#Aqueduct Press

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Book Review: Stone Martyrs by Erik Hofstatter

Stone Martyrs is the name of Erik Hofstatter’s brand new work due for release in February 2025 as part of the Aqueduct Press Conversation Pieces Series. The Aqueduct Press Conversation Pieces Series focuses on feminist science fiction charting through time with an ever shifting mosaic of literature from short fiction, essays, poetry, speeches, interviews and more. This grand conversation on the…

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Hi!! For the kiss prompts, I’d love to read something Reader x Viktor with the scenario ‘kisses meant to distract’ + the dialogue “i think i deserve a kiss” 🥹 thank you!!

tysm for sending this ask!!!! this was so cute to write and it healed me ahaha

why would you stay?

➸ pairing: viktor x gender neutral!reader ➸ word count: 680 ➸ tags: mdni! fluffy, hurt/comfort, soft kissing, guilt, sweet ending, reader is in a long-term relationship w/ viktor, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: asked from this prompt list!!

Hextech was a blessing and a curse. It’s components to better society had been coming to fruition, but at the expense of Viktor’s sanity. Hexgates weren’t enough, all they had done was progress the city of Piltover. Nothing had been done to help anyone else. The people in Zaun—himself.

The pain in his body had become unbearable most days, his body frail and weakening with every passing moment.

He wondered why you stuck around all these years, staying at his side as his health deteriorated. You weren’t married, children weren’t on the agenda, and all he did was spend countless hours in his lab with Jayce and Sky.

It wasn’t fair to you.

Yet, you stayed.

Stopping by with a home cooked meal that he picked at, or offering your presence for a few hours while you silently read at the table in his lab while he studied the glowing hexcore.

There was a particular week when Viktor lost all hope. Jayce, now head of the council, had spent less time with the research–in favour of protecting Piltover. A drastic turn of events from their previous shared hopes and aspirations, a way to help rather than hurt.

He sat at one of the aqueducts that sent water from Piltover into the fissures, looking out at the skyline and holding his weight onto his cane. His eyes were tired and cold, souless.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said calmly, causing Viktor to jolt and glance in your direction from the sudden intrusion, “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” he cleared his throat, attempting to sit up straighter with his hands still holding tightly to the handle of his cane, “needed some time to, eh… think.”

Sitting next to him on the ledge, you rested your cheek against his shoulder and a hand curved over his slender thigh.

“...about us?” Your voice was hushed, eyes watching the water stream below you.

Viktor’s eyes widened, shaky as he stared at you. You were nuzzled against him, the look of a sad pout covering your face. He could sense the insecurity radiating from you.

“About the hexcore,” he answered honestly, sighing as he pressed his lips against the top of your head, resting there as a fragile hand held the small of your back, “about hextech… I can’t seem to figure it out. It’s been weeks of nothing. It’s… it’s…”

You lifted your head up, lips twitching as you pressed a finger to Viktor’s lips, shushing him. Your eyes flickered between his.

“It’s eating you alive,” you finished his sentence, but not in the way he had intended.

Your heart was heavy for him. Any insecurities of yourself were long gone, and you understood the pain that Viktor was experiencing. It was defeat, feeling unworthy—terrified of death.

You felt terrible for even thinking it had anything to do with you.

“Kiss me,” you mumbled, the finger placed against his lips replaced by your thumb as you grazed it along his bottom lip. Your intent to distract him from the thoughts that weighed him down.

Viktor bore a quizzical look, brows knotting together as he blinked at you.

“Come on,” you murmured, “I think I deserve one. I haven’t seen you in days.”

The corners of his lips twitched, for once, his mind not clouded by thoughts of the hexcore. Instead, fixated on you and the way you looked at him so lovingly with your big doe eyes. How was he so lucky to have someone like you?

He dipped forward, your thumb dropping as his lips pressed to yours. A soft kiss, one that bridged the gap that had begun to split you apart. They moved together fluidly, one of his hands cupping your jaw, as yours pressed against the front of his shoulders.

“I love you,” Viktor murmured, breaking the kiss as your lips brushed together, “thank you… for staying.” His thanks were genuine, you could see the way the guilt flickered in his golden eyes.

“Kiss me again, and I’ll forgive you,” you smiled, closing your eyes as Viktor obliged, smiling against your lips.

[catdia]

Arcane Characters with a Puerto Rican Fem S/O

Jayce, Viktor, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Ekko, Sevika, Vander (nsfw)

Jayce

I like the idea that he is also Latino/Hispanic

Maybe Brazilian or Colombian

My sexy Latin Papí

In Piltover there isn’t really a big Latin community, so when he heard that you were Puerto Rican he befriended you reallllll fast

You studied botany and tech ecology, while he engineering

You wanted to save your islands flora and fauna by incorporating advanced tech, while he wanted to improve lives with magic 

You believed his dream since the beginning, even if you looked at him sometimes like he was crazy

“You have no idea what these crystals are capable of! What if we combine those aqueducts you designed for plant growth with runes? We can triple food production by 110%!” Jayce wrote equations on the board, mind going miles per second

“You think it can regrow completely deforested areas in less than 40 years?” You humored him.

“What if we can do it in less than 10?! The possibilities are endless! I promise that when I crack this, I will paint the whole world green for you.” Did he know how to warm your heart…

Jayce is a super touchy person and always has to have skin to skin contact like a new born

You get mistaken for a couple a lot before you even officially started dating

Always kisses you on the cheek when you greet each other. A very Latino thing!

Piltover’s greetings are very cold, only handshakes and shoulder pats. So he was ecstatic to finally have someone to do it with outside his family

Viktor became a victim of your kisses. But he secretly enjoys it

Jayce always smells good! Ximena taught him good hygiene since he was little. Whenever he feels a light sweat coming on he immediately hits the showers

Has a gold chain! Never takes it off. It was originally his father’s.

Doesn’t speak very good Spanish, but you teach him in between Hextech protects and meetings

You guys talk endlessly about your backgrounds and even bring treats to each other

“Mmm— oh, fuck!” He moaned shoving another spoon full of food into his mouth. Eyes rolling to the back of his head

“Jayce it really isn’t that good.” You were blushing like crazy, completely forgetting the plate in front of you. You just wanted to do something nice for him

“What are you taking about?! It’s the best thing I’ve had in weeks!”

He had been working his ass off building the new Hextech towers and surviving on sandwiches for the past month

“I also brought dessert, if you are interested…”

Jayce looked at you with puppy dog eyes. Absolutely enamored. Cheeks full like a chipmunk

“I. Love. You. Soooo. Much.” Jayce said grabbing your face and kissing you all over

“Te amo, mi rey.” (I love you, my king.) You said while gently wiping the side of his lips with your thumb

Jayce can dance! And I mean really dance. Ximena put him in classes when he was little because she didn’t want him to forget his roots

Dancing with Jayce is about passion, making love on the dance floor. Bodies pressed against each other, hands running above hot pumping blood and flesh. Heavy eye contact that yells sex and pleasure

You guys have sex in the forge all the time, instead of pounding hot metal he pounds that wet pussy (hahaha!)

Watching him pull the chains of the fire pit just gets it going for you. Back sweaty from the flames and work. Tan skin so glossy like copper

From you just wanting some papers to be signed for an new upcoming project turned into you having him on the workshop table

“Just like that, mi reina (my queen ). Como me haces sentir tan bien.” (You make me feel so good.)”

Jayce was thrusting into your cunt, the wood of the desk rattleing with every give and take. Your hands on his bare ass and his bracing your sides

When Jayce found your cunt’s sweet spot, the one that made your head fall into his shoulder with your eyes rolling back; pornografic grunt on your lips, he found gold

“You like that?” He grinned, finding solace in pleasure he gave you. Amused at how his body served yours so well

“Mmmm— yeah…” You licked the sweat of his jaw, slight stubble rough against your tongue

You loved him so much. Him with his stupid little smiles and big hands. And oh those eyes that made you dream of a safer tomorrow

“Esos ojitos de miel son tan bonitos. Te quiero comer enterito, papí!” (Those honey eyes are so pretty. I want to eat you whole, love!) You were practically going feral at his grasp. Eating at his neck and chest, savoring the taste of ash on his skin

You leaned back on your elbows, breasts jumping at his thrusts. Grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand up to cup your tit. Watching his cock drill in and out of your pussy. He was close by the knit of his eyebrows. Hips becoming harsher and sloppy

Jayce teased your clit, moving his fingers in the way you liked. Loving the clench of your walls as you grained your pelvis on his dick

“Assssíííí, cabrón—”(jusssstt like that, fucker—)

You came together in a world wind of grunts and curses. You creaming on his cock. Jayce rested his body weight on you as he came undone. Easing his head from your collar bones and giving his lips a peck. You loved how disheveled he looked, all fucked out with empty watery eyes

“Want me to give you a blowjob as you sign these for me?” You said brushing the hair of his face. Thankful for the shower he had installed at your request

“I would be an idiot to say no!”

Jayce is the king of aftercare! He will always have a snack or even a little trinket to give you after sex

“Look, I made a little pendant of the PR map!” Jayce showed you the little piece of metal. White teeth glinting as he was so proud of his artistry

“Oh my God— it uhmm… It has character alright!”

It looked more like a disheveled bean but you wore it proudly everywhere! You love your man

When you start dating Jayce, Viktor became your much appreciated third wheel

You always pack extra goodies and food in Jayce’s lunch box so that he gets feed too

Getting sad when Jayce comes home with tears in his eyes because his friend doesn’t take good care in himself

You even go as far as bringing him homemade meal preps to his house so he always has a warm dinner

Jayce’s favorite dishes you make are anything meat based: Bistec encebollado (beef steak with grilled onions), pollo guisado (stewed chicken in red sauce served over white rice), and pernil (slow oven roasted pork with crispy skin)

Would never admit to his mamá that your cooking is better than hers

And his mom absolutely invites you over to cook with her

Saying that she needs to pass on her recipes to her future daughter-in-law

You like spending Christmas at the Talis residence. A big old family gathering with delicious food and music

Ximena was more than pleased knowing that Jayce got himself a Latin girl!

Get ready to pump out some big chunky babies! This man is a Latino at heart and that comes with a few kids running around

The first time you ever visited the Talis home, Ximena took out all of Jayce’s baby pictures

“Awww, look at your tushy! Plump as ever I see.”

Jayce put his head in his hands. Ears red from his naked baby photos that you were so entranced by

“Mamí, please for the love of God put them away!”

Ximena gave her wedding ring to Jayce shortly after you left. The ring was carved and made by Jayce’s late father

“Si te vas a casar con cualquier persona, Jayce, tiene que ser ella.” (If you’re going to marry someone, Jayce, it has to be her.)

You call Jayce cerebrito (little brain) and he loves calling you mi tesoro (my treasure)

Viktor

Viktor knows the struggles of making it in Piltover as an outsider, both being form the Undercity and physically disabled

And making it to the best academy in Piltover while being different was surely a merit on its own

From simple study buddies to lovers. You fell first, but he fell harder

You call him estrellita (little star) because of his many beauty marks

I’ve read that people like to headcanon him as Czech, and I like that…. I like at ALOT

Teaches your words in his language to talk shit behind Jayce’s back. And by shit I mean make fun of his failed prototypes

Viktor straight out asked you to teach him the dirties curse words PR has to offer. And oh boy, do you give him a colorful list—

Cabrón (bastard), puñeta (fuck), hijo de puta (son of a whore), me cago en tu madre (I shit on your mom), mama bicho (cock sucker) , me cago en na’ (I shit on nothing), vete pal carajo (go fuck yourself)—

One time he got pissed at Jayce for not doing an equation right that ended up with the lab half burned to the ground.

You just stood next to Viktor as you watched them bicker at each other like a married couple. Jayce cleaning up the ash of his failed work

“You should have run them by me or Sky first, Jayce! We are partners, not competitors!” Viktor threw his now burned lab coat at him, hitting Jayce in the chest

“Well you shouldn’t have been making improvements to the Hexcore without my knowledge then!” Jayce pointed at Viktor, nailing back the fallen boards with unnecessary force. Wow, grumpy Jayce never got old

“You know what, Jayce—” Viktor looked at you with a evil glint in his eyes. Oh, no… “¡Me cago en tu madre!”

Jayce gasped like an old woman seeing a half naked girl at church. Mama’s boy Talis was going out for blood today

“Don’t talk about my Mamí like that—” he pointed at Viktor, hammer in one hand ready to knock his brains out.

“Come here you fucker!” Jayce launched towards Viktor as he scrambled to the other side of the desk

“Jayce, please don’t strain him too much! I still would like him in one piece!”

You were caught in this mess trying not to laugh as Viktor ran away with a giggle from his soon to be killer

“Take it back or I’m going to take that leg brace I built off with the bone still attached!”

“Never!” Viktor yelled triumphantly

It ended with Jayce and Viktor on their ass thanks to a good back head slap on your part

Guava enthusiasts. You brought mantecaditos (short bread cookies with guava paste on top) one time to the lab and they were gone before Jayce could try them

“Seriously, Viktor you didn’t even save me one—“ Jayce was looking inside the tin box with sad puppy dog eyes. Only finding crumbs at the every bottom

“There weren’t that many in the box anyways, Jayce.” Viktor said hiding the last cookies in his desk drawer. You made over 40 cookies, but he was never going to tell Jayce that

He likes anything vinegar based and soups. Like guineitos en escabeche (boiled green bananas dressed in a vinegar sauce) and sancocho (a hearty stew with a bunch of meat and vegetables like cabbage and yams)

It’s so funny hearing him pronounce the foods he likes! Viktor is really good at rolling his r’s. His accent is just to cute!

“What did you want me to make you Viktor?” You tried to hide your laughter as you looked at a grumpy Viktor

“I told you that I want that dulce de lecussy. The one you made last week with pieces of cheese.” He huffed

“You mean dulce de LECHOSA!” (candied papaya in sweet syrup with firm cheese) You crackled with lungs on fire from laughing so hard

“And what did I say then?!” He sassed at you trying to dim his smile

“That you basically wanted dessert pussy!!”

“I would mind that either, actually.” You gave him a slap on his shoulder. The sheer perversion of this man!

“¡Fo, que puerco eres!” (Ew, you’re such a pig!)

“How dare you call me a pig—” he gasped as you ran away from his wrath

He chased you with his cane and you ran around giggling trying to escape him

Viktor definitely has put in some weight and looks so much healthier

“I’m blaming you for my favorite trousers not fitting anymore.”

Once you showing him how real Puerto Rican girls twerk you created a new type of man. You decided to surprise him with a naked lesson. Rewarding him for the success of the Hextech gates.

“And what exactly do you call this?” Viktor rasped out. One hand firmly placed on your right hip. As the other went white holding the handle off his cane. Voice heavy with the heat of pleasure

“Perreo” you looked back at Viktor, watching him savor the ripples of your skin as you shook your body to the lyrics of Ivy Queen

“Mmm perreo…” he repeated absentmindedly

Pressing the cusp of your cunt on his clothed bulge, ass cheeks consuming and spilling out from his pelvis. Shaking your hips at various speeds and rhythms

Alternating between having your hands on the floor with your legs spread wide, having your knees bent with your fits on them, taking an ass cheek and spreading it so Viktor can see your sloppy pussy

“Eres bella.” (You’re beautiful.) heavy tongued, loving that the phrases you taught him were finally doing their magic

“Take that cock out now, jodio cabrón (fucking bastard).” Fuck did Viktor make you horny

“So vulgar.” He slowly unzipped his pants. Torturing you. He released his beautiful long cock. Dripping lines of precum down his head to his shaft 

You moaned at the sight of his dick, ready to be stuffed full. Spreading your pussy lips as an invitation. “Put it in.”

“I didn’t know that just a little dance could make you so aroused. Tell me what other— ohhhh, Janna!” Viktor had the wind knocked out of his lungs. Mouth gapping in pleasure

Sinking down his length shut him up. Pressing your ass until your cunt was consuming Viktor in a tight hold. Pushing him deep into the concrete

You swiftly shaking your ass faster than ever before. Not letting a single inches of that glorious dick escape your needy walls. One hand on the cold lab floor and the other playing with your clit

Viktor was whining, overwhelmed by the heat of your body. Hand letting go of his cane, it hit the ground with a powerful thud. Bracing himself on your hips

“I’m going to c-cum, my love—”

“Hechame esa leche adentro— mmmmmm… ¡Que rico eres, mi blanquito lindo!” (Cum inside me— mmmmmm… You’re delicious, my pretty little white boy!”)

Viktor came with a silente scream coating the inside of your pussy. If it wasn’t for the wall supporting Viktor’s back he would be on the ground by now

“That was incredible.” He stated, eyes wide with wonder and face flushed

He certainly asked for perreo lessons later on

And Viktor surprisingly can shake his hips very well! Which comes in handy for more than just one thing…

Vi

When you told her you were Puerto Rican she definitely said: “A mi me gusta la chocha de Puerto Rico.” (I love Puerto Rican pussy.)

You introduced her to reggaeton and now there is no going back, her favorite artist is Daddy Yankee

She likes to dirty dance with you, having your ass pressed against her pelvis. Especially when she has Bacardi in her veins

Vi doesn’t care what you put in her plate as long as it’s fresh and delicious

She enjoyes rice based dishes the most, like arroz con calamares (rice with calamari) and arroz con salchicha (rice with cocktail weenies)

She once downed a full bottle of coquito (coconut eggnog) on her own

Vi’s favorite dessert is arroz con coco (a coconut rice pudding)

She definitely makes fun of you for not being able to say certain words right!

Don’t EVER make a Puerto Rican say “jewelry” or “burglary”. We are allergic to L’s and R’s and it will cause us to go into septic shock!

Likes being called gringa by you. Thinks it’s hot when you say it, especially when she annoys the crap out of you

Her favorite curse word is vete pal’ carajo (go fuck yourself). And when she gets into scuffles or fights she always tosses it around

And she’s like “yeah, my girlfriend taught me that. I’m a bilingual queen as well.” She low key embarrassed the fuck out of you when she says that

“Vi, I really don’t want to do this—” Vi was strapping a pair of boxing gloves to your hands. “What if I get hurt? What if I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry about me, cupcake! I can take a few punches just fine. I’ll go easy on you. And besides—” she slapped the side of your headbrace. “I’ve seen you practice with Powder before. Ehh, it’s kind of pathetic how you throw a fist to be honest.” She gave your nose a peck, turning around and taking her side of the ring

“Hey! I’m a great hit!” You sassed placing your gloved hands on your hips

It was ON. You definitely were out for blood

“Then prove it! The stage is yours!” She ran the little bell that was attached at the wall.

It been less than 6 minutes in and you were already panting

Vi was definitely going light on you. Not even taking the spots you intentionally let open for her. She only dodged your every attempt to get a hit in

Light on her feet as she tripped your leg, causing you to fall on the ropes of the ring.

You wanted to call it, but your pride was too strong. And you equally stupid

“When are you going to hit me for real?! I didn’t think the great Violet was just a pussyfoot!” Vi pushed your buttons the right way. She loved when you got bratty

“You can’t take this heat, cupcake. I’ll knock you out until next Monday and Vander will have my head on a stick if I do.” She was right, but God did you want to wipe that smug look of her face!

