#like the amount of violence on women....god.

[hauntedheroine]

watching heirs to the land on netflix and they should have just called it everybody is miserable! - the show

[anika-ann]

The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8k

Summary: 

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.  

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.  

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons.  With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including  slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head.  “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down? 

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

[rainy-day-gracie]

wedding night (1)

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

[stuhde]

i had shared what is happening in sudan on a long facebook post last night, but it virtually received almost little to no engagement or shares from the nearly 600 “friends” i have on the site.

this morning, my great-aunt was shot by the soldiers fighting for power, and God forbid, i lose more of my family members before eid this friday.

please read below to understand what is happening and how you can help my country. i hope the tumblr community can show more kindness than the lack of support and advocacy i’ve seen elsewhere.

يا رب اجعل هذا البلد آمناً 🇸🇩

the lack of awareness and advocacy from the African, Arab, and Muslim diaspora and the human rights community has been painful.

while Western media has done little to no coverage of the ongoing conflict in the capital city of my motherland, Sudan, it appears that the rest of the world also partakes in normalizing crimes and violence against SWANA people.

violence and war hurting the SWANA region are NOT ordinary occurrences — no one, regardless of race, creed, ethnicity, religion, and gender, should experience the unprecedented amount of violence that harms my two living grandmothers, aunts and uncles, and baby cousins who live in Khartoum.

your decision to ignore reading or educating and discussing with others about what is likely to be a civil war is complicity in viewing SWANA people as individuals who regularly experience conflict and are undeserving of help.

the silence is damaging, and it is up to us as privileged members of the diaspora (or individuals living in the Western world committed to human rights) to support the people of my country and their dream for a stable, democratically elected government.

what is happening in Sudan is a fight that started on April 15 between two competing forces for power — the Sudanese Army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) — neither groups are representative of the needs of our people. The Sudan Army is loyal to the dictator, Omar Al-Bashir, and the RSF is responsible for the genocide in Darfur.

with both power struggles backed by different Arab and Gulf nations, the two parties have been fighting for power for the last few years. While they worked together to try and end the people’s revolution, they lost. however, they are now in a constant power play of who will get to rule the nation.

this all means that war is NOT a reflection of my country — violence does not represent the SWANA people. Sudan is a nation of beautiful culture, strong women, intellectual and influential Islamic scholars, poets, and youth at the front lines of the revolution. we are a people committed to a region of peace for ourselves and the rest of the Ummah.

my family and the rest of Sudan’s innocent civilians are at the most risk, with many currently without drinking water, food to eat, electricity, and complete blockage to any mosques during the final nights of Ramadan, our holiest month of the year.

i ask that you please keep Sudan and our people in your prayers — donate to the Sudan Red Crescent or a mutual aid GoFund Me, email your representatives if you live in a country that can put pressure on either competing force of power, discuss this with your family and friends, and please do not forget to think about SWANA people — our brothers and sisters in Syria, Yemen, Lebanon, and many others need our love and support.

الردة_مستحيلة ✊🏾

#KeepEyesOnSudan

[yelenasdiary]

WandaNat yelling at each other over their last mission and reader having a ptsd episode (sudden loud noises, combat or abusive ex?)? Maybe reader goes black out for a few hours and wakes up in the forest outside the compound and WandaNat are trying to find her? Super angst to fluff? If thats okay 🤧

Notice Me

Pairing: WandaNat x Fem! Reader

Summary: When your girlfriends get into a heated argument, it triggers an episode for you, leaving the women to find you alone in the woods by the compound. 

Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of an Abusive Ex, Hints of Domestic Violence, | 1.3K

Translations: Detka (baby),

AC: Thank you for sending this, I hope I did okay! Please don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable with the mentioned topics. Enjoy! x

The back-and-forth yelling coming from the hall only seemed to get louder as your girlfriends, Wanda, and Natasha, had just returned from a mission. You were reading a book, completely relaxed, and enjoying the quietness to read when you heard the familiar voices. Wanda opened the door to the shared bedroom, Natasha following close behind her. You looked up from your book and smiled softly at the women, but they didn't seem to have even noticed you laying on the bed in one of Nat's sweaters. 

"What should I have done huh?" Wanda snapped, throwing her coat over the office chair by the desk. 

"Oh, I don't know, maybe wait for your team?!" Natasha argued, "Wands, you have powers that others don't have but that doesn't mean you get to put yourself in a life-or-death situation!" The red head added. Wanda rolled her eyes, "do you really want to talk about life-or-death situations? Because you seem to throw yourself into the line of fire at the first chance you get!" Wanda rose her voice. 

"I'm trained to do so!" Natasha argued back, tossing her bag to the floor. The loud thud of her bag hitting the floor made you jump; she didn't care for her weapons that were inside. 

"Guys" you tried to interrupt before things escalated but it was too late. Wanda's eyes flashed with red chaos before she used her magic to slam the door closed, another loud thud that only drew you closer to an episode. "Guys, please!" You begged over their yelling voices but still, it was like you weren't even there.

The arguing continued until eventually, you couldn't take it anymore. Their tones got stronger, the slamming of things down got louder until everything went black as you left the room. 

----

"Wands, have you seen Y/n?" Nat asked when Wanda came out of the bathroom in her comfortable clothing and her hair wrapped in a towel. Wanda shook her head, "I haven't seen her, not even when we got back but then again th-"

"Please don't start now" Natasha sighed, "Nobody has seen Y/n since lunch when she said she was going to come here and wait for us" she added, her tone of voice full of worry. Wanda looked to the bed and saw your opened book on the bed and your empty plate from lunch on the bedside table. She used her magic to take her back to the argument she had hours before with Natasha, "oh god" she spoke under her breath. 

"What?" Natasha asked, "what is it?" 

"We're selfish idiots, that's what! Get your coat, we have to find her" she replied.

Natasha grabbed her coat and met Wanda downstairs. Wanda could see the amount of worry and concern on Natasha's face, she took a moment to give her partner some comfort. "Nat, we'll find her and it'll be okay" she assures the widow but all this is a little too close to home for Nat. 

"I can't lose her" Natasha broke.

"I know darling, we'll find her" Wanda wiped the rolling tear that Natasha had let go.

Wanda asked some of the others to join the search to find you, you didn't take your phone and Natasha noticed you left without your shoes on. Wanda tried her best to use her magic to find you, but something was blocking your mind from allowing her to do so. 

Everybody broke up into small groups of two. Tony and Bruce started by car, driving around the surrounding neighborhood and closest stores. Steve and Thor searched the compound and surrounding areas while Natasha and Wanda searched the woods close by. It was only getting darker by the minute; the cold air began to get cold which only made every bodies worry and concern for your well-being even stronger. 

"Wands! Over here" Natasha called out when she noticed footprints in the softened dirt. Wanda rushed to Nat's side, "this way, come on" Nat added. The two called out your name over and over as they walked deeper and deeper into the darkness of the woods. 

"Nat, maybe we call Steve and get him to fly the jet over" Wanda suggested but Natasha shook her head, "the loudness will only make things worse" she reminded Wanda. 

As the two tried their best to keep track of your footprints in the dirty, they heard the loud crunches of leaves up ahead. Natasha signaled to Wanda to pause their movements in-case it was a wild animal but instead, it was you. Stumbling out of the trees only for Natasha to catch you in her arms as you fell. 

"Y/n! are you okay?" Natasha asked, brushing your hair from your face. Wanda rushed quickly to your side as Nat handed you to her before taking off her coat and instantly covering you in it to warm you up. "E-everything….it….y-ou" you stuttered, "shh, it's okay darling. You're safe now" Wanda pulled you closer to her, placing a kiss on the top of your head as your sobs became clear. 

Wanda used her powers to levitate you back to the compound, not wanting to keep you out in the cold any longer. When Natasha got to your shared room, the two of them forgot about their argument and ran you a warm bath, they bathed you and helped you into your favorite pjs because making sure you were comfortable in bed. 

"Detka, what happened?" Natasha asked in a soft tone. You looked over at her, your eyes filled with tears and mind filled with worry that you might have angered your girlfriends. "It's okay love, you talk to us" Wanda chipped in. 

You took a moment to gather your feelings before you spoke, "You guys didn't even notice I was in here, you both came in yelling and slamming doors and when I tried to get between it, you both just didn't seem to notice me. I hid under the covers to try and drown out the yelling but some of the things you both said to one another just triggered me…" you explained with a pause, "everything just went back after Wanda said 'you know better' in that tone you had" you added, looking over at Wanda. 

Natasha took you into her arms, "I'm so sorry detka, we promise never to let this happen again" she spoke, her hand rubbing up and down on your back. Wanda couldn't shake the terror in your eyes when she held you in the woods, she was quickly reminded of the fear you once had with your ex whom the women saved you from, she never, ever wanted to make you feel like that again. 

"How about I fix us some hot coco and we watch whatever movie you like?" Wanda suggested, wanting to light the mood and help you forget about this afternoon. You looked up at Wanda and nodded, "can I please have double whipped cream?" You asked. Both of your girlfriends chuckled at your request, "is that even a question?" Wanda smiled before leaning over and pecking a soft kiss on your cheek, "anything you want darling" she whispered. 

When Wanda came back with the three mugs of hot coco, the three of you curled up in bed and watched your favorite movie of all time. You were in the middle, Natasha to your left and Wanda to your right, both of them resting their heads on your shoulder. It wasn't long until you started to feel okay once again and the fear from their argument faded away as you drifted off to sleep before the end credits rolled on the screen. Wanda tucked you in and placed a kiss on your forehead before Natasha did the same. 

"Date night tomorrow? I think we could with some time away from work" Wanda whispered, "I couldn't agree more!" Natasha smiled before the two shared a kiss.

Taglist: @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @karmasgxrl | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @mostlymarvelsstuff | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | @itsalwaysskorpioszn | @angel68104 | @natashamaximoff-69 | @evilcr0ne | @caporal-nino | @boredandneedfanfics | @teganmiller | @ihavezeroclue13 | @tobiaslut | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

[paperultra]

service with a smile!

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 1,726 words Warnings: Swearing, violence, verbally/physically abusive customer, reader has a brief panic attack

eccedentesiast (noun): someone who fakes a smile

It’s six-thirty in the evening at the Baratie. The customers are ravenous, the kitchen is in the weeds, and you’re wearing a snake-like trail into the floor of the restaurant delivering drinks and dishes when the sound of snapping fingers pricks your ears.

“Waiter!”

Twisting your neck around, you spot the man at table four waving you over.

You quickly make your way to him with a bright smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

The man gestures to the plate in front of him, disgust clear on his face. “I said I wanted my steak medium-well.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” you reply. Leaning over slightly to check, your eyebrows knit together as you stare at the slice of meat pushed to the edge of the plate. “… It seems to be medium-well, though?”

“No,” he snaps. Light glints sharply off the many rings on his fingers as he pointedly prods at the center of the slice with his knife. “It still has some pink in it, see? I can’t eat this.”

“Well, sir,” you mentally roll your eyes up to the ceiling, though your gaze remains attentive and apologetic, “Here in our restaurant, medium-well steak will still have a little bit of pink. We could bring it back to the kitchen and have it cooked until it’s well done, if you’d like. It’d take no more than five minutes.”

“I don’t like well done steak. It’s too dry.”

Oh, god.

“I see. Well, we could still bring it back to the kitchen and see what the cooks can do.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Fucking hell.” Sneering, he drops his steak knife and pushes the plate towards you. “Fine. Go. I’m not paying if you guys fuck it up again.”

“We’ll do our best.” Fuck you.

Nodding deferentially, you scoop up the plate and head off to the kitchen, smiling all the while.

“Carne!” you announce after you kick open the door, setting the steak on the pass and leaning over to catch the attention of the rotisseur. “Customer at table four says your steak is shit.”

“What?!”

“He wants it medium-well with no pink at all.” Carne swears and stomps over to fetch the steak. A slight movement in the corner catches your eye, and you look over at Sanji, who’s already looking at you as he pulls his suit jacket on. “Hey, chef.” A genuine grin stretches your face. “The old man kick you off the line again?”

“He slated my mixed paella,” Sanji replies, no small amount of irritation in his voice. It melts away quickly as he smirks and sends a wink your way. “But I’ll be seeing more of you out there, so maybe I should count my blessings.”

“There’s certainly one at table four right now.” Balancing three plates for table seven on one arm, you grab the fourth with your free hand.

Sanji hurries to hold the door open for you, frowning through the thank-you that flies from your mouth. “What else did they say?” he asks seriously. “Do they need to be kicked out?”

Despite the rush, your heart finds the time to skip a beat.

“Nah, not yet,” you assure. “Now hurry up!”

“[Y/n] –”

“Bye!”

As you pass him, your head held high, you hear Sanji sigh and chuckle in resignation.

You deliver the plates and check back with guests who have already gotten their food before returning to the kitchen. Table four’s well done medium-well steak with no pink is on the pass already when you go in, freshly garnished and by all appearances even more gorgeous than before.

Raising your eyebrows, you whistle. “Thanks, Carne! Love you!” you shout over the din of cooks before grabbing the plate.

“Kiss my ass!”

You laugh. One of the other waiters wishes you luck and pats your back as you exit.

You waste only a brief moment just outside the kitchen to take a deep breath and scan the restaurant. Sanji is at the far end, refilling waters and likely charming the eyelashes off a table of giggling young women. You’d kill to be on either side right now.

Closing your eyes, you recite the Baratie’s fourth employee guideline and then smile, stepping out into the dining area and walking over to table four.

The customer is God.

“Here you go, sir,” you say, placing the plate before him. “I’m sor –”

“This looks like shit.” The man hardly glances at the steak Carne had so painstakingly reprepared, choosing instead to glare at you. “I waited five whole minutes for this?”

The customer. Is. God.

Your teeth hurt. “Our rotisseur put in his best work to fix the mistake.”

“Well, he should be fired on the spot.”

“If you would just try it –”

The man suddenly slams his fist on the table and stands up, his face red, grabbing the attention of the surrounding guests as he throws the plate onto the ground.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WAITER!”

His hairy, meaty hand seizes the collar of your uniform.

Your perfect smile slips off your face.

“Get your hand off of me.”

The man doesn’t listen. He raises his other fist and swings it at your mouth instead.

You pull him down and knee him in the face before he even realizes that you’ve dodged.

Crunch. Warm blood splatters over your carefully ironed slacks.

“Augh!”

The man’s hands fly up to his nose. You shove him face-down to the ground and press your knee into his back, yanking his head up by his hair.

“I asked you to taste your fucking steak,” you breathe, tightening your grip. “I didn’t ask you to FUCKING TOUCH ME. OKAY?”

His groan bubbles quietly through bloodied teeth.

Your ears ring. You’re cold and your head is numb and your heart is racing, and you’re breathing, but it feels like you’re not getting enough air. You don’t move a muscle.

Above you, muffled and buried underwater, someone calls out your name.

A hand rubs your back gently. Your name is murmured again, and you finally blink, slowly twisting around to look up at Sanji.

“I think he got the message, sweetheart. Come on. The old man’ll take care of the rest.”

He places his hand over yours, coaxing you to let go of the man’s hair. It hurts, but you do it, and Sanji helps you stand afterwards.

“Come on,” he whispers. “We’ll wash dishes together until you feel better.”

“You’re supposed to be waiting tables,” you mumble. Your mouth is dry.

“You know I hate doing that anyway.”

He tucks you underneath his arm. You push your face into the front of his suit and smell the traces of his last smoke break as he guides you to the kitchen.

Washing dishes is a ritual you’ve had since you were a kid. While Sanji’s punishments had been anything that prevented him from cooking or flirting, yours were limited to washing dishes. You loathed the chore, and Zeff took note and made sure to stick you at the sinks whenever you got into trouble. You’d curse and splash and generally be a pain in the ass to the rest of the kitchen, but you scrubbed the dishes pretty damn well, and within an hour or two your anger would fizzle out and you’d be back to your usual self.

Over time, the chore became something that grounded you whenever you weren’t feeling too hot. It kept your hands busy, and sometimes Sanji would join you to chat and complain until Zeff decided that the two of you were just a little too happy in his kitchen and kicked one or both of you out.

“Washing or drying?” Sanji asks. He had tossed his jacket somewhere while you were thinking and is now holding out an apron for you to take.

“Washing.” You slip the apron on and roll up your sleeves.

Nobody bothers you or Sanji as you start working. You use a generous amount of soap, let the water heat up until it almost scalds your skin, and scrub each plate and bowl and utensil and glass until they’re better than new. Then you hand it off to Sanji, who carefully dries each item and puts them aside.

Eventually, you find your voice again.

“Sorry you had to come over and get me. I thought I could handle it.”

“No, I should’ve been there before it got too bad. I’m sorry.” Sanji meets your eyes, and his gaze softens into something sad. “What happened?”

Your shrug is so small you almost don’t feel it. “I was fine when he was yelling at me. But when he grabbed me by the collar, I just – I dunno. It surprised me real bad.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just wrinkled my shirt.” You bend your knee, feeling the stiffness of dried blood on your slacks, and pout. “And stained my pants.”

“He didn’t even land a hit, at the very least,” Sanji says. A corner of his mouth tilts up. “I’ve got to say, I’m quite impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I impressed Black Leg Sanji by kneeing a customer in the face?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you fight a customer. You usually calm them right down.”

“Well, this one was a real shitbag. I’m surprised I haven’t had to do it sooner, to be honest.”

He shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be something you should ever have to do,” he tells you. “Not while I’m here. If I ever see that bastard again, I swear I’ll kill him.”

“My hero,” you say with a smile, kicking up one foot.

Sanji winks at you and, with towel and dish in hand, leans over slightly to kiss the side of your head. It’s an innocent and playful thing he’s started doing as of late, and it certainly has no underlying meaning whatsoever, so you make a show of scrunching up your face like you always do. You swear that your face only feels hot because of the steam.

