#Like damn I WISH I had the time to get mad over something as trivial as roleplaying!

[lovethemdead-blog]

[wangshuus]

no love left | diluc ragnvindr

pairing: diluc ragnvindr/gn. reader

genre: angst

wc: 3.2k

cw: mild cussing, brief mentions of violence, probably lore breaking too lol. 

summary: falling out of love is painful but maybe it’s what you needed.

note: please read the authors note after the story ESPECIALLY if you’re confused because i’ve implemented a few odd aspects into this story. i was just typing out whatever so essentially it’s more word vomit (again lol) but uhh yeah. most of the important stuff is at the bottom so like i said before, read that authors note at the end!!

lightly proofread, please don’t mind any errors

fic below the cut.

When the esteemed bachelor Diluc Ragnvindr finally settled down with a lover, the news did not fail to spread across Mondstadt like a wildfire. It was the talk of town for who knows how long but as time passed, the people settled down and the buzz eventually died but no one ever failed to acknowledge the young Ragnvindr and his beloved when they were together. Although the two preferred to keep a composed look to the public eye, the admiration they held for each other burned as bright as a summers day in their eyes at all times when they were together; from that alone, anyone could tell they were in love

So where did it all go wrong?

You sat across from Diluc at a table in the winery, the air thick with a suffocating tension that felt like it was going to swallow you whole at any minute now. Your hands rested on the table in front of you as you barely managed to keep your hands from trembling as a storm of emotions stirred inside of you as you felt your composure on the brink of cracking any second. You decided to finally break the silence as you spoke up, a slight tremble in your voice.

“What is it Diluc? Huh? I was hoping you’d have the decency to speak up about whatever the hell is going on instead of leaving me in the dark but it’s been far too long now. Now tell me Diluc, what’s going on?”

Oh the way your words slipped from your mouth made the room feel so cold, even if you didn’t wield a vision of any sorts. Diluc took a deep breath before he decided to speak up.

“What went on between the two of us was purely business.” Was the simple statement he gave.

Was?

“They’ve shown themselves to be quite the individual, wielding good etiquette with both business and a weapon.” He spoke out once more.

“God sake Diluc you’re fucking stalling at this point. You know what, I’ll make it easier for you. Do you still love me?”

There was a pause. A long painful pause. You already had your answer.

“(Y/n), I still care for you more than you can ever imagine, I truly do.”

The words felt like knives piercing through your form and from that, you felt the first tear slip down your face.

“Diluc, are you even aware of how terrible I feel in this situation right now? I’m watching my lover from a far doing lord knows what and you expect me to just tolerate it? I trusted you enough which is why I never pried at it but fuck Diluc, it’s just unbearable at this point.”

“I never did act upon anything in fears of making the situation worse--” You cut him off.

“Making the situation worse huh? So you were out here trying to do some crowd control weren't you? Was if for the sake of not hurting me or or for the sake of not tainting your pristine reputation?”

“I said before, I really do care for you still.” His hand reached towards your own as he held your hand with utmost gentleness. You were almost convinced he still loved you as much as he did in the past.

“However, I can’t deny that our dynamic has indeed changed. I…” His grip on your hand tightened.

“I can’t lie to you and say that I love you the way I did before.”

There it was.

“You don’t look at me the way you used to, you know? Your eyes used to be so full of love whenever you looked at me but that look is reserved for someone else now, isn’t it? You’ve looked at me with nothing but sorrow and pity nowadays and I guess my assumptions of the worst were correct.” You said as your voice trembled even more.

You wanted to pull your hand away so badly, the hand that once brought you such warmth now felt as if it was searing your skin. But you couldn’t. Not when this was mostly likely the last time you’d ever feel such an intimate touch from him. You found yourself to be conflicted as to whether you wanted to pull away out of pure frustration or savour the moment as it could be the last of him you would ever get to have for yourself.

“(Y/n), from the bottom of my heart, I’m truly sorry. I’ve loved you for so long and you’ve given me more love than I could’ve ever imagined. I never wanted things to change but I suppose fate had other plans. I’ll never stop caring for you however, I’m afraid I’ve stopped loving you in the way you’re used to.”

The truthful words were ones that felt like hell to swallow. You didn’t want to believe it but you knew damn well he was telling the truth. The sincerity and softness in his voice made it so hard to be completely mad at him. He was so gentle with his words but the truth of them did nothing but make your heart hurt and ache. An empty chuckle left your lips as your features were now graced with a bittersweet smile.

“Ah, I think I would’ve appreciated it if you were meaner with your responses. Maybe then I wouldn’t have such a hard time letting you go.” You finally managed to look him in the eyes, his reflection showing on your glossy orbs.

He felt his own heart churn with remorse and guilt, seeing as he terribly hurt the one person that he had sworn to love and protect for the rest of his days. He felt sick over the fact he failed to keep part of the promise-- the part where he said that he would continue to love you.

That was one of the last times you had ever seen Diluc Ragnvindr.

--

Your body shook as the freezing temperatures of Dragonspine overtook your senses. You sat up against a rock, your back leaning onto it as you struggled to keep yourself upright. You were barely holding on by a thread as you physically felt numb. However, your mind swirled with a storm of emotions, almost as strong as the last day you had seen your ex-lover but this time, you reminisced on your time as you felt like this would be your final moments.

You pondered over the fact that this might’ve been the reason that he no longer loved you in the way you wished to be loved by him. You wanted his affections, you wanted his love, you wanted him. But you were too weak. That was it. He let you go for someone that was strong, so very strong; both mentally and physically. God, you couldn’t even compare to the likes of them, being nothing but a measly old adventurer, one that wasn’t even fortunate enough to wield a vision. You were nothing but weak in your own eyes; that's what brought you to your demise.

In your hands, you clutched one of the last treasures you had found in the cursed mountains. It was a pretty little collar that held a jewel that twinkled so beautifully despite the dull, hazy environment.

“You do not wish to be weak anymore do you, little one? Do not be afraid, put me on and I’ll grant you the desires you so wish to obtain. Abide by my rules and obtain for me the essence of life and together, we can make sure that everyone will hail before you.”

A voice echoed inside your head as your mind began to spiral. All morals, memories and feelings began to drown out until you were barely hanging on by thread.

“Hurry, time is of the essence! Quick!”

With little energy you had left, you were able to hang the new found possession around your neck. The second you let go of the clips that held the piece together, you felt a tight constriction around your neck, the feeling was suffocating. Just like the last time you had seen Diluc. For a moment, you thought of the red haired male you once held to dear and close to your heart. It ached for him once more in that very moment because he was the very essence of warmth and it was something that you so desired in such a moment like this. The way he held you against him in the coldest of nights in an attempt to keep you warm and oh how it worked wonderfully. It was a memory that slowly faded away with your conscience. Your hands graced themselves lightly around your neck as you struggled to breathe even more than before, your body finally running out of any sort of energy as you fell limp against the cold and soft snow.

Anything. From this point on, you would do anything to get stronger. You no longer cared for any mishaps that happened along the way. You had no love left, nothing but the hunger for power that drowned out the aching void that was now left behind after everything was torn away from you.

“Sorry... to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world. Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn? Then, burn away the old world for me.”

Within the bustling harsh winds of the Dragonspine mountains laid a girl with a jewelled necklace as well as a cold, icy blue orb that shined brightly against the blizzards.

--

“The expedition out in Dragonspine was a complete disaster! The winds were harsher than usual and how could we predict such a nasty storm would’ve been upon us? We planned so far ahead and yet it ended up utterly terrible.” One of the adventurers commented as they were in the process of recovering after descending from the unforgiving mountains.

“Did everyone that went on the expedition come back? There’s absolutely no way we can risk going up there again, at least not for a while.” Another commented.

There was an excruciating silence within the camp.

“Has anyone seen (Y/n)?”

--

Diluc had set out once the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning came upon him. He continued to lurk from the shadows and deal with whatever trivial matters that had to be dealt with in the dead of night as he always did. He had heard of a few nuisances that arose near the outskirts of Dragonspine that hadn’t been dealt with yet. Of course the knights wouldn’t bother with this anyways, as per usual what he thought to himself.

Though the male held a pyro vision, the sharp and bitter cold of Dragonspine was something that never failed to make him uncomfortable.

He swiftly made his way to the location, being stealthy and fast with his movements in an attempt to get the job done faster to refrain from being caught. Once he had made his way to the destination, he remained hidden while he examined the area. In the far distance, he saw camps, hilichurl as well as Fatui camps that were not too far off. His face held a look of distaste as his eyes laid upon the familiar trademark symbol of the Snezhnayan organization.

Just as he was about to step out and deal with the hilichurl camp himself, a figure emerged from afar and into the camp. The movements of said person were agile, fast and swift, ice shards being directed in the direction of every living being on the camp. A blizzard stirred so fiercely upon the camp and as the barbaric bitter winds of the snow died down, there was almost nothing left of the camp that once stood there.

Not a single soul.

Diluc very cautiously moved closer to get a better look at the strange person that appeared before him. His eyes widened in disbelief as he started to make out the figure, his mind refusing to believe what he saw in front him, almost regretting letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“I wasn’t aware that you people are unable to take care of a measly little hilichurl camp. I specifically stated to clear the area before anything else and you couldn’t even follow instructions as simple as that, or perhaps I wasn’t clear enough with my statement?” An icy voice boomed out towards a trio of Fatui skirmishers.

That voice was all too familiar to Diluc. It was so familiar yet it sounded so different, so harsh, so cold. Yet, it was the voice that confirmed his unruly suspicions.

“Make up for your poor performance by getting the camps set up in a decent manner at the very least. I’d rather spare myself the trouble of punishing the likes of you people. You don’t wish to cross me any further, do you?” A cold, hard glare very evident on your fact that was directed to the three in front of you.

They frantically shook their heads, sputtering out a series apologies in an attempt to ease your annoyance.

“Make use of yourselves and set up immediately. By the time I come back to supervise the area, everything should be set up in a manner that is nothing less than perfect. If you wish to please me this time, do as you’re told this time. Now go.” You shook them off with a wave of a hand as they saw themselves away in an instant.

You took your time to avoid the now empty camp that rid itself of almost all remains. A hand placed itself atop the jewel that gracefully sat between your collarbones. The voices that swirled in your head chanting for more power and more life eventually died down as the constrictions of your beloved collar began to loosen, just enough so you could breathe. You let out a breathe that you had been holding before regaining your composure. You stood up straight with a proud stature before speaking out.

“I know you are there, may as well come forth voluntarily unless you want be to bring you out myself.”

Diluc’s blood ran cold when he realized that that you were most likely referring to him, baffled at how you were able to pick up on his own presence. He cautiously revealed himself and made his way a little closer to you. The second you laid eyes on the redhead, you felt like your world stopped for a second. The initial shock was replaced with amusement as the scene unfolded in front of you.

“And to think that last time we saw each other would be the last.” You said before bitterly chuckling.

Diluc took some time to muster up words and recover from his initial shock.

“You never came back from that mission. You were claimed to be dead by the guild the day after and yet here you are. The people mourned over you. I mourned for you. What has become of you, (Y/n)?” Diluc spoke out, pain and sadness laced within his tone.

“Ha, they mourned? As well as yourself? Don’t make me laugh Ragnvindr. Was your mourning perhaps an act in an attempt to keep up your reputation. Would not surprise me in the slightest if that were the case. I refuse to accept the pity of others, and I absolutely detest if it is empty and meaningless. Pity is for those who are weak and as far as I’m concerned--”

You stepped closer to Diluc before you continued.

“I’m not weak anymore.”

“(Y/n), you were never weak--” Diluc said before he was cut off.

“Bullshit Ragnvindr. Utter bullshit.” You harshly spat.

“I wasn’t able to handle myself before. I was nothing but weak. It was one of the reasons you fell out of love with me, was it not? You wanted a strong individual that could take care of themselves and you sure got one, but it wasn’t me at the time. Look now Ragnvindr, I am strong now.”

He took a better look at you as the realization of your position has begun to sink in.

“You... you’re…” In one of the rare times of his life, he was at a loss for words.

“Ah, Ah, Cat got your tongue? Poor boy can’t even muster up any words.” You chuckled mockingly.

“Fatui Harbinger, Ragnvindr. Number 12. Surely you’ve heard right?” You boldly stated.

Yes, he did hear. The Tsaritsa had taken another Harbinger under her wing yet the news and information of said Harbinger was extremely scarce and yet, No.12 stood right before Diluc.

No.12 was once his own beloved.

“What exactly led to all of this? What caused all of this to happen? What have you done to yourself?” The questions kept pouring out from Diluc’s mouth.

“It was quite simple. I got sick and tired of being weak and having things being taken from me. I have lost too many things to count and I have sacrificed many things to become who I am today. I do not regret a single thing I have done since I have started being selfish and being selfish has kept me from getting hurt again. I do not need you anymore, I do not need anyone in fact. I live for myself and to serve the needs of the Tsaritsa to repay her for giving me a chance to live the way I should’ve been all along.” You look at him with a taunting smirk on your face.

The (Y/n) (L/n) that was once known to be the beloved of Diluc Ragnvindr was dead. They died the moment you stepped out of the winery for the very last time. You were (Y/n), No.12 of the Fatui Harbingers. You were the one that sacrificed yourself to a curse upon the Dragonspine mountains in exchange for power to fill the void that was left behind. You no longer had the longing for love; you had none left after all. You craved for power and leverage over others and you refused to let people trample over you like they did before. You refused to be weak again. With the help of your new found vision as well as the curse that now burdened you, you would conquer the world and burn the old one away, along with your old self.

With no love left, there was nothing left to lose after all.

A/N: SOOOO the whole choker thing might be a little confusing but BASICALLY i took the whole concept from the “Love me, Love me, Love me.” song where the girl gets that cursed necklace/choker and i changed the concept around a little bit so that in exchange for power, dear reader has to basically slaughter things to keep the choker from killing them LOL (I’m tired pls my mind if SPIRIALING rn lmfao)

the italics in the second chunk are the weird choker speaking to the reader since it's a whole ‘curse’ thing and the bold italics in the second chunk is basically a quote from genshin from the cryo gemstone thingies and i used it to signify the reader getting a cryo vision^^ there’s a lot i wanna say but i’m too lazy to elaborate sorry lol. kinda feel like making more parts to this bc i feel like the story could go one but ehhh we’ll see how I’m feeling. i really just wanted to make a oneshot where the reader goes batshit after so ahahahahhaha. (also this fic feels lore breaking as fuck but its ok LMAO)

[xbunnybunz]

Jealousy [Lelouch x Reader]

Summary: You love Zero, Lelouch loves you. Lelouch is Zero, and you are none the wiser.

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Date: August 10, 2014

----- 

“S-sir?

A meek voice echoed through the storage room, seeking the leader of the black knights.

Lelouch blinked from behind his mask and looked away from some paperwork, wondering who had confronted him. Could it possibly be...? Yes. Of course it was.

There you stood, fiddling with your hair and cheeks tinged pink, avoiding eye contact with your leader. Yes, as much as Lelouch had tried to convince you otherwise,  you had become a member of the Black Knights. ‘The problem is that Lelouch had tried to tell her, and not “Zero”’ Lelouch thought, aggravated. Lelouch recalled a particularly bad day in school; his identity was almost revealed by a mere cat, and after he had expended his energy into chasing the rotten animal, he nearly fell off of the school roof. So when you told him about your intention to join the Black Knights, he was anything but happy. Perhaps he had taken it a tad too far, because he could still remember how bitterly you had reacted after he told you to “get a hold of yourself;” that “a dangerous job like being a Black Knight was not meant for delusional fangirls like yourself.” Looking back now, he wished he had just taken his anger elsewhere. “What do you know about me,  Lelouch?” You snarled, stepping away from him. “Just because you knew me since childhood doesn't mean that you can judge my feelings toward Zero! You have no right to call me delusional-” “-Yes I do!” Lelouch narrowed his violet eyes, glaring a hole into your skull, “How can you say you love him if you've never even met him before? You’re risking your life for someone who will reject your feelings!” He watched as you froze and cast your eyes downward, red flooded your cheeks. “Yeah, Lelouch, is that what you think? That he's going to reject my feelings?” You ask, looking up at him, eyes shining with sorrow. “Well, that’s alright. He wouldn’t be the first time I was rejected, right?” Lelouch’s eyes widened slightly in disbelief; were you still hung up about that? "I'll be going now." You say, turning away from him. He wanted to reach out and stop you, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could lead an army and take down several nightmares with a single command, but he didn’t have the fortitude to stop a girl from leaving a room. Pathetic. Footsteps. Door. "Click." Then silence. Lelouch heaved a small sigh behind his mask and turned his body to face you. "What is it, soldier?" You winced at his words and shifted uncomfortably, pink turning to red on your cheeks "W-well, sir, I've been wondering about something..." Lelouch's purple eyes watched your face turn varying shades of red, scowling. Why didn't you act this way around him at school? Why did you blush and fidget in front of him now, when he was under a different name and a different life? Was the normal Lelouch missing something?! No… You had done this, but not anymore. Lelouch was touched. You had fallen for him twice, if that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what was. Regrettably, he couldn’t accept your feelings, especially not here- not with this side of him. "Uhm..." You diverted your gaze from him, instead deciding to stare at an empty crate. "I've been wondering why you call me 'soldier' all the time, sir." Lelouch raised an eyebrow, which you couldn't see, of course. "Are implying that you not one of my loyal soldiers?" You quickly scrambled to defend yourself, "N-no sir! It's just that... That you call the other Black Knights by their real names, and- and-" You bit your lip and looked down at your shoes, feeling quite stupid for bringing up such a mundane question. "I'm sorry, sir. Never mind." Your cheeks were lit aflame. You were talking to Zero one-on-one at last, but you had only made a fool of yourself. Why would he call you soldier? Because you were a soldier, of course! Such idiotic questions... What kind of answer were you anticipating? "And you?" You blinked stupidly, taken by surprise. "Huh? Me?" Zero continued, standing up and leaning against a large crate next to him.  "Why do you call me 'sir,' and not Zero?" He recalled how you said Zero's name in his presence at school. You spoke it with awe, respect, and sometimes, to his chagrin: love. The name "Zero" never failed to pull compliments and praises from your lips- and although Lelouch should have been feeling pretty darn good about that- dammit all! That was not how it was supposed to be! You were supposed to love him, Lelouch! Not his alter-ego! He watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, tempting him to claim those lips as his. How long has he been waiting for a kiss from you? A week? A month? A year? Goodness, who knew? He lost count a long time ago. Ever since he had declinced your romantic advancements in school, he found himself getting interested in you as well- a bit more than he was comfortable with. However, as anyone who was rejected would do, you were slowly getting over Lelouch. Unfortunately for the boy, your confesion had only ignited his interest in you- and it was swallowing him whole. What had caused your fondness of him? Why would you approach him about such a trivial topic? You couldn’t have found out about his true identity, right? At first, it was just these factual questions; nothing that would harm anyone. But in due time, he began wondering how you would react in certain situations. What would she do if I told her that I liked her as well? How would she react if I hugged her? Held her hand? Kissed her? Soon, he found himself thinking of you whenever he was able to; whether it be in class, while doing his homework, or during Student Council meetings. His curiosity had developed into a near obsession- or dare he say, an attraction. Lelouch had managed to suppress thoughts of you while he was with the Black Knights, and thank goodness for that. He couldn’t imagine the chaos that would ensue if you managed to worm your way into his mind, then. But now… There you stood, twiddling your fingers and chewing your goddamn lip in front of him. Lelouch couldn’t deny it. He wanted you, and he always got what he wanted… Just not like this. He didn’t want it like this. He couldn’t have you interferring with his plans to destroy Britannia, and he definitely didn’t want you to love Zero. In order to prevent any kind of intimacy between you and his alter-ego, he began referring to you as “soldier” instead of by your name. But damn it all to hell if it worked, because it didn’t. Each time he called you “soldier”and you called him “sir,” the tension between you two would double, and triple, and exponentially rise, driving him to the brink of absolute madness. You distanced yourself from Lelouch at school, and he knew that you were trying your best not to make things awkward between the two of you- he knew that you were trying to move on, but the more you pulled away from him, the less he wanted to let go. What was there to move on from, if he loved you back? Before he had a chance to recalculate his relationship with you, you had managed to slip out of his grasp… And right back in. Unbeknownst to you, you had fallen head-over heels for the same person twice. But this time, oh, this time, it was so much stronger. Your feelings of love, admiration and respect had mixed into one unidentifiable goop of emotion that was directed toward the leader of the Black Knights. And as if the world wasn't enough of a paradox, Lelouch found himself jealous of… Himself. His geass couldn’t help him here. He had sat down one day, completely weighed down by your flurry of emotions as well as his own. He was desperate for the tensions between you two to stop, and although he was ashamed of it now, he had written out a list of commands he could use to make you love him, and not Zero. Of course, it was in vain. He was Zero, and Zero was him. They were one and the same person, no matter how much Lelouch wished it wasn’t true. A single command would either make you hate Lelouch and Zero, or worse- love both at the same time. In the past month, Lelouch’s jumbled thoughts brewed faster and faster inside of his mind, whipping up into a horrible storm, and he had no one else to blame but you. What in the hell had you done to him? “That-” You say, yanking him out of his exasperating thoughts, “That would be inappropriate.” Lelouch took a moment to recollect his thoughts. Oh, right. He had asked you a question. “Tell me,” He said, his voice coming out raspily from behind his mask, “What makes you think that calling me ‘Zero’ would be inappropriate?” “W-well,” You stuttered, “I’ve only known you for a year, sir.” “A lot of things aren’t necessarily appropriate, are they?” Lelouch asked, ignoring your answer, “Because of their morals, humans cage themselves into a dead end. Wouldn't it be easier to forget them all and break free?” Break free… “I guess so…” You mumble, looking at your shoes modestly. “_______,” Lelouch tasted your name on his tongue, enjoying the sweet, yet acerbic taste it left in his mouth, “You say you’ve known me, Zero, for a year, correct?” You answered, surprised that he even knew your name. “Yes, sir- Erm, Zero…” You blushed upon saying the name, much to Lelouch’s distaste. He ignored it. That’s all that he could do, for now. Suddenly, you heard a loud “BAM!” The sound was harsh, and it grated upon your ears, echoing within the closed space that both Zero and you had occupied. You flinched and closed your eyes, preparing for the worst. When nothing came, you pried your eyes open, stunned to see one of Zero’s arms against the wall next to you, caging your body with his. With his other hand, he calmly pressed a button on the side of his mask. You stood, bewildered and astonished as you heard the whirring of gears, signalling the retraction of the back of his mask. “Z-Zero- what are you-!” “Humor me, _______.” He cut you off,  “Is one year enough time to fall in love?” Because I've known you my whole life... “O-one year… One year can do a lot…” You gulped, watching as Zero adjusted his mask to show his mouth. “Then, hell.” He whispered, leaning into your lips, “I must be completely infatuated.”

