#safe ship moving services

[kdasc]

Everything You Should Know About Freight Forwarding and Its Process

International freight forwarding manages the pulse of world trade and everything related to import and export. To put it simply, a freight forwarding agent is like a travel agent in a cargo. They coordinated transportation details between international sellers and buyers.

This blog will highlight the aspects of freight forwarding and how to maintain its safety,

Freight vs. logistic; what's the difference?

Freight refers to the method through which the goods are moving. It broadly refers to cargo shipped through various means – by sea or by air!

On the flip side, logistics refers to the methodology used to get the goods from the point. International freight agents manage logistics and flow of goods in an organized supply chain – from transportation to warehouse and from planning to value-added services.

What are the problems in international shipment?

There are several common problems in making international freight forwarding shipments:

Difficulty in preparing the shipment

Well, complex paperwork and lack of clear information make companies wary of the international shipping process.

Tracking

Once the company has shipped a good – it is crucial to know where the cargo is whether it is in reception or destination.

Avoid delays

In international shipment, regardless of the shipping route or medium, it is crucial to take into account all the times and external agents.

What are the different types of freight?

It refers to the different methods used to ship goods. It is essential to differentiate several goods from methods. Take a look at the standard types of freights:

• Air cargo

• Ocean (cargo ship)

• Rail

• Road (truck)

In a nutshell

Take a look at the freight forwarding process:

The process starts by determining the credit of the shipment and then the agent establishes the mode of transportation. The mode is decided based on the product to be shipped. Next, they determine the weight and dimension of the container. After evaluating the charge and packaging they review the documentation and schedule the transport. In the meantime, they typically monitor the movement of the cargo and finally contact the notify party once it reaches the destination. This part could be a customs broker or the importer to arrange the last leg of shipment and prepare the invoice upon delivery.

[orbitstech]

Increasing Efficiency in Global Logistics Through Marine Services and Air Cargo

Introduction:

In today's interconnected world, efficient transportation and logistics are critical to the smooth operation of economies and enterprises around the world. Marine services and air cargo are two critical components of this worldwide supply chain. Both of these industries are critical to the timely and safe transportation of products and materials across continents. In this blog post, we will look at the relevance of marine services, the benefits of air cargo, the significance of aircraft hangars, and how these elements contribute to the maritime industry's safe ship moving service.

Marine Services: The Foundation of Global Trade

For decades, marine services have formed the backbone of global trade, supporting the movement of products across great distances. With maritime routes carrying over 90% of global trade, the importance of marine transportation cannot be emphasized. Ships are a vital aspect of the global supply chain because they are the major way of carrying goods, commodities, and raw materials such as oil, gas, and minerals.

Port operations, vessel management, cargo handling, and ship repair are all examples of marine services. These services guarantee that ports run smoothly, that cargo are loaded and unloaded efficiently, and that ships pass safely. Marine service companies continuously improve their operations to suit the increasing needs of global trade by harnessing new technologies and implementing sustainable practices.

Benefits of Air Cargo:

While marine services excel in transporting vast quantities of commodities, air freight provides unrivaled speed and efficiency. Air transportation is great for time-critical shipments, perishable goods, and valuable things. When compared to other modes of transportation, the utilization of cargo planes allows items to arrive at their destination in a matter of hours or days.

Air cargo services offer a number of benefits, including speedier delivery, lower inventory costs, and enhanced supply chain visibility. Furthermore, because it is not constrained by geographical limitations or infrastructural limits, air transportation offers for greater routing freedom. This adaptability helps enterprises to reach global markets more efficiently and respond to customer requests more quickly.

The Value of Aircraft Hangars:

Aircraft hangars are critical to the smooth operation of air cargo services. These structures house aircraft storage, maintenance, and repair facilities. Properly equipped hangars are critical for preserving cargo plane integrity and guaranteeing optimal performance.

Aircraft hangars are built to accommodate a wide range of aircraft sizes, allowing for efficient parking, loading, and unloading. They also have maintenance facilities where professional personnel perform routine inspections, repairs, and improvements. These services are critical for ensuring cargo planes' airworthiness and safety, eventually protecting the expensive cargo they transport.

Safe Ship Moving Company:

The maritime sector is strongly reliant on ships moving safely and efficiently. Safe Ship moving services are provided by specialized marine service providers, who ensure that boats are transferred securely from one site to another. These organizations have the knowledge, equipment, and technology to tackle the challenges of ship shifting.

Safe ship moving companies employ professional personnel that methodically plan and execute every part of the operation, including route selection, cargo security, and compliance with international maritime standards. They eliminate risks and ensure the safe transit of vessels across oceans by leveraging their experience and modern procedures.

Conclusion:

Marine and air freight services are critical components of the worldwide logistics network. While maritime transportation continues to be the backbone of global trade, air freight supplements it by providing speed, flexibility, and efficiency. The provision of well-equipped aircraft hangars provides adequate cargo plane maintenance, which contributes to the smooth functioning of air freight services.

Furthermore, the safe ship moving service provided by specialized marine service providers assures the safe transfer of boats, which is critical in the maritime business.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

SWEET TREAT

TWO IS COMPANY, THREE IS A CROWD

pairing: opla!sanji x reader, opla!zoro x reader

word count: 2.8k

warning: 18+, smut, swearing, penetration (p in v), oral (m receiving), food play, slight vouyerism

a/n: i didn't think 'TWO IS COMPANY, THREE IS A CROWD' would receive so much love. it's been overwhelming (in a good way) how well it's been doing. thank you to everyone who liked it and reblogged it!

as a thank you here is part 2 because if zoro had his moment so should sanji. (isn't that gif of him precious?) honestly you don't need to read part 1 to understand this. it's basically porn without plot (although it does have more plot than the first part lol)

i'd like to repeat i've only ever watched netflix's one piece so don't come for me if they are out of character.

i might just write a buggy oneshot next...that clown is coming for me.

Sanji outdid himself once more with dinner. No one in the crew can deny that recruiting Sanji onto the Straw Hat Crew was a great idea. Not even Zoro, who downplays his gratefulness with jabs towards the ‘waiter.’

With a full stomach and the rocking of the Going Merry the crew shuffles to their respective shared rooms to get some rest. Except for you.

You stay behind, gathering the empty plates and returning them to the sink. Sanji shoots you a thankful smile and pecks your lips gingerly as he turns to clean up the mess he made on the kitchen counter.

It’s peaceful as you scrub the dishes and Sanji returns everything to its respective spot. Each time he walks past you his palms find your hips, squeezing your body and rubbing up against you unnecessarily. Sanji just likes feeling your presence. Physical touch and acts of service is how he shows his love.

You don’t mind his touch, you revel on it actually. There’s something about big strong hands on your hips that makes you feel safe and fills your mind with impure thoughts.

You and Sanji talk in soft voices to maintain the unusual peacefulness of the ship. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as he helps you dry the clean dishes, his breath tickling you and making you giggle.

“Saved space for dessert?” Sanji whispers, his eyes on the hallway leading to Luffy’s bedroom, afraid the boy will barge through the door.

“You’re telling me I have the pleasure of getting dessert?” You quip with a grin while looking up at him.

Sanji softly laughs, grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. Your arms instinctually go around his neck. “You were the only one who helped me clean.”

“I just like spending time with you,” you whisper getting on your tippy toes to brush your lips against his.

“Even more reason to treat you with something sweet,” he responds, fully capturing your lips in a kiss.

With only the two of you around he takes his time to sink into the kiss. Tilting his head to deepen it and brushing his tongue against your lips. One hand grabs your hip while the other tangles in your hair, pulling you closer.

“I thought you were making me dessert not that I was dessert…although that can be arranged,” you tease him, dropping down back on your feet, leaving one last kiss on his jaw.

Sanji chuckles and shakes his head at your words, “You’re sweet enough to be dessert, but you’re right I did promise you a treat."

Kissing your forehead, Sanji opens up the pantry to get the necessary ingredients. You lean against the counter besides him as he fixes his sleeves up and starts whisking ingredients together. All of his movements are precise and confident.

Your eyes zone in on his strong forearms. The veins and tendons tensing as he whisks away. You can't help but remember all the times he's held you in his arms, his strong grip and the pleasure he gives.

You move to stand behind him as he finishes up, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him. You leave kisses along his spine, resting your head there for a moment. Neither have to speak to appreciate each others presence and the calm environment.

“All done, darling,” Sanji announces. He places his arms over yours to intertwine your fingers and give the palm of your hand a kiss.

You peep from behind him seeing a dish with chocolate mousse and whipped cream. It's your favorite dessert, the same one he recommended back when you first met at Baratie.

As you reach for the dish Sanji grabs you and lifts you to sit on the kitchen counter. You laugh as he stands between your open legs, bringing the dessert up between the two of you.

You part your lips as he raises the spoon up to your lips. Sanji watches you expectantly and a sense of satisfaction fills him as you close your eyes in pleasure.

The mixture of flavors invade your senses causing a moan rises from your throat. Sanji's proud smile falters as your tongue swipes your bottom lip to clean off a bit of chocolatey residue. A wave of lust crashes against him and settles deep inside of him.

“Best one yet, Chef Sanji,” you say none the wiser to the thoughts of the blonde chef.

“Yeah?” He says huskily, “Let me try, darling.”

The taste of the chocolate is alive in your mouth as Sanji presses his lips against yours and sneaks his tongue inside your mouth. There's no better place to taste his creation than from you. You squeal in surprise but lean into the kiss, grinning at his playfulness.

“I have to agree with you,” Sanji responds breathlessly, tucking a stand of your hair behind your ear.

“Smooth,” you giggle, taking the dish and spoon from his hands.

You and Sanji share the tasty dessert. You take charge of the spoon, feeding it to him in intervals. When it's nearly done you take a bit of left over whip cream and spread it on his nose.

Sanji stares at you open mouthed, he wasn't expecting that from you. "You're disrespecting the chef, love," he says moodily, wiping the nose with his finger and looking around for a rag.

"Am I?" You question, grabbing his hand. He looks at you questioningly as you lift it up to your lips to suck the finger covered in whipped cream.

The same sensation from earlier fills him once more as your lips wrap around his finger. You lock your eyes with his as your tongue swirls around it, just like it would if it was his cock. You release it from your mouth with a ‘pop’ with Sanji staring at you lustful eyes. His cock stirs in his trousers, feeling confined all of the sudden.

“You're being a little brat after I've treated you so well, darling?” Sanji breathes out, grabbing your thighs and sliding you to the edge of the counter. Now pressed against him you feel the bulge you've caused.

"I'm sorry?" You 'apologize' with a mischievous grin and a shrug.

"Sure you are," Sanji grumbles, stealing a kiss from you. He doesn't kiss you long as he leaves open mouthed kisses along your neck, the smell of your perfume still present on your skin. His hands sneak under your shirt, touching your warm skin and making you shiver.

You cross your ankles behind him, keeping him close to you as your head dips back. You feel his tongue on your collarbones, sucking a bruise on them.

As best you can you blindly unbutton his shirt, allowing your nails to rake down his chest and stomach. Sanji's abdomen tenses at your touch, which doesn't go unnoticed by you.

Sanji's lips soon return to yours, slipping his tongue past them to play with your tongue. Teasingly you slip a finger in the waistband of his trousers, pulling on it playfully.

"Let me make it up to you," you pant, referring to him calling you a brat. Undoing the belt and popping open his trousers you slip your hand under his underwear.

"You're going to be the death of me, woman," Sanji groans when you take hold of his cock and pull it out of its confines. You smile widely at him as you begin stroking his length.

Sanji's attention is redirected to your chest as he brushes off the straps of your top down your shoulders and pulls it down, exposing your chest to him. He feels you shudder when the cold sea air hits your skin.

An idea forms in his head when he notices the left over whipped cream. Reaching out to it he grabs a dollop of it and spreads it over your hard nipples. He's combining two things he adores, you and food.

"Sanji, what?" You gasp, looking down at the mess he created.

"You said you could be dessert," he reminds you, briefly kissing you.

His mouth encases one of your nipples to clean you off the sweet cream. Sanji's tongue swirls and flicks against it, making your back arch in pleasure.

You momentarily stop pumping his cock in your hand, getting lost in his touch but Sanji reminds you as he thrusts into your palm. You continue to rub him up and down, tracing your thumb over his sensitive head to spread the bead that has formed there.

Meanwhile, Sanji switches to your other nipple, licking and sucking it. He needs to give props to himself as the whipped cream is delicious, especially topping your skin.

Sanji pays equal attention to each one of your breasts as he pinches and pulls on the one not in his mouth. Above him he hears your dulcet voice calling his name. Your touch is addicting as he sporadically jerks his hips to meet your pace.

Your chest and neck continue to be covered in whipped cream and yet you don't feel the stickiness as Sanji indulges on the sweet treat. Even as he comes back up to kiss your pouty lips you taste the sugar on them, leading you to crave some yourself.

"I want some whipped cream too, you know," you tell him with a pout.

"There's some left over," Sanji answers you albeit a bit confused. Seems like he forgets he's not the only one that can play around with food.

You gently push him back and drop down from the counter. Grabbing the small bowl with the left over whipped cream you kneel on the floor. Sanji is taken aback but nontheless lets you guide him to stand right in front of you.

His cock bounces as he settles in front of you. You grab it and give the tip a little kiss. Sanji grabs the counter behind him to brace himself. Dipping your finger into the bowl you spread the whipped cream along his length, letting some accumulate on his head.

