#this is the automatic level before all the later voices come in

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof grrrrrr

Content: Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)

The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.

You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)

It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?

You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.

“This isn’t your usual scene.”

Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.

“Justin…” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”

“It’s been a minute, huh?”

You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.

“How’s your arm?”

His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.

“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.

“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”

“For that at least.”

You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.

“Right… listen, about that, luv…”

“There you are, bonnie!”

You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.

“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”

“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.

He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.

“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.

“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”

You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.

“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”

Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.

“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”

You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.

“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”

He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…

“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.

You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”

He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”

He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.

“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”

You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.

Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.

“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.

“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.

You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.

“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.

He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.

You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.

He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.

“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”

You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.

“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.

You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.

“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”

You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.

“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”

“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”

You shake your head. “You’re awful.”

“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”

You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.

(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)

A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.

“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”

You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.

“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”

You suck in a breath. Now or never.

Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.

“Prove it,” you breathe.

He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”

His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”

His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.

When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.

You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.

You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.

“C’mere,” he near snarls.

“Soap, that’s not— mph!”

The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.

“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”

He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.

“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.

He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.

“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”

You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.

“H-hey!”

“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”

“N-no!”

“Then show me.”

You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.

“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.

You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.

He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.

You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.

You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.

“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”

You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.

“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”

“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.

“No, seriously, he’s protective—”

He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.

“W-wait, wait, my—”

He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.

“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.

“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.

“Just-just slow down…!”

He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.

“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”

That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—

He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.

“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”

“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”

You shake your head, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”

“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.

Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”

You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”

“Woof.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[moonydustx]

Katakuri x reader! It can anything but my big boy needs love

wow, it took me a long time to answer you, I'm sorry. I hope it's still around and of course, I hope you like it too!

Breaking Deals

Katakuri x F!Reader

warnings: arranged marriage, Reader has some daddy issues. Katakuri and Reader are dealing with their own feelings. Reader drinks a lot of wine in this one. (Kata it's a sweetheart in this one)

"You love him, you just haven't realized it yet."

Brûléé's words combined with the taste of alcohol on your lips. After a party, the two of you took the remaining time of the night to drink and share your frustrations - yours related to being married to her brother for three years, but that was just a business arrangement.

The big problem is that Katakuri was the sweetest human being you could ever meet and it was hard not to fall in love with him. That's why you failed, you fell, and you fell hard for the magenta-haired man.

This led you to vent to your sister-in-law and amidst conversations over good wine, she made something clear to you that not even you had realized: you love Katakuri, as your husband and not just as a business transaction from your shit father. .

The steps back to your room seemed to be dragged and your deplorable state indicated that the alcohol levels had already been exceeded. The bedroom door felt even heavier, not as heavy as the atmosphere that had formed.

"You finally showed up, I was worried." you found Katakuri sitting on the huge bed the two of you shared, even though most nights he didn't stay there.

"Sorry - hiccup- I g-got distracted talking to Brûlée."

"Just talking?" he approached, seeing you enter with your heels dangling from your fingers and an empty bottle of wine in one hand.

"You know the answer big guy." With a small jump, you sat on the bed, under his attentive gaze. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"Just a little mess." He tried to appear soft, not wanting your drunk state to judge it as an offense.

"No need to lie, really." You let your shoes fall to the floor and placed the empty bottle next to you. "I'm a complete mess!" Your voice was almost tearful, which caught the attention of the man next to you.

"What happened?" he could easily find out, but he preferred to hear it come out of your mouth and not go beyond the limits imposed between the two of you.

"What happened?" your voice came out in a fake laugh, almost forced and indignant. "There was a party, beautiful. All couples gathered, including the two of us except we are not a couple."

"We are a couple."

"Only in the documents!" you support yourself on your knees, trying to be at his face level. "I know we have an agreement, which was just business between my father and your mother, but you are incredible Katakuri. These three years I have lived the best of my life by your side and it is impossible not to fall in love. I know that before that my options were either my father kill me or I kill myself, but you changed all that." You started to list his qualities, you interrupted yourself with a laugh. "Damn! I'm ruining our entire deal, my father is going to kill me." you let yourself fall into a sitting position again. "I'm sorry Kata."

"First of all, he's not going to kill you, I would never let him." his words spoken with a calmness and normality that still impressed you. "And second, we should have this conversation another time."

"I really won't have the courage for that another time." you pointed out and saw him let out a light laugh. "Unless we have more stock of that wine."

"We do, but that's why we need to talk later. You're drunk." he stated and saw you cross your arms and form a pout. "Besides this conversation, is there anything I can do for you?"

"You never would." You sulked even more.

"What would I never do?"

"Kiss me. The last and only time was at our wedding."

"Sweetheart, that doesn't feel right." he pointed out, but what the words said suggested going against his thoughts, as his hand automatically went to the cloth that hid him from the world around him.

"Please."

Katakuri let the cloth slide down his neck and it only took seconds for his lips to meet yours. Contrary to what his body asked - practically begged - Katakuri opted for a calmer path and kissed you slowly, delicately, hoping that those few seconds would take much longer.

As he walked away from you, you insisted on keeping your face close to his, your request coming out as a brief whisper from your lips.

"Sleep with me?"

"You know I…"

"Just hold me, please, like I'm yours, really yours."

Not having the strength to deny you something, your night ended lying on his lap, your little face nestled in Katakuri's chest while sleep took you somewhere far away.

Regret and guilt came together into one big headache as soon as you opened your eyes. What had you done the night before?

Focusing on the sensations around your body, you could feel that Katakuri was no longer there. The only thing you were sure of was that you had ruined the well-arranged marriage between the two of you. Your father would hate you even more than he already did, your mother-in-law would suck your soul and end you, Katakuri should be laughing at your expense along with one of his brothers. You had ruined everything.

Still gnawing at the guilt, you gathered strength and got out of bed heading towards the bathroom. The shower lasted much longer than you expected, as did your clothing store. Unconsciously you seemed to be trying to face reality. In the distance you heard Katakuri's voice calling you and, not feeling so firm on your own legs, you returned towards the room.

Sweets, breads, drinks, all of this came together on a breakfast tray placed on your bed, next to which Katakuri sat.

"There you are." his voice sounded too soft for someone angry. "I thought it might be a good idea to bring you something to eat."

And it was true, at least partially.

After everything that happened the night before, with you still immersed in his arms, Katakuri allowed himself to appreciate the moment and feel what the two of you could really be. That pleased him, it pleased him a lot and he would strive to make it a reality.

"Thank you for worrying." your voice was low, as you sat on the opposite side of the tray placed on the bed and therefore, on the opposite side to Katakuri. "Look delicious!"

"I tried making them with chocolate frosting, your favorite, but the decoration left something to be desired." he justified himself. For someone of his strength, Katakuri found the hesitation in his voice strange.

You reached the donut he had mentioned and took a piece, tasting the delicious dough. The agreement of not keeping a secret between the two of you included you knowing that he had great culinary skills and you would always love to try the food that Katakuri made.

"About last night…" you started, trying to rip off the band-aid, you just didn't expect him to say the same thing at the same time.

"Sorry, you can start." he tried to be a gentleman.

"About last night, I believe I went overboard and broke our agreement." your hands were sweating cold with every word that came out of your mouth. "I know I drank too much, I said and did things I shouldn't have…"

"Did you lie about something?"

"What do you mean?" You found his interruption strange. By now, breakfast was already forgotten between the two of you.

"About everything you said yesterday, did you lie about any of it?" Without the strength to get the words out, you just shook your head. "That's good, actually that's great. I like you too, the same way you like me because of what you told me. I like it when you just call me Kata or big guy, only you do that. Or when you keep insisting on picking up things that are always higher than you and in the end, you end up asking for my help…" realizing that he was talking too much, Katakuri stopped for a few seconds, seeing you look at him with bright eyes. "I really like you."

"Even though I snored on you last night?"

"Even you snoring." he insisted.

"And even though I always knock things over?"

"That I think is adorable." once again, he insisted, seeing you hide your smile with one hand, still surprised by everything. "It's hard to say all that."

"That's why I was drunk yesterday." the two of you laughed in unison, the tension that was previously hanging there dissipating with the echo of your laugh. "What do we do now?"

"You decide, you rule." he pointed out, seeing you stop smiling and look serious. "It's always been you, since the day I met you."

Not finding words to express your real desire, you just extended one of your hands towards him. Without any effort, Katakuri pulled you to lift your body and place you on his lap. Your fingers, previously intertwined with his as he pulled you, went to the scarf around his neck and one look from him was enough for you to have your permission.

His lips were sweet and soft, anyone who saw his fangs from the outside would never imagine that and you were happy to be the only one who could taste it. Just like the night before, he kissed you delicately, as if you were his little porcelain, the thing he would take the most care of in his entire life - and yes, he really saw you like that.

Just like the night before, you stopped kissing and just spent a few seconds looking at you.

"Can I ask you something?" he spoke, a hushed, calm tone that suited him.

"Whatever you want."

"I can hold you today as if you were always mine."

"Of course, I'll always be yours."

[andvys]

a gift.

Steve’s knee bouncing up and down, almost vibrating a hole in the floor. The neon lights of the hospital beat down, straining his eyes even more following the stress of the last few hours.

“Uncle Steve!” a small voice echos through the halls of the ER, small uncertain footsteps rushing towards him. A familiar mess of brown curls bobs with every step and his arms stretch automatically to pick up Matty Munson.

“Hey my guy! Wheres your dad?” he questions, placing Matty on his knee. Matty takes a second to ponder the question before he points to the ER doors.

Steve squints, looking towards the doors as he struggles to see the older munson. A moment later, the automatic ER doors slide open followed by a series of camera flashes and a loud, angry voice belonging to Eddie.

“Fucking vultures” the rockstar spits at them, taking his sunglasses off and looking around for his son.

Steve clocks eyes with him and raises a hand, a tight lipped smile settled across his face. Eddie glares right back at him…if looks could kill. The doors open again and Eddie’s frazzled publicist Fran follows behind him, barking out orders at security to move the paparazzi away from the door.

A small hand reaches for Steve’s stubbled jaw, fingers almost in his mouth and directing his attention back to little Munson. “Is mommy ok?” he asks, brown eyes wide and looking slightly scared.

“Mommy’s fine. Matty can you go with Fran to get Mommy some jello while I talk with Uncle Steve?” Eddie uses a large palm to guide Matty away and into the waiting hand of Fran.

The two men watch slowly as Fran guides Matty down the corridor and out of sight. Eddie takes a deep breath, adjusting his jeans as he takes a seat next to Steve, his eyes never leaving the mans profile.

Steve gulps, attempting not to be intimidated, but with how reckless Eddie’s behavior has been of late - it’s difficult.

Eddie gets as close to Steves face as he can, lowering his voice, a voice filmed with so much venom it makes goosebumps erupt through Steve’s body.

“Can you give me a run down of what happened Steve? Why you and my pregnant wife were seemingly in vacation together? Where she then took a fall? And needed to come here? Are you fucking stupid? This would’ve never happened if she’d have be-”

One of the things you need to know about Steve is he was good at keeping his cool, he overreacted a lot of a young adult but now in his 30s, he was so laid back he was almost horizontal. Apart from when it came to those he loved.

“You’ve been separated for 7 months Eddie. It’s not really your business what she does. And accidents happen, like I said on the phone, she slipped getting out of the pool. Pretty sure that could’ve happened if you were there or not” Steve responded as level headed as he could.

Eddie’s jaw twitched, a tattooed hand coming up to rub his jaw. A tick Steve knows all too well. Eddie nods his head repeatedly as he digests Steve’ words.

“She’s my wife Steve. Matty is my son. That baby girl is my baby. They’re my family.”

Steve doesn’t respond. They’ve been through this a thousand times. Ever since Eddie’s affair went public 6 months ago, he refused to accept what he had done to his family. He was the one that broke his wife. He was the one that humiliated her. He was the one that forced Matty to split his time between parents.

“What do you think is going to happen Steve? She’ll have our baby and you get to step in and play Daddy Steve? It’s so secret you’ve always had eyes for my girl. You were always there, just waiting for me to fuck up so you could step in, king steve the saviour here to”

“She served you with divorce papers. Are you so conceited to think she still wants to play happy families with you? After what you did to her? She was so distraught she almost lost the baby-” Steve spits back at him.

Steve had been there from the start. Eddie knew Page Six had the scoop on his affair, and instead of getting ahead of it and telling you himself, he took an impromptu trip to visit Wayne and let you find out at the same time the rest of the world did. He did what he always did. He ran.

The mention of that night you ended up in hospital in the early stage of your pregnancy was enough to tip Eddie over the edge.

Eddie flew out of his chair, grabbing Steve by the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the pillar. Gasps filled the ER and flashes from the door were the least of his problems right now.

“She’s my wife. If she thinks I’m signing those divorce papers-” Eddie is so close to Steve, every word he grits out lands a glob of saliva on his cheeks.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave” a calm voice from behind the men demands.

Eddie’s eyes bulge out of his head, the veins almost popping through his neck. For a moment everyone remains still. Eddie loosens his grip on Steve who takes a second to stand up straight.

“I’m not fucking leaving until I’ve seen my wife” Eddie spits, eyes still on Steve.

Steve laughs under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Eddie takes this as his chance and slams his head into Steve’s face, busting not only Steve’s nose but his own in the process. Security rushes to grab Eddie and place him in cuffs when the double doors to the ER open.

“Family of Y/N Y/L/N?” The doctor calls out, looking amongst the carnage of the ER.

why…. would… you… do… this… to… ME

you broke my heart???!!!!!

