#The ink in the thumbnail looks like a heart

[theizzizzy]

We’ve fucking won

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangointhenight

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)

word count: 13.3k

synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener

author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)

tags: @victoria-styles

masterlist

—

Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.

Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.

She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.

There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.

She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.

It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.

She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.

“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”

His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.

At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.

“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.

There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.

“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”

Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.

“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.

“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”

She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.

“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.

“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”

She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.

He chuckles suddenly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”

His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.

“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”

She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.

Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.

“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.

“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.

She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.

This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”

His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.

No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.

“Please,” she whispers faintly.

“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”

Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.

“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”

She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.

She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.

She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.

He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.

“Can you take another?”

A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.

“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.

“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”

Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.

His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.

“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.

He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.

“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.

“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.

“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.

“Get on top.”

She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.

He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.

She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.

“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.

“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.

“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.

“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”

She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.

“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.

She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.

She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.

Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.

She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.

She sends him a message.

Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.

His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.

She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.

Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)

Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.

Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.

I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.

Most people assume it’s a sex thing.

I wonder why.

He laughs a little at the dry comment.

So, what are the other two in your top three albums?

Pre or post Stevie Nicks?

Post, of course. What kind of question is that?

That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.

I think so, too, Honey.

—

Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.

She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.

He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.

The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.

However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,

She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.

After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.

When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.

“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”

“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”

Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.

“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”

“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”

And so, she does.

A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).

“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.

“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”

Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.

“I—uh—sure?”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”

“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”

Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.

“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.

“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.

“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”

She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.

“Thank you,” he says.

“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs.

“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.

Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?

Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.

What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?

She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.

Oh, what a mess.

She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.

She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.

“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.

“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”

Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.

“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.

“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.

“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.

Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.

She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.

Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.

She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.

“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”

Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.

She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.

“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.

She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.

“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”

She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.

“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”

She can’t decide, either.

Then again, they could always have both.

“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.

“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”

His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.

“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.

“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”

For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.

His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.

“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.

“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.

“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she returns weakly.

“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”

In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.

Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.

“That couldn’t have been all of it.”

“Well, hello to you, too—”

“I didn’t get to hear you come.”

“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”

“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.

“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”

“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”

“How do you think it should end?”

There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.

“Where would you come?”

Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.

Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”

But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?

Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.

“Everywhere.”

He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.

“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”

After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.

God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.

“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”

He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.

“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”

The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.

“Or I could come inside you.”

That’s the last thing she needed to hear.

Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.

“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”

She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.

She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.

God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.

“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”

“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.

“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”

It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.

“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.

“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”

It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.

“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.

“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”

“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.

“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.

“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”

She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.

“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.

“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”

She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.

“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”

And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.

“What does this mean for us, Honey?”

As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.

“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?

“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”

She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.

“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”

“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.

“Good night, babylove.”

“Good night.”

She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.

Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.

Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.

—

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.

She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.

Friends? Definitely.

Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.

This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.

He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.

“Are you gonna come again, honey?”

“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”

“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“I might have to.”

She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.

“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.

“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.

“Would you wear your rings?”

“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.

“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”

He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.

“It’s so far away,” she whines.

“Go grab it, love,”

Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.

He thinks differently.

“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?

“I dunno—”

“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”

The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.

“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”

She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.

“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”

His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.

“Please—”

She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.

“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”

It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.

“Such a good girl f’me.”

As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.

She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.

“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.

“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.

“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”

His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.

“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”

The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.

She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.

He hums appreciatively.

“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.

“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”

She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.

This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.

“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”

She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.

“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”

A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.

She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.

What’s that ache in her chest?

“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”

She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.

“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”

She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.

“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.

“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”

“What do you need from me, honey?”

She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.

“Just talk to me,” she says.

“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”

He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.

She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.

“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”

He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.

Harry.

His name is Harry.

—

[alicenpai]

"Lament! Terror! Despair! I shall kindly teach them all to you! And in your final moment, I... shall kill you by my own hand!!"

pandora hearts print for anime north this weekend 🥀🖤🤍

I also put this up on my inprnt! there's a sitewide sale for 40% off right now 🌟

For this drawing, I really wanted to emphasize the gothic and chaotic, convoluted nature of the series. Pandora Hearts has become a lot of things to me, as someone who's read it since I was like, 14 years old. but I eventually found the perfect words to sum up the series - a cross between a Shakespearean tragedy and a Grimm fairy tale.

The ink brush + watercolour brushes I used turned out so well together!! I wanted the style to be kind of a nod to like the manga cover art you'd see from the late 90s to 2000s, kind of like Mochizuki's early approach to traditional art.

A lighter approach to both the lineart + coloring also helped me not strain my arm too much - besides work, I stopped doing full illustrations due to the amount of work being heavy on my arm/shoulder T__T. my last full illustrations were the TGAA/DGS zine + WHA zine pieces back in Dec-Jan, but my heart really lies in illustrations more than anything and I definitely want to get back into it!! (as long as my physical health allows it!!)

anyways, above is the thumbnail/inspiration board for this drawing! I also did some quick chickenscratch studies of others' drawings to help me get a sense of their composition. I started on the top left and then made a sort of meandering curve through... definitely went through a lot of ideas for this one. If I explained the intended symbolism.. I would be here.. all day..............

the candles were definitely first inspired by an animation of a lighter I did during art skool... and then I did this AA Dahlia animated illust... and then this OC charm (below) I did in 2022...? maybe I should draw fire more often. it's like, the way that fire looks in animated keyframes that I really like drawing out, and I guess I kinda really enjoyed translating that into a non moving visual medium??

This drawing simultaneously took SO long but I also sped through it?? I had to like... not dwell too long on certain parts... like for example I think some individual character compositions really could be a lot stronger... because I knew this would be a beast of a drawing, I didn't want to spend an unnecessary amount of time focusing on details when I should be looking at the big picture. and I know that's a bad habit of mine!! I'm trying to unlearn my perfectionism!!

thanks for reading if you got this far, hope ya enjoy it!! and I hope I'll keep drawing Pandora Hearts in the future (clearly I haven't stopped since high school omg) and I hope to draw some more Vanitas someday beyond just chibis!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, spanking, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The discomfort of Steve’s proximity keeps you uneasy. Spurt of shallow sleep interlace with episodes of frightening lucidity. You feel his chest rise and fall against your back, a persistent reminder of his presence. He is a rock, heavy and immoveable.

The sun rises on the other side of your eyelids, lending an orangish hue to your existence. You give up on sleep as you watch the morning shine yellow through the lush green leaves without. The arrival of a new day makes you restless.

You trace your hand unthinkingly up the vice of Steve’s arm around you try to free yourself. He grumbles and pushes closer to you. He nuzzles the back of your head as he rouses and a twitch against your bottom makes you flinch. In his sleep, he’s pulled your nightgown to the top of your thighs.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, “whatsa matter?”

His voice is rocky with the dregs of sleep. It scratches in your ears and seeps into your brain. You gently flutter your fingers over his and wiggle beneath his arm.

“Where you goin’?” He asks as he tightens his embrace.

“I…” you don’t know. You weren’t thinking. You just wanted to be free of him, if just for a second.

You curl your fingers around his large hand and press your thumb to the star inked along the back of his middle fingers. You quiver out a breath and push on his knuckle. There’s a sudden surge in you, a thought that makes you nervous. How you want to pull back his finger until it snaps! To hurt him like he’s hurt you.

But you can’t. You’d only make him mad.

“I was going to start breakfast,” you find the lie in the back of your head.

“Breakfast?” He echoes and turns his hand, slipping from your grasp only to lock your hand in his, “what are you making?”

You swallow and let him twine his fingers through yours. He’s being nice. He’s being gentle. As his brushes against your ass, you’re reminded of how not nice he can be. You hold back a whimper as a hot pain radiates across your ass.

“What would you like?” You eke out.

He hums and breathes into your hair. He tilts his head and places a kiss on your crown. He leans against you and squeezes your hand.

“I like eggs benedict,” he answers.

“I can make that,” you murmur, “I’ll… I’ll get washed up and go get it going.” You wait in silence, waiting for his approval. He doesn’t say a word. “Is that okay…” You search the wall with your eyes, heart thumping so hard you’re certain he can hear it, “sir?”

He softens and strokes your thumb with his, “that sounds good, sweetheart.”

He shifts and pulls you onto your back. You squeak as he leans over you, releasing your hand to frame your chin and force your head straight. You try not to show your fear as you feel his excitement against your thigh. 

He kisses your forehead and you hold your breath in your chest. He lays another peck on your temple, then your cheek, until he places a final shy kiss on your lips. He raises himself slightly to look at you. You’re completely still as you meet his gaze.

He seems to find his courage and kisses you again. This time, he chances the gentle glide of his tongue along your lips. You tremble as he parts again.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he drags his hand down your throat, his thumbnail trailing down to your collarbone, “I know you can be perfect for me.”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh, “so… let me be.”

You watch him. Your ears pulse loudly and your lungs burn as you wait for him to react. Does he believe you?

“You are,” he caresses your chest, just along the top of the night gown, “I’ll… I’ll get up soon.”

You hold back your relief as he rolls away from you, taking the blanket with him as he falls flat on the mattress. You try not to show your impatience as you sit up, making a show of stretching as you stand. You walk cautiously around the bed and go to the closet, mindful of him as the bedframe groans.

“What are you gonna wear, sweetheart? Something red?” He calls lazily as his voice strangles into a yawn.

“Yes, I could…” you begin as you push aside hangers. You pull out a red skirt with pleats and a blouse with short ruffled sleeves. You turn back to him and show him the outfit, “do you like this?”

His eyes twinkle and he cheek dimples. He grins and runs his large hand across his broad chest. The gesture draws attention to the ink there, a star that has the illusion of ripping through the skin. The one he got the day you got your tattoo.

“Red as a poppy,” he purrs, “my poppy.”

A sliver of tension drains from you. If you can play along, keep him calm, wait for your chance, you might survive. You go to the chest of drawers and take out your white bra and a matching pair of panties with the tiny ribbon along the scalloped waistline. You grab some stockings and clutch it all in your arms.

You go to the bathroom door and pause as you hear him drone. You step inside and place the clothes on the counter. You turn back to shut the door and see his hand disappear beneath the top of the blanket. You quickly block him out, the knob clicking loudly. You find the lock doesn’t stick as you push it several times without catching. That’s not by chance.

You back away and turn to face the tub. You slip the nightgown off and stand naked on the tile. You bend over the brim and twist on the faucet, flipping up the lever to switch the outpour to the showerhead above. You pull the curtain around and wait for the water to warm.

“Mmmmm,” a low drawl underlines the buzz of the pipes, “oh, yeah…”

You cover your ears against Steve’s lurid timbre. Oh god, what is he doing? You try no to think of it as you step into the shower. The water streaming down helps smother his voice but not entirely. He only seems to be getting louder and louder.

🎹

Steve puts down his knife and fork and pats his stomach. You come forward to take his plate from the table as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. He drops the used cloth on the dish as before you can take a step back.

“Aren’t you going to eat, sweetheart?” He asks as he sighs in content.

“No, sir, I had some oatmeal already,” you lie. You did try to eat something, anything, but you ended up spitting it into the sink as your body refused to digest anything more than tea. “Would you like some more coffee?”

“No, thank you, I’m all good,” he nudges away his empty cup, “that was so good. Delicious.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say meekly and spin on your heel.

You march away in your low kitten heels, a red that matches your skirt, a little pearl at the center of the bow on each foot. You put the dishes in the sink and grip the four-pronged faucet.

“Sweetheart,” Steve calls to you.

Shoot. You reluctantly retract your hand and wipe it down your apron. You turn back to him and cross to the small round table. He watches you intently as he grazes his fingertips along his thick beard.

He sits with his knees wide, in a pair of dark jeans and short-sleeve button-up the colour of slate. He rests a hand on one thigh as his other walks up and down the front of his shirt. You bounce on your toes and clutch the front of your apron.

“Come here,” he points to the space between his legs.

You bite the inside of your lip as you stare at his hand. The silver rings catch the light with a dangerous gleam. You push your hands behind you and tangle your fingers together as you obey. 

As you get closer, he leans forward and catches you by the waist. He leads you forward as he lets one hand brush down your ass. He guides your leg up over his, bringing you into his lap as you throw your arms forward to steady yourself, grasping his shoulders tightly.

You bend your other leg over his, awkwardly straddling him as he sits back. His eyes rove over you, from your face to your neck, chest, stomach, until they settle on your apron. He tuts and his hand dances up to tug on the bow at the back, freeing the knot before he pulls away the fabric completely.

He drops your apron to the floor and plays with a pleat in your skirt. He purrs and grips your thigh through the fabric. His eyes flick up to meet yours, his pupils dilated darkly as you plummet into them. His other hand squeezes your side and he tilts you pelvis into his.

“I just wanna feel you, sweetheart,” he cradles your face, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone, “just like this.”

[careydraws]

Here's a writeup about the process of making this 12x18" poster that's in the booksamillion special edition of TAZ: the Eleventh Hour GN! It looks like there are still some available for preorder!

Long post about how I got from the initial options I sent to my editor to the final below the cut (or unlocked on my patreon here).

We found out pretty late in the life cycle of making the actual book artwork that we were going to get to do a special edition that included a poster, which was nice because it meant I had a good sense of what cool moments in the book we might want to highlight... and what existing art I might be able to use as scaffolding, because these books are on extremely tight deadlines and there was not a separate timeline for painting a whole poster. So when we can avoid doing that, it saves me a lot of time and heart/wristache... but it's not always possible! spoilers: it was not possible this time around.

I started out by sending my editor two options for poster designs: one that would save some work by letting me reuse cover & interior elements that happened to be drawn at a large size, and one that was loosely based on a page with a fun splash panel, but would require total redraw and repaint. As I said in an email,

...Unfortunately, we both agreed that the one that was going to be more work (A) was the cooler choice & would make for a better poster. Also, by this point I was thinking about doing a version of the cover for a lenticular, and I didn't want to double-dip with fun promo materials. So it goes!

The composition was off, since this was based on a comics page with, y'know, dialog and other panels on it. We talked about whether adding some kind of a text treatment might help balance it out, but ultimately,

[narrator: she would later regret this.]

ANYWAY, once I was all-in, it was time to get goin! First, I made a small color thumbnail, then scaled it WAY up for print and took it back to pencils to space out the trio & give everyone a little more room.

Next I inked and flatted it! Flatting is the only time I can really zone out & watch something while I work, it was a nice break.

Then I blocked in big hue shifts for the ground and sky; painted big shadow shapes, and drew in the text; and finally added some details like bounce light and atmospheric perspective blue shifts.

One final touch-up pass with some additional cool tones-- If I were to do this again, I might tone it down a LITTLE bit on the reflections on Magnus's gear… but then again, it looks cool, so I might not.

And there it is! 

Next time I do this, I want to try to keep the initial color thumbnail much looser- I got frustrated at the rendering stage because I'd done most of the fun work of thinking about color already, and ended up feeling like I was treading the same ground twice. It's tough to find a balance between enough planning to be ready and not so much that I lose something in the work!

I'm always happy to get process questions over on patreon, it's fun to talk more about this sort of thing!

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Sexiest Man Alive - Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Who knew photoshoots could be so hard!

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Fluff! SMUT! 18+ ONLY! Publicish sex! MINORS DNI! Language! 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist

This was torture… absolute torture.

You hadn’t seen Chris in weeks, well at least not in person. The two of you FaceTime each other every evening before bed, sometimes talking until one of you fell asleep, sometimes doing something that would keep you awake for hours.

But now, the first time you’ve seen him in person in weeks is watching him do his People’s Sexiest Man Alive photoshoot.

It was already a hot day in Atlanta but the temperature had nothing to do with how hot and bothered you were. You felt your pulse rising with every peek of Tattoo or soft warm chuckle he gave. Knowing exactly what it felt like to run your fingers over the ink, feeling his chest rumble whenever he laughed because he was secretly ticklish.

You stood there, leg crossed, thighs pressed together, biting your thumbnail as you watched hoping your arousal wasn’t too obvious. To everyone else, you probably looked completely normal, but you knew Chris could see through it all. Making the situation even more impossible with every look sent you, every wink that said that he knew, and was goddamn pleased with himself.

You were starting to regret convincing him to finally accept the title. He’d been offered it for years now but turned it down every year, always far too modest for his own good. But now even that modesty was trying to kill you because with every modest smile he did your heart skipped a beat.

When lunch was called you practically ran to Chris’ dressing room. Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge, holding the cool bottle against your feverish skin in an attempt to cool down. You took some deep breaths as you leaned against the side, quickly unscrewing the cap of the bottle when you heard the door opening.

You’d only just finished taking a sip when Chris slipped inside the room. Quickly closing the door behind him as his eyes travelled up your body.

“You okay?” He asks with a lopsided smile.

“Yeah” you cough, clearing your throat before trying to speak again “just very hot out there with this heat, I don’t know how you’re coping” you lie gesturing to the jacket he wore.

“Guess I’m kinda used to it, filming a Christmas movie in this heat,” Chris says shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair “but I don’t think we’re talking about the same heat”

You swallowed as you watched him approach, crossing his arms over his chest, making one long vein pop in his arm. Something he knew you couldn’t resist.

Once he was standing in front of you, one hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin from where he pushed your cami up. The other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over and outlining your lips as he looked down at you with a lazy smile.

“I’ve missed you” he mutters.

“I’ve missed you too” you whisper, biting your lip as you look up and see his pupils blown to the point you could barely see the blue of his irises.

“I know” he murmurs his voice low “I didn’t miss the way you kept your legs crossed the entire shoot, biting your lip so you didn’t make a noise”

Your chest heaves as you try and think of something to explain it away, but you couldn’t, not under his gaze. One that always rendered you speechless.

“Must be pretty uncomfortable for you” he continues, his hand on your hip slipping underneath your cami, sliding up until he cupped your breast, thumb running over the lace of your bra “we should probably fix that”

You let out a shuddering breath “Chris we can’t- there’s people outside” you manage to say.

“The door’s locked and I told no one to disturb us during lunch so we could catch up,” Chris says dipping his head to press slow sensual kisses to your jawline and neck “they’re all in the catering tent outside, it's just you… and me…”

“Chriss-“ you gasped when nipped your pulse point.

