#I have a table called “Relationships with Others” in my planning document

[littlelostmabari]

Chapter 9: Breaking Faith and Other Things (Part II)

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 / Dragon Age Inquisition Current Pairings: Cullen Rutherford x OC. Background F!Hawke x Anders Rating: M (Canon-typical violence & behavior, check tags) AO3 Links: Whole Work | Chapter 9

In which Saoirse has her first dream, and Aveline is skeptical at best.

CW: Canon-level violence and language.

“So, you’re the Wildling,” the guard captain observed as she watched Varric fiddle with a mechanism until a twang of a popped spring uttered out and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I honestly thought Varric was having me on.”  “I’d never lie to you, Aveline,” Varric chuckled as he tucked his thieves kit back into his belt.  Aveline glared down at him. “You lied to me about what you had for breakfast this morning.”

This was technically posted last night but then I got eepy and went to bed instead of putting it up here. Happy Wednesday!

[onlinesuzie]

♡ martin’s dare for you and hamzah ♡

words: 2.3k

genre: i’m not sure but there is heavy making out

summary: You and Hamzah were put together for a video idea. The only issue is that you have to stay alone in the same small hotel room, and with Martin and Mandy’s teasing truth or dares for the video, you and Hamzah share a little more than was expected.

note: still working on my hamzah x love island pt.2 but wanted to post so i hope you enjoy!!

☆

With the growth of the channel, Hamzah and Martin wanted to create higher-budget content for their new subscribers. This time, they decided to film a budget hotel compared to an expensive hotel video like many YouTubers had been doing recently. They realized that with the influx in followers, they would have to separate themselves to create a more exciting video. While Martin was set to bring Mandy along for the luxurious stay, Hamzah found himself without a filming partner for the budget hotel.

You and Hamzah had known each other through Martin when you were in school together. You were a help for the channel for a while, not necessarily an editor, but you would always be there to be a second set of eyes for any videos the channel would release. You had helped them because of your close relationship with Martin, but it would be a lie to say that you didn’t enjoy the nights you would be left alone on call with Hamzah while you went over video ideas when Martin was gone.

Nervous excitement coursed through you as you thought of him. You couldn't help but feel delighted that they would invite you along; it felt like the perfect opportunity to get to know each other better. You thought well of Hamzah; you always saw him as hardworking and dedicated to the channel, but you wished you could know more about him. He was always quite awkward sometimes on call when it was just the two of you, and you hoped that any nerves you were worried about would be smoothed out by the time the video came around.

———

The café was buzzing with chatter as you walked in, scanning the room for familiar faces. Mandy and Martin had chosen a cozy corner table by the window, and you spotted them immediately. Hamzah was already there, sitting across from them, nursing a coffee. The sight of him sent a little flutter through your stomach.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” you called out as you approached the table.

Mandy waved you over with a big smile. “No worries! We just got here ourselves. Grab a seat!”

You slid into the chair next to Hamzah, feeling a slight thrill as your knees brushed under the table. “Hey, Hamzah,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Hey,” he replied, giving you a warm smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and you felt a blush creep onto your face.

Martin leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed. “So, you guys ready for this? Epic, cool, rich, amazing me and Mandy versus you two. Should be interesting, still can’t believe that you agreed for me and Mandy get the better one.”

“It’s just cause I actually like Mandy and want her to have a nice room, unlike you,” you joked, nudging Hamzah playfully.

Hamzah chuckled, though you could sense a bit of his usual nervousness with you. “Yeah, I’m sure Mandy and Martin will still find a way to complain though, especially Martin cause that’s literally all he knows.”

Mandy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, come on, Hamzah. You’ll have fun too. Just think of it as an experience.”

Hamzah nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I know. It’ll be fine.”

Martin leaned forward, excitement in his eyes. “Alright, so here’s the plan. We’ll check into our respective hotels, get some footage of the rooms and our first impressions. Then, we’ll each order room service and document what we get. Should give us a good comparison I think.”

“How do we even know that we can get room service?” Hamzah questioned

“Well that would be even better! Maybe you’d actually spend your money on getting dinner with a girl instead of just talking about it all the time” Mandy laughed

“I literally didn’t even ask you” Hamzah bickered back.

Everyone agreed, the plan seeming solid. As the conversation continued, you couldn’t help but notice how Hamzah’s gaze kept drifting toward you. The four of you spent the next hour discussing the logistics of the video, what shots to capture, and how to compare the two hotels effectively. Despite the casual nature of the conversation, you felt a growing sense of anticipation for the evening ahead.

As you all stood up to leave, Mandy gave you a sly smile. “You two have fun tonight. And Hamzah, take care of our girl here.”

Hamzah blushed slightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course. We’ll be fine.”

Martin placed his hand on Hamzah’s back. “Just think of it as another mukbang for the channel. And remember, we can always edit out any embarrassing moments.”

Hamzah laughed, though you could see the tension in his eyes. “Got it. No pressure, right?”

As you walked out of the café, you fell into step beside Hamzah. “You okay?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, just... a little nervous, I guess. But I’m glad you’re coming along.”

“Me too,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words.

As you all made your way to the parking lot, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was going to be more than just another video shoot. The unspoken tension between you and Hamzah was getting thick.

When you arrived at the budget hotel, the reality struck. The room was small, and the only bed was a double. Hamzah's stomach twisted at the thought of sharing such intimate quarters. "This is... cozy," he said, forcing a laugh.

You grinned, "More like snug, but we'll make it work!"

The budget hotel room felt cramped, a stark contrast to the lavish suite Mandy and Martin were enjoying just a few streets down. You and Hamzah sat on the edge of the small bed, laptops open as you looked over a list of dares sent by Martin and Mandy.

"Okay, your turn," you said, stifling a laugh as you read aloud,

"Truth or dare?"

Hamzah leaned back, arms crossed, trying to play it cool. "Dare, obviously. I'm not afraid of whatever Martin has to say."

With a grin, you scrolled down the list until you found one that made your eyes widen. "Let's see... Oh, this one's interesting.

“Kiss someone in the room!"

Hamzah's eyes widened, and he quickly glanced around the tiny space as if looking for an escape. "Uh, no way. That must've been meant for Martin and Mandy. We can't do that one," he stammered, his nervousness evident.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Come on, Hamzah.

Don't be a coward. It's just a dare! Besides, it's not like Martin and Mandy would mind-they're probably expecting us to follow through."

"Seriously? Martin must be messing with us. He's being so cringe including that dare," Hamzah mumbled, clearly flustered.

"There's no way I'm doing it."

You leaned in slightly, enjoying the effect your words had on him.

"Then why don't you just kiss me? Unless you're scared," you challenged, your tone playful but laced with sincerity.

Hamzah swallowed hard, his eyes darting around as he searched for a safe response. "You're joking, right?"

"Not really," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Come on, it's just a kiss."

"Okay, okay! I'll do it," he said, his resolve shaky but determined.

"But just a quick peck, alright?"

You nodded, excitement bubbling inside you. Hamzah moved closer, hesitating for a moment before leaning in. Your heart raced as his lips brushed against yours, light and tentative.

It was soft-just a fleeting moment-but it sent electricity coursing through you. He pulled back quickly, his eyes wide.

"See? Not so scary, right?"

You bit your lip, feeling a surge of boldness. "Maybe not so scary, but definitely not enough," you teased.

Before Hamzah could respond, you reached out, your hand touching his arm. The room seemed to shrink around you as you leaned in again. This time, the kiss deepened, your lips moving together with a newfound urgency. Hamzah's hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours with nervousness, but more eagerness. You responded, your fingers threading through his hair as the kiss grew more passionate. You could feel his breath quicken, matching your own as the intensity between you heightened.

Hamzah's hand slid up the back of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine. He broke the kiss for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

Seeing none, he leaned in again, this time letting his lips trail down to your neck.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and tantalizing.

"Yes," you whispered back, your voice barely audible. "Don't stop."

The sensation of his lips on your neck made you gasp softly, “Hamzah…” a thrill running through you. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access, and he took full advantage, his kisses growing more confident and daring.

"You taste amazing," he breathed, his words sending another shiver through you.

The white noise of the camera equipment around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own world. Each kiss, each touch, felt like a new discovery, and the cramped hotel room seemed to disappear as you lost yourselves in the moment. Hamzah's hand cupped your cheek, guiding your lips back to his. The kiss deepened further, his tongue brushing against yours, eliciting a soft moan from you. The passion between you was undeniable, and you both reveled in the electricity of the moment.

"You have no idea how long l've wanted to do this," he admitted between kisses, his voice filled with desire.

"Me too," you confessed, your heart pounding. "I've been waiting for this."

Minutes felt like hours as you continued to explore each other, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. Finally, you pulled back, both of you breathless and flushed, surprise and exhilaration in your eyes.

Hamzah whispered, his voice husky. "I didn't expect that."

"You’re so cute," you replied, smiling.

He nodded, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. "Thank you."

For a moment, you just sat there, the intensity of what had just happened lingering in the air.

Hamzah cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, uh, about the video,” he started, a smile forming on his lips. “We should probably get back to it, right?”

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heart but feeling a giggle bubbling up. “Yeah, definitely. Can’t forget why we’re here.”

As you both sat up and reached for your laptops, the atmosphere between you felt lighter. You couldn’t help but glance at him every few seconds, each time catching his eye and bursting into laughter.

“So, what’s next on the list?” Hamzah asked, his voice filled with amusement.

You scrolled through the list of dares and challenges, trying to focus. “Let’s see… looks like we’re supposed to compare the room service menus next,” you said, stifling a giggle as you met his gaze again.

Hamzah chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, room service. Let’s see if this place has anything decent.”

As you both began browsing the hotel’s menu, the awkwardness started to fade, replaced by a comfortable, shared amusement. Every time your eyes met, you couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the kiss.

“Look at this,” Hamzah said, pointing to his screen. “They actually have a ‘budget burger.’ I wonder if it’s as sad as it sounds.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “We have to try it. For the sake of the video, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed, grinning. “Anything for the content.”

You both placed an order, deciding to film your reactions to the food as part of the video. As you waited for the delivery, the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by shared glances and quiet laughter.

“Do you think Martin and Mandy are actually doing any of the dares we sent them?” you asked, leaning back on your hands.

Hamzah laughed, shaking his head. “Knowing them, Martin is probably kicking his feet and giggling at whatever Mandy says to care about the dares. But who knows, maybe they’ll surprise us.”

You smiled, your eyes meeting his again. “I guess we’ll find out when I compare footage.”

There was a brief pause, the silence filled with unspoken thoughts. You could tell he was thinking about the kiss, just as you were. Finally, Hamzah broke the silence.

“You know,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “I think I’ll keep some of the footage.”

You giggled, feeling a warmth spread across your face. “Yeah, what part?”

He smiled, a shy but genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat, “I wonder.”

The moment lingered, the atmosphere was comfortable. The sound of a knock on the door broke the spell, and you both laughed, the tension easing as you got up to grab the food.

As you set up the camera and started filming your reactions to the room service, the shared glances and secret smiles continued.

Later that night, after the filming was done and you both had laughed your way through tasteless burgers and overcooked fries, you found yourselves sitting close together on the small bed, the camera off and the lights dim.

“Hamzah,” you began, your voice soft and tentative, “I’ve really enjoyed tonight.“

He turned to you, his eyes reflecting the same emotions you felt. “Me too. I mean, I always enjoy hanging out with you, but tonight was… different.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “Maybe we could, you know, do something like this again. Just us.”

His smile widened, his eyes lighting up. “I’d like that. A lot.”

[witch-hazels-musings]

favorite distraction 

warning: sfw, fluff, spice - character perspective - pining 

includes: Alhaitham (pre-relationship), Childe, Diluc, Thoma

character x gn reader | anthology 

Alhaitham

Alhaitham pinched the hairs on his eyebrow while he read the book sprawled on his desk. The words enticing him into deep thought even as he turned page after page. Every once in a while he’d come across a passage that made him roll his eyes but he never followed through with the action - it was more of a ‘in his head’ type of response. One that also reminded him to unclench his jaw. 

A flicker of light drew his attention. It started with curiosity but quickly spiraled into a focused observation as every synapse in his brain fired while looking at you. 

You weren’t doing anything spectacular. Mostly you were organizing a stack of documents he planned on dealing with later. It wouldn’t have taken him very long after all but he also found no reason to stop you if it saved him from doing work down the line. 

Surprisingly you never complained. If you did it wasn’t to his face. Or, at least, he thought so - to be honest there were a few times he disassociated when you talked to him. It wasn’t necessarily because what you were telling him was boring, it was more like it set off a chain-reaction in his head that he had to follow to its conclusion. 

He could note several occasions where you set off his brain - one of them being now. 

Your body language for-warned him you were about to turn his way so he dropped his gaze to his book. 

“Alhaitham?” He placed his hand on the page and looked up at you. His expression remained unaffected but the rest of him didn’t. His lungs breathed you in, his fingers twitched at how close you were. He wasn’t a man of many wants, preferred the simple things. A relationship was none of those - he didn’t need it. “I’m sorry but,” you pushed a form his way, the pages were sealed together but you’d turned to one in the stack and pointed at the bottom, “You forgot to sign this one.” 

He leaned toward the document, his hair brushing over your arm making you pull it back quickly. “Oh.”

“Let me know when you’ve finished.” You mumbled before rushing back to the stack of papers. Alhaitham was painfully aware of the way people looked at him, talked to him or about him, scoffed at his decisions no matter the kind. He wasn’t oblivious to their reactions, just indifferent to them. Why should he care - people should focus on themselves and not the lives of others. 

But --

Grabbing a pen, he signed the document and verified there wasn’t another one missing. He considered letting you check back in to find it was finished but, instead, he rose from his chair, placed the book he was reading upside down to not lose his place, and made his way toward you. 

“Here,” he called to you when he was close enough, his hand resting on the table. You were surprised to see him. Didn’t you just say to let you know when he was finished?

“T-Thank you,” you stumbled over your words as you took the document and placed it in the pile. He noticed you stealing several glances his way while you worked. “Um - did you need anything else?” You asked and, honestly, he didn’t know what to say to that. 

“No,” he answered which should have been the end to it ... 

But -- 

“You’re distracting.” He blurted out with an empty expression. Eyes locked on your face, taking in everything you did. 

Panicked, you looked at him, “I’m - oh - I’m sorry. I can leave?” He didn’t respond, so you did, “Yeah, right, I’ll leave. So sorry,” It was like watching a bird desperately try to grab all the twigs from the forest floor before fluttering away to their nest. He thought about helping but ultimately didn’t. 

“Alhaithaaaam,” a familiar voice broke his fixation on you. The blond burst through the door to his office so loudly it made you jump and back up into him. “Hey, I forgot my -- oh, hello, y/n,” Kaveh smiled and waved at you but all Alhaitham could focus on was the feeling of your arm against his palm and how warm you felt. 

“H-hello ... bye,” you said in one fluid sentence before dipping out the door and disappearing all together. 

Kaveh made his way toward the table, his head swiveling multiple times as if he were processing what had just happened as slowly as a turtle crawls. It took Alhaitham two tries to answer whatever question was thrown his way. 

“What did you say?” 

“My keys? Do you have them?” Kaveh asked and raised his brow. “Are you okay? You look ... odd ...” 

“I’m fine,” he huffed and turned to head toward his desk. 

“Okay ... well did you say anything mean to y/n? They looked odd too -” 

“You’re distracting.” 

“Huh? What did I do?” 

“No, I told them, ‘you’re distracting.’“ 

“Oh.” ... “OH!” Kaveh shoved the scholars shoulder before snatching his keys, “That’s so rude! Why would you say that?” 

“Why? It’s the truth.” 

“You can’t just tell people they're bothering you like that -” 

“I didn’t say, ‘bothering me,’ I said, ‘distracting.’” 

“I don’t hear a difference.” Kaveh crossed his arms and furrowed his brows at him. 

“How’s this then,” Alhaitham spun on his heels and returned to his chair. He lifted his book and found the spot he’d stopped at moments ago, “you’re annoying.” 

“That’s worse!” Kaveh shouted while Alhaitham started to read. It took longer than he thought it would for it to click, “Wait - was that directed at me?!” When Alhaitham didn’t respond, he threw his hands in the air and stormed off, “Whatever, just be nicer to people. And stop taking my keys!” 

The room fell silent again until he was left completely alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t understand why his honesty would come across as rude. 

You were distracting; then and now. 

You were so distracting that it took more and more of his energy to think about anything but you. 

--

Childe

“Do you have to go right now?” You asked and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. There was a small clock on your bedside but with how dark it was there was no way you’d figure out the time. “How’d they even call you this late?” 

“It’s a secret,” Childe said, grabbing the clock in your hands and placing it facedown on the wooden end-table. “Go back to sleep,” he kissed your forehead and pulled at the sheets that had fallen to your waist. The cool air caused goosebumps to rise on his back, he could only imagine what it did to you. 

“But I want to see you off. I’ll grab my --” Childe cut you off with a lingering kiss. His hand cupped the back of your head as he guided you onto the pillow still warm from when you were asleep. The silken sheets made it easy for him to leave you there even if it was difficult for his will to do so. 

“Back to sleep,” he repeated, his lips passing over yours as he spoke. The sensation drove him mad. He gripped the bedsheet to stay calm. 

“Not fair,” you breathed and he stole another kiss from you. 

“I won’t be gone long.” You nodded, he couldn’t really see you but he felt your nose run next to his, brush against his cheek. “Sleep,” he demanded and pecked your nose with a quick kiss before prying himself away from you. 

Gathering his things, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door so he couldn’t disturb you. He caught his reflection in the mirror and lingered on several scars that lined his chest. A long gash that put him in a healing ward for nearly two weeks, another wound that kept him from using his delusion for a whole month. Though it wouldn’t have been that long if he’d listened to Dottore. Lifting his arm, he looked at another scar that he’d received from places he conjured in his nightmares. 

