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daydreamtofiction · 2 months

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Thou Shalt Not Covet // 16: Sanctuary

Contents | Part 15 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Ellis gets the keys to her new flat.

Word Count: 7.9K (Grab a snack my dudes, it's a long one.)

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult and sexual themes, alcohol consumption, body insecurity. Smut: penetrative sex, oral sex (receiving), lurrv making, praise, worship, aftercare, feels. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter I would so, so, so appreciate it if you left a comment. It helps a lot and means more than you’ll ever know to hear what you all think. Thank you so much, hope you enjoy this one as much I do 🤍

"Jesus Christ."

You considered it a talent; how easily you could compel a priest to take the Lord's name in vain.

Father Benedict's knuckles were blanched, bone white as he clung to the handle above the passenger door of his car. You could have sworn you saw him make the sign of the cross from the corner of your eye, mumbling a prayer under his breath.

"At least there's nothing here for me to crash into," you said, taking a hand off the steering wheel to gesture to the empty supermarket carpark around you.

"Both hands on the wheel," he said.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, you're doing fine, just... Remember you need to slow down as we approach this turn."

"Okay." You looked down at your foot as you took it off the accelerator, swapping it to the brake.

"Eyes up, Ellis. You have to do it without looking."

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Now, get ready to press the clutch down."

"Why do I need to press the clutch?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to disguise his growing frustration. "To move into first gear."

"Oh." You looked down at your feet again.

"Ellis... Ellis!"

You looked up, slamming your foot on the brake and bringing the car to a sudden, hard stop just inches from a row of bollards. The car shuddered and the engine cut out, you turned to look at Father Benedict, his hand still gripping the handle above his head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself with a deep breath before glancing over at you. "It's fine," he said calmly. "Just restart the car and let's keep going."

You fiddled with the keys until the engine roared back to life, the car jerking forward suddenly before cutting out again.

"Clutch," he said quietly.

"Right, yes. Clutch. I just- Y'know it's really hard having to do foot things, hand things and eye things all at once."

"Eye things... You mean seeing...?"

"Yes," you said, starting the car again and moving the gearstick into first. You pulled off slowly, turning the corner that led you back into the empty carpark. "I have to look in front of me, behind me and either side, somehow all at once, while simultaneously using two feet to operate three pedals, and two hands to steer a wheel, indicate and change gear every other fucking second."

"Change gear."

"Hm?"

"You need to change gear. Can you not hear the engine? It sounds like it's going to explode."

"Oh." You looked down at your feet as you pressed the clutch, then down at your hand as you fiddled with the gearstick.

He leaned over quickly, gripping the steering wheel with one hand to stop the car veering through the empty bays.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, taking over again. "I'm pissing you off, aren't I."

"No! No of course not. I just can't believe you've managed to go your whole life without ever driving a car."

"Oh, well funny story actually," you began sarcastically. "See, I was in this really serious car crash when I was thirteen and had to be cut out of the wreck with heavy machinery. Oh, and my brother died in the driver's seat right next to me while we waited for emergency services. It was quite traumatising, believe it or not, so when I finally got old enough to take driving lessons I'd have panic attacks at the wheel. Which meant I never actually got to learn. Did I not tell you about that? I'm sure I told you about that."

"Okay, alright, fair point. I apologise." He held his hands up in surrender. "Why don't we have a go at parking instead?"

He directed you to a space near the back, trying his best to sound encouraging as he talked you through it.

"Here," he said. "So you're going to slow down and start turning the wheel just before this line, okay?"

You did as he instructed, driving towards the space and beginning to slow down.

"Slower," he said. "Even slower. Now start turning- Nope, not that much- You're still going too fast-"

You somehow managed to park diagonally across three spaces, stalling once again in the process.

"You know what, it's fine," you said with a shrug. "I just... It's time we all accept that I wasn't made to drive, I was made to be driven."

"No, come on, you can do this," he laughed. "Turn the car back on."

You huffed and did as you were told, like a sulking child. He leaned over and grabbed the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before looking at you.

"Right, clutch down and put it in reverse... Reverse... The one with the R on it, Ellis... Okay, that's it. Now gently on the accelerator."

The car slowly began to roll backwards. He took your hands and put them on the wheel.

"Now brake. Okay." He let go and sat back in the passenger seat. "Clutch, first gear, and we'll drive down there."

"You make this look so easy when you do it," you said as you fiddled with the gearstick.

"It is easy once you get used to it. Becomes like second nature."

"Mm. Or maybe you're just good at everything."

"I'm not good at everything," he laughed.

"Okay, name something you're bad at."

He paused in thought. "My handwriting's awful."

You laughed softly, bringing the car to a gentle stop. "Oh my god, I didn't stall."

"See, I told you," he replied with a smile. "Now get out of my car."

You climbed out and made your way to the passenger side, waiting as he battled to force open the stiff door. You grabbed the handle and pulled as he pushed, eventually managing to pry it open. He got out, blowing a stray curl out of his eyes and looking down at his watch.

"Come on, we better get back."

He placed a hand on the top of your head, scrunching his fingers gently in your hair before making his way around to the driver's side of the car.

You loved when he touched you like that. The simple, chaste gestures that served no purpose beyond showing his affection for you; the comforting hand on the back of your neck or the light squeeze of your thigh, the head scratches and sweep of his thumb across your cheek. There was something so intimate about being touched so purely, how naturally he had inhabited your personal space, and how easily you'd welcomed him in.

You arrived back at the rectory soon after, Father Benedict's car shuddering as it rolled along the gravel driveway.

"Have I fucked up your car?" you asked.

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's on its last legs anyway."

He got out and lifted two large packs of bottled water from the boot. You tried to take one from him but he refused, insisting on carrying them both. It was late August, the air void of any breeze, thick and muggy despite the cloudy sky. You walked with him down the winding path that led to the pub, beads of sweat peppering your face by the time you got inside. You followed him into the back room, another sign added to the door which read:'St Augustine's Church Book Club - Wednesdays 11am'. And for a moment you questioned why the hell you'd chosen to spend your day off doing this. Why anyone would do this at all.

You quickly blotted your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, immediately walking over to the windows and pushing them open one by one. It made no difference; there was no air, the outside just as warm and still as it was inside. You rolled your eyes and wandered to the pile of metal chairs, taking them out and unfolding them one by one.

Father Benedict was humming to himself, his back to you as he set the bottles down on the floor and tore through the packaging. "Ellis, would you mind getting started on the ch-" he turned around to find you already setting them up in a circle.

"I'm a pro now, Father," you joked.

"That you are," he laughed, turning his back to you again as he unpacked the bottles and set them on the table. "Thank you for helping me with this, I know it's a pain in the arse."

"I don't mind. After that driving lesson this morning I think I owe you."

He chuckled. "Hopefully when Edith gets out of hospital she'll feel well enough to take over again. But until then," he turned around and placed his hands on his hips with a sigh. "Looks like I run a book club."

You laughed softly. "You're a good soul."

"I do try."

There was a moment of quiet, your eyes fixed on each other from across the room, subtle smiles and unspoken desire. He broke first, clearing his throat and looking down at his watch.

"Right, people should be arriving soon," he said. "Do you want to stick around for the meeting and I'll drive you home afterwards?"

"I would but I have some last minute flat stuff to sort out before I move in next week." You placed the last chair down to complete the circle. "I can't believe how fucking expensive some things are. Dining tables, hundreds and hundreds of pounds. Why?"

He bowed his head and laughed. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye," you said with a smile, certain you could feel him watching you as you walked away.

You held the keys in the palm of your hand, staring down at them like you couldn't believe it was real. You hadn't even realised you'd arrived until your father nudged you, jokingly singing She's Leaving Home by The Beatles.

You rolled your eyes and breathed out a laugh, opening the door and jumping out of the van. You walked up to the front gate, staring up at the building, wondering why you suddenly felt scared.

"Are you going in or what?" your father called out as he slid open the large side door of his van.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, then back to the building, taking a deep breath and pushing through the gate. You unlocked the front door and walked inside, the cute frog doormat still sitting outside your neighbour's door.

Neighbour. You had neighbours now.

You made your way up the first flight of stairs, turning to head up the second when the door of 336B opened and a man stepped out onto the landing with a large bin bag in his hand. You almost walked right into him, stumbling backwards slightly.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," you replied with a polite laugh.

He stepped aside for you to walk past. "Narrow landings," he said.

"Yeah."

You had just reached the first step when he turned and called out to you. "Are you the new neighbour?"

You nodded.

"Oh, cool, nice to meet you. I'm Rav."

"Ellis. Nice to meet you too."

"Have you met the downstairs neighbours yet?"

"No, but I like their doormat."

He smiled. "Well her name's Lorna, I'm sure she'll come and introduce herself at some point. It's just her and her daughter Blossom."

"Blossom...?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "The name'll make sense when you meet them. Anyway, welcome to the building, I better go and get rid of this bag that is definitely not full of pizza boxes."

You breathed out a laugh, giving a slight wave as he disappeared down the stairs. He'd left his door ajar, and it made you feel safe, somehow. Like your building was the kind of place where people could leave their front doors open without worrying, have friendly chats on the landing as they passed each other.

You continued up the stairs, fiddling with the keys in your hand as you approached your new front door. Maybe you'd paint it a fun colour, get yourself a cute doormat too. You unlocked it and stepped inside, swallowing past a lump in your throat as you walked into the middle of the stark, empty living area, the wooden floor glittering with shafts of multicoloured light from the stained glass window.

You sat on the floor and lay down, arms and legs outstretched like a star, basking in the silence, the empty space that was yours to fill. It smelled like fresh paint, a piece of masking tape still stuck to the coving in the corner. You wondered how hard it would be to decorate the ceiling; cover it in stars or patterned wallpaper, paint it like a cloudy sky. You had all the time in the world to decide, the thought making you smile.