“Until my dying breath,” he says softly.

Oh. It’s not so funny anymore.

You flick bubbles at him and resume washing the dishes. Sanji grins and resumes drying, and if you scoot closer until you feel his arm brush yours with every movement, well – that’s nobody’s business but yours.

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[hadesoftheladies]

if you look at statistics on general human suffering or tragedy, like cancer, car accidents or poverty, you'll find that the difference in impact between men and women is minimal. but when it comes to sexual violence? OH. MY. GOD. the depravity of males is astronomical.

fifteen million girls were raped in 2017. 15 MILLION. for context, the amount of people that died in a car accident last year was 1.5 million and an average of 10 million people die of cancer worldwide. those girls were brutalized by their "husbands", boyfriends and partners. that's who did that to them.

according to this other source from 2020, 150 million girls are raped every year. 150 MILLION. in 2017, an estimated 50,000 women and girls were subject to gender-related homicide. Those numbers have grown a lot since then.

if you think these are mainly problems for lower-income countries, RAINN puts the rate for sexual assault at 1/9 for girls. 82% of all victims under 18 were female and 94% of the perpetrators were known to them; 88% were male. This was data from just 1 financial year (FY16) in the US.

there's not a lot of research being done on child-on-child SA, but according to this study, half of the sexual abuse girls under age 18 suffered were perpetrated by minors.

so forgive me if i get a little ticked off when adults and entertainment keep advertising relationships with boys and men not only as inevitable but as good, rewarding and safe.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Need me a Thomas Shelby with “you fell asleep in my arms. it was kind of adorable.” thank you and cg for 100 followers!!

Thank you so much for this request my love! I'm so sorry it's so long coming. Again, I'm studying for the bar and it is crazy with the holidays! Also, I hope you like this! Tommy is not my typical bread and butter but I wanted to give people the option! Sending all my love to you angel! - Mo

100 Follower Celebration: No Man Works Alone

Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader, fluff

When you got connected to the middle Shelby boy, you were warned that life would never be the same. You assumed as much, knowing that their business went much farther than horse racing. You were up to the task. You had been in the Shelby orbit for years, you saw what it all took, and when Tommy made his intentions known to you, you were willing to step up and do your part in expanding the empire.

Polly joked that you were made for this life with the way that you so seamlessly came in. While the Shelby company were encroaching into higher society and government facades, they needed a pretty face to butter up old money hands. When the boys were running liquor and snow and violence, you ran sweet words and high teas with women whose husbands had deep and ancient pockets. Even before Thomas met with potential partners, they were already inclined to agree since you were just so kind and elegant looking. Surely a woman like you would never be with someone not reputable right?

But it wasn’t just the business you managed to soothe and nurture. You also added a salve to the Shelby familial wounds. Some wounds required more care than others. Some would never heal completely, but petty arguments could be solved and begin the groundwork for a more harmonious union. You had stepped in more than once to facilitate peace agreements between the Shelby siblings more than once, “Do it for the children yeah? They deserve to be able to see their cousins and aunts and uncles freely. Shelby’s need each other. And it’s Christmas for God’s sake!”

And no good deed goes unpunished it seems. Due to your expert people skills and kind face, you were put in charge of a Christmas gala for all the biggest names in the city. A dual purpose to flaunt the power of the Shelby family, and to raise funds for a women’s shelter to be built. In the same week you were planning to host Christmas dinner and Christmas morning in the home for the entire Shelby family. Everyone was coming and it was to be a beautiful affair. It’s would be wonderful save for the sheer amount of people to take care of. You had spent the day running around, only to continue into the evening, taking care of your and Tommy’s children; putting them to bed and giving them each some attention in the absence of their father.

By the time you had finished your tasks for the day, it was late, and Tommy still wasn’t finished with the ledgers and accounts. He looked exhausted, the puffiness of his eyes evident in from under his glasses. Sleeves rolled up and shirt open the quiet desire for sleep was coming off him in waves. You wrap your soft satin robe tighter around you as you gently sit next to Tommy. Without looking up from his work he says to you in a gravely voice, "You should be in bed, it's late love."

You shake your head, though you feel as though invisible fingers are dragging your eyelids down, "Mm not tired."

Tommy chuckles as he hears you attempt to stifle a yawn. He takes off his glasses to look at your faltering face. "You're not eh? You sure?"

You lean back on the comfortably expensive sofa Tommy had set up shop on, stretching out the ache in your back, "Perhaps a little. But I don't like not sleeping next to you. If you're up, I'm up. We're a team yeah?"

Tommy smiles, enamored by your insistence. It was one of the things that drew him to you the first time he saw you. Your quiet defiance. You intent to keep people together and not leave anyone behind. It was only a small fractal of how sweet and tender your heart was. Tommy leaned over to gently kiss your temple, "Alright then. If you insist Commander. I'll be done soon enough I promise."

With another poorly hidden yawn you say, "Take your time darling. I brought reading."

Just as Tommy predicted, within 15 minutes you were out like a light. Back when you all were children, it was a running joke that you would be running and playing as hard as you could one minute, and fall dead asleep on any surface the next minute. It never changed. As Tommy chuckled and picked the book off your face where it fell, he was reminded of you as a young girl. Though there were a few more marks and lines on your face now, you had the whispers of your youth still on your face. Your daughter with Tommy slept the same exact way. Mouth open slightly. Arms raised above your head. Utterly at peace. Tommy was tempted to wake you to tease you, but knew you would punish yourself for 'falling asleep on the job'. He opted to finish his paperwork instead, working diligently and quietly so as not to disturb you. Soon enough he was done and put everything away in his desk to pick up tomorrow. Pressing gentle kisses to your face, he whispers against you, "Darling, wake up. Let's go to bed eh? Get you more comfortable."

You jolted awake, nearly knocking Tommy over, "Oh God... what time is it? Are the kids ok?"

Tommy chuckled deeply, pulling you up by the arms, "No no darling. Kids are alright. You fell asleep next to me. It was a bit adorable really. You look exactly like Matilde in her crib. "

You throw yourself back down, "Oh God I fell asleep while you were working! That is not what I wanted to do! I wanted to keep you company!"

Tommy laid himself over you, pushing your arms away from your embarrassed face, "You did keep me company. Perfect company. You needed to sleep. You've been running around. Being the best mother and wife. Being the best coordinator. Being the best aunt and sister in law. Hard work my love. C'mon. Let's get to bed yeah?"

You let him kiss you and take you to bed. Sleep took you both sweetly and quickly. And in the morning you would start it all over again. Waking to your children jumping on top of you with joy, and another list of things to attend to. But as long as Tommy was next to you. It would all be worth it.

[bisexualiteaa]

Okay so this has been spinning in my head since I watched the series and it might come across as a but of a strange one 😅

BUT, please could you write one where the reader is pregnant(by someone else), meets Cooper along the way and they hit it off, they go through the pregnancy together, they then in the end they raise this little baby together. Sort of cute fluffy and a lil smutty too. Thank you! ☺️

A Slice of Paradise

Cooper Howard x Pregnant! Fem Reader (SMUT MDNI!!)

CW: slight OOC Cooper, slight deviation from the show, slight deviation from the game, pregnancy, pregnancy cravings, pregnancy hormones, blood, canon typical violence and gore, dirty jokes, cursing, talk of kinks, biting, 🩸 kink, p in v, unprotected seggs, p0rn with little plot, mention of knives, possible grammar/spelling errors, not proofread

AN: thank you anon for your request! My apologies that I’m getting to these asks so late, life has been rather eventful and I’m only just getting back into the swing of writing after forever long writers block. 🥲 I thank you for your patience and apologize that there isn’t a whole lot of fluff in this one but that it absolutely has ✨S P I C E.✨ Hope y’all enjoy my attempted return to writing for our dearest cowpoke, love you all! ♥️

Taglist: @expirednukacola

Trying to survive out in the wastelands while pregnant was not how you had imagined your life to be when you first found out that you were going to be having a baby. When you had first learned that you were pregnant, you were living comfortably within one of the vaults that dwelled beneath the irradiated surface. You had been matched with a fellow vault dweller who they deemed befitting in their mission to “help repopulate the surface” and in an effort to help your people, you agreed to the arrangement. The overseer, and all the other scientists and workers within the vault, claimed that there was no residence or anything living in general, up on the surface and that it would be up to you and your neighbors to fix that. Never in a million years did you think that vault life would go to such complete and utter shit that you would have to come to the surface in order to survive. Never in a million years did you also think that you would find anyone up here willing to stick by your side and not try to kill you in your sleep, and when you did, you had never expected your company to be that of a Wild West cowboy styled, bounty hunting ghoul. Needless to say, life up here was so vastly different than what they had spoken of in the vaults, that some days you swore it couldn’t be real, that it was all just one big fucked up dream that you’d wake up from any time now. But no, this was all very much real. If you made it out of this alive and long enough to see the world even somewhat recover, you were going to write a book on the long list of weird shit you’ve been through.

“I said, give me the damn supplies. NOW!” you spat angrily, pointing the barrel of your gun directly to a raider’s forehead as an extremely angry scowl came to rest across your face. “I suggest you do as the lady asks, kid. She ain’t someone you wanna mess with” Cooper spoke chillingly with a grin, knowing your pregnancy hormones were in full effect today, leaving you moody as all get out, and on days like this, you weren’t afraid to cause bodily harm, or worse, to get what you wanted or craved. Your baggy shirts hid your pregnant belly well, though you were only just now reaching somewhere around four months along, you still didn’t want strangers knowing you were pregnant. God only knows what people do out here to women with babies, and the last thing you needed was someone thinking it made you weak enough to take advantage of.

When the raider’s reaction wasn’t quick enough to your liking, you fired on him without a shred of remorse. Stepping past his limp, dead body to retrieve the box of supplies that you demanded for the bounty Cooper had completed, along with a healthy amount of caps, stimpacks and other supplies from off of his body. “It’s gon’ be one of those days, huh?” Cooper asked, taking the box from you because he might not be the kindest man, but he wasn’t about to make a pregnant lady lug a heavy box of supplies across the desert either. Granted, he knew it was probably wrong of him to insinuate what he had or to poke fun at you the way he was, the grimace and absolute apathy on your face as you shot the raider in cold blood gave him all he needed for his answer, but he knew all too well how to poke the bear, and enjoyed doing so far too much for your liking most days. “Yes. I’m fucking hungry, craving that stupid cram and he was pissing me off. Took too damn long to give us what we’re owed” you answered, your hand coming to your stomach as you complained. “We? That’s a bit of a strong word there, little lady. ‘Cause if I recall correctly, it was me who finished that bounty” he said, enjoying getting on your every last nerve on the worst days possible to do so. It was sadistic sure, but it reminded him of the days when his ex-wife was pregnant with their baby girl. In a twisted sort of way it reminded him of home. “You tryin’ to tell me you’re gonna leave a pregnant lady out in the desert all by her lonesome? Damn, I knew you were cold, didn’t think you were that cold” you joked back, making him laugh dryly. “Oh trust me honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet” he said, making you laugh. Thank god you were on his good side, you’d seen all the horrifying things he was capable of, or perhaps all the things he’s let you see that he was capable of. Regardless, you were glad he considered you a friend rather than foe.

Well, friend was a strong word once upon a time, but now? You two seemed to tread on a line somewhere between platonic and romantic, jumping back and forth between it like a tricky game of hopscotch. Though you could never be sure, like the rest of the ghoul, he was shrouded in much mystery. His heart and intentions were certainly no exception to that. “Woulda at least let the poor kid have a chance first, unlike you. So I guess you ain’t gettin’ that much farther behind me there, girly” he commented, making you chuckle at the remark and you supposed he had a point, you really didn’t give the raider enough time but your patience has been running thinner and thinner as of late. So you did as you always do, blame the pregnancy and what the hormones were doing to your brain, or make a snide joke at Cooper. “I’d blame the baby again for it, but maybe you’re just a bad influence” you quipped, making him chuckle dryly. “Honey, I am an awful influence” he replied, making you laugh as you both walked. “You aren’t so bad sometimes. But maybe it’s just ’cause you like me” you responded with a devious grin, making him shake his head playfully in denial. “Best watch it, my kindness’s got limits darlin’ and they get smaller and smaller everyday” he said, making you chuckle. “Likely story. I cook too good for you to kick me to the dusty curb” you teased, and it was true, you were too good at cooking but also too good looking to pass up. More personally, you were a reminder of the good ol’ days before all the wasteland bullshit started. A reminder of the family he once had. He craved oh so desperately to have that little slice of heaven back, and you scratched that itch in a near perfect way that he just couldn’t let you go. Whether he liked it or not, he knew he was growing attached, and as much as he didn’t like it, he knew there was no helping it either. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if you felt the same way he did, you both could have a little family together once your baby was born. A daydream he often thought of, but that was for another time. Right now, he needed to focus on keeping you safe as you both looked for a spot to shack up for the night.

As you made it somewhere safe, or as “safe” as safe gets out here for the night, you didn’t waste time making some food to keep you, the baby and Cooper fed after a long day’s travel. “That looks about as appetizing as a hog’s ass in swamp water” he spoke as he looked to your bowl filled with Blamco Mac n Cheese and cubed up Cram all mixed together in instant mash. “Don’t judge me, it isn’t me that’s wanting it so damn bad, it’s the baby” you replied, making him chuckle. Sounded exactly like what his ex-wife used to say when she had some outlandish craving when she was pregnant. “Besides, that’s coming from the one that eats people” you quipped as you horked down your entire bowl with lightning speed, making him tilt his head to the side. “Touché” he responded before turning your way when he caught you standing up out of the corner of his eye. He watched as you rolled your tense shoulders and attempted to massage your lower back to relieve the ache that began to culminate there but with the displeased look on your face, it appeared your efforts were fruitless. You hobbled over to sit by the fire, finding yourself walking rather funny from the ache in your feet and the tension throbbing in your tight calves. “You’re a walkin’ hot mess there, girlfriend” he teased, watching you squat to sit down next to him as you attempted to rub your back once more with a pained hiss. You gave a defeated, and equally pained, groan after chuckling at his quip. “Tell me about it. Had I known I’d have to manage up here, I’d have never gotten pregnant in the first place” you replied, rubbing your stomach after your hands once again could not provide you the relief from the tension your body craved to be freed from. “How far ‘long are ya now?” He asked, and you genuinely had to sit there and think about it for a moment. You figured with the way you were only really just starting to show more prominently that you were just about four months along, but you couldn’t honestly remember no matter how hard you tried. “What day is it?” You asked genuinely, making him laugh. “Shit, you don’t even know. That’ll be one hell of a surprise down the road when it pops out at the worst possible timin’” he joked, making you chuckle. “It’ll be a blessing, to finally stop carrying around the extra weight right on top of my bladder and allow some other things to shrink down a little bit maybe” you said, making him hum in amusement.

“I think it looks good on you. Plump is hard to come by these days and you sugar, got one nice lookin’ peach” he said shamelessly, making you laugh as he talked about your ass. “That why you like makin’ me walk in front of you all the time?” You asked with a grin, making him grin. “Can’t say it ain’t one of the reasons” he replied, making you laugh. “Careful, hormones are one hell of a thing to mess with when you’re talking to a pregnant lady. Suggest you don’t go starting something you can’t finish there, Coop” you threatened playfully, making him chuckle at your response. “Oh I can finish it, don’t you worry. It’s you that wouldn’t be able to keep up with me, sweetheart. ‘Specially not like that” he said, making you grin and give an intrigued hum at the challenge he was presenting you with. “Ain’t no love makin’ up here baby-doll, it’s straight up fuckin’. Sure we take our time with it, make ya feel good because it ain’t easy to come by, but it ain’t nothin’ like that soft vanilla shit you vaulties do” he said, making you grin as you leaned back on your hands and you saw the way his eyes almost immediately roamed your body. From your neck, down to your full tits that seemed to have gotten a little bigger since last time he looked at you real good, then to that cute little bump in your tummy, down to your hips and thighs that he just wanted to get a nice handful of. He wondered how soft you would feel in his rough hands, if you’d like the contrast. “Oh yeah? Think I don’t have kinks and shit like that just ‘cause I was in a vault? Can promise you some of us “vaulties” get our rocks off in similar ways to you wasteland folk” you responded, waiting to hear what his rebuttal would be. “Oh yeah? Like what?” He asked, watching you grin to yourself as you gave a soft chuckle. Normally you would never forgo this type of information about yourself, but it was a whole different world up here in the wastes, and this was a whole different you from that woman who came stumbling out that vault just some few months ago.