EDDIE!?? EDDIE NO

NOT MY BOY DOING THIS TO ME IMMA KMS

i cannot deal with him doing this — i’m, i’ll be thinking about this for the rest of my life, i’m sick to my stomach

goodbye.

[throneofsapphics]

Hi I love you I hope you’re okay

Will you please write how reader is struggling with an ED and manorian or rowaelin figure it out and help her?

Thank you and mwah

keeping the demons away 

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: Rowan and Aelin figure out how to help you. 

Warnings: eating disorder, rowan having no tact, toxic parent, not proofread  

A/N: thank you for the request! I hope you’re doing okay <3

It wasn’t exactly that she didn't want to eat. In fact, she wished that she could - that she could hit that level of normalcy and ease everyone else seemed. But, everytime she went to pick up her fork, her mothers voice would echo in her mind; you can’t have that, that’s not good for you, if you eat that you’ll die young, and the image of her snatching the fork and plate away from her- dumping half of it in the trash, played in her mind. 

She would pick up a fork, forcing the food to her mouth and hiding her grimace. A few bites later and you’d be done. It came and went in waves, sometimes you’d be able to eat regularly for a few months before it would “come back” as she called it. Each time she thought you’d finally beat it - that you’d finally conquered the demon resting on her shoulder - it showed her that it was more resilient than you’d hoped.  

But - she was so good at hiding it after all of these years. Good enough nobody had noticed. Or she thought. 

“You haven’t been finishing your food. Recently.” Rowan commented one night.

“Not hungry.” she answered automatically - the excuse she gave when anyone commented on it, and normally worked. But, Rowan woke up that day ready for a fight. 

“You haven’t been hungry for a month?” Aelin shot him a glare, but he ignored her. 

“I eat.” She countered through gritted teeth. 

“Less than half of your food.” 

“Rowan.” Aelin warned. 

“I’m fine.” She aggressively stabbed a potato, raising it to her mouth with an indignant look on her face. 

“Now eat the rest of it.” 

Her knuckles went white around the fork, pink starting to spread across her cheeks as she felt the tips of her ears burn. Then, Rowan and Aelin were caught in a staring contest, communicating in that strange way of theirs. She took the chance to shove her chair back, rising to flee the room like a coward. Without looking at her, Rowan’s hand closed around her bicep, tugging her back down to her seat. 

“Did you think we’re stupid enough not to notice?” He finally turned to her. Aelin winced. 

“I’ve never said you’re stupid.” She commented dryly, trying to force some amusement into her voice. This conversation is the last one she wants to be having today. Or any day. In fact, it’s the thing of her nightmares. 

“Every couple of months, you switch back and forth. You’ll eat normally, and then barely touch your food.” 

“That’s none of your business.” She finally snapped at him, shaking off his grip. 

“If something’s wrong with you, I’d say it is.” 

“Nothing is wrong with me,” her voice rose. 

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Aelin said quickly. 

“Then what way did he mean it?” She ignored Rowan completely, speaking to Aelin instead. 

“We want to help,” she said gently, “we care about you.” 

“I’ve been trying to fix this for years. What makes you think you could?” She could tell that, but she was past the point of anger, past the point of reason and talking quietly or nicely. This thing that happens to her pisses her off beyond reason, and coupled with Rowan’s complete lack of tack or subtlety, it sends her over the edge. 

“So you admit there is something wrong.” 

“Rowan. Shut. Up.” Aelin said through gritted teeth. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he did. “Just, tell us why. Please.” 

She’d never been able to deny her anything, especially if she said ‘please,’ so the whole story came tumbling out. The things her mother used to say and do, how it’s like a small demon on her shoulder, how the memories replay her mind and as much as she try she can’t get them out of her head.” 

“Your mother’s an idiot.” 

“Excuse me?”

He sighed, and pointed to some of the food on her plate. “That won’t make you die young. It’s fine to eat any of this, your body needs it.” 

“I know that. It’s not that simple.” Aelin pursed her lips, looking at Rowan. To him, it probably seemed that simple. Hungry? Eat. Like everything could be fixed with a few words. “It’s been like this for years, it won’t change overnight.” 

“Then we’ll help you.” Aelin decided. She looked at her, wanting to shrug off her help and insist she could do it on her own, but once Aelin set her mind to something there was no stopping her so she resigned herself to two fussy fae watching over she for gods-know how long. 

-

“I’m hungry.” Aelin announced, midway between lunch and dinner, and reached out a hand to you. “Come eat with me.” A small smile curved on her face. She carefully marked her place in her novel before taking her hand, letting her drag her to one of the smaller hearth rooms. Cozy, warm, and non-imposing. Not a dining or sitting room, not a designated place for eating, just somewhere … comfortable, was the best way she could describe it. She disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a tray loaded with all of the snacks either she or Rowan had noticed her eating. 

The thoughtfulness of it brought a smile to her face. 

Then, she brought out the competitive side of her - saying she wouldn’t be able to catch a grape or a piece of chinese, or other things in her mouth. Before she knew it, she was full - and laughing, picking up the poor pieces of grapes that didn’t quite make it to her mouth. 

“We could leave them for the cats.” Aelin murmured, pointing to one of them. 

“Do cats even like cheese?” 

“Bait for the mice.” She shrugged. 

“There’s no mice in the castle.” She protested. Not that you’d seen, and she hoped there weren’t any.  There were good and bad weeks, but the bad ones became less frequent - and they seemed to notice it before you, sometimes. Like they’d picked up on the signs of it. She knew when they had, because they’d get extra fussy - Rowan staring at her until she finished her plate, or Aelin dragging her into Orynth to try some new food from one of the vendors. But, she didn’t complain. Their tactics kept that little demon at bay, and her mothers voice out of her head.

[kk095]

Maddie in Trauma

*Merry Christmas everyone! Here's my present to you. Hope you all enjoy!*

Through the automatic doors of the emergency department, a beautiful 33 year old woman arrived tethered to a gurney after being involved in a high speed crash on a chilly, rainy night. Her name was Maddie. She had bleach blonde hair, blue eyes, and stood at 5’5 with a slim build. Maddie was a conventionally attractive woman many would say was a solid 10, but that night, she was turning heads for all the wrong reasons. She laid on a backboard in a c-collar, stripped down to only her bra and underwear, littered in cuts, bruises, and abrasions. EKG electrodes were stuck onto her chest, and had IVs in both arms. The paramedics’ urgent chatter with our usual trauma team echoed the chaos of the accident that had left her in this vulnerable state. Maddie was awake and alert while being wheeled into the trauma bay, crying hysterically. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar environment full of complete strangers, wondering what was going to happen next. “on my count. One…two…THREE!” Dr Lindsay’s voice called out, echoing in the room, taking charge of the situation.

Maddie then laid under the large overhead light on the trauma room table. The room was loud and hectic. Monitors were beeping and chirping fast and loud, and the members of the trauma team were all barking orders at one another. It was all happening so fast for Maddie. She was just driving to meet some friends for a night out, and now she was fighting for her life in the ER just a short while later. Maddie’s chest slammed into the steering wheel during the accident, and as a result, she felt a tearing pain in her chest, along with shortness of breath. She had never experienced this level of pain before, and knew she was hurt bad, and that frightened her. “am I gonna die?!” a terrified Maddie asked nurse Nancy, who connected a bag of blood products to Maddie’s IV line nearby. “it’s ok sweetie, you’re gonna be fine. Just stay calm and let us take care of you, ok?” Nancy replied in a soothing, reassuring voice. “My chest!...it hurts so much…” Maddie replied, still sobbing. “we’re gonna take a look hun. It’s all gonna be ok!” Nancy again reassured, gently stroking the frightened lady’s blonde hair for a brief moment. “I don’t wanna die…” Maddie sobbed, grabbing Nancy’s hand, holding it. “you’re not gonna die sweetie, it’s ok.” Nancy calmly replied.

Over the coming minutes, Maddie began to decompensate rapidly. Her blood pressure had taken a free fall, and her heart rate was increasing at an alarming rate. Maddie began spitting up blood, her eyes wide with fear, knowing something was terribly wrong inside her. The tearing pain was 10 times worse, and Maddie felt as if her heart was going to leap right out of her chest. “pressure’s dropping. Hang another round of o-neg to the rapid infuser.” Dr Lindsay ordered. Maddie’s mouth was suctioned out since her airway had become a bit obstructed from all the blood that had entered the area. She laid on the gurney staring upwards, beginning to zone out, taking rapid, shallow breaths. Maddie fought with everything she had left in her over the next minute or two to remain conscious, but she couldn’t do it anymore. She let out one final calm exhale. Her rapidly rising and falling chest was completely still now. Her eyes still wide open, now glazed over. “Maddie? You there hun?!” nurse Nancy shouted, doing a sternal rub. Maddie didn’t even react to the sternal rub. Her eyes just stared upwards, her mouth ajar. “no pulse, someone start CPR.” Dr Sarah announced to the team. Maddie’s bra was snipped off and her perky, C cup tits spilled out. Nurse heather then placed her hands on the center of Maddie’s bare chest and began pumping away hard and fast. At the head of the bed, Dr Sarah was placing an ET tube in Sarah’s airway. The tube was navigated in place quickly, and held in place with tape.

When the code had started, Maddie was in pulseless electrical activity, so CPR, ambu bagging, and IV meds were all the team could do. The beautiful blonde’s chest caved in and recoiled, her belly bouncing outwards. Her tits bounced and jiggled around, and 1 arm dangled off the side of the table, lightly bouncing in sync with the chest compressions. Her head bobbed and lolled, while her beautiful blue eyes were still wide open, with an ET tube hanging out the side of her mouth. At the other end of the table, her feet gently swayed and wobbled in time with the compressions. Maddie had size 9 soles with plenty of soft, silky, prominent wrinkles throughout- another asset to her already perfect appearance.

The trauma team had gotten to the 10 minute mark of the code with no improvement whatsoever, so Dr Lindsay had ordered an echocardiogram to see what was going on inside the stunning blonde’s chest. Lindsay looked over at the ultrasound monitor and saw cardiac tamponade, with some blood clots floating around in the mix. At that point, Lindsay decided to perform a left anterolateral thoracotomy in an attempt to get this life threatening tamponade squared away, then restart the hot blonde’s heart. Betadine was squirted all over Maddie’s chest, staining it and orangey brown sort of color. Lindsay picked up the scalpel and made a quick, decisive incision beginning slightly to the left of Maddie’s sternum, extending the cut across the left half of her chest, underneath her perky left breast, and ending a few inches away from her left armpit. Lindsay then incised the underlying tissue further, and placed a rib spreader into the large, freshly made cut in Maddie’s chest. The knob on the spreader was turned, forcefully prying apart Maddie’s ribs over the coming moments. Once the 33 year old blonde’s chest was cracked open, there was no rush of blood. Her boggy, fibrillating heart twitched weakly and erratically in plain sight. Lindsay reached into Maddie’s chest and examined the heart, noting it felt a lot heavier than normal. Lindsay made a cut in the thick, fibrous lining around the heart and peeled it back, delivering the heart itself and attempting to relieve the tamponade. Thick, gooey, clotted blood oozed out at first, which was suctioned away, only to be instantly replaced with bright red arterial blood. The area was once again suctioned out to reestablish the line of sight, and Lindsay placed a vascular clamp on the descending part of the aorta near the diaphragm to quell any bleeding in the area and redirect blood flow to critical parts of the body. The clamp temporarily stopped the rush of arterial blood, but Lindsay didn’t know where it was coming from. Lindsay began investigating, poking, prodding, and reaching around inside the blonde’s chest cavity, but came up empty during her initial efforts.

The team noticed Maddie was still in v-fib despite the meds and initial internal resus efforts, so the internal paddles were called for. The large, spoon shaped paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into her chest. A dull, wet thump was heard when the shock was delivered. Maddie’s body twitched sharply for a moment before falling limp. “no change, charge again to 30.” Lindsay called out. The high pitched electrical sound of the paddles charging filled the room for a moment, then shock #2 was delivered. Maddie’s heart stopped for a brief moment, then started twitching uselessly once again. The internal defibs were charged again to 30, and another shock was delivered. Maddie’s toes curled at the other end of the table, showing off the fresh coat of black nail polish and her hot, wrinkly soles once again. “still nothing, charge again to 40.” Dr Lindsay called out. The paddles were placed back around Maddie’s twitching heart, and a shock was promptly delivered. Her torso flopped abruptly, her tits shaking, her lifeless blue eyes stared helplessly above. “No change, resume internal massage.” Dr Lindsay called out. This time, Dr Sarah took over internal massage. Perhaps a different set of hands and a different pair of eyes can figure out what the exact cause of Maddie’s arrest was. Sarah could feel the blonde’s heart squirming around in her hands while she massaged it. While performing cardiac massage, she also tried to feel around to see if anything felt out of place. “something’s not right in the posterior portion of the left ventricle. Feel that.” Sarah said to Lindsay. Lindsay reached into Maddie’s chest and worked her hands to the spot Sarah had discovered. “yeah. Something isn’t right, I see what you mean.” Lindsay agreed, but still couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.