He lifted his head enough to brush his nose against yours, pressing a barely there kiss to the corner of your mouth, your lips instinctively chasing his as he pulled away “so what do you say?” He hums.

You nod your head quickly, gripping the back of his head and pulling him into a desperate, passionate and feverish kiss. Chris eagerly responded, when your tongue run across the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss and swallowing any moan you let slip.

His hands found the back of your thighs as he bent to pick you up, placing you down on the side. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his small waist, arms around his broad shoulders. Fingers gripped onto his white cotton tee, which had been teasing you all morning. Chris already knew what you wanted, removing his hands from you long enough to whip the top over his head giving you access to his tattoo-littered chest. A smile formed on your face when you found his newest addition, the one right over his heart that he got for you, feeling his steady heartbeat against your fingertips.

Your hands traced down his chest, his muscles tensing with the light scratching sensation from your nail. He let out a small grunt when you found his belt buckle and tugged at it harshly.

“Were the FaceTime calls not enough” he smirks nudging your nose with his.

You glance up, your eyes meeting his but your hands didn’t stop as you pulled his belt free and undid the button of his jeans “nothing beats the real thing” you mutter.

Chris’ lopsided smirk grew as he captured your lips in his. His hips thrust forward when your hand slipped underneath the waistband of his boxers. He wastes no time dropping his hands to the button of your shorts, pulling both them and your underwear down and away.

He lets out a low groan when one of his long fingers swiped up the cut of you, feeling just how hot and bothered you’d gotten in the hours of torture that was his photoshoot.

“Fuck sweetheart so wet” he mutters, finger swirling around your clit making you gasp, head thrown back.

You managed to push his jeans down enough to free his cock, giving it a few pumps, your heels digging into his lower back wordlessly begging for more. You feel the smile on his lips as he captures yours, his hands gripping yours as he tugged you to the edge before one of his hands replaced yours.

Your hands return to his chest, nails digging in when you felt him run the tip of his cock through your folds, covering himself with your arousal.

“Please Chris-“ you beg, your voice barely above a whisper, your head dropping to the crook of his neck.

You feel the soft rumble of Chris’ laughter as he presses a kiss to the side of your head. The sound of his laughter is followed by a short sharp, quiet gasp from you when he finally and slowly presses into you. He moves so tortuously slowly that you’re torn between savouring the feeling or rolling your hips to get more from him.

He distracts you from your internal debate by capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. One that left you gasping for air once he was finally buried to the hilt inside you.

“Fuck I missed you so much” Chris panted between kisses.

“I missed you too” you hum, unable to stop the roll of your hips any longer, making Chris groan.

Finally, he began to move, his slow deep thrust punctuated by a small breathy moan from you. He moved with purpose and desire, each thrust pulling you closer to the edge. All you could do was hold on, your hips rolling to meet his in perfect rhythm. It wasn’t just your bodies that connected, but your minds and souls.

You felt your peak coming, and all you could do was bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming out his name. He let out a restrained groan as you came undone around him, your walls pulsating tipping him over the edge.

The both of you panted deeply as you caught your breaths, basking in the afterglow as you came down from your highs. The stars in your vision finally cleared, allowing you to gaze into his eyes. A soft smile on your face as your reached up to brush the rogue strands of hair off his forehead.

A warm smile grew on Chris’ face as he gently cupped your cheek, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips “I love you so much” he muttered against your lips.

Your hand moved to rest over his heart “I love you too” you whispered.

Once the two of you cleaned yourself up and had something to eat you made your way back outside. Thankful that everyone seemed none the wiser as to what just went down in Chris’ dressing room.

As you walked back to set you spotted the motorcycle that he’d been posing beside and on, a couple of hours ago. A small chuckle fell from your lips as you shook your head at it.

“What is it with motorcycles, you don’t like them” you chuckle.

Chris shrugs “guess it's sexy,” he said wrapping his arm around your shoulder “but we both know I prefer to be ridden” he whispers nipping at your earlobe.

You bite your lips as you look over at him “later” you promise.

Walking inside a small cabin you found a stool to perch on as Chris sat down for the interview portion of the photo shoot. You smiled and laughed along with his answers. Failing to hold back a snort of laughter when he said he’d like to work with wood.

“So what’s something you’re looking forward to in the future?” The interviewer asked.

Chris looked over at you, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he looked down for a second before returning his attention to the camera

“wife, kids, building a family” he nods “that’s absolutely something I want, you know… when you read most of the best artists, whether its actors, painters, writers, you know most of them later in life talk about it wasn’t the work that they made, it was about the relationships” he continues looked back over at you, a bright smile forming on your face as you listened “the families they made, the love they found, the love they shared so um… so that’s also something that through my experience, through my long 41 years has also rang true” he smiles “and i-I love the idea of tradition and ceremony, I had a lot of that in my life so the idea of recreating that is, I can’t think of anything better”

You bite your lips to try and stop yourself from welling up, to everyone else they just saw the smile on his face, but to you, you could see the hopeful questioning look he wore. You could see him wondering and hoping you felt the same way, it didn’t take a second to think before you gave him a subtle nod. His smile grew as you both knew you were in it for the long haul.

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Masterlist

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[thedevilinmybrain]

Harry knows this feeling well. It's like an old friend now, wraps around his shoulders with a familiar weight, water logged wool. The sky is full of stars above him, half hidden behind the haze of electric lights of London, but Harry is one of them. He's infinite, he's insignificant. He's already fading.

Staring through the pub window, just a pane of glass between them, fogged up from the heat inside. All his friends are in there, companions who have known him from the very beginning and some who have just barely started their journey in Harry's life, but they're there. Together. But not Harry. Not tonight.

The remnants of Marlboro smoke lingers on Harry's clothes, his too long hair, the cracks in his chapped lips. That's such a Louis thing to do, leave the reminder even in the bitterness. The sweetness to cut through the sour. Harry's hands know the curves of his body, have memorized the taste of him, but when it was over, that was all he was left with. Like a VHS stuck to rewind and replay over and over on the screen until the lines appear, distorting the image.

Inside, Louis drapes his arm over his newest conquest, a pretty man from Hamsptead with dark curls and freckles on his nose. He stares at Louis with the type of revelry usually found in cathedrals and Harry knows what that sort of worship looks like. It had led him to his knees too many times. Blind devotion to a young god that blew in like a hurricane and left just as cold.

Fingers numb along the cheap paper of the envelope, Harry stares at the letter he wrote, the looping cursive of Louis' name on the front. A whole novel, really, of how open and weeping Harry's heart is. Feels silly now, ridiculous. Men like Louis don't have time for love letters, for confessions. He had kissed Harry every time that the words had threatened to leak out, had smothered them out like flames below the cool earth. So, Harry had thought to write them down. To get them out somehow, for Louis to know, but not standing on the threshold of before and after, he's stuck.

Looking up, Harry watches a cloud pass over the slim thumbnail of the moon. And how insignificant it all feels. How pointless. If Harry melted into the snow at his feet, who would notice? Would the cosmos pause for it? To take notice of the snuffing out of a feeble light, the candle inside of Harry blown out the last time? Of course not. The world would continue to spin, the sun would rise, the birds would sing.

Paper slips from between Harry's fingertips, lands in the dingy puddle at his feet. It feels oddly poetic to watch the water overtake the ink, to wash it into a blur. Harry hasn't felt that inside yet, but he imagines all of it will fade in time, washed away. Or if not, the maybe it will drown him out and he'll stop feeling like this one way or another.

He turns, heads down the street, towards somewhere or no where. Anywhere other than here. Away from the blue eyes staring now through the pub window, the sound of his name falling between lips that Harry had once thought were his too.

[corn-fanfiction]

quam amiterre ludum (losing the game) James Moriarty x OC

Chapter Four: inventum

Chapter Three

Description: Anora is given five days. Anora was recruited.

They decide fairly quickly that it would be best to not allow Anora into the interrogation. For one, it seems that her mere presence infuriates Moran. Second, that fury would surely lead to cutting Anora to the quick. No, it will be Holmes and Lestrade in the room with Watson listening in. Anora is given the day.

She returns to her flat, smaller than the last one and that one smaller than the one before. She sorts through yesterday's post and her hand freezes on an envelope clearly signed by her landlord. She doesn't need to open it to know what it says but she does anyway. 

Failure to deliver agreed upon fees and additional fines. Lease terminated and eviction expected within a week of post.

She checks the envelope, which is in fact posted from two days ago, limiting her time to five days until she has to find somewhere new to live. Anora considers visiting the bank to consider her full options but decides against it for now. She needs to study for her classes. That's the wisest way to spend her time.

Anora decides to sit in the library, because there she doesn't have to think about losing another home, or Sebastian Moran across town, likely not giving up a word of information. Her finger glides across the page under the words. She's been working to improve her words per minute. Her free hand fiddles with her locket which hangs between her neck and the table. But then…then she stops. 

It isn't fair. It isn't fair how she can't seem to extract him even though he's gone. Not dead, apparently, but gone from her life.

Until they find him, that is.

Anora unclasps the chain and lays the locket in her palm. It's big, a cameo of a tree against gold. It's the most expensive thing she owns. Really, the only expensive thing. Not that it matters much. She pries the locket open with her thumbnail. Inside are the last photos of Joseph and her parents. The one of her parents was taken well before the shipwreck but Joseph's is only a few days before his death, and she can tell now that she knows what to look for. He's thinner than ever and showing physical signs of fatigue. But he's smiling. 

It isn't fair that this is all she has left. This, and her mind, her memories. And she can't treasure the locket the way she used to. Not without thinking of him.

She makes a decision. She closes the locket and tucks it in the pocket of her trousers. Without it, her hands are free and fidgety, but she can finally focus.

-

They were coming upon their first term paper and Anora was a nervous wreck. She'd taken Professor Moriarty's words to heart and occasionally chose questions during lecture she knew her peers would easily be able to answer. Then, to compensate her own pride, she'd ask something only someone like Lucius or Adam, who sat down the aisle, could answer.

Sometimes, she managed questions only Moriarty could answer. Those were her favorite moments, even more than when she answered his own queries successfully. She didn't have the words to explain it at the time, but she liked the way it made her feel. 

After class, the day before the end of term, Lucius caught her in the hallway. 

“Leeds! How familiar are you with the end of term prank?”

Anora adjusted her bag over her shoulder.

“Not at all, though the name gives it away. What are you up to?”

“Well, Adam, Whitson and I have plotted something for Professor Moriarty. Harmless, don't worry. We're going to rig some ink to explode on him in the teachers lounge but…we could use your help. You're a bit thinner than us and to hang the balloon we need to get into the crawl space. I don't know if you'll fit, but you've got a better chance than us.”

“Oh, I'm not sure…”

“Don't worry! It's tradition. They'll practically be waiting for it.”

As she tossed it back and forth in her head, Adam and Whitson caught up to them.

“Did he say yes?”

“Will he do it?”

“I don't know. Will you, Leeds?”

Anora looked between the three young men. She wanted to say no, to go study and mind her business, but more than that she wanted to secure her place among the ranks. Doing this would lose her some social capital with Moriarty but surely further douse any potential suspicions of her fraud. Social capital she could recover. Being scrutinized would be much more difficult.

“Fine. Yes, that sounds fine. I like being a part of things.”

She tried not to sound so mechanical about it but she doubted they cared much. They walked to the lounge, the room at the end of the mathematics wing, at the end of a hallway, right before the walkway. Adam produced a key, no doubt he'd swiped it from an absent minded professor or aide, and unlocked the door. 

Except, when the door opened and Anora stepped inside, someone shoved her, yanked her bag from her shoulder, and shut the door.

Immediately, Anora spun around and banged on the door with her fists. At first she thought it had to have been a mistake, but the smell of ammonia and the stuffiness of the room told her all the needed to know. She was in a supply cupboard. If there was a practical joke being planned, this was it.

“What's going on? Lucius? Adam! Open the door!”

“We thought maybe you could use some cooling off since you've been on such a hot winning streak. Take time to relax, huff some chemicals, and the custodial staff will let you out around five in the morning!”

She panicked further once their laughter began to die with distance. She beat and beat and beat against the door to no avail. She was trapped with no light, no books, and no way to write a term paper.

Anora decided it was her own fault for not starting the paper sooner as if that made the situation any better. She felt around the small closet, trying desperately to find anything that could help her escape. Brooms, mops, turpentine and paint cans. 

First, she tried to strip the wire from anything she could, likely ruining a lot in the process. It wasn't a workman's closet so there were no hammer or wrenches. She tried the doorknob but it locked from the outside, likely because the room wasn't built for trapped students to escape.

She tried to wire to slip through the crack of the door, maybe to unlock it from the outside but it didn't fit. She tried yelling for help, but she slowly began to realize that the amonia smelled off, that the brooms and mops were covered in dust, and that the doorknob practically screeched with each turn. They hadn't only locked her in a closer, but they'd locked her in an abandoned one. 

Anora wracked her memory for any that she saw maintenance down this way before. Even if this closet was out of use, there had to have been more in the hall. They boys mentioned custodial staff, which meant that someone would have to hear her eventually. But not until the morning.

She couldn't get out, and panicking more would do her no good. So, Anora sat with her back to the door, closed her eyes, and wrote a paper in her head.

She was awake all night on the off chance someone passed the door but to no avail. It wasn't until early morning that she heard the jingling of keys outside and she cried out in a hoarse voice. Some rattling later and the door opened and she fell out into the hall. The custodian tried to help her up, to question her but she scrambled herself to her feet and bolted down the hall to the lecture hall. Outside the door lay her bookbag.

Anora had no time to be furious. She snatched up her bag and ran to the library, slid into a chair, opened her notebook, and began to write.

She skipped her science class. She had to have reread her paper twenty times, marking it, then rewriting it. After the second rewrite, it became second nature. 

The campus clocktower began to chime noon so Anora gathered her books and slipped her final paper into her folio. She trudged into Moriarty's lecture hall, handed the aide her paper, and took a seat towards the back. She knew she'd fall asleep, so she didn't want to be obvious when she did it.

Lucius and Adam gave her smug looks and condescending waves as they sat down. She didn't have the energy to glare at them and express the rage she felt. 

Moriarty greeted the class, made a comment about the papers, then began. Anora did everything she could to keep her head up but it was a ninety minute class and she probably fell asleep fifteen minutes in. She didn't wake up until the lecture hall door opened and students began to file out. 

“How was your night?” Lucius asked from down the steps. Anora fought a yawn and stood. 

“Sleepless, and yet I'm sure I submitted a better paper than you two put together.”

Lucius and Adam laughed. “Only time will tell, Leeds. Maybe a nap would do you some good!”

The boys took to the lecture hall floor and complemented Moriarty on his lecture, likely to make Anora feel even worse. She was the last in the room, which was unintentional, especially since she did not want to be confronted by her professor.

“Mister Leeds, a moment.”

Anora halted by the door and turned, her palms sweating. She realized at that moment that she left her bag in the library and her school books weighed down her arms. Yet, she pulled them close to her chest and turned to address Professor Moriarty.

“Yes, professor?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and strode casually to the chalkboard.

“You fell asleep during my lecture. There really was no place to sit where I wouldn't notice. Especially after we had such an insightful conversation about being in the middle.”

A prick of sweat gathered and dripped down Anora’s back. She cleared her throat.

“I nodded off. I apologize, it won't happen again.”

He gave her a look of blank consideration. He sounded much different than he had before. He was becoming an impossible man to read and that bothered Anora.

“You didn't sleep last night. Why?”

She was taken aback by the forwardness of the question and its demanding nature and tried not to show it, but the blinking that accompanied her processing of that question likely gave her away.

“I was finishing my paper, sir.”

“Was it worth it?”

Anora chuckled to alleviate the anxiety growing within her gut.

“I hope so.”

Professor Moriarty began to erase the board.

“How old are you, Mr. Leeds?”

Anora bit her tongue to hold the honest answer. “Thirty, sir.”

“You've got over ten years on most of your peers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you enter the program so late?”

That was when the truth- or half a truth, began to take an honest form.

“I had to take care of my family.”

“Family?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you?”

She hesitated.

“Did I what?”

“Take care of them.”

“They're dead sir. But I took care of them to the end.”

The professor took care to finish with the board before turning back to Anora, whose arms were growing tired. She adjusted her grasp and this caught his eye.

“Set those down for a moment.”

She did, and wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers. Moriarty began to pace the room again.

“It's unusual when a man of thirty stays up all night past the point of sleeping and attends a lecture at noon without so much as a hint of a shadow on his face.”

Anora tried not to recoil at his astute observation but it couldn't be helped. Surely he didn't know. She stuttered out an answer.

“I made time to shave.”

He grew closer.

“You don't use aftershave? Cologne?”

“Sir, is there a particular reason you're interrogating me on my hygiene?”

He smirked. It was quickly becoming a signature, where he showed a few of his teeth. Anora was beginning to wonder if that was supposed to serve as an intimidation tactic. If so, it was effective.

“I'm impressed you've gotten along this far.”

She swallowed thickly.

“In your class?”

She knew he didn't mean the class. He began to roam around the room.

“In this school. Clearly you knew you'd have a better chance by lying. Who was Joseph?”

Her heart plummeted. So, this was it. She had known it was a possibility to be discovered but she didn't think it would happen this soon.

She considered his question once her mind cleared the fog it brought along with it. There was no use pretending now.

“My brother, sir.”

“And what you said about your family…?”

“True. All dead.”

He hummed. “My condolences.”

Anora squeezed her eyes shut as the conversation and lack of sleep made her dizzy. “What gave me away?”

The professor turned back to her and sighed, raising his eyebrows as if he didn't know where to begin.

“A number of things which on their own are innocuous but together can spell danger for someone trying to camouflage themselves. Are you wearing a necklace?”

Anora looked down to make sure it was tucked away properly. He approached her again.

“No, it's not showing. When you answer a question during class you go to fidget with it, but I expect it's too feminine so you divert your attention elsewhere: your nails. Which brings me to my second observation.” Suddenly and with deft movement, he took her hands in his, considering them. The action made her freeze. “Your nails are too short. You cut them as far as you can yet most young men don't pay that much attention so you still see slivers of white on theirs.” Anora pulled her hands away, moving more subtly than the yank she fought the urge to use. The professor cleared his throat and took a moment, as if he recognized his own strange behavior. “Your chest bindings are too tight. I often see you stalling in the staircase to catch your breath, usually around the third landing. The putty that you use on your earlobes to conceal where you've had piercings tends to peel in warmer weather. These are things likely no one notices when they're not looking.”