"The fuck are you doing?"

You sat up to see Mara stepping into the flat, Soleil perched contently on her hip. You clambered to your feet, staring at her as she stood with a raised eyebrow, still so pretty despite the confused scowl on her face. Her eyes darted around the room then back to you, waiting for you to say something.

You weren't a hugger. Neither was she. But still, you found yourself hurrying across the room towards her, wrapping your arms around her and holding her tight.

"Thank you," you said.

She stilled for a moment before gently rubbing your back. "You're welcome. Just don't get the place repossessed."

You laughed and pulled away.

"Nathan's downstairs helping dad up with all your stuff," she said. "I just thought I'd come up and see the place before you fill it with shit."

"It's nice, isn't it."

"It's beautiful. I love this." She pointed to the window. "Anyway, I can't stay. I'm taking this little one to a mother and baby class. Shoot me. But I'll pop round once you're settled. We can kill each other putting together some flatpack furniture."

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"I'll see you soon. Happy moving day."

"Enjoy your class."

She brought two fingers to the side of her head, miming a gunshot.

You watched as she walked out, her voice suddenly becoming high-pitched and animated as she talked to Soleil. When you could no longer hear her, you sat back down on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you waited for Nathan and your father.

For months, your life had sat inside a cluttered garage, waiting, waning, much like you. Now all of a sudden there was light.

You hadn't gotten used to the intercom yet; the loud buzz still making you jump whenever it rang through the flat. You rushed to the door, practically hurdling over boxes to get there, and pressed the button on the wall.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to hold in the smile threatening to spread across your face. "I'll be down in a second."

You ran downstairs, not bothering to change out of your t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and opened the front door, the smile finally breaking through when you saw Father Benedict on the other side. He was in his own clothes; a grey t-shirt, dark jeans and trainers. You still found it strange seeing him so casual, so normal. But even in the most ordinary of clothing, there was still something ethereal about him.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi." He gave a charming smile.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Yes, I would much prefer that to standing on the doorstep."

You laughed sarcastically, allowing him to step in and closing the door behind him.

He followed you upstairs, the closer you got, the tighter your stomach became. You were excited; excited to see him in your space, to blur the lines between your two worlds.

"So obviously I've only been here for two days," you said as you walked into the flat. "So it's still mostly unfurnished. And there's boxes everywhere. And I haven't-"

"Wow," he whispered as he stepped inside.

"What do you think?"

"It's nice. Really nice. And this..." He wandered over to the window. "It's beautiful."

"I know." You felt a slight sense of pride wash over you, his approval mattering more than you thought it would. "Do you want a tour?"

"Sure."

"Okay, well obviously this is the living room," you gestured to the space around you.

There was a small second-hand couch, an old coffee table from your mother's house and a TV balanced atop a cardboard box. Your green chair sat in the window, the place you'd spent the majority of the last two days.

He followed you through to the alcove where you opened each door. "Bathroom. Spare room or office, haven't decided yet. And my bedroom..."

He peered inside the empty room, furrowing his brow at the double mattress on the floor, your duvet and pillows strewn messily on top.

"My bed won't be delivered for another three weeks," you said.

"Ah."

"I actually don't mind this though. It's quite comfy."

He smiled at you, following you back towards the kitchen.

"And this is my kitchen, complete with empty cupboards and a microwave I have no idea how to use."

"Love it."

You laughed.

He cocked his head slightly, eyeing you for a moment.

"What?" you asked.

He shrugged. "I just like seeing you like this. You're happy."

You paused for a moment. "I really am."

There was a lull as he gazed down at you, eyes creasing with joy from seeing you so content. But after a moment he snapped out of it.

"Oh, I brought you a little gift," he said, reaching to pull something from his back pocket. "Now, I know you're not religious, but in the catholic faith this is supposed to bring protection to your home, so I wanted you to have one..."

He handed you a small glass picture frame, the edges decorated with intricate gold filigree. Inside was a depiction of Christ, a vibrant red heart on his chest.

"It's the sacred heart," he said, an uncertainty in his tone. "You can tell me to go fuck myself if you don't want to-"

"No. No, this is... It's really thoughtful. Thank you." You pressed it to your chest, smiling at him appreciatively, before walking past him into the living area.

He followed, watching from the kitchen doorway as you placed the dainty frame in the middle of the coffee table. You turned to see him smiling, creating the deep lines in his cheeks that you loved so much.

You looked around for a moment before clearing your throat. "Do you have to be anywhere?"

"Nope, I am completely free for once."

"Really? Well, would you maybe want to stay for a while? I was just going to order food and maybe watch some films or..."

"What films?"

"Oh, let me think, erm... Passion of the Christ... Stigmata... The Exorcist... The God Father."

He gave a sarcastic laugh. "Hilarious."

You smirked, far too proud of your own joke.

"Yes. I'd love to stay," he said sincerely.

"Great."

There was another moment of quiet between you as you stood across the room from each other. He was leaning against the kitchen doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, while you hovered near the coffee table, nervously twiddling your fingers. Since you met him, you had always been the guest. Now suddenly you were the host, and you weren't sure what you were supposed to do.

"What's that going to be?" he asked, nodding towards a pile of wood, screws and nails on the floor.

"A bookcase. I got annoyed and gave up."

He chuckled and walked over to it, crouching down to read the instructions before picking up a heavy, black Dr Marten boot. "Please don't tell me this is what you're using for a hammer."

"What else would you suggest I use?"

"An actual hammer...?" He picked up a bread knife, holding it up at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Screwdriver," you said.

He dropped his head and laughed. "Okay. Okay, I can work with it."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he said, grabbing a large plank of wood and leaning it against the wall. "Doesn't look too complicated."

You'd never found traditional masculinity particularly attractive before; never desired a man who could build or fix or lift. But for two hours, you watched Father Benedict put together your bookcase. You watched him heave heavy slabs of wood with ease, hold nails between his lips as he eyeballed measurements and use his t-shirt to mop the sweat from his brow.

When he was done, he took a step back, hands on hips as he admired his work. He knocked his fist against the side of it, showing you just how sturdy it was, and moved the entire thing across the room and back twice when you changed your mind about where it should go.

You were sitting together now, cross-legged on the floor in front of it as you sorted through a box of books. You had a specific system, a particular way you liked to order your shelves. You knew it was annoying, remembering how Alfie would huff whenever he put a book on your shelf only to have you move it back to its original place soon after. But Father Benedict didn't huff, didn't get irritated or tell you it was stupid. Instead he was patient; asking you questions and trying to learn the system so he could follow it without having to ask where things should go.

He reached into the box and pulled out the bible he'd given you, sticky notes still poking out from between the pages. It felt like a lifetime ago now, a relic of an era you didn't even recognise anymore. He held it up and you smiled.

"You can have it back if you want," you said.

"No, you keep it," he said, sliding it onto the shelf in the exact place you would have put it.

You sifted through a handful of books, finding a small, leather-bound binder amongst them.

"Is that a photo album?" he asked.

"No," you lied, throwing it back in the box.

He pulled it back out immediately, opening it and flicking through the plastic wallet pages with a grin. He turned it around to show you a picture; your scrawny, eight-year-old self scowling at the camera as she sat on a sun lounger beside a hotel pool.

"I was annoyed because my mum was forcing me to wear a t-shirt in the water," you said.

He gave a deep chuckle in his throat, turning the album back to him and fanning his thumb across the photos.

"Is this your brother?" he asked, showing you another picture.

You tilted your head to one side, looking down at the image you vividly remembered being taken. You were twelve, wearing a blue floral shirt beneath a brown pinafore dress, a large rubber mallet in your hand. Cain was standing beside you in a white vest, ugly Hawaiian shirt and bright red trousers, his hair styled in a ridiculous quiff.

"Yeah," you said. "We were at my aunt and uncle's costume party."

He looked at the picture for a moment. "He went as Ace Ventura?"

"Mhm."

"Nice." He smiled, before narrowing his eyes. "Who the fuck were you supposed to be?"

"I was Kathy Bates in Misery," you said bluntly, as if it were obvious.

He burst into laughter. "What kid chooses that as a costume?"

You shrugged. "What would you have preferred I go as? A Spice Girl?"

He continued to giggle, shaking it away as he analysed the photo closer. "You have his smile."

"You think so?"

"Mhm."

You took the album from him gently, closing it and putting it back in the box. "Evidently I have his driving ability too."

His mouth opened slightly, eyes widening as he breathed out a laugh. "That was dark."

"I was a kid who loved Stephen King films, what do you expect?"

His mouth curled into a half smile.

You struggled to your feet, your legs tingly and numb from sitting cross-legged for so long. You hobbled to the couch and picked up your phone, turning back to look at him.

"Shall we order food?"

The sun was slowly fading, a promise that summer was finally coming to an end. The dim light melted through the window, making the flat feel smaller, cozy and serene. You convinced him to watch trashy reality TV while you ate dinner on the couch, laughing as he grew invested in the drama, shouting at the screen with a mouthful of food.

You couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable with another human being. It was effortless, harmonious; two voices blending together to create something new and beautiful. You had been drawn to his exterior, attracted to the parts you could see on the surface. But the deeper you delved, you only seemed to discover more to adore.

The coffee table was strewn with empty takeaway boxes and trays. Obnoxiously loud music played as the end credits of the show began to roll. You forced yourself to get off the couch, making your way towards the kitchen.

"Do you need another drink?" you asked.

"Please," he replied, stuck to the couch and nursing his full stomach.

You pushed through the door and opened the fridge, pulling out the bottle of champagne your mother had given you as a housewarming gift.

