicating with each other.

JC rolled her eyes and looked back at Sarah, moving her hands to gently rub her shoulders trying to further soothe the growing distraught girl. Ignoring Cleo and the fact she stated about them taking the scroll if they did kill Rafe. JC leaned over and whispered softly to Sarah, “It’s up to you. Say the word or give the signal and we’ll help him. I’ll save him.” JC smiled as Sarah faced her and nodded before turning back and staring at Rafe as she bit her lip in thought.

“There are seven of them. They all have rifles.” JC rolled her eyes at John B’s obvious analysis of the situation. Biting her tongue to keep herself from saying anything sarcastic. “I know. That's why we're gonna need to think outside the box.” JC watched as JJ pulled the gun from behind him and checked it for bullets. She left Sarah side and moved over to JJ’s other side, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. “What are you doing?” JC agreed with John B’s question, because she didn’t want to believe her little brother would be that reckless but then again the Maybank’s were quite known for being ridiculously stupidly reckless. Placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder she wasn’t going to let him do it alone, and together the twins spoke simultaneously; “Diversion.” They glanced at each other, knowingly smirking as they thought of the chaos they could cause together.

“Dudes, you can't be serious. This isn't Call of Duty.” JC rolled her eyes as she pulled a knife she had swiped from her boot, holding it up in triumph. “No it’s not, but our lives have never been normal Pope.” JJ nodded along with his twin before cocking the gun and placing it back in its position behind his back. “We got four rounds, seven of them.” JC rolled her eyes as the others got involved and JJ began trying to explain the plan. “Look four rounds, and a knife. I’d say our odds our pretty good!” JC laughed as JJ nodded towards her before they caught Sarah grabbing the gun and aiming towards the Corsairs. JC held her hands out towards Sarah before she realized what her friend was doing. JC bit her lip as she fought a smile, her eyes watching Sarah closely as she silently cheered her on.

“That’s my brother.” As Sarah spoke and shot the gun, expertly hitting the gas tank and blowing the vehicle up, JC couldn’t help but quietly cheer rushing forward and placing both hands on Sarah’s shoulder. “Oh my god! Way to go Sharpshooter!” The excitement was short lived as they all had to run for their lives. The Corsairs shooting at Rafe and they all ran. JC laughed at Pope as he spoke, “Let’s alert them to our location. That’s a great idea.” Catching up to him she gently punched his shoulder, a wide grin on her face as adrenaline and excitement pumped through her. “Live a little Pope. Being shot at or running for our lives is old news.”

JC laughed louder as she heard Pope curse, running to move next to her twin and as JJ fell she immediately stopped. Wrapping her arms around his forearm and pulling him up, silently communicating with him before they both started running again. JC kept a hand on JJ as they ran, and once he secured his gun again he held her hand, squeezing it tight. The twins found moments like this were where they felt most alive and most aware of shit. Both of them knew it was because of how they were raised and the chaos they grew to love in a deranged and dangerous way. However, if they had each other then they’d be okay.

JC didn’t realize how far they fell behind or how JJ was holding his gun until Pope was yelling for them to hurry up. As they crossed the threshold JJ, Pope, and herself threw themselves against the door as they moved the plank to lock it. Being aware to try and doge the bullets being fired at them. Her eyes connecting with Rafe’s and she wanted to glare at him, to scream at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Especially with how disheveled and anxious he looked.

Just as quick as they had stopped they were off running once again, pausing as they ran into some farm area with a bunch of sheep. Pope, Kiara, and John B immediately working to barricade the door. JC looked around, her eyes immediately trying to find and exit or even perhaps any weapons they could utilize. JJ grabbed her hand pulling her as he ran deeper into the shelter of a maze. JC following without hesitation. She slowed to a stop as JJ beckoned the others before he held his side and began groaning. She held his side as he told the others to keep going, her eyes wide with worry for her little brother. Before she met the eyes of Cleo, and she knew her best friend was gonna do something. “Give me the gun!”

JJ immediately questioned it, but JC knew why. She could tell Cleo was protecting them, was fighting for them. Was giving the twins a break and forcing themselves to take a break from always risking themselves. Except JC didn’t like it, she didn’t like the idea of anything happening to her friends and she could tell JJ didn’t either. JC felt like she was dissociating she could hear JJ arguing about not wanting to give it up, could hear Cleo telling the others to go, could hear Cleo telling JJ he was injured and then like clarity Pope pulled JJ and her close. His words reaching through the fog like a lighthouse. “We got it. We’ll hold them off. Let me protect you both for once.”

JC felt her lip wobbled as she stared at her best friends. She didn’t want to lose them, didn’t want to leave them but this wasn’t the time to argue. Quickly she pulled Cleo into a bone crushing hug, ordering her to be careful or so help her. Before she pulled Pope into a desperate and tight hug, telling him the same thing before she let JJ pull her away. Pope’s words ringing in her ears, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Together the twins took one last glance at Pope, the look holding everything they wanted to tell each other before they went separate ways.

JC paused as she caught up with the others, her eyes narrowing as she saw Rafe holding a knife to John B. Her own hand itching towards the knife she had shoved back in her boot, sometime ago. She shared a glance with JJ and then Sarah, holding her hands up as she took a step forward. Her voice soothing and calm as she spoke, “Rafe, it’s okay.” She watched as he glanced at her before Sarah spoke and then the knife was held to her throat. Immediately JC was next to Sarah like a protective dog, her eyebrows raised as she watched him, waiting and almost daring him to make a move. Only for him to keep speaking and turn back to John B. JC tilted her head as she studied Rafe, and she could tell he was on edge, from what she didn’t know because almost dying wasn’t new to any of them. But as Sarah spoke saying she saved his life and Rafe faced her again, JC understood. Her face softening as he spoke, “You did it so you could steal it from me. There was something in it for you. All right? Not to actually help me. I know that.”

JC took a breath and stepped forward, feeling all eyes on her and Rafe facing her with the knife. “We don’t want to steal it Rafe, was there something in it for us absolutely. However, when Sarah saved you her main thought was her brother. We agreed days ago when we left home that we’d work together, an even cut for everyone. For you.” JC offered him a weak but kind smile, as John B and Sarah spoke at the same time. “Rafe, we don’t have time.” and “We can read that. You can’t.” JC cringed as Rafe turned back to Sarah, and spoke angrily. “Why would I help you? Huh? I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you. Do you understand? Dad trusted you. You remember what happened to him?! Do you remember?!”

JC watched helplessly, her eyes finding JJ as Rafe raised his voice. She knew, they both knew, where their minds had gone to for a second. JC bit her lip as she turned back to watch Rafe her eyes staying on the knife as she kept herself close to Sarah. “Dad died saving my life. And you’re so eager to blame me for everything, you won’t even listen to what happened. Singh’s men had me at gunpoint. I was gonna die. Dad took those bullets for me. And if he was still around, he’d want us to work together. I know you know that.” JC felt tears well in her eyes as she flashed back to that day, the deep terror she held that they were all gonna die. That she was going to lose her family. Then Ward an unlikely hero who saved them. JC looked back and forth between Rafe and Sarah like a tennis match, watching as tears filled both their eyes and she had hope that maybe one day they could have a good relationship. A true brother sister relationship, like they both deserved.

“No, you’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life. I know you will.” Rafe’s teary and broken sounding words broke Juniper’s heart. He looked so hurt and betrayed she wanted to pull him into a hug and never let him go. This was the Rafe she had met, had grown to known during their kidnapping. A soft, vulnerable, hurt individual who just wanted someone who was loyal and loved him. It was a constant battle because of his past actions, and then this switched he’d flip and actually be a person. She hoped this was his redemption, this was his will to change and be better, that he could build something new with Sarah and even the Pogues.