Sticking out your tongue you lick Sanji from base to tip, gathering the sugary substance. You lick and lick until there is none left. Sanji watches you like a hawk, knuckles white from how hard he's grabbing the edge of the countertop. A grunt or two leave his lips, urging you on.

Sanji hisses your name when you push yourself to take his whole length in your mouth. You look up at him, cheeks hollowed and wide eyes, feigning innocence. "You saucy minx," he chides you.

Gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail Sanji takes charge of your pace and the depth you take him. You hold onto his muscular thighs, letting him do as he pleases. Your tongue does wonders as it swirls around his cockhead with each opportunity that presents itself.

The combination of your warm mouth and the visual of you half dressed and flushed takes him to the precipice but before he's able to climax he forces you off his cock. He's not about to cum without having your walls wrapped around him. Helping you up he brushes your watery eyes with his thumbs and kisses your wet red lips that match your nose.

Positioning you to face away from him, he leans you over the counter. You glance behind you as feel him pressing up against you. Sanji pulls down your shorts and panties, ignoring the wet patch on them. His fingers dipping between your legs confirms what he already knows. You've been anticipating his touch ever since you decided to stay behind to help him clean up.

"Would you look at that?" Sanji smirks, spreading his fingers to watch your slick webbing between them.

"Sanji, please. I need you," you whimper, wiggling your hips.

"Now you decide to be polite, darling?" Sanji asks, swiping his cock against your drippy slit. It catches against your entrance, teasing you.

"Mhm, please," you shakily beg.

"Remember to be quiet or else the others will come wandering around," Sanji warns you, slowly pushing into you.

You bite your lips to keep quiet as it slips in smoothly. You swear you can feel the long vein that trails down his cock and the curve of it that hits you just right.

You hold onto the wooden counter for dear life as Sanji begins thrusting into you. One hand grips your hip, pulling you back towards him and the other runs down your back, occasionally spanking your ass to get a rise out of you.

"Such a good girl," he groans. At his words your pussy clamps around him, seems like you have a praise kink. "You like when I call you that, huh?" Sanji asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Yes, Sanji" you moan out, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of your boyfriend.

Sanji straightens back up and continues to thrust into you. Steady and deep. He focuses on the mess between your legs as a white ring forms at his base whenever he pushes back into you.

Shamelessly he grabs your ass, spreading it to see how your pussy chokes him out and how your walls drag each time he pulls out.

The height difference between the two of you is inconvenient. You're on your tippy toes as he grabs your hips to pull you impossibly closer.

You and Sanji are lost in the moment, concentrating on each other. So much so neither notices how Zoro walks into the kitchen. Quiet as a mouse, he walks around the counter until he's across from you.

You're a sight for sore eyes as your tits bounce with each of Sanjis strong thrusts. He'd come for an after dinner snack before heading to bed. He figured you'd be here with the waiter since he wasn't back in their shared cabin.

Sanji doesn't say anything, more than used to Zoro's presence by now. Zoro grabs the bowl of left over mousse and dips a finger in to taste it, liking it he grabs a spoon and leans back to watch.

"Is the waiter making you feel good?" He asks as he takes a spoonful of dessert. Sanji almost growls at the name but the feel of you choking his cock quiets him down.

You gasp at the sound of his voice. You had your eyes closed and as you open them you see Zoro, staring intently at you. You nod before speaking, "Fucking me nice and deep."

"You've gotten better at keeping quiet, baby," Zoro praises you, leaving the now empty bowl behind. He leans over the counter on his elbows, he's eye to eye with you now. "If I didn't know any better, I would have no idea of what's going on here."

"You really think now's a good time to have a conversation, mate?" Sanji glares at him. Zoro's presence causes him to snap his hips harder against yours. Your body jostles harder against the counter.

"Why not? Her mouth is free," Zoro shrugs, returning his gaze to his pretty girlfriend who is trying her hardest to keep quiet with the change of pace. "But I can leave if that's what you want."

"No!" You exclaim, extending your hand out to him to take. Zoro smirks at the blonde, grabbing your hand and cleaning the bead of sweat forming on your forehead.

"Whatever," Sanji mutters under his breath.

Your quietness doesn't last seeing as soon as Sanji touches your clit you yelp and tighten your hold on Zoro's hand.

"There she is," Zoro smirks at the noise you make. The harder Sanji thrusts and the more he touches your clit the louder your noises get.

"Sanji. Zoro." You whine, scrunching your eyes closed focusing on that knot settling deep in you.

"Spoke too soon. Want to help her out, Zoro?" Sanji grunts. He's not going to last much longer now. He feels the pressure coming to it's limit.

Zoro comes closer to you and kisses you. It's nearly not enough to keep you quiet though as your moans leak in between each kiss. Your fingers come up behind Zoro's neck, deepening the kiss as you feel your toes curling in anticipation.

Soon Sanji's thrusts become erratic and once he feels your walls clenching around him as you cum, it's over for him. He stills inside of you, shooting his load. Sanji helps you ride out your orgasm, circling your clit gently till you push him back.

There's a moment where you're slumped on the counter, forehead pressed against Zoro's. Sanji is inside of you not moving, his fingers caressing up and down your back. Your pussy spasms around his softening cock every so often.

Only when you attempt to straighten up does he pull out and helps you pull up your panties and shorts, seeing you like the mess that comes afterwards.

Sanji tucks himself back into his trousers and buttons up his wrinkled shirt, tucking it in as if nothing happened. Wrapping his arm around your waist Sanji kisses your temple and whispers another praise in your ear.

The two men exchange looks and smile as you lean tiredly against the blonde. The arrangement you three have is unorthodox but it is convenient. You make good use of your time giving them both the attention and affection they need.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Part I: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Part I: On her daily morning run, Y/N wonders if she’ll ever have someone who wants her simply company. Spencer promises her just that, the only catch: she has to wait seven years.

Rating: Eventual smut, fluff and longing

Word Count: 3.5K

Series Masterlist | Tell Me What You Think!

My Mind Turns You Into Folklore: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Running, somehow, still made her feel like a child. Perhaps there was something unadulterated and carefree about losing yourself in the pounding of pavement. When Y/N felt the wind rush in her ears and the familiar burn throughout her body, she truly felt alive.

Her entire body ached— no, screamed— as she approached her fifth mile for the day’s session. For Y/N running wasn’t about getting to the destination fastest, but about finishing the race altogether.

She wished she could apply such wisdom to very particular aspects of her life. Namely, her love life. For Y/N, relationships with men were unpleasantly predictable. From terrible blind dates with friends who she honestly can’t tell if they meant well to men with habits so strange Y/N could only plead insanity by a drunken state as to why she entertained even a second glance. Unfortunately, for her the sea of men seemed to solely be comprised of rather the unfortunate sort of men that made her skin crawl.

Her knees burned as her mind ran through the five weddings and babies that were impending. Between cousins, college friends, and even her own sister all either, Y/N never more lonely than when she was surrounded by her people. There was something particularly voyeuristic about watching those you love move along the carousel while you’re left in the dust. She was a casual observer, marooned to the sidelines. And someone where along the way she forgot to even care.

Her chest burned as she wondered where her aunt, a woman born and forged from pure spite and hefty lack of tolerance for anything progressive, would sit her at her cousin’s wedding. Y/N heaved forward imagining what would be worse; the discarded old widow’s table with wives whose husbands’ expiration date had come and passed. Or with her unruly nephews who would have to be wrestled into a tiny tuxedo and bribed with fried food and the majesty of Red40 to maintain the semblance of civility.

Being 27, husbandless, boyfriendless, and childless didn’t usually bother Y/N. She loved her peace. But somehow it put her into this plane of existence where she straddled youth and adulthood. She had one foot jammed deep into the rich, sodden earth of childhood and one toe dipping too all too calm to be safe waters of adulthood. Yet being uncoupled was as if she purchased overnight shipping to the elephant graveyard.

It was antiquated. It was downright sexist, yet there was a small part of her heart and her entire being that craved to be taken care of by a man. She wanted someone to bring her flowers just because, to hug her from behind while she stirred soup for dinner on a chilly day, to brush her hair from her face as he brought her to the brink of pleasure time and time again.

There was only so much her vibrator could do.

But a heart that ached to be loved, that problem didn’t come with a WebMD link. There wasn’t a quick and easy fix to change something that defined her on a molecular level.

She savored the sweet breeze that reminded her of summer and childhood. The houses, various shades of blue, gray, and beige blurred past as she maintained her steady pace.

Y/N rounded the corner and pounded the pavement that led to Betsy’s Cape Cod. She was the Head Librarian and took Y/N under her rather Mother Goose-like wing three years ago when she took the position at the small, sleepy library. A suburb of Quantico, many of the patrons were families in public service.

She even stumbled across someone who quickly became her best friend, Spencer. He was some sort of former child prodigy turned adult wunderkid. After racking up more diplomas than most extended families collect, Spencer worked as a special agent for the FBI. But looking at him, you would never have guessed. He was timid and shy in a boyish way that made him seem much younger than 32. He was tall and lanky, yet despite his slender frame he seemed to completely light up every single room he walked into.

Both Betsy and Spencer buried themselves into the fabric of her life. Betsy sat on the front porch, slowly swaying on the large, wooden swing. A crocheted blanket lay over her lap, keeping her warm under the brisk morning’s chill.

“Y/N!” Betsy called, as she ascended the stairs with a bright smile, “Dearie, it’s far too cold for you to run out here.”

“I could say the same about you, Bets,”

Betsy dismissed Y/N with a coy smile and a wave of her hand. “It’s good for my old bones to get a little chill. Make sure everything is in working order.”

Betsy scooted over on the porch swing, making more than enough room for Y/N to sit.

“That tall kid? Hmm, Spencer? Yes. Spencer. Was in there looking for you yesterday. Poor kid’s entire day was ruined when I told him you were on a date. Now, is there a reason why you didn’t tell me you didn’t tell your best friend?” Betsy asked, not hesitating to ask a question that went straight for the jugular.

Y/N offered Betsy a weak smile. “There wasn’t anything to tell him. He’s not interested in my love life. We talk about books. And work. And… I don’t know…”

Betsy nodded, but her pointed look pressed Y/N to continue. There wasn’t anything romantic between her and Spencer, but that wasn’t to say the connection wasn’t the most important thing in her life. When she met him three years ago he simply waltzed into her life; a tall, gangly man with a large appetite for baked goods and an excellent taste in literature.

“Besides, he has a thing for his coworker. Even though she hardly acknowledges his existence.”

From the time she met Spencer, he constantly was talking about his teammates. Growing up, Spencer didn’t have a stable family life. His mother tried her best, while his father never tried at all. He grown up not knowing what it was like to belong anywhere and now he finally found something resembling a family.

JJ was blonde and skinny and perfect and Spencer was completely enamored with her. Y/N met her only a couple of times, the first after a football game. She shared a plate of cheese fries and gravy with Spencer’s other coworker, Penelope as Spencer attempted to spout an almanac’s worth of facts about football to JJ.

“Hmm,” Betsy murmured, swinging back and forth. “Well, he said he has to talk to you about something. Maybe he’s getting to his senses, finally.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sipped some of the ice cold lemonade Betsy handed her, and gave her a pointed smile.

“This isn’t a romance novel, Bets. You’ve been sneaking too many of those bodice rippers.”

She stood up and felt some relief as her weary muscles stretched. Betsy waved another annoyed hand.

“Quiet down, Missy. I’ve had my chance at love. And I fully intend on you and Spencer being an item. My Arnold, may that old bastard rest in peace, never gave me children, so you and that boy are my only chance to fill this house with grandkids.”

“Oh my God, Betsy,” Y/N groaned, her head tossed back, “It’s not like that between us. And I promise you, it never will be.”

Y/N took off before Betsy had the chance to respond. But she couldn’t shake the funny feeling tugging at her heartstrings. She thought that maybe if she just focused her mind on feeling the wind blow her hair and her body burn as the third mile turned into a fifth, she could wash away the thoughts of one or two little children sitting on Betsy’s porch, sandwiched in between her and Spencer.

***

Gary, as it turned out, wasn’t a nice guy. First of all, he showed up precisely 23 and a half minutes late and hardly bothered to greet her as he sat down at their two seater table. He barked a drink order to the waitress, who graciously threw Y/N a sympathetic smile.

“So you work at Walter Reed?” Y/N asked, attempting to make conversation with the man seated in front of her. He was a couple years her senior and an Attending Emergency Room Doctor. On paper Gary seemed wonderful. He had a nice family; older sisters were always a green flag in Y/N’s book and seemed to have a basic grasp of personal hygiene practices.

Gary mumbled as the waitress brought him his drink: whisky on rocks. He downed it in about three minutes and signaled for the waitress to return.

“Sorry,” Gary apologized, his voice so close to resembling being embarrassed, but it, somewhere along the line, made a beeline in the opposite direction, “There was some bitch in the ER today complaining about how her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she was pregnant. Took me a god damn hour to shut her up. Jesus, reminds me why I don’t date.”

Y/N felt her face freeze. It was like his harsh words poured ice water over her shoulders. Her skin practically crawled as Gary’s carelessness settled in. Wasn’t this a date? Or was this simply the means for Gary to get into her pants.

“Hold up,” Y/N said, gesturing with her hand held up to stop Gary’s rant, “I was under the impression this was a date. Is it not?”

Gary shrugged. “As long as there’s a happy ending with you, babe I don’t give a fuck.”

