#orderly tangles

[magnificentlyinsane]

Applying oil to your hair is so therapeutic.

#bringing the tangled mess to layers of orderliness is something to do with control of the anatomy

[slayfics]

You help Muichiro brush his hair after a long training session as his tsuguko.

It had been a long day of training, and coming back to the mansion you were ready for a well deserved rest.

"Thank you for the training session today Master Tokito. "You said turning around to face Muichiro.

"No need to thank me. That is simply my job." He said plainly. While he spoke, you noticed he was running his fingers through his hair and getting caught with tangles. You watched a few more moments as he continued to fuss with his fair. You weren't surprised he had so many tangles in his hair after the training session you two had today, but it made you flinch as you watched him roughly rip through tangles trying to ger his hair orderly again.

"Would you like some help?" You offered.

"Hm?" Muichiro turned his attention from his hair to you. "I suppose that would be helpful." He said and sat down on the floor in the entry room. You grabbed a comb and sat down behind him. You offered before you thought through what that would mean.

Sitting behind the Hashira you now began to feel nervous to touch him. You took a second to gather your thoughts. It's just hair you told yourself nothing to be too worked up about, but you had always admired Muichiro's hair and you'd be lying if you didn't admit the thought of caring for him made you nervous.

"You have really beautiful hair Tokito." You said trying to strike up a conversation to ease your nervousness as you carefully started on the ends slowly working through any tangles.

"Thanks." The Hashira replied then fell silent again. You should have known better. Muichiro wasn't much of a talker. You continued to slowly work your way through his hair carful not to pull too hard on any tangles and cause him discomfort.

Not that he couldn't handle pain, but you wanted to make sure to be gentle. Some time passed and Muichiro hadn't said anything, so you continued almost finishing up combing out all the tangles.

"You know it's good practice to comb your hair multiple times a day." You said finally breaking the silence, but Muichiro didn't respond. "Not that your hair needs any help it's perfects as is." You added quickly hoping you did not accidently offed him.

"Hm?" You heard him exclaim the quiver. "My apologizes I must have dozed off. What did you say?"

"Nothing important. I finished your hair should feel much nicer now." You said getting up. The Hashira didn't move.

"Are you ok Tokito?" You asked. Muichiro turned to look up at you.

"Are you sure you finished?" He said.

"Um I think so... does it feel like I missed something?"

"No, I suppose not." He said turning his gaze froward and closing his eyes. You were used to his usual spaciness but this seemed abut out of the ordinary.

"Did you... want me to check to make sure? You asked wondering if maybe he was enjoying the nurturance of you combing through his hair.

"Yes" He said, and you could have sworn you saw the smallest of smiles flash on his face. It wasn't often you saw Muichiro's face give off any emotions.

You sat back down behind him and began to comb through is hair again. This time going from top all the way to the bottom now that there wasn't any tangles to worry about. It wasn't long before you noticed the Hashira's breathing become deeper again.

"Muichiro?" You said gently, but he did not response. This confirmed your suspicions that the Hashira had fallen asleep again.

"I'll comb your hair anytime you want." You said softly, hoping somewhere in his unconsciousness he would hear and remember.

#demon slayer #kny x reader #kny x you #anime x reader #anime x y/n #demon slayer x reader #muichiro x y/n #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #demon slayer muichiro #muichiro x reader #muichiro fluff #kimetsu muichiro #kny fanfic #kny fluff #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x y/n

[freak-accident419]

High On You

Derek Danforth x GN!AFAB!Reader

Summary: You read over the statistics and analytics for Derek’s company, as he requested. Except, while you do this, you’re on his bed, lower half of your body exposed as he does lines of cocaine on your thigh—then he eats you out.

WC: 1.2k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, derek danforth x reader (gn!afab!reader), oral (v!receiving), no spoilers for The Beekeeper, brief (yet detailed) cocaine/drug use, graphic depictions of sex and drugs (this is probably the filthiest thing i ever wrote on here), cursing

(A/n: I couldn’t wait to write it, so here !! Haven’t watched the movie yet, but if I notice that there’s anything incorrect here once I do, I’ll go back and change it ! I’m so sorry to my AMAB readers and/or the AFAB readers who get dysphoria from this type of writing !! You can check out my other smuts that aren’t genital-specific !! Love you all!! And thanks to everyone for your support !! Anyways, I think that Derek doing coke on the reader is such a Derek thing to do.)

Tags: @thehermitsaltar @coriolanussnowswife @moonlight-rosevine @harrysflorist @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @joshhutchersons-slut

-

Your rich boyfriend, Derek Danforth, asked you to read over the statistics and analytics of his phishing center, informing him how much money he’s earned in the past week.

Except it wasn’t a very professional or orderly way.

You laid on his bed, looking at the information on your phone, reading how much millions were gained on Thursday, while your entire lower body was naked. You two were always a very intimate couple, so this wasn’t new or had invoked any feelings of diffidence, as your legs were spread out across the mattress.

He snorted a line of cocaine, pressing down on one of his nostrils to inhale the drug after spilling the white powder onto your thigh and scraping it into several thin lines using one of his credit cards. It felt tingly, to have him do this on your thigh, his head ever so close to your cunt. While this occurred, his free hand was resting on your other bare thigh.

He let out an ecstatic groan afterward, and then looked at you as his high rushed in. “What—What’d you say again, baby?”

You chuckle softly at his mannerisms. “I said that in total, for Thursday at least, UDG obtained, like, over six fucking million,” you reply, looking over the statistics on your phone again. “Business is booming.”

Derek smirked as he was satisfied to hear the news. “Damn fuckin’ right it is.”

His body slightly tensed up as he quickly inhaled another white line on your thigh through his nostril, briefly rubbing his nose afterwards. The sharp inhale caused him to feel a surge of euphoria throughout his body as the drugs entered his system. His eyes closed in pleasure, then opened, pupils slightly dilated.

You watched him do this, taking a short drag of your cigarette. “Last week’s average was five point two million dollars,” you add, observing him as he corrected the final line with the card, straightening it out onto your thigh.

“So what was the total earned in that week?” He inquired as your cigarette remained hanging from your mouth.

“Thirty-six million dollars, baby,” you answer proudly while he inhales the last line quite harshly, and heard him whoop as he gained exhilaration from both the drug and the statistics.

You finally place your phone down on the night stand to give full attention to your boyfriend. You bring your hand to his hair, tangling his soft, light curls in your fingers. “Congratulations,” you praise gently, watching Derek close his eyes in pleasure, leaving a small kiss on your thigh.

He placed the package of coke on the night stand and adjusted himself on the bed between your legs. He continued to leave soft kisses on your thigh, gradually trailing towards your untouched pussy.

“Mm, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” He observed, demonstrating a hint of pity. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he huffs, pulling your hips closer to his face as he finally licked up your cunt in an animalistic fashion.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers still in his hair, and you grab the cigarette out of your mouth, immediately putting it out on the ashtray.

Derek’s warm tongue caressed along your folds exuberantly, moving up and down as your breath hitched. He gripped your thighs tightly, pushing his face even further in your cunt. You let out a gasp—almost a moan—as he flicked your clit with his tongue, stimulating the sensitive nub which elicited even more intense sounds from your mouth.

“O-oh, fuck, Derek!” You moaned as you felt him suck at your clit, closing his lips around it while lightly moving his hands up and down from your thighs to your sensitive hips, thumb pushing down on your pelvic bone for a brief moment, causing more pleasure within you. “S-so good, love… Fuck, yes.”

He lapped at your dripping pussy once more, threatening to poke inside each time his tongue ran over your entrance. He incessantly licked at you, so desperately and lustfully, occasionally tugging at your flesh between his soft lips.

“Taste s’fucking good,” he mutters between his rapid licks, “S’fucking good for me Y/n…” He rubbed off some leftover powder on your thigh, messily inhaling it through his nose for enhanced stimulus.

Your thighs jolting as you let out a high-pitched whine once you felt his tongue finally push inside your wet, aching cunt. He was eating you out as if you were forbidden fruit, because he would rather die than never be able to taste you. Pleasing to the eye, he really couldn’t help it. He was practically making out with your pussy, exploring your walls with his generous tongue.

Your legs closed around his head and you brought both of your hands to his hair, tugging his curls, which gets a muffled groan out of him, the vibration causing you to feel even more pleasure. Your breath hitched and you choked out a moan as you felt his nose bumping against your clit as he ate you out. Derek felt so hazy and foggy from his high, and because everything was so sensitive for him, he could practically cum untouched from how much arousal he gained from pleasing you. Not only was he high on cocaine, but he was also high on your taste, and hearing you moan was his ultimate addiction.

“Sh-shit, Derek…” Your head turned to the side tiredly, eyes threatening to close as you felt overwhelmed with all the stimulation. Derek hooked one of his arms around your thigh so he could place his hand warmly on your stomach, below your belly button yet over your cunt, now focusing more on his precision.

You felt yourself closer to your orgasm, waves of pleasure crashing onto you each second. Derek slipped his tongue out, just to spread your pussy lips apart with his fingers, and then lap his tongue against your cunt again sloppily, making your thighs twitch, incoherent whimpers escaping your mouth. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot…” he mumbles.

You let out a high-pitched moan as his long, slender middle finger inserted into you effortlessly, quick, deep thrusts provoking wet, vulgar squelches while he simultaneously sucked your clit again. He pulled out his finger smoothly, abrasively running it between your soaked folds, then pushed it back in deeply.

“G-God! Fuck!” You whined, back arching as you succumbed to his touch. Abruptly, he spit on your cunt, lapped his tongue on you, switching constantly between your folds and your clit. You felt a knot in your stomach, in which Derek’s free hand had still remained resting on it. His licks were fast and rough, and you felt yourself being driven over the edge. “G—Fuck, Derek, b-baby, I-I’m—”

“That’s it, that’s it, baby,” he encouraged softly in between licks. He looked at you hungrily with his deep brown eyes, “Cum for me.”

The second you heard his command, you came hard around his finger, moaning his name loudly as he slipped it out to desperately taste your juices, him groaning in your cunt. You whimpered and shuddered uncontrollably, his insistent touch bringing you to overstimulation. He kissed it a few times, then brought himself up from the mattress to make you with you, lips moving with yours as it allowed you to taste yourself.

“Fucking love you,” he muttered in the kiss. “So good for me, Y/n, fuck.” He held you in his arms softly, being as gentle as he could, rubbing your arms up and down comfortingly. The room smelled like sex, as the atmosphere consisted of only your deep breaths and the soft, wet smacking of your kisses.

“Fuck,” you panted, and the corner of your lips curled into a relieved smile until you kissed him again. “I love you too.”

#derek danforth x reader #derek danforth x gn!reader #derek danforth x you #derek danforth smut #Derek danforth fanfic #The beekeeper #the beekeeper fanfic #Josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x gn!reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson smut #Mike schmidt x reader #clapton davis x reader #josh futturman x reader #peeta mellark x reader

[otiososmanus]

So this was the first orderly tangle construction I made during the covid lockdown. It's the Four Triangle Polylink. (Actually, this is one of two types of four triangle polylink - the better known one.) As this polylink is thought of as being derived from the tetrahedron, that Platonic solid is considered the structure’s “parental polyhedron.”

