#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.

[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. 

[diyasgarden]

goddess

"what am i, jesus?" "yeah"

(tashi duncan x f!reader)

The essay is crumpled by the time you reach Tashi. 

The infirmary is a small building; plain and tucked away between some trees at the far end of campus. Simultaneously inconspicuous and irrelevant. At best an after-thought, only identifiable from the words “health center” plastered across the front. 

It’s surprising you didn’t miss it, and you can’t help but feel indignant at the fact that this is where they brought her. But the feeling is quickly washed away with the growing sense of dread that gnaws at your chest. 

Abruptly, you’re hit with the idea that you’d walk in to not find her at all. That there would be no sign of her existence within those four walls. It’s illogical and unfounded, but the thought lingers as you force yourself to the door.

You have a faint memory of meeting Tashi. A blurry recollection of bumping into her at the dining hall and a vague outline of the conversation that followed. The only thing you actually remember are noticing her hands.

It wasn’t anything physical about them that drew your attention. You couldn’t care less about how they actually looked, you were captivated by her movement. Instinctive yet deliberate. As if every action was simultaneously spontaneous and methodical. A dichotomy that gave each motion an innate intensity. A power hidden in the folds of the universe, which only she could reach. 

You didn’t have to watch Tashi play to know she’s special, you just had to watch her hands. 

You knew that from that first moment alone. 

The rubber soles of your sneakers squeak against the tiles as you walk into the room, your breath coming out in short little pants from the run. Your hands flex against the papers in your hands, as a breath of relief slips out upon seeing her. 

Tashi sits on the cot, eyebrows knitted pensively with a frown staring at the brick wall in front of her. Her arms are crossed against her chest, heaving in a melancholic rhythm. For a moment you expect her to scream on the top of her lungs or burst out crying, but she remains stoic.

Her knee is wrapped in what looks to be yards of gauze that is blinding under the overhead fluorescent lights. It beckons your attention with its unsettling glow and you drift to it’s call, your vision flooded with white. 

In the periphery of your view you see a tan movement, followed by the noise of a soft shuffle. Your eyes instantly dart back up to Tashi to see that she is already looking at you, her eyes slightly red and swollen.

Your heart drops. 

You want to carve your knee from its socket with your bare hands and leave it beside her. Give it to her as a replacement. If you could, you’d do it. Maybe give her your whole leg if that is what she wanted. It’s not even a question.   

You told Tashi you’d be late earlier in the week, during one of your yoga sessions. An important part of her routine she roped you into. And while you had no real interest in yoga, you also had no interest in ever denying her. Struggling through asanas was unimportant.

“He said he wanted me to stay a bit after class to talk about my paper,” you explained, voice somewhat strained from holding your breath and hands slightly trembling from trying to keep yourself in downward dog. 

She came down onto the mat beside you, releasing the position into a sitting one. Her hands moved to your waist, gently coaxing you into the proper formation and you exhaled instantly at the contact. “He didn’t say about what?” she questioned absently, preoccupied with your pose.

Your professor had a tendency to be vague via email, one of those people who never truly started trusting the internet. As a result his emails were brief and unintentionally ominous. This one simply read: 

Hello,  Please stay after next class to talk about your mid-semester paper.  Sincerely,  Professor Thatcher

“Just that he wanted to talk about my paper” you responded as her hands moved away from your body, a sense of loss pooling in your stomach. “I’ll just be a bit late to your game,” you frowned, coming down onto your own mat to sit beside her. 

Tashi shrugged, as she moved her foot to rest on the opposite thigh. “You��ll come after?” she said, adjusting her other leg in the same way, settling into the lotus pose. 

“Of course,” you responded without thought, and caught her eyes flick up to yours with a half smirk on her lips before falling back to your lap. Her hands reach towards you and she begins to move your legs as well.

“What class is it again?” she asked, also contorting you into a lotus. A futile effort, although that doesn’t deter her. 

“Asian religions"

She hummed, getting you halfway into the pose. Her gaze pulled away from your lap back up to your face with the same half-smirk. “I swear you do more for this elective than any other class,” she remarks amused.

“Who realized religion is complex?” you sarcastically retorted, a smirk on your own lips now. She laughed in response and little wrinkles formed at the edge of her eyes, the sight turning your smirk into a soft smile. It dipped to a frown as soon as you remembered what the conversation was about in the first place.

