#I flipped a coin to decide who had to carry the other

[cerealforkart]

Last one is a request for Lark and Sparrow in happier times from Discord so here’s the Lord of Chaos!

Sketch requests are over!

[w2soneshots]

Roommates -W2S

words: 1.3k+

warnings: smut, light angst.

summary: you and Harry spend lockdown together in your own little flat that’s located next to the sidemen house. Eventually Harry catches feelings and the unexpected (yet very overdue) happens.

notes: heyy🫶🏼. My lockdown fic got so much love so I’m hoping you’ll all enjoy this one just as much! This request is so iconic. Don’t forget to reblog!!😚🤍

I've known the boys since I was young. I went to school with Tobi and Josh then when youtube came around we started playing games together. Soon they had created one of the biggest groups on youtube and I was their most requested guest. I have a great relationship with all of them and immediately hit it off with Freya and Talia.

Last month the uk went into a full lockdown. Josh, Freya, Simon, Talia, JJ and Vik were already living in the same house but Tobi, Ethan, Harry and myself packed our things and also moved in. Because we didn't want to be trapped in the middle of London alone. But since there aren't enough bedrooms for all of us, we flipped a coin to decide who would stay in the small granny flat at the end of the garden. Me and Harry ended up winning and I was actually really happy that I would only be sharing my space with one other person instead of nine.

At the beginning it was going great. Everyone was a little fed up with the fact we couldn't leave the house but we were lucky enough that we have a huge garden that makes you feel a little less claustrophobic. Me and Harry are getting along really well. We have separate bedrooms but share a bathroom, which can be slightly annoying at times.

One night I sat on the small couch in our living room/kitchen. Harry clicked open the door after coming back from filming with the boys. "Hey. How'd it go?" I asked, glancing up from my phone. "Uh- good." He replied plainly. My brows furrowed "are you okay?" I stood from the sofa. "Huh? Yea fine." He quickly entered his room then closed the door. I was a little confused but just assumed he was tired and didn't feel like talking.

The next night the same thing happened. He practically avoided me for an entire week. Until I'd had enough. I hesitated as I went to knock on his bedroom door. I took a deep breath then knocked my hand against the painted wood. "Harry?!" I heard a frustrated huff then the door cracked open. "Yes?" "Uhh, can we talk please?" I asked quietly. He looked down at the floor then left his room. We walked towards the kitchen and each sat down on one of the breakfast stools.

"Listen. I don't know if I did something to upset you but we're living together you can't just keep avoiding me. If you have something to say then just spit it out!" My voice raised as I spoke the last sentence. His jaw ticked. He looked me in the eyes, then his gaze flickered down to my lips. My breath hitched, my palms began to sweat and my heart beat so fast I thought it might pop out of my chest. The next few seconds were the slowest yet fastest of my life. He lent in and kissed me. Harry fucking Lewis kissed me. The boy I've known for so many years. The boy I've had a crush on since I was sixteen. But all this time I assumed he didn't feel the same so I suppressed the feelings as best I could.

I moved forward to place my hands on his cheeks, bringing him closer to me. As we broke away to breathe we rested our foreheads on each other's. We kept eye contact as he desperately placed his hands at my waist and lifted me onto the kitchen counter. He stood between my legs as he kissed me, hard. "Harry..." I moaned as he began kissing down my neck. He pulled my hoodie over my head revealing the small white cotton bralet I had on underneath. His eyes flickered from my chest back up to my eyes. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked, with his hands by his sides. "Please Harry, please." I begged. He took that as a yes so quickly fumbled to remove his shirt.

He pulled me off the counter then carried me towards his bedroom, my legs wrapped around his torso. I kissed his shoulder gently as he walked. He groaned as we approached the bedroom. "I need you Harry." I whimpered as he lay me down on his soft sheets. The room was dark so I could only barely make out his figure stood before me. I could hear shuffling then my pants along with my underwear were being pulled down in one fail swoop. I gasped as he moved over me so his dick was just inches away from my soaking wet cunt. He gently wiped the hair from my face then attached his lips back to mine. "You ready?" He asked between wet kisses. "So ready."

After that night we continued to have sex regularly. We weren't sure what we were even labelled as yet so we decided to keep it a secret from everyone else. Thank god we were at the end of the garden or we would have a problem. I'm not exactly sure how the other couples in the house were managing to have a sex life. But me and Harry were so loud. We did it in every possible room, kitchen counter, sofa, shower, his bedroom, my bedroom. I think we were just so bored that the only thing to do was have sex.

Almost two months after that night he asked me to be his girlfriend. It was actually really romantic. He cooked me dinner in our kitchen, bearing in mind it wasn't the nicest pasta I've had but that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was officially mine and I was his.

Once the lockdown was fully lifted life seemed to return to (somewhat) normal. Tobi, Ethan, Harry and I moved out and moved back into our own apartments. We hadn't actually talked about what we were going to do once the lockdown ended. I obviously knew I still wanted to be with him but the realisation suddenly hit me that I was actually dating one of my best friends. One night Harry asked if we could tell everyone and I wasn't sure what to say. We decided that we would wait a little longer until I felt one hundred percent ready.

A month went by and we still hadn't told anyone. I lay in bed next to Harry, the sun shone through the blinds and I was completely naked, from last night's events. I slowly opened my eyes to see Harry looking at me. "Hi." I whispered sleepily. "Do you like me?" He asked. I wasn't expecting that. I pushed myself up so I was leaning on my forearm. "What? Of course I like you." I lent in to kiss him but he gently pushed me back. "Well why don't you want anyone to know about us?" His face was serious. I sighed then placed my hand on his cheek. "I just- well- I've known you since we were teenagers and I- I don't want to mess this up. I don't wanna lose you." I finally admitted. His face softened then he lent in to kiss me. "I love you y/n." He whispered. My heart warmed. "I love you too." "I've wanted to say that for a while but I had to make sure you felt the same." He kissed me again.

The next day Harry brought me along to a sidemen shoot. "So, me and Harry have been- um- daiting for a while." I announced. They didn't seem to be very shocked. "Yea we figured that out when I went to ask if you wanted something from Nando's, since you weren't answering your phones, and I heard some... strange noises." Ethan explained with a chuckle. My face turned bright red. "Oh my god." I buried my face into Harry's shoulder.

[natalievoncatte]

31. Spookycorp

(Yes I know it’s late. I have a permit. I can do what I want.)

Lena adjusted her cheap plastic tiara, which she’d had chosen herself at a Spirit Halloween. Though she would never admit it, Lena felt giddy when she went shopping now. She used to just send Jess or use a high end shopping service; Lena Luthor had neither the time nor the patience to fumble with checkout lines and coupons, but post-L-Corp Lena, private citizen Lena, head of a charity org and retired from corporate sharkery Lena delighted in it. In a sweater and leggings with her hair in a simple ponytail and glasses not contacts, she felt human. Normal.

Her costume was simple, the tiara and a goofy floofy mini dress she’d picked up at a thrift store, and a wand to top it all off. Kara recognized her immediately.

“Let me guess, a good witch?”

Lena stood in the door and beamed, nudging her glasses. She was still getting used to them every day but her therapist had insisted she stick with the changes she made.

(The penthouse was going on the market and she was selling her Louboutins. Most of her Louboutins. She was finally telling that little voice in her head that sounded like Lillian to SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER whenever it admonished her about not being perfect enough)

Kara was dressed in an all-green ensemble with a pointed hat resting on her head and a cheesy plastic bow on her back.

“Robin Hood?”

“Of Locksley,” Kara bowed.

(If I’d know, I’d have dressed as Maid Marian.)

She beckoned Lena to enter in an expensive gesture and watched her step inside, her gaze lingering in a way that made Lena tingle all over, goose flesh rising on her arms. She hopped up onto a stool and smiled when Kara handed her a beer.

“They make pumpkin spice beer now?”

“Mmmm,” Kara said, nursing her own. Lena’s eyes widened when Kara tipped a flask into it; a sticker on the side read Not For Humans.

“Just a little to loosen me up,” said Kara. “It’s a party.”

Kara sat down on the other side of the table and just… looked at her. She looked at Lena with her chin resting on her fist and a soft distant look on her face, and Lena stared back just as intently, entranced by the way her sunny curls escaped her sloppy ponytail and framed her face.

The spell, as it were, was broken by a knock at the door. The snacks were coming, an absurdly huge order that Lena had placed while she was on her way. As the bewildered delivery boy accepted her excessive tip, Kara carried the bags into the apartment, and together they began laying it all out on the kitchen island.

Brainy and Nia were the first to arrive. They wore matching silver body suits and Nia had put on a gloss of green makeup: Querl simply disabled his image inducer.

“We’re aliens!” Nia chirped. “Lena I love your outfit! Wait is Kara Robin Hood? Lena, why aren’t you Maid Marian?”

Lena froze, suddenly aware of Kara’s tense presence beside her. She didn’t dare turn her head and gauge Kara’s reaction.

“Did you purchase every potsticker in National City?” Brainy asked, almost pointedly snapping the tension.

Kara laughed. “I think Lena just wants to keep me from eating everything else.”

Alex and Kelly also showed up in marching costumes, making the moment even more awkward. They were married, of course, so they were supposed to coordinate.

Alex strutted into the apartment, grinning, and threw back the cowl of her Batman costume, as Kelly rolled her eyes behind the mask of her Catwoman outfit.

“That’s cute,” said Kara. “Did you guys like flip a coin to decide who was who?”

Alex poked the gray fabric over her stomach. “You know what, Kara? Sometimes I want people to know I have abs too. And unlike some people I have to work for mine.”

Kara poked out her tongue and shoved a beer in her hand as Kelly pulled Lena into a hug.

After a toast to James, and J’onn, and Winn, and absent friends, Kara started the first movie of their marathon. Each couple had selected one film, and Alex’s selection went first: a really weird movie called The Keep.

“This was originally three hours long before the studio butchered it, but it’s still a classic,” Alex explained. “It’s Michael Mann’s only horror movie.”

Lena found it largely incomprehensible and not very scary, and there were some scenes, especially the nonsensical sex scene, that made the experience a tad awkward.

“If I was in an ancient castle in Carpathia and the crosses in the wall started glowing, I would not mess with them.” said Kara.

“Yes you would,” Alex snorted. “Your approach to danger is to shove you arm in it.”

Kara drained her beer and rolled her eyes. Lena glanced over at her and giggled, nursing the last of hers.

“Want another one?”

