#it's become a longer piece but here's a snippet!

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

Prompt: Martha Jones spots The Fourteenth Doctor around London doing a mundane thing like food shopping. Thank you :)

At first, Martha wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that she didn’t recognise him; she’d know that hair and that side profile anywhere, even if he was now clad in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt instead of the long coat she’d been so used to. He was holding a jar of jam, reading the ingredients with bright interest, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to be in Tesco Express at ten o’clock on a Thursday night shopping for preserves; the basket beside him contained further mundanities like bread and milk, and she was so baffled by all of this that she tried to tell herself that it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. He was a Time Lord, for god’s sake; he didn’t do dull things like buy pints of semi-skimmed milk or reduced Kingsmill white loaves.

But then he turned away from the shelf, sticking the jar in his basket, and the look on his face took her breath away. For several seconds she surveyed him as he continued to be unaware of her presence, and she tried to put her finger on what had changed. It was the eyes, she thought; there had been so many ghosts behind them when she’d first known him, and now he looked almost… well, serene. Calm. There were no spectres weighing heavily on his shoulders; there was no lingering pain in the easy, contented expression on his face as he scooped up his basket from his feet – still clad in Converse, because some things could never change – and then finally caught sight of her.

“Oh,” he said, the syllable hanging in the air between them for a moment, and she couldn’t read it; was he pleased to see her? Angry? Sad? Guilty? Was he about to cut and run? Then he beamed from ear to ear, really sincerely beamed, and held out his arms to her for – no, that couldn’t be right. He wanted a hug? Since when had he been a hugger? “Martha Jones!”

“Doctor,” she said reservedly, looking him up and down; he was older than he’d been since she last saw him, but all of the tension and impatient anxiety that he’d held within him seemed to have dissipated in the interceding years. Questions crowded her mind; questions about time and space and clothes and the air of contentment and – “Why are you in Tesco in Richmond?”

“Oh,” he said again, with dawning comprehension. “We’re out of bread.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

“Oh,” he repeated for a third time, then ran a hand through his hair before chancing a glance at the checkouts, and for one awful moment she thought he might be about to bolt. “It’s sort of a long story, actually. Why don’t we pay and find a pub, or something? Unless you’ve got somewhere to be… is Mickey expecting you?”

“He can wait,” she said with amusement, irrationally touched that he’d remembered. “Yeah, alright. Let’s pay.”

“Why are you in Tesco in Richmond?” he enquired, flipping the question back on her with some of the old cheekiness that she was used to. “That’s the real question.”

“Staying with mum for a few weeks while we have the kitchen redone,” she told him as they headed towards the self-checkouts; she started scanning her items while he did the same at an adjacent terminal, and she half expected him to sonic it, or in some way cheat it – space cubes, or god knows what else – but instead he took out an honest-to-god wallet and tapped a perfectly normal credit card on the reader. Her surprise must have shown, because he shot her a sidelong grin as he bundled up his groceries in a canvas tote bag and hefted it onto his shoulder as she swiped her Clubcard and did the same.

“Bit different to the old days, isn’t it?” he said ruefully, and she laughed.

“Yeah, never had you down as a wallet sort of man.”

“It was a present. I lost my last four credit cards.”

“That sounds more like you.”

[im-his-druidess]

The Deal

No one asked for this, but I needed something dark and gross 🤷‍♀️

TW: Dub-Con turned Non-Con; Infidelity; Cheating; Rough sex; Forced sex; Slight fuck-or-die but not really; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; Unnecessary amount of commas

Setting up the arrangement with Charlie Hewitt left a sour taste in your mouth at the way he openly leered at you the entire time, but you just kept thinking about finally going to bed with a full belly to get you through his poorly concealed innuendos and crass language. It wasn’t until you arrived at the Hewitt’s home, telling your husband you were walking to the next town for groceries as an excuse, that your plan began to crumble. The memory of Charlie’s words making fear squeeze your lungs and bile rising in your throat.

Just when you think you couldn’t feel even more worthless, here you were spreading your legs for a man that wasn’t your husband, all for the chance to get food on your table.

Your husband acted just as worthless as you currently felt and invited his parents to move into your already cramped house without discussing anything with you. Four grown adults living in a one-bedroom shack of a house, with your husband barely making enough money to feed you both let alone two more mouths, was enough to want to pull your hair out. Of course, it didn’t help that your mother-in-law found fault in every single thing you did which your husband agreed with to stay on his mother’s good side. Coupled with your in-laws living beyond their means, including gorging themselves on food that you managed to scrap together, which often left you going to bed hungry and riddled with anxiety. So, when you overheard the local gossip hounds whispering how the Hewitt family would give meat from their job at the slaughterhouse in exchange for favors, it didn’t take long for you to come to a steely resolve. It might have been the numerous days without a steady meal, or how you were belittled everyday at your home, that made you snap and jump at the chance.

‘As much as I want a piece of that pussy…I made a promise to my kin. Tommy’s birthday is coming up and it is far past time for him to become a man despite what mama says. So that’s who you’ll be fucking today. If you got a problem with that then you can fuck off.’

He was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it made your head spin.

Relief that you wouldn’t have to sleep with that disgusting excuse of a man making you giddy, before realization at his words struck you like white-hot lightening. You’ve only seen Tommy Hewitt once and the memory was seared into your brain.

You had come across him as he lumbered down the main road on his way home from the slaughterhouse and you were frozen in your tracks as his hulking form stalked past you. He was a large burly man, with broad shoulders, huge biceps, and thick thighs, and his dark shaggy hair didn’t hide the fact that he wore some type of leather mask on the lower part of his face.

He still wore his bloodstained apron.

You had reluctantly agreed once Charlie “sweetened” the deal by promising double the amount of food he would give. Now, here you were, propped up on a bench in the shed while listening to Charlie whisper harshly outside the door. From his tone it sounded like he was scolding someone, Tommy to be exact when you heard his slow heavy footsteps nearing the door, and you swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest the longer you had to wait. From the snippets you could hear it sounded like he was giving instructions and you grimaced when you heard him give vivid instructions on what to put in where.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tommy came stumbling through the door looking exactly like you remember minus the apron. You realized his blunt appearance was because he was being pushed into the room. Charlie gave you a dirty lingering look, shaking his head with a wistful sigh, before slapping Tommy on a broad shoulder before ducking back out.

The door shut with a firm thud and then you were left alone with the behemoth.

Fear and anxiety once more rushed through you fast enough to make you lightheaded, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, and the man lingered almost awkwardly by the door. You dimly noticed that he kept his head down, stealing glances at you and your body through his curtain of hair, and you took a deep breath to gather your courage. The bench underneath you was hard and uncomfortable and you knew the sooner you got this over with the sooner you can go home and forget this entire thing.

With shaky hands you hiked up your skirt, removing your panties so they won’t get lost or ruined, and spread your legs. Your face burned in mortification at your actions, even more so when Tommy’s entire body jerked as if sucker-punched, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide the way he openly stared between your legs with wide blue eyes. You fumbled with the small bottle of oil you brought with you, knowing you weren’t going to get properly wet enough to make things less painful, and you quickly waved Tommy over. He approached slowly as if you were going to bite before settling between your spread legs. With him so close you suddenly realized just how big he was, your thighs straining to accommodate the width of his hips, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a large heavy hand landed on your thigh. His skin was rough and overly warm, thick fingers digging into the meat of your thigh curiously, and you spotted his eyes darting over the rest of your body before settling back between your legs. Your nerves were starting to crumble at his slow pace so you reached down and began unbuckling his pants with trembling fingers.

His entire body tensed up and you mumbled a quiet apology, but your hands continued their work. You knew this was supposedly his first time, but you were anxious to get this over with. Tommy made a low grunting noise as he shuffled on his feet before you got his pants open and his entire body seemed to spasm when you reached into his pants to grab his dick.

You immediately paled at the sheer girth you encountered as you fingers weren’t even close to touching.

He was clearly proportionate to the rest of his body, but that also meant that he was hung like a fucking horse. You let go and fumbled with the vial of oil with a quick prayer for things to be over quickly. You ignored how he jerked his hips closer to you as if willing your hand back as he restlessly pushed his pants down with a grunt to offer you more room to touch him.

His cock stuck out just below his button-down shirt, almost drooping from the heavy weight, and the thick tip was an angry shade of red. You couldn’t help but compare him to your husband. He was larger in every single way, almost laughably so, and you had the brief thought of if you could even get that inside you. It twitched under your gaze. You looked away suddenly embarrassed and saw out of the corner of your eye his hips jerk once more towards you. You felt sweat pool at your lower back, the hot summer air doing nothing to cool you off despite being in shade, and you nervously wiped the sweat beading at your brow the back of your hand. You chided yourself and focused once more at the task at hand.

You poured a generous amount into your palm, nearly half the bottle, and steeled yourself before reaching down to coat him thoroughly. The sound he made didn’t seem human, the punched out garbled growl making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you held back your whimper of fright as he thickened even more in your grasp. You tried to not think of how you were going to struggle to take him into your body. You dropped him once he was completely coated and dumped more oil into your hand, steadfastly ignoring the way Tommy panted through his mask. You leaned back while taking a deep breath before reaching down and slathering yourself, working the oil into your cunt while simultaneously trying to stretch yourself with two fingers in preparation. It wasn’t long until you felt calloused fingers brushing against the back of your hand making you nearly shriek in surprise. You whipped your head down to see Tommy had moved closer, eyes completely transfixed between your legs, and you realized he was gripping himself with his other hand.

He was stroking himself at the same pace you were working yourself open.

Unexpectedly, heat simmered low in your pelvis at the sight and you couldn’t help but squirm in place. It was only about a minute later that you could tell he was getting restless, his hand squeezing his cock tight enough to make you wince, and you pretended to not notice him rubbing the weeping tip against your thighs. Tommy suddenly gripped your leg and spread you even further and you did whimper at the pain shooting through your hip at the unnatural position. He began grinding against your hand still buried in yourself, huffing in annoyance when he was denied entry, and you took a shuddering deep breath before moving your hand away to grip the edge of the bench.

“Go…slow, okay? Slow,” you muttered in a raspy voice and the only answer you received was the sensation of something blunt and sticky nudging at you.

He suddenly surged forward in an attempt to ram himself in, making you shriek and kick your pinned leg uselessly, but thankfully he just slid through your wet folds and brushed against your clit. He did that a few more times and was clearly growing agitated.