[asweetprologue]

I know that feel my dude. How about a Geraskier prompt Geralt getting stuck in ice or mud or what have you and Jask has to get him out. Hilarity ensues. <3 i write as im dodging my calc work....

this is so fun! I’m gonna put the response below the cut because I actually can’t, as it turns out, write a drabble that’s less than 1k. we all have our fatal flaws

Geralt was in a hole. 

It didn’t matter why. It had involved a very stealthy drowner, and patch of wet ground, and perhaps some overconfidence on Geralt’s part. Witcher’s didn’t slip. They didn’t trip, or fumble, or fall down. If they did, they died. Simple as that. 

The drowner hadn’t killed him, but in Geralt’s mind it had still won the fight. Though dead, it was up there, and Geralt was down here. The hole he was in was filled up to his lower thighs in water and muck, and the walls were too loose to climb. Anytime he tried to get a handhold, the dirt slid through his fingers like molasses and plopped into the water below. He’d been here for hours, now, most of the night. He was going to die in a hole in Velen, of all placed, up to his neck in cold mud when he finally sat down in the shallow pool. 

At least he wouldn’t die of thirst. His fucking bones felt damp. 

Geralt wished he hadn’t left his bags with Jaskier at the inn. They would have weighed him down, but at least he’d have a damn rope. 

Fuck. Jaskier. He hoped the bard wouldn’t come looking for him. How long before he realized something had happened? Geralt had said he’d be back by nightfall, but sometimes jobs took longer than he thought. Jaskier might not grow suspicious until morning, or even several days. All the better, really, Geralt thought. The chance of Jaskier finding him was slim anyways, and by the time he got here Geralt might already be dead. 

The night passed slowly. Meditation could only do so much to block out his cold, wet surroundings. Finally he realized that it was starting to get lighter out, the first rays of the sun dappling the grayish leaves overhead with faint orange light. 

Two hours later he heard footsteps in the forest, and a moment later, he heard a bitten off curse that was achingly familiar. 

Geralt stumbled to his feet in the pool of water, squinting up at the five foot hole that marked the exit of the pit. “Jaskier?” he called. 

The footsteps stilled, and then broke into a more rapid pace. A moment later, Jaskier’s foppish brown hair and shockingly bright doublet came into focus. He frowned down at Geralt, as if it had been Geralt’s idea to get stuck in a hole. “Geralt,” he said, “this may seem a silly question, but what are you doing down there?” He looked fine, clearly not beset upon by any marsh monsters, much to Geralt’s relief. The entire situation, which had seemed so dire that night, suddenly seemed trivial. And then he remembered how he’d gotten into the hole. 

Feeling his ears tingle with a blush, he said, “I was hunting drowners.”

Jaskier was looking around, his hands doing something Geralt couldn’t see. Rooting through their bags, maybe. Hopefully for a rope. “Well, yes, I was aware of that. When you didn’t come back to the inn I asked the alderman if he’d seen you, and he said no, so I visited the healer, just in case you’d done that thing you do where you collapse on someone’s doorstep and they don’t know or care to fetch me, which you know I don’t care for, but she hadn’t seen you either. So I thought to myself, well, Jaskier, you’ve just got to go and see about it yourself, don’t you? I’ll have you know I’ve been walking around here since near daybreak, and my boots are ruined.” He made a triumphant sound, and Geralt blinked as a rope was flung down, nearly hitting him in the face. Jaskier popped  back into view, pouting at him. “This is a horrible place, you know.”

“Free of drowners though,” Geralt replied. He took the rope in hand, preparing to make the slippery climb back up to relatively dry land. 

“I should hope so,” Jaskier agreed. “None of that answers the question, though, of why exactly you are in a hole.”

Geralt grunted. “The ground is treacherous.” He was not going to admit that he got pushed into a sinkhole by a drowner. Jaskier would probably put it in a song, and then where would the reputation of witchers be?

Jaskier stared at him. There was a beat of silence, and then, “Geralt. Did you fall?”

Geralt glared at the rope warped around his hand and put his full weight on it, knowing that Jaskier was holding the other end. All he had to do was use it to anchor himself as he scaled the muddy wall, and he would be able to cuff Jaskier on the head for his gleefully disbelieving tone. All he had to do was get to the top.

Unfortunately, Jaskier chose that moment to break out into rancorous laughter, and instead of bracing himself for Geralt’s weight, he was jerked forward. Towards the open pit. His laugh cut off on a yelp.

Geralt managed to catch him, but only just. They fell back into the water together, a tangle of limbs and rope and mud. Jaskier’s doublet was instantly soaked, turning the burgundy material an unbecoming brown. Jaskier spluttered out of the water, pushing grit out of his eyes as he spit. Geralt’s hands roamed over his body, checking for injuries. The bard was nearly straddling him, sitting with one of Geralt’s thighs thrust between his own. The witcher let out a breath of relief when he found no sign of hurt, and then his eyes met Jaskier’s. 

Jaskier made a face, full of chagrin. “What was that about treacherous ground?”

Geralt couldn’t help it - he laughed, loud in the still of the morning air. Jaskier stared at him for a moment before he broke out into his own chuckles. It kept building between them until they were nearly rolling with it, Geralt huffing out laughter into Jaskier’s throat as the bard cackled in his ear. It was a nice sound, after hours of sitting in the dark thinking he was going to be left to die at the bottom of this godsforsaken hole. They might still, but at least Jaskier was here. Nothing seemed quite so serious when he was around. 

Jaskier pulled back, still grinning as he looked Geralt in the face. “I can’t believe you fell,” he said again, delight still coloring his tone. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it when Jaskier was grinning at him like that. There was still mud all over him, slicking down his carefully styled hair and covering one of his cheeks like a strange troubadour mask. Geralt raised a hand and wiped some of it away, the negative of his fingers showing in brown streaks across Jaskier’s cheekbone. He liked the look of it, he decided. 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll leave you down here for the drowners,” he said, trying for gruff and knowing that he just barely missed annoyed, landing dangerously close to fond. He stood, pulling Jaskier to his feet as well. “At least you brought the rope down with you.”

Jaskeir smiled broadly at him, and Geralt rolled his eyes even as he smiled back. “Never let it be said that I don’t have my uses,” Jaskier replied. 

“Can’t think of any at the moment,” Geralt said, and was rewarded by Jaskier shoving him down into the muddy water at their feet. It was his second time falling that day, but this time, for some reason, he found he didn’t mind.

~

thank you for the prompt my lovely! it was fun to write. sorry it ended up way closer to tender than funny - it seems I have only one setting lmao

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

Unexpected Visitor

After a string of several days or no sleeping or eating, Penny brings a friend by to visit James. 

This was just supposed to be a super short little thing that got a little longer then expected but I hope you guys enjoy it anyways. Major Leaf being James’s best friend is now my new favorite thing sorry not sorry. 

Ever since Beacon, days had begun to blur, one day bleeding into the next with James completely losing all concept on time. He couldn’t say when the last time he slept or ate was, only vaguely knowing it probably had been some time with the worried looks Clover and Winter occasionally gave him. Despite knowing he technically needed to eat and sleep to survive, Mettle could easily keep him going for days and he needed every second he could get. There was so much work to do with global communications down it fell on him to figure out all the answers on reconnecting all of Remnant together again. 

Taking a shaky breath, James rested his face in his hands, tiredly rubbing his temples, willing his blurry vision to focus. He had too much work left to do to stop now. If he could just keep going for a few more hours….James jerked his head up when something warm draped itself around his shoulders, Penny saying,

“Sorry sir I thought you were asleep!”

“N-no it’s fine,” James said, glancing at his shoulder to see Penny had draped a blanket around his shoulder. Something nudged his arm and James glanced down to see Major Leaf on his desk, affectionately nudging his arm. “Hey, what are you doing here?” James asked, reaching down to pet his head. 

“He told me he wanted to eat dinner with you!”

“He told you so?” James curiously, glancing down at the two bowls, one with Major Leafs usual dinner of various leaves and what he assumed was James’s steaming bowl of soup with a cup of tea. 

“He did! I speak turtle!” Penny said. 

“You speak turtle?” James asked.

“Yep!” Penny cheerfully said. “He misses seeing you, you haven’t been by your room in days to see him.”

“I….hadn’t realized it had been so long,” James mumbled, sheepishly glancing down at Major Leaf.

“Don’t worry, he isn’t mad,” Penny assured. “He’s just worried and wants to make sure you’re taking care of  yourself.”

“Oh uh-” James awkwardly said, feeling guilty. “I’ve just been busy-” “That’s why I brought dinner!” Penny said. “So you two can eat together!”

“Thank you Penny,” James said, realizing he would not get out of eating dinner, now without upsetting Penny and Major Leaf. 

“Of course sir! I thought tea and a nice warm bowl of soup would be nice for dinner tonight with the storm!”

“Storm?” James asked, turning towards the window to see snow swirling outside. 

“You really have been busy sir,” Penny said. 

“I have….” James slowly said, turning back to his food, picking up the tea cup and taking a long drink from it, the tea warming  him to his core. “This is wonderful, thank you.” “Of course sir!”

“You don’t have to wait up for us,” James said as he took a spoonful of soup.

“I know sir,” Penny assured. “I just thought you might like some company!”

“Oh….” James said, booking at Penny in surprise for a moment before saying, “I suppose-” Earning a wide grin from Penny. 

“May I ask you a question sir?” “Of course,” James said, watching as Major Leaf slowly walked over to his own meal.

“Major Leaf wouldn’t tell me, but how did you two meet?” Penny asked. 

“I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t tell you,” James said with a chuckle, watching as Major Leaf happily started eating. “I’m afraid it’s not a very exciting story. But my grandparents adopted him and whenever I visited them I would always ask to play with Major Leaf and when they passed away….their last wish for him was for me to take care of him so I did.”

“So you’ve been best friends for a long time huh?” “As long as I can remember,” James admitted, reaching out to pet Major Leaf. 

“It’s wonderful that you could remain friends for so long,” Penny said with a smile. 

“I suppose I am lucky to have him,” James agreed. 

“He worries about you, quite a bit sir,” Penny said. 

“Oh?” James asked. 

“He says you’ve been working too hard and that you really should be taking care of yourself,” Penny said. 

“There's just too much work to be done and not enough hours in the day,” James softly mumbled, watching as Major Leaf nuzzled into his touch.

“He knows Sir,” Penny said. “But he also says that if you don’t take care of yourself and you get sick, how will you be able to lead?”

“If I fail because I missed or forgot something, then what kind of leader am I?” James countered. 

“My dad always says that a good night's rest and a nice warm meal lead to a far more productive day and makes it so you're less likely to make a mistake.”

“Some of us unfortunately don’t have that luxury,” James sighed. 

“Wouldn’t Winter or Clover help with anything you needed while you slept?” Penny asked, curiously tilting her head to the side. 

“....I don’t want to burden them,” James sighed, dropping his hand away from Major Leaf.

“But if they are also your friends, wouldn’t they not want to see you take it all on yourself?” Penny softly asked, Major Leaf abandoning his meal entirely to nuzzle his head once more against James’s arm. 

“It just doesn’t seem fair to put it on them….” James tiredly sighed, petting Major Leaf once more. 

“It doesn’t seem fair that you have to do it all on your own either,” Penny said. 

“I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to take on both positions,” James mumbled. “I’ve made my bed.” 

“I see,” Penny said, a deep frown on her face as James awkwardly took another spoonful of soup, a heavy silence hanging in the air as James ate, groggily trying to sort through his thoughts, but finding his mind was stalling out to a complete blank on him. Maybe it was the warm soup and tea that was making him so tired. Maybe it was a mistake agreeing to eat. Or maybe it was exhaustion catching up to him.He honestly didn’t know. 

“It’s good to see you both eating at least.” Penny said when James had finished his own bowl.

“Both?” James curiously asked. 

“Major Leaf has been so worried he hasn’t been eating either,” Penny explained, guilt once again stabbing at his chest. He didn’t give a damn about his own health but Major Leaf? He promised he would care for him and him refusing to eat meant James was failing. “I think eating with you helped a lot!” “I’m glad,” James softly said, watching as Major Leaf finished his own food before going back to James. 

“Would you like me to take him back to your room sir?” Penny asked. 

“No, no,” James said. “I think...it might be best for me to retire for a few hours at least.” This wasn’t a break, this was him  just spending some quality time with his neglected pet. He wasn’t a monster after all and he owed that time to him. 

“Of course sir!” Penny said, barely able to contain her grin as she gathered up the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that Penny,” James said. 

“I don’t, but I want to!” Penny assured. “Isn’t that what friends do for each other? They do things that aren’t fun but help out the person they care about.”

“I-” James began swallowing thickly at her words, a whirlwind of emotions swelling in his chest. “I suppose so, yes.”

“I would like to be your friend sir.” Penny said. 

“I uh- I’d like that to,” James softly said, It was silly, he couldn’t be friends with his subordinates but seeing the way Penny’s face lit up at his words, he found he couldn’t really regret saying them. Penny had been through so much in her short time alive… who was he to deny her something so trivial as friendship.

“Goodnight sir,” Penny said, flashing him a warm smile before walking out of his office, leaving James alone with Major Leaf. 

“Well, come on you,” James softly said, scooping up Major Leaf in his arms. “Have you been misbehaving and not sleeping as well?” He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case from what Penny said “Well come on then, we both could use a short nap.” He wasn’t doing it for himself, this was just for Major Leaf. He would not be a poor pet owner for him. Just as James reached the door to his office, it whooshed open to reveal Winter who let out a small gasp of surprise, 

“Apologies Sir. I didn’t realize you had a meeting.” “No meeting,” James assured as Winter’s gaze fell to Major Leaf resting in his arms. 

“Penny informed me Major Leaf has not been taking care of himself so I thought I would stay with him in my room for a bit just to make sure he’s okay.”

“Of course sir,” Winter said. 

“Was there something you needed?” James asked. 

“Nothing of any importance sir,” Winter assured. 

“You can reach me if you need anything,” James assured. 

“Of course sir,” Winter assured. “Good night.” “Good night Winter,” James said, stepping around Winter, nodding at Clover as he walked passed. This was just for Major Leaf. He would be right back to work after he made sure he was well taken care of. 

He would never find out he nearly slept for twenty four hours, with Major Leaf acting as bodyguard much like when they were children. Him being so exhausted he wouldn’t notice the missing day, nor would anyone dare point it out for fear of the inevitable panic it would ensue, everyone too grateful for whatever Penny had said that convinced James to pay at least a little more attention to his health, even if it was only for Major Leaf’s sake.

[hungryflowers]

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them. 

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.  

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.  

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t  deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness. 

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while. 

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment. 

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead. 

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light. 

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it. 

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place. 

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking. 

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his. 

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away. 

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed. 

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him. 

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight. 

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.  

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again. 

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying. 

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively. 

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

 The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings. 

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan. 

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated. 

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up. 

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely. 

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get. 

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat. 

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded. 

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

                           ______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows. 

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

 Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils. 

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr. 

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings. 

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties. 

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for. 

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste. 

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down. 

 They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy. 

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold.  He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue. 

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets. 

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity. 

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis. 

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm. 

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again. 

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face. 

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard. 

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case. 

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low. 

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all. 

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused. 

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming. 

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.” 

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion. 

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now. 

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise. 

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss. 

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock. 

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough. 

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms. 

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers. 

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.  

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth. 

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen. 

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed. 

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue. 

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face. 

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry. 

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside. 

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything. 

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance. 

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much. 

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did. 

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation. 

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap. 

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists. 

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more. 

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery. 

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy. 

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him. 

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind. 

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily. 

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts. 

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot. 

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous. 

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them. 

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before. 

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead. 

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain. 

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati. 

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.  

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to. 

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him. 

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often. 

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see. 

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love  Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest. 

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax. 

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage. 

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl. 

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms. 

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations. 

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times. 

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters. 

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately. 

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish. 

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts. 

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable. 

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the  pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax. 

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream. 

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm. 

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets. 

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely. 

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved. 

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose. 

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love. 

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

[yodawgiherd]

Cabin at Daytime

>>>Read on AO3<<<

You thought that you could escape EM cottagecore in a modern AU? Fools!

Eren was poked into consciousness by gentle yet unyielding fingers. Sitting up, he saw Mikasa watching him, eyes shining with tears.

“Another nightmare?”

She nodded.

“I know the continuation of the story, wanna hear it?”

Looking over her, Eren saw some major differences from the last time. Mikasa had tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t crying, her face had a sort of acceptance written into it. Her dream must have been bittersweet because she had a strong feeling of melancholy about her. Sad, but not terribly wrecked by it. Something happened, but it was bound to happen, and it was the best outcome of the events she was stuck at.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Eren gave her a warm smile, hoping to make her feel better.

“Of course. Told you that I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“Okay..”, she drawled, “But I have a condition.”

From the way her teeth shone in the darkness, Eren had a faint idea what Mikasa might want at three in the morning.

“Is it pancakes?”, he tried.

It was pancakes.

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in the kitchen and preparing her sweet treat while Mikasa sat at the counter, bare legs swinging freely. Her hands were wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee that she was sipping in order to wake up.

“So?”, he asked, sprinkling the chocolate chips in, “Going to tell me while I cook?”

“Sure.”, Mikasa took a deep breath and looked Eren straight in the eyes, her voice serious, “I killed you.”

Not that surprising, considering that he was the big bad evil guy in her dreams.

“Again? Didn’t you dream about that already?”

“I did, but It was different this time.”

“And didn’t Armin off me too?”

Mikasa shook her head, the moonlight reflecting against her midnight bangs.

“You got up from that.”

“Guess I could have seen it coming, I’m nothing if not stubborn.”

She giggled at that, small simpers escaping through the tears that were present on her face.

“I cut off your head.“

“How?“

“With a sword.”, she reached over, dragging a single black fingernail over Eren’s throat, “Riiiight here.”

“Ouch.”

“And then we kissed.”

“Uhm...”

Mikasa fell silent, pondering what she just said.

“Well,”, Eren began, “Did I see you before you killed me?”

“Yea…”

“All good then.”

She looked up, a question on her face.

“What do you mean?”

“If I got to die while looking at you, then there is nothing more I could wish for.”

A sniffle.

“There was no other way.”

“Of course. I told you – that mess must have been my fault, I do not blame you in the slightest. Although there is one thing I’d like to say.”

“Yes?”

“I think that I prefer kissing you while my head is attached to my body.”

Finally, she laughed out loud, scooting over on the kitchen counter to be closer. Taking a gentle hold of his head, Mikasa angled it properly, bowing down and pressing her lips against his. So warm and gentle, as only Eren could be, it made her eyes flutter close from the pure sweetness of it. His were closed too, she noticed, but he was very much alive against her mouth. Mikasa tasted like the coffee she drank and combined with the natural sweetness of her lips, it was downright delicious. Nip here and there, Mikasa was sighing into the kiss before she realized it.

“As much as I adore kissing you, I should finish the food.”, Eren murmured against her addicting lips, “Might burn it.”

Mikasa loved Eren’s chocolate chip pancakes and burning them was heresy. Releasing him, she sat back, leaning on her arms and watching him work.

“You know, maybe it’s not so bad that you cut my head off.”

“Eren, what in seven hells are you on about?”

“Well, even as a head I could be of service to you,”, like a damn snake, he wiggled his tongue at her, “You do adore my oral skill, don’t you?”

She did, but Mikasa also strongly preferred having all of Eren to enjoy, not just a damn head. That joke went overboard for her because she remembered the kiss from her dream which was so tragic and so far from what Eren was suggesting. Filled with a wave of slight nausea, Mikasa let her disgust show on her face.

“Fine, I’m not talking to you anymore. Even better, I’m breaking off our engagement and I’ll be moving out in the morning. Good day, sir.”

With that, she turned away from him, closing her eyes and overall just being done with Eren Yeager. Seeing it, he realized that he might have overstepped his boundaries, and the last thing he wanted was to have his angel mad at him. Turning the heat down for a moment, he leaned closer, gently nudging the collar of her too-large sleeping shirt down her shoulder with his nose. Once her porcelain skin was bare to him, Eren kissed it gently, moving his lips over the pale expanse. At the same time his hands got adventurous, one starting from Mikasa’s knee and moving upwards, kneading those wonderful thighs of hers. The other circled her unresponsive form, a finger tracing the curve of her spine. She didn’t pull away but didn’t react to him either, marking his efforts as inefficient for now.

“I’m sorry, it was inappropriate.”

Nope, nothing. Very well then.

Eren moved up, focusing his kisses on her neck now, gently biting into the skin. His hand also slid up to Mikasa’s inner thigh, caressing. Finally that coaxed something out of her, a tiny moan that escaped her lips.

“I’m very sorry, Miki.”, he repeated between the kisses, “Please forgive me.”

Even while apologizing, he couldn’t help himself when his nose was pressed right against her skin. Her scent invaded his mind, gliding around the familiar place, reminding him of everything good that was in his life.

“God, you smell so good.”, he murmured.

She snickered, and the combination of joy and pleasure produced by Eren was enough for Mikasa to forgive. She turned towards him, grey eyes sliding over his face.

“Eren, I love you, but please don’t say things like that again. That kiss was so far from anything even remotely sexual that…”

“I know, and I won’t. I’m sorry, again.”

