#I need to stop comparing sexualities to soup

[candycaneface0]

being aromantic is like soup without the meat part

Like the meat isn’t necessary but is it soup without some sort of meat material?

maybe I’m hungry I dunno

[introvertedelf]

The Russian in Uniform

Dmitri Antonov (Enzo) (Stranger Things) x Reader

Summary: You get captured by the Russians and Enzo is your prison guard.

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: Language, talk of prostitution, attempted sexual assault, violence, kidnapping, future graphic smut, and murder.

Read chapter 2 here

Chapter 1: The Russian Guard and the American Girl

YOUR POV

What happened? Where were you? It’s cold…so cold. The kind of cold that makes you numb to the point where you don’t really feel it anymore. Like an awake hibernation; your body protecting itself from the feeling.

Last thing you remembered was being on some tiny puddle hopping plane. You could practically still feel the turbulence, that sinking pang in your gut when the bumpiness got a little too real.

Evidently, you’d survived. You opened your eyes, looking around. The first thing you saw were your feet—they were chained. Your pants were wet, damp on the cuffs. The cold air stung your eyes, bringing sharp tears to them. You groaned deeply, suddenly feeling how hungry you were. Footsteps drew close.

“Hello, little American,” you heard a Russian accented voice coo in an almost condescending way.

You looked up, meeting a pair of blue eyes just as cold as the cell you were in. Yet, they had a hint of something else. What that was, you couldn’t quite tell yet.

You swallowed, your throat burning with dehydration. “Where am I? Who are you?”

The man chuckled. His uniform was unrecognizable. “Always the same questions,” he shook his head, amused. “Where am I? Who are you? What do you want with me? I’ll be clear and to the point,” he stepped closer to you, bending down so that he was nearly eye level. “You were captured as an American hostage, moya krasota.”

You felt tears slip down your cheeks now, dampening your clothing further. “But—I can’t…I don’t…”

He brought a finger to your lips, dragging it down on your full bottom one. “Shhh, pretty. I’m going to take good care of you,” he hushed, taking a metal tin out of his jacket. He unscrewed the lid and brought it to your lips. You didn’t trust him, shying away. He smirked, taking a sip of it himself, swallowing audibly. “It is only water—unless you’d like to continue being thirsty.”

You shook your head. He brought the tin back to your lips, tilting it so that water began to flow down your throat. You nearly moaned, thankful for something as simple as water. Something that just hours earlier you had an abundance of.

“Good girl,” he smiled, wiping your chin off with his bare hand. “I will bring you food later, some of my rations as well. Guards don’t get a feast, but compared to prisoners rations? You’ll be thanking me.” He walked off then, stuffing the tin back into his jacket before stopping to turn around. “By the way, the names Antonov. But you, krasotka? You can call me Dmitri,” he winked. Without another word, he left.

***Hours later***

You awoke to the sound of rattling keys, opening your heavy eyelids to see the same guard, Dmitri, from before. He looked around swiftly before opening your cell, shutting it and facing you.

“Hello again, krasotka,” the man greeted you. Come to think of it, he was a rather attractive man. You could tell that behind the uniform, he certainly had quite a bit of lean muscle, as every guard likely did. He was different, however. You saw other guards pass by, none of them paying any more attention to you than a quick stare up and down.

Dmitri pulled open his jacket again, getting out what you presumed to be food in a cloth. “It’s bread and dried meat. Like I said, it’s no feast but it’s better than the watery ‘soup’ you received,” he gestured to the soup that was likely now cold on the floor. You hadn’t even seen anyone bring it by your cell, and they clearly didn’t care to wake and tell you.

You woofed down the meat first, followed by the bread. It tasted like heaven on your starving tastebuds, even if the bread was stale and the meat was unseasoned.

“Good, you’ll need your strength,” he sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

You looked up at him, startled. “What? How? What am I even here for? I thought it was a work camp.”

He laughed, but in a way that said what he was about to say wasn’t funny at all. “It is a work camp—for men. You were the only woman that was captured. They mean to use you as a prostitute,” he looked down at his shoes. You could tell he was angry as he said the words. “The leader of this camp found a way to profit even more off of your labor. I will not allow it. Women are to be respected—valued. Not pawned off like sex slaves,” he caught your chin in his hand, bringing your gaze up to his. “I promise you that I will get you out. I’ve been meaning to escape myself, frankly, though I’ve been procrastinating. You’re my final push, printsessa.”

And just like that, he was out of your cell again, only to return thrice daily to feed you for a fortnight.

***Two Weeks Later***

You had begun to grow used to Dmitri. He though a prison guard, he had a soft spot. There was goodness in him, as you saw.

You heard keys rattle one night, excited to see your favourite guard when it was not Dmitri after all. It was a soldier you’d seen snickering before at you with his friends. This time, he was a lone wolf.

He started speaking to you in Russian, and though you could not understand what he was saying, you could tell it wasn’t anything good based off the look on his face. It was a predatory look, one that you’d been told to be weary of as a girl even on the streets of America.

“Stay back—don’t touch me!” You cried as the guard tried to grope you. You kicked him in the shin the best you could with your chains, simply agitating him instead.

“Glupaya Shuka!” He yelled, backhanding you across the face. As soon as you turned to look at him, Dmitri was there. His face burning a hot red as he waited for the soldier to turn around. And when he did? He punched harder than you had ever seen anyone punch. Not just once. Over and over again, until the soldiers blood was flowing freely, Dmitri’s knuckles coated in a sticky red film.

“Dmitri! Enough! Please—��� you cried. He looked at you with a sympathetic anger, throwing the guy out of your cell and watching him stumble off. He turned to look at you, cupping your cheek in his hand.

“I am so sorry I am late…this is my fault,” he rubbed your cheek with his bloodless hand, grazing the tips of his long, thick fingers over the developing bruise. You put your hand on his, squeezing it reassuringly.

“I’m fine…please. It’s not your fault. Thank you…” you heard your own voice shake, and tears brimmed in your eyes. It was if that slap—that single, firm slap, brought you to reality more than anything. You were far away from home. You were taken to be rented and used for sex by who the hell knows. You began to sob, and Dmitri pulled you close.

Your face was in the crook of his neck, his clean hand on the back of your head rubbing gentle patterns against your scalp.

“It’s going to be alright, American. I’ve got you. I’m going to get you out.”

[bakugosbratx]

omg could you do a dark villain Shoto x fem reader smut?

NSFW 18+ The Pawn— AU Villian! Shoto Todoroki x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ content. Unprotected sexual intercourse, alternate universe, toxic relationship, stolkholm syndrome, fluff, angst, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping, murder of family, punishment, bdsm, power play, yandere tendencies, etc.

Words: 2,410

Check out my other works here

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! I am so sorry it took me forever to do it. But I hope it meets what you’re looking for. This is my first time writing for Shoto so I apologize in advance.

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @milkthistletea @quietlegends @idfkwtfgof

“Any last words?” Shoto questions with a demeaning scowl of disgust, his index finger becoming restless on the pistol’s trigger. The barrel of the gun is resting on the man’s temple while he pleads for mercy.

“I’ll have your money by next week, I swear!” The man cried.

“You said that last time. To be quite frank, I’m not really fond of your lying, Y/L/N.” Shoto admits, cocking the gun so it can fire. The terrified man’s eyes grew wide as tears stream down his face.

“Shoto,” his breath hitches, “p-please. I have a family to take care of. A wife and two children. Please.”

Horrific muffled screams filled the kitchen where your family reside as the gunshot went off. Blood leaked from your father’s bullet wound onto the floor beneath him. You all were forced to watch, tied up and helpless. Shoto even had his crew gag you so your words would not disturb his business meeting. He hates interruptions.

“Disgusting.” Shoto complains, referencing to some of the blood covering his face. Igniting his left side, he sets your father’s corpse on fire. The smell of burning flesh filled your snot filled nostrils as more whimpers escaped your cloth covered lips. This caught Shoto’s attention.

“You,” he calls out as he makes his way towards your tied up body. He picks you up with ease, throwing you over his muscular shoulder. “Are coming with me.”

Your muffled remarks were no use as well as your kicks. You are terrified and not sure why Shoto, Japan’s notorious killer, is doing in your household right now, but you know it’s not good.

“Sir,” one of the men stopped you two as Shoto is making his way towards the exit. He pauses his motion, waiting for the man’s question. “What do you want us to do with the other two? Heroes will be here any moment.”

Shoto pondered the man’s words for a moment. You are silently pleading that he will just let them go, but that was not even a thought in his mind. “Leave them be.”

“But sir—“

“The house will be burnt to ash in any given moment,” he activates his left side for emphasis, “if you want to stay alive, I suggest you gather up the others and get a move on.”

The man nodded and Shoto begins walking out of the house. You struggle in his grasp, but Shoto remains undisturbed by your antics. Throwing you into the back of a van, he slams the double doors. Now all you are left with is your thoughts.

This doesn’t seem real. It truly can’t be. Your family is being massacred and there is not a thing you can do about it. You can even hear their muzzled screams as your house goes up in flames. Still, you are useless as the van starts and drives far away from the crime scene.

Shoto Todoroki is Japan’s worse nightmare. Numerous accounts of murder, abuse of power, kidnapping, anything terrible had Shoto’s name on it. No one knows much about the villain’s personal life except for his heroic father with a bad temper. Some say it is his fault for the way his son turned out and Shoto would agree, but Shoto’s crimes will not be taken from him. No, they are all his doing and he is proud of it.

“Y/N,” Shoto called, making you snap out of your thoughts. You turn to meet the man that now claims you as his. “Are you alright, love? You hardly touched your food.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” You mumbled, giving a soft smile. Bringing the ramen noodle soup to your lips, you forced yourself to eat the food. Your stomach is in shambles as the thoughts from that night came back. There are still many unanswered questions and unknown puzzle pieces, but that is a life you need to forget about. You are Shoto’s now. You have no choice but to be his.

Shoto studied your features. If there is one thing Shoto is not is dumb. He is observant. Just one wrong look and you are in deep trouble. Considering you have been living with Shoto for over a year now, you have grown accustomed to his ways. You have learned to appease him in anyway to make you happy. Especially if it is going to keep you alive.

“You know I don’t appreciate when you lie to me.” Shoto nonchalantly reminds you, noticing how quickly you swallow when the words flow out off his tongue.

“I-I’m not lying, Shoto. Honestly.” You stammered, hoping he would not notice the fear trickling in your eyes. He did, though. Shoto noticed everything about you. One of the many things you despised about him.

The rest of super was ate in silence. As you have learned, this is never a good sign. When Shoto is quiet, he’s plotting. Usually, it’s your punishment. You can see it in his eyes and the subtle touches he does to you. All to make you feel uneasy. Just like he can read you, you are learning to read him just the same.

Once dinner was over, he gathered the dirty dinning wear and washed them. You remained in your chair until you are granted permission to stand up. Your heart is racing with anticipation. What is Shoto plotting? Especially for something as simple as lying.

“Y/N,” Shoto paused to make sure your attention was his. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing straight along with your body stiffening. You hear him walking towards you, his one cold hand and other warm one rest on your shoulders. “Go upstairs to our shared bedroom.”

“Y-Yes, Shoto.” You mumbled, scurrying up the steps like the good behave girl he taught you to be. If only your filthy little mouth could stop lying.

Shoto is quick to follow after your trembling body. His presence is swallowing you whole as he march up the stairs behind you. Your clammy palm turns the golden doorknob into the master bedroom. You immediately turn around, groping your butt in fear for what may happen to it.

Shoto shuts the door behind him, leaning against it with his arms folded. His face held its usual unamused look as he glares at you.

“I’m giving you one last chance to be honest with me, Y/N.”

“I-I have been honest a-all along, Shoto.” You argued. Shoto’s glare intensified.

“You were thinking about your family again, weren’t you?”

“What? No, I-“

“You’re just like your father.” Shoto scornfully chuckled, strolling towards you. His right hand folded around your neck, giving it a nice squeeze as he whispered in your ear, “and you know how much I truly despise your father.”

His hot breath seemed to linger on the shell of your ear. Your eyes harden as they meet his. His icy hand seemed to make this choking experience even worse. You would get frostbite if it gets any colder, but something in you snapped. You have not fought back in months. You became the submissive girl Shoto desperately wanted you to be yet you are still in the same position as many times before.

“You’re one to talk.” You choked out. The hold on your neck became stronger, circulation being lost to your organs. You are pushed onto the bed, Shoto’s muscular form on top of you.

“Don’t you ever compare me to that monster again, understand me?” Shoto growls as he watch you struggle beneath him. You started to turn pale as your body loses its natural color from lack of air flow. His hatred from his father and yours is taking over as you slowly start to become unconscious. He finally lets go.

You cough, grasping for air. It felt like there was not enough in there to supply your deprived body. Especially with Shoto’s suffocating presence on top of you.

“You have some real nerve talking to me like that, Y/N. When will you learn that your family is the true bad guys in the situation, not me. They screwed me over and I came for what they owed me. You’re just a pawn.”

“You’re lying..” You mumbled out in disbelief. Shoto’s devious grin just grew wider at the tears in your eyes.

“I’m not like your father.” Shoto spats, venom dripping from every wretched word. Your heart is aching and this only fuels the fire.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, warm tears streaming down your face. Shoto only chuckled at your mere offense.

“I plan on it.”

Your look of disgust was ignored as Shoto’s lips trailed from your neck to your lips. You forced yourself to kiss back. You always do. You two had sex plenty of times and sadly, you enjoyed it, but when it’s used for punishment or after he has tears down any sheer ounce of self esteem you possessed it is quite difficult to get in the mood.

“Why do you keep me here?” You finally breathe out as your lips disconnect. Shoto furrowed his eyebrows together.

“Because your family is dead.”

“I know that!” You exclaimed. Shoto is very intelligent, but someone who is also literal. He does not always catch onto what you’re actually trying to ask. “I mean, if I’m just some pawn, why keep me here? Why not let me have the same fate as my family?”

Shoto stayed silent. He pondered how he should answer this. He just started touching you outside of the bedroom a couple months ago. It even took him a long time to have sexual intercourse with you. He knows he could have killed you off. He is sure of it. You have been a pain in his ass since he collected you for payment yet you’re still here.

“I don’t know.” Shoto answered, truthfully.

You sigh. You are not sure what answer you were expecting, but knowing where this is leading does not make you feel any better about yourself. You just feel more used.

Silence over fell you two. Shoto is in deep thought as so are you. You are worried that your days are numbered now, but Shoto was not even thinking about that. He is more thinking of himself and how he can’t murder you. He actually likes having you around. He may never say it and his facial features will never show it, but with you by his side, his frozen heart starts to thaw. Just by your simple glimpses and touches.

Part of him hated you for that.

“Shoto,” you whisper, catching his attention. You made yourself look away. You have so many conflicting thoughts. Shoto is all you have now and in all honesty, you have grown not to hate the guy. You love the soft touches and the way he keeps you warm at night. He is so observant of the slightest of things. That’s more than your family has ever given you.

Your right hand cupped his cheek. He seemed slightly tense by the action, but he instantly fell into your touch. Your thumb grazed his cheek.

“I-I,” you meet his gaze, “I enjoy your company.” You admit. Shoto kept silent, but your words meant something to him. You both are not good with this kind of stuff. You were never taught it. This is the closest thing you two will ever get to ‘I love you.’

Your lips connected once again. During the process, each one of your articles of clothing was discarded to the ground below. Shoto kissed down your exposed breast, stomach, and finally stopped at your pussy. He swiped his tongue between your folds sending chills down your spine along with needy moans escaping your parted lips.

“Shoto, please.“ You whined, wanting him to make you soaked already, but you are on Shoto’s terms. He gets to decide everything.

Luckily, he did not make you wait long as tongue swirled on your sensitive clit. Your legs rested on his shoulders as he devoured you. Small groans is all Shoto could do as his tongue explored every inch of your pussy. Not a spot was missed nor would he allow there to be. Your clit was being the most spoiled. Your entrance was then meet shortly after. You did your best to conceal your sweet melodies of pleasure, but Shoto is not allowing you to do so.

“You have a voice for a reason. Use it.” He orders in a low growl amongst your cunt.

“Shoto,” you sob, “I’m about to cum. Please.”

You arched your back as your cunt was about to release. Shoto sped up the pace, helping you meet your climax even sooner. On que, you sing sweet little melodies of moans as you release into the man’s mouth. Every drop was swallowed by him.

Shoto stood up, grabbing your hips to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. “Keep your eyes on me at all times. Understood?”

You nod, eagerly. “Yes, Shoto.”

Shoto aligned his erection with your weeping entrance. Shortly after, your walls are hugging his length as it dives deeper and deeper into you. Each thrust loosened you even more and he kept a steady pace. You gripped the expensive European satin bedsheets as you babbled incoherent words and phrases. You kept your eyes locked on Shoto the whole time just like he ordered.

“Shoto.” You finally moan aloud as his dick is inside of you.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” He groans. Your crying cunt was dripping with your slick onto the fabric of the bed and on Shoto’s cock.

“Yes.” You manage to blurt out as you gasp for more. His cock felt amazing no matter how much you wanted to hate him for it. This is one of the ways he shows affection. You learned to accept that.

Shoto’s hands find their way to your bouncing titties. The difference between temperatures sent your body into overdrive. He loved seeing the lewd faces you make as he used his power to pleasure you. Shoto’s dick did not stop thrusting into you through this process either though it is twitching.

Pre-cum leaks into your cunt. Shoto removes his hands from your breast as he picks up the pace. His knees start to buckle beneath him as cum flows from his cock. Every drop is milked from him until he pulls outs.

This is his way of saying ‘I love you.’

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[windless-hurricane]

Sparks

Chapter Three: The Beauty of a Devil

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there ever a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi, all! I know it’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything, but I’m back to finish this series. I want to catch up to where the anime left off. Therefore, as an apology for taking awhile, I’m posting two new chapters today (chapter four will be posted an hour or so after this one)!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

TAGLIST: @lovethemilkteasis @grayxblaze @theyoungblood13 @flowersgirl02 @noodlenerd101 @hanabihwa @drowned-pathetic-rat @bestgirlb @bleepop @miinnttyy @1-800-thanos @lovelime

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• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

“I need your help, (Y/N),” Eren proclaimed as he slammed his hand down on the table, causing you to look at him instead of your soup.

If you hadn’t known Eren prior to this, you would’ve been startled by his actions, but you practically grew up with him. You were both from Shiganshina and while you were good friends, you weren’t as close as he, Mikasa, and Armin were. You were closest to your brother.

“With what,” you questioned, your spoon hanging from your mouth.

“Learning the maneuver gear,” he explained, an eager look in his eyes.

“Well, haven’t you asked Mikasa? She was really good at it,” you recalled.

“I did, but it still didn’t work,” he sighed. “So, I thought maybe you had some advice, seeing as you were nearly perfect.”

You blushed at his compliment as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well,” you breathed. “It’s kind of like a swing.”

“A swing,” he asked confusedly.

“It’s hard to describe…maybe Viktor knows how to say it. Hey, Viktor.”

You nudged your brother’s shoulder with your own, but he didn’t respond. So, you and Eren looked over and were surprised to see him in a deep conversation with Krista as Ymir glared at him from across the table. You both smirked.

“He’s going to die,” you remarked.

“Yeah,” Eren agreed with a chuckle, causing you to sigh.

“Well, I’ll try my best to describe it then. When you look at the seat of the swing, you can see that it is completely balanced. Then, once weight is added onto it, it still manages to stay upright. That’s because it balances the weight throughout itself equally. You have to think of your body as a whole and seek balance within yourself. That’s the best way I can describe it. Does that…sorta make sense?”

He gazed at you with wide eyes, not necessarily mesmerized by what you said, but how you said it.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he confirmed excitedly and you smiled.

“If you still need help, you can ask some of the guys,” you suggested. “A few of them did well too.”

“Got it, thank you so much, (Y/N)!”

“No problem,” you waved, watching as he made his way back to the table where Mikasa and Armin were sitting.

You noticed Mikasa glaring at you, but you decided to ignore it and focus on your food instead. However, you were only able to get two bites in until someone else came.

“Do you mind if I sit here,” a deep voice asked and you looked up to see a tall, blonde boy with a muscular build standing in front of you. You realized you remembered him from orientation.

“Yeah, go right ahead,” you said, motioning to the seat in front of you. He sat down with a small creak and you gazed at him for a few moments before turning back to your food.

“You’re (Y/N), right,” he questioned once more and you nodded.

“(Y/N) Bauer. I would introduce you to this oaf,” you gestured to Viktor. “But he’s too busy taking his final breaths.” Reiner let out an airy chuckle as your brother was now arguing with Ymir over something ludicrous.

“I’m-“ Reiner started to say, but you cut him off.

“Reiner Braun, I remember you. You’re the ‘save humanity’ guy.”

“Huh?”

“During orientation, when Shadis asked you why you were here, you said ‘to save humanity.’”

“You remember that?” You nodded.

Reiner hadn’t thought you noticed him, let alone even remembered what he said. The surprise made him oddly happy.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, playing with your food. “The only reason I did was because you looked just as scary as Shadis.”

“What,” Reiner laughed, causing you to smile.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ I mean, look at you. You’re a tall, muscly guy with a sharp face. Intense eyes and a deep voice. Who wouldn’t be scared of that?”

“Not you apparently,” he stated with a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, (Y/N), I’d say you were flirting with me.”

Your cheeks reddened.

While you did find him extremely attractive, especially when you first laid eyes on him during orientation, you couldn’t let him know that.

You couldn’t let him know that you were taken aback by his strong and unwavering stature, the way the muscle within his jaw flexed with determination, and how his amber eyes burned when Shadis asked him why he was there.

When he answered with “To save humanity,” his voice was deep, but so sure of himself. It permanently caught your attention, but still. He couldn’t know that.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Braun,” you finally countered. “You only interested me because of how overachieving your goal was.”

“Really, how so,” he asked with half lidded eyes. He could tell you were bluffing. You had to save your ass.

“Well, don’t you think saving humanity is quite ambitious? How could one person manage to save millions of people,” you commented.

“Why does one join the military to begin with?” Your eyes widened.

While you were shocked, you were also impressed at his question. You couldn’t help the amused smile that made its way onto your lips.

“A good portion of the kids here are either looking to live comfortably within the inner walls or wanting to earn bragging rights as they slack off in the Garrison Regiment. Why do you think the number of people joining the Scouts every few years is so low? ‘Cause in the end, most people don’t want to leave the walls to fight for humanity. They just want to stay back and watch others do the work.”

“Is that why you joined?” You snorted.

“Course not.”

“Then, why’d you join?”

‘Why did I join,’ you thought to yourself.

Then, it hit you. Their words.

Mommy loves you so much. She loves you. Please just do this last thing for her and hide.

Get my brother and sister out of here! I’ll take care of the Titans! Just go!

I’m sorry, (Y/N).

You clenched your spoon tightly as you gazed into Reiner’s eyes with a newfound intensity gracing your own.