Even as you tried to weakly soothe him by weakly petting the hand holding you open, but that just seemed to work him up even more. Eventually the head of his cock notched at your entrance and he began to slowly push forward, seemingly learning from his mistakes, and you felt your eyes widen at the stretch. He was impossibly wide, nearly making you scream as your body attempted to reject the intrusion, but he was determined and those dark blue eyes never strayed from your straining cunt. You tried to help by shifting your hips, bracing one foot on the bench to widen your pelvis, and even stretching your other leg out to help ease the tension.

Nothing worked and you couldn’t escape the mounting pressure.

“It’s not going to work…Tommy, you have to stop. It hurts,” you pleaded, beginning to push on his thick chest while wiggling your hips away from him, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. Tommy didn’t like you pushing him away.

With a growl he pulled back, but your relief was short lived as he easily grabbed your hips and flipped you over and resumed his position. One broad palm was flat on your back between your shoulder blades, pinning you in place even as you squirmed and kicked, and you felt him trying to push in again with renewed vigor.

“Tommy, stop! I changed my mind! Get off of me!” you shrieked with growing panic only to have your shouts silenced by the feel of that fat head popping inside you.

Your eyes widened, body freezing and clenching down on reflex, and you barely had time to draw in a breath before Tommy drew back and slammed himself halfway inside you. The scream you let out was ear-piercing and your throat immediately felt shredded from the sound, but was cut off by him rearing back and slamming his hip back into you until he was eventually buried to the hilt.

His croaky moan of pleasure was covered by another scream from you.

Tears were now flowing freely down your face as you howled in pain, feeling as if you were being ripped in half, and you barely noticed Tommy’s other hand reaching down to paw at your wet cheeks as if to soothe you.

He only stayed still for a few seconds before leaning back and beginning a downright brutal pace. His hips were slamming into you with enough force to have the bench beneath you creaking ominously, your pelvis felt like it was going to shatter, and you had the stray thought that no amount of preparation would have ever prepared for you for him. Your gasping cries were short and choppy, from both his frantic pace and the hand pushing you down effectively squishing your lungs, but you still shrieked and yelped for him to stop or at least slow down to let your body adjust.

He didn’t listen.

He seemed possessed, grunting and snarling as he pounded into you mercilessly, and eventually your body went limp. You clawed helplessly against the wood beneath your cheek, blubbering incoherently, and prayed that Tommy would finish quickly. As if punishment for accepting this deal, you were granted no such reprieve.

He continued to rut into you like a mindless beast for what felt like hours, your insides swollen and throbbing as they were pummeled by his thick cock, and sweat was dripping off of him and mingling with your tears as he leaned over you to reach impossibly deeper. It wasn’t until his hips started stuttering and his thrusts turned deep and hard instead of fast and frantic that had you crying in relief at the telltale signs that he was nearing his finish. Then a horrifying realization dawned on you. Tommy wasn’t stopping. Instead it seemed he was spending longer and longer buried completely to the hilt, pressed flush against you as close as he could, and a new wave of terror-induced adrenaline washed over you.

“Not inside…Tommy don’t you fucking dare finish inside me,” you shrieked, renewing your struggles to escape him, and you grew increasingly wild as he only grunted at you.

You began writhing and attempting to twist away from him, kicking your legs and reaching back behind you to claw at his face, anything to get him away from you.

It only resulted in the hand on your back to slide up and fist painfully in your hair, nearly slamming you back onto the table hard enough for you to see black spots swimming in your vision, and his other hand grabbed your hip to further hold you in place. You continued to beg and plead for him to not come inside you, literally anywhere else but inside, but you were steadfastly ignored. His pace suddenly quickened, a low rattling whine escaping his broad chest, and you wailed as he stilled completely buried inside you. You felt his cock jerk and throb followed by a wave of scorching heat soothing your ravaged channel and you screamed in outrage and in despair. Tommy continued to grind into you, riding out his orgasm with small hurt noises escaping his throat, and by the time he was finished you were limp and shivering with shock. Realization of what all just happened rolling through your mind as fast as nausea rolled in your stomach at the feeling of wetness slipping down your thighs. Bile threatened to rise in your throat, silent tears spilling anew down your damp face, and your entire body felt both boiling hot and icy cold.

You wept quietly as he stayed buried inside you. He petted through your hair as if you were a frightened animal, his ragged breathing filling the stuffy air of the shed, and you swore you heard him cooing at you. You felt him lean down and nuzzle the back of your head as his hand moved from your hip to shyly pet over the back of your hand in some twisted form of affection after what just happened. The door suddenly swung open and you didn’t even have the energy to even twitch.

“Atta boy, Tommy! Heard that bitch caterwauling clear down the road!” Charlie shouted with clear glee and humiliation burned in your veins.

You heard the man move closer, no doubt wanting to leer at your crumpled body, but Tommy growled and moved his body more firmly on top of you. As if shielding you from view.

“Aw, what’s this, boy? You finally get your dick wet and now feel like you’re somebody special?” Charlie sneered and you felt the large body on top of you press even tighter to you.

You heard movement around you before a large item wrapped in brown paper tied with twine plopped on the table by your head.

“A deal’s a deal. Don’t be shy now. I’m sure Tommy would love to see you again,” he continued with a wheezing laugh, clearly finding the whole ordeal hilarious, and he walked back out of the shed laughing to himself.

Regret and disgust swirled in your gut at the sight of the paper bag, knowledge of what all transpired making you want to cry all over again, and you let out a small hiccupping sob. Tommy nuzzled into your hair once more, his body relaxing now that Charlie had left, and he resumed his petting. He was letting out a happy garbled sound, clearly not realizing how he had just brutalized you, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt Tommy begin to harden inside you once more.

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone, it's Wednesday <3 Thank you to @silly-little-diary for tagging me :)

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @sanzas-reverie @changelingsandothernonsense @thequeenofthewinter @friend-of-giants @labskeever

@firefly-factory @sulphuricgrin @scholarlyhermit @ladytanithia @saltymaplesyrup @lucien-lachance @heavy-metal-dick @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @chiqita

Picked up old boy again, got some more of his hair done. Went into last weekend like "I'm gonna finish this" and then I didn't 🧍‍♀️

But I did get a lot of writing done, working on my Maormer OC/Breton OC fic Changing Tides (2 chapters out now!) my drafts for Chapters 3 and 4 are done and being edited so have this snippet from Chapter 3 where Visdros has woken up to find himself in the care of a strange woman. Forgive him he's confused also prone to violence

“You are who.” Not a question but a statement, unrelenting and she manages to get an answer out. 

“Odile,” she mutters. “My name is Odile.” Her eyes dart down to where his hold on the weapon is still firm so she speaks again. “I-I found you, you washed up on the sh-shore.” What? His facial expression must change from suspicion to confusion as suddenly she becomes more confident in her words. “I thought you were dead at first, but you still had a pulse, very faintly though.” Pieces from his half-conscious state start putting themselves together, the glow he saw… Is she the reason I live? 

“You save me?” Curse this tongue. Qraalaro had always done the talking, rarely did he have to say more than a few words. Thankfully he understood more than he could speak, yet understanding was only half of communication. The woman, this Odile, nods vehemently. 

“Yes,” she repeats it more firmly, “Yes I did.” 

The dagger no longer fills the space between them, returning to his side yet not sheathed for many questions lay unanswered. It was also his nature to be on guard, he was his elder brother’s right hand, his muscle. Visdros was not unlike the weapon he held, held it like an extension of his own arm; to Qraalaro he was that too. Born a decade after, he had never known a time without the other, their mother had always had a hard time separating them. Where is he? Has something happened to him? As he is about to ask her more questions, most imperative being had anyone else been found, when his head seizes in pain. 

“Fucking oblivion.” Not caring for her language, this comes out in his as he grips where the throbbing ache radiates from and to his surprise, he finds it sticky. A thick viscous liquid and rough skin above his right ears. A wound. Odile is quick to help. 

“Here,” she uncorks a bottle. “Take this, it will help with the pain.” Had it been any less painful, he would have refused. Embarrassing to need to rely on the help of an outsider enough as it is, he did not believe in numbing pain. The wounds of battle should be felt if you are so careless as to be injured. It was respectful towards your opponent, as he had internalized from his father’s teachings. One of the many philosophies he lived by in his naval career. But as the ache wanders into his eye, the back of his neck, and even begins to migrate down into his right arm, he concedes. Angrily he swipes it from her hand and she flinches. 

Whatever it is made of works almost instantly, a pleasant sensation running over his body causing his eyes to close in peace. 

“Did that help?” 

“Yes.” She softly smiles. 

“I’m glad. That’s a pretty nasty cut you have there,” Her hands are outstretched towards him when she asks for permission. “May I?” He nods, tiredness starting to overcome him. They are soft, her hands, yet not too soft. Slight calluses on her fingertips indicating she does not live a life without labour; though perhaps he could have gathered that by looking at her home. Bits of magicka come from them as she casts a spell, the glow from before just ever so visible from the corner of his eye. “I was so focused on dealing with the drowning that I didn’t get time to attend to this before you awoke.’ Drowning? “Not that I’m upset you woke up, the opposite really.” I was drowning? Visdros doesn’t notice when she’s completed the spell, does not hear her say “hmm, that looks much better", nor when she asks him “how do you feel now?” for his mind is a million miles away.

[titania-sleeps]

ARGHHH i can't choose!! i love all house husband though!!

i'm glad you do hehe... i devise and plot deviously just for them bc they deserve it. i do wonder if people enjoy meaner readers vs. loving readers; I'll release both eventually but the two of them have such a different dynamic. the normal sub house husband is a bit more assertive and a brat, while the inadequate one just really really wants you to love him and only him... but in like a pathetic way.

here's a little snippet of what i had for them (i think the initial draft for both dated around 2022...)! as a note, my ideas may seem to blend in w some of my other works simply bc i didn't bother making them too distinct from each other, but i'll edit it to become more cohesive when i post in full in the future :D

warning: mild nsfw, dom reader (implied afab), minors DNI pls

Submissive House Husband Yandere x Independent Strong Reader

He is undone by you, a knot slipping apart. Seams unraveling, hair untangling, his entire vessel breathing erratically. Your nails grazing his skin erupt whispers of flames, dancing and swimming to his face. You thumb his cheek, tenderly and softly. You are never tender with him, at least not to such an extent.

His excitement grows, but he fears to open his eyes. He fears that if he opens his eyes, he will peer too far into your thoughts. And he knows that you are not thinking of him, even when you let your kind lips leave little love marks on his face.

"Why won't you look at me?" you ask, your voice like a pleasant temptation to his ears. It slithers slyly into his brain, and like a command, his eyes flutter open.