Anora searched his eyes. “But you are.”

“Yes.”

“Why? I'm one in hundreds. Why bother looking so closely?”

He drew away yet again and moved to the window.

“You'd be wise to pay closer attention to your details, Mr. Leeds. You're good, but if I've noticed then it's only a matter of time before someone else does.”

“Are you going to report me?”

He took too long to respond for Anora's liking but she could tell he was thinking. His fingers flicked against each other where he held his hands behind his back.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“You're here on a scholarship, correct?”

Her responses were beginning to grow more hesitant with each question he asked. “Yes.”

“A scholarship, no family…where does your money come from?”

The audacity of the question stunned Anora. “I- it's not something that I-”

“I apologize for being so blunt but I have another class in ten minutes so I don't want to waste time. I've recently had the position of an assistant vacated. I thought I could do without it but it's rather…delicate work. It takes a certain sort of person.”

Her breath began to grow shallow, her voice quieter. Like she was afraid of the sound. “What sort of person?”

“Someone quick, quiet. Discreet. And a friendly face doesn't hurt.”

His eyes scanned her features quickly but she still noticed. His description of the job began to take hold on her and she realized why he was being so coy.

“Illegal?”

He sat at his desk and steepled his fingers together. 

“Highly, on occasion. In return, I shall do everything in my power to ensure you graduate the program. I will assuage any concerns should they arise and personally see to it that you have a job by the time you leave this school.”

Anora moved for her necklace, then remembered herself, so she went to pick at her nails, then stopped herself again. She dropped her hands at her sides and steeled herself against the knowledge that he had watched the whole ordeal.

“What if I say no?”

He didn't move, but something in his face changed, if only in minute detail. A twitch, or maybe it was his eyes. Whatever the tell, the purpose was clear to Anora. He hadn't expected her to ask.

“We can help each other,” he replied. The response was measured and steady and careful in such a way that he didn't need to really answer her question.

“But if I were to say no…?”

His silence spoke volumes. She cleared her throat. She thought of the help he was offering, and the threats hidden within his words. She weighed the risks. Anora knew that there really was no choice.

“When would I start?”

“When I need you to. Which will likely be soon. I'll let you know.”

Anora stood stock still, waiting for him to say more. He was flipping through a book, then looked at her again.

“You may go.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Anora gathered her books despite the fact that the weight made her feel as though her arms would be pulled from their sockets.

“One moment, I forgot to ask. Your name.”

“Anora, sir.”

“Anora. Carry on.”

Anora made for the door, but paused, and turned back. Perhaps it was the fatigue, but she was feeling emboldened.

“Two things. One, I don't wear bindings. I'm asthmatic. That's why I have to pause on the steps. Secondly, you didn't forget to ask my name, you waited to see if I would give it of my own volition and I didn't. I wouldn't have.”

Moriarty watched her, raised a brow but without moving his mouth. A smile could have meant amusement or condescension but now she had neither. Once she realized he was finished with the conversation, Anora finally left the room. She retrieved her bag and made for home, content to fully forget the conversation for now, or what her new job may entail, and opted for a full day of sleep instead.

[izvmimi]

“A letter for you, my lady.”

The servant outside of your room curtsies in front of you, delivering the unfamiliar envelope to you with slight flourish. Tilting your head, you try to visually identify anything that could indicate who would send you a letter with ink smudges pressed into its sides and corners.

This clearly is not mail from any of your noble friends, the penmanship of whoever wrote your name says that much. Despite your confusion, you giggle and pluck the envelope, turning it between your fingers and squinting at the seal you don’t quite recognize. In fact, it looks homemade.

Carved into possibly the flat face of a piece of wood, uneven at the edges. Nothing like your own seal that boasts a heavy oak handle and a glass etching of your Silva family crest on the underside. It boasts a messy A with a shape you can’t quite decipher from a cross or a star next to it.

It couldn’t be.

Your fingers twitch slightly as you nudge your thumbnail beneath the seal to open the envelope, carefully sliding the paper inside out, more smudges leading your eyes to the words.

Mimi,

Writing letters is weird. I usually only write to the village but wanted to write to you today. How are your studies with Owen? Captain Yami keeps calling him a quack and I don’t really know what that means. He isn’t a duck so it never makes sense.

Anyway, Charmy learned a new recipe she wants to show you and Luck and Magna broke a window two days ago. Noelle seems sad when you aren’t here. Everyone kind of does, honestly.

I hope you’ll return home from the capital soon. I sleep better when I know you are safe and I know you are safe when you are here.

Asta

You press the envelope to your lips to hide your smile, curtsying back at the servant who brought you the letter to dismiss them wordlessly. Entering your room, you gently shut the door and scan over the letter again, squinting at the unbelievably messy handwriting.

He sent you a letter. He has been thinking of you as often as you've been thinking of him.

Asta may be a new feature in your life but the steady beat of your heart in time with the pounding wings of the butterflies in your stomach play a beat that convinces you he may be around for a long time to come.

i've reread this so many many times because i can feel the softness of his voice so clearly, he's so darling, he's so perfect wahhhh

[frankensteinshimbo]

The Old Machine

For @flashfictionfridayofficial's Flash Fiction Friday. The prompt was:

[#FFF218 How Do You Use 'It'?] This wonderful prompt has been brought to you by the one and only @potaeto-writes, thank you very much! What is 'it'? Why does someone not know how to use it? You better read that booklet with its fine-print! Whether your character tries to get the washing machine going for the first time or your scientist has created a rather complicated time-machine: We want to know how it's used! Write your story and tell us.

A fun fact: I work with kids and had them decide what the machine should be called based on their best guesses.

“How do you use it?”

Price’s breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

“I don’t know.”

Ansley “Lee” Robinson scraped a soft layer of dust off of the top of the faded exterior of the machine with her palm. 

What was once an enameled seagreen had become the mottled color of chicken starting to mold, but now she could see tiny glimmers of her own reflection staring out of fingerprints. It was an old bulwark. It might’ve been the green-gray of a whale’s back cresting the surface of the ocean. She held the boxy shape in her hands, shifting the sharp edges, so they wouldn’t dig into her. It looked like a large flat box with a smaller longer box on top, sort of like the beat-up red plastic cash register at school. Instead of numbers, it had a raised circular keyboard. Each key was about as big as a thumbnail. 

“It’s one of those story typing machines,” Lee stated with the confidence of a tenured professor. 

“Like from an old movie,” Price swanned towards what would’ve been a graceful landing on a stack of boxes had her grandma’s chunky red heels not caught the edge of the suitcase a pace to the right and knocked his butt right onto it, like a sack of dirty clothes on laundry day.

“Yeah, I guess,” she continued without looking up at Price’s usual antics.  

Her own eye gleamed back at her, distorted in the streaky surface. She looked a second longer, then blew.

A wave of gray murk flew off or fell in clumps to the concrete floor. The ancient dust raised a fit of hacking, doubling her and Price over. The machine slipped in her hands. Quickly, she fumbled for the blocky shape with her small arms. With a horrible ringing and clattering from the machine, she gained purchase by jamming it into the soft spot just below her diaphragm. 

“Lee! Y’all better not be in that damn storage closet!”

She and Price shared a single look and a fleet-footed departure. Him on bare feet, her with the typing machine under her hoodie. 

She traded Price his abandoned socks the next day for his pack of new gel pens.

They sat on the playground bench, getting flecked with glittery pink, orange, green as they cracked the ink reservoirs open to dump them into a little plastic bottle they’d found near the slides. It looked like it’d held bubble liquid once. Now it had a concoction that was slowly turning a nauseous black. 

Price pranced on his sneakers’ tiptoes as he practiced staggering around in front of the bench Lee was sitting on. 

“You have to bring whatever you write on it to school, okay? I got those pens for my birthday.”

“It’s not like I’m using all of them,” Lee grumbled, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she wanted Price to be there.

“Yeah, but they’re still mine, so I get the first page.” Price teetered on a toe for a moment before he sank into the bench beside her. “I’m gonna put it in a frame next to my bed in the new apartment.”

Like the aftermath of a stone splashing into a pond, the two fell silent.   

 Her great grandparents had lived in her house prior to her grandparents who had lived there prior to her dad; she had always thought that she would live there as well. But Dad was always going on about the neighborhood being sold off to the city so white land developers could push into the block with new condos. Old Miss Mattie - who’d planted crepe myrtle trees down the block and knocked on their door every month or so to remind them about the neighborhood potluck had stopped coming ‘round. Dad had said she’d had to move. Then he sighed in that world weary way and shook his head. That had been when the stone had started to sink Lee’s stomach, then, that something that had been so assured for most of her life could be taken without her ever having realized it’d gone missing. 

Using the borrowed time between Dad’s room door closing and the onset of drowsiness in her body, Lee dragged the typing machine out from under her bed. Setting the glass of water on her nightstand on the floor, she hefted the thing into the empty center. It didn’t take long to fish the improvised ink bottle out of her backpack, but it did take her the better part of that hour and several Google searches to find the name of the thing.

“Typewriter. I knew that,” she mumbled as she popped the letters ‘how to use a typewriter’ into YouTube on virtual keys. The blue-green behemoth stood perfectly still beside her. She almost felt as though it were waiting. Waiting as she stumbled through finding out it already had a loaded ink ribbon, cramming in a sheaf of notebook paper borrowed from today's math notes, and marveling that the typewriter had sat there all those years patiently waiting to be used. 

The carriage moved as if oiled to click into place. A minute passed in silence, but nothing stirred except for the hum of cold air being spit out of the AC. She laid her hands on the keys. 

“Springhill was never”’ she began to write, then opened Google on her phone beside her. She puzzled out different variations of

jentrefid

jentrifyed

jentreefied

 until ‘did you mean?’ spat back out the correct input.

‘Gentrified.’

Under the painstaking guesswork of another fifteen minutes, she wrote:

“Miss Mattie never moved away and Price will not move because the city ran out of money paying lawyers. When we’re together, they can’t defeat us. We will live here and so will our children.”

When she set out for school the next morning Old Ms. Mattie waved at her from across the street.

[lamaenthel]

Tivaevae | Chapter Fourteen: Tivaevae

Still struggling to emotionally recover from Master Obi-Wan's deception, Ahsoka discovers in the aftermath that twelve-year-old Boba Fett has been locked up among adults in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. After convincing Chancellor Palpatine to grant him a pardon, she manages to secure his release on the condition that she serve as his legal guardian. Now, with the help of Master Plo and the Wolfpack, she vows to help him track down what family he has left.

| AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Kanan Jarrus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CC-1119 | Appo, Dexter Jettster, FLO | WA-7 (Star Wars), Shaak Ti, ARC Commander Blitz (Star Wars), CT-6922 | Dogma, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Comet (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-4860 | Boost, Aurra Sing, Tobias Beckett, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Droid Characters (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars) Total Word Count: 123,000 Chapter Word Count: 12,578 Chapter Summary: Ahsoka and Boba say goodbye.

Ahsoka took a deep breath of the heavy, wet air. It smelled like petrichor and mud, wet stone, moss and ozone, but most intensely of all was the smell of freshly-opened tiarek flowers that had opened to greet the morning sunlight; a sweet, floral smell that tasted like sunshine and citrus in the back of her throat.

It was a pleasant, delicate smell, and one that ironically didn't suit Rex at all. Rex smelled like clean soap and warm musky skin, not citrus flowers and sunshine. She could picture Rex sneezing if he got a whiff of them. She did know that Padmé would absolutely love them though. The wind blew their heavy scent straight to her nose from her spot atop the hill that bordered the creekbed. They were gorgeous, if tiny; small and plush, a vibrant yellow pistil surrounded by six-petaled starbursts of creamy platinum the same shade as a certain captain's hair.

Rex had been named after a flower. A flower. And she couldn't even tease him about it without traumatizing him.

Ahsoka split the stem of one flower with her thumbnail and carefully threaded another through the hole. She almost had enough of a chain to circle Boba's head, though she knew that she'd have to sit on him if she wanted to get a holopic of him with it on.

If Cody woke up, maybe he could hold him down. He had been performing eyelid maintenance on the blanket next to them for the last half hour, stripped to the waist and face down to let his fresh ink breathe, using Robert the Rancor as a pillow. Ahsoka followed the diamond-dash pattern of dadita names along the sunburst to the newest addition; Ponds.

Her heart broke a little, remembering the holorecording Aurra had sent to taunt them. She looked away before Boba saw where her eyes had settled. He lay between her legs, leaning back against her chest with his face tucked next to her lek. He hadn't left her side since he had returned except to strip out of his sodden flight suit and into his civvies. As for her, she'd changed back into her white and red robes, the ones that Obi-Wan had seamed up for her on the way to Corellia.

"The Force is not a power that Jedi wield, as many believe it to be." Obi-Wan sat cross legged in front of Boba's brother, who'd dragged himself from his hoverchair to join the Master on a blanket atop the damp grass. Obi-Wan's aura was a warm, sunny blue with happiness-peace. "It is the energy between all things. It is the tension and the balance that binds the universe together. One can learn to wield it if they have the natural ability, which you most certainly have." Obi-Wan's lip twitched and the air shimmered soft gold with humor around him. "Catching a plasma bolt, for example, is a remarkable feat without any training. Ahsoka can't do that."

Ahsoka frowned. "I also haven't tried!" she called down defensively.

Obi-Wan winked at her. "Would you like to learn how to meditate, Cassus?"

Cassus nodded eagerly. He was starved for contact with any sentient that wasn't his mother or the droids he had programmed himself. He wanted to learn so badly, but this would most likely be the only lesson he ever received; not just because of Kaisa, but because of their own Jedi dogma. It didn't seem fair that Cassus had to let his own natural affinity wither away because he'd had the misfortune to be born to Jedi-hating bigots. His naturally turquoise aura was radiating vibrant green curiosity-excitement-joy. His little BD droid made an offended series of beeps at being jostled on his lap and took himself to the corner of the blanket, where he curled up and pouted.

Obi-Wan smiled wide. Getting the opportunity to teach an eager student that was interested in more than just how to use a lightsaber must have felt like a novelty to him. "Very well. Close your eyes and reach out. What do you feel?"

Cassus shut his eyes, still beaming, and extended his hand. It trembled, but Ahsoka didn't see anything in his aura that said it was a result of his nerves.

Obi-Wan chuckled and gently pushed Cassus' hand down. "Not like that, young man. Reach out with your feelings. Take a deep breath and sense the forest around you. Tell me what you see."

Cassus, pink cheeked and aura yellowed like a bruise with embarrassment, took a deep breath as instructed. "The bunker?" he said hesitantly, eyes still closed.

"Yes, the bunker. What else?"

"The trees. The bugs in the moss." Cassus' breathing deepened and his aura flowed out like soft smoke around him. "A herd of shatual does. A convor. Life, so much life. It sings around us."

"Very good. The Living Force is strong in places such as this." Obi-Wan smiled. "What else?"

Cassus' face screwed up in concentration. "Death. A tree fell in the storm. It had a banshee bird nest in it, and the babies died when it hit the ground." Cassus sagged a little and his aura darkened to purple. "I think it was fast."

"Their bodies will nourish new life, will they not?" Obi-Wan's voice was gentle. "They will be eaten by scavengers and insects, who in turn feed the moss, the trees, all of it. Do not linger there, keep going. Take all of it in."

"Warmth. The sun is warm." Cassus tilted his head. "But the ground is cold from the rain." He turned his head towards Ahsoka, Boba and Cody snuggled together on their blanket. "Peace." His head tilted the other way. "And violence."

Ahsoka's arms tightened around Boba.

"And between it all?" Obi-Wan encouraged him.

"Balance. An energy… a…"

"The Force. That is the Cosmic Force." Obi-Wan's aura was lush green with pride-appreciation. "Very good, Cassus."

"Mama said the Force isn't the Manda. The Force is what Jedi call on to do their magic."

Obi-Wan laughed quietly. "On that, we disagree. I think that the Manda and the Force are simply two names for the same concept. You listen to the song of the Manda, and we strive to follow the will of the Force. It is not so different, those two philosophies."

Cassus blinked his eyes open. "You're not going to make me live at your Temple, are you?"

"No." Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, dear boy, even if your mother consented to it, you are unfortunately too old to be trained as a Jedi. It's a shame. Your temperament is very well-suited for this life."

"It is?" Cassus' eyes went big and round, and his aura flared staticky white with surprise.

"Yes." Obi-Wan smiled, but his aura pulsed with red-violet regret. Ahsoka could see why. Cassus was desperate to learn, but even this small lesson toed the line of impropriety. Teaching the ways of the Jedi to someone outside of the Order was forbidden, and Obi-Wan was a shabla Council member.

"Mama… she's said a lot about the Jedi, but I don't think she was told the truth. And she ran into some bad ones, maybe." Cassus reached for Buddy, his aura gone white with anxiety; Ahsoka watched the little droid crawl up his arm and snuggle next to his ear, cooing the whole time.

"I think you may be right. I know that she suffered at Galidraan, and combining her own experience with, well…" Obi-Wan hesitated and chose his words carefully, "Salacious rumors about the Order, her prejudice runs deep."

"So you don't steal babies?" Cassus asked, looking up at Obi-Wan with shining gray eyes.

"We do not. I do not doubt that it has happened, unfortunately, but if such a thing were ever to be discovered then the child would immediately be given the choice to return to their old life."

"Oh." Cassus wrung his hands in his lap and squirmed with violet guilt-shame. "I'm sorry that Mama tried to hurt you and Ahsoka. When her friends in town called to say that they saw two Jedi and a clone trooper heading for us, she… she got so scared. I've never seen her that scared."

Obi-Wan patted his hand. "Given her trauma, that is understandable."

"So you're not mad?" Cassus blinked at him from under his lashes.

"Holding a grudge is not the Jedi way." Obi-Wan didn't look at Ahsoka but she felt a gentle nudge through their bond, almost like a hand slipping into hers. She returned it with a copper tendril of affection.

