#FUCK i figured it out. they all have tension with their own culture and the one they find themselves in

[lokh]

this says something about me i just dont know what

[wishcamper]

Don't Worry Feyre, Darling: the relationship anxiety to coersive control pipeline

CW: emotional abuse, reproductive abuse

Creds: licensed counselor with focus in addiction, trauma, and gay stuff; experience in group and family counseling, mandated DV clients, and abuse victim support.

Before the mob comes: I am not pro or anti Rhys, and I think his contradictions say much more about SJM than anything. I also believe it’s possible for a fandom to reclaim/rewrite a character who has been massacred by an author.

We’re going to begin at Rhys helping Feyre during an extremely dark place in both their lives. We’re going to end at him withholding vital medical information from her for the sake of “protecting her”. But first, some context.

Inside all of the (amazing) drama around the 2022 movie Don’t Worry, Darling , was a story that is pretty well worn at this point: men deciding they know what’s best for women and giving it to them whether they like it or not. In the movie, Florence Pugh’s Alice lives inside a computer simulation where she is the modern equivalent of a 50s housewife: dresses, calisthenics, martinis, “making a roast”. (She also gets eaten out by Harry Styles but that doesn’t seem to be an explicit part of the world’s design.) The problem? She doesn’t know she’s in the simulation. Harry Styles, in between all the cunnilingus, drugged her and put her in the program against her will. Yikes! Why!

The movie explains that he believed their life in the real world was miserable, and that he was saving her from that by giving her this perfect life. She should be grateful, if anything! What he doesn’t tell her, but that we see, is that Harry Styles also seems to struggle with a sense of inadequacy for not being able to provide. He is failing to live up to personal and cultural standards of manhood but, instead of dismantling those standards, he makes it his wife’s problem by kidnapping and brainwashing her consciousness. Hm. Interesting strategy. Let’s see how it works out for him.

With Rhysand, his motives in the beginning are more understandable - he initiates rescuing Feyre from the very real danger of Tamlin and her own mental decline. He feels justified breaking whatever magic law because of his own experiences being trapped and believing people should have a choice about where they go and who they are. He emphasizes over and over that these choices are Feyre’s and that she has freedom with him. We see through ACOMAF that helping her gives him a sense of purpose after the trauma UTM. His friends remark on how Feyre brought him back to life, never questioning and even encouraging this pattern.

But Rhys clearly has a lot of anxiety about his relationships and closeness in general. He mentions on several occasions that people around him tend to suffer because of him, and how afraid he is of doing that to Feyre. She is very receptive to this and puts effort into proving him wrong. He finds safety in the bubble of their relationship that probably feels pretty fucking good. The unfortunate side effect of this is that instead of processing and resolving his own anxiety, he directs it through Feyre and his love for her. Meanwhile, he keeps his anxious maneuvers behind the scenes, like not telling her about the bond, taking her to the Weaver, encouraging her to learn to read, to train. It may be genuinely helping her, but there’s also this sense of ‘I know what you need better than you do’. And again, nobody questions this.

We flirt with this tension at the beginning of ACOMAF when Rhys enforces their bargain from UTM. As the reader, at that point, we are supposed to believe this is cruel of him. He interrupts her wedding for fucks sake, throw your shoe at him girl! But over time we start to feel like it’s okay because Feyre secretly wanted it, it’s ultimately for her own good. Rhys is the most powerful High Lord in history, I’m sure he could’ve figured out a way to break the bargain, but he didn’t. In fact he engineered a situation where she'd be at his mercy. Why? Because Rhys was worried about Feyre, felt her deteriorating through the bond. Because of that, he felt justified in coming to collect. Personally, I have no opinion about whether crashing the wedding was the right or wrong thing to do. But it does set up, at least in the world of the book, that removing someone’s autonomy is okay if it’s for their own good, if the ends justify the means. In fact, that overstep ends up being the road to Feyre’s life in the NC and her love with Rhysand, a love that is so great she willingly tethers her very life to it. Even in ACOWAR we see how their relationship is a way he regulates his anxiety *cough*battlefield blowjob*cough*. He gets used to Feyre’s health and happiness being his source comfort and can continue to avoid dealing with his own shit internally.

In his seminal work Why Does He Do That?, Lundy Bancroft, a specialist in treatment of abuse perpetrators, debunks the various myths about what causes abuse and why it happens. His thesis is disarmingly simple: people abuse because they believe it’s justified. He says one of the signs of abuse escalation is “a growing attitude that he knows what is good for her better than she does”. Bancroft also notes that abuse is so hard to spot because “most abusive men don’t seem like abusers” (emphasis his) and that abusive men have periods of being charming, funny, even kind. Abusive men often don’t see themselves as such, because the strategy works for them - they feel good when they displace their emotional problems onto someone else.(1)

And then Feyre gets pregnant with a baby that could kill her. Besides the fact they really should have talked about this before trying for a baby given Rhys is mixed race (Cassian and Nesta too, but that’s a whole other post), Rhys claims a sense of ownership over his wife and child almost immediately. He’s constantly being described as smug and glowing with male pride. Even when he’s not smarmy, he’s consumed with his own ideas about protecting them and can’t hear the protests of others. We see his anxiety morph into more overt control in attempt to handle the situation. He believes he’s justified in keeping the danger from Feyre because he doesn’t want to stress her out. But that is not about Feyre, that’s about Rhys. HE is scared, HE is lost, and so he makes a decision on her behalf to lessen the burden he’s already carrying, whether he’s aware of it or not. He must keep her in a happy bubble else how is he supposed to go on.

Don’t Worry, Darling is at least critical of this ‘I know better’ motive even if the movie is stupid, and Harry Styles gets some frontier justice in the form of a whiskey glass to the back of the dome. But ACOSF condones Rhys’ actions and even insinuates our main character is deserving of death for calling him out. Bancroft writes that “part of how the abuser escapes confronting himself is by convincing you that you are the cause of his behavior”. He wouldn’t HAVE to do this if you just TRUSTED HIM.

But here’s what I think. I think Rhys has walked down a path of using his relationship to balance his internal conflict. Anxiety is a force in every relationship, but with Feyre he must maintain her beautiful life where she never worries in order to feel safe himself. I can have empathy for this, kind of - he’s suffered significant losses and it’s understandable he feels protective of those he loves. I think about celebrities with non-famous spouses, and how they avoid talking about them because they don’t want the scrutiny. I believe Rhys thinks he’s genuinely doing right by Feyre. But Rhys is so averse to his own anxiety that he can’t let himself trust anyone else to resolve it. He can’t let go of Feyre as his safe space and almost condemns her to die because of it.

And this is how, ultimately, Rhys traps himself. He tries to create a bubble where Feyre can never leave him, and ends up signing both their death warrants. I hope the world of fan fiction can redeem him, because I really don’t think Sarah can.

And yes, I know it’s faerie porn and it’s not that deep. But this is a series marketed toward an audience at risk of abuse and intimate partner violence. Bancroft lays out key points at the end of the book that feel particularly relevant to the larger conversation:

“Once we tear the cover of excuses, distortions, and manipulations off abusers, they suddenly find abuse much harder to get away with.

If Mothers Against Drunk Driving can change culture’s indifference to alcohol-related automotive deaths, we can change culture’s attitude toward partner abuse.

Everyone has a role to play in ending abuse.

If you are trying to assist an abused woman, get help and support yourself as well

All forms of chronic mistreatment in the world are interwoven. When we take one apart, all the rest start to unravel as well.”

Why Does He Do That? , Lundy Bancroft. https://ia800108.us.archive.org/30/items/LundyWhyDoesHeDoThat/Lundy_Why-does-he-do-that.pdf

[desires-of-chain]

Tasty brain brought up a scenario straight out of those 90s shoujo mangas (you know the ones. With all the political intrigue and psychological warfare) where the reader is isekaid and ends up being a concubine for protection. But. BUT. OHOHOHO, I'm not going to the dubcon, sexist crap here!

Let's put it this way: headcanon where in Hyrule, there's a honeymoon period of a month whenever someone gets married or got a new concubine. Because what if they're strangers? We're not gonna jump straight into baby making right away, there needs to be adjusting periods, getting to know each other, easing each other into intimacy especially if one or both parties are virgins, etc etc depending on the social norms regarding intimacy and sex allowed between unmarried people prior akjdjdkd so we got lotsa time for talking, teasing, and loads of foreplay until they do ittt and indulge in kink.

Reader and Fierce Deity are very Respectful. There's defs a power imbalance in a lot of things so they gotta navigate around that and have talks over cultures to avoid misunderstandings. (See 🎀 here furiously hammering away the typical tropes that cockblock or destroy fun, consensual sex.) Also, as soon as they figured out the mutual horniness and actual affection, they immediately start hashing out the stuff they are fine with and how to proceed with it with ALL THE TEASING AND FLIRTING AND SEXUAL TENSION. Maybe it's Reader who's the virgin. Maybe it's Fierce Deity. Maybe both. Or maybe they're both experienced and just hashing things out before they jump in the bed or the nearest surface.

People are gonna expect Fierce Deity always being the dominant one but NO, THAT'S NOT FUN AT ALL, NO, HE LIKES IT WHEN HE SURRENDERS AND GETS REWARDED FOR IT. People tend to focus waaay too much on one aspect of the war god and HERE'S HIS TINY BRIDE ACCEPTING EVERY ASPECT OF HIM. They're both switches but Fierce Deity is yet to experience the joys of being a sub because everyone is too damn scared "to be that audacious go a god." (To be fair, they're right, but Fierce Deity is a pleasant sort of exception.) Tiny mortal is a dom of the scariest mofo in the pantheon. People would not believe it, that's too absurd, right?

People would not know about a war god on his knees, head between his concubine's thighs and lips inches away from her core, only because his concubine is holding a leash taut and the collar is keeping him at that agonizing distance. He can break out of it but he's not going to. Or perhaps his concubine had been sneaky and created the collar and leash out of divine materials again to render him truly helpless. No one else but her would know about how hard his cock gets when he's powerless and at her mercy and forced to beg for a taste of her.

No one would know about when he had been on top, fucking her ruthlessly and keeping her from her own release, the woman who would grin and have the gall to goad him, insulting how he's taking her: "Are you a really god or just dog in a rut?" And he'd promptly make his rude little wife submit, lovingly break her like how she lovingly breaks him.

There's loads more in my head, like the fact she's made concubine and NOT his wife since a) she doesn't want to be immortal (yet) and b) divine politics: nobody is gonna want a mere mortal to get elevates to their level, she gotta be immortal first! But I'm still in a horny mood so focus on sexy times it is!

-🎀

🎀 anon, bestie, i'm eatin this shit up. I swear if you don't continue, I'm gon go feral. /j

okay, okay, but like I love the idea of reader being a lil shit to Fierce in bed and also domming him???? I JUST KNOW THAT MAN IS NUTTIN' ON THE SPOT.

[thesummoningdark]

That post about redemption arcs really made me want to talk about my favourite adjacent character arc I've ever played out

So in a long running D&D campaign, I played the Token Evil Aligned Character in the party. No, don't look at me like that, I don't mean in an edgelord murderhobo kind of way. I mean that I was playing a drow who'd had to flee to the surface for reasons of Plot, and he had still entirely internalised the morality and social conventions of the culture he came from, but he was smart enough to figure out that he'd draw less attention and find less trouble if he at least gave the impression of giving a shit about the humans' weird moral hangups. Like oh so casual murder is frowned upon up here? Wild, but sure, I don't want arrested so whatever.

I joined the game at 8th level. The in-canon justification for my presence was that the party were travelling to a new region and one of their allies (the head of the thieves guild, who my character had retroactively been working for) ordered me to go with them to be their guide. Once my character figured out that they were on a quest of world-saving importance, he was fairly invested in helping, due to being one of the idiots who lived there. However this led to some fun and interesting in-character tension, as he was quite happy to employ methods in pursuit of this goal that the rest of the party were uncomfortable with.

(Both he and the chaotic neutral warlock were kept in line mostly by the looming disapproval of our 8ft tall lawful good goliath, and the associated threat of having their spines snapped if they took it too far)

The culmination of this initial mini-arc, of my character being in agreement with the party's goals but not necessarily trusting them to do what needed to be done if it really came to it, happened three years later. In the aftermath of a major battle (which our side lost) the party had to defeat a lieutenant of the main antagonist in order to get to safety. In the course of this fight my character was badly injured (mechanically: was knocked to 0hp in melee with this mini-boss, and only survived by the repeated application of healing cantrips to reset his death saves) and when the party got the upper hand, the lieutenant took him hostage and threatened to kill him if they didn't let her go. I want to stress at this point that when I'd built my character, the DM and I had discussed a contingency subplot that would come into play if he died. Death was an extremely realistic possibility at this point, from both a mechanical and a DM-steering-the-story perspective.

And the lawful good goliath, the one who this entire time had been insisting that the ends didn't justify the means, that they couldn't sacrifice individuals in pursuit of their goals, looked her in the eye and told her to go fuck herself.

It's one of my favourite pieces of RP I've ever seen done. And it was such a huge turning point in my character's relationship with the goliath in particular, who he now had a genuine respect for; and with the party as a whole, now that he was able to believe he really could trust them to make the hard choices if they had to.

I know everyone gets overinvested in their own game, but I genuinely think we all did a great job with that whole arc. I love that it wasn't just the characters from the deep end of the alignment pool being 'tamed', but also a reciprocal process of the good-aligned characters coming to trust that their more extreme methods would be used judiciously and not without good cause. That there was room for different approaches to working towards their cause and different reasons for supporting it.

[thedo0zyslider]

I Love You (I'm Not Supposed Too) - Chapter Seven: Unjust Treatmnet - 10k Words

The Ocean Queen shows her true colors, which leads to a lot of talking between Jimmy and Fwhip.

(TW for Transphobia, thoughts of self harm, mention of deceased parent. A lot off heavy stuff in the sections marked by ~~ if you want to kip them. I cam/will provide a summary <33)

A03 Link

After the.…. reveal , as Fwhip had devided to call it, the trip to the Codlands didn't change much. Their schedule remains rather similar; wake up, eat breakfast (which quickly becomes awkward and painful if the Ocean Queen decides she's in a chatty mood that morning. Yes, Fwhip glares at her every time she speaks, getting him looks in return from the merfolk. No he does not  care. All these stuck up rich people could fuck off, for all he cared.) and then go do whatever they were needed for in the Codlands, Which was usually a lot, considering they were basically making a new empire from scratch. 

Before the last little bit, the Cod Empire, as it was now being called, had just been a small village. It couldn’t hold all the codfolk, so most of them were forced to live in the Ocean. Though from what Fwhip heard, they and the merfolk would like the cod in their own biome, in their own cities, and away from everyone else. So now, once more construction had been ordered, they had to make a sizable empire. And also plan all the buildings out, so the empire didn’t have a bunch of random houses placed randomly. Most of that had been done before Fwhip arrived though, so he was mainly saddled with getting materials and helping with a bit of infrastructure; as much as he could help with anyways, since he was still underage. 

His main job was to help Jimmy with most of the new ruler stuff he was having to do, occasionally accompanied by Pix whenever he came around. Which is a good thing with hindsight, because establishing a whole nation from scratch is hard and Jimmy had no idea what he was doing (to no fault of his own, of course.) The worst part was picking anyone who would work in the government, which the cod had in the form of a Council, because most of them decidedly did not like Jimmy. It came down to tensions between the Cod and Oceanfolk, as even though the Prince was literally a cod, he was Ocean born or whatever so people didn’t like him. Same thing had happened with his father, back in the day, according to Lizzie and Pix. Fwhip found the whole issue dumb and stupid, because at the end of the day they were all weird fish people, and ignored it best he could.

He figures, about halfway through all this and when the expanding village is a lot more stable, that his visit was a little early. The trip was probably planned a few weeks down the line, when there wasn’t as much work to do. Because, for all Fwhip tries to help, he’s a little in over his head helping Jimmy run things, on top of all the cultural differences between their empires he always forgets to account for.  But alas, shit had gone down at home, and he’d been sent off early. Not that the half dragon minded, because drowning himself in work or someone else’s problem was a great way to distract his own.

So minus a few surprise Pix visits, (because the man knows that he can pop up in any empire whenever he damn well pleases and fully takes advantage of that,) nothing much about their schedule changes. The one thing that does change however, is that Fwhip notices how Jimmy is treated in his own home. And frankly, it's disgusting. He knows very well how his mother treats him, and can easily fill in the gaps when he doesn’t see stuff. The castle staff aren't much better either, which earns them no kindness from the future Count, and Fwhip thinks the overall opinion of him in the palace is very, very low. Not that he cares much for these people’s opioids, but everyone can feel the way the mood shifts when he walks into the room, and he’s perfectly fine with that. Mood shifts are frequent at the Manor anyways, so he has some..…prior experience of being where he’s not wanted, if you could phrase it like that.

Lizzie is the biggest frustration, really. Fwhip doesn't get to see her very often, the princess always whisked away on some task her mother ordered, because learning to be queen is apparently a very busy job. So busy that she can't even spend a day with her own damn brother, much like it used to be when Gem still lived at the Manor. But, when the two of them do cross paths, it's often around the Ocean Queen herself. And Lizzie acts very differently around her mother, very different indeed. Enough to piss the half dragon off, too.

She seems to act like Jimmy isn't real, never sparing her brother a glance around the Queen. And when she does, the princess dances around gendering him. Like she doesn't want to misgender him, but also doesn't want her mother's ire turned on her. And Fwhip can get that fear, he truly can, but really? There has to a point, where supporting your sibling is more important than whatever scolding or harsh words that Lizzie might receive, and he feels like this situation fucking crossed that line. 

Fwhip can't even imagine, if Gem were in the same position, doing nothing as their parents treated her like that. Of just sitting there and dancing around the subject like Lizzie does. The thought of it makes him feel disgusted. The ginger knows he couldn't even live with himself if he let her be treated that way, especially if he could do something to stop it. Their parents already mistreat the both of them in different ways, and it's half the reason he fights with his mother so much. Because he knows and he hears the things she says, and isn't going to stand for it. Not when it comes to Gem. 

They might’ve just had the worst fight they've ever had ever , but she's still his baby sister. Even if they're both fucked up and disagreeing with each other, Gem’s still his twin. She's always been there for him, for his whole life she's been there. The young wizard was the one person who'd been there for everything, and had seen the parts of him that even Sausage hadn't seen. (The worst ones, the ones that were ugly and broken and angry at everything and everyone, regardless if they'd ever wronged him.) She's the sole reason he didn't just run away during the divorce, because he couldn't leave her to shoulder all that alone, even when it hurt him so much to stay. Fwhip had known leaving Gem would hurt a lot more than anything at home ever did.

That's why he's so upset with Lizzie. It takes a fair bit of reflection to figure out, but all of that is the reason. Because despite everything, despite every horrible thing they'd ever said or done to each other, his sister was still his sister at the end of the day. And he couldn't imagine just leaving her to suffer like that, especially if he saw how much it hurt. Because every time Lizzie or the Ocean Queen leaves them, he catches a glimpse of how Jimmy’s expression twits in pain. Or in frustration or anger or just pure sadness . (Which usually comes after a rather stiff interaction with his older sister, and is usually masked by a very familiar frustration.) Or how his fist clench and his tail lashes and how much it clearly hurts to live with a sibling who won't even try to protect him. 

And in the two or so weeks Fwhip’s at the castle he sees and hears a lot. He hears the arguments they try to keep quiet, because their guest is always somewhere nearby one of them. He sees how Lizzie goes to Joel’s a few times, but Jimmy has to stay and how much the cod clearly wants to go, but can't because the two of them have been tethered together against their wills. He sees how Jimmy leaves him to go comfort Lizzie on bad days, when their mother gets too much for her, or the both of them, and hears bits of the quiet comfort he attempts to give his older sister. Even if it doesn’t always work, he's still trying , a lot more than she is for him. 

