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writersdrug · 11 months

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Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

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Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

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Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

#konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig smut #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod #konig #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader

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creaturefeaster · 20 days

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what would ids in stolla look like? i wanted to make some for ocs and was wondering if you had an idea for them

I think this is a really cool question, because it's not something I've ever considered in detail before until now.

Graphically, the background would probably be a little more interesting, but I made this quickly on my laptop so I was artistically limited-- here:

IDs of the Talpian Dominion, as well as Sunkeep, would vary from this design as they are sovereign to Stolla, but still function independently. I can try and make IDs for them in the future if it interests, but for now I figure this ID is pretty catch-all otherwise.

So a (mostly) filled out ID would look like this:

There's probably some stuff I'd tack on if I had more time to design this, such as a blood type identifier, and personally I'd find it cooler if it wasn't a standard rectangle shape, but this design was based on real world IDs, and I think this still gets most of what you'd need to know across for now.

If you're curious about the exact details on how an ID is produced, I'll explain below the readmore.

DI: Date Issued. Looking back on this, there should probably be an expiration date, perhaps on the lower right corner. ^^

SEX: Dependent on race. Many races have dimorphism similar to humans... more or less, though some (Vixen, Normals, etc.) have a wider range of sexes and are labeled as such.

The most common identifiers you would see on an ID would be: X(nondescript), F(female), M(male), MX(monolex, for some plant people).

EYES: No. of eyes, and color

HAIR: Natural hair color

HGT: Height on record

WGT: Weight on record

ELMT: Whether or not this person has elemental capabilities.

X is the lack of the elemental method, E/A/W/F are indicators of Earthen, Air, Water, and Fire elemental individuals. Typically you would only see this on races that are in touch with a certain element. For instance, many plant people are elementally inclined towards earth, and therefore would be labeled as E if they are found to have this connection.

RC: Residential ID code, has 18 to 19 digits, and can be decoded as such:

00 , 0000, 00.00.0000 , 00, 00.0

TR, NEID, DD.MM.YYYY, DI, RI.A

TR: Territory.

Each territory is labeled 00 through 14, the Talpian Dominon & Sunkeep are not in the registry.

NEID: Name Entry in Database.

Number of people active and registered with this exact name to date, within the territory.

DDMMYYYY: Birthdate.

DI: Day of the month this card was issued (Ignore the fact that I entered this part of April's ID incorrectly ._.)

RI(A): Racial identity marker, and affliction if applicable.

Races are listed from 11 through 28, noting 18 recognized races within Stolla. (A) is marked as a 0 unless afflicted as a vampire, zombie, or were-animal. It is very rare to see IDs with positive affliction markers, as very few are able to achieve legality. I probably don't need to mention that it's telling enough on it's own that there's a marker for affliction at all.

Each territory has it's own emblem, but I don't really have those fleshed out right now so it stays blank for now, haha.

Date of birth is listed under the emblem on the right side, and beneath that is their race in print.

Markers are for things like you would see on our cards in real life. Donors, veterans, notable allergies, etc.

Like I said, this isn't something I've thought about really until I read this ask this morning, so it's not what I would call a finalized version, but you can assume the data entry would all work the same, even if I did adjust the design a bit down the line.

Thanks for this question 🖤

#only 10 of the main 15 probably have Stollan IDs to be honest #gary and rachel would have Dominion IDs #brooks family was technically flying under the radar. she doesn't have one #bonnie has a fake ID but only in the Dominon #maja would have neglected to get vilmr registered #brambleramble #would it be in english or something else #I'm not sure actually #again i write the story in english but it doesn't mean that it's the primary language of every territory #and those who live in halvma (the other big continent on the other side of theia) would have different IDs #if they would have IDs at all #it's a very different land over there #anyway sorry the read more is so technical #that's what happens when you ask me questions that tickle my brain #i have to go as deep into detail as i can manage SBDJTBFIDBDJFBFN

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strawwritesfic · 3 months

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(Don't) Hold Your Breath Master List

Summary: You've made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn't even at the top of the list. Now you're about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian--and they're not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Reader & Ellie; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Notes: I've received a few asks regarding this fic. I'd deleted it a few years ago for various reasons, but I got into my old laptop recently and decided that, well, if people have cared enough to track me down and ask about it, maybe I should put it back online.

My feelings about this story are…complicated, which is why I'm hoping people read this before they jump in. The Last of Us is a dark story, and so this story has a lot of dark themes. They're not always executed very well. That might lessen the impact. Maybe it makes it worse. I don't know. But this is a very different sort of work for me. I feel, in retrospect, that I went a little overboard in some aspects. And I don't know how to really even begin putting in warning tags for some of the stuff that's just brushed off like nothing because, to the point of view character, it isn't worth dwelling on. If there's something you see that you feel needs a warning, tell me. I'll add it.

I think the most important thing for me to get out there is that the reader character is an amputee. I had people claiming to be amputees telling me I did a lovely job, but more crucially, I had someone claiming to be an amputee that told me that they didn't like that even 18 chapters in, I was having the reader character struggle with using only one arm in various ways and keep complaining about her situation. I respect that. My thought process during writing was that, in a world without physical therapy or prosthetic limbs, it would be much more difficult to adjust to suddenly having only one arm (and the nondominant arm, at that). And the character whining was because she's got a lot of self-pity that she has to work to get over. That being said, I really took that criticism to heart. I had every intention of drawing back on both aspects…I just never actually wrote another chapter. But, you know, if this gets enough attention for me to justify finishing the story, that's 100% on the to-do list.

I'm not changing anything. It's going up as-is. I'm going to do a quick proofread, of course, and catch a few more typos (I hope), but the excessive swearing and the weird coffee and the thing with Ellie using bang snaps inappropriately are staying in. I'm not doing a line-by-line rewrite like I have with my KHR stuff.

This is not intended to be canon to the television show. I've never seen it, and I don't plan to watch it. This is not intended to be canon to The Last of Us Part II. I've never played it or watched anyone else play it, and I never will. The only thing that this work might have in common with those is that Ellie is a lesbian, because I always intended to give her a girlfriend in this even way before the second game came out.

Anyway, I hope the handful of people that were (mysteriously, miraculously) searching for this story don't find themselves too disappointed now that they can read it again. Thanks for reaching out. It means a lot to me.

Posting Status: Incomplete

Story Status: Incomplete

Rule #1: Shut up. The enemy might hear you.

Rule #2: Try not to get yourself hurt.

Rule #3: Try not to get yourself killed. God, are you that stupid?

Rule #4: Quit stealing shit.

Rule #5: Don't touch anything.

Rule #6: Don't piss off the locals.

Rule #7: First impressions are important, so don't be yourself.

Rule #8: The villagers are always a little stupid. Try not to contract that.

Rule #9: If you fall off a roof, don't let go. Nothing will catch you.

Rule #10: Again, the enemy can hear you, so shut up.

#straw writes #fan fic #reader insert #second person pov #the last of us #joel #joel miller #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us reader insert #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x y/n

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tootoomanycats · 2 months

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Boiling Over

Suguru Geto x Personal Chef Smut

Pairing:

Pent Up Geto Cult Leader x OC Fem

(can also be read as reader insert)

Word Count: 3,576 words

Summary: Geto realizes that his new cook has started to put disgusting notions into his daughters heads. After tucking the girls to bed, he finds holding the lid on his anger challenging and complex. It is time to have a talk with this vile monkey; only things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings:

Language usage refers to non-sorcery users such as monkeys and animals and uses verbiage degrading non-users' ideology. (It's Geto; I am only trying to stick to how I think he would internally speak about us muggle folk.)

Enemies arguing to unexpected smut.

Mentions of premature ejaculation. (we make sure he knows he’s still wanted)

Minor mention of a potential eating disorder for Geto.

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! I promise I am still working on rewriting Performances, but I had to stop because my brain would not let me get any sleep until I got this little one-shot out and edited. I never planned on writing any JJK content, but this is my lesson in never saying never. Honestly, I don't know if this will be a stand-alone one-shot or if it will develop into a short story. Either way, I hope you'll like it! As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks.

Have you watered your writer today?

Each long stride only allowed more anger to fill his lungs. That disgusting, foul-breathed cretan. How dare she encourage such thoughts in their minds? To speak of this dementedly wicked world like the Garden of Eden, like it was something worth protecting. When creatures like her ruined its oasis, this was just more evidence that only further proved every reason to go through with the plan to wipe them out of existence.

Silence filled the long, winding corridors in the late hour—only the soft shuffles of his steps to be heard. The time spent wandering, stewing in the whirlpool of thoughts, was unknown. Be it subconsciously or with intention, he came to stand before the kitchen door. Finger paints covered the wood in various colors and shapes and crudely drawn animals. No doubt, the artistic freedom given to the girls by that damn woman. Another distraction put in front of them that should instead be spent studying and growing more substantial for the future, his future. Fingers massaged at his temple, and that damn under-eye twitch was back.

Before turning to continue on the walk of rage, a faint light shined from under the door. The source’s inconsistent flickering made it obvious it was a flame light, not the usual overhead bulbs. A shadow was moving about, its lines from under the door jam shifting around. Was someone trying to find a late-night snack? Curiosity got the better of him as the door cracked open, the well-oiled hinges making no noise to give away his presence. There, at the kitchen island, sat the bane of his existence. A single candle was her only light source as she made notes in a thick-bound journal. Books littered across the counter’s surface that she was scanning between.

After spending two hours tossing and turning in bed, Hope had given up on sleep finding her tonight. What time would have been spent dreaming was now used to research and plan instead. In the short time since coming to the estate, she realized how out of her depth she was. Growing up on a farm had taught her many valuable tidbits that rolled over into the new career of personal cook. Sadly, though, most of the knowledge of common fruits and vegetation was useless now due to being on foreign soil. Not to mention, all the meals commonly made here were a complete novelty to her. All day, the worry of not knowing a simple dish to make for the girls if one got sick filled her head.

She felt lucky that it was still summer, but fall and winter would soon come, so it was best to start studying basic soup stocks and how to preserve them now. Just as exhaustion began to creep its way up her spine, the face of that egotistical man came to mind. She groaned, remembering how he had already refused everything but the boiled, unseasoned chicken breast. A previous warning of how picky her new boss was had first been brushed off, but now she only saw it as something more concerning. When inquired, the girls only looked at each other before explaining how their father seemed to struggle with food. Something about how things always seemed to taste putrid: Hope made a mental note to inquire if there were meals that would not be so vehemently refused going forward.

