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standfucker · 2 days

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Post-Injury Hurt/Comfort Series - Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Rosinante, Blackbeard

Characters: Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Rosinante, Blackbeard

Reader: GN (afab in Rosi's)

Word Count: 5.7k

CW: blood, gore, graphic depictions of injury, stitches, sepsis

Summary: Continuing the series. Blackbeard's is more of a small bonus drabble that came to me, so his doesn't meet the 1k minimum I was shooting for in these. (And Rosi's went way over...)

Ao3 Link

Law

Your opponent is quicker than you're used to. As a cat mink, his reflexes are far better than yours. However, he fights unarmed while you use twin short swords, so you're able to keep some distance between you and even the playing field.

You tilt your head left to avoid his swipe, claws barely missing your face. Acting quickly, you return with a jab that pierces his armor and stabs into his shoulder. He hisses in pain and you grin–that's one arm he can't use anymore.

Your moment of confidence makes you slip up. Focused on the movement of his remaining arm, you're taken by surprise when he suddenly kicks one of your swords right out of your hand. He hasn’t used kicks at all until now, likely to catch you off-guard like this. Before you can recover, he follows up by thrusting his claws into your chest, digging in and unleashing electricity into your body.

Law looks over just in time to see you drop like a stone. “Y/n-ya!” he shouts–but you're unresponsive. He turns to Bepo, fighting by his side. “Bepo! Count to two, then kick as hard as you can where I am!”

Bepo, wisened to Law’s tactics, nods. “Aye-aye!”

Law flexes his fingers. “Room!”

The sphere of his power expands wide to cover the battlefield. He swaps places with the cat mink, hearing it yowl a moment later as Bepo’s foot connects with its gut. Grabbing your arm, he creates one more room from where he is and teleports you both to its perimeter, a safe distance from the fight. Aside from some bloody claw marks, he can't see major injuries.

“Scan!” Law calls, voice tinged with panic as his ability checks your vitals. To his horror, the scan of your body shows your heart has stopped entirely, and his own seems to follow suit. He quickly removes your heart from your body, holding it in his hand. Focusing, he runs his own electric current through your heart in a swift, measured jolt.

The muscle twitches once and remains still.

“No, no, come on.” Law tries again. Zap. No response. “Don’t you do this.” He tries again. Zap. And again, no response. “Come back.” Zap. Your heart is still.

This time, he uses both hands and runs a higher voltage, shouting, “Come back right now!” Your heart jumps–then, finally, starts to beat. The relief is almost nauseating.

Clutching your heart to his chest with one hand, Law tilts your jaw open with his other hand and seals his mouth over yours, delivering rescue breaths until he feels you start to breathe on your own.

Slowly, your eyes open, your breaths shallow but even. He's hovering right over your head, looking into your eyes. “Law?”

“Just stay still.” He runs another scan, making sure everything's running normally.

You try to get up, fighting the sluggishness of your body. “The fight–”

“It’s still going. Lie down.” Law pushes your shoulder, forcing you to recline.

“Then you need to go help them.”

“The rest of the crew has it handled. I'm not leaving you.”

You’re not sure what happened–everything went black while you were fighting–but whatever it was, it must have been bad if Law’s saying that. Still, you’re eager to rejoin the battle. “Am I going to die?” you ask stubbornly as you try to sit up again.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'd never let that happen. Lie down, Y/n-ya.”

Law doesn't let you fight. He doesn’t even let you get up, not until he's checked everything–blood pressure, oxygen level, potential blood clots, your ability to follow commands–and even then, he doesn't give you your heart back, stating he needs to keep an eye on it for a while “just in case.” The battle ends in victory, and you walk back to the crew with a square hole in your chest.

You don't know much about electric shock effects, but you suppose it's okay to make sure your heart hasn't been thrown out of rhythm. It is weird to go about your day with the hole in your body. And it’s weird to feel Law’s fingers around your heart. It’s difficult to describe–a sort of warm, sensitive, almost ticklish physical contact that you feel within your chest, despite it being outside your body. Every time Law picks up your heart, you’re aware. You don’t know where he keeps it, but it must be somewhere on his person; you feel it at random throughout the day or as you’re laying in bed at night. You can infer he stays up late, as you often fall asleep to the sensation of him holding it in his hand.

Throughout all those days, you’ve never felt more secure, never slept more soundly than when you do knowing he’s keeping your very heart safe by his side.

Every day Law does another exam, taking the time to run a scan on your body. It seems a bit excessive to you, but you’re not about to tell him that. You’re just grateful for the attention, truth be told. You and Law have been close for a while now, even exchanging some fond words in the rare moments you’re alone, but neither of you have the courage to risk damaging your friendship. But having him literally hold onto your heart makes you feel linked to him in a way you never have before, and it’s driving you insane.

“All clear?” you ask as Law finishes another scan.

“Yes, you look good,” he says, making your cheeks warm at the phrasing, “though, occasionally your heart rate picks up when you’re at a resting state. I haven’t figured out why yet, but I will.” He holds up your heart in front of his face, scratching his beard with his other hand as he thinks. “Like now.”

That answer is fairly obvious to you, and entirely his fault. Watching him inspect your heart so closely makes you oddly nervous. And he puts his hands on you during these exams, too, feeling lymph nodes on your neck and instructing you to breathe in and out while he listens to your lungs. What are you supposed to do? You can’t help it. It’s involuntary.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Well, there was a hole where your heart should be that only he could fill. But you don’t say that. You just mumble, “I feel fine.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Aside from some fatigue in the beginning, you’ve otherwise been back to normal. “What do you think? Can I have it back?”

He thinks for a second. “Alright, one more day, then, just to be safe. Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t,” you say. “It’s weirdly comforting, to be honest.”

“How?” Law looks at you incredulously. “I could crush your heart in my hand right now.”

Of course that would be his perspective. The risk of trusting someone so intimately isn’t lost on him. But after all these years, you would easily trust Law with your life, so you simply shrug. “You wouldn’t break my heart, would you?”

He stiffens. Surely you didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but the way you say it–so earnestly, so innocently, looking at him with those big doe eyes of yours–he can’t help but feel a pang of longing. He desperately wants to protect you, to make right where he failed in the past. Law wants to reassure you, to bring you comfort that he hasn’t figured out how to give.

Instead, he says, “No.”

“Promise?” you ask softly.

“I promise, Y/n-ya.” Your heart beats faster in his hand. Law looks down at it, then at you, and there’s a flash of understanding in his eyes.

“Okay,” you say. If he’s finally figured it out, maybe…maybe this is your chance. “Prove it.”

“How?” He looks a bit shocked, and the way his eyes keep flitting between your heart and your face tells you that he knows exactly how.

You’re slow in your approach, and even slower when you put your arms around his neck, giving him plenty of time to back away. He’s uncertain, frozen in place, but if he wants you to stop, he isn’t saying so.

You lean in. Law closes his eyes. Your heart beats like crazy in his hand.

You kiss him. Just a brief, soft touch of your lips.

“Law,” you breathe. “Was that okay?”

Law responds by cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another.

Afterwards, he jokes that he doesn’t want to give your heart back. But that’s alright. Truth be told, he’d stolen it a long time ago.

Shanks

You return to consciousness through a cloud of black spots in your eyes, flashing in and out of your vision like raindrops on glass. It's immediately accompanied by the piercing whine of your ears ringing. You can’t hear anything else, nor can you tell where you are. A battle…you were pretty sure there was a battle.

The spots recede to the edges of your vision, and you can see a cloudy sky, filling with gray smoke. You’re on your back. Faintly, you can hear shouts, filtering in through the shrill whine. A few seconds later, your brain starts putting names to the voices. Yasopp, Benn, Shanks.

Your captain’s face fills your vision a moment later. Instantly, you know something is very, very wrong, because you’ve never seen Shanks look panicked before. It’s just not an emotion in his repertoire. Always cool, always collected, always joyful, until now. He’s shouting something–your name.

“–you hear me? Just hang on. Hongo’s on his way. Fuck, fuck!”

“...Shanks…” you rasp, dimly becoming aware of your body. “What happened…?”

“It’s my fault, I didn’t stop them in time, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

It’s distant, but pain starts trickling through your body. Dull, throbbing pain, everywhere. Well, almost everywhere.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying to raise your head to assess yourself.

“Don’t!” Shanks stops you with a hand on your forehead. “Don’t move.”

Gradually, you start remembering the battle. The chaos, the noise. Now, there’s no more sound except the ringing in your ears, so it must be over. You were fighting someone who specialized in explosives, that was it. That explained the hurt, and the confusion.

“I was hit,” you say slowly.

Shanks just nods, looking grim.

Benn appears on your other side, crouching next to you and frowning. You search his face for an idea of the damage, but he keeps it carefully still as he looks you up and down. Then his eyes meet Shanks’, and they exchange a look that gives you a bad feeling.

As the ringing dies down just a little and your vision clears, the pain grows. It’s distracting, more so than you’re used to, but what’s even more distracting is the particular lack of it where it should be.

“...Shanks?” you say. “I can’t feel my leg.”

His lower lip wobbles, and then his lips press together in a tight, thin line, and that’s when you know. You lift your head to try and see, but he stops you again. “Don’t look. It’s better if you don’t look.”

It’s funny–he looks like the one on the verge of falling apart. You hate to see him so distraught, so unlike himself, all his cheerful confidence vanished.

“It’s my left leg…” you say.

“Yeah...”

“That means we match.”

He smiles ruefully, tears breaking from his lash line and running free. “Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” you say, reaching for his hand.

He takes it gently. “That’s my line.”

Coping is a funny thing. You spend most of your energy post-surgery comforting Shanks. Not because he can’t handle it by himself, and not because he asks you too. It’s just easier to externalize the situation, to make it about his self-blame rather than address the gaping loss of your body.

Shanks tries to hide it from you, to not burden you, but you know him too well. Eventually, you get tired of how he drinks himself into a stupor most nights. You get tired of how your crutches irritate your armpits, tired of how you keep losing balance, tired of the phantom pains that shoot through nerves that aren’t there anymore. You snap at him. You shout. You cry that blaming himself won’t regrow your leg, so can’t he please just be there for you? You need him–you’ve always needed him–now more than ever before.

It’s an ugly, broken confession, but it finally reaches him.

Shanks pulls you in close and apologizes. His eyes are moist even though he’s not usually a crier, overwhelmed by what he’s put you through, overwhelmed that you’re finally admitting your feelings under such nightmarish conditions.

“I love you,” he whispers, over and over. “I love you.”

Healing is both easier after that, and yet harder. Now, with no distraction from your loss, you have to face it head on. It’s easier because he’s there. That he’s been through this before makes you cling to him more than you would have, surrounding yourself in the grim comforts of someone who understands. Shanks holds you tight on those nights when you scream “it’s gone,” over and over, lets you squeeze his hand when you have phantom pain, helps you shower when you can’t manage it by yourself, supports you on your first shaky steps using the prosthetic. The recovery journey is an arduous one, but you make it out the other side closer than ever before.

Years later, it’s something you can joke about without feeling that twinge of loss, especially when your crewmates call you and Shanks a complementary set. Now that you’re finally official with him and back to your full battle capacity, you can appreciate what happened to you for what it proved: that together, you and Shanks are complete.

Mihawk

You and Mihawk were opposite sides of the same coin. As different as you could be from each other, but still inexplicably connected as longtime rivals. Being warlords was the only thing you really had in common: He was a swordsman, you used guns; he sailed alone, you commanded a large crew; his colors of arms was better, your colors of observation was better. He preferred not to talk much, while you loved to egg him into trading banter. Many clashes with each other throughout the years solidified your strange, thrilling rivalry until you looked forward to the rare times you ran into each other.

Nowadays, you only really see each other during warlord meetings. So, when you were ambushed by your own crew, Mihawk was the last person you expected to save you.

He took out the four men holding you down, tossed you your pistols, and fought by your side. Your crew wasn’t weak by any means– you hand-picked them to sail with you–and had you been alone, you wouldn't have survived. With your combined strength, however, the battle was over quickly.

It surprised Mihawk, then, that you didn't stick around to bother him like you usually did. You fired a smoke round and disappeared. He figured that you were demoralized from the mutiny and didn't have it in you, but when the smoke cleared, he saw tell-tale drops of blood where you were.

Mihawk finds you in an abandoned shed not far from the battle. You're panting, hunched down against the wall and facing away from him, a first aid kit at your feet. He's as quiet as a cat when he approaches, but naturally you sense him anyway.

“How did you find me?” you ask without looking up.

“I followed the blood trail,” he says flatly. “You should have stemmed the flow before running off.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Did you tie a tourniquet first?” he asks, and even from there he can see you roll your eyes.

“Can’t. It’s not in the right place.” You raise shaky arms to your head, fiddling with something–stitches, most likely.

“Let me see.”

You glare at him for a moment, eyes uncharacteristically hard and angry. Then you quietly relent by turning, letting him see your other side. There’s a long, deep gash going from your temple down to your neck. Still oozing blood, he can't see for sure, but estimates it's gone down to the bone. You’ve got a few crude, clumsy stitches started in the top, the needle hanging from the wire, but without being able to see what you’re doing, it’s a piss poor job.

Mihawk wordlessly approaches you and crouches down, sharp gold eyes fixed on your wound. “It needs to be redone,” he says, unsheathing Kogatana and cutting through your stitches. You don’t so much as flinch when he pulls the wires out–you wouldn’t dare in front of him, he supposes. He’d likely do the same. Maybe you were more alike than he thought.

He takes the first aid kid from the ground and re-threads the needle, then starts to stitch your wound, pressing gauze to soak up the blood as he goes. “It's deep,” he says.

”That explains why it stings so bad,” you mumble. While you successfully resist the urge to wince, you can’t stop yourself from tearing up. “Man…”

“It could be worse. It went down to your skull, but the bone itself wasn't damaged.”

“What, are you trying to cheer me up?” You turn to look at him, but he tilts your chin back to the side and chides you to hold still.

You exhale harshly through your nose at the unpleasant sensation. “I hate needles,” you say suddenly. “I hate sharp things in general. The thought of a blade going through skin gives me the creeps.” He doesn’t respond, and you feel awkward, but you continue anyway, feeling the words tumbling out of you before you can stop them. “I’ve teased you about using swords, but the truth is, I could never.”

Mihawk doesn’t pause in his stitching, only hums. “If it’s worth anything, I’m a terrible shot.”

The corner of your lip twitches up. It does make you feel a little better, to be honest.

You glance at the swordsman as he works. His eyes are always so much more intense up close. You used to find it unsettling, but right now, focused as they are on your wound, it just seems oddly endearing. You glance away, blinking quickly, and a tear breaks from your lash line.

When Mihawk pauses to wipe it away, it’s so fluid and unhesitating that you debate if it really happened at all. Warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you avoid looking at him.

“Hey, ‘Hawk,” you say.