(Because despite the horrible hand he's been dealt, Jimmy is still stupidly kind and caring, and the half dragon doesn't think that's going to change, not ever, not for anything. The Ocean Prince is too stubborn to change like that. He thinks it makes the cod a better man than him too. He almost ran away for suffering what he believed was less, and almost left Gem because of it. If he was in Jimmy’s position, he would've disappeared into the ocean never to return, or started a goddamn villain arc by now.

He has to wonder why Jimmy even stays anymore, and figures that's a question for another day.) 

And Fwhip likes Lizzie. He really does. The princess isn't as annoying as her brother, isn't so dead set on throwing insults at him. She's funny, she's talented, she's kind and has all sorts of charming little quirks, and she's been a good friend. Even if she is a fish. Which is why this sucks so much. Because he likes being Lizzie's friend, but can't force himself to be okay with her behavior. 

Fwhip knows she has her own problems, because all of them do, and he doesn't want to downplay them. The ginger just really wishes she would do better. Not even for him, or herself, just for Jimmy. Just for her brother, nothing else.

He just wishes she would be a better sister. It would make life a whole lot easier for both of the siblings, that’s for certain. And make this trip a lot less painful for him as well.

Fwhip spends the whole trip wishing that, after the reveal, and feels frustration twist in his gut whenever she dances around Jimmy. He gets it now, why that sour look is on the cod’s face half the time. The half dragon thinks he even mirrors it, sometimes, when his anger gets too much and he has to bite his tongue before he lashes out, and gets sent home early. He thinks he understands why Jimmy would rather go be stressed about the whole empire he now has to run, rather than spend twenty minutes alone with his mother. And he’s not even the one living here twenty four seven.

And that’s how a lot of the days on this home away from home are. Wake up, glare daggers at half the castle, leave, snap at Jimmy, run around the disgusting and mud-filled swamp for hours, then they return back to the Prisma Palace for even more suffering and even more moments where Fwhip has to reel in his temper. Because, as much as he wants to punch someone, he doesn’t want to go home and face his parents, or Gem. Not just yet. And also it would probably backfire on Jimmy, if nothing else. He’d feel too horrible, if something bad happened and it was his temper’s fault again; if he broke anymore bridges with his stupid outbursts and stupid problems.

A lot of times now, the half dragon can’t help but simply feel bad for the guy. The feeling overriding all his dislike of the cod on most days. And maybe, if they can find some common ground like this again, their arrangement can be…tolerable, at best. Maybe…

_____________________________

One day, on one of the rare days they have nothing to do, Jimmy decides to show him the castle gardens. The cod says they’re going there because he’s bored, and likes how pretty the gardens are. Jimmy says it’s his favorite part in the house, because no one will bother him there, not even Lizzie. And yeah, Fwhip can’t disagree with that. The Manor’s gardens were a pretty quiet place back home, where he always went after a bad day or if he just needed some alone time. So the gardens in the Prisma Palace can’t be that bad, especially if they’re an escape from Jimmy’s hellish household.

And the gardens were nice, Fwhip found when they got there. They actually exceeded his expectations, the water flora being quite pretty. Some of the gardens were above the water, along with lily pads and other sea grasses. The rest of it, like the other half of the palace, was below water, and contained fish swimming through the plants. It was nothing like anything he’d seen back home, and the ginger found himself staring at the garden the whole time in wonder.

He and Jimmy don’t talk much, content to do their own thing for the handful of hours they stay in the garden. Fwhip, like the nerd he is, pulls out a small notebook from one of his coats' various pockets. He always keeps this one on him, and the pages are worn and full of old notes and sketches he did whenever he had an idea, but was away from his normal workspace at home. The ginger flips to an empty page, one randomly placed in the notebook, before fishing a pencil out of his other pocket to begin sketching.

He occupied himself with something he’d been wanting to do for a while, which was taking sketches and notes of the plants and animals in the Ocean Empire. He was sure he would return to it eventually, maybe in a few years, but the future Count wanted a head start on his project. He always liked seeing how his personal notes updated and changed overtime anyways, and he was very curious how that would go this time around. Fwhip had never really studied aquatic organisms before, or paid them much mind, so there was a lot he had to learn.

His passion for this hobby had come in his younger years, when the half dragon first became interested in farming, around the age of nine or so. He’d always wanted to help around the farms, and still found the work rewarding to this day. But at the start, it had been very hard for him to remember everything the farmers were teaching him, or what breed of animal was what, the information easily getting jumbled up in his brain. His mother had come up with a solution, after he’d gotten particularly upset one day, buying him his first notebook, and telling him to write things down. She said it always helped her with remembering spells, and to give it a try. If that didn’t work, then she said they would find another method. Nowadays, Fwhip considered it one of the few good things the woman had ever done for him, and longed for his younger years when she’d been kind and caring towards both her children.

This particular notebook, the first he’d gotten on his own, was one he had for years now, and it’s nearly filled up. He bought or made all his notebooks with the intent of them lasting years, resulting in them being two times chunkier when he finished them. Not that Fwhip minded in the slightest. The very first pages of this one were filled with old sketches, some maybe four years old, from when he had first been allowed to work on the farms. All of the crops of his homeland (which were mainly different types of potatoes, with a bit of wheat and carrots thrown in) were sketched, each with a page dedicated to facts and little notes about how they grew under certain conditions. He’d also gone out of his way to sketch various livestock, most of them being cows or chickens. Though there was the occasional blood sheep drawing thrown in here and there, from whenever Mythland gifted them one. Or when a herd wandered too far from home, as the creepy little things tended to do.

Fwhip gave all his old sketches a fond but brief glance as he idly flipped through the pages, waiting for a fish or something to be visible. He’d already drawn all the plants he could see, and mourned the loss of the strictly underwater life. Now it was a matter of watching the beautiful scenery, and hoping he could get a good enough look at a fish, or other stray sea life,  to note some stuff down. The little guys did swim pretty damn fast.

(He made a mental note to ask Jimmy some questions later, during one of those times they weren’t scowling at each other. He needed the cod to see his plant drawings so he could properly name them, and would have to avoid him catching a glance of anything salmon related in the notebook. And, because he knew the blonde would ask, Fwhip would rather stab himself than add a cod to his scared pages, thank you very much.)

Jimmy sat a few feet away the whole time, much closer to the water than the half dragon was. His feet were dipped in the water, brown pants legs rolled up to keep them dry, kicking at the sea every so often. Fwhip would sometimes hear him muttering in codlish, or oceanic, and made a whole separate page in the notebook, for whenever he picked up a sound or a letter. The cod would be communicating to whatever fish came over, something Fwhip honestly forgot he could do, and would switch the language accordingly. Sometimes it even sounded like he was mixing the two. The ginger really should’ve tried to learn oceanic, at least, considering he hadn’t been able to understand a lot of conversation for the whole trip. But that was something he could ask Lizzie about later, when she doesn’t feel so upset at her anymore.

They spend at least two hours in the gardens, maybe more. Just….sitting there, alone together. It’s the most peaceful time he’s ever had in Jimmy’s presence in the two or so years that they’ve known each other. It’s nice, to not argue, or to not be actively annoyed by something. It’s nice to finally have a day to relax, and let his brain slow down for once. His thoughts are always going a hundred miles an hour, so Fwhip savers any moment where they stop, no matter how long or short it is.

Eventually, though, they do have to leave. Jimmy walks over, and gives the half dragon a light tap on his shoulder, startling him out of his skin. Fwhip shuts his notebook with a snap , giving the other a small glare. Jimmy just rolls his eyes, and promptly turns to the garden's entrance. The ginger decides he’s going to ignore that disrespect, wanting to keep his peaceful mood for as long as possible, and reluctantly starts to follow the Cod Prince back into the castle.

~~ When they’re walking back inside Is when it happens, when the Ocean Queen catches them, and when everything goes more than a little downhill that day. Neither of them even know what she wants them for, other than to possibly them dodging the family breakfast this morning. Jimmy said he didn’t have the energy, emotionally, to deal with that today, and Fwhip had agreed. He didn’t have the patience for Lizzie and whatever looks he’d inevitably receive, so agreeing to just hide out for a little while was a no brainer. And then they had ended up in the gardens, an hour before noon, and now they were here. Caught right in the act of slacking.

Jimmy’s dead name echoes off the wall, loud and deafening, along with his mother's distinct voice, a few seconds after the ginger first hears her footsteps approaching. The first thing Fwhip thinks upon hearing it is that he never wants to hear it again, not ever again in relation to the boy beside him. It feels so wrong just to hear it said every time he hears a whisper of it, like a sin of some kind, because that is not his fucking name.

Beside him, Jimmy stiffens instantly, but says nothing. He even looks like he's going to respond to his mother, after she just called him that. Which, no , absolutely not . He’s sick of just having to sit here and watch them disrespect Jimmy like this, and it's made him ballsy. The half dragon turns around to the Queen before the cod can, before Fwhip himself even realizes what he's doing, tail lashing. He'll stand for a lot of things he probably shouldn't, a lot of things Jimmy himself would disapprove of, and he knows that, but this isn't fucking one of them. 

"His name's Jimmy! " Fwhip snaps, glaring daggers at the Ocean Queen, at least a week's worth of frustration very evident in his tone. Beside him, the cod prince goes completely stiff, and his face falls in what has to be horror.

"Young Count," The Queen narrows her eyes in response, her voice low and her words picked carefully. Deliberately . "Glad to see you're starting to get along with your…" She trails off to clear her throat, right before saying the worst words Fwhip has heard in recent memory. And he hears some shit from his parents' mouths.  "..future wife." 

The half dragon thinks he sees red for a minute, glaring daggers at the Queen. It's not often you do that to other royalty. It’s not often that he does that to anyone, even his other family members; and they really know how to piss him off. “Future husband .” He spits out the retort, feeling his tail lash with anger again.

“Fwhip…please.” Jimmy begs him, going to tug at his hand. The blonde’s broken out of his horror, and it is very clear that he wants to leave, to run away, now . The half dragon just stands his ground, only managing to keep his tail under control. He is not as successful with his temper, because he never is and probably never will be.

"You should listen to her, young Count." The Queen continues, giving a glance at her son. Fwhip really wants to know what she’s conveying with it, because it makes Jimmy get even more upset beside him. "Before I report this to one of your parents."

"You mean him. " Fwhip corrects again, holding back an angry huff. He doesn't give a shit if the Queen tells his parents, he doesn’t care what anyone tells them about his behavior. If anything, this specifically will just make them think less of her. They can't punish him anyways, not in a way he hasn’t worked around before.

"Fwhip, let's go. There was that thing I wanted to show you." Jimmy says again, now pleading. He tugs on the ginger’s arm, hard enough to start pulling him the opposite direction. Fwhip holds back a growl, not enjoying being tugged around. The half dragon has to stop himself from turning around and snapping at the cod; instead taking a few deep breaths before his impulses can get the better of him. He’s not mad at Jimmy , he shouldn’t get mad at him right now. It’s his mom who’s the problem, who’s making him so upset. 

“I-” He starts to protest again, the growl being squashed before it can leave his throat. He is not going to get unfairly mad at Jimmy and snap at him. He’s not , it’s not his fault-

" Fwhip. " Jimmy hissed, low and panicked. It's the fear in his voice that gets through to the half dragon, that pushes through his anger. He knows how fighting back can make things worse, and he doesn't want to make things worse for Jimmy. He really, really doesn't want to make things worse for him. So Fwhip stops trying to argue his point, and backs down. 

"Fine, Jimmy. Fine. " He says, letting himself be tugged away. But not without one last glare at the Ocean Queen. The royal says nothing, just watches them disappear around the corner of the hallway. The ginger feels her piercing, near angry, gaze on his backside until it’s gone, and has to press down the shiver that it causes. Jimmy doesn’t say anything, doesn't even look over his shoulder like he normally might. He just pulls them into a nearest room, one of the unused guest bedrooms, to hide away for a little bit. They’re doing a lot of hiding today, and Fwhip, whose limbs are shaking with leftover rage, can’t say he really minds.

Once the two of them are in private again, Jimmy hugs him. Well, sort of. It's more of an awkward side hug, the cod having to lean down slightly to even do so. Fwhip doesn't protest as Jimmy buries his face in his shoulder, the blonde's whole body going completely slack as the tension leaves him. Fwhip holds him there, and resists the protective older sibling urge to move him closer, hold him tighter. Like he always did to Gem when she was upset… (Even if he only is older by a few seconds, bit still, older sibling urges regardless.)

"You good?" He asks, resting a hesitant hand on the taller boy's backside. He hopes it's as soothing as he thinks it is, and maybe he's right. The cod does lean into the touch just a little, going even more slack against him. Once again, Fwhip can’t help but just….feel bad for this idiot, as weird as it would’ve felt too not even a month ago. 

Jimmy’s next words are very muffled, as he presses his face harder into the half dragon’s shoulder. As if to stop himself from crying. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"No. You're shaking." Fwhip huffed, drawing Jimmy closer. He was giving into those protective urges, that might be a mix of dragon and older sibling being in him. It’s the wobbly tone and slight voice crack that makes him fold, in all honesty. He was never very good at resisting anyone balling their eyes out, or getting simply teary eyed.

Jimmy mutters again, even more muffled. "Heh. Figured." He isn’t saying much, not yet, and the half dragon decides to give him a few minutes. The eventual Feelings Talk can wait, just for a little bit. But it has to happen before they leave the room because holy fuck he’d just yelled at Jimmy’s abusive mom in her own kingdom.

"I hate your mom. I hate her so much." He says, letting himself give in. Fwhip lets himself fully hug Jimmy, surprised when the other holds him back, and buries his face into messy blonde hair. His limbs have stopped shaking with anger, thankfully, and causes his hold to be a lot more steady than he thought it would.

"Tell me about it." Jimmy snorts, sounding amused. And also snotty. The ginger will be politely ignoring the slight dampness on his coat for the next few seconds, even if it really bugs him. It’s not about him right now, it’s about Jimmy and his dumb mom and his dumb house and how he can’t catch a fucking break half he time-

"Let's get one thing straight, yeah?" Fwhip says, interrupting his own thoughts and nudging the cod a little. Jimmy looks up slowly, curious despite his better judgment, and meets a harsher gaze than he expected. His gaze is all sad and wobbly, like a sad little dogs’, while the half dragon’s eyes hold a ferocity and determination for what he’s about to say next. Truly a great reflection of everything about this situation, really.

"I still do not want to marry you," He growls gently, rage at the Ocean Queen still lingering as he stops hugging the other, and takes the cod’s face in his hands. His hold isn't too harsh, but it's just enough to pinch a little; to really hammer in what he's saying here. "But if I have to, you're gonna be my husband . Not my wife. Never my wife. You understand?" 

"Yeah….." Jimmy almost hiccups out the words, his eyes instantly going all watery again. But he doesn’t spill over, not yet, just sniffles a few times and tries to keep his composure for a little bit longer. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for common courtesy." Fwhip snorts, and Jimmy really looks like he’s about to cry after hearing that. The future Count goes to shush him, still acting on those older sibling instincts. Jimmy just shakes his head, sniffles once more, and tries his best to wipe away the tears now pricking at his eyes.

"Sorry I just…no one really stands up for me like that. Other than Joel…" The cod mumbles, not being able to do much as his cheeks are dampened. He’s very clearly trying not to sob, and it’s failing pretty miserably. He also sounds ashamed of himself, of crying and being treated nicely. Fwhip wants to punch whatever adult made him feel bad about crying like this, even knowing that’s probably his mom again, realistically. 

"Then they need to do better." He says, thumbing tears away without even thinking and pushing away old memories of a younger, smaller Gem, crying much like the blonde is now. Those are thoughts for much, much later, when he’s not holding the saddest boy he thinks he’s ever met in his hands.

"I know…" Is the last thing Jimmy says, before the dam breaks and he just sobs . Fwhip doesn’t saying anything, only gently moves them both down to the floor, and holds the cod as he hiccups. They’re not chest to chest like they probably should be, Fwhip’s not comforting him like he probably should be, but he thinks it's enough. He mutters kind nothings into the silence and wipes Jimmy’s tears the best he can, the other hiccupping and letting out wet sobs with every breath. It takes ten very long minutes for the tears to finally stop, for the blonde’s breathing to finally even out, his tears abating for now. The half dragon thumbs away the wetness on Jimmy’s face one last time before pulling his hands away, and has to wonder how many years’ worth of tears that was.

“Thank you for doing it, though.” Jimmy says when he’s a bit more composed, leaning his head against the wall. He looks up at the ceiling, not sniffling anymore, but looking a little despondent. Fwhip can't help but worry for his enemy, more than a little bit too. Jimmy’s normally very good at not showing how horrible he feels, much to his own detriment most likely. 

He starts to repeat his earlier sentiment, and is quickly and surprisingly cut off. Which is weird, Jimmy normally lets him speak, unless he’s really snappy or something. “Don't-”

“No, thank you.” The cod repeats, sounding a little firmer. An indication he's not just saying thank you for getting basic respect. That this is different. That this is so much bigger than Fwhip ever could’ve thought. “I wasn't….I wouldn't be doing good without you or Joel.”

The cod takes a deep breath, like he has to keep himself from crying again. He also just….. stares at his wrists for a few seconds, and the half dragon feels a horrible little lightbulb going off in his head before Jimmy even speaks; because he fucking gets it so much it hurts . “I don't know what I would've done if ..”

He doesn't say what he would've done, but Fwhip gets a pretty good idea. A pretty good idea that without Joel, Jimmy wouldn’t fucking be here . He latches himself onto Jimmy as he speaks, hugging the other boy tight. The cod makes a strangled sound, and buries his face into messy ginger hair. The half dragon never thought he'd be hugging this guy twice in one day, but fuck their stupid rivalry. This was a lot more important, so, so much more important.

“God you are such a mess .” Fwhip muttered, his face buried against Jimmy’s neck. He tightens his grip, a million horrible scenarios racing though his stupid brain. That’s all he says on the matter, partly because he doesn’t know what to say, and partly because his gut is twisting itself into knots of horror and fear as they speak.

“I know.” Jimmy mumbles, with what sounds like a weak laugh. His own grip on the other tightens in response as well. “Thought I should mention it, so you know what you're dealing with. All of it, I mean.” He explains, and Fwhip gives the best nod he can. The future Count is going to help Jimmy the best he can, he couldn't just not after these last few days; after today especially.

“Does Lizzie know?” He asks. They should probably talk properly, face to face, but Fwhip doesn't want to let go. Not yet. Not until all of him is convinced that Jimmy is okay, that he is still here and breathing underneath him. 

“Only you and Joel.” The cod hums. It feels like he's calmed down, as he isn't trying to hide tears anymore. That or he can just suddenly cry without his whole chest heaving. And for all Fwhip knows, that’s some weird fish ability he;s never heard of before. “I don't know if I can tell her, or if she would do anything about it.”

“Of fucking course.” The half dragons says, still not ready to let go. Of course Jimmy can’t trust his older sister with anything. And why would he? After all the behavior Fwhip’s seen her display, he knows he wouldn’t trust her either. He wouldn’t trust anything with anyone in the castle, if he was in Jimmy’s shoes, and doesn’t blame the other for feeling that way in the goddamn slightest.

Jimmy makes an amused sound, one that’s probably not fitting the current mood. “Yeah. Yeah.” He hums, now resting his cheek on top of Fwhip’s head. Just for a few minutes, until they untangle themselves. Just until no one needs comfort anymore and the two of them can go back to never touching ever again. And after a few more minutes of just holding each other, Fwhip feels like he can let go. Like the cod won’t vanish as soon as he stops holding him. So slowly, the two boys separate, and the half dragon rushes to fill the silence as soon as they do. ~~

"Why'd you pick Jimmy?" Fwhip sits next to the cod now, cross-legged and his tail flicking behind him. It’s a question he’s been wondering for a few days now, and there hasn’t been a better time to ask it than now, and there probably won’t be one again; knowing the two of them. "I mean, it suits you, but I'm just wondering."