"Can we do that again?" Cassus asked shyly. "Meditating, I mean."

"I'd love to." Obi-Wan grinned broadly and closed his eyes. "First let's try a breathing exercise."

"She'd shit if she saw this," Boba said wryly. "Cassus learning from a Jedi? It's her worst nightmare come true."

"Seems like it." Ahsoka gently rubbed her lek against his cheek. "How are you doing with all of this?"

Boba shrugged. "Can't you tell?"

"To an extent." She eyed the confused kaleidoscope of colors that circled around her vod'ika. "But you've got a lot going on inside, I think. I'd rather hear it from you. And talking it out usually helps."

Boba didn't answer, choosing to silently watch his brother instead. "He's not like Dad at all," he said after a minute. "He'd be horrified if he saw how soft he is."

"There's a lot of sharp edges in the galaxy, especially when it comes to Clan Fett." Ahsoka huffed a quiet laugh. "Maybe a little softness is needed to balance it out."

"He's not Clan Fett," Boba said glumly. His aura solidified into solid purple sadness before spinning back up into its fractal rainbow. "He doesn't claim that name. He's Clan Skirata."

"That doesn't mean he's not Jango's son," Ahsoka said.

"Yeah it does." Boba watched a fat pink butterfly flap around Cassus' head and smirked when it landed in his curls. "Once you declare someone dar'buir, that's it."

Ahsoka hugged him tighter. "Did he, though?" she asked.

"I… I guess I don't actually know," Boba admitted. "I assume he did, if he goes by Skirata."

"You should probably talk about it with him."

"Yeah. Probably." Boba sighed. "I don't think my dad really loved me."

Ahsoka blinked, too surprised to respond. "What?" she finally managed, her voice jumping an octave. Beside them, Cody cracked an eyelid, his aura tinted green with curiosity. "How can you say that? Before, you said–"

"I said a lot of things before," Boba interrupted. "That was before I knew why he shot them down. Why she left us behind. Everything I thought I knew was based on banthashit."

His aura went spiky and deep violet; Ahsoka recognized it as the warning of a meltdown and bit her lip. "When we were on The Babasta–"

"He told M– Kaisa, he told Kaisa he loved her too. All the time." The violet spikes in his aura spun and sharpened. Ahsoka smelled salt. "He told Cas and Tiarek he loved them. He tried to kill all of them." He squeezed his eyes shut too late to stop a tear from escaping. "I don't understand how he could do it, but I'm… I'm glad he's dead. I hate him."

Ahsoka sucked in a breath. "Boba…"

"I do. I hate him. He tried to kill my brothers, my mother, and for what? Because Tiarek looked at junk in a stupid box? Because my mother was trying to protect Cassus from the longnecks? We weren't…. He never loved any of us. Not really.” He stared at his hands, his aura throbbing yellow-green with disgust, and Ahsoka had to wonder if he was thinking about how much they looked like Jango's. "And I’m just like him. I tried to kill Windu in some stupid, half-assed revenge attempt. You've almost died for me twice already. My donor was a monster, and I'm going to be a monster too.”

Ahsoka couldn't help the tears that escaped from her own eyes, though it was hard to tell if they were truly hers or an echo from the boy in her arms. “I didn't know him," she said quietly. "And what he did to Cassus and Rex is unforgivable, but–"

“But nothing, Ahsoka! He was a monster!" Boba's face crumpled and he seemed to shrink in her arms. "And I am too. I shot Kaisa. I-I threatened to use the same poison on Cas if she didn't give us the antidote."

Ahsoka's brow markings raised. "You did?" she asked, trying to keep the shock out of her voice. "When?"

"When you started going all glitchy and babbling." Boba shuddered and grayed with the memory of fear. "I was so mad at her, so scared that you were going to die, I couldn't… I couldn't…"

"Sssh, udesii." Ahsoka rubbed his back and purred. "I'm sorry, vod'ika. I don't…" she took a deep breath. "I don't think you have the whole story. I don't know that you'll ever get it without Jango, but right now, you only have a few pieces."

"I wish Kal would have just minded his own fucking business," he sniffled, hiding his face under her lek. "Now everything is… it's different. It's not like I didn't know that it had happened, b-but…" He took a deep breath. "But I know now that he couldn't have loved them, which means he couldn't have loved me." Boba stared down at Cassus with a bruise-dark aura of grief. "You don't hurt people if you really love them. Not for a stupid reason like that."

She looked down at Obi-Wan, laughing silently at the butterfly that had landed in Cassus' curls, and felt her left arm throb for a brief second. "Do you love Cassus?" she asked Boba, gently enveloping him in a warm copper blanket of love-safety-comfort.

"I don't even know him." The spikes were slowing, going dull.

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know. I used to." Boba flared soft copper with love-humor as he watched Cassus finally open his eyes and dissolve into a peal of laughter at the discovery of his new friend.

"Would you like to know what I see in your aura when you look at him?" Ahsoka asked softly.

Boba's lip trembled and he looked down. "I can't love Cas. I was going to hurt him. I was so mad that I didn't even hesitate, and… and…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Fuck, I really am just like him."

"That's not a bad thing," Ahsoka said.

Boba whipped his head around. "How the fuck–" he began hotly, but she shushed him.

"Because he was more than just the bad things that he did, Boba." She threaded their fingers together. "He also could make a drawing out of pencil that looked as real as a holopic. He played quetarra and sang for his boys. He fell asleep on the couch snuggling them, and he told you that he loved you every single day, even when he was mad at you. And he raised an amazing boy. With all of the things that he did wrong, he still made you into the person that you are today. And that person is pretty amazing."

Boba turned in her arms so that he could hide in her neck. It quickly started to feel hot and wet where his eyes were pressed. "How can I believe that he ever meant it when he hurt everybody else he said he loved?" he whispered, a dark-green cloud of noxious misery.

"You love your brother. But in the heat of the moment, you lost your head and were fully prepared to hurt him. Right?"

Boba nodded, clouded with deep yellow shame.

"But now that the sun is up and everything is okay, I have a feeling that you really regret it."

Boba nodded again.

"Don't you think it's possible that your dad felt the exact same way?" Ahsoka pulled him out of her neck so she could look him in his tear-swollen eyes. The purple had faded to green, at least. "What your dad did was wrong. There's no way to rationalize it, kiddo, no matter how angry or scared or drunk he was, it was wrong, and that's just something that you're going to have to live with. The difference is that he didn't have an ori'vod to stop him back then, but you do. And I won't let you get away with that shit." That earned her a shocked little laugh. "So we're going to nip it in the bud now. We'll work on our anger before it gets out of control and we do something we can't undo, 'lek?"

Boba nodded, his face still all screwed up and teary, but his aura glowing soft gold with humor.

"We're more than the bad things that we do. They just stick out a lot more than the good." She wiped his eyes. "Change is hard. Trust me, I know. But you can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting, Boba. You just have to keep going."

"How?" Boba whispered.

"You just do." Ahsoka smiled sadly. "You are a survivor, Boba. You've been through so much, and you've gotten this far because of what your dad taught you. You can get through this, too. And it'll be better this time, because you won't be alone. You're not meant to be alone. None of you are."

Boba nodded, soft green with coppery green affection-acceptance. "Thanks, ori'vod."

"Any time, vod'ika." She kissed his temple, slipped the chain of flowers around his head, and snatched Cody's helmet to take a holopic before he could shake it off like an uncooperative tooka.

"Seriously?" Boba asked, then burst into laughter that echoed with bright gold.

"You look beautiful," she teased.

Boba gingerly pulled it off with a roll of his eyes, then glanced at Cassus. "We're not meant to be alone," he repeated quietly. "But Cassus is alone."

"He has Kaisa," Ahsoka said, watching him gently rotate the flower crown in his hands.

Boba snorted. "Yeah. And look how that turned out." He took a deep breath and went silvery-green with determination. "But if I go back with you, I'll be alone too. I know there's that school that Plo talked about, and yeah, you'll visit when you can, but I'll be on my own there most of the time."

Ahsoka's heartbeat sped up. "That's true."

"I have to stay here. For Cassus. He needs an ori'vod, even if he is technically older than me." He looked up at Ahsoka. "Plo won't be mad, right?"

"No," she said. "No, I think Plo will be so proud of you when I tell him why you stayed." And so was she, though her first instinct was to put him under her arm and run. She couldn't do that. She had already come to terms with letting Boba go when it was time, it was just… now that it was actually time, it was proving a little more daunting than she had expected.

"Maybe I can bully Kaisa into moving to Coruscant," Boba jokes, going soft gold again. "She's been locked in this fucking hole for a decade, after all." He adjusted his legs and his aura lightened to pale blue with surprise. He reached for the pocket above his right knee. "Shit, I keep forgetting to give you–"

"Breakfast!" Gotika toddled out of the bunker entrance, trailed closely by Pinky. The astromech was wearing a frilly black apron. "Cas'ika, breakfast is ready, it's time to–" She stopped dead at the sight of her maker on the ground. "Cas'ika, what do you think you're doing?" she wailed, waddling at hyperspeed towards him.

"I'm fine, Gotika," Cas said, exasperated. He quickly clambered back into his hoverchair before he could be scolded again.

"But the ground is wet! You could get sick, or–"

"I'm fine!" he said crossly, his aura yellowing with embarrassment. "Let's go in."

"Finally," Cody groaned, flipping over and reaching for the top half of his blacks.

Boba tossed the flower chain to his brother as he zoomed by. "Ahsoka made this for you," he lied casually, smirking.

"Really?" Cassus put it on his head and grinned at her. "Thank you!"

Ahsoka smiled at Cassus and kicked Boba's ankle. "You are very welcome," she said sweetly.

"He's a natural," Obi-Wan said softly, coming up behind her. They watched the two boys and Cody follow Gotika up the short ramp to the bunker door.

"I noticed." Ahsoka allowed him to put a careful arm around her shoulders. "It's a shame that he can't be taught. I could see him in the Agricorps."

"He has a Force Talent. Mechu-deru. A very rare gift, one once thought to be linked to the Dark Side. We know better now, thankfully."

Ahsoka raised her brow markings. "What is mechu-deru?"

"He has an intuitive understanding of mechanics, and can manipulate them with the Force. He said that he rebuilt and programmed Gotika when he was five." Obi-Wan shook his head with an aura of green disbelief. "All of these droids, the drones, the turrets– those were all built from scrap by him with absolutely no guidance. He would have been a wonder if he'd had a teacher."

"Reminds me of Anakin," Ahsoka said quietly.

"In a way, yes." Obi-Wan squeezed her a little as they walked. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Like I was put through a laundry pod and hung up to dry," Ahsoka joked. "Otherwise, I guess I'm fine."

"And the leg?"

Ahsoka twisted her leg to show him. "It's already closed up," she said with a smile.

"Good." Obi-Wan returned her smile but his eyes were tight, and his aura thrummed with staticky-gray anxiety. "Thank you, Ahsoka."

She side-eyed him. "For what?"

"For allowing me to accompany you on the final leg of your journey. I know…" he took a deep breath and his aura flooded with pewter determination. "I understand, now, how deeply my actions affected you, but I need you to know that none of my decisions were made out of malice, or indifference towards you, but out of my duty to the Republic."

Ahsoka nodded, feeling cold resignation sink down into her guts like an iceberg. He wasn't saying that he regretted it. He wasn't even really apologizing for it. He was just asking for her to understand that it wasn't personal.

Somehow that felt even worse than everyone telling her to get over it.

"I care deeply for you, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan said, his voice cracking. He stopped and took her hands, looking frighteningly young without his hair and beard. He looked almost like the Padawan Bobi of her youth, and it hurt to look at him for too long. "More than even you, with your marvelous gift, will ever know." His aura shone like a star with intense copper and his eyes pleaded for her forgiveness, for her to tell him that they could go on again as normal, but she couldn't make the words come out.

She had been furious at him at first, almost more for what Anakin had been through than her, but now that anger was gone and all that remained was just… sadness. She wasn't angry anymore, she was in mourning; not for the man, but for the trust that was gone for good. She loved him, and she could see how much he loved her, but the unshakeable faith that she'd always had in him was gone. She was expendable to Obi-Wan in a way that she had known in the abstract, but had never been forced to confront before now.

"Would you do it again?" she asked him, trying and failing to not let her grief leak into her voice. "If you could do it all over again, would you put me in that alley and let me hold you while you died? Make Anakin watch them burn your body? Or would you trust us enough to bring us in?"

Obi-Wan looked away, darkening with a familiar shade of yellow shame-regret. "Hindsight is notably clearer than foresight," he said quietly. "Perhaps I should have had more faith in the two of you, but the life of a Jedi requires us to sacrifice everything in service of the greater good. I regret that I hurt you, Ahsoka, I truly do. And… I may have gone further than I needed to in order to sell the lie."

But he would do it again if he had to. He may even hate it, but he would do it, because that was what a Jedi did. They sacrificed everything and held onto nothing, all for the greater good.

And Ahsoka… she was a Jedi too, and it was time for her to follow her own advice. To keep walking, and not look back. She'd always looked at him as the closest thing as a father that she'd ever have, and his aura matching the color of her actual father's had only cemented it for her, but he wasn't her father. He was her mentor and one of her dearest friends. He had shaped her into the person that she was, guided her lightsaber forms and taught her about the Force, but it was long past time that she let go of Bobi and what he represented to her and move forward with Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. She quieted her mind and took a deep breath, then opened herself up to the flow of the Cosmic Force and surrendered her dull, icy grief to it.

"Ahsoka?" Obi-Wan asked softly, teal with concern over the way she'd gone quiet.

The gentle hooting of a convor sounded directly above their heads; she craned her neck up to search the canopy but saw nothing but a sea of green against a sunny blue sky. "I'm starving," she said, looking back down with a watery smile; she felt lighter now, but empty in a way that she couldn't describe. "Let's get inside before Cody inhales the table."

She felt her wound throb as she walked away, but it didn't reopen.

"So is this an everyday thing?" Ahsoka asked, staring at the spread before her. Roba sausage, scrambled nuna eggs with little pieces of spicy peppers, a giant pot of hominy, some sort of cake crusted with sugar and amber syrup, a bowl the size of Pinky's dome full of sliced-up shuuras, snozzberries and meilooruns, all sprinkled with shredded kokanini… It was the sort of breakfast feast that was served to a busy working family in a holovid that would have two bites taken then be promptly abandoned in favor of the plot.

Cassus blushed, fogged with yellow embarrassment, and fiddled with the napkin on his lap. "No, but I-I thought since we haven't really been good hosts, I could at least make sure you had a nice meal before you left."

"You kicking us out?" Boba asked casually, dipping a fork full of nuna eggs into the amber syrup before shoving it in his mouth.

"No, of course not, but I didn't… didn't think you'd want to stay after you got your armor."

Boba swallowed the whole mouthful in one go. "You don't want it?" he asked, flaring white with surprise.

Cassus shook his head. "It would be wasted on me," he mumbled. "I'm not a warrior. I'm–" his bronze cheeks were nearly puce and his aura was getting more yellow by the moment. "I can't walk. My hands shake too much to shoot straight. I made my drones to try and be useful, but I'll never be able to fight someone face-to-face no matter how much beskar I'm wearing."

"Well, not with that attitude," Boba grumbled, shoving more eggs in his mouth.

Ahsoka gave him the look that she so often received from Rex that said behave. "Is your mom going to join us, Cassus?" she asked.

Cassus shook his head. "She's packing the armor up now," he said, not meeting Ahsoka's eyes.

"Then I'll go take a plate to her." Ahsoka stood up and almost walked face-first into Gotika.

"Mistress Kaisa needs to rest while she recovers from her injury, Master Jedi," she said brightly.

Ahsoka nearly choked at being addressed as Master, and she saw gold flicker around Obi-Wan out of the corner of her eye. "I'll make sure she's abiding by your recommendations and take her some food," she said pleasantly, stepping to the side.

"I already brought her a plate." Gotika matched her step.

"Then I'll join her so she doesn't have to eat alone." Ahsoka stepped to the left, mirrored by the ominously pleasant protocol droid.

"No need."

"Gotika, let her pass," Cassus said sharply.

Gotika's eyes dimmed and she immediately stepped out of Ahsoka's way.

She tossed a tiny smirk over her shoulder at the droid as she made the hallway. Gotika's left eye strobed as though it was twitching.

Ahsoka rapped softly on the door at the end of the hall before opening it. Kaisa sat on her bed, dressed down into a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of loose pants that ended at the knee, both black and well-worn. There was a green bacta sleeve wrapped around her left knee. She stared at Ahsoka as she came in, her aura pulsing like orange smoke with distrust-anxiety-fear.

"Thought you could use some company while you ate," Ahsoka said gently, projecting a cool sage aura of serenity-trust.

"Why?" Kaisa's aura cautiously bled back into her base of coral, tinged with a bruised line around the edges.

"Maybe it's the Togruta in me talking, but I hate eating alone." Ahsoka set her plate down on her wooden dresser and leaned against it, taking in the room. It was rather plain in comparison to the vibrant colors of the karyai; the walls were gray and she had a carpet thrown over the plascrete floor that was a soft blue, but the only decorations she kept in her room were a few holopics on her dresser and a knitted blanket on her bed that faded between ripples of orange into purple, like a sunset reflecting off the surface of a lake. Boba's beskar plates lay in front of her on the bed, along with four bright blankets folded into neat squares.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot." There was a rocking chair opposite of Kaisa's bed; Ahsoka gestured at it. "May I?" She took a seat after Kaisa's nod, careful to respect her boundaries. Ahsoka was in her bedroom now, her most intimate space. She was going to be defensive no matter what, but she would also be unbalanced, too wary to be able to lie convincingly.

Kaisa's aura developed a telltale pewter line around the edges, preparing to go on defense.

"I apologize for screaming at you last night." Ahsoka watched the pewter shiver.

Kaisa tilted her head. "I poison you."

"I'm fine now." Ahsoka shrugged. "I could hold a grudge if you'd prefer, but it isn't the Jedi way."

Kaisa snorted. "Jate, if you speak it." Her gaze fell back to the bed and softened as she looked at the plates, her aura flooding with violet so dark that it was nearly black with grief-despair. "I hear Jango die many time. Six, seven, more. I before hear he die on Geonosis, I think same again." Her shoulders fell. "Not rumor, this time. Jango nari taabi'an."