Clenching his jaw, he turned on the water and splashed his face with the cool liquid before throwing on his shirt. 

Childe was annoyed he had to leave so abruptly. He swore he’d smash his fist into the face of whoever called him away. He had his suspicions, only a small handful of Harbingers would be brave enough to request him in the middle of the night, and even fewer brave enough to enter the one place he forbade anyone else from ever stepping foot in.

Call upon him wherever, whenever, but don’t ever do it near you. 

When Childe finished putting his clothes on, he left the bathroom to grab his bag and pack away the other items he’d need for the expedition. Whatever it was it better be over quick. 

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he made his way to the door but not before glancing back at the bed, not before breathing through his straining heart at the sight of you asleep and bathed in moonlight. 

He was so weak. 

The bag slipped off his shoulder, fell down his arm and dropped quietly on the floor. He walked toward your side of the bed and looked down at your face. His hand felt magnified to you. It moved on its own to caress your cheek, hovered, trembled above you out of fear of waking you up. Out of fear of seeing your eyes look at him. Of your smile. Of the sound of your voice calling his name. 

If you asked it of him, he run to you without question. 

Kneeling, he watched you for a moment. Took you in. Reveled in the sight of you and became jealous of the moon. He dropped his head and took in a breath. 

“You’re distracting,” he professed, his hand rubbing his chin, covering his smirk and clenching jaw. Childe rose up just enough to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, “So damn distracting,” he whispered and watched how you moved beneath him. 

Tearing himself away, he picked up his bag and exited the room. Careful not to slam the door too loud in his irritation. 

The Fatui always talked about how Scaramouche had a sour look on his face, but they’d never seen his after being torn from the bed of his lover and favorite distraction. 

--

Diluc

He meandered through the halls of the Winery, eyes locked on the papers folded in his hand. He had a habit of tucking them behind themselves so he could hold onto them more comfortably. So he could keep his left hand free to sign a form or sniff a cup of just brewed wine. It felt like he’d only made it a few steps before someone else pulled his attention away.

“Excuse me, Master Diluc,” an attendant called to him with a sharp bow. He hated when they addressed him as such, but he stopped trying to fix it long ago. “The equipment you ordered arrived, what would you like us to do with it?” Diluc looked past the attendant toward the front door even though he had no view of outside from this angle. 

“Nothing is missing?” They shook their head, “Alright,” he turned back toward the cellar, “instruct Earnest to set it up in the back corner of the cellar. It should be clear as of yesterday.” 

“Yes sir,” they bowed.

“This new processing method is reserved for our non-alcoholic beverages. Do remind them when you see them,” they bowed again before passing him while Diluc returned to the papers in his grip. He lagged for a moment as he tried to find his place until catching his stride and moving down the hall toward the stairs. 

He drew closer to the study but before he passed through the door, a familiar laugh drifted toward him, stopping him in his tracks. Diluc glanced down the hall seeing only a sliver of light stretching across the ornate rug that had been there since before he was born. No other sound followed so he continued through the door as planned. 

A few moments later, he exited the study to investigate the source of the heart-straining laughter. 

Pushing the door to the bedroom open, he saw you laying across the bed. Your feet kicking in the air, hands holding a book which held your attention.  You laughed again, pressed the pages to your face with a lovely smile before pulling back and turning the page.  Diluc swore he wasn’t a jealous man but oh how he wished to be that book.

It took only a few strides to reach you, and a few less for you to finally look at him. 

“Hello, Handsome,” you hummed. 

He cleared his throat, “Hello.” His cheeks warmed at the nickname you gave him. Of all the things to say -- 

“Whatcha doing?” Lifting onto your knees, you ett him face to face. Closing your book over your fingers, you tapped his chest when he took a step closer to you.

“I might ask you the same thing,” he answered eyeing your book. 

“I figured I’d take a break. Wanna join me?” You inched toward him. His body reacted strongly to feeling of your weight against him as you slid your arms over his shoulder, falling into his chest. 

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes to avoid looking at your smile, “I cannot. There are still a few things --” 

“Boo -” you pouted, pulling away from him as you deflated. His hands held your waist so you couldn’t get very far. When they got there he wasn’t sure but they felt so right he didn’t question it. “Okay.” 

Diluc hated seeing you unhappy but he was terrible and finding the right balance. 

“Will you have dinner with me then?” 

He thought it was a silly question. The two of you always had dinner when he wasn’t otherwise incapable of it. With a smile, he told you his intentions, “Yes.” 

“Yay!” With that you were back in a state that made him swoon. He adored your smile more than anyone could. “I won’t hold you then,” you explained but not before you leaned in to kiss him. 

Dangerous --- 

It shouldn’t have distorted him so badly. He’d kissed you plenty of times before this - when one of you left the Winery grounds, when you’d both be too busy to see much of the other, in passing as if to tell the other, ‘hello, i’m thinking of you.’ They were simple but he cherished every one. This one, however, settled in his stomach to intensely. Before you could slip away from him, he pulled you back for another. 

and another. 

and another. 

Until you were laying on your back and his hands pressed into the well-made bed. He pulled back to take you in. How heavily you caught your breath, how tenderly your fingers pressed against his chest or rested against his stubbled chin. He kissed your fingers and you sang at the touch.

He said your name making you shiver at the sound, “Have I told you that you’re ... distracting ...” he breathed over your lips, gaze growing heavy as he looked down at you. 

Your voice had changed in such a beautiful way, “Good distracting or bad--?” 

“Not sure yet,” he answered as his lips connected with yours for a long, lingering kiss of many. 

--

Thoma

Thoma rolled onto his side. The warm sheets sliding across his skin while the sounds of birds and even earlier risers than him spilled through the open windows. He took in a deep breath, catching a whiff of familiarity and comfort. 

Something passed over his side and, before he knew it, that familiarity was pressing against his back. 

Thoma chuckled, “Morning.” He kept his voice low so as to not be so jarring. The only response he got was a unhappy groan. Slowly, he ran his hands over the arm pressed against him, across the palm of the hand that opened to greet him. He caressed the skin and his back grew warmer. “I have to get up,” he said, albeit reluctantly. 

“Mmm, no,” you mumbled, capturing his index finger in your grip. 

“Haha, come on -” He tried to pull his hand away but you held strong; stronger than anyone should be for just waking up. “Okay - okay, a little longer.” He submitted and you relaxed against him. 

Thoma closed his eyes but didn’t fall back asleep. Instead, he listened to the sound of footsteps in the polished hallway, heard whispers of attendants going about their morning, careful not to wake their neighbors up. The Kamisato Estate was more accommodating than people expected, even the staff quarters were more lavish than some of the hostels and homes speckling the island. Thoma wasn’t raised here, but he grew up here. It was like a home to him but you were changing that feeling every day. 

He didn’t just work hard for himself, he worked hard for those he cared about. Prying himself from your arms every morning took a little piece of him, he wanted to give you a good life. One outside of the walls of his employer. 

So, even though you had managed to slip another arm around him. This one under his head. He had to part ways. 

“Okay, time to --” Thoma was captured by you as you launched yourself up and hovered over him. One hand pressing into the bed near his face while the other landed at the back of his neck. He moved to his back and looked into your determined face. 

“I’m not ready for you to leave yet,” you explained, lips dragging down into a frown. Even when you scrunched your face up, even when your hair stuck out at all ends he thought you were one of the most enchanting beings he’d ever seen. 

Maneuvering his hand between the sheets and your limbs, he touched your forehead and let his hands run across your hair. “When will you be ready?” He asked, knowing no amount of time would be reasonable enough for you. Be it a few minutes, an hour, several days, if you could steal all his time you’d do it - and he was so very tempted to let you. 

If only you knew how often you filled his mind. How frequently he found himself thinking of you, looking for you, hoping for your well-being. He thought that after you agreed to be his, after you swore you’d be by his side that his passions for you would stabilize but that - he found - was not the case. 

“I’m never ready,” you answered. 

“I know,” he replied, cupping your face and pulling you to him. He kissed your lips gently, moved to your nose where he gave you another, turned your head without resistance to pepper the space below your eyes with more of his love. When he finished, your arms were shaking so he helped you fall to your side. 

“Thoma -” 

“Mmm?” He asked as he followed after you, his nose pushing against your jaw so he could kiss the warmth of your neck. 

“Y-your distracted --” 

He slid closer to you, placed his arm over your head so he could block you, wall off your expressions so only he could see. “I guess I am,” Thoma mused, his nose brushing against your own until you looked at him and he sealed your bravery with a kiss. 

--

[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies - pt. 7

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3.8k

Chapter Summary: You stay an extra day in the jungle because your feelings about Frankie are too confusing, Javi is concerned and calls you a lot

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. DUBCON mentions and references, SMUT!!!! p in v sex (not wrapped up, but obvs be safe irl), some violence and threatening with knives but maybe it's hot, BLOOD OKAY NOT A LOT AND ONLY A LITTLE FREAKY ABOUT IT, SUE ME. dirty talk, anxiety, feelings that are confusing and not expressed well (reader compartmentalizes she must be a Capricorn)

A/N: Hey ya'll! I don't know NOTHING about Miami; never been, and I don't plan on going, so don't judge me for how I scrolled in reallllllll close on google maps, okay? I did an edit in my document, but within tumblr I didn't so if you see mistakes no you don't. In all seriousness, if I have missed any tags for trigger warnings, please let me know and I will fix it. Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

The trilling ring pierces his ears, irritation growing with each passing second. The click of your voicemail, followed by silence as Javier hopes and waits that you’ve picked up. Javier growls into the speaker when it’s clear that you haven’t, anger clear on his face. “Fucking call me back, or at least answer your damn phone.” He slams his receiver down, sighing heavily. 

You hadn’t called him back or picked up the phone in over a week. He knew it was his fault; how he treated you, how he wouldn’t listen to you. How he was unable to tell you exactly what he was wanting and feeling made him angry all over again. 

And to top it off, Jason was up his ass. “Hey, boss.” Jason called, too cheery to be in his office. “Any word from the jungle?”

“No.” Javier grunted, leaning back in his chair. He had given up on trying to keep what you were doing under wraps from Jason and David. “But she’ll be back tomorrow.”

Jason sits hesitantly in the chair across from him, sliding him a coffee cup. “Based on her most recent information, I think we have enough to go in there.” He says, taking a sip from his own mug. “She’s confirmed there’s drugs out there, and that there is money in and out. We don’t have to know where the money is to–”

“Let’s see what she comes back with this time.” Peña says, popping the top of the disposable coffee cup off to let it cool down. “It’ll be soon though, I don’t want…I don’t want this leaving the four of us.”

“I know.” Jason sighs, looking behind him. Bill Stechner walks by, just as Jason looks back to Peña with raised eyebrows. “I assume because we don’t want him to know?”

Peña rolls his eyes, shooing Jason away. Jason of course was correct, Stechner was in fact the reason you were secretly in the jungle and not surveying the Cali Cartel. But Javier wanted to stand by his promise to keep you safe, and so he would. 

Your cellphone beeps on the table, Peña’s name scrolling across the screen and flashing for what feels like the millionth time. You roll your eyes, legs shaking under the kitchen table of Yovanna’s crash house.

It’s your last night in this place, and while you won’t miss it, it makes you sad to see all of your stuff fit into one bag. You know you’ll have to do the same to the apartment that Peña had set up for you, but the jungle feels like a completely different world from what you go back to every other weekend. 

You feel a pang in your chest at the thought that Frankie may not show up, and that you’ve wasted your time just to spend one more night with him. Peña will be more furious than he already is and you’ve risked blowing your cover.

It’s easy to convince yourself that you are stringing Frankie along to gather more information’ it’s the easiest excuse for when Peña ultimately berates you. Something in the back of your mind nags you that it isn’t just for more information; that you are having feelings. 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when your phone begins beeping again and a knock comes to the door. You shoot up out of your seat, silencing your phone and sliding it into your pocket before taking a deep breath and waiting. 

A knock comes again, and you race to the door, opening it to find Frankie leaning against the porch post opposite the door. He smirks, looking down at your body and back up again. “Changed your mind?” He drawls, arms crossed over his chest.

You shrug, turning to let him through the door. “Figured another day wouldn’t hurt.” He chuckles, boots heavy as he steps forward. 

When Frankie steps past, you smell something different–the cigarettes, the jungle seem to be no longer lingering on his skin. The smell of musk fills your senses, and your insides melt at the thought that he put on cologne for you. 

Frankie eyes your packed bags, looking back at you with his ears red. “Ready to bail though, I see.”

You nod, giving a half smile. “Yovanna said that the lease is up and that she’s not renewing so…sort of my last night close to the jungle.”

Frankie hums, looking around briefly before turning back to you. “You want to make it count?”

You can’t help the smile that creeps up your face, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it. “What did you have in mind?”

The look on Frankie’s face changes, determined as he steps toward you. His hands rest on your hips, gently pulling you away from the door and into his body. He’s warm, heat radiating from his skin and through his clothes to you. 

You sigh, hands naturally traveling up to his shoulders to support yourself. Their taunt, pulled tight in his shirt and you think that maybe he’s…nervous. 

Frankie turns with you in his arms, smirking when you gasp in surprise. “Thought I might bend you over the couch. Maybe…eat you out on the counter for breakfast.” His voice is low and trying to be intimidating, but you swear you hear it wobble with unease. 

“You want me all to yourself all night long, huh? What if I had other customers?” You tease, pushing him away enough to reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. 

His eyes widen, pupils blown and mouth agape. “No need to lie; you’re not a whore.”

“Who says?” You question, reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your bra. He steps forward, stopping you in your tracks and runs his fingers up your spine. His fingers tangle with yours, popping the clasp open. 

“Me.” He sighs, letting the bra fall to the floor between you. He ghosts his hands to your front, pinching gently and watching you. “Tell me.”

“I’m not a whore.” Falls out of your mouth, unable to stop yourself from admitting the truth. His fingers glide down your abdomen, slowly undoing the button of your pants. 

He chuckles, shaking his head and smiling at you. Frankie’s eyes bore into you, keeping you frozen as his hand covers the front of your panties. He groans when the heat radiates from you to his palm, his fingers twitching. “No, but you’re my whore, aren’t you?”

You find yourself nodding, mouth open to breath deeper. “Yeah.”

“Say it.” He bites out, holding you secure and still in his grasp. 

Before you can speak he has you turning around, pushing you against the closest wall and grinding his center against yours. Still buttoned up pants restrain him, his cock hard and pushing against the fabric. 

It’s embarrassing, the way your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your center as he grinds. He’s quick as he pushes down his pants enough to let himself spring free, grasping himself to stroke just a couple times before leaning forward to let his mouth wander. 

Down your spine Frankie trails wet lips, hot air puffing out onto your raised skin. He’s quick as he strips your underwear from you, biting briefly into the meat of your ass to hear you gasp before sinking himself into you. You close your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins at the feeling of him fully seated inside you. It’s a whisper, barely audible as you say. “I’m your whore.”

Frankie doesn’t stop, thrusting harder and laughing. His hand planted on your hip comes up to your face, gently pushing it away from your cheek to get a better look at you. “That’s right baby. My whore.”

Agent Peña calling

The flash on the tiny screen of your cell phone is bright in the dark room that Frankie lays in, waking him enough to glance over to your spot in the bed to see you’re not there. 

Agent  Peña calling

This time he picks up the vibrating device, furrowing his brow at the name and racking his brain to see if Santiago had said it before. He does not know this man, but you do. 

Agent Peña calling

The shower is running, and Frankie doesn’t know what time it is but he’s itching to pick up the damn phone. Why would an agent be calling you? How many clients–

Frankie’s blood runs hot as the phone finally stops and he’s able to open it up into the most recent calls.

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent  Peña outgoing

Agent  Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

The one outgoing call from just a couple weeks ago stands out to him. The date makes him think of when he brought you to the motel for the first time. Frankie reads it once, twice, three times before he sets the phone back down in the same position he found it in, sitting up to reach for his jeans on the ground. 

He shakes as he pulls his switchblade out; cold in his hand, the click of the blade flipping out and stepping out of your bed. He moves silently into the dark corner behind the bathroom door, adrenaline pumping through him. The shower shuts off, your soft hum as you move around the bathroom filters through the door before it opens, you tiptoeing your way out; you probably think he is asleep. 

Frankie thinks that maybe this is a mistake, but his gut is telling him otherwise. Either he scares you and never sees you again, or he finds out the truth; right now. 

When you step out fully he surprises you, circling one arm around your middle and the other holding the knife to your neck. He hears your inhale, feels you stiffen in his grasp, but you don’t scream. 

“What the fuck do you do for a job?” He growls in your ear, pulling you tight to him to prove that you can’t escape. You won’t. 

“I fuck men for a living, Frankie. You know that.” You’re too calm, too monotone for his liking. 

“Fuck that.” He spits, spinning you around and bringing the knife into your vision. “We both know that you’re not a whore, and I’ve let you play your little games to get my dick sucked. So tell me, who is Agent Peña?”

He watches your eyes jump back and forth from his knife to his face, trying to remain neutral but looking for options; you’re too calm. 

“Tell me right now, or I’ll let you bleed out and have him find you here.” Frankie says darkly, pressing the blade into your naked collarbone. You wince, a drop of blood dripping down. 

“He doesn’t know where here is.” You’re caving, towel loose under your arms and ready to fall. Frankie watches you reach up to hold it secure, your fingers nervously adjusting. “I’m DEA.” You whisper, swallowing as the blood drips down your chest, between your breasts and into the towel. Frankie watches it drip, slow and methodical but you don’t seem to notice. 

Frankie waits, but when you don’t come forward with more information, he prompts you. “Who’s Agent Peña?”

“My boss.” He presses the knife further into your skin, stepping toward the bed so you are forced to sit in front of him. Perched on the bed, clutching the towel to your front, looking up at him defiantly with blood smeared on your chest. You wince at the bite of the blade, sighing heavily. “Fuck–we’re after Lorea, okay?”