“Well, obviously one of those kinks is what got me pregnant in the first place” you started, making him chuckle because despite it not being anything crazy, it was still a little more interesting than some. “I like being choked, but I feel like everyone likes that one so that might as well still be vanilla” you said, making him laugh because you were right, that shit isn’t a kink up here, it’s standard practice. “So you think you like it rough, huh?” He asked as he pulled out his hunting knife, cleaning it while you both conversed oddly casually about kinks. His question made you blush a bit, it caught you off guard that he put two and two together so quickly. “I don’t think, I know I do” you answered truthfully, making him grin. “Hell, I bet you ain’t seen rough. I’d reckon you ain’t ever been manhandled by someone or used as a means of blowin’ off some steam” he said, looking at his reflection in the knife and watching the way you looked at him as he handled it. You might have thought he missed it, but he noticed the subtle way your thighs clenched together as he fiddled with it and talked about you being used and tossed around like a rag doll. “I have, just not…well, it wasn’t very good but they at least tried I guess?” You said, almost as if you were asking him and not telling him, making him laugh. “You askin’ me or tellin’ me? ‘Cause you sure as hell don’t sound so sure anymore” he replied, making you sigh. “Fuck it, who am I kidding? It was fucking awful. It wasn’t at all what I wanted it to be” you quickly admitted, making him hum in reply. “I will say…you’ve made me discover a few new ones since we started traveling together” you said almost nonchalantly, and that most certainly caught his attention. “Oh yeah? And what might those be?” He asked, genuinely curious of what he could have done to awaken something in you. “People in my vault were afraid to be rough, whether during sex or not but you aren’t and I like that a lot about you. I know you probably think I’m joking when I say I like “rough” or think I have no idea what rough entails but I do. I like being tied up, having knives involved, and getting manhandled and stuff like that” you said, making him chuckle at the very innocent seeming you, admitting to liking dangerous things. “That so, vaultie?” He asked, not wishing to admit just how much your bashful admission had gotten to him and instead was thankful for making you roll your eyes at the nickname to avoid catching sight of the issue beginning to grow in his pants at all the ideas now rummaging through his brain like a rampant wildfire. “That why you like starin’ at my knife each time I use it? And why you didn’t protest when I tied you up when we first met?” He asked, and you were almost mortified at his question, knowing now that he’d noticed all the times you’d sat there, infatuated by the way he used it. Embarrassed that he caught the look in your eyes the first time his fierce ones met your own as he bound your wrists together and walked around with you like a prisoner on a leash. “Yeah…didn’t think you caught me on it though. But enough about me and my kinks, how ‘bout you? What about sex with you is so different, huh?” You asked, trying your best to move the subject away from you but your question was like the cherry on top of his fucked up thoughts, making an evil grin stretch to his lips as you laid the perfect opportunity out for him to take.

“How ‘bout you come and find out for yourself, sugar?” He asked, taking you off guard by his advance, but you couldn’t deny the way it sent a surge of heat straight to your core at such a straight forward answer. The pregnancy hormones had been eating you alive lately, making you stare at him in ways you shouldn’t have, thinking about him in ways you knew you shouldn’t. Old you would have kicked yourself for thinking the way you had been and allowing yourself to seem so desperate, but you two were close enough at this point. It wasn’t as if you were stooping low enough to just fuck some random stranger. Well, scratch that, you sort of did that already because that’s how you wound up pregnant in the first place. Thanks Vault-Tec. Maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong, or seem so desperate of you after all. He chuckled at your look of shock at his reply, making you blush in embarrassment that you were nearly frozen, unsure of what to do or what to think when you normally always had something to sass him back with. “C’mon now, surely ya didn’t think this wouldn’t end up happenin’ did you? We been layin’ it on thick with each other f’ too damn long now to play that game” he said with such confidence, it almost pissed you off but you couldn’t be mad, not when the pregnancy hormones made you so incredibly horny for this man that you could hardly think of anything else. Your mind was swimming at all the ideas of what he could be capable of, what he had the potential to do. You were left truly wondering just how different, and possibly how much better of an experience it would be with him rather than the last time you’d had sex. You wondered if it would really be any different than what you and your fellow vault dwellers were accustomed to or if maybe he was talking up a big game to get you interested. Regardless of whether it was talk or not, it had the effect on you he was hoping it would, because now you were past the point of pretending you didn’t want to find out, you needed to know. You felt as your core began to ache, excitement beginning to collect in the pit of your stomach as your panties grew damp at all your dirty thoughts. “Honestly I…I-I didn’t know it passed your mind like it has been on mine” you admitted with a deeper blush, making him chuckle as he moved closer. “So ya do think of me? Well ain’t that cute” he replied. “Hard not to think about you like that when I’m watchin’ them nice big hips sway whenever you walk in front a me” he added, making you chuckle as your cheeks burned about as hot as the campfire. “I haven’t uhh…I haven’t *done anything* since I got pregnant so, I’m not really sure how to go about it but, if you’d be willing, I’d like to find out just how different it is to be with you” you said so sweetly, almost innocently and damn it if it didn’t make him feel some type of way. He chuckled to himself a little. “Looks like you’re in luck then. Even luckier that it’s with someone who’s got a little more experience in this field than the average hit ‘n quit” he said, and that’s what stopped you for a moment. Was that all that this was going to be for him? A one night thing to settle some curiosity, then go right back to the way things were? After all this time spent traveling together and getting close to him, you didn’t want that to be the case. It was in that moment you’d realized just how much you genuinely cared for the ghoul who was in your company.

“On one condition” you said, making him raise a non existent brow at you, curious to hear what you had to say. “It’s more than just a one time thing. I don’t…I don’t do flings. Call me a “deluded little vaultie” for it or whatever else you want, but I only want this if you want it to go somewhere, even if it ain’t anything more than a fuck buddy situation” you said, and truth be told he wasn’t completely sure on what he wanted. He knew it had been a long time since last he had a chance to do something like this with someone, and that he liked you but he also knew the thing going on between you had been going on for long enough, why not see where it goes? “Trust me sugar, if you’re still here travelin’ with me, ain’t none of it gonna be without somethin’ behind it. Had you asked me when we first met? I’d have told ya different, but against all better judgement ya managed to get me attached to ya. This is me tellin’ you to pay your consequence for bein’ such a damn tease all the time” he responded with a grin that relieved your every nerve, his hand coming to grab yours and moving it to the tent in his pants to prove his point, making you grin and chuckle. “Didn’t know I get you that worked up” you replied teasingly as you moved closer. “Imma let you in on a simple rule I like to live by, little lady; you cause it, you fix it” he said, and you grinned as you grabbed his hand, pulling it to slide beneath your shorts to rest outside your panties that were getting wetter and wetter with your excitement. “Looks like you got some responsibility to take too then, cowpoke” you said with a grin, and that’s when he knew this would lead to something good.

You smiled into your shared kiss, shocked to find the slightly chapped, thin irradiated lips to feel so nice against your own. It wasn’t sweet like the kisses you’d had before, it was carnal, passionate even. Driven by pure lust and god did it make you melt. Your hands came to rest on the back of his neck as you straddled his lap. Your knees were dug into the sand beneath his sleeping bag without a care in the world as his hands groped your ass and sensitive tits. You moaned as his lips and teeth soon worked at your weak spot on your neck, making you roll your hips against him as your eyes fluttered shut. You held onto him as you rocked your hips back and forth, earning a groan from the ghoul below you. “Fuck, Cooper…please” you whined, making him pull away from your neck to click his tongue at you. “You can beg all you want, but I ain’t skippin’ over the good parts just ‘cause you’re gettin’ antsy” he said with a grin up at you before popping open the buttons of your beat up flannel shirt and latching onto one of your breasts, sucking on the sensitive bud. You normally were self conscious of the fact that you’d foregone wearing a bra in favor of comfort, but in this moment you couldn’t be more thankful that it was one less article of clothing to worry about taking off. You moaned as his fingers toyed with the other side, pinching harshly as his teeth would occasionally nip at your perked bud or the soft skin around it, but being sure to give your tits equal love and attention. Rather shocked that you hadn’t yelped or drawn back at his rougher display to your overly sensitive nipples, he continued. “Fuck…” you whined, feeling as one of his hands dragged down to the waistband of your underwear, before working his hand beneath it to your clit. His fingers worked tight circles along your aching bud, leaving your head devoid of all thoughts as he brought you the pleasure your body had been craving for ages. You hated the way you felt so close to your impending release already, having been pent up since even before leaving the vaults, and now that you were pregnant, you were even more sensitive to it all. “Oh god, Cooper…” you panted out, your strained, pleading voice like music to his ruined ears as you moaned his name. “Doin’ good for me sweetheart” he praised, only adding fuel to the fire that was ready to consume you at any moment.

You moaned blissfully at the pleasurably painful stretch of him working his way inside of you finally. God how you ached for that feeling, to be stretched and filled in ways nothing else could give you other than him. “Damn you’re a tight little thing” he commented, already moving and setting a pace without giving you time to adjust. It was bliss, the painful draw out but the pleasurable thrust back in. You just couldn’t get enough. “Normally this is where I’d throw you around and fuck you absolutely stupid, but last thing I want is t’ hurt that baby” he said, making you wish you could know what it felt like to be used by him, to be thrown around and taken by him but you knew you couldn’t, not yet. “Maybe I’ll just give ‘em a sibling instead, how’s that sound, sweetheart?” he asked in your ear in a low rasp as the sound of skin slapping skin started to fill the air. A pleasant, tingling shudder ran down your spine at the prospect of it, clearly he hadn’t forgotten that first kink you’d told him about. He gave a grin, feeling the way your walls fluttered around his dick from his words, and seeing the effect it had on you left him nearly feral. Guess you weren’t lying when you said one of those kinks of yours was the reason you were pregnant. “Yeah? You’d like that wouldn’t you, sweet thing?” He asked, knowing the answer but he loved the way he had you absolutely cock drunk on him too much to not try and hear from you. “Yes! Fuck, I’d love that, please!” you said through your moans, making him chuckle. “I betchu would” he said all smug and proud. “Bet you get off on the idea ‘f fuckin’ someone who could rip you t’ shreds, dontchya sugar? Ya like it dangerous” he said, making you shake your head yes in reply. “Yes! Fuck- Cooper!” You moaned into the midnight air, your back arched from the ground as you moved your hips to meet his thrusts, desperately chasing your high. “Look good like this, sprawled out below me all helpless and vulnerable. I could just eat you alive” he said with a sadistic grin, his lips just below your ear, his breath ghosting your neck as he rocked his hips into you. “Bet you’d taste so fuckin’ good” he added, groaning through gritted teeth as he watched your engorged tits bounce with each harsh thrust, fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your soft, smooth skin. “Why don’t you- fuck! Have a taste and find out?” You replied, making him look up at you with a wild look in his eyes. It was untamed, feral even and by god if they weren’t the most magical words he’d ever heard. “Shit, don’t play with me” he said, looking at your neck and shoulder, practically drooling over the idea of how you would taste. “I ain’t playin’, bite me” you insisted, and with that, he surely wasn’t going to pass down such a beautiful opportunity.

His blunt teeth sunk into the flesh of your shoulder, making you hiss as a white, hot pain coursed through the muscle before simmering into something more pleasurable. “Shit! Cooper- fuck me, that feels good” You moaned as he almost seemed to use his teeth to attach himself to you as he rutted into you with reckless abandon, leaving you writhing beneath him in pleasure. His eyes rolled back as a moan left him from the taste of your blood flooding his tongue, you were even more delicious than he originally anticipated. Crimson coated his lips and teeth, a small stream even leaking from the corner of his mouth and down the column of his neck as he detached himself from you. He’d gotten his taste, given you an experience you certainly wouldn’t forget, but the sight below him was certainly one he would forever commit to memory. The imprint of his teeth marks that marred your otherwise perfect skin, deep purple beginning to blossom around it as blood faintly trickled down your chest from the fresh wound. If you weren’t delicious before, you were absolutely delectable now. He ran his tongue along the trail of blood, the hot, wet muscle leaving a trail of saliva in its wake as he traveled back up to the source before laving his tongue across the punctures in your skin that he left. “Freaky little thing” he said, grinning at the way you had enjoyed feeling him sink his teeth into you and allowing him to taste you in such a manner. “Told ya” you quipped before being cut off by your own moan as he found that sweet spot deep inside of you, brushing past it with almost perfect precision. “Right there! Fuck, just like that. So close…” you whined, making him chuckle. “Go ‘head sweetheart, let go for me” he permitted, and with that, the coil in your core snapped, sending you toppling over the edge into an orgasm so earth shattering you swore you were no longer on this earth in that moment. Cooper was quick to withdraw from you, wanting nothing more than to feel the sweet way your gummy walls would hug him as he came inside of you, but he couldn’t bare the thought of putting that precious baby of yours at any more risk. For now he would have to settle on finishing on you rather than in you, but the sight of you covered in his cum was surely another marvelous one to behold in his eyes. From the way your eyes sat lazily half lidded, to the way his seed looked upon your chest and stomach, he had to admit, it certainly wasn’t a sight to complain about.

You both took a moment to bask in the afterglow of your orgasms, coming down from cloud nine to do your best at steadying your breathing. The gentleman he was, he helped in cleaning you up, offering you some Rad Away to take when you were finally able to pick yourself up from his sleeping bag. “Sate your curiosity?” He asked with a grin as he slipped his pants back on and his duster, lighting up a cigarette to enjoy as he sat next to you. You gave a laugh as you redressed. “Sated my curiosity for tonight, but never know what these hormones have in store for me tomorrow” you replied, making him laugh dryly. “Suppose I can’t argue with that logic” he said, making you giggle as you took the Rad Away and got ready to sleep, thankful for the warmth his body provided in the frigid temperature of the desert night air. You weren’t sure what tomorrow would bring for you two, but at least you knew it was something you both could grow to explore. Maybe that slice of heaven wasn’t such a distant memory after all.

[weirwoodsugar]

lil jon things i am obsessed with/think are hilarious in the order they occurred to me at 3 am

-spends the first book telling anyone who will listen that he’s Not Afraid To Die and then a wight shoves its whole hand down his throat and he’s like wow that was actually extremely scary and never says that shit again

-always got little Things he says to himself but they’re all awful. very bad affirmation game no wonder morale is low

-“did lord eddard father you on a fish wife”

-the doubts that plague me can’t catch me if i just keep making Decisions!!! let’s hear it for Decisions!!!!

-arguably contender for top woman respecter but batting absolute zero at successfully comforting crying women. unless you consider “making her mad at you instead of upset” a success

-i’m not a wolf! i’m not a wolf!! i’m not a wolf!!! while warging like almost constantly with zero control. babe i don’t think your affirmations are working you’re experiencing non consensual smells at an alarming rate

-i wish mormont was my dad wait no i wish benjen was my dad wait no i wish qhorin was my dad wait no i wish donal noye was my dad. will someone be my dad please i just keep making decisions

-constantly having Agonies over ethical decision making while the rest of the continent hasn’t even really invented the concept of ethics yet? on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to his constant Agonies

-related: love is the death of duty but having strong ethical convictions/clear moral vision is also kind of the death of duty oops! aemon didn’t warn you about that one!

-stannis wants to davosify this kid mega bad

-“jon felt like he was fifteen again” (said when he’s literally sixteen)

-has a terrible violence in his heart but it’s kind of the least of his problems tbh. like yeah my fire and blood levels are a little elevated but i’ve got paperwork i need to take care of

-RUNNING DOWN THE TABLE AT YOU WITH A KNIFE!!!!!

-last of the giants fixation. god he’s gonna be so mad when he comes back and wun wun is dead. this one isn’t hilarious it’s deeply moving and endearing

-an eagle almost rips his eye out and he’s like well i guess i have no choice but to have sex with ygritte at least one dozen times. it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it

-just a crazy amount of anime main character pre-loaded swag (bastard of winterfell skin changer with an albino direwolf and a cool sword which he can really SWANG and cool facial scars etc etc) and is actively working against it. rolled super high on charisma and is trying to balance it out by being as much of a boring fuddy duddy as he possibly can. the devil works hard (at making me cool) but i work harder (at being very uncool). it is an honorable thing to be swagless by choice…….

-pretty sure he actively enjoys saying no to people. just for love of the game (the game is being disagreeable). very capricorn coded. likely brushes his teeth in the shower.

-REMEMBER WE KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP 😈

[makeyoumine69]

Last Memory (Memory Reboot x5)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Some time after Patrick and Evelyn got married, Bateman thought he could live a normal life and finally forget about you, but he didn't realize that he was already starting to lose his grip on reality, slowly but surely.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, Patrick's POV, angst, lots of sex, canon violence, blood, near-death experiences, dark themes, obsession, strong hallucinations, blowjobs, pussy eating, rough vaginal and anal sex, cum eating, tainted love vibes, drug use, depressing thoughts and intentions, blackout and fainting, rough choking, spanking, masturbation, cheating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, degradation kink, self-harm and panic attacks implied, unstable Patrick is a warning himself, I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long af, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 15k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Narvent—Last Memory; Timecop1983—Back to You

ᴀ/ɴ: Hello dear readers, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I just wanted to make this chapter as good as possible! After several rewrites, I think I am finally happy with the result. I'm very sad that Memory Reboot will end in the next update, but I hope you enjoy this angsty story! Also, there are some easter eggs in this chapter, so be on the lookout! And please be aware that there is a lot of trigger material in this chapter, so be careful! Thank you so much for sticking with me, you are all incredible!

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]

An annoying, sonorous alarm sound woke me up and I had to hit it with my fist, almost breaking it, to make it fucking stop. Yawning, I sat on the bed and realized that I was still in Evelyn's apartment; these cream-colored sheets made me want to cry from how much I hate them, but instead of ripping them off, I stretched my arms. The tension in my body, coursing from my shoulders down to my groin, was an eloquent sign that I needed release. With a loud groan, I stood up and briefly grabbed my dick through my white underwear, which seemed to have been hard all night since that bitch Evelyn, who was my wife by the way, refused to have sex again. It was the second time in a row. Sliding my messy hair back, I walked into the living room and noticed that Evelyn had already left. I sighed with relief that I didn't have to see her irritated face since I was already on the verge of going nuts.    

In the kitchen, I took the bottle of Evian from the fridge and made a long gulp before checking the time on my Rolex, frowning right away as I remembered Evelyn yapping about me always keeping them on, even when I went to bed. 

God, why can't women have their mouths shut sometimes?

With a wry grin, I placed the bottle on the counter and paused for a moment to check my reflection in the gleaming metal door of the refrigerator. Today’s day in the office was going to be tough as hell since I had a fuck ton of stupid meetings I tried to convince Jean to cancel, but she reassured me that it would be too rude to ignore my business partners for too long. Hmmph…

A bit later, when I was almost finishing my work out, I suddenly realized that it had already been two months since me and Evelyn got married. And no, I couldn’t really believe this since all days were like one long day—a day that seemed to never end. Huffing, I did another push-up, the 50th in a row, feeling not tired at all. Small beads of sweat rolled down my tensed forehead and I could care less about brushing them off as I was so focused on the pleasant feeling of my muscles flexing each time my chest almost touched the mat. Normally, sports could easily help me to distract myself, to let off steam, to feel refreshed and clear-headed, but now I was more detached from reality than ever before. And it seemed that no amount of exercise could help. Also, my condition was aggravated by the lack of sex, proper sex. When my muscles finally began to hurt, I stopped doing everything and just lay on the mat, panting and looking at the ceiling above. Then, I slowly looked down at my groin—still hard as rock–before my hand involuntarily grabbed it, eliciting a small gasp to fall from my wet lips. Fuck, I was about to explode from my own touch. That was not normal at all. It was pathetic.