“I see I am not alone in burning the late-night oil.” Geto had to hold in the smug smirk at watching Hope almost jump out of her skin when making his presence known. Stepping closer to the kitchen island, his eyes scanned its counter’s contents. Multiple subjects filled the open pages, text outlining photos and drawings of local flora and fauna in Japan, while another explained cultural customs entwined with particular meals. “Homework?” he asked, keeping the tone of the question light, almost teasing. Anger still simmered just below the surface, the lid of feigned equanimity keeping it in check.

She quickly closed the notebook, gathered the books, and walked backward while responding. “Just menu planning and figuring out what to plant in the garden first.” Mirroring his strained smile, she still tried to calm the racing of her heart from being caught off guard by his presence. “W-What has you up so late?” Gulping when the evident anger in his eyes seemed to be barely masked by the smile on his lips. With each step he took further into the space, she took one back-feigning needing to put the books back in their place, on the opposite end of the island. Something deep and primal warned not to turn her back to him.

Hands going back into their usual hiding place in the sleeves of his haori, he stopped where she had just been sitting. Magnanimous in allowing the useless cook her space. “I just tucked the girls into bed. They were having difficulty falling asleep, and I couldn’t figure out why for a while until they started asking some peculiar questions.” Geto tilted his head, the candle’s light only illuminating one half of his face while the other became shrouded in the darkness of the night. Even in the dimly lit space, the fear on her face was clear as day. Teeth ground together as realization dawned on him; at first, he had chalked up what she had told his daughters as common monkey ignorance. But now, in the fearful response of shirking away from him, it became apparent that she knew exactly what she had done.

“Oh? What kinds of questions?” Hope’s palms began to sweat, making it hard to hold the books. She had no shame in introducing the importance of protecting living things, nor held abasement in teaching how the circle of life affected everyone, including Nanako and Mimiko. However, this did not make her oblivious to the potential backlash of such actions. Placing the books down on the edge of the counter before straightening her posture; if she were to be fired or threatened, then he would have to do it while seeing her head held high.

What was once a simmering pot now started to boil. It was one thing to play stupid with him, but it was another thing entirely to look proud while doing it. Taking a step forward, he spoke sternly, “Yes. It seems they have these ideas suddenly.” Another step. “Notions I have taught them that will not be allowed in the future I am creating. You wouldn't happen to know where they got those from, would you?” He now stood only a few short strides from her and the corner she had put herself in. Watching as she stood taller with each step, even puffing her chest out. She was brave; he would give her that. Bravely stupid.

Hope’s eyes dropped down from where he now stood to the books before her. With a deep breath, she calmly spoke the answer he was trying to pull from her. “Yes, I had asked them what vegetables would be best to grow in the garden earlier today. As it turns out, they didn't know, and neither did I. So I found a book, and the three of us took turns reading and learning.” Wetting her mouth, she continued before glancing up to see the anger on his face build. “The girls started to have more philosophical questions on which I gave my opinions on.” Fear spread through her bones as he quickly walked into the small space that was left between them. Turning to face the outrage on his face, back facing the island as her hands held onto its edge for the needed stability of what was to come.

“Who are you to fill their minds with such disgusting notions?” The pot's lid danced over the boiling rage held within. The candlelight illuminated both of them clearly, making it possible to watch as shock filled her face at his statement.

At first, her jaw hung open until the feeling of offense had her back to defend herself. “You may think it disgusting, Your Radiance, but like it or not, the reality is that those girls are starting to realize that not everything in this world is horrible. There are things worth enjoying now, not just when you create some theoretical future.” Though her words rang with strength, her body responded in alarm at watching the monster before her shift through so many emotions.

“They are my children! And much too young to be curious about such things.” The lid crashed to the ground as the emotions finally boiled over the pot’s opening. His voice had raised before quieting back down.

“They are growing girls, just three years shy of being teenagers! How can you not see that they are becoming curious about the world around them? Both have questions, yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Wrath filled his eyes, his usually fake pacifying expression vanishing to show the true nature of his feelings as he crowded her further with a sneer, twisting his lips. “Oh? What questions would be so important that they would go to a vile monkey for answers instead of me?” His tone was dangerous, threatening, and low.

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise; he did not expect such rage to be mirrored back. “I may be a monkey, but at least they feel safe enough to tell me when they like a boy.” Shock started filling his face as she took the chance to be the one now leaning in. “Tell me, how do you plan to explain to them that you will cause the death of their crush?”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his; he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her nose. Blood thrummed in her veins at how hard her heart pounded. The butcher-block wood creaked under her white knuckle grip, and her back pressed firmly against the counter as he further cornered her in. If this is how she died, then so be it; it will have been worth it to have finally shoved reality into the maniac's face.

Large palms and long arms became caged bars around her, nails scratching groves into the woodgrain. “A crush is a trivial thing.” He leaned further, pressing his chest forward, forcing her spine to bow back uncomfortably. The stiff lip of the wood now bit painfully into her haunches. Delicate fingers gripped the front of his gojogesa, desperate to have any control of how he continued contorting her upper body. His head tilted to whisper into her ear, “They will learn that a monkey’s place is beneath them.”

Geto hated weaklings and abhorred their very existence. It was revulsion, not excitement, that caused the fluttering in his stomach when their cheeks brushed. Loathing how it should have been disgust, not pleasure when her breasts pressed against his chest with each shuddered breath she took. He should have felt repulsed when realizing how perfect the closeness of their height was and how easy it would be to connect further.

It’s because of the years of celibacy that she was so sensitive, Hope told herself. Why else would such a monster cause the sensation of pooling hot honey to form in her belly? How, when Geto shifted his weight to press the muscle of his hips against hers, a whimper caught in her throat that pride refused to let out.

It must have been the lack of touch for so long that had her eyes fluttering shut when he nuzzled his nose into her temple. Monsters did not fathom such intimate affection. Monsters would not wrap such large hands around the back of her neck, gripping the corded muscles of her throat in such a dizzying way. She would not lift onto the counter and widen the distance of her thighs for a beast to slot between them so perfectly. Surely, such a creature would not brace his other hand around the center of her back to press further for contact. The sensation of the growl emanating from its lungs shooting to her core.

It was because his nose had become accustomed to the disinfectant spray that he was so sensitive to her smell. Internally berating himself for nuzzling into the hairline above the cook’s ear, lemon verbena, and citrus mixed pleasantly among the uplifting notes of her scent. Geto couldn’t refrain from pressing firmer into her hairline, gulping in deep breaths of Hope’s scent. The grip on the back of her neck tightened further; confirmation of the creature’s ability to still breathe came in how she tried and failed to hold back a second low moan.

His own response vibrated from how feminine hands gripped the thick fabric on his back and along his rib cage. Cursing at the way, soft, long legs dragged upward along the sides of his hips before wrapping around to press him closer. Silk robe falling open from the movement to show matching panties. It was unbelievable how quickly his cock hardened, straining against the white cloth of his momohiki. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, even with the five layers of Buddhist robes between them. How many years had it been since he had touched himself, let alone such a tempting, vile animal?

Hope bit her bottom lip at the delicious pressure against her core. If she hadn’t been so swept up in the moment’s intensity, she might have been embarrassed about the wet spot that could be felt already in her underwear. Skin growing hot as her body craved more contact and friction. The hands that previously gripped his clothes now reached up to thread into the long tendrils of the brutes hair. Fingernails scraped against his scalp before grasping firmly to pull the face away from hiding against her cheek. The strangled gasp he made caused her walls to flutter; what other noises would this monster of a man make?

The site that greeted her was breathtaking: flushed cheeks, eyes wide with shock and pleasure, and an oh-so-tempting pout to kiss. Gone were the fake smiles, disgusted glares, and angry scowls. Now what stood before her was a desperate mess of a man whose cock was so hard it could be felt through the many layers of clothing. She felt relief from the sight before her; a previous worry that he was toying with her was dissipated. No one would be able to deny his desire from how hard he was breathing, his own hands clinging to her like a lifeline.

Suguru was a man who had faced his fair share of dangerous and terrifying situations in his lifetime. He prided himself on keeping calm and making calculated choices during high-stress moments. So panic began to set in when he found moving from this frozen position impossible. The way her hands had gripped his hair, forcing them to hold eye contact, had his cock throbbing. Panic rose higher from the sensation. She kept glancing at his lips; this wasn’t good. Willing his lungs to work and throat to open, a quiet but hoarse word came out. “No.”

It was Hope’s turn to pout. Her legs locked tighter around him. In reality, he could break free from her so easily; the fact that he wasn’t just proved how much his body languished for contact. Her eyes pleaded as she took in his image, memorizing it and burning it into her mind. “Please.” she quietly asked in return. Hips rocked gently against his to help emphasize her ask. All movement paused at hearing an odd sound. Her brow furrowed in question at the noise he made suddenly, his face contorting to one that could be described as painful. Had she hurt him just now?

Geto eyes shut as the sudden climax continued quivering through him. Its shame was felt running down his stomach, legs, and clothing. He refused to look, to see her expression once she realized what had just occurred.

Hope's concern grew as he stayed still and closed off, contrasting how he clung to her a moment ago. The grip in his hair melted into gentle touches on his cheek, cupping his face to see if she could coax him to look at her. Hormones and endorphins craving the intimacy once more. When his eyes still refused to open, she scanned more of him to find the source of the sudden change. That’s when she spotted it; instantly, it all made sense. The relatively sizable wet spot formed on his clothes was proof of what occurred. Warmth spread to her cheeks as sinful thoughts began to race in her mind, the desire for more growing. Biting her bottom lip, she murmured-

“Again.”