“What?”

You stare at the ground carefully. “Why did you help me?”

He’s quiet for a while, perhaps thinking about his answer, perhaps just keeping up his mysterious image.

“You’re the only one who’s ever successfully shot me,” he finally says. “To think someone of your caliber would be taken out by such cowardly tactics doesn’t sit right with me.”

You let that sink in while he finishes his work, tying off the stitches and applying the bandages. It’s weird–all the times you’ve bickered, all the times you’ve fought with lethal intent, and yet you trust with all your heart that Mihawk won’t harm you right now.

You’ve let your guard down too much, you think to yourself. That’s how you missed the warning signs of your crew’s mutiny, that’s how you got injured in battle, that’s how you’ve let Mihawk get this close.

Even then, you find yourself leaning your head into his hand. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his thumb over your cheek.

The reality of what you’re doing hits you a moment later, and you quickly stand up, only for the world to spin and your knees to buckle.

Mihawk catches you easily. “You've lost a lot of blood.”

“It'll refill,” you mumble.

“In time. You need to rest.”

“Alright, alright,” you say. His hold is so secure, you kind of never want him to let go. Damn, you have lost a lot of blood. “I owe you for this, Mihawk. Somehow I'll pay you back.”

“How about dinner?” he asks, and you’re so caught off-guard that you stare owlishly.

“H-Hey, come on, now,” you say, but Mihawk has never really been one to joke. There's a crack in your confident demeanor. “Serious?”

“Serious.” He takes your hand, raising it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles.

Rosinante

“It’s not a fucking show,” you snap at the crew, crowded around where you are in the med bay of the Numenca Flamingo. Doflamingo is bent over the wound in your side, a string attaching his finger to the bullet still inside. Corazon holds your body down.

“You gonna scream?” Diamante teases cruelly, but you roll your eyes.

“You’d like that, huh, you sick–FUCK!” you shriek at the end as Doflamingo yanks out the bullet, body jerking against Corazon's iron grip. Diamante and Trebol both chuckle like the bastards they are, but Doflamingo waves them and the rest away as he moves in to disinfect the area.

You shiver, fighting not to tear up in front of the two of them. It is of the utmost importance not to show weakness around Doflamingo. After years of dedication and rigorous work, you’ve clawed your way into a promotion from a top Donquixote Pirate to one of the people in his Family.

It’s imperative, as an undercover Marine, that you don’t lose this chance. Your job is to support Corazon. You’d rather not cry in front of him, either, but that’s more about pride than anything else.

Doflamingo traces your hip as he finishes sewing you up with his string. “Buffalo said you took the bullet for Baby 5.”

You stiffen at his touch, an oddly soft contrast to the string that nonetheless makes you ill at ease. “Yes, Young Master.” Are you in trouble? You don’t want to act soft, but you couldn’t stand by and let a child get shot, either.

“I see,” he says, and you hold your breath. “I’d expect no less from someone I hand-picked.”

He pats your head once, then leaves the room, and relief courses through your veins alongside the adrenaline.

Corazon gives you a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t speak to you, of course–too risky. His voice is a distant memory at this point, all the way from back when you were in training together.

A few uneventful days pass as the crew sails back to base with their spoils. The pain in your side seems to spread to right below your gut, intensifying as it goes. The wound area isn’t red or swollen, so you realize you must have gotten your period on top of everything. Great.

You’re the unlucky type that suffers from hellish, unpredictable menstruation, the pain often debilitating enough to put you out of commission until it abates. It was easier to cover up back in the Marines, feigning illness, but you wouldn’t be granted such liberties in the pirate world. You've had to fight through the agony to keep up your appearance as a tough-as-nails pirate commander. It seemed you were being tested again, as now you had to resist while under watch of the Family.

The cramps continue to get worse by the day until you’re nauseated from the pain. You end up vomiting over the side of the ship more than once, which you claim is from eating bad food. You try everything to take your focus off the pain. Meditation, breathing exercises. But for some reason, it just keeps getting worse. There’s one day where it seems to slightly abate, and you go to bed believing you’re past the worst of it, only to wake up the next day in complete, room-spinning agony. Moving makes it worse, every time you go to the bathroom or help with the ship tasks it feels like you might pass out. You can’t get comfortable no matter which position you lay in, and you sweat like crazy even though it’s cold.

You’re shaky while you help haul in ropes, thoughts so consumed by how terrible you feel that you jump when Corazon taps your shoulder. He scribbles something on his notepad, then shows it to you.

‘You look like shit.’

“That obvious?” you ask, even as your guts and head both swim in a thick fog of pain. Corazon scribbles some more.

‘Your pain tolerance is high. This is unusual for you.’

“It’ll pass,” you respond, turning away from him. He starts writing letters on your back, something he does to make absolutely sure no one can read your conversation later through his notepad.

‘Worried.’

The guilt eats at you before he can even finish writing it. As Doflamingo’s right hand, Corazon has himself to worry about. You’re supposed to make his job easier, not be dead weight. So even though this is the worst it’s ever been, even though you just want to cry at how much it hurts, you steel yourself. You can’t crumble now. “I’ll be okay, Cora,” you dismiss.

Law stands at the foot of your hammock that night as you writhe, a curious Baby 5 next to him.

“What do you want, Law,” you grit out.

“List your primary symptoms,” Law says. You glance at him to see he’s holding a notepad and pencil. “Also, you should let me look at how your wound’s healing.”

“I don’t need the opinion of an eight year old,” you spit, the pain making you lash out. You’ve already looked at your wound, you’ve dealt with many in the past, and the area around your incision looks fine.

Law clenches his fists, irritated. “You’re being a real bitch.”

Baby 5 gasps. Law shoots her a glare that makes her whimper and hide behind your hammock. He mutters to himself as he storms out.

“Why don’t you tell someone if you’re feeling bad?” Baby 5 asks timidly once Law’s gone.

“Because,” you say, taking a deep breath to try to focus on getting the words out. “I don’t have a devil fruit. My haki abilities are rudimentary. I can’t fall behind, Baby 5. I want to be useful to the Young Master.”

“I don’t understand.”

“One day you’ll get cramps, and hopefully they won’t be this bad. But when it happens, you have to be tough and not let anyone know. It’s looked down upon by those who don’t get them. You’ll be left behind…”

“That’s gonna happen to me?” Baby 5 looks worried.

You try to reassure her that since she’s handled everything the adults have thrown at her thus far, she’ll be fine. Baby 5 doesn’t look convinced, but you don’t have it in you to care right then.

By the next day the pain is so searingly, blindingly intense that no amount of willpower can overcome it. You’re woken up by it, and this time it’s unmatched by all the previous days combined. It feels like someone’s poured molten lava into your guts. It feels like your organs are being ripped out of your body. Pressing a pillow into your gut gives you a fraction of relief, but even the slightest relief is like heaven when the pain is that bad–until you’re ripped back down, not to earth, but to hell, and it’s agony all over again.

Somehow, you manage to get out of your hammock, only to end up on your knees on the floor, holding your stomach and making pitiful noises.

Distantly, you get the sensation that Corazon is writing words on your back, but you’re so out of it that you can’t parse them.

“Need help,” you whimper, voice breaking.

Corazon sends someone to get Doflamingo, who has Law assess you. After taking your vitals and pressing on your abdomen (you’ve never considered killing a child before, but it hurts so bad that you scream) Law declares you need to be hospitalized immediately, and also says he told you so just to rub salt in the wound.

It’s a miracle that there’s an island within a few hour’s sail. You don’t remember those hours very well. It’s in and out, coming and going with the waves of pain. All you remember is Corazon, staying by your side the entire time. He keeps the crueler Family members away from you, lets you squeeze his hand for comfort, holds your hair back when you throw up. When you make it to the island, he’s the one to carry you to the hospital.

You get palpated again by the hospital doctors (your own special hell) while Corazon holds your hand, get scanned by a machine, and finally diagnosed with a severe infection that’s gone septic. Post-surgery finally has you in relief, doped up on painkillers, but very, very weak.

Recovery is its own trial. Combined with the strength of the painkillers, plus your body fighting off the infection, you see things when you close your eyes. You’re not sure if members of the Family come to visit you, or if you’re imagining they were there. The only constant is Corazon.

You wake up one night to see him hunched over in a too-small chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even half-awake, you get the sudden sense that he’s trying not to cry. He probably wouldn’t want to see you like that, and you’re so, so tired still, so you go back to sleep.

You dream that he speaks to you. Perhaps it’s a memory, but when you wake up, you see his silhouette in the door.

“Cora?” You smile, lifting your head, but your smile dies when you see Doflamingo stepping inside.

“Young Master,” you say weakly. Why is he visiting you alone? What could he possibly want, aside from telling you that you were demoted?

“Baby 5 was inconsolable,” he starts, sauntering up to your bed. “Someone told her she’d suffer the same condition that you did. Then she said something strange...” He trails a hand on the railing of your bed as he walks up to your side, looming over you. “She begged us not to abandon her.” You feel your blood run cold as Doflamingo grins. “What a silly notion.”

You open your mouth to speak, but can’t find the words. He reaches out a hand to brush back your hair and cup your cheek. It takes everything in you not to flinch away.

“Could it be, perhaps, you thought I’d abandon you, Y/n?” he asks, your daunted face reflected crimson in his sunglasses.

Swallowing, you nod, and he grips your chin harshly.

“In your concern, you almost got yourself killed,” he says. “I selected you to join me for a reason. You're no good to me dead. Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, and after another terrifying moment where he stares into your eyes–maybe your soul–he finally leaves.

Corazon writes furiously later, berating you for being so dismissive of your own condition.

‘You were on death’s door! Your CRP was over 200!’

“How much is it supposed to be?”

‘Zero! Fool!!’

You apologize endlessly, and more so as he helps you recover, until he gets sick of your apologies, too–but when he takes your hand, his gaze is soft.

From here on out, no more suffering alone, he writes into your palm, we fight together.

He holds your hand in both of his larger ones and, doing a quick check to make sure you’re still alone, brushes his lips against the tips of your fingers.

Suddenly you understand just how much he’s longed not to fight alone in his mission, and how important it is for you to be there. You bow your head, pull his hands so they’re at your chest, and kiss the back of one. “I understand.”

Blackbeard

Comparatively, you are the better in sheer physical strength to your opponent, but the other pirate outspeeds you. You fail to dodge back far enough from the downward stab of his dagger, and it sinks into the meat of your thigh.

You snarl in pain while he roars in triumph. His roar gets cut off as you suddenly grab his throat.

“Insect!” you snarl as you squeeze hard, grinding his windpipe to his spine. He flails, making horrid choking noises and digging his nails into your hand. There’s a brief struggle where he tries to reach the dagger in your thigh, but you grab his wrist before he can and, with a surge of armament haki, snap it in your grip. He can’t even cry out like this, just writhes around like mad, and you wait a few more seconds before the blood flow is cut off to his brain for too long, and he goes limp.

The rest of the crew watches from the seats of the bar as you snap his neck sharply before letting him drop. The other patrons of the seedy bar cheer, and cash is begrudgingly exchanged while you hobble back to the Blackbeard Pirates. Doc Q starts to look over your leg as you lean against the bar.

“Thirty seconds,” Lafitte says, looking at his pocket watch, “you said it would take you ten.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lafitte,” you warn. The pain wracking through your leg gives you no patience for his snide commentary. “Or I’ll choke you out next.”

“Promise?”

In an instant, you yank the knife out of your thigh and stab it into Lafitte’s so deep it’s almost at the hilt. He screams while Doc Q yells at you, “Don’t pull out the knife–!”

“They fucking stabbed me!” Lafitte shrieks as Blackbeard, Burgess and Auger burst out into laughter.

“I missed your femoral on purpose,” you grumble. “Next time I won’t.”

Doc Q rushes to stem the bleeding from your thigh, and you cross your arms, trying to quell your temper. Because the Doc has to sew you up first, Lafitte will have to wait a while with that dagger sunken into his leg. It’s a fitting punishment, but you still kind of want to kill him.

Blackbeard, wearing his shitty grin, drapes his arm around your shoulders. You throw him a warning look that he ignores, as usual. Most times he does this, you push his arm away and otherwise reject him to his face. This is one of the rare times you don't. You’re still in a lot of pain, and there’s pretty much nowhere else–no one else–on this planet that you could get a comforting touch from. You let him hold you to his side, if only to abate the burning of your injury, and ever so slightly, you feel your rage boil down to a simmer.

“Better, trinket?” Blackbeard asks you, smirking.

“No,” you lie.

#one piece imagines #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #rosinante x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #x reader #blackbeard x reader #marshall d teach x reader #zen writes

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magewritesstories · 1 day

Text

[ SPENCER REID ] IT'S BASIC MATH, REALLY

cw. my continuation of unit chief!spencer reid x gen z!agent, in this installation you try to explain girl math to him [fluff.] wc. 601 (it's a small blurb)

SPENCER REID KNOWS MATH; HE HAS A PHD IN IT TO PROVE SO. But somehow you've managed to stump him (which happens more often than the genius would like to admit) with the concept of what you call 'girl math.'

It started when you walked into the small crowded bar near the Quantico building where the team had decided to meet up after a particularly satisfying arrest.

You strutted into the room in a pair of gorgeous, expensive-looking shoes, and of course, Penelope had to comment on it.

"Oh my God, Y/N," the blonde practically squealed as she pulled you into a hug, "You look even more gorgeous than usual—I love, love, love those shoes!"

You let out a soft laugh as you joined the rest of the team at the table with a quick greeting. "Thanks, Pen, they were actually pretty cheap," you reply, "I got 'em at Bloomingdales."

"Really?" JJ asked, joining in on the conversation, "Were they having a sale?"

"Nope, but they were only $156," you answer.

Spencer raised his brows in surprise, "You think $156 is a cheap price for one pair of shoes?"

"Mhm," you hum as you take a drink that Luke hands you, "It's girl math."

"Come again?"

"Girl math," you clarify, standing closer to him so that he can hear you over the loud music.

Spencer leans towards you instinctively, genuinely curious about whatever 'girl math' was.

"So, basically, these shoes cost $156, right?" you say as he nods along, "But they're comfortable and cute, plus they go with like four different outfits, which means I'll be wearing them a lot. In the coming month, I'll probably wear them, like, 10 maybe 15 times. Which means that they actually only cost me around 10 to 15 dollars—you know, if you divide 156 by the amount of times I wear them."

"But you don't pay for the shoes in installments," Spencer replied in confusion, "And your shoes aren't a car, the amount you walk in them doesn't depreciate their value like mileage would a car."

You shrug as you take another swig of your drink. "But this way, I make myself feel better about spending $156 on shoes," you reply with a grin.

"So it's a form of consolation?" he replied with a small grin playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes as you give him a soft shove, "Shut up, Dr. Reid."

Spencer lets out a laugh at your playful eye roll.

