#My tendons are assholes

[freedom-shamrock]

My Feet Hate Me

After spending two weeks flattened by a cold that triggered my asthma, I'm finding the tendons in my feet are so tight and angry. I'm trying to calm them down so I don't do real damage at dance tomorrow.

Heat

Gentle stretches

Roll feet over tennis balls (ouch)

More stretches

More heat

Massage with Tiger Balm

Repeat

I'm at the Tiger Balm stage of treatment and my feet are so pleasantly warm. Eventually there will be ice (I have these new ice pack socks to try out) because I think there's some inflammation. Ugh.

[arodrwho]

i have got to remember to make an appointment with an actual primary care doc

[wroteclassicaly]

Steve over your bratty and moody attitude, so he buys a dildo that’s representative of his size, then has it waiting for you when you get home.

“Whatever, King Steve —“

“Funny how you keep using that as a dig when you’re pissed at me, yet I know you were fingering your pathetic little pussy to the thought of me when I was him, weren’t you? No matter how much of an asshole I was to you, you still rode your hand thinking about me. Kept that wrist warm all through the night.”

You pause, keys falling onto the counter and out of your grasp. He smirks, arms crossed, tan and toned biceps flexing beneath the crisp navy blue t-shirt he wears. You can smell his apple and cedar-wood body wash as he finds a space behind you, hands piling onto your waist, chin on your humidity-slick skin. His mouth is hot by your ear, breath causing the sway of your dangly earring. He sways with you a little, spouting off an order mere seconds later.

“Get your pleasant ass upstairs, take off your clothes, and wait for me.”

You don’t argue this time.

~*~

You weren’t confused upon seeing where he’d suctioned the toy. Directly on the floor, no cushioning for your knees, a discarded bottle of lubricant beside the faux shaft. You swallow harshly, tugging your embarrassingly soaked underwear off, just as your boyfriend enters the room. He’s got a rolled Camel dangling from between his lips, cherry burning bright at his sharp exhale. He waves his hand at you, filter pinched into his grip.

Moving towards him, you watch as he settles down in a perfectly placed chair, using the massive palm of his freehand to nudge your thighs apart. “I know that you always need my help getting ready to take my cock, honey. But you’ve pissed me off so much this week, that I wanna watch you struggle a bit.”

You whimper in response, but don’t argue. He continues on. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to put on a show for me, ride that.. Well, it’s not really-little-number over there, and if you can manage not to smart off, then we’ll see about letting you cum, yeah?”

“Okay, Steve.” He cups your cunt with an abrupt stroke, grazing you until it aches, until you’re bowed over into the fabric of his cotton clad chest. He’s groaning at your arousal.

“Steve is the guy who isn’t your favorite douchebag. You don’t get to call me that right now, baby. So, let’s try that again.”

His eyes are blown when your irises meet his. You swallow as his thumb-pad pushes your swollen folds open and seeks out your clit. Your words are punched from your esophagus and ping pong themselves into your throat, electricity prickling your fingertips and making you fist your grip into his hair to tug. He groans, a smoke cloud billowing up from his mouth, tendons in his neck bared. You can’t resist when you lean down and lick the salty, cologne stained skin. Your own voice hot as the words knick the underside of his jaw. “King Steve.”

To say that he enjoys stroking himself to you struggling to take the girth of the toy, hissing and shifting, unable to find solid leverage — is the understatement of the century. You don’t, however, talk back for a solid two weeks.

[penny00dreadful]

CW for this chapter on AO3

Part 1/ Part 3/ AO3

Eddie was out of breath. Embarrassingly and catastrophically out of breath. He wasn’t some god damned athlete, he was an academic. A pathetic fucking stereotype of an academic, huffing and puffing as he tried to drag his suitcases up the gangway towards the riverboat. It would take them down the Nile and closer to where they needed to be.

Robin was up ahead, happily chattering along with her one bag slung easily over her back.

Eddie dropped the suitcases with a loud thunk, glaring up at the ramp to the boat, wondering how the fuck was he going to get everything up there.

Robin turned back to him and lightly kicked one of his cases. “What the fuck did you even pack in there? The whole damn library?”

He pushed his hair back from his face, the heat of the day and the exertion of carrying everything left his curls sticking to his skin and his neck sweating under his starched collar. 

He used the tie around his wrist to scrape the hair back before he answered her.

“I need my books for my research, Rob. And what about you? Did you pack nothing but air?”

Robin shrugged. “You do this enough times, you learn to pack lightly.”

“Do what enough times?”

Robin pursed her lips. “Let’s just say, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Oh right, sure.” He tried his best to pin her with his glare. “You’ve run off to secret mythical cities before? With your best friend I’ve never heard of before this week, Steve?” Eddie huffed. “What’s the story there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how does someone like you know someone like him?”

Robin shot him a sly conspiratorial grin.

“We go way back.”

“Jesus Christ, Robbie.” He threw his hands out. “What does that even mean? You go way back with that… that filthy, arrogant, primitive dickhead–”

“Anyone I know?”

The voice that called out from just behind him made Eddie’s heart both explode into flutters and drop straight out of his ass, which was a hell of a sensation to feel.

He turned slowly, expecting to see said filthy, arrogant, primitive, dickhead, still covered head to toe in dirt and rags and looking like a wild caveman, but that was not what he was greeted with.

Steve was standing behind him, a heavy duffel very similar to Robin’s own resting over his shoulder and an eyebrow cocked in Eddie’s direction.

He’d bathed which, duh, bare minimum to make someone look better than they had done, rotting away in a jail cell. But he’d also cut his hair back. It now rested over his forehead in a swoop that Eddie would almost call dashing if he didn’t hate himself so much for thinking it. He was clean shaven, showing off a sharp jawline and a few smatterings of moles dotting down his cheek and neck. 

Eddie’s eyes trailed after them, coming to a stop against Steve’s forearms. His clean white shirt was rolled up to the elbows and there was a large branching vein running along the arm he had up, holding his bag, the tendons along the back of his hand flexing.

Eddie needed water.

Maybe he was dehydrated and that was why he was staring so much. That had to be it because there was no way he would be staring at that fucking asshole for any other reason.

Steve hardly paid any attention to him. He had moved his attention over to Robin, pulling her tight against his side and ruffling a hand through her hair, purposefully messing it up.

Like a prick.

Why was he even here?

What reason did Steve have for dicking Eddie around instead of just telling him where he could find Hamunaptra?

Was this some kind of rich boy entertainment for him?

Eddie’s heart rate was still up, though he’d insist it was the heat and the dehydration doing that to him and not the tendons and veins wrapped in tanned mole-dotted skin along with the hair falling into big hazel eyes—

“Listen Harrington.” Eddie snapped, a little harder than he needed to. “If this is just some game to you or some kind of wild goose chase or a way to dick us around, you tell me right now or I’ll… I’ll—”

Steve grinned back at him, eyebrows tilting up.

“You’ll what?”

He was so fucking cocky, wasn’t he? So fucking smug and sure of himself, it was infuriating.

“Listen, Eddie.” Steve said his name like he was speaking to a child. “When I asked Robbie to find someone who could open that puzzle box I knew it was going to come with some ridiculous caveat. But the fact that you, you actually want to go there yourself with us tells me all I need to know about how prepared you are for this expedition. I wasn’t lying about being there before and if it was up to me? I’d never set foot back in that place again. But unfortunately for us, we–” Steve waved a hand between himself and Robin, “–have to go back. You don’t. But you’re insistent. So hear me when I tell you that you’ll find nothing there but sand and blood and I will not be saving your ass from whatever stupidity you bring down upon us.” Steve shot him another perfect, gleaming white toothed smile. “Kay?”

Turning on his heel and, with what must have been some kind of chest-thumping, caveman need to show off his strength, he grabbed the handle of one of Eddie’s suitcases and lifted it easily from the ground, carrying it up onto the deck of the boat.

Eddie stared after him with his mouth hanging open in outrage, almost spitting at Robin as he turned to glare at her.

“Who the fuck is this guy?”

Robin just grinned back at him, all knowing, like she was seeing something he wasn’t.

“He’s Steve.” She answered, simple and easy, turning to follow the dickhead up the gangway. Eddie was left almost vibrating with irritation and he took a deep breath in, hoping that he would be able to get through this expedition without murdering either one of them.

Eddie was trapped on a boat with Steve Fucking Harrington, dickhead rich-boy with a non-academic interest in Egyptology, an interest that had never seemed to manifest in any kind of funding before now. 

Eddie had never even heard of the Harringtons. They simply didn’t exist in the archaeological circles he was familiar with, and Eddie was familiar with them all.

So that either meant they were new money, which wasn’t something he particularly cared about, money was money. 

Or. 

There was some kind of ulterior motive for them suddenly throwing their big bucks behind this. Something for them to gain. There had to be. There was always something for the richy-riches to gain.

But Eddie hadn’t heard anything about the Harrington parents either. Steve was way too young to be heading a wealthy American dynasty. It had to be his parents' money, right?

So where were they?

Why hadn’t Robin or Steve or anyone else mentioned them?

And why were they letting their son run around digging through the sand for ancient artefacts and not paying someone to do it for them? Someone like Eddie. That was how this whole ecosystem worked after all. 

Pay someone like Eddie to dig the things out of the sand for them. Donate whatever was found to whatever museum would take it. Get a whole new wing or whatever named after them. Host some kind of gala to pat themselves on the back about it. Done.

It was the circle of life out here.

So why didn’t that seem to be the case?

Eddie shook his head, trying to focus back on the book in front of him.

He’d managed to find a quiet spot hidden away behind some piled up supplies. Though he could still hear the raucous laughter and shouting coming from the other group.

Other Americans who were apparently also looking for the City of the Dead. Eddie had an image in his head of old cowboys in the west, riding up and down dusty streets and shooting their pistols in the air and he snorted to himself, designating them the Cowboys in his head. 

Robin was playing them in poker.

Or to be more precise, Robin was hustling them in poker.

Though she wasn’t hustling them for money so much as she was hustling them for information.

And she was getting it too.

The other group of men were only all too delighted to recount the tales of their other expeditions, the treasures they stole from their native lands and sold for a profit thousands of miles away with a carelessness that made Eddie’s stomach churn in disgust and anger.

It always broke his mother’s heart to hear about it. There was an uncomfortable feeling spreading in his gut at the thought of what she would say if she could see him doing what he was doing now.

Eddie shifted in his seat, trying to tune back into the words in front of him and drown out the shouts from the crowd across the deck.

The piece of information that had really gotten Robin’s attention was that the group had someone on their side that had been to Hamunaptra before. It had caught Eddie’s as well.

For one fleeting moment he had thought that Steve might be double crossing them, but it became clear pretty quickly that they were talking about someone else and when the name “Tommy” had been mentioned, something had slammed hard against the table.

The silence that followed had only lasted a second before Robin had started up again, but Eddie could tell she was pissed.

He settled himself back into his chair, curling up and getting comfortable, content to let Robin deal with the rabble, knowing from experience she was expert at it.

He had his legs bent, wedged up between the table and his chair like a gargoyle on a plinth, book resting on his knees as he practically curled his body around it.

He’d had to unbutton his waistcoat. It was digging too hard into his belly and he had finally let his hair back down.

It was creating almost a curtain around himself and his book, cutting him off from everything else outside. 

Just how he liked it. 

He nearly jumped out of his fucking skin when something heavy and loud was dumped onto the table in front of him.

Whipping his head up and clutching his book tight to his chest on instinct, Eddie was met with the shit eating grin of said Harrington rich boy, mouthing out an insincere ‘sorry’ as he sat himself down opposite to Eddie, apparently making himself comfortable.

Before Eddie could open his mouth to ask Steve one: what the fuck and two: why did he think he was welcome at Eddie’s specifically chosen secluded spot, Steve directed that blinding grin at Eddie again.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, slowly undoing the ties along his duffle.

“You don’t scare me.” Eddie snapped back, pulling the book up in front of his face, trying to make it incredibly obvious he wasn’t up for conversation right now. 

Maybe, just maybe the two of them could happily exist together in the same space if they just didn’t fucking talk to each other.

But apparently Lady Luck had decided she needed something to laugh at because he could hear the chair Steve was in creaking and a peek over the top of his book told Eddie the guy had his legs spread wide under the table, taking up as much space as possible like an asshole.

“Still mad about that kiss, are you?” Steve asked, eyes still focused down on his duffle and coy smile playing on his face.

