#me: posed up in my cot....

[chuluoyi]

✎ heaven's fury

- gojo satoru x reader

sometimes you forget that your husband has burdens as the strongest sorcerer alive. when he goes back home from a bad day and you're the first person he comes contact to, you're made aware of it once again

genre: angry!gojo, a bit of hurt with looots of comfort and fluff !! it’s self-indulgent too🤭

note: i knooow i said i'll post gojo angst next, but i forgot i have this in backburner too so... this hurt/comfort goes first :') based on an anon's request. loosely takes place after baby!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sukuna's vessel is a threat— he must be executed as soon as possible!”

“The more we put this off, the greater the risk he poses to society!”

“Gojo, you can't delay his sentence any longer—!”

Weak. All of them. They always make excuses. Trying to pin blame on someone else.

The jujutsu world he lives in… is wretched. Gojo Satoru thought he knew that well already, or at least knew enough to not get riled up over it.

Apparently not.

“Gojo-sensei? You look scary...”

Typically, he would mask his clear disdain with sharp-witted jibes, but he reached his limit this time. Especially since they had been pressuring him relentlessly to execute Itadori Yuji for at least five times a week, each week.

. . .

“Satoru, oh, you're home already!”

At the end of it all, he went home with the worst of moods. It served as a reminder—of his deep-seated contempt for weakness and how burdensome he found the task of protecting the insufferable to be.

“Satoru...?”

And it's because of their weakness that Suguru—

“Satoru, are you—?”

“Just fucking shut it!”

And that was when he saw you, standing before him with wide eyes, cradling your—his—precious baby in your arms, who was sound asleep.

“Huh…?”

Satoru immediately tensed up, realizing his mistake. And what hit him even harder was— is that a flicker of hurt he saw flashing across your face?

If so, then you quickly blinked it away because in the next instant, your face lit up with a warm smile— kind of forced, to his dismay. “Welcome home, Satoru.”

Something inside him churned, his heart started to ache, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth then.

There you were, as accepting as ever, and he cherished you for it.

But not tonight. Not for this. You didn't deserve any of his misplaced resentment.

Damn it. Damn it all!

In response, he offered you a subtle nod and headed to the bathroom, thinking a shower might help clear his foul mood away.

Contrary to what Satoru might think, you didn't really hold anything against him.

You were surprised, yes, because he was usually such a ball of energy even when he got back from intercity missions, but more than the hurt, you would understand if now, he was pissed some way or another.

Your husband is still a human. He is entitled to be upset on some days.

After ensuring your son was comfortably asleep in his cot, you returned to your bedroom to find Satoru already in bed, facing away from you. Hmph... now that you thought about it, this silence between you was unacceptable.

“Satoru.” You poked his side, but he didn't budge and still had his eyes shut. You arched an eyebrow. “Satoru? You can't be asleep.”

“…” No answer. Okay, let's try something else.

“Honey, talk to me? Hmm?” you decided to swallow the heat on your face as you addressed him more intimately. Mind you, you didn't usually call him that. He was the one in charge of pet names.

“…” This shithead. That's it.

“Satoru, my tummy hurts—”

“What?” In an instant, he flipped over, abruptly sitting up. “What hurts—”

Seizing the opportunity, you tugged him by the neck, and both of you tumbled onto the bed, with him landing on top of you. Satoru instinctively held himself up and cushioned the back of your head with his hand so you wouldn’t crash into the headboard—his blue eyes wildly flickering, searching for any sign of discomfort or harm.

“You good?” he made a face upon realizing your ruse.

“You won’t talk to me otherwise,” you noted with a hint of annoyance. But then your eyes softened into a concerned frown. “Satoru… what’s wrong?”

Once again, Satoru felt hollow. You were worried and it reached him. “It’s nothing,” he replied, looking away, trying to downplay his fury.

You pulled him close, his head against your chest, and though he was stiff and taken aback at first, he released a reluctant sigh and instinctively snuggled closer, finding comfort in your embrace.

“There, there…” you soothed with a smile, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Feel better now?”

He let out another sigh against you, returning the hug and nuzzling his face against your chest. His body heat enveloped you like a blanket.

And after a while...

“...’m sorry for yelling at you...” he muttered with such regret it made your eyes widen. “Didn’t mean it.”

The slight prickle in your heart dissipated at once, hearing his muffled voice.

“Mm-hmm, I know.”

“Really.”

“Mmm, really, really.”

He held you a little tighter, breathing in your scent, and you kept stroking his head. He looked so despondent it warmed your heart, and made you want to pet him. “Our baby loves being held like this too,” you giggled fondly. “You big baby… you’re just like him.”

Your husband let out a soft grunt against your chest, exhaling deeply.

“Whenever you’re ready, talk to me, yes?”

And so after several more pats on his head, Satoru finally told you everything, about how the higher-ups were relentlessly pressing him to put an end to Yuji, the new kid he recently enrolled to the jujutsu school.

“They're just some paranoid old fools—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—stinky, cringey, looks depressed most of the time—”

“Heh— now that's just plain disrespect.”

“Yuji is just clueless and just has a lot to learn,” Satoru grumbled sullenly. “They didn't even teach him a thing and incapable to— how dare they? To keep him ignorant and then murder him?”

...oh.

And at that moment, you found clarity. Why he got so worked up, why he got irate this time whereas he was usually insensitive.

First, it was because of your tragic youth. No one protected Haibara from his unfortunate incident and was there for Geto when he needed it the most—which still haunted him to this day.

And secondly, because he himself is a father too. No one deserves their youth being taken away. That has been his moral compass, and the sense grows even stronger ever since the baby was born.

It made something inside you flutter.

“Satoru...” you breathed out, smiling, squeezing him affectionately. “You’re ... a kind person.”

“Huh?”

“You take it upon yourself to mentor those kids,” you mused. “Just look at Megumi and Yuta; they've turned out just fine.”

Truthfully, Satoru didn't consider himself as kind as you made him out to be. At times he felt like he was doing it because it was right, sometimes he thought it was for fun, and at other times, he simply didn't feel like seeing more deaths or wrong paths. And he was sure if you had asked Megumi whether he was a good teacher or not, the grumpy boy would only roll his eyes.

But then, just as he looked up at you, the prettiest smile blossomed on your face, and you said to him—

“And as your wife, I’m... proud of you.”

The way you sincerely told him that made his breath catch in his throat, and his heart pound a little faster.

The woman who has become his everything. This unabashed, pure love you show him.

“Sweets, I—” he suddenly rose, back to on top of you. But his voice faltered, remembering the way he coldly snapped at you earlier. “I...”

You looked up at him innocently. And he swallowed the shame because he had to tell you too.

Because you were so, so incredibly precious to him, and he wanted you to know that.

“…love you,” he mumbled, his beautiful eyes meeting yours with no hesitation. His cheeks were burning, tinted with a shade of pink—and you out of all people knew best that him being embarrassed meant as good as him not being horny—

But before you could point it out, he leaned down towards you, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. There was no trace of the man who was hungry for your body— it was just a long, chaste kiss that contained his feelings for you.

And when he pulled back, both of you were panting slightly, trying to catch your breath. Then, he pursed his lips, his eyes glittery—somehow reminding you of your baby's face just before he cried out for his milk.

“I wanna pay for my sin. Wanna cuddle you too.”

And so you let him. He held you close, his arm under your head and you traced lazy lines on his chest, feeling contented and somewhat giddy.

“You feel that bad, huh?” you chuckled, noticing his continued gloominess.

“I am,” he puffed out his cheeks before pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Because if anyone else dares to tell you off like that, I'll wreck them on the spot.”

“Hmm, how romantic. But come to think about it... you did look a little scary though...”

At that moment, he felt his heart drop, his eyes instantly rounded in alarm, looking at you with dismay.

“No, no, I'm not scary! Wifey, I'm your devoted and loving husband!”

Epilogue

Your morning started with your baby's cries. When you glanced over, Satoru was gone from your bed already. Curious, you made your way to the baby's room, and what you saw there caused you to raise an eyebrow.

"Satoru... what are you...?"

He turned to you with an expression so heartbroken as he rocked his wailing baby. "He keeps crying, I don't know why..."

However, your attention was drawn more to his disheveled appearance. Messy hair, slitted eyes as if he hadn't brushed off sleep, and most of all, the dark eyebags under his eyes.

"Uh, Satoru... give him to me."

When he did, your baby calmed down almost instantly, his sobs turning into light sniffles, and your husband could only scratch his head in confusion.

"Why...? When I tried to look at him, he cried even harder—"

"...no offense, but if I were a baby and someone who looks like a panda holds me up, I'd get scared and cry too."

Satoru let out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest as he hovered over your baby—

"Nooo! Papa didn't mean to scare you—!"

...but to his horror, your baby turned away from him, hiding his face in your chest instead.

[papaya-twinks]

printer - l.n

Warnings: Fernando throwing shade 🥶

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - going through my camera roll and found the video of my ancient ass grand father (conveniently called fernando) standing with old man pose (hands behind back, disgruntled expression) peer into the cot (where baby me is), turn to my mother and say, “I see you did a printer job of Aurelio (my dad), Raya (my mum)” and it’s giving Fernando meeting Lando’s kid

Yours and Lando’s daughter was 2 years today, and you finally decided it would be a good idea to bring him to the paddock to meet some of the drivers. “C’mon, Cheriie,” Lando cooed, leading your daughter behind you into the paddock. She babbled incoherently, wearing a little orange McLaren shirt, her hair tied into pigtails with papaya beads on the ends. 

“Hey mate,” Max said, Penelope behind him as her eyes widened at your daughter. “Hey,” Lando nodded, stepping aside so Cheriie could see Penelope. “This Cheriie?” Max kneeled down, smiling at your daughter. “Yeah,” you said, holding onto Lando’s hand as you watched Penelope babble to your daughter. 

“We’re taking her round to meet some of the drivers,” Lando said, picking Cheriie up into his arms as she giggled. The small commotion of Penelope and Cheriie caused a few drivers to come over - George and Lewis, and Charles and Carlos. “Ah, little chilli,” Carlos peered at the girl wriggling in Lando’ arms. 

“Absolutely not, you’re going to convince her to be Spanish or something,” Lando grumbled. “Yes, being Monegasque is better,” Charles said triumphantly. “I think she should stay with us,” you said, shaking your head as Lewis picked her up. “She looks just like you, mate,” he nodded to Lando as your boyfriend laughed. 

“Got her mother’s charm,” he winked as you flushed softly. “Ah un bebe?” a voice said behind you, making you turn, seeing Fernando. He raised an eyebrow, peering at the child, his hands behind his back, classic old man pose, his face emotionless. “Y/N?” the older Spaniard said. 