"Well, either way, you do look nice in them," he said.

"You sayin' I don't usually look nice?" you teased, leaning even closer to him.

The close proximity suddenly made him realize the rest of the team had magically vanished from the table.

(Luke and Penelope had managed to drag JJ and Emily to the dance floor, while Matt, Tara, and Rossi were making conversation with the bartender.)

"Silence, really, doc?" you continued, feigning a hurt expression, "I'm hurt."

"I—I—What, no!" Spencer quickly replied, turning back to you, "That's not what I—what I mean was you look nicer than usual—not that you don't usually look nice or anything—"

You laughed, throwing your head back just a little, as you stopped him from digging himself an even deeper grave. "Calm down, Spence, I was joking."

You put down the now empty glass and grabbed his arm. "C'mon, you need to loosen up, let's dance."

Spencer let you drag him to the dance floor, where he pointedly ignored JJ and Emily's surprised faces as well as Luke and Penelope's eyebrow wiggles.

He was never going to hear the end of this.

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suskz · 1 day

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reader x hyunjin based on the last skz code where they went camping - he looked so hot working on that tent 😯💨 - , going with the boys since it was all minho idea, reader doesn't like camping but she likes him so, building tension up bc that's hot too, and maybe he could switch places with reader's bff and sneak into their's tent? 🖤

pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader (you didn’t specify so I guessed it was a fem reader since I’ve only written of them for now)

t/w: friends to lovers ; Hyunjin is a flirt ; fluff ; a little suggestive.

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: it was fun to write! And yeah, Hyunjin really looked hot (I mean, he always is). The way he rolled his sleeves up omg, I couldn’t not write this. Hope you like this, anon!

↳ Reader has with the members the same friendship they have with each other.

"I hate this." Jiwoo complains as she drops the bag she was holding to the ground.

"Come on!" You try to cheer her up, "It's nice to be out in nature sometimes!"

She shoots you a glare, "That's easy to say," she says bitterly, "You hate camping more than I— hey!" she exclaims when you nudge her arm with your elbow, silencing her.

"I love camping." You lie loudly, with the boys just a few meters away from you.

"I can't say the same." Changbin comments, slapping his arm to kill a mosquito.

And suddenly, an arm falls around your shoulders. You turn towards the person who has come up next to you and see Hyunjin, unconsciously shrinking under his close presence, "I agree with Y/nie, a bit of fresh air away from the city is nice."

A small smile forms on your lips.

"You say that because you have no intention to help with anything." Chan chimes in, opening one of the bags he carried.

"Clever of you to assume that." Hyunjin responds, smiling.

"That's why Hyunjin will help set up the tent." Minho states, biting back a smile.

"Huh? I don't know how!" Hyunjin complains, taking his arm off your shoulders and moving closer to the older guy.

You regret that the contact was so short, but you maintain your composure and watch him walk away.

"You'll learn." Minho closes the conversation in a tone that allows no reply.

—

“You need to pump it?” Hyunjin asks, looking for the pump to inflate the tent.

You watch him curiously, seeing him search non-stop for a while.

“Did you find it?” Minho asks him, watching in disbelief. There are only 5 bags, how can he not have found it yet?

He starts to approach him, but you are quicker.

“They have accessories here.” Hyunjin says in a pouty, hopeless voice, closing a bag. He turns to continue searching but almost falls to the ground from the jump he makes when you suddenly stand up in front of him, very, perhaps too, close.

You hand him the pump that you found in a few seconds, “You suck at finding things.”

He puts a hand on his heart, opening his mouth and sighing slowly with closed eyes, as if he has just seen a ghost, “You scared me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatic behaviour, “Don’t thank me.” You say sarcastically.

He smiles, his front teeth slightly showing behind his slightly parted lips, “Thank you, Y/nie.” He blows you a kiss for show. You are used to this, yet you blush, while he bends down to attach the pump nozzle to the tent opening.

“Do you need help with that too?” you tease, smirking, trying to hide the visible blush coloring your cheeks from yourself, since he can't even see you.

“Huh?!” He stands up and rolls up the sleeves of the baggy t-shirt he’s wearing, showing his muscles, “I don’t need your help, these are enough for me.” He flexes his biceps.

You like them, don’t you? You think he’s cool, right? Hyunjin hopes so.

You chuckle at his words while he gets to work to really show what he’s capable of as you return to Jiwoo, who needs help with setting up your tent.

You don’t even realise you've been distracted watching him the whole time, as his muscles contract with the effort of pushing the pump handle, and soon small drops of sweat start to trickle down them.

Your eyes are fixed on the way his hands roll up the sleeves each time they unroll and on the way he lifts his head and pulls his hair back with one hand when it bothers him too much and prevents him from seeing. It almost seems like he does it on purpose so your eyes never leave him.

But someone's hand rests on your shoulder, waking you up. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he?” Minho smirks and holds back a laugh when you turn to look at him, blushing and trying to stammer out a response, but he stops you right away, “Wipe off all the drool you’ve spilled first.” He chuckles and walks away with your eyes on him, shaking his head slowly, amused.

Just then, you hear the sound of someone falling to the ground, and when you turn, you see Hyunjin sitting from exhaustion. His breathing is heavy, and pained sounds and light groans leave his lips, the heat of the sun making everything worse, while Jisung takes his place to finish inflating.

His friend hands him a black tank top to wear instead of the sweat-soaked shirt he has on, and that's what Hyunjin does.

He takes off the white t-shirt and uses it to wipe off the sweat covering his body. And once again, it seems like he does it to show off so that you watch and can’t take your burning eyes off him, off his body. But deep down, you know it’s not like that, and this thought forces you to immediately look away when his eyes meet yours, amused. It’s a quick contact, it lasts little but says a lot.

And you have to use all the self-control you have in your body not to set your eyes on that tight black fabric that perfectly hugs his body, making his muscles appear more tense and defined.

“That’s better.” he sighs with relief, soon returning to work and starting to add the stakes.

The silence is filled with the sounds of hammers, and you don't notice when he moves away from the group.

When you stand up after finishing setting up the tent, you look around, confused by his absence. “Where's Hyunjin?” you ask Jiwoo, who is taking out lights from a bag to use as decoration.

“He went for a walk over there; there's a river a bit further from here.” She points in a direction with the index finger of her free hand.

“Oh.” you nod in understanding.

Only a few seconds of silence pass before she speaks again, “Go to him, he's alone; I'll take care of decorating the tent.” It's written all over your face, what you want to do. She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and winks at you instead.

And you don't need to be told twice.

When you arrive at the spot, you search for him with quick, darting glances. “Hyunjin?” you call out before finding him lying on a large rock with his hands on his belly and his eyes closed.

He didn't answer, so you gather that he's sleeping. You slowly approach him, trying not to make any noise, and sit down next to his sleeping body.

You look at his serene face and can almost hear his calm breath and sense the steady beats of his heart.

The place itself is very quiet. It's cozy, isolated from everyone else, and intimate.

You glance around a couple of times with furtive eyes, but you end up realising that you're alone. Then you look at him, his slightly parted inviting plump lips. You bring your face close to his almost instinctively, faces so close that you can feel his warm breath on your own lips, but then you pull away.

What are you trying to do? It's wrong and stupid. If someone saw you, it would be a mess.

And if you had done it, he would have noticed, because he's awake.

Your ears burn, your cheeks flushed with shame and guilt when his eyes open.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, looking at you with distant irises, wrapped in thoughts, then he sits up, raising his torso.

"I heard you calling me but I didn't feel like answering.” he tries to smile to tease you, but what comes out is more of a grimace. You pretend not to notice though, lying to him as well as to yourself.

"I knew it, that's why I've been sitting in silence." You smirk, trying to push away the shame and alleviate the strange tension that has arisen.

However, the situation changes so quickly. There is still tension between the two of you, but it is different with his hand holding your chin and his thumb slowly, intensely stroking your lower lip. Intense, too, is the look his burning eyes give to your rosy lips.

When your eyes meet, his movements stop, and it’s difficult for you to tell what he is thinking. The eyes are the reflection of the soul, he likes to say, but at the moment his do not reflect much.

And then, he pulls away from you. His gaze, his hand, a moment later are no longer on you.

He stands up, "You had something on your lips." He looks around, normal, apparently enjoying the scenery.

You touch your lips, embarrassed, "Oh."

He looks at you and chuckles softly, sitting back next to you with a now more serene air.

One of his arms rests on your shoulder in a friendly gesture, trying to get as close to you as possible.

"I like this place, it's quiet and relaxing," he says. "I want to paint it."

"Hey lovebirds!" You hear someone say from just a bit further away from you. You immediately recognize it's Jisung's voice, who has joined you. "Get a room."

Hyunjin chuckles, and you try to do the same, but your mind is clouded by the memory of his gesture.

The fact that he didn't stop you when you tried to get closer to his lips, the way he touched yours with his thumb.

These images still flash in your mind while everyone else sleeps. You touch your lips with two fingers almost unconsciously, smiling sadly.

But apparently, you're not the only one lost in thought, as the entrance to the tent is opened and the little lamp in between you and Jiwoo is turned on. The latter gets up and leaves, letting someone else in.

And how could you not recognize that head of dark hair making its way inside, closing the entrance zipper after murmuring a 'thank you' and receiving a nod in response.

"Hyunjin? What are you doing here? It's late." you ask him, but receive no answer.

You receive no answer because instead, his lips crash against yours in a needy gesture.

Your eyes widen at the sudden gesture, but you don't push him away, not even when his lips start moving on yours shortly after. Instead, you reciprocate.

It's desperate. Your movements aren't even in sync, but it's okay. It's perfect like this; you couldn't ask for anything better.

One of his hands rests above your ear, caressing it so delicately that you barely even notice, as if you’re made of porcelain.

You break the kiss with quick breaths and uncontrollable heartbeats, emotions finally laid bare.

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long." he admits in a whisper, looking into your eyes.

You find the strength to speak, albeit lightly, "Today by the river… I didn't just watch you." You admit, and you can't help the hint of embarrassment you feel in saying those words to him.

"I know, and I hoped so much that you'd do what you were about to do, but you stopped." His smile doesn't falter for a moment. "You didn't have anything on your lip; I just used it as an excuse to touch you. I actually wanted to kiss you, but when I looked into your eyes, I didn't have the courage." He confesses.

"And here you are now." You chuckle.

He huffs a chuckle, "It wouldn't have been like this if you hadn't tried to kiss me first."

“Now I wish I hadn’t stopped earlier today, by the river.” you say, lowering your eyes to his lips and then back to his, licking your own lips. “I’ve always thought you have nice lips and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you, you know?”

“Now you know,” he says happily. “Or do you need to explore a little more?”

You don’t even need to answer; he already knows the response. And once again, your lips are on each other’s, in a kiss that quickly becomes fast and hungry.

Your hands roam over each other’s bodies, fingers tangled in hair, hands gripping cheeks, hips, ending up on thighs.

Your breaths are fast, and the tent heats up. You’re so lost in each other that you don’t realise you’re not being very quiet anymore.

It’s Changbin’s voice that wakes you up and makes you pull away. “Could you guys keep it down a bit?” he shouts from a couple of tents away from yours.

“If you two don’t let me sleep or wake me up at any hour of the night, I’ll put you in the air fryer.” Minho’s voice intervenes right after, annoyed.

You and Hyunjin lock eyes and then laugh silently.

“At least we’ll be put together.”

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader fluff #stray kids x reader fluff #hyunjin fluff #asks ♡#anon ask ♡

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sukirichi · 3 days

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SUKI SUKI? @! ÷ 2? I THINK YOU HAVE CLOSED THE REQS BUT IT OCCURRED TO ME TO ME MAGICALLY HELP. LISTEN !!!! husband bonten but the first time they met with y/n, like THE FIRST INTERACTION OF EVERYONE AND IN WHAT SITUATION DID THEY HAVE AN INSTANT CRUSH TO EACH OTHER AND EVERYTHING THAT CONTAINS?×)÷,×!",!)0273*?× ¡÷ 2 I PRAY YOU TO WRITE IT, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT IS IN 10 YEARS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYINH

BONTEN MEN MEETING THEIR WIVES FOR THE FIRST TIME !! (PART ONE)

☁️ mikey, haitani ran, haitani rindou

☁️ unedited. mild angst on mikey's part. ran is technically not a first meeting, but yeah! suggestive on ran's part. fluff. cursing. mikey is lowkey a stalker. (only putting the three of them first because it was getting too long 😭)

♡ — MIKEY

It’s just another day, another mission. There’s nothing new for Mikey. And even if there was, there’s hardly anything he looks forward to now. Whether it’s a mission accomplished or mission failed, he hardly notices. His executives will take care of it, anyway. So he walks aimlessly in the streets he calls his, unafraid of the night’s darkness and the dangers it might bring – quite frankly, because he is the danger that lurks. What is there to be afraid of when he’s the worst imaginable nightmare around?

So lost in his own thoughts, it takes him a second to register the collision of his body with someone else. “I’m sorry!” a sweet voice cuts through the night air. You sound adorable and apologetic enough Mikey’s eyes light up for just a brief moment. Dark, lifeless eyes come to life as he glances at you – bowing in apology while clutching your satchel to your chest. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

At any other day, Sanzu would’ve handled this for him. At any other day, Mikey would’ve let it slide and moved on because he just doesn’t care. You’re a civilian, anyway, and you knew better. No one bumps into him like this by accident. Curious, he tilts his gaze to you. There’s only one good conclusion of your unabashed expression that of guilt and genuine embarrassment – you must not have any idea who he is and treated him like you would anyone else.

He’s not the fearsome Manjiro Sano to you.

He’s just a stranger you inconvenienced, and for some reason, that soothes him. He’s not a killer in your eyes. He’s not a person who’s continuously done the wrong thing for the past few years. He’s just... him.

“It’s okay,” he replies after a moment, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s late, though. You shouldn’t be out around this time of night. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, I know,” you scrunch up your nose, “Gangs are running rampant and all. But this is the only time I can take a high-paying shift, and what’s the point of safety if I can’t pay my bills, right?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He hasn’t worried about bills in a long time – Kokonoi has that covered. Instead, he nods, finding it hard to look away from you. “Stay safe, then. And if you need help, then...” Then, what? The gangs would help? Bonten would keep you safe? No, that was ridiculous. Bonten was the one thing everyone wanted to be protected from.

It hits him, then, that he is the monster that makes everyone feel unsafe. And for once in his life since he’d established Bonten, Mikey feels sick.

He doesn’t want to be the cause of your worries.

— It doesn’t take much to find out everything about you – where you work, where you live, when your shifts happen, and even silly details like what your favourite flavour or cup ramen is. He tells himself he’s doing this for your safety, and in a way, he is. You weren’t kidding when you said you take graveyard shifts because it pays the best, so upon finding out you come home really late, and go to work just as, Mikey takes it upon himself to watch from afar. Never approaching, never striking a conversation – because he doesn’t know what to say, and how could he explain he knows your routine by now – but always watching. Guarding. Protecting. He must look ominous gazing upon you from buildings afar, but he’s content with it. He thinks he can do this for as long as he likes, simply watching you from afar.

