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somanyratsinthewalls · 5 months

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Kinktober Special Part 8

Mo’s Kinktober Special

The Crew’s Whore (Part 8) (+18)

!!!!!!MINORS DNI!!!!

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

WC: 2600 lol

TWs: IT’S FOOT TIME! FOOT FETISH WARNING! Man I am not even into feet but this kinda did it for me. In my brain Law is canonically into feet in a weird way. Unprotected sex, p in v sex, table sex, alcohol consuption, toe sucking lmao, just fetish shit yeah.

——

The trip to the next island was turning out to be longer than anticipated due to poor weather. The Straw Hat pirates had allied themselves with now-warlord-of-the-sea Captain Trafalgar Law and were harboring him on their ship as they sailed towards the next part of their plan as an alliance. The weather had finally turned pleasant so of course Luffy ordered Sanji to prepare a huge feast, complete with piles of steaming food and barrels of cold booze.

Eating and drinking were two of you favorite activities, second and third only to fucking, so you were thrilled at the prospect of a little party. No one had approached you yet and asked you for your time tonight, everyone being so busy setting up for the party and all… but you expected that to change as the night went on. Because you anticipated being taken for your services tonight, you took the time to bathe and clean yourself up a little extra nice.

You curled your hair into soft waves and spent half an hour caking your face and painting your lips a glossy sheer crimson before heading to your closet and picked out an outfit. You settled on a flouncy little baby pink dress, the layered fabric sheer and light. The soft pink hem swished high up on your thighs, leaving very little of your legs to the imagination. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you decide to play it up even further and crouched down to grab a pair of red high heels from under your bed. You slipped on the pumps and with a final twirl in the mirror headed out to the party.

The deck of the ship was buzzing with the sounds of your crew mates enjoying themselves. Brook was serenading the party with a jaunty tune to which Chopper and Nami were dancing, Luffy was busying himself with the sumptuous spread Sanji prepared, all while Zoro was ahead of the game and drinking himself into oblivion. Law was seated at the same table as Zoro, seemingly having much less of a nice time. The mysterious doctor was hunched over and stared emotionless into his drink, puffy brim of his hat shielding most of his face.

You noticed your friend Robin leaning up against the back wall of the Sunny with a glass of red wine in hand and bit of a scowl on her face.

“You don’t look pleased with the festivities.”

“See that target they put up at the end of the ship?” Robin nods behind you.

You turn and do indeed see a large target placed near the head of the Sunny.

“Yeah?” You inquire.

“Usopp and Franky keep having shooting contests. Franky keeps losing but he won’t give up. I don’t think they’ve sat down all night, and his face is as red as a tomato. Kind of embarrassing…” Robin giggles a little.

“Are you surprised? I guess they’ll be out of our hair for the rest of the night then.” You laugh.

“That’s my point.” Robin rolls her eyes. Your brows raise in realization.

“Ohhhh… you were trying to get laid! I get it now! Well no one’s approached me if you’re still up for it later…” You wink.

“Thank you sweet y/n, always so thoughtful!” Robin sips her wine. “I’ll see if I can find you later if I’m still feeling up for it. Go get a drink and enjoy the party, dear!” Robin waves you on to the kitchen.

You enter the galley and are immediately met with a very sweaty, stressed out Sanji.

“Hi handsome.” You purr as you approach the blonde at the stove.

“Oh, hello my love. I’m afraid the voracious appetite of our captain has rendered me incapacitated for the rest of the evening, the fucking glutton…” Sanji sighs.

“Aww, my poor, tired, love cook.” You coo as you push his bangs out of his eyes. You place a kiss on his cheek. A droplet of blood escapes Sanji’s left nostril. “Well I’ll leave you to it then.” You grab a bottle of cold wine from the fridge and a glass from the shelf and carry them both out to the deck with you.

You stroll over to the table where Law and Zoro were seated, now joined by Luffy whose cheeks were stuffed to bursting with various meats and cheeses.

“You gentlemen mind if I sit with you?” You ask while already sitting down across from Law.

“Not at all, pretty thing. Come have a drink with us.” Zoro smirks at you, holding his hand out to take the wine bottle from you. You oblige and he unsheathes a single blade to pop the cork off for you in dramatic fashion.

“My hero.” You chide as the swordsman fills your glass to the brim. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk, Mr. Roronoa.”

“And what if I am? You say the filthiest shit after you’ve had a whole bottle of wine and it’s fucking incredible.” Zoro shoots you a hungry look as he downs another cup of sake. Luffy giggles. Law straightens up and gives Zoro a confused look.

“Not much of a talker, are you, Trafalgar?” You turn your attention to Law.

“I didn’t know the two of you were a couple.” He states blankly.

“We’re not. I’m seeing everyone.” You smirk across the table at the foreign captain. He looks even more confused. “It’s what I do. I love making my crew mates happy, you can understand that, can’t you?”

Without time to answer, Luffy interjects.

“Haha you should give her a try, Traffy! She’s really something hehe!”

Law’s eyes widen.

“Yeah why not, Tra-Guy? You’re already here eating our food and drinking our booze, why not sample some of the other amenities we have here on the Sunny.” Zoro chuckles as he pours himself another cup of liquor. Zoro must be quite fond of Law, as sharing you is never something he likes to bring up.

“I’m sorry… are you offering me… her? Shouldn’t she be doing that?” Law looks a bit offended.

“Would that make you feel better? My services apply to guests of the Straw Hat pirates as well, and I assure you I can meet whatever needs you may have.” You swirl you wine in the glass and take a long sip.

“Um… No.. that’s.. that’s quite alright, thank you.” Law stutters out his refusal.

“You don’t know what you’re turning down, man. Whatever you’re into, and I mean whatever, she can do it. Sweetest pussy in the Grand Line.” Zoro leans back in his chair.

“Zoro! Don’t be so vulgar around our guest.” You scold the swordsman.

“Whatever, his loss.” Zoro shrugs and slams another drink.

— —

After hours upon hours of dancing and drinking, the party had thinned out quite a bit. Now that things were winding down, you notice the painful ache in your feet from wearing high heels all night. Most everyone had headed to bed and you were considering doing the same until you spy your unfinished bottle of wine on the table with Law still dated at it, alone now.

You sit down across from Law and take a swig from the bottle directly, your glass having been lost several dances ago.

“Classy.” Law remarks from across the table.

“Never said that was part of my resume.” You smirk and take another swallow of alcohol. You pull your feet up into your lap and groan. “God this is the last fucking time I wear these heels.”

You slip off one of your shoes and behind massaging the heel of your foot with both hands. You pause your ministrations to grab another sip of wine when you notice Law’s eyes on you. They weren’t on your breasts close to spilling out of your low cut dress, or your plush thighs squishing against the wood of the bench you were sitting on… they were on your foot in your lap.

There it is.

Ideas filled your head on how to finally break this stoic stranger.

“You’re a doctor, right?” You ask innocently.

“Huh?” Law responds, having been snapped out of what seemed like a trance. “Um, yeah.”

“Could you maybe feel right here? I think it could be swollen.” You extend your nearly naked leg across from you and push the table to the side so that there was nothing between the two of you.

“It..i-it doesn’t look swollen… but if you really want I could… I could take a closer look…” He hesitantly up at you before returning his gaze to your perfectly pedicured foot.

“I’d love that. Thank you.”

Law gingerly takes your foot in both hands and presses firmly into where you were pointing. You squirm a bit, feet incredibly sore from dancing all night. Law starts to rub up and down from your toes to your heel, intently examining every inch. You couldn’t help but notice how his mouth was now parted and his breathing quickened as he stroked your foot.

He stopped abruptly and released your foot from his hold.

“I-it seems fine. You should be fine.”

You drop your foot directly into his lap and push it firmly against the crotch of Law’s jeans.

“Are you sure, doctor? I think you should check again.” You flash him a devious smile as you take another swig from the bottle.

“W-what are you doing, y/n?” Law sputters out, sweat forming on his temples. You feel his cock begin to stir under the sole of your foot.

“You know, Traffy, we could have a lot of fun together…” You push harder against his erection with your foot.

Law winces but he doesn’t respond.

“Y-yeah?” He manages to pant out.

You begin to slowly stroke your foot over his denim clad member, feeling it from base to tip, hot and aching to be freed.

“Mhmm… Why don’t you take him out so we can play? You’re so hard Traffy, must hurt… We’re the only ones left out here, no need to be shy anymore…” You giggle.

Law sucks in a breath before eventually undoing his belt and jeans buttons. His cock springs up as he pulls it out his pants and briefs, laying rigid against his abdomen.

“Wow… you have such a pretty cock, Traffy…” You coo at him as you slip your left shoe off your foot and allow it to join your other foot in his lap.

“D-don’t call me that…” Law whispers out.

“Sorry…” You begin rubbing both of your feet up and down Law’s now exposed length. He watches your movements in awe as his mouth hangs farther open than before. “You’re just so cute I can’t help but tease you…”

Law pays your words no mind as he is mesmerized by the sight of your pretty little feet stroking his cock. Soft pants leave his lips as you continue working him over.

“You wanna cum like this, or do you wanna fuck me, Law?” You ask as you slide the ball of your right foot over his leaking tip.

Without responding verbally, Law grunts and leans forward to pick you up by your waist and lay you down roughly on the table you had scooted out of the way earlier. He rips his shirt over his head, keeping his hat in place. He wastes no time and flips up your frilly pink dress to expose your panties that had grown wet from merely giving a powerful man a foot job.

“I’m not waiting-“ Law says as he pushes your panties to the side and slides the head of his cock from your hole to your clit and back again, coating himself in your wetness. He pushes himself inside of you quickly, causing you to moan and arch your back. After a few experimental thrusts, Law picks up a quick pace and rams his hips into yours, curved cock hitting all the right places inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Law that’s so oh-!” Your eyes snap open at the foreign feeling only to see Law standing between your legs with the outside few toes of your right foot in his mouth. Eyes slammed shut, he doesn’t falter in his thrusts as he savors the taste of your skin on his tongue. He uses one hand to rub at your clit as he caresses your ankle with the other.

“Dirty boy…” You coo up at him as you rake your nails down his abdomen. “You like sucking on my toes, you filthy boy?”

“Mmmm” Law manages to groan out as he peppers wet, sloppy kisses to the sole of your foot now, making sure every inch gets his attention.