His eyes sprung open wide, disbelief shaping the expression. Their eyes met as he processed her expression of hunger. The gentle touch of her hands on his cheek shifted to clasping the side of his face in place. Hips tilted as she pressed her core to where the wet spot lay on him. His mouth was agape in shock at the feeling of being nuzzled along his jawbone, the sensation trailing a line to his ear where a whisper was pressed against its shell. “I want another one, please.” The ask was sweet and sincere, even begging. Words failed him as a hand gently guided his own from the counter across the warmth of a plush thigh to someplace much hotter. A palpation hit his ribcage when feeling thin satin fabric, saturated and slick, shuttering when Hopes’s fingers encouraged his own to press more firmly against the spot. Her resounding whine brought him back from the out-of-body experience.

The overwhelming rage from before shifted into something much more savage and ravenous. Years of repressed urges bled to the surface; sturdy fingers gripped into the base of her hair like a handle to be pulled back from him, the movement forcing her skull to tilt up. It felt impossible to catch any breath as it heaved erratically between the groaning and growls, responding to how desperate legs clung to him. Any previous control had spilled from the pot that now boiled over. Another hand raised to cup her face with the same tenderness she had shown him just moments ago, watching how her eyes repeated their glances to his lips again. Finally, he leaned in.

“Shhh, I know where she hid the cookies from earlier.” Multiple footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer outside the door. Mimiko and Nanako both telling the other to be quiet, annoying the other with each repeated response given back and forth.

Hope and Geto’s eyes widened as the reality of their situation quickly sunk in. Her mouth opened and closed like the koi fish in the pond outside, and before she could say a word, the maniac was gone. Her brain struggled to process his disappearance, the movement inhuman in its speed. The limbs that once were held up against the other body flopped from no longer having something to grip onto. As the kitchen door slowly opened, she scrambled off the counter and ripped open one of the fridge doors to hide her overtly flushed face. Praying that its cold air would help calm down her heart rate. She was panicking as she quickly fixed the front of her silk robe back in its proper place.

Hidden outside the kitchen’s veranda, Geto stood in horror as the events that had just transpired replayed in his mind. Dismay that the truth about who started the whole situation was him. What was worse was that as hard as he tried to feel the disgust he so proudly touted for her kind, he could only feel how hard he was--again. Realization dawned on him of how dangerous the cook was as he shifted Hopes’s title from monkey to succubus.

#geto suguru #jjk suguru #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto #suguru geto #jjk #suguru geto x oc

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the-insomniac-emporium · 14 days

Text

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 7: FLOW

{Late because I got a terrible migraine out of the blue yesterday. Very happy with this one, and it references not only one of my main OCs, but the overarching plot of one of my original stories. Please enjoy!} -----

Item ID: 6O-2407 Item Name: Timekeeper’s Cutlass Category: ERROR://CLASSIFICATION INVALID://MANUAL USER INPUT: ARTIFACT Origin Point: Time Immemorial, Voided Owner: ■■■ ■■■■■■■■ (C), Triampheus ■■■■■■■■ (O) Description: A blade of a traditional Earthen design, reminiscent of the age of pirates. Approximately ■■ cm length, with a ■■ cm handle, ■■ cm at the widest point. Samples taken from the blade, hilt, and the guard overloaded the analysis unit. Scans were inconclusive upon repeated testing. Visual assessment indicates the item is most likely made from seaglass and driftwood. In place of a central fuller, there is a hollow middle filled with grains of sand, endlessly shifting from one end to the other, chased by a slow moving strand of water. An hourglass is carved into the bottom of the hilt. If alone with the item, one will hear the sound of rushing water (this sound is not picked up by any recording devices). Touching the item with bare skin induces hallucinations based on whoever previously touched it, regardless of whether or not one has met the previous individual. Cataloger’s Notes: I’m not bothering with any pretenses today. Truth of the matter is that we never should have gotten hold of this, I want nothing to do with it, and nobody is ever going to read this file other than myself (and even then, it will only be as a reminder to myself). As soon as I’m done recording these notes, this item is getting handed off to people far more qualified than myself. Every other record of this item will be wiped from FPA systems, even the backup servers. Nobody needs to know we had our hands on an artifact of this importance… nor do they need to know we unwittingly used it. May the Ancients forgive my sins, and the sins of my partner. We did not know. ERROR://FILE NOT UPLOADED TO PRIMARY SERVER://ERROR://PLEASE SYNC LOCAL FILES WITH CLOUD://ERROR://FILE SYNC CANCELED BY USER C.DELA://

-----

Cynthia should have known better. By now, she’s catalogued over a thousand items in the span of a decade, from weapons to ancient art, from contraband pharmaceuticals to exotic pets. On three occasions she has encountered items known as artifacts: Relics, both old and new, infused with terrible power. Each one has only briefly been held by the FPA, before being swiftly taken to those with higher authority. But even a minute in the presence of an artifact can change one’s life.

The Timekeeper’s Cutlass is not as obvious of an artifact as most. Whoever tried to mail it must not have known what it was, and those who handled it in between must have worn gloves. As soon as Cynthia was alone with the item, she felt its power, and heard the sea-song in the air. She knew, then, what thing lay on her desk. It was the first time she had ever been this close to an artifact, and her heart raced at the prospect of cataloging such a find. Who could blame her?

She did not forsake her duties, did not set out to play with it. Immediately, she made the proper phone calls, arranged the item’s retrieval first. Only then did she set out to log the details, knowing sooner or later Naomi would be stopping by to take her out for dinner. That was her excuse, maybe, that she’d only work until being interrupted. A foolish thought.

Artifacts set the time of all who touch them.

It only takes a single touch of her bare skin against the seaglass to “activate” the item. An accidental brush of her wrist against the material, a microsecond of contact, and Cynthia is no longer in her office. Now she is falling, falling, flying until she is in another body entirely, seeing through another’s eyes. Feeling what they feel. Voices whisper in her ears, overlapping until one word becomes clear: Triampheus. A Goddess, for one, but a common enough name among worshippers. Once the voices cut off, suddenly, Cynthia is free to witness glimpses into the life of another.

There is war. Long did it brew, across countless planets, at last stirred up by the atrocities of a few madmen. Flashes of combat, of death, a mentor laid to rest when a truce is broken. Rage. Sorrow. Desperation in the hearts of the viewpoint. It has to end. They will end it. Threats are made, are ignored, a display of power is taken too far. An entire planet held between their hands. One last warning, time for innocents to evacuate. Finally they are taken seriously.

But their control is not strong enough. They never wanted it to end this way. Blood from their eyes, their nose, their ears. Too much power- a Goddess channeled in mortal flesh. Either they break or the planet does, there is no letting go. The choice is made for them… and an entire world collapses in on itself. There is no more war, not anymore.

There is only a manhunt.

“Cynthia, please, please wake up,” Naomi’s voice cuts through the end of the vision, breaks away from what might be the future, draws her back into her body. Instantly she’s all but throwing herself into her girlfriend’s arms, pressing her face against Naomi’s neck and sobbing. There are no words to describe what she has seen.

“Don’t- don’t touch the sword,” Cynthia chokes out between sobs. For a moment there’s no sound other than her crying, Naomi going stiff. Was it too early in their relationship for this level of intensity? A few months was hardly enough time for Naomi to grow accustomed to the sort of things Cynthia has to inspect, but surely- her anxious thoughts are cut off by a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“I… I touched it. And I think- I hope- that we didn’t see the same thing. Because I… I really liked what I saw,” Naomi admits, in a reassuring whisper. One hand rubs gentle circles into Cynthia’s back as they sit together, and soon enough the crying slows, then stops. Finally, the archivist pulls back just far enough to look up with questioning eyes. Her curiosity overwhelms. “Telling you what I saw… I’m worried that it might change things. If… if that is the future. So, please, let me say no more than that there will be boundless joy. You will be safe, and happy, and you won’t be alone.”

Nothing could fully soothe Cynthia, not yet, but the words bring her a sense of hope. She may have dreamed of a stranger’s war, but Naomi had dreamed of the life that would come after. A life that would be shared with her.

#we'll see if I still have time to do today's prompt as well #rbswordtember #swordtember #swordtember 2024

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knight-engale · 7 months

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a strange request.

pairing: kuras/oc, kuras/mc

words: 1.6k

summary: after receiving an odd request from morgan, kuras decides to check on her, concerned for her safety.

warnings: accidental/involuntary voyeurism, references to religious guilt

a/n: inspired by a prompt @popcornaddict500 mentioned to me a while ago. i would have made this an "x reader" sort of thing but due to the nature of the fic, it just didn't work out without being awkward, so instead enjoy my mc i guess lol

Kuras quietly flipped through his patient notes, occasionally writing something down. He was always so busy tending to the sick and injured that it was rare that he had a moment to thoroughly review and update his records. There was always so much catching up to do…so much work to be done.

He was so absorbed in his record-keeping that he almost didn't notice the sound of someone knocking at the door. Only when it became more insistent did he look up. He quietly tucked his notes away and went to answer it.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you…” His golden eyes turned downward, his eyebrows lifting slightly when he realized who it was. “Ah, hello Morgan. Come in.”

He stepped aside, allowing the young woman to enter. She looked rather embarrassed, pulling her cloak a little more tightly around herself as she came into the office.

“Hello, Kuras… Thank you for letting me in.”

“Of course. How are your accommodations at the Wet Wick treating you?”

“It's been fine… Relatively comfortable, though I do wish I had ear plugs.”

Kuras gave that comment a small smile, his eyes shining pleasantly. “Is that why you've come to me?”

“No… I, um. You said I could see you if I needed anything, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Then…could you tell me if there's any…sources of water near the city…?” Morgan fidgeted with the hem of her cloak, her pale green eyes fixated on the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. Kuras looked at her in surprise for the second time today.

“Sources of water? There is the river, I suppose… Why do you need one?”

“Ah…just…just because. It can't be the river, though… I need it to be more private than that. And cleaner.”

“I see. Unfortunately, I cannot recall any other water sources… There are public wells scattered around the city, which are free to anyone. Could you not use one of those?”

“No… It has to be bigger than that, and private. Please.”

Kuras considered her for a long moment. She was clearly distressed about this issue. He felt bad about disappointing her, but there wasn't much of a choice. He eventually let out a quiet sigh. Words came from his mouth before he could stop them.

“...There is one place I'm aware of that may provide the privacy you desire. However, I cannot in good conscience recommend it to you. I highly doubt it would be…safe.” He regretted speaking even as the words left him.

Morgan looked up. A few locks of her dark blue hair fell in front of her face. “What is it? The spot you're thinking of?”

