#I suck at words and forming correct sentences

[my-name-is-bunnyfoxy]

TW: Wars, genocides, bombing, mentions of death

Hey just letting ya'll know you do not have my respect if you support stuff like wars, genocides, bombing or anything like that. And if you ignore those things and or are neutral on them, you also don't have my respect.

I'll gladly block you if you support anything that is mentioned above.

Also don't ignore any war that is currently happening or has happened. That to me shows you don't care what had and is currently happening right now.

So many people have lost their lives during wars like world war 1 and 2, the war between Ukraine and Russia, and right now what is currently the most talked about war that is Palestine and Israel and so many more wars that have happened in the past and or wars that are still happening right now.

TLDR: We shouldn't ignore stuff like wars, genocides and various other horrible things that are still to this day happening. These are some of the worst things a human could do and we shouldn't support those horrific things. These are also literal crimes by the way.

Please if you can, donate, show support or just spread awareness about it or aknowledge the many horrific things that are happening right now (like I mentioned already a few times, wars and all that).

This NEEDS to finally END. FOREVER.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Not under my roof pt 2

Pt 1

As you entered Tannyhill with red, teary eyes, Ward and rose sat down anxiously waiting.

“Are you okay?” Rose asked concerned.

“I’m-“

“She’s fine. Go to the room and get some sleep. Please.” He looked at you, you just wordlessly dragged yourself to his room.

He sat down with Ward and Rose outside, and Wheezie snuck her way into Rafe’s room, where you were currently putting down all the clothes you grabbed.

You turned back, not expecting to see Wheezie.

“Hey, wheeze.” You told her with a small smile, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Hi.” She sat down next to you, you sniffling and wiping your nose. “Guessing it didn’t go so good?” She asked, making you laugh and shake your head.

“No.”

“I’m sorry. That… that must suck.” She said with a frown on her face.

“It does. But…” you sighed. “I’ll be fine. How’d your dad and rose react?”

“They were mad at first, not at you. But now i think they’re more happy about it. They said ‘at least it was with you and not some random girl.’”

You laughed again, her smiling at the smile you had.

“He stopped hooking up with other girls once he started dating you though. Obviously.” She corrected.

“Would hope so.”

You both sat in a comfortable silence, before she stood up in front of the bed.

“I’m gonna go try to listen in on them.” She said with a smile.

“Let me know what they say.” You whispered to her with a small smile back, she nodded and gently shut the door.

You sighed, falling back onto the bed. You just curled up and fell asleep for hours.

——

“She’s asleep right now.” You heard a whispered voice at the door.

“Well, she needs to eat. She’s been sleeping all day.” You heard another voice say.

Rafe took the plate, mumbling a small thanks and closing the door. He watched as you stirred in the bed, stretching when you sat up. He put the plate on your legs.

“Morning, sunshine.” He said, teasing you and sitting down on the chair he had set up at his desk, turning it to you.

“Hi.” You mumbled sleepily. “What time is it?” You asked him.

“Like… 9.” He shrugged. “Rose brought some food.” He motioned to the plate on your lap. “They also wanna talk to you tomorrow.”

You stared down at it, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat.

“You alright?” He questioned, watching the way your face looked.

He then saw the little tear drops that hit that plate as you continued to stare. He furrowed his eyebrows, getting up and into the bed next to you.

“Hey, what the fucks wrong?” He asked, his hand ghosting over your back. You pressed your face into his shoulder, and he just sat and rubbed your back, still a little confused.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled when you stopped crying, wiping your eyes and the tears.

“It’s alright, but what the fuck was that for?”

“I don’t know.. probably my hormones or something.” You mumbled. “Its just…”

You started crying again, he sighed and wrapped his arm around you.

“I don’t know, it feels so nice. Your parents are happy, and I can’t get that, I’m never gonna go see them again. I’m never gonna see Kie!” You rambled on. “And they even cooked for me and shit. That’s just… so sweet!” You sobbed, Rafe had a small smile on his face at that last sentence.

“You’re good. You’re fine.” He mumbled, not really knowing how to deal with any of this.

“Hey, listen to me mamas.” He told you quietly, your sobs quieting down.

“I mean, sure they’re pissed now, but they’ll come around when they see him.”

“Who said it was gonna be a him?” You asked him with a nasally laugh.

“Well, whatever it is. They’ll love h- them. And you think my parents weren’t pissed? I told Ward and he was ready to punch me. He wasn’t even mad at you! He fuckin’ adores you.” He said, smiling when you laughed at his words.

“And don’t even get me started on Rose, she went straight to the liquor cabinet. She told me she’s too young to be a grandma. I mean, she married an ancient man, shoulda expected it.”

Once more, you found yourself laughing at him, and his smile grew even wider.

“-And wheeze, oh my god, wheeze, she fucking-“ he started laughing now, covering his mouth, “She told me that she had been waiting forever for this, and she’s just mad it didn’t happen sooner.”

You both laughed together, all your worries slowly disappearing with his words.

“We’re gonna be fine. Promise.” He told you when he laughter died down. “Now can you please eat without slobbering on my bed?” He said in a teasing tone, making you roll your eyes and pick up your fork.

[b00kdiary]

MORE BAT BOYS X PLUS SIZE READER (smut!!) PLEASE xxx

Cautious | Bat Boys

ACOTAR Bat Boys x Plus Size reader

It's just as Cassian said: the bat boys were young and dumb… and fucked females in the same room as each other. Y/N’s in for one hell of a surprise.

Warning: Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART TWO

"Rhysand" I giggled, the sound drowned out as he slammed the oak front door shut and pushed me up against it.

He pressed his lips to mine, capturing my laugh within that soft, sinful mouth of his.

I gasped, back arching against the cold wood as his tongue swept in, the faint taste of wine invading my senses. My fingers clawed up his armoured chest, scratching and admiring the lean muscle he had gained training here at Windhaven.

He caged me in, taller and broader than I had expected, especially for a male of only twenty years. But his experience with females was more than evident as he kissed me, one hand gripping the flesh at my hip while the other curved around my jaw to keep me just where he liked.

A moan slipped free as his lips plucked back from mine, an insatiable hunger in his violet gaze as he dipped his head down and began suckling wet, needy kisses against my throat. I felt his smirk against my skin at the sounds he wrenched from me.

"Rhy-Rhysand," I couldn't form proper sentences, not as he nipped and sucked against the sweetest spot at the base of my throat. He hummed absentmindedly. "We'll get caught – "

"Rhys," He corrected, voice like melted chocolate. I bit my lip as he kissed up neck and jaw, before pulling back to smirk at me.

Gods he was beautiful.

"Call me Rhys, darling," He brushed the tip of his nose against mine and my eyes fluttered. "And no one's going to catch us. My mother is at the town hall, gossiping with your mother."

I giggled again and his lip quirked at the corner. A flash of sweetness behind the charm.

Again, his lips met mine, a collision of teeth and tongues and enough need that all my protests disappeared. Washed away by the feel and taste of him, by the way, his hands now brushed up my stomach, long, ringed fingers teasing under my aching breasts.

So many noises escaped me as that hand lifted higher, and I felt a charge of power course through me as Rhys cupped my breasts in his palm, a rough sound rumbling from him as he pinched my pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"I don't – " Words failed me again, every sentence melting into a moan as he toyed with my breasts, grinning as he did so. "I don't think this is what your mother meant when she said to make me feel welcome."

He snorted and braced a hand over my head, the other moved to tilt my chin to meet his pleased smirk. I could smell the salt and jasmine on his tan skin, could make out the few Illyrian tattoos peeking out from under his leathers.

"I disagree, darling," Again that smooth term of endearment, and the smile he gave me as my thighs clenched shut told me he knew what it did to me. "I'm doing exactly what I was told – creating long-lasting allies, a friendship to withstand centuries."

"Is this how you treat all your friends then?" I quirked a brow, desperately ignoring the way his thumb swooped back and forth at my jaw.

"Don't be jealous," His smile broadened a breathtaking sight. My lungs constricted tighter when he leaned down closer, and I felt the unmistakable imprint of his hard length against my stomach. "I'm sure I'm not the first friend you've ever made, Y/N darling."

A glint of challenge in those midnight eyes.

"Now who's jealous?" I teased and satisfaction filled me when shadows eclipsed his eyes, the hand at my jaw tightening when I rocked my hips forward to rut against him. He growled as I did it again. And again.

"You are trouble," He chuckled, and I was molten in his hands as he pressed one long, indulgent kiss against my mouth. The kind that promised a night I wouldn't easily forget. "I'll take your lack of a denial as a personal challenge, to be the best friend you've ever had – "

I opened my mouth to laugh, but then Rhys clamped a broad, calloused hand over my lips. Silencing me.

His mouth pressed against his knuckles, violet eyes warning me to stay quiet.

And then I heard it - footsteps crunched outside, a gentle patter against the stones leading to the cabin.

"Let me just grab my shawl," A light, feminine voice called out. Rhys and I weren't breathing. "The weather's turned for the worst."

My heart lurched. That was Rhysand's mother and the look in his eyes told me she would not be pleased to find him here, find me here. This was definitely not the kind of welcome she had meant.

It all happened in a blur.

One second, we stood there, pressed against each other, his hand over my mouth and knowing we were absolutely fucked. And then the next, a cloud of dark mist erupted through the room and then Rhysand had gripped my small hand in his – and winnowed us.

It was a flurry of darkness and shadows, warping and twisting our bodies as we moved through time and space. He gripped my soft body tight, hands keeping me protectively close.

And then we were in a room.

I gasped as my feet once again met solid ground, the world spinning around me, my guts coiling in tandem with it. Rhys yet against pressed a finger against my lips, and I found myself cemented to another cold, oak door.

His bedroom door likely, though I couldn't see over his towering, broad form.

I gripped his wrist, staring into those wide violet eyes and straining my ears. I froze as the front door creaked open, those soft footsteps pattering into the living room, muttering as she moved. My nails carved half-moons into his flesh, a mixture of fear and excitement taunting me as we both silently listened for his mother's steps.

I might have been crazy, might have utterly fucking insane for how my body was reacting. But with him so close, being able to feel every hard inch of him and not being able to touch him for fear of being caught... it made my core soak.

Rhys's eyes flashed down to mine, surprise and mischief in them as he caught the scent of my arousal. I felt my cheeks heat and I swear he seemed to shake with the restraint it took to keep waiting, looked as if he wanted to devour me at this moment.

But we waited. Even if it killed us.

We waited, listening in suffocating silence as Rhys's mother waded through her home, items rustling and clattering as she searched for her shawl. It might have been a few minutes or a lifetime before she sighed, finding it.

I rubbed against Rhysand's cock again as her footsteps padded toward the door, getting quieter.

And the second that door closed shut – the male snarled and then was upon me.

My back slammed into the wood behind me, hard enough that the breath knocked from my lungs. Rhysand gave me no time to get down air before his mouth clashed with mine and his tongue forced my lips and teeth apart.

He moaned into my mouth, and I felt alight as every inch of him cemented against every inch of me. My hands gripped his shoulders, exploring and feral as I touched my way along the hard, lean lines of him, desperate to just feel him.

He seemed to feel the same, his mouth tearing from mine to bite and kiss against my throat again, his face slotting into the crook of my neck and mouth teasing the already bruising flesh there. I whimpered, eyes rolling as his mouth descended lower, my dress yanked down enough for my breasts to spill free.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, his gaze pitch black. My body burned at that look.

His head dipped and his lips found purchase around one taut nipple, drawing it between his teeth and sucking. He hummed and the sound travelled through my whole body, mixing with the desperate sounds wrenching free from my parted lips.

Rhys enjoyed my breasts, smearing spit along them as he toyed from one to the other, biting and kissing and worshipping them.

It was dangerous for us to do this still. Stupid even. Knowing Rhys's mother could come back at any point, knowing my own mother would likely start looking for me soon, that if they came here, saw us, even smelt us –

"How- how did your mother not know?" I managed to choke out, fisting Rhys's midnight hair. He continued twirling his tongue around my sensitive nipple as if he hadn't heard me. "She must have smelt it – "

"Why are we talking about my mother?" Rhys groaned, lips curling into a disgruntled frown. I yanked at his hair, forcing his face back up to mine, and he sighed at the persistence in my doe eyes. "Magic – that cloud of mist? It's a little trick to make sure none can sense me, sense us."

I hummed in understanding, opening my mouth to ask another question. But then his hand curved down my stomach and my breath hitched as he slowly pulled my dress higher, exposing my legs to the cold air. I shivered as his hand traced my bare skin, closer and closer to where I needed him.

"Did that placate your curiosity?" He teased, fingers trailing in and out, until my core was clenched with need.

"Don't be an ass," I scowled, hips shifting, trying to force some contact. But Rhys just smiled, drawing faint circles at the apex of my thigh. "We nearly got caught, I'm being cautious – "

"Cautious? Is that what it was?" He arched a thick brow at me, and my back curved when he ran the pad of his thumb over the front of my panties, feeling the dampness there. "Do you always get this wet when cautious?"

Any smart retort I had died on my lips as Rhys pressed his thumb against my clit and began slowly rubbing circles over the thin cloth. I moaned, and his grin was victorious, his dark gaze half-shielded by the strands of his hair tousled forward.

He seemed no longer in the mood to tease me, and I was glad for it as I dragged his mouth back to mine. A grumble of approval from him as he lazily rubbed at my clit, his mouth moving just as lazily against mine.

"Rhys," I pleaded, hips grinding down against his palm needing more friction. And he obliged me, no, he more than obliged me.

I watched as this half-Illyrian, half-High Fae male, the next High Lord of the Night Court, possibly the most powerful High Lord to ever be, dropped to his knees before me.

He looked up at me through thick, dark lashes, that mischief and desire in his eyes enough to make me climax alone. But then he lifted my soft thigh and hooked it over one broad shoulder and growled as he pushed my dress back and revealed my white underthings, a wet spot painfully obvious in the centre.

The wooden door handle dug into my spine, but I couldn't do anything but lean against it, my chest rising and falling in waves as I stared down at him before me.

His low position exposed the Fae light in the room, and it glistened over his tan skin and feral smile as he brushed his thumb over the thin material again. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed as he slipped a finger under the material and tugged it to the side.

"Cauldron," Rhys groaned, a low, appreciative noise as he eyed my exposed, wet core. "Look at you."

My cheeks heated, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, suddenly feeling very exposed. Rhys kissed my inner thigh, playfully nipping at the flesh there, forever able to calm any raging emotions within me.

My nails cracked against the wall as his soft lips trailed higher, closer and closer to my centre. I couldn't contain my breathless moan when his mouth met that forbidden spot, and he dragged a slow, deliberate lick up my core.

"Rhys," I could barely hear my voice over the pounding in my heart. Could barely hear it over the soft, sensual growl Rhysand emitted at the first taste of me.

And as if that taste was better than he could imagine, he went back in for another. And then another. And another. Until he was licking and suckling his tongue back and forth against my sore clit, wrenching sounds that were unmistakably lewd.

"Careful, darling," Rhys chuckled, pulling back from between my legs just far enough for me to see his dilated pupils and the wetness coating his smile. "If you moan any louder, we'll definitely get caught."

I didn't have the chance to respond before Rhys plucked my clit between his lips again, all thoughts eddying from my mind as pleasure knitted through my core, painfully tight. My head thudded back against the door, my hips grinding down against Rhys's tongue, chasing that familiar high.

My fingers laced through his hair and Rhys hummed as I tugged at the strands, my body acting of its own accord, now riding his face, riding his tongue. I felt something tauten within me, and my legs began to shake as my climax approached faster and faster.

"Rhys," I gasped, back bowing. "Rhys, I – "

"I know, I know," He purred, the vibration running through me. "Just let go, darling."

He flicked his tongue hard and fast, and my mouth parted in a desperate cry as my release slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs. My body stilled, thighs closing around his head instinctively, and I was near sobbing his name as I fell apart.

Rhys kept going through it. Held me like he wished to make this moment last an eternity.

The stars exploding across my vision dimmed, fading as I sagged back against the door.

I giggled, half-gasping as I pushed at his head, my body writhing as I forced his mouth off me. Rhys laughed, low and sultry, before eventually relenting, plucking back and licking the moisture from his lips.

I peered down at him, sweating and dizzy. The male was a sight for sore eyes, grinning up at me, as he watched me catch my breath.

“That wasn’t very cautious of you, darling,” Rhys smirked, stars twinkling in his eyes. “It’s a miracle no one heard you.”

I bit my lip, laughing as I stared down at the male, my orgasm fogging every sense and making it impossible to retort anything nearly witty enough back.

“Oh, you were heard,” A rough voice drawled the words. Yet Rhysand’s mouth didn’t move. “It’s a good thing we’re so good at keeping secrets, eh Rhys?”

My heart stopped as I lifted my head, following that smug voice.

And saw two Illyrian males before us.

Watching us. Watching me.

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

Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taking requests for all SJM men x plus size reader!

PART TWO

@mirandasidefics @rcarbo1 @girl-of-multi-fandoms @tumblgirlie0210 @mis-lil-red @hyemishii @infintyfandoms @sarawritestories @eerievixen @nyotamalfoy @lewsnumerounofan @dreaming-about-fanfictions @sarawritestories @nottyourlover @bbycowboi @morganwdarius @marvelsmylife @justasillylittlegoofyguy @allyjoe755 @just-a-social-casualty-1 @eleventhboi @sfhsgrad-blog @glam-targaryen @firebreathingbishqueen @sindulgent666 @impossibelle @azrielsmate3 @superspideyparker

@assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loveareum

[sinstear]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnerd!abby x reader x ellie part 2 𝟏𝟖+ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpart one

ㅤ “Now fuckin’ touch my girl like you mean it and make her cum”

Abby doesn’t remember how long she’s been between your thighs, all she can really focus on is the sound of your heavy breathes, your soft gasped moans, the squelching sound of your cunt and Ellie’s whispered praises against the plush of your tits.

“you’re doing so good, baby” your girlfriend chuckles, her tongue swirling around the hard bud of your nipple, teeth lightly scraping across it, tearing whimpers and quiet pleas from you.