“Oh, yes I can!” Your fist had a mind of its own. Angry as she was so cocky

Before you could think you took the open spot on her face. Hitting her square in the jaw, knocking her back on the rubber ropes. Vi was in shock and whiplashed by the quickness of your punch

“¡Ay, puñeta! ¡¿Violet, estás bien?!” (Oh, fuck! Violet, are you okay?!) You desperately took your gloves and stupid helmet off. The Velcro fighting your desperate attempt to pull it off

A drop of blood escaped her lips, Vi’s thumb flicked at the side of her mouth. Eyes on the smear of red, then up to you. Smirking at the damaged you inflicted

Fuck did you just make her 100 times hornier than she already was

“That kind of hurt.” Translation: it hurt like hell!

By the fire in her eyes you knew that you were so screwed. Your belly grew warm, the hole between your legs clenching on nothing

“Vi, I’m s-so sorry! I told that this was a bad—”

In a swift play of time, she pinned you against the ground. Having her left arm around your neck in a headlock, her left hand on your shoulder. As her legs trapped yours under her thighs, having them spread out with your pelvis arching forward. Both of your arms crossed behind your back pinned by the weight of your body

You moaned at the discomfort. Muscles tired by the training, you tried your best to wiggle out. Only for Vi to hold you harder against herself

“What’s wrong, cupcake? Bit off more than you can chew?” You did answer her with words, but with that glint in your eyes that meant (Fuck me, you damned raspberry bitch)

She slithered your baggy pants past your knees. Your pantieless cunt up in the air. Vi loved how you were always easy to access. From fingering you in public to her eating you out in some random alley

“Naughty girl. Who knew decking me in the face could get your pussy so wet.” She dipped a finger in your folds. Scooping the wetness and pulling it out to watch it drip

She gave your cunt a slap and your clit fluttered at the assault. Pulsating for more

“You like that, uhh?”

“Y-yeah—”

Vi gave you a plethora of open palmed hits. Juices streaming down your ass. Yelping as your cunt was being abused. All swollen and red

Vi thrusted her fingers into your opening in a scissoring motion. Her bloody thumb circling your clit

“V-vi— ahhhhaaamm! No puedo ver másss.” (I cant see anymore) Gurgling on the spit of your throat. Ready to pass out any second

Your vision went white by the lack of oxygen and the way Vi’s fingers played with your cunt so deliciously. Hot tears burning your skin from the constant stimulation

You stuck your tongue out, spitting saliva out thanks to the lack of air in your lungs. Face ready to turn blue. But did it make your body feel good…

“Just a little more— alright?”

Vi curled the tips of her fingers on your g spot and digged them in far into your crevice. Shaking her wrist to send vibrations to your whole pussy

You bit her forearm, shocks of pleasure coursing out the inside of your walls. Your teeth broke the skin, tasting the blood of your lover

Squirting the liquid of your orgasm on the ring’s floor. Vi let your body go, your lungs reviving in painful gulps of air

Vi turned you on your side, massaging your ribs and sternum. Licking the spit around your temple. She kissed your lips, careful not to take more oxygen from your body

“Who is going to clean this up?” Voice hoarse. Your mouth tasted coppery

“Lick the floor clean, losers get janitor duty.” She slapped your ass, you groaned at the lack of humanity. Vi got up from the floor and headed to her water bottle. Instead of taking a drink she poured it on her chest and hair. Nipples highlighted through her white sports bra. She pushed her wet hair back arms flexing a she felt your gaze on her

“We don’t got all night, cupcake. Avanza (hurry up).”

What a tease

Caitlyn

This girl has never know flavor until you came around

You were the daughter of one of her mother’s tailors and stylist. Your mom always brought you along to see her clients because she wanted you to take over one day

When you first visited the Kiramman residence you were blown away by the beauty of the estate. Your mom told you that this client would take longer than the others because she ordered a whole custom made ball gown

“I have a daughter, Caitlyn, about your age as well! Maybe you ladies can be friends! God knows my girl needs a gal pal.” She said excitedly as she was getting fitted for her gown.

Mrs. Kiramman gave you the liberty to explore the gardens as your mother worked. And you sat down near the water fountain to have your snack

“Esta gente si que tiene chavos…” (These people sure do have money…)

As you were munching on your sandwiches you saw a head of indigo hair peeking out from the rose bushes. A young girl

“Caitlyn, right? Do you want one?” You ask stretching your arms with your lunch in your hands. She timidly walked towards you

“What are they?” The girl asked as she sat next to you

“Sandwiches de mezcla (spam and velvita sandwiches) and platanutres (thinly fried plantain chips) ! They are really good, I made them fresh this morning.”

Caitlyn looked at them, and gently picked up a sandwich. Slowly taking a bite as she looked at your happy face.

Her eyes sparkling at the soft bread and salty spread

“Mmmm— I’ve never had anything like this before!” She then picked up some plantain chips. Savoring the salty crunch of them.

You quickly become friends. Cait even convinced her mother that she liked wearing fancy clothes just so that she could she you more frequently

Mrs. Kiramman was ecstatic that her little girl was going to wear more dresses than only her school uniform

Cait even goes as far as to ask her mom to invite you to her birthday party. The only close friend she really had was Jayce. And there were only going to be adults from other houses and The Council

You also became friends with Jayce, you both taught Cait how to dance bachata and salsa

“Cait move your hips more! You are stiff as a board, mija (girl)!” You said guiding her feet to the music

“I don’t have hips to shake!” She said as her cheeks flushed

Cait knows only a few Spanish phrases thanks to Jayce. Girl can’t roll her r’s or say her l’s even to save her life

She is a sweets girl! Loves flan de queso (cream cheese flan) and flan de vanilla (vanilla flan)

When she finally confessed her love for you she did it in Spanish. She practiced with Jayce for almost a month to get the emotions right

“Me gustas mucho. Te adoro. ¿Quieres ser mi novia?” (I like you a lot. I adore you. Do you want to be my girlfriend?) She handed you a bouquet of lilacs. You were so excited that you knocked her on her ass! You hit your head on a table and both of you spend your commitment with ice on your limbs

You watched each other grow up, you becoming a seamstress like your mother. And Cait going against all Mrs. Kiramman’s wishes and graduating from the Enforcer Academy

You join Cait in the private shooting classes with Officer Grayson. Both excellent shoots, but you not so much. You’re better in close range with a handgun

She looks so sexy in her enforcer outfit!

Lost your virginities to other other! It was the day of her graduation of the academy. When everyone was clustered in the Kiramman estate celebrating her accomplishment

You sneaked away together to her bedroom. Stealing a tray of hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of wine. Wanting to get away from the elite of Piltover

You were on her bed, stuffing your mouth with cheese and crackers

“You’re going to get crumbs on my sheets.”

“Are you going to give me a ticket for it?” Caitlyn scoffed at you as you tentatively shoved another bite in your mouth

Caitlyn stood in front of the mirror. Fixing her medals and badges that hung on the fabric. You knew her too well, she was picking herself apart. Thinking that she only got in the academy because of her name only

“I think I would get used to calling you “Officer Kiramman” you said crawling to the edge of the bed, bottle of wine in your hand. Lying on your stomach with your palm under your chin. Looking at the pretty lady in blue

You patted the spot next to you, discarding the bottle to the floor. Crossing your legs on the mattress

She walked to the bed and sat next to you, leaving her top hat on her bedroom ottoman

“Caitlyn, you have to believe me when I say that you are so much more than your house” You held her temple in your palm, she held your wrist. Closing her eyes as she savored your compassion

“You are more talented than those silver spooned pricks out there! You may have the same money and influence, but they will never reach the level of talent you have. Because what is all this power for if you don’t have the heart to push change? You care, Cait! And I saw with my own eyes how you make others do as well. Like the time you told your mom to give a raise for her maids and workers! Remember that?”

She giggled, remembering that day she saw your mother counting her last few coins to afford a new pair a shoes for you. Cait yelled at Mrs. Kiramman for hours, until she finally gave into her mistake

Next time she saw you there was a brand new pair of shoes on your feet that had you running up to Cait to tell her all about

And that instance evolved into Cait wanting a better world for you. She wanted to change the concrete you walked on into fields of flowers

“Thank you, I really needed that…”

“It also helps that you have a nice pair of tits.” You joked as you pointed to her Enforcer jacket

“You minx!”

She slapped your shoulder and chuckled as you faked your hiss in pain. Rolling around the bed as you help your poor “broken” arm!

“Ohhh, I’ve been a victim of police brutality!”

“I’ll show you brutality, bebé (babe)!”

She climbed on top of you, tickling your sides

“¡Cait, para que no puedo respirar!” (Cait, stop I can’t breathe!) Cait stopped her attach, watching as your chest rose to catch the missing breaths. Your cheeks rosie in adrenaline

She wanted you there with her always. Your hair on her pillows and the smell of your skin lingering on the buttery covers

“Cait?” You asked as you calmed down. Looking at her in worry

“Fuck it” Cait thought, as her lips captured yours in an estranged kiss.

After years of ghostly touches, of lingering eyes, and Jayce calling your romance worse than nuns in love in a convent. She wanted to go the next level with you

You pulled her in, rolling yourself on top

“Are you sure?” You asked bracing her neck

“It would be my honor to have my first time with you.” And yours as well. You started to take layers of your bodies

You both laughed at your struggle to unclip her blouse. Her fingers guiding yours as she showed you the intricacy of the clasps

“I guess that “enforcement” also extends to your uniform.”

“That’s why I only let you make my garments—” Caitlyn kissed the corner of your eye. “They are much more second party friendly.” You pushed the shirt of her body, surprised at the nakedness of the chest

“No bra?” You cupped her breast, feeling the goose bumps of her skin. Her breath hitched at the coldness of your hands

“I didn’t just expect half ass handshakes and putrid marriage proposals as graduation presents.” Cait took charge, pinning you against the edge of the bed. Crawling downwards to your core

She raised your skirt, white sheer stockings held by a lacy garter around your waist. Her eyes widened at the lack of fabric covering your mound

“You weren’t the only one expecting more than just pat on the shoulder tonight.” You moaned as she spread apart your lips

Cait dove in between your legs. Hands in your hips as she guided her tongue along your folds. Nose resting on the shell of your clit

“I t-think, ahhh, you underestimate yourself too much, Cait.” She focused on your bud, rolling her lips on it. Then sucking ever so lightly to draw whimpers out of your vocal cords

“¡Ya no aguanto más! Yo creo que—” (I can’t bear it anymore! I think that—)

You came with a grunt, arching your back of the matters. Head filling with rushed blood as it hanged free of support from the mattress. As you were lost in your high, Cait placed her cunt on yours and rolled her hips. Feeling her clit make love to yours. Your previous orgasm used at oil to make her slip against your pleasures

“Ready for another round?” She whispered into your raised calf. Teeth ripping the material of your stockings. She will buy you new ones, better ones.

Caitlyn was born into wealth and privilege, but she is the most understanding girl you’ll ever met

When you pointed out the problem, she found a solution even if it meant going against her high society

You opened her eyes to the real world and she is so thankful for that

Mel

You were part of the council serving as an international ambassador like her

When Mel first saw what you brought to the council she wanted only to use you as a pawn

But she fell in love with your want for progress, one that actually breaks cycles and not just one that covers them with empty promises

She saw herself in you, a woman that wanted to break the bounds of her past convictions

Neither of you had houses in Piltover and shared different cultural backgrounds than the others

You secretly make fun of the culture shocks you experienced when first moving to Piltover

Both you and Mel HATE the cold that comes with Piltovan winters

She knew about your country and even speaks fluent Spanish thanks to her mother being a Noxian general.

Mel is a scholar, she read up on everything PR before ever making a move on you

Even if she already read up on everything she asks you questions just to hear you rant about your roots

“Is it true that Puerto Rico has the best coffee? I’ve been planning on investing in some companies, but I’m still on the fence…” Mel said in a quizzical tone. Tapping her pen to her chin

Your eyes sparkled. “We have the BEST coffee! Did you know that we have almost 3,000 coffee farms in all PR?! And we also have started to produce cacao as well. It’s incredible considering—” you ranted out

She zoned out, just appreciating the beauty of which you speak so lovingly about a simple thing as coffee beans

You teach her how to make homemade sofrito (a wet spice blend made with sweet peppers, cilantro, recao, and other herbs)

But your favorite memory is when you made dulce de leche together because Mel wanted to make a tiered cake for Alura’s birthday

“¿Quieres probar un poco?” (Want to try some?) You had already some on your index finger for yourself, but you were dipping the wooden spoon for Mel to taste

“Absolutely.” She took the spoon out of your hand and placed it back in the pot. Mel grabbed your wrist

She brought your finger to her mouth. Feeling the velvety muscle roll on your finger pad. Mel took your digit all the way to the knuckle. Slowly pulling her head back with a moan

“It could use some more vanilla.” Mel said dipping her finger back into the caramel. You were felt stunned, mouth gapping and your temple rose red

“What about the sugar?” You cringed as your voice broke. Screaming mentally about getting a grip. You literally have the prettiest woman in Piltover at your wake, and here you are speaking like a teen hitting puberty!

“Mmm, I can find another way to make it a little sweeter…”

“Strip for me, darling.” You did has she commanded. Shredding off the layers of clothing all to please her

You loved the way she looked at you, eyes of a lioness. They held a power over you, you ate from her hands

She took the pot by the handle and tilted it until syrup flowed out the metal. Pouring lukewarm dulce de leche on your skin. As if she was washing the body of a queen. It slowly dripping down your body. From your nipples to the crescents of your abdomen

Flicking her finger up the cusp of your breast to your nipple. Collecting the sugary treat only for her to give her finger to you. You repeating the same action she did moments before

She stared at the base of your neck, then at your chest. Occasionally, coming back to you and sticking out her tongue so you could eat it out of her mouth. You didn’t know who was sweeter. Mel or the candy you made together

Mel kittened licked your areolas clean, never breaking eye contact with you. As her hot tongue cleaned you off

Mel stripped shortly after. The gold birthmarks of her body reflecting in the light. She takes the spoon an and spreads the dulce de leche on her ass cheeks. Candy flowing down her thighs

“Eat up.”

You sat on the floor staring with the drizzle on her thighs, then raising to the globes of her ass. Licking the syrup of her smooth skin. Nibbling at the small golden freckles that decorated her dark skin

“Is it sweet enough now, darling?”

You ordered a cake from an expensive bakery in Piltover and called it a day. What Alura didn’t know won’t hurt her

She definitely stuffed your pussy with her paint brushes when she is working on a new project

Having your legs spread wide for her as he picks up a brush for your entrance, making sure she thrusts it in and out a few times to get a moan for you

Sucking the juices of the handle then dipping the bristles in red paint

And what about you eating her out in her office when she is working?! The possibilities are endless with Mel

For me she is the type to love anything you make her. There is so much diversity in Puerto Rican cuisine and her just picking one is impossible in her eyes.

But man does she appreciate a fresh mofongo relleno de camarones (smashed fried plantain topped with shrimp in a tomato sauce)

And you also teach her the basics of bomba (a tradicional African dance). Even gifting her a custom made traditional outfit to make your dance rehearsals all the more authentic

Mel takes you on lavish vacations to the island. Staying at the best hotels and you serve as a guide to her. Taking Mel to all your favorite local spots to eat pinchos (meat skewers) and drink Medallas (Puerto Rican beer)

You took her to your favorite archipelagos and little islands surrounding PR. And skinny dipped into the various bioluminescent bays at night. Mel had never had such a good time in her life

“Querida (love), I have a present for you.” Mel entered your shared living space. Medium canvas in hand

“Oh, Mel! You didn’t have to! Is there any special occasion that I forgot about?!” You got up from your stop on the couch, greeting her with a kiss

“No, love. I just wanted to do something special.” She turned the canvas around. You squealed at the art piece. She never disappoints!

“Mel! ¡Qué pintura más espectacular! (What an espectacular painting!) The water and sand look so life like! I can’t wait to hag this up in my office!”

“I painted it after we got back from holiday. It’s that big archipelago you took me at the end of your trip.” She circled your waist for behind, resting her chin on your shoulder

“Yes, Cayo Icacos! Oh my God, it even has the same dock and the coast line!” You said admiring the canvas

“There is also on more thing—” She walked over your wine cabinet, pouring two glasses of wine. “I bought Icacos for us. So we can spend your winter vacations there. Alone. Together.” She kissed your jaw, handing you the glass

“Oh like you rented it out for us?” You took a swig, moaning at the sweet undertones

“No, I got the government to officially sell it to me and put it under our names.” Mel said nonchalantly. You sip out your wine in shock

Yep, you definitely passed out shortly after

Ekko

You were one of the people that lost everything to Silco. Your community was slowly taken by Shimmer and gang wars

Ekko and the Firelights rescued you from Silco’s men. You didn’t want to join his web of crime and they proceeded to burn your shop with you inside

If it wasn’t for them being close by you would have lost more than just a few inches of healthy skin

Ekko teaches you how to fix things, how to clean and go at any loose cables their hover skateboards may have

You also picked up flying those boards pretty quickly, he made sure to make them as user friendly as possible

You were sitting on one of the many branches of the Tree, watching the children play and seeing the progress of the new faces in the mural. Fuck did it hurt seeing those paint brushes touch the trunk of the tree

The branch shook with the addition of a foreign weight

“Lost in thought, chica (girl).” You looked up at Ekko, still wearing his Firelight coat with his white owl mask hanging from his belt

“Tell me what’s your mind.” He sat next to you, bumping your shoulder playfully

“I fell like I’m not doing much— like I’m not doing anything. Like I-I’m a burden to this place.” You sighed, throat tight with anxiety. Eyes burning with hot tears

“And what do you want to do?” Ekko asked, holding your hand that was resting your lap. Shining brown eyes studying your features

God why was he so damn handsome when you are in the middle of a breakdown!

“I just d-don’t want to stand by— and — and watch my people be slaughtered…” You said between jagged lips

Ekko smirked at your answer, slowly pulling away from you and placing a box on your thighs

“What is it?” You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand

“Open.” Ekko leaned back on his palms, trying his best to keep his cool guy act even if he was nervous as hell inside

You opened the box, inside there was a Firelight mask. One shaped like the face of a bird like many others in group

Suddenly you remembered that faint pop of green in the sky from your childhood. Of a little green bird that would eat your grandmas tomatoes from her garden

Your eyes widened. What is this really what you think it is?