“Prove to me that you’re telling me the truth.” He pushes, moving the knife lower. You glance down to where the tip of the blade rests just below your collarbone, swallowing roughly. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath into what he assumes is calming yourself. 

He can’t help but feel angry. Frankie rages inside at himself for not knowing better, not connecting the dots. Not telling Santiago so he could look into you further than what Yovanna had convinced him of. 

In a way he feels played, that itch to have you growing inside of him into one of disgust. Frankie knows that this can’t last now; it was different if you were doing a job and got caught up in his circle, but to focus your attention on what he wanted? To go after what he was after too? He lied to you too, but your lie feels more and more like a betrayal. 

“I don’t have my badge here.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, looking down to see that he’s drawn more blood, prompting your response. He pulls away slightly, looking up to your face. You tell him your name, voice shaking and he realizes, terrified. “I worked in Miami for a few years, b-before I was reassigned to Colombia. I s-stopped most of the boats coming into the harbor.”

Frankie mulls over the information, brushing the knife away from your collarbone and down your arm. A chill runs over you, obvious to him in the dark. “Where did you live, in Miami?”

“Little Havana.” You gasp, looking up at him and trying to harden your features. Your hand tightens around the edge of the towel again, but Frankie doesn’t want that. 

He leans forward, tisking at you and pulling your hand away. The towel follows, leaving you bare in front of him. He can’t help the groan that bubbles out of his throat. “That’s far away from the DEA office in Weston.”

You lean your hands back, letting yourself be exposed to him and staring him down. “Closer to the docks to stop the boats. I didn’t mind the drive.”

He stops his movements, keeping his pocket knife out but looking back up to your eyes. Will’s voice rings in his ears from years ago, a discussion about a DEA agent that patrolled the docks. 

“This girl came down from up north, stopping those dogs in their tracks. They are maybe a few feet away from making their deliveries, I’m telling you!” Beer flows over the side of his cup at Will’s excitement, tapping Frankie on the shoulder. “She calls to them like a fucking siren, that’s what they’re calling her, gets them to admit who they are in 10 minutes flat, and then fucking arrests them. On the spot.”

“That’s badass.” Benny widens his eyes, looking to Frankie to see if he agrees. 

Frankie sips on his drink, shaking his head. “Long trips overseas with just your buddies would have me caving to a pretty girl too.”

“You’re the Siren, aren’t you?” He questions, tilting his head to watch your reaction. The widening of your eyes, the shuttered sigh as you nod, has his heart soften. He flips the knife back into its holster, holding it in his closed fist. “I live in Westwood Lakes.” When you don’t respond, just staring at him and waiting, he pulls away. He hears your sigh, shaking his head. “You could have said–”

“No, I couldn’t have.” You say quietly, blinking roughly as if holding back tears before moving from the bed. When you stand, pushing past him and towel forgotten, you shakily walk over to your disheveled bag in the corner. He waits, knife still in his hand and watching. “You’re fucking ex-military, you know I couldn’t have blown my cover like that.” 

The bite in your tone is new to Frankie, his frown appearing suddenly as he whips his head over to look at you. You’re bent over, ass on display to him and he can’t help how his cock stirs at the sight. “You could have said what you were so we could have helped each other out.” He sighs, tossing the knife on to the pile of his clothes. 

“We did help each other.” You scoff, shaking your head and angrily putting on your shirt. “And you got your dick sucked and I got the information I needed to go tell my boss. Win-win.”

He laughs, surprised by your dismissal. “Why are you angry?”

He can see your face harden and then collapse, tears overflowing and down your cheeks. He notices briefly how your shirt is staining with small amounts of blood. “Because you! You weren’t supposed to fucking know who I was! You went through my phone.”

He shrugs. “It was ringing.”

The initial anger he had felt had dissipated as soon as he learned who you were; it changed everything for him. But somehow, that anger transferred to you at the inability to keep everything under the radar. This see-saw effect between the two of you was addicting for Frankie; one losing control, one calm. Then switch, all within the same conversation. Frankie can’t help but think that this is exactly what you need, to let your anger out on someone, even if it's him.  

His thoughts are confirmed when you spit out, “So what? That fucker has been up my ass for week since I kicked him out–”

“You’re together?”

“No.” You’re firm, pulling pants up your legs and buttoning them more calmly. It’s like you caught yourself losing control. 

“He’s fucking you too?” He questions. Your calmness sets a fire under him, a small voice in the depths of his mind poking him to get angry again. Instead, he focuses on what he thinks is the right question. “Your boss is taking advantage of you?”

“No. I’m taking advantage of him.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest before wincing, looking down at the blood stains left from his knife.

Frankie shakes his head, standing up and approaching you. “No, he’s taking advantage of you.” 

You stare at him, dumbfounded and shaking your head. Frankie reaches for you–out of habit, and you bat his hand away before pointing at him accusatory. “What, like you aren’t? You’re a fucking hypocrite!”

He points right back at you, careful to not touch you but wanting to get his point across. “I told you exactly what I was doing. Has he?”

Quietly, you say, “He’s protecting me.” 

“How? By blowing up your phone so some guy can hold a knife to your neck?” Frankie feels disgusted, learning that Peña is your boss, and is putting you in harm's way. He should know better. “Did any of your bosses back in Miami do something like that before? Put you in a difficult position where you had to give up who you were, just to stay alive?”

You pause, steaming, head barely shaking back and forth as you stare at him. You crack your neck, closing your eyes for a few breaths before opening them for him to see tears streaming down your face again. His heart hurts at the sight. “You’re not…some guy.”

You’re leaning toward him, hand falling toward his chest and resting lightly on his bare skin. Frankie doesn’t know what to say, eyes searching your face for any type of answer. When he doesn’t find one, he shakes his head and covers your hand with his over his heart. “You’re…distracting for me. And you keep secrets.”

He lets his other hand come up to rest on your cheek. You lean in, and Frankie can’t help but let his heart crumble a little more.“I had to. I’m sorry if I ruined what you were trying to accomplish.” You whisper, trailing your hand down his chest, his hand following yours. 

“You didn’t ruin it.” He admits, moving his eyes to your wandering hand. He holds his breath, his cock twitching in his boxers and pressing against the fabric. You’re warm, stepping closer to him and snapping at the waistband of his underwear. Frankie briefly thinks about how this might look to Santiago and the rest of the guys if they find out that he’s been sleeping with you. He’ll be sent home instantly, even with the plan going through in just a day. “You can’t get in my way.”

“I won’t. We want different things.” You nod, letting your hand wrap around his now hardened member and give him a couple strokes. He closes his eyes trying to keep his breath steady. 

Frankie doesn’t know what this means, doesn’t know how to proceed beyond what he’s longing to do right now. He clasps his hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You look up to him, waiting to see if you can continue when he leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

He’s hesitant, waiting for you to tell him to stop. He pulls back, flicking his eyes between yours briefly before you surge forward, desperate to have your mouth back on his. 

Suddenly it’s frantic, his hands ripping at your clothes to take them back off, how you jump onto the bed and pull him to you by the back of his neck. He groans when you pull his hair, you sigh as he sinks into you again. 

The sound of his thighs hitting yours over and over again fills the room. You gasp as he trails his mouth down away from yours, sucking harshly into your neck before going further down. Frankie continues to thrust, his tongue sticking out and lapping at where his knife had cut you. 

“Fuck–Frankie–”

“I know baby. Just one more time for me, huh? I want to see you one more time.” He gasps, leaning back to watch you take him over and over again. 

Your walls tighten around him, nails digging into his arms as he pushes through. Your head thrown back, neck and new hickey exposed, skin shining in the light still coming from the bathroom. 

On the bedside table, your phone lights up again, vibrating loudly enough that both of your heads turn to watch it ring. Frankie pauses for only a moment, returning to thrusting and grabbing your face to turn back to him. “Mine. Do you get it? Mine.”

Your nod and the gasp of a “yes” is all Frankie needs to finish. 

Javier’s blood boils, dialing your number again from his Jeep. He's sitting outside the apartment he paid for, anger roiling through him without another care in the world. Where are you?

He gets out of the car, stepping up on to the stoop and pounding on the door to listen. Maybe you were avoiding him, leaving the lights off and pretending you weren’t there to scare him. He dials another time, the windows dark in front of him, listening for the ringing of your phone. When nothing can be heard, he swears. 

The beep of your voicemail dings in his ear, a sound he has gotten used to tonight. He sighs, looking around as if you might appear out of thin air. “Hermosa, please. Where are you?” He asks, shutting his phone and getting back into his driver’s seat. 

He sets his phone on the dash, tapping on the steering wheel anxiously. After thinking for only a moment, he reclines the seat back, planning to camp in front of your apartment until the morning.

[tamales78]

Series: Teacher!Slenderman X OC!Reader

Chapter 2

Warning: Teacher X Student relationship, College Teacher &Student, Mention & use of drugs, smut 18+, reader is 21, alcohol use

Summary: Amelia is used to being a straight-A student since middle school. Her English teacher Professor Slender grades her an F after finding out she used AI. How will she be able to keep her good grades? And have the English teacher do her favors?

"YOU DIDN'T!" Jane gasped as Amelia nodded sipping her latte as they sat at the cafe table.

"I damn sure did!"

Jane began laughing making her nearly choke on her blueberry muffin.

"So, you going to Jeff's party?" Nina asks Amelia.

"Maybe. To be honest, I don't know. I don't really want to go, Nina."

"Please!"

"Why do you want to go other than to hook up with a guy who has clearly shown you no interest?" Jane asked Nina.

"Yeah, Nina. Last time, E.J. told me that he was planning on asking a girl out at this so-called party."

"It might be me! Is it?! Is it?! TELL ME!" Nina grabbed Amelia shaking her back and forth.

"I-I don't know!"

"TELL ME!"

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

Amelia trembled at just the sight of her English teacher's door. After yesterday's outburst, she was sure he definitely would make her fail. So with a big gulp, she grew confident and walked in.

The few students that came also gulped and their eyes widened at seeing her. They all watched at her fearing for her.

When Slender walked in with the suitcase in hand they all expected him to call her out, however, they were surprised when he simply began passing out papers after the bell rang.

After he handed a kid a packet, five students walked in calmly with no bother in the world. They were dead. Slender hated-no he despised students who came in. Especially, if it showed that they had no care in the world.

"Why are you five late?" He angrily asked them.

"We were talking to some friends, jeez." One of them rolled their eyes as they walked to their desks.

"Talking? You came in late to my class 'cause you were talking?"

"Uhh, are you deaf?"

Slender chuckled walking to the kids desking and standing in front of him. He slams the packet on his desk jumping the kid.

"You and your four friends are to complete this assessment on paper by tomorrow." He informs the kid before passing his friends with the same packet.

"Oh, and since you decided to be a smart mouth also make sure to write another essay talking about why it's important to respect your peers. This goes to you four as well." Slender glares at them before going to Amelia and handing her a packet.

She expected Slender to ask her to do the same thing but she was astounded when he simply handed her the paper and passed it to the rest of the class.

"The rest of you, you're to simply write me what's in the packet. Based on the notes you guys did yesterday." Slender eyes Amelia making her look down in embarrassment.

"Your prompt is on the document. Articles are already provided for you, however, you're free to use other articles. Start working on your essay, meanwhile, I'll be talking to someone outside. Amelia come with me." Slender announces before heading out with a paper in hand.

Amelia gulps and gets up as she feels everyone's eyes on her. When she exits the class, Slender closes the door behind her and turns back to her.

"You do remember why you're here, right?"

Amelia nods looking down at her teacher in shame. Slender chuckles catching her off-guard and slightly scaring her.

"It humors me how a girl like you who was top of her class seems to be so..."

"So?"

"So, confusing." He chuckles looking down at her.

"My brothers and all your other teachers adore you, yet I somehow can't see it."

"Maybe, 'cause they value my work?"

Slender leans closer handing Amelia the paper. She expected it to be a detention slip, however, she held her breath when she saw the evidence of her grade check.

Her notes from yesterday now had an "A" instead of a "C". Along with the same essay she was doing while talking shit about the man in front of her.

"Maybe, you were right." He chuckled as Amelia looked up at him.

She nearly teared up and Slender could sense it.

"S-Sorry." She sniffed wiping her teary eyes.

"No, i should apologize."

Amelia nodded looking up at him and her teary eyes nearly brought him to his knees. With his hand he wipes the tear away, catching both of them off-guard.

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

"Hey, Nina I won't be able to go." Amelia tells her friend as she walked to the library to start on the essay Slender left her.

"WHAT?! PLEASE! Jane won't go! She says she's busy doing something for her art class with Liu!"

"She so has a crush on him." Amelia teases stopping by her schools coffee stand to get a ice latte.

"Right! I even think they're already hooking up!"

"Why do you think that?"

"So, the other day she told me she was gonna go to yours, however, after you told me how you were studying for Splendor's class, that's when L.J told me he saw her exit Liu's room!"

"$4.99." The barista tells Amelia.

She nods listening to the rest of the gossip, however, before she can hand him the money a familiar hand gives the barista a 20-dollar bill.

"Make sure to get me the same thing but warm, I'll pay for hers," Slender tells the barista as he turns to Amelia who accidentally focuses on him instead of Nina.

"T-Thank you, profe-"

"Just call me Slender." He smiles at Amelia as the barista hands him his change.

"So, where are you heading if you don't mind telling me?"

"Oh, um to the library." She tells Slender.

"One Ice and a hot latte." The barista tells them.

Slender takes both of them and hands Amelia her iced latte.

"So, what do you think about the prompt?"

"Umm, well I do think it's pretty simple." She tells him as they walk side by side.

Slender nods taking a sip of his coffee and looks down as he walks by her side. He doesn't know why but all of a sudden his sight began drifting from her soft plumpy lips to down the valley of her breast, her curves, and down her ass.

Amelia pretended to not notice, and if she was honest she would freak out. However, she didn't care. It was weird. If he were another guy she would be running away from him, or even making the shit out of him. Both verbally and physically!

"So, how long have you been teaching?"

"Well, I have five years here." He nodded looking away and only looking at her lips as she smiled up at him.

"Where are you heading, if you also don't mind me asking?" They both laugh and continue walking.

"Back home to grade some papers." He nods as they come to a halt.

"Good luck, Amelia." He nods taking a detour.

"S-Slender!"

Slender turns back to Amelia and his eyes immediately meet her blue ones.

"I'm sorry for my behavior yesterday... and for talking smack about you."

Slender chuckles nodding and smiling at his student.

"Let's leave it in the past, Amelia." He smiles walking away from Amelia, leaving her a blushing and slightly panting mess.

"Oh my gosh!" Nina yelled from the other line, as Amelia bit her lip.

"I'm so fucked."

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

As she sat during class, for once she was distracted. And not at the assignment.

Amelia bit her pen as she watched the way Slender's grey dress shirt hugged his muscles. She had to hold back from breaking the pen as she began looking at the way his pants slightly hugged his waist and his ass.

She had to cross her legs just to feel some sort of friction as her panties grew wetter.

"Who here has already started the essay?" Slender asked, and a few along with Amelia raised their hands.

"If you wish for any help tell me." He nods eyeing Amelia who eyed him back and kept on biting her pen.

Slender began walking around and began walking indirectly towards Amelia.

"Need help?" He whispers leaning into her ear.

"Yeah," She lies.

Slender knew she didn't need help. He knew this assessment was a piece of candy for Amelia.

"Do you want the evidence to be in MLA format?" She asks him as all Slender pays attention to the cleavage of her breasts.

"As long as you make the point clear, Amelia." He growled out her name bringing a shiver up her spine and down her dripping core.

"Mhm," She nods as she continues to type into her laptop.

His hands caressed hers as he began walking to help another student. Throughout the whole class, they eyed one another and Amelia forgot about the essay in front of her.

When the bell rang, Amelia was the last to leave and as she walked out she spared Slender one last glance while he put some papers into his briefcase. Slender looked back at her and smiled softly when she giggled and walked out.

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

"I only need to finish three paragraphs, Nina. So, I'll only be there for you for a little while. Okay?"

Nina nodded squealing as Amelia added lipgloss to complete her look. As they got off their Uber they were pulled into a hug by E.J. who dragged them inside the house.

"Is Jane with you?!" E.J. yelled over the loud music.

"She's doing a work with Liu!" Amelia winks turning to Nina only to find her gone and probably looking for Jeff.

"WHAT?!"

"Jane-"

"So she's not here?!"

Amelia shakes her head turning to Hoodie as he snorts some white powder which Amelia is familiar with. Toby sat drinking a beer, meanwhile, Masky took a blunt from some random girl as she gave him a lap dance.

"Have you guys seen, Jeff?" Amelia asked them as she sat by Toby's side.

"Waiting for Jane." A drunk Toby tells Amelia.

"Why? She's not here."

"WHAT?!" All three guys yell out.

"She's working on an assignment!"

"Weren't you working on Slender's essay?" Hoodie asked her.

"I'm almost done! I'm just here for a little for Nina."

"Wait, where is she?"

"Looking for Jeff," Amelia tells them before taking a shot, and getting up to look for her friend.

"Anne!" Amelia yelled to her nursing friend who turned to her.

"I thought you med-students were not into parties!" Amelia jokes as Anne hugs her.

"I needed a break!" She laughs handing Amelia another shot.

"CHEERS TO FUCKING STRESS!" Amelia yelled out loud enough for her friends to hear.

Anne laughs and with Amelia takes a shot.

"Have you seen Nina?"

"She went upstairs! Jeff's upstairs!" She tells her before going back to talk to her friends.

Amelia walked upstairs and stumbled through the hall, as the alcohol took over her system. She laughed and stumbled open a door finding Nina crying and Jeff across from her.

"N-Nina, look I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong signs, but I was planning on asking Jane." Amelia hears Jeff confess to the girl who was obsessed with him.

