#Or poor people selling such things in such heat

[weebotaku21]

Me on my motorcycle going through streets of Lucknow to buy diya and decorations from local sellers

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

A Wolf in the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Aemond x Stark reader

Summary: The Greens have won The Dance of Dragons, and your family has offered your hand to Prince Aemond as a means of forgiveness for your part in the war. But what shall happen when a wolf meets a dragon in its den?

Warnings: SMUT, mdni 18+, p in v, kind of mean Aemond? but he gets better lol, Aegon being Aegon, use of pet names like Little Wolf or My Dragon, fingering, soft to rough sex, uhhh language for sure haha if I missed anything let me know y'all!! It's also not proof read so forgive any mistakes haha

AN: Well ... sorry this took me so long y'all! I guess my summer classes caught up to me a bit but that's ok cause after long last here it is!! A good old-fashioned Aemond x Stark reader fic. I hope you guys enjoy haha, I'm working on a request next, but let me know if there's anything else y'all wanna see! :)

King’s Landing was a hot, humid, fish-smelling shit hole. The warm temperatures were much too hot for your usual furs, heavy cloaks, and skirts. Even your horses were succumbing to the heat, panting more than usual, the poor things. You could have rode in the carriage, along with your mother and younger siblings. But you preferred horseback, the wind in your hair, and the breeze on your skin. Although, the air here was salty and thick. 

Your father and brother, Cregan, rode beside you. “Hells, could it be any hotter,” your father murmured under his breath, sweat beading on his brow.

“Those vapid Targaryen’s couldn’t bear it any other way, something about the ‘dragon’s blood–” 

“Careful brother, they could have your head for that–” You chuckled a bit, but you all knew there was truth to the statement. The Dance of Dragons had proved as much, the Greens' force and display of violence was wide and plentiful. “Rash and brash” as your father had put it once. Especially that of your betrothed, Prince Aemond One-eye Targaryen. Or “the one-eyed cunt” as many northerners took to calling him. The betrothal, much to your dismay, had been arranged by your father, in a weak attempt to repair your house's relationship with the monarch. 

“Hmph, well if I had my way we wouldn’t even be here at all. Those ‘dragons’ wouldn’t survive a damn minute in the North. Their blood would freeze, and then maybe we’d all be rid of their problems.” Cregan said the word “dragons” with a mocking tone, a scoff in his voice. 

“That’s enough, your sister is right boy, they would have your head for that. Or perhaps feed you to one of their dragon’s” And with that, your father put an end to that potentially treasonous conversation. Cregan however, had muttered something under his breath about “told you to stop calling me boy”. 

Having had enough of the bickering, you tapped the sides of your horse, trotting ahead by several paces. Your dire wolf, Snowcap, had evidently decided to part temporarily from the group, to hunt or to shade herself you didn’t know. But you couldn’t blame her either way, the journey from the Winterfell to King’s Landing was a long one, and not a particularly comfortable one.

The gates to the Red Keep came into site ahead of you, the streets leading up to it peppered with Gold Cloaks and guards. The people of King’s Landing pay little mind to your small party, too busy with their buying and selling. You had chosen to travel light, there were no copious amounts of banners flying, or any regalia at all really. You would be surrounded by plenty of that kind of thing soon enough. 

To say that your greeting was lackluster, would be an understatement. Ser Criston Cole stood beside the Dowager Queen Alicent atop the Red Keep’s stairs. Besides another dozen or so Gold Cloaks, that was what there was. Cregan scoffs in annoyance from beside you, he must have caught up to you somewhere along the way. 

“He cannot even come to meet his bride-to-be, what a disrespect, pathetic,” You made a bit of a noise beside him, urging him to keep his mouth shut. You were in the dragon’s den now, who knows who could be listening in? Another glance around the unfamiliar faces does confirm your brother’s statement. Your betrothed was nowhere to be found. Even the training yard remained empty, and from what you’d heard, Prince Aemond could often be found there. 

As you dismount your horse, Queen Alicent begins to make her way down the steps, towards you and the rest of your family. Your father and eldest brother move to stand to your left and right. Your mother and younger siblings finally join you, to your left. Your mother gives you a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder as she moves to stand beside your father. You curtsey as the Queen approaches, she takes your hand in hers. Her palms are soft and warm, gentleness radiates from her person. 

“My Lady Stark, how nice it is to finally see you arrive. I hope the journey south wasn’t too unpleasant” She gives you a small smile, not as lovely as your mother’s, but kind nonetheless. 

“It was alright, long, very long, but alright,” You say, matching her smile. Queen Alicent releases your hand and carries on to greet the rest of your family, Ser Criston following closely behind her. Still no sign of your betrothed, nor his elder brother, the King. Although you supposed he must be occupied with his duties on the Small Council. You know you will hear an earful from your brother later on the matter. Had Creagn been born a Lady, he would indeed circulate most of the gossip around Court.  

— — — — — 

The Red Keep was massive in comparison to your expectations of its size. The halls appear more like an intricate intertwining of mazes rather than passageways. Your footsteps echo and reverberate off of the stones. Tapestries depicting great moments in Targaryen history line the walls. Lit torches line the halls, the windows, and the arches looking out onto bustling the city below. Servants, guards, and other nobles wondered about, gossiping, rushing to and fro. Ladies, lords, and servants alike whispered to one another as you and your family walked by, being led by Ser Cristin and the Queen. 

It was no secret that your brother had sent Northeners and Graybeards to fight in Rhaenyra’s name. “Fight like Northerners they will,” your brother had said once. And they did indeed, the bitter cold and long winters having hardened them into mighty soldiers and fighters. Barbarians, some called them. Your father had handed over the duties of Winterfell to Cregan as he grew older. Your father had hardly left the North in all his years of life, but he had become confused and temperamental in his older age. It had ultimately been Cregan’s choice to join the Blacks, a decision he is now trying to repair. Or it would be more accurate to say you were trying to repair. Since you were a wolf being offered up to the dragons for slaughter. Perhaps the only reason that the Greens hadn’t burned down Winterfell, and your family around with it, is because they know the importance of your family to Westeros. And if the North falls, we all fall, and no one knew the North better than the Starks. 

As you continue on your walk through the winding halls of the Red Keep, you finally come to stand before a set of doors. Modest in comparison to some of the others you’ve passed by. Metal filigree winds its way up from the handles like vines, the rest of the door was rather lackluster. Ser Cristin steps forward, dutifully opening the doors for your party.

There in the middle of the small council room, stood your betrothed. After long last you finally laid eyes on your betrothed. Aemond stood proud and tall, his long silver hair pulled back into one thick braid, tied together at the bottom with a strip of black leather. His back was turned towards you, hands clasped behind him. He was dressed in what appeared to be his riding gear, perhaps he had just come back from a flight with Vhagar.

“Aemond, there you are. You missed the arrival of your betrothed,” Alicent chided her son, who could not be less interested in the conversation at hand. 

“Mhm,” He hummed, “I was–” He paused thinking, “ –busy”. From beside you, you can hear Cregan scoff a bit. Your mother puts a warning hand against his back, he was never one for formalities. But then again, most Northerners weren’t. The Prince finally turned towards your party. The famous leather eye patch covering the sapphire in his socket. The faint pink lines of his scar peeked out on either end of the patch. He’s beautiful, you think, in a macabre sort of way, but beautiful nonetheless. He looked ethereal standing there, backlight from the evening sun shining through the windows. 

His lavender eye rakes itself over your form, as your mother pushes you forward a bit, to better meet his gaze. He lets out another hum, of approval, or disapproval, you cannot tell. A cord of annoyance strikes through you, not having the wherewithal to be subjected to such petty scrutiny. 

Alicent places a guiding hand on your waist, walking you forward, closer to the One-eyed Prince. You curtsey once you reach him, the lessons your mother taught you as a girl kicking in and taking over.

“I did not know you Northerners were capable of such manners,” Aemond scoffed as he said this as if he was telling a bad joke. Your teeth grind together, hands clenching into fists in your skirts. Behind you you can hear the scuffle of footsteps, and then a halt. Presumably, your brother acting out again, or perhaps your father this time. Typically, your family wouldn’t care much about appearances, but you were all treading on thin ice, and you knew it. 

Rising back up to your full height, which annoyingly still made you have to look up at him, you say: “We are rather steeped in our traditions in the North my Prince. We value honor decency, and the truth of one's word,” You glare at him through your lashes as you say this last bit. If it were not for the threat upon your entire house and bannermen then you would not be here, wolves were not creatures made to bow, even in the face of a dragon. 

Surprisingly, Aemond lets out a hardy laugh. You chance a glance over at his mother, she looks to be just as stunned as the rest of you. Silence befalls the room. 

“Smart mouth you have, huh, my Lady Stark?” He chuckles some more, then leans closer, intending his next words to only be for you. “Watch your tongue in my court, or I shall have it served to you on a platter at our wedding feast,” and with that, he straightens, and walks away. Yelling something over his shoulder about the training yard, and Ser Cole come with. 

“I–” Alicent begins to say, but you cut her off, rather impolitely, “ It’s quite alright Your Grace,” You offer her a smile. You liked Alicent, the poor woman had been through enough as it is, and the arrogance of her son wasn’t any help. “I am just pleased to finally have arrived here at court, and to settle in at my new home,” It was most certainly a half-truth, but there was no need to make tensions rise any higher. 

— — — — —

The following next few days were spent quite the same. Your little party with the guidance of Alicent took tours of the Red Keep as well as its many gardens and docks. One afternoon Alicent and Queen Helaena accompanied your mother and yourself down to one of the traveling markets of King’s Landing. It was rather grand, merchants coming from all across Westeros to sell their wares. Helaena had shown you a favorite merchant of hers, a man who made intricate gold and silver jewelry in the shapes of little bugs and small creatures. You had purchased a ring depicting the head of a dire wolf.

Aemond had remained illusive, he only graced everyone with his presence at meals. Choosing to sit far away from you, his brother, the King, talking about who knows what was next to him, but all the while his lavender eye remained fixed on you. It made you squirm a bit, being under his heavy gaze. Overthinking how you raised your fork to your lips, or where you held your cup of wine, on the stem or the rim as you’d always done. 

With your wedding on the morrow, your nerves became more frayed than usual. Your mind is plagued with silly thoughts like: Will he think I’m pretty? Will he learn to love me? But as soon as those thoughts enter they are replaced with others such as: Why should I care? He’s been nothing but unpleasant and rude. But the younger, little girl in you still hopes to have a fruitful marriage, one filled with respect and love. Much like that of your mother and father’s. Although you know now that that is an anomaly in this world. 

Your night is filled with restless sleep. Your body follows a pattern of waking for an hour and then sleeping for another. The heat of King’s Landing did not aid in this, the covers bunched down by your feet as you tossed and turned. Shortly after the sun had risen, maids had burst into your room, wedding gown in hand. You spent the next couple of hours being dotted upon like the princess you were about to become. 

It wasn’t a large service by any means, not that you minded. Something smaller and more intimate was more to your liking. Your father walked you up the long aisle to meet your soon-to-be husband. Aemond stood at the altar in the sept, his house cloak in his hands to drape around your shoulders. The closer you got to him the more you could see his eye attempt to devour your appearance. Surprisingly, he gently held your small hands in his. His fingers and palms were calloused from many hours of training with a sword, and flights upon Vhagar. He was a handsome man you thought, too bad his arrogance made him ugly. Perhaps a bit naively you thought, I can change that. But maybe it was just wishful thinking. Your mind already trying to fix something potentially broken. 

Aemond’s lips touched yours, forever sealing your vows to one another. Unlike his hands, they were smooth and soft, and uncharacteristically gentle. He was a good kisser you think, but then again the only other boy you’d kissed was a farm hand back at Winterfell when you were much younger. 

Aemond thought you were beautiful, the moment he laid eyes upon his Little Wolf he thought perhaps this union will not be one of suffering and strife. At least she will be pretty to fuck. As his lips touched yours in the sept in front of the Gods, he tasted honey and black tea. You smell like vanilla, spices, and what Aemond assumed fire to smell like. His hand came to fist in your hair, possessively anchoring you to him.

When you part you suck in a breath of air, cheeks red. Such a sultry kiss in front of your family and the Gods caused a rush of embarrassment to course through you. Aemond however, gave you a wicked smirk in response to the color in your cheeks. Still clutching your hand tightly in his, he guides his new bride down and out of the sept, to return to the Red Keep for the evening's festivities. 

— — — — —

The great hall was filled with the aroma of cooked meats, potatoes, wine, and the heavy laughter of your party guests. Your mother and father sat with you and your new family at the head table, looking down slightly upon the rest of the partygoers. Where the ceremony may have been smaller, the feast after it was not. Several more houses and bannermen of your brother’s came to celebrate the historic union. Boltons, Lannisters, Freys, Greyjoys, Hightowers, and the like filled the hall. You chose to remain seated beside your new husband, the ever-dutiful wife. You knew and had seen many times how rowdy Northmen could become at such a venue. You preferred to keep your distance, although it was not unusual to find you dancing with your younger siblings back home at Winterfell. 

By the looks of it, your brother had loosened up a bit, a tanker of ale clutched in one hand.

The king had joined him and the others closer in age for what looked to be some kind of drinking game. Meanwhile, Aemond’s hand absent-mindedly made its home on your thigh, stroking up and down. The gesture was a stark contrast to his previous words and actions. 

“You have barely eaten wife,” He noted as he glanced at you, “You must be well full and ready for what I have planned for you.” The same small smirk crosses his lips once again. Leaving you with a funny feeling in your stomach. But you can’t help the small wave of heat that strikes your core. Your mother once told you that men can become rather possessive of their women, and it can be quite cumbersome most of the time. Restricting one's freedom, constantly wanting you in their presence, she had said to expect this with someone like Aemond. But she mentioned that sometimes, in the confines of your marital chambers, it can be very — riveting to lay with such a man. It wasn’t until now that you began to understand what she had meant.

“I am afraid I have no appetite, my lord husband. My nerves do not allow me to eat it seems,” Aemond’s gaze darkened at the use of the word “husband”. Prince Aemond was not a man who did anything halfway, if he were to do anything, it was to be done fully without exception. A wave of dark possession seeps into his gut. He had already claimed a dragon but now he wishes to claim a wolf too. 

From across the hall, his thoughts are abruptly interrupted by his brother's drunken yelling. 

“ – the bedding ceremony! Come now little brother it is time for the bedding ceremony,” Aemond’s fists clenched, the hand on your skirts bunching in the fabric. “Will you fuck her like a hound brother? Woof Woof hahaha,” The hall had fallen eerily silent. Aemond’s chair clatters to the ground from the force of his standing. From beside Aegon, you see your brother place his cup of ale on the table, hand reaching for his sword. Your father is already a step ahead of him, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Your mother goes to stand in front of your younger siblings, shielding them. If you had no appetite before you certainly don’t have one now, your hands had gone cold and clammy, your head feeling light at the insults thrown your way. From beside you, Alicent stands, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“That is enough Aegon,” She begins to say.

“Oh come now Mother it was only a jest. Can I not be proud of my little brother?” Alicent opens her mouth to respond but Aemond beats her to it.

“You can take your ‘jests’ down to your whores on the Steer of Silk but you will not speak in such a way in front of my wife, let alone her family.” His voice is dangerously calm, ready to snap, and bubble over into pure rage at any given moment. 

“Always so uptight little brother, as if someone has shoved a stick up your ass–” It is your turn to stand now, the feet of your chair scrapping the stone floor beneath you. 

“I am quite tired, husband will you escort me back to our chambers?” You look at Aemond, a stern, silent plea evident on your features. 

“Certainly wife,” He responds with the same tantalizing calmness. Offering you his hand, which you take, grasping on tighter than perhaps necessary, you both make your way out of the great hall. Leaving the mess that is Aegon behind for someone else to clean up. It was your wedding day after all and you needn’t worry yourself with such matters. 

The walk to your marital chambers is quiet and tense. Your hand still firmly grasping Aemond’s, although he now squeezes yours back. The heels of your shoes echo off of the palace walls in an attempt to keep up with Aemond’s long strides. After an eternity of uncertainty at what was to come next, you reach Aemond’s, and now your, chambers. The room is large and furnished quite cozily. A large four-poster bed makes its home in the center back wall of the room. A table of what looks like chess pieces and a map sits by the open windows.

Aemond however reaches for the pitcher of wine on another small side table, pouring a cup for himself and downing it in one go. He pours a second, and a third for you. He offers it to you, you shake your head, afraid you cannot stomach the drink after what had just happened. 

“I am sorry–” You break the silence. Aemond raises a hand to silence you. 

“It is I who should apologize. My brother is a foul and evil creature who feeds off of the discomfort of others. But never had he dared to do so so boldly before,” He pauses, taking a sip of wine. “I have been absent since you arrived at the Keep and I believe I owe you an explanation,” 

You cross your arms over your chest, the air coming in from the harbor seeming chilly now. “Yes I do believe you do,” you say.