Frustrated, I was certain that even a quick release in the shower wouldn’t soothe my mounting tension. It never did, considering that over the past few days I couldn’t even sleep, and what was worse was that even violence couldn’t bring me this much-needed relief. As I made my way to the bathroom, I was thinking, literally drowning in my obsessive thoughts.

I need more…I really need to get this done. I REALLY NEED IT! I NEED THEM!

 I bit my lip and turned on the shower, then got rid of my white boxers, stepped out of them, and strided on the cold marble. The water washed over me like a tidal wave. I closed my eyes and let the steam splash along my flushed face. My skin felt like it was on fire, as if I were about to crash into the sun. I couldn't find any way to relax. I felt desperate and angry. I was pretty mad, too. But would killing you have helped me find peace? 

If I knew you were gone, if no one could ever be with you the way I was, would that be what I wanted?

 I let out a deep, exhausted sigh and pressed my forehead against the wet tiles, ignoring the way the tip of my cock brushed against the wall, sending tingles into my very core. The images of you covered in blood, trapped beneath me, almost sent me over the edge. I didn't let myself think about it for too long, though, because I knew it would lead to addiction. As if I weren't already hooked. My breathing got a little uneven, and I started scratching at the white tiles as I got hit by a sudden, intense rush of memories. I remembered your voice, your moans, and the way you screamed my name. I wanted to ruin you, to make you bleed, to tear you apart and leave you just like you left me. The pain you caused was so deep, it lingered. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't realize what I was doing. I let my hand rest on my throbbing length while the fingers of my other hand slid down my lower back, right between my legs. The moment I touched my tensed asshole, I moaned. I was loud and needy. I was embarrassed but also aroused. I thrust into my hand, slowly at first but gradually losing control, while my digit slid inside my ass completely with ease. I couldn't hold back my whimpers as I was about to cum. My vision was filled with blood, intensifying my fantasies about you. With my eyes closed, I was on the brink of losing it when I suddenly heard some commotion coming from behind the bathroom door. 

"Damn!" I groaned and hit the wall in front of me, my dick pulsing even after I let go of it.

"Honey," Evelyn's voice echoed through the bathroom. I turned to see her casually walking to the shower, her blue eyes curiously examining my bare frame as if she was seeing me like this for the first time. "You didn't close the door."

Fuck, I really didn't.

Scrunching my nose, I pushed my wet hair back and spun around completely, giving her the full view of my nakedness. "I thought I'd leave before you got back..." my reply was brash and sharp. "...at least I hoped so."

Evelyn didn't react, she just stood in front of the shower, blinking and staring at me—at the way the water flowed down my sculpted body, to be exact—and something told me that just watching wasn't going to be enough for her.

"So... are you just going to stay and watch?" I said aloud before opening the glass door and letting some steam out of the shower. 

The blonde grinned broadly but remained motionless. "You're not trying to bait me like that, are you?" 

Jesus Christ, this woman is really driving me crazy.

Irritated, still struggling with my boner, I wanted to drag her into the shower without even asking and make her freshly bought Chanel suit so fucking shitty that she would definitely throw a tantrum, but I managed to control myself.

Leaning against the wet glass, I watched her unclasp her jewels, gems that shone in the dim bathroom light, my hands instinctively slipping down to my aching cock as I was now the one watching Evelyn take off her jacket, the delicate shape of her collarbones forcing me to admit that my wife was, after all, absolutely gorgeous and even though I didn't feel anything... sublime towards her, I couldn't deny that every time she did things like that, she stirred up a burning desire in me.

"What if I do?" My voice dropped lower from the tension building at the base of my spine. "You'll find another stupid excuse to deny me, like you always do?" I gave myself a slow stroke, biting my lips and quickly licking them as Evelyn removed her blouse and placed her leg on the edge of the tub, pulling up her skirt so I could see her black stockings. "Why didn't you go for Bryce when you had the chance?"

My body stopped listening to me as I said these words, as if I was hypnotized, but I felt no remorse, only a pang of conscience for how pathetic I probably was right now, standing in the shower jacking off to the woman I didn't really love, who was probably having an affair with my best friend all this time as a bonus.

"And you're bringing up Bryce again," Evelyn murmured, grinning like a vixen, her hands working meticulously to remove her stockings, stopping only when she was done with her expensive clothes, leaving herself only in a white Vanity Fair lingerie I'd bought her a few days ago to stop her hysteria. "Why is this only bothering you now...after we got married?"

"W-what?" I almost choked on my breath, my hand around my cock stalled in its momentum. "What are you talking about? It...it never bothered me."

Still, her words struck a chord within me and now I was even more angry with myself than before. Evelyn obviously thought she was in control of this situation—her extra confident demeanor, the way she moved and talked, even her blue eyes looked different now, as a wicked spark glinted in them. 

For a fleeting moment, I just stood there, trying to lose myself in the warm streams of water, not really knowing what to say, and a suffocating panic crept into my chest, but then, as I found myself gripping the glass shower door with all the force I could muster so that it wouldn't shatter, my vision blurred for a second before I noticed Evelyn's slender body pressed against the glass, her small but pretty breasts looking so damn inviting that I couldn't hold back a groan.

"What were you saying?" She asked indifferently, the water gurgling mixing with her voice inside my head pulling me into a trance.

"Nothing," I replied, leaning forward and pressing myself against the glass door from the opposite side, my dick brushing against it ever so slightly, but even this mere contact made me close my eyes for a dear moment. "I said nothing..." my eyes darkened, pupils dilated. "Now...get in...will you?" I grinned and tilted my head, watching my wife flutter her thick eyelashes like bird wings.

Evelyn didn't answer, standing still with her body pressed against the shower door, and I couldn't hold back anymore—I just dragged her in, not caring about her expensive lingerie getting soggy—I'd buy her a new one if I had to. With a surprised squeal, she then giggled as the streams of water ran down her fit body, her elegant fingers stroking my cheek for a fleeting moment before I picked her up and turned her around to press her against the cool marble wall. Evelyn's gasp echoed through the bathroom, sending a shiver down my spine, as if I were really into her, into all of this, and if that was not me imagining you in her place, if that was not making me want to be somewhere else right now.

Somewhere where nobody could find me. Us. 

"Patrick," Evelyn's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Can you hear me? The water's too hot..."

"Too hot?" I repeated, finding her statement so funny for no reason, but I cooled the water with my free hand anyway, still holding Evelyn in my arms as if she weighed nothing. "I'd say something like..."

"It's not the water that's making it hot, it's me," she cut me off, her face turning into a serious grimace, and for a second I felt like I was going to lose my shit. Is she making fun of me? "I've heard that enough, honey."

Frowning at that fucking nickname I really hated, I noticed the way she was pressing on my shoulders, implying that she wanted me to get her down on the floor, and I did—I didn't want to think, I didn't want to guess what was going through her mind—I just wanted to follow. To feel at least something beyond hatred and disgust. But I guess that was too much to ask.

Without saying a word, I knelt before Evelyn, leveled myself with her perfectly waxed pubic area, her breath hitching as I planted a soft kiss on her mound before tracing a finger along her wet from the water folds through the absolutely drenched fabric of her panties, which were now clinging to her like a second skin. I looked up at her with a mischievous grin, the water hitting my eyes painfully, but I held on to watch that raw need emanating from her body—savoring it like a vampire thirsty for blood.

My actions were smooth, calculated. When I got rid of her damp lingerie, I let the wet clothes that were now spread out on the shower floor fall to the ground, forgotten, and I was sure that Evelyn would have to throw them in a garbage can when we were done. The involuntary arch of her back, her hips brushing against my face and the moan she let out when the tip of my tongue flicked around her feverish clit, that was something I could live with. 

Letting Evelyn grind against my face, I began to eat her pussy more feverishly, my one hand holding her open while another was wrapped tightly around my hard dick as I jerked off in sync with my oral ministrations. It was actually a turn-on, but only because I managed to block out all thoughts of you... In another situation they would have helped me to orgasm, but now... now they would only destroy everything. 

I groaned when Evelyn pulled my hair harder than I liked, but I didn't want to punish her for it, not now, because I was still going to fuck her and this would be a perfect moment to show her how I felt and what I really needed. But then again, all of this made me feel pathetic in some odd, twisted way, that I was a starved dog who had to struggle to find barely any food to survive—what was my life—I was not living, I was surviving.

"Yes...yes...just like that," Evelen keened again as I tongue fucked her flushed cunt. "Keep...g-going..."

I could feel that she was so close to collapsing, it was kind of amusing how fast I could always make her cum, if only she knew that I always did it for myself, not for her, but for me. "Cum around my face," I spat out, my overalls buzzing from the tensind at the base of my cock; these little tingles were going to make me explode, but I didn't hesitate, increasing the pace of my own stroking. "Let it go. Now!"

My voice was muffled, gruff, I was sure its vibration only added to the overwhelming rush of bliss that was about to descend upon my wife as her legs began to tremble, her thigh on my shoulder jerking as I dipped my tongue inside her while my thumb caressed her oversensitive bud. And then she climaxed, convulsing and barely holding herself from screaming, I watched as she silenced herself with her palm, her eyes closed tightly, I reveled in such reactions, I always had, so I didn't stop as I wanted to prolong this scene—a scene full of fake emotions and this was just an echo of something I had experienced and lost— because if I stopped, I would fucking die.

Maybe this is what I always needed? Just to...stop existing?

Panting, I finally moved away from her hot, now swollen cleft, my own heart pounding so fast, but I couldn't move, I just stayed on my knees, the water falling on me like a heavy rain from that day I followed you to the airport and watched the plane take you away from me. For the second fucking time in a row.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was slowly coming down from her high, her chest heaving and falling so fast that for a moment I thought she was going to pass out, but then she turned and leaned against the wall, swaying her hips in the most inviting gesture I'd ever seen her make.

"Shit," I murmured almost imperceptibly, my basic instincts finally taking over. "You want me to fuck you?"

Gasping, she nodded and craned her neck to look back at me, I quickly stood and hugged her from behind, my lips tracing a short trail of kisses along her shoulder as I aligned myself with her entrance, she was so aroused and ready for me that I felt no resistance as I pushed myself into her malleable body. Just a few fleeting seconds for both of us to adjust before my pace picked up, the sound of wet flesh against flesh filling the room, and I pressed closer to Evelyn, her high-pitched moans fading in my delusions as I gave in—the images of you were so clear in my mind now that I clenched my teeth to hold back my own moans—I was weak and I hated myself for it.

Luckily Evelyn was on the pill so I didn't have to worry about a sudden pregnancy, but there was still some fear I tried desperately to ignore, my thrusts became ragged, raw and deep, I was about to spill myself inside her, both palms cupping her breasts, rubbing soft mounds, but then I squeezed them quite roughly and Evelyn's loud whimper was a sheer testament to my ferocity. Feeling my whole system shatter, I managed to stop myself from sinking my teeth into her neck as my vision turned white as I reached my peak with your name on my lips, though I never let myself say it out loud.

A little later that morning, as I dressed in my freshly tailored dark charcoal flannel double-breasted suit with wide white pinstripes, the sun was high in the zenith and its rays bathed Evelyn's bedroom in a soft golden hue. This brief encounter of intimacy with my wife gave me some hope that maybe there was still a chance to live a normal life, the one my mother and father always wanted for me, the American dream family they always told me about, but my parents never really tried to understand me, but since Sean chose a different path in life, not the RIGHT one, the legacy of my family fell on my shoulders.

Trapped in my thoughts, I didn't even notice the phone ringing somewhere next to me, I turned around to see a small black phone on the nightstand. At first I decided to ignore it, since I didn't really care about Evelyn's business, I didn't care at all, but this time something inside of me started to sting.

Who can call her at this hour?

With a soft click of my tongue, I finished adjusting my cufflinks and looked back at the buzzing phone, deciding to pick it up and find out who the hell was calling my wife. "Yes? Who's this?"

"Hello, Patrick," your voice crawled into my brain like a parasite, I swallowed, my skin covered in goosebumps and I sweated almost instantly. "How's it going? Don't you think it's a bit pathetic to think of me when you're banging your lovely wife?"

"You?" Was the only thing I managed to say. "Where did you get this number?"

I heard you laughing as if you were right next to me. "Tim gave it to me," you replied with blatant audacity. "Uh...you're not happy to hear me? That's a shame because I thought you missed me."

"Listen," I spat into the phone, gripping it so tightly that it was about to break in a half in my hand. "I don't know who you think you are...but believe me when I say I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOUR FUCKING LIFE! DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Patrick? Who are you talking to?" I turned to see Evelyn standing in the doorway, her blue eyes full of concern.

Caught red-handed, I took the phone away from my ear and chuckled. "It's just...a random call...nothing serious." When I said that, her face became even more worried. "Is something wrong, darling?"

Evelyn blinked several times before answering. "I definitely remember turning off the phone before I went to sleep...I always do..."

Her words hung in the air for some time before I could actually continue, and when I finally did, I tugged at my collar from the sudden lack of oxygen in my lungs.

What the fuck?

Under Evelyn's attentive gaze, I looked up at the receiver as if seeing it for the first time in my life, then I pressed it to my ear again and all I heard was silence—a deafening, eerie silence—even a single beep could not be discerned. My throat tightened uncomfortably and I felt like throwing up from the tight knot in my stomach, for I'd never felt such fear before.

"Patrick...are you okay?" The blonde woman asked, not daring to come closer. "Are you taking the medicine your psychiatrist prescribed you..."

"Evelyn!"

"No, I'm serious! This isn't funny Patrick, I'm scared," she suddenly confessed and I swore I couldn't remember seeing her so worried. "You need help...why don't you let people help you?"

With that Evelyn stormed out of the bedroom and I was sure she was crying. Damn women, never give you a chance to explain yourself. I cursed before slamming the phone down on its station with a thud, probably shattering the plastic, but who fucking cared? All they cared about was whether I was taking those fucking pills, but no one really cared about...me. 

It took me some time to calm down and finally go to work. I didn't talk to Evelyn before I left, as it was pointless in her current state. As soon as I was outside, I breathed in the fresh air and watched the passers-by walking here and there without even noticing each other, this scene I saw every day, I picked out my Walkman like in a slow motion movie, put the headphones on my head and then attached it to my belt, the next moment I heard Madonna's deep voice surging through my head.

The taxi ride to the Pierce & Pierce office took longer than usual because of the heavy traffic. When I finally entered the high-rise building, I didn't take off my headphones because I didn't really want to talk to anyone, I just walked through the long corridors like a ghost without a name. It was really interesting that I never really thought about my fucking coworkers constantly messing up my name—they didn't know who I was even though we met every week—but you—you remembered it so clearly, there wasn't a single day that you mistook me for someone else. Jean greeted me as always with her sweet smile. Today she wore a dress and high heels. I smiled at such details and pulled up my headphones so I could hear her. 

"Did I miss anything?" I asked casually, thinking I was late as I often was.

Brushing her blonde hair, my secretary rose from her seat, clutching her favorite notebook to her chest. "Timothy Bryce called to ask about lunch."

My eyebrows raised in skepticism at her words.

Bryce. Wants to see me after not talking to me for almost a week. Interesting.

"Uh, right, but I thought I had a pretty busy schedule today?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Well, yeah," she quickly opened her notebook and then raised her bright eyes to me. "But you have a little window..."

At some point, Jean's voice became as much white noise as Madonna's song, the lyrics of which slipped away from me like a leaf in the wind. The thought of Tim finally revealing that he and Evelyn were having an affair behind my back, as if they really thought I could be stupid enough not to notice, brought me a strange sense of relief. It was like an itchy splinter in your finger that you couldn't bring yourself to pull out, but you knew that the longer it stayed there, the worse it would get.

"Okay, Jean," I heaved abruptly. "Be a doll and make a rez in a good place. Then call Bryce back."

Jean was noticeably confused, but I was too overwhelmed with my own chaotic thoughts that there was no room for anything else. With a devoted nod, she returned to her seat and I opened the door to my office, where everything was the same, all things in the places I had left them. At least there seemed to be something constant in my life.

The rustling of chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates mingled in a wild cacophony of sounds I was quite familiar with—I was born in the middle of this madness, to say the least, the lush life of people like me was something you couldn't really avoid, though I never tried to avoid it, I enjoyed every little benefit I got from being rich. 

So now I was sitting in Delmonico's lash interior, holding a glass of J&B on rocks in one hand and a cigar in the other. I waited for Bryce to come and soon I noticed his approaching figure, his black hair slicked back as usual, and I even chuckled at how fucking punctilious this man always was. Tim ordered a glass of Russian vodka and some seafood appetizers. After a short casual conversation we both fell silent and just when I was expecting him to tell me the reason why he wanted to see me, he suddenly picked up a shiny cardholder and put it on the table, then took out a pack of cigarettes to grab one.

"New cardholder?" I asked, definitely remembering that Bryce used to have a different one. "Looks...nice."

"It's platinum," Timothy commented before lighting his cigarette, his gray eyes scanning the room before focusing on me. "It's a gift...from our mutual friend."

Friend?

I almost bit the inside of my cheek to the point of bleeding. "Really?"

Bryce let out a puff of smoke and pointed to my empty glass. "I heard you quit drinking," he grinned and dabbed the ash from his cigarette. "That you're on... some medication."