He looked up at you as you returned, his eyes creasing with amusement at the bottle and two mismatched mugs in your hands.

"I'm not the champagne-flute-owning kind of person," you said.

"No way," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, popping the cork and pouring some into each mug.

He waited for you to bring the mug to your lips before taking a sip himself, the pair of you sharing a glance as the sharp, bubbling liquid slid down your throat.

You grimaced. "I forgot I don't like champagne."

He laughed, taking it and placing it on the table for you. You thanked him and relaxed back into the couch, tucking your feet beneath you as you flicked through movies on the TV.

It grew dark outside as the movie played, the TV illuminating the room with a blueish hue. You kept asking questions, another habit Alfie would groan at until you stopped watching movies together at all. But Father Benedict simply answered them, even laughing at how thoroughly you'd misunderstood the plot.

You sat forward and grabbed your mug of champagne, wincing as you took another sip. "So now who's that?" you asked, pointing at the TV.

"That's the big boss," he said.

"But I thought the other guy was the big boss?"

"He is. Of the rival group."

"Oh. But then why did those men go and talk to him before?"

"Well because it's obviously being hinted at that they're moles of some kind."

"Ah." You put your mug back on the table.

He looked at you, his mouth curling with a smile. "You're still not following, are you."

"Nope."

He gave a deep, throaty laugh. "We can watch something else if you'd prefer?"

You shook your head and leaned back against him, absentmindedly taking his arm and draping it around your shoulders. "I'm enjoying it."

"You keep saying you don't have a clue what's going on..."

"Yeah but you do. So we're watching it."

He paused for a moment, exhaling a quick, soft breath through his nose. You felt his body relax, his arm wrapping around you more securely. He placed his other hand in his lap, palm up, silently asking you to hold it. You linked your fingers through his and he squeezed your hand gently.

When the movie ended, you didn't move, too comfortable and content in his embrace. You watched the credits roll to the very end, the remote control just out of reach. Father Benedict moved his arm, scratching your head with the tips of his fingers. You turned your head to look up at him.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said.

You laughed softly and forced yourself to sit upright. "Of course not, I was just very invested in the film."

He smirked. "Of course, silly me."

You looked at him, admiring the structure of his face beneath the glow of the TV; the soft shadows and sharp angles, smile lines and pale, captivating eyes.

"Thank you for spending your one, very rare night off with me," you said. "I know there's probably a million things you'd rather be doing than building bookcases and explaining movie plots to me."

He shook his head. "There is nothing else I'd rather be doing."

His own words seemed to give him pause. You cocked your head, watching as his eyes rounded, turning soft and glassy, his jaw relaxing, lips parting ever so slightly.

"What's up?" you asked.

"Nothing," he said quietly, blinking a few times and swallowing hard.

You thought about pressing him for a moment, but you didn't. Instead you got up and gathered the mess from the table.

"Do you want something different to drink?" you asked. "I can't stomach that champagne anymore."

He shook his head distractedly, staring blankly at the TV.

You shrugged and carried the rubbish into the kitchen, stuffing it in the bin and forcing it down until the lid finally closed. Then you moved to the sink to wash your hands, peering out at the tall, thick tree that stretched across the window. In the mornings, you could hear birds singing inside it, and at night you would watch the leaves sway gently in the breeze.

You were drying your hands when the door opened behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Father Benedict stepping into the kitchen.

"Hey," you said. "Changed your mind about the drink?"

He didn't say anything as he walked up behind you, turning you around to look at him and taking your face in his hands.

You stayed quiet as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling deeply as he kissed you softly, slowly, earnestly. You placed a hand on his cheek, returning the kiss, following his lead. His breath quivered as he broke away - just for a moment - to tilt his head the other way and bring his lips back to yours. He moved a hand to the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist, the other slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him. You curved your hands around the back of his neck, rising onto your toes to kiss him with more ease.

Usually when you kissed, there was an urgency behind it, a hunger, a primal, impatient need for one another that made you move with haste and vigour. But this was different, somehow. It was longing, desperate, intense. You could feel anguish in his hold of you, reverence in the way he moved his lips, so slowly and deliberately.

He broke away again, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, resting them there as you caught his gaze with your own, searching his eyes for a clue, a reason for his sudden sincerity. But all you saw was adoration, a shimmer in his waterline.

You led him to your bedroom, his hold on you never wavering as you moved together through the flat, as though he couldn't bring himself to let go of you, even for a second. You opened the door and pulled him gently into the room, kissing him with the same care and patience he'd shown you.

The room was dark and cool, the curtain-less window letting in a dim glow from the streetlights outside. You wished you'd taken the time to make the bed this morning; your rumpled duvet and mismatched pillows strewn across the sad mattress in the middle of the floor. You opened your mouth to apologise for it, but he caught the words in another kiss before they could surface.

He broke away to take off his t-shirt, throwing it aside and immediately returning his lips to yours, as though any second he was deprived of you was a second too long. You let your fingers dance over the ridges of his torso; the firm muscle of his chest and soft flesh of his belly, the trail of hair beneath his navel and smooth skin slowly puckering with goosebumps. You could no longer imagine a world where this body didn't belong to you.

You moved your hands to the waistline of his jeans but he stopped you, gently pulling his hips back and reaching for the hem of your t-shirt instead. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled it from you, still fighting the urge to hide yourself from him as he laid eyes on your body, even after all this time. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you deeply as he unclasped your bra. You slid the straps down your arms and let it fall to the ground, melting as the warmth of his chest pressed against yours.

He lowered you both to the mattress, laying you gently on your back as he began showering your body in kisses. Your core fluttered with every warm press of his lips to your skin, your nipples growing tight and hard, making you shiver as his tongue grazed over them. He moved lower, kissing your ribs, hips and stomach, letting his hands roam in tandem with his mouth, taking in as much of you as he could at once.

You tensed your abs beneath his lips, arching your back, making your body appear firmer, ridding yourself of any curves, any softness you didn't want him to see. He responded by kissing the parts you couldn't hide; the dip at your waist and the rounds of your breasts, the soft spot over your womb and the imprint your pyjama shorts had left on your hips. He was admiring the things you thought of as flaws, worshipping them like virtues.

He slid the shorts further down your thighs. You lifted your backside off the mattress, allowing him to drag them down along with your underwear. He tossed them aside and continued to cover you in kisses; the heat of his breath making your body tingle, the anticipation of feeling him in the place that craved him most sending shivers through your core. His lips grazed over the crease where hip met thigh, slowly travelling inwards but never touching your centre.

You sighed in desperation, reaching down to stroke his hair. He glanced up at you, like your touch had snapped him out of a trance, and crawled back up to kiss your lips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to you, the solid bulge in his jeans pressing against your stomach.

"Are you teasing me?" you whispered, playfully thrusting your hips against his erection.

He breathed out a soft laugh before falling serious again. "I'm indulging in you." He kissed your neck. "You, Ellis, are the most... divine woman I have ever met."

Divine - Of a God, or God-like.

Was that really how he saw you? Heavenly? Seraphic? Something worthy of worship? In the beginning, you'd been a temptation, a test, a weakness. But now, you were divine.

He trailed his kisses back down your body, parting your legs and pressing his lips to your inner thighs. You lay back and closed your eyes, fists clenching the duvet beneath you as his tongue finally made contact with your clit, so lightly it was almost torturous.

You'd gotten so used to the severity of your interactions; the pent up frustration or deep, aggressive need that made sex hard, rough and intense. It's what you wanted, what you enjoyed. You'd almost forgotten it could be like this; tender, forbearing, every breath hanging like a pause in the air between you.

He licked along the seam of your pussy, lapping and sucking as he hummed in pleasure, like he could happily spend the entire night with his face buried between your legs.

"Ben," you whispered.

Your back arched as he flicked his tongue, focusing the pressure on your clit, hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You whimpered, filling the quiet room with the sound of your shallow breaths as your fingers dug into the sheets. You never understood why it took so long to give yourself an orgasm, yet every time, without fail, he had you on the brink in minutes. It was like your body had an express setting, and he was the only person who knew how to activate it.

He didn't speed up, didn't change pressure or adjust your positions. Yet still, the slow, gentle sweeps of his tongue drew the climax from you in a deep, shuddering rush. Your legs shook, toes curling as an electric current whirred through your core. You moaned softly, reaching down to grab whatever part of him you could as you rode out your orgasm against his mouth.

You hadn't even realised he'd moved until you felt him kiss your jaw, the weight of his body on your chest. If you were divine, then you were convinced he must be God himself. You turned your head, catching his lips with your own and cupping his face in your hands. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, his hard cock springing out against your stomach as he shimmied them off.

You spread your legs further, rocking your hips wantonly. He sighed into your mouth, breaking away and resting his forehead against yours, looking down into your eyes as he shifted to position himself at your entrance.

He groaned as he entered you, slipping effortlessly through the slick and filling you with a familiar, breathtaking pressure. He drew back and pushed inside again, slowly, making you feel every ridge and vein, every inch and pulsation against your inner walls. A quiet moan escaped you, a tight coiling deep in your belly making you squeeze around him.

He kept eye contact as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, as though nothing else in the world existed besides the place your bodies became one. He slid his fingers between yours, pushing your hands above your head and holding them there, kissing you, moaning with you, connecting with you in a way you weren't sure you'd ever connected with anyone before.

Your breath was trembling; the friction of his cock, his groin rubbing against your clit, the weight of him on top of you, all sending you into a heady daze. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin. You let go of his hands and wrapped them around his back, holding him close to you, fingernails pressing into the flesh of his shoulder blades.

You weren't sure how long it had been, but your thighs were starting to ache, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every steady slide of his cock. You dug your nails deeper into his back, eliciting a growl deep in his throat. He lifted his head, brushing away the hair that had stuck to your face with sweat, and kissed you lovingly.