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at your sass, a small smile spreading across his lips. “They told me women of the North have sharp tongues and poor manners,” You scoff, his smile widens, “but I must say I’m rather enjoying that thus far.”  He moves toward you, one hand still holding his cup of wine, the other reaching up to cup your chin, turning your face to meet his eye. 

“I must admit that when I learned that your treacherous brother’s offered your hand to me I was quite – unnerved. I had no desire to marry, let alone marry a traitor,” A cord of anger courses through you, and Aemond notices this. He sets his cup down on the table next to you, the one with the chess pieces. Your eyes follow the movement, better taking in the contents of the table, a war game perhaps, you think. 

“I didn’t want to be chained to a dull, meek little pup for the rest of my life,” His now free hand comes to rest on your hip, and his thumb and forefinger move from your chin, to trace the shape of your lips, then your jaw, and down the column of your neck. “But I must say, that you have certainly exceeded my expectations. I shall enjoy breeding you,” His alkaline nose moves to smell your hair, and you inhale a sharp gasp at the vulgarity of his words. You feel him smile into your neck as he continues his ministrations, placing the whisper of a kiss here and there.  

“I do not understand you. You show me kindness, even apologizing for the acts of your brother, but then you insult me and my heritage. What is it that you want from me, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You question him, hoping your voice comes out as steady as you command it. Aemond pulls back laughing, both hands now finding purchase on your hips, he begins to guide you backward towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the wooden frame. 

“Perhaps I wish to see how far I can push you Little Wolf. I enjoy your banter and wish to hear more of it. It pleases me that I’ve been matched to a woman who is not afraid to speak to me in such a way. People so quickly cower and whisper when I am near, it is refreshing to be met head-on.” His blunt statement surprises you, you had not expected such a confession from the Prince.

“Perhaps–” You pause, choosing your next words carefully, “ – perhaps then we can learn to love one another in this marriage.” You almost whisper the last bit, uncertainty in your voice. 

“Yes, I think perhaps we can,” Aemond whispers back to you, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. The tension in the air is palpable, maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move. To see how far he could push you as he had said a moment ago. Deciding to test this hypothesis you stand on your tiptoes, slotting your lips against his, just as you did in the sept. A hungry growl leaves Aemond’s throat using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against his chest. He kisses you back with ferocity. 

A hand grapes your throat, guiding you down towards the bed, your back hitting the feather mattress. You gasp against Aemond’s lips, swallowing the sound, he continues his assault. His hand against your throat tightened, although not unpleasantly, heat rushing to your core. His lips begin to retrace their path down your jaw and the column of your neck, biting and sucking red marks in their wake. 

“Aemond– someone will see–” He parts from you only for a second, looking into your eyes. 

“Let them, after all, isn’t that what my imputant brother wanted proof of our coupling? Perhaps it will give him something to pleasure himself to–” The thought makes Aemond’s cock harden impossibly more in his trousers. The fact that he could pleasure his wife to a level that his brother could only imagine, was nearly enough to drive him over the edge. 

“Husband that is not reason enough to leave –” You're interrupted by a particularly sharp bite to the collarbone. A moan of pain and pleasure escapes past your lips, spurring your new husband onwards. With a sharp tug, Aemond pulls the bodice of your dress down, exposing your chest to him. He murmurs a simple “beautiful” under his breath before latching onto one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at the flesh. Your back arches slightly in response, desperate to bring yourself closer to his touch. 

As he continues his ministrations he begins to unlace the remainders of your gown, shimmying them down your body, to pool at his feet. You feel his calloused hands roam up and down your body. Sketching your shape into his memory. His fingers knead the flesh of your breasts, your thighs, your ass. Finally, he swipes his fingers between your folds, you emit a soft whine at the contact. 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’ve barely even touched you yet Little Wolf, and you're already soaking my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock–” He trails off, mesmerized as he begins to pump two fingers in and out of your core. Your cheeks flush a deep scarlet at his words. Your hands find purchase in the sheets of your new bed. 

“Oh– oh Aemond –” You whisper in between breaths. 

“Say it again, say my name again,” It’s almost a plea, begging to hear it again.

“Husband– Aemond– My Dragon –” Aemond harshly withdraws his fingers from you. You nearly scream at the loss of the delicious contact. Discarding the remainder of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the side, Aemond grabs you by the ankles pulling you down towards the end of the bed where he stands. You catch site of his cock as he gives it a few tugs in preparation. The tip angry and red, glazed in his arousal for you. Your eyes widen a bit, your mother never prepared you for what might happen should your lord husband be too – big. 

Aemond sees your moment of concern, he positions himself over you, cock aligned at your entrance. His hand carresses your cheek, as he says “I shall be gentle, if you ask me to.Give you time to adjust –” 

“No,” Your answer surprises the both of you. “I want you, I am not some small flower, I can take what you give me. I want whatever you shall give me Husband.” You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, as if to reassure him that what you say is true.

“Seven fucking Hells, you are something did you know that?” He rests his forehead agaisnt yours, as he ever so slowly begins to sheath himself inside of you. 

You let out a small giggle, whispering back “I know–” 

Aemond bottoms out inside of you, his cock fully enclosed by the walls of your cunt. He could die like this, he thinks. Cock sheathed in the cunt of his gorgeous Little Wolf. Your walls squeeze him perfectly, he needs to take a moment to catch his breath. He had fucked women before, whores in the Street of Silk. His brother having dragged him there once, and to seek some kind of perverted comfort there during The Dance. But none of them compared to this moment, none of them –

“Husband, Gods move please,” Aemond is brought out of his thoughts by your pleas, you voice hoarse with want and need. 

“With pleasure Little Wolf.” He begins to thrust, moving his hips at a slow and steady pace. It’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. He’s afraid that should he move to fast he won’t be able to carry on for very long. Beneath him your hands clutch the sheets of his bed, your cheeks are flushed the most lovely red, your hair played out in a halo around you on the pillow. If he could burn the image into his mind forever, then he certainly would. 

Aemond’s cock stretches you out perfectly, boardering on pain and pleasure, but only for the first moments. His thrusts are steady and calculated, but never the less delicious. The movement causes friction on your clit, sending a wave of pleasure to your core. It’s lovely, you think, but you want more. Moving from their place in the sheets, your hands settle on his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Aemond– more,” His lilac eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For Gods sake Husband, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Aemond picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all. 

Your tits bounce at the force of his movement, your hands that were previously on his hips, begin to rake down his back. Your legs come up to circle his waist, drawing him impossibly closer. 

“You like this then, huh, Little Wolf. Treated like my own personal whore, to fuck how I please?” The sounds that fill the room are egregious, skin against skin, moans, whimpers, and screams. 

“Louder Little Wolf, howl for me, let the whole Keep hear how I pleasure you so,” Perhaps that same small part of him wanted his brother to hear. As if Aemond had something to prove to him, that he made a better husband, a better lover than Aegon ever will. 

“Aemond, Aemond, oh Aemond–” You chant his name like a mantra. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you, you gasp eyes widening at the feeling. 

“Seems I’ve found where you feel pleasure best. Is that right Little Wolf?” 

“Yes, Gods Aemond, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna –” Hearing that was all the motivation he needed to pick up his pace even more. To fuck you even harder than before. He grips your hips pulling you closer to him at the end of the bed, from this angle he has full control over your body, and can fuck you as you so desire him to.

The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release. 

“Just a moment more, my sweet, perfect Little Wolf. I’m going to breed you, and watch you swell with my pups. Wouldn’t you love that huh?” Aemond continues to piston in and out of you, the feeling almost too much, but still just as lovely as before. Nonsensical moans leave your lips, and Aemond laughs at you babbling, although not rudely. 

His hips begin to stutter as he nears his end, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” He mutters under his breath as you feel his seed coat your walls. The feeling warm, and full and lovely. Aemond remains seated inside of you as he rests his forehead once more to yours. You kiss his nose again, a new favorite spor perhaps. He offers you a small smile in return.

You both groan as he pulls out. Your cunt perfectly overstimulated and happy. Wordlessly Aemond leaves the bed, and begins to rummage around some drawers in one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. You worry for a brief moment that he will leave, and that he meant none of what he said. But as he brings a damp cloth between your thighs to clean you, your worries wash away. He tosses the rag aside, to be dealt with on the morrow. For now, all he wanted was to lay with his wife in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. 

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you move to covers to lie beneath them. Aemond pulls you to him, tucking the top of your head under his chin, he kisses your hair. You both think that perhaps this marriage will be fruitful, that over time you will learn to love one another. It seems as if you both are on a lovely start for that though as is. 

“Good night ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved),” Aemond mutters into your hair. 

“Sleep well, My Dragon,” you say in response. You both drift off into a peaceful sleep, held comfortably in each other's arms. No one knew what the morrow would bring, let alone a fortnight from now. But you both knew you would see it through together as equals, husband and wife, dragon and wolf.

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[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part fifteen

836 words

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After the last bell rings on Monday, Steve grabs his things and heads out. 

The picnic table is empty when he gets there, but he figures it’ll only remain that way for a few minutes at most. 

Eddie suggested they meet here so he can tell people to spread the word that he isn’t selling on Mondays or Wednesdays for the next couple of weeks when they come to buy.

Steve had asked him, Aren’t they gonna be, like, pissed? 

To which Eddie replied, Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Harrington.

Steve had - obviously - immediately shut his mouth and thought about that for the rest of the day. Including now. 

Eddie’s been talking to him more since they were assigned as partners, which isn’t a surprise but what is is the flirting. It’s flirting, right? 

Steve just doesn’t understand why. Why reject the notes when he found out Steve was behind them, only to turn around and flirt with him to his face?

He isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so he - somewhat reluctantly - lets it go.

Just as Steve’s finished setting up his supplies (a big sheet of cardstock, a pencil, a sharpener, an eraser, and a divider (just in case)) he hears approaching footsteps. 

“Well, look at you, all prepared.”  Eddie plops onto the opposite side of the table. 

Steve’s cheeks heat up and he clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

Eddie looks at him deadpan and pulls out a sheet of paper and a pencil that looks like it has bite marks all over it. “This’ what I got.”

Steve looks at his pencil that is missing an eraser and raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Eddie grins.

Steve shakes his head in disapproval and swipes the utensil from the boy, earning a sharp hey!

Steve absentmindedly slips Eddie’s poor excuse for a pencil into his backpack for safekeeping. He digs around for a moment before emerging with a brand new pack of pencils. After a moment of consideration, he pulls out an eraser as well. He sets his haul in front of Eddie and only belatedly realizes how weird that probably is when he looks up and sees the boy’s face.

Eddie seems dumbfounded. 

Steve’s back straightens. “Or you can have your pencil back. I didn’t mean to…I-I’m sorry.” He reaches forward to take the stuff back and Eddie shakes his head, seeming to snap out of it.

An incredulous smile breaks out on his face and he picks up the supplies and holds it close to his chest. “No take-backsies.” 

Steve’s shoulders slump in relief. “Yeah?”

Once he deems it safe enough, Eddie lowers his things back to the table and spreads them out. “You kidding me, man?”

Steve smiles and gestures to the divider laid between them, but not set up yet. “Think that’s gonna be necessary?” he asks. 

Eddie cackles. 

Steve hadn’t thought much about how he was gonna tackle making a portrait of Eddie. He’s worried he isn’t going to be able to capture him perfectly. Then again, Steve doesn’t think anything could.

He decides to do the same as yesterday and start with the hair.  It takes much longer than he thought it would - much longer than Steve’s hair did yesterday. Eddie’s hair is longer and frizzier. He also has waves that Steve thinks could be curls with the right treatment. It looks good on Eddie, but not so much on Steve’s paper. After erasing and starting over about ten times, the paper is starting to look a little banged up. Steve’s brows furrow in frustration and he flips the paper over to try again on the backside. He starts with Eddie’s clothes this time, and that goes better. 

Steve’s trying not to think about the fact that Eddie is right there and drawing him right now, too, but it’s difficult when he can feel the boy’s eyes on him more often than not. 

They have to look up at each other for reference. 

They end up staying for a little over two hours and when they pack up their stuff to leave, Steve lets Eddie take his pencil sharpener. He acts like he doesn’t notice - lets him think he’s getting away with something. 

Not many people came looking to buy, after all. It was only two people and Steve pretended not to listen in on the conversations. 

Eddie and Steve walk side by side to the parking lot. They reach Eddie’s van first and Steve slows to a stop, not wanting this to be over so soon. 

Eddie digs around in his jacket pockets for his keys. “See you around, Harrington.”

Steve chews on his lip. “Steve,” he says. 

Eddie looks up from where he’s unlocking the driver’s door. 

“Huh?”

“Steve,” he repeats. “Call me Steve.”

Eddie chuckles and leans in to punch Steve’s shoulder lightly. “Alright, Steve.”

Steve grins and slowly backs away. “See you later, Eddie.”

“You, too.”

“Drive safe.”

Eddie smiles, a small thing. “You too.”

sixteen

tag list (closed)

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sorry if i missed anyone!!

[sorcerous-caress]

Taking you as their fake date to an event

[Fluff, suggustive, romance, humour, fake dating, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, Rolan]

Wyll

In the aftermath of clearing the misunderstanding with his father, Wyll found himself back at the centre of attention in Baldur's Gate's circle of nobles. Everyone wanted to meet the famed blade of frontiers, for the last time they saw him was years ago before he fully matured into the man he is today.

Letter after letter were delivered to your camp. Carrier pigeons barely escaped Tara's claws as they dropped the mail on Wyll's tent and left with most of their feathers intact.

Being the son of the grand duke of Baldur's Gate turned all the heads of any sane noble with a marriage allegeable offspring. Invitation for tea parties, hunting competitions, and even balls for the sole purpose of meeting other people. Wyll's hand was slowly going numb from having to write back formal polite declining letters.

If only there was a way to stop them from the source. He'd sigh and vent to his closest of companions. But Karlach wasn't available at the moment, so he had to make do with the vampire.

"Why not just tell them you've already tied the knot with someone or whatever you humans call it?"

For once, Wyll actually considered listening to the fanged devil on his shoulder.

He approached that topic as delicately as he could when it came to convincing you, inviting you to dinner at a restaurant, waiting until after you're both filled and the lighthearted conversation slowed to bring it up.

"My friend, if I may, there is something I could use a helping hand with."

To his relief, you don't seem uncomfortable to his proposal. If anything, you nonchalantly agreed to be his fake date to the upcoming celebration.

He thanks you with a polite smile, yet for some, his heart beat faster when he pictures you holding onto his arm amongst the crowd. Your formal attire matching his suit. The fact he'd get to call you his fiancé for an evening sends an unexpected heat up to his face.

.

Gale

Tara wakes him up with delight in her eyes one morning, her sing song tone of his last name is more chipper than usual.

"Mr.Dekarios, yoohoo~" she licks his face to get his sleepy eyes to focus on her, "Ms.Dekarios sends her regards, along with a mandatory summon invitation for you this weekend." Tara brings her paw up to her face, cleaning the fur and making herself even more presentable.

Before Gale gets a word in, he is interrupted by a paw smacking against his lips.

"Now now, you wouldn't break the heart of your poor old mother by rejecting her invitation when you haven't seen her in years, would you?" The soft beans against Gale's mouth hold the threat of sharp claws underneath.

Defeated and outsmarted first thing in the morning, the wizard reluctantly nods with a sight.

Deep down, he know this day would eventually come. He couldn't hide the orb and the looming threat over his life from his own mother forever, no matter how he naively hoped to find a cure before having to face her. Coming back to announce you've foolishly consumed untamed magic of chaos isn't the most popular mother's day gift.

But maybe, just maybe he doesn't have to let her know yet. If he could find a distraction.

And lucky for him, the perfect distraction was currently standing outside his open tent, rubbing Tara's belly as she purrs and leans into their arms more.

He devised a plan, a great list of excuses and reasons to sell you the idea of why you should go along with his plan of deception, even prepared a bribe if push came to shove.

Well, two bribes, actually. The first one was the massive breakfast prepared and catered specifically for your taste.

Scurrying to sit in the chair next to you before Halsin could, Gale ignored the cofused look the druid gave him before sitting down at another chair.

Either he was too easy to read, or you've picked up on his pattern of gifts and act of service whenever he has a request. Because he only had to hint at the upcoming home visit before you Blatantly stated that you're willing to go as his date.

"Well...this was certainly much easier than I expected. In fact I've deviced a much more elaborate argument and explanation for when you'd initially refuse."

"Why would I ever refuse Gale?"

You gently caressed the side of his face, wiping a small crumb of bread away from his lips before taking your hand back.

"I...well, uhm. You." With a flustered look, Gale wasn't sure how to respond. Did he remember to comb his morning hair? Oh god, wait, is he still in his pyjamas? Does he even look half presentable right now?

.

Shadowheart

A Selunite introduction party, as her parents explained. She never had the afterparty of her ceremony after the woods passage trial, and her mother really wanted her to see her adorned in the moon maiden silvery dress and white flowers.

How could she say no? Shadowheart only wished for both of their happiness, to make up for lost time as much as she could.

While her father never pressured her, knowing he still has plenty of time with her, her mother wasn't offered the same courtsy by life. So he encouraged Shadowheart to bring someone dear to her maybe, just to reassure her mother that she has a loved one, you know how humans tend to get about finding your soulmate and all of that.