Oh, fuck no.

Eddie sent him a scathing glare over the pages.

“That wasn’t a kiss.” He hissed out, book tilting down when Steve finally deigned him important enough to look at. “That was you shoving your face onto mine, that was no kiss.”

Steve’s mouth momentarily pulled down into a frown. 

Apparently the rich boy had never been told what seemed to pass for a kiss to him was not the gold standard of romantic moments and he looked genuinely irritated about it.

Eddie’s own smug satisfaction was short-lived though, when, with a flick of his wrist, Steve unrolled his duffel to reveal a truly obscene array of weapons.

Shotguns, knives, dynamite, revolvers, daggers and too many bullets and shells to count.

Steve started cataloguing the weapons in front of him with a little pout on his face, like a petulant child.

“Did I miss something?” Eddie asked, lowering his legs down to lean in and poke at one of the shotgun shells. “Has The Great War started again?”

“A war of some kind is going to start up very soon if you don’t take this seriously.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair, ticking his book up again.

Take this seriously.

Like archaeology wasn’t Eddie’s whole god damn life’s work.

“There’s something out there, Eddie. Something underneath the sand.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth, his head shaking a little against his will. “Oh really?” He asked, a smile still on his face. “Amazing. It’s almost as if that’s exactly what we’re looking for. Artefacts under the sand.” He spread his fingers out wide parallel to the table and gave Steve a wide eyed stare, mockingly shocked.

Steve’s mouth quirked up, a small secret grin on his face, hiding something. “So you don’t think there’s anything out there?”

“Well,” Eddie placed his book down, finally conceding he wouldn’t be able to read it as long as Steve was here. “While spells and magic would be wonderful–”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, something outraged on his face, but Eddie cut him off.

“Unfortunately in the millennia of history I have studied, nothing has ever surfaced with any tangible evidence, so no. I don’t think there’s anything supernatural out there.”

“Oh?” Steve raised his eyebrows, leaning an elbow on the table, his fingers deftly unlatching a shotgun from its holder. “What makes this site so special to you, then? What are you even looking for out here that you can’t get in the hundreds of other archeological sites around this city? There’s plenty of other mummified bodies to be found in less dangerous places, you know.”

“Not what I’m looking for. There’s rumoured to be a book–”

“A book?” Steve glanced down at the volume in Eddie’s hand with a little snort. “That tracks.”

“This book,” Eddie hissed out, his hackles fully raised, “would be one of the most astounding finds in all of archeological history. It’s supposed to contain the secret incantations, the written word of the man who is rumoured to be the physician and architect for Pharaoh Djoser, Imhotep. It’s sometimes called the Book of Amun-Ra–”

“Incantations?” Steve teased. “So you do think that there’s supernatural things out there.”

Eddie shot him a withering glare. “Incantations, spells, magic, things that would have seemed supernatural to ancient peoples are often things that we can explain now. Just because they saw the work of Imhotep as supernatural doesn’t make it so. Asshole.” He finished off with a huff.

Steve grinned across the table at him, swiping a cloth up and down his gun and nudging Eddie’s ankle with his boot.

“Seems like you are still mad about that kiss.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie snapped back, pulling his leg away. “Couldn’t care less about it.”

He slammed his book back open, throwing it up in front of his face, not even sure if he was on the right page or not but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He wasn’t mad about the kiss.

Matter of fact, he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Hadn’t been thinking about it.

It had never once entered his head and he was going to continue not thinking about it for the rest of his life.

Like he said, it wasn’t even a kiss.

It was a smashing of their faces, messy and hot and sudden and rough.

It wasn’t–

He wasn’t thinking about it.

Eddie focused back on the page in front of him, only to realise he’d been rereading the same paragraph over and over because his mind kept wandering off.

The question was out of his mouth before it had even formed in his head, the burning curiosity in him that he’d tried to ignore coming out in an irritated outburst as he threw his book back down on the table.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Steve grinned to himself like he’d just won a prize. “I was about to be hanged, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” With a flick of his lashes, he looked up, catching Eddie’s eye. “Glad to know you do consider it a kiss, though.”

The noise of indignation that came out of Eddie was something he’d be embarrassed about in any other situation but right now he couldn’t care less.

He shoved himself to his feet, turned on his heel and stormed away from the table. 

He could almost feel Steve continuing to grin at his back as he turned the corner.

He couldn’t believe the audacity of that fucker.

And what was worse, the second he had arrived back in his cabin, he’d realised he’d left his book behind.

So with the last bit of gumption he had, he left his brain behind in his room so he wouldn’t have to think too hard and stomped his way back out to his once quiet, peaceful table.

He had expected to find Steve, probably still laughing at him and cleaning his pseudo-dick like some kind of caveman, but that was not what he found.

Instead, he turned the corner and found said caveman pressing some other guy up against the wall of luggage, fists in his shirt and noses touching.

Eddie’s first thought was that this was another one of Steve’s not kisses; shoving some guy up against a surface to stick his now stupidly hydrated plump lips on them. But then he took in how hard Steve’s jaw was clenched, the genuine anger in his eyes and his white knuckles.

The two men turned to look at him as he snatched his book up from the abandoned table.

Whatever this was, he didn’t want to get involved with it.

In the half second Eddie had to get a good look at their faces, Steve’s anger shifted down into concern when their eyes met.

The other guy, who had previously been full of cocky bravado, now was cycling between confusion, irritation and a little bit of hurt when he tore his eyes away and took in how Steve was looking at Eddie.

Eddie turned his back on them as soon as he could, book clutched in his hand and beat a hasty retreat but not fast enough to escape the hissed words that followed.

“You were always led by your dick, Harrington. Let’s hope this one’s stupid enough to stick around for five minutes.”

“Get fucked, Tommy.”

If Uncle Wayne could see him now, he’d probably wet himself laughing.

Actually, no he wouldn’t. That was unfair.

He’d probably sit Eddie down and ask him what’s eating you, son?

Even so, his uncle would probably still find it at least a little funny that Eddie Fucking Munson was having difficulty distracting himself.

Eddie never had difficulty getting distracted.

Distraction usually came to him without him even asking.

But now apparently his mind had decided was the perfect time to have a singular fucking focus.

And that focus was still on that kiss that wasn’t really a kiss.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a fucking… punch in the face that Steve had delivered with his mouth.

That wasn’t how kissing worked.

So why was it working on him?!

Why was he still thinking about it?

Eddie had practically thrown his vest across his cabin in frustration, ripping his shirt and tie off along with it, leaving him huffing and puffing in his trousers, his loose suspenders hanging around his hips and a thin short sleeved undershirt half untucked.

He’d been so fucking irritated, throwing his clothes around his room like a toddler, he didn’t hear the creak of the wood floor, a footstep behind his back.

He looked up into the mirror and found a man shrouded in black cloth, a hood covering his head, standing behind him, reaching out, ready to grab him.

With a yelp of surprise Eddie tried to duck out of the way, but a hand grabbed his hair, yanking him back and he was spun until he was facing his assailant.

The cold and sharp point of a cruel curved blade was pushed into his cheek and he was only able to back up a single step until he hit the wall, the man pressing in close with a snarl on his face.

“Where’s the map?” His assailant growled.

Eddie swallowed, the blade pushing into his cheek just a little more. He felt a sharp sting and something warm trickle down his skin but when he tried to flinch back, the fist in his hair tightened again.

“Alright, alright, relax, man. Relax.” He raised his hands a little, trying to placate him and just barely nudged his head over, flicking his eyes down to his bedside table where the ancient papyrus was sitting innocently out. “There. It’s there.”

If the guy had taken two seconds to look around the room he could have snatched it up and been gone before Eddie had time to do anything but no. Apparently Eddie just had to be threatened. 

“And the key.”

Oh, okay so evidently there was something else needed.

“Key? What– what key?” Eddie stuttered, trying to think about how the fuck he was going to get out of this situation. He could scream for Robin. He wouldn’t scream for Steve. Or maybe if he took the guy by surprise he could buy himself enough time to run. “I don’t know anything about a key.”

His assailant glared—menacing, intimidating—and pressed closer.

“Eddie!”

The cabin door burst open and Steve practically jumped in, guns held aloft in both hands. Eddie only got half a second to see it before he was being yanked again, held out in front of his attacker like a human shield.

Steve’s guns, which were aimed at the guy who’d just invaded Eddie’s god damned cabin, slid off of Eddie’s body and he just had a second to breathe about it before the window burst open and there were shots being fired.

Eddie took his chance to elbow his attacker hard in the stomach, twisting out of his grip and bringing his other elbow up to crack him across the head.

He was freed from his grip and nearly fist-pumped about it, but his elation was short-lived as a stray bullet whizzed far too close for comfort and broke a lantern over his window.

The burning oil spilled out all over the furniture of the cabin and Eddie’s room was now solidly and terrifyingly on fire.

In amongst the carnage, Eddie had the wherewithal to remember the pocket watch, still in an internal pocket of his waistcoat that he’d thrown across the room.

Eddie dove for it, fumbling around in the fabric until his fingers finally closed around the chain and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

A strong arm pulled back to his feet, dragging him against an equally strong chest and there was a swooning, eyes-fluttering, heart-thumping second where Eddie was held tight against Steve before he came back to himself and before Steve forcefully shoved him out of the cabin door.

Eddie caught himself against the opposite wall and, okay, yeah. 

There was still gunfire and actual fire so fuck it, it was time to run, no time to be thinking of anything else.

He’d only gotten a few steps, shoving the watch into his pocket before he realised–

“The map!”

He turned back.

“We need the map and the key, the were talking about some key–”

He didn’t get much further because Steve, fucking caveman that he was, grabbed Eddie around the waist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Over Steve’s shoulder Eddie could see Robin, guns out and shooting into his flaming cabin, black smoke pouring out around her.

“We don’t need the map, it’s all up here.” Steve tapped a finger against his forehead.

“Oh, that’s comforting.” Eddie bit back. Robin had just ducked into his cabin and then he was being dragged around the corner and he finally managed to loosen himself from Steve’s iron grip.

He opened his mouth but wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to scream about first; the fire, the guns, the fucking manhandling like he was some kind of damsel in distress, but he didn’t get the chance.

As soon as he’d taken a big god damned breath in to start shouting, the wind was knocked out of him again.

Steve had shoved his big fuck-off duffel bag full of weapons into Eddie’s arms while reloading his gun because, oh yeah, there was a fuck ton of shooting going on out here too!

God damn it, he just wanted to do some fucking archaeology. This wasn’t what he was prepared for, he was a god damned librarian. A scholar for fuck sake. 

With a glance up, Eddie saw another guy standing across from them on a balcony, a gun aimed directly at Steve’s head.

Eddie grabbed onto Steve’s arm and dragged him to the side, only just managing to move him out of the way as a hole was blown into the wall, the bullet landing where Steve had just been.

Steve barely glanced over in his direction before grabbing the bottom of Eddie’s suspenders, where they were attached to the front of his pants and proceeded to drag him quickly and efficiently across the deck to the other side of the boat. 

It was complete and utter fucking chaos.

Aside from the fire and bullets whizzing past, there were people screaming, throwing themselves overboard and the occasional explosion, rocking the boat violently from side to side.

As they moved across the deck, Eddie felt a familiar presence at his back, a hand between his shoulder blades and he realised he was practically being sandwiched in between Robin and Steve as they moved, escorting him across the boat like they were his bodyguards and he was their priority client.

“Can you swim?” Steve shouted at him, over the noise. The heavy duffel was pulled from his arms and Eddie was left wondering what the fuck was going on in this guy’s head.

Robin had her back to them, keeping them covered with her own gunfire while Steve did whatever the fuck he was doing.

“Yes,” Eddie screeched back, “if the situation calls for it, but what does that have to do with–”

“Trust me.” Eddie’s legs were knocked out from under him as Steve bent low and scooped him up swiftly into a bridal carry and suddenly they were very, very close. “It calls for it.”

And then Eddie was being heaved, tossed overboard and he was falling.

“YOU MOTHERFU–” He just had time to scream out before he hit the water.

Luckily for all of them, the shore wasn’t that far away.

Or more accurately, luckily for Steve’s neck because Eddie was going to wring it between his two hands the second he was able to catch his breath. 

He was on his hands and knees, still half submerged but with solid land underneath him, finally.