“Ekko— is this a cotorra puertorriqueña (PR’s national bird)?” You said in aw, lifting the mask and examining its details. Feeling the emotion Ekko put into carving it

“I’m sorry it took so long, but I wanted to make something that would represent you—” He took a small book from of his coat, falling apart by age. “And I landed on that. I found this book in one of the flee markets I went to.” He flipped the pages, letting you see the images and words on the pages. Everything from fauna to history was written on it

Ekko pointed at an image of the bird. “It just screamed you— beautiful and free. I-I mean also many other things like—”

You cut Ekko of with an embrace, holding the mask to your chest

“No sabes cuán agradecida estoy, Ekko. Gracias, gracias, gracias…” (You don’t know how grateful I am for this, Ekko. Thank you, thank you, thank you…) You sobbed on his shoulder, gripping him tightly as if something was going to take him away from you

“Por nada, chica (you’re welcome, girl).” Ekko whispered, arms circling your back

You cook for the Firelight community and when it’s your turn to serve your food the line triples with people more than other days

Ekko even made space for a little herb garden for you! And you have some plantain trees growing in

He likes helping you cook as well. His favorite thing to do is cut, mash, and fry tostones (plantain fritters)

Wouldn’t it be cool for Ekko to have some Caribbean background?! Like Jamaican, Trinidadian, or even Dominican

I can just see Ekko going ham on a pastelón de carne (a sweet plantain lasagna with ground beef and mozzarella cheese)

You give the kids and the adults Spanish lessons. And private ones to Ekko (wink wink)

I believe that the community has a beautiful shower pace! Filled with plants and vines that filter the water making it crystal clear. It’s almost like a never ending waterfall. And it’s especially breathtaking at night when the moon and fireflies light the place up

It was past midnight, and you just got back from other painstaking parole. Dirt coating your clothing and skin

You head straight to the showers. Discarding your clothes on the bench of the makeshift stall you were in.

The stream was cool to your skin, nursing those fresh bruises on your arms and thighs. Grateful for the fresh washcloths, liquid soap and towels that were replenished after every use

You turned around at the sound of an object falling. Ekko’s pupils wide at the sight of your bare breasts and ass. As his owl mask laid on the floor. Who long was he there looking? Did he like what he was looking at?

“S-shit I’m sorry! I thought that it was empty! I’m just gonna—”

“It’s okay— you can stay if you want, Ekko…” Did one of Silco’s goons hit you to hard on the head? Ekko hesitated at first, but when you gave him a nod

You saw him taking off his clothes. Body littered with old scars. He stepped into your space. Both you and him admiring your bodies, if it wasn’t for the cold water you would be in flames

Trying your best to not look at his cock. You started washing off the white paint, careful of not to get any in his eyes. And he did the same, washing your face and neck. A blush on your cheeks

“I believe that “Boy Savior” is an understatement—” Feeling his toned stomach under the soapy washcloth. “You are more of a man than a lot of people out there.”

“Can I kiss you?” He brushed his thumb along the curves your your lips

“Yes…”

Ekko leaned into your lips. He hungered you for a long time, scared that if he got to close you’ll disappear like all his past loved ones

He touched the purple bruise on your rib as he wanted to pull you in, you gasped in pain breaking the kiss. His touch recoiled, then slowly came back in feather like stokes

“You should have never gotten this hurt!” He was angry at himself, it should have been him getting hurt. Not you, never you!

“I shouldn’t have been so focused on destroying those Shimmer barrels…” He pressed his forehead on yours. Eyes crimson with hurt

“We signed up for this, I did too. And if making the Underground better means a few scrapes and headaches, then I’m more than happy to do so.” Thumb wiping away his stray tears

“What can I do to make this up to you?” He kissed the pulse of your wrist

“If you shut up and make love to me.”

He backed you against the rocky wall, water cascading in between your bodies. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Moans concealed by the rush of the water

Ekko’s hips meet yours as he dropped and lifted your body on his arms. Cock hitting you gummy walls and g-spot

“¡Clávame más fuerte! ¡Quiero que se te rompa el bicho de tan duro que me rócese!” (Fuck me harder! I want you to break your dick with how hard you give it to me!)

Nails scratching his back, adding to the multitude of wounds on his body. You both were going to hurt so bad in the morning

“You drive me crazy, chica (girl)!”

You came in his cock in the final thrust, body pulsating with the warmth of your orgasm and the ice of the water

He pulled out and came on your stomach, kissing your neck hard enough to leave traces of your escaped. Your legs jelly at the knees

You and Ekko spent the last hours of night in the streams. Basking in the freshness of your flesh. Having each other on every wall and surface possible

“You know what I’m feelin’ right now?”

“Like your cock is going to fall off?” You said into his chest as you laid back with him on the wooden bench looking at the moon. Ekko’s chest rumbled in a chuckle

“That, and a hot bowl of asopao de pollo (chiken and rice soup).”

Sevika

Sevika definitely has a thing for Latinas

You moved to Piltover a few years ago and started working at The Last Drop. There was an influx of Spanish speaking people and Vander was desperately looking for a bilingual server

He hired you on the spot not caring how many years of experience you had

She basically became your unofficial body guard. Scaring of creeps that got to friendly while you were working

You taught her how to play dominos and you still ended up losing! You had to make her sorullitos (fired cornmeal sticks) for a month

She helps you give out food to the kids and homeless people around the Undercity. It breaks her heart seeing you cry over the people that suffer thanks to Piltover

After she lost her arm you took care of her. Making her cope with a new life change and the challenges that came with it

And you best believe you chewed her ear off about the whole Vander and Silco situation. Refusing to work for Silco and running your own food business to get by

There aren’t many South East Asians in the Undercity or in Piltover, and you bonded because of the lack of a community.

I think you guys talk a lot about the men in your life, how they treated both of you with violence. How toxic males can be thanks to your cultures never giving them consequences for there actions

Talking about how unworthy Sevika felt for just being born a woman, and a queer woman at that. How she finally broke away from all the stereotypes and became a force to be reckoned with after the death of her father

You heal each others soul wounds by embracing the best of your heritage 

She knows all the Indian beauty secrets! She is the one that washes and oils your hair. Saying that “you don’t know how to take care your hair”

“Sevika, I feel like my scalp is about to start bleeding!” You wiggled away as the scalp massager dug into the sensitive parts of your head

“That means it’s working! Stop being a baby.” She poured more warm oil on your head and ignored your whining

She just wants to do something nice for you and loves your reaction as you see how long your hair as gotten since getting together

A lot of the spices that you both use for your cooking it basically nonexistent in the underground

And if they sell them, they go for an arm and a leg (hahaha amputation joke)

So Sevika makes sure that she puts special orders in the smuggling catalog for all the spices, herbs and produce that you both need to make delicious meals

You put her on to tropical fruits. From the massive avocados to the sweet and sour passion fruits

“So when I’m getting a taste of your papaya?” She is a massive flirt.

Sevika’s love language is making you a cup of chai every morning

She is mostly vegetarian, only occasionally eating meat. So her favorite food that you make is also a labor of love

So I just know she loves the pasteles you make. They literally take you a whole day to prepare. From cooking the pork or chicken, toasting the banana leaves on the stove, grading the plantains, making the red oil, and wrapping them up to look like a present

It was the holiday season and you sold almost 30 preorders of your 12 count pasteles. Making big bank, but losing your peace filling all these orders in time for Christmas Eve

She says that she will “help” but she stands leaning on the counter as you fold the banana leaves in place as she munches on plantain chips

Sevika thought you were the sexiest at home in your batas (old lady dresses or muumuus). She could clearly see the outline of your body thanks to the sheer fabric. Especially liking how your nipples got hard in the cold air and the fat mound of your hairy pussy when you didn’t wear panties with the nightgown

With a frustrated look on your face when the leaf doesn’t want to work with you

Cursing under your breath “Hijo de puta— yo te digo…” (“Son of a bitch— I’m telling you…”)

“You look so sexy when you’re frustrated, mamí…” Sevika cradled your hips from behind. Kissing the curve of your nec

“Was helping me all bullshit Sevika?”

“You forget that I only have one arm left?” She said patting her empty shoulder. Smirking at your eye roll

You weren’t amused at all at her joke. “Haha, very funny…”

“But I have other ways to help you at least…” Her hand slowly creeping under your dress strap

“Like what?” You questioned her, eyebrows raised

Sevika was in between your legs as you made the last batch of pasteles for the night

Nightgown discarded on the floor

Sucking on your clit each time you finished folding a pastel. Slowly pulling it away from her mouth and letting it go with a pop. Her two middle fingers thrusting in and out of your entrance

She watched from the kitchen floor as your breasts heaved at every lick of her tongue. Biting your outer lips when you didn’t fold the leaves fast enough

“¡Comeme la tota así mismoooo!” (Eat my pussy just like thatttt!) You made those pasteles as if you were on steroids

Her nose pressed against your mound breathing the smell of your cunt. The smell of a grown woman was intoxicating to her.

Sevika speed up her fingers and tongue, you wanted to come undone. But pushed through the last of them

Your hands braced the counter as your orgasm took over. Raising one of your legs of the ground so Sevika could drink your release fully. She groaned at the taste, vibrations sending heat through your overstimulated body

You sucked a breath, peering down your bottom half. Sevika resting her head on your inner thigh, sucking purple marks on your flesh. Jaw coated in your silk. Grey eyes drinking in your dazed face

“I believe I was more than enough help. Don’t you agree, muñeca (doll)?” She gave you clit a little kiss, pleasure running up your spine

“Eres terrible, ‘Vika—” (you’re terrible, ‘Vika—) you let out breathlessly. Ruining your fingers through her short hair

She took her fingers out of your pussy, and you leaned down to taste yourself on her. Indulging in the salty sweet flavor of your bodies. Lapping her fingers clean and then kissing Sevika. Her lips push against yours

“Mmm my compliments to the chef.” You had more than one good fuck that night on the floor with Sevika

Who knew that pasteles were such an aphrodisiac?

If they ask you why these were so delicious you just smile shyly and say: “I just put a little extra love (orgasm) into them.”

Vander

As a bartender he absolutely was inspired to make a cocktail menu for you. Makes you his official taste tester for any new drink he plans to put in the menu

You owned a small food stand in the Underground ever since he was working in the mines

And it was always packed with people in and out of work

You got together shortly after Vander stopped your shop from getting mugged by some punks

Vander is a coffee lover and always makes it a routine to get up early in the mornings just so that he can have a hot cup of Puerto Rican joe with fresh butter and bread on the side

Thankful that you always feed his kids when he doesn’t have time to cook for them, and free at charge with at that

But he always sneaks more than enough coin into your tip jar when he visits you after a rough day

“Does Vander ever feed you guys at all?” You asked serving another customer

“He does but he burns everything he cooks—” Vi said licking her fingers clean from the delicious poultry you made

“Can I have another piece of chicken, tití (auntie)?” Powder said holding her empty plate at you, big eyes looking at you with love. Mouth covered in red sauce

“Con esos ojitos (with those little eyes) who can say no to you Pow-Pow!”

Yes his kids call you auntie and I’ll take that to the grave!

Whenever you call him “Hound” he blushes! And you make fun of him a lot for it as well. Calling him a dog as you catch him looking at your ass as you bend over to get plates and watching your tits jiggle as you make your fresh pressed juices.

Coquito (coconut eggnog) is his all time favorite drink, second to guarapo (sugar cane juice). And when you gave him a shot to try it solidifies his want to open a bar so he can make delicious drinks like this

When it’s the holidays Vander lets you have parrandas (live Puerto Rican music parade) at the bar. You introduced him to el guiro (a type of musical instrument) and la pandereta (small hand drum). And he plays them really well!

“Maybe those big hands are not just useful for punching things, huh Vander?” You played along side him as you watched the kids for a dance circle. Chuckling at Powder’s lack of feet coordination as she stepped on Mylo’s toes

“I will have to show you sometime. You will certainly be surprised, love.” You blushed, quickly going over the other musicians to sing your part of the chorus. You felt his eyes on you the whole time, loving the attention he gave you

The kids went to sleep as midnight approached. The adults enjoying their late drinking. Vander was leaning against the bar as you danced with Sevika. Watching you teach her the basics of bachata so that she could impress the girl she was pinning for

“You’re not so bad at this, Sevika!” She twirled you around

“Na, I’m better at the cards than all of this.” Sevika said, still looking at your feet as you guided her steps

In the corner of your eye you saw this other girl go up to Vander. You didn’t hear what they were thanks to the loud music. But you saw him shaking his head “no”. The girl turned around annoyed, flicking her wrist at him as dismissing a dog. Wishing her eyes found a brain in the back for her skull as she rolled them. You thought she finally back off. But you were wrong…

She pressed her ass against the front of his pants, shaking her flat flabby ass. Vander choking in his drink in pure shock. Trying to push the girl away

Before Sevika could stop you, you were already across the other side of the bar. Fist clenched, Vander making brief eye contact with you. His eyes widened at your wrath. Uh oh…

“¡Èl dijo que no jodia puta! ¡Te voy a romper la cara!” (He said no you fucking whore! I’m going to break your face in!) Grabbing her hair by the root and dragging her off to the bar floor. Her screaming and sinking her nails on your forearms, drawing blood. You screamed at her attach

You hear people cheer and yell at you to: “teach her to not touch anyone’s man again”.

Throwing your body weight back and making her crash into the round tables. Before the girl could even process the pain you straddled her stomach and punched her face in. The alcohol in your system making you rabid

“Love, that’s enough!” Vander pulled your fingers off the girls body. You were thrashing against his hold. Sevika hoisted the other woman taking her out of the bar.

“Everyone, out!” Vander yelled. You watched bodies move with blurry eyes. You still thirsty for blood.

“¡Déjame! (Let go!) ! Ugh, Vander!” He threw you over his shoulder. You punching his muscular back for him to let you go. He took you into the supply closet behind the bar. Dropping your feet on the floor.

“Let me out Vander! She is not getting off that easy for touch you like that!”

You wobbled like a new born fawn, holding the shelves for support. Vander locked the door and turned on the dim light abode your heads.

“Sit your ass down! I’m not tellin’ you twice…” Vander warned, pointing at the large empty barrel. You stared him down on your tippy toes. Blue eyes piercing yours.

“You really want to go there, sweetheart?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. Getting close enough to smell the whiskey and smoke on his breath. The smell of your man

You wanted those hands around your throat. You wanted him to fuck the brat out of you. Your fight for dominance was short lived

“Fine.” You caved in and sat down with an annoyed plop. Grumbling at him with your arms crossed

God, did you love the control he had over you. You loved a man that put you in your place, while still being caring and loyal

Vander turned his back to you while looking for the first aid kit. Admiring the thickness of his body. And those pants that made his ass and legs look so delectable

“If I wouldn’t have stopped you, you’ll be heading to Stillwater by the end of the night.” Vander stood in front of you, raising your head to meet his warm gaze

“I’m sorry—” You whispered as your eyes became teary

“Christ, love! You would have killed her!” He lifted your arms to see the damage. Cleaning your wounds with alcohol. You hissed at the burn. Vander slowly wrapping your forearms with white gauze

“I’ve never seen you act like that before—” Breaking the silence. “I didn’t think a lady such as yourself could be so violent, so jealous…”

Vander would never admit that he loved what you did to that girl. How sexy you were while beating the shit out of a stranger just for him. It made him feel loved in a fucked up way

He lifted your bandaged arms to his lips. Breathing the scent of your wounds

“Tell me, love. Are all Puerto Rican women like that?” He asked innocently, looking at your face with curiosity

“I’m not just a jealous woman, Vander… I’m going to tell you a little secret about us puertorriqueñas.” You said stroking his bearded cheek. “We are territorial. And we fight for what is ours, even if it means that I have to fucking sink my teeth into any whore that touches mi hombre (my man)” You said between your gritted teeth, pulling Vander towards you. Tongue sinking into his mouth tasting faint of whiskey

You pulled his belt, harshly tugging it open. Feeling his hard cock through the fabric. God, did you want to get that whore’s smell of him. Replace it with the scent of your cunt

“You are mine, Vander. And I am yours.”

His eyes dialed, pants ever so uncomfortable. Vander launched at you, lifting you by your legs and kissing your lips. Your back gently hitting against the liquor shelves

He quickly discarded your bottoms, you gave his length a few pumps then lined it up against your cunt. You could never get bored of the sight of his cock, or the hot stretch it gave you

“Choke me, Vander!” You yelled, pussy filled with him. His hand was placed in your neck in a moment. Fingers pressing your pulse points.

Vanders thrusting was meet with the sounds of clinking bottle and the rattling of the shelves. He was a beast, slapping your entrance at full force as moans were caught on your airway. Velvety walls sucking him in. Heavy balls knocking against the push of your cheeks.

“I’m gonna cum, lovie—” He let go of the hold on your throat. “Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth!” Vander dismounted you. Cock glossy from the slick of your pussy

You kneeled on the ground, fingers fucking your pussy. Taking that big veiny dick in one go, slurping your combined juices as his tip hit the back of your throat. Vander’s hand resting in your hair. Your other hand massaging his balls

Vander came with a grunt, back of his head hitting the wooden shelves. Gasping in surprise as it coated your mouth. He was going to need ice for that later, you thought, enjoying the creaminess of his cum

Sticking your tongue out to show him his release. Then moaning as you swallowed it

“You dirty girl.” Biting your lip as he cursed at your seduction

“My dirty dog.”

You licked his cock clean. Pulling his foreskin in between your lips. Kissing it all around and making out with his tip slit. You nibbled at his shaft, using a bit of teeth to draw gasps from Vander

You brought your mouth to his pubic bone. Biting his skin, hard enough to leave marks. And leaving hickeys on his stomach

Loving how your food left some extra pounds on him. Making his tummy all the more squishy and soft

“You’re eating me alive, love—” You giggled on his skin, slowly stroking his spent cock. “Mark your territory, mi loba (my she-wolf).”

“Con placer…” (With pleasure…) You gave his cock a final kiss. Long lasting, a little red bruise at the side of his shaft. Moaning at your work, eyes sparkling up at him

Vander helped you off your knees, and leaned you against his chest. You rested there for a while, calming down for your sex crazed high

“Do you want me to make you a passion fruit mock-tail, darlin’?” Vander rasped, hand soothing the pulse of your throat 

“Yesss please, and with extra—” Vander shushed you with a kiss

“And with extra ice and pineapple pieces. I know, amor (love), I know.” He pecked your forehead

[scotianostra]

January 24th in the year 76 is the reputed birth date of Publius Aelius Hadrianus the greatest wall builder Scotland can call a friend. 😉

Although now entirely in England it is in what was often called, ‘The debatable land’ the areas around it having changed hands on many occasions, work started on the wall was built in 122AD and stood as the northern frontier of the Roman Empire for over two centuries.

It is thanks to Hadrian’s Wall that the land which became Scotland was first considered one territory. It’s also a fact that we know more about Hadrian than just about every King of the Scots until Malcolm Canmore who reigned almost 1000 years later, and the emperor who in a real sense created Scotland turned out to be a fascinating character.

Hadrian is known as one of the Five Good Emperors, the others being Nerva, Trajan, Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius.

Hadrian’s family were from modern-day Spain and he may have been born there or in Rome in 76, as his father was the cousin of the previous Emperor Trajan, who looked after the boy when Hadrian’s father died when the future emperor was just nine.

I’ll skip the full story of his life and press on with the story of the wall.

Hadrian knew the east of the empire well, but not the far west. He travelled through Gaul to Britain and there he was told of the fierce barbarians to the north, so often portrayed on page and screen as savages, who frequently raided south deep into Roman Britain.

These “barbarians” were most likely the Picts who then occupied most of what is now Scotland.

As someone who commissioned or oversaw the building of bridges, aqueducts and temples and who made the Pantheon the greatest building in Rome – it survives largely intact even now – the solution to the northern problem was simple. He would keep out the barbarians, and thus ordered the construction of a wall right across the “waist” of Britain from Luguvalium to Coria, or Carlisle to Corbridge as we know them.