He sighed quietly. “There is a freshwater spring outside of the city, to the west. It is fairly secluded.”

“That's perfect! To the west, you said?”

“Yes…but Morgan, I cannot stress enough that the safety of this spot is dubious. There is no shelter there; it is open and exposed to anything that may be nearby. Soulless are more common outside the city. I ask you to not go there.”

“If you didn't want me to go there, you shouldn't have told me about it.”

Kuras didn't have a good response for that. She was right; he shouldn't have mentioned it. But he couldn't retract it now. She looked determined to go out to the spring regardless of his warnings.

“Unless you have anything else to tell me, I should get going now. Thank you for your help.”

“...I've nothing else to tell you. I only request that you think about this. Lowtown may not be the safest of places, but it's still better than being alone and exposed out in the wastes. For your own well-being, I urge you to reconsider. The wells and river may not be ideal, but-”

“I appreciate your concern, but I can't do that. I'll be fine. Won't be outside the city very long at all.” Morgan didn't give him a chance to respond to that before leaving. Kuras stared at the door for a while after she left.

She was going to get herself killed, and it was going to be his fault. More needless death that he had failed to prevent.

Another knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. More work, no doubt. He took a deep, regretful breath to steel himself before answering the door again.

~~~

Half an hour passed before Kuras had a chance to slip away. He wouldn't usually leave during the middle of the day like this, but Ais was looking after the clinic for now, and…he couldn't get the idea of Morgan, alone and without any protection, out of his head. The guilt was eating him alive. He never should have told her about the spring.

His only consolation was the hope that, if she had been attacked, she'd only be injured and not killed. Injuries could be mended, but death was far more difficult to fix.

That hope is what drove Kuras as he swept through the city streets. Perhaps there was a chance that she was alright, and he'd been worried for nothing. However, if she wasn't, at least he'd likely be able to save her.

People in the streets practically jumped out of his way as he went by. Few people wanted to be in the way of someone so imposing who was walking with such purpose. It made the trek to the west side of the city much easier. He hesitated to leave it, though. The fear of what he may find if a Soulless had gotten to her was uncomfortable, to put it lightly. But he'd come so far already. There was no point in turning back…and he would surely regret it if he did. He'd rather know, even if he wasn't sure he'd like what he found.

Eventually he found the courage to continue on his little mission and left the city borders. He knew the way to the spring by heart, so it didn't take long. The little spring was surrounded by moderately sized stones and tall, if scraggly, shrubs, giving some semblance of privacy. Just what Morgan had desired. None of the shrubs or stones seemed to have been disturbed. There was no sign of Soulless in the nearby area.

More importantly, he could hear humming. It was unmistakably Morgan's voice. He took great care to be as surreptitious as possible as he approached.

There, standing in the shallower areas of the water, was Morgan, bathing herself. She was unharmed, and apparently not even slightly frightened or bothered by the riskiness of her current situation. Her clothes were neatly folded near her, and a bucket and washcloth were settled within arm’s reach. Heat rose in Kuras's cheeks as she stood up straight and stretched.

He had, of course, seen her naked body before when he saved her from dying out in the wastes. But that had been under purely professional circumstances. There had been nothing particularly attractive about cutting away her clothes and stitching her back together.

This, though? This was…different. This time, she was awake and well. This time, it was impossible to not notice the delicateness of her waist or the way her back arched when she raised her arms over her head. He couldn't help but stare a little at her generous thighs and wide hips, the way they swayed gently as she washed herself. The way the water rolled down every curve and contour of her body as she emptied the bucket onto herself was captivating. And her breasts…they were the most perfect pair he'd ever seen. Her whole body was perfect, really. It had been ages since he'd seen a body so beautiful. So divine, in the literal sense of the word; she could have been easily mistaken for one of his own kind in a human form.

The more he stared, the faster his heart began to beat. The warmer his face became. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the living work of art standing in the spring. His gaze lingered on her while she ran her washcloth along her flawless golden-bronze skin. Even her hands and forearms, discolored and crisscrossed with gold fissures, were beautiful, regardless of the curse he sensed in them. A living work of art indeed.

But she was no mere painting, either. No painting had ever made him feel quite like this. This…mortal. This fallible. If he was being honest with himself, not many people made him feel this way nowadays, either. Very few could awaken this deep, sinful hunger in him. And yet she, this woman he'd known for less than a full week…

Morgan's head began to turn in his direction. Kuras ducked down, hoping he was fast enough that she hadn't spotted him. If she had, she didn't cry out in surprise or even speak a word. He sat on the hard, dusty ground, trying to settle himself. As if accidentally seeing her in such a vulnerable situation wasn't bad enough, his mind couldn't shake the mental image of her, either. He almost couldn't help but feel…dirty. Dirty, and greatly intrigued, captivated by the spell her image put on him.

He would…have to consider these feelings more later. Privately. And perhaps, if he concluded that he hadn't done anything wrong in thinking of her in such a sinful way…perhaps he'd say something to her. He wasn't sure what he would say, but he felt the need to express his...appreciation of her beauty somehow. Perhaps this was a rare mercy, a god-given opportunity to fill the void of loneliness in his ancient heart. Only time would tell.

#touchstarved game #touchstarved fanfic #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved oc #kuras x mc #tw voyeurism #tw religious mention #morgan the oracle #the oracle's angel #morkuras #this is so self indulgent..#*pats kuras* this baby can fit so much catholic guilt

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sotwk · 4 months

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Taking your advice to pop into the Ask box of someone whose work you enjoy to send them random love!!! I hear you on the discouragement front at times, but I hope you know how deeply I enjoy both your stories and your amazingly intricate and fully grounded head canons! Whether it’s your core interests in Thranduil and his family or your occasional pops over to Haldir or Éomer or Boromir, it’s all so lovely. There are things to smile at, things to ponder, things to give you very enjoyable mental images of hot guys in the rain, things to make you teary-eyed…a true moment for all moods and feelings! I’m so glad you’re here and so glad that you’ve put out so much work that has been hugely to our benefit! ♥️

Thank you so much for the positive words and encouragement! :) You are always such a kind and constant supporter (to everyone), and I'm thankful we are Moots.

I do feel better now after that recent bout of burn-out. But I can tell it's still kind of lingering in the shadows, so I still need to take it easy on myself. 😊

I'm going to be honest and say that the biggest and most common trigger of my burnout and disappointment is the low level of response I get specifically for my Thranduil-related work. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that my Eomer and Boromir fics have been so well-receieved, and I certainly am not lacking in love for those two blorbos! I have fun writing for them and will absolutely continue to do so, as well as for other favorite characters.

But Thranduil and his family/realm are what I have spent the greatest amount of offscreen world-building and OC creating energy on, and I truly hope that either one of two things happen: 1) I accept that my work has a small but devoted audience, and learn to be genuinely happy with that; or 2) the small audience grows with time. Because, let's be honest, I haven't really put out that many Thranduil fics, and the headcanons I have released are still just a small fraction of what I have in my notes. Maybe I need to earn the larger audience more.

I should follow the example set for me by you and other fellow writers who make great progress with their fics because you focus much more on the joy of it than the anticipated feedback. I think I can get there--I just need to ride the waves of inspiration and encouragement that come along. ❤️

#sotwk answers #i have the best mutuals #kind asks #writing #writer stuff #writer woes #writer burnout #fanfic #fanfic writing

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hesthermay · 2 years

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𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

PAIRING: sergeant hunter x f!royal!reader

SUMMARY: on a planet in the same system where the bad batch has just finished a mission, a group who's core belief is constructed of hate and discrimination has partnered with the separatists to take the capital and kidnap the queen. the mission brief is short and void of details, and the brothers have no idea what they're stepping into when they land on the small planet, but it amounts to more than they could have expected. with the first attempt to take the queen a failure, they know more is to come and can only say yes when her majesty herself asks clone force 99 to help her bring this to an end once and for all. it will not be easy, they will have to be unforgiving and perhaps even ruthless, but in the end light must always prevail over the darkness that is hate.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k (wowza!)

RATING + WARNINGS: general audiences, mature themes, angst. use of she/her, sexism existing in star wars, mentions of death, ruthless queen vibes, is this even good

NOTES: i have returned and am in my star wars era. slay! expect my sw masterlist to grow from here on out, i have multiple oc's and lots of ideas. anyways, this has potential for a part 2 so let me know what ya think! happy reading :P

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

Clone Force 99 did not know much about the situation they were walking into, the mission briefing having been almost nonexistent due to the urgency of everything. They were told it was an emergency, that things had escalated quickly on a planet not too far from where they currently were, that an attack was made against the queen and aid was needed immediately. It was not the first time they had been sent on a mission that deviated from what a regular clone soldier would do, but the haste of everything, the exempted details, had left the Bad Batch wondering as they landed the Marauder on the soft grass below.

The air smelt of smoke and the sky was slightly full of ash as it loomed over them, sunlight no longer streaming through the branches of the trees lining the clearing in the forest they currently stood in. One thing they had been told was steer clear of the landing pad, a small effort to keep their ship out of view and knowledge of their presence at a minimum; at least for the moment. Hunter’s nose scrunched at the stench, senses not quite overwhelmed by it but could most definitely be on the way to it. They had seen just what was burning as they flew over the expanse of greenery to reach the capital, and it only fueled the theories the men threw back and forth about exactly what was going on here—buildings, shops and homes, were lit up in flames as people as tiny as specks fled into the streets. Even the large and intricate castle was suffering from the destruction of the attack, the east wing beginning to crumble from the mercilessness of the fire.

Now that he was out in the open, Hunter could faintly hear blaster fire.

“And we’re just supposed to wait here?” Wrecker questioned as he looked around the clearing, head moving this way and that. Beside him, Tech hummed as his eyes scanned the datapad in front of him, helmet already on.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The general should be here momentarily to give us further information.”