Crawling a little further forward, Eddie settled back on his heels and snapped his head up in one whipping motion, flinging his wet hair back out of his face and breathed the mother of all inhales.

When he’d settled a little more, feeling his shoulders relax and his chest no longer heaving, he opened his eyes. 

Steve was standing above him, face bright red in the darkness for some reason and staring hard at the river behind them, very obviously refusing to look in Eddie’s direction.

He was dripping wet. 

They all were. All three of them on the shore, Steve, Eddie and Robin.

But Steve’s white shirt and tan pants were practically see through, and being on his knees the way that Eddie was, he was at a perfect height to get a fucking eyeful of Steve’s dick sitting outlined perfectly in those wet, wet pants.

He glanced up again and Steve quickly averted his eyes, face somehow going even redder and Eddie had the realisation that his shirt was probably even more transparent than Steve’s.

Steve must have a clear and probably obscene point of view on Eddie’s body, on his knees below him, trousers stretched tight over his crotch and thighs, undershirt clinging to his chest and stomach. But he probably looked more like a wet, angry cat rather than anything particularly salacious.

From what Eddie could see of Steve’s skin, he had a thick and very, very tempting spread of dark chest hair that kept stretching down, down, down into a thinner trail disappearing into the waistband of his pants–

Nope.

Eddie slowly pushed himself to his feet, patting at his pocket and feeling the tension release from his shoulders when he felt the lump of the pocket watch still there. He shook his hair out again and with the motion, tossed those thoughts of Steve firmly out of his fucking head.

Steve couldn’t seem to stop his eyes tracking him as he stood and they were close, so fucking close.

“Hey Harrington!” A shout came from across the water, effectively snapping the two of them out of it.

Tommy was visible just on the opposite bank, hands cupped around his mouth.

“Looks like we got all the horses!”

Steve took a step into the water, almost shouldering Eddie behind him.

“Hey Hagan! Looks like you’re on the wrong side of the river!”

Without waiting for a response, Steve turned back to the two of them, outright ignoring Eddie and looking at Robin.

“Did you get it?”

Robin grinned back and pulled the puzzle box from her pocket. “I got it.”

Part 1/ Part 3/ AO3

Happy birthday @hbyrde36

My biggest thanks and much love to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for asking customers to help out at work and use my wrist braces as the reason?

this is probably a nothingburger of an aita submission, but it's been nagging at me ever since i started to wear them. submitting this 05/18 and tagging @aita-retailbraces for my own reference. TLDR is at the bottom.

i (20F) have recently gotten wrist braces as i've had consistent pain in my wrists and hands for a few weeks now. my mom has chalked it up to being tendonitis or overusage of my hands and i do several things in my professional and personal life that may worsen my hands' condition. so this is very likely, and as it's just an inflammatory/overusage thing, i do not consider this pain to be a disability by any means.

my primary job is working in retail as a cashier for a grocery store. one of my expected tasks is to bag customers' groceries. however, as customers are allowed to bag their own, i try to encourage them to do so.

before getting the braces, i'd usually mention that they can grab a bag and would use the reason that it's faster (especially if the line is long). but a lot of customers tend to react rudely if i suggest this, whether it's just glaring at me the rest of the time or openly stating why they don't want to do that. but lately, i've been considering using my braces and wrist pain as a reason as to why they should bag. i've been trying to hide them since getting them but my wrists/hands have been hurting even with the braces, and having to bag a lot of heavy groceries doesn't help in the slightest.

why i think i'd be the asshole:

i don't consider myself disabled and i'd worry that it'd come across as lying and saying that i am if i blame my pain and/or wrist braces as to why i prefer not to bag.

disabled coworkers of mine don't try to pass off their work onto customers or use it as an "excuse" to not do what's expected of them. so it may feel like a cop-out for me while they do their work with minimal complaints or attempts to pass it off to another.

i CAN bag even when my hands/wrists are in pain, i just go slower.

additional context, if needed:

i cannot ask coworkers for assistance as we're relatively short-staffed. there have been multiple days where i'd be the only cashier for hours at a time.

i'm not actively refusing to bag groceries. if a customer doesn't want to, i suck it up because i have little choice.

i don't try and push off the responsibility if a customer is elderly or mentions they have a disability and cannot bag themselves. i've got quite a few who have mentioned shoulder pain and not being able to lift their arm above a certain height.

i use my hands/wrists a lot outside of work. the wrist braces were not purchased with the intent of faking my pain nor do i only wear them at work.

TLDR

i'm expected to bag customers' groceries at my job but try to encourage them to do it themselves, and am considering using my wrist pain/braces as a more "valid" excuse to try and convince them to bag.

[ominoose]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Pairing: Android!Nathan Bateman x GN!Depressed!Reader Summary: Your therapist advises you buy an android as a companion. He's a pain. Warnings: None, just fluff. WC: 1.5k Thank you @jinjersnapz for beta reading :*

The moment he stepped out of the box you wanted a refund. Thinly veiled disappointed creased his eyebrow and tugged down his lips as the android, Nathan, took in the cabin. It wasn't much, that you'd concede, wooden floors, walls and roof with a bathroom, office, kitchenette, living room and bedroom. The basic rooms filled with what one needed to live, or as your therapist called it “bare essentials” and “not willing to take up your own space”. Bullshit, essentially.

And now the result of not listening to said bullshit was taking in your abode like it was a one star Air BnB that posted fake five star reviews. He probably wanted a refund as much as you. That was an accurate description of life since he was shipped into it, ‘I want a refund.’

“You're wasting time.” Said the most annoying alarm clock since the creation of alarm clocks.

You only responded by turning over and pulling the covers over your head before they were ripped off the bed and cold air attacked your now exposed and cold skin.

“Stop spending all your time in bed just to go bitch to your therapist about how you're worthless and your life has no meaning. Either get your ass up or I'll dismantle the bed and hide the screws.”

The petty, blunt asshole would. Last week he messed with the dryer's wiring, leaving your bed sheets wet until you finished your book (that he'd recommended, ordered on your Amazon and held you at laundry point to read), citing “intellectual enrichment” as the reason.

Getting out of bed was rewarded with him asking for a cup of coffee while he worked out (apparently the extra use of his metal tendons strengthened them over time), knowing full well he'd only complain about it being cheap. It was a hellish routine, but a routine nonetheless,  as your therapist annoyingly felt the need to point out every session. Begrudgingly, you'd also be forced to admit it was the truth. He got you out of bed, engaging with the house, energizing yourself and having some sort of start for the day. 

“Why don't we go out for a hike?” Nathan rounded you to grab the steaming cup of coffee, grimacing at the taste. 

Broad shoulders rolled openly, clad in simple grey tank top and black joggers. Despite knowing he had no skin, no actual flesh underneath the tanned synthetic layers stretched over his biceps looked soft enough to bite. Not that you'd let the android know.

“A hike? Outside? Today?” The spontaneous request caught you off guard, already openly reluctant. 

The deadpan stare he gave you behind the silver frames wasn't fond. 

“You live in Butt-Fuck Nowhere and want to just sit in this shitehole. Wasting your innate opportunity to explore nature's beauty.”

“Yeah, I do. Have a fun hike Nathan.” That statement was meant to be closed by you swiftly turning and walking back to your room, but a warm, calloused hand gripped your arm sternly and rooted you to the spot.

“How am I meant to have fun if you aren't there to bug? A walk in nature is an easy hack to ease your disease riddled brain and you don't take advantage of it. It's a wonder androids haven't taken over yet.” 

The way he refused to handle you and your depression like a porcelain doll was something you loathed to love about him. How odd that an arrogant android treated you with the most humanity.

“I'll upload a virus into your cloud if you don't let me go, see who has a ‘disease riddled organ then.”

“An STD threat, how cute. Try successfully updating your Sims mod folder and I'll personally walk you through the virus myself.” Logically, there shouldn’t be a lively spark in his eyes, but it was there all the same, goading you into spats with him, time and time again.

“I bought you, the least you could do is fix my Sims!” Another thing you hated needing from him was the way he fed and stoked your fire, turning you from dying embers to a roaring bonfire. It always happened before you were aware of it, always when he got that cocky smirk as if this was exactly what he wanted.

And following routine he simply walked away, rolling those ridiculously handsome shoulders to add salt to the wound and leaving you to seeth.

“Hurry up and get ready.”

When you finally crested the hill, sun shining down through dark pine trees, birds chirping around you, part of you conceded it was worth it. The other part was whining over the stitch aching at your side.

“God I feel like death.” The panting breaths came out as a fog in the cold forest, but Nathan paid no mind to the temperature or your whining. 

You never once questioned his ability to enjoy the cold whistle of the wind, whether or not he could feel the numbing chill in his finger tips. Why did it matter why his favourite spot was the waterfall, always cold no matter the season, a hint of a smile plucking at synthetic lips when the mist tickled his beard. It didn’t occur that it should matter, but it was noticed by him the way your mouse didn’t entertain the news articles discussing the ethics of how closely androids now resembled a human, drawing comparisons to fictional history of Dune.

Nathan knew more than anyone that you weren’t the academic, whizzkid genius he was. Your mind physically could not scramble through numbers and piece together advanced mathematic equations. You weren’t book smart, but it wasn’t something he considered lacking. 

You dismissed stupid opinions (like the aforementioned article) as if they didn’t exist to you as easily as you stood toe to toe with him to defend other stupid opinions (Aristotle was just some annoying old guy). You were acutely aware of your depression, the way your mind functioned against you and plodded on, taking it in your stride your own way.

As you keeled over, huffing out cold whisps, his dark brown eyes scanned every inch of you. There was no part of you he hadn’t cataloged and stored carefully in his memory banks, no quirk or habit was unfamiliar to him. Yet it always felt like a small surprise to see them unfold in the intimate privacy of the small bubble you both shared.

“Why’re you staring? You better not say I told you so, I’ll ship you back and enjoy going back to my solitude inside.” 

“You wouldn’t have to be alone. You’re pretty enough to coax someone into your little hovel.” Said like a passing comment on the gathering clouds.

“Pretty?” Said as a reaction, completely caught off guard.

“Yeah? How many times do we need to go over how your mind will distort how you perceive reality before you finally listen to me, sweetheart?” How was he managing to still be so condescending while arguing about how beautiful you were, how the softly filtered sunlight through the trees settled against your hair like the sun was made to do just that

No wonder humans had wasted so much time on artsy poetic bullshit since the BC’s, beauty really could be all you had the capacity to think about.

“Based on what? I thought you didn’t abide by societal constructs Mr Bateman?” It was a shoddy attempt at acting normal, but the supercomputer android would’ve already noticed the quiver in your voice and the red dusting your face. Maybe if you pretended you didn’t know he could do that, he just wouldn’t. 

“I’m abiding by my standards.” His eyes stared right into you. The words words hit you right in the stomach, no time to brace.

And he takes advantage of the hesitation.

“We both know I’m capable of noticing when you ogle me when I work out. We both know I'm equipt to sense when your heart rate picks up, which it does every time I lean over your shoulder to correct your shitty work. We both know I can literally measure the heat in your cheeks right now, want me to?” 

The speed at which your head shook had your hair lashing your face, something that only grew his smirk.

“You sure?”

“Fuck yo-” 

His lips were warm when they cut you off, subtly soft in contrast to the calloused hands cupping your face. Your mind instantly jumps to satisfaction that you’d been right in your assumption about the feel of his lips until the actual realisation that he was kissing you kicked in, and by that point he was already pulling away. You didnt even have time to savour how the cold metal of his glasses pressed against your nose.

“Lets go, it’s gonna start pissing down and I hate fogged up glasses.” 

Nathan was already walking back home, back turned until he realised you weren’t already trailing after him. He turned. You were still staring, lips slightly parted and wide eyed, not yet finished processing what had happened. His smirk turned soft.

“C’mon sweetheart, I need my shitty cup of coffee.”

[strid3rofthen0rth]

The annoying: My shoulder has been pretty painful and fucky. Not working right. I gave in and went to the doctor. Just tendonitis, as I suspected. I'll rest it and do all the shit he said. All good.

The very not annoying: As I walked out, I clocked a pair of cranes in my periphery, out in a field next to the building. No big deal. Bird friends in a field.

Holy shit. Wait. Hold up. A little too big... a lotta too white for sandhill cranes... is that a gray body or a shadow? It can't be.