“I joined because-” but you were cut off by a large thud and your brother groaning right after.

You and Reiner looked over to see Ymir pushing his face into the table.

“How’s that for a rude awakening,” she sneered, tearing herself away from him soon after. “C’mon, Krista.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Krista whined, but Ymir had already grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the mess hall.

You sighed.

“What did you even say to them?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, holding onto his head.

“Honestly, you’re either great at talking to girls or extremely poor at it. There’s no in between,” you commented as you pulled him up by his hair.

Reiner hissed shortly after and you winced at the sight of his face.

“We’re going to need bandages for that.”

__________________________________________

“What’re we doing out here,” you questioned, following your brother through the dark forest. “Can’t we get in trouble for this?”

“Not if we aren’t caught,” he mused with an almost crazy smile on his face.

“I think Ymir hit you too hard. Are you seeing double right now?”

You glanced at the bandages around his forehead and were becoming genuinely concerned that he had a concussion.

“It’s because of Ymir I’m doing this,” he revealed, chuckling breathlessly. “She’s going to hate it when I prove her wrong.”

“You still didn’t tell me what you told her,” you mentioned.

“I tried comparing Krista to a lotus flower and Ymir’s convinced that no such thing exists.”

“Really? Then, what was the whole rude awakening thing?”

“I just told her she was in for a rude awakening and she did that. The audacity.”

“You’re a real idiot, you know that,” you stated, causing him to gasp offensively.

“What?!”

“So, you’re trying to find a lotus flower to prove her wrong.”

“Yeah.” You came to a stop.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“If I’m remembering what we read as kids correctly, those only exist outside of the walls,” you exclaimed in disbelief.

“I mean, yeah. They’re from Asia, but the Asian clan lived here for some time anyways,” he mumbled to himself.

“Huh? You’re talking too quietly.”

“Oh, well, what I meant to say is that humanity once lived outside of the walls, right? So, they had to have brought some with us!”

You watched your brother in confusion as he turned away, moving forward once again. That was weird, you thought.

As you followed behind him, you heard rustling nearby.

“Do you hear that,” you asked and Viktor shook his head.

“It’s probably just a deer or something.”

“I don’t know…”

The rustling grew louder and you both stopped.

“I don’t know if that’s a deer,” you murmured, grabbing onto his jacket.

Then, the both of you could make out footsteps and started to tremble in panic.

“What if it’s Shadis,” you whispered. “I didn’t plan on bothering him today. I’m not prepared to swim again…or worse. Clean the restroom after Sasha’s used it.”

Viktor nearly gagged at the idea.

“This was your idea, Viktor.”

“Well, you’re the one who decided to follow the kid with the possible concussion out here,” he retorted.

“You, idiot. Let’s just find a hiding spot, but move very quietly.” He nodded as you led him through the trees, tiptoeing carefully. You turned the corner of a tree and unexpectedly bumped into a firm chest.

You didn’t get the chance to see who it was as you and the owner of that chest started screaming.

You fell back into your screeching brother and heard three more masculine yells follow suit.

You opened your eyes and saw Reiner, Bertolt, Eren, and Armin all huddled together, panting with terrified looks on their faces.

“Huh,” you gasped, but they didn’t hear you as your brother was still screaming. “Shut up!” You elbowed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“What the hell are you guys doing out here,” you questioned, attempting to recompose yourself.

“We could ask you the same thing,” Reiner countered, clearing his throat.

“Uh…good point. This idiot behind me wanted to find a flower to win a bet against Ymir.”

“Bertolt and I just wanted to show Eren and Armin the lake.”

“That’s a better reason than ours,” you chuckled, finally having calmed down. “I’m just glad you weren’t Shadis.”

“You and me both.”

__________________________________________

“Wow,” you gushed, staring at the moon’s reflection from the water. “It’s like a mirror.”

“I know. Isn’t it insane,” Reiner smiled.

It was. It really was. The moon was big and bright, while the water was still and black. They complimented and contrasted each other all at once. It was like a painting that lit up the night. It was stunning.

“I honestly never pegged you to be a softie, Braun,” you teased with a smirk.

“Well,” he smiled. “I thought Eren could use some inspiration for tomorrow.” And you felt your lips lift into a sweet smile.

You meant it. You didn’t expect Reiner to be so caring or considerate, yet he was and you found yourself liking it a lot.

He was big and strong on the outside, but gentle on the inside.

“Well, Eren. Are you inspired,” you asked softly and he nodded with a big grin, causing you to giggle.

“Ah hah,” Viktor shouted and you sent him a glare.

“Hey, why are you ruining the moment,” you questioned.

“I found it, I actually found it!”

“What?”

He sprinted to you in an instant and your eyes widened once you saw a lotus flower resting in the palms of his hands. It was pink and gentle with mud underneath it. It really was…beautiful and the rest of the boys gathered around to witness its beauty.

“It only blooms in mud,” Viktor stated excitedly and you smiled. It had been so long since you had seen him this way and you didn’t want it to end. You wanted him to continue being happy.

“It’s beautiful,” Reiner commented. “A true beauty.” You all hummed in agreement, listening to Viktor’s rant that followed.

However, Reiner never started listening. He was still too focused on what, or rather who, he had actually been looking at when making that comment.

He was looking at you - admiring the way you shone just as brightly as the moon and thought…

How could a devil be this beautiful?

[hufflautia]

In Sickness and in Health

Requested by @milk-leaves!​  

Warnings: A very brief and non-explicit sexual implication

Summary: Slytherin catches the flu. Luckily, her husband is there to help. However, her stubborn nature and insistent claim that “she can’t be sick because she’s never been sick in her entire life” makes it a little difficult for Hufflepuff to assist her. Marriage isn’t always easy, but with the proper amount of love and patience, everything works out in the end. 

Slytherin grabs the garbage can just in time to vomit into the basket. When she finishes, she wipes her mouth with a grimace and rests her forehead against the bed. 

“Honey?” 

She looks up and sees Hufflepuff standing by the door, his forehead puckered as he takes in her appearance. Her hair unruly, she’s slumped on the floor of their bedroom, looking tired and pale. 

Usually, Slytherin would be happy to see her husband. However, all she feels is irritation in the wake of his presence, and she leans against the side of the mattress once more. 

“What are you doing here,” she croaks, eyeing him as he approaches her and kneels down. “I thought you had to go to the Ministry today.” 

“It was a minor emergency, so I left early.” He regards her carefully. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Hufflepuff frowns. “But you threw up.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been doing that a lot today,” she murmurs weakly. Noticing his eyes widen, she snorts. “I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re thinking. I got my period today.”  

He gives her a sympathetic look. “I imagine it’s been a very fun day for you.” 

“The best I’ve ever had, actually.” 

Leaning in ever so slightly, that’s when Hufflepuff sees it—the faint flush on her face, the way she folds her arm around herself, the tinge of hoarseness in her voice.  

He reaches out and touches Slytherin’s forehead. Her skin feels hot and cold at the same time. She bats away his hand in annoyance. “What are you doing,” she snaps, scowling at him. Her anger immediately falters when she notices how his eyebrows rise, a look of surprise mixed with hurt spreading onto his face. 

“You have a fever,” he confirms quietly. 

Slytherin resists a frown. “But I never get sick.” 

“Well, it happens to the best of us.” He gets up. “Wait here, I’ll get some medicine.” 

“I don’t need it,” she calls after him but he’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. He returns with a bottle and a small cup. Taking a seat before pouring red liquid into the cup, he ignores her when she says his name in a tone of indignation, insisting that she isn’t sick.

Hufflepuff hands it to her. “Drink,” he says firmly. When she juts her chin out and pouts, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Honey, I know you don’t want to, but it’ll make you feel better.”

She still doesn’t move. This time, he returns her unyielding stare with one of his own. His tone is hard and demanding as he warns, “I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

Slytherin grudgingly brings the cup to her lips. If she didn't feel like complete shit right now, she would keep pushing his patience for fun. She’d even be a little turned on by his authoritative voice. Probably both. 

She immediately makes a face as the medicine slides down her throat. “This tastes like ass,” she grumbles, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and setting the cup down. 

He chuckles. “Medicine tends to taste that way.” He stands and offers his hand. “Come. I’m sure a warm shower sounds perfect right now.”  

A faint smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “How’d you know,” she asks, taking his hand. A wave of nausea sweeps over her when she gets up, and he quickly plants his hands on either side of her. 

“I’m your husband,” he pulls her closer, “I know these things.” 

Slytherin wraps her arms around him. “Will you carry me to the bathroom,” she mumbles into his sweater. 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head before picking her up bridal-style with care. 

“Do you even have to ask?” 

A couple of hours pass. Feeling drowsy from the medicine, Slytherin took a long nap before waking up to the smell of homemade soup. Hufflepuff cooked something for her while she was sleeping. To her dismay, he also gave her another cup of NyQuil, but she drank it without any resistance. Afterwards, her headache subsided and was diminished to a dull pain, which is nothing compared to before. 

Now, she is laying in bed, feeling comfortable and content as she snuggles with her husband while he reads her favorite book out loud. She’ll probably never openly admit it but she loves when they cuddle. Listening to the smooth drawl of his voice, she catches a few words while dozing in and out of sleep. Her lips curve into a smile. He’s getting to her favorite part where he speaks in a ridiculous voice when reading the dialogue of an ancient wizard. 

Hufflepuff had read the book to her before when they were dating. He used the same wise and raspy voice as he uses now. At that moment, as she attempted to hold in her laughter, she knew he was the one. Funnily enough, he ended up proposing to her a month later. 

Feeling the familiar tug in her heart that can only be classified as complete adoration, Slytherin musters enough strength to pull herself out of the cozy arms of sleep. She shifts around so that she can properly see his face and says his name tenderly. 

“What is it,” he asks, putting the book down. “Is your headache still bothering you?” 

“A little, but...I’m sorry for being mean to you before. I was angry at you for no reason, but it might’ve been because of my period, and you already know how bad my PMS gets sometimes, but I still feel terrible about being so rude because you’re so great and sweet and you were only trying to help but I was being so difficult and I think I’m just not really used to people taking care of me, so I was trying to handle this flu on my own but I still shouldn’t have acted that way—and I literally hit your fucking hand and I hate myself for it because you don’t deserve it at all, you deserve so much more than whatever I have to offer...” Words continue to spill from her mouth as she rambles on and on, not bothering to pause for a breath of air. 

Hufflepuff says her name and she finally stops, staring back at him with a contorted expression as if she were trying to back tears. He cups her cheek, to which she leans into his warm touch. “Please don’t worry about that anymore, honey, it’s okay. Honestly. I’ve been with you long enough to know that there’s no one else I would rather be with but you. Even with your stubbornness, I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more.” He gives her a reassuring smile as she looks back at him with watery eyes. “Just focus on resting for now, okay?”

She nods and tries to smile back, getting a little choked up in the process. His words are laced with so much endearment that she realizes just how lucky she is to have someone like him to spend the rest of her life with. She puts her hand over his. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, “for loving me as you do.”  

His gaze is so unimaginably soft that, for a split second, Slytherin wonders how it’s even possible. He leans in, and she happily closes the distance. 

One might think that as time passes for a married couple, the love begins to stale. This is not true in their case, for the flutter in her stomach intensifies as they kiss. She can only focus on how soft he feels against her lips, how he invades all her senses in the best way possible. Her fingers grip the front of his shirt while his hand rests against the curve of her neck when they finally pull apart. Their noses brush against each other as they lock eyes. 

“I love you,” she breathes. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “And I love you.” 

“Good. Because we’re stuck with each other forever.” 

“I’d be sad if we weren’t,” he replies with a grin, retrieving the book. “Shall I continue reading?” 

She beams at him before laying her cheek against his chest. “Yes please.” 

Hufflepuff flips to the page he left off from. While he reads, he traces patterns around her stomach, as if he's painting a beautiful masterpiece over her skin. 

A couple of chapters in, Slytherin momentarily closes her eyes as his melodious voice washes over her. 

The sound of his steady heartbeat lulls her to sleep. 

FIN.

~

Check out my masterlist! | Kind comments and reblogs are most appreciated :) 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It took me a while to come up with an idea for this (also, to the person who requested this, I hope you are satisfied :D). My friend had the idea of “a vacation gone horribly wrong”. It was a fantastic idea - I even made a google doc for it and everything, but I did not write out a sufficient amount of general details for it because nothing solid came to mind. Then, when I was trying to go to sleep, I came up with this idea and I am very happy with how it came out!! 

I modeled Hufflepuff after Steve Rogers to some extent. He has that gentle giant type of vibe. He is kind and loving, but he’ll be stern if he needs to. I have to admit, the thought of making a series about slytherpuff married life has crossed my mind while writing this one-shot. I am still contemplating it. If I do create the series, it won’t be restricted to this couple specifically, but I will consider writing more stories about them because I really do adore their dynamic! Anyways, if I were to write that series, it would be different stories with different couples. It might not even be classified as a series but more as a collection of slytherpuff married life stories. Also, there would probably be at least one nsfw story included in that collection, but I will not be writing any smut until after my birthday, which is in April. *HI THIS IS JESSICA FROM THE NEXT DAY, aka the day that i’m gonna post this and im just going over the fic. while i was sleeping, i just thought of ANOTHER marriage fic so i think im going to make a married life collection of storiessss :D :D :D!!! however, im still wondering about whether i should write it, because the story idea is a little eh. if anyone has any other marriage life ideas, please feel free to let me know! before, i was a little hesitant on making a collection because it was hard for me to think of ideas for this fic when the request came in. hopefully, that will change in the future. also why do i keep coming up with good ideas for stories in my sleep lmao* 

Writing this story was fun. I stayed up until 2 am for four straight days while writing. Lmao how odd is it to see those two sentences right next to each other? In all honestly, I didn’t feel like it was 2 am because I was in the zone. I just kept writing until I told myself to go to bed because the future morning me will regret it--and lemme tell you, she really does. Anyways, I used my own experience with medicine for fevers. I absolutely hate the taste of NyQuil; I remember when my mom would make me drink small cups of it whenever I was sick. Also, when I was writing Sly’s rambling bit, I did not put any periods in the paragraph because I wanted to make it seem like she’s going on and on and isn’t stopping. However, I thought it to be weird and so I put the paragraph into the “translate to english” thing so that I could press the audio icon and hear what it sounds like. I’m happy to report that it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard in my entire life because her monotone voice saying all that was very amusing. 

There is no telling what fic I will post next. Last week, I was all over the place and working on several fics, moving from one to another when I got bored of the story. Also, my mental state is not the best at the moment. I’ve been feeling self-conscious about my writing recently, and I’m probably gonna go through another episode of that because this is gonna be the first fic that marks the end of tag lists and so this is probably gonna be an underrated fic because fewer ppl will see it. I came to realize that it’s not me who’s writing bad fics; even though I tag people, there’s a noticeable lack of interaction, so it’s likely that some of my followers just aren’t active anymore. There was a fanfic writer who I really like because their loki fics are amazing. A few weeks ago, I found their other blog that I was not aware of beforehand and they made a post 3 weeks ago saying that they would no longer be writing fics because there were barely any people interacting with them. She seemed really upset, saying stuff like “I guess my fics just aren’t good enough”, “no one can save me anymore” (I know that sounds very ominous but she was insinuating “no nice comments will make me change my mind��), and “I feel like deleting my blog because there’s a sense of failure in just leaving them there”. This made me really sad, and a part of me was afraid that one day, I would adopt a similar mindset. However, I know that there’s a group of people who will always be there to read my stories, so I’m gonna try to hold onto that idea and continue writing to make you happy and myself happy as well. Also I just realized that I always include one part in my author’s note that’s just sad for some reason :’)

ANYWAYS, I remember making a post a longgggg time ago that said “I promise that I will finish the slytherpuff series if it’s the last thing I do”. That has changed; I plan to post all the chapters leading up to their requited love at last (aka the part in which they actually get into a relationship together). After that, there’s still a bunch of chapters but they’re just fluffy bits, i.e. rainy day, they bake together, oop it’s one of their birthdays, etc. In other words, they aren’t essential to the plot. I could turn them into one-shots and stuff, but some of the chapters relate to the characters’ lives. In addition, it’s sweet to see their relationship progress. For those chapters regarding fluffy bits of their relationship, I won’t feel incentive to write them right away because their love is already requited and I also have two big series that I would rather work on. However, I’m not gonna start another series yet because I don’t wanna leave you on a cliffhanger in Chapter 3 and suddenly start writing a whole other series. The plan is to post all the chapters for the slytherpuff series leading up to the moment when they start dating (Chapter 7 or 8 will probably be when they actually get together). That way, there’s no rush to complete it because it’s just easy and sweet since they’re already in a relationship and readers aren’t anxiously waiting to see what happens next. After that, I will probably begin writing the other series, which will be different from the original slytherpuff series. You’ll see why. Once in a while, I will go back to the original series and write for that when I feel like it. 

I’m trying my best to finish writing Chapter 4 :( It is gonna be long - I’ve already written about 7 pages and I am thinking of splitting it into two parts. If I do, I might be posting part 1 soon because it’s kind of already done. Then again, I like the idea of just posting it all at once. We’ll see! I’m gonna try to work on that after this. My desire to write is sporadic, but comments and interactions from readers are very impactful in terms of my motivation to write, so be sure to leave feedback if you can! I’ll see you all again the next time I post a fic. Thanks for reading!

Tags: 

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[strawberrywritings]

Personal gratitude.

A/N: I am sorry about not posting, but I promise I’ll try to be more consistent!🙈 so let tell you how i wrote this: I was thinking about making a Bishop smut (long ovedue), but I had no plot… until @spookyboogyuniverse sent me a message. I changed a bit the relationship between the reader and Nestor+Miguel, but the main points of the plot are the same. Emily is nowhere to be seen because that’s how I like it lmao I really hope you guys like it! Xx🍓💖

Warning: mentions of violence, oral sex (female receiving), protected sexual intercourse, dirty talk, shitty plot and probably bad grammar i am so rusty

/ Masterlist

Summary: Alvarez gets kidnapped and you’re with Miguel and Nestor when they get the news: you offer your help, as Miguel calls the Mayans to join the search. After Marcus is found, everyone celebrates and the president has a unique way of showing his gratitude.

When shit went down, you immediately sensed it was something big, especially with the way Miguel and Nestor were looking. Being childhood friends with them, and not being a stranger to this life, you had waited for them to finish their meeting, and had offered to help.

/

“I know I may not have the same amount of connections you two have, but I know some people. I could call them and tell ‘em to keep an eye out”, you said, and Miguel looked at Nestor, not because he didn’t trust you, but he knew that this situation had to be handled with caution, so he wanted to make sure it would not compromise things even more.

When Nestor nodded, you stepped outside and started making calls, telling everyone only what they needed to know to make sure this whole thing ended quickly. You followed them with your car, making a few stops as Miguel alerted people.

“What the…”, you muttered to yourself as Miguel’s car, with Nestor driving, headed outside the city and towards the desert. You parked the car right behind them, hopping off and about to question what the hell you were doing in the middle of nowhere, but the sound of engines caught your attentions: quite a few bikes made their way to where you were standing, and you immediately recognized their kutte. Everyone knew who the Mayans were, but you had no idea Miguel worked with them. Eight men made their way towards Miguel, as you kept stading off to the side, your back leaned against your car while you waited for them to finish talking.

You might’ve been quiet, but your presence didn’t go unnoticed; you were focused on Miguel and Nestor explaining everything that happened to a man, who was standing a few steps ahead of the others, “probably the president”, you thought, and from the corner of your eye you could see people’s eyes on you, the exchanged whispers.

“What’s she doing here?”, a voice said, and Nestor looked at you as you narrowed your eyes at the tall man who had spoken. “She’s with me, you got a problem with that?”, Miguel said, never taking his eyes off the same man you were watching, and everyone was quick to say “no” and apologize.

/

Fast forward to the day after. Turns out, your contacts were able to actually help with Alvarez’s kidnapping, someone had seen the people responsible for it and, thanks to that, Nestor was able to track them down and now they were with Miguel in his church pew, he needed answer and he needed them fast. In less than 2 hours, not only did Miguel manage to find Marcus, but he also got everyone else involved in the kidnapping, and you didn’t have to ask what would happen to them. You might not have been completely involved in this kind of life, but you were no stranger to it. After Miguel had taken off his yellow raincoat and changed his suit, he came back home and joined you in the living room.

“I remember when we took that picture, I ate that awful soup she made because it was the only way she would let me go out and play”, he said, you could hear the smile in his face and you turned around, smiling, too. It was nice to be back to “normal” after the past few days, filled with worry, fear and rage.

“I remember how that soup tasted, I hated it, too”, you giggled, tracing your finger on the frame encasing the picture. Placing it back on the shelf, you smiled at him and got your purse from the sofa. “I think I should go, I am glad I was able to help, though”, you smiled, going over to him and hugging him, kissing his cheek. “Hey, there’s a party at that clubhouse, the Mayans. Marcus will be there and he asked me if you could come, he wants to thank you personally”, Miguel said, smiling at you as you nodded. “Sure, just text me the address”, he nodded and you both said goodbye, saying also goodbye to Nestor on your way out.

That night, you opted for a nice dress, still casual, since you knew where this clubhouse was and it was nothing compared to the parties Miguel usually attended, but it was nice to be celebrating something like this. After parking your car next to the bikes, you made your way inside. The Mayans sure knew how to throw a party. Alcohol and girls were everywhere, but you didn’t have time to make a tour of the place because Nestor got your attention.

“Hey – he greeted you by kissing both of your cheeks – come on, Marcus is eager to thank you”, he smiled, leading you to the man himself. Marcus didn’t look too bad, just a couple scratches on his face, and surely his body, but he was alive. You started talking, him saying how grateful he was that you helped Miguel.

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here”, he said, taking a sip from his beer. You chuckled and shook your head, “I doubt it, Miguel would’ve found you anyways, he’s very good at what he does… I just happened to make the right calls”, you said with a smile. You kept talking for a while, until you excused yourself to go get a drink.

Drink in hand, you leaned your back against the bar and looked around, until your eyes caught the ones of the president himself. Bishop was sitting with some of his men around a table, smoking a cigar. He had his eyes trained on you but from the way his lips moved you could tell he was still carrying on the conversation. Something in his eyes was drawing you in, but you quickly shoved your impure thoughts in the back of your mind and decided to explore the place, instead.

You took a stroll in the outside area, the actual scrapyard, the corridors of the dorms and then you ended up in Templo. You didn’t think nothing of it, examining the colorful door up close, and sitting in one of the chairs, finally some peace and quiet, which you had been craving for the past 72 hours.

“You wanna prospect?”, the voice almost gave you a heart attack, and you turned around to see Bishop staring down at you. “No…?”, you furrowed your brows. “Then unless you’re a patched Mayan, you can’t be in here”, he replied, walking slowly until he reached the bigger chair, right beside you, and he sat down. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”, you had no idea there were rules, and you were ashamed of having broken them, you should’ve known better. You made a move of getting up from your seat, but he his hand caught your wrist before you could turn away. Your eyes went from his hold on you to his eyes, his expression stoic.

