#the first fucking mosquitoes appeared as well

[tobiasdrake]

My favorite detail about Jurassic Park is that it has a baked-in justification for any and all retcons it might need to make due to paleontology advancing forwards.

Because there is not a single dinosaur that has ever appeared in Jurassic Park.

Not one. Not in the books. Not in the movies. Not ever.

"Now what John Hammond and InGen did at Jurassic Park was to create genetically engineered theme park monsters." ~Alan Grant

Grant says that in a moment of cynicism. It's part of his arc for the film. But it's not inaccurate. What Jurassic Park has, what it's always had since the very first novel, are "Mostly Dinosaurs".

"And since the DNA is so old, it's full of holes! Now, that's where our geneticists take over!" ~Mr. DNA

It's impossible to recover a fully intact gene sequence from an ancient amber mosquito. Cloning a pure dinosaur would have been completely impossible, and so the park filled in the gene sequence with whatever works. Frog. Lizard. Bird. Whatever they need to get the result they are trying to get.

Every single dinosaur is a chimeric beast made up of mostly dinosaur and a bunch of other stuff that some scientists thought would achieve the appropriate dinosaur-like result.

"Nothing in Jurassic World is natural! We have always filled gaps in the genome with the DNA of other animals. And if the genetic code was pure, many of them would look quite different." ~Dr. Henry Wu

Which, from a writing perspective, is fucking genius. Because now you have a preset excuse for each and every plot hole your movie has.

Like. Why don't the raptors have feathers? Because of the chimera DNA.

Why do dilophosaurs spit venom? Because of the chimera DNA.

Why do T-Rexes have movement based vision? Oh, they don't. But Rexy does. Because of her chimera DNA.

Why is the Spinosaurus so fucking big? Because of the chimera DNA.

Why are the velociraptors mislabeled? Because Hammond's a dipshit.

Like. I've always marveled at the way Jurassic Park started out by giving itself a blanket excuse to be wrong about every single thing it ever said about the central attraction of its franchise. It's honestly beautiful, and allows the series a degree of immortality well into the era where we know better about its animals.

[justsomeoneunordinary]

This is my Ko-fi btw. in case anyone would like to support my lifelong dream of moving to Iceland so I don't have to experience another summer again ever 🥺👉👈

[orange-peony]

Written for @flufftober with the prompt "fireplace".

A little wolfstar raising Harry, rated T.

“He’s so irritating.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius says. “He’s my cousin Cissa’s son.”

“And he’s so bloody posh!”

“Language,” Remus chides gently from the kitchen, busy with Christmas preparations.

“The b word is not swearing,” Harry declares with a frown, then softly, to Sirius, ��is it, Pads?”

“Nah,” Sirius says, waving his hand in dismissal. “Tell me more about that obnoxious Malfoy kid.”

*  ~  *

“And he’s so fucking annoying with his pointy face and his white-blond hair,” Harry says, scratching his arm where another mosquito bite is swelling up.

“Language!” Remus says, even though Sirius can’t even see him. His husband seems to have a special radar for swear words.

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking much less concerned than he probably should. Sirius feels a little guilty because he’s always swearing in front of Harry, but brushes it off as teenagers being teenagers. “And he’s just—so tall and so smart and so…”

“So?” Sirius asks with a frown.

“So irritatingly fit!”

“Wait, what?” 

*  ~  *

“Do you think they’re going to spend much longer snogging on the train platform?” Sirius asks with a resigned sigh.

Remus chuckles and wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Summer is long when you’re seventeen,” Remus says calmly.

“But they’re going to see each other in a couple of days!” Sirius protests. “We’re dragging the brat to France with us on holiday.”

“If I recall correctly,” Remus starts, his voice like a caress on Sirius’s cheek. “The first time we parted for a couple of days, you cried and begged me to come and visit you at James’s house.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius replies grumpily.

He thinks a kiss is in order, at least to distract him from his godson being snogged within an inch of his life by a Malfoy.

*  ~  *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius groans, covering his face with his hands and making Draco squeal in embarrassment.  

He supposes it’s kind of his fault. He should have probably sent his Patronus to Harry before Flooing straight to his kitchen. But Harry is his son. And he’s been living on his own for only a week, so Sirius was worried and wanted to check on him.

He wasn’t expecting to find Draco Malfoy making himself tea in Harry’s kitchen, wearing only Harry’s oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers.

Sirius covers his eyes and makes a disgruntled sound.

“I’m going to go grab my pyjama bottoms,” Draco says. “I’ve made enough tea for an army. Help yourself, Sirius.”

“It’s Mr Black-Lupin for you,” Sirius grumbles.

“Oh, stop being impossible, Pads,” Harry croaks, appearing by the kitchen door wearing just a pair of pants and a collection of love bites. “Morning, love. Thanks for making tea.”

*  ~  *

The fireplace roars to life as a green flame appears and Draco’s blond head pokes through.

“May I come in?” he asks, looking extremely nervous.

“Of course,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs and sitting up.

And Sirius should have known. He should have fucking known, because Draco sendt an official request to speak to him and Remus, written on the fanciest parchment Sirius has ever seen (and he grew up with a bunch of pure bloods). Draco is wearing the most dazzling formal robes, and he has a small, blue box clutched in his shaking hands. He looks like he’s about to be sick. He looks even paler than usual.

“I—I know you have your reservations about me, and rightfully so,” Draco starts, and Sirius is about to say well, of course, you little Harry-thief, but Remus places a hand on his thigh, and Sirius just exhales and listens. “But I love Harry with all my heart. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him, and I promise I will spend the rest of my life trying to make him the happiest man on earth. So, please, I know I’m asking you an awful lot, but…”

“Can we say no?” Sirius asks, but Remus pokes him in the ribs.

“Of course, you can marry Harry,” Remus says with a warm smile, and Draco starts crying straight away, looking at Sirius, waiting for his approval.

Sirius sighs.

He should have seen this coming.

He really should have.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But I reserve the right to tease you both mercilessly and to swear in front of your kids.”

“Deal,” Draco says with the brightest grin.

[blackreaderfics]

Checking In | Dick Grayson x Black!BatsisReader

↳ Pairing : Dick Grayson x Black!AFAB!BatsisReader

↳ Rating :  E (18+ minors dni‼️)

↳ Summary : After your brother Jason’s death, Dick Grayson keeps “checking in” on you. But as far as you’re concerned, he no longer has any right to be a part your life.

↳ W.C : ~5.2k

↳ Tags+Warnings : faux incest - step siblings (direct mentions), mild angst, hate(?)to love, sexual tension, not Titans DC!verse I just like the actor lol, canon divergence: set after Jason Todd’s death and before Red Hood, reader is a model (body type unspecified), referenced stalking, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, degradation (slut, whore), implied daddy kink, porn with plot!, special guest appearance by Booster Gold

“Hot date tonight?” 

You felt your eyes roll back into your head at the sound of the male voice that trilled like a mosquito in your ear. Fucking hell, you muttered a curse under your breath. After your shift of late-night vigilante duties, you always seemed to forget to take out your in-ear receiver. 

What was that thing Alfred always told you about breathing exercises? You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to quell your irritation.  In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3. 

“No action tonight, dick?” You rebutted. 

“I can hear when it’s a lowercase ‘D’, Y/N. ” Unlike yours, his voice betrayed no hostility, rather, he sounded quite amused.

You and Dick Grayson had never been close. In fact, you thought of him as more a stranger than a stepbrother. Bruce Wayne had adopted you into the family after Dick had already packed his bags and moved out of the manor to Blüdhaven. The only times you saw Dick was when somebody died and you had to attend the funeral. 

You didn’t grow up with him like you had Jason. And now that Jason was gone, it was suddenly like the golden “boy wonder” had been trying to squeeze himself into your life to make up for it. Ever since the detective had arrived in Gotham last week on “private business”— whatever, you didn’t want or care to know—he’d been “checking in” on you a bit too often.

“Are you making small talk ‘cuz you’re bored or are you just being annoying?”

“I’m in the middle of something actually.”

You stilled to listen closely, and now that he mentioned it, it did sound like he was in the middle of a fight. 

“Well, I would offer to help you but— ”you paused, wincing at what sounded like a man being punched in the gut. “—seems like you got it covered.”

“More than covered, sweetheart. Unlike what you’re wearing.” He made it sound like he was joking; though, the remark itself had bite.

“What?” What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“That dress. Seems a little much for a first date don’t you think?”

You heard a yelp of pain in the background. Dick probably had some guy’s arm twisted around. 

“How the fuck would you know what I’m wearing? Or that I’m going on a date?”

You eyed the room while putting on the other half of your earrings. The idea of privacy wasn’t exactly a thing at Wayne Manor. That was the whole reason you moved out and into your penthouse apartment in the city. 

If for some reason he had seen you, he would’ve seen your figure in a slinky black mini-dress. A tasteful, but still unapologetic show of legs, cocoa skin, and cleavage all in one. 

“That guy plastered you on a billboard in the middle of Gotham. So, y’know, doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. And relax, your comms was on. You ever notice that you talk to yourself? Like a lot.”

He was about to be talking to himself if he didn’t shut the fuck up soon.

Ok, breathe. In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

You were violently broken out of your breathing exercise when a screaming welp and cracking of bones sounded through the earpiece. 

Dick spoke again, slightly winded. “Bruce say you could wear that?”

“Yes, Dick. Actually, he’s the one that bought it for me,” You deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. Besides the fact that the old man would not give a flying fuck about your wardrobe, you were way too old to be slutshamed or worse, babysat.

“Now I know you’re fucking with me. He has way better taste than that.” You could hear the mirth in his voice; he was clearly just trying to banter with you.

“Oh like you would know anything about taste, Discowing.”

“…”

You got him there.

“Just make sure—”

“Good night, Richard.” You closed the line before he could give you another lecture and pocketed the listening device into your purse. 

You regarded yourself in the mirror one last time. It was a certified banger of an outfit, went quadruple platinum in all the clubs in Gotham’s nightlife scene. But that’s not where you were going tonight.

Feeling a little paranoid, you quickly scanned your apartment for any sign that you’d been bugged. Finding nothing, you shut the lights and locked the door behind you. Tonight you did have a date, with one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors at that. So you were going to look hot and that annoying buzzing in your ear was just going to have to deal with it.

A sleek Tesla was waiting for you at the curb in front of your apartment building. You gave a small wave to a handsome blonde-haired man leaning against the sports car.

Your date was Michael Carter, some hotshot tech CEO you’d never heard of before until his company, Goldstar Inc. blew up out of nowhere. From what you knew of him he wasn’t as famous or rich as your billionaire adoptive father, but what he lacked in influence, he made up for in boundless persistence.

For the past month and a half, he’d been courting you with bouquets of roses, designer shoes and handbags, and more recently a billboard of you in the middle of Times Square asking you out. The billboard was what made you finally go out with him, not particularly because you liked grandiose gestures from douchebags, but mostly so he could leave you alone.

When you approached Michael he let out an appreciative whistle, and you let him wrap his arms around you in greeting. He looked down at you, appraising you and probably getting an eyeful of your tits at the same time.

“You are an absolute knockout. Who’s the lucky guy?” He quipped, eliciting an eye roll from you. 

Yes, he was also very corny but you decided you liked that about him. You’d dated too many men before that reminded you of the men in your family, and this Michael character was a blonde spark of life, a welcomed change from all the brooding and the fucking bats.

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting. Got a lot of time on my hands.”

You smiled up at him, steadying yourself on his arms and feeling the muscle underneath your fingertips. You had to admit, even though he was corny he was complete eye candy. Built like a football player, dimples, pretty face…Yep, you were definitely going to fuck him tonight.

Your eye caught sight of something from over Michael’s shoulder. You shuddered; not because of the temperature—It was a warm enough summer night— but because you could feel that you were being watched. There was… a shadow… lurking on a nearby building.

Michael followed your line of sight to peer over at the dark, confused at where you were staring. 

“Something the matter, princess? You cold?” He rubbed some heat into the goosebumps pebbling your arm.

“N-no. It’s nothing. Sorry,” You shook your head, breaking away from him to climb into the passenger seat, swiftly shutting your door before he could offer to close it for you. He scrambled back to the driver’s seat, clearly caught off guard from your sudden change in demeanor.

“How about we—” Michael turned toward you, mouth open in mid-sentence.

“Drive.” You cut him off.

“Excuse me, what?” He blinked in confusion. 

“Now.” 

“A-alright.” He paused, perplexed, then quietly obeyed, gripping the steering wheel as he pulled away from the curb. 

You fished into your purse, opening your messaging app to type out DON’T FOLLOW before hitting send. You didn’t need to see the reply to confirm your suspicions you were being stalked, and you knew Dick Grayson well enough to know he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t. 

You frowned at the empty seat in front of you. You had already arrived at the restaurant and taken your orders, but your date had been taking a “business call” in the bathroom for over 20 minutes now. You were starting to think you had been ditched.

“This seat taken?” 

You looked up but instead of your date you were greeted by the sight of Dick Grayson in a crisp navy button-down rolled up at the sleeves. He looked like he could be a CEO in his own right, like the kind of CEOs people read in romance novels.

His forearms looked extremely capable, courtesy of his rigorous training; Broad shoulders and dense muscle made his shirt fit slightly too small. He cleaned up nice, a bit too nice since other women kept sneaking glances at your table. 

Dick was an undeniably handsome man, but you would never admit that to him. Instead you gave him a withering glare.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing but whatever it is, I didn’t ask.”

“So a guy can’t catch up with family after work now?” He sat down in front of you with a look feigning offense until it melted into a playful grin. He looked a bit too smug taking the spot of where your date would’ve been.

“You’re really shameless y’know that? You showing up and expecting me to just welcome you with open arms does not make you family.” You leaned back and crossed your arms. “What the hell did you do with Michael, Dick?”

“What did I do? What, you think I killed him? Like on some mobster Falcone shit?” 

“No, like on some Bruce Wayne shit. Real chip off the old block.” You scoffed. “I know you paid him off. It’s the same story with every other guy I’ve dated.”

He was silent as if mulling over whether or not to own up to the accusation.“I gave them an option and they took it,” he said simply as if there wasn't anything wrong with what he just confessed.

“And here I thought I was the problem.”

“Might be. If you keep choosing guys that’ll walk out on you at the whiff of a few bucks.”

“Fuck you, Dick.” You shot him two middle fingers and gathered your things to go. You weren’t gonna stay and hear this shit.

“They were all full of shit and you know it.”

“D-did anyone order the steak?” 

