#that man’s hygiene had to be so rank

[gunnrblze]

Poor Logan had to take a whiff of his stanky ass breath

This was the real torture. Forget the pit, Rorke would just get in Logan’s face and exhale to get him in line

[amusingmusie]

Hi, I really hope you're faring well. Just wanted to say that I love your writing and yours truly, and I thought about something.

In hell, Alastor is a lot more durable and unkillable, so I imagine that's a lot more of a headache for Nel. She's walking behind him, ready to bash his skull and all of a sudden his head does a 180 and she's like >:0.

Also demon Al's hygiene must be HORRIBLE. So she's probably going to have to chase him around the hotel with a toothbrush and soap to no evail because he's a slippery motherfucker now that he's a demon.

Thank you so much for writing this masterpiece, and have a wonderful day <3

Fresh As Hell

Content warning for the Hazbin cast being themselves.

You're running out of ideas.

This has gone on far too long. The smell of an old shoe here, a hint of halitosis there, even a whiff of swamp water wafting your way if you get too close: it's all evidence that you can't ignore any longer.

Alastor kind of fucking stinks.

Sure, you've told him since your human days that his swampass stench is overwhelming, but that was a dig to piss him off, not the actual truth (usually, as long as his mother pressured him to scrub his tail). Nowadays? Well, if the demonic stop sign admitted that he bathes in his bedroom's wetlands, you'd be less than shocked. Shit, you'd actually be relieved if that were the case, because then you could fill the bog with soap and perfume to mask whatever funk perpetually lives on Alastor's grey skin. It's never overwhelming enough to knock you out; it's maddening subtle, the musk of his hair and the bite to his breath.

Maybe you could survive the Great Stink of '24 if he didn't insist on being on top of you at all times. Every time you turn around, you're assaulted by crimson, static, and Alastor's personal brand of miasma that wafts off of him since he insists on being no less than three atoms away from you.

Sure, it's possible you've got beef with his aroma since back in the day, the shitter smelled like freshly cut wood with notes of amber and his teeth sparkled like diamonds. You've seen his hygiene at its peak, which is why you cannot cosign this rank tomfoolery. Unfortunately, all of your attempts to rally the idiots at this hotel to agree with you that this is an issue have ended in disaster, leaving you without any allies in this fight.

"I haven't really noticed much, and hey, here at the Happy Hotel, we're receptive to more, um, eccentric lifestyles! As long as Alastor is being a team player and helping out with our mission, there's no reason to make him uncomfortable by bringing up his personal choices!"

"I don't get close enough to that pendejo to catch a whiff of whatever you're talking about."

"I dunno, tootz, I like a man with a little musk to 'em."

"Fuck off and fuck you."

"I like man stink~"

You're very much on your own here. The war on Alastor's subpar hygiene will be fought by you and you alone, and you won't be deterred- you've had worse battles before.

When you're once again yanked into Alastor's side and exposed to a faceful of his armpit in the lobby for the upteenth time, you vow to take action against him, more for your sake than his.

Game on.

---

Your strategy calls for small, stealthy actions in the beginning.

Positioning yourself in plain sight at the hotel bar with two cups of coffee, you wait for your target to appear. It's the perfect scene: you, alone (save for the bar cat, but he's passed out with his head down on the counter), with coffee. Alastor can't resist this. Hardly more than three seconds pass before a rush of static and a chill wash over you. A gentle pop sounds off to your left, and then you're greeted by your least favorite radio host smelling stale as ever.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" he cries, purposely shouting too loudly into your ear. "You're looking especially horrid this morning. Did you happen to catch a glance of your reflection in the mirror before it cracked?"

"No, I was too busy imagining all the ways I could skin you alive before eleven."

"Well, it is eight already, so hop to it, you need all the time that you can get to brainstorm!"

As his invisible audience laughs alongside him, you flick a handful of mints into his unguarded coffee cup. The jackass is too busy chortling at his tired jokes to realize that you've done anything at all. Perfect. Holding back your smirk is a damn hard move when Alastor finally lifts his red mug to his full lips and swallows down a mouthful of minty coffee.

Success.

Until-

"Hm..." Alastor hums, blinking his red eyes plainly. Then he promptly turns, spits out a stream of dark liquid onto Husk's bowed head, and snatches up your cup of coffee. After sipping down your drink, he sighs contently. "There, much better! Ah, that was a juvenile play, dear. You're losing your touch."

The deer motherfucker teleports away while you're left with a pissed off cat and determination to win this war.

---

Next comes the idea to douse Alastor in whatever perfume oils you can find as a direct plan of attack. Instead of using your precious concoction that you paid out the ass for from Rosie's Emporium, you decide that these other assholes living around here could stand to help out for five seconds. You're not asking for their support- just their cologne.

Angel is the unlucky winner that you approach since whatever he wears is pungent enough that it has your eyes watering on a good day. The spider leans up against his doorway, legs in your face and fluff looming above your head as you make your case.

"Listen." You crane your head back and fix him with what you hope is an amicable stare. "I'll shoot straight with you. I need a favor."

"Oh?" he asks, raising a perfect brow and examining his gloved fingers. "I don't do girls, sorry not sorry."

"No," you grumble at him. "Not that kind of favor. I need to borrow your perfume- whatever shit you wear is strong enough to be smelled across the Pentagram. All I need is to borrow the bottle for five minutes and I'll have it back to you good as new."

"HA! You think I'm letting you make off with my smell-good for free? No no no, nobody gets to borrow what I wear, not even Cherri. It's custom! You're out of luck."

"You're here at the hotel to redeem yourself- part of redemption is being selfless."

"Actually, I'm at this shitshack so I don't have to pay rent, and redemption don't mean you get a spritz of my good shit. Go ask some other shmuck." Angel laughs in your face one final time, then spins around to shut his door.

"I'll owe you," you spit out. That has the fluffy demon pausing and you fear that you've either royally fucked up or royally succeeded.

"...Owe me what?"

"One favor equal to borrowing your perfume that doesn't involve me getting my ass kicked or double dead."

Angel grins delightedly, retreats into his den, then sticks one spindly arm out with his perfume sitting pretty in his palm.

"Have at it!"

And you do, with fear of Hell's #1 pornstar in your heart.

Alastor comes in to kick your legs under the table during dinner and you immediately whip out Angel's perfume to soak the son of a bastard down. There's an ear-ringing screech before Alastor pops away, leaving you with a table full of coughing, gassed-out hotel inhabitants that are very, very pissed off.

Once Vaggie is done chewing you out, Angel Dust leans over and whispers, "You still owe me for my draining my fucking reserves, dollface."

Fuck.

---

After weeks of attempted baths, desperate tooth-brushing sessions, dirty bribery, and numerous double-death threats, you've decided that you have no choice but to go completely nuclear. Clearly, your rotten plague of a deer demon is determined to resist all attempts to freshen him the fuck up, so you are prepared to pull the dirtiest trick in your book. Forget screaming or cussing; you'll have his ass eating out of the palm of your hand in no time with this.

"Hello, my rotten peach!"

Ahah, it's time- you're about to win this little game no problem. You take one look at Alastor in all his awful glory here in the parlor, steady your face into an uninterested expression, and then you. look. away.

Alastor stares.

"I said, hello, my rotten peach! My fetid fruit! My most crusty crop!" he announces slightly louder as if you didn't hear him.

Nothing. No reaction. You refuse to engage with someone that smells of fragrant toes and has gums darker than his coffee; you'll have him suffering from your silence if those are the dumbass choices he'd like to make.

Just barely concealing his panic at the sudden lack of your attention, Alastor clomps closer, then pokes at your side with his staff. The thing winces from the contact. You, on the other hand, are not weak and will not relent, so you continue to watch the parlor wall with great interest.

All according to plan.

Charlie passes by, humming a happy tune. When she spots you lounging on the couch with Alastor hovering over you, she smiles at the familiar sight, and offers a happy, "Good morning!"

"Morning, Princess," you greet her. Then you return to wall watching.

Alastor wilts.

You smile.

And you play the winning game.

For days, you refuse to acknowledge anything having to do with your favorite least favorite parasite. If he materializes in front of you when you're reading a novel? You don't even flinch. If you awake to him standing over your bed and staring with glowing eyes? Well, there's no need to do anything but roll over, that's just Tuesday. You hardly bat an eye when a black shadow warbles over your shoulder as you brush your teeth; no, you simply show it the brush and toothpaste for a proper tutorial on how to avoid ripe ass breath. You're enjoying the power you hold over Alastor, and you especially enjoy the way his stupid tufts flatten against his head when you deny him any attention for a whole week.

You believe that victory is yours.

---

As you trudge downstairs for another miserable day at the Asscrack Motel or whatever they're calling this place nowadays, you're overwhelmed by a new scent permeating throughout the lobby- freshly cut cedar, something slightly floral and musky, hints of amber, and immaculately washed manass.

Shit.

You know that smell. You know that smell very well. It can only mean one thing.

Then you spot him in all of his glory; Alastor is leaning his spindly body against the hotel bar with a freshly patched suit, styled hair slicked back across his head, and shining teeth. Oh God, he smells and looks like Heaven, and suddenly you decide that maybe you don't give two shits about that white speck in the sky when you've got this presented to you on a metaphorical platter.

With a little grunt, you move closer, appraising Alastor with an indifferent expression. His static is whirring sweetly in the background while he simpers down at you- yeah, he's proud and peacocking a bit, you can tell from the manner in which his lips curl and the way his chest puffs out. Goddammit...he knows that he's got you hooked like a fucking sucker.

"Yeeeeees?" he sings when you stare for a second too long. "Something on your dreadfully empty mind?"

"..." Hm. You could shoot him for being annoying, but he did do all of this dolling up for you.

Ugh. You hate him so much.

So you yank him down by his lapel so you can kiss him square on the mouth. For the first time in a long time, he tastes of mint and sunshine instead of rot and coffee, utterly intoxicating you in the worst of ways. You drag your lips against his and feel that they've been moisturized, and when he bites down on your tongue, there's no slippery plaque to offend your senses.

All of this effort just to get you to look his way.

Good.

Then you release him with a pop, flip him the bird, and walk off with your head held high.

Alastor just hums in satisfaction from his place at the bar, idly commenting, "I've still got it," to a very disgusted Husk and Vaggie who are doing their damndest to ignore the scene.

You'll call this one even.

(Loosely based on a very old conversation with @gemrocknerd).

[toxictigertonic]

hopes you don't mind be asked about headcanons!! but I adore how you write them!! What about Prime Assets and hugs? How huggable they are from 0 to 10? Would they hug each other?

Ohhh this one has the potential to be so silly and yet so sad... All of them could use a good hug (I'm hugging Coyle to steal from his back pocket :) )

COYLE

- Starting out mediocre, Coyle ranks at a 4/10 on the hug scale.

- His hugs are so stiff and so awkward, it's like hugging a plank. You might also get zapped so watch out.

- You know those awkward dad hugs? The ones where it's just a side hug? He can barely even manage those.

- If you gave him a proper hug, he'd keep his hands out to the side, no contact. You'd think he'd get handsy but no, he's so confused by the hug he just freezes up.

- Please don't surprise him with a hug he will suplex you.

- Also he is Not Soft, and his leather jacket smells funny. Not funny haha, funny weird. Mostly like cigarettes and sadness.

- Definitely mumbling something weird during the hug that makes you reconsider your decisions. Not weird enough to pull away but enough to make you think "damn was this really a good idea"

- Take this hug opportunity to fuck with his battery, he's too caught up in how awkward this is to notice. Steal his wallet too, for funsies.

- Would have a hard time chasing you after you hugged him. Not because he's developed some sudden emotional connection but bc that was Weird and he now dreads looking you in the eyes.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- 15/10 for hugs, the most comforting hug you will ever receive in your entire life. If you consider Futterman's presence however it drops down to a 9/10.

- Futterman threatens you about 5 seconds into the hug, if you try anything funny you're getting drill to the face. This is why he affects the score so much.

- There's also the chance that he's going to whisper a question about your dental hygiene, and God help you if you answer no to flossing.

- Ignoring the goose demon, hugging her is sooo nice. She's warm and soft and bc she's so tall anyone who's short is getting surrounded by nice hug.

- She loves hugs, she loves to give and receive them. You can even potentially make her nonviolent for a minute or two if you offer a hug.

- Pray for your spine though bc she gives bear hugs. She will not hesitate to crush the life out of you with her squeezes.

- The kinda hugger that pets your head and calls you her sweet baby, or something like that. Again, most comforting hugs in the world.

- You can ask to hug Futterman but he'll just hiss at you. Man hates being hugged. Being involved in a hug is already bad enough.

- If you're small enough she will pick you up during a hug. She could very easily lift someone but if you're smaller she's more likely to think of you as a child.

FRANCO

- He's hard to rank bc how do you rank someone who either tries to kill you or cries when you hug them. I'm gonna give him a 6 or 7/10 because the hug itself isn't too bad if he doesn't go for violence.

- The violent reaction is mainly bc he's not used to anybody being kind to him. Most times he's had human contact it's been to hurt him.

- That's also why he cries. He's so unbelievably touch starved that an innocent hug can send him spiraling.

- You better hug him while he cries. He might track you down afterwards if you don't, nobody can know he cried like that. Also, you hurt his feelings :(

- If you DO continue to hug him, prepare to be crushed in his arms. He's shockingly strong, and he's clingy when he's upset.

- Also don't he surprised if he ends up in your lap tbh. You gave him the hug, you should've expected this to be how things would go. Man just wants some comfort.

- He's gonna try to bury his face into your neck, even if you're a lot shorter than him. He'll hurt his back hunching over, he doesn't care.

- He is constantly in a state of not wanting to be touched but also desperately needing a hug. It's like dealing with a cat.

- If you pet his hair or say anything comforting he will cry so hard he throws up I do not make the rules.

GROUP HUGS

- BAD IDEA.

- Franco and Coyle would rather die than hug each other. Gooseberry is going to make them be friendly whether they like it or not.

- She makes them hug and they're just whispering threats to each other.

- "Putting you in prison will be the nicest thing I do to you." "Good luck putting me in prison with a fuckin' incisor lodged in your shin."

- Gooseberry picks Coyle up when she hugs him and he freaks out. He doesn't know what to do so all he can do is Flail.

- On one hand, he's attracted to her. On the other hand, keep your hugs to yourself, woman!

- You know damn well Franco is requesting hugs from Gooseberry every single day.

- He is just a sad little boy and he needs a comforting hug from her. This is how he convinces her to hug him every single time (not like he has to do much convincing, she loves hugs).

- Futterman wants to turn him into a fine paste. He knows what that little shit is up to and he's not having it. Leave his daughter ALONE.

- He's stopped full-on crying after getting so many hugs from her, but he still gets a little teary-eyed. Especially when the head petting comes into play.

Ask me as much as you want! I will happily take 18 requests from the same person, I do not mind!!

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#29: Never Seen Your Face Like That (S5E12)

I love that Rick and Michonne low-key tell on themselves in this scene lol. I can’t help but smile and laugh when watching this exchange cuz the attraction between them is BLATANT. Let me tell you, these two find each other hot and it’s clear as day lol. And it’s cute seeing them both try to be casual with it but not being able to resist reacting to each other with obvious attraction. Their pre-canon era was a time. 😋 It’s like this dance to keep things appearing 'platonic,' when they’re clearly feeling so much more...