"Fuck you and Jane!" She screamed out to Jeff before turning to Amelia.

"Did you know? Of course, you did!"

"What? Nina, no-"

"You did! You said E.J. told you!"

"Wait he told you?!" Jeff gasps afraid Jane knows, however, as if on cue E.J. comes rushing upstairs.

"RETREAT! RETREAT SHE'S NOT HERE! THE PLAN NEEDS TO RETREAT!" He runs in yelling.

"DUDE YOU TOLD HER?!" Jeff pointed at Amelia.

"No!" E.J. yelled turning to Amelia.

"Nina, E.J. only told me Jeff was planning on asking a girl! He didn't tell me who! Plus, I told you!"

"OH SO NOW IT'S MY FAULT HE BROKE MY HEART?!"

"N-No, t-that's not what I mean."

Nina walks out pushing the tipsy Amelia out of her way.

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

"Thanks, E.J." Amelia sniffed as he led her to her dorm.

"Anytime." He nods opening her door for her.

"Hey, remember your essay for Slender."

"Fuck, I forgot." She groans throwing her heels to the floor, and E.J. chuckles.

"Dude, just use ChatGpt. I bet he won't notice."

[cute-bag-of-bones]

Can't Trust A Supe

Part 2: Ma Petite Poulette

Part 1

Warnings: violence, implied death, swearing.

      The local library wasn't the ideal place to read a top secret file like this but it was the best I could do on short notice. At least it would be quiet.

       The papers inside were both typed and some were hand written. I could recognize my mom's curvy and heavy handed handwriting anywhere. The notes had to be written by her. I found my mom's resignation letter to vaught. She sighted wanting to start a family as the reason for the departure. There was also a copy of a legal document that was asking for my mother to return any stolen property she had taken with her. I read further and from what I can guess Vaught thought she stole some kind of serum. The document never specified the name.  

      There was also documentation of her and Homelander's relationship. The fact Vaught kept track of something like that really cemented to me how creepy Vaught is. They even noted how erratic Homelander became when she ended the relationship. 

     My chest tightened up as I read lower. It mentioned the incident at my family's compound. In this file they claim Homelander had gotten some intel that my father and his cult was planning a mass suicide. When Homelander came to stop them my father detonated the bombs killing everyone there instantly. 

      My hand balled into a fist as I looked up from the papers. Bank holidays and annual parades all spawned because of Vaught's lies. Children wear masks of my fathers face and throw candy bombs at each other. The last name Bishop became so unpopular that residents of New York City changed their names to avoid association. Even I had to take on an alias just to live my life in peace. All because a woman broke up with a man. I needed to calm down, I could see right through the librarian who was starting to notice the glowing blue light coming from my eyes. 

      I closed the file and looked at the number written on the front. Billy Butcher's Mary band of idiots, could they really kill Homelander? Could they do it without getting killed themselves? 

      I knew I would regret it but I had to be there when Homelander died. Even if I can just make him bleed. That will be enough, enough to show him his actions have consequences. No one is above revenge and at some point everyone's ticket will be punched, even his.

     Before I could think about how big of a mistake this was I called (uncle) Billy. He gave me an address to go to and hung up. I wasn't surprised when the address in question was another ran down building. I was surprised when he let me in and I saw a small woman curled up on the sofa and a large black man sitting at a table. Maybe he knew what he was doing. It had been less then a week and he had already conned two more suckered into helping him. 

     "You got more help?"

     "Oh yeah this is Mother's Milk and um oi Frenchie what are we calling her?" He said pointing to the wild looking girl. 

      "We are still working on that part. Hello ma petite poulette. Good to see you came around." Frenchie said with a wave. I'd have to Google what the hell he just called me. Hughie looked less sick this time which I guess was a good sign. 

      "Right, well I changed my mind. I want to help." I say walking in. The girl moved from the sofa and closer to frenchie. She looked at me like she was sizing me up. It made me uneasy but they seemed to trust her. 

      I got the rundown on the plan and all that had happened, it was half baked at best but it was better than nothing.

     "Wait, she crushed the guy's head? With her what?" I guess there are worse ways to go.

      "It was bad." M.M adds as he helps Frenchie put together some guns. 

      This group looked disorganized from the outside looking In but the more time I spent with them the more I realized they had some kind of system. A rhythm of some kind they all understood. It is taking me a few days to fall into it. I wasn't sure where I fit in yet. I know Billy is the ringleader. He sets it all up. Frenchie and M.M make it happen for him. Frenchie normally supplied the tools of the trade, M.M had the skills and cool head. The Female was easy enough to figure out. She is a Beast, a force of nature, in the best possible way. It was sickeningly beautiful how quickly she could tear through a guy. 

         Hughie was the last I figured out but he's the moral compass and he is pretty good for morale to because picking on him is fun. But he's the heart of this outfit without a doubt. 

         Today Billy had something for me to do. He needed a key card from this security guard at a desk of a medical research center or something. It needed to be clean. Frenchie and I were sent in. It was meant to be Hughie and I but he had a bad cheese dog and couldn't leave the bathroom so we improvised.

        It was 11 pm and pouring rain when I walked up to the glass door. I had to get close enough to him to ensure he would survive the encounter. I had been practicing with rats at the hideout and felt confident I could do this on a human. I just needed to close the distance before he got suspicious. I tapped on the glass and held my hands out in a prying motion. 

        "Please I need help!" I yell past the glass. I needed him to unlock the door. I knew I looked very unintimidating. At least to most men. A 5'5 blonde girl didn't scream danger to most people. He got up and sighed as he walked over to the door. 

        "I'm sorry ma'am the lab is closed." He shouted back through the glass.

        "No wait I'm sorry, I'm super lost downtown and my phone died. Can I use a phone? I need to call my mom." The whole time I was looking inside him. Scanning making sure I could do this clean. He hesitated for a moment before finally opening the door to me. 

       "Just be quick please." He said as he showed me to the phone at the front desk. He stood next to me and waited for me to make my call. So I did, I called Frenchie's burner to let him know I was in and that he should head this way. The phone rang and just as planned he didn't answer. I looked up at the man and began my real part of the plan. I start by lowering his blood pressure. He begins to sweat. It was a delicate balancing act between being quick enough he doesn't get suspicious and being careful enough not to kill him. He grabs the corner of the desk and I take the change to put the phone down and help him into his seat. 

       "Are you alright?" I ask as I continue my attack. He tries to grab the phone, likely thinking he was having some kind of stroke. I make his eyes close and apply the lightest amount of pressure to his carotid arteries trying to slow oxygen getting to the brain. Soon his own brain does the rest as he slips into sleep. I run and open the door for Frenchie who comes sprinting in. 

       "What did you do to him?" 

       "He's just sleeping. Go do what you have to. I have to stay down here to make sure he doesn't wake up." He nods and grabs the guards key card and takes an elevator up. The cameras had already been taken care of so my only worry was keeping this guy out cold. I let up on his carotid arteries, scared the limited amount of oxygen to the brain would leave him with lasting effects. He stirred slightly but still seemed to be asleep in his chair. Soon Frenchie came running down with some files and a flash drive.

       "Help me grab him." He said as he tried to lift the security guard from his chair. 

      "What why?"

      "I might have made a small mistake and caught the lab on fire. Just grab his legs for me, ma petite poulette." Frenchie pleaded as he tried to drag the larger man. I hurried and grabbed his ankles and laid him on the sidewalk as the van pulled up. The cold rain and movement was enough to make him come too. He started to open his eyes as the van doors closed with Frenchie and I safely inside. It was a rush, we were greeted with a very happy M.M who pulled me into the tightest hug I had even received.

       "You did it kid! That was great!" He said letting me go. Even Billy was smiling and for once it wasn't for something bad. 

          I was walking back to the shelter that night when some asshole came up from behind me and grabbed my backpack. It ripped and all my stuff fell on the wet ground. Books, wallet, snacks and my ancient Homelander plush. The mugger tried to grab my wallet but before he could a red gloved hand grabbed him by his head and flung him into the air. I screamed in surprise and fell on my butt. Every hair on my body stood on end as I looked up and saw Homelander himself in front of me. I had thought for so long what I would do when presented with this opportunity. Here he was right in front of me and I was so scared I couldn't even move. 

      "Oh we got an old fan." He says as he bends down and picks up the old Homelander toy. "One of the first series. Very rare, if you want I'll sign it for you sweetheart." He says with a grin that makes me sick to my stomach. 

      "N-no thank y-you." I say as I pick up my torn bag and start to put stuff back into it. He just stood there looking at the toy.

      "Where did you get this, I don't think it ever went to stores. Marketing thought the smile was too wide on it and that it would creep out kids." He said with a laugh. 

       "I don't remember." I say quickly I couldn't exactly say my mom you dated gave it to me. I stand up and hold my bag opened for him to drop it in. He stared at me for a second as his grin left his face. 

     "You know you look so familiar. Did you go to the fan signing in Central Park?" He asked as he put the plush back in my bag. I never looked him in the eyes. I couldn't every time I saw his photo on billboards all I could see was his glowing red eyes. I looked down at the ground.

      "Um yeah yeah I was. It was great meeting you. I have to go through." I say quickly as I run across to the other side of the road. I didn't look back as I speed walked away. 

       "Wait one minute." He said in a commanding voice. I froze solid right in my spot. He walked in front of me and held up my wallet. I must have missed it on the ground.

      "Oh thank you so much. It was great meeting you but I have classes tomorrow. " I say as I take it back from him I lie for my life.

     "Yes of course school is very important, you have a safe night." He says before he jumps into the air. I had never ran so fast in my life.

      In bed that night I was beating myself up. He was right there why couldn't I just do it. It would have been perfect. No one around, just him and I. I could have ended it then and there. I hated myself for being too pathetic to do what I knew was right. Finally I let myself fall asleep. All night I was haunted by his red eyes and the sounds of rubble falling.

      The next day I got a new bag and had my lunch under a tree in the park when I heard a familiar voice behind me. 

      "How's the sandwich?" I jumped and looked around as Homelander floated down onto view. A bit of sandwich wedged itself in my throat. I started to cough and hack before finally it flew out. Homelander made a disgusted face but then smiled down at me. A crowd park might have been safer for me but it made me more nervous. Seeing him in person in broad daylight is somehow more terrifying than you could ever imagine.

I think I have it all figured out I'm going to be posting every other day and on the off days I'll be posting a Batfam fanfic on another Tumblr if that interests you at all here's that link feel free to stop by.

[withpeopleinperson]

11, 12, and 20 for "i choose you and me, religiously" please? it's one of my favs!

omg hi thank u for asking me these!!!!! I love talking about my fics and I especially love when ppl send dms or asks about them off anon because it’s nice to know that real actual people are reading my things !

11. Was there a scene that you hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

yes!! so i had the entire thing meticulously planned out and the sick regina scene wasn’t supposed to be in it! neither was the one where they sleep apart and call each other! then a million little things within the fic that originally weren’t planned either (the johnny cash quote, the . i think the main motivator in including them or fitting them in was just that it was so Them that the moment it popped into my head i had to put them in that fic instead of the long document of scene/dialogue/action ideas!

12. Was there a scene you wished you could have included? Why didn't it fit in?

oh my lanta YES! this fic has been in some stage of planning for nearly 3 years and I would chip away at it little by little with ideas and plans that never came to fruition. there was supposed to be a scene where they walk past a park and cady swings with regina and encourages her to heal her inner child, one where they fuck in a bathroom stall, one where they take a road trip and cady picks blue cotton candy bc the color is similar to reginas icy eyes

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

the typos & the lack of italics bc ao3 didn’t import them. hahaha im just joking but there are two typos that it won’t let me fix. but there’s so many little things i peppered in that i wish ppl would tell me they notice. callbacks to the beginning of the fic, full circle moments, the way gretchen and karen are nearly integral plot points without doing much at all. im gonna put some under the cut here for the people who want to notice them on a 2nd or 3rd read through

- the fic starts with cady bringing regina a coffee, near the end regina is the one making cadys coffee

- cady’s careful consideration of regina and her feelings. when she thinks she might offend regina about the spin class, she carefully shifts her wording. she always accepts a drink to make regina not feel self conscious about drinking more or too much. she shares things with regina in conversation when she’s worried regina is self conscious about opening up too much. cady is so attuned to the emotions and thoughts of the people around her

- and on that note. cady is the quiet leader of the relationship while regina makes every physical move. cady is always anticipating reginas thoughts and actions and feelings, always prepared to gently lead them towards the next steps even if she lets regina do all the leading

- reginas extensive shoe and bag collection. i had an entire pinterest board dedicated to her seasonal colors

- the book they read. the way they read it. it’s such a small detail and barely central to the plot but I love that part.

- the way they enmesh so well. it reminds me of a concept that’s been fairly pertinent in my life recently, the fact that you are a combination of all the people you have ever loved, and i think you can look at cady and regina in this fic and see what parts of each other they adopt into themselves. like regina getting water for her bedside table even when cady isn’t there

- i also love the way the proposal scene goes as a full circle moment. it calls back the parking lot being their place, the ring being the expensive thing regina wants to surprise her with in the johnny cash quote scene, the callback to fetchen’s wedding and how regina didn’t think she was cut out for marriage. ugh, it’s excellent.

that was just a lot of me blabbing about me own fic so please feel free to ignore haha

[artxyra]

The Forgotten Marriage - WIP

This story will either sit on my computer and never to be finished or be rewritten into a different idea in the future. IDK. Either way, here’s the second part of a Brucinette one-shot that I was working on before stopping. 

They all waited impatiently for their mysterious guest. Alfred had gone to answer the door. There wasn’t even a doorbell ring.

Despite his father’s paranoia, Damian couldn’t find anything on a person named Callahan. He searched through all their databases. He even inquired the help of Tim.

It was no secret that they were all on edge.

When Alfred returns, a man in a brown trench coat holding a briefcase stands behind him.

“Mr. Callahan is here to shed some light on the situation regarding Master Bruce’s disappearance. Unfortunately, even some things are out of my hands, and this is one of them. Let enjoy dinner while it’s still hot and save the questions for after.”

Dinner was silent with small talk here and there. The family of detectives hung onto every word the man said. Trying to figure out his plan.

Alfred clears the table, leaving the detectives with their prey. Callahan clears his throat and lifts the briefcase onto the table. “As Alfred mentioned when I’d first arrived, the name’s Callahan, and I’m one of Bruce’s lawyers.”

Damian glowers at the man, slamming his hand down.  “I know all of father’s lawyers, but your name has never come up. Who are you, really, Callahan?”

Callahan smirks, “I’m someone that worked with Bruce long before any of your arrivals to the family.” The briefcase clicks open.

Kate, who asked to join dinner as support, spent the time analyzing the lawyer. Callahan, why did that name sound so familiar? She ran years of memories trying to piece it together. Her gasp is covered by a feign cough into her fist.

Callahan sends her a curt nod before proceeding to take out a folder.

“For anyone who doesn’t know, there is a Mrs. Bruce Wayne,” Callahan announces, revealing a marriage certificate. Dick is the first to take the certificate into his hands. He doesn’t say a word, noticing the year dating back almost two decades.

The document seemed so foreign.

“A-and it’s not Selina?” Dick hasn’t let go of the document when Tim asks Callahan the question. Yet the uncertainty of the question made it all too real.

“Ms. Kyle is not one of my cases regarding Mr. Wayne. Though, Mr. Wayne did call me to draw up some papers if they were to pursue a serious relationship such as marriage.”

“Divorce papers?” Callahan chuckles and shifts through papers. By now, everyone had viewed the marriage certificate.

“They are on everything except paper.” He pulls out an unsigned divorce document dated a few years later after the marriage certificate.

A lot of things can happen in a span of a few years. Dread fills Damian. Was being the only blood child a lie?

Dick sees the torment in Damian, and asks, “Did they have any children?” If they did, the child would have been around Tim’s age.

Callahan shakes his head. “I’m unsure. When they filed the divorce initially, there no mention of children. Mrs. Cheng and I are not in contact with each other unless it’s to discuss Mr. Wayne and their marriage.”

“She doesn’t go by Wayne?” Damian perks up. Maybe all his fears were for nothing.

“Heavens no, Mrs. Cheng wants nothing to do with the name. Their marriage was not that out of love but out of necessity. Think it of as a business transaction. They wanted their legacy to be protective.”

“This is a take it to my grave kind of secret, isn’t it?” Jason looks up, the divorce and marriage certificate both in his hands.

“In a way, yes. Mr. Wayne hoped that you all would have been of age, or that he would have remarried by this time. Unfortunately, none of those are at play.”

“Who else knows?” That was one of many million-dollar questions for tonight.

Callahan takes another breath, eyeing a folder labeled “NDAs.”

“Once again, I am unsure. I only have NDAs for those not in their inner circle.” Callahan takes the folder into his grasp.

“Then why tell us?” Jason demands, slamming the papers down on the table with no care of their importance.

“Hmm, Mr. Wayne’s will, of course.”

“Fuck his will; Bruce should be the one telling us about this stuff like the man he is.” Jason was fuming. The weight of this hidden truth finally set in.

“Jason,” Dick murmurs, looking at his youngest brother. “Yelling at Callahan is going to get us nowhere.” Jason scoffs.

“You know I’m right. Imagine the life we could have had.” None of the Wayne kids could have refuted that. Since the whole Bruce is married came up, they all wonder what their lives could have been. Would some of them even be here?

Callahan clears his throat. “The W.E. board has elected Mrs. Cheng to continue running the business until Mr. Drake, here has come of age.” He pauses. “That’s if you wish to continue being the co-CEO.”

Tim doesn’t answer the lawyer. He couldn’t. Stephanie rests her hand against Tim’s arm, sending him a small smile. Instead of speaking, he sends the lawyer an acknowledging nod, hoping no one else would have noticed.

Setting down her glass of water, Cass puts out, “She’s coming here, isn’t she?”