The next orgasm was different than the first; it was heavier, more guttural, coming from a place deeper inside you. The first was electric and airy, spiritual and sublime. But this one was earthly, carnal, thundering through your body like an earthquake. It was so visceral that he felt it too, almost losing his composure as you came around him.

He kept kissing you, moving with long, slow strokes until your limbs softened, head falling back against the mattress in bliss. Your eyelids were heavy as you gazed up at him, a part of you certain that you could have drifted off to sleep, sated and satisfied. But the other part never wanted him to stop.

He rested on his elbows, propping them either side of your head. "You know," he whispered. "You're the only woman I've ever came inside."

You let out a breathy gasp, his confession sending a shiver through your entire body.

"And it is..." he continued. "The most incredible feeling."

You whimpered, clutching the back of his neck with both hands and bringing his forehead back to yours. He almost lost it again, his rhythm faltering for a moment. He planted his palms on the mattress either side of your head, looking down at you with intense, stormy blue eyes.

He knew you liked his voice, liked it when he said dirty things, talked to you as he buried his cock inside you. But that wasn't for you. He wanted you to know that, to understand you were separate from whoever he'd been with before.

"Come inside me," you whispered against his lips. "Ben..."

He exhaled a heavy breath, thrusting deep and slow before finally letting go. He growled into your mouth as he sank as far as he could, cock pulsing as he released every last drop of pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving, damp curls tickling your face. You smoothed them down, closing your eyes and relaxing beneath the shelter of his large frame. You could hear again; the whoosh of distant traffic outside, the annoying buzz of the lampposts, the sound of Father Benedict's heavy breaths. It was serene, a contentment you never knew you were capable of.

After a while, he shifted slightly, laying kisses across your chest. You smiled, exhaling a soft laugh as his lips tickled your skin. He'd softened inside you, sliding out as he moved, continuing his kisses down to your stomach before resting his head there, seemingly more tired than he'd thought he was. You giggled again, stroking his head gently.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you said with a smile.

"Good."

He stayed there a while longer, resting on you like a pillow, swirling his fingers over your hips and stomach as you played with his hair.

"Ben..." you said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Don't leave me tonight."

He lifted his head to look at you. "I won't."

You nodded with a smile.

He shuffled up the mattress to lay at your side, draping a leg over yours and pulling you into him. You nuzzled your face into his neck and closed your eyes.

You didn't think this place could feel any more like home. But with him there, you would happily never leave.

You woke groggy and confused, the side of your face stuck to Father Benedict's bare chest. You had no idea of the time, but the sky was still pitch black outside, the room colder than it was when you fell asleep. You sat up and began shuffling to the edge of the mattress when you felt him grab your arm with a sleepy grumble. You turned back to see him squinting at you in a half-sleepy state, shushing him softly and gently releasing your arm from his grasp.

"I'm just going to get some water," you whispered.

He relaxed back into the mattress and closed his eyes. You smiled and climbed to your feet, walking out of the bedroom as quietly as you could.

You didn't bother to cover up. It was one of the joys of living alone, people would always say, being able to walk around naked. You never understood why anyone would do that, but as you padded through the flat and into the kitchen, completely unclothed, you felt like you finally got the appeal.

You glanced at the clock on the cooker - 2:34am - wondering what the hell made you stir from sleep at that time. Then you tried to swallow, your throat so dry it seemed to stick closed, and you realised that was why. You took a glass from the draining board and pulled your new water filter out of the fridge, pouring just enough for you to swill your mouth out. Then you poured a full glass, gulping it down without stopping.

Father Benedict pushed through the kitchen door, the sudden noise making you jump in fright.

"Sorry," he said, his voice low and croaky.

He was naked too, his hair wild and messy, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

"It's okay." You put your glass down. "I didn't mean to disturb you when I got up."

"Don't worry." He pointed to his mouth. "Could do with a drink as well."

You padded around the kitchen together in a comfortable silence, naked in more than just body. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a milky glow across your skin, making everything seem soft, calm. You stretched on your tiptoes to reach a glass from the cupboard, handing it to him as he grabbed the water filter off the counter. You rinsed your glass at the sink as he guzzled down two lots of water, one after the other. Then you took his glass when he was done, rinsing it and placing it side-by-side with yours on the draining board.

You felt him press his body against your back as you stood at the sink, placing a kiss on the side of your head, another on the back of your shoulder. You let your head fall back against his chest, basking in the feeling of his hands as they roamed your body; squeezing your breasts and dipping between your legs. He slid a finger through the slick he'd left there and you hummed softly, tilting your head to give him access to your neck. He nipped you with his teeth, soothing the sting with a kiss, and you closed your eyes as his finger slid into your pussy. It was brief, shallow, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

He brought his lips to your ear. "I like that there's still a part of me inside you."

You shivered, composing yourself quickly and turning your head to look at him from the corner of your eye. "Only because I fell asleep."

He gave a short, deep chuckle, his voice so gruff and low you could feel it vibrating against your ear. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting it out in a calm, quiet breath. "Bend over."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him again.

He squeezed your backside. "If you want to, that is..."

He fucked you in the kitchen, tiredness doing little to deter his stamina, and afterwards he carried you back to bed, stroking your hair and holding you until you drifted off again. The next time you stirred, it was you who wanted him, nudging him awake and straddling his lap, riding his cock until your body gave out, your mutual climax coming quick and with little effort.

Your joints ached, skin peppered with love bites and fingertip bruises, hair sticking to the nape of your neck with sweat. But you didn't care. It was all evidence of him, memories that would echo in the days that followed.

The mattress shifted. You opened your eyes to the room illuminated in the faint light of dawn. You blinked through the grit in your vision to see Father Benedict putting on his clothes, trying to be quiet as he hopped into his jeans and searched the floor for his t-shirt. He turned to find you sitting up watching him, making his way around to your side and crouching to bring himself face-to-face with you.

"I have to get to the church," he said.

"Okay," you croaked, shifting to get up.

"Hey, it's alright, you stay there and I'll let myself out."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Go back to sleep, it's still early."

"Okay."

He tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned in to kiss you.

It was gentle, lingering, like he didn't want it to end. And when he finally broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Goodbye, Ellis."

"Bye."

You watched him leave, listening as the slam of your front door echoed through the flat. Only then did you lie back down, pressing your face to the pillow he'd slept on and giving in to slumber once more.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836 @kanyewestest @star-girl-05 @theothersideofthescreen @battledress @chaosdorito @vlqueen @erratica47 @happybunnyclumsyduck @bloggerbatch @bimrwolf @chaand-sitara

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

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balloonboyismyson · 6 months

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One Kiss is All it Takes (Monty Gator x Reader oneshot)

You work as a nightguard at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. One night, Monty sends you a message asking for help. Concerned, you make your way to his room to see if he's okay.

(926 words)

The sound of your boots clunking against the tile echoes throughout the foyer. You lightly hum as you walk, flicking on and off your flashlight just to do something with your hands. Rockstar Row is probably your favourite part of the whole Pizzaplex. With all the beautiful neon signs, you get depressed that most people coming in during the day don’t really get to see them.

You scan the left wall and observe the greenrooms. It must be frustrating being them- having one of your room’s walls be a pane of glass so that everyone around can look inside like they’re zoo animals. It’s at least… something…that Management gives them a curtain to block outside viewers.

You pass Freddy and Roxy’s rooms. They thankfully seem too preoccupied with other things to notice. You know you’ll see them later tonight, so you don’t feel that guilty about it.

As soon as you had entered the ‘plex you got a message from Monty. He said he had an “issue” without really explaining what that meant. You placed your bets that he broke his glasses and needs a new pair. It’s happened a few times, but the only difference tonight is that you feel like he could’ve asked dayshift to get them for him.

Upon walking up to his room you notice an eerie silence. Usually he’s either practicing or breaking things, so the lack of movement makes you a bit nervous. Knock knock “Monty? It’s me, I got your message.” There’s a small shuffle before you can hear the thud of his footsteps getting closer to the door.

When you see him, an aura of nervousness seems to permiate from him. He always tries to act as confident as possible around you, so the shift is concerning. “Hey, Cher.” You note he still has his glasses which are perfectly intact. Even through their opacity, you can tell he’s not actually looking at you. “Is everything okay?” Your voice goes soft.

He pauses for a moment before lifting up his right arm, showing you a large hole on his inner forearm. The perimeter of it has a lot of sharp pieces with a bunch of cracks. His hand, too, has been damaged. His thumb barely has casing. “Oh my god, Monty!” Your hands move quickly to the damaged arm and carefully hold it, “What happened!?”

Monty lets out a small, uncomfortable huff. “ ‘T’s not a big deal,” He mumbles, looking as far away from you as he can. “Can you fix it?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the question. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just a nightguard, I’ve never worked with machinery.” He seems to deflate a bit at this. “I can put in a maintenance request, though.” Quickly, you use your watch to send an email to the people down in Parts ‘n’ Service so they can fix him as soon as they get here in the morning. You feel helpless and like total shit.

Briefly looking past him, you see his room’s in shambles. You’re surprised, usually he waits until closer to closing before breaking things. He notices and goes to pull his arm away. “Right, well, thanks for-”

“Hang on-” you cut him off as an idea suddenly comes to mind, “come with me.” Monty looks at you with a confused expression. “..Alright.”

Hand in hand, you walk him through Rockstar Row and take him down to the utility tunnels. Eventually the two of you come across a First-Aid Station and usher him inside and tell him to sit. “Why’d’ya take me here?”