— But then he realizes he wants more.

— And he doesn’t know what ‘more’ means exactly. More time with you? You don’t even know who he is. More conversations? He’d probably stumble over his words, or make the worst jokes. Fuck. He hasn’t joked in a while. Would you even find him funny? He thinks about all day long, all night long, until you’re the only one running into his mind and he’s been so mentally checked out of his own meetings that his executives have – politely – asked him to just take a while for himself.

— So he does, and because he was never good at controlling his urges, he goes to you. He dresses a little nicer than usual; a newly ironed shirt, a good pair of jeans, and even asked Rindou to fix his hair up for him. “Going on a date?” he’d teased, but even Mikey doesn’t know how to answer that. It’s not a date, but he’d be damned if he let another day go by that you didn’t know his name.

— He introduced himself, rather awkwardly, and pretends like he didn’t come to your work on purpose. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he says, and it couldn’t be a bigger lie. But you just smile up at him like you’re happy to see him, like you’ve been hoping to meet again, and for a moment, Mikey lets himself believe that it could be true. Maybe he deserves that smile. Maybe someone actually wants to see him. He lingers on that delusion long enough that he’s matched his routine with yours – walking you back home, letting you talk about how much you hate your boss, and hate your sleazy customers even more. It’s not easy being a waitress, especially when you’re forced to wear tight-fitting clothes with the intention of attracting customers. And it gets to him. The darkness and rage he’s been letting quietly simmer beneath his veins as to not scare you off finally resurfaces.

— He hates it all – hates how you’re in such an unfortunate situation, and there’s only so little he could do. Until he realizes he’s the Manjiro Sano. After sending in Sanzu to deal with your boss, who may or may not have been gently blackmailed into treating you better and giving you higher pay or else, Mikey notices the weight being lifted off your shoulder. You’ve started smiling more and even invite him to your place one time to celebrate your ‘fortunes.’

“Are you sure?” he asks rather warily, “I mean, it’s late at night.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you reassure him, and lead him inside your home. He almost feels bad for you for being so unaware. You don’t have the slightest idea you’re bringing a killer in the safety of your home, but he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it when you turn on the lights. He’s greeted by your homey apartment, a little cluttered, a little messy, and it’s a little small for you that he can’t imagine would be comfortable – but it’s yours, and you’re proud of it. Pulling out a mat, you tell him to make himself at home while you prepare some celebratory snacks. They’re nothing fancy – mostly chips, cheap wine, and a few hardened candies.

It’s probably the worst timing to realize he’s falling in love.

First of all, there’s nothing romantic about watching you lean against the counter, humming to yourself as you pop open the wine. Second of all, you don’t look enticing or seductive. Not in your mismatched pyjamas and even more hilariously mismatched socks. But you are enticing – from the way your throat vibrates at your humming, to your quick, swift movements preparing the snacks. You look so at home, so content, that he can’t help but want that for himself. Want you for himself. He wants you at his place and to decorate it as you wish. He wants you to liven it up and scatter knick-knacks all over his room. He wants your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. He wants you – wants all of you – from your crumpled shirt, to your aching shoulders after a long day at work, wants to kiss it all better for you.

He wants you.

And when the Bonten Head wants something, he will get it.

— If someone told him that a few years from now that his silly musings at three in the morning would finally come true, he’d have scoffed at them. But this is his reality is now, and how he’ll spend the rest of his life.

You’re standing next to him in his bathroom, brushing your teeth while simultaneously humming to yourself. He’s heard the melody enough to have memorized it. And when he’s having a hard day, he sings it to himself, although it never sounds as good like when you do it. The tune is comforting, a reminder you’re in his life now, that everything’s worked out. You married him, and he couldn’t be a happier man.

“Something wrong, Manjiro?” you ask after rinsing your mouth, turning to him with a hand on your hips. Stern, yet unbelievably gentle. Cupping his cheeks with your hands, he melts. “Tell me. How can I make it better?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, and it’s the truth. The moment is all too perfect. You’re here with him, you’re safe, and you’ve loved him after everything he’s done. “Just wanna hold you.”

You break him to it. Lunging into his arms, you giggle and bury yourself around his neck, knowing full well he’ll catch you. Mikey laughs, too, but it’s quieter, more reserved, the sound nearly muted because your skin is pressing against his so hard that it becomes hard to fathom there was ever a time he felt he wasn’t worth of love. And maybe he still isn’t. He still has Bonten, he still has horrible urges, he still gets the demanding itch to kill and hurt – but you’re there, in his arms, and he feels the darkness slowly simmer into tamed shadows.

♡ — HAITANI RAN

Ran is not subtle with his feelings. He believes in the beauty and art of flirting, of holding one’s gazes for just a second longer than what was considered polite, the fleeting, yet burning touches one could pass off as innocent. He’s had enough experience in his life to have mastered it. He’s handsome, he’s irresistible, and he knows it. Beauty and charm is a weapon he wasn’t ashamed of wielding, especially not around his current flavour of the month – or more like months, now. He’s played this game of tic tac toe with you, this push and pull, for so long that he feels he’ll lose his mind.

Like everyone else in Bonten, he usually gets what he wants. But you’re different. You’re attracted to him – that much he knows – but you’re the one responsible for all of Bonten’s uniform and suits that your attraction borders just on the edge of professionalism. But he knows. Oh, he knows. You aren’t so subtle yourself.

Each time he comes around for a fitting, your lips twitch as if you’re fighting back a smile. He also doesn’t fail to notice how you’re gesturing around to your staff in the shop to give you two ‘privacy.’ Bonten executive or not, Ran isn’t foolish – he knows he’s the only one receiving this special treatment. Knows you don’t touch your other clients like this – with a perfectly manicured nail grazing down his arm, your eyes lidded with lust, your blood-red lips caught between your teeth.

It makes Ran yearn.

He wants those same claws to run down scratches behind his back. He wants to take those lips into his mouth, instead, to have you ruin his suits by staining it with your lipstick on his collar, his neck, his tie, his pants. It’d give him more of a reason to come back, anyway. But you just had to be so professional that he always leaves the shop with his pants feeling tighter than ever, his lungs constricted because it becomes hard to breathe around you, yet feeling so addicted to the high of having you so close, yet so far away.

“You should come back for another fitting,” you call out to him just as he swings the door open. He freezes. He’s always the one scheduling a fitting. Unable to help it, he shuts the door and locks it, smirking to himself when he hears the vague hitching of your breath behind the counter.

“And why is that?”

“Oh, you know,” you manage to tease, but ah. He can see right through you. Even with your nonchalant facade, he can tell he’s getting under your veins with every step he takes to close the distance between you. Damn the counter. Damn any customers who might be waiting outside. For now, there’s only him and you, and he thinks he may damn well truly ruin his pants when you look up at him with eyes blown wide with want. With need.

He wishes you could just let go and give in.

“I, in fact, don’t know. But do care to enlighten me,” leaning down, he rests his arms against the counter, glad to finally be at your eye level. You’re prettier in this angle, which baffles him, because you’re already so pretty enough it hurts. And he can’t help but wonder if you’d look a hundred times better in... different angles. An angle under him, perhaps, where you’re helpless and forced to clutch his biceps while you hold on for dear life. Because Ran guarantees once he gets his hands on you, he’s never letting go.

“I just think,” with narrowed eyes, he feels your heated gaze travel from his face that’s inches away from yours down to his chest, and to the bulge constricted around his pants. You let out a breathy sound at the sight of it, his body responding by growing even harder. “Your pants are too tight for you now. Perhaps we should make you a better one?”

“I have other ways in mind in which we could resolve this problem. Preferably one that doesn’t consist of measuring tapes,” he raises his brow, watches as you slowly unfold and unravel right at his palms. It’s almost satisfying. Almost. He’s wanted you for so long that frustration is more what he feels right now, and impatience. “Although I’m not entirely against using ropes.”

♡ — HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou doesn’t concern himself with civilians. He has better things to do, and after a long day, he’s more than ready to just plop himself into bed and wake up only when the world is ending. Or, he could just let it end, too. He couldn’t care any less. Unfortunately for him, though, the universe has different plans for him that night. He just wanted to get a damned drink, for fuck’s sake, until he hears screaming and the shuffling of feet as soon as he steps out of the convenience store.

“Stop him!” someone squeals, the cry helpless and desperate. From where he stood, wine bottle on one hand, he could see the figure of a man running with what seemed like a bag clutched to his chest. “Someone help, please!”

Rindou sighs. There’s nothing more that he hates more than petty crimes that are more inconveniences than impactful. Before he could register what he’s doing, Rindou’s arm extended out in front of himself, and within the blink of an eye, the thief whizzing past him had been caught by the collar. The thief struggles against his hold, whining and thrashing with curses thrown his way.

“Let me fucking go, you oaf!”

“I don’t think so,” Rindou tips his head to the side just as a figure appeared behind the thief. You stand there, wheezing to catch your breath with your hands on your knees. At the sight of him effortlessly restraining the thief, you break out into a relieved sigh and snatch back your bag, holding it more possessively. And oh, aren’t you just pretty? With your skin layered with a sheen of sweat from all that running, cheeks damp with tears, your frown now replaced with a grateful smile – Rindou feels like you’re the thief. “Whoa. Careful with that smile, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrow, and he nearly groans. It should be a crime for someone to look so adorably confused. “What?”

“Okay, that’s enough, they got their bag back, now let me go!”

Right. He still had a lame excuse of a criminal on his hand. With a roll of his eyes, Rindou throws the man against to the ground until he’s coughing out blood from when he hit the pavement. He hears you gasp, and it makes him wince. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. You’re probably afraid of him now.

“Run along,” he warns the petty thief, and he didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the man disappears, Rindou turns to you, a lazy smile making its way into his face. “You know, I usually hate being troubled, but this might be the first time I don’t mind as much.”

Your jaw drops. You look around frantically in your bag for a moment, and just when he thinks you can’t get anymore interesting, you pull out a wad of cash and shove it to him. Rindou cocks a brow. “And what is that for, sweetheart?”

“To-to thank you for saving me! And it’s also an apology because I troubled you...”

Rindou fights the urge to scoff. “I feel like I should be offended,” he says in a sing-song manner, only because you don’t take the teasing well, and the sight of you stumbling over your words is already making his night. He wants to reassure you it’s no trouble at all, that he’ll easily catch all your thieves for you, or that you can steal his heart and never give it back to him. But he doesn’t, because he’s just met you, and maybe, just maybe, he’s curious how this will go.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Say, if you really want to thank me, why don’t we share this?” he lifts his wine bottle, and you eye it for a moment before nodding eagerly. His heart drops. He lowers the bottle, his voice growing darker – yet make no mistake. Behind his scowl and hardened eyes, his heart is beating a mile a minute, and his skin is burning impossibly hot. “Don’t you think you say yes a little too easily?”

“Uhm, but you saved me. You helped me, and this is how you want to be thanked.”

Rindou thinks his brain might short-circuit. You are definitely trouble.

“I could be more dangerous than him, you know,” he leans toward you menacingly to prove a point, but you don’t cower. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your bag tighter. But you don’t move away, and neither can he. Now that he’s closer, he can smell your strawberry scented perfume and he shuts his eyes, greedily inhaling the scent. Shit. He hasn’t even drunk anything, and he already feels intoxicated. Taking a step back for his own sanity, Rindou levels you a warning glare. “You really should be more careful, sweet. Perhaps it’ll lower the chances of you running into trouble.”

“Oh,” you look dejected, though he could just be imagining it. “Yeah, okay, uh... I’ll be more careful. Thank you again...?”

“Rindou.”

“Rindou,” you repeat, and he realizes his name sounds sweeter when you say. With a scrunch of your nose, you eye the wine in his hands again. “Will I see you again? I really want to thank you for your help.”

With such a sweet offer, how can he resist? He’d be stupid to say no – even if you were trouble, it’s fine. He wasn’t notorious for being a troublemaker for no reason anyway.

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jojotichakorn · 2 days

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so, in the midst of me constantly thinking about and analysing phum, i didn't write that much meta on peem or really think about his reasoning too much. for a long while, i dismissed his slightly erratic behaviour as a response to phumpeem's initial meeting and how their relationship has been set up because of it, but this episode solidified the fact that that's not it.

instead, for whatever reason, peem is insecure.

the most damning piece of evidence for this, i think, does not involve phum at all (and that is exactly the reason why it's such good evidence). though the majority of this post will still be about phumpeem lmao.

so, when peem claims that there is nothing going on between him and phum, kluen says that means he still has a chance, which gives us this confused face:

nothing in the world could produce this reaction in these circumstances, aside from insecurity. kluen isn't phum. he and peem don't have any bizarre backstory together, and he is very direct about his romantic pursuit. he explicitly said he came to the camp to hit on peem in front of all his friends and he reiterated the sentiment by saying what he did in this scene. the only kind of person who would need a clarification, when things are laid out that clearly is a person who is insecure and therefore has a hard time being sure about the fact that someone likes them and/or is actively trying to hit on them.

now, onto the star of the show: phumpeem! what do we know about peem's pov of their relationship at this point? 1) he has fully admitted that he likes phum, to the point of literally calling himself out on even trying to deny it. 2) he is happy about the fact that he likes phum. we are leagues away from the possibility that he has any issues with phum or the fact that he has a crush on him, which we have so much proof of, whether it be him actively enjoying the fact that phum is trying to get his attention, him looking at phum as if he hung the moon and calling him prince charming, him literally giggling and kicking his feet at that memory the next day, him instantly forgiving phum because he genuinely trusts him and thinks he is a good person, even if he makes mistakes sometimes, or any of the other clear signs that he is enjoying what's going on between them, both in the moment and in retrospective.

and now, let's take a look at all the moments from today's episode through the lens of peem's insecurity in himself and security in his feelings / phum:

him acting a little weird and distant after hugging phum the whole night, very reminiscent of the way he acted the day after their first kiss. both times after moments when peem made the first move.

him acting genuinely confused about phum's behaviour towards kluen, despite getting a fairly clear confirmation that phum is jealous when he literally bribed a child to get peem away from kluen. this is definitely not a "what a weirdo" face, this is a "wait, what's going on here?" face. he does not get it.

him claiming there is nothing going on between phum and him, despite clearly wanting that something and being in the depths of the talking stage, which is definitely a real relationship stage to him, as that was how he described chain and toey to q.

him looking a little heartbroken, when phum says he wants to call off the deal, as if that would actually mean that they stop spending time together.

him confirming that that is indeed his fear, when he literally looks terrified at the prospect and fully asks to continue being phum's "slave".

him not being able to admit why he kept the flowers

or making up a lie about not having finished the painting, even though he definitely has, because he literally said so to his aunt.

and him answering a question with a question, needing to hear the fact that phum likes him directly first, before he confesses back. which, in all this context, just doesn't read as stubbornness.

all of this makes sense, if you consider the fact that peem is insecure and is afraid of reading into other people, when what he's trying to glean is their opinion of him specifically.

one big thing that he constantly repeats (this moment is far from the only time he says that in this episode alone) is asking phum to tell him what he thinks directly. mind you, unlike phum, who is just constantly deeply confused about everyone and can't take implications for shit, peem is actually absolutely incredible at understanding what other people's feelings are, even when they don't tell him directly, as long as the feelings in question aren't about peem.

he also manages those small bursts of confidence, like kissing phum first or reaching out to him, but they are not long-lasting and are often followed by bursts of denial and shyness, which is extremely common for someone who is insecure but also impressively brave.

and here is your key to pre-relationship phumpeem and the reason why we are on episode 10 and they are still not dating. insecure x insecure can be hard at times. they both need the other to outright state their feelings, and that is just not easy for either of them. but they are getting there. together 🫶

#a sudden peem meta hit the building!#we are the series #archer's meta

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strwberri-milk · 1 day

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I want to make a request for LnDs fanfic pls ♡

Im not sure if this is a kink or something so ill try to be specific.