“Good.”, leaning close, she pecked him on the lips, “Now get back to cooking, I’m supposed to get my pancakes.”

With a grin, Eren let go of her and returned to the task at hand. Turning the heat up, he watched the pancake simmer into existence, all under Mikasa’s hungry gaze. She loved chocolate, and Eren made sure to put an extra portion of the brown chips into the next pancake he began creating.

“There was something else.”, she said, “Like a dream within a dream.”

That piqued his interest.

“Do go on.”

“The other Mikasa…”

“Dreamkasa?”, Eren offered, making her frown.

“Shush.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Dreamkasa. Almost as bad as that incredible nickname she had, Gothkasa. Pfff…

“She had a vision or something, of her living together with the other Eren, in a cabin.”

“Sounds peaceful.”

“It was. But at the same time…”, Mikasa rubbed a hand over her temple, trying to remember, “It was sad because they gave up something very important to have that life together. Still, he was so sweet to her, it was a wonderful experience.”, a memory coming back made her smile, “He caught fish for her.”

“Damn, I better step up my game then. But isn’t dream Eren a bad guy?”

“I don’t rightly know, the details escape me. I do remember how she felt about him though.”, Mikasa’s fingernails scratched the kitchen counter when she shifted her position, “She loved him, loved him so much. It reminded me of how much I love you.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the Dream Ere-,”, a grin, “Dreamren, but I love you to death. Not sure about catching, but if you want, I’ll buy you the biggest fish I can find.”

She smiled at that, softly.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I think that Eren loved her too, in his own way. It was the world that didn’t allow them to be together.”

“That’s a tragedy if I ever heard one.”, Eren flipped the pancake, “If the world was keeping me away from you, I’d be pretty darn pissed.”

“I don’t think that I would let anything keep us apart.”, Mikasa interjected, unconsciously flexing her impressive musculature.

“And to think that we almost broke up in the past over such stupid stuff.”

“Did we really?”

“Uhm…”, Eren looked up from his work, “You don’t remember?”

“I do, but I’m not sure that it was a breakup. We both felt terrible during it, didn’t we?”

“It was the worst time of my life.”, Eren immediately confessed.

“Same here. My point is, I doubt that we could ever stay apart, we craved each other so much.”

“Makes sense. Somewhat.”

“Yet all these problems and issues we have seem so trivial compared to what she went through. War, apocalypse, fighting for her life every damn day.”, Mikasa shivered, “She was a real hero.”

“Well, I for one am glad that no man-eating giants are chasing us around.”, he put the pancake on the growing pile, making another one right after, “I strongly prefer having you for myself and kissing you while not being dead.”

Stealing the fruit of his labor, Mikasa popped it into her mouth. Chewing, she had to agree with Eren on this one. Living like this was much better than the daily nightmares she had to go through in her past life-or-dreams. Here, Eren wasn’t threatening to destroy the whole world and she wasn’t forced to kill him to save it. Here, she could kiss him as much as she wanted to, their first kiss was very far from being the last. Here, they could get lost in each other’s bodies and consummate their love physically, without a worry in the world. Here, she could fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up to his yawning every morning. Here…. Here was everything she could ever ask for.

With the pancakes gone they settled on the couch, Mikasa lying down with Eren on top of her, tangled together. His head was in her hands and she ran her hands through his hair, once again getting too long. She should cut it. The thought of a haircut brought back yet another slight headache and a new memory popped up, again of the cabin. Mikasa looked at it, inspected the picture in her mind. There was something about that place, the simple wooden building was drawing her in. Maybe she should see it for herself, experience that dream within a dream. Giving in to her temptation, Mikasa spoke up.

“Eren?”

“Yes love?”

“Could we also go to a cabin for a few days?”

“Well aren’t you easily influenced.”, despite the tone of his words, Eren was smiling when he said them, “But I don’t mind, I should take a break from work. We’ll look for something in the morning, it will be nice to leave the city behind for a spell.”

Yet while running away from everything was cool in the concept, they both had several obligations to fulfill. Realizing that, Mikasa’s nose scrunched in irritation.

“Kiyomi won’t be pleased.”

“Neither will Erwin or Levi.”, Eren shrugged, “They’ll survive without us.”

This careless Eren was charming, and Mikasa found herself liking it.

“Okay. Let’s have a romantic getaway then.”

“Following the footsteps of a war hero and man who committed genocide.”

“They were quite the pair.”, Mikasa agreed, “But that only made their love that much special.”

“Let’s see, maybe we will get a whiff of it at the cabin.”

Plans made, dreams explained, pancakes eaten, they were tangled together in that comfortable silence achieved once a pair knows each other inside and out. The sun was slowly rising behind the windows, the night retreating. It was the incredible comfort and warmth Mikasa had in this love, it echoed through her entire being. Realizing it made her smile like an idiot because she and Eren were so lucky that they had each other forever. Although, if those dreams were truly her past life and she had to go through that much shit to get here, this love they had was well deserved.

Hundred times over.

In the end, it was surprisingly easy to arrange their little getaway. Erwin was happy to give Eren time off, Kiyomi would do anything for her star girl, and while Levi complained, he was secretly glad that Mikasa is taking a break. Sure, training was important with the Colosseum closer every day, but mental health was important too, and his sister more than deserved to have time for herself. And that fiancé of hers, Levi supposed. A tiny obstacle arose when Eren tried to pick the location because Mikasa was hard to satisfy.

“Not that one.”, she shook her head, “too modern.”

“Not this one either, I want to be close to the ocean.”

“Nah, not this, It has to be somewhere in the mountains.”

In the end, Eren gave up and let her search by herself while he packed. It didn’t take him long, as they needed just a few necessary things, the rest could always be bought. As he was zipping the bag closed, a sound of joy came from the table.

“Eren! I got it!”

He walked over to her, frowning at the cabin she picked. It looked archaic, old, and wooden, located away from any civilization.

“Looks savage.”

“This is the one. I’m sure of it.”, Mikasa was decided, and Eren wouldn’t argue.

This whole operation was her idea, after all. Mikasa’s cabin had an interesting rental system - once Eren paid the required amount the key would be waiting for them under a doormat. Guess it made sense, considering that there was literally no one around the cabin, and animals could hardly pick up the key and unlock the door. Unless they tried hard, that is. With the money transferred, all that was left was to get dressed and pick up the bags Eren packed, putting it all in the car. It was go time.

She was watching him from the passenger seat, he realized, her grey eyes studying from the dark shadows her makeup created. With a ruffle of her short, red pleated skirt, Mikasa put one foot up, the bottom of her white sneaker sinking a bit into the seat. The sunlight streaming in through the windows shimmered at her jewelry, the earrings and piercings, the studs in her choker, all the necklaces and most prominently on the silver cross that was snug between her breasts. Couldn’t forget her rings too, Eren reminded himself, watching as she smoothed a few bangs back behind her ear. Right, he should be focusing on the road, not on the way Mikasa dressed. Sure, the long black top was nice and all, hell, her whole outfit was amazing, but that was Mikasa for him. Beautifully pulling off the style that made Kiyomi’s teeth grit, because goth was dead but her top model didn’t care in the least.

Wondering if she will say what’s on her mind, Eren focused on the road, only sometimes stealing sidelong glances at her. He watched as Mikasa put one hand up to support her head, the sleeve of her shirt riding down and revealing the netted fingerless glove underneath. It was easy to know why she dressed up like this, even when they were going to a cottage in the middle of nowhere. Goth was her comfort clothing, she knew it inside out and put it on to prevent herself from being nervous. The makeup and jewelry were a routine that calmed her, her armor, it put her mind at ease. Eren knew why the cabin getaway put Mikasa in such a state, it must have been the dream. They worried her, even as they were approaching the romantic alone time, most likely because going there was triggered by them. To get her mind away from it, or offer encouragement, Eren spoke up.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She stared at him for a moment, one black fingernail tapping at the corner of the dark red painted lips.

“I feel strange.”

“Strange good or strange bad? If it’s bad I’m turning the car around.”

“Neither, just strange.”

Talk about lack of information.

“Do you want to go back?”

Mikasa considered it for a moment but shook her head after, the inverted crosses in her ears swinging.

“No.”

The word had a finality to it, and Eren didn’t question it. Mikasa was an adult, she could decide on where she wanted to spend her time. Focusing back on the driving and away from the alluring goth visage on the passenger’s seat, Eren gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and the car ate away at the distance.

The cabin was everything Mikasa wanted it to. It was wooden, old and looked as if it would fold by a stronger gust of wind. It was perfect. She almost ran to the door, the grass sliding beneath her sneakers, found the key under the doormat and unlocked. Yes, she thought to herself with eyes wandering, this was so close to her dream it was unreal. Almost as if the cabin was torn from her thoughts and put into reality. Eren came up behind her with the bags in his hands, breathing slightly faster than usual. He insisted on carrying everything like the gentleman he was, knowing that Mikasa could carry both him and the bags and not even get winded.

“You like it?”, he asked, putting the burden down and looking over the interior himself.

“It’s amazing, exactly as I wanted it to be.”

Sure, it was rundown, dirty, and probably very far from the health standards Eren would want, but Mikasa was happy. And that’s what mattered.

“Spectacular.

With a smile, Mikasa went out, soaking in the sunrays. Noticing a bench under the window, she crossed the distance to it, running a hand over the aged wood. But just as her skin made contact with the coarse surface, something happened. Splitting headache brought Mikasa down to her knees, eyes watering from the pain. She could see it now, clear as day, a scene unfolding in front of her. Eren was sitting at the bench, strange markings on his face, almost like scars. She, or the other version of her, was standing in front of him, her hair longer than what Mikasa’s current style was. She leaned forward, gently taking Eren’s head in her hands. He looked at her, and the tiredness in his face, that hurt to see. The scene was so painful that it tugged at Mikasa’s heart, the ache only intensifying when the other girl spoke, so softly. She spoke to that tired man and his face lit up as if her words could take away the pain and suffering he was experiencing. As if her voice was that of an angel, sent to finally free him from his torment.

“See you later, Eren.”, the other Mikasa said before planting a kiss on his lips.

Her vision blurring, she clutched her head against nausea, the scene evaporating into nothingness.

“Hey, Miki? Miki are you okay?”, a shuffle of boots on the ground and suddenly there was a presence next to her.

That was Eren, her Eren, the one with a manbun and no scars on his face. She leaned onto his body for support, closing her eyes and breathing evenly, the headache slowly fading.

“Is something wrong? Are you sick?”, the doctor in him was out now, hands gently gliding over her face to check. She opened her eyes, letting him see her pupils.

“I’m fine.”, she said, “Just a headache.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that.

“And I saw a vision.”, she added, making his eyes widen.

“Vision? Like your dreams?”

“Yes... But I’m not asleep, am I?”

Gently as he could, Eren walked her over to the bench, the same on the other Eren was sitting at. There, she told him everything she saw, down to every tiny detail.

“I guess being here is too similar to what the dream was about.”, she concluded, “It must have triggered my “memories” somehow.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.”, the answer was immediate, “I might get more visions, but I feel so peaceful here, it’s beautiful.”

Eren chewed his bottom lip, obviously worried about her wellbeing, but Mikasa was determined. Leaning closer, she kissed him, trying to put his fears to rest.

“I promise that I’ll tell you when I feel unwell. Okay?”

Maybe moved by the kiss, or just because he was very bad at saying “No” to her in general, Eren agreed.

“Let’s stay here a while.”, he said, most likely to make sure that Mikasa was all right, but she didn’t complain.

Leaning on his shoulder, Mikasa felt his arm wrap around her as he pulled her close, and they sat together on the bench, staring over the never-ending ocean. She was right, it was beautiful.

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Catch a Falling Star

The Star Sending Festival goes a little differently when Yuu has a raging crush on one of the performers.

Warnings for coarse language, deceptive actions, and being an excuse for OC x Canon, baby!

Please check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag for more, and let me know if you enjoyed it! I have an open askbox and do like to chat.

~*~*~*~

"You boys look great."

Trey and Deuce flushed a bit, and you laughed and snapped a quick picture. How pretty they looked in starlight silks and airy linens, all embroidered in gold! Pretty as a picture.

"If you like the clothes so much, you can take my spot and play the drum?" Idia, poor thing, he sounded so hopeful from the other side of his screen. And the clothes were nice, nicer than even the robes you had woken up in. They'd look nice on you. But if they'd look nice on you, how much nicer would they look on him?

You tried to keep your voice casual, but you couldn't keep out the teasing tone. "Noooo, they’d suit you better. And I can't keep a beat! You've done perfect on some of the rhythm games you play. It'll be a cakewalk."

He just groaned, and kept at it. As though pity for him could outweigh your own desires.

~*~*~*~

"Selfish little bastard of a man."

"Please stop calling my brother names."

"I'll call him what I like. Deuce has been working very hard. At least he can't resist gamifying anything."

Ortho hovered behind your shoulder. "Is it wrong that I hope Deuce succeeds? I should want Idia to always win."

"I hope not. I like Idia a lot-"

"You do."

"Shh. But that doesn't mean I want him to always have his way. He does need to do things sometimes. If he doesn't occasionally come out of his comfort zone, how's he going to extend said zone? He's got... there's zones he needs to be in before..."

Ortho tilted his head, and you ruffled his hair like the puppy he seemed. "Anyways. I got an idea. Say nothing to you brother about it, I don't want him crying betrayal in my messages."

~*~*~*~

"Easy sleep."

The gem glowed to life, and you set it aside to grab the next unactivated one. With so many students not wanting to make a wish? All you had to say was that you'd take unwanted stones, no questions asked. By sunset there were piles of them by the Ramshackle gate. all to add to Deuce's . And wishing stars didn't seem to care if the same person used multiple, just if you spoke it out loud. Which, with your loudmouth shnook of a roommate, meant you were just cycling through a list of trivial things.

"Ugh, are you done? I'm going to bed." He only made a few more wishes himself, for endless food and as many naps as he'd like, before growing bored.

"I'll be up soon, make yourself comfortable. Um. Fly the heavens. Swim like fishes. A clean conscience..." You kept going through ones in the lyrics from a remembered song, until you were sure Grim was in bed and wouldn't be awake to make fun of you.

"One true lover with a thousand kisses."

The stone clicked on like a sigh, warming under your touch. The light seemed a bit different, though it was likely your imagination. You grabbed the next one. "Idia to perform in his pretty little outfit." Click. "That if I go home, I rememeber everything, everyone here." Click. Click. Click. You kept going until there was only one left.

You whispered a truly selfish one to it, and it lit up so bright you had to blink the spots from your eyes.

~*~*~*~

"Aaaaaaaaa you look so cuuute~" As beautiful as Idia looked? You couldn't stop gushing over Ortho. "You're such a pretty little thing aaaaaaaaah!~" You swung Ortho around in a hug. "You look great! And the ceremony is saved!"

God, he had such a sweet laugh. "I'll be perfect! I have to go! I'll see you after!" Was he trailing sparkles as he went? Probably not. And with him gone, you could go back to your original target.

Idia fidgeted in his spoot and looked away as you looked him up and down. You'd never seen him look so fine. Of course, even in his usual clothes, he was beautiful, but in these, this finery? He looked otherworldly, more a fanciful painting than a person. Maybe everyone else could see even a fraction of what you did.

"You look nice."

"It's awful." 

"It's lovely. A splendid get up for a splendid person." He turned red. "A kind, sweet boy who steps up to the plate when it really matters." Redder. "A wonderful person who went out and personally granted all the wishes he could - Mal told me about what you did, and look what you've done for Ortho! And you saved the ceremony!"

He covered his face with his hands. "Stop, stop, I'm too low-leveled to take these complements. I don't deserve them."

"You deserve plenty. May I...?" You held up your phone.

He frowned at you. "Why would you want a picture of me looking like an idiot?"

"You look..." So beautiful you feel lightheaded just from standing this close. "Far from an idiot."

He argued, but you did get your picture.

~*~*~*~

The ceremony was over, but you're just pissy. If it was just your phone on the friz? Yeah, whatever. But everyone's went screwy, so you knew damn well Idia did something so there wouldn't be pictures or video.

And he'd done so well! He was a born drummer, he hadn’t missed a beat. He'd been so alive, and passionate, and he needed to see it for himself. That was the whole reason, not that you’d wanted a recording of him to watch in the wee hours of the morning.

Good thing that even as he fled from the wishing tree, he was easy to pick out, and it was easy to guess the direction he was going. So, instead of chasing directly after him and losing out to his long stride, you just took a different path and waylaid him in a small clearing.

He didn't even realize you were there until you steped into his path ten feet in from of him, landing on his ass.

"So. How'd you screw the phones?"

He blinked up at you, chest heaving. His clothes were damp from the ceremony, and he smelled of sweat, though not unpleasantly. "Made a signal jammer. They'll be fine when I turn it off."

You smiled, and sat down across from him. You'd picked a good spot to find him, the moss was thick underneath you. both. "That's a great trick. Why?"

He rolled his eyes, already knowing what track you were on. "No one wants pictures of me except you."

"If that was true, you wouldn't have made it so no one got any pictures of the ceremony. The one where you were only a small part of." You decided to add a bit of guilt. "Deuce's poor mother, she'll not get any pictures of her boy!"

He flopped back onto the ground and covered his face. "Stop lying."

"I'm not lying."

"You don't actually care about that." Still lying back, he pointed a finger at you. "You're just mad because you didn't get your pictures of me! Why me?"

"Why not you? I was so busy looking at you I barely had time to notice anything else! Why would I want to look at anything else!" You couldn't stop yourself. "I don;t understand why anyone would ever stop looking at you. I've never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. And after I got to know you? I like all of you, even the parts that drive me mad. Especially those." You drew your knees to your chest, painful with the thudding of your heart. "You're wonderful. The only thing about you I truly don't like is how much you dislike yourself."

He'd drawn back during your... good lord, that was a confession, wasn't it? Against a tree, staring at you wide eyed with fear. He was going to run as soon as he caught his breath, you knew it. You'd fucked it up and he probably wouldn't even want to keep being your friend.

"Do you really mean that?"

You nodded, waiting for the shoe to drop. But instead of running, he joined you, a hair's breadth from your side, silent for what felt like eons.

"I'm an SR at most. On my good days."

"Nonsense." You laughed. "You're a treasure. a truly rare specimen. Museum quality."

He managed to laugh back. "Only normies still go to museums."

You nudged his shoulder. "I said don't ever call me that."

"Normie."

"Stop."

"Nor-"

You pushed him lightly, and he still flopped over, laughing. You joined him, head on his chest. (So damned bony! even with his faint muscle, you could feel the curves of rib beneath his skin.)

"Idia?"

"?"

"You're terrified. I can hear your heart going."

"Ah... Excited too. People don’t confess to you every day. Especially not me."

"Oh, they should though. Letters pouring out of your locker every time you open it. Chocolates from secret admirers. The whole list."

"Not everyone's you. No one else is."

"You can just borrow mine. I get tons of them."

He frowned at you. "And you pick me?"

"Yes? Why wouldn't I?"

"There's the whole school to pick from. A whole school who aren't shut in otakus with curses."

"Oh, I got a curse too." He narrowed his eyes at you. "I'm the hottest bitch in a school full of hot bitches. It's truly dreadful. No one meets my exacting standards except you."

"I am cursed. And you have no standards, because..."

You held a finger to his lips, and he went cross-eyed trying to look at it. "No. Don't start. Can I prove I like you?"

He gave a small nod, and you took a deep breath before you began. The first kiss, you placed to his fore head after pushing his bangs away. The next two, to each scrunched eyelid, purplish and finely veined. Four, five, six, to the nose and each cheek. On the last, you hesitated. Was this too much? Was this too quick? He answered you himself, reaching up and dragging you down to crush his lips against yours with a gasp. He only let you up when he gasped for breath, eyes unfocused and his lips bruised and swollen. It was such a glorious sight, you couldn't help but record it.

He didn't even get a chance to shield his eyes, and you'd stowed your phone away as he blinked in shock as he realized what the click was. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because you looked beautiful, and I wanted to remember it."

"Nnnn... please don't show anyone."

"Not even you?"

"No."

"Too bad, I'll show you after. People are probably looking for us."

~*~*~*~

You couldn't complain. You're pretty sure that you weren't supposed to plant grass seed by hand? But there was something soothing about your hands in the dirt, so you were doing it that way.

"I can't believe Shroud's not here, he made this mess."

"Ortho is here." He was in charge of spreading the grass seed after he helped get rid of the burnt grass.

"Ortho doesn’t count."

You threw a clod of dirt at Grimm's head. "Then you might as well say you don't, either."

Idia actually showed up in the flesh before that fight could continue, gushing that he actually got the game sequel he wanted. Good for him! Now you needed to find a playthrough of the original to watch, to properly understand the excitement.

"It's a pity you didn't get a wish yourself, Yuu." Deuce didn’t know that you'd wished up at least three dozen stars yourself, he thought you’d just gotten them from people. He didn’t need to know, either.

You looked up at Idia, catching his eye. He started, and flushed not just his face, but halfway down his hair, before it faded out, a pulse of pink sparks. The smile you made at the sight hurt your cheeks from the strength of it.

"I'd say I got my wish just fine."

[balladeer-angelo]

64, 86 carlosxreader 🥴❤️

I gotchu bb 😘 this one’s got some ZANG to it

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

It was just some harmless flirting. At least, to you it was. Maybe even to the bartender polishing a freshly cleaned shot glass. She’s gotta be used to seeing these kinds of interactions day in and day out, whether she wanted to overhear too much or not. But to Carlos, who was quietly nursing a glass of beer in an empty booth, it became more and more of an objectionable offense the longer he watched you and one of the men he worked with getting along just a little too well. And he swore that he knew what you were doing. Or that you knew what you were doing. To him.

Though you were casually leaning back in your seat at the bar, legs crossed and body facing the man you were chatting with about non-work related matters, he always caught those little glances you would toss his way to peck at. You knew he was watching. He doesn’t have to mull about whether the way you tilt your head when you would speak to show off the skin of your neck is blatant or purely accidental. Because with you and with him, it’s never an accident.