Jimmy hums out an explanation, going to idly fiddle with the pendant he always wears. It’s from his father, if Fwhip remembers correctly. "Well, I actually picked James, but Jimmy is a common nickname for it. Lizzie started calling me that one day."

Fwhip nods, and resists the urge to glance down, at where the cod’s wrists lay. That’s exactly what he’s trying not to think about, so he won’t. He won’t, he’ll keep talking so he can keep his mind away from all the things he would never want to consider becoming real. “I get it, you know, the name thing.”

“Oh?” Jimmy says, curious. There’s also a little undertone of caution, of worry in his voice, and Fwhip can’t help but appreciate it.

“It's not the same as you but…..they did name me FailWhip.” He says, like it’s an easy fact of his life. Like his birth name didn’t horrible fuck with his mindset as a child, like he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail to shorten it to what his name currently is. Like his parents ever understood why he hated it. Like the knowledge that it even happened, that it was there, still dones’t fuck with his head to this day.

But he says it easily, for Jimmy’s sake, because it is not his turn to talk about his baggage. And also, he doesn’t really want to get into all of that, not right now. That’s for a different terrible day, sometime a little while in the future.

Jimmy’s voice is very quiet when he next speaks, and he sounds horrified. “That's….horrible.” He sounds so sorry for Fwhip. Part of him appreciates it, the other part doesn’t want pity over this. He decides to let it go in the end, after a few minutes of quiet deliberation.

“And legally changed, after a lot of fights about it.” Fwhip huffs, and moves the concentration on again. He’s glad he and Jimmy can relate a bit about names, really he is. But this brings up some unpleasant memories, ones that started and showed the cracks even before his family had split, when he was younger. And he doesn’t like remembering them, plus the extra questions he had about Jimmy’s transition, so he just moves on like it never happened; and ignores how a comforting hand was put on top of one of his. “Can I ask something else? About your transition?”

“Sure.” The cod sounds appreciative at the question, though Fwhip is sure his sudden topic changes aren’t going unnoticed. He doesn’t like them either, and would rather not do it, but his emotions have been everywhere since just a bit ago. The half dragon doesn’t imagine JImmy’s doing better either, so it’s fine . That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

 “Are you on testerone or anything..? I'm just curious, that's all.” Fwhip asks, genuinely curious about all this. They haven’t had the chance to discuss this topic much, and he wants to learn more. Plus, by the way the blonde’s face lights up, he doesn’t get these questions much, and is way more than happy to answer them.

“Nope, but I tried to get some. Mom wouldn't approve of it.” Jimmy said, his tail flicking behind him, kinda cat like. The conversation was far too easy, far too normal of a thing for them to be having. It’s certainly not something that would’ve happened before. Neither of the boys really noticed at the moment, too wrapped up in what the other was talking about for the first time in….while. (Fwhip will think back on it one day, admit the feeling was nice, and then shove it away to the deepest depths of his mind once again.) “She used the dumb excuse of it messing with my other health issues.” Jimmy rolls his eyes a bit on the last part, his voice souring as well at the memory.

Fwhip gets concerned for a minute, and wonders if there’s more stuff he’ll need to watch over in the future. He finds himself totally unburdened by the thought of making sure Jimmy is okay, mentally and physically, especially if no one else in his life (sans Joel) would even make an attempt too. “Health issues?”

“Forgot you didn't know about that.” Jimmy says, smiling a little sheepishly as he explains. “I've had health issues since I was a baby, because my egg was small and damaged. They're not that bad anymore though. She still wouldn't give parental permission for any hormones anyways…” Fwhip nods, after considering all of that and decides he shouldn’t have to worry. Not too much anyways, if Jimmy’s been managing all these months with little to zero complications. After that, they fall into a comfortable silence, the ginger running out of trans-related questions to ask the cod.

It’s quiet until Jimmy speaks again, muttering softly into the silence, like he’s scared the wrong person will hear him. Even if there’s no one but the future Count here to listen. "Sometimes I wish my dad were here, instead of my mum." 

"Would he be more…accepting of you?" The half dragon asks the question a little hesitantly, not having heard much about the late Ocean King. He knows the cod people weren’t fond of him, Lizzie misses him dearly, and that Jimmy wears his pendant despite never meeting the man; and that is all he’s gathered so far. Undsertanbly, the family doesn’t like talking about their late relative much, especially if his death was upsetting, like their behavior seems to imply just a little bit. (Maybe it’s why Jimmy’s mom is such a backside, the one person that could tolerate her is gone…)

"Yeah, Lizzie seems to think so anyways. She said he was always much nicer than mum is." Jimmy hums, a bit louder. He’s still pretty quiet though, subbed by thoughts of someone he wishes he got to know. If only for a little bit, even if only as a tiny egg or baby. "He always wanted a son too, apparently."

That leads Jimmy onto another subject not even five minutes later, one more related to the both of them. "That's why they picked us to get married, y'know?" The blonde asks, giving the ginger a rather knowing look. Some bad feeling is already starting to settle in the half dragon’s bones, and his tail flicks in a slight upsetness. 

"Because…." Fwhip prompts. He’s pretty sure he gets it, or at least where the blonde is going with this. But he doesn’t want to speak the words. This is Jimmy’s story to tell, after all, and they would taste like ash on his tongue if he did speak them aloud.

Jimmy confirms what he’s thinking, and the half dragon feels his stomach drop and some nasty feeling twist in his gut. "Because to her I'm not a boy."

"But Lizzie-" His protests are weak, even to his own ears, and sound like words of someone who’d never had the misfortune of meeting the Ocean Queen.

"Lizzie's too important to be married off like this. She's the heir to the throne, she has to learn to be queen or whatever. So mom picked me…" The cod cuts him off, going on a ramble before he can even stop himself. These are words he’s probably been wanting to say for a year and a few months now, and Fwhip can only imagine how satisfying it must be to finally say the truth, after all this time suffering in silence. He knows his own heart would feel a lot lighter if he would just do the same to Gem, back at home…

"And Gem….Gem is a girl. And they can't marry two girls together, can they?" It all comes into place there, how back when they were first told off the arrangement, Jimmy and his mother had glared at each other. And she had won the nonverbal argument they were having, and her son had been withdrawn and stiff for the rest of the day. 

Fwhip has never wanted to punch someone more in his life. And he shouldn't, because she's a queen, but he really, really fucking wants too. 

"I bet they still want us to make an heir still. It's probably in the agreement somewhere." Jimmy mumbles, voice breaking. He says it like he knows for a fact that detail is in the agreement, and not like he’s guessing. The prince is so certain of it, like his mother had made sure he knew exactly what she wanted. Jimmy sounds disgusted at the thought as well, and disturbed. Fwhip finds that he shares the sentiment.

"Absolutely not." The half dragon says, keeping his voice firm. They’re not fulfilling that part of the agreement. They can do the rest of it, but never that part, for both of their sakes, but mainly Jimmy’s. They're not having a baby, that can be Lizzie's job. 

"Thank cod." Jimmy mumbles, running a hand over his face and through his hair. He seems so incredibly relieved and happy by that answer, Fwhip kinda wants to reach over and hug him for a third time that day; for some reason he can’t place.

~~ Unfortunately, that is about the time one of the maids, presumably doing her daily cleaning, finds them. Both boys jump when the door is opening, scrambling further away from each other. They weren’t doing anything, but that sure made it look like they were. The maid spluttered a bit, her voice almost coming out as a yell when she spoke. "You two shouldn't be in a room alone, it's not proper!" She says, glaring at both the young rulers like they’d actually done something wrong .

"It's not the first time!" Fwhip retorts, immediately going on the disrespect. And also catching onto why this might be considered ‘improper,’ his blood beginning to boil before he even gets the question out of his mouth. "And why is it not proper, huh?"

"Fwhip-" Jimmy small protest is cut off, the maid speaking over him. Though the half dragon does have time to give the cod a quick glare, one that’s warning him to shut up. To let him handle this. To let him protect the blonde just this once . 

The maid begins, voice overlapping with Jimmy’s, and is getting cut off as soon as the young cod is, the half dragon’s temper snapping like a twig in the woods. “A young man and-"

"Well luckily for you, we're both young men. So piss off." Fwhip snaps, giving the woman the most annoyed glare he can muster. She does not, in fact, piss off despite the orders too. So the ginger repeats himself, knowing full well the castle staff have to listen to him because of who his parents are. Even if they all think he’s a little shit. (He doesn't normally like that privilege, but he’ll use it when it can benefit him, like right about now.) "You heard me. Piss off."

The maid glares at him for a moment, before huffing and turning heel. She doesn’t close the door when she leaves, but the maid does leave it ajar. Fwhip feels himself growl as he watches her leave, and there’s a scowl on his face when he turns back to Jimmy. ~~

“We should make out just to spite her.” He grumbles, a little pissed off all over again. The half dragon hated the people in this castle, hated how they talked about Jimmy. He hated it more than words could ever describe, only growls, tail lashing and other noises feeling right enough to convey it most of the time.

Jimmy snorts, a little amused. He pushes Fwhip away, nose wrinkling at the thought. Though with less disgust than would normally be there, no doubt. “No offense, but gross. Not with you.”

“I expected as much.” Fwhip says, rolling his eyes maybe a little fondly. Maybe in just a tiny bit of amusement. “That wasn't serious, by the way.” He adds, remembering earlier conversions about them……er, feeling for each other, and wanting to avoid anything like that from ever happening between them. 

“Thank cod.” Jimmy sighs, sounding really relieved, and that is where they decided to call it a night. Or a day, considering the sun hasn’t quite set. They sneak back towards their rooms, skipping dinner, just like they had skipped breakfast and a little bit of lunch, not caring how hungry they are or the consequences not eating much will have later on. Fwhip doesn’t want to see anyone else in this dumb palace for the rest of the day, and has no complaints when Jimmy drags him into his bedroom. He has no other complaints when, a few hours later, they both end up falling asleep in the same room.

Fwhip knows he probably wouldn;t be able to sleep, alone in his room, after all the stress and new information from today. He just needs to be by Jimmy for one night, until his anxieties are quelled, and then the two of them can finally go back to normal for the rest of this dumb stupid little trip.

_____________________________

A few days later, Fwhip’s trip is up. He has to go home now, and leave the Ocean back to its normal life. So, the night before, he hastily packs everything, and does several double checks to make sure he doesn’t leave anything. He doesn’t know when he’ll next see Jimmy, after all, and likes having his stuff with him when he can. And in the morning, after one last search of his guest room, he depearts before breakfast, just like he’s been ordered too, and starts making his way to the castle gates. (It only took him a few weeks to be confident in finding it….totally navigable castle… yep ..) As he walks, a certain prince joins him, and, for the last time on this trip, Fwhip finds no desire to shoo him away.

“Sorry for making you deal with all my problems.” Jimmy says, now walking him towards the castle’s entrance. His tail drags on the ground behind him, and Fwhip wonders if the cod will miss him. If he’ll be lonely now. (He secretly wonders if he will be too…) “I didn’t want this trip to be depressing, but it kinda was.”

“Don’t sweat it, it got me outta the house. And it would've been hard to ignore some parts.” Fwhip shrugs easily, bumping his tail with the blonde’s on purpose, playful. Maybe something like that would lighten the mood. He doesn’t know. The half dragon isn’t a people person, or a fish one. Never had been, never will be.

Jimmy bumps his tail back on purpose, the smallest of smiles flashing across his face. “Yeah.” His plan to be playful worked! Score one for Fwhip, score zero for social anxiety. Truly a massive win for him indeed, considering how many of his social attempts have failed before over the years.

“I don’t want anything fake anyways. I hate when people are fake for their stupid image or whatever.” The half dragon says honestly, giving the cod’s tail another return bump, one that’s a little stronger than before. “I just want the real people.” 

“Heh, okay.” Jimmy laughs, a real one this time. Maybe one of the few real ones he;s had in weeks. And then, before either of the boys know it, they are at the gate and the guards are going to help Fwhip depart. “See you later.” Jimmy calls that one last thing to him with a smile, already starting to back away and go back towards his little hell home. The whole ordeal truly feels a little wistful, for whatever reason, like they are old friends seeing each other off for the last time. Or something dumb and sappy like that.

“Whatever, nerd!” Fwhip calls over his shoulder, not hearing whatever Jimmy responds with, and before he knows it he is on the track back home. Back to the Grimlands. And he has a lot to wonder over, in those few hours it takes to get home. Like that strangely friendly goodbye he’d just had with Jimmy , of all the people in his social circle. And everything that’s happened over the past few weeks, to him and the Cod Prince alike, and how they’re going to act going forward. Because it’s certainly going to be very, very different from how they acted and treated each other, that's for certain.

The trip to the codlands…..does something to their relationship. Fwhip doesn't know how to describe it, other than he can barely stand the young cod half the time. Until someone starts calling him a girl, then he can more than tolerate him. Then the half dragon is willing to defend his future fiancé in any way he can. 

It's funny, they're funny like that. They hate each other, they both bully each other, even if the half dragon is arguably the instigator half the damn time. But he won't stoop to that level, and he won't let anyone else do so either. Fwhip thinks Jimmy even trusts him now, to a certain degree. Which he can't really blame the blonde for. If he lived in that horrible of a household, he would trust the first person who so much as respected him too. Though hopefully Jimmy can get away from it all, now that he's scheduled to spend more time with the codfolk….

God's, he's sitting here worrying about Jimmy of all people. That's what he meant when saying this did something to their relationship. It made them care about each other in some weird way. It made them care for each other for only a few seconds at a time, then it was back to business as usual. It probably solved a lot of problems they had, and Fwhip wouldn’t be surprised if it caused a few new ones as well. Something always did with the two of them.

Speaking of fixing and creating problems, he has a sister and (maybe a father, if he even sees his son today) he needs to talk to, and knows the conversation is imminent as soon as he arrives back in the Grimlands. It’s not a conversation he’s excited to have, he’s actually very scared of it. But he knows it needs to happen, and wants it to as well. So it’s going to happen today, whether the future Count likes it or not.

Him and Gem have been messaging a bit, ever since the communicators had been finished. The devices were in the works for months, and just happened to be finished a week after their big fight. Not only was that convenient, it also allowed for very stiff conversations to be held, before and during his trip to the Ocean Empire.

They haven't really seen each other in person since the argument, and even before he left, only scarcely in passing. But he thinks they're going to today, since Fwhip has been away from home two whole weeks. Maybe even three. He think’s shes the only one of his family who will welcome him home, and that’s fine by him. He’d had enough of shitty mothers for a little while, and would have plenty of time to see his dad later. Fwhip did, rather unfortunately, have to see the man at breakfast everyday.

An hour after he gets home and puts his bags away, Fwhip decides to bite the bullet. No more ignoring it, no more anxieties. He knocks on his sister’s bedroom door, just down the hall from where their fateful fight had occurred, and waits with bated breath for her to open it. If she’s not in there, then his whole plan is turned upside down, but whatever. He tried, and that’s enough. It should be enough.

It takes a second, but Gem does peak through the doorway a minute later, her green eyes uncertain. “Hey.” She says, clearly a little more than hesitant. On a good note for this, she doesn’t hide behind her door for long, and fully opens it. So they can be properly face to face.

“Hey.” Fwhip parrots, standing there for a second, dumbly. The words almost dry up in his throat, and the urge to run away from all this is very strong. But he doesn’t do it. He doesn’t run, he stands his ground and forces his voice to stay steady as he talks. “I'm sorry…for yelling at you, and calling your magic stupid.” This isn’t the Ocean, he’s not there anymore, he doesn’t have to grab Jimmy and run from things neither of them can seem to fix. He can fix this. They can fix this. “I know it's really impressive and you love doing it so…I'm sorry.” 

Gem blinks at him a bit, processing his words. She probably just expected another stilted conversation, one that ended without even fixing anything. But, as she’d told him once, Fwhip was kinda full of surprises. He was never the best at apologizing anyways, but he hopes that one can suffice. He hopes that the fact that he tried means enough.

“And I know how much your inventions mean to you, so I'm sorry for calling them dumb.” The young wizard says, after a moment of turning the words around in her head. She sounds unsure, but her brother always knows when it's genuine and when it’s fake. Gem isn’t good at proper apologies either, anyways. “And for calling you a dickhead.” 

Fwhip feels a small laugh bubble up from his throat, as he recalls his past attitude from the past month and a half, and what he’d just said to the Ocean Queen a few days before. “You weren't really wrong there, but thanks.” 

After a moment of silence, and a small giggle from Gem, the future Count speaks again. He asks the question that arguably scared him the most going into this, and finds himself very relieved at the answer. “Are we…cool now?”

“Yeah, we're cool.” Gem says, a small smile starting to form on her face. It’s a little somber, but it's the first time she’s smiled at him in over a month, so the half dragon will gladly take it. “I'll try to be a better sister from now on.”

“O-okay.” Fwhip stammers, and doesn’t know why that gets him so much. He doesn’t know why that almost makes him cry, but tears do start to prick at the corner of his eyes. Fwhip blinks them away, right as Gem crashes straight into his chest.

“I missed you, you big idiot.” She huffs, hugging him. She’s hidden her face in his coat, and Fwhip remembers again, He remembers Jimmy, just like this not even a week ago, and his sister doing the same thing when they were much younger. The half dragon hugs her back tightly, and slightly wonders when he became the comfort guy.

“I missed you too…” He mumbled, wings covering both of them. “I’ll try to be a better brother, too.” He rests his head on top of hers, barely noticing the strange absence of her wizard hat. Gem just makes a sound, and drags them both into her room, managing to kick the door shut in the process. The twins need time to be emotional in private, instead of letting the whole manor walk by and overhear their conversation.

They end up on Gem’s bed just….laying there, after a good cry or two from the both of them of course. They chat about what’s been going on with each of them for the past few weeks, about anything and everything that comes to mind. It’s really nice, just laying next to his sister again, exiting near each other. He missed her, a lot more than he let himself think about over the last few weeks.

“I was messaging Jimmy earlier.” Gem hums, their sides pressed together. She had a book in her hands at one point, fiddling with pages as their conversations dragged on, fell off, then restarted all over again. But now she seems content just to lay next to her brother, the book long forgotten somewhere else on her stupidly big bed.

Fwhip feels his ears prick up in surprise, He didn’t think the forge was giving out communicators to other empires yet, but he hadn’t been home in a while. A lot could happen in just a month, after all, even when he wasn’t there. (Hell, his seaside trip had proved just what could happen in a month, really.) “He got his communicator?”

“Yeah, they sent it over a day ago I think. I wanted to help him set it up.” Gem explains, her fingers drumming against her purple bed sheets, something she does when there’s a lot on her mind. “He said you guys got closer when I asked about the visit.” 

“Yeah.” Fwhip says, his tone going heavy. He flicks his eyes up towards the ceiling, and a frown stretches across his face involuntarily.

Gem sees the way his face falls, and Fwhip knows her brows have furrowed without even looking over at her. “What did you two talk about..?”

“It's not my place to say but…..you can ask him.” Fwhip says, his thoughts being rather damp once again. He wants Gem to know all that stuff, since she’s decently close with the cod, but won’t reveal more than he’s comfortable with. “But basically his mom sucks and I really fucking hate her.” 

“Oh dear.” Gem says, instantly pulling her communicator out from her robe, presumably to message Jimmy instantly. Which makes sense. Based of Fwhip’s words and body language, the wizard knows she should be very concerned about what was talked about, and what’s been going on in that Ocean. Part of Fwhip wishes he’d remained oblivious to it, kinda, but most of him is glad he knows now. Most of him is glad he can now help.