“I wanted to thank you”, he said, and it felt like he was shouting, the only sound was the chatter coming from the party. “For what?”. “Marcus es mi primo” Marcus is my cousin, he said, and you shrugged. “It’s no problem, really, I was glad I could help”, you gave him a small smile, but none of you talked more. His eyes were still locked with yours when he got up, his hand always around your wrist as he neared you, his body almost touching yours, almost. “Let me thank you properly”, his lips were centimeters away from yours, all you had to do was push yourself forward and your lips would meet. He didn’t move, letting you decide what to do… did you want this? Your eyes looked at his lips, plump and inviting, he smelled like nicotine and beer and something else and it was so manly. You couldn’t help but to give in, letting your body guide you into his, your lips finally connecting in a heated kiss. His hands immediately went to your hips, squeezing them in his hands and bringing you close to him. Everything happened in a blur, one second you were making out and the next you were laying on top of the big wooden table, your panties around your ankle and his head between your thighs, and damn, he was good.

“You sure you wanna keep going?”, you nodded, completely out of breath as he looked for his pants. “Condom?”, you asked him just as he took it out of his wallet, and he smiled at you even as he sat down on the president’s chair, putting on the condom and pumping himself. “Come take a ride, sweetheart”, his voice was like pure honey and you didn’t waist time, situating your legs on both sides of his hips before slowly starting to slide down onto him. Your mouth hung open as he filled you, and his hands returned to your hips, squeezing them to take him mind off the fact that he just wanted to fuck you senseless. You let out a high-pitched whine when he bottomed out, his balls pressing against your ass as he only had shoved his pants down enough to take out his dick. A smack to your right cheek brought you back to reality, “Move, cariño”, he said, his lips ghosting over your neck. You obeyed immediately, “Yes, sir”, you didn’t mean to call him that, it just slipped… this man was made to give orders and you would gladly obey, especially if it meant fucking him on top of his president’s  chair.

Your hips bounced on top of him, and you kept going even when your thighs started to ache from the strain: you were determined to cum, and between how good he felt inside you, his groans and moans, you knew it would not take long. One of his hands reached up and grabbed the side of your face, kissing you again before making a trail down your neck, your chest, and closing his lips around one of your exposed nipples. The sensation made you moan and clench around him, your hands now on his shoulder for leverage.

“Get on the table”, he spoke, biting gently on the skin of your breast, and you did as he told you. Spreading your legs wide with his hands, he spit directly onto your lips, spreading the moisture with the tip of his cock, before filling you up again and rolling his hips against yours. “Fuck, just like that”, you closed your eyes as one of your hands went to fondle your breasts, and he smirked. “Am I gonna make you cum?”, you nodded frantically as your moans got louder with every pump of his hips against yours. “Yes, please, please”, you mewled, and he slowed down, making you whine in protest. “Please what?”, he taunted, his eyes switching between your face and his dick disappearing inside you. “Please sir, please make me cum”, you shamelessly begged, your bruised hips rising up to meet his thrusts and your hand reaching your clit, touching yourself. “Así, tócate, touch yourself, cum all over my cock, nena”, his hands gripped your hips as he started to fuck you with wild abandon, not even bothering to try and keep quiet, both your moans echoing in the room.

When you reached your orgasm, it was like a hot flash, your eyes watered from the pleasure and you arched your back. Your pussy pulsated as it milked his dick, his growl ceasing once he was finished, taking a moment to breathe again. when he slid out of you, you let out a sight, you were sure his cock had you addicted and all you could think about was another round. Silence fell over you two as he tied the condom and zipped his pants back up; you had gotten down from the table, fixed your dress and your panties were back in their place.

“I should go”, you stated. “Don’t you wanna stay for the party?”, you chuckled and he smiled. “It’s okay, I already had as much fun as I could”, he smiled and opened the door of Templo for you. He watched as you made your way through the bodies cramped up in the small room, looking at him over your shoulder one last time before disappearing outside.

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[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, jbsaucy!

Happy belated Birthday, @jbsaucy​! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 16th, and that you celebrated in style! To bring your party back around, the lovely @mega-aulover​ has written a story just for you!

For this year, I am recently divorced and trying to get the nerve up to get out there. So I would like to request a 30/40s Everlark, post divorced meeting

Jbsaucy

Dear Jbsaucy I hope you had a wonderful birthday. I apologize for the lateness, and I hope you had a wonderful day. This prompt BTW was amazing and I had a great time writing it. It was a blast. Thank you to Norbertsmom for Betaing 

Rated T 

Title:  OFF THE MARKET

-kpkpkpkp-

Divorce sucks. SUCKS.

Getting divorced sucks, being divorced sucked.

But nothing, not the tedious nature of dividing unwanted movies, the fear of root canals, or getting a speeding ticket, compared to dating. Dating, ladies and gentlemen, after being married for ten years sucked royally. 

ROYALLY!

After my divorce, my attorney suggested I get a hobby or join a club. I really wasn’t a social person. Not much of a talker, and avoided any and all spotlights. It was this fear of the spotlight that originally brought me in contact to my now ex-husband, Darius.

My best friend Gale pushed me to do one of those karaoke nights. I panicked and ran straight into Darius. He thought I was cute, and I was grateful he went up with me to the karaoke microphone. He sang and I laughed. The rest is history; the marriage only lasted ten years. But I knew we weren’t right for one another, partially because Darius was a very sexual person, for me sex wasn’t important. I got more enjoyment out of getting my teeth cleaned. He found someone who revved his engine and I got the fica and dates. 

Yup Dates.

How did that happen you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you I followed my divorce attorney’s suggestion. Preface-OUTSIDE OF A COURTROOM NEVER EVER FOLLOW YOUR DIVORCE ATTORNEY’S ADVICE.

With that warning sign, I digress. Taking a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Wait for it... I joined a book club. 

It was the only natural course of action. After our divorce I got all of the books. You see one of the things Darius and I loved to do was go to bookstores. We’d buy all of these books with the intention of reading them, and we never did. We had bookshelves filled with books from the 100 Must-Read Classic Books by Penguin. So after my divorce, I sat in my newly minted apartment with a box of wine and all of these books. 

I was looking at the boxes, my divorce papers jutting out. Amongst them there was a note - with the name of a book club, the real 451 book club, with an address. I called them the Squad 451 or the Squad. The women were a hodgepodge of personalities; the right blend of sweet and crazy. There is Mags, the motherly type. She has boatloads of grandchildren. Then there is her neighbor Greasy Sae  who runs a diner in town. I used to go to her diner as a kid and consume her mystery meat soups. The older woman is bawdy and half of the things she says makes me blush redder than a red bean. Next is Annie, a shy, slightly mad girl who is a librarian. Delly has the personality of the southern bell who wears pink and believes in romance. I’ve known of Delly forever; she and I went to the same high school. 

Foxface,  has one of those names with multiple consonants and vowels but prefers to go by Foxy or Foxface. She is freakishly smart and sometimes, I think she has blackmarket dealings because she’s so secretive. Then there is Effie, the middle aged, tightly wound woman whose book choices are as repressed as she is, like Jane Eyre. And last, but not least, is my divorce lawyer, yes the very same one who suggested I get a hobby, Johanna Mason who is, well, a sex fiend. 

I started meeting up with them, and six months after my divorce, that’s when the ladies conspired against me and set up my profile on one of those dating websites looking for men, for me. I had no idea, and on my birthday, they presented me with their “gift.” 

It was the gift you didn’t want, like a pimple on your wedding day or the runs before an important interview, or bad breath before a first kiss. 

Greasy said that if I didn’t use my, well, feminine - looks around - petals. That they’ll dry up and turn into ugly petunias. I announced sex wasn’t important, and even friged Effie said a lady needed to literally, figuratively, and metaphorically, occassionally let her hair down. 

 I said NO.

I demanded.

I scowled.

Nothing helped.

They created a profile based upon themselves, and yet through describing themselves they pegged me. I was nurturing. I had a sexy edge. I was introverted, and yet mysterious. I was smart, honest, loyal and a closet romantic. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll hunt you down, even after I’m dead. 

They split me up like a kid of divorced parents being schlepped from one house to the other. They set themselves up in teams and each team got to pick my dates. And everytime we met for a book club meeting, I was to dutifully report on the date. Based upon their success, a second date would be permitted. 

It was a simple proposition. 

I was naive. A stupid idiot, or as Bugs Bunny say’s, a maroon. 

Because I hadn’t really ever been out there. 

To be honest, I met Darius right out of high school, at my first college party, and we were married - okay it wasn’t a big wedding. It really wasn’t a wedding at all. It was a spur of the moment, we got drunk and ended up at one of those Elvis chapel impersonators. Annnnd bada-bing. 

I never really dated, so I agreed with the book club’s plan, because how hard could dating be?

 And thus began my nightmare.

I must state, or emphatically note, not all of my “dates,” were catastrophically bad. To be fair, most of the time I wasn’t interested. Delly said I wasn’t romantically pulled. Johnna said my engine wasn’t revved up. Greasy said if the man didn’t make me want to orgasam with a look, then he wasn’t worth my time. I posed this question to the universe: How in blazing blue inferno does a man make a woman...well you know, with a look? Was that even possible?

A hazy yellow fuzz enters my head and my mind wanders. I conjure up blue eyes and translucent lashes that never tangle.  

Sigh.

…. (my brain just short circuited at the thought of large hands)

Earth to Katniss. 

Okay sorry, I spaced out for a little bit, and their words spurred me on to continue my journey. And one year after my divorcce I had stories, no I have battle scars.  To prove my point, the following are my top three worst dates. In no particular order.  

Date Disaster # 1 was with an artsy type at a chique Italian restaurant. He arrived late, and was drunk, high, or both. Then fell asleep on his plate of bolognese. Yup, in his plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. I paid for my half, tucked my tail between my legs and left.

Date Disaster #2 was with a small man with glasses and a massive intellect who didn’t stop talking about flamingos. FLAMING PINK FLAMINGOS. My brain shut down. I didn’t hear the music in the jazz themed restaurant. I didn’t even taste the heat in the gumbo. The only factoid I remembered when we said goodnight was that flamingos were gray when they were born. I couldn’t even tell you how they became pink. The man was the human form of anesthesia for my soul. 

Date Disaster #3 was a nice man. We laughed. And everything was going well. We ordered drinks, a cranberry and soda for me, the bartender special for him while we waited for our table. Turns out he has a milk allergy and the bartender special had milk. When we sat down at the table and we were talking about our hobbies, his stomach began to grumble loudly. He became pasty and then as the waiter brought out our appetizers, he threw up all over the place. It was a good thing that throwing up didn't bother me, but it bothered our waiter who gagged. Needless to say, I burned the outfit I was wearing.  

Those were the top three...but there were more, just simmering to become the top one. And for a time I thought I wasn’t made to date.  But the ladies had faith and they were really trying to choose nice, interesting guys. However, nothing, nothing that I could ever imagine could top my latest date. 

I’m rushing along the sidewalk. I don’t want to be late, but at the same time, I don’t want to tell them how much of a calamity my latest date was, but to be completely honest, I don’t want to miss it. Tonight is also the night the group meets at Mellark’s. The friendly cafe style bakery with its rich and yummy pastries, both savory and sweet. It is my favorite place to meet. Squad 451 meets twice a month in different locations, including one of the two meeting rooms in the library, one of the community rooms in the Justice Building, and on our birthdays, we meet in a restaurant, but the bakery on Main Street is our favorite location. The Mellarks owned several locations. The flagship store was always managed by one of the original family members.  

If George Senior, or the middle son Ryan Mellark is at the helm of the bakery, they allow us to cavort in the shop until close. When his older brother George Junior or their Mother Muriel was in charge, we tended to be quiet, relegating our conversations to the books. When Peeta is in charge, there are free cheese buns and chaos. 

Please, stomach gods, let Peeta be there. I skipped lunch today because I had a deadline. I also forgot my wallet at home. Thankfully, my license was at the bottom of my backpack. I need food before my stomach eats itself. I am starving when I walk into the bakery. When I see Peeta, I stop. His blue eyes meet mine and my stomach flip flops. He gives me a slow sweet smile, before his eyes slide back to the customer who is ordering.

“Katniss,” Delly squeaks, waving frantically.

Somehow, my feet carry me over to the table and there is a plate of cheese buns and I thank every celestial being in the universe. His buns are heavenly. Sitting down, I take a napkin and snatch one.  My mouth waters and my lashes close as I bring the cheese bun to my mouth.  The smell of melted cheese, fresh bread, and the hint of dill, assuage my nose, before I bite into one of Peeta’s coveted flaky concoctions. The combination of the oozing cheese, the herbs and the buttery bread elicit a moan from deep within my being. These freaking cheese buns will be the death of me. 

“Wow.” Peeta’s voice causes my lashes to fly open. 

Peeta is standing near me with a cup of tea; his face and neck splotchy and red.  

My mouth is full of delicious food, but I forgot how to chew. 

Delly is looking between us. Her pale blue eyes quizzical, like when she’s trying to understand a concept or theme in a book.

 “Okay, bitches,” Johanna says, slamming her brief down. “Where’s the rest of the motley crew?”

“Mags and Greasy just arrived,” Delly answers absentmindedly. 

“Hey, Peeta, I need a strong black coffee.” 

“Sure,” Peeta says, all the while staring at me. I finally remember to chew. “Here Katniss, your tea.”   

Taking the paper cup, I can’t help feeling bashful. “Thank you.”

“Peet,” the girl behind the counter calls. 

Whenever Peeta is here, the business is brisk. He is charming. He was always charming, even back in high school he was the most popular guy, not only because of his looks, but because he was genuinely nice. I, like all of the other girls, had a mini crush on him. 

Looking over his shoulder he says, “I’ll be right back with your coffee, Jo.” 

Now Jo is looking between him and me, but hers is a wicked grin, like right before she nails a sleazebag who doesn’t want to pay for his children. I quirk an eyebrow, clueless as to what has Johanna showing off her predatory gleam. 

“Oh, it’s chilly outside,” Mags says.

“It’s colder than Rudolph’s balls outside,” Greasy says, her gruff voice is booming. Several patrons look at her. Greasy does not care. She’s well past her sixties and it’s her motto that she should live each day as if it was her last. 

In walks Effie, Annie, and Foxface, and they all say, “Hello,” in unison. 

The book of the month is actually a YA fiction called, The Fault in Our Stars, about teens with a terminal illness. I cried when Gus...I tear up once more...at the memory. But I know we aren’t going to discuss Hazel’s predicament with her parents. 

“So,” Delly says, bouncing in her chair.

I can’t help but grimace.

“How did it go?” Foxface says. She has an accent, but I can’t place it. 

“He looked like he belonged on one of those erotic books Johanna loves to read,” Greasy says, grabbing a cheese bun.

She’s not wrong. Gloss was a blond adonis, with slate blue eyes. And abs that have a flipping twelve pack, I ought to know, I counted them. The words are out of my mouth before I am aware of what I am saying.  “He really does with a twelve pack,” I say drinking my tea.

“Did you say twelve pack?” Johanna sat up. 

My eyes widen. 

“Wait, why are you blushing Katniss?” Foxface narrows her eyes.

“Did you and he…” Annie trails off. Her doe eyes are wide. 

“Did you have your first sleepover?” Effie leaned in. 

“Or did you dry hump him like a horny-toad dog?” Greasy’s voice bounces in the bakery.

Peeta’s pauses , wiping down the counter and looks directly at me. 

“NO!” My voice sounds half strangled.

Jo and Delly exchange a look. “Peeta,” Delly calls him over. 

Oh, no, no, no, I say to myself, eyeing how quickly I can get from the back corner to the exit. It is one thing to tell the squad, it is another to have Peeta know. I think I can sprint around the chairs and clear the table near the door like an olympic hurdle jumper. 

Peet walks over. “Hey Dells, can I get you ladies anything?”

“Katniss was going to regale us with her latest date,” Delly says.

“She’s going to tell us how she knows her date has Thor’s body.” 

“You’re dating?” Peeta asks, looking at me intently.

He doesn’t know I am dating or rather, being raked through hot coals.

“Oh,” Foxface chortles. “She’s dating.”

“Remember the guy who was texting with his mother during the entire date,” Effie said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mags saids grinning.

“Only the part when he had Katniss talk to her, and it turned out she was psychoanalyzing her to make sure she wasn’t an ax murderer,” Annie said laughing.

“Or what about the guy who kept on mentioning his ex and cried through the crème brûlée,” Greasy slaps her knee, laughing.

I can’t help but laugh. 

“Man, those are pretty bad,” Peeta says.

I hold up my finger. “No, those are tame.”

“Tame?” His blue eyes are sparkling. “You mean there are worse dates?”

Delly snorts. “Oh there are worse. I am so glad I am out of the dating pool.”  

“Yeah, Gale just loves you,” Annie sighs. 

Delly and Gale met when I joined the book club. And while I floundered, they fell in love and now Delly was pregnant.  

My eyes shift to Annie. “It’s so much easier when you fall in love.”

“Oh?” I say.

“I met someone,” Annie says softly. “He wants to meet all of us.”

I wonder what type of guy would date quiet, shy, introverted Annie who sometimes says things that remind me of that song from those Freddy movies from the 80’s. I shake my head.  Then I narrow my eyes. “Bring him to the next session,” I hear myself say. I want to meet this man, and make sure he will take care of my friend. 

“Really.” Annie clasps her hands.

I nod, but I notice Peeta is looking at me with this strange gleam in his eyes.  “Ah...yeah.” My voice sounds breathy. I frown, wondering why the heck I sound like one of those girls. You know the ones that always appear in the music videos washing cars and dancing on super yachts. Darius was fascinated by those girls, heck, his new girlfriend looks like one of those girls.

The women are chatting with Annie about the new guy in her life.  

“We'll discuss Annie’s beau later,” Mags holds her hand in the air. “I want to hear about Katniss’ date.” Her white hair spills over her shoulder as she fixes me with a look. “So tell us, how do you know Thor has a twelve pack?”

Somehow or another I knew the scrutiny on Annie would be short lived. My time to shine would come, but when I open my mouth to speak I can see a conspiratorial glance between Mags and Annie. And it hits me that they chose this man, because he looked like Thor. I scowl at the women who set me up on this one. Mags and Annie both have a pink tinge to their faces. I would have expected this from Jo or Greasy, but Mags and Annie, well it’s INCONCEIVABLE! 

I begin to speak. “He asked me to meet him at the edge of town, near route twelve.”

“Isn't that where Ripper’s place is?” Effie questioned, and she couldn’t hide her revulsion. 

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘P’, thinking of the bar that disguised itself as an eatery. It was a seedy diner with cracked linoleum floors, yellowing formica, booths that had patches, blinking lights, and rickety chairs. 

“That’s where he asked you to meet him?” Mag’s sounds outraged. “That place is…is-”

“- a bedhaven for unsavory characters,” Foxface finishes. 

“You're brainless,” Jo mutters darkly. "Ripper's isn't the type of place you can go to Katniss. You should have called me."

As protective as I am about my friends, so is Jo. She's tough on the outside but has a really soft center. It's what makes her a perfect shark in the courtroom. Not that Darius was a jerk during our divorce. He actually wasn't. Johanna was present at the restaurant where he announced he wanted a divorce. Johanna later said it was my face, the vulnerability I tried to hide was why she took my divorce pro-bono. 

“I drove and brought my bottle of mace.” I know what everyone was thinking. The area in town where Ripper’s is located at, made the bad side of town look like a tourist destination. I didn't mind meeting my date there. I was looking forward to a basket of fries. Ripper's had amazing beer-battered fries. 

I've been to Ripper's once. I was with Gale and Thom who needed to score fake IDs. I ordered the fries, since I wasn't there for an ill gotten identification. But let me tell you, those fries. Oh! Holy mother of fries, no other fries can compare. 

Shivers!

I love food; it's why I'm a food critic now. What's so funny is that it was those fries that began my career as Buttercup, the elusive food critic. Back then I was Buttercup, the fussy eater. I blogged about them, no, I lavished them with love. I love my job. I can go into any restaurant, order anything on the menu, blog about it and get paid handsomely. And, most importantly, I can do it anonymously. Not even Darius knew I was Buttercup. He thought I was a boring housewife. Getting back to the fries, I wasn’t deterred from getting my fries.

“So then what happened?” Annie asked.

“He was there waiting for me. He stood up and smiled. And he's massive-"

"Just like a book cover," Foxface mutters.

 "He said his name wasn't Anthony, it’s Gloss.”

“Gloss?” Everyone said at the same time.

“Yup.” I sighed. “It was a sign. I should've left." Damn those fries! 

“So Gloss…" Peeta's sparkling eyes are on mine, his are an amazing hue of blue, like the indigo milk cap mushrooms. "Looks like Thor."  He frowns. "Thor with the long hair or short?"

"Long." The women around me answered as one.

Peeta turned those gorgeous eyes back to me.

Thor isn’t my cup of tea. I shrugged to show my indifference. "Gloss was sporting the Ragnarok look, short hair with facial hair."

 I swear I watch Peeta mouth, "short hair."

"Anyway, we sat at a booth. It was packed, actually." That should've been clue number two. Men at a joint like Ripper's at 8:30 on a Friday night, it was by the highway, plausible. But packed with just as many women. "The waitress who took our drink order could barely hear me."

"Was he nice?" Annie asks.

"He was sweet." Truthfully Gloss was a sweet guy.  He talked about his mother in a positive way, even if she gave him the name that was another descriptor for shiny objects. "He was attentive too. He told me his mother worked in the makeup industry. "

"That doesn't sound too awful," Delly says.

"He sounds delightful." Mags pushes her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.  The gang is getting tired of the story and I hope they will move on to the reason we are  gathered, discussing the book we were reading. I begin to reach into my backpack because I really hate purses.

"If he's so delightful, why did he ask you to meet him at Ripper's?" Johanna says in her cross examination voice.

I wince as I take out my book.

"Yes, you must explain." Foxface demands.

"It's not nice to leave us dangling." Effie levels a look at me that has me squirming, feeling like I was being summoned into the principal's office. 

"I wanna know how you know Gloss has a twelve pack," Greasy says.

Peeta looks at me expectantly. 

Anndddd were back. I sigh. Will he run for the hills when I tell him? Most likely.

"We were talking about dancing.” My voice loses all it’s warmth. “I don't dance."

This causes a rumble of laughter and giggles amongst the women. Peeta looks confused. Finally Delly wipes the tears from her face and gasps, “You should never dance. Ever!” 

"That poor man’s toes,” Mags says, her shoulders shaking.

“Do I need to know?” Peeta looks between them. 

“I don’t dance!” I growl. The group erupts into another bout of laughter. 

“It was a scheme, a dirty underhanded scheme,” Effie says. 