The warm light hanging above the counter brings a shine to your eyes when you laugh at something his co-worker says, playfully giving his arm a light nudge. Carlos starts to drink a little more briskly. His glass was now half empty, and he squinted from across the bar as you leaned in close to whisper something in that man’s ear. You didn’t even cup your hand over your mouth to hide what you were saying. You might as well have been whispering to everyone in the building who could listen. Your eyes flicker in Carlos’s direction and he almost chokes on his lukewarm beer, feels it threaten to creep up into his nose.

You laugh again and so does the man this time. Carlos somehow finds just enough restraint in him so he doesn’t slam the bottom of the clear glass onto the table, lest it shatter and bring unwanted attention. Though he does place it with a little more of a heated oomph. He wipes his mouth with his forearm and strides over to the bar, boots thumping against the wood with purpose. He doesn’t even acknowledge your new friend when he gets close enough.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He mumbles in your ear, sounding more worked up than he looked.

You finish your drink and smile at him like you don’t know what’s about to happen. “Sure!” You give a friendly touch to his co-worker’s wrist, still smiling. “It was lovely chatting with you. See you around, Paul!”

Paul returns the sentiment and you slip out of your seat to follow Carlos toward the back exit. Even in the chill of the night, your skin feels deceptively hot beneath the silky material of your blouse. Maybe it’s the cocktail. Maybe it’s the anticipation. He checks every open corner and nook in the dimly lit alley beside the small tavern, one of his many habits, and once he determines that the two of you are completely alone he closes the space between the both of you.

“So, you wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?”

You have to crane your neck slightly to take a good look at his face and you’re able to verify that he’s not necessarily mad, but he’s not exactly pleased.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You answer with a coy grin. He shakes his head.

“Oh no, don’t you start playin’ dumb now. You know what I mean.”

“I was just having a nice, cordial chat with a new friend. That’s all.” You say with a shrug. He doesn’t feel like buying it just yet.

“Yeah? You always get that cozy with every new friend you make?”

“Sounds like someone’s a little jealous.”

He actually laughs at that. His eyes leave your face and find a more interesting spot on the brick wall behind you. Someone carved the words, call me! along with a line of dashes and numbers. Someone else responded with their own carving that read, AS IF.

“Did you know that Paul used to work in Umbrella’s tourism firm, the Paraguas Line Company?” You tip your head to try and gain his attention again, but he wouldn’t let you have it. He was looking at a slew of graffiti instead.

“He’s taken people everywhere. Europe, Africa, South America. He’s seen it all. He’s done it all. From drinkin’ out of coconuts on soft white beaches and splashin’ around in oceans bluer than curacao liqueur, to munchin’ on a fresh quiche for breakfast outside of a little cafe in The Côte d'Azur and harvesting Sorento lemons in October.”

He’s tapping his foot now, still refusing to look at you even though you also catch him stealing his own glances. You notice that those quick peeks seem to get snagged on your lips every time. This makes you grin and he gets stuck in your teeth, too.

“You wanna know somethin’ else about Paul?”

The muscles in his jaw visibly tense just a bit underneath all of that dark scruff and he puffs out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Lemme guess, he’s got a shinier pension plan? A timeshare in the Bahamas? Any other fantastic fringe benefits I’m forgetting? Uhh... Oh! Does he have dental? I bet he has great dental.”

You expected this amount of snark for how much you rattled him throughout the night. It was oozing out of him like when you take a scraper across a heavy slab of honeycomb. Seeing him get so riled up was more blood-pumping than taking down a horde of the undead.

You boldly take a step closer to him, carefully pressing your chest against his. You lean up on your toes and whisper in his ear.

“His wife is a researcher at the Alexander Institute of Biotechnology in Chicago.”

Carlos sighs through his nose and he slowly brings his arms up to place his hands on either side of your head against the wall behind you. His forehead is pressed against your collarbone.

Got ‘em.

“He says that she’s wonderful at what she does. The best and brightest out of everyone there. Oh! And they actually met while Paul was guiding a cruise across the Mediterranean coast, and at that very same lemon grove in Sorento. Isn’t that romanti-”

His lips are rough and demanding when they find yours, catching your breath and discarding any more trivial things to make room for his tongue. You do your best not to smile into the kiss, you really do. You try to match his frustrated tempo with a few placating licks of your own. But he’s just so damn cute when he’s embarrassed. His teeth give your bottom lip a stern pinch before he releases to scowl at you.

“You must think you’re pretty funny, huh? Cute, even.”

You shrugged once more. “Maybe a little. I definitely am cute, though.”

Carlos hummed, giving you ample time to get everything out of your system now before he ended your little game.

“And he does have good dental. His teeth are pretty nice.”

Even through the fabric of your shirt, you can feel the blazing heat coming from his palms as they slide down your arms, your elbows, bringing the blood in your wrists to a simmer.

“Glad you had a good time. Now, I’m sure you know what comes next, don’t you, fox?”

Though he looks to be in better spirits, at the moment, you can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips together to hide your cheeky smile. You take your time as you answer him, walking your fingers up his chest and innocently picking lint off the collar of his shirt.

“Burgers and a shake? I am feeling a little peckish.”

He shakes his head, pulling you even closer.

“Another drink to shake off all that embarrassment?”

“You wish.” Your arms are coiled around his neck now.

“Hmm... I dunno, Corporal. Why don’t you tell me?”

The hands that had been burning a steady path down your waist come to a halt at your hips to snake around for a good grip on your ass and haul you up. The wind is practically knocked out of you and a breathy whimper slips past your lips. He’s got you trapped between, literally, a rock and a hard place, with the hem of your skirt slipping up and over your waist.

He discovers then that you weren’t wearing anything else underneath. That has him practically panting on the spot.

You were enraptured by the intensely potent look in his eyes that held you just as tightly, that bruised you as lovingly as his hands did to your supple body.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.” He growled with a greedy sort of spark that you’d never heard before.

“Don’t be mean. That asshole’s name is Paul.” His eyes roll at your lighthearted chiding, but soon he’s huffing abruptly against your chest when he feels your hand dip past his pants to rub his erection through his boxers. The chill of your fingers has him jolting and bucking into your touch.

You completely undo his belt and then pop the silver button on his jeans, teasing his lips with a quick swipe of your tongue as you leisurely pull down the zipper.

“And I don’t care what you do,” He helps you push his pants and boxers out of the way, releasing his aching cock to the night air. He lowers you down just a bit, just enough to have you lined up perfectly. He adjusts so your knees are slung over his arms. Carlos swallows hard, breathes heavily against your lips as he eagerly waits for you to say it, chants it in his mind.

Say it. Say it, please. It’s almost too much! Please say it!

“Just fuck me, Carlos.”

[writingblock101]

Growing Pains (Damian x Reader)

This is the first time I’ve written Damian! I hope y’all like it. In this fic, he’s 17. I found the picture on Google so I’m not sure who the original artists it (it was reposted from Pinterest and the artist wasn’t listed), but know that the art is not mine! 

Request for @idkmanicantenglish​ (thanks for your patience!):  Reader and Damian got in a fight while they were out in patrol, and when they go back to the Bat Cave, Damian ignores her and she goes to sleep in the guests room and later into the night Damian decides to go apologize because she was just trying to help him and he got mad for no reason

Words: 1,800

“I had it handled,” Robin growls, resheathing his katana. 

“Yeah, that looked handled,” You remark sarcastically, putting your knives away.  

“I was fine, I didn’t need a savior,” He storms past you. 

You roll your eyes but follow Robin. 

“It’s not that deep. I was just helping.” 

He whips around to glare at you. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need help.” 

“You know a thank you wouldn’t kill you!” 

“I can handle myself! I didn’t need your help!” Then Robin grapples to the next rooftop. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Nightwing asks in your ear. 

You groan. 

“You have no idea.” 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He offers. 

“Where are you?” 

“On top of Gotham City Bank. Come tell me about your boy problems,” Nightwing snickers. 

You roll your eyes, but shoot your grappling hook and head to Gotham City Bank to rant to Nightwing. 

“Hey, Falcon,” He greets as you land gracefully on the roof. “What’s troubling you?”

“Your stupid brother,” You grumble, sitting down next to Nightwing. 

He chuckles. 

“Yeah, you’re not the first person.”

“He’s been so pissy on patrol lately. It’s annoying.” 

“What happened?” 

Your shoulders slump.

“Robin crashed one of Dent’s meetups, but there were more guns than he anticipated so I helped him out but of course, he’s all pissed because he thinks that I think he can’t handle himself or something!” You cross your arms. “I know he’s capable, but geez, even Batman has back up!” 

Nightwing hums along, nodding his head. You continue ranting. 

“He’s been so touchy lately! Like any time I back him up or join him in a fight, he gets pissed! And I’m fed up with it! I don’t get pissy when he helps me out! I don’t get it! This had never been an issue until a few weeks ago and I’m over it!” 

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” Nightwing suggests but you scoft. 

“Come on, Wing. You know Robin. He’s more emotionally constipated than Batman. Talking it out isn’t exactly his strong suit.” 

“You’re right,” Nightwing agrees. “He’s stubborn with that kind of thing but you’re just going to have to corner him.” 

Your shoulders slump. 

“I know but I don’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s just going to end in a fight! Something is up and he won’t tell me… But I don't know why! I want to help him and be there for him but…” Your voice lowers as you slump in further on yourself. “He doesn’t trust me.” 

“Seriously, Falcon? Robin not trust you? You’re the first person he’s ever truly let in!” Nightwing insists. “Talk to him, it sounds like he needs someone to be there for him.” 

“Well, that’s not going to happen tonight,” You snap. “I’m still pissed. No matter what’s going on, taking out on me isn’t cool.” 

“That’s fair,” He shrugs. “Robin is stubborn like that. I don’t know anyone else like that,” He sighs dramatically. 

“Shut up, Wing!” You hear Red Hood’s distant voice yell, getting you to crack a smile. 

“And we’ve got a smile,” Nightwing grins. “Don’t let Robin ruin the rest of your patrol. Go beat up a mugger or something.” 

“Thanks for the advice, Wing,” You smile then dive off the roof, letting the wind catch your cap and allow you to glide onto the next roof. 

. . . 

Your night improved after talking to Dick, but as you get closer to the Cave, you begin dreading to see Damian. He’s been so snappy lately and you’re tired of it. Whatever his issue is, he needs to handle it like an adult and stop taking it out on you. 

As your feet touch the ground, you decide you’re not talking to him tonight. Any necessary conversation can happen in the morning. Once you finish your debrief of the night with Bruce, you’re about to head upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms when Damian catches your arm. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. 

You pull your arm away from him, wishing he’d never hit that growth spirit that made him taller than Jason. You feel tiny in comparison despite spending your free nights beating up criminals much bigger than you. 

“What?” You snap. 

He sighs. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

You raise your eyebrows. What an amazing detective. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that since you flipped your shit at me in the warehouse?” 

“I had the situation under control,” He growls. “I was angry that you didn’t seem to trust me enough to handle it.” 

“I trust you, I was just helping.” 

“It was unnecessary, I had it handled.” 

“Well, it certainly made it go faster.” 

“You didn’t pop in to help with speed,” Damian snaps. “I’m not some helpless child. I can handle myself!” 

“I never said you couldn’t. I was just being backup.”

“I didn’t need a savior.” 

“Stop trying to put words in my mouth,” You snap. “I was just helping.” 

“I didn’t need your help!” 

“You were getting overwhelmed!” 

“I had it handled!” 

“No, you didn’t!” You yell. “I don’t give a shit who you were trained by Damian! You’re not bulletproof! And if I hadn’t stepped in tonight, you would’ve gotten shot!” 

“I’ve had worse,” Damian sneers. 

“That’s not the fucking point!” You snap. “If you’re going to stand here and be pissed at me for having your back then fine! I’d rather you be mad at me than be dead. And if that makes me an idiot, so be it!”

“If I had gotten shot, it would’ve been my own damn fault and I would have dealt with it! I don’t need you to be watching my every move!” 

“Your arrogance is going to get you killed if you can’t even accept help from someone who’s supposed to watch your back,” You growl. “That’s what all of us do, we look out for each other.” 

“Yeah, look out for each other, not babysit,” Damian snaps. 

“Fuck this, I’m going to bed. I don’t know what your deal has been lately but I’m tired of being your punching bag! So, when you’re ready to own up to your shit, you know where to find me,” Then you storm off. 

You cannot believe Damian has the audacity to accuse you of being a babysitter! For a long time, he felt he had to prove himself which he hid under a thick layer of arrogance, but you thought he was passed that! Apparently, he’s back to needing to prove himself to God knows who and has decided he’s going to take out any frustration about his shortcomings on you. 

Not anymore. You’re tired of this. If Damian thinks he can continue speaking to you that way, he’s got another thing coming. 

After showering, you go to bed in a guest room, still fuming. Usually, you sleep in Damian’s room, but after your argument tonight, you don’t want to be near him. You spend thirty minutes tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or take your mind off your boyfriend. 

Seriously, what is his deal? Damian’s never spoken to you like that! You two always had mutual respect for each other since you were always the two youngest in the room. The pressure of living up to your predecessors could fade when it was you two because you both understood each other, so why Damian decided you were now babysitting him--

The door opens. You flip over, your back to the door, knowing exactly who just walked into the room. 

“Y/N,” He says quietly.

“What do you want, Damian?” You snap, refusing to face him. 

“I want to apologize.” 

You sit up in bed and face him with a clenched jaw. 

“For what?” You demand. 

“For tonight,” Damian admits, looking at you for a moment then looking away. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” You growl. 

He sighs. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you and accusing you of not trusting me. You were just helping and you were right-- I was taking on too many men by myself.” 

You soften and pull back the covers, inviting Damian into bed. He crawls in bed, wrapping his arms around you. 

“What’s up with you, Dames?” You ask, leaning back against his chest. 

“What are you talking about?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Why have you been so snappy on patrol lately?” 

He sighs, twirling a piece of your hair instead of answering for a moment. You wait, knowing he’ll answer you. Whatever is bothering him, Damian doesn’t want to admit. He’s ashamed, but he’ll get over his pride.  

“Grandfather called me.” 

You wince, unsure of the last time Damian spoke to his grandfather. You’re pretty sure it didn’t end well then either

“What did he say?” 

“He told me I’m wasting my time as a sidekick and that I could be a great ruler right now if I was not wasting my time with trivial matters.” 

You turn to face Damian, forcing him to look at you. 

“Damian, what you do is not trivial. You help people every night. You save lives. What you’re doing in Gotham is so much greater than anything you could be doing in the League of Assassins.”

“Doesn’t feel like that sometimes,” He mutters. “I get treated like a criminal here. At least there, I was respected.” 

“You were also murdering people,” You remind him.

“I know,” He goes silent, but you can tell something is still bothering him.

“Maybe you’ve outgrown Robin,” You suggest, resettling on his chest. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, everyone that has been Robin, after a certain point eventually became someone else of their own creation. Dick became Nightwing, Jason became Red Hood, Tim became Red Robin.” 

“Are you suggesting I quit as Robin?” 

You shrug. 

“I think you are starting to outgrow the role and need a new role to fill.” 

Damian is silent for a moment, mulling over your words. 

“Perhaps…” He agrees, resting his head on top of yours. “I don’t know what I would call myself.” 

“You don’t have to decide now, you have time. Talk to Bruce about it, maybe he has some suggestions, but for now, stop being rude on patrol.” 

He chuckles, hugging you tighter for a moment and kissing the top of your head. 

“Yes, Beloved.” 

“I love you, Damian. I don’t want anything to happen to you so it worries me when you brush stuff off by saying you’ve had worse.” 

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…” He trails off. 

You turn to look up at him, reaching up to stroke his face for a moment. 

“I know.” 

You get it. You and Damian have always understood each other in a way neither of you had ever experienced before meeting each other. It’s why you two worked as well as you did, even with both of your stubbornness and tough exteriors. 

He smiles fondly at you and kisses you. 

“I love you too,” Damian whispers back. 

This is the first time I’ve written for Damian so hopefully, I did okay! I’m not sure if Damian ever becomes someone else other than Batman, but it’s fanfiction. Keep an eye out for some future fics I’ve been working on! 

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hello lovely humans!

I’ve recently hit the 500 follower milestone and want to celebrate with another challenge! This time, dark fics are welcome! 

I have a lot of prompts here and what doesn’t get used will probably be put aside for a future challenge. I like to make sure there is a wide array of prompts to be chosen from and tend to go overboard. Whoops. 

The Rules: 

1. Use the hashtag #JBBNN500 

2. Dark fics are welcome - Just be sure to utilize trigger warnings and indicate that it is a dark fic. 

3. Even if you aren’t writing a dark fic, use trigger warnings if the content warrants it. If you write something that has heavier themes, like those that delve into mental health topics, be sure to label it appropriately. 

4. Selecting Prompts: Just let me know which one you want to do! 2 people per prompt! Tell me which subheading and the number of the prompt so I can mark it down! If it’s a lyric prompt, please give me the song and the number! 

5. You don’t have to be following to participate! 

6. Deadline: January 11, 2021

Yes, I’m giving about 3 months for this. January 11 also happens to be my birthday, so I figured that would be a good date to choose. 

The subheadings are: dialogue prompts, sentence prompts, quotes from popular media, and song lyrics!

Find the prompts under the cut! 

Dialogue Prompts

“Life is made up of maybes and regrets. I don’t want this to be one of them.”

“You can’t do this. It’s my choice to make, and mine alone. If you don’t agree with it, the door is there. Feel free to use it.”

“I used to be afraid of the dark, you know. Until I learned that the real monsters thrive in the light.” 

“So, what you’re saying is if I gave you a nickel, you’d do it.”

“No, I don’t know how the cheese got there, and honestly, I don’t think I want to know.” 

“You’re sounding more like a cult leader every time you open your mouth. Don’t think I’ll be accepting any Flavor Aid from you anytime soon.” 

“How did you...you know what, I’m going to forget I saw a thing, and go read a book. Or bathe in Holy Water. Or both. Both is good.” 

“If you say one more word I swear--” “One more word” “I hate you” 

“You can’t come in here singing my favorite song and expect forgiveness, that’s not how this works!”

“No. You mean nothing to me. You never did. You never will.” 

“But if it did, it would work and you can’t convince me otherwise.” 

“You are simultaneously the smartest and least intelligent person I have ever meant. Truly, an amazing accomplishment.” @bonkywobble​

“Next thing you’re going to say is that ghosts are real...please tell me that’s a joke” 

“All I’m saying is, I could do that blindfolded.” 

“But why was there pizza on the ceiling?” 

“If you write me a four thousand word essay on why you think that’s a good idea, then sure.” 

“I didn’t think you were serious. Do you know how illegal this is?!” 

Sentence Prompts

Feel free to change the pronouns used to suit your needs, even if they aren’t bracketed! You can also change the tense if you need to! 

The January rain fell, feeling like razors against [your/her/their] skin as [you/she/they] stared out over the horizon.

This was it, the moment where life as [you/she/they] knew it ended.

 [His/her/their] gaze fell on [her/you], like a lion circling its prey. 

You never thought that it would come to this, come to being the one to end it all. 

You took a moment to calculate [his/her/their] next move, figuring out the perfect counter. 

Hanging by your ankles from a tree was most definitely not how you planned on spending your Saturday. 

Glancing around the room at the decor, one thing was obvious: it was [his/her/their] doing. 

Hurt was the only thing you felt, the only thing you could cling to in this abyss.

Lies, it had all been lies and they were crumbling around you. 

The screech of tires on the pavement sent a shiver down your spine.

He/She used to love this time of year, the beauty of it all. 

It was like climbing Everest: ambitious, dangerous, and maybe a little insane. 

Forgiveness was not something you were willing to offer so freely, not this time. 

Chaos may as well have been the code name of this mission. @nekoannie-chan​

Silence was your new best friend, one that never seemed to leave you alone.

That smile, that smile was something you could get used to waking up to every day. 

Your face twisted in disgust as you realized what you had fallen into.

You were beginning to wish you had taken [him/her/them] up on that trip to Madrid. 

Quotes from Popular Media:

With these prompts specifically, you can use the full thing, paraphrase, etc, since some of them are quite long, or just write something based off an idea it sparks. 

“There are so many stories where some brave hero decides to give their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice, the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero... never gets to see that ending. They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end, they just have to have faith. Ain't that a bitch.” -Epsilon, Season 13, Red vs Blue 

“We're so arrogant, aren't we? So afraid of age, we do everything we can to prevent it. We don't realize what a privilege it is to grow old with someone. Someone who doesn't drive you to commit murder or doesn't humiliate you beyond repair.” - Daniel, P.S I Love You 

“After centuries of men looking at my tits instead of my eyes and pinching my ass instead of shaking my hand, I now have the divine right to stare at a man's backside with vulgar, cheap appreciation if I want to!” - Denise, P.S. I Love You

“Life isn't just death. Don't ignore the living.” - Vada Sultenfuss, My Girl

“Life's full of barbaric customs. But I hope they all end with a kiss like that.” - Vada Sultenfuss, My Girl 

"You're a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant ... but scary." - Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone 

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends." - Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone 

"I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there." - Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets 

“Sweetie, this is one of those times when I know what's right and everybody else is confused.” - Angela Montenegro, Bones, Season 3 

“Oh, God. I'm in the middle of something, aren't I? Oh, look! Dead guy!” - Cam Saroyan, Bones, Season 5

“Don’t make it sound trivial when you know it isn’t. You keep talking about how we just need a little more time, but you’re not the one having to struggle.” -Nora, RWBY, Volume 7

“It's called survival. But I forgot, you two at best are functional morons.” - Crowley, Supernatural, Season 5, Episode 10

“I once had to judge a tighty-whitey contest for Lambda Kappa Pi. Trust me, I can handle anything.” - Elle Woods, Legally Blonde 

“How were we supposed to know? It's not like we run background checks on all her boyfriends.” - Kathryn Kennish, Switched at Birth

“Don’t try to get on my good side. I no longer have a good one” - Ouiser, Steel Magnolias 

“I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.” - Shelby, Steel Magnolias 

“You have the handwriting of a serial killer” - Clairee, Steel Magnolias 

“I didn’t know if you would hire someone who might be married to someone who may or may not be a criminal” - Annelle, Steel Magnolias 

Lyric Prompts

What Do You Think Of - Lauren Alaina ft. Lukas Graham

What do you think of when you think of me?