At the start of the scene we see all of tf in this quiet moment, and then we hear Michonne’s satisfied sigh as she joins her family with a refreshed smile. Interestingly, she does not seem to be getting red flags about ASZ, whereas others are more on edge - which is understandable for them but also goes to show why Michonne’s gut instinct can always be trusted.

She asks how long she was in there for - and it seems rhetorical, but my sweet man Rick is going to tell on himself by giving an exact answer lol. I love that he’s the one to respond and that he doesn’t just say “a while” or a general answer. No - this man says “20 minutes.” She’s on his radar always. And it’s cute that this scene between them starts with talk of toothbrushes because we know how much "dental hygiene" will bless us in season 6. 😏

Michonne says she couldn’t stop brushing as Rick walks into frame, which I’ve always found cute cuz he knows this is the big reveal where she gets to see his clean-shaven face for the first time, especially after her whole “your face is losing the war” comments from s4.

I love that Sis literally has to pause as she notices his face. Who can blame her? And I always really appreciate that Rick actually let’s the moment breathe for a sec as she takes in his new look. We see later how he reacts when Deanna notices his face and says 'wow.' He’s much more dismissive or not wanting that attention on him - but with Michonne, he seems in a bashful way to really want her to see him and to like what she sees as he positions himself in better lighting with a slight smile.

And Michonne most definitely likes what she sees. Y’all, the way she is looking at him - He’s fine fine to her.  Like I've said before, from both of them, even during their best friends phase it was always giving 'that’s my hot best friend,' make no mistake. 

Michonne says this 'huh' that almost seems to slip out before her mind can filter, and that 'huh' suggests she certainly has some positive thoughts on Rick's new look.

I will forever love the way Danai delivers the line, “I’ve never, I’ve never seen your face like that.” It has that dash of smitten flirtiness that is just so adorable. And Michonne’s smile. 😊 The best. Her face says it all. It makes it loud and clear that she likes his new look a lot, and I love that she also vocally reacts to it.

Even just the pause between saying she’s never, she’s never seen his face like that. He got her a little flustered, and I’m here for it. No one but Rick Grimes is getting Michonne, queen of composure, smitten like this. 😋

And then Rick says how he felt the same way before and after as he walks in her direction and I think tries to idk play off all the attraction that’s being emitted from the two of them, but like it can’t ever be denied or downplayed.

(Side note: I know some of tf had to be up in this living room seeing Rick and Michonne reacting to each other like this and thinking...

And I just like that it’s clear what Michonne thinks of his face matters to him. Everything about her and what she thinks matters to Rick, as not just his bestie but as something more too. 

(Also, tell me it's not just me who will see pre-canon scenes like this one and just stop to take a moment to marvel at the fact that these two went on to have a baby together. It never fails to bring me joy. 🤗)

And what Rick thinks also matters to Michonne, cuz she stops him and tells him she gets why they’re playing it safe and “we should,” which lets you know that no matter how much she wants this place to work, she’s with Rick first and foremost. But she has a good feeling about this place, because Michonne is always right. And considering this place will be where she and him finally have room to build a home, rediscover their humanity, enjoy their romance, and expand their family - she was definitely right to have a good feeling about this place. 👌🏽

Rick responds saying he hopes Michonne is right, which again cements how a huge reason all of them are even at ASZ is because Rick wanted to give Michonne’s way a chance. He’s still in many ways going off of her gut over his own, and I love that he trusts her that much to do that and wants her to be right. That’s a special influence reserved just for her. And Michonne responds "yeah, me too" cuz she also knows how it was her push to go here that led them here.

Watching this whole scene back - this is such a couple-y moment between them. If you would have told me this was post-canon I’d believe you because this whole scene was giving couple.  Like every second was saying...

The Deanna moment comes directly after this scene between Rick and Michonne and it’s this immediate contrast between how Rick reacts to Michonne noticing his face and the groan he gives Deanna when she notices.

I also like that Deanna drops her first hint that she’s a Richonner when she tells Rick she’s given him a job she just hasn’t told him yet, “same with Michonne.” As I've said before, I’ll always love how Deanna, renowned for getting a good read on people, immediately saw the similarities and partnership of Rick and Michonne and paired them together in the same job. She knew they go together. (Also the scene ends with Deanna telling Rick he looks good, which again is another sign she has good judgment lol. 💁🏽‍♀️)

I love how often Richonne would have these Richonne bubble moments in front of all tf in s5. Like it occurs quite a bit cuz they can’t help it. And this is one of those pre-canon scenes where you just know these two are destined to become a couple. Because Rick and Michonne love and trust each other, but also really want and desire each other too. 😌

[banes-favourite]

I doubt the House of Hope was the most hygienic place, and even before Enver was sold his parent's house probably wasn't that hygienic either because of the area they lived and how it sounds like they were living in poverty

So do you think this has had an effect on him as an adult? Does he still struggle with certain aspects of keeping good hygiene since he never really got into the practice of it before, or maybe he is almost obsessive over keeping himself clean and wearing some sort of perfume to distance himself as much as possible from that time? Or maybe he usually ensures he's clean at all times but occasionally struggles with it either during some period of time where he's completely focused on his work or when he's having an episode of a decline in his mental well-being

Maybe before durge disappeared he tended to have a bit of a more kept together appearance, but after durge vanished he found that he just no longer cared that much, or it felt more like a chore and he struggled to find the energy. So instead he just dived further into his work(probably not hard to do with him likely already being busier due to Orin and having more things to do in preparation for becoming archduke and reaching the last stages of the plan).

No cause you're so real for this. I think about this often cause like, this man is a Lord. He climbed the ranks by mingling and talking and socialising and manipulating. His image Should be his everything. And to a point, it is, because he wears these needlessly flashy clothes and accessories and holds himself up with so much confidence it's impossible not to find him impressive just by looking at him.

But then you look a bit closer and he's so unkempt? His stubble, his wild ass hair, his face looks like it hasn't been washed in days? And it's just., how did you become an archduke without paying attention to your appearance baby boy?

But then you think about it more and you realise he never had the LUXURY to care about basic hygiene because he was in constant survival mode since the moment he was born. Who cares about haircuts when you're struggling for your next meal? Who cares about washing up when you're going to get beaten to a bloody pulp anyway? Mf had to fight with teeth and claws to make a name for himself, I doubt hygiene was even on the top 20 things on his mind.

So I think there's two ways to interpret it. The more realistic approach is that he does not care, he cleans up when he's meeting someone important, just enough to keep up appearances but he never truly gets the hang of it because he simply never had the time to worry about it.

But personally I love the idea that as an adult, it does become an obsession, because finally he's reached his goals and he finally has the time and money to take proper care of himself. That he cleans his own clothes because he believes the servants are unclean, bathes twice a day with scorching water by scrubbing his body raw, wears gloves to protect himself against the germs he was forced to constantly be around in his younger years. He cannot stand the idea of being untidy because in his mind it's the same like being dirty, so his desk has to be perfect, his clothes have to be perfect, his chambers have to be perfect, and the moment anyone fucks up this careful environment he's built, he loses his shit. He reacts very strongly when Durge picks up dirt or blood and spreads it in his home, on his precious floors and carpets. He has to throw everything away and buy new, clean things every single time because he can afford to and otherwise he won't be able to sleep at night. It's an obsession, sure, but it's also a reminder that he's grown and got himself out of the shithole of poverty and enslavement. He holds power over his things, his body, his surroundings, and he'll do anything to keep it.

This interpretation also makes it all the more gut-wretching when his carefully built obsession starts slipping after Durge's disappearance. He no longer sees the point in putting so much energy in vanity or cleanliness, throws himself into work and work alone. He spends days building in his workshop and he doesn't even fucking care to wash away the oils and grease from the machines. He stops bathing, stops shaving, stops styling his hair, and it'd be super unnerving to watch him go from this perfect pillar of confidence to a sleep-deprived, dirty man in grief who has ran out of the energy to care.

(Both ideas work well with him drowning himself in his vanilla perfume also, either to cover up his stinky ass bc he Does Not Give a Shit or obsessively spraying himself every hour or so to smell as clean as he wants to feel)

[listenheresweaty]

Food for Thought: Wilbur Soot Chef!Au

this is unedited. This was also originally an ask I planned to send someone but I ended up posting it here. ——-

Thinking about Wilbur, chef au. like— ratatouille, without the rats. An inexperienced new chef (reader) comes to the 5 star family run restaurant called the Syndicate and is for some reason hired. Wilbur, the sauce chef (third highest ranking, after techno the sous chef and Philza the big man chef— master chef. Idk), is assigned to show them the ropes. He is already cranky for ranking in *third* among his family of four, even though he loves his brother and father very much. And now they dump the newbie into his hands??? Don’t they know he has better to do?

he was going to make your life hell. if only you weren’t so damn intriguing.

the first week, he’s cocky and arrogant, sweeping through the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance to you, giving the most vague instructions to purposefully tick you off. —-

“so the pan over there goes here when the heat is on that level, then that goes there, and there over there.. yknow.. get the bottles from the fridge, put ‘em here, turn the heat on like so—“ he turned the oven nozzle on and then back off again, too quickly for you to see the heat level. He turns to you, hands behind his back. “Any questions?”

he took your gaping silence as a yes. “Good. Follow me. You’ll wash pans for the day, then we’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”

____

Oh you hate the smug bastard. But as you watch him effortlessly dice a variety of vegetables and scrape them into the pot in a matter of seconds, you realize that hatred and admiration is an awful combination.

one late night— when you had received the infuriating assignment of “master high-speed julienne cuts on these onions before you get to go home”—- you tried to replicate his movements, growing increasingly frustrated as the onions stung your eyes, the clock ticked past midnight, and Wilbur snickered faintly in the background. You were so intently focused on getting that stupid onion into strips that you didn’t notice your finger getting in the way. With a yelp, you drop the knife, hissing and staring at your cut thumb. Wilbur looks up sharply, uncrossing his arms and moving away from the counter he had leaned against. “What the hell did you do now?”

“it’s nothing,” you grit out, “don’t—“ but you are cut off by Wilbur taking a hold of your hand, lifting it to his face and inspecting the cut.

“proper safety is important in the kitchen.” He states, not taking his eyes off the cut. “Not only for our sakes, but for the safety and hygiene of those who will eventually eat the food we prepare.”

you know that, but your words die in your throat as he rifled through a medicine cabinet and took out some antiseptic and gauze. the room is silent, silent except for the ticking of the clock and the occasional ripping of gauze and tape as he patches up your thumb. His face remains impassive, neutral, showing no real friendliness but none of the hostility from earlier.

”Right.” He finishes taping down the gauze and steps back, turning to take some fresh onions out of the fridge, and a new knife and cutting board.

“do I have to do the exercise all over again?” You ask in dismay.

He pauses. “No. No, you don’t.”

you let Wilbur maneuver you to stand in front of the new cutting board— and freeze up when he stands close behind you, grabbing your hands from behind and guiding them to the knife. “put your thumb there— no— like that, yes. There. That’s the correct way to hold a chopping knife. Now, since you’ve mangled your hands, follow my lead.”

He gently guides your hands to the onion, positions them, and cuts it smoothly.

“there. You see?” He says, his voice quiet and close to your ear. It’s a lot more gentle too, or maybe that’s just the late hour getting to him as well.

“Y-yeah.” You manage, clearing your throat. “Seems simple enough.”

”hm.” He hums, amused, and lets go of your hands. “I think that’s all for the day. It’s quite late.”

you sigh in relief, dropping the knife on the counter. Instead of walking to the front door and getting your coat, however, you pick up the boards and cutlery and make your way across the room.

“what are you doing?” Wilbur asks.

“Washing the dishes. “ you blink. That was the first rule you learned in the kitchen. A chef always cleans up after cooking, and never procrastinates or postpones the work, no matter how many plates need to be cleaned.

“…I’ll wash up.” Wilbur sighed. “You go on home.”

Who the hell was this guy, and what did he do to Wilbur? “are— are you sure? What about you?”

Wilbur cracked a smile. “I’m sure. Don’t you worry about me. I can manage.”

“alright.” You acquiesced, getting your coat from the hanger and sweeping it over your shoulders. You pause before leaving through the door, and look back. “Good night, Wilbur.”

“good night, love.” Wilbur paused. “And remember to be here at 5:00 AM Tomorrow, at the latest.”

you groaned and shut the door, listening to his chuckles fade into the distance as you trudge your way home.

[vaseoflilies]

Elysian Fields Chapter 3: Low Key

warning: there is an emotional breakdown, descriptions of injury and body after a coma, and references to torture an: please check this out on AO3 as i have more information regarding this story on there

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Jun began by telling you about herself. 

She had a rather sad past, you thought. She had been an only child; her mother was unable to conceive another. This left her alone throughout her childhood. Her father, dissatisfied with not having a son, arranged for her to be married off at the tender age of fifteen to a high-ranking coworker of his.

Her husband was nothing short of abusive. A complete and utter waste of oxygen. Hearing that he was upset because she couldn’t conceive when she was only seventeen had your jaw clenching and your mind whirling with anger. How could someone do that to someone else? You didn’t understand.

She stopped talking about her past when she sensed your anger and decided to concentrate on what you were asking her.

“The Eternal Paradise Faith,” she began, shuffling through a few gray kimonos, “saved me in more ways than one, just like it saved you. I stumbled upon the building after running away from my husband a few years ago. Lord Douma saved me that winter night.”

You smiled softly. Both Dr. Isha and Jun held Lord Douma in high regard, which made you curious: who was he? “Tell me about Lord Douma,” you asked, allowing her to help you into the gray kimono. “He seems like a decent man. He did save me from a bear, after all.”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you recalled what the other members were wearing. White. The cafeteria was mostly filled with white, like a flurry of snow. You remembered not liking waking up in such a dull color. Was gray any better? But still, did it really matter?

“He’s a man of action,” she chuckled, gathering various hygiene products. “He’s always on the move, leading worship, planning, and orchestrating activities. He’s also a great listener. If a God ever walked the earth, it would be him.”

Wow. 

You raised your eyebrow. With those words, the name “Eternal Paradise Faith” became much clearer. You didn’t consider yourself particularly religious, but based on the subtle decorations and mostly plain outfits of the regular members, you assumed it was some sort of Buddhist or Shinto philosophy.  You seemed to remember basic knowledge, at least.

As for your feelings about being here? You still felt a sense of unease, and fear continued to creep in, but it was significantly diminished. There was no doubt that you were grateful to be alive. When you saw the state of your leg without the bandage, your heart skipped a beat, and you could swear you felt the sharp sting of the initial wound. Whoever this Douma character was, you knew you needed to express your gratitude to him. After all, it wasn’t as if you planned to stay here indefinitely.

“I’ve been taking care of your hygiene regularly while you were unconscious, so if you need any assistance, please let me know and don’t feel embarrassed,” she said. Her words interrupted your train of thought. Just how much had she taken care of? The idea of her bathing you while you were unconscious made you feel somewhat guilty and uncomfortable, as it involved someone touching you in such a manner. “When you say maintaining hygiene, do you mean…”

“Yes.”