One of your hands cupped the back of Ellie’s head as your back arches, and she greedily sucks on your nipple while your fingers slide through her hair, tugging harshly. Meanwhile, your other was gripping the Blonde’s hair tightly, hips bucking up into her mouth as she lazily sucks at your clit, humming into your cunt at the feeling of the grip you have on her hair “s’too much” you whine, legs tightening around Abby’s head.

“You can take it baby. Being such a good girl. Abby’s takin’ good care of you, ain’t she?”

The Blonde, who was still laying between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit and fingers working in and out of your sopping cunt, looks up at the mention of her name, glasses fogged up and eyes all doe. You can barely focus on her face, only her tongue and fingers but she can see you.

Seeing you completely naked between them while they were still fully clothed had her cheeks flushed. Having you pulling and gripping onto her hair for dear life had her whimpering pathetically into your cunt, the vibrations tearing whines and utter nonsense from your pretty lips. And having your hips stuttering against her mouth, trying to fuck yourself on both her tongue and fingers, had her going crazy.

“mhm… s’good Abs—fuck”

“startin’ to think Abby’s just as fuckin’ needy as you are, baby”

The statement from Ellie had you both a whimpering mess. Abby couldn’t deny her words because deep down she knew it was true and you? you knew she had a little crush on you and how you, most of the time caught her looking at you with that soft, shy smile, and how she would ask you if it was okay to study at the same table in the Library with you.

You could never say no to Abby.

A startled cry was pulled from you when Ellie slips her hand between your quivering thighs, groaning into your skin when she feels how wet you are against the pad of her fingers, her lips making a home on your neck as she litters kisses up and down, in slow actions. “you get so fuckin’ wet. s’ridiculous” she mutters, rubbing tight but slow circles on your clit. Abbys still fucking in and out of you, watching the way your cunt practically sucks her back in.

Your fingers grip onto Ellie’s hoodie, blabbering and whimpering into her neck while you try your hardest to form one correct sentence, but with the way your girlfriend was giving so much attention to your throbbing clit and how good Abby’s curled in your cunt, muttering small curses and praises, had you on cloud nine.

“made such a mess of my girl, you’ve now got her crying” Ellie coos, wiping the tears with her free hand, smirking down at your fucked out face. “feel good, huh? yeah, i bet you do”

Her mocking tone was more than enough to have you whimpering, pulling harder on her hoodie. “Els, please” you whine, legs threatening to close around Abbys head and Ellies hand.

“please what, baby?”

To them, you were such a sight. Legs spread beneath them, the glistening of your cunt, naked to their eyes only. Nipples pebbled from the cold air as well as all the attention from Ellies mouth. Abby could barely even form any words, or look up at your face because you took her fingers so well. She couldn’t look away. Your pussy was her new favourite thing.

“pussy takin’ me so well, pretty”

You whimpered at her words, and she had the balls to laugh when your walls tightened around her fingers at the praise. Ellie, on the other hand, smirked. Tapping your face, your eyes flutter and flicker to look up at her. “open your mouth, baby”

Never one to disobey her demands, you quickly open your mouth, and your heart thumps in your chest when she smiles and slips her fingers into your mouth, damn near whimpering at the feeling of your tongue brushing against the pads of her fingers.

“Abby”

“w-what?” The Blonde stutters, looking up at the Auburn, who was practically finger fucking your throat. She shivered, and eyebrows furrowed when Ellie gripped her free hand in hers, placing it on your lower stomach.

“she’s not as innocent as she looks, once you fill both her holes, she’s a dirty little slut” Ellie grins mischievously down at you, “fuck her harder”

It was like a flip had switched in Abby’s head hearing the obscene words. The once slow pace she had going was switched up to brutal one in mere seconds. Your eyes went wide, your thighs clamped around the Blonde’s hand and your moans were muffled by Ellie’s fingers shoved down your throat.

“there you go, baby”

If Abby thought you were beautiful when you smiled at her and laughed, then she sure as hell knows you are fucking ethereal now. Having you underneath her, gripping at her wrist, and trying to fuck yourself against her fingers was something she didn’t know she needed this badly before, until now. “Look so fuckin’ pretty like t-this..” she stutters, curling her fingers against the spots she knew now that had you clutching at the bedsheet with your free hand, still greedily sucking on Ellie’s fingers. 

You sure as hell were not going to last long. Not with how Abby was fucking you at such a relentless pace and how Ellie was rubbing at your clit.

Your girlfriend leaned her face closer to yours, pressing sloppy kisses to your jaw, chuckling at the way you whine and whimper around her spit-covered fingers. “Knew you were dirty, baby. Just had to have your best friend truly show me just how fuckin’ dirty you are, huh?” she whispers into your skin. “yeah, i know you love this”

Abby was quick to curl her fingers against the right spot inside you that had your back arching, almost choking on the fingers still in your mouth. Your hand tightened around Ellie’s wrist, the pace of her fingers rubbing circles on your clit matched Abby’s while your hips bucked up into them, and the tears ran down your face.

“You crying, baby?” Ellie cooed, again.

Nodding quickly, you looked up at Ellie with glossy eyes, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you. Tapping a finger on her wrist, she tsk’d before pulling them out your mouth, only to instantly grip your jaw between them. “m’gonna cum” you whimper. “please Abs, wanna cum”

“Do you think you deserve to?” was all she said, working her fingers faster. “Hm?”

She knew you were close. How could she not know with the way your walls gripped her fingers tighter, refusing to let her go anywhere. They were practically trapping her there. Chuckling under her breath, the Blonde adds a little pressure to your lower stomach, face heating up at the pornographic sounds of your cunt and soft whimpers and whines filling the room.

“Yes! I’ve been so good— so good for you— oh my god”

Her mouth was instantly back on your cunt without a single warning, fingers hitting that spongey spot inside you repeatedly, whereas Ellie had her lips wrapped your nipple again. Sucking, licking and even biting like her life depended on it. Your hips stuttered against Abby’s mouth, walls tightening around her fingers. “Abby m’gonna cum. please let me cum”

She just kept sucking at your clit, curling her fingers and abusing that little spot inside you. Glasses too fogged up to see you, but hearing the moans she was tearing from you was music to her ears. “cum in my mouth, please, want you to cum in my mouth” she whimpers out pathetically, tips of her ears red when Ellie chuckles.

“Both such little sluts, fuck” She mutters, letting go of your nipple with a ‘pop’ “be a good girl, baby. cum”

That was all you needed for your thighs to finally cage Abby’s head between your legs as you cum against her tongue and fingers with a silent yet choked moan as your back arches. The pace of her fingers slow down but they don’t stop, slowly fucking you through your orgasm, her tongue lapping up your cum and her own spit lazily.

“You did so good” Ellie murmurs into your neck making you hum, rubbing your hips when you whine quietly as Abby draws her fingers from you, instantly shoving them into her mouth, moaning at the taste of you, which catches the Auburns attention. “Greedy slut, huh?”

“n-no, just taste so good”

Pressing a kiss to your head, your eyes flicker open tiredly to find Ellie looking at you with a smile, “m’gonna run a bath for you, okay? clean you up a little then we can find something for you to eat”

“after you guys cuddle me”

[eds6ngel]

Okay but Ronance x Reader where they show you how to get fucked with the strap? Being spread out on the bed, back leaning against Robin’s chest and thighs spread open over Robin’s while Nancy steps into the harness? Robin rubbing lazy circles over your clit as you both watch Nancy? Finally, Nancy leaning over you to fuck you, whilst the woman behind you makes sure to whispers dirty things into your ear and plays with your clit simultaneously?? 💋💋

-🪷

double the pleasure ᯓᡣ𐭩°⟡ᝰ.ᐟ

nancy wheeler x afab!reader x robin buckley

summary: when your girlfriend nancy brings out her strap for the first time, you feel a little intimidated. but, from the first feeling, you never wish to part from it again.

warnings: SMUT!! afab!reader. sapphic!reader. poly!reader. threesome. strap-on use. boob play. hickies. soft turned rough. mommy kink. established relationship. poly relationship. sapphic!nancy. ronance. use of pet names (honey, baby, babe.) orgasms for everyone !! some fluff at the end. talks of consent. [1.1k].

a/n: thank you for requesting, babe! absolutely loved the idea of this, so just had to tackle it first in my requests. any poly people, feel free to correct me on inaccuracies !! i don’t identify as poly !!

“I-I’ve never used one before.”

Nancy chuckles at you, a sly grin forming on her face as she shows you the glittery, pink dildo in her hand.

It’s pretty, you have to admit. From your limited knowledge of dicks, you guessed it had to be at least six inches in length, a four inch girth at the least. As you admired the toy, you noticed the small vein on the underside, knowing that would feel good up against your smooth, velvet walls.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not gonna rush you or anything. Robbie can confirm it feels real good though. Can’t you, Robbie?”

You are laying on top of Robin’s chest, her left arm wrapped around your front as her right hand gently rubs up and down your thigh. Every single word she utters tickling against your neck, each sentence of hers being soothed by the harsh sucking of her teeth against your soft skin. “Oh yeah. It feels so good, baby. Especially when she speeds up. She just knows how to hit all the right spots.”

“And honey,” Nancy directs towards you, your lidded eyes lifting to make eye contact with your girlfriend, “If anything hurts at any time, do not be afraid to let me know, ‘kay? Want this to feel so incredibly good for you.”

“Okay…” you breathlessly let out, Robin’s hand getting dangerously close to your mound.

“Robbie, keep her open for me, ‘kay?” Nancy directs the other girl, “Rub her pretty little clit for me. Make sure she’s nice and wet. Don’t want to break her after all.”

Robin’s movements on your bud are just right. Her actions are lazy, yet firm, putting down just enough pressure for the pleasure to softly sit in the pit of your stomach. Just like you, she is too mesmerised by the sight of Nancy’s long legs stepping into the harness, so delicately and simply tightening the harness around her legs and front.

“Check her for me, Robbie. How wet is she?”

Robin knew exactly what Nancy wished of her, her hand dipping lower as she pushes two fingers into your heat, a choked moan releasing from your mouth. She pushes her fingers to the hilt, curling them slightly before pulling them back out.

As Nancy finishes tightening up the harness, she leans forward to inspect Robin’s fingers. Eyes flicking between the both of you laying down in front of her, she takes them into her mouth, sucking them clean and moaning at the flavour.

“Mmm, I think she’s ready. Such a needy girl, getting wet just at the sight of me and Robin’s poor, little actions.”

Nancy takes her palm and wipes it up your mound, using your slick as lube as she rubs the juices all over her dick.

“Perfect, perfect. Just the right amount. You’re so good for me, baby. So good for us,” she praises, “You ready to take mommy’s dick? I’ll start off slow, I promise.”

You nod ferociously, the movement of Robin’s hand back on your clit so agonisingly slow that you needed that extra dose of pleasure.

And just as you pleaded, Nancy slowly sinks the strap into your pussy, your walls hugging it tightly as she pushes to the hilt.

“Mmm, so fucking good for me, honey. Look at that, Robbie. Look how good our girl took it.”

Nancy slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way back in, creating a steady pace for you to enjoy.

Robin’s breath is still fanning on your neck, her voice low and sultry as she begins to whisper the dirtiest phrases into your ear.

“Taking her dick so well, baby. So perfect for your mommy. Poor pussy cannot let go of her.”

You can’t utter a word back, all that’s escaping your mouth being a guttural “Uh” every time Nancy hit the back of your pussy.

“Think she’s too cockdrunk for us, baby,” Nancy speeds up her pace, her hands coming to massage your perky breasts, “Poor thing can’t even get out a sentence, can you, honey?”

You swallow thickly as Nancy takes your nipple into her mouth, Robin’s fingertips pressing a little deeper on your clit, “F-Feels so good.”

“I know it does, pretty girl,” Nancy replies, bucking her hips in a particular harsh thrust, Robin letting out a gasp herself.

Her thrusts become more rapid, Robin letting out soft moans as she whispers out, “Balls are hitting my clit, babe. Shit!”

“Oh, are they?” she chuckles smugly, “Both my girls getting pleasured at once? What a sight to see.”

The room is filled with grunts, gasps, and moans, the bed creaking loudly with the sheer strength and weight of the three of you, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the atmosphere.

“N-Nance, baby. Getting close,” you mumble out, Robin’s moaning directly into your ear, her hand struggling to keep a solid pace on your clit, her high slowly building up also.

In a harsh movement, Nancy grabs Robin’s hand from your clit, the other from your waist and pins them either side of her head, hovering over the both of you, hips bucking more frantically, trying to get you both to cum at the same time.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Get yourself there. Get yourself to cum on mommy’s dick.”

You obey her orders immediately, right hand sneaking down to your clit, rubbing fast circles as your other gripped Nancy’s waist tightly, leaving marks in your movement.

Robin is the first to let go, a sharp whine being let out in your ear as her body shakes beneath you, Nancy grunting, turning into a whine as she bucks wildly into you, pushing you towards the edge.

“Come on, baby. I got you. Cum for mommy. Cum for me.”

And with that demand, you let go, Nancy pounding you through your high, juices coating the pink dildo as she also lets out a squeal, turned loud moan.

Coming down from your highs, Nancy puts her full body weight on top of you, Robin letting herself be crushed by the two of you, settling into a post-orgasm bliss.

“So… how did you find the strap?” Nancy asks you between pants.

You let out a soft giggle in response, “Put that in the regular use box. Gonna need that a lot more often.”

The three of you giggle together as you finally say in a sultry voice, “Although, maybe next time I could try it on.”

And both Nancy and Robin were definitely down for that.

taglist: @agxxb

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hello! I love your writing, especially that mad dog Drabble! Could you maybe do something similar for Oikawa? Noncon if you’re comfortable with that too. Thank you so much!

I wrote this awhile ago and then I never got around to publishing it and now I refuse to reread it because i cringe at my old writing but i remember spending a shit ton of time on this so here's my three year old trash fic. enjoy.

(Warnings: dark content, non-con touching, rape, non-con/sexual harassment, verbal degradation, forced orgasms, public-sex, overstimulation) 

18+ content 

 Tutoring Sessions 

You knew Spanish. 

Not an expert by any means, but you could probably get by if you were stranded in a Spanish-speaking country. You were good at it. Decent. 

You just weren’t the teaching type. You could barely learn, let alone, pass your skills on to someone else. Teaching required patience and diligence. That wasn’t you. 

But, really, what could you say when the Captain of the volleyball team himself asked you to tutor him? He looked so desperate too, looking down at you with pleading eyes. He asked for an hour-no-just thirty minutes. All you had to do was correct his grammar, jot a few vocabulary words for him, and maybe teach him extra conjugations. 

Looking back, you should have declined. You should have made any bullshit excuse you could think of. You should have laughed nervously, apologized- have done anything to get out of his attention. 

You shouldn’t have let him coax you into the fourth floor of the library, trapping you with his tall body in an isolated booth. 

At least then his hand wouldn’t be currently rubbing your thigh.

His movements were slow, casual, as his fingers made lazy circles up and down your leg. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional if he was touching you on purpose or mindlessly moving his hands. His face betrayed nothing, solely staring forward at the sheets of paper. 

“So, I just replace the ‘ar’ with ‘aron’?” He asked, his hand slowly moving higher and higher, “Why can’t I use ‘aban’?” 

You bit your lip, “Because it has a definite ending. The-the sentence is ‘they spoke with me yesterday’. The action ended yesterday, that’s-that’s why we use the preterit form.” 

Your breath hitched when his hand trailed underneath your skirt, skimming across your panties. Your hand balled into a shaking fist. 

You wanted to tell him to move, you wanted to shove his hand off you, but you weren’t confrontational. Instead, you elected to push down the feeling of unease in your chest, trying your best to ignore his ministrations, praying that he’d drop his hand by himself.

He didn’t.

“Right, you use preterit form for a definite ending,” He’s murmuring now, a sultry rumble that sends shivers down your spine, “I keep forgetting that." His laugh twinkles through the air. It's a jarring contrast to his warm hands.

“So ‘Hablaron me ayer’?” 

He took that moment to slide past your panties, lightly rocking on your heat. You sucked in a short breath, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, not when his fingers were sinking deeper and deeper-

A finger tapped on your inner thigh. Play along.

“It’s-it’s ‘me habl-ah-hablaron ayer’. The object comes first-” You flinched when his pointer finger stroked over your hot skin, “And-and then the subject.” 

You wished he’d stop making you talk. You wished you could just push him off you. You wished so many things, things Oikawa wouldn’t grant you. 

“Okay,” He’s grinning now, a little less put together. His breathing is a little ragged, hitching whenever you uncomfortably shift. Though he’s still resolutely staring at the pages before him, his eyes are shining. Eager, “-makes sense,” 

You just realized how empty the library is. 

You can feel his calloused fingers crawling under you, searching for something. His middle finger curls a little, softly brushing over your sensitive clit. 

You stumble forward. He says something, but you’re not listening. Not when his fingers are hovering over your hot button, delving down to push and prod. 

Your reached up to cover your mouth, instantly silencing any noises you knew would come spilling out. He laughs at that, finally finally breaking the act of playing innocent. 

Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. He’s looking at you now, a knowing smirk on his pretty face. 

Repulsion burns through you. It’s quickly replaced by humiliation as a wet squelch erupts from the place he’s touching you, making you lurch. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” He hums in satisfaction, “You already dripping? You must really want this, huh?” 

He stares at you, daring you to reply, knowing fully well you won’t. No, you wouldn’t say anything, you wouldn’t do anything either. You would just sit there and take it. 

Exactly what he wants. 

He’s moving at a rhythm now, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers inch down your folds. Your nails are digging into your trembling palm, but you don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say a word. No, that would be acknowledging what he’s doing. It would make it real-

your thoughts vanish as a slender finger sinks into your pussy. Your sigh is muffled by your clammy hand, digging further into your mouth as he starts fucking you in earnest. He’s going too fast; your mind is spinning. You can’t keep up with the waves of pleasure coming in and out and in and out and in again. 

Your hand slips and the moan that escapes your mouth surprise you. It was loud and so dirty, you couldn’t believe it was your voice-it was you who made that noise. 

His finger curls, bending in your tight walls and you feel like wailing. Oikawa strokes against a spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

You unconsciously lean against him. Oikawa draws you in closer, forcing you to rest against his shoulder as a second finger sinks into your heat. You whine as it pushes through your sopping walls, completely stretching you out. 