#polylink #orderly tangle #orderlytangle #math #geometry #structure #craft #triangle #tetrahedron

[beeapocalypse]

that tweet abt magic in dd being more a division between Order and Chaos changed my life and i cannot even remember the exact wording or know how to find it again LOL

#ascribing to the belief that the light and the dark are one and the same makes it a very cheesy-- #--'you cant have good without evil' (<-- lol. not that order and chaos can be neatly divided into those two binary black and whites but-- #--that is a very easy way to word it) sort of deal but i still really love it. its interesting to think abt especially w how-- #--the Chaotic relies even more heavily than the Orderly (ie the light. standard religion and holy miracles) on reaching out to form-- #--bonds w eldritch benefactors #do the cultists of the sprawl worship the flames themselves? is the fucked up metaphysics of the end of the world granting the flame a-- #--semi sentience a parody of a will which allows it to reach out in return and bless that devotion with power? MAN ! #what is up with the leviathan. the god of the shroud but it is not an actual eldritch entity in the flesh it is an-- #--incrsdibly freaky fishguy that i think at most has like. an eldritch descent like that sort of blood in its bloodline. but again-- #--fucked up metaphysics and an Excess of chaos and hopelessness feeds it and grants it the ability to reach out in the same way that it-- #--wouldnt normally be capable of #idk what is up with the tangle at all LOL

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Meaningful Highlights from Kakashi Retsuden:

Minato catching Kakashi before he falls, the same way Kakashi always does for his students. And Kakashi, even at eight or nine years old, straight out of his father's funeral and before being his student, immediately relaxing when he runs into Minato: His feet tangled beneath him and he pitched forward. Into someone’s back. “You were really strong back there,” a voice told him, and he suddenly saw bright golden hair. He felt his breathing become a little easier. The Yellow Flash of Konoha. Namikaze Minato.

Kakashi describing his current feelings about his father: Now he felt proud from the bottom of his heart to have been born the child of the White Fang of Konoha.

Kakashi wanting to help the people of Redaku in a way that they can sustain themselves, even as he actually is providing a great deal of support through the process: The people of this country had to learn how to stand up and walk under their own strength. Give a starving person bread or teach them how to grow wheat. As Hokage, Kakashi had always chosen the latter.

Kakashi reflecting on his time as Sixth Hokage he eschewed tradition to build something that developed beyond shinobi: A never-ending peace. That was what Kakashi had sought as the Sixth Hokage. An orderly society that would go on and on even when he was not the Hokage, even when the day came when the role of Hokage disappeared. To create a framework so that they would never again fall into the quagmire of war.

The way Kakashi shows that he still views all of the former students taught by him and his friends in a parental and protective way: They had long since reached adulthood, and some were now parents while others were active on the front lines as shinobi. Even so, no matter how many years passed, to Kakashi, they were his precious students and the next generation who needed to be protected. Seeing them having so much fun was enough to ease his heart.

#kakashi retsuden #kakashi hatake #minato namikaze #sakumo hatake #light novels #light novel highlights #kakashi retsuden spoilers #i LOVE that kakashi's parental feelings go beyond team 7. like sai is there but he also feels this way about ino kiba tenten lee and karui #like they're ALL his kids to him #they also explicitly state it's BECAUSE of kakashi that the land of fire had technological + economic development. like it's his influence #for point 4: kakashi also notes that people disliked that he was disrupting the status quo/traditions #but he does it anyway!!! bc that's who he is!! #[sasuke voice] revolution <3 #ayesha talks anime #naruto series

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 46: Oliver's Ballet

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: mind control, captivity

Oliver was trying to keep his hands from shaking as he walked up the stairs to the forbidden third floor.

It was the evening of the ballet, and his master had given him his instructions the previous night. He was to wake up before sunset, bathe, don the expertly tailored shirt and pants that had been provided to him, make coffee, and then head to Alexander's room to attend on him. Oliver wasn't entirely sure what that meant, and his nervousness over dispatching his duties warred with his nervousness about being an embarrassment at a fancy performance. He'd slept better the past two days, owning to Katherine's encouragement and his master's feeding, but now he couldn't help being slightly on edge.

Find happiness wherever you can...

He would do his best to follow her advice and enjoy himself tonight. It certainly wasn't every day he got to witness a ballet.

The oil lamp he was holding in his other hand sputtered and flickered as he climbed the stairs and apprehensively knocked on the dark wooden door that guarded his master's private sanctum. The door creaked open, revealing a very tired looking vampire in a fluffy robe. "Come in, Oliver, come in. Ah, you brought coffee. Excellent."

Oliver handed off the mug as he stepped over the threshold into the room, unable to resist sweeping his lamp around to get a better look, as it was currently only lit by a couple of candles.

Alexander's bedroom was furnished much like Oliver's, but larger, and far more cluttered. The window was covered with shutters, and a thick velvet curtain surrounded the enormous bed. The bookshelves were crammed full of books interspersed with rolled scrolls, stacks of papers, and seemingly random trinkets, a far cry from the orderly shelves in the library. The tables and nightstands were covered in stacks of books and hardened candle wax, and there was laundry strewn about the hardwood floor. The bed was unmade and the sheets and blankets were in a tangle, sliding off halfway, with a rubber water bottle lying nearby. The place smelled of bookbindings and floral soap and brine.

His master didn't seem remotely self-conscious about this state of affairs, taking the coffee, picking his way deftly through the mess, and sitting on the side of his bed. "It looks as if the shirt and pants fit without much need for additional tailoring. That's good," he said, looking Oliver up and down through half-closed eyes. "I suppose I ought to get dressed myself, and then you can assist me."

"Yes, sir." He was about to ask what exactly he would be assisting with, but as Alexander shed his robe and reached for his shirt, Oliver's attention was piqued by a strange symbol on his chest. A scar, but an oddly round one, with a faded symbol in the center.

"That doesn't concern you," said Alexander sharply, noticing Oliver's gaze. 

"Sorry, sir," said Oliver, making a point to look away as his master finished dressing.

He took another long look at Oliver as he buttoned all but the top button of his shirt. "...It's no matter. Come with me."

Oliver followed Alexander to a door in the back corner of the room, tripping over a pair of shoes obscured by an old coat on the way. The door opened to an absurdly spacious and opulent bathroom, featuring a marble floor, a porcelain bathtub large enough to fit half a baseball team, and expensive plush bath towels littering the floor in heaps. The smell of floral soap was even stronger here, and the remnants of steam clung to Oliver's glasses, the room oppressively warm.

Alexander sat down in front of a counter with a sink and a mirror, and Oliver's eyes went wide at the odd effect of his master having no reflection. He could see himself perfectly, as though Alexander wasn't even there.

"This is what I need your help with, Oliver. Making my hair look presentable, because I'm not able to do so myself."

That certainly explained why he was so disheveled normally -- although, given the state of his very visible room, it wasn't necessarily the full explanation. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

He gestured to a glass containing combs, long scissors, and a few other odd tools. "Whatever you think is fit. It's not as though I'm going to be able to see it to criticize. I only wish to look neat and presentable."

Oliver had really never paid too much attention to his own appearance, but he had always tried to look neat for customers, so he hoped he would be able to do the job. "Very well, sir," he said, apprehensively picking up a comb and running it through his master's hair.

His hair was soft, surprisingly so, and the scent of floral soap grew even stronger, with undertones of woodsmoke and bookbinding glue and something unidentifiable, a scent which he was quickly learning to associate with his master. Alexander closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face, seemingly enjoying the treatment. 

He must be so lonely. Oliver felt it so keenly the prior night when his master had cornered him in the kitchen and drank deep of his blood. As his master's thoughts pooled into his own, he was overwhelmed with loneliness, solitude, the desire for a warm and caring touch. Oliver couldn't help but work his hands into his master's hair on the pretense of styling it, enjoying the small, contented noise that escaped from his lips.

His master was handsome, wasn't he? Was there any harm in acknowledging that? It wasn't as if he had feelings for the vampire who had purchased him. He was simply accepting a truth, one that he had known even when Alexander was simply a prized customer.

"What is this ballet about, sir?" said Oliver, mostly to distract himself from this train of thought.

"It's an avant garde ballet, very controversial. It was actually choreographed and costumed by a famous Russian vampire who has worked in theater from well before I was born. This production has been mounted by a human company, though. It's a dance I'd been wishing to see for some time." Alexander's gaze traveled to Oliver's reflection in the mirror. "I have you to thank for encouraging me to leave the house more often, otherwise I might have missed this opportunity, instead electing to spend the evening wallowing in the manor's dust."

Oliver's breath hitched at his master's subtle smile. "I'm glad of it, sir."

----

Even though his tuxedo fit perfectly -- thanks to the detailed measurements Miss Florence had taken at the auction house -- Oliver still felt uncomfortable among the crowd dressed to the nines at the theater. He was dazzled by the gilded carvings on the walls, leading to a ceiling decorated with an elaborate fresco, and nearly crashed into a woman in a ball gown as he took in the sights.

His master, on the other hand, glided through the crowd effortlessly, paying them no mind. As Oliver followed, he could feel a sense of flowing waves, Alexander's vampiric aura pushing away everyone but Oliver, who felt compelled to follow his footsteps. It was just as well that his master was guiding him, lest he find himself lost.

Soon enough, they had both settled in a luxurious balcony box for two, and Oliver was shocked to see an actual look of excitement on Alexander's sleepy face.

"I simply can't wait to see the costumes -- I've heard they're magnificent. And of course, Yelena Pavlova is said to be a master of the dance. They say her striking and dramatic movements place her a cut above the prima ballerinas who only know how to flit prettily about," said Alexander, with enthusiasm. "I do hope you enjoy it."

"I think I will, sir," said Oliver. At the very least, he was sure he could enjoy it vicariously through his master.

The lights dimmed, the dance began, and Oliver soon found his attention riveted to the stage. It truly was an avant-garde sort of ballet, and the costumes were mind-bending. There were dancers wearing disturbingly realistic animal heads, costumes adorned with colored glass that glittered like jewels, massive peacock feather headdresses, ropes of pearls entangling their bodies, and a few in iron chains and shackles. The intricate pattern of their dance was ritualistic, as though Oliver were watching something forbidden that he couldn't take his eyes from.

Among them all, the prima ballerina Alexander had mentioned performed a stunning routine, clad in an outfit that seemed mostly comprised of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. She was striking pose after pose, being lifted and passed among the dancers, twirling faster than Oliver knew was possible. She was endlessly fascinating to watch.

The dance was so fascinating, in fact, that Oliver had forgotten all about his master's reactions. He glanced over, expecting that Alexander was enjoying himself as much as he was, and was shocked to see a look of stress on his master's face.

"Master, what's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing. Just watch the dance," he said, in a voice almost too low to hear, and his eyes flicked across the balcony to a different box.

Oliver couldn't help but look, to see what had his master so concerned. The box across the way had only one occupant, an older gentleman in an impeccably styled black suit. His full focus was on the ballet, his gaze holding a kind of judgmental intensity that made Oliver think he must be a professional critic.

Was this man troubling Alexander? It didn't seem like it could be. Perhaps he was worried about something else, and this man just happened to be in his line of sight as he glanced about nervously.

Could he be...?

Oliver tried to put it out of his head, but now he couldn't help but notice every time Alexander's gaze wandered from the stage. The moment intermission was announced, his master turned to him.

"Do you need to stretch your legs? Use the restroom?" his master asked. Before Oliver could even answer, he continued, "Very well, let's leave the box for a moment." He grasped Oliver's arm and practically dragged him from the box. Oliver found himself gently shoved into a secluded nook, away from the other patrons milling about the theater.

"Oliver, listen very carefully," said Alexander, his voice soft but deathly serious. "My sire is attending this performance."

Even though Oliver had been suspecting this the moment he'd seen the strange man, he still felt a spike of panic stab his heart at the confirmation. "Your sire is here?"

"I should have known he'd have interest in this ballet. But he's been so reclusive lately..." Alexander sighed. "But listen. You must follow my instructions exactly. If you do, it's unlikely you'll be harmed."

"I... I understand, master." Oliver's mouth felt dry.