The guy I was supposed to date was a dance instructor. He used the dating app as a way to drum up business. When the women meet him, he pairs them with guys who were there for a lesson. He paired me with a poor man named Harry. My nerves got the better of me, because I don’t like to be touched. Harry’s hands were sweaty. Harry tried to dip me as per my date’s instructions. I tripped, and in the process his toes were crushed, and I ended up with a sprained ankle. 

When I arrived in crutches to the next book club, well, that was one of those dates that simmers at the surface vying to be in the top three. 

“Gloss didn’t believe me. He said anyone can dance. I told him no, and explained that there are people who are predisposed to fly in airplanes, and some who get motion sickness in a car. “

“What happened next?” Foxface asks, moving to the edge of her chair.

“He went to the jukebox.”

“Oh no,” Johanna mutters. “Did he end up in the hospital?” 

“Is that how you know he’s got a twelve pack?” Greasy questions. The ladies, and Peeta are all staring at me. 

I shake my head. Why couldn’t there be a rush of customers right now? It is calm and I know the odds are against me. 

“Spill it!” Johanna demands. 

“Well, he queued up a song and waited a beat, and then Lenny’s Kravits’ American Woman started blaring. Gloss started sauntering and spun and did the splits on the floor. Next thing I know, the women in the place go nuts. They surround him, like a rabid pack of wild dogs.”

“Wait, what!” Delly exclaims her pale eyes bright, she grips the book in her hand. 

“That doesn’t happen,” Peeta says.

“It does to her,” Foxface said, her eyes shining with ferocity, like the eyes of those women at Rippers.

“Shut it blondie,” Johanna orders. 

“Yeah,” Annie says.

Taking a deep breath I continue. “He started dancing...hips…” my brain flashing to his hips gyrating. “...jutting out and…”

“Ohhhhh yeah,” Greasy cackles.

“Gyrating, his hips gyrating,” Foxface gasps.

With eyes closed I nod. “His hips were doing that all over the place. He then jumped on the table and proceeded to rip off his shirt. He shouted my name and told me his next move was his favorite. He spun onto his knees and slid up in my face before dropping his drawers.” I lower my eyes. 

“What,” Delly squeaked. “His pants?”

“It’s like Magic Mike,” Mags whispers.

I know the movie Mag’s is referring to. I’ve never seen it. “Yes.” 

“Was he naked-” Foxface began.

“-or was he wearing-” Annie cut Foxface off only to be cut off herself. 

“A G-String!” Greasy shouted excited.

I shook my head no. He wasn’t wearing anything, I can feel the heat burning my ears.

“Well don’t stop! What happened next!” Even Effie has lost her sense of propriety. 

“As I looked for an escape. It’s then I noticed  the poster on the wall, for the Slag Heap.” I pause and sigh, “Men’s Magic Friday Night Extravaganza, and Gloss was the headliner. I realized he’s a stripper.” 

And the place erupts in laughter. 

“What did you do?” Peeta asks.

My eyes connect with his.

“I slunk down to the floor and crawled my way out...drove to the hospital and made my sister administer a tetanus shot.”

 “Can I have his number?” Johanna says laughing but her eyes are dead serious. 

Peeta is smiling at me and I grab a cheese bun because they are as delicious as the man staring at me. 

Eventually we do get to the book, and it’s a pretty good discussion. Peeta let us stay until closing. Mags and Greasy are the last of the ladies to leave. It’s just me and Peeta since he let the staff go home. I’m loitering because I feel like I need to explain to Peeta why I let the ladies talk me into dating. 

I’m putting up the chairs on the tables when Peeta comes out. 

“You’re still here?”

“Yeah.” I look down at my feet.

“Katniss.”

“Peeta.” We both say at the same time, followed by a nervous chuckle.

“You first,” Peeta insists, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Dating wasn’t my idea.”

“It wasn't?” He raised an eyebrow.

I shake my head. 

“So what happened?”

“The ladies, they got me a year long subscription for my birthday, and knowing I wouldn’t go through with it, they choose who I date...until I find someone,” I can feel the heat rising from my neck and reaching my cheeks, “I like.”

“Really?”

I nod, incapable of speaking.  I cannot stop watching the way he blinks, those darned translucent lashes that never tangle. 

“Dating is pretty brutal.”

“Yeah,” I snort because dating is horrible. 

“My family is constantly setting me up. I went out with a girl who sang through the entire meal. She chose the pasta and sang On Top of Spaghetti.”

“What?” I laugh.

“That was my dad’s doing. My mom’s choice was a lot scarier. She made me do an obstacle course and made me do it three times until I beat the time she wanted me to reach.”

“Wow.”

“I was dressed in dress slacks, a nice shirt, and a tie.” He deadpans, “I even had on dress shoes.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugs. 

I couldn't help but smile. 

“Dating sucks until you find someone who makes you laugh, someone who makes dancing easy.”

He approaches or maybe it’s my own feet that carry me to him. But it doesn’t matter because when his arm slides along my waist, and the other cradles my hand, I have no fears. There is something familiar with him as I dance with him. A slow shuffle, that has the room spinning but none of it matters because I feel at home.

“Will you dance with me Katniss?” His voice rumbles in my ear and my heart is pounding in my chest.

His scent is a warm heady mixture of spices, dill, vanilla, and cinnamon. 

“Would you go out with me Katniss?”

“Yes,” I answer, and just like that my dating profile goes up in flames. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially off the market.

[defibrillation-and-lactation]

Time Off for Maria

TRIGGER WARNING: medical/resus related content below

The day was Friday. It was a long day for Maria. She worked from 6:00 in the morning until 5:00 in the evening. She was just about ready to explode. She was about to leave her office at work until her boss interrupted her. He told her that due to the global pandemic going on and government orders issued, her hours will be shortened and her pay would be cut. Becoming even more furious, she left the building stomping the ground. Her teal eyes now burned with a red, fiery rage. She drove back home to go eat and masturbate the pain away.

Maria arrived at her house an hour later than usual because of a massive traffic jam on the freeway. When she opened the door to her house and stepped inside, she let out a sigh of relief. She was ready to blow off some steam.

Maria entered her house and left her suitcase, purse, and keys by the door. She nuked some leftover soup she made the day before and watched some YouTube videos. After an hour, she was still stressed out by her job. She went into her bedroom to relieve some tension.

Maria was not normal in her ways of sexual stimulation. She was single and had nobody to help her relieve stress. Her fetishes were quite strange and bizarre compared to most people. She has some very risky and medical kinks. She was into lactation and defibrillation. Everyday she stimulated her breasts and induced lactation herself. She used electric breast pumps to get the breast milk flowing. She went through the necessary training and requirements and bought a defibrillator that used paddles. She also had an EKG to monitor herself.

Maria walked into her bedroom and turned on the lights. She put her wallet away and charged her phone. She closed all the blinds in her room and started undressing. She untied her shoes, threw them aside and took her socks off. Her feet were sweaty and exhausted. She unbuttoned her white shirt top-to-bottom one-by-one. She then took off her undershirt, revealing a red bra with roses where the teats of her bosoms were. She unbuckled her belt and started shimmying down her black dress pants, revealing a round, plump ass. She had red hot panties on, hugging her curves. She threw her clothes into the laundry basket, leaving her only with crimson underwear on. She was ready to get it on.

She unhooked the bra, letting it slip and fall to the floor. Underneath the bra, were M cup breasts, filled to capacity with milk. There  were several big, long veins visible on them. Her areolas were three and a half inches in diameter. Her exposed nipples hardened from the cool air. They were nice and succulent, waiting to feed someone. Maria hopped on her bed and flicked on the lamp on her left. Her heart was pounding from excitement.

She massaged her breasts gently, rubbing and stroking them softly. She felt the milk rushing to her teats. She grabbed both udders with her fingers around her areolas and squeezed them. Breast milk secreted from different spots of her areolae. She squeezed herself for a few minutes, making her tits shoot bigger and bigger jets of milk. She kept on milking herself until her entire torso was wet with her milk. Now it was time for her favorite kink: Electrostimulation.

Maria looked at the dresser to her right. On top was a heart monitor, a defibrillator, and a few bottles of conductive gel. She grabbed two bottles of the gel and with one in each hand, she squirted some gel on her tits. She rubbed the gel all around her chest, covering it all with a layer of gel. She put 3 ECG leads on her chest and flicked on the switches to the machines. In a few seconds, she heard her heart on the monitor. Her heart skipped a beat and she saw it on the screen. She was getting excited. Her heart was now beating steadily around 120 beats per minute.

She set the amount of energy on the defibrillator to 10 joules. She grabbed the paddles with one hand and put gel on them with the other. She rubbed the paddles together in a circular motion, then placed them carefully on the outer sides of her boobs. She shivered slightly. The cool gel combined with the cold, metal paddles gave her goosebumps. Her nipples became erect. She charged the paddles up and rested her thumbs on the red buttons.

”Clear.” She whispered to herself.

*BUBOOMP*

Her breasts jiggled slightly. Maria had a big grin on her face. She wants more. MUCH more. The fun had only just begun.

Maria turned up the machine up to 100 joules. She charged the paddles again and placed them on top of her boobs.

”Clear.”

*BUBOOMP*

”mmmph” She softly moaned.

Her back arched up a couple inches and dropped back down. Her heart rate was now around 140-150 beats per minute. A few drops of milk slowly oozed out of her nipples.

”Another one. Clear.”

*BUBOOMP*

”umhhh” She quietly groaned.

She was getting more excited each shock. She was loving every bit of it.

”I need more!”

Maria spread some more gel on the paddles. She turned up the juice and charged the defibrillator to 200 joules. She firmly places the paddles under her boobs.

”Clear.”

*BUBOOMP*

”ohhh” She moaned out loud.

Her torso raised upwards a few inches, slamming back down on her soft bed. Little squirts of milk shot from her breasts. Her plump body bounced around with electricity. She got a little disoriented. She heard a couple of alarms going off around her. She looked at her heart monitor and it did not look good for her.

”Shit! Arrythmia.” she said, in a troubled voice.

”Charging...

...Clear!” She shouted.

*BUBOOMP*

”Ack!”

“Dammit, still irregular.” She sighed out. She cranked the dial on the defibrillator to 300 joules. She charged up the paddles, making a distinct whine while the energy built up. She smacked them against her chest, hoping for the best.

”Clear!”

*BUBOOOMP*

”Ughhhhh!” She groaned. Her body vigorously shook. Her head was spinning. She started hyperventilating. The electricity pained her struggling heart.

After that shock, the alarms suddenly stopped. She looked to the monitor on her right.

”YES!!! A normal rhythm!” She happily said. Her heart was beating quickly around 190 beats per minute. She was back at normal sinus rhythm.

“I just want one more zap to the tits and that’s it!” Maria said, making a bold, risky decision.

Maria took slathered her chest and the paddles in gel. She rubbed them together as some of the gel dripped down on her stomach. She cranked up the energy level to 360 joules. She was tempting fate at this point.

”Charging...”

She charges them up, the machine whines loudly as it readies up to zap her boobies. She then slams them directly onto her titties. The cold paddles touch her big, juicy nipples, giving her chills. Her heart was pounding with fear, but also arousal. She moved her thumbs on top of the red buttons on the paddles, they were shaking with anxiousness.

”c-C-CLEAR!!!!!!!”

*BUBOOOMP*

”ughAAAAAAAughhhhh...

...mmmmmmm”

Her whole body arched upwards, shaking violently. Her massive mammaries bounced intensely from the shock pumped directly into her nipples. She fell back on her bed hard. Her thicc  ass rippled like the waves of the sea. Her breasts jiggled like delicious, sweet pudding. Maria was gasping and breathing heavily after such a huge amount of electricity struck her in the chest. It was one of the most intense orgasms she has ever had in her life

There was lots of milk trickling down her torso from her udders. She lifted the paddles off of her breasts. They were soaked in her milk. Even after she took the paddles off of her boobs, her tits were still squirting out breast milk. Several geysers shot out large streams of milk several feet in the air. There was a shower of milk raining down on her.

She glanced at her heart monitor. Her heart seemed to be beating over 200 beats per minute at a normal, steady rhythm. She ripped the ECG leads off her chest and wiped the paddles clean. She lazily put the paddles and gel away on her dresser. She laid down on her back and fell asleep almost immediately. Her stress had been relieved. She was successfully sexually satisfied.

[thepandapopo]

A Step Through Time Chapter 3: Wishes Do Come True

Synopsis: In which Sylvain comes to a horrible realization and Felix learns something new.

OR

Mercedes and Annette learn that they should really give disclaimers whenever they tell kids about wishing wells.

Pairing: SylVix

Chapter Index 1 / 2 / 3

It only takes a week for Sylvain to decide that his newfound knowledge about Felix’s sexuality is a horrible, horrible curse.

The type of curse that is initially disguised as a blessing because Sylvain is ecstatic that he might actually have a chance, but is really a curse because now he can’t stop noticing how many men seem to linger around Felix.

Did Felix always have this many men around him?

Sylvain never noticed it before, but now he cannot help but note that whenever he’s not sparring with Felix, there never seems to be a shortage of male soldiers clambering to challenge the sword master. In fact, if Sylvain is being honest, they all seem a little too eager to test their blade against the Fraldarius heir. Of course, none of them ever manage to win, but that doesn’t stop them from approaching Felix even on his grumpiest of days.

Sylvain doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it one bit.

And if anyone notices that Sylvain is now sharpening his lance with a tad more force than absolutely necessary in the shadows of the training grounds while glaring holes at anyone who approaches his best friend… well, no one says anything because they’ve all seen him skewer his enemies with negligible effort.

“Lord Fraldarius! Sir!”

A new recruit that Sylvain can’t bother to remember the name of jogs up to Felix with a sword in hand and a traitorous part of his brain notes that he’s well built and boyishly handsome.

“Would you be willing to spar against me again? The pointers you gave me last time really helped to improve my form and I’m hoping that you could do the same again.” The soldier stands with his shoulders back and spine straight in the perfect picture of respect, but Sylvain has done this song and dance enough times that he can spot the underlying flirtatious tilt of his head and innocently deceptive tone.

If this were the first time that he had approached Felix, Sylvain would have given him a pass. Hell, even a second or third time would be okay. But this is the fifth time this week that his recruit has approached Felix, and Sylvain cannot figure out for the life of him why Felix is giving him the time of day when he could so clearly go practice sword forms on his own.

So, in typical Sylvain fashion, he saunters over to interrupt their conversation.

“How about you spar against me instead?” To his smug delight, Felix doesn’t shrug off the arm that he throws casually around his shoulder. “I’d be happy to train with you. Plus, that gives Felix the opportunity to focus on critiquing you and giving you pointers.”

Sylvain picks up a training lance and gives it an expert twirl, muscle memory taking over as his feet slide into a ready stance that he could probably replicate in his sleep. There’s something fierce stirring in his gut and he can feel his body jittering restlessly; Sylvain has never been a fan of training (at least not as much as Felix), but his senses are on overdrive today and his mind is focused solely on winning.

“On my mark.” Felix puts away his own training sword and walks over towards a nearby pillar to watch the match. He crosses his arms across his chest and Sylvain can’t help but let his eyes distractedly trace the bulging lines of his biceps that drift down towards a tapered waist…

Damn it.

Now he’s turned on, frustrated and jealous.

A piercing whistle cuts through the air and Sylvain sends a silent half-hearted apology to the new recruit before lunging forward at full strength.

----

“You should have held back.”

“I did.”

His younger self snorts while cutting into his pheasant, “I’ve been your sparring partner for years. And I’ve fought by your side enough times to know what it looks like when you’re not holding back.”

A small smile creeps onto Felix’s face. He really shouldn’t be eavesdropping on his past self’s conversation with Sylvain, but watching the red headed flirt stumble over himself with this new information has been more than a little amusing.

In his timeline, Felix is the one who is always flustered – although admittedly less so now, so it’s nice seeing the tables turn for once even if it’s not with his Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t give any indication that he is eavesdropping – his gaze is still fixed on his own meal and on little Sophie beside him, who has her tongue adorably stuck out while carefully eating wobbling spoonfuls of Onion Gratin Soup.

“I’m surprised that you’ve been helping train the newer soldiers.” Felix can tell from the offhanded way Sylvain tosses the comment out that he’s fishing for information. There’s a subtle edge in his voice that Felix can only hear from years of learning how to avoid arguments with his husband.

“Why? It makes sense. Byleth said she wants more swordsmen to add to my battalion and if they’re going to be fighting with me, then I need to make sure they’re up to my standard.”

“Fe, no offense but your standard is a bit high.”

“Your standard is just low.”

Felix is eternally grateful for Sophie when she masks his snort of laughter with a request for another bread roll.

“That’s not true! Admit it Fe, you always have extremely high standards for everything.” There’s a nervous energy to Sylvain’s prattle, like he’s stalling time to build up courage. “Not that it’s a bad thing! But it is true that you have that expectation for all aspects of your life.”

“Really,” his younger self says dryly, “like what?”

“Like your taste in partners.”

Honestly, Felix is impressed that Sylvain held out as long as he did before caving and broaching the subject with his younger self, but that doesn’t make it any less awkward or mortifying for Young Felix. He’s only listening in on this conversation and he can practically feel the embarrassment that is flooding his counterpart, but that will be nothing compared to the absolute disaster this conversation is headed towards.

Is it considered masochism if Felix is kind of enjoying this?

“We are not talking about this.”

“Aw, come on, Fe! What did you think of that recruit? He was pretty cute.”

The violent coughing that follows is concerning enough that Sophie turns to look worriedly.

(“Papa, is he okay?”

“I’m sure he is, Sophie.” But not for long.)

“What?”

“The guy I was sparring! He was totally interested in you, by the way. Cute face, decent body, but kind of weak.”

“Goddess, kill me now - wait. You… since when were you interested in men?”

“Uh. Since forever? Fe, haven’t you ever heard Ingrid complain about me? I ‘flirt with anything that has a pulse’ – her words, not mine.”

As much as Felix is enjoying the explosive trash fire that is this conversation, he isn’t a fan of everyone in the dining hall knowing their business and judging by the steadily increasing volume of their conversation, there are at least a few others eavesdropping now as well, curious as to what has gotten the two nobles so riled up.

“What the actual fuck, Sylvain. Why have you never told me you were interested in men?”

“I thought you knew!”

“How was I supposed to know if you never told me?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry!”

His younger self looks like he is on the verge of either combusting or stabbing Sylvain so Felix takes it upon himself to intervene. Sophie, who has since finished her dinner, tilts precariously to the side as her eyelids droop. With one hand, Felix ushers his daughter off the bench and towards the front of the dining hall while his other hand drips the tray laden with their dishes. When Sophie is finally far enough ahead that she will not hear him, Felix takes the opportunity to casually stroll by the two men.

His presence alone is enough to shut them both up and Felix can’t help but let the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

As much as he would love to see the red head squirm some more, he does love the idiot and he cannot help but say something to him and ease his guilt. “To be completely honest, we already had a feeling.”

Once again, Felix finds himself on the receiving end of his infamous glare but he can’t find it within himself to care as long as he can end this conversation quickly. Consider it a mercy to his younger self, or to their privacy in general.

“Oh, and just so you’re aware,” Felix calls over his shoulder as he walks away, his calm voice at odds with the small shit eating smirk on his face, “Sylvain knows about us now too.”

Felix doesn’t stick around long enough to see the consequences of his words, instead quickly catching up to his daughter and scooping her up before depositing their dishes and heading back to his room.

----

Perhaps it is the consequence of eating cheese for dinner that catalyzes the stream of ridiculous night terrors combined with the fact that the Gautier cheese used in the soup was reminiscent of home, but  when Sophie wakes up for the third time that night in tears and crying for her Daddy, Felix swears that he is never letting his daughter eat Onion Gratin soup before bed ever again.

A lone candle sends flames dancing in their assigned room, casting shadows across the walls that flicker hypnotizingly and threaten to drag Felix back down into the dredges of sleep if not for his crying daughter in his arms.

As much as it breaks his heart to see Sophie in tears, there is very little Felix can actually do to make her feel better. He isn’t the one she misses, and he doesn’t have the magical capabilities to perform the time travel spell by himself – not that he would even consider risking the safety of his daughter in an experimental spell to begin with (speaking of which, he’s going to have a chat with Linhardt about how Sophie managed to get herself sent to the past when he gets back).

It certainly doesn’t help the situation that he is due to leave on a two day mission in the morning, which is why he shows up exhausted at Annette and Mercedes’ doors at sunrise dropping off a still slumbering Sophie in their care for the next couple of days.

Sophie may not be either his nor Sylvain’s biological daughter, but she certainly inherited some traits from her fathers; and the one thing that her and Sylvain have in common is that they both like to indulge in sweets whenever they are feeling particularly sad.

And so, with a request to bake cookies with Sophie and a hasty reminder to not let her eat too many sweets lest she get a stomachache, Felix hurries off to join his battalion that is set to depart shortly after breakfast.

Which is exactly how Annette finds herself sitting on a stool watching Mercedes and Sophie cut out cute little shapes from their rolled-out cookie dough.

“Sorry Mercie, I promise I’ll help out next time when there’s less… risk of fire involved.”

Mercifully, the healer simply laughs and waves off the apology; after all, it is no secret that Annette has an uncanny ability to make things explode in the kitchen without meaning to.

“Oh that’s quite alright, Annie. After all, I have a wonderful little helper already – isn’t that right, Sophie?”

Sophie doesn’t reply but continues to meticulously push the Pegasus shaped cookie cutter into the dough.

“Sophie…?”

Peering over the counter, Annette tilts her head so that she can see past the curtain of crimson that reveals teary honey eyes and a bottom lip wobbling dangerously with barely held back sniffles.

“Oh dear, what’s wrong Sophie? Do you want a different shape?” Mercedes coos and gently turns her so that both her and Annette can fully see her expression.

One lone tear manages to drip past long brown lashes before the flood gates open.

“I…I m-miss…” Sophie chokes out before abruptly stopping, her face scrunching up in distress.

Sweeping her dress under her knees, Annette crouches down to Sophie’s eye level and smooths her hair back in a comforting gesture. “Who do you miss, sweetie?”

Once more, a flash of uncertainty and reluctance crosses her expression before Sophie finally breaks down and whispers, “I miss Daddy.”

There must be something else bothering the little Fraldarius, Mercedes and Annette conclude after an hour of fruitlessly trying to comfort Sophie that Felix will be back before you know it, because nothing they say seems to elicit any reaction other than Sophia stubbornly insisting that she misses her Daddy. Any attempts to cajole further elaboration merely ends in Sophia clamming up with more tears, looking guilty as if she has broken an unknown rule.

“Sophie, are you sure you don’t want to tell us more about what’s bothering you?” Mercedes frowns. “Is there something more than you missing Felix?”

Flour streaked hands grab the hem of her dress to wipe away the errant tear tracks on her cheeks. Shaking her head once more, Sophia invokes her Fraldarius stubbornness and repeats her mantra. “I miss Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Annette pauses for a moment as an idea strikes her. There really isn’t anything to lose considering nothing else they have done so far has helped – not even the freshly baked cookies. “Hey, Sophie? Have you ever heard of a wishing well?”