Lindsay and Sarah had investigated the area for a bit, but couldn’t draw a conclusion. Since Maddie was still in v-fib, they had opted to shock her again. Sarah performed a cycle of internal massage, and Lindsay got the paddles readied, charging them to 40. The paddles were lowered back in, and the next jolt of electricity went straight into the hottie’s heart. Maddie’s feet kicked around at the opposite end of the table, wrinkling up the soles of her feet once again. “still nothing, hitting her again at 40. Everyone…CLEAR!” Lindsay shouted. KA-THUNK. Maddie’s limp, lifeless body jolted around for a brief moment, but v-fib was still winning this battle. Lindsay shocked the beautiful patient with the internal paddles another 4 times to no avail, so Sarah decided to push more meds and perform a cycle of internal massage. While performing internal massage, Sarah felt a long, thinner, fleshy structure poking one of her fingers. “huh? What is that?” she thought. “charging paddles to 40.” Lindsay called out. “hold on a sec…” Sarah told Lindsay, as she held the blood soaked paddles in her hands. Sarah felt the structure with the tips of her fingers and it all dawned on her. Sarah took her hands out of Maddie’s chest and immediately peeled her gloves off, looking over at Lindsay. “massive aortic dissection. It ripped off the left ventricle almost completely and got trapped. She bled out into the pericardium that way.” She tells Lindsay. Sarah pauses, looks over at the clock, then continues. “time of death, 21:17.”

Lindsay places the internal paddles back onto the crash cart, and nurse Nancy detached the ambu bag, a small amount of air hissing out when the bag is detached while Maddie’s eyes remained open, which was an eerily beautiful sight. The monitors were turned off, and the EKG electrodes were plucked off the lady’s chest. A blue surgical drape was hastily thrown over the thoracotomy site while Maddie’s heart fired off its last handful of desperate, useless signals. Maddie’s eyes stayed open when her body was covered up, looking almost as if she was watching the trauma team’s basic postmortem care on her. Lastly, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of her left foot. The tag dangled in front of her perfect, wrinkly soles while the trauma team exited the room, bringing a heartbreaking end to her case.

[ellizablue]

Lil sneak peak from the upcoming new chapter of The Anchor Cast Below (an old odesta throwback, iykyk):

I’m hunched over Mags’ kitchen table, my head throbbing and heavy, when the phone begins to ring.

It’s shrill, demanding: I wince and then feel irritation spark inside of me, quick and volatile, and I close my hands over my ears, hoping it’ll work for me like it works for Annie.

I still hear it.

I let it ring, ring, ring, ring— stop. And then it starts again. Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring— stop. Again. Ring, ring, ring—

I lurch up from the table, furious now, and wrench the phone from the wall.

It’s Mags’ phone, so I’m expecting Seeder, Woof, maybe Haymitch or Chaff. They’ll be calling to see how the newest addition to our sad little species is settling in to her new home, her new life, her new prison. Later, as the Victory Tour draws nearer, it’ll be Annora and Annie’s stylist phoning, needing to plan and prepare. Not now, though. Not yet. And after what happened— after how completely Annie’s mind snapped away on that shore following the loss of her family (my fault, my fault)— maybe never. She may never come back to reality, to the world (to me). She’s been lost ever since I carried her shrieking and begging up to Mags’s guest room, utterly unreachable.

“Hello?” I snap, not able to fully mask my irritation. It’s only the knowledge that none of this is my fellow Victors’ fault that keeps me from greeting with, “Shut the fuck up.” Though right now, my heart as raw as it is, I wish pretty much everyone and everything outside of Mags and Annie would shut the fuck up for all eternity.

There’s a brief pause. I notice first that the phone call sounds remarkably clear— there’s usually quite a tangle of static in the background to calls from other Districts, particularly 12, so it’s certainly not Haymitch on the line— and then the caller greets me.

“Good morning, Finnick.”

I feel my stomach plummet, my entire body tense up. I automatically turn and look around the kitchen, seeking Mags instinctively— for her guidance, her input, her comfort— but she’s upstairs with Annie, trying to wash the wounds she gouged into her arms in her sleep last night.

My eyes fall on a piece of paper resting on the small table beneath the telephone. It’s the phone directory for Victor’s Shore. Mags, Caleb, Fisher, Meredith, Pike, Dowell, Irving. Finnick. Annie. Her name has already been penciled in on the blank line underneath mine. The next Victor’s Shore house and phone line to be assigned. The next game piece in this twisted power play of Snow’s.

He doesn’t take kindly to my extended silence.

“I said good morning, Finnick,” President Snow repeats, his voice cold now, intolerant to my rude lack of response.

But it isn’t a good morning at all. There hasn’t been one since I was fourteen years old. And Annie— sweet Annie, who truly did nothing to deserve any of this— will likely never have one ever again as long as she lives, however long that may be.

I can think of only one thing to say.

“She did nothing,” I hiss. I grip the phone tighter. At once, my rage swells and crests. “She did not challenge you— she did not defy you— she did nothing!”

Snow’s voice is calm and level where mine is shaky and swollen with emotion. I hate him even more for that.

“Precisely. She did nothing. Her task was very simple— and yours, as her mentor, even simpler: sit through Mr. Flickerman’s interview, engage in the recap, smile and be grateful for her good fortune to still be alive. I was assured you would both deliver, and you delivered exactly nothing. Beyond confusing your lovers and the Capitol public with your over-ardent defense of Ms. Cresta, and her unsettling comments about feeling like she’s being punished…truly, Finnick, I’m not sure you’ve ever failed so spectacularly before.” He pauses for a brief moment, long enough for his words to sink in, and then he continues. “Her ungrateful comment reeked of confusion, so I thought I would set her right. She wasn’t being punished before. This is punishment. Now she knows the difference.”

The list of Victors and their phone numbers is blurry behind tears.

“She didn’t even know what she was saying,” I manage to whisper, my voice twisted with grief and frustration and anger. “That comment wasn’t rebellious or intended to— to be insulting, it was just…” honest, real. Pure. Annie. “She’s unwell. She’s hurt. To her, wounded as she is, everything feels bad. Everything feels like a punishment. She didn’t mean anything by that comment!”

I’m unsure why I sound so desperate for a moment. What do I think I’ll achieve by making Snow realize this? Do I think he’ll somehow pull her family from the morgue and revive them? That he’ll apologize?

No. I’m trying to protect her from future punishment, future pain, though right now I’m not sure what’s left for them to take. They’ve already stolen her mind and her family.

Just her body, I think. Just her body. That’s all that’s left. And I don’t even have that— they took my family, my mind, my body.

(What a pair we make, Annie and me.)

Something about my comment angers President Snow. He sounds less composed now.

“Then you failed, Mr. Odair. You failed as a mentor. You were supposed to prepare her so when she got on that stage she said what needed to be said, she did what needed to be done—”

“She’s not—”

“Do not interrupt me!” Snow booms, and I fall silent immediately. I’m surprised that he’s raised his voice. Yelling somehow seems beneath him. “You wanted her. You cheated and lied and manipulated her way out of that arena. You did that— you chose that. Did you not?”

I say nothing. We both know exactly what I did. I slept with the Gamemakers, I manipulated the Game, I rigged it and cheated and made that dam burst. And because of that, Annie won. Annie came home. And I did want that— her to come home. I just never intended for her to come home to this.

“Answer me.”

I blink hard, and I feel tears— hot and bulbous— capsize my eyelashes and roll down my cheeks. I watch one drop land and splash over Annie’s newly-penciled in name on the directory.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he repeats harshly. “And so all of this is your responsibility— she is your responsibility. Everything she does, everything she says. She’s yours, Mr. Odair. How do you find her? Is she everything you hoped? Everything you wanted?”

I think of Annie, lying lost in the bed upstairs, her nails caked with dried blood and her green eyes empty and echoing. And I think of her before the Games, laughing with twinkling, sharp eyes, so there that she saw through my defenses instantly. More tears slide down my cheeks, and there’s a painful pressure in my chest, like my sternum has been pried open. Like something inherent to my survival has been scooped out and stolen. Maybe it has.

I don’t know what to say back to that. He doesn’t really care what I say, anyway.

“You think I am cruel,” he says. He does not ask. “But I know well what I am asking of you. Once, it was asked of me.”

The implication that he has ever had to deal with anything like what I’m dealing with does more than anger me— it offends me. I clench my fists and feel my sorrow turn hard. I forget to watch my words. I forget to watch myself. Flung carelessly and cruelly from bed to bed, my body not even my own, my life, my identity, my words, and now, my heart—

“You know nothing about what is asked of me,” I bite. “Nothing! You know nothing about what I have to deal with, what I have to carry—!”

I’m talking about so much more than Annie, but he’s buttoned up and focused on the issue at hand.

“I’ll remind you again that you chose this. You asked for this. All you had to do was let her die in that arena, but like a fool, you chose your own heart and your own feelings over your duty—”

“I’m not talking about Annie anymore!”

“You should be! You’ve made such a mess for yourself, Mr. Odair. I doubt you even realize how much of one. And because it is your mess— she is your mess— you will clean it up. You will take care of this problem, and you will do so in whatever manner maintains your public persona and maintains the Capitol’s good opinion of the Games. You will control your mentee and her loose lips, you will control yourself and your fondness for her, or I will handle her. And Finnick? You don’t want me to handle her.”

No. I don’t. I want him as far away from Annie as possible.

He continues, anger still writhing between his cold words like serpents.

“You are a young, naive boy— barely a man, despite what your lovers would contend. You act without thinking and you think without acting. I know well what it costs to mentor someone. I know well what it costs to do one’s duty. You’ll do well to never forget that, Mr. Odair.”

Before he ends the call, he adds one last threat.

“You’ll be relieved to know your lapse of judgment at Ms. Cresta’s recap didn’t impact your economic value. You have quite the lengthy list of patrons lined up for Ms. Cresta’s upcoming tour, including some of your particular…favorites.” A swell of nausea. I set my hand atop the small telephone table and lean against it. “Give Ms. Cresta and dear Ms. Flanagan my love. Congratulations again to District Four.”

He ends the call, but I don’t move for a minute or so. I hold the dead receiver and stare down at Annie’s name, now hazy and blurred from the tears that have dripped onto the paper. All I can think, over and over again, is what have I done?

My first instinct is to run to Mags, but she’s upstairs tending to Annie, and I can’t risk Annie hearing about any of this. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want her to worry. Perhaps she’s already too far gone to even comprehend the full gravity of this situation, but I can’t risk it. So I take a moment to compose myself, I gather a few more bandages from the cupboard over the sink in case Mags needs them, and I go upstairs to see if she needs any help tending to the damage that is, as Snow so accurately put it, my responsibility.

[tathrin]

A response to this ask; taken from this prompt; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox).

#28....as a lie.

*technically this one picks up after the end of this story if you want to read that first, although you don’t need to; it’s as much a self-contained snippet as any of the others, it just happens take place in a setting within the events of a specific fic, that’s all.

Gimli’s eyes were drawn ever and again to the elvish dancers, even as he was drawn several times into brief conversations as friends and acquaintances paused at the table he now shared with Gandalf to exchange a few words and toast their well-wishes together for Gondor’s king and queen. Gimli was glad of the toasts, at least, for they brought fresh mugs of cool ale, and the heat of so many cavorting bodies had raised the temperature of the hall to near-dwarven levels, despite the cool white stone and tall windows through which a summer’s breeze still wafted.

Legolas’s hair shone like a sunrise in the rich torchlight, and his eyes gleamed like starlight on pale clouds. Gimli was amazed that anyone could long look elsewhere, with the shine of him whirling there to draw the eye.

He was not amazed that the other elves twirling on the dance floor were drawn to him; of course they were. How could they help but be lured in, dull drab moths circling that golden glow? Long hands ran up and down Legolas’s lithe limbs and pressed against his slender waist, long fingers twined through the streaming locks of his unfettered hair and curled possessively around his braids—

The mug in Gimli’s hands gave a crack and shattered, soft metal collapsing in on itself in his grip. He stared at the mess in his hands, numbly grateful that he had at least drained it already and so there was no ale left to spill out across his lap, and then he hurriedly shoved it onto the table behind him. He could feel his cheeks burning hotter than any torch in the hall.

Gimli chanced a sideways glance at Gandalf, who was watching the dancers with every evidence of placid enjoyment on his old face. Had he seen? Had he heard? He said nothing, but that did not always mean anything with Gandalf. Perhaps Gimli should speak, should craft some excuse...

“Flimsy human metal,” he muttered, and glanced at the wizard again. Gandalf nodded absently, but did not otherwise react.

Gimli let out his breath in relief—and then a second later he nearly choked on it, as Legolas suddenly bounded out of the tumult to perch on the bench beside him. His eyes danced as merrily as any of the revelers and his smile beamed bright and clear upon his beardless face.

“Will you not dance with us, Gimli?” he asked. His voice was light with laughter and with joy and his thin chest heaved from his exertions. Gimli found his eyes drawn upwards to the bare lips above that smooth and hairless chin.

“What?” he said.

“Dance with us, Gimli!” Legolas repeated. “Come, you can teach us dwarven steps and I will show you the ways of elvish revelry up close.”

“No,” Gimli answered automatically, his heart stuttering in his throat. “No, I—I am quite comfortable here, thank you.”

“You do not seem comfortable,” Legolas observed, and Gimli felt his stomach drop like a stone. He could not stop himself from glancing behind him at the ruined mug, even though he knew the gesture was a dead give-away; if Legolas had not seen it before, he surely would now, with Gimli’s gaze to lead him to it like a map—or a swift arrow.

“I am perfectly fine,” Gimli insisted. “Gandalf and I are enjoying the dancing quite well from here, thank you.”

Legolas spared a glance at the unmoving wizard but his eyes soon fixed on Gimli once more. “You are bothered by something,” he said quietly. “I can tell. Will you not tell me what? Perhaps I can help.”