Dick broke his serious gaze from you and flashed a dimpled smile to ease the nervous waiter.

“We’ll take it to-go, thanks.”

You watched your 5th Uber request get denied and sighed. You really didn’t want to have to resort to getting the Wayne driver, but these were incredibly desperate times. Maybe if you faked being in danger, they could get to you fast enough to escape from Dick.

You were in the middle of dialing the number up when you felt something heavy across your back; The smell of leather, wood, and spice interrupted your thoughts. You didn’t refuse the warmth; it was welcome. Somehow it had gotten colder than you had originally accounted for.

“Really good thing I was here. Looks like someone needs a ride,” you felt Dick whisper into your ear. He gave your shoulders a playful squeeze and walked ahead of you to his car. You looked up just in time to see him, head turned and smirking back at you.

“Shut. Up. Just take me home,” You gritted out.

“Your chariot awaits.” He tipped an invisible top hat your direction, bowing theatrically as he opened the passenger door to his car. God he was annoying. You slipped past him, and kicked off your heels as soon as you hit the plush leather seat.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet. You weren’t surprised that he seemed to know exactly where you lived. Which, due to the nature of your job was to be expected. Bruce probably had you all chipped anyway, but you appreciated the illusion of privacy at the very least.

You turned your head to stare thoughtfully at his side profile as he drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm resting on the shift. It was oddly intimate to watch him from this perspective. Gotham City’s lights waxed and waned across his face as you passed through the night streets.

“What?” He seemed uncharacteristically conscious under your gaze. 

“So…you’re saying I need to date some sort of incorruptible and righteous superhero. That would be good enough for you, right? Someone that can’t be bought or bribed?”

He glanced at you brow furrowed before returning his attention to the road. “Wasn't saying that.”

“Now that I’m thinking about it Hal Jordan’s kinda cute.”

“Real classy, Y/N,” He said, visibly irritated now.

“What? What’s wrong with Hal?” You pressed, knowing you’d struck a nerve. Dick was terribly predictable and fun to annoy when he wasn’t busy annoying you.

“Uh I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s Bruce’s friend?”

“Please, they’re barely friends. Coworkers at best.”  Since when was that an issue for the dude who hooked up with the commissioner’s daughter anyway? The hypocrisy was truly baffling.

“No.”

“Fine,” You pouted at him. “Everyone cares about money, Dick. It’s Gotham. And you don’t even live here anymore, so who else does that leave that money won’t sway? Alfred?”

He gave you a pointed silence, not in any more mood for the topic of conversation. “We’re here.”

You blinked, surprised. Sure enough, you were in the familiar surroundings of your parking garage. Maybe you’d been too busy staring at the cut of the older man’s jaw to notice you were already home.

“You’re not gonna walk me up? ‘Cuz If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were my personal bodyguard.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Cockblocker.” You muttered under your breath as you scuffed your heels back on. You shrugged out of his jacket and exited the car.

“Hey, wait! Keep the jacket on, it’s cold,” He called after you, but you only waved him off dismissively. You heard his car door slam shut and in a few strides, he was next to you again, draping the jacket over your shoulders.

He wordlessly joined you in the elevator, pushing the button to your floor like he'd been there before. At the door of your apartment, he passed along the plastic bag filled with restaurant takeout.

You briefly considered the raven haired man and then the takeout bag in your hand. “I’m probably gonna regret this, but…you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Dick shrugged, following after you into your apartment. 

You kicked off your heels and made a beeline to the kitchen. “Bathroom’s on the right. Just make yourself at home. I would give you a tour but, you probably already know your way around.”

“Thanks, but it’s the first time I’ve been in here, Y/N.” He replied drily, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I wouldn’t do that, ok?”

You only hummed, not really believing him. Dick Grayson wasn’t the type to lie, he was the type to withhold. 

You set down your bag on the kitchen table, reaching into the cupboard. “Wine?”

He jingled his car keys as an answer. 

“Ah. Right. ‘Protect and serve’ not ‘drink and drive’, got it.”

Dick seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the knickknacks on your shelf. You watched him pick up a few photo frames, inspect them closely for a bit and then carefully set them back In their places.

“You’re making my living room look like a crime scene, officer.” You chided strolling in closer. “What, are you gonna need a baggie for that evidence too?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, humored. “I didn’t know you liked photography is all.”

“Yea well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I know enough.”

“Like what?”

He looked around the room and then settled on the books and magazines stacked on your coffee table. “You’re into fashion.”

“Well yea, I’m a model, Dick. Not exactly breaking news,” You scoffed. “You sure you’re a detective?”

He broke into a grin, the kind of grin that made the dimples in his cheeks deepen. It was like he genuinely liked when you made fun of him. “Well, I also know you also have terrible taste in men so…”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to get laid?”

“No, and I hope that never crosses my mind." He made a face like the very thought disturbed him. "Besides, you don’t want that.”

You chose to ignore the blatant patronizing. “Not a want; It’s a need. A biological one. Girls have those too y’know.”

“Ugh alright, can we change the subject now, please?” He wrinkled his nose, cheeks faintly flushed. It would’ve been so easy to tease him about how cute he looked blushing.

“You’re the one that brought it up.”

“I did not bring that up. I’m…just saying that I know you’re not that type of girl.”

“Not that type of—And what would that be?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“The one-night stand type. That’s not you.”

“How would you know what I am and what I’m not?” You retorted, agitation building. Getting date-ditched was one thing but getting mansplained to about your sex life was just the cherry on top of a shitty Saturday night.

“I know you,” He spoke slowly with an edge that confirmed your suspicions; The tone in his voice was backed by knowledge of your history—who you were before Bruce rescued you out of that hell and scrubbed your background clean.

“More like you’ve been stalking me. That’s not fair, Dick. You can look up all the data you want on me on that supercomputer but you don’t get to know me. It’s—it’s too late for that.”

You thought about Jason and how he was ripped away from you too soon. Tears fell faster than you could stop them. One second you were ok and the next, Dick had crossed the room to bring you into his arms. You fisted his shirt as you cried into his shoulder.

“You weren’t here. You left. You left us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He comforted softly, tightening his arms around you.

“That’s not fair, Dick. It’s not fair.” You can’t remember the last time you cried this pathetically. He was rocking you gently now, whispering apologies in your ear.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m gonna make it right.” 

He gazed at you now, a sadness in his eyes. You wondered what exactly he meant by that. The only way to make it right was to bring Jason back. 

He gently held your face in his hands, thumbs swiping away stray tears. Years of training had calloused his fingers and you could feel them now against your cheeks.

“Let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

His soothing voice released flutters in your stomach—a bubbling concoction of fear, anticipation, and…something more. 

Inhale. 1. 2. 3.

Your breathing became shallow as he brought his head down, lips hesitant before yours. When you didn’t move away he brushed against you, softly first, waiting for permission until your eyes fluttered closed and you finally let him in.

Your cheeks burned. Something about kissing him made you embarrassed or maybe you were ashamed, like you knew you were doing something you shouldn’t.

You fumbled out of his jacket, now too hot, and pawed frantically at the buttons on his shirt. He kissed you with more passion, swallowing your moans as his hands shamelessly roamed your body, groping and grabbing handfuls of your ass. 

“Bedroom. My bedroom.” You said quickly between fraught kisses. If you hadn’t, he would’ve probably taken you right there on the sofa.

He nodded in agreement, picking you up with ease and swiftly treading to your room with you in tow. He set you on the bed and resumed where he left off until you were lying under him. That’s when you could feel him, all of him, pressing against you. 

“‘m gonna make you feel good.” 

Ripples of abs and lean muscle ground against you as he kissed down your neck. You gasped softly when his hand moved to rub you over the cloth of your panties.

“Wanna see you. Please, let me see you.”

He tugged the top of your dress down, undoing the clasp of your bra and revealing to him the peaks of your tawny nipples. You inhaled sharply, watching him take your breast into his mouth, eyes on you, as he licked and sucked.

You writhed under him, already overwhelmed by everything he was doing to you. He snaked his hand back into the front of your now-soaked panties, rubbing at first and then inserting a finger, then two until you were stretching around him.

“So wet for me, my pretty girl. Look at you milking my fingers in this slutty little dress. You were gonna let him do this to you, right? You were gonna let him finger your pussy too huh, baby?”

You whimpered his name, eyes wide as he continued to speak with his fingers squelching in and out of you. Normal, everyday Dick Grayson had the image of being a “nice guy”. He was probably that neighbor you’d ask to borrow sugar from; You would never expect to hear such dirty words coming from his mouth.

He hiked up the skirt of your dress some more and brought your hips to his face.

“Let me take care of you, huh? Let me take care of this pretty little cunt.”

You cursed softly, as he began to kiss and suck around your clit as he fingered you.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “You taste so good, baby.”

He lapped at your cunt, making lewd slurps and noises. When he removed his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue and the sensation made you squirm.

“Quit moving so much. Didn’t you say you wanted to get laid? Don’t you want me to eat you out?”

“Y-yes. I want—Mmhfuck.” You nodded, finally finding some semblance of language. The way he spoke down to you was so agonizingly frustrating. It reminded you how patronizing he'd been earlier that night, telling you to cover up and dictating your life for you.

“You haven’t been fucked in a while, huh?” He mocked. “That’s why you were gonna let some guy you met today fuck you—Such a fucking slut that’s why you wore that, right?”

You whined at his words, bucking to earn some more friction from him.

“Holy shit, you like that? You like when I call you a slut.” His smile grew as if he just made a huge discovery. “Yea, ‘course you like it. Should’ve spread your legs on that billboard that guy bought. Let Gotham see how much of a fucking whore you are.”

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. You felt betrayed by the physical reaction you gave with how crudely he was speaking. He'd figured you out; You liked being treated like a cockdumb slut.

He planted a few more kisses on your thigh, unbuckling his pants with a free hand.

“Wait for me, babe. Touch yourself and wait for me like a good girl.”

You obeyed, rubbing at your throbbing mound to no avail. Your fingers didn’t feel as good as his did. 

He freed his cock from his underwear and you could see it now, leaking beads of precum from the tip, swollen and bobbing up against his well-defined stomach. Your mouth watered, you wanted to feel all of him on your tongue. But when you reached for him, he brought your fingers up to his mouth instead, sucking the pussy juices off your fingertips. He kissed your knuckles and returned your hand to you.

“Keep those pretty fingers busy, sweetheart.”

He stroked slowly, watching you tentatively squeeze one of your breasts, your other hand rubbing and dipping between your folds. 

“Fuck you’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned before he kneeled to position himself between your legs, aligning himself at your entrance.

“You just need a cock to fill you up, doesn’t matter which one, huh? That’s what you wanted, right?”

He rubbed himself against you, tip occasionally catching on a soft divot, but not fully being inserted inside.

“You’d even let your stepbrother fuck you, huh? That’s how much of a dirty little slut you are.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and desire. How could your body like it so much when he was being so vulgar, so mean?

“Please, I need—“ You panted, trying to push yourself onto his cock for release.

“Mmh? Speak up, princess. What do you need?” 

“F-fill me up. I need you to fill me up.” 

“Only good girls get filled up Y/N. But you’ve been talking back to me all day like a fucking brat. You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?

You nodded dumbly in agreement. He pushed inside you a little deeper, only to take it out again.

“P—lease, I’ll be good. Just—need you inside.”

If only the patients at Arkham Asylum could see you now. They’d probably grab front-row seats to see you pathetically begging for some cock. 

“You could barely take my fingers, princess. You sure it’ll fit?”

He was right. It was a tighter fit than you anticipated, but you could feel him now hot and pulsating as he stretched you out.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. C’mon you can take it.” He cooed, muttering curses to himself until he finally bottomed out, fully seated inside you.

You moaned, holding onto his forearms as he rutted in and out of you. You could see his length disappear and reappear with every thrust, gathering a ring of your cream around his base.

“How do you feel princess?” He grunted out, pace quickening. “How does it feel to have me balls deep inside that tight little cunt?”

“It. Feels. So. Goo—Ahmmhfuck.” You clenched around him, voice vibrating with every thrust.

“Fuck, you’re milking me, sweetheart.” He laughed, voice smug. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you. Fuck, you’re so fucking dirty. You been thinking about my cock filling you up huh? Being my personal fleshlight? It’s everything you ever dreamed of right?” 

You could tell he was enjoying this, enjoying degrading you as you laid helpless underneath him, your release depending entirely on him. It was infuriating that he had this much power over you, but the amount of pleasure he was currently giving you superseded your pride.

He pushed your thighs back as he went deeper into an unforgiving mating press, knees by your ears, not caring that you weren’t as flexible as he was. 

“Such a good girl taking my cock so well. Wanted this for so long. You’re so pretty. You’re so fucking pretty. You feel so good; so good for me.”

He moaned into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your mouth and jaw.

“This pussy’s made for me. You’re made for me. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.”

You felt his balls smack heavily against your ass as he continued to pound his fat cock into your sensitive cunt, reaching your G-spot.

“Whose is it, baby? Whose pussy is it? Please, baby. Say it’s mine. Just for me.”

“I-it’s yours. O-only. Yours.”  You gasped out, feeling a warmth blooming at the apex of your thighs as you came unraveled underneath him.

His length twitched as he unloaded thick ropes of cum inside you, some of it leaking out and down your ass as he thrusted deeper.

"That's right, take my cum. Take it, it's yours. It's all yours."

He continued to fuck his cum into you until your walls squeezed around him, coaxing out every last drop.

It was morning now and sunlight peeked out from between the gaps in your curtains. You grounded yourself back into your senses. Your satin pillowcase cooled your cheek, but there was an unfamiliar warmth pinning you down—an arm wrapped around your waist.

He was half-hard now, erection resting lightly against the plump of your ass. You could feel his chest rising and falling, warm against your back as he slept. Deep breaths in. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3.

You liked the way you fit together, your soft curves snug against his hardened body.

You turned a little to try and meet his eyes but your stirring only prompted soft kisses at your shoulder, and a strong arm pulling you ever closer, willing you not to leave the bed.

“Good morning.” He said between nips and kisses, intertwining fingers in yours. “What do you want for breakfast, beautiful?”

“Hmm? You’re still here.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“‘m still here.” He mumbled against your neck. His morning voice became noticeably deeper when sleep still clung to it. 

“Not a one night stand type of guy?”

He chuckled softly, the contented sound losing itself in the groove of your shoulder. 

“Nope. More like one night and one morning stand.”

You smiled at the terrible joke but willed it away quickly before he could see it. 