The story is told that he was informed that it couldn’t be done – Hadrian went to Eboracum (York) and supposedly drew up the first plans himself.

For the first time, the inhabitants of what we know as Scotland knew they had a southern limit – not that it stopped them invading anyway. It was 73 miles long and in places was up to 12 ft high and 20ft wide, with forts and fortlets spread out along the wall. It remains the largest Roman artefact still extant in the world.

So was it really the southern border of Scotland? Never officially called the border, the Wall still marked the extent of the Roman Empire with everything south being Roman Britain, especially after the Antonine Wall between the Clyde and Forth was abandoned only eight years after it was completed in 154. And the Romans did not leave until the 5th century.

So for centuries, everything north of Hadrian’s Wall was seen as the land of the barbarians, and that is why, when the land we know as England was invaded by the Angles, Saxon, Jutes, Danes and Norsemen, the peoples north of the Wall were left to their own devices.

It has been argued that no one has ever really “conquered” Scotland in that the country we think of as Scotland did not really come into being until the Picts and Scots joined together and later took back Strathclyde and the Lothians from the Britons and the Northumbrians respectively – it was only in 1018 that the Battle of Carham finally confirmed the land north of the Tweed on the east coast as part of Scotland. Various English kings claimed “overlordship” of Scotland, but the man who came closest to conquering this land was a commoner, Oliver Cromwell, and even he left alone the far north and the Hebridean islands.

Hadrian died in 138, having defined the limits of the Roman Empire in the West, limits that did not include Scotland, and we should be grateful to him, for it took a man of genius to realise that the people of this land are different from those south of his Wall.

[rosesradio]

smut masterpost ❤️‍🔥

hi !! so in the endless pursuit of my blog navigation, i decided to have a separate masterpost for my smut fics. most of these are from summer of smut, though this post will be continually updated with new fics year round 💌

Key 🔑

🌧️= dark fic

☀️= fluff

⭐️= personal favorite

valdangelo 🔥💀

he’s only here for one thing, but (so am i) ☀️📸📚

"Alright, now that I'm back, let's adjust to the full body, okay?" darkprince asked, and Leo could see the frame shake. "Because it turns out I was teasing you guys, but just for my top. It was made by a viewer, and..."

The rest of his words became drowned out in Leo's mind as he realized, to his absolute horror, that he'd been absentmindedly starting to rub one out to his roommate.

Nico di Angelo was a fucking emo femboy streamer.

what the fuck is an aqueduct? ☀️⚙️🔥

Leo crossed his arms, hiding how he clenched both his fists. "I don't like...I don't think..." he sighed. He didn't do well with jealousy, especially not after holing himself in the Bunker all week. "You can wear whatever you want, obviously, but..." he swallowed, fixing Nico with a hard look. "I want him—I want everyone—to know that I'm the only one who can touch you..."

Nico's gaze turned soft, though the spark of desire in his eyes was undeniable. He stepped closer, turning Leo around so that he was facing his project. He wrapped his arms around Leo's waist, his fingers curiously untucking his shirt from his pants.

"How is anyone supposed to know—how am I supposed to know...if it's been over a week since you've touched me, Leo?" Nico mused, pressing gentle and wanton kisses down Leo's neck.

valgrace 🔥⚡️

aphrodite’s aphrodisiac ⭐️☀️🏺🪄

"Two demigods brave and true, Demonstrate passion of great virtue. Open the lid to discover your desire, And reach completion with a heat like fire."

Leo's voice trembled on the last line. He normally hated anything that brought up fire. It was always something along the lines of: “you will use your fire powers to cause massive, life-ruining explosions” and never “your fire powers will be used to make the world's most delicious s'mores!” Still, it only took a moment for Leo to realize that it wasn't talking about his abilities in particular. What this challenge entailed was—

"Oh," said Jason, eerily calm as if discussing the weather. "She wants us to have an orgasm, right?"

a moment alone ☀️💌🙏

Jason wasn’t used to having things. His time was never his own, always dedicated to the gods or the people under his praetorship. He’d never had a relationship before—Leo was his first everything. Jason knew, according to what they’d planned, they were going to take things to the next level.

or: leo & jason finally get some alone time, but jason gets a little too into it a little too early.

jercy ⚡️🌊

take a gamble ⭐️🌧️⚔️🍃

Percy's heart thumped in his chest. Jason's face was lit in shades of blue from the neon sign standing proudly atop the neighboring building: Take A Gamble, it said. Percy had found a sort of dark humor in it once, imagining the gods up on Olympus, rolling the dice or fucking around with cards to decide the fates of their dolls. For every scratch Percy gave Jason in this fight, his old man lost a drachma. For that slash Jason gave him, Poseidon had to give up a handful of sand dollars.

Take A Gamble.

Percy's mind reeled. Jason licked his lips, making them look glossy in the light.

Take A Gamble.

jasico ⚡️💀

cucciolo ⭐️☀️🐶🌌

"Whoa, cucciolo," Nico whispered, hands cupping Jason's face. "So eager...you need me, don't you? Why don't you tell me what you need?"

Jason had an intense fantasy in that moment. He imagined Nico bending him over the mattress, pushing into him as he whispered filthy things in his ear. Jason would be left with trembling legs, clammy hands grasping the sheets as the mattress springs rocked with their movement.

But no, that couldn't be possible. That should not have been what he wanted. Perhaps if he switched things—if he bent Nico over the bed...

Jason whimpered once more, half out of need, half out of frustration at how his mind and body conflicted.

pipabeth 🪶🦉

a lesson in overcoming fear ☀️👀🫦

"Are we," Annabeth started breathlessly. Piper had begun to kiss her neck, which was doing Annabeth's train of thought no favors. "Are we hooking up?"

Piper grinned against her skin, gripping Annabeth's hips as she flipped them over. Above her, Piper looked stunning. The overhead light, dim as it was set to in the evening, cast a ring of light against her hair like a halo. Her smile held all the kindness of her friend, though her eyes held a spark of desire that made Annabeth's entire body flush with heat.

"Yeah," Piper said. "Get with the program, Chase."

lukethan 🗡️🛡️

worship & ecstasy 🌧️⚠️👑

Ethan's breath hitched, and he took a step forward. He was so used to Kronos allowing Luke shifts in his body while Kronos's spirit shifted to a higher plane. Ethan had never seen the two fight too extensively for control.

"It is no matter," Kronos managed. "I have allowed Luke many releases with that dreadful empousa Kelli, though the feeling hollows and surges. I believe that if I allow him one release in the way he would really like, then this ridiculousness will be quashed once and for all. And what he really wants, deep in his echoing, pathetic subconscious..." he narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side like a curious dog. "Is you, Nakamura.”

lukercy 🗡️🌊

’till death do us part ☀️🌧️💍🪄

What?" Luke asked blankly, perhaps a little annoyance slipping through.

"Just didn't expect you to be polite, that's all," Percy replied, walking through the doorway with a hand in his pocket.

"Well, I'm not about to carry you in like a bride, but..." Luke trailed off, swallowing. He glanced down at Percy's hand in his pocket and sighed. "Easy with the ballpoint, alright? You still got the curse of Achilles, and if I was gonna try to kill you, I would've done it by now." He paused, voice faltering as color rose to his cheeks. "Besides, if I kill you, I quite literally won't be able to cum again in my life, so..."

Percy frowned, pulling his hand out of his pocket in favor of crossing his arms. "That's probably the only time you find any joy, getting your rocks off—am I right, Castellan?"

the power of neptune ☀️🌧️🍹📚

Percy stumbled back to the dorm building unsteadily, one foot shuffling in front of the other like a deer on ice. He was wearing only boxers and a bedsheet, tied around his body like a toga; it was soft, though it also felt weird and out of place. His tongue tasted like a blue raspberry, with the undeniable sting of something more. His breathing was slightly labored, his face flushed as he finally reached the short set stairs to his building.

Oh no. His dreaded foe: stairs.

"Percy?" a familiar voice asked. Percy looked up, his vision lagging considerably as he took in the blonde young man sitting at the top of the stairs.

"Hm?" Percy hummed, kicking the first marble step as he attempted to begin the surely perilous journey. "Oh, don't mind me, 'm just...man, have you ever noticed that these stairs just go on and on...it's like that place in China...that place in China..."

The blonde man stared at him with a raised brow. He looked around nervously before meeting Percy's eyes again. "Gods, Percy, are you drunk?" He hissed. "And you were about to just walk in to the front desk like that? Are you serious?"

[Fics will be added shortly after they are posted. I hope you enjoy these !! 💌]

[loose-leaf-teacanons]

The more I think about it, the more I love claymore!Kaveh

Looks like a prissy twink but can bench-press a whole-ass bookshelf plus the annoying roommate who won't clean it up.

People think Alhaitham's the one to be afraid of, the one you don't want to engage in a fight. They are wrong.

Alhaitham just beats your ass and clocks out.

Kaveh goes *feral* on it.

And yes, Alhaitham's the guy who can throw you twenty feet and spin-kick knives into the ground so hard they leave an impact crater, but you have not seen what happens when you try to ambush the fairy-princess-looking architect while he's on a deadline and CAN'T YOU WAIT THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES TO LAUNCH YOUR IDIOTIC LOGISTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT I HAVE A CLIENT MEETING IN FIVE AND I'LL BE LOOKING LIKE A STREET BRAWLER NOW THANKS TO YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER NEMATODES––

Alhaitham just sits down to the side and breaks out a book. Better let Kaveh work the stress out of his system.

I want battle husbands so bad. It's my jam. I hope they put that in Kaveh's hangout.

Just, there's so many ways and they're all comedy gold. I mean. Imagine Traveler barging into Alhaitham's office all breathless because they were shopping and then some insurgents showed up and managed to kidnap Kaveh.

Alhaitham's just raises an eyebrow, "...so?"

And Paimon's like omg how can you be so heartless isn't he your friend???

"You're worried about the wrong person," says Alhaitham, perfectly serene. "He's not locked in with them. They're locked in with him."

/furious roar and sounds of splintering stone in the distance

"...on second thought, I suppose I should do something about this. With his debt, he can't afford to pay the damages for dropping the aqueduct on them."

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 12

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor finally learns the truth.

FIC SUMMARY: Lucifer has always kept his distance from sinners. It’s what keeps him (relatively) sane — if he gets too close, he is haunted by visions of the tragic mortal lives that landed them in Hell. But in his new life at the Hotel, it is more difficult than ever to stay away — and when it comes to light that his daughter’s insufferable facilities manager is gravely wounded, it falls to Lucifer to deliver his soul from Death. In so doing, he falls headfirst into the sins, past lives, and heartbreaks of the one human whose contradictions he is powerless to resist.

it's saturday so it's new chapter time!!! I went outside of my comfort zone for the art this time (with mixed results) but i really wanted to capture this moment this chapter!! ALSO we have a teeny lil discord server now for brain rot related to the fic so feel free to join in!

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter preview below!

Humanity has conceived of many delightful inventions over the eons. Lucifer could spend ages listing his favorites: the printing press, engines, soda, aqueducts, cereal with little prizes inside. But of all the surprises over the years, he’s pretty sure nothing tops electricity. 

The manipulation of electromagnetic fields has always been second-nature to Lucifer — he just never got the point. He was fine with living in a Hell lit by flames. Then humans discovered electricity, and Lucifer was blown away by all the potential they saw in it. Their little contraptions won Lucifer over immediately; over the years, he’s created hundreds of generators to support Hell’s burgeoning electrical grid. 

Which is to say that making a generator for the hotel is second-nature to him, even though he’s exhausted and the work involves a bunch of fiddly little parts. He’s only been at it for an hour and he’s already made good progress, working half in the hotel and half in the palace workshop, thanks to the portal he’s opened in the center of both rooms. He leaves it open so he’ll be able to hear if Alastor or Charlie come by while he’s in the palace, or if something implodes while he’s in the hotel — a very real possibility as he’s currently got the vacuum pump depressurizing the generator’s antimatter chamber. 

He gets up from his workbench in the hotel, trips on an empty wire roll, and stumbles through the portal into his workshop in search of motor oil. All of Lucifer’s creation stuff is piled at random on the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the far wall of his workshop; he unfolds his wings and flits up to rifle through the bottles on the top shelf. 

“Lucifer?” 

It’s Alastor. 

“In here,” Lucifer says.

Alastor pokes his head through the portal just as Lucifer sticks his hand in something slippery and mysterious — he jerks his hand back and an assortment of solvents topple off the shelf and splatter on the floor. Alastor laughs; Lucifer scowls over his shoulder. “Not a word.” 

“What an utter mess,” Alastor says pleasantly. 

“Right,” Lucifer says dryly. He flaps his wings and alights on a table in front of Alastor. “Do you need something?” 

Alastor steps through the portal with a mug in his hands. He isn’t smiling — is this how it’s going to be from now on? Has Alastor decided he no longer needs to smile when they’re alone?

“I’ve brought more coffee,” Alastor says. “Though I’m not sure you should accept it in your present state.” He glances pointedly at Lucifer’s hand. 

Lucifer glances down — his fingers are dripping something thick and blue onto the tile floor. He groans and magicks the stuff away.

Alastor holds out the mug. “It’s a wonder you’re able to accomplish anything amidst such chaos.”

Lucifer takes the coffee and glances around at his workshop — at the overflowing shelves, the pile of random lithium-ion batteries in the corner, the charred remains of an exploded rollercoaster car for Lu Lu World which he’d never bothered to clean up. How long has it been since anyone visited the palace? Has it really been a couple … hundred years? 

“Hah — I get by somehow,” Lucifer says. 

Alastor steps around the table, studying the machinery around the edges of the room. He pauses at the narrow unmade bed tucked in the corner. Lucifer’s face heats — he’d forgotten about the ducky quilt. 

“Do you spend most of your time here?” 

“Um,” Lucifer says. “I sleep down here, yeah. I’m usually making stuff when I’m at home. This is where I work on the big stuff. Engines and … whatever. I have a smaller workshop upstairs where I make the, uh — the ducks.”

“May I see it?” 

“You want the tour?” 

“If you please,” Alastor says.

“Uh, okay — sure. I can do that. Yep.” He crosses the room and opens the door to the hall. “Right this way.” 

Lucifer heads for the entry hall. Alastor follows; their footsteps echo on the tile. The main hallway is lined with red doors, most of which have been shut for years. The palace is larger than the hotel, but for as long as Lucifer has lived alone, he’s used only a small fraction of its rooms. 

“Where do these doors lead?” Alastor says. 

“Oh — nowhere,” Lucifer says. “Just rooms that haven’t been used in a long time.” He points at the closed doors. “That one used to be Charlie’s playroom — on the right here was the music room. This was Lilith’s office. And this was Charlie’s classroom, back when she had a tutor.”

They step out into the entry hall. On their right, a wide marble staircase leads to the second and third floors; Lucifer leads Alastor past it, through the wide archway beside the stairs. 

“This is the kitchen,” he says. “I’ve got a bunch of snacks from Earth in the pantry, if there’s anything you want to try — I put a spell on the whole room to keep food from going bad.” 

Lucifer sits on one of the barstools at the kitchen island and watches Alastor peruse his collection of sugar cereals as though it were a shelf in a library. 

“Which cereal is your favorite?” 

“Hoo boy — that’s a tricky question. Um — I’ve definitely got a soft spot for — see that blue box on your right there? That’s Cotton Candy Crunch.” 

Alastor pulls the box off the shelf and regards it with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes! That one. It’s so good — but they discontinued it a couple of years back.” 

Alastor opens the box, pours a couple of pieces into his hand, and pops one into his mouth.

“Hm,” he says. 

“Yeah, they’re, uh — they’re pretty sweet.” Lucifer hops down off the barstool and slides the cereal from Alastor’s hand into his own — their hands brush together, and Lucifer’s kitchen becomes Alastor’s, in the yellow house. There’s a pile of dishes in the sink, a layer of dust over Alastor’s mother’s cast-iron pan. This memory is near the end of Alastor’s life, when he lived alone. 

Lucifer glances up and meets Alastor’s hazel eyes. Alastor is older than usual; orange evening light filters through the kitchen window and catches in the strands of gray in Alastor’s curls, glints off the copper frames of his round eyeglasses. Lucifer struggles to place this memory among the hundreds of evenings at the end of Alastor’s life in which he came home to an empty house, made a sandwich, smoked on the porch, and then went to sleep. 

Lucifer studies the faint lines that were just beginning to appear at the corners of Alastor’s eyes in his early thirties. What might Alastor have looked like, if he’d had the chance to grow old? Lucifer’s body might as well be carved from stone; it has never aged, never changed, apart from the switch flipped when he fell — but he knows enough of human souls to envy the terms of their existence, where time is precious and the world is always in motion. Alastor’s thirty-one year human life had passed, for Lucifer, in the blink of an eye; the time had meant nothing to him, and so he had slept it away in complete isolation, wandering the palace halls and watching rubber ducks fill up its empty corners.

Alastor is still studying Lucifer with that intensity that always makes Lucifer feel utterly transparent. Some corner of Lucifer’s mind prickles with the urge to turn away, to crack a joke, to make a passable attempt at hiding the jumble of emotions playing out across his face — but Lucifer can’t move — he is transfixed by the way the sunlight catches in Alastor’s eyelashes, like paint in a paintbrush.

“Um,” Lucifer says.

The memory dissolves; they are back in the palace kitchen. Lucifer remembers the cereal in his hand and pours it into his mouth — no point in letting perfectly good Cotton Candy Crunch go to waste. 

[posttexasstressdisorder]

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 CalMatters

WhatMatters

Your guide to California policy and politics

By Lynn La

January 22, 2025

Presented by Uber, Alibaba and Californians for Energy Independence

Good morning, California.

CA sues Trump administration over ‘birthright’ order

Attorney General Rob Bonta discusses the state’s efforts to protect the rights of immigrants at the San Francisco Public Library’s Bernal Heights branch in San Francisco on Dec. 4, 2024. Photo by Jeff Chiu, AP Photo

From CalMatters criminal justice reporter Nigel Duara:

Resistance state Round 2 officially began Tuesday when California filed its first lawsuit against the new Donald Trump administration.

Eighteen states, including California, filed a lawsuit in federal court, challenging an executive order by Trump that would revoke the right of guaranteed citizenship to anyone born in the country. 

California Attorney General Rob Bonta, at a Tuesday press conference: “I am deeply disappointed that we’re here, and also not at all surprised. This isn’t some theoretical legal disagreement. It would strip Americans of their most basic rights.” 

Bonta and the other attorneys general are asking the court for an immediate injunction to stop the order from taking effect on Feb. 19 while they litigate the case in United States District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 

The attorneys general sued on grounds that the order violates the Fourteenth Amendment and the Immigration and Nationality Act by denying birthright citizenship to children born in the U.S.

“Under the order, such children born after February 19, 2025 — who would have been unquestionably deemed citizens had they been born two days ago — will lack any legal status in the eyes of the federal government,” the lawsuit asserts. “They will all be deportable, and many will be stateless. They will lose the ability to access myriad federal services that are available to their fellow Americans.”