You looked up at his call. “I see you have done a printer job of Lando,” the words made you snort as Lando scoffed. “Did you even help with this baby? One man tango?” Fernando’s words made you shriek, covering your face. “She’ll be like her mum, just wait,” Lando said.

[heartfullofleeches]

I want big daddy scorpion Yan to fu....kiss me stupid. Just towering over me and calling me pathetic as he drags my ass back to bed:)))

"Poor thing...."

You can't get pass him- There's no way for you to squeeze by now without him snatching you up first... The gap between his imposing figure and the gateway to your freedom was spacious enough for you to see the other side - golden sunlight bouncing off the cave walls. Your captor mockingly coos, tongue clicking against the back of his sharpened teeth as you crane your head, sapping up as much of the warm sun as you could before it was robbed from you once again. You wince as the brilliant rays shine directly in your eyes, throwing your hands up defensively.

"See? Gone and got yourself hurt by the very thing you're trying to escape me for. That world ain't made for you. Small, pathetic little creatures like you are made to be in the protection of others....or eaten. Now tell me, which would you prefer?"

Blinded by your own mistakes only serves to make yourself easier pickings for the beast stacking towards you. The scorpion lifts you effortless off your feet, tossing you over his shoulder with a firm hand pinned to your back as a warning. Still, you persist on - flailing your legs as you claw at his back to no reaction. He barely flinches - doesn't even seem to be fazed. No, worse than that. Your captor laughs. Your blood freezes in your veins as his tail flexes - stinger posed inches from your face.

"I'm all for you wasting your energy, but there are better ways to do it. Best to stop struggling now unless you want to be completely dependant on me for a while."

Your defeat is eminent. The firm hand placed to your back eases into claws racking gently down your back as you fall slack in his hold, unable to do much else. The scorpion walks you over to the nest made from items stolen from previous prey. A large cot padded with pillows and blankets. You're thankful he had the courtesy to lay the stained sheets first until he found a proper way to get all the blood out.

The scorpion places you down first before cuddling up besides you before you had the chance to scramble away, caging your smaller body between himself and the cave wall with an arm over your chest and his tail bending around your legs. You curl into him as the coldness of the stone bleeds through your shirt - the cave barren of the sun's heating glow so far deep into its depths. Your captor rewards your obedience and submission with a soft kissed to your cheek.

"That's it... Just free that cute head of any thoughts on escaping and let me take care of you.... It's too dangerous out there for you - I'm only doing what's best."

You try not to listen. Try not to let his sweet words poison you any further, but as his lips press against yours again...again...and again - you know he has you right where he wants you... and nothing will ever change that.

[daisynik7]

hello it's me again not sure if it's alright to request one more (literally just ignore this if not) and its also not y2k but i'd like to request work song by hozier for nanami especially "no grave can hold my body down, i'd crawl home to her" angst with a happy ending during/post shibuya (no dying please) and reader is also a healer like shoko

thank you so much and congrats again 🫶🏼

Work Song

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: mentions of d*ath, bl*od, burn injuries, canon-divergent, set in the canon-universe during the Shibuya Incident Arc, MAJOR spoilers up to Shibuya Arc, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, happy ending

Summary: You’re a healer working with Shoko inside the medical tent at Shibuya Station while Nanami, your boyfriend, is in the line of fire for the battle ahead. After an especially life-threatening attack, Nanami, on the brink, runs into an old friend, who helps guide him back home. 

Author’s Note: @75songs thank you so much for sending in another request for the y2k karaoke party, always appreciate your love and support! I ADORE this song and have honestly always thought it was perfect for Nanami. I am an anime only and am not caught up with season 2 yet, so I didn’t want to read too much into what exactly happens during this arc, so some of the details may be inaccurate, just a heads up. This one got me in my feelings. I will forever hold a grudge against Gege for what they did to Nanami. Anyways, likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! Divider by @/saradika.

October 31st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, you and Nanami would be celebrating Halloween tonight, passing colorful candies and decadent chocolates to kids going door-to-door across the neighborhood. You’d force him to dress up in a silly costume, one that matches yours, despite his reluctance at first. Deep down, you know he likes this; domestic bliss, especially with you. The idea that the two of you could live a peaceful life together, away from the dangerous world of curses and Jujutsu sorcery. You discuss it constantly, dream about it, strive for it. A few more years, he says, and he’ll retire. There’s still more work to be done, people to be saved. 

You’re inside the medical tent beside Shoko, helping her set up the cots, anticipating injured sorcerers to arrive soon with the battle underway. Masamichi Yaga, Jujutsu High’s principal, stands guard outside, determined to keep the medical team, especially Shoko, safe from any posing threats. There’s no way to know what’s happening until people start arriving, in need of medical attention. You’re a healer too, but not nearly as skilled as Shoko, your mentor. Still, she encourages you to join them tonight, needing all the help they can get. 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, setting up the last bed. Observant as ever, she notices your quiet demeanor.

You nod, giving her a weak, unconvincing smile. “Yeah.”

“Nanami is going to be fine,” she assures you, sensing the root of your anxiety. “When this is all done, the two of you should take a vacation together.”

Relaxing a bit, you reply, “We already have our trip to Malaysia planned in a few months.”

She smiles kindly. “There you go. Something to look forward to.”

Her words ease some of the tension, but there’s dread settling in the pit of your stomach, and it won’t go away until you see Nanami again in one piece. 

The waiting game finally ends as soon as the first wounded sorcerer shows up in the tent, initiating nonstop chaos. You assist Shoko diligently, making sure everything is prepared for her to perform her Reverse Cursed Technique for those who need it, and patching up those who don’t, with less severe injuries. You’re constantly on the lookout to see a familiar face, trying to get an update on what’s happening out there. None comes, until you see Kiyotaka Ijichi limping towards the entrance, blood spread across his shirt. You and Shoko rush towards him, carrying him over your shoulders, leading him to an empty cot, gently laying him down. 

Shoko, showing panic on her face for the first time all night, inspects him carefully. “Ijichi, can you hear me?” She’s always had a soft spot for him, often telling you how endearing she finds him, always a nervous wreck in front of her. Seeing him like this is surely jarring, even for her, who’s as tough as nails. 

He nods weakly, mumbling something incoherent, blood sputtering from his mouth. You remove the shattered glasses from his eyes, wiping his lips with gauze. Shoko starts to work on him, directing you to check on the other patients. Before you can follow orders, you feel his weak grip on your wrist. You turn to face him, focused on his lips as he quietly utters, “Nanami.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, leaning in closer to hear the rest of what he has to say, taking his time through labored breaths. “He…saved…me…” 

You do your best to keep your composure, nodding at him silently, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. Unsure how to respond, you leave them, going to the other side of the tent to check on the remaining sorcerers. 

With everyone else in stable condition, you take a minute outside the tent to sob into your hands, praying that Nanami is still alive. Unaware of your surroundings, you’re startled when Yaga approaches, his large figure sitting beside you. “You alright?”

You wipe away your sniffles on your sleeve. “Just…nervous.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “Yeah, I get it. But Nanami is one of our strongest sorcerers. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Again, more words of comfort, but not enough to ease the nervous flutter in your belly. Yaga recognizes this and adds, “Nanami would fight through the fires of hell instead of letting himself die. Not because he wants to live for himself. But because he wants to live for you.”

You face him now, processing his statement. He chuckles, lifting his sunglasses to meet your gaze. “That man has never been so smitten in his life. He’d crawl out his grave just to be with you, I guarantee it.”

~~~

The last thing Nanami remembers is desperately wishing he was in Malaysia with you instead of at Shibuya Station right now. He wakes up, sitting in one of the seats on the platform. It’s eerily quiet with no one in sight. The distinct sounds of trains on the rails or the hustle and bustle of people moving along is strangely absent, and it occurs to Nanami that this may be a dream. 

He's sure of it when he feels a nudge to his side, turning to face Yu Haibara sitting next to him. There’s a warm smile on his boyish face, dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, exactly as he was many years ago when Nanami last saw him, alive and well. The same bright, earnest eyes he remembers vividly of his best friend. He swallows hard, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Is he seeing a ghost? Or is this the afterlife?

Haibara laughs, and Nanami is snapped out of his reverie and taken immediately back to 2006, when he first met his friend during orientation. He can’t help but grin, happy to see him still so lively. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your old friend, Nanami?”

Nanami does, hugging him, astonished to feel him in his arms almost like a real person. Almost. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to visit you, that’s all.”

Nanami lets him go, studying him carefully, looking for any signs of decay. When he spots none, he asks him, “Am I dead?”

Haibara shakes his head. “Not quite. But you’re pretty damn close.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. So you better hurry and get home quick.” Haibara points towards the railings, now illuminated at one end by a blinding flash of light. “Yuji’s waiting for you.”

“Itadori? How do you know – “

Haibara then says your name with a big smile. “Yeah, I know her too. They’re all waiting for you, Nanami. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do you?”

It takes a while for Nanami to get up, and when he does, he’s off balance, legs wobbly, body unsteady. Haibara helps him, offering his shoulder, the two of them walking slowly towards the light. “I really like her, you know. Your girlfriend.”

“You do?” Nanami asks, hobbling beside him. 

“Yeah. She’s really nice, really pretty, and she eats a lot, especially with you,” he chuckles. “You know how much I like that.”

“Yeah I do.”

“And I’m a good judge of character, so I think she’s perfect for you. If that means anything,” he says, proudly.

“It does. It means a lot.” They’re near the edge of the platform now and Nanami will have to hop down to reach the end of the tunnel. 

“Are you going to marry her soon?” Haibara asks, pausing just before the edge. 

Nanami nods, grinning. “I’m planning to propose during our vacation in Malaysia.” 

“Good. Good.”

He’s tempted to stay longer, wanting a few more moments with his friend, but he knows that time is ticking. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight. “Take care, Haibara.”

“You too, Nanami. I’ll be looking out for you.”

His chest constricts, jumping off the platform, landing roughly on the railings, blinking away the tears in his eyes. It’s sweltering now, the light emitting an intense heat from within. He gives Haibara one last glance, cherishing the happy expression on his face as he waves goodbye to him before walking into the light.

Seconds later, Nanami wakes up with a gasp of breath, vision blurred, a droning pounding beating against his ear drums. It soon fades and only Yuji’s panicked voice yelling from behind him is heard. He’s being dragged by the armpits, away from the battle. Smoke radiates from his entire form, and he can barely move. In fact, he can barely feel anything at all. 

They reach the medical tent, Itadori yelling for help the whole way. Yaga is the first to reach them, his usual calm demeanor wavering at the sight of Nanami, body half-burned from the explosion. They carrying him delicately inside, resting him on the only empty cot left. He wants to close his eyes; he’s so exhausted, and sleep is the only thing to bring him peace right now. That, or you. 

As if his prayers were heard, you appear at his side, truly a vision, even while you sob for him, holding his mangled hand in yours, begging for him to stay with you. He can die happy now, seeing your face, knowing that you’re here, alive, heart beating, surviving. Can he do the same? Can he survive this? All he knows is that he’s trying with every fiber he has left in his being. He won’t leave you, not like this. Not without experiencing life on the outside with you. 

It’s in this moment that he vows to endure. Even if he has to crawl out of his grave to do it, he’s determined to be with you again. 