But she felt lost. Was there really someone she could call a soulmate?

Your words echo in her mind, how you gently persuaded her into lowering her weapon. The night orchid you've given her is still kept safely in her journal, tucked away between the soft pages to preserve the petals forever.

What if you don't share her feelings? What if she is just another lost soul that has grown attached to you after you saved them. Afterall, you did end up risking blowing your cover when saving that drow women at moonrise tower.

Minthara's respect for you was nothing to scoff at. What's a cleric's faith when compared to a paladin's devotion?

Yet she still took a chance, a leap of faith for you.

One night before the two of you retreated to your own beds, she stopped you for a short conversation. Reluctance in her voice as she lowered her face and looked up at you, eyes glistening under the moonlight.

She explained her situation, her party for her coming of age ceremony that was long postponed, how she wished for you to accompany her as her date.

"Please, indulge me this once. And we can pretend it never happened afterwards...if that's what you wish." The words pained her to say, but the relief that followed at your acceptance made all the pain worth it.

She isn't sure where your heart lays, but for a day, it will be hers. Her faith will guide her, the faith that maybe one day, you too will return her feelings.

.

Karlach

She was nervously walking back and forth outside your tent just after dinner, unsure of how to approach you or even mention the topic.

Her tail aggiated and is switching between curling around her leg and lashing at the ground below. Karlach didn't bury her emotions as the engine in her chest glowed more and more, matching the redness of the sunset in the horizon.

Really, what was she thinking? Agreeing to the double date her friends offered her. She was too excited at having finally met more people from her past, ones that didn't stab her in the back, and one thing led to another.

It's not that she ment to lie to her friends...it was just hard to tell them that even after all these years, she still doesn't have someone to call her own. It felt embarrassing to admit how alone she was, how touch starved and repressed she felt.

Not to mention how every single one of her friends had already found someone. Most of them were married and the other half on their way to get married.

She didn't think they'd make a big deal out of it when she off-handedly mentioned that she was seeing someone, a simple white lie with no harm done. She thought they'd just be happy for her and move on.

But no, instead, it was as if she grew a second head right then and there. Everyone was so excited to meet her so-called partner.

And so she found herself like this, strolling around your tent like a loser, attempting to muster up the dignity to ask you to pretend to be her partner for tomorrow.

Only when bumped into something and lost her balance did she realise who stood in front of her.

Karlach's body pinned you to the ground with ease, even unintentionally her muscles could easily cage you on. Her skin hot against yours, she lifted her head and your faces were mere inches apart.

You didn't miss the way her eyes glances at your lips, the way her cheeks darkned when you licked them. The heacy of swallow afterwards before her lips twitched into a polite smile.

With a quick apology, she helped you up.

"Say soldier, have you ever played pretend before? You know that game that kids play." Very smooth Karlach, she thought to herself. "Uh...do you think the two of us can maybe play it tomorrow? Haha...ha."

You asked what she meant.

"I kinda of...well, I told my friends that I was already seeing someone so. Could you be that person? I'll pay you back tenfolds, I promise."

"Of course Karlach, anything you want." Accepting the awkward fistbump she offered you, in return you gave her a hug that lingered for more time than it should.

"Cool cool, great. I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Her tail was swishing excitedly behind her, a confident smile on her face as bright as the sun.

.

Rolan

He will show them, he thought, he will show his spoiled bratty siblings that he isn't as uptight and "scares away all suitors" as they claimed!

I mean, have you seen him? He is a very talented and capable wizard, how is it his fault that other people are far too dim and slow to realise how much of a catch he is, how his talent more than makes up for his sometimes bitter personality.

Lia was bragging again about the cute bard she managed to ask out, her third date this week. Rolan swears she is mentioning within earshot if him intentionally, hell even Cal gets the occasional longing stares at any tavren they go to.

Rolan isn't less than them and he will prove it. He just well...hasn't put himself out there yet, so what if he has zero experience with dating and romance? He is a fast learner, he is very confident in his ability to become an excellent lover in to time.

A day goes by, then two and three. Suddenly it's been a full week and he haven't had a speck of luck when it came to romancing someone. It's almost as if any person he approaches immediately loses interest the second he opens his mouth.

He is getting desperate, he can't let Lia know about this. She will never ever let him live it down.

So when you find him in the elfsong tavren, sitting alone on a table nursing on his drink with his tail curled around his leg. You stare at him long enough to catch his interest.

He recognises you immediately, you could see the cogs turning in his alcohol clouded mind.

"You, come here." He yells the order across the tavren, catching himself afterwards and clearing his thraot to lessen the embarrassment of the situation. Still his eyes begged you to approch him.

And you did, walking to his table and sitting down. After all your companions were still sleeping upstairs so what's the harm in indulging one drunk grumpy tiefling when you were supposed to be on a supply run.

Rolan orders you a drink too, his treats, he says without meeting your eyes.

And just as you take a sip, he lays it on you bluntly.

"From now on, I'm your boyfriend."

You choke on your drink, it takes him a moment to register the way he phrased his question.

Clearing his throat again, he refuses to meet your eyes as a blush colours his cheek. "No not like this, don't get the wrong idea."

Now you're sitting there, confused as the waiter brings you a towel to wipe down the drink you spilled on yourself. You thank them and take it, giving Rolan enough time to attempt to compose himself.

"I know i haven't made the best of impressions on you." He finally speaks up, "but I need you." His voice is more honest, a hint of vulnerability, "your help I mean. Lia and Cal, I want to prove them wrong."

His glossy eyes meet yours, the alcohol loosened his tongue.

"I'm not unlovable." He whipsers, "I'm not going to beg for a chance, I just need your cooperation for a day or two, just to shut them up."

Your hand goes above the table, wrapping around his own fist softly. "I understand, it's okay." You give it a light squeeze, "you don't have to explain yourself."

Somehow, your few words helped relieve his heart from its burden more than this whole night of drinking ever could.

[kiefbowl]

one of the unfortunate issues with young people and/or naive people online learning "social justice" from social media for the first time ever (which is not a value judgement), and learning a weird "privilege vs. virtue" paradigm about minority classes, is that they seem oblivious to the fact that there are a lot of people who do not care about ""their people"" and will take the opportunity to scam the shit out of poor, desperate communities they have an "in" with. so you'll have people who promote, like, weird instagram "healers" as having the truth even though it takes 7 seconds to realize they're a grifter who sells $500 classes on zoom with no accreditation on anything and a website that drop ships cheap-o bullshit. or reblog every e-begging post they can find. idk how to tell you this, but even disabled non white poor gay people can lie their asses off, if they even are any of those things. even though white mormon moms have a death grip on the mlm market, they really aren't the only ones out there getting people's asses into debt. "but why would a former cancer patient sell false medicine?" bc getting cancer doesn't make you a good person. "but why would a disabled person lie about their disability summer program?" bc being disabled doesn't make you a good person. "but why would a queer poly thruple of black autistic lesbians lie about their therapy services?" bc they aren't good people and they wanted to make fast money!! it's always the answer, if they scammed people it's because they aren't good people and they wanted to make fast money. and they love dopes that will promote them so they can make more money even faster. they'll drop everything in a heartbeat when the heat comes bc it wasn't a legitimate business, and because they aren't good ppl and it was about making fast money.

so, like, it's okay to be discerning. it's okay to be like "hmmm, I think selling $100 fertility candles and diet cleanses on instagram under the guise of ancient wisdom and colonial trauma is, actually, very suspicious" even if that person "looks like" they "should know" what they're talking about.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Cold Jax" Geechee!Erik Killmonger

Pairing: Geechee!Erik Killmonger x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Supernatural Horror, Period Piece, Erik Stevens AU, Black American Folktale.

Summary: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens is a Geechee wanderer and lover of big-legged women and good moonshine. On a trip to visit his favorite juke joint in 1940s Mississippi, he entertains a lover of sorts, Lulabelle, the juke joint owner and Madame of the nearby whorehouse. Erik battles two mythical creatures from Black American folklore, the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man in order to save Lulabelle and her establishment. The tale is told from the perspective of a ghost who was once Lulabelle's best friend.

Word count: 5.5K

"The winter time is coming

And it's going to be slow

You can't make the weather baby

it's dry long so

You betta come on in my kitchen

because it's going to be Raining outdoors..."

Cassandra Wilson – "Come on in my Kitchen" (Written by Robert Johnson)

There were two things Lulabelle Humphreys knew how to sell in Itta Bena Mississippi and that was moonshine and other people's pussy.

She did that very well until one night of the Harvest moon when cotton would soon be harvested by the local sharecroppers and itinerant Mexican men who traveled through the delta region looking for work like every other Negro or poor white trash far and wide. On that night under a sweltering heat full of drunk patrons and her smooth-talking whores inside her juke joint with the "special ladies" house attached by a rickety bridge that crossed over a tiny creek full of frogs and singing crickets, Lulabelle witnessed the showdown of all showdowns between the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man, shonuff, right inside her little rambling hot music-havin' and ice-cold beer havin' establishment.

And if it hadn't been for that slow walking city-to-city wandering Geechee man with the gold teeth, slick smile, and flashy suit standing by her with the smarts of his low country kin back in South Carolina, why Lulabelle might've lost everything that night like she lost me so many years ago when that Plat Eye stole me away when we was teenaged girls in these backwoods. But thank the Lord up above for Erik Stevens ramblin' through with that shiny switchblade, and his Gullah ways, cuz shonuff, that was a night to remember and I'm gonna tell it exactly how it happened from top to bottom and all the sides in between. I ain't been dead long enough or forgotten long enough to not tell it all...

"Mavis, how much lavender water is left in there?"

Lulabelle shouted into the open door that led to one of the "loving" rooms inside her special house.

"There's one bottle left," Ruth called out.

The young woman was nothing but string bean arms and toothpick legs, however, she was a favorite among the darker-skinned Black sharecroppers who admired her fair skin and limp shiny black hair. Even the high yella gals envied what Ruth could pull in because the men were willing to part with more money to fuck what was as close to a white woman as they would get.

Lulabelle knew clearly what a fetish was, so she used Ruth for the high income, but she also had Mavis, a crystal Black pearl with a dark hue so deep that negro soldiers from the military base lined up for hours waiting to part her dusky thighs to taste the sticky sweets within. There was someone for everybody at the house. Big women. Little scrawny women. Big Bodacious titties and itty-bitty mosquito bites. For the richly endowed there was Starla with a pussy so fat and deep that blues ballads were written for her. For the poorly imbued, there was Tweety Pie, a tiny woman with a small tight snatch that rivaled Starla in particular-sized fans.

For the men who didn't fawn over the womenfolk, there was Honey Boy, a twenty-something pretty little thing with bow lips, high cheekbones, and a fat ass that posed as a houseboy who brought fresh after-sex towels, water for the whore baths, and rubbers for the men who forgot to prepare for penetration. Honey Boy could dress like a pretty woman and serve clients fat wood if that was to a patron's liking. Lulabelle was surprised at how popular he was becoming on the low low, especially from the men in the military. Men with men had always been a reality, but Honey Boy was multidimensional. He could turn into a Butch boy from a chain gang, to a bullying Army sergeant to dominate and spread male ass cheeks that needed fat balls against balls. Or he could be a dainty femme movie star in a bra and heels with his hard dick swinging. Lulabelle kept a ready supply of costumes for him, more than the women. All the ladies needed were pretty underwear, strong garter belts, and lipstick. She kept quiet that she paid Honey Boy more than anyone else.

The second world war was putting money in her pockets. 1942 was a profitable war year for Lulabelle. Her pocketbook was fat with cash, and she could now afford real jewelry instead of the cheap costume fare she sported the last three years. She could even maintain a steady hot comb appointment at Mamie's Wash and Curl uptown. Her latest favorite style was imitating Joan Crawford's immaculate curls that she saw in the talkies at the Bijou theater. When she really wanted to look glamorous, she would have Mamie swoop up her thick hair on top of her head with a pinned curl on the front and an under curl in the back. The rich white women she saw in the new color catalogues wore their hair like that.

She wore her hair like that for that evening. It was a special night. The Harvest Moon was going up, and the men would be arriving in droves to drink, dance, and fuck.

He was coming too.

The Gullah man. That sly Geechie with the gold teeth.

Erik Stevens.

His arrival always coincided with some new moon every few months. She'd dress up extra special when she thought he was coming through. Her pussy was already twitching thinking about him.

"I'll have Honey Boy get you a fresh bottle," Lulabelle said patting the back of her hair.

It was hot already, and she worried that her hair wouldn't maintain until Erik saw it. Ruth stepped out of the room. The yellow silk camisole Lulabelle bought for her came to her thighs and had enough lace in the front to cover the baby bulge that was threatening to peek out. The girl got knocked up and none of the home remedies the cook Eva concocted worked in knocking the unwanted pregnancy out. Ruth could probably hide the truth for another month or so, but eventually she would have to go on convalescence and Lulabelle would have to rely on the other women to please the Ruth fans until the woman returned or left for a new life in the North. Until then, Ruth was about making her money and camouflaging the bump.

"Can you tell?" she asked.

Lulabelle squinted.

"These men will be too drunk to notice. Keep the garment on and don't worry about it."

Lulabelle checked in on the other ladies and all was well. Seven rooms, seven whores, seven sources of revenue on top of the juke joint next door. She peeked in on one of the mirrors inside a room and felt satisfied. Her beige dress hugged the curves of her big wide hips and large backside. Her heels made her short body have a little height. She needed a little more powder for her round nose, and the grease pencil she used for her eyes held the dark wings she gave herself.

"Eat your heart out, Joan," she muttered to herself.

She crossed the little wooden bridge that led to the juke joint making sure her crème bow top summer pumps didn't get dirty. Her name was painted in fading blue letters above the entrance. By Christmas she hoped to get a fancy electric sign that sparkled "Lula's". Honey Boy swept the porch entry and she could smell the grease being heated on the kitchen stove inside by Eva. There'd be fried chicken, black-eyed peas, collards with ham hocks, and plenty of buttermilk cornbread to sell with the ice cold Jax beer and corn liquor.

Her eyes scanned the lowering sun over the canopy of Tupelo trees. A loud shriek startled her and made Honey Boy stop sweeping.

"What was that?" Honey Boy asked.

His pressed hair was slicked back, and his copper brown skin was moist with sweat from the oppressive heat.

Lulabelle clutched at her chest. The sound came from deep in the woods. The darkness there shrouded any mysteries that lived within it.

"Sounded like something caught," she said.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

A memory.

Being a young teen girl with...

No. Don't think of her. That was the past.

Lulabelle pushed down on the terror in her throat and hid her shaking fingers in front of her dress.

"Probably some unlucky racoon ran across Old Man Rickers trap," she said.

"Yeah, you prolly right, Lulabelle. The man been hunting out there this week."

She heard the doubt in his tremulous voice. The lie hung in the air like dark sap on a dying tree between them.

"That sounded like death is on his way," Eva said.

The older plump woman opened the screen door of the juke joint while wiping down a plate.

"Don't say that, Eva. It's just an old coon, or a slow wild pig—"

The shriek pierced the air again.

"Lord have mercy," Eva said.

The older woman cradled the cheap gold-plated crucifix around her neck.

Rifle shots sounded in the distance and Lulabelle jumped, then smiled.

"See? Just some hunters putting some fresh meat down. Let's get ready for tonight, y'all."

Not one of them moved from the porch until Archie started tinkling on the piano keys inside the juke.

Pussy poppin' in the whorehouse, music jumping, bodies swaying, lips sucking down moonshine and dark beer, Lula's juke shook on its foundations. Dollar bills came in hand over fist as Lulabelle strolled around the property checking in with customers and hustling Eva to fry up more chicken plates. She rounded the corner of the makeshift stage shaking her hips to the hot sounds when her eyes slid to the entrance and saw Geechie Erik swagger in. Double-breasted gray suit with shiny silver buttons and matching cufflinks. Steel-blue silk tie, and black and gray woven Oxford shoes had the Geechie man draped. Lulabelle already knew he smelled like a million bucks even though she was standing nowhere near him. Erik took off his black fedora hat. He had kicked up the waves on his close-cropped hair, and his lightly bearded cheeks gave him a pronounced sophistication compared to all the clean-shaven military men taking up most of the space in the joint.

His eyes scanned the wide room and when they fell on her, her heart sang a minuet in his honor just to see those dimples in his cheeks. He strode toward her with long confident strides and when he circled his arm around her waist, she shivered at his touch.

"Lulabelle, Lulabelle. You get prettier every time I see you."

He gave her a wet sloppy kiss on her cheek, and she swooned. His scent was expensive leather, imported cologne, and Murray's hair pomade.

"Lemme get you a drink, Daddy," she purred.

"No, let me get you a drink. Stay right here."

He sauntered over to the big counter and within minutes he brought her back a small glass of whiskey to match his own. They toasted, tossed the liquor back, and he led her to an open table in the low-lit corner as bodies pressed together dancing around them. His thick lips were on her neck before she could gaze into his eyes, and his thicker fingers were already under her dress creeping over a seamed stocking, her garter belt, and the bottom of her girdlette. He inched closer to her core.