You purse your lips. No wonder she was so kind to you. She had been caring for you so intimately without really knowing whether you would live or die. “Thank you, Jun.”

She gazed at you, her eyes brimming with emotion, and she wrapped you in a gentle embrace. “I was terrified that you were going to die,” she confessed. You couldn’t help but admire her. The way she cared for someone was nothing short of brilliant. 

You were indebted. 

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After about an hour and a half of talking with Jun, eating a meal she brought, and getting more information about Paradise, you began to question if Lord Douma was ever arriving.

“If he’s not coming, I don’t see why I have to stay here,” you said, quickly eating the dango that she had sneakily fetched from a cart for you. “I could try walking or-”

“Please, be patient,” she interrupted, taking a piece of dango for herself and leaving you with a scowl. “Dr. Isha probably got busy. I’m sure he’ll arrive any second.” 

During your conversation, you learned a lot about Paradise. It was home to more than 200 followers, with some outsiders also working on the property. Jun informed you that the majority of followers worked here and contributed to the community in some way. The property included over a dozen buildings and had an intriguing layout. At the center of it all was a lake teeming with a diverse array of plant and animal life. And even better, just a few hundred feet, was a large hot spring that was modernized. 

It sounded so beautiful; it was almost too good to be true. There had to be some downside to all this.

“Do people usually stay here?” 

“Typically, yes. Unless they attain Eternal Paradise or are turned away,” Jun replied, absentmindedly playing with her empty dango stick. “No one really has the desire to leave. We’re safe here.”

Her words struck a chord with you. Why would anyone abandon such a sanctuary in the first place? No wonder no one wanted to leave. The basic necessities of life—food, clothing, and safety—were guaranteed here. But this place offered more than just the essentials. It promised salvation. It provided an environment to nurture a family. According to Jun, achieving Eternal Paradise was the pinnacle of achievement, and while members were chosen biweekly, it was the ultimate goal for everyone.

But what does it entail? What must you offer to remain in such a place? This was a cult, no doubt. Contemplating all of this, especially having just awakened from a coma, gives you a headache. 

“May we come in?” You hear from the shoji doors, noticing two moving shadows. Fucking, finally ! “We have brought gifts!” Another voice chimes in, a rather smooth male one. “I’m so, so sorry that we’re late!” 

Jun clasps her hands together, a smile gracing her face as she opens the doors for Dr. Isha and the man you assume to be Lord Douma.

Your jaw drops. 

You’ve never seen anyone so peculiar yet so striking. His hair, as white as snow, seems to defy gravity with its wild disarray. Sharp, angled spikes rise from his head in a chaotic symphony, framing his pale, rather cold-looking face quite handsomely. The hair around his head flares to the side, curving backwards, and a single lock slants down to the right side of his face, falling between his eyes. On the top of his head was a pointed black hat with golden stitching. You’ve seen people with strikingly different appearances before, but never anyone this flamboyant. 

His clothing tells a different story. 

It’s clear that his kimono is expensive. It’s a traditional red robe made from silk, as smooth as the calmest imaginable lake. He also wears a thick, black cape with two tresses patterned in purple and black that reach to his knees. The robe is adorned with two large symbols, each on his upper chest. His height is also impressive, towering over Jun, who is bowing to him, and Dr. Isha, who is greeting both of you.

You’d never seen a Japanese man look even remotely similar to Douma. 

No wonder Jun regards him as a God.

Douma greets Jun and moves closer to your hospital bed before settling into the small corner at the end. “I’m so sorry for the delay!” he exclaims, placing a basket brimming with various items beside him. He claps his hands together dramatically, his face adorned with a smile. “Please accept my apologies!”

You blink at him as he bows, his hands pressed together. This man is the leader? His behavior strikes you as rather childish. “It’s alright, I suppose,” you respond.

He ceases his bowing and straightens up. Your gaze drifts away from him, landing on the two women, who are sporting broad smiles. Dr. Isha’s face is flushed, and Jun appears no different. A twinge of annoyance prompts you to clench your jaw, and you shift your attention back to Douma.

His eyes capture your attention. This was the first time you’ve ever seen eyes quite like these and the longer you look at them, the more it feels like you’re swimming in a sea of rainbows. “Could we have some space, please?” he suddenly requests, his smile broadening as he addresses the two women. “I’d like to have a conversation with our guest, if that’s alright.”

Dr. Isha’s smile faded. The two women exchanged hesitant glances before sliding open the shoji door and exiting, closing it gently behind them.

He turned his gaze back to you, his smile giving way to a more sincere expression. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together in a display of deep sympathy. “I cannot simply imagine the emotions and struggles you must be confronting right now.” His words were so soft, they were barely above a whisper.

“I’m thankful to be alive, so thank you.”

His lips curled upward into a gentle smile. “Dr. Isha told me you’re having trouble with your memory.” He began to rummage through the basket on the bed before picking up a few items. “These are a few items from the attack. Let me know if they jog your memory, okay?”

You nodded, your gaze falling on the first item. It was your haori. You had one that matched your brother, though his face was still a fuzzy memory. “Can I hold it?” you asked, already reaching out to take it.

He handed it over to you, and you began to inspect it. The haori, patterned with sunflowers, was in a pitiful state. It was ripped and torn in several places, and the fabric that was once carefully stitched was now marred with dried blood stains and dirt.

You looked up.

Douma was observing you intently as you clenched the fabric in your hands. You didn’t remember much, not really. Looking at the dirt reminded you of mud, but oddly enough, you couldn’t discern whether what you remembered was a dream or an actual memory. Everything seemed more blurred the longer you pondered.

“I remember mud,” you told him, setting the ripped haori down. “Dream or not a dream?”

“Not a dream.” He shook his head, picking up the haori and examining it himself. “It was raining. I don’t know why you were in the forest, but I’m thankful I was there. There was a bear larger than a station wagon that grabbed you and threw you down the mountainside."

You let out a soft tsk. “I was afraid,” you confessed to him, your voice cracking and your hands trembling slightly as you spoke. “Every time I woke up, fear was there, like an unwelcome guest. It’s still with me, this fear, and I don’t understand why.”

Douma, still fixated on you, remained silent. You didn’t think he blinked even once during your interaction. “Well then, tell me about yourself,” he suggested, rising from the bed and moving towards the kettle that Jun had placed earlier. “How does that sound? Let’s see if it jogs your memory, shall we?”

You clicked your tongue, feeling a headache coming on and your emotions running high. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” you countered.

He whipped his head back, his long platinum hair swishing against his waist. “Me?” He chuckled softly under his breath as he plugged the kettle into the wall. You were so thankful that this place had electricity. “Well, isn’t that interesting?” he mused, seemingly intrigued. 

You tilted your head, confused. “What’s interesting?”

He stands still for a moment, his interest piqued by the sound of the water heating up. “Hmm,” he murmurs, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. You can’t help but notice his discomfort, which in turn stirs a sense of nervousness within you. You wonder if your presence is causing him unease. Breaking the silence, he asks, “What is it that you wish to know?”

You shrugged. "Why do you help people the way you do?" You blurted out the question. You were not particularly good at talking to people, let alone asking them personal questions. But talking to Jun was different; it was simple. She preferred to do most of the talking. But now, talking to the man who saved you, you were extremely nervous. “It must be hard. How does that make you feel?” you added.

He let out a soft chuckle before finally turning to face you. Leaning against the wall, he responded, “I lead my people towards enlightenment.” He then crossed his arms, studying your reactions. “Knowing that my people are well-cared for and saved in this manner brings me great satisfaction.”

As the tea kettle began to boil, Douma shifted his attention towards it and poured a cup of tea for you. “Aren’t you going to have a cup?” you asked, observing the steam rising from the small porcelain cup he had placed by your bedside. “Jun brought it; it’s quite good.”

He walked over to the kettle and unplugged it before taking a seat at the edge of your bed. “Thank you, but I don’t eat or drink in front of others,” he said, crossing his legs with a slight hum.

You furrowed your eyebrows, finding him quite unusual. “Why?” you asked. Your love of food made the idea of not eating or drinking in front of others seem extremely strange to you. A part of you wanted to keep asking questions, but you could feel his unease. You felt indebted to him and figured the least you could do was avoid bothering him to the point of being asked to leave. “You don’t have to answer that,” you quickly added.

He sighed. “Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head, dismissing your worry. “You’re so tense, it’s making me nervous just talking to you.”

You chuckled nervously, taking a sip of the tea and scalding your tongue in the process. “I’m sure you can understand why,” you managed to cough out, the hot liquid aggravating your already sore throat. “It’s not every day you wake up in a cult.”

“Is that what you think? That me and my people are a cult?”

Your eyes widened. Wasn’t his organization exactly that? In this era in Japan, cults weren’t necessarily a bad thing. Were they taboo? Yes. Did he seem to take it personally? Indeed, he did. You remained silent, only returning his gaze as your breathing quickened.

After a moment of intense staring, he broke the silence with a chuckle and a slap to his knee. “Relax!” He was now laughing heartily, his shoulders rising and falling with each burst of laughter. “I’m just surprised you came to that conclusion so quickly. You’re quite the sharp one, aren’t you?” He shook his head, and his face was rather serious. “But yes, we could be described as a cult. Nonetheless, my followers are happy to work towards Eternal Paradise.”

You visibly cringed.

Joining a cult was not on your bucket list. 

However, if joining a cult meant being fed, staying alive, and remaining safe until you could find a way back home (or remember where it even was), you were willing to make that compromise. As you set the tea back on the bedside table, survival was the only thing on your mind. Jun had assured you it was a safe place, and even though you hadn’t known her for long, you decided to trust her. The sight of people in the cafeteria, well-fed and clothed, some even with children, gave you some reassurance.

“Well, our conversation seems to have become rather tense,” he observed, rising from the bed to his full height. “Why don’t you try standing? I think a tour is in order.” He walked over to a closet in the corner of the room and pulled out two crutches. “Ah, these might come in handy, don’t you think?”

“What about the rest of the items?” You asked, glancing at the basket placed on the other side of the bed.

“I’m sure your nurse will be more than willing to assist you,” he said, moving closer to you on the bed and extending his free hand. “Here, let me help you.”

You studied his hand. 

It was even paler than his face, adorned with short, bluish nails that had a slight sheen. He was already pale, but his nails were so blue that you wondered if he was sick. With some hesitation, you accepted his hand, only to be taken aback by its icy touch. 

You gasped, both at the chill of his hand and the realization that you were now standing. As you wobbled slightly, your heart pounded in your chest. Instinctively, you reached up to touch his face, pressing your hands against his cheek and forehead and getting a grasp on how cold he really was.

“My God!” you exclaimed, unaware of the loudness of your voice. You let go of his hand, took a step back, picked up your hot teacup, and then took his hand again, pressing it against the cup. “You’re absolutely freezing! You really should drink some of this,” you insisted.

Douma’s eyes widened as you held his hand firmly against the warm cup. Could his pale skin and hair be signs of illness? “I think I remember something else,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows in deep thought, “Yes, I knew a few people who were ill as well.”

“Yes…” he trailed off, allowing you to touch his face with your warm hands. His gaze shifted slightly, avoiding direct eye contact. “I have a condition. A rather terrible disease. Not enough blood, you see?” His voice, unusually deep, faltered just a bit, adding an eeriness to the already tense atmosphere.

“Please, accept my apologies,” you murmured, your hands falling from his face as you shook your head, taking a step back. The past few hours have been a surreal experience for you. “Despite your own struggles, you saved me,” you began, your body bending in a deep bow, a symbol of your unwavering gratitude for the life he had saved. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Douma’s lips curled into a wide grin, a stark contrast to the somber mood, as he returned the cup to you. “Think nothing of it, Sunshine!” His voice was cheerful, a sudden shift that left you slightly unsettled. “Now, about that tour. If you’ll excuse me…”

He quickly walked over to the shoji doors, his feet making soft sounds on the floor. Upon opening them, he found Jun and Dr. Isha with their ears pressed against the door, clearly eavesdropping on your conversation. “Well, what a surprise!” he exclaimed, chuckling as he watched them stumble in surprise. “I must be going now. I trust you both will treat our guest with kindness, yes?”

“Please forgive us, Lord Douma,” Jun bowed, with Dr. Isha following suit. “We were just curious, that’s all.”

As Douma made his exit, he paused to whisper something in Dr. Isha’s ear. Then, he continued on his way, leaving you all in a state of surprise at his abrupt departure.

Then, the women entered the room.

Jun quickly moved to your side, gripping your upper arm to help you maintain balance as you stood. “Look at you!” she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face as you took tentative steps. “Isn’t she amazing? Even after an injury.”

Dr. Isha’s expression was hard to read, but a hint of anger was evident in her furrowed brows, causing wrinkles to form. “You must know something, girl,” she said, coming closer and supporting your other arm as you navigated the room. You paused when her grip tightened. “You seem too comfortable with the Lord Founder. What did you say to him? What made him leave the room so abruptly?” Her voice was almost a growl, her knuckles turning white as she held onto you.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” You hissed, rolling your shoulder in an attempt to get her off of you. “We just talked, that’s all.”

Finally, she released you, her expression still stern. “Do you want to know what he told me, Jun?” Her laughter was bitter, filled with sarcasm. “He said her room is in the Lotus Wing. What a joke!”

Your gaze shifted to Jun, whose eyes had widened in surprise. “The Lotus Wing?” She let out a disbelieving scoff, clearly taken aback. “That’s quite prestigious. You must have left a significant impression on Lord Douma.”

Confusion washed over you as you glanced between the two women. “…What is the Lotus Wing?”

Without acknowledging your question, Dr. Isha continued. “She’s been given the all-clear,” she declared, her hand waving dismissively in the air. “Jun, I’m entrusting her care to you. Ensure her needs are met, I’m sure it’ll be a rollercoaster. Good evening to both of you.” With that, she opened the doors and exited the room, leaving behind a resounding slam that echoed in the silence.

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Neither you nor Jun said anything as she tidied up the hospital room.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have anything to say, but rather, you were quite upset. Dr. Isha didn’t seem to like you at all, and you were starting to understand why.

You didn’t know the exact reason, but you guessed that her demotion from advisor was because of you. That’s why she didn’t like you. Maybe you were too casual with Lord Douma! Touching his face like that, what were you thinking? You had just met him, so why did it matter if he was cold? You should have just let him be and asked if he was alright.

You had a bad habit of getting involved with things you shouldn’t.

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Jun packed everything into a larger basket, leaving you to hold the smaller one that Douma had brought for you. You noticed she had brought a lot of soap, an oddly large amount. You decided to ask her about it later.

You were utterly ecstatic to finally leave the room you’d been confined in. With shaky hands, you slid open the doors, only to be met with another door. They certainly made it difficult to leave. You wondered just how much trouble you had caused. Upon opening the last door, you were greeted with the sounds of crickets and a beautiful garden.

“Wow,” you muttered, utterly astonished at the beauty of this place. “You weren’t kidding.”

