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eveningepiphany · 6 months

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pirates gold | H.S series, part two

[part one]

[series masterlist]

summary: challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad... and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.

warnings: swearing, tension, fluff, sexual mentions, talks of violence, harry being so so fine, mentions of kidnapping, one bed trope.

a/n: i cannot believe how long this took me to write, I’m praying I can do part three in half the time. thank you for your patience my loves<3

———

There are plenty of moments you are left wondering how in control of your life you actually are.

If you truly have any power at all— because sometimes it feels like everything is spinning relentlessly out of your grasp.

Well, especially under your current circumstances. Since your last 4 days have been spent as someone else’s prisoner.

Which, you couldn’t have predicted would lead you into the bathroom of your own captor and being left to bathe with his own personal collection of things.

Being in there was a shock enough as it is because… of course you’d noticed how well-groomed he appeared. But to see that he actually had things like soap and hair wash…

Another stereotype you presumed, was that pirates were horrendous when it came to maintaining a sense of personal hygiene. But it was another thing you were evidently incorrect about when it came to Harry. And seemingly the rest of his crew as well.

As you washed off in the shower, scrubbing away the collected dirt, dust and sweat off of your body, you felt almost like a new person.

It felt inexplicably good to use soap again, which is a luxury you took for granted much too often back home. But finally getting rid of all the residue on your skin was an amazing feeling. Including washing away the salt from your ocean dip a few days ago. Which was stuck in the crevices and creases of your skin, like it was slowly dehydrating you from the outside in.

So you took probably longer than you should in his shower… but it didn’t seem as time ticked on that he was in his room or at the bathroom door.

Not even when you eventually stepped out from the water, drying yourself off with a rag-like towel. Looking at yourself in the mirror, taking in your frame, and how the skin under your eyes is a tad less sunken in after a long shower.

Maybe it was from stress, or lack of sleep. But either way, you rubbed your fingers underneath them. Attempting to smooth out the remaining darkness there, as if that would work.

Settling on the fact what was left of them was only temporary, you decide to just get into the clothes Harry had given you. Pretending it doesn’t weird you out as you slide his black shirt over your body.

It was far from tight on you, and the fabric probably could’ve swallowed you up as it clung to you. And as you pulled the soft pants up, they were equally as big.

You gazed in the mirror again, looking at how his clothes fit you. Struggling to envision him in such simplistic clothing.

Suddenly, his body filling out the once baggy pants and shirt is taking up the confines of your mind. They certainly would fit him properly. And likely hug the muscle built on his chest... you have to swat the mental image away, before it conjures into something more.

So immediately, you jump to distract yourself. Eyes roaming around the bathroom until they lock onto the cabinet beneath the bathroom bench.

Your hands don't hesitate, coming to the cupboards to open them, pulling the handles so they unlatch.

It’s sadly sparse inside. Almost entirely empty despite a few miscellaneous items. A hair comb, a dagger sheath and a… sewing kit? You frown at the sewing kit, unable to imagine him doing anything as delicate and time consuming as hand sewing.

However, he does wear intricate outfits. He seemingly prizes them, actually. So, it seems fitting that if wear and tear got to them, he'd be keen to fix them. That's the conclusion you're going to go with anyway.

But regardless, in the small wooden confines, there is nothing you can steal for your own benefit. You think of shutting it, but in the silence something urges you to open the small plastic box anyways.

You drop onto your knees, sliding the container to the edge of the shelving, and hooking your fingers into the latches and pulling the lid upwards.

There are several little threading needles— even clothing pins— placed among regular cotton thread in an array of colours. But there’s also multiple wads of fishing line, which immediately makes you wonder why it's in there. Trying to pinpoint what kind of clothing needs fishing line as a stitching.

You’re about to pull it out, but conveniently, there’s a rattle outside of the door. One that indicates someone is coming into his quarters. You hold back a frustrated sigh, suddenly wishing you had of taken a shorter shower.

Your body kicks into quick movement, hurrying to click his sewing box shut and put it back where it was in the first place. Pushing hard on the latches that now suddenly don’t want to cooperate with your haste.

It’s silent outside of the footsteps that trail to the bathroom door, making you wince as the latch on the cupboard echoes a tiny clack as it’s shut.

The feet stop at the door, and your breath is held from where you’re kneeling. Not sure if you’re hoping for Harry or not.

“Y/N?” His voice calls with a rap on the door, “y’decent?”

“I—“ you slowly rise from the floor, cringing at the creak of the boards beneath your feet as you stand.

“Yea… yep.”

The lock jingles and the door swings open, revealing Harry— who looks no different to how he did almost an hour ago. Black blouse, black pants. Nothing had changed.

You feel suddenly vulnerable standing in his clothes in front of him, and you have to force yourself not to wring your hands at the bottom of his long shirt.

“Mm, nice to see you actually showered, ‘stead of tryin’ to break out.” He comments, nonchalantly stepping in through the door. Eyes scanning you in his clothes.

As he steps closer, the only difference you notice is the red bruising around his knuckles, on the hand hung down by his waist.

“Oh, I tried.” You mused, attempting to push confidence in your tone— adverting your gaze away from his bruised hand.

He hums, still staring at your frame, “To no avail, I see.”

“I suppose not.” You remarked, to which he shrugs. His body language is casual, but you’re still unconvinced that everything is normal.

Now you're staring at him, trying to decipher what the fuck is happening right now. Given the fact nothing about this seems planned.

“But I am confused...” You prompt, and to it, he cocks an eyebrow.

He steps forward, “Go on.”

“What exactly have you done in the last hour?” It comes from your mouth as an accusation. One that draws out a rash laugh from him pink mouth.

��Why is it you assume I’ve done something?” He's awfully close to you now, and it highlights the features on his face. Ones you're desperately trying to pay no attention to. But it's much harder to ignore the fall of his hair over green eyes when its up close.

“Because that just seems the most likely.” You stated. Walking to brush past him—shoulder passing his chest with a light touch— the bathroom feeling far too cramped for the two of you. And the air around you had suddenly gone hot with tension on your end.

You make your way out into his quarters, making use of your need for distance, and deciding to inspect the room while you could.

Harry turns on his heel, watching as you now suddenly walk around his bedroom like it was your birth right. Hands trailing over frames on the wall, and picking up random objects he’d strewn on the floor.

He sighs at this, part of him wanting to stop you from snooping around his place, but he’s also undeniably curious at your mannerisms while looking around. The way your eyebrows pull down into a frown as you pick up an array of things. Including odd ones, like a bag of dried out barnacles, and whetstones block he uses to sharpen his blades with.

“I bought ya up here t’shower. Because unlike many, I have a hygiene standard, darlin’.” He says, and you turn from where you were touching the cover of his unmade bed. Fingertips noting the softness of it. He sleeps here… your brain announces as though it’s unfathomable to imagine him at rest in his own bed. Which was tucked into the corner of the all-wood room, three circular windows running beside its edge.

Looking at his hand again, finally getting the courage to bring it up.

“And your knuckles are swelling up. All bruised. They weren’t like that earlier.”

He smirks, completely bypassing your question, “looking at my hands, ay? Didn’t pick you to be that kind of girl.”

You sneer at his stupid tease, irritated at his arrogance.

“Just seemed all rather impromptu, and now you’re back here with bruised up fists that you didn’t have earlier.” You challenge, after walking slowly away from his bed.

“You don’t stop until you get an answer y’like. Is that right, princess?” He scoffs.

But he knows you’re brilliant at reading someone, tragically so. And it’s obvious you’re not as stupid as he wishes. Because he watches as your eyes narrow, clear that you know he’s dodging your questions for a reason.

“And you don’t give answers unless it suits you best, I take, captain?”

To that, he chuckles, and decides to prove you right, walking over to grab your wrist with the unscathed hand.

“M’clothes are a bit big on you…” he comments, partially using it as an excuse to drag his eyes down your body again. Completely changing the subject.

“Tomorrow, we’re pulling into port, we’ll buy some stuff that actually fits you.” Despite being the one to decide this, there's a pang of disappointment in his chest at you getting out of his oversized clothes. He ignores it. The hand that's becoming all too familiar to your wrist is leading you out of his quarters, and your eyes dart to take in the room a final time. Hoping to commit it to memory.

“That’s a bit doting. Are you going to take me with you, or is that a far fetched wish?” You drawl, already figuring you’ll be locked away while they roam about. Buying you clothes while you sit prisoner.

You should probably just be grateful for the fact he is willing to spend gold on you, given the circumstances. But who would you be kidding if you tried to portray that right now. ‘Thanks for buying me clothes while I sat locked up in your jail cell!’ He would audibly cackle if you said that.

He chuckles at your bitter sounding tone, “I’d bet you’d be rather upset if we went into town without you.”

You scowl at him, having to bite your tongue as to not say anything rash, choosing not to respond at all.

He’s taken you outside of his room, and locked his door with the small ring of keys he keeps on him. Beginning a slow walk along the corridors of the ship, seemingly in no hurry at all. He pulls your arm to rest firmly between his elbow and ribcage as you stroll the halls, as though you’re on some kind of leisurely walk.

To your silent annoyance, he rolls his eyes with amusement, knowing you'll hold quite the grudge if he doesn't take you out when the ships docks at Sintir. “I’ll think about it, dove.”

The two of you walk in quiet for a minute. Clacking of shoes against decking echoes through the hallways below deck. You get lost in thought, until his voice quickly coaxes you out it.

“We’re stopping for two nights.” He suddenly clarifies for you, “After we buy you some suitable clothes, maybe you can come into town after dark.”

You’re skeptical of his offer, given that it’s not a guarantee. But you’re desperate to just get off this ship for a bit. Not even in an attempt to escape, you know that wouldn’t work even if you tried. Purely to be on land again, and around people who aren’t felons at sea.

So you soften your frown a bit, going quiet for a few moments. You decide to try the hopeless approach, no matter how weak your faith is in it. But maybe you'll get some pity from the man beside you, “I miss the towns, and being on solid earth, that’s all. It's all I've ever known.”

You were already embarrassed at how the helpless tone sounded on your voice. Maybe because is wasn't genuine, but either way, internally you gagged a little.

He laughs abruptly at your words, almost shocked that you attempted to persuade him with that.

“No need to pull the damsel in distress card.” He’d shook his head, smiling wide with humor at your expense, “My decision is impartial to a poor attempt at manipulation.”

“It’s not manipulation!” You turn to snap at him, dropping the meek mannerisms just as quickly as you put them on.

“Oh but it is, darling.” He bumps your shoulder with his own, turning a corner that reveals another set of stairs, “y’bad as any other pirate. Outside of the shitty lying.”

You shake your head, huffing out air from your nose as he leads you up them. The annoying thing is that he's right. However you still fight to prove your point.

“Can you blame me? I just want to go into a town and do something normal. Have a little stability amongst this shit show!” Your grumble made him chuckle, as it seemed to always do. Like as if he could not take a word you say seriously, even if he tried.

“I suppose I can’t fault you for it.” He hums, pushing a hatch open after unlinking your arms. He went through it first so he could help you up. Hands steadying you once your feet come in contact with the floor. Because suddenly, you’re on the bow of the ship. The afternoon sun out and warm on your skin as the waves are calmly lapping over themselves.

You momentarily forget that you’re pissed off with him. All you can focus on is the fresh air and golden sun.

His eyes take in your deep inhalation, and the way you look so relieved to be outside. Understandable given the fact you spent 2 days locked in a tiny room.

A feeling he can’t name stirs in his chest. And the voice in the back of his head is suddenly encouraging taking you into Sintir while the ships docked there.

“It’s… nice out.” You exhale, your gaze veering to him momentarily as you speak. His green eyes are locked onto yours, and you quickly make to slide your attention back out on the blue water.

Which is easy to look at, since it doesn’t technically end. Just melts into the equally blue horizon where the sky meets the sea.

“It almost always is, up this far north.” He nods, pushing the sudden emotion away. “It won’t stay that way once we leave the port. There’s a storm well in due this week.”

You mentally file away that you’re up north, but a part of you gets anxious with the idea of being out while there’s a storm.

On land, you always enjoyed them. They brought a sense of serenity to you. The thunder and rain sometimes came so loud in Kelna it drowned out everything going on in your life. Temporarily, of course, however it was nice while it lasted. But on water was a different story. You’d heard they’re rocky rides, treacherous even. That ships often enter a storm, and don't come out the other side.

“Don’t look s’worried.” He comments at your suddenly terrified energy, he places a palm on your back to usher you forwards.

“Just that I really don’t want to die out here.” You sigh, not denying the fear since it’s clearly that obvious.

You walk willingly wherever he’s decided to take you, sharing a short wave to the man up by the ships wheel. He had messy head of hair, one that you imagined when it was windy, would blow all over the place.

“Have faith in us, Y/N. We’ve weathered many storms jus’ fine.”

“Oi, H,” the scruffy pirate you just waved at calls down to his captain, as he tracks down the stairs with you. Going from the steering deck to the main deck.

Harry tilts his head over his shoulder, pausing on the stairs where you both stand, indicating he’s listening with a nod. You briefly trail your eyes over his side profile. The curve of his nose, and the cut of his jaw.

But his crewmate barely gets a couple words out before he’s interrupted shortly after, “How did ya go wi—“

“Fine, Liam.” Abruptly, Harry cuts in. Not rudely, but curtly.

The man on the wheel, who now has a name to you— Liam— alternates his gaze between the two of you suddenly. Like he’s dawning upon why he just got interrupted.

“Ah, I see.” He nods, quickly busying himself with what he was doing beforehand.

Harry continues walking you down a set off stairs, back down to main deck.

“I’m going to assume that was about earlier, and has something to do with why you dragged me out of my cell.” You say, attempting indifference.

“You’d assume right.” He nods, but you wait for him to say something more— which he doesn’t.

You sigh in frustration, “I'll also take that's why I'm still up here, and not locked back up."

You're trying to gauge yet again how much of his actions are kindness, and how much of them are out of an attempt to gain something.

"Not why you're out here, 'm tryna give ya a bit of sun." He brings you to a stop at the far left of the main deck, smirking as he talks, "I've got to patch up a old sail, incase we need it. No better place to do it but out here."

He pays no mind to you as he kneels down to a storage unit a few feet away from you in the floor, unlatching it, and hauling out a huge canvas sail it. The sheet crinkles as he carries it out, and dumps it on the wooden deck.

You frown, wondering if he's the only one on the ship who can do any sort of needlework... because it seems like the only reasonable option as to why he's doing it himself. So you ask, "Why exactly are you doing it?"

He laughs, striding back over to pull a much larger sewing kit from the bottom of the storage space, and also sheet of spare canvas.

"You are filled with clichés of us, darling. What is makin' y'ask that?" He chucks the kit and extra fabric down, following to sit shortly after.

You're still standing as you try to conjure up an answer that doesn't sound unbelievably stupid. But he is cross-legged, pulling the damaged side of the sail over his muscular thighs.

"Because..." You pause, still unsure how to phrase it as you stare at him. You're looking at his side profile again, and it's lit by the overhead sun.

He glances your way, essentially looking up at you from where he's positioned on the floor. He finishes your sentence for you, "'Cause I'm a captain? And why would I do something productive for myself and my crew when I could make someone below me do it?"

"Well... basically."

"You're going t’find out very quickly the dynamic between me ‘n my crew." he pulls open the sewing box, filled with larger needles, and thick thread.

"I may be their Captain, but we’re all like brothers. I see them as that, not as my workers. They are my team, and we help out whenever and wherever we can." He states, sounding completely sincere, "And, I'm the only one that can actually hand sew things, so here we are."

"Here we are..." you parrot quietly, almost finding it endearing the way he talks about his crew mates.

Delicately, he’s threading up a needle and starting to take it through the sail and its new panel, lined up over the relatively large tear. His hands are steady, hair fallen over his eyes as he concentrated on starting the stitch. You stare at the dark bruising over his knuckles, and you swear that wasn’t as deep a shade earlier.

Without thought, you slowly sink to the ground, back resting against the side of the boat, not waiting long before you start to ask him more questions.

“Whatever happened to put that large of a hole in your sail?” You’d quizzed.

He knew it wouldn’t take long before you started to pry him with more of your wonders, “A cannonball.”

Your face can’t hide the shock, because of how casually he answered you. Your lips were parted in surprise at his response when he glanced over to you. A smirk over his mouth, popping a dimple on his cheek.

“Jus’ a run in with another ship.” He mused, “They tore a hole in our sail, and we tore a hole into the side of their boat.”

You almost sputter a laugh, of course he has to brag about not having lost that altercation.

“I hope you have a winning streak under your belt.” You shake your head, smiling a little.

“Why? Because I’m carryin’ such precious cargo.” Alluding to you with a charming cadence to his voice.

You’re stretched out in the sun as he watches you, and you almost look happy. If he didn’t know any better. But maybe you are a little. Circumstantially, you’re probably far from it. But in this moment, you look calm in a way he hasn’t seen before.

“Obviously. And all this would be for nothing if I go down with your ship and you don’t get your gold.”

“Tragic really, after putting up with y’through all this. Including jumpin' off m'own ship.” He teases.

“It’s been like, 5 days. I cant have been that annoying outside of the jumping thing.” You can’t tell if you’re offended at his jabs like you should be. You wish you fully were, but the banter is almost pleasing to have with him. It gives you something to laugh at. And also gives you an excuse to be insolent with him.

“Mm, if only y’knew…” he sighs in faux exhaustion, a tiny laugh escaping through his façade.

The way the ship cruised through the waves was inexplicably calming to experience up here. With the sun and the warm around surrounding you.

His hands were weaving the needle through the material, it’s mesmerising to watch. He’s definitely skilled at it, since it has hardly taken him long to get one side sewed on.

“You look quite content over there.” He comments, not looking up from where he was.

The observation stuns you a little, because of how true it was.

“I… it’s hard not to be after being in a tiny wooden room for 2 days straight.” You answer, but it doesn’t feel like the only reason why.

“Y'know,” he begins, “I excepted someone like you to have the worst set of sea sickness, and to be constantly terrified, but you've seemingly proved me wrong.”

“Have you underestimated me?”

“Possibly.” He remarks. And you don’t answer him again.

You're struck with the realisation that you actually don’t hate being above deck. Or really on the ship— outside of the reasons to why you’re on it. You think you might have underestimated yourself.

Like a reel of film, your mind flashes through images of a life like this. Outside of the damn cell at the bottom of the boat.

One where you spend your days free on the water. Both free in regards to your imprisonment here— but also from your life and looming responsibilities at home.

You envision yourself suddenly in the most pirate-like attire, standing up on those huge masts like they do in fictions sold at the bookstore— the odd one that would romanticise the life of piracy instead of completely defacing it.

It hits you like a slap in the face. One that stings and burns on the side of your cheek, lingering for days after it initially impacted.

You have to forcibly squeeze your eyes closed, because there is no room to have feelings like that in your already muddled brain.

Harry speaks up from where you forgot he was sitting, “What exactly is Kelna like?”

“Prison.” You blurt, hand almost coming to slap over your own mouth in surprise.

Your head is in disarray, and that somehow slipped its way out. Because all the sudden, you realise you almost felt more trapped in your own home than you honestly do here.

You tried to escape this ship out of fear that you would be killed— or sent somewhere worse— but when that element is removed from the equation, you’re certain anything is better than Kelna.