He was crass. Y/N was far from a prude. She enjoyed her time in college and didn’t mind the occasional quick one night stand when the opportunity presented itself, but there would be something completely debasing and revolting about sleeping with the man sitting before her.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression.” Y/N said, her words clipped and stern: there wasn’t room for Gary to mix up any bit of her message. “I’m not looking for a fuck-buddy. And even if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be you. We’ve been sitting here for all of twelve minutes and you’ve already drank two whiskys, been rude to the waitress, insulted a patient, and offended me.”

Gary, in a lackadaisical way that could only be described as a fuckboy with the worst case of Peter Pan syndrome, shrugged his shoulders. He downed the rest of his second whisky, “You’re a frigid bitch anyway.”

He left.

And Y/N laughed. Then she ordered two slices of double chocolate cheesecake and asked the waitress where the closest liquor store was.

***

Silently, she cursed Spencer’s charming love of buildings with character. She bounded up the steps to his apartment, the plastic bag with the two slices of cheesecake banged against her leg. Her other hand clutched the neck of a cheap, screw top rose.

Her date, disastrous, was nearly comical, and she couldn’t wait to recount the details to Spencer.

They share a sort of sadistic penchant for relaying moments for their occasional first dates. Typically, Y/N had more than Spencer. On the rare occasion Spencer did have a date, Y/N found herself trying to explain that any girl in her right mind would attempt to flirt with Spencer, but he refused to see her points.

Not bothering to knock, Y/N opted to use the spare key Spencer gave her. She figured he’d either still be working at the office or would be too engrossed in his latest fantasy novel to bother answering the door.

Spencer’s apartment was painted a dusty, sage green. The farthest wall was lined with built-in bookshelves. A prewar relic, Spencer’s style mixed perfectly with the vintage quality embedded within the walls.

Up until recently, Spencer’s kitchen was hardly used. But Y/N had taken it upon herself to teach Spencer the basics in prepping meals. He was a quick study, as with almost everything he tried. And it gave her some peace knowing he would be able to provide himself something more satiating than granola bars and frozen lasagna.

“Spencer! Spence!” Y/N called out, dipping her head into Spencer’s second bedroom. There was a queen bed in there with a cream colored quilt splashed out on the bed.

On late nights spent watching old, black and white movies or binging episodes of The Twilight Zone and The X-Files, she would crash there. It was a fight for her to even concede to allow Spencer to purchase the queen bed. Y/N claimed that she was fine just sleeping on the couch, but Spencer insisted that she sleep in a bed.

And if Y/N had been born into a braver soul, she would’ve suggested they share his bed three years ago.

Spencer shuffled out of his bathroom, eyes red and weary. He wore a tattered Cal-Tech shirt and plaid pajama pants. He wore his glasses. They rested on the bridge of his nose and made him lose at least four or five years on his already young looking face.

“She’s pregnant.”

“I brought wine. And chocolate cheesecake.” Y/N replied, kicking her shoes off. “And you better have done laundry already because I am not sleeping in this dress. I feel ridiculous in it.”

Spencer’s eyes raked over Y/N’s frame, as if he was internally debating his thoughts on her outfit. His brow furrowed. “You’re date?”

“Asshole.” Y/N said, walking into the kitchen. She plucked two wine glasses from Spencer’s cabinet and two plates. “Arrogant and only wanted a quick fuck.”

His voice disappeared as he went into his room for a change of pajamas. They were freshly washed. She continued to listen to Spencer as she shut the bathroom door and changed behind. His voice was no longer muffled when she came out of the bathroom, but she did notice how Spencer’s eyes still were heavy with something unfamiliar when he looked over her baggy, old pajama-clad frame.

“You’re not the girl for that.” Spencer commented, reaching for the corkscrew. His large hands twisted around the device and the bottle of wine made a satisfying pop.

“You don’t know that.” Y/N countered, her defiance made a crop of red appear on Spencer’s cheeks. “Besides, that’s not the point. JJ’s pregnant. With that New Orleans guy’s baby?”

He nodded. It was as if grief washed over Spencer as Y/N changed the conversation. She knew that Spencer was harboring feelings for JJ. Jennifer was nearly perfect in every way. The only imperfect thing about her was that she didn’t realize how perfect Spencer was. He would’ve adored JJ if he got the chance. He nearly did.

“And how do you feel about that?”

Spencer groaned, pouring himself a healthy cup of rosé. “Unsure. It’s not like I’m going to confront her about this. She’s practically engaged to Will. And now there’s a baby in the picture? A baby who’s very well going to grow up seeing me as Uncle Spencer.”

He sounded exhausted. Y/N touched his hand and squeezed. She understood the pained loneliness that plagued Spencer’s voice. “I don’t love JJ anymore. It’s just, my whole life I felt like I was so far beyond my peers. And now? They all finally have caught up, this time the tables have turned. God, I’m excited when a girl smiles at me, let alone goes on a date with me.”

Weakly, Y/N smiled. She sipped her rose, “So it’s more of feeling like you’re far beyond in life? Despite having two PhDs and like three undergrad degrees? You’re one of the most accomplished men I know, Spencer. And we all move along at our own pace. Don’t compare JJ’s story to yours.”

He nodded, spooning a bite of the double chocolate cheesecake. “It’s just…I’m nearly 32. And now I’m watching JJ and Hotch and Morgan talk about babies and husbands and wives and houses. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to get that one day. Sometimes… I think I’m too me for anyone to fall in love with me.”

Y/N felt her heart shatter into a million little pieces as Spencer’s honest confession striked her entire system. She wanted to reach out and push away the stray curl that hooked itself in front of his eyebrow. She wanted to reach out and wipe away his tears. She wanted to tell her friend that if no one married him, she would.

She stalked off the to couch, needing a stable place to sit. Her chocolate cheesecake stuck to the roof of her mouth and the bitter rosé did nothing to remove it.

“Holy shit, Spencer. Do you not realize that you’d make any girl happy? You’ll find her one day, I know it. And if you don’t, we can just say fuck it and get married. I mean, I know it wouldn’t be romantic love, but we could at least live together. Through a big fancy party and get dressed up nice and getting drunk on mojitos with my best friend. My person? Sounds fun.”

“You mean that?” Spencer asked, half in disbelief and half in wonderment. “You mean that we’ll get married if neither of us have someone…say seven years from now?”

She must’ve drank more than she thought as she waited for Gary to ruin their date. “I meant it. But why seven?”

A smile toyed on Spencer lips. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“It’s my lucky number.”

Her lips were so loose that it threatened to crack open her heart. She had a nasty habit of wearing that on her sleeve.

She gave Spencer a sheepish look as his eyes met hers. He looked half between incredulous and hopeful. His fingers ran across the rim of his wine glass as the wine sloshed around. It mirrored Y/N’s stomach.

“Is this idea like bad shit crazy?” Y/N asked. “I mean it. I mean, why not. It’s not so different from what we do now. Just all the time. And I’d be thrilled to be spiritually required to spend more time with you.”

“Should we….shake hands or something. I’m not the biggest fan of that, but I think my wife would serve as an exception to the rule. To every rule I’ve got?”

Y/N laughed. She felt the wine creep up a nice, warm flush against her skin. It matched the light and easy way her limbs felt. It might have very well been the wine, but there wasn’t much of anything that could trump laughing with your best friend. Especially when that best friend slipped and called you his wife.

Her feet somehow ended up in Spencer’s lap. His thumb rubbed gently against her ankle, barely touching her bare skin. Yet it sent shockwaves that she didn’t quite understand.

The corners of Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he reciprocated that laugh. They shared it and Y/N had the strangest desire to bottle it up. She wanted to store this moment in her mind and come back to it. One day. Some day.

“We’ll get married,” Spencer started speaking as if it was a prophecy that he could set in stone, “if neither of us has anyone, we’ll enter this rather odd, rather complex, yet completely entirely normal and simple marriage in seven years?” His sweet, yet coy smile was boyish, it only reminded Y/N just how far away 35 was for her.

“Should we draft up a contract?”

“Have your lawyers contact my lawyers. I never sign documents without the proper legal support. In the meantime, could we settle on our first stipulation: never watching a new episode of our current favorite show without the other?”

“I agree to the terms and conditions you’ve set out.” Y/N said. She grabbed the blanket that rested on the back of the couch as Spencer turned off the lamp light.

“Oh and I washed the sheets in your room. I used the detergent you like. And your pajamas. The lavender vanilla one with the scent beads?” He flipped on an episode of The Twilight Zone.

She smiled from the way Spencer naturally called the guest room her bedroom. There was something very domestic and peaceful about him using her favorite detergent to wash the sheets in her room in his apartment. It resembled the exact something that she was craving: being taken care of.

She sipped her rose again, watching as her friend smiled at the gray scale painted on the screen. It was too bad she only had to weight over half a decade to feel it and not feel guilty and like she was lying to herself.

—

Taglist:

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @mrs-dr-reid @reid-ingandweeping @candlesandsoftrain @foxy-eva @queermaxwooo

[octuscle]

Life-changing cruise experience

Daniel had been warned time and time again: Leaving the ship without a cruise line-licensed guide is dangerous to your wallet and health. Daniel thought that was silly. After all, Salvador de Bahia was not a slum in a civil war-torn country. Yes, Brazil was not without danger. But nothing had happened in Maceio and Recife either. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, Daniel only packed a little cash, left his wristwatch on board and took an old cell phone with him, which was certainly unattractive to pickpockets. At the pier, he took a cab and was driven directly to the old town.

Salvador de Bahia was incredibly beautiful. Yes, it was full of tourists. But luckily Daniel arrived in the old town before the buses. And in his simple clothes, he didn't look much like a cruise tourist, who were always easy victims. He enjoyed strolling through the alleyways and lost himself deeper and deeper in the labyrinth. The colorful baroque buildings became fewer and fewer, you could hardly hear any English and only what Daniel thought was Portuguese. The attacks from street vendors became more frequent and Daniel began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. And when he saw a knife flash at one of the nasty-looking guys, Daniel intuitively jumped into the nearest doorway. He had ended up in a capoeira school. He looked anxiously at the street where the mugger was looking around. Fearfully, he looked into the school, where a couple of guys were standing, not looking very trusting either. Suddenly one of the capoeiristas started grinning at him, shouted something to him in Portuguese and handed him one of the typical combat pants. Of course, Daniel felt silly putting these on. But returning to the street seemed much less attractive to him. So he put the pants on and joined the other students.

The movements seemed infinitely complicated to him at first. He didn't understand what it was all about. Until he realized that the teacher had obviously switched to English. At least Daniel understood the instructions, but he was still incredibly clumsy. The training was exhausting. Daniel lost track of time. He got better and better. The movements became second nature to him. The drum beats were incredibly familiar to him. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of his opponents. How long had they been training together? For as long as Daniel could remember. Even as a child, he had watched with fascination how elegantly the boys danced and moved their well-trained bodies. He had always wanted to be able to do the same. And with a certain amount of modesty, Danilo could say that he had become one of the best at his school.

Hehehe, he had never been able to say that about his real school. Sitting still and learning had never been for him. Fortunately, in addition to his talent for capoeira, he had dazzling looks and a stunning charm. Even if he could only talk to the tourists in broken English, that was enough to collect plenty of tips at his shows at Santa Maria Fort.

Danilo's specialty, however, was his private shows, which he performed either in the back room of the bar where he danced or in the hotel rooms of the gringos. And it didn't matter whether he was fucking the white ass of an American tourist or getting a blowjob from a German pensioner. His services were in demand. And expensive. Danilo loved his life!

Pic found @xq28-xq28-xq28, inspiration by @curioustoseewhatsup

[babygirl-riley]

There was During You Pt.II

Both you and Ghost came to terms of being in love

“I’ve never fallen from quite this high. Falling into your ocean eyes.”

Warnings: fluff, establishment of relationship, mentions of sex, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst list

pt.I pt.III

You leaned back in the tub feeling the warmth of it relax your muscles. The candles flickering the darkness and the smell of lavender made you relax even more. You heard footstep approach as you felt a hand graze your cheek.

“Care for me to join love?” You opened your eyes for the beautiful caramel brown eyes looking at you. You smiled at him and shook your head. You scoot yourself up as Simon came from behind you, having himself nestled against you, wrapping his arms around you. You played with his tatted arm as you sighed in content.

Simon brought you close as he placed his lips on your shoulder. You leaned against his back even more. “You ‘ight, didn’t go too hard?” He mumbled kissing more up your neck.

You moaned quietly. “No, little sore but nothing too serious,” You chuckled as you looked over a bit to kiss his cheek. “Going rough isn’t always bad.”

He hummed into your skin as he rubbed your sides. Both of you were pent up bad, mission that almost took Soap’s and Price’s life. It was the most difficult one so far for you at least. So when Price gave the go for the task force to have a little leave, both you and Simon went to his apartment. Non stop sex for hours, he was rough against your body. Biting, small choking, his grasps harsher. You could have stopped it at anytime but it felt good everywhere. His back was also marked by you, the scratching from the pleasure that would run through your veins.

“How’s your back?” You asked moving to face him.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” He smiled looking at you with lidded eyes. You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly before nestling back into him. It was quiet, a good content quiet. Both of you have been together for over a year never established anything.

Simon noticed the way his actions have changed around you. He made sure you were alright during missions, make sure he was sitting next to you during debriefs, and especially making you your favorite tea he introduced you. Then going to each others flat and staying there until the next mission or work at the base. Simon has been in denial about the sudden change of feelings towards you and so have you.