“Make me cum and I’ll let you blow all over them.” You demand as you wrap your other leg around his waist and pull him closer.

“Fuck… swordsman wasn’t kidding…” Law grunts out as he picks up the pace of his hips, plowing into you with an ungodly force. He untangles your legs from his body and pushes them up to your chest, allowing himself the perfect angle to heighten your pleasure.

With hands under the crooks of your knees, Law brings you tumbling over the edge of your high and you cried out his name to the starry sky above you as your orgasm overtakes you. With your cunt still pulsing, Law pulls his aching, throbbing cock begging for release from your tight hole and begins stroking it in front of you.

Law grabs both your ankles in one hand and proceeds to blow rope after rope of hot white spend all over your delicate, pink painted toes.

Breathing heavily still, Law takes a few moments to admire his handiwork.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You quip from your exposed state on the table.

Law shoves himself back into his pants and puts his shirt back on. He surprisingly takes the time to gently put your panties back into place and pull your dress down before helping you off the table.

“You aren’t.. going to tell anyone about this… right?” He asks, hiding his eyes again with the brim of his hat.

“About what? You liking feet?” You smirk.

“Y-yeah…”

“You’re secret is safe with me, Traffy.” You say with a wink.

*A/N ........ sorry :)*

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece anime #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece smut #law x reader #trafalgar d law #one piece law #one piece trafalgar law #trafalgar law #law x y/n #law one piece #torao #traffy

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shootingstarwritings · 3 months

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Body-a-Day #2: Orb

The realm of Nadine faced utter calamity. A meteor headed off straight for the land and all seemed lost. Throughout the continent, people despaired as the news of the meteor spread.

Yet, hope was not lost. “And it shall not fall!” declared a bold young man by the name of Alfonse. He was a celebrated knight in the service of a lord of a small plot of land. Though still green in the path of knighthood, he was armed with knowledge of legends spread throughout the land. It was due to that knowledge that Alfonse set off.

“Five orbs are scattered throughout the continent,” he had told his lord. “When gathered, they are said to grant someone immense magical power to alter the very fate of the world.” With the power from those orbs, the meteor could be diverted. Perhaps even whisked away to another dimension entirely. “Please, milord… spread word of my quest. Give hope to the people of Nadine once more. That is all I ask.”

And without waiting for approval or even a response from the slack-jawed lord, Alfonse set off. He wandered the land, recruiting allies and gathering the orbs of power until he had four of the five orbs collected. A new legend took shape in Nadine, and Alfonse was right in the middle of it.

Now, the journey was near its end. Just one more week, Alfonse thought to himself as he looked up at the orange-dyed sky. He and his allies had managed to track down the fifth orb to a temple in the south.

And yet, Alfonse reminded himself, it could all be for naught. The legend could be mere hearsay with little truth to it. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling or his heart from racing. At the start of this journey, his heart had been bursting with confidence. But now that he was so close to his goal, doubts began to muddle his mind. He had met and inspired so many people throughout his quest that the mere thought of letting them down nearly crushed heart. Either that crushes me, or the meteor does, he thought, allowing an ironic smirk to cross his face.

Alfonse took a deep breath and returned to camp with a smile that had become more and more of a burden to wear.

Unbeknownst to him, the fifth orb had already been found. Spying on Alfonse’s team just outside of camp was an old rival and fellow knight of Alfonse, Kronos. Untalented in magic yet extremely gifted in the physical combat, Kronos had been tailing Alfonse and his party for most of their quest. This last stop, the Southern Temple, was the first time he had been able to beat them to an orb. At the most pivotal point, thought Kronos. In his grip was the final orb, a cloudy thing that was about the size of his fist. Finally, the limelight will shine on me.

Growing up, Kronos had always been unable to stand out compared to Alfonse. Lacking any talent in magic, he could only distinguish himself by working on his body—becoming a beefy and powerful warrior. Sadly, Alfonse’s gift for spells and his strategic mind led to accolades that far and away overshadowed Kronos’ more meager accomplishments.

Not anymore, thought Kronos as he glared at Alfonse and friends’ campfire. He waited until they settled in for the night before making his move.

Kronos, despite his large stature, was unnaturally blessed with the gift of stealth thanks to his early days of sneaking around the mess hall for midnight snacks. He carefully made his way into Alfonse’s tent and snatched up his bag which contained the orbs. Honestly, if he’s this careless with them then they’re better off in my hands, Kronos thought.

Yes, it was for the best that Kronos stole them. He continued to convinced himself of that the whole time he snuck through the campsite. Once he managed to put a good distance between himself and Alfonse's party, he broke into a sprint, giddy as a schoolboy with gossip to spread.

Not long after, Kronos found himself in a clearing with a stump near the center. He sat down and placed the orbs in the shape of a star as the prophecy claimed.

Immediately, the orbs began to glow a myriad of colors. Kronos couldn’t help but laugh and cheer in pure joy as a ball of pure, magical light rose from the orbs and grew closer to him. He cupped his hands in front of his chest, fingers trembling with excitement as he imagined how wonderful the gift of magic would finally feel! “G-Give it to me…” he said, the corners of his eyes burning. “Give me the power to be a legend. Let me be the hero that stops the meteorite.

“Better yet,” an unfamiliar voice whispered to him. Kronos whipped his head back and forth, searching for the voice’s source. “Why don’t you give me something?” Was it the orbs? Before Kronos had time to think, the light rushed past his hands and dove into his chest.

“OOF!” was all Kronos could say as he fell back on his back. His body felt full—not simply with power, but with another entity inside.

“Give me your body!” The voice shouted in Kronos’ head. He tried to struggle and protest, but began to panic as he felt himself slowly lose control over his own body. “Don’t struggle, you’ll only be hurting yourself.”

Kronos shook his head in panic. “N-No…! S-Someone, please help!” he tried to shout, but couldn’t find the strength to speak louder than a whisper. He moaned as he felt the invasive force shifting inside of him. His arms and thighs flexed and his hands began fondling his hairy and robust chest. “P-Pervert…! There’s a pervert inside of me…” Kronos tried again.

“That’s right, my little hero,” said the voice, now echoing in Kronos’ mind. “There’s a pervert inside of you… the new Kronos. But, this body is getting quite cramped. I’m afraid your turn with it is up. But thank you for molding it into such a fine shape. Don’t worry, once your soul enters the orbs, it'll be split into too many parts to feel any of the loneliness."

So what rested inside the orbs wasn’t magical power, it was someone’s soul?! “Please don’t...” begged Kronos, knowing that Alfonse was too far away to help him. “Th-This is my body, no!” But it was too late. Kronos felt himself being sucked up and split into pieces. His very essence was being torn apart by magic that his mind couldn’t comprehend.

“A-Al… save me. Please,” were Kronos’ last words before he couldn’t think anymore.

~o~

The new Kronos grunted as he tried out his new equipment. Armor discarded, he leaned against the stump as he jacked off. “It’s like masturbating for the very first time again,” he couldn’t help but chuckle. He raised an arm and took a whiff of his new musk before placing his attention back on his deliciously plump nipples.

“Wow! This body’s so sensitive,” groaned ‘Kronos’ as he began to pant, growing closer and closer to climax. “Fuck, fuck. This is me now…! I’m Kronos, I’m Kronos,” he said, laughing in joy and pleasure as he adopted his new identity. “Fuck, fuck, I-I’m… my first climax as Kronos…! Ahh, ahh, nngh…! Oh…” He bit his bottom lip as his cock shot one, two… five loads of cum onto the clearing. “How’d… you even become a warrior… with a body as erotic as this…?” ‘Kronos’ said in between pants.

With well-trained muscles, ‘Kronos’ stood up and stretched his new body, popping several joints with groans of pleasure. Each sensation was like saying hello to an old friend. He enjoyed the blades of grass tickling his bare feat and the cool night air caressing his naked flesh. He picked up an orb left on the stump and began to tell his tale to the first audience he's had in millennia.

“My name was William. I was a gifted mage in my king's court. They doubted my power and intentions, and sealed me away. Rather, they sealed William away, but now I’m you," he said with a sneer.

"Don’t worry, the name ‘Kronos’ will go down in history, just as you desired. I’ll stop that meteorite.” He raised a hand and saw the sparks of power that danced alongside his fingers. Good. None of his magical potential had faded during the soul transfer. “For now, just rest. Perhaps someone else will gather the orbs and you can escape.” He smirked at that, knowing that Kronos’ couldn’t hear him. “Farewell!”

After a quick incantation, the orbs rose to the sky and scattered throughout the continent yet again.

#male possession #male body possession #body a day #gay male possession #gay possession

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sporesgalaxy · 10 months

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grips your shoulders really tight. we all understand that Germa 66 embraces Fascist gender roles right. We all get that yeah? And it's important because it was one of the earliest things established about Germa & its royal family?

And yes, the issue with Sanji's chivalry is that some acts of chivalry are historically rooted in the assumption of male superiority.

But One Piece goes out of its way to show that Sanji isn't refusing to fight women because he thinks he has an unfair advantage. He respects the power of his female crewmates and allies.

Which seems nonsensical until we learn that Sanji's attachment to chivalry, and particularly refusing to hit women, is rooted in his love for Zeff.

To Sanji, refusing to hit women isn't a reinforcement of male superiority. It's a symbol of his bond with Zeff-- of Zeff's willingness to take responsibility for Sanji where Judge chose to neglect and abuse him for things beyond Sanji's control.

From a Doylist perspective, this can sound a little contrived on paper. But it makes perfect emotional sense to me. I've gone into a lot of detail here, but fundamentally Sanji is just unquestioningly emotionally attached to an outdated cultural ritual because of something his adoptive dad said that meant a lot to him. That's really not so complicated!

NOW. BACK TO THE FASCISM.

What we DON'T see as directly stated as "men speak with their fists," is the complimentary implication that Germa 66 also enforces fascist gender norms upon women, to some extent.

Sure, Reiju has a raid suit like her brothers and apparently goes into battle with them. But the subservient gender dynamic is still present in Reiju's genetically engineered inability to disobey her Father's orders.

Her designated number being 0 also signals inferiority to her brothers. Despite being firstborn and having many of the same supernatural abilities as her brothers, she is not a male heir and therefore doesn't count.