As if on cue, a man clad in armor stepped through the treeline. His head was held high but there was a limp in his step and blood mixed with ash covering his face, a sign that he had been fighting and fighting hard. The crease in between his brows did not lessen when he spotted the group, but they knew that didn’t mean he wasn’t thankful for their arrival.

“99?” The man questioned as he drew closer, and it was the sergeant who stepped forward to answer, assuming his role of the leader with ease.

“Yes, sir. General Stowe, I’m assuming?”

“Yes, sir.” The man’s deep voice echoed his response and respect. It was not a common thought on this planet to discriminate against the clones that made up the Republic Army, but unfortunately you could never be sure when visiting a place for the first time.

“What happened here?”

General Stowe sighed, the lines on his face deepening, if that was even possible. “About a year ago,” he drawled, “a group of men moved into the capital, and it wasn’t long before people started to figure out they had some…controversial views on the status of our leader. They’ve been aggressive thus far, but nothing ever to this degree; never as violent as this. We believe they made a deal with the Separatists to kidnap the queen because they have a battalion's worth of droids accompanying them.”

There was a pause, a moment of silence as the brothers processed the words now out in the open, before Hunter looked back at the general, back straight and eyes determined. “Well, let’s get going then, shall we, boys?” he directed it over his shoulder, but his head remained forward as he removed the helmet from under his arm. There’s a response from the men behind him, a confirmation that they were ready for this, and then they were on their way. Stowe nodded his head at the leader when they seemed to catch each other's gaze, side by side as they trekked out of the forest.

“General Stowe, what exactly are these ‘controversial views’ you speak of?” Tech questioned from the back of the group.

Another sigh, deep and heavy. Things seemed to be weighing heavy on the older man’s shoulders as he responded. “That she’s a woman.”

The answer was simple and yet not, all at the same time. That was it? That was the reason? There wasn’t a Bad Batcher one who thought that that made sense. After a spell of silence, where they weren’t sure if the general was looking for a response or even what they would have said, he continued. “They haven’t exactly been shy about voicing their thoughts on Her Majesty, whether it be the way she runs things, things that aren’t even in her control, or the fact that she thinks she’s capable of doing her duty when she's ‘just some kriffing bitch with a crown.’’

The swell of anger was fast and strong as it took up space in Hunter’s chest. This wasn’t about some leader being reckless with their decisions, with the lives of their people, wasn’t about a person in power being cruel and malicious. It was about a woman being targeted for simply existing.

“We know it’s not just about the queen either. They’ve been aggressive towards women in the capital, but they haven’t actually been outright violent until now. So this is…”

“Just hate,” Hunter finished for him, gruff and serious. “It’s just about hate.”

Another stretch of silence passed. Things stewed in the minds of Clone Force 99 for a few moments, the lack of natural noise in the forest giving them no reprieve from their thoughts.

“Where is the queen, anyways?” It’s Echo’s voice that permeated the space next, light and curious as usual, but still serious. It came as no surprise when Stowe heaved yet another sigh, though this one could count as a groan as well. Oh no.

“Location is unknown. She went missing shortly after the start of the attack.” His eyes remained forward, not needing to turn to the men around him for them to see just how bad saying it felt.

Still, it didn’t stop Crosshair from butting in, voice incredulous as ever, harboring the slightest bite. “You lost her?”

The sergeant wanted to reprimand him, but couldn’t find it in himself to do so.

“Now I’m not sure what you’ve heard about her, but Queen Y/N is a very capable and skilled fighter, very…very stubborn, too.” A knowing exasperation crept into his words, as if this so-called stubbornness was a daily adversary of his. “We have a plan in place for if something like this happened, but it’s been reported that she stopped to save a handmaid and was quickly outnumbered.”

Conversation ceased as the group drew nearer to the castle. The seriousness of everything began to weigh heavier on their shoulders as they were spotted by some of the attackers immediately after breaking the treeline. They meandered around the courtyard as if they owned the place, as if they deserved to be there, but they were taken care of easily, quick work for such a capable group.

-: ✧

The fight that awaited them inside the castle, however, was not an easy one. There were more of them than they had originally anticipated, making them wonder for just a brief moment how so many people could share something in such a hateful thought. Nonetheless, it was the Bad Batch and castle guard left standing when the fight had been won, when the enemy had been defeated.

“Good work, boys,” Hunter spoke into his comm, standing in the gardens surrounded by broken and blasted droids. “Anybody got eyes on the queen?”

After a moment, he was met with a resounding no. His helmet turned in the direction of the general who stood a few feet away from him. He shook his head, and the worn man repeated the question into his own comm device, but was left disappointed after receiving the same answer.

“Alright, Sergeant Hunter and I will be heading to the throne room. If you’ve found the leaders of this failed excursion, round ‘em up and meet us there.” Though he furrowed his brows in confusion, he repeated the same command to his brothers before following Stowe, kicking droid parts out of his way.

Tech and Wrecker were already in the throne room, along with about half of the castle guard, when they entered through the large double doors. The room, with its towering columns and intricate ceiling, was tainted by what they saw.

Lined up on their knees were two men, beaten and bloodied, but still alive. They were a part of the attack, and were the supposed leaders; though they looked nothing like leaders now, more closely resembling a coward begging to be spared. As he was looking down at them, the doors opened once again and in came a few more guards, flanked by Crosshair and another injured and restrained man.

The sniper led the man forward to be lined up next to the others, and that was when Hunter realized that each of them were adorned by the color red in some way, a marker of their rank in this operation. His jaw clenched as he looked over at his brothers, seeing the same color painted on their armor but knowing they were nothing like these criminals, these scum.

“Her Majesty will want to speak with you upon her return, and I will not indulge you with false promises of being met with kindness and forgiveness. An enemy she is not to be made of, and that is exactly what you have made her.” General Stowe’s words offered no comfort to the men, but they were not meant to. Still, they made the clones more curious about the queen, and who exactly she was and what she did.

Finally, the doors opened and the last member of their squad entered the large room. Echo had his helmet off and tucked under his scomplink arm, the other one held out to usher a woman into the room. For a moment, Hunter wondered if she was the queen, but something told him she wasn’t, and when Stowe greeted her as the head advisor his suspicions were only confirmed.

“There’s still no eyes on the queen, which is not good,” the general stated.

“No, it’s not,” Advisor Calianna agreed. “We need to send out some groups to find her, she might not even be in the castle anymore.”

Tech spoke up next, but Hunter had stopped listening, their words slowly fading out. His head turned away, facing the entrance. He sensed you, still in the corridor; his ears picked up on the rapid drumming of your heart and his nose prickled at the metallic scent of blood wafting from you.

You were alive, you were moving, and you were here.

Crosshair noticed his brother’s silence first, noting the direction his head was craned in, and he nudged Tech beside him. The clone was not phased, continuing his discussion with the two officials, and it was not a moment later that the massive doors gave their signature creak once again, the noise filling the entire room. It was only then that everyone paused, their attention diverted. There, leaned against the wood of one of the doors, was you.

The doors were not opened all the way, only as much as you could manage and even that had caused you to halt, catching your breath. You, Her Majesty Queen Y/N, were alive and breathing, but you were hurt. Your face was covered in crimson, and Hunter’s keen eyes zeroed in on the gash going across the bridge of your nose to your right cheek. Your dress, long and golden and no doubt once magnificent, was torn and ripped and barely hanging off your shoulders, stained with blood as well. As your feet carry you into the room with a heavy limp, they notice that they’re bare and leave behind red prints.

For a moment, everyone was left frozen at the sight of you. You had had the fight of your life, had pushed yourself to the limit and the blade that was clutched in your right hand, coated in more blood, was a testament to that. Dark droplets landed on the bottom of your dress as it pooled on the ground around you. “Your Majesty!” Calianna gasped, rushing forward to meet you as you fully entered the room. It would seem that the woman had not noticed the look on your face, but Hunter certainly had.

You were not in the mood to be consoled and coddled, the rage in your eyes a stark contrast to the blank expression you wore. The only thing you gave the people around you was a deep furrow of your brow, drawn together in anger and determination. Kriff, maybe even spite too; Clone Force 99 was beginning to get the impression that you were not supposed to walk away from whatever it was that you had. The woman fretting over you was ignored, you not letting her slow your pace. Your eyes looked at nothing else other than the men lined up in a neat and pathetic row; the sight of them only seemed to spur you on, lip curling slightly.

“Are these them?”

There was a ferocity coating your words, ringing in their ears as they hit them, and none of the brothers could muster up the courage to break from the frozen state and answer you. It was Stowe who nodded his head at your question, stepping forward and addressing you softly but firmly.

The closer you drew to the group, the more detailed your injuries became. It wasn’t just the gash on your face that was bleeding, your lip was busted and you had suffered a blow to the temple. Bruises were beginning to form on your arms as they swung slightly at your side, and there would surely be scabs on your knuckles. There was a long rip on the left side of your dress skirt, and your leg slipped out of the slit with every step; your knee was swollen and bruising, clearly the cause for the heavy limp you sported. And still, you never stopped and never slowed as you trekked up the steps leading to the throne, where the perpetrators were lined up.

“How do you feel?” you asked them, though they never lifted their eyes from the ground in front of them. “Do you feel good?”

As you passed the group of guards and soldiers, they saw that the back of your dress was no better than the front; more rips littered the fabric covering your back and the expanse was stained a dark crimson.

“Do you feel…accomplished?” You stood over the men, looking down as they cowered on the floor before you. “Do you feel like the men you were when you started this?”

You were met with no answer, though you were not expecting one. “I know there are more of you, hidden away like rats afraid of daylight; and I know you’re working with Count Dooku. You will crawl back to them, and tell them that you failed. That you were the only ones to survive and it is because I let you. You will tell Count Dooku, personally, that I meant what I said—that it is not in me to be afraid, I was not born to be afraid. I was born to fight, and that is exactly what I plan to do.”

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air as you remained in place, letting seconds pass by with your fiery gaze placed upon the men in front of you. It was a moment to let them process it, let it sink in and stick in their dim minds.