Simon even noticed by the way he would feel when you looked at him. Giving him a soft smile. The flutter that would fill his chest. The way he changed his actions, being soft with you, making sure you were safe. Even the last couple of months he has taken you out for dinners, activities, or just work outs. Simon never really wanted or needed someone to be around. You. You changed that.

It was the same for you, wanting to be near him. Hear his voice. Make sure you can touch him. Simon never admitted it neither have you. But both of you have shown each other the difference. Both of you too stubborn to say anything but the shift change between the situation-ship to something more.

You noticed the small acts of service he has been doing for you. You have been doing the same, more smiling when he was around, getting excited when you see the skull mask appearing. Making sure he was fine on missions. Leaving small things at his apartment, like a toothbrush. Some clothes being left in drawers.

Simon sighed once more. “You should move in.” You mumbled, your heart rate picking up.

Simon froze from behind you, his hands stopping. You froze as well. It was a long silence before he shifted a bit. “Or you can move into mine,” He offered. “It’s a bit bigger.”

You smiled a bit. “That would be fine, my lease ends in a couple of months.” Simon hummed, going quiet again, the air feeling tense. “We don’t have to though,” You whispered could feel cold sweat starting on your forehead. “I know this is just sex and I don’t want to…”

“Ya think this is just sex?” He interrupted, his voice lowering.

You felt a hitch in your throat, is this the time? What if he runs away from you admitting what is happening is more than the sex? Or close up? Or request a move out of the 141. You inhaled and moved to turn to him. His brown eyes locking on yours, his eyes searching for the answer. His heart was beating hard enough he was sure you could hear.

Simon shouldn’t have said anything, he noticed the nervousness in your eyes. Which made him want to get up and leave entirely. Act like nothing happened. On the other hand he couldn’t move, he wanted to know what is going to be the answer.

“I,” You paused letting out a shutter. “I don’t think so,” His facial expression didn’t move from the emotion he had on originally, you couldn’t read him like this yet. You both never talked about feelings much let alone how you both feel about each other. “Simon…I have felt like this. I think it has become something more. Something that we both are scared of but I know that I am not afraid of us.”

Simon listened closely waiting for the punchline of ‘But.’ Or ‘It won’t work.’ But it never led to that, the sentence ending there. Simon glared for a moment before he inhaled. “I share the same thoughts love,” He sat up as the water moved against your bodies. “I’m…scared as well.”

He had been terrified the last couple of months. When he first realized that the feelings had changed was when your life was almost taken. Bullet just grazing your head. You knocked out from the other bullets hitting your vest, blood pooling from your head. He thought you were a goner until you all reached the medical tent. He paced, he couldn’t sleep, he could barely think as you were being worked on.

When Price came into the room with Gaz, Soap, and him. He thought you were gone but once Price said you were awake and moving. His heart skipped then leaped into full speed. When walking into the tent, he froze, everything hitting him like a freight train. You smiling at him and reaching for him. For him. That’s when he knew he was not in a friends with benefits relationship.

You smiled, the smile that always lightened his mood. The smile that right then Simon could see the light engulfing his dark thoughts of what ifs. Anyone he got this close to, to consider love for always gets taken away. He is afraid of saying it, acknowledging it but now with your comfort smile it went away.

You placed a hand on his cheek. “Me too but Si…I never have fallen this hard before. I don’t know if that scares you more than me but I have to say it I can’t…”

Before you could even finish Simon’s hand went to the back of your neck to pull into a kiss. Simon had been feeling the same way, relief engulfing his chest and veins. Finally he felt like everything was coming together. That he felt safe and loved. The kiss was passionate and basically hit the air out of you. You kissed him back, as your tongues danced against one another. It felt like your world was coming together, fitting a puzzle piece you have been so carefully making.

You didn’t know how it got to the point of you on your bed. He worshiped your body, slowly kissing your body, nipping and sucking on your favorite spots. His hands softly roaming your body. Squeezing your hips or breasts. It felt like you were on cloud 9, your body just feeling adrenaline after a work out. Simon sat back admiring your naked body on the bed. “Fuck baby, what have you done to me?” He whispered crawling back up, hovering over your body. Caging you in. Making you feel secure and safe.

You smiled up at him kissing him tenderly. You wanted this for so long, just watching Simon’s eyes soften whenever you touched him tenderly. You broke the kiss and stroke his cheek. “What have we done to each other?”

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Wildflower: 04

The Secret Garden

John Wick x Reader

Category: Short Series

Warnings: None really but creepy, questionable behaviour (what else do you expect in a yandere fic?)

Note: John is relatively younger in this fic( late thirties to early forties)

(The GIF is not mine, credit to the owner. Sorry, my pea-sized brain cannot keep up from where I downloaded it.)

Unedited

Wildflower 03

“You have given her the card?”

Another hit, another night at the Continental, another dinner with Winston.

The older man nodded, continuing to eat, eyes on his plate before they rose to meet John’s intrigued ones.

“You know that the card means…”

“She is under my protection and the hotel’s doors are always open for her— services included.” Winston completed.

“She’s a civilian, Winston.” 

John could not get it. Winston seldom gave his personal ‘Access Card’ (As he liked to call it) to anyone– even in their world. John had it, Charon had it and he did not know of anyone else who had it until…Until two nights ago.

When he saw it among (Y/N)’s possessions, he had to look twice. It was, Winston's card, after all, and she fucking carried it around in her bag like an idiot.

“And how did you come to know about the card? I had it shipped to her discreetly.”

Well, that was the question he was dreading. But he would not let it show. 

“I bumped into her during…a job.” He did not elaborate and hoped he would not need to.

“Wrong time, wrong place?”

John nodded. Fortunately, she had just caught the panicked rush. And she had dropped her bag somewhere along the way. John could only imagine what could have happened if the bag fell into the wrong hands– if the card fell into the wrong hands. 

He had only gone through the contents to decide where to drop the bag safely. He totally did not go through her home address and ID.

Winston only hummed and continued to eat. His question, though, was still unanswered.

“She has nothing to do with our world, Winston. She does not need that.”

“Well she walked into our world, had a meeting with me, sat with us at the underground bar— everyone there saw it. I respected Artemis, and I wanted to keep my word.”

Yes, she walked into their world. Like a fucking lamb stumbling into a slaughterhouse. John sighed and continued to eat his dinner. He would rather eat by himself, in the confinement of his room, but he did not mind Winston. Besides, a dinner invitation from the manager of Continental held great significance.

He liked the silence and slowed thoughts when he was in his company, doing mundane things. Like a normal human being. That was the closest to an ordinary life he could ever get. The rest was unattainable luxury. 

But in recent days. Even in the comfort of silence and solitude, his mind was filled with a certain name, a certain smile. A certain face. A certain voice.

It felt so uncharacteristic of him— it was puzzling.  His hold tightened on the knife and fork, the image of her confused face as she looked around people rushing flashed in his mind.

Not again. Not again!

Gulping some wine, he tried to clear his head. He was thinking like that again. He should not be thinking like that. 

She is a civilian. An innocent civilian.

He chided himself.

“Something troubling you Jonathan?”

Of course, Winston would notice. 

He looked up and sighed in silence. Thankfully, Winston did not poke further.

—------

(Y/N) admitted that there were a lot of things she had not prepared herself for before moving to New York— the basics were, thankfully, sorted out in her head. And yet, the pace of life, the mouse problem, more cockroaches, and the general indifference came to her as bumps and jerks. But all was good.

Everything was good until two days ago.

Nothing prepared her for a literal shootout at a subway station and losing her bag in the process. Thankfully, she was not caught in the middle of the crossfire— it was just the panicked rush just outside the crime scene. 

But what she was more thankful about, was the fact that a kind officer brought her bag to her doorstep by the same evening. Her wallet was in that bag with her address. She did not wish to think what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. Crime in the city ran rampant.

She had heard of it, not much on the news, but more as whispers floating around in her relatively quieter town. But she never paid much heed to them. She had treated them as rumours— the news did not show much, after all. The news did not show even half of it. But above all, the general public’s indifference to such crimes baffled her. 

Did they not want their city safe? Were they not afraid? What era was it? 

She reflected on Alex’s words. They discussed the same. 

“You eventually grow immune to it.”

He had told her. Not very helpful, but that was an explanation of some sort. People in the city must have grown immune to it— they learned to live with it. But could she grow indifferent as well? She did not think so. 

But there was too much at stake. She did not wish to return to her hometown, was still not talking to her father other than one-worded texts, had a job in New York that paid well–enough, had already signed the recent contract and paid two months of rent and the overall living cost of the city kissed the skies and any spontaneous decision would end up burning her pocket— not just a hole in her pocket.

So, the only option left was to get up, dust herself and keep moving. Yet, among all the chaos, she was glad to have found a friend like Alex. His humour and insight always helped. Her thoughts moved to her encounter with John Wick a few days ago. Clearly, Alex and John knew each other. But Alex never elaborated other than calling John an ‘acquaintance’ and John…well, she might as well admit that she would be reluctant to approach him under most circumstances. 

There was— she could not put a pin on it. But there was something almost ominous about that man. The way he looked, the way he spoke, the way he stood, carried himself— every aspect about him seemed to stand out. Not enough to gain immediate attention, but enough to steer clear of his way.

Now, that did not make sense. She realised. Neither did her observation that there was still something inexplicably melancholic about that man. His eyes were unreadable but sharp and so eerily calm that his gaze made her gulp– true. But there was a deep sense of sadness. It was subtle, but it was so ever-present that it seemed to have become a part of him. Nothing temporary but an inseparable part of him.

Now, that’s a bit of a stretch!

She chided herself. What was she doing? Wondering about a man she had met only a couple of times, weaving assumptions and stories?

She shook her head and took the last bite of her dinner. She missed how dinners were timely back in her home. She missed her home a lot, she was not afraid to admit it. But she was too proud to go back. So, whatever it was, she needed to get along with it.

—---

What was he doing?

John was at a fix. He had the night to himself— a chance to relax but why was he not under the covers, relaxing on his bed?

Why was he standing in the darkest corner of the room, watching her sleeping form? Her apartment was decent, he noticed and she was careless enough to not even feel a presence in her room.

What if it were someone else?

Someone dangerous?

You are dangerous.

His subconscious mocked.

John blinked, trying to convince himself that it was all for Winston’s sake— he had taken her under his wing and John, being close to Winston, must play his part in protecting her. Especially when wolves were lurking around, one had followed her from the Continental, sniffing behind, wrapping a sheep’s skin over to lure her near.

Alex Norton…

He was skilled with poison and guns, and while John had never crossed paths with him at work, they had shared a few respectful nods now and then at the Continental. But now…

Now he was keeping an eye out for Norton. 

John gulped, keeping his eyes fixed on her form. If he could keep his reservations aside, he understood Norton’s fascination with the girl.

They were both starved creatures from hell, crawling out now and then, and she was an angel, offering the solace he knew he did not deserve.

She offered what people like him were deprived of. It was tempting to just pull her into the depths of the dark with him, let her light it up— but how unfair, how cruel would that be?

Did he not see and endure enough cruelty? Why would he want an innocent civilian to lose their privileges just because one starving, deformed, empty soul had suddenly realised how impossibly bleak and bitter his world was?

No, John had made peace with this life. He would not call himself ‘the best’, but he knew he was good—- good enough to win special privileges at the New York Continental– to win the confidence of Winston Scott. 

He never truly understood Winston, or his ways.

As far as he knew, Artemis was like any other patron at the Continental and had been a part of the underground before he officially left his…tribe, in search of freedom— some semblance of it at least. He had it now, and it was the best he could get. 

He must make peace with it.

He stared at the asleep woman for a good minute before looking away. He needed to leave. He wanted to leave. He really wanted…

John sighed and leaned against the wall instead.

He would just watch, and observe. He would keep a distance. Like he should.

****

So, we are getting at creepy John, I don't want it to be too slow, but I also want it to be realistically paced. I don't know hat I'm doing, but I am doing it anyway.