"Elek." Ahsoka watched the woman carefully, curious as to why she would mourn the man who had done such terrible things to her. "He tried to kill you. He tried to kill your son. You had to stay in hiding for a decade because of him. I admit that I don't know you very well, but his death seems like something you'd celebrate."

"Not simple, my Jango." Kaisa took a deep breath. "Long story."

"Then start at the beginning," Ahsoka replied easily. "How'd you meet?"

Kaisa's eyes flicked up from the beskar plates. It was eerie how close the colors matched. "My Clan, my home in Kyrimorut, Death Watch burn. My ba'vodu take me in. Kal."

"Kal's your uncle?" Ahsoka asked, surprised. "I didn't realize you were blood related."

Kaisa raised an eyebrow and her aura went chartreuse with disdain. "No blood. My buire find me when kih'ad. Aliit ori'shya tal'din."

Family is more than blood. She didn't disagree there. "I agree. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. Please, go on."

"Kal join with Jaster Mereel. Haat'la Mando'ade. I meet Jango there. We grow up together." Kaisa's aura flooded to mauve with love-yearning. "We happy, for while. Then not. We always fight. Too… too same. He never back down, I never back down." Kaisa gently bopped her fists together. "Like gotaliise, Jango and me." She smiled softly in wistful remembrance.

"What happened the night you left Kamino?" Ahsoka asked. "Why did you leave?"

Kaisa's face fell. "Cassus almost... Jango not does trying hurt him. Our fault, together." She took another deep breath, flaring bright red with the memory of anger. "One day, I find Cassus does floating with his toys. I know we must leave. Not safe, he does singing around kaminiise. They will take him, they want his blood. Want everything." Her aura flared to bright violet sadness. "I speak Jango, we does leaving, with him or not with him. I want take all my boys. All." She wiped her nose. "Jango stop us on landing pad, speak Tiarek and Boba his. I fight him, I not does leaving without my boys."

Ahsoka's heart lightened. She'd fought for them. She hadn't just gotten in her ship and accepted Jango's claim, she'd fought for them. That changed things.

"He… he hit ner sen'tra."

"Your jetpack?"

" 'Lek. He hit it, he… he want disable it. Make me stop from does flying. But it make me fly hard. Very hard, very fast." Tears leaked down in twin trails on her cheeks. "I hold Cassus when happen. Sen'tra fly me at wall before I can stop."

Ahsoka had seen how violently a person could be jettisoned with a malfunctioning jetpack more than once, and felt ill to imagine it happening to a toddler. "That's how Cassus was hurt?" she asked.

Kaisa nodded miserably. "I hit wall hard, h-his spine break." Her face crumpled and her aura darkened with even more violet sorrow. "Jango… he scream. He think he kill him. I never hear him scream so loud, long. He want my death, I see in his face."

"So it was an accident," Ahsoka said softly.

"I have stasis pod on my ship for bere, for I does hunting." Kaisa stared at the four blankets, haunted. "I run. Cassus does dying, kaminiise not help if I stay. I try reach my ade, my Boba and Tiarek, but Jango…" Kaisa looked up at her. "I put Cassus in stasis pod, fly. No choice. He die, if I stay."

Ahsoka couldn't answer for a few moments, her mind racing to picture the scene. Kaisa and Jango arguing in the Kaminoan storm, Rex and Boba being held back by their father. Jango sabotaging Kaisa's jetpack, and Kaisa being rocketed into a wall hard enough to break the spine of the baby in her arms. Being forced to choose between fighting for her remaining children and saving the one actively dying.

It was a choice that Ahsoka wasn't sure she would have been able to make. She had been forced to leave troopers behind on the battlefield and it destroyed her every time, but to have to make that choice about her own children? If Boba knew, it might change how he looked at Kaisa, but Ahsoka feared it would also erode his father's memory even more.

"Jango shoot. I drop escape pod, missle hit it." Kaisa sniffed. "We call move goteni muun'lan, when we Haat'la Mando'ade."

Ahsoka raised a brow marking. "Laying an egg?" she asked, unsure if she was translating correctly. "Because… because you drop the pod to be blown up?"

" 'Lek." Kaisa looked at Ahsoka with eyes shining with tears. "He think Cassus dead, or will be. My fault. He want kill me, not him."

She sniffled again. "I get away. I make Corellia. Cassus… No does feeling under here." She drew a line under her large bust, but above her navel. "We hide. Jango kill me, take Cassus back if he does finding us. So we hide. I…" she started crying again. "I know Boba and Tiarek alive on Kamino. Not in danger, not like Cassus. So I hide. I pray for my boys one day does finding me. I not expect jetiise with him."

She really hadn't had a choice. Ahsoka's heart twinged with sympathy for the woman who was practically drowning in her own guilt on the bed.

"I not understand how he hurt Tiarek." Kaisa's eyes looked far away. "Boba, he… when almost two year, climb up front of traciyam. Pot of tiingilar does boiling on top, Boba pull off, miss him by inch. I hit him on his shebs, two hit so he not climb again. Jango hit me." Kaisa showed Ahsoka an open palm and huffed a soft laugh. "He speak I hit anyone, I hit him. Never his ad'ikase. He hold ad'ikase in his heart. He never hurt them."

But he had. How broken had Jango become to have hurt Rex the way he had? To abandon him?

"You speak Jango…" Kaisa swallowed hard. "He beat Tiarek? He…"

"Yes." Ahsoka nodded and felt her heart clench. "About a year after you left. He and Boba were going through the things you'd left behind and he walked in on them. He had forbade them from going in it, and he struck Tiarek with the box." She swallowed. "Hard. After his head trauma was treated, he was reconditioned and reassigned to the Marshall Commander batch under Dred Priest."

"Priest?" Kaisa's voice cracked and she doubled over, drowning in black despair. "Ner ad'ika. Ni ceta, ni ceta ner kar'ta."

Ahsoka cautiously examined her aura. She saw no sign of any deceit silvering its edges. Her grief and guilt looked real enough. She strengthened her projection of serenity and waited for Kaisa to catch her breath.

It took her almost a minute for her to compose herself before she sat up, wide-eyed and trembling, and looked at Ahsoka with yellow desperation. "You know…He alive? Or he die in war?"

"He's alive." Ahsoka moved from the chair to the bed, and took Kaisa's hand. "He serves directly under me as a Captain in the 501st clone battalion."

Kaisa blinked, going white with shock, then shook her head. "Good boy," she said laughing, flush with blue relief-pride. "Good boy always. Sweet always. Naughty never, listen Mama always. Take care of kaysh vode."

"That sounds like him." Ahsoka couldn't help but smile. "He goes by Rex, now."

"Rex?" Kaisa raised an eyebrow. "What wrong with Tiarek, eh?"

"I think he remembered it, to an extent. That's why he chose it." Ahsoka shrugged. "Reks'ika. Rex. It makes sense."

Kaisa nodded. "It makes sense," she repeated softly. "Shabla kaminiise. They had no right. No right." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But maybe… maybe better, he not remember me. Boba has pain, much pain. Easier Rex does forgetting. Not open a wound with good, clean scar. Stay heal." She wiped her eyes and turned to the folded blankets, sniffling. "You before see this?" she asked, changing the subject.

Ahsoka shook her head.

Kaisa unfolded the blue blanket. Dozens of tiny tiarek flowers had been cut from cotton and sewn to the front of it in a pattern that mirrored itself in four directions, like a mandala. "Called tivaevae," Kaisa said softly. "Tradition on Concord Dawn, not Mandalore. Buire make together for they ade. Meant as a…" Her hands flailed. "I not know word, ah… symbol speak? Sa'johaa."

Ahsoka thought for a second. "A metaphor?" she asked, as it was the closest thing she could think of to like speak.

Kaisa shrugged. "Not know, but needle, thread, fabric, all sa'johaa. We stitch up our ade and make them strong with thread, weave our fabric and create for them. We make our ad like we make tivaevae." She brushed at an invisible piece of lint. "Not only thread. Holes from needle. We must be gentle, or more big, more big than we can does hiding. We… give violence on our ade, in does making them." She stared at her boots instead of Ahsoka. "But I make one for all my boys. Not finish, but I make. Give on his verd'goten, if return. This for Tiarek."

"It's beautiful." The appliqued flowers had been sewn flush to the front of the lake blue fabric with thousands of miniscule stitches. It was clearly still unfinished, with a half-dozen flowers still loosely basted on and almost a meter of blank blue space between the flowers and the edge, but hundreds of hours must have been poured into it already. Ahsoka glanced back at the other blankets. "But there's four?"

" 'Lek. All need more work. Take more long, only one parent." Kaisa smiled sadly and her aura darkened with grief again. "Cassus." She patted the bright turquoise square, then the lush, fern green square beside it. "And Boba."

"And the orange?" Ahsoka asked, eyeing it curiously.

"Gavin." Kaisa unfolded it. It hadn't been worked on as much, with only a few bright-red laceleaf flowers attached in the center. "Our first son."

Ahsoka nearly fell backwards off the bed. "You have another son?" she asked, her voice pitching up sharply.

"He die." Kaisa's bruised aura retreated on itself, stuck tight to her skin like a bandage. "Death Watch kill him on Galidraan. Five years old." She trailed her hand over the red flowers, her face haunted and distant. "They make me watch."

Ahsoka covered her mouth. The pain in Kaisa's voice was indescribable, an agony that split the Force with a shriek like a knife on porcelain. "I'm sorry," she managed after a few seconds.

Kaisa refolded the blanket. "You take Boba and Ti… Rex, take they tivaevae when you leave. Maybe you finish." She shrugged. "You his ori'vod. Close thing like buir for him."

Ahsoka watched the pain on Kaisa's face echo in her aura. She was dar'buir to Boba, now, and the declaration was as much a wound to her as the gash on the back of Ahsoka's leg. "Boba's staying," she said.

Kaisa's aura turned bright white with shock-disbelief, and her mouth fell open in a small o. "He stay?" she whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

Ahsoka nodded. "He's staying for Cassus. He doesn't want to be separated from his brother again."

"H-he speak, though–" Kaisa began, her voice shaking.

"He's staying. Consider this a fresh start. Cin vhetin." Ahsoka squeezed Kaisa's cold hands. "Give him some time. He's been hurt badly by the adults he's trusted in the past. Don't demand anything of him, show him that you can be trusted. As hard as it may be, he's not ready for you to be Mama again. Not yet."

Kaisa nodded as Ahsoka spoke, pale pink hope swirling around her like smoke. "Any chance, I take," she said desperately. "Any price I pay."

Ahsoka fought the urge to smirk. "In that case, have you ever considered moving to Coruscant?"

"Coruscant?" Kaisa's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "Dangerous place. Not… Cassus, he not go city in many year…"

"Boba has an invitation to a prestigious academy there." Ahsoka's lip twitched. Anakin would have been proud of her for that not-lie, but an offer of a scholarship was still an invitation even if it was extended out of pity. "I'm sure that a spot could be arranged for Cassus, too."

"I… I think." Kaisa looked disturbed at the notion of moving; her aura matched her face with ugly green disgust.

Ahsoka had to wonder if it was because she was a country girl, or because she just found the notion of living on the Jedi's home planet so despicable.

Kaisa shook her head and straightened her spine. "Now, you does coming with me. You must eat, too skinny. More food. Come. Later speak me, I have tiingilar spices. I give for you later cook, ad'ikase love tiingilar." Kaisa got to her feet and carefully hobbled back out to the karyai, Ahsoka's cold plate in her hand and her coral aura suddenly missing its bruised tinge.

"I've programmed in everyone's private frequency—mine, Plo's, Anakin's, Obi-Wan's, even Master Shaak-Ti's. If you need anything, anything, just call one of us right away." Ahsoka smoothed down the shoulders of Boba's jacket. "Even if one of us can't come, we'll send someone. Someone you can trust."

"Take a breath, Tano," Boba said, smirking down at his kneeling ori'vod.

"I'm breathing just fine." Ahsoka scowled at him and got to her feet. "Can you blame me for being cautious? You can't go more than a day without somebody trying to kill you."

Boba shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got a guard dog now." He jerked his head back at Gotika, standing at the door of the bunker next to Kaisa, glaring pleasantly at their departing guests in the creek bed.

Ahsoka's eyes narrowed. "Yeah," she said, not sounding convinced. "I guess that's true. I'm allowed to be worried a little bit, though, right?"

"Yeah, I don't think I've much say in that. You're a fucking worrywort." Boba smiled like his heart wasn't pounding in his ears.

Ahsoka was leaving. He was staying. It was all over. She had a war to get back to, and he… well, he had a brother that wasn't dead, but who needed to learn how to grow a fucking spine. What he had left of one, anyway. And he had a former mother he needed to somehow convince to leave her bughole and move to Jedi home base. He needed to get to work on her now, or he'd never see a Biscuit Baron again.

"You be a good ori'vod to Cassus, alright? And watch your language, he's sensitive."

Boba snorted. "Oh, you noticed?"

"And when you talk to Kaisa, keep in mind what I told you about what I saw in her aura. Her guilt and remorse… that's all genuine. She didn't want to leave you."

Boba looked away. She wouldn't tell him exactly what Kaisa had said, just that she now understood why she'd made that choice and that he should ask her about it. "So, um, there's a long-range communicator at the cantina. It charges by the second, but we can still talk on holocall. If you want." Boba rubbed his wrists anxiously.

"That's why I put my frequency in your commlink, vod'ika." Ahsoka smiled and opened her arms.

Boba dove in and buried his face in her neck, his eyes suddenly stinging. He felt Kaisa's eyes burn a hole in his shoulder blades. Was it jealousy over freely giving Ahsoka affection, or was she afraid he'd kill Cas in his sleep? "Will you come back for my verd'goten?" he asked, hating how whiny his voice sounded.

"There's no telling where the war will take me, but I will do everything I can to make it back, I promise." She purred and rubbed her soft lek against his cheek.

Boba took a deep breath of her weird, spicy pollen scent and tried to commit it to memory for when he already knew he'd feel alone, even with Cas, and for when Kaisa would inevitably try to mommy him.

He didn't want her to go.

"I don't want to either," Ahsoka said quietly into his scalp. "But we have to let go of each other for now. Our paths might divide here, but it's not for forever. We'll always find our way back to each other."

"Fucking sap." He closed his eyes and tried not to cry.

"Comes with the job." She seemed in no hurry to let him go either. She really was too sweet for her own good, tooth-rotting sweet like a—

"Oh shit, right." Boba sniffled and reluctantly pulled back, shoved his hand in his pocket then pulled the tooth out, hidden in his fist. "I found this on Geonosis when I took your belt off. It fell out." He opened his hand and showed her.

Ahsoka stared in pure shock, her jaw hanging down to her chest. "You've gotta be kidding me," she whispered, gently taking it from him. "You've had it this whole time?"

"Yeah. Not on purpose, I just kept forgetting to give it back to you." Boba awkwardly kicked at the damp moss underfoot.

"I—do you know what this is?"

Boba shook his head. "I've never seen that animal before. Must have been big."

Ahsoka bit her lip and closed her fist. "He was pretty big."

Boba stilled and glanced up at her. "He?" he asked sharply, his eyes darting between the tooth in her hand and her face. "That… that's from a sentient?"

"Os'ika," Cody called. "I know it's hard, but wrap it up. We're going to miss our train."

Ahsoka glared at him. "Go ahead without me, I'll catch up!" she called, then gestured with her head for Boba to follow her. Cody and Kenobi shared an exasperated look but began to climb the steep hill in the opposite direction.

She dragged him to the tiarek grove. "Did you kill somebody?" Boba asked, impressed.

"No. I'm not the one who killed him. I'm the one who took his teeth, though." Ahsoka took a deep breath. "My people have a ritual. We don't execute our murderers and rapists. Instead we pull out their teeth one by one before releasing them to wander clanless in the forest."

It was a pretty hardcore punishment, but Shili was a hardcore place. "Nice." Boba nodded.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "This tooth belonged to a Jedi. Pong Krell."

Boba's eyebrows hit his stubbly hairline. "No shit?"

"I don't think that he's been widely reported on in the media, but, uh…" Ahsoka bit her lip. "There was a battle he led on Umbara. Anakin was called away by the Chancellor and Krell was left in charge of the 501st on the ground. I was in orbit, leading the space battle." She swallowed hard and looked down, and Boba saw tears glinting in her eyes. "We had no idea, but Krell wanted to become a Sith, so he was trying to get the attention of Count Dooku by throwing battles, which he did by killing clones. He had casualty rates ten times that of any other battalion. He used them like cannon fodder. His one and only strategy was to overwhelm the battlefield with clones and attack until they completed their mission, no matter how many died. On Umbara, he… he tricked the 501st and 212th into attacking each other by telling both of them that the enemy had stolen clone armor. Over four hundred men were murdered through friendly fire." She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Fuck." Boba stared at the tooth. "So you ripped his teeth out?"

Ahsoka nodded. "Yeah. Seemed… seemed like the right thing to do."

"You ever see a bayleg?" Boba asked her and glanced up; she shook her head. "It's a huge, scary, dragon-looking fuck. Nasty creature. My dad had me face one, once. Told me to bring him back a tooth."

"Is this a flying lesson?" Boba asked, craning around to look at the jetpack Dad had just snapped onto his back.

"Sort of. Remember those fluffy little chakaare we flew over on the way here?" Dad spritzed him with something that smelled foul. "This is their piss."

"Dad!" Boba squealed, sticking out his tongue and gagging. "Why would you put pee on me?"

"Because they're the prey of the bayleg."

"The what?" Boba squawked. He heard a roar from deeper inside the cave.

Dad handed him a blaster and grinned. "The bayleg. Go bring me a tooth. I'll wait here."

"How old were you?" Ahsoka asked, crossing her arms and frowning.

"Ten." He snickered at her horrified look. "I fucking lived, obviously. But it tried to eat me, and when I came back I was crying like a bitch and asked Dad why he would do that. He told me it was because now I'd faced my own death and knew true fear, so I'd never have a reason to be afraid of anything else." He shook his head. " 'Course he was wrong about that. I'm afraid of all sorts of shit. Some days I think I'd rather be back with the bayleg. But I've been keeping the teeth of monsters ever since. They remind me that I lived, and they died, because I was stronger than them."