“ Oh dear indeed.” The half dragon says, copying his sister and pulling out his own communicator. When he opens it, there’s a message from Jimmy, one sent twenty minutes ago. Briefly, before he opens it, he wonders if it’s something horrible and serious. He fears his previous actions made everything worse for the cod, and is hit with a massive wave of relief when that’s not the case, and it’s something more normal and mundane. 

SolidarityGaming: this is jimmy, gem gave me your username thingy

SolidarityGaming: add me back asshole

fWhip: okay jeez

fWhip: also tf is ur name????

SolidarityGaming: I didn't know what else to put okay

fWhip: of course  

The conversation ends there, Fwhip having to hold back a snort. Of course Jimmy had picked a really dumb name, instead of just using his real one. Of course. He was so dumb like that. (No, the half dragon was not thinking that fondly, what in the word are you talking about. He would never be fond over a fish, never in a million years. The hugging today doesn’t count either, because Jimmy was sad. That’s all, no other reason.)

He spares a glance at Gem, and sees his sister is still on her own communicator. By what he can see, she’s still messaging Jimmy. Probably about what Fwhip directed her to earlier. And, with all due respect to the guy, he’s too emotionally spent to relive all that again, even in digital form. Almost a month of it had been more than enough for once lifetime, and Fwhip is sure he’ll get to see more of the cod’s problems as the years trudge on.

The half dragon rests his head on Gem’s shoulder, deciding just to rest for once, and let the sounds of her typing lull him to sleep for the night. They haven’t shared a room, let alone a bed, since they were pretty little, so this was nice. And it helps him miss her less, especially when rings wrap around both of them in a protective little cocoon.

Things aren’t better between them, and their problems are very far from solved, but that doesn’t matter for now. All that matters is that they've made up, and they’re going to try and be better the best way they can. All that matters is that Gem can give her sleeping brother a fond look in between messages with Jimmy, and that they’re talking again. All that matters is that the twins are okay, for now at least, they’re okay.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 31 - GENDERBEND

Introduction to Ink by cagestark

Pairing: Bucky/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 17,988 Tags: Tattoos, Sheltered Toni, Loss of Virginity

Summary: Toni has seen tattoos before. Happy, her security guard for as long as she could remember, had one on his bicep of his mother’s favorite flower, so. It’s not like Toni wasn’t aware of the things or didn’t believe in their existence. She’s just never seen someone so saturated with them. It’s a stark difference from the people she grew up knowing: stiff public figures in formal clothing who denounced youth culture and considered people with tattoos degenerates. He’s everything her father warned her about when she insisted on going to public university under a different last name. He’s so raw. He’s so, so beautiful. OR: the fic where Bucky has a lot of tattoos and Toni wants to touch them.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, this fic is so fucking hot. I don't know why I love the concept of a sheltered Toni so much, but the way she's written here is so good, holy shit. Plus, Bucky the tattooed bad boy is giving me everything I never knew I wanted. The sexual tension is fantastic, and the smut that follows even more so. This fic is so goddamn good, and I really hope you go and experience it for yourself!

The Idiot Box by Margo_Kim

Pairing: fem!Steve/fem!Tony Rating: T Words: 21,689 Tags: Bonding, Television Watching, Parks and Recreation

Summary: Stephanie Rogers isn't happy to be in the 21st century, but she's even less thrilled to be on a team with Antonia Stark who seems as spoiled and self-centered as people come. She and Tony do their best to ignore each other, until their mutual insomnia causes them to bond over the new American pastime: late night television watching. Eventual Steph/Tony.

Reasons why I love it: I never knew I needed Toni and Steph to bond over late night TV sessions, but I'm so glad I found this fic. The way they're written here is just lovely, and they fit together so well, it just makes my heart melt. Also, Steph going to Bruce for dating advice is one of my favorite scenes, Toni the tiger made me giggle. I love everything about this fic, and I hope you go and check it out!

Starring Role (In Your Fantasies) by Half_SubmergedinPurgatory

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 18,469 Tags: Woman on Top, Sexual Tension, BDSM Overtones

Summary: Toni Stark was used to being wanted by people who thought she owed them something. People who thought they could own her, use her, take her heart home with them at the end of the night. Well, jokes on them. She’ll never be number one in their heart, but she would take a starring role in all their fantasies, even if they never got to touch her. She would ruin them for everybody that comes after her. Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers had it coming.

Reasons why I love it: Fuuuuck, this fic though. BAMF Toni Stark is one of my favorite things in the entire world. Add to that two besotted supersoldiers who would lay their lives down at her feet with the snap of a finger, and you get one of my favorite dynamics ever. This fic is unbelievably hot, emotional and fascinating in how it twists Toni's backstory to make it fit her journey of sexual liberation as a woman. I love this fic so much, and if you haven't read it yet, you absolutely have to. It's so good!

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @alan-duarte & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Alex meets up with Alan so that he can teach her how to shift outside the full moon. Unfortunately, their training session is rudely interrupted. CONTENT: Gun use, parental death, domestic abuse

Part of Alex had half a mind to cancel this meeting. After all, she had gotten by for thirteen years without changing outside of the full moon, did she really need to start now? She wanted to go home, back to her garden or her guitar, and forget all about the monster she became three nights a month. That was weak though and even if she hadn’t donned the name in years, somehow the Durand family legacy still hung over her head like a dark cloud, always casting a haze over anything good she tried to find in herself. She desperately wanted these lessons to change that. For her to be able to use the monster she’d become for something good. Maybe she couldn’t engage in combat with grace or agility, but if she could bring out the wolf in a more controlled setting, she could still protect people. If she couldn’t do that, why did she even survive that night? There had to be a reason for it. She had to be more than this. More than a monster. 

There was some unease that settled in the pit of her stomach as Alex walked up to their meeting spot. They would be far away from anyone, surrounded by the comforting blanket of trees and foliage that blanketed the depths of the forest this time of year. Normally, they grounded her, but the tension settled in her shoulders all the same. She still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around Alan killing hunters. Andy made it seem like it was understandable, but how could it be? Moreover, she wanted to get this right and still felt the pathological urge to make sure Alan liked her. Even if she couldn’t let herself parse through the whole murder thing, he was helping her. He was experienced in all of this. He carried himself like he knew what the fuck he was doing and Alex so desperately wanted to know what that felt like. 

A few calming breaths and taking in the smell of damp wood that hung in the air helped Alex bring her heart back down to a normal pace as she approached Alan. “Hey,” she waved with a half smile, “I feel like there should be some pop-culture mentor reference sorta deal here… but…” She shrugged, “Haven’t seen a lot of movies or TV shows.” Something she’d hoped would change as she spent more time with Cass, who loved both with a gusto. 

“So, uh,” Alex made a sort of ‘lead the way’ gesture toward Alan, “Where do we start, old man?” 

—

"Is that what I am?" A mentor. The idea of becoming someone's role model sat uncomfortably on his stomach. 

There was a time, a while ago, where Alan saw himself build a family with someone. Well, not someone. Rafael Brown wasn't just someone to him. He was not his first love, although he'd been his second, and the longest relationship he ever had. They got together before marriage became legal for them, and swiftly got married a year after they allowed it. Then, he got bitten, and Rafael started to suspect Alan didn't spend his all-nighters at work but in good company. Alan hadn't figured out yet why he was blacking out three nights a month when the other filed for a divorce. There was no amount of promising or begging that could have changed a thing for them. He got married again, a few years later, but that had been a terrible choice this time, even if his second husband was in the know. Especially, perhaps, because he was in the know.

He was now too old for this, for being a role model for his own kids. If he accepted to help Alex, he'd have to be at peace with it. He'd have to own it. 

The werewolf took a deep breath, brushing off a wrinkle from his tee-shirt. He'd grabbed something simple at the store. Target clothes were the sort he didn't mind tearing to pieces. 

He'd brought a backpack too. That was one of the things she'd have to learn about: leave a whole bunch of those around, just in case. "I grabbed you a change. You'll need one, so I hope you're not wearing your favourite clothes," because they weren't precisely pretty. He smiled. 

—

If nothing else, Alex had at least gotten the dress code for werewolf shifting club correct. She donned thrift store jeans that were several inches too long on her and a t-shirt from some movie she’d never heard of that she’d nicked because she liked the color. If this outfit was ripped to shreds by the end of the day, she wouldn’t really care. Though Alan had the forethought to think ahead with the whole change of clothes thing. Some part of her wanted to interject humor, place doubt in his ability to pick out a change of clothes, but she really doubted she’d have an issue with the change of clothes. Alan was nothing if not well dressed. Plus, her nerves would make it even harder to give any sort of convincing delivery. 

The idea of honesty had crossed Alex’s mind. It wasn’t too late to tell Alan everything. About the hunter, about how he recognized her sister and would likely recognize her. Some smaller part even wanted to scream about being a monster, about not wanting any of this, but instead, the thoughts were silenced and tucked away in some metaphorical vault. 

“Thanks,” she offered as smoothly as she could, “Did have enough sense to wear clothes I don’t care about.” She gestured at the bottoms of her jeans dragging in the mud, “In case we couldn’t tell by the terrible fit.” She sucked in a deep breath in hopes of finding some balance on the knife’s edge she felt like she was standing on. Even asking for these lessons was some sort of embracing of the monster she was. Was she ready for that? Did it really matter whether she was ready for it? It didn’t and she knew as much. This town didn’t care what you were ready for, it’d throw it at you. 

“So,” she started, looking between the two of them, “How does this work? You’re not gonna go into some capitalist meditative retreat schtick, are you?” 

—

“Not funny,” Alan pointed out. Capitalist meditative retreat schtick. Did he need to remind her that the ugly mean capitalist was offering gracefully, free of charge, to help her, and absolutely not to fill the hole in heart that had been left by crushed dreams of a perfect life with a happy American family. He had the picket fence, he didn’t precisely need a dog, considering he had a nice house, a pool, a best friend, a job, a business he owned. He couldn’t shake off this much : he wasn’t always very happy. 

Lately, happiness had been outnumbered by dimmer days. He couldn’t really pinpoint why. He’d wake up in the morning, feeling grey. Sometimes, passing the threshold of his work place made him take a U turn on those feelings. Sometimes. Maybe this was why he was doing this. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t selfless. He just wanted to try something new. At his age, it was about damn time. He also wanted to slap himself. He didn’t have to be so fucking dramatic, did he? He just had to kick his own ass and get back into the right track. 

With a sigh, one that was destined to himself, and his stupid tribulations, Alan turned to face the kid. He put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, took a moment to collect his thoughts, and get started. “How does it work?” A tough question. No one had a guide for this. He had gotten help, himself, from wolves that wound up dead months, years later. Hunters. They knew how to make things harder. “You want to control something that won’t want you to control it,” he paused, “but that something. It’s just you.” Which made it more complicated. He couldn’t get in her head, and she couldn’t get in his own. “We’re not the same but, we both want to be aware of what the fuck we’re doing,” no dissociative bullshit. None of it. 

“You’re gonna need to find within you, that thing that takes over during full moons,” it sounded stupid. Perhaps it wasn’t even material, but that’s how he had managed to control it. He located it, or imagined that he did, and he pictured himself controlling it. 

—

“It was kind of funny,” Alex shrugged, “I was only joking anyway.” There was something a little heavier in the way Alan carried himself that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. So much of her childhood had been spent being so tuned into other’s energy that it was hard not to notice the subtle shift. It wasn’t the same as it had been with her father though, she didn’t feel the edge brewing in her that came whenever her father had looked less than pleased. In the context of training especially, it was unnerving. Too many of the cruel things her father had done to make her a better ranger had been in the name of training and she didn’t resent those things, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to welcome them in either. Even with the slight slump in his shoulders, she still felt safe around Alan. In the very back of her mind, she could acknowledge that she felt safer with him than she ever had with her father, but she wasn’t prepared to fully accept that reality just yet. 

As much shit as she liked to give him, Alex had to admit that he was insightful. There wasn’t sugarcoating in his words and he was able to find their common ground with ease. It was funny as different as they were, they shared so much because of what they were. Even if they wanted entirely different things out of life, there was a certain kinship to be had in wanting their lives to be on their own terms. He understood grasping for those threads of control when it felt like everything else had been all but ripped from you. She hated that she could relate to his words, hated that he was right on the money, and most of all, she hated that it furthered her from the mold of a ranger her parents had so tenaciously tried to fit her into. 

“Yeah,” she answered softly, still letting the words sink in. It was hard to acknowledge the werewolf as part of her. There was comfort in the fallacy that a monster wasn’t the only thing she was, that there was somehow more to her, to both of them. Alex shifted on her feet and tried to think of how she felt on the full moon despite the fact she had no desire to immerse herself in those memories. “So more tune into that part of my brain and memories than dissociate,” she clarified. It was admittedly better than the new age bullshit she suspected most people would recommend, not that she was expecting Alan to be an undercover zen girlie or something. 

It sounded simple enough and in reality, it probably was that simple. It’s not like it would be a huge surprise to Alex if she was as shitty of a werewolf as she was a ranger. She shook that thought, the wolf never doubted. At least, in her memories, it never did. 

“Okay, I think I get what you’re going for,” she nodded, “I guess I’ll give it a go with focusing and you… I don’t know, maybe if it’s not kicking in a little show and tell or something?” Maybe the other wolf could coax hers out. Maybe not. She both wanted to master her shift and dreaded it at the same time, but she let her eyes flutter close so she could focus on her full moon memories and the way the beast’s mind worked, how it was driven by instinct and the hunt. 

—

He didn’t reply. Arms crossed over his chest, the werewolf took a look at her. He wondered what was going through her head. It mustn’t have been easy for her either. Alan worried that he might not be a good instructor. She must have been just as worried. Alan didn’t want to think of what he would have done if he had been in her shoes, so young and unable to control himself. “Remember, you’re doing this for yourself,” he pointed out, squatting down to be lower than her, shorter. “You’re not doing this for me, or anyone else. I don’t care if we don’t get results today,” he offered her a smile before he took a seat on the ground. 

It hadn’t rained in a few days, still, he could feel the soil was fresh beneath the fallen leaves. 

“Sit down. You’ll focus better if you relax,” resting his arms on his knees, he nodded. “We don’t want to dissociate. Fuck that,” it was awful, scary, and not something he ever wanted to go through ever again. It wouldn’t be easy, and she’d need to train to achieve that at all times, but even if she never gained full control (God knew he tried), she could at least attempt to. 

Alan nodded along. “We’ll let you try and if it doesn’t work, I’ll show you,” he wasn’t sure if that would help, but didn’t people learn new things by watching how it’s done? He fell silent then, if only to give her all she needed to find that bubble of unhinged feral energy within, dormant, but very much there. 

—

There was something gentle in the way that Alan spoke and explained shifting to her that was unexpected. On their own merit, the interactions Alex shared with the older werewolf had been filled with a number of quips, but something about the kind approach to training was so foreign that it left her momentarily stunned. The environment was already better than the training room in her parents’ house, there was no locking her out here until she got it exactly right. The delivery was already softer, too, and there was something in the way he spoke that she couldn’t see him striking her out of any frustration in the name of building her skills. She felt safe and that was such a stark contrast to any training experience she had when it came to turning her into a ranger worthy of the Durand name. It was alarming that she felt safer here than she ever had training with her own father and she felt guilty for even thinking as much. 

Thoughts of her last name sent another wave of guilt through Alex. There was a hunter out there that recognized the family resemblance and she hadn’t told Alan. Here he was going out of his way to help her despite the fact she’d made it her mission to be the biggest pain in the ass possible and she hadn’t shared such an important piece of information with him. Maybe she could. She wanted to trust Alan. 

“Thank you,” Alex managed after a moment of quiet thought. It was all she could say, at least for the moment. She wasn’t even sure she could understand why the patience in this context meant everything to her and for once, part of her wished that maybe she could. “That kinda takes the pressure off,” she added. Because it did. She was always trying to impress and the fact Alan didn’t care whether or not she got it down today made it feel less big and scary. The idea of practicing shifting was becoming easier to warm up to. 

As directed, Alex took a seat on the ground. It had always been her preferred seat anyhow, especially when it was warm and lush with grass like it was in the midst of summer. She listened to what Alan said and relaxed. That should have been the simplest part of the whole exercise, but when did she ever feel relaxed? Her eyes fluttered shut and she tried to focus on the sound of the wind in the trees and how it rustled the leaves. It helped slow her heart and she tried to bring her mind to the place it was on full moon’s. She tried to embrace the instinctive nature of those thoughts, but her more human mind fought it. There was a certain ferocity to the wolf that Alex just didn’t possess even if the wolf was still her like Alan had said. 

Flashes of her tearing apart various critters flashed through her mind and the bloody images twisted her stomach into knots. Wasn’t that ferocity better than being too soft? Too weak? Alex could still remember the hushed words spoken between her parents like it was only moments ago. She finally had something in her that gave her an edge, but it still felt like forcing herself into a puzzle she wasn’t a part of. Her eyes flew back open. “Did you have a hard time letting that part of your mind in at first,” she asked, “I don’t think I can… make this me shut up enough.” 

—

She looked confused. Alan told himself that she must have had trouble following him, despite the fact that he was convinced of the simplicity of his explanations. What had happened to them was written in many books, but there really wasn't a manual for werewolves. The psychologists had not looked into the question, nor had the pedagogues. Alan would be the only help she could count on. For the first time since they had arrived, he was thinking about that truth again. Their condition left them very lonely in the face of the difficulties encountered. It was chilling.

With his will to control everything, Alan had long since taken control of the wolf that inhabited him, fiercely refusing to be manipulated in any way. If the full moons didn't give him that satisfaction, he could still decide how he wanted to act, but unfortunately not what decisions were made.

"There's no need to thank me," he let his hands slide against the dry leaves. The ground was cool below, even more than the shady forest air. "Just try your best, and remember, it's alright not to immediately get it right," he knew today wouldn't be when she would be in full control. But perhaps she'd manage to transform.

She spoke, and he couldn't hold back a smile. Impatient, weren't we?

"If you want, you can try to materialise it, as if it was a bubble within." He crossed his ankles. It had been a while since he last needed to do so, but he remembered his first time trying. There was always this anger bubbling up in his hand. He'd moved it through him, he was not sure of how, up until it took up all the room. "You need to imagine it grows or… you could try to imagine it moving across your body." 

—

The patience exhibited by the elder wolf seemed to come in endless supply which was a stark contrast to their first meeting. Alex knew which she preferred, but that felt too much like admitting maybe her parents didn’t have things all right. If she was worthy of this sort of calm and respect now, that would mean she had been then too and that was too much to grapple with. The feeling of standing at a ledge waiting for the metaphorical other shoe to drop was easier to swallow. Maybe she was weaving a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy with the inconvenient truth she kept stowed away in her back pocket, but it was becoming more difficult to not trust Alan. If he was singing the same tune at the end of this lesson when she inevitably failed then maybe she would tell him about the hunter and all the other reasons she felt like she needed to master this. But for right now, she would focus on the matter at hand. He was giving sage advice and she wanted to make him proud. 

“I do like bubbles,” she smiled with a feigned confidence. She knew well enough that the werewolf was always part of her. It could be felt in small parts of every day when instincts kicked in. Her reflexes weren’t necessarily better, but senses that allowed you to anticipate the smallest changes in the environment did make a difference. Sometimes, she could even feel the ferocity that wasn’t all her own. 

“I’ll give it a try.” Her eyes fluttered shut again and she tried to imagine the feeling of being in her werewolf form as something tangible. The experience was so heavily based in senses that she tried to engage all of them– the grass tickling her ankles, the rustling of leaves in trees, the thumping of their hearts, the smell of wet earth and something vaguely canine that had grown pleasantly familiar. She tried to move that bubble towards the sensory input and visualize how the werewolf would react. She tried to embrace how the wolf would feel it. Part of that was to keep close to Alan, some form of pack instinct she was sure, but also she found her head inclined to move toward directions of different stimuli. Still, something was holding her back. She tried to cling to that feeling, but it felt… vulnerable. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

She chewed nervously on her lower lip. “Do you think,” she started and trailed off uncertainly. There was a long pause as she tried to think of what would help. Maybe she’d feel less observed, less like she was being tested if he wasn’t watching… which seemed a little unfeasible, but maybe if he went first. “Sorry, uh, do you think you could go first? I think I’ll feel… less nervous. The bubble thing was definitely helping just… yeah.” 