I jogged to the truck and grabbed my binos out from behind the seat (where I can reach them quickly to look at birds when sitting in the seat... when my shoulder isn't being an asshole).

Red on top, black on the cheeks, white body. It can be! Whooping cranes! 650 wild birds in the world, and there are two of them.

That's a lifer species for me, and my third endangered species. Never seen them before, may never again. I'm fucking overjoyed!

I am right in the middle of one of their reestablished breeding ranges, so it isn't that crazy, but oh my god, yes it is!

So fucking cool!

[chishiyaisasnack]

Dare, part 2

Part 1 Part 3

Here it is! The smut fest continues. Thank you so much for the support on the last chapter. This is a direct continuation of the first part so make sure to remind yourself how it ended because I didn’t describe it in this. I am writing and posting this on mobile so I’m sorry if there are wierd formatting.

Disclaimer! This is smut and smut only. Very nsfw. Stay away if you aren’t of age. Also - this is pure fiction. Protect yourself, use condoms and always ask for consent.

You asked to be tagged when it was released @just0ncef0rme @jimingotjams

————

The circles that Chishiya had been drawing on your shins with his fingers were slowly moving further and further up your leg. It wasn’t until he reached the inside of your thigh that you looked over at him and raised your eyebrows, questioning where he got new energy from.

”Oh, really?” you asked him, slightly spreading your legs in response to his touch.

”As nice as that was, I still want to fuck you properly” he answered without an ounce of embarressment. His fingers were almost reaching your bikini bottoms again, lingering, waiting for your response. No matter how much he annoyed you he was always respectful of boundaries and consent and you cherished that immensely. ”I want to take my time with you” he murmured, eyes glued on where he was touching you. You moved your hand over to his and with a soft grip you moved it over to the fabric, sighing as you felt him press down over you. He knew exactly how to touch you to get you to melt, even when clothes were seperating you from his fingers. He had always been attentive to what you liked and he was a fast learner. His hobby of reading people really worked in his favor. It didn’t take many attemps for him to figure out exactly where and how to touch you in the beginning, and now that he knew what you wanted he had gained confidence to tease you instead. You could tell how much he enjoyed driving you to the brink of madness before giving you what you asked for. And you loved to get your revenge on him.

You let go of his hand and started to trace the tendons on the back of it with your fingertips. You felt them flex and move as he let his fingers graze over you.

”You’re still so wet” His fingers was on their way of dipping inside your bikini but moved away from the seam just as fast. He wasn’t going to let you have it that easily. You should’ve learned that by now.

”Well, it doesn’t just dry off” you answered sarcastically with a small eyeroll. ”And you’re supposed to be the smart one here”

”I am the smart one” He sounded very confident with himself as he continues to trace the seam of your bikini, occasionally moving back onto the center to give you a bit of sensation where you wanted it.

”You didn’t get me like that all over again if that’s what you think. You have to work a bit harder for that” you shot back at him.

”Oh, is that so?” His eyes landed on your face and as soon as you looked back at him his fingers found their way under the fabric and drew a long line between your folds, making you gasp and close your eyes. You heard him chuckle. ”Hmm, are you sure that you’re not enjoying this?” When you opened your eyes again his eyes didn’t leave yours as he started to draw circles around your clit with a touch so soft it was barely there. You didn’t bother answering, you both knew that you couldn’t lie your way out of this one.

”I thought you wanted to fuck me.” you stated breathlessly instead as he used a bit more pressure while touching you. You couldn’t help but to try to grind your hips to get him to press harder. Wrong move.

”I want to take my time with you” He took away the pressure again and went back to soft strokes. You whined. He smirked. Asshole.

”What about what I want?” You tried to sound like you were somewhat in control but when he pressed down on you again all that went away and you went straight back to submitting to his touch.

”It looks like you are already enjoying yourself y/n” He removed his hand, with a sour huff from you, and dragged his finger along your inner thigh. You could feel the wet line it left behind and you weren’t sure if it turned you on or if it felt gross. Either way he didn’t care. He reached over, hooked his fingers around the waist of your bikini, and removed them in one swift motion. Before you knew it he was hovering over you with your legs on either side of his hips.

You didn’t waste any time and pushed his hoodie off him so that you could finally touch him the way you wanted to. You let your hands roam around on his back, his shoulders, and dragged you fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.

Chishiya leaned down and let his mouth hover right above yours. You could feel the warmth from his breath mix with yours and you hoped to feel his lips against yours again.

”What do you want y/n?” He didn’t close the gap between you but he did press his pelvis down on you to let you know what he wanted. He was so hard against you that you desperately pressed your hips back up into him, whining and gasping under his lips.

”I want you inside me” you whispered with a hint of begging on the tip of your tounge. ”I want you to take me to the bed, bend me over and fuck me down into the matress until I can’t move” That was all it took. In a mere second he was standing up, dragging you with him and in a few steps you were laying on the bed with him standing in front of you, removing his shorts. You turned around and positioned yourself so that you were sitting with your legs folded under you, back against him and looking at him over your shoulder while taking off your bikini top. It didn’t take long before you felt his lips on your shoulders, tasting you like he hadn’t had you for ages. His hands were on your breasts, his chest against you and erection pressing into your lower back.

”Bend over” he commanded when his lips had reached your ear. You did what you were told and moved so that you were on your hands and knees. This was the first time you’ve tried this position together, and as awkward as it felt you were kind of relieved that he didn’t get to see it on your face. You felt his hands stroking and caressing their way from your lower back, over your waist and up to your shoulders, where he moved your hair from you neck so that he could bend forward and place a feather light kiss there before kissing his way down your spine, leaving a burning sensation wherever he touched you. You wanted him so bad. When he finally got up again and started positioning himself behind you, you were already a mess, panting and gripping the sheets, making your fingers turn white.

”Can I?” His voice was strained when he asked you for permission and you could feel him against your core, hard and hot and waiting impatiently.

”Yes”

With one hand digging into your hip and the other guiding himself he slowly sank into you and you couldn’t help the moan that came out of you. The further he pushed in the more your arms gave out and when he finally bottomed out you were laying on your elbows with your face in the sheets, panting and trembling with need. He felt so fucking good inside you.

”Please, Chishiya” you begged and just hoped that he knew what you were begging for because you couldn’t find a way to use your words anymore. He did know, and he showed it. He didn’t waste any time and started to move, his cock moving back and pushing in again with fervour. There was no slow start, no getting used to the feel of him, just the two of you needing to feel eachother coming undone. Chishiya was just as much of a mess as you, panting and gripping your hips like you would run away if he didn’t. You felt heat build up in the pit of your stomach and it didn’t take long for you to feel that fire that told you that you were close. You wanted to be pushed over the edge so bad and you wanted to take him with you. It got increasingly clear that you wouldn’t need him to touch you anywhere else, just his cock thrusting in and out of you was going to make you come. And it did.

Your orgasm rushed over you, stealing your breath away and making you moan way too loud for your own liking. Your body was shaking, insides pulsing and somewhere in the background you heard Chishiya hiss as he fucked you through it. He was holding his arms around your waist, trying to keep you in place while your body moved however it wanted. And then, when you finally came down from your high he carefully let go of you and pulled out of you completely. Wait, did he come too?

You gathered the bit of strength left in you and looked back at him just to be met by the most gorgeous look you had ever seen. He was panting through parted lips, eyes dark and filled with desire and the way he looked at you were so raw and intense that it almost made you blush. It was pretty clear that, no, he hadn’t come just yet but he was probably very close and chose to stop for a moment to last longer.

”Sit back on your legs, like you did before” he said and reached down to help you get up. You whole body felt like jelly, so when you got to a sitting position you let yourself fall backwards onto his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. His arms circled you again, stroking their way down your chest, over your ribs, and then back up again.

”Are you feeling okay?” his warm breath spread over your neck as he spoke, soft and almost like a whisper. It made you shiver under it, wishing that he would whisper something filthy next time.

”Yes, I’m very good”

”Good” he placed a kiss on your shoulder. ”Because I want to show you something. Remember how you asked me what it feels like to be inside you?”

”Umm, yes?” you answered, confused but intrigued by where this was going.

”Here, give me your hand” He placed his right hand on top of yours and gently moved it with his until you reached between your legs.

”Let me show you how you feel.” His voice went hot and dark, and you felt like you were drowning in it. For once you wished that he kept talking, just like that. With that voice, against your ear, saying every dirty thing he could come up with. Maybe you’d ask him to do that one day.

You let him move your hand down and then let two of his fingers press one of yours down between your folds. You drew a smooth line, your wetness making it easy to move around. Then he guided your finger back to your entrance just to slowly start pushing it in along with two of his.

”Can you feel how warm you are?” Chishiya murmured against your shoulder as you both sunk deeper into you. ”So wet and soft.”

You were still so sensitive and you both filling you up was almost overwhelming. You felt a shiver running through you as he praised you, wanting nothing more than to hear it again.

”And when I press here…” he bent both your fingers forward and put some pressure right against that spot that felt so good ”… you always clench around me.” You knew very well how you reacted to his fingers, even to your own, but having him showing you like this was one of the hottest things you’d ever experienced. He started to move your fingers in a thrusting motion, fingering you together and creating that blissful friction you craved. His other hand had made its way to your breast, just holding it while his concentration was on your joint hands.

When you started to get wound up again you removed your hand from under his and let him continue by himself. You put it around his wrist instead, holding his hand in place, making sure that he didn’t stop moving his fingers. Then you started to rock your hips back and forth, riding his fingers, making them hit the exact spot you wanted. And god did it feel good. His thumb made it’s way to your clit and the way you moved made you grind yourself against it, building up the pleasure even more.

Chishiya enjoyed it too. His cock was caught between your bodies and the way that you moved were affecting him too.

”Fuck, y/n” he whispered in that dark voice again. It sent shivers down your spine and made you clench around his fingers, trying to show him how much you liked hearing him. But no matter how good it felt, you wanted more.

”Chishiya…” You wanted him back inside you. You wanted to share the intensity with him, wanting to tighten around him and bring him to the edge with you. ”I want you, not just fingers, please” You weren’t above begging, he already had you right where he wanted you anyway. If begging made him do what you wished for then you’d beg shamelessly. With a final curl he pulled his fingers out and you quietly whined in disapproval from being empty again.

Chishiya worked fast, moving your hips so that he could push himself back inside you in the position you were currently in, your back against his chest and your head still resting on his shoulder. He was probably even needier than you and you loved the feeling of being that wanted. And when he was buried in you again you both let out a content sigh, relishing in the feeling of feeling good together. When he started to thrust he did it slow, dragging out the sensation that his cock created inside you, making you moan and dig your fingers into his arms where they were holding you around your waist. His hips rolled into you like waves, slow and steady, never faultering. You let one of your hands grab hold of his neck, pushing his face closer to you. And without even thinking about it you turned your face around and kissed him, slow and hot, your tounges searching for eachother.

When you felt your orgasm building up you gathered some strength and moved your hips in sync with him. It made him hit the right spot with every thrust and brought you closer to the edge with every movement. You broke the kiss and let your head fall back on his shoulder again, and with a final moan you came, slow and steady this time, waves of pleasure rolling through you over and over. Chishiya kept moving, dragging out as much of your orgasm as possible, and when he finally came himself, it was with a quiet groan buried in your hair. You could feel him twitch inside you as he pressed in as deep as he could.

When you both came down from your high you let yourself move off him and lay down on your stomach to try and catch your breath. You felt the bed shift and Chishiya was soon laying down next to you, on his back with his chest heaving and his eyes closed, looking way too pretty for his own good. If he wasn’t such a jerk you might have actually liked him. Well, looking at him was nice so that was always something. You could just turn off your ears and only use your eyes when he was around.

The sun had set completely and the only light in the room was coming from the party that was still going on outside. It was making his skin glisten and you got a strong desire to touch him. You didn’t though because you couldn’t move at all anymore. Then again, you had asked him to fuck you until you could’t move and he had done just that, so you couldn’t complain.

”You’re staring at me” Chishiyas eyes were still closed but appearantly he could read you even when he wasn’t looking.

”I can’t move my head to the other side and you are right in front of me so unfortunately I have to look at you” you answered. You would be caught dead before calling him pretty to his face. The corner of his lips curled upwards a tiny bit and you just knew that he enjoyed that answer a bit too much.