“Wishing…well?” Little eyebrows scrunch up in curiosity.

Annette beams. “Yeah! It’s where you go when you have something you are wishing for that you really, really want to come true. I like to go there whenever I am feeling sad so that I can make a wish. How about we take you there so you can make a wish for your Daddy to come home faster?”

“I can wish to see Daddy?”

The hope stirring in her eyes makes Annette’s chest clench guiltily, but she’s desperate to cheer up this little girl who has taken up resident in her heart with her radiant smiles and cheer.

“Yep! They say that if you wish really, really hard that the Goddess will hear you and grant whatever you ask for.”

“Really?” Sophie turns to Mercedes with wide eyes in search of confirmation.

Smiling back, Mercedes nods. “Yes, that’s true. But if you want your wish to reach the Goddess, you must bring an offering that is connected to your wish. Do you know anything that your Daddy likes? Maybe something we can get from the pantry?”

“Cookies.”

There’s a beat of silence as Annette and Mercedes stare at each other.

Felix doesn’t like cookies.

“Uhh… are you sure you wouldn’t rather just eat the cookies?” Annette asks; neither of them are willing to call out a child, much less a distraught one. “Maybe there’s something else we can find?”

Even though they’ve only known Sophia Fraldarius for a little while, it doesn’t take a genius to know by the set of her shoulders and pout that her mind is made up, leaving the older girls no choice but to follow along, bundling up mini Pegasus cookies in a Mercedes’ white handkerchief and setting off for the well just outside the Cathedral’s main hall.

Thankfully, it is a relatively warm day and the wind does little to bother them, despite their high altitude. When the well comes into view, Sophie’s excitement grows with each step and by the time they reach the stone structure, the knot holding the handkerchief together threatens to spill cookies across the floor, loosened by her excited skipping.

“Oookay,” Annette claps her hands together and grins. “Before we make our wish, we need to make sure we properly present our offering.”

Placing the wrapped goods on the ledge of the well, all three girls take a step back and clasp their hands with Mercedes leading their prayer.

“Dear Goddess, we are grateful for your kindness and compassion. We offer these items in hopes that you will hear our wish and grant us what we seek. May you always watch over us and protect those we hold dear.”

Taking a step forward, Mercedes makes the first wish. “I wish for all our friends and comrades to come home safe from their battles.”

From Sophie’s other side, Annette goes next. “I wish to see improvements in my faith magic so that I can protect my friends.”

When it comes to her turn, Sophie steps forward hesitantly with her hands clutched to her chest. “I…I wish that I could see Daddy.”

Stepping back, Sophia hastens to mimic the other two and claps her hands twice to finish the ritual.

Even when they turn to head back towards the dining hall for dinner, Sophia carries her wish in her heart and repeats the prayer through the rest of the day and into bed. By the time she finally manages to fall asleep, her heart is swollen with enough hope that it chases away the night terrors and leaves her with dreams of riding through fields with the person she misses the most.

----

On the next day, Sophie rises with the sun.

Though still bleary eyed and exhausted, excitement runs like electric through her body and propels her from bed in a rush to get dressed in a forest green dress that matches a shirt she has seen in her fathers’ wardrobe.

If her wish really does come true, then Sophie wants to look her best so that her Daddy knows she has been taking care of herself and not out romping in the bush, wrecking havoc for her caretakers like she does so often when she visits the capital.

Breakfast crawls by ever so slowly, time moving with the same speed that her gloopy porridge drips from her spoon, but eventually the dining hall clears out and Sophie is able to drag Mercedes and Annette to the entrance of the main hall where she plants herself on the stone wall atop the staircase leading down to the marketplace.

“To make sure I don’t miss Daddy!” She had declared proudly to her caretakers when asked why she had picked this spot to settle down at.

Burnt sienna eyes focus heavily on the portcullis that protects the entrance to Garreg Mach. Even as the sky climbs higher in the sky and the noon bell tolls, Sophie does not leave her post, instead opting to eat her lunch consisting of sandwiches outside on her perch.

But as the hours of the day begin to count down and the sun sinks lower and lower towards the horizon, Sophie cannot stop the gnawing darkness of doubt that coils in her gut and grows stronger with the fading daylight.

“Still waiting?” Sylvain asks as he joins the small group of friends that have gathered anxiously anticipating the tears that will inevitably come when Sophie realizes that sometimes wishes don’t come true.

“It… probably wasn’t the best idea to give her false hope.” Ingrid frowns. “How are we going to console her when Felix doesn’t come back? He’s not due to arrive for another day.”

Letting out a moan, Annette drags a hand down her face. “I know! I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Now she’s going to be even more upset.”

“Why don’t you just tell her that Felix isn’t coming back tonight then?”

“Because Linhardt,” Leonie rolls her eyes. “We’re not monsters who go around killing children’s hopes and dreams.”

“All I’m saying is that the upfront disappointment might be the better alternative.”

“I’m sure we can just talk to her and explain that Felix will be back the day after tomorrow.” Mercedes reasons.

When the dinner bell tolls, it echoes throughout the courtyard and through the now-empty stalls. The sky glows with reds, pinks, and oranges that are slowly fading into the dark blue of the night sky, casting their last brilliant rays on the earth.

The sniffling that ensues shortly after the bell chime fades is expected, but no less painful.

“Is… is Daddy not coming?” It’s almost unfair how lethal Sophie’s teary face is as it cuts into their hearts.

“I’m sorry, Sophie.” Dorothea says, wrapping up the little Fraldarius in a tight hug. “I’m sure Felix is doing his best to come back soon. He’ll be here for sure in another day or so.”

Leonie flashes her best reassuring smile. “Yeah! I’m sure that Felix will be on his way home soon.”

“But I miss Daddy.”

More tears are coming now and the panic among the adults is steadily increasing.

Ashe and Annette do their best to offer small placating reasons as to why Felix hasn’t come back, however despite their best efforts, Sophie’s distress grows and grows until she is sobbing just as hard as when they first found her in the middle of the sealed forest.

“I want Daddy!”

“Hey, hey.” Dorothea coos. “It’s okay, no need for tears! Why don’t we get you inside first, hm? Sylvain can give you a piggy back ride, would that make you feel better?”

Ever on the same page as her girlfriend, Ingrid quickly drives her elbow into Sylvain’s ribs and pushes him forward.

“Ouch! Er. Yeah! Of course. How about it, Sophie? Want a ride back to the dining hall?” Sylvain beams and offers up his hands, but quickly retracts them when the wails increase in volume.

“Sylvain! What did you do?”

“What?! I didn’t do anything!”

Ingrid huffs. “Well, clearly you did. Listen to her! She’s crying even louder-“

“Rider at the gate!” The shout from the sentry breaks cuts through their argument and for one blessed moment, everything falls silent except for the sound of sniffling and hoofbeats on stone that grows ever louder as it approaches.

“Rider? Not a messenger?” Caspar frowns. It’s an odd announcement – there are very few people who are brave enough to travel solo during war – and the sentries know and recognize the Resistance army’s trusted messengers.

Which means that whoever is approaching is an ally, or someone they recognize… which is even more odd because everyone they know is either already accounted for inside the walls of Garreg Mach or are out on missions and not due back for a few days.

But when the portcullis finally raises and the oaken doors part, they too recognize the person astride the horse, now galloping through the marketplace with hair the colour of crimson flame and very familiar honey eyes trained only on the weeping child seated on the stone wall.

They all continue to gape silently in various states of shock even as the rider slows to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

“What the-“

It’s undeniable now.

If the Resistance Army thought it was weird that they now had two Felix’s, they were definitely not prepared for the arrival of an older looking Sylvain Jose Gautier decked out in noble regalia with another Lance of Ruin strapped to his back.

The lazy grin he flashes them is unmistakably Sylvain, but when his eyes finally return back to Sophie, his expression morphs into something so soft that it leaves the current Sylvain reeling.

“Hey sweetheart, did you miss me?”

Sophie wastes no time in scrambling to her feet and dashing down the stone banister to throw herself into the arms of the older looking Sylvain.

“Daddy!”

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

Author’s Note: This was so weird to write. Originally I wanted to do it in Sylvain's POV, but then it switched to Felix's POV, then I realized that I defaulted to active voice for Sylvain's part and told myself I would go back and change it to passive voice, but then the chapter just kept morphing and morphing and dear lord I don't know.

Imma just leave it in active voice for now. Because that's what feels right LOL. Maybe I'll have to scrap my whole passive voice practice; this chapter was hard enough to write as it is. English is hard. (Says the person with a major in English Literature).

Tag List: @pato-social

[bansheemilktales]

Sometimes I start writing a short story and after one or two sentences (or just half a sentence) I stop because I feel it is good as is. Here are a few examples:

.

1) Honk had a name that was so good it sounded best from a car horn.

2) I never had an antelope I could trust.

3) Typing this from my jail cell and still running for president, I decided if Margaret were a typewriter each peck would be sexual harassment......

4) I felt like saying "No grandma, I don't want anymore ham" but who would listen?

5) Looking deep into the ghost of Peter Jennings eyes I thought "These things are so small I can't tell if he is looking back at me...."

6) She was the kind of girl whose gaze could turn your bones into chords that could only be played by an Arch Angel's harp...

7).....I should start off by saying I didn't want any of this. Well maybe the basket of corn chips. And the harmonica. But that's it.

8) That was 1980 for you. Smelly and cold. Like a dead Harvick. What's a Harvick? I'll get to that.

9) It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Of course, I was bipolar.

10) Mom had eyes on the back of her head. Covered by hair one could argue they were as useless as nipples on a "henwr", which is the welsh word for man.

11) The commercial lied. Beef wasn't what was for dinner. It was Gary. The guy who made fun of us for being stupid cannibals.

12) Women from a distance bear very man's sexual desires in mind when they get dressed.

13) Dear Helga, I wrote, things are rough and frightening during wartime but I still hate your name. There, I said it.

14) No man ever gave a shit I bet. Not the ones who told me they loved me and not the ones who told me they had a basket of excrement and were willing to give it away to anyone in need.

15) His was a mustache forged in steel which God decided had been a mistake. He would have to start all over again from scratch.

16) I don't like humans. They're not my kind of people.

17) Was Jesus as good as they say? Maybe. But not at pool. He should've stopped trying to hustle people the first night we lost. But somebody had put it in his mind that he could do anything.

18) I decided I'd like to be a short story writer. But how short? 4'11? 4'8? And would it effect the quality of my stories? Only time would tell.

19) Mark always told dirty jokes at the dinner table but only I could hear them. Nobody else was tuned into the frequency of weird, stupid Mark.

20) I hated Bryce more than I hated brussel sprouts. Well, half as much. No wait, a little more than half. Shit, we're never gonna get anywhere if I don't decide the ratio in comparing my Bryce to sprouts hatred.

21) It was the longest stakeout either of us had been on. Sgt Buchanan and I had grown long white beards. One might even call our beards gross. And our car was so old it wasn't a car but a chariot. Neither of us could remember who we were supposed to be watching in the stakeout. No matter. They were probably dead by now. Dead and buried. Well maybe not buried. God. I assume too much.

22) Jim used to hem and haw. "Maybe don't," I said, "Who likes to haw anymore? Why, in all my days I never knew a woman who was like 'I really want a man who can Haw.' Nope. They wanted cash money. And muscles. And a recipe for hot soup."

23) CORN DOG. Those were grandma's dying words. I shouldn't have rolled my eyes but who says that on their death bed? Stupid whore. I'm glad she's dead.

24) You can't judge a zebra by it's stripes. But I can. And I'm going public with my power in three, two, one.....Let the stripe judging begin.

25) I didn't want to hi-five my friends anymore. I had a bad shoulder and they seemed to think it was the only way to show excitement. How about just say "How exciting" or better yet, bury your feelings deep within and never allow excitement to surface choosing instead a life of depression and indifference.

25) "You have a nice ass," I said. "Where did you get it?"

"At the ass store," she said, "Where else?"

"Well, Gary got his on the black market," I answered.

"Whose Gary?" she said.

"I don't know," I replied, "Some dog probably. Hard to say cuz this story is over."

[florafey]

Thoughts While Reading Crescent City - Part 2

Part one here

Spoilers under the cut

- Something definitely went down that night Bryce and Danika got in a twist with those shifters and crashed their motorcycle

- That something that went down probably has a lottttt to do with the resolution of this book but I can’t for the life of me figure out how

- Aw Hunt’s ordering her food and she isn’t HAVING IT

- Ah shit a ‘slposion 

- Bryce really tired to protect Juniper from the explosion even though Juniper is immortal and Bryce isn’t. This woman is amazing

- I bet a million trillion dollars that Briggs has nothing to do with any of this. I know all signs are pointing to him but that just seems too easy

- AAAAAAAAAND Hunt’s moving in with her. CHA-CHING BABEYYYYYYY

- Nobody hates the Autumn King more than Ruhn does and it’s hysterical. I’m living for the almost blatant disrespect with which Ruhn speaks to him 

- It’s been four seconds and they’re already acting domestic Sarah SARAH what have you done to me

- Fury better make an appearance before the book is over

- Syrinx and Hunt? Pals. I’m calling it

- Okayokayokay I know Bryce has a whole thing with “don’t go all alpha-hole on me” and all that but it was extremely amusing to see her explain that to Hunt and have be like ??? the fuck are you talking about?? and then just shut her down with “I think you may be the alpha-hole here” like Bryce I love you but you needed that

- And then Hunt just picks up from that and starts telling her what to do AHAHAHAHHAH hypocrite 

- I’d rather eat my own vomit than meet Sandriel but I just know we’re going to

- “What’s the deal with you two?”

“We beat the shit out of each other at a party. Danaan’s still sore about it.”

uh yeah I’d be sore about it too, bitch lmaoooo

- Bryce, Hunt, Ruhn, and Lehabah should start their own CSI show. Or Criminal Minds. Or one of those crime shows cause I can’t tell a difference right now

- Group buddy cops except between the four of them, only Bryce and Lehabah get along

- Hunt has an email I’m cryingggg

- Bryce probably fucked that Oracle up, that’s why she won’t go back

- Hunt collectively referring to Bryce and Ruhn as ‘assholes’ is a bold move but he’s right and he should say it

- ah these photos are gonna be a thing, huh? Good. Give it to me

- FUCK ITS SANDRIEL

- atta boy Hunt don’t fucking kneel to her

- Sandriel can catch these hands on any holy day and that’s a fact 

- ewwww Micah come ON

- Wow Bryce really is a Bad Bitch. Doing all that in front of Sandriel?? Telling Micah fucking Domitus ‘not interested”????? Queen

- Okay now I don’t like Micah. He’s fucking Hunt up and he knows it.

- That oracle made me nervous but it went better than I had expected

- Fuck, see, I knew Briggs didn’t have anything to do with it

- I really don’t want Danika to have anything to do with this. It would ruin Bryce and I’m not interested in reading about that

- As we get to know Hunt better, he’s refreshingly human. And he needs a friend just as much as Bryce does. And while both of them are often assholes to each other, they’re also really really good friends when the need to be

- ^^^that’s called growth

- AHHHHHHHHHH the gun range scene????? AMAZING POWERFUL ICONIC on both their parts wowowowowowowowwwwwwwwwwww heheheh they’re such a power couple

- So......hmmm.....okay so Shahar seems to.....not have been that great of a person? Is anyone getting those vibes? idk

- Hunt and Bryce are so normal and I love it. Like sharing worst hookup stories and casually/not so casually asking about current relationships

- Didn’t I say fuck Sabine? Yeah, I knew I was on to something with that

- Ruhn and this medwitch? Could be interesting. I get strange vibes from her, though

- Oh these two will be the death of me. Now we’re changing contact names in each other’s phones?? Okay high-schoolers 

- I LIKE VIKTORIA

- Can I just say that both Bryce and Hunt are doing a phenomenal job at trying to overcome/work through their respective trauma? And they’re learning the best ways to help each other, too 

- Hunt seriously made Bryce crawl into a sewer how rude

- I had heard tell of the Jelly Jubilee scene before reading this book. I have now read it and can say that yes, it is as iconic and hysterical as everyone is making it seem. Wow. I’m going to read it eight more times

- Tharion Ketos is amazing and that’s a fact from God

- ‘Legs’???? ‘Legs’?????? Bryce, if Hunt had called you that you would have smacked him in the mouth

- Oh jeez Bryce lmao chill out you’re at work

- ew I hated the whole scene at the werewolf teritory

- I’m also....unnerved at how the wolves hate Bryce because she hooked up with someone before she ever went on a date with Connor but she was “already his” like ???? guys that doesn’t add up let’s do the math again

- If Sabine does not shut the FUCK UP about her GOTDAMN SWORD I’m gonna seduce Tharion into drowning her and eating her

- So we can drown Amelie too, did you hear that, Tharion? Good

- Micah is now acting shady. Destroying the kristallos before they could search it for an antidote or evidence? That’s called shady 

- A HUG WOW

- FUCK YOU SABINE YOU FUCKING INTERRUPTED THE HUG SESSION

- oop

- Danika ????? Stole ???? Stole the ????? oh alright

- Hunt is again antagonizing Ruhn. This will never get old

- So you know that prophecy about Danika’s sword that talks about one the sword and the knife are joined something about the people coming together? I can’t really remember what it says but I read a theory that proposes that knife as Azriel’s knife from ACTOAR and I’m.....really about that....that would be something else 

- we’re summoning another demon ??? 

- ohhhhhhh the Prince of the Chasm you say ???? I LIKE THIS ONE

- oh shit and Bryce knows him ???? From the past ??? Wild

- lmao look how stressed Hunt is over Aidas

- Aidas had three pages but I’m in love. And he’s a demon so that’s fuuuuuun

- awww look at Bryce trying to make an apology meal there’s def a similarity between this and the soup scene between Feyre and Rhys

- Is....is Hunt going to be her Anchor?? 

- “You said home earlier. At the bar. I know you’re supposed to live in the barracks or whatever Micah insists on, but if we somehow solve this case...that room is yours if you want it.” tears. actual tears. write this on my tombstone, please for the love of god 

- Oh my god Bryce really got scared when he didn’t come home...I’m really gonna start crying again what the hell

- Alright, a tsunami of tears have just been ripped from me. The whole scene when she found him in the shower and washed him and dressed him and put him to bed ???? When he PUT HIS HEAD ON HER LAP ??????? jeeeeesus I’m soft, so so soft

- This is the greatest work of writing I’ve ever held in my hands

- “A child laying his head on his mother’s lap. A friend looking for any sort of reassuring contact to remind him that he was a living being. A good person, no matter what they made him do.” sarah, oh sarah how you’ve ruined me

- So I know we all ship Bryce and Hunt but can we really talk about their friendship? Like the....the pure trust they’ve formed ?? Take that scene above for instance. There’s nothing at all sexual about Bryce washing Hunt in the shower when he was in shock and couldn’t do it himself. Sarah mentions how nervous Bryce is because Hunt is naked but there isn’t anything to that that isn’t normal. And Hunt is comfortable enough with her that he puts his head in her lap and again, nothing sexual. Sarah compares him to a child needing his mother and a friend needing reassurance, but nothing more. There’s something to that, something that wouldn’t be there if the connection was also romantic or sexual. Okay I’ll stop now 

If you’ve made it this far, I appreciate you. Thank you for joining me on this extremely wild and slightly out of control ride. Part 3 will be up shortly.

[highqueenofelfhame]

if i had a soul to steal/4.21/fourteen.

WARNING: IIHASTS Contains descriptions of graphic violence and explicit sexual content. Some parts may not be suitable for readers under 18. Reader discretion is advised. 

“You’re fussing,” Aelin said, one brow quirked at Rowan while he checked the wound that was mostly healed and had been for a few days. On the table, a fresh pot of tea was steeping next to a teacup, ready for her to sip as soon as he was content. He had also gone into town again for supplies. Rowan had spent the last forty-five minutes in the kitchen working on toasting a baguette and making her a delicious soup that she’d already finished a bowl of. 

“I’m not fussing.”

“You’re fussing,” Fenrys agreed from across the room, not taking his eyes off the TV. 

It had been a long two weeks. Fenrys had been in and out, bringing them as much information he was able to gather, but it wasn’t much. There was no new information on the case, no new information on Aelin. Nobody seemed to know where they had disappeared to, and nobody seemed to suspect Fenrys. If they did, they weren’t saying anything. 

“You were shot -”

“And now I’m fine! It’s been weeks since it happened. The wound is closed, it doesn’t look or feel infected. You’re going berserk for no reason.” Rowan sighed and sat down next to her, pulling her feet into his lap. Absently, he began to rub the soles of her feet and it felt so good that she couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips. A moan that had Rowan tensing. He hadn’t heard her make that sort of sound since the night weeks ago when he’d awoken from a nightmare and sprinted across town to feel her body against his. 

Aelin sat up and crawled onto his lap, ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes followed the silver strands as they shifted and twined through her fingers, the color like moonlight spilling over onto her skin. Rowan tilted his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as she leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’m okay,” she said softly, kissing the other corner, alternating sides until she was pressing a soft but firm kiss to the center of his lips. 

“I can show you just how fine I am,” she whispered, the tension between them a string pulled taut. 

“Well I’m fucking starving,” Fenrys said, eliciting a laugh from both Aelin and Rowan. Aelin’s hands fell to rest on either side of Rowan’s neck. “And as much as I’d love a threesome, one with you two isn’t on my list.” And then he was leaving, mumbling about how gross they were under his breath as he closed the door. 

Rowan’s hands ran up and down her sides and he leaned forward to kiss her again. It was a teasing kiss, one where he pulled away just as she tried to melt against his hard chest. 

“Rowan,” she whispered, a frown tugging her lips down. Her finger traced the shape of his mouth, ran along the sharp shape of his jaw. “You were the only thing keeping me going when I thought I was lost to the world.” Her words were barely a whisper, her lips tracing poems over his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Against her thighs, his hands tightened to grip the pajama shorts she wore.

Rowan didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t have to say anything because she was going to show him that she was fine, he was going to show her how much he loved her, missed her with his hands and his mouth all over her body. 

He lifted her with ease, carrying her to the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind him. He laid her down on the bed with heartbreaking tenderness and immediately caught her mouth with his own, letting the hard press of his body against hers surround her, protect her, keep her safe. 

He spent hours worshiping her. Hours with his lips and teeth and tongue tracing the shapes of every single scar that she bore. He kissed up and down those on her back, the ones around her wrists. He kissed scars from childhood trips and from her time when she was captured and tortured all the same. He spent extra time kissing around the gunshot wound he had sewed together, soft kisses all around before laying one directly on the raised skin. Everywhere that she hurt, he hurt, and he wanted to make it abundantly clear that she was never alone. Not now, not ever again. 