Gimli’s mind stuttered with the possibilities of the help that Legolas might offer, and he quickly shied away from the idea. “No!” he blurted. “No, I—as I said, I am fine. It is merely warm in here.”

Legolas laughed. “Warm!” he cried. “But you are a dwarf!”

“Aye, a dwarf,” said Gimli, “and one who is enjoying his ale from his comfortable seat, and has no need to go whirling about like some flighty elven dandelion!”

Legolas should have laughed; Gimli knew his friend well enough to know that much. He should have laughed, but he did not. Instead his pale eyes narrowed sharp and keen on Gimli’s face, and Gimli could feel himself blushing beneath that tight scrutiny.

“Does it bother you,” Legolas asked in a low voice, “to see me frolicking so with these other elves?”

“What?” Gimli exclaimed. His hands clenched convulsively, and he was glad that he had already broken his mug; had he still been holding it now, he would surely have turned the thing into a flattened disk of over-stressed and useless metal. “Bother me! Of course it does not!”

To prove it, Gimli made himself laugh and shake his head, as though Legolas had spoken some ridiculous jest. He even lifted the elf’s lean brown hand and kissed the smooth knuckles as more evidence of how thoroughly unbothered he was. “Go back to your dancing, Master Elf!” Gimli chortled. “I am doing quite well watching it from afar, thank you!”

Legolas stared at him for another moment, his smooth face unreadable . The tips of his ears were flushed dark red from all of his cavorting and his pale eyed looked very wide with no beard to frame them.

Then he shrugged, and said, “As you like, then!” and squeezed Gimli’s shoulder once before bounding away and throwing himself back into the whirl of the merry elvish dancers.

Gimli let out a shaky breath and flexed his hands a few times, getting the blood-flow back into them.

"Lying will do no good for either of you," Gandalf declared calmly. "And it is hardly fair to Legolas; he will take you at your word, whatever you tell him."

Gimli could feel his cheeks burning hotter, shame coming along to add its kindling to the blaze. He managed to force an unintelligible grumble of disagreement from his lips, but nothing more articulate than that; he felt as though he was already strangling on all the words he would not, could not, say.

"He will," Gandalf insisted. "The elvenking might be able to spot a lie from 300 leagues and skewer it as neatly as his son ever has an enemy with that bow of his, but Thranduil's people are another matter. Lies are not generally told in Mirkwood. It is not a place for dissembling, or oaths, or scheming. The Wood-elves are a simple, honest people. And you are Legolas's friend." Gandalf pulled his eyes away from the dancing and fixed his gaze on Gimli instead. His bushy brows were drawn very low atop them, making his eyes glint like embers in deep shadow. "If you tell him something, he will believe you, Gimli. And you will have none but yourself to blame for the results."

Without waiting for Gimli to muster either the courage or the wits for a response, Gandalf swept to his feet and strode off into the tumult of the party.

Gimli slumped low on his bench and stared miserably at the dancing elves.

Legolas was still so impossibly vibrant and noticeable against the duller backdrop of the others. Gimli's eyes fixed on him at once. He seemed to be moving now with even greater abandon than before, if such a thing were possible.

And if such a thing were not impossible, Gimli would almost have said that Legolas kept glancing back at the table where Gimli sat as well—but he was not, of course, and so Gimli put the thought from his mind.

He had more than enough to think of anyway, when a tall elf of Lórien slid up behind Legolas and snaked her arms across his narrow shoulders, leaning in low to murmur something into his finely-pointed ear.

Legolas laughed and turned to face her, their long lithe arms entwining as close as any dwarven lovers. They swayed and swirled together with the music, and the elf-woman’s hands slid up from Legolas’s shoulders to tangle in his braids. Legolas smiled up at her and said something that Gimli was too far away to hear, but it made her laugh. Then Legolas gave one of her dark braids a gentle tug, and Gimli realized that he was growling low in his throat as though facing down a horde of goblins.

He turned away blindly and reached for his mug, realized that it was both empty and broken, and turned back around just in time to see the elf-woman twirl away into someone else’s arms as another pair of hands took Legolas by his trim waist and plucked him out of the center of the tumult to pull him in close against their long lean body, and—

And it was Haldir, Mahal curse it. Gimli’s mouth went dry, his blood pounding in his ears like drumbeats as the March Warden leaned in close and lowered his mouth to Legolas’s ear, whispering something. He took one of Legolas’s braids in his hand and rubbed his thumb across the heavy golden strands, like a dwarf might test a metal for its quality. Haldir was hardly dancing; only swaying a little as he stared down at Legolas, who stood balanced before him on his toes like a bird paused on the edge of flight.

Gimli was on his feet before he realized it, about to start forward and—and what?

His hand was at his belt, which was empty of course; a wedding was no place for weapons. And why was he reaching for his axe, anyway? He sat back down on the bench with a heavy, hollow thump. What was he thinking? What was he doing?

He had had too much ale, clearly. It was the only explanation for his strange behavior tonight. His throat was dry, but he would not drink anymore tonight; he had drunk too much already, clearly, and it was clouding his thoughts. Making him think strange, impossible things. Making him dream things that—that were not, that could never...!

Legolas laughed and rose up onto his toes to press a light kiss to Haldir’s lips.

His head reeling, Gimli watched as the March Warden took Legolas by the hand and led him, smiling, towards the door. If Gimli thought that Legolas paused on the threshold and looked back, somehow finding Gimli’s eyes across the crowded room and glancing at him hesitatingly, questioningly, even hopefully—well, then that was just another sign that he had reached the night’s limit for ale; reached, and more than passed.

Gimli held himself very still, schooling his expression to a placid calmness that might have rivaled Gandalf’s, and then he forced a smile and a nod—just in case Legolas was really looking; just in case he could really see him.

A shadow seemed to flicker across those bright elvish eyes, as though one of the torches near the door was on the verge of guttering; although when Gimli looked at them, they both appeared to be burning tall and strong still.

When he looked back, there was only a faint fading flicker of golden locks flowing around the corner as Legolas vanished into the night and Haldir’s arms.

Gimli sat there for several minutes, staring into the empty darkness of the door. The noise of the wedding revels that had once filled the hall with such bright merriment seemed to have faded now, somehow; he heard it from a distance, like echoes from some far-off cave. Eventually he forced himself to rise, and murmur unintelligible farewells as he passed his friends, and trudge his way across the long white hall towards the other door.

He stumbled back to the rooms the Fellowship shared, alone.

[ashdreams2023]

okay so may i request a reader (male or gn) whos basically the child of Loki, his child somehow managed to go with Loki when he went into the void and met all other versions himself. [reader] had just stuck behind their dad the whole time as they didnt want to get lost, however a version of loki, which is president loki thought [reader] was his child so he ends up taking [reader], he was wondering as too why he wasnt wearing any of their formal clothes as [reader] would then been fhe child of a president. After a long while he realizes this isnt his kid this is a different loki’s kid

All the same

President Loki x son reader

Ending in weird situation shouldn’t be new to you at this point but your father never fails to amuse you with the amount of trouble he gets you two into.

Speaking of your father….of fathers in this bizarre event of the day, you were now looking at different variants of the god who raised you, all arguing among themselves, you gave them the deaf ear long before you could get a headache.

"Come on son we have to go" you heard your father’s voice and automatically went along with him, well more him pulling your arm with him.

It took you about a minute to realize that the person dragging was most certainly not your father, but another variant.

A suit and horns, interesting combo.

You choice to play along with him until he realizes that you’re not his son but a variant.

President Loki didn’t give it much though, his son tagged along with him a lot and finding out he followed him to whatever this was wasn’t surprising.

Although, he was wondering where his formal ware was, he was a son of a president of course and needed to look the role.

President Loki left be, deciding that he would just make him change when he finds his way back to his timeline.

You followed silently but curious at the way he was glancing back at you, surely he wasn’t that dense, all Loki’s had a level of intelligence to go by.

After what felt like forever but in reality just 30 minutes you stopped and sat down on the ground, your legs were already hurting from walking all day and now this.

President Loki stopped immediately when he heard the sound of you hitting the ground, he told his men to wait for he needed to speak with you.

"You’re not my son are you?" You snorted at the question. "Took you long enough, but yes I’m not. My father is the one with the tva"

President Loki pinched the bridge of his nose in irruption then a crazy looking grin graced his face.

"Well then, he needs to find you sooner or later and until then you will stay with me kid"

"Do I get a pin with your name on it?"

"Sure"

"Awesome!" President or not, Loki is still a Loki and you loved your father in whatever version he is. 

[of-thieves-and-witches]

Spring

A/N: not proof read. hopefully will be before it goes up on ao3.

_______________________________________

" And that brings us to the end of the campus tour, hope you liked it. Registration forms are at the administration office for those interesting in applying to the Galvan Academy of Intergalactic Sciences. Hope to see you at the spring semester" the tiny little voices echoed cheerfully in harmony from all 5 mouths of the blue campus tour guide.

The group thanked her and then dispersed into various directions, with our dark haired osmosian being dragged away by his girl towards the main building.

"Woah G slow down, where's the fire?"

Gwen rolled her eyes, " the sooner we fill that form , the better the impression it leaves. The better the impression, the more likely you get in" she said as she almost sprinted towards the 50 foot giant metallic doors.

Kevin smirked. Leave it to his girl to get excited over school, though deep down he had to admit, he was a little excited too.

This wasn't just any school , it was THE Galvan Academy. Founded by Azmuth's grandparent's, this was one of the most prestigious universities in the milky way. Anyone who was anyone went here , in fact it was an honor to even be allowed on to the campus itself.

When he first received the letter at his garage a few days ago he automatically tossed it on to the plastic chair, assuming it was another one of Ben's fanmail.

It was Gwen who brought it to his attention when she came over later that evening that it was addressed to him from the academy

" TGA huh? So Ben's getting honorary doctorate or something?"

" This isn't for Ben , it's for you"

Kevin was slightly taken aback, his initial thoughts racing to recall if he'd ever stolen or committed some crime regarding the institution. Nothing came to mind. So if he wasn't in trouble , why would they have sent him a letter?

" it says Azmuth has recommended your name to join from the Spring semester and they'd love to have you visit the campus to consider an official admission. " she almost shrieked as his eyes widened.

Him? Why him?

He's not the super famous hero, Ben is. He's not the super book smart academic , Gwen is.

Why would anyone recommend him?

" are you sure it is isn't for one of you guys? "

" it literally says congratulations dear Kevin Ethan Levin on having been chosen as an honorary recruit to the spring semester. It can't get any clearer than that. Now get up, we need to pack ASAP if want to make it to Galvaria by Tuesday. Oooh and we'll need to get some formals for you"

Kevin was dumbfounded at the thought of it all. So dumbfounded that he didn't even complain when Gwen made him buy sweater vests and khakhis.

Upon reaching the foot of the wide stairs he pulled, resulting in gwen smacking into his chest due to the abrupt halt.

" G what makes you think I even want to go here?"

Gwen raised her eyebrows at him.

" wha...what? Do you even know where we are right now? babe this is where the weapon master's come to learn. This...this is all we've talked about for past 3 days!"

He shook his head. " No this is all you've talked about for the past 3 days. I haven't said anything"

She looked at him in disbelief. That can't be true. However now that she thought about it, she realized she truly was the only one of them who'd actually shown any enthusiasm, the one of them who'd been dragging them through every nook and cranny of the institution openly gawking at all the machinery and facilities.

Kevin for the most part simply walked beside her giving the occasional woah whenever some high level tech was mentioned.

"come on" She grabbed his hand and began pulling him again, this time away from the building and towards the giant fountain of Azmuth spewing water out of his head.

He quietly followed her as they sat on the cool granite in front of the statue.

" babe " she sighed " I'm sorry, I should've known something was up when you agreed to buy those dress shoes. I just ... I don't know. This is a huge deal and I'm sorry I got carried away"

Kevin stared at the all the aliens buzzing around the courtyard, some rushing with piles of books to their next class and some showing off their end of semester projects. This could be him next semester , if he decided that is.

" It's been a while since I went to school you know. And the last time I was there, I didn't really have the best time"

Gwen gave a soft squeeze to his hand.

" I know" she said softly. " But you've grown so much since. You're smart and funny, you got your roguish charm" he smirked as she gave him a little nudge.

" kev you'll be fine. And i'll be right here if you need anything", she reassured.

His smirk dropped.

Truth be told , while he was nervous about going back to school, it wasn't exactly the number one thing that made him apprehensive about this whole situation.

" G, you know this is a 2 year degree, not including further specialization and the compulsory year long work I'm supposed to do with Azmuth. I'm gonna have to stay out here for 5 years atleast. And I know you can't just drop everything at Freidkin and ...." he trailed off.

He didn't even want to say it out loud.

The anodite looked down at her hands and fumbled with her fingers.

" I know" she whispered. She wasn't stupid, she knew what followed if Kevin went here.

They sat in silence, just staring at the ground for a while, neither of them wanting to confront the truth that loomed over them.

" Gwen , I ca.. I don't want to lose you" he whispered. "5 years is a long time. Things change , people.. change"

Their own relationship was a testament of the fact.

She turned and grabbed his face in her hands, her thumb slowly stroking his cheek. She looked into his dark eyes, the eyes that become her home over the past few years.

" I can't even begin to imagine not being you okay? But I can't take this amazing opportunity away from you, you deserve to be happy Kev"

" you make me happy gwen"

" I know , but that's not enough. You're worthy of so much more. You deserve a chance to be great."

He looked away from her, trying to avoid eye contact.

" so you're going to let me go, just like that?" he said quietly.

She placed her head on his shoulder, his arm instinctively wrapping around her like it'd done a million times over.