"You must be quiet and obedient. Follow my lead, do not speak unless spoken to, and then, speak with the utmost respect. But you must be honest, even if you think the truth is dangerous. Never lie. He will know. And finally..."

"Finally what, sir?"

"If he takes control of your body, do not resist it."

"Takes control of my body, sir?" Just as Katherine had warned him.

"Do not resist it even slightly. If he seizes control, relax your body and mind and do not fight it. Believe me -- any struggle will only make your lot worse."

He blinked back frightened tears. "I can try, master."

"Good." Alexander put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "While I don't pretend to understand my sire's mind, I do believe no harm will come to you tonight."

"I hope not, master."

"Would you allow me to put your mind at ease so you can enjoy the rest of the performance?"

Oliver couldn't agree fast enough. "Yes, please, sir."

His master leaned over and hummed in his ear, and Oliver could feel his nerves calming, his fears growing foggy and distant.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Oliver finally gets to meet his master's sire.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams

#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #vampires #vampire whumpee #mind control #rare bookseller #oliver #alexander #maestro

[blurredcolour]

Take These Broken Wings

Dick Winters x Enlisted!Unnamed Female OC/Reader

Trapped behind his desk, Dick finds out the unthinkable has happened to the woman he cares about. Now he has to deal with the consequences; first as her commanding officer and then as the man who loves her.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Sexual Assault, Descriptions of OC/Reader Injuries, Discussion of Retaliatory Violence, Gentleman's Agreement Not To Prosecute, Period Specific Ideas about Honor and Protection of Women, PTSD, Weapons, Language, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Because of the sensitive nature of this fic, I chose to write it in the third person but only a nickname is used so it can be read as a reader fic. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within, particularly the Red Devils in this case!

Special Note: Dearest tag list, I have chosen not to tag any of you because this is so wildly different than my usual fics, I just wasn't sure who would want to read it.

Word Count: 4148

-------------------------

October 17, 1944 – Schoonderlogt, Holland

It had never been his intention to fall in love with her. With any of the female paratroopers in the 506th, for that matter. But like the slow erosion of a river carving a new path through bare rock, she had ever so gradually hollowed out a place for herself in his heart until all at once he realized he could not live without her. Of course, if one were to ask her, she fell in love with Dick Winters the first day they met in Toccoa, Georgia, sun scorching their skin, blazing his hair copper – or so she liked to remind him often.

His realization had not come until he’d found her halfway up a tree in Normandy, tangled in the lines of her parachute, desperately trying to slice herself free before she was discovered by enemy troops. The sheer panic he had felt as his mind flooded with all the possible ways he could have lost her that night had only served to drive home how deeply he cared for Peaches. Dick didn’t often use the nickname that Nix had bestowed on her; a nickname born of some sordid adventure involving cans of peaches that he’d decided he’d rather not know about. But he did love the way it made her nose crinkle when he slipped it into their stolen moments together. Moments that were becoming harder and harder to find now that he had been placed in charge of 2nd Battalion.

Several pages being laid on his desk by Zielinski tore Dick out of his inner musings and he lifted his pen to add his signature to the line where his Orderly pointed expectantly. Sink had assured him the paperwork would be ‘nothing to sweat’ but Dick was certainly sweating it now. The call of Nixon’s voice as he came up the stairs was a welcome reprieve from the rapidly multiplying stacks of paper on his desk, something that his friend seemed only too happy to point out.

Dick could only feel envy, mixed with trepidation and a certain amount of helplessness, as Heyliger informed him Operation Pegasus was preparing to launch in a matter of hours and he remained trapped in his combination office and bedroom in the attic. As the pair of them made their way down the stairs and out of the requisitioned farmhouse, Dick looked up from his typewriter once more as he heard Nixon’s bright greeting.

“Hey there Peaches, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Very funny Captain. Lieutenant.” He heard her voice reply and did his best not to grin.

“Zielenski, could you go grab a new box of pencils from the storeroom? It’s going to be a long night.” Dick swallowed, doing his best to come up with an excuse for two minutes alone with her, five if he was lucky.

“Yes, sir.” There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice but thankfully he complied, hustling down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door shut followed by the sound of her jump boots scuffing up the worn wooden steps, grinning as she was startled to find him waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“And here I was thinking I’d surprise you…Who was that?” She glanced back towards the door, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, how’re you feeling about this thing?” He asked softly, taking her hands in his.

“Should be fine, Moose picked mostly people who can swim, the Canadians are nice. That Colonel Dobie sure is handsome.” She teased lightly, lacing her fingers with his.

Despite her teasing tone, Dick still felt a little annoyed at the comment, particularly given the fact that the man was free to swim the river in reconnaissance and join the operation that night while he was a glorified paper pusher.

“Too bad for him I like ‘em tall as a stalk of corn and copper as a penny.” She leaned in to press her lips to his and Dick felt his eyes fall shut, tension that he’d been carrying for hours slowly ebbing from his body.

She pulled back with a soft smile before frowning apologetically. “Sorry my love I got grease paint on you.” She licked her thumb and swiped at his cheek like he was a grubby toddler, and he could not help the broad grin that stretched his features even as he felt his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment she’d only recently begun to use.

“I’ll get it in a moment, Peaches.” He muttered, glancing around to ensure they were still alone before sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close, kissing her soundly. “Be safe out there…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Oh, like run across a field toward two companies of SS by myself?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he pressed his lips together, still able to hear every word of her displeasure at being left behind for the agonizing seconds it took for the red smoke signal to appear.

“Especially that.” He muttered, clearing his throat and taking a step back as he heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly grabbed her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen, passing it to him so he could scrub at his face, hopefully removing all evidence of their interlude.

“Pencils sir.” Zielenski held out the box proudly and she raised an eyebrow, introducing herself warmly to the Orderly.

“That’ll be all, Sergeant, good luck out there.”

“Thank you sir, appreciate your time.” She replied smoothly, looking completely unaffected while Dick was very aware of the residual heat in his face.

Dick took his time opening the box, watching her back as she slowly descended out of sight until the door closed shut behind her. Sinking into his chair he submitted himself to another few hours of pointing and signing with his Orderly before sending the boy to bed, peering out his window hopefully when a great ruckus arose from one of the barns out back.

Glancing at his watch to confirm it was nearly 0200, he smiled a little to himself as everything seemed to have gone off alright. Rain drops began to sporadically strike the windowpane before the clouds opened into a steady, driving rain. Dick dropped the curtain with a sigh, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of water striking the roof and rolling off the eaves. It was dangerously tempting to lay his head down on his desk and give in to the heaviness in his eyelids, to allow himself to be lulled to sleep. Shaking himself physically, he turned back to yet another report and began striking the keys of his typewriter with a vengeance, hoping to keep himself awake with the racket.

Dick was just spooling a fresh page into place when Nixon was suddenly hurrying up the stairs, followed by Colonel Dobie himself. Both men were wet as drowned rats, but it was the seriousness of their faces that pulled Dick to his feet immediately, securing the pencil from between his teeth into his fist.

“Dick, you remember Colonel Dobie.”

“Yeah…yeah I do…” He replied slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of a sword dangling over their heads as he waited for them to tell him what was going on.

“Terribly sorry to barge in at such a late hour but I wanted to inform you of this incident personally. Well, incidents more precisely. It appears that one of our men, a Holman from Yorkshire, has been severely beaten by a couple of your men from Easy in retaliation for his attack on one of your female soldiers.”

Dick nodded once as he processed the news, heartrate picking up immediately. There were a total of twenty-seven women in 2nd Battalion, but given that it had been only Easy involved in Pegasus, that narrowed it down to a possible nine, of which just a handful had been chosen for the operation. Dick merely had to glance at Nixon to confirm his worst fear. Peaches.

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pencil in his hand had grown until the wooden object snapped in two.

“I am willing to consider the matter settled and in need of no further action. The man in question will be returned to England and assigned to some menial duty once he recovers from his injuries.” Dobie continued.

“That will take some time?” Dick asked calmly, despite the searing rage he felt rushing through him.

“Your men were thorough, Captain.” The Colonel replied, grimly.

Dick stood there a moment, eyeing an ink stain that had seeped into the wooden desk top while he was refilling his pen, considering. A beating and unpleasant assignment as punishment for heaven knows what the man had inflicted on her. But to demand more formal proceedings would immediately require testimonies and punishments for the men who had taken it upon themselves to defend her honor. He closed his eyes a moment, vision immediately flooded with her smiling face on one of the blissful outings they had enjoyed during their furlough in England. Forcefully setting the image aside, despite the way it wrenched at his heart to do so, he nodded again. If only to save her further pain.

“Agreed.” Dick offered his hand, Colonel Dobie sealing their agreement with a firm handshake.

Dobie turned to shake Nixon’s hand as well before seeing himself out, Dick waiting until he heard the door close before he spoke again. Two questions on the tip of his tongue, two men inside him, warring for dominance. To his dismay, he had to allow the Battalion’s commanding officer to speak first.

“Who are our vigilantes?”

“Martin and Randleman.” Nixon replied, sitting on one of the folding chairs at the small table in the corner with a heavy sigh. “Moose has them downstairs if you want to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Show them up.”

Nixon leveraged himself out of the chair and was halfway across the attic before he suddenly turned back. “She put that can of peaches in Parkes’ footlocker.”

Dick eyed his friend in confusion, the information seeming utterly irrelevant to their current situation until he suddenly remembered one of Sobel’s impromptu barracks inspections back in Toccoa.

“That dumb bastard wouldn’t leave the women in her squad alone, so she planted it there to get him in trouble – never expected him to get thrown out entirely.” Nixon sighed heavily.

“Where is she?” Dick asked quickly, the words almost melding together in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

“Johnny thinks she’s holed up in the supply barn, I’ll find out.” Nixon replied with a frown and Dick nodded silently, muscles of his jaw clenching almost painfully as he clung to the last vestiges of his focus.

He tossed the broken halves of the pencil onto the desk, frowning at the mess of lead on his palm and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, frown deepening at the smudges of grease paint there from her face. He clenched the fabric between his fingers as Moose entered the office followed by a hard-faced Martin and a typically laidback Randleman.

“What happened?” He asked plainly, eyeing them expectantly.

Moose stood off to the side, watching Martin and Randleman exchange a look.

“Don’t all talk at once…” Dick prodded calmly, and Martin turned back to him.

“Bull and I were on our way out of the celebration, wanted to beat the rain and get back to our quarters – didn’t work out. Ran into Peaches as we got around the corner of the building. She looked like hell, roughed up, wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“She just ran, not like her at all, sir.” Randleman chimed in.

“And then that bastard from the Devils, or whatever they call themselves, came around the corner looking all pleased with himself. Adjusting his pants.”

“Knuckles busted up.” Came Randleman’s addition once more.

“Anyway,” Martin continued after a sharp nod of agreement, “it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Dick exhaled a slow, measured breath. “I can appreciate why you both did what you did. Next time, and we can only hope we never have to have this conversation again, bring him to Moose, to me. We have systems in place, alright?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All that said…well done.” Dick said with quiet emphasis, letting his pride and gratitude burn brightly in his gaze. “And you’re both on latrine duty for the next two weeks.” He tacked on because he really had no choice but to punish them.

A pair of smirking salutes was the only response before Moose ushered them out. Dick waited until the count of twenty before sliding the suspenders of his OD pants onto his shoulders, shrugging into his jacket and clapping on his helmet. Grabbing his M1 and flashlight, he quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the persistent deluge toward the supply barn, nearly slamming into Nixon on the way.

“Follow me.” His friend nodded and continued to lead the way, nodding to Liebgott who was standing guard at the door, soaked to the skin.