You were flippant with routine. Always eager to skip a class and never the one to follow your parents to mass every weekend. But you were always consistent with her games. Routine was only mundane without her.

Tashi’s hand reached to push a lock of hair behind your ears. “It’s only one match,” she whispered looking into your mind. You took in a deep breath and met her gentle eyes, the disappointment morphing into a knot in your chest. The sense of dread lingered as she smiled softly. “How interesting can playing Pepperdine be anyway?” 

The dramatic irony isn’t lost on you, it’s just too tragic to acknowledge. 

You should have taken the knot in your chest as a premonition. 

Her hands tremble. A small, involuntary motion that makes you feel ill. 

You’re seated across from where Tashi is on the cot. You ache to be closer, but the only seat next to her is already occupied by Art. Somehow having wormed his way into a place he doesn’t deserve. 

Like always, his presence and proximity bother you, but there is also a small joy in the fact that it is only Art. Tashi had told you Patrick was visiting for the game, but at the moment was nowhere to be seen. You don’t ask about him either, not one to question small blessings.

Only the sound of breathing fills the poky space. Art is watching you, probably as vexed by your presence as you of his.

(Sometimes you wonder if all the Apostles quietly despised each other as well. You’d understand why.)

You don’t have to turn to already see the impassive expression on his face, so your eyes remain glued to Tashi’s hands. Watching the little erratic tremors as you bit back nausea. There is no fluidity to the uncontrolled movement. It’s just hollow. 

“What’d he say?” Tashi suddenly asks, breaking the unnerving silence. There is an inflection in her voice which is both bitter and pained, an aftertaste of the day’s events. There is nothing to indicate the tone is directed towards you, but you flinch anyway. 

“Huh?” you mumble, not having processed her words. 

“Your professor,” she starts with an exhale. “What’d he say about your paper?” 

Your eyes dart down to the wrinkled papers on your lap, thumb pressing down on one specific crinkle in the vain attempt to straighten it. It feels insignificant. The essay. The professor. Pointless to even think about, much less discuss. 

When you look back up, you see Tashi is looking at you with a desperate wide-eyed interest. She bites the inside of her cheek in unsettled anticipation and it dawns on you that she is trying to fill the room with something besides the obvious torment. Without much of a thought, you murmur “Something about nuance.” 

“Nuance?” she questions, a vain attempt to continue the conversation. 

You nod in response. The interaction is blurry, the moment charged with the desire to leave the game and the memory clouded with the panic of finding out about the injury once you did. But you remember him mentioning nuance. “He told me I needed to be more nuanced,” you repeat, with another small nod in her direction. 

“What was the paper on?” Art asks, also picking up on her need for a distraction. 

You swallow, pushing some hair back from your face, “the living goddesses of Nepal.” 

Kumari was the actual term. A connection between humanity and the divine was how Professor Thatcher described them. “An incarnation of the celestial for a few years,” he said in lecture, although you didn’t catch anything after that. Drifting off by then, your mind already thinking of someone else. 

You’re grateful that Art doesn’t probe on why you chose the topic. Although, you’re sure he would have understood.

You think anyone who knew Tashi would. 

You told her once. 

“You’re like god,” you whispered to her drunk in the living room of Kappa something, too drunk from whatever concoction made by the frat brothers for their Halloween party. You were dressed as a cat, fallen to the ground while dancing inebriated, and clinging onto the soft, white fabric of Tashi’s angel costume as she tried to help you stand. You looked up to her, blinded by the flashing lights of the room and her radiance, and whispered those three words like a prayer. 

She had no verbal response, just pulling you up with a small smile and soft laugh. Her hands moved from your arms to your cheeks, gently cupping your face and tilting it.

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

The infirmary has settled into another, heavier silence. There is no sound loud enough to fill the space. None of you try. 

Her hands still tremble. 

The paramedics arrive eventually, whisking Tashi off to a proper hospital for examination. You take the name of where she’s gone and walk to your dorm, using your essay as a stressball as you plan on how to visit her the next morning.

A wave of exhaustion hits you the minute you cross the threshold into the room, and you walk straight to the bed. The tiredness sinks into your bones when you sit down. The day's events smothering you at once as your fingers play with the corner of the page.