“Im kidding—“ you hurriedly spew out, but his head is turned to frown at you, “it’s nice… it’s great. Very lovely people and we have… yea. It’s great.”

Of course, you love your family. Some of them. Your younger brother and older brother, your younger sister. But outside of your siblings, there were few people to love.

“Sound like y’trying to convince yourself more than me.”

You guess you kind of were in a sense. And a part of you wanted to just say how much you never wanted to go back, if that were an option. You only ever told your older brother Poe about how desperate you were to get away from the court. One person. One soul out of this whole world of them knows.

Only Poe knows how terrified you were that Misha— Kelna's infamous prophet— would come to the podium to speak the most misconstrued riddle, that supposedly announced you were to take the crown. Your own stomach churns at the concept.

But revealing that to Harry felt like giving away a vulnerable piece of yourself. He doesn't deserve to be the second person you entrust with something so pressing for you. Which you remind yourself that you swore not to lay an ounce of trust in this man’s hands. That your impartialness to a separate life here is due to your life at home. And that freedom on this ship is unlikely.

“I’m not…” you breathe out in defeat. Trying desperately to steer clear of the subject, because its easy to drag you into a pit of ever-welling anxiety.

However, he can sense your complete shift in energy. This is your first time really talking about home. And it seems like you have more than bitterness to it. He expected a whimsical answer. One that showed your longing for return, or that you even valued part of being in a court. But he got nothing of the sorts.

It slips from his soft mouth before he can stop it, “Are you not safe at home?”

He’s completely disregarded his sewing venture, and has turned to look right at you. His features have softened, and he looks genuinely a little concerned. But you brush it off for deceit. Of course he would want to know something like that. Want to pick away at your seams until all the sudden you're unraveling in the palm of his hands, tearing your whole village down with it.

“Yes!” You jump to clear that up. Secondly feeling like he's almost babying you.

“Probably safer there than I am here.” You bark, but it’s hardly true if you really think about it. Attempts on a royals life are always a threat, and it’s happened to your family members before. Which transcends into a whole other story, equally as painful for you as anything else at home.

His brows pull into a frown. He realises he’s struck something sensitive here. The topic seems to make you recoil completely. Your body language has changed, just like that. Straight from relaxed to on edge.

“I feel like there's a pretty equal risk." He provides, picking back up the threaded needle. Seeing what more he can coax out of you.

"I—" you cut yourself off.

"I am fine." Your tone is conclusive.

"Is that why you always sneak out of your royal residence in the middle of the night?" He pushes, a sarcastic lilt to his deep voice.

"That isn't any of your business!" You groan, "I'm not asking why it is you're a felon at sea, or your tragic past life that's lead you here, am I?"

"But you probably wonder..." he smirks, impartial to your jab.

"I don't, you ass!" You state defiantly.

"I'm just trying to gauge how much you actually like your homeland."

You scoff in disbelief, "Oh, piss off. You just want something to hold over me."

It's clear to him something much deeper is going on than what he initially thought. But its also evident that you are far from interested in talking about it now. So, he files away what information and suspicion he had, and finally allows the subject to change.

"Whatever princess... y'getting mouthy, and I've gathered that usually doesn't end well for either of us." he rolls his eyes in amusement, "You'll have to to tell me what kind of clothes you like, so I know what I'm in for."

"It only doesn't end well because you're so goddamn pushy." You huff.

"This is why you ended up locked in a cell for two days." his tone is airy, considering the topic, "Also, best of y'to recall I'm the one who decides whether or not ya coming off the ship tomorrow."

You hold back your bitter quip at his reminder, but not the deep sigh from your lungs. You feel stressed. Overwhelmed even. Which is the only good thing about your tiny room below deck, its stable. You know what you get down there. Yourself, and no personal questions that leave you reeling.

He finishes his double stitch in silence. Thinking of you, and wondering what exactly your perception of your home life is. In a long answer— not the short and guarded ones he's currently receiving.

You sit, still in the sun, but feeling significantly more riled up than earlier. That's when Harry stands from his work, and your eyes dart to the patch that's now one with the sail. Intricately sewed in place, with a clearly detail-oriented eye.

"An' she's done." He nods proudly, talking to himself as he picks the complete task up from where it was spread on the deck. Carrying it back into where it came from— along with the closed sewing kit. Laying it folded in the floor compartment and latching it closed.

His hands brush themselves off along his black pants. They admittedly fit him perfectly. Nipped in at his sculpted waist, and outlining his likely firm thighs.

His green eyes slanted down to you, as if he could feel your own gaze burning into his tanned skin. He smirks, a dimple popping out on his cheek as he looked at you.

He was trouble.

He looked at you like you were a game to be played. A challenge to be conquered. And somehow you met him right at that very level. You wanted to prove something to him— and the thing is, you don't even know what.

Its not something you can reverse, or take back. It's already long started, the second you pushed back from his demands when you first met.

His legs that you were just studying stride over to where you sit. He towers over you, examining you with a silent and smug smile.

"A corset, perhaps?" He proclaimed without context, and your face twists in confusion.

"Although, I've heard they are very hard to get on and off a woman." It clicks in your brain he's currently talking about you. Imagining you in the likes of a corset.

It's like he was pondering it aloud just for his own sick enjoyment, because he keeps going as your expression quickly bleeds into a scowl.

"And, there is no doubt in my mind you'd drive your own elbow into my stomach before you let me help lace you into a corset. Or out of it." His voice has dropped an octave, and his chocolatey hair has fallen over his forehead again. For such a heinous topic, he has the face of an angel. Maybe a fallen one... but an angel nonetheless.

"You would be correct." You confirm, "And I spend enough time in corsets at home. God forbid I wear one when theres no need for it."

He suddenly juts a hand out for you to take, which you stare at for an awfully long time, analysing the dark marks over his knuckles. Eventually settling to let him help you stand. It pulls you up effortlessly despite its visibly injury, and you feel the rough parts of his large hand as it cups yours.

"Espcially if im going to be laying around in a cell, whats the point in that?"

He still has grip on your hand, "Oh, dove, y'not going back down there for a little bit."

Your gaze narrows immediately. And you ask the first question and only question that makes sense in your mind.

"Who else is down there?"

"Someone who deserves to be left in the room with the cuff holders on the wall. Attached to them."

Your stomach sinks a little, recalling him saying thats sectioned off for people who have done truly bad things. Seems like it would explain his battered up knuckles perfectly.

But with the closest thing you’ve gotten to an answer all day, you’re quick to mentally move onto what the effects you the most.

"Where am i gonna..."

He says with a completely unfazed expression, "With me."

“With you?”

“That’s what I said, no?” He raises his brows, “unless you’d rather be down there with him. Who we’d then certainly have to kill once he knows you’re here.”

“Christ.” A wave of shock rocks through you at his vulgar wording, “can you put me nowhere else?”

“No.” He states, starting to walk with your hand gripped in his, “it’s just for the night. Don’t worry s’much.”

“Don’t worry? You just told me you would have to kill a man if I chose to stay away from you.”

You’re glaring at him as he holds open a door for you— one that leads to another kitchen room— despite you’re bitter look, he’s unbothered entirely.

“Let’s get you something to eat. Allow ya to process the fact you’re stuck with me for a night.”

———

Your night was significantly different to all the others you’d had on the ship this past week.

The evening had come on relatively quick. You’d sat above deck after he fed you some fruit, and watched the sun set as his crew gathered to share a pint.

You observed their dynamics, and the way a few men got themselves silly on one too many beers. Stumbling all over the deck.

Harry stayed closer to sober though—a bit tipsy, but nothing drastic— and as evening bleed into night, many of the boys had turned in for bed around midnight.

His blonde crew mate had shouted out for you to come down and have a pint, but you laughed it off. His drunken plea seeming far out of line considering the circumstances.

Not long after most of them had left, Harry came up to where you sat. You were perched atop a step on the stairs, and you know he’d been watching you. Making sure— as you stayed a fair distance away— that you didn’t disappear.

His hand had gestured out to you again as he had apparently come to collect you. You stood without it’s help, and he snorted a bitter laugh.

“You're infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.” The lilt in his voice is intoxicating. He sounds like he disdains you, yet is addicted to the feeling all at the same time.

He’s standing the step below yours, and once you had fully straightened out, you were slightly above him. It almost gave you an added boost of confidence, “Right in here?”

Your hand reached out to breach the minimal distance, brushing your pointer and middle finger against where the skin of his stomach is.

His hand grabbed around your wrist, staring at you— he pressed your palm flat against his chest— you could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the sheer black blouse he was still in.

His bruised knuckles are pressed over yours. The dark spots a mosaic of blacks and blues— you wonder how bad it would hurt if you pressed down on them. Just out of spite, of course.

“Right there.” He affirmed.

“Too bad you have to room with me tonight.” You sigh in mock sympathy.

He looks like he’s about to say something else, when he bites his tongue and does his usual thing— tugging you along wherever he plans to go.

His leftover mates say goodnight as he walks past— all of them regarding you as well, surprisingly.

You’re lead to his quarters as you’d suspected, and you’re now faced with the situation of how this is going to all pan out.

Once inside the dark room, he lights a wall candle with a match— that he pulled from god knows where— casting the space in a golden glow.

He is quick to then shed the black material that’s covering his chest over himself without hesitation. Your gaze skates along the muscled skin of his back. Littered in black ink and scars that immediately piqued your curiosity. Ones that you undeniably want to trace over, and enquire how exactly they got there. Which feels like an odd thought to be entertaining considering how much you push to hate him.

His hands unlatch his belt, still adorning all its weapons. And he walks to the foot of his bed, laying it atop the cover.

“Would I be correct to assume I’m taking the floor?” You put forward, and his head turns over his shoulder.

“That one’s up t’you. Unless you’re that desperate to get away from me.” He drawls, the alcohol making him a tad drowsy now that the buzz has worn off.

A part of you begs to be stubborn. To say no. But the other half of you in rioting to lay down on a mattress for the first time in almost a week. Because you couldn’t physically sleep another night on the hard wooden floor.

You breathe outward, walking over in silence as you climb beneath his sheets without warrant.

He tries to ignores it, but a small smile breaks out over his lips before he can stop it. So he turns swiftly around, unzipping his black pants and shedding them off his long legs.

“What exactly are you doing?” You shrilly ask, palms ready to shield your eyes if he decides to strip the only remaining fabric below his laurel-adorning hips.

“You’re not sleeping naked next to me.” Certainty riddles your tone, and there is no way you’ll budge on it.

But to your statement he laughs, “M’not naked.”

“Not far off it either.” You murmur, observing as he walks over to the candle he not long lit and blows it out.

The room falls into darkness, all you can hear are the plodding of his feet on the wood floor.

Once he’s next to the bed, you hear his voice, “You’re on my side, by the way. S’budge up.”

You scoot over without words, and feel the mattress sink as his weight comes onto it.

“Better than the floor, no?” He asks quietly, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Undecided.” You whisper. “Comfier I suppose.”

His breath is quiet and consistent as you both fall quiet. You’re certain he falls asleep before you, because you’re awake for a while. Staring at the ceiling wondering how you got here yet again.

But eventually, the tiredness you’ve been feeling for the last couple days catches up on you, and it lulls you into a deep sleep. Unbroken from any uncomfortable surfaces or loud noises. Just peace.

Peace until you stir for the first time in the morning.

When soft light is shining through the circular windows, and you realise how truly warm you are. All the edges of your consciousness are blurred and hazy with your sleep induced state. You nestle into what you thought was the mattress, but register somewhere in your head that your body is pressed against someone.

And after that, it’s confirmed when they move. A slight roll, and a warm heavy arm that drapes over your waist, tugging you closer.

Your eyes dart open, and are met with the sideways view of a swallow on a collarbone. It stops you dead in your tracks. Because slowly you realise your plastered to someone's side. Harry's side. Legs thrown over his hips, head nestled into his neck.

You're frozen for a moment. Because he smells so nice. But alarm bells are sounding in your head. Too close to the enemy, they riot.

The rigidness of your body stirs him again, rolling him further into you. Legs intertwined, and the bridge of your nose bumping against the curve of his throat. Now he's truly swallowing up all your senses. His scent is genuinely intoxicating. Salty, just as you'd imagine a pirate would smell— of the ocean and all that lies beneath it. But it has a woodsy tone to it, deep and masculine. One you wonder how he just naturally carries.

His tattoos are gorgeous up close, chest chiseled and dusted with soft dark hairs. You use the finger that’s between your body and his to brush gently over the butterfly on his stomach. Tracing the details, despite how wrong it feels. In your moments of timid admiration, you don’t realise his eyes have opened. Green and glazed over with sleep, it takes him a solid minute to register what he's watching you do.

An intake of breathe, and his gravelly voice pressed out the only thing he can even think of saying, “g’morning.”

Physically, you flinch. Startled at his sudden consciousness. Finger withdrawing from its tender movements, your heart pounding.

“I— hello.” You whisper, unsure how long he’s been awake.

He stretches, which in turn scoots his body down the bed, leaving you face to face with him. A pink tongue juts out over his lips— wetting them.

“I should’ve established a no-cuddle policy.” You state, eyes wandering the plains of his face.

To this, his morning voice rumbles a laugh, “are you trying to blame me for this? ‘Cause you’re on m’side, touching up my chest, dove.”

You turn your head over your shoulder, glancing to the gap from where you originally feel asleep and where you are now. Red flushed over your face, It does look incriminating on your end.

A guilty sigh falls from your lips before you purse them together. Not having an explanation for how you ended up like this.

“S’okay.” His voice was so deep, and it sunk into your ears. Almost drawing a shiver out of you. It was attractive.

You can’t tell if that observation is coming only from the fact you have just spent a night curled into his chest. But it’s all you can think about.

“Didn’t mean to.” You say, the closest you were coming to an apology.

“Mmm, I bet.” He murmurs, his hand leaving from where it was on your waist and going to comb through his hair.

Perfectly tousled from sleep, he brushed through it with his fingers. You take the opportunity now that his hand has left your waist, to sit up, averting your eyes from the way his touch glides through his soft hair.

You look out the window, and immediately you’re shocked. You see land. Not even that far away.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“There’s land…”

“Ah,” he also props himself up with his elbows, “so there is.”

“Best we get ready.” He shrugs his bare shoulders, and you quickly jolt your head this way.

We?

He’s far from shy as he threw the covers off himself, with the daylight streaming through the windows, his whole body was on display.

You wondered if he realised the kind of body he had on him. Because undeniably, seeing him in just boxers makes your throat bob.

“Do you say we because you intend on taking me off the ship?” You ask, a silent plea behind your words.

“Tonight.” He states, glances back to see the palpable excitement spread over your face.

You rush out of bed, a sudden burst of energy at his confirmation. He is shocked as suddenly your arms collide with his bare waist.

“Thank you. Thank you.” You really are grateful, and you’re so desperate to get off this boat for a bit.

His lips part in surprise, “that’s… y’welcome?”

You hold him longer than you should, a part of you a little ashamed at your lack of self discipline. Because you should be able to contain yourself. You eventually pull yourself from him, smiling in a way he hasn’t seen before.

“We’re probably gonna dock in… 20 minutes? We’ll be gone for most of the day. I’ll come back and get you at evening.”

It sounded like a long time to wait. But you are sure you could do it. So you nod, enthusiastically.

You go and sit yourself on the edge of his bed, wondering where you’re going to end up— what the town will be like, where you’ll go— all while watching Harry go through his closet for an outfit.

It reminded you almost of how a royal would dress, particularly about what came out and what would go with what.

He stands with his back to you, still just in boxers. He has a nice ass.

You mentally scold yourself, yet unable to look away from him as he pulls a maroon pair of pants over his hips. They’re left unzipped as he gets a off-white linen shirt to tuck into them. However the shirt was left almost entirely unbuttoned. And his cross necklace sits between his pecs that are on full display.

He belts his weaponry around his waist, taking it off the wall from where they were hung. Odd of him to leave them so in the open, when you could’ve stabbed him in the night while he slept.

“Are you leaving me in here?” You ask, watching as he collects a few last minute things from around his room.

“S’long as you don’t trash the place.”

You think about teasing him, but decide not to risk it. You piss him off, then you’ll likely get put somewhere without anything to snoop around. And also miss out on getting off the ship tonight.

So you just nod. And at that, he’s satisfied.

“Well, m’off then. Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.” He raises his brows, face serious until it breaks into a small smile.

“I won’t.” You lie, because how are you meant to guarantee that.

He walks out, and obviously locks you in. You wait an hour, until you’ve been docked for a while before you start to dig around his room.

Not forgetting to take some time looking out the window to figure out where the hell you are in the world. Nothing was geographically giving it away, but once you saw a small fishing cart on the pier, you read Sintir fishery.

Sintir is so far away from your homeland, you let out an audible gasp when you read it. There’s no fucking way, you’d thought.

But as you walk away from the window, you register that it has technically been a week since you’d been taken.

You ponder it as you start to go through his things. You feel like some kind of home invader. Rummaging through a trunk under his bed, raiding draws, and flicking through his racks of clothes. Digging into pockets as though you were waiting to happen upon something of value.

It turned out to be the smartest places you looked, because in a thick raincoat, you fucking found it.

A key. One he has to have forgotten about, since there’s no way in the world he’s left you in here without being certain there’s no way to get out.

You ran to the door of his room, and held your breath as the sharp metal got pushed into the lock by your eager hands.

You turned it, jostling it a bit. And it clicked.

Quietly, you reach for the handle, gently pulling it down and breathing out as the door unlatches.

There’s no time to wait as you slink outside. Clicking it shut, and slowly trying to recall your way back down to the chambers.

Every noise has you on edge, and you’re terrified to get caught. Waiting to turn a corner and one of his crew mates to be there, catching you in the act. But it’s not enough to stop you. You may have made a few wrong turns, but you end up in a hallway that jogs your memory.

You make your way down the stairs to the cells, unable to keep your footsteps entirely quiet. It’s without warning you realise the space down there is in fact still occupied by someone… just like you’d initially feared.

You’re met with a guttural groan, and suddenly your anxiety nearly triples. It’s masculine— and when you reach the bottom of the stairs, still out of view from the cell door— you can confirm it when the voice echoes out from the dim room.

“Let me out, you… you fuckin’ bastards.” Whoever it is sounds exhausted, like they’ve been teetering on the edges of life or death for hours.

When you don’t reply he lets out a wet and chesty cough as he continues, “I don’t care about tha’ whore no more! The princess means nothing to me.”

Your heart is racing at the mention of yourself, and the man sounds like he’s dying. It’s certain in your mind now this man’s face was probably what caused the bruising on Harrys fist.

A heavy bang comes from his cell, sounding like metal cuffs being slammed against a wall.

His speech turns to slur as you slowly back yourself back up the stairs. Curiosity always kills the cat, you think. And you wished you’d stayed in Harry’s room.

“Or jus’ kill me already!” He begs, tone shaking with exhausted rage, “already beat me to a pulp after I called that royal a good f’nothing slut. S’cmon!”

That was your cue to leave, and as you break off into a near run down the halls, you’re shaking the whole time.

Yet somehow, despite what anyone would’ve expected, you made it back to Captains quarters without a single run in. Not a soul knows you found a key.