Lena nodded, and Kara got up to get them more drinks. Lena lost interest in the movie as she watched Kara cross the apartment and bend low to grab two more bottles from the bottom shelf of the fridge, bending at the hips. The bottom of her tunic pulled up over her muscular backside and the buns of steel strained her green leggings.

(She would annihilate me with a strap)

When Kara stood up, Lena snapped her gaze around and found everyone staring at her, Nia suppressing a giggle. They all looked endlessly amused, except Brainy, who had a self-satisfied smirk, as if he’d beaten her at chess.

Kara sat down and passed the cold beer to Lena, saying, “these movies would be scarier if they didn’t all have a bad guy I could just toss into space.”

She looked at Lena and raised her arm to curl her bicep.

Lena felt her soul almost leave her body and took a drink from her beer to hide the shivers.

The movie ended and Nia jumped up to put on her selection, which she proudly announced to the group. “ARMY OF DARKNESSSSS!” she shouted, clapping her hands.

Lena hasn’t seen this before and even though there was a ten minute prologue explaining what the hell it was about, Lena finally just decided to stop caring about the plot and just go along for the ride.

Kara had apparently seen it and she and Nia went back and forth quoting the dialogue back and forth at each other and gobbling snacks. Alex and Kelly seemed more interested in each other and had gone fairly quiet.

Lena was more interested in Kara. Her joy was infectious, especially after a third beer.

It was getting cool in the apartment by the time they were ready for the final movie, and Lena’s outfit was hardly warm. Kara felt her shiver and got up, coming back with a stack of blankets, which the others accepted.

Kara then took her cape and spread it over Lena. The fabric was stout and heavy and lay warmly about her as she tucked it under her chin.

“Uh oh,” said Alex. “Lena gets the Superblankie.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kara said.

“Lena always gets the Superblankie,” Nia agreed.

“Guys!” Kara said, sounding a little panicked.

“Start the movie already,” Kelly yawned, breaking the tension.

Kara put on the final movie, her choice: Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

No one remarked that for movie choosing purposes, Lena and Kara had been expected to act as a couple. Kara sat down on the sofa with Lena and pulled the cape around them both, tucking them tightly together and sharing her blessed, glorious body heat. Kara ran about three or four degrees hotter than a baseline human and it made her a living space heater. Lena adored it.

She adored a lot of things about Kara, like her laugh and her smile and that funny little scar, the only imperfection on her invulnerable body. She adored the way her blue eyes glittered like sapphires in the dark apartment, and the soft pillow of her bottom lip and her big strong hands and the way she was always laying a protective arm across Lena’s shoulders, making her feel so safe and…

Lena turned her attention to the movie. It was a comfort choice of hers and she knew it by heart, so it was easy to relax into Kara and not worry too hard about how much she was utterly, irrevocably, cruelly in love with her unattainable best friend.

The apartment was quiet. Lena was fairly sure that Alex was asleep and Kelly was mellow, too entranced with her new wife to care about anything else, and the way that Brainy and Nia were tucked under their blanket and whispering to each other made Lena hot with jealousy.

Kara’s chest hitched and Lena turned to her sharply.

“What is it, darling?” she murmured.

“Nothing,” Kara lied, then whispered. “This is so sad.”

She took Lena’s hand and Lena almost died on the spot, and it got worse when Kara nuzzled her chin into the crook of Lena’s shoulder.

Out of nowhere, half an hour later, Kara murmured, “if I lost you I think I’d become a monster too.”

Lena flinched, then turned to her. Kara was looking at her with big puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of hers, at once an honest smile and a smile for the keeping of secrets.

Everyone else was asleep, and would probably stay that way until morning.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

Kara took it as an invitation, gently shifting so that Lena was now in her lap, and tucked Lena under her chin. She wrapped her arms around her and just breathed, chest gently rising and falling against her.

“I want you to know how sorry I am for all the things I’ve done,” Kara whispered into the top of her head. “I’ve never told you, I was gone before I could and after I got back I was scared.”

“Kara,” Lena murmured back, “darling, it’s alright.”

“I was so scared when I was there,” Kara said, not daring to name the Phantom Zone. “That place messes with time. I was terrified that if I ever got back you’d all be gone. You would be gone. I was so afraid it hurt.”

Lena went still, just listening.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You deserve better than me.”

“No I don’t,” Lena insisted, almost too loud. “No I don’t. There is no one better. God, Kara,” she softened her voice, “I think I fell a little in love with you the day we even met. I never used to believe in love at first sight or soulmates but… I am a witch after all.”

Kara let out a slow sigh. “Lena, are you saying…”

“Even when I was trying to tell you I hated you, I was telling you how much I love you. It’s you, Kara. It’s always been you.”

“I love you so much,” Kara said whispered, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Kara, everyone else is asleep,” she forced out, her jaw trembling from excitement. “Take me to the bedroom. Please.”

Kara said nothing but stood up in a single motion, lifting Lena with ease and curling her up in the cape. Lena didn’t think her feet ever touched the ground as they slipped into the bedroom and Kara laid her down on the bed, quickly and quietly closing the door before lunging into the bed, pressing Lena into the mattress with a barrage of hot, aggressively desperate kisses.

They were both quiet, Kara pausing only briefly to implore Lena with her eyes and wait for a murmured yes. There was something thrilling about the quiet, they way they swallowed their gasps and passed their moans softly through one another’s lips, and Lena would never forget the way Kara delighted in her, virtually worshipping her.

Lena returned the favor with with enthusiasm.

By morning, Lena was exhausted in every sense of the term and was curled up in a tangle of blankets and a snoozing Kryptonian.

There was a knock at the door.

“Well lock up on our way out,” Alex called. “By the way, you guys forgot about the whole keeping quiet thing about halfway through. Thanks for etching Lena yelling “daddy” into my brain.”

Kara snorted.

“Alex, I love you, but get out.”

[fantasybabygirlslutsworld]

The Realm's Light - 2

Part One Part three Part four

Part five Part six

As the saying goes,' When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. One side greatness, the other madness'.

However, it seems that the gods are having difficulty deciding the fate of the newest Targaryen as the labour of Princess Aemma continued for almost 15 hours.

Finally, at noon, the wails of a baby echoed throughout the palace. Queen Alysanne was the first person to be out of the birthing chamber while carrying something in her arms. The people standing outside gazed at the babe with astonished eyes.

" Mother, this is ?" Crown Prince Baelon was the first to snap out of the awestruck daze." this is my great granddaughter who her family will most cherish and this entire realm ." Queen Alysanne proudly stated.

" Give her to me, Alysanne. I too want to hold her in my arms." The old King demanded his sister-wife. "You can hold her later, Issa valzȳrys. Let the father first hold his babe ." The Queen handed the child to her still-dazed father.

" She is so tiny, father." Prince Viserys softly whispered with adoration. The Prince was carefully holding the baby as if she were a fragile thing who might break at a single touch.

"Congrats on becoming a father, cousin" Princess Rhaenys congratulated Prince Viserys after coming out from the birthing chamber. Even after becoming the wife of Corlys Velaryon,the wealthiest man in Westeros,the Princess still kept her title.

" Thank you, Rhaenys. I hoped Corylys and your children would be present upon this occasion." Prince Viserys said to his cousin. Princess Rhaenys had given birth to two healthy velaryon children three years ago. " The children can't travel on Melys due to their age, Viserys. But Corlys will soon arrive before the feast ." The Velaryon matriarch smoothly replied.

" Grandmother, I forgot to ask about Aemma. Is she okay?" Prince Viserys suddenly realised about not seeing the mother of his child who would want to see her babe. Realisation seemed to have dawned on her too ." She must have taken bathe and be resting in bed, go see her now with the babe, Viserys".

The peaceful Prince and his daughter went to see Princess Aemma. At the same time, the good Queen ordered everyone outside to go prepare for the grand feast only for their immediate family amidst the whining of her husband and son to hold the newborn Targaryen.

Inside the chamber, Princess Aemma could be seen lying on the bed. The aftermath of childbirth took a toll on her as she grew tired.

" Aemma, look who had come to see you." Viserys who was his daughter calmly said. Hearing his voice, Princess Aemma groggily woke from her nap.

Upon seeing her husband holding their baby, whatever fatigue she had seem to be completely disappeared.

" Oh my god! My darling Princess. I am your mother. Oh, Viserys ! She is perfect. Our daughter is perfect." Princess Aemma starts to softly cry while looking at her daughter. The babe seems to have sensed her mother because she suddenly opened her eyes for the first time. Her parents both gasped at seeing her eyes. One eye was emerald green while the other was Targaryen violet. Viserys' eyes glistened with tears as his own mother, Alyssa Targaryen, had two different eye colours. Looking at his daughter now - silver blonde hair with heterochromatic eyes is like looking at his mother's face once again.

If his father had seen her now, he would have broken into tears and said his mother had been reborn as his daughter.

"Do you have anything in mind regarding her name, darling?" Prince Viserys asked his wife." You had once told me that your mother was fond of the name

'Mariana' and wanted to name her daughter that, Viserys." Princess Aemma told.  " Yes. She indeed wanted that name for her daughter. However, her wish went unfulfilled. " Viserys mirthfully said.

"Hence, I want to fulfil your mother's wish by keeping the name for our daughter in your mother's honour, Viserys " Princess Aemma said with a gentle smile.

" Mariana Targaryen is indeed a name fit for a princess, Aemma. Everyone is going to love her name" Viserys said while softly gazing at his daughter now sleeping in his arms.

It is said that the coin has never flipped on one side as the gods can't decide Mariana Targaryen's fate which made her life full of uncertain future. But one thing is sure. Mariana Targaryen will be the only chance for the house of the dragon to be stopped from destruction.

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Author's note : hope you like another chapter done hurriedly by my inexperienced self.

@cwallace02sblog @bitchycollectorvoid

@universallyrascaldreamercookie @snowtargaryen @girl-of-multi-fandoms @kpopfanfictionfantacies @sadmonke @immyowndefender

@missbmc94

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

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(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[lenaariewrld]

C.42 — what about you?

ON THE AIR — childe x reader smau

| SYNOPSIS;; Teyvat University’s popular radio personality, Y/n L/n, has only one gripe with her life. Her classmate, neighbour, and all-around nuisance in her life, Tartaglia. Their rivalry extends just past academics and, to her horror, into her work. He becomes the music director and co-host for her radio show, working alongside her most nights and forcing himself even deeper into her life. But is he really trying to just be friends, or is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

| WC; 3.6k

previous! ~ masterlist ! ~ next!