The order would also affect how, and whether, states can provide health care to low-income children who would be denied citizenship, the lawsuit alleges. In California, that’s Medi-Cal, California's Medicaid program and the federal Children's Health Insurance Program.

The executive order asserts that undocumented people are not “subject to the jurisdiction” of the U.S., and therefore not protected by the Fourteenth Amendment. 

Daniel Farber, faculty director of UC Berkeley Law’s Center for Law, Energy, and the Environment, said the Trump administration’s argument likely faces long odds in court. 

Farber: “I think there's virtually no support among experts for the view that people who are born in the U.S. and whose parents aren't lawfully in the country are somehow not subject to the jurisdiction of the United States.”

Lawsuit tracker: With Trump’s term underway, CalMatters is tracking the lawsuits California is filing against the administration. Check it out here.

 How will Trump’s second presidency affect your corner of California? CalMatters is working with public radio partners to gather perspectives across the state. Share your thoughts here.Focus on Inland Empire: Each Wednesday, CalMatters Inland Empire reporter Deborah Brennan surveys the big stories from that part of California. Read her newsletter and sign up here to receive it.

 Other Stories You Should Know

 Trump seeks to overhaul CA water deliveries

An aerial view of the California Aqueduct on Dec. 15, 2021. Photo by Aude Guerrucci, Reuters

Besides the litany of executive orders, Trump also directed his administration Monday to route more water sourced from the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta to people in “other parts of the state … who desperately need a reliable water supply.” 

But his memo is causing confusion among some environmental experts, writes CalMatters’ Alastair Bland.

The memo calls for reinstating rules drafted during Trump’s first term in 2019, which would override an alternate proposal — unveiled in December but years in the making — developed by the Biden and Gov. Gavin Newsom administrations. 

In comparison to this plan, Trump wrote his rules “would have allowed enormous amounts of water to flow” to the Central Valley and Southern California, and that currently, “enormous water supply flows wastefully into the Pacific Ocean.”

But there’s one hitch: The Biden and Newsom plan would actually send more water to Southern California than Trump’s, according to an environmental analysis of the plan.

Jon Rosenfield, science director with the environmental watchdog group San Francisco Baykeeper: “It’s not worded with any precision and it embeds a lot of false premises. It shows an incredible lack of understanding of how California water works.”

Read more here.

 

Budgeting for CA wildfire aid

A play area smolders at the Palisades Elementary Charter School in Pacific Palisades on Jan. 8, 2025. Photo by Genaro Molina, Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

Lawmakers serving on the budget committees for the ongoing special session plan to consider today two bills that, together, would set aside as much as $2.5 billion in state funding for wildfire response and preparedness.

The proposals, which the Legislature could pass as early as Thursday, would provide $1 billion for cleanup and recovery for communities affected by the wildfires currently burning in Los Angeles County. The other $1.5 billion would come from the climate bond voters approved in November to prepare California for other natural disasters.

Of the $1 billion in recovery money, $1 million would specifically go towards rebuilding affected schools. As CalMatters’ Carolyn Jones explains, at least a dozen schools have been damaged, including at least five that were completely ruined.

Money from a recently-passed bond measure for repairing school facilities is also expected to help. The state is likely to prioritize schools devastated by the fires — meaning some schools still in dire need of critical repairs could miss out.

Read more here.

Wildfire newsletter: CalMatters is teaming up with PBS SoCal, LAist and KCRW to offer a free newsletter that delivers new and accurate information about the Southern California fires. Read an edition and subscribe.

 California Voices

CalMatters columnist Dan Walters: The L.A.-area fires add another layer to an already fraught relationship between the two egocentric political figures of Trump and Newsom.

California Voices Deputy Editor Denise Amos: As an intern working for the public transportation agency that employs her father, one L.A. college student aspires to lead the agency altogether.

 

 

Other things worth your time:

 

Some stories may require a subscription to read.

 Southern CA is about to get its first rain in months. Here’s what it means for the fires // Los Angeles Times 

With fires coming under control, LA preps for mudslides // LAist

Western Altadena got evacuation order many hours after deadly Eaton Fire exploded // Los Angeles Times

Trump’s choice for No. 2 education job has Sacramento ties // EdSource

Migrants waiting in Tijuana feel immediate sting of Trump’s border crackdown // The San Diego Union-Tribune

Mexican consulate ‘working tirelessly’ to protect immigrants’ rights in Central CA // The Fresno Bee

Two Americans freed in prisoner swap for Taliban figure held in CA // The Guardian

Huntington Beach is tackling libraries — again // LAist

Former San José police union director will serve no jail time for smuggling opioids // KQED

 

See you next time!

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[defire]

Ghost of Seattle Chapter 20

Content: escape attempt, abused child, religious fears, ptsd

Chase crept up the wall. The Guards didn't know he could scale any brick wall by pressing himself close to the bricks and spreading his weight across his fingers. The thing was, he didn't even need to use his other arm, because he could use his chin to press against the sills. It was poky on his sensitive skin, but it worked. There was a Guard up here on the second level. He could push him off, or he could just walk right on past. He passed.

Nobody was on his side here. Anybody caught him, he'd be hauled right back to his dad for another beating. This time, he might really kill Chase.

Adrenaline from that fear beat his heart hard in his chest. It made him feel hungry and twisted up inside. Something about the horrible ache in his arm was propelling him forward. He didn't want to scream anymore.

He'd disappear.

No one would hear his soft footfalls in those boots. Not on the gravel, because he wouldn't allow the gravel to turn underfoot. Not on the stairs, because he could spread his weight to the sides. He had a sense for which stairs to step over. 

He regulated his breathing--slow, even, like sleeping. Inaudible even in the still fall night. He walked along the wall. His colors weren't quite right against the darkening sky, but close enough that he wouldn't make a silhouette. 

The wooden ladder was set on the outside to let people over the barricade quickly if they were fleeing, and they could pull it up after them. That's why it was built so lightly. He climbed down it slowly, making sure the warped corner didn't bump on the way down, and moving gently so the wood didn't creak.

When he was down, he was free. He trotted down into the darkness of the downtown bombed towers. 

It was the purple part of dusk in between the buildings downtown--once skyscrapers, now towers of twisted rebar, chunks of concrete, nested on rubble. Under the rubble were hills of broken glass and nests of rodents. Chase had climbed into an unlocked car and slammed the door. Things went so silent, so suddenly. The air was stiff, but the car had been sitting in sunlight most of the day, so it was warmer than outside.

His own scream kept dinging around in his head when he closed his eyes. High-pitched and painful to hear. He just wanted to stop hearing it. Every time he focused away from the screams, the pain would rush up his arm and make him groan loudly, clenching his fists, grinding his teeth, curling his toes. Nothing would stop it. Nothing.

Meanwhile, Hell was a place of burning, getting beaten every day, instead of every couple of weeks. That was what Shorty said. People getting ripped apart. God must hate the smell.

In that case, suicide wasn't going to help.

But Chase could still get away from Dad. Since apparently all he was was a Disappointment. He never wanted to be part of something again.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. No sleep, then.

He had to survive, so he slowly ate the food he'd brought and went out to find water. 

The closest tributary was the one that ran down to the marsh that sat southeast of the Cult. The Cult seemed to be keeping the tributary clean for drinking water, so it would be the best place to get some.

Chase plodded up the cement aqueduct that it ran into and kept walking, hoping to get closer to the source. 

It puddled and spilled over the edge, currently just a streamlet, and clearly muddied. That was unusual, but Chase decided to drink anyway. He was so thirsty. He forgot about checking for sentries as he crossed. 

He bent forward, cupping his hand under the stream with his thumb and first finger pressed against the algae-slick cement.

"Wait." Someone said.

He froze and looked up. A black kid was holding an open hand--a stop-hand--out at him, concerned. Or maybe he was angry.

"That's dirty. We're digging upstream."

Chase stared, lowering his cupped hand and backing away slowly. 

The boy had a sheathed bowie knife, a handgun-sized lumpy pouch, and he was holding a stick pointed down and away in his left hand.

"You thirsty?" The boy said.

"Sorry." Chase said with a half-nod. "I'll leave."

"No, it's okay. Come on--have some clean water first." The boy said. He lowered the stick in Chase's direction.

Chase flinched at the motion.

"Grab on, I'll help you up." 

Chase stared.

"Who are you?" He said.

"I'm Blessing. Just ran away from the Cult." Blessing still held the stick out to him. "You?"

Chase hesitated. 

"I'm... why would you help me?"

"I'm a runaway too." Blessing shrugged, still holding the stick out. "Might as well help each other."

How did he know he was a runaway? Chase frowned, but he took the stick in his right hand and climbed cautiously up the side of the aqueduct with Blessing's help.

Tag list: @joyjoygorl @cepheusgalaxy

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Kindle book: Masterpost: Next:

[y-rhywbeth2]

I wonder if Astarion might be able to navigate the Lower City a little in the daytime? I'll double check later, but as I recall the city is extremely crowded, with very narrow streets, tall buildings and a lot of alcoves and tunnels where lack of space meant new housing was built over the street. It's a dark city, even ignoring the rare week when it's not overcast, you can probably find some heavily shadowed areas.

Something that occurred to me as I remembered that the Lower City doesn't have much underground for him to flee to in that cutscene: we're at the docks, the undercellar and sewers are (should actually be) in the upper city on the other side of town. Unless there's access to the aqueducts nearby, he presumably sheltered in ruined buildings or one of those covered alleyways.

Possibly the most pressing issue with being active in the daytime in the area is the overwhelming stress and exhaustion because the sun, according to some sources, nullifies the powers of vampirism and your body is barely powered and wants to bunk down and go the fuck to sleep/be dead.

[the-dalseum-duet]

satis writing an ACTUALLY CANON SCENE??

OH GOD!! what has gotten into her?? (hint: it starts with an “A” and ends with a “merican politics”)

anyway. i’ve wanted to write this scene for a while but finding the right words to do it is very difficult. it’s kind of awkward but. y’know what. it’s okay it gets the idea out there. it’s ok for art to be messy and not perfect. a byproduct of the lore overhaul, please enjoy a glimpse into Dalseum’s history and a tiny exploration into Noeul’s thought process (with even more in the tags bc I love talking abt him. fascinating fascinating man)

“THIS is your man?” tag @svwhssftr (directed at kai) (sorry to flashbang you w political commentary after talking abt sex for like a day straight)

In the blink of an eye, it all went dark. The flashing cameras, the smug glances sharper than knives the Council shot into the crowd, the glitter of the afternoon sun on The Palace’s floors— all of it. It was reduced to nothing but cold, damp darkness. 

The safety of the quiet was unnerving. Charlie’s mind clawed at the imaginary walls to escape into the dazzling ocean of the paparazzi, but her body remained idle. Her body instinctively leaned in closer to Noeul. 

He lit a match from inside his coat’s pocket—illuminating what may have been a teardrop on his cheek— and flicked it into some long and hollow metal contraption. It caught the insides and exploded into a river of crackling blue flames, revealing a mossy labyrinth of walls and chambers. It was all so empty, except for the smell of burning oil.

“There’s a lot of history in here,” Noeul whispered, removing his coat to crouch beside the aqueduct of stagnant oil. 

Charlie didn’t say a word. Her eyes were transfixed on the blurry mass of granite awaiting her. 

“We were Korean territory until the Silla dynasty. Most of the peninsula was unified under their rule, so Dalseum was naturally the next step. The warriors from the mainland tried to overtake us, but we slaughtered them. They underestimated us.”

“The hell does that have to do with this?” Charlie choked. 

“Dalseum was under the rule of its only empress in history. Her army commanded such respect that the Korean warriors fled after the first battle, and then Dalseum was forgotten to time. After the unification, they had more pressing issues than a small island with few resources.”

Charlie looked back at him, her infuriated eyes glinting in the firelight. 

“But the Dalseum government couldn’t have predicted their cowardice. They constructed a hideout underground in case of an emergency. The layout makes no sense because it’s meant to be a maze. If the officials themselves could barely figure it out, then their enemies had no chance.”

“But why are we here?” 

“You know how the Japanese imperialists occupied Korea during World War II?”

“Uh-huh.”

“A small Imperialist faction conquered Dalseum shortly before the war ended. Our bohemian government was unprepared for violent military conflict, so it crumbled. They turned our history into prison cells. The Japanese locked away everyone who dared to resist them—members of my own family, especially. These walls have seen torture you can’t even imagine.”

“You’re saying this is my prison now?”

“Welcome home, doll.” Noeul almost smiled. The fire, despite being feet away, burned Charlie’s face. 

“After the war ended, the Japanese soldiers returned home. They behaved like monsters, but they were humans with families and children. What was left of the original local government was in shambles, and my great-great-grandfather took advantage of the ruins. These halls haven’t been used as a prison ever since. We haven’t needed to use them.”

“I don’t understand, then. Why are you keeping me here?” 

“Because otherwise you’d be dead, Charlie.” Noeul shakily breathed. “If some force threatens Dalseum, it’s our right to kill it in the name of self-defense. My ancestors single-handedly poisoned dozens of the Japanese invaders. Dalseum wouldn’t exist without us. I have every right to exert my power on someone like you. I’m only showing you mercy because I love you.”

“But you love your tradition built upon oppression more.”

“Oppression?” Noeul laughed. “My family freed our people.”

“But they destroyed the old government— the one that persisted for centuries.”

“The values on which Dalseum was built were no longer effective. The feeble monarchy was nothing but show businesses, anyway. If we want to stay afloat, we can’t risk losing what we have to the uninformed decisions of an outsider. We nearly lost everything to a fascist regime— I can’t let history repeat itself.”

You’re no better than them if you imprison those who disagree with you, Charlie thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. The walls of firearms lining Noeul’s walls flashed in her head.

“Surely, you understand my reasoning.” Noeul brushed a stray curl out of her quivering eyes.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t imprison me,” Charlie laughed. She had to laugh— she’d kill him if she didn’t. 

“If you loved me, then you wouldn’t have broken the one fucking law you had to follow.”

“I don’t love you,” Charlie said. “Not anymore, at least, but that should have no bearing on my freedom. On my existence.”

“I don’t care how you feel about me,” Noeul lied. “You sowed discourse in the Council—the one thing left of my father’s administration after he died— you deliberately cheated on me with another Council official, and you tried to start some petty little uprising once you started to face the consequences. You brought this all upon yourself.” 

“I didn’t try to start shit!” Charlie exclaimed, “I spoke out about Dalseum’s ridiculous policies and your treatment of me. You slept with the person who tried to assassinate me while we were still engaged, Noeul! I had no control over how people responded to the truth.”

“You knew exactly what you were doing. Our relationship issues should have no bearing on Dalseum’s politics.”

“It impacts all of Dalseum’s politics! We could have done so much—“

“There was never a ‘we.’ Sara put these delusions of grandeur in your head, and you believed her. I never once implied that you would have any power on the Council.”

“I was supposed to marry you,” Charlie started, her vocal cords tightening as she held back tears. “We were supposed to be equals. I left my whole family because I loved you. You were a good person, Noel. Why the hell do you refuse to change your ways?”

“Because ‘my ways’ have saved lives for generations.”

“But you know that everything you’re doing is wrong. You knew that sleeping with Sonnet was wrong, you knew that leaving your responsibilities to Sara and Gale was wrong, and you knew that doing this to me was wrong. Why the hell do you keep doing this? You’re not Noel anymore—you’re some heartless idiot who only cares about what some filthy rich people think about you.”

“I keep doing this because the safety of a nation and the tradition of my family is more important than my love life. That’s common fucking sense.” 

“This is so much more than your love life,” Charlie snapped. “I wanted to help you. I would have been a good empress. I shared my ideas with the Council— the Council loved me, Noel. Why can I not fit into your traditions?”

“Because you’re everything they stand against! You’re everything my family fought to destroy!”

“What? What do they stand against? Helping the people in the Wasteland? Loosening the borders for people who are trapped here?”

���It was never about any of that. Charlie, you know that.” 

“No, I don’t!” Charlie cried. “I don’t understand why fleeing a country that no longer values me is treasonous! I don’t want to spend my entire life down here, Noel, you know that! It’ll kill me.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before trying to undo the progress of my country. You have no fucking stake in this, Blaire. Dalseum is my responsibility, and I’ll be damned before I let some inbred whore think she knows better than me.” 

Charlie inhaled. “Then let me go.”

“What?”

“If I’m nothing more than some Dixie dumbass to you, let me go home. I’m only wasting your resources down here.” 

“Because you agreed to this. You have to face the consequences of your actions. What did I tell you before you stepped foot here? No one comes in—“

“No one gets out,” they said in unison, Charlie’s tense shoulders dropping. 

“Someday, I’ll let you go— but you’re a danger to Dalseum, the Council, and yourself.” Noeul turned to the exit, the clicking of his pristine heels echoing in the endless nothingness. 

“So are you,” Charlie replied. “The only difference between us is your family name. It’s a real shame— it should have been ours.” 

Noeul didn’t respond. He hung his head for a minute and fumbled with a key attached to a chain in his pocket. 

“Is it true?” he whispered. “What you said during the trial?”

“No,” Charlie admitted. “I made it up as a last-ditch effort. Thank God, I’m not. I couldn’t carry a Sang in good conscience.” 

“You’ve proven my point,” Noeul said, almost grinning. “I can’t have a liar on the Council. I can’t trust a word you say, Blaire.” 

“That damn Council is built on lies, and you know that.” 

“It sure as hell isn’t built on women like you.” Noeul rammed the key into its slot and pried the stone wall open. “I always knew you’d amount to nothing more than your body. You almost had me fooled, but I’m glad I chose Chea over you—carrying on my bloodline would have been all you were good for.”

“Good luck getting Chea to do that for you.”

“I don’t need luck. I have someone with half a brain to replace you.” 

Charlie couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Like I said, good luck with them.” 

“You’ve always been a bitch.” Noeul wedged his foot through the hidden door and disappeared into the bright, blinding Palace halls she once called home.

But not before she managed to scream, “Watch for the hemlock! You’re all next!”

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 42 - Lying in Wait

Chapter Summary: Halsin guides the adventurers into the Shadowlands via an ancient tunnel - only to find that they're not the only creatures hoping for an escape. When the adventurers finally make it into the Shadowlands, their troubles are far from over.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 199K+ words; Chapters 42/65

Excerpt below:

“Halsin,” Wyll calls, returning from further up the broken path. “We found something.”

He gingerly hands an old, moldering journal to the druid, who studies it closely. 

“Where did you find this?” he asks Wyll softly. 

They find themselves in the remains of a hasty little camp. Right at the center of it — curled close to the remains of a campfire — are the brittle remnants of a human skeleton and a splintered quarterstaff.

Church recognizes the Oak Father’s emblem — fallen into the dust between the skeleton’s ribs. 

“Did you know them?” he asks Halsin gently. 

The druid is quiet for a moment. 

“…she was from the grove,” he whispers, voice choked. “Terryna.” 

Halsin wipes at his face, breath shuddering. “I told her… I told her not to…”

He clears his throat before handing the disintegrating journal to the warlock before walking away. Church cracks it open, surprised to find that the ink is remarkably well-preserved. 