"Good," you purr. A praise. He cannot stop the shy grin from stamping itself onto his lips.

"You don't..." he pauses, wondering if he should continue. You stop and look at him, giving him your full attention. Shying under your gaze, he mutters, "You don't do this to anyone else... right?"

Your laugh echoes back at him, as though mocking him, but it is not unkind. Your thumb presses against his upper lip. "No. You are my husband, are you not?"

His face lights up in bright pink. How could he doubt you? Oh no, you look disappointed. Frantically, he nods his head.

"Yes, I am yours," he responds quickly. You hum in satisfaction, leaning in for a gentle peck. But you leave too soon, much too soon.

Hungry for the saccharine taste of your lips, he wraps his arms around your neck and brings you in closer. Closer and closer, so that the lining of your lip becomes a perfect match with his. So close, to the point that your tongue is melted into his, and your needy flesh encase upon another.

He seeks for you with the vigor of a beast, no longer quite the same timid house pet he once was. As you pull away for a breath of air, he whines. Just a moment without your lips is painful for him.

The eyes that peer down on him are now focused, like a trained sniper on their target. His body shivers; now your attention is wholly on him. Now you are looking at him.

You are truly divine. You are a goddess sent from above to smite him for his sins, for loving you far too much. He can only beg by your feet, day by day, pleading for a single audience with you. He just wants to please you, to become something that relieves you from strife and suffering. And to think that his goddess is now looking at him, just him! Only him!

The sound of silk slipping off jolts him from his daze. His eyes trail the discarded piece of clothing; a snake slithering its way up to an iridescent apple. The soft gleam of your skin meets his own eyes, and the sight breathes life into his fingers.

"Not yet," you say, a wonderful smile presented to him on your countenance.

[To be continued...]

Inadequate Submissive House Husband Yandere x Loving Reader

His wife is everything he has ever wanted in his life. You are beautiful and kind; forgiving whenever he makes a mistake and even patient she he does. And he always does. You are so lovely, he cannot help but want to be with you forever and ever and ever and ever and ever—

But he can't. He knows he can't, and it hurts so much, because he knows that he is useless. Deep down, he has already realized that you are only keeping him around because you pity him, not because you love him.

He wants to do better for you, but his abilities are limited to very little. He wishes that his love is enough to satiate you, but he is far too well aware of your disappointment in him. If he is lucky, you will not divorce him in the next year or two.

♡♡♡

Oh, your sweet, foolish husband. Always so patient, always so soft. Demure mannerisms and shy mumbles cloud his true worth. He may bumble and stumble about like a newborn doe on two legs, but his demeanor and intellect are worth far more. Yet only you are allowed to know this, and it is something you intend to keep locked up in your little treasure box of secrets.

Although he should most definitely refrain from doing housework.

[To be continued...]

ty for reading if you made it this far!!

-> masterlist

[gauntletgirlie]

Reparations: A Silverscars One Shot

Picture provided by @greenleaf4stuff.

I’ve written my first completed fanfiction piece! It’s a silverscars one shot, inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful @greenleaf4stuff (see this post).

Now on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63361555

Pairings: Adar x Celebrimbor.

Other characters: Gil-galad, Elrond and Galadriel.

Setting: AU Rings of Power in which Sauron does not kill Celebrimbor.

Warnings: Mention of blood and injuries. Mildly spicy with allusions to smut, nothing explicit. Gauntlet kink (shocking, I know).

Premise: Adar has rescued Celebrimbor from Sauron and is in the process of negotiating a truce with the elves. However, Lord Celebrimbor is proving most distracting.

Word count: 2100

Snippet following, the full piece is under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Adar growled in frustration. The armour was coming off he decided, figuratively and literally. 

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

He was stood too close. Adar could feel the air beside him move with even the slightest shift in Lord Celebrimbor’s stance. He refused to look at the elf beside him, staring resolutely at the High King instead as he addressed the room. 

Gil-galad had called this meeting to discuss the terms of truce between elf and uruk, and so it was that Adar found himself in the ruins of Eregion’s forges with the elven leaders: Gil-galad, Galadriel, Elrond, and Celebrimbor. It was hastily done, but terms needed to be set, at least until a more formal arrangement could be made. The siege had been called off the moment Nenya had cleared Adar’s mind of the influence of Sauron, and Sauron himself had fled once he had seen he was outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. 

Adar was trying his hardest to focus on what the High King was saying, but whilst his eyes remained fixed upon Gil-galad’s face, every other sense was drawn to Celebrimbor. He could hear the soft susurration of the elf’s gown as he repositioned slightly and could smell the blood that oozed from his bandaged hand. Adar could even feel the exhaustion that emanated from him. 

The elf lord should be resting, not forced to stand here and discuss politics. Then again, Adar mused, Elrond and Gil-galad were sporting their own wounds, weariness also yoking their shoulders. Perhaps they should all have sought respite before attempting to negotiate treaties. He himself felt energised, the power of Nenya had stripped away much to reveal more of his old self and he was impatient to get back to being the father his children deserved once more. 

Celebrimbor kept sneaking surreptitious glances at him, Adar could see in his peripheral vision. The Lord of Eregion had been most gracious with him, not least because Adar had rescued him from the clutches of Sauron. He owed Adar his life, but Adar owed him reparations for a besieged and destroyed city. A fact Gil-galad was not letting him forget. 

In fact, Adar was pretty certain it was that very topic the High King was so emphatically enumerating right now, if only Adar could stop listening to Celebrimbor’s unsteady breaths next to him. No, it had become too much, he could take it no longer, the Lord of Eregion needed a break and he needed to not be stood so close.

“If I may be so bold, your majesty.” Adar interrupted Gil-galad and was rewarded by a look of surprised indignation. “Lord Celebrimbor clearly requires rest, his injuries are many and talk such as this requires minds unclouded by pain and fatigue. I think he may not be the only one who would benefit from a chance to heal somewhat.”

Adar looked at Elrond, then Galadriel, before settling back on the High King. Gil-galad gave him a calculating look, his deep brown eyes boring into his own pale blue ones, no doubt attempting to determine if there was an ulterior motive behind his words. He might suspect Adar of seeking to stall negotiations, which was entirely untrue. Adar wished to get back to Mordor with his children as soon as possible, he just needed a reason to lessen the proximity between Celebrimbor and himself and this was the politest way he could think of achieving it. 

It was Galadriel that broke the tense silence that had fallen after Adar’s words. 

“I agree with Adar.” His name did not fit comfortably in her mouth still, it haltingly dropped from her tongue. “Lord Celebrimbor has suffered greatly and both yourself and Elrond have also sustained injuries-“

“Thanks to this orc and his children.” Cut in Elrond, though Adar noticed that his voice was more tired than it was harsh. 

“Uruk”.

Adar nearly broke his rule of not looking at Celebrimbor, for he and the elf had spoken the word in unison. He felt a smile creep unbidden to his lips and bit down on the inside of his cheek to prevent it spreading. He could do nothing to prevent the warmth that was simultaneously spreading in his chest, however. 

“I have already apologised on behalf of myself and my children.” Adar addressed Elrond. “I wish for no more flames and no more darkness. I wish to heal the rift between elf and uruk. Sauron poisons my mind no longer, as he no longer poisons Lady Galadriel’s or Lord Celebrimbor’s.”

At the reminder that not one, but two of their own had succumbed to Sauron’s deceit, Elrond and Gil-galad both appeared uncomfortable and, dare he say it, abashed. Gil-galad exchanged a glance with his commander before sighing and straightening himself. 

“We shall break until the morrow then. But we meet back here an hour after first light.” The High King’s tone brooked no argument as he fixed Adar with a hard stare. 

Adar inclined his head in assenting acknowledgment. With one last look at those gathered, Galadriel took Elrond’s arm and the two made their way out of the huge oak doors of the forge without another word. Gil-galad looked at Celebrimbor expectantly, but the smith made no move to leave. The High King raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment, instead bestowing Adar with a final appraising contemplation before following his companions out. 

“Lord Celebrimbor.” Adar acknowledged the other in farewell but as he was about to leave, Celebrimbor spoke. 

“I wanted to thank you again, for saving my life.” Celebrimbor’s voice was brimming with sincerity. 

“You have already thanked me. There is no need to continue to do so.“ Adar spoke kindly, not wishing to insult the other, but in truth Celebrimbor’s indebtedness made him feel discomfited. He was a great elf lord of noble lineage, an artist of the highest degree, a mind of genius and compassion; to see him reduced to such vulnerability was grievous to witness.  

“Still, I mean it. You were my knight in rusting armour.” Celebrimbor laughed softly at his own joke then placed a hand on Adar’s own, which was resting on the edge of the table they had all been gathered around. Adar stared at the contact. 

“Can you not even look at me?” Exasperation laced with pleading in the smith’s voice. 

Adar found he could not reply, his mind was whirling, and just as words were beginning to form, he felt Celebrimbor remove his hand and Adar’s heart sank, even as his mind relaxed. He was already on shaky ground with the elves, especially their High King. He could not afford to get entangled with one such as the Lord of Eregion. Better to not even entertain such thoughts as a warm, gentle hand placed upon his own threatened to give. 

To his astonishment, Adar felt that same warm hand cup his scarred cheek and gently but firmly turn his head so he was forced to look sideways at the elf beside him. Celebrimbor was already facing him and the space between them was so diminutive it would only take one of them to lean forwards to eradicate it entirely. 

Adar kept his face impassive, but he knew his eyes would betray him. He was not one to break eye contact, but he feared that Celebrimbor would see the hopeful longing he had no right to possess harboured in his gaze. He was about to look away when he saw a change in the other’s eyes; where there had been uncertainty now there was resolve. 

“Oh for goodness’s sake.” Celebrimbor whispered before sliding his hand down to the top of Adar’s breastplate and tugging him so that his mouth was brought to press firmly against the elf’s before he could even think to react. 

Celebrimbor’s lips were surprisingly soft and moved tentatively, despite his sudden determination. Adar was frozen in place, his hands involuntarily rising up in shock with his shoulders tensed up. Celebrimbor broke away to meet Adar with questioning expectancy. His fingers still gripped the top of his breastplate, refusing to relinquish their grip. 

Adar was now faced with a choice. Risk incurring the disdainful wrath of Gil-galad, Elrond, and probably Galadriel by giving in to his desires or risk offending and losing forever the elf before him whom he could no longer deny he respected, admired, and wanted so very badly. 

Adar smiled. There was no choice. He slid round so they faced one another properly, tilting his head forward so their noses almost touched. He heard Celebrimbor’s breath catch at the sudden movement. 