“I don’t know anything about machinery, but I’ve patched myself up quite a few times.” You quickly scan for and find a first-aid kit. When searching inside, you see some expired alcohol wipes, a syringe with a numbing agent, and bandage wrap. You shake your head at how awful this would be in case of a human child being injured and grab the bandage wrap. You take the end off of the body and start wrapping his arm with it. “...Cher?” He cocks his head at you. “You know ’m not human, right? I can’t heal.”

“I know, but I don’t wanna just leave you hurt.” You concentrate on your task, each wrap specifically calculated to ensure there’s enough to cover the wound. Even then there’s barely enough, so unfortunately, his hand remains unbandaged.

“Does it hurt?” Your voice is quiet as you follow along the layers of bandage with the side of your thumb, barely even grazing him. Your eyes meet his.

Monty holds your gaze for a beat too long before responding. “O-Only when it first happens. Can’t feel it after that.” You squint your eyes; he’s squirming a bit. You take his bandaged arm again and gently place a kiss where the now-covered hole is. If there was a roof on the First-Aid Station, he’d have gone through it.

“Did I hurt you!?” You yelp as your hands quickly clench and retreat back to your sides. “No, no! I jus’... I didn’t expect that.” He readjusts his glasses and places his hand back down on his leg. Even for a robot his body looks stiff.

“It’s what people tend to do when they patch someone up. I’ve heard when you kiss someone’s wound, it’s much easier for your love to make its way to their heart.” He just stares at you- his jaw repeatedly opening and closing just a smidge each time. His hands begin to slightly tremble as he looks down at the bandage. “Thanks… this’ll tide me over ‘till maintenance comes.”

#Monty Gator #Montgomery Gator #Monty Gator x Reader #Oneshot #writing #FNaF Security Breach #FNaF #FNaF SB #Five Nights at Freddy's

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theangrycomet-art · 9 months

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Sonic Underground: Guardians

Notes:

Aleena had tried to ensure all of her children were in deposited safely, but unfortunately, this did not happen as planned

Uncle Chuck

Chuck had heard of what his sister-in-law had been told by some crackpot oracle and tried to head off Aleena as she dropped off her children

However, he was only able to locate retrieve Sonic, and, due to the circumstances, believed his other nieces to be dead

Furious with both Aleena and himself, he went underground with Sonic

Chuck and Sonic were on their own for a few years, with Chuck helping the resistance where he could while helping Sonic figure out and work on his speed

Sonic (8) found an abandoned Tails (3) when he was exploring a woodlands area during one of their "Camping Trips" and brought him home

Chuck wasn't planning on adopting Tails (having planned on trying to locate the pups parents or at least drop him off at the Sanctuary), but ended up getting as attached to the kit as much as Sonic had

He was mostly winging it with them (apparently most people don't let their 4 year old disassemble and reassemble a tank engine to see how it works or check their 9 year old's running speed with a police speedometer)

He lost his leg during his last 1-1 encounter with Robotnik at the start of his takeover (a fair enough trade for the destroying the dictator's eyes and arm in his opinion)

Chuck was the initial reason Robotnik hated hedgehogs due to their shared history

Lady Elodie Windermere

Lady Windermere is a Bear (bc she's apparently not a bear but a dog in canon???)

Elodie had just lost her husband when Sonia showed up on her doorstep

Sonia was her sign to keep moving on, and she dedicated herself to Sonia's happiness and safety

Due to Robotnik's hatred of hedgehogs, she told everyone, including Sonia herself, that her ward was a Tenrac

going so far as to hire a tenrac maid in order to fake medical records for her protection

Sonia was made to cover her ears (the key visual difference between the two species as well) when going out in public and as she grew older, hide her back quills with custom reinforced corsets

As one of the highest aristocrats, she covered this by setting a new fashion trend of "earcaps" amongst the younger members of the court, allowing Sonia to blend in further

When Sonia's super strength revealed itself, Elodie worked with her daughter personally on her control, working with her in their gym as well as hiring self defense trainers for Sonia to have a good outlet

Went full Mama Bear mode on Sleet and Dingo when they DARED suggest arresting her daughter

Her arrest caused much scandal amongst the aristocrats, as she was the one most turned to when they needed a listening ear, and a resulting source of several dozen secrets NO ONE wanted to reach Robotnik's ears

Farrell

Farrell is a Cricket

former war veteran (medic)

he lost most of his upper right arm and was honorably discharged

despite his service, it wasn't long before he was living on the streets, where he spent the next 3 decades mastering the all the skills he'd need to survive and establishing a low-crime ring

Of all Farrell's students, Manic was his favorite, and made sure his kid had "nothin' but the best"

best as he could manage anyways

despite the attention it drew, he encouraged Manic's "jam sessions"

when Manic was younger, it wasn't uncommon for him to fall asleep to Farrell's chirping lullaby

their hideout was an abandoned weapon factory in the industrial district that the Swatbots "miraculously" kept missing

Manic learn a lot of his tech skills from playing with the old abandoned machinery

Size Ref

COMMISSIONS OPENED

Kofi

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srbachchan · 10 months

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DAY 5766

Jalsa, Mumbai Nov 30/Dec 1, 2023 Thu/Fri 8:32 AM

Birthday - EF Shiladitya Mitra Friday, 1 December .. and the greetings of the Ef family on this day for calm peace and prosperity .. ❤️

and the ever efficient Ef reminds me its :

Birthday Ef - Ashok Mistry Friday, 1 December .. and my wishes to him from not just me but from the entire family Ef .. love and have a wonderful day .. 🌹

Just when you get in to retarded form, pick up the body , mve the legs, straighten the neck and just move to the region of exercise .. despite the despondency, it is quite remarkable how the human body responds .. the human body , response and its meters of bearing and repairing .. the complicated machinery , made by some unknown force remarkably also carries along with it the burden of a workshop , which keeps the functioning of the body in the right form and behave .. and our respect for it diminishes as we subject it to the rigours of life and living .. of dousing it with unpredictable eatables , consumed with the most desired yet questionably damaging substances .. this wonderful gracious body remains servile and in service till the very last of its resistance and then .. slowly but surely gives sufficient time to wind up the day and rest .. eternally ..

respect its being .. give it prayers and affection .. send it the love it deserves and needs .. see the result .. it shall shock and surprise you ..

much and enough of the philosophical lectures and tutorials on the BODY .. it speaks to me to be in rest too .. so I go ..

was up since 5 ..

but shall return hopefully later ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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shotofstress · 1 month

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I have just seen the closing ceremony of the Paris 2024 Olympic Games. The announcement of the usa as the next host of the Olympics was a tragedy, I'm not going to lie, and we went from a ceremony that spoke of the history of the games, the unity of nations and the celebration of sport, the arts and humanity's ability to live together to the yankee spectacle.

With the fascist cultist who thinks he can't die (and every one of his films is a celebration of fascism, usa paranoia and its anti-democratic intelligence services) carrying the flag of the games and throwing himself from a plane and landing in holywood, the world's biggest military and fascist propaganda machine. Next we move on to the beach where there is a concert of the band with the paedophile vocalist and a drum that looks like copper, the metal that when tried to be nationalised in South America usa made a coup and created a dictatorship, one of many they made here. Introducing Billie Elish, the young woman the gringo newspapers were counting down until she came of age, i.e. legal. We move on to Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dree who were censored, prevented from singing their songs with the original lyrics.

It's all reminiscent of a promotional video, an advertisement in the worst possible way, like a parody of itself, so usa.

We return to the solemnity of the closing in Paris, like going from the cable ad space to the film you were watching. The closing artist sings a song that was originally neither Frank Sinatra's nor usamerican, but as usual the gringos take things that are not theirs and pretend they are.

Usamerica is going to make propaganda, show its military, the holywood show, probably elon musk, zuckerberg, actors and directors (remember how holywood is the world of horror where beings like wenstein and many others more than known grow, gather and party), the monopoly and machinery of the evil mouse, all those sinister characters that have corrupted culture, arts, image, imagination and life. Their musicians, writers and actors created by their machinery. They go not to present culture but spectacle because the united states is a regime that despises its artists because they were and are indigenous, queer, communist, black, brown, Afro, Latino, Asian, Europeans, migrants from all countries, anti-fascist in one way or another, anti-war, anti-colonialism, anti-imperialism. They cannot show their history because it is one of shame and imperialism. If they will do it, they will not, they will show a spectacle version of it, lacking the terrible parts and the revolutionary parts, devoid of sincerity, of truth, of meaning, of art and culture. Only spectacle.

And unlike France that kicked students and homeless people to other cities, usa will probably put them in jail or someone will go to kill them.

The first thing the us regime does is to put a white male fascist sectarian millionaire and censor a cultural artistic expression of two black men of proletarian origin. That says it all.

#france put the decapitation of the monarchy what usa can show? they only have tyrants or put them in other countries #paris olympics #olympics 2024 #olympics #paris 2024 #usa imperialism #usa is a terrorist state #sports #politics #antifascist

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blueiscoool · 9 months

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Lost and Found: Bottle Hunter Digs Extraordinary Farmland Treasures

Tom Askjem is a time traveler. Every May to November, he disappears into the bowels of the earth, descends to depths of 13’-plus, and returns to the surface with treasure—bottles and glassware from farming’s past.

After 1,800 pits and hundreds of thousands of relics, Askjem is equal parts archeologist, thrill seeker, and mole. Muscle on dirt, the North Dakota farm boy has turned an addiction into a career, multiple books, and a captivating YouTube channel with millions of views. However, Askjem seeks more than glass.

“I’m digging for adventure, history, and love,” he says. The past is in these holes and there are countless numbers of them across farmland.”

Time to hunt with a master.