You slide down the relocked door once you’re inside, and pant with not only the physical exertion, but the anxiety you just put yourself under.

It takes a fair while before you can move again, but your hands skate along the floorboards beneath you, tracing the wood grains to calm down.

Rising, you go back to his closet to put the small key back exactly where you found it. Not taking chances in trying to harbour it for yourself.

The room is deafeningly quiet, it forces your mind to hear the likely dying man’s words on repeat. And wonder if Harry really punched the man because he called you a slut…

The only person that knows is him.

He only knows that the second that sack of shit opened his mouth and said the only thing you’d be good for is ‘a quick fuck and some gold’ he absolutely lost it.

He only knows the feeling of pure, red-hot anger that took over him until he slammed the side of his fist into the slimy man’s face. More than once. He’s not sure how many times, until it was bloody, and until his knuckles already had a bruise festering below the skin— darkening by the minute.

And god, can he not stop thinking about how it made him feel. It was all consuming. It solidified that you were not going back down into the cells. He would rather have you in his own bed than within a 5 metre radius of that scum.

So as he walks through the town, splitting off from his crew to go by you clothes, he realises that you’re making more of an impression on him than he thought.

And while he piles up half a wardrobe for you, not even worrying about how much it’ll all add up to, he clocks just how… infatuated he’s possibly become with you.

Just how he’s suddenly ended up in this position. Where he hates you, yet wants to protect you— and even sometimes dote on you.

God— It’s dangerous.

That feeling that lingers when he thinks about you. Both a good and a bad one.

You were dangerous for him… and he’s still trying to decide how much, and in what way. But the biggest thing, is he’s worried for when he finds out.

Whether it’s going to be when you stab him in the back— either metaphorically or physically— or when you trace your delicate touch over his bare chest, so gently his mental resolve cracks along with the walls guarding his heart.

His conclusion as he checks out with a plethora of clothes for you, you’re either going to kill him, or he’s going to end up killing for you.

Oh, and that he’s certain he wants to kiss you. But that’s a whole other thing he has to mentally unpack.

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin

thank you everyone for your undying support, you are all the best!! i love you

comment or reach out to be added to taglist—🤍

i really hope you guys enjoyed this part since i have rewrote it and reread it that many times i seriously have no idea if it’s any good HAHA

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #pirate harry styles #royal y/n #pirates gold #piraterry #eveningepiphany

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continuumitgirl · 1 year

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hi!!

so i’ve known ab subliminals, manifesting, shifting for a while, but always had minimal success. i was never able to get the ‘big’ things i wanted.

but since being on tumblr, i learnt about STATES. which i had previously known about when i had read the power of awareness by neville goddard. unfortunately, that didn’t last long as i started watching manifesting gurus on youtube and got clouded with information again. (no hate to sammy ingram) But i watched her a lot. and i never got that much movement even tho i was consistent, it would make me feel guilty if i was t affirming enough. and i would beat myself up, saying to myself “if u really want this, u need to affirm more”. i would do the 10k challenge, 10 min stuff, but it was soooo overwhelming. so much stress because i wanted so many things, and i felt like i didn’t have enough time, i had other stuff to do, so even tho i was consistent, i would stress myself out, wondering if i was doing enough, doing it right, etc.

this mindset was toxic, although i didn’t realise it then. i just would get so upset because i trying to hard. which is why it also took me a min to realise.. that i shouldn’t be trying that hard to get something … u either have it or u don’t! so anyways, one or two weeks ago, i came on here because i was done. i wanted my desires. enough. At first i got swayed by the void stuff, which made me put it on a pedestal . which made me angry, i was like bro not this shit again. i don’t wanna waste another months or years. and somehow i stumbled across states. i’ll admit it took me a second to grasp. i re read the power of awareness. and realised it is simple, once i understood it, i deleted tumblr and focused on my life, while occupying my ideal state.

One thing that i’ve been wanting a lot is to travel this year. I travelled last year a bit with my friend and spent 3 months in another country during the summer and it was phenomenal: i wanted this again for 2023. I want to live my life yk.

Well this morning my mum woke me up to tell me we are going on 2 holidays. one next month and one in easter. Athens, Greece and Verona and Venice, Italy.

i was like omg this is amazing ?? we had talked a bit about it and every time we did i was like “yes. we’re going” in my head. and today we booked those holidays.

Now what’s so special about this? Well i made a pinterest board end of 2022 with places i wanna go def this year!! every time i looked at this board i was like “it’s done” [just the way i think ab every desire, because it is done, it’s mine, it literally comes from my consciousness so it’s inseparable to me]

and yeah!! i have 2 other places on this pinterest board but it’s literally the 31st of January 2023 rn and we’ve already booked for 2 of them so that’s a fucking success. i’m so confident more than ever about my power and how the 3D truly is just a reflection of my consciousness/ state i dwell on often!!!!!

yeah as u can see i literally have athens, venice, paris and amsterdam pics on here as a vision board :))))

i want to thank @0t0mie @lotusmi and @angelsinluv (also to twitter users that explanation states v well and posted motivating content . i don’t rlly use twitter for loa stuff cus my irl friends follow me there but there’s a community over there i would lurk on that encouraged states and helped me understand that the mindless affirming in aim to TRY and get ur manifestation was pointless)

anyways i cannot wait to post more loa success stories. this way of manifesting not only makes so much sense once u grasp it. it literally is so fucking easy and effortless 😩 cannot believe it took me this look to figure it out but honestly its fine. my desires are already mine now. that’s all that matters 😎💪

#loa #law of assumption #states loa #manifesation #manifesting #manifesting success #neville goddard #void state #spiritual #subliminals #shifting #shifting consciousness #consciousness

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findafight · 2 years

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Oh my god!!! That Steve/baby sister fic!!! If you ever want to build it out more I’d be obsessed (ie the party + extended party’s reactions, hop + Joyce and how everyone pitches in)

╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯ awwww anon!!!!!

Honestly I have been thinking about it and I know I put in the tags of the original post, buuuut. Robin called Steve Bud or Buddy which morphed into Bubba when they are being particularly soft with each other, and the baby (who I am possibly leaning towards calling Tina so her nickname can be Tintin because it's cute idk) picks up on it so calls Steve her Bubba. Also because "he's my big brother" can sort of become "he's my Bubba!" If words are smushed together by baby babble

But before all that, Steve (who walked to work that day because he didn't have a baby car seat yet and wasn't going to leave his baby sister whom he always wanted and loves so dearly already ALONE or worse. With their FATHER.) goes to, of all people, Mrs. Wheeler for help. He'd go to Joyce but she's working and Karen Wheeler has the youngest kid he knows so is the best bet for maybe getting some tips and also maybe a carrier because the bjorn isn't going to cut it for long. So he goes and Mr. Wheeler immediately thinks Steve's Accidental Baby Acquisition is due to Steve's own recklessness. (Steve is a prolific lover, sure, but he's smart and safe about it! When he was thirteen his dad sat him down for a talk about not wanting the disgrace of a shotgun wedding and his grandpa gave him a run down of venereal diseases he saw (didn't mention having but. Well.) His pals have in WWII that put the fear of God in him regarding unsafe sex. Moreso than the potential babies. So. He's always very careful. For this very reason!! Except apparently his dad didn't use his own advice but Steve isn't complaining because, once again, he always wanted a little sibling.)

Anyways the wheelers are like ohhhh a Harrington Scandal not involving the boy our daughter dated? Okay sure here's Holly's old baby carseat. Hopper is just. He's like. I thought Steve and that kid I kept giving warnings to about selling dope to were a thing and Steve is like "will people stop assuming she's mine!! I know I am a bit of a slut but I am terrified of chlamydia!!! And even if this WAS my fault (which it is not and also she's a gift I love you little baby sister you're the light of my life) I am taking responsibility for it so maybe we all need to be a little less judgy hmmm??"

Joyce and Karen give him some hand me down baby clothes and books, some good tips about feeding and burping and things like that, and Claudia and Sue offer to come passive aggressively congratulate Steve's dad.

Dustin is a little jealous because this Steve Time is going to be encroached upon by This Literal Infant but Steve is like Dustin... you are my Little Brother... My silly pal...Now you have a sister too!! 🥰 And Dustin is like Oh Shit That's Right and proceeds to try to teach this Literal Infant, it cannot be stressed enough that she is a few months old and cannot stay sitting up by herself, how to build a radio.

Eddie is just trying to not have a heart attack from the concentration of Pure Longing activated by seeing Steve With A Baby and has also been forbidden from playing anything loud near them. He is fine and deals with this by writing ballads that make Gareth gag from their sweetness and Jeff have a very knowingly indulgent look when he sees the lyrics. But Gareth lets he hit his drums with he baby hands and Jeff pretends she stole his nose so they aren't that put out by it.

El is Fascinated by the tiny human and asks lots of questions and wants to play with her, give her experiences of softness and kindness right off the bat she knew she herself was denied, so she's often the official baby holder when Steve needs to do something when the Party is around.

The rest of the party is pretty meh on the baby. Sure it's exciting at first but she just kinda becomes part of regular life. They take turns doing actual babysitting for Steve so he can work or run errands or even, gasp, have some normal early adult fun times, but it's all pretty regular. Erica is glad she's not the party baby anymore.

They do however probably secretly fight over who gets to be baby's godparent. Steve isn't allowed to know.

#anonasaurus #steve harrington #big brother steve #the party #stranger things #steddie #platonic stobin #dustin and steve #findaanswers #finda's rambles #finda writes stuff

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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So Me and my boyfriend have been dating since highschool Jr year. It's been a while since then, I'm in trade school and he works at McDonald's. Lately, he's been working very late, for two weeks straight and I understand he's been busy but it feels like he was ignoring me Because the times he was "working" were more than 8-hour long shifts. This cycle kept repeating for 2 weeks and during these 2 weeks, I would express to him that I felt ignored and neglected since he barely had been speaking to me. I was lucky if I got 10 texts a day at most. Which compared to before was very little. I would tell him how I felt and he would apologize saying "sorry babe didn't mean to make you feel that way" and then he would turn around and ignore me again in the same day or the day after. This started to wear on me and it felt like I was being brushed off each time. And this Thursday it all came to a head. For context I suffer from bpd, and being ignored triggers me, I am working on the issue and trying to be better but these past 2 weeks it feels like he was just doing the one thing I asked him not to do, over and over again. And he didn't communicate very well to me, if he was stressed with work or having issues at home I would have understood if he briefly explained. But he didn't I would ask him over and over again if he was okay and he'd just brush me off and say he's fine.

This last thrusday though he did the same thing, from Thursday 9 am to 7. He was "working" and only sent me 4 texts that day. I asked him what was up and why he won't communicate with me and he ignored me MORE. And I had enough and just blew up, I told him that how he was treating me isn't fair, and it's making me unhappy and I feel negelcted and not loved, I told him I felt like he was pushing me away and for what reason I'm not sure. I was fed up and told him if he wanted to break up we could but if he didn't he should call me to work things out. He didn't call me and ignored me more. I took a few hours to myself and then I texted him to explain more, and kind of apologize. I told him that I didn't mean to be so explosive with my anger but I still feel like my dwellings were valid and I explained to him that he just went cold on me for two weeks and didn't explain anything to me. And it feels like I cannot reach him anymore, and that I don't want to break up and work on things if I made him unhappy. But it wasn't fair for him to go cold on me like that. I told him I loved him but there's only so much I can take and I needed space, He once again ignored me. This time going silent for 3 days completely.

I texted him like a day later asking if we could speak the following day. Nothing. I asked him the next day if we could meet to the same day, ignored again. I was worried about him so I texted him again the next day asking if he was at least okay and he ignored me for a couple of hours, before saying he was fine and he's not ready to talk. I respected that and told him I understand and to text when he was ready. I also apologized to him and told him that i was truly sorry for how i acted and that he didnt deserve that. He lied again and said he had work that day (it was Sunday, before the fight happened he told me he ONLY had Sunday off, I'm pretty sure it's illegal to have someone working for 7 days straight) I didn't call him out on this because I was scared I'd upset him more so I just told him I loved him and to have a good day at work.

He ignored me, again.

Please be so honest, am I the asshole? I feel like the asshole for blowing up on him and I know it was wrong for me to do that to him but I just felt stuck and emotionally stuck after being hurt by him almost daily and telling him so only to get ignored. On my end this feels shitty, and I do wish I could take back what happened but I can't. I also feel this is unfair, everytime My feelings get hurt and I express them he doesn't go to the same lengths to Apologize or make it up to me or even make a long term change, but when I hurt his feelings he acts like this and acts like I just committed some war crime against him. Maybe im being unfair but I feel unheard. I'm afraid this may be the end of our relationship and i dont want that.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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“Eddie,” Robin says, eyes wide in a way that means trouble. “Edward Munson, I sincerely hope your last will and testament is in order, because you are going to completely and totally die when I tell you who just got hired at Scoops Ahoy.”

Eddie groans. “Don’t tell me Tammy Thompson is giving up on her Nashville dreams.”

“No, I hate you, shut up forever, you’ll never guess.” Robin pauses, then in a dramatic whisper she’s definitely picked up from Eddie himself, says: “Steve Harrington.”

“Jesus. No shit?”

“Yeah, I have to train him. Oh my god it’s the worst. He’s so bad at, like, everything.”

She shoves at his shoulder until he moves out of the doorway of the trailer, and flings herself backwards onto his couch. “Like! Okay! I showed up to my shift thinking it would be a completely normal day in which I would be bored out of my skull distributing frozen dairy products to the flotsam and jetsam of Hawkins, and Ned’s like, hey Robin, you’re showing the new guy the ropes today. And then that freaking jackass has the freaking nerve to say—” Her voice drops a full register. “Uhh, nice to meet you, I’m Steve. Nice to meet you! God!”

Eddie cringes sympathetically, sucking air between his teeth. There’s a special kind of indignity to being so completely and utterly below the radar of Hawkins High royalty, even former bearers of the crown. It’s not as if Hawkins is a big town; Eddie’s pretty sure he could pick every single person in the graduating classes of ‘84 and ‘85 out of a crowd. He’ll probably be able to do it for ‘86 too, though he’s trying not to think about it too hard. So he’ll be a senior again (again) this fall, whatever. It’s fine. It’s whatever.

Once in a while, he wastes some time really, really wishing he’d gotten to know Robin earlier in the year. Maybe even last year. For undying friendship reasons, yeah, but also because with her in his corner, he might’ve actually passed enough of his classes to fucking graduate on his second fucking try.

But he’d only actually met her, like actually met her for real instead of passing her in the hall sometimes, when he’d let himself get suckered into rejoining band. It wasn’t like he could’ve brought his guitar in, but he let it slip to Miss Genovese that he could read music and keep time, and they needed someone to wallop the bass drum, and he figured a little experience fucking around with percussion might be the one thing he could salvage from the year. He’d just…been so goddamn tired of feeling stuck, spinning his wheels. Music was something he could actually handle; something he could actually get better at. Something he could master. He's man enough to admit he needed a win.

The actual songs were all stuffy Holst and Sousa numbers, but they’d had some fun technical bits he spent his evenings hammering out for a couple weeks. And then right around the point when he’d gotten good enough to get bored and think about quitting like last time, it had somehow wound up that shooting the shit with the gangly weirdo in the trumpet section was one of the best parts of his day. Unfortunately, by the time they’d gotten close enough for her to start bullying him about homework and shit, it had been way too late to save his chance at walking that ‘85 stage with assholes like Steve fucking Harrington.

Not that Harrington would’ve even noticed, apparently.

“Anyway, the one singular saving grace about the entire situation is that he looks even dumber in the sailor costume than I do, so at least that will make me feel better about my life until he gets fired for burning down the ice cream freezer or something like that. Eddie, I cannot stress this enough: he is so bad at this job.”

Eddie very tactfully does not bring up the litany of screw-ups that Robin’s admitted to over the last couple weeks since she started at Scoops; he just says, “Buckley, it sounds to me like you might be in need of some quality relaxation time this fine evening. I can offer you a nice cold beer, some herbal refreshment…or a fiendishly weird new song to learn with an intro riff that'll make you cry.”

Robin, inveterate nerd of his heart, sits up immediately and chirps, “New song, please!” just like he knew she would. She’s going to run off and elope with his acoustic one of these days, and he’s not even mad about it.

“Coming right up, m’lady,” says Eddie. “I promise this entire Harrington situation will be over before you know it, and neither of us will ever have to think about him again.”

(ETA: First chapter of this fic has been edited/expanded and posted on AO3)

#new fic time YET AGAIN yes I know I have other things on the boil #seasonal things even #but I have recently spent 36 hours without sleep in airports/airplanes bc the nation of britain is 0% equipped to handle subzero temps #I literally kept myself sane by rereading nice comments I'd saved on my phone so thanks for that y'all #and I just needed to work on a thing that wasn't an angsty mid-90s Steve POV set in chicago; this was next on the docket #I'm just out here vibing with my Eddie & Robin: Gay BFFs agenda #obviously this will be steddie eventually but it feels disingenuous to tag on this part #fyi this will not be fully compliant with Rebel Robin but there may be some details drawn from the book/podcast #fic: purify our misfit ways

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800-dick-pics · 2 years

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Yeah....so we have to move again.

My partner and I are both in a physically unsafe situation but before i even get into the very long why my partner and I have to move again, and the violence we have endured in this place, imma just put our pay links bc this is actually very urgent.

Cashapp: $sleepyhen or $grumblybear

Venmo: wildwotko or XochiRose

TW: Anti Black Violence/Misogynoir, Sexual Harassment, Ableism, Threats of Violence, C@rt*l Violence.

(I ask you to please not trigger tag this so our post doesnt get hidden by an algorythm)

If you follow me and even if you dont you may have seen my donation posts about leaving my abusers house, and I am very greatful for that help but it seems that we have gone from one bad situation to a worse one.

Due to our housing situation with my toxic parent, my partners parents offered up their village home for us to live in, them acting as landlords.

In late Jan we moved to my partners home village, My partners family is all from here and the house we are currently leaving is under construction. We initially stayed at a different family members home, due to the unfinished remodeling. My partner and I were staying with a family member who is affiliated with the c@rt*l and we had no choice about this. Durring the 5 days out of the 3 weeks we were susposed to stay, I was sexually harassed, objectified and called anti black slurs, both of us were screamed and belittle for being disabled, we were threatened with physical violence from basically c@rt*l paid off police, among many other things that ended up having us having to barricade ourselves inside the room we were staying in. That night that happened we basically had to take all of our bags and go to the house under construction because we felt so unsafe.

Once we were here in the house we are currently planned to leave from, We tried to settle in for the night but still feared for the violence their family member threatened. The next morning we has realized that this house was WAYYY more under construction than our landlords (my partners parents) had made it out to seem. We were very uncomfortable and exposed with no windows, doors, limited power and no gas for cooking. My partner explained these problems to their family and they werent taken seriously because "atleast we werent on the street or dead". As dismissive as they were we tried to make lemonade out of lemons and have this house become our home.

Things were fine for a few weeks, but the house was still barely liveable, and we had expressed frustration by this but were understanding. My partners parents made it seem like they didnt have enough funds to finish some aspects of the house so I stupidly gave them $$$ from our own food/bill money to help install windows. It took another month for that to happen, and after the window bases without glass were installed we were told by my partners father that he was coming in a week to this house.