You think you hear him snarl a quiet fuck but you’re not paying attention. Your head is pounding, matching the brutal thrusts of his fingers. It’s devouring you it’s too much and you want to stop, you want to breathe. Oikawa isn’t keen on helping, not when he’s rubbing fast circles on your clit, stretching his fingers inside you when he feels you’re not making enough noise. He wants something from you. 

And you’re forced to give it to him. 

There’s a hitch in your breath, the tiniest pause, before you clench around his fingers with a muffled scream. He hushes you, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder as he keeps fucking your pussy until you collapse in his chest. 

You’re panting when he finally removes his fingers, wiping the slick haphazardly on your inner thigh. You shift uncomfortably when he pulls away, feeling your hole clench again. The orgasm fades away and all you’re left with is the shock of what you’ve done and utter humiliation. 

He lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His brown eyes were dark, coated in lust. He’s sneering at you. 

The kiss surprises you. You weren’t expecting his lips to be soft as he gently melts into yours. It’s so tender, a stark contrast to what he was like before. Maybe it was because you didn’t really put up a fight, your lips falling open when he stroked his thumb on your sensitive skin. 

It’s still intense and when he pulls away, you take your first real breath. 

“See?” He hums, a hand settling on yours, “That wasn’t so bad, right?” 

“Oikawa-” 

He’s pulling you out of your seat before you can finish your sentence, dragging you away from the abandoned table filled with unused highlighters. Your legs are still weak, you stumble around a little. Oikawa doesn’t mind, towing you like he’s carrying nothing but air. 

He slips into an empty storage closet, with you reluctantly trailing behind him. The door closes behind you with a dull thud, and you’re forced to stand with him in the darkness. 

When the light comes back on, he’s towering above you. His chest presses against yours, pinning you against the wall. His smile is manic, filled with a hunger that you know won’t be satisfied with just one taste. 

No, he wants to devour you whole. 

It’s the realization, that he will ruin you, that make your eyes sting. Hot tears creep down your cheeks as your lips waver. 

He coos at that, “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll be okay. I took care of you, right? I made you feel so good?” He shuffles closer and you can feel something hard and stiff press against your thigh. 

“Now you gotta’ do the same for me. It’s a fair trade, right?” 

He’s kissing you again. It’s rough, this time, as he bites on your bottom lip, hard enough to tear skin. Your yelp is muffled as he shoves his tongue into your drooling mouth. You taste the smallest hint of something metallic. 

His lips move down, covering your jaw with soft butterfly kisses that made your head spin. When they find your neck, he clamps down on your soft flesh, licking at biting at everything he could taste. Your breath hitches, a sound that’s in between a gasp and a moan. The sensation of his teeth against your neck causes you to lean your head against the wall, reluctantly giving him room. He purrs at that.

“Good girl.”

His hands are fiddling with your buttons. You barely have time to speak before he impatiently rips your shirt, sending the round objects scattering.

A half-hearted apology is mumbled into your skin. His fingers skitter over your bra, you cry out when his cold hands push the material up to feel your tits.

It’s still not enough. His body is feverish, you feel so hot against him, so pliant, so beautiful. You’re crying, whimpering, softly whispering for him to stop but do you even know how desperate you sound? Your voice sounds so needy, it’s hard to be sated from just touching.

Oikawa yanks down your skirt, letting them pool at your ankles. Your thighs are still glistening from his previous ministrations and your panties are wet, still soaked.

He feels pure euphoria watching them slide down your legs, landing on the ground next to the other piles of clothing.

You’re standing before him, barely clothed, shivering. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, mumbling a soft ‘be good for me, okay’, before he reaches down to his pants.

He doesn’t pull it down all the way, just enough to reach inside and pull out his throbbing cock. It’s already an angry red, a single drop of precum leaking at the tip.

He gives it a few cursory pumps, before he stills.

“I really wanted to see you cum, bet you looked so pretty. Do you mind doing that again, just for me pretty please?”

He grinned when you didn’t reply. You can’t understand how someone so beautiful could hide so much cruelty. 

“No? That’s okay, I’ll just make you. Again.”

In one single movement, he hikes your leg against his hip and thrusts his cock inside you.

You wail as he pushes himself inside, already starting to set a rough pace. It hurts, much bigger than two fingers. Whatever he did before clearly didn’t help make it feel any less painful. You give a choked scream, hot tears clouding your vision.

He’s not quiet either, leaning his forehead against the wall behind you, moaning shamelessly. He’s saying your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it sounds like that’s the only thing he can say.

“You have to relax, baby-fuck you’re so tight.” Oikawa hisses, hiking your leg higher to fuck you deeper.

The pain fades. You wish it stayed, keeping you sober while he pushes you against the wall, greedily palming your tits, sucking on your neck.

But it disappears and a loud moan leaves your lips, too breathy to be made from anything but pleasure.

You instinctively cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds your traitorous body is making.

“Nope, not this time,” He cheerily says, ripping your hand away, “I wanna hear you scream.” 

He angles his hips, his cock sinking into that spot and you do scream.

The pleasure that waves up and down your body blinds you. Your body isn’t listening to you, anymore. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in with each thrust. You can feel beads of precum roll down your thigh. Oikawa’s head is resting on your shoulder now. His weight makes your shaky legs buckle, digging your back further into the hard concrete.

He kisses your hand, encouraging you to drape it on his shoulder. It limply falls beside his neck, barely brushing against his hair.

You shift your hips and his cock stutters almost stopping his rhythm before Oikawa’s cooing something dirty into your ear, reaching down to rub your clit until you’re crying out again.

It’s addicting, he realizes, having your cunt flutter around him like this, leaking out his precum. It’s a feeling that makes him piston himself into you over and over again, relishing in the way your pussy tries to suck him in, like you were begging for more.

“O-oikawa,” You finally gasp when you finally regain the ability to speak, “Slow down please please slow-slow down.”

His laugh is breathy, “You want me to slow down, angel? What, are you close again?”

You don’t respond, but it’s enough to make him go faster, ignoring your pleas in search of your gradually rising voice.

He hisses when his knee hits the wall, grimacing.

“-Wanted to do this at a bed, you know,” He grunted, “Somewhere soft. But-but I didn’t wanna-hah-scare you, you’re so anxious it was so-fuck- hard choosing a place-place you’d actually show up in.” 

He rubs your clit, feeling your walls grow tighter and tighter. He pulls back to look at you, eyes shut, your lip caught between your teeth, your face filled with lustful pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how perfect you are.”

You follow his orders, your orgasm making you cry in ecstasy. It makes you go limp and you almost sink to the floor before Oikawa catches you, keeping you upright as he chases his own end.

He doesn’t stop, not even when you beg him to slow down that it’s too much. No, he just hushes you again, stumbling over a tensed ‘Just a little more’, before he’s going faster and faster until you feel something warm, wet, and sobering fill your cunt. 

He’s slows down then, his eyes shut in bliss as he rocks his hips forward, milking as much as he could. When he finally pulls out, he does it with a hiss, making you flinch as his skin hits your sensitive clit. 

He doesn’t catch you this time, letting you drop to the floor. You tumble to the ground, your hands barely catching your fall. The tile is so cool against your sensitive skin, it almost makes you forget the milky liquid spread on your legs, the finger-print shaped bruises on your thigh. 

You don’t think you have anymore tears left, but they still fall, running down your cheeks. 

He’s instantly over you, brushing a hand down your face. 

“Oh, don’t cry, baby, you did such a good job,” Oikawa cooed, wiping your tears away. 

He’s not comforting you. His smile is too satisfied to make you think he had any semblance of pity. You briefly wonder what he’s seeing. You, exhaustedly crumpled against the wall, your legs curled, cum seeping out, your neck and chest littered with teeth marks. No wonder he looks so pleased.  

He pets your hair, shifting it back in place and it’s so domestic-so loving that it makes you sick. 

Oikawa grins, showing teeth. “How about next time we study at my place.”

[moralesmilesanhour]

mad props!

summary: your one-sided beef with Miles morphs into a full-on rivalry until unforseen circumstances force you to call a truce. wc: 789 a/n: drabbles when left to cook in the brain for too long turn into mini-series. watch out ! also yes i am doing another enemies-to-lovers thingy don't look at me 01 02

Snap!

You sucked your teeth in the middle row of Mr. Sanchez’s classroom when the tip of your pencil broke in the middle of your rapid note-taking. 

It broke just as you were forming the tilde that was meant to float above the letter ‘n’, creating an odd downward stroke instead that looked like lightning striking a tree. 

You zipped open your pencil case and took out a tiny metal sharpener, the shavings bound to make a mess of your desk.

“Yikes. That’s why I use the mechanical ones,” remarked the boy sitting beside you. 

A friendly grin spread across his freckled, golden-brown face with round eyes that seemed to ask if you thought his comment was funny. 

You shot him a hard glance to let him know that no, it was not funny that your pencil broke whilst you were in the middle of getting down key grammatical rules. 

The boy’s face fell at the implied rejection. Somehow, the wounded look in his eyes irritated you more than the grin. It made him look like a lost deer.

“Morales, silencio, por favor,” Sanchez said, peering over his glasses at your shoulder partner. “Unless you’d like to explain how direct object pronouns work instead.”

“No, estoy bien.”

There was no sign of panic or apology on Morales’ face as he replied, despite Mr. Sanchez being known to seek out inattentive students to cold-call later. He smiled awkwardly at the bearded man, and again when he was caught a bit later doodling in his notebook.

“Miles Morales, can you translate this sentence for us please?”

“Fui a Madrid el verano pasado,” Miles answered, without missing a beat.

The man shook his head, then moved on.

“Correct. Now, who would like to take the next sentence…”

You would soon learn over the coming weeks since your transfer to Visions that this was a daily routine for Miles: he’d come in late, or get caught scribbling away in the margins of his worksheet. Then he’d get that panicked “help me” smile on his face before making a pun or quip that made you cringe so hard that your back hurt. 

Still, Miles’ answers were never wrong after the fact.

He blended into the crowd otherwise, but the second-hand embarrassment made him hard to forget. 

“Quiz grades were surprisingly low,” Mr. Sanchez announced one Wednesday morning as he walked around, handing out one-page sheets face down. “I would highly suggest going over this unit at home over the long weekend.”

Almost immediately, kids began passing each other’s quizzes back and forth, giggling at how their results all seemed to be floating just under fifty percent. Part of the ease in their laughter came from the assumption that Sanchez would ���just curve it anyway.” 

Not that it would make a difference to you. 

You frowned at the eighty-five circled in red at the top of your quiz. Just a couple of points away from a nice, even ninety that would’ve finally bumped your grade up to an ‘A’ instead of an ‘A-’.

Even worse, some of the circled questions were points lost just because you were missing an accent on a letter or two, and a couple of vocab words had slipped your mind. You should’ve answered the bonus questions…

“Wow, you’re the only one without a forty so far,” a familiar voice complimented you. “Good job.”

Miles was offering you another friendly grin, with those same expectant eyes. Please like me, they seemed to plead. 

No thanks.

You replied flatly, “I actually studied.”

It felt like an insult for anyone to be impressed with you in a class full of failing grades.

His grin faded. You expected it to be replaced with disappointment, but he just shrugged and pressed his lips into a thin line before turning away. 

Sanchez returned to where you were sitting to hand Miles’ test back.

He spoke solemnly, “You and L/N were the only passing grades in this class.”

You caught a glance at the number marked atop the page once Miles flipped it over:

‘100%’. With five points as extra credit. 

He looked down at it and hummed quietly in approval before flipping it back over, and suddenly that ‘A-’ felt like a ‘C’. 

It was only logical that the guy who never got an answer wrong would perform similarly on a quiz. But he didn’t deserve it; he didn’t even care. 

“How many hours did you study for that?” you scoffed quietly, like an accusation. 

Miles gave you a sidelong glance, and you could’ve sworn there was mockery in his eyes. 

“I don’t study.”

If you could go back and pinpoint the exact moment where irritation boiled over into disdain, it would be this one.

[thecampjuicebox]

Aching for you

Gale (m) x Tav (f). Some slow burn fluff between Gale and Tav, but don’t worry, it gets nasty.

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

Pairing: Tav(f) x Gale

POV: 2nd person (Reader is Tav)

Warnings: SMUT | p in v sex | fingering | oral (f receiving) | Some game spoilers

(This is my first bg3 fanfic so pls be gentle. I’ve played through the game a handful of times, however and adore the progression of the Gale x Tav romance. Enjoy this one off! Let me know if I should do more)

It has been an odd few weeks traveling with your band of misfits. Each day drags along, your bones aching with the wear and tear of battle. Today was no different. Moonrise tower is your final stop before the trek to Baldur’s Gate. Ketheric Thorm is just out of arms reach, and the shadow curse is incredibly close to being no more. Yet still, the only thing you can think about is rest. A soft bedroll, a crackling fire, the cool air rustling the loose tendrils of hair that hang around your face and neck as you lull yourself to sleep with thoughts of victory and the warm embrace of a real bed when this is all over. Setting up your tent, you can’t help but catch a glimpse of Gale, fighting with the straps on his bedroll. His soft brown hair falls into his face, obscuring the light tint of red his skin has taken on from the struggle. You chuckle and shake your head, setting down your belongings in a messy pile before making your way to the flustered Wizard.

“Seems like you’re struggling a bit, love. In need of some help?”

Your voice startles Gale and he flicks his eyes around and then up to you. Gale’s back straightens quickly and he bumps his head on the upper pole of his tent, a small grunt leaving his lips. He slaps a hand to the back of his aching head and sighs in annoyance.

“Seems like I am. This gods damned bedroll has gotten the best of my tired hands. Would you mind?”

He gestures towards the roll now lying on the ground inside of his tent. You nod and kneel down, inspecting the tangled and knotted ties that keep the roll together. A small sigh leaves you once you realize why the poor fool couldn’t get them undone in the first place - he’s been pulling at the wrong string. With a quick tug, the ties slip from the roll and the down mat bursts open, nearly knocking you onto your backside. Standing quickly to jump out of the way of the impending doom that is goose feathers and cotton, you lose your balance and stumble, bumping into the wizard’s tall frame. A soft yelp leaves your lips has his hands meet your hips to steady you. Gale sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and releases you as quickly as he grabbed you.

“I do apologize.. I didn’t want to see you fall. The outcome would be much more disastrous knowing the rest of camp has no idea you’re even in my tent. Wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea, you know?”

Your face flushes a deep shade of pink and you brush your hands down your sides, smoothing down your undershirt. Turning to face Gale, you notice his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his bottom lip tucked nicely between his teeth once more, almost punctuating his sentence. With a nod, you kneel back down to smooth out his bedroll. You both hear footsteps approaching the tent with haste and you stand to catch a glimpse of the sudden intruder. You see none other than Astarion, red eyes filled with worry and a hint intrigue as he pokes his head into the tent, a small smirk forming on his pale lips when he notices the two of you in the small space.

“My apologies, it seems I’ve interrupted something rather… intimate. I heard Tav yelp and my curiosity took over. Had to see what all of the fuss was about. But, I see that my guess was correct. Do treat her well, Gale. She’s a sweet thing once you unwrap her.”

You’re no stranger to the vampire’s flirtatious words, the two of you sharing a night together after the Teifling party. His voice is the sweetest venom, and he knows how to make your legs tremble. You shake your head and shove your hands into your back pockets, ducking out of the tent and past Astarion’s lanky frame before he could pile on any more saucy words. He chuckles and swiftly slips a finger into your belt loop, yanking you back towards him before you could gain too much distance. Gale’s arms stay crossed, his gaze narrowing at Astarion for a moment, and then softening again once he notices how quickly you’re trying to escape. His hands drop to his sides, one of them fiddling with his soft velvet sleep shirt. His stance causes a lump to form in your throat, feeling almost guilty that you stepped away from him so quickly. You much prefer his company over Astarion’s, but you don’t have the gall to tell him. Not in front of Astarion, anyway.

“Tav was simply assisting me with my stubborn bedroll. Nothing more. I do wish you wouldn’t barge in uninvited, however. Rather rude of you, considering the privacy I often give the two of you when you’re feeding.”

Gale’s head twists to the side, hiding a look of slight jealousy when Astarion pulls you closer to him. Astarion presses you into his side, his hand resting on the supple curve of your hip. You give him a playful shove and step back from the tent’s opening, shaking your head once more. Astarion peeks over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow raised, giving you that stupid smolder he loves to use when he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Yes, Astarion. Courtesy would look ravishing on you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I heard Karlach say that dinner was ready.”

•••

The night air is filled with the sound of soft snores and the gentle breeze from the deep black ocean just beyond the rocks of the camp. You sit on your bedroll, legs crossed, fingers folded neatly in your lap as you watch the fire dim to a low flicker, the air making it near impossible not to shiver. You poke your head out of your tent, scanning your surroundings before finding Gale, his frame resting just outside of his tent, tattered book in hand. Warmth pools in your belly once your gaze falls upon the beautiful wizard, your cheeks flushing and your fingers twitching with excitement. The two of you were finally alone, the rest of the camp deep in sleep. You purposely withheld telling Astarion he could feed tonight, hoping you would get a chance to spend the night with Gale. Even if it meant listening to him drone on and on about whatever tome he was enveloped in this week. Pushing yourself up, you stand and quickly tip-toe out of your tent, moving towards Gale. You stop in front of Shadowheart’s tent, listening for her snores and sleep mumbling before continuing your mission. Gale’s eyes move to you when he hears your footsteps approaching and the smile that forms on his lips nearly makes your knees buckle.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

His voice is almost a whisper, the worn book snapping closed in his hands and he sets it beside him. He leans back on one hand, his gaze matching yours once you stop in front of him. You look down, almost too embarrassed to speak. You want to turn tail and run back to your tent like a frightened rabbit. Gale leans forward, eyes trying to find yours and failing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Your tadpole vibrates with excitement, causing you to wince slightly. Your eyes snap to Gale, a look of slight disbelief forming on your features. The wizard, after preaching about not wanting to use the tadpoles for anything other than convincing the cult that we are one of them, is trying to probe your thoughts. Gale opens his eyes, meeting yours and he blushes.

“Now Gale.. Remember the conversation we had about courtesy with Astarion?”