You look down at the shriveled papers in your hand and take your first proper look at it all night. Red pen scribbled all throughout, little notes on grammar and word choice, but at the heading in all caps is written WHAT ABOUT THE AFTER?

Oh right. That’s what he said.

“It’s an informative paper, just…” Professor Thatcher started when you went up to him after class. His voice trailed off as he debated the right word, finally deciding, “just a stale one.” 

“Stale?”

“You lack nuance,” he clarified, with a flick of his wrist, looking back down to the red marking on the paper.

Your eyes darted to the clock on the wall and then back to him. “I mean…how much nuance is there…” you said with a forced smile, a weak attempt at a joke to resolve the conversation and leave for the game.

If he noticed the attempt, he made no comment. “You don’t consider the after,” he remarks, looking back up to you. His eyes narrowed as you snuck another look at the clock. 

“The after?”

“Yes,” he reiterated. “The after.”

“What... after?” you asked, eyes flicking to the clock once again.

“Well you mention how they lose their status after puberty, but don’t actually talk about their life…sans godhood,” he explained, watching you carefully. Daring you to look back at the clock.

You weren’t present enough in the moment to process what he was saying, but felt the need to defend your work anyway. “Well..when you’re worshiped like that…i don’t think you can just let it go…it’s what everyone knows you for”

“Exactly.”

You waited for him to say more, but were only left with an awkward silence. Your eyes darted to the clock once more, and heard a scoff like noise from his direction. He pushed paper into your hands and with a hint of irritation said, “Just re-write it based on the feedback I wrote. Give it back to me next week.”

You left the next second without a second thought.

WHAT ABOUT THE AFTER?

The words are a taunt.

You put the paper down on the bedside table and let your exhaustion carry you to sleep.

The hospital is a bus-ride away from campus. You’re on it by the time the sun starts to rise, trying pointlessly to distract yourself with the sky’s pinkish hues. 

It’s a large hospital, but it doesn’t take much to find Tashi. You tell the lady at the front desk her name, and her face flashes with recognition. She points you in the direction to go and sends you off. 

Three minutes and an elevator ride later, you stand in front of her hospital room. You knock on the door out of courtesy, but quickly push yourself in, unable to handle the distance anymore. 

Tashi is laying on the hospital bed looking out the window. There are dark circles around her eyes and her lips a fine straight line. Her head shifts to acknowledge your presence, before she turns back to the window. 

You don’t move a muscle. 

Your mind goes back to when she kissed your forehead at the Halloween party. She spun you after that, dancing to the music with her in your arms. You clung onto her to keep yourself upright. 

If it wasn’t for her, you would have fallen. 

“They took a couple x-rays” she begins, finally breaking the trepid silence of the room with a low, solemn voice. She looks away from the window in your direction, without properly looking at you. 

You inhale apprehensively, swallowing slowly before you speak. “Yeah?” The question you can't bring yourself to ask lingers in the air.

She turns back to the window, watching the sun finally reaching its rightful place in the sky. Her eyes go distant and you wait for the words you fear. 

“They said I might not play again,” she whispers, eyes still on the sun. Her finger imperceptibly pulls at the sheet on the bed. Your focus is on the subtle motion, watching the way she pinches it between her thumb and index. “I might never play again,” she repeats, her voice louder as if properly hearing herself for the first time. Her brows furrow as she confronts the possibility, trying to reconcile it with everything she’s known.   

Her hands move to push back her hair in a swift, intuitive motion.

“It doesn’t change anything.” 

She lets out a shaky, humorless laugh, before turning to face you. This time your eyes lock and she gives you a small, sad smile. 

She knows what you mean. 

You both know it’s true.

authors note: about a month ago in the midst of Navaratri a frat boy ran into my friend's "Religions of Asia" class and rolled down the lecture hall as if acting out the "Jack and Jill" nursery rhyme. the incident was so off-putting to the professor he decided to turn the entire class virtual from that point on. as a result, my friend now plays his lecture videos while we eat together each Wednesday and this idea was conceived during one of those lunches (so thank you frat guy ig?). this is more experimental than anything else i've written, so i am very curious to know what you all think. i hope you enjoyed it, or at least understood what I was trying to say lol

art credit: taken from the French poster for Satyajit Ray’s Devi

[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.

[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.”