After a long, and frankly a little stuffy, car ride to the beach house that Childe had helped book, you all finally arrived and got out. You practically leaped from the car as soon as Keqing put it into park, stretching out your sore limbs. “Ahh, fresh air,” You sighed dreamily, the stiffness alleviating from your arms as you held them out to feel the gentle breeze. It was the early evening, the air was still a little cold, but the breeze was warm and inviting. Perfectly framing the glow of the sky as the sun set a rich marigold hue, just starting to dip below the horizon.

About a hundred feet from you was the shore of the beach, the sparse grass giving way to glittering white sand. And, eventually, to the waves that waded in and out of shore. You drank it all in, breathing in as you heard each crash of a swell, clear as day even from here. The breeze that drifted in was salty and fresh.

“Y/nnie, help us carry in the luggage!”

Cyno’s deflated squawk of your name calls you from your thoughts and you immediately turn back to the car. You giggle as you see him heave one of the larger suitcases out of the trunk to carry it in. “Sorry,” You duck out of his way and reach for your own hold of bags, unloading more of the suitcases.

With a satisfied grunt, you set two of the cases down inside, taking in the interior of the place. It was moderately decorated and clean, with giant floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall facing the shore. But it still felt homey. “OK, dibs on the master bedroom!” Ganyu comes in behind you, laughing as Cyno immediately turns to make a rebuttal.

“Let’s just do a coin toss for it. We only have enough for three of us to get solo rooms,” You remind with a fond smile, pulling out your wallet from your bag. 

“I think we should leave the master for the doublers, then,” Childe chimed in, following dutifully behind Keqing with the last of the luggage. You leaned against a taller suitcase as everyone packed into the main area of the bnb. The five of you nodded in agreement.

You flip the coin with your thumb, letting everyone call out heads or tails. Eventually, it was decided that you, Ganyu, and Childe got solo rooms; Keqing and Cyno paired up. “Happy?” You looked at your white-haired friend, who was already beaming at you. He clicked his teeth proudly, helping Keqing move their things into the bigger room upstairs. Childe claimed the last room upstairs, which left you and Ganyu downstairs.

You took your time settling in and taking in the house, eventually meandering back to the main living room area. Cyno was already there, casually scrolling on his phone. You perch yourself on the arm of the couch next to him, earning an affectionate pat on your calf before leaning back. He was more reserved with his touch now, you noticed.

Keqing came down next, looking around the rest of the house before coming back to the living room. “How hungry are you guys?”

“I can probably wait an hour or so, I’m still a little carsick,” You say, with a shrug, leaning back on your hands. “Me too,” Cyno agreed half-alert, fixing his hair into a mustache by pinching it between his upper lip and nose, his face screwed in concentration. You giggle as the two of you lock eyes, turning your attention back to Keqing.

“There’s a grill back there,” The woman says, glancing through the other doorway opposing the hallway to the rooms, where the kitchen and side deck were. You hummed in interest. “That’s if-” She adds, looking at you and Cyno, “-anyone wants to cook.”

“We could make it another toss-up,” You volunteered.

“What toss-up?” Childe calls, coming off the stairs. Honestly, he looked a little dorky with a hairband pushing his hair back and his jorts (yes, JORTS). You smiled to yourself while he looked between you all, placing a hand on his hip and fanning himself with his shirt. It wasn’t until he glanced in your direction that you looked away, catching yourself staring.

“For cooking,” Cyno told him during your sudden silence. He gestured for Childe to join in, sitting up a little bit. ”For dinner,” He adds. The other man hums as he takes a seat across from you both. Keqing follows his cue and moves further into the room, typing on her phone as she holds your attention.

“Well, we need to get the food to cook, first. So, two people can be assigned to dinner duty, and anyone who wants to chip in after can do so.” She looks between the three of you. “How about that?’ She raises her brows and closes her phone, leaving the floor open for anyone else’s opinion.

Childe raises his hand, which makes Cyno giggle. “I’m okay with that, but I don’t mind helping shop and cook,” He volunteers himself. Keqing nods and looks between you and Cyno. Before he gets the chance to speak, you shrug and stand up. “I haven’t done much yet, so I can help too,” You say. Your friends exchange a quick look but don’t fight you.

Soon enough, you find yourself packing into the car with Childe, a short list of groceries hastily written in your notes app. You roll the windows down in the car, leaning your elbow on the windowsill. “It’s been years since I’ve been to the beach,” You muse, watching the shore disappear in the mirror as Childe drives up the driveway and to the closest town. He hums from the driver's seat.

“Me too,”

You lean your cheek against your arm. The wind brushes through your hair, kissing your cheeks and the tips of your ears, or tickling your neck. The lights on the street dye a hazy yellow around you. You turn to look at Childe, adjusting yourself comfortably. “Are you happy to be here?” You ask.

“On the trip?” Childe replies. You nod. “I mean, yeah... Why wouldn’t I?” He shrugs. You look at him with a raised brow, not disbelieving, but not entirely believing him.

“Just curious..”

The grocery trip is pretty quick, overall. You and Childe put your combined skills to use to retrieve everything and get home before it got too late and too dark, successfully pulling into the driveway with an hour of daylight left to spare. The others help you put everything away and start prepping.

You easily get into the role of directing everyone around, laughing as you give different directions to your friends. Ganyu connects her phone to a speaker and plays her playlist for the trip, singing along as she chops up and skewers some vegetable kabobs. Childe and her work together. You prep most of the sauces and chop up the meat, handing it off for Cyno and Keqing to season and skewer.

The prep breezed by quickly with your shared drinks and conversations. You take over cleaning up the dishes while everyone else files out to where the table and grill were.

Outside, you hear Cyno scolding Childe for sampling some of the food fresh from the grill, and Keqing laughing while she sets out some plates and cutlery. You finish cleaning up the cutting boards, knives, and mixing bowls before joining your friends, your drink bottle propped on your knee as you drop onto a chair.

“–Anyway, I was telling this story about this customer I had come in one day,” Cyno gets back to what he was saying once his focus returned to grilling, having taken over temporarily while Childe got himself a drink. “But I was running through my usual questions; asking how their day was a shit, y’know? And she deadass looks at me–” He turns dramatically to all of you, a hand on his hip for emphasis, “-and says, ‘Better now. You have the face of a porn star I used to love!’”

You gawk at the absurdity of what he just said, over taken by laughter while Ganyu slaps her hand over her mouth. “Are you kidding me?”

“No! She was completely serious. I didn’t even know how to respond! I was just like ‘oh. Okay’” The white-haired man laughs, shrugging it off. You catch your breath while Keqing sighs dramatically.

“Sometimes, people just lose their common sense filter when they face hospitality workers… There’s no other reason they act that absurd,” She says, taking a drink.

You tip your bottle to her. “That or they are just that stupid and obtuse.” You retort.

Your friends hum or add in their own comments, continuing with the conversation and chipping in with more stories of the like, thoroughly entertaining everyone and killing the time until you all can eat. You’re sure that all of you are being thoroughly annoying and loud, but it was summer and it was warm and you felt at ease. So, who cares. Once a good portion of the food was cooked, Childe helps divvy out the food and everyone picks apart the plates. Your cheeks are flush as you eat and laugh and chat, caught up in the moment.

You catch Childe’s eyes, the two of you exchanging a quiet look while Ganyu and Cyno serenade each other with a Rihanna song, unapologetically loud and dramatic. “Aren’t they fun?” You mouth, smiling.

The man nods. “I see why you are so close to them,” He mouths back and holds out the bottom of his bottle. You clink yours against his.

Everyone was thoroughly relaxed as your dinner progressed, the hours ticking by while you all fill up, taking your time. The conversation devolved into discussions of philosophy– such as if chickens can be raised by cats, or which Twilight movie was more accurate to Shakespeare –as it got later.

The hollers of laughter you all continue to stir in each other bled into the calm blue of the night.

And eventually, you all decide to head inside and clean up. You watch Keqing and Ganyu set up a movie on the television in the living room. Cyno cleans out the grill quickly with Childe, making sure all the coals were extinguished and whatnot before calling it a night. You decide to rest as well, wishing sweet dreams to everyone else in the house before ducking into your room.

You breeze through your nightly routine and fall into bed, curled comfortably in the ridiculously soft sheets. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep..

However, it also doesn’t last long, as you wake up sometime around four-ish. You blink blearily, staring at the ceiling. It takes you a second to realise what had woken you up was a soft knocking on the door of your room, as a second soft tok tok against the wood makes you get up. You pad over to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you pull it open.

“...Childe?” Your brows furrow in confusion at said man, who looks wide awake despite the early hour.

“Sorry for waking you up,” He whispers, leaning slightly on the door frame. “I want to show you something,” He wiggles his brows enticingly, a casual smile spreading on his face. You stare at him blankly.

“Really?”

“You’ll like it,” He rolls his eyes at your dry response, holding out his hand. “And leave your shoes here,” He adds. You raise a brow curiously, hesitating. Your hand was still on the door. Though you were comfortable around Childe again, and you’d hung out with him one-on-one as friends since you forgave him, it hadn’t happened often. And not at night.

Why did this feel familiar?

Fuck it. You take a deep breath and close the door behind you, making a dramatic show of dropping your hand into his. His eyes crinkly pleasantly as a grin splits onto his face, and he pulls you forward with him. With quiet but eager steps, he leads you through the living room. The two of you are careful not to disturb the women passed out on the soda, cuddled up with a quilt.

You catch a glimpse of their intertwined hands and make a mental note to question Ganyu about it later.

For now, though, your focus is on Childe, your eyes trailing to the back of his head. He leads the two of you out the back door and off the deck, helping you down over the railing. You smile, full of glee, as your feet make contact with the sand of the beach. It’s still warm from the sun of the day.

It’s soft too, cradling your steps as you and Childe walk hand-in-hand closer to the shore. It gets colder the closer you get to the water, icy and shifting. You inhale sharply as the water first touches your skin, sending a shiver up your body. “Look,” The man squeezes your palm and points at a specific set of waves in the distance. Where the horizon stretches into miles and miles of blue-black, churning beyond your vision.

You squint to see what he’s gesturing at.

In the distance, getting clearer the longer you stare at the pitch darkness, is a pod of animals cresting over the water. It’s hard to tell exactly what they are from how far away you are, but it’s still something to see. Hearing the waves crash and break over the shoreline while they flip tails and turn over in the glittering water. You stare in awe.

“This time of year, tons of whale pods make stops near this part of the ocean during their migrations,” Childe tells you, his eyes trained on the aquatic creatures. “Sometimes, separated family pods will join up with them again here for mass migrations or breeding seasons,” He continues casually, as if it were common knowledge.

You hum.