Mc is a bit shy and inexperienced at sex but she want to try something new with her boyfriend (xavier and rafayel are my favs, if i need to choose), she wants to lead things and make him feel good (or shes a the top but the boyfriend still in control kind of telling her what he wants her to do), while they do it her boyfriend guide her with a lot of compliments about her and her "performance", and hes not shy to be lewd and be excited

ughhhhh i call this topping from the bottom LMAO i did this w kaeya a couple times iirc im too lazy to check my anthology LMAoo also i hope you mind that its not like. a fic fic bc i just have to be in a certain mood to write fics

Xavier won't tell it to your face but he thinks you look adorable like this. He loves the flushed expression on your face, the way you look like you're going to fall apart on his lap. You're so innocent it makes his mind spin, eyes unable to look away as you try to get him to tell you what he wants you to do.

You whine and whimper, not yet quite used to how much teasing Xavier actually wants to subject you to. He acts like he's innocent, hands teasing your body as he slowly grinds into you while you whine and complain about how mean he's being to you. When you start insisting that he let you take charge if he won't tell you what he wants he decides to lean back and watch to see what you do.

You struggle for a little, trying to figure out how to make him hit that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. His eyes watch you adoringly, hands snaking back to rest on your hips as he starts to tell you how to move on top of him. You're a little resistant at first, telling him again how you wanted to make him feel good.

He refuses to take no for an answer, gently telling you that he doesn't mind and doing this does make him feel good. Slowly, you find yourself listening to his instructions, bouncing and grinding on him at just the rhythm he's craving. You let go of all your reservations and his cock twitches in anticipation as your moans get louder.

His hands stay on your hips, guiding your pace. You're glad that he's not making you think anymore, mindlessly following his directions. Even the slightest suggestion he makes you take as an order, wanting nothing more than to do absolutely everything that he wants you to do.

Rafayel loves to tease you slightly about how despite how inexperienced you are, you want nothing more than to fuck yourself on him. His eyes always rake over your form needily, committing every curve of your body to memory. If it were up to him, he'd have you sitting on his cock with a sketchbook in hand to record it on paper.

You try to deal with how bratty he is by fucking it out of him but unfortunately for you, you haven't quite figured out how exactly to go about that. Rafayel won't expand either unless he's feeling particularly needy and impatient. That tends to happen so you're used to it when you feel him starting to fuck into you, biting back your moan to try and prevent him from getting the satisfaction of taking you by surprise.

He's a little mean about it too, bringing a hand to run over the most sensitive parts of your body. He loves to tease you, hissing slightly in the way that you clench around him as he continues to fuck into you. He teases you with his words, telling you that he knows you'll do anything for him and that it's awfully cute of you to try and pretend that you could be in charge. Truth be told he adores it when you get even warmer with embarrassment when he flusters you, telling you exactly what to do and rewarding you with a particularly deep thrust whenever you listen to him.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads rafayel x reader #lnds rafayel x reader #lnds xavier x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #lads smut #lnds smut #love and deepspace smut #xavier smut #rafayel smut

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runningfrom2am · 21 hours

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requiem // prologue

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 0.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: hi! welcome to the prologue for requiem!! just a taste to set things up :) sorry !!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

'Are you coming to the zoo after class?' The note Coryo slid in front of you asks. You look up at him and nod, before taking your pen and scribbling underneath his penwork on the same page, sliding it back as your teacher went on and on about things you had already studied and knew by heart.

'Walk together?'

Now it's his turn to nod, meeting your gaze with a smile.

You hadn't had the chance to meet your tribute yet, but Coryo's idea to go and greet his tribute was very smart. You admired it- he was brave to do that, but something deep in the back of your chest made you uneasy about it. Regardless, you and several of your classmates would make the trip after school to go greet them, bring them food, and get to know them as much as you could. You part ways with him once you arrive, planning to walk home together later.

"Valkyrie?" You call out, scanning the tributes trapped in the cage to try and pinpoint her. You see her when her head turns at the name and you smile, waving her over. "My name is Y/N. I'll be your mentor."

She doesn't say anything as she stops in front of you, giving you a death glare that could give you chills. She looked strong. It was good, she'll do well in the games. "It's nice to meet you," you continue. "My job is to help you however I can. So anything you need or want, I'm your girl. Just say the word."

Her cold stare doesn't falter, but you try not to let your discomfort show. You need her to trust you, that was Coryo's best advice, so you would do all you could to take it. "Are you hungry? You must be. I brought you some food." You don't wait for a response that you know isn't coming, digging in your bag already.

"It's my favorite, but I do hope you like it." You hum, pulling out a container with some crackers and honey, and a lemon to cut up and put in your water bottles. "Care to sit?" You offer, already sitting down yourself, kneeling in front of the bars. You smile when she obliges, matching your posture across from you.

"I'm a singer, and honey is really good for the throat." You explain, hoping that she'll begin to trust you if she knows you a little better. "It's a nice bonus that it tastes good, too. I'm not supposed to have sugar, but I think honey is the next best thing." You open the container, trying not to expose the shakiness in your hands as you grab the small bowl of honey and a knife to spread it, but this fails drastically when you accidentally drop it and it falls past the bars just out of your reach.

"Oh, gosh- I'm just so clumsy, would you mind passing that to me?" You ask, trying to reach for it anyway. You grin when she reaches out for it, picking it up by the handle. "Thank you..." You tell her, leaning closer to grab it from her hand. Something in her eyes shifts so fast you have no chance to really pick up on it before she grabs your hair with her other hand and pulls you back into the bars.

You scream, adrenaline pumping through your veins in an instant as you try and pull yourself away but it's too late and your screams are silenced by the blade of the knife against your throat.

Your eyes go wide as she lets you go, hands coming up to your neck out of instinct and when you pull one away it's warm and covered in red. Blood. Your own blood. You're choking, trying to breathe but the air feels sticky as you fall back. "Y/N! Y/N? Hey, look at me. Look at me!" Your best friend cries out, suddenly in front of you with his arms at your sides, lowering you carefully to the ground.

You stare up at him, hands still clasped over your neck which he matches with his own, doing his best to try and stop the bleeding. "Help! Somebody, help!" He shouts, turning and hoping help is coming as your heartbeat drums behind your ears.

Several gunshots ring out, echoing in the back of your head as you stare up at the sky and Coryo drops down on top of you, likely trying to dodge the bullets. You don't know where they were going- and you don't care.

You try and speak but no sound is coming out, just the sickening gurgle of your own blood replacing the smoothness of your voice. You know it's really not good when your vision starts to blur, the last thing you see being Coryo's panicked expression as he looks over you, desperately yelling at you to stay awake and for someone to please, please help.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

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nofomogirl · 1 day

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We need to talk about body snatching

I'm not a massive fan of the 1827 minisode - if you're curious why it bothers me, I've explained it in my post about two GO canons - but there's no denying it does an amazing job at exploring the complexity of morality and moral choices. It starts with a very black-and-white two-dimensional image and gradually adds shading and perspective, making it harder and harder to judge as we go along.

I think it's worth digging into (pun not intended but I'll take it).

Layer 1: body snatching bad

We learn someone did something

It's those first few seconds where we see a person robbing a grave, and since we know that robbing graves is a crime and generally not a good thing to do, we can quickly form a tentative conclusion that this is wrong.

Okay, in this exact instance, we immediately get enough context clues to see that this kind of judgment would be oversimplistic and superficial. Only Aziraphale, who for some reason acts as if it was his first day on Earth after a thorough memory wipe, is ready to condemn Elspeth based on just that.

Nevertheless, this is the first layer - the deed itself with no context.

Layer 2: body snatching acceptable

We learn about the person who did the thing

That's the whole journey with the first dug-up body where we get to know Elspeth and become privy to her circumstances - she's desperately poor, she has another person depending on her, she robs graves to survive. Aziraphale's suggestions that she might earn her living by selling books, weaving or farming just serve to prove how inaccessible more honest and dignified professions are to her. In turn, her comment about how she's not hurting anybody who isn't already dead hints that from the realistically available options, Elspeth could have chosen something much worse.

Technically this layer is a significant step up from layer 1 but it still isn't really challenging. Things are spelt out really loud for us, and most importantly everything we learn about Elspeth is just attenuating circumstances. To top it off both she and Wee Morag are immediately endearing. The takeaway is that sometimes things that in theory are bad can be excused which is important but the verdict still comes without any second thoughts.

Layer 3: body snatching complicated

We learn the larger context around the thing

This mostly happens when Aziraphale and Crowley discuss body snatching with Mr Dalrymple. We learn that the stolen corpses are used for a medical study that can advance human knowledge and make it possible to save living people and that surgeons have no legal means to obtain enough of them for their research - hence their need to buy them from body snatchers.

At first glance it's just more of what we got in layer 2 - more agruments in favour of body snatching that aren't all that nuanced and don't really give us any pause - just from a larger perspective, beyond Elspeth's individual experience. But if you glance more than once you'll notice this is when things stop being straightforward and easy to judge.

The moment we enter a proper grey area is when Aziraphale asks why Mr Dalrymple doesn't acquire the bodies himself. This is a very valid question - while we might easily agree that studying the human body to further medical knowledge is a good thing, and with just the slightest hesitation admit that it's acceptable to resort to using stolen bodies if that is the only way the research may continue, it's not as easy to excuse taking advantage of the poor and the desperate to do the actual stealing that we know is very dangerous.

The moment we know without a doubt we are in a proper grey area is when Mr Dalrymple laughs at Aziraphale's concern.

Objectively, the surgeon is right that it's more effective if he doesn't risk his own life in the graveyard and uses his time on actual research, teaching students and saving lives. But it's also clear he doesn't exactly see people like Elspeth as actual human beings and feels he has every right to use them. On the one hand, he is paying, on the other, he happily benefits from the cruel class system and is not even one bit remorseful about it. On the one hand, he takes risks too, on the other he has a chance of rewards Elspeth will not benefit from. It's not the poorest whose lives will get bettered by the progress of medicine, even though they're the ones who pay with their lives for that progress. And if Mr Dalrymple gets lucky and is knighted for his work (we know he wasn't in the end but it was a possibility), the poor still won't be pardoned for stealing for him. Nevertheless, he has no issue with that.

As I said, things get nuanced.

Layer 4: it's different when it's someone you know

The thing actually happens in your life

I think you'll all agree that the turning point of the minisode is when Elspeth decides to sell Wee Morag's still warm body. This is what finally leaves us speechless.

That's because up until now we've been approaching the issue intellectually. It's not that we didn't care about the characters, but we were allowed to keep a safe distance. The whole thing was like a problem to be solved - "Is body snatching right or wrong? Discuss in 500-1000 words" - and everything we've learned so far was data for this assignment. I believe that one of the reasons why this detachment came naturally was that there was a very thick line between people involved in body snatching and the bodies that were being snatched. The former were, well, people, obviously. The latter were inanimate objects.

It isn't until Wee Morag is to be sold that we are forced to see a person in a dead body. This is also when real emotions enter the equation.

This shift forces us to question our judgment for the first time. It was easy to justify Elspeth when she was selling a nameless corpse. But the fact that she decided to sell her closest companion - and most likely lover - shocks us. Something inside us strongly objects to how quickly she makes the decision.

And then there's the transaction, and it is also different when it's someone we know. The fact that we knew Wee Morag fully exposes Mr Dalrymple for the heartless jerk that he is. The way he treats Elspeth is the absolute worst and if you haven't realized he was a hypocrite earlier, you should be disillusioned by now.

But at least Elspeth is not a hypocrite, right? It may seem cold that she sold Wee Morag but it just proves she simply believed it's all right to sell a dead body, doesn't it?

Well, about that...

Layer 5: it's different when it's you

You are forced to face the thing happening to you

This layer is reached when Elspeth plans her suicide and asks Aziraphale and Crowley to bury her "somewhere where no ghouls will ever dig her back up again".

It turns out Elspeth McKinnon really was a filthy liar.

Not long ago she was insisting that body snatching doesn't hurt anyone who isn't already dead, and asking why she should let Wee Morag rot in the ground when she starves. But she wants to make sure it doesn't happen to her own body. The idea that someone might dig her up terrifies her and she calls people who do it ghouls. So why was digging up other people okay again? Why should she rot in the ground while other people suffer? There were other people living in the street where she and Wee Morag hid. Why not ask Aziraphale to give the money to them? Or just anybody in need? Why not ask to sell her body as well and use the earnings the same way?

Also, if you look at it from a certain perspective, Elspeth betrayed Wee Morag in the worst possible way. Wee Morag believed that if someone's body gets cut, that person's soul cannot enter Heaven. Yet Elspeth sold her to Mr Dalrymple, claiming that Wee Morag would have wanted her to have the means to survive. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Wee Morag would have made that sacrifice. But then Elspeth decided to kill herself and use the money she got for Wee Morag's body for her own funeral.

But does it make Elspeth wicked? Certainly not. She's simply torn by grief. I seriously doubt she's been planning to commit suicide when she was taking Wee Morag to Mr Dalrymple. She might have genuinely tried to carry on but the reality of what happened caught up to her. Mr Dalrymple's cruel words certainly didn't help her cope with a personal tragedy. I even suspect one of the reasons she sold her friend was that she had no idea what else to do with a dead body.

Does this excuse her actions? Kind of, but not really.

Elspeth was a tragic character, not an innocent lamb with a heart of gold.

The point is - can any of us really judge her?

Which, coincidentally, is a question that the original Good Omens book toyed with quite a lot.