A low chuckle erupts from Gale’s mouth and he quickly slaps his hand over it to silence himself, his legs shifting to a crossed position. Courage bubbles in your throat and you stand your ground, hands fidgeting with the bottom of your nightgown, one foot kicking at the dirt beneath you. The slight glimpse of your plush thighs makes Gale shiver and he tries to keep his eyes on yours.

“I was hoping that I could.. Stay with you. Tonight. If that’s okay. Which it’s perfectly fine if it isn’t. I don’t want to intrude.”

Your words come out jumbled and nervous, your confident stance crumbling to one of anxiety and shyness. Gale’s features soften and his deep eyes widen slightly. He hurries to his feet, brushing his soft brown hair behind one ear, his small silver earring shining in the moonlight. His entire being leaves you breathless and the air gets trapped in your lungs for a moment as you wait for his reply. He extends a hand to you, his look of reassurance softening your posture. You gently slide your hand into his and without words, follow him as he saunters into his tent. The inside of his tent is arranged neatly now, his bedroll centered nicely between stacks of books and pillar candles. Small pots of herbs and empty potion bottles are arranged nicely on a tiny round table, a single lantern dimly lit amongst the decor. You notice a few pillows arranged in almost a nest on top of his bedroll, a soft looking blanket folded in the middle. He smiles at you, gesturing towards the nest and you oblige, settling yourself into one side of it, leaving a perfect space for him.

“I was honestly hoping you’d join me. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Fiddling with the clasps on the tent flaps, Gale closes you off to the outside world, turning to look at you. He sits beside you, moving the folded blanket to the side for now. You clasp your hands together, unsure of where else to put them and he eyes your fingers, reaching out to release one of your hands just to capture it in his. He uses his free hand to tilt your chin towards him, eyes meeting yours with a gaze so intense you feel like you might implode. That familiar warmth pools within you again, this time much lower. You adjust your position, legs stretched out in front of you now, but crossed tightly. His fingers trace the smooth line of your jaw, thumb moving up to gently press against your bottom lip. He gives it a gentle tug downward and releases it, your lip snapping back into position. His breathing is heavy, the hand holding yours trembling lightly.

“I have ached for you.. every day. For weeks now. Every battle we fight together, every night when you’re bathing in the river or brushing your hair before bed. I ache for you. Yearn for you. I want you in ways I’ve never wanted another soul.”

Your breath catches in your throat, nearly choking you out as his words dance off of your ears. You squeeze his hand and wait for a response. His fingers tighten around yours and you can’t help but smile, your heart fluttering beneath your ribs. He felt it too. That yearning you’ve held down since you pulled him out of that portal that first day on the beach. The want to hold him tightly when Elminster warned of his grim fate, had he chosen to ask Mystra for forgiveness. You let out a sigh, leaning forward to press your foreheads together and you whisper quietly to him, your breath ever so slightly grazing his parted lips.

“I’ve yearned for you too, Gale. To feel your skin pressed to mine. To know you in ways no other has known you. To love you the way the gods love.”

Without hesitation, Gale’s lips crash to yours, sending your heart up in flames. His hands move up to cup your scorching cheeks, doing everything he can to pull you in closer, to devour you. Your hands find purchase on the front of his velvet shirt, grasping at the fabric for dear life. Momentarily breaking the kiss, Gale tugs his shirt up and over his head, tossing it behind him with reckless abandon. He gently shoves you to your back, your head hitting the mound of pillows perfectly place behind you. Nervous fingers fumble with the hem of your nightgown, giving it occasional pushes upward, testing the waters. You nod up at him, his frame now towering over yours. Without hesitation, he uses his knee to part your thighs, sitting between them as his hands work your nightgown up over your hips. You shudder at his touch and clamp your teeth down on your lower lip, holding back any noises that threaten to escape you. The warmth in your core now burns like the fires of Avernus, your arousal evident. Gale’s eyes widen at the sight of you, no underwear, and you giggle quietly.

“I didn’t expect anything.. but I wanted to be prepared just in case.”

A quiet groan slips from Gale’s lips as he leans down to press gentle kisses along your abdomen. Your breath hitches and you buck your hips upwards, chasing the kisses when his lips leave your skin. Your hands snake into his soft locks and you give them a gentle tug when his tongue begins to trace shapes into your mound.

“Gale..”

He smirks at the sound of his name, your arousal only fueling him further. His tongue dips lower, quickly slipping through your folds, his fingers now digging into the plush meat of your thighs. With one swift movement, he slides his body lower, his stomach now on the ground and he pushes your legs up and over his shoulders, exposing your heat to him. He growls, his breath coasting along your now slick folds. One hand leaves your thigh, swiping through your folds to collect your wetness before settling into your cunt, resting there to allow you to adjust. You let out a whimper, your back arching off of the bedroll, hands still tangled in his hair. After a moment of stillness, he adds a second finger, giving you a gentle stretch before pumping both digits in and out, his lips latching to your clit. He sucks feverishly, his hips grinding into the ground to appease the angry erection in his leggings. You groan at the feeling and lift your hips slightly, pressing yourself into his face, begging for more. His tongue licks long, slow stripes over your clit, your climax rapidly building in your core. Your entire body shivers with electricity. Pumping his fingers faster, he chases your release, listening for your reactions as he presses deliciously into that spongey spot within your walls. You gasp for air, bucking your hips up one last time before pure ecstasy spills over your being, your bones catching fire as you ride the waves of your orgasm.

“Just like that, my love.. You sound so beautiful, cumming for me.”

Gale slips his fingers out of your heat, trailing sloppy, wet kisses up your torso and to your neck. He sits up on his knees, erection clearly begging to burst from his leggings. You struggle to catch your breath, your walls still fluttering from your climax. He presses his used fingers to his lips, tongue flicking out to clean your juices from them. He keeps his eyes locked on you the entire time and he smirks at your clearly restless state. He stands, carefully sliding his leggings off and his cock springs out and up, hitting his stomach. You groan at the sight, mouth watering.

“Are you ready for me, darling?”

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod, lids lowering slightly. He kneels down once more, swiftly bringing your legs up to wrap around his waste. You raise your arms and rest them on his broad shoulders, fingers twirling the ends of his hair. You both take a moment to drink each other in, the body heat radiating between you being enough to warm the tent entirely. This moment feels perfect. Pure. It’s what you’ve been waiting for since you met this sweet Wizard that now towers above you. You spent many nights in your tent, hand between your legs, fantasizing about Gale’s fingers inside of you. His lips against your ear, coaching you through your orgasm. You shudder slightly at the memories and Gale chuckles, leaning down to press sweet kisses all over your face. He lifts his head once more and looks into your eyes, a look of need enlarging his pupils. You nod, giving him the approval he was looking for. He lines his hips up with yours, pressing the weeping tip of his cock to your entrance. You freeze. Gods, he feels huge. With a slight movement of his hips, he slides into you. Filling you up completely. You wait until he bottoms out before beginning to roll your hips against him, earning a soft grunt. He smirks and sits up, tugging your hips deliciously close before thrusting into you. He presses in as far as he can before sliding out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He repeats this slow process, making you whine and squirm.

“Gale please.. I need..”

“You need what, my love?”

Your pale face flushes a deep shade of red. Without warning, Gale slams his hips into you once, pulling out almost entirely.

“Gods, I need you to fuck me. Please… I can’t take it anymore.”

Gale wastes no time quickening his pace, the loud sound of skin slapping against skin filling the tent. Deep down you hope the rest of the camp doesn’t hear you, but you also can’t be bothered to care. Gale lifts your legs to his shoulders now, the new angle allowing him to plow deeper into your aching cunt. Sweat beads form on his forehead as he thrusts, his orgasm building deep within him. Gale earns long, loud moans from you with every thrust, only fueling him to fuck into you harder, deeper, faster. His hair sticks to his face as he works. His movements begin to become more erratic, his orgasm threatening to explode out of him. He lowers your legs to his hips, making them wrap tightly around him and he presses his forehead to yours. One hand rests on the bedroll beside your head while the other reaches between your bodies, finding your swollen clit. He rubs agonizingly pleasurable circles into it, making that familiar heat build quickly in your core. You let out a loud moan, slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle it. Gale sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to focus on the movement of his hand and his hips. Your legs tremble around him, almost falling to his sides as your climax grows nearer and nearer with each circle of his fingers and thrust of his hips. Both of your hands reach up to find Gale’s shoulders, nails digging into the skin there. He grunts at the sting, driving harder into you. He opens his eyes, lifting his head slightly so he can look directly into yours. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes as you’re overcome with a feeling of pure bliss. Gale lets out a shaky breath.

“I love you, Tav. Gods, I love you..”

Without warning, he spills into you, cock twitching as he spews his seed deep into your walls. You cry out as your orgasm overtakes you and you cling to Gale’s warm body, riding out the waves as he whispers affirmations into your ear. You both collapse into the bedroll, bodies sweaty and trembling. Gale tugs the blanket up and over the two of you, pulling your backside closely to his chest. Your chest heaves during your comedown and you giggle to yourself, brushing some hair out of your eyes. Gale presses soft kisses to your shoulder and allows his lips to linger there. Sleep begins to invade your brain, your breaths beginning to slow. Before you both doze off for the night, you whisper to him.

“I love you too, Gale.”

He tugs you impossibly close, arms snaking around your torso. His chin rests comfortably over your shoulder and sleep finds you both quickly, your snores joining those of the rest of the camp.

[notfreetoday]

MPW Ep 2 Subtitle Corrections

Subtitle Corrections: Ep 1 here

Cultural/Language Tidbits: Ep 2 here

Same translation disclaimer applies. Thanks to everyone reading the first post and geeking out with me in the notes, I really appreciate it XD Ok, Ep 2, let's go! Sorry in advance for the length!

If you're wondering why Yoh's freaking out about the rainy season even though they've been together for 3 years, the manga artist posted a clarification on twitter:

By the way, “it’s been 3 years since then” – that phrase refers to it being 3 years since that conversation regarding the slave contract. As for living together, they’ve only just started (to do so) around Mar/April*, so (at this point) it’s only been a few months (for them). What if (I) got it wrong…. I remember making a note of it, but the file that I wrote it in and passed over (to the crew) couldn’t be found right, so… (was it) a dream?” *Japan's rainy season comes around June/July, so this means that this is the first rainy season these two have been experienced together.

[Y: まずっ] Y: Tastes bad In case the original "that sucks" sounds like Yoh might be talking about the news of the young forecaster - he's really just talking about the food here.

[S: 遅くなるからいらねぇっつっただろう] Original: I told you not to bother since I returned late Mine: I told you I wouldn't need it cause I'd be late right? This is actually a pretty harsh sounding line tbh. It's sort of inkeeping with Segasaki's curtness, but still pretty harsh - so this tells us he's tired after a long day, and explains the frown on his face that Yoh just wipes away with his cuteness

Nikujaga literally means meat and potatoes. It's a stewed dish and a very well-loved comfort food. Super easy to make too (link goes to an easy to follow recipe, and the site also explains a little about the dish).

[Y: 本当、顔だけはいいよな] Y: Really, it's only his face that looks good.

I've talked about this in my cultural/language tidbits for this episode (linked up top) but I'll add it here for completion's sake

[Y: あ、いや。なんでもない…です*] (Ah, iya, nandemonai…desu*) Y: Ah, no, it's….nothing* Yoh let's his sentence trail off before tacking on a "desu" at the end. "Desu" is an ending verb characteristic of "polite" speech, which Yoh doesn't use frequently with Segasaki (in fact, by this point, he has not used polite speech with Segasaki at all, except for maybe saying the full form of the word "welcome home", and even that's pushing it). Here he adds it at the end as an afterthought (the polite form of "iya" would be "iie", if he had wanted the whole sentence to be polite from the get go), which tells us that Yoh's feeling a little off-kilter here, and does introduce the slightest distance between him and Segasaki. We'll see this distance increase as the episode goes on.

[Y: いや、どう考えても食べ過ぎだろう] Y: No but, no matter which way you look at it, (he's) eaten way too much hasn't he? Btw, if your hair started standing at the spoon scraping the pot - in the manga artist's post about visiting the shooting venue (as well as during Ep 1 twitter space) it was mentioned that Mashiko, the actor, can actually cook, so during filming they had to tell him what someone who can't would likely do, and also asked him to do the housework poorly (because Yoh's not supposed to be good at cooking or housework hahaha)

この人*、明日も朝早いんだよな。たぶん。 Original: This guy, has an early morning again tomorrow. Probably. Mine: This person*, has (to leave) early tomorrow morning too. Probably. *The word here is "kono hito", literally "this person". There's actually nothing wrong with the translation "this guy" tbh because that's a fairly neutral term in English, but I'm highlighting it here because in his monologues, Yoh usually refers to Segasaki using much rougher language, such as "koitsu, aitsu", except when he addresses Segasaki directly in his head. I'll talk more about how Yoh addresses Segasaki in the analysis post, but for now - this sentence hints that Yoh has clocked Segasaki's tiredness (subconsciously or not) and is feeling a little bad for him. Then again he quickly hides that by adding on "probably". (Adding the word "probably" behind your sentence is a common way to express doubt/negate what you just said, and incidentally is commonly used by comedians to deliver a punchline).

[Y: あの*…あの…寝るなら部屋でとおもって。] Original: Um… Hey… You should go back to your room. Mine: Um*... Um... if you're going to sleep then, (it would be better to sleep) in your room - at least that's what I thought...

*"あの…" (ano…), translated as "um" here, is a common sound you use when you want to get someone's attention but don't want to sound too demanding - it actually isn't being polite per se, but it does show the hesitancy with which Yoh approaches him. Contrast this with the way Segasaki gets Yoh's attention (so far it's just been "Yoh" or "Oi" - the latter of which you would NOT use unless you were close to the person, or looking for a fight).

As a general rule of thumb, the level of politeness in Japanese is directly correlated with the length of the sentence and just how far you can beat around the bush. So, Yoh's suggestion that Segasaki goes to sleep in his room is literally just "if sleeping, then room..." and everything else in that translation is assumed. He may not being using polite speech forms here (that would be "to omoimashita" instead of "to omotte") but this is still a common way to be polite because he's making a suggestion that is so mild Segasaki can choose to ignore it. This is a great example of Brown & Levinson's "negative politeness" which we'll revisit when analysing their speech patterns, and which you can read about in entirely too much detail here (free to read).

[Y: じゅあ、俺は寝るので** あの、その、そういうことで、おやすみ] Original: Then, I’ll go to sleep. That…sort of thing. Good night. Mine: So then, I'm going to bed, therefore**... Um... that... with that... night!

"Therefore" is an awkward translation for the word ので (node), which is more often translated as "so". I've chosen to use that word because "node", whilst again not a polite form per se, is less colloquial than the more commonly used "から(kara)", to mean the same thing. It tends to pop up more in writing than in speech. "Therefore" doesn't make a sentence polite/formal in English, but it's definitely less colloquial than using the word "so". The use of "node" is just that tiny bit out of place in this sentence paired with the informal pronoun "ore" for "I" as opposed to the more formal choice of "boku".

Again, Yoh answers Segasaki properly here with a "はい (hai)" as opposed to his usual "un" (which is a sound that expresses agreement), when told that Segasaki will be late again. There actually aren't very many moments where Yoh does speak politely to Segasaki (he's definitely rude when he talks about Segasaki in his head hahaha), so these moments stand out. This whole short exchange, together with the random -desu he added earlier, just make Yoh's sentences a little more stilted/awkward, and more distant. Individually they don't deserve much mention at all, but together, and in the context of his jealousy, show just how unsure Yoh is about where he stands with Segasaki.

[Y: あの人の帰宅が遅くなり] Y: That person returned home later and later

"That person" - similar to the above usage of "this person". This sentence is incomplete - the verb form of the last word - 遅くなり (osokunari) indicates that there should be a second part to the sentence (the "completed" form would be osokunatta). But after he says this, there is a pregnant pause, as Yoh puts his phone down and continues cooking alone. The pause continues all the way into the next scene, before the sentence continues, highlighting the loneliness that Yoh feels.

[Y: 当然、触れられることもないままに] Original: Of course, he did not touch me at all Mine: (and) of course, (I) remained untouched (by him) as well

The literal translation for this would be "(the situation in which I) was not touched (by him) continued on as well". Yoh uses the passive form of the word "touch", which places the emphasis on Yoh "receiving" the action of being touched as opposed to placing the emphasis on Segasaki "carrying out" the action of touching Yoh. Consider the difference between the sentences "I was hurt by him" and "he hurt me". The former is the passive form, and is super common in Jp, much less common in Eng. If this is confusing - welcome to Jp grammar just know that the emphasis of this line is more on what Yoh does not have, rather than what Segasaki has not done. It accentuates Yoh's feelings of emptiness and loss.

Y: すっかり日々は過ぎて Y: The days pass by completely ...

Similarly, this sentence is "incomplete", and is instead continued by Segasaki walking in and telling Yoh he'll be late again. (This whole bit just hurts my soul tbh, Yoh is so lonely. )

This is a teruteru bouzu aka a charm of sorts for good weather. See the cultural tidbits post for Ep 2 linked up top for more info!

This is said really strongly, and gives the "what the hell are you doing" feel. Yoh's truly upset here.

I try not to care about some of the subs in these side conversations because they don't add much to the main story and these posts are already too long, but this sentence should really be "Dammit, maybe I should (go) troll the chat" (and the previous sentence should be "If this was broadcasted in a certain country it would be instant death" aka N.Korea ^^;) and I just think it was a nice touch to hint at the fandom wars/flaming that goes on between fans hahaha

[Y: しんどい] Y: This is too draining The word here used is "shindoi", which is a term used when you're feeling mentally/physically exhausted/drained, and carries a sense of frustration (at feeling this way) and sometimes (emotional) pain.

This. Is. Huge. Segasaki does 2 things here - one, he rejects an after-work meal, which you rarely do because Japan is all about the group and rejecting a group invite, to welcome a new member, can make you seem like you aren't a team player - two, the guy who invites him is his senior, which you can tell because Segasaki sticks to polite speech forms whilst the other guy does not. It's still relatively casual, so you can tell he's got a good working relationship with them (probably why he's not worried about rejecting them) but still. In Segasaki's world, Yoh is the No. 1 priority.