"I wonder who told you that," my jaw almost snapped in anger, I had to claw at my knee to regain some composure. "And yes, I had to take medication for a while...but I'm on a break now." I hoped he could tell by the tone of my voice that I wasn't going to continue this conversation. "Who else would know how it works better than you since you went through rehab. Am I right, Bryce?"

I knew how much he hated talking about it, so his recent bravado faded like a cloud of smoke, but his cheeky grin never left his face.

"I get it, I get it," he laughed softly before sipping his drink. "You definitely got off on the wrong foot today, but it's okay," the man swirled his glass in his hand, watching the ice cubes clink against its walls. "I just wanted to tell you that... you're definitely missing something. Or maybe I should say—someone."

Narrowing my eyes, I tilted my head to the side. "Maybe you can tell me something more...specific, or are we going to play that crappy guessing game?"

Bryce shifted in his seat and wanted to say something, but he was interrupted by two familiar voices—Craig and David.

Shit, why did those two idiots have to come right now?

The moment was ruined, and so was I.

"Wow, I can't believe my eyes! See, I told you they had a date," McDermott let out a loud chuckle, my fists clenched, and if we were somewhere else, preferably alone, I'd fucking break my glass against his smug face. "I called Jean and she said you two were having lunch together. Isn't that sweet?"

"Oh, fuck you, McDermott!" Bryce retorted, but he wasn't really angry. "Fuck you and your cheap jokes. Your sense of humor is as flat as the ass of that chick you met in the Tunnel yesterday. Besides, how was she?"

The Tunnel, that damn club that started all this shit. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the unwelcome memories of that day, but all I wanted to do was leave this place. Bryce's words became a breaking point, they helped a cup of weights to turn to another side without him even knowing it. Slowly I rose from the table, ignoring any questions, dismissing them with a clumsy gesture.

This evening was destined to be spent in the Tunnel after everything that happened today. I didn't tell anyone about my spontaneous venture to find some escape in the nightclub full of drug-addicted chicks and yuppies like me. My mind was racing with the idea of doing some coke, all I had to do was find the dealer that Bryce and I always hang out with and get a gram. A very simple plan to forget about all the shit that was going on in my life for a while.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say.

As I strolled across the dance floor, I noticed the bar was pretty empty, so I decided to have a drink before finding the dealer, as the glass of whiskey I had at lunch was not enough. The bartender greeted me with a polite smile as he cleaned the bar. 

"Good evening, sir," the man took a shiny glass and set it in front of me. "What would you like to drink?"

"A J&B straight and a Corona." I replied, taking a seat and fumbling for my wallet.

The bartender nodded and went to get my drinks. While I waited, I looked around when I noticed the only person sitting at the bar—it turned out to be a redheaded girl, a very good looking one—I hummed to myself, absolutely sure that such a girl was definitely not alone tonight. 

"Your drinks, sir." The bartender placed an open bottle of Corona next to my glass, now filled with my favorite whiskey.

"Thank you." I handed him a few bills before he could even tell me how much I had to pay. 

The young man babbled something incoherent that I couldn't even make out, but after I gave him a dead stare, he just took the money and finally left me alone. Annoyed, I checked the time on my Rolex before grabbing a bottle of Corona to take a sip, but I was interrupted again. This time not by the bartender.

"Hey," a soft female voice hung over my ear, sending a massive wave of excitement through me. I turned to see that the chick from the other end of the bar was now standing so close to me that I could smell her flowery perfume. "Are you here alone?"

I wish I could say that, but my thoughts of you were always here, with me, but instead of saying that bullshit, I nodded and grinned, checking her body in the most humiliating way, thinking it would scare her away from me, but the gleam in her green eyes only increased after my move.

God, she doesn't know what she's asking for.

"Yeah, you could say that." I smiled again as she sat down next to me. "What about you?"

The girl leaned against the bar, her ginger hair cascading down her elegant shoulders, and for a moment I couldn't take my eyes off her. "I wasn't supposed to be alone tonight, but...you know how it is...most men are total jerks."

I could barely keep myself from bursting out laughing. "Did someone offend you?" She played with the gold bracelet on her wrist and nodded shyly, a move I suddenly found very sexy. "Do you mind if I get you a drink?"

"First, tell me your name," she muttered in a challenging way—a blatant provocation that I ate like a starved man. "Then I'll think about it."

This girl is so sweet, I bet her insides are the same.

At first I wanted to use a fake name, like I always did, but then I just gave her my real name, because in the end it would make no difference. "Patrick....Patrick Bateman," I finally took a sip of Corona and savored the taste. "And you?"

"Nicole," the girl said, still fiddling with her jewelry. "But I used to have a lot of different names."

"I like this one," I chuckled, smiling charmingly. "It suits a girl like you."

"A girl like me?"

"A beautiful girl...very beautiful I must say." My voice was deep and soft like silk, I noticed the way she straightened her shoulders, slowly but gradually relaxing. 

"You really think so?" She asked me, her eyes roaming over my mischievous face, then down to my lips.

Instead of answering, I just smiled in the most enchanting way possible before calling for the bartender to order her a drink. Nicole and I talked for a while—she told me she was from Canada and didn't really have any friends in New York—it was strangely satisfying but I tried to be sympathetic and supportive even though my mind was so far away from here. The ginger girl didn't even notice how she finished one cocktail and then another, while I didn't even touch my whiskey, just idly sipped my bottle of Corona because for some reason I wanted to be as sober as possible.

As the club was getting more and more empty, Nicole was ready to give me a blowjob right at the bar, but I convinced her to go to my place and to be honest, I didn't expect it to be that easy since I hadn't really planned anything like that. I forgot about the drug dealer because now I had to worry about what I was going to say to Evelyn tomorrow because I was definitely not going to spend the night with her. 

"Patrick..." Nicole nestled into my side as we sat in the cab. "Did I tell you I know...F-French?"

I crossed my arms and shook my head in dismay. "No, you didn't," I said, looking down at her red, messy hair. "But it's nothing special...you're from Canada and French is your second official language."

Nicole let out a cartoonish giggle that made me cringe. "Oh...you know it? Damn, you're such a smart man...Mr. Bateman...so fucking smart...most guys I've slept with....didn't know that..." she giggled again and tried to pinch my nose, but I shooed her away. "Can you believe that?"

At a certain point, I was even starting to regret bringing her along, but I hoped I'd be able to shut her mouth with something...sharp and maybe deadly. "It happens, Nicole. Like you said, there were so many bad people in this town. Fortunately, you're lucky to have met someone like me."

The girl hugged me at my words, I could feel her drunk breath next to my lips, but instead of turning away I let her kiss me and it felt better than I expected. Soon the cab pulled up to the American Gardens Building. The walk up to my apartment didn't take much time, I was already thinking about how I was going to dispose of her body after I was done with her. Nicole, completely unaware of my dark thoughts, walked around my apartment barefoot as she kicked off her shoes, complaining about how fucking uncomfortable they were.

"Oh, this place is so fucking...c-cool!" She managed to say, swaying from side to side while moving. "Jesus, is that a telescope? Why do you even need that?" Nicole giggled like a child seeing one for the first time, but who knew, maybe she really was seeing it for the first time. "Do you... spy on people with that... thing?"

"No, Nicole." I replied curtly, standing next to her with my hands hidden in the pockets of my tailored pants. 

"Are you...an astronaut...from NASA?" She asked, then winced when she finally noticed my looming figure. "Are you... going to send me to the moon tonight, handsome?"

"I'll do more than that," I crooned, placing my hand on her waist and pulling her closer. "But I must say one thing you may not like..." a short pause, then a soft rumble left my throat. "I prefer that beautiful mouth of yours to be closed. Do you understand?"

I was expecting anything other than this bitch dropping to her knees and immediately working on unbuckling my belt. The way she was behaving was both amusing and enticing, but what I enjoyed most was that she was so naive and completely dumb.

"Look at you," I murmured before grabbing a handful of her ginger curls that were blocking her vision. "So inpatient, huh?"

By the time she managed to undo my pants, I was already so hard that my dick sprang out of the confines of my clothes and almost slapped her face, but it didn't bother her at all—I could only see an uncontrollable desire in those big green eyes that were now looking at me as if asking for my permission. 

Shameless, pathetic whore.

With a practiced move, I grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer to my crotch, then pressed my engorged dick against her lips, sliding it along them and making her lick off my pre-cum. "Yeah," I croaked, biting my own lips. "I definitely like you more like this...open your mouth, bitch."

Nicole obeyed and the next thing I knew I was thrusting into her mouth, her warmth welcoming me and making me grunt as I bucked my hips into her face, pushing myself further until I heard her gag around my shaft.

"'C'mon, choke on my dick," I snarled, pulling on her hair with brutal force, her nose rubbing against my pubis and I snaked my hand down to rest on her throat, wanting to feel my cock slide along it. "I'm sure no one has ever face fucked you like that...am I right, honey?"

I used that ugly nickname Evelyn always gave me and pulled myself out of her mouth to hear her answer, but she just gulped desperately for air and grabbed my legs for any semblance of support. 

"Oh-Christ...you're...s-so fucking big," she wept, trying to wipe the liquid mixture off her chin, but I wouldn't let her, pulling her head back. "Shit...you're really one of those guys...who likes it rough?"

With a devilish smile, I gave myself several quick strokes before answering. "Oh, darling. You can't even imagine how MUCH I like that kind of thing."

Panting, Nicole was not ready for me to invade her mouth again, but I didn't care, just as I ignored her little protest when I fucked her throat and felt the curve of my dick slide into her wet, tight channel. It was a bliss I had always sought, that fleeting moment of raw control over another human, once you tasted it you couldn't stop yourself.

Perfection.

As time passed, I came at least twice in her abused mouth, each time making sure she swallowed every drop, but then I got bored of fucking her face and left her sprawled out on my expensive living room floor, which I would definitely have to call the maid service to clean. Barely alive, Nicole literally vomited my sperm mixed with her blood, her plump lips swollen and bruised from my beatings—I couldn't stress her pathetic whimpering anymore, so I had to act—but she would last a while longer, I was sure of it.

As I rummaged through my stuff in the bedroom to get a condom, Nicole's pathetic whimpering was like music to my ears, but at some point I considered turning on some real music to muffle the girl's screams, although to my surprise she was not that loud. But just in case, I returned to the living room and stepped over Nicole, who was still lying on the floor, to get to my stereo and put on the latest Talking Heads album, True Stories.

"I didn't ask you what kind of music you like," I suddenly chuckled and moved closer to the sobbing girl to crouch down beside her. "But I doubt it would change anything."

After that, I stood up and decided to strip completely, every move I made calculated and mastered to perfection. One second, two seconds....ten seconds and I was almost naked, when the only thing left on me was my gold Rolex, I heard her weak, shaky voice:

"Whitney Houston," she murmured, barely audible. "I love Whitney Houston."

I stopped in my tracks. "Oh...really? What is your favorite song?"

My lips were curled in a smile that came dangerously close to something insane as I carefully placed all my clothes on one of my black chairs before picking up the girl and moving her to the window—away from my white couch that I didn't want to stain with her fucking blood. She didn't struggle, she didn't struggle at all as I positioned her against the window, pressing her bruised face against the cold glass.

"Take Good Care of My Heart," the redhead added as I began to poke at her soaked pussy, which was not shaved like most of the girls I used to have, and to be honest, I really liked it. "I...I really love the whole album."

"Oh yeah," I chuckled into her ear, fixing her in place as the tip of my cock plunged into her, causing her legs to shake. "This is such a good album..."

With that I bottomed her out completely, my balls slapping against her ass, red from my spanking, I thought I could see the outline of my hand. Her little cunt felt no worse than her mouth, but it was not as tight...after being with you, nothing seemed tight enough to me.

Fuck it!

Cursing under my breath, I sped up to pound into her as hard as I could. Thank God the glass didn't break, but I changed our position anyway. Now Nicole was bent over my black leather chair, her ass wiggling every time I thrust into her and I couldn't stop myself from spanking her, I wanted her to fucking scream and cry out in pain but all I could get from her was nothing that could signal that she was in pain. On the contrary, this girl seemed to enjoy it so much, as her hips moved in rhythm with mine, she bucked in my direction to meet my movements.

"Shit, you fuck like a whore," I blurted out, grabbing her hair in a self-made ponytail. "Is that why you came to America? To be a fucktoy for men like me?"

"Mmm...f-fuck me...please...fuck me!" Nicole didn't seem to hear me, I had to squeeze her throat to shut her up. "Ye-yes...fucking...c-choke me...please!"

Stupid bitch.

In one swift motion, I pulled out only to slam into her unprepared asshole, making her scream in pain and fuck, she sounded amazing. Quickly wiping the sweat from my forehead, I pushed her down on my cock, noticing the crimson drops of her blood on my dick, which only spurred me to move faster and more ferociously. This bitch didn't see it coming, but she was still pretty obedient, which started to seem pretty weird to me, because usually by this time women start to panic, fight and try to escape, but this fucking hoe didn't even say a word about the way I was treating her.

And that started to disappoint me.

When I thought I was not going to climax, I closed my eyes and let my imagination take control of my brain. Huffing, I rammed into Nicole harder, fantasizing about you—how we could go 69, your fingers buried deep inside my asshole - I could fucking feel the sensation of them and it sent an electric shock right through my tensed sac.

"Oh, fuck," I gripped her waist with both hands, fucking her with pure abandon. "You...fucking...arrogant prick...I hate you! I hate you s-so fucking much!"

All my curses fell on deaf ears as Nicole only whimpered in response, gripping the back of the chair and the next second I found her cumming around my cock, her inner walls spasming around me, triggering my own orgasm.

 When I was finally finished with her, I stood over her trembling body as she lay on the floor again. The girl was shaking and giggling, I thought she probably lost her mind already, so instead of using a knife or something, I decided to just strangle her with my bare hands. I wanted to see life slowly leave her body. I fucking craved it.

"Nicole," I shook her before getting on top of her, pressing her down with the weight of my muscular body. "Look at me."

Nicole's bloodshot eyes couldn't focus on mine for some time, she was stunned, dazed, ruined and intoxicated, I had to slap her face several times before she finally locked her hazy gaze with mine. The sweet anticipation of the kill enveloped my mind, my cock grew hard again as I placed both hands around her fragile neck, I began to squeeze it, lightly at first but then more and more forcefully.

"You made a big mistake coming to America, Nicole." I let out a taunt, not really expecting her to hear it or respond to it.

Everything was going according to plan when she suddenly smiled and covered my hands, not to take them off, but to stroke them with a wicked... attraction?

"Please...kill me already...I beg you..." She couldn't stop herself from crying and laughing. 

This was a psychotic episode I had experienced so many times, but I never expected to see it with my own eyes. I froze in shock, losing my grip, and as I did, Nicole pulled my hands back to her throat, shaking me as if to wake me up.

"No, no, no, no! Please...don't stop...please...I want to die! Patrick, please...set me free!" Nicole's voice cracked and I could finally see the sheer desperation in her green eyes, but this kind of desperation was different. 

This wasn't the kind of despair I'd seen before...this was something completely different. It was kind of a turn-off for me. The whole evening was fucking ruined, I couldn't believe it. Shaking my head, I stood up and stepped away from her as if from a fire. 

"Patrick...please!"

"Shut up!" I yelled, looking down at my own hands—they were shaking so badly. "Shut the fuck up!"

In a panic, I rushed to the bathroom to wash my hands for who knows what reason, then grabbed my robe and put it on. I couldn't really explain what was happening to me, but when I got back to the living room, I picked up Nicole's clothes and threw them at her.

"Get dressed," I ordered, and then I went into the bedroom to unlock my safe and take out several bundles of money. What was I doing? Panting, I paused in the doorway to watch her get dressed, then walked over to her and handed her the money. "I want you to take this, go to a hospital and get back to Canada. Do you hear me, Nicole?"

The redhead was silent, just looking at me with her pleading eyes. "But I don't want to go..."

"You have to." I emphasized the words by lowering my voice. "Just do what I say and everything should be... okay."

"But I don't want it to be okay." Nicole tried to touch me, but I pulled away.

"Just go," I repeated my previous words, this time in a more serious voice. "And never come back."

I spent the rest of the night sitting in the shower, literally sitting on the floor, crying. A lot. My eyes were so red and puffy that I didn't know which ice mask would help me look normal tomorrow. The hatred of myself that rose from my chest to my cheeks and made me nauseous—I hated myself so much that I finally admitted that I had changed—you had changed me and there was no going back. The man I was before died, now I was just an empty being, or maybe a new man had been born in my shallow soul?

When I finally managed to drag my ass out of the bathroom, the phone rang and I was sure it was Evelyn trying to fuck my brain for not coming back to her apartment and to be fair, I wasn't ready for anything like that at that moment, but considering how much of a pain in the ass she was, I didn't want any more consequences if I didn't pick up the fucking call.

As I walked into the bedroom, I took the phone from my nightstand and finally answered the call. "Yes?"

"Patrick! Jesus, I thought you weren't going to answer the call!" It was you, damn it, it was you.

My teeth almost creaked with anger and disbelief. "How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off?! Are you stalking me or what? How the fuck did you know I was in my apartment?"

"I... I didn't know... I just decided to try my luck and here we are," you replied, your voice was different than it sounded this morning. "Listen Patrick, I'm in New York right now...maybe we can see each other?"

"See each other?" Those words made me sick. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I know that...things are pretty tense between us, but...maybe we can at least talk about it?"

"No, we can't," I clutched the phone as tightly as I could. "I don't want to see you and I don't want to hear you. Do you understand? If you ever call me again, I'll fucking find you and KILL YOU!"

With that, I dropped the phone on the floor and screamed so loudly that my throat began to hurt. Right now I was nothing but a living madness, the things that were happening in my mind were like an open chasm to hell—a place I'd be one day, I had no doubt about it.