Sanji's mother's near-complete lack of control over her children being genetically altered, as well as her lack of control over how they were raised, further implies a STEEP and distinctly fascist-adherent gender inequality in Germa 66.

All this to say, Sanji's resulting crossed wires and strong opinions about gender are hilarious when you really understand them.

He feels strongly about placing women on a pedestal because the people who abused him considered women lesser beings, because the women in his early life did not abuse him, and because his adoptive dad said something meaningful to him right after reguegitating some unquestioned gender role stuff.

He feels strongly about being gruff and combative towards men because he was emasculated by his male abusers for being unable to fight, and because he was adopted by a ruffian chef who put on a gruff, combative front while communicating love through acts of service.

Maybe the superficial harshness was familiar enough for Zeff's kindness to feel more believable. Maybe putting on the same harsh act made it less nerve-wracking for Sanji to do the kind things he spent so long being punished for.

I don't remember where I originally planned to go with this post. I like Sanji. His relationship to gender is a fucking hilarious mess, which I can relate to. Hi Sanji. Throws him into the ocean

#1pc #1pc lb #1pc discussion #adddna

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milquetoast27 · 4 months

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Subtext in The Creeping Man

I find that this story of Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes canon features some of the most complex subtext we've had aside from A Study in Scarlet. But rather than being complex early-on because of our lack of knowledge of the characters, it is rather complicated by the fact that we both know too much and too little of their relationship. This story, with astonishing subtlety, conveys the cooperative relationship between Doyle's two characters — the nuance in their limits and strains, but also the joys that they work to reach, together. It emblemises the beauty of the Canon, where it all ties back to the joy and complexity of human understanding and belonging.

This story opens in "those latter days" (1903, near to Holmes's retirement) where Watson describes their relations as "peculiar". The word certainly feels like a euphemism from the ever-polite Dr. Watson, when it is soon made clear that their relations were far from amenable. Watson has become one of Holmes's "concentrated habits", and apparently is as good as a piece of funiture, as all of Holmes's remarks would have been as "appropriately addressed to his bedstead." It's given through snapped sentences; "I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence." This "irritation" and discordance between them is extremely concentrated in the early pages of this story, but drags through it, as well. Take, for example, the "laconic" (or perhaps iconic?) message:

"COME AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT — IF INCONVENIENT COME ALL THE SAME. S.H."

Watson gives us the original of Holmes's telegram to demonstrate to his readers just how "long-suffering" he is. A true exhaustion is apparent in how he simply shows the telegram, rather than politely referring to it. Compare this with the unendingly civil telegram sent to Watson in The Boscombe Valley Mystery, and you can see the great shift that has taken place in their alliance.

"HAVE YOU A COUPLE OF DAYS TO SPARE? HAVE JUST BEEN WIRED FOR FROM THE WEST OF ENGLAND IN CONNECTION WITH BOSCOMBE VALLEY TRAGEDY. SHALL BE GLAD IF YOU WILL COME WITH ME. AIR AND SCENERY PERFECT. LEAVE PADDINGTON BY THE 11.15."

While long-term and intimate relationships will remove need for over-courtesey, there are two very different reasons for why Doyle has shown both of these telegrams at a point in time. This accumulation of Holmes's ungrateful behaviour not only imparts Watson's utter despondancy, but also, importantly, Holmes’s — and this is something that Watson's ever-perceptive and intelligent heart does not fail to miss. It is important to note that this story nears Holmes's retirement, where he acknowledges that he has been "sluggish in mind". There is no doubt, then, that the great detective is out of his prime. Hence the temperementalness, taking his Watson for granted, and a heavier reliance on those "narrow and concentrated habits."

Despite the turbulent roads of their life, we see Watson's undying devotion co-exist with it. Past all the irritation, Watson closes, "Such was my humble role in our alliance." It is more than clear that he consciously makes the decision to remain at Holmes's side, to be his ally. Such has always been Watson's role in their alliance. His "humble" service extends to his practice as doctor and soldier. His pride is in his duty to others, and to Holmes as his assistant.

There is something that shines through Holmes's unsocial behaviour when we look closely at the text.

I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for so trivial a question as this that I had been summoned from my work? Holmes glanced across at me. "The same old Watson!" said he. "You never learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the smallest things."

We know from the Canon (opening of DANC and RESI) that Watson's emotions are like an open book to Holmes. This 'sinking in some disappointment' is not missed by Holmes's 'glance'. "The same old Watson!" he says, and I feel it important to note that he compliments one of Watson's most distinguishing features; his stability and fixture — the "one fixed point in a changing age." Yet, we may miss these details, because Holmes, ever in his own insecurity, must back-hand every praise with a teasing chide. We could say that an attempt was made to cheer Watson up, though not very successful.

Developments continue, as Holmes tryingly says "I had hoped to have a longer chat with you", then parades him with compliments before their client, "Dr. Watson is the very soul of discretion". But mixed indications continue to come as he flips back to patronising language; "You will appreciate it, Watson, when"—. Doyle further cements Holmes's particular unbecoming behaviour on this day as he further also annoys their client, who speaks in a "tone of reproach" when Holmes does not listen, and is "clearly annoyed" at irrelevant interruptions — to which, Holmes only smiles in, what I believe, is pure self-importance.

Here we find a shift — a greater effort on Holmes's part, a second round of appreciation for Watson's stability, even when his opinion is faulty. "Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground". He's then included in his bubble; "We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not, Watson?", and even a sordid attempt at bringing Watson with him on the bait of the Chequers in 'Camford' where "the port used to be above mediocrity and the linen was above reproach." (Which he follows up on!)

And, despite these attempts, their connection still does not rekindle. Watson is clearly irritated still with the inconsiderate easiness with which Holmes was able to leave London, leaving only difficulty on Watson's end to join him. It's an indicator from Doyle that nothing's remedied, yet.

Here is an interesting passage for study.

"Have you the effrontery necessary to put it through?" "We can but try." "Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excelsior. We can but try — the motto of the firm."

Burstive praise from Holmes at the merest utterance of a phrase — a phrase which has only ever been used one other time in the Canon; the previous story, The Problem of Thor Bridge. This suggests it may be some small motto of Holmes's, though one not often seen in Watson's records — this makes his use of the phrase a very Holmesian approach. This participation, no doubt, is nothing but a delight for Holmes, who is trying to restring their relationship, and continues to overenthusiastically affirm Watson's sturdiness.

Yet it's made clear that superficial praises are not a true apology, as we see signs yet again of Watson's dispassion. As they sit to their meeting with Professor Presbury, Watson writes:

Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.

This sentence may seem unassuming, but be assured it is one of the coldest in the Canon. This usage of "Mr. Holmes" is entirely unique within the Canon. In other times, when Watson has used "Mr. Holmes" or "Mr. Sherlock Holmes", it has been when speaking directly to his readers, since they would be using the honourific. This moment is the only exception, where Watson has intentionally used "Mr." to create distance and convey undesire for intimacy with Holmes (rather than any professional effect). Why has Watson used the line here? Well, Holmes is 'smiling amiably' — in a way that forces a friendly manner, one that attempts to create a good impression with Professor Presbury — which also didn't work out, by the way. Considering all the superficial means up to now employed by Holmes on his companion, Watson no doubt feels cheapened and no more important than Holmes's investigative objects; as if his trust is just as easy to gain as anyone else's, with nothing but an 'amiable smile'.

We are shown time and again that Watson isn't pleased with Holmes's desultory attempts at reconciliation, until finally, a shift happens. One that is not identifiable in the text, and so is reasonable to assume happened unpenned. We find Holmes acknowledging that "Dr. Watson has his patients to attend to", when before this information seemed completely irrelevant to him. Holmes even sent Watson a "short note asking [him] to meet at the train"! The greatest change is when we finally have Watson using "my friend" and "my comrade" for the first time in this story. Now we see Watson taking real excitement in the case, in the "assurance of [his] comrade". Self-teasing also makes its way into their dialogue as Holmes cries "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been!" The emphasised address seems to suggest an apology for something more. It's as if he cries 'Look how wrong I have been Watson, how imperfect and daft I can be!' It's adorable, really.

All semblances of reproach towards Holmes disappear as they steal together in darkness, come to the dénoument of their adventure, as Holmes philosophises on science and nature, and described admiringly as "the man of action". Our story ends in a light-hearted resolution, as always.

"There is an early train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time for a cup of tea at the Chequers before we catch it."

To conclude, this story presents so much so subtly in its pages; a reflection of the small, nuanced and unseen processes between human beings, but those which we must be attentive to in order to find fuller understanding between each other. Yet, there is still much uncertainty in my inferences; which also shows the uncertainty of language and communication. We simply must be clear of ourselves, as we can only assume Holmes and Watson were, off-page, for them to have found that resolution, rather than fleeting smiles and compliments. Arthur Conan Doyle, with this story, further cements the triumph of bonds and connection, perhaps far more than any other of his stories.

#acd canon #sherlockian scholarship #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #classic literature #literature analysis #victorian husbands #fun fact I bummed out the LFW server with the “Mr. Holmes smiled amiably” line #was worried this was too long but I think all of this is necessary for my point #CREE is so underrated! I think it's brilliant for this reason #I don't actually care for the mystery. it's shit #the real mystery is whether Holmes and Watson actually made up while in Camford or not #ACD how are you so insanely good at subtext. you put so many treasures in the text for me to find and puzzle over. i love you #hashtag the indomitable human spirit #I could have also commented on some way more suggestive lines but they didn't feel relevant to this analysis #it doesn't actually matter if they're fucking or not sorry guys

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desultory-novice · 7 months

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White-Haired Noir (Older)

I wasn't kidding when I said Noir has become more of "my OC" than before. Anyway, they tell me cringe is dead, so let's get on with it!

BE HAPPY TEENAGE BOY ...Uh... ADULT MALE??!

(Pictured: Would you believe this guy was once my Dark Matter Swordsman???)

No longer a teary-eyed apprentice, White-Haired Noir in ~the future~ (circa Star Allies??) has become a knight in his own right, swearing his service to Dedede as thanks for helping house the bruised, battered, emotionally unstable teen boy so many years ago.

Dedede Stop Adopting People Challenge (impossible)

Over the years (and with plenty of hard hitting, gloves-off training from Meta Knight) Noir has both grown up and grown accustomed to life on Popstar. He's regained some semblance of a life (gasp!) and inner peace. (...When Popstar's not being invaded, that is.)