”Besides, you’re always staring at me. I get to stare back sometimes”

”I stare because you are confusing me” he answered honestly. You knew that he found you intriguing, he had told you that several times by now. You didn’t really get why because you thought you were very simple to read since you liked to be honest about things, but maybe that was what he was intrigued by.

He opened his eyes and looked right into yours with a tired but satisfied glint in them. ”Why are you staring?”

[idontplaytrack]

✧ I Dare You(to love me)

Jos Cleary-Lopez x physically disabled fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut— oral, fingering, kissing, marking, slight overstimulation, first time(reader receiving), fluff, some angst, mentions to surgery & scars.

Reader’s first time reveals some truths about herself to Jos.

Bit of self-insert, sorry not sorry🫢

(Pictures used a from Tumblr & Pinterest)

“y/n, it is the middle of summer. You’re already sweating.” Jos says quietly, “Why are you still wearing long pants?”

You looked back at her, swallowing harshly as you began to panic. You couldn’t let her know, you could never. She’d hate you and be disgusted with you just like anyone else, then. The more you thought about it, the more you felt like crying. You feel the painful lump in your throat and the racing of your heart. Fiddling with your thumbs, you looked down and your crossed legs.

Jos doesn’t back down. She asks again, “Baby, what’s the matter? You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Your fists balled together trying to divert the tears that were pricking your eyes, away. “Look at me, y/n.” She says, moving closer to you. You shook your head, still avoiding her gaze. “Baby, please.” She repeated, hand reaching for your chin and tilting it up so she could see your face. The card game on the floor was long forgotten.

“You’ll just be disgusted by me like everyone else.” You croaked.

Her eyes narrowed, puzzled. But her gaze was soft and filled with obvious concern. “y/n, I don’t— I promise you, nothing about you could make me feel that way.”

“I don’t know how to tell you.” You admit. “I’m scared.” A tear slips from your eye. “I like you so much, Jos. And every time our make-outs almost turn into more and I just— I know I say no to it but it’s not because I don’t want to do it.”

She looks at you, still concerned but listening attentively.

For the lack of better words, you rolled up jeans to show her. “I…have cerebral palsy.” You revealed fearfully, “I had to get surgery twice when I was a kid to make sure I would stop tiptoeing and actually walk because my muscles and tendons were so tight. So by the end of twelve years, two surgeries and four long and very obvious, ugly scars…after many of my friends saw these and got terrified a disgusted by them…I don’t ever show them. Because I know better than to do that.”

She looked at them, then looked at you. You got self-conscious and looked away again. “Baby, they’re not ugly. Okay? And as cheesy as it sounds, they got you to where you are today. It improved your life, you could do more of what you wanted. Kids are assholes sometimes, they didn’t know better. But I do, I know you and those scars and your condition don’t define you. What does define you, however, is how you treat others with so much respect no matter how nasty some people can get with you. You’re kind, you cherish your friends, your family, me. You love me for who I am. y/n, you are perfect the way you are. You are my girlfriend- you’re perfect for me.”

You told yourself not to cry, but of course she still managed to make you cry. You shook your head, desperately rejecting what she was telling you. Your mind didn’t want to accept it even though it was the sort of response you’ve always wanted. You couldn’t believe your ears, and not in a good way. But damn, your eyes watching Jos…how that tank top perfectly hugged her figure? It was making you feel some things. You exhaled harshly, avoiding her eyes again while swiping the tears away, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Don’t ever apologise for things that aren’t your fault.” Jos sat closer to you, tilting your chin again so she could see your face. “I’m just happy you trust me enough and told me so I know what to look out for and help you.”

“I’m not used to such a reaction so I just— I can’t believe it, literally.” You admit, “But thank you, Jos. For not ditching me like everyone else has.”

She doesn’t say anything but smile at you, cupping your cheek and leaning in. Her eyes silently asking for permission to kiss you. You were feeling so many emotions at once, but desire won. You nodded, allowing her to crash her lips onto your own.

“Ever done this before?”

“No.” You mumbled.

“That’s okay, I got you. We'll figure it out together." She assured, "You can show me how you like me to do it."

Fuck. You whined into the kiss as she deepens it, then telling you to sit in her lap. You pulled away, looking at her right in the eye. “Yeah, sit in my lap.” She confirms. “Okay…” You agreed hesitantly and let her pull you onto her lap. Her fingers hooked on the hem of your underwear and your jeans, “Take ‘em off, baby.” You gulped, lifting your hips and allowing her to pull both pieces of fabric down. You laugh, it was a bit of struggle but somehow neither of you thought of standing up to remove them first. Once the pieces of clothing were abandoned, you were sat comfortably in her lap. She tilts your face to kiss you, hand cupping and caressing your cheek. Once she started to kiss you, you’d forgotten about your worries. Her free hand was tentatively on your thigh but it soon started inching closer and closer to the juncture between your thighs.

“I’ll take it slow, okay?” She broke away, lips separating unwillingly. Jos looks at you, searching your eyes for the answer since you didn’t open your mouth to talk. “Yeah, yeah.” You finally managed to say, “Okay.” Jos starts kissing you again once she gets a confirmation from you, her fingers ghost your clit and you flinch. A second later, her fingertips were on your clit, rubbing slow circles on it to let your arousal grow for a while. You fought a whine that was caught in your throat, painfully swallowing it when you felt her slide a finger down towards your entrance. Your clit throbs, causing an ache and she’s definitely felt that little movement. Jos chuckles into the kiss, finger teasing your entrance for a little too long. Right before you could complain, she started pushing her finger in slowly. A whimper falls from your lips, muffled by the unending kiss. Jos takes this as her cue to pick up her pace, her hand’s also left your face and was now on one of your thighs to keep them open for her.

Jos laughs lowly, sending a shock down your spine, “You’re so wet, baby…” You whined at that, and the fact that she’s slid a second finger in. “Oh, shit.” She groans at your tightness, fingers staying still so you could get used to the feeling. “Does it hurt?” She asks quickly, gaze studying your face for any signs of discomfort. You mumbled incoherently and shook your head, “Keep going?”

“Okay.” She grins, moving her lips down to your neck while her fingers got back to work. Jos kisses a trail down the side of your neck, and when you let out a yelp at a certain spot, she went back to it and started to kiss it over and over, sucking and then biting down on it lightly. Shit.

You moaned, squirming in your position. Jos chuckles right into your ear, proud that she figured it out so easily. It only made you even whinier. “Baby~ are you close?” She teases.

Your breathing hitches.

“Tell me.” Jos said gently, handing caressing your thigh.

You breathed in then exhaled harshly, painfully admitting, “Yes.”

She smiles then pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Retracting her fingers as much as she could without leaving you, they were then forcefully jammed into you so she could hit your sensitive spot and push you over the edge. Jos did this a few times over before you started to clench erratically around her fingers.

“Shit.” You panted, “Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She cajoled, “That’s good, just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Jos’ voice was so sweet, but her actions were so sinful— it drove you crazy. Your heart was beating in your ears, breathing coming out in short gasps, you were whining and whimpering…all because of Jos.

“Go on, baby. Come for me.” She whispers, “Come on.”

With a final push of her fingers poking at the spongy part deep inside you, you felt yourself unravel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You mumbled, leaning fully onto her while your head fell back onto her shoulder lazily. Jos keeps going though, until you let out particularly high-pitched cry and lifted yourself of her. She quickly removes her fingers from you and eased you back down into her lap while she whispered sweet words into your ears and caressed your thigh, “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. Breathe, beautiful. You’re alright, I promise.”

————

Next thing you know, Jos lifts you off the ground and places you on her mattress. You locked eyes with her. She asks, “You…wanna go again?”

“Again?” You asked, a little bit winded while you leaned against the headboard, legs still apart while she knelt in between them.

She nodded, biting back an excited grin.

“So—”

“I’ll use my mouth if you’d like.” Jos continues.

“Oh.” You said back, the same giddy smile forms on your face again. Nodding your head, she moves, face to face with your dripping cunt, her ass tilted in the air. Dear God.

Jos was incredibly gentle, seeing that you’d just came once. Yet, you were still so sensitive and kept flinching. So, she went slower, and softer. You let out a ragged breath, she holds onto your inner thighs causing your hand to fall off your knee and limply onto your side. “Mm— fuck—” You murmured shakily, “Fuck— Jos— feels so good.”

Satisfied, Jos laughs, breath fanning against your heat and eliciting a whine and a string of profanities to spew from your lips. Jos fully attaches her mouth onto you, like she was trying to suck you dry. The sudden increase in intensity numbed your mind, causing your clit to throb harshly in her mouth and your wetness to leak out more and more every time she did it. You cried out, “Fuck!” You gripped the sheets beneath you, unsure of what the hell you could do with them other than that.

A long string of ‘oh, my god’ and ‘fuck’ coupled with her name comes from you without an end as she ruthlessly ate you out, helping reach your second high with ease. Your hips bucked right before you came, making Jos grip onto your thighs harder so you stayed put like this— closer to her face than ever. Your knees were giving way, though and she knew so she just let that happen too after a little bit. You fall back on the mattress, a whiny mess following her ministrations. Trembling as you came down from your climax, you were also breathless.

“Fuck, that was so hot.” Jos knelt again then sat down. Your gaze falls onto her face, and you were dumbfounded. Using her hand to clean off her face and chin that was dripping with your cum, she leans forward to capture your lips into her own. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, “I’m okay.”

Her hand strokes your cheek, “Good. You did so good, baby.”

You smiled blissfully, catching her gaze for a beat, “Fuck.”

“So beautiful, baby.” A similar smile creeps onto her face as she attacks you with kiss after kiss all over your face making you giggle.

“I love you.” You told her, arm resting on her shoulder as she sits before you and between your legs.

“I love you more, baby.” She seals the promise with yet another kiss, “I love you— so, so fucking much.”

————

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

[stardustedknuckles]

This beta blocker is wild and definitely doing more than "treating the physical symptoms of anxiety." All of my pain for the last many years has come with a kind of parenthetical pain on top of it - like if I pop a zit in that sensitive place between my skin and my cheek it hurts the normal amount AND there's an extra little sauce on it that lingers and takes me from a 4 to an 8 on the pain scale. When my cat walks across my ribs it doesn't feel like lil cat feet, it feels like someone slowly frogging me over and over and each little starburst of pain lasts for several seconds. Doctors keep shrugging and saying that if it's musculoskeletal, it must be fibro, a diagnosis of exclusion for which no tests were done to exclude anything. Assholes.

Anyway I can't metabolize most/any usual anti anxiety meds so I brought up a tiny dose of beta blocker to my doctor and I feel awake for the first time in years. The last med to do this for me started ruining my life four days in, so I guess this post is in celebration of the fact that we are on day 4 and very little has changed from the first time I took it. It's absolutely wild.

This thing doesn't help anxiety btw. It just stops your heart from racing when you are anxious. And yet my anxiety has all but vanished. I look around at the circumstances that have been causing me so much angst and damn near curl my lip at how they never once deserved that much of me, actually. I can feel my emotions the way you might see through a camera lens clearly after wiping off vaseline. I DO have joint pain, it turns out, I just couldn't pinpoint that it was my joints because again, diffuse layer of vaseline made it impossible to know where the feeling (not exactly pain) was coming from. Muscles? Tendons? joints? No idea. Just sore. ish.

So what the fuck was slowly getting worse that this thing reversed? No idea. Hopefully there will never be a reason to find out. I was worried a bit about T thickening my blood and causing heart problems nobody would look into until they tried to take me out, and that worry is gone now too because I am on the thing they would give me to fix it. I have spoken my mind more in the last three days than the last three years - not because I had thoughts I was keeping in before, but because I had not been able to identify that I was having thoughts or what they were. I'll probably trip over my own ass at some point and have to apologize or take something back or change my view on the spot when given new information. That's literally fine.

My manager installed an air freshener in the dog daycare (where customers don't go) yesterday and while that was an extremely shitty thing for her to do knowing it's my one guaranteed migraine trigger and I AM mad about it, I also learned pretty quickly that this med has also apparently eliminated the migraines themselves. I was locked in a room with an air freshener for six hours and all it did was give me the standard headache of being stuck surrounded by a strong smell (guess I'm wearing a mask to be in a room with no other humans from now on. It was a nice freedom while it lasted).

I have gone from treading water to stay afloat and feeling compelled to dwell on old damage and what could potentially happen to staying in the moment and feeling pretty damn steady quite literally overnight. My stomach growls now. Food tastes better. When my chest randomly hurts I don't have to run through a list of harmless things it could be. It's gas. It's fine. I can breathe again when I bend over to tie my shoes.