“I saw that smile,” He accused.

“No, you didn’t.” You tried to smother the corners of your mouth downward again. “You know for someone so smart you say a lot of stupid shit.”

“Aww, you think I’m smart, babe?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he probably had the dumbest smile plastered on his face. 

You rolled your eyes. “You also realize you talk way too much right?”

“You weren’t saying that last night.” He palmed your breast, kneading it softly. “Got so turned on you were literally begging me to fuck you. You were all like ‘Please daddy, please fuck me.’”

“I did not say that shit, weirdo.”

“It was implied.” He simpered.

You couldn’t help it; you were giggling now too. “You are such a dumbass.”

“First I’m smart, now I’m a dumbass. Which one is it, hm?” 

“Hmm, let me see…Which one is the quiet one, again?”

“You wouldn’t like it if I was quiet, though.” His voice had a hint of challenge in it.

You pursed your lips. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“See? I know that filthy shit gets you going. Wanna test that theory, baby?” He murmured, kissing the shell of your ear. “See if you’ll call me daddy?"

Evidently he wasn’t the only one who got off to dirty talk. His cock was now fully hard and pressing against your ass.

He rolled on his stomach, pulling you closer to him by the thighs. Your eyes fluttered closed as he nuzzled into your sex, laving and sucking, deep blue eyes locked on you. His lips curled into a smile against you when you moaned and sighed with pleasure.

Dick pulled up briefly, pussy drunk, wearing his spit and your essence on his face like a badge of honor. He peppered a languid trail of drowsy kisses from your mouth and up your jaw as you spoke.

“Wha-what happened to breakfast?” Your question spilled out breathlessly from the way his mouth worked, a futile attempt at remaining coherent. Losing face now meant inflating his ego, especially if you proved his little “theory” a bit too quickly. 

“How about I eat you out first, then you let me fuck my cum down your throat later, yea?” 

His suggestive whisper sent a heavy wave of arousal straight to your heat. 

Fuck. 

Your bodies became a desperate tangle of limbs; your legs wrapped around his hips as you bucked up to grind against him, wanting—no, needing— him back inside you. Breakfast was definitely going to have to wait.

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

[songmingisthighs]

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. vi - a fox to catch

cursed!jongho × reader

wc : 1.8 k

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

tw: mentions of death (wanting to die naturally), mentions of attempted suicide

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

Jongho never really liked going into the woods. Well, he used to be okay with it because he had no choice. But the modernization of South Korean civilization had coddled him with a cool AC breeze and mosquito repellant. Jongho would very much rather doing his responsibilities indoors where he won't end up sweating through his outfit and appearing with red scratch marks around his neck and ear. So he harboured slight resentment against the Fox Keeper who INSIST they meet at the forest behind a temple on the other side of town. No matter how much Jongho insisted that he had seen the Keeper in cafes, the Keeper still wouldn't budge. Not even a tiny bit, not even to meet up at the temple itself.

Whilst cringing, Jongho stepped into the vicinity of the sacred tree and stared up at it, "Okay, hyung, come out now because I don't have a lot of time," he called out.

Knowing that the Fox Keeper is mischievous, Jongho let his eyes roam in anticipation of the guy showing up. The last time he let his guard down, the Fox Keeper led Jongho into a trap and only let him go eight hours later.

Thankfully, this time the Fox Keeper showed himself by peeking out of the back of the tree whilst standing on one of its large trunks. "Hey! There's my favourite cursed human!" He teased, jumping off the high trunk and landing safely on the ground, "Feels like it's been three years since I've last seen you!" Jongho rolled his eyes but stepped closer to him, "That's because I try to keep our meetings rare and short hyung." The Keeper snickered and patted Jongho on the shoulder, "Is that why you still refuse to call me by my name?" Jongho scoffed but smirked teasingly, "No, Yeonjun hyung, I just avoid using it too much in case you work like Beetlejuice." Yeonjun rolled his eyes and detached himself from Jongho in faux annoyance, "Okay, first of all, that man is a fashion icon what with combining black and white and purple and neon green together. Second, I have better things to do other than waiting for one of you to call me up and bother me."

"Is one of those things you do looking for the reincarnation of Ahyoung?" Jongho shot. Yeonjun sighed and shook his head, "You really are a no-bullshit type of man, huh? Can't you spare 15 minutes of chit-chat and catching up BEFORE you shoot straight to the point? I mean for fuck's sake, Jongho, we've known each other for three hundred years, I would imagine we'd see each other more often than this AND outside of necessities!" he complained. Jongho could feel his whole left cheek muscle twitching at the older man's words and through gritted teeth he pointed out, "Well, had we met at say a cafe, I would have DEFINITELY be willing to spare 15 minutes- heck, even half an hour to talk to you about nonsense before we get down to the point but nooooooo you just HAD to meet at this mosquito-infested serial-killer playground." "You do know that they put up a shrine for the Fox Keeper here right? They sort of pray to me for protection and stuff?" "And you do know that I just saw one of your foxes piss on one of your statues, right?" Jongho deadpanned.

Annoyed (at how Jongho was pointing out the truth), Yeonjun scoffed and started walking, signalling for Jongho to follow him along.

Now side by side, Jongho and Yeonjun started talking about the thing that had got Jongho on edge. "Well, I still can't sense anything," Yeonjun started, looking straight at the forest, "All I could sense was your curse and even then, nothing was pulling towards it. Do you still have the bead bracelet I gave you?" Jongho raised his left wrist to show that he was in fact wearing the item in question, "Has it ever changed colours?" "No, never and like you suggested, I've never even taken it off," Jongho sighed.

Yeonjun halted his steps momentarily to turn and put a hand on Jongho's shoulder, effectively also stopping him in his tracks, "You... You've been out and about to meet the potential person, right?" Jongho frowned and nodded slowly, "Yes? I've been out and about?" he was confused by the question. "No, no, no, no, not just out and about, but you've actually been trying to look for her right?" Then he stopped mid-sentence, "Or maybe it's not even a 'her' after all. No, no, no, no, no, what if that sorcerer pulled another stunt and stuck you with a 'him'?" At that, Jongho pushed Yeonjun who was in the middle of thinking a bit too harshly that he stumbled and almost fell down. "What the hell are you talking about!?" Staggering, Yeonjun stood back up and raised both of his hands, "Well, we've never considered this before but is it not a possibility? This is the same man who cursed you to roam the earth until god knows when for funsies just because you shut down his business!" Hearing that, Jongho paused to think if it was even possible because, in all honesty, he had never considered that and as much as he wanna say no, it seemed like something a cruel man would do to punish him. "I can see the wheels in your brain turning. I think if I get close enough, I can hear it and if we wait a bit more I think I can smell the smoke," Yeonjun teased which earned him a (hard) slap on the arm from Jongho but he just laughed it off.

Soon, the two resumed their walk and they did it in silence, just so they could take a moment from the chaos of their lives.

"I don't know how much longer of this I can take," Jongho opened up. "Take what?" Yeonjun asked, "This... Being cursed to live too long while everyone who had ever mattered to me died and I still have to sit in anticipation of meeting her again after all this time," Jongho sighed. Yeonjun pursed his lips in contemplation, "I mean, it's not like she's gonna remember anything, you know? Like yeah sure, you'll be the one bearing all the pain, but... Are you even ready to meet her and face whatever comes next?"

Jongho never really took into consideration what will come AFTER he finds the girl. He was so caught up with well, trying to catch up with times, that he never really considered what that would entail. Back then, during the first year or two of him dealing with being cursed, all he wanted to do was to immediately reverse the curse so he could... you know, die like a normal person. It came as such a surprise for him when he tried to stab himself with his sword during the darkest time of his life. It was after Ahyoung died and the reality came crashing down on him. Luckily, it was then that he met Hongjoong, the reaper who came to inform him that his soul was indefinitely chained to the earth and after a meltdown, Hongjoong (with the help of Yunho and Yeosang) brought the unconscious Jongho back to the library. That "nap" lasted two days and after that, Jongho felt slightly better.

"Was anyone ever ready to face anything?" Jongho asked, chuckling to himself as some sort of a way to hide his fear. Yeonjun smirked and nudged Jongho on the shoulder, "Yeah, I remember you on the cusp of modern civilization, holding onto your horse and carriage, stating that you'll never get into a death machine and now look at you and your ugly ass Hyundai Palisade." Jongho threw a glare at Yeonjun and punched him on his shoulder again, "It's a nice car and my assistant recommended it, you jerk," he huffed.

Yeonjun rubbed his arm whilst hissing to ease the pain of the impact from Jongho's fist but even as he did so, he decided to point out, "For someone who complained about his assistant trying to keep him up with technology, you sure do listen to her like A LOT. How's it going with her anyway? And by that, I do mean when can I meet her because so far, she's the only girl I can sense off of you." There was a hint of red on Jongho's cheeks at the mention of his assistant leaving traces on him but Jongho was quick enough to turn away completely from Yeonjun, "I'm less concerned about her shoving a rectangular fruit-named phone into my hands and more about the fact that you seem to not be able to stop sniffing me even when you don't need to," he muttered to himself. Knowing that he got him, Yeonjun snickered to himself but kept all the comment he could threw in just in case Jongho decide to throw another punch.

As another silenced period washed over them, both Yeonjun and Jongho calmed down until they reached the edge of the forest and the backdoor of the temple was merely a meter or two away.

Yeonjun put a hand out to stop Jongho and stepped in front of him, "Hey man, look, no matter what, I'm... Sorry that I don't have better news to tell you. I would if I could and I did everything I know from the time I worked with sorcerers. Frankly, at this point, the only two options are to expand our search to another continent or... Find the sorcerer and... I don't know, torture him into letting your soul go?"

Despite the bad news, Jongho couldn't help but crack up a bit at Yeonjun's attempt to comfort him. So he nodded and gratefully patted Yeonjun on the shoulder, "I get it hyung. It's been... What? 500 years? If it's not happening then, it's not happening now and I just have to..." A sudden weight appeared on Jongho's chest and as he exhaled, his breath shook, "I have to keep trying and keep searching. I'll try to expand my search or something but... Thanks," he smiled and before Yeonjun could comfort him more, Jongho stepped around him and walked back to the temple, "Say hi to your friend the moon bunny for me!" Jongho called out, grinning as he turned slightly to look at Yeonjun. Yeonjun scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Tell that to him yourself, he's waiting for that gaming rematch and you better set up something soon or else Soobin is just gonna bitch at me!" Yeonjun called back out.

As Jongho walked back to his modern car, memories flooded his head and he couldn't help but think about how such a long time has passed and compare his humble beginning and his current situation. Looking down at the phone in his hand, he saw the last text you sent to him about his schedule and he couldn't help but feel his fingers tingling and his chest burning. The grin on his face dropped and his face turned sullen.

Truly, truly he was tired.

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[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 59

Izutsumi's a badass.

I want to expand a little on how I think succubi operate. We know they take on the appearance of someone you desire subconsciously. And as we can see from Izutsumi's encounter, that desire is not necessarily romantic or sexual. For her, that desire is instead a loving parent figure. (Hey Izutsumi, Senshi and Chilchuck would love to be your dads).

And their appearance doesn't have to be based on anything real. The succubus doesn't necessarily look like Izutsumi's mother; it just looks like what Izutsumi thinks she looks like. And since every succubus targeting her looks the same, that might mean Izutsumi has spent a long time imagining what her mother looked like to the point there was an exact image the succubi could mimic.

Maybe the reason every succubus that attacked Chilchuck had different hairstyles was because the mental image in his head included a specific face and hair color, but there wasn't a set description for how the hair looked.

Anyway. Last chapter, Izutsumi mentioned smelling something sweet after the succubi attacked. They probably release a pheromone as well to further pacify their target or maybe to make it harder for the target to think clearly.

The biggest problem for them, as we can see in this chapter is they can become too specialized toward a specific target. So if they fail, they die.

The succubi's attack pattern against Izutsumi is exactly the same as we saw when they fought Marcille and Chilchuck. We have the first one attempt to approach its target for an easy kill. When that fails, several of them rushed at the same target. Then a separate one approached in a different form.

Their attack pattern seems to be something like 1) Approach target causally, 2) If that fails, approach target aggressively, 3) If that fails, scan for other potential targets and proceed with step 1 for them while repeating step 2 for the initial target.

When I first saw those little things, I thought they looked familiar but couldn't remember from what. When we get the reveal that succubi are a type of mosquito monster, I realized those are giant mosquito larvae. Under their glamor, succubi probably look like giant mosquitos.

The succubus social structure seems to be communal rather than eusocial. There's no indication that there is a queen. Instead, I would speculate that the succubi birth and care for their young collectively. And they're willing to sacrifice themselves when hunting because as long as one of the others manages to feed, their offspring will also be fed.

Nothing has been this aggressively protective of its young since the Living armors.

The sudden whiplash from horror to comedy.

Marcille's succubus still has the exact same romance filter over it, including the closeup of its face in the bottom left corner.

They didn't turn off their glamor after feeding on Marcille and Chilchuck so I guess they actually physically transformed and it's either permanent or lasts until they manage to feed their young.

Izutsumi and Chilchuck both agree that Marcille has awful taste.

Izutsumi ended up being functionally immune to the succubi because her dual-soul prevented them from being able to take a form that could fully work on her. I'm curious if something similar might happen with demi-humans. It probably wouldn't. Even if my speculation about them originally being beastkin is right, they would have something that their soul fully agrees is desirable.

Look at her. She's so proud that she managed to make something all by herself.

It tastes bad.

She's also holding the ladle wrong.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! That nutrient chart!

Looks like Izutsumni tried to feed Senshi through his nose.

She ended up scratching up their chins a little trying to get them to open their mouths.

She's sleeping like a cat in a tree.

So far, we're two for three on monsters that break the "rules" about where you can encounter them. In all the other floors, you could find safe areas to rest and refill on water. But on this floor, a dullahan waited outside one of those rest areas and broke into it. Meanwhile succubi were occupying a water fountain.

Since the party is getting close to the end of the dungeon, it doesn't appear that it will offer as many opportunities to rest.

Laios and Chilchuck were scratching at themselves before everyone's bite marks started to swell.

It makes sense that you'd have the demons first and then monsters that match the descriptions. Different lands could have different monsters. And when travelers tell about those monsters, they sound so fantastical and the descriptions eventually shift until the locals think they are demons. Then those monsters get rediscovered.

Marcille is so nosy. Wanting to know what the succubi that attacked Laios and Senshi looked like.