“No, no, because I’m all you’ve got. And you’re the only family I have left.” JC moved herself over to JJ and held his hand. Her eyes staring up at him as John B spoke defending Sarah, “She’s telling the truth.” JC watched with bated breath as Rafe nodded before repeating how he’d get his cut before holding out the map. She smiled as Sarah hugged him, as she hugged her own brother both of them smiling at each other before the faint sound of angry voices reached them. “Hey, this is great and all, but we seriously gotta go.” JC stepped away from JJ as they both peered down the hallway. The twins sharing a look as Kiara told them to go.

“Go with them, June. I’ll be fine.” JC shook her head as she stared at JJ. She didn’t want to leave him that was the last thing she wanted to do. But as he pushed her to follow them she relented, pulling him into a tight hug as she kissed his cheek. “Stay safe Bug, please. I’ll see you shortly.” One last hug, and JC turned and ran after Rafe, Sarah, and John B. Leaving behind another friend and her twin. She hated that they were all separated now, but she trusted in them, in that they would see each other again.

JC stopped herself short of running into the back of Rafe. Both of them staring at each other for a moment before trailing after John B and Sarah. Rafe held his hand out, helping JC up the steeper steps they were climbing up and it made her heart flutter every time. Every time John B turned and helped Sarah, Rafe would turn and help her. She didn’t know if he was competing or if he noticed that John B helped Sarah up steeper areas and in returned helped her up steeper areas. JC let out an exaggerated breath as they reached the top. Rafe stoping next to JB and JC next to Sarah. The two girls glancing at each other and smiling. Before Sarah spun confused and lost, “What now?” JC shrugged as she looked around before she glanced at the two males and watched as Rafe lifted his hand gently hitting the map against John B’s chest. “I can’t read this shit. Go for it.” JC smiled as she watched him, before it grew wider as he took the lens off from around his neck and held it out. “Here. You need this. Go.”

JC walked over to Rafe, she wasn’t needed to figure out the map. She knew JB and Sarah would get it done. Hesitantly JC laid her hand on Rafe’s shoulder, a warm smile on her lips as he turned to face her, and as she spoke it was soft and filled with gratitude. “You did good Rafe. Thank you.” She watched as he looked at her hand before trailing down her arm, and then he met her eyes. A rare and soft smiling forming on his lips as he looked at her. Sarah and John B discussing the map in the distance. “I didn’t. I didn’t mean it. I trust you, JC.” Furrowing her brows she looked up at the taller male, confused on why he trusted her above all people. Almost like he could see the questions in her mind he gave a small laugh, grabbing her hand from his shoulder and holding it in both of his. “I hated and despised you with everything, but then Singh happened and you were the only normal and only one I could trust. Then shit with my dad, and you were still the only normal in my life. You aren’t afraid to call my bullshit, to say what you think, to protect those you care for JC. Everything, I’ve told you and confined in you has stayed with you. I trust you.”

JC bit her lip as she stared up at Rafe, wishing for a moment that this wasn’t a treasure hunt, that their lives weren’t in peril once again. Because selfishly she wanted just a moment more in this bubble, with Rafe’s sweet words, his finger rubbing circles on her hand, his eyes soft and caring as they stared into her soul and beyond. Letting her lip go, she took a breath before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. Pulling back she brought her other hand over and squeezed his hands. “I’ll admit I hated you Rafe, and a part of me still hates your actions. However, I would never have survived Singh if not for you and I’m forever grateful and thankful for that. I can’t explain it, but that bonded us together Rafe. I trust you, but I need you to be kinder to my friends, my family.” JC giggled as Rafe nodded his head quickly before promising he would, that he would work on it, that he would be better.

And then their bubble was interrupted. JC looked over as John B was calling for them, her eyes widening as she moved over to where he stood with the map in the air. “What the fuck?” It was the best thing she could think to say, as a shadow of a shape appeared on the map. “What the hell is that?” JC shrugged as she turned around her eyes widening as she saw the same outline on the map right behind them, except it was real and a stone statue. “See what I’m seeing?” JC knew JB had also connected it and as Rafe turned around and saw the statue they both spoke simultaneously and the same words “Holy Shit.”

They did it! They found the crown. Of course they would, JC had no doubt because they always found the treasure. She just couldn’t stop the negative thoughts creeping in because something would go wrong, it always did. “The crown has gotta be up there. Come on, let’s go.” JC nodded as she heard Rafe walk a few steps away, her eyes on the statue as she wished the others were here. They all deserved to be here and basking in this glory. It drained from her as Rafe spoke again, trying to get their attention. JC turned around, her mouth opening in shock and disbelief of their luck as Rafe spoke making dread flow through her; “Sandstorm.” JC kicked a rock, anger cursing through her veins as she threw up her hands, “Fuck you universe! Fuck you.” Taking a breath she lowered her goggles and wrapped her scarf around her mouth and nose, protecting herself from the oncoming sand. Just like that, they were off running once again. A race against time, something they were all familiar with.

“Come on. Hurry. We’ve gotta try to get up there before the storm hits.” JC rolled her eyes, once again annoyed with her best friend’s ability to point out the obvious. “No shit Sherlock. I thought we were gonna wait for the storm.” As John B glanced back at her, she mumbled a low apology. Tensions were high and she didn’t need to take it out on her friends, but something was eating away at her. As if a warning was sounding off and something really bad was coming. JC let out a startled gasp as her brother’s voice sounded from behind her; “John B. JC. Hey! Do you see what’s coming?”

JC turned and pulled him into a hug, ignoring everything because she needed him. He was safe, and alive and right there in front of her. Pulling away they instinctively intertwined their hands, the twins rarely liked physical affection or contact but with each other it was one of their main love languages. As JJ asked if they had any idea on where to look for the crown, JC smiled and lifted his chin so he was staring up at the statue. “Right in front of us baby brother.”

Her smile faded as John B said they needed to climb and JJ immediately looked like he was preparing himself. No, she wasn’t going to let him climb up the statue not with his injury. Not when she was there. Before anyone could say or do anything else a strong gust of wind hit and sand was filling the air like fog. The sandstorm had reached them. JC didn’t like the odds of this, didn’t like how it was impossible to see much less breathe even with her scarf protecting her. She felt her stomach drop as Rafe spoke, “Hey, I’m gonna go scope it out, all right? I’ll meet you all up there!” Then just like that he was gone, and she couldn’t see him anymore. Her hand squeezed tighter on JJ, scared she’d lose him too.

Then once again, the group was splitting up. JC knew they couldn’t leave Rafe, not because they couldn’t trust him but because he would need help. Bending down she grabbed her knife from her boot, grabbing John B’s hand and pressing it into his palm. Her hands wrapping around his. “Protect Sarah, and protect yourself. Stay safe, and we’ll see you with the crown.” She watched as they ran off, before she turned and followed after JJ and Kiara. Praying nothing would happen to any of them.

[tightjeansjavi]

Et Auream - Act 2 : Even In The Darkest of Places

A/N: despite the state that our world is currently in, I’m really proud of this chapter and how it has turned out. This was another chapter that I had completed gutted and rewrote from July. As always, a huge thank you to @sinsofsummers for being my beta 💗

word count: 4.8k

Summary: Even in the darkest of places, hope remains.

Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc

Warnings: canon typical violence, enslavement, power imbalance, domestic abuse, language, transactional sex (not between Marcus & oc) misogyny, derogatory language, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything

series masterlist

SENATOR CASSIUS’S VILLA

“Amalthea, I have never witnessed such an act of defiance!” Aurelia whispered excitedly. The kitchen maid had become one of her dear friends—perhaps even a mother figure to her. She cherished the moments away from Cassius where she could simply be. Amalthea was old and wise, and she served Cassius longer than any of the rest of his servants had. She had taken Aurelia under her wing in every sense.

“It has been many years since a gladiator so boldly defied an emperor,” Amalthea said in disbelief. She was seated at the meager prep table, a basket of freshly plucked peas from the field were waiting to be shucked for Cassius’s dinner later. “Come sit with me, child. Help shuck these peas and tell me more of this brave gladiator.”