It’s quiet as you both take in what you can see. Childe tells you more facts until the waves and the whale pod become so hard to distinguish, you’re sure they’re not even there anymore. “Are you secretly a merman?” You break the silence and glance over at the ginger.

He laughs, caught off guard by your question. “I’m serious!” You laugh as you shove his shoulder. He stumbles a step or two before righting himself.

“Sure you are,” He says.

“But… I mean, are you really into the ocean or something?” You question, rocking back and forth. You were getting accustomed to the temperature of the water now, wading until you were calf-deep in it, your shorts tucked high just in case. Childe sucks his teeth, running his hands through his hair.

He looks like a model.

His hair curled more with the salty sea air, his eyes reflecting the moonlight as he looked over the water, and his skin tanned and dotted. The breeze tousled his clothes, and you stared for a moment. He looked real.

“I got really into them when I was like, ten,” He answers after a moment of contemplation, his hands relaxing on his hips. “I grew up in a land-locked area, so until I moved I had never really seen the ocean. But even before that, I was obsessed with the sea and sea animals..” He tells you.

“When you moved here…” You repeat quietly, talking more to yourself in the moment. You had never really discussed either of your lives before university, too busy trying to keep up with your never-ending schedules. “Do you miss it? Miss your family?”

“Of course,” Childe looks at you then. “It was better for them if I left, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t wish to go back to them,”

“Why did you leave?”

He tilts his head at your question, but you keep your attention on the waves circling around your knees. “I don’t mean to pry,” You tell him. “I’m just curious.. I would’ve never chosen to leave my family,”

Childe makes a sound of acknowledgement. He wades further into the water with you, stepping closer so you don’t have to raise your voice as much. He laughs when you step out of his reach, giggling when he reaches for you again and ends up stumbling deeper into the water. “I don’t know much about your life…” You begin, holding out your hand to help balance yourselves against the waves, your laughter dying down as he slides his hands over your arms, holding on while he shakes the water from his hair and face. “So, if you’re comfortable with it, I want to know more about you.” You tell him.

“Oh, I see…” Childe smiles sheepishly. He holds your shoulders as a particularly strong wave crashes over the both of you, cutting off the conversation momentarily while you squeal at the cold water splashing onto your arms and stomach. He rubs your arms up and down like he was warming you up, the both of you laughing quietly.

“Come on,” You pat his arm encouragingly.

The man thinks for a second.

“I left to protect them, and to protect myself, I guess…,” He says. “I-it was a hard decision, obviously… but necessary, you know.” He trails off, rubbing the side of his neck.

You give him a quiet look to go on when he glances at you, nodding quietly to show you’re listening.

“When I was younger, I was a lot more vicious… and I got into fights a lot, which wasn’t great for my family either. Then my dad died… and, it kind of became my role to look after the family. My mother and my older sisters couldn’t do that by themselves, not in the way things were set up for us..” Childe continues on, a distant look in his eyes as he looked towards the horizon again.

“So I did some shitty things in order to keep people from questioning us. Making money so my sisters could dress the best way possible or my mother could afford to go to banquets and gala’s her job invited her to… and I did what I had to to protect their reputation and safety, which including coming abroad,” He shyly ends off, refusing to look at you now. His ears grow darker as you stare at him.

“Did you kill people?”

“What? No!” Childe waves his hands rapidly, his whole face burning bright red now. “I just mean I paid them off and shit,” He explains, embarrassed about the whole thing. Your mouth parts in a little ooohhh expression as you process it.

“You make it sound so serious…” You sigh. The man shrugs. You can’t say you were surprised by what Childe told you. Getting into fights with people for having a big mouth and a cocky attitude seemed to be his biggest crutch. That being said, what you didn’t expect was that he so readily upended his life for his family.

“I just hate talking about myself and… I’m not proud of what I did to get here,”

You nod. “That’s fair, but you can’t change it.. So, there’s no point trying to keep it from people who want to be there for you, you know?” You turn in a slow circle, taking in the scenery of the ocean. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?” You raised a brow, facing forward to feel the breeze against your face. Childe was still holding onto a couple of your fingers, following your meandering steps while you talked.

“Your family…” He leaves the question in the air, breaching just the general topic.

You press your lips together for a second. “Well, my mother was a control freak and a helicopter parent and my dad was abusive and neglectful.” You say matter-of-factly. “They always thought I was ungrateful, and after they heard rumors about me at the university… they cut me off and sort of disowned me. Now, we weren’t rich, but it was something I could’ve fallen back on back then..”

You sigh, deflating a little as you told the story. “In the end, they were right. I was kind of ungrateful about what I had, but they still sucked, so ultimately I’m glad I had to go through that.. I’m better off taking care of myself,”

“Oh,” was Childe’s only response.

“Stupid, I know..” You can’t help but laugh dryly. The man nods, squeezing your hand softly in reassurance.

“You have your friends, at least,” He reminds you, glancing towards the little house your other friends are asleep in currently. You nod.

The two of you talked a little bit longer like that, wading around in the shallows and trading stories about your families and lives before you met each other. When the sky started getting lighter, the stars starting to fade into the washed out blues as the sun rose higher, you and Childe decided to call it a night.

The both of you trekked back to the airbnb, giggling as you washed the sand off your feet and tiptoed back into the house. Thankfully, everyone was still asleep as you headed back towards your rooms.

Before you parted ways, the man wished you a goodnight, squeezing your hand. “Um… thank you for talking with me,” He whispered. You smiled, physically unable to stop it. Just the sight of his sheepish expression made your reservations melt. Maybe you were soft-hearted, but he was trying. And you could see that.

“Good night, Ajax,” You whispered, leaning forward just slightly until your lips brushed ever-so-slightly against the apple of his cheek, a flush soon dusting his skin as you stepped back into your room. “Get your rest,”

You don’t catch the grin stretching on his lips as soon as you close your door, or the way he nearly skips to his room, but you feel the same giddiness regardless, changing out of your semi-soaked clothes and flopping into your bed again to catch any more sleep possible…

———

A/Ns: SORry that it took so long to write this <//3 writers block is a bitch.. anyway, enjoy the fluff of this chapter!! as always, any interactions are loved and appreciated, and so are you! <33

TAGLIST: @popiizpops @scaradooche @yourfavoritefreakyhan @neversore @monocerosei @dontmindtheevie @kittywagun @yumidepain @kazumiku @hanilessa @nrviine @wren-art @state-of-grac3 @definitely-not-leena @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @tikitsune @hwngti @trulylee @basicsofdying @starriylover @sweetkyojuro @duhsies @kitchenscissorbangs @love-loveyy @julliesfilmz @rifran @jayathelostdragon @floweringanna @vi0let-writes

[roxannepolice]

Just a meta vent for all the bad takes I've seen about the Master, and especially Saxon Master (and still trying to get my ass to work on my thesis, but! it looks like I'm getting another article published so yey, ranting about the raccoon works!!!)

So yeah, this is me, ranting about why I think the reintroduction of the Master into NuWho was absolutely brilliant in s3 and what hot takes I've seen about the way it's been done on da Internet. I'm putting this under a cut, because, weeell, comparing Masters and Doctors, and even companions(!) turns into a kind of beauty paegant that has little to do with how well the author's thought got translated into the final product, AND I GET IT! People have favourites! That's fine! Yes, there's a level at which I just think Tennant and Simm look cute together*! But for full disclosure, they weren't my fisrt thoschei - I watched ALL the stuff I could from classic Who online and decided they're married when Threegado had to actively stop each other from shaking hands in The Sea Devils. Which is why it hurts me all the more when mah twinks get framed as they betrayal of the dynamic.

*But let's be honest, the aesthetical aspect is very much part of the course. Jon Pertwee and Roger Delgado might not exactly look the same, but the outfits do ooze that same 70s two ends of the queer spectrum feel, and this carried over to Anthony Ainley's harem and Paul McGann and Eric Roberts. Picking two white twinks with different shades of brown hair and eyes and rectangular vs. round faces was a conscious choice, as was picking a witchy looking woman in a victorian outfit to match a wizardy looking man in old time-y outfit, both with striking blue yes, as was juxtaposing a light blonde white woman in light outfit with a brown dark haired man in a dark outfit (why. Chibs WHY not go with Whittaker's beautiful natural hair colour unless to underline just how much the reyesque champion of light your Doctor is and cause confusion as to how regeneration works). But anyway.

I think the primary issue I take with complaints about Simm's Master is the idea that he was somehow a hard break from classic who Masters. And yes, RTD definitely went a much more unhinged manic energy way than the more controlled Original and Tremas regenerations, he admits it himself (all of this is very much influenced by me watching DW confidential). And yes, that's absolutely the case! But that's the natural result of making the Doctor, both the Eccleston and Tennant faces, much more unhinged and manic than in the classic era. Whether you frame it watsonianly as the result of the Time War, or doylistly as the result of the way television changed as a medium with the development of home cinema systems and general social shift after the end of cold war (that's me, btw, hello, McLuhan's ghost keeps possessing me), it's up to you, but the point is, if you want to maintain the two sides of the same coin energy, you have to match your earlier choices. So, no, in my opinion this wasn't a hard break from classicWho Masters, but rather cutting through all the aesthetic overgrowth to the essense of the character. Digging down to the core of the character, so to speak. Yes, Saxon Master acts in a misogyinistc manner, which wasn't there before. But that's the natural result of involving the Doctor in explicitly romantic relationships! The flip side of explicit heterosexual attraction is the othering of the "opposite" for lack of the better word sex and when your focus is in domination YOU ARE GOING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF WHATEVER POWER IMBALANCES THE SOCIETY PROVIDES YOU WITH!! And that extends to your aesthetics going more in the direction of a noir unhinged gangster villain than a queer coded Bond villain (srsly those of you who don't get where Simm!Master's quirks come from NEED to watch White Heat with James Cagney). Like, srsly, 90% of complaints about the way the Master has changed from classic Who to Saxon is the way politics have changed from cold war "my empire is better than yours but end of the day we're going to be courteous so we don't blow each other up" to post-politics "vote for me, I'm sexy and can make you sexy too" framework of the latest fin de siecle.

But this kind of cuts down to what it the essence and what is incidental. Politeness of classic Who can be traced back to noblesse oblige that was in place in 70s and 80s. But end of of the day, it was just an epiphenomenon of the main axis of power: class. In the merry world of identity politics, it's going to be gender and race. It's all about power relations, though.