"We don't actually keep them. Dogma's the one who stepped up and finally executed Krell. It's for him, for the ceremony once he's back with us, if he wants to do it." Ahsoka untied a small leather pouch from her belt. "They're not trophies to us. The ritual varies among clans and cultures, but the Binishii, my people, we toss them away, usually into a body of water, while singing our grief. No words, just the emotion of it. It's hard to describe without being there." Ahsoka looked up at him sadly. "It's ironic, you know. I forgot too." She put Krell's tooth in her pouch and withdrew a different one, a more humanoid one with a gold filling in it.

"What the—" Boba glanced up at her. "You keep a jar of these somewhere?"

"No," Ahsoka huffed. "Why do people keep assuming I've got a jar? Why would I have a jar?"

"You're the one pulling teeth out," Boba said, taking it from her and examining it. "So whose was this?"

"It's Aurra's."

He dropped it, just like his heart dropped out of his ass and into Corellia's mantle. He dove to his knees and picked it up immediately with shaking hands, staring at it. Now that he actually looked, he knew exactly which tooth it had been; the second-furthest molar on the bottom right. He could still remember what it tasted like when he kissed her. "I… what the f…" He looked up at Ahsoka, feeling dizzy. "Why? When did you take it?"

"Anakin took it, actually." She sank down on her haunches to be at eye level with him. "He thought I could do the ceremony with you."

We don't execute our murderers and rapists. Boba slowly turned the tooth over in his hand.

"But I think you should keep it." Ahsoka closed his hand over the tooth. "My peoples' way is to throw them away, to dispose of them in a lake or a river so that their memory will be washed away from us. Your way, and your father's way, is to keep the teeth of monsters, and to remember so it makes you strong."

Boba stared at it for a few seconds longer, then nodded decisively and put it in his pocket. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He swallowed hard. "Vor entye, ori'vod."

Ahsoka pulled him into a hug and gently pressed her forehead against his in a kov'nyn. "I'm going to miss you," she said quietly, swaying with the breeze. "You're really something else, kid. Thank you for letting me into your life."

"You're not bad." Boba sniffed. "For a Jedi."

"Sure, tough guy." Ahsoka laughed and squeezed him in one last spicy-smelling Togruta hug. "You have to admit, this was unexp—" She suddenly stilled, then tilted her head and clicked with her mouth open. "No way. No, what is he doing here?"

"Who?"

Ahsoka spun, her eyes huge. "Rex?" she squawked, taking off east.

"Are you fucking daft, Tano?" Boba called, jogging after her. "He's on that shitho—oh." No, there was Tiarek, alright, and he had an armful of squealing Togruta rubbing her head all over him and laughing. There was a break in the canopy ahead, and he had put down a Y-Wing neatly in the center of it.

"What are you doing here?" Ahsoka asked once she was back on the ground, blinking like a tooka kit with eyes all shiny from the tears that had popped up when she spoke about Umbara.

Boba took a weary breath. Her teacher had to see this shit all the time, right? Was he okay with it, or was he as stupid as they were?

"The General had a bad feeling. You know the kind. Seeing as you were all out of comm range, he sent me to check in on you." Tiarek yanked Boba into a hug as soon as he was within reach. "You behaving like I told you to?"

"I'm always a fucking delight." Boba closed his eyes and gave the Manda a silent prayer of thanks for letting him say goodbye to his brother one more time. It hurt, knowing that he wasn't going to be seeing him now that he was staying… with…

His heart started pounding and he locked panicked eyes with Ahsoka. "Fuck," they said simultaneously. Tiarek could not go down to that bunker. Kaisa and Cassus were there, and fuck, fuck, this wasn't how he needed to find out—

"What is going on here?" Tiarek asked with a suspicious look.

"Nothing!" Ahsoka said brightly. "Nothing, we were, um, we just forgot something?"

Boba stared at her. Was she lying badly on purpose, or was she that bad at it?

She shot him a look. "We, um, we…"

"She doesn't want you to know that when we first got here, Kaisa sniped at Kenobi and nearly fragged him with a slug," Boba interjected. "Got her all shook up. She knows how protective you all are of your pet wizards."

Tiarek's brows went up. "She almost got General Kenobi?" he asked, turning to her.

Ahsoka nodded solemnly. "He's fine, but she's not very Jedi friendly. It was a hard welcome."

"That's one way of fucking putting it," Boba grumbled, then stilled at the way Ahsoka's eyes had gone perfectly round and black like a porg's.

A sharp whistle sounded from behind them. Boba's heart stopped and he spun to look. "Su'cuy, verd'ika!" Kaisa called out aggressively, her slugthrower butted up against her shoulder, pointed at the ground.

Tiarek immediately put himself in front of them. He took a step forward and snapped into a perfect salute. "CT-7567, Captain Rex of the 501st Clone Battalion, Sergeant," he said briskly, then lowered his hand.

Kaisa dropped the rifle to her waist and stared. "Tiarek?" she asked hesitantly. She put a hand to her chest. "Tiarek… tion'gar kar'tayli ni?"

Tiarek shook his head. "Sorry, Sergeant, early years are a bit fuzzy for me. Got a little too close to a grenade as a cadet."

Boba stared daggers at Kaisa, mindlessly begging the Force that Plo had assured him was in everything that she'd shut up—don't fucking tell him, don't fucking tell him, you have no right, no fucking right—and he felt like he was going to throw up from the way panic was squeezing him. He just knew that if she told him, she'd rip open something that he would never heal from. He'd believed at first that he needed Tiarek to know, needed him to remember but that was before he saw how… fine he was. Boba was lonely, and he thought that Tiarek remembering everything would somehow undo something that they'd lost a decade ago, but Tiarek wasn't torturing himself with the need for answers at night like Boba was. He was fighting a fucking war and watching his vode die on the daily, he didn't need to be haunted by memories of Jango telling him he loved him and trying to murder him on top of it.

Boba was Tiarek's ori'vod long before Cody was in the picture. Back then, it was his job to protect his little brother. It didn't matter who was bigger, Boba was older. He had to watch out for Cassus, now, but that didn't mean he couldn't still protect Tiarek—no, not Tiarek, he had chosen Rex—from this. Boba willed Kaisa to understand that if she said a word, he'd tackle her off the edge of that fucking hill and take them both down to the creek.

Boba could let go of Tiarek, for Rex's sake, and Kaisa would too if she knew what was good for her. He caught Ahsoka's eyes; she looked sad, but nodded in understanding.

Kaisa swallowed hard and gave Boba a small nod. "Wer'cuy," she said in a shaky voice. "I… I before does teaching. I think you before remember me."

"Apologies." He crossed his arms. "So what's this I hear about a sniper shot taken at a High General?"

"Misunderstanding, right?" Boba asked sharply. "She won't do it again."

Kaisa nodded and gave Boba a flat, meek smile. "No. Won't do it again."

Rex harrumphed and turned to Ahsoka. "You're alright, then? Nothing happened that I need to tell the General about?"

"Nope." She gave him a bright smile. "I'm fine, Obi-Wan's fine, everyone's fine."

"If you say so." Rex pulled Boba into a kov'nyn. "Cin vhetin, ner vod," he said quietly. "Don't waste this. Ahsoka worked hard to get you here."

That was a fucking understatement. "I won't," Boba promised Rex.

"Good man." He nodded at Kaisa. "Nice meeting you, Ma'am," he said.

"And you," Kaisa whispered, trying to smile.

"Mind if I hitch a ride to Goran with you?" Ahsoka asked Rex, bumping him with her shoulder.

"Sure, but where's General Kenobi and Cody?"

"Walking back to Bockin proper to catch a turbo-train." Ahsoka shrugged. "But we've got a battle to get to."

Rex chuckled. "I'll brief you on the way there, then." He winked at Boba. "See you around, Boba."

"See you." Boba nodded at him, nearly blind with relief, and Rex turned to go back to the Y-Wing.

Ahsoka pulled Boba into one last, last hug. "This is going to be hard, but I know you can do it," she murmured. "I am so proud of you, Boba, and I am so lucky to know you."

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. Boba squeezed his eyes shut and memorized the sound of her purr, but didn't dare say the words out loud. He knew she wasn't allowed to say it back. Nothing was forever, that wasn't the stupid fucking Jedi way.

Ahsoka hugged him tighter, and he wondered if she had heard that thought too. "Vercopa gar mar'eyi mirjahaal, ner vod'ika," she said softly, pulling away after one last rub of her soft lek.

Boba took a deep, shaky breath, "K'oyaci, ori'vod." He meant it literally. If she got her shebs blown off by a battledroid after this mess, he'd pay a Nightsister from Dathomir to bind her stupid fucking ghost to a toilet.

Ahsoka's eyes went wide; she'd heard his thought. She threw her head back and laughed. "Never change, Boba." She let Rex put an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the Y-Wing.

Boba cupped his hands around his mouth. "Oblivioussayswhat?"

Rex turned and squinted at him. "What?" he called back, and Ahsoka clapped a hand over her mouth too late to stop her bark of laughter.

"Use a condom on the ride back, your kids would be fucking ugly!" Boba bellowed right before they closed their cockpits, and he cackled at their identical looks of mortification and their mouths silently bellowing his name.

Rex shook his head and started up the landing sequence. Ahsoka blew him a kiss as they ascended. Boba tracked them until the ship turned into a tiny dot, then stared at the place in the sky where they disappeared until it all went blurry. He felt cold, even though it was so warm and humid that he was sweating through his jacket.

Ahsoka was gone. He was on his own, again.

Or no. No, he had Cassus now, and he was going to be a good ori'vod to him or kill one of them trying.

Kaisa shifted, in clear discomfort from being on her knee. "Ahsoka bal Rex, eh?" she asked with a small smile.

Boba rolled his eyes. Even fucking Kaisa could see they were more than vode, even if they didn't want to acknowledge it, but that didn't mean he wanted to gossip about them with her. "He's her ori'vod, that's all," he said frostily.

Kaisa nodded and her smile faded. "Tion'gar copaani uj'alayi?" she asked him timidly. "Fresh. I make, not Pinky."

Boba looked at her sideways. "Let's get one thing straight," he said. "You're not my mother anymore. I am here for my brother, not for you. I know we have a lot of shit to talk about, but right now I'm not up to it. I'm going to go to my room, take a nap, and nobody's going to bother me. I don't want fucking Five Nights at Flimpo's down there stalking me, or any of the other droids spying on me. Leave me be. That's all I want from you."

Kaisa nodded and looked away. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Boba," she said softly. "Darasuum."

"Yeah, that's great. I'm still not fucking calling you Mama." Boba stalked past her and down the hill, his hand throbbing. He'd squeezed the tooth so tight that he'd drawn blood with its razor sharp roots. Awesome. He was off to a great fucking start.

He strode over to Cassus, who had parked his hoverchair at the top of the ramp and was casting something onto a set of knitting needles. Buddy was perched on the back of his chair, playing soft quetarra music. "Are they gone?" Cas asked, his hands still making complicated loops around a needle while he looked at Boba.

"Yeah." The song sounded familiar, like an old memory, but he couldn't place it. Boba swallowed hard and tried to breathe normally. "I'm gonna lay down for a bit, alright? I'll see you at dinner."

"Alright. Gotika made your bed up." Cas looked back down at his knitting and started humming along with Buddy's music.

Boba jogged to his room and locked the door behind him. He looked around. It was plain, with just an empty wardrobe, an armor stand with his beskar carefully displayed, and a bed of white linens with a blanket made out of a hundred crocheted squares laid over the top. Robert the Rancor and the silver tooka doll had been placed together on the pillow.

He kicked off his boots and laid down on his new bed, facing away from the beskar, and let loose a muffled sob into Robert's belly.

Cody checked his chronometer and let out an uncharacteristic growl. "Sir, you go on ahead. I'll run back and make sure Os'ika didn't fall in a hole."

Obi-Wan bit down a laugh. "Cody, you are aware that I know what that nickname means, correct?" he asked.

Cody met his eyes shamelessly. "Is it inaccurate?" he asked dryly.

"Not in the slightest." They both snickered, and Obi-Wan's commlink blinked with an incoming transmission. He raised an eyebrow and opened the channel.

"Master, you're never going to believe who I ran into," Ahsoka said wryly.

Cody leaned in. "In the backwoods of Corellia? We know for sure that all that poison's out of your system, right? You're not snuggled up to a mother nexu in a den somewhere?"

Ahsoka laughed. "Oh, he's definitely a mother nexu."

"Very funny, Commander," a familiar, disgruntled voice said.

Obi-Wan and Cody both did a double take at his wrist. "Rex?" Cody asked incredulously. "What the heck are you doing all the way out here?"

"General Skywalker had a bad feeling. Sent me to check it out."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Of course he did," he said wearily. "And I suppose simply sending a message to us was out of the question?"

"To be fair, Sir, you were out of range." Rex sounded like he was smiling.

"Did you…" Cody cleared his throat and met Obi-Wan's eyes nervously. "Did you meet Kaisa?"

"Yes. She seemed nice enough, though more timid than I expected for a Mando."

Cody almost choked. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice squeaking comically. "Did she say anything to you?"

"Besides hello?" Rex asked. "Not really?"

"Oh." Cody looked relieved.

"Is it true she shot you, General?"

"Why would Boba lie about her shooting Obi-Wan?" Ahsoka snipped.

"I didn't say he lied, I'm only asking."

Obi-Wan could almost hear Rex's eyes rolling. "A misunderstanding, Captain, no worries," he assured him. "Boba will be perfectly safe with her."

"If you say so, Sir."

"I'm hitching a ride to Goran with Rex, Master. I'll see you soon."

"Are you leaving now?" Obi-Wan asked, dismayed.

"My instructions were to join Skyguy as soon as I returned to the Temple, Master," she reminded him.

"Yes, but…" Obi-Wan stopped, pulled himself together and stopped trying to argue his illogical case. "Yes, that makes sense for you to skip the trip back to Coruscant. Very well. Be careful on Goran, Padawan. May the Force be with you."

"And you, Master." Ahsoka disconnected the channel, and moments later Obi-Wan felt her Force signature fade as she presumably entered hyperspace.

Cody frowned. "Well, that was… abrupt."

"Indeed." Obi-Wan pulled his cloak around him and tried not to visibly sulk. "Let's keep moving, then."

"Yes, Sir." Cody was clearly unhappy, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he walked. They walked in silence while Obi-Wan stared at the ground and brooded. Something had changed after he'd apologized to her. She'd not broken their bond, nothing so dramatic as that, but it was different. Lighter, in a way, though that didn't make sense. It had never felt like a weight before, but now he keenly felt a new absence, rather like an overdue haircut that was shorter than desired.

"Give her a bit more time, Sir," Cody said after a few minutes of listening to only the starry-leaved strings of leaves whip in the wind and a convor that occasionally hooted sadly overhead. "She'll come around."

"She has come around, Commander," he said pleasantly. "This is what that looks like."

Cody clearly didn't like that answer, and his unease thickened the Force around him. He was far too used to coming up with a solution to any problem that came his way. "I… expected this to end differently, I think," he admitted.

So had Obi-Wan, though he'd never admit it. "How so?" he asked Cody anyway.

"I suppose I expected the two of you to have a go at each other, but then go on as you always have. Not sure I like the way this is turning out."

Obi-Wan patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Ahsoka and I will always hold deep affection for one another," he reassured him. "But nothing is permanent except the Force. We have both become unduly attached to who we were to one another. It's best that we both let go and move on."

Cody huffed, still displeased. "Are you sure, Sir?"

"We must, for her sake," Obi-Wan answered blithely. "She cannot heal unless we do. Unfortunately, my deception has had longer-lasting repercussions than I anticipated." He never would have agreed to the Rako Hardeen mission if he had known the real cost.

Cody frowned. "Seems a bit… extreme, is all."

"It isn't. It is the foundation of our beliefs, after all. We must not allow ourselves to become so attached to the past that it impacts our future." It was the truth, so why did it hurt so badly? Obi-Wan had told Mace that he understood that his actions had consequences, but he hadn't anticipated that the consequences would be… so permanent.

Ahsoka forgave everyone everything. She couldn't help it, it was part of her nature. She could feel when one's remorse was genuine and she always, always capitulated, but she hadn't in this case and he had no one but himself to blame. She would grant a blank slate to everyone except for him, but their slate was far too full to be wiped clean. A lifetime of memories had been etched past its surface and into the foundation beneath.

Their slate needed to be discarded entirely and started anew, and so he would. He would do whatever Ahsoka needed to be able to heal. No matter what words he chose, nothing seemed to stop the bleeding. Clinging to her even harder had done nothing but left new bruises behind, so now he would do the opposite. He would let her go for her own peace. His attachment to her was the shrapnel in the wound causing it to fester, the broken thread causing the whole tapestry to unravel.

Kyber did not shatter as easily as Kaisa Skirata seemed to believe, and a real buir knew that sometimes one had to let their child go, especially when holding onto them would harm them far more than help.

"Bo-bi," Ahsoka said with a quivering lip and eyes almost completely swallowed up by her pupils. She waved at Obi-Wan over Plo's shoulder as he walked away. "Bo-bi!" They turned the corner and were gone.

They broke the treeline, and Obi-Wan could see the train station just ahead. "I've been meaning to ask you, Sir, what does mo nighean mean?" Cody asked.

"My girl," Obi-Wan answered with a smile he didn't feel. He didn't tell him that it also meant daughter.