Aurelia tore her gaze from the archway window where in the distance she could just make out the city of Rome, and the looming Colosseum. She could still hear Cassius’s voice droning in her ear about how rogues like Acacius should be terminated. With a sigh she walked to the empty seat next to the older woman and sat alongside her. She reached into the basket and pulled out a few pea pods.

“They called him Acacius the merciful, but I fear that he is not receiving the same mercy that he gave his opponent,” she said quietly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Amalthea reached over the table and gently squeezed her forearm with a saddened smile. “Defiance against an emperor is often met by cruel punishment, Aurelia. Acacius the merciful may not live to see another day,” she said pensively.

Aurelia’s shoulders slumped forward at the thought of Acacius being wrongfully punished for his defiant actions. She knew that this was customary, but it didn’t make it any less morbid.

“I want to go to him,” she said suddenly, surprising not only herself, but Amalthea as well.

“Aurelia,” she warned. “That would be foolish of you, and not to mention extremely dangerous. Our Dominus wouldn’t stand for it either. You and I both know his disdain towards the gladiators all too well.”

“Amalthea, your concern will not go unnoticed, but our Dominus will be at the brothel for hours after dinner. He won’t return till the early morning hours, if at all.” She had wishful thinking in her mind that her abuser would miraculously never return again and she would never have to endure his cruelty for another day.

“Would your intrigue for this gladiator weaken if he had not acted in defiance?” Amalthea said teasingly, a playful lilt in her tone.

“Amalthea!” Aurelia gasped and giggled softly at her teasing. “My admiration for Acacius is not what you’re thinking it is, I swear!” she protested.

The older woman laughed and the corners of her eyes crinkled, showing her own buried youth appearing, even if just for a moment.

“Forgive me, child. I had to ask,” she said softly and reached for another peapod. “I know well enough that once your heart is set on something, there is no deterring you. The Ludus Magnus is no place for a woman, Aurelia.”

“Rome is no place for a woman, and yet, here we are,” Aurelia solemnly reminded her.

Amalthea huffed out a laugh and shook her head with a knowing grin, “I just want you to be careful, Aurelia, but if you’re truly that determined, take Luna from the stables. She will guide you.”

“I knew you would come around eventually,” she winked subtly at the older woman, and the two returned to their fits of giggling as the sun began to slowly make its descent from the heavens.

When dinner was prepared, Cassius requested for Aurelia to present him his meal in his private study and she knew what this entailed, but she had no choice but to obey.

Amalthea gave her a sympathetic look as she placed the tray that contained Cassius’s meal in her awaiting arms and Aurelia wordlessly turned on her heel and walked towards the direction of his private quarters.

Cassius was seated at his desk, hunched over and focused on the parchment laid out in front of him when he heard a soft knock on the other side of the door.

“You may enter,” He said.

Aurelia took a deep breath and quietly pushed the door open while keeping the tray steady in her arms.

“Good evening, Dominus,” she bowed her head slightly before approaching his desk and gently placed the tray down in front of him, careful to not disturb the papers laid out in front of him.

Cassius paid no attention to her and reached blindly for a piece of thigh meat from the perfectly roasted chicken and tore off a chunk with little care when the savory juice dribbled down his chin.

Aurelia assumed that she could take her cue to leave, but as soon as she turned to walk away, Cassius finally acknowledged her presence.

“I did not dismiss you, Aurelia,” he sighed through his nose. “Sit with me,” he commanded.

She steeled her expression, her fists clenched at her sides. She had foolishly hoped that tonight she would not have to endure his unwanted touch.

“Don’t be shy,” He said wryly, and with his freehand he tapped his knuckles along the desk impatiently.

Aurelia moved towards his side, expecting that he had wanted her to sit in his lap, but when he tilted his head to the side and his eyes flickered towards the floor, she slowly lowered herself to her knees.

He placed his hand against the crown of her head and threaded his fingers through the tresses of her mahogany hair and let out a content sigh from the back of his throat.

“That’s better.” He was pleased, but not as much as he would have liked to be. And when he sensed her discomfort, he tightened his grip around her skull, just enough to make her wince from the sensation. “Although, you could be doing more than just sitting there,” he said suggestively, not masking his true intent when he guided her head towards his lap. “It would please me even more if you were so kind as to tend to me with your affections.”

So much for wishful thinking.

—

When Cassius finally left for his evening excursions, Aurelia crept from her chambers and headed down to the stables. Amalthea was waiting for her, unexpectedly, and while she focused on tacking up Luna, Amalthea reminded her of the very real dangers to being out after dark. Aurelia appreciated her concern, but this did not deter or sway her mind to stay within the safety of the villa.

“I will be back before the sunrise, I promise. Cassius won’t even know that I was gone,” Aurelia reassured her as she gracefully swung her leg over the front of the saddle and gathered up the reins in her hands gently.

“I’ll pray to Fortuna for your safe return, and to Salus for the gladiator Acacius. Ride swift and silent and do not let anyone see you. Bona fortuna, Aurelia.”

“Et videbo vos ante solis ortum,” (and I will see you before the sunrise) Aurelia whispered and gently squeezed her heels against Luna’s sides to ease her into a trot down the gentle sloping hill. She used the moon as the only guiding light to where Acacius and the rest of the gladiator’s were imprisoned within the city.

A cloak over her head concealed her identity, and when she neared the Ludus Magnus, she slowed Luna to a walk before she carefully and quietly dismounted in a secluded area. She imagined that the structure would be well guarded, but after investigating the area, she discovered a side entrance that was well hidden by shrubbery.

The interior was dimly lit, with only a few torches providing limited light. As far as she could see, there were no guards keeping watch in the immediate vicinity.

She could hear the crackling of flames from the torches, and the scurrying of rats along the floor, and just as she was turning a corner to head down one of the many corridors, a hand reached through the darkness and clamped down around her mouth. She struggled in its grip as she was forced back against a hard chest.

“Well, well, well,” a darkened voice chuckled against the shell of her ear, holding her captive. “What do we have here?” The voice belonged to a male, one of the guards she had presumed. “A pretty little lamb that has wandered far from her flock? Perhaps the gods have finally answered my prayers!” he cackled gleefully.

Her voice was muffled against his hand as she continued to struggle in his grip. “Un-hand me!” she cried out, but it was useless.

“Absolutely not!” he laughed and with his freehand he blindly searched for the knot to her stola. Her eyes widened in fear, and she bit his hand that held her mouth captive as hard as she could. He let out a surprised yelp, and his hand instinctively loosened around her mouth just enough for her to wriggle out of his grip, but he recovered quickly and shoved her roughly against a nearby wall. “Stupid fucking bitch!” he spat and unsheathed his dagger. “You’ll pay for that,” he snarled and pressed the edge of the blade against her throat. “Been waiting for something pretty to stick my cock into. I’ll give you a real reason to scream, whore.”

“Wait!” she yelled in fear. “If you release me now, I will see to it that you are rewarded!”

He narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together and dragged the tip of his blade down the column of her throat, but he didn’t get very far, not with the iron collar on her neck blocking the path of his blade. There was even a tag dangling in the middle of it, and when he leaned in closer, he could make out the engraved lettering: Si repertus sum, Cassium me senatorem redde. Retribuetur vobis. (If I am found, return me to Senator Cassius. You will be rewarded)

The guard stowed his dagger back into its sheath. “I wonder how well rewarded I will be when I return you to your Dominus,” he mused with a grin.

“You will be rewarded less if you have come to harm me. My Dominus will not take it lightly if there is even a scratch upon me,” Aurelia said boldly.

“Senator Cassius will reward me for what I feel is owed,” he snapped and grabbed her roughly by her forearm.

“Before you return me to him, I have one request,” she winced from his tight grip on her arm. “Must you handle me so roughly? I will go without a fight, I assure you.”