Wild stuff. I feel like...not like the last few years have been a dream, necessarily, but that I've been waiting in some undefinable way. And now I'm not waiting anymore. Apparently this is what I was waiting for. Now we just hope that it continues to work for forever or, if not, that we'll at least be able to figure out what the med has been helping and find another thing to pick up where it leaves off.

[megjameswrites]

how to clean old bones

Daryl Dixon x pagan!reader

CW: cleaning a carcass; knife collecting; paganism; survivalist upbringing

Daryl killed a deer. I wanted the bones for.... purposes. It certainly got Daryl's attention.

(I just like writing the moment someone catches Daryl's attention, that's all)

"Hey. Can I have it when you're done with it?" I asked Daryl, confidence in my voice I didn't actually feel. Inside, I was twitchy and nervous, wondering if it was a mistake.

This was Georgia, after all, and maybe coming out of the broom closet wasn't the best decision in the world. Some hippie tendencies were one thing, but what I wanted from the deer was another beast altogether; the kind of beast that got women like me burned at the stake in old Salem not all that long ago.

Actually, no it hadn't. That was the thing most people didn't remember- there weren't any witches killed in Salem. Just women.

Daryl glanced at me, surprise in his eyes. "Whatcha want the carcass for? Gettin' all the meat from it I can."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said, eyeing the buckets at his feet. One held the offal, one held long, expertly-removed strips of meat. He was damn good at what he was doing, that's for sure. "I want the - I want the bones. I'd take the hide, too, but I don't think I have what I'd need for tanning. And the time it would take would draw the dead with the scent."

Daryl stopped what he was doing completely to stare at me. "Ya know how to tan a hide?"

"Yeah," I said, shifting uncomfortably. "I know a lot of things. Grew up out in the woods, practically. Dad made sure we all knew how to fend for ourselves. Survivalist type."

"Shit," he muttered. "Merle an' I, we's just redneck assholes. Too damn broke not to be huntin' our own game."

That made me laugh, a grim twist of the lips. "Don't think we were much better, honestly. But seriously, can I have it?"

He grunted. "Help me finish dressin' it down, it's yours."

"Ew," I muttered, but that was fair enough. "Hang on. Let me go get my knives."

"Knives? More'n one?"

I came back with my knife roll. Unbuckling the straps, I unrolled it along the ground and grabbed the skinning knife from the collection. It was impressive, if I did say so myself- all of my extremely utilitarian knives were Damascus steel, horn or wood handles, hand-forged. It'd been a hobby of mine, finding the best, most well-crafted knives to add to my collection.

And yes, I knew that made me strange.

"Shit," Daryl whistled, eyeing the leather roll. "That's- a lot of knives."

I shrugged one shoulder. "I like collecting them."

"Sure." He turned back to the deer, shoving his bowie knife between the skin and the flesh to keep working it down.

I grimaced. "That's the wrong knife for that. Move over."

I shifted him out of the way, slipping the skinning knife- made for this exact purpose- where he'd been hacking away with his bowie. I let the knife do the work like I'd been taught, and in moments the rest of the carcass had been cleanly skinned. I set that knife aside and pulled out my boning knife to tackle the remaining meat.

Daryl was watching me, a look almost possessive in his eyes.

"What?" I asked, heart beating harder than it should have. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Naw," he said, still openly staring. "Just ya face. But I think I'm in love with it."

I blinked and chose not to dignify that with a response. I turned back to the deer, and this time when Daryl and his all-purpose bowie knife started working with me I didn't protest. In silence, we had it handled in no time.

I set the boning knife aside to clean with my skinner before I tucked them back into the roll and made a mental note to ask Glenn to look for knife oil on his next run. I contemplated the tendons and remaining bits of skin and meat holding the bones together and how best to get what I needed from them. "Can you cut it down for me, and drag it out into the woods?"

Daryl grunted, eyeing me sideways as he slashed the ropes holding it strung up. "Sure. What I'd have done anyway. What you want it for anyway?"

I hesitated, back not my worries about not letting everyone here know I wasn't exactly a cookie-cutter Christian southern belle. "Uh. I want the bones."

I could feel Daryl's eyes on me as I grabbed a strip of ripped-up tee shirt from my back pocket and a water bottle from the ground where I'd dropped it. I cleaned the knives as thoroughly as I could without running water and dish soap, then dried them even more carefully on my tank top. Slipping them into their places, I rerolled and buckled the leather and slung the strap over my shoulder.

I raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing to the carcass at our feet. "You get that? I need a shovel."

"Sure," he agreed, still looking at me. "You're an unusual one, ain't ya?"

"You have no idea."

Out in the woods, I nodded when Dixon dropped the legs he'd been dragging the remains of the deer by. "Thanks."

"Welcome, I guess."

He stayed where he was, watching me. Shit. I didn't really want an audience for this, nor did I want to have to explain any more about what I was planning to do. "I'm good if you wanna head back. I got it from here."

"Sure ya do," he agreed, leaning on the nearest tree with one shoulder and fiddling with his crossbow strap.

He clearly wasn't leaving. Damn it. I sighed and got to work anyway. I dropped to my knees beside the carcass, placed my hands over it, hovering without touching, and said a silent blessing for the creature's life-spirit, giving thanks for what it had given for me personally and us as a group. Then, boning knife in hand again, I started with the ribs and vertebra.

I worked in silence, giving thanks to the deer for each bone I separated. My pile grew steadily- this wasn't the first time I'd done something like this, after all- and I found myself wishing for hydrogen peroxide. We didn't have any, and it wasn't like leaving them in a bucket to clean in the sun was a good idea either.

I'd bury them, apart from the rest of the carcass. Though honestly-

"We should leave the rest out somewhere," I said, breaking the silence that had fallen. The woods were lovely, if I pretended I'd forgotten thee reason I was here at the quarry and not in my own house where my set of bones had be cleaned, cured, and chosen for me by others. "Away from the camp, I mean. To draw any of the dead who might wander this way."

"Ain't a bad idea. Gonna tell me what the fuck you're doin' now?"

I glanced at Daryl, then sat back to examine my collection of bones. I had all twenty-six ribs and thirteen of the vertebra. That was good enough, I decided, for what I needed. Twenty-four runes from the ribs, with two extra in case I fucked up carving, and thirteen was an excellent number for throwing bones.

"I'm going to clean them by burying them for a week or two. Then I'll carve the elder and younger futhark into the ribs to make a rune set. The vertebra are for throwing bones," I added.

He'd helped me so far. And he honestly seemed the least likely in the group to be judgmental.

He cocked his head at me, curiosity in his face. But no judgement, no concern, no freaking out. "The hell ya wanna throw 'em for? There's way better weapons."

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. His eyes danced, but I answered as if that were a real question. After all, I could never be sure. "Divination, asshole. I'm pagan. I throw bones, read runes, believe in magic rocks, and try to understand the universe through random signs. Got an issue with it?"

He studied me for a minute, then shrugged. "Nope. Kinda like it. Don't believe in much of anything, myself. Faith don't do shit, my opinion. What's gonna happen gonna happen, no matter what I believe in or don't."

"That's fair enough. I don't think believing changes the outcomes. We change outcomes. Through actions, decisions. But knowing what choices are coming can be helpful."

He shoved off the tree and wandered over as I rose, taking up the shovel. I started digging as he toed the bones I'd chosen. "Why bury 'em?"

"So bugs can pick the remaining flesh from them, and they can degrease underground," I answered with a grunt. "Works for cleaning them for knife handles too. Not as fast as other methods, but all I've got."

"Kinda- never mind."

I glanced at him. "Kinda what?"

He blushed slightly. "Kinda symbolic, I guess."

"Excuse?"

He blushed harder. "I mean, ya bury 'em to clean 'em. Give 'em new life. Seems like- I dunno. Seems like we could do that with people, too. Bury the old self, rise up new."

Perceptive. I stared at him, surprised by the observation. There was more under the angry, harsh movements and outbursts than met the eye, I thought. "Died and been reborn recently, Daryl Dixon?"

"Naw," he muttered, jerking his shoulders and blushing harder. "Just thinkin' is all. Ain't never gonna be any better than what I am. Any different, neither."

"I don't think you need to be better. You're good enough as you are." It popped out before I could help it, and I blushed furiously.

"Yeah?" He pushed the bones into the hole when I stopped digging, then took the shovel from my hands and started putting the dirt back. "Ain't much, honestly."

"Yeah," I muttered. "Me neither. Just old bones, I guess. Maybe someone will find them useful or interesting eventually. But probably not till I've been dead and buried awhile."

"I think you're interesting now."

I met his eyes over the finished burial, wondering if my cheeks were as red as his. "Well. Interesting's a good word, I guess."

"Better'n boring. Which I think ya anythin' but."

"Flirt," I muttered, turning to the carcass to finish disposing of it. "Stop."

"Naw, don't think I will."

[magixfairyix]

Mercy AU 3

Damn I'm loving this AU just because of how much random stuff I can put in it.

Part one and part two.

Background: Darcy spares Iorda's (OC's) life and wipes her memories and the Trix retreat to Earth after season 8. Iorda had written everything down in a diary and confronts the witches about why they look like people who've tried to kill her.

Iorda asks them for help to teach her magic because the Trix won't open a portal to send her to Magix and risk the Winx finding their location. They refuse until Iorda says they can move in with her after finding an eviction notice in their house.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda was questioning if the made the right choice in inviting three witches who've tried to kill her before to live in her house. Well, less her house, and more so the house she'd use when she wasn't on Magix. It had her room, a guest room, and also a couch. So it wasn't the biggest, but then again, she used whatever resources she could to tecnically blackmail the Trix.

She had to learn magic to open a portal back to Magix.

And if the witches weren't going to help her open a portal, then she'd get them to teach her magic.

Part of her assumed they wouldn't agree and, like Darcy said, would rather be evicted. Then again, part of her also assumed she'd be attacked when she tried to provoke them two weeks earlier in thier own apartment.

That was until she heard a knock at her door, and she sighed tiredly to go answer it. It must be one of the people asking for things Iorda didn't have, or selling things she didn't want. She walked up to the door and opened it to see...

Iorda tried to keep her smile to herself. "So, you three—"

"Agreed, yes, congradulations," Icy said coldly.

"There's a guest room over there—" Iorda gestured to the door on the other end of the room. "And—" She started before Icy sent her a glare before shoving past her shoulder. Iorda resisted the urge to call her an asshole, wanting to make this as 'pleasant' as she could.

Iorda sighed as she looked towards Stormy and Darcy. "There's also a pullout bed"

Iorda didn't miss the look Darcy gave Stormy—she mentally recalled which pocket her knife was in—as the latter shurgged. She knew Icy was behind her and that Darcy knew how to fight physically, so Iorda decided that Darcy would be the one she would threaten if something happened.

"I'll take that, and thanks," Stormy said with a nod, walking past Iorda and into the room.

Iorda glanced behind her at Stormy and Icy. She felt a very small brush at the back of her neck where the clasp of her protection charm was, and she immediately pulled out her knife, pressing it against Darcy's neck as she pressed the witch against the wall.

Iorda glanced behind her to see Icy's hand glowing. "If any of you attack me I swear to god—"

Iorda's head jolted back as she felt a sharp punch to her face—shit she forgot about limbs. She managed to step back with her free hand pressed to the side of her face to avoid Darcy who lunged forward with a hand. Oh shit oh shit.

Iorda gripped her knife and lunged forward to at least try to injure Darcy before the witch stepped to the side, elbowing Iorda at her hip, causing the girl to double over slightly. 

"A... asshole," Iorda gasped.

Darcy didnt even answer that as she kicked Iorda's legs out from under her, she girl hissing in pain as her side hit the floor. Within a short moment Darcy pressed her foot hard into the girl's stomach, and Iorda sucked in a breathe.

"We are not going to teach you magic, and this time after we wipe your memories there's not going to be any chance of—" Darcy started before she felt a sharp pain at the back of her ankle and her leg gave out, hand catching herself as she fell beside Iorda. "YOU CUT MY FUCKING TENDON?!"

"You can heal yourself, don't be dramatic!" Iorda spat as she shuffled back before standing up, knife still clutched in her hand. "Now, are you done?"