He has friends (and rivals), is able to stomach food and drink a bit better, and has accepted Gooey, finally. He can even speak positively of his lost childhood with his little sister, on occasion.

Despite Popstar's generally warm weather, the Shiver Star native continues to dress in highly concealing fashion, as his upper body still bears the scars of his interrupted Dark Matter transformation; one reason he grew his hair out long was to help conceal the ones on his neck better, so as not to frighten the younger Waddle Dees.

[Assorted Text Wall Below]

Age Range: Mid 20s and up (Tbh, his specific age'll probably fluctuate depending upon the kind of story I want to tell. This is, quite simply, an adult Noir who's got his life more together.)

Abilities: Mild regenerative abilities, magic reflection, healing/purification, light projection [Rainbow Sword]

Protective magic and various physical ability-boosting magic [These come courtesy of the crystals adorning his jacket, a gift from the Queen of the Fairies. Noir is still a squishy human, after all. His fine swordplay aside, he needs magical enhancements to not get accidentally steamrolled by Kirby's other friends.]

Hobbies: swordplay, stargazing, crochet (Taranza taught him the last one, both as a mental grounding exercise and to help rehabilitate Noir's Dark Matter corrupted hands for performing delicate tasks. Half of Dream Land has one of Noir's early crochet octopi sitting in their storage. Nowadays, he makes toys for the younger Dees.)

Etc: Because of his closeness with King Dedede (and in large part due to their matching scarves/sashes), his general protectiveness of the Waddle Dees, as well as his fairy-tale outfit (which Ribbon helped with) Noir has picked up nickname of the "Prince of Dream Land"

A highly unfitting one, Noir has been heard to privately complain. In what world could an unwashed, damaged, sharp-tongued orphan with hands near-literally dyed in blood become a prince...?

Height-wise, if we consider King Dedede to be one of a breed of extinct "mega penguins" then Noir, fully grown, is of comparable height. (Dedede insists he's taller because of this crown puff. Huzzah! His title as king is safe!) In human terms, this does make Noir a short king :cough: prince, which in his case is due to malnourishment, physical abuse during puberty, and just plain genetics. ^^;

Anyway, despite how shockingly decent he looks cleaned up, Noir is still a feral cat at heart, and he hasn't lost his sass either, even if the edges have been somewhat filed off with time.

(Even the most angsty and tragic of emo boys can only go so many years with sparkly, shimmering, pastel rainbow hair (1) before they give up the act and start smiling ju~st a little more! ^_-)

(1) It is completely impossible for Noir to return his hair to its original dark maroon/black, btw. Even the strongest dye refuses to stick.

...And yes, he has attempted.

(Q: When is this...? Cause he still looked 16 in that FL comic you did.) (A: That's because I hadn't thought ahead when I wrote it! This form is basically meant as something to pull out for the later games with some extra padding for any future games/events. >w< )

(Q: So... is that FL comic still Apologies canon?) (A: ~ish! He would definitely be his older self now. That said, this Noir did still encounter Elfilin by chance, immediately recognized him as ID-F86, and had a PTSD episode over it, dredging up old memories he'd believed he had come to peace with. It was the closest the Dark Matter in Noir had come to re-awakening in years. Elfilin's sincere apology to the innocent victims of Forgo's rage helped Noir keep from losing himself completely and he was able to recover.

Also, following Crystal Shards, Noir DID resume having daily nightmares about Adeleine and her fate. That was why MK encouraged him to stay with the fairies of Ripple Star for a time and recuperate; that Noir could resume his training with Meta Knight later on. The grateful fairies all turned out to completely ADORE him - particularly, his shining rainbow hair. This period away from Popstar meant that he totally missed out on Amazing Mirror though.)

(Q: If he missed Amazing Mirror, what games DIDN'T he miss?) (A: He was actually there for a somewhat altered version of Meta Knightmare Ultra in Planet Robobot! It was his first "mission" with his teacher. (And I have a fanfic brewing about that, thanks to the anon who asked what if Noir got within wishing distance of Star Dream...)

Unlike Meta's relationship with Kirby, where Meta trusts Kirby to bounce back from everything and is excited :wipes drool off face: to see how much Kirby will grow, Meta Knight tries (somewhat) to keep his very human disciple out of danger, if he can. He's not soft on him by any means, with hard blows and even harder life lessons, but he knows that Noir came to them hanging onto life by a very frayed thread and he only pushes as far as he believes Noir can take.

Nowadays, he's much more trusting of him to handle himself.

(Q: Assuming he was in SA, where was he during TDX, RtDL, and FL? (A: In both Triple Deluxe and Forgotten Land, he was away from Popstar. Record of Stopping Dedede Abductions: 0/2. He rolled his eyes at a giant beanstalk erupting from Dream Land leading to a kingdom in the clouds "...You're kidding?" and Dedede was stomping mad when Noir laughed outloud about the story of the abduction - which concealed the fact that Meta Knight WAS LAUGHING TOO.

In Return to Dream Land, Noir was still on Popstar but didn't participate in the adventure in any capacity. When everyone returned and told the tale of Magolor's betrayal, his response was a deadpan, "Okay but you all saw that coming a mile away though, right? .........Tell me you saw that coming." He was a little less sassy when he heard Magolor's downfall came at the hands of a corrupting artifact.)

(Q: Wasn't Noir taller than Dedede in that one random sketch?) (A: As an Earth human. Noir eventually became Popstarian size.)

(Q: It's nice that he's okay but... but Adeleine... ; _ ; ) (A: Yeah... However, similar to Blade and Gooey in the main verse, in the AU AU, it was Painter who took care of and sheltered the Dark Matter outcast. Noir initially hated Gooey, because he despised Dark Matter for destroying his family and he hated it every time Gooey tried to approach him - like a sign that he would never escape his mistakes. Only later was he forced to confront Gooey and realize that Gooey was always seeking Noir out because of Adeleine's memories Gooey had taken in. They eventually had a painful heart to heart, where Noir was able to experience his sister's last memories through Gooey. Noir now lets him wear Painter's beret in memory of her.)

Anyway, that's now two (and a half (?) if you count "Snowflakes") Noirs who have escaped the cycle of misery! Hooray!

Don't worry, Main Timeline Noir, your salvation comes next............Probably???? >w<

#Kirby #Kirby OC #Apologies AU #Apologies AU AU #Noir (human form dms)#I've got more sketches of him cooking but this post was already getting long with just the text alone #Has Dess said how much Dess hates costume design??#(He takes a LOT of elements from MK due to his training)#The hair ribbon was gift from... Ribbon #I wonder if White-Haired Noir needs a new tag now #Seeing as how the DMS elements of him are running low #cw: character death #...for Adeleine ^^;#King Dedede #Adeleine #I may let him play in the OC Reindeer Games now maybe???#I am not sure who WANTS to yet ^^; ... plus I feel like not drawing humans is why a good chunk of us are here but! XD #(Stop being nervous Dess and indulge in the cringe!!!!)

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aimeedaisies · 5 days

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King pays tribute to ‘heroism and sacrifice’ to mark 80 years since Arnhem

Monarch’s words spoken by the Princess Royal to remember troops who fought in Operation Market Garden

21 September 2024 5:57pm

The Princess Royal is representing the King at the Arnhem anniversary events PA/Ben Birchall

The King has said the “heroism and sacrifice made by so many in the pursuit of peace” will never be forgotten as the 80th anniversary of a famous Second World War operation was commemorated.

The King’s words were spoken by the Princess Royal, representing the King at events this weekend marking the efforts of troops who in 1944 fought in Operation Market Garden, with the bold aim of ending the war that year.

The Princess, joined by her husband Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, delivered her brother’s speech at a reception staged at the Airborne Museum Hartenstein in Oosterbeek, the Netherlands.

It is a former hotel that served as the headquarters of the British 1st Airborne Division during the Battle of Arnhem, part of the operation that aimed to push through the Netherlands and into Germany just a few months after the D-Day landings.

The Princess met Geoff Roberts, 99, believed to be the only British soldier to travel to Arnhem for the commemorations this year PA/Ben Birchall

The Princess said on behalf of the King: “Eighty years ago, on this very weekend, Operation Market Garden was under way in this region of the Netherlands.

“An ambitious joint airborne and ground forces operation designed to seize crucial bridges to enable the advance into Germany, its ultimate aim was to end the war within a matter of months.

“The friendships made during those difficult days of September 1944 between the Dutch and their liberators continued after the war.”

“I saw this for myself five years ago when, as Colonel in Chief of the Parachute Regiment, I attended the 75th anniversary commemorations.”

The Princess met Geoff Roberts, 99, believed to be the only British soldier to travel to Arnhem for the commemorations this year.

Mr Roberts flew by glider into Arnhem during Operation Market Garden but was captured as the Allies retreated after their efforts. Immortalised in the film A Bridge Too Far, the Allies were thwarted by strong resistance from Nazi troops, and he spent the rest of the war in a German prisoner of war camp.

The Princess Royal watches a fly-by at the Airborne Museum Hartenstein in Oosterbeek, Netherlands PA/Ben Birchall

The Princess continued the King’s speech, saying: “Tragically, despite the endless courage of all those who served in an operation whose renown echoes through the generations, the Netherlands had one more terrible winter to suffer before liberation finally arrived.

“Today, on this 80th anniversary, it is with a deep sense of gratitude and humility that we remember all those in the British, Allied and Commonwealth forces who served and died fighting for our freedom.

“Let us also remember those magnificently courageous members of the Dutch resistance and gallant civilians who endured so much during the Second World War.

“We will never forget the heroism and sacrifice made by so many in the pursuit of peace and liberation. My wife joins me in sending the warmest possible good wishes to all those taking part in this weekend of commemoration.”

On Sunday, the Princess, in her role as president of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, will attend the annual service marking the operation’s 80th anniversary at Oosterbeek Airborne Cemetery.

She will join around a thousand guests and will read a lesson and lay a wreath at the foot of the Cross of Sacrifice.

Earlier, paratroopers from eight Nato member countries, including the UK, the USA, Portugal and Spain, parachuted from 12 aircraft into Ginkel Heath, a nature reserve near the Dutch town of Ede.