“I don’t believe you’re in the position to be requesting anything of me,” he scoffed and started to drag her towards the exit, but she dug her heels into the ground in an attempt to slow him down.

“Please!” she cried. “It is one simple request,” she pleaded. “I can offer you more than just coin if you agree!”

He sneered at this and loosened his grip around her arm. He turned around and faced her fully. “Is that so?” his eyes trailed down her body, lingering at the gentle swell of her covered breasts, and the curve of her hips. He licked his lips in anticipation. “Perhaps I can be…persuaded.”

She fought the urge to turn her nose up in disgust at the way he was violating her with his eyes alone.“I will give you what you want, and I will not fight it. But in return, you will show me where the gladiator Acacius resides.”

“Acacius?” he questioned with a scoff. His frame towered over her and his eyes held nothing short of malice in them. “What’s a pretty thing like you want him for, hm?”

She refused to make direct eye contact with him and turned her head to the side. “It does not concern you.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “I think it does concern me and unless you want me to make it hurt, I suggest you start talking. Don’t be so naive to think that just because your Dominus would be angered to see his prized whore scuffed up, that I won’t be cruel.”

Aurelia had always found it morbidly fascinating to experience just how quickly men would resort to threatening violent measures if women did not immediately give them what they wanted. She had experienced this exact scenario many times with Cassius, and by now she was numb to the mistreatment and cruelty she endured almost daily. Her heart, nonetheless, would always sink to the pit of her stomach whenever situations like this would arise.

Were all men truly this cruel?

He studied her intently, and when she didn’t respond, he grabbed her chin between two fingers and forced her to look at him. “Do you want to fuck him, is that it?” he questioned her dryly, amusement dripping in his tone.

“I beg your—”

“Oh, don’t act like you’re pure all of sudden. Besides, it was a fair question.You think you’re the only whore that has skipped down here in hopes to lay with a gladiator?” he snorted. “You’ll be met with sheer disappointment m’afraid. I heard a rumor that all of the gladiators were gelded.”

She fought her immediate urge to glare at him and his wild accusations.“I do not wish to lay with him.”

“Sure, sure,” he waved her off dismissively. “That's what they all say.”

“Well, rest assured, that is not why I am here. I just found his act of defiance in the arena today…admirable,” She admitted truthfully.

“Admirable?” he released her chin only to grab her by the waist and yanked her roughly in his grip so her chest collided with his own. “Defying the emperor’s command is admirable? Hm. I’m sure that’s exactly the reason why he was punished for his merciful actions then.”

Her face fell at his words. Was she too late? Was Acacius beaten to death for his defiance? No, he couldn’t be. The guard was just toying with her vulnerability. Acacius was surely alive. He must be.

“Don’t look so sad, whore. Acacius is still breathing. I’ll gladly escort you to his cell, after you complete your end of the deal, of course,” he said with a twisted sneer.

A deal is a deal, after all.

____

Just down the corridor, in a compacted cell, Marcus Acacius laid in filth. His bed, the single form of comfort that he had, was stripped from him, and he was forced to sleep upon the cold, unforgiving floor. His ankles were bound in iron, shackled to the stone wall, and his back was bare. The lacerations on his marred skin had since begun to crust over with dried blood, but he was badly wounded and received no care. His dreams were restless, and images of his mother flashed behind his trembling eyelids.

Let me go home, please. I wish to feel her gentle embrace. To hear her voice. Gods, take me out of my misery, I beg you.

“In this life and the next, you will always be my son, but your time has not yet come, Marcus. There is much life you have left to live. Remember, you must continue to be brave, gentle, just and compassionate. No matter what life throws your way, promise me you will always remain true to your heart and the values I have instilled in you.”

“How can I be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate in a world that is so cold, and has only been cruel to me?”

“You have to believe in your heart that there is goodness left in this world. There is kindness you have yet to experience, my son. Do not close the door on the possibilities of happiness. There is evil, yes, but there is also light in this world, Marcus. There is hope and there is love that dwells even in the darkest of places.”

Her image began to fade from his conscience as his body began to stir and wake at the sound of approaching footsteps, and hushed voices.

“Wait! Please, don’t go! Mother, please!” he called for her in his dreams and his hand reached for her in the darkness, but he grasped nothing but cold, damp air between his calloused fingers.

“Why has no one tended to his wounds?” a soft, feminine voice filtered in through his semi-conscious state.

“The orders were not given,” the guard, who Acacius knew as Cato, said to her in a hushed tone.

“Well, I am giving them. If his wounds are not treated soon, they will fester and he will die of infection,” she whispered in urgency.

“What do I look like to you? A charity service?” Cato laughed, and the sound grated Marcus’s ears.

“Please, just fetch me a pail of water, and do so quickly.”

Cato let out a grumbled sigh and nodded before turning on his heel and walked back the direction they had come from with little urgency in his pace. He was unsure as to why he was so willing and compliant to obey her request, but did little to question it.

Acacius sensed her presence as she knelt on the floor outside of his cell. Who was she? Why had she come? What was her purpose? Questions ran wild in his head.

She was relieved when she could just barely make out the shaky rise and fall of his chest, and the wheeze of labored breaths escaping through his chapped, parted lips. The pale moonlight from a single window in the cell, casted an eerie glow upon his severed and torn back and the stench of death permeated her senses.

He will not die tonight, this is certain. I will save him. She was determined.

“Sir!” she whispered through the stagnant air, not wanting to raise her voice enough to startle him from his rest.

Acacius, however, did not stir from his light slumber, and even when she rattled the steel bars that kept him imprisoned from her, and her from him, between her fists, he laid there, unmoving except for the slight twitch of his hand that was still outstretched, as if he had been reaching for something in the never ending darkness that consumed him.

“Acacius, please! You must—”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his name leaving her lips like a plea, and out of reflex he immediately reached for his sword, forgetting that it was no longer on his person. He was in a daze, feeling delirious from dehydration and the unbearable pain he felt in his pulsing shoulder and in his back from the deep, exposed gashes that marred his beautiful tanned skin.

He let out a grunt as he struggled to pull himself up into an upright position from where he laid on his side. Every muscle and tendon in his body screamed at him to rest, his brain sensed danger until he whipped his head around and his hardened, and disoriented stare landed upon her.

“I mean you no harm, sir. I swear it,” her words were rushed as she wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to fear, not from the likes of her. She didn’t even have the desire to harm a mere fly.

“How do you know my name?” he rasped through clenched teeth. His voice was even deeper than she imagined, with an edge of hardened grit, but she could sense a warmth residing in his tone; hidden but unmistakable.

She opened her mouth to speak and explain herself, but Cato had poor timing and arrived with a pitcher of water and a vial of olive oil.

She tore her gaze from Marcus’s and glanced upwards at Cato with a desperate look in her eyes. “Unlock his cell.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“How am I to tend to his wounds if I am not in there with him?” she retorted.

“Di boni sint,” (Gods be good) Cato muttered under his breath and reached inside of his tunic pulling out a set of bronze keys. Acacius warily watched him from where sat.

The iron bars swung open, making a creaking sound along the hinges, and Marcus scrambled towards the wall till his back was met with cold hardness. His eyes widened with fear, and for a moment he was just a boy again and enduring the cruelty from a father who never wanted him.

“Peace, Acacius,” she said softly and rose to her feet. Her features were illuminated by the torch clasped in Cato’s hand and Marcus felt that the gods themselves were playing a cruel trick upon his already mangled brain. Surely, he was dreaming, for he had never gazed upon a maiden as beautiful as her. Was she even real? Or was she just a sick figment of his imagination? He did not notice the iron collar fastened around her dainty neck, he saw the softness in her eyes, a genuine kindness and warmth in them that he had not experienced for many years. He was awestruck.

“Gods, am I truly being blessed by Venus in the flesh?” he gasped. His eyes widened further before drooping from exhaustion. His mouth was dry, lips cracked and bleeding.