[turntechgaykid]

My Headcanons for the Strawhats: (Monster Trio)

Luffy:

- Low-key has REALLY bad abandonment issues (see him telling Ace he keeps following him into a dangerous forest bc it makes him feel less alone, Sabo's 'death', Saboady, Marineford, etc)

- Autistic

- When he relaxes/sleeps his body will become super slack an his arms an legs will spread out all over

- HATES the cold and his body hurts when it's too cold out (rubber breaks easily when frozen)

- Will drink but is superrrrrrr picky about booze

- Has very green eyes an no one can convince me otherwise

- Love language is Physical touch (He bites people, affectionately)

- (Based on my Headcanons that Luffy is Brazilian and Robin is Peruvian) His first language is Portuguese an if he forgets a word he'll ask Robin to translate

- Favorite color is red (any shade)

- Likes collecting shiny rocks/pretty sea shells

- Is the most emotionally intelligent person on the crew an has really good observation skills but takes most things at face value/doesn't question them bc he can't understand why someone wouldn't want to show/say exactly what they mean

- If he cries or gets embarrassed enough to blush he'll cover his face with his hat

- Likes when Nami/anyone paints his nails but can never sit still long enough to get them done nicely

- Ambidextrous

- Knows a lot about bugs and can rattle off facts about them for hours

- Really really good at guessing games to the point everyone thinks he's cheating somehow

- Has stretch marks alllll over

- Eats so much bc his stomach stretches no matter how much he eats so he never really feels 'full'

- Has HATED Garp ever since he did nothing to help during Marineford

Zoro:

- Has dimples but he's insecure so he tries hiding them

- Everyone thinks he has green eyes but I think he has brown eyes

- His love language is Acts of service

- Extremely touch starved (if someone plays with his hair he is passing out IMMEDIATELY)

- Secretly loves that (other then Robin) Chopper always goes to him first for everything

- Really loves forests, if they land on an island with one he's most likely heading there first

- Unofficial Official first mate of the strawhats

- When it comes to keeping the crew safe he trusts Robin & Sanji the most (other then the Captain ofc) because he knows they won't hesitate to kill someone they're fighting

- Nami is like a sister to him

- Is actually REALLY good at math an confused tf out the crew when they found out (is now in charge of keeping track of the amount of necessities on the ship or how much they need for a certain amount of time)

- Will forget how long he's been going when training an won't realize til someone stops him

- Gets worried/nervous anytime he watches someone walking down stairs

- Knows a shit ton of knife/sword tricks (can absolutely swallow a sword)

- Doesn't like showers bc he hates water on his face

- Is willing to follow Luffy's orders without question (Post time skip, Pre time skip -specifically before thriller bark- Zoro would still question Luffy)

- One of the few Straw hats that hasn't dated anyone (Sanji had some flings w/ regulars at Baratie, Usopp w/ Kaya, Nami had a few flings here an there, Franky had been with a few people back on water 7 and Brook had been with a few people back when he was alive)

- His favorite color is Sage green/Gold

- Taught Chopper some sword fighting techniques (Brook also joined in an taught Chopper some of his moves)

- Loves taking naps with Chopper (Chopper is low-key his favorite person on the crew)

- He an Robin have little competitions to one up eachother with gifts or things for Chopper bc they both wanna be his favorite >:)

Sanji:

- Loves the ocean/thinks it's the most beautiful part of nature ever

- Either is a Queer Cis guy OR a Queer Trans woman<3

- Ace was absolutely his gay awakening but he thought it was a 'fluke' til he stayed on the momorio island and accepted himself

- Sees it as a HUGE compliment when anyone on the crew gains weight bc it reaffirms he's doing his job well :)

- Loves loves loves all animals and won't let anyone hurt them (including rodents/other "gross" animals)

- Has insectophobia/arachnophobia and OCD

- HATES having anything covering to much of his face/head bc of the mask Judge had him in

- Pulls on his hair when frustrated/angry/overwhelmed/etc.

- French is his first language

- Knows how to figure skate, do ballet and learned gymnastics

- His love language is Words of affirmation

- Writes letters to Zeff at least once a week (after the events at WCI he started addressing Zeff as Dad in his letters)

- Is secretly writing his own cookbook

- Has anisocoria, effects his right eye (anisocoria can easily be confused with heterochromia. It gives the appearance of two different eye colors, but the variation only relates to pupil size — which can cause one eye to look darker than the other — not the actual eye color.)

- Sanji an Usopp are actually really close (both their moms passed bc of sickness both had shit dads plus soba mask + sogeking friendship is superior)

- Sees Zoro as a brother (their dynamic is like the eldest brothers who try to compete over everything)

- Sees Robin as a mother figure but low-key feels guilty about it

- Told Nami everything about his past after WCI and they're really close now

- Sees Luffy a bit as an obnoxious younger brother

- When it gets really hot he'll let Chopper sit inside/in front of the freezer for a little bit

[germiyahu]

I loved your post on affordable Judaica

Synagogues will have Shabbat siddurs, for everything else there's debit MasterCard a bunch of different, free, siddur apps. They have apps for the megillot, too, which I download ahead of each chag/fast for easy access. There's even an easy online page for funeral rites.

Fancy Kiddush cups tend to have either an annoying plastic insert or leave a metallic taste in your mouth. Lots of people I know have moved on to these stylized glass/crystal cups. Much less expensive, dishwasher safe, and equally beautiful.

also, if you sidle up to Israeli Tumblr or Facebook, you'll probably be able to find someone willing to mail you stuff and/or someone travelling who's able to bring you stuff. Judaica here is like shampoo—there's the fancy boutique stuff, but there's also supermarket brand things (literally; we bought our Hanukkiah in the supermarket) that are perfectly nice and perfectly affordable, but naturally don't ship overseas.

It can very well be considered צדקה to donate Judaica, so if you genuinely can't afford anything, and if you genuinely have nothing appropriate to use (though one of my classmates uses a ceramic mug he and his wife made on their honeymoon so the limit on what's appropriate is pretty far off in the distance), there is no shame in asking people for help.

You're not commanded to buy Yair Emanuel polished brass Tree of Life Shabbat candlesticks... you're commanded to beautify the Shabbat table. It's not about money, it's about what you find beautiful. What you find meaningful. I would recommend saving for a more expensive item, at least one, if you plan on starting a family, so that you have something to pass on to your kids. But at the end of the day, what's more valuable? A Kiddush cup made of real silver or real crystal, or the story behind your chintzy little ceramic mug that your grandchildren will be telling stories about?

At the very least, a benefit of being involved in a Jewish Community is you will inevitably interact with people of older generations, which I think a lot of Gen Z is just not really doing these days? These people have tons of experience and can give advice, for what to get and how to find it and how to budget for it.

Also a Shabbat siddur can get you through weekdays, depending on your level of observance. Especially considering most shuls don't even have weekday services, so the prayers you do at home are going to be similar, and the main difference from what I can tell is the Shabbat siddur has more in it, so it's a process of cutting out things you don't need on the weekdays. Again it depends on your stream and level of observance. But you are going to need a Machzor.

[konboyblues]

August 26th - September 1st, 2024

Monday, August 26th - Rescue // Doppelgänger // First Time

Tuesday, August 27th - Moving in Together // Multiverse // Sex Accidents

Wednesday, August 28th - Scars & Disabilities // Ex's // Aftercare

Thursday, August 29th - Double Date // Phobias // Secret Rendezvous

Friday, August 30th - Superfam & Flashfam // Fourth World // Control

Saturday, August 31st - Realizations & Confessions // Only Lovers Left Alive // Fuck Nasty

Sunday, September 1st - People of Manchester, Alabama & The Ravers // Nightmares // Accidental Kink Discovery

Purpose?

Continuing to celebrate the BartKon Renaissance in the modern era. Since the ship has historically been a rarepair since its conception in the 1990's, this fanweek acts as both a way to celebrate the BartKon narrative in DC Comics, as well as engage new fans in our small yet mighty collective.

Why should we participate in this?

Because you like BartKon. Because you saw fanfiction and fanart and shitposts, and decided you wanted to see what's poppin' in the BartKonosphere. All creators are welcome. Our romcom lovers, the darkfic connoisseurs, and of course, our smut specialists.

So how does it work?

The release date for fanworks is from Monday, the 26th of August through Sunday, the 1st of September, 2024. 

You have four months to write, draw, and create fanworks. On top of fanfiction and fanart, we also encourage meta, essays, ship manifestos, playlists, and poetry.

This is also an opportunity for new fans to engage with an old ship with a robust body of work, hence why this fanweek is dedicated only to BartKon depicted in DC Comics from 1994-2024. This is not a YJ-centric week, nor it is a BartKon+third week, nor is it a my-ship-is-better-than-your-ship week. Please be courteous and treat each other with respect when engaging with fanworks and their creators. If you misbehave, I will be cursing you with ten thousand years of bad luck on top of car/train/transportation trouble every day for the rest of your life.

BartKon of ANY comic book universe is acceptable. If you want to spend the entire fanweek exploring Luthor-El and Bart because you love horrific love, then be my guest! If you want a crazed version of Bart to kidnap Kon from Gemworld, go for it! Let that imagination run WILD!!!

Both safe and not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell tropes are welcome. Just make sure that you post any Mature content on a landing page that doesn't restrict Mature content (like AO3). I don’t want anyone getting their blog banned. We cannot defeat our capitalist overlords, but we can definitely work around them.

This fanweek will not have a dedicated blog. These prompts are free for anyone to use. Because it is a non-traditional, non-monetized, and free-to-opt-in casual event, there will be no mods but moi, no advertising of paid services, and no ratings or participant restrictions. I will open a collection on AO3 in August for anyone who wants their work collated for this event.

In order to ensure that both creators and the audience are making informed decisions about what they engage with, all creators are encouraged to include triggers and any other squick warnings. 

Please utilize the read-more function for fanworks that are longer than 250 words. We're tryna read yer stories, not get spammed with a wall of text. Please Be Courteous.

And last but not least - if you are engaging with any of the fanworks, reblog, reblog, reblog! Share the work with your followers. Send all the love to the creators for crafting their masterpieces!!

What can I contribute?

Fanart (standalones, comic strips, etc.), fanfiction (one-shots, multichapter, etc.), fanmixes, gifsets, graphics, meme collections, fanvids, ship essays and meta, songifics, playlists, poetry, whatever your heart desires! Go wild!!!

Can I create/write not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell content?

Yes!!! All creators are encouraged to include triggers warnings, sub-genre specifications, and other warnings in their posts. I will not discourage you from writing your 16k Bart Goes Insane Over Kon fic, but please... Be Courteous and tag your fanworks appropriately so people can make an informed decision about what they're comfortable with engaging with.

What does (X) prompt mean?

Each day has three prompts!! You can either pick a prompt OR you can combine prompts in different ways. Although the prompts range from The Basics, to Things That Frighten The Barts and Kons, and end with They're Fucking Nasty in Cissie's Basement Because They Can't Afford a Motel, I challenge you to let your imagination take you where you want to go with each prompt!! If you want to explore all three in the same fanwork, then be my guest!! I will not stop you :'>

Mainstream Canon, Elsewords, and AU content is acceptable! Just make sure to stay within the comicsverse. We have SO MUCH BARTKON MADNESS IN THE COMICS, SO PLAY AROUND WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL CANON!!! Creativity is key! Have fun!!!

Can I crackship/multiship/harem/OT3/polyam the characters?

No. It's literally BartKon Week, Heart & Bones Edition. There's like six active fans left on this bitch of an earth. Don't do this to me :'<

Does this have a tag?

During release week, use the general “bartkon” and "konbart" tags to share your work with the wider BartKon fandom on tunglr. You can use whatever other tags you fancy. The best way to share, however, is to directly @ me so that I may reblog it.

I didn’t read a damn thing before this, Ava.

TL;DR: Nearly four months until the fanweek!!! For all fanwork creators out there, now’s the time to start thinking about what prompts you want to utilize for your creations. There are no creative restrictions, but I do ask that you follow these posting tips:

All fanfiction should be under a read-more.  

Not-safe-for-tunglr fanwork should be LINKED to whatever landing site the content is being hosted on (Twitter, AO3, etc). This includes both fanfiction and fanart. I don’t want your blog getting flagged bc tunglr hates gay people.

Provide content warnings for all triggers, squicks, and sub-genres. Unfortunately, in my ten odd years away from DC Comics, the fandom's seen a resurgence in puritanical behavior and tons of censorship and self-censorship. Please list content warnings on your work but do not be discouraged in sharing your work. If a fancop gets on your ass, block them. Please block as MANY as you can. They're like pests, they're always gonna be there, but their influence can be diminished by staunch blocking and reporting.

You can participate as much as you want!! Maybe you only wanna create for one day? Cool! Maybe you’re an overachieving corporate clown insomniac like myself, and wanna create for every day of the week? Go for it!!! 

The most important thing is to have fun :)

Closing Remarks

Like all my other events I host, this event, too, is entirely selfish. I've loved BartKon since I was a child when I was first introduced to it in the form of Bart/Clark on Smallville. Although I only recently came back to reading DC's mainline comics, BartKon still holds a special place in my heart even after all these years, and the few who still create and engage in their fanworks inspired me to host a little something-something for our small community.

Take your time, look through the prompts, and get your creative juices flowing! I will be sending out reminders until the go-live date.

For the people who showed interest during the initial interest check, I hope you're able to participate. To the people who hate me, your mom's a hoe. Thank you.

[ncteez]

wait now I’m thinking about cutie mailman!mark who always gives a shy wave when you catch him delivering to your mailbox. since it’s hot as hell outside you always try to leave a snack and cold water for him during his routes, and he thanks you by spreading you open in his truck and burying his head under your pretty summer skirt ☹️☹️☹️

-🥀

i changed it a little bit. she's not wearing a summer skirt lmao.

tags: reader is a shameless whore just like me, purchase of sex toys to make mark suspicious and horny, kitchen smut.

wc: 1.3k

mailman!mark, who delivers your mail and packages every single day at the exact same time. Rain or shine, he's there.

Whether you can afford the bill he's delivering to you or not, he's there. Whether it's a package you've been excited for, junk mail, shitty ads, Mark's always there to deliver it.

You moved here some three years ago. The first house with the mail box attached to the wall right by your door. The first house with a ring camera set up. The first house where you've strictly hoped websites ship through your regular carrier service just to see that hot mail man carry all your packages to your door through that little ring camera.

Yeah, he's hot. Cute, even, when the neighbor's cat is lounging directly where he needs to walk and he stops every single time to give the cat a little pat on the head.

Safe to say, when the summer months roll around, you definitely start leaving him out little snacks and cold bottles of water and juices.

Even safer to say that you might have a slight crush on him with the way his face lights up, despite the sun already brightening it to an extent that he can actually be hard to see through the ring camera at times.

All summer, he looks forward to delivering at your house. Hoping that you have mail every single day. Hoping that you thank him with little snacks every single day. Hoping that someday, he can see the owner of the house because it's a little weird how he knows your full name and address, but not at all what you look like.