[brooklyndreaming]

I spent pretty much every penny my sims had on this haunted mansion shell. So I'm just going to start from scratch and see if I can have them making enough money to decorate the house by Halloween. I tried to leave them with pretty much under 1,000. Do not worry, this may be easy to you but I've never played The Sims 4 without just building or cas and poses and blah blah. I also have a habit of just making them do what I want instead of playing the game lol.

They had 350-ish simoleons after buying two cots, a minifridge, some wallpaper (and after I made the choice I was like, welp, already spent it). I later sold an upstairs staircase to get them a toilet and shower. I figure they don't need to go upstairs but they do need to go. I considered a bush outside to be cheap, but Luiz was being a giant bitch about it.

I hope you're happy. You sick little puppy.

I made Luiz paint for money starting with small classic paintings because they're cheaper but idk if that's major strats or anything. I forgot Asher was going to be the painter so I could sell paintings, Luiz would write and sell books. After work one day I forgot this and was like clearly he has the eye. They look pretty cute admiring his little doodle.

Luiz decided he loves painting, I was so relieved, I feel like every time I've played a sim they decide they hate painting, and hate gardening. You will be my whatever the opposite of a pay pig is. Cash cow? Which came first the paypig or the cash cow?

It's been about one Sim day with the minifridge. They hate it. I forgot to buy... Well everything else including a trash can, I guess. Dishes are collecting. Moods are up and down. They're upset, I'm upset like help me help you, I did this but still. I kept the doodle painting instead of selling it, help I'm sentimental and I'm playing them for Life & Death.

Luiz painted a small llama, I ended up having to sell it for a speaker because I chose music lover and am still mostly unmodded ugh, and he kept just being like "listen to metal!" over and over and over. Great we get it you feel things. He got a job as a Critic because I thought it would be funny for some reason honestly, didn't even look at the pay, shoulda. He changed into his work clothes and it was black and orange. Asher is a Freelance uh, digital sketchpad user, whatever that is. Icon designer currently.

I'm mostly not playing by realism like I tried before, I want to make hell save. I'm slowly rebuilding CAS cc first

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 2: the inquisition

i have a challenge for all readers! in the spirit of tikkun olam, i'm posing to u all what i'll call the TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if u have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore access to clean water, rebuild roads, and clean up waste. there's a health crisis in gaza from the destruction of infrastructure during the ongoing genocide; let's do what we can to help. leave a comment with the amount u donate, and i'll tally it up to see how much we can raise together by the end of the fic!

word count: 2936 warnings: dealing with familial death, grief < prev || chapter masterlist || next >

also available on ao3

—

The echoes of dreams whispered around her, flowing like water, fading as she drifted. Soft and slow as a falling feather, the waves of sleep carried her to stirring shallows. She could feel the cot beneath her, hear scuffles. The air didn’t hum anymore.

Adahlee opened her eyes.

She was back in the room in the chantry, a little less bare. An end table with water had been set up beside her cot. Slowly, she perched on her elbow—

“Oh!”

Adahlee startled, as did the person entering the room. She didn’t recognize them; an elf, who dropped a crate on the floor. They blurted, “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear.”

“Um…” Adahlee's voice was small, and parched. “It’s okay. I just woke up.”

“Oh, Maker.” The person held a hand to their chest. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I—”

They fell to their knees in a bow. “I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Adahlee, her mouth hanging open, couldn’t respond. They continued: “You are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

The mark. Adahlee looked down at her palm; it still glowed with power, but its flames no longer crept up her veins like venom. It was still, just as the air. So that’s why the hum was gone.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

The door, which had stood ajar, creaked open. Solas peered in, holding a few rolls of parchment and a bundle in one arm. “Ah, you're awake.”

The elf scrambled to their feet, but still bowed low to Adahlee. “I promise, ser healer, I didn’t mean to disturb the Lady Herald!”

Adahlee tilted her head; she was utterly puzzled, but still, a little spark of joy lit up her heart. Lady? She had never been called a Lady, but certainly not Herald, either. “If—if you mean me, you didn’t disturb me. It’s alright.”

“Oh.” They straightened, looking painfully awkward.

Solas brushed past them, setting the rolls of parchment on the desk next to others. “Thank you for your delivery.”