Some 700 paratroopers took part in the jump, including the Red Devils, the British Army’s freefall parachute display team, as part of the commemoration of the Battle of Arnhem.

Turned into defensive battle

Among those to parachute into the occupied Netherlands were 1,900 allied airborne soldiers from Britain’s 4th Parachute Brigade.

The plan involved seizing key bridges with a combination of airborne and land forces.

But the airborne forces’ landing zones were around nine miles from the bridge at Arnhem, losing them the element of surprise and giving the German troops time to build blockades.

While the operation succeeded in capturing the Dutch cities of Eindhoven and Nijmegen, it failed in its key objective: securing the bridge over the Rhine at Arnhem.

A defensive battle was fought, which saw nine days of prolonged street fighting, until the order to withdraw was given on Sept 25.

More than 8,000 British soldiers were killed, missing or captured in the offensive.

#arnhem80 #princess anne #princess royal #tim laurence #timothy laurence #news

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foundtherightwords · 23 days

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As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 1

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

A/N: My inspiration for this came from these lovely artworks that reimagine Beauty and the Beast in a 1950s setting. The idea of making the Beast a World War II veteran jumped out at me, and given that "Overlord" is a World War II movie, I immediately knew I'd write this for Grunauer. I based this on the original screenplay more than the movie itself (Grunauer's full name and the fact that he's from Miami are both in the script), since Grunauer actually survives in that. The title is, of course, a lyric from "Beauty and the Beast".

Warnings: period-typical attitudes (sexism, racism, prejudice), PTSD, some violence, non-explicit smut

Chapter warnings: period-typical sexism and prejudice

Chapter word count: 5.2k

Chapter 1

"I'm so glad the sugar ration is over, aren't you?" Mrs. McLeish said, peering at the rows and rows of cakes and pastries behind the glass.

"We all are, Mrs. McLeish," replied Alba, handing the gray-haired lady her purchase neatly wrapped in paper bags. "That'll be a dollar and sixty-three cents."

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. McLeish felt the bags, trying to remember what she'd bought.

"Of course. Ninety cents for half a dozen loaves of bread, fifty-two cents for ten ham croquetas, and twenty-one cents for three cheese pasteles," counted Alba. There had been no mistake—Alba knew this was only Mrs. McLeish's way to weasel some discount out of her.

Mrs. McLeish started counting out her money with excruciating slowness. "My Ted has been so looking forward to your bakes ever since he came back from the Pacific, you know."

Alba smiled and reached into the display case again. "Well, here's a slice of tres leches cake, to thank Ted for his service. On the house," she quickly added. Mrs. McLeish's wrinkles immediately relaxed, just as Alba knew they would. Papi wouldn't like it, but they couldn't afford to alienate a customer now.

Mrs. McLeish was barely out of the door when the cheerful chime of the shop bell was drowned out by an obnoxious roar. Alba looked up to see a bright red Aston Martin screech to a halt across the street.

"¡Mierda!" she muttered under her breath. This bit of profanity earned her a stern look from the statue of La Cachita, the patroness of Cuba, on her altar set in a corner of the bakery. "Sorry," Alba mumbled to the statue. She tried to dip behind the counter, but it was too late. The driver, a tall, broad-shouldered man with raven hair slicked back, wearing a leather flight jacket that was too heavy for Miami in late June, was already striding toward the door. He pushed it open with unnecessary force, making the bell chime furiously in protest.

"Allie!" he declared, flashing a grin that showed his white teeth to perfection. "Just the girl I want to see."

Alba tried to pull her lips into the semblance of a smile and ended up with something more like a grimace instead. "Mr. Grant, good morning," she said. "What can I get you today?"

"Call me Gastin, dearest Allie," replied Grant, leaning against the counter. "How many times do I have to ask you again?"

"As many times as I've asked you to call me Alba, not Allie, Mr. Grant," Alba said smoothly. Grant's smile faltered, but only for a moment, before returning to full blast.

"But Allie sounds so much nicer! Allie Grant. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Ignoring his suggestive leer, Alba repeated, "What can I get you today? A pastelito, perhaps, or some croquetas?"

Grant shuddered. "God, no. Do you have any idea how fattening those can be, with all that cheese and butter and frying oil?"

It was on the tip of Alba's tongue to snap that he was in a shop that thrived on cheese and butter and frying oil, but she bit back the retort and simply said, a little impatiently now, "Then what do you want?"

"You know what I want, my dear Allie." Grant was now leaning so far over the counter that a bystander may think he was trying to reach into the till. "A date with you."

"I'm afraid I'm very busy at the moment," Alba said automatically.

Grant let out a derisive laugh. "Busy with what?" He gestured around the empty bakery. It was after eight; the first waves of customers had gone, which meant Grant had timed his visit to catch her specifically. He certainly hadn't driven all the way here from his swanky family mansion on Millionaire's Row for one of La Perla del Sur's pasteles.

Mierda.

"Come now, Allie," Grant continued, seizing her hand in a tight grip. "I don't understand why you keep working in this dump. When we're married, you'll have the biggest mansion on Miami Beach and never have to deal with all this misery..."

Alba's face tightened. For six months now, Grant had been hovering around the neighborhood and pestering her into going out with him, despite her making it clear that she had no time for him. She knew she was the minority in this. Most people would consider him a great catch. A war hero and the heir to a real estate empire, courting the daughter of a lowly baker, a Cuban immigrant at that? She should have been over the moon. It was true that she had been flattered by his attention at first. But she wasn't interested in finding a boyfriend, and she'd treated him the same way she did all customers, polite and friendly. Only when Grant started harping on about marriage, as if they were already engaged, that she firmly shut it down. Even then, he couldn't seem to take a hint, whether because he was too arrogant or too dim, Alba wasn't sure. So her politeness had turned into grudging tolerance and finally into barely concealed dislike. Still, he refused to leave her alone.

"Maybe I like the misery," she bit out.

Grant opened his mouth, but before he could come up with a response, an angry voice rose from the street. It was Mr. Olson, whose grocery store was across the street from the bakery, and whose front door was currently being blocked by Grant's monster of a vehicle.

"Who's the schmuck that parked his car in front of my store?" Mr. Olson shouted, waving his broom. "Move it before I smash your headlights in!"

Grant flung Alba's hand aside and ran out of the bakery without another word. Seizing the opportunity, Alba ducked through the swinging door that separated the front of the bakery from the sweltering back room, where two enormous ovens were constantly belching out steam and heat. She almost collided with her younger sister, Beatriz.

"Alba!" Beatriz exclaimed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need you to man the counter for me," Alba said.

"Why?"

"He's here."

"Who?"

"You know who. Señor Slick." Alba's lips curled in distaste.

"Really?" Beatriz craned her neck to look through the curtain. Alba glanced behind her. Grant was busy arguing with Mr. Olson, but she grabbed Beatriz's shoulders and positioned herself so Beatriz would hide her from view anyway.

Alba couldn't understand why Grant was so determined to woo her. She definitely wasn't as pretty as Beatriz, though they shared the same features and coloring. The same hazel eyes on Beatriz were bright and clear, while Alba's eyes couldn't seem to decide which color they wanted to be and ended up as a sort of muddy brownish green. The same dark curls on Beatriz were glossy and bouncing with her steps, while Alba's had a tendency to frizz maddeningly in the humid Florida air, so she mostly kept it under a headscarf. Beatriz's figure was all soft curves, while Alba's was straight and flat as a pond cypress.

And most of all, Beatriz, like other girls in their neighborhood, was always making sheep's eyes at Grant. He never paid attention to any of them though. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he only set his sights on Alba because he liked a conquest.

But Alba had no time to dwell on all of that now. "Yes," she told Beatriz, "and you can ogle him to your heart's content if you man the counter for me."

Beatriz's face fell. "But Papi told me to make the delivery." She gestured to a basket, packed with loaves of bread in paper bags, a box of ham and cheese croquetas, and a box of pasteles filled with guava jam, still warm from the oven.

"Delivery? Where to?" La Perla del Sur Bakery did not do deliveries. Those who knew of their bread and pastries would line up outside its door before the opening time of six o'clock, come rain or shine.

"The Grunauer place," said Beatriz.

Alba smacked her forehead. Of course. How could she forget?

The late Dr. Grunauer had been their landlord. When they first arrived in Miami from Cuba thirteen years ago, Alba's parents, Mauricio and Ana, had found a nearly dead town, brought to its knees by two great hurricanes and the Great Depression. They had rebuilt their lives alongside the city. They had found this place for cheap, and Dr. Grunauer, a professor at the university, had only been too glad to let them have it after the crash of the land boom. Mauricio had traded his suit and tie for an apron and worked tirelessly next to his wife to open this bakery. But it was difficult to curb the ambition of a high-ranking government official, even if the coup d'état of 1933 had stripped him of his power. Mauricio had borrowed from Dr. Grunauer to buy a vacant beachfront store, hoping to open another La Perla, to be run by Alba's older brother, Rafael. Then came the war, and Rafael joined the Air Force and never came back from the Pacific, and Ana soon followed him, so that was the end of that. The beachfront property was left to languish through the war, and in the end, Mauricio had to cut his loss and sell it for cheap.

Dr. Grunauer, too, had passed away a year before the end of the war. Mauricio was not one to ever forget a debt, and although Dr. Grunauer's only son, who had come home last year, never mentioned it, Mauricio had been sending him bread and pastries and even fresh fruits sometimes, hoping that he would not call in the debt any time soon.

Now Alba snatched the basket out of Beatriz's hand. "I'll go," she said. "You man the counter."

"But—but—" Beatriz glanced at the back, where Mauricio and the assistant baker, young Frank, were busy loading trays of shaped dough into the ovens. Alba knew Papi didn't like Beatriz to be at the front alone, despite the fact that she always drew a crowd, mostly of young men—or perhaps precisely because of that.

"Bea's too busy flirting," he'd once said to Alba. "She'll mistake flan for croquetas and sell her own shoes as pastelitos next. I need you there, to keep an eye on the till and tell me when we're running low on things." And so Alba had no choice but to grin and bear it, though she didn't have Beatriz's natural charm and ease with the customers, and a day working at the till always left her with crescents of sweat under her arms, sore cheeks from having to stretch them into unnatural smiles for so long, and a raging headache.