—

“You want me to go first?” Alan wondered if she’d ever seen someone transform before. It wasn’t a pretty sight, bones popping, creaking, moving under the skin, adopting abnormal angles. He worried for no reason. She’d been doing this longer than him, but he couldn’t put her youthful looks behind that. It just made no sense to him, that someone would harm someone her age and yet, here they were. It was very stupid of him to be worried he might spook her. This hit him like a second thought, and made him smile. “Alright,” looking over at the young woman, the werewolf got himself up, his age showing as he pushed on his hands and failed to repress a grunt. 

He wondered, sometimes, if lycanthropy made it all worse or better. Was it slowly fucking up his bones or would he have had it so much worse without it? Either way, his back was not as young as before. 

Now what was the right course of action : shift effortlessly or pretend it was hard? He felt like either way, she would be concerned but perhaps there was more hope to be found in an easy looking feat. Alan had long replaced the anger within with something more contained, still, the pain of shifting was for a long while what made him lose control over himself. One last time, he looked at Alex, a reassuring look in his eyes letting her know that he trusted her. “And remember, it’s alright if you don’t get it right today. It might take longer,” his smile grew more confident and he left the werewolf take all the room, pushing against every bone, every muscle until there was nothing human about his groans, nothing left of him but what was inside.

—

Alex nodded. The idea of him going first felt like it took some of the pressure off her, not that he was the one applying any pressure to her in the first place. It was becoming more and more apparent that was of her own design, that Alan had no expectations for her other than that she tried which didn’t seem right. How could he not expect more from her? “Please,” she answered meekly. 

There were more reassurances that she gave a soft smile for before she watched Alan turn into a wolf. Alex had never seen the shift from this side before, but she could imagine based on her own experiences that it was about as brutal as it looked. It was fascinating in its own way too and thankfully not quite so bloody that it made her stomach turn. If anything it made her feel the presence of the wolf in her more. As she watched his limbs twist and turn into something more lupine and covered in dust-speckled brown fur, her own instincts and senses felt heightened as if the werewolf in her knew this was her pack. 

For a few moments, all Alex could do was stare at Alan in his werewolf form. He already towered over her normally, but like this he seemed larger than life. When she was a kid, the sheer size of werewolves always intimidated her. She never really wanted to fight them, she’d wanted to hide. Some weird twist of fate meant she never made it to that stage of her training, but she felt no need to hide now. The beast before her was a friend and when he was like this, the wolf in her wouldn’t let her deny that he was becoming something closer to family. She smiled at the shifted werewolf, “You look pretty badass for an old guy.” 

Her own laughter followed her joke and she could practically imagine the wolf giving her an eye roll for continuing to call him old. It became easier to connect with and feel the werewolf within herself and the balance between the two felt foreign, but nice. Alex held onto the feeling and let her mind race through her senses instinctively as the wolf would. Alan in his majestic yet undoubtedly dangerous form seemed to be watching her, as if silently guiding her through the process. 

With every sound, her eyes flicked to follow it or her nose turned to pull in the scent. The werewolf in her felt like it was just at the surface, ready to come out, when the smallest sound in the brush caught her attention. Alex found her eyes falling on a familiar face though not one she had met personally. She’d memorized his features from the photo Andy sent her and the way his dark eyes scrutinized her from a distance. Something ferocious crawled under her skin and she found herself caught in a web of both shame and anger as he studied her. Her fists clenched at her side in an effort to play it off as her own attempt to shift, but then she saw the flash of metal in his hand and the gun cocking which fired off every instinct in her. 

The wolf within that she had been grasping at came to the forefront and her bones mashed themselves into the monstrous form she’d spent so long being ashamed of. A small part of Alex wondered what the hunter’s face looked like as he watched her shift. Had he known he was dealing with two werewolves or had he assumed she was a traitor to their hunter code? It didn’t matter, the more human thoughts quickly subsided as the freshly transformed werewolf barreled toward Alan as the gunshot rang through the field. All four of her paws found the ground to give her as much speed as possible as she raced to intercept the bullet. There were barely seconds between her colliding into Alan to move him from the bullet’s path and her own yowl escaping as silver burned into her back left hip. As if in argument, the pained howl continued as icy blue lycanthrope eyes stared the hunter down. She didn’t want to hurt the man, but she hoped the prospect of two werewolves was enough to make him run before Alan attacked. 

—

This was how it all went. Everything. One minute, everything was fine, the next, a shit storm. Such was life. Or such was his life the moment he left his parents' house. He wondered if perhaps any and all people could relate to it, if any and all parents tried their best to shield their kids for as long as they could from the storm. In Alex's case, Alan knew that she didn't even get that. She never got quiet,simpler times. Things were always complicated. 

Maybe this was why she reacted faster. 

By the time the older werewolf's eyes set on the hunter, he already had taken an aim at him. He didn't see the girl transform, and she took him by surprise as well, pushing him aside, out of harm's way. All for what. Once again, Alan wondered how someone would harm someone her age. Werewolves and hunters, both equally monstrous.

He could hear her pain, heart wrenching and unfair. Picking himself up, the grey wolf, worried as he might have been, moved forward. If he put up a fight, maybe she’d have time to run away from here. Hope. It was all he had. Alan rushed towards the hunter, his brown eyes filled with pain and disgust. The werewolf deserved to be hunted. He had used his abilities for his own gain, he had also killed many hunters to feed his friend. If he could regret the former, he felt not the slightest ounce of sorrow for the latter.

The hunter busying himself with his weapon, Alan thought he had a chance of knocking him down before he reloaded. A shot contradicted him, then a burn in his shoulder confirmed his mistake. He who often thought he was smarter than everyone else, howled in pain, and came to rest his back against a trunk, hoping to escape the hunter while he regained his wits.

—

The fact the afternoon had been going so well should have been a giveaway. Despite her nerves, Alex had been shown patience over and over again by the older werewolf. Just like dancing in the cave with Cass, this lesson with an older werewolf who was easy to see as a father figure was too good to be true. Those kinds of connections were only afforded to people who deserved them and she knew she didn’t, especially considering she hadn’t even warned Alan about the hunter who was crashing the lesson he was so kindly giving her. 

Pushing Alan out of the way had gone well enough, but time felt like it froze around the younger wolf as the silver bullet burned into her hip. No amount of training had made Alex any better at handling pain, at least not such violent pain. The shift had become more natural and didn’t leave her bones feeling heavy for days following the full moon, but this seared and dug into her in a way that felt unbearable. It was almost impossible to ignore, but her nose was quick to pick up the change in Alan’s scent. 

The older werewolf was ready to attack and protect. The thoughts were a bit different as a wolf, Alan’s instinct to protect felt natural, but her own self-loathing thoughts were still mixed with the instinct. She let out a sound between a howl and a grumble in protest, but he was already rushing toward the hunter. The younger werewolf wanted to stop him, to keep him from inevitably eating the hunter because it was wrong, but every breath through the pain felt labored. 

Her own heart pounded in her ears as she watched Alan race toward the hunter only for the deafening sound of another gunshot to echo through the field. Another pained yelp escaped from Alex, but this time, it was not from her own pain. For a flash, she saw Alan’s life and death flash before her eyes, but he was moving again and she felt a wave of relief. He was leaning against a tree and she looked to the hunter… who was running off? Why was he running off? She guessed two werewolves was a bit much for any hunter, but the fact he was running off didn’t bring her any comfort. 

The younger werewolf looked to Alan whose dusty brown fur was becoming coated in blood as he leaned against a tree that was surely bearing the brunt of his weight. He was hurt and it was her fault. She’d lied to him and now he was hurt. She’d put him in danger despite all he was doing for her and the guilt coiled through her like a hurricane. Somehow, even her werewolf form could tremble and she hated herself for that on top of everything else. The blood seemed to be coming from the shoulder and he appeared okay enough leaning against the tree he was at. With the hunter out of sight, that just left the two of them… which meant facing Alan and the inevitable disappointment with the fact she’d lied, with the fact she’d wanted to protect that hunter, too. 

After all the patience and diverted expectations, Alex didn’t think she could face him. She’d let herself feel hopeful that she could find something in the older werewolf. A pack? Maybe? Some part of her knew it was deeper than that and the guilt made everything in her feel like it was on edge, so all she could do was run. It was part instinct, but Alex knew she couldn’t chalk it all up to that. Her own fear had a death grip on the wheel as she barreled away from the scene of the attack and toward anywhere else. After all, why had she thought she could be any less disappointing to a defacto father figure than she had been to her own father? Alan would be okay and better without her bringing problems into his life, even if it was a lot more than the bullet in her hip that ached as she raced away through the trees. 

[gendervapor14]

OP Rarepair Month 2023: Week Five ~ Free

just posted the first chapter of my last story for the OP Rarepair Month 2023 event!! i fully intended for this to be a oneshot, but i absorbed too much inspiration, so now there are two other chapters in the works. should be able to get them out relatively soon!

title: all bark and no bite rating: T content warnings: none! relationship: rosinante/crocodile additional tags: fluff and humor, alternate universe - modern setting, boarding kennel au?, suspicions, fake/pretend relationship, undercover missions, sexuality crisis, first dates, trust issues, light angst, drunken shenanigans, awkward tension, awkward dates, first kiss

sample below! :D

The office door behind him rattled and Bell-mère showed face. “Hey. How’d it go?”

Rosinante kept his thoughts to himself for a moment. Rested a hand over his mouth in contemplation, before he glanced to the shorter woman and shuffled closer. “I have to personally babysit a crime lord’s dog. For a week.”

The manager produced an airy scoff, “What?”

“Friday, he’s dropping off Friday, and he’ll be back—”

“No, that’s, I don’t care about that.” She waved a hand, the other perched on her hip. “Crime lord?”

“Well, yeah. You saw the guy, right?”

“So, you’re judging this dude solely on appearances.”

“Here, look.” Rosinante ushered her towards the front counter. Grabbed the paperwork he printed before the visit. Vet documents, although there was some personal information available to mine. “Look at this. Billed to Sir Crocodile. That’s, that’s not a name! That’s a fake name, who the hell names their kid Sir Crocodile?”

“Isn’t your brother named Doflamingo?”

“That’s—completely different, that’s a cultural thing. Sir Crocodile, Bell-mère, that’s the name of a, a mafioso!”

“And why would you know that? Unless you’re in cahoots with the mafia?”

“No, I’m—” With potent exasperation, Rosinante slapped the pages on the shiny countertop and stared at the manager. “Can you be serious with me for five seconds?”

“Look, Rosi, you’re making a big deal about nothing.” She motioned to the paperwork. “Even if he’s the country’s top fucking shitbag, it doesn’t matter. We’re not here to put people in cuffs. We’re running a dog boarding facility. He has a dog. That’s all that matters.”

“Bell-mère, he could have blood on his hands. If we can get this guy arrested or—”

“Then what?” She entertained with a raised brow, “You’ll feel like a hero? They’ll put your name in the paper?”

“This isn’t about me.” He emphasized, “I have him in a very vulnerable position. I have his phone number, I have his address.” He slapped the pages, “We might be able to save a lot of lives here. This isn’t about the dogs.”

“Your job description is dogs.” Bell-mère reminded him. “We’re not marines anymore, Rosinante.”

“So? I can still help the world become a better place, right?” The hope didn’t leave his voice or his posture, gesticulating with vivid frustration, “What, you want me to just sit on my ass, complacent as ever, letting this underworld jackass take advantage of our lovely services?”

Bell-mère paused a moment to absorb the passion of his spiel. “Yes.”

“Well…” Raking fingers through his hair, Rosinante hunched over the counter again, futzing with the register. “I won’t. I’m not going to stand for it. I’ll figure him out. You can’t…unlearn an old dog…old tricks.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, his manager considered him evenly. “Happy about that one?”

“It’s, it’s a work in progress.”

“Right. Well, I suggest dropping it, because crime lord or not, he’ll probably bring in the big bucks. And we could use that kind of green, yeah?”

With an annoyed sigh, Rosinante rubbed at a temple. “Don’t you have some dogs to take out?”

thank you for hosting this, @oprarepairmonth!!

entry for week one can be found here :) entry for week two can be found here :D entry for week three can be found here :P entry for week four can be found here :3

[winterbirb]

Happy new year, y'all!

Quick update for the anon who sent accusations about aristotels—given a lack of any followup evidence, I had someone I trust go through their tag for anything fitting the accusations, and I have come to the conclusion that guilt cannot be proved, and more importantly, they should not be held to American taboos. I mean, I got into an apparently quite heated conversation about the importance of cultural context, I'm not going to go back on my word now. Think before you discourse.

And further, I am not the person to judge someone for not being 100% acceptable vanilla. I would be throwing stones from a house of glass cards; although I don't talk about most of those cards, I do, uh. Write Edward Snowden RPF. So.

Speaking of, chapter 13 is out! It's not actually any more of my own writing, as I couldn't figure out how to structure the May 7th meeting while incorporating my Official Sources. So I just put the primary sources in their own chapter, and I'm in the middle of trying to write the POVs for that chapter.

(Yeah, that's right, we're talking about my fic now. Teehee)

Unfortunately I write slowly (and delete things if I find a source they contradict, which is what happened to about 10k words of ch. 13 attempts), but eventually I'll finish up this fic, which will go through the end of July 2013 (Ed accepts asylum the first of August). I've casually dropped one reference to the top secret negotiations, and Bill and Jake will make appearances later in this fic, but that whole shebang is going to be in a later story (I wish I could just have it all written right now, it's so important, especially the Kerry-Lavrov axis! But alas, I'm more GRR Martin than Stephen King).

I'm introducing the Kerry-Lavrov axis in this fic (which chap 13-14 are particularly meant to do), but the payoff is going to come in the sequel, which is going to be from Aug-Sept (or -Oct bc of the government shutdown) and cover the Syria chemical strikes (I think Assad was framed, in case you're wondering. It's actually very fucking annoying trying to write about this stuff because I was happy having no opinion on the matter, but if I was going to write Obama and Putin talking about it, I kind of have to review the evidence 😔). Mid-september is UNGA, and Sept 30th is when Obama reveals to Bibi the secret US meetings with Iran. These events should resolve the Putin-Obama tension and bring us to the next phase of the story (admittedly, I don't know where to go after that; I'm thinking shorter stories, vignettes of interactions)

Anyway. Here's a link. Rn it's at 32k words, but a good chunk of those are primary/secondary sources.

Forgot to mention—though this is primarily about relationships, I don't (so far) have explicit ships, although Su/Kho is tagged. I'm leaving things implied for the time being bc it isn't the point (the importance of relationship axes still works around friendship-trust). So if that squicks you out, dw.

[thedevilworksharder]

Devan can't help but chuckle between kisses, choosing to practice some kindness and not mention the emotions his opinion of JP seems to call forth. "I'm pretty cute, yeah, I understand your struggle," he hums, nipping at his bottom lip. He pulls his head back and reaches up to grab his jaw, looking JP's face over. "I'll be honest, my love, I amn't the relationship type a fella. Hm?"

There's a long pause as his own confession, or the implications it brings with it, momentarily leaves him trying to find his balance. Devan hadn't intended to bring up the past. They're not someone who apologises for things, they're not someone to regret. And he won't, and he doesn't. But there is a conversation, an explanation, that has thus far remained unspoken that they realise JP has a right to be privy to.

And so they sigh. "C'mere to me, yeah?" he starts, sitting up with his legs crossed under him, fully facing the man. "I left before." Simply stating facts, he did do that. "But it wasn't to do with you." Well... "Technically it wasn't. It was to do with you, but it ain't in the way you're thinkin', see." There's a tension in the manner Devan is speaking, like it's hard to get the words out, even though his body language is relaxed; there's a frown on his face like he's thinking hard, examining each word he says step by step before slotting it into a sentence. "I realised that if I stayed, we'd have become somethin'. An' I probably wouldn't have ever left." They shrug. "Or at least not in any timely manner anyway. An' I wasn't ready for it. Lord, I ain't ready for that shite now an' I might just never be. Right?"

Devan tries to recall any serious relationship he'd been in in his life and comes up blank. Before anything serious could even threaten him, he'd leave. The only commitment he'd ever had was to his job, and even that required a certain non-committal to places, people, and situations. They'd been all over the world, explored cultures with people from these places, dove into histories, shared so many moments with so many people... and none of them ever stuck. Not for lack of potential or chemistry, but simply because he'd rip the seed from the soil before anything could actually bloom.

And it was always fine that way. But he'd been too late ripping out the seed with JP. And they figured, if they just didn't water it, it would die on its own. But then it didn't, did it?

"I didn't come here for you, lad," they shrug again, no dismissal in their voice, no intention to hurt him, no sharpness or condescension, just... honesty and sincerity. They hadn't come here for JP, they hadn't even expected JP to be here. "But ya are here now, an' so am I. Na, that's not--" It's the first time in their whole relationship, past and present, that Devan has ever taken words back. His words have always had precision to them, they are chosen carefully, Devan knows what he's saying and he's always meant what he says.

It's a realisation that strikes him too, in the moment that it happens, and instead of frustration or embarrassment or shame, he simply chuckles. "You fuck me up, John-Paul." Their hand wraps around his throat and they lean closer to give him another kiss. "I got some priorities straight these past few months, in that people can make or break ya. Never thought they were more important than the thrill a the job. You're mine now, aye? An' I'm yours. An' that doesn't mean I'm your boyfriend, or you're mine, it doesn't mean we have so start tellin' people we're gettin' married."

His hand on his throat squeezes, lightly, but with intent, the determination in his eyes evident of a person who has done bad things for less and would do worse for him. "You're mine. You're in my skin. You're in my mind. No one's gonna take ya from me. Not even me."

His focus broke when Devan finally broke the silence, shaking his head gently. John-Paul's embarrassment over this still being such a big deal flared up. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have said anything. He fucked up. Already. He knew it. How could he have thought someone as open as Devan would be okay hiding? He continued to silently chastise himself for the assumed failure, slowly blocking out everything around him.

But then Dev was making his presence known and John-Paul's worry began to slowly dissipate. His hands easily found themselves resting at their hip and sliding along their arm to hold onto their wrist. "Don't. It's not the same with them," he said of his siblings, shaking off their perceived ignorance of his 'love' life. "I know they wouldn't care. It's just never come up, so I never said anything," he explained it away. "It's everyone else that worries me. Not to mention there's alot of baggage behind why I've kept it to myself."

John-Paul's brow furrowed in worry when they admitted it was going to be a problem, he really didn't want that, but his expression turned to one of confusion as he went on. The knit in his brow softened as they continued, realizing they weren't leaving. That they were choosing to stay. Each kiss sent a chill up his spine. Each compliment stole his breath away. Self doubt clenched at his chest. He feared he wouldn't be able to live up to the image Devan had of him - his talent to screw up even the surest of shots undeniable.

It was Devan's value of him that nearly sent him over the edge. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the tears now threatening to dampen his eyes. He didn't know how to handle all the praise. All of Devan's wanting of him. That they were on his side. Other than his siblings, who he still sometimes believed felt more obligation by blood to be there, no one willingly made his protection a priority. And not his physical protection, he could handle himself without a doubt, it was his emotional insecurities that need the helping hand. But it was overwhelming to actually find it (in the apocalypse no less) and his words refused to form. He leaned them up just enough to press a kiss to their lips after the promise to defend his honor.