Which sort of, very abstractly, relates to the handling of mental illness in NuWho Masters. Now, the yell of "you're insane!" as a general "dude, you're not making any sense :/" has been there in classic Who alright, but this has definitely become more pronounced in NuWho, starting from Saxon possibly because the idea politics involve some element of savoir vivrve has become dismissed as political in its own right rather than giving basic directions in unknown situations but hushhhh. I think the general framing of the Master as "just" needing to "hear the music" (yeah, I hate this line, is it a metaphor Steven? if so, of what?) or generally reconciling with the Doctor, because that's "what the Master really wants is to be loved" is very much rooted in the sort of... Frommian psychoanalysis of society. I would actually argue Fromm is very much present in spirit throughout all of the more refelctive aspects of Doctor Who, the Doctor themself is very much a Frommian hero, classic and new alike, which is great! Seriously, so many of Fromm's reflections cut so deep to the core of many social issues, and I think Escape from freedom has become particularly up-to-date recently, unfortunately. And I think this relates to the general trend in moral philosphy to go from ethical judgement to psyhcological understanding, which is absolutely great as far as realy life is concerned! Yes, if you actually want to prevent violent crimes instead of just reestabslishing social sense of justice through punishment, understanding where the idea to hurt somebody comes from is the way to go! Except... I don't think it's the best way to go when it comes to fiction. Like, fiction is all about putting people in situations. The situation kind of comes before the personality, if you get my drift. There can be aesthetical choices depending on whether you've made your character more decisive or indecisive, but end of the day, you chose to put the character in a situation where they find out their father has been murdered. This, I think, is the bedrock distinction between character relatability and resonance. Can we all relate to Hamlet? Not neccessarily, perhaps you relate to Laertes more. But can we all put ourselves in the situation where we find out something horrible and are called to act upon it? Yes.

Have I drifted off? Maybe.

But my point is, I would say the way in which RTD handled Simm!Master's "insanity" has less to do with any psychological diagnosis that the vague "insanity" of Ophelia, King Lear or Goethe's Gretchen. It's not something that can be "healed", it's the fundamental shine on you crazy diamond mephistophelian elan vital that in real world psychological therapy is redirected in ways that are constructive both for the individual and their surroundings. But in fiction? It's not to be healed. It's the essential driving force, The jester, who’s most lightly weighted. Man’s energies all too soon seek the level, He quickly desires unbroken slumber, So I gave him you to join the number, To move, and work, and play the devil.

Go home, Roxanne, you're drunk, go cry to another fic of the psyche mourning eros.

[hell-drabbles]

Mammon and Bimet 1

Summary: You were wondering why Mammon kept Bimet around as his right hand man when he seems to fundamentally not understand how Mammon functions as a king. You figured it out when you decided to misplace a single coin from his little pile he collected from the street.

(The dynamic of Mammon and Bimet is entertaining to me.)

You don’t really talk to Bimet and it absolutely has everything to do with how he treats those that have no money to their name. And also because of the way he treated you upon first introductions but his treatment of those that are poor are a bigger red flag than anything.

So his absolute one-eighty turn once Mammon claimed himself to be yours annoyed you more than anything. You never met a bigger whore for money than this man.

That being said, in a weird, logical sense, you understand why Mammon keeps Bimet so close. If you were to look at Mammon as a being that is inseparable from wealth, as Mammon being wealth itself, than there would be no better worshiper than Bimet. However, this logic doesn’t really carry over in the way Bimet probably wants it to be carried.

Because the rule that Mammon works under is that "everything belongs to him." From the walls, to the gold lining the streets to even the coins lost down the sewer drain. Anything and everything belongs to Mammon, and therefore nothing belongs to you when you are under his rule. Bimet craves to have wealth under his possession, but how can he have anything if the king he serves never views it as his in the first place?

That being said…

“He’s infuriating…” you grumbled under your breath as you poked at your leftovers. Bimet was sitting across from you, as though he belonged in the same space you were in when he was so scornful of it before. Currently, on a fancy little handkerchief you’re pretty sure he never had before, was a small pile of golden coins that have been shined to near mirror perfection.

Right after eating his food, he began cleaning them, as though any speck of dirt was a sin to be erased.

“Is he now?” Mammon whispered right back to you, a smile wide on his face as though laughing at some inner joke, “if you want him gone, just say the word. You have that power over all my belongings. Though,” Mammon leaned against his chair, crossing his arms, “Well, I’m sure his reaction will be entertaining all the same.”

“I could, I could,” you mused. The thought is tempting, to watch him drag his feet out of the restaurant in that sullen manner. Then, you noticed Bimet’s attention was away from his coins, “Give me a moment.”

You leaned over and quickly grabbed a single coin from the top and slid it under a thick wrinkle in the handkerchief.

Mammon raised an eyebrow but kept his lips shut. You’re glad to see he’s not judging you for playing dangerous games. Well, it would be dangerous if your safety wasn’t guaranteed by the king by your side.

“Now be quiet!” Bimet shouted, “If I miscount again I will–” Then he finally noticed the coin missing from his pile. That certainly didn’t take long. “What?”

You sipped on your drink, long and slow as Bimet began to sweat, rage and distress overflowing from him in equal measures and he flipped his gaze from you to Mammon.

Mammon simply leaned his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes as though about to nap while you raised an eyebrow in question, as though you didn’t know a thing.

And, because he obviously can’t just accuse you or Mammon in a place as public as this, Bimet instead turned his angry rich self towards the rest of the public. “Who stole my money?!”

And so his penny-pinching rage began. The notes in his hair shook and shriveled as his robes flared around him. The devils just peacefully eating their meals froze up while others continued eating as though this was another Tuesday.

And, while he was turned around, you slipped the coin right back to the top of the pile.

Bimet took in a deep breath, not containing his rage so much as he was collecting it so he can release it on the culprit later. When his focus was back on his collection of coins, the choking duck noise he made almost made you burst out laughing.

Instead you snorted and hide it in Mammon’s hair. Easily can be confused for a gentle goodnight kiss. You can feel his body shivering with contained laughter.

Bimet quickly shoved the coins into the folds of his clothing. He bowed to you both, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be putting these in a better, more safe place.”

You waved him away, not really caring if he decided to go down the nearest cliff or go to the park. It’s all the same to you: he going away.

“So,” you tapped at Mammon’s forehead, his eyes opening, “you keep him as not just a right-hand man, but a royal entertainer as well?”

Mammon chuckled and gave you a grin, “Is it that obvious? Well, as your belonging, I won’t hide anything from you.”

[mychlapci]

TFA anon is SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY ON BULKHEAD DREAM BUT HERE IT IS NOW

Anyways, in Decepticon society, I feel like in terms of romantic relationships, bots that are large and chunky like Bulkhead are considered to be very desirable. In fact, Decepticons are known to violently fight over those types of bots with other potential mates. Large and fat bots are desirable because they are able to carry many sparklings (averaging around four to five sparklings. The most was thirteen) and are generally very attractive to Decepticons unlike for Autobots those types of mechs are looked down upon.

So when Blitzwing and Lugnut met Bulkhead for the first time, they were immediately enamored. He was large enough to carry a fat litter of sparklings with hardly much trouble and was good looking as well. He was kind but also could hold his own if ever threatened by someone. Team Prime was incredibly confused when Blitzwing and Lugnut suddenly started acting weird. Towards Bulkhead they were more friendly and flirtatious but towards the rest of them they were more hostile. Maybe they considered the Autobots as a threat towards their courtship for Bulkhead. Additionally, they also started to bring Bulkhead gifts ranging from small trinkets to literal energon crystals for some reason.

It got even weirder when out of nowhere, Lugnut and Blitzwing just started brawling right in front of them. Like- actually brawling. Just snapping and clawing and just overall animalistic. Then they realized that had a job to do and went back to attacking the Autobots like nothing happened.

And then it gets even weirder. When it’s just Bulkhead and maybe even one other person like Bumblebee, Blitzwing starts doing these weird maneuvers in the air as if he was dancing and Lugnut just starts randomly showing off displays of strength by let’s say ripping a tree out of the ground (which Bulkhead does not appreciate in the slightest)

Ratchet is the first one who pieced together that they were not trying to intimidate them like they first suspected but were in fact trying to court Bulkhead. At this revelation, Bulkhead is both flattered and very flustered and Bumblebee just unhelpfully pats his arm and solemnly tells him good luck.

Since the two would not stop their advances on Bulkhead they decided to weigh the pros and cons of dating either Lugnut or Blitzwing. I am not joking. Ratchet literally pulled out a whiteboard from god knows where and told them to check the pros and cons before he hits them all with a wrench. In the end, the tallying for the both of them ended up being tied so they genuinely debated on just flipping a coin and choosing from there but Bumblebee comes up with the frankly obvious solution and just asks “Why not just pick both?”

Problem one just got solved just like that.

Problem two just got complicated because now Bulkhead was pregnant.

So when Bulkhead accepted the both of them as his mates Lugnut and Blitzwing got a bit too excited and ended up fucking him so hard not only was he sore and limping for the next two weeks, but they knocked him up as well. Lovely.

So now they had to deal with two very overprotective sires, a teammate who’s down for the count because he’s carrying a whole litter worth of sparklings, and then dealing with Decepticons while being down a member.

And also Megatron showing up more often and gaining an interest in Optimus which- what???

Ratchet might just kill someone if he has to deal with any more of this shit.

OH. holy shit I thought I answered this… crying emoji. so sorry TFA anon. 

You know I'm a big believer that Decepticons would find big fat bots extremely attractive. What's a skinny little speedster gonna go? They'll snap with the weight of a strong soldier on their waist. But big bots? They can carry many good heirs. The moment the 'Cons see Bulkhead they're swooning all over. He's a big fat bot, in prime breeding age, how can they just let those unappreciative autobots keep him? 

There's probably a momentary truce as Blitzwing and Lugnut need to balance wanting to keep their pretty carrier all for themselves, and Bulkhead still wanting to stay with the team. But I bet he enjoys knowing that he's swelling with babies and it only makes the 'Cons want him more. He was never desired this insanely and definitely not for his size… it’s very flattering.

(Okay, but do you think that Megatorn taking interest in Optimus is considered odd? Everyone is just shaking their heads as Megatron makes moves on the skinny-waisted little twink. They won't say anything, but they know he's choosing a sub-par carrier. How sad… Megatron and his ugly ass autobot boyfriend...)

[arcandoria]

Prompt: Vhenadhal

for Veilguard30, featuring Serilyel (Mahariel) Lavellan and Elros Mahariel

When Serilyel reaches for the tree’s great trunk, her palm is met by healthy, living bark. Closing her eyes, she can’t help but feel a small smile shape her lips. It’s nothing like home - nothing will ever be like home - but it’s a memory.

She frowns. Aren’t we all?