The Infection

On the flats of extreme eastern North Dakota’s Traill County, Askjem, 32, prepares for a dig trip. “No mountains and no hills in the Red River Valley,” he describes. “You can see your dog run away for days. The land is mostly featureless, other than a few big cottonwoods and shelter belts where farms used to be.”

A mop of blonde hair sits atop a 6’-tall, lanky frame as Askjem saddles his pony—a Honda Civic. At the current mileage rate, the Civic will be junkyard fodder before it has a scratch: 60,000 backroad miles added to the odometer in the past six months.

Askjem piles layers of gear into the trunk, including three of each tool for insurance: shovels, pronged garden forks, trampoline pads, probe rods, buckets, plastic scoopers, trowels, tents, sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, air mattresses, clothes, and waterproof, Redwing leather work boots.

“It never gets old,” he says, wearing a wide grin. “I caught the infection when I was a kid.”

Digging Bodies

Pushed from the Grand Forks area by the historic Red River flood of 1997, Askjem moved to a farm outside Buxton at six years young. The main property was an 1878 homestead—a progression from sod house to log cabin to the present standing 1898 farmhouse decked in Victorian-era woodwork and hardware.

Surrounded by history, including the skeletons of old wagons and rusting machinery, Askjem explored a 5-acre patch of woods on the property, and chanced on a garbage dump: pop bottles and trash.

Askjem dug.

“I went deep and found stuff going back to 1898. When you’re a kid living in the country, there’s no going down the street and there’s no hanging with friends to play video games—you make your own adventure. I started hitting up all the farmers I could find for leads.”

Behind the wheel of a rattling go-cart, Askjem sought Buxton old-timers and collected tips on abandoned houses. “They all helped me,” he says. “Nobody cared where I hunted because I was just a little kid exploring for all the right reasons.”

“I’ve still got an elementary school journal with an assignment describing my weekend,” he adds. “I wrote, ‘Me and Mom dug up old bodies.’ The teacher marked my paper out of concern,” Askjem describes, with an easy, deep chuckle. “I meant to spell bottles, not bodies. But it shows I was truly hooked.”

Indeed. Wonderfully hooked.

Soft Landing

Why are bottles buried under farmland and old house sites?

Prior to plastic and synthetics, glassware held everything: medicine, hygiene products, alcohol, soda, and beyond. Glass was it.

Additionally, prior to waste disposal services, homeowners discarded trash on-site—in back yard outhouses, trash depressions, burn pits, and wells or cisterns. In short time, the various ground receptacle spots were filled and forgotten.

“Let’s say, for example, a family moved in around 1880,” Askjem explains. “That site likely has two or three outhouse locations prior to World War l. The outhouse spots filled up at a rate according to family size. I dug one farmhouse site that had six outhouses in a 10-year span. Folks went into the outhouses and threw away bottles: medicine, opiates, beer, whiskey. It was convenient and private, and had a soft landing, and got covered quickly. Even now, the bottles often are still preserved.”

“Generally, these houses also had a burn pit and/or dump pit. In the early days, they burned all trash in the stove for heat. Also, homestead bucket wells were filled up with trash and bottles once they were replaced by pump wells. Cisterns also were eventually filled up, but most of those are associated with houses in town.”

And the sites remain, he emphasizes, hiding intact relics beyond the reach of farm machinery or tillage equipment.

X Marks the Spot

Location. Location. Location. Other than a tip or invitation, how does Askjem find dig sites?

X marks the spot, at least in the county courthouse or public library. He spends winters poring over early property transaction documents. “I look at lot sales. If several lots sold for $100 each in 1880, but one sold for $1,000 in 1885, the price climb tells the story and likely represents a building location.”

“I also read old newspaper archives, looking for hotel or business advertisements,” Askjem continues. “Then I can look up the proprietor’s name and keep tightening the scope, narrowing down the exact building location.”

“Every single house is different, but generally, in the countryside, outhouses were 30 paces out the back door. In the city, where most lots were 140’ long, outhouses could be as close as 5-10 paces.”

Confident of a site’s potential, Askjem first asks for permission to dig from the landowner. “Property owners are always so kind to me and I don’t hide anything I find. They’re curious about what is in the ground, just like anybody else.”

Second, he grids out the site. “I put down markers 2 paces apart, maybe 20 paces long. I push probe rods into ground and feel for compaction differences. Depending on the location, I’ll call in and have utility lines marked out for power and gas.”

Decked in Levi’s and a tank-top, it’s time to tunnel.

Claustrophobic Comfort

Shovel in hand, Askjem descends into a layer cake of dirt: black topsoil to brown-colored clay to telltale ash to a use layer containing treasure.

“Generally, I go deep to find old items in quantity. The earliest bottles were used to the last drop by farmers and thrown out empty. Therefore, when they froze in brutal Dakota winters, the glass didn’t break from liquid expansion.”

As Askjem extracts glass vessels from the dirt and grime, his encyclopedic knowledge registers with each find. He recognizes the type, manufacturer, and age. Ink bottles, hygiene bottles, medicine bottles, beer bottles, soda bottles—and far more spill from the holes.

“I find patented medicine bottles across the country, but my favorite are soda bottles because they are unique to their locale and have character. The old soda bottles are usually marked with the bottler and town name because they were returnable.”

The outhouse pits are typically 6’-deep at home sites, with an average size of 6’-by-4’-by-3’. “I’ve dug ghost towns, dug saloons, train depots, and pool halls that were 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 8’ deep. I remember a hotel pit that was 20’-by-20’ and 8’ deep. There was a military fort with pits behind the barracks that was 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 13.5’ deep: That was a week’s worth of digging.”

Askjem’s subterranean realm provides no comfort to the claustrophobic. At 8’-9’, he braces the holes with woodwork. “I’m in a solid clay base that doesn’t cave, but I have a healthy respect for the ground’s limitation. Sometimes, it looks like I’m digging a rabbit hole.”

Preserved in nature’s freezer, the artifacts unearthed by Askjem often are in phenomenal condition.

“Pieces of newspaper can still be read; bottle labels are legible; white lime used in decomposition is visible; and undigested seeds are everywhere. Even 120-year-old human waste sometimes is perfectly preserved and still smells like hell. I wear a hydrogen sulfide respirator in those cases.”

“It’s all there; almost like it was dropped yesterday.”

Ghosts in the Ground

In 2022, Askjem began chronicling his digs via a YouTube channel, Below the Plains, and soon captured millions of views. At two posts per week, he gins footage at a steady rate to feed the algorithm, a tough task considering the ground in his geography is frozen from mid-November to mid-May.

Additionally, Askjem has written two in-depth books (Nebraska Soda Bottles 1865-1930 and A History of North Dakota Bottling Operations 1879-1930) and has more on the way. “I put the bottle prices in the books because they can sell for a whole lot and I always tell the landowners. Listing prices draw criticism, but that’s important to me because it helps preserve the item, and preservation of history is what drives me.”

Covered in dust or mud at the end of each day in digging season, Askjem is highly respectful of what he finds—almost reverent after 1,800 digs. “I appreciate everything I uncover because it represents a part of someone’s daily life and existence. There’s nothing wrong with coveting bottles, but I’m really in those holes for the moment of discovery.”

Even when not digging, Askjem is on the move, surfing on the coasts or river diving for lost cargo. In the decades to come, will he continue burrowing into the past? “Twenty years from now, I hope I’m still digging and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”

“There’s not an infinite amount of lost bottle sites, but there’s certainly an incredibly high number,” he continues. “There were 300,000 homestead farms in North Dakota with a minimum of one well, one outhouse, and one trash dump. And that doesn’t include towns where most of the population lived. There are millions of these sites in North Dakota and far more in other states.”

Respect to a freewheeling hunter like no other. Bottles draw the eye, but ghosts draw the heart: “The moment never gets old when you uncover a bottle and find that history,” Askjem adds. “Never.”

By CHRIS BENNETT.

#Lost and Found: Bottle Hunter Digs Extraordinary Farmland Treasures #Tom Askjem #glass #glass bottles #ancient glass #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #ancient history #history news #treasure #treasure hunter #antiques #bottle hunter #long post #long reads

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driftward · 3 months

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Log Entries 113-140

Log Entry 113

She woke up late. She never wakes up late.

At least we still went for her morning run. Well, morning. Barely. It was lunch time when we got back. She washed up, changed outfit, went to the meeting room where the company usually has their lunch, and announced to everyone present that the courtship between her and the Chirurgeon had ended.

And then she retreated.

The Madam Commander is acting in paradox. Frantic, yet still. Bubbling full of emotion, silent as ice. Hands reaching for tasks, yet nothing accomplished.

I have seen her here before, and I am afraid. I cannot keep her safe this time.

I want her to take care of herself. I want to prepare. She is going to self isolate. We need food, water, books.

Stupid, stupid.

Log Entry 115

The Madam Commander’s brother is still at headquarters, which I did not fully appreciate. She went to him. The Leftenant was there as well, but whatever they were doing, they put it aside to let her stay.

Nothing happened. We’re well fed and there’s plenty of tea.

Log Entry 117

She sent the Mathye a fruit basket. I looked back through Lily and Foxglove’s notes. I’m pretty certain this is the wrong way to handle a break up. I referenced some stories from the archives.

They’re no help.

My own guidance recommends that, if opportunity presents itself, to send someone with relationship difficulties back from the field to sort it out so they are better able to focus on what’s right in front of them.

Guess we aren’t meant to be counselors.

Log Entry 118

I was so worried that I didn’t notice at first, but!

Something’s changed.

She wakes alone, but from that moment, she does not stay alone. If there is nobody where she intends to be, she seeks until she finds somebody.

Our friends accept us. She does not talk as much, but they seem happy to just have her there, and it’s a relief, I’m relieved, she’s not brooding, well she IS but she’s brooding with company, and most importantly, no running off to perform ill advised experiments with insufficient supervision.