"The breakfast rush's over, you'll be fine," Alba assured her sister. "I'll be back before lunch." She rushed out the side door before Beatriz could raise further protest and draw Papi's attention.

"Be careful," Beatriz called after her. Alba wondered if the warning was meant to be about Grant or the Grunauer place.

As she wheeled her bicycle out the back gate and down the lane, Alba saw her best friend, Claudia Barron, watering her garden, the hose curving over her pregnant belly. Claudia had spent her whole life in their neighborhood of Cypress Grove. She'd grown up down the street, dated a literal boy next door, Marty, and after Marty came back from the war, they had gotten married and moved into a house on the same street. Sometimes Alba thought she would go crazy if she were Claudia, never going further than a few miles from where she grew up. Other times, she envied Claudia her straightforward life.

"How's Marty Junior?" Alba nodded at Claudia's belly.

"Kicking up a storm last night. It's this heat, I don't think he likes it." Claudia raised a quizzical eyebrow at the bread basket. "Where are you going with those?"

"Delivery to the Grunauer place."

"Some sweetener for Gruesome Grunauer, eh?"

"Don't call him that," Alba said, rolling her eyes.

"It fits him, though. Like father, like son. He's been back for what, a year? Yet nobody's seen him. He's locked himself away in that mansion with all those snakes and gators." Claudia shuddered. "I wonder at your dad, letting you go there alone. Why can't he or Frank go?"

"They're busy," Alba said shortly. "I have to go now."

Without waiting for Claudia's goodbye, she got on her bike and rode away. Claudia was a good friend, but she could be an awful gossip sometimes. "Gruesome Grunauer", indeed! Yes, it was true that Dr. Grunauer had always been rather strange. With his balding head, owlish eyes, and quiet, mumbling voice, he reminded Alba of a mad scientist, like Victor Frankenstein or Dr. Jekyll, and she, like the rest of the neighborhood kids, had been slightly afraid of him. The nickname had started when they found out he raised snakes and other reptiles on his land, and it stuck. There was a rumor that he even kept an alligator. Every Halloween, the kids always dared each other to go to the Grunauer place to get a glimpse of this alligator.

And then there was Mrs. Grunauer too. Apparently she had been bedridden, and nobody had ever seen her. When she passed away, shortly after Alba's family moved to Cypress Grove, people had whispered that Dr. Grunauer had poisoned his wife.

During the war, those childish rumors had persisted and taken on a more malicious tinge. The war hadn't been easy for Dr. Grunauer with his German name and German accent, and some people had even turned against the Reyes for their association with him. And now, with the old man dead and his son back at the mansion, more rumors had surfaced. They said young Grunauer had been badly injured in the war, and those injuries had left him disfigured. It didn't help that he never set foot outside of his home.

Alba never subscribed to the local rumor mill, but she couldn't help feeling a slight sense of trepidation as she rode her bike down the back lane that followed along the Tamiami Trail. Alba preferred this shortcut, which ran right through the cypress swamp west of the city. She had always loved the swamp, loved seeing the bald cypresses rising from it like majestic giants, their trunks dripping with ferns and orchids, loved watching the herons and egrets that waded amongst their roots, loved the thrill of sighting an alligator floating lazily over the dark water. Even with the occasional blare of a truck horn from the interstate in the distance, it still provided a quiet spot in the busy city.

This morning, though, Alba paid no attention to the beauty of nature. Leaning on the pedals, she only hoped that she'd made enough of a head start that Grant wouldn't be able to follow her in his car. She wondered how the Grunauer place had changed. She knew where it was, of course, though she'd been too much of a wimp to come right up to its gate. In her childhood memory, it was the grandest house she'd ever seen, as grand as the Palacio del Valle in her hometown of Cienfuegos back in Cuba. She also wondered what young Mr. Grunauer would be like. Though they were roughly the same age, young Grunauer had never been a part of the Cypress Grove gang—he had been sent to a boarding school in Jacksonville even before Alba arrived, and none of the kids in the neighborhood knew him.

Soon, the lane branched off into two even smaller trails, little more than footpaths lined by willow and cocoplum bushes. Rolling her bike down the right trail, Alba finally came to a clearing. The willows and cocoplums gave way to magnificent oaks covered in Spanish moss that stood on either side of the path like sentinels, guarding the mansion of her memories. It stood back from the path, a little aloof, a little wary, a queen surveying her empire, its white walls shining like a mirage against the dark canopies of the trees surrounding it. A porch held up by tall columns ran around the house, shielding it from the sun and prying eyes. A beautiful frangipani stood in the back, its branches, dotted with star-like blooms, reaching toward the house as if in adoration. If those oaks were the sentinels, then the frangipani was an attendant bowing down to the queen.

Alba shook her head. Such flights of fancy were usually Beatriz's purview; Alba herself was more likely to notice that the yard was overgrown, the porch needed sweeping, one of the window shutters was sagging, and the paint was chipping. A swing full of dead leaves creaked on rusty chains on the porch, adding to the overall abandoned air of the place. As she drew closer, she also saw a sign hanging crooked on one of the oaks, with "BEWARE OF DOG" scrawled across it. This mundane little detail dispelled any fanciful impression she had of the house, and instead of the palace of her childhood, now she only saw a sad, neglected place.

Alba looked around cautiously. There was no sign or sound of the dog she should beware of. Emboldened, she wheeled her bike past the rank of oaks and leaned it against the porch. The front door had no bell—Dr. Grunauer probably had gotten rid of it after the kids played too many games of ding dong ditch, and nobody came out here now—so she knocked instead.

No answer. She knocked again, louder, calling out, "Hello? Anybody home?" From somewhere deep inside the house, there was a bark. Although it was deep and rumbling, it wasn't the bark of a dog one should beware of. It was not ferocious or angry, only rather annoyed, like that of a dog that had been wakened up from a nap.

Alba reached for the door handle. It turned with some protest. She pushed the door open and stepped into a cool, dark front hall. Something crunched under her foot, and Alba looked down to find more dead leaves strewn across a hardwood floor that hadn't been swept in God knew how long. A door on her left was ajar, showing what looked like a living room overlooking the oak-lined drive. Next to this door was a staircase, its top disappearing into the dimness of the second floor. On the top of the stairs were some strange, pale shapes that looked like logs or a rolled-up carpet that somebody forgot to put away. Sunlight from the open door behind Alba couldn't penetrate the gloom, and thoughts of snakes and gators swirled around her head, making her hesitant to step beyond the little patch of light.

"Hello?" she called out again, her voice lost in the profound stillness of the house. "I'm from the bakery. Is there anybody here?"

There was that bark again, more excited than annoyed this time. In the hallway beyond the staircase, a huge shape emerged, silhouetted against the darkness. It was a dog, she could see that. The biggest dog she'd ever seen.

Alba stood rooted to the spot. She only had the presence of mind not to scream. Screaming would only agitate it further.

The shape came into view. It was a great boarhound, so dark and glossy that it appeared little more than patches of shininess in the dark. It stalked toward her on paws as big as dinner plates, eyes glinting, nose sniffing, tail lifted in alert.

Then, slowly, that tail moved side to side.

Alba couldn't believe her eyes.

The huge dog was wagging his tail. He'd stopped by the bottom of the staircase, seemingly trying to make up his mind about her, but clearly he didn't see her as a threat.

"Here, boy," Alba said shakily, reaching out a hand.

The dog ran to her and almost bowled her over in his eagerness to sniff the bread basket she was carrying. She tried to lift the basket out of reach, but it was quite difficult—when stood on his hind legs, the dog could easily reach her shoulders. "Down, boy," she said. The dog sat and looked up expectantly at her with his liquid black eyes. Alba gave him her hand. He licked it. "Oh, you're just a big softy, aren't you?" she said, laughing in relief and kneeling to rub his ears.

"He's an idiot," said a voice above her.

Startled, Alba looked up. What she'd thought was a roll-up carpet turned out to be a leg encased in khaki pants, and the logs were the arms. A person was lying on the top of the staircase.

"Who are you?" he said. She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the scowl in his voice.

"Alba Reyes," she replied. "I'm from La Perla del Sur."

"La what?"

"The bakery. I'm Mauricio Reyes' daughter. We rent your store in Cypress Grove?"

There was a groan, and the shapes moved. The man was sitting up. The dog gave a little woof and bounded up the stairs to join him. Alba involuntarily craned her neck, trying to get a better look. His face was still half-hidden in the gloom, and in the light shining through the window at the landing, she could just make out a shock of sandy brown curls and a pair of dark, dark eyes. There was no sign of those disfiguring injuries that she could see.

As those eyes met hers, fragments of memories flitted through her mind—a pair of brown eyes, schoolyard noises, the sudden, bright pain of a split lip, and a voice, asking, Where did you learn to punch like that?

Before she could grasp it, the memory was gone, like the reflection on the surface of a pond being broken up by a pebble. The eyes on the top of the stairs were scowling at her again.

"Good morning," she said uncertainly.

***

Derwin Grunauer was not having a good morning.

He'd woken at five, as usual. Even though he could now sleep in as late as he wanted, the habit developed after eight years of boarding school and three years in the army was hard to shake. He hadn't gotten up though. What would be the point? He had nowhere to be, nobody to see, nothing to do.

But Otto, who seemed to have a sixth sense of when his master was awake, had scratched at the door and whined, demanding to be let out, so Derwin had reluctantly gone downstairs, opened the door, and gave the dog his breakfast. For himself, he hadn't wanted any. His pantry had been empty since the day before, but he loathed picking up the phone to call the grocer. He knew he had to, eventually. Either that or starve to death, and Derwin didn't think he was brave enough or desperate enough for that. And so he'd made himself a cup of coffee with the dregs left in the pot and gone upstairs to mentally prepare himself, otherwise he would start panicking and stammering on the phone like an idiot.

Then his treacherous leg had tripped at the top of the stairs, making the cane fly out of his hand and sending him sprawling face-first across the steps. The fall hadn't hurt that bad—he'd been climbing as fast as his leg allowed, which was not very fast at all—but it had drained him of whatever energy he had, and left him angry and despondent. Angry at himself, at his throbbing leg, at the world in general. And despondent at life. He'd turned over and remained there, ignoring Otto's attempts to pull him to his feet. There was no point in getting up. There was no point to anything. He wished he could have stayed there until he melted in the heat and dissolved into the floor. Eventually, Otto had given up and returned to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of his breakfast.