~~~ 

November 1st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, Nanami is gone. Not in this one, though. Instead, you sit beside him, healed and in one piece thanks to Shoko, fingers laced with his, careful not to squeeze too tightly. Yuji and Ino are at his other side, talking animatedly about how amazing Nanami was the entire fight, and all he can do is lay there, smiling. Happy to be alive. Happy to be with you. 

[skeletondeerart]

You’re One of Us Now.

Sully Family x GN!Reader (platonic) | Word Count: 1816 Words

Tw: Minor mention of Self Harm.

Written before the release of Avatar: The Way of Water, some facts may be inaccurate. 

Synopsis: Having grown up in the confines of the RDA, you plan to fake your death on a data collection expedition to become one with the Pandoran jungle, yet you stumble across an unlikely family of Na’vi who take you in as one of their own.

The reader is seventeen.

Pandora was all I had ever known, having grown up in the RDA’s base I understood the dangers of the world outside. Yet despite this I yearned for the embrace of the forest, yearned to live as one of the people, to leave humanity behind and forge a new life among the Omaticaya.

But I was a soldier, a weapon of war against my will… and I wanted out.

Yet for now I have to pose as a perfect cog in the machine. I conform to Quaritch’s rules to earn the privilege to be selected for intel expedition. Whist being a soldier, I was exceptional in navigation and botany. I hoped that my skills would put me as a candidate for the upcoming expedition in three days.

Standing at attention on the training grounds Quaritch marched back and forth eyeing us all off. He was more imposing than ever, the towering Navi body he embodied was enough to strike fear into even the toughest of men.

“All right ladies and gentlemen, in light of last expeditions failure in attempting to gather subsequent data of neurotoxins used by the Omaticaya, it has resulted in the loss of five of your fellow soldiers.”

My breath was caught in my throat as Quaritch listed off the names of the next team, that was until the final candidate was called, it was my own. I held in my smile as I knew it was my only chance of getting out of the program.

After being sent back to my room, I lay down on my cot and watch the raindrops dribble down the windowpane, I watch the wind sway the trees and animals call out into the night as the as I finalise my plan to escape under the noses of my squad.

Before I knew it, I was wearing the oxygen mask and prepped with my botany data collection devices. Stepping out of the pressure lock we march single file out of the gates and into the wilderness. My squad and I marched for what felt like hours before we reached a zone reading high levels of toxicity, as the five of us spread around the location collecting data on the flora I call out.

“I’m heading North-west as I see a specimen not yet recorded on the data bank.” My squad not even rearing their heads from their specimens made noises of understanding, one even calling out to “Watch out for the locals”.

Treading carefully, I come to a stop once I was sure I was out of sight before preparing my diversion. Taking my pocket knife out I slashed at the tress nearby mimicking the claw marks of a Thanator and spraying Thanator scents around the area. I then nicked my hands and smeared my blood around the scene, kicking the dirt around to mimic a struggle and my data devices leaving them strewn across the ground.

With a last bitter smile, I took the blade to my uniform and sawing off the crest of the RDA and leaving it as the scene. I then ran off into the unknown leaving my old life behind, blissful tears accumulating in my mask as I free myself from the shackles of humanity and let my mind and soul become one with the forests of Pandora.

I ran until my legs gave in as I collapse into a field of plush grass and I gaze up at my surrounds, trees loom over me shielding me from the light rains that wash over the lands. That’s when I heard a gasp and scampering nearby. My head darts to my left as I watch carefully for movement. That’s when I see her, a young Omaticayian girl crouched and almost invisible against the bioluminescence of the forest she dwells in.

“Hi, I won’t hurt you, I’m not with them.” I call as I see her eyes dilate and ears twitch with recognition of my words.

“Your human.” The Na’vi states yet remains hidden.

“Indeed I am.” I smile gently but I make no indication of moving as not to frighten the girl away.

After a moment of reflection, the Na’vi stands and walks towards me apprehensively, she towers over my sitting form as I gaze upwards. She points to herself.

“I’m Kiri, and you?”

“I’m (Y/n)”

“-(Y/n), what a strange name” Kiri mutters to herself but I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at her words. Her eyes dart back to mine from my sudden noise. Kiri’s wide eyes trail down my figure, as if she was analysing me for any threat.

“KIRI, WHERE DID YOU GO?!” A man’s voice calls in Na’vi tongue from deeper in the forest.

“COMING FATHER!” Kiri calls back as she races towards the forest line, that was until her Father beat her there alongside two young boys trailing close behind, his eyes scan her form for injury as his eyes observe his surroundings… until his gaze lands on me. I sit there petrified of the look in his eyes.

Weariness and protective.

My breath catches in my throat, even if I wanted to run I couldn’t, it was like I was paralysed. He pulled Kiri behind him as the younger boys peeked out from behind their Father.

“Who are you and what are you doing this far in the Omaticaya’s lands” He spoke in fluent English.

“My name is (Y/n) (L/n), I was a soldier and botanist, I’ve abandoned the RDA to dedicate my heart to the forest and everything living within it.” I spoke with complete resolution despite my heart thumping in fear of what he would do to me.

He approached me as I remained sitting in fear that he would strike me down if I moved an inch. I gazed upon his imposing figure as his dreadlocks framed his stern eyes that flickered over my body.

His face contorted in a scowl once he spotted my pocket knife nestled in my boot. My gaze follows it, my gaze widened as I came to this realisation.

“Here.” I spoke curtly as I pulled the knife out and handing it to him keeping it closed. He took it and caught sight my wound on the palm of my hand.

“Your injured.” He spoke his tone softening as he gathered that I wasn’t a threat to his kin.

“Self-inflicted.”

His eyebrows furrowed in what appeared to be a hint of concern. I elaborated.

“I had to fake my death to escape… I used my blood to mimic a Thanator attack.”

“I see.” He said. He mulled over his thoughts for a moment before continuing.

“I’m Jake Sully. These are my some of kids, Kiri, Neteyam and Lo’ak.” He introduced gesturing behind him.

Kiri smiled back at me as she stuck up a little thumbs up in approval.

“So why did you leave the RDA (Y/n).”

I let out a sigh as my mind flashed back to my childhood within the RDA as I spoke carefully.

“I- I was born in the base, confined to its walls for years before being forged into a soldier. Yet despite this I always had a passion for botany – plants – I had yearned to be able to freely explore the forest and grew an appreciation for the Na’vi through the data files… I never thought I fit in… I felt like an outcast.” I took another breath to calm myself, “I understand if you want to kill me due to my affiliation, and I won’t hold any resentment to you or your people if you so decide.”

“Come.” Jake stated and offered me a hand. I accepted it without a second thought, my hand only wrapping around two of his fingers. Jake pulled me to my feet and proceeded to lead me deeper into to forest. Neteyam – I came to learn who was the oldest of the boys – spoke to me in curt English.

“Hello, I am Neteyam. You are short.” He stated, he seemed quite proud of himself for speaking to me. I smiled gently at his attempt of communicating with me.

“Hello Neteyam, I’m (Y/n). Nice to meet you. You are correct I am short.” I replied.

“I’m Lo’ak!” The shorter boy piped up. “I’m great at speaking Sky People language.”

“English Lo’ak. These Human’s speak English.” Jake corrected from his position from the front. Neteyam laughed and gave his younger brother a punch to the arm, which resulted in a yelp from Lo’ak. Jake spun around at the noise and glared at Neteyam as he deducted what happened.

“Apologise Neteyam.” Jake spoke in Na’vi.

“What!” Neteyam exclaimed.

“Now –” Jake growled baring his teeth. With a stutter Neteyam apologised picking at his fingers.

“S-sorryyy Lo’akkkk –” Neteyam apologised as he continued walking.

We soon reached a point where Jake motioned Kiri, Neteyam and Lo’ak to begin their accent up into the trees, they fly up the trunk with ease. Jake looked at me as I gape as how far the climb is. He then bent down and motioned me to climb onto his back. I gently pull myself onto his back careful not to bump his queue. We quickly reach the top and I see an intricately woven home nestled into the trees canopy. Standing on the edge of the home is Kiri, Neteyam, Lo’ak, an older Omaticayian woman I figured was their Mother with a small child in her arms… and a human boy.

“Neytiri, Spider, Tuktiery, I’m home” Jake called as he carefully slid me off his back. I nervously hide behind Jake at the look Neytiri was giving us.

“Jake why is there a human on your back.” She hissed in Na’vi.

“I can explain ‘Tiri.”

“Explain what? that you brought another human into our home.” My eyes widened as I try and quell the tremors of her wrath. The toddler – I assumed was Tuktiery – began to whine in her Mother’s arms as the commotion.

“They are not one of them, I can sense they are good, please trust me!” Jake begged his lover.

Neytiri glared down at me and let out a sigh.

“One chance Jake, one.” Neytiri caved.

“Thank you, my love.” Jake turned to me with a smile.

“You’re one of us now” He smiled his gaze falling down to my wound again. “Let’s get you cleaned up now.” Jake offered as he grabbed some medicinal berries, I had never seen in the data files before. My eyes shone and he crushed them into a paste and applied it before wrapping it in cloth. As he finished tying the knot Jake looked down to me and smiled softly.

“Your safe here, I understand what’s it’s like to not fit in.” He whispered for only me to hear.

“You were from the Avatar program weren’t you.” I stated in a whisper.

Jake could only smile knowingly at my statement.

“Welcome to the family.”

[letsquestjess]

A Brother in Need

Summary: Echo struggles after returning from Skako Minor, but his brothers are there for him.

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: While there are no graphic descriptions, the Citadel and Skako Minor are briefly mentioned.

A/N: This one was written for @swprequels-big-bang! Can't wait for you all to see the art to go with it. It is phenomenal and I love it!

-- -- -- -- --

In the hushed atmosphere of the medical room, Echo couldn’t shake the unease, as if the stillness masked an imminent awakening of the dormant machines. After previous checkups had caused him more stress than was beneficial, the medics minimised the use of technological equipment, and in the rare circumstances it was required, he was not alone for a single second. 