“Are you certain this is what you want?” He asked in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the other’s.

“Yes.” Celebrimbor spoke without hesitation. 

Adar moved immediately, that one word releasing the fire within him he had been so desperately trying to keep from consuming him. He grasped Celebrimbor round the waist with his gauntlet and drew him in, sealing the gap between them as he kissed the elf with an urgency that earned him a gasp of delighted surprise. His other hand brushed up the velvety fabric of the elf lord’s tunic to rest in the hollow of his back. 

Celebrimbor matched him in pace, their lips moving together in a dance of fervidity, but Adar was leaning in hard so that the smith was forced to wrap his arms about the uruk’s neck, uninjured hand entangling in his hair. In one swift motion, Adar grabbed the elf’s hips in both hands and hoisted him up to place him on the edge of the table next to them. He could kiss Celebrimbor more vigorously now and press their bodies closer without fear of either of them losing their footing. He cursed his breastplate, for what had been instrumental in bringing them together moments ago was now preventing him from feeling the other’s well-muscled form against his own. 

Adar growled in frustration. The armour was coming off he decided, figuratively and literally. Celebrimbor attempted to help him undo the buckles but he only had the one hand to work with, the other being too maimed to use so intricately. Adar’s desperation for closeness saw he was freed quickly, however, and the two embraced in a zealous collision. 

Celebrimbor was drawing him down so that Adar had to brace his gauntlet-clad hand against the table. The elf brought his legs up to wrap around Adar’s waist, ankles crossed at his back, his robe slipping up his calves to tease a glimpse of his thighs. The sight incensed Adar, he wanted to trail kisses up those thighs from knee to pelvis, meeting with what was housed in the middle. 

Celebrimbor had brushed Adar’s hair aside and was trailing light nips and sucks along his neck to end behind his ear. Adar’s gauntlet scraped against the wood of the table, gouging deep lines into the surface and his legs threatened to buckle when Celebrimbor began softly biting his ear, teasing his way from lobe to tip, but the smith merely tightened those supple legs against him to keep him steady. Adar slid his bare hand to grip the top of Celebrimbor’s thigh, feeling the smooth muscle tighten under his touch. The elf moaned in response causing the uruk to stop and pull back.

“Am I hurting you?” Concern flooded him, he had gotten lost in his lust, forgetting the elf lord was already battle-worn and fatigued. “We can stop here, we need not go any further. You do need to rest.”

Celebrimbor looked deep into his eyes with a longing that scorched Adar’s soul. By Eru, if he did not possess the most handsome face Adar had ever had pleasure to witness.

“Stop now and you will truly hurt me. As for resting, we have all night.” His brow quirked up suggestively. 

“As my Lord wishes.” Adar smirked. “But I will ensure you get the rest you require. Your High King will have my head if not.”

Celebrimbor laughed at that before pulling Adar to him again so their bodies were flush once more. The elf lord’s toned chest crushed into his own and the arms made strong through years of smithing now enclosing him in tight embrace were a reward Adar did not deserve. Celebrimbor was truly a master of his craft, for Adar was certain he would forge him anew before the night was done. 

“Promise me… promise me I may rest in your arms and I feel as though my wounds will all be healed.” Celebrimbor murmured breathlessly in his ear. 

In answer, Adar caught his mouth in a tender kiss and the two let their eager bodies carry on the conversation for the rest of the night. 

[moody-alcoholic]

The Missing Piece

Chapter 15 - Broken

Summary: Ghoap x Fem!Reader, throuple.

CW: Lot's of guilt, lots of self hate, but lots of fluff, hurt/comfort.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

Enjoy <3

You don’t remember much after being moved to the medbay. You would have brief moments of consciousness, hear snippets of conversations, people moving you, poking you. Your body hurt even with the amount of drugs being pumped through your system. At first you thought it was all a dream, like you were in one of those coma’s were you’re still aware of what’s going on around you. 

“She needs to be moved to Damascus to continue treatment, they can only do so much here.” It’s Price’s voice you think, low commanding, he sounds sure in everything he’s saying. It sounds like he’s talking to someone only the other person is being too quiet for you to hear.

There is always someone holding your hand. Johnny you think, his hands are soft he massages your palm or strokes your head. There are new voices, people you don’t recognise. You never hear Jack again but you hear his name, people talking about him. You never hear Simon’s voice, maybe he thinks you’re still guilty. 

“You can’t move her without the commanders permission!” An unfamiliar voice calls.

“The same cunt who put her in this position.” It’s Johnny’s voice he sounds mad. 

“There’s a helo 15 minutes out, we’re taking her to Damascus, you can tell major Gray to contact me if he has a problem with it.” Price again. 

“You’re not her commanding officer.” The voice pleads. Are they fighting? You can’t tell, everything’s hazy. Sometimes you open your eyes, you see nothing but blinding lights, blurred vision, it sends shooting pains in your head causing you to groan in pain.

You dream too, dream about being home, it’s not your flat you dream of though it’s Johnny and Simon’s. Sometimes they’re there, sometimes they’re not and everything feels wrong. You dream about laying between them, your head resting on Johnny’s chest as Simon strokes your back. You miss him, miss hearing his voice, his kind voice the one you fell in love with.

Do you still love them? Even after everything they’ve done. They never hurt you. That was always Jack, but they let it happen. They were following orders. They would never hurt you. But they let it happen. You try to justify it in your head, thinking about it causes a pain in your chest like something you have never felt before. Betrayal? Anger? Sadness? 

Johnny never leaves your side, you can always sense him. Sometimes he talks to you, sometimes he just sits there, rubbing your hand, stroking your arm. 

“You really should get some sleep, some proper sleep.” That’s Simon, it’s the first time you’ve heard him in what feels like forever, his voice is kind, low, it’s the voice you remember.

“4 days, we let her suffer.” Johnny says, he sounds tired, his voice filled with guilt. It didn’t feel like 4 days, it felt like longer. 

The nightmare's come next, Jacks voice etched into your brain. Always the same questions. 

“Why did you betray 141?”

“Why do you hate them?”

“Are you pretending to love them?”

“Do they know you’re a traitor?” 

When you dream about Jack reality becomes warped, you remember the doctor, you remember your hands pumping on his lifeless body. New memories come, you in the store room taking out insulin. You imagine his wife, his son, sobbing, you have to stand there and watch them as Jack tells them what happened. You’re in a court room, being court marshalled, striped of your medical licence. You look up in the gallery and see Johnny and Simon, the disgust on their face as the charges are read out. The smacking of the hammer as you’re dragged to a cell to spend the rest of your life.

It’s cold you’re lonely, maybe this was all the horrible reality, you were guilty. Jack said you were guilty, Jack said you betrayed 141, he said Johnny and Simon want nothing to do with you. That makes you sad, you love them, you would never hurt them. You need to apologise to them, beg for their forgiveness, if they will even give it to you. After this nap though, your body feeling heavy, sleepy like you’re being pulled into a black pit, it feels strangely comforting as your mind goes blank. 

——————————  

This time when you come too you know you’re conscious. You can smell antiseptic in the air, you blink your eyes open looking down at your hand, the same hand you know you’ve felt Johnny holding, you’re hooked up to an IV. Your head hurts your vision still a little blurry. You turn your head to the other side of the room.

Gaz is sat in a chair reading a newspaper, he looks tired his head resting on his hand propped up by his elbow on the chair arm. You don’t want to disturb him but you’re confused, you need answers. The fever dreams you’ve been having have blurred your sense of what is real or made up. You’re about to open your mouth when he looks up and sees you. He puts the newspaper down sitting up straight in the chair. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You’re just staring at him with your mouth hanging open your head scans the round the room again before you look back at Gaz. 

“My head hurts.” You say, you don’t know what to say. 

“Yeah you’ve been out of it for a while.” He says reaching over for his radio on the side table.

“How long?” You ask.

“2 days, I’ll get Price.” He says. You don’t know if Gaz is aware of the situation with you and Johnny and Simon. Where are they? You want to see them, you want to apologise. You look over at Gaz talking into the radio. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks as your hand moves its way up to your head, the dull throbbing pain is making you dizzy and you lie back on the bed. 

“No, I’m okay,” you say automatically, trying to ignore the thumping. You wait for Price to come you feel more parts of your body aching, you want to reach over and grab your chart from the bottom of the bed but the thought of moving right now is horrible. Gaz sits watching you fiddling with his radio until Price walks in. 

“Nice to see you awake.” He says moving to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

“Confused.” You say, you’re desperate for answers now. Price nods and smiles.

“You’re in Damascus, you were moved yesterday, turns out your injuries were more serious then we first anticipated. You’ve been out for the past 2 days, we’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” Price explained. 

“Where are Johnny and Simon?” You ask before you can stop yourself looking up at Price’s response. He smiles, his eyes quickly switching to Gaz then back to you. 

“I’ll go get them.” Price says, heading out the room. You look back over at Gaz. 

“I remember you coming in during..” The words catch in your throat, you swallow hard. 

“You were always so kind.” A smile appears on his lips. 

“It wasn’t fair what happened to you.” He says as a matter of fact, you don’t know if you believe him, you’re not sure what you believe right now. 

“Well, thank you anyway.” You say looking away, you fidget with your hands, not knowing what to say. Johnny rushes into the room next, making you jump as you see him. It’s like everything goes in slow motion, you don’t know if he’s going to be mad at you, upset, happy. Then a smile spreads across his face and he steps over to you wrapping his arms round you as he buries his head in your neck. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay lass,” he whispers into your ear, you look over your shoulder for Simon but you can’t see him. You wince as Johnny pulls you tighter and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Easy Johnny.” It’s Simon's voice. You open your eyes as Johnny lets you go and goes to sit on the chair beside your bed, he takes your hand in his rubbing your palm with his thumb. You swallow, it’s almost enough to make you start crying, you don’t know why. You look up at Simon, he’s wearing the mask of course he is, you wish you could see him without it. Your eyes switch to Price who is standing at the end of the bed.    

“C’mon Gaz let’s give them some space.” Price says. You look over at Gaz, you guess he has to be aware of the situation with you, Johnny and Simon. He smiles at you as you watch him leave the room, his presence is calming, you like him being around. Simon wait’s until he hears the door close before pulling a chair over next to Johnny. You look at them both not knowing what to say, they don’t seem angry or disappointed, you can’t really tell what Simon is thinking under his mask, but his eyes look softer, kinder then the last time you saw them. 