Kirkwall’s vhenadahl is well cared for. Bright paint decorates the base of the tree, and boxes with candles and small offerings lay at its roots. It might just be habit rather than tradition, but the elves here tend to it, and in turn it cares for them.

The alienage on one of the cities they had last visited had cut theirs down at some point. It shouldn’t be something for her to care about, but seeing the stump had pained her heart.

But this one endures, and she feels life flowing under her hand.

She hears the elf’s approach before they actually speak, and though she allows herself a moment longer with the tree, Serilyel opens her eyes to meet a man about her age, his face curious but friendly, pointed ears just poking through thick black hair.

“Beautiful isn’t she?” His smile widens when she nods. “We take turns caring for her. Kept her safe even when the qunari invaded all these years ago.”

Stepping away, she casts a glance upwards. Indeed there’s some left over char here and there, and some branches clearly never quite recovered from the damage. The tree is scarred, but goes on.

Don’t we all?

“I don’t think we have met before,” The man insists, trying to get some conversation out of her. “If you’re hoping to join us, I’m sure-”

“I’m simply visiting, I appreciate your concern though.” Serilyel finally answers, and the other elf fails to hide the surprise on his face.

With her face bare, talking to other elves had become a gamble. If they were dalish, some would default to treating her like a child or a stranger. If they were city elves, they’d either take her for a foreigner - one time they assumed she was orlesian, and that one was actually a bit offensive - and simply carry on, or they’d recognize the lilt in her voice to be dalish, and it was a coin toss between pretending they didn’t notice or being curious enough to ask.

Before the coin could be flipped, though, another elf - a known one this time - approaches them with hurried steps. The markings on her father’s face gave away his origins, and their resemblance confirmed hers, so there was no need for the local to wonder.

Elros shoots an inquisitive but friendly glance at the stranger, who decides to be graceful and simply leave after bidding them farewell.

She looks back at the vhenadahl. It looked like it belonged and didn’t, at the same time - strangely out of place, but also like it was at home. Serilyel had more in common with it than she had thought, she realizes.

A gentle hand rests on her shoulder, and her father gives it a comforting squeeze. Serilyel smiles at the tree again. At least we got people who care for us, hm?

“How did it go?” She asks, finally staring at him.

“Better than I expected,” Elros sighs. “but Merrill’s never been unkind to me.” He shakes his head before retreating his hand. “Either way, she won’t come back. She’s got her people here now and wants to care for them. Clan life doesn’t suit her anymore.”

Serilyel sighs, then nods. Everyone is both in and out of place it seems.

Her hand reaches absentmindedly to where a wolf’s jawbone necklace sits under her clothes by her chest, and she steps away from the tree towards the alienage’s gates.

“Let’s go then. Varric’s waiting and the longer we take, the longer he has to come up with ways to pester me.”

[beecreeper]

1, 7, and 8!

Oh my god I ended up writing so much for this one O.O Thank you for the good asks

1.) What’s Durge’s creation myth? Not the ‘and then there was a gore baby’. Give me the details, what did Bhaal actually do for durge to torment Toril in a few years?

Eilidh I KNOW you know the answer to this one but also you know that I love durge creation lore thank you for letting me publicly rant about it.

I gave both of my durge’s surrogate bio mothers because even though durge was created from Bhaal’s flesh, I still wanted to give them somewhere to cook. (out of universe it’s because a friend of mine had an OC that matched the role of Briar’s bio mom too well not to use and then the concept got carried over to Ferox)

SO Briar’s bio mom is Saorise, an evil power hungry blood magic sorceress who really wanted a baby to mold into an extension of herself narcissist style. But she was infertile and also no man was worth doing it the traditional way with anyway so she made a deal with Bhaal instead – she would carry his freshly molded bhaalspawn and she would get to raise it however she wanted. Saorise didn’t necessarily worship Bhaal specifically but she knew his desperation for spawn could be leveraged in her favor. However things went wrong when a totally separate cult (not sure which god specifically because that’s more on my friend’s side of things) decided that Saorise needed to be taken out. So they cut the fucking baby out of her, womb and all. Saorise survived and is doing bitter old traumatized milf stuff in a different universe while baby Briar was then sold through sketchy Zhentarim channels to her foster parents and whisked away to Amn before Bhaal’s cult could track her down. Bonus fun fact! Saorise is Briar’s dream guardian which I LOVE because there’s some cool magic implied by the fact that her form is somehow in Briar’s mind despite the fact that they were separated even before birth.

Ferox’s bio mom is Amaura, a half orc woman who was a very very dedicated Bhaal cultist who was kind fringe devoted even by Bhaalist standards. She had witnessed and survived the absolutely brutal murder of her entire family as a child and then, in a freak twist of fate, the murder of her husband and child as an adult. This made her believe that she was specifically chosen by the god of murder and got WAY into it. She kept getting virgin mary style visions and whatnot telling her what to do in order to carry Bhaal’s perfect spawn. She did this is secret from the rest of the cult, both on Bhaal’s instructions and because “they just wouldn’t understand”. When it was time, she traveled alone to the Boareskyr Bridge (where Bhaal’s mortal form had been killed during the Time of Troubles) and drank from the cursed water there, which triggered “labor”. And by labor I mean “baby Ferox becoming a partial slayer baby and clawing his way out of her stomach”. I haven’t decided if it’s more brutal is she’s alive when it happens or if the water outright kills her and then baby Ferox has to crawl out of her corpse. Regardless, the next step is a bunch of goblins stumbling across this random blood covered orc baby sitting inside of a mangled corpse and going “DUUUUUDE THIS BABY FUCKING ROCKS! DIBS!”

7.) What were durge’s and Gortash’s first words towards each other (Be as vague as you want)

Hmmm hard to say. I’m sorry to say I don’t think I have anything specific here. For both of them, I imagine their first meeting was arranged by Gortash in order to discuss the details of the House of Wonders heist and formalize an alliance. In which case, both sides would have been “playing nice”. Gortash would have been outwardly schmoozing and trying to simultaneously flatter, intimidate, and impress his potential ally. Greeting them very graciously and respectfully with one of durge’s more formal epithets like “scion of Bhaal”, offering them a drink, that kind of stuff.

Briar went into the meeting essentially expecting to mentally flip a coin as to whether or not she would kill him, spent the entire time grinning like a cheshire cat while they tried to talk circles around each other. Decided he was fun enough to play with to hold off on killing him immediately. Seductively threatened to kill him at least once. Her first words upon entering the room probably would have been something teasing, like “well well, so this is the little lording himself” or something like that.

Ferox was very much a wall of stone at first. Went in very practically, like “Fine. You have something to offer me? Make your offer.” There would have still been some of that back and forth between them, with Gortash doing a lot of double talk and Ferox being careful and sparing with his choice of words. Unlike Briar, Ferox wouldn’t be trying to out maneuver Gortash but more trying to keep himself from getting played. He has to make sure this deal is actually good enough to be worth not just killing him, which is 100% what the plan would have been if Gortash had failed to convince him.

The vibes are that Briar and Gortash’s rapport was tennis and Ferox and Gortash was chess. It’s not a perfect analogy but I'm going with it.

I really want their initial meetings to be more distinct and have more intrigue and scheming and mind games and stuff like that involved but I am honestly super bad at thinking of that type of stuff. 😭 Maybe someday I’ll be inspired for a more specific scenario.

8.) What were their last words towards each other? And who really got the final say?

I’m not sure if this means last words pre-tadpole or last words overall, but I’m gonna answer the former because I have more specifically planned.

Briar: “I have to go.” Gortash: “Wait where the fuck are you-”

Okay the scene I have in mind is that they are literally in the middle of a typical evening of gettin’ down nasty when Briar has the urge to kill him. Which she has obviously had before. Aaaaaall the time. She’s gotten used to ignoring them because the plan is more important. But this one is different. This time she feels the urge and then has a thought like “I don’t *want* to do that”. Not “I won’t do that *yet*”. Not “killing him would be awesome but would cause a bunch of headaches I don’t want to deal with”. Straight up like... “If I killed him I think I would feel sad about it.” And she reacts like she just touched a hot stove. NOPE. THAT’S NOT RIGHT. THAT’S FUCKED UP WE’RE NOT GONNA DEAL WITH THAT. And so she just stops everything and leaves RIGHT THEN without another word. Goes to have an existential crisis about this, writes that prayer for forgiveness, gets decked by Orin, you know the rest.

For Ferox and Gortash, their final words before Ferox got tadpoled would have been something far more mundane. Just a simple reiteration of the plan and a goodbye before Ferox went off to take care of some business ahead of him at Moonrise. A simple “see you three days” kinda thing. Between Ferox and Gortash at that point, everything was running smoothly. Their relationship had been “established” and most of the drama of it passed -- Ferox had stopped doing the “no you have to stay away for your own good” stuff and resigned to the fact that “well this is gonna end really really badly but so is everything. Nothing matters and i can’t stay away from you”. Between winning that battle AND the recent overwhelming success of the Hell Heist and the progress of the Absolute plot, Gortash was absolutely riding that high and feeling completely invincible. From his perspective they just had to coast to the finish line.

The real conflict here was between Ferox and Orin. Orin was beginning to needle Ferox a bit more about the progress of the plan and how close Ferox was with Gortash and how it seemed like he was taking *orders* and Ferox was getting progressively more fed up with her. He was sort of swimming with guilt about the fact that he was actively planning to murder the entire world and didn’t want to think about anything. He just wanted to disassociate himself and follow through with the plan without thinking too hard about where it was leading. But every time Orin prodded him about Gortash he was forced to think about it again and real angry about it. Not a strict, flat anger like from a boss but a sharp, personal anger. He snapped at her with a reprimand, a threat, and maybe even a phsyical attack that, while maybe hard to see from the outside, felt like it fell outside of the purview of what was acceptable to her. Like, as the Bhaalist leader he had scolded her before, threatened her before, fought her before, but this was *different* and both of them knew it.  It was the moment it became personal and Orin knew that her bloodkin was lost.

Uuuuuuuh this answer got away from me. Tldr: Ferox and Gortash made plans to meet up at Moonrise to continue preparations for the Absolute, said a casual, mundane, and practical goodbye. They did not meet up.

[ladycreatrix]

Graveyard Set Up

(@whumpster-dumpster Thank you for the prompt. These are my OCs, so despite me believing that no one will, I have to ask that no on use them. Thank you.)

Tumblr prompt: Grave robber digs up the wrong patch and discovers someone who's been buried alive.

Zane wiped both his sandy hair and the sweat away from his face. The cool dry air of the desert night felt refreshing as he dauntingly climbed out of the exhumed grave. Tossing the shovel to the side, Zane looked to his scrawny business partner. "Your turn, Freddy".