His grip on the edge of the medical cot tightened. Occasionally, the scomp link attached to his other arm would disrupt his sense of balance. The staff promised him that his body would adapt, but the discomfort made it seem like an everlasting struggle. Each day, he pushed himself to the limit, desperate to reclaim his former strength and abilities, only to be met with failure at every turn. 

“Almost done,” clone medic Zel said, working swiftly. 

A wedge of blue light emitted from the hovering AZ unit and Echo kept his head drooped as it conducted the scans. With practise, he found if he averted his gaze and directed his attention away from the mechanical hum, he could cope long enough to complete his medical checks.  

“The difficult bit is over,” the medic assured him, collecting the reports from the droid and dismissing it from the room. “All I need is a blood sample, and then you’re good to go.” 

Zel acted with deft precision as he covered the back of the proffered hand with the cylinder and applied pressure to the syringe. As soon as he connected the specimen to the console, the monitor on the far wall lit up, flashing and stabilising into a solid green. 

Examining each result individually, he reviewed the list and returned to his patient with a comforting smile. “Your vital signs appear to be within the normal range, but I’m going to keep you on minimal training for another week and then reassess. Don’t want to cause more strain.” 

Echo acknowledged the medic’s terms with a meagre nod. 

“How has the past week been for you?” Zel inquired, as he tidied up the medical apparatus and disposed of empty packets in the correct bins. 

“Fine,” Echo replied, silently hoping that his prompt response wouldn’t betray the lie. Although he was far from fine, he intended to proceed with his routine so long as he met the requirements. 

“Have you been training regularly?”

“I have.” 

“And how have you coped with that?”

Echo grew silent, his throat bobbing with a grim gulp and his mouth becoming dry. Zel posed that question to him every checkup, and each time he faltered or contemplated lying, the medic waited, never pressuring him for a response. His duty as a brother held priority when not in emergency situations, and Echo conceded the truth was the only way to get the help he needed. “Not so fine,” he confessed. 

“Recovery isn’t a quick process,” Zel said. “It’s like learning everything all over again.”

“I’m trying, I really am, but… I just…”

Zel drew up a chair and took a seat beside the medical cot, noting Echo’s tight hold on the bedframe and the restless flicker of his eyes. “No rush. Take a breath.”

Inhaling against the pounding of his heart, Echo loosened his grasp and nestled his hand in his lap. He had no reason to be embarrassed in front of his brother, but the notion he could not carry out his duty filled him with a shame so intense it clenched at his soul. “I… trip a lot, stumble over nothing. I’m getting strange pains at the worst times during training. Although my new squad is supportive and assures me I’m not failing them, I know I am. Most of the time, I struggle to keep pace, and they have to take on extra to get us through the simulations.” His gaze dropped to the scomp link, mourning everything that was taken from him. 

“I won’t insist that you stop training unless it becomes too much to handle,” Zel said. “If that happens, I expect you to return here. It might help if you make a note of when the pains happen. Could be something with the prosthetics that need a bit of tweaking, but you’re doing well. And just so you know, you are not disappointing anyone. You joined Clone Force 99, right?” At Echo’s hum in response, he grinned. “I’ve heard they have unconventional methods, but if they are backing you up, maybe you should reciprocate that trust. Is there a particular squad mate who will listen?” 

“They all would,” Echo replied without hesitation. “I might get a few sarcastic comments, but I think that’s their way of showing they care.”

Rising from his seat, Zel returned the chair to the console and signed the datapad to approve of the results. “When an enemy is marching towards you, it’s not always possible to hold the line alone,” he said. “The principle applies to any form of recovery. You’ve got to do a lot of the work on your own, but not all of it. Let your squad assist you. You’ll get there. Just takes time.”

* * *

Sleep shunned him. He was unable to find rest, never mind a shred of sleep in the swarm of thoughts. Regardless of how much he swatted them aside or composed his breathing, they always crept back in, peering to check if he was aware before hurtling at him at full speed. 

If he could settle at night and handle the noise during the day, he wouldn’t have been bothered, but his mental haze had no sense of time or compassion. He would often recall the blaster smoke scent or find himself involuntarily retracing his steps towards the ill-fated spacecraft, prepared to defend his Jedi comrades and brothers. His footfalls reverberated, compelling him to the ramp, until... 

Resigning himself to another sleepless night, he lowered his legs from the bunk. He wobbled from the impact, still getting used to his prosthetics and afforded himself a moment to regain his balance. Even sitting had become an act he had to think about before he did. 

He scrubbed his face with his palms and lifted his head. A dull glow washed across the central table. Had he been so engrossed in his own thoughts to not notice Tech at the workbench? To grant himself some credit, the intelligent clone was usually rather quiet at night when he tinkered with his latest projects, mindful of the squad in their slumber. 

“Apologies if I disturbed you,” Tech murmured, the glass of his goggles capturing the sheen of the welding tool pinched in his grasp. Metal melted beneath the precise tip, cooled by a second, shorter instrument. “My brothers can sleep through almost anything.” 

“I’m not usually a light sleeper,” Echo replied quietly. “I mean, I wasn’t before…” He pointed at the connectors implanted into his skull and drank in the tepid skim of conditioned air. A delicate breeze tickled his nose and chilled the skin surrounding the embedded machinery that kept him alive. He held onto every sensation, hoping it would anchor him in the present and maintain his concentration on his mission. 

His wrists dangled from his parted legs, his head bowed and his body exhausted beyond its capacity. Zel’s advice leaked into the dense mist in his mind. Trust them, he told himself. They are your squad. Your brothers. They support you as much as you support them. 

“I go to bed but rarely sleep,” he said. “Hardly get the sensation of needing rest like I used to. Sometimes, I drift for a few hours, but it doesn’t last long.” Determined not to fester in the stuffy bunk, he shoved himself up from the thin mattress and made his way over to the table, collapsing into the seat across from the preoccupied clone. 

“That will be your cybernetics,” Tech said. 

“I gathered that.” Echo placed his scomp link onto the counter to alleviate a little of the pressure in his shoulder. Upon his return, he barely allowed himself any time to recuperate before immersing himself in retraining. A soldier at heart and a proud defender of the Republic, he used every stumble and fall as a reminder to stay focused. 

However, amidst the grumbles and the effort it took to push himself up again, within the measured breaths to soothe his irritation, he was reminded of the fact that he was no longer the man he once was. His body had been altered, parts of him removed and replaced with metal, cold and biting. 

Tech moved the tools aside and wiped away the leftover mineral powder from the curved device he had been constructing. With studious care, he began to file at the sharper edges. “If you would find it useful to discuss the challenges you’re facing, my work doesn’t require much concentration at this point.”

At that tiny allowance, words poured from Echo in a way they never had before. The floodgates of his thoughts burst open, unrestrained, tugging at the burden on his chest and lifting each cumbersome strain. The relief of being home, the grief at the news about Fives, and the fear of not living up to his past achievements whispered through the night like sacred secrets. In the end, he felt a sense of liberation as he plucked them out of his head and set them down before him to process. 

“I am sure that you have already been told this, but it will take patience for you to adjust,” Tech spoke once Echo had spilled out his soul. “Not just to a new body, but a new squad and new surroundings. We work… differently to most.”

“Different isn’t a bad thing,” Echo said. 

Tech’s lips curved in agreement and he stepped away from the bench, presenting his latest project to his teammate for inspection. “Can I ensure this fits before I complete the final alterations? You will not feel any discomfort.”

“Sure. But what is it?” 

“It is a piece of headgear that should help with the issues you have been having,” Tech responded, fastening it around the back of Echo’s head and removing it a few seconds later once he was content with the sizing. “I am certain that the implants are contributing to your difficulties, but this will isolate those problems and facilitate a stronger connection between your body and the cybernetic aspects.”

Echo observed him as he perched on the table, fine tuning the device. Tech had been working on this project for weeks, devoting the majority of his free time to finishing it. And it was for him. All those hours, those late nights, the quiet moments alone had been all for his benefit. “You’ve made this for me?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Tech said, as if it were the most clear-cut thing in the entire galaxy. “You are our brother. Why would we not help you?” 

At a loss for words, Echo sat in stunned silence. 

“I believe the slips you have been experiencing during simulation training are due to a disconnect between your neural relay and your prosthetics,” Tech continued, “but this headpiece is designed to assist you with that.”

“I… Thank you,” Echo said. “It, uh… it means a lot. I’ll leave you to it.” Getting up from the bench, he turned back to his goggled brother and smiled. “Don’t stay up too much longer. If Hunter finds out, he won’t be pleased.”

“He will not mind,” Tech assured him. “Not since I am helping a brother in need.” 

[sroop]

ineta (ii)

When Duncan does sleep, he dreams of green and something gold looking.

Pairing: Duncan Idaho x OC

Warnings: violence, light blood/gore

Summary: ineta is backed into a corner, and finds that duncan may hold the key to their survival.

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Ineta shrieks and collides against the jagged stone walls of the dungeon.

Why it was necessary to remind all that they were in an Harkonnen dungeon escaped her, as though it were possible to forget. Still, the ram hung over a bloody orange field leered at her. Red eyes and claws. She had thought it a real beast, pouncing on her for its latest victim. She lays a hand over her pounding heart. 

"Miss Ineta?"

Ineta curses her feeble nerves, and draws herself up to a more dignified pose on her own two feet to greet the guard. He's a tall, clean-shaven man only a few years older than her at most. Soft eyes, and a mouth twisted upwards in a curious smile. She eyes the crest on his breastplate warily.

"What are you doing here?" he asks kindly.

Ineta nods towards the cells.

"The Baron orders me to see to the newest prisoner. I am to ensure his survival for questioning," she says levelly. Ineta doesn't wait for him to respond to move past him. There's authority in her words for servants, but soldiers were hard to predict, being more under the command of the Baron and his nephew. It was best to move fast.

"Wait."

Ineta stops and feigns an impatient scowl.

The soldier looks at her with something akin to understanding in his face. She's reminded of the same expression she wears when letting off a slacking maid or clumsy server. "You'd best return quickly then, Miss Ineta. Before the Baron grows impatient." 

He gives a small smile and turns to face the other way. Ineta smiles back.

"Thank you, soldier."

{}{}{}{}

Duncan Idaho is clinging to the precipice of life. At least he still had all his fingers, he thinks. He inhales harshly at a more piercing pain at his cheek, jerking his head away. The pain is soothed by a soft hand. He's been a fighter for long enough to recognize the the pain as a needle and thread, and the soft hand as a nurse.