When you look back on us what do you see? Is it the good times, is it the bad times, is it somewhere in between? 

I can’t even drive down 8th Avenue because the whole damn town reminds me of you

Hurts to Know - 1551

But you stayed when I made another promise to keep

And you waited and waited for the life you saw in your dreams 

You walk in and begin to try to heal me again, but each night is a fight that’s getting harder to win.

Sick - 1551

Everyone I meet feels like another target

I’m feeling sick, I’m feeling twisted, I wasn’t home before this feeling existed 

I never knew that wrong could feel so right

seven - Taylor Swift

Sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won’t tell no other, and though I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you

Passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long

I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why 

We’ll hide in the closet, and just like a folk song, our love will be passed on 

the last great american dynasty - Taylor Swift

How did a middle class divorcee do it? 

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche 

And they said “There goes the last great American dynasty. Who knows if she never showed up what could have been.” 

epiphany - Taylor Swift 

With you I serve, with you I fall down 

Something med school did not cover

And some things you just can’t speak about 

Chapters - Brett Young

Chapter one, I was raised on the Dodgers 

There’s no perfect life, you can’t hold back time

Everybody expecting perfection 

Things change in the blink of an eyelid, guess my body knew way more than I did

The Daughters - Little Big Town

Girl, know your place, be willing and able 

Girl, watch your mouth and watch your weight

Pose like a trophy on a shelf, and dream for everyone but not yourself

I wash the dishes, feed the kids, and clean up all this mess, do my best, forgive myself, and look good in this dress

It Won’t Always Be Like This - Carly Pearce 

I remember how I couldn’t wait to get out of my hometown, now I’m looking for every excuse to go back on the weekend

I remember hearing the door slam, twenty-two, didn't have a clue who I was, who I could trust, and who were my real friends

The heart won’t ache forever, no matter how hard it gets, it won’t always be like this

Next Girl - Carly Pearce 

You overlook a lot when he looks like that

He’ll charm your mama with that smile, hide the red flags for a while 

He’ll make you think it’s love, but I promise you it’s not 

Bar Back - Lauren Alaina 

You can have that coffee shop we went on our first date

I’ll give you back that sweatshirt, that one you know I love

I’m taking back that little hole in the wall, the red door sign saying “come on in y’all”

If I Was a Beer - Lauren Alaina

Honey you’re in luck, ‘cause I’m a fine, fine, wine. I’m a slow sweet pour, I can be a little bitter, but I ain’t a hard hitter, like a 30 from the grocery store

Waiting for Superman - Daughtry

She says “he’s still coming, just a little bit late” 

She’s talking to angels, counting the stars, making a wish on a passing car

If life was a movie, then it wouldn’t end like this 

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

When you hurt under the surface, like troubled water running could, well time can heal but this won’t

Before you go, was there something I could have said to make your heart beat better?

Our every moment, I start to replay, but all I can think about is seeing that look on your face  @arrowsandmixtapes​ 

Hard to Forget - Sam Hunt

It's kinda funny how I can't seem to get away from you, it's almost like you don't want me to

You’ve got a cold heart and the cold hard truth

Told me to leave all your things out on the porch on the swing

Oh you’re breaking my heart, baby you’re playing hard to forget 

This is It - Scotty McCreery

You can open your eyes

Can’t you see forever 

On top of the world here together

If there ever was a time for a perfect kiss, this is it 

Wish You’d Miss Me - Chase Wright

I was good for you, you were bad for me 

I was solid ground, you were broken wings 

I gave you love you gave me pain

You gave me hell, I gave you grace 

I knew all along that you were gonna leave 

What a Man Gotta Do - Jonas Brothers

I’m not trying to be your part time lover, sign me up for that full time @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​

This Feeling - Chainsmokers ft. Kelsea Ballerini 

I lay out all my reasons you say that I need help

They tell me think with my head, not that thing in my chest

They got their hands at my neck this time 

I tell you all my secrets and you tell all your friends 

Hold onto your opinions and stand by what you say 

What Are You Gonna Tell Her - Mickey Guyton 

She thinks life is fair 

But what are you gonna tell her when she’s wrong?

What are you gonna tell her when she figures out that all this time you built her up just so the world could let her down? 

Do you tell her not to fight? 

Can you look her in the face and promise her that things will change? 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #428

“there’s more money in tragedy, more net worth in self-pity  /  so you’re doubling down inside of your screen, hiding behind attention you seek”

Have you ever told someone, besides family, that you love them and meant it? Yeah. I've told friends that platonically, and I've said it to two people and romantically meant it. Are the blankets that are on your bed now made by someone you know in life? No. Have you seen all The Lord of the Rings movies? I haven't even seen one. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have you had in 2014? I had one. Can you walk in heels? I mean I can, but I don't like to. What does your mom say about the pictures on your Myspace? First the '14 question, now this... I don't think Mom ever had a Myspace, but I can answer for Facebook. She's always the person to "heart" react them and say something about how "beautiful" I am or something. ;x; What was the last thing you and your parents argued about? Idr. Do you feel your life is at its best? Fuck no. There better be better times than this. What do you worry about the most? The most? That's hard to say... but probably my career future. Or really just the future in general. Have you ever let someone be your everything? "Everything" still feels like an understatement. He was my source of happiness, a massive part of my own identity, and my promise for a better future. It was so, so unhealthy. Think back to the last person you kissed, how many times have you cried in their arms? Two times, I wanna say? What are some things you do when you’re mad? I get snappy and try to isolate myself to cry it out. How do you feel about your hair right now? I hate itttt. It's getting too long and just boring. I'm hoping I can get up with my hairdresser soon for a trim. What’s an interesting fact about you that not many people know? Uhhhh... I guess that I was a dancer for many years. I feel like I don't really fit the general "aesthetic" of dancers, so people have definitely been surprised to find out I was one. Do you do anything embarrassing when no one is home? No. Just because no one ELSE is there, I'd embarrass my damn self lol. If you had the chance to move to a completely different state/county, would you? Fuck yes I would. Could you ever be friends with someone that broke your heart? It's funny, because that's what the traumatized, overly-attached part of me wants (at the bare minimum), but my common sense knows that's dumb as fuck. I could never healthily be friends with him. Are you scared of fireworks? No, but others are terrified by them, so keep that in mind. Does anyone know every little detail about you? No. You woke up one day and discovered that you were only able to see in black and white… as well as one other colour. What colour would that be and why? I guess red? It sounds morbid for it to be the first thing my mind goes to, but that way, I'd be able to see blood and therefore be able to detect a symptom of danger. What is your favourite soundtrack for a film/video game/television show? (Though feel free to name as many!) Silent Hill 2 and Shadow of the Colossus have fucking LEGENDARY soundtracks. What is your favourite Pokémon? Ninetales! I also really love Espeon and Umbreon, too. And Charmander. And Pikachu. And Skitty. And... well, too many, ha ha. What is something your best friend of the opposite sex does that you can’t stand? He calls me "kid" a lot. Is the last book you read a really well-known book? It's not world-famous or anything, but it seems relatively known by teens/young adults. At least, I follow a lot of artists who make fanart for it. Do you have anything besides just songs downloaded on your iPod? No. When at the beach, do you spend more time on the beach or in the ocean? In the water. I hate the beach itself. Do you have any siblings you absolutely despise? Why do you despise them? No. Have you ever babysat before? Did you enjoy this job? Yes, and no, not at all. Have you ever busted a window before? Why did you bust it? No. Do you still get scared watching old horror movies? You watch them alone? Horror movies pretty much never scare me, never mind old cheesy ones. I don't mind watching them alone. Do knives scare you? Is it from watching scary movies? I'm terrified of big knives, and it has nothing to do with movies. It's a fear that started after Mom stopped me from a suicide attempt where I was going to slit my throat with one. They just radiate danger for me. Have you ever tried to sing opera? Did it work out for you or no? No. What was the last piece of furniture you purchased? I've never bought any furniture, and I don't recall the last thing Mom bought. Have you ever broken up with someone for a reason other than lack of feelings (ex. moving away, etc.)? Yeah; we split because we were essentially two shaky towers leaning against one another. We have to learn to straighten ourselves up independently before that relationship even becomes a "maybe" again. Has anyone ever told you that you are too picky when it comes to the people you date? What about not picky enough? Neither. Was there anything unusual or unique about your birth? Nothing really, besides being born in an icestorm. My birth itself was totally normal, as far as I know. Mom considers it pretty extraordinary though because according to her, I took one look at her and smiled so big. Says a lot about our relationship now. What was the best conversation you’ve had recently? *shrug* What is the next book you are going to read? The book that comes next in the series I'm reading. Who was the last person to do something nice for you? My mom does nice things for me every day, like making dinner, letting me live under her roof... a lot of stuff. Is there any artwork in the room you’re in? Yeah, some of my stuff. Have you ever made out on a couch? Yeah. Someone asks you what you want; what do you say? Happiness. Direction. What was the last thing you complained about? Just being incredibly sore. The gym's kicking my ass, but it needs to, so I'm fine with it. How do you feel when you hear other people complaining? It depends on how frequently and about what. It can become overwhelming sometimes, especially if it's over something truly trivial. Has your name been in someone’s Facebook status lately? No. Do you own any Sims games? Which ones? I have the original animals one, as well as the African animals one (which I surprisingly like less). What was your first job? I was a sales associate at GameStop. Do people praise you for your looks? Yeah, definitely not. Do you like your eyes? No. I wish they were bluer and wider. Tell me what your back pack looks like: My last one was a galaxy texture. What celebrity do you think is hot? HMMMMMMMMMMMM I DON'T KNOW????????????? NEVER SEEN ONE IN MY LIFE O: O: O: Last movie you saw in theatre: The The Lion King remake. Has someone you were dating ever cheated on you? No. What’s the cutest thing someone’s ever done for you? I'd rather not dig through the memories to find what I'd consider the "cutest." What was the last thing you heated up in your microwave? A chicken pesto bowl for lunch. Did you ever watch Phil of the Future? Occasionally, but I was never big on it. Do you have an online game that you play often? I play World of Warcraft pretty much daily. Do you prefer regular or electric toothbrushes? Electric. What was the last thing to piss you off? Truly piss me off, I'm not sure. When and where was the last time you took a picture of yourself? Months ago in my room. I want to take a new one to update my Facebook profile pic, because I think I'm ready to return there. Who was the last person to pay you a compliment or praise? The first day at the gym, Mom told me she was extremely proud of me, and it meant a lot. I truly think I can stick to this, and it's a fucking phenomenal feeling. What’s one thought you have regarding the subject of love? It can be the most beautiful thing in the world, yet simultaneously has the capability to be one of the most painful. Do you think that it’s possible to fall in love at a young age like eleven or twelve? Who am I to say, honestly. I lean towards no because at the age of puberty, you're really all over the place with your hormones and emotions, and I just don't know if it's possible for two pre-teens to have the maturity level to grasp what it truly means to be in love with someone. But again, what do I really know? Everyone is different. Are sex and sexual activities something you enjoy? Yeah sure, if it's something I'm in the mood to engage in and I'm in love with the person. What’s an interesting fact about the state in which you were born? We're the home of Pepsi products. I know, of course I would share a fact about soda, ha ha. What’s one aspect of your life that did not turn out as you expected? Where I am now as far as "adult development" goes. I don't drive. I don't have a job. I still live with my mother. I could go on and on... By this point, I definitely expected something much, much different when I was younger. What was the last event to cause you any sort of heartache? Hm. I don't know. What was the worst phase you’ve ever gone through? *shrug* What excuse did you use most often to skip school? There were times I'd pretend to have a really bad cough. I could fake a nasty cough, man. Are you shy about singing in front of people? Very. Honestly, do you put your elbows on the dinner table? Yes, because why the fuck would that matter. I don't get how something so simple and harmless is "bad manners." Have you ever taken a picture in a public bathroom? No. Yes or no: corsets? I. FUCKING. LOVE. CORSETS. UGH I wish I could pull one off, omfg. In your opinion, is money the root of all evil? All evil? No. There are some horrible crimes people can commit that have nothing to do with money. Do you own a pair of overalls? Ew, no. I hate overalls. What is the best game to play while in the car? Uh, idk. Has a movie ever made you jump in fear? I'm sure at some point. Jumpscares are hard to be unfazed by; it's just a natural reaction to something sudden. Yes or no: pickles? Bro I LOVE pickles. Yes or no: strawberry ice cream? Ugh, no. Do you know what your mom’s favorite movie is? No, actually. Are you a role model to anybody? No fucking way I am. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? Somewhere around six or seven pounds. Look outside the nearest window. What can you see? From where I'm at, I can just see the shed. What are you interested in that most people would be surprised to know? Cutesy, pastel stuff, probably. How many bathrooms are in your house? Two. Do you prefer stripes or polka dots? Polka dots. Are you considered a very sensitive person? Very. Have you ever told someone you never wanted to speak to them again? Yes. What’s the weather like today? Is it nice enough to go outside? It's hot as fuck outside. You will NOT see me outside today. What does your last text message say and who is it from? It's just a thumbs up emoji from the woman who works at my psychiatrist's office. She schedules my phone appointments with him. Do you listen to any podcasts? How do you listen to them? No. Why did you leave your last job? It was WAY too fast-paced with lots of responsibilities that I just couldn't handle. Have you ever eaten at a restaurant and left without paying? No, that's awful. What’s your favorite scent of air freshener? Probably something floral and subtle. Are your hands and feet in good condition or could you do with a mani-pedi? Ugh. I pick my fingernails off badly, so they're a mess rn. I also DISDAIN my feet because they are horribly callused from when I used to walk like crazy. It's so weird how I can exfoliate the area and scrub (... and sometimes tear) them off, but they're pretty much immediately back. When was the last time you played a board game? What did you play? A couple years ago with Girt and Sara, I think. We played Scrabble. How old were you when you first became sexually active? Do you mean like, doing anything sexual? In which case that would be 16. I woulda been 16 or 17 when I actually lost my virginity, though. Do you know anyone who has been through a divorce? A load of people. Does anyone not know somebody? Have you ever done a juice cleanse? No. Do you have to pay for parking in most places in the town/city you live in? No. That's a foreign concept here. It's one of the very alien things I experienced in Chicago; I don't really think I knew it was a thing (save for massive attractions, like Disney Word and stuff) before then. Can you hear lots of traffic from your house? Does it bother you? No. We live in a cul-de-sac, and our road is further into it, away from the main road.

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month day 7: “Bring the THUNDER”

Ichi! Juu! Hyaku! Sen! Chazz it up! Today the world does in fact revolve around Jun Manjoume/Chazz Princeton.

Late start today...

Headcanon: Jesse was one of the duelists Chazz had to beat when he entered North Academy.

Headcanon: They were roommates.

Headcanon: Chazz makes electronics go sparky-BOOM, change my mind. He legit fried his computer in season 3 with no explanation. Conclusion: magic! He has been conveniently ignoring this fact.

Chazz’s life has always been governed by rules. How to act, how to speak, how to eat, who to associate with, what activities to engage in - sometimes it even feels like his family wants to control how he thinks.

The pressure is stifling, to say the least.

The first time he fries a piece of electronics, it’s an old handheld video game that Slade bought for him on the sly and made Chazz promise to keep secret. He doesn’t remember what he got mad about - a game mechanic, a boss he couldn’t beat, maybe he was just venting his anger at a tutor - but he remembers the sparks that crackled off the casing and the device spewing smoke. He screamed, the smoke detector went off, and the commotion drew his parents. Both he and Slade were severely admonished, and the way Slade glared at him with utter contempt has prevented Chazz from asking him for anything to this very day.

A part of him knew even then that he was the black sheep.

It was only a matter of time before he cracked.

*

Losing to Jaden is humiliating. It should have been an easy win when his deck was stacked with the most powerful and rare cards Duel Academy could get its hands on. His one saving grace is that his brothers don’t know about it.

Losing to Bastion is salt in the wound, and the impending dorm demotion is the last straw. He runs away with his tail between his legs because he can already hear his brother’s scathing voices. His frustration fries his cell phone - not that he had service anyway - then the motor on the boat. So he’s stranded in the middle of nowhere, slowly running out of water, and starting to hallucinate.

And it’s all Jaden fucking Yuki’s fault!

Oh. There goes his last water bottle.

Sheer dumb luck has him crashing against the shore of North Academy. He’d be more pissed about the loss of his deck if those ‘powerful cards’ hadn’t failed him one too many times before. The cards he holds now are trash in comparison, his pride is in tatters, but he’s still Chazz Manjoume and he won’t let such a trivial thing as shitty cards hold him back.

He swears to god, if this snot eyed yellow booger doesn’t shut up--

“That’s not very nice.” His current opponent frowns, wielding a deck Chazz had been confused by the familiarity of until realizing it was the one of a kind deck that Manjoume Group practically begged Pegasus to sell. So this was the kid he gave it to? Anderson something? “You should respect the cards in your deck more.”

“Respect?” Chazz scoffs. “They’re just cards.”

Anderson laughs, actually laughs at him and the sound pisses him off more than he can understand why. “Aw c’mon. You and I both know that ain’t true.” He throws a flashy grin at Chazz- no, not at Chazz, at the ball of snot floating over Chazz’s shoulder.

“He can see me!” the thing squeaks.

“Shut up!” Chazz snaps.

It’s a close game, but Chazz still wins. In fact, despite not being the top of North Academy’s ranks, Anderson is the only opponent he actually struggled against. The way he smiles and jokes around and talks to his cards strikes Chazz as oddly familiar. When he realizes why, it pisses him the fuck off.

I thought I left Jaden back at Duel Academy!

Jesse Anderson is a bonafide carbon copy of Jaden Yuki and Chazz gets stuck as the bastard’s roommate.

WHY, universe?! What have I done to deserve this HELL?!

...Don’t answer that.

*

Chazz likes to think he has above average perception of his surroundings. But any perception he may or may not have takes a forced vacation when he’s hyper focused on a boss battle, leaving him ill prepared to deal with any changes around him.

“Whatcha playin’?”

Chazz shrieks at the voice by his ear. A familiar static surges through his fingers. “NONONONONO!” He drops the GameBoy too late as the screen glitches out and goes black, smoke now rising from the ruined device. He almost beat the game this time!

“Did you just...shoot lightning out of your fingers?” Chazz can’t tell if Anderson is more shocked or awed by the prospect.

“No!” Yes? Maybe? Chazz has never really taken the time to contemplate why almost every electronic he touches eventually explodes; he’s usually too busy freaking out and trying to hide the evidence from his family. Huh. Guess he doesn’t really need to worry about that anymore.

“That’s awesome! You have, like, magic powers!”

“Excuse me??” The hell is Anderson on about now? Magic?? As if!

“I mean, I can talk to Duel Monsters, but that’s so cool.” Anderson rubs the ears of the carbuncle on his shoulder. He can do a hell of a lot more than ‘talk’; Chazz can’t even touch Ojama Yellow! “I wish I could do something like that.”

“No, you don’t!” Chazz snaps before realizing he’s defaulted back to Japanese. Huffing, he decides he doesn’t want to explain what a nightmare this ‘power’ has been for him. Eventually, Anderson gives up on asking.

*

“Hey, Thunder!”

The voice sets his teeth on edge and Chazz turns his best fuck off scowl on Anderson. It’s bad enough they share a room, he doesn’t want Jaden’s soul twin following him around during class hours. “Why does everyone keep calling me that?”

Anderson tilts his head. “You said your name was ‘Manjoume Sanda’, like ‘thunder’, right?”

No, that is absolutely not what Chazz meant at all; he was correcting the fuckers for not using the proper honorific and accidentally screamed it in Japanese. Of course the damn foreigners heard thunder instead of -san da.

“Besides I think it fits.” That damn grin is back.

Chazz snubs his nose in the air instead punching the brat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Suuure.” Patting Chazz’s shoulder - what the fuck? don’t touch me! - Anderson thankfully jogs off as he spots his actual friend across the hall.

He even has a tiny, glasses wearing sidekick. What the actual fuck?

Manjoume Thunder has a nice ring to it.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

We All Still Die (part three)

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Part 1 Part 2

This part is way shorter than the others, I usually will put in as much content as I can until I reach the word limit, but I felt like it and the events after it deserved its own post.

TW: Beheading, blood

———————

It felt sort of inappropriate how gorgeous and sunny it was outside, an early morning full of whistling birdsong and humming bumblebees among crimson and gold roses.

Thousands of bodies pressed against each other in the yard, fidgeting, quivering, waiting to see the execution that was announced to them. Some didn’t believe it- that there was no possible way the king was really going to send his wife to her death, while others were already praying for the queen’s smooth transition into heaven. But then the executioner took to the scaffold and they all knew that this was going to happen. That this was real, whether they liked it or not.

There are many rumors regarding the dungeon tower. Some say there are ghosts of the people that had been tortured to death inside. Others talk about how the place breaks down a person’s mental stability. Even the guards go mad, they say. After just two weeks of being there, the queen and her ladies start to think they may have a point, whoever they are. Everything about the tiny, grimy cell made them feel miserable.

And yet, Anne emerged from her prison as poised and regal as always.

Joan didn’t walk beside her mistress. She was near the back of the pack, with a few other maids of waiting who were to accompany Anne up on the scaffolding. The girl to her left was already crying- she had been since yesterday. The one to her right was very pale and muttering to herself with her hands clasped together tightly. There was supposed to be another, but she had ran away screaming, unable to go out and watch. Nobody went after her.

Anne was reading a small prayer book as she walked down to her stage. It was similar to the ones she had given all her maids and ladies in waiting, but this one had a beautiful gold covering wrapped all the way around it that glittered in the sunshine. Occasionally, she would glance over her shoulder and Joan so desperately wanted to meet her eyes, but the gaze would always slide right past her. Who was she looking for?

Joan watched as she tucked the prayer book away and began to hand out coins to the poorer people in the crowd. Her heart ached. Even in her final hour, Anne continued to be absolutely lovely.