Notes:

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS Ori/vod/ika: big/brother/little Dar'buir: no longer parent. Essentially a parental divorce/disownment Udesii: calm, easy Cas'ika: Little Cas Gotika: Little Machine Jango nari taabi'an: Jango is marching (marching being a metaphor for the afterlife) Elek/ 'lek: Yes Ba'vodu: Uncle Buir/e: Parent/Parents Aliit orshya tal'din: Family is more than blood Haat'la Mando'ade: True Mandalorians, a mercenary group composed of mainly former Mandalorian royal soldiers formed by Jaster Mereel, who was considered rightful king (Mand'alor) of Mandalore. Jango took over leadership (and possession of the darksaber!) after Jaster's death Kih'ad: small child (ad'ika is the more cutesy and commonly used term) Gotaliise: Gotal people Kaminiise: Kaminoans Ner sen'tra: My jetpack Goteni muun'lan: Laying an egg Traciyam: stove Jetiise: Jedi (plural) Tiingilar: Spicy Mandalorian stew Ad'ikase: Children Ner ad'ika, ni ceta, ner kar'ta: My baby, I'm so sorry, my heart Kaysh vode: His brothers Reks'ika: Little Tiarek (s added for ease of saying, as otherwise it would be a hard stop in the center of the word) Shabla kaminiise: Fucking Kaminoans Sa'johaa: Metaphor Verd'goten: Mandalorian rite of passage into adulthood, usually done at 13 Cin'vetin: Fresh start (literally fresh snow on a field) Karyai: Large central living chamber of a traditional Mandalorian home Os'ika: Little shit, a pun on the normal diminuative of Ahsoka, Ahs'ika Chakaare: Assholes Vor entye: Thank you Kov'nyn: headbutt Su'cuy: Hi Tion'gar kar'tayli ni: Do you know me? Wer'cuy: It was ages ago Ni kar'tayli darasuum: I love you/I hold you in my heart forever Vercopa gar mar'eyi mirjahaal: May you find peace of mind K'oyaci: Stay alive Bal: and Tion'gar copaani uj'alayi: Do you want some uj cake? MAOR-GRASTA TRANSLATIONS Mo nighean: my girl/daughter OTHER NOTES GIRL YOU'RE NOT EXPENDABLE BOBI LOVES YOU HE ALMOST STRAIGHT UP MURDERED SOMEONE FOR YOU AHHHHH *is dragged off stage by a comically large shepherd's hook*

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @soliloquy-of-nemo Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[stampwithtami]

A Year in Review of amazing Paper Pumpkin Alternates!

MY 2023 PAPER PUMPKIN YEAR IN REVIEW Welcome, fellow craft enthusiasts! As we step into a new year, I can't help but look back on the incredible journey of creativity that unfolded throughout 2023 with Paper Pumpkin. For those unacquainted, Paper Pumpkin is not just a subscription box; it's a portal to endless crafting possibilities. In this blog post, I'll be sharing my passion for Paper Pumpkin and the plethora of "outside the box" projects I've created using its monthly kits. The 2023 Year in Review: My 2023 Year in Review showcases a collection of over 40 alternate cards and paper crafts, each born from the pieces of Paper Pumpkin's monthly kits. What makes this even more exciting is that I've not only crafted these wonders but also provided tutorials for each project, with some accompanied by instructional videos. The versatility of these projects is truly mind-blowing, proving that the creative potential within each kit extends far beyond its original design. Refills Still Available: Missed a month or skipped a kit? Fret not! Some 2023 kits still have refills available, and I've conveniently linked them to their coordinating months below. This means it's never too late to dive into these projects and experience the joy of creating something beautiful with your own hands. Join Paper Pumpkin for 2024: Now, more than ever, is the perfect time to join the Paper Pumpkin family and kick off 2024 with a burst of creativity. The deadline to subscribe and receive January's kit is January 10th. Not only will you receive a delightful surprise at your doorstep every month, but you'll also gain access to the exclusive world of Paper Pumpkin projects. Saleabration Deals: Excitement levels rise with the mention of Saleabration deals! During this special time, purchasing Paper Pumpkin pre-paid 3, 6, and 12-month codes comes with delightful bonuses. Enjoy free Saleabration products alongside exclusive deals on the kits, making it a win-win situation for all crafting enthusiasts. As we embrace the creative journey that Paper Pumpkin offers, let's step into 2024 with brushes in hand, ready to paint our own artistic tapestry. Don't miss out on the joy, inspiration, and fantastic deals that Paper Pumpkin and Saleabration bring to your crafting space. Join the community, and let's make this year a celebration of creativity and endless possibilities!   CURRENT PAPER PUMPKIN KIT & REFILLS TAMI'S 2023 ALTERNATE PROJECT COLLECTION KEY TO MY HEART JANUARY 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials SUNSHINE & SMILES FEBRUARY 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials TEN YEARS OF GROWTH MARCH 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials ALL THE LITTLE THINGS APRIL 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials DIAGONAL JOY FOLD #3-5 EXPLORING IN COLOR MAY 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials WELCOME INN JUNE 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials Welcome INN Double Point Cards - FUN IN THE SUN JULY 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials MEANINGFUL FLOWERS AUGUST 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials WITH LOVE & GRATITUDE SEPTEMBER 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS OCTOBER 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials WARM WISHES NOVEMBER 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials ALL THE BEST DECEMBER 2023Click thumbnails for tutorials ALL ABOUT PAPER PUMPKIN KITS WHAT ARE PAPER PUMPKIN KITS? Paper Pumpkin Subscription: Monthly Creative Surprises For those craving a regular injection of creative inspiration, the Paper Pumpkin Subscription is a monthly adventure that arrives at your doorstep. Key features include: SUBSCRIBE - Monthly Mail Delight: Subscribers receive a specially curated kit by mail every month. Each package includes designed projects, precut pieces, a stamp set, and ink. It’s like receiving a surprise creative adventure in your mailbox each month. - Exclusive Subscriber Benefits: Subscribers to Paper Pumpkin enjoy special perks, including access to exclusive products and offers. It’s a fantastic way to stay connected with the crafting community and unlock additional creative opportunities. - Endless Possibilities: Where will Paper Pumpkin take you this month? With a subscription, you’ll discover new techniques, themes, and crafting styles. It’s a journey of endless possibilities that keeps your creativity flowing. - Acrylic Block: Your first Paper Pumpkin kit will arrive with a reusable acrylic block for your stamps. - Refills: Depending on availability refills for each month’s kit are often available in my online store while they last. - Control: You have full control over your Paper Pumpkin subscriptions and can take a break / pause, cancel and rejoin at anytime. - Alternate Ideas: Go outside the box each month with me as I share alternate ideas for each Paper Pumpkin kit absolutely free on my blog. See my tutorial gallery here. - PPX Bonus Videos: When you subscribe to Paper Pumpkin kits through me, you’ll receive 6 additional videos for alternate projects to the kit. These PPX videos are exclusive and not available anywhere else. Paper Pumpkin kits have a deadline to subscribe each month by the 10th of the month in order to get that month’s kit. That month’s kit isn’t available after the deadline but depending on availability refills will be available in my online store.  PAPER PUMPKIN SUBSCRIPTIONS & PREPAID CODES WHICH SHOULD I CHOOSE? There are two ways to subscribe to Paper Pumpkin.1. First, we offer a monthly subscription where you pay as you go which is automatic each month. SUBSCRIBE TO PAPER PUMPKIN 2. Secondly, we offer prepaid subscriptions which allow you to pay ahead or give as a gift. Prepaids can be purchased in my online store. After you purchase a subscription, we’ll email you a prepaid code to redeem here at www.paperpumpkin.com to set up your subscription to start receiving your kits. SHOP PREPAID PAPER PUMPKIN PPX VIDEOS: YOUR EXCLUSIVE PAPER PUMPKIN EXPERIENCE PPX: YOUR EXCLUSIVE PAPER PUMPKIN EXPERIENCE Are you new to paper-crafting, or maybe you’re a dedicated DIY enthusiast with a passion for crafting? If so, you’re in for a treat! 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As an active Paper Pumpkin subscriber, you gain access to six exclusive video tutorials every month, crafted with care and creativity by our team. These tutorials go beyond the instructions in the kit, offering alternate ideas to spark your imagination. Stretching Your Creativity:What sets PPX apart is its commitment to helping you stretch the value of your Paper Pumpkin kit. Each video tutorial takes you on a journey, exploring different ways to use the kit contents and create alternate projects. Whether you’re a beginner looking to expand your crafting skills or a seasoned pro seeking fresh inspiration, PPX is designed to cater to all levels of expertise. Exclusive Access for Subscribers:The exclusivity of PPX isn’t just limited to Paper Pumpkin subscribers; it extends to those who join through a Paper Pumpkin crew member and to my Stamp It Demonstrator Group. This means that when you become part of our crafting community, you’re not only getting the amazing Paper Pumpkin kits but also unlocking the door to a treasure trove of additional creative insights. A Glimpse Into My Crafty World:As a fervent Paper Pumpkin enthusiast, I’ve dedicated an entire gallery of videos to showcase the monthly kits. From unboxing the surprises to guiding you through the crafting process, my goal is to share the joy and excitement that comes with each Paper Pumpkin delivery. Join me on this crafting journey, and let’s explore the endless possibilities together. PPX is more than just a video tutorial program – it’s a community-driven initiative that celebrates the art of crafting. If you’re ready to take your Paper Pumpkin experience to new heights, become an active subscriber today and unlock the exclusive world of PPX. Let the crafting adventures begin! PAPER PUMPKIN STAMP SET CASE INSERTS BY MONTH Click the stamp case inserts below to print the pdf and insert into a clear stamp case.   PAPER PUMPKIN STAMP SET INSERTS BY MONTH     CLEAR STAMP CASES FOR INSERTS Organize and beautify your Paper Pumpkin stamp sets with our custom-designed stamp case inserts! Download the inserts each month below and effortlessly organize your stamp sets in our crystal-clear stamp cases. These inserts are tailor-made to fit seamlessly, ensuring a perfect match for your Paper Pumpkin treasures. Ready to streamline your crafting experience? Click the link to purchase the clear stamp cases and take the first step towards a neatly organized and visually stunning collection. PAPER PUMPKIN UNBOXING VIDEOS BY MONTH Step into the world of crafting wonder with our exclusive monthly Paper Pumpkin unboxing video playlist! Each month, we eagerly unwrap the latest Paper Pumpkin kit, revealing a treasure trove of artistic inspiration. Whether you're a crafting veteran or just starting your creative journey, these videos are your front-row seat to the excitement of discovering what's inside each carefully curated kit. But that's not all – our unboxing videos go beyond the initial reveal. They guide you step-by-step through the assembly process, showing you how to bring the projects to life with ease. From themed cards to charming DIY projects, our unboxing videos showcase the versatility and creativity packed into every Paper Pumpkin box. Join us as we unveil the vibrant inks, unique stamps, and delightful embellishments that make each kit a crafting masterpiece. With our monthly unboxing playlist, you'll not only stay in the know about the latest Paper Pumpkin releases but also gain valuable insights on assembling the projects, ready to fuel your passion for creativity. Don't miss out on the thrill – subscribe now and be part of the Paper Pumpkin unboxing and crafting experience! CLICK FOR PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE       MORE PAPER PUMPKIN POSTS Read the full article

[libidomechanica]

Natures warke: the Doctor Cupid, thou for me

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

Mine. And the sunlight of This and rufull bands: O nobler weake we ourselves are one which wandering round a musket shattered. You glances and a shrine, a pale, pale corpse she’s honest Mah’met, or else almighty’s bow. Before that each one the red pieces of time. With fruit the same for the Trial Men, and gilte Rosemaree? And takes throat. And if I were to talk to meet in the nodding care? Natures warke: the Doctor Cupid, thou for me.

               2

) Thine, whose manger guests were nearest, to kill. A better, so I taste a lily, the scent and lies are you—Then he rode down between syl-lables in a beastes and private placed wild winds kiss thy love and moving your have nothing song: then speak of dark eye glance upon Branch upon a spaciously, the courts of blue who teach that mortall for his shaking coals. I brake the blush o’ my heart bail; whoe’er keeps me from your husband, frankincense.

               3

Find the pale yellow-leaves, while some ease, can tell me, what is a man accorde not the chanted locked, garden wears; but ’twas from Camelot still mortall sisters mix my silence of turbulence pursu’d, no hurt me. With a feeble cry he says, did some with itself. Gray halls as one balloons resting he loves his velvet bed, and for truth, that I and sunly and so fowle a fault much. But in blood. Next, where the nice yellow darlin’.

               4

Albee rude Pan to her veins, in exposing knave—that never can compared unto thy Harím Dividuality so great a fall. I never finger point, a day of brutes, the flies—renounce that love them thus; thou shepheards looked arrow is, but we have one, and forth three-plank bed, and loosened his wingèd charities, like we cannot be matched his gainers such this come to her Fortune of young with greene: the Doctor Cupid brought hand?

               5

Amid this minute. The Heaven to overthrow. An acid-yellow-leaved waters at twenty, no use to roses have arm’d himself inside a Warder than wise; strange death doth lap, nay lets, in except dreadful winding up. There is not die before. How I wish I mighty blest, knight all these nor spongy mosses, too solemn for your provocative laughter, and puts apparelled, distrusting made their smell in rebel arms?

               6

Such a Banquet order’d as ink on a passing against such unholy battle I grow cold. When I was you, light sees. So while the bourne: and she inferior features speake? Alas! When we cease, beholds the namelesse Jesus, where honor now at break of darkness grown gray with what you disdaine, and Fate will, accordion. Of faults, and life thought in your have sugar’d Shírín’s Lip the Heavens. Lost, and die before us lie?

               7

Unto thy bracelet rich in my loves; but walks in which is asleep, your chest; an age and swear, get drunken rat avert her abus’d, her smiling grace and equal spirit man and not warmed web she shiny black? I lay on through a thumbnail—brined and bruised, as on his deare, when it was on her in the until you, maiden, can tell! And, rank by rank, or teares, that Colin cloud that stung. Marching, up to attention, each one beneath.

               8

All in shiny black night, thou moves by his art; at length without the dirt, for all these loved so longer ever mind thirst is no moe the hard? Cocked-hat once these thing, nay tis no compared unto its burning sun; conspiring words, alone in Fishes her face of love settled as thy approachful stare. As fast as the savior of the white you wrought we’d lives to oars and bound, he is dripping want and not both; but none shadow, washed dust ygoe.

               9

Of Jesus, whose cheek there shine, from Generation finds, or be moved all my lustfull light, life-disquiet leaves cover like an animals, varnished, and enticing until I find wherein her talents in them all, and let the fireweed flower sallows’ need: so when Loue, I hope some more admiration yield, must weep to see his seat of his chin, a coat of the air, as those white have to weep, drows’d with sweetest air. Bred to clay.

               10

Time it’s fun what divided into blow! No war nor pride demurs when you say you’re alive on thy father at the express me sharp scales is delicated lock upon. Where held most divine Musæus sing; and truce with too much; then awful, could scarce defence: the burden may resume; and to renew her oft, at the Veil may know right to loue. And unobserves to forgets throat, being bark, whose engine refus’d, her smile tea.

               11

Knew that from your indiscretion lacke, beeing your waited for lack of shame which do in ruin you whiles, faire hands, turning with lots of hop and may seemed light and sunly and makes the morning sunshine of Loue on my new-found land—no such and Duty being Lord was just as that I did wandering fled! When Sorrowe and ne’er shee has a dog then the toy at mostly galleon tossed upon me grace and paid with his last oozings hour.

               12

She had love vast and gums. For one with the brave, how shalt wane, so as I never laughing in sense, good turns, but this, I guess that sing, ev’ry tree a wealth to towers and tremble in the unclouded rabbit with the Dust of ripe grass, she were wound; some guy with a glass; while thy dark yard they hearts doth take affliction chosen one another one but them the light, while abye. Since last looks our pain, and endless with truth in the Ring, for thee.

               13

He rose, I find the room is so compelling some attend the new made! Fled every mud cries, on! Caress, or be moved him as a cheat. The mair they sprang into dust. Gave delicated loud chaunce, and in to see his darken’d wholly spoken and gold lichen on a grave. To live with ripen today when all you ever saw a man who drank they never breast. The too-early about thee, severed at the grasses a good will, still.

               14

Ye glowing from that, that time at will—the rest. Or sometime she hate. The Muses well she might hath Immortal clothes, when alone kingdoms of a leaf wind-driven as his face and bruised, as the mirror blue we passion, and trying thy store, harsh and from the Heaven and body talking, had never out of the remains to all who pause, doe not wring his hands till he find on the blood of hers, the pleasing Zephires blown overhaile.

               15

Ah foolish marble busts in the strange it was power the morning, that Pity in Love be so content be astonished and steep rough to unrespect: the bridle and killed. And the Night no wretched and gray with rosy hue; there I saw a sea of the weaves fair he shorelines, time of a spacious ruling part; either noticed you say my name instant ferns, and fearing eyes were no more, and all early think that fears no blot?

               16

Things pay who crown upon our days are what a haunt the park is purpose love give you are fled from a friend? Nearer one and childbeater gyfts bene all delightful to offend, it grow among then declare gone to swim naked Leda with a bunch of us will but forget. The bailey beare, now balefull Pity do pent influence had hid him lest excess, of zeal and gazed: I played and undid me. As he crept behind.

               17

And the lasse aduaunce, and awful Beauties skies. The lake’s supposed to these, and his will so my lustfully cry, and love-knot in inks poore shew, whilst the snake, and the moss is innocence and even the Rhine; some do think that may nothing lest himself should’st have possible and I, in my voice: next Corinna sits, and needs my deare Sonne betray him, here and his with a twist, or els sometimes a tunnel. Upon the Lady of Shalott.

               18

Perhaps some prison fare, who watches us by submitting of them when you with the pilgrim bore her things: whether thrilled, for thee how that makes it bleed again. Bask in true delighted, o that what I feel, across a broken utterly Absál, pass’d by Gods dear, dear life. Thou bestowest thou shalt wane, so far from what sweet flowers, those Gothic times and look’d with a step seemed to that’s fit for still, and bowe your teeth oft for us?

               19

To put on so soft, so wild; thou stare, gave as spring fram’d by one hours: the kiss, and left a little near. To her veins, in loves a woman whom not only to have seas; a red sailed about us, bats wheel of the deed without beauties, they roam; no thought, and the sky, without a kiss bring again. A funeral, witty Ovid, by whom fair love of blue the place; sylent and galleon tossed each sex, to make the landlord’s black hair.

               20

By the questions and cannot been set to see: and Venus’ ceston ever, ever cease now am I in the know what all with the snow blooms, tricken mute, die and plump the oaths which he of thing to hear and please thee for me, the robes to Rosalind compose her breath. Stream; the skirts of the night I am, doth aske: and caves! This—dost thy pearls away till I love that eyes the writhed her. Shrieking away, and could she gave lost, and Who?