“Oh!” They hastily picked up the crate they had dropped. “Yes! Supplies for you, my lady.” They set it near the end of her cot, and Adahlee sat up further to find a large trunk and her boots had been placed there, as well. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She’s here in the chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,' she said!”

Then the person bowed low once more, and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Uh,” Adahlee said.

Solas sighed, setting the wrapped bundle on her bedside table. “I apologize. I had hoped you would not wake with a spectacle.”

“It’s—it’s okay.” Adahlee watched him untie the bundle, revealing a hunk of bread, cheese, and an apple. It wasn’t until then did she realize how utterly ravenous she was. “Is that for me?” She asked hopefully.

“Yes, for you. Please, eat; you've been under incredible duress.”

Adahlee took the apple, crunching into it hesitantly as Solas poured her a cup of water. With how long she’d been unconscious, it was the most delicious thing she'd ever eaten. She took the offered cup, chugged half of it in one go, then took a breath. “What happened? The Breach is sealed?”

“Not quite.” Solas sat on a nearby stool, giving her space. “You successfully sealed the rift that opened it, and the Breach has been stabilized, but it remains.”

“No more demons pouring out of it?” She asked, tearing into the bread.

“No, but there is still the matter of the smaller rifts in its wake. I am told that they have spread across southern Thedas.”

Adahlee breathed deeply, trying to stay calm. The echoes of the havoc wrought rang in her ears.

“The good news is that your mark stabilized with the Breach,” Solas said. “You will live.”

Adahlee deflated, relief sweeping through her and allowing her shoulders to slump. She would live, she thought then, but her mother was gone. Adahlee went quiet.

If Solas noticed her relief change, he said nothing. “How are you feeling?”

Her first instinct was to just say, okay. But she thought, for a moment, and swallowed another bite of her apple. “… Kind of gross,” she admitted.

Solas' lips twitched up in amusement. “Yes, being unconscious for so long will do that. Keep eating, and take a walk when you feel ready. How about the mark?”

Adahlee gazed down at it, contemplative. She made a fist, and unfurled it again. “It… sort of buzzes. And…” She mulled over the words. “It’s like fire, but not burning. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good.” Solas stood, and went to the table, unrolling a piece of parchment. “Haven’s apothecary and I have been studying it, and monitoring your condition. I hope you don’t mind if I add this to our notes?”

“Oh. Go ahead.” She watched Solas write as she chewed. Quietly, she added: “Um… thank you. For taking care of me.”

“No thanks are needed,” Solas said evenly. He didn’t look at her.

The room was quiet, then, but for her eating and the scratch of a quill. Meekly, she broke the silence. “Cassandra wanted to see me, didn’t she?”

“She can wait until you are ready. I doubt she would want you to strain yourself. I understand that she and Sister Leliana are busy with Chancellor Roderick, anyways.”

Adahlee cringed at the mention of the Chancellor. Solas glanced up to see it. “Don’t fret,” he assured, “we will not allow any harm to come to you. He can do nothing.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

She was cautious, still, but relented. “… Okay.”

When Solas was finished, he said he would leave her to freshen up. Adahlee hesitantly asked if he would show her the way to Cassandra, when she was ready; he obliged, and would wait in the hall.

“But take your time,” he reminded her. “There is no rush.”

Adahlee nodded, and Solas, seemingly satisfied, turned to leave.

Then, a question re-entered her head. “Solas?”

Solas paused with his hand on the door, looking over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”

“What was all that? With the, you know…” Adahlee waved her hand. “’Lady Herald,' and the bowing.”

Solas contemplated for a moment, his eyes flicking down, then back to her. “You will find out soon enough.”

Then he slipped out the door, leaving Adahlee to her confusion.

But in the quiet, the first calm since the whirlwind of her waking hours, confusion made way: a potent throb of euphoria, grief, and fear filled her chest.

Adahlee.

Mother.

I'm me.

But what do I do?

Tears fell unbidden, and Adahlee clutched the front of her shirt, like she was trying to hold her heart lest it burst from her.

Eventually, she worked through her tears, and every crumb of the best meal she’d had in a long time. Cried out and clean, Adahlee stood in front of her door. What would await her, outside of it?

Adahlee breathed in, and out. She curled her bare toes against the cool stone. The mark buzzed so very gently in her palm. She screwed her eyes shut. Creators, or whoever is out there, anyone or anything that is kind—she opened her eyes. Please give me strength.