"Goodness gracious, you already hot down here," he whispered in her ear.

His finger swiped across Lulabelle's panties bringing her clit to life.

"Oh... there it is... my jewel," he crooned before he slid the garment aside and fingered her slit.

Erik had her sopping wet by the time the band switched tunes. Two of his warm fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, making her pant and writhe on her seat next to him.

"You gon' sweat my hair out already!" she yelped reaching for the back of her neck.

Erik flipped his digits over palm-side up and finger fucked her until a puddle of creamy juices flowed out onto her chair. Once her legs shook and she squirmed uncontrollably, he bolted up from his seat and grabbed her hand. His dick jutted out from his pants and he dragged through the side door that led to the wooden bridge and the loving house.

"Get the fuck out," he told a patron having his dick sucked in the first room they came to.

Tweety Pie was on her knees, her bright red lips puckered around a small light brown penis. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Erik and the rigid length straining against his zipper.

Erik whipped out his switchblade and flicked it open.

"Out!" he barked.

Tweety Pie scrambled from her knees and pulled her customer by his hand with his trousers dragging around his ankles to another room. Erik slammed the door shut on the gawking eyes of the other whores and pushed Lulabelle against a mahogany cabinet that held lingerie.

"Turn around."

The snarl in his voice made her spin and toot her big ass out toward him. He dragged the cool blade up against the bottom of her stockings until it dipped just under the hem of her dress. He yanked her dress up around her chest and the sharp blade skimmed across her black satin-covered ass cheek. With just a little more pressure he could break the skin on her fat rump through the material and make her bleed. Erik jerked the blade and sliced her panties off. She gasped and clutched at the smooth wood of the cabinet for balance. She heard his zipper peel down slowly and felt his hands fumble for a rubber.

"You miss Daddy?"

"Yes!"

He parted her folds before she could catch her breath. The fullness stretching her out made her shout his name and grit her teeth. Pumping into her slowly at first, he teased the hell out of her by pushing in deep, then pulling all the way out so that her pussy lips throbbed needing his dick back inside of her.

"I missed this pussy... so much... taking me so deep!"

His switchblade rested on the middle of her naked spine and tickled her skin purposely.

"Take this dress off!"

He helped her wiggle her arms out of it before unfastening her bra with his hands. Cradling her heavy breasts, he made her cheeks clap as his weapon clattered to the floor. His full concentration was on pleasing her body. Rough wide palms spread her ass cheeks wide as he grunted and pushed down on his thighs to hunch over her.

"Lula, shit... Lula..."

Erik gripped her hips and slammed into her before pulling out and lifting her up. He tossed Lula on the soft lumpy bed, undressed, and plunged back into her. The gold in his mouth glinted above her as he thrust harder and faster knocking the breath out of her body.

Her garter belts bunched up then stretched with her girdlette when he pushed her thighs back.

"Big legged girl... mmmm," he groaned.

He shoved his head down to her folds and sucked on her lower lips before spitting on them and sinking his girth back inside her walls.

"Daddy hittin' that bottom yet?"

"You in there... real deep, Daddy."

"Lemme get deeper..."

Her ankles met her earlobes and the heavy pressure from his dick made her cock-eyed a spilling gibberish from her mouth.

"Oh, Jesus!" she yelped when his fists rested on her sides and he bucked into her, slapping his balls against her ass.

Before he could press his mouth into her swollen pussy again to glisten his face, she clenched up around his dick and squeezed it with rhythmic pulses she had no control over.

"That's a good girl... let that pussy talk to Daddy's dick, Lula."

His eyes watched her contractions yank on his length, and when he finished talking her through her release with high praises and slow wet kisses, he pulled off the rubber and stroked himself against her clit. The silky curls of her pubic hairs were wet with her creamy orgasm and became even wetter when Erik splashed hot cum all over her vulva. His shouts of pleasure filled her with quiet confidence.

"That's it Daddy, cum all over your fat pussy."

He hissed when she said that, and his heated glare encouraged more of his release. A thick rope of semen painted her stomach, and he collapsed on top of her with hard ragged gasps.

"God, I wish I could be in this pussy every day, Lula."

"You could," she said stroking the waves on his hair.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling with her.

"Not with the work I do. I try my best to get here when I can. But shit, baby. If I didn't get this pussy for free, I would pay a fortune for it."

She rolled on her side to look at him, happy that he thought of her like that. His eyes were still on the ceiling, but there was a frown on his face.

"She's in the room, y'know. Up there hiding in the corner."

"Don't say that, Erik. You know it scares me."

"If you did what I told you to do, she'd go away."

"As long as she don't start no foolishness around here, I can live with a ghost."

"Can you? Then how come you're scared?"

"She was my friend. I know she blames me for getting away and not her."

"A good coating of haint blue all around the doors would keep her out..."

"I can't. I can't do that to her. If she's just lingering as a ghost, it makes me feel like she can live a little."

"If you say so."

"Let's not talk about her."

His eyes were still focused on the ceiling, looking at Elizabeth, her childhood friend from so long ago. She couldn't see the dead teenager at all.

"She mad?" Lulabelle asked.

"She loves you. It's why she stays around... floating from room to room... following you."

Lulabelle pulled his chin toward her.

"Don't look. Please."

Erik slipped his tongue in her mouth. A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Lulabelle, sorry to disturb you and your Mister, but I need this room," Tweety Pie squeaked out.

"Give me a minute."

Lulabelle peeled the rubber from Erik's dick and tossed it inside some tissue and chucked it out of the window into a well-placed bucket outside.

"You ruined my panties," she scolded as she jumped up to rinse her privates and stomach in lavender water at a large basin sitting on a maple console table.

She dried her folds and fixed her bra back around her breasts.

"Don't need 'em, I'll be back inside of you soon enough," he said.

Pulling her dress back on, Lulabelle tried to fix her hair and make-up in a mirror.

"You look fine," he said zipping his pants.

Erik picked up his switchblade and opened the door.

Tweety Pie had a new man with her, a handsome young soldier with lust in his eyes.

"Pardon us," Erik said as he guided Lulabelle back to the juke joint.

Lulabelle sat on Erik's lap as he joked with some patrons and slammed back shots of moonshine. She fed him cornbread and pieces of chicken bites with her fingers, and occasionally she would bounce on his hardness that rested against her backside. He tortured her clit with occasional strokes under her dress, but he wouldn't let her cum. That would happen later when he was ready to plunder her pussy once more. Tradition held that he would fuck her at least four more times before he disappeared until the next new moon in the future. She sat on that hard meat all hot and bothered knowing he was going to be cruel by plucking at her bud and sticking his tongue in her ear all night. She watched him dance with a few women and flirt while she checked on her women out back and collected her money, stuffing it in her bra.

Erik was a little too handsy with a couple of fancy ladies and she had to check him. He'd become contentious then, argued with her until she argued him down threatening to cut his balls off if he cheated on her. If she pushed him, just a little too hard, his neck would move in a hostile way that put her in her place and made her drip down her thighs. He liked her mouthy and jealous, but not too jealous if he caught her rubbing her ass against some other patron to provoke him. He'd spank her hard and tell her about herself until she stopped being bratty and soothed his ego. That was his way every time he came to the juke. Arrogant. Loud. Threatening other men who got too close to her, then all seductive when he needed her loving once more.

When no one was looking, Erik unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and slid her on top of it raw at their private table. Her dress covered the action, and he lifted her up and down.

"You bet not cum," he ordered with harsh breath.

"I won't, I promise," she insisted with clenched teeth.

She was snug on his dick, and the friction was too much to bear. She clutched onto his knees and leaned forward, dropping her weight on his thighs. The rhythm was perfect until a slender man as tall as a Tupelo crept over to their table and sat down. He didn't seem concerned that he was witnessing a woman getting fucked within an inch of her life in the midst of her own rowdy and lascivious establishment.

The man's face was long, and he had long teeth... and long fingers... and long legs... and a long tongue that lolled around in his mouth. He had skin the color of a soft sunset and one big eye in the center of his face. The music and dancing slowed all around her, and all she could see and hear was the long man with his long deep breaths.

"Lulabelle... Lulabelle..." the slender man said, and the voice that spoke her namesake was not pleasant and inviting like Erik's. It was sinister. Conniving. Filthy to her ears.

Erik thrust up into her walls, and she gasped. The slender man smiled with his long teeth, and his one big black eye blinked and Lulabelle fell forward and down into a vortex of hideous darkness until she landed on soft grass in front of the crossroads that led into the dark woods near her juke joint.

"Lulabelle, hurry up! If we don't go now, we'll chicken out!"

Elizabeth ran ahead of her. Dear sweet Elizabeth, eighteen and glowing with a gorgeous figure and good hair, and the good sense to know that Itta Bena was to be left behind. They were going to New York to become showgirls in Harlem, leaving all that country backwoods shit living behind. No sharecropping or cleaning after white folks for them. They were young. Beautiful. Full of life and ready to see the world. That meant crossing through the woods at the old dusty crossroad just as the sun was setting. The last train outta town was due in an hour. Going through the woods was the fastest route to a new life.

But then the slender man came. The Plat Eye. The Haint that haunted the trees and lingered in the darkness deep inside the woods.

Lulabelle, full of eighteen-year-old spunk, dropped her heavy suitcase and pulled Elizabeth back with a hard tug on her arm.

"Dontcha see him, girl?" Lulabelle shouted.

"Oh, he's just another traveler headed outta here too, pick up your suitcase-"

"It's the Plat Eye. You don't see its face. The one eye? The long teeth?"

"You so silly girl! Look at him... just a man tryna run like us."

"No!"

Elizabeth dropped her suitcase and stood with arms all akimbo.

"If you don't wanna go, then say that, Lulabelle."

"You don't see that monster right there?!" she shrieked, and it startled Elizabeth.

The Plat Eye smirked.

"Fine, stay here then you big baby. Hey, Mister, wait up!"

"Elizabeth!"

An arm grabbed Lulabelle's elbow stopping her from running after her friend.

"Don't move, gal."

The voice didn't have Mississippi in it. It was low country and slower than cold molasses. South Carolina lived in it.

"She done made her choice and if you move one inch, I can't protect you."

Lulabelle didn't turn to look at the stranger. His words were wise, and she did as she was told.

"Elizabeth! Come back!"

"It's too late, Lulabelle."

"How you know my name?"

"I've seen you 'round here before with your friend."

She tried to turn around, but firm hands held her shoulders in place.

"Don't hurt me, Mister."

"Nah, I wouldn't do nothin' like that."

The Plat Eye grew taller almost reaching the height of the nearest tree.

"She can't see what it is?"

"She see what she wanna see."

The thing that was as tall as a Tupelo bent down and opened its tall mouth and Elizabeth stepped into the dark maw...

Lulabelle gasped and her thighs sensed the strong muscles of Erik's legs holding her up once more. He fucked her still, hitting her walls harder. His hands gripped her breasts as he grunted and rolled her nipples with agile fingers. The slender man of her past smiled, his greasy lips splitting wide as he was long. That single eye a tainted monstrosity to behold on its face.

The juke joint partied on, and men filed out through the side door to pay their money for an extra good time with her girls. The Plat Eye reached out for Lulabelle's arm and Erik slammed his switchblade down on the table.

"Nah, haint. This one here belongs to me."

The Plat Eye blinked that Cyclops eye in shock and its mouth fell open.

"Should've known you'd be around here," The Plat Eye grumbled sitting back in his chair.

A clammy wetness dampened Lulabelle's neck. Memory boomeranged back into her chest. The low country voice. The strong hands that held her waist so that he could rut into her pussy.

Lulabelle turned her head and the glint from Erik's gold teeth became a glowing source of ethereal light. The full lips and bright white teeth still looked human but the reverb of hidden power sat under the guttural rasp of his voice.

The man from the Crossroads.

The one who stopped her from entering the throat of the Plat Eye and turning into a floating haint that lived in the ceiling like Elizabeth.

The Geechee Man.

"Ya don't play fair," The Plat Eye grumbled again.

"And?" Erik said.

Erik's firm hands skated up her sides and rested on her shoulders. Lulabelle's pussy squelched on his dick all rude and loud. Plat Eye licked his fleshy lips.

"This here the one I wanted. Not that other one—"

Lulabelle snatched up Erik's switchblade and jumped up from his lap. Her pussy throbbed from being removed from his erection. She held the open switchblade against his throat. Why couldn't anyone else in her juke joint see or hear what was happening?

She knew the stories. All kinds of frightening things could be met at a crossroads. And if the Crossroads Man himself showed up—

"Put that down, Lula. It's not a toy to be played with," Erik said zipping up his pants.

The Plat Eye leaned forward and shot his arm out to grab her, but Erik was quicker. He snatched the switchblade back faster from her grip than she could blink, and he slashed the creature's arm. Black festering ooze seeped from the wound and sizzled as it splashed on the table burning holes through the wood.

"Give her to me," the Plat Eye demanded.

Erik stood up and straightened his tie.

"Nigga you ain't getting shit but an ass kicking if you keep playing with me. I told you already. This one is mine. Get on about yourself before I send you on your way to a very bad place."

"There are rules!"

The Plat Eye leapt to his feet and towered over Erik. Not by much though.

"I make the rules," Erik said.

An arrogant chuckle tumbled out of the Plat Eye's mouth. He gripped the lapels of his suit and blinked that one beastly eye. His open wound continued to drip ruining her good table.

"My man," The Plat Eye said and held up his long fingers to placate Erik.

The creature slid out from the juke joint with no one the wiser. Erik turned to face her and Lulabelle jumped away from him.

"Stay back!"

"Lula... c'mon, baby. I've been coming to you ever since you opened this place. Have I ever harmed you once?"

"No."

"I just give you good lovin' when I can."

"That's why you can't be with me all the time?"

He nodded.

"I guard the way, and I open it up. Everywhere."

Lulabelle ran to the bar and made Eva pour her the biggest glass of moonshine possible. She gulped it down. Erik sauntered over to her.

"Don't be scared of me, Lula."

"What are you... really?"

"Your man."

"You ain't no man."

"I'm no demon if that's what you're worried about."

"God forbid if I'd been fucking the devil."

"I'm no devil, girl. Far from it."

He stroked her face.

"Let's go to the back. I need you... right now."

His voice made her insides tingle. This was their time. But how could she go back and make love to... to a what? Spirit? Guardian angel? Supernatural being?

He never did hurt her. And never once did she suspect that he wasn't anything other than a switchblade carrying Geechie that made her backbone slip.

"Are there others?" she asked, "Others like you around here?"

"Always. But you don't have to worry about nothin'. You got me. No one fucks with me.'

"How come you didn't save Elizabeth?"

"She didn't want to be saved."

"But I loved her. She was my best friend. Why would she leave me?"

"She's still here. She'll never leave until you chase her on."

"Is she happy?"

"Like I told you, she loves you. If you're happy, she's happy."

"God won't punish me for being with you, will he?"

"She won't. I promise."

"What about me selling pussy and a little dick?"

"Not even on her mind."

Lulabelle smiled.

Erik slinked over to her and rubbed his big body against hers and nudged his bearded face against her soft cheek.

"How many women have you seduced over the years?"

"You my favorite."

"That didn't answer my question.," she said putting a hand on her hip.

"You wanna argue or get some more dick, gal?"

Lulabelle checked the room. Her patrons were happy and not having a care in the world. Eva cooked more food, Honey Boy kept the girls refreshed in their loving rooms, and the Harvest moon spilled in through the window behind the juke band.

Moonlight bathed Erik's face and he slid his hand under her dress again.

"Daddy needs to take care of you... oh see now, my sweet jewel is all plump again."

He removed his hand and licked his fingers sticky with her essence. She rubbed on his crotch and he gifted her with a hard bulge. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling.

"Elizabeth wants you to get all this," he said grinding against her.

"Can you tell her that I miss her? That I love her?"

"She already knows."

Erik lifted her up and carried her across the rickety bridge and back to the soft lumpy bed.

That's their story, and I ain't tellin' it twice. Lula and her Geechee Man played nice for a long, long time. I keep watch and makes sure that stays true. Until we meet again on the next new moon...

Part 2 "There's Some Whores in This House" HERE.

A.N:

This was a birthday story I wrote for @soufcakmistress back in 2021.

[imreadydollparts]

Q&A stuff here

(If you have any other questions, let me know.)

How dirty of a doll or pony can I send?

Inside and out, these are both fine to come to the salon.

I may decline a pony or doll if they're dirtied with bodily fluids of any kind. I will be more than happy to talk you through the cleaning process so you can take care of that yourself.

However, if you are distraught and can't handle it, we can talk. I absolutely need a warning.

What happens if you damage a pony/doll someone sent?

I fix it.

For example, I got some 40Vol on a customer's Confetti's yellow hair and it bleached out the yellow color. I told the customer what had happened and did a partial rehair with vintage hair of the same color from my MLP G1 tail stash. That way the owner is informed and the pony is still full vintage.