“Joe.” Dick greeted him, noting the way he had his collar turned up obscuring half his face. The way his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

It easily could have been in an attempt to protect himself against the elements, but Dick also knew Liebgott was the sort of man to never let anything go unanswered and if he was standing out here in the rain, he was surely more involved than anyone was letting on.

“Peaches is in there, sir. Doc Roe tried to help her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. Thought I’d make sure no one bothered her until she was ready.”

“Good thinking.” Dick swallowed.

He ought to press further, ferret out the truth of Liebgott’s involvement, but standing just outside where she was hiding, the other half of him was very much in charge now – wanting nothing more than to throw the door open and charge in. But by the sounds of it, that approach would be quite unwelcome.

“Why don’t you go warm up for a bit, we’ll take a turn.” Nixon said to Liebgott who looked between the pair of them before nodding in return.

“Thanks, sir.” He agreed, glancing back toward the barn once before jogging off into the night.

Dick waited until they were well and truly alone before slowly opening the door, stepping into the dim space, sliding his helmet from his head. The sound of footsteps retreating into the far corner behind crates of supplies drew his attention and he took a slow breath, calling her name softly.

“It’s me. Dick. I’m here to check on you.”

There was a soft, smothered sound and he clenched his fists, keeping his progress gradual and measured, trying not to make any sudden movements or noises to startle her. As he reached the rear of the barn, he rounded a stack of crates and his heart clenched painfully as his eyes fell on her wedged between a few bundles of blankets and sacks of something it was too dark to read the labels of. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, M1 tucked into the crook of her elbow as she eyed him warily in the dark.

Her normally tidy hair was in disarray, and the side of her face that he could see sported a gash across her eyebrow. He took another step closer, the air shuddering from his lungs as she flinched away, pressing tightly into the wall behind her, revealing her split lower lip, the swelling along her left cheekbone, the barely-dried tear tracks on her face.

Dick had never seen her shy away from anything since the day they’d met – not the obstacle course, the rifle range, Currahee, or jumping out of a C-47. For his proximity to garner such a reaction from her felt very much as though she had torn his heart from his breast and stomped it beneath her heel.

Sinking slowly into a crouch, he swallowed before speaking just above a whisper. “Peaches…”

The look of disgust, whether it was at the nickname or at herself – perhaps both, mixed with horror that crossed her face had Dick seriously considering if he had enough time to find Holman before his trip back to England and land a few blows himself. He gently corrected it with her name, teeth grinding together audibly in his skull as she turned her head to the side revealing small knicks at her throat. He’d held her at knife point.

“They’ve already found him. Some of the boys took justice into their own hands, but his superiors know now too.” He tried to reassure her, let her know he was no longer out there, no longer a threat to her.

Dick’s eyes dropped to follow the movement of her fingers as she picked at the torn ends of her nails, several cuts visible on her hands as well. Knowing her she’d probably put up a hell of a fight.

“P–” He stopped himself before he accidentally used the offensive nickname again. “…please you’re hurt. Can I clean you up?” He asked, voice trembling with the emotions he was desperately trying to keep at bay for her sake as he shifted forward onto his knees.

She shook her head violently in response, hugging her limbs tighter to her body, which hadn’t even seemed a possibility until it was done. Dick swallowed painfully, carefully laying his rifle and helmet down on the wooden floor beside him, sitting back on his heels.

“I love you.” He blinked rapidly at the gathering dampness in his eyelashes. “No matter what’s happened, I will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She eyed him skeptically, no words passing between them for a long while. The sound of the persistent rain outside pounding against the roof filled the barn, drowning out the sound of their breathing, until she opened her mouth to speak at last.

“I froze.” She whispered, tone thick with self-loathing as she released her grip on her M1, laying it down beside his before sealing her palm over her mouth.

She began to shake with sobs so ferocious that no sound passed her throat, rendering the smothering effect of her hand unnecessary. Dick felt his heart shatter as he automatically reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and soothe some of her pain. Her repeated aversion to his touch, however, came flooding back and he froze, arms outstretched and aching to hold her, but wanting to respect her wishes.

The feeling of her body colliding with his chest as she launched herself into his arms punched the air from his lungs for several reasons, nearly sending him toppling over backwards with the force of it. Dick’s arms quickly gathered her onto his lap, one hand rubbing along her spine as her strangled sobs soaked his jacket, her hands clutching at him in return.

“You survived, my love.” He whispered against her hair, deciding he really ought to call her that in kind. It was only fitting for it was exactly how he felt. “You did what you had to do to survive in that moment. Please forgive yourself.”

He felt her shift against his sternum, the shudders wracking her body gradually slowing as she took deeper and deeper breaths, sniffling and wiping at her face carefully.

“Who did you have to yell at?” She murmured wetly, peering up at him cautiously.

“Martin and Randleman. Fairly certain Liebgott is somehow involved as well.” Dick replied softly, fighting back the urge to stroke her face. One step at a time – being allowed to hold her would more than suffice for now.

She sniffed. “Johnny must have figured it out first. I couldn’t even come up with a plausible lie I just…ran away from him outside the party…” Her eyes lowered in shame before she sat up slowly, Dick biting back a frown at the barely concealed wince that crossed her features.

“Nix is outside keeping watch. Can I take you back to CP? Get you cleaned up?” He swallowed, really wanting her to allow Roe to look her over but doubting that would be an option.

She looked to him, eyes suddenly wide with the terror of realization. “Oh god Dick, what if I catch something or…wind up pregnant…oh fuck…” Her face began to crumple, and Dick swallowed, quickly cupping her uninjured cheek hoping to startle her out of that train of thought.

As she jumped and looked to him sharply, he apologized gently. “My love, we don’t know if any of those things will happen. Hopefully they won’t, but no matter what comes next, we’re going to face it together.”

“But Dick I’m–”

“Don’t go and say something melodramatic, now. You’re the woman I love and something horrible has been done to you. It doesn’t change who you are to me.” He replied firmly, swallowing as she stared at him startled for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Now I’m taking you to CP and we’re getting you cleaned up, ok?”

“Should I salute you, Captain?” She raised an eyebrow before wincing and restoring her face to a neutral expression.

He felt his cheeks redden, a sure sign that things would some day return back to normal. That the woman he loved was still with him, she just needed a lot of care right now and he was more than happy to provide it. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.” He replied and tried not to smirk as she scoffed slightly in surprise before shifting to her feet slowly.

Dick passed her rifle to her before grabbing his own, rising to his feet and sliding his helmet on his head. He offered his hand to her, swallowing back his sigh of relief as she laced her battered fingers through his and followed him out through the maze of supplies to where Nixon was still waiting in the rain.

“Christ, Peaches…” He breathed when she came into view and Dick shot him a sharp look, trying, too late, to stop him using the nickname.

“Son-of-a-bitch ruined the nickname, Nix. I trust you to come up with a new one.” She sighed, sounding positively exhausted, and Nixon nodded quickly in reply.

“Noted. You sure you’re alright?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“No. But someday, maybe.” She replied honestly and Nixon nodded empathetically as Dick squeezed her hand gently.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” He led the three of them back into the farmhouse, taking her straight to the washroom where he filled the basin with water. “Help or no?”

She paused a moment, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror left behind by the home’s original owners and Dick waited patiently until she turned back to him. “I can do it.” She replied softly and he nodded, closing the door to wait in the hall.

Nixon shuffled by carrying his pillow and Dick raised an eyebrow. “Give her my bed, I’ll take your crappy little cot.” He muttered, making his way to the attic before he even had the chance to reply.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall, thoroughly spent by the events of the day, knowing he’d have to be up in just a few hours to face the rest of the paperwork on his desk.

“Dick?” Her soft voice startled him, making him realize he’d actually fallen asleep standing up, for just a moment.

Her lips twitched slightly with a hint of amusement, and he smiled slightly in return, nodding as she looked more herself despite the still-fresh injuries.

“This way.” He offered his hand and led her towards Nixon’s room, gesturing at the bed. “Gift from Lew.”

Her face softened, eyes glistening suddenly, reminding Dick just how fragile she still was. “Where is he sleeping?”

“Attic.”

“Then you need a bed too…” She replied as she crawled onto the mattress, sighing at the softness of the bedding.

“Oh, the floor is fine I…”

“Please hold me.” Her voice was small, her request simple and one that he did not need to hear twice to honor.

He unlaced his boots and removed his outer layers before crawling in with her, letting her curl up against him before sliding his arm around her carefully. “Comfortable?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Very.” She replied sleepily and he allowed himself to drift, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, letting sleep nibble at the edges of his consciousness.

“Dick?” She whispered and he snuffled awake quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Does it smell like pee in here?”

-------------------------

Band of Brothers Masterlist

#dick winters x reader #dick winters x oc #dick winters imagines #dick winters imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #tw sa implied #tw assault #tw sa

[amsgrey]

Big Brother Hugs

Will Halstead x sister!reader

synopsis: After a particularly bad day, you seek out your eldest brother for a hug.

warnings: depression, mention of depression like symptoms, description about depressive thoughts, not proofread and generally mediocre writing.

Authors note (PLS READ): Modeled off my own experience with depression, hopefully this isn't too triggering for others but i do want to stress that if this could trigger you to please not read. Tried to avoid any in detail descriptions of anything past emotions.

If you are struggling with Depression or any mental illnesses pls reach out to someone, there is no shame in doing so. It will get better and you will find yourself again.

Having a doctor and a cop as a brother usually meant they weren't around all of the time. You didn't really mind, they loved their jobs and you loved them. However it did mean that when you needed them they couldn't always make it.

Your day at school had gone about as well as you expected that morning, absolutely terribly. Every period it was like the workload grew and your energy diminished. When you finally got home you abandoned your bag in the entryway and headed straight for your bed. Lately it had felt as if every day was harder than the last, getting up in the morning had become near intolerable. You couldn't go to your brothers, they were busy with their own things and the last thing they needed was their little sister demanding attention.

You pulled back your duvet, revealing the tangle of blankets and sheets underneath that you hadn't tidied that morning. Jay was strict on keeping every part of the apartment orderly and tidy, which meant making your bed every time you got up. Today you had just pulled up the duvet and made it look tidy to save the effort. You climbed under the covers, pulling the blankets up to your chin and trying to hold back the wave of emotions that threatened to crash into you like a tsunami. The weight of the day started to pull on you more, drawing you into a drowsy state. Just as you closed your eyes to sleep your phone buzzed.

Detective Chuckles

'Hey kid, won't be home til late. Don't wait up.'

You didn't bother replying, stuffing your phone under your pillow and closing your eyes again. Maybe the world wouldn't be so daunting if you just took a nap.

When you woke up the sky outside your window was dark, the entire apartment was cold and eerily quiet. You fished around for your phone, nearly blinding yourself as you checked the time. 6:43.

You lay there just staring at your phone for a moment, you didn't feel well rested or any better about your situation. You just felt like you had wasted time for nothing. Tears stung your eyes, this was stupid. You had nothing to feel bad about, everything was practically fine. You held your breath as you forced yourself into the bathroom, grabbing a face cloth and soaking it to clean your face of the running mascara and hot tears. You could faintly see yourself in the mirror despite the lack of light. Your face was red and puffy, it was clear you had been crying. You stared down at the basin, trying to calm yourself down but to no avail. You had to get out of here. Being alone felt like the entire world was silent, waiting, waiting for you to do something regrettable.

You tried not to sob as you made your way back to your room, pulling on your shoes and retrieving your phone. You walked through the apartment to Hailey and Jays room, pulling open the drawers until you found one of Jays old hoodies. You slipped it over your head,it was far too long on you, you had to bunch the cuffs up at your wrist to be able to use your hands but you didn't care. You just wanted to wear something comfortable and big. You grabbed the keys from where you chucked them in our bag and made your way out of the apartment.