The few days I spent in a dizzy state, I couldn't really remember what I was doing, but the only thing I was sure of was that I couldn't stop thinking about you. Also, I didn't kill anyone for lack of thrill, there was no more adrenaline or excitement—you changed me and now spilling some blood couldn't help me to relieve myself anymore. I felt like I was being shattered into pieces, decomposed into something primitive, for the first time I saw myself as being even more inhuman than I really was.

Inhuman.

What a perfect word to describe everything about me, but I still couldn't understand where I belonged? If not here, could there be a place for a creature like me?

This question was swirling around in my head like a brain worm; that damn rainy evening when I decided to stalk my dear wife. After my rather long absence, Evelyn was about to go to the police, but then I showed up at the door of her apartment at night, high as hell, but she didn't seem surprised at all. I expected her to be mad and angry, but instead she treated me really nice, I could hear her crying and her desperate touch when she hugged me, weeping and sobbing something about being so scared and worried about me and although I didn't believe a single word that came out of her mouth, something stirred inside of me.

The raindrops were falling on my umbrella like Morse code, hitting the surface with such a precise rhythm that I really thought maybe something or someone was trying to send me a sign. The level of absurdity was over the top, and if I were in a different state mentally and physically, I'd be laughing my ass off at this shit, but today I couldn't do anything funny. I couldn't smile, I couldn't sneer, I was like a ghost, a shadow of the person I was before I met you. So here I was, following Evelyn down the street after the taxi ride until I saw her stop at some hotel—a luxury hotel in Upper Manhattan to be exact— and then, after some time, when I thought nothing interesting would happen, a sleek black Cadillac stopped by the street and I saw Timothy Bryce get out of the car—he was holding a black umbrella just like me. Evelyn was so excited to see him that she didn't even wait for them to go inside the hotel, she kissed him now and then without holding back her emotions. This scene made the stone fall off my shoulders; I was so damn happy that I was right and that this fake marriage was about to collapse, but I still couldn't understand why Evelyn married me at all. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if one day, when we finally had a serious talk about it, she would confess that she loved both of us—me and Bryce— and suggested that we all live together.

Say hello to an altered version of the American dream family.

The reality was always cruel, and I knew it too well.

A loud clap of thunder echoed through my apartment, waking me up in my living room, drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily, I turned around to register some pornography playing on my TV, my robe was undone, I was completely naked underneath, some remnants of my cum stuck to my stomach.

Shit, I just blacked out jerking off? This porn really sucks.

And this was the 5th or maybe 10th porn tape I had watched, and I only managed to cum once. Cursing and scowling, I fidgeted on my couch to find a remote control. I was disgusted with my current situation, but then I noticed two thin lines of white powder on my glass coffee table and a twisted $100 bill. Now everything started to fall into place.

Fuck, where did I even get this gram?

I rubbed my head, and instead of turning off the porn, I turned it up louder—two perfect bimbos making out, their oiled bodies wrapped around each other like two snakes—my hand instinctively sliding back to my hard cock, throbbing and soaked with my cum.

"Oh-fuck..." I murmured through clenched teeth as I pumped myself, watching the girls play with their large breasts. "Yeah...suck her tits...suck them like a fucking pacifier..."

The louder their moaning got, the more excited I got, and just when I thought I was about to climax again, I heard... a fucking phone ringing loudly—it hurt my hearing. Confused, I stopped doing anything, ignoring the fact that one slut was now riding on the face of another. There was only one thing I could think about right now— had I turned off my phone or not? Because I definitely remembered pulling the fucking cords out of it, but that thing kept ringing? 

Slowly I got up on my stiff legs and walked to the kitchen island to grab the phone, the only light coming from my playing TV and I bumped into something pretty hard before the fucking receiver was in my hand.

"Patrick Bateman's apartment..." I almost whispered, pressing the receiver harder against my head.

"...Pat..." the echo of a familiar voice wailed from the other end of the line, but I still couldn't make out who it was. "...need... -h-help!"

"Who...am I talking to?"

"Patrick, please, help me," your voice sounded so clear now that it echoed inside my skull, drowning out all the sounds of the bad weather outside. "I'm...I'm at Paul Allen's...I need help...please...I think I'm gonna die..."

Was this some kind of prank? 

I turned around and scanned my apartment as if someone was watching me right now. I felt insane and cornered, if I was really losing my mind the best option now would be to take more coke and trigger an overdose and then...

"Can you hear me? Please, come here, I'll... give you the address..." and then I heard loud interference and noise, so I had to pull the phone away for a second. "Patrick? Please...talk to me!"

"What...what happened?" I asked, still not believing what I was doing. "Are you in pain?"

"No...yes....Patrick...listen...you should write down the address..."

Without thinking, I grabbed the Vogue magazine lying next to the phone and a pencil, and the next second I was writing down the address where Paul Allen was supposed to live. 

"Hold on! I'll be right there!" I suddenly said into the phone, but all I could hear was the agonizing beep. "Hey...I'll be there...do you hear me? I'LL BE THERE!"

Fuck!

I dropped the phone and took several deep breaths before I finally came to my senses, or so I thought. Then I rushed to the bathroom to clean up and put something on without worrying too much. So I grabbed the first suit out of my closet, fixed my hair and left my apartment to take a cab. All the way to Paul's, I was holding a crumpled page of Vogue that I had to rip out. At first I didn't even notice that I wasn't surprised when the cabbie just nodded and we drove off, so this address was real? It meant you really called me? And what about all the previous calls?

Perplexed, I leaned against the cool glass of the car window and watched the nighttime cityscape blur into something unrecognizable, almost falling asleep, but the driver turned on the radio with some cheesy pop songs that kept me awake, as I was too irritated to ignore how much I disliked such music. When the car stopped in front of a towering building like the one I lived in, I paid the driver twice what I was supposed to and got out of the cab. There were no pedestrians and for a moment I really thought that maybe I was still asleep and had to pinch myself to wake up in my living room?

As I entered the building I saw a table where the concierge should be sitting, but there was no one, so I casually opened the journal to find the number of Allen's apartment—I felt a creeping shock when I actually found his name in the journal.

Okay… this feels…too real.

Feeling a strange thrill of the rush, I closed the journal and sauntered quickly across the large lobby to the elevators. Paul's apartment was on the 15th floor, so when the door opened on the floor I needed, I stepped out of the elevator with a heavy weight in my chest. Every step I took resonated with the fast beating of my heart, and when I reached my destination, I didn't know what to do - whether to ring the bell or knock or…

Shaking myself off, I first rang the doorbell—nothing. Then I knocked several times, then again, still no answer. Finally, I put my ear to the door to listen, but I couldn't hear a single sound. Anger overcame me, so I kicked the door and turned to leave. How stupid was I? Maybe mixing my pills and coke wasn't the best idea, but this...

When I got back to the lobby, an old man, who must have been a missing concierge, greeted me with a fake polite smile. "Greetings, sir. How can I help you?"

Annoyed as hell, I stopped next to his small table, adjusted my leather gloves, and pointed to his journal. "I was looking for Paul Allen's apartment, he's my friend and I wanted to see him, but it seems...he's out tonight."

"Oh, Mr. Allen left on a business trip this morning." The concierge said casually, but then he noticed how pale I'd become. "Sir, is something wrong?"

"Did you say he left this morning?" I asked again, feeling a few beads of sweat on my tense forehead.

"Yes, sir," the old man opened the journal and began to leaf through it. "I can even tell you the exact time he left..."

"No need. Thank you." Was all I said before I turned on my heels and headed for the exit.

Outside I noticed that the taxi that had brought me here was still standing by the side of the road. It was strange but I didn't even think about it. I got in and asked the driver to take me back to my place, but first I asked him to give me a moment to sit and think. With shaking hands I picked up the crumpled piece of paper with the address on it, I traced my handwriting before throwing it out the window, my temples pounding so hard I thought my head would explode. Exhausted both mentally and physically, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, not noticing that the concierge I was talking to literally ran out of the building, looking around, seeking someone.

"Let's go." I ordered the cab driver with my eyes still closed. "And can you please turn off the music...my head is killing me."

The taxi drove off and I didn't see or hear the old man following the car. "Sir, wait! I made a mistake about Mr. Allen-"

Today, after I refused to go shopping with Evelyn and help her choose a fucking curtain for her living room, she finally told me that she never loved me, that she wanted a divorce and nothing else from me. The relief I felt was comparable to a good orgasm, to say the least, Evelyn was shocked at my reaction—did she really expect me to beg for forgiveness? But the single mention of Bryce made everything come to its place, I wasn't angry, no, I just couldn't solve this fucking puzzle, what was all this for? If she really liked Bryce, why couldn't she just tell me and go for him? How many times had I told her that? A hundred? A thousand? Millions? Luckily, I wasn't inclined to leave my stuff in her apartment, so I finished my busing with 'moving out' pretty quickly and smoothly, because something glorious and important was waiting for me. The last moment of my drama.

I imagine that maybe someday there will be a show on Broadway based on my life—a great example of a life that no one should have lived—I smiled at the thought, as I always liked to romanticize things in the most clichéd and poetic way. After all, Bryce was right, I was mental, and no matter how hard I tried to run away from the dark version of myself, it would catch up with me one day. And that day seemed to have finally come.

As I walked down Wall Street, wearing my favorite headphones and listening to Huey Lewis and the News, I stumbled by the phone booth—a random idea plagued my mind before I could really think about it. Opening my briefcase, I found my notebook, and soon I was dialing your office number, hoping you wouldn't answer. But my hopes were never to be fulfilled. 

To my surprise, I heard a male voice coming from the phone and all the words stuck in my throat like a lump. "Uh...hi...can I talk to..."

"Sorry sir, I can't hear you properly...it might be the bad connection," the voice replied and it made me really nervous. "I'm sorry, but if you want to talk to my boss, they are out of the office right now."

Out of the office…shit.

"Who am I talking to?" I asked, almost fainting.

"Vinc..." an unpleasant static noise came over my brain and I held my eyes closed for a second from the stabbing pain in my temples. "My name is Vincent...I'm .... assistant."

"Listen, Vincent..." I started to speak, not even knowing that he could hear my words. "I want you to tell your boss that...Patrick Bateman called and...this would be my LAST call," I laughed hysterically, leaning against the phone booth door. "I'm going to, uh... disappear..."

A short pause seemed like an eternity.

"You mean you are leaving New York City, sir?" Vincent's question surprised me.

My lips twitched in a wicked smile. "No...I mean...yes..."

"Are you going somewhere in particular, Mr. Bateman?" The man asked me and I stopped breathing for a second.

"I'm going...to a place where no one will ever...find me..."

And with that I hung up the phone. There was already a line of people by the phone booth, and as I walked away, they looked at me with the most disdainful look I could ever dream of mastering. Unfortunately, I wouldn't need it anymore.

Soon the white walls of my apartment would be the only witness to my last confession. My apartment smelled so fresh and good, the maid had just finished cleaning, and I was glad that if the police found my body, they would see that wealth and money were not a panacea for a happy life, although I had believed in it fervently for almost all these years. With deliberate steps, I walked into my bathroom, grabbed a small bottle of medicine prescribed by my psychiatrist, and popped a handful of pills at once. Then I looked at my reflection in the mirror and somehow realized that the mask I had worn for most of my adult life was about to slip. Right now, at this very moment, I was about to die. An abnormal dizziness washed over me, I could barely stand on my feet when I suddenly saw your silhouette behind me in the mirror. I gulped and turned around to see nothing but the empty doorway, my hands shaking so badly that I failed to put the bottle back in its place, dropping it on the floor and scattering pills all over the bathroom.

Holy shit.

A strong gag reflex suddenly took over me and I managed to get to the toilet faster than I could throw up—I threw up all the pills—Jesus Christ, I was so weak I couldn't even finish this... I was so pathetic. In the end, I finally accepted that as the darkness took me in its cold embrace.

Knock…knock…

What is this? Am I still alive?

I kept questioning myself because I didn't feel anything, no pain, no remorse, nothing. But if I were dead, I wouldn't hear that strange sound, would I? I opened my wet eyes and looked up at the white ceiling—I was still in my bathroom— lying on my back, covered in my own vomit, saliva and bile. My mouth smelled like a rotten rat and I knew what I was talking about. The annoying knocking kept coming from my front door, and although I didn't want to get up, I felt that if I didn't, this fucking knocking would never stop.

With careful, unhurried movements, I crawled to the sink and, leaning on the bathroom counter, managed to stand up and quickly brush my teeth, avoiding looking at my reflection because I was sure I looked like shit. After that, I took off my stained clothes and put on a new robe that I had bought myself for no reason a few days ago. 

As I approached the front door, the knocking stopped and I thought it was just another hallucination, but I decided to open the door anyway and to my surprise I saw my concierge who looked very worried and even scared.

"Mr. Bateman, thank God you're all right!" The man blurted out, holding his concierge hat in his hands.

"Of course I'm okay," I replied nonchalantly. "What happened? Or did you just come to check on me?"

"Well," the concierge looked away before rubbing his gray mustache. "Someone was looking for you..."

My eyebrows furrowed, and I peered out into the long corridor. "Who was it? Did they give a name? Was it a policeman or something?" 

"No, sir." The old man gave me an awkward smile that made me even more angry. "They were so desperate...they were literally storming around the lobby...constantly saying things about you not answering calls and not opening the door...I told them maybe you just left..."

The rest of what he said fell on deaf ears, because now I was absolutely sure who was looking for me. "What time is it now?"

"11 a.m., sir."

"Today is Friday, right?" I asked, my head spinning. "It should be Friday."

The concierge paused. "It's Sunday, sir."

Sunday?

A sharp pang of nausea crept into my stomach, nearly breaking me in half, but I managed to grab hold of the doorjamb for support. "Where is this person?"

"Mr. Bateman, I had to call the police because they were being...kind of aggressive," the concierge explained, stepping back a bit. "The cops arrived pretty quickly...they found out this person had drugs, sir."

I stagger to the side as if from the hard blow. "And what happened next...did they arrest them?"

"I...I guess so?"

I let out a tired sigh, rolling my eyes and trying to keep it together - this poor guy was not guilty, it was just an accident, but how did you get caught with drugs? It was so fucking illogical to me.

My voice was unnaturally soft as I tried my fucking best not to snap at the man across from me. "Did the cops really take them away? Did you see that with your own eyes?" The concierge just nodded, and I could tell by his nervousness that he felt it was his fault at some level. "All right, thank you for your information, remind me to tip you next month." And with that, I closed the front door, leaving the man in a completely bewildered state.

Shit...this whole situation seemed like a fucking joke, but I had to think fast—I needed a plan how to solve this bullshit and maybe I could get some answers if I could help you. I took a moment to collect myself and told myself that one way or another I had to go there...to rescue you.

I'll do it even if I have to burn down this police station.

In record time, my impeccable appearance was ready, and now I confidently walked down the long, dimly lit corridor of the police station that was closest to where I lived—I hoped you were in that station, but if not, I would visit all of them until I found you.

Finally, I reached the reception area, where a pretty policewoman greeted me with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for..." I opened my briefcase and showed her my notebook with your full name written in it. "Are they here, in this department? I believe they were arrested today."

The officer smiled at me before she turned around and started to rummage through some papers, folds, notes... With each passing moment I was getting more and more impatient, but I had to play it cool.

"I think I found the person you were looking for," the woman said, placing several documents on the reception desk, implying that I should take a look at them. "They were delivered here an hour ago."

"Can I see them?" I asked, putting on my casual, seductive smile.

“And what is your relationship to the suspect?” 

Damn, not this fucking question.

I was a little stunned at first, but then I quickly tugged at my red tie and tilted my head in a condescending way. "I'm their lawyer, and I need to see them as soon as possible."

I noticed that her expression suddenly changed, her eyes gliding over my massive form—she was obviously trying to access my appearance and compare it to the look of a successful lawyer living in New York City—when I gave her an intense look and then winked, she visibly blushed.

After a small cough, she took the documents and only then dared to look at me again. "The suspect is now in interrogation room number one. Don't get lost."

"Thanks." I grinned broadly and, after closing my briefcase, left the reception.

It didn't take me long to find the interrogation room I needed. As I stopped right next to the door, I checked myself in the reflection of the nearby window—I looked perfect, not as perfect as I used to be, but not too horrible either.

A light knock on the door before I opened it. "Good afternoon, sorry for the long wait. How is my client? I hope you haven't done anything inappropriate in my absence?"

The moment our eyes met, I could see a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something beyond human understanding.

"And who the hell is that?" One of the officers—a rather fat guy with a messy beard—asked his partner, then looked at you. "You said you were from Chicago and your lawyer had to catch a flight here."

"Yes, that's exactly what I said. Why are you telling me my own words?" You crossed your arms and gave me a scorching gaze, I seized the moment of your confusion to nestle into the empty chair next to you. "Probably...my lawyer has handed this case over to his colleague in New York, so he doesn't have to come here."

Both policemen looked at us as if we were idiots—which we definitely were—but I hoped this affair would work out.

"But you asked to be allowed to make a phone call... the whole damn time," another policeman replied, pointing his finger at you and then at me. "I'm going to send you both to jail if you don't tell me what-"

"Jesus Christ, I told you several times...I was at a party...I took someone's coat by mistake and there was...this fucking bag of cocaine, but it's not mine! You can check the fingerprints and you won't find mine on this fucking bag! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?"

"My client is right. Before we get the results of the fingerprint analysis, the presumption of innocence should not be forgotten." I started in the most serious tone I could manage. "Remember that."

Both officers started arguing with each other almost immediately, using many different insults that I would definitely have to remember so that I could present them to Tim— he would love to hear them. I was about to say something clever when the door suddenly opened and a woman with dark hair stepped into the room.

"What the hell is going on?" The woman asked her colleagues, looking disappointed and quite angry. "Everyone can hear you outside."

"Oh, Miss Moore," one of the officers murmured like a guilty child. "Well, we..."