They soon reached the scaffolding. It was swaddled in expensive black velvet and so built high that all who were present could see the spectacle. Thick clouds of straw were strewn across the ebony-swathed floor to soak up the blood.

Blood. There would be blood.

Anne paused for a moment and then pressed the golden prayer book into Maggie’s hands. She gave her friend a warm smile, then turned away. Joan swore the strangled whine Maggie made could be heard throughout the entire plaza.

The swordsman knelt before the queen, begging for her forgiveness. Joan stared at him as he whispered with her mistress, so desperately wanting to yell, “Don’t do it! If you want to be forgiven, then don’t do it! Don’t take her away!”

But he stood again, now white-knuckling a pouch of coins the queen had passed to him as payment for her own decapitation. He tucked it away. Joan wanted to jam every piece of gold he was given down his throat.

Anne soon began to speak. Her voice was as dignified and confident as it always ways, strong and booming across the crowd of thousands of onlookers. She asked to be pardoned of her sins, praised the king as a fair and gentle man, and requested that the audience prayed for her. Her words never stammered, never quivered- she spoke clearly and smoothly, despite the blunted, gleaming axe mere feet away from her.

Everyone had believed the queen could do anything. Win any battle, settle any argument, simply by appearing and having the innate ability to fix everything. The queen who was never shaken, who never faltered. Maybe sometimes she’d believed it, too. And, as she stood upon that scaffolding announcing her final words to the crowd, that theory was proven.

But nobody had ever told Joan just how much the tears from that fact would hurt, and now as they fell from her eyes in a stream of her anguish and heartache, she could not imagine anything being worse than this. The feeling wracked itself up and down her body. The amount of frustration to have the one thing that was good in your life right in front of you, just an inch or centimeter from a safe grasp, but know that a greater power was keeping it withheld.

It makes Joan detest the court that she had thought saved her from a life of crime and starvation, the sting from her queen’s unjust beheading aiding her wounds to a fiery point. She wanted to blame someone, there must be a way to help the pain, but she knew that her wanting to blame someone for this is exactly the same thing as the people wanting to blame her queen for what happened. It was frustrating that now she knew what it felt like and it would make her a hypocrite to feel so.

There is no possible way to describe in words what it is like to literally watch as someone you looked up to is murdered and know you have absolutely nothing you can do about it. You can try, so Joan does in hopes of averting her mind to something- anything, but after a few moments of coming up blank, she released a quiet sob and wrung her hands together in her dress, leaning against the maid beside her for support. The girl does not mind, in fact she tipped her head and cried into Joan’s hair. Joan doesn’t even know her name.

It’s not right and it’s not fair. In her mind all she can do is imagine the things that went wrong and every little thing she could have done differently to have caused a better outcome of events. All the small trivial matters that she should have done differently, but knowing there is nothing she can do about the past reminded her of the simple fact that she could not have saved Anne even if she had tried and it only made the knots in her chest tighten.

Awareness returned slowly. Joan sniffled through the haze of oncoming tears and saw Anne disrobing on her own. Maggie stood by petrified, too scared and shaking too much to help. Anne knew this, and so she gave her dear friend a warm smile to let her know that it was alright. Maggie nearly wailed.

The ermine-trimmed cloak, necklace, hood, and grey damask gown Anne had been clad in were discarded in a smooth movement. Beneath it, she wore a scarlet kirtle.

Scarlet, the color of martyrs, Joan would later learn.

Scarlet, the color of the queen’s blood, Joan already knew.

Anne tucked her luscious brown hair into a white cap. Joan hoped for a few strands to fall out, to buy her some more time, but she bunched it all away in the headdress, leaving her pale neck bare to the world.

And then, she knelt.

Joan’s insides felt hot, like they were being burnt with coal. She felt the maid at her side reach up weakly and grip onto her arm with both hands. Her nails are digging into the flesh beneath her sleeves, but the pain brought clarity. Awareness that she didn’t really want.

She wished John was there. Not to take the place of the queen’s neck that would soon be beneath a bloodied blade, but so she could have someone to have for support because she felt so weak right now, so damn weak. Weaker and more vulnerable than she had when he disappeared, which had been impossible for her to get over at that time.

But that’s exactly why he wasn’t there. And Joan cursed him for hiding away, wherever he was, and sitting by like a coward as his sister is tortured with the sight of an unjust murder, of an overwhelming anguish and trauma that would infect her mind and soul for the rest of her life.

On the floor before her, knelt on a red cushioned pillow that couldn’t possibly soften the blow they were all about to get, Anne began to pray. Joan couldn’t tell what she was saying- she couldn’t tell if she was whispering too softly to be heard or talking out loud and Joan’s senses were just buzzing too much to understand her. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to hear her mistress’ final words at all.

And then, she heard them. Because, one by one, the thousands of the people in the crowd got on their knees in the grass and prayed with their queen.

Joan watched in morbid awe at the sight set before her. Tears slipped out and ran freely down her face.

They didn’t want Anne to die. These people wanted Anne to live. They wanted her to be forgiven.

But then the executioner took the beheading axe in his hands and stepped towards the queen.

Joan flinched away. The girl hanging onto her flinched, too, then held tighter to her arm.

“Bring me my sword!”

Those words echoed in Joan’s head. For a moment, she didn’t even know if they were real, if they had truly been spoken, but then she saw the executioner sweep up a sword hidden beneath the straw.

Anne was still to die, but at least it would be at the mercy of a stronger blade.

Joan felt a tickle against her palm; an older lady in waiting she’s never spoken to before has grabbed her hands. She stared up at the woman, who glanced back down at her with a somber expression. This one wasn’t crying, but she was very pale.

There was a shift at her side; two other ladies in waiting have covered the eyes of the maids that had come up with Joan. Joan’s eyes are shielded, too, by the woman holding her hand, but she grabbed her fingers and peeked out just in time to see the sword flash in the sun and come down on her mistress’ neck.

Cannons atop the Tower walls boomed to announce the death of the queen of England, but not even they were as loud as the scream Maggie made.

The sound was like nothing Joan had ever heard before. It was an anguished, terrible noise that was so intense and powerful that Maggie blew her voice out within an instant, and even then she kept screaming.

She lunged forward, but the hands of the executioner and semi-calmer ladies in waiting alike grapple her arms, holding her back. She was severely outnumbered, but she fought like a cornered tiger, kicking and punching and scratching and spitting until she wiggled free and collapsed forward as if all her bones had melted. She scampered through the wet straw, which was getting wetter and darker with blood by the second, and grabbed Anne’s rolling head.

Joan wished she had kept her eyes covered.

Maggie was still screaming that terrible, strangled scream, rocking back and forth on the bloody stage, holding her dear friend’s head close to her chest. Someone to Joan’s left tipped to the side and vomited. Another lady in waiting had fainted before the sword even met Anne’s neck and her friend was hunched over her fallen body, weeping, “It’s over, Bea! It’s over! The queen is dead!” The woman holding Joan’s hand just stared at the pandemonium on the scaffolding in pity, shaking her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She didn’t let go of Joan’s hand.

Joan never did get her name.

———

Maggie had carried Anne’s head back to the castle. It had taken four guards to pry it away from her grasp when it was time for the funeral.

Joan was deemed “well enough” by someone with short hair and cruel, wolf-like eyes, so she helped carry the queen’s body. She still remembers the feeling of some of Anne’s blood sliding down her face.

———

Joan spoke no words at Anne’s funeral. She stood near the back, watching as others said their goodbyes. Maggie clung to the casket the longest, making miserable noises and weeping onto the corpse of her dear friend. She kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over again and muttered things in a different language that Joan couldn’t understand. She had to be guided away by another lady in waiting, who rubbed her back and whispered comforting things, but they were unheard in Maggie’s despair-deaf ears.

Before the casket was put in the ground, Joan caught a final glimpse of the queen and the head that had been crudely sewn back onto her neck.

———

“I’m leaving.”

Joan trembled as Maggie told her this. The older woman trembled, too, with permanent anguish that has rooted itself inside of her and with outrage. Joan knew what she was so angry about. They all had heard about how Henry went to celebrate with Jane Seymour after the cannon fires announcing his wife’s death.

“She’s going to have his baby.” Maggie hissed bitterly. “I know she is. And I can’t stay. Not when she—” She shut her eyes tightly for a moment and took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. “I can’t stay.”

“I understand.” Joan whispered. “But don’t you- don’t you want to get revenge?”

For a moment, Maggie almost looked amused. A tiny, ghost of a smile twitched on her lips.

“Silly girl.” She said. “Do you?”

Joan shrugged, looking away.

“She’ll get what’s coming to her.” Maggie said. Something flashed in her eyes- bloodlust? “God won’t let her sins go unpunished. She will pay for what she’s done.”

Joan nodded. She watched as Maggie’s hands slid to her belly, which was slightly swollen. A month prior, she remembered seeing Anne playfully caressing the woman’s stomach, cooing about how she was going to be the best godmother ever.

“I felt a kick!” The queen had exclaimed, peeking up, eyes glowing.

“You jellyfish,” Maggie had flicked her. “I’m not that far along yet.”

“No, I definitely felt something.” Anne had assured her. She gently cupped the small bump, leaning her head in close. “This little one is so excited to meet their god mama that they kick early! Isn’t that right, Maggie Jr.?”

“Maggie Jr.?” Maggie had echoed, giggling. “I am NOT naming my baby Maggie Jr. One of me is enough.”

“Not for me.” Anne had said, flashing her a grin before she went back to gazing at her belly. “Maggie ii. It’s perfect!”

“And what if it’s a boy?”

“Then you name him Hercules! Something strong and powerful!”

“Hercules? Really?”

“What? I read!”

The memory dissolved away, as did the laughter that had bubbled up from the final comment. Joan blinked a few times. In front of her, Maggie was rubbing slow, gentle circles against her stomach.

“If it’s a girl,” She whispered, “I’m going to name her Anne.”

Joan smiled weakly. “I’m sure Anne would be very proud. She’d like that a lot.”

Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes, but she blinked them away.

“You think so?” She asked softly.

“Of course.” Joan answered.

Maggie nodded. “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Joan. And be careful.”

With that, she was gone.

Joan never saw her again.

———

Being the maid of honor to the woman who stole the place of your former employer was sickening and horrifying and awful. When Jane had come to Joan with the offer, she had a sickly sweet smile on her lips, knowing full well that Joan wouldn’t have the courage to say no.

Perhaps that’s why she did it in the first place. Out of spite.

Joan didn’t know the other maids of honor at the wedding. They were all older than her and looked at her as if she were a worm on the end of a fishhook. They sneered at her lingering trauma of Anne’s execution and would mutter about her needing to “get over it” but never said it to her face.

After the ceremony, Joan stood among a crowd of people she didn’t know. Even when she managed to wiggle free into a clearer space, she still couldn’t see anyone she knew. Elizabeth wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Even Mary wasn’t around to mock her or try to swoon with an older man.

She was alone, Joan realized.

As she always would be.

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Descending into Madness An Anarchist-Nihilist Diary of Anti-Psychiatry

Just sayin’... The opinions expressed in this text represent no other than my own. My position against psychiatry is based on my own personal experience and should not be taken as an authority on the subject. Psychiatry, medications, and or psychiatric incarceration is considered helpful by some, and I wish them the very best experience with it.

But also... To the ‘freaks’, the ‘weirdos’, the ‘delinquents’, and the unruly... To those who embrace these words like daggers drawn against civility, To the insubordinate youth who refuse to tranquilize their play with meds, To those who riot in the asylums, and those who dare to escape from them...

Let the moonlight illuminate our iconoclasm, witches and savage animals spellbinding fire in the night, for the destruction of society, with the courage of unmedicated confrontation.

Any society that you build will have its limits. And outside the limits of any society, unruly and heroic tramps will wander with their wild and virgin thought — those who cannot live without planning ever new and dreadful outbursts of rebellion! I shall be among them!” — Renzo Novatore

I’m sittin’ at a big round table with about three nurses and two doctors. My eyes are sensitive to the light cus I haven’t slept in days. A nurse directly beside me has been gently nodding at me with the same look of concern for about an hour. My vision keeps blurring and then re-focusing. My hands are slightly trembling. I’ve been fighting the urge to lay my head down since I sat down. It appears this awkward meeting is almost over, and I have some papers to sign. The doctor who has been talkin’ since I got here is still talkin’ and I admit, I haven’t really been paying much attention. Finally the talking stops and everyone stands up. The nurse beside me helps me up by my arm. I start to feel dizzy. We begin walking down a long hallway and eventually enter a room. Another nurse in the room greets me with a pillow, a blanket, and a pill to “help with rest”. Before sittin’ down on the bed I’ve been assigned, a nurse calmly requests my belt and shoe laces. I comply and decide while I’m up I might as well take a shit before I go to sleep. About five seconds after my ass hits the toilet seat I hear a commotion - frantic pounding and demands to unlock the bathroom door. Confused and startled, I jump up, trip over my pants, and unlock the door. Apparently I’m not allowed to lock the bathroom door - or have it totally closed while I’m in there. I quickly finish shitting in plain view of a nurse and walk back to bed. I notice a different nurse has pulled up a chair right beside it and sits down with a clipboard and pen. I lay down and try to get comfortable while accepting the awkward close watch by this nurse beside me. As I start drifting off to sleep I reflect on everything that’s goin’ on. Oh that’s right. Earlier today I tried to hang myself in my apartment and this is my first night in a psych ward.

**** INDIANAPOLIS, March 18 th 2018 — Resource Treatment Center Riot Nearly a dozen Indianapolis police officers were called to respond Wednesday night to a riot at a juvenile psychiatric treatment and addiction facility on the city’s east side.

Eleven officers were dispatched to 1404 S. State Avenue just before 11 p.m. Wednesday on a report of a disturbance at the facility. The location is home to the Resource Treatment Center juvenile psychiatric facility, as well as Options Transitional Living, which provides sober housing for homeless or at-risk youth.

Police arrived to find that a group of juvenile residents had done more than $50,000-worth of damage to the facility and assaulted four staff members. Officers took nine juveniles ranging in age from 13-17 into custody on preliminary charges of vandalism, rioting, battery and disorderly conduct.

****

During my time at this psychiatric prison I was subjected to what’s called ‘one on ones’ which basically means I’m at risk to myself and therefore require 24 hour observation by staff. Two different nurses watched me shit, sleep, cry in my sleep, and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was required to take meds and a sleep aid everyday. I had face-to-face therapy once a day. I was only allowed one 15 minute phone call per day. I wasn’t allowed outside at all. I was told to “set anchor” because the faculty had no intentions on releasing me “anytime soon”.

All the reasons I was originally depressed took a backseat to this new horror show I found myself in. Everyone in my ward talked about one day gettin’ out, despite being told they would “never make it on the outside”. I couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities to incarceration at a prison for criminals. This was a prison. The more I heard stories of attempted escape, violent physical repression, and hopeless isolation, the more I realized this was not a place to ‘get well’, nor any hospital I ever been to. These prison guards wore scrubs, enforced order with chemical warfare and physical restraint jackets. “The hole” was the padded room. Those who resisted were tackled to the hard floor causing cuts and bruises. And to the nurses and doctors, we were all just “case files” or “subjects” to be talked down to and humiliated. We were in their world now and it was their rules.

“We need a program of psychosurgery and political control of our society. The purpose is physical control of the mind. Everyone who deviates from the given norm can be surgically mutilated. The individual may think that the most important reality is his own existence, but this is only his personal point of view. This lacks historical perspective. Man does not have the right to develop his own mind. This kind of liberal orientation has great appeal. We must electrically control the brain. Some day armies and generalswill be controlled by electrical stimulation of the brain.” - Dr. Jose Delgado, a Spanish professor of neurophysiology and author of the book ‘Physical Control of the Mind: Toward a Psychocivilized Society’

The era of institutionalized ‘care’ for those with ‘mental illnesses’ began somewhere around the 19th century with heavy support from the state. Public asylums were built in Britain after the passing of the 1808 County Asylums Act. This created an upsurge of asylums being built everywhere. These asylums were known for inmates havin’ to live in filthy conditions with bars, chains, and handcuffs.

The Lunacy Act 1845 was known to have changed the status of ‘mentally ill’ people to ‘patients’ who required treatment. This led to the eventual chemical treatment of people as ‘medical patients’ – despite the fact that lab tests, X-rays, and brain scans have never verified psychiatric disorders as medical diseases or brain damage. Over time, this inspired the emergence of psychiatric medical experiments on ‘patients’ in order to chemically ‘cure’ their ‘disorders’. The 20th century saw an explosion of psychiatric drugs. The first anti-psychotic drug, Chlorpromazine (brand names: Thorazine, Largactil, Hivernal, and Megaphen) was first synthesized in France in 1950.

Psychiatry, asylums, and prescribed drugs contributed heavily to reinforcing social order and individual submission through fear. As the years went on psychiatry and asylums expanded, re-defining and strengthening the power of state repression and civilized control.

Along with this came an ever-expanding culture of publicly calling out those who were considered ‘disturbed’ or ‘mentally ill’. The first to be targeted were those who didn’t fit the narrowly defined behavioral expectations of society. In the 18th to early 20th century, individuals assigned female at birth were often institutionalized for damn near everything including unpopular opinions, social unruliness or a politicized refusal to be controlled by patriarchal society. Other individuals of various assigned identities who sexually deviated from hetero-normativity were institutionalized and considered ��confused” and in need of being converted.

One major marketing scheme deployed by the pharmacology industry was the social construction of an ideal emotional state that every ‘normal’ individual was expected to experience. Today this same ideal can be found everywhere – from televised entertainment to billboard advertisements and so on. The ‘happy’ and ‘depressed’ binary was used to create social pressure leading people to feel isolated or out of place for not happily accepting the conditions of society on a daily basis. Being “sad all the time” was, and still is frowned upon and ridiculed – regardless of its complex nature and the reasons behind it.

Despite being emotionally fluid by nature, the individual human (animal) is expected to fulfill the civilized role of positivist supremacy. This normalized obsession with positivity plays a key role in suppressing emotional responses of outrage to the multitude of oppressive experiences. The obsession with - and normalization of - positivist performance also encourages people to overlook the deep-seated trauma caused by civilization on a daily basis. Everything from the fear of flying, car wrecks, workplace injuries, to being late on bill payments – all examples of fears attributed to trauma. But because civilized life requires wage-slavery and commitment to continue, these forms of trauma are trivialized and written off - usually followed by something like “that’s life” or “it is what it is”.

As techno-industrial society advances, new laws are constructed to create new definitions of ‘criminality’. This means there is an ever-narrowing idea of legalism. The same can be said for psychiatry. As more labels and identities for ‘disorders’ are created, the pharmacology industry expands. And as the conditions of capitalist, industrial society continue to worsen, more misery becomes available for exploitation with the sale of “feel good” prescriptions.

Under capitalism, where there are ‘correctional’ facilities, there is a profit motive to keep them filled. Where there are ‘inmates’ to fill those institutions, there is financial gain or cheap labor. And where there is any potential for social unrest, there is an ideology and identity to categorically define an unruly individual as ‘anti-social’. Society turns ‘disorders’ into categorical identities assigned to those it considers ‘undesirable’ in order to reinforce the social conditions that pressure people into behavioral uniformity.

Today, within the realm of identity politics, psychiatric-assigned identities garner social capital where ever victimhood is glorified for social benefit. As with any form of identity politics, I have seen many individuals exploit psychiatric identities by brandishing them as reasons to rid themselves of responsibility for their actions. And as this plays out in the all-too-familiar social cannibalism of identity politics, individuals personalize these psychiatric- assigned identities and create inverted hierarchies of social entitlement.

Ultimately, a new identity-based movement is formed, gaining media recognition and becomes assimilated into the broader prison of society.

****

Thursday, September 4, 2014 Riot at Central New York Psychiatric Center A dozen staff members were injured when several inmates started rioting in a kitchen area at the Central New York Psychiatric Center on Wednesday.

Four people were hospitalized for their injuries, authorities stated. The fight broke out at about 11:45 a.m., when five to six inmates started attacking staff in one of the kitchen areas using kitchen utensils as weapons, according to the state Correctional Officers & Police Benevolent Association. The inmates tried to fight their way into the mess hall.

At the same time, another fight broke out between inmates and staff on the floor above the kitchen, officials said. The emergency alarms were raised, and security personnel inside the facility were able to break up the two fights, with help from the state police.

****

After careful planning, I was released from psychiatric incarceration much sooner than originally set. The walls were closing in on me and the monotony of daily under-stimulation, medicated numbness, and confinement started breaking me down. Witnessing the prison cannibalism of infighting between incarcerated individuals, I began spiralling worse than I had prior to being there. On top of that, my two attempts to secretly organize a rebellion had failed miserably; the wards or ‘bunks’ were so small that an artificially constructed bond was easily created between most staff and patients. Snitching was heavily rewarded.

Nobody wanted “any problems”. So instead I turned to another method of emancipation; using my own high school knowledge of psychology to convince my therapist I was merely suffering from “a broken heart” due to a “recent romantic breakup”.

Despite the full spectrum of my hatred for society, the life I was living at the time, and the complex emotional storm that raged in my head on a daily basis, I was able to convince my therapist and the other nurses I was just upset over a breakup. The humiliation of having to role-play such a lie paled in comparison to my desire for freedom from that place. Released into my mom’s custody, I was required to continue taking my medications three times a day and seeing a counsellor once a week.

Against the wards request, I went back to living in my apartment. I could see where the police had went through all my notebooks as well as a pocket book of phone numbers. The noose I worked so hard to construct and attach to a wooden beam along my ceiling was gone. To this day I don’t know if my landlord took it or if the police did. My rent was overdue indicated by the notes in my mailbox. Luckily I was working a self-managed painting job at the time so I couldn’t get fired. I could start back up the next week.

That night I masturbated for the first time in what felt like years. But I couldn’t orgasm. The next day I called the doctor who dealt my meds. According to him, my impossible orgasm was common with people on psychiatric medication. A week went by and I continued to feel numb. Nothing was interesting to me. I often found myself watching the hands on clocks move or staring out my window at passing cars. I didn’t feel sad. But I didn’t feel good either. I just existed.