When he finally rolled his hips against hers and pushed inside her, both of them had wet cheeks full of words neither of them needed to say. It was slow, both of them wanting to take their time together. Last time it had been rushed and quick, but this time they had all the time in the world to explore each others bodies like it was the very first time. In a lot of ways it was. 

It was the first time Rowan ran his fingers down her back and felt warped, tarnished and rough skin. The first time she hadn’t felt smooth as marble while he pressed his fingers into her between gasps of pleasure. It was the first time he had half a mind to worry about hurting her, had half a mind to worry if she was more delicate than she let on. He knew her, though. Knew her body, knew her mind. Knew that every single touch was breaking and healing all at once. 

With her head dropped back while she rode atop him, his rough and calloused hands leaving tiny mountains and hills over her body. Everywhere he touched, little bumps raised and followed. The sight drove him insane - that he did this to the woman in his arms. That only he drew these sounds out, that only he made her moan. 

He flipped them, pushing into her harder and faster but the intimacy was not lost. Her hands held his face carefully, brushing away the tears that slipped free while he kissed her and gave her everything he had. 

When they came to a final climax together, he was ruined. Every part of him belonged to her, every part of him would always be hers. There was no one else who could compare. If everyone had a great love story, she was his. If everyone had an Achilles heel, she was his. And he would spend the rest of his life showing it to her, proving it to her. That she was loved above all else, and that he would never let her go. 

~*~

“Don’t go to work today,” she had murmured against his lips, doing everything in her power to seduce him back to bed like a siren luring a sailor into murky waters. He hummed against her lips, leaning over her perfect body. Rowan braced one hand on the bed beside her head, his other running down her side. Aelin’s fingers started to unbutton his shirt, and it was at that moment that he had to groan and pull away, leaving his wife with a pout on her foul, beautiful mouth.

“I wish I could stay home with you,” he sighed, dropping another kiss to her lips that was so quick she didn’t have time to suck him back down into her clutches. Aelin had been graced with an empty Saturday while Rowan had paperwork to wrap up from a case they’d closed two days ago.

“Will you at least come home early? Have dinner with me before Willow gets back from Gavriel and Aerin’s. I’ll…order takeout,” she laughed then, the sound bright and full of pure joy. It made Rowan’s heart swell and soar so much that he leaned down to kiss her again.

“I’ll be out of the office at four and back in your arms before five.” Aelin bit her lip and held up her pinky finger, the emerald on her left hand glistening in the early morning sunlight. He hooked his pinky around hers and pressed a final kiss to her lips. “I’m so godsdamn in love with you.”

“I love you the same,” she had replied, grinning widely at him as she lay her head back down on her pillows, settling to go back to sleep.

“I love you the same,” he could hear her saying it as clear as day.

When he woke up, the gasp crawling out of his throat, he felt like he was outside of his body. His limbs were heavy like someone had filled his bones with lead. There was a part of his neck that hurt, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling. With his head so fuzzy it was hard for him to focus on anything but the struggle to sit up. 

One hand reached across an empty bed that was plagued with cold sheets and, despite knowing she was likely in the kitchen, his heart began to hammer in his chest at a rate that almost hurt. It shot enough adrenaline through him that he sat up and called her name. 

She didn’t answer. 

“Aelin!” His entire body was screaming as he thrust to his feet and stumbled through the bedroom. He knocked into the dresser so hard he let out a grunt of pain but everything so groggy and foggy, the edges of his vision still black. 

In the main room, on the floor, Fenrys was laying with blood leaking from his nose. The skin over his knuckles was split like he’d been in some sort of a fight but it didn’t stop Rowan from surging at him and throwing a hit of his own straight to his unconscious face. 

“What the fuck did you do with her?” He growled as soon as Fenrys’ eyes cracked open. Rowan’s teeth  bared as he hovered inches from his face. 

“You stupid asshole,” Fenrys hissed, trying and failing to shove Rowan off. It seemed like his limbs were made of sand, too. “I tried to stop him but someone else came up behind me and stuck a needle in my godsdamn neck. I barely got a hit in before I hit the floor.” 

Rowan’s blood was boiling in his body, his body that was so heavy, so full of lead and stones that he struggling to reach the kitchen. 

It was like coming home all those years ago all over again. 

~*~ 

“Oh, come on, Laena! I was only kidding!” Archer was a few years older than she was and one of the oldest in the orphanage. He was constantly teasing her, constantly pulling at her braids.  Constantly telling her that she didn’t have family anymore so she should stop hoping. It didn’t stop the stupid crush she had on him, though. 

Her eyes opened, then rolled shut. 

“Laena?” A soft knock at her bedroom door, a boy with brown hair and brown eyes lingering in the space and waiting for her to say he could come in. 

“What do you want?” Her tone wasn’t pleasant but why would it be? He and Archer had always been so awful — teasing her until she hit them most of the time. They were the reason she ended up in trouble usually, scrubbing pans on double kitchen duty until her fingers were raw and red. 

Again, her eyes rolled open but they it felt like someone was tugging them closed with strings. Taking deep breaths and trying not to let panic take over, she gripped at the coarse bed sheets that she knew were not her own as she was dragged back down into a dark abyss. 

A veil was dropped over her face, Nehemia next to her straightening her dress. It was all ivory and gold with heavy beading. She never did anything half way. 

Nehemia, beaming at her as she shed tears of joy for her friend. Nehemia, who had been shot on the job and not survived. This was not real. 

Eyes roll shut. 

A blood curdling scream while a knife carved up her back, while her skin was peeled from her body. Pain so white hot and terrible that she passed out, blood running down her sides and over her shoulders. Blood dripping onto the concrete floor. 

This was not real.

This time when her eyes opened, she forced them to stay that way, will the invisible threads to hold them open versus keeping them closed. The first words that climbed out of her throat was Rowan’s name, hoarse and barely even a whisper. She tried again to no avail, no sound coming out loud enough for anyone but her to hear. 

When the black, foggy veil lifted from her vision she was able to truly focus on where she was, the familiarity of it cleaving her heart in two. She had spent one year, four months, and twenty one days here before the Ashryvers tracked her down. A year where the government had so hopelessly failed her, a year where she had been beaten and abused. 

She was laying on a rusty bed with a too-hard mattress that didn’t provide any comfort. It was dark out, but she could make out the vague details of the simply decorated room. 

The floor was falling in some places, the ceiling caved in others. The door hung halfway off its hinges and the knob dangled from its hole. It was eerie. But she supposed it wasn’t as bad as the cabin, where she’d been tortured. Again, she tried to say his name, only for —

“Your beloved Rowan isn’t here. There’s no use in trying to to yell for him.” That voice — so familiar yet not because of how much he had grown. Archer Finn stepped out of the shadows, half of his form bathed in moonlight. Aelin's Heart was running at full throttle, working overtime to pump whatever drug out of her system but it wasn’t fast enough. She knew if she tried to fight him right now, she would lose. 

And then there was the matter of her arms tied so tightly with a thick, scratchy rope that she hadn’t even registered until now. Archer opened his mouth to speak, but there was a crashing downstairs and Aelin’s eyes flew wide open. 

Rowan. It had to be. 

In an instant, Archer was behind Aelin, yanking her to her feet with a knife at her throat, the blade pricking her skin uncomfortably. Feet stormed through the orphanage until a body burst into the room, knocking the door from the hinges entirely. 

Not Rowan, but Detective Sam Cortland. 

“EVERYBODY FREEZE!” 

@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore  @lorcansalvaterree @valarian-trash @aniniop @booksstorm @shyvioletcat @standbislytherin​ @rowaelinforeverworld​ @tangledrayofsunshine @lights-of-stars​ @http-itsrebecca @princess-galathynius @wifeofchrishemsworth​ @charincharge @amren-rhyssecond @gigglinggummybears @mskaterinablack @because-i-am-lost @hey-its-grey​ @sleeping-and-books @thephilosophyofblank @breezyfreezey @westofmoon @tonystarksbish @mariamuses @thereaderandfangirl @silvermindedwarrior @rosesandglass @xxhopelesspeachesxx @maraadyyer @flowerspringsea​ @the-bookloving-girl​ @vartinehd​ @mis-lil-red @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​ @dreamcatchersimss​  

[gretchensinister]

also TDoP Blacksand and whichever of the NDU ships strikes your fancy

For TDoP (that’s The Doors of Perception, for those who don’t know, a long human AU on Ao3—my username there is the same as my url here) I think I will only do a few, since quite a lot of these questions get answered in the fic itself!

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Sandy—so early Kozzy has trouble believing he means it as seriously as he does. Sandy’s parents and all of the Guardians characters living in the house that’s the main setting say I love you far more freely than anyone in Kozzy’s family.

6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome?

After a lot of discussion, the answer to this is, in fact, “no one.” The conversation came up during the ‘60s part of the AU, and even though it wouldn’t have been too difficult to arrange, then, they never agreed on any particular person to ask. Later, however, in a purely hypothetical discussion, they did agree on Aragorn.

17. When they find a time machine, where do they go?

The future. The future, always and forever.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

The thorniest part of writing and thinking about this AU is that I’ve tied it so closely to the real world (there are small offshoots that link it to more fantastical worlds, but the main fic is a real world human AU). Sandy and Kozzy are 73/72 this year. They don’t want to do nothing, but they can both get very paranoid about the possibility of losing the other/the other being in danger. So the chat they need to have is how they can help other people without doing things they think are intolerably risky for each other.

 *

For NDU (that’s Nightmare Dork University, for those unfamiliar, a college AU collectively built upon by a number of authors and artists that puts a whole bunch of AU Pitches and one Jack together—more of a mood than a single storyline) I will go with Nightmare Galleon, because I think I’ve really got my own particular variation of the pair now, so why not work through some headcanons?

1. Who makes the first move and how?

Pitchiner makes the first move, very straightforward, he just asks for Pitch’s number. Pitch refuses and immediately retaliates by asking for his. To Pitchiner that’s six of one, half dozen of the other, so he agrees.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

Pitch is more insecure by far, but it mostly has to do with Piki rather than Pitchiner. What Pitchiner realizes, though, is that Pitch appears to feel much better when he’s doing the things that he’s good at that Piki doesn’t do. These things include costume and set design, costume construction, lighting, sound design…but if Pitch stops to think he sometimes can throw himself into a funk about how none of these aspects are as prestigious/relevant/important as being The Prodigy Playwright like Piki.

3. Who is the most romantic?

Pitchiner, but he’s also not going to be very romantic unless Pitch can stop acting like any romantic gestures he’s given are his due and taking them for granted.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Pitchiner is very grabby, it’s true, and the things he does are more obviously affectionate/sexual, but Pitch is also incredibly physical with Pitchiner, even if it is in a somewhat haphazard/almost violent way. He gets better with time, though the process gets set back every time he visits home, and also once when Pitchiner compared him to a rescue cat.

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Pitchiner does, however it’s not in a really sweet moment, it’s more like a WTF moment, like, I’m still here because I love you? Oh shit that’s true! This strikes Pitch as reckless behavior and he doesn’t say he loves Pitchiner until much later. He’s very lucky that Pitchiner is more perceptive than he gives him credit for and recognizes the signs of Pitch’s growing love.

6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome?

NDU doesn’t always have a Sandy, but I don’t think there’s any harm in putting one in one of Pitch’s creative writing classes who embodies “it’s always the quiet ones” and has a wit that runs around Pitch’s in circles. This infuriates Pitch, but in a confused way, as unlike his brother, Sandy is not trying to be a better writer than him, in particular. He just is. That’s how Pitch feels, anyway. He’s not at the point where he can understand that art doesn’t need to be ranked. Anyway so this Sandy decides to respond to antagonism with flirting, and it’s not as though Pitch thinks he doesn’t deserve to be flirted with, he’s got a hot boyfriend after all, and Sandy knows this…Sandy does know this, because he and Pitchiner are both in the honors program. And when Pitchiner meets Pitch after class one day Sandy is perfectly happy to flirt with both of them. The audacity in itself is appealing. So in this scenario it’s less them asking and more someone else asking them.

In another branch of the NDU story cluster I think they would ask Jack Sickle, not particularly to spite Piki even, but because Piki is being weird about sex with Jack and Pitchiner thinks that Jack should have his first experience of gay sex with less baggage attached to it. Pitch is not 100% sure that a threesome involving the twin of the man who’s obsessed with Jack counts as LESS baggage but sometimes in college you make decisions that seem obviously bad for reasons that aren’t really clear.

11. What do they hide from one another?

So, these things are kind of all the starting point state for my NDU boys. They wouldn’t remain static if I actually did write the version of the big long NDU story I have in my head.

On the mundane side, Pitch hides almost everything he can about his childhood with Piki, because while they weren’t perfectly harmonious siblings, they still had a pretty strong bond and their relationship didn’t start to turn sour until about high school. Pitch isn’t sure how to explain how it all happened to himself, much less anyone else, so he does what he can to avoid questions. He also tends to hide his family dynamics from everyone in general, because he’s from a money-poisoned environment and the more people know about him, the more likely someone’s going to say, “you know that was/is fucked up, right?” and he does NOT have time to think about that right now. He also hides the fact that he occasionally has idiopathic seizures, because that would mean he’s weak or something. However this last thing was revealed to Pitchiner very dramatically and resulted in a lot more panic than it needed to, because of the surprise.

Pitchiner, on the other hand, habitually hides any worries and fears he has about anything. He shoves all that down and tries to change all that energy into things that could be possible solutions. Not feeling strong enough? Never tell anyone, just work out more! Worried that you can’t take care of your loved ones? Learn how to cook! Worried that you really are just a meathead and that you’re wasting your scholarship? Study more! But alone! So no one will know! Pitchiner also hides from himself and anybody else the fact that he’s thought about and is aware of the way his size/strength can be intimidating/scary and not just a hunk/himbo trait. He’s deeply worried that he’s an inherently dangerous person, and so he tries to act like he’s just too dumb to have thought about it…but he has, and he’s wondered if this aspect of himself is a tool he can, should, or would use in different aspects of his life.

On the non-mundane side, both Pitch and Pitchiner hide the fact that they’re having weird, possibly supernatural visions/encounters with terrifying entities that they nevertheless seem to have some kind of deep kinship with.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Pitch falls asleep around Pitchiner. Pitchiner starts paying a lot closer attention to what he can or cannot casually needle Pitch about.

13. When do they realise they should get together?

Well, at first Pitch is like, Pitchiner won’t worry about me, that’s GREAT. And Pitchiner is like, Pitch doesn’t have any expectations of me, that’s GREAT. So they first get together because they think they won’t care about each other…which is incorrect.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

When Pitch has a cold, Pitchiner has got the somewhat homemade chicken soup ready! He’s got the tissues! The immune-system-boosting vitamins (hey, he may be in the honors program but he still can’t perfectly detect bullshit)! He’s got a huge bottle of water with times marked on it for Pitch to drink all of! Which is good, because otherwise Pitch would just wrap himself in a quilt, take swigs of nyquil at random times, and sleep until he either died or felt better. When Pitchiner has a cold, Pitch is the one who reminds him (none too gently, though) to stay in and fully recover. He will also bring canned soup and huge water bottles upon request. Not the vitamins though, they smell weird. He will argue with Pitchiner to take actual cold medicine and usually succeeds.

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

The glib answer to this is sex, and that works for their arguments and spats over minor things, but when a major issue comes up it’s different. They fought over Pitch keeping his seizures a secret, for example, and it seemed like they’d never be able to resolve that, though they both knew they didn’t want to break up. So…they tried to bring in someone neutral as a moderator. Fortunately or unfortunately, the only person who was around was Proto. Who said some insightful things and some bizarre things and soon enough both Pitch and Pitchiner wanted him out of the conversation. And then they were just like, “Are we breaking up? No? All right, let’s try to forget the whole thing.” Actual apologies and vulnerability are a few years away.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

Pitchiner is nervous about going to see his family with Pitch, because he’s worried that someone’s going to be like, “hey, he’s pretty bad for you, you know that, right?” and he can’t fully explain their connection and he doesn’t want to have to. Pitch is nervous about going to see his family with Pitchiner because he knows they’ll look down on him and won’t believe that Pitch could actually care about him as more than just a body, which will force Pitch to admit to himself how much Pitchiner means to him and it’s a whole mess (for Pitch, mentally).

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

Pitchiner goes for a cheeky, casual kiss after they have lunch together one day in the school’s main dining hall, like it could be a Bugs-Bunnyish joke unless…But then Pitch is like, what? How dare you? And yanks Pitchiner down by his t-shirt for a much deeper kiss that leaves both of them kind of flustered as they have to hurry off to their next classes.

24. Where do they first have sex?

Pitch’s dorm room. He’s got a single, he knows he’s planning to be discreet, and he’s very clear that he’s making a booty call to Pitchiner.

25. Why do they fight?

On a serious level, they fight because they try to keep so much from each other, but their relationship develops enough that they things they try to hide eventually come to light. And then both of them get mad because it’s like “we could have worked this out sooner!” but unfortunately it doesn’t work out that way. They fight because they care about each other but are squirrelly about deserving care/being cared for.

On a less serious level, they squabble because they can. Pitch is zero percent scared of Pitchiner, and Pitchiner doesn’t expect Pitch to be emotionally controlled at all times and he doesn’t compare him to his brother. Having a raised-voices argument about bananas or Stephen King or whatever is freeing.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

Because the evidence that supernatural stuff is real and taking an interest in them and a few other people close to them is accumulating and talking probably won’t solve that but it might help them get through it all alive.

27. Why do their friends get annoyed with them?

Over the top public displays of affection and stupid loud fights about things like bananas or Stephen King

28. Why do they get jealous?

Pitch gets jealous of the way Pitchiner seems so comfortable taking up space. Pitchiner gets jealous of how quick Pitch’s wit can be, especially in arguments.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Pitch falls a little bit more in love with Pitchiner for what seem like contradictory reasons. As they’re together in their years of young adulthood, Pitchiner learns the skill of pausing before reacting, how to be more effectively compassionate, etc., and Pitch learns to accept that Pitchiner really does love him for him. But as Pitchiner is getting more mature in this way, he’s also gaining confidence in being implacable/unstoppable when he deems it necessary. Like the fact that Pitchiner is able and willing to intimidate people is maybe a red flag, but it also lights him up like nothing else. Pitchiner falls a little bit more in love with Pitch as Pitch learns to appreciate the things he himself can do, and care less about what Piki says or does. He also falls a little bit more in love with Pitch as he becomes more and more refined and precise in how manipulating or cruel he can be. Again, not good, but sometimes it’s just impressive, you know? But AFTER this point…they both get a chance to see each other respond to being offered power that very very few people are ever offered, and see each other recognize the strings attached, and recognize that they cannot deal with this on their own. And they come out of this without losing themselves, and without becoming truly monstrous, either. And that inspires more love than skillfully being terrible.

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

It works out between them partly because of the horrifying supernatural stuff they’ve both experienced. These experiences are something they share with Proto, Piki, and Jack, but as far as they know, no one else. To have a long-term partner that doesn’t have that kind of supernatural heaviness in their past is, at least subconsciously, totally unworkable to both Pitch and Pitchiner.

But it’s not just the supernatural shared experience. They do like each other, they do love each other, and, most importantly, they’ve seen each other grow and change over their years at college. Sometimes it was for the worse! Eventually it was for the better. Now, in the kind of overarching story I would create, at the end of college Pitch and Pitchiner might break up because of the weird events they went through and now feel like those are something they want to be done with and put behind them, plus a worry that being around the others will cause more of it to happen. But they can’t lose contact completely, and let’s say Proto eventually arranges for them to randomly meet again. And basically it’s like—“You loved me when I was terrible. So I know I can be myself around you, and it can be okay even if I fuck up while trying to go through life while being less terrible.”

[lambourngb]

My brain is still a messed up bowl of depression and anxiety soup. However, I’m trying to get back into writing so I can finish Last Year’s Wishes. And hey, thank you everyone for reblogging my dumb not-fic this morning, that was sweet.

Anyway @tasyfa gave me some suggestions on re-igniting the fires of creativity- like re-reading the story, putting on the right playlist, thinking mindfully about the next step in the story.

I spent the morning re-reading, and it felt a bit weird. Like I know I wrote it, but wow it feels like a million years ago... bits that I love and can’t believe came out of my brain:

From Chapter 8- I loved writing stoned Alex.

The sounds of Michael moving about the cabin, the thunk of discarded boots on the wooden floors, the soft close of a door and the start of the shower all made for a soothing background noise that Alex drifted in peacefully. He shut his eyes for a moment, only to find himself awake to the strong scent of food again.

Michael sat a plate on the coffee table in front of him. Dinner was a pair of hot dogs slathered with relish and mustard, with baked beans spilling around it. He placed a can of soda next to it, sweeping away the now-warm beer bottle from his reach. “You awake enough to eat?”

“Yeah, I'm starved.” Alex rubbed the drug fatigue from his face, and reached toward his hip for the melting bag of ice only to encounter a fresh pack with his fingertips. Michael had thoughtfully changed out the ice and prepared him dinner, all after working a full day at Sanders's. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you do all this after working.”

Michael cracked open a bottle of beer, and settled back in the chair with an amused look. His own plate of food balanced on his thighs. The shower’s effects were present, the damp curls mussed and in intact locks around his face, and his grease-marked clothes exchanged for a simple sweatpants and t-shirt. “You make a terrible wife, Alex, not having a hot meal ready at the end of the day for your hard-working man.”

“Haven’t had a lot of practice.” Alex bit into the hot dog, noting to himself that Michael prepared it just the way he liked it with no ketchup to be seen.

“No? You never played house like this before with a boyfriend? I mean, once you could legally.”

“Can’t play house if you've never had a boyfriend.”

Michael paused, holding his beer to his lips in surprise. “What, never?”

It was flattering that Michael appeared so shocked by the idea. Alex chewed with deliberate consideration. “Depends, are you counting yourself?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then never.”

***

From Chapter 12:

Michael swallowed hard, twin wet tracks of tears shining on his cheeks. “That family tree, the evil doesn’t branch out much, does it? Direct line to your dad.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t,” he cut Alex off brutally. “Don’t apologize. You’re not the one who put her in that cage. That was what, your great-grandfather Harlan? And you’re not the one who gave her that fucked up exam, that was just your granddaddy. And you’re not the one who killed her. That was just daddy dearest-” Michael choked harshly, as a sob caught in his throat. “Or me, depending on how you look at it. So don’t apologize, Alex. It wasn’t you.”

“No, just everyone I’m related to,” Alex replied bleakly, taking a seat next to Michael. He reached out to rest a hand on Michael’s leg cautiously. “I'm sorry that you saw that. I was… I was looking for footage of her where she was... where she was just in her cell. Not okay, but not being hurt.”

Michael tipped his head to the side, to meet Alex’s gaze finally. “Did you find any?”

Mutely Alex shook his head, as his own eyes welled up.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

His heart breaking at the amount of pain and hopelessness on Michael’s face pushed him to keep going, “It’s early though. I… I've only been able to crack two out of twelve of the drives. That one’s part of one that documents procedures. There might be others that are just surveillance.”