Cato couldn’t help but snicker at his delusions, but he was silenced by a stern look from her and quietly backed off.

“Leave us,” she said firmly, without looking at Cato and he retreated from the open doorway.

“Sir, I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am not the goddess Venus. I’m just…a girl,” she said quietly.

His fear manifested when she crouched down in front of him, the sincerity in her eyes did not fade, and she cautiously outstretched her hand in his direction. “I am here to help you, Acacius.”

His posture stiffened at this. His apprehension was apparent and he glowered in her direction. “I am not requiring your help, girl,” he hissed.

“You are untrusting of me, and I understand why, but if I do not tend to your wounds, they will fester and you will die,” she said soberly.

“Do you think I am not aware?” he scoffed. “Let them fester. Let me die. Why should you care what becomes of me?” he snapped.

She did not flinch or cower from his tone and her hand hovered near his reach, but he still did not acknowledge it. “I cannot allow you to die, Acacius. It is against my morals and nature.”

“Then you must be a figment of my imagination,” he muttered and turned his head to the side to stare at the wall. “Morals don’t exist here, my lady. Only suffering and death. It is only a matter of time,” he said defeatedly.

“I am as real as they come, I assure you.”

He tore his gaze from the nearest wall and looked upon her once more. He eyed her hand suspiciously, and then trailed his gaze across her face and down to her neck. His stare paused at the mark of ownership, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re just a slave to the Empire…like me,” he whispered and his hand slowly rose from his side, brushing the brass tag attached to the collar. He expected her to flinch from his touch, but she did not.

He dropped his hand back to his side and sank further against the wall with a deflated sigh. He eyed the pail of water and vial of olive oil alongside her that would be used to cleanse his wounds, if he allowed it. “You have yet to answer my question, my lady. How do you know my name? How did you know where to find me? Who sent you?” he fired off questions that were buzzing in his brain.

“No one sent for me, Acacius. I came here on my own accord after watching you bravely fight in the arena today. That is where I learned of your name.”

“I wouldn’t say I was brave,” he said humbly. He eyed the collar around her neck once more, and despite his guarded demeanor, and his engrained nature to lash out like a wounded animal, his shred of empathy extends to her. “My lady, I mean no disrespect, but the Colosseum is no place for a selfless, kind soul such as yourself. You shouldn’t be exposed to such…brutality,” he trailed off.

“Acacius, I am no lady. I am just—a common whore. My Dominus takes great pleasure in watching you and other Gladiators fight to the death. I’d even say it’s his favorite event.”

“Who is your Dominus?” his question lingered heavily in the stagnant air.

“Senator Cassius.”

“He may have labeled you as a whore, but in my eyes…I see a lady,” he whispered without understanding just how greatly she appreciated that he saw what others did not.

“You are too kind, Acacius. Your words touch me.”

His grim, hardened demeanor quickly returns in the form of a deepened scowl on his face and he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He inhaled a lungful of air, his chest expanding and then deflates as he released the air through his flared nostrils. “You truly should not be here. This is no place for a lady, and if something were to happen to you, I could not protect you. These chains bind me till the morning,” he said quietly and yanked on the chains that bound his ankles to stone for good measure. “You should leave immediately. Leave me to rot here.”

“Acacius, I cannot stomach leaving you here and allowing your wounds to fester. Not when you have done nothing to deserve the punishment you endured. Bravery should not be met with the cruel lash of a whip,” she reached her hand near his shoulder, to brush her fingers against his tarnished skin, but he recoiled from her touch and pressed himself further against the wall. He felt the torn skin on his back wailing for reprieve, but he grits his teeth to mask the pain.

“Bravery?” he seethed through clenched teeth. His pupils seemed to darken under the shallow guise of the pale moonlight. “My acts of mercy upon my opponent made me appear weak. As if my heart wasn’t forged in steel! As if my compassion for humanity means more than the pride I feel when my blade pierces through the hearts of my enemies! I am a gladiator. I was raised as a ruthless fighter as soon as I could grasp a sword!” he exclaimed. The whites of his eyes showed a faux fierceness, but hidden in the depths of brown, there was fear.

“I have the blood of the innocent on my hands. Killing has been ingrained in my being since I was a small boy! My duty and honor lies with the empire, to the Emperors. It is all I have ever known, and all that I will ever know,” he gritted out, but his voice wavered, trembling with each syllable spoken as if he was trying to convince himself that being a gladiator under the Emperor's rule was truly all he’ll ever amount to in life. That he would never know softness, or genuine—real love from another unfortunate soul like his own.

She felt his pain, heard it seep in through his somber tone, and saw it in his anguished expression on his rugged, gold-kissed face. He may have been a bloodthirsty warrior in the Emperor's eyes, but in her own softened gaze, she saw a frightened boy that had been broken, ripped apart by cruel hands. “No,” she said sadly, “You’re just a boy.”

Aurelia and Acacius were two sides of the same coin; slaves to the Empire and forced into a life of endless servitude, bowing at the feet of those born into riches with their fancy silks and golden adornments. Their cruel whips in their dominant hands, and overflowing goblets of wine in the other.

A heavy charged silence simmered in their close proximity. He could hear her heart beating from where he sat and the sharp inhale of breath that she took.

“Please leave me here, my lady,” he said quietly, tone deflated of any emotion. He was giving up, she was certain of it.

“Please, Acacius,” she tried one more time to break through his guarded exterior. “Let me help you.”

His feelings were conflicted, it was written across his face, between the furrow of his brows, the subtle pout of his lips, and the swirl of brown and flecks of gold in his irises. He wanted to fight against the softness inside of him that begged to be released. The part of him that he had buried for so many years. He wanted to fight it tooth and nail, barred teeth and sharpened claws ready to strike at a moment's notice, but he remembered the words his mother had spoken to him.

“There is evil, yes, but there is also light in this world, Marcus.”

Could this unnamed stranger be the light that his mother spoke of? Could she be his purpose? His reason to fight to see another day?

“Marcus,” he whispered, “my name is Marcus.”

star banner made by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

[littlemissstel]

Soft-Play Love- Shiu Kong

You meet someone while taking your daughter to the softplay centre.

No use of (Y/n), Shiu and reader are both in their late 30s and have daughters, (D/n) = daughters name, "mummy"

dividers from @saradika-graphics

It had taken a month of begging from your daughter to finally take her to the soft play centre she loved oh so much. It wasn’t that you minded her being there—it was just that you knew the routine all too well: the first twenty minutes of her clinging to you , the next hour of boredom as you waited, then the inevitable meltdown when it was time to leave. Not to mention the sickness a few days later once the germs caught up with her, keeping her a grumpy mess for what seemed like an eternity. And like any other reasonable parent, you'd rather not deal with any of those things. If you'd been a bit younger when you had your babe, perhaps this wouldn't be so draining- but you weren't and it was.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile at her excited little face, knowing how much this meant to her- it was just a part of growing up, and so, begrudgingly, you spent your Saturday afternoon sat on a chipping, washed-out, squeaky chair; overstimulated by the merged sounds of high-pitched shrieks from feral children and smell of sickeningly sweet processed snacks. Truth be told, you hadn't seen your daughter for the last ten minutes - too engrossed in your book to acknowledge the passing time. The last few instances you had managed to catch sight of her she was accompanied by a young girl around the same age, who sported pigtails and a wide smile to show off the gleaming rows of wobbly teeth. It's not often she bothered at making friends so you were more than happy to let them be, but you figured it was time to warn her about leaving soon as the end of your session approached- knowing she would no doubt bring chaos in her wake.

"MUMMYYY!!" the all too familiar voice sounds from behind as she runs into view, her new found friend in hand.

"Me and Min-hee want ice cream!"

"Yes please!" the little girl added, her rosy cheeks squished in delight.

For a moment you considered saying no, but how could you? Not when two anticipating faces of faux angels looked up at you with such expectation.