" yes, even if it feels like my heart's being ripped out of my chest. I love you too much to keep you around. "

He sighed. " 5 years is a long time you know. A lot can happen"

This wasn't going to be easy , it never is when it comes down to the one you love. Kevin was right, 5 years was a terribly long time to be away from the one who's the reason your heart flutters, but this wasn't the time for mere feelings.

" 5 or 500 , I'm not going anywhere" it was true, regardless of what the future held for their relationship , there was one thing she knew for sure. She was never going to stop loving him.

He kissed the top of her as she snuggled closer. It was an interesting emotion Kevin felt at the moment. A mix of excitement of knowing he'd have a chance of becoming something great whilst feeling grief over losing someone he considered was his whole world.

Kevin turned around and looked up at the Azmuth statue. He wondered why he had recommended him in the first place. Besides from a few interactions, always regarding Ben, they hadn't really talked or bonded in any way, at least not enough for him to consider him to for anything as prestigious as this. Then again he never did understand most things the little green frog spoke or did.

" hey G, is the water coming out of his head supposed to represent his brains?"

Gwen looked up with him, " huh ,I guess so "

"Weird"

_______________________________________________________

A/N: yes , they break up. I've always headcanoned they do. not because they hate each other because personally i feel like kevin deserves a chance to make something of himself besides just following gwen around. He's got the potential. and azmuth noticed that as well.

But fear not, they do get back together at the end of the 5 years. :))

[electricbluebutterflies]

Masriel + kissing AND biting to stay quiet

Affair-era, vaguely NSFW, also on ao3.

Damn him. Damn him and his pretty words and his electric touches and-

Marisa is well aware that screwing someone who is not her husband in a space that is not quite private is the kind of dangerous decision that could easily ruin her life. She is also aware, in this moment, that she does not care.

She knows the rules of such liaisons, how the nature of her body makes it automatically more of a risk for her than for her lover. Whatever impulsive streak she may or may not have does not apply to physical collision, to the voice in the back of her mind screaming that this is all a terrible idea, to-

She is aware of the situational risks. The man she is currently pinning to a wall, she’s starting to suspect, may not be.

A better self – the face that Marisa presents to the world, at this point in time, perhaps – would’ve stopped this a month ago. Once should’ve been enough. Just once, like everyone else she’s let have her, this too-common bad habit of fierce women who marry far too young. One taste of the forbidden should’ve put her off it. Instead…

“Fuck, how is that even comfortable?”

Her lover’s fingertips are on the clasp of her bra – a formality, she’d say if she was a little less distracted, just like undoing her blouse was a formality, just like everything more than pushing her skirt down past her hips is a formality. Every bit of maneuvering is another detail she will have to fix after the encounter, and she has no interest in undoing him on the same level and he won’t do it without her prompting, she’ll barely even see his prick before her body envelops it, she’ll-

If he has the slightest idea how much effort goes into her appearance… that’s a fight for later, for when they become the sort of couple who have fights, for-

“Do something useful with your mouth,” she says instead, because they are new and they are not there yet.

She knows what she is doing, what she has become, how every detail of her will linger in his mind for decades after whenever she refuses to slip away and oh who knows how long this will even last. Could become her recurrent outlet for all she knows, could be nice to have something predictable, could be-

He kisses her with the desperation she likes, deep kisses as his hands go lower, as hers do as well. She’s pinning him, she will emphasize this detail however she must, but she is not necessarily leading; this is, damn her, as close as she suspects she will ever come to having an equal. This blurring of lines, desire justifying what it will, this is a goddamned terrible idea, this is everything she’s ever wanted, this is-

One of his hands slips between her thighs at the same moment they separate for breath and Marisa sees that dangerous look in his eyes and oh she does not need whatever comment on the tip of his tongue about how wet she is and she decides that the only way of averting it is to reach up, undo exactly one button of his shirt, and bite his collarbone right on the line of what could easily be hidden. For this she gets a low growl, but at least that’s quieter and that’s what she wants, at least-

At least there is silence in their collision, as she pushes him down just enough for this to happen. Perfect silence as she feels already familiar sensations, a perfect little snowglobe moment. Years after they end, this is what she will remember. Bright eyes in awe of her, solid hands on her hips, the mutual feeling of being understood like no one else could ever do.

They end tragic. She knows this, even now. She is too young – they are both too young, really – and too heart-driven to the extent she even has that fragile part, and nothing she does now will stay in her favor. Same as everything else, really. Take everything she can before the bubble bursts.

But those are rational concerns for later, not for this moment. For when she is readjusting her clothes in a few minutes, not for when she is overcome with lust.

Take what she can while she can, and she does.

[henrioo]

HEADCANNON — Do you see Killer as an TransMasc dude?

I mean… he may or may not have top surgery scars, which I’ll explain later, but what he actuall was before the pre-timeskip?

He was a man, who definitely was on T-shots not even half a year. Having a binder crushing his chest, moving fast — but hardly breathing, no wonder why his voice was rather deep. He tried to hide the fact that he hardly got any air during the fights or such.

The slimness during the Sabaody Arc, no facial hair, fast movements… that’s the second when my brain automatically shoved the thought of him being a part of the LGBTQ. Just look at this dude two years later:

He grew out his thick hair, took care of it. Jaw and chin covered in his golden goatee, while his body grew at least thrice as wide as two years before. Man… I know for sure that during those years he was high on his Testosterone level.

But the best part comes along with the explanation of the top surgery marks he might hide underneath his t-shirt. I believe that during the long time of waiting until the Kid Pirates come back to screen, Killer and his crew recently has visited the Revolutionary Army on their way to Wano.

And who’s the most queer diva in there? Of course it’s them — Ivankov.

The one who actually said: “Boy, you seem uncomfortable while moving. Do you perhaps need some help with gender dysphoria, hun’?”

Then the change happened, the scars lasted, but the short and painful process of his body turning fully male was worth it. Feeling like himself encouraged him to train more and gain weight, muscles, and all possible benefits.

So… if you ever read it, I really want to know your opinion about this. It’s not common to see a male-blog only, which I appreciate truly.

— Cheers, Musashi.

Okay I love this ask and I love you now and we two gonna be best friends okay?

And yes now I'm a only male blog and I genuinely love talking with more male authors we need to have a strong community

So here all my opinion about this

Like Sanji is a gay coded character for me, Killer is also one, and in the two examples I'm sure Oda didn't do it on purpose but he did a pretty good job

For me Killer has a lot of coded trans signals that make me feel he genuinely would be a perfect trans character, so here what I feel more

First his name, even one piece has some "weird" names, Killer looks more a name that someone would give to himself, not a weird normal name in one piece that someone would be born with

Since we don't know too much about the childhood of the kid pirates, it is hard to be sure, but I think it is obvious that killer chose his own name. If it is for the reason he is trans or not doesn't really matter, everyone can think whatever they want

Also the mask, we know that killer is far from being ugly but he always had the mask after he grew up a little, and I think that was pure insecure about his face. I think in the start before the T and those things people didn't take him seriously because his face wasn't really masculine or scary, and to try fight against that he started using the mask, also because that would help him having a more strong voice, since the mask would muffle his voice

Kid protection, I think is more than perfect their bond, and is obviously that Killer trusts in Kid his own life and soul. And for me this is the perfect way to show that Kid is a true ally to his friends transition, when they meet again in the prison he even asks to killer "where are your mask?" Because he knows his friend would never be without that

Not only that, he genuinely killed everyone that laughed about Killer no matter why they are laughing, that for me is perfect to show how Kid grows up seeing Killer suffering from intolerant people and becomes aggressive in a way to protect him

But I'm not sure about Iva, I don't think the Revolutionary Army would risk being close to Kid because he had one of the worst reputations between the pirates. And even if they would have a change the Kid owes a favor to them I don't think it would be a good choice, because they couldn't know if Kid would be pacific enough or not

And what we know for now is that the Revolutionary Army don't really have bonds with pirates exactly because they are impressive and dangerous

So I think that Killer got such a big man because of... Drugs

Yeah no joking

The crew would definitely get T enough for Killer besides I think they would have this in a constant way, what can explain why he takes two years to be that big

But I also think he used some anabolic steroids, or anything like that but in the one piece universe. I don't think they would be really hard to get and they probably are not safe, but they probably work better than the ones we have in the real world.

So if I could say the reason why killer got big is this one, Kid probably got some suspicious drugs and Killer used and there we are. We already know those dudes don't give a shit about risking their life and they are like "worthy to try"

Also I can see Law helping Killer with some surgery, but then Kid finds out that Law is also a captain and he gets mad because they get help from an enemy, and he is not blaming Killer but blaming Law and Law is just "wtf I literally help you?"

But yeah

Thanks for that, I love having someone to talk about this hahahha

[lacroxton]

Automatic Autonomic Automated Vending Machine

One of my favorite fics I wrote and also the first translation I tried. Inspired by Cyberpunk 2077, Death Stranding and Atomic Heart, it's a story about freedom, promises and the post apocalypse Terra with Vending Machine Exusiai & Messenger Texas.

Warning: Blood and Gore

//

Once there was a flood; A surge that gave birth to all life. Once there was a flood; A surge that selected our civilization to survive. And then there was another flood.

The flood that left nothing behind.

Later that night, Texas opened her eyes and saw two men staring at her bed, clutching a hoe and a harpoon respectively. The harpoon's tines touched both sides of her neck, and the soon-to-be murderer was tense and shaky. Texas wasn't sure whether the corners of his compressed lips were laced with excitement because the moonlight was too faint to cast a shadow.  

She and Exusiai originally came to this church to escape the sandstorm. The journey to Laterano passes through vast wastelands—places that had never been favoured by Mother Nature, and would never be transformed into mobile cities. The whole world had forgotten them, but God still allowed them to survive, so the people were left with nothing but faith. They gathered together, lingering in groups of three or five, praying. No one knew what they were praying for, but they were confident that a miracle would happen one day.

It was at this time Texas and Exusiai pushed the door in. As luck would have it, this small self-rescue community had just vacated a few beds. Last week, a man had died of a hyena's sharp teeth; a mother and her daughter had died from picking poisonous sandfruits. If the food in the warehouse didn't replenish soon, everyone here would starve to death. Exusiai hence made a proposal: to exchange three nights of safe and sound sleep with hot, yummy meals.

At first, people questioned whether this was some kind of originium arts or tricks unleashed by Texas. They had never seen anyone travel with a vending machine, let alone a talking, enthusiastic, joyful vending machine. The flashing pixels would form an image of a redhead Sankta on the machine's square screen, with up to 24 combinations of facial expressions and an excellent sense of humour beyond the human level. Of course, these extra "add-ons" were shenanigans Exusiai came up with just to sound a little bit cooler. Based on her polymeric converting system, her most crucial core function was actually INSTANT COOKING : you can put any raw materials into the ingredient slot, select the recipe and wait for a few seconds; gourmet foods full of umami will instantly drop out and ready to serve. Wilted rice cobs become hearty rice balls, and expired tuna cans become creamy bowls of tuna soup. If you put in a few shrivelled berries, even the melt-in-your-mouth desserts will no longer be a luxury. Exusiai fulfilled everybody's wishes with a big smile: the first day, and the second day, until eventually, no one questioned her or their own stomach. They praised: these are the best food we have ever eaten in our lives; these are the evidence that God has come to save us.

And that was also why they would never allow the precious happy hour to come to an end. Selfishness let greed swell and fester in their hearts, finally, on the last night, they decided to take possession of Exusiai for themselves and leave Texas to Death.

Luckily, Texas had been acquainted with Death for so many years. The harpoon that choked her could've bounced off the bed, projected back the way it came, and quickly pierced the murderer's heart whenever she wanted. The guy holding a hoe beside him was even skinnier, and wielding an unfamiliar weapon in panic could only backfire. Inertia would cause that weak body to trip over the bricks behind him, inadvertently knocking over a bright oil lamp on the way, until drowning the entire church into a roaring fire.

But before all this could happen, Exusiai's voice drilled into Texas' ears. Texas tilted her head and saw the screen of Exusiai still showing a smiling face; her voice still sounded warm and joyful. She asked those two guys, and everyone in the room who pretended to be asleep: Even if you've taken me for yourselves, how do you know they won't eradicate you the same way they eradicate Texas? How can you be so sure that the fairness everyone promises will indeed be fair?

......We can get through anything as long as the Lord stays with us! Nobody could tell who shouted first in the darkness.

Is that so? Another voice came up, however, retorted, you don't think putting on this face will help you cover the fact that YOU are the thief who steals from the warehouse every chance you get, do you?

As it turns out, people's beliefs are often more vulnerable to suspicion than they could ever imagine, just as fragile as their relationships with each other.

Like something important had suddenly dawned on him, the harpoon was removed from Texas' neck and then dragged slowly toward the tall man guarding the warehouse. The hoe guy also clenched his teeth, turned to aim at the old man lying under the window who always got pardoned from labour duties due to health conditions. Their movements ceased to tremble, so the stone effigies around the church were soon stained with blood. In the midst of yelling, cursing, and killing each other, no one bothered to care that this was a place blessed by God anymore, leaving only dead bodies and pieces of flesh twisted ugly on the floor.

Then, Exusiai selected a few freshly slaughtered tenderloin, had Texas put them in her ingredient slot, removed the bones, and grilled them on both sides to make black pepper patties: crispy outside, juicy inside. Her body wasn't equipped with a gustatory system, therefore couldn't taste anything, but she hoped Texas would like it.