Made good progress through the mountains. Seeing the curse for the first time filled me with an awe and fear that was difficult to describe. No writing could have prepared me, nor any artist’s rendition. As grave as the Archdruid Halsin’s warnings were, they were still lacking compared to the reality. 

Church glances over to the druid, who crouches before the skeleton with his eyes closed and lips moving in prayer. 

I shall make camp soon, and press on in the morning… though in truth, such terms have little meaning in this place.

“We should get going,” Astarion says tersely. Nervously. 

A dreadful night. The campfire needed thrice the wood that would normally be needed in order to keep it burning. Terrible sounds came to my ears from beyond the firelight. Rest has not restored me. If anything, I feel weaker. But I must persevere. I must trust in Silvanus. I must venture deeper.

“Yes,” Halsin stands, pocketing something. “We must not linger here.”

Creatures, from the darkness. Foul things. One grazed me. Only my torch saved me.

The adventurers explore the other side of the fork, only to reach another dead end. 

Deep darkness. Flames are instantly doused. The wound stings. Flesh is turning black with corruption. The shadows are growing stronger. They are spreading. I need to return to light.

“…hells, haven’t we seen this tree before?” Wyll utters. 

“Fuck!” Karlach growls, smoldering as her straining heart visibly races beneath her skin. “I hate this place!”

The wood will not burn. I can barely see the page. I am surrounded.

It is her last entry.

Church closes the journal with a sigh before approaching Astarion. He can’t help but notice that the rogue’s gaze is distant even as it scans the foreboding woods.

“Oh!” the elf startles slightly just as the tiefling opens his mouth to speak. “Sorry, did you want something?” He forces his troubled expression into a smirk. “Or are you just looking for a distraction?”

“How are you doing?” Church asks him, glancing down at the elf’s clenched hand. 

How he wishes he could just reach out and hold it, staving off whatever trepidation Astarion is feeling now… 

“I… don’t quite like this,” Astarion admits, eyes troubled above his strained smile. “Make no mistake — it's far better than that godforsaken tomb of an aqueduct.” 

The elf’s face settles into a scowl. “But it feels like we’re being watched — hunted, even. But there’s nothing out there… only more darkness.”

He huffs a laugh. “I much prefer when I’m the one prowling in the shadows, about to strike.”

Come closer. 

Something tugs at Church’s senses, and he wheels around far too late.

“Karlach!” he shouts. “Stop—!”

The other tiefling freezes — her boot mid-nudge at a dead raven smoldering with necrotic energy.

“Oh,” she utters. “Shit.”

Yes. Yes—!

A storm of ravens swarm down upon the party in an instant — eager for blood.

Start from the beginning!

[angel-of-the-moons]

We gotta give Spider-Medic a raise 😔 With all the work he does he deserves it

ahaha spidermedic x Reader when ??? 👀

-💐

Anosnlsnlxnlsnlxnlnelnd 💐💐💐💐 ILYSM

I am vibrating and bouncing off the walls and going feral and losing my mind because Omgggg I'm glad you guys like the relatively faceless Spider-Man enough for this I originally only intended to use him as a filler character so I didn't have to make more 😭😭😭

AND FUCK YEAH *cracks knuckles* I'MMA DO IT

Make Love, Not War

Spider Medic x Spider-Woman!Reader

TW/CW: PTSD, Nightmares, Angst, Pining, Reader does some stupid shit™ just to get alone with him, injury mentions, flashbacks, War PTSD, blood, SMUT, NSFW, oral sex male and fem!Receiving, fingering, unprotected sex (Don't be fools! Wrap your tools!), semi public sex(Does the medical bay at HQ count?) Lyla being a smartass

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Once again, header does not indicate Reader's race, but a story focused on my poor traumatized boi deserves its own header qwq Also this is just a fucking angsty, mindless, horny mess have fun asdfghjkl

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The first thing that hit his nostrils was the smell of churned earth, gunpowder, smoke, and blood.

So, so much blood.

His superiors let him stay enlisted, even after he got bit by that crazy spider, developed his super powers.

If anything, they made him a better medic.

Having your own almost-infinite supply of "bandages", and medical knowledge tends to make you an asset on the battlefield.

He learned how to stitch up wounds and glue them shut with lightning precision, knew how to dodge bullets and mortars, shoot webs and pull soldiers away from grenades or punji board traps... and the pitfalls. Those are always a hit or miss.

In Vietnam there was no such thing as quiet on the battlefield.

The quiet was unnerving. The quiet was bad.

The quiet meant something horrible was about to happen.

One minute he was in the trenches patching up a private who had his shoulder shredded by a sniper round, the next minute his CO who was barking orders at him had half his head blown off.

His brains got everywhere.

On his uniform, on his kit, on the rookie... his blood soaking the ground, watering the disturbed earth like they were a part of a macabre aqueduct.

That's when the gas was deployed.

Not by his allies, but the canisters were tossed into the trenches.

Mustard gas. Of course.

They had mustard gas.

The blisters, the yellowing skin, the coughing, and the burning in the lungs... gas masks were useless.

Shrapnel had hit the kid he was patching up...

All he could do was try and pull the kid he had in his arms to safety, carefully slinging some webs around his midsection to stem the tide of blood threatening to roll from him.

Other soldiers ran by. Young. Not much younger than him, but still...

So young.

Bodies were already lining the trenches as he carried the boy over his shoulder, fleeing into the treeline with what remained of his unit.

He set the bleeding soldier down, feeling blood soak through the silken bandages he'd made for him.

"Fuck." He muttered, digging around in his pack for something, anything to help him.

"Am--am I gonna d-die?" The young man gasped, choking around a mouthful of blood.

"Not if I can help it, keep your eyes open, alright?" He growled, frantically digging in his far too empty bag.

"Please don't let me die. Please don't let me die." The kid begged.

His jaw set tight, he gripped with shaky hands around the tube of glue. A pitiful amount was left.

The boy's eyes got frantic, wide, darting around to the other soldiers who created a semi-circle perimeter around them.

He kept coughing, crying, gasping.

"Please, I wanna go home. I want to see my mom again, I want to see my mom--"

He made the most horrible croaking noise, his chest contracting, before his eyes glazed over and he went silent, crimson dripping out of his mouth like he was a bloody fountain.

"Damn it!" He frantically pressed his fingers over his neck, checking for a pulse.

He pulled him down on the ground, and began chest compressions, his mind going into tunnel vision as all he could think about was getting just one more gasp from the limp body beneath him.

"Parker." The lieutenant sighed, touching his shoulder.

Not again. Not another one. Not somebody's baby.

"Parker." He said, shaking him.

He shook his head, shrugging the arm of his last commanding officer away, fighting to get the kid's heart beating again, his fingers slipping with blood.

The boy couldn't have been more than 19. He should still get the chance to marry the girl he had a picture of in his pocket, the girl who wrote the letter and left a lipstick stain on the bottom of the page telling him how she couldn't wait for him to come home.

He should get to go home, hug his mom. Kiss her cheek, watch her grow old.

He deserved to live.

He deserved to go home, alive. Not in a box, riddled with bullets and shrapnel. Not with a folded up flag, and battered tags.

Not like this.

"Parker!"

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He sat up with a start, breathing heavy and eyes wide as he frantically scanned the room, instinctively reaching for the pistol he no longer carried.

When he saw nobody there, he fell back onto the bed, a heavy sigh leaving his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

Right. He was in HQ.

He was in the med-bay.

He wasn't on the battlefield anymore.

He wasn't elbow deep in viscera anymore.

He wasn't watching somebody's child die in his arms anymore.

He draped an arm over his face briefly, before getting up to trudge into the attached bathroom to pull off his mask and stare at his face for probably the first time in days.

It was hard to look at himself, sometimes.

The one who lived. The one who got lucky, possibly at the cost of some kid fresh into his boots.

Survivor's guilt, some called it.

He pulled his gloves off next, splashing some nice cold water on his face to wake himself up, to pull him back to reality.

Once he dried off, he pulled his mask and gloves back on, walking out to grab his helmet before securing it and buckling it safely back in place.

It had a red spider with a white cross on the abdomen.

He wasn't a medical corps-man anymore.

He wasn't some useless PTSD-ridden veteran that they paraded about to showcase the horrors of war.

He was a medic. A damned good one.

He had friends, his job was cushy, he had a purpose. He didn't have to stew in his own madness anymore.

But it was when it was quiet that it got hard.

27 years old, and he felt like he'd lived decades in those trenches. Like he'd lived there his whole life.

Like he was born there. Like he was going to die there.

But, he didn't.

He was here, he was now. Part of something far bigger than he ever could have imagined.

He almost exclusively lived at HQ at this point, not seeing a reason he was needed in his universe anymore.

Miguel assured him there was no risk of an inter-dimensional anomaly, that his universe wouldn't collapse.

Thankfully, he could stay as long as he wanted and his universe wouldn't collapse.

Maybe he was a special case.

He didn't really care. Going back to post-war America was not something he looked forward to.

Going home to an empty house wasn't something he could stand, being left with his own thoughts was torture enough.

"Hey, Med." Lyla chimed, her tiny holographic image appeared above the watch on his wrist.

"Yeah? What is it, Lyla?" He asked, forcing the exhaustion from his tone, to little avail.

"So uhhh... you know the Spider-Woman from 18906?" She grinned.

"Oh dear God what did that woman do now?" He groaned, facepalming.

Lyla leaned on his head like he was a brick wall. The gesture wasn't really necessary, he couldn't feel her do it, but it was for effect.

She checked her nails and hummed.

"Sprained her ankle. Or somethin'." She smirked slowly, her body glitching until she was in front of him, hands now in the pockets of her large coat.

Her eyes glimmered almost, behind those large heart-shaped glasses.

"Just thought I'd give you a heads-up before she limps on in..."

"Ugh, thanks for the warning." He sighed as he changed the bedding and pillowcase with fresh sterile replacements, tossing the blankets he slept in into the bin.

"Tell 'er to come in here. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Want me to make sure nobody interrupts the lecture you're gonna drill into her brain?" She asked, eyebrows waggling.

"Lyla..."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'! You're acting more and more like Miguel every day!"

Before he could retort, telling the little AI she was wrong, she disappeared and he was left alone.

"Ugh."

He groaned and dug out a first aid kit and checked the supplies in this particular suite

The medical wing of HQ was much like a hospital ward. It had ICU suites, private suites, an emergency room where beds were separated by curtains, x-ray...

Everything a respectable medical professional would need.

Respectable. Yeah, right.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door to the suite slid open, and he turned, crossing his arms at you.

You drove him up the walls with your shenanigans, and how you shrugged your injuries off like they were a drop of sweat. Even the time he had to practically scoop your guts back into you.

You were the bane of his existence in the medical wing, you and Hobie. But moreso you, as you found your way under his hands in some way or another constantly.

"So..." You started bashfully, leaning on the doorframe for support. "Don't get mad..."

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"You mean to tell me you were trying to... to skateboard? While playing a goddamn guitar?" He growled, the eyes of his mask narrowing as he examined your bare, slightly swollen ankle.

His fingers were gentle, turning your foot this way and that, gauging your pain, checking the bruising...

But he had no idea how his touch was affecting you in other ways.

You got made fun of, by some of the other Spiders. Ben Reilly the most. He even outpaced Hobie with how he poked at how down bad you were for this Peter Parker. The one everyone called Spider-Medic. Sure you almost never saw his face, except on a few occasions. Sure, he looked like half the other Peter Parkers; but he had his own "look" that set him apart from the rest, a rugged appearance that made him look unique.

"You probably hurt yourself just to get his attention at this point! Not a good way to spend time with the guy you like, toots." Ben clucked. "You need a better icebreaker."

He wasn't... entirely wrong.

You were accident-prone as hell. You got injured in training, on the job... doing stupid shit with Hobie.

"Well... er. It was for a bet, so--"

He cut you off. "Don't give a damn what it was for. Doing reckless shit like this is childish."

His tone was firm, but not unkind.

He hadn't looked up at you once, and thankfully you were happy you still wore your mask. It hid the blush that crept up your cheeks.

"R.... Right." You mumble, squirming.

"Stop moving, you'll only make this harder." He grunted, reaching into his kit.

You do as he says, letting him wrap your ankle with some gauze and his webs.

His hands were warm, even through his gloves.

"Good girl." He says quietly.

You worked hard to suppress the shudder that went up your spine at that.

"It's barely a sprain. You're lucky. Don't do that kinda shit again." He told you.

"Y-yeah..." You mumble as he stands, crossing his arms and looking down at you.

God, why did you find this man so hot?

He sighed and set the kit down on the bed next to you, sorting the contents neatly again, grabbing excess from the cabinet nearby to restock it.

"So, um..." You try, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Spit it out, kid. Don't have all day." He says, focusing on his task, meticulously organizing the kit on muscle memory alone.

"I--I am not a kid! You're only like, two or three years older than I am!" You retort.

"Yeah well, I've seen and experienced enough to get you beat by a few decades." He narrowed his eyes at you.

"And doing shit like this? Getting hurt like this? Pretty damn childish if you ask me."

You wilted a bit, twiddling your fingers in your lap silently.

He wasn't wrong... but you weren't the only Spidey that didn't take things seriously all the time.

Like that one who had that Deadpool guy shoved up his ass.

Literally, you sometimes joked. It never ceased to make the guy blush, much to your delight.

Like you were blushing now, red as the parts on his suit...

"I don't mean to... not all the time, I just--"

One of his eyebrows shoots up. "What do you mean all the time? You get hurt on purpose?"

You jolted, realizing how you just let that slip.

"I, uh--I just--what I meant was..." You fumble for the words.

"What the hell are you thinking?!" He snapped, his voice turning as stern as... well, what you assume a drill instructor sounded like.

"Hurting yourself on purpose? What kind of logic goes behind that? What, you trying to get yourself killed?!"

You flinched under the onslaught of words.

"Because kid, if you think that getting yourself hurt will get you out of missions like cutting school, then I don't want to see you in my med bay at all!"

"I--"

"What kind of reckless bullshit is that? If you do this shit intentionally, then you shouldn't be in the Spider Society at all, kid--"

"I do it to come see you, you asshole!" You snap back, unable to take his criticism.

He falls silent, wide-eyed as you continue.

"And stop calling me kid! You think that shit doesn't piss me off? I've tried getting your attention, but the only way you ever look at me is when you're treating me!" You say, everything you've kept bottled up for the past six months reaching its boiling point.

"You never leave the med bay, and when you do--once in a blue fucking moon--is when you go get food from the cafeteria or go talk to Miguel! You never do anything else! Franky, it worries everyone! Not just me! It freaks out fucking Lyla, Med! Lyla!"

You continue to blow it all out. He could swear he could almost see steam coming off of you, like an angry kettle boiling.

"You never talk to anyone other than Miguel or Lyla, except when you're fucking treating someone! I just--I wanted to--You--"

Your shoulders slump and you suddenly deflate.

"You don't... I don't... I can't just--"

He sat silently, staring at you as you reached up, digging the heels of your palms into the lenses of your suit, as if that really did anything to help the tears that wanted to come out.

Fuck, you were one of the emotional ones.

For once, the word "kid" didn't come out of his mouth. Your name did.

And when he said it, he was... gentle. His tone fragile.

"If you've seen what I have... done what I have... you'd understand."

"I may not understand it all, but I want to! I just don't know how to talk to you if I'm not bleeding from somewhere!" You retorted, slapping your hand on the mattress for emphasis.

"You won't even look at me." You say quietly. "Not unless you're patching me up."

He listens to you now, and... shit. Fuck.

He was feeling things.

Feelings. Feelings he hadn't realized he was even feeling until you fessed up.

Feelings he hadn't felt since before he was shipped out.

Before...

Shit, is that why you annoyed him so much? Is that why his skin prickled when he touched you?

This wasn't... he couldn't...

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve... someone like you. Plucky, happy, so full of life.

And here you were, pouring out everything that's been on your mind, everything about him. And it was breaking his heart.

His hands were moving before either of you even realized it.

He helmet and mask were ripped off and tossed to the floor, the metal clanking a bit too loud. Your mask joined his on the tile, eyes as big as saucers as his mouth found yours, desperate and hungry.

God... you wanted to keep yelling at him but having the mouth of the man you've been pining for for months on yours threw all sense out the window; your hands pawed at each other greedily.

His hands slid around your waist, down, gripping your ass and pulling you against him, grinding his hips into yours with a groan.

Fuck, he was already getting hard. It's been so long...

He rolled the bulge in his pants against your throbbing heat, earning a weak moan from you as his mouth moved down, biting at the skin that shielded your leaping pulse, lips placing frantic kisses at the curve of your jaw, beneath your ear as he continued to grind into you, coaxing himself to full mast as fresh pulses of arousal ping around your stomach like a pinball machine.

His hastily tears his gloves off and drops them on the bed, fingers fumbling for the zipper on the back of your suit.

He tugs it down as you arch yourself against him, pressing your chest against his.

He peels it down to your waist like he's done it a hundred times; and groans deeply when he sees you weren't wearing a bra.

"Fucking hell." He growled, reaching out to pinch and roll your nipple with one hand, while groping your ass with another as your mouths crash together again, all teeth and tongue and just sheer desire.

His kisses were almost like punches, ripping the air and moans from your throat.

If his kisses were punches, you really were feeling punch-drunk right about now.

"Peter." You gasp when he bites at your bottom lip.

He stills for a moment, his mouth at the curve of your neck and shoulder.

"Say my name again." He growled, his voice heady with lust.

He bites down on the soft skin, sending sharp jolts of pleasure arcing through your bloodstream.

"Peter!" You moan breathlessly.

He leans you back, moving to place open-mouthed kisses to your collar bone, licking and nipping as he went, one of his hands groping at your left breast as his teeth close around the nipple on your right.

You moaned out loud as his mouth greedily latched on, his tongue swirling and his teeth pinching your nipple ferociously, trailing his lips across your chest to your other neglected nipple.

"Fuck--" You squeak, feeling his hand reach down to cup your clothed sex.

He could feel the heat there roll off in waves right into his palm, a slight dampness sticking through to his skin.

He groaned into your tit before popping free.

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."

You comply, letting him pull your suit down the rest of the way, careful of your bandaged ankle, even if it wasn't hurt that badly.

He hissed out a sigh between his teeth when he laid eyes on your wet and puffy sex, glossy from your arousal; the hair just above cut into a small heart.

God damn, you weren't wearing underwear, either.

Did you always wear your suit like this? One bad rip away from bearing it all...

The thought of you fighting like this, your suit getting torn juuuust right had his cock leaking at the mental image.

He didn't waste any time, his mouth immediately went in, his tongue stroking your folds before thrusting and twirling your clit.

He reminded himself of the things he'd done before.

'Same old song and dance, remember what you learned...'

And damn did he like how you were squirming.

His hair wasn't long enough to grip, a short, military buzz cut that he kept out of habit. His eyes glazed in the most gorgeous way as they locked glances with yours as his mouth devoured you like he was a starving man.

He lifted his mouth off of you, his chin shiny and slick.

"Fuck, you're so wet. D'you always get like this?" He hissed out, gliding his fingers through your folds, before plunging into your depths and curling in the most delicious way.

You nod, whimpering needily. "C-can't help it... ah--always g-get like this..."