We were confused and stressed because they made it sound like they dont have enough funds but book a same week ticket? We got the house clean and mostly void of construction materials, and the first thing out of my partners fathers mouth was straight up belittling my partners ability and arguing that we dont deserve a house we cant clean.

Over the course of the 10 days my partners father was here they were verbally and physically abused and had felt like they had to endure for the affordable housing. Their father was also being very anti black and abusive to me, expecting me to basically be a "woman in their place", which did not sit with me, and on one of the last days he was here my partner and him were arguing because he was trying to talk shit about me but in spanish to skirt around me from understanding.

But i understand more spanish than he knew and i confronted him and said "Sir if you have anything to say about or to me you can say it to my face, and you are not my father or my grandfather, you do not and cannot control me, I am not going to have a man tell me what i can and cannot do, what i can and cannot say and how i can and cannot act" And he was taken aback that a black "woman" put him in his place, so not only does he flip out he basically tells my partner that they need to control me better and left. The day before he leaves he makes an excuse to get something from our room and he decides to go through my purse and steal my copy of the house keys out of spite. There is quite a bunch more smaller things that I could talk about but what is most important is what has been happening this past two months In early July durring the height of the rainy season here, there were intense rain/thunder storms that exposed a leaking roof and structural issues to us. Our ceiling began to crack and leak, the stone base around the old windows were crumbling. My partner told their parents about this, and how the structural issues should be the newest focus for the construction, they were told "Not everthing can be done when you want it to" and they basically ignored the problem

In late July we were giving a very vauge "men are gonna come paint the house" with no more detail, and later were called to be told painters would be here on the last sunday of July, we waited and they never came.

Then Tuesday August 2nd my partners cousin (the contractor working on the house) showed up with their family cleaning lady, and It was odd for us but she cleaned the house and whilst leaving we were told "oh your (my partners) parents said that this house has to be perfectly clean and the painters could either come later today or tomorrow". After he left my partner called their parents asking not only why are they not telling us whats going on with the house but also why are they going to paint over structural damnage, they initially took it ok and agreed to halt the painting until the house was structurally sound.

The next day my partner had a telehealth therapy appt and I had a digital lecture for school, and before either of us were able to do those things my partners cousin and the same cleaning lady came back without warning. They basically tell us that theyre cleaning to paint the house, and contradicting what my partners parents agreed too the night before. On the phone with their parents my partner tried to get them to see how paint is unimportant to the house and for them to care about the structural issues but they didnt care and blamed both of us for "not wanting things to be done". Also that day the painters did not come, so at this point we are being given vauge times for these workers to come over and we ask to be kept in the loop, and given a proper date and time for these things so we can be out of the house. They also refused this request.

Thursday they come again in the morning to prep for these mystery painters, and when the contractor and cleaning lady leave we have only 3 hours of peace to ourselves when my partners cousin comes back with a strange dude. They tell us that they are here to rip up all the plants in the yard, and I explain that its fine to pull the plants around the house but not in the back which is my garden. When they were done pulling plants around the house they tried to "help" me by pulling up the plants in my garden. Both my partner and I explained that growing plants and tending to them is very important to me, and that im more than capable of doing the "weed pulling" by myself. My partners cousin agreed a then left, but later that night he called my partner telling a different story. A translated/shortened version of what was

said "Im not just mad im fucking pissed that a (black) woman told me what to do and how to do my job, Youre (my partner) the man of the house (theyre not a man) you need to do better at controlling them, because this isnt their place to be making choices about the house"

At this point we are both highly considering leaving because of the horrible treatment of me and my partner, We try to calm down and sit with our feelings to see if we can work things out here but we decide that If we cant get their parents/family to respect us and esp me then we cant stay. Friday the 5th is fine for the start of the day and we are left alone until late afternoon. We get a call from my partners cousin who tells u that at 5 the painters are going to be there. We move the couches and large home pieces and wait for them for over an hour, and when they come back over my partner sees that they did not come over with paint and the painting supplies but gardening tools to rip up my garden.

At this point i am LIVID because not only did he lie to us he did this all out of spite for me being an "out of control woman who needs to be put in their place". I start screaming and calling him a liar because he lied to us. When he is in the yard where we cant see he cuts HALF OF OUR HOMES POWER which powers the AC which i NEED to control my POTS in the subtropics. Again he did this to get back at me knowing i would suffer because of this. After he leaves we basically agree that we will not be staying here because of all the abuse and violence both of us have gone through. I personally feel safer with my black abusive parent than staying where we are now, I now had to reconnect back and talk to my family again and ask for a place to stay again. Thankfully we wont be on the street but we are going right back to my abusers home. I am still mentally numb from this but It quiet frankly physically safer than staying around my partners very violent anti black family.

Durring the time right after that series of events we start planning our leave, get some help from a close family member so we can fly back, and start re-packing basically everything we own. We disconnect the home phone, we dont open the door and we are very frim with everyone telling my partners various family members that until we are gone this house is not gonna be available to be worked on because we have to pack. They continually fight this almost everyday since we have told them. They keep telling us that we cant just not let the workers in, and we explained that we will be doing that so we have enough time and space to pack literally everything we own.

Yesterday our landlords, my partners abusive parents sent their cousin to BREAK IN to our house and threaten us, because we werent letting workers in. Again they sent someone to break in our house because we had boundaries and needed to pack. We were both hella shocked that they would go to such lengths to manipulate n scare us into doing what they want. After my partner confronted their cousin who literally just broke in, they argued and he eventually left, so after he left i had to barricade the door/gate and use 12 gauge wire to wrap around the locks so even if theyre broken open they cant be moved. Quite frankly im very triggered because this is not the 1st time ive experienced people breaking into my space to be violent and threaten me. My partner and I are/were still in shock and later that night, their mother gets my partners oldest very physically and verbally abusive brother to threaten them.

The blacked out name is their second oldest brother who is a cop, They are threatening to basically come to this house and beat my partner which they have a history of doing.

My partners family has been abusive, violent, anti black, and with the recent escalation we are pretty scared for our safety. We had to sleep in turns last night because the paranoia of them breaking back in to hurt us was so great. We are planned to leave late on the 25th which leaves us one more week to endure.

This is only the highlights of the horrible shit we had to endure here, because we know my partners family can and will do anything to hurt us, I will be sharing the legal names of the several different people who have threatened violence against me and my partner to close friends/family if we go "missing". I genuinely hope yall understand why we need to leave and get funds for re-re-starting our lives. I genuinely ask you not to dm me questions abt this because I am rather traumatized and paranoid at this time.

#hey i dont know how to tag this but pls share #there is a lot of shit going on and we need to just be somewhere safer #If were moots then im ok with dms but pls no strangers and non friends

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tenjikubaby · 1 year

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i say let them cook 🔥🔥🔥

I have returned from the dead. Happy Izana and Mocchi anime debut + other Tenjiku member crumbs! Here, have a post that has been cooking in my drafts.

RAN

Ran, cooking for himself, would go for easy, “lazy” recipes if ordering takeout wasn’t an option. If he’s cooking for you, though, he would want to impress. He’ll browse a bunch of recipe lists on his laptop and pick the most impressive-looking dishes thinking that cooking them “can’t be that hard.”

Goes on a trip to the grocery store for fresh ingredients, but soon finds out, after procrastinating his cooking that a) he got the wrong condiment/spice, or b) got the wrong cut of meat, or c) forgot a very important ingredient so Rindou kinda just finds his usually calm brother panicking in the kitchen because he doesn’t really want to disappoint. He soon regrets ever appearing because Ran sends him to the grocery store to get the right ingredients.

Rindou’s troubles did not end there because Ran had him help out in the cooking process when the guy just wanted to play video games. “Rindou, which one is the cilantro again?” “Rindou, slice the carrots.” “Rindou, why aren’t the slices even?” “Rindou, this is too salty. I think you oversea—” and poor Rin kind of just loses it.

RINDOU

He and Ran have the money to constantly eat out or order takeout, but ever since Rindou started following a diet, he’s learned to cook healthy dishes for himself. He’ll probably want to fix up something healthy for you too. What can I say, he cares about your health! Might actually scold you if he finds out you’ve been eating fatty stuff too often.

Rindou proposed the idea to you without thinking and didn’t expect you to agree so now he has to deliver! The pressure he feels to perform is no joke--like Ran, he would rather eat coal than disappoint his expectant S/O.

He’s a decent enough cook, more okay with getting his hands dirty than Ran. He’s no Kakucho, but he gets along just fine. If he can make food that’s edible and nutritious, then that’s good, right? But because of you, Rindou finds himself watching a bunch of how-to videos before the day of the house date.

Will be over the moon if you liked what he made! Eats up the praise and feels really good about himself. Does a dorky little fist pump and a deep sigh of relief once out of your sight.

SHION

Shion always goes for fast food/junk food if not eating over at someone else’s place or bullying people into giving him money for food. This guy cannot cook. He’d have to ask for help from another S62 member for this. He tries to ask Mocchi, Mucho, Rindou, and even Izana but they all just refer him to Kaku. Shion would rather die before asking someone younger than him for help. I mean, Kaku is already stronger and better than him at fighting and he’s bitter about that. It takes you telling him that you’re looking forward to his dish that he finally gives in, swallows his pride, and asks for help.

Shion was a difficult student. He’s the type to keep insisting that he already knows all the procedures and cooking terms only to fail at them horribly. It takes all of Kaku’s patience for them to get through the recipe.

When he gets something right, Shion starts to idealize cooking. He imagines himself finding a new passion in cooking, imagining Gordon Ramsay praising his dish, and running his own restaurant but this all stops when Kaku tells him to fry an egg.

IZANA

If he’s feeling stressed about preparations, the other Tenjiku boys have no choice but to help or else he’s going to make it everyone’s problem. They can even pinch stuff from your feast if they want.

Probably saves a bunch of recipes and has trouble deciding which ones to cook for you because he wants to make them all. Kaku helps him settle on a few easy dishes (”No, Izana. We can’t make Risotto. That’s difficult for beginners.”)

I’d place him at a spot higher than Rindou and Ran if we were to rank them all. Izana doesn’t really need that much help figuring out how things are done if he’s never done them before. Would feel more confident attempting to experiment in the kitchen. Has a thing for decorating too.

To buy ingredients, he would use his gang money to get everything he needs. For you, he’ll go for fancier/pricier than what he usually gets for himself. Would not just cook one dish as well. Would make up an entire feast for the both of you. Likes a dinner date with lights and everything. Might even play his guitar for you or put on a movie.

KAKUCHO

You don’t even need to ask Kaku to cook for you because he’ll want to do it the moment he falls in love. Anniversaries are where he’d prepare a whole candlelit dinner for the two of you. There’d be a full-course meal consisting of food you both enjoy.

Like Rindou, Kaku can be health-conscious (though I’d say Rindou is stricter on himself), and would want to make nutritious stuff for you. He’s got this double standard where he’s okay with eating really unhealthy food from time to time but doesn’t want you to do the same.

He’d be more prepared than the others. Kaku takes note of any allergies you may have, or ingredients that you love/hate. He knows how to deal with picky eaters too. If you hate some veggies because of their texture, then he’ll find a way to make them you-friendly.

MOCCHI

I headcanon that he goes to the gym with Rindou and Kaku and has traded recipes with them once in a while though Mocchi would eat anything from healthy to unhealthy, because he can “work it all off” anyway.

Mocchi’s a great cook. His dishes are more of the homey, hearty comfort food type. He learned to cook from his mom, so a lot of the stuff he makes were recipes learned from her. It’s also kind of a way for him to share his childhood with his loved one/s.

If you like corn like he does, then good for you! He’ll find a way to put corn in any and every dish he makes. For him, you just can never go wrong with corn. But if you don’t like corn, he’d be unable to comprehend that fact for a while before deciding to adjust his recipes for you.

MUCHO

Mucho would be great at desserts. He dreams to run a cafe someday, so he has learned to cook and bake and make coffee early on. In fact, I think he’d make you try a lot of these recipes before putting them on his future cafe menu.

He takes this all really seriously and it’s endearing. He asks for your constructive criticism after you try the food and makes sure to create a good ambiance where you’re eating too. To top it all off, he’ll even play some relaxing instrumentals in the background!

Each dish in the meal complements each other wonderfully. He selects the perfect side dishes to go with what, and the perfect drink and dessert to go with it all. It’s such a well-planned meal and you can tell he really put thought into it.

There is a soft smile on his face as he watches you enjoy the food. He’s a big Acts of Service guy, I just know it.

#ran haitani #rindou haitani #shion madarame #izana kurokawa #kakucho #kanji mochizuki #yasuhiro muto #tenjikubaby #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #tenjiku

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k-dokja · 2 years

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summary: oh, you would be a fine queen if only you vied for the crown

settings: pre-relationship + reader is the child of a duke + talks of an arranged marriage + reader's mom is pretty :) uh :)

author's note: i was writing this then i remember i have no idea about malleus' characterization beyond wanting to clown him now i'm in tears. help.

your mother arrives at the study an hour after dinner, "have you thought about it?" she asks, offhandedly. like this wouldn't be an important decision which will change your life forever.

you have expected her to ask about this when she arrived. the only slight delay happened when she pretended for a few minutes to browse your bookshelves. after not finding anything of interest, she changed her focus on you.

"it's only been an hour," you sigh as you set aside your pen. at her mention, you no longer want to deal with this pile of documents. there's only so much stress you can take at once and your mother is the more formidable opponent.

"aren't you good at making snap decisions during battle?" she smirks. "time to apply this skill to determining your future."

again, you sigh, "you're comparing my future marriage with war," dryly, you add, "i didn't know it has to be that stressful. what happened to marrying for love?"

"you're a smart girl," your mother idly browses the books again, if only to find something to do while conversing, "you have more than enough achievements to back up your credibility, you care for the people and understand them, your subordinates adore you and many would die for your cause, your education exceeds that of your siblings, and you are beautiful even if it is not extraordinary compared to them"

you scrunch your nose. it is not every day one hears their own mother say they're above average but not outstanding. however, you keep your mouth shut. you've always known your qualities lie more in your capabilities than appearance.

"you'd be a good queen," your mother picks a book to peruse, "crown prince malleus agrees, too."

"is that why you're pressing me?" you sigh the third time in that conversation. "because i already received his approval?"

"yes," she says, "is that so surprising?"

no, it isn't. at the same time, you cannot say you were expecting this to happen. "we've only met in passing. his highness doesn't even know who i am as a person."

she shrugs, "he knows enough to applaud your accomplishments, and," her eyes trail away from you to admire the curtains in the study. she set it up once upon a time, along with every other piece of furniture you never bothered to change. "he's a better prospect than that boy under your command... what was his name, kendrick?"

"kieran," you correct her.

"yes, yes, kiernan," she replies absent-mindedly, "you've managed to achieve a lot, my dear. you should go for the highest height you can reach."

you have known your mother your entire life. you know what urged her to urge you but you won't bring it up. there is no point to pursue a conversation she will avoid deftly. not when she has shown that she has no care for your actual opinion on the matter, only to inform you of what would be prudent to do.

"is that an order?"

"hm?"

"courting with prince malleus."

"oh," your mother stares back at you, then fixes on an indulgent smile, "of course not, but if you're open to the idea, i believe he'd be interested in having tea with you the next time you're at the palace."

with a frown, you bite down on your lower lip, "i'll think about it."

"good," your mother says, putting the book in her hand back to the shelf, "but don't think for too long, that's how all the good ideas run away."

"yes, mother."

with that, your mother flits out of the study and leaves you to your solitude. somehow, even without her in the room no longer, the weight of her expectation remains with you.

you sigh. fourth time in under ten minutes. no longer feel compelled to finish your work.

"your mother worries about me?"

kieran helps you on your horse. you don't need the assistance but accept it out of habit. he has been a companion since you haven't known how to saddle your ride. even after you have long mastered equestrianism, he's always ready to lend a helping hand whenever he's around.

"she worries about everything, but i say you shouldn't mind it," you say, "she doesn't even remember your name."

"ouch," he puts his hand on his chest but on his lips is a boyish grin, "that hurts. i thought i'd be more memorable. she even smiled at me whenever i greeted her."

you shrug, "she smiles at everyone, you know what she's like. matters at the court interest her more than the ones out at the frontier."

"maybe we've been away for too long that she forgot me," kieran muses and leads his own horse over to yours. "should i reacquaintance with her...?"

"no," you answer, "it's better for you to stay forgettable. she has the habit of removing people she finds to be the thorn at her side."

after he saddles his horse, kieran laughs at what he probably assumes to be a joke. but when he double-checks your expression, he stops and swallows nervously, "wait, you don't think she would...?"

admittedly, while it's funny to see him fret, you really don't have the heart to confirm his worry. you know he won't like the answer, there's no reason to say it out loud.

the two of you set into an easy rhythm while you tread down the road towards the capital. he's quick to bounce back from the unnerving conversation, shifting towards a more pleasant topic.

"so, prince malleus, huh?" he says breezily, "that's a high climb."

unlike his namesake, kieran possesses an easygoing disposition which befits his mess of unruly blond hair. you admire it at times and detest it at others. during this conversation, your feeling was somewhere in the middle until he mentioned the climb.

"haven't i done enough?" you huff, then correct, "i'm not whining, by the way. i'm fully prepared to deal with my duty and i know what must be done, i find purpose in helping my people and improving their livelihood. it's simply that..."

"it's not enough in your mother's eyes?" kieran softly suggests.

your shoulder sags, "nothing ever is," you mutter then square up your shoulder again, "i'm being petulant. this is silly. i shouldn't lose my mind about this. mother was correct on one matter, i would be able to do much more if i become queen. if his highness does favour me in the end, then that'd mean there'll be more people i can help. not only for the people of the dukedom but for the entire briar valley."

kieran laughs, softly, "it's nice that you can see the positive in this, but don't dismiss your feelings. you know it's fine to be upset."

it's your turn to laugh. unlike kieran's full of affection, yours is a mockery. to your own situation and no one else. "not in my position, i don't."

there is a lull in your audience with the queen. the meeting has been private due to the sensitive nature of your discussion. however, before you have the chance to extract yourself, the elder woman stops you from the action with her eyes alone.

upon seeing your shock, she smiles. it's not unkind, but there is amusement towards your misstep. "i understand your mother has brought you words of malleus' affection."

you wouldn't call it affection, but you don't contradict the queen. "yes, your majesty."

she nods, "he's young, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. he might've been an elder to the children of men, but he remains a teenager for our people, barely a young adult. he has a lot to learn."

it confuses you where she plans to go with this, but you keep your silence. she does not wait for you to move on. "i have broached the topic of future marriage to him only halfheartedly, but he recommended you quite adamantly."

then, with a slow smile, she says, "it befuddles me because i did not know where this interest was from... until he listed the reasons why you'd make a good queen."

you swallow. it is the same with your mother. both of them thought about what you can do instead of who you are. but you don't begrudge the prince for it, he doesn't know who you are. your mother, on another hand.