“You’ll be correct, Miss Cassandra.” Alfred appears. “Mr. Callahan, please state what is in the will.”

Callahan nods and begins to read a section of the will aloud. “If I, Bruce Thomas Wayne, were to go without contact after ninety days then my wife, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Wayne, will take control of all my assets until I am declared officially deceased…”

Callahan stops after reading. “Mr. Wayne always had a knack for overly preparing. The reason, I am here is because no-one had been in contact with Mr. Wayne in over ninety days.”

“But there that been times when Bruce did go MIA for over ninety days, but what makes this one so different?” Dick points out.

“That will be where I come in, Master Richard. You are correct that this is not the first time as I’m always aware. However, I personally had no contact with him nor has Ms. Cheng or any of you. I was skeptical at first to bring Mr. Callahan here to enact his will, but the Wayne Enterprise board forced my hand.”

“The broad? What does the broad have to do with this?” Tim asks, remembering the unopened business emails.

“The Bruce sabbatical plan backfired. They were already planning on hiring a new CEO; Mr. Fox declined the idea, and legally Ms. Cheng was the next person in line. They had called her to which she called me for answers.” Oh. That was not the news the family wanted to hear.

They all fumble to say the right words. Some got up and left the table completely. This was out of their hands, and it was practically too late to find any loopholes.

“Dinner was wonderful as always, Alfred. I’m sorry that it ended the way it did.” Callahan states at the main door. Alfred shakes his head and reassures the lawyer.

“It’ll be nice to have a woman’s touch in here.” Kate states from behind the butler. “Why didn’t you mention Terry. They have a right to know, especially the kid.”

“Terrence has no interest in knowing his father legacy. Him and Master Bruce had a fallout the last time they spoke. He looks up to Mr. Couffaine as a father figure.” Kate and Callahan shake their heads. They know what’s coming.

The three bid their farewells. Yet, Alfred remains deep in thought.

[sophia-sol]

The progression of my work on my website over the last week or so, as documented on mastodon:

one

heeheehee I get to learn JAVASCRIPT now via the method of just diving right in there! (aka. downloading the zonelets starter pack to use for formatting my website, and digging into the script to see what I want to change!)

awww opening the zonelets css stylesheet and it feels so comfortably familiar! I love how much work I put into understanding css, via creating an ao3 personal theme!

also, seeing how these files all work together, the javascript and css and html, I understand the relationship between what you do with each of them far more. It makes sense to me now! the structure of building a site!

two

I'm learning things about filezilla…I'm learning things about website structures….I'm learning how bad ao3's html download files are.

three

I have one entire fic posted to my website! YESSSS!

I'm doing my best to divorce from ao3 my sense of what structure and language I should be using in the various preamble that goes with a given fic. I don't need to use the same categories of data, and I don't need to call things the same thing! and I don't even need to have the same sections on every fic if I don't want to, if something isn't relevant for that fic!!

four

I made one entire change to the javascript for my site, and it WORKED, I am so powerful 💪

five

I'm just so emotional about the people of the smallweb who code their little projects and then give them away freely - with instructions! - so that others of us can build our own little projects! My website, the main site and the linkding instance, couldn't be what it is without the help of many people, friends and strangers! 🥹

six

I keep going to my website and shrieking a bit internally. it looks like a website!!!

seven

for most programs, there's not enough customization, I can't make it behave in ways that are useful to me, and it's endlessly irritating

visual studio code: I got u bro

I'm actually intimidated by the notion of scrolling through all the customization options of vsc, damn!

eight

look how many fics I have posted on my website now!

this listing page still has some tweaking to do for maximum clarity of reading/skimming over the info, but this is still great progress!

I am a firm believer of the web design principle of "if people have to focus to figure out how to find the info they're looking for, the problem is with the design rather than the user" and I'm not out of the woods yet

nine

OKAY I think I've got my fandom list page looking a lot more clear now, via tweaking my use of whitespace! hooray!

ten

oh my god. I just realized. the "zap colours" and "zap stylesheets" bookmarklets I use semiregularly are…..snippets of code. that I now know approximately how to read! and could edit to get slightly different results, if I wanted to!!

the world opens up to you, when you learn things about coding!

eleven

things I want to add to my website:

theme-picker, so people who do better with dark mode etc can still comfortably browse my site

comments on fanwork pages and blog pages

table of contents on fic pages so you can easily jump down to the section you want to

all the rest of my fanworks - 12 fics are up but that's not nearly everything!

BIRD SHRINE.

and all of this is very doable! so exciting.

twelve

omg I submitted a feature request to linkding and LATER THE SAME DAY a fix is committed:

between this and the default guest profile stuff I am soooo excited for the next linkding release

thirteen

I've started to write up a podcast recs page for my website because I figured that would be cool content to have. but I forgot. how wordy I can be. and HOW many podcasts I listen to.

my original plan was just a list of podcasts. my second plan was to include a sentence or two about each one, as context.

my current document has multiple paragraphs per podcast. most podcast descriptions are between 150-200 words each. and I have so many podcasts to go!

fourteen

my list of fanworks by vibe is now posted to my site!

also posted: just my faves of my fanfics!

and a history of the fandoms I've been in!

fifteen

…and the next linkding release is OUT NOW. today! hot damn. ok. ok. I am not prepared, it's usually not this quick between releases!

I hope I have time soon to dig into this and get my instance updated!!

[unfriendlyamazon]

Black Coffee and a Funny Cigarette (free day)

i didn’t really have a plan for the last day of @joukaiweek buuuut i’ve had this sitting in my secret documents for a while. a sort of sequel to this gangster au, overly self-indulgent, and utterly tragic.

Title: Black Coffee and a Funny Cigarette Rating: M Characters: Joey Wheeler, Seto Kaiba Word Count: 2209 Warnings: Depression, Aftermath of Violence, Weed, Family Estrangement, Mokuba Is Dead In This One, Discussions of Violence, Swears, Sex, Minimally Researched Historical Fiction Summary: It’s the end of a long night for Joey Wheeler, and he seeks some comfort in the form of black coffee, and a funny cigarette.

...

Joey runs a hand through the wet strands of his bleached hair and tries to avoid his reflection in the mirror. The steam from the shower works to cover the small medicine cabinet in the skinny bathroom of his tiny apartment, but blotches of color still make it through. The straw colored yellow, the warm tan of his skin, and the purple bruises that bloom on his face like water stains. His knuckles are red and raw, and he buries them in the scratchy towel before pulling on his overshirt and opening the door.

Night has stayed nested outside the single tiny window he called his own, but now early morning leaks shades of red into the midnight blue. Inside, the lamps were lit, making spots of warm light against the brick and plaster walls. Joey’s lucky to have an apartment fit for one, even if the metal frame bed is pushed up against the far wall, leaving only a little space between there and the cubby kitchen. The furniture can’t even be comfortably called second hand. No, the shabby pieces have been rescued from dumps and resale shops. A radio sits on the table, one of the only relatively new appliances he owns. Jazz crackles out of the speakers, the sort they played for late night insomniacs and sleepy workers starting their day or waiting to see it end.

The newest addition to his apartment comes in the tall dark shape of Seto Kaiba. He’s pulled a frayed robe over his shoulders and is now pouring himself a cup of black coffee in the small kitchen area. His eyes have a similar red rimmed sleepiness that Joey identifies with too well with. Since bringing him into the fray with his usual gang, he’s taken to the work with a relative easiness and unflinching attitude that others have already noticed. His night hasn’t been half as rough as Joey’s, but he waited for him at the bar until Joey shuffled in with the rest of the boys, face half-bloodied and knuckles cracked. The right thing to do, Joey knew, was share a drink with the gang, a moment of camaraderie and bravado after another night of doing their worst, but Seto wrapped a jacket around his shoulders and guided him onto the darkened street where they walked in silence, just the heavy footfalls of their feet and the click of Seto’s cane against the gray concrete.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he crossed the small space to Joey’s side.

“Better,” he mutters and turns away from him. The bed creaks beneath him as he falls back. He squeezes his eyes shut and sinks into the stiff mattress. A headache pulses in the front of his temple. He doesn’t figure for getting much sleep tonight.

“I thought you’d feel this way,” Seto says from somewhere above him. The tips of his long fingers brush the sheets beside Joey, like he isn’t sure if he should touch him. “I can leave, if you’d like.”

Wordlessly, Joey reaches across, finding Seto’s wrist and holding him there. The thought of facing sunrise alone leaves a pit in his stomach. Seto still has a bed in some shared tenement, but more and more he spends his nights here, warming Joey’s pillows after a night out in the cold. They’ve never put into words what exactly their arrangement even is. Partners implies a certain amount of intent to a relationship carried mostly by momentum, and sweethearts is too saccharine and dovey for Joey to care for it. Lovers conjures images of elicit affairs tucked behind gilded couches, or maybe love lorn letters brimming with heartfelt emotions. It isn’t the sort of word used to describe two brow beaten men, exhausted and empty, looking to fill up on whatever comforts they could manage.

Tonight is a night for comfort.

“Of course,” Seto says, and his lips brush Joey’s forehead. “I think I have just the thing.”

The bed depresses next to him, and he peeks an eye open as Seto leans over the nightstand. His cane is rested beside the bed, the dull wood a dark shape in the dim lighting. His hands move like he was looking for his cigarettes, but he pulls out a small tin that, when opened, reveals a number of smaller rolled sticks. Reefer. Along with the banning of alcohol, the teetotal committee has been in a tizzy over the immigrant weed which passed through every club in New York. Their gang doesn’t deal much in it besides enjoying it. They smoked a stick together on the veranda outside a jazz club, and Seto always kept a few on him, for his hip he said.

He strikes a match now and brings the joint to his lips. Joey watches him inhale, his chest expanding as he sucks in the musky smelling herb. He holds it in his chest for a few heartbeats before exhaling it. Smoke dances blue in the yellow light of the lamps. It’s all Joey could focus on as he takes the offered joint and sucks in a breath himself. His ribs ache, his limbs are sore, and he can feel every bone in his body, broken or not. George Olsen croons from the table, the soft rhythm of the song setting a gentle tenor to the air.

Each breath unspools the tension in his chest. Joey and Seto just breathe for a while, in and out, to the time of the radio’s melodies. At some point, they climb into bed proper. Seto’s lean frame leaves his back against the wall as Joey lays against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm in his ear, and he closes his eyes against it. The sky is still lightening outside, but for right now Joey can pretend that this is the whole world. The little apartment, the music, him, and Seto.

“They’re playing some Charlie Chaplin pictures at the theater this week,” Seto says. His fingers brush through Joey’s hair. “We should go.”

Joey smiles. “You love those.”

“They make me laugh,” he says without a drop of amusement in his voice.

That makes Joey laugh, and he squeezes him a little tighter. “You’re buying. I heard someone’s working the books now.”

Seto hums. It’s no secret one of the bookmakers had up and left mysteriously overnight, after more than a few mistakes in his accounting were discovered. Seto had run numbers for a short while before someone up top realized his street smarts barely measured up to his business sense. Better money than street work, more perks too, so long as you keep your hands clean and don’t scrape off the top.

“We oughtta go out to Coney Island,” Joey continues. “Get a hot dog, play some games.”

“I’ve never been before,” Seto says. His fingers still stroke the long strands of Joey’s hair. With his eyes closed, Seto’s voice comes from somewhere distant, the soft slow murmur of his voice laying on Joey like a blanket.

“It’s the best,” Joey says. “No place like it on Earth, far as I know. Maybe we could go swimming. You own a bathing suit?”

“No,” he drawls, and Joey laughs again.

“We used to go all the time,” he says. A pang of melancholy strikes his heart, but his mouth is already moving. “You can ride the train straight to it. Even after they started charging for the parks, we’d save our nickels. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as happy as I was sitting on the boardwalk with a corndog with my sister.”

Seto’s fingers pause. He tucks a strand of yellow hair behind Joey’s ear. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

The melancholy settles in like a well worn jacket. Joey buries his face in Seto’s side. “She’s in California. I haven’t seen her in ten years.”

Seto says nothing, and Joey’s grateful. If Seto presses even a little bit, Joey doesn’t know if he could stop himself from telling the full sad tale, and he doesn’t want to. It’s not anybody else’s burden to bear, or anybody else’s secret to keep.

“I had a brother,” Seto finally says. “It’s been a long time as well.”

Joey opens his eyes and sits straight up. Seto’s hand falls away from him. He doesn’t know what he expects to see, as Joey searches Seto’s face, maybe some tears, maybe a tremor to his lips, but Seto looks at him the way he always does. His expression is a guarded secret, a bank vault begging to be cracked open.

“Is that why you left?” Joey asks. “Texas. You said something happened.”

Seto puts a hand on the locket he wears around his neck. He’s opened it exactly once around Joey, who saw the braided strand of hair inside but had asked no questions. It’s how it works between the two of them. Sometimes Joey suspected Seto liked to hear him talk so much because it kept his own fragile thoughts at bay.

“His name was Mokuba,” Seto says. “He was the only thing I had left. After his funeral, I went to my adopted father’s office, and I bludgeoned him to death before burning the place to the ground.”

Seto’s gaze hasn’t moved from Joey’s. He waits, unflinching, for Joey to say anything at all. Dares him to. He’s confessed to a murder. No, he’s confessed to an execution. Joey reaches out with his own blood covered hands, holding Seto’s face, and he lets out a dry, cracked laugh.

“We’re as fucked up as you can get,” Joey says. “Sometimes I think we’re made for each other.”

Seto stares at him, and then he pulls Joey close to kiss him. It’s a messy thing. They’re both sluggish and sad and grateful to feel the warmth of another person. New York is a cold and lonely place, so full of people and so empty of hope. But here, in this room, in this bed, with Seto’s breath against his skin, and the heat between them, they can grind away a little of that hard outer shell they worked so hard to keep. For a little while, they can feel anything at all.

They fuck, or make love, Joey isn’t sure which. It’s never like the way he’s had it before. Joey’s body isn’t the same beneath his clothes, and with every other lay he’s either been careful about how much of himself to reveal or fuck people he knows don’t care. Seto’s hip is fragile, and so the times they’re rough are still taken with care. It’s the first time they feel fully bare to another person, the only time someone has taken either of them with care. Tonight’s it’s lazy. Joey nips his skin without intent, and Seto’s hands draw up and down his spine. They stop to kiss each other and start again to feel their skin move together. Even after they’ve come, they don’t move free of each other. The sun’s come up outside, softening the warm glow of the lamps and painting everything in hazy shades of pink and blue, and they share the tail end of the reefer between their lips. They lay together, not an inch of space to spare.

Joey rests his head in the crook of Seto’s neck. Seto’s arms are loose around him. He breaches slow and deep, falling asleep, and it tickles the hair on Joey’s head. Tears prick the corner of Joey’s eyes as he feels the hollow well in his chest suddenly overrun. It’s been a long, hard night. He feels rough and raw in a way that isn’t entirely bad, which is so often how he feels in bed with someone else. This is the first time that feeling hasn’t left him scrambling for the hills. Instead, Seto sighs and holds him a little a tighter. Joey presses his lips to his jaw.

“You should stay,” he says.

A dry laugh shakes Seto’s chest. “I had no intention of moving, I promise you.”

Joey looks up at him. “You should stay here. You and me. I don’t wanna be without you.”

It’s too earnest of a confession, he knows. It’s the reefer, making his head fuzzy, and when they wake up in a few hours they can laugh. Except, tonight they’ve been too honest with each other, and none of it can be taken back. Joey doesn’t want to.

Seto presses his forehead to his, he’s smiling in a way Joey so rarely gets to see. “Of course I’ll stay.”

Relief breaks in Joey’s chest. He kisses him again, and again, and again. His lips are wet from crying, and Seto laps away his tears. They’re kissing moves him inside Joey, who offers a desperate thankful thrust. They do make love this time, no longer lazy but set to satisfy each other, to share in a brief and happy solidarity. Without Seto, Joey’s night would’ve been spent alone and empty, dark, and cold, the apartment stinking of sweat and blood. Joey doesn’t know if he could stand it. But somehow, Seto’s spread the dawn across their little haven, and the air is warm and layered with the scent of black coffee and his funny cigarettes.

[cocobuny]

My Moon Part 1

Characters : Luan (Portuguese meaning: moon) Watanabe and Kun (meaning: earth) Shin

"You are so stupid! Stop being so in denial! Can't you see that I love you more than him! He doesn't even love you, he treats you as a brother! How long do I have to wait until you realize what your heart really wants? JC tell me, how-"

My laptop closes in front of me and I just explode, "Ah~ Luan why'd you close it? It was just getting good," I lean forward to open it back up but he grabs my hand before I can do so. 

"Kun, that's enough. Don't you have something to finish by tomorrow?"

"Oh that? I can finish that after one last episode, I swear," I reach over again to open my laptop but Luan stops me for the second time. 

"Kun," he starts with a stern tone, "we both know one last episode means absolutely nothing. So please can you just finish this one chapter, I need to get started on the editing. If I don't, we won't be able to go to the beach on Thursday."

He's got me, I've been looking forward to this little getaway we had planned months ago. So I sigh and get back to typing. I'm a writer, an amateur with a big following, I guess; and Luan is my editor. He's also my best friend and roommate. We share an apartment together in the heart of the city. 

I spend half the day writing and I finish enough chapters that would last for 2 weeks. Stretching my arms up, I call out, "oh baby moon~ guess who finished his job?"

Luan poked his head out from the kitchen and smiled, "good job my earth, I finished cooking, so we can eat now. But make sure you save and email me the document, okay? We wouldn't want all your hard work to disappear." Luan comes out holding two plates full with food. 

I run up to the table and sit down, as soon as we lift our utensils, a voice calls out from my room, "thanks guys, I wasn't hungry at all." Nara walks towards us scratching her head and yawning. 

"I thought you were still asleep, so I didn't wake you up; and I know you stayed up pretty late last night," Luan goes back to the kitchen and comes back with another plate. 