“Mmmm. So I can watch her pace in a glass cage, instead of being sexually assaulted. Cold fucking comfort, Alex.” Michael’s voice broke on the word assaulted, before it turned hard and angry. “When were you going to tell me you had these? When you found some nonexistent footage of her not being tortured?”

“I was going to tell you, I was,” Alex defended weakly. The justification for waiting for the correct time was just as Kyle predicted, feeble and without weight. This was the fruit of his cowardice. “It’s horrible, I know. I was trying to spare you the visuals.”

“I need you to stop doing that. You can’t keep trying to control shit by holding onto information and then saying it’s to protect me. I have a right to make my own damn decisions. She was my mother!” Michael ended his ragged speech with a harsh cry. He wrapped his left hand into a fist, pulling tight on the black wrap on his knuckles.

Immediately Alex tensed, as he wiped at an escaped tear. His brain, formed and shaped by his experiences with his father, went into high alert. Michael, with his own trauma-shaped instincts, caught his flinch instantly and exploded upward from his seat and away from Alex to place several feet between them in the close confines of the bunker.

“For fuck’s sake,” Michael shook his head, wounded as he fisted the curls back from his eyes. “I will never, fucking never, lay on a hand on you.”

More tears spilled from Alex’s eyes, as he took a deep breath to lock down his feelings. He was really messing this up with Michael, not that the reveal was ever going to go smoothly. The progress that they had made in the last few weeks was vanishing right before his eyes, and he felt helpless to stop it.

Trying for calm and conciliatory, he replied lowly, “I know. I know you wouldn't. We've never done that to each other.”

“Right. Never.” Michael kept to the other side of the room.  He dropped his hands flat against his side, keeping them in view. His face was red, struggling to hold back his devastation at Alex’s response, merely compounding the grief triggered by the video. “I'm pissed and I can barely look at you right now because you kept this from me, but that. That’s not me, that’s not us.”

“I know, Michael.” Alex took another deep breath, and wiped at his face with his sleeve. Gradually he felt his pulse starting to slow, with the soft embrace of an upcoming adrenaline crash threatening at the edges.  “Just... tell me what you need?”

“I don’t know. Short of a time machine, where I can rescue my mom, there's nothing. She’s dead. She lived a long, miserable life here. How ...how old was that clip?”

***

From Chapter 14

“Well, it’s like you said, I’m the expert in leaving.” He twisted his lips in a semblance of a smile, “I had just learned you had slept with my best friend and you were working on a way to leave orbit, how else was I supposed to react?”

“I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really think you’d care,” Michael paused, shrugging carelessly, “about either of those things.”

“Now we’re back to the ways in which I’ve fucked up with you.” Alex braved a hand on Michael’s arm. “I care about both of those things. I'm trying to come to terms with you moving on from me and that’s not going great, okay? This limbo we’re in, it hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what you leaving the planet will do to me.”

Michael blinked a few times forcefully as his eyes started to glisten. “Really?”

Alex tightened his grip on Michael’s arm, as he dug down for the words. He knew this was usually the point where he backed off and let things be understood instead of implicitly being said. The second, third, and fourth chances to get this right kept slipping away from him.

It would be stupid to waste another moment.

“It would kill me, Michael. I know I left in the past, with deployments and training rotations, but I was always going to come back. Even after the IED hit, I pulled a belt off my dead friend and killed my right foot just so I could live long enough to come back to you.” Alex swallowed hard, forcing the grief back down his throat. “I was prepared to hack the DMV once my assignment to Roswell was over just to track you down. But I can’t hack a spaceship, so I kept the piece from you. I’m sorry.”

A tear finally streaked down Michael’s face as he let go of the console and turned to put his arms around Alex. “God you’re such a fucking asshole.”

The sentiment was in direct opposition to the tight embrace Michael pulled him into, before he leaned back to meet Alex’s eyes. His hands trailed from Alex’s waist and glided up to cup his jaw, holding his face close, so he tipped his forehead against Alex’s. “Such a fucking asshole,” Michael repeated wetly.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” Alex ventured tentatively, soaking in his touch greedily.

****

From chapter 17:

“Yes, and no,” he admitted quietly, his fingers fidgeted with the discarded beer cap. “I want to talk to my best friend about my boy problems but he’s also your boy problem so that makes it hard.”

“Pretend he isn’t then,” Maria urged softly. “Can you do that? ‘Cause I miss you, Alex. There’s nothing I want more than to talk to my best friend about dumb boys again.”

Alex had had a lot of experience pretending it wasn’t Michael Guerin he was twisted up over and then seeking out the counsel of Maria in return. It wasn’t that much of a stretch when he thought about it. Over ten years of discussions about feeling he wasn’t saying the right thing, or being too scared to act on his impulses, and she had patiently held his hand through it all without once knowing the identity. Steady, supportive, and always with a wicked twist of humor to remind him just what a catch she thought he was.

When he was a teenager trying to fall asleep through the various dull aches that came from disappointing his father, he used to press his bruised face into his pillow and pray for two things. To not be Jesse Manes’s son, or if he had to be that, then at least let him fall in love with Maria Deluca.

God was cruel enough to keep him under Jesse’s roof and to leave his desires unchanged.

While his love for Maria skipped over the romantic track, nonetheless it still flowed strongly over the years. Scattered around the loft were various gifts that Alex had sent to her during his time away from Roswell. A wall tapestry he had picked up in Kabul hung from one wall. A pipe and ashtray set from an Istanbul market sat next to a wooden cigar box where Alex knew Maria kept her weed. A bright blue glazed bowl painted in the geometric designs of peacock feathers rested on a side table. It had been a gift from a thankful Yazidi father after his unit evacuated his daughters to a UN camp safely. He had meticulously packed and padded the bowl to ship to Maria two weeks prior to the IED. With the typical international shipping delays, he had already transferred from Landstuhl to Walter Reed by the time Maria had received it.

He held onto that connection, pushing down the lingering question of where Michael spent the night in the close confines of the loft. Certainly not on this small couch.

“Alright, deal.” Alex licked his lower lip in thought. “So there’s this guy, and we have some pretty heavy history together. We’re trying to be friends and like figure out who we are to each other outside of-” he broke off, glancing toward her bedroom alcove nervously before finishing, “outside of the bedroom.”

Maria followed his glance without comment, before taking another sip from her bottle. “That sounds like a healthy and adult decision, Alex. Can I take the credit for browbeating you over the years or do I have to share it with your therapist?”

“Depends, Maria, do you want to take credit for my complete failure here? ‘Cause for whatever reason I keep fucking it up.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically, “Do you?”

“Yeah, you’re right, I forgot what a disaster you are,” Maria teased gently. “I mean you have a good job, you have amazing friends if I do say so myself, you’re the kindest person I know. And your face isn’t half bad either. So you have a few walls to climb, who doesn’t? Alex, you are worth the effort here.”

“He hates my job, and he really hates that I signed a new contract.” Alex tipped his bottle to finish the last swallows. Dully he looked down at the bottle cap pressed tightly between his fingertips, “My walls are pretty high, here. I either hold back on him, or I get scared and push him away, which means I’m either pissing him off or hurting his feelings. It’s no wonder he wants-” He stopped, leaving the rest of the thought unfinished.

“Being afraid of being hurt or rejected is normal. Life has taught you a lot of reasons why you need to protect yourself and if you’d share that with him, I’m sure he would understand.” She reached up to touch her necklace absently, before sighing. “I admit, I wasn’t thrilled when he told me you re-upped.”

“Not you too, Maria.”

“You were so close to being out-”

“I can’t leave until the job is done-”

“Please, that’s the kind of thinking that has kept us in Afghanistan for twenty years.”

A beat passed between them before Alex cracked a disbelieving smile at her sarcastic reply. “Did you just compare me to Donald Rumsfeld?”

Maria covered her mouth, as she started to laugh with him. “I mean, maybe? You have much better hair though, or at least you did. There’s only so much product can do to fix that boring flat top.”

“Thanks,” Alex replied drily, as he reached upward to his hair out of reflex. Maria giggled as he belatedly brought his hand away from his head. “My ego is safe with you around.”

“See? You need me around, you’d be lost without me.” Her smile widened with fondness, the old comfort of teasing each other over having high maintenance hair habits settling in naturally. This time, her words landed awkwardly into the air and her smile slowly dropped away. Her eyes grew bright and glassy in the warm light from the two floor lamps. The atmosphere between them changed again, as the unsaid pressed against them impatiently, nagging for their attention.

Alex dropped his eyes to the floor again. The words in his throat were tangled, as he wished one more time that he didn’t feel like this with Maria. He was caught in the rough current of feeling jealous and angry while being tossed against his ever-present pillars of self-loathing.  

“What are we going to do?” Maria asked forwardly. She was braver than him like usual. “Are we ever going to get past this? I mean, I can pretend some more if you want-”

“God, that’s all I do these days, pretend, so maybe it’s best if we don’t.” He licked his lower lip, registering the dry chapped feeling from his nervous chewing. “I pretend with Michael, I pretend at work, and I don’t want to have to pretend with you, Maria.”

“I don’t think you’re pretending with Michael,” she pointed out, in a no-nonsense tone. Her eyes lost their sharp focus as her face reflected the changeover from friendly observation to a psychic read. “Unless you’re pretending that friendship is going to be enough for you. You love him and you’re not getting over him, and you’re sabotaging yourself with him because you’re afraid. You’re afraid that friendship is enough for him.”

The air in the room felt thin to Alex. He closed his eyes, and placed his hand on his chest to count the rapid beat of his pulse. The black spots in his eyes swam in front of him, and he blinked several times to clear his vision. “I thought he had already made his choice. But then living together, pretending that we never broke up- It’s complicated now. Messy. And I’m afraid if I really ask, he’ll tell me the same thing he did before, that love isn’t enough. That it’s too much baggage to get past and he won’t choose me.”

****

From chapter 19:

Michael closed his eyes, as a tear slipped down his cheek and turned his face into Alex’s touch, as he whispered roughly, “Losing her, my mom like that, I didn’t want to be known by anyone. Not by Max, and not by you.” He lifted his face away, his eyes still wet as his smile wobbled, “That’s why you found me at the Wild Pony.”

“I figured,” Alex replied, his throat tight.

“I know now that I hurt you by doing that. It’s a fucking weak excuse to tell you that I really didn’t think you would care. ‘Cause it doesn’t change the fact you did.”

“Michael.” He started to tell him that it was fine. That he understood. Except on one level, as much as they had laid out the pain and wounds that had been exchanged between them, some targeted, some merely shrapnel from outside forces, there was the unavoidable fact that it wasn’t fine. Discarding the emotions of it, which he was never going to find comfort with, Alex fell into the cold facts of what happened. “I wasn’t what you needed then, or wanted. And that’s okay. You are allowed to make that choice for yourself. You went through something unimaginably terrible, how could I begrudge you for turning to someone who made that a little better for you?”

The hurt miserable laugh that escaped from Michael as he pressed his lips against Alex’s palm in a kiss, sent a chill down Alex’s spine.

“You were exactly what I needed after Caulfield, Alex. You make everything, fucking everything, in my miserable life better. This whole month, every minute of it, you made me feel whole. I can take a full breath because of you. I am okay, and that’s so much more than I deserve to be. And I tried to fight it, especially early on when I was a dick to you, but as it turns out, hurting you so I could make myself miserable isn’t worth it.”

Alex was frozen, his hand still against Michael’s face as he worked to understand just what he had said. The first three thoughts circled back to Michael still being drunk, or perhaps this was delayed gratitude for helping keep them safe from the police investigation. For all that Michael spoke of not feeling like he deserved to feel okay, it was shockingly clear in Alex’s mind he shared that same sentiment. Their broken pieces were shattered on the same fault lines, not necessarily the mirror opposite that would fit together in the same way.

Michael kissed his thumb softly, looking up at him, “I can see by your face you are having a hard time believing me. If you let me do this, open up the bond print, you’ll get it. You’ll see that as nice as Maria is, she doesn’t have nearly the power you do. You’ll feel what I feel. Um, just what I feel, if you’re worried about your privacy. This is a one-way street.”

There was a brief moment of disappointment for Alex hearing that, but the lure of Michael’s offer was too strong to deny. “Okay. Do it.”

“Yeah?” Michael smiled brilliantly as he sat in bed, and gently pressed Alex back on the mattress. He spread his palm flat on Alex’s chest, directly over his heart, its beat strong and quick beneath the touch. Michael’s eyes flickered down at his hand and then to Alex’s tense gaze, his lips quirking with shy pleasure at what was about to happen. “Merry Christmas.”

Michael’s hand didn’t change in temperature, even as a red glow started to build in his palm. It was reminiscent of how his mother had communicated in those last doomed moments at Caulfield. And like that too-short interval from before, there was no pain on Michael’s face, just rapturous joy.

Alex stored that snap shot of Michael’s face, looking so unbelievably happy, away in the place he hoarded his good memories.

It was the last clear thought he had.

Oh. It was a lot.

His therapist had warned him a long time ago that trauma had changed his brain patterns forever. It wasn’t just psych jargon to understand that his electrical pathways of experiencing pleasure and joy were forever altered after his childhood. His doctor had argued to him that comparative MRIs would prove it. The therapeutic homework of practicing pleasure and reacquainting his body to positive feelings had been taken with a dose of skepticism. Michael had always made him feel okay in receiving and giving pleasure, but later Alex realized it wasn’t necessarily the comfort of sex that was the issue, it was happiness.

Michael loved him.

It washed all over his mind, like standing under a waterfall. The torrential press of love, joy, peace beat down on the brittle feelings of shame, of self-hatred, of feeling like Alex had been made wrong in some way right from the start, after all, why didn’t his father love him?

Michael loved him.

Water was the most destructive and most transformative force on earth. It was relentless. It sought out cracks, pouring into the hollows while it filled the caverns. Once inside, if needed, it could freeze and expand, to break down defenses, until the path was clear. It nurtured with the same unstoppable power, feeding the roots, nourishing the parched throats, cleansing the wounds and washing away the filth.

Michael loved him.

It was infinite. It was one thing to know it intellectually, after all, Michael had said it once to him, present tense and all. This connection made Alex feel ashamed, because now he knew he had never really believed it. It wasn’t Michael’s fault though; the core truth was Alex had made it 28 years believing he was the issue, that he was unlovable. Any words that Michael had said, Alex had dismissed as something shallow, or perhaps the result of a trick.

The connection battered at that belief until Alex had to discard it as false.

****

From chapter 21

There was a moment when he thought Michael would break away, he could feel Michael take a deep breath, his chest heaving in effort before he tipped forward into Alex’s body, a mirror of Alex’s earlier collapse. He caught Micheal’s weight easily, and held him securely.

“I really want to scream right now, just so you know,” Michael warned with a low voice in Alex’s ear. “I don’t want to be mad at you, but I’m fuckin’ mad.”

“You can be mad at me,” Alex offered weakly, keeping his arms around Michael.

“I really can’t, Alex,” Michael huffed a humorless laugh, “you tried to pick a fight five minutes ago about Maria, and I saw your face when you got here, you were totally white. You didn’t expect this reveal to go well, did you?”

Alex hummed a little in his throat, acknowledging Michael’s point without argument. He thought about the file that had his father’s request for testing when he was a child and locked down his feelings on it to deal with later. “It’s not all terrible news to report though. If the pod responds to intent, then we should have Liz and I guess Kyle, meet us at the cave so we can see what it might be doing to Max in the meantime. See if there’s any readings we can gather.”

Michael moved his warm hands up to cup Alex’s face, the fabric wrap on his left hand rasping lightly as he gently moved Alex back to meet his eyes. “I’m sure Liz was thinkin’ about saving Max, but he’s not the only one in a pod. What were you thinkin’ when you put your dad in there?”

“Honestly?”

“Uh yeah, of course.”

Alex smiled grimly, “I was thinking how good it felt to choke him out and finally win a fight. I was thinking he got to see my face as darkness took him, the way I used to see his face when I was a kid. And I hoped he was scared. I hoped he felt small and powerless.”

“God, I hope so too. I hope the pod is making him relive that non-stop,” Michael breathed fiercely as he tightened his hold on Alex for a moment, then he leaned in to capture his lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Alex opened under his mouth easily, surrendering to Michael as he backed him against the parked Bronco. He pushed his fingers into Alex’s short hair, pressing against Alex’s body as Alex’s tongue stroked firmly against his.

The warning burn in Alex’s lungs was the only thing that brought the kiss to an end, as he sucked in a gulp of air, the taste of Michael and a hint of beer still on his lips. “As much as I want to continue that, um, you should finish up here so we can make a plan with Liz and Kyle.”

“You’re lucky my trailer is at the cabin, otherwise you and me and a horizontal surface-”

****

Also from chapter 21

The warmth of Michael scooted up against his back as his arms snaked around Alex’s chest. He pressed his lips against Alex’s neck and offered softly in his ear, “Listen, if this is…. If this is something in your head, I can help with that. If you want.”

Anticipation and pleasure lit up briefly through the agony as Alex followed the train of thought to Michael’s offer and remembered Christmas Eve. It was beyond tempting but being back on active duty made that an impossibility. With regret, he shook his head, “No bond print, too risky.”

“Nah, not that, but I could go inside your mind, and um, persuade you that what you’re feeling isn’t real.”

“Oh,” Alex breathed. Michael inside his head, seeing his thoughts, seeing just how messed up Alex was, not that he couldn’t already guess it from the outside. The cramping seemed to intensify as he debated, from what felt like a stabbing feeling from the ball of his foot, to a deep burn into the arch of his instep, traveling up his right leg. “Yeah, okay, do it.”

Michael licked his lips at the acceptance and took a deep breath. He shifted in bed again until Alex faced him. He brought his palm up, to cup Alex’s cheek gently, meeting his eyes. Alex blinked heavily at the touch, tears from the pain slipping down his face as Michael brushed the wetness away with his thumb with love.

Then.

Then it was warm and bright. Michael was the joy of a perfectly played note, the pitch and harmony of Alex’s favorite song, slipping into his mind to curl around him. The percussion of matched heart beats, thundering in time together. The vibration of strings, dancing across two keys, one high and soprano, one low and deep.

That was Michael in Alex’s mind.

Alex though, Alex was a crumpled ball of paper. The painstaking drawing, scratched out in eraser marks and errant ink blots. The brush strokes of a self-portrait imperfectly translated from three dimensions to a flat disappointing two. Discarded and tightly balled up, waiting to be tossed into the trash.

Then.

Teasing at the edges, Michael picked at and pulled at the scrapped drawing, the furrowed shell of Alex. With infinite care, he worked to flatten out the wrinkles and to smooth the creases. This wasn’t a failed attempt; this was a work of art, worthy of being framed. He laid out love, ironing out the perceived imperfections, until the crushed bits, and worn notches were treasured marks of strength and experience. These weren’t deficiencies to reject, or blemishes to trash but well tested symbols of armor worthy of protection.

Then.

Alex blinked again, and swallowed down the sob pressing at the edges of his throat waiting to erupt as the pain was gone. Inside his head, every small scrape and cut was calm and soothed. Michael had wrung the tension from his mind and body, leaving him loose and shapeless.

“Better?” Michael asked, his hand still on Alex’s face.

“Yeah, much.” Alex licked his lower lip, his mouth dry. “Is that, is that really how you see me?”

An enraptured look slipped over Michael’s face as his eyes grew dark, “You are a work of art, Alex. You’re beautifully made, inside and out. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

Blushing, he had to look away, unable to meet the intensity in Michael’s gaze. “I think you’re crazy.”

“You’re the crazy one for not seeing it, but I know why you can’t believe me.” Michael’s expression saddened as he turned to catch Alex’s eyes, “He is wrong about you. He was wrong when you were a kid, and he’s wrong now.”

“Ah, you saw it. What my dad wanted to do.” Alex pressed his lips together tightly, and sighed.

“Yeah, I saw it.” Tension grew in Michael’s grip, as he moved his hand down Alex’s shoulder to his chest, pressing his hand against the rising beat of Alex’s heart. “He is a monster, and it’s his loss that he could find anything in you that was deserving of hate, but sweetheart,” Michael’s voice broke briefly, “it breaks my heart that you might agree with him on any level. Your body, the way you love, how you love, it’s all part of what makes you, you.” He paused, before finishing with a thick voice, “And I love you. You should love you too.”

“I’m trying, Michael,” Alex leaned in to kiss his lips gently, “I’m trying really hard to do that.” He let Michael deepen the kiss, sighing at the care Michael used in touching him, like he was that precious work of art he’d glimpsed in Michael’s thoughts.

“Don’t be ashamed of this,” Michael whispered, his mouth hovering over Alex’s.

Alex shook his head, and leaned up to trade another kiss, “I’m not, not anymore. Well, not most days. I’m working on it.”

Michael smiled in response at Alex’s honesty, “Good, anytime you need a reminder, let me know. We can fight those demons together, darlin’. Speaking of, how’s the pain?”

Stretching his right leg out, he rubbed his stump against Michael’s leg, and sighed in relief at the motion. “Gone.”

****

All self-indulgent clips.

[ba-responds]

Catharsis (Villain!Deku x Fem!Reader) Chapter Two

A/n: And here’s chapter two! A short chapter compared to the last, but a chapter nonetheless. I’m trying to push these chapters out a bit, because I go home for winter break Friday, then I’m staying with a friend, so who knows when I’ll be able to post again.

This story will contain dark themes! Please read the warning!

Summary: An unexpected death of a loved one can lead to a sudden influx of emotions. Those same emotions can become repressed, as denial and disbelief comes into play. In this time, one would seek a means of catharsis, a release from those strong, repressed emotions. But what would you do if that means of catharsis, the same release you sought so hard for, becomes addicting? To the extent, that you feel you can not live without it? What if it can’t live without you? **WARNING: This story MAY contain; bullying, suicide, depression, torture, manipulation, mentions of sexual assault, and MORE! You have been warned.

Masterlist

Prologue II Chpt 1 II Chpt 2 II Check Masterlist for next chapters!

Chapter Two: Happy Memories and Heavy Hearts

The walk back to your home would seem calm to anyone else, but inside you were in shambles. Yelling at your classmates didn’t do nearly as much as you assumed it would, the harsh presence on your chest still as harsh and heavy as it was before. And if it wasn’t heavy before, it seemed to get heavier when you reached the corner of your block. You looked down the way you would go to meet Izuku in the morning, and you felt your knees go weak, almost completely giving out on you. You collapsed into the brick wall surrounding someone’s house, and clutched your chest, willing yourself not to cry.

Then a thought came to your mind. Urging you body off the wall, you turned down that road, a certain intent on your mind, as rushes of memories flooded your thoughts.

You smiled widely as you stared at Izuku, who blushed heavily. His hair was as unruly and curly as ever, but was shorter than he usually wore it, due to the barber messing up. His face still held a bit of baby fat, but it made him look like a cute little munchkin. He continued to stumble over his words as the two of you walked to his house, forming incoherent sentences as he tried to explain himself. You both were wearing the Aldera middle school uniforms, and kicked an empty bottle between the two of you as you walked. With a loud laugh, you cut off his rambling, kicking the bottle into a small pile of garbage near a trash can.