Another example is that I was resetting the pose on a Flutterbye, and her feet turned white where they'd sat in a little boiling hot water (I didn't take a picture). I blasted them with a heat gun for a while and they're good as new.

And another was a Birthday Pony who's ribbons had been tied in knots and were weak. I snapped one when I went to recurl it, informed the owner, and they were amenable to replacement of all of the ribbons.

Repair is often risky. If I do damage that I can't fix, I will pay the going price for one of the same quality on eBay or order it for you and give it the salon process for free.

What hair do you use?

I use high-grade, silky smooth nylon mostly ordered from Shimmer Locks for full rehairs.

For partial rehairs like replacing a few plugs here and there or a forelock that was cut, I use vintage hair as long as I have it available in my stash of tails or can harvest enough from the pony's own tail without making the tail too thin. I do offer full tail replacements if I happen to have a replacement tail.

Can I request a hair style?

Absolutely! I can't guarantee that I'll be able to do the style you're wanting, but I'll certainly try. I can attempt a few different kinds of curls and have both a standard size and mini crimper.

You can also let me know if you want every pony's mane to be on the same side of their head. I'm not very consistent with that otherwise.

Why do you charge so much more for deflocking?

I hate doing it.

What paints do you use?

Right now I'm using Army Painter acrylic paints. I was using Liquitex before and found it difficult to get just the right consistency, whereas Army Painter has been easier for me to manipulate.

Why is your hair styling/photography/etc. so inconsistent?

I am not a professional anything and have a poor memory.

My photography is also inconsistent because I use my phone and every time I take my phone on or off of the cheap ringlight-phone-tripod the tripod moves.

The way I style a certain pony's hair will change between ponies because I don't remember how I styled it before and if I've had to flat iron it, I may not remember that it had been curly.

One of the great things about this being a hobby as opposed to a business is that I don't have to spend a lot of time on the parts that aren't fun (for me photography isn't fun), and don't have to be consistent. I just have to enjoy what I'm doing. If I can help out other people and get a little money so that I can keep doing what I do enjoy, that's a bonus.

Do you always ---

deflock So Soft Ponies?

No. I only do that when asked because I hate doing it. I will also deflock a pony I bought to clean and sell if the flocking is bad enough, but if the flocking is decent I don't ruin it.

straighten doll/pony hair?

No. I will do my best to preserve factory curl if it's present and the hair is in good enough condition it doesn't need flat ironed, but can't guarantee I will succeed...

How aggressively I treat hair depends entirely on the hair itself.

[kindaasrikal]

Cole headcanons, because apparently when I’m bored I think about Cole (and Morro, and Cryptor, surprisingly enough):

Cole is annoyingly acrobatic. In fact, when they first started doing their ninja stuff he was the most flexible and acrobatic, when it would make more sense if it was Jay or Kai due to their builds or elements. Not once did he ever share the reason as to why being Lou putting him into ballet, gymnastics, and having him train at home to peak flexibility because Lily was the one who did it before, so Lou was not gonna stop until Cole reaches Lily’s expectations. (Lily used to do the splits easily in front of Cole and Cole was determined to do that too, no one could stop the force that was baby Cole. As much as Lou started the idea, he wanted to stop because he kept thinking it was too much. It was Cole staring him dead in the eyes and saying ‘Mama wants me to’ that pushed him to continue. The dance stuff was all him though). He actually helped Jay train into being more flexible pre-pilots and later helped Nya do the same.

Cole understood Lloyd’s desire for sweets a bit too much, and instead of pushing it down and making Lloyd learn control, he encouraged it and now Wu had too deal with two sugar rushed ninja.

Cole used to argue with Kai all the time when they first began training together, until one day he had had enough. When Kai huffed and walked away after a particularly heated argument where not even Nya could get Kai to calm down and Zane and Jay couldn’t pull the two apart, Cole stomped up behind the shorter male, picked him up, and teddy bear hugged him until Kai apologised. It’s Cole’s version of when older siblings keep you head locked until you apologise. Kai was an embarrassed mess because Cole wouldn’t stop complimenting him and sharing his point of view like a healthy adult whilst he was still huffing. He didn’t argue with Cole for the next week and agreed each time the other told him to do something. Nya couldn’t stop laughing each time Jay and Zane mimicked the moment. The only reason Cole did that was because he remembered a big argument between his mum and dad when he was younger, and when it got heated from his dads side, his mum just picked Lou up and held him until he calmed down and she was able to think with a clearer mind.

Cole absolutely LOVES throwing dirt at people, and when they found out Nya’s element, he was able to convince her into helping him make mud to throw at people. They had to run when Zane had enough and froze the mud to chase them with it.

Cole likes to pop out of the ground at random times. Lloyd had to quickly learn to watch where he stepped, less his foot connects to Cole’s face again.

Cole actually planned to sell fake ‘special, one of a kind rocks!’ During that one time they were poor as dirt. It would’ve worked amazingly well too, seeing as everyone knew he was the earth ninja. Despite Wu not being there to tell him off, Kai had fun smacking Cole over the head for that idea.

Cole is probably the only ninja completely willing to commit crimes, especially fraud and theft.

Similarly to how Jay had to teach Zane how to live a tad more normally and how to understand society, Cole had to do the same with Kai and Nya. Wu could not be trusted because everyone realised he was just a tad of a recluse.

You know how Nya stepped onto that soulmate machine thing and it said Cole was her perfect match? Well, after Cole threw away his weird need to prove it right (lowkey think he was just matching the energy Jay had given and got petty) he called his dad up and explained it all and how they somewhat worked it out but it was still weird with Nya, and Lou lowkey just laughed at him, and reminded Cole of all those fairytale book’s he used to read and how they tended to explore the topics of found family and friends. Cole didn’t understand, but Lou explained that soulmates aren’t just the people you love romantically, but the people you love platonically. Cole and Nya sat down together just an hour later and Cole had to share this epiphany to the person he considered a sister, and understood him just like he understood her.

Cole is usually dragged into helping Pixal in her personal projects due to his strength, but he knows she also enjoys his company.

Cole and Vania share late night texts about their lives after not talking for weeks and they talk for HOURSSS just sharing everything they’ve been through recently.

Cole struggled to learn how to swim. Mainly because his element enjoyed making him more sinkable rather than floatable.

Cole went through the phase of having decently tight curls as a child, to loose and flowy hair, to extremely tight curls. He likes having a new hair style every week, from wavy hair and ponytails, to dreads and puffs.

He wears hoodies in the hottest of heats just to prove to Kai that he can. (He can’t its all sweaty by the end of the day)

If Morro stuck around Cole would absolutely force him into living and healing. Ghost duo my beloveds 🫶

Yes these are head canons leave me alone ajdghdhd

Cole the man that you are.

Edit: guys why is it telling me this is a mature post i swear its just cole being a lil loser

I FIXED IT NVM

[sirfrogsworth]

Adventures in Cooling

The 5-star rated HVAC repair service I used kind of depressed me.

It was almost... too good?

Like, they offer 24/7 service. They have a text message system that lets you know when the tech is coming. Every tech has their own custom van that serves as a giant advertisement. The entire process is documented with a tablet computer. Every serial number and model number must be photographed. He has to follow a diagnostic checklist. And an upsell checklist. And a repair checklist. He had so many checklists that at one point he pulled a card out of his wallet to make sure he didn't forget one of the steps. He had a poorly memorized speech for every upsell. You could tell he didn't have "his" tools, but the company's tools that he borrowed.

None of this was "bad" as far as a workflow. The service was flawless and nothing was forgotten. But you could tell that every detail was micromanaged and if the tech didn't follow the procedures to the letter, he would probably get some kind of demerit.

I felt sorry for my tech. He was in his 60s and clearly had a severe chronic knee injury. He walked slower than I do. He was quite monosyllabic and difficult to make conversation with. Not unpleasant, just not great at communicating.

At one point I asked him if I was a good candidate for a heat pump and he was like, "Everyone is."

End of advice.

Oh, and the uniform.

The uniform was very silly.

Every square inch of his shirt was meant to assure people they have a qualified technician. The one sleeve listed his certifications from some Alphabet Association that certifies such things. And then the other sleeve made sure to let me know my technician was drug tested and background checked.

The entire visit I kept trying to imagine how being stoned might negatively affect HVAC repair. I mean, if he was on a little cocaine perhaps we could have wrapped things up 30 minutes sooner. Marijuana might have helped him communicate. Opioids could make his knee feel better. I don't think shrooms would have been a good idea. If he hallucinated an angry fan monster in my A/C unit that could have been really awkward.

He was a terrible salesman—but for some reason, I fell for every upsell. Actually, I sold all of the upsells to myself in my head. I got a new filter and had him install it because I worried I would forget or I would install it improperly (not really possible, you just stick it in). But for the price I paid I could have bought 6 years worth of filters.

I just wanted everything sorted. I am so stressed and do not have the bandwidth to deal with A/C troubles. So I just said "yes" to everything. But the price kept inflating as we went along and every time it inflated he required a signature on his tablet.

This repair business had been corporatized to death and it made me miss all of my dad's friends from the old days who he would ask for favors. He always "knew a guy." He would trade car repairs for discounts on things we needed around the house. And they all worked for themselves and had their own tools and their own shitty truck and they all said, "There's your problem!" with the same masculine affect.

Their uniform was a flannel shirt and jeans and I bet some of them were high as fuck.

And this elderly gentlemen with the bum knee kept checking his checklist to make sure he checked every check because he feared managerial discipline.

He got to the sales pitch for the fluorescent dye. He was like, "Do you want this? You don't have to buy it." And I started selling it to myself in my head despite his assurance it wasn't really necessary. I worried if I had a big leak and I don't discover it until the middle of July, I would regret saying no in this moment. But then I realized he hated the dye injection process. And his poor salesmanship was mostly him not wanting his hands to be fucking radioactive yellow for the rest of the day. He tried wearing gloves to avoid it, but he still ended up with yellow hands and grumbled, "I really hate this stuff." Which was one of the few unrehearsed things he said to me the entire time.

Once the checklist was complete and the house was already starting to cool, he had one final sales pitch for me. He asked that I give his company a 5-star review and to make sure I mention his name. He told me that in July all of the techs with the most 5-star reviews will have their names put in a hat. And "the boss" will give one lucky employee a free vacation.

This vacation thing sounded like such a manipulation. And I'm sure "the boss" has instructed his techs to tell this tale of the free vacation so customers will be like, "Well, shit. I don't want this poor old guy with the shitty knee to miss out on that."

And it was then I realized just how this company got so many 5-star reviews.

Diabolical.

But the good news... my house is cold as heck.

And I keep shivering because I can't figure out the perfect setting on my thermostat. I guess I was used to the inefficiency and I will have to recalibrate.

[pasaatimonarkin]

No crying in the Burlesque club I part 2

Han Jisung x reader ft OT8 Stray kids

Mafia!au

Warnings: cursing, guns, mentions of blood, sexual language

Word count: 4,2k

Part 1 I part 3

A week had gone by at the Stray's house. You got to know their 'gang' name from Han, who pretty much has told you everything you know. He also told that they were sort of a mafia group, but they didn’t really care in what spectrum you put them. They were a group that did illegal stuff is how you would put it.

“Okay for starters our biggest income comes from gun sales. We buy them cheap, check and revamp them if needed and then sell them for a good price. We have partner groups and other clients who we sell, but never to our enemies. Then our second income comes from the races. Me, Changbin and Seungmin race while others take care of the betting and car fixing.” Han explained as he sat on the end of your bed opposite to you. You had been asking him about their group nonstop for two days, but he was too busy with the races and other things. Now you had been able to force him to sit and tell you everything.

“You don’t sound like a typical mafia group. Don’t they usually sell drugs and kill people?”

“You didn’t let me finish”

“Oh”

“Drugs? No. Killing? Yes, but not for fun. We take jobs from rich people who want their rivals or enemies dead. We have only one rule to that, no kids or women.” Han said running his hair through his hair.

“So, you’re like hitmen?”

“You could call it that. Me, Hyunjin and Felix do it mostly because we are the best shooters”

You thought about his words. Your half-brother had become the leader of a mafia group that killed people for money. The racing didn’t sound bad even the gun selling wasn’t at the top but killing people for money made you realize that they were a real criminal group. You couldn’t believe how Chan and these other men got sucked into this kind of life.

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Living like this. You seem to be part of everything you guys do and isn’t it dangerous?”

“Don’t you worry about me Buttercup. You aren’t going to lose me” he winked and smiled. You rolled your eyes at him but felt your cheeks heating up a little. You knew he was just teasing you.

You hadn't been able to talk with Chan, he's always too busy or out doing business. You would guess that he is avoiding you. You met all the members as Han had a great idea to play some ‘let's get to know each other’ game. No one else was as excited as him, maybe Jeongin was close to his reaction. Others, including you, felt like back in the kindergarten. But you must admit that you did get to know the others a little bit better.

Chan, like you already knew, is the boss. You didn't get much information about him from others, they said he is a quite closed person and keeps things to himself. Which sounds nothing like Christopher, or Chan, whatever. But he was a good leader, always making sure the members were alright and never involved them to anything they didn’t approve.

Changbin, who drove you into their house, is their best driver. Strays compete in races every Friday and Tuesday, and Changbin is always at the top of them. He's a tough looking guy and muscular. He doesn’t show much emotion. He found the group in one of the races.

Lee know is the doctor, as you guessed. He is licensed and got into the team after he was caught stealing medical equipment and helping poor people for free. A man with a golden heart. His license wasn't provoked, but he chose not to go back as he would be always observed. He was asked to join by Chan. They met in a bar one night and talked, Chan knew he needed a doctor to patch up his men and Lee Know accepted his request.

Seungmin, who you also had already met, was their brains - the hacker genius that every mafia group needed. He seemed sweet and shy to you, but you haven't seen him in his work mode yet. He, like Changbin, found the group from the races.

Hyunjin is the team’s joker, although you thought it would be Han. But you learned that it meant that he was good at tricking people, usually used as a bait in missions. He joined the group together with Han and to you it made sense, they were both as chaotic.

Felix is their best fighter. Since he doesn't race, he trains for fights and in missions works like bodyguard to others. He sounds like on too, if growled at you before attacking, you would have a dump in your pants.

Jeongin is the youngest and the sneakiest. He usually works along with Hyunjin. Together they can trick and steal things easily, without the target noticing anything. He also masters lockpicking and can get trough almost any lock that comes his way.

And then we get to Han, Han Jisung. He really is...something. He had been keeping you company the most and helping with the stairs, though you had been staying in the guest room most of the time. He was the team’s best shooter and gun man. He didn't miss his targets and knew his guns better than his own pockets. 

"Alright wasn't this fun, now y/n knows us like the back of his pockets" Han said while slamming Felix’s and Changbin's thighs who were sitting on both of his sides.

"Shouldn't y/n then also tell about herself?" Jeongin asked and pointed at you. 

"Oh yeah, start singing darling" Han grinned at you and looked at you like you were going to tell him the most intense story ever. You glanced angrily at Han, he kept finding new nicknames to call you. He said he was sounding out which fitted you the most. 

"Well, I don't really have anything big to say about myself. I'm 22 years old and a Burlesque dancer" you said and shrugged. 

"Tell us about Chan" Felix asked. Of course, they didn't care about what you did they wanted to know about Chan. Someone whose past you knew the best. 

Christopher, or let’s just stick with Chan, and you had a same mom but different fathers. Chan was born in 1997, but your mother broke up with the man two years later. You didn't know much about the dad as Chan stayed with your mother and sometimes visited his father. Your mom met your dad in 2001, and you were born in 2002. Chan was happy to get a little sister. He played with you often, made sure you were always okay and protected you. But as you turned 6 and he was 11, he left to his father without proper goodbye, and you were heartbroken. Your mother never talked about him after that and told you to forget him. You never got the explanation on what happened.

The men looked at you like they knew the reason he left but you didn’t ask. You wanted Chan to tell it himself.

It was a Thursday evening. You were sitting in the kitchen of the Stray’s house, eating leftover pizza from yesterday. You had accepted the fact that you had to stay for now. Hyunjin had been able to question one of the red dragon’s members and found out that they were not interested in knowing who you were and didn’t know your relation to Chan – Obviously they could be lying but you were going to use that information when arguing with Chan about you leaving the house.

“You are still daring to eat that?” You heard Han asking and turned to see him walking to the table, taking a seat across you. He was wearing black jeans and a grey t-shirt that you remember wearing on a couple days ago. You hadn’t yet been able to visit your apartment to get clothes which is why you had mostly been using Han’s sweatpants and t-shirts.

“There was nothing else in the fridge. Gotta eat something” you muttered mouth full of pizza, looking at the plate.

“We could go buy something better to eat. I’m hungry and stale pizza doesn’t sound appetizing”.

“I’m not allowed to go out, remember?”

“Who told you that? You can out if it’s with someone of us with you- Oh, Chan didn’t tell you” Han let out a small laugh as you rased you gaze at him, eyes widening. “So I could have gone to get my stuff and not wear your clothes all this time??” you almost shouted annoyed.