"i know you and i know my grandson," she says, "both of you would agree to this arrangement if you think it'd better for the country to unite."

before a sigh can escape you, she adds. "however, i do think it's worth noting that his parents were a love match. as was yours, i believe."

you nod in confirmation. for all of the flaws she has as a mother, her marriage comes from the heart. it confuses you at times to hear her bringing up arranged marriage, but then it dawns upon you that she has achieved both love and power by marrying your mother. the confusion dissipates then, only leaving you with gnawing anxiety.

it'd be too idealistic for you to achieve both, too. in a perfect world, then maybe. unfortunately, your world is already too flawed.

"i do not ask of you or him to fall in love," she clarifies, "but i do think it'd be worth it if you are at least friendly. malleus is only focused on the pragmatic side when he chose you, but i do have faith that you can find a common ground."

the queen smiles again. this time, it's sincere. "after all, who else understands the pressure he's under than you?"

your meeting with the queen is a brief one. full of words with weight and thoughts to contemplate on. you will have to deal with what she has told you of the prince, eventually, but for now, you've done what you come here for.

you would've gotten the same done if you have sent an emissary. however, you have other meetings in the capital you intend to do in person, which means you wouldn't have to leave yet.

kieran has chosen to stay back at the inn. even if getting to meet the queen is an honour, he has volunteered to run a few other errands for you. this frees you up for the afternoon, although you see little point in it.

as you stride down the halls of the palace, your brain immediately mulls over what possible agenda you use to fill this free time slot. since kieran has taken care of the easy chores, you need to discuss with a few merchants about expanding trade routes through your territory, then visit a family friend who lives in the city.

and then—

"oh."

upon hearing the call for your title and name, you stop the pace of your jogging. immediately, a business smile sets on your lips but it slips when you see exactly who you come to face with.

"your highness," you recover your fluster with a curtsy, "i hadn't expected to see you."

"i live here and hardly ever left," malleus answers wryly, "it wouldn't have been that difficult to run into me unless you were purposefully avoiding me."

the lightheartedness of the prince is something you did not foresee. at least, not from his appearance. even without his horns, his highness stands tall, not broad but imposing anyway. his reptilian eyes stand out in their chartreuse green.

the color of his fire, you note.

aside from what you have heard about him, your experience with prince malleus is limited to formal meetings where you can only exchange pleasantries. beyond that, he was too young when you left for the frontier to have any substantial memories of him.

you force a laugh, "of course not, your highness," you say, "i've only meant to be here for a short while to meet her majesty, i didn't expect to run into anyone else."

"hm, talking with my grandmother...?" he hums. "am i arrogant to assume this has something to do with me?"

keeping your face impassive, you swallow, "a bit, yes," you thread your fingers together, "we mostly talked about the trade expansion in my hometown, but we did mention you."

his eyes gleam and you realize they shine like gems under the limited lighting of the palace's halls. "mhm."

if your mother pretends she wasn't listening to continue the conversation, prince malleus urges you on by giving you the full of his attention. it's jarring and intense in an alien way to be under the full force of the prince's scrutiny. luckily, you've lived your entire life under pressure.

"it'd be nice to be friends, your highness, if possible."

"that you'd appreciate a friend, your highness."

his eyes widen imperceptibly at your answer. he opens his mouth, but the only word he articulated is "oh?", leaving the floor for you to take.

"i don't know about... future plans," you press your lips together, "but i do want to know you before anything. we both have our own obligations and i don't want to mess anything up but..."

your lack of eloquence vanishes when it comes to moments of vulnerability. you have noticed this happened once before, earlier in the day. before it can fluster you, malleus smiles.

it's surprisingly gentle, "i understand," then, he laughs, it sounds sweet. you never expect his laughter to sound sweet. "friends... i admit it's not a familiar word, but it's not an unwelcomed one," he inclines his head towards you, the glimpse of amusement sparks in his eyes, "i look forward to getting to know you."

you laugh. perhaps genuinely for the first time in days, "it'd be my honour, your highness."

"please, call me malleus."

#malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #fics #i... lost my track of thoughts when i began to write malleus #🤷‍♂️

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nothorses · 1 month

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Hi! I just read your post on transtape(wonderful resource btw, thank you!!) And was wondering if you have any info on alternating using transtape and binding? Like using transtape for a few days, then taking it off and binding(normally for like 8 hours) for the next few days? I know when done right both are safe, but can't find any info on using one method then the other and if that affects anything(whenever I Google binding and transtape it gives me results for both at once. Which is not at all what I meant) but yeah! Feel free to ignore this if you're not answering binding questions! I just thought you might know

to my knowledge, you can use them alternating like that just fine! that's what I did before top surgery, and it worked great for me.

obligatory "I'm not a medical professional", and check the notes on this post for additions in case folks add something I don't know about.

but compression binding and tape impact your body in very different ways- to my knowledge, unrelated ways- and you're not like, compounding the risks of compression binding by using tape sometimes as well. as long as you're using them both in the recommended ways (especially when removing tape please I cannot stress this enough) the use of another method while you take a break from one shouldn't exacerbate any risks.

again, not a medical professional, just speaking to what I know and have experienced personally.

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homunculus-argument · 2 years

Text

I know I'm playing with fire with Tumblr's reading comprehension with this opening sentence, but here we go: Using stereotypes as a basis for a character is actually perfectly fine if you know what you're doing. It's actually surprisingly easy to do in a way that'll result in a pretty good character instead of an absolute garbage fire, with just two simple rules:

use in-group stereotypes, never out-group stereotypes

never use just one, take two unrelated ones and combine them

Every group that can be defined has both in-group stereotypes - the things the people have observed about themselves and their peers, which are generally harmless and a way to laugh about themselves, and out-group stereotypes, which are usually negative and often harmful. It's the difference between "hahah why are we all like this" and "hahah why are they all like this".

I cannot stress enough that this is the line between doing a pretty good character and spectacularly fucking up. If you aren't confident in your ability to tell apart what stereotype is out-group and which is in-group, you're going to need to either be really careful, or not risk it at all. Look up online communities of this specific group, and see what kind of jokes they make about their own lives and communities. Memes about trans women from trans forums? Yes. Memes about trans women from non-LGBT forums? Absolutely not.

While the first point is the distinction between making a character that's ok and a character that is not ok, the second part is the one between a character that's flat and mediocre, and one that has depth, is interesting and feels real. Nobody is ever just one thing in life, even if you don't belong to any distinct group or groups.

By "unrelated" I mean two groups that aren't in the same cathegory, ones that aren't immediately connected or contradictory wich each other. As an example, let's pick two unrelated ones - first generation immigrant parent, and being an adult with undiagnosed ADHD.

So you've got someone's dad. He's devoted to his family and already once uprooted himself and left behind everything he knew in order to give his kids a chance at a better life, and would absolutely do that again in a heartbeat. And yet, despite of doing his best, he keeps missing appointments and forgetting important assignments and paperwork, being frustrated both with himself and the new country and all their fucking rules.

Without a community around him, neither he, his kids nor the local people can exactly tell how much of the way he is are cultural things and how much is just who he is as a person. He'll argue that being punctual can't possibly be important and that people weren't that nitpicky about it back home - regarless of how true that is - and will try to cook traditional dishes, but his kids still don't really know what they're supposed to taste like when they aren't overseasoned, overcooked or slightly burned.

He'll occasionally get into a wave of being absolutely fixated with some game or hobby that's popular in the old homeland, forgetting nearly everything else, and his kids will tell people "ugh, not every middle-aged man from [country] is obsessed with [game]. ...Okay my dad is, but he's an outlier and should not have been counted."

Altogether, he's not a perfect person, but well-meaning and doing his best in life. And is also now a fairly well-rounded character with depth and personality.

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run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 1 year

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What if Izzy and the reader also attended the fancy party from episode 5? Izzy would hate dressing up, but the reader might be into Izzy's look, maybe even give him a reward for playing along~ (like pulling him into a closet during the party... Do ships have closets? They should, for making out with small angry men)

Every ship should have a mandatory 'to make out with small angry men' closet.

Proper Fun:

Plenty of ‘appropriate ensembles’ had been offered up by Bonnet, and each had Izzy turning his nose up at them as his stomach turned. There was no chance he was getting forced into one of those monstrosities, even Edward was holding back his laughter. Izzy truly thought he was going to have an aneurysm when Bonnet brought out the pastel options.

When Edward had announced some of the crew were going to some high class boat party, Izzy had told him it was a terrible idea but he would not be deterred. Then Edward had insisted that Izzy join them and he was certain that it couldn’t get worse.

If you hadn't been there, Izzy would have probably ended up committing some sort of murder suicide. You had seen the absolute disaster taking place and stepped in, taking over the whole affair. Only letting Stede offer advice when it came to what garments would be expected at such a party.

There hadn’t been a black option, which you had really been looking for to make Izzy the most comfortable, but you had spotted a dark blue ensemble. It was perfectly regal enough to satisfy Stede and Edward, but understated enough to satisfy Izzy.

When you had brought it out of the closet and suggested it, Izzy had begrudgingly accepted. It was the lesser of the many evils offered to him, and he knew that.

The outfit was bad enough but letting Frenchie and Wee John tailor the suit to fit him was somehow more humiliating.

Once everyone had their outfits picked out and adjusted accordingly, Izzy was the last to dress. Edward had dressed first and Izzy had put the bows in his beard and hair while you and Stede dressed. Then, it was Izzy’s turn.

The first mate emerged from the secret close, dressed in his new suit and grumbling to himself. You couldn’t help but smile. Sure, it wasn’t something Izzy would normally wear and he was scowling, but he also looked rather dashing.

“You look great, Iz!” Edward beamed at his lifelong friend, sincere in his compliments. He loved dressing up in all these fine fabrics, and he couldn’t see how somebody wouldn’t enjoy it. Surely, Izzy didn’t hate it as much as said, right?

“Certainly an upgrade from your usual attire,” Stede agreed, looking rather pleased with himself, before turning to you, “excellent choice, the colour suits him well, I think.”

Izzy just scoffed and muttered to himself, pulling on the stupid frilly cravat so that he could breathe properly.

You purposely ignored Stede, even though you knew he meant well. “I think you look wonderful, Izzy,” you complimented.

He really hadn’t been happy about attending this party. It wasn’t really your scene, you’d never associated with Stede’s class of people, but you were a little excited just to do something new and different. Izzy could be a bit of a dick but you couldn’t really blame him considering the circumstances that brought him aboard the Revenge, so you had promised to stay by his side and give him excuses to leave and not talk to people.

“All of you, and I cannot stress this enough, fuck off,” Izzy seethed, tugging at his costume again.

The boat ride over to the other ship was only a little painful, with Stede filling you all in on anything you might need to know while Izzy sulked about the whole thing.

Boarding the ship went as smoothly as you could have expected. Izzy was grumbling to himself once again, Edward had introduced himself as Jeff the accountant and kindly introduced Izzy as Basilica, his assistant.

You had taken Izzy’s arm and pulled him away before he could stab the man at the door, leading him inside. You gave the other party goers a polite smile and nod as you passed them, but avoided too much interaction until Izzy wasn’t scowling to himself.

Eventually the two of you had settled in a quiet corner of the main room that you had deemed suitable. Edward was more eager to partake among the other patrons, thriving on the attention. Seemingly enjoying himself among the high society types, but it hadn’t slipped your notice that Izzy was watching him with a concerned expression.

“Relax. For once, I think Stede is the most experienced and prepared for this situation. He’ll look after Edward and if that fails, we’ll burn the damn ship down together,” you promised.

Izzy actually huffed a little laugh to himself. He supposed you were right, these were Bonnet’s people, a world that he didn’t understand, and perhaps he could just keep an eye on things from a distance for now. And Edward did seem like he was having fun…

Plus, burning the ship down would be easier with two people and you were offering. “I grow fonder of you every day.”

You grinned to yourself, Izzy was joking, playing around. He wasn’t relaxed by any means but maybe you could work on that a little. After all, you were at a party and they were supposed to be fun.

“I didn’t realise you were such a romantic,” you teased, “or is that just Basilica?”

“Fucking Edward,” Izzy grumbled.

“I think you mean Jeff, but I understand the sentiment,” you nodded in understanding.

You looked around the room again. You and Izzy had thought the costumes Stede had picked out for everyone were a bit much, but they were nothing compared to some of the things the other people here were wearing.

Fuck this, you were supposed to be at a party. “Alright, let’s at least try to have some fun messing with some posh folks,” you decided. Izzy could hear your determination.

Izzy hummed to himself, he couldn’t see how any of this was fun. “How do you suggest doing that?” he asked.

“A bit of a fuckery?” you proposed.

“...keep speaking,” Izzy looked at you out of the corner of his eye, the slightest hint of interest in his expression.

You smirked to yourself. Sure, the fuckeries were more Edward’s thing, he just had the mind for it, but Izzy couldn’t deny that he often enjoyed them.

“Nothing flashy. We play our roles, just two high society types enjoying a night of debauchery. Show these twats how it’s really done, maybe pick a pocket or two?”

“...suppose we could do that,” Izzy hummed. “But no trouble, Edward was…looking forward to this.”

You couldn’t help but feel fond of him, caring about Edward actually enjoying himself. He could be a prickly bastard but when he cared, he did it with his whole being. He wanted his friend to have fun, probably the only reason he was actually here, hadn’t drawn blood over the whole idea in the first place.

“I have a feeling those two are going to be the ones who end up causing the trouble,” you both watched Edward and Stede mingling, Edward sharing anecdotes, Stede never leaving his side. “How about we start with a dance?” you suggested.

Izzy heaved a sigh but then squared his shoulders, his expression hardening slightly with determination. He moved so that he was standing in front of you, one hand held behind his back while he held his other out for you to take.

You bit back your smile, trying to get into character. “Ask properly, Basilica,” you tutted.

Izzy rolled his eyes but asked, “wanna dance?”

“How charmingly quaint,” you mused, putting on your best fancy voice

“Shut the fuck up,” Izzy’s voice lacked any real bite or malice. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was amused.

You grinned and placed your hand in his, the two of you walking over to where other pairs were dancing.

Izzy kept your hand clasped in his as you placed your other hand on his shoulder, his other hand at your waist. Positioned all proper like.

“You actually know how to dance,” you were stating, not asking. Sure, he was stiff and clearly unpractised, but he seemed to know how he should stand, how it should look.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Izzy huffed but you just raised an eyebrow at him, it was a very fair question in your opinion. He just sighed before explaining. “Never was much into it, saw it though. During my time in the navy.”

“Well, show me what you learnt, Officer Basilica,” your hand slipped further up his shoulder, brushing against his collar.

“Admiral,” Izzy corrected, properly playing along this time. You knew he had probably never become an admiral during his time in the navy, he didn’t talk about his past much but you had gathered that he had joined his first ship young and had still been fairly young when he became a pirate.

“An admiral?” you repeated with a faux impressed gasp.

Izzy smiled a little at the exaggerated look of awe on your face. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be a complete nightmare.

The two of you danced among the crowd, Izzy knew the moves but conducted them stiffly, you didn’t know them well but happily let him lead. Neither of you were as practised as the other dancers and that got you a few looks. Normally Izzy would either shrink away or lash out at the blatant judgement, but you held him still and close, got him to just focus on you and he actually ended up…enjoying himself to some extent. You were having fun, and that encouraged him to keep going and ignore the people around you.

The song came to an end, also putting an end to the dance. Izzy stepped back, one of his hands in his. He bowed at the waist and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, holding your gaze with his own.

Okay, that was genuinely charming. You could only smile at him with genuine awe this time, you couldn’t help but swoon just a little at the gentlemanly act.

“Now, I think we’ve earned some drinks,” you kept Izzy’s hand in your own, leading him over to a man with a tray of champagne glasses.

You released Izzy’s hand to grab two glasses, thanking the man, before turning back to him. Izzy accepted one of the drinks, holding his arm out for you to take. You smiled graciously and looped your arm through his, letting him lead you back to a quiet corner where you could observe the room.

“Do these twats actually enjoy all of this?” Izzy questioned.

Everyone had smiles, everyone seemed to know each other and like each other, but even Izzy could tell that all of it was fake. It was almost as if they were challenging each other. It was all of that…passive aggression, or whatever it was that Bonnet called it. Izzy hated it, preferred when people just said what they meant. He had a feeling that if everyone on this ship spoke their mind, there would be a massacre.

“I think so, in their own way. Probably just like bragging or whatever it is they do to feel superior,” you shrugged, sipping from your glass.

“It’s fucking torture. I mean those lot, they’re laughing…about what? What was so fucking funny?” Izzy asked, nodding towards one of the groups that were laughing among themselves.

“They’re supposed to laugh. It’s all just…acting.” These weren’t the circles you normally found yourself in but you had known people like this, plus Stede had told you enough about the people he grew up around for you to have some sense of how it works. “See him?” you used your glass to gesture towards two men sharing quiet conversation.

“Sure,” Izzy nodded, wondering what you were getting at.

“He came in with that woman over there,” you told him. You had seen them walk in together, hadn’t thought much of it at the time, of course.

“So what?” Izzy looked at you curiously, if not a little impatiently.

“So?” you tutted, like the answer was obvious. “He’s clearly fucking that guy,” you gestured towards the two men again.

“I mean, obviously,” Izzy rolled his eyes. They weren’t as subtle as they probably thought they were. “She probably knows about it, though.”

“But like I said, it’s all just acting. And they all fucking suck,” you shrugged.

Izzy chuckled before finishing his glass.

“Alright,” he nodded thoughtfully, deciding on a new game to play. “What do you think about those three?” he asked, pointing towards another group.

The two of you ended up huddled together in the corner, bitching about the other guests and speculating about their possible gossip. Grabbing fresh glasses of champagne whenever somebody with a tray walked by.

The two of you were actually beginning to have proper fun, laughing between yourselves, when the sound of a clinking glass sounded throughout the room. Some man in some ridiculous looking suit started making a speech and immediately put a damper on your whole evening.

“Alright, it’s getting unbearable now,” Izzy complained, rolling his eyes at whatever the man was talking about.

You had to agree. “Let’s take a walk,” you gave a small tug to his arm before slipping out of the room together.

The two of you wandered around the inside of the ship for a little while, mostly while Izzy complained about how gaudy everything was.

“Here,” you brought Izzy to a halt, grabbing a door by the handle. “Let’s have some real fun,” you smirked, pulling the door open.

Izzy frowned a little in confusion but didn’t put up any fight as you tugged him into a small storage closet. “You’re joking, right?” he questioned, just a little disapprovingly, as you clicked the door shut.

You heaved a dramatic sigh, reaching for the door again. “I suppose we can go and listen to the speeches…they’ll probably still be speaking.”

Izzy caught you by the arm, pulling you back towards him. You settled back against a wall, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think we’re perfectly fine right here.”

You couldn’t agree more as you grabbed hold of that frilly cravat he hated so much, pulling him close and capturing his mouth with your own. Izzy returned your kiss, starting slow as you found a comfortable enough spot against the wall. Izzy hummed against your lips as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He parted his lips more than happily as your tongue traced the seam of them.

Izzy pressed closer and you shifted until you were able to slip a leg between each other, bodies rolling together. Only parting for a short moment to laugh when a broom fell and clattered against the floor.

You buried a hand in Izzy’s hair, giving it a gentle tug, earning you a sweet little moan from the man. Just to tease him a little further, you nipped at his bottom lip, smiling against his mouth when he surged closer for more.

“Where could they have gotten too?” Oluwande whisper-yelled as he and Frenchie rushed around the ship, searching for the missing crew members. “They couldn’t have left the ship, right?”