Darcy breathed in shakily, head snapping back to her sisters. "Are you two just going to do nothing?"

Stormy shrugged. "It was your idea to try to steal the charm and wipe her memory again."

"Oh dragon you two are useless," Darcy said, rolling her eyes, focusing on her magic through the pain to transport behind Iorda. 

Iorda froze slightly and was about to turn around before she felt the clasp of her charm open and the necklace was yanked from her. Oh no. She whipped around with her knife in hand before she saw the witch with the charm hanging from her hand, levitating slightly due to the lack of use in her one leg.

"Okay look..." Iorda said, stepping back due to a new fear of being attacked by dark spells without her charm. "We can talk about this, right?"

"No," Icy said from where she was standing.

Iorda glared at the ice witch. "My opinion of Stormy just got way higher."

"And no, we can't talk about this," Darcy said firmly, glaring at Iorda with a slight smirk. "You're a problem, you've always been a problem, and we aren't going to trust that you won't be again."

Iorda knew the witchs thought she was in danger. After all, Darcy just took her protection charm that would prevent any spells from them having effect. But there was a reason she had amythist ear piercings, and the reason was the psychic witch in front of her.

Darcy focused on her magic to try to lock off Iorda's conciousness, but blinked slowly when she relized, for some reason, it wasn't working.

Iorda lunged forwards while the witch was still distracted, tackling her around her midsection to the ground. The witch struggled, which was difficult with having one of her tendons in her legs cut, and espeically as Iorda tried to grab her wrists with one hand while the other was pressing the knife against the witch's throat.

"Darcy did you get the charm?" Icy yelled.

"Of cource I did!" Darcy snapped back, breath cut off slightly as Iorda found gripped one of her wrists and pressed the knife further into her neck. Darcy tried to grip Iorda's chin with her free hand to pull her off, but that only led to getting her hand bit hard. She let out a short cry of pain. "Somone get this crazy girl off me!"

"Stop trying to kill me and I'll think about it!" Iorda spat, glaring.

"No chance in ome!" Darcy said, struggling as she looked at Icy and Stormy. "One of you attack her or something!"

Icy's hands flickered. "I'm trying but it's not working!"

"Well I have the charm so try harder—"

"And I have amythist and obsidion piercings for protection, so unless you're willing to tear a piercing out of my tongue, you will stop trying to kill me!" Iorda snapped. She mannaged to grip both of the witch's wrists, the knife still pressed to her neck. "Now are you done?"

Darcy rolled her eyes, haulting her struggle. "Fine, I'm done."

"Blood oath, or nothing," Iorda said firmly.

"Oh fuck no," Darcy scoffed. "I'm not going to make a blood oath with you."

"I'm holding a knife to your neck," Iorda said, breathing in shakily from the fight still. She knew a blood oath would just make sure the witch wouldn't try to harm her during this agrangement. "One—"

"You wouldn't kill me," Darcy said, chuckling shortly. 

"Do you want to find out?" Iorda said, voice tilting up slightly in mockery as she bitterly smiled. "If you want, I can arrange that. Or I could just cut your other tendon and see how that goes."

Darcy paused as she glanced between Iorda and her sisters. Stormy hadn't cared much about this plan, and Icy told Darcy to see if she could try to get the charm. If it fails, they go on with the agreement. She didn't expect Iorda to actually fight back as much as she did.

Darcy slammed her forhead against Iorda's—making the girl gasp in pain, the knife at Darcy's neck loosening—before flipping the girl around, trying the struggling to get the knife away from the girl's hand.

Iorda breathed in shakily as she struggled to keep her hand holding the knife away from the witch. Darcy's hand tried to grip her chin again before she bit it hard again, this time not letting go because she wasn't gonna die!

"Stop biting me!" Darcy snapped.

Iorda raised a knee to kick the witch off of her, Darcy rolling to the side. "I repeat, then stop trying to kill me, asshole!"

She moved to get up before Darcy gripped her wrist that was holding the knife, once again pinning her to the ground and moving her hand to her own throat. Iorda's eyes widend as she tried to struggle.

"Wait wait wait we can talk about this—" Iorda gasped.

"No, I don't think we can," Darcy sneered, trying to push the knife further into Iorda's neck. 

Iorda tried to burry her fear, knowing that she was seriously in danger of dying. She couldn't use the knife anymore and she couldn't use any of her limbs for the most past. The only thing she had was words and...

She remembered a brief moment during the first year that she had written down in her diary.

Something that was apparently a secret.

Fuck it.

"Press the knife in any futher, and I tell them about what happened during the dance at Alfea in the first year," Iorda glared, breathing shakily. She glanced to Icy and Stormy, the two of them now seeming slightly more invested. "So stop, before—"

Darcy froze slightly before glaring, keeping the knife in place but not pressing harder. "You will not."

"Darcy..." Stormy started, glancing between her sister and Iorda. "What happened?"

"Nothing, she's going insane," Darcy said, giving a snarp look towards her sister before glancing back at Iorda. "Say one word about it, and I slit your throat so quickly you won't—"

"ME AND YOUR SISTER HAD SE—" Iorda yelled before a hand slammed over her mouth.

Icy felt like tearing her hair out as she stepped forwards, looking at Darcy in disbelief. "Darcy, seriously? With the enemy? "

Darcy glared, meanwhile Iorda looked between the two without struggling. "It was one time."

Stormy was trying her best not to let out a laugh at this scenario. Iorda was getting a bit hopeful that she wasn't about to die today. Darcy just wanted to slit Iorda's throat and for Icy to stop glaring at her.

Icy sighed. "Darcy, get up."

Darcy froze, glaring. "Excuse me?"

"Or levetate, I don't care," Icy said. "But we need to have a talk about maybe not conspiring with the enemy and, once again, finishing the damn job."

Darcy looked between Icy and Iorda with a sharp look—Iorda was glad the witch's hand was covering her face, because she was smirking to herself—before sighing, letting go of Iorda's wrist. She opened her mouth to threaten her again before—

"Darcy!" Icy snapped.

"Fine fine," Darcy sighed, glaring at Iorda before standing up.

Icy walked over to the guest room with Darcy following—Iorda inwardly thought she'd have to clear blood off her floor from the witch's ankle—shutting the door loudly behind them, but not before Darcy flipped Iorda off behind her. 

Iorda breathed out a sigh of relief, trying to calm herself down from the adrenaline still in her system. She was so close to dying, the side of her face hurt like hell, but nothing was broken.

"Um..." Stormy started slowly, walking over to where Iorda was still on the ground. "You good?"

Iorda nodded. "Better than your sister."

The door to the guest room swung open. "I HEARD THAT YOU LITTLE—"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE DARCY!" Icy shut the door again.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Somehow, I am more invested in this AU than I thought XD

[vykodlak]

im sick and dont know what to do with myself. got any rpg recs?

I’m still replaying baldur’s gate 1 and am planning to replay bg2 when I’m done with that and they’ve always been The cozy rpgs for me, though might just be deep nostalgia talking. If you don’t mind some oldschool jank I think they still hold up.

Divinity Original Sin 2 is larian’s best game imo mainly ‘cause it lets you fuck around a lot, teleport everywhere and explode everything. I remember an exploit where you could rupture enemies’ tendons, turn them into a chicken and then let them run around until they bled to death. Not sure if they patched it. Also has Ifan my husband Ifan is there.

Tyranny is an underrated obsidian title where you get to play an absolute asshole if you want (it’s one of those “the evil won and You’re working for it now” premises), and it has a more unique setting than the typical ye auld medieval fantasy. It’s pretty short and the lack of budget can be felt sometimes but it’s got some interesting ideas and great worldbuilding. And a big hairy werewolf woman. There’s also pillars of eternity 1 ofc which I liked a lot, mainly for the companions & the writing - I only played a little bit of the second game but I liked what I saw of it.

If you like cyberpunk the Shadowrun games are pretty easy/short and sweet, they sort of mix scifi & fantasy so you’ve got orcs running around with laser guns and shit. Dragonfall is my favorite of the three and has the best characters.

Planescape Torment is one of my favorite settings in an RPG ever, also just lets you be kinda wacky (or evil, if you want) and you’ve got a floating skull companion. It really feels like the most “escapist” type of game because it’s setting is so unlike most other fantasy rpgs.

I have not played this personally but I’ve watched my bf play Kenshi and it seems fun? You get a lot of freedom to do whatever, it can be extremely busted mechanically (in ways that work in your favor), but it’s still absurdly difficult at times and comes with a pretty dark/edgy setting. They just cut off both his legs.

(Also I’ve been keeping my eye on this early access title -with a free demo out- called Banquet for Fools, mainly because of the claymation style, overall atmosphere and the oldschool vibe & intriguing world, it’s looking really good so far)

Hope you feel better soon!

[fictionkinfessions]

God I’m so sorry you have to deal with people being stupid in your inbox all the time

Turns out the real problem is that they're mad about I keep copy pasting FAQ / info pages abuot custom tags??? and I dont always use a typing quirk! which makes me hostile.

[but if i copy pasted a reply to THAT other anon i would also be a asshole so there's no winning. mom is that you /jk]

like i'm not retyping all that info for every person asking the same questions, come on. I've already got RSI in my arm tendons, no need to worsen it.

well it's friday, It's time to relax ! let's go read some books! life is short.

mod party cat

[mordenheim]

“That was good work”

Jackie slumped down in his chair, hand resting on his forehead as he thought about everything that had happened over the past year. He ripped the dusty old brown fedora off of his head to reveal his close-cropped ginger hair and tossed it aside. Fred had kept up his side of the deal, true, but now he wanted more.

Leaning forward in his seat. He started to grip the bottom of his tattered red and green striped sweater and winced, cursing under his breath. Holding up his right hand, he looked at the bladed glove, turning it over in the dim light of the dust covered bulb overhead. Fresh blood glistened on the knife that extended from the index finger. He had forgotten to take it off again. Carefully gripping the thick brass plate that guarded the back of his hand, he tugged it off and tossed on the table beside his bed.

It clattered on the wood, the blades scraping almost as though it were a living creature, waiting to hop up and skitter off into the shadows. Finally Jackie was able to tug the ratty sweater off of his emaciated, scarred form and toss it to the floor.

Fred hadn't been in his head too much lately, and his nights had been dark and dreamless for once. He really had gotten rid of the night terrors that haunted him ever since he was a boy. Not to mention, he'd taken great joy in watching his asshole bosses crying and whining as their kids disappeared one by one.

He grabbed up a newspaper and grinned a little at the headline. “Springwood Slasher, Back from the Dead?”

“That was all me, but I ain't gonna get any credit for it...”

He grunted and kicked off his work boots before moving over to lie down on the bed. The old springs groaned under even his slight weight and the worn out bed frame creaked and rocked.

“Maybe I should change things up a bit, just so people know there actually someone new in town.”

He closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep. Almost immediately he opened his eyes in nearly complete darkness. His eyes were suddenly seared by a flash of bright red and orange flame as a huge boiler furnace flared to life, the light glaring through the rusted metal door. His eyes darted this way and that as he swallowed hard. This wasn't part of the deal, the night terrors were supposed to be gone!

“That was good work, Jackie.” The voice was deep and harsh, uncomfortable as nails on a chalk board.

Jackie's head snapped to the side to see him standing there. The source of the voice that had been in his head for more than a year now. Same work boots, the same filthy beige work pants. Tattered red and green sweater. He didn't have a hat on so Jackie could get a good look at his horribly burn scarred face and bald head.

“Uh, th.. thanks, Fred. I knew I could get 'em to remember ya! Just like ya said!”

He nodded and Jackie swore he could hear the tight tendons in the man's neck creak as they shifted and moved. “That you did. I can feel them every night now, their fear as they lie down and try to sleep. A fresh new playground for me to find new little playmates.”

Jackie smiled, until suddenly that scarred face was right up in his. He could smell the stench of burned flesh and the acrid odor of his rotted teeth.

“But that wasn't good enough for ya, was it, Jackie?”

He leaned back from the face, or tried to. He head banged painfully against a wall of rusted metal behind him. “Wh.. whadya mean, Fred? I did exactly whatcha asked for! I made 'em remember ya!”

“Yeah, but now you want the credit. And if you get the credit, well then they won't think it was me, will they?”

Jackie swallowed hard as he felt his gorge rise. He'd never been so scared in his life, until he remembered. “This is all a dream. You can't hurt me! You can't do a damned thing! Because you're just in my hea...!!”