He hadn't heard the knocks.

It was the smells that hit him first. The heavenly, warm, yeasty smell of freshly baked bread, the rich, savory smell of fried ham, and the buttery, sugary smell of pastries. His stomach growled.

Great. He was so hungry that he'd started hallucinating.

Then he heard the voice. Olfactory and audio hallucinations might be a bit much, so he cracked open an eye and looked for the source of the sound.

Somebody was standing in the front hall. No, not just somebody. A young woman. Wearing a sleeveless blouse and a sensible pair of slacks and sandals, with strands of her dark hair falling out of her headscarf. Sunlight was streaming in through the open door behind her, framing her like a halo as she looked up at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. She was too far away for him to make out the color of her eyes, but he could see that they were light and bright, fixed on him with none of the suspicion and hostility he was used to from other people, only curiosity.

Otto was licking her hand too. Traitor.

Still, Derwin refused to let himself be taken in. A lack of animosity didn't necessarily mean kindness. When he came home last year, after several months in St. Mary's Hospital in Portsmouth and a longer stint at the VA Hospital up in Bay Pines, where they'd tried and failed to get his leg back to working conditions, Derwin hadn't expected much. His father was gone, killed by the strain and loneliness of the war, and they had never been popular in town to begin with. He'd only hoped to settle down and have a quiet life. Yet somehow, what he found was even less than what he'd expected. People turned their backs on him in stores and restaurants, whispering to each other and pulling their children close wherever he went past, calling him Kraut and Jerry and worse. All because he had the misfortune of bearing a German name.

This young woman, whoever she was, probably hadn't heard much about him. The moment she did, she would turn and run, like all the others. And when she said she was renting the old store in Cypress Grove, it fell into place. She was his tenant. No wonder she was friendly. She couldn't afford not to.

"My father asked me to bring you some bread," she was saying.

Derwin's stomach growled again, so loudly that he was sure the young woman heard it from all the way at the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced, mortified.

The bakery... yes, he remembered now. In the past few months, he'd been finding bread and pastries outside his front door with a note saying "Compliments of La Perla del Sur Bakery". He'd been wary, but then he'd come across the name on his monthly bank statements and realized they were just trying to be nice to their landlord. The bread was good, and the pastries were phenomenal. Plus, it saved him from having to go to the store. They had tried knocking at first, and when he never answered them, they just left everything on the porch, like a silent offering to some faceless deity. Once, he hadn't found it until days afterward, when the bread had gone soggy in the humidity and the pastries stale. He'd eaten them anyway.

His love for pastries didn't stop him from feeling annoyed with this young woman for invading his space, however.

"Are you OK?" she asked after a while, when he didn't say anything or make any move. "Do you need help getting up?"

He grunted a refusal.

"Should I bring these into the kitchen for you?" she continued, lifting a wicker basket to show him. The mouthwatering smell intensified.

"No need," he mumbled. "Just set them down there."

"Where?" The woman looked around the front hall. There was no place to put anything, except for a side table piled high with mail that Derwin couldn't bring himself to open.

"Anywhere."

"Your dog may get into them."

"I don't care."

"I'm going to put them in the kitchen," she said in a voice that invited no further argument, and before he could stop her, she was walking briskly down the corridor. She tossed a piece of pastry to Otto, and he immediately followed her, tail wagging. Traitor.

Grumbling under his breath, Derwin pulled himself up by the banister and limped his way downstairs. If he didn't catch her in time, this woman may go through the entire house, and he couldn't have that.

He stumbled off the last step and almost ran straight into the woman, who was coming back from the kitchen.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, catching his arms and helping him stand up straight.

Their eyes met, and Derwin found his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He'd been right—her eyes were light, bright green, gleaming like a forest pool in the shade, where the leafy canopy above is reflected in the quiet depth of the water.

Those eyes flicked briefly to the scar on his left cheek, before turning away, not out of disgust as Derwin had expected, but rather of embarrassment. She took a step back and let go of his arms.

"I've put the bread in your bread box," she said (I have a bread box? though Derwin). "I'm not sure when you want the pastries, so I've put them in your fridge. Heat them in the oven before you eat them, they'll taste better. The guava pastries will go great with some coffee."

That was probably the most anybody had ever said to him in over a year. Derwin stared at the young woman, not knowing what to say. She gave him a smile—quick and uncertain, but a smile nonetheless—and walked out with that same brisk, graceful stride, still followed by Otto, who was gazing at her adoringly.

"Otto, stay," Derwin said sternly when the dog looked like he wanted to follow the woman out the door. Otto reluctantly obeyed.

"Oh and, don't set the oven higher than two hundred degrees when you warm the pastries, or they'll get burned," the woman said over her shoulder, before closing the door behind her. A moment later, Derwin heard her bike rattling down the drive.

He glanced at Otto, who met his eyes with a wistful, reproachful look. "Don't look at me like that," Derwin said. "I didn't chase her off."

Leaving Otto in the front hall to whine and watch the figure on the bike disappear behind the oaks, Derwin limped into the kitchen to retrieve the pastries. She was right; they tasted much better warm, though he wouldn't offend them by pairing them with his dishwater coffee. Otto soon gave up his vigil and came into the kitchen as well, looking inconsolable. Derwin took pity on the dog and shared the ham croquettes with him.

"Just because she gave you pastries doesn't mean that she's your friend," he told the dog.

Otto always fell in love with anyone who showed him the smallest bit of attention. It was a terrible habit.

Chapter 2

So here's the Grunauer fic that I promised! It's my longest to date (82k, 20 chapters plus an epilogue), so I'm going to post it twice a week. If you want to be tagged when I update it, let me know, or you can just check back here every Tuesday and Saturday!

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #grunauer #grunauer overlord #overlord 2018 #grunauer x ofc

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cook1emadness · 4 months

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Please, oh dear writer, May I request 2BDamned x Reader x Hank? Idk what else to add on to this so go crazy

A poly... interesting, ok! :D

doc and Hank are rivals at first

I'm not good with stories so it's gonna be headcanons...

Your honor, I hope you're prepared.

The killing machine and the Dissenter

Le Romance~:

So you got the dissenter and the killing machine falling for you. Well, buckle up and be prepared for these to two are now trying to steal your attention... sort of.

No one doesn't realized that these two are trying to take your heart, maybe sanford and deimos, but they don't seem to care much, probably slighty tease.

2bdamned seems to act more of tsundere while Hank acts kinda yandere but still tsundere like doc.

When both find out that they like the same person, they narrow their eyes at each other. Doc and Hank, maybe allies, but even that doesn't stop them from being rivals.

Doc is not much into affection, but they're willing to hug and hold your hand, unlike someone who they are clearly not giving them the side eye(definitely not hank cough cough).

Doc would, on purposely, send Hank to mission, so you can spend time with them instead of that physcopath. But Hank, of course, had tricked up his sleev- ok yeah he doesn't but he kills and speed runs during missions just so he can see you.

Hank likes to be near you when doc is around just to give the doc the jealousy or payback for taking his days off. Doc does the same thing.

Hank may take you on his mission, and doc gets upset, you might get injured, of course, but he is also jealous of you teaming with Hank(doc's mind "hank I swear to God if I find y/n limbs off or worse, I'm gonna cut off your di-).

But they do come to their senses and actually try to share(hank struggles do, because he's selfish). Hank takes time, so he's gonna have to warm up from the thought of sharing someone he likes to doc. The same goes for the doc, but the doc warms up pretty quick.

Now you have more security because if anyone's tries to harm you or even kill you, doc can track the idiot down, and Hank would just go and kill them.

They don't get jealous that much, but if that grunt gets a little touchy with you, Hank would be right behind you, intimidating the poor grunt while doc is out here giving them the bombastic side eye.

Dates are mostly missions(hank), docs office(doc, he likes it privately, ok), your or hank bedroom, and others you can think of dating(doc and hank). Both, however, they sometimes let you choose because, why not.

Spparing sessions are mostly for Hank and you, but Docs sometimes joins in, hey may or not say, "I love a kind a women that would actually just kill me" just to distract you and win. Hank looking at doc like " bruh".

Remember when I said both are tsundere? Well, well, let me explain, for doc he would sound annoyed and try to brush you off, but if you determine, he will give up and let you stay with him. For Hank, he just gives you that look and won't brush you off, just stay mad or annoyed when he's actually not, unless he isn't in a good mood.

Hank love language is gifting and quality time, he likes receiving gifts from you, likes it if it's a weapon or b l e n d e r. Quality time is also one because he needs someone to be patient for him when starting a relationship.

For doc, is love language is an act of service and quality time.

Doc likes it when you bring him coffee and help with paperwork and mission. He likes it because it tells them that you won't leave his side or here to relieve his stress from work. And quality time, is one because he needs someone patient that won't pressure him to work faster, he doesn't need that bullshit and he wants you to listen to him for things that are important to you, them and the S.Q.

So patience is important for this poly relationship, if your aren't patient, you can't love them, and they can't love you.

Done!! I'll now work on Yan!Auditor and the oneshot(which I'm gonna struggle a lot) anyway I hope you have a good day and night...

#madness combat #madness project nexus #madcom #madness combat x reader #doc x reader #2bdamned x reader #madness combat hank x reader #hank j. wimbleton x reader #hank x reader #madness combat 2bdamned x reader #madcom hank x reader #madcom 2bdamned x reader

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serviodialysis · 2 years

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expertcarcare · 1 month

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flower1622 · 1 month

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ANTI PERCABETH CONTENT!

Annabeth stares at the boy sleeping in the dark.

Annabeth: You drool when you sleep.

Annabeth: So, Percy may be the son of Poseidon? Interesting...

Annabeth takes the cap off her head and pushes Percy into the water.

Annabeth: I hate that new guy, Percy Jackson.

Hours later:

Annabeth stalks Percy.

Clarisse bullies Percy.

Annabeth keeps watching hidden.

Percy: Can i make a stupid question?

Annabeth: You already made one.

Percy: I really don't like when other people make fun of me. I feel very insecure and depressed. All my life i was abused by my ex-stepfather.

Annabeth laughs.

Percy fighting for his life against a god.

Annabeth hits her foot on the ground, pointing her fingers to her watch impatient.