Such a shame it ended so soon. Exusiai's vocal compartment created a series of chewing noises. I was kinda looking forward to watching Texas fight over me.

There was no need for that. Texas divided the patties into equally small pieces with her originium sword, then sealed and packed them into a leather pouch—which would be her sole food supply for the next two days. If you're willing to go with them, she said, I won't interfere much.

What if I'm NOT willing?

The pixels that make up Exusiai's pupils had narrowed, so that her eyes could scan every frame of Texas' movements, watching her light a cigarette by the remaining flame of the oil lamp.

The cigarette seemed to have damped too badly. Texas lowered her eyebrows in silence for a long time before finally exhaling the first puff of mist.

She thought for a moment and said to Exusiai, then I will guarantee your freedom.

*

For a long time, Texas couldn't be sure whether adding the word "freedom" to her vocabulary would be a change for the better. But, she must admit that ever since she met Exusiai, "freedom" had always been intertwining with her life.

When she thought back to that day, Texas' memory was already a little fuzzy. She hadn't eaten a full meal for probably five or six days straight, so hungry that she couldn't even spell out a word, and every breath of air she took only made her stomach emptier. Her car crashed far away, and her package was destroyed in a cave even further. At the end of the day, only half piece of hardtack was left in her pocket. But that was the last straw Texas could grasp. She couldn't eat it yet, not in such a rush. She just needed to find a roof in the ruins of this nameless city to rest for a while; so that when she woke up, the illusion sleep brings to her brain would allow her to hold on for another day.

Texas leaned against a broken wall covered in mud and dust. She knew no one would come to save her. No one would rescue a messenger who failed her mission. Not before The Silence , and sure not for fifty years after it. The only hope was the golden sunset shining on her cheeks; Texas exhaustedly shut her eyelids, wishing it would bring her a sweet dream.

Then it brought back a terrible chunk of brownie. And a very talkative vending machine.

Exusiai had so many things to say, as if she was trying to list out all the details that did and did not happen to her life in a single sentence. She said she hadn't met a living human for fifty years—spent thirty years drifting in the sea, and twenty years drying out on the land after the flood receded. The good thing for her was that Sankta's ancestors, Aggeloi, were a kind of inorganic swarming construct floating in space, which led the modern technology of Laterano to be waterproof, and not even have to rely on electricity. By solely absorbing cosmic radiation, Laterano machines could function perfectly under almost every circumstance; some newer models could also disassemble, reorganize, polymerize, and activate any substance on the molecular level. 

By conducting hundreds of millions of calculations for armageddon, Sankta's God, the supercomputer under The Basilica, had ultimately decided that the Digital Life Project was the best option with higher success rates. Even if their paradise got annihilated by the Seaborns, and their primary network connection got cut forcibly—as long as a certain number of angels' consciousness was successfully uploaded, one day, the Sanktas would return to their homeland and continue the Laterano civilization. 

Exusiai was one of them.

Her consciousness was uploaded to a vending machine, which had no mobility whatsoever, nothing but to lie on her back in the ocean currents, looking up at the sky. Therefore, Exusiai had only been to places where the wind took her. The seawater licked her metal surface and plated it white with infinite waves of salt. Time has never been slower than the years stuck between gears. The wait was too long for the Sanktas to maintain their sober soul; so far, Exusiai had received 1099 neural signals from the other machines shutting themselves down—signals of solid, mutual emotions constructed by the shared memories of Sankta, which is also the confirmation of the very faith of being alive.

Every time these signals dissipated, it felt like some dull, gloomy, lifeless light spots distantly fell across the horizon. But Exusiai was looking up at the sky still. Waiting, expecting, humming while counting the seconds, and fifty years passed just like that.

Until Texas' elbow accidentally touched her button.

Exusiai said she had nothing else to give Texas as a courtesy for their first meeting, and her ingredients, the residue of fruits and dirt dropped inside her slot during all these years, were barely enough to make a brownie. It's probably gonna taste bad as hell, Exusiai added, but at least you wouldn't die from eating that.

Texas wolfed it down almost immediately. She was so, so hungry that her tastebuds no longer distinguish between good and bad, mistaking the sweetness of blood in her saliva for a chocolate flavour. She even ripped off a couple pieces of skin on her mouth as she rolled down the grassy crumbs with her teeth.

Then she licked the corners of her dry, cracked lips and asked Exusiai why would you save me, using a voice as hoarse as broken bellows.

Simple. Said Exusiai, scrutinizing the employee name tag on Texas' chest. The plastic seal was severely scratched, and so did Texas' entire body, as it was tattered and torn, revealing scabbed wounds on her shoulders and tail. I need a messenger to get me to Laterano.

But verbal promise never equals trustworthiness, Exusiai. Texas could feel the thirst now; taking carbohydrates all of a sudden with a flimsy stomach wall apparently triggered some acid reflux up to her throat. For example, I might promise you first, then drop you in the middle of nowhere halfway through.

It's your freedom to do what you want, Texas. Just like it's my freedom to trust a starving ghost lying next to Death. Exusiai didn't tell Texas what she really trusted was a pair of eyes that couldn't lie.

Then what? Texas asked. Those eyes lit up for a rare second. After I get you to Laterano?

Then a REAL piece of strawberry shortcake, of course. Said Exusiai. But if I'm in a good mood, I might also be merciful and share half of it with you.

*

The Lupo without a home and the Sankta without a human body had been on a long journey together ever since.

The vending machine's weight was lighter than expected. Texas quickly scavenged some iron parts and fabrics from the wreckage of the surrounding buildings; Exusiai's polymeric converting system then polished them into a brand new cart with four wheels and two strong straps. Using the rest of the materials, she even tailored a new set of well-fitting clothes for Texas. It was still a long, long way from Laterano, so they spent the daytime walking in sunlight and nighttime under the tarp by a campfire. When Texas fell asleep, Exusiai would dim her screen and lay on the ground, counting the stars.

Exusiai also cooked many, many meals for Texas. From burger and soda combo to fettuccine alfredo, from apple cheese tart to creamy mushroom soup, the chef's recommendation never repeats itself. Although the truth was, these were the foods that Exusiai wanted to eat the most, and yet she couldn't, so sending Texas to collect different ingredients and cook them was the only effective placebo for her cravings. After Texas finished a dish, Exusiai would also force her to comment on it, as if she were some kind of a regular cast on a cooking show.

Texas remembered she had watched something just like this on an old VCR when she used to eat earthworm burritos and cricket jerky back at the shelters in Columbia. That show must be about 60 to 70 years old, even older than The Silence , and the person in front of the camera with a microphone, known as the host, would use a crazy amount of fancy words to describe whatever dish served to her. In the same way that "a steak without wine isn't a good steak," all of the diners captured on screen must also demonstrate an exaggerated nodding, smiling face as if the deliciousness has blown their mind away. Nobody ever found out if those foods were indeed that delicious.

However, Exusiai's 24 pixel combinations didn't allow for such precise facial expressions. Her screen would only display a progress bar below her complacent grin—accompanied by a short piece of electric punk music that runs way off-key at the end of the bar. She was clearly neither a good host nor a good singer.

Texas, on the other hand, was neither a critic nor a liar. So she simply rated every single dish Exusiai cooked her as "tasty".

Time flew by, and they met many other people along the way, leaving new stories with new encounters. Although the flood had receded for twenty years, it was still hard for people's hearts to sprout again from the barrenness. At first, they were tormented by the never-ending hunger and fear. Then, they spent countless days and nights tearing down the fortress besieged. Finally, they returned to the surface, only to find out they must work even harder to keep themselves alive. Everything else was torturous, only the stories were glamorous, so people immediately embraced a new faith. These stories then spread further and further through the winds of the wilderness.

When the neural signal of the last Sankta's death had reached Exusiai, people started praising again: a newborn God had come to this world. God is among the machinery, with a grey wolf guarding her side. Wherever they go, there will be no worries or troubles; Wherever they stay, that place shall be the home of all joy.

People voluntarily elected the talking, enthusiastic, joyful vending machine to wield the sceptre of salvation for all mankind. 

The only remaining Sankta therefore walked on earth, stretched her wings and halo, as she had become the living Laterano.

Sadly, the results of being at the center of attention were often mixed between good and bad, Texas was well aware of that. As many people accept their existence, there will only be more people coming after them, and that's how every story ends. Whenever God seems to tilt the scale to one side, those who desire to be favoured but have not been granted will automatically gather on the other side. The center of the scale is engraved with war. No one ever realized that wars have always arisen from people themselves, and have nothing to do with God, nor with Exusiai.

But Texas was not the type to guess at people's hearts. Whatever side people showed her, she would believe it until they betrayed her. That's why Texas was always covered in blood. Mostly from other people, occasionally from her own, with the crimson slicing her forehead open, drenching her hair and burying her heavy eyelids. Exusiai stood just behind her, acting as a solid wall, letting crimson handprints blend into her crimson metal. That wall was uncomfortable to lean on, and it was even colder to the touch than stone bricks, but the key selling point was that the wall could tell a lot of corny jokes. Exusiai's excellent sense of humour put Texas at ease.

While waiting for Exusiai to prepare dinner, Texas unprecedentedly had a sweet dream.

The dream was of a certain cafe recommended by another cooking show. Texas had never been to a cafe, only seen it on videotape, so the whole place was covered with an old film-like filter. But Texas did drink coffee. She remembered the coffee at the shelter as a liquid very bitter, very sour, and very astringent with no aroma at all. Not sure why it was so popular other than it keeps people awake. Thinking that maybe real coffee wasn't like this, Texas ordered another cup of brew in her dream, but it still tasted the same. She frowned, and her tail froze briefly, only to be watched by her tablemate, stifling a laugh while letting out a long gulp of air.

Texas lifted her head up. The girl on the other side of the table looked like a Sankta, with a halo, wings, striking red hair, a cheeky face and beautiful eyes. Texas didn't think she had ever met this girl before. But the subconscious reaction of the brain soon let Lupo know that the angel in front of her was indeed Exusiai. Perhaps it was because she had a delicate piece of strawberry shortcake in her hand.

Then, Exusiai took Texas's coffee cup, tore open a few small paper sacks and plastic wrappings, poured sugar and milk into it, tasted it first, and stirred it evenly with a wooden stick. This time, Texas couldn't taste the bitterness anymore. It wasn't sour, wasn't astringent, and the coffee became nutty and sweet for the first time. A sweetness that Texas could understand.

Humans are supposed to eat together. Using a mysterious tone, Exusiai in the dream scooped off the corner tip of the cake and handed it to Texas. With a voice no longer being mechanically compressed, every expression and movement of hers was so smooth. Curious about this Exusiai's touch, Texas then reached one hand out to her and realized that Exusiai's skin was much softer than her own.

If there's no one joining the table, Exusiai stopped for a while, even the best food could be unappetizing.

Texas had to admit that Exusiai was right. She realized with hindsight that her tastes had sweetened over the time being with Exusiai—she even seemed to have become a little bit like Exusiai, with a pleasant glimmer of expectation for tomorrow.

She hoped, when they arrived at Laterano, that half piece of strawberry shortcake would be just as good as the one in her dream.

*

Texas woke up, only to find herself lingering in that same dream once again. The light of dusk stung her eyes. She tried to stand up, but the sharp pain and exhaustion coming from all parts of her body kept tugging her down, making her realize that struggling was nothing more than a futile waste of time.

So she had to strain to roll her eyeballs and hold open her blood-slicked vision, looking around.

She was surrounded by broken statues and marble columns. Collapsed church steeples in her far distance; scarred stained glass windows and stone arches in her near distance. The building's unusual solid structure caused one-third of it to survive the devastating crash from The Silence , whereas the other ruined two-thirds had the setting sun spilling in, wrapped around by gravel.

Texas leaned against a pure, white forest. Her memories were finally starting to flow again, which was a good thing, but what wasn't so good was the large amount of viscous blood gushing out along with it. She looked down, and the bleeding holes in her body then followed suit, loosened and gurgled like a dying crimson brook, one bubble after another. Texas's clothes were tattered and torn again. Only this time, the murderers were more skillful than ever. They had waited with more cunning and purpose, laying an early ambush around Laterano, armed at military grade enough to suggest that the still-functioning secret government had sent them on this mission. Texas couldn't quite understand why a force of this size had still yet to be used on rebuilding mobile cities.

And of course, none of that mattered anymore. The crushed arm, the thigh impaled from the crook of the knee, the ripped-open liver and intestines brushed by the warm wind, none of those things mattered anymore. Texas moved her tongue laboriously, letting the blood slide across her tastebuds with her weak breath. What mattered was that she couldn't taste anything any longer.

She lost her mobility, lost her sense of taste, lying on her back, looking up at the sky, and became just as wretched as Exusiai. Texas apologized for the half piece of cake. She poked out a few fingers, broken but barely retaining the sensation, and started touching the ground, searching for the metallic surface that made her feel at peace. Her colour had long been redder than the paint on the vending machine. But Exusiai didn't say a word. She stood quietly beside Texas; as if she was just a solid wall.

Their story was never supposed to end like this.

The Sankta had sung all the songs she could, told all the corny jokes she had, and made all the food she was able to, but the Lupo right in front of her wasn't getting any better because of it. Even though Exusiai's screen clearly possessed 24 different combinations of expressions—no matter how often she switched these pixel arrangements, none of them could accurately convey the absurdly huge sense of powerlessness that had descended upon her. She judged that her internal programming had made an unfixable error, or how else would she have only learned by now, that waiting for someone to die had turned out to be so hard.

Let's just......go with the joyful face then. Texas said softly, sounding like a dimming bonfire.