I am not sufficient supervision. Noting that here should it come up again. She’s too big and too heavy for me to move by myself. That’s important to note. I’m noting it.

Log Entry 119

She could stand more variety in her diet.

Log Entry 124

She practically lives in the workshop, now. I think she’s determined that’s where her friends are likely to either be, or where they’ll look for her first. And she’s taken to machinery with enthusiasm.

Which is great! I can also access schematics! In theory. Fairies did lots of things back in ancient Nym. I am an Eos-class, so while I am specialized for helping my Scholar in field triage situations, fairies like me had other jobs, too!

And I am so much more than most fairies. I bet I could pick this up no sweat. Just me and her and her crew, working on these submersicraft and aerocraft.

Soon as I can interact with reality I’m going to bite everyone and everything. This is terrible has been terrible and continues to be terrible.

Log Entry 130

The Madam Commander is more worried about the Crystalficer as time goes on, and I think she’s right! Whatever has happened to the Crystalficer is eerily familiar to what happened to us. Everything was fine, right, until everything was very. Not fine.

The Marine seems to disagree. Where’s her fairy. Where’s Glitterdust. I want to talk to her instead.

A joke! I am hilarious. I still can’t talk to anyone.

Anyroad, worries about the Apple are on pause for now. It seems that someone else has recognized the Madam Commander’s excellence, and asked for her services.

An investigation. This is great, actually! It is well past time. The Madam Commander has recovered her strength well enough, if not her essence. She has been practicing with gunblade and chakram; so she is armed enough. She is smart, and clever, and even without me, she will be alright. The Marine and the Leftenant are never far from her side, and there are others she can call on.

And frankly this is better than her spending all her time in the workshop avoiding thinking about the Chirurgeon.

So, murder most grisly in the home of the land spirits! I wonder if they will be able to see me. We are off!

Log Entry 138

I have missed this.

Lily told me stories of their early adventures, and I have bits and pieces of Foxglove’s gestalt, to say nothing of my own memories.

Simply, my Scholar is an investigator.

And it is in an investigation that she is most in her element.

We’ve been directed to examine some bodies. I want to tell her what I can see! I want to help! I can see what’s wrong almost immediately. Their physical form may be whole, but their essence is depleted - further than even death would suggest, given how long they have been dead. If I was more here than not here, I could help perform the autopsy work.

But my Scholar is an investigator.

And while I have been helpful in the past, she doesn’t NEED need me for this.

Watching her work is a marvel. The way she notices every detail of a scene. The way she manages to see things nobody else does, not even me. The care with which she acts. The way she puts pieces of information together.

I thought I would try to help. And I think she managed to see the world I do, just for a moment, I’m… I’m not sure. But she saw the essence depletion, same as me.

A small puzzle piece! The Adept and the Marine are both here. She called on them both, and set them to work, and began to put the matter together.

It’s so good to be back in the field like this.

Log Entry 139

The Crystalficer was still on her mind, and so we went to their home. A small living craft, worthy of any proper Nymian. Her and the Marine disagreed on some matters, even as she examined the ship and noted it had been abandoned.

She wanted to go inside. The Marine disagreed.

It was a risk, but we took it. Just the slightest nudge, right? Just a brief touch, through, and I had her hand through the door and opening it from the other side.

I don’t think the Marine noticed. We examined the boat, and oh, my Scholar is so very very clever! I thought we were only working on the one case, but in fact, we were working on two! She determined that the Crystalficer was very probably the grisly murderer in the home of the land spirits!

Or… something infesting and controlling the Crystalficer.

A voidsent.

We are about to go investigate further.

Log Entry 139 addendum

IT WAS NOT A VOIDSENT HOLY SHITE IT WAS NOT A VOIDSENT THIS MAY BE MY FINAL LOG

Log Entry 140

The Crystalficer is back home, safe.

She had… summoned… a unique sort of egi. Now, I don’t know as much about egis as I would like. They are creatures of aether, like me. They are created via sophisticated geometry, like me. But while I tap into anima energies and am formed of symbolic logic, an egi… borrows… primal aether. Sort of like living aether, but elementally charged, and shaped by some kind of conceptual logic.

It was a terrible creature. I could call it a voidsent, I think, for it was full of the chaotic aether with which I am now all too familiar. It had many arms of dangerous blades. It was fast, and dangerous.

I was faster. I am still not sure how I did it, but at one point, I reached, and pulled myself and my Scholar through the in-between.

We avoided the worst of its strikes. We fought back.

It did not dissipate fully when defeated. A part of it is still part of the Apple. It will always be part of her, the Scholar opines.

I look upon it with a faint feeling of horror.

We may be different, but we are the same. Her egi… my Scholar’s fairy… me.

Our aether showing streaks of the strong mix of static and chaos. I know not where her egi got it from. I got the static from the Atelier, so long ago, pulled from the malfunctioning device, to protect my Scholar. And the chaos… again. That from the spaces we visited abyss. I took it to protect my Scholar.

But what if … I am the same as that thing?

A fairy is a symbolic construct that serves their Scholar.

But that thing defended the Crystalficer as viciously as I would defend my Scholar.

And I am clearly not a proper fairy anymore.

No. I won’t do it. And that’s that.

#final fantasy xiv #lavender #a familiar story #biot writes #apple silverburg

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nffica · 2 months

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mlmxreader · 3 months

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On The Cliffs | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Alfie Solomons x Reader (I'm sorry, I'm such a hoe for Alfie. It's not even funny) -> "I've missed the breeze of my home shores" [This seems so reader finding Alfie alive at Margate] ❞

: ̗̀➛ It's easy for Alfie to leave the war behind and to talk openly about the things he had done during his service, but while he bears one lot of scars, he's also acutely aware that you carry with you the ghost of the war - and maybe it was a mistake for him to ask you to meet him in Margate.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ trauma disorders, delusions & hallucinations, swearing, usage of the word "fag" as a slang term for cigarette, graphic depictions of war, cancer mentions

↳ word count: 1004

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The cool ocean breeze was a violent reminder that you did not, could not, ever shake off what had happened during the war; Alfie made it look all too easy, he made it seem as if the war was enjoyable at times, and the way he spoke so freely and easily about it was enviable.

You never could talk about the war, even when Alfie arranged for you to see that head doctor - you could not talk about it.

With the cool ocean breeze on your face, you were brought back to the tall cliffs of Gallipoli, and the year that bloodshed never ceased. The sand mixed with blood from the destroyed lives of young boys, the endless screaming and constant crunch of bone and machinery.

The symphony of death that never stopped, not even for a split second; the year that seemed to never end.

The year you left Camden for good.

You never did truly come back, and now, stood on the sands of Margate, you were still over in Gallipoli. You doubted that Alfie was alive after everything that had happened with Tommy Shelby, but he always said that he would go to Margate.

Maybe if you weren’t still stuck in the war, staring out at the ocean, you would have been able to see that he was in the small house nearby, watching you. Glad that you had come out of hiding when you had agreed to it.

It didn’t take long for him to get a move on, trudging down the beach with his dog at his side as he approached; he knew that look in your eyes. He had seen it a thousand and one times - the cold, empty, endless stare.

The ghost of the war taking over and possessing every single molecule your body was made up of; every atom and every fibre. He was hesitant at first, debating on whether or not to do it, but he reached out and gently rested his hand on your shoulder; giving it a little squeeze to tell you that he was there.

He wasn’t going anywhere at all.

“Y’know,” he started, his voice gravelly and low. Like it had been during that first gas attack back… back then. “The reason why I told you to come here was ‘cause I’ve missed the breeze of my home shores… and as far as I’m concerned, it ain’t properly home til you’re with me… I’m just… I’m just so fuckin’ sorry that it’s such a shit reminder of… well, you know, I don’t gotta fuckin’ explain that.”

You nodded slowly, moving to get next to him so that you could put your head against his shoulder as you sighed heavily and swallowed thickly. “Won’t go away, Alf.”

He shook his head, swallowing thickly. “No, it won’t. I know. I know… but we’re home now. You’ll see, we’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.”

You leaned into him, nearly toppling yourselves over as you did your best to get as close as you possibly could; shaking your head and grumbling about how the sand was turning red and black. How the ground was shaking and the guns would not stop.

Alfie couldn’t see it, the sand still looked brown to him; the ground was still, and the only thing he could hear was the gentle lap of the waves as they went back and forth with the soft tide.

But he knew that if it was real to you, then it was real enough for him; so he put his arm around you, encouraging you to bury yourself against his body as he rubbed your back gently. Slowly coaxing you into the house until he had you sitting at the small dinner table.

“Jerry’s gone for the night,” Alfie told you gently, softly pushing a cup of tea into your hand. “We’re alright now. Command’ll come and relieve us tomorrow.”

You nodded, taking a sip from your cup. “We going back to France?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah… yeah, we’re goin’ back to France. Then we’ll be shipped off home.”

You cleared your throat, licking your lips. “They’re gonna send us home?”

“Yeah!” Alfie smiled sadly. “Yeah, they’re gonna… gonna send us home.”

It hurt when that happened, when you were so thoroughly possessed by the war that you were still there; you weren’t the man he had fallen in love with and brought home to Camden and Margate. No.

No, you the soldier under his command again; the soldier who used to train rats to perform tricks in the trenches and who taught him the best way to fry lice and fleas so they actually tasted like rice.

You were the soldier who he called his best friend; you weren’t his partner, not at that moment. It hurt him to see you that way, but he knew it was bound to happen; one way or another, the war never truly went away and he knew more about that than most people did.

It was all through his body, after all - he was riddled with it. But you… well, yours wasn’t so much seen as it was thought.

Everyone took something from the war - Alfie took the cancer, you took the ghost.