"You're like a goddamned fountain. All this for me?" He breathed, kissing the little dip of your hip bone as he continued to fuck you with his hand, kneeling between your legs like a man kneeling before his god.

And, hell, you were already so close, his long thick fingers worked wonders inside, stroking that little spot inside that had your vision going dark at the edges.

You clawed desperately at him, at the sheets, gripping your hair as you cried out, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

Any woman dumb enough to pass this Peter Parker up was a fucking dumbass. They were missing out.

"P-P-Peter--" You babble out, whimpering pathetically.

"That's it..." He urges you quietly, shifting his body so his mouth was at the shell of your ear, his hand not moving from out of your cunt.

He pressed the heel of his palm into your clit, rolling it in time with your hips and the crook of his fingers as your orgasm crested.

"Good girl... let it out."

You whined loudly, ripping at the green uniform he wore over his suit as your climax slammed into you, your muscles squeezing his fingers so tightly he swore you could probably break them; more of your juices gushing out and soaking his hand and the sheets below.

He breathed heavily into your skin as he slowly moved his fingers, helping you ride out your orgasm until you were calm.

"Fuck." You panted, dropping your head onto the mattress.

"Oh, it'll happen." He sighs, giving you a smirk that creases the corners of his eyes.

You watch as he palms the bulge in his pants, and your hands tug on his shirt.

"Ah, I... c... can I..?" You blunder.

"Sure can, sweetheart." He all but purrs. "Be mindful of your ankle."

You give him a wet hungry kiss before switching places with him, helping him undress and kneeling between his legs.

And the sight that greeted you sent a fresh throb to your cunt.

His cock looked about seven inches, and the girth was enough to make your head spin. Veins swirled up the shaft, his tip vivid and leaking as you gripped it, your fingertips barely touching.

You give him a few pumps, your toes curling at the sounds he let out.

"You ever do this before? I should have asked..." he panted down at you, eyes locking with yours as you kissed his weeping tip.

"Yeah. I've done it a few times." You say.

You're worried about how he'd take that, knowing you weren't exactly innocent. But the look on his face and the way he bites his lip quashes your worries.

"Shit. Alright, babydoll. You lead on this one." He groaned.

You shove down the grin you want to make, instead settling for swallowing his cock as deep as you could, your jaw already straining at the stretch of him. You were really happy you didn't have a gag reflex, right now. Your exes were more than happy to abuse that fact.

You shake of the thought when you hear his voice grow shaky, his fingers gripping in your hair as you bob your head.

"Oh fuck..."

You stroke with your tongue, jerking him with your hand each time you pulled back, the salty taste of his precum coating your tongue.

You weren't afraid to get a little messy, letting saliva drip down to help lubricate your fist, the sounds of you sucking him off and the noises he was making filling the suite rivaling only the raunchiest of porn videos you've perused on the internet.

You weren't the best at blowjobs, but you liked to think you were pretty good.

Your hand cupped his balls gently, as you kept pulling your head back and pushing back down, feeling them tighten in your palm.

"Ah, fuck--" He moaned. "I'm gonna... fuck!"

He tried to pull you back, he really did, but you were a woman on a mission and he just couldn't resist your drive and focus on the task at hand.

He emptied his cock down your throat, his teeth gritting tightly as he tipped his head back, eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping down his brow.

He was stupid as fuck for not noticing how you were looking to him these past few months.

You pull off of him with a lewd pop, and kiss his tip one last time before resting your chin on one of his knees.

You batted your eyelashes and smiled up at him.

"You still alive?" You teased.

He looked down at you and shook his head, petting your hair affectionately.

"You're a little shit. C'mere."

You squeak and giggle when he pulls you up, pressing you down into the sterile-smelling bedding as his mouth finds yours again, tongues dancing as you card your nails through his short hair.

He groans again, a noise you wanted to hear a lot more often.

You part your legs for him, grinning into his mouth as you feel his cock pressing against you, still rock hard and ready to go.

"Aww... you're pent up, huh?" You purr, licking the pulse in his neck.

"Keep it up and I won't give it to you." He growled.

You instantly lay back and bite your lip, looking up at him with a glimmer in your eyes that made his heart flip, being obedient.

His good girl.

Damn, he could get used to calling you that.

He could get used to seeing how your eyes rolled back as he sunk his cock into you with a slow grind of his hips.

"Fuck..." You moaned, the girth of his cock felt bigger inside you than it did in your palm, the stretch toeing the line between painful and pleasurable as you felt the drag of his shaft inside your velvety walls.

He bottomed out inside of you, holding there, his hips flush against yours as he moans deeply in your ear.

"So fucking tight." He grunted, one of his arms next to your head, fisting the pillow as his other hand gripped at your hip, his fingers probably leaving bruises in their wake.

"I... I'm not gonna lie. Fuck, I don't think I'm gonna last long."

It made him feel a little inadequate, sure, but he wasn't gonna lie to you. It had been ages since he'd last had sex with somebody, and the feel of your mouth and tight pussy were enough to drive any man insane.

"Don't care. Keep going..." You whine, your nails digging into his shoulders as you kiss his jaw.

His eyes rolled back and he turned his head so his mouth could meet yours as he pulled himself out almost entirely, before slamming into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

He set a rough and brutal pace for himself, burying his nose in your hair and breathing deeply as he gets lost in your cunt shivering at your nails scratching down the muscles in his back, leaving angry red marks.

You felt tears prickle in your eyes as his cock punched you mercilessly, gliding in and out of your slick walls as he grunted and panted in your ear with wild desperation.

"Oh god, oh fuck--" You squeak out as he takes your hips in both of his hands and pulls you up, pistoning in and out of you like a machine.

He's all but bent in half as he says things to you in your ear, filthy praises about how good you feel around him, how sweet you are, his good you taste, how much better you feel wrapped around him than his own fist.

It was enough to send your head into a tailspin.

"My good girl." He grunted, biting softly at your ear lobe.

You shudder, your muscles clenching around him at what he said, and he makes what can only be described as a whining sound as he slaps his hips into yours, almost disoriented as he pumps you full, fucking you through his orgasm as he paints your velvet walls a sheen of white.

You're both breathing heavy, sweaty, and hot as his cock twitched with the remnants of his almost mind-numbing orgasm.

"Shit." He hissed. "You didn't--"

"I'm fine." You mumbled, brain still fuzzy from the ferocity in which he fucked you.

"Uh-uh." He sighs, keeping his softening cock sheathed inside you as he brings his fingers to your swollen clit, desperately circling the swollen bundle of nerves.

"Wan' you to cum on my cock. Come on, babydoll." He said through gritted teeth, feeling your walls flutter around him.

Your thighs squeezed against his hips as his fingers worked feverishly at your clit, his hips rolling into yours lazily as he dragged his barely half-hard cock in and out, adding extra stimulation.

Your second orgasm came harder than the last one, your whole body almost seizing up as you clawed at his shoulders, your hands falling to grip at his biceps as you babbled incoherently, mumbling his name as you gushed around him, his eyes rolling back at the sensation.

"That's it, sweetheart..." He praised, watching you come undone beneath him.

He dropped down on his elbows, his arms on either side of your head as he caged you in, giving you soft kisses, his lips spelling silent "I love you's" all the way down your neck and back up again.

He rolled off of you, pulling out and tucking you against him as you both basked in the afterglow, feeling small bits of his cum dripping out of you.

"Hey, doc...." You say affectionately, your fingers trailing circles lazily on his chest.

"Hm?" He hummed, his hand toying with your hair.

"What am I gonna do about my sprained ankle?"

"Hnh." He grunted softly.

"Gonna need some bed rest, I think. Here in the med bay, to be safe."

"Oh? And you're gonna take care of me?" You giggle innocently.

"Somebody has to make sure you don't exacerbate your injury."

[jumpingjollyrancher]

Sept. 19: Taken

Idyllshire is a bustling place; the near constant noise from its near constant construction and rebuilding projects is enough to make any conversation take place at a shout. Junior is not the biggest fan, but it’s the most convenient meeting place for now. At least Krile and Thancred have found a mostly abandoned corner to talk.

It’s not going to be a good talk from the press of Thancred’s lips and the crease between Krile’s eyebrows. Junior frowns himself, working a burr off of his tail. No one likes bad news. After they were lucky enough with Y’shtola and Thancred, he thought… He’s spared from having to start the conversation by Alphinaud’s arrival.

Krile jumps into the details of the thing. A visit to the ruins of the Praetorium gave them enough to work with. “Though faint, the waveforms bore a strong resemblance to those observed following the destruction of the Isle of Val—when I believe Hydaelyn shielded me with the blessing of Light.”

It only makes sense. Minfilia had said that Hydaelyn spoke to her. Junior grips the handle of his katana and refuses to think the worst. The previous disturbances were for their good, both his and Krile’s. Surely, She would do the same for her favorite daughter.

Thancred’s eye and his voice give away nothing as he adds to their tale. “To confirm our findings, we paid a visit to the Sil'dih Aqueducts. There we detected the same waveform, but orders of magnitude larger...as one would expect of a more recent disturbance.” He feels Junior’s gaze and turns to meet it. Still, it tells him nothing beyond the spoken words.

It should be a relief. Hydaelyn saves the day! But why? Why did she need Minfilia to go back? Why couldn’t she have escaped with him? Junior looks away from Thancred to scowl at the ground.

There’s more to sort out. Y’shtola’s flow spell that carried a third being, but this time without a trail. Krile turns to Junior. Recently acquainted though they are, she speaks to him as if they’ve studied beside each other before. “Now, recall your visions of a vast crystal floating in a sea of aether. Though this too is but a theory, studies of gifted objects suggest that, when communing with Hydaelyn, we briefly leave our bodies behind.”

“Very briefly,” Junior corrects. “I don’t usually wake up on the ground after she’s deigned to reach out.”

Krile nods. “Time is rather loose in such cases. So, let us consider the facts. One—Hydaelyn interceded. Two—a third being was caught in Y'shtola's Flow and vanished without a trace. And three— Hydaelyn may have the capacity to summon the consciousness of gifted individuals to Her side.”

It’s blatantly obvious the conclusion they’re supposed to reach. Yet, not one of them jumps to state it aloud. Y’shtola fills the gap, always the one happier to have the answer on the table to dissect. “You are implying, I take it, that Hydaelyn guided Minfilia into the compass of my magick...that She might summon her, body and soul, unto the aetherial sea?”

Nods from both Thancred and Krile are the answer. Junior’s tail flicks hard until he makes himself exhale. “If she had so little faith in me getting us out of there, I would have liked to know it.”

Thancred’s visible eyelid twitches. He very well might have rolled the hidden one; Junior has seen it before. “I think it’s less a matter of Her trusted Warrior’s skill and more of a matter of a separate task entirely. Why else would She have taken Minfilia alone?”

“She thinks I’m annoying,” Junior offers. He holds a hand up. “Actually, it might be a matter of lack of choice. Midgardsormr had already played his little trick on me by that point.”

Krile tips her head, but the rest of them frown at the reminder. A blessing cut off and a friend fallen shortly after… It has only been a few months. Junior exhales. “That’s not an issue now, but I’ve yet to hear anything from Her.”

“For a blessing, the means to continue our search already exists.” Y’shtola smiles thinly. “I speak of the Antitower—a Sharlayan construction conceived to provide scholars a vantage point over the aetherial sea. Though I know not where its entrance lies, we need only ask its last custodian - a contrary old crone who, for another blessing, refused to join the exodus.��

Despite everything, despite the terrible feeling of dread hanging over his shoulders, Junior’s lips curl upward. “She’s got everything, doesn’t she?”

“It certainly seems that way much of the time.” Y’shtola shakes her head. “Come. The sooner we approach her, the sooner we can find true answers.” 

She turns toward the city gate, Alphinaud and Krile falling in behind her. Alphinaud is already talking, probably filling Krile in on the details of Junior’s various irritations with the father of dragons. Thancred, however, lingers. Junior looks at him, eyes sharp. “We’ll find her.”

“Whatever it takes.” Thancred sets a hand on his shoulder and then walks away. It feels, unexpectedly, like comfort. 

Junior shifts in place and then follows after them. He catches up with Thancred after a few steps and keeps pace until they’ve rejoined the group.

[tathrin]

Kiss #44 out of lust? If you want! Not sure how spicy you want to make it if you do, it’s up to you

Ooh okay, I'm excited to give it a try! (Let me know what you think of the results, please, folks?) Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

"Thank you, Master Legolas," one of the Gondorian counselors said, rising with a thin smile that somehow failed to reach his phlegmy eyes. Legolas was not sure of his name; too many of them looked too much alike, with their pale and wrinkled faces and their dull, lank hair and their duller eyes, all wrapped in heavy robes despite the summer warmth.

Legolas paused, confused by the interruption; why was he being thanked? He had not finished…

"However," the counselor continued unctuously, "I must wonder…and with all due respect to your efforts on behalf of our great city and indeed all of Middle-earth, of course…" He pressed a hand to his chest and gave a shallow bow. Legolas responded in kind instinctively, but the man hardly seemed to care; he went on, still with that thin smile, without pausing for a response. "Well, I must wonder, what would a Wood-elf know of such things?"

"My fellow counselor makes a salient point," said another, rising to his feet beside the first. They exchanged thin and cheerless smiles. "We are indeed grateful for your assistance thus far, Master Legolas, but this is one case in which I fear that an elvish perspective will be of little aid. Let us turn our attention to the aqueduct designs proposed by Beringrond…"

Legolas opened his mouth to explain that he was not speaking of the ways things were done by the trees of his forest, but rather those employed within his father's underground hall, which had a great deal more in common with this stone city and which had furthermore been largely built according to dwarven engineering, not elvish—but the other men were already talking among themselves, their backs turned and their ears closed to him for all that he was still standing there.

He sat down abruptly, the stone bench suddenly very hard and cool beneath him.

Aragorn caught his eye from the far side of the room and grimaced expressively, a silent apology. Legolas understood that his friend was too new a king to wish to risk offending his counselors for so polite a snub. Arwen was more direct in her response, sending directly to his mind her apologies and irritation, along with a firm assurance that the men who thought they would be able to bully her husband and his friends lightly would learn otherwise soon enough.

Legolas was not nearly as skilled in gohanath as Galadriel's granddaughter, and he could not reply in kind without a calmer heart and more time to muster his concentration, so he merely nodded his appreciation and acceptance of her mental words. He even mustered a smile in response, so that she and Aragorn would both know that he nursed no grudge nor held any blame for them over the actions of these arrogant men.

Arwen's answering smile was thin, and the expression in her eyes when she turned to look at the counselors again glittered with grim warning. Legolas had a feeling that this discussion of the city's infrastructure was not going to end the way they expected.

That did not necessarily make him feel better about being snubbed, but it was comforting to know that one's friends were offended on one's behalf.

Gimli was considerably more than merely offended. Legolas could almost feel the bench beneath him vibrating with the outrage that thrummed in the dwarf's veins. He pressed a hand to Gimli's knee and squeezed, hoping both to convey how heartening it was to see such rage kindled on his behalf and to convince the dwarf to keep said rage bottled-up for now; better to let Aragorn and Arwen tear down the arrogance of their council politely rather than for he or Gimli—interlopers here, both of them, for all that they had come to help—shout about it.

Gimli tensed, then slumped in resignation. He nodded glumly, but his eyes still smoldered as he glared at the pompous men swanning around before them in their heavy robes and tawdry jewels. Legolas smiled, and patted his knee again before withdrawing his hand and resuming a polite, attentive posture.

He could do nothing about the flush of shame that darkened his ears, of course, but none of the men were paying him any attention anyway so he doubted they would make much note of it.

The discussion of the proposed aqueducts droned on and on, circling in a pointlessly repetitive fashion that would never have occurred in Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas wondered if all men were like this, or if it was a trait specific to those of Gondor; he fortunately had to deal with very little of this sort of thing in Ithilien, for Faramir oversaw all cooperation between his people and the elves who dwelt in those slowly re-awakening lands, and Faramir was a sensible and gallant soul. If such discussions happened in Ithilien, Faramir made sure that they were sorted out before any elves got involved.

Legolas made a mental note to ask Gimli later how such matters were handled in Rohan. He had a hard time picturing the Horse Lords squandering their hours on needless discourse like this, but he had been wrong about men before. They could be such strange creatures, with such very odd ways of looking at and approaching all aspects of the world. Legolas did not think that even if he lived among them for a thousand years he would ever truly understand their minds.

The ones who stood before him now were surely not the best representatives of their peoples, anyway. It was all Legolas could do to keep himself still while they prattled on and on and on, and a sweet summer breeze wafted through the tall windows that lined the conference room. He longed to be out there in the open air doing something, not sitting here in this stuffy room listening to even stuffier men swell themselves up on the empty words of their own self-importance.

When Gimli motioned for him to lower his head so that he might whisper in Legolas's ear, he leaned over eagerly to hear whatever distraction the dwarf might be about to offer—but instead of speaking, Gimli planted a kiss on the tip of Legolas's ear. He gasped, and quickly pressed his lips together to stifle the sound, and none too soon; for Gimli's teeth followed his lips, closing gently around Legolas's ear and biting down just hard enough for a swift, sharp ache to run through him like a trickle of lightning.

Legolas shuddered, and glanced sideways at Gimli with eyes gone wide with shock and horror, but he did not pull away from the grip of those blunt teeth upon his ear, either.

Gimli smiled and released him, but Legolas still did not move; just hung there half-bent, breathing hard, as Gimli spoke at last. "There is something I have wondered," he said, his voice so quiet that his breath barely stirred the hair around Legolas's ear, "for some time now, Legolas."

Legolas's eyes darted around the room. "Yes?" he breathed.

"I have noticed," Gimli said, "the extraordinary sensitivity of elvish ears." So saying he stuck out his tongue and slid it up inside the point of Legolas's ear, as though exploring every curve and crease of the skin within by touch alone.

Legolas pressed his lips together tightly and managed to suppress all but the faintest gasp of a moan. His eyes had gone closed, and he was not sure precisely when; only that he did not dare open them, for fear that what little control he had would evaporate at the sight of his dwarf.

His hands were on Gimli's knees now, his long arms trembling with the effort of keeping himself upright; his fingers dug in hard, clinging to that solid dwarvish flesh as though Gimli's legs alone held him up above the edge of an endless cliff.

Gimli grinned—Legolas could feel it in the way his beard moved as it brushed his flushed and tingling ear—and murmured,  "Sensitive indeed! So sensitive, in fact, that I have long now been wondering…"

He paused, and Legolas swallowed against a throat gone suddenly as dry as the plains of Gorgoroth.

"Is it possible, do you think," Gimli said, "to move an elf to spill his pleasure by a touch upon his ears alone?"

Legolas moaned aloud, he could not help himself. He sank into Gimli's lap, going as loose and limp as molten gold—and then quickly thrusting himself back upright on their bench, his eyes snapping open again in horror as he remembered where they were, what they were doing.

As ignored as he had been before, the eyes of the whole council room were on them now. Legolas could feel the hot flush sinking down his ears and spreading sideways across his cheeks. "Oh," he said, swaying to his feet. "I—forgive me, the—I was only—the air is very close in here, I—I did not mean—"

"I think our Wood-elf needs some fresh air," Gimli said over his stammering. He climbed off the bench and dropped down beside Legolas, then took one of his hands and patted it soothingly between both of his. "If you will excuse us both, your highnesses, I will see to it that he is properly attended to."