"Detective Moore to you, Rogers," she replied, her posture radiating confidence. You and I both stared at her for a while, I noticed her tanned skin and thick curly hair, she was definitely Hispanic, the accent was also quite noticeable. "Can I confide in you at least once?" Officer Rogers looked at his partner, neither of them said a word, and that made the detective even more annoyed. "We'll talk about it later, now go."

The cops didn't dare protest, and soon they left. Now it was just you, me and Detective Moore in the interrogation room. The tension was palpable in the air, my hands were sweaty and shaking, I had to brush them off my open coat, but before I could, you caught one of them and squeezed it barely sensibly—I gasped, almost choking on my saliva.

After a brief examination of the documents, the woman across from us raised her brown eyes and smiled, not too friendly, but not too menacing either. "So, my name is Andrea Moore," she turned to look at you, holding a piece of paper in her hand. "I already know your name," her piercing gaze finally stopped on me. "May I have your documents, sir?"

Swallowing hard, I unlocked my briefcase to hand her my ID. "Yeah, sure."

"Mr. Bateman...have we met before?"

"No...I don't think so."

Andrea hummed to herself. "Well, I hope you brought your law license with you?" 

Your grip on my palm tightened, I almost let out a hysterical squeal. "I... I must have left it in my office."

"Listen," you suddenly spoke up, gesticulating as if you were at a school presentation. "I need to call my assistant, Vincent Eisenhower...he will help sort things out-"

"Wait a minute...did you say Vincent Eisenhower?" Andrea suddenly stopped you, obviously surprised.

"Uh, yeah, he's my assistant at the company I work-" 

"...in Chicago?" 

"Yes..." you replied in confusion. "Is there something wrong with that?"

The detective didn't answer, and it made me nervous as hell, but you holding my hand in a gentle manner was strangely comforting, even though I despised such displays of affection.

Looking puzzled, Andrea finally took the pen and a clean piece of paper. "Can you give me the number...I'll call Mr. Eisenhower and ask him for...a real lawyer. Mr. Bateman, I hope you understand the consequences of your actions-"

"Leave him alone, it's not his fault," you cut Andrea off before I could say anything in my defense. "He didn't know what he was doing coming here...please...he hasn't done anything bad...he's just going through a hard time in his life and..."

"Enough," the detective raised her hand in a halting gesture. "I hope I can reach out to Mr. Eisenhower....You two better pray for that."

Andrea left as abruptly as she had come. We were finally alone. Both confused, frightened, and lost.

"Why did you even come here?" You asked, not looking at me, but not parting our hands. "How stupid of you to come here and act like you were my lawyer."

"I HAD NO CHOICE!" I almost screamed, turning in my seat to cut the mere distance between us. "Not after you terrorized me with those damn phone calls..."

As I said that, time stood still for us and I could see the inner conflict in your deep, mesmerizing eyes—you were broken and lost just like me—I looked down at our intertwined hands, waiting for your answer.

"What calls, Patrick? What are you talking about?" 

"You know WHAT I'm talking about...don't try to fuck with my brain," I husked, inches from your lips. "You think this is funny, huh?" 

"And you think it's funny to call my office and tell my assistant about your suicidal intentions?" Your warm breath wafted pleasantly around my face as you moved closer. "You think it's funny to appear and disappear in my life like I'm a toy you can play with whenever you feel bored?"

At first I didn't answer. Instead, I just kept eye contact with you, then I lowered my eyes to our hands again—my palm was bigger than yours, this little detail always made my heart flutter. Did I ever think that such a small thing would stir such strong emotions in me? Probably not.

Definitely not.

"By the way, did you manage to find out anything about that machine you told me about?" I questioned abruptly, putting my arm around your shoulders. 

You frowned and chuckled in disbelief. Well, at least the tension was relieved.

"What machine?" You fidgeted in your seat as I pulled you closer. "Hey, don't change the subject..."

"A memory reboot machine," I crooned, leaning forward so our noses rubbed against each other. "If you're here... that means you probably didn't find it."

The urge to indulge in this moment, to follow the passionate momentum and just kiss these lips I'd been thinking about all along, was unbearable, but I didn't want to be the first to fall apart and drop my defenses.

"Maybe I never needed this machine," you replied, pressing your forehead against mine for a brief moment. "Because I never wanted to forget...you?"

Was it a question or a statement—we never knew as we both moved towards each other, my burning lips pressed against your soft ones as we shared the most desirable kiss I could ever imagine. Gasping into my mouth, you let go of my hand only to wrap both of them around my neck as you responded with no less favor than mine. It was so hot, so desperate, so tragic. And it was all mine— your pain, your anger, your hatred.

Because you were my salvation.

With precise deftness, I carefully tilted your head back a little to deepen the kiss, my arms eagerly but not persistently roving around your back, knowing every little detail of your body, every dent and bump. As much as I wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were for me, I didn't want this kiss to end, but as if you could read my mind, you suddenly pulled me away a little too abruptly and roughly.

"God, I hate you..." you wept, covering your face so I couldn't see your tears. "I really... I really thought you were going to do something bad... I was afraid it was too late..."

I was at a loss, I didn't know how to react or what to say—everything about you confused me, made my brain overload with different thoughts about what you said and why—now was no exception.

"But I'm here now...in one piece," I decided not to touch you, my hand resting on the back of your chair, ready to hug you at any moment if it was needed. "You should understand that...if I really wanted to do this, no one would be able to stop me..." I whisper above your ear and place my hand on the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on the table. "Even you."

I knew that this confession would mean nothing, just like all my previous ones, but as soon as I said it, you raised your tear-stained eyes and whimpered. "Don't say that...don't fucking say that! You can be a total asshole, but that doesn't mean you deserve to die..."

"Darling," I gently brushed your stray locks from your face, trying to distract you and keep you from saying words that would only make things worse. "You know so little about me...but I don't want you to say something you'll regret..."

"I've already said too many things that I now regret," you replied, turning away from me. "Have you ever thought about your family and how they would react if something bad happened to you? Have you thought about Evelyn?"

My eyebrows knitted together, the words you said pierced my heart like sharp daggers, but I didn't want you to stop, because you were right, I was always selfish, but you knew so little about my family, who would surely be sad about the loss, but they would recover pretty quickly, since they still had Sean. And Evelyn? I would laugh if things were not so sad.

Trembling and sobbing, you still sat with your back to my face. "I'm not going to ask you for anything except to promise me that you'll never even think about...hurting yourself."

Oh, dear.

With a soft clink of my chair, I stood up and placed both of my hands on your trembling shoulders. "I promise... if you stay with me, I'll never look back... on my previous life." I felt your body tense under my touch. "We can't reboot the memory, but we can...reboot our lives?"

This was it—the moment I had fantasized about so many times, considering different outcomes, scenarios—I was waiting for your answer when the door creaked and Detective Moore appeared in my vision. She was much more cheerful than before, which worried me a bit.

"So," she took a seat, opened a folder with documents and wrote something on it. "I spoke to Vince, and luckily for you, he has already contacted your lawyer-"

"Vince?" You asked in shock, but at least you stopped crying.

Andrea stuttered and cleared her throat. "I mean..." she paused and twirled the pen in her hand. "It happened that Vincent and I used to know each other..."

What?

We were both speechless, how the hell could such a coincidence have happened? 

"Well... I really didn't see it coming..." You murmured, brushing the remnants of tears from your face.

"Neither did I," the detective chuckled curtly before resuming her work on some papers. "Listen, we should wait for the results of the fingerprint analysis, and while we wait, you are forbidden to leave the city. Please put your sign here."

"What is this?"

"Your ticket to freedom," she explained. "A street bail."

I saw you hesitate, so I gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and you looked at me, I simply nodded, and you placed the sign. 

"And how long have you known Vincent?" You asked after you handed the document back to Andrea. "Just asking."

"Since childhood, I think."

"Oh... that's... a lot."

"Vince has always been known for being a good boy..." the woman paused, coughing awkwardly. "Uh, you can talk to him about... that if you're interested." Andrea closed the folder and shifted her gaze to me. "And you, I highly recommend that you never do anything like this again."

"So you're not going to put me in a cell?" I replied in a slightly teasing manner.

"No...not this time. But the officer who allowed you to come here will be severely punished, maybe even fired," Andrea explained, getting up from her chair. "It's her first day at the police station, but she let a man go through without even checking his papers. Such violations are very serious."

And although I didn't feel sad for this woman I would probably never see again, I looked at you and your big doe eyes. "Maybe there's a way not to fire her? I assured her that I was a lawyer and...I could pay a fine if I had to."

Detective Moore said nothing, she just grinned and beckoned us to follow her.

An hour later we finally left the police station. For some time we walked in complete silence, the surrounding commotion drawing out my shallow breathing, my mind overclocked with the search for topics to talk about after all the shit that had happened.

"So... where did you stay?" I asked casually, looking at you from above, your eyelashes shimmering in the sunlight. "In the Plaza?"

"No," you replied almost immediately. "Not the Plaza this time...it was all booked up."

"You were really in New York... for the whole time?"

"Depends on what time you mean exactly," your slight smile made me almost stumble, but I pretended to see someone familiar. "Maybe I haven't left New York at all?"

No, that can't be.

"You know, since you can't leave the city... maybe we should spend some time together and... you didn't answer my question."

My offer made you stall, and I followed suit. Passers-by walked past us, not paying attention even though we were standing in the middle of the street.

"Was it really a question?"

"And what do you think it was?"

"A plea?" You smiled and stepped closer to me until there was no space between us. "If you weren't so stubborn...everything could be so much easier."

"And YOU tell me that?" I let myself pull you closer to me. "I have an idea...fuck the place where you stopped! We should go to Newport."

"Newport? Would it count that I left New York?" you asked me a little shyly. "Do you have a house there or...?"

"My family has a house there and since they are out of town we can use it to kill time...have you ever been to Newport?" My hands rested possessively on your waist and before I knew it, I added. "Me and Evelyn are getting divorced..."

"No, I haven't," you replied, finally resting your hands on my shoulders. "But I really want to...since I've heard a lot of good things about this place..." then you suddenly froze. "What... What did you say? Are you kidding me? God, I can't believe this...I..."

You continued to bubble something that made me smile in amusement and I couldn't help but hold you tightly in my arms— the place you always belonged to, though I understood it too late. The fresh breeze of change swirled around us, playing with our hair and clothes. Yesterday I didn't know if I would make it to tomorrow, but today I was sure that there would be so many tomorrows because I wasn't alone anymore.

With you, for you, in your name—I was still alive and finally free.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[headspace-hotel]

dwarf fortress update

Elven ambushes came synchronized with goblin sieges several different times now.

The second time this happened, I fended off the attackers pretty successfully considering the level of fun we were dealing with, only about 15-20 dwarves lost (from a fortress of 310 citizens)

However, the fun didn't end there.

Basically, most of the dwarven children in my fortress are really traumatized and miserable. I think part of the reason for this is that dwarven women assigned to squads sometimes have babies and for the first year mothers carry their babies with them everywhere they go, including into battle. Which means that the dwarf babies witness dozens of sentient creatures being butchered in front of them, which exacts a toll on their psyches.

(I did not fully figure this out until one of my dwarf soldiers fell into a pond during a raid and drowned to death along with her baby, which made me so sad that I reverted the save.)

Dwarf children, since they don't have specialized jobs or training, are also more psychologically vulnerable having fewer sources of happiness.

Dwarven child brawl.

One of my depressed and miserable dwarves decided to start a fist fight in the tavern next to my hospital, which happens regularly, but this time my hospital was full of injured dwarves, and many dwarves were entering and leaving carrying cloth, thread, soap and the like. Somehow, the synchrony of multiple mental health crises formed a violent alchemy which exploded into a huge brawl, spilling over into the hospital.

Useful activities in the hospital, like surgery and treating wounds, ground completely to a halt as dwarves were fighting on top of the operating tables and attacking the surgeons and doctors. Having just gotten finished with fighting invaders, the soldiers receiving treatment were all still armed, which meant that upon joining the brawl, their attacks were almost immediately lethal to unarmored civilians. This caused the loved ones of the slain to become enraged and begin fighting.

Soon brawls were happening all throughout the fortress. The situation rapidly spiraled, because whenever someone got injured, they were summarily brought to the hospital, where the most intense violence was occurring.

Eventually fighting spilled over into an outdoor area, near the large pasture where I was keeping most of my animals. All hell broke loose. Dogs, horses, donkeys, bears, jaguars, leopards, badgers, dingoes, llamas, sheep and everything else started attacking dwarves and each other in terror and rage, and dwarves responded by attacking the animals. The brawl now consumed basically the entire fortress. The hospitals were totally overwhelmed: every bed and every tile of the floors was filled up with wounded dwarves stacked on top of dead bodies. No one could treat wounds or retrieve dead bodies.

The brawl killed at least fifty of my citizens—the population dropped to around 240. I had to cancel every single work order in the fortress to make dwarves craft coffins. Things were just starting to get under control when ANOTHER elf ambush happened, and another 20 of my dwarves were killed. Part of this was because my militias hadn't been actively training at the time, and since they weren't wearing armor when the call to arms went out, a bunch of them decided to go into battle stark fucking naked.

The dwarven misery situation was completely untenable so at this point I began working on something I called dwarven mental health boot camp.

Basically I set up a bunch of workshops, designated the most miserable dwarves as the masters of those workshops, and assigned work orders for them to craft large amounts of random crap. This seemed to keep them too occupied to start fights, and also caused them to develop skills and feel satisfaction from work, occasionally even producing a masterwork.

I also designated a bunch of tiny areas nearby as secondary shrines to all of the major gods (giving them gold floors to make them at least sort of decent). I put a ton of these tiny shrines everywhere so it was impossible to not walk past them semi-regularly.

All of this was in an area connected to my best tavern and the library as well as two areas of high quality bedrooms.

As another measure, I ordered my militias to station next to the waterfall on a rotating schedule

I have tried referencing the wiki, but it seems to me like the wiki is mostly wrong about the most effective ways to help dwarves' happiness and lower stress.

Statues, no matter how high quality, seem to have little or no effect, at least not more than any other piece of furniture.

Military training can produce good thoughts but seems to range from marginally positive to moderately negative—it takes forever for military drills to produce even a slight increase in military skill (without actual fighting experience they will take years in-game to get past 'adequate' on anything) and while training most dwarves seem to constantly think about how bored and lonely they are because they're not doing other stuff.

I have legitimately no idea how to meet the "acquire object" need. I know i've had dwarves fulfill it from picking up flasks, but seriously, I have hundreds of random pieces of jewelry lying around. I'm constantly making and erasing a rotating carousel of finished good stockpiles in the hopes they will "acquire object" while hauling, but I haven't seen evidence in the dwarves' thoughts of anything good happening from picking up anything except a brand new clothing item. A few of my dwarves do have jewelry but most don't.

Having separate bedrooms is a must, but the game doesn't seem to care if the bedrooms are just beds and cabinets spaced at equal distances apart in the same huge room.

No matter how desensitized the dwarves are to dead bodies, seeing a dead body seems to contribute to stressing them out. I suspect "didn't feel anything" isn't actually neutral per se, especially since "didn't feel anything" appears in the thoughts of especially miserable dwarves about things that would ordinarily cause happiness or upset.

Dwarves have thoughts about seeing dead bodies even in the absence of a clear source of the thoughts (they will have the thought "didn't feel anything about seeing X's dead body" even if there is no dead body or body part nearby that i can see). I don't know if I'm just missing the body parts in an incredibly crowded stockpile or what. I have a weird suspicion that seeing the clothes of deceased individuals might be causing it.

burying dwarves in tombs is huge because their relatives will all get extremely negative thoughts if the body decomposes without being in a tomb

rain ptsd is absolutely a thing though

[howtofightwrite]

I know DnD is not about realism but how accurate is having, say, your heavy armor wearing paladin have 10 dex or even negative dex? Where medieval knights built like The Rock or like The mountain? I’ve seen youtubers saying that you needed a lot of strength to be able to fight like a knight so women and smaller people couldn’t do it.

I think I know which YouTuber you're talking about, and you can pretty safely ignore them. Their personal misogyny takes priority over their (alleged) expertise when they're forming their arguments.

There's two logistical problems with the idea that you need someone like Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson to make up the bulk of your elite forces. The first problem is that they need to consume a frightening amount of food. This isn't as much of a problem in the modern era, when we have the capacity for truly staggering amounts of agricultural production. But, in a medieval society, with serfs responsible for most of the agriculture, the prospect of feeding each of your elite troops 10,000 calories a day would economically destroy most kingdoms. (And, yes, that is what Björnsson reports to consume on a daily basis. Other estimates place his dietary intake somewhere between 3600 and 8000.) And, to be clear, that is an absolutely absurd amount of food. But, if you want to build that kind of mass, you need a lot of energy, which means, a lot of food.

The second logistical problem is, there's only one of him. Okay, that's not literally true, The Mountain was portrayed by three separate actors, Conan Stevens, a professional wrestler, and Ian Whyte, a stunt actor who had previous appeared as a White Walker in the first season. But, Hafthor Bjornsson took over the role in the fourth season, and is probably who you're thinking of when you name drop the character.

Bjornsson is a member of the 2000 pound club, which include power lifters who can lift over 2000lbs combined between bench press, dead lift, and squats. Not many people ever get that far, and Bjornsson is one of the few individuals who can get into the 1000 pound club from a single lift.

Here's a fun name to know, Becca Swanson is also in the 2000 pound club. She credibly claims that she is the first woman to have achieved that, and I'm not sure if there are any other women in the 2000lb club, but it is achievable.

Now, here's the fun thing about all of this, because you're asking about D&D, and D&D players need to know exactly how much their character can lift. The calculation is (STR*30)lbs. (In the Player's handbook p174.) This also means if you have a real person, and you know how much they can lift in the real world, you can reverse engineer what their strength score would be in D&D.

It's 37.

If you wanted to convert Hafthor Bjornsson into D&D, his strength score would be 37.

Dude can fucking arm wrestle the Terrasque and easily win.