Then the joy returned to Exusiai's screen. She saw the corners of Texas' mouth lift gently upward as well—Texas looked so pretty when she smiled. Exusiai thought to herself, that if her happiness could make Texas happy too, she wouldn't mind being happy forever. She just felt confused at the same time. If Texas actually died, but there was no empathy link between Lupo and Sankta, hence no light spot belonging to Texas falling across the horizon—then how exactly should Exusiai mourn her?

But Texas had made her choice long ago.

She held onto the vending machine's shell, fingers sluggishly climbing upwards, bit by bit until she reached Exusiai's ingredient slot. Having the ability to polymerize and reorganize any substance meant that, even without the supercomputer's core connected, Exusiai could recreate her original body anytime, free of mechanical constraints, if she just used a living human of comparable mass as blueprints and raw materials. Texas had known that from the beginning. She also knew that the fact Exusiai had never brought this up, was because they promised to go to Laterano together. For the cake, apparently.

A pair of eyes that couldn't lie and a mouth telling only the truth. The same goes for both Exusiai and Texas. So, Texas chose to honour the other promise she made to the Sankta.

......Eat me up, Exusiai. One of Texas' arms stuck into the vending machine, and the other encircled the shell. She finally managed to straighten her neck, then pressed her groggy head against the conversion button, shivering, face turning sideways. As the soft Lupo ears snugly against Exusiai's hot metal surface, all she could hear was the creaking sound of mechanical parts and the off-key music singing "now processing" to the air.

I WILL GUARANTEE YOUR FREEDOM.

The human in the story closed her eyes in relief and chose to give God a hug.

Exusiai's gears mashed through Texas' young body at full speed. Hair, flesh, organs, and all different kinds of bones. In the iteration of death and rebirth, the piercing roar flew over Texas's lightly scratched ulna, half-healed ribs, worn-out cartilages and spiderweb-cracked femur......But without any exception, every bone of her was holy white, the same colour as those sun-bathed stone tiles on the dome of the Memorial Hall. They were reduced to pieces in unison with a short notification tone, becoming sustenance for Exusiai, light and airy, just like the last bit of frosting sprinkled on a dessert.

As the remnants of the secret operation squad scoured the ruins, the bloodied Lupo with two originium swords had already disappeared. Instead, a true Sankta with wings and halo pointed a pitch-black rifle at their nose.

Sankta's hair was striking red.

Sankta's eyes were beautifully shined.

Yet in this golden sunset, no one could truly see Sankta's face.

Exusiai could never figure out, why they had such a look of fear on their faces when she simply just returned all the arrows, bullets and originium arts back to where they belonged?

Unfortunately, the only Texas who knew the answer to that question could no longer answer her. It was as if Texas had never been born on this earth—and no one, no one except Exusiai, knew about her name, her past, or her future. The last thing left to prove that she had existed, was the tattered and torn clothes on Exusiai. The gift that Texas had worn for a long, long time, and now it had finally been gifted back to the owner.

The sunset had come to an end.

In the long night, Exusiai tucked her hands into her pockets, dragging her narrow shadow forward, alone.

Ahead of her, was The Basilica of Laterano that buried the supercomputer's core; And behind her, was nothing but a silent, barren, white and lonely land.

Strawberry shortcake didn't seem so delicious all of a sudden, Exusiai said to herself, thoughts interrupted by a small, firm chunk hidden deep in her pockets.

—Exusiai found the half piece of hardtack in Texas' jacket.

Doing her best to mimic the movements of Texas, Exusiai peeled off the outer wrapping and took a bite, chewing very, very slowly. Tens of thousands of taste signals on her tongue fed back to her brain, that it was "salty with a hint of sweetness". Perhaps sesame was also on the ingredient list, but time and the poor assembly line had far grounded away its aroma. It tasted hard and certainly dry, with crumbs flying everywhere in her mouth. Definitely didn't look good enough for an appealing advertisement.

But the flavour was so familiar. Exusiai thought, fingers rubbing against the fabric.

Till she eventually realized it was the flavour of being alive.

It was the flavour of Texas.

Exusiai then shed her first tear, declaring that hardtack was the most delicious food on earth.

END.

Lacroxton

[ankhmutes]

A trash ship: SS BJ/Mulcahy of M*A*S*H thanks to Goodbye, Farewell & Amen

I just watched Goodbye, Farewell and Amen- and saw a moment . A flash. A slight something- that could be shipped. SO I rolled with it. I have not seen any fics with this ship so... I’m calling it a trash ship simply because... I don’t know. It’s weird, but at the same time, it COULD work simply because of Goodbye, Farewell and Amen having that specific moment in it. I couldn’t find a gif of it, so just doing a random one. If anyone wants to contribute to the ship to keep it afloat, by all means. Let me know! tag me! anything, or just keep on scrolling. Either is fine.  Keep reading below if you want to see what I saw.

BJ was more than happy to go home. Peg, Erin- He had his dreams come true when he got that letter, rushing into the tent to tell Colonel Potter and Margaret. BJ blinked down with excitement at his friends, the people he had grown to love during his stay at the MASH 4077.

Mulcahy.

The Father looked at him with blue eyes, alight with excitement at his happiness. BJ couldn’t help but smile back, realizing that he wouldn’t see these people anymore, and he wouldn’t see this face every day. The blue eyes that kept him hoping that humanity was still out there. BJ didn’t have time to analyze that odd stab in his chest as he put away Erin’s pictures in his wallet.

..."That's fair enough." BJ heard Mulcahy say, before everything went sideways.

BOOM

It was time to hide- BJ’s instincts had him under the table with Margaret, Potter and Mulcahy, but moments later he saw Mulcahy running out to save the POW’s, making sure they got to safety.  "Father!"BJ had no time to blink, much less think about why his chest was tightening and why the blood left his body. BJ was watching his body rise, and hustle after the white coat that was flapping in the wind- he could hear Potter and Margaret at his heels.

As he watched Mulcahy fall, BJ's lips felt cold.

“I got him. Corpsman!.” BJ said as he knelt over Mulcahy, his hands moving rapidly to assess the situation. BJ’s hands felt strong and sure while he picked up the uncoscious blonde priest, vaguely noting he was surprised at how heavy the man was, even if his build did not show it. "Real gently- get him up. Easy- get him level."

On the table, BJ watched for his eyes to blink open, and watched for anything- anything, thought BJ as Potter came up to Mulcahy. "How is he?" "He's coming around." BJ reached for his equipment, peering at Mulcahy with slight anxiety.

"Colonel, is everyone all right?" BJ felt himself almost smile at the question. Potter nodded at Mulcahy, "They'll be okay. You're quite a guy, padre."

"What did he say?" BJ smiled.

"He said you're a swell guy."

"What? why are you mumbling?" BJ's heart constricted slightly. This certainly was not good at all, thought BJ with a slight tremor though his chest. BJ automatically started analyzing the possibilities of everything that could be.

"Turn your head."

"What is wrong with me?" BJ could hear the worry in Mulcahy's voice.

"Do you have a ringing or buzzing in your ears?"

"Should I be concerned?"

BJ moved back after his examination of Mulcahy's ears. He looked at Mulcahy in the eye, his eyes were wide. "You might lose your hearing."   "Listen. There are forty kids at St. Theresa's orphanage. They depend on me." Mulcahy was firm, and pratically giving BJ an order, which BJ had grown to expect from the man. He had such heart for those children. you have to make a solemn promise that no one will know; just between you and me."

BJ couldn't help but nod his head. Of course. He would do anything for this man. "Yes." BJ said, and repeated himself with a wide smile, half-laughing as he had to repeat himself. Only Mulcahy would be able to make someone smile- in the face of something so serious, BJ thought as he moved to the next patient.

He now had a secret. A interesting secret, thought BJ as he watched Mulcahy. There was nothing else to do, with Hawkeye out in the hospital, and trying to find a replacement for him so he could go home. He had never noticed Mulcahy, but he kept an eye on the priest for awhile, and he couldn't help but smile each time he saw the man in his black shirt and olive drab khakis, and the ever so present panama hat. Soon enough, the man had taken up residence in the back of BJ's head. Always there, with the smile and soft glint in his eye, hiding behind golden spectacles.

[voidofryu]

Don't pressure yourself

[Jotaro Kujo x gender neutral!reader comfort]

I'm actually really having a hard time with studying 'cause I can't remember shit, exams are next week so I probably won't be really active. This is kinda based off of my experience so yea

👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾

Flipping through the textbook and some notes, you sweat dropped at the information placed in front of you. There were so many words, so many explanations that you have to remember and it was occupying your brain in a negative way. You ruffled your hair roughly and started to caress your temple.

"How am I supposed to remember all of this?!"

Soon, your stress levels were rising and you were tipped over the edge. Your brain was going places and your eyes started tearing up. The studying session completely failed and now you are here with yourself, crying alone and afraid. Afraid of what's going to come up in the exams.

*insert your phone ringtone here*

You looked at your phone and the caller ID, Jotaro Kujo <33 . You immediately rubbed away your tears and took a deep breath before answering the call.

"Hey, Jotaro. What's up?"

Your voice turned out to be a little hoarse from the crying so you cleared your throat and prayed that he never heard it. But of course, he did.

"What's wrong? From your voice, you sound like you're crying. Are you alright?"

You dismissed his worries.

"I'm completely fine! You don't have to worry about me! I just saw a sad video, that's all"

But Jotaro wasn't having it.

"Don't lie to me, (Y/n). It's the exams, isn't it?"

Curse him for being so smart, he's always like this. You went silent and were trying to think up a better comeback but before you could speak, Jotaro was way ahead of you.

"I'm coming over, don't move"

Then he hung up, you placed your phone down on the table, it's not like you could stop him or anything. So, you took another deep breath and went back to studying.

A few minutes later..

*Ding dong...*

The doorbell ringing echoed throughout the house so you begrudgingly got up and went to the front door. Opening it, you were a bit intimidated to see Jotaro towering over you. Rubbing your red and slightly puffy eyes, Jotaro reached and grabbed on your wrist.

"Don't rub it, you'll make it worse"

Jotaro then lets himself in and pats your head.

"Let me guess, you were stressed out over exams and studying?"

You embarrassingly nodded your head and looked away with tears in your eyes. You felt quite ashamed and afraid that Jotaro was going to make fun of you about it considering that he's actually smart.

He sighed and pulled you in close. That was the last straw to everything. You completely broke down and started crying in his arms.

"I just-I tried..I really tried..! I just wanted to ace this exam and be over it..! I'm jealous of you sometimes...you're so smart and your mom doesn't care if you get a bad grade or not...My family- *sniff* My family just automatically thinks I'm a disappointment and i hate it..!"

Jotaro was silently listening to you dispersing your emotions and held you even tighter. You never knew it but his heart ached at the fact that you've been struggling like this for so long. You never vent out your problems to him as you thought he was going to be annoyed by it all. But now here you were, him holding you silently while you rant out your family problems to him, knowing that he probably can't relate to it.

"Please don't think of me as a mistake...please.. That's the last thing that i want to hear coming from you.."

You said quietly and looked up at him with stray tears rushing down your cheeks. Jotaro caressed your hair and ducked down to kiss you softly, the kiss was sweet but short. He pulled away from you and looked at you.

"The last thing that you would ever hear coming from me wouldn't be me looking down on you, I promise. I may not be good with words but I mean every word I say. You are the best partner that I could have ever asked for. Even if you failed your exams, that doesn't mean everything's over. You still have a long way to go"

Jotaro caressed your cheek softly and kissed your forehead.

"Now, let me help you with your studying. What are you struggling with? Don't worry, we can take it slow"

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

To Love a Ranger Chapter 4- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: The Fellowships sets off from Rivendell. Aragorn had told Issa not to come, but she has never been good at following directions.

Word Count: 2.2k

“Are you going to talk to me yet?” Aragorn’s voice rang out through his and Issa’s shared bedroom. It had only been a day since the council and Issa had refused to talk to him once he demanded she not go on the quest with the Fellowship. She was angry at him, and she was even more hurt that he didn’t trust her to not get hurt. Issa said nothing as she continued to stare out the window. The man sighed then moved towards her.

“Come on Issa, you can’t just not talk to me forever,” he muttered as he neared her. Just before his hands landed on her waist she moved away.

“Are you going to let me join you yet?” She finally shot back, still refusing to look at him as she took a seat on their bed.

“You know I can’t,” he responded softly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“You can though,” she muttered, probably a little harsher than she meant to as she moved her shoulder from under his hand.

“It’s a dangerous quest, my darling,” he defended desperately, taking a seat beside her.

“One that I can manage just as much as you can,” she exclaimed, finally facing him with sad eyes. “Aragorn, we have done everything together. What makes this time any different?”

“I could lose you,” he retorted. “This is much more dangerous than anything we’ve faced before, I can’t stand the thought of losing you to it.”

“And you expect me to willingly let you go knowing that you could potentially die in the process? I’m not the only mortal human here Aragorn,” she snapped, standing up once more. “You’re being a hypocrite saying that I can’t go because I could die when that’s exactly what you’re about to do!”

“It’s different with you,” he started, but she cut him off.

“Why? Because I’m a woman?” She glared at him. “You believe that I’m too weak to do this?”

“Of course I don’t,” he answered immediately, also standing up.

“Then what is it?” She exclaimed. Aragorn paused, attempting to figure out what to say, but Issa shook her head before he could open his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” she huffed, walking out of the room and ignoring her fiance calling her name. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the woods of Rivendell, she was going somewhere that few people knew about.