As you made your way out of the building you contemplated going to the precinct to see Jay, but if he was staying late it meant they hd a big case and they were busy. Instead, you walked to the closest subway entrance and headed towards Med. Going to see Will meant he would try doctor you, but he gave the best hugs and it was exactly what you needed right now. And waiting in the doctors lounge in the busy ED sounded a lot better than lying alone in the dark at home.

When you got off the subway and headed towards Med, it had started raining. Normally you welcomed the rain, but tonight it felt like the world had a personal vendetta against you. You could have sworn the forecast had said it wasn't meant to rain this week. You walked into the ED waiting room and waved half heartedly to Leah at the reception desk. She looked busy but nodded a hello and didn't stop you as you walked through the doors.

The ED was always busy, tonight was no different. When you approached the front desk you waited out of the way for Maggie to spot you.

"Hey, Mini Halstead," She smiled, you could tell she was studying your puffy face. She put down the phone in her hands and ushered you behind the desk, pulling you closer. "What's wrong?"

You had to take a deep breath to stop from crying gain, you shrugged, "Nothing really." You mumbled.

Maggie frowned, "Doesn't look like nothing," She gently wrapped her arm around your shoulders.

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands, forcing yourself to take a moment before talking.

"Can you tell Will I'm here when he gets a second?" You finally managed to get out.

Maggie nodded, "Of course," She guided you through the ED and opened the doctors lounge door for you. She told you to wait there while she told Will and that as soon as he had a moment he would come see you.

The doctors lounge was considerably more quiet than the ED just through the door. You sat down on the couch and pulled out your phone, there were no messages from anyone but you made yourself busy by scrolling through it anyway. After about 20 minutes, Will entered the lounge. He had a look of concern written over his face. He knew that you only ever came to the hospital to see him if it was important. You hated hospitals.

"Hey squirt," He walked into the room, taking off his stethoscope and leaving it on the table. You didn't wait for him to say something else, just got to your feet and wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Will immediately hugged you back, rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly as you cried into his shirt. He didn't say anything, just held you as you cried and soothed you until you were ready to talk.

When you pulled away he gently tucked your hair out of your face, wiping the tears off your cheeks and waiting patiently for you to meet his eyes.

When you did, he smiled softly and asked, "What's the matter, Y/N?"

You took a shaky inhale, "I don't know," you told him, "I just needed a hug from my big brother."

Will looked compassionate, he drew you back into a hug and held you a little tighter. "Is Jay not home?"

"No," You replied, "Him and Hailey are working late."

Will nodded, unwrapping his arms and leading you back to the couch. He sat you down and walked to the fridge, returning with a bottle of water. He cracked off the lid before handing it to you and quietly ordering you to take a drink.

He sighed, rubbing your back and looking concerned.

"Sorry for bothering you," You mumbled, unable to look at him.

"No," Will argued, "You aren't bothering me, okay? I'm happy you came."

You nodded, not really believing what he said.

"Have you eaten?" He asked, starting to merge from worried big brother to worried doctor.

You shook your head, telling him how you got home and fell asleep then came right here.

"Okay," He took a moment to think, "I get off at 8, in about half an hour, can you wait that long? We can grab Pizza and watch a movie or something, yeah?"

You nodded, relaxing back into the couch and making yourself comfortable to wait for him to get off. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before leaving the lounge with a promise he would try get away a little earlier. You couldn't find the energy to return to scrolling through your phone, just staring at the wall and trying to stay awake while you waited for Will. He returned just before 8, grabbing his stuff from his locker and pulling you to his side as you both walked to his car.

"I love you, squirt," He said, smiling at you as you walked, "Anytime you need a hug you can come find me, yeah?"

You smiled, "Yeah. I love you too."

#chicago med #chicago pd #halstead!sister #will halstead #chicago med x reader #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #will halstead x reader #will halstead x sister!reader #halstead sister #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #one chicago #maggie lockwood #halstead sibling #halstead sibling reader

[nishimura-writes]

Coriolanus x Reader

Echoes of Fate: PART 3

Paring: Coriolanus x Reader

Warning: Slow burn... REALLY SLOW BURN

Summary: In a surprising turn of events, you find yourself teamed up with Coriolanus Snow as a mentor for Lucy Gray. Although you seek change, your immediate task is to ensure her victory. As you and Snow strive for Lucy's safety, you both embark on a journey of understanding each other, for better or worse…

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

You burst through the doors of the academy, your loafers echoing against the stark, silent hallways with each hurried step. The corridors, usually bustling with the chatter and energy of students, now lay eerily deserted, their usual vibrancy drained away as if in anticipation of some unspeakable event. Shadows cling to the corners, deepened by the feeble light filtering in from high, narrow windows.

A single nagging thought claws at your mind: 'Could they have arrested Coriolanus Snow?' The walls themselves seem to hold their breath, echoing the tension tightening in your chest.

You quicken your pace down the corridor, feeling the silence around you deepen, almost as if it's pressing in from all sides. Ahead, the registrar's desk stands out, an isolated beacon in a sea of quiet. Above, a clock marches time onward, each tick echoing unsettlingly in the hollow space. Drawing nearer to the glass barrier, a tangle of hope and unease grips you, the pulse of uncertainty heavy in the air.

“Excuse me?" Your voice, tinged with urgency, barely pierces the silence as you lean towards the glass.

Peering over, you spot an older woman in a crisp grey uniform, her pencil skirt and matching coat forming a sharp silhouette against the backdrop of scattered papers. You tap the glass more insistently. 

She glances up, her annoyance palpable. Slowly rising, she arches an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a tight line that deepens the wrinkles around her mouth. 

"What is it?" she inquires, her tone flat and uninterested, as if your presence is barely more than a minor disturbance in her orderly world.

"Is Coriolanus Snow here, by any chance?" you ask, each word heavy with worry.

 The woman responds with a languid sigh, easing back into her chair with deliberate slowness, her disinterest palpable as she inches toward the computer.

 "And how would you spell that?" Her voice is as dry as the papers on her desk. 

"Corio-la-nus," you spell out with a hint of desperation creeping into your tone. "Coriolanus. C-O-R-I-O-L-A-N-U-S. Snow."

Leaning against the glass, the relentless ticking of the clock infiltrates your thoughts. Tick, tick, tick. Each sound seems to amplify your growing unease.

Meanwhile, she languidly navigates the computer, seemingly unaffected by your mounting anxiety.

 "Any news?" you ask, your voice barely concealing the worry.

 She turns, her gaze flat and unyielding. "Don't rush me. If you're here to find him, then wait quietly over there," she says, nodding dismissively towards the wall opposite her desk.

Biting back a retort, you force yourself to comply, your steps heavy as you move towards the wall. There, you rest your back against the cool surface, its firmness a stark contrast to the chaos of your thoughts. All the while, the clock's ticking swells to a thunderous roar, mirroring the tumult inside you.

Why are you worried about Snow? You've never particularly liked him. Yet, the image of Sejanus, anxious and troubled, lingers in your mind, stubbornly persistent. And what about Snow's family? The possibility that they might hold you responsible for not preventing him from taking that risk sends a shiver down your spine. Perhaps encouraging him to lead wasn't the wisest decision.

Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, each one slicing through the thickening air. The walls seem to pulse and constrict around you, embodying the relentless grip of guilt and anxiety. Every heartbeat echoes loudly, a drumbeat in the claustrophobic silence of your own mind.

Half an hour, maybe more, drags by, each minute an agonising eternity. A nagging thought itches at your mind: Is she stalling on purpose? Exhaustion claims your legs, leaving you sitting on the cold floor, shrouded in worry.

 But then, a sudden surge of frustration and anxiety propelled you to your feet. You were teetering on the edge, ready to confront the woman, when a sound arrested your attention. 

Footsteps – hurried, echoing – were approaching from the far end of the hall. Driven by a mix of hope and dread, you found yourself moving towards the noise almost instinctively, as if on autopilot. Your anxiety morphed into a throbbing headache, each step fueled by the desperate need for any shred of news.

The first thing you saw was the familiar shock of blonde hair.

 Every fibre of your being screamed to smack him for the turmoil he'd caused, but instead, you found yourself locked in a stare. His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world seemed to pause, your gazes intertwined. 

"I can explain," Coriolanus started, his voice barely a whisper, but you cut him off, enveloping him in a sudden, tight hug. 

You felt him tense at the unexpected contact. His eyes widened in surprise, unprepared for this show of emotion. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, before his arms, moving with hesitant awkwardness, wrapped around you, returning the embrace in a clumsy, yet earnest manner.

Abruptly, you release him and jab his upper arm, your actions a tangle of relief and frustration. He winces and steps back, a flash of surprise in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was, Snow? We’re supposed to be a team," you exclaimed, your voice rising with each word. "It feels like you're abandoning our promise, which, by the way, includes not getting yourself hurt. Think about your family, Sejanus, and mine!" 

He remained silent, absorbing your words, his expression sombre. 

"And what if they had hurt you? You're a prime target, straight from the Capitol. They could have beaten you—" Your voice breaks, tears escaping despite your efforts to hold them back, overwhelmed by a tide of fear and relief.

At that, he stepped closer, his demeanour shifting to one of comfort.

"They didn't. I'm fine. You're fine. We're okay," he said, his voice soft, soothing. Gently, he lifted your chin with his finger, his gaze meeting your tear-glistened eyes.

Your eyes locked with his, a silent conversation passing between you in that brief glance. Taking a step back, you brushed away the tears, using the cuff of your sleeve in a feeble attempt to regain composure.

"Why did you come back to the academy?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion and concern.

He looked down, a hint of regret shadowing his features. "I got caught, Flickerman saw me in the cage." he admitted, his voice low.

The revelation drew a sigh from you.

"I need to go to the lab, to explain myself," he continued, his eyes cautiously meeting yours again, searching for understanding. "But you should know, everything I did, it was for her, for us. I think she has the potential to really win the audience over."

You remained still, his words sinking in, stirring a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions within you.

"Will you join me?" he asks, his voice laced with a subtle hope.

His invitation hangs in the air, his eyes earnest, waiting for your reply. 

As you lock eyes with him, an unexpected warmth blossoms inside you. His gaze holds a depth that seems to see right through you, touching a place deep within. It's bewildering – this sudden, intense connection, so new and yet so familiar, like a forgotten melody rediscovered.

Silently, you place your hand in his, letting this simple gesture convey your answer. 

Side by side, you start walking towards the high biology lab. Your arms are interlocked, each step in sync, creating a rhythm of unspoken understanding.

"Listen, Snow,” You pause, “I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have raised my voice," you say, a hint of regret colouring your words as you follow his lead. 

He gives a soft, understanding sigh, pausing momentarily.

"It's okay, really. I understand why you were upset." He looks at you, his eyes reflecting sincerity. "I owe you an apology as well. I acted impulsively. I should have let you in on my plans." 

As he resumes walking, his lips press together in a thoughtful line, a subtle shift in his demeanour suggesting a lowering of his usual defences. 

Every so often, he casts a brief glance back at you. 

"We both made mistakes. But that's okay. We'll learn from this and move forward, together as partners."

You both come to a stop at the door. As you gently withdraw your arm from his, he surprises you by taking your hand instead.

"I need you to leave this to me," he says softly, yet firmly. "This is my issue to handle, not yours. It shouldn't become your burden."

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.

"(Y/N), trust me. It's better if your parents don't get wind of you being mixed up in this. Stepping in there with me will only make the situation more complicated for you."