If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #season 2 episode 3 #the ressurectionists #elspeth #wee morag #body snatching

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navree · 3 days

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still on this, THE THING IS the bones of this aren't even actually that bad.

bruce has done something horrendous, something objectively heinous, to his child, and to his child who has already suffered so egregiously in such a short lifespan (until they start letting dick grayson be a man in his thirties jason cannot be older than early twenties, like, college age early twenties, at max he's only barely legally allowed to drink). and he has the perfect out he could use if he wanted to deflect responsibility, it was zur, it wasn't really him, so he cannot really be faulted for what he's done. but he doesn't take it, he chooses the hard path but the right path, and takes responsibility. he acknowledges that even if he wasn't in his right mind, it was still him, a version of him anyway, that did something really, really bad to someone he's sworn to love and protect and who did not deserve anything like that. bruce taking the ownership for his shitty decisions rather than trying to find the loophole, that's good. and it can even work with jason attempting to brush it off, like i mentioned before, jason is canonically a forgiving person who does not prioritize himself, and will continuously turn the other cheek to those who hurt him if they happen to be people he loves. i can absolutely see jason trying to give bruce that out (though not with that fucking therapy speak bullshit, jason todd has never been to therapy because people with healthy coping mechanisms don't create the fucking red hood plan at the big age of sixteen).

the thing is, the thing that could have made this good but didn't because instead they decided to continue making this story shitty from start to finish, is that bruce can't take it. it's good that bruce is owning what happened and bearing the responsibility and referring to it as "what i did to you" rather than passing it off in a bid to get jason to move on. and it can work that jason would try to go "it's fine it wasn't really you" about it. but you lose any good when bruce agrees with him and just goes "yeah you're right. anyway!" what's the point of bruce taking responsibility for a horrific deed in a symbol of growth (and we know it's supposed to be about growth because he prefaces it with talking about how his kids are his family and he needs to acknowledge that to them and let them know what they mean to him) if it's immediately smoothed over? it's utterly meaningless, he might as well have just told jason that he can't be blamed and jason could have just nodded and agreed. the bones were there but then ya fucked it, it literally doesn't mean anything at all. it's the narrative equivalent of going "i have a lit stick of dynamite" only for someone to immediately pour water on it. it has no impact now and it loses any catharsis for the readers, let alone deflating that emotional beat in narrative and making everything just seem stupid. even if jason attempts forgiveness, it doesn't work if bruce accepts it. he needed to say that even if jason is trying to absolve him, he still did it, he still needs to own up to it, jason is still entitled to whatever feelings about it, and he still needs to fix it along with actively working for a redemption and acknowledging his responsibility in that regard. not just go "yeah you're right it's in the past hakuna matata never gonna blame myself for my own shortcomings ever again" and promptly move on to more bullshit.

and like, you're nerfing your own ability to write good stories in the future! for one, it's good if bruce grows from this whole debacle, and does consistently put effort for future issues into not just reminding himself he needs to acknowledge his family, but that he can't take the easy way out and he needs to own up to things even when they were done when he wasn't totally himself. for two, you could have a story where bruce doesn't just have to atone, he has to actually fix his mistake. jason's got this chip in him, bruce has acknowledged that this is something HE did and needs to take responsibility for, have him be the one to fix it! have him be the one to try and find a solution, a way to undo it or nerf it or get it out. have him work to fix this issue that he caused, have him be the one to attempt to mend it and do right by someone he did wrong.

not to mention, it can work from a narrative perspective. batman is a detective, have the search for a cure/fix/whatever be a detective story. false leads, dead ends, red herrings, clues that need to be uncovered, new twists and turns. and for another thing, it works to have bruce try to right a wrong he did to jason specifically. bruce's big failure, in his mind, his greatest unforgivable sin, is that he did not save jason. that jason needed his help and bruce failed him, bruce wasn't there. so it makes sense that, when given the opportunity to make up for that in a way, to be there when he's needed, to help him when he needs it, to essentially make it in time in a way he couldn't on the day jason died, of course he'd throw himself into it with 110%. of course he'd decide that, this time, he won't fail. jason is hurting and in need of help because of him but this time it won't end in the worst way imaginable. this time, bruce is gonna fix it. it would make for great storytelling, and good character moments for bruce AS a character.

but i never get the things i want so instead i got some decent legs to build on that were immediately hacked out from under me in the same fucking panel and the chip thing is likely gonna be solved off-page without any real introspection into bruce doing this really horrible thing to jason or growing from his fuckups or growing in his relationship with jason or jason dealing with this and the two of them actually putting in some work to come back together strong than ever and build a new, better baseline as bruce accepts accountability and jason offers forgiveness once it's earned, for once in his life. and this entire plotline will literally never be brought up again except to explain why tim has a clone-damian suit that looks ugly as shit.

#personal #dc comics #batman #jason todd #bruce wayne #ok NOW i'm done now i swear i'm done i'm done now #gonna go rewatch the episodes of MAWS with cunty slade wilson #to remind myself where my current allegiances lie #(ie with cunty slade wilson from MAWS because it's beautiful and it makes me feel better)#(which lord knows i need after this)

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shotmrmiller · 19 hours

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Thank you 🫡

Thinkin' bout reader who is ghost's girl and who, for some reason, needs to be punished. She's supposed to be typing up a report, but ghost has her bare ass sitting flush against his crotch, ball deep in her ass bc "only good girls get their pussy filled." They're out in a public area, anyone could walk pass the open room their in, glance in, and see reader perched on her lieutenant's lap, naked from the waist down while he's still fully clothed. But he told her to continue with her report, and she's been making good progress, so he slips a hand between her legs and pats her puffy, empty pussy, the sound of wet smacks filling the room. Reader is whining bc she's been cock warming him for almost an hour now and he hasn't given her any real reprieve.

She types her last word, sends off the email, and arches back against her lover in hopes of getting an orgasm (or five) outta him finally. But he fits his large hand around her jaw and shakes her firmly but gently, asking her if she thinks her punishment is over. She whines his name, and doesn't see or hear soap until the brush of calloused hands spread her bare thighs. She looks down and sees the scotsman on his knees between ghost's legs, his bright blue eyes zeroed in on your neglected cunt. When and how did he get here, he wasn't under the desk this whole time. "C'mon LT, the lass is askin' so sweetly, how kin ye deny her?" "Yer so eager ta vouch f'her, then you can see ta her needs, sargent."

And before you really have a say, Johnny is pressing forward and flattening his tongue from the bottom of your drooling cunt to the top of your twitching clit. The moan you let out is partly in surprise, partly in relief but mostly in pleasure. His groan is almost loud enough to drown out the murmur of Simon's voice in your ear, asking you if Johnny's mouth feels good on your needy cunt.

Outside of the room, Kyle is not quit believing what he's hearing, but it's very clear what's going on. Price spots him as he enters the hall, calling out to him before gaz shushes his captain. Price raises a brow but then they both still as your high pitched whine and stuttered gasps sound clearly from the room they're standing next to. They both listen as soap laps messily at your pussy, the sound of his wet meal almost as loud as your cries of pleasure. Ghost can be heard too, not his words but only his tone, his voice deep and rumbling as he talks to you, Johnny or both. You mewl, and all four men can practically imagine the heart eyes in your expression.

The coil low in your belly is winding tighter, thighs trembling as Ghost grinds you down on his dick, deep voice full of filth in your ear, as Johnny slurps at your sex like it's his last meal. "Yer gunna cum f'us like a good girl, isn't that right sweet'art?" Simon grunts as his hand that's circled around your neck pulls you closer against his chest. Johnny's enthusiastic groan vibrates right through you, before he suckles your achy clit into his mouth. The coil snaps and you'd arch against your boyfriend, but he's already got you locked into that position. Your thighs clamp around soaps head, flattening his ears to the sides of his shaved head. He's being crushed between your shaking thighs but you think he's enjoying it more than even you, with how he hasn't stopped moaning into your spasming pussy. Soon it's too much and you reach down to grab a tuft of his mohawk, pulling him away from your swollen sex. His face is dripping with your cum, and his tongue is lolling out, his eyes fixed on watching the way your empty cunt clenches around nothing.

You're panting, coming down gently from your high, when ghost shifts and you realize that your lover is still hard. "S'not over yet luvie."

i'd be turning this into a poly 141 x reader so fast

ghost spreading your greedy, throbbing cunt with two fingers because that's the only way johnny will ever get a taste. he's gotta feel simon's fingers touching what's his while soap eats what's simon's.

johnny watching it pulse in your pleasure, attention rapt in how your hole clamps around nothing, he can almost hear it begging for to be filled by something, anything :(

and he gives your sensitive clit a kiss only to pull away and the string of slick that stuck to his lips snaps

if you buck your hips, even if it's unbidden, you're getting a harsh smack on your hood. you'll move when you're told to and no one here has spoken unless johnny's tongue in your aching pussy has you hearing voices???

"is he tha' good, lovie? honeyed tongue so wicked you're hearin' things?"

and now soaps looking at you from between your legs, lucid blue eyes peering through his dark, long lashes and the bottom of his face glistening with your release under the soft glow of the office light.

maybe he'll reward johnny for being such a good boy and let him fuck you while ghost holds your legs by your shoulders so you can do nothing else other than take it 😌

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 23 hours

Text

Hello again everyone! Since the "Archeologist Merlin and Immortal Camelot" au won the continuation poll, here is part 3 of this au!

You can find part 1 here, and part 2 here!

As a recap for this au, Merlin died at Camlann instead of Arthur, which led to his magic dispersing and making everyone in Camelot immortal, but it could only sustain them for so long before Merlin's prophesized return, so all of Camelot spent several centuries asleep, waiting for Merlin to return. Merlin, however, is reincarnated without his memories or his magic, and becomes an archeologist who is assigned to a dig site of an old medieval city. When he returns to Camelot, his dormant magic wakes everybody up again, leading to him and his coworkers believing that they had woken up the dead somehow and now were going to be killed for it. They're captured by Arthur and the knights, who assume that Merlin still remembers everything and is being kidnapped by the other archeologists. Arthur then has dinner with Merlin and figures out that, not only can Merlin not understand what he's saying, Merlin doesn't remember him at all. Arthur tries to jog Merlin's memory, but when that fails, Arthur kisses Merlin instead, which returns his memories to him.

Now that we've recapped what's happened, onto the new stuff!

NOTE: You can find the translations of the Old English at the bottom!

After Merlin's memories returned to him, he and Arthur had a very long conversation about how Merlin hadn't actually risen from the Lake of Avalon, as Arthur believed, but was rather reborn and lived an entire life before fate brought him back to Arthur's side and returned his magic and memories to him. Arthur, very distressed, asked Merlin if he had found a new lover in his new life, if one of Merlin's coworkers whom he had imprisoned was actually Merlin's new lover.

Much to Arthur's relief, Merlin shook his head, and told Arthur with a smile that his heart had held off, waiting to return to Arthur.

After Arthur released Merlin's colleagues, they wouldn't leave, insisting that they wouldn't leave Merlin behind to suffer at the hands of a terrifying undead king. It took a lot convincing on Merlin's part to make them leave temporarily, but Merlin came up with some explanation that they had found a way for Merlin to speak their language, and he was going to negotiate with them. It was the best that Merlin could do, considering that he couldn't really tell them the full truth that he was a reincarnation of a sorcerer who was friends with the king without convincing them that he had lost his mind.

However, after Merlin proved to them that he could now speak Old English and could communicate with the "undead" knights, his coworkers hesitantly made their way back out of the castle and up to the surface. They did insist that Merlin radio up to them every day so that they knew he was safe, which Merlin readily agreed to. He liked his colleagues, he really did, and he was very grateful that they were so willing to try to protect him, but he needed to be able to get to work without their interference.

Arthur and pretty much everyone else in Camelot were under the impression that Merlin would immediately return to work in the castle, working as either Arthur's advisor or his court sorcerer, which were positions that Arthur never had the chance to elevate Merlin to before his death. Arthur had only found out about Merlin's magic moments before Merlin sacrificed his life for Arthur's at Camlann. After Arthur was able to think past the grief that clouded his every thought following Merlin's death, he had legalized magic in Merlin's memory, fulfilling his destiny before he even knew about the prophecies.

However, Merlin knew that he couldn't drop off the face of the earth to move back into Camelot. If he disappeared, someone would notify the authorities, and if the government found the immortal kingdom Camelot, then all hell would break loose. No, Merlin had to keep up appearances in the life he had built for himself since his reincarnation.

But Arthur wasn't too thrilled to hear Merlin tell him that he needed to leave so soon after he had returned.

"Hwæt eart þū blǣdere on ymbe, Myrddin? Hwī wolde þū æfre neódan to lǣfan? Hwæt is swā micel be þǣm worulde ūt þǣr þæt hit þē ættrǣde fram Camelot?"

Merlin sighed deeply, looking at Arthur's pouting face. It was nice to see that Arthur was still a prat even after centuries apart.

"Ic nele þæt þæt geweorþe, ac gif ic forwurðe to þinum sīþum, mæg folc cuman me secan. Ic nele bēon þæt wundor þæt Camelot bið on gefēa. Se weoruld is māre gefēra þonne þu hī læftest, and ic nele geseon þæt ǣnig in Camelot bēo ġehyrsted."

Arthur puffed his chest in both indignation and pride. Merlin smiled, knowing what Arthur would say next.

"Nydwracu, Myrddin! Camelot is se strangesta gefeohtan mægen on eallum lande! Wē habbað bēon untēohlic and unāslegen for fēowertig wintra þanc þīnre gife! Ic behēte þē, wē magon ġefēran ǣghwæt þæt se ūteweard weoruld hæfð to āwurpan ūs."

Merlin gave Arthur a smile, but they could both tell that it was a bit strained. Arthur truly had no idea how dangerous the modern world had become, what vile weapons of destruction mankind had developed. Merlin wished to spare him that knowledge, and certainly didn't want Arthur to see it firsthand. Arthur gave Merlin a more reassuring smile back and clapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking Merlin gently.

"Būton þon, wē habbað se strangesta wiccecræftiga on eallum weorulde on ūrum gefēohte! Nān ōðer ne mihte wið ūs ġestandan gif hī dorston ūs tō ācwellan!"

Arthur's words had Merlin laughing, and Arthur smiled at him like he'd achieved something great. Oh, Arthur truly had no idea how different the world was, how little magic was left in it.

But still, Merlin feared for the safety of all of Camelot if he stayed. No, Camelot would be safest if it remained hidden, and Merlin couldn't let any attention be brought to it. His colleagues were already too frightened by their experience and the assumed "curse" that woke up the "dead" in the castle to tell anyone about what they truly found at the dig site.

Still, Merlin needed to provide his bosses some excuse for why they shouldn't proceed with any further excavations at this site, and he needed to come up with some explanation for all of his friends and other coworkers why he would need to put his life on hold for a while to work out some plan to make sure that Camelot can continue to exist in the modern world in peace.