This is more accurately "WTF". There are many sounds in Japanese that aren't exactly words, but carry a lot of meaning - "Haa?!" is one of them, and is a very rude way to express a lot of anger and shock. Please, never say this in real life. You will royally piss off whoever it's directed at and if you are outside a Shibuya bar you will get punched.

The word used here is てめぇ (temee), which is a really rude way to say "you", and has the same energy as "you bastard". Segasaki usually uses the informal pronoun "omae" for "you" when he talks to Yoh, he's definitely pissed off here.

This is the same word, "shindoi" again.

I'm going to put the rest of the whole argument here with just my translation because it's too long to screencap the whole thing.

[S: 何なんだよ？このエロい惨状は Y: うるさい。 Y: 俺は売れっ子エロ漫画家になるんだ S: なんだそりゃ。おい *takes away beer can* Y: 売れっ子さんが　シコリながらネーム描くと　いいのができるって言ってた S: なんも描けてなかったぞ。 S: おい、だめだっつってんの S: 飲みすぎ　出すもん出して　寝てただけだろう Y: 黙れ！ Y: 俺はエロくて　抜ける漫画描いて　いっぱい稼いで Y: 早く　こんなとこ出ていくんだ S: はあ？　おい、お前　どういうつもりだよ Y: どうもこうもないよ！ Y: 平気で抱かれてると思うなよ 。 Y: 俺のこと、好きでもないくせに Y: 便利な奴隷としか思ってないんだろう？そんなにやりたきゃ隣のキャスターとやってろよ S: お前　さっきから　何を... Y: 俺はあんな風に笑いかけられたことない]

Breakdown: S: What's up with this? This lewd disaster of a scene Y: (You're) annoying! ["うるさい (urusai)" is often translated as "shut up", but it literally means someone is being "noisy", and here is more of a complaint that Segasaki is being bothersome] Y: I'm going to become a hot-selling erotica manga artist! [the word used here is 売れっ子 (urekko), which literally means "someone who gets huge sales" and mostly refers to idols, entertainers, TV personalities etc. So Yoh is not just saying he's going to become popular, he's saying he's gonna be like a celebrity manga artist, which is why Segasaki snorts a little at this] S: What's with that? Hey. *takes away beer can* Y: The hot sellers say that if you jerk off whilst drawing your storyboard, you'll come up with good stuff [urekko-san is a pretty cute way of referring to these popular artists] S: You've not drawn anything, you know? [this is said with a really indulgent air, which contrasts directly with the more authoritative tone of the next line] S: Hey, I'm telling you no more *grabs beer can* S: You drank too much. You just shot what you shot and then went to sleep didn't you? [And this is back to an indulgent tone - also, everyone knows Segasaki is talking about cumming here, he just doesn't actually say it so directly] Y: Shut up! ["黙れ (damare) - contrast with "urusai" earlier. The former is used much less commonly and really does mean to "be quiet". This is why Segasaki pauses and looks at Yoh. Up until now Segasaki just thinks Yoh's gotten drunk and is whining cutely, but this word means things are serious.] Y: I'm going to draw manga that is erotic, that you can wank off to, and then earn lots of money [this is a call back to the conversation with Man-san over the phone in Ep 1, which I did not include earlier because I didn't think it was important to the story when Yoh says "the work that was released last month was amazing! There was a big buzz around the topic "I can't wank off (to this)" - Yoh was being sarcastic here, meaning that he got reviews that his work wasn't erotic enough] Y: and leave this sort of place soon! S: What? Hey - what (the hell) are you thinking? [Again, "haa?" here shows he does NOT like what Yoh's saying, but he does soften the end of the sentence with a "yo"] Y: I'm not thinking of anything! Y: Embracing me so easily - don't think you can (keep on) doing that [again, this is the passive form, so the emphasis is on Yoh being embraced, and here has the nuance of "don't think I'll just (keep on) being fine with being embraced (by you) like it's some sort of norm"] Y: when you don't even like me [this line has quite a bit of bitterness in it - the emphasis here is strongly on Segasaki and his apparent "non-liking" of Yoh my english is dying.] Y: You think of me as just a convenient slave, don't you? Y: If you want to do it that much, go do it with that forecaster next to you! S: You... from the start... what have (you been saying?) Y: I have never been smiled at like that before [again, this is in passive voice]

It's obvious from the acting alone that this entire argument is pretty emotionally charged - this is also reflected in the language because Yoh uses the pronoun "ore (I)" a lot. Pronouns are frequently dropped in Japanese - often you can go an entire conversation without ever uttering the words "I/me" or "you", in part because the pronouns are assumed and also because emphasis on an individual can come across as too selfish/narcissistic or direct. Segasaki uses them often enough with Yoh, which fits his personality, but Yoh normally doesn't. So, when he uses "ore" here it stands out - his plans to be successful and leave, his feelings, his interpretation of Segasaki's actions - all of the emphasis is on his own self. The message is very clear - Yoh is hurting a lot more than he is blaming or accusing Segasaki.

[Y: もう疲れた。あんたといると疲れる。嫌いだ S: お前　酒入るとめちゃくちゃしゃべるんだな Y: ねぇ、何で雨の時はだめなの？ S: はあ？　だって、お前が言ったんだろう] Y: (I'm) tired out. When (I'm) with you, (I) get tired. Hate it. [We've lost the "I" pronouns here, because the emphasis is on the extreme sense of physical and emotional fatigue as opposed to Yoh himself, and on how much he dislikes that feeling. Of note, "hate" here is closer to "detest/really dislike" - the word is "kirai" - which is not as strong as the word "nikui" which we talked about in Ep 1 when Yoh said he hated the part of him that always listened to Segasaki. Also, this is the first time Yoh has addressed Segasaki with the pronoun "you" out loud - he uses "あんた anta", which he also used in his head in Ep 1, after they did it. Again, we'll talk about this in the analysis post in the future, but for now just know that this term is usually used between older couples.] S: You... once you start drinking you really start talking huh? [literally, you "become able to talk"] Y: Hey...why is it when it rains, (we) can't do it? S: What? Because, you said so didn't you? [the last "haa?" from Segasaki! This time expressing his surprise and slight indignation.]

[S: 俺は優しいんだ] S: I. am. Kind. Great example of Segasaki's use of the "ore" pronoun here to quite literally emphasise how great he is. "優しい (kind)" in Japanese carries the connotation of being thoughtful, anticipating the other person's needs and wants and then meeting them etc. It's a characteristic that people often say they look for in their potential partners.

[S: そもそも、なんだ先の言いぐさは 好きじゃないだの　出ていきたいだの お前　俺のプロポーズを受けといてよくそんなことが言えんな S: 養ってやる*っつってんだ　プロポーズ以外になに] S: In the first place, what was with those things you said earlier? That you don't like me, that you want to leave... You... that was rich, saying all that after accepting my proposal. S: I was saying I'd provide and care* for you. If that's not a proposal than what is? ["養ってやる" is a pretty possessive way to say I'll provide for you - it's the same word used when referring to parent providing for a child, or an owner providing for a small animal. It's not rude per se, but it does imply a power imbalance. Segasaki actually sort of has a point here because... this is not something you say to someone else unless you're in a relationship ^^;]

S: ていうかお前、俺のこと嫌いなんだ S: どうなの S: Actually about that... so you hate me huh? S: Which is it?

S: ふーん。あ、そ S: Ohh..? I see. ふーん (Ohh..?) - Segasaki says this a lot, especially in this episode. This is another one of those sounds that isn't a word but carries a lot of meaning. It has a dismissive sort of tone to it, like you've already assumed something or when you're pretty nonchalant/not impressed about whatever the other person has said and are just playing along with them by giving them some attention (so again, if you use it wrongly, it can piss people off). Segasaki uses it whenever Yoh goes mute or shy, as a way to tease Yoh - though Yoh seems to think Segasaki is dismissing/not interested in his answer. あ、そ (A, so) - again, Segasaki says this a lot - can be interpreted as "oh really?/I see/is that so?" - Combined with the above, you can see why Yoh often thinks Segasaki isn't interested in his answer, and even when he does recognise it as teasing, he gets too flustered to do anything about it.

This seems to have gotten longer, if you reached the end - congratulations! I hope this makes it a little clearer why it's so obvious to us as the viewer that Segasaki is really quite patient with Yoh, and is waiting for him to come to terms with his feelings, but at the same time so confusing for Yoh, because of the way many of these interactions can be read both ways. In Ep 3, we'll really be able to get into their dynamics because they've got so much more interaction together.

[sweatandwoe]

I (and I'm sure a lot of us) would go feral if you wrote original monster content. I'm talking climbing the walls, screeching, hissing, bite bite biting feral. I wanna smooch the cryptids. The gonsts. The lil funky guys in the gloom under the moon. Please. One day. I loaf you sweaty for that thot alone

🩷

why not, let's do a little test run

MDNI - Lich x GN!Reader. Reader getting overstimulated, Skull Fucking (not in it's original context), Necrophilia maybe? Idk he's a lich and consenting, Oral Reader receiving, Fingering Reader recieving, Boning (this is linked to the fingering). Dacryphilia mention at the end.

-

"You can do it, my dear. What's one more little death?"

One more might actually lead to your actual death. But your lover was always so very thorough in his work, and you were never one to complain about helping him research. Well, not usually.

But now there are tears in your eyes, and you're starting to ache. It was bordering on painful now. "I don't know if I can."

The man, if he could still be considered that, peers up at you. Eyes a cold flame, ice blue lights dancing in wide, black sockets. His head is solid bone, a skull staring up at you. Long fingers, notched and thin, pause inside of you.

"Oh?" The skull leans forward, jaw moving. The little muscle left along the bone helped to stretch it out and let a shadowy tendril slip out; the ghost of a tongue. It hovers there, curling and flicking like smoke though it was far weightier than that. You knew from experience, and you can hear a chuckle when your legs tremble. "Would you like to make good on that assessment?"

Fuck. The tendril moves up, flicking along your sex while his fingers continue moving, searching and pressing inside you. He's determined and you can only grasp one hand onto his shoulder, gripping his robe, while the other roams over chilled bone. His true name spills from your lips, forbidden and complex but your tears are starting to slide down, warm and fat along your cheeks.

He doesn't let up. The ghost of the tongue does not mean he can't speak, even if it's busy. The lich's eyes light up with each word and let each of the following sentences hang in the air before sinking into your skin. "Such a good assistant for me. Helping me explore all kinds of death. How many ways we can achieve this one, the little death before it breaks you?" There's a pause, before he crooks his fingers, pressing them against that one spot to make you keen out. He chuckles, warm and full of delight while his gaze rakes over your body. With a single movement, he's pressing forward his skull right against you, letting the cold bone hit your inner thighs. "I think after this one it will be five? Is that correct, dearest one?"

You're panting. Nails dig into bone while your teeth dig into your lower lip. "That's c-correct, Gar-"

"I think that will be enough for today then. Just one more, my dear." He doesn't wait. The tendril is no longer flicking against your sex, but rather engulfing it. Sucking and licking, it feels wet and warm, a wonderful contrast to the coldness of his natural form. His magic was always so warm.

Tears continue to leak, you're so tired, but you can give him one more. One more and you will be done. He will treat you so well if you give him one more. You force yourself to relax, to let his ministrations guide you through, but you're cumming with a sob and grind of your hips against his head.

He's nothing but praise, sliding his fingers out once your orgasm ends. "So wonderful to see. Such a good test subject." The tendrils from his mouth descend back in, but not before letting it roll over your thighs like a final caress or a soft kiss. He stays between your legs, gently rubbing over them with too-thin and rough fingers. Bones pet your flesh, and you don't mind it.

Finally, he lifts himself up, to stand and get you a glass of water that he had kept nearby. He dips the cup himself, and you know there is no option here but to drink. Heavy mouthfuls are quick to come as you realize your thirst. When he pulls away, turning to set it down, your fingers run along his robes. "Thank you."

The lich chuckles, thin arms wrapping around your body, until he can settle behind you. Having you lay over him, the robe helping to smooth out all the hard lines of his body. "I should be thanking you, my dear. I've learned so much." He shifts beneath you slightly. "Was it too much?"

You consider the fact that you just had the equivalent of a talking skeleton eat you out and finger you open until you wept. Surprisingly, no. "It wasn't that bad. Just got too..."

"Overstimulated?" You nod and he hums. "Perhaps next time, we can have some longer breaks in between. That may help with preventing some tears."

You gaze at him, meeting the blue flames of his eyes head-on. "But you like the tears."

His hand dips, feeling along your waist and then your stomach. He can't grin anymore, but you could sense it in the next few words. "Perhaps I should keep going then?" Boney fingers dip lower, following the line of your hip, hovering over your sex once again. "If you have no objections, of course, my dear."

You pause, thinking. "One minute break? And then you can get another one."

His teeth press on the crown of your head, the whisper of a kiss he couldn't give. "Of course, my dear."

You smile, pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw. "Thanks, Garbear."

Gary sighs, no air pressing through the slightly parted teeth. "You're going down to thirty seconds now, brat."

"You shouldn't have let a human pick your casual name."

"Twenty."

You had an odd feeling it would be a long, but enjoyable night.

-

Thank you to @golden-rats for the name of the Lich

[mjhartwork]

So, a bit ago, I posted these three book covers

The fake "Mad Queens Trilogy" didn't spring out of nowhere. I actually based them on a short story I i made for writing class, mostly as an exercise for describing character "power levels," but it ended up being over 2,000 words long, and I liked it alright! Now that I've made some edits to the story, I thought maybe I should post it. So, without further ado, I give you...

Two Sisters

Ari fiddled with the ties of her cloak. Posture slouched, leaned into the side of the carriage, it was more like the light-sucking brocade was wearing her.

On the opposite seat sat her sister, Cheli. In the future, surely painters would render this scene with her at the center, the great Chelidonis, before she donned the mantle, foreshadowing a world-changing conquest with her blood-red gown spread over the carriage seat. Everyone knew that, including her. Maybe that was why Cheli’s presence was marked with eternal poise, only ever bending her neck to the pontifex or the war table.

Ari would be lucky to have a few blotted strokes of paint, if she were not omitted from the composition altogether.

Cheli’s eyes flicked towards her. Suddenly, Ari found the floor of the carriage very interesting. She almost never rode in this one, it was typically reserved Cheli’s comings and goings, with her acting as the de-facto heir, meeting some foreign dignitary or spy or what have you–

“Ari,” Cheli broke off her sister’s train of thought.

Though she couldn’t look up to meet her eyes, Ari could see the edge of a small smile appear on Cheli’s face.

“It’s not a big deal. Just a funny old ritual. But since you’re making a public appearance for once, could you act a little less…” Cheli waved at the sad pile of velvet across from her. “...you?”

Ari nodded tightly, rising like a possessed hand puppet, trying to stack her vertebrae in a poor copy of the future queen across from her.

Cheli sighed, but gave up on correcting her further. Her gaze wandered to the carriage window. “I need us to present a united front to the senate. Did you know that there’s rumors of me keeping you locked up in the castle? How did those even start?!” She laughed.

All Ari could do was simper and shrug, like so many conversations before. Her tongue couldn’t whip up an answer fast enough to answer the question. There wasn’t much of a point. Cheli continued anyway.

“So, anyways, just– fake it until you make it? That's what I used to do.” Cheli’s eyes swiveled back, waiting until Ari made eye contact before cocking an eyebrow, clearly expecting a response, like a master teaching an incompetent apprentice.

“Fake it until I make it. I… can do that. Thank you, sister.” Her words were stilted. This was the first sentence she had said to her sister in months, and it rolled out like a cart with a squeaky wheel. There wasn’t much of a point. Cheli wasn’t listening anyway. 

When they arrived at the entrance, Cheli stepped out  of the carriage first, emerging like a red wyrm, the satin of her long train shimmering in the sunlight. Two of her handmaidens, from the carriage behind them, ran over to pick it up so that it would not drag on the ground. 

In the temple complex, only nobility and clergy were permitted. Nevertheless, a sea of common folk just outside the gates watched silently in reverence, awe, fear, or a mix of all three. A dark form shambling from the carriage, Ari was barely noticed by all but a few. Their gazes bore down on her. All she could bring herself to look at was shoes– their shoes, wooden clogs, leather sandals, or none at all, and her shoes, edged with lace yet hidden under a mountain of cloth. She felt the geometric tiles of the sacred ground through her delicate soles as she shuffled after her sister.

 This courtyard was new, funded in the last century by her grandparents, and built by the grandparents of the peasants outside– construction was one of the few times they were allowed in. Artisans, inheriting their skill from their parents, and their parents inheriting skill from their parents, could not walk the floor that their kin had laid with aching hands. All they could do was catch glimpses of nobles and priests walking over the tiles whenever the gates opened, on days like these. Ari stepped only on the black granite tiles bordering the main walk, leaving unsullied the intricate mosaic that served as her sister’s path.

The grand temple ahead reached forwards with two columned wings.

Each column was a different color. Ari finally tore her concentration from the ground so that she could count them as she walked by, trailing behind Cheli. Columns of white marble streaked with blue flanked the very front of the temple, put there in the reign of her great-great-great grandmother Belistiche, at the dawn of the empire, quarried from their annexed neighbors, the Brijorians. Every column had a similar story.

The newest columns, guarding the temple doors, were added during her father’s reign. They were taken from a palace all the way over the Sea of Devils, the same place Ari’s mother was from, ransacked by him as his army invaded. He had led the charge himself, wielding the ancient sword and dyeing it in blood. If that palace still stood, it was missing its two front teeth. 

Cheli strode through the open doors, passing by the muraled walls with her head held high and her eyes on the final door before her, this one smaller than the grandiose doors out front, only designed to be large enough for one person to walk through, though with ample space on all sides.

She was beautiful, her shining form of red and gold standing out against the dark wood of the final door, the fabric of her dress swirling and shimmering as she glanced behind her. Ari was struck, feeling exactly like the architect who had designed this hallway was possessing her and holding her breath. So struck, in fact, that it took her a moment to realize what Cheli stared at was her. Ari glanced behind her. The handmaidens’ hands were full, the assembly of nobles and priests were far away, and besides Cheli herself, Ari was the closest one to the door. She lurched forwards like an automaton, almost feeling sick from the pressure as she hurriedly opened the door for Cheli to continue her march.