There was a small clearing the one could come to after a few minutes of walking. In the middle of the clearing was a giant Royal Poinciana Tree that had gorgeous red flowers that bloomed every summer. It was planted there specifically for her, that exact place was where she had been found after her parent’s deaths. Lord Elrond planted the tree to honor her parents and thank them for bringing Issa to them. Ever since then she found that going to the tree calmed her down. She would climb the tree and sit there for hours at a time.

That’s exactly what she did. Immediately upon finding the tree she ran up to it and climbed the branches. She finally settles on a branch thick enough to comfortably sit on without the worry of it breaking that was still well hidden by the leaves, branches and flowers that surrounded her. She sat there thinking about the events of the past few days.

She was still stewing in her anger nearly an hour later when her ears suddenly perked up as she heard the sound of a twig snapping under someone’s foot nearby. Her hand automatically went to the dagger that stayed strapped to her at all times.

“It is just me,” Legolas’ voice drifted through the air, almost as if sensing her thought process. Issa let out a small sigh of relief then dropped her hand.

“What do you want Legolas?” She questioned, not moving from her position.

“I came to check on you,” he responded simply, walking to the base of the tree. “Aragorn asked me to.” At the mention of her fiance’s name, she frowned.

“Well you can tell him that I’m fine.” The Elf didn’t answer at first, instead opting to climb the tree so he was at her level. They sat in silence for a moment, Issa refusing to look at her friend.

“I know you’re probably mad at him,” he finally started, earning a scoff from the girl.

“That’s an understatement,” she muttered, crossing her arms childishly. Legolas couldn’t stop his lips from quirking up, and he shook his head amusedly.

“But he’s doing this for good reason,” he continued.

“Let me guess,” she said sarcastically as she faced him. “Because he doesn’t want me to get hurt?”

“Because he wants to make sure that you won’t be traumatized by what we might do or see,” he corrected her. “If he has the option to spare you the pain of going on this journey, he will. It doesn’t matter that he might go through it, his first priority is you. Even if it means that you’ll be angry at him.” Issa considered his words, then looked down. Legolas offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Though, I wouldn’t suggest you stay mad,” he added, standing on the branch. “We leave tomorrow, this may be your last chance to see him. I wouldn’t waste it sitting here in anger.” He shot her one last smile before hopping down, landing perfectly on his feet.

“Show off,” she called, which earned a laugh from him as he walked away, leaving her to mull over their conversation. Finally she sighed, knowing that he was right. She hated when that happened because it meant she was wrong. But, perhaps it was for good reason this time. 

She returned to the Last Homely House an hour or so later, finally ready to talk things over with Aragorn. Upon returning to the house she made her way to her room, but not before swiping a few honey cakes from the kitchen as a white flag of sorts. She knocked three times, and was thankful when an answer came.

“Come in,” Aragorn called softly. Issa took a second to straighten out her clothes then took a deep breath before walking in. The man in question was at his desk looking over what looked to be a map, but faced her once she closed the door.

“Issa,” he greeted, eyes softening at the sight of her. She smiled awkwardly then glanced at the plate in her hands.

“I’m not about to say that I was wrong,” she started slowly.

“I would never expect that of you,” he half joked, standing up. She shot him a teasing smile before sighing.

“But, if this is potentially the last time I see you, I want to make the most of it,” she concluded, holding out the plate to him. He took it, then surprised her by setting it on the desk and pulling her into a hug.

“I love you, you know that right?” He asked softly. A small smile graced her face as she returned the hug.

“Of course I do, and I love you too,” she responded in the same tone. Aragron pressed a kiss to her cheek before pulling away and leading her to the bed, grabbing the plate with his free hand. They settled into bed and talked the night away as they ate the honey cakes. 

The Fellowship of the Ring left right as the sun began lighting up the sky, and Issa packed her bag and left nearly an hour later. She had decided at some point in the night that whether or not Aragorn liked it, she was going to help. Luckily, being raised with Elves, she had outstanding tracking abilities. It also helped that Merry and Pippin were a rather boisterous duo, she could hear them nearly a mile away and she used that to her advantage. She made sure to keep a distance between her and the group. Of course wasn’t going to stay like this for the whole trip, just long enough that it would be too late for her to go back.

She knew better than anyone that someone would figure out they were being followed, but she most definitely didn’t expect it to happen so early. The Fellowship had decided to settle down on the Eregion Hills for the night. Issa figured that it was safe enough, so she allowed herself to move closer to the group as the night began to draw near, but she almost immediately regretted it.

“I sense someone nearby,” Legolas suddenly said. Immediately, everyone stopped what task they were assigned for setting up camp and faced her. Issa’s eyes widened and she silently cursed herself, moving to hide behind a large rock as quietly as she could. 

“I sense it too,” Gandalf informed them, already picking up his staff.

“Where is it coming from?” Aragorn questioned seriously, grabbing his sword. Issa paused her movements as Legolas closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to take over. After inhaling deeply, he turned in the girl’s direction.

“There,” he answered, beginning to walk towards it as his bow lifted. “I smell...grapefruit and honey?” That made Aragorn pause mid step, and a deep sigh left his lips. He moved to stand by Legolas, looking at the rock Issa crouched behind.

“I know it’s you Issa, come on out,” he called knowingly. For a moment Issa thought about not moving and pretending like she wasn’t there, but she knew that if she didn’t come out, Aragorn and Legolas would come get her. So, with a small sigh, she stepped out from behind the rock and into the light of the campfire. Everyone lowered their weapons at the sight of her, and she offered Aragorn an awkward smile. 

“Aragorn, I love you and I’m sorry, but you’re crazy if you think that I wouldn’t at least attempt to come along,” she informed him. “Besides, it’s good to have another tracker in the group.” The Man sighed again then looked at the Elf by his side, but Legolas only offered him an amused grin.

“Gandalf did say that something like this would happen,” he pointed out, patting his friend’s shoulder then moving to sit down beside Merry and Pippin. Aragorn huffed, then took Issa’s hand, leading her away from the group.

“What did I tell you about coming along?” He questioned upon dropping her hand, not giving her the chance before he answered his own question. “I told you not to come, and yet here you stand defying my orders.”

“I remember what you said,” she responded defensively, crossing her arms. “I just didn’t care to listen to it. I deserve to be here just as much as you do, and I’m just as valuable to the Fellowship as you are.” Her fiance shook his head, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly.

“You need to return home right now,” he demanded, but Issa shook her head immediately.

“The only way I’m returning home is with you by my side, in a casket or not at all. We’ve already traveled too far for me to just turn back now, that happened the minute I stepped out of the borders of Rivendell. You know that just as well as I do.” 

Aragorn sighed, as much as he hated it, he knew that she was right. It was too far to travel back alone, and it would take a war and a half to force her to turn around. Just leaving her was out of the question for him, he’d never forgive himself if she got hurt after he intentionally left her alone. Issa knew that, too. 

“Aragorn,” she called softly, effectively catching his attention by pressing a gentle hand to his cheek. “Let me do this with you. If I come, we all have a better chance of coming home alive, not just the two of us. I’m not high maintenance and I can handle my own in tough situations.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me, my darling,” he muttered softly, leaning into her touch. “I already know how much of an amazing fighter you are. And you’re incredibly resilient, and passionate, and stubborn…” They shared a small laugh at that, and Issa stared up at him with pleading eyes.

“Then let me come with you,” she begged quietly. Aragorn sighed again, debating within himself before ultimately nodding.

“Okay,” he finally responded, which made her perk up. “But, unless instructed otherwise, you are not to leave my side for anything.”

“I’ve never had a problem with that,” she retorted with a wink. The man grinned then removed her hand from his cheek, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Well, I believe I should introduce you to the others. Master Baggins was curious about you earlier,” he informed her as he began leading her back to the campsite.

“Really?” She asked, surprised and a little flattered that the Ring Bearer showed interest in her. Aragorn simply nodded as they reached the others. Everyone looked up once they came into view, and Aragorn squeezed his fiance’s hand gently.

“Everyone, Issa will be joining us for this quest.” He informed everyone in the Fellowship (though the others seemed to already know) before they all settled down for a dinner that Sam made. Aragorn refused to let go of Issa’s hand, though she most definitely wasn’t complaining. The journey ahead of them was filled with the unknown, but it comforted both of them that they had each other for it.

[hanneswrites]

Title: blood & coffee

Pairings: Buffy & Dawn & Spike, Buffy/Spike

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1k

Summary: A small moment of peace in the midst of the chaos of S7. [Spike, Buffy, and Dawn Family Fluff.]

[Read on Ao3]

Author's Note: This is technically set between s7e17 and s7e18 - I think it would technically be plausible for there to be at least several days between these two episodes considering the Buffy Wiki's timeline places several AtS episodes between them. This takes place on one of those theoretical in-between days.

----------------------

Buffy slowly makes her way out of bed, rolling her shoulders as she wraps her morning robe around her. She's still sore from the fight the night before, and as she makes her way down the still-dark hallway toward the kitchen, she hopes it's early enough that everyone else is still fast asleep. She's tired - the near-constant pit of worry and obligation sitting in her gut weighs on her, and all she wants is a nice cup of coffee and a hot shower before she has to talk to anyone today. 

She hears the telltale clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen before she even has a chance to round the corner and she stops, contemplating whether she wants to head back upstairs to avoid whoever decided to be up this early, or just suck it up for long enough to brew a pot of coffee. Buffy closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath and steps forward.

And then there's the sound of voices.

"You want something more substantial?" It sounds like Spike, which, out of all of the people currently inhabiting the house, is one of the least likely people to cause her trouble at the moment. She’s actually a bit curious who he could be talking to - so she rounds the corner with a new enthusiasm, stopping just shy of crossing the threshold. 

Buffy leans against the doorway, taking everything in for a moment, allowing herself to fully wake up as she silently watches the two of them. Spike is crouched in front of the fridge, the warm little automatic light playing interesting shadows across his features as he moves things around on the bottom shelf. 

Dawn’s sitting with her back to the doorway, so neither of them have quite noticed she’s there yet. The easy silence of the early morning is settled around them, accompanied by the soft buzzing hum of the microwave. 

"We've got some sausage," Spike squints, bringing the tube closer to his face to examine it, "that expired 4 months ago." 

"Sounds great," Dawn replies, and from her tone, Buffy can tell she's definitely rolling her eyes. Spike huffs and continues to poke around in the fridge.

"Can't survive on microwave oatmeal alone, nibblet," He says, the endearment punctuated by the electronic chime of the microwave.

"I know," Dawn's voice is low and level - a settled warmth in it that Buffy hasn't heard in a long while. Buffy's heart aches at that for a moment. The current situation was weighing heavily on all of them. 

Spike stands, twisting to open the microwave while also holding the fridge door open with his foot. He grabs the bowl of oatmeal from the microwave and hands it over to Dawn before crouching back down, "Might have some...berries of some sort in here somewhere. If you want-" 

"Kennedy ate the last of them last night." 

Spike audibly sighs. He turns quickly to the counter and picks up a small bottle, tossing it over to Dawn. She catches it limply and looks at it forlornly.

"Mix that in - it'll give it," He pauses, sighs again, "some sort of flavor least." 

The two of them settle into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Buffy watches as Dawn slowly uncaps the bottle and shakes a bit of it into her oatmeal - a faint wiff of cinnamon hitting her a moment later. 

"Buff'll be up soon," Spike pauses for a long moment, and Buffy can't help the small rush of nervousness that runs through her at the mention of her own name. 

"I think I'll start a pot of coffee up."  

Dawn lets out a soft hum, and Spike closes the fridge, settling a half-gallon container of milk it on the counter.

"Yeah," Dawn says, "I think she'd like that."

Buffy takes in the sight of Spike preparing coffee before she pushes herself off of the door frame and steps into the kitchen. Spike's eyes slide to her when she enters the room.

"Morning," He offers, and Buffy nods.

Dawn turns around in her seat, taking in her sister’s sleepy presence with a small smile.  

"Hey," She says, "I was just about to come get you." 

Buffy smiles at that. 

"Spike's making coffee." Dawn explains, and Buffy eyes her half-eaten bowl of plain oatmeal. She leans down and presses a soft kiss to Dawn's hair as she passes by.   

"Looks like you two are already well into your morning routine," Buffy gives a tired smile and moves towards the coffee pot, "how long have you been up?" 

"What time is it?" Dawn asks in response - to which Buffy looks over at the clock and raises an eyebrow - just after 4:30am. Spike has already finished pouring out a cup for himself and is now leaning against the counter with one arm folded across his chest.

"Long enough," He quips, his gaze settling on Buffy as she takes the seat to the left of Dawn, a small smile on her lips as she settles down.

It only takes about thirty seconds for Spike to hand her a mug - her favorite mug at that - filled to the brim with rich-smelling coffee that looked to have just the right amount of milk mixed in. A small part of her wants to ignore the clear attentiveness in the gesture - wants to rail against the warm fondness that spreads through her as Spike takes the other seat next to her. But right now - in this moment, in this small reprieve of a morning early enough that the sun hasn’t yet risen, she just takes a long sip of her coffee.

"You feeling better?" Dawn asks.

“Much better,” Buffy replies. She takes another sip of her coffee. 

For a long moment, the kitchen is filled with the small sounds of their morning, of the soft clinking of the mugs, and the small scuffling of feet against the tile. It’s a peaceful, comfortable warmth - one that Buffy can feel down to her toes.

She’s content in the moment. Content with the easy companionship of her sister and the man beside her. Content with the peacefulness of this stolen moment and the knowledge that, perhaps, despite everything, they’ll find a way to make it through this, one more time.