“So, basically you’re telling me that you’re sexually attracted to All Might.” 

He gasped in horror, shaking his head violently.

“T-THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AT ALL! I-I JUST MEANT THAT I...admire him alot…” He yelled, which then lead into a light mumble as he scratched the back of his head, still blushing violently. You giggled as you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, knowing that your next question would send him into, what could be, over an hour long rant.

“So, tell me again, what are your favorite things about All Might?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“(Y/n)!” You heard a voice call over to you, causing you to turn your head, your stinging eyes glancing upwards to see a worried Izuku rushing over to you. You let out a small congested cough before smiling up at him. You nose was running, and you wiped it onto the sleeve of your school-issued sweater. Izuku stopped in front of you, taking in your unwell figure. His eyes were filled with worry, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m fine,” You muttered, but your voice was gone, making it sound like a harsh whisper. Izuku shook his head violently, grabbing your shoulders, and spinning you around, forcing you to go back in the direction of your home.

“W-What---We need to go to school, there’s a quiz,” You managed to get out, before a series of coughs shook your body. Izuku pulled you closer, as if using his body heat would help you feel better, despite it not being very cold outside. His slender arm snaked around your shoulders, his hand coming to rest on your upper arm. His hand rubbed gently, in a comforting way.

“No! I’m taking you home! You’re sick! And since your parents probably aren’t home, I’ll make  you some soup!” Izuku said, determinedly, forcing your body to move with him.

“You know how to make soup from scratch?” You muttered, amused at his protective behavior. His face flushed red, as his eyes widened. He paused in his walking for a moment, before continuing even more determinedly than before

“Uh, no...but I can heat you up a can of soup! It’ll be the best soup you’ll ever have in your life!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Izu?” You yawned out, walking up to the boy, who seemed to be way too awake for the time of night it was. The sky was dark, with a bunch of stars being visible. Both you and Izuku stood in  pajamas under the street light in front of a brick gate surrounding someone’s house. He wore an oversized All Might shirt, and a pair of blue pajama pants, and was holding a package in his hands. It was a few minutes passed 12 in the morning, only about 15 minutes after the boy called your phone, urging you to meet him a few blocks away from your home.

“You better be glad we live in a pretty good neighborhood, or else I wouldn’t be out here, Izu,”You muttered, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Something was suddenly shoved into your chest, causing you to quickly grab it before it fell. Looking up to Izuku questioningly, he seemed to burn a bright red, turning his head to avoid your gaze.

“H-Happy Birthday (Y/n),”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Your lips slightly parted as you noticed the close proximity of Izuku’s face. Your heart raced, and palms began to sweat, when he met your gaze. This was the first time he’s been this close, and yet, he wasn’t blushing. His eyes shifted down to your lips, before meeting yours again, his eyes filled with fear, but also determination. 

Neither of you spoke a word, before he leaned in, planting his lips onto yours.

This was both of your first kiss.

Your heart hurt with how hard it pounded in your excitement. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You sat quietly in the back of the class, boredly playing on your phone as you waited for Izuku to message you back. Your gaze flickered briefly over to his empty desk that was diagonally left of you. Class was about to begin, and he had yet to arrive. Usually you would walk to school together, meeting at the cross-section between your houses, but after waiting a good 20 minutes for him this morning, you decided to go ahead to school since he wasn’t answering your calls. 

“Maybe he’s sick,” You muttered to yourself,  pulling up his mother’s number, planning on sending her a text to make sure he was okay. Suddenly, your phone vibrated, before Izuku’s mom’s number popped up, under the name ‘Mama Midoriya’. Furrowing your eyebrows, you clicked the answer button before putting it up to your ear.

“Hell--”

“Oh god, (Y/N)! P-Please tell me Izu is with you! Oh god--I found a-- and he’s not---please, is he with you?!” Inko cried out quickly, her voice seeming thick with tears. Blinking, a shudder ran down your spine as a foreboding feeling crept through your system,

“N-No, he isn’t. What happened? What did you find?” You managed to stutter out, your heart racing.

“H-He’s not answering my calls---Oh god” She sobbed out, breathing heavily as she tried to form sentences. “He wasn’t here t-t-this morning, s-s-so I thought he went to school e-early, but then I found---Oh god, no, no, not my baby.”

“Mama Midoriya, p-please, tell me what is going on!” You exclaimed standing up in panic, catching the attention of a few of your classmates, who looked at you curiously, as the teacher walked in.

“(L/N),  put the phone away,” He called, but was ultimately ignored.

“Mama Midoriya,  please!” You begged as she continued to cry out loudly. At this point, the entire class was staring at you, Katsuki yelling something akin to ‘shut up’. You felt your blood run cold at her next words.

“I--I found a-a suicide letter----Oh god, not my baby, please not him,”

Staring up at the house before you, you fought back tears. Walking up the familiar front steps, you raised your hand to knock on the door, hesitating. The door suddenly opened, revealing a teary eyed, sickly looking Inko Midoriya.

“Mama Midoriya?” You muttered, tears slipping down your cheeks at the sight of her. She let out a loud sob, pulling you into her arms, crushing you into a hug, as you both cried together.

You knew then that the both of you felt it.

The heavy weight in your chest.

And you knew that it hurt her as well.

[panipahr]

Hide the High Heart

(cw: violence, abuse, trauma. sexual assault is alluded to, but not directly depicted.)

To her surprise, Linawren realized that she quite likes the Beehive.

She’s not insensible to the charms of the performers themselves, of course. Bonded citizens like her are hardly their intended audience, of course-- everything that happens in the Beehive (much like everything that happens in Eulmore in general) is for the benefit of well-heeled free citizens. But gourmet cooking is more filling than meol whether or not it’s leftovers from some decadent feast for ladies and gentlemen of quality. So when Shai-Hann comes into the Beehive with Linawren on his arm-- to enjoy refined conversation, show her off to his friends, to be seen in public with a beautiful woman ornamenting his table-- Linawren is still going to take the opportunity to listen to the music, enjoy an atmosphere carefully cultivated to feel a thousand malms away from all the world’s horrors, and admire the dancers.

Especially to admire the dancers, if she’s being honest with herself.

But she also just appreciates the sort of fellowship that seemed to exist between the Honeybees. She wasn’t a Honeybee herself, obviously, but she was in more or less the same line of work, and couldn’t help but envy the sort of solidarity they enjoyed, and the way that gave them just a little bit of control over their own destinies, made them a little less at the mercy of a single patron’s whims (only a little less, granted; this was still Eulmore, after all). They looked out for one another-- and Linawren fancied that they looked after her, too, whenever she happened to be around. She spent less time worrying about Shai-Hann or one of his shitty friends taking liberties with her. She could feel confident she wouldn’t be given the truly demeaning things that might be asked of her at more private engagements.

Tonight, the Beehive is quiet. It’s late enough that most of the guests have already filtered out. Someone is lazily playing a piano, more just to set a certain tone than perform a recognizable piece of music. Linawren’s reciting a poem for Shai-Hann and a couple of his friends-- Harald, a hume, a childhood friend of Hann’s who’s grown up to be every bit as coldhearted and spoiled as Hann himself and a lanky elf she didn’t recognize but whose name, apparently, was Godwyn. All three men are watching her intently, rapt with attention.

The poem in question-- Ode to the Night Sky-- is supposedly a relic of whatever far-flung land-- long since devoured by the Light-- Linawren’s distant ancestors came from before they arrived in Voeburt. Actually, though, it’s her own composition. Free citizens like feeling that they’re in on a secret, though, so Linawren puts as much effort into the tales of where her tales come from as she does into the tales themselves. All she really knows about her supposed homeland comes from her own fading memories of her mother and father, and all they had to work with was second-hand accounts of their grandparents’ childhood memories: A song or two. A few basic dance-steps. A scattering of contextless words of a language irretrievably lost. But when Hann became her patron, he was under the impression that he now possessed the world’s sole practitioner of an exotic cultural tradition scoured from the world by the Flood of Light. Linawren wasn’t about to disabuse him of this notion-- selling him that fantasy was part of what kept her from being sent back into a shack in Gatetown with nothing to look forward to but just enough meol to starve more slowly.

Anyway, she likes writing. She was particularly proud of Ode to the Night Sky-- trying to vividly evoke a world she’d never seen for herself was a fascinating challenge. When she closed her eyes, though, she could practically see it-- a wide and wild void, openness itself, decorated with a thousand thousand pinpricks of light, cradling the pale circle of the moon. Writing was transportive-- a chance to project herself into a time or a place better than the one she lived in, even if in the end she had to attribute her work to some long-dead and mostly fictitious ancestor.

When she finally finishes, the whole table fell silent for a few moments. Godwyn is moved to tears-- Linawren isn’t sure if he was actually that affected by her words, or if he just sees some advantage in appearing to be of sufficiently sensitive temperament to be so moved by poetry, but she doesn’t particularly care-- either possibility meant she’s earning her keep. Harald, as usual, is just trying to look down her top, but at least he’s not actually talking to her. Hann affects cool nonchalance, as if to say this is the sort of artistry I take for granted, but he has enough of an air of smugness for Linawren to know he was pleased.

Hann breaks the silence. “Beautiful as always, my treasure.”

She takes a bow, pointedly ignoring how carefully Harald’s eyes track her movement. She smiles warmly at the men. Learning how to smile the right way is a skill every bit as important to Linawren as singing, dancing, or writing. Free citizens can spot a fake smile that doesn’t reach one’s eyes from malms away, and they feel insulted by it-- they want you to be genuinely grateful to be in their presence. So she smiles-- encouragingly to Godwyn, coquettishly to Harald, knowingly to Hann.

“So!” Godwyn says, “Shall we call it a night, gentlemen?”

Harald groans. “Do we have to? Waiting for your eyes to adjust once you go out into the light after spending so long in here is quite disagreeable, and frankly I’d rather put it off as long as possible.”

“Not like we’ve got anywhere to be,” Hann says, laughing, “Why don’t we prolong the night’s festivities with a bit of friendly wagering, eh? Hide the High Heart, maybe?”

Linawren doesn’t actually look longingly at the bar-- her smile never falters-- but she does so in spirit. She’s going to be stuck here for hours, probably. Whenever Hann gambles, he expects Linawren to perform-- to distract his opponents enough to keep them off-balance enough for Hann to get the upper hand, but not so much they realize that’s what she’s doing.

So while Hann pulls out a deck of cards and shuffles it, Linawren does a few stretches. When he deals the first hand, she begins to dance, an enticing twirl of flowing silks and lean muscles.

***

It is hours later-- if the sun could still be discerned through the thick soup of light blotting out the sky, Linawren supposes it would have long since risen.

It has been a disastrous night for Shai-Hann. Maybe it’s because Godwyn is an unfamiliar opponent-- Hann hadn’t taken his measure yet, hadn’t learned his tells. Maybe it’s because Harald is sick of being cleaned out every time the cards come out. Or maybe it was just plain bad luck. Whatever the reason, though, the mystel gentlemen has been hemorrhaging money in hand after hand. He quickly burns through the sack of gil he’d set aside for gambling, followed by the rest of the gil he’d brought along, and then anything else of value he had on his person— his lucky Voeburtite goldpiece. An electrum pocket-watch. The elven rapier he always wore at his hip.

Godwyn keeps his head above water and calls it quits after he’d turned a tidy profit-- he didn’t want to stay this late anyway, so he had no reason not to just take his windfall of gil and go. Harald, though, smells blood. He’s amassed a veritable treasury of Hann’s possessions on his table, coins and jewelry and golden bric-a-brac glittering in the lamplight. The two gamblers are locked in a death struggle-- the more Hann loses, the more urgently he tries to win it all back, the more recklessly he bets. Harald extracts the deed to Hann’s private airship berth, then the airship itself, then a series of promissory notes for increasingly astronomical sums.

“You should probably just cut your losses at this point, Hann,” Harald says, watching intently as Hann signs yet another check and slides it across the card table.

“One more hand,” Hann says, insistent.

“What, so you can write me some more bloody I.O.U.s?” Harald scoffs, “Past a certain point, gil’s just a number in a ledger somewhere. I don’t really feel the need to stake any of this on the possibility of that number getting a bit higher. At this point, I feel like some sort of… mercy rule, or what have you, ought to be invoked. To save you from yourself.”

Linawren is still performing half-heartedly, but she can tell neither man is paying much attention to her at this point. She gives her patron an appraising look; she can practically see the gears turning in his head as he works out what he could still bet that a.) wouldn’t run the risk of actually putting a dent in his obscene wealth compared with the vast majority of people in Norvrandt, but more importantly, b.) actually entice Harald into playing another hand.

To Linawren’s surprise, Hann meets her gaze. The look in his eyes is cold and calculating, even by Shai-Hann standards. He then directs that baleful gaze towards Harald, but Harald barely seems to notice-- his own attention seems to be fixed firmly on Linawren’s ass.

“I’ll bet Linawren,” Hann says, finally.

Linawren stops dancing mid-step. Through a superhuman effort, she manages to keep her face arranged into a pleasant expression-- she’s a professional, after all-- but she’s still visibly stunned.

“What?” Harald says, laughing.

“I know you’ve taken a liking to her ever since I took her on,” Hann says, “So if you stake the pot, I’ll stake her. I win, I get my things back. You win, I sign over the papers and she’s your bonded citizen.”

“Deal!” Harald says brightly, not hesitating a bit.

“Are… are you sure about this, Hann?” Linawren murmurs into Hann’s ear.

“Shut up,” he hisses, sweat beading on his forehead, “You’re distracting me.”

Harald winks at her.

As Hann deals the cards, Linawren can feel a cold, dead weight settling in the pit of her stomach. By the time Hann and Harald are ready to flip their last card, she’s standing stock-still, her heart is pounding. She felt as if all her scales were about to just vibrate off her body.

Hann flips first. It’s the ten of hearts-- a fairly respectable draw, all-in-all. Hearts trump the other suits in Hide the High Heart, so unless Harald has a hearts face card, the hand goes to Hann.

So of course Harald flips over the Lord of Hearts.

Like most decks of cards designed and printed in Eulmore, the Lord of Hearts is rendered in the image of the city’s honored leader, patron of patrons, Vauthry. Whatever bonded illustrator drew this tried so hard to flatter Vauthry with their likeness that it barely resembled the man himself-- he was an avenging angel with flowing golden locks, flanked by docile sin eaters in the form of semi-nude women with alabaster skin and golden blindfolds. With one hand, he’s dispensing a cornucopia of meol to the huddled masses of Kholusia. In the other, he’s plunging a spear of pure light into an allegorical figure representing the forces of darkness who would destroy the concord between man and sin eater which made all of Eulmore’s wonders possible. But the angel was still recognizable as Vauthry because it had the same insufferably smug air about him.

Linawren stares at the table. Vauthry’s awful smug fucking face stares back at her.

“Well,” Harald says, leaning back in his chair, “Suppose that’s that, then.”

Hann sulkily begins to gather up the scattered cards. “That’s that,” he says.

Linawren takes a stumbling step backwards, eyes casting about the Beehive, looking for-- help? Sympathy? Anything, really. But no one present-- not even the Honeybees-- deigns to even meet her eye.

“I’ll need to dig out her papers to make it official,” Hann says, “The Bureau of Registration will pitch a fit otherwise.”

“Fair,” says Harald, magnanimous in victory, “Remember that time I forgot to let them know I’d turfed out-- what’s his name, that fellow who did those little engravings of seascapes-- and within a day half the guard was out looking for him in case he was lurking in the bowels of the Understory, a rebel or an assassin or whatever. I can pick her up tomorrow morning, if you’d like?”

“All right,” Hann mumbles.

“One last night with her, eh?” Harald says, “Since you’ve been such a good sport about this.”

“Wow,” says Hann, unimpressed, “Thanks.”

***

Shai-Hann’s suite, perched atop the loftiest heights the Canopy has to offer, was decorated with the same gaudy abandon everything else in Eulmore was. Every table, every chair, every embroidered cushion and silk bedsheet, every porcelain plate and silver fork was a concrete manifestation of the blood, sweat, and tears of the bonded citizens upon whose backs Eulmore was built.

Hann was sitting at his desk (built by a bonded carpenter), dipping an ornate fountain pen (forged by a bonded silversmith) into a dainty-looking bottle of ink (made by a bonded glassblower) as he looked over the pile of forms and papers (filled out by a squadron of bonded clerks) which constituted the legal existence of Linawren, dancer, singer, and poet, bonded citizen of Eulmore.

He notices that Linawren is standing behind him, fidgeting apprehensively. He rises from his seat, turning to face her. The dazzling light pouring in from the window behind him throws his features into sharp relief-- the tufts of hair on his ears, his bright silver eyes, his classically handsome face. His tail swished this way and that in agitation.

“You know I wish I didn’t have to do this, my treasure,” he says, sadly.

“You don’t, though--” Linawren says. She hates how much she sounds as if she’s pleading, but she hates the idea of being sent into Harald’s household more. “Can’t you just-- you know-- call off the bet? I don’t think bets made at the Beehive at four in the morning whilst extraordinarily inebriated are legally enforceable--”

“If word gets around I don’t pay my debts, no gambling table this side of the Sea of Light’ll have me. So, as much as I really do value your company, as much as I’ve genuinely treasured our time together, I can’t back out of a bet just because I really want to.”

“If you value me so much,” Linawren says, trying her hardest to keep any anger from seeping into her voice, “why did you bet me in a hand of Hide the High Heart?”

Hann shrugs. “Ah, my treasure… you can’t gamble without gambling,” he says, as if this explains everything.

“Harald is clearly a boor,” Linawren says, changing tack, “Do you really think he’d appreciate me like you do? You’re a man of culture, of refinement, an appreciator of literature and the arts. His interests are considerably more… base. I--”

Hann stiffens. “Watch your tone. Whatever my opinion of the man, he’s a gentleman of quality and a free citizen of good standing. Someone like you has no right to refer to him like that.”

Linawren takes a step towards her patron, hands balled into fists so tightly that the fingernails digging into her palms draw blood.

“Remember that your presence in this city is a privilege which has been graciously extended to you by the free citizenry,” says Hann, fangs bared, his tone venomous. Behind him, the pitiless sky continued to blaze with light. “In return, your responsibility is to do whatever is required of you without question. Or would you like to go back to Gatetown?”

Linawren freezes in place. She feels her immediate surroundings slough away; Hann’s voice is nothing but a murmur of white noise. She’s somewhere else entirely. She feels the sharp terror of eaters swooping down from the sky, the grinding pain of constant hunger no meager ration of meol could banish. She sees her mother, hears her last words as she pressed a dagger into her daughter’s trembling hands. She feels the weight of decades with nothing to hope for but this bearing down on her. She--

The world snaps back into focus-- an opulent study, a bay window with a splendid prospect of Kholusia’s white cliffs, a stack of papers authorizing a man to trade her away like a bird in a gilded cage, and the man about to do it. “If Harald wants you to lick his boots, you should do it and feel grateful for the opportunity to earn your keep. If he asks you to lick something else, you—”

Linawren shoulder-checks him into the window. She’s stronger than she looks, with a dancer’s speed and a dancer’s grace.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he says, flailing as Linawren presses him against the glass, “Let go of me, you crazy bitch—”

The window shatters. Its fine glass and slim panes were built to look pretty, not stand up to sustained force; it had been a century since a storm last marred Kholusia’s brilliant sky.

Hann, desperate now, grabs hold of Linawren. He kicks and screams. He sinks his teeth into Linawren’s bared shoulder. She knees him in the groin and suddenly his hands have nowhere to gain purchase but empty air.

The highest levels of the Canopy to the choppy seas below is a long, long way to fall; a sharp cry fades into silence, punctuated by a quiet splash.

Linawren stares out the broken window, aghast. Her eyes are wide and she’s shaking like a leaf. The pale blue speck that used to be Shai-Hann, free citizen of Eulmore is caught in the riptide and swept out to sea.

Linawren exhales sharply. She sinks onto the ground; she realizes too late that she’s kneeling in the broken glass littering the parquet floor, but by this point the pain barely registers.

I just killed someone, she thinks.

I just killed my patron, she thinks.

She scrambles towards the window on all fours, leans over the edge, and throws up.

***

Darkness.

A dark room-- impossibly dark-- lit only by a paper lantern. A drahn woman sits-- no, kneels-- at a low desk. She’s writing something with a brush in an elegant, vertical script Linawren can’t read. The woman turns towards the lamp and her features are illuminated by a soft, warm light. She has Linawren’s face.

Brightness-- not the choking light of the skies Linawren knows, but a wide blue expanse punctuated by fluffy white clouds. The landscape below is endless rolling green steppes, continuing as far as the eye can see. Endless-- receding into the horizon, with no great wall of Nothing constricting it. She sees the drahn woman again, her red silk robe billowing in the wind, wielding a thin, curved blade. The expression on her face is impossibly confident. Across from her stands another drahn. She has dark skin, close-cropped white hair, black scales and horns, an improbably large greatsword in her hands.The women move towards one another, swords flashing in the sunlight. They look to be fighting a duel, but both thoroughly enjoying themselves. Eventually, the other woman knocks Linawren’s twin to the ground, and gently-- tenderly, almost-- places her boot on her face. They both burst out laughing.

A steel cell in a steel fortress. The woman who looks like Linawren is sitting cross-legged in one corner. Her expression is blank, but her eyes defiant. The door flies open. The corpse of a soldier in black armor clatters onto the metal floor. The woman with the pale hair strides into the corridor, her sword slick with blood. The woman in the cell grins ear to ear.

An impossibly huge city. The stars above echoed by a constellation of lights below. Linawren-- or whoever she is-- is standing on a high, arched bridge in a garden. The duel’s victor approaches, a swaddled infant in her arms. They both look a little older, now.

They’re standing on the deck of a ship. Linawren’s holding the child, this time. She now has a long, thin scar cutting through the scales on the side of her face and neck. Her companion is next to her, a hand on Linawren’s shoulder. The familiar silhouette of the spires of Eulmore looms over the horizon, but they’re somehow more austere-looking, more severe. The decks on the lower levels are bustling-- even from this distance, dozens of ships seem to be coming and going. Soldiers in red uniforms are crowding around the side of the ship, excited for their first glimpse of home in months--

The color red. The color blue. The color black. The color gold.

***

Linawren opens her eyes, groggy and disoriented. She looks up at Shai-Hann’s antique clock-- she’s lost an hour or so, somehow. The shining sky framed by broken panes and shattered glass betrays no sign of time passing.

For the first time since she was ushered out of Gatetown and into Eulmore, she doesn’t know what her life will look like a month from now.

Or a week from now.

A day, an hour.

But what she does know is that if she sticks around here, the question of what happens in the rest of her life will be moot.

Unsteadily, she gets to her feet and slips out the door.