And to do any of that, Merlin needed to leave Camelot for the time being. And still, Arthur resisted Merlin's suggestions that he needed to leave. Merlin supposed that, to Arthur, they could stay in the castle forever and just fend off whatever attacks came their way, and so there was no reason for Merlin to leave and venture back out into the scary, unfamiliar modern world.

While Merlin was somewhat touched by Arthur's fierce protectiveness, it wasn't helping in this situation.

"Ic Arthur, ic hæfde lifode on ðære ūtan weorulde for mīn eall līf siððan ic wæs ācenned. Ic beoð swīðe sāl on ðǣr!"

Arthur's frustration made itself known as he understood the implication that Merlin had been living in such a dangerous unknown world without any Arthur or any of his friend to support him.

"Ac þū self cwæðest þæt se middangeard is geworden swīðe dēadlic stōw! Þū ne scealt þē self in swylc unnyt gefāra, nā swā hræd swā þū eart eft to ūs gewend!"

Merlin frowned, trying to come up with some sort of compromise. He needed to keep Camelot safe, but to do that, he needed to leave, which he couldn't do with an overprotective dollopheaded king blocking his exit!

"Dēst þū þincð þæt geseon ðone ūtan weorulde mihte gelǣcan ðīn fyrhto? Ic mihte niman þē and sume ōðre mid mē eft to ðǣr ic hæfde lifode for ðā fēower geara, þæt þū mæge geseon ðone nīwan weoruld fram sumum sāllicum stōwe."

It was the best solution that Merlin could come up with. If Arthur came with him, he could see how much the world had changed and keep an eye on Merlin to his own satisfaction. Arthur looked rather determined as he accepted Merlin's offer.

"Gōd, ic ālǣte hit, ac gif wē mētað in gefāra, ic bebēode þæt wē gewendan to Camelot hrædlice. Ic ne wylle þæt wē beoð besencen in ādligum getimbrung butan ǣnigum fultume."

Merlin nodded and smiled at Arthur, trying to find the words to prepare Arthur for what he would face in the outside world, but largely failing. Merlin radioed his coworkers to let them know that he was coming out of the ruins with the king in tow, much to their shock and panic.

Merlin: Hey, I'm heading back home!

Other archeologists: Yay, you've escaped!

Merlin: And I'm taking the hot maybe-undead king home with me!

Other archeologists: Damn, we didn't know that you were freaky like that Merlin. You sure that's a good idea?

Merlin: ... I don't know if there's a correct response to that.

Merlin's colleagues all held their breath as the king, still in his armor and still fully armed with aa sword, exited from the sunken castle onto the dig site. He glared at them, but allowed himself to be led by Merlin over to Merlin's care. They all let out a sigh of relief when he was finally out of sight.

Merlin, on his part, tried to describe a car to Arthur before he actually rode in one, hoping to prepare him for the inevitable shock. He can plainly see that Arthur cannot imagine the "loud horseless carriage" that Merlin was describing, but he'd see it soon enough.

Arthur was rather shocked to see Merlin's car, looking unsure of what to make of what must like to him to be a large, malformed lump of steel. Merlin coaxed Arthur into sitting in the passenger seat and buckled him in, explaining that the restraint was for safety.

Arthur had done a remarkable job of remaining calm, in Merlin's opinion, before Merlin started the car. As the engine roared to life, Arthur yelped with fright, looking frantically around the inside of the car like he was inside the body of a ferocious beast.

Merlin took a few minutes to calm Arthur down, explaining that it was normal, and the car wasn't going to hurt either of them. After Arthur's panic seemed to subside, Merlin put the car in drive and started the 45 minute trip back to his flat, with Arthur keeping a hand clenched on the hilt of his sword for the entire ride.

Luckily, the route back to Merlin's flat took them through the countryside, so Arthur didn't have to experience the sensory overload of a city, but Arthur still caught glimpses of modern-day homes and shops.

Once they arrived at Merlin's flat, Merlin gently parked his car and led Arthur up the stairs to the level where he lived. All the while, Arthur stared at everything around him, from the electric lights to the unnaturally smooth walls to the odd floors that were made of some soft material.

Eventually, they arrived at Merlin's flat, and he let Arthur inside. Arthur froze almost immediately after passing over the threshold, unsure of what to make of... anything in the space.

Absolutely nothing looked similar to what was in Camelot. Arthur slowly made his way into the middle of the room, his hand still clenched on his sword's hilt. Everything looked so strange and foreign, with possible dangers hiding behind every corner.

Merlin tried to show him a few things, like how the torches in the ceiling could be lit and extinguished by flipping a little nub on the wall, which must b the work of sorcery, or how the strange steel box in Merlin's kitchen could keep food cold for days, which Arthur had been intrigued by. Merlin must have used his magic to capture the northern tundra in this box!

Merlin then showed him the "living room", where there were more familiar things like chairs and bookshelves, but also a strange black box on the wall. Perhaps it was some odd decoration?

Then Merlin showed him the bedrooms, which were, to Arthur's relief, not that different from bedrooms in Camelot. There was a bed, chests of drawers, and a room that acted similarly to a wardrobe.

However, Merlin then showed him the bathroom, where there was a bathtub that magically filled itself with water coming from the wall, and a latrine that magically cleaned itself with water!

After the tour, Merlin sat him down on the wide seat on the living room and told him to relax while he had to send a message to someone.

From there, I imagine this au could go two ways. Either it becomes a funny sitcom with Merlin trying to get his medieval friends accustomed to modern-day life, or it becomes an angsty drama about Merlin having to live a double life and having to live with being caught between two different worlds, knowing that if the government or the general public knew about his magic or Camelot's existence, it would mean disaster for everyone he cares about. I'll let you guys decide which version you like more!

TRANSLATIONS:

Hwæt eart þū blǣdere on ymbe, Myrddin? Hwī wolde þū æfre neódan to lǣfan? Hwæt is swā micel be þǣm worulde ūt þǣr þæt hit þē ættrǣde fram Camelot? = What are you blabbering on about, Merlin? Why would you ever need to leave? What's so great about the world out there that it would pull you away from Camelot?

Ic nele þæt þæt geweorþe, ac gif ic forwurðe to þinum sīþum, mæg folc cuman me secan. Ic nele bēon þæt wundor þæt Camelot bið on gefēa. Se weoruld is māre gefēra þonne þu hī læftest, and ic nele geseon þæt ǣnig in Camelot bēo ġehyrsted. = If the people in the outside world find out about Camelot, they might try to attack. I don't want that to happen, but if I disappear to stay with you all, people might come looking for me. I don't want to be the reason that Camelot is put in danger. The world is a much more dangerous place than you left it, and I don't want to see anyone in Camelot get hurt.

Nydwracu, Myrddin! Camelot is se strangesta gefeohtan mægen on eallum lande! Wē habbað bēon untēohlic and unāslegen for fēowertig wintra þanc þīnre gife! Ic behēte þē, wē magon ġefēran ǣghwæt þæt se ūteweard weoruld hæfð to āwurpan ūs. = Nonsense, Merlin! Camelot is the strongest fighting force in all the land! We have been untouchable and undefeated for centuries thanks to your gift! I assure you, we can handle anything that the outside world has to throw at us.

Būton þon, wē habbað se strangesta wiccecræftiga on eallum weorulde on ūrum gefēohte! Nān ōðer ne mihte wið ūs ġestandan gif hī dorston ūs tō ācwellan! = Besides, we have the strongest sorcerer in the world on our side! No one else would stand a chance against us if they dared to attack!

Ic Arthur, ic hæfde lifode on ðære ūtan weorulde for mīn eall līf siððan ic wæs ācenned. Ic beoð swīðe sāl on ðǣr! = Arthur, I have lived in the outside world for my entire life since I was reborn. I will be perfectly safe out there!

Ac þū self cwæðest þæt se middangeard is geworden swīðe dēadlic stōw! Þū ne scealt þē self in swylc unnyt gefāra, nā swā hræd swā þū eart eft to ūs gewend! = But you said yourself that the world has become a much dangerous place! You shouldn't put yourself in such unnecessary danger, not so soon after you've returned to us!

Dēst þū þincð þæt geseon ðone ūtan weorulde mihte gelǣcan ðīn fyrhto? Ic mihte niman þē and sume ōðre mid mē eft to ðǣr ic hæfde lifode for ðā fēower geara, þæt þū mæge geseon ðone nīwan weoruld fram sumum sāllicum stōwe. = Do you think that seeing the outside world would help ease your fears? I could take you and a few others with me back to where I've been living for the past few years, so that you can see the new world from somewhere safe.

Gōd, ic ālǣte hit, ac gif wē mētað in gefāra, ic bebēode þæt wē gewendan to Camelot hrædlice. Ic ne wylle þæt wē beoð besencen in ādligum getimbrung butan ǣnigum fultume. = Fine, I'll allow it, but if we run into danger, I demand that we return to Camelot at once. I do not want us to be caught in a dangerous situation without any backup.

And that's all for now for this au! Quick question for everyone though: I feel like I've got enough material already written on this au to reformat it a bit and post it as a fic on ao3. Would you all like for me to do that? Please let me know if so!

And thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin au #merthur #merlin prompts

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groverapologist · 3 days

Text

how i think things would've been different if the "to storm or fire" line was explored more:

jason and leo are immediately aware of what that line means. no one else could be fire but leo. there's a bit more confusion with the storm line as zeus and poseidon can both control storms, but jason can tell it's him. zeus is the obvious answer. jason and leo are the more obvious pair.

jason and leo are typically very vocal with each other whenever anything has hurt or distressed them. they immediately talked after the medea situation, they discussed leo's fear of his own fire, leo was there for jason when he discovered the truth about his mom. however, both of them had already decided they would die for the other, making discussing it much more difficult to talk about it.

they both make an oath to do whatever it takes to protect each other and piper ("an oath to keep with a final breath").

as leo plans, he refuses to tell anyone what he's going to do until he absolutely has to tell Hazel. jason tells piper and gives her the option to opt out of the relationship, but she says no.

piper's feelings when she finds out are obviously very conflicted. she knows she's losing either her best friend or her boyfriend. she tries to put up a brave face, especially after jason confides in her about his plans to sacrifice himself first, but it's clearly taking a toll on her. she cannot find comfort in either ending.

the two continue to refuse to talk about it, and there's always a silent acknowledgment of what they're going to do. there's also the knowledge that neither would let the other die for them.

when they discover the physician's cure, all three of them get excited at the prospect. however, jason is more apprehensive, and he quickly begins to doubt he could cheat the prophecy. they still go forth with getting it created.

leo and hazel continue with their plan, but leo tells festus that if both he and jason are dead, to inject jason with it instead. he also tells festus to wait until the very final moment to resurrect leo to make sure everything else has gone right and no one else needs the vial instead.

the day before the final battle, jason and leo have a talk, and they're both aware this would probably be the last one they have. they discuss the physician's cure, and jason talks to him about his doubts. he says he believes he'll be rekilled anyways, that hades does not take kindly to resurrection and that the prophecy was probably final. leo, now nervous, tells him it doesn't hurt to try. jason shrugs.

they talk for hours, both afraid and knowing the other was the only one who understands the fear despite their refusal to discuss the topic with one another. by the end of their talk, they tell each other they're gonna miss each other. this is the most they ever talk about it.

the day after, jason's plans immediately go wrong. nothing works as it is meant to, but leo, whose plans were much more broad and "near the end of everything" based, was struggling way less. the two don't see each other for most of the battle.

jason is anxious that he can't see leo.

jason is forced to abort the plan all together and search for when leo is trying to sacrifice himself and stop him. he and piper search for leo, but leo finds them first when he and festus have to save the two when they were falling.

when the sacrifice happens, jason quickly realises what's going on, and dread immediately fills him. he failed in saving leo.

the battle ends, jason mourns. he thinks that's the end of it.

festus had taken leo's body far away as it waits for the last final moment to inject leo with the cure, just as leo had explained.

it takes a while to work. leo only wakes up a few days later, and his bones feel brittle, but he's happy because it worked. jason's words still live in his head, but it worked.

leo begins his flight back to camp halfblood, but he's stopped by apollo who asks for his help. leo agrees, and he sends messages to jason, piper, and hazel explaining what happened.

it takes a while longer before he finishes his work with apollo, and by that time he gets to iris message jason and piper separately. this, unbeknownst to him, is because they had broken up in the aftermath of everything. he also calls hazel and nico, who confirms hades is not expecting leo back.

festus breaks down by the end of his work with apollo, and while apollo leaves, leo works in fixing festus before continuing his path back to camp.

in that time, apollo continues his quest. he asks piper and jason for help.

jason is told either he or piper would die in the process of helping apollo. jason immediately realises it has to be him and that leo wasn't as successful in cheating the prophecy as he thought he was. he's not angry. he just accepts it.

jason calls leo one last time and goes ahead with the prophecy. when jason is killed, he's only glad he kept the oath to protect leo and piper.

#take this as platonic or romantic idec #valgrace #heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #leo valdez #jason grace #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 days

Text

THE MEDIATOR AND THE INSTIGATOR.

(moon system) marc spector x reader — angst

summary. you and marc have been casually dating for a while now, though he finds it hard to admit his feelings. steven fronts to comfort you after a tiny argument, and he finds it hard to contain his own feelings towards you

word count. 1290

wrote this to get me out of a writers block and did a spinning wheel to help. so here we are, enjoy the slight heartache x

With Marc, things weren't always so straightforward. Either things were dramatised and blown beyond proportion or, on the contrary, brushed under the carpet and ignored. It was tricky to find a plain levelling road between you.

You've been seeing each other casually for the last several months, and it was still so hard to pull a genuine emotional response from Marc. Just something to let you know he felt the same way as you, just something to let you know you were both going in the same direction.

He kept his feelings behind a stoic wall, never wanting to allow someone the opportunity to jump it. Although sometimes, he would show small snippets of his feelings towards you - doing something cute and instantly brushing it off with a casual, throwaway comment: a singular flower on your pillow in the morning or your favourite snack stocked in the cupboards, for him to then say he doesn't know how it got there.

It's little things like these that you desperately clung to, tiny moments that gave you hope.

You often felt a continuous spiral of confusion revolving around your own feelings. In your heart, you knew you wanted to give things a genuine go with Marc, but that lingering thought remained intact in the forefront of your mind. The thought that you shouldn't have to convince someone to be with you - that you should never have to force someone to want you.

You had stayed over Marc's last night, and you woke this morning to an empty bed and a flower resting on your phone atop the nightstand. You smile at the singular red rose and sit up, placing your hand on Marc's side of the mattress - feeling how warm it is. He must've been up a while because the sheets were stone cold.

Scooching across the bed, you stand and slip on your pyjama bottoms - walking out of the bedroom to locate Marc. Within a few quick moments, you find him sitting at the kitchen table - a bowl in front. He gives you a short nod, lips forming an ever-so-faint smile when you get closer.