Jun paused, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moon. She inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp night air filled with the subtle scent of flowering bushes that dotted the garden. ““This isn’t even the main part,” she chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched your reaction. “You’ll enjoy the Lotus Wing. It circles a private pond.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, intrigued. The idea of a private pond tucked away in the forest piqued your interest. You followed her as she started to walk at a leisurely pace, allowing you to fully absorb the surroundings. You looked up, noticing the towering trees adorned with blossoms. “Tell me more,” you requested.

She nodded, descending a small set of stairs. Extending her hand to you, you accepted it, and together you began to traverse a path on a hill. “Firstly, this is more of a private hospital wing. There are a few other facilities in that building,” she gestured in front of her. “See how the path diverges?”

You nodded, observing how the pea gravel path forked into two. One trail ascended while the other descended. “One leads to the main buildings, where the main lake is,” she said downhill, where a veil of mist obscured most of the landscape. “Up there, are the hot springs. That’s where the Lotus Wing is, along with a few other structures. The Lotus Wing is the most luxurious place to reside. I’ve only been there a few times, so I’m quite excited to be serving someone who lives there.”

You both began walking uphill, which quickly started to strain your leg. “How does Lord Douma manage this?” you asked, panting. Your coma had really taken a toll on you. “With his condition and all?”

Jun took the basket you were holding and placed it on top of hers. Balancing her basket on her hip, she linked arms with you to help you walk. “His condition?” She turned her head towards you, looking rather confused. “Ah, that. His Worship often rests. He isn’t typically seen during the day, and even then, we’ve all grown accustomed to his nocturnal schedule. The Gods have blessed him so much that it must be nature’s course to burden him with illness. Isn’t that sad?”

…Right. You thought back to how cold his hands were and how odd he seemed. He must be quite sick, you decided. “Anyway, how many people live in the Lotus Wing?”

She clicked her tongue as she thought about it. “Either eight or nine now that Dr. Isha got demoted.” You guys then reached a set of wooden stairs. “As nice as it is up the hill, it sure is a workout.”

“No kidding,” you gasped, placing your hands on your knees. “Eight or nine, huh? Are they more advisors? Doctors? Engineers?”

She nodded, patting your back as you caught your breath. “Something along those lines, yeah.” She then glanced around, as if checking if anyone was watching. “They’re not as harsh as Dr. Isha. Don’t tell her I said that.”

You chuckled. “Your secrets are safe with me, no worries.” The moonlight cast a beautiful glow on her blue kimono. “I’m assuming Douma also lives in the Lotus Wing?”

She winced at your words. “No. A bit past that,” she said, shaking her head. “However, you should address him more formally.”

“Why am I living there? Why did he put me there? I’m no advisor, I can’t even remember my hobbies or my own brother's face.”

“Hey,” she said in a soothing voice, rubbing your back once more. “It’s alright. He saved you personally, remember? I’m sure it’ll work out.”

You sighed. No choice but to push forward. “Alright.” You nodded, continuing your walk on the stairs.

After clearing the stairs, you found a short path leading to what looked like an enormous shrine. Bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, meticulously manicured Zen gardens flanked either side of the path, right where the rest of the stairs ended. Stone lanterns dotted the landscape, their orangish glow challenging the moonlight.

The shrine itself appeared ancient, with sweeping roofs and ornate carvings. It was quiet at the moment, but soft murmurs filled the air, along with the scent of incense. Without a doubt, you knew this was sacred ground.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispered, aware of the people in the Zen Garden and the few praying to a rather large statue of Douma. Freaky, you thought. “The Lotus Wing is past the shrine, but there are a lot of members right now, so be mindful.”

You nodded hesitantly as you followed Jun. The white-clad wearers watched you in silence as you ascended the stairs and passed the shrine building. On another gravel path, Jun stopped right under a large tree. Pointing, she murmured, “There it is. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Pretty” was an understatement. You could only see the entrance to the building, but even then, the pink hue of the building, along with its white slanted tile roof, was breathtaking. Moving forward, you and Jun finally entered.

The floor was made of dark wood, but like the exterior of the house, it held a subtle pink hue, as if reflecting the blush of a lotus blossom. 

The furniture was a different story. Each piece, crafted from the same dark wood, was meticulously carved for its purpose. The furniture pieces, whether they were tables, chairs, or cabinets, all shared a small crest of a lotus itched in the middle.

Following Jun down the hallway, you noticed doors spaced generously apart, each illuminated by the warm glow of a yellow lantern. The light from the lanterns cast long, dancing shadows on the wooden floor as you walked and shone beautifully along the white walls.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway, a shoji door crested with a lotus, along with a neatly arranged place to remove and store your shoes. “This was Dr. Isha’s old room,” Jun said, slipping off her shoes with practiced ease. You followed suit, feeling the cool wood beneath your feet. “I assume this is where you’ll be staying,” she added, sliding the door open with gentle hands.

Your eyes widened with surprise.

Douma seemed to prefer Western-style beds, as evidenced by the ones in your room and at the hospital. Your bed had a large headboard made of intricately carved dark wood. A lotus crest was carved into the wood, its design the same throughout the Lotus Wing. A layer of bamboo on the same wall added a touch of nature, as did two nightstands placed near your bed. 

The room was floored with traditional tatami mats, their subtle fragrance filling the space. Despite the high ceilings, part of the room dipped into a cozy area furnished with a table and a few chairs. It looked like a small tearoom, complete with a small fire pit in the center. A long wire hung from the ceiling, holding an iron pot in the pit below. Beyond the tearoom, you could see closed shoji doors that certainly opened to reveal another space.

Never in your life have you seen a room this luxurious. 

With a sense of urgency and a flicker of excitement, you rushed to the shoji doors and slid them open. Your intuition was right. As the doors parted, you took in the imposing size of the walls separating each room. On either side of you, two large, dark walls shielded you from the view of the other rooms while also granting you a generous portion of the private pond that Jun had mentioned.

If you hadn’t been raised with manners, you might have stripped off your clothes and plunged straight into the inviting water. But then Jun’s sympathetic smile pulled you back to the harsh reality of your situation.

That’s right, you reminded yourself. 

You weren’t here on vacation or to celebrate some brazen achievement. You were here because you came dangerously close to meeting the reaper. The weight of that realization began to settle in, casting a pall over the beauty of your surroundings. 

The luxurious room, the private pond, the exquisite craftsmanship—all seemed to mock your predicament, serving as a somber reminder of the grim reason for your visit. Slowly but surely, the initial awe and excitement gave way to a creeping sense of despair. 

You lost a part of yourself.

A part of what made you, you. You would never be sure if you would remember what had happened to you or the important details of your life. You walked over to the bed and noticed that it was bare, but you still sat on the mattress. Your throat began to sting as your lip quivered with emotion.

You tried to take deep breaths, but all that came out were quick, shallow ones. Swiftly, Jun came to your side. “Deep breaths,” she advised. You focused on the sound of her voice as you began rolling up your kimono. Thank God, you thought, relieved that you hadn’t injured yourself walking here. “Why don’t we try making your bed, huh?”

You nodded, deciding to stand up and move to the tearoom. Tears began flowing freely, your chest heaving with sobs as your mind kept replaying the blurry faces of your loved ones. You were so unbelievably frustrated.

“I want to go home,” you cried, gripping the fabric of your kimono tightly. “I want to see my brother.”

Jun nodded empathetically, allowing you to voice your frustrations while she looked for sheets. “But I don’t even know where to begin looking,” you confessed. Pathetic whimpers escaped your lips as you stared at the clear water outside. The room grew rather cold. “My brother, he must be so scared. He was my twin, you know?”

Your face was blotchy red as she spread the pale pink sheets on the bed. You found yourself liking the pink theme. It was unique. “My brother was a difficult child, you see?” You hiccupped, and your crying subsided slightly as you began to recall faint memories of your childhood. “He was a horrible kid. Really. I was calm in comparison to him but..."

The sobs started again and grew louder. “He was too much. My parents sent him off to live with the village leader, but he refused to go because my parents didn’t want to send me.” This happened years ago; why did the pain feel so fresh? “So they abandoned both of us.”

Your crying became uncontrollable as you curled up on the tatami mat. “Shhhh.” Jun dropped the sheets and sat down next to you. “What you’re going through is extremely traumatic. Difficult, emotionally pressing memories will always take priority over more joyful ones.”

That didn’t comfort you. Were you going to be stuck living the rest of your life like this? Is your trauma resurfacing because of your injury? You couldn’t help but wonder. “Why don’t I go get another doctor?”

You nodded. 

If they knew something, anything, that could relieve the extreme distress you suddenly found yourself in, you would be grateful. You stood up, watching as Jun hurriedly made your bed before tucking you in. 

You fell asleep rather quickly.

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

You awoke sometime later, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows as it peeked in through your now closed outdoor shoji. You felt surprisingly well-rested, your body rejuvenated from the deep sleep. Stretching slightly, you took a moment to take in your surroundings. A meal had been quietly brought inside and laid upon the table in the tearoom, the dishes neatly arranged and waiting for you.

Just how long have you slept? The question lingered in your mind as you tried to piece together the events of the past day. The last thing you remembered was having an emotional outburst and Jun saying she was going to get the doctor. But now, Jun was nowhere to be seen. Looking around, you got up, your leg slightly sore from the unfamiliar bedding, only to jump back at the sight of a man sitting on a chair directly next to you.

“Jesus!” You yelled, your hand instinctively flying to your chest as your heart pounded against your ribcage. “Who are you?”

His eyes widened in surprise, and he began flapping his hands around, almost like he was trying to explain himself without talking. You watched him, confusion etched on your face, as he began to make noises.

“I, I, I-” His words were garbled, more like random noises than coherent speech. But you managed to catch the repeated ‘I’.

“I?” You echoed, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Why are you here?”

He shook his head, frustration evident in his features. Then, he opened his mouth and pointed at what little was left of his tongue. You gasped and instinctively moved closer to the man. “My goodness, your tongue!” You exclaimed, taken aback by the sight. His tongue had large chunks missing, but despite his condition, he seemed desperate to get you to understand him.

He then pointed at himself and gave a thumbs up, as if to reassure you that he was okay. You felt yourself relax. “I’m guessing Jun went to sleep?” He nodded in response. Then, you took notice of his attire. Just like Jun, the man was dressed in blue. Could he be a nurse, perhaps? “Why don’t we find some paper so you can write?”

He nodded, his long hair shaking with each vigorous nod. “Very well.” You got out of bed and began making it, but he dismissed you with a wave of his hand and took over the task himself. “I don’t think there’s any paper in this room, so why don’t we check the common room?”

He nodded in agreement as you excused yourself and headed to the bathroom. As you shut the door behind you, you were finally alone with your thoughts and your reflection. The bathroom was equipped with a closet, and a rather long mirror stretched across one wall, reflecting back an image of someone who seemed almost unrecognizable.

You were skinny.

Your mind flashed with a brief, haunting image of how you used to look, and a wave of nausea washed over you. You remembered a time when your body was strong and muscular, but now all that remained were frail arms that seemed pitifully weak. As you stripped out of your kimono, a gasp escaped your lips.

Scars, like a constellation of past battles, dotted your body. Some were fresh, while others were old and faded, their stories long forgotten. But what caught your attention the most were your hands. You remembered how they used to be—tough, calloused, bearing the evidence of hours and hours of hard labor. But for what? What kind of work had you done that had left your body scarred and your hands hardened?

Thinking about it was pointless.

It was just going to upset you.

So, you rummaged through the closet, dressed into a silken gray kimono that you were sure that Jun left behind, and got ready for the day. Meeting the man back in your room, he greeted you with a pithy smile and a bow.

“There’s no need to be so formal, sir,” you said, your hand cutting through the air in a dismissive gesture. His stiffness seemed out of place in the relaxed atmosphere of the room. “Shall we proceed?”

He turned his attention to the tea table, where a meal had been carefully arranged. Despite the enticing aroma wafting from the dishes, you didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry. At least, not yet. “Let’s find some paper for you and take a little walk, shall we?”

In response, he extended his arm towards you, making a silent offer of support. You accepted gratefully, your thoughts turning sour at the prospect of navigating those damn stairs. With a courteous nod, he opened the door for both of you, and you made your way towards the common area.

You began thinking about Douma as you opened the various cabinets and desks. Was he the one who sent you this man? What had happened to his mouth in the first place? It was rather unsettling.

Finding a sheet of parchment and a rather fancy fountain pen, you handed them to the man. “Why don’t you tell me your name?” He began writing. My name is Haji. 

You smiled at him. “Hello, Haji.” You quickly told him your name.

Jun and I will be taking turns, watching over you in shifts. Day and night, one of us will always be there,

Your condition, your situation, it’s been relayed to the doctors. They’re aware. Our leader, too, has been informed.

That was rather unsettling, you thought. You gave him a kind smile disregardless. He stilled for a moment, looking around, before he started writing again.

I was there with you that night.

His writing sent a chill down your spine. He was there? A flurry of questions swirled in your mind, each one more pressing than the last. How was he there? What did he see? What did he know? 

“How?”

The sudden opening of the building’s doors seemed to startle him. In a swift, almost reflexive motion, he crumbled up the paper. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that you blinked in surprise. Before you could even react, he shoved the crumpled paper into his mouth, swallowing it as if it were nothing more than a piece of candy. The action was so bizarre and out of place that for a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

Two men, both clad in red, approached you and Haji. “Ah, our guest!” They bowed to you in unison, their faces lighting up with a warm welcome. Their gaze then shifted to Haji, their enthusiasm dimming noticeably. “And Haji.”

Haji gave you a silent, pleading look as you began conversing with the two men. You decided to keep his secret. What he had confided in you would remain confidential until you died. You couldn’t help but think that he might be more useful in uncovering the full extent of what had transpired compared to Douma.

You learned that the two men were also twins, fraternal ones, just like you and your brother. Their names were Kuro and Hachiro, and they were the architects who had designed the cult. However, their stay was brief, and they departed as quickly as they had arrived.

“There’s more to this place, isn’t there?”

He nodded.

Shit.

[fruitchouli]

winter candy apple smells so nostalgic but i don’t really feel fond of it. it’s the kind of fruity that smells just like shampoo—too clean. it smells just like a middle school girl in the late 2000s. i feel like my friend Morgan who liked telling people she was pregnant by the boys she had crushes on,!and ended up moving to Florida before 8th grade must have used some product in this scent. i think this scent would honestly work best in a soap or hand sanitizer because it smells like a fragrance meant for use in some really hygienic product, but I’m am interested to try layering it actually. I smelled it while wearing Twisted Peppermint hand cream and it worked really well.