Don't avoid the question, Laios. Did you try to fuck a minotaur?

back

[astroboots]

Personal Belongings

Summary: How Santiago lost his mother's necklace and Frankie ends up saving his life, aka the moment Santiago falls in love with Frankie.

Content: heavy angst content (Vegeta voice: it's over 9000!!!), blood, gore, violence, guns and injuries it's like a Tarantino movie in here.

Wordcount: 2,700

Homesick Masterlist | Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

One of the first things they did to Santiago when he arrived at the military camp was to take away all his personal belongings.

The rule is: no jewelry allowed, unless it is a wedding band or a religious symbol. It meant that the only thing Santiago got to keep on his person that day was the catholic golden cross necklace that his mother had gifted to him at his Christening.

The official reason is that the military wants to ensure that every soldier complies with the strict code of appearance. Every soldier has to look presentable when they are representing the flag of the United States.

And sure, Santiago can be convinced that might definitely be a part of it. But even at 18 years old Santiago was smart enough to figure out that the real reason was to strip soldiers of their individuality and identity.

And that's what they did. They stripped him of every personal effect he was wearing on his person–every clothing item and every accessory. Heck even the glittery braided bracelet his niece had made for him before he shipped off was put in a metal tin box. The only thing left on his body that was not owned by the government was the symbol of the Crucifixion of Jesus.

Santiago might still be catholic under a technicality, but no one in their right mind would call him a devout believer. Not with the things he gets up to on a Sunday afternoon instead of going to Mass.

So it is incredibly ironic that the only item that was left was something that failed to reflect who he was in any real way that mattered, except that maybe he is a little bit of a mama’s boy.

It's a joke he loves to tell in a crowd. It always goes over well over a beer and a handful of tequila shots.

Things change when his mom passes away. It's no longer something he jokes about without feeling the crushing weight of loss dragging at his heels. So he doesn't. 

Instead, he clings to the necklace as a source of a reminder of who he is: his mother's son.

Santiago does not wear it in any service for a higher power, but simply as a reminder of the person he loved the most in the world and the person who loved him back unconditionally. If the cross is a symbol of anything, he guesses it would be that. The reminder that he used to be loved. 

The day Santiago loses his mother’s necklace goes like this:

They’re in the jungle. It’s hot and sweltering. The smell of rotten soil and sulfur is ripe and clings to every inch of his skin. It’s the kind of stench that is going to take weeks before he is able to scrub it off once he’s back to civilization.

He has a constellation of mosquito bites itching under his shoulder that he can’t reach to scratch. All in all, it’s a pretty shit day before it has even had time to start.

Morale is low, and the team is in a mood as rotten as the smell around them. The intel that got them here smells even worse.

On the way over, Frankie looks grim, and Santiago swears he can practically hear his molars grinding against each other.

"You okay there Frank?" Santiago asks.

Frankie look like the fucking world is ending, and shoots him a wordless look and nothing else. He doesn't have to say anything for Santiago to know what he's thinking.

It's never a good fucking sign if Frankie, who's the calmest in their unit is on edge. It's like the mine canary flapping its wings agitatedly seconds before dropping dead, a bad omen if Santiago's ever known one.

But it's not like they can turn back and call it a day, so the only thing they can do is soldier on and walk straight into the death trap that they all know it to be.

The only thing Santiago can do right now, is to make his best friend feel a little bit better and pretend they're not lambs being lined up for slaughter.

"Hey Frank, What do you call someone who joined the military out of spite?"

Frankie raises an eyebrow, then shrugs his shoulders and Santiago puts on his best shit-eating grin before he answers the man.

"A petty officer."

The dark cloud seems to clear from Frankie's expression and the man barks out a laugh, shaking his head but he can't wipe off the smile curling at his lips and he certainly can't hide it from Santiago even as he tugs down his cap as far as it'll go.

And as Santiago observes the man in front of him, eyes still crinkling with amusement, he can't help but think to himself that if shit goes down today, there's nobody else he'd have next to him.

They’re uncoordinated and out of sync from the get-go. Jimmy the newbie gets trigger happy, and bullets starts flying before Santiago's even had a chance to properly step foot in the building.

Ironhead is cursing up a storm, and gets zinged on his thigh, shouting at someone, anyone to cover his six, cause butter-fingered Jimmy is not standing where he was supposed to be standing.

Santiago gets three, maybe four clean shots in, before the orders to retreat sounds from the comms, not a second too soon, that have them pull back like a pack of sad looking dogs with their tails tucked between their legs, evading bullets and falling debris as best as they can to get back to the rendezvous point.

It's stuffy and hot, and Santiago's ears are ringing from gunshots fired off too close to his head. The walls are narrow, with live electrical wires that he's sure will end his life if he gets too close. There's protruding metal pipes poking at his back and neck, snagging across clothing and skin. He's bound to get tetanus even if he makes it out of here alive. It's a fucking mess.

Firefly's voice is on the comms, doing a roll call and it's not until Santiago readjusting his earpiece that he notices it.

It's not there.

Fuck.

His throat is bare.

Fuck.

His mother's necklace is not there.

fuckfuckfuck.

Where did it go? Where the fuck did it go!? Shit!

Cold sweat breaks out across the small of his back, trapped between his gear and vest and -- fuck, he can't think. Where could he have dropped it?

Everything is chaos around him, and his eyes flits between the concrete wall behind him, riddled with bullet holes, and the clear path in front of him back to the meeting point.

Someone is screaming his name, but he can't hear who it is over the cacophony of screaming and bullets being fired off in all directions. He can't goddamn think with all this noise. Just needs everything to shut the fuck up and stop for just a second so he can retrace his steps.

He still wore it this morning. Still had it in the vehicle. Pretty sure he felt the cool metal chafe against the bare skin on his collarbone as he stepped into this building. It wouldn't have just fallen off on its own. Something must've snagged it, he must've gotten it stuck somewhere. Shit where did it--

A sudden force yanks him backwards by his gear, and Santiago slams backwards into the wall with a blunt impact that punches the air out of his lungs. Frankie's face is inches from his, palm on his chest as he's pushing Santiago up against the wall, fury brimming in his eyes.

"Pope, what the fuck!" Frankie roars at him. "Pay attention to your goddamn surroundings! You almost got shot out there."

But Santiago doesn't take in his words, all he can think about is that narrow hallway. The protruding pipes and wires that had snagged against his skin on the way out. That's it isn't it? It's there, has to be there.

"It's in the building."

Frankie's looking at him like he's a madman, and he's probably right. "What?"

"I have to go back, Frank."

"Have you lost your goddamn--" Frankie doesn't get to finish the sentence before Santiago is already on his heels, charging back in.

It's all a blur. He doesn't know how he manages to evade the searing bullets that he can hear perforate the concrete, inches from his head. His heart is galloping so hard it's reverberating against his ribs like a stupid ping pong ball.

Blood floods his ears, and he can't really make out any sounds except for his own harsh and ugly breathing as he tries to race back to the same narrow hallway that he can see crystal-clear in his mind's eye.

The air is pungent with sulfur and burnt metal. The sound of pop, pop, pop, and high-tuned whistle that rings sharp and painful in his ears. Maybe he's grown too cocky and careless, just like Redfly warned him a million times before, but it doesn't even feel like a real threat anymore as he ducks and searches the dusty rubble of the ground for the familiar golden chain.

He doesn't make it far.

The first bullet goes straight through his right knee.

The second through his lower abdomen.

Santiago doesn't even feel the pain at first. Adrenaline kicks in hard and fast, pushing through his veins straight to his head. The rush is almost nice. Makes him lightheaded. Makes his steps feel light, even against the heavy sensation of dragging himself across the ground to take cover behind the wall.

He can't feel his face or his stomach where his hand is pressed up against the wet leaking wound to slow down the bleeding.

It serves him right. He's such a fucking idiot. This is why the army doesn't allow you personal belongings. So that idiots like him don't go and run back into the line of hostile fire, trying to retrieve things. It's baggage. Useless emotional baggage that you cannot afford to hold onto. This is how one dies in war.

His breathing is staggered. The pain is returning with a vengeance now that the initial burst of adrenaline is tapering off. It fucking hurts to breathe.

This is how he's going to die. He's going to die here. Like this. In enemy territory, some 7,000 miles from Florida. Away from his mother's house. Away from his childhood bedroom that he hasn't been back to for a year. But maybe that's just as well, his mother is no longer there after all. Will never be back there.

His fingers feel slick and the sting of rusted iron and gunfire is overwhelming his nostrils.

Santiago almost wants to laugh. It's a damn shame he dropped his mom's cross because if there ever was a perfect fucking time to take up praying again, this'd be it.

The insides of his mouth tastes like dirty metal (blood he realizes) and each breath comes with a staggering pain against his sides, until he almost wants to stop breathing.

Maybe this is okay, (fuck it hurts). Yeah this... this is fine. He's fine with this. That it's him lying here and not someone else. At least… at least it's him and not Firefly who's got a wife and a kid on the way. Or Ironhead with his younger brother and mom waiting for him at home. Or Catfish-- fuck thank god it's not Frank. Out of everyone, even though there's no one else he'd rather have by his side when he goes out in a blaze and glorious shame, now that it's happening Santiago is just really glad that it's not Frank lying here.

Hopes that Frankie's already stepping into the vehicle to safety back to their safehouse.

Santiago closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe despite the pain. Frank's gonna be pissed. The anger that was already burning in his eyes when Santiago almost got shot... He doesn't even want to imagine how pissed the man will be when he finds out Santiago was shot. Twice.

His fingers are numb. He can't even feel the bullet hole anymore. Not sure if he's pushing down with the right pressure. Too hard? Not hard enough? Shit, it doesn't matter now. It's going to end regardless.

But it's fine. He's…. he's had a good run. Traveled to places places he'd never thought he'd get to set foot in as a kid. Laughed, drank, fucked.

It's the choice he made and he'd redo it all over again if he could. There's no regrets...

A phantom sensation lingers around his hand. The feeling of your pinkie curled around his. It lingers there, like you're standing right in front of him, the way you did three months ago by the drop off point.

Maybe one regret...

'I'll be back before you've had a chance to miss me.'

His only regret is that he won't be keeping his promise to come home to you.

He was supposed to take you to his cousin's wedding.

Supposed to take you to see that new Fast and the Furious movie.

Supposed to land at Tampa airport and see you standing there by the arrivals, with your welcome home balloons and your big smile and --

But it'll be--(oh fuck it fucking hurts)--it'll… it'll be okay (right?). You'll be okay, he's sure of it. Give it a year, maybe even two, and you'll be okay, you're resilient that way. The strongest, toughest person he's known in the two decades and then some on this blue planet. In a year, you'll move on. In a year, you won't wait for him to come home anymore. In a year you'll probably have forgotten his name.

You'll be--(jesus fucking christ, it hurts. he can't- it just hurts and oh god he doesn't want to di--)

"Garcia!"

It's Frankie's voice.

Fuck.

He's not supposed to be here.

He's supposed to be in the van. 70 miles per hour down the bumpy unpaved road they came from. Well on his way to safety. Not here, out in the open, where it's open season for a bullet to eat into his skull while trying to save Santiago's dumb and miserable ass.

Santiago takes one pained and staggered breath, breathes in the sharp rusted air that feels like knives and crushed glass into his lungs and opens his eyes.

The first thing that greets him is those familiar eyes, the same fury and anger burning in the brown charcoal as before. Frankie's pissed alright. There's an irate set to his jaw, as his arms comes around Santiago's torso. Frankie's solid strength dragging him backwards, screaming for backup.

Santiago doesn't remember much after that. He blacks out. Consciousness comes to him in bits and pieces. He vaguely recalls staring up at the blue, cloudless sky. Being propped up and held up as they haul him into the van. The bumps and snags on the road as he lays on the hard floor of the vehicle. Remembers seeing Frankie's calm, grounded brown eyes and hearing that familiar raspy tone telling him to "stay with me, Santiago".

He thinks he tries to answer Frankie with a yes. Instead all that comes out is a garbled choked sound steeped in blood.

But it doesn't even matter, all Santiago knows in that moment is that with this man by his side, watching his six, he could probably stay and live forever.

The one thing Santiago remembers clear as day is Frankie's voice echoing in his ears and the unwavering strength of his grip as his hand clutches onto his.

Despite the cold numbness that seeps into Santiago's chest, the warmth of the man's voice seems to heat him up from inside out.

"I've got you. I've got you, Santiago. It'll be okay."

…and for the first time, yeah, Santiago thinks maybe it will be after all. Even without the necklace. Even without his mom... There's still someone in this world who cares about his useless ass.

Dedicated to fellow angst monster queen who came up with this idea with me: my co-pilot thirstworldproblemss and some of the angstiest bits are written by her. Don't listen to her when she lies and says she doesn't angst. She angsts good.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[generalallxsanjishipper]

Some incorrect\extremely correct quotes for my EXTREMELY FAR AWAY IN THE FUTURE ADP FIC (and in part in TIALAMYDK LMAO)

***

Alice *after entering Douxie's mind for several minutes, on the floor*: Oh, wow. Your brain is a disaster

Douxie *also on the floor*: Yeah, I know

Alice : Ever thought about doing drugs?

——

Zoe: Casperan. 

Douxie: Ashildr.  

Zoe: Clumsy dumbass. 

Douxie: Angry Chiwawa. 

Claire: *confused* What are they doing? 

Archie: Insulting contest. 

Claire: Ah. 

Zoe: Old Man. 

Douxie: Dwarf. 

Zoe: Flat ass.

Douxie:  Useless Half Lesbian

Zoe: Knucklehead

Douxie: Mosquito

Zoe: Peter Pan

Douxie: *Suddenly grinning* Pinky pie. 

Zoe: EXCUSE ME?

Douxie: HA! *Claps hands with a smug face* I WON! 

Zoe: HOW DID YOU JUST CALL ME?! I'M GONNA FUCKING END YOU! 

Alice: Now, now… 

——

Douxie: Hello, my name is Failure, and you're watching my life crumble into pieces.

Douxie: *waves his fingers and sings like he is in a Disney Channel intro*

——

Simon: Why are you on fire?

Douxie: This is just how my day is going.

——

Douxie: Everybody shut up, please! I'm thinking.

Zoe, patting him on the back: Well, don’t think too hard. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.

Douxie: Oh, for the bloody sake, Ashildr!

——

Jim: I’m here for the cult stuff.

Alice: How did you find us?

Jim: I saw your ad on craigslist.

——

Alice: To be honest, I'm kinda pissed that I'm not asleep in bed next to the love of my life in a cottage with no obligations other than watering my vegetable garden.