And then, you dropped the blade and it clattered to the ground. You turned, and it was then that your eyes seemed to take notice of the others in the room. You scanned each soldier in black and red armor, all with their helmets off and faces showing. Your gaze lingered on the clone with gray hair for a moment, zeroed in on the rifle slung over his back. Making your way forward, you stopped in your tracks as you went to pass him. “Take care of all of them but one. He’ll be our messenger,” you ordered, but not harshly. You were not loud, you were not aggressive in tone, you were not emotional. You were calm, serious and merciless with your command.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Crosshair responded quietly, eyes squinted at her as he reached around to remove his rifle. With that, you continued limping forward, your aid rushing forward after a moment to help you out of the room. Clone Force 99 shared a look with one another before the shots rang out.

-: ✧

It was hours later that the Bad Batch saw the queen again. You had been whisked away to be looked over and treated immediately after leaving the throne room, and it was not until the sun was beginning to set and everything was bathed in an orange glow that they stood before you again.

You were on a balcony overlooking the capital, back facing the soldiers as you leaned against the stone. Hunter hesitated to disturb you, eyes lingering on you even when he knew she shouldn’t. Your hair was pinned up and your dress had an open back, revealing gashes covered in bacta, but you had sensed him this time and without even turning your head fully, you spoke to them directly. “I was told to let them breathe for a bit, I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

You sounded tired. None of them knew how you were even standing after everything that had happened, yet there you were. “No, ma’am,” the leader answered, kicking himself for the slight stutter in his words. “We just wanted to check in with you before it got too late, if that’s alright.”

Fully facing them now, you were haloed in the warm light of the sunset and you looked absolutely magnificent. The gash on your nose and cheek was going to scar, but it didn’t take away anything from the grace and elegance you possessed. “Of course, I actually wanted to speak with you myself.”

“You did?” Wrecker questioned, voice louder than needed in the calmness of the area. You only chuckled at him, grin small but present as you nodded.

“Yes, I did. Is everything handled?” This question was directed towards Crosshair, and he nodded his head once.

“The messenger was sent on his way,” he answered, and it was obvious to all that there was more he wanted to say. The question was, would he speak his mind or mind his tongue? “Are you sure about this, though?”

There was no evidence of offense on your face. You only nodded firmly, voice serious. “Yes, I am. I’m not afraid of Count Dooku, but I am not so delusional that I won’t admit that I need help. I need your help.” Your eyes, shining in the lowlight of the evening, landed on each one of them and took the time to take them in for all they were.

Perhaps it was that their whole lives had been spent training for and fighting in a war and there weren’t many pretty things to see in a life spent on battlefield after battlefield that made their hearts seize in their chests at the look, or maybe it was just that your gaze was so piercing because it was driven by the truth in your words and the determination to do what was right and serve justice where justice was due.

“Can I trust you to help me end this? Because that is exactly what I plan to do, stop this before it gets any more out of hand. I can’t do it on my own and I’m going to need people on my side that I can trust without a doubt, and,” she grinned, “not to speak illy of your characters, I don’t know you. But, I do want to trust you, you risked your lives helping today and I am more grateful than you could imagine. Can I?”

Again, no one seemed to want to be the first to break the frozen state and actually use their words. No one seemed to want to take the leap of faith required to dive headfirst into this fight, into this cause, as uncharted and diligent as it was. But eventually, as though the same wavelength connected each mind, Hunter came to his decision first and the rest followed; trusting their brother’s judgment and direction the same as any other day.

“Of course you can, Your Majesty,” the long haired man answered, nodding his head. “Your fight, is our fight now.”

“Yeah!” Wrecker cheered. “Don’t you worry, Queenie, we got this!”

Not a moment later, Tech’s voice joined in. “Well, I suppose we do have much to offer the cause,” a hand reached up to adjust the goggles on his face.

“You can count on us, Your Majesty,” Echo assured, a small smile stretching his lips as his eyes sparkled ever so slightly.

Now, all eyes gazed at the last man remaining, the sniper who personally fulfilled the queen’s wishes. Crosshair was sometimes hard to predict, but all knew his temperament and aversion to things that didn’t contribute to the main goal. If it wasn’t helping them win, it wasn’t really worth it, right? But this, this fight built upon the backs of hate and discrimination and evil, was in the way of the goal of victory. The separatists, and those aligned with them, were the enemy and those enemies were here now. “I suppose this place could do with some cleaning up.”

The grin on your face earlier had grown into something akin to dazzling. It was a full smile now, teeth on display and illuminating the space everyone was huddled in. Unbeknownst to the group, they had all gravitated towards the woman, huddled around her almost shoulder to shoulder as she called on them for help. “Wonderful,” you mused, and they could hear it. The knowing lilt in your voice, the glint of mischief reflecting off the word. “I think we may just do something here, boys. Huzzah,” you concluded softly, hand placed in front of you and waiting.

Though they again hesitated, after sharing a glance they one by one placed their own hands on top of yours. The allegiance was formed, and the wheels were now in motion.

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my content as your own.

#the witch: writes #—signed; hunter #hunter the bad batch #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter #the bad batch #the clone wars #tcw #hunter x reader #hunter x you #hunter tbb x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #the bad batch imagine #the bad batch one shot #—star wars

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esta-elavaris · 1 year

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Flufftober Day 6: Hot chocolate - alternate prompt ~ James Norrington/OC [1,365 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my behemoth of a main fic about these two is here 💜✨

Notes: Drinking chocolate was actually the most common form of chocolate in this time period, but I have decided that I am flouting historical accuracy here. Alternatively, given that this is a world where Beckett existed and he was a horrible little fuck who hated joy, I like to think he and his ancestors were on a lifelong campaign to stamp out drinking chocolate from the lives of those in their sphere of influence, and James has therefore never heard of or tried it. Not only is this a reasonable headcanon to have, it’s also so valid and so wise. Okay? Okay.

James had lost count of how many voyages he had undertaken under the banner of Norne Maritime Protection at this point. Enough for the crew of their flagship to stop grumbling over Theodora’s presence – both in matters of business, and on a literal level – which could only mean that there had been many. A combination of James’ firmly making it clear that disrespect would not be tolerated, combined with Theodora’s nature, the one that had her rubbing shoulders with pirates like it was nothing, soon disabused their men of any notions that she should be sneered at or talked down to. Those who did not come to this realisation in a timely manner soon found themselves without employment.

Unsurprisingly – at least to James himself – those who lasted any sort of time before ultimately being let go only did so at her insistence. He would have them off the ship from the first moment of disrespect, to make the no-tolerance policy very clear. It was Theodora who insisted on having a chance or two at cracking them. Usually through stomach-dropping feats like scaling to the top of the rigging to do some repairs herself or, on one memorable occasion, almost costing a man his finger in a game that involved taking turns with a knife and unfailing hand-eye coordination. Unfailing in his wife’s case, at least.

James struggled to decide which of the tactics he liked least. More often than not, however, they worked – especially now that the bulk of their growing pains were behind them, and this…this thing of theirs was running smoothly. Consistently. This voyage had been a particular success. There had been but one glimpse of a pirate ship, and it had turned around the moment its captain realised that the merchant vessel they’d sailed with was accompanied by a force to be reckoned with. Their fiercest foe had proven to be the cold, with winter swiftly nearing, but Theodora adored the cold so that he could hardly grudge her the happiness it brought.

Conditions above deck were frosty as he moved about, looking this way and that for the telltale red hair of his wife. She hadn’t been in the cabin, and with the day drawing to a close he was hoping they might eat together and then retire, but he would have to find her first.

It was one of the men aboard who directed him to her in the end, answering his enquiry of ‘Mrs Norrington?’ with ‘the galley, sir’ which boded…suspiciously. James wondered what combination of bread and cheese he was about to be confronted with this time. The crew having long since eaten, he found his wife alone in the galley, an enormous simmering pot of milk to her left and a slab of chocolate to her right, which she was massacring with a vigour that was both fearsome and oddly enticing.

“What are you concocting?” he asked in the way of greeting.

Theodora looked up, then she smiled at him – something he always had no choice but to return – before she returned to her efforts.

“Concocting?” she echoed. “Are we resurrecting the witch rumours, then?”

“Didn’t you know? I was the one to start them the first time around. It was my way of warding off any competition I may have had.”

Approaching, he moved to stand behind her, his chest at her back as he watched her work from over her shoulder. Theodora chuckled.

“Oh? You like your women on fire, then?”

“Evidently,” he teased, lifting a hand to tug gently at an errant strand of her hair.

Laughing softly, she set the knife down and leaned into him, taking up a chunk of chocolate she had not yet cut to shreds and holding it up towards him in offering. After a quick glance ensured none were about to bother them, James leaned forward and ate it directly from her grasp, his lips enveloping her fingertips and sucking the swiftly melting chocolate off of them as he did so.

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured, feigning ignorance to how her eyes had become hooded as he teased her.

“You needed your mouth to assess that, did you?”

“An old naval trick,” he said with a great deal of mock-solemnity.

“I’ll verify that with Groves, you know. We write.”

James doubted it was an empty threat, knowing Theodora.

“I’ll confiscate your quill,” he countered casually.

“This is how it’s going to be, is it? Not allowed to read or write…what’s next? Chaining me to the stove?”

“My love, if I was going to chain you to something, it would not be the stove.”

A beat passed – not because it took that long for her to understand him, he knew, but because she was second-guessing whether she’d understood him correctly. Turning her head, but remaining in his arms as she did so, she caught sight of his smirk and her eyes widened in dismay that he knew her far too well to believe.

“James Norrington!” she gasped, before smirking up at him. “I’m sure we’ve spoken about your threatening me with a good time.”

He chuckled lowly, keeping the close proximity and watching as she worked. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

His intrigue grew as she loaded the pot of simmering milk up with the chocolate she’d just demolished, stirring it until the milk turned to a pale brown colour and a sweet smell permeated the galley. Then, she added a pinch of cinnamon and, after tasting, a touch of sugar.

“I do hope this isn’t some strange manner of soup,” he commented.

“It’s hot chocolate.”

“You’re…warming chocolate? Wouldn’t that just be melted chocolate, then?”

“Not literally hot chocolate. Drinking chocolate. I’m surprised you’ve never had it – then again, it’s not really suited to Caribbean climates. I knew it’d get cold while we were out here, so I brought what we’d need with us. Then I started making it and realised I’d feel guilty if I didn’t make enough for everybody…hence the vat. But we get first crack at it.”