“I think you look good in my clothes” Han smiled cheekily, not caring about your angry reaction. You didn’t acknowledge his remark and just brushed it off. Before you could start to shout at him again, your phone rang. Picking it from the pocket of your – or Han’s – sweatpants you saw ‘Boss’ calling. He had asked you earlier via text message if you were okay after the bombing and told you he would contact you later relating to work.

“Hi” you answered the phone. Han raised his eyebrow, wondering who was calling you.

“Hey, y/n. Good news, I bought a new club and we are opening this Saturday. Are you able to come to work?”

You looked down at your leg that had a cast on. “Well, I am still able to sing so why not”

“Perfect. I can make the schedule, so Cherry and Lucky have the harder performances. Come here on Saturday at 5pm”

“Alright…bye” you hung up and put your phone on the table and looked at Han. He still had his brow lifted.

“That was my boss. I’m going back to work on Saturday” you exclaimed cheerfully. You hated the fact that you couldn’t dance yet but at least you could still sing and perform that way.

“Oh, but don’t you think that would be risky? Someone’s seemingly pissed about your boss.” Han said with a more serious tone.

“Well yeah…but-“

“No buts, you are not going” you were interrupted by a familiar voice. Simultaneously you and Han turned your heads to see Chan standing at the kitchen’s door. His arms were crossed on his chest, and he looked mad. It’s like being mad was his signature face, at least when talking to you.

“And who are you to tell me that?” you snapped back, annoyed that he thought that just because he was your half brother and a boss to some mafia group, he could be telling you what to do. Chan walked closer to you, towering over you to look more intimidating. You kept your eyes on him, trying to look more tough to show him that he couldn’t just tell you what to do.

“It doesn’t matter, but for your own safety you are not going, and you are staying in here”

You were pissed. You had been safe for the four years living there and the whole-time dancing in that same Burlesque club. Just because you, the attackers and his men happened to be there at the same time didn’t mean you were in any more danger than before.

“I’m an adult I do what I want. I don’t need you to babysit me. I am okay to stay here for a while for you, but I am not okay with you affecting in my life any more than that!” You stood up and practically screamed in his face. You were breathing heavily, hands in fists and looking at Chan right in his eyes. You knew you didn’t look threatening like you wanted.

He looked at you back but didn’t say anything. Before he could argue back, Han stood up next to you. “What if I go with her?” he asked calmly, looking at Chan whose eyes shifted to him.

“Fine” Chan answered after being silent for a while and just walked away without saying another word. I just can’t get into that man’s head. You sighed and tried to relax your body, opening your hands and turned to look at Han. “Thank you. But you don’t really need to go with me”

Han looked at you back and smiled “It’s no trouble, really. At least I get to see you in sexy clothes again” he winked and started to walk away from the kitchen. If that is your way of flirting, it is not working you thought.

“Come on, let’s go get food. We can also get you your own clothes since mine aren’t good enough for you!” he yelled theatrically like he was hurt about you wanting to dress in your own clothes. You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. You had been rolling your eyes at him so many times you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyes one day just rolled out of their sockets. Han was a clown who always acted dramatic, flirty or both together.

Han helped you to pack and carry a suitcase full of your clothes, makeup and some hygiene stuff. You also got yourself burgers on the way back. It was nice sitting with him in the car and listening to music. You didn’t talk much but Han kept sure that there was no silent moment. Either he sang with along with the music or talked about different guns, what their range was, and which model was suitable in different situations. Once you got back, you went straight to your assigned room, unpacked your stuff and fell asleep.

Saturday came fast and you were getting ready to leave for work. Yesterday you had been at the house with Felix as the others were at the races the whole day. Felix stayed to watch the premises and probably to babysit you. But you didn’t mind, you had company. Felix was shy but you two got along just well. He found a wheelchair and rolled you around the house after you complained about having to hop your way everywhere. He showed you the garage where they all had their own cars and motorcycles. You recognized Seungmin’s black Mercedes, Changbins white/blue motorcycle and Han’s black Ferrari which you guys used to get your stuff.

On the 2nd floor were everyone else’s rooms except for Han, Chan and Changbin’s whose rooms were on the 1st floor. The 3rd floor had a gun storage and two training rooms: for fighting and shooting. Felix also showed the backyard that had a pool, outdoor gym and another smaller building where they handled the guns before selling them. Behind the building was a forest that also belonged to the place, behind it would be an electric gate which surrounded the whole yard. There were security cameras everywhere just in case.

You were amazed about the outdoors and spent the day sunbathing next to the pool. Felix sat inside watching a movie in their living room kind of space. Huge glass door, obviously bulletproof, separated you two so he could still see you.

This morning you had been thinking about the attack at the club last week and you had to admit that going back made you little nervous. Even though you knew it wasn’t the same building that you were going into. It kind of felt nice to know that you weren’t going alone. But let’s not admit that to Chan.

“You ready, pumpkin?” Han announced himself as he walked to your bathroom and leaned on the doorway. You were just touching up your mascara and looked at Han through the mirror. “Pumpkin, really?” you asked and put your mascara away into your purse, then turning to face Han.

He looked you from head to toe, admiring your outfit. You kept your performing outfits at home and took a few to the house and today you decided to wear a short bloodred dress, It had loose straps that fell gracefully off your shoulders and a corset, making your waist more delicate looking. Your hair was on a messy bun, sadly you couldn’t put heels on as you would’ve had the perfect heels for this outfit.

“You’re right, pumpkin doesn’t fit. How about smoking hot?” Han flirted and finally looked you in the eyes.

“When will you ever stop flirting with me like that?” you said pretending to be annoyed and pushed him out of the way and walked to your bed. You had picked out big, red diamond rings to match the outfit.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it”

You smiled as you knew Han wouldn’t see. You did like that he called you sexy, hot, beautiful, pretty, sweetheart, cutie pie and another bunch of names. He knew how to make a girl like him. But again, we don’t need the other part to know.

“You wish. Just don’t drop me on the stairs in case I’m too hot for your arms”

Han smiled cheekily, he liked when you flirted back and was not afraid to show it.

You had learned to go up and down the stairs on your own without a problem, but now you had a corset on which prevented you from bending down and Han once again had to carry you down. He did it effortlessly and kept his modesty. He might flirt with you all the time but never touched, like a gentleman he is.

After the stairs you had no problem going with the walking sticks. “Good luck! Don’t fall from anywhere this time!” Seungmin shouted from the living room as you went past it. “Thanks, I won’t!” you shouted back and followed Han to the garage.

He opened the door for you and took your walking sticks, placing them to the back seat. He then walked to the driver’s side next to you. As he started the car, he had to let it growl a bit before moving, such a showoff.

You looked outside the window as you left the house, looking at the forest around it. Without noticing you started to bite your lower lip, a habit of yours when you were nervous. The moments of last week played in your head, especially the pain when the cage crushed your leg. Lee know had given you good painkillers so the pain in your legs was mostly unnoticeable. Han sensed your tension as he looked over to you.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m there if anything happens.” he said looking forwards. He didn’t usually talk to anyone that softly and quickly cleaned his throat before continuing. “I mean, I would lose my head otherwise”.

You looked at him, but Han didn’t look back. You felt that he also tensed up, which made you think whether he really was coming with you because of Chan and not because of you. “Thanks” you mumbled and continued staring at the window. Han wanted to change what he just said or at least say something assuring he was coming because of you but couldn’t open his mouth. You two spent the rest of the ride silent, fortunately the car ride wasn’t long.

You had gotten the club’s new address yesterday and Han knew where to go. He parked next to the entrance, and you looked outside of your new workplace. It was located in a busy street but not that close to the city center as the former one. It was a two-story building with the name ‘Marionette’ in big light blocks at the top. The club looked much better now as the outside had been painted black and had lights surrounding the walls. The former club was older, and more ram shackled from the outside.

Han opened the door for you and you climbed out of the car, taking the walking sticks from him and started hopping inside. Now you didn’t need to walk long stairs to get to where the stage was. It was all right in front of you. The stage was in your left, audience and bar on your right. There were big, dark red curtains covering the walls, with light strings falling down from the ceiling. A big chandelier had been placed in the middle and smaller lights around it made it look like a night sky with a huge moon. There were sitting booths in both sides of the audience. It looked amazing.

Han stood behind you, also looking around wondering where your boss got the money to buy this place. Considering the amount of debt he had on Red dragons. He felt that something was off but that thought brushed off quickly as one of the other Burlesque dancers ran to you.

“Y/n! Gosh how are you! I heard what happened, you got lucky by not getting shot by those men!" Cherry screamed and ran to hug you. You hugged her back with your right arm. “Hey, Cherry. Yeah, thankfully I got out” you said without air as Cherry squeezed all of it out of your lungs.

She pulled out and smiled at you, keeping her hands on your shoulders. Her eyes quickly shifted to Han behind you. “And who is this godly good looking guy with you, boyfriend?” she said more like stating that asking, passing her hand to Han like a royal person. Han grinned and grabbed her hand and gently placing a kiss on the back of her hand. “Not quite” he answered.

You bit your lip again. Why did that annoy you? He is not my boyfriend you do not get to be jealous of things like there.

Cherry giggled and turned to you. “Wow he is such a charmer” she exclaimed and walked away. You smiled in response, but your smile turned into a flat line after she turned away from you.

“You can wait the bar. See you later” you mumbled and started hopping to where Cherry went as she probably went to the dressing room. You didn’t take another look at Han, though you didn’t know why you even got mad at the first place. Maybe it was just the small anxiety that was building up inside you, knowing that in an hour you would be on stage again.

Lucky wasn’t at work today so just you and Cherry sat in the dressing room on your named spots. She brushed her pink, shoulder length wig before placing it on her head. “So that guy, Han was it? You guys really aren’t together?” she asked, looking at you through the mirror. You shook your head “Nope. He’s just a friend” you said and re applied your red lipstick.

“Mhm” she hummed. “Mind if I go talk to him while you perform?”

“Not at all” Though you did mind. Again, not knowing why. For gods’ sake you had known the man for a week, you couldn’t possibly have any feelings towards him.

She walked over to you, placing her hands on your shoulder, head on top of yours and watched you from the mirror. “How are you feeling about performing tonight?”

You felt like puking, like wanting to run away but at the same time you didn’t want anything else more than go to the stage and perform. You would be performing five songs, all of them with little coordinated moves which were mostly done by back up dancers and you would be sitting on chair that would be lifted around. The songs had to be performed with strong vocals, so you didn’t mind sitting.

“I feel okay” you reassured her and tried to smile naturally but failed miserably.

“Oh honey. It will go well. You will do well” she gave a squeeze on your shoulders. “It’s your turn soon. I’m heading over to the bar. Todaloo~” she chirped and left you alone in the dressing room. You liked Cherry a lot. She was just a few years older than you and felt like a big sister. She had taken you under her wing the first day you started at the ripe age of 18.

“The stage is yours, Dolly” your boss peeked from the door and you were pulled from your thoughts. You got up and walked and he smiled to you. You noticed a red symbol on his jacket’s chest pocket. A red dragon. Was it? No it can’t be. Could it? No. You decided to brush the thought off. “Thanks” you smiled and made your way to the stage, this time the curtains were open. The audience was full and the sound of people chatting quickly stopped as they saw you hopping with your walking sticks. As you sat down on the white, beautifully shaped chair one of the backup dancers brought you a mike and took the sticks backstage.

A big spotlight lit up and pointed at you. You tried to cover your eyes a little by placing a hand on your forehead. You looked at the audience feeling your heart pounding, sweat forming on your forehead and hands trembling. Everyone looked at you and were waiting for you to start. You looked at the bar where Han was sitting. Cherry was sitting next to him, chatting away like she usually did with guys. But this time the man didn’t have his eyes practically buried in her boobs. Han’s eyes were glued on you. You smiled shortly but performer mode took over right away after the first beat was heard. It’s going to be okay. I’m there if anything happens.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Soap, Taxes, Consequences

Way too many writers seem to create dirty, decrepit fantasy or historical settings, without giving much thought as to why things might be grimy. Or why not.

For example, Victorian England, specifically London, is infamous for being dark, with choking smogs and lower classes regarded as filthy. There is a fair amount of truth to this... but historically, we as writers should look deeper. There were a lot of factors involved in this grime, but three of the big ones were heating, the window tax, and the soap tax.

...Yes, there was a tax specifically on soap. I’ll get to that.

All three of these were either directly caused by or exacerbated by the government. Timber was in large part reserved for ships and construction, so unless you had a lot of money to spend on firewood, if you wanted heat, it was usually peat or coal. Peat burns with a lot of smoke. A lot of smoke, to the point that it was doing about as much damage to lungs of the poorer folk who used it as all the tobacco in the surroundings combined. There are reasons it took a long time to get a handle on potential causes of lung cancer.

The better option - and yes, it was actually better - was coal. Only England’s local coal is a high-sulfur type, meaning besides heat and regular smoke you also got sulfur dioxide and its related acid compounds eating people’s lungs and etching everything else in sight. People are pretty sure this was the source of the infamous London fogs. (Though not entirely. Historians are still poking it to see if there were other contributing factors.)

So. That’s the smog. The window tax is Exactly What It Says On The Tin. Which made it very dark inside buildings, especially of the poor, because they couldn’t afford a yearly tax on taking advantage of natural light.

And here we come to the soap tax, the most rage-choking one of them in my mind. It was apparently high enough that good money could be made smuggling soap from Ireland (where there was no tax on it) to England to sell. Smuggling soap.

...Talk about your clean getaways.

But here you see the problem. If you’re already poor and you have to choose between enough food to survive on and enough soap to be clean... taxed soap makes your life much, much harder. Staying clean harder. Staying healthy harder.

And it has nothing to do with “oh, it’s the past, of course it’s more primitive”, and everything to do with a government deciding the best way to squeeze out more taxes is to tax something everyone has to use. A fantasy or alternate historical setting where there was no soap tax would be entirely different. And was, in Ireland just across the water - where there were the same problems with peat and coal, but even the poorest people tended to be clean.

Consider your world’s governments. What have they done well, and what have they (ahem) royally screwed up? And are your heroes just trying to stay out of the way of the worst insanity - or are they actively doing something about it?

It’d be a heck of a thing, to get arrested for smuggling soap....

[glassbead-xx]

I’ve been seeing this for years and with everything that has happened lately I just have to say it

tbh I am kind of cautious about the development of the last three chapters, sorry if this is heated but I’m so tired I won’t care if you cancel me

Undead Unluck is not getting axed

I repeat, not axed

Every time something happens with UU (low rankings, poor sales at least when compared to other series from the magazine) people are so quick to say it was axed when like, I don’t think it is

Axed is normally what happens to series when they’re in the 20-40 chapters and are not selling or ranking well, they get cancelled before they can reach their true potential

Undead Unluck just released its chapter 223, with an anime season and an upcoming one hour special, two light novels, card games, lots of merchandise and probably one of the best built cast of characters and worlds to come out of the magazine as of late

It might not be the best selling thing but it’s doing fine, especially when you compare its popularity on Japan to its popularity on this side (which is almost non existent, thanks Disney)

If Jump wanted to get rid of UU that would’ve happened before its first anniversary

(Now that I think about it, the loop reveal probably saved the series)

If anything this is just rushing to Ragnarok probably for the fights or for shits and giggles idk, but when these things happen I usually trust the author with the story, so let’s see what Tozuka comes up with

[strwberri-milk]

Songs of Sorrow - Ch. 2

Rancher!AU || Boothill x Fem!Reader || Slowburn, Drama

Gunfire rains down intensely, yet another shootout coming about as the result of another risky tactic being taken. His gun sits comfortably against his palm, cold steel pressed against  rough skin. He ducks out of his cover, taking a few shots at the men aiming for him and whooping in delight when he hits all of his marks. 

Boothill’s good at his job. He knows he’s good at it. He works hard at anything he does whether it be feeding the cattle, tending to the plants, or shooting up any unlucky fuck who happens to be put in front of him. To him it’s not any different than taking a horse out back and putting it out of its misery when the time comes. 

He just actually cares about the horse. 

It doesn’t take long for the gunfire to die down after some more choice shots. Boothill finally stands from where he’s been taking cover, stretching out his muscles as he covers his mouth in a yawn. 

“Well, looks like you made a mess of things again.” 

He turns around to face the voice, smiling widely when he sees the owner of the voice. 

“Well, well look at what the Devil dragged in,” he drawls, crossing his arms.  

“Seems more like I’m staring at the Devil himself right now,” Acheron scoffs, coming closer to him to survey the carnage. 

“Were all of these people on the list? Or did they just have the bad luck of running into you today?” 

“Little bit a’ both,” he laughs, stepping over one of the poor souls as the two of them continue their conversation. 

“You finish up on your side then?”

“In a neater style than you but yes, I did finish. I didn’t find it necessary to go through all of…whatever this is. The job was simple after all. It could have been taken care of a lot easier if you just focused on the one target rather than going after all their men.”

The two of them walk towards a bookshelf, Acheron flicking through the pages in search of the other part of the reason why the two of them were there. Boothill leans up against the wood, shaking his head in amusement. 

“D’ya even remember which one that is?” he grins, breaking out into laughter as Acheron ignores his question. 