Now,how do you rank the three winter pillars; Vanilla Bean Noel, Twisted Peppermint, and, of course, Winter Candle Apple? For me, Winter Candy Apple is the clear third place flop because I don’t often find myself with the urge to smell like a 11 year old girl who saturated her greasy hair with body spray instead of washing it before school. Second is Twisted Peppermint, which I find fun and novel in just how minty it is. I do think I prefer that smell in a body lotion or cream rather than a body spritz, though. My number one is Vanilla Bean Noel. Very reminiscent of the iconic Body Fantasies Vanilla spray, so of course I love it. It’s true, I have a weakness for cheap synthetic vanillas. That reminds me, I cannot stand when people think they’re doing something by critiquing a BBW spray, or any other cheap body spray, for smelling cheap and synthetic. It’s like when film hoes (most always the MAN ones) critique 60s and 70s no budget exploitation films for having bad acting. Some people just love getting on my nerves…

[maxiel01]

Top Gun Maverick - New Blood

Pairing: eventually Bradley Bradshaw x female reader, Pete Mitchell x female redader (parental figure)

Summary: When Lieutenant Y/N Y/LN is called for a special mission to Top Gun, she doesn´t hesitate a second. After her last deployment, she is longing for friendship and finding a family. Will it happen? Or will she be alone again?

TW: not much yet, potentionally mental health issues, anxiety, panic attacks, angst, inaccurately described military environment

Lenght of this chapter: 3868 words

AN: Hey guys! So here we go, the first chapter. Hope you will like it and once again, be aware of potential grammar mistakes. Also, any form of constructive criticism is always welcomed. Have a great day and enjoy!

1st Chapter

You woke up feeling not very well rested, which immediately put you into a bad mood. It was one of the few nights you could sleep in your comfy bed, and you didn’t enjoy it. You did your hygiene routine and made your way out of the apartment. You must have looked funny, you had a backpack on and two big military bags, each of them on one of your shoulders. After a few minutes of walking, you made it to the train station, you bought a ticket to San Diego and went on your way. After almost three hours, you were in San Diego. There you caught a bus that would take you the closest to Miramar. That took another hour or so. In the bus, you started hating yourself for not buying a lunch to go. Then it was about 40 minutes of walking to the base. When you finally arrived at the reception, they took all of your documents, gave you a special tag and a card and let you go inside. You were given instructions of where to go and to whom you should report yourself.

You made your way through the huge building and finally found an office where was written Adm. Simpson, Adm. Bates. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. “Come in!” someone shouted from inside the office. You took another deep breath and opened the door. You stood just behind the door in an attention position. “Lt. Y/N Y/LN sir. I’m here because of the special mission.” you said clearly and hoped that you did everything right. “Of course, please take a seat Lt.” said one of them, and you immediately put the bags and backpack down and sat on the chair in front of their table. “You are here just in time, we had to move things forward a little, so tomorrow you are starting a course for this mission. You’ve been called here for a special secret mission, Lt. You were called here on a special request of Admiral Kazansky. As we already said, you are starting tomorrow, you will be living in one of the off-base houses, because we don’t have any room available on base. Someone will take you there after we finish here. Your clothes and helmet will be ready for tomorrow, please come here in your normal civil clothes, and you will be given your flight suit before the flying lesson, we had some malfunctions so you will have to sit through a theoretical lesson in your everyday clothes. That’s all for now, we will see you tomorrow. You are dismissed.” said almost in one breath Admiral Simpson, which you found out, during his monologue, was called Cyclone, the other one, Admiral Bates had a patch with Warlock written on it, that must be the man you spoke to over the phone. “Thank you, sir.” You said and slowly rose to your feet.

“Hondo will take you to your house, he should be waiting outside this room as we speak.” smiled slightly Warlock as you nodded at him. Then you took your bags off the floor and made your way out of the room. There really was a man standing, looking like he was waiting for someone. “Excuse me sir.” you started, not knowing his ranks or name, apart from his call sign. He immediately snapped his head in your direction and kindly smiled. “Finally, someone who can smile normally and doesn’t look like he is going to kill me any moment.” you thought to yourself. “You must be Moonfoot right? Or should I call you Lt. Y/LN?” he asked as he came closer to you. You returned his smile. “Moonfoot is okay, sir.” he suddenly shook his head slightly. “Oh, please don’t call me sir, just call me Hondo, that’s a whole lot better, and now let’s go, I’m sorry, but I don’t have much time, I arrived not so long ago as well and need to find my housing too.” he smiled and motioned to you to follow him outside. “You have your own car?” he suddenly asked. “No, I don’t. I just came home from a deployment, so having a car wasn’t on my agenda yet.” you answered honestly. “Well, that might be a bit of a problem, though, since you won’t be living on base.” he said. “I will make it work, at least I hope so…if it’s not going to be too far, I will just walk.” you said, as you came outside through a different door then you entered before. “Don’t worry, we will think of something, now come on, this is my car, let’s go.” he pointed at his car, which was a normal jeep. He drove for about 20 minutes when you arrived in a small neighborhood. It was looking kinda nice, all of the houses looked the same and weren’t very big, but it would be just enough. You could see the ocean in the distance, which was nice as well.

“There is mainly families of the soldiers or staff from the base living, I think that some of your fellow pilots might live somewhere here, that would be good for you, because you could always catch a ride with someone.” he said as he slowly stopped his car. “We are here, now just a good advice, if you like and don’t mind walking, when you walk down this hill and then about 20 minutes left on the beach you will arrive at the Hard Deck. That’s a bar, and basically everyone from the base will be there at some point. Some of your colleagues might be there today as well, so if you want to make friends, that’s yours go to place.” he said and helped you with your bags. He then put a set of keys from his pocket and opened the front door. “It’s not much, you have a living room, kitchen, and a bathroom on this floor and then upstairs one bathroom and two rooms. I’m really sorry, but I have to go now. Good luck tomorrow.” he then said, and before you could have thanked him or say anything in return, he was out and driving his car away.

“That went rather well.” you said to yourself as you made your way up the stairs to your room. It was cozy, there weren´t many things, the walls were plain, and you were thinking of keeping it that way. At least for now, since you didn’t even know for how long you will live here. The room was simple, a bed, table, and a wardrobe. You didn’t really need anything else since you will be coming here probably only to sleep. When you put your bags away, you went back downstairs to the kitchen. It was fully equipped, but there wasn’t any food. You weren’t really in a mood for shopping, so you thought that you will just order something when a call interrupted you. You sighed when it was another unknown number. Your anxiety was really playing games with you those past few days. You took a deep breath and answered it. You were now smarter than yesterday, so you answered more professionally.

“Lt. Y/LN speaking, how can I help you.” you said and waited for someone to speak. “Lt. Y/Ln is nice to hear you, this is Admiral Kazansky.” came an automatic voice, like from a computer, from the phone. You were in shock, the one man who requested you on this mission was calling you now. “What the hell is going on.” you thought to yourself. “How can I help you, sir?” you asked, hoping you didn’t disrespect him or something. “I would like to meet you in person before your mission starts tomorrow, could you make your way over to an address if I send you one?” he asked, and you were in shock once again. “O-Of course, sir, that wouldn’t be a problem.” you answered. “Okay, that’s great, I will send you the address and I hope that you will be able to make it to 3PM.” he said. “I will do my best, sir.” you honestly answered. “Well, that would be all for now, Lt., I will see you later today. Goodbye for now.” he fared welled. “Of course, sir, goodbye” you returned the farewell and put your phone down.

“What the fuck is going on.” you asked yourself and then smiled. Admiral Kazansky, someone you knew only from stories and basically legends, wanted to see you. You couldn’t even believe it. Then came a notification from your phone. You picked it up again and there was the address he was talking about. You immediately put it into your maps and found out that it’s about 30 minutes’ walk. Since it was already 2PM you decided to change your clothes and then slowly start walking towards the address. When it was about 2:45PM you were already there. You didn’t want to seem too eager or something, so you just waited for about 10 minutes, when suddenly the doors to the house opened.

“Oh, you must be Y/N right? Tom said that you were coming over this afternoon. Why are you waiting here, honey? You could have just knocked and entered. Come on, let’s go inside.” said a woman that opened the door. “Oh, I’m sorry, my name is Sarah, I’m Tom’s wife.” she suddenly said, probably seeing your confused face. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kazansky.” you said and offered her your hand. “Oh no, no, please don’t call me Mrs. Kazansky, it makes me feel old. Call me Sarah, okay?” she immediately said and instead of a handshake brought you into a hug. It was a nice feeling, you weren’t hugged in a really long time, but you slowly pulled out. “Well, Tom is waiting in the living room, so you can go there. Would you like something to drink? Maybe a tea or coffee?” She asked when she pointed at the direction of the living room. “Um, if you have a ginger tea or peppermint that would be amazing, but I really don’t want to cause any problems Mrs. Oh I mean Sarah.” You spoke. “That’s a nonsense, I will prepare you peppermint and ginger tea, okay? I will bring it to you with Tom’s tea as well.” She smiled again and disappeared into, what you assumed, was the kitchen.

You looked around for a bit. There were a lot of frames with pictures of children, Admiral Kazansky and also Sarah. There were a few with other naval aviators as well. You didn’t want to look around for too long, so you quietly made your way to where you assume would be the living room. When you reached the room, you knocked on the door frame, because the doors were opened. You then heard a hum of acknowledgement and slowly went inside.

“Admiral, sir, you wanted to see me. I’m Lt. Y/LN.” you said in a straight voice but with a bit of a smile. The man who was sitting there looked friendly. He just smiled at you and motioned to the seat across from him on the sofa. You quickly made your way over there and sat down. “Please let’s cut the formalities, I’m Iceman, or Tom, whatever you prefer. And you must be Y/N right?” you heard coming from somewhere in the room. You must have had a confused face because suddenly you heard another sentence. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just my computer system, talking hurts these days, so I will use this form of communication.” it said, and you just smiled at him.

“Okay, that’s alright, whatever is best for you and yes, I’m Y/N” you added. “Wonderful, you are probably wondering why you are here, right?” he asked. “Well to be honest, I’m a little curious yes.” you said and chuckled. He laughed a bit as well. "Ask away then...I guess you have a lot of questions about why you are here and so on." the AI´s voice beckoned you. "Alright, well, why me? I mean Admiral Sympson told me that I´m here only because of you, they wouldn´t even think of me, but for some reason you did. And if I´m right, that might not be that case, but still, all of the others will be probably more experienced and graduates from Top Gun, right?" you said in one breath and made an eye contact with him.

He sighed a bit and began writing on his computer. After a little while, the voice started talking again. "Yes, you are here because I requested you. Why did I request you? Because I think and believe that you are an exceptional pilot and WSO. There isn´t many people who managed to be a WSO and a pilot. You are the only one in California right now." the voice ended, and you smiled a bit. When you looked over at Iceman, he was smiling as well.

"Okay, thank you, but I still don´t understand this. The others, they are Top Gun graduates, right? I didn´t even get an invitation." you pondered. "That is true. But you didn´t receive an invitation to Top Gun because you made the decision to rather pursuit a pilot degree. And now I´m asking you, would you rather go to Top Gun as WSO and never become a fighter pilot, or never went into Top Gun, but become a fighter pilot hm?" the voice said again before you even realized that Iceman had been typing on his computer again.

"I guess I would still choose the fighter pilot degree." you smiled. "That´s what I thought, and please don´t forget that you have one confirmed air kill, not many people in your age group have that." he added. "That´s true yeah, but it was only because the other guy..." you wanted to continue but the AI´s voice cut you right off. "No, you made the shot because you are an amazing pilot and WSO, and that´s the reason why you are here. You are exceptional pilot and even better WSO. I honestly think that you will be an amazing addition to the team we came up with."

Suddenly there was another knock on the door frame. Both, you and Iceman snapped your heads in that direction. There stood Sarah with a tray on which there were two mugs with a hot tea. "I´m sorry to interrupt you, but I have the teas ready." Sarah kindly smiled and made her way over to you. "There you go sweetie." she said and gave one of the mugs to your side of the coffee table. "Thank you very much." you said and took a sip of the ginger tea. "Honey, here´s your tea." she told her husband and both of them smiled at each other. You just looked at them. It was very clear that they were so in love with each other, and you could just hope that some time you will find someone who will love you as much as Iceman loved his wife.

"Sweetie? Will you join us for a late lunch? We didn´t have a chance of eating yet, because we had someone over before you. I´m making beef steaks and potatoes." she asked you while collecting an old mug from the table. You nervously looked at him and then back at Sarah. "I don´t know, I really don´t want to be a bother and overstay my welcome." you said after a minute. "Nonsense, you wouldn´t be overstaying anything. Besides, you probably didn´t have a chance of eating today, right? From what I´ve heard, you came today from LA and just moved to the off-base house and there isn´t anything to eat for sure." came again the AI´s voice from somewhere. "Look, we won´t force you, of course, but it would be nice if you stayed. The kids are still at their after-school clubs, so it will be just us." continued Sarah. "Well, if it´s really okay, then I guess a homemade meal would serve me good." You said, and that made Sarah and Iceman chuckle. "Okay, that´s what I like to hear. It should be ready in a minute. So, if you could make your way to the dining room." she proceeded to say and left the living room. When she was out of the room, Iceman continued through his computer.

"I just wanted to say. Look, I don´t want this to sound weird or be uncomfortable for you, but it came to my attention that you don´t have any friends or family here in the States with you. Is that correct?" he bluntly asked, which shocked you. "I mean yes, that is true, yeah." You said after the shock disappeared a bit. "I can´t tell you much, but this mission will be a lot harder than any of those you had to do before. I´m more than convinced that you will be able to do it, either as a pilot or as a WSO, I don´t see a reason why you should fail. It will be hard for you though because you will have to fly twice as much as the others. One exercise as a pilot and also as a WSO, which in the long run will put you in a position where it would become an advantage. But you can´t be alone for this. I know that after what happened to you in Mali, it might be hard to trust other people, but sometimes you just need to try it. Your instructor is one of the closest people of mine. Don´t hesitate to ask him anything, he is there to teach you, he is there for you. Sometimes he can be a little cocky and rough, but it´s all in the best way. He wants you to be able to complete the mission and come back home. Those people, who were selected alongside you, were always told that they are the best of the best, some of them are cocky bastards, but that´s how it is. But there are a few people who you should definitely befriend. I know that I´m in no position to give you advices in your personal life and I really shouldn´t tell you this, but trust me Bradley Bradshaw, his call sign is Rooster, Natasha Trace, call sign Phoenix and Robert Floyd, call sign Bob, are the way to go." the voice from his computer finished as you looked at him in disbelief.

You chuckled a bit and didn´t really know what to say. "I know that this is a lot, and I may have overstepped here a bit, but I just wanted to give you a little heads up. And also, me and Sarah both, we´ve been talking, and we know how family is important, and that it doesn´t matter if it´s by blood or not. If you ever needed someone, someone to talk to, someone to hug or even just a shoulder to cry on. We are here for you. You now know where we live, and I want you to use this knowledge every time you need, okay?" he reassured you and smiled. You were now having tears in your eyes, but weren´t letting them fall. "I don´t know what to do...I... thank you so much. I would hug you right now, but we know each other for just a half an hour so..." you trailed off, just as he stood up and hugged you.

You were caught off guard and that made some of the tears fall. You were silently crying into his shoulder as he was patting your back. "I´m sorry, I just, no one told me this for such a long time and it...I´m just so sorry." you said after you finished the hug. He just knowingly smiled and wanted to type something into his computer when Sarah´s voice stopped him.

"The lunch is ready!" she shouted from the kitchen, so you and Iceman just looked at each other and made your way out.