Meeting his gaze, you lose yourself momentarily in the depth of his oceanic blue eyes. Collecting your thoughts, you give a tentative nod.

“But are you going to be okay?” you ask, worry lacing your voice.

The question seems to touch him unexpectedly, a flicker of surprise lighting up his eyes. It's a rare glimpse of vulnerability that he quickly masks with a composed smile.

"Of course," he responds with a soft chuckle, the sound more comforting than you'd expect. 

"Don't worry, I’ll see you tomorrow." he assures you and lifts the hand he's been holding and gently presses a kiss to it. 

You blink, and just like that, he's gone, leaving you standing there, a whirlpool of emotions and unanswered questions swirling inside you.

PART 2 II MASTERLIST II PART 4

#coriolanus snow #the hunger games #hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth

[mdzsfan]

Unspoken Bonds Part 3

GIF by lansizhuis on Tumblr

Y/n's heart was a swirl of conflicting emotions. The memory of that night, when she had left Lan Wangji after a forbidden gesture, weighed heavily on her conscience. The guilt that gnawed at her was a reminder of the boundary she had crossed, a boundary that was fortified by centuries of tradition and societal expectations.

Yet, even amidst her remorse, one question echoed persistently in her mind: Why hadn't he stopped her? The fact that Lan Wangji had allowed her to proceed with removing his forehead ribbon perplexed her. He was not her cultivation partner, nor was he family. The implications of his action were layered, a puzzle she couldn't solve.

The uncertainty she felt was a constant companion, a shadow that clouded her thoughts. She had sensed a connection between them, a shared understanding that defied explanation. But her own feelings, the tangle of emotions she couldn't fully comprehend, had prompted her to withdraw.

Avoidance became her strategy, a way to shield herself from the complexity of her emotions and the unspoken tension that had arisen between them. She limited her interactions with Lan Wangji, reserving them for emergencies, for moments when she had no choice but to acknowledge his presence.

In her heart, she understood that the distance she was putting between them was a means of self-preservation. The uncharted territory of their emotions was both alluring and terrifying, a maze she was hesitant to enter. Her guilt, her confusion, and her own burgeoning feelings were threads that wove an intricate pattern within her, shaping her actions and decisions.

As the days passed, the ache of their disconnectedness weighed on her. The moments of shared camaraderie, the laughter and the genuine companionship, had been replaced by a gulf of silence. And yet, despite her attempts to distance herself, the memory of his gaze, the depth of his eyes that seemed to hold secrets and promises, continued to haunt her.

Unable to find solace in slumber, y/n had ventured into Lan Wangji's chambers, the surroundings were as immaculate as she had come to expect, a testament to his meticulous nature, yet the evidence of his disarray was also apparent.

Lan Wangji himself seemed a reflection of the room's contrast. His appearance was marked by an uncharacteristic dishevelment, the usually pristine forehead ribbon now slightly wrinkly. His hanfu bearing wrinkles that seemed out of place on his dignified form. His very presence carried an air of turmoil that contradicted the orderliness of the room.

As y/n's gaze met his, a tension seemed to fill the space between them. Their eyes locked, two individuals who had been navigating a labyrinth of emotions, unsure of where the path might lead. The silence was palpable, a mirror to the unspoken questions and unfulfilled desires that had been left unresolved.

Each of them held a mirror to the other's confusion. Lan Wangji, with his furrowed brows and searching gaze, was a reflection of the bewilderment that had taken root within him. Why had y/n chosen to distance herself? The question echoed like a haunting melody, its notes filled with longing and uncertainty.

Y/n's gaze, though equally perplexed, was a window into her own internal struggle. The emotions that had led her to keep her distance were a tumultuous sea within her, a maelstrom of guilt, longing, and the unspoken acknowledgment of their shared connection.

As their eyes held the other's gaze, a strange sort of understanding seemed to pass between them. Their emotions, though complex and conflicting, were shared. In this silent exchange, they offered each other a glimpse into their hearts, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that transcended words.

"Why are you up this late?" His voice, a gentle ripple in the silence, cut through the tension that had enveloped them. The question hung in the air like a fragile thread, connecting them in the midst of their shared uncertainty.

"I couldn't sleep," y/n's words were soft, her gaze briefly meeting his before flickering away. Her answer was simple, yet beneath the surface, it carried the weight of unspoken thoughts and emotions. She was caught in the liminal space between her feelings and the reality of the situation, a space where answers were elusive and the heart's desires remained hidden.

His concern was evident, and yet y/n's resolve to leave, to give him the space he needed, was palpable. "But don't worry about me. I'll go now, so you can have enough rest tomorrow." Her words were a mixture of courtesy and selflessness, an embodiment of the care she felt for him.

"Wait," Lan Wangji's voice, though quiet, held a note of urgency that caught y/n off guard. His request to stay was unexpected, a plea that seemed to carry unspoken desires and a yearning for connection.

And so, she remained. Seated next to him, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The guqin, a cherished companion in the midst of his solitude, became an instrument of shared solace. As the notes flowed from his fingers, the music seemed to wrap around them, a bridge that transcended the barriers that had kept them apart.

The soothing melody was a balm for y/n's restless soul. She closed her eyes, allowing the strains of the guqin to guide her into a tranquil state. The tension that had once held her captive seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm that was both welcome and surprising.

In that moment of vulnerability, as the music danced in the air, the barriers between them seemed to thin. Lan Wangji's gaze rested upon her, a mixture of tenderness and longing in his eyes. As the guqin's gentle notes continued to weave their magic, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent gesture that spoke of affection and a depth of emotion he had been hesitant to reveal.

The kiss, though fleeting, lingered in the air like an unspoken promise. A promise of a future where their emotions would no longer be shrouded in uncertainty. It was a declaration, a hope that one day, the feelings they shared would be acknowledged and reciprocated.

When y/n awoke, she found herself back in her own room, the memory of the night's events lingering like a dream. The guqin's melody, the touch of his lips on her forehead, the unspoken emotions, all were woven into the fabric of her thoughts, a reminder that the path they were on was one filled with twists and turns, challenges and revelations.

Another moment, where y/n knew that she was in love with Lan Wangji was when y/n found herself standing beside Lan Wangji in a place that held special significance for him. It was a spot where the gentle breeze seemed to whisper secrets and where the rustling leaves were like a symphony of serenity. Here, in the embrace of nature's beauty, their connection was unburdened by the weight of expectations and norms.

Bunnies, a symbol of innocence and gentleness, populated the area, hopping around as if they were the guardians of this sacred place. Y/n's heart swelled with a mixture of awe and wonder, for this was a side of Lan Wangji she had rarely seen, the side that found solace in the presence of these small creatures, the side that was capable of finding joy in the simplest of moments. 

"Lan Zhan," y/n's voice, soft and filled with wonder, broke the silence that had enveloped them. "They're so cute."

His response was a slight smile, a rare glimpse of emotion that danced in his eyes. The simplicity of her words, the shared admiration for the bunnies that surrounded them, seemed to bridge the gap between their unspoken emotions.

As y/n's gaze remained fixed on the creatures that had become a part of their shared moment, her heart felt light. The world seemed to have receded, leaving only her and Lan Wangji, the bunnies, and the feelings that flowed between them.

And then, in a moment that held both longing and a childlike delight, she turned to him, her eyes bright with a new thought. "Could we take one back with us?"

Lan Wangji's response was gentle, his eyes fixed on her as he considered her request. "The bunnies have to stay here," he explained, his tone soft yet firm. And yet, his next words held a promise that couldn't be overlooked. "But we can stay as long as you want."

With a mischievous yet affectionate smile, y/n caught a bunny and placed it on Lan Wangji's lap. The gentle creature seemed content in his presence, its soft fur a contrast against his hanfu. As he patted the bunny, his touch was tender, his actions a reflection of the depths of his emotions.

In that moment, it was as if time had slowed, and the world had faded away, leaving only the two of them. Their shared connection, the tranquil surroundings, and the unspoken feelings that lingered in the air. The barriers that had once kept them apart were now mere shadows, and the vulnerability they had guarded so carefully was now exposed.

As their gazes met, the bond between them seemed to crystallize. There were no words exchanged, no need for explanations. The bunnies bore witness to a silent understanding, a connection that was unmarred by expectations or societal conventions. In this secluded corner of the world, they were free to be themselves, to acknowledge the feelings that had grown between them.

With a playful grin, she reclaimed the bunny from Lan Wangji's lap, the innocent creature now nestled against her. But her actions didn't stop there, her head finding its place on his lap, the bunny as a gentle companion to their unspoken connection.

As she settled into this unexpected closeness, the world seemed to hold its breath. The sun continued its watchful gaze, as if in awe of the intimacy that was unfolding beneath its silvery light

Lan Wangji's fingers, like a gentle breeze, brushed across her hair. The touch was a tender caress that stirred something within her, a mixture of comfort and a growing awareness of the emotions that had been building between them. And then, his lips pressed to her forehead and then her cheeks, his affectionate gestures speaking volumes in their silence.

The kisses were like whispered promises, a testament to the affection that had been growing quietly yet steadily. Each touch, each gesture, was a declaration, a declaration that went beyond words, beyond the confines of tradition, and into the realm of the heart.

For y/n, lying there in his embrace, time seemed to blur. The bunny, a symbol of innocence, nestled between them, seemed to be a witness to a moment that was both pure and profound. The sun's bright glow seemed to wrap around them, cocooning them in a world where nothing else mattered but the connection they shared.

#mdzs x reader #mdzs #mdzs oneshots #the untamed #mo dao zu shi reader insert #cql #the untamed x reader #mo dao zu shi x reader #the untamed oneshots #the untamed reader insert #Lan wangji #Lan zhan #lan wangji x female reader #lan wangji x reader #lan zhan x female reader #lan zhan x reader

[gatheredfates]

For the NPC ask - as the WoL, did Kor go the First? Was there anyone special there for them?

Have your followers send you NPCs and you describe your OC's feelings/relationship to that NPC! I feel like there are lot of NPC's I could talk about, because SHB is hands-down my favourite expansion and where I have the most lore developed for Kor, but on the back of my Minfilia ask I thought I'd talk about Mini!filia. Or, more appropriately, Ryne.

A haunting can be a lovely thing if you let it.

Kor always felt haunted, but not like this; not by an apparition that stood among her companions and felt solid in her hands; not by one who seldom smiled, who shrunk back — who felt herself to be the crudest simulacrum, a mockery of the woman they loved — and their actions, whether intentional or not, reinforced it.

What was it like being a machination of fate? A dozen little girls over a hundred years trained, mentored and dying for a doomed world; the spark of a ghost instilling itself in the babe for the threadbare hope that she would be different. Her soul was bruised before she left the womb, divots made by dozens of fingerprints pulling her in a thousand directions (to obliteration and inaction; to war or strife).

"Something called out to me. Someone I had to meet. You."

For fuck sake, she knew Minfilia's faith in Hydaelyn was unwavering, but to what end? How much could light proclaim sanctity while it drenched itself in the blood of children?

The answer, Kor would come to know, was that light waded through the mire like all the rest; not holy, not sacred, not divine. It was orderly in its machinations, but it was not good. A body in its ocean could still drown in it. When she coughed up its ichor, she was reminded of all the times Llymlaen thought it prudent she take a mouthful of brine — it all burned in her throat all the same.

"She's a fucking child," she chastised Thancred in the night. They'd had their oppositions as companions, but never like this — not for a haunting, a sister reimagined. She knew he loathed her concept and how she pantomimed a ghost. She knew he pitied her, sacrificial lamb to fate none of them signed up for. She knew there was a part of him, however small, that hoped his Minfilia would emerge bright and whole and alive again.

"Tell me." It was the silent question between them, the one he refused to ask and the one she'd never answer, "If this was your sister, what would you do?"