“Exactly my point. We had to split up, didn’ we? You wouldn’ be able to figure out which son of gun you were meant to shoot, I just don’ give a damn.” 

“Considering the fact that you’re just sitting around waiting for me to find the documents we’re looking for I’d struggle to say that you don’t need me either.” 

“I didn’ say I didn’ need you. Besides, I could figure it out by myself if I really needed to. It’d just take me longer, that’s all,” he drawls, tracing his fingers over the spines of the books. 

“Readin’ has its uses. Gotta make sure I ain’t getting scammed selling off any of my little ladies,” he says wistfully.  

“That’s right. You grew up on a farm. You miss it?” 

Acheron tucks an envelope under her arm, finally locating the stack hidden away exactly where their employer said they would be. 

“Been missin’ it more and more lately,” he sighs, drawing his gun again as he provides her cover for any stragglers. 

Whenever he had a moment to himself he found it easy for his mind to wander. He imagines what it would be like to have the tall grass rustle around him again, sitting underneath a tree as he takes a moment to remind himself that the world still spins no matter what he does. In the distance he can hear the sound of cows milling about, bells ringing softly with every step they take. The sun beats down on his skin, comfortably seeping into his body as his hat rests over his face. He doesn’t quite understand why but his body’s always run a little cold, needing some extra heat to keep him warm.  

He’d fight sometimes, maybe needing to protect some of his cattle from a wily coyote or some irritating teenagers who think themselves brave as they scale his fence to tip some cows. It would never be an issue though - he’d be able to keep his animals safe just by using his reputation. People already knew him now as a bounty hunter; it made perfect sense to him that he could use that to his advantage. It would keep him in shape, let him have that excitement he was chasing after when he first started this job. 

“Think about going back,” Acheron suggests, voice cutting through his thoughts. 

The two of them have finally made it back to the ship, Acheron starting to steer it back to their current home base. Boothill can’t help but watch as the stars whir past them, tapping his finger against the bottom of the window.

“The money we make from this job is more than any of our other jobs combined. You could very well retire now. Live a little longer.” 

“Now when did you go soft on me?” he chuckles, laughing a little as he turns to face her. 

“Worried I’m gonna die and leave you all by your lonesome?” 

“Nothing of the sort,” she scoffs. 

“You’ve just seemed out of sorts recently. At the very least it’ll make your skills sharper. I’m sure the Boss wouldn’t mind your resignation anyway. You’ve given a lot of yourself for the company. Consider retiring.”

He can’t lie. The idea does sound appealing to him. Acheron was right after all; he had been working hard for a while now and had saved up more than enough money to buy a piece of land back home he’d just been daydreaming about. He wouldn’t even have to worry about expenses for a while, knowing that he’d be able to successfully run a cattle ranch if only he just had the time to.

“Maybe you’re right,” Boothill finally says, turning his gaze back to the stars whirring past. 

“It’s about time I returned back home.”

[dira333]

Passing Peonies - Post War Touya Todoroki - Part VIII

When the war ended, Midoriya Izuku had proven one thing: That Villains did not need to be killed to be defeated. That you could make friends from enemies.

Touya Todoroki, formerly known as Dabi, had been one of those taken into the rehabilitation program. After one year of intense physical and psychological therapy, he's got the chance to prove himself. To prove that he can be a part of this world.

Complete fic length: 30.600 words - Masterlist

Warnings: poor mental health and resentment against past actions is mentioned, burn scars etc. as well. There is angst but this is mostly soft Touya coming back to his family...

Part 8: (2,5k words)

“So you always buy at Kibe-san’s?” He asks almost an hour later when you’re standing in line grabbing coffee and breakfast sandwiches to devour before your ride back to the shop.

“Yes. I do like walking the stalls though, to get inspired on what I could grow myself, but I can’t produce all of my own plants. Not anymore at least, with how many bouquets we’re selling each week. Kibe-san’s the most intense, though, but her flowers are the best as well.”

“Is Monday the same?”

“No, Kibe-san’s here too, so I usually check in with her first, but there’s also Mayeda-san and Matsuura-san, who both give fair prices. They don’t have the best quality though, but you will see for yourself.”

“Three coffee.” Touya steps forward when the guy in front of him makes space. “Two black. And do you have coffee syrup? Yes? Can you put two pumps of it in one coffee and fill the rest with creamer? Thanks.” 

He turns back to you. “What kind of sandwich does Rico want?”

“He always takes the pork one.”

“One pork sandwich and two cheese sandwiches, please.”

He pays and hands two of the coffee cups to you, grabbing the other one and the bag of food before stepping away as well.

“You could have asked what flavor syrup I wanted.” You tell him but you don’t sound annoyed.

“I doubt they have more than one flavor and they probably only have that one because of you.”

“I’m not the only one who likes sweet things in their drinks.”

“Mhm. Most people like the sweet things elsewhere.” 

You blink up at him as he bites his tongue. “Like cake. Desert. You know.”

“Sure.” You take a sip of your coffee and hum in appreciation. “This is perfect. Thank you. What kind of sandwich do you prefer when there’s more variety than pork and cheese?”

He pauses, coffee halfway to his lips, as he ponders that question.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what he likes or dislikes but there’s something in the unbridled joy you experience whenever you get to eat cheese that makes him want to feel the same.

But he barely remembers the last time he felt something like that over food.

A blurry memory resurfaces like he’s watching it unfold through a fogged-up lens.

He’d been living on the streets at that point, starved to the point he ate food out of the trash. It had been a rather cold day and a kind stranger had handed him an egg sandwich, made at home instead of store-bought.

He still remembers the taste, how it warmed him for hours, how he’d longed to taste it again for days and weeks afterward.

“Egg sandwich.” He says, voice a bit thicker than it should be. “I guess I’d pick that.”

You look at him like you know what he’d been thinking about, the moment interrupted by Rico pushing himself between the two of you.

“Pork sandwich! My favorite!” He swallows the thing in two bites before downing half of his coffee and grinning madly at them.

“We’ve got half an hour left before we have to leave. You gotta show him the indoor plants or no?”

“What do you think, Touya-kun? Ready for another lecture?”

-

The indoor plants are in another hall, one that’s actually heated and less crowded.

“One.” You tell him when you move through the stalls. “You can pick one for the shop but don’t break the bank.”

There are too many options to choose from, he realizes. Succulents and cacti, pothos and string of hearts, gum trees in different colors and shapes until they all blur in front of his eyes.

“What about this one?” You ask, pulling him towards you by his wrist. “It’s a holiday cactus or Genus Schlumbergera, they have a lot of different colors and it’s not hard to make new cuttings from it.”

“Why is it called that?” He asks when he halts, his eyes locking onto one of them as if drawn to it. It’s blossoms are white, turning into yellow and lastly ending in red tips, like a crown of flames. It looks like it’s burning and it’s calling him like a cliché.

“This one?” You ask, picking up the plant like you’ve read his mind yet again. “It’s fitting.”

“It’s a cliché.”

“Since when is that a bad thing?” You ask and he freezes, still thinking over your words when you come back with the pot in your arms.

“This is yours.” You hand it to him. “Don’t sell it before you have made cuttings from it, I beg you.”

“Which one would you pick? If you had all the money in the world?”

You laugh. “I’d grow it myself.”

“And if you couldn’t grow it?”

You stop to look up at him, your brows pinched.

“I’m not saying there’s something you can’t grow but if there were…”

“Come on.” You turn to walk and he follows in silence until you reach a stall at the back, an old man sitting amidst Bonsai’s.

You bow politely in greeting and he nods but doesn’t get up from his pillow on the floor. 

“Nakao-san has been taking care of these for decades.” You tell him, your voice barely above a whisper as you point at the different trees. There’s a Sakura tree, a Japanese maple and so many more.

“There are no prices.” He mumbles and you nod.

“He’s not selling them. But he brings them over once a week so that they can be seen by others. If you ever have a question about Bonsai care, he’s the one to ask.”

“Why?”

“It can get lonely, even if you’re with the things you love.” 

You trace your hand over the Sakura tree. When you pull your arm back, the tree is in full bloom and Nakao-san looks up to gift you a smile.

-

Back at the shop he’s got his work cut out for him.

He’s premaking bouquets for customers in a rush or those who are simply undecided, but his mind and eyes are always drawn back to the plant in the backroom. His plant.

After the third fire-colored bouquet you raise your eyebrows at him and he forces himself to make one with dark purple and little dots of cream in between. 

Mari-chan comes in late. 

She wears a permanent scowl on her face and refuses to repeat the names of the flowers, choosing to follow you through the shop in moody silence.

Business picks up a bit after lunch and you move to the back room with Mari.

A college student walks in, a guy he’s seen around at least once a week, rarely buying something but always pouring over the indoor plants.

“Hey.” He calls out to him. “How are the classes going?”

“Fine, fine.” He shrugs. “Just, uh… got back an A for my assignment.”

“That sounds nice. Uh, Fukunaga, was it?”

“Fukuhara Tadao, yeah.”

They both stare at each other for a moment before Touya drops his eyes to his notebook. Small talk just isn’t for him.

“I was… uh, I was going to treat myself.” Fukuhara starts up again, starting to stutter when  Touya looks back up. “B-But I can’t… I can’t decide.”

“What kind of room you live in?”

“Typical college dorm.”

“Never lived in one of these, you gotta explain it. Where’s your window facing?”

“The parking lot?”

Touya groans in annoyance and Fukuhara blushes a deep red.

“Oh, you meant.. it’s facing north, I guess. Well, I never get any sun, if that’s what you were asking.”

“Pothos does well with low light.” Touya points at the plant. “Give it a bath once a week or when the leaves start to fold into itself.”

Fukuhara slinks over and peers at the price tag before blanching.

Toya groans. “Alright. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll kick your ass.” He huffs and moves over, snipping off two branches that have been growing over the display table.

“Go home, put them in a clean cup filled with water. Change the water every few days. As soon as the roots are as long as your finger you can put them in soil.”

“Wh- How much?”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

Fukuhara nods fervently, his hands shaking as he takes the gift.

When he moves back, his floppy hair falls to the side, revealing a glitter of silver around his left ear. Touya’s eyes lock onto it like he’s a cat seeing a mouse for the first time.

“Where’d you get those?” He asks.

Fukuhara blushes again. “A-A friend of mine does them. I got them when I started college.”

“Why four?”

Fukuhara looks up at him, the answer so visible in his eyes he doesn’t need to speak the words. It’s like a punch to the stomach.

“I think you should leave now.” Touya tells him, tasting bile in his throat.

-

Touya’s hands shake when he makes it back to the counter.

He thinks about calling you out, letting his thoughts drip into your lap where they will always be safe, but you’re with Mari and he can’t bear to step under that glare again. Not right now at least.

He scrolls through his phone, past Fuyumi who’s working right now, catching on a familiar name.

To his credit, Hawks picks up at the first ring.

“Hey, could you come over?” Touya’s eyes are locked on the door as if he fears Fukuhara might come back and with him the threat of past deeds, of insanity he had thought he’d left behind.

“Like, right now?”

🌺.

Fukuhara hasn’t stepped into the shop again, but the memory lingers. 

He’s talked to his therapist about it and has called Hawks twice late at night, but that’s as far as he was willing to go. He’s not even told you.

Mari is partly to blame for that, drawing all your attention from him onto her.

But you’re so proud of him too, of his progress at the flower market in the morning, of how well he’s getting along with Rico and the customers.

He doesn’t want to disappoint you.

But it’s Friday again and he follows you up the stairs to your apartment after closing the shop. Mari had left an hour early today and you’d gone out as well, claiming that you needed to buy groceries.

He’d joked that you didn’t need an hour to buy cheese, bread, and miso paste but now he’s sitting on the floor in front of an egg sandwich you made yourself.

-

You’d toasted the bread and put too much egg salad in between, the contents spilling out onto the plate. 

He already knows it’s going to taste like heaven on his tongue but he feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

He can’t eat it.

He can’t eat it and you’ve noticed his hesitation, your smile slipping back into your skin as you watch him.

“What’s wrong, Touya-kun?”

“Last week, when you and Mari went into the back room for a while, Fukuhara came in.”

“Ah, Fukuhara. He’s studying Forensic science.”

“He mentioned he got an A on an assignment and wanted to treat himself but didn’t have the money for the Pothos. So I snipped off some excess branches and gave it to him. It seemed like someone you’d do.”

You don’t rise to the bait, instead, you wait for him to continue.

The words, however, are lodged in his throat.

You get up, walk around the table and sit down next to him and it feels like you’re taking his side in this battle, like you’re part of his team against whatever it is on the other side..

“Can I touch you?” You ask and he nods.

You put one hand onto his, easing the fingers up that are dug into the fabric of his trousers. Your touch is gentle and warm and it feels as if you’re lifting him by the roots, shaking off the dirt that’s clinging to them. 

He knows what would happen if he were a plant.

You’d expect him for mold or cuts and put him into a bigger, cleaner, better pot, surrounded by fresh soil that gives him what he needs.

But he’s not a plant and you just hold his hand, warm it between your own until his tongue unfreezes and he can say one more word, followed by another and another until the story is told.

-

“Touya is allowed to like things that Dabi liked.” You remind him softly and pull his plate a little closer. “Just as Dabi was allowed to like things that Touya liked.”

“It’s not just that.” The worlds rumble in his chest, frustration vibrating behind his ribcage. “It’s not just wanting the piercings back and wanting to not want them. It’s about someone else taking them for themselves as if it’s something that can be borrowed, something that has no meaning whatsoever.”

He’s talked himself into a rage now, the words coming out faster and faster.

“And who does that, even? Model yourself after some criminal? I’ve spent over a year in therapy, endure all the guilt and the pain and try to be better just for some schmuck to come at me as my greatest fan?”

“There will always be people that admire or dislike us for the wrong reasons.”

“Like anyone could dislike you.” He snarls and you laugh, the sound chilling the fire of rage that has started to lick on his feet.

“You’d be surprised.” You say and take his hand again, fold your fingers around his.

“Breathe.” You say. “We can talk about this. But breathe. Eat, too. You can’t think or feel on an empty stomach.”

They eat in silence, on the same side of the table, elbows and arms knocking into each other.

At one point you sigh.

“Do you know why I gave you a peony for your first bouquet?”

“Because I’m beautiful?” He tries to joke and you smile cheekily but dodge the joke.

“To me, Peonies always look like they’re hiding something inside them, like you could tell them any secret and know that it’s safe. Also, I never get them to come out blooming, so it felt like giving you yourself, not yet ready to bloom.”

“Do you still think I’m a peony?”

You cock your head to the side and think about it, wiping the grease off your fingers with a napkin.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’d call you a dandelion, because you came back to life. Or a marigold, because you seem to multiply until your presence is everywhere.”

He laughs, surprised by the explanation.

“How am I multiplying?” 

You point to the plants around you.

“You’ve touched every single one of them. They’d never be able to forget you.”

“Would you be able to forget me?” He asks but you don’t answer that either..

Instead, you open your hand to a perfectly formed marigold and the fluffy white of a dandelion, tucking the two of them behind his right ear

But when you look at him, so close he can feel your breath ghosting over his face, you cock your head.

“It’s not important what flower I think you are. It’s important what you think. You are doing good, Touya-kun. Allow yourself to be real.”

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My Kofi if you want to tip me

[what-gs-watching]

“Well…maybe I’ll save you.”

I’M NOT CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING.

Sorry.

I’m not crying, you’re crying.

That’s not much better, is it.

I just finished The Giggle and I’m sobbing over the fact that 10 finally gets everything he was chasing and I am clearly unwell. I knew this episode was going to break me but I didn’t realize how far they were going to push us over the cliff. Like. You don’t get this in Doctor Who, not ever. That’s almost the appeal of it, sometimes. 

But Russell T Davies just ripped out everyone’s heart in the best possible way.  I really can’t.

Blorp. Okay. 

The thing is….the thing is - I think everybody needed that. How satisfying must this be for David Tennant? And Catherine Tate? How are they not fit to bursting right now? That was so beautiful, gang. And they must be so proud.

But I’m gonna focus. Also, didn’t I say catharsis? Jesus christ, you can’t get more than that. I’m pretty sure they hit the fucking limit on catharsis. Wow. I’m a mess.

Focusing, though: wherein the Doctor and Donna have to say humanity from their own terrible base instincts because the Toymaker loves a good game. 

So we open on Soho in 1925 (which, is anyone else wondering where A.Z. Fell & Co is in relationship to the street they’re showing? No? Just me? Okay cool) and we’re taken into a creepy toy shop where we meet Neil Patrick Harris doing a super weird German accent and being a general creep. He sells a dummy to a man who says he needs it for his boss, who is around the corner working on inventing the concept of television broadcasting for the very first time.  

They pop the head off the dummy and leave it in a setup surrounded by a ton of lightbulbs and they go into another room to test it all out - and it works. But the heat from the bulbs is hot, too hot, which is why they needed an object, not an actual person. But of course, the creepy toyseller was obviously up to no good, and as the broadcast continues, the dummy head melts and lets out a terrible little giggle. Clearly, we’re in trouble.