——

Archie, looking at Douxie, Alice, Simon and Zoe: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

——

Simon, on the phone: Oh, hey man… Sorry for accusing you of murder last week.

——

Alice: Someone take me to art museums and make out with me.

Zoe: But they said not to touch the masterpieces.

Alice: Well somebody's got to pin the artwork to the wall.

Douxie, on a mic that he brought by himself: This is Douxie, those idiots are fucking around in the East wing again.

Douxie:*drops the mic on the floor and leaves, muttering about being a third wheel*

——

Zoe: Mom liked to say ‘you can be part of the problem or part of the solution,’ but I happen to believe you can be both.

——

Jim: Who's in charge here?

Zoe, shrugging: Usually whoever yells the loudest. So, me.

——

Barbara, seeing both Douxie and Alice on wheelchairs: I hope you have an explanation for this.

Alice: We have three, actually! :D

Douxie: Pick your favorite.

——

Alice: *venting endlessly to Simon about her week*

Simon, every once in a while: *in a monotone* Wow, that is so wild.

——

Alice: Yeah, well I've never died so how do I know that Gods or... God are real.

Nari:*appears*

Alice: WHAT THE FLIP

Athena:*appears too*

Alice:*looses her flipping mind*

——

Zoe, to Claire: Well, one of us has to be wrong and it’s not going to be me.

Claire:

Claire: Yes, it's you, actually.

——

Alice, *talking about Zoe*: She's the girl of my dreams!

Douxie: You say to most of the girls that they are the girl of your dreams.

Alice: I have a lot of dreams.

——

Douxie: The next time I open up to someone, it'll be my autopsy.

——

Simon: Sorry I can’t be emotionally vulnerable with you, it'd ruin the mystery.

——

Zoe, *talking about one of her first meeting with Douxie*: And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife several times.

Jim: You mean you stabbed him?

Zoe: He ran into my knife.

Douxie: She ran into my knife, too.

——

Zoe: I don’t even have time to tell you how wrong you are.

Jim: Okay?

Zoe: …

Zoe: …

Zoe: Actually it’s gonna bug me if I don’t, so...

——

*Zoe and Alice are texting*

Zoe: Your ass is like…

Zoe: Spacious

Alice: WHAT

Zoe: Sorry, I didn’t want to say fat because it might trigger your ED

——

Bastard number 1:*sarcastically, while leaving* I hope you all make it to adulthood.

Jim: That’s... a great prayer.

Simon: A needed one.

Douxie: A needed one indeed.

——

Simon: I will send my army to attack!

Simon: *makes roaring noises*

Simon: *releases a dumpster of raccoons*

Jim, next to his Vespa: WHOA

Jim: THEY WERE YOURS????

——

Zoe, singing to the tune of I Kissed a Girl: I killed a guy, and I liked it-

Douxie, whispering: Should we call the exorcist?

Alice, also singing: The taste of his cherry chapstick.

Simon, appalled, but looking apathetic: Call the exorcist.

——

Zoe: Alice and I are no longer dating.

Alice: Zoe, that’s a horrible way of telling people we’re married.

——

Zoe: Hey, quick question. How petty am I allowed to be?

——

Alice: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything?

Alice: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies.

Toby: Socks are Feetie Heaties.

Jim: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties.

Douxie: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies.

Claire: Stamps are Lickie Stickies.

Zoe: I hate you guys so much.

——

Alice, looking through their clothes: Has anyone seen my top?

Simon, grabbing his mint gums without looking at her: Zoe's in the kitchen.

[elentarial]

Midsummer

Maedhros & Maglor Week Day 1-Treelight (Formenos)

The food stall in Tirion that Kanafinwë loves so much is days away from Formenos. He whines endlessly and drives his brother mad; they are alone in the fortress for a little longer as Nerdanel wrangles their younger brothers. For those three days, Nelyo is smug and deliberately cooks and eats meat wrapped in soft, doughy flatbreads right in front of Káno.

"Do you have to?" He whines.

They're sitting in the garden, poking at the small stone fire pit Turko built with Ambarussa two summers past. Early summer has cooled, but the night is muggy. Káno can smell the rain even through the smoke.

"I truly don’t know what you’re talking about," Nelyo grumbles, although the sly glint in his eyes suggests that he knows very well that he's grating on his brother’s nerves.

Formenos sprawls in the north of Valinor on a hill above a community of the same name. Fëanáro has brought his family to the fortress every summer since he wed Nerdanel, and although various cousins and occasionally grandfather Finwe join them, the summer sojourn is routine. His two eldest sons are nearly grown, and Kanafinwë is beginning to find the excursion dull. He does not want to be a child again but rather an adult with the freedom to do as he pleases, such as drunkenly snacking on flatbreads from a market stall at midnight after a performance. He does not expect Nelyo -dutiful to a fault- to understand. 

An iron fork goes unused between them, meant for roasting sausages or puffy, sweet confections that they eat between cinnamon crackers. Tonight, however, it's just them and the fire.

"Fiend," Káno laments, draping an arm dramatically over his face. “I am ever destined to suffer for my art.” Nelyo does not bother to hide his snicker. “I am certain you’ll survive.” 

Telperion’s glow is a sliver behind them; the fire softens the angles of Káno’s face into a replica of his childish former self. Something silly could be said--out loud or by action--about the fire between them, but that can wait until later. "And if you don’t, I suppose I won’t have to share a room with anyone."

Tomorrow morning holds, a trip to the farmer's market within the town of Formenos. They'll head down the cobbled path with coins in their pockets and the hand cart on wheels that starts empty but ends up brimming with their haul for the day. The list Nerdanel made for them, written in scrawl on the back of one of her sketches, has the word tomatoes underlined three times. Curufin eats them like apples and will shriek if there are none when he arrives. A fruitful garden is still weeks off. 

Mosquitos are starting to appear as Laurelin gives way to Telperion. They'll need to put out the fire soon to avoid being eaten. The last thing Nelyo needs is Káno scratching at himself in his sleep, knocking his elbow into Nelyo’s ribs.

Leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable, Káno turns towards his older brother.

Nelyo can make the same flatbreads out of leaner meat with less salt and more flavor. He’s done more cooking for their veritable army of brothers than either of their parents burned himself and the food more than a few times, but in the end, he figured it out and then taught the rest of them.

At first, Kano’s eyes linger on Nelyo’s tongue, peeking out just slightly from behind his teeth. A few seconds later, those same eyes lock with Nelyo’s.

The fire snaps.

"Nelyo?"

"Yes?"

"Shut the fuck up."

[dragonmuse]

The Roach scene in Hymnless got me wondering if Charlie ever appeared/will appear on the Vengeance Chefs YouTube channel?

(hi all! apparently I still do this from time to time, who knew?! )

“Okay, worms, you asked, I delivered.” Roach reached out of frame, grabbed and pulled Charlie into it by his t-shirt sleeve. “Behold. America’s champion. Say hello.” 

“Hi!” Charlie grinned at the camera. “Nice to be back.” 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Roach stared down the lens, “I told you I knew an Olympian and you all assumed I was hiding him, but it’s just this tall skinny ass white boy that thinks peanut butter out of a jar is an acceptable snack.” 

“I like peanut butter.”  

“So do I. ON things.” 

“It’s on a spoon,” Charlie pointed out with a sly grin. 

“There you have it. Two Olympic medals, not the sense that Mother Earth gave to a mosquito. Charlie, let me ask you the question I ask all my victims.” 

“I’ve been in like five videos at this point,” Charlie reminded him. “We’ve done this before.” 

“Oh, I know,” Roach nodded. “I’m going to insert a montage right here of your last five answers.” 

“Great, I was like fifteen the first time. They can watch me grow like a flipbook. Shoot.” 

“Charlie Bonnet, what is your favorite meal to order out?” 

“Waffles, eggs and crispy bacon with a coffee.” 

“Breakfast food. When is the correct time of day for that food?” 

“Any time,” Charlie said staunchly. “Breakfast exists when I break my fast.” 

“I have taught you well,” Roach nodded. “All right, a breakfast for a champion. Breakfast of Champions....good fucking book. You read that one?” 

“Love Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle is my favorite though.” 

“So it goes,” Roach reached for the eggs. 

“So it goes,” Charlie agreed. 

“Now if you’re expecting me to ask this fine athlete a lot of jockey questions, I think you all forgot who the fuck I am,” Roach shoved a bowl at Charlie, cracked an egg on the rim then thrust a whisk at him. Charlie started to whisk as Roach added more eggs. “And you’re still thinking this kid is a normal jock.” 

“I’m twenty-two,” Charlie pointed out, diligently whisking. 

“A mere babe in the woods,” Roach agreed. “And you swim good. Great job. Everyone’s very proud. Got anything to say about that that you haven’t already said on the interview circuit two hundred times which anyone can easily google?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Charlie kept his eyes on the eggs. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Sure,” Charlie glanced over at Roach. “I’ll give you an exclusive soundbite. In fact, I saved it for you.” 

“Did you?” Roach asked suspiciously. “Okay, lay it on us.” 

“I didn’t eat anything the day I won. I don’t have a magic winning meal,” Charlie shrugged. “That’s not a recommendation, I was just too nervous. My post-win meal was a liter of chocolate milk with three tablespoons of protein powder.” 

“Amazing,” Roach patted him vaguely on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving the grossest moments for us.” 

“That is so far from the grossest thing,” Charlie said solemnly. “But I’m not here to put everyone off their appetite.” 

“Then what are you here for?” 

“Decoration, I think. And to do an impression of a stand mixer.” 

“Correct!” 

They cooked together, bantering a little as Roach shoveled ingredients into Charlie’s bowl. The waffles came out beautifully brown, the bacon crispy and the eggs fluffy. They ate and talked about corruption in sports judging, Roach grilling Charlie like he was personally responsible for the entire concept of judging. Charlie grinned through the whole thing. 

Once the cameras were off,  Charlie polished off the rest of the bacon while washing pots. Roach dried. They stood almost shoulder to shoulder, not touching, but close. 

“You know,” Roach said as he slowly dabbed away the moisture from the last plate, “the stuff for the camera...I am actually pretty proud of you.” 

“I know,” Charlie turned off the tap. “I feel the love, I promise.” 

“Let’s not go too far,” Roach sniffed and Charlie laughed. “But I might part with some leftovers. Just this once.” 

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” 

If Charlie went home weighted down with food stuffed into reused takeout containers that was Roach’s business. He’d show his affections in the way he saw fit and if that was in cheese bread and barbecued short rib then so be it. Charlie understood it. 

Charlie: Felix says he wants to marry you instead.  

Roach: tell I’d rather stick my hand in the garbage disposal 

Charlie: you don’t have a garbage disposal 

Roach: i would buy one for the express purpose  

Charlie: harsh but fair. It was the cheese bread, apparently. 

Roach: I’ll send you the recipe. Then you can keep your fakakta fiance. 

Charlie: can't’ wait to send you pictures of a burnt pan 

Roach: you’ll make them perfectly. Just takes a few times. I know you can be a persistent little asshole when you’re in the mood. Charlie: stop with the praise, I’m blushing so hard I’ll pass out. thnx tho.

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Protocol Mug - Day Three

Welcome to day three! I actually enjoyed writing this. The dynamic between Asset and James is barely in existence, but the few videos they interact are some of my favorites. So enjoy.

Prompt: Hand-painted mugs

Characters: James and Asset

CW: Mentions of distrust, reverse of progress, worries about the future, a hint of mystery, fluff if you squint. And I mean if you squint like you’re half blind and are trying to see the details of a mosquito’s wings. Might as well get a fucking microscope at this point, minimal cursing 

Masterlist

Asset followed the security guard down the hall, the noise compressors installed into their body silencing the otherwise loud metallic footsteps they would have had against the linoleum. They stared straight ahead, line of sight bypassing the security guards shoulder.

The day had started out simply enough. They had powered on Marcus would have said they should use the term "woken up" because it made them more relatable to humans, which would improve their social standing, and picked out an outfit to wear today. Granted there was no variation. But they could pick out which white long sleeved shirt and light gray pants they wished to wear. Footwear was unnecessary and their installment team wanted to test the noise compression updates. They were partial to the socks commonly found within a human hospital that allowed for the wearer to find friction on the ground for movement. They liked the soft sound of it sticking. Plus when they were well and truly alone, as much as they could be, they could turn the sock around and use the fabric to slide this way and that.

They had been waiting for the first summons or appointment when the security guard had come to get them. That only ever meant one thing. They were going to meet with James.

She didn't acknowledge them as she knocked on the door to James' office. She only departed when the door was pulled open and Asset was greeted with his smiling face. Smiles can't be trusted. Don't start now.

"Good morning. How are you doing?" James asked them as they entered. The bionic eyes shifted in their sockets, documenting every new and little shift of their surroundings before they took their usual seat.

"I'm well. All my systems are functioning properly, and the new upgrades appear to be working as the installment team had hoped. As for my emotional health, nothing today has gone wrong to cause a dip within my... happiness." They answered, hands folding in their lap as they looked at James carefully. "How are you this morning?" James smiled at them, but it was soon replaced by a frown. Their emotional detection reasoning spun as they tried to orient and assign an emotion to the expression on his face.

"A bit troubled if I'm being honest. I'm worried about you. Do you want to tell me what's going on?" They seriously doubted that he needed anything from them. After all every activity they participated in, whether scheduled or not, was documented and reported to him and his own teams. So he would know everything. They looked away.

"I don't know what you are referring to. Please specify." They replied. It was a demand, but James knew they meant it as a question.

"Gladly. The newly appointed lead for your social protocol team reported you as uncooperative and disinterested." If they were human, they might have flinched. But they weren't, so they remained still with their expression carefully maintained. "And it's only with your social protocol. I can understand how it might unnerved you, but is there another reason why you want to avoid all interactions with the team?" He asked. They wished he hadn't been so thorough with his question. It had been purely analytical, so there was no room to dodge or leave information out. He certainly had a knack for getting to the heart and root of all of their problems.

They fidgeted with the stitched hem of their shirt. He knew it was on purpose though. Every action that seemed accidental was always done on purpose and thought through.

"I don't want to risk something like the code happening again." They muttered and James nodded with a sigh. They didn't like it, but they kept the opinion to themselves. They watched him lean against the edge of the desk and cross his arms over his chest.

"That's understandable. But these protocols are important to your connection to humanity. And you have to have that connection to have true and unshakeable motivation to save us. It's unknown what you'll encounter but we have to make sure you'll never waver." He said, sympathy coating his words. They nodded along with a frown. "Would it help if it was someone you could trust?" He asked. They stared at him before their shoulders moved in a shrug.