“What happened?” You ask. Simon explains the situation while Johnny rubs your arm. It took them longer then they expected but eventually they were able to clear your name. The soldier with the twisted ankle you were treating, him and the others were able to vouch for you. The time it’s suspected the doctor was overdosed, you were on the other side of the base. The most damming evidence though was the fact that your card was swiped in the medbay store room then at the loading dock within 3 seconds of each other. 

“What about Jack?” You ask. Johnny squeezes your hand. 

“We don’t have to talk about him right now.” Johnny says. You shake your head.

“I need to know.” You say a little harsher then you want. You think back to the doctor, you want justice. 

“He’s been moved to another base, at the moment they’re still waiting for a more thorough investigation to be done before they do anything, it’s all a waiting game right now.” Simon says his voice level. You feel a tear escape down your cheek, shit. You turn away blinking and using your other hand to wipe it. No tears here, you remind yourself. You look back at them.

“Sorry, I- It must be all the drugs I’m on.” You say, Johnny looks sympathetic. Simon leans forward in his chair his hand on Johnny’s neck.

“You are not allowed to apologise for anything, you are innocent, none of this is your fault. Jack will be punished.” You dip your head at Simon’s words. His hand grips your leg squeezing it.  

“Hey, look at me.” He says, you force your head up to look at him. “He’s not going to get away with this, I promise you.” You see Johnny nodding in agreement squeezing your hand. 

“What about the doctor?” You ask. “Has his body been sent back to his family?” 

“Not yet, they need it for evidence.” Simon says, you nod sniffing.

“He has a kid, a son who’s 4 at the end of the month. A wife Alice, she loves to paint.” You squeeze Johnny’s thumb. 

“Overdose by insulin, it can be reversed, if we knew..” You sigh looking at Johnny. “I just want to get out of this hospital.”   

——————————  

It’s a few hours later when a doctor comes to check you out. You’re taken down for a scan, apparently you took a good enough beating from Jack that your brain started to swell. Although when Johnny explained it to you it to you.

 “Your head was going to explode, I’ve worked on bombs that are less temperamental.” That made you smile as you laid in the CT machine waiting for it to be finished, apparently if all this was clear you were going to be discharged. That’s all you wanted, to get out this hospital, you didn’t know what was going to happen now though. Would you be sent home? Have to finish your tour? Your body was still aching and you felt like you were going to be relying on painkillers for a while.

The thought of a medical discharge made you feel sick, you wanted to be near Simon or Johnny. When you’re taken back to the room Johnny is still there, he has never left your side and you don’t want him to, the thought of being alone makes you panic. Great, being tortured has made you clingy. Simon and Price come in a few minutes later, they insist on waiting with you for the results.

“Who’s my commanding officer now? If Jack’s been moved.” You ask. 

“Me,” Price replies. “With what happened, you’re under our protection.” 

Protection?  

The word spins around in your head what do you need protecting from?

“He came to see me, Jack. The second night on the base.” You look up at Price. 

“He wanted me to spy on you all, gather intel and tell him about you and your unit.” You shake your head looking down. “He threatened, me he knew about the flat in Canary Wharf. It could have ended badly if a random nurse hadn’t heard him.” You look back up Price who moves his eyes to Simon then back to you.

“What did you say?” Johnny asked.

“Told him the truth, that I didn’t know anything about 141 and I wasn’t going to be his spy. Then ordered him a mandatory psych evaluation. He didn’t like that.” You can’t help but smile a little. You watch as Price pats Simon on the shoulder and they both leave the room. You flick your eyes back to Johnny, who’s smiling and squeezes your hand. 

“Johnny.” You say squeezing back. “Please don’t leave me, I-I don’t want to be alone again.” His hand reaches up to your face stroking your cheek. He pulls you in for a kiss, it’s nice feeling his hot mouth on yours. You wrap your hands round his neck as he pulls you closer to him. You sink into the familiar smell and touch feeling Johnny’s fingers run up your back. He breaks away from the kiss but keeps his arms around you. 

“We’re not going anywhere.” He says, his forehead on yours. You know he won’t have a choice if he’s called to work, you too but right now it’s what you need to hear. You break as you hear the door to the room opening. A doctor walks in followed by Simon and Price. 

“Good news.” The doctor says picking up your chart. “There is no more swelling and other then a broken rib physically you’re fine.” 

“Does that mean I can be discharged?” You ask. 

“Unfortunately, you’re still dehydrated and your blood sugar is low, that’s only to be expected with you being out of it for the past 48 hours. Regardless I want to run you through one more round of IV fluids and monitor you over night. Then I will be happy to discharge you in the morning all things going well.” The doctor explains. You nod feeling slightly disappointed but understanding. You lay back in the bed feeling somewhat exhausted already you can see through the high window of the room that the sun is already setting. You thank the doctor and he says he will send some food up for you to try and eat. Price and Simon leave following him and you’re left with Johnny again, not that you mind.

You thought Price or at least Simon would be back soon but instead your food comes first. You don’t really have much of an appetite but if you want to get out of here you know you need to eat something. Johnny’s sat there slicing the mystery meat up while you picked at whatever pasta was being served with it.

Typical hospital food, dry and tasteless, Johnny ended up eating most of the meat leaving you with the pasta and veggies when you said you were full after half a plate he continued to feed you spoonfuls of what tasted like bread pudding. By the time you were finished you were tired and desperate to use the bathroom. That’s a good sign at least, your bowels are all still in working order. 

“Let me find a nurse.” Johnny insisted until you grabbed his arm stopping him. 

“I am a nurse just help me to the toilets and I’ll be fine.” You insist. Johnny doesn't argue with you just helps you out of bed and to the bathroom down the hall. As you walk you can feel how stiff and sore your body is, how much pain your rib is giving you. You manage to finish up in the bathroom without assistance but lean up against Johnny the whole way back. When you get back into bed you’re exhausted. Johnny takes his seat again by the bed as you pull the covers over your legs. You look at him for a few seconds, watching as his hands run through his fluffy mohawk, his hair could do with a trim you find yourself smiling at him. 

“Johnny,” you say. He turns to look at you reaching out for your hand but you move. 

“Come lay with me.” You say the bed is big way too big for you, plenty of room for Johnny to climb in. You move your body up to the side of the bed. Johnny takes his boots off as you pull the thin sheets back. He slips into the bed and you let him wrap his arm round your shoulders pulling you onto his chest. You can smell him the familiar musky smell you find comfort in. He pulls the sheets over you and you relax into him. He kisses your head. You know this isn’t allowed, this is a military base, you didn’t care feeling yourself in Johnny’s arms again makes you feel safe. 

“Hey Johnny,” You whisper as he kisses your head. 

“Yeah?” He asked his voice low breathing in your ear. 

“I can’t wait to go home.” You say stroking his chest, the thought of being in their flat laying on the sofa or cuddling in bed. Just being in a closed environment with them shutting the outside world off for a few days sounded like heaven on earth. 

“We’ll be home soon.” He replies kissing your head pulling you tighter into his arms. “Just get some rest.” You listen to him closing your eyes, finally feeling safe for the first time in days.

—————————— 

Johnny slips out the bed early before the doctor comes. He checks your vitals then discharges you, Johnny pops in as the doctor is leaving to drop your kit off so you could change out the hospital gown. 

“I’ll be back in 10 minutes and we’ll go see Price.” He says before darting out the room again. You debated changing into your scrubs, the thought of the tight belt round your stomach was not exactly appealing. You change into your standard uniform not wanting to do anything to show Price up. You were expecting to see him already, expecting him to tell you you’re being send home on medical leave. No one comes though, it’s been at least 20 minutes, you’ve already rearranged your bag twice you’ve been so nervous.

Price intimidated you, not in a mean way more just in a boss way. Your mind keeps going back to what he said yesterday. ‘With what happened, you’re under our protection.’ Is that what 141 did? Protection? You heard they were something to do with terrorism, probably counter terrorism. That’s a big thing, you defiantly didn’t want to get involved with that, you’re just an army nurse after all. You hear voices in the door way pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You don’t have to wait I’m changed.” You say pulling your bag off the bed onto the floor. Okay that hurt your broken rib, seems like you’ll have to avoid heavy lifting for the next few days or weeks. 

Price walks in followed by Johnny, then Simon then Gaz. You smile seeing them all. The smile is quickly wiped off your face as Johnny moves to pick your bag up. They look sad about something. Your eyes flick to Simon, he won’t look in your eyes. 

“What is it?” You ask a wave of nervousness washing over you. For a second no one talks.

“Your flat in London was broken into." Simon says.

"What?" You ask frowning and shaking your head. "Was anything taken?"

"We're not sure, the police reached out while you were unconscious." John says. You look around them, they seem unsettled by this at the very least.

It has to be a conincidence, there's no way it's Jack or any of his lakkies, they're all here right now. Simon's eyes look dark behind his mask, Johnny has a concerned look on his face.

Or maybe it's not.

Next Banners by the-aesthetics-shop

[tutanchanup]

HC: Vampirized Vlad III. would spend a considerable amount of time scrolling through memes

Actually I think he'd consume the world news almost exclusively through that format

Because after you've lived for 600 years, you no longer make your head heavy with grave details. You've lived through so much that you've realized how absurd life really is.

And that even though the times change a lot, humans, and life itself, will always be the same. Nothing will change that. You can complain about it, you can be angry at it, but that's all you can do with it. And so you start to at least laugh at it :D

...Also I think the biggest side effect the curse of immortality would have on Vlad would be that

he'd become one of the biggest trolls in history 😆

His name has become engulfed with so many untruthful stereotypes that if he ever revealed his true identity, he'd enjoy every chance he'd got to take his favourite warhammer and smash the expectations the others have of him into tiny little pieces. He'd have much fun with that 😄. He'd live for that face that reporter made above 😁

You can look forward to see how that will look like in the short story I'm releasing (at least I wish 😅) this Sunday 😁,

Edit: it is here! Yay!