“They’re all fools. Don’t worry.” Ari almost didn’t catch the whispered advice Cheli lent her. Both sisters kept walking, as if nothing had happened.

The innermost sanctum looked decidedly different from the rest of the temple. It was the oldest part, built when the kingdom was first born, before it became an empire, buried in the dark like a fossil in colorful layers of sediment forming the labyrinth of the temple complex. The design was almost alien, the walls constructed from strange uniform gray material, its recipe lost to time. They spiraled up the central dome like the inside of a snail’s shell, twisting into themselves until reaching a single window, open to the sky and permitting a singular pillar of light to cascade down to a central dais. 

Light glinted on the handle of an old sword, buried halfway up its blade in an anvil. 

Ari’s wandering gaze was snatched by it immediately. Suddenly, she felt as if her lungs had stopped, her pulse had frozen, all was dark in her vision except for gleaming metal. A deep, droning hum vibrated through her shoes, up her bones, and into her skull.

The feeling was gone as soon as it came. Ari glanced around wildly, trying to find its source, her nervousness doubling. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she realized she was in the presence of not only the senate, but also the pontifex and his retinue of cardinals. They all stood in a semicircle around the dais of the sword, watching… thank the gods, not Ari, their eyes were on Cheli. Ari had little time to relax at that notion before her shoulders stiffened and she dipped an awkward curtsy. Cheli only bowed her head to the pontifex. He began to speak, his speech slow and plodding, but carrying behind it the timbre and projection that let him rise the ranks and become pontifex in the first place.

“Chelidonis IV, Daughter of King Tyndareos, may his soul rest in the thrones of Elysium, do you seek to lead this empire?”

“I do.”

“Do you have the blood of the gods in your veins, the will of the people in your soul, and the esteem of the future in your mind?”

“I do.”

“Do you pledge to this sword to serve this land and those who live on it, to protect this land and those who live on it, and guide this land and those who live on it, in peace or in war, life and death?”

“I do.”

“Then you will prove your divine right, as all other rulers have before you. Ascend, and wield the sword, and feel its weight in your grasp.”

Cheli slowly climbed every stair, savoring her victory. She sauntered towards the sword, wielded by dozens of kings and queens before her, victory nearly arrived. The gleaming sword fell under shadow as she reached out and took hold of the handle, prepared to unsheathe it in a single motion.

One second passed. Then two. Then three, four, five, six– Cheli added another hand to her grip and kept pulling. 

The sword wouldn’t budge.

It was only when she started putting her whole body into pulling the sword that the older members of the senate, who remembered how easily Tyndareos had pulled out the blade, began to whisper amongst themselves. 

A minute later, Cheli’s skin was beginning to turn red where there was no makeup to hide it. She was clearly straining, her once-smiling mouth twisted into an incisor-framing sneer. The uproar was building up like a wave. Ari felt a droplet of sweat roll down her neck, as if she were the one failing to pull the sword, not Cheli. She almost wished that was the case. How could Cheli ever lose? 

The deep hum returned to Ari’s bones. Louder and louder it became, though nobody else seemed to feel it. 

“Enough!” the pontifex’s voice surfaced through the drone. Cheli’s hands finally slipped off of the hilt. The sword hadn’t budged an inch. Her face fell as he continued. “You are not the queen. The gods… have not accepted you.”

Cheli, panting, furiously attempting to compose herself, was about to open her mouth to say something, but the hum suddenly peaked. This time, everyone could feel it, shaking the very ground beneath them, penetrating their skulls. The senate stumbled, Cheli crumpled and scrambled to cover her ears. Only Ari, who had already braced herself, and the pontifex remained unflinching.

He turned towards Ari. His eyes locked onto her, looking straight into her soul. Her back straightened, alongside the hairs on the back of her neck. Gone was the plodding old man. Here was an instrument of the gods.

“Aricia I, are you of the line that wields this sword?”

“Yes?” She could barely hear him over the hum. 

“Do you serve this land?”

“Yes?” It wasn’t a simple, singular note anymore. It wavered. Almost like laughter, or the strings of an orchestra.

“Do you pledge it, upon this sword?”

“Yes?” She began to hear flutes accompanying the hum. Fluttering faster and faster, alongside the beating of her heart.

“Then prove it.” The pontifex gestured to the sword.

Almost hypnotized, she began walking. Outside of the path between her and the sword, there was nothing. No temple complex. No senate. No Cheli. She ascended the steps, one by one, deep drums sounding with every step. At the final step, her heavy cloak came undone, dropping behind her. She felt the lightest she had in years. As she touched the hilt, brass thundered through her blood. The song reached its crescendo. Dust rattled free from the ceiling.

She lifted the sword from the anvil, and everything was silent.

In the beam of light, standing on the dais, she looked down to see two hundred and two faces peering up at her from the darkness.

Something, humming from her hand into her head, whispered. “They’re all fools.”

Queen Aricia stretched her shoulders and settled them behind her back.

[dolorequiem]

I have no idea what I'm doing, this is so random and came from a sentence that crossed my mind. I didn't correct it so I apologize if it's a torture for the eyes (my english sucks sometimes). "She" is literaly whoever you want her to be for Aegon, and honestly that's just a one shot (Aegon isn't a rapist in this thing, need him to be pathetic not loathsome).

Anyway have fun reading it ig ? No warnings it's nothing. (It's very short)

Love ya ♡

──────────────────────────────────────

──────────────────────────────────────

𝕯𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖙 ?

⋆༺⋆°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓆩⚔𓆪

── He missed childhood. He missed how careless he could be, how free he was, how funny it had been to be with his nephews, even when they were fighting.

Now the fight was all different. Freedom was gone, and the crown he had never asked for was heavy on his brow. It was hard to keep a head high, when all he wanted to do was to crawl back in the bed of youth and carelessness.

Of course, alcohol helped in a way but it did not ease all of the burden. As Aegon walked through a corridor, holding himself against the wall to keep his balance, he stumbled on the step he hadn't seen and fell on his knees, his crown dropping from his head and rolling on the floor.

When she saw him lose his balance, she sighed. Her heels echoed on the stone floor as she walked toward him and bent down, picking up his fallen crown.

Aegon felt humiliated. His hand shot out, trying to reach for it but he just stumbled on his knees more as she pulled her hand away, holding the crown high above her shoulder. He gritted his teeth as he saw the look of judgement on her face. He felt like a child and he hated that, he hated this gaze, it was like his mother's. Cruel, disappointed...and careless, in a way.

"Give it to me." He said, voice cold as he got to his feet.

He hated being made a fool of. And that was all he felt like, a drunken fool. Her eyes swept over his disheveled form, his black cape splayed on the stone as he stayed sat. He had given up on trying to stand, leaning his back against the nearest wall.

"What, this?" She looked at the dark iron crown in her soft hand, and the little rubies in it. "It seems too heavy for you," she murmured, her voice soft like honey, but holding the same bitter-sweet taste as it.

Aegon's eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth some more. It was clear, she knew he was drunk, and she was mocking him. It only increased his irritation. She'd go around and tell the whole castle how awful of a king he made, how awful of a human being he was.

"Give it back!" he repeated as he tried to reach for the piece of jewelry.

She intercepted his hand by taking it in her own and helped him to stand back on his feet. Her fingers were warm and soft in his sweaty palm, her grip stronger than he expected.

He stared down at her hand, the way it fitted in his, the rings on her fingers cold against his skin She sighed, letting go of his hand once he was settled on his feet, her fingertips lingering on the back of it.

Aegon remained quiet, staring at her. He could have her head. One order, and she'd be dead for having snatched his crown like this.

"Careful where you make it fall, one day it will roll at the feet of someone craving it," she ended up murmuring, holding the heavy iron piece up and setting it down onto his brow.

Aegon was still, listening to her words and feeling the weight of the crown on his head again. Gods, he hated it. The crown of the conqueror, yet he had nothing to conquer. He should, he should want to take those lands, this power back from his older sister Rhaenyra... but it felt wrong. He just wanted to crawl back into his bed and sleep endlessly, away from duty, away from the title he never asked.

"Do you crave it?" He asked, looking down at her. "The crown, I mean."

"Power is a poison. Yet when you taste it, you need more." She shook her head, her hand falling of his crown, now sat back upon his silver white hair. "I'd rather stay away from the throne."

She was right. This crown was pourring poison right into his glass of wine and one day, he'd choke on it and die, murdered by the weight of a burden which wasn't even his.

"Wise choice." Aegon said, nodding, his eyes now trailing from her hand, up her arm, to her face.

She looked up at him. "You should chose wisely too," she whispered, before she walked away from him.

She had seen right through his inner conflict.

Aegon stood there alone, following her with his gaze, a hand against the wall to keep himself steady. Maybe he should just fly to Dragonstone and give his crown to Rhaenyra. She was kind, she would spare him. And maybe then he'd go live a quiet life, somewhere is Essos.

──────────────────────────────────────

⋆༺⋆°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ under the light of the seven 𓆩⚔𓆪

[knife-em0ji]

"I can't read big paragraphs/walls of text bc of ADHD/some other nd condition" I'm truly sorry about that! That sucks! But also authors who write fiction or other creative works are not obligated to cater to you! What they are doing is creating art, not content.

I agree making things largely more accessible is a good thing, and I also agree making things more spaced out might be good for online articles and such that convey specific information. It's definitely okay to have preferences based on what's comfortable to you. But it's a wild thing to ask someone to compromise their artistic vision or discard what might be their preferred stylistic choices or even just say otherwise gramatically correct longform prose is bad because "I don't like long paragraphs :^("

There are lots of post-hoc tools that make reading on screens easier that don't compromise the author's style choices. You can change fonts to something more friendly to your disability. You can change line spacing. You can change the color of the screen background. The world is truly your oyster in terms of reading on screens.

And sometimes you just may not be able to engage with a text that you might otherwise find compelling! And that's fine !!! Not liking an author's style is a completely legitimate reason to not read a work. It's not up to them to make it more palatable to you. You are simply not their target readership, I'm afraid.

Would you ask a painter to change the value or brightness of their colors because they give you a headache? No, you simply decide you dislike that particular piece of work and move on. So why do this to another creative working in a different medium. Unfortunately, art is not something we can always make completely accessible to everyone in its original, intended form. Which is why, as I've said, there are post-hoc tools to help with this.

Anyway. I have ADHD too, tf. I don't write to reach as many people as possible; I write because there's something wrong with me and I have a compulsion to do so, and I take my craft seriously! I'm always looking to improve! But also I revel in being bloviating and long-winded as much as I love snappy action. Everything you see in my work, from sentence structure to paragraph length, is a stylistic choice that I choose based on mood and the information I want to convey. There is no wrong or right way to write. Period. End of sentence. And if it doesn't jive with you, that's your perogative. If you prefer short paragraphs for whatever reason, you're completely valid. But that does not mean short paragraphs good, long paragraphs bad and vice versa.

Instead, ask yourself, does what I've created convey what I want it to in the way I want it to? Is what I'm reading having the sort of impact I think the author is hoping to impart? How would what I'm reading change how I recieve it (regarding emotions and implications for the narrative, not just whether it gives you a headache or not) had the author tweaked its method of delivery just so.

Literary style is also part of the art, not simply the means of delivering content. Fiction is not simply a movie delivered through words instead of images. It's a medium all its own. And, well, sometimes it might be uncomfortable, even physically, to read! Thinking about that big wall of text run on sentence from Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian. Nobody likes the sensation of reading that, because it's a bitch to read! But it only adds to the chaoticness of the imagery presented within the actual content of the text. It's the overwhelming grotesque nature of having to read that beast that adds to the overwhelming whirlwind grotesqueness of the scene.

Ugh! Anyway. Please, believe me, pushing your limits is fine sometimes. I totally get if you don't want to do that with your free online fanfictions that you read to unwind! That's perfectly understandable! But if you're serious about art and craft, unfortunately sometimes you need to go outside your comfort zone. You might have to read something over and over before you get or absorb all of it. That doesn't make you dumb. Trust me, that's part of the process.

[downwiththeficness]

The Usurper-Chapter Twenty Five

Summary: Lilah McNamara stole things for a living. It was tedious work and often dangerous, which made it just exciting enough to keep her interested. After botching a routine job, Lilah finds herself standing amid monsters. Wholly unprepared for the horror of living under Amaru’s reign, Lilah decides to use her well honed skills to thwart the queen’s plans and prevent the end of the world.

Word Count: ~4,200

Disclaimer: I do not consent to this work being copied or posted to other sites of blogs.

Start at the Beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Read on AO3 Masterlist

Translating the book was a hell of a lot easier with Javier’s program. The Book of the Scribe had many of the same elements present in the tome she already translated. Lilah compared some of the sections from one to the other and decided that they were definitely written by the same person. Same word choice. Same way of delivering information. Same illustration style. While the Book of the Scribe was a compendium of history with accompanying commentary, the smaller book was the Cliff Notes. An easy to carry reference for rituals on the go.

Lilah skimmed the pages while she waited for program to work through the part she was most interested in. On the computer screen, a yellow bar whizzed across the screen, highlighting sections to be translated before moving on. The letters appeared slowly, one by one, forming words that she refused to read until she had it all.

With one hand, Lilah reached over and grabbed a glass of vodka and lime. She drank it slowly, forcing herself to stare at the odd texture of the Book of the Scribe and not at the computer screen. It was smooth in places and wrinkled in others. There was no lettering or any kind of writing on the outside to indicate a title or the author. Despite the theft of relics taking up the most of her income, Lilah didn’t have the expertise to know the book’s age. She didn’t think knowing all about ancient book binding would do her any good if the book, itself, wasn’t from this dimension.

The glass was empty too soon. She contemplated pouring another while focused on the laptop screen. The program gave a happy little ping to let her know that it had finished its task. A long section of English text ran side by side with the same section in Xibalban. She read it. Read it again. And then, read it a third time. On the fourth time through, Lilah’s nose was so close to the screen that her breath fanned across it, forming a puff of mist on the screen.

“No,” she muttered to the empty room. Lilah blinked hard to clear the way her vision blurred and sat back. The words formed sentences, which then formed ideas. All perfectly normal for a book. “No. There’s got to be a mistake.”

It couldn’t say what Lilah thought it said. There was no reality where the translation was correct. Lilah selected the passage and had it translated again. While she waited, Lilah rolled over on her hip and snagged the vodka from her nightstand. Her hands were shaking so hard that she nearly dropped it. Leaning against the headboard, Lilah drank straight from the bottle while a yellow bar moved across the computer screen.

A few minutes later, Lilah looked at the text again. It was the same. She slammed the laptop closed and pushed it across the mattress. Then, because it seemed like a good idea, she drank more vodka. While she drank, Lilah mulled over what she now knew.

“Of course,” she said to the ceiling. “Of course that’s how it ends.”

The more Lilah thought about it, the more she began to think that she really wasn’t in any different a position than when she started. The only difference between now and twenty minutes ago was a matter of details. Details that fucking sucked, but details nonetheless.

“There has to be something I can do,” Lilah whispered. A small voice echoed back that there wasn’t. What she read felt like a fucking prophecy and, while she didn’t have a lot of experience with prophecies, she thought that it was generally accepted that they came true. There wasn’t anything in the passage about how to stop the inevitable and Lilah was fresh out of plucky young heroes to intervene at just the right moment.

Beside her, Lilah’s phone buzzed. She ignored it and began scrolling through the rest of the text, thinking maybe there was something in it that would help. A counter ritual or some kind of shield. Anything that she could use for protection. If not, maybe the professor Seth mentioned had some ideas. As the words flew by, Lilah tried to push down a vague sense of panic. The silver lining of the whole thing was that she had time—time, and the one thing Amaru would need to see this through. Without the book, she might only be guessing at what she needed to do to pull off the ritual.

The phone buzzed again. She passed a hand over her eyes and picked it up. A notification popped up over her messages app. Lilah tapped it.

I could feel that you hadn’t gone far. Followed by, Do you really think a bar is the safest place for you right now?

She smiled and ran her fingers over Brasa’s text. Lilah missed him. Missed talking to him. Missed showing him all the fun things about her world. She even missed the way arguing with him made her so damn frustrated. After so many months in close quarters, waking up without knowing she would see him was disappointing.

Lilah opened up the message and her thumbs hovered over the screen. I was wondering when you’d figure it out, she wrote.

There was a pause before she got a reply, I didn’t. Javier told me.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. Quickly, Lilah typed out, You tell him I’ll get him back if it takes a hundred years.

Noted, Brasa replied. Then, I would like to visit you.

Lilah’s heart gave a little lurch. He still wanted to see her? After everything she’d done? Her fingers eagerly tapped out a response. Okay. When?

Tonight.

Okay, she repeated. I’ll have to tell the boys. They won’t like being surprised.

I’m not worried about them.

No, of course not.

The time it took for Brasa to respond made her think the conversation was over. Lilah stared at their shared messages and tried to come up with a believable way to continue the conversation. Brasa was definitely going to want some answers for the way she left him and Lilah was prepared to justify what she’d done. She hoped that they could come to some kind of agreement, if only an agreement that they agreed to disagree. There were bigger things that needed to be dealt with, other than their respective egos.

Lilah had only just set the phone aside when it buzzed again. The screen lit up with a message. I am worried about you.

She sighed and felt her lips lift into a soft smile. I’m worried about you, too.

No other message came after that. Lilah dropped the phone on the bed and drank again from the vodka bottle. After swallowing down a healthy swig, Lilah briefly read the metallic label to check the proof and decided that she should probably stop drinking. She was already nervous about seeing Brasa again—this time in real life—and she wanted to be sober for it.

Rising, Lilah went over to the small bundle of clothing she’d accumulated. While most of it was practical and suited her life at the bar, it didn’t seem to fit the bill of meeting her sort-of lover for the first time since...well, since she ran out on him. She held up a t shirt with a cartoon lizard on it, trying to imagine having what was definitely going to be a serious conversation while wearing it. Scoffing, Lilah tossed it to the side.