After about a month of being out of the psych ward, I decided to stop taking my meds. The hassle of getting them filled as well as keepin’ up with taking them everyday just wasn’t worth it. And neither was feeling numb. I didn’t know what would happen. Would they find out and send the police to take me back? A couple weeks went by without meds and I started to feel slight changes. I was scared but prepared for the hellish withdrawals I had heard all about. I got dizzy a bit, and some headaches but nothing more. Soon I stopped gettin’ calls from my counsellor. I expected her to be upset and leave me angry voicemails. It never happened. Eventually I felt my appetite change and I could experience emotional reactions to things easier and more frequently. And I finally had an orgasm!

For the next couple years, I reflected on those experiences and began exploring the origins of my suicidal thoughts, the origins of the morbid depression that caused them, as well as the consumerist life I lived as a wage-slave law-abiding citizen.

****

A Riot on Thanksgiving Morning 2016 at Springfield Hospital Center (a regional psychiatric hospital and former slave plantation located in Sykesville, Maryland) In the early-morning hours of Thanksgiving Day, Catherine Starkes and April Savage huddled in an office with several other employees at the Springfield Hospital Center in Carroll County as patients rioted around them.

Starkes and Savage said patients threw chairs, knocked over file cabinets and tried to break into the staff's Plexiglas-enclosed refuge. The patients poured cooking oil over the floors, making them slippery. One patient tried to crawl into the office through the suspended ceiling, Starkes recalled.

It was like no other night she could remember in 22 years of working with dangerously mentally ill patients at Maryland state hospitals.

"They wanted to take over the unit. They seized the unit," she said.

****

“What we say is the truth is what everybody accepts. ...I mean, psychiatry: it's the latest religion. We decide what's right and wrong. We decide who's crazy or not. I'm in trouble here. I'm losing my faith.” -Dr. Railly from the movie “12 Monkeys”

Similar to religion, psychiatry assumes a powerful role in defining “right” or “wrong” in terms of “normal” vs “abnormal” behavior. The standardization of a particular, socially expected behavior is essential for creating categories of people defined in terms of their contribution to the collective success of society. With psychology as a basis for analytically outlining ‘problems’ and suggesting “potential cures”, mass society becomes dependent on its authority for deciding who is “normal” and who isn’t. Certain behavioral characteristics unique to an individual become outlawed in order to maintain this social conformity.

Speaking from my own experience, psychiatry and all its theories, roles, and chemical prescriptions at best aims to merely manage ‘symptoms’ of ‘disorders’ - not eliminate the sources of their creation.

By ‘symptoms’ I am referring to any set of behaviors or emotional responses that indicate an individual’s struggle to conform to societal expectations or ‘normal’ behavior.

By ‘disorders’ I am referring to the set of behaviors or emotional responses that have been selected and condemned by society, and therefore declared a ‘mental illness’ by the authority of psychiatry.

By ‘sources’ I am referring to any and all prisons, societal forms of coercion, and civilized society – all of which pressure individual subservience and ideological conformity.

The conflict of interest in ‘curing’ the ‘mentally ill’ becomes apparent when acknowledging that successful cures to particular behaviors and emotional responses would require the abolition of civilized society all together - the same civilized society that creates trauma, followed by the concept of mental illness and subsequently a ‘solution’ via many forms of emotional anaesthesia.

Another factor of social control built into psychiatry is its ability to distort and control dissenting information. Social systems that require the subordination of individuals are always sharpening their ability to suppress or demonize information – especially information derived from rebellious experience. When it is individuals themselves who are considered living examples of this information, those seeking total control will portray them in such a way that renders the nature of their rebellion a mere product of mental illness. For example, the Soviet Union responded to rebels with psychiatric wards called “Psikhushkas”. One of the first Psikhushkas was a psychiatric prison in the city of Kazan. In 1939 it was transferred to the secret police. Psychiatric incarceration was used in response to political demonstrations and attacks. It was common practice for soviet psychiatrists in Psikhushka hospitals to diagnose those who rebelled against soviet authority with schizophrenia.

Just as religious authority figures speak of purging people of their sins and demons, psychiatry seeks to purge people of their ‘sickness’ and ‘bad’ habits. In the church of psychiatry, only those most committed to social conformity (or emotional suppression) can enter the heavens of being socially recognized as ‘sane’ or ‘normal’. Normal or civilized behavior is rewarded with social capital and easier access to survival resources. And in the eyes of those who fear unbridled freedom, without the church of mental psychiatric authority, ‘the masses’ just might descend into madness...

****

Sept 5 2016 John George Psychiatric Hospital Riot Nurses at Alameda County’s embattled mental hospital say three patients tried to incite a riot overnight and escape the facility. Staff members are blaming chronic overcrowding at John George Psychiatric Hospital’s emergency room. It’s the latest in a string of troubling incidents at the hospital uncovered by 2 Investigates.

Nurses – who didn’t want to be identified for fear of jeopardizing their jobs – tell 2 Investigates that two male patients and one woman demanded to be discharged from John George’s Psychiatric Emergency Services (PES) department Sunday night. But when they were refused, they turned violent, according to staff.

The patients allegedly tried to encourage others to help them push the facility doors open to escape.

****

“The Law, social expectation, and psychiatric tradition and practice point to coercion as the profession’s paradigmatic characteristic. Accordingly, I define psychiatry as the theory and practice of coercion, rationalized as the diagnosis of mental illness and justified as medical treatment aimed at protecting the patient from himself and society from the patient.” - Psychiatrist turned anti-psychiatry, Thomas S Szasz, M. D.

While reflecting on my experience with psychiatry, including being on three different medications and my stay in the ward, I started asking myself questions I had never thought to ask before: what are the social conditions contributing to my feelings of misery? What type of behavior is characteristic of ‘mental illness’ and ‘normal’ functioning? Who enforces these definitions as universal truths to begin with? Is it the same psychiatric authority that at one point considered homosexuality a mental illness – then changed their minds in 1973?

I couldn’t help but notice that despite all the therapy, meds, and psychiatric hospitality the world outside my head was still the same. Poverty still dominated my hood, rich billionaires were still playin’ golf while the government continued bombing other countries. Millions of non-human animals were still bein’ mutilated in slaughterhouses on a daily basis, and the environment was still bein’ devastated by industrial expansion. I still needed to wage-slave away to pay my rent. And like everyone else, I needed to do this until I got too old and eventually live out my days in a nursing home. But somehow I was supposed to be ‘happy’ - or at least apathetically accepting of it all without a fuss. Obedience without incident. Without question. Or as the others in the ward had said to me “no problems”.

Currently in my life, I am still angry, still depressed, and still sometimes suicidal. But rather than seeing these things as what’s broken about me, I see them as a reflection of how fucked up the world is around me. I find little things to help me channel the anger, depression, and suicidal thoughts. I exercise, practice mixed martial arts, enjoy a walk in the woods at night. I star-gaze from park benches, rooftops, and moving freight trains. I indulge in stolen food and cherish the excitement of criminal activity. Managing my emotions is a daily activity coupled with observation and growth. I listen to the stories of others and learn from their experiences. I listen to my emotions and source their origins, making it easier to understand my needs and desires. My emotions – my madness - manifesting as anger, depression, and so on remain sharp and act as the best tools for understanding the effects of this imprisoning society on my well-being.

My disposition lacks evidence of being broken or brain damaged – if anything, it would suggest the contrary. My emotional state is a complex response to the anxiety that occurs when recognizing society for what it is – a prison propagating itself as ‘normal’ life. And integrated within this prison is a web of altered realities that materialize the logic of control and domination: Wage-slavery masquerading as productivity and personal responsibility. Coerced submission and obedience to law and order in “the land of the free”. Pictures of happy cows on packages of mutilated body parts. Borders, bio-technology, cyberspace communities of friends interacting with the emotional vacancy of digital communication.

And it is here, in this same social prison society, that the word insanity is used to describe an individual person rather than industrial civilization - the epitome of mechanized social control.

“The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon” ― Ken Kesey, from the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I believe deep down all people are ‘insane’ - not in terms of mental illness - but in terms of individual, unique differences that remain defiantly incompatible to behavioral order. In society, some people hide these differences better than others. And many people I have come across express frustration with having to keep themselves locked up inside, aching to break out. The fear of being socially labelled insane or crazy keeps people passive and submissive. But some people experience difficulty assimilating themselves. And while society attempts to frantically control and eliminate certain undesirable people and behaviors, natural responses to environmental conditions continue to produce both.

If one were to really examine the social interactions between individuals, one can see the subtle tip-toeing of animals peeking from within the wardrobe of humanism. It is the fear of being too loud, too angry, too sad, too imaginative – the fear of allowing oneself to exist at full bloom – that incarcerates the animal individual. It is the fear of exhibiting any personal qualities or characteristics that would violate the boundaries of socially expected behavior. Breaking the laws of psychiatry could be punishable by chemical injection, imprisonment, or even death.

This fear also plays a vital role in creating an obsession with relying on institutional specialization rather than peer to peer support. This obsession is normalized when, in response to someone reaching out for emotional support, friends suggest ‘professional help’ as if to surrender themselves ineffective by default. It says something about the nature of one’s confidence, ability, and will to support another when that support is often outsourced to an elite group of ‘professionals’. I’m not tryin’ to say that every individual has the capacity to support others at all times: I am suggesting an examination of the inferiority complex internalized by people in the face of institutions, and how individuals often find themselves too busy obeying the demands of capitalism, or too distracted by consumerism to make time for supporting their loved ones – let alone themselves.

If one were to examine society as a whole, one can see how over-simplified, quick-fix solutions to complex problems is built into it. If one were to examine this even on a personal level, one can see how everything about industrial society reduces personal time to the point where one often neglects their own emotional health. Against the demands of technological addiction and wage-slavery, making time for supporting one’s self and or those they care about is, however under-rated, nothing less than an act of personal revolt. “You need professional help” is often the quick response to an individual simply looking for support from close friends. Not all people (including myself) enjoy being pathologized or assigned a diagnosis like a broken machine. It is this ‘professional help’ that replaces intimate support with capitalism where someone struggling is treated as a profitable ‘case file’ and dealt a bottle of pills.

From a vibrant friend struggling with a unique history of complex emotional experiences, to a patient branded with an over-simplistic set of psychiatric identities – the individual becomes merely a unit of diagnostic measurement.

Diagnoses act as identity configurations defined in terms of symptom-based sameness. These identity assignments are constructed by the specialists of psychiatric authority, and are enforced socially by those who uphold its power. The same way that leftists are quick to use statist terminology to publicly label and shame “undesirables” or those unwanted by The Movement (for example, using the word “terrorist” to describe proponents of anarchist attack), they are equally quick to call people ‘mentally ill’, or ‘toxic’- demanding they seek ‘professional’ help. Perhaps without realizing it, leftists socially reinforce the validity of the state and psychiatric authority by reducing the complexity of individual behavior to mere psychiatric constructs and moral condemnation.

Psychiatry provides a comforting sense of order in the refusal to accept the chaotic nature of behavior. By asserting psychiatric terminology and morality many leftists seek control over social interactions with the intent to sterilize and homogenize them. This attempt at behavioral uniformity goes hand in hand with the treatment of individuals as members of monolithic, identity-based groupings. Behavioral uniqueness and variety are often discouraged or condemned when they don’t fit neatly constructed scripts. One’s behavior or emotional expression could be trivialized by being socially called out as ‘problematic’ - a label which itself requires the conformity of a generalized consensus to define and enforce.

Society and all its defenders require the dam of psychiatry to subordinate and control the tidal waves of individualist variety and social unrest. I can only imagine what would happen if the mechanisms of control failed on an individual level - if freedom of emotional expression took aim at the crystal castles of psychiatric authority, shattering the illusion of sterilized permanence. One after another an individual cannonball weakens the continuity of the structure, an ungovernable individual compromises the strength of collectivized subservience.

****

Jan 31, 2006 Riot at the Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth Five male patients at a state-run psychiatric hospital for children face rioting charges after they ripped out a phone line and tried to steal a worker's car keys before barricading themselves in a room over the weekend, a state official and other sources said Monday.

The incident at Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth occurred less than a week after employees protested over conditions in the facility, contending that the hospital is increasingly unsafe because of the volatile mix of patients.

Sources said that between 11 p.m. and midnight Sunday, a group of boys in the hospital's 11-bed Lakota Unit came out of their rooms and started confronting and arguing with staff. A male clinician and two female employees were assigned to the unit at the time.

Sources said the boys surrounded the man and tried to get him to turn over his keys but he refused. When one of the female workers tried to use the phone to call for help, the boys pulled the phone line out of the wall, sources said. The youths then barricaded themselves in a room and tried to smash a large exterior window, which broke off its hinge.

Sources said the boys intended to escape through the window but were stopped by a Connecticut Valley Hospital police officer who was called to the scene and was outside near the window .

Authorities would not release the names or ages of the boys involved. All face charges of inciting to riot, disorderly conduct, criminal mischief, unlawful restraint and threatening.

****

When, in expressing themselves, individuals let their emotions rupture the confines of psychiatric authority, and fan the flames of their contempt for social control, psychiatry begins to resemble the shell of a burnt out police car. If psychiatry is the agent enforcer of mental law and order - let it die along with every cop and agent of the state. As with identity politics, I refuse to participate in the use of psychiatric terminology when describing other individuals. As with all other socially constructed assignments, I reject psychiatric labels as they seek to limit the horizon of emotional complexity.

When, in expressing themselves, individuals become wild with nihilist hostility toward all ideological roles and identities, what is left of a society without individual conformity? What is ‘male’ or ‘female’ without being fixed to an aesthetic or performative role? What is ‘black’ or ‘white’ without the social construction of race? What is the sane/insane binary without the commanding authority of psychiatry? What is social law and order without anyone willing to obey?

My anarchy is found in the obliteration of these social constructs and the rejection of their ‘social contract’ that universalizes their false existence. I use the phrase social contract because that is precisely what accepting these identity assignments is. It surprises me to see such little prisoner solidarity with those incarcerated at psychiatric facilities. I imagine total anarchy looking like all prisons - including every manifestation of the educational-industrial complex, every zoo, and every asylum – being burned to the ground.

****

On New Year’s Day, 2018, 10 Children as Young as Age 12 Riot and Escape from Strategic Behavioral Health Center in South Carolina During the New Year’s Day incident, patients broke furniture to make weapons. The state report suggest Strategic staff missed warning signs that patients had planned to escape. They did not question residents who were wearing multiple layers of clothing that would allow them to change what they were wearing when they left the hospital.

In a less than five-hour span beginning in the late afternoon, there were seven “Code Purple” incidents in which workers are alerted to trouble. A state investigator reviewed video showing patients going from room to room, throwing a trash can, tearing up paper and tearing schedules off the walls. When one employee arrived, according to the report, he heard loud noises and cussing and saw trash all over the floor in the hallway. Patients had barricaded themselves in a room and had weapons he described as boards with six-inch screws.

“There was no staff trying to get into the room and he was told by staff, ‘They have weapons. Don’t go in,’” records say. “The nurse described the situation as a ‘riot, complete breakdown.’”

By the time police arrived, the south Charlotte psychiatric hospital had descended into chaos. Patients at Strategic Behavioral Center — some wielding wooden boards — attacked one worker, barricaded themselves in a room and escaped through a broken window.

**** For many years I paraded psychiatry as a valuable scientific instrument for understanding the inner workings of human behavior. I no longer find it useful after learning to recognize people as complex beings with unique emotional responses to this civilized nightmare. I have come to recognize psychiatry as, at best, another form of identity politics that ultimately attempts to force the infinite complexity of emotional expression into rigid categorical boxes.

Individual people are far more than ‘bipolar’, ‘psychotic’, etc could accurately express. While a person may experience combinations of emotions socially identified by a psychiatric category, their emotional state can not be summarized or represented by any list of fixed terminology.

My refusal to define a person by the emotional struggles they experience is similar to the reasons I refuse to identity people struggling with intoxication as ‘addicts’. An individual's struggle in coping with society is complex and unique. Psychiatric labels and identities are tools of the state – an entity which I reject. As a tool of civilization, psychiatry creates alienation and violence by treating people found to be emotionally unfit for society as ‘broken’, and therefore socially inferior. I personally refuse to disregard an individual’s struggle for survival by assigning them a psychiatric identity that puts blame on them as ‘mentally ill’ - rather than focusing attention on industrial society itself. Like prisons for ‘criminals’, the ‘correctional’ facility of the psychiatric ward seeks to condition submission through coercion and confinement. Solving or curing ‘mental illness’ in the societal sense often ends up becoming a re-defined ability to condemn, suppress, or sterilize emotions.

Like all governments, presidents, and authority, psychiatry never gave me freedom. Assigned psychiatric labels didn’t help me – they only filled me with an internalized sense of victimhood and inferiority. Medication didn’t ‘cure’ or ‘fix’ me – only damaged me, numbing me to my own senses in order to create an emotional void between me and the fuckery of civilized life. So instead, with nihilist celebration I descend into madness, taking aim at social order and civilization. With armed animalism I realize now that there was nothing to fix - my natural contempt for domestication and social control reminds me that I was never ‘broken’ to begin with.

With maniacal laughter I mock the conventional standardization of human behavior. I reject the authorities of psychiatry, their holy book (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM–5)), and their prisons. I refuse to continue being a test subject for their ever-expanding pharmacotherapeutics. I am an individualist against the collectivized consensus used to materialize institutions of psychiatry. I am a nihilist - hostile to the ideological sane/insane binary and all social constructs that, with pathology, attempt to categorically subjugate individuality. I desire nothing less than a feral revolt against civilization. If civilization and psychiatry marry at the church of morality, then let my anarchy be a fiery black smoke that chokes their gospel of social control.

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 36 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Brand new content! Thank you so much to anyone following this reposting. We’re now caught up, and the idea is to post about a chapter a month until we’re done with the story. (Fingers crossed.) Please let us know if you have any requests! 

Click here for previous chapters, or here to read on AO3. XOXO!

Chapter Summary: After the Spring musical forces Courtney and Adore back into each other's lives, Adore gets advice from a very unlikely source.

Chapter 36: Something Good

It was about 2 weeks into play practice for The Sound of Music when Courtney discovered her favorite place in school to make out with Roy: the backstage dressing rooms. She was sitting perched on the counter, Roy’s mouth trailing down her neck. Her hands moved to his waist, tugging on his fly.

Roy groaned slightly, then glanced around the dressing room, asking, “Aren’t you worried that someone might walk in?”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” she replied with a wicked smile.

He grinned back, dimples deep in his cheeks, shaking his head. Now that the musical had begun, he was relieved, in a way, that there was finally an after-school activity that they could do together. Ever since she’d quit cheer in the Fall, it seemed to Roy that Courtney had been floundering. She wasn’t involved with any sports or clubs. He knew that a big part of it had to do with Adore. She was obviously still feeling depressed about their fractured friendship, which was understandable.

And Roy was happy to fill in the gaps, in theory. But as much as he loved Courtney, he worried that maybe she was putting too much pressure on their relationship. After all, he was just one person. One busy person. So the play gave them a chance to spend time together with more of a purpose. And even better, forced her to socialize with people besides him.

“It’s also slightly terrifying…” he said, gesturing to the door.

Courtney giggled, popping open the button and unzipping him slowly, lips brushing against his, tongue teasing. Roy knew that he shouldn’t let things go this far in public, at school. That this was just part of their game--the one where she was always pushing the envelope and he was responsible for setting the boundaries. But he was only human. Sometimes he didn’t want to be the one to stop things. Sometimes, he just wanted to enjoy himself.

“Fuck…” Roy’s fingers dug into her waist as her hands reached into his pants, heart pounding in his throat.

“Hey-oh dear god!” Jinkx stood in the doorway, a hand covering her eyes. “Uh, Leisl...we need you onstage…we’re about to work on Our Favorite Things.”

“Okay!” Courtney chirped, sliding off the counter, buttoning her top and giving Roy a chaste peck on the cheek.

“And uh…please take care of that...gross situation...” Jinkx made a vague gesture towards Roy’s crotch. “...before you come onstage?”

“Shit, sorry.”

“Good luck, Daddy,” Courtney sang, tossing Roy a kiss as she sailed out the door, leaving him reeling and dizzy.

-

The worst part about having to see Courtney all the time, for Adore, was how visibly okay she was.

Adore knew she shouldn’t be watching them. But somehow, she couldn’t help her eyes from drifting in their direction at lunch. Watching Courtney lean back, her fingers pressing into the grass. Her head fell backwards, elongating her neck and catching Roy’s attention.

Roy stared at her for a few moments, probably as transfixed as Adore as the sun highlighted Courtney’s angelic features. Adore watched as Roy reached over, slipping his finger under the chain of her necklace before leaning over, placing a soft kiss on Courtney's shoulder. Her glossy pink lips stretched into a wide smile, basking in his attention.

Wishing that she hadn’t seen such a small act of affection, something similar to sadness washed over Adore. Adore knew that Courtney missed her, in theory. She knew that cutting her off had upset her. But she also knew that, ultimately, she was fine. And that was the really gut-wrenching part.

Because Adore was not fine. As much as she tried to pretend sometimes, the loss of her best friend was like an open, gaping wound. She never forgot. She never moved on. She just went through her days feeling numb at best, and miserable at worst, and usually somewhere in the middle.

She had other friends. And she loved them. But Courtney had always brought a special kind of light into her life that no one else could. And the really sad thing was that for a long time, Adore genuinely believed that she’d done the same thing for Courtney.

But it was clear whenever she glimpsed her giggling at play practice, or fooling around with Roy on the grass at lunch, or even just walking through the halls—her light was still there. Adore’s absence hadn’t dimmed it at all.

Adore hated to even admit to herself how much it hurt, but there it was. The raw truth.  

-

“Willam, stop!” Courtney tried to hold back her laughter and get him to focus on their choreography.

Willam was a clear example of how boys could get lead roles with two left feet, whereas she got scolded if she missed one step. They were trying to rehearse their dance during “16 Going On 17” and he was just not taking anything seriously. Partly because he’d been empowered by Mrs. Maguire to be a bit of a ham, when she told him, “I’m not saying you have to camp it up like Dan is doing, but don’t feel like you have to play him perfectly straight.”