The copper haired man looked over to the other with excited pewter eyes. Grabbing a weathered medical bag, Freddy rushed past Zane and to the edge of the hole, "so what exactly am I taking off of the old bastard?"

"I need the right arm, right leg and head of this man," Zane panted, sitting on the ground to catch his breath. Pulling out his small journal, Zane read the contents aloud. "The head already has a buyer. A necromancer I think. And I need the limbs for something I'm working on".

With a simple nod, Freddy hopped into the grave with thud.

Zane took a minute to gather himself before taking on his next task as the lookout. Slightly cursing himself for picking poorly during their coin flip. Rules are rules, he thought. This was how the job was with a partner. Ever since Freddy joined with him in his more shady endeavors, Zane had been getting more done. Grave robbing was already hard work, but having an assistant that was actually intelligent and can carry his own weight was a relief. 

They decided flipping a coin was the fairest way to split the work. One would dig and fill the grave back up and stand watch for the guards while the other took what they needed from the grave and stood watch while the other dug. Given that there was someone always on watch, both Zane and Freddy agreed that the work was evenly spread. 

The familiar sound of the casket giving way drew Zane from his thoughts and the unexpected gasp made him jump to immediate panic. He rushed to the grave to see Freddy standing over the open casket.

"There's a woman in here!" Freddy panic whispered. "And she is still breathing! Fucking all-mother, she's alive!"

Zane peered around Freddy to see a young dark haired woman curled up in the casket. Her bloodied fingers matching the claw marks on the inside of the shredded cloth lid. Her breathing was shallow and uneven. Much longer in the grave and she would have met her end Zane guessed. The sound of clanking armor and hastened footsteps sent Zane's panic into overdrive. The guards should be making their rounds in another thirty minutes, not now. Unless…

"Freddy grab the girl and let's go! We've been set up!"

"Why should we take her? It's kidnapping!"

"If we get caught with her here, it's attempted murder! If she comes with us, we can ask her who would want to put her in some old man's grave. Probably the same people who wanted us to dig this old man up".

Freddy shrugged, not arguing with that logic. Together, both men hoisted the unconscious woman out of the grave and the three escaped capture. 

Zane always assumed that he and Freddy were going to make enemies, but being set up was completely different. 

The men got back to their home safely and Zane started to care for the woman. Between his medical history and Freddy's help, they were able to mend the woman's injured hands. Her breathing and complexion improved by morning, all they had to do was wait for her to wake. 

Freddy and Zane had so many questions. Hopefully their new house guest was willing or able to answer them.

[doomdoomofdoom]

Other fun facts the news have reported: He was Valedictorian. He worked on Civilization VI. He never got to play Outer Wilds. He wrote a 4-star review for the Unabomber's Manifesto. He volunteered at a nursing home in high school. He had chronic back pain and underwent surgery to improve his condition. He followed Joe Rogan and Edward Snowden on Twitter. His family was rich; he went to private school and likely did not struggle with his medical bills, nor would he ever. The nursing home he volunteered at belonged to his grandfather. The gun was 3D Printed but the 2 page Manifesto was handwritten.

That being said, I don't think we should be out here deifying the guy. He planned a murder, and he planned it well, then executed it equally well, and got caught by chance. (Notably not because of any actual police work) He carried his possessions, including the same clothes, gun, and manifesto, because he was on the run and leaving them behind anywhere would've been more dangerous. He isn't some criminal mastermind playing 4D chess by letting himself get arrested. He's a regular guy, maybe with above average intelligence, with regular varied interests and experiences. He's not a two-dimensional caricature, but a human being who got fed up with a system and decided to send a (violent) message. Whether he'd get caught was the matter of a coin flip (about half of all murders in the US get solved). He got caught.

You can put him on a pedestal or in a pit for what he did, but not for who he is. Because he's a normal guy. And that's the problem for law enforcement and media. If a normal guy can just kill a CEO in broad daylight, what's stopping the next normal guy?

Ignoring the real possibility he intentionally let himself be caught from the little we know so far Luigi Mangione's case is a fascinating combination of astonishing brilliance and confusing stupidity. This young man plans and executes his assassination and escape with such a meticulous care and calmness that it's suspected that he's a professional hitman. He comes up with Riddler-sque moves like writing his manifesto poetically on the bullets and leaving his backpack behind full of Monopoly money. He carefully wears a mask to avoid being identified but removes it because a woman who was checking him into the hostel was flirting with him and wanted to see his smile. He still manages to escape the most surveilled city in the country in the midst of ongoing national manhunt only to get caught in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Pennsylvania while eating at the McDonalds. Because for some reason he had the same clothes and mask as in New York and was carrying the same gun and suppressor. And when the cops detained him he showed them the same fake id he used in New York. And oh yeah he's a frat bro gym rat who has a masters degree in computer science from Penn but reads stupid self-help books about being on the grind and is 'anti-woke' while being bisexual suffering from anxiety and wanting to end oppressive capitalism. Not even god himself could invent a person like this

[chublemon]

**Chapter Two: Expansion and Slims kink**

Despite her pleas for mercy, Slim continued his relentless assault on her poor abused body. He took great delight in hearing her whimpers and gasps of pleasure as he thrust deeper into her now gaping urethra and pounded into her tight pussy, enjoying the sight of her watery eyes and hiccuping sobs as he pumps her bladder full through her urethra. Using some of his best medicine mixes to make this her best worship night. To make sure she cums no matter who does what to her.

Sammy couldn't believe the intense sensations coursing through her veins and filling every last inch of her. Her mind was foggy with arousal, and yet somehow she still felt sharp enough to know she should be running far away from here. But where would she go? Who could save her now? Not even her own parents seemed to care anymore. They sold her off without so much as a second thought.

As the final drops of warm liquid trickled down her thighs signaling a full bladder, Slim pulled out and gave her a toothy grin. "There's my good girl," he purred, stroking his thick member. "Now let's see what kind of mess we can make together."

He debates on how he wants to continue. he has his wife to be basically spread out over his bathroom counter, gaping and bloated and clearly slipping into subspace the more he does. The bathroom is lit up by candles and the TV plays his favorite porn. It's late. Or early. Depends on the day. He decides to flip a coin and calls it. Heads means he goes balls deep into her asshole, Tails means he plays with her bladder full she pisses herself.

He flips the coin, it lands on tails. He's almost drooling as he approaches his wifey, ready to keep this game going into the morning.

"Alright baby, time to show daddy what you got left," he says with a wink before pushing into her stretched opening. Immediately he starts rubbing her swollen belly, his large hands exploring the rolls and curves with a hungry gaze. His other hand begins playing with her breasts, pinching and pulling on her sensitive nipples until she cries out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Oh yeah, that's it," he murmurs, reaching down to stroke himself slowly as he watches the excess urine start to leak out onto the cold marble floor. He can feel the heat rising within her body, eager to expel every drop. This was perfect. Just perfect. As he brings himself closer to the brink, he growls low in his throat and pushes deeper inside of her, feeling her hot walls clench around him once again.

With a groan of satisfaction, he pulls out just as she starts pissing herself again, covering his hand and lower arm in hot amber liquid. "Mmm, that's right," he whispers approvingly, licking his fingers clean. "You're doing great, sweetheart. Now come here."

He lifts her up into his arms like she weighs nothing, carrying her to the bedroom where he deposits her on the edge of the bed. With one swift movement, he binds her hands above her head using some silk scarves he had lying around. He kneels before her then, running his tongue along her inner thighs teasingly before diving between them to lap up every drop of pee that's left.

"That's a good girl," he praises between licks, tracing circles around her entrance with two fingers. "Just relax and enjoy the ride." He chuckles darkly as he leans in close to whisper directly into her ear. "Because this is just the beginning of what I have planned for us..."

Meanwhile, outside the room, there were several other fae creatures gathered excitedly discussing their new 'toy'. Some wanted a turn in the bedroom while others wished to experiment with cooking up strange concoctions from her blood or perhaps breeding her with other monsters. It seemed that everyone had their own idea of what to do with Sammy Kay - except maybe for Slim himself. For now though, he was content watching them squabble over scraps like starved dogs as he prepared himself for another round of debauchery.

[medandana]

i want to dedicate this post to my best friend.

i meant to pen this a week ago when i had just come out of a breakup with my ex, but i got really tired and haven't really willed myself to start on it until now. on the night of the breakup, my best friend was the first person i reached for, as there was no one else who truly understood my situation. it took a couple of rings before he finally picked up. from his groggy voice, i could tell my call had been a rude awakening for him. i asked, “did you just wake up?” and he replied, “no shit, sherlock, but it’s alright, i’m all ears.” that’s what i always loved about him; he never made me feel like a burden. that unwavering support was one of the many reasons why i cherished him. he was always there during the worst times in my life. i told him what happened, and his voice still laced with sleep, he said, “i’m so proud of you, dude. i’ll be honest, breaking up with him was the easiest part. now you have to stick to your decision and not look back.” he was right, of course. asserting my choice was a different battle altogether. my best friend knows my personality well; he always says i change my mind like flipping a coin. that’s why he tells me after every decision, “sleep on it first, and let me know tomorrow morning.”

our dynamic has always been comical. there was never a dull moment. during our first year of medical school, we both confessed we liked each other romantically, but we decided right from the start that it wouldn’t work out due to the “religion factor.” i think i didn’t want to admit it to myself, but it was hard interacting with him for a full year after that. just the thought of having access to someone every day but not being able to have him in the way i wanted was somewhat painful. what helped was that we ripped the bandaid off from the very beginning, making it easier to maintain our friendship over the years. if i’m honest, i still secretly hoped during that year that we would eventually end up together someday. he was everything i was looking for in a partner.

i loved him. truly. i’ve never met someone with such a pure heart and a steadfast moral compass who wouldn’t take any bullshit from anyone. i needed him in my life, especially for someone as ethically and morally bankrupt as i am. if there’s one thing that has remained constant for the past two years, it’s him. his presence has been my anchor. i’ve learned a lot from our friendship over the years. from him, i learned the value of grace, the importance of holding my head high during shameful moments, and the necessity of self-control when life just spirals.

just like me, he’s a notorious sleepyhead. whenever we had a quiz or exam, he would always call me 30 minutes to an hour beforehand to check if i was awake. there were times i didn’t even have to ask him to do this for me. it was honestly these types of gestures that reveal the depth of his kindness. even when he’s clearly done with my antics, he still manages to have my back every single time without fail. i’m so lucky to have a friend like him. when i first dropped the bomb on my ex and came running to my best friend in the rain, i told him to go home since i knew he had responsibilities with his family. i said i’d call another friend to be with me that night. he replied, “you sure? wait for me to be back in 30 minutes. i don’t think you have anyone else tonight, dude. plus, i’m always here, okay?”