~

Ohhh, that day comes not soon enough for him.

You began to make it a point to be noticed by said mail man is fall rolled around. You're not just outside for him though, you're out there to....you know, rake leaves..........in a short dress, because the temperature is finally chilling down but, it's not quite sweater weather yet either.

The way you see him nearly break his neck staring at you. You assume he's internally wondering if you're just a mirage or something within his long shift he completes every day, until he notices the little basket of snacks and drink for him.

He looks over his shoulder at you, and you to him.

You give a small wave, he gives a small nod.

~

Anyway, so basically, throughout fall you try to be outside just at the right time. Conversations with him become part of his visit. Little "get to know me" questions growing more and more personal as the conversations continue.

He looks forward to delivering your mail, until...well.

Listen, you didn't entirely buy it on purpose (you did). A suspicious little package that is blatantly obvious to any mail person handling it.

Mark holds the package in his hands, wondering how many times he's delivered phallic toys to the people in this neighborhood. That, he wouldn't know. But, now he knows that it's happened at least once. To you.

You do, indeed, sit on the porch with a warm cup of tea. Big sweater, socks up to your knees, shorts despite the weather getting cooler, when he delivers it to you.

You take it from his hands, sending him a look that gives his body signals.

"What's your name?" You ask him, inspecting that your package offers optimal suspicion to him.

"Mark."

Well, that's definitely a name fitting for a mailman.

"Ah, Mark." You say his name easily, flipping the package in your hand and opening it right there on your front porch. "Do you have a girlfriend, Mark?"

The repeating of his name sends a little chill up his spine, or maybe it was the cool autumn wind, he isn't sure. He swallows around the lump in his throat upon seeing your package confirm his suspicions, shaking his head at you.

"Um, No." He says, voice cracking just a little bit.

"Oh? Shame." You smile as you continue to fumble with your package, examining the toy and noting that it's actually a size bigger than you ordered, but you're not too upset. "Do you want one?"

He checks his watch, averts his eyes, looks up, looks down, bounces from one foot to the other. Then, you fix your eyes back to him, smiling fondly.

"I uh, should really, um--" He points his thumb over to his mail truck, taking a step back.

"Alright, Mark. I'll see you tomorrow."

~

Man, if training a man to have a boner was something you knew you could do, you would've done it ages ago.

Mark, the mailman, appears to believe every single package and envelope you accept from his very hands must contain a sex toy of sorts.

The weather is getting colder, and your outfits are only getting skimpier too.

Naturally, it's not long before you put that final nail in his coffin. Standing just inside the door as he delivers your mail to you yet again, on a Tuesday morning right as the clock strikes eleven.

"Ah, hold on!" You say as he turns to head back to his truck.

You turn, bending over blatantly to show that you're definitely not wearing anything under this large sleeping shirt. It's just to grab his snacks that you put on the floor for...um, no reason.

The way he swallows at what you present to him. The way his pants get tighter. The way he very well might just fucking lose his job if he doesn't get back in the truck and continue to make good time on his deliveries.

"Ah, do you want a warm drink to take with you too?" You ask as innocently as possible, handing him the snacks and watching him nod at you as if he's in a trance.

"Great! Come in and warm up for a second while I make it."

Mark doesn't know why he's risking his job right now stepping through your door. He also doesn't know how he ends up in your kitchen with you, bending you over the counter with a mug rolling and clattering to the floor.

Doesn't know how his fingers slide into you with such ease, or the way you grab him directly between the legs and stroke his cock like your hand was made for it.

But does he care? Not at this moment.

It's like a cliché porno come true. And he won't admit the amount of mailman roleplay he's watched on the hub since meeting you.

You really invited him in, you really didn't wear panties, and now, you're really moaning his name against a smooth marble surface, leaking wet all over him. And he can't get enough, with his big hands gripping your hips and guiding your ass to meet his pelvis every time.

He doesn't think he's ever been this deep in someone before. The fact that you like it as deep as he pushes only drives him further too. Pressing you so hard against the counter when he drives his cock in further, listening for the sounds of how much wetter you manage to get for him.

His hands move to the counter around you as he leans his entire body against you, thrusting tightly into you. Not quite pulling out all the way, mostly keeping himself buried in. Why? Because he can feel you clench him, he can hear your breath get shakier and shakier-- and if there's anything in the world he wants right now, it's for you to come all over him.

And when you do, he can't help but leave you with a little parting gift as well. Finding himself giving you a soft and gentle kiss at your door, only glancing for a moment at his cum running down your legs before smiling, and heading back to his truck.

Learning how to fuck fast and efficiently wasn't really a part of his job description, but it's a perk, he thinks.

[good-vs-evo]

oooh i was just tryna find some huayin content because i was bored and a little tired and wanted to cheer myself up AND GUESS WHAT

i thought tumblr was a safe place for me to be insane and queer and have a good time w my silly little rarepairs and polycules and hcs

but apparently. i can't ask for one place to be silly lmao there are ppl on tumblr still being like haters... for ships they could easily avoid? and putting it... under the huayin tag? which is, you know. the uh. the intention is kind of confusing. esp since ppl search up that tag w the intent to consume content related to their personal interests and probably don't want to see ppl hating on what they enjoy in the process <3

once again i don't really see the point in so avidly hating a ship that ur tagging it... in hopes that ppl who ship it will see it? because... they're ppl who ship it... and will likely not agree w u... and will likely just see u as another hater... and either ignore or fight and like where will that get anyone? sincerely? and hating an artist so much like w so much passion i think there are better things in life to do such as: find an artist u do like and move on!!

but i digress i just. i wanted to make a lil post w my hcs for them bc i <3 huayin hehe

reusing some from my long post abt all the rarepairs and polycules i ship!

hua cheng rarely got sick, but when he did, he wasn't worried (he knew yin yu would take good care of him)

both yin yu and hua cheng know how to cook, so they make each other meals when they know the other is too busy to remember to cook for themselves

yin yu can read hua cheng's handwriting! possibly the only person on heaven, hell, and earth who can, he's really used to seeing his messy scribbles and has learned how to decipher them

hua cheng was kind of a xie lian gatekeeper for a while, but he regaled yin yu with stories and let yin yu into his temple dedicated to xie lian

e'ming trusts yin yu and likes him to equal levels to xie lian

they have some little odd creatures of mysterious background that they keep and raise together in paradise mansion

yin yu asked hua cheng to teach him how to draw and paint and hua cheng has little lessons for him when they're both free

yin yu's interested in different kinds of masks, so hua cheng gifted him a room and funds to invest in new ones

they have chill time once a month when they're required to leave their work to just spend an entire day together

hua cheng's love language to yin yu is acts of service and gift giving

yin yu's love language to hua cheng is acts of service (no wayyy) and touch

hope u enjoy :) and also wishing u a nice day :D

[bullet-prooflove]

The First Time - Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @burningpeachpuppy @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @@b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @crimeshowjunkie @shepgurl @ashcosmo @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @watashiwasun @burningpeachpuppy @penguin876

Prequel to the Deployment!Series:

Propriety (NSFW) - All thoughts of propriety goes out of the window when Beau finds you in his office.

Rumours - Beau doesn't realise there's a rumour about him.

Disengage - Beau discovers your secret.

Stalemate - The stalemate between you and Beau breaks when he recieves some news.

Absence - Beau misses you.

The First Month - Beau struggles through the first month apart.

Home - You finally make it home to Beau.

Darlin (NSFW) - You and Beau spend a little time together.

The first time Beau saw you; you were prosecuting an Ensign under his command who was accused of smuggling coke through produce in the kitchens. Against Beau’s advice the idiot had elected for a court martial. You had eviscerated his case; it was both beautiful and painful to watch.

He'd ran into you that night at a bar just off base. The two of you had shared a drink after he’d congratulated you on your success. You’d been surprised by his candour, Evans was an idiot he told you, he deserved everything he got. It was a refreshing attitude from a commanding officer, they usually gave you both barrels. He’d put you in a cab at the end of the evening because his mama raised a gentleman, and he wanted to see you home safe.

“I enjoyed tonight.” You tell him, lingering in the open door of the vehicle. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

He gives you that handsome smile and that’s when it happens.

It feels like a lightning strike, a spike of adrenalin searing straight through your nerves. In that moment you want to kiss him, run your fingers through his hair, strip away his shirt and find out what’s underneath but you don’t.

You lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling wishing you’d taken that shot before you ship out again.

You run into each other a couple of times after that. It always ends the same way, the two of you propping up the bar at the end of the night, heads bowed together laughing. There’s no one that makes you smile as much as Beau, and you adore it.

Things change in Norfolk. You’re doing a two-year rotation as a defence attorney when you meet up with him at a bar off base.

“What’s it like playing for the other side?” He asks you.

You're sitting in a quiet corner away from the hustle and bustle of the other patrons, sharing a pitcher and a basket of fries. The atmosphere is low key, relaxed. It’s easy being with you, there’s no airs and graces, you’re just a woman and he’s just a man, rank doesn’t come into it. His knee bumps against yours underneath the table, you don’t move away. It’s a sign he thinks, you like him just as much as he likes you.

“I don’t really view it as that.” You tell him, dipping your fry in some ketchup. “I like representing service members, it’s different focusing on the needs of the individual. These people are facing the biggest challenges of their life and having me on their side gets them some relief in one way or another. It’s humbling how grateful some people are to have someone actually fighting for them. A lot of them don’t have a lot of faith in the system and I get that. It’s imperfect.”

“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He says leaning back in his seat, his evergreen eyes coming to focus on you.

“And I suppose you think the government’s infallible?” You ask him with a sardonic tone. “That there’s never any mistakes or grey areas.”

He picks up his beer and considers your point. It’s the first time someone’s challenged his thinking and he finds it refreshing. He thinks about all the shit he’s seen throughout his career. The shit he’s done in the name of his country. The system isn’t perfect, he’s seen that for himself. There was a sailor last year who was court marshalled for going AWOL, the reason she had gone AWOL was due to a sexual assault, perpetrated by the very people worked alongside. She’d had her trauma challenged and dragged through the court room, before she received a dismissal. It was fucking nauseating.

“No, I don’t.” He admits, shaking his head. “I think it’s a good thing they have someone like you on their side.”

You can tell he means it; he has that haunted look in his eyes. The law isn’t always right, it’s why you took this assignment in the first place. You wanted to see both sides of the table, find your place in it all.

It’s raining heavily when the two of you step outside, you linger in the doorway as you tug your hair out of your jacket. He smiles, reaching out to help you, his fingertips brushing a stray strand back behind your ear.

“Beau.” You say quietly, your fingers smoothing out the collar of his jacket. “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

His eyes capture yours, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he leans in close.

“If I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.” He tells you.

“Maybe I don’t want you to.” You murmur, your fingertips chasing along the line of his jaw. “Maybe I want this as much as you do.”

He kisses you then, his heated mouth brushing over yours and in that moment you’re lost. Your fingers tangle in his hair, his firm body pressing against you as you deepen the kiss, your tongue dipping into his mouth. He moans and that fucking sound sends a wildfire chasing up through your synapses. You want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything.

He draws away unwillingly, his gaze on your swollen lips as his thumb chases over the outline of your mouth.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks you, his head tilting towards the hotel across the street.

“Yea.” You whisper against his lips. “Yea I do.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[midgardian-witch]

The L-Bomb

Marc Spector is in love with you. Only problem is that you're in a relationship with Steven and Jake, but not with him.

But he's fine being your friend with benefits, he really is. He doesn't long to hold you in his arms and kiss you tenderly. Nope.

(Marc is in love and deals with it by fucking you hard and fast.)

AO3

AN: special thanks to the lovely @my-secret-shame for being my beta reader for this 💙

tags: Dry Humping | Light Angst | Pining | Penetrative Sex (p in v) | teasing | praise kink | switch!Marc Spector | switch!Reader | afab!reader | Steven and Jake are mentioned but not present

ships: Marc Spector/Reader

He doesn't deserve you. Steven and Jake deserve you. He had his chance at love and blew it. He's the fuck up. He doesn't deserve to be in love. He doesn't deserve to wake up in your arms, warm and safe, as you nuzzle into his neck still half asleep. 

He doesn't deserve any of it. So you can never know that he wants it. That he craves it. That all he truly wants is to kiss you gently, worship your body under his hands and tell you this one simple truth that he had denied the world and himself:

Marc Spector is in love with you. 

And you can never know. He's eager to service you physically when needed. Marc has long since abandoned any thought of saving his dignity when you got together with Steven and Jake. It's difficult to keep a distance when he shares the body with your two boyfriends. 

He is the interloper, the imposter that is forcing his way into your life. 

There have been times before when you didn't notice that it was him with you and not one of your boyfriends. Those early mornings when he'd wake up before you, your arms and legs wrapped around his body, his heart thundering in his chest; unwilling for this moment to end. It feels almost sinful to enjoy these quiet, stolen moments with you. 

Just like today. 

He can do nothing but stare at you in awe, your body half spread over his and your face hidden in the curve of his neck. One of your hands rests on his chest while the other is pressed to his side. You look so peaceful like this, unaware of the intruder that you are clinging to. 

He wants to kiss you but he doesn't dare to while you're unconscious. Even if just a small kiss to the top of your head would be enough to satiate his need. 

It's a lie. He will never be able to have enough of you. But maybe if he repeats it often enough it will be one day.

(It won't.) 

Every touch feels electric, a soft buzz underneath his skin that leaves him aching. His hand glides over your arm in gentle strokes, careful not to rouse you from your slumber. He could spend eternity like this, just holding you in his arms, feeding on your warmth and breathing in your scent. 