She scratched her head and looked helplessly around for something that didn’t have a kitschy slogan emblazoned across the front. Her eyes fell on the glittering dress hanging on the back of her door. The notion of meeting Brasa while wearing it was appealing. She smiled, but nixed the idea. Lilah didn’t want to over-correct, even though she was absolutely sure Brasa would love it. She kept looking and spotted a swatch of white fabric throw haphazardly over the end of the bed. Lilah smirked and picked it up.

A few minutes later, she breezed into the office where Seth was counting cash for the register, “I need a belt.”

He looked up as she entered and lifted a brow, “What?”

“I need a belt. Brown, if you have it.”

“Why?”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Who?”

“Brasa.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Where?”

“Here,” she snapped at him. “Are you gonna follow up with ‘how’ or do the five ‘w’ questions cover it?”

Seth’s body tensed, “He’s coming here?”

“Yes.”

“Is he planning on killing us while he’s here?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighed tiredly, running his thumb over his eyebrow. “I’ll get you a belt.” A pause, “You’re not planning on strangling him with it, are you?”

Lilah laughed, “No. Wouldn’t work, anyways. He’s immortal, you know.”

“I do know,” he replied, with meaning. He stood and left the room, returning shortly with a brown belt looped around his fist. Seth handed it to her, saying, “Why do you need a belt to see Brasa?”

She fiddled with the buckle, “I only have one piece of clothing that didn’t come from a convenience store. It needs a belt.”

“Ah,” he breathed. “Is he still mad?”

“No idea,” Lilah replied with a shrug. “He seems kind of calm about it, but he can be hard to read.”

Seth leaned a hip on his desk, “You need back up?”

“Nah. He can’t hurt me.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t take you.”

Lilah couldn’t argue with that. “I’m hoping I won’t have to convince him not to.”

His answering hum didn’t sound convinced. Lilah wasn’t very convinced, herself. She was under no illusion that Brasa could and would respond to her underhanded actions with underhanded actions of his own if he felt like it was the best thing to do. All his calm and all his worry could be just a strategy to put her off her guard. She could only hope that he would wait long enough for her to explain.

“Well,” Seth said. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t be prepared, just in case.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a small pistol, offering it to her.

Lilah shook her head, “I’m not good with guns. Terrible aim.”

“Then, you get close enough that aim won’t matter,” he replied firmly. His wrist flicked, shaking the gun in her direction. “Take it.”

Reluctantly, Lilah grasped the handle and checked the safety. Then, the mag. Then, the chamber. Assured that it wouldn’t go off accidentally, she held it with the barrel pointed towards the ground and said, “Thanks. For the belt and the...gun.”

“No problem. Listen, we got a truck that’s late and I gotta raise some hell with our vendor. When is Brasa supposed to be here?”

“Uh, he said tonight. I’m going to assume that’s after sunset.”

A nod, “You stop in here before you meet him. I want to know when an enemy is on my turf.”

“I’ll do that.”

As it turned out, Lilah was right. Brasa arrived not long after sunset. Lilah was true to her word and dropped by the office on her way down the hall. She leaned through the doorway, “He’s here.”

Richie looked up, “Who?”

“Brasa,” Seth answered for her. He was signing off on what looked like paychecks.

Richie lifted a brow, “Are we going to fight?”

Lilah sighed, “No. At least, I hope not.”

“Is she armed?” Richie asked his brother.

Seth kept signing, “She is.”

“Good.” Then, to Lilah, “Have fun!”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned before turning and making her way down the hall, through the bar floor, and out the front door. While she walked, she could feel the weight of the gun pushed into her belt at the small of her back. It was heavy, and she knew it would throw off her already terrible aim. She almost decided not to carry it. A bullet wasn’t going to hurt Brasa, would probably only make him more angry. Lilah decided that making Seth feel more comfortable was worth feeling the weight of the pistol at her back, even if it wouldn’t necessarily help her.

Parked at an angle about twenty feet from her was a black SUV. Through the window, she could see a familiar face—the kid who first drove her out into the desert was sitting at the wheel. His window was rolled down and a lit cigarette hung from an arm draped over the side of the car. He acknowledged her with a nod. Lilah returned the gesture.

The back door opened and a boot dropped down onto the cracked asphalt below. Brasa got out of the car in a smooth, elegant movement. Lilah took him in, trying to gain some kind of clue about how he was feeling. His expression was unreadable behind his the gold rimmed aviators. The turn of his mouth was neutral and he’d freshly shaved. He was wearing his leather coat, but she could see a soft blue shirt peeking out from beneath the lapel. Brasa closed the door behind him and walked a few steps towards her, stopping a polite distance away. Then, he took off his sunglasses with one gloved hand and tucked them into his pocket.

Lilah felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. There was something very much like the Brasa she met the night he’d taken her from the church in the person standing in front of her. His shoulders were pulled back and his chin was lifted. The lights of the bar seemed to cringe away from his body, leaving him fringed in shadow. His eyes...she swallowed hard. Brasa’s eyes were blazing with unchecked emotion. She didn’t know which emotion, exactly, but it gripped her like a physical thing, holding her in place.

She cleared her throat and tried not to fidget. There were plenty of things she wanted to say to him, mostly about how sorry she was that she’d left and how necessary it had been for her to do so. Lilah knew that she needed to explain things to him, but couldn’t figure out how she wanted to begin now that she was finally face to face with him. She started to say something, to greet him like a normal person. Her mouth refused to form around the words. They stuck at the back of her throat, scratching their way downwards in an effort to escape.

Brasa’s eyes continued to convey his emotion. She could see the way his irises wanted to expand. The edges wavered, cutting sporadically into the white. Whether it was from anger or betrayal or rage, she couldn’t tell. All of that would be understandable, given what she’d done. Lilah decided that she was going to keep her mouth shut and give him the opportunity to say it.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

The surprise she felt at those four words broke her from the spell that held her still, Lilah felt half a smile cross her lips, “Uh, yeah. Yeah I am.”

A little wrinkle formed between his brows, “Javier said you used our card.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, that was for a job. I needed a dress.” Then, because she couldn’t help herself, Lilah turned a coy shoulder, “You want to see it?”

The muscles around his mouth twitched, as if he were hiding a smile, “I don’t think either Gecko would tolerate me entering their bar. Its bad enough I’m setting foot in their territory.”

“They seemed pretty okay with it when I talked to them about your visit.”

Brasa’s gaze shifted past her, “Seth is standing at the bar, staring at us. Richie is on the roof.” He took a single step closer, “And you are armed.”

Lilah barely resisted the urge to press her hand against the gun slipped into the belt at her back, “Uh, yep. I am armed. It was kind of a requirement. Just in case you decided to steal away with me.”

She said it in a dismissive, lighthearted way, but they both knew it was the truth. If he truly wanted to, Brasa could reach out, snatch her up, and haul her back to the caves. Lilah could kick and scream the whole way, but it wouldn’t deter him. No one, not even Richie, could stop him.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” he replied in a level voice. “A gun wouldn’t deter me.”

“I am...very aware of that.” Lilah pushed her hair back from her face, “I got the book.”

Brasa frowned, “You told me.”

“I also translated it.”

His brows lifted, “And?”

“I know what Amaru is planning. And, I know how she is going to do it.”

“Do you?” There was something odd in his tone, something that sounded a little too close to apprehension.

Lilah ignored it and continued, “We know that she wants to open a door. There’s a ritual in the book that tells her how. She’ll need some relics—a cup and a few other things—but, the main thing she needs is a heart.” She paused, then said, “A certain kind of heart. A, uh, Xibalban heart. Freshly cut from the chest.”

For the first time since stepping out of the car, Brasa broke eye contact with her. He hummed lowly and shifted his weight. Lilah waited for him to say something, or show surprise, or give any kind of sign that he understood the gravity of what she was saying. He didn’t.

Lilah stared at him in confusion before a realization hit her with the force of a punch to the face. “You son of a bitch!”

Brasa’s hand lifted in defense, “Lilah…”

“No, don’t say my name like that,” she bit out. “Don’t say my name like I’m overreacting.”

He shook his head, “Let’s just take a breath.”

“You can take a fucking hike, you asshole!” Lilah pushed at his chest. “You knew! You knew the whole time!”

Once she got started, it felt impossible to stop. Her fists flew at Brasa, hitting him in the chest, the shoulder, across the temple. He let her rage at him for half a minute before taking her wrists in his hands and pulling her into his chest. Lilah struggled to get free, whipping her shoulders left and right. He held on, even managed to get an arm around her body so that she was caged in. Lilah kept pushing at him, stomping her feet and jerking backwards. It didn’t do anything but dislodged the gun at her back.

“Stop, Lilah.”

“Fuck you.”

“I know,” he soothed. “I know you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” she spit at him. “I’m fucking furious, you lying sack of shit. You should have told me she was going to use you.”

“It doesn’t have to be me. She could use Javier’s heart, same as mine.”

Lilah looked him in the eyes, feeling tears well up, “Bullshit. Javier’ll fight back.” She took a shuddering breath, “You won’t.”

His expression turned soft and his grip loosened enough that Lilah was able to stumble away. She righted her clothes and sniffed back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Her breath pushed in and out of her lungs and she could feel the blood in her veins rushing to and from the heart that pounded in her chest. To give herself another few seconds to regulate the tumult inside her, Lilah leaned down and picked up the gun.

She couldn’t believe how gullible she’d been. She couldn’t believe that she thought for even a second that Brasa wasn’t fully aware of what Amaru was planning for him.God, he’d even told her that he worked with Javier on opening the door the first time.For someone who had just planned a heist in twenty four hours, she was such an idiot.

Brasa’s expression was very careful in its mirth, “Would it make you feel better to shoot me?”

“It might,” Lilah bit out.

He chuckled and squared his shoulders, as if in invitation. Lilah was sorely tempted to follow through on her threat. When were they going to stop lying to each other? When were they going to play on the same team?

Brasa watched her working to calm herself in silence until Lilah let out a huge, ugly breath. He tugged absently at his gloves, saying, “I’m sorry. Its why I tried to keep the book from her. I was the one who performed the ritual before and even I struggled to remember it in its entirety. Fortunately for us, her memories are clouded by the strength of her vessel. Without the book, she’ll never be able to open the door.”

Lilah’s lip curled, “That doesn’t mean she won’t try.” She stomped up to him, got right up into his face, and said, “Did you really think that not knowing the details would have stopped her?”

His voice was very small, “I hoped.”

“You can’t risk your life on hope, Brasa.” Lilah’s words were rough and she could hear the way they were soaked in disdain. She knew he wasn’t a stupid person, knew that he could rationalize and that he could reason. Brasa was well aware of who and what Amaru was. Hoping that she would just give up was so incredibly naive that it left her at a loss.

He touched her cheek. The leather was warm and soft against her skin. Warm, soft, and familiar. Lilah leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, feeling some of the anger dissipate. She opened them again when Brasa gathered her close and rested his chin against her temple. The heat of his body, always so much warmer than the air around her, eased the tension of her body. Lilah let out another long breath and finally gave in to the urge to wrap her arms around his waist and hold on.

“You look good in my shirt.” The words rumbled in his chest and she could hear the appreciation in this tone.

“Shut up,” Lilah shot back even though she was laughing a little.

“I will not,” Brasa replied, with humor. “You do look good.”

She rolled her eyes, “Thank you.” Lilah pulled away and tilted her head back to look up at him, “You look good, too. Healed.”

His eyes darted to the side briefly, “That...was not my finest moment.”

Lilah nodded, “She had no right to do that.”

Brasa shrugged, “Its not the first time.”

Another wave of anger rolled over her. Lilah very nearly asked ‘how many times’, but she didn’t need the answer to that question. Instead, she changed the subject, “I know you want me to come back, but I need to do a few things first.”

“What things?”

“Like I said, there are relics she needs to complete the ritual. I’m going to track them down.”

His eyes glittered and his voice took on a cajoling tone, “Are you sure you’re not just missing work?”

“Oh, this isn’t work. Work means that I’ll get paid. This is preventing an apocalypse. Totally pro bono.”

“You don’t have to stay here to steal a few relics.”

Lilah smiled, “I won’t really be staying here much. I would be surprised if any of them were within a five hundred mile radius.” Brasa looked immediately uncomfortable with the idea of her traveling. She felt moved to comfort him, “I’ll get them as quickly as I can.”

“What will you do with them after you track them down?”

“Destroy them. Make sure she can’t do the ritual, even if she gets the book.”

“And, after that?”

She hesitated. Lilah hadn’t thought that much further ahead. All the turmoil of learning about how Amaru was going to open the door and all the determination it took to figure out how to stop her took up most of Lilah’s attention. “I think we’ll have to kill her. I don’t know any other way to truly stop what she’s trying to do if she’s still...alive.”

“You might be right.” From somewhere above, there came a growl. Brasa glanced up and frowned, “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Lilah nodded and moved to let him go, pausing when Brasa’s arms kept her close. He leaned down and dropped a slow kiss to her mouth. The kiss was just long enough to tempt her and short enough to leave her wanting—which, she supposed, was the point. Brasa loosed his hold on her and said, “I’ll be checking in.”

“In real life,” she replied, “or in some kind of weird shared dream?”

His brows lifted with both surprise and mirth. “I wasn’t sure it would actually happen,” he explained, “since you’re human.”

Lilah held up a finger, “Almost human.”

Brasa acknowledged her assertion with a dip of his chin, “I’ve heard its common when bondmates are separated.”

Lilah shrugged, “I guess I’ll add it to the list of odd relationship quirks.”

His mouth lifted in a teasing smile, “Maybe next time you can show me the dress you bought.”

Lilah felt her face warm and she offered him a sly, “Maybe.”

Brasa laughed soundlessly and turned to get back in the car. He opened the door to the backseat and sent her one last, long look before dropping inside. Lilah watched the SUV speed away until the taillights were dim in the distance.

A soft thud came from her right and Richie appeared in her periphery, “So, he actually wasn’t here to kills us. Go figure.”

[maisiit]

STUDYING

Day 2 of G/T July! Once again sent minutes before midnight... I should stop doing this earlier than later

“No no- well- you are close, but it is not correct.” I pointed at the sentence with my pencil, looking up to the student practically towering over me. 

She wasn’t as tall as the giants in folktales, but I was certainly dwarfed down to the size of a child when next to her. I could barely hear her suck a breath in when I told her in the English tongue that her answer wasn’t correct, which was astonishing for someone her size.��

Giants were stereotyped as being idiotic brutes. At least, the rural giants were mostly. They were the ones that isolated themselves from mankind and stuck to their traditions, with only few remaining in exclusive regions of the world where humanity hadn’t thought much to expand.

As a tutor, I was naturally strict with my students, I wanted nothing but the best success for them later on in life. Synchgy had tugged a soft spot in my heart though. The poor girl had barely started learning to speak English, having just started attending school since the end of the last school year, before immediately dropping out from the challenges faced. 

As a matter of fact, the whole reason I was with her was due to the very fact her parents gave whatever they owned so I could teach her English, practically an arm and a leg. Upcoming soon would be a reading and writing test that I wrote for several of my students, including her. Everytime she read and pronounced a sentence right, she was rewarded with a new sticker, having several decorating her cheeks already.

Her gaze turned barely from the sentence to look at me, quiet as I could sense the thoughts forming in her head. After a couple minutes, she spoke. “... He.. peper, no rong?”

“The question is wrong.” I politely corrected her sentence, though I saw her eyebrows furrow in frustration before she nodded, mumbling. I looked to the sentence again before moving the pencil again to the first word. “The dog—” It followed after the next word. “—ran.”

Silence.

“... De dog—”

“The.”

“The. The dog.” She squinted, studying the page again. “...r-ran.” Puppy dog eyes looked at me as she awaited judgement.

I met eyes with her as I smiled. “Good job!” The crinkle of the sticker sheet as I held it out for her. She beamed, giggling to herself.

“Go on, take what you would like.” Carefully, she peeled a smiling heart, trying to be gentle as to not damage it. That’s what I assumed at least. When it broke free from its encampment, she slapped it onto her rustic shirt, delighted at her new decoration like it was a trophy.

A smile slipped onto my face as she looked back to me, to which I responded with a thumbs up, the smile growing into a grin. I attempted to direct her attention back to the page, flipping it over to the newest addition—another sentence.

[ladyeyrewrites]

Feelings Hurled Like Hand Grenades

Read from Chapter One

Rated M

4276 words

TW: transphobia, homophobia, f-slur, graphically violent thoughts

FYI: I refer to a trans girl by her dead name in the flashback because it's before she came out

Chapter Fourteen: A Displeasure, As Always

Tony’s rage was an old companion, a glove that fit so close to his skin he could feel his fingerprints through the threadbare knit. But this was new. His rage had changed in shape, fingertips darned, made thick and unfeeling once more. No longer was this the comfortable, companionable rage he’d lived with since Tommy had gone away and his dad had remarried and he no longer felt like he belonged anywhere.

This was incandescence, unmitigated, unmanageable, untethered to anything besides the fact that the baby he’d helped bring into this world was bloodied and bruised and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

The shape of this rage was jagged, like he’d seized a fistful of cut glass, the shards slicing through him in a thousand unlickable wounds. Maybe those pieces would push all the way through his palms to stick out the other side, forming a spiked fist he could punch into his father’s gut.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Tony muttered. He made to leave, to storm out of his aunt’s house, climb into his truck and tear across town so that he could give his father, tenfold what had been done to No-Naomi.

Gina laid a small, gnarled hand on his forearm and shook her head. “You won’t be any use to us if you’re in jail,” she said.

“Your father’s the one who should be in jail,” said Tabitha. “If you want, I can call a friend of mine on the force.”

“No!” Naomi started to shake her head, but stopped, sucking in a pained breath that sent Tony’s rage surging through his blood.

Usually, his anger was a hot, steaming thing you could boil a lobster in. This was cold, like every drop of blood in his had turned to ice, like every fibre of his being had come to a single, hard but logical conclusion: Jonathan Kinard needed to pay. “The cops won’t do anything,” he said. “They’ll protect him. That’s what they do. They won’t want to risk him losing his pension.”

“Maybe a restraining order, then?” Tabitha asked.

Naomi didn’t answer. She shivered. With the ice packs on her ribs and the frozen eye mask, she was probably freezing.