In the darkness, he can't quite see who's there, though he's uncertain the swelling over his eyes would have allowed him to see at all. He cracks his lips open from the seal of dried blood.

"Thank you."

"You need to save your breath," comes the firm reply. He recognizes the voice immediately as the girl who'd been at his most recent beating. Duncan tries to remember her features, but recalls only the green color of her skirt and something gold looking.

"You saved my life," he says suddenly. It sounds clumsy coming from a spurt of belabored breathing, no doubt tinged with the dank, prison air. But he feels the need to thank her almost oppressively. Briefly, he realizes this is because he is unsure he will ever get the chance to ever again, and stops himself from envisioning a painful death.

No, he must not lose hope. His hands clench in on themselves, only to be unfurled by her.

"Eat it, if you can," she murmurs. Its grainy texture implies bread, but his stomach flips stubbornly. Despite its protests, he brings it to his mouth and gnaws with determination. It hurts to move, to breath, to swallow, but he'd do it if it meant he'd survive to see the red hawk of House Atreides fly again. He just needed a few days. They couldn't be too far off from their next incursion into fortress territory.

He feels her return to work, cleaning and sewing open wounds quietly and quickly, experienced with pain.

"What's your name?" he asks. There's a beat before she answers, like she's considering if he's worth the trouble of replying. Or if he'd survive long enough for it to matter.

"Ineta," she finally says. "Miss Ineta to you."

Duncan chuckles, immediately regretting the burst of pain in his lungs he feels. He clutches his chest and rolls his head over on the stone slab of a cot they'd given him. The cell, from what little he'd seen, was nothing but a simple square, enclosed on all sides save for the barred entrance. What mattered more to him was the corridor leading into it.

One way in, one way out, from what he'd seen. It was nothing but a single, unending row of rotting prisoners.

"I'm glad you can still laugh," she says quietly. Duncan doesn't really hear. He imagines Atreides forces marching through, saving them.

"Duncan?" Ineta calls gently, shaking his shoulder. He must have worried her, going quiet like that. She touches his forehead and sighs at the temperature. "You'll be alright, if you don't get any worse. I'll try to come back whenever I can."

Try. Duncan grasps her wrist. She shouldn't try, not when he wouldn't need it. In fact, she shouldn't be anywhere near him after tonight. He rasps, but the words are sticky with blood and catch in his throat. Instead, he drags her close to him, ignoring the pain of her palm pressed against his chest in resistance.

"Get as far away as possible. You should run," he says. This is foolish, he knows, it is entirely possible that she, the cupbearer for the Harkonnens, would run to warn them. But Duncan has always trusted his heart. He tells her anyway. "Run far, far away. They may not spare you."

He can't see, but he hears her gasp and stumble away. It's comforting to him. At least one person would live either way, the girl who'd shown him mercy in the face of his captors. Captors he knew were cruel masters from his time as a slave here, though he wondered what her true place was with them. Servant? Favorite? Mistress?

Duncan sighs and brings the bread to his lips again.

Moments later, he hears a body crumpling to the floor somewhere. Duncan exhales sharply, filled with cold dread. He felt hot in his head, and cold everywhere else. Useless and weak. He clings to the thought of Ineta and the hope that she will survive, that if she may be brave then he'd do the same.

When Duncan does sleep, he dreams of green and something gold looking.

{}{}{}{}

This time, Ineta manages not to scream. The horror is nowhere less, nor the odor of blood. Distantly, she thinks that it's odd. That that poor, kind soldier, dead on the floor, was not bleeding. And yet, it seemed the world stank of bloodshed.

She cannot tear her eyes from his, even when the Baron chortles.

"Poor boy, that one," he says in a sickly soft tone. "Lied for you, dear Ineta. Died for you, too."

The Baron huffs impatiently. "What is it about you? That my useless son should sire a useless girl, out of some servant on a hellhole of a planet. But that you are the one that they listen to." He looks at her intently, as though to discern meaning from her face. "Why do you inspire devotion?"

Ineta feels that she has nothing in her throat but reeds, snapping in harsh wind and making some eerie screeching of its own volition. She clutches her mouth to try to stop the sounds, but nothing does. She cries and cries, shaking her head.

"I admit, even in myself, I thought you were the best of us however lowly your birth. But this can be forgiven."

"No. No, no, no," she whispers. She could control herself. She really should, but what's the point now? The Baron knows that she was here against implied orders. It was less than what she'd seen him torture and kill for. No doubt, she shared the same, if not a worse, fate as that guard. Maybe the Baron would snap her neck too and be quick with it.

"Look at me," the Baron snaps.

He'd never seemed a more grotesque man than now to Ineta. He towered over her, perhaps triple her mass, with blood on his hands he seemed to relish in. Maybe it was the wine they drank, so dark and pungent it was that it might cause insatiable blood-thirst. It was her fault. She should not have come on some wild dream that she would do good, or that they might be able to escape. Now a man was dead, and she'd follow him.

"This is a predicament. But it seems you've made yourself pleasant to Duncan Idaho, I'd presume? My nephew is... not bright. But perhaps he was right? That Idaho is some lover of yours?" The Baron leaned over Ineta. "I might be motivated to forget this whole ordeal-" he says, gesturing to the body, "-if you were to produce viable information."

Ineta forces her hands from her face.

"Of course, my Lord." The compliance comes easily, after a lifetime of swallowing hard commands. This time though, her voice tremors. Deceit, she thinks, does not suit me.

"Good, it's settled then, dear girl. Leave, and not a word to Rabban or he will kill you both himself."

As Ineta flees, nearly running through the prison corridor where the Baron stood over his victim. She passes the banner of the red-eyed ram over its orange field. It had somehow become flat to her, and she does not pause to glance at it a second time.

Its power is lost. The real beasts, she realizes, are the Harkonnens. It would not matter if she gave in and extracted information, however vital, from Duncan. She was dead anyway, for the simple reason that she betrayed them. There was very little time to act, but she needed to see Duncan again as soon as possible.

Their lives depended on it.

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thanks for reading!

[simmisstrait]

#05 The Beach ✾ Deco Sim✾

Welcome On the Beach.

A renewed Beach!

! NOTE: This page is with the beach lot !

Info:

The original creator of this lot is: InsanityTrait I made much more and extra details.

You need these packages

● Lot: 50x50

● $ : 23.909

Included:

● All of the CC

● All of me Deco sims

Included:

● ''A'': 29 relaxing Sim (on cots or rugs)

● ''B' : 36 Sim walked on the beach

● ''C'': 16 Sims line up for an ice cream cone or an ice cream cone in their hand

● ''D'' : 6 seated Sim at the bar

● ''E'' : 6 Sim playing volleyball

● ''F'' :  2 Sim playing ping-pong

● ''G'' : 13 sim relaxing on an float by the water

● ''H'' : 16 Swimming Sim in the sea

● ''I'' : 7 Sim walks in shallow water

● ''J'' : 11 Sim Around the campfire

● ''K'' : 3 Sim at the water fountain

In total I have put together 145 deco sims for you with different skin colors.

                                                Have Fun!

DL (Only DecoSim!)   -  !463.9 MB!

DL (Tray File BEACH ) -  !7.96 GB!

T.O.U

● Do not reupload

● Do not claimas your own

● Don’t re-upload.

● Don’t Copy

● The deco sims are high poly, if you has shadows > (tutorial here)

@ts4-poses  @sssvitlanz

I really would like to see if you use my poses! So tag me at tumblr and instagram (@simmisstrait)

[assless-chapstick]

BABY JOHN HEADCANONS

not like baby baby but like he's MY baby yk? my babygirl as a baby before he was babygirl when he was a little baby boy

• When the gang gets John - cuz let's be real, they get him the way one gets a puppy or a case of smallpox - he's fresh off that attempted hanging. It was more of a lynching than anything, an impromptu eye-for-an-eye killing after John shot a feller with his own god damned gun. What made a twelve year old mad enough, scared enough to kill, and how'd he manage to grab the guys gun? Kid won't say

• kid won't say much of anything, really. The gang had a disgraced doctor running with them at the time, a guy so hooked on his own cures and tinctures you wouldn't trust him to diagnose a hole in the head, and he said the noose had crushed John's larynx. Sure, the boy can still talk, but it ain't ever gonna sound the same and for the first lil while it'll be hard as hell, but he should be able to. So why don't he?

Doc says maybe the lynching, lack of oxygen to the brain made him go daft cuz just look at him, ain't a thought behind those eyes.

But Dutch, he has faith, he knows.

I think just the fear and trauma after the incident sent John to a pretty rough place and he went nonverbal for a space of six or nine months. Not right after, maybe, but in the following days and weeks - enough they got a name out of him, an age (he said 12 but he's got the stature of an eight year old, not nearly enough meat on his bones), a little bit of a story. "Where's your daddy, boy?" Dead. "And yer mama?" Dead.

• John was always told his ma was a lady of the night, knocked up on accident and dead in childbirth. He came out with the cord around his neck and his ma bled out before they could even untangle him.

There'd been a picture, though he'd never had the courage to ask his father about it, drunk and angry as he was. A young woman with round features and hooded eyes, long dark hair parted in the center and braided, his father's hand resting gently on her shoulder, both posed like a portrait.

(john is métis/mixed indigenous and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead fuckin hands)

• in the winter john is so small and skinny he gets too cold at night and Arthur begrudgingly is like "FINE you can share with me" and so they share a bed until John is like 16 fjjfbfbf way too old to be sharing but imho John is a bit of a late bloomer and sort of, not a mamas boy but just kind of a baby yk?? Arthur is like "dontcha think it's time you got your own tent or something?" and John's like "No." and just walks away and Arthur is like "AT LEAST YER OWN COT??"

• john is reptilian in his search for heat he just wants to be warm ever since they got him he's crawled into Arthur's jacket whatever chance he gets

• during that first year especially, John was clingy and strange.... after a particularly terrible bathing experience (Susan is great but she's fastidious about personal hygiene and if water goes above John's navel he starts to freak) Arthur is just posted up by the fire with John sat between his knees, tucked into his jacket as they sit in silence mutually brooding... and John reaches up to rub the stubble on Arthur's jawline as a way of like, stimming n self soothing and Arthur would stop him cuz it's weird but he feels those boney little shoulders loosen and John says something, and he never says Anything so Arthur knows it's a big deal... so he just let's John keep doing it after that

• Susan is highly against taking in a child when they first bring John around - maybe because she thinks the main childcare duties will fall to her, or because she doesn't trust the gang to be a safe place for a kid - and this manifests as a little bit of short-temperedness towards him. it's not unusual, she's kind of a Bitch on the best days, but she's cold towards him at first... and I don't think anything Happens, per sé, no big event, just over time she sees he's a damaged boy in need of mothering and that's a part of herself she tried to kill a long time ago... but he brings it out of her. She nags him to cut his hair but brushes it out for him anyway; she'll share an apple with John if no one's looking, peeling it and quartering it and sneaking him a piece. She'll complain about the food - "God this stew is terrible what's in it? Rat meat? Here John, you finish it" - because sometimes good food is scarce and he's a growing boy and she sees his hungry frame, remembers how he used to steal and hoard food in the early days. They almost always have enough but she wants him to have more than enough. She reads to him, and then when he's learned to she gets him to read to her. A damp cloth on the forehead when he's laid low with fever, maybe a soft lullaby if she thinks no one's around...