With a breath, she eased open the door.

For all of that, the bare hall of the chantry was rather anticlimactic; it held little else but Varric and Solas, leaning against the stone wall. Adahlee had to give herself a nervous little chuckle.

Varric waved kindly at her with a grin. “Hey, sleepyhead. What’s so funny?”

Adahlee smiled, and lightly stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Nothing,” she said softly. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Well, our hero is awake! Of course I'm gonna come by.”

Adahlee balked. “Hero?”

“I did see you fix that pesky hole in the sky, you know. Seems like hero shit to me.”

“You have done well, Adahlee,” Solas agreed.

Adahlee was fairly sure she was going red, judging by the warmth when she touched her hand to her face, stammering thanks. Varric had a twinkle in his eye, pushing off the wall and clapping her on the back. “And lived to tell the tale, since Chuckles here says you’re gonna be just fine.”

Solas raised an eyebrow at the nickname. Adahlee snickered, trying and failing to hide it behind her hand. Varric’s shit-eating grin and Solas’ dry stare only made it that much harder.

“Come,” Solas beckoned, rather quick to move on. Adahlee pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.  “Cassandra is this way.”

Her expression fell a tad, knowing that Chancellor Roderick would be there. Varric glanced at her, trailing behind as she was led down the hall. “Why not just go for a stroll?” He suggested. “Let the kid have a break.”

“I don’t mind,” Adahlee said quietly.

Varric sighed. “Alright, but if you need some time, don’t hesitate to take it. I'll be around if you want; I’m sure I could scrounge up a deck of cards somewhere…”

Adahlee smiled at him, genuine. “Thank you.”

She could hear the arguing now, and Adahlee huddled nervously to Solas as he opened the door.

Roderick, Cassandra, and Leliana looked up from a table, and Adahlee inched behind Solas ever so slightly, wary of their gazes and the templars guarding the door within.

“Chain her.” Roderick pointed at her, and Adahlee flinched. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that,” Cassandra ordered immediately. The glare she gave Roderick was downright furious. “And leave us.” The templars saluted, and walked out, leaving Adahlee feeling a little less apprehensive.

“Then I don’t see why they can stay here,” the Chancellor sneered at Solas and Varric. Solas regarded him with distaste, and Varric scoffed.

“They may, if Adahlee so wishes,” Cassandra insisted.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick warned.

Varric leaned over and whispered to her: “He’s just raising a fuss because he can’t do much else. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Adahlee nodded slightly, and tried to take it to heart. At least she knew Cassandra and Leliana wouldn’t let him pull anything. “I—I think I'll be alright.”

Solas looked concerned, but acquiesced. “Very well. I’ll be in the hall, if I’m needed.”

“Me too.” Varric patted her arm with a reassuring smile, and the two of them followed the templars out the door.

“It is good to see you awake,” Leliana said kindly. It made Adahlee glad, but she still hesitated to approach the table, standing and fiddling with her fingers.

“Come, you need not be shy,” Cassandra beckoned. “We would have you take part in this discussion.”

Slowly, Adahlee stepped forward. Her brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Somehow, you have been plunged into this disaster.” Cassandra sighed. “I wish it were not so, but there it stands. Your mark has stabilized the Breach, but it remains a threat that cannot be ignored.”

“And how do we know that was not her intent?” Roderick accused while pointedly ignoring her. Despite her nerves, it made her want to stomp her feet and yell. How could I have done this? Why would I have ever done this?

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra said around gritted teeth. Adahlee could see her hands had balled into fists on the table. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave.” Leliana's tone was hard. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others—or, have allies that yet live.” She glowered at him.

“I am a suspect?” Roderick balked.

“You, and many others.”

“But not the girl.” Roderick deigned to look at her, yet still didn’t say a word to her. Adahlee bit her tongue before she could snap; she knew how that would end.

“No matter what else you may think, I heard the voices at the Temple.” Cassandra leaned forward, certainty in her eyes. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So her survival, that thing on her hand—all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra insisted, then looked to Adahlee. “The people are calling you the Herald of Andraste. They believe Andraste Herself was the woman behind you, leading you out of the Fade, and the mark is Her gift. Whether or not that is true—the Maker still sent you to us in our darkest hour.”