"How about we ask Min-hee's parent if they are okay with it first?", you suggested, already reaching for your bag. "Then I’ll get you both some ice cream."

And in a blink the two girls were off, racing back into the chaos of the play area.

You figured that was the end of the conversation until they both reappeared, a tall and handsome man trailing after them with his gaze meeting yours. He seemed to be around your age, no older than forty which was rare to see and you perked up in interest. There were a few parents from your daughters year who were also in their late 30s but they were the least sociable of the cohort, either that or they had their biases about you being a single parent. It wasn't something you had ever foreseen. You and your then husband had been together for a long time beforehand and when your daughter had unexpectedly came you both saw it as a blessing. Though a few years after her arrival, fights began to frequently arise ; about his job, about household chores, about quality time, about trivial matters that never should've been a problem in the first place. You both tried to make it work but you had already drifted too far and- although not fully divorced- decided to separate. Now you both co-parent on good terms, though the unevenly split weeks still tend to be the subject of most disputes.

You stood up, snapped out of your daze, giving him a friendly smile, but for a moment, it felt like the words caught in your throat. It was one of those strange moments where the quiet between two strangers is just enough to make you second guess.

"Daddy! (D/n)'s mum wants to say something to you!"

"Oh—no, I just wanted to know if it’s alright for the girls to get ice cream," you blurted, suddenly feeling put on the spot, "I didn’t mean to drag you over here."

He smiled—an easy, small but genuine smile—and you felt a wave of relief. "It’s no problem. I don’t mind at all. Do you have a preference?", he asked, his voice deep, almost soothing.

"A preference?"

"Of ice cream flavor"

"Ah, no, thank you," you said, shaking your head. "I really don’t mind getting them myself." .

"It’s my treat," the tension between you both easing as he spoke.

"Then can I at least help you carry them back?"

"Of course", and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to follow him

The conversation was concluded by the badly hidden giggles of your girls who took turns whispering in each others ear. If you had to guess it would be D/n cracking poorly made jokes. If Shiu had to guess, his daughter would be up to something.

The table where the girls sat was right next to the restaurant so you had no qualms about leaving them for a few minutes as you followed Shiu into the queue.

"Do you come here often?" He starts, turning his body halfway to you. Each ray that streamed through the windows turned everything it touched into a fierce gold which bounced off the side of his face and into his eyes- creating splotches of sweet honeycomb too captivating to look away. It was almost as if the heavens were testing your resolve with how they shone down on him and you could only pray the light blocked his vision enough so that he didn't notice your prolonged stare.

"We used to but not so much anymore. D/n has been bugging me for weeks and I couldn't hold off any longer"

"That sounds about right" he chuckles dryly

"What about you?"

"It's our third time, I've been meaning to take her more but it's hard to find the time when there's only one of you"

You nod in excitement understanding, "I get it, there's only one of me too- and i could think of a thousand other things that need doing right now but..."

The two of you continued to talk, the subject straying slightly further from kids and more into your personal lives which you unexpectedly appreciated. Children were something you both had in common yes, but you hadn't had a proper conversation with another adult in a long while and it was nice to interact with someone as the original you for once- not mummy. He had an unspoken charisma about him, one that drew you in and you felt more and more compelled to ask about the mundane aspects of his day to day life- anything to fill the puzzle in your head of the intriguing man. Eventually the ice creams were served and although you initially joined him to help carry the two sizable bowls of sugar, he quickly scooped them up and asked another question before you could have a word of it.

"So," he said, voice low and subtly teasing, "do you think we’ll be able to handle two sugar-high kids at the same time?"

You raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "As long as they continue to entertain each other, but I’m sure we'll regret it regardless"

The girls were already bouncing in their seats, their eyes wide with excitement like little comical bunnies and you couldn’t help but chuckle. The two of you sat down next to each other engaging in conversation as the girls indulged in their own and suddenly the cheap plastic chair, bright fluorescent lights, and overbearing shouts of children became more comfortable than it had any right to be - blurring into the distance.

You seemed to bond with Shiu seamlessly, the two of you finding another who understood the hidden struggles of single parenting and you had wished it was as easy to talk to all of the parents you had to interact with; normally as a result of your daughters playdates where conversations consisted of watered down small talk.

Your discussion was cut short however as a loud beep echoed through the room—a reminder that your session was almost up and you prepared yourself for the oncoming tantrum.

"Ah, I’m afraid we need to get going soon," you said, carefully. "Our session's almost over."

The girls' faces fell. "Noo! Thats's not fair!" D/n whined, slumping in her seat.

You looked over at Shiu, feeling the irony of your disappointment as you not too long counted down the minutes until you could leave.

"Well, we’ll have to do it again sometime," he said, his voice warm.

"Definitely," you agreed, a tad too fast for your liking. "Maybe we could arrange a playdate for the girls? They seem to have hit it off."

Shiu’s smile softened. "That'd be great"

The girls erupt in squeals once again,

"Can we have a sleepover!?" (D/n) begged. "Please, please, can Min-hee come over?"

You and Shiu exchanged knowing, apologetic glances, and you reached for your phone, handing it to him.

"Here, I'll text you and we can figure out what works best"

He took the phone, his fingers brushing yours for just a second. "Sure thing." He quickly typed before handing it back to you. "Looking forward to it."

"Me too," you said, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest as you saved his number.

For some reason the simple exchange felt strangely significant, like the start of something new.

Please feel free to leave any ideas/ recommendations x

[lottielovelace]

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe. 

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

[theolivetree123]

◇ Yuuki's Intro ◇

More info below!

◇ Basic Info ◇

Age: 18 years old

Height: 170cm

Birthday: June 4th

Sexuality: Demiromantic, Asexual, Pansexual, Non-Binary

Nicknames: YuYu (Yumei and Hana), Henchman (Grim), Shrimpy (Floyd)

Dominant Hand: Left

Dorm: Ramshackle

Grade: 1st Year

Favorite Food: Ramen

Least Favorite Food: Toast

Likes: Video games, silence, cats, the smell of pastries, knives

Dislikes: Darkness, being alone, sudden loud noises, knives

Best Subject: N/A

Club: Art Club

Hobbies: Drawing, painting, playing video games

Homeland: Japan in the mid-2000s

Family: unnamed mother, father, sister and brother

◇ Before NRC ◇

Warning for mention of attempted suicide and bullying !!

Yuuki had no friends in her old school. There, they would be either ignored or harassed by their classmates due to their odd interests, leading to Yuuki becoming shy and reserved. It didn't help that Yuuki couldn't find comfort in her family, either, as their mother would excuse Yuuki's bullying to just be “their way of thinking” and tell them to ignore them, their siblings would call Yuuki “weird” and even “crazy” due to their liking of knives and horror media, and their dad was almost never home, always working long shifts.

All of this stress over years upon years finally pushed Yuuki over the edge, and on one cold, December night, Yuuki attempted to end their life. After stealing a knife from the kitchen, Yuuki made their way to the middle of the woods, not wanting anyone to see them as they took their life. As they stabbed themselves in the stomach, a black carriage sped towards them, and Yuuki fell unconscious.

The next thing they knew, they fell out of a coffin, feeling strangely fine. No stab wound or anything. Yuuki quickly fled the room, panicking about where they were. And as they fled the building, they looked up at the campus before them.

“Where the hell am I?!?”

◇ Relationships ◇

Grim & Ramshackle Ghosts: Yuuki and the residents of Ramshackle's relationship are very similar to how it is in twst canon, though Yuuki is still a bit frightened by the ghosts. Grim often has to rope Yuuki in with him when he wants to do something, as Yuuki is extremely cautious about almost everything.

Hana: As (technically) vice housewarden of Ramshackle, Yuuki respects Hana and treats her well. Yuuki sees Hana as somewhat of a mother figure, as Hana is older and wiser than them and tends to keep Grim and Yumei out of trouble.