"I don't think you'll need to do that. At least not yet," he finally managed to choke out, swallowing back the lump forming in his throat with a small, nervous, short chuckle - joking in the face of seriousness his usual coping mechanism to break the weight of his anxiety. "Just give me a little more time, okay?" he asked genuinely, a thumb caressing their cheek. "That's all I need. And I promise it won't be long. It's hard to hide how much I like you," he admitted with gentle teasing in his voice before pressing another kiss to his lips.

[squirrelno2]

Writing Like Ourselves Tag Game

Tagged by @mwolf0epsilon, thanks! (also ooh boy this one is A Lot huh. getting some serious Backstory up in here)

1. what's your Shire? as in: what's a place you remember fondly and love? (or: some place you hated, some place vivid to you, etc.)

The dance studio I grew up going to - most specifically the studio we moved to after my first year or so there; I went from one or two nights a week to being there almost every day of the week, sometimes for five or six hours straight, and most of the people I’ve loved in my life are people who taught or took class there. Dance studio culture can vary wildly, but mine was generally really good at building community and supporting its dancers, and the people I took class with genuinely felt like family. As an autistic kid with a lot of trauma from the regular school system, going to the studio every night where I was allowed to be my own kind of weird and we could all create our unique communication style so we didn’t have to worry about it was probably the only thing standing between me and a much more fucked up brain. It’s the place I first started teaching, too, so it was there every step of my “coming of age” story.

2. what is your Hobbit culture? as in: values were you brought up in, culture you grew up with, etc.

this one is so hard to distinguish honestly - growing up a white kid in the US, the culture I was raised in is one that tries very hard to pretend it’s not a culture at all but rather some kind of “natural” state of being. Like, it’s the individualism and the Christianity that hasn’t really gone anywhere even though your parents were atheists and it’s the obsession with capitalism. even knowing these things, though, it’s hard to articulate - and that’s not even touching the fact that it’s a culture I don’t particularly connect to because most of the things I can articulate about it values-wise are things I don’t agree with.

On a more local level, my family’s culture was one of kindness and laughter - if you fuck up you laugh about it and you try again, if you’re weird that’s good because the world hasn’t beaten you down yet, and you should really stop trying to fight your bullies but we’ll go to bat for you the next time it happens because what the hell. I was always encouraged to make my own choices even as a young child, and to speak up when someone had hurt me. We were very isolated even though my mom has a large family, but within that isolation there was a lot of love and honesty.

3. who is your Tom Bombadil? as in: a character you loved as a child, in existence or from your imagination, a figure that took place in a lot of your play, etc.

this is about to get really sad and fucked up probably but. My brother? He died a long time before I was born, being a premature baby, but growing up I always had him as an imaginary friend. He’s haunted me my whole life, mostly benevolently; I still can’t help but think sometimes about who he’d be and who we’d be to each other. He’s kind of the first story I ever told myself.

4. what are your elves and dwarves? as in: something you studied or know a lot about, something you can geek out about, etc.

dance!!! also that’s creeping into the body in general, like workouts and injury prevention and that kind of thing. I love anatomy and physiology and how knowing about the science of your muscles and bones can help you convey specific emotions better. I literally will talk to my students about how to create emotional body language, like “hold your rhomboids together a little more and lift your chin, you’ll look proud” or “if you have just a little tension in your arms it will do this, but make sure your neck is relaxed” and then it gets super in depth if I’m not careful. help.

also I love cats and writing. I will infodump about either of these at the drop of a hat, though it’s been longer since I was actively studying cats and I think I’ve forgotten things (I’m so sorry, cats)

5. what are your middle earth languages? as in: something you have expertise in due to a career, a hobby, something you love, etc.

oh wait. uh. dance and the human body again? also writing craft. and the flute! I have varied and sundry interests and I treat them all like they might blossom into a huge all-encompassing career at any moment. if I know anything, I probably have put my whole soul into trying to make it something I’m an expert in. I believe in committing to the bit

6. what are your themes? as in: something you've grown up knowing, like loss, something you know intimately, something you know because of your area/history/ time/era, etc.

loss/grief is probably one. I’ve been losing people since I was a kid, to death and to life. It doesn’t stop hurting but you learn how to face it?

maybe communication? it’s something that haunts me, where I try so hard to be good at it and also have spent so much of my life affected by myself or someone else failing at it

7. what is your moral of the story? as in: a guiding value, a life motto, faith/spirituality, etc.

You don’t know a person’s mind. You don’t know everything feeding into their actions. They might be justified by your standards, or they might be a shithead, but no matter what everyone has an internal logic. It can be as simple as “I wanted to” but there is always a reason. You don’t need to know the reason to respect someone else’s humanity, but if you’re having trouble with someone the first step to fixing it may very well be seeking out the reason so you can understand what they need a little better.

This one gets personal so I definitely get if you don’t wanna do it but I’m making myself tag people now like a proper tumblr citizen so @writhingcreature @what-point-is-there @blackandblue13 if any of you want to?

[mockiery]

ok but Steven's attempts at a Time Out mid-fight has gotta work eventually right?

.

Steven is talking. He's talking a lot, hands up and open, he and his bright white suit and mask a confusing vision to the armed infiltrators before him.

Marc is in a reflection of a pane of protective display glass, trying not to force himself to the front.

"When has this ever worked?" he tries, talking over Steven where only he can hear.

Between sentences about taking 'a minute to get on the same page, yeah?', Steven, under his breath, says "It's always worth a shot, innit? I've got this," and continues his somewhat meandering attempt at convincing these would-be-thieves to thieve elsewhere.

Marc groans. "Fine. But I'm not stepping in when you get stabbed this time."

(Steven knows he will, he has every other time. Even since Steven has learned to fight properly, Marc still won't let him take the brunt of the damage.)

Then, miraculously, it actually works. At Steven's explanation of what exactly it is they're trying to steal for their boss: valuable cultural artifacts, to be kept for status, for a personal, private collection, not even to /sell/? They step down, put away their weapons, and leave, not interested in putting their lives on the line for their bosses' self-aggrandizing colonialist decor that won't even earn them any money.

Steven's unsullied white suit, glowing eyes, and infectious energy juxtaposed against the unconscious, tied-up bodies of their rival gang's guards helped too, Marc figures, but he wasn't going to bring that up to Steven.

Once they're out of the warehouse, leaving Marc and Steven to themselves, Marc takes the front, dissolving the suit away. He refuses to look at the reflection of Steven in the display glass.

Steven doesn't wait for him to. "Told you it would work, didn't I?" He is radiating when Marc finally looks to him, pumping both his fists in victory. "All it takes is a little chatting to sort shit out sometimes, y'know?"

Marc sighs, rolling his eyes. He sets his jaw, maintaining his unamused expression as best he can. He's annoyed that Steven's right, but he's also holding back a smile at Steven's winning lap, moving from glass pane to glass pane, pacing in excitement.

"Kid's got a point." The not-yet-familiar voice comes out of nowhere, and Marc flinches hard, swearing as his shoulders seize up to his ears. He finds Jake opposite Steven in another reflection.

Marc barely hears Steven's, "Kid?" as he's recovering from the shock, exhaling all the breath and forcing (some of) the tension out of his body.

"I told you not to do that," Marc half-grumbles, through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly with one hand at his newly acquainted alter.

Jake's flat expression shifts minutely, a suggestion of a shrug.

Marc exhales and stares. "What?"

"He said I have a point." Steven beams, seemingly over the "kid" thing for now.

"Yeah?" Marc side-eyes Jake, skeptical.

"Sometimes talking shit out is the best way to go." He shrugs fully this time, hands finding their way to the pockets of their jacket.

Marc makes a sound in his throat. "Thought you were more about bashing heads."

Jake scoffs, and if Marc didn't know better, he'd think Jake was offended. "I'll bash heads, sure, but I'm gonna fucking get out of a shit situation whatever way I can."

"So time-outs have worked for you?! More than once?"

"'Course. Everybody wants something. A little sweet-talk goes a long way." Another shrug. A small smirk, Marc thinks. He is still so un-used to seeing their face be used by another person, with his own range of microexpressions. "Cash too."

"Huh."

"That's aces, mate. Next time, you should step in and show us how you do it!"

"Uh. Maybe." Jake's sharp eyes land on Marc for a second, before jutting his head slightly to him for Steven. "If el jefe is good with it."

Marc pauses, turning in full to Jake's image in the glass.

"How come I'm 'kid' and you're 'the boss'?" Marc can hear Steven say over his shoulder, but he's focused on Jake.

It's still not easy to read him. Marc had never found it easy to read anyone, much less the brick wall of a man he'd only recently learned was living inside his head too. But as he eyes Jake, he thinks he sees it, what it means. He's reaching for Steven's outstretched hand, but asking for Marc's before he takes it.

The furrow of Marc's brow lessens and he stands a little looser. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

Jake nods curtly, and there's a shift in his eyes, a loosening of his expression. A softening, even. Marc gives a nod back.

Steven's reflection pokes into the pane next to Jake's, his soft grin turning down as he eyes the unconscious men on the floor. "Lovely. Now, what exactly are we doing with these blokes again?"

[filthforfriends]

I Fantasize About You

Thomas x fem reader

Word count: 6k

Pain kink, but not hardcore, or with power-dynamics

“Damiano, tell me you’re joking,” Ethan exclaimed.

“You want to sit through another day of this? The sexual tension is stifling, that I’m embaressed.”

“You still can’t lock them in a room together! What if they need something?”

“They need to fuck,” Victoria, grumbles.

“Exactly! And they’re in Thomas' suite, not a closet. Plus I didn’t actually lock the door,” Damiano admits, with a devilish smile. 

“You didn’t?”

“No, I just told them it was locked. Neither of them are going to try to get out because they like each other too much.”

“That’s kind of genius,” Vic admits. “Plus y/n asked me if I think Tommy is into her this morning.”

“See!?” Ethan rolls his eyes, conceding. “He almost had a brain aneurysm when she wore shorts. Y/n kept glancing at Thomas’ junk in sweats last night when she thought no one was looking. They’re totally insufferable right now!”

“What about protection?” Ethan protests. 

“They’re in his room, Ethan.” Victoria clicks her tongue and sits back. “What?” Dami asks.

“Should have put my vibrator in there for her.” 

“Damn it! But he is a guitarist, so I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“That's just a stereotype! Right? Vic?”

“It does help,” she admits, meeting Ethan’s gaze. He throws up his hands in exasperation, turning his back.

“But Thomas is such a gentleman and y/n can’t see how bad he wants her. I mean, she had to ask. This could take a while.”

“Why are they so fucking useless?” Dami groans, looking up at the ceiling.

“Damiano is literally psychotic! I don’t even know why he did this,” Thomas complained. That was discouraging. Victoria had probably snitched and now Dami was meddling. If Thomas didn’t understand why his bandmate would do this, it was  because he didn’t feel the same. Now you were stuck in a room with a guy you had a massive crush on, but didn’t reciprocate. 

“I’m going to kill him,” you add, genuinely. He’d stuck you in Thomas’ hotel room of all places. It smelled great, a little sweaty, Italian cologne, and that scent that was personal to him. His clothes were spilling out of his suitcase, but turndown service had made the bed. Vic had been so very encouraging after breakfast. Had she gotten it wrong?

“Yeah, me too,” he agreed and an excruciating silence fell between you. “So, um –” Thomas began, licking his lips and searching for a topic. He had a small, pointed tongue. You’d seen it in pictures, fantasized about feeling it between your legs. The thought made you wet and you felt morally corrupt. It had to be unethical to sexually fantasize about someone who didn’t return the feelings, while in the same room as them.

“Is he always like this?” you ask, just for something to fill the space.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah,” Thomas agrees, then his expression changes. “Well, actually no. He can be dramatic sometimes, but that was mostly when we were younger. He is usually reasonable.” 

“Oh, okay,” you agreed, dumbly. “What about Victoria?”

“Huh?” 

“What’s she like?” and should I follow her advice. You take a few steps towards Thomas, so you’re not half way across the room.

“Vic is too adventurous for her own good.” Thomas huffs at a memory.

“But she’s a person you can trust?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Thomas walks towards you so you’re standing a normal distance apart, then a little closer. You had to constantly remind yourself that Italians had a smaller personal space bubble, so Thomas was only standing closer to you because it was culturally appropriate. Of course the other band members always stood a few inches further back, but that was because…because…maybe Victoria was right. Thomas did have a thing for you.

“Do you think Victoria helped Damiano do this?”

“I, um –” you interrupt before he can answer no and ruin this line of questioning.

“Why do you think she would have done this?” Thomas has to contemplate and you admire him. He had a soft, romantic jaw and downturned Bambi-eyes. It was a cultural reference you had to explain without accidently calling him hot. 

“I…don’t know,” he finally concludes.

“Language barrier?” Sometimes he couldn’t articulate a sentiment because he lacked the words in English.

“Not exactly,” he replies, shifting his eyes away from you. Was this the something that you’d been waiting for? It could be.

“What do you mean?”

“Uhh,” Thomas’ voice wobbles and he looks further away from you. He’s nervous. Maybe he’s nervous because he’s trapped in a room with this weird girl cornering him because she wanted to jump his bones. You step back to give him some room, but Thomas leans towards you, filling the space. You might have to accept that there is not going to be some big, affirming gesture. 

“Did I say something wrong?” you push.

“Oh, no, no, no.” He shakes his head, expression suddenly concerned, and meets your eyes. Thomas flushes, not blushes. He’s red all the way to the tips of his ears. You smile without thinking about it, barely stop yourself from reaching out. Maybe stopping yourself was the problem. Feigning concern, you caress Thomas’ cheek.

“You feel feverish?” His skin is hot to the touch, scruff abrasive. Thomas freezes and doesn’t respond, only gets redder. You can’t decide if this is good or bad, but your excuse was running out of time. Having to take your hand away without achieving anything made you feel like choking on your own heartbeat. Perhaps his lack of response was an answer, and he didn’t like you touching him. That chilling mortification settled in the bottom of your stomach, but Thomas caught your hand in his own, held it to his cheek. 

There was no misinterpreting that, so you wait for him to lean in, yet Thomas is as still as a statue. You search his face, but all you see is nerves. After three hellish seconds, waiting for Tom to make the next move, you sigh and step back. He lets your hand fall which just makes you feel sick. Maybe you could hide in the bathroom until Damiano accepted defeat. Now your face was burning, with the embarrassment of something like rejection. Why had Victoria lied? What had you done to Dami for him to be such a sadistic cunt? 

Keeping your eyes to the floor, you sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips as Thomas sits beside you. He scoots until your thighs touch. You were wearing jeans. Growing up as a tom boy they became the garment of choice. You and Thomas first bonded over doing dumb shit like pushing him down the hallway in the suitcase cart. After winning his attention you started dressing in flattering instead of functional and rediscovered the joy of feeling pretty. You’d even worn shorts and a blouse yesterday, and thought you’d caught him looking.

“Can I kiss you?” God, the fucking accent turned you to jelly. You look up, having heart palpitations. Thomas’ eyes fall to your lips and his arm slides around the small of your back. Instead of saying yes, you lean in, unable to wait a moment longer. Thomas’ lids fall shut just before your mouths meet, and he hums in surprise. You’re so keyed up that you can’t even feel anything, and your hands hover in the air. It’s a delicate press of lips, then he pulls away.

“God, Tom, I’m so fucking nervous,” you confess, hands trembling. He’s giving you the most precious smile, arm steady around you. His other hand moves your hair from your face as his eyes flit to every feature. You rumple the fabric of his lapels in your fists, and pull him back in. This time he’s ready, the hand in your hair cradling the back of your head. You relax your mouth so he can part it if he likes, deepen the kiss. His hold is so reassuring that the tachycardia abates just slightly, and you're able to sink into the embrace instead of sitting bolt upright. 

First thing you’re aware of is your hands. Trying for something simple, you extend your arms around Thomas’ neck. Suddenly you’re wrapped around each other, wrapped in his smell, his body as he pulls your legs over his lap. Now that you’ve relaxed slightly, Thomas pushes his tongue into your mouth which you receive with a moan. His cock twitches against the side of your thigh and you nod into the kiss as if to say “yes, I felt that and yes, I liked it.” Getting the rhythm with a new partner is tricky, but you have as much time as you want, and it doesn’t have to be perfect.

Thomas slows this way down, almost to a complete stop. Your tongues are pressed together in open mouths. He sucks your bottom lip between his, before pressing his mouth to yours in a spitty, sloppy kiss. Tom doesn’t pull away, and you don’t want to pull away, so you tangle your hand into his hair. It’s an odd act of intimacy, this non-kiss, kiss. When it finally ends, only to resume, your mouths make noises that would embarrass other people. You’ve found your way to sitting completely on his lap and your pussy throbs. 

Your lips slot together instead of meet. Thomas’ top lip above your’s, his bottom lip between yours. He’s almost kissing your cupid's bow and you can taste his breath. It's ever so slightly stale which a sick part of you loves. To know Thomas’ imperfections with your mouth is to hold part of him in your mouth. It was the same reason you’d suck him off after a show, just to taste what he tastes like. Same reason you’d French kiss him with morning breath. In fact the idea of that intimacy made you so wet in your panties.

 Its only then that the possibility of sex dawns on you. That in this very same hour, in this very same bed, Thomas could bury his cock in you so deep that his pubic bone would press to your clit. Maybe taking it would even hurt a little. Maybe he’d be too big. You find yourself gasping for air against Tom’s mouth. A hot flash makes it feel like your entire body is momentarily sunburned, with the heat coming from inside. You lean away out of the necessity of oxygen. Your heaving bosom catches Thomas’ attention and his mouth is on your breast. He pulls your sweater down slightly, thein a centimeter more.

“Just take it off,” you gasp, and he does, with your head getting caught in the collar for a moment. As soon as your arms are free you pull his top off in return. It muses his hair, which you can finally touch like you’d always wanted to. You run your fingers through, smooth it back, tuck it behind his ears, wrap a lock at the nape of his neck around your index. 

The feeling of teeth makes you jump, but you push your chest towards Thomas so he doesn’t stop. Even if biting wasn’t your thing, at least he was doing something. The second nip actually hurts a little bit and you let out a noise of surprise.

“No?” Thomas asks, looking up. You scrunch up your nose and shake your head.

“Feels like you’re about to break the skin.”

“I’m not,” he assures. “And it won’t happen by accident. I know what I’m doing, but its okay.” He kisses the spot tenerderly, and pulls back, no guilt-tripping. 

“I – wait!” The idea that Thomas was so into biting that his experience had yielded him an expert made your groin burn. That he liked administering pain in such an intimate way was a massive turn on. He raised his eyebrows at your change in expression.

“Not a hard no?” You shift to straddle him, wishing the fabric of your jeans wasn’t in the way. 

“I really like the idea that you want to bite me,” you confess. He tilts his head sideways, patiently waiting for you to continue. In the meantime his palm runs up your flank. God, his hands were huge. You could really appreciate it now that they were on you. You wish he would open the button, push down your fly, and shave a hand directly into your underwear with no prompting. 

Thomas’ unoccupied hand fondles your breast, rubbing your nipple which is painfully hard. This same hand runs up to cradle your face, but for an electrifying moment you think Tom might choke you. This passes and you scold yourself, because that particular brand of sadism wasn’t in his nature. His thumb brushes your lips and you open your mouth, taking the digit as far back as it’ll go. Thomas lets out a broken moan, and the way his pupils dilate is a great reward.

 Taking it a step further, you mold his hand so just his first two fingers are sticking up. Tom watches, enraptured, as you take those down your throat. It's challenging because his fingers are longer than some cock. This realization just makes you desperate, because all you can think about is how difficult they’ll be to take. You let out a genuine moan at the thought, fingers brushing your throat. Thomas has the good sense to let you remove his hand, to avoid triggering your gag reflex.