"Oh, I've been awake for a while now. You guys were just so sweet that bees were coming in through Kun's room. I wasn't planning on getting attacked by bees, so I came out."

We eat in silence for a while before Nara starts talking again, "how long have guys been dating? You guys seem so openly close, but never said anything?"

Both Luan and I choke on our food, "we're not dating!" We say at the same time, Nara bursts into laughter and says, "okay, I'll keep it a secret. I guess you guys aren't out yet."

"Look Nara, you got it all wrong. Kun and I, we aren't in a relationship, we're just really good friends. We've known each other since we were kids, so obviously we'd be really close. Right Kun?"

I stare blankly and blink a few times until I receive the signal Luan was sending, "yeah, we're not dating. In fact one of us has a girlfriend and the other has fake relationships. We’re very far from being boyfriends or anything like that." After saying this, Nara laughs awkwardly. 

"Sorry guys, it's just I really thought something was happening between the two of you. You guys have just acted differently ever since we first met." 

Once again, the apartment is filled with silence; until Luan speaks up, "the paperworks are ready for the move, so all you have to do is pack up and move a few floors down." Luan stands up to grab a folder and puts it onto the table. 

"Well, I guess it's time to say goodbye. It was really nice to have you around, but I am very much sick of seeing your face everyday," I laugh making Luan glare at me, so I continue, "no, that was a joke. I feel like I got to know you better. So cheers to a new chapter and to our everlasting friendship," I hold up my cup and wait for the others to join, but no one does, "what the heck guys, why're you just leaving me hanging here?"

"Uh, cause it sounds like you're the one moving out and not me," Nara takes a sip of water and Luan continues. 

"I mean you could move out if you wanted to, I'm not going to stop you if that's what you want."

"Aw~ you know I can't live without you, I'm never leaving your side Luan. Never ever," I smirk and hold my cup up again, "so cheers to Nara's new chapter! Let's hope she gets a significant other soon!"

"CHEERS!"

"Wait, why would I get into a relationship? I'm very much an independent woman who doesn't want to worry about another person just yet. Besides, it should be Kun who should get a partner soon."

"Heh? Why would I? And what if I did have a partner but didn't tell you, remember I said-"

"Yeah yeah, one of us has a girlfriend and the other has fake relationships, I can tell who has the fake relationship. Besides, I've seen your drafts for the upcoming chapters, and they're really touchy. You can watch all the dramas, movies, and read all the romance shit you want, but nothing beats personal experience. Aren't I right, Luan?"

Luan nods in silence and I just slowly blink at him; I can't believe he's actually siding with her right now, so far with these years of friendship huh? 

"Well, I think I'mma get going now, I wouldn't wanna be a bother to you guys anymore. I can move in today, right?"

"Yep, you just need  to go to the lobby and pick up your key."

Nara stands up and brings her plate to the sink; shortly after, Luan follows. Are those two really just gonna act like nothing just happened? A person in a relationship and a single person just outed me for being single and writing a romance novel. I mean it's not my fault no one can handle my hot ass, well except for one person. The person who knows me for who I really am, a person in denial about their identity and practically closeted.

[charlotte-lancer]

My Whumptober Day 3 fill, for "gun to temple". Codywan. No character death. 1100 words, also available on AO3.

Things had started normally enough. Obi-Wan and Cody were meeting in Obi-Wan's quarters, discussing the best way to intercept a suspected Separatist strike. Cody was sitting at Obi-Wan's kitchen table, his helmet taking up much of the table's small surface area.

Obi-Wan had offered several times to clear a space on the shelf for it, especially as Cody had been spending more nights in Obi-Wan's quarters than in his own since their relationship had began, but each time Cody had declined, citing a desire to hang on to some shred of plausible deniability if someone were to turn up in Obi-Wan's quarters unexpectedly. A committed space on the shelf implied something, Cody had said, whereas placing it on the table or the counter could be passed off as setting it down for convenience during a quick visit.

The space that wasn't being used by the helmet was occupied by stacks of documents, maps, two comms, a cup of caffeine, and the saucer where Obi-Wan's cup of tea had been placed, until he had stood to refill it a moment ago.

As he put another pot of water on to boil, Obi-Wan listened to Cody recap what they knew about the Separatist cell in question. Unfortunately, the amount of data that they had was far less than either of them would have like it to be, and their information was at least third hand at this point- given to them by the Council, who'd been given the information by someone who was considered a reliable source but who hadn't been named in their report.

Once the water was heating, Obi-Wan opened the cabinet above the stove, pulling down two plates and a packet of biscuits that had been sent to him by Senator Amidala.

Obi-Wan heavily suspected that the gift was meant as an appreciation for his continual efforts in pretending that he was unaware of her relationship with Anakin; most recently, he had definitely not seen them kissing in a public hallway, and certainly hadn't heard them whispering sweet nothings to each other as he determinedly walked by without looking in their direction.

The biscuits were rather good, at least. He'd received others, usually after similar incidents, but so far these were his favorite; a light orange sponge hand-dipped in blue chocolate, and sprinkled with spices native Naboo. He looked forward to sharing them with Cody, who he knew had developed a secret fondness for blue chocolate.

"Dear," Obi-Wan called between two points of the recap, turning to face Cody. "Would you like another caf while I'm up?" The pot was still mostly full, and their planning session was likely to continue for some time yet.

"Thanks, but I-" Cody stopped as one of their comms began to buzz. It was unusual for someone to call at this early hour, but hardly unheard of. The war didn't lend itself to keeping a normal schedule, after all. Perhaps they'd be lucky and the caller was someone with more information on the Separatist's plans.

Obi-Wan glanced from Cody to the table. Not his own comm, apparently. It was laying as still as ever as Cody's comm buzzed beside it.

Cody reached for the buzzing comm, and brought it up to his ear, giving Obi-Wan a quick smile before accepting the call.

Obi-Wan couldn't hear whoever was on the end, but Cody seemed to be listening with rapt attention. Obi-Wan gave a smile back, and turned to the counter again, plating some of the biscuits.

Just as he was debating whether to grab forks to go with the plates- the sponge portion of the biscuits was soaked in some sort of sweet syrup, which was really quite prone to sticking to one's hands- he felt a cool weight press against the back of his head.

He started to turn, amused at Cody's method of passing off the comm to him, and froze as he realized the situation before him.

Not Cody's comm, Cody's blaster. Cody's blaster, now pressed directly to Obi-Wan's temple from the way he'd turned. Cody trembling ever-so-slightly, mouth pressed into a hard line and eyes unnaturally blank.

"Cody, what…" Obi-Wan trailed off, too taken aback to even think of a suitable question to ask. Cody was pointing a blaster at him. Cody, who he loved more than words could express. Cody, who he trusted with his life. His Cody.

"Why?" He asked, looking at Cody's face as if the blaster wasn't even there.

It was all he could think to ask. There had to be a reason why Cody was doing this. Maybe a Sith had somehow gotten into Cody's head, Obi-Wan considered, half-desperate. There had to be something that Obi-Wan wasn't seeing, some explanation he wasn't understanding, anything to mean that Cody hadn't suddenly decided to betray the Jedi and The Republic.

Hadn't decided to betray Obi-Wan. Hadn't stopped loving him.

There had to be a reason.

Cody flinched at the question, but didn't answer.

His aim seemed to waver though, and Obi-Wan decided to press his luck.

"Why, Cody?" Obi-Wan asked, letting the hurt flow through his voice unrestrained. You said you loved me, he refrained from voicing aloud. "Why are you doing this?" Obi-Wan didn’t sense any influence from the dark side of the force surrounding Cody, but there had to be something causing this, and Obi-Wan was going to find it.

Cody's eyes stayed cold, but his mouth squeezed into an even tighter line, like he was trying to bite back whatever words wanted to come out. Obi-Wan took that as a good sign; a sign that Cody was still aware under whatever influence was controlling him, and that there was still a chance Obi-Wan could break the control. And as long as there was even the slightest chance of saving Cody from this, then he would do anything it took.

"I love you," he said, meaning it with all his heart, and hoping that it might shock Cody out of whatever state he had fallen into. They were rare words between them, for all that they both knew them to be true.

Cody's whole body shuddered, and for a brief moment of hope Cody's eyes widened, as if he was just now noticing what was going on.

But before Obi-Wan had the chance to fully register the sight, Cody’s stare hardened again, eyes narrowed, and in a flash he dropped the blaster, snatched it out of the air by the barrel, and hit the butt of it into Obi-Wan's head, so hard that Obi-Wan barely felt the pain of the hit before everything went dark.

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/humans-too-clever-by-half/

Humans, Too Clever By Half

The Heritage Foundation believes it knows what’s good for America.  That’s why I paused to read Kevin D. Robert’s Forward to its latest manifesto, Project 2025. Should Donald Trump be elected our President in November, Robert’s introduction to the document summarizes the changes to expect to the political system. The plan focuses on two aspects of government: 1) the Washington Establishment— administrative bureaucracy that promulgates rules to implement legislative action; and 2) the relationship between bureaucrats and cultural elites. For some, the Washington Establishment, otherwise known as the Administration, may evoke unhappy memories of encounters with the IRS, Social Security, or a parochial school board. As a former legislator for a local government, I can attest to the horrors of bureaucratic overreach. One incident occurred years ago when I drafted an ordinance proposing to support our struggling school district with a grant to provide nursing staff in the middle schools.  About to leave for a conference, I left the measure for fine-tuning in the hands of an administrator before boarding my train. In theory, the ordinance was non-controversial. A school nurse would take student temperatures if necessary, call a parent when one of their offspring suffered a tummy ache, or slap bandages on bloodied knees. Benign objectives like these left me unprepared upon my return to find my staff looking frazzled as if they’d spent the week scrubbing dirty shirt collars at a cheap laundry.  They clustered around me to complain that some bureaucrat had added birth control counseling to the list of nursing duties.  When voters got wind of it, there were public calls for my hanging. True, teen pregnancy was on the rise, so the idea had merit.  But, I hadn’t proposed it. Therein lies the difference between a pensioned bureaucrat and a politician. The latter knows to anticipate uprisings.  Sadder but wiser, I never left an unfinished legislative proposal in the hands of an administrator again. Given my experience, when I read that Project 2025’s intention was to boil D. C. bureaucrats in hot sauce, I felt a shiver of fellow feeling.  I also agreed that government belonged to the people and so each of us must have the freedom to pursue the good for ourselves and those entrusted to our care. ( Forward, pg. 3) Of course, everyone knows the devil lies in the details.  The manifesto went on to define freedom as our God-given right to restore the family as the centerpiece of American life and protect our children.” Reading the words, I grew cautious, particularly as I was also exhorted to defend our nation’s border and to agree that the building blocks of a healthy society were  Marriage. Family. Work. Church. School. (Forward, pgs. 3-4.)  My patience broke when I reached the part about educators and public librarians being classified as registered sex offenders if they displayed books concerning sexual identity. (Forward, pg. 5)  On the matter of the cultural elite, I haven’t the space here to address the issue. I pause only to observe that despite his Ph.d, Robert strikes me as an ignorant man. Johannes Guttenberg was a member of the cultural elite when he invented the printing press. That device brought knowledge to the rich and poor alike.  What Guttenberg hadn’t anticipated was that his press would also crank out a lot of Ph.d drivel.  Of course, one man’s drivel can pass for wisdom to like minds. The Heritage Foundation is an ultra-conservative think tank, so Robert’s opinions didn’t surprise me. Rather, I read the document in full not for enlightenment but to unearth my biases.     Failing to know ourselves can become a source of laughter.  The other day, for example, I joined a table of fellow retirees who’d gathered for morning coffee.  As I pulled out a chair, I overheard one woman’s remark about another who was absent. “She thinks everyone is stupid but herself.”  I pretended not to hear but inwardly smiled.  Several studies have shown that most of us think we are superior to others.     In 1999, Justice Kruger and David Dunning published one of these reports, known, unsurprisingly, as the Kruger-Dunning effect.  The psychologists affirmed that we all think well of our intelligence. What amazed them was that those who held themselves in the highest esteem were often the least capable. Donald Trump’s boast that “Only I can do this” comes to mind.       illusory superiority, which is how social scientists reference the condition, has shadings. Not all of us imagine we are geniuses, but like the children of Lake Wobegon, we do consider ourselves to be above average.  Admittedly, the opinion plays havoc with the Bell Curve, but it also plays havoc with the planet.  Paleontologist Donald Johanson also noted our smugness when he wrote that as a species, we are overly focused on ourselves. (“Q&A,” by Nancy Perry Graham, AARP Bulletin, May 2024, pg. 33.)  History makes it difficult to disagree.  Self-absorption is why we have given little thought to the changes we’ve imposed on our habitat, changes like deforestation and urbanization, that threaten biodiversity and ourselves.     A honey bee understands the hives’s dependence upon the environment.  We humans, though all above average, don’t seem to make the connection.  Like Robert, many of us scoff at the idea of interconnection.  Words like Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion appear to them to be no more than far-left political propaganda. The bee knows better.  DEI is natural law.   I think it odd that a species whose members claim to be smarter than all others should be unable to foresee its extinction.  Certainly, Nature isn’t to blame. She gave us the gift of language. What remains to be seen is if we are smart enough to read what we have written.  If not, then one day DEI will be seen as a misspelling of DIE.

[cmcsmen]

The Story Behind Catholic Men Chicago Southland

By Frank J Casella, CMCS Co-founder & Executive Director

(For those new to CMCS or you need to read this again)

“Catholic Men Chicago Southland is an apostolate of Reverend Bishop Joseph N Perry, and works to encourage and support contemporary Catholic Men to grow spiritually, and to bring Jesus Christ into their daily lives and all of their relationships.” 

— The CMCS Mission

That was the mission we started with in 2004 when Deacon John Rangel, David Taylor (who no longer lives in the Archdiocese), and I went to Bishop Joseph N Perry with our vision, and hope for his blessing. His Excellency is now retired, but it’s still our mission today. We went to Bishop Perry because he was our local Vicar (as one) of the six Vicariates (divisions) of the Archdiocese of Chicago.

We could have tried to do this on our own, but I learned from my previous experiences, both with the  Catholic Men In Action that I was a territory rep for (and is no longer a ministry), and from my photography work for the archdiocese and documenting the ministry of Cardinal Joseph Bernardin, that you need to have a  platform to work from.

Bishop Perry not only understood this, he also was interested is providing a challenge to men in the Vicariate to live the  Virtues of a Catholic Man and make Christ the center of our daily lives. So it has been proven many times over the years that Bishop Perry’s belief in CMCS, and nurturing Catholic men’s spirituality, has opened more doors — and hearts — than we could ever do on our own. And this I am personally grateful for!

I’m glad that we also followed his advice to stay a manageable size in the Vicariate, instead of trying to reach the whole archdiocese, since each Vicariate is about the size of the average diocese in the American Church. That if a group of men wanted to start a movement in another vicariate, we’d provide their Vicar with the template for doing this. So far there has been much interest, but only one commitment in the Edgewater area of Chicago. 

The Back Story

You might say that Catholic men’s ministry is second nature to me, having been raised as a third-generation Knights of Columbus. I recall vividly helping my late father as a kid with all the functions, causes, parties, and parades. From going to talk to the butcher, to table set up, promotion and ticket sales, serving the participants, clean up, and finally awarding the results to a charity, which CMCS does today. Event planning is my conditioned skill.

But there was something missing in all of this. I saw this void. A need for a Catholic men’s prayer breakfast, to challenge men to replace bad habits with good habits and to develop a holy life. To  feed the stomach, and then feed the Soul.

As far back as the 1980’s I recall men’s conferences starting to trickle into the fabric of our faith life. And this is where I met Deacon John Rangel, who has a passion for parish men’s groups and Pro-Life. We went to many of these events, from many faiths. Some called for men to be accountable to each other, and others had an Altar Call, or to be Born Again. And most of the Catholic men’s conferences had a great message but fell short of making that challenge or commitment to holiness and simply living the fundamentals of the faith. Something I think we easily take for granted. 

We need Catholic and holy men in our lives, who practice virtues and goodness, make a positive difference, and that we can look to as models of a life work in progress.

“We are a people of possibility, the Holy Spirit is the great encourager … holiness is possible. ~ Matthew Kelly

In Covenant With Jesus

It is true, Jesus Christ wants to have a personal relationship with each of us as our Savior and Lord. But Jesus wants much more than that; he wants us in covenant with himself. I can have a personal relationship with the neighbor down the street; but that doesn’t mean he wants me to move in and share his home.

Jesus Christ wants us in the New Covenant that he established through his own flesh and blood, the same covenant he renews through the Holy Eucharist. When his sacrifice for us is renewed at the altar, we gather at the family table for the sacred meal that makes us one.

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and  eat with him and he with me.” (Rev 3:20)

Likewise, in the home, us men are called to lay down our life for our wife. To serve her as Jesus served her. To love and sacrifice for her the way Jesus loved and sacrificed for you.

The Christian home is the place where children receive the first proclamation of the faith. For this reason the family home is rightly called “the domestic church,” a community of grace and prayer, a school of human virtues and of Christian charity. Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1666

But remember Christ’s words to Saint Paul that  “power is made perfect in weakness.” That is, most men will admit that their strength, their rock is their wives.

Jesus wants us to know not only the Father and the Holy Spirit but his Blessed Mother and all His sainted brothers and sisters as well. He also wants us to live according to the family structure he established for his Church on earth: the Pope and all the bishops and priests united to him.

The Gospel is not about setting up a legal system, but about transforming hearts. It is about freeing people, one at a time, from the darkness and slavery of sin.

Presenting The Challenge

I remember when the late Cardinal Francis George, archbishop of Chicago, said one of his many profound words in the public square, when he said that  “we as a Catholic Church have much to learn from our Protestant brothers and sisters about marketing and promotion, and evangelization. “

This was my answer. So around 2009 we began an online ministry to reach Catholic men in any way possible, and learn from those who are good at it.  Though Bishop Perry reminded the need to balance that with the community ‘in the pews’. Community is the foundation of our Catholicism.