After an amazing lunch, that you surely needed, it was already about 4:30 PM as you were preparing to leave the Kazansky household. "Wait a minute, sweetie." came Sarah when you were on your way to the front door. "Tom would like to tell something real quick." she added. You nodded at her and went back to the living room.

"I´m sorry to keep you here, but I just wanted to finish what we started before lunch. There is this bar, it´s called The Hard Deck, and a lot of people from the base will be there tonight, well every night, but tonight especially, there will be some of your colleagues from the special deployment. I think that you should go there. At least to look over the people. And if there won´t be anyone friendly, you would, at least, meet Penny. Penny Benjamin is the owner of the bar, and she is really kind. It certainly wouldn´t hurt to have her in your corner." he finished and looked expectantly at you. You just sighed and that made him frown. "Come on, please promise me that you will go there." he continued. After a minute of hesitation, his voice came again.

"You know, I´m higher in the ranks than you, I could just order you to go there." he said and laughed. "Okay, okay...I promise I will go there and try to make friends." you told him with a chuckle. "Wonderful, well I won´t hold you anymore. Have a great time tonight, and if you need something, just call me or Sarah or just come here. The doors are always opened." he finished, and you quickly hugged him again. You fared welled him as well and made your way back to the front door where Sarah was patiently waiting for you.

"Honey, I know what Tom has been talking to you about, and I just wanted to make sure, that you know that it´s true. We will always be there for you, okay? If you need anything, and it could be as small as just to talk or hug, we are here." she said and pulled you into a hug. "I know Sarah, and I really, really appreciate it. Thank you so much. It´s nice to know that I have someone in my corner." you smiled at her when you stopped hugging. "I have to go now though, I promised Tom that I will go to The Hard Deck, so..." you trailed off, which made her laugh. "Of course, go and have fun, you are young only once. And please tell Penny that I say hi, will you?" she said after opening the doors for you. “Of course, Sarah. Thank you so much once again. Have a great evening." you said and made your way out of the door.

You turned around once more and quickly waved at her. Then you pulled out your phone and saw that there was one unread message. You clicked to open it and laughed. It was from Iceman, and it read: "And don´t try anything. I will know if you were there or not." and a blinking emoji.

[charlottesbookclub]

General Armitage Hux Headcanons (pt. 2)

okay so to prove that I'm still alive and bc I just feel the need to write, have some of my more unhinged Hux thoughts!!

(headcanons under the cut bc they got long as always)

people have absolutely said this before but I guess I'll just reaffirm my agreement here: Hux for sure has an incredibly detailed hygiene routine that involves both skin and hair care

when he's on the bridge or in meetings, he keeps as still and stoic as possible, but if he's working on something alone in his own quarters, he bounces his leg or taps his stylus against the desk. typically it's just a single repetitive movement, and he's usually unaware he's even doing it (is this bc those are some of my stims and I project too much onto fictional characters?? who's to say, who's to say.......)

okay this one's kinda sad but Armitage genuinely has no real sense of self. his identity has been so wrapped up in the development of the first order that it has become his identity. that and the fact that rank determines so much in the first order have conditioned him to believe that his rank within the order is him, if that makes sense. that's part of the reason he wants the title grand marshal so much; because in his eyes, achieving that title is Hux reaching his fullest potential and - to him - becoming his truest self that he was always destined to be

following off this last one, Hux has no real idea of what he actually likes. when the crew is planetside, his lieutenants might spend their time off shift going to restaurants or bars or even attractions like museums or whatever the space equivalent of an amusement park is. Armitage's life is consumed with work, work, and then more work, so if he has even the slightest bit of free time, he's left in this weird limbo of not knowing what he wants to do, because he doesn't actually know what he likes to do. Br*ndol's abuse, the fact that he grew up a refugee, and just the nature of the first order in general essentially assured that the young Hux never got to develop any interests outside of those that would further the cause of the order. so while he does enjoy engineering and some of the work that he does (not all though - he suffers through the rest because he knows it will help the first order's cause) he genuinely has no idea what his interests are outside of that

again, building off the last one, this is part of the reason that he does work so much. he hates that weird, unsettled feeling of not knowing what to do with himself. and, as a man of efficiency with little time for the consideration of his own emotions, rather than interrogate that strange, hollow feeling further, he just dives back into something he knows: work. also, if he's working, the thoughts and weird feeling go away, so it's a win-win in his opinion

I guess this circles back to the first one a little bit, but when he's had a particularly hard day (or a run-in with Snoke or Kylo), Armitage will allow himself to take a long shower. typically, he just gives himself enough time to clean himself, and he often makes himself take cold showers because he believes it helps invigorate the body or whatever. but on those hard days, he'll turn the heat way up - like, all the way up - and just stand under the nearly-scalding current of water until his pale skin turns bright pink and the refresher is clouded with steam. also, he often cries. not that he acknowledges that though - tears? nah, that's just moisture on his face from the water (also I was thinking about writing an angsty little fic based on this headcanon if people would be interested in that)

okay, so that's all I've got for now, but I hope you enjoyed these (and that they didn't make you too sad). as always, I'd love to know your thoughts on these and any other headcanons or ramblings you'd like to share!

[hoosbandewan]

Crumbs Asks:

You have to smell the breath of every Ewanverse character - stick your nose right in their gob and take a ten second huff. Rank from worst to best smelling and describe what they smell like.

This is so unhinged and I had so much fun thinking about this, omg. But this was so hard and I'm not sure if I completely nailed it!

Okay, here goes:

Billy Washington - He's barely taking care of himself and probably brushes once a week when he's at his lowest, if that. Layered on top of bad breath is the smell of Stella Artois or whatever other beer he's drinking. Do not get in his car with him when the windows are all rolled up because his breath will burn your nose hairs off.

Jack - He's a teenager with no one to really remind him about taking care of oral hygiene, so it wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't brush regularly. No particular smell. Just bad breath.

Will - Sorry Will girlies, but this boy isn't brushing his teeth regularly so he gets pretty rank. Gets tea breath SO BADLY. Plus, his breath probably smells like yesterday's fish and chips.

Genyen - This man would probably have okay breath when he's living at the monastery because Jinba makes him brush his teeth after he hotboxes the monks with his awful breath one time. But when he's off on his own, all bets are off. Stale, nasty breath with a hint of whatever he's eaten for his most recent meal.

Michael - We all know this man's breath smells like Crunchie bars. I'm on the fence about whether he brushes regularly or if he's smelly nerd boy. Probably doesn't make brushing a priority, though, since there are more important things to do. Or he just forgets since his brain is focused on other things. Crunchies are his mints, lol.

Osferth - I can see Osferth adopting actual medieval dentistry methods like cleaning his teeth with a cloth and using whatever herbs he has on hand to make his breath smell better. Has the ability to keep his mouth somewhat clean and I can see him taking the time to do so. Cleanliness is next to godliness, after all! But since he's on the go with the rest of the boys, his breath might not be the best all the time. Probably has meaty burps.

Abraham - Beer or ale breath, probably with bonus cigarette smell. But you still can't tell me that this young man doesn't take care of his oral hygiene, based on how primped he is. He has to smell nice for flirting with his ~lady. Might have a mint every now and then, but don't count on it.

Aemond - Similar to Osferth, actually. Aemond keeps himself very clean and that extends to his oral hygiene. He's using similar medieval oral hygiene methods as our baby monk, with things like mint, cinnamon, or rosemary to give his breath a nice smell. He's a prince and he smells good. Might have wine breath every now and then, but who's complaining?

Tom Bennett - Tom lives in a time period where he has access to a toothbrush and toothpaste. He probably brushes regularly (I'm being biased because he's hoosband, hehe), although he smokes like a chimney and drinks a fair amount of beer. But I'm stealing the headcanon that he's a spearmint guy so he has fresh breath a lot of the time.

Ettore - The only time you'll find this man near the top of any list, lol. He lives on a prison ship with Dibs, who definitely makes sure that all of the inmates are clean and their teeth are well brushed. And there's not much that he can eat or drink that would give him bad breath. He probably smells kind of minty or just... clean.

Billy Taylor - This boy's breath is SO FRESH. He never goes a day without brushing twice (his mom wouldn't let him + he works at a fancy hotel and has to smell nice) so his breath is pretty good! Probably eats mints to keep his breath fresh during the day, especially if one of the managers notices that it's going stale.

[pumpkinsy0]

its been TOO LONG since ive seen some walking dead au considering how much its on my mind (its stuck in my mind, please feed this need for more, i walk the halls at school listening to music thinking about walking dead au. its BAD but sogood...)

i was actually thinking the other day about how at some point, pony wouldve had to have smelt RANK bc he had to blend in w the walkers and smear guts on himself, curly wouldve been so disgusted but he cant hate that much, it does sound smart, curly wouldve had to stop hating on it even more bc it was tims idea!!!, but he does still say pony fucking stinks bc he does man, curlys got the one up on hygiene here

speaking of curly misses tim so bad man, its not even funny

ALSO i rlly have to like,,,figure out whats goin on w angela,,,like i say shes a partner to pony sometimes but like what if she WASNT,,,i dont have the beart to kill her off</333 maybe shes like christa where she just disappeared but is alive or somethin

[drrealityslenderverse]

9, 15, and 30 for the oc question list! Any oc you wanna write for!

Ask meme

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

(Aside from basic hygiene, which all my ocs do to take care of themselves)

Ash/Pawn: They're somewhat physically healthy. She's lightweight but wiry because of all the running and skirmishes. Plus Ash just likes going for walks in general because it clears her head. They also studied in the medical field in college prior to dropping out (vet school), so she can take care of herself/others who get physically hurt too if a hospital isn't an immediate option. While she does try to take care of herself, they do tend to get hurt a lot due to their, unwilling, involvement with The Operator, Slenderman, proxies and sources. Sleeping is also not something they get much of, sometimes going a few days without sleeping or with very little sleep.

Ethan: He's also really good with his physical health. I imagine he works out at a gym and does an annual general health check-up with his doctor. Most of his exercise that doesn't come from the gym would probably be from exploring places while he's trying to help Ash or just doing his own thing—he loves traveling and going new places.

Ethan is also pretty good at getting a healthy amount of sleep. He's a freelance journalist who takes jobs whenever he feels like it, since his family is well-off and he doesn't really ever need to work if he doesn't want to. Really his only stressor is fearing for Ash's well-being.

Zac/Watcher: Would call his average but it isn't great in all regards. While on a proxy job he does get physical activity by stalking around, and his job in construction also helps his fitness. But when he's got down time this man is constantly gaming. His diet isn't great, as he grabs mostly snack foods & energy drinks, but his sleep schedule is generally decent until a weekend hits where he can game all night or he has to pull an all-nighter to work both 'jobs'.

Alice/Hazard: She has to take good care of her physical health. Despite becoming a proxy and her burns being healed during the process, her breathing issues require her to wear a mask with capsules on the side that can act as inhalers if she suddenly can't breath while doing physical activity. Unlike many of the other ocs, she does get a good amount of sleep and watches her diet—although being in the ARK most of the time means she doesn't need to eat to stay alive.

Marcus/Cardinal: His physical health is wonderful! As a top proxy, Slenderman stopped his body from physically aging past his mid to late 30s while he was in the prime of his life. Still by far the oldest proxy right now but with how active he is, he stays fit. Marcus also knows the importance of taking care of his physical health and isn't against taking spare time to get plenty of rest and a good meal in before finding his next target.

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

Out of all 9 ocs, I see very few living to retirement.

Emma: She'll be a lucky oc who makes it out alive. (As a minor character in the comic though this might end up happening off-screen)

Athena: She's a cat and can't exactly retire, but I see her surviving to the end as well just because I don't want to kill off the beloved pet lol

Alastor: He will technically make it to retirement, but at the moment is not guaranteed to make it to the end

Ethan: I can't exactly call what happens to him lucky, he very nearly doesn't make it, but at least he's alive after the events are over. If he had a job to retire from beyond the freelance work, I could see him making it to retirement.

Marcus/Cardinal: His fate is yet to be decided, but he'll never retire. This man loves working as a high ranking proxy so someone would have to pry that position out of his cold dead hands.

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

Ash/Pawn: Is already trying to push said friend away and ghost them before Slenderman or a proxy notices. Nothing against your OC, but she doesn't want more friends to die and show up in pieces because of her. They also don't want to be the reason anyone catches the sickness.

Ethan: Another friend, cool! He's a social guy and loves making friends. I really hope your oc enjoys hanging out with an extrovert. If they knew each other in college he for sure tried to get them to come to parties with him.

Alice/Hazard: I hope your oc enjoys anime because Alice loves talking about it. Prior to becoming a proxy they could've had anime marathons and gone to cons together. After becoming a proxy though, she'd ghost her friend to focus on her new job, or maybe try to convince Slenderman to make them a proxy too (if they aren't already) so they can keep hanging out.

Zac/Watcher: He hopes his friends are good with gaming since he enjoys it so much himself. If they're also proxy friends then your oc will find out very quickly he isn't just a gamer who's willing to stream and buy both of you all the snacks needed for a gaming marathon. He's not a great guy at all and can/will ask a friend for help if it means a pat on the back from the boss and getting closer to Ash. Seems very nice, but can be really creepy about Ash & his fantasy that they'll happily be proxies together one day.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

For the piping hot asks: Grima + 👃, 👂, 😍, 💋, 🔥, 💞, and 💌, please!!

Thank you sooooo much for this!! Apologies in advance for the novel I wrote you. But this is Grima and you were so very generous in asking me many things! 💞💞💞

[Qs from the Piping Hot OC asks]

Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?

Does.

Grima Wormtongue.

Smell good?

Finally, a question I have been asked!

Everyone in Rohan has an Odour. No one smells good by our standards. Not Eomer. Not Eowyn. Not Theoden. Not Theodred. Not Grima. No one.

Just saying.

These people aren’t bathing every other day. The very wealthy are bathing maybe bi-weekly? Weekly at most and that’s a hell of a lot of work (for the servants, to be fair. Since these are posh nobles who don’t labour for themselves. Since really, the only commoner among them who has probably drawn his own water and heated his own tub at a regular basis at some point in his life is Grima). This is all presuming that Rohan has a pro-bathing culture and doesn’t believe hot water opens your pores into which illness descends and gives you plague.

Just context setting.

Anyway.

So ok look, I understand why Peter Jackson took the approach he did for Grima in the films—he needed to make him visually distinctive. He had a lot of characters who kind of looked the same (I remember the first time I watched FOTR and I couldn’t tell Boromir and Aragorn apart) and he needed to make sure the audience was able to swiftly look at a scene and go a) New Person! We haven’t seen this one yet! & b) He is Clearly Evil. We can tell by his appearance alone. He doesn’t need to speak, we can just tell that he is evil.

(There’s so much to unpack about why we associate those visual markers as evil, but that’s for another time.)

However, when we look at Grima as a character—where he is positioned in society, his role, his rank etc. etc.—then the greasy, probably-gross-to-be-near, implied-minimal-personal-hygiene persona doesn’t make sense.

I am perfectly willing to have Grima be visually ugly in his base appearance (his face should be weird and unappealing). I’m fine with that. In fact, that’s how I want it. But he is a man with no family standing, no land, no title, his entire fortune and position is dependent on the good graces of the king.