Keeping the momentum going, since Thomas refuses to initiate, you make your way to the floor, in front of him. He’s wearing some high fashion pants with about fifteen buckles. You struggle to undo them for a while then dissolve into laughter, resting your forehead against Thomas’ clothed knee. He breaks out into squeaky, heaving laughter, which he’d tried to avoid around you at first. You have such compatible senses of humor that it was futile, and he’d end up cackling anyway. He starts working on the clasps, shifting to get the ones on his hips. 

“I actually need to stand up to take these off,” he informs you. “Not what I would have worn had I known that my fantasies were coming true today.”

“You fantasize about me?”

“I –,” he sighs and looks at the ceiling, towering over you. “Well, of course I do.” You can see the adorable soft spot under his chin from the angle. His pants fall away with the various metal components clanging. Thomas is wearing black boxer briefs underneath, which are just barely containing his erection.

“I fantasize about you all the time,” you admit.

“And what exactly am I doing in those fantasies?” He sits down on the bed, and you crawl in front of his lap again and put your hair up. Thomas reluctantly parts his legs to let you close enough, face giving away that he feels guilty about something.

“Are you about to give me herpes? Because I’m clean.” Thomas goes wide eyed and shakes his head.

“Me too! Me too! I wouldn’t let you – that’d be such a fucked up thing to do.” You trust his honesty, and redirect your attention. You just barely peel the waistband of his boxers back, so enough of his cock is revealed to tease. Taking just the head, you suck down hard and are surprised by a rush of pre-cum. His foreskin was tan, but his cock was a crimson, the same color as his face in a moment of heightened anticipation. 

“Fuck, I should shower.” Pulling away to reassure him, you see how genuinely anxious he is. “I always shower before, always.”

“Hey it’s okay,” you soothe, rubbing his thigh. “Your skin just tastes salty, not bad. It doesn’t bother me.” You focus on taking the top half of his cock into your mouth, pushing his underwear down. When Thomas doesn’t lift his hips, you check-in.

“Do you want to –”

“Yes! God, yes. It’s just you did all the work initiating. Then you tried out the biting and now you’re going down on me which –” You get a hand in his boxers at the base of his cock and use the grip to take Thomas’ shaft in your mouth. He interrupts himself with a groan.

“Which feels fucking amazing, uh,” he moans. You nod, tugging at his boxers, hoping you can stop him from overthinking. Thomas helps you pull them down. Then, you push at his sternum so he’ll lay back. You kiss around the base of his cock, up the side, taking him into your mouth. Next you did the same thing with licking and his entire body shuddered from the sensation. You could see his lashes fluttering, hands trembling. You start counting each time you bob your head to distract yourself from the discomfort. Already your nose was almost running because your eyes were watering. You were out of practice and had forgotten to relax your jaw. As soon as you pulled up for a break, Thomas cupped your face with his hand, turning it away from his dick.

“Your turn,” he murmurs, signaling that this particular task is done. “What happens in your fantasies?” You stand up and decide to start small.

“You take all my clothes off.” Such a tame request and yet the brush of Thomas’ hands causes heart palpitations. He starts with your bra, then your jeans. Button first, zipper next, but his hands settle on your hips to pull the fabric down. You use his shoulders to keep your balance as you step out of jeans.

“If you get to apologize for not showering I get to apologize for the granny panties.”

“What granny panties?” he smirks, promptly taking them off. It's such a sweet thing to do that your heart aches a little bit. He pulls you back onto his lap, which is familiar and calming. Unfortunately straddling his lap means you can’t rub your cunt on his thigh, or anywhere. 

“Can I get a yes or no on the biting?” Thomas asks, expression very self-aware. He doesn’t want to push, is ready to take his words back if they’re misinterpreted. 

“Gently,” you whisper, leaning in for a kiss.

“God I want you so bad,” he confesses with a growl, pulling your torso against his. “How do I eat you out in your fantasies?” How, not if. Finally taking initiative. 

“I – all different ways,” you answer honestly. 

“Describe them to me,” he requests, gently pushing you onto the bed.

“Well sometimes I’m on my back or my stomach.” You scoot up so your head is resting on the pillow.

“Obviously,” he prompts, crawling towards you.

“Sometimes I’m sitting on something and you’re between my legs.” Thomas parts your legs so he can rest between them. He holds your left leg and starts kissing up your inner thigh from your knee. Occasionally you can feel the brush of his teeth.

“Continue.”

“When I’m on my stomach it feels so good that I push back against you.” He’s halfway up your thigh, and lips turn to tongue. “I raise my hips and I – When I’m on my back I pull on your hair because it feels so good and you – you hold on to me so tight it hurts.”

“It hurts?” Thomas questions, nipping the hinge of your thigh.

“Mhm,” you squeak, unsure why you’re confessing all this. “Your hands leave marks and…your nose,” you trail off as Thomas switches to the otherside. You’ve probably dripped onto the bedding at this point.

“What about my nose?” He drags the bridge up your leg. 

“I can feel it and, and, and sometimes I ride it. I sit on your face and I –” You stop yourself. Thomas has come back to the crook of your thigh and his mouth is level with your pussy.

“What?” he asks, and the hot air of his breath hits your vulva, causing a full body shudder. When Thomas doesn’t move you know you have to confess to earn your pleasure.

“I rub myself on your nose, my clit. Until I come over and over, not just once and…squirt. Your tongue is inside me and I – I just use your face like a sex toy,” you whimper in mortification. Immediately Thomas is eating you out, wrapping his arms around both thighs and pulling your pussy flush against his face. He uses his nose to apply pressure to your clit just like you hoped, and his pointed tongue flicks around your hymen. He’s not using his fingers and you can’t decide whether that's exactly what you want or the opposite. 

“So – So, um –” Thomas shifts his gaze up, meeting your eyes while his tongue laps at your clit. Your legs start to quiver from the direct stimulation, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh.

“Next, it depends on whether or not you fuck me.” He switches to sucking on that little bundle of nerves and you kick the comforter off the bed. “Because if you do, the focus is mostly on my clit. He nods against you refocusing on your pussy. You tangle a hand in Thomas’ hair and tug.

“I’m really sensitive, Tom. Just a little less.” His tongue switches to barely brushing your body, allowing your muscles to relax so you could enjoy the pleasure. “Yeah, just like that,” you compliment, hand falling from his hair to your thigh. Your head lulls onto the pillow and your brain begins to fog.

“What else?” Thomas demands.

“You don’t give me enough foreplay inside,” you huff, feeling floaty. “So I’m too tight and not prepped well.” 

“Why?” he hums, and you spasm. 

“So it hurts a little,” you grunt. “Keep doing that please, please Tommy.”

“And if I don’t fuck you?” 

“You’re not gonna fuck me?” you whine, too close to orgasam to have a filter. Your thighs clench against Thomas’ ears, trying to maintain the stimulation.

“But I really want,” you gasp, then remember yourself. “If you’re into it I really, really…oh my god.” Your toes curl so hard it hurts, but your hole feels too empty. “Gimme fingers,” you slur. Thomas shifts around and you momentarily lose stimulation which had you whining in disagreement. However then you felt your cunt being pressed open, probably two fingers. The sting from the intrusion is enough that your eyes roll back and you climax.

Tom removes his hand when its no longer necessary stimulation, but your eyelids still feel heavy. You can hear shifting around you, containers being opened or searching. When your eyes finally open you find Thomas’ kneeling over you with a condom in hand. Still high, you nod enthusiastically. He didn’t quite have the girth you wanted, but length wise was quite generous. As he ripped open the package and put the condom on, you ran your fingers down his chest, which was slick with sweat. He smiled at you with his sexy, feral teeth. Your fingers fell to his groin, petting his dirty blond public hair for a moment. Then you ran your hand over Thomas’ hip bone and to his glute, and gave his cute butt a little smack. He chuckled, popping the lube open and looking at you fondly.

“Someones a lot more relaxed.” You give Tom’s ass another light spank in appreciation then move to massaging the meat of his thigh. “You did cum pretty hard though,” he smirks

“Mm, yeah,” you agree, trailing your fingers down his flank and back up the inside of his thigh. Deciding to curb his ego, you cup his sack in your palm. The sensation makes his eyes flutter and cock twitch. He’s all gloved and slicked up, so you’re impatiently waiting. You part your legs, knees slightly bent. The more you come back into your own body the more you want Thomas in it as well.

“Get over here,” you complain, tugging at Thomas’ side. He situations himself over you. While missionary isn’t the most exciting, it's probably a good call for a first time. Something is giving him pause, so you sit up.

“Want a different position?” Doggy style was far from your favorite, but if that's what Thomas preferred you’d live.

“What? Stop that, I want to see your face.” Thomas kisses you so passionately that he pushes you into the mattress. The subsequent shifting around to get in the right position for penetration has your feet getting caught in the sheets. Not realizing how close you are to the bed, your leg slips off, causing you to startle. Thomas is there, pulling the whole situation to the center of the bed. He laughs into your mouth, really laughs, all dorky and lovable. It makes you smile so hard that he’s kissing teeth, while reaching a hand between your bodies. The whole moment hilariously lacks fine motor skills, but you force yourself to stop giggling because those muscle contractions will push Thomas out.

Resting on his right elbow, Tom gets a grip on his cock and runs it along your pussy, until he finds your entrance. Your hips tilt up to meet him, and he slips inside, every so slightly, slick from all the lube.

“Mhm,” you nod enthusiastically. He looks up to check one more time, then pushes past your hymen. The head of a cock entering you for the first time is one of the best sensations: the tapered stretch, the novel intrusion. Even with the moan you let out he still pauses. A good sexual partner would stop and add some foreplay with a fit this tight, but thats what you like about it, and dig your heels into his back.

“Please keep going, please.” Tom rests on both elbows, likely needing a more stable base to press you open. His expression is so concentrated, trying to calibrate the movement to just hang on the edge of pain, without actually hurting. He’s trying to give you intensity, but it's not enough.

“C’mon, I’m not gonna break,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him. “Just – just force it if you have to. Hurt me a little, please, please –” Thomas lets out a groan buries at least half his cock inside you. His face twists with the effort, pressing your walls open, no warm up. Without your permission your heels pound on his sit bones, so you cross them in an effort to control the movement. His expression crumples and you know this can be a lot of sensation for your partner as well.

“Too tight?” you squeak. Thomas shakes his head.

“Fucking amazng,” he grunts, and pushes in the rest of the way. Your mouth falls open, sound trapped in your throat. Tom pulls back a couple inches and then forcefully pushes into you so your groins slam together. He couldn’t get any deeper, and you probably couldn’t take it either. You don’t mean to yell, almost outright scream. You don’t mean to dig your nails into his back so hard Thomas hissed in pain. You don’t mean for your eyes to roll back or your left hand to fly up, palm against the headboard just for something to anchor. Regardless, all the things happen.

“Fucking christ, okay,” Tom laments, trying to catch his breath. “God, you’re so tight I can. Barely. Fucking. Move.” He punctuates each word with a thrust: full, deep, satiating strokes. You fight for words as your eyes screw shut, mouth falling open.

“Make me,” you whisper.

“Make you take it?” You nod, internally screaming at Thomas to not hold anything back. He seems to get the message, making your bodies collide at full force. Most partners slow down before the collision, that way the pressure didn’t border on unpleasant for you, but Tom doesn’t. He uses power all the way through, to the point that the sound of your bodies slapping together echoes throughout the room. It does sound painful, but your moans prevent anything from being misconstrued. His thrusts aren’t necessarily propelling you towards orgasam, but the pleasure is soul deep, exactly what you’d been hoping he’d give to you. 

He’s actually listening, not impersonating what he sees in porn, or what he thinks you want. So many men fail at what Thomas is apparently endlessly proficient at. You know this is exhausting for him, can see the beads of sweat on his forehead when your eyes flutter open.

“Thank you, thank you,” you whimper. Toms’ gorgeous mouth falls open and he looks bewildered.

“Grazie,” you try, eyes desperate for him to understand. He nods with a euphoric smile, then sits back on his heels, pulling out half way. He throws your legs over his shoulders and leans forward again, getting one hand on the top of the headboard. It's a relief when you feel him give your legs some of his weight. Your hands claw at the mattress, preparing for what you know is going to be deliciously unbearable stimulation if he keeps fucking you like he has been. Still, the first collision against your cunt makes you gasp. Then that gasp turns into a dry sob, and another one, because the change in position has allowed Thomas to go a little deeper. The swell at the head of his cock is prying you open ruthlessly. HIs new vantage point means gravity is on his side, which is why you’re ripping the fitted sheet off the mattress.

The ache of your walls turns to pleasure so intense that it turns back to pain while shooting up your spine. You’re arching so hard that your muscles are cramping and all you want is for your body to give in and relax. The tears of pleasure start falling to the apples of your cheeks then rolling off the side of your face. Thomas slows down to check in.

“How does that feel?” he pants. You take a couple gasping breaths and your voice rips from the back of your throat, gravelly and desperate.

“It hurts,” you cry. “It hurts so fucking good.” He picks back up and your nails rake across the mattress.

“Okay, good tears,” he huffs. For some reason you can’t stop taking now, the words spill forth in feral, desperate tones.

“Tommy you don’t understand, it’s so good, baby, it – it’s –” you let out a whine as endorphins from the pain mixed with the adrenaline of the moment and the oxytocin of your past orgasm. “M’ cum.” Thomas doesn’t respond, saving his air to help you finish. After burying himself to the hilt he grinds up and down, ruthlessly. 

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” you sob in ecstasy. “Please, you’re hurting me. Please, please, baby, you’re hurting me. Tommy, you’re hurting me” you beg in blinding satiation. He falters, but it doesn't matter because you’re already moaning as you climax. 

“Cumming,” you gasp. Thomas tries to work you through it, but after a few thrusts he pushes your legs off his shoulders and collapses on top of you, gasping. He’s not very heavy so it doesn’t bother you. It feels like your veins are filled with unbearably hot water, then freezing cold, then golden elixir. You’re not sure how long it takes for your awareness to return,

“Did you cum, Tommy.” He doesn’t answer right away, so you play with his hair and wait patiently. 

“Yeah. a while ago,” he admits, breathing heavily. Out of curiosity, you squeeze down on him, and he feels at completely hard. Tom whimpers and his arms get even more wobbly.

“Wanna cum again? You can bite me, hard,” you propose, swooning with so many endorphins that you wanted to try a new brand of masochism.

“Really?” he asks interest piqued. 

“What position?” It’d be a struggle to do anything that involved holding your body weight, but the same applied to Thomas. Maybe more so.

“Uh, lemme just get all the way…” Thomas gave a couple utilitarian thrusts so he was completely erect when you changed position. “On your stomach?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Flipping over after he pulled out was easy for you. All you had to do was find a way to not suffocate on the bedding. Thomas pushed his cock inside and lay down on top of you. With a person you weren’t so attracted to this would be suffocating, but with Thomas the intimacy was comforting. He scraped his teeth across your shoulder, then started working in a lovebite. You were enraptured, waiting for him to use force, apply pain, while he thrusted casually.

“Want me to leave a mark?” he huffed. You nodded then realized this was something you should give verbal consent for.

“Yes, please.” Tom put his mouth on your skin, tongue, lips, teeth, then back to lips. You held your breath in anticipation. He started pulling tiny pieces of skin between his teeth, then releasing them, working his way up your shoulder blade. He was so intentional that it made you smile in fondness. It struck you how odd a reaction this was to a biting kink, but maybe you should only let people you're fond of bite you. 

“Why didn’t you do it like this before?” You might’ve been plenty willinging earlier.

“I did. You’re just into it now,” he pants, kissing your skin. Thomas sinks his teeth into the base of your neck and his thrusts become stilted. You were just thinking well that wasn’t bad at all, when he got your trapezius muscle in his mouth, and bit down. You gasped and felt his cock twitch inside you. He moaned as he came and released the muscle, collapsing on top of you again. Tom convulsed against you as the aftershocks hit him. You couldn’t help but giggle, and he groaned in embarrassment, giving your shoulder a final kiss and peeling himself off of you.

‘Sorry, that was just really intense,” he explained.

“It's okay,” you chirped, wiggling your fingers. He gave your hand a squeeze then took off the condom, tying it. You could see the vertebrae of his spine, but were too lethargic to stroke them. Thomas leaned over to put the used condom in the trash, then turned around to lay beside you.

“I’ve never had someone thank me during sex before,” he brought up, expression sly.

“No? You deserved it.” Tom beams at the compliment.

“So sexy,” he purrs. “And when you switched to Italian I almost finished.” Thomas checks up on the bite mark, stroking around the area with a featherlight touch. His expression is wistful and you know he’s admiring his work.

“You can’t tell me that didn’t break the skin.”

“Nope, it didn’t. But it does look very pretty on you,” he admires. Add Thomas ogling the bite marks he left on your skin to your list of extreme turn ons.

“Kinky motherfucker,” you tease, turning your head towards him. 

“I’m the kinky motherfucker?” Thomas wipes the remaining tears off of your face, and shakes his head incredulously. You’re blushing again, feeling shy, avoiding his eyes.

“No, no, no, you don’t get to be shy after that!’

“I’m sorry,” you groan in shame, hiding your face in your hands. 

“No apologies either!” he demands, prying your wrists away. “That moment where I wasn’t sure if I was gonna take you to the ER or make you cum was a little interesting, but it turned out to be the second one, we’re all good.” You burst out laughing so hard your snort, and roll face down into the pillow. For a tender moment, Thomas just strokes your hair then rubs your bare back.

“Seriously, y/n, I can’t remember I can’t remember the last time I had sex that was so amazing and so real. Sorry for being such a coward earlier.”

“I might forgive you. Someday.”

“I’m both excited for and terrified of what I’ll have to do to earn that forgiveness.”

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me that is laughter,” Damiano shuddered. 

“Doesn’t mean they’re not gonna start up again,” Victoria groaned, throwing her head back against the couch.

“I can’t believe she was thanking him,” Dami marveled, in disbelief and horror.

“There’s no fucking way. I’ve never thanked anyone during sex.”

“I bet there's a lot of things that happened in that room which you’ve never done.” 

“Uh, ew!” Vic responded, adding gagging noise for effect.

“I still think we should make sure they don’t need a paramedic,” Ethan suggests.

“No, no, that was definitely good pain.”

“And now you two get to share a wall with Tom because this is your fault,” Ethan declared, marching out of the room to have a cigarette.

Notes: The bitch is back (back again).

Taglist  @asianhawkeye @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom ​​@butkutee @ch3rryk4ii @cuzimitaliano @donuts247usa @elvirabelle @ethaneskin @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @homesicam @iamtashaquinn @idyllicbutterfly @immrbrightsideeee @iosonoarina @ilwiwbysmv @l0standn0tf0und @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @ohdamiano @que--sera--sera @teacosea @teenyweenynightghost @thatonebraziliangirl @theimpossiblehologramtree @superchrystaldrug @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @woahzz11

[badsalmonella]

The Camelot movie slammed; my totally expert opinion:

-Okay I forgot to mention this before but the original starting on the eve of war with Arthur reminiscing on things. The lil song bit of Guenevere. 🤌🏼Mwah. That is soooo chef's kiss of an opening.

-I would just like to say right now that filmed production of the show from '87 must have just been a bad production or something because I'm still gooped by how it was completely sucked dry of any tension or just the drama and stuff that makes the show interesting. Watching this movie made me understand why people would be precious about that original version of this musical.

-I loooove the production on this. I love you obvious sets that are beautiful and detailed and intricately made. I'm kissing you on the mouth. That winter carriage Genny was in mwah mwah mwah gorgeous.

-WHERE WERE THE SETS LINCOLN CENTER PRODUCTION?!?!?!!!!

-this movie constantly delivered on having too many branches, dogs, and birds in frame. Like I always knew one or more of these things would be in a scene.

-I DOOOO like Richard Harris a lot more in this movie! So babygirl King Arthur!