“We’ll be home by December,” he told you with a weak smile, hoping you didn’t pick up on his quieter tone. “And don’t fuckin’ forget - you said you’d buy me a packet of fags when we get to Dover.”

You nodded, daring to smile a little. “That’s if we make it that long, y’know. You saw what happened to Lars and Alejandro.”

His face fell a little as he let out a long sigh. “Lars was just a kid… may his memory be a blessin’...”

“Could happen to us next,” you pointed out. “Jerry’s only ‘round the corner.”

“C’mon,” Alfie said as he cleared his throat. “Let’s have a fag and then go to bed, yeah? Daniel and Rupert’s on duty tonight, so we can get some sleep before we get sent home.”

hi! thank you so much for reading! you know, as you're reading, Deyaa is still looking for donations to get himself & his family out of Gaza to escape the ongoing genocide - if you have any money whatsoever, even if it's just £1, then please consider donating. Even a little bit can go such a long way in helping!

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the-fluff-piece · 1 year

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A heart for a heart

Trafalgar Law x fem!reader fluff story

Part 2!

...where Law decides to take you with him, but he cannot bring himself to actually spend time with you. Instead, he lurks behind corners and gets very lovesick. What's life on the polar tang like if you're a fresh pirate? Let's find out!

Here's part 1 if you missed it

Here's part 3

Themes: law is gonna talk really mean to himself over being a little cowardly creep

You

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was his face: Trafalgar Law, the surgeon of death, the pirate, the samurai of the seas. His blue eyes were fixated on you. The dark circles under his eyes told you of his exhaustion. You recognised him from his wanted poster - he had an extremely high bounty for a newcomer.

He had told you how he had saved your life by giving you a new heart with his strange power. You could finally take deep breaths, think clearly with a quick mind - things that you thought you had lost forever. Thanks to him. "I am not doing this for free, mind you", he had told you eventually, after you were finished expressing your gratitude. He had a wonderful deep velvet voice, it was almost hypnotic to listen to him. "Your village offered beri and provisions as payment for your treatment, but I think it's only fair that you earn your life for yourself, don't you think?", he told you and you just nodded, even though you weren't sure what he meant. "It is decided than. You will work on my ship until you have cleared your debt to me. You have until noon to pack your belongings. We will leave for the next island, soon" He didn't wait for your reaction, he just left you in the hospital bed you woke up in, inside his strange, dark ship.

When you returned to the island, everyone in the village was so happy, and you and your brother celebrated your new life. When he heard what the price was, however, the cheers stopped. Your brother begged the pirate to take him instead, he was stronger than you after all and far more useful on a ship. But strangely, the captain persisted that you come on board. Everyone, pirates and villagers alike, where not thrilled by this idea. But, as he pointed out, he did save your life. And a deal was deal - any price would be payed.

So you packed your few belongings to earn your second life. He told you he would release you from his service in due time. This was only temporary, and you got to see the grand line. This wasn't all bad, you thought. Surely, he would realise that you where pretty much useless in a fight, that you weren't strong or skilled enough to navigate or repair the ship. You already saw lots of cleaning and cooking in your future.

They assigned you hammock in the crew quarters where everyone of the crew slept except the captain. It was a strange gathering: a giant, a bear, some weird guys with masks or hats that conceiled their faces - but you quickly got to know them as kind people, even if they were an odd bunch. Ikakku, the only other girl on the crew, took you under her wing to show you everything. Trafalgar Law however was rarely seen.

As expected, your duties consisted of mostly cleaning and cooking, since you where unfamiliar with the complicated mechanics of the submarine and fighting was not on your list of skills. The captain sometimes called you in for follow-up examinations when he would check your heart and general health. He didn't seem especially happy about your presence, even though it had been him who insisted on having you on the ship.

You thought the crew might come to loathe you as dead weight - but in fact they were happy to have help around the ship, especially since your cooking was far better than Bepos.

They even began showing you basic skills to survive in a battle, even if it was just evading hits so you wouldn't get hurt. Shachi and Penguin showed you a few moves with the sword, while the giant Jean Bart taught you about basic battle tactics. You got to help Ikakku fix up the machinery and learn about what a technical masterpiece the submarine really was. Evenings were spent talking and laughin around the table with the others, playing cards or drinking. The first weeks went by in a blurr and you learned and experienced so much, it seemed like half a lifetime has gone by.

It was disappointing that Law basically lived in his room the entire time, you had expected that he would take more of an interest in you, since it was him who wanted you on board. After another evening with your new crewmates, you felt invigorated and brave enough to just ask him on your own. It was widely known that Law didn't really sleep early, so you were confident that he was still up. You gave the door a knock.

you heard a shuffling noise and soft swearing behind the iron door before it was yanked open and you stood in front of an exhaustet and ungroomed, shirtless man. The tattoos on his hands were known to you - but not the giant jolly roger on his chest. You stared at his chest. The two of you needed a few moments to realize what you were seeing. You regained your composure first, trying to hide your surprise with a little cough.

"If this is a bad time I can always come back later? I just wanted to talk to you about something..." you explained to his shocked face. "Uhm...not at all. What do you need?" he asked suddenly casually leaning in his doorframe. Behind him was a pure mess of books, clothes and other scattered things.

"Well, I just asked myself...why did you want me here? I am not a very good pirate" you whispered, increasingly insecure about your idea as you saw his eyes draw together and his mouth forming into a pout.

"What, you want to leave?" he grunts.

"Uhm, I mean, I am grateful that you saved my life, but I feel that I cannot really help here." Your voice was a high pitched whisper just about now. His stare was brutal, his blue eyes cold as ice. His mouth twitched a few times as he tried to form words.

Pinching his nose, he finally answered: "You are right, you don't seem useful right now. I'll think about it."

Without waiting for your answer, he slammed his door shut.

That was a big pile of nothing, you thought.

What an ass.

Law

Idiot, what have you been thinking?, Law asked himself as he studied his exhausted face in the mirror. Taking an innocent civilian onto your ship because you can't handle your feelings. What kind of pathetic coward have you become? Lurking around the girl on your own ship, like a creep, Law thought.

He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, he was hyper aware of where she was at any given time on the ship, watching her from afar. His obsession was frightening to him. Whenever he caught a glimpse of her, his heart would jump into overdrive; when she wasn't there, it was hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

When he decided to finally approach her and talk to her like a normal person, his courage vanished. As soon as he heard her voice an saw her smile, all the lines he had thought of seemed to fall out of his slacked jaw. In the end, he ordered her to an examination that she didn't need - it was just drtving his need to see and touch her. Her recovery was going great, she put on a healthy weight, her strength came back, her skin was practically glowing with life and beauty.

When he let his hands glide over her, her soft skin was like a drug to him. When he told her to remove her boiler suit and her top, her very own scent intoxicated him. And it drove him insane, knowing he couldn't have her. He executed every kind of tactile examination he could possibly think of to postpone her leaving, and prolong his shameless ogling and caressing. She patiently endured all of it. So innocent and trusting. Did she see him as a saviour or a monster? His heart was beating so hard he was sure that she could hear it. Did she suspect something? She didn't seem aware. When he was out of body parts to check he begrudgingly told her that she was in excellent health and could go about her day. She thanked him, got dressed and left the examination room, leaving behind a desperate man. His knees gave out and he sank to the floor. A pile of misery.

His strange behavior even went so far that he stole one of her used shirts, just to have her scent with him when he tried to sleep. He grasped the shirt in front of his chest and buried his nose deep in the fabric, imagining that she was lying beside him. It was a bad substitute, but better than nothing.

His angry eyes stared back at him from the mirror. He was unkempt and unshaven, his face pale and dark rings hung under his eyes. He looked like he was now the one who needed a new heart.

And how would he keep her safe? She was just a girl, he couldn't have her in a fight like at sabaody, or what if she got kidnapped? He didn't think about any of that when he had the glorious idea to just take her along. Shit.

He splashed cold water into his face to calm down. He had to get her back home. Had to turn around, find the island again. He would have-

Bepo stood in his door, silently staring, Law jumped: "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STANDING THERE?!", he screamed.

"Long enough to see that you look like shit", the bear stated.

"Don't just say that to your captain!", Law reprimanded him. "Sorry", Bepo let his head hang down. Law buried his face in his hands out of frustration. "What do you want, Bepo, don't you have anything to do?" he asked in an unnerved voice. "You know Law, as your friend I have to tell you that you look really unhappy since we got our new crew mate. What's the matter?" he inquired.

"He's love sick is what's happening" Shachis voice came from the hallway behind the large mink. "My two beri to this are: talk to her and resolve this or leave her on the next island. You're putting us all at risk if you're miserable all day. This is the grand line, we are wanted men. If you're not at your best, someone will get us" he reminded Law of his duties as captain.

Law was painfully aware of all of that. He knew his crew needed his protection. He had a plan to execute, a man to avenge. His face burned with anger - at himself, at this situation. His stupid heart. He knew what he had to do.

"On the next save island, we leave her. Give her enough beri to take transport back to her home." he said.

Bepo and Shachi looked at each other and nodded. "Aye, aye captain!", they said and turned to go. Bepo hesitated. "Are you sure that's what you want?", he asked. "It's what needs to be done" Law said, adding: "And close the door behind you". He didn't need his men to see his tears.

______________________________

Next chapter preview (I do that now because I *checks notes* did some actual planning on this):

And now is your chance to tell me what to do better next time, what is a motif you like to see? Let me know in the comments or write a dm!

Law tries to get you back home the safest way he can think of: by dumping you on an island with a handful of beri - but keeping an eye on you anyways. Finding out your little secret? And some bounty hunters are also in the mix. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Part 3 out now, continue reading right away

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