So in the era of TV Evangelists, Internet Churches, and Social Media Ministry, CMCS sets the tone in Chicago Southland for nurturing Catholic men’s spirituality, and presenting men the challenge for holiness, in Covenant with Jesus. And we do this in-person, through our gatherings, where men can discuss and connect the dots with each other about their spiritual journey. And we have Mass with bishop who presents the challenge to the men.

The men will tell you how the personal impact from this is profound in a way that can not be experienced online. Then, what we do online is a symptom of what is working with community ‘in the pews’, to continue their spiritual journey. We are all a work in progress, and learn from each other.

It’s not so much about accountability to each other, but Covenant with Jesus that transforms us as men.

I have seen over the years that when you foster a Man in holiness, the positive adjustments he makes creates a upstanding man, husband, or father, and this impact can be felt for three generations. What this takes is (for us) to transform one man at a time from good intentions into right-action, and thus to develop a holy church.

For just as the Church cannot survive without the sacramental priesthood, so too, the father is an essential element of a healthy family. Fathers have a significant spiritual impact on their (and men with all) children precisely because of their unique role in the order of creation.

[nutteu]

tomorrow is the fleeting smile on your bleeding lips [Chapter II]

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[AO3 Chapter I] [AO3 Chapter II] [AO3 Chapter III] [moonsea series]

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As promised, Jake picked him up early. Steven pointed him to this diner he usually went to, because they had quite a selection of vegan options. They sat in a booth; Jake ordered coffee and toasts with scrambled egg and bacon, Steven took his usual veggie wraps and a cup of tea. Steven was a bit occupied with his phone, because Marc had sent him a text. It seemed that whatever he was doing there, it had hit a blunder, and he’d be back later than he thought. Steven sighed.

Marc had left him for four whole months, back then. He usually went away for two weeks, or five at most, and Steven had more or less been used to it. It didn’t make it any easier to bear the absence of his brother, however. He was also tired of chaining his ankle each night his brother wasn’t there to sleep next to him. He was just not used to having Marc away for so long after his enlistment. Wherever Marc was, he’d follow, and it happened the other way around, too. Unfortunately, now that he had his own job—because he didn’t want to be even more of a burden on Marc, even if Marc insisted that it was alright—he couldn’t follow his brother gallivanting around the world. All he could do was to wait, make sure he was at home to welcome Marc with open arms to fall back into when he would be back.

“What’s wrong, Stevie Bevie?”

Steven crinkled his nose at the new nickname. As much as he was fumbling like an idiot when Jake called him little dove, he preferred it a lot more than this one. Jake laughed and waved his hand in an apologetic gesture. “Nothing,” he said, but even he couldn’t hold back sadness and loneliness in his voice. “My brother will be back later than what has been planned. Got into some trouble with the job. I just wish he doesn’t have to be away all the time.”

“What’s his job?” Jake asked.

Steven hesitated. He supposed it wasn’t wise to disclose that his brother stole artefacts from rich people, and kill some people off a certain list his benefactors had given to him. He and Marc had quite a fight about this when Steven found out. Marc could have been in grave danger because of his work—he could have died, and Steven wouldn’t know. There was a high probability that he wouldn’t even hear about it for years to come, given the circumstances. He didn’t give a shit about money, or the fact that Marc had ruthlessly murdered people; he just wanted his brother back safe and sound.

But Marc had said that it was important, that he was trying to save up enough so they could have their own house, so Steven didn’t have to worry about money or work; said that part of the reason was to settle a debt to some benefactors and he couldn’t stop until it was done. Marc had promised him five years, and they could move out, find somewhere quiet to enjoy life properly without any past to haunt them. They could even build a private library for Steven. It was only two years to go, now.

Steven still wasn’t happy about it, but it was hard to win an argument against Marc. All his life, his brother had protected him to the point of chaining, in other people’s opinion. Layla had told him this, as she chewed on marshmallows, leaning against a table full fake document. She was one of Marc’s partners-in-crime, and she was one of the most wonderful women Steven had ever met. She was funky and whip-smart, sharp mouth and incredible sense of humor. She also held the same love of poetry as him, and she was really gentle around Steven, though she could be so blunt in her honesty.

There weren’t a lot of things that Steven knew about the world outside of the one his brother had made for him. He sure as hell wouldn’t know what would be considered as normal or not, in comparison to his relationship with his brother. But then again, he had never thought that it would be important. Marc had said it himself that all he needed was Steven, and Steven felt the same way. He couldn’t survive without his brother, and his brother shared the sentiment. Well, they could, especially Marc. They just didn’t want to.

Sure, it was hard to deal with Marc when he was being overprotective. But from his childhood, to his teenage years, even to his adulthood, Marc’s arms were all he had known of. He understood that their harsh childhood had made Marc so wary of the world, of anyone that weren’t the two of them, and perhaps, Layla and Taweret. He didn’t like Steven’s ‘friends’ because they talked about him condescendingly, didn’t like other people being too close to his brother in fear of them hurting him, didn’t want him to spend too much time without his supervision because Steven had proven time and time again that he could garner troubles even by just breathing. If he had his way, Marc would just lock him up and chain him to the bed, let himself do and give everything that Steven might need in the safety of their home.

When Steven expressed that he was honestly fine with it, and his only problem was that he still wanted to get some fresh of air, wanted to go out sometimes, and perhaps talk to the living statue near the fountain, Layla dropped her marshmallow and looked at him with a very strange expression. She just—she looked at him as if she was seeing a trainwreck about to happen, and Steven didn’t understand why because he felt like there was nothing wrong with what he had just said.

…wasn’t there? Because Steven really didn’t mind spending all his life with Marc. And it wasn’t like he liked it either when Marc was away. It was normal to feel this way given that they only ever had one another. Even if part of the reason was because Marc never let anyone in.

“Steven,” she had said, grasping his arms firmly. There was pity and the faintest whisper of horror in her eyes, which made him all the more confused. “Promise me that you will never, ever, say that to Marc.”

He had wanted to ask, but Layla looked so somber that he just agreed with a weak nod in the end. He wished he had asked, if only to explain to her why he didn’t mind, to tell her that it would be something he’d do out of his own volition.

“He’s, uh, a private bodyguard,” he said at last.

Jake looked at him as if he knew that it was a blatant lie. Steven winced internally; Marc had told him that he was a horrible liar, his face was way too honest to ever be convincing in his lies. He gave Jake a helpless smile.

“Alright, little dove, you can keep your secrets about that troubled brother of yours,” Jake said with a knowing smirk.

“He’s not troubled,” Steven said. “He’s just protective.”

“Sure thing,” Jake agreed easily. “Can I ask about you, then, or is that supposed to be a secret as well?”

“Uh,” Steven blinked, then blinked again. “You want- you want us to talk about me?”

“Anything wrong with that, little dove?”

“No, no,” he quickly shook his head. “Just… I’m kinda boring. You wouldn’t want to hear me prattle about myself or things I’m interested in. People told me that I talk too much.”

“Don’t put me in the same lump as those scumbags,” Jake said, eyes hardening, and Steven quickly reach out to tug at his sleeve. It was another one of his habits with Marc. He really needed to control himself. But Jake glanced down at his fingers, and his eyes softened. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just telling you that I’m here to listen, unlike those people.”

“Oh,” Steven said, a bit stunned. His chest warmed from Jake’s words, and he looked down with a shy smile. “I mean, if you- if you want, then…”

So, he talked. About his job, about how annoying Donna was when she put him on inventory all week that one time, about Tomb Buster, about his love of Egyptology and French poetry, about Gus and Gus 2.0, about things he liked and what he wanted to do if given the chance. He carefully walked around the subject of his childhood, and though he talked about Marc, he made sure to keep the circumstances of his highly illegal job. The rest just flowed easily through his lips.

Jake responded at intervals, encouraging Steven with more questions about his interests. He was a very good listener, always attentive and never looked like he wanted Steven to shut up. It was rare for Steven, and he supposed it was his own fault that he spent time longer than he intended talking about himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing lightly. “Here I am talking your ears off about myself, and never once asked about you. That’s rude of me.”

“Someone really has to train some self-appreciation into that pretty head of yours,” Jake said with a small frown, though he laughed when Steven blushed bright red. “There’s nothing much to be said about me. I was adopted, raised by this Spanish family. Parents are old, family takes care of them now; I travelled by myself to New York ten years ago, stayed for two years, before I went to London. Used to be a taxi driver, before I decided to change career. Been working with Khonshu close to eight years now. I smoke, I don’t like the food and the weather here, and I watch soccer and cricket sometimes.”

“Oh! I’m also a cricket guy myself,” Steven said with a bright smile, and they proceeded to talk about their favorite teams and players, and the recent games they’d watched.

He was well aware that Jake kept a lot of secrets himself, but that was alright. He understood. The people in his life, that Marc allowed him to keep, all kept secrets on their own. Even he knew that there were things that Marc didn’t share with him, the same way as himself. Early on their lives, they used to have nothing to hide. But then they grew up and they understood that some things just weren’t meant to be shared out loud. Feelings, works, people, experiences, they all had something they didn’t want to say, or to remember anymore.

They were in the middle of talking about Steven’s experience in Cairo, with Jake interjecting in-between about his brief visit there as well, when he felt a vibration in his pocket. He fished out his phone, and groaned when he saw Donna’s name on the screen.

“Hullo?” he asked cautiously. There wasn’t a single good thing to be expected from his boss.

“Where the bloody hell are you!” was how Donna greeted him back. “It’s almost ten! And, I swear to God Stevie, if you don’t get here in five minutes, I’m going to strangle your neck with my bare hands.”

He winced and apologized quickly to her, realizing that it was indeed his own fault. He had been too engrossed in talking with Jake that he forgot he had work today. He couldn’t help it; Jake seemed to be so interested about knowing his life, and he was a great conversation partner, even with the flirting thrown in here and there. He seemed to be fond of making Steven as red as possible in the face.

“We gotta go,” he said apologetically to Jake. “I’m extremely late, and my boss is apparently going to choke me to death today. So, nice knowing you, Jake. I’ll see you on the other side, I guess. I just wish I can say goodbye to Marc.”

Jake laughed, shaking his head a little. “You’ll be alright, Stevie. We’ll get there soon, and I’ll make sure you won’t be harmed, not as long as I’m alive.”

“You sound like Marc,” Steven blurted out, then quickly apologized when Jake crinkled his face in distaste. Steven supposed that he didn’t like being compared to other people. “Sorry, it’s just that it was the exact same thing he said to me. But that isn’t important right now. Wait a minute here, I’m gonna pay—”

“Already paid for,” Jake said, standing up.

“Wha—when?” he asked. He was pretty sure Jake never left the booth.

“When you were talking about Layla,” Jake said, and pulled at his arm to guide him outside.

Steven bit his lip. He felt bad that he didn’t notice, that he let Jake pay. And he also made Jake late. “I’m sorry, now you’re late as well because of me. I hope Khonshu won’t eat you alive,” he said as they sped through the streets.

Jake laughed amidst the roar of the engine. “He won’t say anything,” he said loudly so Steven could hear him. “And I can handle him just fine. Just hang on tight, sweetheart.”

Steven buried his face between Jake’s shoulder blades, smiling so hard when he heard the recent endearment. He was anxious about Donna, but it couldn’t taint the happiness he felt spreading around his chest. He hugged Jake tighter, wishing that the ride would be longer, even if he knew that it’d earn him some serious scolding. Heck, he could get an official warning from this. But he was so happy he couldn’t be bothered.

When they arrived, and Jake followed him inside, Steven shot him a confused look. “Uh, didn’t meant to be rude, mate, but don’t you need to go to work as well?”

“What, I can’t visit the museum like any other citizen? Where’s your spirit of fundamental rights, little dove?” Jake teased, hands inside his pockets.

Steven laughed. “Come on, that’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said, pulling one of his hands and slung it around Steven’s shoulders. “Now, where’s this boss of yours?”

The strangest thing happened when they met Donna. She was bristling with anger, and there was tension in the set of her shoulders. When she spotted Steven, she strode over to them in quick steps. But just as she was about to berate him, her eyes caught Jake’s presence, and she promptly shut her mouth. Steven looked at her, bewildered. She had met Marc before, so she probably thought that it was him. She was very wary of Marc, for obvious reasons. But this time, there was unadulterated fear in her eyes.

Steven glanced to the side, and found that Jake was grinning at her. It was different than the ones he usually threw at Steven. It was akin to that one he gave to that man stalking Steven on the night they met. It spoke of danger and imminent threat, and perhaps it should make some alarms ring in his head. But Steven was used to danger, whether the one he unknowingly invited, or the one exuding in waves from his brother. It didn’t bother him. In some ways, it was perhaps some sort of comfort, when it came from the person he knew. For he could recognize that it wasn’t directed at him, that he was safe in Jake’s arms.

“There’s- there’s a group waiting for you,” Donna said, trembling so bad that her words were nearly intelligible.

“Go, little dove,” Jake said, still not taking his eyes off of Donna. “I think I have some questions for your boss about… ah, the museum.”

“You can just ask me, though?” Steven asked, though he obediently started to walk towards a group of waiting people.

Jake smiled, softer, at him. “Just go,” he said. “I’ll find you later.”

He nodded and left, gearing up for another tour. It was easy to fall into his role as a guide. This particular group was so excited they were giddy with it. They were young, and though there weren’t that much of them, they all seemed enthusiastic. Steven smiled warmly at their questions, and exchanged a look with their handler, a woman of smaller stature with a kind smile. She had explained that they came from an orphanage, and this week, they asked the children if they wanted to go somewhere. They gave different destinations to accommodate the children’s personal interests and choices. These in particular had been wanting to see the Petrie Museum for a long time.

He was glad that these children were in good hands. He had heard one time too many about the abusive and corrupted system in orphanages. He thought back to Jake, who had admitted that he was adopted; he could only hope that the man had the same pleasant experience as these children.

Jake approached him some time later, nodding at him in silence and letting him finish the tour. After he had waved at the children, sneaking in some jellies for them and bought a little girl a Taweret stuffed toy. They said their goodbyes loudly and some people stared, but Steven was so fond that he didn’t care. They were really well-mannered and happy that they got the chance to tour the museum. He wanted to hug each one of them.

“You look happy,” Jake remarked when Steven walked up to him.

He smiled. “They’re really adorable.”

“It’s a good look on you,” the man said, and Steven chuckled, looking down at his scuffling feet. “Come on, it’s my turn to have a tour.”

Steven looked at him with surprise evident on his face. “You’re not working today?”

“Called Khonshu already,” Jake explained. “What’s that funny looking thing?”

“It’s an ushabti,” Steven said absentmindedly as he caught up to Jake. “That one in particular is of Seth, the Egyptian god of chaos and the master of the sky, dessert, and storms. What did you talk about with Donna?”

“Just some pleasant chat,” was all that Jake was willing to share. Steven pursed his lips, but he didn’t push. Instead, he walked alongside Jake around the museum, explaining things the man asked about, and laughing at his running commentaries. He said that Hotep sounded like a food, and that anyone who worshipped Anubis must have had some hidden kink or something. Steven didn’t think he laughed this much on a tour. Jake just kept it interesting. He ought to be a tour guide himself, albeit a more inappropriate and vulgar one.

When it was lunch time, Jake took him to a burger joint nearby. He got two burgers for himself and a salad for Steven. They continued their conversation there, with Jake saying that he didn’t need to worry about time. Steven didn’t have any more tours today, but he was still a bit wary about angering Donna again.

“It’s taken care of, she won’t bother you anymore,” Jake said between his bites.

Steven looked at him, contemplating. “Why?”

“She has a change of heart,” Jake said with a shrug.

“Did you threaten her?” he asked.

Jake looked up from his burger. “Why do you say that?”

“Marc did,” Steven said. “That one time Donna put me on inventory for a whole month, he came and suddenly, I got the tour guide position. It was nice of him, though it made Donna scared of him. I gotta admit that while I got the job not entirely by merit, it was a relieve. Being a gift-shopper could be so boring, you know?”

There was an inexplicable expression crossing Jake’s face. It didn’t last long enough for Steven to properly examine. In the end, he just nodded and offered nothing else. So, Steven just continued talking about his experience getting inside the pyramid of Giza. In the midst of talking, however, he remembered something.

“Oh, I’ve also lived in New York briefly, because of Marc’s job. I didn’t have a job back then, so I could still go with him. Didn’t stay long, though. It was such a busy city. America in general is really different than England. We only stayed for like, what, less than a year? And we moved around again, before we settled in London.” He smiled to himself as he pierced a cherry tomato with the plastic fork. “Can you believe it? We might have met sooner. Like, what’s the coincidence of you and I living in the same city at roughly the same time frame?”

Jake smirked around his cup of soda. “Fate works in curious way, Stevie.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” Steven admitted. “Donna calls me that all the time.”

Jake nodded. “Sweetheart, then,” he amended.

Steven was still not used to the endearments, but he appreciated Jake immediately fulfilling his unsaid request. “I mean, not that exactly, but it’s better than Stevie, I guess.”

Jake snorted and said something under his breath in a language that now Steven knew as Spanish. Perhaps, one day, he’d ask what they meant. It made him kind of sad to think about it though. He had spent three days out of the two weeks he had with Jake. He might not even be able to ask, or even to talk this freely with Jake when they were both busy.

Jake stayed in the museum, hanging around Steven as they waited for the time for him to go home. Strangely enough, no one bothered or reprimanded him for talking to Jake all day, despite it clearly being unprofessional. Steven really wanted to gather his bearings and actually do his job, but it was harder than he thought when Jake kept roping him into conversations, kept calling him sweetheart, kept looking at him with darks eyes full of things Steven didn’t understand, yet familiar with, because he had seen the same look in Marc’s eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steven asked, after Jake had driven him home. “Breakfast again? But I’ll be paying this time, and I really should put a brake on my mouth so we won’t be late again.”