he was also aware of my financial situation last year. even before he met my dad, he already held a deep respect for him. i always spoke highly of my dad—how he had been more than just a parent, but a role model, mentor, and close friend, someone i could bicker with and rely on in equal measure. he constantly sought to ease my financial burden in whatever way he could. i believe, in his own way, it was also his way of helping my dad. he understood that my dad, well into his 70s and long overdue for retirement, carried more than his share of the weight. whenever we went out to study or eat, he’d always ask if i wanted anything. i would decline every single time, not wanting to exploit his generosity. but there was one occasion when we were both nearly penniless, but needed caffeine to keep going. without a word, he stood up, bought a can of mountain dew, and split it between us. that simple act moved me deeply, and it has since become a cherished inside joke whenever we need an extra boost of caffeine.

one thing i’ll never forget is how he stood by my side after my ex sexually assaulted me last november. in the aftermath, my ex flipped the story on its head and started spreading lies about me. he had many friends across the batches and convinced a considerable number of people that his version was the truth. i feared my best friend might start believing him, but it was the complete opposite. it’s extremely difficult to make my best friend angry, but i’ve never seen him so filled with rage when my ex visited his house trying to get him on his side. he almost beat him up. he didn’t have to go to such lengths for me. it even got to a point where i didn’t feel safe going to the bathroom alone, and he insisted that i let him know whenever i needed to go, and he’d wait outside. not once did i feel an ounce of annoyance from him. without his support during that time, i honestly wouldn’t be here today.

naturally, given the weight of the events, i found myself opening up to him about my history of r*pe. i could see the shock in his eyes, yet he remained composed, listening intently. it was a difficult revelation for him; knowing his conservative nature, i feared he might judge me or feel disgusted. when i finally finished, he said, “promise me you’ll never put yourself in that kind of situation again.” and that marked the end of our conversation. i imagine that a typical person might have been triggered by such words, especially in today’s culture that strives to avoid victim shaming. yet, strangely, his statement resonated deeply within me. my recklessness had indeed exposed me to danger. it’s not to say that the blame rested entirely on my shoulders, but perhaps i’m merely reflecting on statistics. what's frustrating is that i have let him down—not because the same thing happened again, but because i found myself in even more trouble this time. he once told me, “i don’t know if you’re looking for trouble or if trouble just finds you.” i don’t have an answer for that either.

anyway, going back to the night of the breakup, after we ended the call, which was pretty short, he sent me a song called “static” by steve lacy. during the first few seconds, i thought, “what the heck, isn’t this a meme song?” but i decided to keep listening anyway. i let the lyrics slowly sink in. it was his way of sending me a metaphorical hug when he couldn’t be there physically. my eyes started to well up, and i cried that night with that song on repeat until i fell asleep. the next morning, i wanted to message him an “i love you,” but i was worried it might scare him off. however, it wasn’t the romantic kind of love anymore; it had transcended beyond that a long time ago.

Static by Steve Lacy

Baby, you got somethin' in your nose Sniffin' that K, did you feel the hole? Hope you find peace for yourself New boyfriend ain't gon' fill the void Do you even really like this track? Take away the drugs, would you feel the noise? More and more you try to run away You fucking yourself, do you feel the toy? Uh, lookin' for a bitch 'cause I'm over boys Would you be my girlfriend, baby? Ooh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa Somethin' turned me off Smoking made me 'Cause I'm longing For somethin' secure If you had to (if you) stunt your shining (oh, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah) For your lover, dump that fucker Shoo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo Shoo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo Shoo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo Shoo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo, no

i remember almost two weeks ago, we were studying at a convenience store for our exams, and during one of our breaks, i opened up to him about my strained relationship with my siblings. i mentioned how my brother used to physically hurt me and my sister growing up. he told me, “i’m so sorry this happened to you, dude. while i still value family, i hope i can be the brother you never got.” i was left momentarily speechless when he said that. i wanted to hug him, but we’re just not affectionate that way. in fact, our expressions of love are often encapsulated by saying “fuck you", giving each other occasional jabs, and the classic middle finger. so instead, i gave him a tight-lipped smile and told him i appreciated it. deep inside, though, i was a cauldron of emotions. i thought "wow, this guy is really one of a kind." he truly was like a big brother, always looking out for me—my guardian angel.

sometimes, i find myself pondering whether i hold him in higher regard than he truly deserves. it’s certainly a possibility. he obviously isn't perfect. i understand that goodness wears many faces and comes in various forms, yet he has repeatedly shown me that goodness still exists in this world—that there are souls like his. i simply need to learn where to seek such connections. he often remarks that i "wear my heart on my sleeve." while he admires my capacity to love freely, he always cautions me that not everyone is deserving of that love. therefore, from now on, i need to exercise better discernment in choosing who i let into my life.

he was one of the first friends i made in medical school, and we were classmates from first to second year. although that changed in third year, our bond has only strengthened. it feels unspoken, but it’s nearly a crime to study outside without telling each other. this is why i’m looking forward to our fourth year; we’ll be in the same section, and the whole batch will be rearranged alphabetically. i can’t get enough of our shenanigans together and look forward to many more years of them. he often jokes, “i wonder what shit is in store for you this semester?” it makes me laugh, but my insides also twinge with guilt for putting him through so much. there are times when i ask him why he remains by my side, and more often than not, i just get a simple shrug.

i recognize the beauty of his kind soul, yet i know better than to take it for granted. everyone eventually reaches their breaking point. this time, i’ll do my best not to get into any more trouble. i need to get my act together and tread more carefully. this is for his sake, too. i’m aware that this blog post doesn’t do our friendship justice over the years—it doesn’t even come close. but i just wanted to express my gratitude for him in some way. if i’m being honest, i don’t deserve a friend as selfless as him.

[travelingturtles]

And remember dear ones, if you’re reading this, the adventure begins at the bottom and you have to work your way up. Unless, someone knows how to turn it all around, then do let me know.

I’m sitting in my dear old friend’s sun room in Clinton, Connecticut. Could it be that I sat here almost seven months ago trying to decide whether or not to continue our journey home with Clifford? Time, as we all know, is so incredibly illusive. Time, when epic life changing events are staring you in the face, is bewildering. Last Oct, Sue dug a quarter out of jar and asked me to choose heads or tails. She said, “Heads you leave Clifford (our big red van) here and fly home, tails, you continue your journey.” When she flipped the coin, she didn’t show it to me but asked, “What do you hope it shows?” That was the moment I knew for certain and quickly made arrangements to park Clifford and fly home. Another dear friend graciously offered a spot on her property to park our van and gave Eddie and me a ride to the airport. The blessings of friends does not go unnoticed.

Flash back to early October: Eddie and I drive to Bennington College, my mother’s alma mater, and my sister calls to say that Mum’s in the hospital and they are recommending hospice. I call my mum and let her know where I am, that we are wandering around the campus, her campus, and trying to decipher where she may have parked her beat up old jalopy that she sold for a dollar to her brother, Alan, where she may have stolen away to make out with her old boyfriend, Gus, where her life as an adult began. Talking to her in that moment, I thought, she is the ever-ready-battery, she weebles and wobbles but will never fall down, she has come back from pneumonia and cat scratch fever and falls off of mopeds in Greece and too many trips to the emergency room than any of us can count. I also had a moment with her before we left on our journey where she said how much she loved me, that she may not make it until we return. I thought we had had “completion” and that would do. Thank goodness for quarters and perfect friends guiding you home.

I’ll leave the story of the five and a half precious weeks that I spent with Mum before she passed for a different time. This is after all “The Adventures of Clifford, the Big Red Van” and as much as Mum would have loved to have joined us on every one of the adventures we’ve taken, she’ll have to enjoy her journey through the DNA that I carry of her.

After reuniting with Clifford at Nancy’s house we found no rust, no rats, no mice or mold and one turn of the key and he started right up. Good Boy!

There’s nothing like being with an old friend of 49 years. Laughing and crying in equal measure, reminiscing and discussing and discovering new aspects of each other, opening up from where we left off and delighting in knowing that our friendship is still golden. And to have this occur with both Nancy and Sue is a gift beyond measure. Suffice to say that Eddie had to contend with lots and lots of gabbing.

After spending a few days walking on the beach at Sue’s, sharing time and stories and sea glass, Sue got many of our Byfield Bunch (Byfield Lane was where my family lived for 5 years) together for a reunion. We literally took a walk down memory lane, knocking on the doors of our old houses and introducing ourselves, a group of 7 sixty something year olds, to the inhabitants of our old digs. We learned that my old house was still occupied by the woman who purchased it 44 years ago and looked as old and in a state of disrepair as she did. She reminded me of the old lady in Princess Bride that lives in the tree with Miracle Max pronouncing Westley as “almost dead”. We learned that Sue’s house was torn down a long time ago, that the field behind John’s house, where we played flag football, was much smaller than we remembered and that the pond at Carole’s old house hasn’t frozen up enough for ice skating in years. Many shared memories of playing ice hockey, skinny dipping in other neighbors pools (even though we had a pool, the thrill of sneaking onto someone else’s property was much more fun), snow mobile rides on the golf course beyond the woods of Sue’s house, first joints puffed, wedgies at the bus stop for the more unfortunate, hitch hiking to school when we missed the bus, music jams and parties in Sue’s basement…. What a privileged childhood, minus the wedgies of course.

While with Nancy, I got to crash a reunion of a group of women (dubbed “the chain gang” in 6th grade by a teacher) that have been friends since grade school (I didn’t meet them until 7th grade). I hadn’t seen them for 47 years! Amazing how we get older and hopefully evolve, but at the core we are who we are who we are…. So special to have the opportunity to reconnect.

Nancy, Andy, Eddie and I took walks, played music, worked in their garden, talked politics and plants and all manner of experiences concerning our raising of our children and letting go of our parents who had been good friends when we were kids.

With sad farewells and the promise to see one another again soon, we departed and headed towards Gettysburg to feed Eddie’s childhood passion for all things Civil War. It so happens that my great great grandfather fought on both sides of the Civil War, first, reluctantly as a Rebel and then after being treed and convincing the Union army with his northern accent that he was indeed not a Confederate soldier despite his uniform, they conscripted him into the Union Army where he was eventually promoted to Colonel.

I’ll leave you here to ponder the past and hope you’ll return to read the next post of our adventure.