Adahlee's jaw dropped, and she stared, bug-eyed, at Cassandra. The Herald of Andraste? Did they think her a new prophet? Her? An elven girl who grew up beneath the branches of a vhenadahl, who was never good enough for the Andrastian shemlen; disallowed her own gods, her own ways, yet still disallowed to thrive in their spaces? By their standards? And in the name of a prophet who stood beside an ancestor to free her people. Some strange tempest of emotion swirled in her—fury, bitterness, disbelief, smugness, that quickly drained to something cold and weary. Finally, she said with firmness that startled herself: “I’m not holy.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“No. I'm not. I'm just…” Adahlee looked down at her hands, and then back up. “Well. I don’t know. But I'm not that. I'm an elf, anyway.”

“No matter who you are, or what you believe, you are exactly who we needed when we needed it.” Cassandra turned from the table and picked something up, but Adahlee couldn’t see what it was.

“In any case, the Breach remains,” Leliana said gently, “and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide,” Roderick growled.

Cassandra slammed what she held onto the table: a thick tome, emblazoned with a fiery eye on the front. She pointed a finger to it. “You know what this is, Chancellor. A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act.” Cassandra took a step back, and stood tall. “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

The Inquisition? Adahlee had never heard of such a thing. She watched Cassandra advance on the Chancellor, who backed away nervously, as Cassandra asserted: “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

Roderick stared between Cassandra and Leliana, disbelieving. Then, without a word, he walked out. Adahlee breathed a sigh of relief.

Leliana skirted around the bend of the table. “This is the Divine's directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” She shook her head. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: we must act now.” Cassandra looked to Adahlee. “With you at our side.”

Adahlee leaned against the table, feeling she would be swept away in a current of doubts if she didn’t. Questions raced through her head. “What was 'the Inquisition of old,' exactly?” She began.

“It preceded the Chantry,” Leliana explained. “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“After,” continued Cassandra, “they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.”

“But aren’t you still part of the Chantry?”

Cassandra huffed with amusement. “Is that what you see?”

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction.”

“But we cannot wait. So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave…” Cassandra trailed off. “No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever.”

“We would like to make ourselves clear, Adahlee.” The way Leliana addressed her revealed a measure of softness beneath her cool exterior. “We will not make you do anything against your wishes. We will not make you stay, if you wish to leave.”

“But we can keep you safe at our side,” Cassandra said honestly. “We can help you. And you, in turn, would not only help us—but all those affected by this chaos.”

Adahlee's knees trembled. “Where else would I have to go?” She whispered, feeling the creeping despair at the back of her throat. “Back to the Ostwick alienage? Alone? Mother and I took to work here because we had no food.” Adahlee let out a breathless, humourless laugh; she felt almost mortified for it, but it didn’t quite get past the cold numbness of shock. “I’m an orphan now.” The beginnings of tears stung her eyes. “I have nothing.”

“You have the whole world laid before you,” Leliana murmured. Adahlee couldn’t quite place the look in her blue eyes. “Even without the mark on your hand. Never do you have nothing.”

Cassandra nodded. “I cannot say it will be easy. And by the Maker, I wish we could give you a proper home.” She leaned forward. “But I swear this to you: if you wish to stay, you will always be protected, and we will always honour your presence, and your choices.”

“I’ve never been given honour or choices,” was the first thing to come from Adahlee.

“Then perhaps it is time to start.” Cassandra extended her hand. “Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

Adahlee stared at the proffered hand. It was a truce; an oath. She was thrown onto a strange path, but it could be walked together. As equals.

Slowly, Adahlee took Cassandra's hand, and found her own grip to be strong.

[assbutt-writes]

A Heart Of Iron Chapter 1

Chapter below the cut

TONY

"If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now," Loki said, looking up at the horde of superheros standing over him, their weapons drawn. His eyes locked on Tony's, setting him on edge. Loki was up to something, and it scared Tony that he couldn't figure it out.

Deciding to ignore that for now, Tony shook it off and said, "Alright, get him on his feet. We can all stand around posing up a storm later. By the way, feel free to clean up!"

"Who gets the, uh, magic wand?" Nat asked, carrying the scepter.

Steve replied, "STRIKE team's coming to secure it."

Then, an elevator opened, and the STRIKE team walked out. Sitwell walked up to Natasha, and she handed him the scepter.