Yumei: Yuuki doesn't like Yumei that much, as she's very outgoing and bubbly. Though Yumei tries to get along with Yuuki, sometimes they just don't click. However, Yuuki still appreciates Yumei and sees her as a sister.

Ace & Deuce: Yuuki appreciates Ace and Deuce due to them being able to push Yuuki out of their comfort zone and being their first friends. Though, Yuuki sometimes feels like a third wheel, always taking a backseat while Ace and Deuce bicker.

Idia: Being the one who supplies and plays video games with Yuuki, Idia is one of Yuuki's best friends. They always get along, even having sleepovers sometimes specifically to play video games. Yuuki feels seen when talking to Idia, as they were mocked for liking video games and anime.

Vil: As one of the people to help him overcome his overblot, Yuuki is quite dear to Vil. Even though they don't have much in common, the two still talk and hang out sometimes. Yuuki still feels somewhat strange about Vil being friends with them since he's such a popular figure, but Vill assures Yuuki that they can still be friends no matter how popular he is. While Yuuki only sees a friendship, Vil seems to want something more. Though Vil acts casual around Yuuki, he still has a tiny crush on them.

◇ Relationship Charts ◇

With some of my mutual's OCs !

◇ Gallery ◇

◇ Miscellaneous Facts ◇

Yuuki has Autism and ADHD

Yuuki doesn't like being around knives

When Yuuki feels sad, they sometimes paint on the walls of Ramshackle

Yuuki covers up their self-harm scars regularly. Only Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts have seen them

[lilveeblog]

I've got you, bug

JJ has been struggling with her eating and looking after herself, Emily steps in to help. TW: eating disorder mention, vomiting mentioned briefly

JJ pushed open the bathroom door with such force that the handle hit the adjacent wall. She flew into a cubicle and dropped down by the toilet, ready to throw up the contents of her stomach. She was sick and collapsed by the side of the porcelain bowl. The floor was cold under her head. She whimpered and pulled her knees to her chest. Everything had been too much today, for her big brain. She could feel herself slipping into that younger age, the one tormented by nasty eating habits and weight-watching and she hated it. She tried to fight it. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to fight off the dissociation and regression but then she heard the soft voice and her attempts were futile. 

Emily followed in pursuit of JJ. With JJ’s sudden absence from the round table room, concern had flooded Emily.  She pushed open the bathroom door gently and cringed as she heard the poor girl throw up into the toilet bowl. She turned the corner just as JJ collapsed to the floor. Emily watched her pull her knees to her chest and could hear the mental anguish in JJ’s brain, fighting whatever demons were in there.

“JJ,” she whispered, bending down to the bathroom floor. She knelt by JJ’s feet and put a comforting hand on the blonde’s calf. JJ looked over silently. “Hey,” Emily said. Her voice was gentle and understanding to JJ, even though she only said something simple. It was like being swaddled in blankets and placed into the arms of someone who truly cared. JJ wanted that. “What’s going on?” Emily asked. JJ sighed and shuffled so she could sit up. As much as she wanted to be swaddled and loved and cared for, she had to be professional. She had to be a big girl. “Was just sick,” She muttered, sitting up. She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and put her head back on the amber-coloured cubicle door. “You got a bug? Eaten something funny?” Emily asked. JJ sighed and nodded then shrugged. “Not sure,” she simply replied. Emily looked at her, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. Emily knew it wasn’t the first time JJ had been sick at work, she also knew it wasn’t because she’d eaten something dodgy. “Jayje,” Emily said. She put her hand on JJ’s arm and smiled at her sympathetically. “Talk to me.” “There’s nothing to talk about,” JJ said and stumbled to her feet, brushing off Emily’s touch. She was getting too close, asking too many questions now. JJ had to avoid it at all costs. She couldn’t talk about her feelings and she couldn’t act on her feelings either. If it were up to her, she’d be heading home, swaddling herself up in a blanket with her paci, tangled and her stuffies ready for a quiet night in. “JJ, you’re not alone,” Emily said softly. “You won’t understand,” JJ said back. “I might if you talk to me. What is it?” “I don’t want to talk to you, Em. I don’t want to talk to anyone.” JJ huffed and pulled her sleeves over her hands before exiting the bathroom but Emily knew that telltale sign she wanted to be little from anywhere. The team all knew about JJ’s regression, it had happened a few times around them but no one pushed her to slip and she didn’t have a sole caregiver. Often, Hotch stepped in to take her home and get her settled. Emily often wished it was her though. She wished she was able to take care of JJ in that way, she longed to be her caregiver, longed to have her own sweet little JJ to care for all the time. Emily knew, if JJ was in her care, then she’d be safe and healthy. But she never knew how to approach the subject. 

Emily grabbed her wrist just before JJ could leave and pulled her back closer to her. Before JJ had the chance to struggle, Emily had wrapped her in a tight hug, one which she couldn't escape. “I know what you want,” Emily whispered to the younger girl in her arms. JJ only whimpered. “I know that you need to regress and that’s okay. Let me help you, sweetheart,” Emily said. JJ whimpered again and shook her head but Emily rested her hand on the back of JJ’s head, cradling it and stroking her hair. “It’s okay and it’s safe.” “Not here,” JJ whispered. “At home.” “Let me take you home. We’ll tell Hotch you’re sick, he’ll understand.” “Don’t wanna be a bother,” JJ mumbled but turned her head, cuddling further into Emily. “You’re never, ever a bother to me, Jay. I want to help,” Emily explained. JJ sighed and wrapped her arms around Emily tightly. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to. The hug was enough of a thank you. Emily squeezed JJ and they stayed silent for a good few minutes. 

The pair drove home in silence. Hotch understood JJ was sick and feeling small and since there was no case, happily sent Emily home with her. JJ was nervous, her house was a mess. JJ knew Emily was a bit of a clean freak but JJ thrived in organised chaos and her house was just that. Chaos. She found it difficult to look after herself with how much had been happening recently, particularly in her head. 

They got home and Emily helped JJ out of the car, JJ was feeling smaller by the minute. Emily held her hand as they headed up to the house and JJ fumbled with her house key. “Erm,” she spoke up before opening the door. “What is it, bug?” “It’s messy.” “That’s okay. We all get messy sometimes,” Emily reassured. JJ sighed and nodded before opening the door but Emily wasn’t prepared for how messy it was. It was clear the mess belonged to big and little JJ. The front living room looked much like a child’s playroom, with the sofa, turned upside down, blankets sprawled over the floor, toys all around, and the TV was still playing reruns of cartoons. JJ’s cheeks were burning up as Emily observed the room. “I’m sorry, I should clean it,” she said. She picked up a piece of clothing and threw it over her shoulder, then another and another before Emily stopped it. She put a comforting hand on JJ’s arm and JJ paused. “Hey, no. You’re all good. Let’s leave this for now - what about we sit in the kitchen?” Emily said. She took the clothes off JJ’s shoulder and placed them on the arm of the sofa before taking the smaller girl’s hand and leading her into the other room. But it was just as messy, if not worse. A rotten food smell had built up along with plates and bowls, cutlery and cups by the sink. JJ lowered her eyes and shuffled her feet, her hand still loosely in Emiy’s. “It’s not a big deal, Jay,” Emily said, reassuringly. She turned and lifted the chin of the little one so JJ was looking at her. Tears had pooled in her blue eyes. “No need to get upset.” “Embarrassed,” JJ said, moving her gaze to the mess. “There is no need for that either, I understand little ones like you struggle to look after yourself and hey – it gives us an excuse to door dash.” JJ went redder at the words used by her colleague. She wanted to shake her head and disagree and say she was perfectly capable of looking after herself but the state of her home right now, and her head made that seem very false. She had no leg to stand on. Instead of arguing, she put her head on Emily’s shoulder and tried not to sob. Emily wrapped her arms around her and rubbed her back. “How about we have a nap, hm?” Emily suggested. JJ nodded, she wanted to sleep and forget about all of this. 