Back in the present, the Doctor and Donna are in the streets of London trying to figure out what’s happening. Some guy argues with 14 who tries to stop him from attacking a car, saying that his taxes pay for the street but he doesn’t drive and he has the right to do whatever he wants with the roadway, thank you. Perfectly sound logic, and the guy is belligerent, saying two days ago everyone in the world decided they were right and wouldn’t listen to reason.  So that’s exciting.

Soon enough, UNIT finds them and they’re told to get Wilf somewhere safe while the Doctor and Donna follow them to headquarters. Where we finally get our eyes on Kate Lethbridge-Stewart who I absolutely love, she’s the “bitches get shit done” Tina Fey gif come to LIFE. Bitch will always be the new black, and that’s Kate, and exactly how she runs UNIT, loading it full of equally brilliant women, including Shirley who we’d met when dealing with The Meep, and Melanie, who was a companion to the 6th Doctor,

Who run the world? GIRLS.

Anyway, we get into explanation mode - two days ago there was a spike in aggression worldwide, the same spike across the board. It’s affecting everyone, even the people in government, but UNIT has a fun device that helps keep everyone wearing one sane. And Kate decides she’s going to demonstrate how fucked up the situation is - she asks them to take her device offline, so they do.

And she proceeds to spew a bunch of terrible things at the Doctor - how he’s an alien with two hearts that have infiltrated them and can’t be trusted, and then she takes shots at poor Shirley who’s in a goddamn wheelchair and it’s really gross to watch, it’s one of the worst parts of humanity and she tries to avoid having her device turned back on, but they finally subdue her. It’s some serious shit, gang.

They say that the spikes aren’t coming from outside, they’re in everyone’s head, except for Donna, and Melanie, who have spent significant time in the TARDIS. And for extra fun, two days ago a satellite went up that finally connected the entirety of the earth to the internet, and now, everyone has access to a screen. 

And of course, Donna is working something out about the spike they’ve found, saying that she spent six months teaching Rose how to play the recorder; she thinks it’s a tune. Melanie sings it out and it strikes with everyone, like they’ve known it for years. And then Shirley finds it, it’s not a tune, it’s the laugh from the dummy. The Doctor figures out that the image has been burnt into television itself, into all the screens everyone is attached to every minute of everyday.

As they’re getting the date of the exact transmission, 14 gives Kate permission to shoot the satellite down, even though it’ll start an international incident. He’s the president of the world, and I love that. Her relief is palpable.

He also has a little moment with Melanie, which is so sweet. I love that whenever he rolls up to someone he hasn’t seen in decades, he always mutters the kindest little “hello.” Just for them. His attention completely focused. It must feel like a sun shining directly on you. I literally have a collection of David Tennant saying “hello” in my mind, ugh it’s so something. 

During all of this, Kate is telling Donna she did well working out the spikes, and she offers her a job at UNIT once everything has settled. Pure Donna, she asks how much the salary is, and then counters with DOUBLE the amount and 5 weeks paid vacation which is immediately accepted. BAMF, BAMF, BAMF. Get what’s yours, baby girl.

So much going on. Okay, so they go back to 1925, and 14 is all about what they need to do but Donna wants to hear about Mel because he’s never once mentioned her. He never does, he never talks about them. Rose a bit, yes, but usually no. Not ever. And he reminds her he’s old as hell and he can’t just chat about everyone, but it’s more than that. She tells him he never stops moving, she says “You are staggering along. Maybe that's why your old face came back. You're wearing yourself out” and that’s the crux of the matter, friends. 14 is wonderful, we’re all in love with him, but he’s definitely bleeding out everything. All over the place. And it’s so sad to see him so run down. But, classic 10, he ignores her.

They find the toyshop of course, and the Doctor recognizes the Toymaker. Who immediately starts a game of catch with the Doctor, because he’s a fucking weirdo like that, and 14 looks incredibly determined and also freaked out but Donna puts a stop to it, and the Toymaker disappears. 

They follow him deeper into the shop and surprise! They find themselves in a never ending hallway full of doors, and each door just leads to another hallway. Which should be impossible, but we’re told that the Toymaker is only governed by the rules of play, so he can basically do whatever the eff he wants.

Donna gets the story out of him as they wander - the Doctor had once gone into another realm, where he played a game against the Toymaker and apparently won, but he said he made a terrible mistake. Poor kiddo is really raw all of a sudden, he says “I'm always so certain. I'm all sonic and TARDIS and Time Lord. Take that away... Take away the toys... what am I? What am I now?” and then he tells Donna, “I don’t know…if I can save your life this time.”

Scrawny little 14 all exposed and helpless and I told you, he’s bleeding all over the place, and she just tells him, “Well…maybe I’ll save you.”

THEY’RE BEST FRIENDS, and she’s definitely gonna save him, just not in the way he thinks. And it’s so good.

Speeding ahead, they keep wandering through the halls and then they get separated of course and Donna gets attacked by the dummy that was supposed to be the original dummy’s wife and his creepy babies but she beats them obviously, and the Doctor gets taunted by the Toymaker but they find each other eventually.

And then they’re pulled into a room with a little stage where the Toymaker puts on a puppet show about exactly what has happened to the Doctor’s companions since he traveled with Donna. And it’s so sad to listen to him try to justify everyone’s fate - Amy died of old age, but in a time and place she was never meant to. Clara was killed by a bird but technically saved in her last moments of life. Bill was turned into a cyberman, but her consciousness lived on. No happy endings, for the Doctor and his friends, not ever. 

 To stop the show, the Doctor challenges the Toymaker to a game. And Donna’s afraid the Toymaker will cheat, but it seems the rules of the game bind his entire existence: the Doctor will either win or lose. So they cut a deck, and the highest card wins. And it’s the Toymaker, with a king.

But the Doctor finds a loophole - he won the first game, the Toymaker one the second game, and that prompts another, the best of three. Which the Toymaker accepts, but he wants that game to be played back in the present. 

Meanwhile at UNIT headquarters they’re shooting down the new satellite, and the Doctor and Donna appear to try and figure out a way to force the Toymaker out of the universe they way he’d come, but it’s too late. 14 is explaining something and then “Spice Up Your Life” is playing, and I’m sorry but L O L at the entire dance scene with NPH that unfolds. It’s hilarious, and creepy, and it definitely goes on too long, but I’ll allow a little pageantry. He turns UNIT’s bullets into flower petals and it’s a little terrifying, how much power he possesses and that’s the point. And then as soon as he’s arrived, he disappears again. 

Just kidding though, the Toymaker is out on the platform where the beam they used to take down the satellite is still set up and ready to roll, and he’s got control of it. So everyone of course rushes out to try and stop him. 

The Doctor tries to talk him down, of course. He asks why he’s choosing to be so horrible when he can do so many good things, and the Toymaker reminds him he’s just a vastness that good and bad don’t apply to, only winning and losing. The Doctor tells him he’s a vastness that contains so much more, and then he suggests they take the game away from earth, that they can play across the cosmos. 

He says “we can be…celestial” - and I’m dying inside. Is anyone else wondering what Aziraphale’s reaction to that sentence would have been? So many little bits of Good Omens, it’s slightly painful. 

Also, I appreciate that the Doctor is always trying to turn enemies into his playmates. 10 did it with the Master, too. It makes sense, he’s always off with humans but why wouldn’t entities that are more in line with what he is, want to travel with him? They always say no. Because y’all are too obsessed with your own drama to recognize what a fucking opportunity that is. Idiots.

So yeah, that doesn’t work and the Toymaker declares that since he played the first two games with different doctors, he wants to play the final game with the next Doctor. AND HE SHOOTS 14 WITH THE GIANT FUCKING LASER. 

It’s agonizing. It’s terrible. And Donna and Mel rush to his side as he starts to regenerate, because they don’t want him to be alone. They tell him he’s not dying, and they don’t care who he is, because every version of him is fantastic. And that’s what he needed to hear the first time. Every time, really.

And then he says “It's time. Here we go again. Allons-y!” (squee!) but…nothing happens. So he asks them to pull, yank on his arms, and they’re like ‘um’ but they do and THEN:

Out pops 15. And I’m losing my fucking mind. 

Here’s the thing, gang. There is one sure fire way to make the new Doctor capture everyone’s heart, and that is apparently to let him interact with 14. Because everything that happens after this is incredible.

15 says “You're me. No, I'm me. I think I'm really, really me. Oh-ho-ho, I am completely me!” and he tells 14 to push, and they’re both like ‘will this work?’ and they’re laughing and they push against each other and they’re two separate entities and it’s amazing. 

14 obviously was all done up in his traditional suit (minus the coat) so now suddenly 15 is wearing the dress shirt, and the tie, and their charming little tightie whities, and the CONVERSES! And 14’s still got the pants, the undershirt, the vest, completely barefoot. I’m delighted and crying my eyes out. 

So apparently they’ve bi-generated, which is supposed to be a myth and 15 asks Mel what she thinks and she says “I think you’re beautiful” and 14 pipes up, “still beautiful?!” and it’s all so good but the Toymaker is exasperated and then both Doctor’s say “I challenge you to a game” but he doesn’t like that. He’d caused the bi-generation and he doesn’t want to play both of them but he can’t say no.

What follows is the highest stakes game of catch that has literally ever existed. 14 and 15 are ducking and bobbing and weaving and catching and it’s ridiculous but also so filled with tension; whoever drops the ball, loses. David Tennant is a 50-something year old spindly noodle and oh my god he’s just crushing the entire thing, I could watch this all day. 

But someone has to lose, and thank god, eventually it’s the Toymaker. They decide their prize is going to be banishing him from existence forever. He gets folded up into a little square of douchebag, shoved in a box, and left to rot in the deepest recesses of UNIT’s storage. 

And it’s wonderful! But 14 can’t help but think of all of the people that died. And here is where 15 worms into everyone’s heart for the rest of eternity: he reminds 14 that he can’t save everyone, and then he grabs him into a hug and he says “Come here. I've got you. Yeah? It's OK. I'm here” and he kisses 14’s forehead. 

It’s what the Doctor has always needed, but never got. A reminder from himself that what he does matters, that he’s good and he tries and it’s okay when things don’t go perfectly, but he does save people. He deserves acceptance from himself, and if he can’t give it in his own mind, he can get it from someone else who is literally him. It’s fucking beautiful.

They head back to the TARDIS and 14 shows 15 all the bells and whistles and 14 wonders how it’s going to work, the two of them? 15 makes him stop his anxious rambling, tells him “you're thin as a pin, love. You're running on fumes.” He keeps talking, about all of the things they’ve seen and done. The Pandorica, The Time War, losing River and Rose. The fact that Sarah Jane has died. 14 says, “I loved her” and 15 says “I loved her.” 

15 reminds him that they haven’t stopped, not for a second. But he’s fine, because 14 had fixed himself. He says “We’re doing rehab out of order.” And it’s true; 15 has taken in everything that Donna has been trying to get 14 to understand, he has the sweetness and the willingness to express his feelings that 14 finally learned, and now he’s putting his foot down, to himself. His old self. He’s telling 14 that he has to stop. 

But 14 doesn’t know how, and Donna tells him that he just has to exist, every single day, in and out. Over and over. And that’s the adventure. She says “I've worked out what happened. You changed your face... and then you found me. Do you know why?”

“To come home.”

If you didn’t lose it at that, you might need to examine your inner workings. It’s a punch to the gut. And it’s absolutely true. It’s the one thing the Doctor has never had, but now he can. And the way 14 asks “Do you mean…he flies off?” is so sad and small, and deflating, like he can’t imagine being pried away and made to stop and just be and exist. It’s terrifying for him. And he knows he can’t leave the TARDIS, it would hurt.

15 has an idea though, he thinks they might have a little bit of time, still being governed by a state of play, so he produces a sledge hammer and he hops out of the TARDIS, followed by 14 and Donna. 

He wields the hammer and he says “You get a prize, honey. And here is mine!” and he SWINGS against the TARDIS, and out pops another perfect little blue police box (and he runs a hand down the first one, saying “I’m sorry!”). Two TARDIS’s, two doctors. 

(I’m also swooning over 15’s use of endearments - love, honey - he’s gonna kill me.)

14 goes in to inspect the new TARDIS, he’s reverent almost, and it’s much the same, but it’s got a jukebox. He wanders back to his own TARDIS and 15 hops into the new one and powers her up and he’s definitely about to leave without a goodbye but 14 bounds back in with Donna to get what they’re owed. Which is hugs and a little sass. 15 says “off you pop, old man” and I love that, but they remind him he’s the older of the two now, so he says “Okay, kid. I love you. Get out!”

15 is full of the love the Doctor never gets to give freely, but he’s ready now, and I’m so excited to watch that unfold. It’s so perfect and beautiful that 14 is the one who gets to feel it first. Baby boy needs so much more, and he’s gonna get it.

And so, off they both go. 15 to his endless adventures, 14 to something even more scary.

The last scene is a dinner at Donna’s, wherein 14 is telling a ridiculous story about using his eyebrows to communicate (Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…) and it’s just banter and it’s so good. We find out that he’s taking Mel on little adventures in the TARDIS, even Rose a time or two. He says “Just can’t turn down my favorite niece” and oh, it’s so lovely. He says “That’s what you are. With my best friend, my brother-in-law, the evil stepmother, and mad auntie Mel.” 

The desperate wanderer, a man who has run for thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years in a multitude of faces, finally has a family. 

Donna tells him he doesn’t have to stay forever, and then she asks him if he misses it out there. And his face, oh y’all his face as he says “The funny thing is, I fought all those battles for all those years... and now I know what for. This. I've never been so happy in my life”, it’s EVERYTHING.

Never, not once, has the Doctor gotten this. Usually, things work out just enough that it barely soothes the pain of what was lost. Never has he won so fully, so completely. Donna restored, and the chance to finally relish what he’s been protecting for so long. And no one deserved it more than 10 and 14.

The Doctor doesn’t have to be all hard edges and fire and war and unrelenting motion. He can be soft and vulnerable and he can accept help and he can love. 

And I didn’t even realize I wanted to see that. Doctor Who is like letting yourself believe in a higher power, a little bit. Believing in a species that maybe isn’t beholden to all of the disgusting emotions we have to deal with, he’s strong when we can’t be. He’s strong all the time. But I don’t think I’ve ever connected as much to an arch as I did to this one. We can’t be strong all the time. No one can. 

Watching the Doctor stop, and be taken care of for once, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Catharsis, on all sides. For everyone. I needed all of that way more than I’m ever willing to admit.

No matter what’s going on in the real world, at least now, somewhere out there 14 is hanging out at Donna’s house, telling silly stories and helping cook dinner and teaching Rose a bunch of science she should never get her hands on, and that’s satisfying in a way I can’t explain.

Basically, I’m so thankful for Doctor Who. And I can’t wait to see what happens next…

[tiredspacedragon]

Why is there an exit to the Test of Trust on the 777 Stairs?

Like in theory I really like the idea of that room; a group enters, and each member is trapped in an inescapable cylinder adorned only with a single latch. A recorded voice informs the group that if each individual lifts the latch at the same time, they all may pass, but if one betrays the others and lifts their latch first, they will go free and their companions will perish. However, this is a trick, and if one of the group does attempt to betray the rest, they are all judged unworthy and dropped into a pool of water that will slowly heat and boil them alive.

The specifics don't mean much, but the concept is solid. Judge the character of the team by their ability to work together and prioritize the group over personal gain. If one is willing to sell the others out, they certainly don't deserve to continue and the rest are likely no better, so they all die. Fair enough. A little extreme perhaps, but this is a safety feature on the path to the most powerful item in the universe, which has complete power over life itself, so I'd say it's fair.

So why the heck is there a tunnel out of that boiling pit? One that was clearly put there intentionally since it contains doors that shut behind any who pass through it to prevent them from turning back. If the point of that chamber is to determine who is worthy to continue on to the Ignika, why is there a way out for people who fail the challenge? One that leaves them closer to the mask instead of spitting them out somewhere else far away from the stairs? The test of character is completely moot at that point because it's actually more beneficial to fail the challenge, because it lets the group completely bypass the next chamber they would have entered normally, which was presumably Umbra's room! It's just a cheat code to get around the strongest guardian!

So is that the point? Is it not a test of character, but instead a test of intelligence and craftiness? If so, it's a piss poor one, because you can't judge someone's puzzle-solving skills if they aren't aware there's a puzzle they're supposed to be solving. Plus what would it matter if those who passed it were clever if they've already proven they can't be trusted and are thus completely undeserving of the limitless power they're trying to get their hands on? And if it is a test of character, it's also useless, because the stairs have an automatic system that detects the intentions of those who descend them anyway! That's why the Inika and the Piraka faced different challenges on the way down, the Toa got the heroic path with the Chamber of Death, which actually is a solid test since it demands the same thing the Ignika itself will, while the Piraka got the villainous path and the trust test instead.

So like, if you already have a system installed that can sense the intentions of those coming to claim the mask, why isn't the path that opens to those with nefarious intent not an instakill? Why is there a way for them to succeed at all when they're the last kind of people who should? And more importantly, why is it the easier path?