“Sure thing,” Jake nodded. He was holding onto Steven’s wrist again, with no particular meaning behind the gesture. He rubbed his gloved thumb on Steven’s pulse, and he tried to tamp down the shiver traipsing up his spine. They felt soft, but the texture of leather still caught on his skin. They felt warm, and strong, and dirty, for some reason. It was just that Jake, with his strong, callused hands wrapped in gloves, holding Steven with them, made him feel heat spreading through his belly, dangerously inching towards his groin.

He didn’t know he had a thing for gloves, or leather in general, until he had the pleasure of meeting Jake Lockley. Which was something he should never, ever say out loud. He’d probably die from sheer mortification if he did.

As he had done the past two days, he watched Jake until he turned on a corner, before he headed inside. Marc had left him a voice note, as it turned out. He listened to it after he showered, comfortable in fresh clothes and just lazing around before he had to cook dinner. There was a smile touching his lips even before he played the message.

“Hi, baby, how are you doing there? Sure hope you’re not tripping over thin air, again. I handled the trouble at work. Cursed things didn’t even pose a threat, just there to stall me. I don’t know why, but I’ll look into it further later. Don’t go out too late, and don’t let a stranger touch you. Wait for me, I’ll be back home soon.”

He felt kind of guilty because first, he had tripped over nothing a week ago, he had been out late when the car broke down, and he definitely let a stranger touch him. Yeah, some secrets were definitely needed. He could imagine Marc having a fit if he ever found out.

There was another voice note, the interval from the first one three minutes long. Steven also knew what it’d be, and why Marc stalled. His brother had never shied away from showering him with affection, as best as he could. But Marc was naturally someone who’d rather keep his feelings and thoughts inside rather than expressing them properly. He repressed them, and it was the fact, no matter how much Marc denied it. Steven understood where it came from, and he appreciated all of Marc’s efforts in being more honest verbally.

“I missed you, darling. I wish I can go home sooner. Call me if you ever need anything.” There was a long pause, before Marc’s voice continued. “I love you.”

Steven bit back a smile, and giggled a little. It was just so endearing hearing Marc nearly giving himself a serious aneurism just from saying those words alone. His brother, who stood strong and tall, who crushed everything that he deemed as a threat with his bare hands, could be so shy when he wanted to say his feelings out loud.

Steven had tried sending voice notes before, but his messages kept getting cut off because he always forgot to hold the button when he spoke. So, he just texted the replies, saying that he was doing alright (a lie), and that he was doing just fine getting home in time (partially a lie), and he also missed and loved Marc (not a lie).

He hoped Marc came back soon. But a part of him felt so guilty that he wanted it to be not so soon. He knew Marc wouldn’t like Jake, especially if he knew how Steven felt. He just wanted some time to spend with the mechanic, to know about him, to ride on his bike even if it made him sore all over, before the car was fixed and Jake would find another stranger to flirt with, and Steven would inevitably be back into Marc’s arms.

Like he said, this would just be a harmless fun. One that Marc didn’t necessarily have to know.

-

Over the course of the next week, they kept the same routine: Jake would pick him up from the apartment, they’d get breakfast together, and then he’d drive Steven to the museum. Sometimes he showed up at lunch and they’d get some food together, before Jake went back to the repair shop. In the evening, he’d pick Steven up from work, and once in a while they’d get dinner together.

In all of these instances, Steven kept forgetting about asking about the car.

He didn’t have time to, couldn’t remember either. Not when Jake was so charming and interesting. All they did was talk, but Steven felt so inexplicably drawn to him. He learned that Jake was a good aim because he was taught to hunt by his guardian, that he didn’t really like reading, that he decided to be a taxi driver because he liked driving around the town though he wasn’t really fond of most of the customers, he sang very well even if he had only ever sung some short verses of Spanish songs to Steven, he hated ketchup and looked at Steven in bewilderment when he laughed so suddenly; he was so naturally funny, and so suave that Steven had to constantly remind himself that Jake was just like this, not because he was interested in Steven himself.

It was just—Jake felt a lot like Marc, in terms of making him comfortable and accepted. He felt like he was heard attentively, like he was seen. There were only a handful of people who could do that, and his brother had been the only who made Steven thought that it was alright being himself, that he’d be loved either way. Now, Jake also inspired the same feeling in him.

Jake would look at him with those dark eyes, gaze still undecipherable and intense, as he listened to Steven talking. He never interrupted and only asked more questions to get Steven keep talking until they inevitably had to go. He had the habit of tucking Steven’s unruly curls behind his ears, and holding onto his wrist when he dropped him off at the apartment.

One time that Steven left his jacket in the storage room, he shed off his beloved leather jacket and wrapped it around Steven, instead of letting him go back inside to get his own. Steven trembled a little, because the jacket was warm from being worn by Jake and the scent was stronger from a day of work, not having the chance to be aired out yet. He tried not get caught as he sniffed at the collar, then bit his lip when he found stronger traces of Jake’s cologne. When he was about to return it, Jake let him keep it and said that he’d just get it tomorrow morning.

That was the first time Steven finally gave in to his desires. He was fresh out of the shower, with a towel slung around his hips, when he saw the jacket hanging on the coat hanger. Carefully, as if there was someone else in the apartment and he didn’t want them to find out, he took the jacket off the hanger, and wrapped it around himself.

It still smelled like Jake, with some of Steven’s own cologne mixing in. The scent was heady, made his eyes glaze and his head dizzy. He walked towards the bed and let the towel drop unceremoniously on the floor. Eyes closed, he parted his legs slowly; hands rubbing at his damp skin, fondling at his chest and grazing his nails lightly on the tip of his nipple. His back arched, and he could hear Jake’s voice in his ears, telling him how sensitive he was, how endearing he looked when his skin slowly flushing from lust.

“Touch yourself, little dove,” Jake whispered with that rough, husky voice of his. “Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

Steven knew that it was just his imagination, but he couldn’t help the whine from breaking out of his lips as he slowly wrapped his fingers around his hardening cock. He wished, oh, how he wished, that Jake left him with the gloves, too. So he could pretend that it was Jake’s hand caressing his body, touching him with the soft leather and rough edges of his desires; so he could imagine that it was Jake’s palm wrapping around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jake continued, urging him on. “Spread your legs wider, won’t you? Let me see—let me see all of you.”

Steven moaned out a whisper of Jake’s name, his fingers tightening around his aching cock as he spread his legs as far as they could go. He felt so exposed, even if no one was there to see him being so shameless like this. But the whispers in his mind crooned and praised him for being so good, for following orders so obediently. He wanted Jake to praise him again, wanted him to be proud of Steven.

Perhaps, it was his tendencies speaking, or his habit of wanting to make Marc proud of the little brother who was always falling behind in everything that he wasn’t interested in. But Steven couldn’t help his little whimpers and pleads.

He blindly reached for the drawer of the nightstand, groping around until he felt the tube of lube he had kept there. Steven had been so flustered when Marc accidentally found it, because his brother was silent for a while. But then, he just shrugged and put it back. In return, Steven also never said anything when the content appeared to be less than he remembered the last time. It was there to be used; he couldn’t fault Marc for using it as intended.

He poured some on his fingers, before he latched them back to his cock. The glide was smoother, easier, and Jake’s voice was going lower and lower as Steven picked up the pace. He clutched the jacket with his other hand, biting on the sleeves as he gave a particularly hard tug, pressing on the small hole at the tip where he was already oozing out precum.

He felt surrounded, as if he was being embraced by Jake himself, even if it was only a clothing article owned by the man. Steven couldn’t even spare to the guilt for doing such dirty thing while wearing the jacket. He was too far gone in lust.

He let go of the sleeves briefly to take the lube again, and poured it on his other hand, shyly trailing the fingers downward, past his perineum. He could feel the sparse hair there, and shuddered when the cold fingers rubbed against his hole. He had forgotten to warm it beforehand.

“Is this what you like to do?” Jake teased. “What a naughty little princess.”

Steven pushed through his embarrassment, and slipped a finger inside, just feeling it for a moment. It had been quite some time since he had fingered himself open. It was tight, and he needed to adjust for a moment before he could add another finger in. But the feeling was familiar, and he had learned how to do it properly to make it feel good, after the disastrous first experience. He was careful, because he hadn’t trimmed his nails yet. They weren’t as long, but after spending so long reading articles, he was still haunted by the horror of accidentally tearing his rectum.

Still, Steven knew that he liked the burn of it, liked the slight edge of pain to his pleasure, liked that he had started moving his fingers, pushing in and stretching, before he was ready. He resumed jerking off his cock, moaning out loud as the sensation of his sensitive places being touched at the same time. He imagined it was Jake, pushing in his fingers into him, relentless and thorough. He could feel the calluses that Jake might have from his job as a mechanic, could feel the way he would tease and ignore the places Steven favored the most just to be cruel. Jake seemed like the sort of person who’d do that, and perhaps it was saying something that Steven didn’t mind to be teased.

But he was getting desperate as well, and he had been holding it in for more than a week now. Surely, it was understandable when he pushed in the third finger, a silent moan huffed out of his lips, and moved faster on his cock. The combination of the touch, the feeling of Jake’s jacket and scent around him, the memory of his smirk and the way he looked at Steven, his voice and the gentle smile he would sometimes give—they all made him mindless with want, with the need of releasing the bunched-up desires piling up inside.

“Jake—” he called out, voice breaking over the syllable. “Jake, please.”

“So needy, little dove,” Jake tsked, but Steven thrust his fingers faster, deeper, abandoning all inhibitions. “So shameless like this. Would you like to come? With my fingers in you, while you moan like a cheap whore, Steven?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, writhing and pushing his hips into the hold of his own palm. “Yes, please, can I—”

The tip of his fingers pressed into the place that garnered the most reaction out of him, he bit his lip hard until he could taste copper on his tongue. His orgasm was wrung out of him in surprise, leaving him breathless and trembling from the aftershock. He kept his fingers there, just pressing lightly as he rode out his orgasm. His fingers were wet, on both hands, covered in thick fluid of semen and lube.

He shuddered a little as he finally pulled his fingers out, feeling that familiar, strange feeling of wetness and warmth as they slid out. For a moment, he just lay there, trying to regulate his breathing. He had taken a shower, and now he had to clean himself again. Just great. It could wait, though. He was absolutely boneless now, and he didn’t want to move even an inch.

The ringing of his phone was preventing him from just laying there for ten years, however. He groaned and wiped his fingers on the sheets before he reached for the nightstand. Once he saw the caller, however, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Marc,” he breathed out. Fuck, he still sounded wrecked and hoarse. He prayed that Marc wouldn’t say anything about it.

But of course, Marc, in his true style, immediately zeroed in on that. “Steven? What’s wrong with your voice? Are you sick?”

Yeah, sick in the head for imagining my mechanic finger-fucking me. Steven wanted to laugh, hysterically, from his thought. But he swallowed it back down and said, “No, just—just a tad too enthusiastic when I sang in the shower. I’m fine.”

“You’re out of breath,” Marc pointed out ruthlessly.

“Marc,” Steven whined. “Come on, I’m okay.”

“Alright, fine,” Marc said, though he still sounded like he was suspicious. “I’ll be back in two days. We handled the job faster than I thought, despite the small problem. No need to pick me up from the airport. Just call a day off when I’m home.”

“You know, at this rate I feel like I’m the owner of the museum or something; always taking days off whenever I like,” he said, idly tracing the jacket with the tip of his dried fingers. “But yeah, I’ll do that. Is Layla coming?”

“No, baby,” Marc replied apologetically. “She has something else to do after this. She’s got you some souvenirs, though. I’ll bring them. Wait for a bit, yeah?”

“Okay, Marc,” he said, fond of both Marc and Layla for always thinking about him whenever they travelled up and about.

There was a small pause, and Steven waited for Marc to say something. He was gearing up for whatever he was going to say, and Steven was a bit apprehensive.

At last, he said, “Baby? Can you not go anywhere after work? Just immediately go home.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m just worried something will happen to you when I’m not there.”

“You’re always worried,” Steven told him. “And it’s not like this is the first time you’re away. I did just fine by myself all this time, didn’t I?”

“Just do it, Steven.”

He knew that tone. It meant that Marc was worked up about something, but he didn’t want to tell the actual reason of it. Perhaps it was work, or perhaps the small problem wasn’t that small, after all. This wasn’t the first time Marc had asked of the same thing, and in the same tone. So, Steven just sighed and accepted that he was going to lie again to his brother.

“Okay, Marc,” he said.

“Thank you,” Marc said, relief stark in his voice. “I have to go. I love you.”

That was new. Marc was usually just as shy in calls as he was in voice notes and messages. But this time, he said it with vehemence, a tinge of desperation. Whatever happened, it must have been something bad enough to make him lose his composure like this.

“I love you too, Marc,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Take care over there. Don’t want Layla carrying you home and bloody again, do we?”

Marc laughed and Steven smiled at the sound. He always liked it when he could make his brother laugh. He scowled and frowned all the time. He’d get wrinkles soon if he kept that up, if he didn’t already. “I’ll message you later.”

“Bye-bye,” Steven said, and clicked off the call. He let out a breath and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t like lying constantly like this. But the chance was just too tempting. It was a perfect timing, of him knowing Jake at the time when Marc wasn’t around. Maybe he was a bad brother for thinking that way, but it wasn’t like there was anything going on between him and Jake that would ensure a long-term interaction.

Four days, he reminded himself. Just in time for the car to be finished being fixed, and Jake to get away from his life because there’d be no reason for him driving Steven around again. With Marc here, he was sure that even Jake would be put off. Marc could be incredibly aggressive and violent towards strangers, especially one that seemed to be interested in Steven. All of his previous fleeting romances only happened after at least four to five big fights with Marc.

In four days, everything would be put under wrap, like it had never happened. He could admit that he was a bit sad to let Jake go. It could be so lonely without Marc, and Jake had provided such immense comfort for Steven. Still, it was the only thing that could happen.

He let out another sigh, and moved to take off Jake’s jacket to air it out. But when he looked down, he saw that his cum had splattered on some parts of the fabric, and it was already drying. Steven stared in horror at the white fluid as if it had slaughtered his ancestors. Airing it wouldn’t erase the smell that easily. And it already dried, which meant that Steven had to do something about it, quick.

“I’m fucked,” he muttered frantically as he got up on wobbly legs to go to the bathroom.

The stain came off after a few rigorous rounds of wiping it with water and wet cloth, but the smell stayed. Steven stared blankly at the mirror, seeing his own panicked face morphed into a blank slate.

Yeah, he was fucked, indeed.

-

[meatmechapilot]

Rivaeri Fallfest 2022 Day 8/AU August 2022 Day 9 Prompt - Coffee Shop 2

Read Chapter One Here

Chapter Two 

Rivaereri FallFest Day 7 Prompt: Kittens After the couple years of awful luck, Levi's finally feels like his luck had turned.  His first manuscript has been accepted for publishing.  His editors and the publisher were very impressed and is eagerly awaiting his future works.  He decided to celebrate by going to the cafe.  If he's luck holds out, he might even get lucky and officially meet someone. After getting his tea, Levi sat down at his usual table at the cafe and started admiring his manuscript. --- Eren's day is going amazing as well.  He aced all his exams and is on track to get straight A's this semester.  He immediately picked up some catnip and went to the cafe.  He's been thinking that maybe he should work up the courage to talk to the "Hot Guy".  Even if he got rejected, at least he tried, and he would have no regrets. Eren went inside the cafe and immediately noticed "the Hot Guy".  Yes! Eren thought, now if only I can think of an excuse to approach him.  Eren decide to greet the cafe owner and the kitties first and is delighted to find out that the owners had adopted another kitty. The owners greeted him and introduced the new addition, a small black cat that they named Felix.  The kitten was only 3 months old and adopted directly from the shelter.  Felix was a bold little thing who too curious for his own good.  After getting acquainted with Eren, the kitten jumped into Eren's arms and refused to leave, as though he belonged there. --- Levi noticed immediately that Eren came in the cafe and went to play with the owner's cats.  He saw the easy way Eren made friends with the new kitten was a vaguely jealous.  He wished he was less awkward around new people, like Eren was.  Suddenly he got an email from his publisher, and thus was occupied for a moment, which is why he didn't see the kitten making a beeline for him with Eren hot on its heels until it's too late. "Watch out!" A voice called out; Levi looked up, seeing a black blur jump onto his table.  The kitten knocked his tea over, Levi was able to grab his laptop and stand up, while the leaves his manuscript flew all over the floor.  At least nothing appeared to have gotten wet. "I am so sorry about this," Eren was apologizing profusely, while trying to gather his papers from the ground.  Levi carefully put his laptop in a dry spot and started to help.  Their hands touched, and even though it was cliche, Levi swear he felt his heart skip a beat. --- Eren was mortified, so much for making a good first impression, he probably just ruined some important business or court documents for "the Hot Guy".  Eren apologized profusely while trying to gather the papers from the floor.  Suddenly, his hand collided with "the Hot Guy's".  Eren's face heated up and looked up.  They both stopped their movements and looked at each other.  Should I give this a shot and introduce myself? Eren thought.  He was trying to resolve himself into doing so when he heard a smooth baritone voice. "Hello, my name is Levi," the Hot Guy, or rather Levi was saying.  "I know your name is Eren because of your friends.  Would you like to have a drink with me?" No way, did he just ask me out? Eren stared at Levi dumbly for a moment when Felix came in and attempted to jump into Eren's arms.  "Yes, of course I would." They finished gathering up Levi's manuscripts and found a cozy corner in the cafe to get acquainted with each other.  They had a long conversation, getting to know each other, it felt like not time passed at all with the cats playing at their feet. And then it's already time to part.  Already having exchanged contacts and plans to meet soon, Eren left the cafe feeling like it's the beginning of a beautiful relationship.