Within the court he’s a distinguished enough figure that he is the king’s chief advisor. [I talk about the roles he might have played elsewhere on my tumblr.] And he is close enough to Theoden that he sits at his right hand and holds enough power to speak plainly to titled men and distinguished guests without needing to bow too low to the ground.

This means he has standards of appearance and self-grooming that he would be held to and expected to fulfill. The social (and personal, political) cost of not meeting these expectations would be high and Grima is a climber and a survivor therefore I see him as being dedicated to meeting the standards others impose on him.

He also is clearly someone who values wealth, nice clothes, displays of power etc. and that includes bathing and primping and preening and all that good stuff. The fact that he has time and financial means to Look Fancy says a lot about his position within society—even if he doesn’t have a nice title or whack of land to go along with it.  

All of this to say—by the standards of Rohan, yes. He smells good.

Does he have a signature scent? I don’t know if Rohan has a perfume culture that would enable the idea of a signature scent, but he’d probably have some form of soap and such that he’s partial to. Also does Rohan believe in miasma-theory of disease spread? Because if so, Grima totally wanders around with a clove studded orange.

Could I have answered that in two paragraphs? Yes. Did I choose violence instead? Yes.

2. Does your OC have an attractive voice?

As it’s not described in the books, so far as I can remember, I tend to flip flop on how I imagine his voice to sound. There are days when I head canon it as resting higher up in his throat/nose – so it comes out a little nasally.

Then there are days when I head canon it as deeper and he can speak quietly, when he wants to. The sort of weighted quiet that you have to really stop what you’re doing and pay attention in order to follow him. Which is a good way to ensure his audience is focused on him, and him alone. (I had a director at work who did that and I remember it being very effective during negotiations.)

Looking purely at canon, I lean towards the latter option since he is clearly positioned as the mini-version of Saruman, so to speak. He’s meant to have abilities that mirror the wizard’s but aren’t equal to him. Saruman’s Voice is infamous, therefore as a scaled down version, it stands to reason Grima’s voice would have been pleasant to listen to.

He's definitely a good public speaker, as we see in that battle of the wits with Gandalf (in the books, as the films cut 95% of it). Gandalf obviously wins, but Grima definitely holds his own. Also, he comes from an oral tradition society where rhetoric and public oration are highly prized, so he’d be well versed in it. Also song is a huge part of Rohirric culture so he’s likely able to hold a tune, at the very least, if not know how to properly sing.

So yeah, I would say I generally view him as having a pleasant voice to listen to. When I’m not leaning into the slightly whiny version, but that’s just me and not based in canon.

--

3. What does your OC find irresistible in others?

Smarts and confidence. 100%. Intelligence and willpower and a strong personality that conveys “I’m in charge, I know what I’m doing, and I am strong in my sense of self.” Grima is one of life’s followers, that boy don’t lead, and I think he finds highly confident and intelligent people very attractive. Power is also irresistible to him—so someone in a position of wealth and power who throws their weight around, is clever and wise, and conveys an air of “I’ll walk on you, but it’ll be sexy”—that person would be Grima’s catnip.

I personally write him as having a thing for people who could physically break him. Like Eomer could bench press that man. So could Eowyn, for that matter.

Grima: It’s so hot that you could kill me.

Eomer:

Eomer: right.

--

4. Is your OC a good kisser? How do they do it?

I think he’s tolerable. Not someone you’d write home about but he’s not terrible. He’s not like, trying to chew your face off.

As in life, in this he is more of a follower. So, he might start instigating something, but he’ll quickly want the other person to lead. I mean, look at the (attempted) seduction scene in the movies with Eowyn. I think he was hoping, “if I lead us to a certain point in this dance, she’ll take up the reigns from there.”

(To be fair, it is hard to say how much of that was him as a person and how much of that hinged on class and rank issues. She’s the daughter of kings, he’s a nobody. He can’t touch her without her consent without serious repercussions. I know he was controlling her uncle and some of the court, but there are certain social and class rules that he wouldn’t be able to squirm out of and I strongly believe “the commoner laid a hand on the noblewoman and she didn’t want it” is one of them. It’s that sticky thing of—he might be a man in a very, clearly patriarchal society—but it is also a classist and rank-focused society wherein she’s the niece of the king, sister to the third marshal, cousin of the second marshal, and descended from the house of Eorl on both sides of the family. She outranks him to an insane degree. And again, his power and position is by the grace of Theoden alone. Her power and position is by dint of birth.)

In terms of approach, I think he goes from gentle to rough pretty quickly—depending who the other party is depends on if he wants to be hurt or do the hurting.

--

5. What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

Lord, I have no idea. I think it would depend on the person and the situation. He’s quick witted, we know, so I suspect he just defaults to sarcasm whenever presented with something unexpected, even if it’s sentimental or heart-felt from the other person.

I always think it’s interesting how taken aback he is in the Eowyn-Theodred-Death-Bed-scene when he’s doing his “oh you are alone” shtick then she says the famous “your words are poison” and storms out. I can’t tell if he actually thought she might be swayed and is surprised that she’s not or if the words hit home (I don’t think this is the case, for some reason). I’m not sure what to make of that scene in terms of his expectations and reaction to the outcome. Regardless, he’s clearly flustered/surprised.

For more sentimental things, I think if he was keen on a person and they complimented something he took real pride in, he would find it surprising and might be taken aback. Then he’d go through his paranoid-politician brain of: what do they want? What are they trying to get from me? what’s the secret motive? Etc.

He might, eventually, come around to realizing there isn’t a secret motive and someone was truly just being nice to him. This is a rare event and should be documented with the same intensity as once in a lifetime meteor showers.

--

6. Do they treat sex casually or do they view it as something with a lot of emotional weight?

This is another hard one. I suspect that he’s very all or nothing. So, if he’s decided this is a casual fling, he will be ruthlessly cold and distant. He and that person will fuck then they will put their clothes back on, not talk to each other, and go on their way for the remainder of the day. It would be short, too, and likely transactional in nature—either explicitly or implicitly (e.g., he and Person A shag—Grima gets jollies and maybe something else from it and Person A, in turn, get their ale licence renewed).

However, if he does the daft thing and develop emotions for a person it’s very intense. “I’ll set the world on fire and kill everyone for you” sort of thing. Even if that person never asks it of him. Which can, uh, cause problems. In these situations yes, sex carries emotional weight though I suspect it would be less than other aspects of the relationship. I think he would take any sort of oath or troth very seriously and would expect the other person to do as well. Which is a funny thing, coming from the King of Oath Breakers over here. Sex would be meaningful, and would be used as a way of confirming that oath or troth or understanding between the two of them. I suspect it also might be important in a reaffirming way since I don’t think Grima would be very secure in any sort of relationship—barring marriage, perhaps, since there are legal aspects to hold people in place—since I run on the belief that he assumes everyone is going to leave him at some point.

--

7. How would they plan a romantic evening for a significant other?

Meticulously. And, to a certain degree, earnestly.

Yeah, I really think there’d be a weird, earnest, sweetness to it. Weird being a word that carries a lot of weight in that sentence. I suspect there would be a few disquieting aspects as well, since I don’t believe Grima does anything quite the way the average person goes about activities, but he’d put a lot of effort into it.

This would also be the point when that person would realize that Grima has memorized all they’ve ever said about themselves and has, possibly, been spying on/stalking them and so knows everything about their likes, dislikes etc. Which, Grima, honey, no. Don’t do that.

I haven’t thought through Rohan’s courting and marriage culture so I don’t have much to say on that front—nor have I thought through Rohan’s view of non-marital relationships. As I have their spiritual life being not a religion, and more just a mental landscape of the natural world and it happens to be animistic, marriage as an institution has no faith-based implications to it. Having a mistress isn’t offending god, so to speak. Therefore, like in so many places, it’s an economic and social custom meant to cement bonds and alliances between families (and countries, for the Eomer and Eowyns of the world).

That said, Tolkien was a Romantic in many respects and his view of the world had a lot more “they married for love! They also happened to both be nobles and their marriage happened to also be a great alliance” than is reasonable.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this—I suppose, a musing on the role of romantic love in Rohan would be separate from courtship/marriage and therefore how you romance a potential mistress might be different to how you romance a potential wife.

Not to mention if it’s same-sex wooing, since I don’t believe Rohan is at all chill with anything approaching homosexuality. They seem pretty firmly patriarchal, binary in their gender roles, and idealize militaristic masculinity. Therefore, Grima trying to plan something for a man would be different than for a woman.

Regardless the complicated social layers, that man would be meticulous and if it were for love reasons he’d be sweet and earnest, if in a disconcerting and possibly creepy fashion.

-------

Thank you again! This was a blast to write, and I enjoyed it so much. ❤️❤️❤️

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

“There’s always free cheese in a mousetrap, if you catch my meaning."

“What, Shaw, are you suggesting that ‘Meet hot mutants in your area’ might possibly be a set-up?” 

“Yes, obviously,” Sebastian said, completely ignoring the sarcasm.  “But messages like that usually just lead a computer virus and perhaps a stolen identity.  This is leading to disappearances.  Apparently living on an island of free booze and sex is not enough to keep our people from falling into the most blatantly transparent honey-pot schemes.”

They were outside a rundown warehouse in the industrial district, both in undercover plain clothes.  Pyro had his flamethrower concealed under a track-suit and had been forced to go full mullet again to complete the “sleazy fuck boy” look.  Sebastian was wearing a suit, because of course he was.  Somewhere in a hotel room across the way, Haven was keeping a look out for anything going in or out of the back of the warehouse, and would call reinforcements if things got bad.  Pyro wrinkled his nose at the grime-encrusted building.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure there’s loads of great mutant sex happening in there.  Totally hygienic.”  Admittedly, he and Avalanche had managed in worse places.

“Well, I hope so,” came a voice behind him, and Pyro started as a red-haired man in what appeared to be motorcycle leathers walked up, accompanied by another man in a cowboy hat.  They were both white, and in that forever-young, vaguely between 18 and 30 age range that so many mutants seemed to exist in even before The Five and resurrection. 

“You fella’s here for the sexy mutant ladies?  Or maybe it’s sexy mutant gents, no judgement on that.  We all just want some lovin’, right?” drawled the cowboy.  Pyro hated them both immediately.  Either they were humans with a gross mutant fetish, or they were mutants who couldn’t find a hook-up at the Green Lagoon, and in either case they were so utterly stupid they believed that walking into a clearly abandoned warehouse at 2 AM would lead to a sexy good time and not getting murdered. 

Shaw heaved a long, exaggerated sigh.  “I suppose you gentlemen saw the ad as well.”

“That’s right, pardner.”  Cowboy hat extended a hand towards Sebastian.  “They call me Cowboy, and – “

“I don’t need to know your names,” Shaw interrupted, ignoring Cowboy’s hand.  “Let’s just get this over with.”  He pushed the door open and strode into the darkness, Pyro and the other two trailing after him.

“Hello?”  Sebastian called out.  “We are a group of gullible sex tourists answering your ad for hot mutant action.  We have brought cash to engage the services of your legitimate business, which is in no way possibly a trap.” 

Glaring spotlights clicked on, and as his vision cleared, Pyro saw the small army of soldiers assembled, guns pointing directly at them.  Some of them were in oversized exo-skeleton power armor.  

“They’re either filthy mutie lovers or filthy muties themselves,” declared one man, presumably the leader.  “Either way, take them down.  Hail Hydra!”

“Oh no, what a dreadful surprise,” Sebastian deadpanned, as he charged directly towards one of  the armored soldiers and punched him up through the ceiling.  Pyro clicked his flamethrower on and surrounded himself with intensely hot flames – the better to melt away the wave of bullets that the soldiers were firing.  Beside him, he was vaguely aware of the two idiots diving for cover behind some boxes.  The red-head appeared to be yelling into his wristwatch.

“Guys, it’s going down just like we thought!  A little help would be nice!” 

As Pyro sent the soldiers scattering with a giant flaming bull charging through their ranks, he could faintly hear something over the flames and the gunfire.  A low roar, getting higher and louder.  And then a set of three motorcycles came bursting into the warehouse, the riders yelling in unison like a warcry.

“Team America, go!” 

“Reddy, Cowboy, get out and get on your bikes, we’ll cover you!” said one of the riders.

“Thanks, Honcho.  And I think the big guy and the fire guy are maybe on our side,” the cowboy called back.   

“Are we?”  It was a question Pyro directed at Sebastian, who had picked up a giant industrial pipe and was using it to bash soldiers on either side of him.

“If they are against Hydra, then we are indeed on the same side!” Shaw confirmed.  “And for the record, Allerdyce…..the laws of Krakoa say ‘kill no man.’  But when it comes to Hydra, well…..I won’t tell if you won’t.”  He tossed a solder headfirst through a wall.

“Fuckin' oath!”  Pyro let his fire creations burn brighter and hotter.

Meanwhile, the motorcyclists were zipping around the warehouse, knocking over soldiers and miraculously evading bullets. 

“Fear the wrath of El Lobo!” one shouted, looping a chain around a soldier’s leg and yanking him to the ground.

“Sorry to throw a wrench into your plans!” another quipped as he knocked guns out of hands with, predictably, a giant wrench. 

“Quit clowning around guys, there’s too many of them,” shouted a third.  “We need to work together!  Fire guy, start driving the soldiers towards the back exit.  Me and the big guy can handle the exo-suits, and the rest of the team will cover us and clean up any stragglers.”

“My name is Sebastian Shaw.  And I do not take orders from you.”  Shaw hurled an exosuit across the room, narrowly missing the supposed “leader” biker.

“Why don’t you lot fuck off, we didn’t ask for your help!” Pyro snapped.  Giant flaming hands were scooping up soldiers and tossing them down.  Admittedly, there were a lot of them.  Bullets were whizzing all around him, and it was all he could do to maintain the concentration necessary to keep his fire shield up. 

“Don’t be like that, pardner!  We can do anything with teamwork!”  Another biker zipped by, dragging a lasso of four or five soldiers across the floor.

“We’re gonna need teamwork to get out of this one!” the leader agreed.  “You know who we need, guys.”

Then, yet another motorcyclist entered the fray.  This one came crashing through a high window, bounced off one of the exosuit soldiers (dropping him immediately), and landed upright in a maneuver that Pyro could only describe as spectacularly cool.  The rider was dressed in black leather from head to toe, a helmet obscuring their face, and long black hair that whipped out behind them like a cape.

“The Dark Rider!  Amigos, he has come!”  exclaimed the chain biker. 

“But who?  It was supposed to be one of us!” said wrench guy. 

“Never mind that, let’s just get this mess cleaned up,” shouted the leader.  “Let’s go, Team America!” 

The Dark Rider was like a force of nature.  They whipped around the warehouse at impossible speeds, expertly dodging every obstacle, handling the bike like it was an extension of their own body, hitting soldiers left and right with a crowbar clutched in one hand.  They moved with such incredible grace and skill, Pyro had to tear his eyes away to focus on his own fight.  

Soon, the tide began to turn, and the Hydra goons were either running into the night or sprawled out on the floor.  The Dark Rider snatched up the apparent Hydra leader, and after slamming him into the wall a few times, “convinced” the man to enter a key code into a wall panel.  The wall slide open to reveal what appeared to be a secret lab, and a dozen mutants stuck in a holding pen.  They looked terrified and exhausted, but all were alive. 