“Nah, Izzy wouldn’t leave Edward aboard a strange ship…I don’t think,” Frenchie frowned a little. Actually, Izzy was very likely to leave if he had enough of the other guests, but Frenchie trusted that you wouldn’t leave without at least telling one of them.

“Yeah but, Stede and Edward said they hadn’t seen either of them since they came in.”

Frenchie opened his mouth to speak, to insist they would find you both, but was interrupted by a clattering sound coming from the door beside them. The clattering was then followed by a thump and hushed voices.

The two men looked at each other before throwing the door open. “There you are!” Frenchie grinned at you both. At least Oluwande had the decency to look embarrassed by what they had walked in on.

“What the fuck?” Izzy seethed, jumping away from you at the sudden intrusion, hand going for his knife until he realised how was standing in the doorway. No real threat.

“We have to go,” Oluwande told you both, averting his gaze politely. It wasn’t like the two of you were undressed, just a little flustered and mussed up. Still, it was thoughtful of him.

“What’s…is something burning?” you moved towards the door, now able to smell smoke coming from somewhere.

“We’re leaving,” Oluwande nodded.

“Kind of an emergency,” Frenchie shrugged.

“What did those fuckers do?” Izzy questioned under his breath as the four of you hurried through the ship and up to the deck, Izzy fixing his hair and you straightening out your clothes before you had to face your captains.

“Long story, I'm sure they’ll explain,” Oluwande assured, sounding like he wasn’t completely sure what had happened before the fire.

The four of you met Stede and Edward on the deck as they readied a dingy. “Ah, wonderful. We really should be going,” Stede clapped his hands together, looking a little nervous.

“You should have been there, mate!” Edward grinned at Izzy as he threw an arm around Stede’s shoulders. “Stede’s a fucking lunatic, it was brilliant!”

“Let’s just fucking go before we burn with these fucking twats,” Izzy huffed. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t the one making everyone return to the Revenge early.

For once, everyone agreed with Izzy and found nothing to argue with him about, the lot of you piling into the dingy and rowing away. You and Izzy sat at the back of the dingy, watching the flaming ship slowly get further away.

“So…how’d you rate the party?” you asked quietly, leaning in closer to Izzy to keep your conversation between the two of you. The others were distracted by their own conversations anyway.

“...suppose it wasn’t too bad,” Izzy conceded with a sigh. You just rolled your eyes fondly, perfectly aware that he had ended up enjoying himself. “Plus the ship burnt down and I didn’t even have to lift a finger,” he smirked to himself.

“Well, I had fun,” you shrugged, knocking your shoulder against his.

Izzy smiled softly to himself, “...yeah, me too.”

#izzy hands x reader #israel hands x reader #ofmd x reader #ofmd izzy #izzy hands #our flag means death #ofmd

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chairteeth · 4 months

Text

Touka, Nemu, and self-perception

Yet another TouNemu rant! Self-perception this time! Surely this CANNOT GO WRONG! Spoilers exclusively for TouNemu-related stuff in Arc 2. You will most likely be fine given that the only faction I even mention here is the Union and it’s mostly to bash them over the head with a metal chair for the crime of kicking rescue puppies. Insane ramblings beneath!

This may not seem related, but I want to start by talking about what Touka and Nemu are like as parents and why, because it's very interesting (by parents I mean with Sakurako). Touka learned the dos from her dad, and Nemu learned the don'ts from both of her parents. If you compare the parenting styles of the Satomis vs the Hiiragis, a few patterns emerge. Touka's mom we are disqualifying as per my own made up lore explanation for her absence (heart condition depression guilt spiral), but before I say anything about Nemu's mom, I'm gonna compare the two dads, because when you think about it they're a little similar!

Nemu's dad is literally a ghost. We have NEVER ONCE seen that man but we have had him mentioned multiple times. Unlike Touka who avoids mentioning her mom ever (other than the one time in her MGS’ Episode 3 and also the time Nayuta mentioned her in her quotes), Nemu does mention her dad a bunch, usually in the same context as her mom, which implies a few things that I may get into later, however the excuse/explanation given is that he's busy with work. Which if we put him next to Touka's dad is an interesting (read: terrible) excuse. Touka's dad is very busy. He's busy with politics stuff apparently, with the multiple businesses he owns (as far as I’m aware), with the hospital he's a director of. Things were probably easier when Touka was still hospitalized, yet in Arc 2 he makes time for his child, even when it's not "necessary". So what's your excuse exactly, Mr. Hiiragi?

That interesting comparison aside, Nemu's mom has entirely shaped her parenting style, perfectly on display with Sakurako. You will notice that Nemu always asks Sakurako questions. About her day, about her emotions, etc. You know. Just like she wished her mom had done for her, which Mrs. Hiiragi of course never did. What with her habit of visiting her hospitalized terminally ill child only to infodump her and leave. Nemu also cooks with Sakurako like her mom cooks with her (on occasion, when she remembers she has a daughter). Essentially, Nemu is acting with Sakurako like she wishes her mom would act with her. I need to stress the psychological impact this tier of emotional neglect has had on Nemu; once again, this is a hospitalized, terminally ill child, who has been isolated and away from home for years (presumably). But the isolation and pain of being an inpatient, likely most often in pain, not knowing if you’ll see the light of morning each time you go to sleep, and complete lack of emotional support from adults was not enough! Of course not. Instead, Nemu was parentified.

Hear me out. You may not have thought about it before, but Nemu, the people pleaser that she is, has been made to cater to and take care of the emotions of fully grown adults (her parents), and like most victims of abuse/neglect, she defends them. The poor girl desperately wants her family to love her. She assume-gaslit herself into thinking her mom handmade the socks she got for Christmas while hospitalized AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT. Nemu, sweetheart, I'm sorry, but literally nothing I've seen from your family tells me that your mother would do that. When a child forcefully matures faster than they should, it very much scars them mentally, like the physical stretch marks some of us get when we’re younger from growing too much too fast. Being forced to take care of oneself, feeling misunderstood, closing off from your peers, being parentified by the adults around you, just generally growing up before you're prepared for it… In an isolated hospital environment, Nemu and to a slightly lesser extent Touka (and to an even lesser extent Ui), had to, in some aspects, mature much faster, but were left with a complete void in terms of experience.

Children learn mainly from the experiences they have, and on that, Touka is right. They were robbed of those experiences. All three of them thus show signs of resentment issues, self-blaming issues, and "I'm a burden" issues (Touka may not have that last one, but she has other issues to make up for it). There's also just the inherently traumatizing experience of waking up in pain. Being helpless. Finding scarce enjoyment in being alive because you're so in pain all the time. The extremely scary idea that you will not know if the pain/discomfort you feel is Just Another Tuesday of living in your body or if you’re in urgent need of medical attention and should perhaps inform the doctors/nurses that something is wrong. Not knowing if something is actually wrong or not, and the habit of keeping it to yourself because you either don’t want to bother others/be a burden or you don’t want to be seen as the Boy Who Cried Wolf of the ER, can lead to absolutely terrifying situations. For example you could have a horrible kidney infection that’s almost septic and not realize it because well, you’re always in pain/uncomfortable around that area. Surely this is nothing. When you’re used to being in pain, you stop noticing it as much. Desensitization. It’s confusing and distressing to live every day in a body that is deeply and terribly sick like that, ESPECIALLY for a child.

Anyway. Back to Nemu specifically. She mentions in her quotes that although people say she doesn’t show her feelings much (or that she “lacks emotion” as NA my beloathed put it), she feels plenty in her heart. Hey… Hey wanna know why that is? Sure it’s part of the way she is by nature, but a big part of why she’s like this is—take a wild guess—her parents! Again! From her perspective as we saw in her MGS, she sees her emotions as a burden on others, particularly her family. The reason she seems emotionally distant is actually one very fun (read: sad) flavor of the people pleaser. Actually, I think I’m going to quote this post:

"Think about it. In real life, the person that's bottling up all their emotions is not the one that's brooding in the corner and snaps at you for trying to befriend them. More often than not, it's that friendly person in your circle who makes easy conversation with you, laughs with you, and listens and gives advice whenever you're upset. But you never see them upset, in fact they seem to have endless patience for you and everything around them—and so you call them their friend, you trust them. And only after months of telling them all your secrets do you realize… they've never actually told you anything about themselves."

Guess who fits the “emotionally repressed character who is mellow” type! That’s right! Our resident sad author! That’s, also why in some of my AUs I give her severe repressed anger issues but that’s beside the point. That whole post is very much just… Nemu. She separates herself so that she won’t be hurt—or at least, not as hurt as she would be if she was feeling everything in full. It's really really sad because she seeks out and buys gifts for her family, specifically learning everything they like down to their tastes (she even mentions her mom's taste in food). Just a quiiick consideration: does it seem to you like they're putting in even an ounce of the effort she's making? Because I have a feeling even Nemu must’ve realized what a lost cause it was, eventually. I can’t stop stressing how badly she wants to fit in and be a part of her family. Not to mention how badly the Arc 1 finale must have crushed her internally. In a family of athletes, with how excited she was during Arc 1 to get to Do Things in a healthy body? To lose one's legs?

Everyone leaves her behind… Well, everyone except Touka. Speaking of Nemu’s relationship with Touka! Back at the very start of things, in the hospital, I assure you that Nemu held Touka in this sort of hateful pedestal that she wanted nothing more than to rip her from, out of envy. Because Touka's dad evidently loves her, spends time with her, pays attention to her, gives her affection and Oh You Know. Everything Nemu has ever wanted. So I believe that if that relationship hadn't improved, Nemu would've grown to hate Touka, viscerally and intensely. Because simply put, she has everything Nemu wants and can never get. And when you're so isolated you have no one to talk to, especially if you're like Nemu or Touka (introverted and doesn't like talking to strangers especially about Emotions and Big Thoughts)… Coping mechanisms like writing will not get you that far if you don't have the support you need. Which leads me to MY NEXT POINT:

“If I can't be useful, I am worthless.”

Ha. Hahaha. So. I've gone on and on about just how bad an inpatient hospital environment is for a child, especially a child genius with little to no emotional support who is also terribly socialized. But I really need to talk more about the prodigy trauma. I am pretty sure more than one person reading this will be familiar with being considered "gifted" either period or only as a kid due to neurodivergence or whatever. Society is NOT nice to gifted children/geniuses. And, adults tend to praise children who show a lot of academic prowess and encourage those interests. The problem is that they often do it so much that it's everything the child ties their identity and self worth to. They also do not praise other things, as in only the highlight is ever praised, which causes even more severe tunnel vision and a more deeply rooted sense of This Is My Special Thing That I Am Good At And I Must Always Excel At It (this often leads into pretty bad perfectionism). For example, Touka's dad tells her on multiple occasions that she has to use her prodigious intellect to help others. He does this with good intentions. HOWEVER let's just say that may not have processed quite like he expected.

Let me try to go layer by layer with this. I'll use Touka because she's the more "traditional" type of genius (the STEM kind). I know that in private circles I have joked about her having a budding praise kink because of how she reacts to being called smart BUT it's actually at least mildly concerning that she completely changes her tune on something when praised, and she's only ever praised on her intelligence. That is what makes her her. It's what makes her special and unique. Touka has a superiority complex and an inferiority complex simultaneously which I will elaborate on at some point, but her dad has also sooort of tried to drill noblesse oblige into her. By the way she speaks (the astronomy class presentation in her MGS Episode 3, her line about Nemu's writing in Nemu's MGS Episode 3, that one damn scene in Arc 2 Chapter 5)… she sees the world entirely in terms of giving and taking and stealing. And that's, not hugely healthy, for starters, but then! Arc 1 happens. And I already talked about what Arc 1 did to both Touka "Maskwearer" Satomi and Nemu "People Pleaser" Hiiragi (their mental health is so good! /s), I have one essay for each of those. But I don't think I've ever discussed what happened in their heads after Arc 1. Because arguably, that was worse. I have another essay about the development of their characters in the works but I’m trying to actually make that one a bit more well-organized so it may take a little longer.

Touka had a job to do. Nemu had a job to do. They had a goal and a purpose, a promise to deliver on. They failed. What then? What do they do after the dust clears? They panic. As soon as they've had some time to actually process the extremely traumatic shit they went through and how badly they have fucked up, they internalize all of their guilt and it destroys them from the inside out. And what can they do? Nothing, really. Everyone hates them. They're failures. They have no purpose. No use. Who are they? They don't know. They're lost. And no one is there to guide them. So they try to do what they think is right: taking themselves out of the equation. They serve no purpose and are of no use anymore. Worthless. All they've done is harm. Mind you, this is never at any point mended. These wounds are left to fester. If you pay attention throughout Arc 2, the Union relies on them for several things, but they're never quite part of the group. They never quite rise above their status that they gained after all that happened in Arc 1. Which is why they kept trying to throw their lives away, among other things. When you’re doing your best and your pretty significant efforts are never acknowledged, it’s extremely discouraging, and for them, works with a fun concept we call confirmation bias. And that leads me to the names I gave the two atonement suberas. Sinner and purpose. The sinner subera is the one where they are self-flagellating harder than worshippers of Loviatar in D&D, and the purpose subera is the one where they finally, finally find themselves a worthy goal to pursue. A challenge, a purpose. Something only they can do, this time with a bit of extra help.

The way they see everything is literally just "everything we do is wrong and hurts people" and "we can never do anything right." Every single time Touka perks up after an adult calls her smart and bends over backwards to prove that the adult is right I want to break something. Dr. Satomi had good intentions but my man has NO IDEA the damage he did with those teachings. Noblesse oblige aside, Touka just ties her identity ENTIRELY to being smart. That's all she is. If you pay attention to the way she speaks, she weaves this into her personality all the time, and the amount of time she explicitly brings up being a genius is both concerning and a badly disguised cry for help under a layer of arrogance that’s easy to peel back if you simply cared enough to look closer. When she's given a role like say, Magius, then she has a job, a responsibility, and *points violently at my Magius Touka essay* A PURPOSE. It’s not particularly good for her, but it’s something. She desperately needed direction, to be taught how to be, well, herself, and nobody gave her that. No one gave her or Nemu what they needed. You know what their elders did? Yell at them.

If you think about it. Do the others ever sit down with TouNemu and talk to them? Do they really? Or do they basically only pay actual attention when TouNemu inevitably make a mistake or do something they don't like, to berate them for it like they're misbehaving dogs? No wonder they isolate themselves and can only open up to/rely on each other. They have no one else. Even Iroha and Ui are comparatively distant now. Not to mention, these two probably believe they're everything from hard to love to incorrigible to perpetually evil, cannot be good or do good, etc. Do the others ever praise them when they do something good? Is there ANY positive reinforcement at all? I have not even touched f4's funny child abuse joke about how Kanagi dishes out corporal punishment to these two. The instance of it in Paradise Shift boils my blood personally because EVEN WHEN THEY DO A GOOD THING THEY GET PUNISHED. And guess what their reaction is? Nothing. Just a complaint on Touka’s part when they’re in private about how it still hurts. That’s literally the reaction of a child who’s been hit by their parents all their life and doesn’t know anything else, or alternatively the reaction of someone whose belief about deserving that punishment is deeply rooted in them and so they have no reaction to it. In my humble opinion, these two are literally saints, I would have snapped a while ago if I were them. Especially because literally no one has noticed or acknowledged their growth at all (other than each other). Ui and Iroha, supposedly the people closest to them other than each other, still thought they would fight until they came to blows as late as Mokyu's MGS.

And that brings me to something that a person I’ve talked to about this has brought up. Touka and Nemu do still occasionally behave in abrasive ways (mainly Touka), look down on others, etc. But I mean, can you blame them? They’re not really getting the right feedback. How are they supposed to know better? If you take a closer look, they are almost disgustingly soft and sweet with each other. And although arguably during Arc 2 they are very cordial towards people (Kagome and Sana come to mind as easy examples, with them even helping Sana publish her picture book online), when they do act in ways that push people away… It’s probably on purpose. Subconsciously or consciously. It proves them right about being unlovable and irredeemable. It’s the confirmation bias all over again.

Christmas String is once again an excellent example of both their bond (although sadly they spend most of the event in Work Mode) and their growth over the years—which they acknowledge themselves in the event, MGS, and quotes. In that event, they were kind to two children they didn't even know and even went out of their way to help them, despite claiming many times that they’re not kind people and “aren’t that type of person” to help others. They specifically cite that as a thing Ui is capable of, something Iroha does, but not them of course. In light of what I just said about their own perception of themselves, however, they would literally never recognize that they are actually kind people. They did so many unnecessary nice things for others even without the diary's influence in that event alone, and if you look at them you could tell they were pleased and happy every time they saw that they'd helped someone. They just genuinely believe that to be kind, you need to be Ui/Iroha. They were most often around people like Ui and Iroha, who basically emanate an aura of light and kindness and empathy, and it seems to come so naturally to them, so surely if it doesn’t come as naturally to Touka and Nemu, it means they’re bad. And they can quite literally never be Iroha/Ui. They say that themselves.

It's also because of introversion vs extroversion. A lot of the time extroverted people give off more… Kind, warm vibes, friendly vibes, even if they’re shy and anxious like Iroha started out as, because they're more open and talkative and they Thrive With People. Introverts like Touka and Nemu however often seem “cold,” “aloof,” “rude,” or “uncaring,” and this is especially the case when the introvert in question doesn’t display enough shyness and anxiety for their attitude to be deemed “valid” or “understandable” when in reality they would still help you just as the extroverts would. Granted, Touka and Nemu very often just, don’t wanna have anything to do with People. Them plain not talking to people or telling anyone that they *could* after Arc 2 until it became necessary is a good example of that. But, that doesn’t necessarily mean they won’t help or that they would turn a blind eye. Unlike Iroha, however, Touka and Nemu generally do the opposite of seeking people out except when the person they seek is the other; I do not think they count each other as “people” in the same sense as everyone else. In many ways. As that same person I talked to put it… “I want to be alone with you by my side.” Because they are each other’s only safe space, where they can be truly 100% themselves without fear of judgment and without expectations to meet. I could start yelling about their bond now but I shall Refrain for the sake of not making this even longer.

All of this to say that The Babies are very sad and very traumatized and they deserve the marriage they got. I will elaborate A LOT on the whole… Uwasa Queens thing, when I get to that part in the development essay. Thanks for reading today’s ramble! Do ask if you have any follow-up questions or want to know my thoughts on something else about them.