You move and his whole body freezes. He always dreads this, the moment you wake up and this whole fantasy of his shatters into a million pieces. Marc feels your breath against his neck, soft puffs of air that make his heart race. One of your legs slides over his, trapping his knee between your plush thighs. You mumble something incoherent against his heated skin as your hips slowly start to move, grinding your clothed sex against him. 

Feeling your pussy against his thigh, even with your underwear in the way, makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. His teeth dig into his lower lip, trying and failing to stifle a groan. He tries to whisper your name, to check if you're awake. You don't answer, still fast asleep. Instead he can feel the wetness of your cunt, your slick juices soaking through your underwear.

He's sure you're having a wet dream, unconsciously using him for your pleasure and Marc could do nothing but stay still and ignore the way his body is reacting to your touch. Blood is rushing downwards, his cock swelling with every slide of your perfect pussy against his skin, with every twitch of your fingers against his chest, with every soft moan escaping your lips. He is going to go crazy, if he doesn't already count as crazy. This is torture. It's inhumane. But he doesn't want it to end. He's going to die here, rockhard, with you writhing on top of-

"O-oh fuck," you mumble. He can feel your lashes flutter against his skin as you open your eyes. Your hips keep rolling against his thigh even as you wake up. Marc swallows hard, his body still stiff as a board as he tries to think of how to react. 

"F-fuck, sorry," you moan quietly, slowly trying to untangle yourself from him and turn away. As if on autopilot Marc reaches for you, your body freezing in motion as his hand touches your arm. 

You look up at him, your pupils blown wide. He doesn't know what he's doing, except that he does , and that may even be worse. 

"Let me help you with that," his voice sounds wrecked even to him. He can feel you shudder under his caress as his hand brushes over your arm and stomach before resting between your legs. 

You gasp as he pulls your underwear to the side and slides his fingers between your slick folds. Marc suppresses a groan, his cock twitching in his boxers just by feeling how wet you are. His fingers circle your clit lazily and your hips buck towards his touch in response. 

"Don't tease me," you whine as your fingers dig into his chest and shoulder, holding on for dear life. Marc knows he shouldn't laugh at your predicament but he can't stop himself from chuckling. He loves seeing you like this, so eager for his touch. He wasn't allowed much; he didn't deserve much. But this? This he could have, this he could give you. And how he loves giving it to you. 

"M-Marc." 

The way you moan his name might be one of his favorite sounds. It makes him feel wanted, like you could need him just as much as he needs you. 

"Yes baby? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Do you want my fingers?" 

Slowly Marc teases your entrance with his middle finger, his thumb still drawing lazy circles around your clit. He wants to go easy on you, to give you anything you want but he needs to hear you say it. Not just because listening to you tell him the things you want him to do to you gets him going like nothing else. Marc needs to know what he is allowed to do, how far he is allowed to go and what is only reserved for your actual boyfriends he just so happens to share a body with. 

"Yes please," you beg, your voice shaking already only from the promise of him fucking you with his fingers, "Please fuck me."

As soon as the words leave your mouth Marc presses his finger into you slowly. Your slick eases him in with no resistance. Whatever you had been dreaming about left you so aroused he could easily slip two fingers in immediately. 

For one painful moment the thought of you dreaming about being in bed with Jake or Steven makes his heart clench before he shakes it off in favor of focusing on the way you bend and writhe beneath him, eagerly chasing his touch. 

He adds another finger, his thumb still stimulating your sensitive bundle of nerves at the same time. His fingers curl inside of you, seeking that spot that will make you see stars. Marc watches you intently as he fingerfucks you slowly, steadily, while your eyes are screwed shut in pleasure. You look so beautiful like this; he could watch you forever and never tire of the sight. 

He knows he hit the spot he was looking for when a startled moan escapes your lips, your hips eagerly grinding against his hand. "There you go. Feels good, doesn't it?" You nod frantically, your eyelids fluttering in a desperate attempt to establish eye contact. As he stills his movements, his fingers remaining inside your wet heat, you finally manage to open your eyes and look at him. You look wrecked, heated skin glistening with sweat, eyes dark with lust. Marc could cum right now just from the sight of you. 

"Please," you whimper, your pussy clenching around his thick fingers, "I need more."

"One more? I can give you one more finger, baby," he coos, ready to give you whatever you want. You shake your head in response. 

"No, I need-" 

You turn your head to the side, hiding your beautiful face from his sight. 

"Don't hide from me. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

Marc leans forward, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"I'll make you feel so good, you just have to use your words," he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. You swallow hard and after a moment of consideration you turn your head back to face him. Marc didn’t move an inch, your faces so close he could feel your shuddering breath against his skin. His gaze drops to your beautiful lips just as your tongue swipes across them. His cock, which he had largely ignored in favor of focusing on your pleasure, gives another interested twitch in his boxers as the image of you with your lips wrapped around his length flashes in his mind.

“Please fuck me, Marc.”

Your voice rips him out of his fantasies. It takes a moment for your words to register in his mind before he grins cheekily as he continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers. “I am. Or is there something else you want?” He asks sincerely, his grin softening into an encouraging smile. Your groan of frustration turns into a drawn-out moan as Marc once again hits your g-spot. 

“Your cock- I need your cock, please,” you beg with your hands still clinging to him in an unsuccessful attempt to pull him over you. 

Marc groans; hearing you beg makes him feel light-headed, almost drunk but so much better. “You’re so good, telling me what you want,” he praises you while he removes his fingers from your pussy, “I’ll give you my cock, baby. I’ll fuck you just how you like it.”

Marc watches as you quickly wiggle out of your underwear, kicking it gracelessly off of you as it bunches up at your ankles. Like a predator Marc is crawling over you, caging you in under his massive frame as you turn to lay on your back. With your underwear out of the way you’ve decided to help out Marc with his own. He hisses as your fingers brush over his aching cock trapped under the irritating piece of cloth. You hesitate and look at him with worry in your eyes. Carefully Marc gets up on his knees, his strong arms no longer caging you in, and pulls down his boxers just enough to free his thick cock. 

He wraps his hand around his length, giving it a few cursory strokes, precum gathering at the slit. “You want this, baby?” he asks as he bends down again, the hand not gripping his cock digging into the mattress next to your head. Marc drags his cock between your folds lazily, his precum mixing with your slick. 

You gasp at the feeling, nodding furiously. “Yes! Please fuck me,” you beg and it takes all of his willpower not to immediately bury his cock inside you. With all the restraint he can muster Marc eases himself into you, inch by inch. He's desperately trying to muffle his groan between his clenched teeth as he pushes his cock into your welcoming heat, torturously slow, until he is fully sheathed inside of you. 

Marc doesn't move further, making sure you're getting used to his size and girth, taking ragged breaths to calm himself. You writhe underneath him, your hands holding onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh and your face twisted in pleasure. He wants you to grab him harder, to sink your nails into his skin, to leave marks all over him. He wants to look at himself in the mirror and see the evidence of your time together, of the way he can make you feel, the way he can make you lose control. 

You tilt your pelvis upwards, urging him to move with a soft grunt. The hand not holding himself steady grabs your hips. He shushes you quietly. "Patience, baby. I'll give you what you need," he chastizes you before he starts thrusting into you languidly. The way your walls grip him tightly, as if your cunt never wants to let him go, makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. He's not going to be able to keep up this slow pace for long, his restraint diminishing with every flutter of your cunt around him. 

Marc wants to fuck you just the way you like it, just like you want it, like you've always wanted it with him: hard, fast, taking you to that edge and pushing you over again and again, fucking you through multiple orgasms until you loose your mind with pleasure. 

He wants you to want him or at least want what he can do for you, how he can make you feel. Any reason Marc can give you to keep him in your life, that's all that matters. He can't have you but he can't lose you either. 

The languid roll of his hips grinds to a halt; in response you let out a displeased whine, your fingers digging almost painfully into his skin, urging him to continue, to go faster, deeper. He hushes you, one of his hands blindly grabbing a pillow while the hand that rests on your hip lifts you up just enough for him to stuff the pillow under you. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice rough from trying to hold back his own moans as your elevated hips let him push even deeper into you with ease. “Feels good, yeah?” he asks with a groan when he feels your cunt contract around his cock. Through heavy breathing you give him a short sound of confirmation as you enjoy the way Marc is filling you.

Once his length is buried to the hilt inside of you, Marc continues to slowly fuck you again. With every moan leaving your pretty mouth his thrusts increase in speed until he is pounding into you mercilessly. The way you clench around him with every drag of his cock against your walls makes his head spin. Marc’s usual composure is completely shattered; all he can think of is how desperately he wants to make you come, how badly he wants to make this good for you, to be good for you. 

Still not satisfied with your current position, Marc grabs the underside of your knees and pushes your legs up over his shoulders. Gently he pushes your legs back towards your body, almost folding you in half. You gasp as Marc's face hovers over yours, your lips parted slightly just begging to be kissed. His hands grab your thighs tightly as he resumes his brutal pace, his cock driving into your wet heat, aiming for the spot that makes your head spin. 

You're so close to him. Marc had never tried this position with you before and now everything feels too intimate. His eyes find yours. Your pupils are blown with lust and all Marc can think about is how beautiful you are, how he wants to stay like this forever, how he desperately wants to kiss you. He wants to bury himself inside of you and never leave. He wants your arms around him, holding him close. He wants to hear you say that he's doing good, that he is good. For you. 

Your moans, your hands pawing at his chest, your pussy quivering around him - all of that isn’t enough.

His gaze is unwavering as he pounds his cock into you. Between heavy breaths he asks: "Is this good? Am I-" He stops himself before he continues babbling, embarrassed that he needs this, that he needs you to tell him these things, to take care of him.

He is supposed to take care of you. He is supposed to be the one in control, the one to give you mind-blowing pleasure while your actual boyfriends rest in their part of the headspace. 

He can't hold back a whimper when he feels your hands travel upwards and cup his face. You pull him down so all he can see is your gorgeous eyes looking back at him with such warmth it makes his heart ache.

"You're so good for me, Marc. Fucking me so good," you whisper and his breath catches in his throat, "You feel so good inside me, stretching and filling me up like you were made for it."

His head drops to yours, foreheads touching, like he is a puppet and you just cut the strings that held him up. Your praise is making him lose control, his hips snapping against you in a frantic rhythm. "That's it," you coo as your hands let go of his face and grab the hair at the back of his head instead, "Keep going. Make me come on your cock, Marc."

He nods again, unintentionally rubbing his face against yours with the motion. Your mouth is so close to his, he can almost taste you. 

"Y-Yes, fuck-" he groans before he takes the plunge and captures your lips with his. You moan into each other's mouth as your lips connect in a heated kiss. 

Marc lets go of one of your legs, instead pushing his hands right where you're connected to rub your swollen clit. Your pussy quivers around his cock and he can feel you are slowly reaching your climax. Doubling his efforts he rubs your sensitive nub in rhythm with the thrusts of his cock, your lips still locked in a passionate kiss. 

Marc knows he won't be able to hold off his own orgasm much longer, the feeling of you too potent. You pull him in like a siren to his death and he would gladly sink for you. He would do anything for you, because of one simple truth: he loves you. 

It echoes like a cacophony in his head, repeating again and again until it's all he can think. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

When he feels you come undone around his throbbing cock that's when Marc lets himself come too. With a raspy groan he spills his seed deep inside of you. 

After he takes a moment to collect himself Marc slips out of you carefully, watching his spend leak out of your cunt. Before he can lean back and climb off of you, you stop him, your hands gripping his neck and pulling him back into another kiss. 

This kiss feels different. It's not a passionate slide of lips, a heated clash of tongues. No, this kiss is deliberate and soft. Marc melts against you, eyes slipping shut to just focus on the feeling. 

He can feel you smile against his lips before you pull back. Looking at you through hooded eyes he is stunned by how radiant you look even while sweat-soaked with hair clinging to your skin. 

"I love you too."

Marc freezes, unsure if he heard you right. 

"What?" 

You roll your eyes with a grin on your face before you press a short, soft kiss against his lips. 

"I love you too, Marc Spector."

I love you. 

He said it. He told you right there with your pussy clenched around his cock so tight he could hardly think straight. He didn't mean to. He did realize-

You play with his hair as he comes to terms with what had happened. 

"But what about Steven? And Jake?" he asks, his voice so small he can barely recognize himself. 

"I love them too," you tell him like it's the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is for you.

"But I'm-" 

"An amazing man. Someone who cares a lot and wants to protect people in need. Someone who is way too hard on himself," you cut him off. With a cheeky grin you add: "And someone who is phenomenal in bed."

He lets out a ragged breath. "And you're sure you're-" 

"Yes, I am sure I love you. Now cuddle with me. Someone fucked me so good I don't think I can get up anytime soon."

Marc can't help but laugh at this. The weight on his heart has finally lifted and while he still doesn't quite believe you he nods and proceeds to hold you close in the afterglow of your shared orgasm. 

You would talk about this later but for now Marc could rely on one simple truth:

Marc Spector is in love with you. And maybe you're in love with him too. 

(You are.)

[ltwilliammowett]

Can you do a short term list for us in a funny way?

Welcome my dear newcomers aboard HMS Surprise. You have been exclusively selected ( or gently beaten up and dragged here) to join us on our South America tour. I promise you excitement, sleepless nights, beautiful scenery, storms, sunburn, no water and a bloody French…. oops I mean great adventure. To help you find your way around on board, here's a short list of important terms.