• at age 12 John has a smoking habit. I don't know if this is unusual for the era or not and I dont know what the gang thinks of it but the kid loves his tobacco

• in fact John rolls his own cigarettes and, when he's young, that's primarily how he earns his keep - those tiny little kid's hands did a great job and he ends up getting the chore foisted on to him from everyone fndbbdf ( prerolled cigarettes had been invented only 7 years prior)

• at agw john also unfortunately loves to drink. I don't know if this was unusual for the era but I'm sure Hosea and Susan and even Dutch had something to say about it

and I think that's all I got in my head for now fellers.... thanks for reading mister....

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wheneversday!

hey there!! hope everyone's having a great (checks calendar) thursday HAHJKHGFDKJG

tagged by the amazing @boethiahspillowbook @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee @umbracirrus !! thank you so much !! <3333

tagging the incredible @orfeoarte @totally-not-deacon @gilgamish @wispstalk @wildhexe @viss-and-pinegar @thana-topsy @caliblorn @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @aphocryphas and anyone who wants to hop in, feel free to tag me in what you're working on!!

this week, i'm taking a (very short) break from CotS to work on developing some characters we'll be seeing shortly. in the meantime, i started work on this new fic, following jarl balgruuf's son, frothar, around ten-ish years after the dragon crisis began! turns out, the last dragonborn may have just never had the chance to slay a dragon until now…

"Father," Frothar stood before Jarl Balgruuf, the older man seated sternly in his usual place, rooted like a tree to the forest floor, "I swear to you, if you let me go-" "Enough, Frothar," Balgruuf held up his hand, then sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I will not hear any more of this dragon-chasing nonsense." "But the people of Whiterun Hold aren't safe without someone hunting these creatures," he protested, fists balled at his side. "And you think I will risk my eldest son going after them? Frothar, think with your head for once, son," he cautioned, watching as the younger man drew in heavy, slow breaths through flared nostrils. "You know as well as I do that if I sent you out there on your own, you'd never come back." "If I take even one dragon with me, is that not worth the fight?"

Irileth folded her arms over her chest, statuesque in her pose. "You and your siblings should listen, for once. There's a reason you're not being allowed to charge head-first into the lair of those wretched beasts." He stared into her ruby eyes. She'd faced one and lived. He wondered if she was speaking from a will to protect Jarl Balgruuf - and by extension, his children - or from her own fears. Coward, he mentally spat. She blinked. "You think you're so above any of the men who have tried," Irileth began, "but let me tell you, many have died thinking they could take on the same challenge. You are still a boy, you're not yet-" "I'm an adult," Frothar corrected in a sneer, "I'm sure I could handle myself." "You're still a boy," Irileth repeated, slowing her words as though this would make him listen, "you may have come of age in your culture, but I have been all across Tamriel, and have seen plenty a traveler your age torn apart by the world. How many attackers have you personally taken down, on your own, whilst hungry and thirsty? How many days have you spent out of the comfort of your father's castle? How many hunts have you been on, or battles you've survived?" "Irileth," Jarl Balgruuf exhaled, "I think he gets the point." Irileth stepped back, steadying her breath. "My apologies, Jarl." "None needed," he murmured to her, before turning back to his son. "Frothar, Whiterun needs you. Our people need you. One day, you will be leading them, something you cannot do if you go chasing dragons and abandon them. These past years…" He trailed off, inhaled slowly, and spoke with a measure of stone in his voice that failed to rattle his son, "…the people of our Hold need to be able to rely upon a future leader, not watch him go running off after beasts and flights of fancy." "Wouldn't it serve better if I did kill a dragon? They'd know I'm strong, they'd know I'm reliable, then!" Frothar protested, expression betraying his frustration, brow lowered, eyes widened. "Father, let me show our people that I'm just as capable a warrior as you are! Ulfric's practically at our front door, surely this would-" "That's all, Frothar," Balgruuf leveled his voice as well as he could, but the agitation slipped in through every crevice between his teeth. "I will not have you stepping into this war, and I certainly will not let you go off chasing a dragon." Frothar narrowed his dark eyes at his father. His cheeks flushed in the heat of the braziers, and he hoped this did not indicate the blood boiling in his veins. He eyed Irileth and Jarl Balgruuf, and without a word, he turned on his heel and trudged up the stairs, far out of sight of his father and his housecarl.

"Sounds like quite a fight," Nelkir snickered, arms over his chest. The younger man stood with his back pressed against the stone wall, watching Frothar storm up the steps with a smirk sprawling over his thin lips. While Frothar and Dagny had both taken after their father, Nelkir had taken after his mother, with a weasel-like frame and spindly hands. If Frothar reached far back enough in his memory, he could touch the vague hand of a woman that their father had loved, once. Her high cheekbones and her warm countenance. Her kindness, her strangeness. "Shut it, Nelkir," Frothar grunted in return. He turned the corner, already snatching his armor from the chest nudged against the wall. "You don't understand." "Of course I do," Nelkir lowered his brow, the withering of his snarky expression catching Frothar by surprise. "You think I haven't been trying to convince Farengar to let me in on his studies? Or Kodlak Whitemane to let me into the Companions?" He pushed himself from the wall with his foot, Frothar donning his chestplate. "Come on, you and I both know what it's like to be denied something." Frother arched a brow. "What are you getting at?" "I'm saying, if you were to somehow… Oh, slip out the castle unnoticed in the middle of the night, I'm sure I could cover for you. Maybe I'd even come up with a rumor about some fair lady and some midnight rendezvous. That'd get the court talking for days." Frothar nudged his brother harshly with his elbow, Nelkir barely stumbling back. For all his scrawny figure suggested, he was surprisingly sturdy on his feet. "Oh, no. No. Absolutely not." "Aw, wouldn't it be a little fun, though? Come on, we all know I can be very convincing," Nelkir pouted comically. All tension left Frothar's shoulders, a laugh bubbling out from his lips as he pulled on his gauntlets. "I don't want you spreading rumors about some poor, sweet woman and I meeting up behind father's back. He'd hound me for days about her." They both knew this would be out of a level-headed excitement, but the idea of his father trying to dig into his nonexistent love life made him grimace. Nelkir scoffed. "Fine, have it your way." He turned, marching towards the stairwell. "If you need anything, you know where to find me." "Listening in shadows, as always," Frothar droned, rolled his eyes dramatically. Nelkir made it his business, everything happening within the walls of Dragonsreach, and no one was certain whether they liked his prying ears or not. On one hand, he'd thwarted a couple of attempts on their father's life. On the other, Frothar sometimes wondered whether this was because he wanted to be the one wielding the blade, instead.

[simlit]

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CotS Chapter Four: Reflections | Forest

A year and a half later, we're finally done with this chapter. Admittedly, I did go back and retroactively split this chap into two, separating the portal trial from the forest trial so the episode count wouldn't get obnoxiously high. With the conclusion of this arc, and holidays coming up, I will be taking a very deliberate hiatus (as opposed to all my accidental ones) from CotS until January.

Currently, we're around 65% of the way through the overall story. Even that might be a bit of an overestimate, but my outline is constantly being reworked as new bits develop. Some scenes I've had planned since the beginning, while others have been completely character or audience driven. The most challenging part of writing an interactive story is having to figure out what the hell to do after everyone votes to blow up my plans (lmao), and having to scrap entire scenes when a different route gets picked. That being said, reader input has influenced some of my favorite aspects of the story, especially in this chapter. Such as Taiyo's hemomancy (thanks comment section), as well as the curse's condition for removal which I got to through a conversation with @rollingsim. Even though what I actually messaged her about never panned out in the story, the byproduct was just a good.

In the next chapter, at least for the first half, I want to slow things down and touch base with the Ten while we still have them all in one place, before getting to the next trial. There will be a heavy focus on the main story in the coming scenes, finding out more about what's been going on in the background, solving some longstanding mysteries, as well as settling some old grudges between some of the characters (for better or worse, who knows). We'll also be having our next major romance vote (potentially one of our last) so maybe, as Leslie would say, somebody will finally be making with the makey outy.

Now that this chap has completely finished and I have some freetime before starting the next, I'm open to any questions about "what ifs" or "might have beens". I know a couple of you were asking about it way back when, so now is your chance. Feel free to send me an ask or sound off in the comments about specific routes or scenarios and I'll write something up if there's anything there worth telling. Other than that, I'll leave you with the current updated relationship meters, as per usual. And don't forget to vote on the end of chapter poll ~

current screenshot count: 2205 current pose count: 691

chapter five teaser below…

[amrv-5]

hi :-) for the cuddles prompt. # 27. (i have a specific image of it being post-where there’s a will…but do whatever you want with it)

[#27: concentrating on the movement of the other's chest, from this prompt list]

ARGH. Hello Zane this entire evening's complete beejhawksanity breakdown is dedicated to you and this prompt for causing me to go back and watch this episode again (WHY DID THEY DO THAT!!!!!!!) my god. thank you this one was so so fun. I feel ill still about All Of That

Hawkeye was home. BJ’d thought Hawkeye was home. He’d said something, or tried to, struggling through a veil of sleep—something about waking up. When he wrenched his eyes open again, fighting off a dream of Hawkeye bloody and draped over a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, Hawkeye was lying on his cot in exactly the same position BJ'd dreamed him. 

“Hawk,” he snapped, immediately panicked, before reality set in: Hawkeye wasn’t dead. Just dead tired. Only just back from Battalion Aid. And BJ’d woken him up. 

“Beej,” Hawkeye replied, rolling over just far enough to check on him. His voice was thick with exhaustion. “Bad dream?” 

“Can I take your pulse?” BJ asked. There was no excuse for it, except that every time he pictured Hawkeye motionless in sleep it made him feel ill with nerves.

“As long as you return it,” Hawkeye said, rolling onto his back. He was posed like a cadaver. It made BJ shiver, unsettled—he was sure he’d feel better, and saner, in the morning. Until then he’d settle for feeling reassured.