He was distancing himself again.

"Morning," you say, walking past him. You grab a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer and go to sit opposite him, filling your dish with the cereal on the table. "Do you want to do something today?" you ask, pouring the milk into your bowl.

"Can't. I have plans," he says, tone like that of dismissal. He stands, picking up his bowl to place it in the sink - leaving you again.

You nod, sadly smiling as you prod your spoon into the floating flakes. "What about after?" you offer, trying again.

"I'll let you know," he murmurs, barely looking over his shoulder, heading for the bedroom.

You sigh, feeling frustrated. Moments like these undid all the progress between you. Everything you worked so hard towards - gone. You no longer felt like eating your breakfast, and as the seconds passed, you stayed there at the empty table, staring at the pieces of cereal growing soggy.

You hear scuffling from the other room, presumably from Marc getting ready for the day - you hear muffled talking, though no words are cohesive enough for you to pick up on. You sit there, silently debating what to do. One part was begging to barge into the room and force him into talking. The other part had the urge to get up and leave.

You decide partially on the latter and stand from your seat at the table, walking across his apartment and into his bedroom. You knock firmly at the ajar door, peering your head through the gap.

"I need to get my clothes. Can I come in?" you ask, tone pointed.

He hums faintly, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he moves to pull on the handle - letting you in.

Keeping your eyes away from his direction, you walk around his bed and collect your things - throwing everything in your overnight bag.

"Where are you going?" Marc questions, halting in his placement by the dresser.

"Home," you reply shortly, continuing to pack your belongings. You undress and put on what you wore last night when you came over - throwing your sweats back on.

"Why?" he asks, voice far more gentle than those moments before in the kitchen.

You ignore his questioning and shove on your shoes. But Marc is quick to notice your attempts to leave, so he moves to stand in front of the bedroom door - blocking it.

Your head cocks to the side as you sigh, unamused by his sudden care. You step forward, hoping that he'll take the hint and step aside, though he doesn't.

"Why?" he repeats, his tone just as desperate - maybe even more so.

"I don't feel welcome here, I just want to go home," you reply honestly, gesturing for him to move. "We'll talk about it another day, just not now."

"Let's talk about it now," he prompts, eyes soft as he focuses on you. It was clear he didn't want you leaving him, especially right now.

"You never want to talk about anything."

"I want to now."

"What? When I'm trying to leave? That's when you care?"

He stills, his expression firming. Unknowingly you hit a sore spot. "Yeah, go on, then. Leave. Everyone else does, anyway," he sneers, moving from the door - walking to stand in his previous spot in front of the dresser.

You pause, taken aback by his comment. Does he not know how hard you've tried with him? How patient you have been?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask turning to face him, voice firm and frustrated.

He's focused on the mirror ahead, looking at himself - muttering things to the other person in the reflection.

You linger in your spot, waiting for Marc to say something. Though he never does.

"Alright?" he greets - the face is the same, but the accent is not.

"Steven?" you question, your tone far softer now.

He hums, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, patting beside him. You follow suit, sitting next to him - hand beside his.

"He's trying," Steven says, speaking like the mediator. "He just finds it... hard."

You nod. You understood, you understood it all. You knew of his past, and why he is the way he is - and that's why you were always so patient with him. It wasn't his fault. It's just how he is, the way he grew up. You were just hoping that by now, he'd be comfortable enough to let you in the same way you did him. If there is no trust, how ever can it work?

"I just wish..." you pause, twisting around to face Steven. "I wish he was honest with me— you are," you pick up his hand, holding it in yours. "You're honest."

He sighs faintly with a soft shake of the head, retracting his hand from your hold. "Give him a chance— just one more, yeah?"

You awkwardly place your hands on your lap, moving them away from Steven.

"Marc loves you, you know. He really does," he says, voice gentle, his face wounded. He diverts from your gaze, turning away to look at the mirror. "He just can't admit it to himself."

You follow his eyeline, trying to see what he sees, but he's quick to turn back around - his gaze now locked on you beside him. He's quiet as he places his palm over your knee, the warmth and touch familiar like all those times before - it's Marc.

"I'm ready to talk now."

never wrote them together before/ part of the moon system, scary shit

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector angst #marc spector x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant angst #steven grant x you #moonknight x reader #moon boys #moon knight #moon system

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frostyhelltime · 4 hours

Text

Alastor Realizes He Has Feelings For You

Alastor x GN!Reader

AN: A lovely anon sent in a request for a few of the guys realizing they have feelings for the reader, and Alastor's got...so far away from me that I decided to give him his own post, and I'll link this in the ask I actually answer. I just had so much fun writing Alastor freaking the hell out once he realizes.

HERE is the link for the ask if anyone is curious to see this prompt with Lucifer or Vox.

Alastor

In order of which of the guys notices first, Alastor realizes it dead last.

Which makes sense. He had long thought himself incapable of such feelings toward someone. There had never been anyone he had felt that particular inclination towards before, so he assumes at first that what he has with you is just…a very intense friendship, almost like him and Rosie, just with some odd caveats.

Once he does realize he'll immediately go to Rosie for some advice since it's…clearly not his area of expertise.

He doesn't even notice it, someone else points it out to him.

He's in a piss poor mood as he goes about the hotel. He hasn't yet figured out it's because you've been too busy to see him for the past four days.

Until someone gets mad enough at him to talk back.

Alastor is sitting in the lobby, impatiently tapping his foot as he wallows and waits, sipping a glass of rye as Husk made a point to only come over to his side of the bar when it looked like he needed something.

Alastor was struggling, trying to figure out why his mood has been so sour these past few days. Things had been fine, delightful even! The hotel was taken care of, his broadcasts went well, why he even went for a nice stroll in Cannibal Town to visit Rosie. By all means a perfect few days.

So why was his patience for everything wearing oh so thin? He sighs a moment and makes a sound almost like a growl to himself as he tries to puzzle this out. This was so infuriatingly perplexing!

It isn't much longer until Angel Dust is so fed up with Alastor ruining the good mood of the bar as he tries to flirt with Husk that he actually addresses the Overlord.

“Look Smiles. Just because you're all sad ya lovely little lover has been too busy to even say hi the past few days, doesn't mean you've gotta take it out on us. I'm trying to hit on the barman but your pissy mood is killing it.” Angel says, throwing a hand up from the other side of the bar.

“Operative word here being try, not succeeding at.” Husk says dryly, closer to Angel’s side.

“Yeah yeah. You secretly adore me. Don't worry. I'll keep your secret.” Angel winks at him as Alastor tries to decipher what it is Angel just said.

“...Lover?” He asks, trying to clarify, tilting his head to the side. He's so flummoxed he even stops tapping his foot. He says it like someone sounding out a foreign word for the first time.

“...Are they not your lover?” Angel raises an eyebrow, putting his drink down a moment. “I mean the way you two act…I thought you were dating and just keeping it a secret.” Angel shrugs, and only then does it click Angel is talking about you. There's no one else in the hotel that he's consistently friendly enough with that that mistake could happen.

Once he figures it out he just cackles a moment, deep and loud, with his free hand over his stomach as he fails to contain his amusement.

“Oh my dear Angel, no!” He says, chuckling a little more before continuing, shaking his head. “They're just a very dear friend.” Alastor explains, waving off the idea. “Besides why would I be upset they haven't been around? I don't see Rosie every day and I'm perfectly fine.” He says, although he doesn't really need to explain himself to them anyway.

But it doesn't seem to convince Angel who just looks at him with skepticism.

“Surely you jest! What evidence have I possibly given to suggest they are more than a dear friend?” Alastor asks, sure Angel has nothing concrete.

“Well, for starters, they can touch you whenever and however they want. You let them in your personal bubble and you fucking hate people being in your personal bubble.” Angel begins to explain, holding a finger up.

“I'm the same way with Rosie, and Mimzy, to a degree.” Alastor shoots down that theory easily.

“You've been in an increasingly shit mood with a short fuse since they've been too busy to see you.” Angel tries again, holding up a second finger.

“Preposterous. I don't know why I'm in such a frustrated mood, but I assure you it isn't them. Perhaps I'm feeling a bit of cabin fever and need to spend more time out and about in the city…?” The last bit is mostly Alastor's own suggestion to himself. "Perhaps too much time in the hotel..?" He continues wondering aloud.

Angel just rolls his eyes and sighs, rubbing his forehead with a free hand a moment.

“You get them presents! And do things for them without ever asking for a deal!” Angel tries again, holding up a third finger, but Alastor just shakes his head.

“I won't deny I do that, but I fail to see the connection between that behavior and them supposedly being my lover.” Alastor shakes his head, finding Angel's arguments far too easy to poke holes into.

Angel thinks he's about to scream with how absolutely daft this guy was in regards to his emotions apparently.

“You let them in your radio station, even when you're broadcasting, have picnics in your freaky weird swamp thing in your room, smile so much brighter as soon as you catch sight of them! You obviously have a big fat crush on them!” Angel almost shouts, standing and throwing all four arms up in absolute and utter exasperation.

"Am I fucking crazy or what? I can't be the only one who sees this?!" Angel sighs heavily as he turns to Husk who shakes his head.

"I'm not getting involved in this." Is all Husk says, although he stays close to Angel, as if to protect him should something go wrong.

“...None of that is something you would only do with a lover and not a friend.” Is all Alastor says through his smile. Not a denial of any of those actions, he has done all of those things. But he still thinks Angel is jumping to some rather far fetched conclusions.

Husk just knows Angel is right, but knows there's no way of convincing the guy unless it hits him right in the face, and Husk knows something you feel over a crush that you don't with a friend.

Jealousy.

“I don't even know why you're bothering trying to set them up Angel. They already have a hot date this weekend anyway so what does it matter if he has a crush on them or not?” Husk says so casually, it comes across like it could only be true. He curses at himself in his head for saying he wouldn't get involved and then immediately doing so before Angel Dust could upset Alastor.

There's a loud pop of static that sounds off from Alastor's direction, and Husk thinks he's right on the edge of making him realize.

“No kiddin’? Man. That blows Smiles. Sorry.” Angel blinks, slumping a bit before sitting back down and drinking. “Huh. I wonder if that's why they asked me for outfit advice the other day? Said they really wanted to wow someone.” Angel taps his glass as he thinks, having absolutely no idea if Husk is lying, but playing along anyway.

“How’d they ask them out anyway?” Angel asks curiously, because if it's true he does want to know, and if it isn't he's sure the answer will rile Alastor up anyway.

“Some newbie sinner approached them while they were grabbing a snack from that bakery they like, and said something about having a crush on them and asked them out to some jazz show or something, I don't remember. They seemed pretty excited.” Husk says as he refills Angel's drink now. However Alastor's drink just shatters in his hand at this information and he just looks down in surprise.

He hadn't been holding it that tight, had he? He looks equally confused and irritated at the mess of glass and rye on the bar top and in his hands. But why was he upset? He was never upset whenever Rosie got a new husband. He couldn't actually be jealous could he? Just the very idea makes him want to scoff. He doesn't get jelaous. But the image of you on some date with some pathetic unworthy creature as you laughed at their jokes and leaned in closer, hand gently on their arm as you pressed your lips against thei-

He's standing up, letting out a deep breath to calm himself, clearly upset as he let his thoughts run away from him. He turns to look at the two there and sees them looking quite scared, and covering their ears. Oh. His static was exceptionally loud right now, wasn't it? He quickly fixes that and adjusts his jacket with tight hands. He doesn't even bother to think of an excuse as he melts into the shadows, appearing in the bog in his room, pacing rapidly.

“Surely…not?” He asks himself aloud as he paces amongst the trees, allowing himself to feel the full panic and upset now that he was behind closed doors. He's rubbing his chin as he thinks, trying to logically figure this out.

“Why do I care if they date someone?” He asks himself, gripping his head as if it hurts from trying to figure out this riddle. He thinks his head actually is starting to hurt, since the answer was beginning to dawn on him, and it was terrifyingly uncharted territory. “No, no. Impossible. I'm confused. Perhaps I'm ill?” He suggests, taking his hands down, bringing one hand up to feel his forehead.

“....That excuse sounds absolutely pathetic.” He grits out, fist swinging and demolishing a tree in his way. But it doesn't make him feel any better. Doesn't make him feel anymore in control. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes that on the surface, his interactions with you and Rosie are a little different.

When he gets Rosie presents it's just a simple “Here you are dear! I thought of you!” And then they share a laugh as she thanks him. But when he gives you a present, he waits eagerly, eyes scrutinizing every aspect of your being as you open it. His posture is stiff but practiced as he awaits your reaction, only relaxing when he sees the ecstatic smile on your face as you begin to thank him.

He doesn't mind Rosie touching him, and in fact on some days actually quite enjoys it. But with you he wants it, moves instinctively towards your touch instead of away.

Fuck. That stupid spider was right, he realized with a swell of panic and fear at this new unknown variable.

He…loves you? It still didn't sound right, but the more he thought about it the more he realizes it could only unfortunately be true. When had you wrapped him around your little finger so tightly? And how hadn't he realized?!

He's even more upset now at how far gone he was on you without realizing. The radio demon has a weakness. Even just thinking the phrase makes the sensation of bile rise in his throat and he has to sit down a moment to collect himself again.

His entire body is stiff and agitated as he tries to come to terms with this. Until he hears a knock on his door.

“Alastor? Are you in there? It's me. Husk said you seemed like you were in a sour mood. So I thought I would come check on you. Can I come in?” Your voice rings through the door crystal clear and he sucks in a breath and pays attention to his reactions now.

His stiff muscles began to relax and soften, the frustration that was so unbearable he had begun tearing apart trees seemed so…distant now. Surely an over exaggeration to lose his cool like that. He sighs and looks down.

Angel had been right.

But…now that he knows…all he needs to do now is get you wrapped just as tightly around his finger as he was around yours. There is no danger of feeling jealousy or rejection or heartbreak or of him possibly being controlled by you or anything of the sort if he ensures you fall for him as splendidly as he has apparently fallen for you.

With that in mind he stands now, ready to face you with this new knowledge. He's dusting himself off and then opening his door, smiling at you in the typically charming way he knows had a tendency to make people swoon when he was alive, and even now in death. Just because he hadn't had an interest in dating didn't mean he didn't know how to charm someone.

“How kind to come check on me.” He drawls almost sweetly as he snatches your hand as gently as possible before bringing it to his lips, eyes half-lidded as he peers at you, studying your expression. He feels confident from the sound of the slight intake of your breath and the small flush of red dusting your cheeks that he very well still has a chance to edge out any competition for your affections.

“Well now my dear I'm in a much less sour mood now that I have such exquisite company. If you're not too tired I would love to know what's captured your time so much these past few days. Come on in.” His smile is charming, a predator seeming to eye his unaware prey as he opens the door further to let you in, your eager smile mollifying him for the moment.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor

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