Of course, Willam had taken that direction and ran with it, mincing about the stage and tossing imaginary hair. Still obviously a little bitter about getting passed over for the ‘Baroness in Drag’ role she’d given to Dan. In spite of everything though, Courtney was happy that they had so many scenes together. Yes, he could be a pain in the ass, but screwing around with him like two naughty children was just the perfect distraction for her.

Sometimes, as much as she loved Roy, the sympathy in his eyes when she got down was too much to bear. With Willam, there was none of that. They could laugh and have fun and be crazy and she never had to worry about him making her think about something deep. She never had to worry about him being tender or careful the way Roy was sometimes - the way even her mother had been since she’d confessed about her fight with Adore all those months ago. If she spaced out or got wistful, all Willam would do was punch her on the shoulder and tell her to stop being a moody cunt. It was refreshing and necessary.

“Okay, let’s try that again,” said Mrs. Maguire, gesturing for Thorgy to reset the music.

“Hey, Mrs. Maguire. I thought this scene would be kinkier. Weren’t Nazis really into like, BDSM and shit?”

Courtney let out a shrieking giggle, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Willam, please try to focus on-”

“You’re thinking of Cabaret,” Jinkx answered from the front row, not even looking up from her script.

“Ohhh, bummer.”

“How about a spanking?” Courtney asked gleefully, bouncing around the stage on the balls of her feet. “I mean, he fully deserves it. Both Willam and Rolf.” She gave him a good smack on the ass to emphasize her point, spirits high, an almost manic gleam in her eye.

“Guys-” Mrs. Maguire was starting to look a bit irritated.

“Oh no, I’ve been a bad little Nazi,” Willam said, bending over, putting a finger in his mouth. Courtney giggled harder and slapped his ass again, harder this time.

“What in the actual FUCK?” Bob said, darting out from behind the wings.

Courtney and Willam both whirled around to face him.

“Guys. Please pay attention-” Mrs. Maguire began, but Bob cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry, are these two blonde, blue-eyed, devil fuckheads trivializing white supremacy right now?” he yelled. “Actually, no, worse, they are fucking fetishizing white supremacy. What the fuck?!”

Courtney’s eyes went wide in alarm.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” she said immediately, hitting Willam in the shoulder. This was all his fault, after all.

“Yeah, sorry,” he echoed, “But my character just really likes a spanking-”

“Bill!” Courtney exclaimed, hitting him again. “Bob, I really am sorry. That was dumb.”

“You’re damn right it was!” Bob said. “Now, I want you to apologize to everyone here! Including your Mexican boyfriend!” He pointed at Roy.

“I’m sor-”

“I’m not Mexican, Bob,” Roy called up from the audience.

“Stepping on my motherfucking point, Del Rio!” Bob yelled back.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean it that way,” Courtney said, heart pounding with embarrassment and fear. Bob hardly ever got angry like that. What if he stayed mad? What if she lost him? What if she lost April, too? Tears pricked at her eyes. Why was she so stupid? “That was insensitive; we won’t do it again, I-”

“Good!”

Bob began to march offstage, and Courtney swallowed, regret swirling in her chest, cheeks still hot with shame. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why did she let Willam rope her into that whole thing?

“Leisl! Rolf! Can we get back to your number?!” Mrs. Maguire asked.

“Yes, sorry!"

-

Courtney rang Bob’s doorbell and bit her lip, clutching the pink bakery box in her hands.

“Hey…” Bob opened the door, looking her up and down with a slightly confused expression. “What’s up?”

“Um...April said that the apple fritters from Hal’s Donuts are your favorite.” She held out the box, which he took from her skeptically.

“They are…but why?”

“I just felt bad. About the thing with Willam earlier.” Courtney shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh.” Bob sighed. “Well, you should. I mean...I think it’s okay that you feel bad.”

Courtney nodded, swallowing down a lump in her throat.

“I wanted to tell you that I really care about you, and I’m sorry, and if I can make it better-”

“Court, this isn’t about me and you. You know? It’s just like...sometimes it’s really exhausting how much racism and bigotry is just everywhere, all the time, even in a stupid school musical,” Bob said.  

“Yeah. I get it. I mean...I think I get it.”

Bob smiled ruefully, holding up the box. “But I do appreciate the reparations.”

“Anytime,” Courtney said, grinning back at him.

“Just want to make sure...you’re not hitting on me right now, are you?”

“No!” Courtney glared at him. “Come on!”

“Okay, okay, just checking,” he laughed.

-

Adore sat in the back of the theatre, trying to get some of her most annoying homework done while the Von Trapp children rehearsed “So Long, Farewell” onstage.

“I’d like to stay, and taste my first champagne-”

“Courtney!” Mrs. Maguire cut in. “Can you please do the champagne line in a less sexual way? Remember that he’s your dad in this show, not your boyfriend.”

“But I love my Daddy,” Courtney simpered, fluttering her lashes and making the other Von Trapp children titter with laughter.

“Stop it,” Roy said, trying to suppress his grin.

“Courtney, look at it this way. It would be a real problem if Captain Von Trapp got a boner on stage. Especially while his kids are singing,” explained Mrs. Maguire, increasing the giggling from the peanut gallery.

“Yeah, a real problem!” Roy echoed.

“Sorry Daddy!” Courtney sang, skipping back to her place in line.

“Dude…” Bob’s voice carried further than he intended through the theatre, catching Adore’s attention as he thumped Jamin on the shoulder. “Did you see that?”

Adore tilted her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if she actually needed any help hearing Bob. He was only a few rows away, and even though he seemed to think he was being quiet, his big mouth was 100% audible to anyone in the vicinity.

“Courtney? Is a total fucking nympho,” Bob continued.  

“A nympho?!” Jamin repeated, tossing his head back to let out a loud cackle, earning a few looks, but ultimately ignored.

“No, really?” Thorgy gasped at the idea, blinking at Bob in disbelief through thick glasses.

“Yeah, I’m telling you!” Bob insisted, snickering. “Roy says that she used to be kind of a prude, but now she cannot get enough. She just wants his dick like, all the time. Everywhere. I think he used the word ‘insatiable.’”

“Attagirl!” Willam said.

Anger started to find its way into Adore’s veins; the natural instinct to defend and protect Courtney regardless of them not being on good terms poked at Adore like a hot spike.

“Poor guy, he’s exhausted,” Bob said, laughing some more, and Adore slammed her binder shut, immediately grabbing her stuff and racing outside.

Something about that conversation made her feel embarrassed and angry, almost vengefully so. How dare they talk about Courtney that way? Sure, she had her faults, but hearing them laugh about her was so vile, so utterly boy. So wrong. And Adore knew exactly who to blame.

-

The sound was a cross between a thump and a click, and it caused Roy to look up from his desk, confused. It was after the second one when he realized that something was hitting his window. He crossed the bedroom and lifted it, surprised to see Adore standing there, several pinecones in her hands, about to hurl another one.

“Uh...hi?”

“Come outside!” she demanded.

“Why didn’t you just use the doorbell like a normal person?” Roy asked.

“Why don’t you stop asking pussy-ass questions and get out here?”

Roy rolled his eyes. Obviously, she was in some kind of mood. (What else was new?) He decided to follow the path of least resistance and just do what she wanted.

“I’ll be right down.”

She was pacing around the driveway when he stepped outside, practically wearing a hole in the pavement.

“Hey. Are you alright? What’s-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Adore exploded. “Why are you such an asshole?”

“Uh…” Roy wasn’t sure what this tantrum was about, so he decided to diffuse the situation with some humor. “Well...my parents are both assholes...and then they fucked, and…” He held up his hands as if to say ‘Ta da!’

“That is so not funny,” she said, turning on her heel and sitting down on the curb.

“Listen. I’m sure I deserve all this wrath, but I don’t actually know where it’s coming from. Care to enlighten me?” He walked over and sat down beside her. Just far enough that he’d have time to run away if she took a swing at him. Which wasn’t entirely out of the question.

Adore groaned before speaking.

“Bob is going around talking about how...how you told him that Courtney used to be a prude but now she’s a nymphowho can’t get enough of your stupid dick. It’s gross.”

Roy began to laugh, and only stopped when he saw the expression on Adore’s face grow even angrier, cheeks darkening.

“I...Adore, come on. I never said that.”

“Well, Bob says you did!”

“Well, Bob makes up a lot of shit! Who believes Bob?! And who knows why he said it?” Roy said, suppressing another laugh. He knew why, if he was honest. He’d been telling his friend about how extra needy Courtney had been lately, and he may have left out the part about how sad she was and exaggerated the sex part...just a little bit. That was harmless, right?

“People believed him!” Adore insisted, tears pricking her eyes. “And you need to put an end to it, or you’re just as guilty as him! If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t want people saying that shit.”

“I don’t really think Courtney would be-” Roy paused mid-sentence, remembering who he was talking to. Who the hell was Adore Delano to lecture him about this? If he really cared? He had given her the benefit of the doubt, seeing how upset she was, but now he was pissed. “Why do you care, anyway?” he asked. “You’re not even friends with her anymore.”

Adore’s face crumbled, tears filling her eyes, a hand covering her mouth. Roy suddenly felt overwhelmingly, unjustifiably guilty.

“Hey...come on…” he began, and then reached out to give her an awkward hug. “It’s...it’s all gonna be okay.”

“It won’t,” Adore sobbed.

“Sure it will,” he insisted.

“I didn't mean-“ Adore hiccupped, “-for it to go on...so long.”

“Okay so...end it. You’re the only one who can.”

“But what am I supposed to say? How will I explain?” Adore buried her face in her hands, Roy’s own hands hesitantly patting her back.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Dory. She won’t give a shit,” Roy sighed. Was he really going to be the one to fix this friendship, after everything that happened? Apparently, yes. What a chump. “She really misses you, you know. She still wears that stupid bracelet every day.”

“I know,” Adore said, voice breaking.

“And she still...you know, she thinks that any day, you’re just gonna magically be friends again. You know how many times she’s said like…‘Roy, she’s not gonna possibly be mad at me on Halloween...She can’t hate me on Christmas...Roy, it’s my birthday, she’s gonna call me.’”

Adore closed her eyes, gulping for breath, too upset even to make fun of Roy’s terrible impression--he sounded more like a low-rent Marilyn Monroe impersonator than Courtney.

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

“No, I’m trying to say...whenever you decide that enough is enough...she’ll be ready. She won’t care. She won’t need an explanation. She’ll just be...so happy.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Roy looked at her curiously, wondering if she knew how much he knew.

“Why wouldn’t I tell you? It’s the truth.”

“Yeah but…” Adore sniffled, wiping her face on her flannel shirt. “I know you hate me. I figured you’d be happy to be rid of me.”

“I don’t hate you. You hate me,” Roy explained slowly.

“I do not. I just...you know, you’re like that one obnoxious, know-it-all cousin that we all have.”

Roy frowned, brows furrowed.

“I don’t have a cousin like that.”

“Right, because you are that cousin, dork,” Adore laughed through her tears, shaking her head.

“Oh.” Roy paused, tilting his head. “Why do you think I hate you?”

Adore shrugged.

“I’ve never hated you. And...even if I did, I’d still want you to make up with Courtney, because I love her, and she loves you. And I want her to be happy.”

“What a hero,” Adore said, rolling her eyes.

“Look...I’ll tell Bob to knock it off with the nympho comments, okay?”

“Okay.” Adore sighed, wiping her eyes again. “Thanks.”

“Sure. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah…” She swallowed, looking away, suddenly a little embarrassed about losing it and crying all over Roy, of all people. “Why do you have a basketball hoop, anyway? You're three feet tall and you suck at sports.”

“First of all. I'm 5’9” - a totally reasonable height. And second...it's Vanessa’s.”

Adore chuckled, looking back down at the ground. She knew what she had to do now, but she wasn’t sure how.

-

Pearl’s pencil moved in quick light strokes across the page, filling in the lines on a weed bouquet, with rolling paper for stems and nugs as petals. The cold frame of Violet’s bed continuously pressing into her back from Violet’s constant shifting above made it a less than comfortable position for her, but Pearl was content. Because honestly, no matter how sarcastic, bitchy or self-centered Violet could be, Pearl always jumped at the chance to hang with her; especially when it was just the two of them.

“Ugh, can you believe this. ‘Who Wore it Best?’” Pearl was suddenly engulfed in the aroma of lemon and berries as her sketchbook was replaced with a magazine and Violet’s long dark hair brushed against her face, tickling her nose.

“I mean obviously, none of them. That dress is sooo, fucking ugly.” Violet scoffed. “I mean, nothing. Nothing. Can save that dress. Those pumps on Jessica are really cute though.” Violet’s red fingernail dragged across the page.

She then snorted before the magazine disappeared and she shuffled back to her position on the bed, tucking a pillow under her chest to get comfortable again.

When it was just the two of them, things were different. Violet would never admit it but she was much different outside of school, outside of being surrounded by tons of people she didn't like. She was softer, sillier and more enjoyable. Pearl suspected it was because Violet felt like she had to keep her guard up at school. Like she had to keep everyone at a fair distance so that no one would ever have the upper hand on her--or maybe it was because she was a Gemini and just a crazy bitch. But either way, Pearl liked it.

The blonde smiled to herself before setting her sketchbook aside and climbing onto the bed beside Violet. “Let me see.”

-

“I know!” Courtney exclaimed, as Jinkx laughed beside her, “That’s why I always ask him to-”

She stopped speaking suddenly, pulse racing. Adore was standing behind Jinkx, waiting for her cue, and around her neck was something Courtney hadn’t seen since wrapping it in September--the choker that she’d given Adore for her birthday. She’d long ago accepted that Adore might have just tossed it in the trash, or donated it to Goodwill. But she’d kept it.

For the first time in so long, Courtney felt a surge of hope, overcome with so much joy that tears stung her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jinkx asked, placing a hand on her arm.

“Yeah…” Courtney watched Adore carefully as she turned to answer a question from Willam. Had she noticed Courtney? Had she noticed that Courtney noticed her? Courtney turned back to Jinkx. “Yeah, I’m good.”

-

Courtney stood in the wings, watching the little exchange between Willam and Roy in the “graveyard,” laughing to herself. If Mrs. Maguire thought that her flirting was bad, she should take a second look at Willam. Courtney glanced around to see if anyone else was enjoying their scene as much as her, when she spotted Adore. She waited for Adore to look up and catch her eye.

Adore gave her the slightest little nod, her first sign of civility since the Fall. Courtney’s heart soared. What should she do? Somehow, as much as she wanted to fling herself into Adore’s arms and sob her eyes out, she knew that it would be the wrong move.

So she bit her lip, making a slight motion towards the stage to beckon Adore over.

“Willam’s fucking with Roy. It’s totally making him squirm,” she explained in a soft whisper.

Adore chuckled a bit, standing closer to get a look at them.

On stage, Roy grasped Willam by the shoulders and hissed his line in a stage whisper.

“Come away with us!”

Willam waited a beat. But instead of reaching for his whistle like he was supposed to, he collapsed in Roy’s arms, crooning, “Yaaas, Daddy!”

“You ass,” Roy pushed him off.

Courtney turned to Adore, giggling, glad to see her laughing too, searching awkwardly for something to say. She reached out and touched the veil of her habit.

“I can’t believe you’re playing a nun.”

“Apparently, a lot of nuns were gay. No men to answer to, just women, don’t have to marry some douchey old asshole. Lesbian havens.”

“Wow. Cool.” Courtney nodded. “Sounds like cheer camp.”

Adore stared at her, blinking.

“Huh...I never realized how gay cheerleading was…”

“Oh yeah. Super gay. You should have joined in with me. You’d have cleaned up,” Courtney finished with a sly smile.

“Yeah,” Adore snickered. “Too bad I can’t dance.”

“That doesn’t matter. I can’t dance.”

“Shut up, yes you can.”

“No, I can learn choreography. But according to Alyssa, I had no rhythm,” Courtney explained.

“Yeah, well...Alyssa is a twat.”

“True,” Courtney laughed. She caught Adore’s eye again, grinning at her. And when Adore smiled back, she really did feel like she might break down in tears.

So she looked away, swallowing hard, dared to reach out her hand towards Adore. When Adore allowed her to link their pinkies together, her breath hitched in relief. Even better, Adore took a small step closer to her, allowing Courtney to rest a head on her shoulder.

They probably had a lot to talk about. And it was possible that things wouldn’t ever truly be the same as they were before. But for now, in this moment, Courtney felt like everything was exactly perfect.

-

Spring had brought more than blossoming flowers—and “pollen,” as Violet constantly whined about—for Adore. That dark cloud that had been hovering over Adore for so many months had finally vanished. The light in her eyes and the genuine laughter that fell from her lips was a breath of fresh air for everyone, but mostly herself.

She had been in such a good mood, she even volunteered to join Violet and Fame for a sleepover.

And now, Violet, Fame and Adore found themselves in the battle of the bored-est; Fame was stuck in a cycle of indecisiveness as she changed around her MySpace theme for the fourth time that evening; Violet was surrounded with a mess of old clothes from her closet on the floor; and Adore, well she was stuffing her face with pizza as waited for Courtney to text her back.

It felt as if things had never changed as Courtney was complaining about her grandmother, who Adore wasn’t too happy to hear had moved in. It had actually come as a shock to Adore. Yes, she noticed Muriel around more often in the neighborhood, but Adore never would have thought that she’d move in.

If only Adore could have been there for that conversation between Courtney and Karen.

Adore knew that it would be the thing she would always regret the most about pushing Courtney away--all the time and moments she should have been there and she wasn’t. The stories she could have been a part of, but now would only hear secondhand, through Courtney’s animated storytelling.

Adore willed away regretful tears before they came. There was no reason to shed sad tears now. She and Courtney were in a better place now.

Maybe, with time, they could even be better than before.

“Ugh, no. I can’t do this!” Violet suddenly announced, crumpling up a blouse and tossing it across the room in frustration.

Adore arched an eyebrow, waiting for Violet to elaborate.

“What’s wrong?” Fame asked, only glancing over at Violet, who was now sitting with her arms crossed, a pout forming on her lips.

“Wassup, Vi? Can’t find your favorite skirt?” Adore joked.

“Shut up!” Violet snapped, “No, I-I’m just… I need a break. I’ve been conceptualizing this dress for nearly two weeks now. And I don’t even like the fabrics together. I mean they’re sooo, fu-cking tacky.” Violet emphasized her point by tossing clothes in the air around her.

“Yeah, and I can not with this theme. I really wanted a theme that would incorporate everything that I am.” Fame pushed her desk chair away from Violet’s computer.

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. You had one of the cutest themes in school,” Adore tried to reassure Fame.

“Yeah, but it didn't say ‘FAME!’' she threw her hands up giving her best spirit fingers. “When someone clicks on my page they should instantly know ‘this girl is not like the rest.’”

“Why don't you just, put some pictures of a chicken as your background, and I’m sure we can find an audio of chickens clucking on the internet and call it a day. I mean everyone will definitely know ‘this girl is not like the rest,’” Violet suggested, causing Adore to choke out a laugh.

“I’m not sure whether to be insulted or… because that was actually a pretty good idea-”

Fame’s answer was followed by Violet’s famous screech of, “Hell no!.

“What?” Fame questioned.

“You’re an idiot,” Violet shook her head, climbing on her bed and settling beside Adore. “Do not put chickens as your background and please do not even think about an audio of chickens clucking, because I will never visit your page ever again.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Fame rolled her eyes, before focusing on Adore. “What do you think?”

“I wanna dye my hair,” Adore responded, gladly leaving the chicken conversation behind.

“Wait, huh?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Adore sat up, tucking her feet under herself. “I think it's time for a change.” She gestured to the two-toned black to a faded blue greyish hair upon her head, the turquoise dye from the summer almost completely gone.

“Wh-” but before Fame could even finish her sentence, Violet let out something between a squeal and a roar of excitement, shocking the other two girls, as she bounded off the bed and started digging through her closet.

“Fame, come on, put on your shoes. We have to do this before she changes her mind. I mean, I had planned to just cut all her hair off tonight in her sleep, but this is so much better!”

“Wait, what?! OUCH!” Adore tumbled off the bed, trying to untangle her legs from beneath her.

By the time she was right side up, Violet and Fame already had their jackets and shoes on their feet.

“You wanted to cut my hair?”

“Adore, only in theory,” Fame tried to reassure her, “now put on your shoes and let's go.”

Adore swatted her hand away, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“No, but neither did you. You were the one walking around here like some kind of dehydrated smurf, these last few months, so let's go.”

Violet began to pull Adore out of the room before she could even get her shoes on.

-

“Ugh, I don’t even know why you let it get this far.” Violet shook her head, whipping the dye together in the bowl.

“Tell me about it...” Fame’s disappointed tone made Adore smile. “The blue was fading three months ago. Violet, I told her to let me handle it back then.”

“She doesn’t listen.” Violet rolled her eyes as Fame draped an old towel around Adore’s shoulders.

But in spite of being the object of their derision, Adore felt amazing. In the drug store earlier, she’d chosen a bright, fiery, cherry-red. It would be glorious, a real statement--and it wouldn’t interfere with the play, since she’d be wearing a nun habit the whole time anyway. She was practically bouncing as she sat on the toilet seat in Violet’s small bathroom.

“You both just need to focus on not fucking my hair up. Because if I end up bald because of you two, I’m ready to fight,” Adore joked.

“We know what we’re doing,” Violet reassured her.

“Honestly, all this kinda makes me want to dye my hair,” Fame shrugged, looking thoughtfully at her reflection.

“Omigod! Please go red with me,” Adore begged excitedly. She loved the idea of more people joining in on the fun.

“Hmm, maybe. Not that bright though, maybe a bit more auburn-ish.”

“That… would look so good on you.” Violet’s eyes lit up at the idea of Fame’s famously blonde hair a darker red.

“You think?” Fame tossed her hair, fluttering her lashes at both of them.

“Yes, let’s do it!” Adore cried, gung-ho and excited, bouncing up out of the chair.

“Calm down, bitch,” Violet said, shoving her back into the chair. “One victim at a time here at Chez Violette.”