-the woman playing Genny.... everytime she sang....it was like okay girl give us NOTHING kghdshjs

-SOME OF THESE LINES ACTUALLY GO SOOOOOO FUCKING HARD. IT'S INSANE. ME AND MY FRIENDS KEPT BEING LIKE 🙊🙊🙊 bROOOOO!!!

-Okay the wedding. The shot with the wedding. The candles. Oh my god. GOOPED.

-Everyone in the room GASPED when we found out Genny and Arthur fuck in this movie lmaoo

-Me and my friends drawing up maps, creating corkboards with the red strings, trying to figure out what accent Lancelot's actor was trying to go for

-the roll out??? Bathtub????

-I wish I could describe the extremely specific vibe he was giving off during C'est Moi. Somehow doing the most and not doing enough. Kind of obsessed.

-"knights picking flowers????" "WELL SOMEONE'S GOTTA DO IT!!!!!!"

-If you catch me making King Arthur and Lancelot picking flowers art NO YOU DIDN'T OKAY SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

- Okay Lancelot catching Genny and the knights singing Take Me To The Fair is actually both hilarious and kind of sad TRULY JUST BULLYING THE SHIIIT OUT OF THIS MAN!!!

-I miss Philippa Soo's version of TMTTF sorry. Not the point of this post. But I do. I truly do miss it sososo bad.

-Genny holding the martini glass goblet and roasting Lancelot with Pelly. The cultural reset fr fr. "If the king commands it" LIKE GIRLLL!!!

-Im always shocked when I watch previous versions of Camelot and the guy Lancelot kills or almost kills or whatever ISN'T King Arthur. Like that choice just felt so right it's WILD it wasn't always like that idk lol

-Anyways um Lancelot should always revive dudes in a superrrrr homoerotic way. Like whyyy??? Aren't??? We doing that????

- Okay but that whole revival scene no joke. SO MOVIE FR FR.

-King Arthur just DITCHING HIS OWN PARTY TO GO INTO A DARK ROOM AND MONOLOGUE.

-It was so monologue. IT WAS SOOOOOO MONOLOGUE!!!! I'M BITING AT THE BARS OF MY CAGE!!!!

-Anyways EVERY GUY IN CAMELOT ACCUSING GENNY AND LANCE OF TREASON AND ARTHUR JUST BANISHING THEM?! OMFG THE DENIAL IS SOOOO REAL!!

-Okay suddenly this movie takes a HARD turn into the Team Lancelot territory hfjshjgjsjshs like I think I watched an in movie Lancelot Genny fancam straight up.

-GENNY WITH THE FAN COMING INTO LANCELOT'S ROOM??? AND I'M GUESSING THEY BANG ON HIS TINY TINY TWIN BED LIKE I'M INSANE GKSHKFH

-Okay but If Ever I Would Leave You, ending shot making them look like they are IN THE BIRD CAGE. BRO. IMMACULATE CINEMA.🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

-THE KNIGHTS FIGHTING AT THE ROUND TABLE. HORSES ONNNN THE ROUND TABLE. THE TABLES LITERALLY FALLING APART. AGAIN. THE MOST MOVIE. EVERRRR.

-Okay Morded isn't giving enough goth vibes here. Also feel bad they took away ALL his songs

-What Do The Simple Folk Do is like basically dialogue with some music behind them it's wild how much these two DO NOT want to sing lmao BUT MAN THE WAY THIS SCENE ENDS OWHAHFJGAA I DO LOVE IT.

-Okokokok so like magic always feels kind of just barely there sprinkled in, in Camelot, and it's kind of the same here, but MAN. I love that whole sequence with Arthur in the forest thinking about Merlin. Like it's actually amazing??? It's so hazy and dreamy, and kid Arthur is there, and the fact that you never ACTUALLY see him turn into animals, but you get whats going on, it's actually so cool guys plz try to find this scene it's lovely. I love the way they incorporate the magic here. 🤌🏼

-OKAY. GENNY. GIRL. I KNOW I LOW KEY ROASTED YOUR SINGING EARLIER. AND I MEANT IT. BUT I really truly think this version of I Loved You Once In Silence is so beautiful. I think it works. It's really nice to just hear a super quiet simple version of this song with mostly just guitar for the instrumental backing. Also the scene just feels so intimate. Like a quiet goodbye It's really tragic and lovely m mwha mwah mwah mwha mwah. 🤌🏼

-The whole ending slams with all the sword fights, but Lancelot getting away is like just watching a man do amateur parkour out of the castle like low key funny.

-THE FINAL. REUNION. GUYS. BE SOOO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW. IT'S SO 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭

-THE LINE ABOUT FORGIVNESS IN ARTHUR'S EYES BUT GENNY WON'T BE THERE TO SEE IT WHATEVER THAT LINE IS OH MY GOOOODDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!! 5 dead. 10 injured.

-IT IS. LITERALLY. SO. MOVIE. It goes hard. I will hear NO Camelot movie slander on my block.

-but with that being said it's crazy how it's almost the same length as the stage show but feels WAYYYY longer. Like I obviously loved it but it does FEEL long.

-but I'm happy I saw it!

I finally saw the Camelot movie

Guys that shit SLAMMMMEDDDD!!!!!!!

[alisha-on-arcane]

Zaun culture/ normal life/ setting headcanons

Headcanons I realised I have while writing this finished Vander/Silco revolution-and-betrayal fic.

- Zaunite parenting is quite communal, as a matter of culture. Kids typically run around the street together and are vaguely watched by all the adults present. Mixed families happen a lot simply because life is dangerous, and Zaunite adults are  expected to take on orphans if they are the best placed person to do so. This often segues into children working very young. Piltovan views on this cultural practice are considered classist slurs by Zaun patriots like Vander and Benzo. (Silco is, in this fic, in a league of his own when it comes to "thinking fucked-up things are okay" but it's not entirely his fault). - Zaunites use “brother”, “uncle”, “sister” etc in a very inclusive way that does not imply biological or necessarily even adoptive family relationship (which lots of real-world cultures do too).  Again, Piltovans assume this is because biological incest is very common in Zaun, which is not true and is an insensitive slur. (But every time Silco calls Vander “brother” in Arcane, apart from the last one, he’s spitting the word out because they were more than that and Vander is pretending they weren’t and he definitely does not want Vander back as more than brothers-in-arms, of course not, *hurt hiss*).  Though adoptive relationships are very much considered real family, so “sister” or “brother” can be used very literally in context.

- The Lanes is just one district of Zaun, specifically that controlled/ policed by Vander and Benzo as of Act 1. Vander is an influential figure in wider Zaun, but he's not necessarily the top dog. Silco set up his crime headquarters in Vander's pub after being implored to "spare the Lanes" in an act of pure spite by Silco. (And I love him for it). - Many Zaunites are day workers in Piltover. There is continual political tension between Piltovan business interests who rely on the cheaper labour (who are generally aligned with Zaunite interests on this), and those who would restrict or monitor access to Piltover from Zaun. The latter say that Zaunite criminals commit crimes in Piltover and run back to hide in the undercity, which is often true. - The air in the undercity is breathable to all but is a major driver of sickness and early death for Zaunites. The causes are both natural (fissure gases) and artificial (emissions from Zaun-owned chemtech factories and from other industrial activity that Piltover outsources to Zaun). It may have improved between Arcane Act 1 and 2; it's possible Silco did actually do some of the easier measures about reducing factory emissions (catalytic scrubbers, etc) or possibly the balance of industry in Zaun just changed a bit. - Zaunites who have not made body modifications/ been injured to ensure an asymmetrical appearance can pass as Piltovans quite easily with a change of clothes. This happens rarely enough that Piltovans don't expect it at all. Proud Zaunites wear asymmetrical clothes or at least have asymmetrical hair unless they are really, really up to something. - there is a group of Piltovans, mostly students, who protest peacefully for Zaun independence. It's mostly as ridiculous as you'd expect but I love them for trying. - The mines are probably not in central Zaun and not worked by voluntary day labourers. Jayce refers to them as “mining colonies” which sounds like a euphemism, and Silco says “the mines they had us in” (plus a writer saying on Twitter that he “grew up in the mines”) which gives us a very dark picture of what the mines might be like.

[swtki]

Dancing Days - Edward Cullen x Reader Smut

Anonymous said: 19&24 on edward smut? love ur writing!

A/N: Thank you so much :) also I’m so happy everyone is h*rny for Eddy. I decided I want to explore more period times with Edward, changing his persona in a certain decade, but still ultimately being in the same universe as cannon. This will play into the readers character a tad bit.

WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT, SWEARING, S*X, VAMPIRES, ORAL SEX (MALE RECIEVING), VIRGIN! EDWARD, NON VIRGIN READER, GENDER NEUTURAL READER, MENTIONS OF WAR AND DEATH. 

19: “Fuck me like you want people to know”.

24. “Thing is, I’m a virgin”. 

_______________________________________

I brushed my hair into its usual part, making sure I looked flawless. The year was 1976, I was a senior in Highschool. It was a wonderful time to be a teenager, no longer afraid that my friends would die in Vietnam. Even in my dinky little Washington town, the culture was becoming our own. 

The Led Zeppelin record playing on my record player stopped suddenly, alerting me that I was no longer alone in my room. I turned, my expression soft as I saw my boyfriend, Edward.

“Whats up with you and this album? Everytime I come in, its always House of Th Holy on repeat.” I rolled my eyes, lifted the record in question off of the tray, and put it back snuggly in its case. 

“I can’t help it, Ed. Robert just speaks to me. I’m sure you’re like that with Louis Armstrong.” I waved my hand, walking back to my mirror to finish getting ready. 

“Maybe, but the music you listen to it’s...” Edward paused for a moment, sitting on my bed. “It’s suggestive, Y/N.” I turned to him, my eyebrow raised.

“Suggestive? What’s that supposed to mean?” I placed my hands on my hips, and waited for him to explain.

“Well, for one that one song says ‘Sipping booze’, I quite think that is blatant alcohol reference.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. Then, I started to laugh, and I walked over to him. Instinctually, he pushed his head into my chest, enjoying the comfort it brought him. 

“I love you, but god are we from two different Mars.” He chuckled, sending a rumble through my chest.

At school, I was an average kid. Fair grades, many friends, many ex friends. When Edward was paired up with me in math, I got through his cold, stone skin. At first, he was annoyed when I would fuck off, leaving him to do the work himself. Understandable, and once I realized how rude I was, I stopped. I talked to him, prodded him truthfully. I would ask him once we started dating if he had noticed me previously, because I had never noticed him. 

“Yes, I noticed that you were the only one who didn’t acknowledge me. Ironic I guess.” 

A year into our relationship, I would never let him go unnoticed. We walked the halls, hand in hand. Our outlooks were so different when it came to life. He was modest, I was free spirited. Edward was different from my boyfriends previously, I didn’t want to fuck things up, and I refused to even risk it. 

School went slowly that day, possibly because my head was focused on what I would ask Edward, my boyfriend of one year, about sex. About us and sex. 

I hadn’t told him that I wasn’t a virgin, I was worried he would only want a virgin girl, after all they can never look at you disappointed and say “I’ve had better.” A definite plus. Many a nights I tried to imagine him, moaning completely under my control. I wanted him, but I didn’t know if he wanted me. Surely in 50 years he had found a good fuck. I worried that he would be into someone else, forever tied to a vampiress. 

The end of the school day couldn’t have come sooner, my anxiety rising as I got into Edwards car, starting a long silent car ride. I tried to keep my mind off of it, an attempt to avoid the conversation until we were at my house. I kept my mind busy with the lush scenery outside of the passenger side window. 

“So... I know you want to ask me, and I know the answers to what I would ask you.” He said blatantly, putting the car in park outside my front lawn. 

“I don’t wanna talk out here Ed, lets go inside.” I swung my bag onto my shoulder. Thats the thing with Edward, I never have to say anything, just as long as I think it. 

My house was empty, making it easy for Edward to follow me upstairs to my room. I shut my door behind us, then turned to him. Unsure of what to say, I breathed in deeply.

“How long have you known that I wasn’t...you know?” He smiled, sitting on my plush navy sheets. 

“Y/N, I knew before I met you what I was getting into. Your ex had a lot of thoughts about that one night where you guys-” 

“Oh my god okay ew.” A blush rose upon my face, and I saw Edward laugh as he watched my body fill with embarassment. “Well why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

“I figured if it needed to be brought up, it would be. You and I aren’t exactly a physical couple so I didn’t worry too much.” I walked over to my bed, taking a seat next to him.

“I see...I mean it wouldn’t be a big deal for me so if you want to...” I bit my lip at him, his gaze turned to the other direction.

“Thing is, I’m a virgin.” My expression went from a seductive look, to a puzzled one. I wondered if I had heard him correctly. “I’m old school, Y/N. It wasn’t like how it is now when I was human. People didn’t just have sex in highschool, unless they were married because the man was off to war. So, it hasn’t been on the menu for me. You’re the first girl I’ve dated in fifty years, you know. And no, there was no vampiress or anything.” I smiled.

“Well, I don’t wanna scare you or push it or anything. It’s just you know-” 

“You want to touch me, to be touched by me.” his eyes trailed back to mine, looking deep into my soul.

“Yes, I want you, Edward.” I pressed my lips to his, pulling away jut as it got intense. I could feel his disappointment. “I want to...but I can’t let you down. Tomorrow night. I’ll call you and we can talk about everything we want out of it, I’ll give you a fucking fairytale, my love” I chuckled.

I called him that night as I had said I would. We talked about my first time, and everything I liked, followed by what he had seen on video, what he wanted to try, and his fears.

“I don’t want to kill you, darling.” He said.

“Then don’t. I won’t let you.” He laughed at me, enjoying my lack of seriousness.

The next night rolled along with a quick pace. I looked at the clock and saw that it was time for me to start getting ready. 

I made myself look simple, a small bit of makeup and hair product, but otherwise just a tank top and jeans. Sometimes, dating an old fashioned guy was a pain in the ass. Always complaining about suggestive behavior. But other times, my shoulders counted as being half nude.

“You look stunning, as per usual.” Edward said, stepping into my room. He was tense and barely moved. “I don’t know what to do..what usually happens with it if I’m not the one doing everything.”

If he had any blood flow, he would have been blushing right about then.

“We don’t have to do anything you know. We can just lay down and watch a movie if you want to, I just want to make you happy, Edward.” I walked over to him and put a strand of his messy auburn hair behind his ear. Without hesitation, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“I want to, thats the part that’s been eating me away ever since I met you. I want to make you feel good, I just don’t know if I’ll lose it and-“ I cut him off with a kiss.

“Even if you break my pelvis into pieces, I’ll still be happy. I’m always happy when I’m with you.” we both smiled, and suddenly the thick tension that once filled the room vanished. “I’ll take care of you tonight, just as long as you’re doing it for you. I just need to know you’re doing this for you, and you need to be sure you wont roll over afterwards and hate me.” I said, my hand clasped in his marble one.

“I want you, Y/N. I have no doubts that I’ll want you afterwards, too.”

I pushed his head down, level to my own. Our kiss was deep, filled with a years worth of hunger. My hands tugged on his hair, making him whimper. Suddenly, I felt my feet lift off the ground as Edward carried me to my bed. With a soft thump, the plush sheets surrounded my body. It was a contrast of warmth on my back, and Edwards cool body on my top.

His hands were balled into fists, clutching my duvet as if his life depended on it. I pulled away, panting for air.

“Sorry, I forget you need air.” He smirked. I rolled my eyes in response.

“Well, its a shame you don’t. Because I intend on taking your breath away.” we both made small laughs at my remark.

“What now?” He looked at me for guidance.

“Get on your back.” I said.

We switched positions, he was now on the bottom. My legs straddled his torso, I sight he visably enjoyed. I slithered my hands up to his head, cupping his face as I kissed him again. My left hand left its post, reaching down to the buttons on his shirt.

I paused, looking up at him once I got to the last button.

“Does it...work like normal or...” He threw his head back and laughed.

“It doesn’t have spikes, I can assure you its just like a humans. But Emmet did tell me to pull out so...I’m kind of worried about the implications of that but-“ I leaned down to shut him up with a kiss.

His hands were still at his side, resting on the bed. I picked up his wrists, and placed them on the side of my thighs. He squeezed them lightly.

My hands roamed over his bare chest, cool to the touch. I lached my lips onto his neck, causing his back to arch below me. I could feel his excitement beneath me, it gave me a big self esteem boost. His hand reached along my waist, tugging at my shirt. His eyes lit up at the sight of my bare chest. He reached for me but I pulled away to slide down onto my knees.

He looked confused, like I had left him high and dry.

“Sit on the edge.” I said softly, my knees burning slightly due to the rough carpet underneath them.

He rid himself of the unbottoned shirt, slidding over to me once finished. My hands slowly stroked his thighs, he was desperate for some type of touch.

I smiled, tugging on his belt until it came undone. He stayed silent, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world. I unbottoned the trousers, tugging on them. He kicked them off and was left in his breifs.

“Is it okay if I..” I looked up at him and he nodded frantically. I palmed him over his underwear, feeling how hard he had gotten from kissing. My fingers latched onto the waist band, pulling them down to reveal a pale yet pink cock. It wasn’t too big, but deffinitley satisfactory. I ran my finger over the tip, earning a small groan from the vampire. My eyes trailed up to him, so I could see him when I took him in my mouth.

He let out a breathy moan, eyes focused on my mouth. His lips were parted ever so slightly. I bobbed my head, and grotesquely sexual sounds arose from my throat. I felt Edward move a strant of hair out of my face, he looked at me like I was a god.

“Fuck..Y/N if you keep doing that there wont be anything for you, dear” He said in a breathy moan. I pulled back, my mouth feeling sore and tired. “Do you still want to?” He asked, grasping his hands on my waist.

“Yes, I fucking need you.” I threw off my jeans, I would worry about finding them later, I needed him. He layed back down, propping his head up on my pillows. Our lips collided in another kiss as I leveled myself with him.

“Are you sure?” I ask him, stroking his hard member.

“I’m sure.” He pecked my lips again as I got ontop of his lean figure. I spat in my hand, lubing up my needy hole.

“How do you want me to do this? I mean like slow? What do-“ He said with genuine worry.

“Fuck me like you want people to know” I whispered, “ Fuck me like you want the entire neighborhood to know that I’m yours and yours only.”

“I can make that happen, love.” He flipped me over, now being back to where we first started. He lined up his cock with my hole, running it around the tight area. I put my fingers in his hair, making a slight tug as he pushed into my body.

Pleasure filled my body as he filled me up, his cock stretched my insides in the right ways. Without pausing, he started to push his hips into mine, making sure not to hurt me.

He reached down to suck on my neck, adding to the pornagraphic moans in the room. My hands travled to his back, scratching my nails down the cold stone like skin. His moans echoed in my ear.

“Y/N, I can’t be on top I’m going to crush you” I laughed at him, tapping his side so he fell onto the bed. I swung my legs over him, sitting on his perfect cock.

“Perfect, fucking amazing.” He said as I steady myself onto him. His face was in a euphoric expression, the most relaxed I had ever seen him.

I began to rock my hips, sliding him in and out of me. His hands grabbed onto my hips, guiding me. Everything was a euphoric experience. My gut filled with that wonderful sensation.

“Edward I’m gonna cum, oh my god” I moaned out, picking up my pace.

Suddenly, the world went still. My eyes went black and I saw stars as my orgasm washed over me. My moans echoed in the room as my body twitched. A few thrusts up into my body and Edward pulled out of me, rubbing his cum out onto his hand.

I layed there panting while he sped to the bathroom, and came back with a clean cloth, wiping down my body. He put the cloth down, pulling up his underwear and handing me mine. I slipped the fabric on, slipping under the covers.

“Get in here, I wanna kiss you”

He laughed, obeying and slipping beside me. Our lips reunited in a soft clash.

“I love you so much, dear.”