Putting that in perspective, it's a little ludicrous to say that if you want a viable martial character (fighters, paladins, barbarians, etc.), they need a Strength score of 37, when it's not normally possible for player characters to exceed 20 base strength. (If you're wondering, Becca would work out to have ~29 Strength. So, on par with most ancient dragons, and a few gods.)

So, there you have a man and woman who are both superhumanly strong according to D&D.

D&D and math have always had issues like this, and it pops up in a few different places here.

The basic concept that your ability to hit, and the amount of damage you deal is based on strength comes from a very, “schoolyard,” understanding of violence. It's okay to step back and abstract it out, where “strength,” is some amalgam of melee combat aptitude in addition to actual strength, but the idea that being stronger means you can hit harder with a sword or dagger doesn't make a lot of sense. It doesn't even make much sense with axes and maces (the force applied has more to do with the mass and velocity of the weapon, rather than the strength of its wielder.)

A paladin with negative DEX is dead. I don't mean that figuratively, and I do understand what you meant to say, but this rule is a little obscure in 5e. If any of a character's physical attributes (STR, DEX, CON) are reduced to zero, the character immediately dies. Ability draining effects used to be far more common, so the rule existed by itself, though, now it mostly shows up when you're looking at a monster with a physical ability draining attack.

What you probably meant was a negative DEX modifier, meaning your paladin is unusually clumsy. Outside the context of D&D, that would be an incredibly bad thing for a front line combatant. In the specific context of D&D, if they're in heavy armor, it doesn't really matter, if they're in medium, then it reverts to being “a bad thing. Specifically, the rules is that light and medium armor add your DEX modifier to your armor class. Medium armor caps this at +2, but it can go negative with either armor type. However, heavy armor in 5e ignores your DEX modifier entirely.

Now, here's the thing about D&D, its concept of armor is spectacularly weird. Unlike RPGs where armor reduces damage taken, either by subtracting a fixed amount from incoming damage or by reducing damage via a percentage, D&D's system is that your armor class grants you a chance to avoid being hit at all. (5% chance per point of AC, if you're wondering.) Narratively, this is often framed as taking a hit, but your armor turned the blade or something similar. This is because sometimes the enemy attack straight up misses, and that's (usually) determined by your dexterity. This is important, because the game is trying to balance two different power fantasies against each other.

On one side you have the players who want to roll in heavy plate armor, and soak all the hits, and on the other you have players who want to go with light armor, and dodge around enemy attacks. Realistically, that's not an option, but D&D permits it, and again, that's fine. The fantasy of lightly armored fighters makes a lot of sense. I'd even go so far as to say that the barbarian's unarmed defense bonus (where they add CON modifier to their DEX modifier while unarmored) is a really good change in 5e even if it does make no sense objectively. It contributes to the fantasy of this brutal fighter who runs around without armor slapping people silly with their weapons, and shrugging off damage because they're too stubborn to die. In (nearly all cases) the ability to deliver the player fantasy of a class is more important than a strict adherence to reality, and that's fine, that's the point, but the realism of D&D doesn't translate off the page in any meaningful way.

If you wanted a more, “realistic,” (and, yeah, that's incredibly loaded in this context), approach to armor for D&D, I'd say gate access based on your Constitution (or Constitution modifier). Sort of like how your equip load in Dark Souls is based on your Endurance attribute. Give armor and weapons a burden value, and if the combined burden on a character exceeds their CON, the character risks taking levels of Fatigue when they're fighting in heavier gear than they're conditioned to deal with. Maybe add a Conditioning feat or skill if you want to add some other attribute modifiers to the mix should you end up with your heavy armor fighters being underequipped. (Then again, I am one of those psychopaths who really liked the D20 Star Wars' vitality system.) So, ultimately, tinker with the balance until you find something you, and the people at your table, are happy with. Roleplayers who have more meaningful build choices tend to be happier, so long as they don't feel like they're being punished for having a character fantasy.

One of the more amusing descriptions I've read of medieval knights is that they were built like methheads. I can't fully vouch for that, because I'm not an expert on the physical appearance of medieval knights, but it's certainly credible. These guys were eating pretty well for the era, and engaged in a lot of physical activity. Depending on what they were doing, that could easily result in some fairly bulky guys, but it could also result in some wiry looking guys who hide their muscles. Just, knowing what I do about the human body, the answer was probably both, depending on their metabolism and diet. But the image of Sir Methhead, Knight of the Realm, and his implausibly clean teeth, still amuses me.

It's worth remembering that a lot of the times I've seen someone say, “they were built like athletes,” they'll drop an image of a bodybuilder. No. That's not what you would get. Bodybuilding is designed to create its own physique, one that doesn't occur unless you're abusing your body in some very specific (and unhealthy) ways. It's probably better to think of someone like a high-school football player. Bulky, but without the carved physiques of a Boris Vallejo painting. (If you don't know who that is, look up his art. It is a bit dated, but it's gorgeous.)

Alternately, if you do want your characters to look like those paintings, it is your fantasy, have fun.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

hello!! um I really liked the whole Military Creator you've written!

I'm wondering how would some of the boys/men react to that!

for example, Zhongli/Xiao as they have fought in wars before or Childe for his bloodlust. Feel free to add anyone you want too!

Headcanons: Zhongli, Xiao, and Childe Reacting to Reader being a Veteran Military Soldier.

Ah, I see, Anon! Here y'all go :) I hope you enjoy it!

Click Me For the Women Version!

Disclaimers: Might be OOC, Implied Violence/Battle, Mentions of Scars!)

Zhongli

This man. This old immortal man that is a dragon. He knows war like the back of his hand. Kinda quite literally, since once upon a time, some people hailed him as the God of War (Sorry Murata).

To hear that Reader was a former Military Officer for a nation you didn't run nor found, you just increased Zhongli's respect by a HUGE amount. There's no denying it.

"If you don't mind, Your Grace, may you tell me a few stories of your past experiences in battle?" Very attentive listener. He won't push if you leave a few details out, even if he is curious.

Honestly loves to listen to you and your stories! He commends you for your victories, and solemn your lost of the cherished ones. Zhongli is all too familiar with war, and it's very relatable.

Your tea talks with him are now more and more interesting, to say the least. You might be invited from Zhongli for tea instead of the other way around!

Xiao

General Alatus himself...the Vigilant Yaksha doesn't take war all too well. You can say that he's got extreme PTSD from it, and really—that's pretty much an understatement alone.

Won't push the topic much, since this boy does not want you to be stuck in a traumatic time, but he is curious about your military days, since you don't seem all that bothered of what you experienced.

However! This doesn't mean he won't want to check up on you. He may not be...good with emotions, but he's certainly going to try, for the Almighty Creator's sake!

"Your Grace....forgive my prying, but are you...okay?" He cringes just listening to himself ask the question. It felt like he was trying to make your achievements an understatement or a cheap byproduct.

Constantly remind this guy that what he asked hadn't upset or hurt you. This man is notorious for self-sacrifice and self-blame.

Overall, spending time with Xiao is probably good therapy for the both of you, in a way. keep up the tea time, because this man will eventually open up and actually relax and enjoy tea with you!

Childe

A little too thrilled to hear that the Almighty Creator has gone through war.

Immediately pounces on the matter. No cap.

"Your Grace, care to share some battle experiences with me?" Has an absolute gleeful and menacing smile on his face as his dead eyes shine brightly at you, boring into your soul.

Of course, he won't push for details—boy just wants to know the battles and fights you were in.

However, that doesn't mean he's heartless. He'll share your sentiment if a battle brought loss to your loved ones. Childe himself can't imagine losing one of his siblings. Ever.

Tea time with Childe is basically verbal sparring. You both are fighting by comparing your battles with one another. And it never ends.

And that's it! I hope you all like it :) Sorry for being so inactive these days—motivation keeps killing me, I swear. See you all around soon!

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: If you're waiting for The Lost Shining God of Celestia or Forver In My Hold finale part—It's coming, don't worry! My brain isn't just motivated just yet, but it will be it out!

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Ziehen

Chapter Thirty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Zachariah, Crowley, Dick, Bobby, Sam and Benny

Word Count: 2053, with other media

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, talk of extra-curricular activities coming up, a thirst trap because Jensen has been unfair lately, Benny being a teddy bear, and Bela trying to make amends

Series Masterlist

“And between record store day and Phantom Traveler’s release, Q2 is looking to break records for us,” Zachariah droned on.

“Well, it’s the least they could do,” Dick added glibly.

You couldn’t roll your eyes, you were on camera, but you wanted to. Crowley didn’t reply, but Zachariah chuckled and took a beat to agree before going on down the line of his report. Bobby huffed, but kept a lid on it, which told you how much he knew Dick was right.

“Things are shaping up well with pre-orders and the appearances Bobby and company have lined up between Vegas and New Orleans with the album release.  should outshine their previous album sales by a wide margin,” Crowley tacks on, almost bored with the success.

You set that up, not Bobby, but you kept your mouth shut, nodding.

“Y’all can thank Y/N for that, you know,” Bobby said gruffly.

“Of course,” Dick agreed offhandedly, eyes darting down to other parts of his screen.

Thank God for Bobby. You simply smiled and kept listening.

“Sounds great, people! Let’s check back the week of the release to ensure we’re still on track. We’ve got a lot of numbers to move to get in the black here, but I see good things happening,” Dick smarmed and instantly sent a meeting invite for the following month. 

“Thank you!” you replied dutifully and closed the window for the chat. After accepting the invite and adding it to your personal calendar, you exhaled long and hard. You checked your phone, Bela had called again and left another two text messages. You ignored her. She could wait.

You called Bobby for a mix of mutual griping and to debrief about where that put you all going forward. 

Without even a greeting, Bobby started, “I swear they get dumber every quarter.”

“Tell me about it. Thanks for having my back in there, though, I was starting to see red by the end.”

“You and me both, darlin’.” Bobby huffed. “The amount of stuff you get done is amazing. Even without all the run-around from the last tour, you are doing more than anybody I’ve seen in your position. We appreciate ya, even if the suits can’t see past their nose jobs.”

You beamed.

“Thanks. So, what’s on the agenda for the week? I know Dean and Sam took Gibson and Pamela to the zoo.”

“Yeap. Got the Midway Museum tomorrow if you have time, got tickets for anybody who wants to go. Might be good time for pictures if you need some candids for the socials.”

You knew this was his way of telling you to come, he even gave you justification for doing it on so called work hours.

“Maybe. I might just steal some from the band. Too much to get done before the show on Thursday.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us if you get caught up or not.”

“Thanks.” It felt like all you could say to him today. It was a small word with a lot of connotations, but you were grateful. You owed Bobby so much. Though he never gave anything he didn’t want to give or for any form of repayment. He was too good for this industry. They all were.

“I’ll keep you posted. I have calls with the next couple of venue coordinators today and then some event security stuff tomorrow morning with Benny for some non-venue signings and stuff.”

“You still want to do the battered women's shelter thing?”

“The domestic violence survivors fundraiser in Vegas? Absolutely.”

Bobby hummed.

“I know what you’re thinking, Bobby. And that’s exactly why we’re doing it.”

“Do you think it looks like pandering?”

“I think it looks like community service. And if I didn’t think Dean could handle it, I wouldn’t have signed him up for it.”

“Even after that little disappearing act on Saturday?”

“Dean is a domestic abuse survivor, Bobby. Part of what he’s gone through is accepting that.”

“Yeah, but Cas—.”

“Cas is still family. And he didn’t press charges. And you know Dean—- penance is something he needs to do for himself, too.”

Bobby sighed. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Trust me, this is still my good side.”

Bobby actually chuckled at that. “I bet! Okay, I should get going, promised the missus we’d hit the shops before dinner.”

“Have a good one.”

“Alrighty, bye then.”

You smiled at your desk as Bobby hung up. He was happy and Annie was good for him. It didn’t matter their pasts, they made it work, and made each other better along the way.

Which seemed utterly remarkable and unattainable for somebody like you.

But if anybody deserved it, it was them.

You put down your phone and pulled up Twitter, it was time to dig through the chaos and do what you did best: highlight the good, the band's synergy and the new momentum and bury the bad. 

Which seemed to include you this time around, unfortunately.

After Twitter, you tackled Insta, Reddit and even FB, though most people cross posted the same images and anecdotes, some people only used one of the bunch. And some only used them on pain of death, namely Dean. Meanwhile, Bela had posted a couple of great shots from the afterparties, which you liked as the band and as yourself. 

You were crabby, not petty.

And busy, damnit.

The next morning, Sam smirked at you when he caught your eye in the hotel’s gym. He was already sweating from running outside, but must have come back to stretch or work something more intensely. What you weren’t expecting was Dean to be hot on his heels, equally as sweaty, equally as mischievous.

“Trouble! How’s business?” 

You rolled your eyes and took out an earbud, not sure you really heard them.

“What’s up?”

“We’re gonna lift— you want in?” Sam was teasing you now.

You pedaled stiffly and shook your head. “Fuck no, I’m good here, got another ten mile circuit after this breather.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean taunted and grinned before he crossed his legs and touched his toes. What the hell? Luckily there was only one other guest using the elliptical, so they weren’t being complete nuisances, yet.

They weren’t even directly in your line of sight, otherwise it could have gotten awkward, and distracting.

Still, you felt them keep glancing at you, making faces, and even cheering for you when you shifted up with your ass out of the seat to get the best angle for the various hills. You flipped them off, but kept your eyes forward and your earbuds in place.

Thirty minutes later, you groaned and stepped off the stationary bike. Dean and Sam had been talking more than doing curls with the free weights, obviously being dorks about each other’s efforts.

Boys.

“Good workout?” Dean asked as you sanitized your equipment. Sweat clung to your oversized tank top, all down your back, and between your legs. Thank god you wore your black workout leggings today.

“Yeah? You?” You smirked as Dean made a show of extending his movements slowly and pointedly. Yes, Dean, your arms should be illegal, you thought.

“Good, uh— need help stretching?”

You looked at him a little dumbfounded and then back at Sam, who seemed just as surprised as you were by the offer.

“Nah, I’ve got my bands and stuff in my room. Though, I bet Sam would love to see you try and bullshit your way through a cool down routine,” you tacked on, trying to laugh off the offer. Inside you were imagining Dean’s weight against you, pushing your knees up and out, flexing your hip joints with his thick fingers digging into the meat of you…

“Hey! I was just being nice.”

“Dude,” Sam muttered.

You sighed and gave Dean an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time.”

You pretended not to hear the series of slaps that happened behind your back as you made your way to the elevator and your generic hotel shower.

Benny treated you to lunch after your video calls with the S.A.F.E. House staff and the one with the folks at the radio station who’d be interviewing the band the morning of the first Vegas show. 

“Saw your tweet on Cas’ post,” you added thoughtfully, midway through your shrimp po boys.

“Yeah, well, didn’t want him thinking he done wrong by us.”

You chewed and nodded, silently telling him that you got it, appreciated it even. 

“You hear anything else from the guys about the last show, you know, after Dean disappeared and, um, everything?”

You needed to know if the guards were loyal, but mostly you wanted to know what they had seen.

“Seemed pretty anticlimactic to most of them, from what I hear. Dean came through, sober and clean as a whistle. —Even the venue goons didn’t clock anything weird,” Benny pointed out before taking another bite, his teeth flashing in the afternoon sun.

After a few moments, Benny continued. “But, uh, that label stooge you got following Bela? He’s the one to worry about, really, seems to keep his cards close to the vest.”

Damn, you knew he was right before he even finished the sentence. Tiny would be the one to squeal to Crowley, or worse, Dick, at the end of the day. You wondered if you could buy him off or treat him in other ways while on the road. Bela wasn’t scheduled to be around until the second Vegas show, you had some time to figure out his motives. Or if he even cared at all.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

Benny sniffed and looked around the small patio outside the restaurant. “Bela’s not really Dean’s girl is she? She some kind of clout pusher?”

You swallowed and took a long slurp of your iced tea, washing away the now muted flavor of your lunch. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Benny. They’ve definitely been enjoying each other’s company more than I expected.”

“Perhaps—- but don’t you worry none. She’s not the type you settled down with and he’s got eyes deeper than the cut of her fancy tops.”

You huffed. Benny certainly had a way with words.

“It’s okay, Benny— I’m not in a place to be jealous.”

He just raised his eyebrows at you and took another bite.

“I did this— I set them up. I’d guess you’d call it reaping what I sow or something?”

Benny nodded and shrugged. “Or something.”

“You won’t— you won’t tell anybody, right? His story is safe with you?”

“Doll, I’ve been covering that boy’s ass since before Lisa— I’m true.”

“I know, Benny, sorry—- it’s just so much posturing all the time. I just want to take pictures and show the world how badass they are. I want people to hear the stories behind the songs, because it shows they’re human too. Sometimes I wish—-”

“Wishin’ for rain in the desert aint doin’ anybody a lick of good. You know the score, you just gotta beat them at their own game. Dean’s a good man, he knows what’s real. Don’t think we all don’t know that, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Know who your people are, if you trust Bela— then she won’t let Tiny think anything is up. Friends have each other’s back against the world, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, suddenly feeling ridiculously immature for ignoring her for the past few days.

“Eat up, cher. It’s a long tour. You’ll need your strength.”

That was an understatement, but you dug in anyway.

“Y/N, listen— I’ve resorted to leaving you a voicemail. It’s come to that. I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean anything disparaging about you the other night— just maybe about how you treat Dean. Not that it's bad, overkill more like, but it’s not like you’re bad or weak for doing it.--- I know how much you loved her, Y/N, I know. Him too, it seems. I just don’t want you wasting so much of your life trying to make up for losing her. It hurts to see you so— subservient. You are so much more than an errand girl. So I’m sorry for my lack of tact. But I’m not sorry I brought it up. Okay? There. Call me back and yell at me properly already, Jesus.”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

Chapter 32: Tronco