Legolas trembled, and bit the inside of his lip to restrain the noises that wanted to slip free of his mouth in response to Gimli's promise of attending to him.

"Of course," said Aragorn. His eyes were bright with confusion and concern alike, and Legolas forced himself to smile reassuringly at his friend. Aragorn raised his eyebrows, a silent question.

Legolas replied with a gesture so vague that even he wasn't sure what he was trying to say, and he saw Aragorn's gaze drop to Gimli's face instead. Gimli nodded confidently and Aragorn gave a little shrug, as though resigning himself to trusting the elf and dwarf to look after one another instead of prying further.

Legolas was so relieved he almost melted off his feet again.

"Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head to avoid the stares of the councilors.

"Do feel better soon, Legolas," Arwen chirped, and Legolas felt his blush deepen.

"Er," he said. "Thank you, your highness."

He sketched the swiftest, shortest bow of his life and fled the room.

Gimli followed him, chuckling to himself, and Legolas shot him a surly glare the moment the door closed behind them.

"What in the name of your precious Mahal was that about?" he demanded.

Gimli raised his eyebrows, a hirsute picture of innocence. "Whatever do you mean?" he said. "I thought I made my intentions…" He grinned, and there was no trace of innocence left on his bearded face now. "Quite plain." He caught Legolas's hand again and pressed a kiss to the sharp knuckles, then pulled Legolas along after him down the hallway. "Quite plain, indeed."

Legolas shivered and did not withdraw his hand.

"Yes," he said, widening his stride to catch-up so they were walking now side-by-side. He was a little annoyed to hear his voice come out in such a low rasp. "But why there? Why now? Why," he implored, "in front of the entire High Council of Gondor?"

"I did not like how they spoke to you," Gimli growled, his grip on Legolas's fingers tightening.

"I did not much care for it myself," Legolas agreed archly, "but I do not see where the one thing follows the other!"

"I did not want to cause trouble for Aragorn by speaking-out against them as I wished to," Gimli explained, "so I resolved to take you away from them and show you the proper appreciation that a treasure like you deserves." His eyes twinkled up at Legolas like polished agates. "For as long as it takes until you are suitably assured of my high regard for every last inch of you, my dear. Starting with those two long points, if you please."

Legolas's knees wobbled under him. "Gimli…"

"You are lucky," Gimli rumbled, "that I cannot easily reach your pretty ears without breaking stride, or I would have you singing your pleasure right here in the middle of the hallway."

Legolas choked on his own breath. Only Gimli's hand in his kept him moving, pulling him forward when his feet would have faltered and left him standing there stupefied on the floor. Two clerks nodded to them politely as they passed and Legolas could feel his ears burning afresh.

"Gimli!" he hissed. "What if they'd heard you!"

"If I could reach your ears," Gimli grumbled, "they certainly would have heard you."

Legolas whimpered. He saw Gimli's beard twitch over a smug smile in response, and flushed darker. It was hardly his fault that dwarves kept all their most sensitive parts well-covered—save their beards, of course, but it would have been exceptionally rude to fondle a dwarf's beard in the sight of strangers. Legolas was far too polite to do such a thing to his friend (the occasional subtle tug or tweak or twist of its long, rich strands when no one else was looking was something else altogether) and now as thanks for his forbearance, he was being tormented!

"Gimli," he hissed again. "Stop it!"

Gimli only chuckled and pulled him along, now walking a little faster.

"Once I get you into that bed and down within arm's reach," Gimli told him, "I do not intend to stop until neither of us can remember a word of Westron, least of all you, Legolas." He shook his head fiercely, sending his braids bouncing. "Not for anything short of the return of another Dark Lord will I stop—and even then, I would be hard-pressed to find a reason to let you out of that bed while you're still in any state to draw a bow, so we might as well stay put and let someone else deal with it this time."

Legolas was finding it extremely difficult to remember how to breathe, and not because of the speed with which they were currently clattering down the stairs. "Gimli…"

"The sounds I am going to coax out of your bare mouth, Legolas…" Gimli seemed to be speaking as much to himself now as to anyone else, but that did nothing to blunt their effect upon Legolas, who nearly slipped a step—clumsiness that was quite unsuited to an elf!

This whole thing was intolerable. Never before had the exchange of their banter been so unbalanced, not at least so that Legolas could recall—although, admittedly, his recollection abilities were likely not at their best right now, distracted as he was by the images that Gimli's words were sending tumbling through his mind like intoxicating starbursts.

The thought of that skilled and silvertogued mouth applying itself so fervently and extensively to his sensitive ears had his breath catching in his lungs, his blood throbbing in his veins like liquid mithril. He was all but quivering with need, undone by desire for his dwarf.

Their rooms had never seemed so far from the king's chambers before!

"Gimli," he breathed, "you are a menace."

Gimli chucked but did not disagree. "And you are not?" he retorted. "Legolas, the sight of your ears flushing like that in the council room…Mahal, it was all I could do not to have you right there on the bench in front of all those half-bearded fools."

"What?" Legolas squawked. "Gimli!"

"I speak no jest!" Gimli insisted. "Stars above and gems below, Legolas, you know what seeing those ears of yours go dark with pleasure does to me." His broad chest heaved in a sigh like a mountain settling and Legolas's heart skipped a beat in response.

"It was hardly pleasure I was blushing from in there," he protested.

"I know, I know," said Gimli, grimacing, "but I could not see your face from behind you to make note of whatever distress their rudeness caused, my dear; only the tips of your ears, dark and red and so cursedly far away from my hands. How I wanted to touch you, to watch that flush spread down your cheeks and your hair flow loose around my fingers and hear your voice rise in incoherent song under my hands…"

Legolas swallowed and put a hand out to brace himself against the wall. The white stone felt cool under his palm, cool and much more steady on its foundations than was he. Gimli's masterful and lyrical wordsmithing had always been able to move him, but these words fell like an avalanche upon Legolas's heart.

"Gimli," he said and shivered, "Gimli, you…"

"Do you have any idea," Gimli continued as though he had not heard, "what a torment it was to sit there beside you with your blushing ears just over my head, unable to cradle and caress them in the sight of all those foolish, stoneless men? To see that tempting flush, and not dare to touch it? To touch you? Ah, Legolas, I could not bear it. I could not!"

"You did not bear it long, I'll note," Legolas murmured, and Gimli laughed breathlessly.

"No," he agreed, "I admit I did not. But how could anyone have expected me to? A dwarf can endure much, yes; but that!" He shook his head fiercely. "That was too much, Legolas. Even great Mahal himself would have crumbled before such a trial! Stones below, Legolas," Gimli breathed, "the sight of you…"

Legolas shivered again, trembling under the weight of Gimli's adoration—and then he remembered that it had not been men alone who had been in that council chamber.

Perhaps it was time to balance some of those scales from earlier.

He glanced down at the dwarf and said, as calmly and as casually as he could manage with his heart thundering against his ribs and his ears burning so hot it was amazing they had not yet scorched his hair, "Ah, Gimli, you will recall that you mentioned the acute sensitivity of elvish ears before?" Legolas looked up again quickly, before Gimli could see the impish smile he could feel tugging at his lips.

"Yes?" Gimli said. His impatient tone seemed to add, Is that not exactly what we are on our way to explore further?

"Well," Legolas said, as he at last lifted the latch to open the door to their shared rooms, "there is no denying that they are, indeed, quite sensitive to the touch; but you seem to have forgotten that they are very keen of hearing, also."

"Yes?" Gimli said again. "What of it?"

Legolas smiled. "Queen Arwen," he said, "you'll remember, has the keen ears of the elves."

For a moment Gimli just frowned up at him, as though confused as to why Legolas was bringing up Arwen, of all people, when they were about to climb into bed together—and then his eyes widened and his ruddy cheeks went pale.

"Oh," he said in a strangled voice. "Oh, no. Then—you mean—?"

"That she heard every word you spoke to me in the council chamber?" Legolas said. He grinned and stooped to press a kiss to Gimli's forehead before twirling back around and bounding inside. "Yes!" he laughed. "Yes, she most certainly did!"

Gimli moaned and closed his eyes. "I can never show my face in this city again," he declared.

"Then bring your face in here to the bedroom, and the rest of you with it," Legolas suggested. "For you have quite a lot of work to do in here 'ere you will have need to face Arwen or anyone else in Minas Tirith again, my most beloved dwarf!"

"Impudent elf!" Gimli yelled and followed.

The slamming of the door behind him shivered in Legolas's bones like an avalanche and he lay back upon the bed, grinning with anticipation as his dwarf climbed up beside him.

Elven ears, it transpired, were every bit as sensitive as Gimli had hoped, and more.

[silversiren1101]

👻 for mino!

Thank you Taylor and @molochka-koshka !

[Prompts here! 👻 for a scene when they were scared]

[Trigger warning: child abuse (extreme bodily harm)]

"It was YOU, wasn't it?! It was your idea!" Head-Matron Alraunt's voice is high and shrill as she grabs Tybs by the horn, yanking him forward. Her long, wrinkled fingers, lined much like that of a shrieking bird and capped in nails oh so much like the talons of one, catch some of his hair—black, greasy, shaggy—along with. He screams in pain, in fear.

"No, it wasn't! Please, ma'am! You have to believe me! I didn't even go down there, promise! It hurts, it hurts, please!"

Minovae's eyes watch, widened in fear of her own. All of the children's are. She knows he's telling the truth. They all do. It wasn't his idea for them all to go play in the abandoned aqueducts next to the bathhouse, where they all slid in the long-standing, slimy water down into the cistern below. It'd taken them hours to climb out, covered head to toe in foul-smelling grime and muck, long past closing time at the bathhouse and even longer past their curfew.

But Tybs is clean as can be—clean as a latchkey ward of an orphanage can be, anyway. Not that Head-Matron Alraunt cares. Minovae knows why she's blaming him, though.

They all do.

"Don't you dare lie to me, you little Abyssal-wretch!" Her tone is venomous as she yanks up on the horn just as she stamps the toe of her shoe down onto the furred tip of his tail. He wails. Fat tears roll down his relatively clean cheeks, only dirtied from the innocent act of playing outside; then of pressing his face to the dirt as he'd called down concerned for them all into the aqueduct entrance, too scared to climb down himself.

It's not fair.

"All of you cursedbloods are troublemakers! You can't help it! And we, who break out backs taking care of you where no one else does, are thanked with nothing but your misbehavior!"

He continues screaming, his little orange-skinned hands pawing at Matron Alraunt's where they grip him by the horn and under the arm. She pulls him upward even as her shoe grinds her tail into the weathered floorboards.

Blood smears across them.

Minovae gasps quietly, horrified. A grime-covered, scabbed hand with nails bloodied from the climb out flies to her mouth. She doesn't even notice the smell. She can't tear her eyes away from what's happening before her, so very wrong. So very unfair. He didn't do anything! Out of all of them, Tybs is the most innocent of them all! She even told him to stay put when he'd started crying after hearing their screams turn from play to fear, terrified they would all drown. She'd been of mind to stay out of the tunnels too, but hearing their screams had seen her throwing herself head first down the chute to help... And now she's the helpless one.

That helplessness is suffocating as she watches Tybs' crushed tail leave trails of blood across the floor, and then as the Matron throws him to the ground in a rage that makes him yelp and cry out painfully. His horn skids across the floor. It chips.

The movement breaks her out of the trance then. She searches for them in the crowd of other children, finding them easily enough.

'Why aren't they saying anything?!' Her eyes lock with Doril and Perus on the other side of the ring of gathered children. It was their idea, they should speak up! Can't they see what's happening?! That Tybs is in pain and the Matron won't stop? That this isn't one of her usual rage fits but something so much worse?! They're human! The matrons never punish them so harshly as they do the other children, the ones with bad blood and bad souls as they say.

The boys' own gazes meet with hers, blue and brown into her unnatural violets. A tremulous second passes.

They look away.

And it's then that Minovae's blood boils.

The floor holds their secret now; the truth. Too cowardly to speak up and admit their fault and too cowardly to watch the suffering they've passed on to a boy they play and laugh with nearly every day, something awakens in her. Her widened eyes narrow and fangs bare from her lips. Her hand falls away from her mouth and both fists clench painfully tight. How dare they?! How dare they just look away! So easy for them even though they would only be given a slap on the wrist and bottom and sent to bed without dinner at worst!

Even if she were to speak up now, or any one of the other children, they wont be believed. She knows that. They know that. As if the Matrons would believe her or anyone else over their silence, not with Tybs bloodied and wailing and begging for mercy—an admittance of guilt in Head-Matron Alraunt's eyes, surely.

It's not fair.

Why won't anyone do anything?

Why is this happening to them?

Why won't anyone make this stop?!

And it strikes her then. She is someone. She can do something. The Matrons already hate her, so experienced already with withholding her meals and striking her for every little mistake, peeling the scales from her flesh for the crime of having them, and caning her hands for each missed note during the music lessons forced on her to try and make her 'desirable'.

There is only one thing they'll believe from her right now.

"I did it!"

The shrieking from Head-Matron Alraunt quiets instantly, though Tybs' whimpering continues. She whirls around, hunched—again, like the vulture Minovae has long thought her to be. Her piercing gray eyes meet hers, alight with malice.

She feels not a lick of a fear. Just anger, something burning and hot and right. She takes a step forward, insistent. Protective. Defiant.

"It was me, Ma'am. The idea was mine." The strength of her voice surprises her. It doesn't shake. "I was the one that suggested we play in the tunnels."

She's careful not to say anything else. She doesn't say how Tybs is innocent, how he was the only kid not to go in, and how he wanted to go and run for help from an adult. She's much too aware of how the Matrons think after all these years, especially Head-Matron Alraunt: saying he isn't involved will only be taken as a confession toward the opposite.

And so she throws herself into the vulture's talons and beak so that he can crawl away, since no one else can, and she would much rather the Head-Matron Alraunt levy her wrath onto someone already hated and considered a lost cause than anyone else... The suffering before her—so wrong, so unfair—is something she can't bear to let happen. Not when she can take it herself, instead.

The pause, the silence, is palpable in her confession.

A calm before a storm. The kind that rips houses from the ground.

"Why am I not SURPRISED?!" The rising shriek of the word is punctuated as Head-Matron Alraunt grips her jaw. Those claws dig painfully into her cheeks, biting into the years of scar tissue there from the futile, repeated peeling of scales that always grow back. "It seems it's always you! Isn't it?! Drawn to mischief and mayhem and chaos like you'll die without it!"

The fear strikes her then. Of course it does. She's but a child.

The defiance fades from her eyes which go wide. She'd gasp if she could, but the grip beneath that vulture talon is iron-tight. Instead, her own small hands fly to the Head-Matron's wrist in a fearful panic. A bad move. The other talon appears, gripping both of her small wrists in one bruising vice. Her pained yelp is swallowed by that wrinkled palm.

"I am sick and tired of you pitiful, ungrateful little bitch! After all we've done, I've done! It's time to rectify this problem once and for all!"

And then she's moving. Head-Matron Alraunt drags her by the jaw and wrists through the ring of children which parts like a wake of water made scared. Their eyes follow her; all terrified, but some incredulous. Others... thankful. None of them say a word, as she's dragged around the corner, out of the main hall and down the hall. All the while, her captor, her ward, her guardian seethes. A stream pours from her mouth, made of expletives and curses and all so many insults and affirmations to herself that she was right all along and that this tailed scourge has been the source of all too many woes in their peaceful little orphanage and it was time to end this at the source.

It's a lie, though not one that Minovae really knows, much less can properly articulate. Only her future self will know that none of this was her fault, and that her scales and feathers and tail were the only justification these monsters needed. She was as well-behaved as any other child. Better even, than most.

But it didn't matter.

And to Minovae then, whose eyes roll around in a panic beneath that hand as she's dragged into the kitchen, nothing else matters but the fear. Nothing else matters as Matron Alraunt releases her jaw, which she immediately gasps and cries with, in order to grab the largest butcher's cleaver from the rank of knives. That sense of right and sense of wrong; that sense that something was so very unfair; that desire to end the madness and suffering and help?

It doesn't matter.

She sees that blade and nothing matters.

"Matron? Matron please, I'm sorry! Please! I'm so sorry, please don't kill me! Please, please please—"

Her pleading is cut off as the hand that releases her wrist catches her across her cheek. She stumbles backward, falling painfully onto her tail against the prepping table in the center of the kitchen. Fat tears roll down her own cheeks now, catching in the grime where they'd only caught dirt on Tybs'. Her hands raise, instinctively, trying to protect herself from what she assumes to be a downward cleave to end miserable, short life. It doesn't come.

The talons grab her again. A rip sounds as they tear the too-thin fabric of her ragged shirt. It deters Head-Matron Alraunt not, as she growls furiously and instead grabs her by the arm which nearly pops out of the socket as she's thrown and flattened onto the table. She tries to curl into a ball, too afraid to even run, too afraid to even try and protect herself. It's a fear she's never felt before. A fear no child should ever feel.

"I've delayed this for far too long!" Head-Matron shrieks from behind her curled up form. "Maybe if we get rid of this problem at the source then you'll be a normal and good child!"

Head-Matron Alraunt then grabs her tail by the middle.

And it dawns on Minovae what's about to happen.

She screams and flails, a sudden fight appearing in her. A starveling like her though, and so naturally small besides, has nothing on the healthy, well-fed, and stout woman forcing her down flat. There's nothing she can do. No one that hears her screaming and pleading—"NO! PLEASE! NOT THAT! PLEASE I'LL BE GOOD! I WON'T BE BAD EVER AGAIN!"—does anything to deter her. None of the other children, who she doesn't blame, come running to help. None of the other Matrons, who she will never trust again, step forth from the rest of the manor to stop this madness.

And none of the gods, high above or down low, hear her pleading for help, any help. No angels or azata. No demons or devils.

It all falls deafly.

Just as the blade itself does.

So close to the base that it cuts across her back, too, though it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Her vision goes white. Her ears ring. Such pain takes her that she can't think, can't even feel that fear from before.

"What... What have you done?!" The cook yells, as someone does finally arrive to the dramatic scene. The kitchen rings hollowly with the clatter of the knife falling to the ground, as Head-Matron Alraunt stumbles backward, realizing now too, what she's done in her rage.

It doesn't matter.

The scene of the memory fades as the last vestiges of consciousness from the victim, Minovae (not even Arangeir, yet), of twelve summers, fades. Lying there on the table, eyes frozen open wide, unseeing and ringed with tears, catatonia takes her. It's the summer of 4621 AR, and it's the first time she's had her tail cut off, though certainly not the last. She learns, as everyone else does, that it grows back, and so none of what happened matters. She says it defiantly, almost trying to convince herself, whenever asked about it, whenever it comes up (never by her own choice): It. Doesn't. Matter.

But to those watching the scene now, her companions dear and brave in the year 4718 AR, trawling through the fragments of her ruined soul to put her back together again... forced to watch each of these memories and moments that led to this ruinous shattering... It matters.

It matters so painfully much.