... a small snippet from my bigger work, Io, Draculea, where you'll see what would happen if you let a 15th century voivode survive to modern times 😄

[spacedlexi]

Oh god I must know everything about your modern au 😫🙏

mostly i just wanted to explore the idea of vi meeting clem while her relationship with minnie is falling apart and shes desperately trying to pick up the pieces (while minnie lets her do it all by herself). she needs to learn to let go and to stop trying to save minnie from her own self destruction. to not be scared of change and to choose someone who matches the effort she puts in. for the real longers and yearners out there. who also love mess :)

louis meets clem and gets her to come to a party hes hosting. there she meets vi, who she immediately hits it off with (after vi apologizes (is forced to by louis) for a rude introduction), but minnie interrupts them before clem has the chance to ask her out. realizing vi is already taken, clem gives louis his chance, hoping to move on. and well :) as clem and vi become closer friends they realize all they really want is each other 😏 though theyll try so hard to deny it. theyre gonna try to make their relationships work until they cant anymore 😭

it only exists as a (pretty long) script in my notes app. i dont trust the general fandom public to be normal about characters struggling with their relationships especially when they end in breakups 😭 i cant even post about vi and minnies canon messy relationship without people being weird about it so i just keep it to myself 🙄 but if people are actually interested maybe i'll post more 😏

heres some snippets. this whole doc is really rough because i never planned on sharing any of it but i will because you asked nicely :) first one is the party from the illustration and the second is clem and vi getting the chance to hang out one on one for the first time

minnie is pretty absent in her relationship with vi. but when clem shows up, vi starts to change. clem inspires vi to do and be better. to want better for herself. and minnie is threatened by that :) since she never expected vi to ever move on from her

[billythesimp]

His Starlight

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎...

I was requested for write more Billy headcanons with a fem!s/o so here's some short snippets. So thank you for the request! I'll be opening requests after I finish another piece so letting you all know ahead.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡...⋙

tagging: None

tw: none

⋈ Billy makes some strange decisions at time, either cuz he’s trying to be cheap in order to save more, or he’s just not thinking straight and makes an impromptu purchase. As his s/o, you’re able to reel him in and help him make smarter decisions that’ll leave him so grateful that you care as much to aid him. Of course, this doesn’t count when he decides to splurge on you, because his girlfriend deserves only the best.

⋈ The girls in the Cunning Hares have at least met you a couple times before, after all they do care for Billy so only want to know who his new girlfriend is. That being said, Nicole is probably the one who can see the benefits of keeping you around, only to drop them once she sees just how much you adore their android friend that they’ve started noticing changes in him that are for the better. He still is goofy and oftentimes causing a ruckus with the others, but he’s become more thoughtful and acknowledges when things are going wrong or when they need to make a decisive decision in their work or expenses. Nicole doesn’t mind having you come around often, as long as you don’t become another mouth to feed. 

⋈ Best part of having such a cute girlfriend is being able to binge watch movies together and go out on dates. His favorites being the ones where they explore Lumina Square and stop to take photos. Of course, he loves doing the iconic poses from his favorite shows and movies, impersonating the actors to the point that it embarrasses you but he does it in a loving matter. But he also loves taking photos of you, drinking coffee at the Tin man’s shop, fawning over the shop bangboos, or even experimenting with the makeup in the salon there. He has a whole file saved of his favorite moments from your dates. 

⋈ Of course, dating Billy has its cons. For one he is usually cold to the touch because he’s made of metal and need to have his joints lubricated. But no worries, he does his best to maintain himself and makes subtle changes that you wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Like buying a heating module to help increase his body heat, though the dealer he bought it from was kinda sketchy and now he overheats too quickly just from seeing your cute face. And when it comes to lubrates, he gets only the finest of lubes to help him move to the best of his ability. A little too well as you’ll have him turning head at record speed when you call him. Maybe even trip over his own feet trying to catch up to you. 

⋈ Billy can be a fool but he’s your fool. He loves and cherishes every day he gets to spend with you; And whenever he’s in a pinch, down in the hollows completing the hardest of commissions all for the sake of getting by with the Cunning Hares, he can only think of how you’ll be waiting for him on the outside. Ready to give him the biggest hug and rewatch Oh~ Sweetie where now he no longer finds joy in admiring the main actress as you shine brighter than any other starlight knight.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

I wanted to ask: what are your favorite norayemma fanfics? 👀👉👈

Ooo we will be here for a bit I love promoting fics that resonated with me so deeply and continue to shape my interpretation of the series (check out my TPN Fanfic tag for snippets to longer commentary in general), though I have yet to properly comment on some of them on AO3.

Beginning with one of the realest author's notes from @hylialeia:

Can you believe they invented OT3s 🖤🧡🤍

☆ This unnamed piece set during the timeskip by @p-s-geeks:

There is a flower in your pocket. It’s wild and medicinal. You’re familiar with it. You remember white bedsheets, a pleading whine, two pairs of hands embracing you, and the flower on your forehead, working more wonders that it was biologically capable of (it wasn’t the flower, you know). The flower currently in your pocket is probably in a worse state, has probably shriveled up and wilted after hours of being plucked. It weighs lighter than a feather but feels heavier than diamonds. […] You unearth the flower from your pocket. Ray deserves to see this. Deserves to relive memories with you. And you kind of need him to. Right now, he’s the only one who’s been through thick and thin with you in majority of these trials and tribulations. He’s the only one who can look at it the way you look at it. […] “It’s alright” Ray says, pressing himself closer to you. You hold onto him like he’s the last lifeline on a sinking boat. “It’s alright. You’re not alone. You never were alone” You sleep listening to her gentle words in his gentle voice and it’s the deepest sleep you’ve gotten in a long time. (You wake up to a beautiful orange sunrise. To limbs tangled around yours. To soft snores. To groaning and complaining about morning coming too early during summers. And the hole in your heart subdues itself. It doesn’t disappear, doesn’t stop panging, but you still smile in remembrance and hope.)

How all the little things build and build until they become so deafening, and how so much solace is able to be found in those small‚ tender exchanges on one quiet night, with Ray echoing simple yet loving words he learned from her so long ago that became etched into his being after Grace Field not only by her but through the actions‚ big and small‚ of their family as well (because family is so very integral to each of them). How at first orange is such a painful reminder and how it ends on a most radiant sunrise that's the true embodiment of Emma, giving them both the strength to continue onward.

☆ Everything in banana_slug_army's library. Too much to cite in one post, but here's her tag on here and me talking about the only kind of jealously I enjoy between them:

(I do subscribe to the headcanon of Norman having a pang of jealousy over how much time RE got to spend together before their reunion in the Paradise Hideout with how he tends to navigate extremes at that age, but it’s of a very specific variety. Seeing how close the Grace Field escapees have become during their near two years out in demon world and how that shared trauma brought them together could be a mixed bag for him, with the aching reminder that he wasn’t there with them, didn’t share those memories with them after a lifetime of being together, and the initial flare of jealously turns into shame over thinking it in the first place when 1) he’s mad at not being able to have been there with them‚ not at them, 2) how selfish it is to still want that when they already went through his death once and now will have to go through that a second time, and 3) he spent so long isolated and effectively helpless in his immediate circumstances while at Lambda and suffered for no justifiable reason that it manifests in a festering internal rage, which heartbreakingly can never be given a satisfactory answer…so basically banana_slug_army’s Interwoven lol)

☆ Everything in @salsae's TPN library. Again too much to cite but here's her tag on the blog, me gushing about (so what am I defending now?) aka the quintessential Norray-focused REN fic exploring NR's relationship nine months into the search for Emma, and me gushing about her canon-divergent REN wedding fic, to have and to hold (fanart here). I am constantly citing this snippet of defending and thinking about the flashback and dream sequences Shirai went back and added to the volume release of chapter 181.

☆ Speaking of wedding fics, @carnivorouswillgraham's w.a.m.s. gushing can be found here. Also the post that inspired the fic with my silly edit.

The softness she regards them with, almost proto-shoujo bubbles. 🖤🫧🧡🫧🤍 Norman, adorably, hesitating because he’s still grappling with latent feelings he can’t even begin to articulate about his friends, but at the forefront of them is how he unquestionably gravitates to them and is attune to all their little nuances. Ray, heartbreakingly, hesitating because he’s grappling with the reality he’s beginning to comprehend and the crushing acceptance that he can’t save all his siblings as things stand now, and after already narrowing it down to just Emma and Norman, being faced with the question of if he could honestly live with himself if he chose one to save over the other. The conclusion he comes to further bolsters his resolve to confront Isabella in just a few short weeks, and foreshadows the devastation of Norman’s shipment after a lifetime of realization and meticulous planning. Really like the quiet magnitude of this both for Emma and Norman’s blissful unawareness of the farm system’s horrors conceived for them and ofc from the future romantic perspective as being the core foundational tenant of REN. 🖤🧡🤍

☆ Last of the wedding-related fics but honeynpeaches' Between Your Fingers, Between the Lines also has the first portion of Ray's chapter dedicated to it so I'll use that as a segue (gushing found here). The third chapter exploring Emma's inner monologues throughout the course of the series remains unpublished, but the Norman and Ray chapters can be read as self-contained fics. Highly recommend it and frequently to go back to reread when I need to reground myself in their character foundations.

So many little nuances and call backs, profoundly beautiful.

Additional citation of snippets in this post and this post, as well as this post for Ray angst fic recommendations.

There are so many amazing passages in here, but the "[o]ften, those eyes are blue" line absolutely fucking wrecks me every time. How the cadence of that brevity lands on such a simple fact that now evokes so much sorrow when he used to have such warm and positive associations with those eyes. Windows to the soul and everything that made Norman Norman and what he loved about him.

And then the often referenced celestial symbolism of him as the stars of the trio (to Emma's sun and Norman's moon), but a less romanticized, more viscerally horrifying perspective on it.

☆ As the Crow Flies by Goldfish_Writes I've talked about in more depth here. I'm not very big on full genre AUs, with my usual thoughts being "I consider the characters' personalities inherently shaped by the narrative itself. If you remove them from those circumstances they cease to be the same characters anymore, and I grew attached to them in part because of the circumstances they found themselves in; I got attached to this story." I'm also not very big soulmate AUs as they seem to miss more than they hit for me. But I am a big fan of REN, and I'm interested in seeing where this fantasy story goes.

The pre-established Noremma is absolutely delightful. Another thing thing I've mentioned before is my dislike of Norman being extremely uncharacteristically nebbish or aggressively confident and suave when pursuing relationships that' works in tandem's usually packaged with Emma becoming bizarrely demure. Again, I understand the appeal of stock scenarios, but it's not something I enjoy reading for them. I adore when they reach this level of knowing, playful banter with an underlying thrum of challenge, bred of familiarity at which boundaries can be teasingly skirted and which are low blows and off-limits, and founded on them being equals (after both of them, to different degrees, placed each other on pedestals).

☆ home by 81194, featuring a classic scenario of Ray, a dumbass, trying so so hard to lie to himself about his feelings for NE and failing spectacularly throughout a series of snippets before the two take matters into their own hands.

i think emma wouldn’t have been so spontaneous if she hadn’t been sure of how everything would go. things always go her way when she’s involved, after all… i love her sm.