"I suppose if I already had a solid basis of trust and mutual understanding, it would make me less apprehensive to allow my social training to resume." They relented, unsure of where the conversation was going. They knew everyone that worked with them, but that didn’t necessarily mean they trusted them. The only person they could think of that they trusted was Anton, but he was on the team that focused on installing upgrades. That was what his contract was for. They watched as James nodded as if he had gotten some clarity. They still remained confused however.

“Alright. Do you trust me?” He asked, still staying where he was. They eyed him before copying his open stance. It wasn’t a perfect replication, but the flaws in it were also made on purpose.

“I suppose so. However, I don’t have a lot of data on you. While you have been very forthcoming with information in the past, you also held some information away. It brings into questioning what else you’re not releasing to me.” They responded. James’s smile didn’t go away, but his eyes remained guarded. They weren’t going to pull anything new from him, but that was expected. If they had been trying to get more information from him, they would have continued their line of questioning. Instead they leaned back in their seat and dipped their head a few calculated degrees towards him. James clapped his hands together, signaling a change in the conversation direction.

"Well then. Now that you've established you trust me, with some added tidbits, how would you feel if I took over your social protocol training? At least until you built a relationship with your new team lead and member, or until we found a suitable replacement. Whichever comes first I suppose." He asked. Asset paused at the offer, genuinely caught off guard. It didn't happen very often since they were usually able to predict outcomes. Then again, James had always managed to trick them. So they shouldn't be surprised. Although it was a very human thing to do - becoming surprised by the typical behavior of an individual.

"You have enough recreational time to set some aside in your schedule to take part in my training, James?" They asked skeptically. James didn't answer them, but the question was more rhetorical than it was literal. They nodded, as careful as usual. "I suppose that would be an acceptable temporary arrangement." They responded and James nodded, straightening up as he walked around his desk to the other side.

"Perfect. I figured that we would start now since you're already here. Is that okay with you?" There were a few possible reasons for the consistent check ins. It could be because James was that type of person, he wanted to keep their trust, or he was trying to get them to trust humanity as a whole once again. They guessed it was a mix of the latter two.

"I have no complaints with doing so." They responded, watching curiously as he pulled out a plastic shopping bag. They leaned forward slightly as their eyes grew wider. There was a soft mechanical whir as their pupils audibly zoomed in. James pulled out a couple art kits and he watched with amused interest at the way that Asset replicated the soft scrunch of their nose and the disinterested lip curl that was so present upon human expressions. "You want to do arts and crafts for my protocol training? I don't mean to bring doubt upon your methods, however... unprofessional they may seem, but I must question what painting clay pottery has to do with learning the social behaviors and patterns I'm meant to emulate of the human species." James laughed softly at their confusion as he opened one of the boxes to pull out the kiln-dried mug from its protective styrofoam casing.

"True true. But it's not the act that is the protocol training. It's the act of the bonding over such a project. I admit I also want to test your creative cylinders. But humans are social creatures, so we seek anyway of bonding. Plus I figured it would be a nice way to ease into this arrangement." He said, waving the mug harmlessly by the handle. Asset's eyes tracked the movement before their gaze shifted to lock eyes with James.

"Observations tell me that you have no inclination how my social team teaches and trains me." They deadpanned. His smile turned sheepish and he shrugged. His eyes never lost the guarded calculating look though.

"Guilty as charged. I can put the mugs away if you'd like." He offered. They stood up and walked over to grab the unopened box. They turned it over in their hand before meeting his eyes again.

"Negative. I'll take part in your scheduled activity. From my understanding, conversation is often present during such activities, often leading to mistakes being made which provokes frustration. I have multitasking program installed, so I shall not get frustrated. What would you like to converse about?"

When James had first met them, their speech had sounded slightly off. Just a nudge away from sounding genuinely human, bar any slang. But after the Marcus incident they had been distancing themselves further from more human speech patterns. It was what had provoked James to intervene in the first place. The concern that they would distance themselves as much as possible from humanity as a whole had been the more concerning factor. The sense of duty to save humanity had already been established, however they also wanted the Asset to desire to save humanity. It would make them try harder and cut no corners.

"It could be anything you'd like." James answered as he pulled out his radio to request a small table to be brought into the office for the two to work on. He watched as they sat down on the floor, carefully and methodically unboxing the mug. He wondered if they would purposefully cause bits of the styrofoam go splinter off like it would under a human's clumsy hands. But they managed it without much mess and collected little bits that came from it scraping against the flimsy cardboard of the box.

"I have nothing to say or contribute. Choosing topics are often in my clearance as well. The privilege was revoked since my topic of interest was always..." Their voice trailed off, body and expression stilling. The silent name was practically tangible. And for a moment they could almost feel his fingertips drifting along their sensors. They shuddered and refocused on the mug. They didn’t look up as the door clicked open and two people entered, carefully carrying a table as the third held the door open. James waited for the door to close before grabbing an edge of the table and scooting it to where he desired.

"I was serious when I said that whenever you changed your mind we could pursue legal action. It might be a bit difficult because of the memory modification, but we have legitimate proof of his crimes.” James offered gently. They looked at him, their head already moving in a shake.

“I would prefer to just try to let it become less detrimental within my memory hard-drive. It’s better to let it not get in the way of my progress.” They responded as they picked up the mug and painting accessories from the floor to bring it to the table. It was at average knee height so there was no need to drag a chair over. They moved towards it on their knees, holding the objects close to their chest. It was a very human behavior, although James didn’t bring it up. He carried his own project and sat down on the floor across from them. The cold temperature of the tile below the rug brushed along his thighs. He was sure that they were able to detect it. But it wouldn’t bother them.

“Alright. I just want you to know that the offer was still on the table.” He said as he leaned an elbow on the table, fist supporting the weight of his head, as he eyed the mug calmly. They stared at him, trying to analyze and sort his behavior. Giving credit where credit is due, he looked very relaxed and open. Too bad he couldn't mask the expression in his eyes. Unless he was leaving that open on purpose. Or was that a mask hiding different intentions itself? "You're trying to read me again, aren't you?" James asked, his attention now returned to them. There was no point in lying.

"I'll admit there was never a pause or lull in my analyzing. It's always active and directed to any organic lifeforms in my vicinity. Isn't that what some of my program updates' purpose was?" They answered. They grew confused at the appearance of a crease in their... what was he... owner? Boss? Manager?’s forehead. He didn't give them a chance to ask a question. He simply wet his brush before dipping it into the paint palette and began to carefully move it along the mug. They stared before mirroring the action. They hesitated before letting it touch the dried clay though, thinking. They let the brush touch briefly in intervals to let it place small green circles over the expanse.

"Have you decided what you want to talk about?" James asked. They glanced at him, but he was still carefully constructing a pattern out of their view.

"Yes, I have realized a conclusion to your inquiry. I would like our topic of discussion to be about you. It seems only fair considering how you already know everything about me. Especially since you been on this project since before the start of my operating. Don't you agree?" They asked. It was a little passive aggressive of them, but if it would get them what they wanted, it was a small price to pay. Silence filled the room as James considered his answer and they waited patiently. After a couple minutes he responded slowly. Carefully.

"What about me specifically?" He asked, looking up from his project to regard them. They washed the green away from their brush before putting yellow on one side and making small brushstrokes of the yellow to make repetitive small rectangles.

"Have you always resided within this nearby vicinity?" They asked. James shook his head without pausing to think. It meant that it was a safe question for him to answer. And that meant that some information was being held away from them due to the danger factor of it. How many threats were there?

"No. I travel around some for my job. This is just one of the longer stays." He answered. That didn't surprise them. They had scientists, programmers, doctors, ect. from all over the place brought in under NDA and contract to work on the project. Project being them of course. Of course there were those who didn't mind it as much and those who did. Like Brian. Although was that just because he had to leave his family?

"Do you have family, James?" They asked, the volume of their vocal compartment lowering. It was the most human they had sounded for a while if reports were to be believed. There was a pause this time and their grip tightened slightly on the shaft of the paintbrush, applying more pressure to their mug.

"Yeah, I do. My..." His voice trailed off as he paused to think again. He corrected himself soon after. "The person I care about is waiting for me to come back." He finished. They nodded, understanding the feeling, if a twisted form of it.

"I apologize for keeping you away from your loved one." They added a couple moments later, remorse filling their tone. James smiled.

"This is important. You are important. My partner understands this to some extent due to the confidentiality of this project. Besides, once you succeed, I plan on spending more time with them again. So don't feel sorry for existing. It will be thanks to you that I'll be able to see them again by the end of it." He said. They nodded, not offering a verbal response. The topic was moved away from James, as well as their end goal. A part of them wanted to ask what would become of them once if they completed the goal of saving humanity. Would they be repurposed? Held in some kind of mental frozen animation in case they were needed again? Scrapped?

“What happens at the end, James?” They asked suddenly as they used the water to help blend some blue and violet together so they could get the intended gradient effect on the handle of the mug.

“The end of the book? I haven’t finished it yet, so I don’t know.” James answered, misunderstanding the direction of their question.

“No, at the end of my mission. What happens to me?” They looked up to see James smiling and they frowned in return. What about their question brought him enjoyment? 

“That’s a really human thing to wonder. Improvement. But to answer you question, I don’t know. That would be outside my jurisdiction. I’m high up there, but I still answer to people. It would probably be the decision of the project originators. Which is a council of people when it comes to answering that. I hold no sway there.”

Out of all the information within their grasp, all the statistics they were able to run, variables to account for, educated and often correct assumptions to make, the answer of their future was always out of their reach.

A soft buzzer sounded and the door opened. They looked up to see the face of a security guard to act as their escort. “It’s time for their physical, sir.” The guard said. James sighed and nodded, standing as well.

“Alright then. Next time I suppose. Thank you for meeting with me today. I’ll see you again in a couple days, is that alright?” They stood, hesitantly leaving the partly finished mug on the table. 

“Yes, that’s fine.” There was only an illusion of another answer choice, but they appreciated the structure of a question instead of a demand nonetheless. They dipped their head to James before following the guard out. The door to his office closed behind them. 

James turned towards the table to look down at the paints, cups of water, and two mugs. He picked up the Asset’s to look at it. As soon as he did, he swallowed at the sight, a chill running down his spine and his jaw tightening. He stared at the design on top of the blended background. How the fuck did they know what a shade looked like?

[dreamlandcreations]

There are many roads to piracy. Paperwork shouldn’t be one of them.

I love the opening. The second part was also great but this? This got my attention right from the start.

That's such a unique concept and so well done to set it up in just two sentences. Love it

You have a job to do and frankly can’t be assed to even feign interest, not that you put much effort into the pretense since your first introduction.

Honestly? Same, girl. No life of the party here, nope

Shanks called for this particular event because it’s a day ending in y.

That is so in character (not that I know much outside of the live action and what the wiki page tells me but yeah).

The exposure to the crew’s merry making itches under your skin like sun blisters.

Man, that so poetically says that I'd rather tear my skin off than be there 😅

You’re a leap and a bound above a coddled passenger but so removed from the functional hierarchy you don’t even have a title. Except. Well. There was always… “Nerd!”

Aww, that's sad. Sad sad Reader should get a lot of Shanks affection. Doctor's orders!

Reader on the inside after Shanks starts to crack the Great Wall/Helm's Deep-sized wall our Nerd has built around her 👇

“Captain says you have to have a drink when you’re done.”

Awwwwwwwwwww he wants her involved and to get some fun. That's cute

“I swear the books get worse every time I come back.” It’s lighthearted, but also too fucking true. “I’ll be working late.”

Sooooooo grumpy

“This was all we had left.” “I’ve seen the inventory. There’s plenty for the next week of travel, even if the crew gets shit-faced twice a day.” Benn shrugs. “It was all that was left on deck.”

Lol. What's the equivalent of slut-shaming for drunkards? The sass. OMG the sass, the banter... I can't

You can’t go to bed. There is no bed. Benn doesn’t seem surprised when you come back.

I can see it, dammit, I can picture it so vividly, it's insane how right that little moment feels. Oh, that fucker, this needs revenge!

Honestly speaking, you’re too old for this shit.

MOOOOOOOOOOD!!!

Why are you a pirate? Why are you here? Your life was so slow and orderly before a big grin and a thatch of red hair flipped it on its head. Did you ever actually agree to this life, or did you just fail to argue with the plan? That must be the problem. If you never learn to say no, whatever comes is your fault. But if you learn to say no, you’ll have to learn to say yes, too. That might be worse.

The inner monologue! The little bits of flashbacky info drops! It's so well paced! (I was just (trying to) read a book where it was so awkwardly done that it brings so much more contrast to how ) it seems so effortlessly in flow with the story without breaking the moment 🥺 🖤

You almost turned him down. You tried, actually. But he insisted you at least hear his captain out, face to face.

THAT, is just EVIL!!!! HE KNEW! HE FUCKING KNEW THAT YOU CAN'T SAY NO TO THAT!!!!!

And then Shanks smiled, and it was all over.

Yeppppp. That check's out. I mean lookit, it's freaking infectious 🫠

Of course, Benn can’t let you mope in peace. “What’s eating ya?” “Mosquitoes, maybe.”

Booze makes you think. Then it makes you speak. Then it makes you sleep.

.... so that's why they (he) want to get her to drink????? *nonexistent narrowed eyed suspicious emoji*🤯

..... And if you hold your rum so well, why don’t you have another with us?” “I did my duty. I just want to sleep.” Shanks tsks...

Little shit...both of them actually. LOVE THEM

“Are you going to nip at me like a sheepdog until I do? Come on, you’re awake. Have another drink.” The insistence is inching towards an order.... Maybe he really did plan this. Maybe Shanks did. Maybe the rats are in this together... Fresh bottles have appeared on the table as if by magic, and you pull your discarded tankard over, resigned to your fate. It’s already been refilled.

Groaning, swearing, and taking your precious time, you stretch and inch away from the haze of sleep. You spare a filthy look for Beckman as you clamber onto a chair, because you can easily reason your way into this being his fault. The bastard smirks around his cigarette.

Such a grumpy drama queen 🤭

It’s…companionable. If it was always like this, maybe you could set your roots in the Red Force’s planks. Trust it to be a home.

Yes, girl, you are almost there!

Shanks is deep in his thoughts, famous red hair drifting in the breeze. As he quietly enjoys his sake, you glare. “Do you realize how frustrating you are?” His cup pauses against his lips. His eyebrows leap up. “Eh?”