“Let me get you a blanket,” said Buck. He left the dining room, wandering down the hall towards Aunt Gina’s linen closet. When he returned, he was carrying a wool Burberry blanket in tan, black, and red tartan. He wrapped it around Naomi’s shoulders like he truly cared about her, like he hadn’t met her only a handful of times before today. And yet, he was taking care of her.

What the fuck was Tony doing?

Plotting their dad’s murder?

Read the rest on Ao3 or below the cut

Sentencing himself to life in prison?

Gina was right. Who would that fucking help?

Shame chased Tony’s rage into a dark, cobwebbed corner of his soul. He unclenched his fists. Took a breath.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to medically transition until after you turned eighteen,” said Mikey after a moment. “At least, that’s what I’ve read online.”

“You’re not,” said Naomi. “But no fucking way Dad going to let me while I’m still on his insurance.” She took a breath. “I guess I figured I could take things into my own hands. Besides, I’m almost eighteen.

“So, you found some black-market estrogen?” Tony asked. He had no idea if that was dangerous or not, but he knew he shouldn’t let his fear cloud his ability to help.

Naomi gave the slightest nod. “Trans people help each other out.”

That held with Tony’s peripheral understanding of the community as well as with how transphobic the medical establishment could be, but still, where was the estrogen coming from? How did Naomi know what the correct dosage was? What if there were complications? He shoved all those questions aside in favour of the most pertinent one. “How’d Dad find out?”

“He was snooping through my stuff,” said Naomi. She shrugged. “No idea why, but you know how Dad is.” Her voice was steadier, though still raw from crying. “I came home, and he just attacked me and I couldn’t do anything except wait for it to stop.” A sob came back into her voice. “I thought he was going to kill me.” She inhaled shakily, and Tommy ran a hand across her back. “He got tired. Had to stop to catch his breath. So, I ran. He told me to never come back.”

And didn’t that just bring Tony’s rage racing back, beating out shame. “That Motherfucker!”

“We need to get you some place safe,” said Buck. “Somewhere he can’t come looking for you.” He shared a look with Tommy who nodded.

“Why don’t you come down to LA with us?” Tommy asked.

And it killed Tony that he couldn’t offer Naomi a safe place to stay, but his apartment would be the first place Dad would come looking. If he came looking. God, he hoped Dad would just fall into a drunked stupor and forget about the existence of his fourth kid entirely. That would probably be the best-case-scenario for Naomi.

“But my job,” Naomi protested.

“Forget your job,” said Tony. “Dad knows where you work.” What if he comes to finish what he started? he doesn’t add, because Naomi needs to feel as safe as possible right now. She doesn’t need to think about the idea of her own father hunting her down to commit a hate crime.

“Can you call my boss?” Naomi asked. “Explain what happened? She knows I’m trans. She helped me find the estrogen.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” said Tony. It kills him a little that Naomi felt more comfortable telling her boss about this than her brother. Did she think Tony would react badly? Had Tony ever given her a reason to suspect he might be transphobic? But then again, Tony hadn’t opened up to Naomi about being queer either.

“You’ll need your belongings,” said Gina. “I can go over to the house and get some things for you if you make a list.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Tony.

Gina fixed him with one of her looks. “I will call the police if you try to kill your father,” she said.

That was fair, as much as Tony’s rage didn’t want to admit it. “I need to tell him why I’m never going to see him again,” he said. Tony deserved that kind of closure. He’d given their father the benefit of the doubt for long enough. It was time to call it quits.

With his words.

Not his fists.

Leave no room for misinterpretation.

Time to follow in Tommy and Mikey’s footsteps. Say goodbye and never look back. Live a life completely free of having to worry about what his father thought of him. Never having to police himself around his dad ever again.

God, what would he do with all that fucking freedom?

#

Tony drove. Mostly because focusing on driving kept his mind somewhat clear of the rage that kept trying to claw its way through his clarity to push him from righteous into homicidal. But Gina was right. Killing Dad would only bring a short-lived satisfaction followed by the rest of his life in prison. And he’d be no fucking use to anyone behind bars for the rest of his life.

And it would be a life sentence. The justice system hardly went easy on cop killers, no matter how shitty the cop or the mitigating circumstances.

“Thomas and Evan will take good care of her,” said Gina.

“I know,” said Tony.

“You couldn’t have stopped this from happening,” said Gina. “None of us could have.”

“I should have known,” said Tony. And maybe that was the nasty kernel at the heart of his rage. That the person he loved most in this world hadn’t felt safe enough to tell him what was going on. And because of that, Tony hadn’t been able to protect No-Naomi.

“Unless you’ve developed supernatural powers recently, you’re not psychic,” said Gina. “And you of all people should know that sometimes it’s hardest to come out to the people you love and trust most, because then you have more to lose if it doesn’t go well. The first person I ever came out to was a cashier at a queer bookstore. Someone I’d never met before and never saw after.” She paused. “What about you?”

“Strangers online,” said Tony. “In a forum for asexual and aromantic people.”

“Somewhere you knew you’d be safe and accepted,” said Gina. “But if, on the off-chance, people were less than kind at least they weren’t people you knew, people who could hurt you.”

“Yeah,” said Tony. God, sometimes he wished his aunt wasn’t so God-damned right all the time.

“At least Naomi had someone on her side,” said Gina. “I think I may have to do something to show this boss of hers my appreciation. Where was she working?”

“I’ll text you the details,” said Tony. He gnawed his lip, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he debated if he should ask the question that’d been swirling through his mind the entire drive. “How can you be so fucking calm about all this?” He gripped the steering wheel tighter as the stopped at a red light. The headlights illuminated a light summer rain. Maybe the fire that had brought Tommy north in the first place would finally be brought to heel.

God, earlier he’d been so happy to see Tommy up and about on his crutches earlier. Now, there wasn’t any room for happiness next to his rage and shame.

“Believe me, I am far from calm,” said Gina. All the levity she’d displayed throughout the evening was gone, replaced with brittle fury that set her voice to quavering, almost as though she was on the verge of angry tears. “If I was stronger, bigger, I don’t deny that I might be tempted to give into the same violent impulses you’re struggling to hold back. But my rage is useless here. Calm will at least get me inside my brother’s house so I can get Naomi’s things.”

“What if he tries again?” Tony asked. “What if he finds No-Naomi and finishes what he started?”

“That’s why she should go to LA with Thomas and Evan,” said Gina. “None of us know their address. We can’t accidentally give away her location. Your father doesn’t know that any of us have been in touch with them. He won’t think to look for her there.”

“Veronica knows about Tommy and Buck,” said Tony. The light turned green, and he eased up on the break. Only a couple more blocks until he’d have to see his father, maybe for the last time. God, what if he couldn’t do this? What if he caved to the hope of his father giving into his better angels? What if he lost all spine and rolled over, showing his belly to his father’s dominance like he almost always did?

“I’d like to think that Veronica will prioritise the safety of her child over the anger of her husband,” said Gina.

“Any idea what Veronica thinks about trans people?” Tony asked. “Because I have no fucking clue and if she’s transphobic, she might choose Dad over Naomi.” He couldn’t imagine her doing that, but then again, he’d never imagined his mom dying or Tommy leaving either. Anything could happen.

“Not a topic of discussion that’s ever arisen in our infrequent conversations,” said Gina. “To be honest, the other day was the first time I’ve spoken to Veronica since my mother’s wake. And then, she was apologising for my brother’s appalling behaviour.”

“The hospital?” Tony asked. He didn’t remember Gina and Veronica speaking much beyond an exchange of polite, if distant, greetings.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gina shake her head. “Evan and Thomas wanted to ask her if she thought it was safe to invite her and Simone to the wedding,” said Gina. “So I invited her over for a chat.” Gina sounded inexplicably sad. “I’ve read some about the psychology of why people stay with their abusers, but seeing Veronica try to make my brother seem like he wasn’t all bad—” Gina broke off with a sigh. “I worry what he’ll do to her.”

“I get it,” Tony said, because despite the all-consuming anger that was currently directed solely at his father, even now there was a tiny part of him that wondered if maybe Dad could change. His memory was scattered with little glimmers of his father’s affection: an ice cream cone here, a hunting trip there, a trip to the movies for no reason at all.

A smile.

A pat on the head.

He’d horded each and every instance of his father’s infrequent kindness, played them over and over in his memory until they seemed to outweigh the bad. A clever little self-delusion, making himself forget the neglect, the insults, the shouting. For fuck’s sake, Dad had never even bothered to visit Tony once while he was in Juvie.

2011

Tony waited.

He watched the other boys get led away to visit with their parents. Watched them return. Some of them seemed happier, after. They said they were never coming back, that they didn’t want to disappoint their parents again. Others seemed angrier. Tony wondered which he’d be, when he finally got a visitor.

Noah and Simone wrote him letters, telling him how much they missed him, but they weren’t allowed to visit him. Mikey always picked up his calls, but he was too busy with college to write letters. Nonna made sure he always had money in his account and her letters smelled of home, but she wasn’t allowed to visit him. Not even Veronica and Aunt Gina could come visit, since neither of them were his legal guardian.

Only Dad was allowed because he was Tony’s only living parent (Tony had been adamantly against the idea of Veronica adopting him, something he was now regretting. Veronica probably would have visited him).

Dad never came.

The first month, Tony figured Dad was angry.

Tony’d fucked up.

He’d broken that kid’s jaw, gotten expelled from school, sentenced to six months of juvenile detention.

Of course, Dad was angry.

Tony was angry.

Angry at himself for giving into his anger, for letting those kids goad him into taking the first swing.

God, he’d ruined everything.

The second month, Tony guessed Dad was still angry. That made sense. Sometimes anger took time to resolve. That’s what his therapist said anyway. Tony wouldn’t admit it to anybody, but talking to her actually really helped. She’d given him strategies to help himself calm down. Breathing exercises that seemed like bullshit, but actually really helped. When he told her he liked to draw, she got him signed up for the art classes that were held every other week.

For the first time in a long time, people were giving him compliments, telling him he was good at something.

Mom used to do that.

Tommy too.

It was nice. Made him want to do better when he got out. Do more things to earn praise.

He couldn’t wait to show Dad his art.

The third month, Tony cried himself to sleep like he had the first week inside.

Dad didn’t write, didn’t take his calls. Veronica hemmed and hawed over the phone about when Dad was coming to visit him. There was always an excuse: Dad was working too many shifts, he was tired, he’d hurt his back again, Noah had been sick, and Dad didn’t want to leave Veronica alone with a sick kid and a baby.

Didn’t explain why Dad couldn’t pick up the phone. Or write a letter.

It made Tony want to hit someone.

Wasn’t his fault some of these other kids had some of the world’s most punchable faces.

They put him in solitary.

The quiet was worse than the shouting.

It gave him time to think.

To stew.

To punch walls until he broke his hand.

They took him to medical. His shrink came in for an emergency session. Asked him why he felt the need to hurt himself, to lash out, to provoke.

“Because that’s the only time Dad seems to care anymore,” Tony finally yelled. “He’s so focused on his new family that he completely forgets I exist unless I make him remember.”

“Maybe it’s time you stop looking to your father for validation,” said the therapist. “You turn eighteen right after you’re scheduled to be released. You’ll be an adult then, on your own. You won’t always have someone to tell you when you’re doing a good job.”

So, Tony practiced praising himself.

It felt stupid at first.

Pointless.

But the more he told himself he was good, that he was getting better at controlling his anger, the better he got at it. He still craved the praise the art teachers gave him whenever he completed a particularly good sketch or captured the light just right in a painting, but he found himself needing it less. As his eye developed, he was able to see for himself what he was doing well and what he needed to improve. He didn’t need another voice to tell him what was what.

Month four, he still had a vague hope that Dad would come, but when the thirty days past with not a single visit or phone call or letter, Tony found it bearable. It still sucked. It still made him all sorts of angry and sad, but it didn’t feel like his fault.

Months five and six, he stopped waiting.

2025

“Veronica doesn’t think she has anyone besides Dad,” said Tony, remembering when he’d thought like that. “And she’s scared to find out if she’s right or wrong.” He took a right turn. One block closer to his father’s house. His childhood home. The place where all his hopes and dreams had been systematically ground to dust.

Fear nestled in next to his rage.

Fear of what he might say.

Of what he might do.

Of whether he’d end the night in a cell, his father’s blood cooling on his fists.

He thought back to those first lessons in anger management, back at Juvie. He breathed. He counted. He told himself there was a peaceful way for this night to end.

He took a left.

There it was: the house.

He hadn’t been over in a few weeks, not since No-Naomi’s graduation in June. Veronica had thrown a little party. Dad had actually shown up. It’d almost been nice. Normal. Barely any yelling.

Another tiny sliver of hope to stave off the dread, the inevitable fracture, the severing of ties.

He parked.

Turned to his aunt.

She gave him a grim nod. “Whatever happens, don’t make me call the police,” she said.

“No promises,” said Tony.

#

There was a light on in the living room window, so someone was still up.

Veronica’s car wasn’t there, so she was probably at work.

Tony prayed Simone was at a friend’s house or on a date with her boyfriend. Anywhere but here. She didn’t need to see whatever happened next.

Tony followed Gina up the driveway to the front door. She rang the doorbell, ringed fingers trembling in the yellow flicker of the porch light that Tony had been meaning to swap out for an LED bulb before it burnt out. But he’d never gotten around to it. Now he never would.

Regardless of how the next minutes played out, Tony was done with this house.

There came a familiar grumbling from inside.

So, Dad was alone. He never came to the door himself unless he was alone. He always shouted from his recliner for someone else to do it so he wouldn’t have to get up.

The door opened, but Dad left the screen door shut as he squinted out at them. Recognition swam into his blood shot eyes. His tank top was stained with sweat at the collar and armpits. Tony wasn’t close enough to smell him, but his nostrils tingled anyway. “So, the little sissy went running to hide behind his auntie’s skirts, did he?”

Tony fisted his pant legs, twisting his fingers through the soft fabric of his well-worn jeans. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying the first nasty come back that popped into his brain. He needed to trust his aunt to get them inside. Tony breathed.

“I’m here for Naomi’s things,” said Gina. “I’ll be out of what remains of your hair in five minutes.”

“I don’t know any Naomi,” Dad grunted. His hand flew up to his thinning hair self-consciously. Tony might have laughed if he hadn’t been so fucking pissed.

“Jonathan, get the fuck out of my way,” said Gina.

Tony blinked. Not sure he’d heard correctly. Surely, Aunt Gina hadn’t just sworn at his dad? Aunt Gina didn’t swear. She was too classy for that, too ladylike, too capable of eviscerating you with her cleverness to depend on something as base as foul language. So, this was Gina at her angriest?

Dad seemed startled by the uncharacteristic f-bomb too, because he simply stepped aside, and Gina opened the storm door and pushed passed him towards Naomi’s room.

Tony stood in the front hall, glaring at his father.

“What?” Jonathan Kinard asked, not a hint of remorse in his stony eyes. If anything, he seemed smug, like he was daring Tony to say something about what he’d done. “Did you come to get revenge?”

Before this moment, Tony had been almost certain that revenge was exactly the reason why he’d come to this place he’d once thought of as home. But there was a goading in his father’s eyes, an eagerness. Almost like he wanted Tony to lose control and hit him, like he wanted Tony to ruin his life with his fists.

Again.

Would Buck and Tommy visit him in prison?

Would Simone?

What about Naomi?

Gina probably would, if only to consistently remind him of her unending disappointment. And Tony had bailed Mikey out of jail enough times that Mikey owed him regular prison visits at least.

But they were building something: his siblings and Gina and Buck.

Something good.

Something beautiful.

Something founded in unconditional love and Tony wanted to see it through. So, he forced himself to unclench his fists and cross his arms instead. “This is goodbye, Dad,” he said. “I’m never coming back here again.”

“Come on, Tony,” Dad rolled his eyes. “Stop taking everything so seriously.”

“You assaulted your own kid,” Tony said. “Again. You’re lucky we’re not going to your friends at the police, telling them exactly the kind of shit weasel you are.” Tony had no illusions that the police would be more likely to believe one of their own over a former juvenile delinquent, a drunk and an antagonistic journalist like Gina, but the threat was enough to bring fear to his father’s eyes. “I’m blocking your number,” he said. “If you come by my apartment, I won’t let you in, and if you think about coming to my work, I will call the cops for harassment.”

“You’d honestly take that pansy ass faggot’s side over mine?” Dad asked. “It’s unnatural. Disgusting. It’s a step away from becoming a ped—.”

Tony moved almost without thinking, slapping a palm over his father’s mouth, squeezing his jaw until he whimpered. “If you finish that sentence, I will do something that both of us will live to regret,” said Tony, using his superior height to lean over his father. “Make yourself feel better with any excuse you like, doesn’t change the fact that you beat up your kid.” Tony let his father go, wiping his hand on his jeans with disgust. “God, you’re pathetic. So fragile in your masculinity, you’d rather stamp out any spark of femininity in your kids because you’re afraid it might rub off on you than try to understand what it means.”

“I’m not afraid of that fairy,” Jonathan hissed.

Tony shook his head. “That’s really all there is to you, isn’t there? Fear. Fear of losing control. Fear of people finding out how pathetic you are. Fear of anything you don’t understand.” He laughed. “God, I was so afraid of you for so long. And all this time, you’re the one who’s been scared shitless.”

“I’m not scared of shit.” Dad swung a wild fist that Tony easily sidestepped. He stumbled into the wall behind Tony, almost toppling over. “Fight me like a man.”

Tony shook his head. “I’m not going to fight you, Dad,” he said. “I’m done giving you what you want.”

“You’re just scared I’ll beat you.” Dad took another swing.

This time, Tony caught it in his palm and forced his father to lower his arm before letting Dad go and taking a step back. “No Dad, I’m afraid I’ll kill you.”

Gina reappeared, a suitcase dragging behind her and a backpack on her shoulders. “Oh, good. I was worried there’d be a corpse I’d have to help hide,” she said, looking between Tony and her brother. “A displeasure, as always, Jonathan. Let’s not do this again.”

Tony opened the door for her and followed her out into the night.

His rage wasn’t gone. He’d probably carry that with him for the rest of his life to some degree or another, but it did rest easier inside him, settling for now.

“You didn’t kill him,” said Gina.

“I didn’t want him to win,” said Tony.

“Good,” said Gina. “Now, let’s go get your little sister to safety.