Koret was never a perfect sister. In fact, she wasn't a great sister at all. She wasn't any better than him and she knew it. Rational and a degree of separation could easily persuade her that it was not this Minfilia's fault for the accident of her birth. If it were Lily, however?

Well, they both knew her for a hypocrite.

But Minfilia? Oh, this was one was a lot like Lily. When she came out of her shell Kor saw how spirited she was; how she laughed with Alisae and comforted Alphinaud; how she brightened at Urianger's presence and admired Y'shtola's resolve. She was young and naïve, but she was no pushover. For the fright of her gift and the sacrifices before her, she was determined to be of use. She wanted to save her world and the people in it, even when everyone she'd grown up around preferred her in her cage — a songbird from another time.

When it came to it, the final choice of who should live (to laugh, to love!), her little heart beat so loudly as she declared "Me. I want to live. I want to fight."

From Minfilia to Ryne. How liberating it must have felt to finally have your identity. How relieving it must be to be loved for who you are. A lovely haunting to a beautiful, breathing sister.

Because that's what Ryne is to Kor. Half daughter, half sister. Try as she might, that maternal thread always found itself tangling in the youngest of their groups — ensnaring whether she wanted it or not — and it was so easy to envelop her in a family when she never had the opportunity to hold one. They were certainly not nuclear, and hardly ideal, but they were hers. They were hers and they were good.

Kor loves Ryne. It breaks her heart that she had to be left behind, but she is also comforted in the fact that she is one of the strongest girls she knows. She took her fate in both hands and charged, knowing her place but not letting her be defined by it. She has faced adversity and kept her sweetness, a trait admired by the Captain — even if she can't personally fathom it.

Yes, a haunting can be a lovely thing if you let it. A living thing, however? Well, that's even lovelier.

#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : koret #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea answers things #i could have written SO MUCH MORE #but this would have easily turned into a novel #so i will grip my chair with force #all of eden? #post shb? #hell even the kinda latter half of shb #it's my favourite expac i could talk about it for days #BUT #i hope this suffices :pleading:

[otiososmanus]

The orderly tangle called the Four Triangle Polylink, in its pure form, is made up of interlinking hollow polygons whose central open space is a triangle exactly half the height of the whole shape. The formulation of this polylink is usually explained as the rotation of each face of a tetrahedron by 30 degrees and then the "translation" of each one into the centre of the space that would have been occupied by the polyhedron.

#polylink #orderly tangle #orderlytangle #math #geometry #structure #craft

[mosylufanfic]

Rebelcaptain Whumptober Day 18

Today we're going with the prompt "tortured for information." With a tinge of Lab Rat from the alternate prompts list. Bwahaha.

Feeding the Bite

Jyn floated at the very top of sleep, like oil on water. Her thoughts pulled apart and then together again, twisting and tangling around themselves . . . 

With a hard thunk, light slammed through the dark. She snapped awake, with a jolt that rattled her bones, and blinked up at the ceiling, cold and grey except for the hard white beam of the lights. 

Shadows approached, and she jerked. Restraints at her wrists, her ankles, her midsection, her forehead, held her hard in place. 

"Is she awake?"

Damn. 

But the mechanical beeps of monitors and machines would have given her away in any case. She twisted her head, trying to work out the limits of the restraints. She had some field of vision, enough to see that there was a uniformed figure on either side of her bed.

She stared at the uniforms and let her lip curl in seething hate. 

"Test four," said a voice, and a hypospray pressed to her neck 

She thrashed, but the hypospray emptied into her veins before retreating. 

"Does she have to be restrained?" said a second voice. 

"Yes."

Clearly they were playing Good Imp and Bad Imp. It was an old game. She knew it well. 

"That much, though?  It just doesn't seem - "

"Don't underestimate this one. There's a reason she's tied down like that."

She caught her breath, bracing against whatever drug they'd injected her with. Heat and cold crawled after each other down her veins, her stomach pitched and flipped. She breathed against it. 

Faces hovered over her, blurred by whatever drug they'd injected her with. She blinked hard until they swam into focus again. 

"That's ninety seconds. Plenty of time for her to start feeling it," Good Imp said. 

"Go ahead, then," Bad Imp said. 

"Sergeant Erso."

Her stomach rolled. They knew her name. Her rank too. Fuck. 

Good Imp's voice was gentle, like he actually cared. "Do you know where you are?" 

Specifically? No. In general? She was clearly in enemy hands. 

She stared stonily, and yanked at her wrists, her ankles. The cuffs yanked back.

If possible, her thoughts were cloudier. They slipped and slid like frantic fish, impossible to catch hold of.

Good Imp said, "It doesn't have to be like this. Just calm down and we can undo the restraints."

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Bad Imp muttered. "Sergeant, do you remember when you woke up before?"

She didn't. Everything before a few minutes ago was a blur. 

Further back - before before - there was a place, warmth and laughter and family and love - 

That place was clearly not here. 

"You broke a nurse's arm and an orderly's nose."

She smirked.

"Sergeant Erso, do you know where you are?" Bad Imp said. 

She clamped her jaws shut. Fuck if she was going to tell them anything.

"You're among friends," said Good Imp. "We're not your enemy. Please, help us and we can help you."

She stared up at the lights, which were bright enough to push tears from the corners of her eyes. But she wasn't going to look at either one of her captors. 

Bad Imp said, "Where were you before this?"

Wanted her to give up the base, did they? Hah. They'd have to work a lot harder to pry that out of her.

"We're on the same side," said Good Imp. "You have information we need. There are other prisoners still back there. Please, Sergeant."

She spat.

A door whooshed open, somewhere off to the side. Murmuring. 

"What is it?" Good Trooper said. 

"The husband's here," Bad Trooper said. "Just arrived."

"Bring him in," Good Trooper said. "Maybe that'll do the trick."

Husband.

It was a good word, both soft and sturdy, a word she could reach out and brace herself on.

The swish of a door, and footsteps, and then - 

"Jyn," said a hoarse, tired voice, and she managed to turn her head in that direction. 

That uniform. She hated it with a loathing that boiled up her throat like bile. 

The man in it had dark hair, and dark eyes, and dark shadows under the eyes, but there was a spark in them, a way he looked at her . . .

A name hovered just out of reach. 

"Jyn?" he said. "You know me," he said. "I know you know me."

She stared at his face, tracing the lines of it. The familiar lines of his mouth and nose, the angle of his jaw. 

He reached out, and Bad Trooper hissed a warning that he paid no mind to as he brushed his knuckles down her cheek. 

The world slipped and slid around her. That touch - that voice. They belonged to before . . . the other place she barely, dimly recalled.

Then everything snapped into place.

"Jyn," he said coaxingly, his hand opening to tenderly cup her face. "Jyn, look at me."

She turned her cheek into his palm, and his face relaxed. "Yes," he said. "You remember, don't you?"

"Yes," she whispered back.

Then she twisted her head and sank her teeth in the meat of his hand.

He let out a howl of shock and pain, but she clamped her jaws tighter and tighter until the skin parted under her teeth and her mouth flooded with the metallic taste of blood. The room rang with shouts, and hands tried to grip her jaw, but she kept her gaze focused just on him, letting him see the hate burning inside her.

He met her gaze and pushed his hand harder into her mouth, grinding her head back into the headrest, until she had to let go. Then he yanked his hand free and cradled it to his shirt. Blood began to spread in a lurid patch on the fabric.

She coughed and gagged and then spat her mouthful, spattering him with more bright red droplets, and snarled, "That's nothing compared to what you did to me."

-

When the door to the med wing opened, Bodhi leapt to his feet. They'd had to argue for almost half an hour to let Cassian see her, and Bodhi had been left to worry himself into a tailspin out here.  "Cassian! What - how is she?" 

He braced himself for horrific injuries, traumatic mental effects, maybe even - 

"She doesn't recognize me," Cassian said. 

"What do you mean?" Bodhi looked down at Cassian's hand, swathed in bandages that hadn't been there an hour ago. "Wait, what happened? Is that blood on your shirt?"

"I mean, she doesn't know who I am."

To anyone else, his voice would have sounded flat and informational. Bodhi heard the depths of despair in it. He set his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sure it's temporary. How long did they have her? Probably confused - still thinks she's a prisoner - "

Cassian shook his head, the ever-present lines on his face carved as deep as a canyon. "She doesn't - anything. She doesn't recognize anything."

"Amnesia of some kind?" Bodhi ventured.

"No, different. She thinks this is an Imperial base, that we're her captors. She sees Rebel uniforms and thinks they're Imperial, sees me and thinks I'm her torturer. And nothing I say can make a dent. It's like - " He blew out a breath. "It's like a switch got flipped and turned everything opposite for her."

Bodhi almost fell back into the chair. The old scars from Bor Gullet, buried in his psyche, seemed to throb. "How?"

Cassian lowered himself to the chair next to him, moving like an old man. "There's some kind of unknown compound in her system. They caught it on the scans."

"A drug?"

"Yeah. Not one we know. They're working on synthesizing an antidote, but back engineering those is always hard. And we don't know what kind of conditioning went with it, what kind of scars it'll leave - "

"I - I'm sure it's temporary," Bodhi said again. "You know Jyn. She'll fight her way out."

Cassian looked at his bandaged hand, and shadows moved over his face. "That's what I'm afraid of."

FINIS

A/N: I know this is like the third RCWhumptober story with this trope! Why is this such a good trope??

#Jyn Erso #Cassian Andor #rebelcaptain #fanfiction #rcwhumptober #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #heh heh heh #star wars

[aromantic-misguide-to-romance]

Hair headcanon - the new three

Mephistopheles

his hair looks smooth and nice but if you’d ever touch it, it’d turn out actually much rougher than you’d expect – blame the fact he dyed it without the needed practice... but with a suspicious potion of very dubious quality

btw yes his hair was originally black and one of the reasons his hair never gets to fully recover is his persistence at never letting any roots show

the damage isn’t that bad – mostly normally barely noticeable since his hair is good at keeping appearance

his hair also knows better than to try to curl in humid weather. And also after all the potion abuse it isn’t in the mood anyway to cause trouble

in general it’s a very obedient mane that takes styling well but excessive attempts make it finally lose its shine so he doesn’t try too hardit gets tangled and knotted a lot so he has to carry a hairbrush with him – not a comb since individual hairs are usually quite thin and even fragile if handled roughly

in general it’s pretty average… just like Lucifer’s actually

 Raphael

his hair looks spiky and rough but it’s actually surprisingly soft

not the softest hair ever, but gives a pleasant and quite smooth sensation if you touch it

he never really brushes it though. Maybe once in a century I guess? But it’s not like it needs it much – yeah, it’s messy but not tangled and it’s enough for him to run his fingers through his hair to keep it from getting knots

usually it stays in its place once left alone, but any intervention and it’s incredibly messy

mess with his hair and it will stay like you left it with hairs sticking out left and right

on the other hand, run your fingers through it once and its orderly again

it catches all dust, dirt and whatever else very easily though

he isn’t particularly interested in hair care, he does what he needs to keep it clean

doesn’t react to weather much – if anything, it just seems heavier and flatter in humid weather, but won’t curl

 Thirteen

that one that actually knows how to dye her hair properly

she knows how to keep her hair in a good shape while keeping it look exactly as she wants it to

but note, it’s not Asmo’s level of self-care obsession – she definitely likes to like her own reflection but her approach is actually pretty practical, so she’s not going to star in a Panthene’s ad anytime soon

the closer to the end of the hair, it gets slightly rougher and more worn out but the change is more or less marginal thanks to the proper hair care

she knows how to brush it to keep it from tangling, from drying from getting dirty fast and what brush straight hair needs for which task

she doesn’t style her hair much – normally she just keeps her hair down, but it’s not unlikely to see her with her hair tied

has plenty pretty accessories and ties her hair in various ways – most often it’d be a side ponytail, but sooner or later you’ll witness other options as well

if she needs to be more formal, probably a loose side braid

generally keeps it rather practical and doesn’t try any elaborate but fragile and time-consuming hairstyles

does her hair curl in humid weather? Yes. And she absolutely rocks that look

#obey me headcanon #obey me #obey me! #obey me raphael #obey me mephistopheles #obey me thirteen

[gelenka-daria]

girl save me w a drabble im begging for scraps

so this has been sitting in my drafts for a long while, it's a sequel to this late halloween drabble and i might as well post it

Mairon’s head snaps to the window at the sound of thunder, the frames shiver with every heavy rumble. It’s very nearly morning and the storm is yet to abate. His master is yet to return. He has no qualms about leaving Mairon behind for days, weeks, even months on end, on some rare occasions, when really, they should have gone hunting together.