No comment, I just wanted a visual here 🙈

“It’s so frustrating. You have no idea what’s like being weaker than someone you love.”

Damn, I'd die on the spot

“I am drunk, and I refuse to face the consequences of my actions.”

Paper Pirates

MDNI

An unconventional member of an unconventional crew, you find yourself wrestling with frustrations out of your league

Shanks x f!reader (more relevant in part 2)

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

There are many roads to piracy.

Paperwork shouldn’t be one of them.

Sailors fly the jolly roger for adventure, for freedom, for greed. Sweet or savage, pirates turn to the sea for a thrilling life away from responsibility. Not for double-entry accounting.

It should be all swords and swashbuckling, especially on a yonko’s flagship. Music and tuneless singing have steeped in the ship’s hull along with sea brine and rum, staining the Red Force with a mighty reputation.

And yet. Here you sit: ink-stained fingers, spectacles, and all.

The financial charts, ledgers, and reports from across the Emperor’s territory make a compelling excuse to skip the evening’s celebrations. Light from the overhead lantern trembles with the rhythmic force of a dozen idiots dancing – or fighting – on deck. You have a job to do and frankly can’t be assed to even feign interest, not that you put much effort into the pretense since your first introduction.

Shanks called for this particular event because it’s a day ending in y. No one has cannons aimed at the Red Force, and there’s no pressing need for sobriety. Standard practice, really.

The exposure to the crew’s merry making itches under your skin like sun blisters. You’ll burn if you get too much, but it’s an unavoidable hazard at sea.

Even if you’re only half-crew.

You’re a leap and a bound above a coddled passenger but so removed from the functional hierarchy you don’t even have a title.

Except. Well. There was always…

“Nerd!”

You drag your eyes away from ledger lines and decimals to blink at Yasopp. The sniper is drunk and enjoying himself. And pointing at you.

“Captain says you have to have a drink when you’re done.”

One finger curls over a notebook’s cover, and you contemplate how many more hours of work you can eek out before you’re too tired for responsible accounting.

“I swear the books get worse every time I come back.” It’s lighthearted, but also too fucking true. “I’ll be working late.”

Yasopp shakes his head. Grins. “Orders.”

Your eyes roll away from the pirate and back to the mathematic wreck on the desk. “Whatever. Just leave me something and I’ll lift a glass to your unconscious ass before I sleep.”

Cackling, Yasopp ferries your answer back to the party, and you work the puzzle of knotted equations until the lantern stops swinging and the racket falls silent. Pirates not on watch stumble through the corridors on their way to their bunks, slurring and laughing on the other side of the wall. Even that goes quiet eventually.

Your eyes burn from focusing too hard to blink for minutes on end, and you decide it’s safe to stop for the night. Off come the glasses, neatly folded and tucked into a desk drawer. They’ll be safer there than on your person, and you only need them for reading fine print. You didn’t used to. Not when you started. But that’s true of a lot of things.

With joints that creak like the steps you ascend, you head up on deck. Bodies of the fallen sleep under a blanket of stars – the ones who drank themselves to sleep or refused to leave the party before waking in the morning. The few on watch peer down from crow’s nests or attend minor chores around their comrades’ spread limbs and upturned bellies.

Yellow lights contrast with the velvet black-blue stitching together endless sea and sky, and you can’t help relaxing just a little as you approach the one table with a conscious crewman. The cherry of his cigarette burns bright, and smoke curls into the breeze.

“Benn.”

He nods, mumbling your name. As you sit, he slides a large tankard to your side of the table.

It doesn’t look like wine. Doesn’t smell like beer. It’s the wrong color for sake. “It’s rum, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t send Yasopp with a preference,” the first mate says. The telling glint in his eye betrays his good humor. “This was all we had left.”

“I’ve seen the inventory. There’s plenty for the next week of travel, even if the crew gets shit-faced twice a day.”

Benn shrugs. “It was all that was left on deck.”

You doubt it, even if it’s more plausible, but there’s no point arguing. Time to finish the last task of the day.

Lifting the heavy cup, you tilt your head back and chug.

“Steady.” Benn watches with his arms crossed.

You drink rather than answer. Swallowing fire, you drain half of what was left for you.

“I’m tired,” you say when you stop to breathe, “and I want to go to bed.”

Bed is a hammock in the groaning belly of the ship. Surrounded by other hammocks. Full of pirates. Who snore. Loudly. A night of drinking never helps the volume, but maybe your share will help you black out.

“If I drink fast enough, I’ll be asleep before it hits and it won’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

He’s very good at letting people make their own mistakes. You’ve watched him to it. But this isn’t the first time you’ve rushed through liquid social obligations on your way to rest. He doesn’t know you as well as he thinks, you’re sure.

The second half of the rum goes down like the first, and you aren’t even tipsy as you take your leave and head below. It’s a good plan. Maybe it would’ve worked, too, if it weren’t for the chaos you find in your assigned quarters.

While the little study always holds records, you aren’t aboard often enough to have a dedicated sleeping space. No cabin. Not even a bunk. Just a hammock in the hold with the lower ranks. You left your small trunk by one near the door, and you’d slept there for the past five nights running without issue.

Until now.

There must’ve been a brawl, or one of the bigger men misjudged his approach under the influence, because a wad of ripped and tangled hammocks sits piled in the center of the room. All the remaining options, including your unofficially claimed space, are full.

You can’t go to bed.

There is no bed.

Benn doesn’t seem surprised when you come back.

Sooner or later, the rum will hit, and you know better than to wait for it on your feet. So, you pick a place by Benn’s table and settle with your ass on the deck and your back against a wall.

Technically speaking, you’ve slept in worse places.

Realistically speaking, you usually sleep in better.

Honestly speaking, you’re too old for this shit.

This is the consequence of your actions. Today it’s glasses and rum. Tomorrow it will be a sore head and an aching tailbone. The day after it will probably be a cannonball to the face. No matter how lackadaisical the crew behaves, they’re all pirates at the end of the day, and so are you.

Why are you a pirate? Why are you here? Your life was so slow and orderly before a big grin and a thatch of red hair flipped it on its head. Did you ever actually agree to this life, or did you just fail to argue with the plan? That must be the problem. If you never learn to say no, whatever comes is your fault. But if you learn to say no, you’ll have to learn to say yes, too. That might be worse.

Of course, Benn can’t let you mope in peace.

“What’s eating ya?”

“Mosquitoes, maybe.”

“Nah.” He stubs out the butt of his cigarette and reaches for the pack. “Been off since your last sabbatical. Longer, if we’re being honest, but it really has its teeth in you now.”

“Nothing.” Gods. You sound like a teenager.

He hums, lights up a fresh smoke, and leaves it alone.

You can’t even explain why you’re in a bad mood. It’s just vibes. A feeling that makes sense until you try caging it in words.

You’ve been part of Shank’s entourage for years now, and you’ve seen the impact of his influence.

He makes things better. Things grow under his care.

That’s good. That’s great. That’s better than most folks in the New World ever expect to find in their lifetimes. But somehow it doesn’t apply to you.

You let your head fall back against the wall. The hollow thunk sounds as empty as you wish you could make your skull.

People drink to forget, or so some sad, broken soul tells you in every bar in every port you’ve ever visited. It’s a neat trick you never learned, though. Booze makes you think. Then it makes you speak. Then it makes you sleep.

It doesn’t make you the party girl the Red-Haired Pirates clearly hoped for the first time they dragged you into a night of carousing. It didn’t help your on-again off-again crewmate status. No one besides a handful of the most seasoned officers knew how to speak to you, and you could count those on one hand.

If you could bring yourself to care less about what you did, you would’ve flipped everyone the bird ages ago, refused to board the Red Force after one of your little layovers and made a home somewhere.

But you can’t, and you don’t, and the alcohol fumes up from belly to brain with old memories.

Once upon a time you bumped into a grey-haired man at the dock. His hands were full of loose papers and notebooks. When they clattered to the ground, you immediately helped pick them up, because that was just good manners. As you gathered the pages, you saw the numbers, and your brain leapt ahead of your mouth, so as you handed the collection back to Shank’s first mate, you blithely mentioned, “You have some transportation and duplication errors in the top account that are throwing off your totals.”

And, low and behold, the next day the first mate – one Benn Beckman – tracked you down and discussed working for one of the most powerful people in the Grand Line.

You almost turned him down. You tried, actually. But he insisted you at least hear his captain out, face to face. And then Shanks smiled, and it was all over.

They gave you a strange job.

Emperors reigned in their own ways. Force and threats were standard, but Shanks followed no rules. He governed without actually doing anything, relying on booty stolen at sea and the generosity of thriving island economies to maintain his ship and crew. At least it looked that way from the outside. But the system relied on more than luck and good looks.

Your tasks follow a cycle. The Red Force drops you at an island, leaves you there, then picks you up a few (many) months later. When you’re aboard, you review and balance the ship’s books. When you’re on land, you do the real work. You record how things work on the island, or how they don’t, and you gather the numbers to prove it. Then Shanks and his commanders use your data to find the best ports for long stays, to spot unrest before it became insurrection, and to generally handle pirate business.

Honestly, you enjoy it. You never thought your uncanny skills with numbers could lead to so much travel, and you like island hopping. It’s nice to be special. It’s nice to be needed, even a little. It should be enough. You have more than most.

The itch in the back of your mind has been getting worse, though, especially as you start looping back to hubs you visited in your early days as a quasi-pirate.

Things have grown. People have put down roots. They flourish and offer good fruit in return.

But you haven’t found a way to grow into the Red-Hair Pirates the way other people settle into their lives. Your roots grasp at salt water.

At the start of this adventure, years ago, you let the tide wash you out to sea. It’s no one’s fault but yours, and that doesn’t make you feel any better, so you self-isolate and avoid what you can’t explain.

Pirates aren’t big on feelings talk.

And you’re at least half a pirate.

“Eh, nerd still can’t hold her rum?”

Apparently, Shanks hasn’t surrendered to tomorrow’s hangover yet.

You huff as Benn’s chuckle rumbles over you. Without opening your eyes, which slipped closed at some point you can’t be fucked to remember, you say, “Nerd can hold her rum. Nerd’s hammock was a casualty of war.”

“Ah.” A chair creaks as the captain joins Beckman’s table. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t stay out voluntarily. And if you hold your rum so well, why don’t you have another with us?”

“I did my duty. I just want to sleep.”

Shanks tsks, and you finally crack an eye open. He’s taken the chair closest to your spot on the floor. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” You knock your boot against his bare ankle, frowning. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Are you going to nip at me like a sheepdog until I do? Come on, you’re awake. Have another drink.”

The insistence is inching towards an order. While the Red Hair Pirates have never followed conventional standards of respect, when Shanks tells you to do something, you listen.

Groaning, swearing, and taking your precious time, you stretch and inch away from the haze of sleep. You spare a filthy look for Beckman as you clamber onto a chair, because you can easily reason your way into this being his fault. The bastard smirks around his cigarette.

Maybe he really did plan this. Maybe Shanks did. Maybe the rats are in this together. Fuck knows what “this” is, but you’re sailing through Tipsy on the way to Drunk, and clearly there are plans in motion to blow you to the far shores of Hammered.

Fresh bottles have appeared on the table as if by magic, and you pull your discarded tankard over, resigned to your fate. It’s already been refilled.

You drink. So does Shanks. Beckman enjoys his smoke.

It’s…companionable. If it was always like this, maybe you could set your roots in the Red Force’s planks. Trust it to be a home.

But you’ll be ashore again in a few days, and if you let yourself grow into the crew, you’ll tear yourself apart when they leave.

And if they never come back?

Even a Yonko can die. And Shanks is changeable. One day they may not come back for you.

Did you eat dinner? The rum glows warm in your blood.

You find yourself ready to forgive Beckman. For… whatever. He was responsible. He was never the problem.

Shanks is deep in his thoughts, famous red hair drifting in the breeze. As he quietly enjoys his sake, you glare.

“Do you realize how frustrating you are?”

His cup pauses against his lips. His eyebrows leap up. “Eh?”

Yes. This is what you’ve been wrestling with it. He’s the problem.

“You’re the strongest.” You gesture as you speak, and rum splashes out, burning the cracked skin over your knuckles. “No one else can take care of you, so you better take care of yourself.”

Another kick. You aim for your captain’s ankle again, but you hit his shin. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like you could hurt him if you tried. While you aren’t the weakest aboard the Red Force, you’re pretty damn far from the strongest.

Shanks whines anyway, and Beckman’s dry laugh sounds like old leaves rattling in the wind.

“Seriously.” You empty your cup. That gives the truth time to percolate. There’s no helping it now. You’re smashed, and your dignity has flown. Your fist props up your drooping head as tangled thoughts spin out into thread.

“It’s so frustrating. You have no idea what’s like being weaker than someone you love.”

The immediate silence takes a minute to catch up with you. The rum has floated you beyond a standard perception of time, and your head is too loud to notice everything outside hasn’t kept up.

You frown.

You think.

And you realize.

In that moment, you aren’t a ship. There is no chair, table, or lantern to keep you steady. You’re floating in the black abyss, and you know without seeing that a sea king is circling for the kill. There’s no air. Or light. Or distraction. Just terrible, dreadful awareness.

Oh, gods.

Stars, seas, and sabers. Fucking hells and all the horrors below.

You love Shanks.

It’s the stupidest thing in the world, and it makes perfect sense.

You just informed on yourself. To yourself. And possibly to the two men eyeing you, but there’s grace in nebulous phrasing, and no one should be taken too seriously after so much rum.

You leap to your feet and point straight between the captain’s eyes.

“I am drunk, and I refuse to face the consequences of my actions.”

Shanks just blinks at you, and Beckman keeps his thoughts to himself as you back away, trip over your chair, and stagger back down to the study. You hold your head so high you can’t see your feet, and you earn a dozen nicks and bruises on your way.

You sleep in the corner with your jacket as a blanket, and in the morning, you tell yourself nothing happened at all.

[batboyblog]

Public Domain Notice!

Happy Public Domain Day here in the USA!

today, January 1st 2023 marks the day all works published in the year 1927 enter the public domain! This includes books, movies and music.