Very much in agreement on Emma's respectful tenacity and ambition on these matters lol

☆ A Relatively Brief Reflection on Cognitive Dissonance by ribbontype is a wonderful character study of Norman up to the trio's reunion in chapter 121 executed through exquisite, deft prose, allowing one to easily luxuriate in its flow and imagery.

The way they make him whole and reaffirm his resolve to damn destiny itself. <3

☆ Tethered by SuddenWhispers is a beautifully written fic beginning during the human world arc and continuing past canon as the cast navigate what living truly means in the human world, along with what Emma regaining her memories could mean for the new promise.

Also some Ray and Barbara and Cislo interactions with the latter two acting as mentor figures to the former encouraging him on one of his weaker fronts of advocating for his wants, hello??

☆ the ambiguity of belonging by Kiss_Kiss is another post-canon fic that's smaller in scope but no less rewarding of a read with its quiet and desperate moments of vulnerability between the trio reaffirming how much they mean to each other.

Also not only is the handwave of Lambda sickness done away with for Norman, but it also touches upon what the difficulties of losing one's ear entails for Emma, something I rarely if ever see.

☆ Finally, hoping you're someone i used to know by @hylialeia

A post-canon fic delivered in gorgeous lyrical cadence. Such loving attention is paid to sentence composition that the words aren't merely a means to an end, but a reflection of a deep appreciation for both these characters and the craft itself, the weight of them meant to be lingered over and savored. Always a treat when you can find a fic like this in a fandom.

[quintessenceofdust88]

I will take some 🍼🍼and some 👵👵please!

Hiii Hannah! Ofc, darling, thank you sm for the ask! I hope you enjoy the snippets! ❤️❤️❤️ Here are six sentences of Little Blobs for you: - 🍼

Buck is sixteen weeks along in his pregnancy, and it’s official: his favorite striped button down, the one he wore for his and Tommy’s first coffee date, is definitely no longer a viable clothing option. 

He pouts when he realizes there’s no way it’s gonna close over his belly, and then throws it on his and Tommy’s bed with a huff. They’re going over to Eddie’s, so it’s not like he has to look particularly fashionable, but. He likes his clothes. He doesn’t want to give them up. 

“Hey, sweetie, are you ready?” Tommy asks, and Buck glares at him with the force of a thousand suns for daring to ask the question so inconsiderately. 

And there are six sentences of Nonna under the cut for you:

- 👵

“So, how long is Tommy’s grandma staying again?” Eddie asks as he and Buck enter the airport. 

“Three weeks” Buck explains, his eyes trained on the gate from where Tommy and Nonna should be coming from any minute now.

After a lot of video calls, Tommy had finally convinced Nonna she wouldn’t be bothering them if she came with him  to LA a few weeks before the wedding and stayed at their house. They have two guest rooms (for now; one day, Buck hopes at least one of them becomes a nursery), and they both love her to pieces; nothing would make them happier than having Nonna around. Still, they had to promise she could cook and sew a vest for Tommy to wear at the wedding before she agreed, because ‘I am not staying at your house watching TV all day, Tommaso, I have to keep my hands busy!’. 

Buck knows she hasn’t visited LA in years, and he’s so excited that she’ll get to meet  everyone. She has become sort of a legend, with all the stories Buck and Tommy (mainly Tommy, of course) have told about her, and Eddie jumped at the opportunity to go with Buck to the airport to be the first one to meet the famous Nonna.

-- There you go, love, I hope you liked them!

(and if anyone else wants to make me write, just send me an emoji!)

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 7: bodyswap snippet

it's my birthday next week! and while i'd love to have a new fic to share with you on the day, the fact is i don't have anything ready to post, unless you count the short little notfics i throw out now and then—and if i shine one of those up, it's more of a present for my ao3 subscribers than for y'all.

but i do have a lot of works in progress, so i thought i'd share a couple snippets from my wips here on tumblr!

today, i have for you a bit of mihawk pov from the shuggy bodyswap fic, tentatively titled let's exchange the experience:

Mihawk set the flat of Yoru under Buggy’s chin and lifted, and this pressure he could not use his powers to get away from.  He raised his head up, staring at Mihawk without a trace of fear in his eyes.  He was defiant, and furious, and… amused? Mihawk knew those eyes. Those weren’t Buggy the Clown’s eyes.

(about 1k below the cut)

Bad enough to be associated with Buggy the Clown on paper.  Worse still for the posters, newspapers, and gossip to suggest he was subordinate to that clown.  And to be surrounded by his garish aesthetic at every turn—well, that was beyond words.  It was too awful to be described.  But somehow, being forced to participate in that ridiculous treasure hunt… that was the worst thing yet.

Fortunately, his co-conspirator in this little operation seemed to be fully in agreement with Mihawk.  It was with no small amount of pleasure that he watched Crocodile shove the clown face-first into the carpet, the heel of his shoe grinding down on Buggy’s skull and forcing his nose down and out of sight.

Mihawk briefly fantasized about leaving them like this, about smothering the thorn in his side until it was no longer his problem.  Alas, it wasn’t to be.  As trying as Buggy was—and he was very, very trying—he did have his uses.  When Crocodile lifted his leg to get a better angle for the next round of attacks, Mihawk interceded.

“Remember,” he said, the blade of Yoru all that separated Crocodile’s ire from Buggy’s body, “he still has a purpose to serve.”

Crocodile chewed on his cigar furiously for a moment. “You sure about that?” he asked.  They could still hear the ecstatic cheering echoing from across the island; Buggy’s loyal followers, inspired by his ridiculous declaration of intent to acquire the One Piece.  Almost certainly the biggest waste of time and money Buggy could have thought of for Cross Guild—and with the numbers on his side, there was no way they were getting out of it.  “If I haven’t reached my limit by now, I don’t know where it is.”

“We’ll know when he’s outlived his usefulness,” Mihawk said, staring Crocodile in the eye, “when both of us are too furious to hold back.”

“’Ppreciate… your restraint…” Buggy mumbled around a mouthful of bloody carpet, struggling to get to his knees.

Mihawk had Yoru’s edge against his neck in an instant.  “Don’t sass me, clown,” he said, walking a slow circle around him, until he was at Buggy’s back and by Crocodile’s side.  “I’m not advocating for your life here—just against your death.”

“The nuances are beyond his comprehension, I suspect,” Crocodile muttered under his breath, giving one last kick to the clown that knocked him flat on his stomach again.  “But you’re right,” he said, acknowledging Mihawk’s point.  “It’s too early to give in to such petty impulses.  And besides… if I’m to have any hope of my plans coming to fruition, this childish little venture may provide a decent smokescreen.”

Buggy made another muffled comment, but he seemed to have given up on trying to stand.  His shoulders shook as he sniffled—ugh, was he going to start crying again?  The emotionality repulsed Mihawk, but he wasn’t about to withdraw.  Not until he was certain the clown had conceded—and what had become clear today was that, so long as he was making smart comments, he hadn’t fully given up.  Buggy’s shoulders went stiff, then spasmed, and Mihawk realized he’d given the clown too much credit.  It was only a sneeze.

On the far side of the room, the former senior officers of Buggy’s Delivery, now occupying reduced positions in Cross Guild, went silent.  They exchanged indecipherable looks, then turned as one to stare at Buggy.

Buggy pushed himself up on his elbows, saying, “Oh, ow, that smarts.  Did things really need to come to this?  Surely…” He turned his head and froze, that bulbous nose not half an inch from Yoru’s blade.  His eyes flicked up to meet Mihawk’s, and there was something wrong about them.  “Surely, Hawkeyes, we could have come to some kind of an understanding without things getting… violent.”

“You’re the one undermining the understanding we already had in place, clown,” Crocodile griped, stepping forward and squatting down to talk to Buggy on his level.  Raising his golden hook to press against Buggy’s cheek, he slid it back into his hair and got the hook thoroughly tangled there.  He yanked, to pull Buggy’s head back, and said, “How quickly you forget—” before his words fell away.

Because Buggy’s head had not been pulled back; his hair was still tangled around Crocodile’s hook, but it was a free-floating piece, chopped free by Buggy’s Devil Fruit powers.  And his eyes…

Mihawk set the flat of Yoru under Buggy’s chin and lifted, and this pressure he could not use his powers to get away from.  He raised his head up, staring at Mihawk without a trace of fear in his eyes.  He was defiant, and furious, and… amused?

Mihawk knew those eyes.

Those weren’t Buggy the Clown’s eyes.

“I was wrong,” he said to Crocodile, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him away from the impossible thing before them.  “You should have killed him.”

“Oh?”  Crocodile glanced between Mihawk and the blue-haired man on the floor.  “Why the change of heart, Hawkeyes?”

“That isn’t Buggy the Clown,” he said.

They watched as the man carefully got to his knees and turned to face them.  He sat before Mihawk and Crocodile in a casual, sprawling posture that still managed to radiate unbelievable power.  His jaw shifted, and without breaking eye contact he spat out a broken tooth.  “Gee,” the man with Red-Haired Shanks’ fearless eyes asked, voice almost cheery, “what gave me away?”

[writingjourney]

What’s this I hear about no one asking about domestic Copia. I want to know about it please 🥺

I shared a snippet of that one here but I actually have something else I can give you! It's a very short thing about Copia and you being apart and developing a silly case of separation anxiety, no idea if I'm going to do anything longer with it. I wrote this months ago and didn't really edit it, but I might as well share what I have as a little treat for your support :)

Separation Anxiety – Copia x gn!reader, silly fluff ♡

He’s glancing at the door every two seconds, like you’d magically appear faster if he only tried hard enough. The volume of the movie Copia put on for distraction is almost on mute, just in case. He doesn’t want to miss the sound of your steps, the rattling of your keys. You’re always so quiet, the sounds you make barely audible whenever you arrive home. He knows you’ll be extra quiet tonight, assuming he’s already sleeping.

As if he could, without your warm cheek on his chest, your bodies pressed together like one.

His eyes stray to the door again, the knob still unmoving. His frequent sighs become louder, more and more desperate as he waits. Slender fingers dig into the soft upholstery of the couch until he releases them, only to repeat the gesture, tapping his thigh for good measure in between. Copia is fidgety, impatient, nervous even. After not even forty-eight hours without you, he’s positive that he’s starting to lose his mind and every passing second is one step closer to the edge.

Love can be so cruel. He spent half a decade without you and now suddenly one night becomes too much. His eyes only closed during the early morning hours when his exhaustion finally gifted him two hours of sleep. And then he woke up in utter confusion as his alarm went off, reaching out for the familiar shape of your body, only to touch the cold and empty sheets.