He was cut short as the blades that adorned Freds fingers lashed out and pierced his throat. He could taste copper as blood welled up into his throat and trickled out of his mouth. Struggling to speak, he saw Fred grinning at him and snapping his fingers.

Jackie snapped awake in an instant. He was choking, almost drowning in his own blood as he lie on the floor beside his bed. Apparently he had rolled off of it in his sleep, tipping over the bedside table and the deadly glove had fallen down on him, blades first and pierced his throat. He tugged it free, tossing it aside as his vision slowly went black. In the back of his mind, he could hear Fred's maniacal laugh.

[saltsicklover]

Dear 201 - Fan Mail Pt. 5

Title: Dear 201 - Fan Mail Pt. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2650

Rating: T

Warnings: Drinking, anger, fucking angst. Steve Rogers is a fucking asshole. 

-- To be continued. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :) --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

Three little numbers both thrill and terrify Bucky in equal measure- he started to see the numbers everywhere after he received the letter from Ace. The news didn't seem to surprise Steve or Sam in the way it did Bucky. Steve has always been one to take news like a shot of neat whisky, the information flowing into him, burning, but on the outside he still remains stoic. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to take the news like the beach takes the tide, the news rolling over him like he had known it was coming, something he had come to learn already. As Bucky told him the news, the waves of his voice washed over him and he welcomed them like an old friend. 

After the news broke, Bucky kept his next move close to his chest like a winning poker hand. The chips of his decision twirl threw his fingers, folding over his knuckles as he waits for his turn to bid. Sam has urged him to move decide, to write faster, to move faster. Bucky doesn't let the words get to him. 

One night after too much alcohol stolen from Thor, the Asgardian liquor coursing through their systems, Steve tells Bucky to leave it be- to quit writing all together. 

"Seriously, Buck, you don't need the headache of all this," Steve mumbles a bit, speaking more to himself than to Bucky who is splayed out on the couch across from him. 

"What did you say?" Bucky questions him, his brows furrowing. He pulls his focus from the letters he has been rifling through, the letters from her. 

"You don't need to write her anymore," Steve says as a matter of fact, "You don't need to deal with this anymore," He doesn't bother looking at Bucky, if he would he doesn't think he could stop his eyes from rolling. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on his glass, swirling the liquid around with a gentle twist of his wrist. He watches the amber colored concoction move around the glass, his attention better spent on that than he friend and the situation Buck finds himself in. Steve has deemed it ridiculous, too good to be true, a flat out fucking lie. 

"Deal with what, exactly, Steve?" Bucky sits up now, clutching the letters a little tighter. The paper bunches under his touch, the new wrinkles spreading like roots through the words. 

"This, this shit, Bucky!" Steve raises his voice; it echoes through the room, bristling over Bucky's form, striking a nerve. 

"Excuse me?" Bucky manages, the words spit from his lips full of venom and animosity. His body tightens, the tendons in his neck pulling tight as he squares his shoulders with a bit too much force. He sets his jaw, teeth threatening to grind together to release some of the anger that is taking over his veins with pump of his heart, the tension in the air scalding this insides with each breath he draws. 

Bucky would go to war for this woman, the mystery he has come to adore who lays just on the other side of the postal route, the stamp, the words, the ink. He hadn't thought about it until this very moment, Steve's words spurring something inside of Bucky, his chest burning at the thought of losing his 'Warmest Regards", the thought causes nausea to swim through Bucky, sweat overtaking his skin with pinpricks of anxiety. 

Steve turns his face up, eyes coming up to see the sweat collecting on Bucky's brow. Bucky is almost seething, his body threating to vibrate with anger. "You know what, don't even bother finishing that sentence," Bucky corrects, holding a flat hand out to Steve as if to say 'stop'. Bucky shakes his head, bangs falling forward, concealing the band of sweat that coats his skin. 

He wants to blame the alcohol for Steve's words, for the anger that poured out of them and into Bucky. He wrings his hands, letters sitting haphazardly in his lap. He wants to blame the alcohol for the way his heart seems to be imprinting itself on the inside of his ribcage and the way his hands shake. For the sweat that seems to have taken over his body, chilling him with a sense of sickness. But the only thing he can blame the alcohol for is the fact that it started their evening together in the first place. 

What started as a night to just let go and relax from the strenuous missions and never ending paperwork has turned into honesty hour that has left Bucky feeling sick to his stomach, both from the anger and the liquor he decided couldn't touch him. But now the room spins and his best friend sits across from him, eyes burning into his own. 

"I just mean, what if this is all some sort of ploy to get something out of you? What if whoever is writing you isn't this girl that claims to be on the other side. What if they aren't a barber in Hell's Kitchen? What if they are just in this for money or fame or for the story? Hell, what if they are some terrorist or threat trying to get close to you in order to bring us down? What then, Buck?" Steve's words bite and there is nothing too soothe the marks they leave in Bucky. His chest aches, and Steve's does too; the aches blooming from original sources but crippling each man with a dull pain that doesn't seem to subside. 

Bucky runs his hand over his sternum, pressing hard with his knuckles, trying to counter the ache with pressure from the outside. Steve knocks back the rest of his drink, tasting like honey but burning all the way down. This time he grimaces. Bucky does too, stomach acid burning in his chest. 

Words halt, the world seems to, too. It's like everything has slowed, each movement, each beat of Bucky's heart, each thought that creeps into Bucky's mind that tells him he isn't good enough to have someone write to him- someone so soft and full of love, full of light, on the other side of the paper with ink stained fingertips. Someone like that would be too good for him, he thinks, maybe Steve is right. 

The world resumes speed when a glass leaves Bucky's hand, one he didn't realize he had picked up until the shattered pieces of crystal mingle with the leftover honey flavored amber that resided at the bottom of the glass moments before. The shards look like constellations, each sharp point sparkling in the light of the living room. They beg to be touched, the blade like corners glimmering as the men eye the new universe that has been created on the floor between them. 

"Weren't you the one telling me all those weeks ago that a letter was coming for me? Aren't you the one who couldn't contain their excitement along with me every single time another letter showed up with my name on it? Weren't you the one cheering me on through this? What the fuck happened, Steve?" Bucky sounds almost defeated, burying his head in his hands. He grips at his hair tightly, knuckles threatening to turn white under the pressure. 

Steve can't seem to make his brain work, his mind refusing to form thoughts that would do any good at defending himself. Bucky is right, he thinks- he knows. All those weeks ago when Bucky received that first letter, Steve memorized the pride that burst through his chest at the sight. He remembers the smile that adorned his friend's face just moments before the photo. Steve also remembers the steam that filled his lungs as he was forced to hear Bucky sob just a few feet away, unable to do anything to make the hurt stop. 

Bucky is his best friend, and all those years ago Steve sent Bucky over the beam first shortly after rescuing him, putting his own safety, his own life on the line to make sure Bucky got out first. It was then he decided Bucky's life was the most important thing and just the mere idea of Bucky getting hurt, or heaven forbid getting himself killed, because he got himself in too deep with a 'pen pal' makes Steve physically sick. 

Again, neither men dare to speak, each having voiced their concern. Nobody ever said airing out grievances was easy. They both sit their, their words hanging in the air, dense with meaning. They feel almost suffocating, the sentences wrapping themselves around each man and squeezing. Maybe that's the way it's suppose to feel- the protection of a best friend constricting itself around the body until there is no space to breathe. 

Tears begin to prick at the corners of Bucky's eyes, a heat coming up his chest cavity, a sob threatening to escape his gritted teeth. The sight hurts Steve but he makes no move to correct it, to sooth his friend or to speak. Everything is out on the table, and it needs to stay that way. 

Instead, he pushes himself up, the room swaying around him. It has been a long time since he's been drunk, and maybe it needs to be a long time before it happens again. Steve steps over the shards shakily, moving towards his quarters. He stops just before rounding the corner, daring to look back at the scene he is leaving behind him. 

Bucky sits frozen, an unreadable expression written into the lines of his face. His brows are furrowed, a deep line tracing itself on the skin between his brows. His lips are pulled into a tight line, teeth no doubt clenched together to keep a sob from escaping. A few tears have spilled themselves over the Bucky's face, wet, warm trails coasting down his cheeks. The tears fall from his chin. He closes his eyes, chancing a deep breath to steady himself. 

"I just want you safe, Buck," Steve whispers, his voice barely audible, but Bucky hears it. He knows Bucky hears it because a small noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry comes out strangled and falls from his lips. 

Steve disappears, leaving Bucky a broken mess on the couch, a universe of broken glass in front of him. A sight that would surely break even a tough man- that exact thought keeping Steve from turning around again. The truth hurts, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. He repeats it not only to justify the hurt he has caused but the hurt that has bound itself to his insides, squeezing with each low and ragged breathe. 

In some twisted way, Steve thought that if he could hurt Bucky before she could, maybe it would hurt less. Maybe, if Steve thought it was a bad idea, Bucky wouldn't write her back, or maybe he would, just to tell her to never contact him again. Maybe its the jealousy that thrums through Steve at the thought of losing a friend, or maybe it's because he can't stand to see Bucky get close to someone when there is no one in the world that is bidding for his attention.

Steve gets letters, sure. But they are mostly from old women and family's he has saved or reunited. He also gets mail from children who have come to idolize him and he gets mail asking him to participate at local schools and to make appearances. They all want something or are thanking him for something he has already done, his time and energy already given.   

It's supposed to be Steve and Bucky till the end of the line and women never got in the way of that before, but they way Bucky looks at those letters, his eyes lighting up at the words gives Steve pause. Bucky has never been this way about a women before and hell, maybe Steve should learn to be happy for his friend but instead the jealousy just eats away at him form the inside out. 

When Bucky finally pulls himself from the couch he is shaking, tears stain his skin dry and cracking. He walks past the glass, the discarded crystal left to lay in waste on the floor. The whole universe in the shards becoming increasingly less important with each step Bucky takes towards his quarters. 

He manages to pen a letter through his shaking, the lines of his letters wobbly. A few stray tears manage to fall onto the paper the ink smearing under them. 

"Dear 201, I need to know that you are real. I need to know that you aren't just some sort of conspiracy or threat trying to get close enough to me to burn everything that surrounds me to the ground. 

I need you to be real because I have this blurry image of you in my head that I need to make clear. I need to focus into all the details of you and commit them to memory. Each little, beautiful, imperfect piece. I crave the sight of you in your entirety.

I need to hear your laugh- I need to know if it sounds like pure joy blooming into the world. I need to hold your hands, to see the wear and calloses that adorn them. I need to know how your hand feels wrapped in mine when we shake the first time we meet. I need to know if it will ground me in the way your letters do. I crave you in your pieces and parts. 

Most of all, I need you to be real because you are the best damn thing that has happened to me in years and if you aren't real- hell, if you aren't real, I don't know what I would make of myself. 

With too much hope and heartache- Bucky Barnes" 

Before the war, Bucky knew how to talk to women. Each dip of his voice and brush of a well placed finger had any women swooning over him. He had his pick, each and every time, knowing just what to say to earn himself a kiss at the end of the night. But never before this moment has he poured his heart out in its entirety. 

There is nothing left in him to say- hell, there is nothing left in him to feel. He is now too barren to think or hope or cry. Every single piece of him now lies written in dark ink, the letters smudged and imperfect. There is no blood left in his chest, his heart now pumping electricity alone and it courses through him, numbing his already sore being with each mingling prickle. 

The tear drops have dried now, but the paper is wrinkled where they once fell. The markings like gravestones for the hurt and hope that poured out of him, not only from his pen but from his heart. 

He doesn't think twice about sending it, he doesn't have to. Like words spoken to gods, it was sent the moment it was said. The words are meant to be heard; there isn't a thing in the universe that can stop such a cosmic circumstance. 

Sleep takes Bucky the moment his head hits the pillow, the catharsis of the evening allowing his body to rest. He sleeps on his mattress tonight, the blankets wrapping his body like a shroud. He sleeps like the dead as there is nothing left in him to keep him awake. 

Steve doesn't sleep. Instead, he drinks, letting the Asgardian liquor continue to numb his senses. The room spins around him as sickness snakes itself through his body, making itself at home in the deepest parts of him. 

Maybe that's how it is supposed to feel when you bare your soul to another. Honesty being rewarded with rest and respite while envious anger is rewarded with anguish in equal measure. 

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