“We knew Hydra was snatching mutants up for some secret experiments.”  The apparent leader of the bikers approached, taking his helmet off, revealing a square jaw and brown hair.  “I was able to get some information through my former CIA contacts, we just needed to send a couple of our people in undercover.” 

The rest of the bikers had parked their motorcycles and were taking off their helmets.  There was a larger man with thick black hair and disturbingly Shaw-like sideburns, and a Black man with glasses clutching a wrench.  The other two revealed themselves to be the cowboy and redhead from before, having presumably retrieved their bikes and joined the fight.

“Sorry you guys got caught in the crossfire,” continued the lead biker.

“Caught in the crossfire?!” Sebastian scoffed.  “Gentlemen, I am Sebastian Shaw, the Black King of the Hellfire club, and member of the ruling council of Krakoa.  We were here investigating the exact same mutant disappearances.  You got in our way.”

“You didn’t actually think we were fooled by that ad?”  Pyro said.  “You’d have to be an absolute fuckwit to fall for that.”  He glanced over at the caged mutants.  The Dark Rider, the only one who hadn’t pulled off their helmet, was taking apart the control panel on the holding pen, assisted by the Black biker, who could apparently use the wrench for more than just hitting people.

Pyro started to walk over.  He wasn’t impressed by the rest of the bikers, but the Dark Rider was something different.  Tall and statuesque, they radiated cool, and had charged into the fight with almost effortless confidence.  The pen opened, and the captured mutants poured out, the Dark Rider helping them up with a gentle hand.

“Say mate,” Pyro began.  “Those were some amazing stunts you were doing back there.”  The Dark Rider turned to look at him, not saying a word.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” said the mechanic biker.  “The Dark Rider isn’t quite what they seem.  They’re actually – “

Before he could finish, the Dark Rider’s motorcycle leathers and helmet dissolved away, revealing a familiar face, a familiar form that fell heavily into Pyro’s arms, forcing him to his knees. 

It was Haven.

Around ten minutes and a few shouted arguments later, Haven started to stir in Pyro’s arms.  She did not appear to be injured, and, if the bikers were to be believed, had suffered no permanent damage from her ordeal.  The rescued mutants had already been sent through the nearby gate back to Krakoa, with a stern warning about the dangers of horniness and stupidity.  Sebastian and the biker leader were picking through the lab for tech or information.

“You all right, Haven?  Don’t worry, it’s all over now.”

“What….” Haven sat up, rubbing her eyes, and looking around the warehouse.  “What happened here?”

“You got a little more hands-on than you usually do.  I’ll let this lot explain it, since they’re responsible.”  As he stood, Pyro gestured at the remaining bikers, who were clustered around them. 

“You see, we’re mutants,” said the wrench-weilding mechanic.  The other bikers seemed to call him “Wrench,” but Pyro was determined not to learn any of their names.  Especially not after what they’d done to Haven.  “But our powers don’t work on our own.  The five of us, together as a group, have the ability to project our collective unconsciousness onto another person, who becomes the Dark Rider, with all of our knowledge and skills.”

“Usually we try to project the Dark Rider onto one of us,” the cowboy put in.  “But we don’t have total control.  Sometimes when we’re in a pinch, we manifest the Dark Rider without even trying.  And when that happens, we can’t choose who becomes the Rider, it just kind of happens.  This time, ma’am, I’m afraid it was you.”

“I…..” Haven looked around.  “Are you saying that I fought?  I…did this?”

“It was more of a group effort, Haven.  And hey, we rescued the mutants being held captive here.  Already safely through the gate.”  Haven hadn’t been safe, though, she’d been dragged directly into combat, but Pyro was trying to focus on the positive.  For her sake.

“You were really cool, though, ma’am.  You had some incredible moves,” offered the redhead.  This was the wrong thing to say, as Pyro could see the color draining out of Haven’s face, her body tensing. 

“Did I kill anyone?” She asked in a low tone.

“Nah, luv, nah,” Pyro said hurridly, seeing the limp, crumpled forms of a few Hydra soldiers scattered around the warehouse, a few of them badly burned.  “You were just tapping ‘em out to sleep.  If anyone died, it’s on me or Shaw.”  It was probably true, Pyro thought, and if it wasn’t, no one needed to know. 

“You…” Haven’s voice trembled, her jaw tense as she turned to look at the bikers.  “You took over my body.  You forced me to hurt people.  Why would you do that?”  Her usually soft brown eyes had hardened in a way that Pyro had never seen before.

“Look, it was an accident, okay?  We haven’t used our powers in a long time, and we can’t always control who becomes the Dark Rider.  We didn’t mean to target you, things just got a little messy,” the redhead said.

“Oh, an accident, was it?”  Pyro said.  He waved his hand in a scooping motion, pulling up the few lingering flames that were burning in isolated patches around the building and gathered them into a ball.  Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the fireball raging into one of the motorcycles, which leaped upwards as its fuel tank exploded, and crashed onto its side, flames licking at the twisted frame.  In the lab, Sebastian and the biker leader glanced up, then started over towards the group.

“Oops.”

“Hey, that was my bike!”  The redhead yelled.

“Don’t get mad, mate.  Accidents happen.  These powers are so hard to control, you know.”

“Pyro, that was not helpful or necessary,” Haven said, and Pyro wilted slightly as the anger in her gaze shifted onto him.  But only slightly.

“He deserved it after what they did to you!  You could have died!”

The redhead took a step forward, and Pyro squared up, fully ready for a good old-fashioned fist-fight.  He’d been in a few.  Admittedly he hadn’t won that many, but he knew how to throw a punch.  But Sebastian’s arm came down heavily between them, shoving the motorcyclist back.

“Enough of that, Winthrop Roan Jr.  I know your father, and I know he has more than enough money to replace that bike.  Consider it payment in kind with the inexcusable way that you have used Ms. Dastoor.” 

The redhead opened his mouth, but was quickly shoved aside as the larger rider came forward, the one with dark hair and Shawburns.  His expression was stern, but he reached his hand out to Haven.  She took it, and the man dropped to one knee, head bowed. 

“We have mistreated you, señora.  There is no honor in sending an innocent bystander to fight our battles.  We swore it would never happen again, but we broke that vow tonight.  El Lobo will offer no excuses, only apologies.” 

“That goes for the rest of us, too, ma’am,” said the leader.  “It was a mistake, but that’s no excuse.  We’ll have to practice more until we can get it back under control.  Maybe Professor Xavier can help us again.”  The others murmured similar sentiments, although the red-head was scowling over at his flaming wreck of a bike. 

“I understand,” Haven said.  Some of the anger had drained out of her face, although it hadn’t been replaced by anything soft or friendly.  She regarded the men with the detachment of an office receptionist.  “I know you meant no harm.  As mutants, I’m sure you will be welcomed on Krakoa, and perhaps will find support in regaining control of your powers.  Although as a human, it’s not really my place to make the offer.”

Pyro folded his arms, glaring at the team, and making no offer whatsoever.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure we’ll find a spot for you,” Sebastian said, waving a hand dismissively.  “Although your bikes will have to stay somewhere else.  I doubt the Living Island will appreciate tire tracks across it’s face.” 

“No way am I living anywhere without my bike,” the redhead protested.  “We’re Team America!”

“Well now, fellas, maybe we should think about it,” said the cowboy.  “Usin’ these powers is like trying to tame a wild bronco sometimes, and when we slip up, people get hurt!”

“I don’t disagree,” said the wrench guy.  “But I’ve got a wife, I can’t uproot my whole life to go live on mutant island.  Georgianna’s human, would she even be welcome there?” 

“I’m sure you gentlemen will work out the details, and I really don’t care.  If you want to apply for Krakoan citizenship, just walk through the nearest gate.  Or don’t.  Thank you for your….assistance, such as it was.  We’re done here.”  Sebastian began to walk away.  Pyro leaned over slightly to offer Haven his arm, and she took it, her expression softening a bit as she pulled herself up.

“I believe human partners are allowed on Krakoa, although it’s up to the Council.  You’ll need to accompany your wife through any gates.  They are closed to humans alone,” she told Wrench, before letting Pyro pull her away.  They went through the gate together, back onto the boat.

“You don’t have to make nice with them, Haven.  Not after what they did.”

“I do, though,” Haven said, a faint worry line creased into her forehead.  “I shouldn’t have gotten angry.  They didn’t intend to….do what they did.  I just….after everything that happened to me, everything that I did…..before…”  Her grip on his arm tightened.

“You’ve got every right to be angry!  Look, luv, wanna burn them in effigy?  Or burn something?  I’ll keep the damage to a minimum, promise.  You’d be amazed how much better you feel after burning something.” 

“Ms. Dastoor,” Sebastian cut in.  He stood in front of her, looking solemn.  Even concerned, if such a thing could be possible.  “I understand your anger at the disgraceful way that you were treated tonight.  That crew of incompetents forced you to perform labor – dangerous, highly skilled labor, at that – without compensation.  If Allerdyce had not acted with his usual lack of restraint, I would have requested monetary payment, but we can still issue an invoice.  I will find you a suitable lawyer if you wish to sue…”

Sebastian’s voice trailed off as Haven’s face crumpled.  And she broke into lovely, beautiful laughter, and it was like watching a sunrise.

OOC: Since I read about Team America in the New Mutants, I had to stick them in a story, the concept is so beautifully stupid.  They later changed their name to Thunderiders, but I like Team America for the corniness.  I was originally toying with having Pyro or Sebastian turn into the Dark Rider for the lulz, but decided on Haven.  And then since it was Haven, things had to get a little serious.  Also wow, I almost write Pyro like he’s in love with Haven, but I promise it’s just platonic affection and admiration.

[ragingbookdragon]

Knowledge To Be Shared

Vasco X De Sardet

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: But it's about the bi-pirate!!! -Thorne

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Vasco had to admit that there were plenty of times that De Sardet had proved himself a noble of true and genuine character. The man practically bled a desire to help people, to raise a sword to injustice, and right any and all wrongs. Even as reserved as the noble could be at times, Vasco saw De Sardet for who he truly was—a good person, through and through.

But even if it were all of the times he saw De Sardet proving himself a good person, it was truly the first instance of seeing a noble even associate with a low-born that had made the greatest impact on Vasco.

Vasco had the rare opportunity to brew a cup of coffee and he sat in the corner, nursing his hot cup as he viewed the mess hall. The Coin Guard and the Prince had already finished breakfast, leaving the others to their food as they chittered about fencing on the deck. It was only a few minutes later that their resident Legate had decided to make his appearance, and Vasco expected him to be wearing his entire armor set (as most nobles did to let the Nauts aboard know that they were in the presence of a royal), but the man was wearing a simple black cotton shirt that was tucked into a pair of dark mahogany trousers. His hair, of course, was taken care of and his face washed, so at least he maintained a level of personal hygiene even if his dress stated otherwise.

He watched as De Sardet fixed himself a plate and sat down towards the end of one of the tables where Jonas, Lauro, and Flavia were sitting. He took out a small booklet, no bigger than his palm and cracked it open, quietly reading its contents as he ate. It was only then that Vasco realized that Jonas’ eyes were on the booklet, occasionally shifting to his hands, then to De Sardet’s face, and he heard Flavia encouraging him.

“Um…Lord De Sardet?” Jonas’ voice was quiet, a little unsure and after De Sardet didn’t respond he cleared his throat and asked a little louder, “Lord De Sardet?”

The noble startled, evidently quite absorbed in his book, blinking as he looked to his side, confused expression breaking way to a welcoming smile as he greeted, “Ah, Jonas! Forgive me, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s aright, my Lord.” He fidgeted in his seat. “I was perhaps wondering if…” his eyes met Flavia’s who smiled brightly at him. “If you had the time…would you teach me…how to read?”

De Sardet blinked, his confusion taking hold again as he asked, “Nauts can’t read?”

Flavia spoke this time. “We lot know enough to get by, but only those that are considered for higher rank are taught. That is unless we learn some other way.”

He looked back at Jonas who was still fidgeting slightly in his seat; a calm smile broke across his face, and he nodded. “I’d be honored to teach you, Jonas.”

“R-really? You would teach me?”

“Of course! Knowledge should be shared by everyone. And being able to read? Now that is something that everyone should be taught. What is life without being able to read a good story before bed?”

The three sailors beside him laughed heartily and he waved Jonas to sit beside him. “What is this?”

“A selection of specific poetry. My mother’s favorite little book that held all of her favorites. It was made specially for her.” He smiled fondly if a little heartbroken at the booklet. “There is no other book like it.” De Sardet laid the book in front of him. “Do you know your letters, Jonas?”

“I do…but putting the words together is a bit harder.” He shifted. “Speaking is easier than writing and reading. It’s strange.”

“No, I understand. It is quite a strange phenomena to be able to hear words and emulate others by learning to speak the same way but seeing words on paper and trying to read and write, is much harder.” He waved a hand. “All the same, we will start with this one. It’s short and simple. Easy enough that you’ll be able sound words out.”

Jonas nodded, ready to prove himself, and Vasco couldn’t help but let his heart feel light at the view before him.

***

Vasco had never felt such an overwhelming yet so calming sense of peace unlike that of being wrapped up in De Sardet’s arms. The man was a giant, stood just a couple inches taller than Kurt and was just as fit, if not more so, and he hugged and held like a bear. Vasco couldn’t even move, not that he wanted to, from where his back was pressed up against the Legate’s chest, legs tangled, the noble’s nose buried in caramel strands, relaxing breath puffing over his neck.

“You’re thinking too loud,” De Sardet muttered into tan skin.

Vasco snorted. “How can you even tell such a thing?”

“Hmm…your thigh tenses whenever you’re in deep thought.” He shifted, resting his chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about, my love?”

A giddiness fluttered in the Naut’s chest; he let out a wistful sigh and turned his head. “I was just thinking about when I started viewing you differently.”

De Sardet nodded. “I’ve got to assume it was well into our travels on the island. We’ve certainly met our fair share of opportune moments.”

“Actually, the first moment I thought differently of you was when I saw you teaching Jonas how to read.”

The noble paused, looking down. “You saw?”

“Did you not see me in the corner?”

“…No…?”

Vasco laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t even see me.”

“I mean, in my defense, I was more concerned about getting some breakfast before it was eaten by ravenous sailors.”

“We are not ravenous!”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve seen you after a long day of all work. You look like a ulg devouring a deer.”

“I DO NOT!”

“I quite literally saw you tear into a turkey leg the other night with nothing but your teeth. Like a ravenous man.”

“I USED A FORK AND A KNIFE!”

“Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember dinner occurring differently.”

“I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS SLANDER!” Vasco tried to wriggle out of De Sardet’s arms, but the cage he was in was way too tight and he thrashed around before letting out a growl and settling back.

“Done?”

“Yes,” he grunted begrudgingly.

De Sardet grinned and leaned around, pecking around Vasco’s face until the Naut let out a laugh and shoved at him; the noble eased up and stared down at him with a smile. “I love you, Vasco.”

“I love you, my Tempest.”