It’s not like he fully cried after that, there were no actual tears involved. But his eyes burnt, the ghost of the all-consuming loneliness that accompanied him for so long still clinging to his weary bones. It’s a feeling he can’t quite forget, if only because the emptiness is now filled with so much love and warmth that he still startles every now and then, expecting to find nothing.

Another glance at the door. It’s taunting him. By now he’s sure the knots of the wood form a face,  a grotesque grin. When he stares long enough the knob starts moving but then he squints and it’s still again, a mere trick of the eyes.

Your latest text said you would be arriving in half an hour. That was thirty-five minutes ago. Copia jumps up, makes for the door. He could catch you in the hallway, maybe even by the main entrance. He’s halfway to the door when he stops dead in his tracks. No, too eager, too needy. He takes a few steps back. Actually no, he should just sit down. Or would that make it seem like he’s indifferent?

Suddenly the door creeks open, accompanied by a pained groan.

In his nervous frenzy, Copia missed any of the earlier sounds and now he jumps up again, his heart beating so fast that he’s dizzy and disoriented. Then his brain stops working. He sees your tired face peeking through the gap as you wrestle with your bag and finally push the door open with your butt. Copia is there before he’s aware what he’s doing, his arms wrapping around you on their own accord. Your bag gives a dull thud as it lands on the floor and you squeal in surprise. He caught you sideways and now you shift in his arms, molding into him until you’re the perfect shape for his embrace. Your bodies slot together like two matching puzzle pieces.

“Amore,” he whispers, breathing you in with a loud inhale. There’s your smell again, the familiar tickle of your hair against his face, your warmth seeping into his pores. It’s almost too much and yet his instinct is to squeeze even tighter, so tight that you let out a strangled sound, the air all but wrung out of you. Regardless, your arms wrap around him just as desperately. Your hands grip the fabric of his red hoodie so tightly that he feels your nails scraping over his back.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. “I’ll never leave again.”

His heart gives a jolt at your words, at the realisation that maybe, just maybe your days have felt just as heavy as his, gray and dull and devoid of any light. Could it truly be that his presence is such a comfort to you, that he means so much to you that being without him brings you such pain? He struggles to make sense of it.

“Mia amata, luce della mia vita, I will never let you go again.” He nuzzles your neck, kissing the tender spot below your ear, running his hands over every part of your body he can reach. His fingers recognise every curve, every hill and valley, and yet he feels the need to re-commit them to his memory in exquisite detail. The moment this door closes behind you, he will pull you over to the bed and kiss you breathless, but right now he needs to hold you just a little bit longer.

[marlinspirkhall]

I've just finished Neverafter, so here are my thoughts on The Big Bad Wolf and Ylfa and what their relationship reveals about The Neverafter itself. I think the most important reveal we get is in S1E9: Origins, when the group witness the moment when Ylfa consumes the wolf.

Brennan said "you think this is a version of Red's story which went very wrong", and the fairy with the turquoise hair (who is herself only an echo of the blue fairy she is supposed to be) tells them that Ylfa met "a version of The Wolf that was much older and ancient". This was caused by (and also foreshadowing) the reveal that the Baron of Bricks was boiling down the essence of The Big Bad Wolf: As the more recent, tamer versions of the wolf got stripped away, all that was left was this primal creature: the one that was most like a wolf.

When the characters question if some versions of their stories come from the Auroratory rather than The Ink, I believe this is true- the ink merely preserves the stories for longer so that other storytellers can read them, which, in turn, reinforces the narratives.

Anyone in the "real world' can be a storyteller: in The Auroratory, when Ylfa hears all the voices telling the different versions of her story, the first one she hears as she begins to panic and worry that she's corrupting the stories is a man's voice talking impatiently and hurriedly, saying “the little girl strayed from the path and got eaten”- which, of course, isn't what happened in the true tale of Red Riding Hood- at least, not in the one I heard as a kid. The little girl strayed from the path, and then she got eaten. The difference is important. She strayed from the path, yes, but she didn't get eaten until later.

But the version of the story Ylfa experiences isn't similar to that, either.

The original story of Red Riding Hood existed as oral tradition long before it was written down, but it's thought that the first written version was penned by Charles Perrault, in 1697. In his version, the wolf tells Red that he'll race her to her grandma's house, and makes sure to take the shorter path so he gets there before her.

Ylfa's version of the story is never told in its entirety, but, from the snippets we get, it doesn't seem to match this story (aside from Ylfa's comment about watching “a caterpillar chase a butterfly”, because in the Perrault version she slowed down to watch burterflies). It seems that Ylfa never met The Wolf until she got to her grandmother's house, and we all know the woodsman wasn't nearby to deter him. So, what would have happened if Ylfa hadn't strayed from the path and gotten to the house late?

Ylfa often talks about how most versions of her story discuss the importance of not straying from the path, but, the truth is, if she hadn't strayed from the path, she wouldn't have survived.

Death is a Big Bad Wolf, but- in this instance- Death waits for her, and Ylfa becomes The Wolf.

In the finale, the characters (protagonist and antagonist alike) all worry about the nature of free will and predestination, but- through their ending- they choose to commit a different version of themselves to paper: a version which will then be retold and reinforced by someone reading it. Their stories will change again, with time and retelling, but, for now, they are in control of a tiny piece of their narrative.

Ylfa strays from the path, but she doesn't get eaten.

And that's where we'll end our story.

[moodymisty]

So I had these sitting around for a bit and didn't have any use for them, so i just decided to clean it a bit and then post it. So here, two snippets of a nailsremoved!AU to be balm on the wound of the inevitable tragedy that is Angron. Apologies about any incohesiveness due to it's rough nature. I'm trying to get more confidence in my own writing and posting more of the ideas that I don't spend 80 years on.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader (an AU of my 'stolen historitor' saga)

Warnings: None really apart from typical 40k talk and Angron's general existence

Snippet 1

The only word you can use to possibly describe it, is euphoric.

Never in a million years, in all of your hopes and prayers and desperate pleas, did you ever think it would even be possible. Even he hadn't; Though as with much of his life, he'd accepted his inevitable fate with the same despondent anger as with much else.

You shouldn't be awake, but you can't help but watch him for a moment.

Angron sleeps sitting. Perhaps its a remnant of his time in the gladiator pits. That would make the most logical sense to you, watching as his chin presses against his collarbone. He has one leg bent and one straight out, his left elbow resting on the bent one. He's prepared to fight, even in his sleep. Even his chainaxes are still within reach. You know if you even shifted towards them, they'd be in his hands within the blink of an eye.

But it's still odd to you, not seeing them. The nails were such a poignant, overt part of Angron's silhouette, that their removal has been an adjustment. It feels like a part of him is missing; In an odd sort of way.

You accidentally shift, and he opens his eyes. You smile at him.

He grunts. You snuffle closer to him and lay against his side, content to stay there for the time being. He doesn't remove you, so you assume it's fine.

You’re happy, but it’s bittersweet.

You know that while Angron no longer feels the full punishment of the nails against every other emotion but rage, that portions of the nails that couldn’t be removed; The pieces that replaced parts of his brain will always give him pain. To say that he is cured is laughable as like some sort of sick curse, he can have no relief in his life. A more accurate description would be that they neutered the Butcher’s Nails to give Angron some breathing room.

"Does it still hurt?"

You say softly, feeling his massive hand flop on your hip.

While there is no longer any nails for you to soothe, he does still feel as if your company gives him relief. Perhaps that's just another human emotion he's only just now been able to taste.

“No.”

You don’t know if he says it because it’s true, or he merely mistakes the neutering of pain as full relief it would make sense, given how long he’s lived with the nails; The pain becoming part of him and even its slight removal could feel like it was gone.

He could also just be lying. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to say refusing to show weakness. Someone like him won't simply admit that pain is affecting him. He'll never show his stomach to anyone, now matter how close you may be to him.

He stares at you. Hard. It’s always impossible to tell what he’s thinking until he inevitably says it.

“You worry too much.”

Your lips purse, and Angron grips your face not too hard, but hard enough to make your cheeks empty of air.

"I'm not the only one. I'm just the only one who admits it." The gladiator makes a disgruntled, irritated face and looks away.

Snippet 2

What an odd moment in time, Sanguinius thinks.

To imagine that out of all of his brothers, the one hailing from Nuceria would be the one to change so drastically. And to think they'd almost thought him lost.

Such is the nature of life, he guesses. For things to change so quickly. Even in their long lives it doesn't seem to slow down in the slightest.

Sanguinius looks across the massive room, watching the World Eater's Primarch interact with the only human he's given time of day. A question must've been asked, as they look up to him with a curiosity and Angron glances down to give an amused scoff.

It's barely there, but he sees it. It's just barely noticeable in the slightly softened look in his eyes. But the angel is keen, and catches it. He speaks up to either of the men in his presence, to neither in particular.

"I've never seen that man crack even the smallest smile. And it's been, what, three hundred years?"

Sanguinius' wings are fluffed, comfortable in the presence of two of his closest brothers. They've even seen Konrad smile; Though context proves to be a valuable marker in regards to him in particular. Magnus crosses his arms and looks towards Horus, not having heard him when the two of them exchanged an amused chuckle at Sanguinus' observation. Odd, for the Warmaster. Normally whenever he's in the Angel's company on Terra, it's hard to keep a laugh off of his lips.

"Have you, brother?"

Horus looks towards his brothers with a soft, charming smirk, one that fades ever so slightly as he looks to Angron. He thinks back, trying to remember a moment where the man hailing from Nuceria had ever shown anything but rage boiling just beneath the surface.

He lets out a soft chuckle when he comes up completely empty, and shakes his head.

"No, I don't think I have."

With all three in agreement Sanguinus makes some sort of lighthearted jest to Magnus at Angron's expense, looking away from the Warmaster for a moment. He doesn't let his perfect veneer drop, as he sees the old gladiator speak words not audible to him at you.

Horus watches for a moment longer, and then walks away.

[wetcatspellcaster]

first of all you are SO real for naming the cooler than me doc “modern AU kill me” because yeah. that’s what it’s like when you realize a wip’s gonna be longer than you meant for it to be. second, spare snippet from that doc (if you like)? :)

to be honest, the 'kill me' came less from the fact that it was becoming a long project.... and more from the fact i started it about... 3 weeks after pieces???? :)))) and obviously finishing pieces was a big thing, and I was like "oh my goodness, to prevent burnout I'll take a break for a bit, focus on one project and pace myself". and then. I'm just immediately tormented by visions and throw myself straight into something new lmao

anyway, here is a snippet!

ask a wip question. get a wip answer.