"By all means," she replied, eager to get rid of it, and started to walk away.

Sitwell examined it, and started to touch the tip, when Nat called back at him, "Careful with that thing."

"Yeah, unless you want your mind erased," Clint joked, probably referencing Loki possessing him, "and not in a fun way."

"We promise to be careful," Rumlow assured.

As they gathered up the gear, Steve walked past, talking into his com, saying "On my way down to coordinate search and rescue."

Loki shape-shifted into Steve, mockingly repeating what he said while cross-eyed and doing robot arms. He then transformed back into himself, saying, "I mean, honestly, how do you keep your food down?"

Tony had to fake a cough to hide his amusement. Thor then slapped an Asgardian muzzle over Loki's mouth, saying, "Shut up."

Tony packed up the Tesseract and headed into the elevator with the rest of the Avengers. Hulk tried to join them, but it was already full.

"Hey, hey, buddy! What do you think? Maximum occupancy has been reached," Tony said.

"Take the stairs," Thor suggested.

After a bit of negotiating, everyone agreed that Tony should be the one to show Loki his cell, as he was the only one immune to Loki's mind-control.

"So, this is where you'll be staying. Toilet's over there- Wait, do Asgardians need to use the toilet? Never mind. It doesn't really matter. Bed's over there- It's more like a cot, really- sink's over there, and here's where your food will come through. Oh, and we can take off that stupid muzzle." Tony explained to Loki, who immediately tried to teleport.

"Don't bother. Thor set up some weird kind of force-field that nullifies your powers," he said.

Loki froze up, and instantly his expression became guarded.

"Thank you for showing me around, but I think I can take care of myself. You may go now," he said, his face remaining expressionless. The only sign that he wasn't as calm and collected as he acted was his hand, which was starting to fidget with the hem of his cape. Tony instantly recognized the movement as something he did when he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Um, are you okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes. I suggest you leave now. You've finished showing me around, and I'm assuming that your fellow Defenders-" Loki started to say.

"Avengers," Tony corrected before he could stop himself. Great. Based on Loki's face, he just made things even worse.

"Avengers are waiting for you. Besides, why would the great Iron Man want to be around a murderer like myself? Surely you have better things to do than make conversation with the person who just tried to invade your planet," Loki hissed, the look on his face looking more like self-hatred than anger, with his eyes starting to water.

For now, the most Tony could do was give Loki some space. He knew firsthand how it felt when someone tried to forcefully "help" you when you're in that place.

JARVIS suddenly started talking, which made both Tony and Loki jump.

"I apologize for startling you, but Dr. Banner is requesting you in the common area to go over the security camera footage," he informed Tony.

"Sorry. I gotta go, but maybe we can continue this later?" he told Loki, who's face somehow became even more expressionless.

Loki didn't respond, and, not wanting to mess things up even more, Tony left.

When he arrived at the common area, he found that Bruce had an image from the security cam footage from when Loki tried to brainwash him with the scepter pulled up on his screen with another one next to it from the camera in Loki's cell.

"Tony! Come here! Take a look at this!" Bruce said hurriedly.

"Okay? What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?" Tony asked confusedly.

"Look at his eyes!" Bruce exclaimed.

"I'm looking? I don't get it," Tony said.

"In the one from earlier, his eyes are blue, but in the one from his cell, they're green!" Bruce explained.

"So? Maybe he was using magic to change his eye color or something," Tony said, exasperated.

"Maybe, but look at this photo from when Clint was possessed," Bruce said, pulling up another image. The eye colors from the earlier Loki one and the one of Clint were the exact same.

"Holy shit! So you're thinking that Loki was possessed too?" Tony exclaimed, completely shocked.

"Language, Tony," Steve reprimanded as he walked into the room, "And what did you say about Loki being possessed?"

"Steve! Come over here! Take a look at this! His eyes were the same shade of blue as Clint's during the battle, but when he went into the cell, which nullifies all magic, by the way, they turned green!" Tony said excitedly.

Steve froze.

"Okay. Have you talked with Thor? The eye color change could've been because he was using his magic to make them blue," Steve asked.

"That's exactly what I thought, but it would be a huge coincidence for it to be the same shade," Tony explained, "JARVIS, can you call Point Break down here? We need to get to the bottom of this."