James watched, intrigued, as she ladled some of the hot chocolate into two tankards she’d set aside, evidently expecting him to root her out sooner or later. He smirked at that, and only stepped away from her when she handed one of the tankards towards him, knowing if he tried to drink that from her hand things would take the gesture from flirtatious to ridiculous. Then again, given his wife’s penchant for the ridiculous, perhaps she’d enjoy it.

She turned to watch him, sipping from her own cup as he tried this hot chocolate – and then beamed when he, after scarcely a mouthful, stopped to stare at her in amazement.

“See?” she grinned.

“I can’t believe you’ve kept this from me in all the time we’ve been married,” he hummed, taking another sip, relishing in how it warmed him after all those hours above deck.

“Have to keep a few things up my sleeve to keep the spark alive,” she said drily, topping up their mugs despite the fact that neither were yet half-empty.

“Oh?” he played along. “What else do you have stashed up there?”

“Well I know you’ve got chains up yours, so I’ll have to set about outdoing that.”

He chuckled – not least because of the pink tinge her cheeks adopted as she said it, however much she tried to act unbothered as she teased him. There would never come a time, he knew, when he’d tire of making her blush. Not least because it seemed a privilege granted only to him.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #james/theodora #james and theodora #james norrington/oc #james norrington x oc #flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #james norrington fanfic #james norrington fanfiction #POTC fanfic #POTC fanfiction

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faaarawayyy · 6 months

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hai!!

i’m bea/benrey! either name is good!

my pronouns include but r not limited to hey/hem/heir, she/her, and he/him. you can find all my pronouns and how to use them here!

i label myself nonbinary and dolphinygender but im rly just a creature ^_^ also aroace and platonically objectum! i’m taken in a queerplatonic relationship <33 also im otherkin/nonhuman!! (oceankin + robotkin)

i am a minor, and i have autism and adhd, so please keep these in mind when interacting with me! nsfw/18+ blogs please dni for both our comforts

i have tons of interests but i am especially fixated currently on dungeons and dragons, spore, kirby, rain world, and all my own ocs!! my biggest spinterest will always be in marine life/the ocean, i have my #marautism tag for all that stuff

i also post my own art here! most of it is of my ocs but maybe sometimes ill post misc fandom stuff if i ever feel like making fanart!

i don’t have a strict dni rly cuz i just block n move on casually but just, i feel it should be fairly obvious that youre not welcome here if youre a bigot or a proshipper or a zionist or just super nasty!! stay far away from me tyyy

anyway. beside that. tags and other blogs beneath cut and have fun here!! feel free to interact in any way i dont bite!! peace n love

@bluelightovermurder | my dnd/dunmeshi/ttrpg posting blog. lots of character related rbs

@starryseastims | my stimboard blog! feel free to send requests!

@tmd-clangen | my (as of now inactive) clangen story blog! post-apoc horror and challenge-based, be aware it contains lots of dark themes

@delfinxxia | currently inactive artblog lol. i may repurpose it someday? idk but it’s there

@recoveryranger | also inactive pokeblr blog. idk when ill get back into it haha

misc. notes

my content warnings are formatted like the following example: #cws #blood #death (etc). common ones likely will be: blood, gore, death/animal death, eyestrain. if you need anything more specifically tagged, feel free to send in an ask stating what you’d like tagged, anon or not!

my oc art is not free use but any of my fandom art may be used for noncommercial and/or personal reasons with credit! (ex. using my art as pfp)

i don’t usually do requests, art trades, or commissions, but i’ll post if this is something that happens at any point

tag guide

#clicksnsqueaks - just me saying stuff

#textbubbles - misc. textposts not said by me

#reblog - self-explanatory

#ask - asks i’ve received and answered! i’ll tag your username too but you can also request me not to

#ask game and #tag game - if i rb ask games or get tagged in something

#others’ art - self-explanatory, art that other people have made

#friend art - also self-explantatory, art from my friends/mutuals :>

#important - things that are. well. important. serious posts only

#4me - stuff that was made for me, gifts/commissions/etc.!

#4later - resources and compilation posts usually, might tag them specifically with #art resources or #life stuff as well

#fav - stuff i REALLY like

#mecore - things that r just. mecore. yknow

#me-tagged - stuff my friends/mutuals tagged for me YAAAY

#inspiration - awesome stuff that makes me feel inspired

#silly - stuff i think is funny

#wholesome - stuff i think is cute or nice or uplifting

art-specific tags

#my art - self-explanatory!

#srb - occasional reblogs of my own work

#my ocs - also self-explanatory! contains all original characters of mine, fandom or not. #oc: [oc name] tags will also be added for specific characters, and fandom tags if they apply

#others’ ocs - for other peoples’ characters that i’ve drawn

#fanart - art i make of characters from any media! fandoms and individual characters will be tagged

#pinned #clicksnsqueaks #gif

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baldurspeen69420 · 7 months

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Get To Know My Tav! (Part 2: Electric Boogaloo - Sophie Edition)

I did one of these for my first BG3 OC Byron a long time ago and I've been wanting to do one for Sophie since forever, now I finally have a minute! These are just so much fun to do. Might even do my Honor Mode Githyanki next if I get around to it!

Sophie Beaumont - Half-Orc - Champion Fighter - She/Her - 31

favorite weapon: She's a built lady with the power of bonking on her side, so she tends to lean towards various hammers, clubs, maces, and blunt objects. But her favorite gear is definitely her shield to protect her teammates.

style of combat: Tackles combat with a more defensive weapon and shield style. Fighting is always a last resort even though she's skilled at it, but Sophie is someone who'd always prefer to mediate her way out of conflict when possible.

most prized possession: Her favorite childhood book of poetry. The cover is battered and the pages are yellowed, but it's filled with doodles and notes in the margins from over the years.

deepest desire: To find her place in the world and someone to share it with. She's wandered a long time feeling lost and alone, so she really just wants a new start.

guilty pleasure: Definitely has an appreciation for the more frivolous pleasures of life, which people don't usually expect from a seasoned mercenary. Enjoys chocolates, makeup, soft clothes, and a warm bath fit with salts and candles.

best-kept-secret: Under that quiet and serious disposition is a deeply lonely person who wants to be understood and seen as more than a half-orc or soldier for hire.

greatest strength: Her compassionate heart and also rippling abs. Any problem that can't be solved with empathy and communication can be solved by punching it really hard.

fatal flaw: Low self-esteem city. Struggles to see her own worth and value, which can lead to her accepting treatment that's less than what she should be receiving. Very insecure about her half-orc heritage and appearance.

favorite smell: Baking bread and fresh flowers.

favorite spell or cantrip: Sophie has never had a talent for magic and isn't particularly well-versed in it. Her experience with Gale where he shared a bit of weave with her and helped her cast a spell was her first time ever experiencing magic for herself, and is one of her fondest memories of their tadpole adventure.

pet peeve: People assuming she's uneducated, brutish, or violent due to her half-orc heritage. She's so used to being called all kinds of things to the degree it hardly registers in the moment, but every comment still cuts and stings.

bad habit: Has accustomed herself to self-sacrifice and receiving very little in return. Doesn't expect much from anyone which can cause her to be distrustful of others intentions. Very much a mindset of "expect the worst" minus the flipside of hoping for the best.

hidden talent: A surprisingly skilled needleworker. Spent a lot of time shut away in her home growing up, and sewing/embroidery was one of the only things she and her mother did together that gave them common ground.

leisure activity: Tends to run low on social battery and go off on her own later in the day at camp. Reads, tailors her clothes, and writes poetry when no one is around. Spends a lot of time in the mornings training and keeping fit, however. Enjoys sparring with Karlach in particular since her intensity and aggressive fighting style keeps Sophie on her toes.

favorite drink: Loves a cup of warm milk with cinnamon and chamomile, not a treat she gets to enjoy often.

comfort food: She's spent a lot of time on the road eating rabbit and roughage, so any chance to indulge in sweets from the city is a blessing from the gods. Pastries filled with chocolate or cream are her favorites!

favorite person: Gale and her grew very close throughout their journey together, but she's also good friends with Wyll and Karlach. Halsin's flirtations (while flattering and flustering in equal measure) were eventually gently turned down in favor of the affections of the camp wizard and resident chef.

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): She's a romantic at heart but definitely prefers simple gestures when around others. Basic things like holding hands make her warm inside. She hasn't had someone before who's proud to be with her, so even small displays of affection in public are a change of pace and very welcome.

fondest childhood memory: Her childhood was definitely not a happy one by any stretch, but she'll always remember the first day she snuck away to go past the walls of Baldur's Gate for a festival. After seeing the city from its outskirts for so long, even being in the lower city was nothing short of magical. She realized how much of the world she hadn't experienced and how much was truly out there beyond her distant mother and childhood home.

Just putting out a tag to @kelandrin to see this post because they've always been a number 1 Sophie fan and their asks have meant so much to me in the past 🥺

#bg3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #tag game #sophie hours

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spiritofwhitefire · 20 days

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10 and 20 for the WiP asks?

Thank you so much! The questions below are 10-20 but they copy pasted weird lol

What is the last line of dialogue you’ve written? The pause that Russandol takes is too long to be anything but an affirmation, acknowledged and tossed aside.

What scene are you most hyped for this chapter/fic? Probably the end which is happy but with a hint of bad things about to come

What emotions do you expect your readers to feel? Joy and then fear

What common trope(s) do you feel are used in this chapter/fic? Fluff and angst maybe?

What have you been finding frustrating with writing this chapter/fic? Not having enough time to write it!

In as vague of terms as possible (to avoid spoiling), how do you anticipate this chapter/fic to end? On a note that hints that things are about to go badly

Write the next 5 sentences and share.:

“I should not give of myself differently than I ask of you.”

She tilts her head, regarding him now as a woman grown with much they same view of him that she has always had since she was a child of the pits. He is so beautiful, at the time the only beautiful thing she had ever seen. Now she has seen much beauty, in the crystal jeweled walls of her newfound home, her lover’s long kinky black hair, her medicines which have been built to heal. His sadness has not lessened with his freedom.

Share the previous 5 sentences.

“Very much.” He seems to realize how surprised his voice sounds. “I did not doubt your skill, mind you, but I did not realize…”

“Of course,” she says with a shrug. “It is not such an obvious occupation… for a thrall.”

Russandol catches her chin in his large, whole left hand. “You are no thrall. I will not hear you call yourself such.”

“And you?” She says, looking into his eyes, black now, cold. “Are you a thrall?”

The pause that Russandol takes is too long to be anything but an affirmation, acknowledged and tossed aside.

Share the scene you just wrote, written from another character’s POV.: I think from maedhros' POV here he is feeling such happiness and love at seeing the little girl he rescued from Angband, grown up and apparently happy and healthy and he is a little afraid for himself because he can't seem to heal as seemingly easily as she did.