The older of the pair took JJ’s hand and walked through the house and up to JJ’s bedroom, remembering where it was from the wine night the girls had a few months prior. Emily sighed thinking about how downhill JJ’s mental health has been since. They walked into JJ’s room and JJ beelined for the bed. It was unmade and full of teddies and blankets too but Emily thought it was quite sweet. JJ sat in the middle of it and waited for Emily to help her, growing smaller and smaller in her head. 

“Where are your pjs, bug?” Emily asked. JJ shrugged and pointed to the floor which was scattered with clothes. Emily laughed and picked up a pair of pink shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt which looked like it matched. “Are these clean?” Emily asked. JJ shrugged again and Emily laughed. “They’ll do. Come here,” She tapped in front of her on the bed and J shuffled over and raised her arms, letting Emily change her. Emily smiled at the trust shared and changed her girl into comfier clothes. As soon as she could, JJ slid under her blue blanket and curled into a ball, looking up at Emily with her soft eyes. “Okay, are you going to get some sleep?” Emily pulled the larger comforter up and over JJ so she’d be warmer, grabbed a teddy from the side of the bed, and handed it to the little one. JJ nodded and sighed, taking the teddy. She closed her eyes and slid her thumb into her mouth. “Good girl, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything just shout, okay, bug?” JJ nodded, already half asleep. 

Emily headed down the stairs and looked at the state of the kitchen. She quickly got to work on throwing out rubbish, filling up the sink to wash the pots, and organising JJ’s clothes to put through the washer. She could tell from the old dishes that she hadn’t eaten in at least a few days and that worried her more. It was clear JJ was struggling to take care of herself in every capacity. She knew she needed to help. 

An hour and a half later, everything was tidy and in tip-top shape. Just as she went to wake up her girl, who was hopefully still regressed and in a good mood, she heard the bedroom door open and saw JJ begin down the stairs - in her adult clothes. “Emily?” she called out, wondering if she was still in her house. “Hey, JJ,” Emily replied when she got to the bottom. JJ paused and looked around the room, Emily had tidied up her things - for her. A wave of guilt washed over her. Emily noticed the change of expression and reached out a hand to support her. “Hey, it’s okay.” “You didn’t need to do this,” JJ said. She walked into the kitchen and found that also polished to perfection. “I wanted to, JJ. To help you. Can we talk?” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “There is. JJ, honey, you need help.” “I don’t. I’m a perfectly capable adult,” JJ huffed, almost like she was trying to convince herself of the fact too. “JJ, your house was a mess. When was the last time you ate? Or showered? I’m not trying to condescend you or invalidate you whatsoever. I just see a friend who's struggling, and I’d like to help.” Emily put her hand on JJ’s shoulder, stopping her from walking away again. JJ sighed. She turned to face Emily. “I don’t want to bother you, upset you or be a nuisance.” “You’re none of them things, honey. Never, ever, not to me. I want to help you, I’m offering.” “But what if I’m too much?” “Then we can discuss it. But for now, let me in, let me help little Jay and you.” JJ stayed silent, thinking it over, before sighing and letting her shoulders drop. “Okay. Okay but, Emily, you have to tell me if I’m too much, or not enough - or if I’m not good enough for you.” “JJ, I will. But you need to let me in completely. You’re always good enough for me, always. Come here,” she said. She opened her arms for her friend, and JJ moved into them, accepting the comforting embrace. “I’ve got you,” Emily muttered as JJ let out another sigh. “It’s going to be okay, bug.” 

[ryuzakemo128]

We're All Gonna Die - Part 2

Pairing: Poly 141 x Boomer

Content Warnings: Boomer is the female reader, third-person perspective, philosophical questioning, self-esteem issues (Female Reader), mention of deceased father.

Note: I have been thinking a lot about stuff and things. If you want to comment your own thoughts on any posed philosophical questions, please feel free to do so.

Masterlist - Part One

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Boomer does some more deep critical thinking about what it means to be a woman.

“I don't know what to tell you other than I don't know what to think. Part of me thinks is this all it is? To put into an amount of effort into making yourself seem likeable to someone who wouldn't give you the time of day if you appeared to be someone they don't like to see?” Boomer questioned with a furrowed brow, pacing back and forth in front of the couch.

“If they don't see me as a woman. Then what does that mean for the rest of me exactly? Does it mean that I'm not enough for them? Why do I need to change in order for someone else to like me? Why do I need to alter myself in order to gain a career?”

“When a woman has a deeper toned voice like myself, people automatically assume I'm either trans without any prior knowledge or see it as some form of excuse to say I'm not a 'real woman'. I don't know what to think half the time because it feels like I'm talking to a brick wall half the time.”

“How long have you been thinkin about this?” John raised an eyebrow at the giant pacing around the coffee table like it suddenly became a tightrope over a pool of lava. Boomer's frustration was palpable, and John knew she had a right to feel that way. They'd all faced their fair share of prejudice in the military, but she had the extra hurdle of being a giantess with a deep voice that didn't match the typical damsel in distress.

“Well, my voice particularly? Since I turned sixteen. Just shy of a year off when I enlisted in the ADF at seventeen. So at least eighteen years. Almost nineteen years. Before you ask. The jokes about me a subpar and barely worth taking interest in.” Boomer paused to pick up her cat, Whiskers. Who came in from a long nap.

“And I don't exactly talk about it because why would I? I don't want to seem like I'm 'whinin' or 'complainin'. And I don't want to exactly want people to speak about it behind my back, either. Like, if you have an issue with how I am, why can't you just tell it to my face? Why are you bein a coward? Do you understand what I mean?”

Boomer stared directly at him. Wondering if she had taken a step too far this time.

John nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “I get it, Boomer. And it's bullshit.” He spoke with a firmness that made it clear he wasn't just saying it to placate her. “You're more than enough. You're a kick-ass soldier with brains to match. You've got a heart of gold, and you're loyal to a fault. And as for the voice, it's part of what makes you unique. Fuck 'em if they can't handle it.”

The conversation wasn't brought up again. Which, for someone like Boomer? It felt more of a relief rather than a hindrance. Though, when John heard a comment about Boomer's voice being unattractive? The gloves were off.

Was this one of the many reasons why she has never been on a date before?

What does it imply?

What notion does it implicate?

For all her eccentricities, she's still a person of her own making, and to imply she is less than other females around her? It seems like the bias is leaking into her work life. Othering her in some form of justification to keep her from dating completely? Is her genetics any less worthy than their own?

What does it mean to be a woman when the people around her seem to perpetuate a biased notion of what a woman should be?

Simon decided to plan a date with Boomer. He had taken it on himself to take Boomer out on a date.

If no one else wanted her? Then tough shit.

He's claiming his prize no matter what someone thinks of how she appears to be on the outside.

He hatched a plan with the rest of Task Force 141.

A plan began to take shape. To take form.

As Boomer boiled eggs as what she loved to call a 'light snack'. Which was more like a meal. Her appetite remained incredibly large because of the combination of her training needs and her high metabolism.

Now she stands inside the kitchen. Completely unaware of the plan forming under her nose.

[camgoloud]

award for most devil’s sacrament moment of the year goes without a doubt to this morning when my coworker (delivering presentation) (screen projected onto wall in front of me and god and everyone) opened a new tab in google chrome and in the number one spot among the collection of icons for frequently visited websites was. the ao3 logo

[heycoyotegirl]

love how the message of season 4 was that you have to have extremely good grades and have gone to parties to be able to successfully adjust to university

[idontdrinkgatorade]

what if i wrote my college application essay about the trauma of my mom treating my romanian heritage as if it's freakish

[specialshinytrinkets]

[ID:

You do [caps] not [end caps] need to kill off a character for 'emotional impact', or 'realism'. Especially if you've given readers / watchers time to bond with said character. Come on.

/endID]

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things