BJ sat on the edge of Hawkeye’s cot. Hawkeye was shivering too, he realized. Probably cold, or scared on a long delay. Needing comfort, too, maybe. BJ lay down, curling up against Hawkeye under his blanket, ignoring Hawkeye’s noise of surprise. He slipped his hand under the hem of Hawkeye’s shirt. 

Hawkeye tensed reactively, startled, his abdomen tightening. 

“Sorry,” BJ whispered. 

Hawkeye slowly relaxed. “Cold hands. That’s all.” 

He stayed still as BJ spanned his palm across Hawkeye’s stomach. He was reassuringly solid, undeniably tangible. BJ was certain he wasn’t capable of dreaming up this level of detail: the sparse, coarse texture of Hawkeye’s body hair, the softness of his skin, the shallow dip from his ribcage to the plane of his middle. At another time he might have worried—Hawkeye was always stressed, never ate enough—but he was glad to see him alive in any shape. 

When he was sure his hand had warmed, he slid it up to rest over Hawkeye’s heart. Direct, no pretense. A few seconds passed before he picked out the rhythm of Hawkeye’s pulse under the slower, gentler movement of his breath. BJ pressed down gently, just enough to isolate the pressure-movement of Hawkeye’s heart against the center of his palm. He’d reach in and hold it, if he could, if it wouldn’t hurt Hawkeye. Cradle it, even.

The hem of Hawkeye’s shirt had pulled up as BJ moved, but Hawkeye didn’t push his hand away. He only rested his cupped hand over BJ’s forearm. Eventually he readjusted, holding BJ by the wrist—taking his pulse, too, BJ realized. He closed his eyes and let his attention narrow entirely to the steady rhythm of Hawkeye’s breath and pulse under his hand: health, life, warmth, relative safety. It might be nice, BJ thought to himself, unguarded as he drifted into sleep, to sleep that way all the time—though he’d forget the idea by morning.

[callofthxvoid]

WHO: Lin Xiu ( @detectivegoldstein ) and Zarina Knightley

SUMMARY: Zarina visits Xiu in jail.

It was with mixed feelings that ZARINA followed the officer leading her toward Xiu's cell. Nodding a polite thank you to them, she stood for a moment in silence after they left and simply looked at her friend(?) on the other side of the bars. "I brought flowers from my garden," she said eventually. "But they wouldn't let me give them to you. It is understandable, but I at least wanted you to know that the sentiment was there."

XIU had at least been allowed a book while she awaited her trial. She looked up in surprise to see Zarina and closed it, setting it aside on her cot. With a small smile she shook her head. "The sentiment is appreciated. Which flowers did you bring?'

"White chrysanthemums and gerbera daisies," ZARINA replied. For those familiar with floriography, it was clear what the two meant together—white chrysanthemums for grief, and gerbera daisies for friendship. "I cannot say that I approve of what you've done. But I am also the last person who should be allowed to judge." She paused. "I will miss our talks. I do not have many people in my life who understand the science like I do."

She closed her eyes, imagining the flowers. A soft smile appeared on her lips. With her eyes still closed, XIU let out a sigh. "I would have been more surprised if you had agreed with me. There's a reason I never told you." Finally she opened her eyes to look at the other. "You were my first ever friend."

ZARINA nodded slowly. Being seen as a good person was still novel to her, even if it probably shouldn't feel new anymore—most days, she barely thought about the person that she used to be. Looking at Xiu, however, brought it back all too clearly. Was there a way things could have ended differently for her? A version of her story where she got a second chance at life like Zarina had? There was no point in posing such hypotheticals, and she knew that, but the questions still weighed on her. "I am honoured to have been your first friend," she said. "And, in spite of everything, I still am your friend."

XIU's expression was frozen in a mix of shock and relief. "You're not bothered by who I am? What I am? I… wouldn't hold it against you if that were the case."

"Bothered is not the correct word," ZARINA replied, taking a moment to consider what would be the correct word. "Disappointed, perhaps, but that is not entirely accurate either. It is more accurate to say that I wish you hadn't done what you did but I am not in a position to judge you for doing it." She paused. "I have a past too, Xiu. One that I never planned on sharing with you for much the same reasons that you did not share yours with mine. I am willing to share now, provided that you think it would make you feel better."

Head tilting in curiosity, XIU finally got up from her cot and moved closer to the bars, so that her and Zarina could talk in a quieter tone. "I would like to know, please. If… I'm to die then I would like to know who my friend truly is. It's only fair, if you know who I am."

ZARINA nodded. "Very well," she said, stepping closer to the bars and lowering her voice. "I grew up in organised crime. My adoptive mother was the right hand woman to the boss and he took a particular shine to me. I spent all of my formative years doing anything he asked me to do, including but not limited to concocting untraceable poisons, and making party drugs for rich kids. After college, I was given my own drug lab and staff to run as I saw fit." She paused. "When all was said and done, I walked away from that life directly responsible for the deaths of four people, and indirectly for the deaths of many more."

A thoughtful expression appeared on XIU's face as she listened listened the story. "Why did you leave? What made you want to be something else?" An unspoken 'how' hung in the air.

For the first time in their conversation, ZARINA breathed out a laugh—it was quiet, and hollow, but it was there. "I didn't choose to be something else," she replied honestly. "Not at first, at least. I left because someone turned my boss against me and I was left with no choice but to run or die." Slowly, her fingers curled around one of the bars, imagining what her life would be like if she had gotten caught. "I didn't truly want to change until… Until I met Knightley."

She let out a long breath. "I think a part of me was always jealous of you two. Not because I wanted you or him, but for what you had." XIU dropped her gaze, feeling a sudden heaviness. "But I also felt honored to be friends with you both. To not have to pretend to be someone I'm not."

"I can relate to that feeling," ZARINA admitted. "I can relate to the relief of no longer having to pretend. He was the first person I had that with." She paused. "I am glad we were able to share that with you to an extent. I only regret that it wasn't enough to change the course you were on."

XIU bit her lip, still not lifting her gaze to look back at Zarina. "Do you think it's possible? That I could have changed?"

ZARINA thought about it for a moment. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "There are too many unknown variables for me to calculate the probability of that. But it doesn't have to be possible for me to be sorry that it didn't happen."

XIU appreciated the honesty. That was something she always admired and respected in Zarina, that the other woman never bullshitted her, told her what she thought she was supposed to say. "I'm glad you're here," she said softly. "If I'm honest I didn't expect anyone to come see me."

ZARINA smiled. It was small, but it was genuine. "I am glad that I came," she agreed. "I did debate it, but I didn't need to debate it for long. I didn't want you to face what's next thinking you don't have a friend in the world."

XIU reached out from the bars, offering her hand to Zarina. "It helps," she admitted quietly. "Knowing I won't be alone. I wish I had known what this was like earlier in my life. Thank you, Zarina." She could feel herself tearing up. It seemed Xiu still wasn't quite done crying.

ZARINA dropped her gaze and took the other's hand without hesitation. She held it tight. "I wish that as well," she replied, nodding solemnly. "And thank you, Xiu. For being one of my first friends. I will make sure to keep you in my memory."

She also held on tight, Zarina's grip an anchor in all of this. XIU began to feel her throat closing up with emotion, but she nodded. "Will… you still come visit me? Until." It was still too hard to say it aloud.

ZARINA didn't hesitate before nodding. "Of course," she said, squeezing Xiu's hand a little harder. She thought about their friendship, the intense back and forth they had shared when discussing chemistry and botany, and felt a new wave of grief over the impending loss of that connection. "I have made some new discoveries recently that I was hoping you would weigh in on. If I am permitted to, would you mind if I brought some files for us to look at together?"

Despite her tears XIU could feel herself smile. "I would love that. This cell is rather boring," her tone held mirth, fully aware of how silly she sounded. "Also… Zarina. I don't know if the police took my indoor garden or not… I'm not sure if they would have thought of it. But if they haven't… I want you to have my garden. Poisons can be used as medicine and medicine can be used as poison, you know that better than anyone. It would give me some peace of mind, knowing my plants won't be left to die." It was really all she had left.

ZARINA nodded. "I would hate for your brain to languish without intellectual stimulation." She had both selfish and selfless reasons for seeking out Xiu's input. Selfishly, she was going to miss the extra sounding board. Selflessly, she couldn't imagine a worse torture for a brilliant mind than boredom. Her friend's gift, however, did come as a surprise. "Xiu, it would be my honour to take your plants," she confirmed. "I will speak to the police about it. They will find a good home with me, and I will think of you when I care for them." She paused. "Someone once told me that people die but relationships don't. I understand what they meant by that now."

She was thankful that Zarina understood. Yes, her looming death was hard, but to have nothing to preoccupy her mind was even harder. "I'd never heard of that before. It… it's a lovely thought. That a part of me will still be there." XIU could feel herself choking up. A legacy. Something to be remembered fondly by. It was something she never dreamed of, and yet it was what Zarina was offering her.

ZARINA smiled and squeezed Xiu's hand one last time before letting go. "It is more than a thought," she replied as she stepped back. "A part of you will still be here. You will be in your work, in your garden, in our memories. I'm not trying to be poetic. It's simply a fact." She paused, glancing to the side as an officer stepped inside, indicating that they wished to speak to her. "I will be back tomorrow. Until then, my friend."

XIU gave the other a soft smile, appreciating her words. "I'll see you tomorrow Zarina. Please let me know what they say about the garden."

[12timetraveler]

From Dove to Mistress

Chapter 64 of Campfire Stories

Summary:

While talking with the girls, Abigail brought up something she enjoys doing in bed from time to time. Intrigued you broach the subject with Hosea. And he is all too happy to oblige.