Where does (insert word here) appear in your fic? I wasn't given a word so I'll pick one myself and I pick "sharp": All around her are trees with sharp green points, tall and pointed like a spear.

Share 3 images that would fit to a mood board for this chapter/fic.

The last one is my OC Aranye, a former thrall who is a self proclaimed witch. Sauron did something to her that gave her magic and she has taken that dark magic and used it to become a gifted healer!

WIP ASKS

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moo-moo-moon-writing · 2 years

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Yandere? Monster OC Headcanons

A/N; Hi, shameless plug but please check out part one and part two of my yandere (?) monster series! I'm so thankful for all of the support I got for part one, yet part two has not gained any traction, so... Anyways, here are some facts about my monster oc. Note that he does not have a name, but I am open to opinions on what they should be named. As always, send in asks! Legit can be about anything, not even just this series. I also take requests! At the bottom will be part one and part two.

TW/CW; Scary (?) monster, not really overly yandere, light mentions of missing/dead people, not detailed kidnapping, being held hostage, no hope, very (very) light manipulation, I did read over this over and over but there may be a spelling mistake...? I believe that is all. Perhaps teratophilia yet it is not really romantic as of this time.

Word Count; 1,009... Hopefully that is a decent amount for headcanons, especially since there will be more parts probably.

So first of all, they do not have a name and do not even realize that humans have names until you explain it to them. It kind of shows how long people usually survive with them…

They are also, despite their cheerful attitude, easily irritable. This comes with the fact that they are some sort of demonic monster thing, that is how most of them are.

I should also probably mention exactly where they live (as well as now you, if you do not annoy them that is)... They call it the Dark-Realm, and instead of calling Earth… Earth, they call it the Dirt-Realm. Everything is pitch black within the Dark-Realm, gravity being a myth there as well, and when light and gravity is present they are a lot more weak. Anyways, you won't be seeing any sort of light anytime soon.

They do not have a more human form, when on Earth, they actually hide away. Actually, when the monster found you they were hiding upon the top of the street lamp. You didn't take it down yourself, yet with gravity in effect, they weigh a lot… You just had amazing timing, didnt you?

A bit more about their kind; not many of them actually speak any human languages. They interact with grunts and huffs usually, and they view loudness as joy usually… When screams are heard, just like the monster, they also view it as a thing of joy. They get annoyed when people overuse it, so…

They also do not have faces, they have the indents within their faces where eyes and mouths and noses should be, yet they are not there at all. They can however, gain faces in unconventional ways, yet it is not common.

Moving on and focusing just on the monster, they are for sure not into romance nor being crazy crazy for you just yet. Romance is not a well known thing amongst their kind, and my oc has personally had to take care of a lot of humans in general, so getting attached is a bit hard.

One way to get them attached to you is if you explain names to them and give them one, especially if it is one that they can say easily. They will only let you use that name and won't really tell anyone else about it.

Their main focus is being a good friend, as long as you are as well. Scream when they want, be quiet when they want, and just be around them and they are happy enough.

They will take you to Earth a lot, let you be in the light, especially after they learn that the darkness within their house and realm causes your head to hurt a lot. Can't be a good friend if they're the one causing you headaches, right?

They also do not understand the fact that you had friends and family before they took you, for like romance, that is also an unfamiliar concept within their species and the Dark-Realm. You only have friends there.

They do not get jealous at all either, when you do interact with other monsters like them, they aren't the most interested and can't really understand you much other than your facial expressions, so you can't really get someone else to try and help you escape.

You can try to run while on Earth, yet you won't get far. They do not see it as an escape attempt, and instead see it as simply seeking out friends! Yet where there is light, there is darkness, which is where they will always lurk. When you have wandered long enough, they pick you up, like any good friend would!

It is nearly impossible for you to try and contact the police or any sort of authorities, or even friends and family, it is hard to explain the situation you are currently in after all, who would even believe in you?

After you finally get used to this new lifestyle you were forced into, and actually start to talk to the monster, you realize that while not the most mentally a-ok, they are not the worst thing you could have ended up with… It didn't even really take much manipulation from them either, just sweet old time.

After you two officially become friends (more official than they believed before), they start to make home accommodations for you to make it more comfy for you. They let you have a light on you (just don't flash them), as well as a tv! Just don't let it be too loud, don't question where they got it from or how it works, and don't prefer it more than them.

While not easily jealous, they are easily annoyed (they do not view it as jealousy), so you only get five hours of tv time and the rest is either sleeping or friendship time! They personally don't watch tv with you, so it gives you alone time and time for them to get you gifts.

Speaking of gifts, you once ran into your house when trying to make friends one time! They found it and while they didn't like how it looked at all (too bright), they brought things from it here and there.

They aren't overly touchy, afraid to perhaps hurt you, the most you get is the pinch of the front of your shirt or perhaps being carried to bed. Despite being energetic and somewhat childish, they do care about your health a lot, despite how they apparently “took you from your life”.

Yes, they are easily irritated (especially at first) and it takes you a moment to get used to things, but compared to others of their kind who would not understand you were… “Lucky” to be caught up with this thing. You even get to name them, how nice.

You're allowed to have friends, both monstrous and human, yet you always must remember that you are their best friend and that's final.

I may have another part with more… Romantic headcanons if people desire them.

Part One/Two;

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aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 2 months

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oc questions tag game!

ok, trying to be efficient with this lol

from @a-lonely-dunedain:

what is a trait your oc can't stand in other people vs a trait they find themself drawn to

what animal would you associate with your oc? can be for in-character reasons (ie their favorite animal) or a more symbolic reason

what is their biggest regret? was it truly their fault or some unavoidable tragedy? (and can they tell the difference)

from @sweetearthandnorthernsky

does oc have recurring themes in their nightmares? why? are they aware of the 'why'?

if your oc was to overhear their name in a conversation, what would they assume the conversation is about? why? is this assumption accurate?

there's a spider, cockroach, silverfish, or some other nasty bug in your oc's house/room/apartment/etc! how do they deal with it? do they squish it? capture it to release it outside? scream and run for the hills? leave it? something else entirely?

and my own questions, if you're so inclined, for @rlainarin [waves from thalion sideblog] @loremastering @dunadaan

oops! your oc got stuck in a timeloop. how's that going for them? is there a specific circumstance for the loop that would be most interesting?

what does your oc have by way of hobbies? creative hobbies? collector hobbies? hobbies other people think are weird?

plant a garden for your oc. what's in it? (is it practical? mostly for aesthetics? how big is it?)

and some answers!

what is a trait your oc can't stand in other people vs a trait they find themself drawn to

glainyn will get instantly annoyed with anyone acting like they know all or like they think they're the smartest person in the room, that they have all the answers and won't hear a thing anyone else is gonna say. conversely, he gets on pretty well with people who are just. not like that lol, even if they are the smartest person in the room (large factor in why he likes dis so much)

isena is rather drawn to people who project a lot of confidence. sometimes it's fun to see if she can pop their bubble, but sometimes it's just nice to have people around who know what they're doing. she does, however, hate a holier-than-thou attitude and will start a fight over it

what animal would you associate with your oc? can be for in-character reasons (ie their favorite animal) or a more symbolic reason

moths for silmeniel. both by aesthetic and the tendency to watch the light

it feels almost like cheating to say eagle or bear for isedd lol, for loremaster companion reasons mostly. matwyn my beloved. similarly, his cousin deorna + crow, for the random craban matwyn bullied into being deorna's companion

what is their biggest regret? was it truly their fault or some unavoidable tragedy? (and can they tell the difference)

lendrain thinks this should be walking away from the dunedain, but he can't find it in himself to actually regret it all that much, and feels bad about not actually feeling bad about it. the only part of it he actually regrets is not waiting long enough to say goodbye to helegdir

est is. hm. it's a little harder for her to pick a biggest regret i think. she always wishes she could have saved someone. she does really regret never having a proper conversation with grimbold after troubled dreams, though. the whole situation just feels stupid to her- it didn't have to end on that note but it did and she can't do anything about it now

does oc have recurring themes in their nightmares? why? are they aware of the 'why'?

helf trio especially has So much to work with in recurring dreams :D (so do most of the others if you just let them do a questline or two though lol). silear dreams of the deep palace most often- she's never been sure if that experience was real or the product of a too-long fever. post-morgul bladening she dreams of a cold, suffocating fog, though even then it's less common than the place beneath the sea. halthel and silmeniel i don't think have quite as much regularity in theirs, but they've got plenty to choose from

daedin dreams of the death of light- did even before the mirkwood mission that went bad when she was young. it's a little surprising, given how little of her ancestry is exilic noldorin. for a long time it's vague and unclear, but it later takes form from the stories silmeniel tells of the darkening. she has no idea why she dreams of this

if your oc was to overhear their name in a conversation, what would they assume the conversation is about? why? is this assumption accurate?

halthel (late first age): probably people having Opinions on the feanorians again (accurate)

halthel (third age): younger elves with questions about earlier ages (fairly accurate). or people having Opinions on the feanorians again (a bit less accurate)

est: someone has another quest for me (...accurate)

isedd (rohan/post-war): isena got in a fight somewhere (less accurate than he thinks)

isedd (bree/pre-war): bear scared someone again (accurate)

rani: oh fuck did they find out about [insert latest shenanigans here] (mixed accuracy)

silear, when she feels like being a bit of a shit: o noooo there's a bug :( silmeniel save me from the evil bug :( halthel do you have your giant fuck-off sword around? there is bug.

daedin, having gone through remmorchant: [smack] [smack] [smack] ....is it still there? [smack]

most of the rest of the crew don't care all That much tbh- too much time spent running around and camping lol. capture and release if it's convenient, shoo away if not, squish if it's gonna cause problems

#games tag #kinda jumped all over the place there but whatever #also a little bit forgot to finish it for a bit but we got there eventually lol #est #sil & om #i&i #rani #lendrain #daedin

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