Landlubber - you, if you need this list - speak a non-sailor who simply has no idea about being a sailor.

Ship - your new workplace - this wooden lady is now your everything and treat her well, she is your life insurance to get you home safely. But be careful, she is very headstrong and if you want to tell me now that she is just an object, you thought wrong. She is very much a living individual and she will make you feel that.

The rigging - that sort of spider's nest above you - is there to operate the sails. Look forward to getting to know the ropes very well.

Sails - those cloth rags hanging from the thick wooden poles. They are used for locomotion and are not blankets.

Wheel - this strange wooden wheel with spikes on it - no, it is not an instrument of torture, but is used for steering.

Anchor - heavy, made of iron and keeps our lady in place.

Compass - this strange thing that lives in a box and is constantly moving back and forth. To cut a long story short: You know which way is north and you can keep your course. You'll soon know it by heart.

Captain - Boss

1st Lieutenant - Second boss and the one who can really fuck you up if he wants to. Get in good line and please don't suck up to him. But he is the one who puts you in everything, be it ward, mess, hammock, etc.

2.nd. Lieutenant - me and I too can make you uncomfortable.

Master - knows where the sails hang and what course to set. Takes just a little more work off the boss.

Purser - is responsible for your food rations, but will also try to get you to buy something from him to make life on board a little easier. Don't do this, he's quite expensive.

Sailor - Your new colleagues, and depending on their years of service, they will know how to handle that wooden lady, how to set the sails and so on. You'll learn it too.

Old Salt - an experienced old sailor, stick with him if you want to learn and he is willing to share his knowledge.

Surgeon - the name says it all. We have a good one on board, be lucky. And if you're lucky, you'll come home with all your body parts.

Midshipmen - mini officers who still need to learn. They can be quite demanding and annoying, especially when many of them are still very young. But don't be surprised if a 12-year-old gives you orders, he's allowed to.

Mess - the place where you eat

Cannon - heavy, iron, dirty, hot and with a loud bang. Used to stop the enemy or inflict serious damage. Keep your limbs to yourself and only follow the instructions of those who know what to do with them. Otherwise you will only injure yourself unnecessarily.

Cannonball - heavy, made of stone or iron. Come into the cannon and please do not trip over it.

Admiral - comes along sometimes. Is the boss of the boss

Hammock - your bed, but don't get too comfortable in it because you won't get much sleep anyway.

Rum - elixir of life, next to coffee

Powder monkeys - yes, they are children, but they know what to do and you can learn something from them too.

Boatswain - also called Bosun, he whistles the orders and drives you to work. He is also your wake-up call.

Marine - our sea soldiers, there aren't very many of them, but the few that there are are fine. They are there for the safety on board.

Cutlasses, muskets, grenades, axes, etc. - makes autsch, hopefully not with you. You will learn to handle them.

Cook - as the name suggests, and yes, having only one leg is normal.

Quarterdeck - not your dance area, that's the officers' area, you're only allowed there if your duty requires it.

Wardroom - also not your area. This is where we officers live and have some privacy.

Great Cabin - living and working area of the captain (you remember? - boss).

Gun deck - remember those big black things that bang loudly? they live here.

Berth deck - this is where you live, sleep and eat. Don't worry, it doesn't get cold there, you share the space with about 170 men.

Well, there is more, but I think that should be enough to start with. The rest will come naturally later. Don't stress about it and I think you will enjoy next year by the sea so much that you will want to come back.

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Undertaken

cw: referenced whipping, referenced past torture/abuse

previous ///// masterlist /////

§•§•§

The Council had the decency to move the conversation indoors, away from the chilling salt winds and the eyes of the villagers. Tansy expected it was more due to the latter than the former; a council’s… counsel seemed a private matter when dealing with something such as this. Either way, they were grateful, doubly so when the men who moved Cerus showed no needless cruelty. The village hall they stepped into was a long and low building that looked newly constructed; the old structure that Tansy had grown up with must've been destroyed in the war.

Such was the way with most of the village, the place Tansy had once found so familiar. It nearly seemed they'd found the wrong place upon trying to return home. Everything had shifted; destroyed and rebuilt while they were away, streets walked by strangers who didn't seem to notice how the stones had changed.

Only now, Tansy was the stranger weren't they? It was a feeling they'd been inclined to ignore in the days since their return. The feeling of coming back from the war as a ghost. Walking streets that should be familiar, greeting faces they did not know. Returning to a home that wasn’t home anymore.

Driftwood carvings dangled from the hall's rafters far overhead. Fish and mermaids and shells and ships. Though their back stung terribly and they dreaded what the Council's final ruling on Cerus's life would be, the carvings sent a shimmer of something almost akin to hope through Tansy. A signal that the villagers felt safe to make things for the sake of making them; to create and not fear for a following destruction.

“You may sit, soldier,” said General Nisha, gesturing to one of the simple wooden benches that lined the hall. Tansy fell onto it gratefully, clasping their hands together in an effort to ignore how they shook. Cerus was placed beside them to kneel on the ground. They hoped the warmth of the building would do him some good, but knew it wouldn’t be enough. The man wouldn’t stop shaking, and now and then his whole body convulsed with a cough.

Aetha was the first to speak.

“The suffering you sought to ease is plain to see. Laying eyes upon the Shadow KIng as he is is enough to inspire my judgment of you.”

Tansy raised their head to look at her, squeezing the fingers of their left hand in their right, in such a way it was almost painful.

“It was unjust of the villagers to put you beneath the lash, but noble of you to spare the Shadow King from it. I see you blameless.”

Sree, speaking next, cleared her throat. “It seems you are guilty of nothing more than a soft heart. I see you blameless.”

Finally, Nisha faced them. “When I first heard tell of it, I was enraged to hear that a soldier who had fought to end the Shadow King was so easily turned into his service.” They swallowed, their brow creasing. “But looking upon him myself, I cannot blame you. Fear can turn a man to evil deeds, but you looked past your own. I see you blameless.”

Tansy let their shoulders sag in relief. How strange it would have been, to be pardoned for the crime of tending wounds. But at least the Council did not seem to view it as a crime. Could there be hope for Cerus after all?

“What of the Shadow King?” they ventured. 

“I’d be a fool to call him blameless,” Nisha said.

“I’d be a fool to ask it of you,” they replied. “But surely he is undeserving of this.”

Aetha pressed her lips together. “His sentence has already been passed. He belongs to the people.”

“And you would let the people continue to abuse him?”

“It is the people who suffered at his hands, child,” Sree put in. “As cruel as it may be, it is a bed Cerus Hollowthorn made for himself.”

“There must be something—”

“Please,” Cerus croaked, and Tansy fell silent. “I beg of you, let me speak.”

The Council turned to his bowed form as one, silent save Nisha.

“Speak, shadow.”

His shoulders hunched in, his head dipping lower. “Alter my sentence. I deserve death, nothing more of this agony. Put me to death, as you should have done months before.”

“You do not command the law anymore, shadow,” Nisha growled, but Aetha held up her hand.

“Is that truly what you want? To die?”

“Have I not suffered enough to earn it?”

She furrowed her brow, a hand moving to cradle her chin. “I suppose it can be discussed—”

“No,” Tansy barked out before they could stop themselves, then hurried to adjust their tone. “Respectfully, Councilwoman, no.”

“You have something to say, soldier?” It was Nisha who addressed them, Aetha only watching the exchange with a curious expression.

"If Cerus was to die, it should have been upon his defeat,” Tansy said, making an effort to keep their voice even and calm. “Not now. Not by an executioner’s blade, nor by cold, nor starvation or blows. You sentenced him to live, did you not?”

NIsha frowned. “We did. And now he asks we repeal that. Would you go against his wishes? Condemn him to further pain?”

“No.” Tansy shook their head. "Let him carry out his sentence. Let him live. Let him serve. But gods, give him the means to do so.” They stood, ignoring the pain in their back. “Give him the winter to heal, give him protection from those who wish him harm. Give him food and proper clothing, for heaven's sake."

“And you believe he deserves all this?” Nisha asked.

“Do you believe any person doesn’t?” they said, unable to keep their voice from rising. “I ask not for luxuries, only the means to live without pain. Is that really more than he deserves?”

The whole of the Council was silent at this, and remained so for a good few minutes.

“Hm,” Sree said at last. “The Shadow King’s punishment was intended as retribution, not a torture. To have him properly outfitted to better serve the villages… I see no harm in it. Of Feyadel’s industries, he has served the mines and the sea. It would be an unfairness were we to cut him down before he could serve the fields.”

Aetha nodded. “It would be simple to send him to an inland village to farm, simpler still to provide him provisions to do so.”

“And who would enforce such a thing?” Nisha countered. “I will spare no guards for his sake.”

“I will do it,” Tansy said, and the words surprised even them. 

“You would go to such lengths?” Nisha said. “For the very king you took up a sword to defeat?”

“He is not a king anymore.” Tansy said. “And he has been defeated.” They knelt beside Cerus, laying a hand on his shaking shoulder. “I will.” 

The Shadow King peered at them past tangled dark hair. “I do not deserve this of you,” he said between rattling breaths.

“Deserve,” they repeated. “Such a funny word.”

Perhaps this was madness, to start anew alongside Cerus of all people. But then, why shouldn’t they? Their home was not their home anymore. Better to leave behind this village and all the ghosts it stirred within them. Better to finish what they’d started with Cerus, prove all they’d yet done wasn’t for nothing.

“I favor the idea,” Aetha said. “If my fellow Councilmembers approve, it will be done.”

“The Shadow King… Cerus shall take what time he needs to recuperate,” Sree said with a nod. “Then onward to carry on with his service. General?”

Nisha gave a curt nod. “It will be done.” Their mouth tightened at the corners. “Anger should not stand in the way of healing. Justice and vengeance are…difficult to separate, but it must be done.” They moved toward Tansy, offering a hand. “I still think you a fool, but I wish you luck,” they said, helping them to their feet.

“Thank you,” Tansy said, suppressing a wince.

“And as for you, Shadow King…”

Cerus seemed to shrink back as their voice turned on him.

“Will you serve? Give your breath to the land rather than give it up to an executioner?”

“I… I will,” Cerus murmured. “I will try.”

“And I will ensure the word is spread through the village,” Aetha said. “Should an incident such as this occur again…” Here she pulled a small sheet of parchment from her cloak, scrawling a message across it, then producing an inky seal to mark it with the sigil of the Council. “...You have our word in writing. Cerus Hollowthorn is not to come to further harm.”

She handed it to Tansy, who tucked it into their cloak pocket, bowing their head. “Thank you, Councilwoman.”

She smiled. “We’d best be off now. When you are ready to travel, the village of Unushya will be waiting to welcome you. They’re a few days’ journey west.”

“May your roads be smooth and your healing swift,” Sree said.

And with that, the Council left, and Tansy and Cerus were again alone. They went to his side, gently pulling him to his feet in such a way that his weight was supported on their shoulders. Careful though they were, some pressure still fell onto the fresh whip marks.

“Let us be getting home then,” they said through a wince. At last, they could rest. Their uncle would likely be shocked at their decision; they were still nearly in shock at it themselves, but an odd sense of ease came with it. A direction to heal in, for both them and Cerus. To grow and fear no destruction.

“Tansy,” Cerus said as they began the long walk home, his voice hardly a whisper. “You… I now owe everything to you.”

“All I ask is you make good on your word,” they said. “Serve. Heal. Do you think you can?”

“I think I should like to try. To heal, rather than to harm,” Cerus said. “I… Thank you.”

Their grimace, as they struggled through the chill air under his added weight, nearly turned to a smile. Should they have dreamed this moment a week ago, they would have woken laughing at its absurdity. Now, they could only imagine what awaited them at the end of the path. A warm bed and a hot meal. Though on the point of exhaustion, the thought kept them placing one foot painstakingly in front of the other, until…

“I don’t think you are in such a condition to hold him on your own,” said a voice, and Tansy glanced up to see the woman from the apothecary, offering a small smile. “May I assist?”

Winded from the walk thus far, Tansy could only nod, and she fell into step on Cerus’s other side, easing some of the weight from their shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be bearing weight with those wounds,” came another voice, this one from a man Tansy did not recognize. “Let me.”

And reluctantly, they slipped away from Cerus, letting the stranger take their place, watching carefully in anticipation of some trick, some ploy to hurt Cerus. But the man only walked on.

Others came before they reached the outskirts of town, dropping a cloak over Cerus’s still-shivering form, pressing a package of dried fish into Tansy’s hands, offering words as the little group passed.

“To think such kindness could come from the war.”

“I did not realize they’d hurt him so.”

“May your courage heal you swiftly.”

It seemed as if the hatred had vanished in the span of an hour, but that wasn’t truly the case, was it? The hatred was still there, but it had been pushed aside by compassion, the other true nature that lay at the center of a human, the more powerful nature. It was what had driven Tansy from the moment they’d laid eyes on Cerus; a thing that was brighter than anger or fear. They could not pretend they’d been the spark to bring it to light within the rest of the village, but they knew their breath had strengthened the flames.

Tansy murmured their thanks as the herbalist and the stranger helped Cerus into bed, and thanked the old woman again when she looked their wounds over and ordered them to rest. Rest they would, settled on their bedroll beside a now-sleeping Cerus. And despite the physical pangs of exhaustion and pain, the unrest that had been coiling in their gut for so long had finally faded.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Tansy knew they’d made the right choice.

§•§•§

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