Mairon misses him, wondering where Melkor’s hunger will lead him tonight.

He goes back to cleaning an urn, a small thing made of stygian marble and intricately inlined with gold that he’d noticed had been gathering dust, one of the many collectibles his master has gathered over the centuries. He wipes it down to perfection, until he can see his reflection in the black alabaster. He puts it back where it belongs and makes way to a wall overspread with weapons of all shapes and sizes, the last thing he’ll be attending to before the sun rises and he retires for the remainder of the day. He’ll dust, tomorrow. He’s got nothing better to do in this still, quiet manor, so might as well.

He’s in the process of polishing a saber when a familiar presence invades his senses. The air grows potent, heavy with the force of his lord’s power, shifting the atmosphere, weighing it down. No matter how long Mairon had served him, he could never quite get used to the magnitude of his master’s strength. 

So soon? 

Its is soon, but Mairon isn’t complaining. He lays the sword down and heads for the door to welcome him. 

He finds him in the hallway, damp with rain and hair sticking to his back as he ascends the steps leading to the second floor, his long coat gone and he’s– Mairon has to do a double take, just in case he’s seeing things. His master is carrying someone, said missing coat wrapped around the person of which he can only glimpse long, fair legs hanging off his master’s right arm. Mairon stands there at the bottom of the staircase, tongue-tied, his mind spiraling with a multitude of questions that he knows better than to give voice to.

He had been in his lord’s service for the better part of a millennia now, and not once had he come back from his outings bearing anything beside relics and recherché treasures, and for all his charm and self-assured demeanor, he had never been overly fond of or ever sought any other’s company, even those of his own kind. 

So, who–

“Mairon.”

Mairon’s body snaps back to attention like someone’s pinched his nerves. “My lord.” 

“Prepare a bath." Comes the order, absent-minded, almost, gaze fastened upon whoever he's carrying.

“At once, my lord.” His master sounds at ease, for the most part, but something in his tone hints at urgency, that Mairon be quick about it and so, like a bat out of hell, he does just that. The bath is drawn apace, and he lays out everything one might need next to the large tub in orderly fashion, fresh wash cloths and smooth stones, soaps and scented oils. Mairon is in the process of reaching out when his master steps into the steaming washroom fully clothed, expecting to be handed the individual tucked close to his master’s chest, hidden away under the dark garment, but the lord ignores him entirely and makes way to the bathtub. 

Mairon stares at his master’s retreating back in wide-eyed confusion. 

The coat falls at his master’s feet, carelessly discarded to the ground as though it doesn’t cost a fortune, sleeping gown follows, pale and thin and equally wet. His master kneels, carefully sinking the person in his arms in the hot liquid, the water splashing gently, some of it spraying his boots as he reaches for a cloth, his other hand cupping a head of long, white hair, fingers working to unravel the tangles there. 

All Mairon can do is stare, at a loss for words. Is… is Melkor going to bathe this person–himself?

Who–

“Leave us.” His master commands abruptly. All Mairon can do is bow as he retreats, shutting the door behind him, his eyes drift to the large window at the end of the hallway, and sees the first light barely cresting the mountains behind the thick burgundy curtains. Water still sloshes behind the door.

Mairon stands outside until the door swings open and Melkor steps out, the person in his arms cocooned in soft towels, hidden away from Mairon’s wondering eyes. His master doesn’t acknowledge him as he walks past, treading through the hallway to his bedchamber. 

Who?

Why?

Mairon cleans what little mess had been left behind, wipes the wooden floor dry and picks up the clothes piled together for washing, later. He’s ready to turn in by then, and he seeks out his own room. 

Yet how he ends up at his lord’s door is a mystery to even himself. 

It’s open, and Mairon observes his master placing a young man, already clad in a lovely shade of blue, into his own bed, moving him with care, his touch attentive as he sits by his side and smoothes an ivory comb through his snowy hair. 

It’s either Melkor does not notice Mairon, or he simply does not care, he would have dismissed him already if he didn’t want him there and so, emboldened by the lack of admonishment, Mairon takes a few steps inside and lays eyes upon the stranger. 

He doesn’t think he has ever perceived something so captivating.

Mairon’s gaze rakes over a shapely face, coral, plump lips and sharp cheekbones, long lashes fanning his cheeks. He watches his master pull the man’s hair to one side once he is done combing through it before he proceeds to braid it, deft fingers weaving through the tresses, threading the long, blue ribbon between the strands.

He lays the long plait down one shoulder once he is done, thumb running over seemingly soft ridges, his other hand tucking a stray lock behind the man’s ear and that’s when Mairon detects the puncture wounds on the man’s pale jugular. He’s unable to keep the shock off his face, this time, his wide eyes taking in the shape of his master’s teeth in this stranger’s neck. A turning bite. 

He has converted this person.

Mairon struggles his way out of this particular bout of disbelief, and he’s had one too many in the past two hours. 

“My lord, wh-” 

“Bewitching, isn’t he?” Melkor says, his clawed finger tracing the man’s pale cheek, gaze intense, the embers in his eyes burning tender and Mairon can’t think of a time when his master ever wore such an expression. Not even for Mairon himself, who had served and loved him unfailingly. What a riveting, hurtful thing to bear witness to. “I have so longed for a worthy companion.” 

A companion. 

It’s happened. 

The haze of confusion disperses and everything makes so much sense, suddenly, that Mairon wonders how he had not picked up on it sooner. 

Melkor has found himself a bride.

Of course.

Of course.

“I have so longed for a worthy companion.”

Did he? Was I not enough?

Mairon stares at him, this cold, lovely thing that is to be everything Mairon wishes he could have been. Immortal as he is, still he never thought he’d live to see this night, because theirs might be a long, lonely existence but Melkor never really cared, never voiced his need for someone special and as much as Mairon strived to be that someone, he never seemed to amount. 

The tightness in his chest prevents him from erupting into joyless laughter.

You’ve no right to feel betrayed, he never promised you anything. Wasn’t it you who clung to him? Weren’t you the one that begged? 

Mairon fights the bitter feeling down, insides warring between wanting to tear that beautiful man to shreds and stealing him away to have him all to himself.

He can’t do either.

“What pleases my master pleases me.” He declares instead, inclining his head to hide away the hurt, the jealousy.

Melkor hums. “Yes, I am very pleased.” His lips stretch into a gratified, serpentine smile, his gleaming fangs poking from under the curve of his mouth. “I see great potential in him.” 

He must have, Marion thinks, to have gone to such lengths. His master doesn't do things by halves, not a matter as critical as this, at least. Turning someone, altering their entire being and putting such power at their disposal is as pivotal a subject as one could possibly be. His eyes do a final sweep over the sleeping form. 

“He is most comely.” He offers, because he should say something, aiming to please as he’d always done, but gets a cautionary glare for his efforts, Melkor’s eyes gleaming a mean red that Mairon doesn’t usually find himself on the receiving end of. He takes a step back and dips his head in atonement for whatever wrong he’d committed, but by then the flicker of hostility had long since passed and his master’s attentions turn back to the figure laid in his bed. 

“Indeed.” He concurs, his voice gone breathless, eyes hazy, enamored with the gem he caught. Melkor does fancy the finer things in life. But this is no passing fancy, and this new addition to their lives has to be strong enough to endure the change. Not everyone makes it through, at the end, he needs to be looked after. 

So it’s no surprise that, after getting up to change out of his wet garment, and sending Mairon away in the process, Melkor stays by his bride’s side. He doesn’t leave his bedroom for a thing, keeps watch over the young man as he goes through his corpse stage, his body going cold and ashen, his mortality creeping out of him in increments as the human in him dies. Then the fever came, making the man’s body softer and more pliable, warmth returning to him, slowly at first, then faster and faster, a sickness that he would never overcome– that holds all of them hostage. 

Mairon brings his master bowel after bowel of ice cold water and clean washcloths, watches as the man sweats and heaves and trembles in his unconsciousness. It looks as unpleasant as it must have felt, and he’s glad he doesn’t remember when he’d gone through these phases. 

Worryingly, the fever persists, and this never bodes well. 

Mairon stands in the shadows and watches his master pace like a caged animal in front of his bed, fists tight at his sides and eyes gone frenzied because this isn’t supposed to happen, his master had been so painstakingly mindful and now his chosen’s body is too still, too weak, too hot to the touch.

“Stop,” Melkor takes the motionless body in his arms and holds it close, holds it tightly, his hands shaking, the first time Mairon’s ever seen him so desperately frightened. “Stop fighting it, Manwë.”

… Manwë. 

By that time the fever finally breaks, his master had been confining himself in his chamber for a fortnight, keeping vigil at Manwë’s bedside. Mairon pretends not to hear his master’s sigh of relief, the tension trickling out of him in red, seismic waves. The worst of it has passed.

Melkor dips Manwë in another bath of cool water to chase away fever residue, then adorns him in new, soft fabrics, lowers him unto crisp clean sheets and lays himself beside him, keen eyes wide open. 

It’s almost over. 

Manwë should be waking up any day now.

–

It’s two nights later, and Mairon is in the process of adjusting a tilted portrait when a long, cracked shriek swells throughout the manor, the frame shivering underneath his frozen hands. 

At last, Manwë is awake.

Newborns tend to be violent when they first come to, hysterical with hunger and oblivious to their own strength, so more often than not, they would be restrained, for their own safety and that of those around them. But Melkor is one of the strongest out there, he could handle this just fine, he certainly doesn’t need Mairon sprinting his way up staircases and through corridors with Manwë’s howls still in his ears, but Mairon can’t help it, he needs to see this. 

The screaming stops just before he reaches the threshold. He expects utter chaos when he walks into the room, and instead finds his master reclined against the headboard, Manwë’s slighter form pulled across his front, his slit wrist offered up for Manwë to sink into, latching on like it's all he knows to do, like his life depends on it. Because it does, Melkor had to be the one to do it, he is his maker, after all.

Melkor’s other hand smoothes down, coming to a rest at the small of Manwë’s back, his temple pressed to the top of Manwë’s head. “Drink, sweetheart,” he says, watching with indulgent, golden eyes as Manwë feeds off him, “‘Til you’ve had your fill.” 

Mairon has to turn his head from the sight, backing away, much as he wants to be a part of it, he's trespassing on something intimate. Vampire couples feeding from each other is cherished, private, personal. And that’s what Melkor and Manwë are to be. This is not something for him, or anyone, to see. 

Despite everything, it feels like a labor of love, in the end.

#i don't know why i didn't post it sooner #general lack of faith in my writing and the plot and whatnot #i hope this tides you over in the meantime #melkor x manwë #drabble #anonymous #melkor #manwë #tolkien