Annabeth: What is happening to Percy down there? He is being so seaweed brain today.

Percy is hurt from another fight against their enemies and falls with his face to the ground.

Annabeth laughs.

Annabeth: He's such a seaweed brain.

Percy gets better grades than Annabeth at College.

Annabeth gets desperate.

Annabeth: I don't want to become a seaweed brain!

Percy runs to hug Annabeth because he missed her and she judo flips him.

Annabeth: If you ever leave me again, i'll fucking hurt you, seaweed brain.

Annabeth meets Rachel, who smiles at her and tries to shake her hand. Annabeth only looks at Percy.

Annabeth: Who is this stupid girl?

Percy says something good about Rachel.

Annabeth snorts.

Annabeth: She's just a useless human.

Reyna says something good about Percy.

Annabeth only laughs.

Annabeth: Seaweed Brain only followed my orders.

Jason and Percy fight for a chair.

Annabeth rolls her eyes.

Annabeth: Two idiots. I'll be the leader.

Percy complains about his problems and Tartarus.

Annabeth laughs and crosses her arms.

Annabeth: Who cares?

Percy wants to work and study near his mother's house.

Annabeth crosses her arms.

Annabeth: No. You'll go with me to New Rome College.

Percy cries over Annabeth's wounded body.

Percy: You saved me!

Annabeth: Of course! I needed to get your trust completely. I couldn't lose a powerful ally like you.

Percy only cries more and hides his face on her chest.

Annabeth rolls her eyes.

Annabeth: Idiot.

Annabeth and Percy are trying to decide with other campers what to do.

Annabeth: We'll go with my plan.

Percy: What about democracy? Shouldn't we vote?

Annabeth: I am the one who is daughter of the goddess of wisdom. So, shut up and follow what i say, alright seaweed brain?

Percy: I don't like this nickname.

Annabeth: I don't care.

Annabeth and Aphrodite watch Percy and Rachel having fun in the beach.

Aphrodite: If you convince Ares to be more romantic to me, i can take away Percy's memories and feelings for that girl.

Annabeth: Deal.

Percy and Annabeth are in Olympus. Zeus gets angry at Percy and sends a thunder in his direction, making Percy fly to the ground. Percy falls and winces from pain on the floor.

Poseidon: Zeus!

Annabeth: Does this mean you don't need my services anymore?

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #heroes of olympus #percy jackson heroes of olympus #anti percabeth #pjo hoo toa #hoo #pjo fandom #incorrect quotes #pjo incorrect quotes

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fairyboygenius · 2 months

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everywhere, everything

simon “ghost” riley x original female character

a/n: hi guys! i’m so excited to start this fic. allie is so??? one of my favorite ocs i’ve ever made, to be honest. she’s just perfect to me i fear. her and simon are gonna be so hhhhh anyways enjoy the fic!

no warnings for this chapter except for simon acknowledging he’s a little weirdo and implications to the fact that graves fucking sucks

fic under the cut love u mwah

Time isn’t real anymore, Allie’s decided. How could it be? After a transatlantic flight, plus a train ride through the English countryside, the world seemed fuzzier, cool breeze almost soothing her to sleep.

“Look alive, Bishop,” Kate Laswell gently chided, bumping Allie’s elbow with her own. “We’re almost there.”

Allie bit her lip, the words “are we there yet?” on the tip of her tongue. It’s nowhere near professional to whine to your soon-to-be boss about the journey she took for you. No matter if you’ve known that boss for seven years and been through absolute hell together. After a certain point, professionalism dissipates.

“You said that after the plane. And after we got lost in the Underground. And after King’s Cross. ‘Almost’ implies a degree of soonness.” Allie knew she was being unnecessarily literal. Jet lag wore away any pretense and spoons to mask.

Kate shook her head, a smile creeping at her features. “Eat your dinner.”

“Yes, mom.” Allie sipped her water, putting her headphones back on to try to enjoy the train food. Kate huffed, a fond-yet-annoyed expression on her face.

“Lola doesn’t seem to mind the long ride.” Kate laughed as the black lab nudged her hand, tail thumping restlessly against Allie’s leg. “You’re being a good girl, aren’t you?”

Allie ran an absentminded hand over Lola’s head, giving her a quick scratch between the ears. “You sure they’ll be okay having her on base?”

“She’s your service dog. Not like they can say no.”

“They can, actually. I looked it up. Even though I’m in a non-combat role, she can be removed-“

“-If there’s reasonable threat to your or her life,” Kate finished, giving her a comforting smile. “No one’s gonna take her away from you when you’re doing your medic duties. You need Lo to do your job and do your job well. Everyone’s getting briefed about it right now. If anyone gives you hell about it, you come to me.”

Allie nodded. “You know I’m not good with confrontation.”

“But I am.” Kate smiled. “Those boys shouldn’t give you hell- half of ‘em would probably meet the criteria for a diagnosis themselves. If you need space, unless you are actively doing surgery or in a literal war zone, you have permission to go to your room and take a breather. Anyone fights you on this, you can come to me. Got it?”

Allie nodded again, leaning her head against the train window. Lola rested her head on her human’s thigh, and Allie stroked her head absentmindedly. Letting the feeling of Lola’s fur between her fingers ground her.

Kate sighed, taking her other hand. “I know things didn’t go well for you with the Shadow Company, and everything with Philip…”

“Can we not bring him up?” Allie winced, sipping more water. “He’s dead. It’s in the past for me now. And I don’t really want to talk anymore, if that’s alright.”

Kate nodded, content as Allie put her headphones on and closed her eyes. The twinge of maternal concern on her face disappeared soon after, and she turned back to her book as they inched closer and closer to base.

“Captain, a fifth member o’ the team? We’re not enough of a headache for ye?”

Price shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly. The three of them sat in front of him, on the overstuffed common room couch. Johnny was twirling a pen between his fingers, Kyle couldn’t really keep his eyes off his phone, and Simon… well, Simon was just staring into space.

It had been an okay day for him, so far. A good workout, above average meals. Paperwork seemed less burdensome, or maybe his brain was finally embracing the distraction it provided. The scars from his recent mission in Russia were healing well.

Then Price had called them in.

“Lads… calm down.” Price was massaging his temples. Clearly, Johnny had forgotten to take his meds that morning. “She’s gonna be our resident medic- and yes, it’s a bird, the fraternization rules still apply.” He took a drag from his cigar. “Laswell sent over a whole presentation on ‘er. They’ve known each other for a while, apparently.”

“We’ve got a whole medbay, can’t we pluck one of them to be a 141 specialist?” Kyle leaned back on his elbows. “No offense to her.”

“Laswell would like to introduce a new person. The hope is for you to bond with her because she’ll be living on the 141 floor, participating in workouts and team bonding and she’ll be going on missions with us. We’ve noticed that you lot tend to put off medic visits or not go to the medbay when you need to, so having an on-team medic will hopefully reduce the amount of bigger health problems that spiral from you lot ignoring smaller ones.”

“You’re just as bad as the rest of us about that,” Simon scoffed.

Price grumbled. “Guess this is for me too, then.”

“So tell us about ‘er.” Soap leaned forward slightly, looking up at the screen. “What’s her name?”

Price clicked to the next slide. A picture popped up- a redhead, body luxurious and full, a black labrador puppy on her lap. Her smile was a bit shy, brown eyes shining as the puppy licks the side of her face. Simon’s eyes traced over her features, across her broad shoulders and collarbone, down over her breasts- the black tank top she’s wearing in the picture has a low neckline- and to where the photo ends, her bare thighs crossed as she sits. He swallowed. Shit.

“This is Lieutenant Allison Bishop- she goes by Allie,” Price said. “Laswell’s known her since she was 19, when she graduated basic. She is autistic and struggles with loud noises, so she likely will have some form of hearing protection on when we’re in the field. The puppy is Lola, who’s now Allie’s service dog- she’ll travel with us, and has her own hearing protection. Allie’s getting her own room, obviously, and bathroom, but she’ll share schedules and meal times. When we’re in mission-specific training, she’ll be working in the medbay and helping out where they need it. We can’t hog her forever.”

Like hell we can’t, Simon thought.

“Can we pet the dog?” Gaz looked so excited, Simon could almost sense the mood shift. Price sighed.

“Afraid that’s a negative,” their captain said. “Lola is working when she’s with Allie, and unless Allie gives you explicit permission to, you can’t pet her.”

“Pet Allie or Lola?” Simon can’t resist asking.

Price groaned. “Neither without the explicit permission of Allie.”

“So when’s she gettin’ here?”

“She’s on the train from London to Hereford with Laswell as we speak. She’ll be probably be all moved in and ready to work by tomorrow morning.” Price sighed. “From what Laswell said, she’s not exactly the most outgoing person around new people, so she may get overwhelmed and be kind of closed off at first. It may take her a bit to really warm up to us besides just simple kind professionalism.”

“Oi, Cap’n, dinnae worry about tha’.” Soap grinned. “We can be whatever she needs.” He winked, and Gaz faked a gag. Simon just groaned, reaching up to rub his own temples.

“Oh, real mature,” he grumbled. “We dismissed?”

Price nods. “Behave, lads. I’ll see you muppets at breakfast.”

They walked out of the common room together, headed towards the hallway that stored all their rooms. It would be an early night- a luxury, Simon was well aware, not often afforded on the field. He was fully ready to settle in with a book and a glass of bourbon when he saw the sign on the door next to his.

Welcome, Lieutenant Bishop!

Fuck. He was gonna stay away from her, give her some space to accommodate to the new environment first before making his move. It’d be the nice thing to do, after all- let ‘er settle in, get into a routine, hopefully not scare her off with his whole… thing. (He’s nothing if not self aware.)

But if she was right there… they’d be running into each other in the hallways. He could probably walk her back and forth from their rooms, seeing as she wouldn’t know her way around the base. Maybe even invite her in for a cuppa, or a drink if they clicked… not that Simon was any more competent at social interactions. Especially not with beautiful women.

Beautiful women who he couldn’t be with, no matter how much he wanted to be.

He flopped back onto his bed, letting out a long huff. Fine, he’d be civil. Not necessarily nice, but civil. He’d just have to hope that she’d be charmed by his unsettling gazes and grunts… somehow.

Fuck.

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #original character #new fic #slayyyyy #like this pleaseeee

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