Notes:

CW: pegging, soft femdom, orgasm denial, consensual somnophilia

Word Count: 12,927

~~~~~~~~

Oh my god it's been almost a year since I've posted anything on this main work. I've been posting stories of course but not here on this work. Anyway this is an idea I've had for quite some time that I've been playing with. I hope you enjoy!

It's a little late for Hosea Fucks Friday but we'll call this Submissive Hosea Saturday. 😂

Below is a little preview. Read the full thing on AO3

You lay sprawled out on your cot, head resting in Hosea's lap. He was playing with your hair with one hand, stopping only to turn the page of the book he held in his other hand, reading while idly combing his fingers through the soft strands. It was so peaceful, so simple, so intimate in the easiest way. Nights like this were your favorite. Just you and Hosea curled up in your tent, quietly spending time with each other. Cuddling as you wound down for the evening.

You fiddled with a loose string on Hosea's pant-leg. Talking with Hosea was easy. It always had been. The two of you never shied away from delicate or tricky situations. Hosea knew better than to waste time beating around the bush. Life was too short to not say what needed to be said. You knew you could be blunt with him and he would never fault you, and if he didn't like the conversation, he'd say so.

Even still, you were a little bashful to even pose the question to him. Some men would be highly offended. While Hosea had never really been the type to become upset by subjects like these, you didn't want to just plow head-first into the topic without thought. You’d been working up the courage for about 15 minutes now.

"Hosea?" You asked finally, rolling slightly so you could look up at him. He hummed and met your gaze. Seeing your determined expression, he placed his bookmark and set the book down on the crate that sat next to your shared cot, giving you his undivided attention.

"Yes, dove?" He asked gently. His fingers continued to play with your hair.

"I was... Wondering." You began, feeling a little nervous. "Well... The other girls and I were talking while working. Just women's stuff, like we always do. But Abigail told me about something she likes to do... in the bedroom from time to time and it... Well it intrigued me." You said. Hosea cocked his head.

"Are you about to plant an image in my mind that I will never shake of what John and Abigail get up to?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You winced.

"Er... Yeah. Sorry. I guess I should have kept that anonymous." You said sheepishly. Hosea chuckled and leaned forward. You leaned up the rest of the way to meet his soft kiss, then lay back down with your head on his thighs.

"Well I suppose you'd better tell me before I start imagining all sorts of deviant activities they get up to." He teased with a dramatic shudder.

"She said that she has this leather harness. And a fake... Member." You said delicately. "That attaches to the harness, which she wears, and she can then... Fuck John as if she were a man." You said.

Hosea blinked down at you a moment. He closed his eyes and shook his head, visibly shaking off the image of the Marston's in bed and making you giggle again at his dramatics.

"Sorry," you laughed. "I really should have kept that more discreet."

Hosea grimaced at you for a moment. But then he turned serious, thinking over your words.

"Well," he relented "Though I didn't want to know they got up to that, there are worse things I suppose." He gave you a sly smile. "What about that has you so intrigued?" He asked.

"Well I..." You pushed yourself up so you were reclining more over his lap, your face inches from his. His arms came around your back, cradling you against him. "I was wondering if that's something you... May be interested in trying?" You asked, voice dropping slightly. You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, playing with the soft hairs at the base of his skull.

"You want to try that?" Hosea asked.

"Only if you'd be okay with it," you said quickly. "But I... It sounded strange at first. Only the more that I think about it the more intrigued I am." You admitted, tracing your thumb along his jaw. "I have to wonder... What sounds you'd make. What faces you'd make. How it would... Feel being the one totally in control for once."

"If you wanted control, there are other ways," Hosea chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Yeah but... This is different." You said. You cupped his cheek. "If it makes you uncomfortable, we never have to speak about it again. I just thought I'd ask." You assured him.

"Now, who ever said I was uncomfortable?" Hosea murmured, winking at you.

"Do...do you want to?" You asked, not expecting that response.

"Well," Hosea mused, "It's been some time since I've done that. But I do miss the feeling sometimes." He admitted with a little wink.

"You've... Done that before?" You asked, surprised. Hosea met your gaze with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh, Bessie and I did that a few times over the years," he explained. "And then of course there was Dutch."

Sometimes you forgot that Hosea and Dutch had been lovers on-and-off over the years. Though those days were long past. When you'd broached the subject, you never expected Hosea to actually have experience.

"Yes," Hosea said, pulling you out of your musings. "Yes I'd love for you to take me," he whispered in your ear. You shuddered against him and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"Of course, darling. Nothing to thank me for," he hummed, stroking your face idly. "Trust me there's a lot of pleasure in it for me." He tilted his head slightly. "Were you worried I'd be upset at you for asking?"

"No... Yes... I don't know," you admitted, fiddling with the knot on his wild rag. "I just... I know some men can get really offended by such things. And deep down I knew you wouldn't be upset but... I don't know, it was still kind of nerve-wracking to bring it up," you admitted.

"You know I'll never be upset at you for bringing these things up," Hosea whispered, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. "This is exactly the kind of thing we should talk about. Communication is key,"

"I know," you smiled, kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I knew you wouldn't hate me for bringing it up. I just... Was worried you'd think I was strange,"

"Not at all," Hosea smiled. "I'll never think less of you for things like this. Especially when you bring them up so openly." He leaned down so his lips were near your ear. "I'm excited to see this new side of you," he whispered seductively.

"I am too," you admitted. It would be quite the change. Hosea was usually completely in control and you were happy to have it that way. But this flip of roles would be very interesting.

Hosea shifted the two of you so that you were laying down beside him on your cot.

"I love you," you murmured, pulling him down for a quick kiss.

"I love you, too," he replied, stroking your hair back for a minute before pushing himself up so he could turn out the lantern that sat near your beds. Surrounded in darkness, the only light coming from the fires across camp, the two of you drifted off easily.

~~~~~~~

Over the next couple of weeks, you and Hosea began preparing and planning. As excited as you were, you weren't going to rush into it. You had time. Something like this was worth doing right. And the suspense was half the fun.

[kitweewoos]

"God, I wish I were anywhere but here." + Moustead maybe???

Moustead always

right here

Jay was laying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling, unable to fall asleep for the third night in a row when his phone rang. He rolled over onto his stomach and grabbed the phone from the side table where he’d left it. Without looking, he could tell you exactly who was calling. There was only one person who called him this late at night, the only person who was allowed to.   “Hey,” he said softly into the microphone.   “Hey,” Mouse replied, and Jay could almost picture the way Mouse sprawled out across his cot while they were deployed, somehow taking up as much space as possible in his sleep that he never did when he was awake. His voice wasn’t sleep rough, though, awake and alert, almost grumpy .   “What’s up?” Jay asked when nothing else came from the voice on the other end.    “My parents, they’re driving me insane,” he muttered.    “What’d they do now? Introduce you to a wealthy heiress they want you to marry again?”   “No, god, I wish, though. I’d take a fake date than this nothing I’ve got right now. Like, nothing I will do is ever going to be good enough for them, even when I’m actively trying to fit into their ideal of who I should be. I didn’t do it well enough apparently, and now I’m shut up in this big, empty house, hidden away where no one even knows I exist.”   “I know you exist,” Jay offered softly. It wasn’t much, not in the face of how Mouse’s parents had reacted to him coming home from the war, scarred and broken, not the shining little doll they’d been used to posing the way they wanted.    “I know, and I appreciate you,” Mouse said, and it was just as soft, fond. They gone through so much together, and somehow they’d come out the other side holding onto one another. “God, I wish I were anywhere but here.”  

[read the rest on ao3]

[prvtocol]

@badtrigger : send me ‘👀’ for something my muse has said about yours to someone else / when they’re not around. // bri about caesar, fc3 verse ~ ft. vez landry ✿

The outline of her tired reflection stares back at her rather than the ocean waves crashing along the shoreline below, though try as she might to peer through the evening dim. Her sister’s high-rise flat overlooks the white sands of Repulse Bay, a quiet and wealthy-only enclave far enough from the skyscrapers and neon lights to not feel like you’re in Hong Kong anymore. 

Then the reflection shifts; her sister moves behind her to empty the last drop of the bottle of rosé into Brianne’s unstemmed wine glass, which sits on one of the living room end tables. It’s good to have an extended moment together when their schedules allow, and a chance to talk in private. Though each holds differing viewpoints, both are under the strain of their father’s illegal enterprise.

“Merci.” Her gratitude hums in passing. Their default language is French like their mothers’. As her tired body sinks back into it, the black leather sofa creaks. A hand lazily reaches for the glass while her gaze watches her younger sister swoop back from the kitchen. Each shares their grandmother’s blue eyes.

Vez ungracefully climbs onto the other side of the couch, a leg bent underneath her weight, an elbow leaning lazily on the armrest. Her pose is relaxed but her stare direct and curious. That smirk growing on her lips betrays the thoughts behind it. 

“I can’t wrap my head around you sleeping on a cot. You always hated camping.” Her habitually coarse voice cycles back to that tidbit of information spared over a late dinner; takeaway from a nearby Thai restaurant. This new pick-up location on her sister’s courier list sounds like a bit more of a hassle than expected.

“Oh shush.” A chuckle is chased with a sip of the pink-hued liquid, her sister’s observation set to unlock memories of a failed family camping trip in her tweens when she was twice stung by a bee and nearly drowned in the river (at least from her point of view). Ever since any adventurous holiday has been forbidden. “At least I have a big bed on the other island, a rather comfortable one. They loan me someone’s little shack on the beach.” More like force loan it, though she doesn’t need to go into detail about taking over poor Mister Moncada’s abode against his will (and the awkwardness that stands between them each visit). 

“A shack on the beach? Merde.” Vez shakes her head. She's suddenly feeling relieved it’s not her going to Rook. "I'm not even going to ask about the bathroom situation."

“And I really don't want to talk about it.” Lightly Brianne muses back, her downturned gaze staring listlessly into her wine. It could be worse.

Vez grabs her glass on the other end table; halfway filled with the same wine. “So. What’s your contact like?”

“Oh, well now, he’s actually rather nice. You know, how I prefer. Professional but friendly.” That is a fortunate aspect. Mister Caldera seems set apart from the jarheads patrolling South Rook, and sans the ego she picked up on from her one curt meeting with the boss of it all. The work they do together is easy, it’s the location that’s hard. “You really wouldn’t think him an accountant though. Not the shiny suits and boots we often see, more casual. I guess streetwear is what you'd call it. He’s from LA via New York so it seems to fit, I suppose. But he's good. Not another Wu Chen."

“At least. Bloody Wu Chen.” Vez brusquely follows switching to British English before raising her glass and taking a bitter sip of the liquor afterward. That triad contact is her headache.

Brianne mirrors the same with her wine. Seconds of silence follow before Vez interrupts it with her thoughts.

“You could tell father.” Her tone is serious. “The extended layover seems to overstretch contract.”

“He knows.” She greets her sister with a dulled expression. “Already fixed my schedule with the firm to handle dead time, making it appear like I have a week off of travel to write reports for my other clients.” 

“And how are you supposed to manage that when it sounds like you don’t even have stable access to electricity to write reports?” The question is sound; the family firm gives her enough work with their VIP clientele as is.

“I just put in extra time after.” Brows lift and she can feel the sigh she holds back; a hopeless answer and no choice but to deal with it. "This client is too important to him.” And for the business's establishment in the South Pacific trafficking arena.

“You’re gonna run yourself to the ground.” 

The optimist comparatively, Brianne shrugs it off. “Well, I do get some extra rest when I’m there, so.”

“On your cot and in your beach shack,” she murmurs dryly, lips on the rim of her glass.

“Oh shush.”