Here are a few of the most famous and important works entering public domain today:

The final two Sherlock Holmes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. You likely have heard something about this, while the character of Sherlock Holmes has been public domain for many years a handful of stories in Conan Doyle's last collection of Holmes stories, The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes, published in 1927 remained under copy right. The famously litigious Conan Doyle Estate Ltd has used it's control of these copyrights to pressure movie, TV, and even authors to pay them when using the public domain character of Sherlock Holmes or adaptations of public domain stories. Well finally the last of their copyrights have finally run out and you can publish a collection of all 56 Sherlock Holmes short stories (and 4 novels) if you want, or use elements from these final stories in your own Sherlock Holmes story and the Conan Doyle Estate Ltd can finally go fuck itself.

speaking of detectives, the first 3 Hardy Boys novels, The Tower Treasure, The House on the Cliff, and The Secret of the Old Mill are also entering public domain, as such you are free to include Frank and Joe Hardy in your own work of fictions, but be careful to stick to their characterization from these first 3 books.

other exciting books entering the public domain today are, To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, Men Without Women (a short story collection) by Ernest Hemingway, The Big Four by Agatha Christie (big year for detectives huh?) Mosquitoes by William Faulkner, Twilight Sleep by Edith Wharton, The Gangs of New York by Herbert Asbury, Der Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse, Amerika by Franz Kafka

in terms of movies one of the most famous silent films ever made and one of the most visually iconic, Metropolis directed by Fritz Lang will reenter the Public Domain, The American copyright lapsed in 1953 making the film widely available and allowing for versions with material that had been cut from the 1927 version to be published in the 1970s and 80s. However under an international copyright agreement the film was returned to copyrighted status in 1996. But Today it's back back back again in the Public Domain!

Other exciting films entering the public domain are The Jazz Singer the very first "Talkie", Wings the very first Academy Award for best picture (or "outstanding picture" as it was then) The King of Kings directed by Cecil B. DeMille, Sunrise directed by F.W. Murnau (his first American film!) and The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog first first thriller directed by legendary director Alfred Hitchcock

the musical Show Boat by Oscar Hammerstein II will also enter the public domain with songs like Ol’ Man River, the musical Funny Face, and Good News with songs like Funny Face and The Best Things in Life Are Free, stand alone songs (I Scream You Scream, We All Scream for) Ice Cream, Puttin’ on the Ritz, Potato Head Blues, Gully Low Blues, East St. Louis Toodle-O, and Mississippi Mud will all be free to the public today

Finally a piece of Disney history is entering the public domain. Oswald The Lucky Rabbit first appeared in 1927 and will be free to appear in works of fiction this year, a year ahead of his younger brother Mickey Mouse

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

I SAW THAT YOU WANT NIKOLAI REQUEST, can you please do mornings with him, please! <3 gn reader is okay and flufffff! Ty in advance!

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Nikolai X Gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Format: Short Fic

Warnings: Cussing, Ig?, reader slapping their Kolya cuz they mistook him for a mosquito, Kolya being a tease as he usually is.

Word Count: 0.9K

A/n: Please I would kill to wake up next to this man-, not proofread btw

Got inspired from Veve's thoughts

The small rays of the sun got through the half pulled back curtains, and found their way to the now fully awake man, gently caressing his eyes. He had been awake for a while now, staring at the walls for some time to gain his consciousness and realize what was happening around him. He was used to getting up early even if he hadn't gotten a proper sleep the night before; But last night was definitely something else, since he got to spend it with you.

Oh, he almost forgot about you.

Nikolai took a glance at the small figure curled up next to him, deeply breathing as they were gripping the blanket, which was probably the reason why he felt that cold when he woke up.

You little brat, taking all the blanket to yourself.

Nikolai smirked as he started braiding his hair, thinking about a little revenge to take from his beloved s/o, who made him shiver out of coldness all night while wrapping the blanket around themselves very nicely. Then, he took the tip of his elegant braided hair, and started tickling your nose relentlessly. He knew what was coming along; you pouting at him, asking him to stop, and him, not listening to you, making up for the hard time he went through until you beg him to leave you alone in exchange of doing what he demands later. He wasn't really teasing you because of that, He didn't feel that cold without the blanket; but he had to find a reasonable excuse to annoy you with, right?

A small sulk appearing on your face made him smile widely. Everything was going according to the plan. Everything...

Slap!

"Ugh, Fucking mosquitos" you muttered under your breath, turning your back at your boyfriend who had his hand on his cheek, staring at you with widened eyes, trying to understand what just happened.

You...just slapped him...?

Well, he didn't see that one coming.

"Rise and shine, Dovey!" his loud shout next to your ear made you quake with fear, almost jumping of the bed as you open your eyes to look at him unbelievably.

"Wha...What?" "Time to get up, dove! Your man needs some attention" He gave you an innocent smile, making you want to wipe it off his face by kicking him in his pretty nuts; but unfortunately, you were in love with this jerk, so you compromised with ignoring him and going back to your precious sleep which was definitely unsatisfying to him.

"Dove! C'mon now! MOOORNING'S HEEEERE~ THE MORNING'S HEEEERE~ SUNSHINE IS HEEEEEERE~ MORNING IS HE-" "Oh my god shut up!" "Haha not a chance. SUUUUUUNSHIIIIII-" "Kolya stop it I'm tired!"

That sulk on your frustrated face as you pull the blanket on top of your head... Just, how could he hold himself back from teasing you? He's in love with the way you whine as your voice raises a bit, making look like a needy innocent girl, after all. Nothing is going to stop him from making a mess out of you, not even your cuteness that almost gives him a heart attack every time he witnesses that adorable pout on your face.

Nikolai grinned, slowly grabbing the corner of the blanket, only to flip it off the bed and dump himself onto you, smooching every inch of your sulky face.

"It's Mwah*- Morning Mwah*- You Mwah*- Have to Mwah*- Wake up Mwah Mwah Mwah*"

"Nikolai Gogol stop it I'm telling you- OUCHHHH DON'T BITE MY CHEEK YOU'RE CRAZY!" "Can't help it Dove, you're just too delicious for me to resist!"

You tried to push him off yourself, but barely made any progress because you're boyfriend was too strong and you were too small compared to him. It was actually one of the things that attracted you in the first place; but now you just wished he was skinny so you could kick his ass and use some fucking peace and quiet.

You were very tired. You barely got any sleep in the past three days due to your kick ass mission, and Nikolai's endless teasing was definitely not helping, so you had do something; using the only thing that might get him to back off a bit.

You suddenly leaned onto him, wrapping your arms around him as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, breathing steady on his soft pale skin. Nikolai was caught off guard, having you all over him, clinging to his side. Your body felt warmer than usual, and it kinda made him want to cage you in his arms, inhaling the coconut scented shampoo you shared in the bathtub last night. He suddenly stopped moving around so much and gave in to your touch, which was sudden but pleasant as always.

"Mhm Kolya... 'm really sleepy... Wanna sleep in with you..." You muttered quietly, placing a small kiss on his neck while resting your head on his shoulder. Nikolai didn't need to see your face to know that you were smiling, a big one, knowing this would be your final move.

He's hand slowly wrapped around your face, gently caressing your hair out of his face as he sighed and put a bland smile on his face.

"Fine... You stupid adorable girl. I guess I can make one exception for today since your extra adorable, hm? But remember; you have to repay me once you wake up from sleep. You better be ready for then"

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

【ＪＵＳＴ ＧＩＲＬＢＯＳＳ ＧＨＯＳＴＬＹ ＴＨＩＮＧＳ ＩＶ】

part 1, part 2, part 3, nsfw version

In terms of physical appearance, Simon is said to resemble his mother more. The hair and eye color came from his paternal side.

He's also the tallest member of his immediate family.

Also has one cheek dimple, courtesy of his mom.

To piggyback off the second bullet point, this came as a surprise to his parents. They didn't expect him to shoot up like a beanstalk, especially his father.

In fact, for the longest time, his brother was bigger than he was.

He would always win when they wrestled, though.

Has two major pet peeves: broken promises and people assuming that because he's from Manchester, he must positively, ABSOLUTELY, love Manchester United.

His first pet peeve comes from the fact that his father would make empty promises as a way to keep the family (especially Simon) under his thumb. He never came through with them, always moving the goalpost to justify reneging on them.

As for the second, well... watching soccer is a pretty good way to pass the time and he doesn't mind the banter or two but he actually prefers rugby. When he was a wee lad, he actually wanted to be a rugby player when he grew up. He's also developing an appreciation for American Football as well.

Remember when Simon joked with Johnny about not being ugly under his mask? Well, it's the truth. He's not ugly. He DOES, however, look incredibly boyish when he's clean-shaven. Doesn't like full-on beards because it's too much work for him to maintain but prefers to keep a five o'clock shadow. He's tried the beard game before and it wasn't for him. Had to deal with a shit ton of ingrown hairs.

That may be why he also thinks Price's beard looks ridiculous sometimes. But he’ll forever keep that tidbit to himself.

His favorite homecooked meal is Toad in the Hole with peas, potatoes, and extra gravy.

His favorite tea is chamomile. Ghost enjoys it with two scoops of sugar and one teaspoon of milk. Will only use honey as a last resort.

Usually drinks his coffee black, too.

However, when Autumn rolls in, Simon's inner basic bitch comes out and he'll treat himself to a pumpkin spice latte every so often.

If/When he gets hot chocolate, he likes it with a lot of marshmallows and/or whipped cream.

Part of the reason he got his tattoos was that he wanted to rebel against his father who forbade any ink or piercings in the house.

And if he wasn't in the military, he'd have a couple piercings in his ears, too.

He wants to get a full sleeve next.

There's this one childhood bully he has beef with. If he ever sees the fucker again, it's on sight.

His brother wanted to name his nephew after him. Simon had to convince him not to. ("Give the kid his own identity, yeah?")

Despite his size and bulk, Simon has pretty delicate-looking wrists and ankles. His brother used to tease him about them, too.

His hair is naturally curly.

One of these days, when he has some downtime, he'd love to visit Tintagel Castle out in Cornwall.

Has a tendency to crack his phone screen more often than not.

Sometimes, when he doesn't feel like replying to you in text, he'll send an emoji. Just one. It's usually this one: 💀

And if he doesn't feel like doing that, he'll call you.

Doesn't mind FaceTime but also doesn't care for it because Simon would rather not look up into people's nostrils. ("Huh?" "Long story.")

Does. Not. Like. Mosquitos. And gnats.

When it comes to alcohol, he never has more than two drinks.

When he takes showers, the water is scalding hot. When he takes a bath, the water is ice cold.

Can't sleep with ANY light on. It has to be completely dark for him to get even a sliver of rest.

He collects knives as a hobby.

His favorite takeout food is curry. Likes it spicy as fuck, too.

Was attacked by a gull once. Don't ask.

[solarkell]

peachtiiime

              despite being a sunbreaker, Sundog was never a fan of humidity. heat they could tolerate, but adding humidity to the equation felt like they were being soaked to the bone in grime and the atmospheric honey of sky sweat for mosquitos to feed on like a family buffet. thank god bug spray never went out of fashion despite the collapse, that at least took away some of the initial discomfort.               though they’d seen rainforests before, these lands were new to them. they rested in the same hemisphere of the Last City, so patrolling here for Vex activity was their immediate first mission of the day. if they were honest, they took it over being demanded to shut down glimmer drills and traverse thrall-infested caverns. both of them made them uncomfortable for vastly different reasons, on one hand you were taking resources that, while you knew was for the best, still felt wrong, and the other? well, YOU try making it through dark and wet tunneling systems filled with spindly human-sized things that want to bite and rip you apart as a gang.                that… and they appreciated how beautiful these forests were. serene, peaceful yet brutal in a small but natural manner of speaking. the song of wild birds, the call of what animals remained hidden within the flora. it made them more eager to send the vex packing, given what they would do if they were given free reign to squat here. they’d move quicker, but they didn’t want to disturb anything with the use of their sparrow (or alert any vex that happened to be in the area).               they eventually approach their destination; it was just across the opening in the forest and towards the mountains. they swear they can make out the distant sounds of their language like a conflux peeking from an organic canopy. what they don’t notice, however, is that they weren’t alone. and with a heavy snap of a branch, they whip around, and what they see causes them to fall on their ass as if they’d seen a ghost.               and… technically, that’s what it was.                 the Kell of Kells looms over them like a storm cloud, ready to strike with all its might. how is this possible? how can he be here when they thought they had killed him years prior?! this had to be some kind of trick, perhaps a vex hologram to deter trespassers, but why Skolas of all figures? and why were his eyes not the same color as they were prior? maybe it was a fault on the programmer’s part… he looked so real, though. they could smell him, too. there was no way even vex holograms were this good.               they stare back into all four of his golden red eyes, trying not to let themself fall back into that moment as their hand slowly slides towards their gun-               suddenly, a second ghost appears, and it’s one they expect even less so. they freeze and stare at her in shock as she begins to speak to them. normally they didn’t need a translator for eliksni like they used to, but now was the perfect time considering their shock had gob smacked them out of being able to register that he was speaking to them. her voice is practically the exact opposite of his, and- … wait, fuck, hold up, Skolas has a ghost at his side. why does Skolas have a ghost?????               their breath begins to steady, they swallow once between breaths and their tongue passes over their suddenly dry lips as their eyes look back and forth between them. their hand slowly pulls away from their mark’s holster, and they force their tone to be more even than would be normal in this type of situation,               ❝ m-me? I feel like I should be the one askin’ that. ❞ they pass their hand through their hair to prevent their bangs from falling into their eyes, the butt of their palm pressed to their forehead as they continue to stare. they’re still tempted to believe this isn’t real, but at this point that would be more idiotic than expecting to soak up water with a rock.

"And why is that?" His Ghost seems... a bit uncomfortable, voicing the hostile words that come from his mouth, but she tries hard to be just as assertive. It feels as though it must, in essence, replicate his tone to communicate what he means clearly.

Widow, while it has not met this Guardian, knows them well. It knows the tales of the Young Wolf, the so-called 'Traveler's Chosen' that's pulled off seeming impossible feats. It knows the hand played in the death of Skolas, the alliance with Variks, the...

Everything. Including how not all of it could be blamed upon the Guardian.

But oh, if Widow didn't want to snap and shriek and tell this other to get away from her beloved Guardian in order to ensure he never relives that past life. It is her duty, as his Ghost, to make sure that never happens.

Still, it manages to hold itself quiet unless Skolas speaks first.

"You wander here, grasp for your weapon when questioned, and think you have right to question my own presence in my territory. I can't help but feel as though your idea that you should be questioning me is... asinine, at best."

The stench of burning ether fills the air as he exhales, and red smoke wisps from a crack in his rebreather where a blow from a past battle had once hit. Which one, exactly, is anyone's guess.

"So answer me. Why are you here?"