#magia record #essay #nishiposting #I fucking guess #this was once again done completely on impulse #literally off the top of my head #touka satomi #nemu hiiragi #tounemu #the babies #you will suffer my brainrot

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ayayabaroque · 1 year

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Slowly (1)

Wherein you ask the Genshin men to waltz with you. Characters; Scaramouche/Wanderer(I), Alhaitham(I), Kaeya Alberich(II), Diluc Raginvindr(II), Kamisato Ayato(II), Kaedehara Kazuha(III), Tartaglia/Childe(III), Zhongli(III) (all separately!!!!!!!!!) CW/Tags: 3.0 onwards archon quest spoilers? pure fluuuuuuuuuuff, minor swearing, very short crack fic, probably spoilers for Scara's backstory on his part, very very very very cheesy. i cannot stress how cheesy enough it is. ooc Alhaitham ft. Kaveh since there's only specks of their character in current quests omg. many parts because i feel like procrastinating no i dont, i just keep on getting distracted by singing along to Spotify. this was drafted on December 17, and posted on December 19. AND ITS ONLY TWO CHARACTERS OMFG A.N: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!1!1!!1 i was listening to Mabagal by Moira Dela Torre and Daniel Padilla and i probably didnt revise whatever i wrote here, so what you get is what you get (i said i wasnt gonna write things based of off what i listen to and failed)

Scaramouche/Wanderer;

You're a performer for the Grand Bazaar, and they're holding a formal event to celebrate the year's end! Being one of the star performers, you're invited to the celebration of course, and you got an extra admission ticket for a plus-one! It's seemingly easy to answer the question of who to bring; your boyfriend, Scaramouche of course! You're excited for the event, which also means dancing! Although, you're not sure if Scara likes to dance, but that doesn't matter, he can learn! "It won't be as hard as you think! This night, at the Grand Bazaar, everyone will be there to celebrate an end of another year! Please, you have to come!" "Again, for the nth time, I'm not going to the event [First]. It's too... unruly for my tastes." You raise a brow, questioning is reason for declining "Don't want to, or just shy?" He isn't naturally ashamed of large crowds, you've seen him handle a performance once, all the attention he received had gotten him ecstatic. But why was he refusing this time? Was it because of you? "I... can't um— dance properly." Ah, okay. "I can teach you. It's not a traditional dance what-so-ever, it's just a waltz." He ponders on it for a moment, and eventually agrees. "Alright, I'll go. As long as you don't trip up and embarrass me." You audibly giggled at that. Time was ticking, and with the sound of a bell, you knew the celebration was starting. The bazaar was full of people, you could basically feel Scaramouche trembling on the dance floor. "Don't feel nervous. I'm right here." The music starts, you begin to lead Scaramouche on how to waltz on the dance floor. He was, quite surprisingly a natural at this, and hardly ever tripped on his feet. Scaramouche feels time trickling much more slowly around him, as he waltzes with you, he is taken back to the moments where he was known as Kunikuzushi, dancing without a care in the world. Before the world was full of betrayal, before the world gave him you.

"Time seems to stop when I'm with you. I've seemed to achieve eternity when I hold you lovingly in my arms."

Alhaitham; "The Akademiya is holding a grand ball for the end-of-the-year celebration, and everyone's required to go. I assume being the Scribe of the Akademiya does not pardon you from missing this event." Haitham was never a good dancer, he was only good at recording things with a paper and a quill. You think so at least. "I'm incredibly busy tonight, you can opt to go in my place instead, or ask another friend." "You're going." "No." "That or you're spending the year-end break with the General Mahamatra." "No." "I'm asking the Akademiya to arrange a vacation for you and Cyno in Inazuma." "Fine." "Okay, but I'm still making you do the vacation with him." "The hell you won't." You had a specially-made gown for this event, and tonight was the opportunity to show off the effort you put into sewing it. As expected, the Akademiya spared no expense in this grand party. From the chandeliers to the marble floors, everything looks regal, as if it had been taken out of a fairytale. As the music plays, it reminds you of the last time you asked Alhaitham to dance, and that particular memory did not end well. "Oh Haitham, would you please dance with me?" As if questioning your child-like demeanor, he stares at you for quite a bit. "It's not that'd I'd refuse that lovely offer, it's just that—" "ALHAITHAM!!" You snap your head backwards, only to be met with a fuming Kaveh holding two pairs of keys. "YOU SON OF A BITCH" Kaveh's hair, as if it was a flame, was stood upright and had branches, leave and flowers in it. Kind of like a nest. "WHY DID I FUCKING FIND MY KEY AND YOUR KEY UNDER THE RUG?! LAST TIME I CHECKED I BROUGHT MY FUCKING KEYS WITH ME YOU KEY-THIEF" "No swearing. [First] shouldn't hear you swear" "OH YEAH 'CAUSE THEY'RE SO INNOCENT YEAH BUT WHY DO YOU HAVE TO LOCK ME OUT OF OUR APARTMENT?!" "You, don't pay rent. If I forget to give you your keys, that's your fault. Anyway, you should go home and change, I'd rather die than be seen with my roommate this... unruly." "I hate you Alhaitham, I truly do." Kaveh storms off in a hurry, Alhaitham could've sworn there were thunderclouds over his head. He could even make out the muttering Kaveh was doing beforehand. "Stupid... my fucking fault when you're the fucking key thief... I should file a case against you..."

As Alhaitham watches Kaveh ridiculously storm off, he notices you aren't with him in the ballroom anymore. He excuses himself and leaves to find you, only to be met with your tiny figure dancing alone in the House of Daena. You truly were mesmerizing, dancing in the moonlight that shone off the white walls. Your movements on the tiled floor, your hums that guided every single move, and you, the star of this empty show. For the first(second?) time in forever, he fell in love with you all over again. "You'd think a dancer like you should've shown off in the ballroom, not here." You look up, only to be met by Alhaitham's towering figure. "Yeah, I guess I'm not a fan of big crowds, and this place is emptier than an abandoned ruin." "...When you asked me to dance earlier, I really can't, I'm not a fan of big crowds experiencing their Scribe trip on his own feet." He chuckles slightly.

"I still owe you a dance, don't I [First]? In that case, let's dance our hearts out, where no one but the walls will witness anything."

i promise to make a post for everyday starting from this day onwards *crosses fingers behind back*

#ayayawillwrite #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin #scaramouche #scara x reader #kunikuzushi #scaramouche fluff #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham #alhaitham #alhaitham fluff #genshin fluff #i love xmas break

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marvelsage · 1 year

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Namor *

Namor x Pacific Islander Reader

POC reader / POC Friendly

You had not gone to the funeral but instead watched from a distance as they carried her casket down the streets to her final resting place. Even though they had told you it was fine to join them, it would have felt like you were intruding.

It was a while later that you had returned to the place you were staying at for the time being to begin packing when Shuri had approached you.

“I need to know you are with me.” Freezing you turn to her confused as to why she is suddenly questioning you.

“Of course” She steps closer and really stresses the importance of you being by her side.

“Shuri, what the hell is this all about?! Huh! Cause ever since you back from the other side you haven’t been yourself.”

“I just needed to know.”

“No that’s not it, cause if that was it you wouldn’t have came here in the first place. So what is it? Who did you really talk to?” She doesn’t saying anything but instead leaves as the talk with her cousin restarts in her head.

SPIRITUAL LAND

“Watch that little water bender of yours.”

“Y/n? She is one of my greatest friends. What does she have to do with this?”

“Let’s just say, their something special to fish man. Their a liner, people who are neither on yours or his side. So they stay in the middle, which is dangerous cause with a one little pull and it’s over. Alright.”

BATTLE

The battle had begun and you used your bending to sweep the talokan off their feet and back into the water. Occasionally using hand to hand combat but that wasn’t often as most seemed to avoid you. You were up against Namora, it looked to be an equal fight.

“Muestras nuxi’ páajtalil yéetel muuk.”

“You show great power and strength.”

“A el igual que teech”

“As do you.” Before catching behind her leg and knocking her back. Using her spear against her as more Talokan start to enclose on the remaining of you. Looking back down she raises her hand in surrender and nods. Taking the spear, you spin it to bend a massive wave around the ship, your eye’s illuminating white.

“Ya’ax ka’áak’náab”

“Ya’ax ka’áak’náab” The Talokan chant among themselves as you hold the wave high. Before slowly letting it drop as a ship holding Namor and Shuri appear. They announce their alliance and slowly everyone begins to rejoice in the unity.

When you all had returned to the shores of Wakanda, Shuri had pulled you aside.

“I just wanted to apologize for questioning you earlier.” You nod slowly as the others kept going.

“It hurt but I’m over it. Friends?” Sticking your hand out, she laughs before pulling you in for a hug.

“We are family, Y/n.” Pulling away you hold her shoulders and smile gently.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this but, you are stronger than you think are, Shuri. If you ever need someone to talk to, I am always there.” She shakily exhales and nods once again.

“Thank you.” She leaves you on the shore, you turn hearing someone break though the surface of the water. Namor comes out limping and when you looked close enough you saw one of his wings were broken.

“That must hurt.” Meeting his eyes as he keeps a good distance. He looks down and grimaces while shifting to his other leg.

“Very much so.” Humming you step closer and casually wrap water around it to snap it back into place. He stumbles and sits down at the sudden pressure while you continue.

“Ma juntúul Chan paale’ ”

“Don’t be a baby.” He groans as you grow a green fern around it to secure the bound. You were sitting beside him now watching the sunset, comfortably. Once again that familiar warmth cloaked one another, unconsciously pulling each closer.

“My peaople have taken to calling you ‘Ya’ax ka’áak’náab’ or ‘sea green’. I find it somewhat fitting.”

“And what does the K’uk’ulkan think is more fitting of a name for me, hmm?” He gently grasps your chin to find him gazing at you as if you held the very stars.

“In Reina…”

“You don’t even know me.”

“But I could get to know you. You cannot deny the pull you feel as I do and even then I will spend the rest of our lives making up for all that I have done to you, In yakunaj.”

“You better take me on a date first.” He laughs and you find yourself wanting to hear it more.

“Of course, in yakunaj.”

“I’m allergic to shrimp.” He nods chuckling still though a devious look in his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about anything ‘shrimp’ related.” He winks and you roll your eyes at his foolish humor causing him to laugh once again.

Resting your forehead against his you sigh and think this over but in the back of your mind you already knew. His lips meet yours the second you nod and you thank whatever decision you made in life to lead you here.

#namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x poc!reader #namor of talokan #kukulkan #kukulkan x reader #x poc reader #talokan

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indeedcaptain · 6 months

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Spirktober 2023, day 25: Pon Farr

Rite (write ;) ) of passage for star trek ficcers!! Yes I made the same joke on my AO3 but it was too good to only post once!! I am very behind on Spirktober but I'm having too much fun to stop now so here's my accidental 6K fic about spock's first pon farr.

Also posted on AO3 here!

Archive warnings: explicit sex ahead! ahoy!

☆☆☆

After three years of having a direct line into Spock’s emotions, Jim was reasonably accustomed to his bondmate’s daily moods. There were, usually, very few surprises. So when the bond between them lit up with an unexpected one-two punch of lust and anxiety with no apparent cause, Jim was concerned, to say the least.

He shifted in the captain’s chair and thought down the bond, Everything okay, love?

There was not an immediate response, which was not necessarily a problem except for that the anxiety had not abated in the slightest and the lust was starting to make Jim’s skin itch. Spock? Hello?

Are you on the bridge? Spock’s mental voice was ragged, slightly breathless, and Jim’s own concern ticked up another notch. Are you safe?

Yes, I’m safe, he thought back, and pushed the image of what he was seeing to Spock. Sulu and Chekov at their stations ahead of him, the blackness of space and the occasional distant star on the viewscreen, and the general air of relaxation around him. Uhura was humming to herself. Are you okay? What’s wrong?

I do not know, Spock said, and that answer frightened Jim more than anything else so far. I find that I cannot logically pinpoint the source of this emotion nor can I compartmentalize it.

Spock, are you having a panic attack? Why do you feel like you want to jump my bones?

At “jump my bones,” Spock’s half of the mental link contracted so suddenly and painfully with arousal that Jim bit the inside of his lip to keep from gasping.

Refrain from considering such subjects until I leave the laboratory, Spock said, and his voice was strained.

You’re meeting me in Medbay. Head there now, I’ll be down soon.

Captain---

That’s an order, love. I’ll see you in a minute. At the promise of their meeting, Jim felt Spock’s stress decrease fractionally. He rolled his neck and stood. “Sulu,” he said. “You have the conn.”

“Sure, captain,” Sulu said. “For how long?”

“Ah,” Jim said, and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know yet. Until I come back, I guess.” Sulu shrugged and stood to replace Jim in the captain’s chair. Jim walked into the turbolift and said, “Medbay.”

Spock was pacing the hallway in front of the Medbay doors when Jim arrived. “Hey, you,” he said as he exited the turbolift, smiling at his bondmate. At the sound of his voice, Spock whirled and was on him in a second. He slid his hand into Jim’s hair, tight enough to pull, pressed his face into the crook of Jim’s neck, and inhaled sharply. Through Spock’s hand against his skin, Jim could feel the trembling in his arms. Spock’s nose was pressed hard against him; he could feel the fluttering of his eyelashes against his neck.

“Hey,” he said again, soothingly. He ran his hands down Spock’s back, resting on his ribs. His heart was beating entirely too hard for anything short of active combat. “Hey, now. It’s okay. Everything is fine. Let’s go see M’Benga, okay?”

Spock took one more deep inhale against his skin before straightening. His cheeks and ears were flushed, like he had a fever, and he tucked his hands behind his back for only a moment before he released them to touch Jim again. Jim took his hand, despite their usual moratorium on PDA, and that seemed to steady him, before pulling him to the Medbay doors. As soon as they slid open, Spock pulled Jim behind him and stood between him and the rest of Medbay, eyes flicking from side to side like he was expecting an attack. The only person Jim saw over Spock’s shoulder was Christine, who sat with her legs stretched out in front of her on an unoccupied biobed, surrounded by a stack of padds.

She looked up as the doors opened. “Hey, boys,” she said, smiling. “What can I do for you today?” She frowned as she registered Spock’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think he might be, uh. Having a panic attack?” Jim peered around Spock’s arm.

Christine immediately swung her legs down from the bed and approached, palms up like she was soothing an animal. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Spock’s defensive stance, the flush on his face, his unsteady breathing.

“Everything okay, Spock?”

“I do not know,” Spock said. His voice was tight. Christine took another step towards him, and his grip on Jim’s hand tightened as he crouched slightly. “Christine, please. I know, logically, that you are my friend. But do not come any closer.” She stopped immediately where she stood, and Jim saw her put something together.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Is it that you don’t want me to come near you? Or near Jim?”

“Jim,” Spock said immediately, and pulled him further behind him.

“I’m gonna get M’Benga, because he can help more than I can, and then I’ll be right back. Okay?”

When Spock nodded, she spared Jim one nervous smile and vanished behind the partition wall, into M’Benga’s office. Spock ran his thumb compulsively over the back of Jim’s hand, and slowly Jim put together the pieces. He pulled Spock to face him, putting his free hand on his chest, making Spock look at him.

I think it might be your time, Spock.

No, Spock said immediately, but with no conviction. M’Benga said that I would sense it coming for a few days first.

He was taking an educated guess, love. He might have been wrong.

I fear for you, Jim. I am not ready. I do not want to hurt you.

You’re not going to, he said, but he privately made a note to call his mother-in-law as soon as he could. We’ve talked about this. We have a plan. It’ll be okay. We’ll just speed up the timeline a little bit.

M’Benga stepped out from his office with Christine, but maintained a healthy distance between himself and Spock.

“Doctor,” Spock said. “I think I must request leave.”

“Yes, I think you must,” M’Benga said, and he crossed the room to pull a medical kit labeled in Vulcan from a locker. “You and the captain are both on leave from duty for the next six days. If you need more time, it’s yours. The captain’s quarters have a replicator, no?”

“Yes,” Jim said.

“Go there, then. Captain, you must ensure your own nutrition and hydration. I’m not sure if Mr. Spock will remember.” A flash of guilt came over the bond, and Spock’s hand flexed compulsively around his. M’Benga placed the bag on the ground and shoved it, so it slid across the floor to them. Spock picked it up without releasing Jim’s hand.

“If there’s anything you need that isn’t in the bag and can’t be replicated, call us,” M’Benga said, and now he was talking to Jim. “We’ll bring whatever it is. Captain, I mean it. Whatever you need. Do not prioritize your privacy over your health.”

“Got it, doctor,” Jim said. Spock did not respond. “Thank you.”

Let’s go, sweetheart, Jim said, and when he pulled Spock by the hand, he followed. M’Benga and Christine watched him go, and she crossed her arms over her chest. When Jim looked back over his shoulder as the doors slid shut behind him, she mouthed, “Good luck,” and winked.

Well, at least one person thought he was going to have fun. He wasn’t so sure, himself.

☆☆☆

Jim had been sitting on the closed toilet seat for forty-five seconds, composing the most intimate and embarrassing padd message he’d ever written and bracing himself to send it to Amanda, when he felt the anxiety flare again. Three seconds later, Spock overrode the bathroom lock. He panicked, hit send on the message, and stood.

“Hi,” he said. “Okay there?”

Spock looked between the padd and the closed toilet seat and to him. “I do not wish to be apart from you right now,” he said, voice mostly even, but Jim felt his anxiety spiking through the bond. “Is… everything alright?”

“Yes,” Jim said. He stuck his padd in his pocket and crossed the room. I’m worried about you, he said through the bond. And about me. I messaged your mom for advice. He wrapped his arms around Spock, and Spock dropped his forehead onto his shoulder.

I am in control now, but I do not know what will happen when the blood fever comes. I am terrified to hurt you.

I know, baby. That’s why I don’t think you will. But… just in case. I wanted to tap in the only other human I know who has done this before. Spock rolled his head to press his lips against Jim’s neck and wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist.

Let’s lay together and watch holovids for a while. No rush. If it starts, we’ll already be in bed, Jim said. He stepped forward, pushing Spock backwards out of the bathroom, back into his quarters. He stripped out of his clothes before flopping onto his bed. Spock methodically removed his own uniform, folding it carefully, and placed it on his desk.

His padd dinged from where it had been abandoned in his pants. Spock retrieved it and handed it to him before climbing into bed beside him.

“Do you want to see what she says?” Jim asked. Spock rolled onto his stomach, face buried in his pillow, and mumbled, “No.” Jim stroked one hand over his bondmate’s hair before tapping on the notification from Amanda.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and opened the message.

My dear Jim,

I’m so glad that you reached out to me, even though I can feel your embarrassment through the screen. Please do not be embarrassed. I wish that I had been able to ask anyone about what the plak tow was going to be like for our first pon farr together, and I’m glad that I can be that for you.

I am going to let you in on a secret, one that I hope will set your mind at ease and bring you and Spock closer together during this time. Vulcans are so private, and have been for so long, that I think they’ve forgotten the damage that their privacy causes to those who aren’t in the know. I know that the idea of this time terrifies Spock --- it has since he was small and first learned of it. I hope this message assuages his worry as well as yours.

Here is the secret: because you are already bonded, and because you love each other, it is going to be wonderful. Do not be afraid. The secrecy with which all Vulcans hold this time has only served to perpetuate the worst rumors from the worst situations.

Be prepared --- certainly be smart, and safe, and drink more water than you think you need --- but do not worry. He will take care of you.

I love you both. Talk soon.

Amanda

“Oh, my god,” Jim said. He read the message again, and then a third time. Spock, he said. His bondmate was still facedown in the pillow, with one hand spread possessively over Jim’s stomach. Jim threaded their fingers together. Spock, listen. He read Amanda’s message aloud through the bond.

Slowly Spock picked his head up and propped himself on his elbows. Jim handed him the padd for him to read for himself. He scanned the words once, and then again, before returning the padd to Jim and meeting his eyes. The worry that had clouded the bond since the first flare of anxiety this morning had not totally dissipated, but it was greatly lessened.

I knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Jim said, and he pulled up a Terran movie from the 2050s on his padd, propping it on his thighs and sliding down the pillows to lay on his back. Spock curled around him, head on his shoulder, arm across his middle.

Thank you for asking her, he said. I am less concerned for your safety now than I was before.

Less concerned? That’s all?

I do not understand.

Come on, you’re not even a little excited?

Excited? To behave like an animal for a week?

Have it your way, Jim said, trailing his fingers over Spock’s forearm.

After a few minutes of watching the movie in silence, Spock said, Are you excited?

In response, Jim pushed one of the fantasies he’d been nurturing ever since Spock had explained the pon farr to him along the bond and felt Spock’s arm tighten across his stomach. Only if you’re taking requests, Jim said.

I will see what I can do, Spock said, but Jim felt his tension dissipate further and the lust from earlier begin to take its place. He settled in to watch the movie and fell asleep with Spock on his shoulder.

☆☆☆

When Jim woke up, the room was pitch-dark and his body told him he had only been asleep for a few hours. His padd had been moved to his bedside table, and Spock was nowhere to be found.

My love? He cast the thought out through the bond as he felt around in the bed for Spock. He found no warm body beside him, but heard a shuffling across the room.

“Computer, lights to ten percent,” he said quietly, and the room illuminated enough for him to see what had woken him. Spock had gotten out of bed --- recently, if the state of his hair and the imprint of the lines of the sheets against his chest were any indication --- and he was digging through the bag from M’Benga, which had been abandoned on the coffee table. He pulled a large bottle of something from the bag and turned back to Jim, whose eyes flicked downward.

His bondmate was very, very hard.

You are awake, Spock said. His voice was ragged.

You’re awake too, Jim said, and sat himself up fully. Spock prowled towards him, tossed the bottle onto the bed next to Jim, and crawled across the bed to him.

I burn, Spock said, and he cupped the back of Jim’s head and pulled him into a human kiss. Jim opened his mouth to Spock, allowing him access, not awake enough to give one hundred percent but certainly awake enough to enjoy Spock’s attentions.

What do you need? Jim asked sleepily. Spock pushed him back down onto the bed, laying his weight over him, pressing him into the mattress. He nudged Jim’s head sideways, giving him access to his neck, and licked a strip up to his ear.

You, Spock said, and his voice was just a growl now, primal and assertive. Give yourself to me and I will give you everything.

Everything? Jim said, and wound his arms around Spock’s neck, sighing as Spock sucked what was surely going to be an enormous hickey into the skin below his jaw.

Whatever you desire, ashayam, it will be yours, Spock said, and he ran a hand down the length of Jim’s torso, halting at the waistband of his boxers. Jim felt his hands hesitate, and even though Amanda’s message had eased his concerns, he had not realized that giving his consent was part of the process. He had assumed that it did not factor in. But Spock had never once taken something that Jim had not offered, and it did not seem like he was going to start now.

Yes, he said. I’m yours, love. Give me everything. Spock’s hand slid into his boxers, nails dragging against his thighs, and he felt his hips being lifted and his shorts being removed. The dim lights shone against the darkness of Spock’s hair as he licked and kissed and bit his way down Jim’s body, halting for only a second to kiss the side of his dick, before he felt Spock’s arms twine under his body and flip him onto his stomach, fast enough to knock the wind from him.

Oh, shit, he thought, dizzy, and Spock was back at his head in an instant, nuzzling against his ear from behind, the heat of his body radiating into Jim’s back.

Ashayam?

Still here. Still good. Just surprised me. Not totally awake. Spock kissed his ear in confirmation and then licked a hot wet stripe down his back. Jim crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes as Spock spread him open and licked from his balls to his tailbone. His body was waking up now, paying more attention to what Spock’s tongue and hands were doing, and it was only a couple of minutes longer before he was completely awake, hard, and grinding against the mattress and Spock’s face. He moaned into the pillow, and before he realized what was happening Spock had flipped him over again. He landed on his back, knees bent and falling open, and Spock put himself between them, grinding their dicks together, kissing the moans out of his mouth. The friction of Spock’s boxers was almost too much, and he groaned.

In one motion Spock stood, removed his boxers, and recovered the scarily large bottle of lube from where it had landed before crawling back to Jim. He sat back on his knees and flicked the cap open, squirting the liquid onto his fingers, and trailing them between his cheeks.

Please, Spock said. Jim let his knees fall further apart.

Please, Jim said, as he felt Spock’s finger trace a line down his hole. He hissed at the cold surprise of the lube, but it warmed quickly between his body and Spock’s hand, and sooner than he had expected Spock was scissoring multiple fingers inside him. Spock pulled his fingers out and Jim groaned. But a second later he felt the head of Spock’s dick push at him, and Spock’s hands around his hips.

Ashayam? Spock asked.

Yes, Jim said. Spock pushed inside him, less gently than he might have otherwise, sure, but he had been careful and methodical in his preparation and he seated himself inside Jim with no pain. The head of his cock brushed the bundle of nerves inside him, and Jim arched off the bed. Spock slid an arm beneath him, holding him up to Spock’s chest until there was nothing separating them but their skin, and then he began to move.

Spock was usually careful with Jim. And he still was, mostly--- Jim could feel his love leaking from every inch of the bond and from Spock’s hands on his skin --- but the leash had slipped. He thrust into him harder than he had before, pushing him up the bed against the headboard, driving his hipbones against Jim’s ass until he was sure that he couldn’t take another millimeter of him.

Jim leaked come onto his stomach, flying towards the edge of climax, but Spock showed no signs of slowing. Love, please, he gasped. I’m too close.

I will have your orgasm, Spock growled. Give it to me. Even as he drove into Jim with that punishing rhythm, he reached up to wrap one hand around Jim’s cock, a question in his eyes. Yes, Jim gasped, and all it took was for Spock to close his hand around Jim and tighten before Jim came like a supernova, spilling over his chest and Spock’s, crying out and digging his hands into Spock’s shoulder as he clenched around him.

Spock followed him over the edge, and as Jim was still coming down he felt Spock come inside him, muffling himself by biting into the meat of Jim’s shoulder. Spock convulsed once, twice, before pulling out gently and pulling Jim into his arms, cradling him in his lap.

Good morning, he said, head lolling against Spock’s shoulder. He was covered in his own come and could feel Spock’s dripping out of him, but he didn’t have the bones left within his body to get up and wash off. He was content to lay here in Spock’s lap until otherwise forced to move.

Thank you, Spock said, and Jim opened his eyes in surprise.

For what?

For giving yourself to me, Spock said. Jim closed his eyes again.

You’re welcome, he thought. That was… nice. Not what I expected from all the stories. He also didn’t expect the chest-deep amusement he felt from Spock in response.

My James, Spock said. This is only the beginning. Sleep now.

Despite the come drying on his chest and the awkward curl of his position, he obeyed, and slept.

☆☆☆

When Jim woke again a few hours later, it was because the mental bond was hot with desire. He opened his eyes to find that he and Spock had not moved from where he had fallen asleep after they had had sex--- Spock sat cross-legged beneath him, arms cradled beneath his legs and shoulders, holding him to his chest. He blinked and lifted his head. As soon as he started to move, Spock tensed.

You awaken, Spock said.

I do, Jim said, and moved to roll out of Spock’s lap. But as he did so, Spock’s arms tightened around him.

No, he said, and he sounded contrite even as he refused to let Jim go. Do not be parted from me.

Even to use the bathroom? Jim could feel and now regret not cleaning up after last night. His skin was tight and sticky. Spock lifted him from his lap, rose to his knees, and uncrossed his legs, all while keeping Jim held to his chest. He carried him across the room and into the bathroom before finally setting him on his own two feet on the cool tile.

Are you going to stand there while I pee?

Spock’s face flushed, but he made no further moves to leave the bathroom. I find that I cannot bear to let you out of my sight.

Have it your way, he said, and relieved himself, studiously ignoring the weight of his bondmate’s continued gaze. He finished and crossed to wash his hands, and Spock followed him, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. Feeling a pulse of arousal through the bond, Jim watched in the mirror as Spock traced the dried evidence of the night before on his chest with two fingers. With every pass of his hand, he felt Spock’s interest grow through both the bond and his erection against his back.

Will you give yourself to me? Spock asked, and his hands tightened around Jim’s hips. Jim turned in the circle of his arms as Spock leaned down to kiss him.

Always, he said, and Spock lifted him and carried him to the shower.

☆☆☆

It had been twenty-four hours and Spock had refused to let him go more than three feet from him at any given point in time. After fucking him in the shower up against the tiles, Spock had carefully washed and dried him, toweled and brushed his hair, and then followed him step for step to the replicator. Jim thought that, if he hadn’t already picked up the fork himself, Spock would have insisted on feeding him. Through the bond he could feel the fever, some of it leaking through the connection and spiking his own arousal, and Spock had not said anything but some variation on ‘give yourself to me’ in hours.

Contrary to his and M’Benga’s fears that Spock would accidentally dehydrate him into a shriveled husk, Jim found that Spock was more attuned to the needs of his body than he was. Before he was even aware of his own thirst or hunger, Spock had stood, acquired whatever he needed, and returned, sliding his hand behind Jim’s head, lifting a glass or fork to his lips. Then, every hour or two, Spock would slip his hand between Jim’s thighs, waves of fevered arousal flooding him from the bond, and ask Jim to give himself to him. He would agree, and his bondmate would take care of him. After four rounds in four hours, his dick had given up on participation for the day, but Spock melded them after that point and he instead rode the mental high of Spock’s relentless ability to climax until his body was rubber and his thoughts slid off his brain like rain off a rooftop.

But Amanda had been honest with him. The pain that he and Spock had both expected and feared for this time never came to pass. It was true that very little of his thoughtful, eloquent bondmate remained --- there was none of the usual scientific curiosity or quick wit through Spock’s half of the bond. But the bone-deep possessiveness, the love and care and protection that Jim had felt since the first day they were bonded, had been unleashed, and even when Spock left bruises on his hips and ass and neck he knew that Spock would not hurt him.

In the medical bag from M’Benga he found three more of the enormous lubricant bottles, a truly unholy number of condoms, emergency rehydration goo, nutrition bars, and a strange plastic wand labeled ‘internal dermal regenerator.’ He set the last aside for future use, because the state of his ass after just the first day made him think that it would be highly useful by day three.

Spock allowed him to nap as long as it was in his arms, and when he awoke near dinnertime to Spock’s hands sliding down his back to grope his ass, he wrapped his arms around his bondmate’s neck and said, before Spock could ask, I’m yours.

☆☆☆

Eighty hours after the last time Jim had left the bridge, the plak tow reached fever pitch. His sense of time had entirely abandoned him, but he felt the itch of want under his skin even before he registered Spock’s uneven breathing and blown-out pupils in the dim light. Spock’s hands against his back pressed hard enough to bruise, and when Jim called his name down the bond he received nothing in return but waves of possession and need.

“Spock,” he said aloud, voice rough from disuse. He grabbed Spock’s face, forcing him to look at him, and as Spock’s wild eyes focused on him the fever flowing from Spock’s half of the bond intensified until Jim was burning with it too. Against all evidence of human endurance he was hardening against Spock’s thigh, and he knew the moment Spock registered it because Spock rolled them, pressing him into the mattress, grinding down against him. He gasped under Spock’s weight, at the sudden friction of skin on skin. Spock’s head dropped against his neck, and he arched up at the feeling of his bondmate leaving another mark on the abused skin there. He had stopped looking at himself in the mirror after finding the necklace of hickeys Spock had left on the second day.

What do you want? Jim asked, but there was no response in words. He just felt the overwhelming needneedneed from Spock, the bone-deep urge to crawl inside Jim’s skin and live there, the need to make Jim orgasm again and again until he was shooting blanks, the need to claim him body and soul.

After three days of marathon intercourse he needed very little warmup, and he lost the entire rest of the day to the fever dream of his bondmate’s need. Spock was pressing him into the mattress, pulling him into his lap, holding him against the wall of their room and then the shower, and Jim had given up entirely on actively participating. He clung to Spock’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck, and between them flowed a river of yours, yours, yours and mine, mine, mine until he no longer knew who was claiming whom.

☆☆☆

At some point in the night Jim had fallen asleep, and he was reasonably certain that that had been the only reason Spock had finally been convinced to stop moving. But the urgency that had flooded the bond the previous day had abated, and Spock was sleeping next to him when he awoke.

He sat up, trying not to disturb Spock, but Spock’s eyes opened as soon as he had registered the flare of pain from pressure on his ass. He hissed out a breath as Spock sprang up, lifting him from the bed, holding him in his arms so he wasn’t putting any weight anywhere near his tailbone. Spock was still nonverbal, it seemed, but the bond pulsed with question and concern.

Baby, please. Can you grab the regenerator from the medical pack? Jim asked. Rather than set him down to retrieve it, Spock carried him across the room and settled them both in Jim’s chair as he grabbed the regenerator. For the first time in days, he saw a flicker of Spock’s normal disposition in his eyes as he turned it over to read the instructions. He stood, carried Jim back to the bed, and carefully flipped him over to deposit him on his stomach before rereading the instructions.

Jim slept on and off for the next four hours as Spock methodically and deliberately applied the dermal regenerator to and in his abused ass. The blood fever had abated enough that the lust had taken a backseat to Spock’s worry, and when his rear felt mostly back to normal Spock pulled him into his lap again and let him sleep for another few hours.

When the fever reared its head again later in the evening, some of the urgency had faded and Spock took his time bringing them both to orgasm twice. They fell asleep wrapped in each other and when Jim awoke again, it was morning.

He opened his eyes to find Spock watching him fondly, smoothing his hair back with a hand that was no longer shaking with need.

Hey, love, Jim said.

Ashayam, Spock said--- his first actual word in days--- and bent to kiss him. Kissing had fallen by the wayside in favor of wantonly gasping in each other’s mouths the past few days, and Jim was content to lay here and neck like teenagers for a while.

He eventually asked, Is it over?

Almost, Spock said, and Jim could feel through the bond the difficulty he had thinking in Standard. Jim curled up to him, wrapping his arms around his neck, and Spock sat up and pulled him into his lap. Spock mentally tapped on the bond.

Yeah, honey?

Instead of replying in words, Spock kissed the back of his head and pushed the fantasy that Jim had shared with him on the first day back along the bond.

Surprised, he asked, You want to? Spock nodded against the back of his head. He turned in his arms and captured Spock’s lips again, sliding his tongue into his mouth. He readjusted his legs to straddle Spock’s lap and ground down against him as Spock’s hands slid up his back.

He threaded his hands through Spock’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat for Jim to finally, finally leave a retributive hickey on him. He felt the tensing of Spock’s throat as he swallowed. He pressed a kiss to the point of Spock’s ear and asked, Will you give yourself to me?

Under his lips, he felt Spock’s inhale and nod in response, and he pushed Spock down on the bed beneath him.

Spock had always had a shorter refractory period than Jim did --- just one of the unexpected benefits of his Vulcan-human hybrid physiology. But when Spock had explained the mechanics of pon farr to him six months after they’d accidentally bonded and purposefully married, the first thing that Jim had thought about after the preliminary shock was how he could take advantage of Spock having a virtually nonexistent rebound period for their mutual appreciation.

He had to admit to himself that, after the fear and reluctance had melted away, he had enjoyed a week of being the absolute and unchallenged center of Spock’s entire universe, with no responsibilities to distract them. But their relationship had always been one of give and take, and he was ready to give as good as he had gotten.

Jim laid down next to Spock, one leg slung over his, and wrapped his hand around Spock’s dick. Jim had bet that Spock would be hypersensitive, and he was pretty sure he had bet right when Spock arched up, thrusting into his hand immediately. With his other hand he grabbed Spock’s wrist and dragged it to his face so he could slide two of Spock’s fingers into his mouth, and he was rewarded with a choked-off whimper of need. He set a loose pace with his hand, using Spock’s precome as lubricant, and swirled his tongue around his knuckles. Spock slid his other hand under Jim’s head and pulled it to him, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to his hairline. After less than two minutes Spock was keening with need, thrusting with abandon into Jim’s hand, and Jim said, Give it to me.

Spock came, wordlessly moaning even as the bond thrummed with JimJimJimJimJimJim. Jim released his hand from his mouth and kissed along his jaw.

So good, my love. He smeared his hand through the mess on Spock’s chest and slowly trailed his fingers along Spock’s dick. Again?

Spock rolled towards him, pushing his hips against his hand, burying his face in Jim’s neck. Jim lazily stroked him until, an absurdly short amount of time later, he was hard again. He crawled down the bed and Spock sat up to follow, but Jim pressed his hand against his chest and said, Stay.

Spock laid down with reluctance, and Jim laid between his legs and kissed and licked and bit the insides of his thighs until Spock threaded his hand through Jim’s hair and said, Please. Only then did Jim take him into his mouth and suck. Spock arched off the bed again, pushing his dick further into his mouth, and Jim hummed around him. He liked making Spock come; liked knowing that he was the only man to do it, the only one that got to see him fall apart like this. He wanted to take advantage of the pon farr to take him over the edge as many times as he could before Spock insisted on reciprocating. He had wondered how many that would be.

The answer, as it turned out, was six.

☆☆☆

When Jim awoke, it was because Spock’s half of the bond lit back up with the conscious and curious feel of his bondmate’s waking mind at 6:30 in the morning.

Good morning, Spock said when Jim opened his eyes.

Hey. You’re back online, Jim said, and caressed Spock’s face with the back of one hand.

So it seems, Spock said. He rolled over and stretched like a cat, exposing his back and the scratch marks Jim had dug into his skin over the course of the week. Jim ran a fingertip over one of the deeper green lines. They replicated breakfast and lounged in Jim’s bed together, and eventually Jim worked up the courage to look at himself in the mirror again.

He gaped. His neck was virtually one entire bruise, very little of the tan of his skin visible between the mottled purple and green love bites. He was supposed to be on the bridge again tomorrow, and though he did not think his team was under any illusions regarding where he had been, he wasn’t sure how much proof they needed. He stared at himself with chagrin until Spock kissed one of the marks apologetically and pulled him away from the mirror.

When he sat back down on the couch, he pulled out his padd and composed two messages.

Amanda,

Your message was a lifesaver. We can’t thank you enough. It made a huge difference in how the start of the week went. Everyone survived, with way less damage than originally feared.

We love you. Talk soon.

Jim and Spock

The second message was a group message sent via the inter-ship instant messenger.

>JTK: Hey

>JTK: Can one of you please bring a normal regenerator to my quarters? Preferably before my shift tomorrow?

>MBenga: Yes

>MBenga: Anything else? Bandages, antiseptic? Do you need a full physical?

>JTK: Appreciate it, but no

>JTK: I’m actually in perfect health. Honest

>MBenga: So the regenerator…?

>CChapel: omg

>CChapel: on the way

>CChapel: i want to see your historic hickeys

>STS: You will not be entering the quarters.

>JTK: Real professional, Christine

Jim set down his padd and pulled Spock down to rest against him. He kissed his forehead and said, We survived.

Indeed. With far less physical trauma than I had envisioned.

Do you think you’re going to be on a seven-year cycle? Or no?

I do not know. Why do you ask, ashayam?

I have ideas for next time.

Spock’s indignant and aloud, “Already?” was worth every bruise.

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