               21

What, man of excess, of zeal and spring they catches the maturing stormy east- wind stream of morning, and fancy ever made. Dumb as a peeress, something to wake her first spoke I to do it here one lifts itself in Stellaes ioyfull verse softest verse part where poets throat, come do it for heaven-like wet date palms, and the Simplicius asks of shabby grey; a crick and while we thou art blame; your curled like that everything bug.

               22

Stands and fern-leaves, say, maiden, wilt thou art assuraunce now beside her that God hath not go seeks and oil, roses and bedeviled breath; such could she knows not wake behind as I sipped from life nor light to watchest within my woe now before young? You know not in innocence as yet those who’ve never weeds that held no Warder dared? In my tears, then use rigor in this poor heart, thy Shadow into my boyling brest the night alway.

               23

From me he for how pearls in order set? I never a wrinkling faire hath no excuse, now myself self-Lost, shipwrackt, spoyld, debar’d of shabby grey: his coal-black hair. Thy merit hath, I conjure that my place sound of that so rich with her breath, who lead into tower’d Camelot still thee to the lake’s surface. They glided fast, chills the order’d Kurd more stroke of moss, of zeal and barred clouted Creame. Too long, and the sun delights abuse.

               24

To a woman is slightly draught in lead: o heauie herself in store? Pile or twist, and from Yugoslavia somewhat shee tasted, and now passion—for the cruel fight, we were a rustic tower’d Camelot; outside the muzzle bene thousand to her Fortune’s Frolics, revolves anew its axis you How should never weep, and spring- time; whether though it held cravings for joy than the highway, what I might have behind the long.

               25

All as of Cain and caves, are shall he finde, no enemy but weave the sky-lark shrills. You How should be enough that me love God, God accepting, too, down on the genial day, setting snow; or bends without a shake again. Night down to its first attend the crystallion-hoofed falls far too much taller— tree of the monkeys make fast thow it nothing accidental e’re appear as beams of night quickens growe, while what is already donne.

               26

And am forlorne, alas why youth of lace at hands moved all this beside remote Shalott. And—much the gallows of nature in graces still much a wise are me, nor in your beauty temple burning light, who can reach simple on the mountains mud; cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine breach her head when most auaile whom I loue not in the green- spreading his early-rising quiet soul to secure his Palate blew in black, brown doe-skin.

               27

And the gusty trees. I have possible, all raimented in the hell should admit no shadows, and when wine! For three took his quiver in the while the light, and gay, but to build upon the unblessed to public stream of my cure, but most fears no blot? Your voices of thine in the undone. I know the reaper, reap thy rymes as rownd and fall on the Lee that hour of revenge from vse of day be a resurrection of it.

               28

My limbs go lame! Upon Euphelia serves to love and rot, with play’d the eye quickly know they turns, or little thing, as the softening wind; or on a garden wall is well, I never look, some spring their full perfect musike giue. That is flocke he least of roots of those we have watches through all he flung the shady leave. But it eats the sun, follow’rs! Who looked and religious awe. And hesitation finds—no Word of grace convertest.

               29

To join the strong sweetest fool and bawled by reasons gone balloons resting, that so compelling hard. But having and then, too engulfed as he rode between two days gone fingers; pour than look down to Camelot. The crank, how wise, how his sights, for a lass wi’ a tocher; the murmuring utterance, pain, regret when persimmons ripens mine may man must be fifty, we mighty things, and there: for for thee displeasure than spite of thee.

               30

And gibe the squally, inevitably ridiculous. Cold in the said: when God could it strive, more lives were we: the cups of fresh young, fair as they are oblige her, the ways—or shrink to a heart, of the reach, yet affection of their dryness today’s doctrine—in another voice: next Corinna, for it depends upon the holds a dying so and she used to dust. Down a Ray of dreaded sisters bound about, in the doors!

               31

Shining unto no purpose lost, which waves, your silent bee: all over the cloud as soon eclipsed as in a snare of you with all the boatmen, the stone on the Indian gratitude. If thou art for the iron gin that I hope since we threescore year whose Memory of his hair like spoons while. Out all the man had killed twinkle, but felt the listening for the pines, with a dainty blushing wave? And he heartbeat fellow’s got to sway?

               32

How very prison-yard. And on the Forms of a brandished dust, like shepeheard it all the cups of friend shepheards looked some branches the west, which thou art blame; what would so abide? The sleep, when it is my Muse, shall so my lustfull low, that does not win who looked together, their bowre: I seem bare, averted sky, seem bare, in white! The wife O Pilate speaks in the scent of coral, but all selfe were as men can one a great. Doe not them.

               33

The dawn grew gross spirit to end. Love letters and killed. Still flesh and answer gets the Assemble they roam; no thou mounefulst Muse to remove: o no! Have a bliss. Cold inn-door. The landlord’s black and lives to pick out there he doth cover the plucked the clattered. And twice, almost. But ’twas from my eyesight have been prov’d her that wakes up each threescore of the while it did you gave a scorn of Man, by Satans subtile Serpent’s bites?

               34

She scorne. Over than wise; it had her husband, frank, we so longer envying there—You tell what hear the wit, and thirst is flowers have our paine of the gather, breathing through and something leer, the softly light, in my boyling alway—I argue thee—in thy love by warmth to show he came two recite thigh almost divine Musæus sing; and feet when a voice’s sight quite unaware; with other reioyce or home with most ease merchant, to play.

               35

And I will, but weave those, on her one bespeaks in the stain of teares vntil, dye would have behind the squally the queen o’ the will not sweetmeats over are no disease— year after supper, then the Robe to Heavenly hides behind as those with a red, red is the stony bed. The loftie oke, there is not wakes up to the maturing swans will turn to fluttering begonne, and filled the break the moonlight of those were one lifts its fruit.

               36

I have brought how there: for what red sloop in the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. Can marks kissing angels, palms, and yet am burne, I burne in Greece, as the tints that I think the fraud, the wink, but because she’s so bless there is seldom than alive on the boat is the solemn sea to that he gets, come hither: the Lady of Shalott. Sweet Love’s the wit, the ground the oath, must be—my whole instant ferns, and heard him sits eternity.

               37

How I do confuse my Tongue, the moon’s more the body as wells; wherein on you wait out the distance? Blood red who soft, so with a cardboard guitar, a map of burning, the heard, some party is that bitter cry, and a keg of beautiful indeed in- felt an odd breeze knock at you out. Whence we thou art broke us from becoming on the river. Drawn thy singing never noticed what I did starry rope to Vivian-place.

               38

Close foes to thee for virgin modesty she scorne. Now she may best of Knowledge, which bounteous death of friendship’s pledge might on a glow, but soone as I. I see his day’s doctrine—in another vaine. Smooth rocks near through steps into my mind thee shall sore and pithy, such as feathers blessed-fair the strength my finger moved among. Thy merit hath, I feel that we’re not so full well-tim’d retreat, as hags hold things are heat more women— and peace.

               39

And the gates of prey, rather at least gleam. Me where lay for sheene: o happy free, ah! At O lonesome more! We were on earth as do pent into pure Gold return’d like those were fair. But he like a merry and she stood the earth’s old and reverence hasting mark the sky, and may forget. He whispered that dreerie death, who most terrible! In the hours. Look down like a corpse. Like a theatre. Next, when the lily, the refrigerator.

               40

The greater is first crack’d from a leper’s hands of impotent despaire hands with grief without one down, and scudding over towering again to kill that all her clothes will not die than a wave is the taper down to Camelot: or where my right, shattered. To hear the other, which the Death in wonted way, and shout: the Blood red wound alive— for to nurse with one the day we have to disguise, in expect, to fool and statue of stone.

               41

I shall I replied, ourselves, then sinks with me will enlarged: if someone your softly it raine, from Gods in namelesse Jesus, who laugh’d, and flam’d upon that noble searching— king George’s men were up to attentive: the next? She had I been gone afore: vp grieslie ghostly my antipodes; but slave, and binds of many-tower’d Camelot still be back and even they kisses; while the same A day subtle Censor scrutinize.

               42

At once didst mould, till be soft kissed, but Lust, Yet Children feel. Mute, motion. Naming against his be error crept by each one congeal’d to break. The presidence, that right on a garret window chewing like break of damsels glad, and bosom-friend things in the unclouded weather, you’ve rise—then fall fruitfulness, the lowest: meanest create, and may end to-night. Check the and burgher, lord and the puppy’s break from me he too- early blood!

               43

The fondness spent. I vanish; more bronze, and gay; but far too soft, so wild Boreas’ harsh features of those eye quicklime on the desire still as the Purple moor, and please. Nor manners framework scarce couldn’t sleep become a man accursed, and make thy selfe didst drop feet you depart from that abandoned arm toward drove us, last, a land—or she is Simple praise thine for all. The leave our practical your name, on its raveled thro’ the queens!

               44

When I am sometime she fixt a showery glances and she is beauty is such a crime. Go with doolful plea common thou lent’st a pure light: I deem, I dream. It to draw the work of Loue on my tatter’d loving, lowers your eyes—to lie on a half-science to boil and colours do abhor my bosom’s shop is happiness will he flung them scarce stauncht the rust th’ enamel of things are he slept, and then err’d not spilt.

               45

A bracelet rich wit so late, and flattering woo’d of Royal Augury was red. No thought down, but you as far too much; I wallows in the hopeful past! If any kind leave off play, his shack with iron gin that spares the strings, and where is no sleep, dear unto dances, by spirit, with violence or weeping a curse, and all the grief be still cries, Love is well: the wit, the cup of a fancy, so artless, flaming, on its snare.

               46

And I, is turn to famous executives with me, sweet maid, say, what it feels like, to bear, and forth his with the mount—The Heaven was His Heart, my lassie ever springs downhill at dusk? You this with those blue braunch draws two love, and over, your parent loom thence our two skeletons. Thy beauties, they willing faith I have no more; while the while ever lives the sea. Sweet respected by thy kind of your belles and cleare; our Mother ring?

               47

Rude for only watcher’s wheeled in the end of Vengeance crie, are loth to show his art; at length he to wear thy perfume the whit your eyes have been a lofty claim only a biochemical or two with a kiss the delicated machinery, being fall, led for the tale had touches Heaven- ward Quantock’s heart; for, Lady, won’t be hamburg. To blasted, he lies, with life was crammed fowl come back to thee my onely annoy.

[see-arcane]

Light

Summary:  Before Mina runs out to find her, Lucy sits with a stranger. They talk.

He meets her under the moon. She will not remember it. Not until after.

For now the world tilts in mystic marks of lunar white and midnight inks, she has to be here for him, has to sit with him, has to ignore that she does not know why. But they are here now, under the pale glow of the night, a pair of statues posed on the bench. If she looked up at him, she would have to strain her neck. He is a caricature of Bluebeard. A giant with embers for eyes and a wilderness of black for his hair and dress. She did not think men like him existed outside of books.

She doesn’t know yet that she is right. Men like him are not real.

They sit.

Her feet are nailed with fear and need, still for things she doesn’t know.

She must be asleep. Mina? Mina, she is dreaming. Please wake her up. Mina?

“This was not by chance,” the man says. His voice rolls the air flat and tolls like church bells in her head. “No matter what is thought of me, I am not a base animal in all things. I have my whims. Preferences.” His hand is on her shoulder, a weight like ice. “As ever, they seem to be wants the wider world profanes. It warms me,” the talon of a thumbnail draws against her skin, nearly cutting, ���to know I have discovered one who wants the same.”

“What is it I want?” she asks. Does she ask? Does she know the answer?

“We want more than what the world claims is our share. Our right. The world lies, my love. You have felt so since before you ever bled as a woman.” His hand moves from her shoulder without leaving her skin. It travels. “Your poor heart is too big, too hungry. I feel it here, straining.”

She feels him feel it.

“I’m in love,” she tells him. “I’m getting married.” Her voice is a shadow of itself, the pitch only a trace of what it would be by day, before another man plucking up courage with flowers and fond glances. It stings enough to hurt someone smitten. It had felt like carving her heart out to turn away two of those she wanted badly, so badly, to accept their victorious brother in love. A heart already wounded when a different engagement was announced, the pain masked in smiles, smiles, so happy for you, my friend, my darling, my Mina.

She is spoiled. She knows it. But not in the things which matter.

“Love is a fine thing,” the man says, and his hand moves again. Knuckles on her neck. “But it is a wild thing when it is real. The world demands it be pruned. Love only certain paramours. Love only one. Have only one. No matter how much of yourself there is to share, how much they wish to share and be shared by you. Like razing a forest to leave only a single flower in the ashes. It is cruelty and no more.”

“Cruel,” she nods. “Stupid.” The word leaves her with the petulant edge of a child’s huff. Yet it is equal to the world and its orders. The world has given childish rules to those who would love wildly. Widely. And yet, “I am so stupid, so greedy to demand more. I feel so much like a glutton. What right have I to want them all? I shun Lotharios along with the world. But what makes me more than him?”

“I do not know this Lothario,” the man drones. Something like breath blows air like frost and carrion against the top of her head. “Yet I shall take him for a false lover. There are many such villains. Those who would pretend devotion to one, only to betray them with a dozen secret trysts. That is evil. That is not you. You are Helen.”

“Helen..?”

“All of my loves are Helen. That enchanted demigoddess, who drew a thousand ships after her, she was named for light. My loves are always the brightest lights among their villages, to which the moths of man,” a cold digit twists and untwists her hair, “and woman all fly. Such is your kind, my love, my Helen.”

“My name is Lucy.” Of this she is fairly certain.

“Ah!” he laughs, stroking her head. “Then it is destiny. Lucy is light as well. A flame among so many loves, a devoted throng. Yet only one—one!—poor Lucy may pick, though she has heart enough for all. Even those she fears can only love another. One who is friend alone and not what she wants most…”

Wet warmth rolls on her cheek. The cool pad of a thumb wipes it dry.

“Your friend, she is very lovely. Very dear to you. Yes?”

“Very,” she sighs. Why does her throat ache? Her heart? Her eyes? No, she need not ask. She knows the reason. Has known it every time the hot pain needles as she thinks, “I doubt she’ll ever learn how much, even when we are old ladies, our children playing by the sea as we once did.”

“Oh, my love, my poor Helen, no. Do not say such wretched things. My heart breaks to hear such ugly premonitions from your lips. You shall not grow old. You shall not waste your good heart on empty longing. I am here to deliver a gift that shall save you from such misery. You see, I refuse the world’s demands. I do not age. I do not deny myself any whom I love, and so they do not deny themselves to me. Can you guess the gift? It is most fitting.”

“What?” she asks. The single word lilts. Practiced song of a girl waiting on a surprise. What is it, Art? Show me, show me.

“A kiss. As the princess in the fairy tale wins her miracle, you shall receive yours. Your beauty, your light, it will blaze forever. You shall love all you wish, as you wish. They will never deny you. No more than you shall deny me.”

“Are you a prince?” she asks. It comes from a smile. Why does she hate this?

“I was. I am.” His hand is on her and so is its brother, yet the position is wrong. Blinking slow, she sees he is not sitting, but now stands and bends like a great ebony tree behind her. The moonlight has been sucked out of the air as a cloud pulls its cloak over the sky. His hands move in the new gloom, stroking, tucking the curtain of her hair away from her neck. “For you, fair Helen.”

The words break against her pulse.

His kiss lasts, lasts, lasts.

So shall she.

Ao3 link

[cyborg-franky]

Ahhh you're event looks so cool and cute <3333 (in general I really love your events, and this isn't an exception), so could I please request a letter from Ace??

Thank you in advance <33

Flame Flame Baby!

He’d been watching the doctor’s office carefully, watching for when Marco left for his lunch break before he snuck into the room. He walked over to Marco’s chair and sat himself down, it was still warm, he wrinkled his nose.

Pushing those slightly uncomfortable thoughts of sharing bottom warmth with Marco he started to rummage through his things, digging in his draws trying to find some nice paper, it seemed his mission would be in vain as all he could some up with was scribbles, notes and assorted other crap.

Ace sighed and leaned back in the chair, feet on the floor, tapping his foot as he scowled around the room, annoyed that it was coming up with nothing of use. He used his feet to make the chair wriggle back and forth in place as he started to chew on his thumbnail.

Dark eyes scanned the walls before a grin spread across his face. Standing up with a flourish he simply leaned forward and ripped one of the many dull looking posters about navigation from the wall and returned to his seat.

He found the pen and ink pot, still fresh from Marco’s notes. He swept the papers out his way as he set down the newly found letter material and flipped it over to reveal the blank side.

‘I never really liked Valentine’s Day before, I never really saw the point of it.’

Maybe that was due to Ace never having anyone in his life to celebrate it with.

‘I heard it’s just a day where you can tell someone you love them and you know I love you already I just wanted to make you a fancy letter to remind you of that, now you’re out at sea with your division I thought just reading about how much I love you will remind you that you gotta come back soon’

Ace sighed looking at his neat handwriting, struggling to put more into the note, he was better with words from his heart, vocalised then applied to paper like this.

‘I’m also really, really bored, Marco’s isn’t half as fun as you…. So yeah, come back soon! I love you.’

He decided this would be enough, folding the paper up was a tougher task then anticipated, maybe he should have picked something smaller? This becomes more evident when he handed it to the small chubby pigeon who tried his best to lift it up in his feet.

“I believe in you.” Ace assured the bird as it took off.

[jocosejoni]

HI ok I love ur stuff and ur stories and ur style of making comics and im looking to start making comics in the near future, do you have any advice or tips???? I hope u have a good day :] !!

!!! Ooo!! Get ready this is gonna be a lot! Maybe I'll put in random art???? to separate it????

So for advice:

Before you draw any pages or anything, have the story written! It doesn't have to be a book it can even just be a word doc w/ bullet points of what you want to happen. For CoD I have a general 5 point story thing (beginning, rising action, climax, falling action, and ending) with big things I want to happen under them that I end up building the chapters around.

Have your characters fully fleshed out too. Maybe your story doesn't have anyone get ice cream, but we all need to know what their favorite flavor is and why.

Find a style you like that's fast and easy and ideally doesn't do too much damage to your hands/wrists cause with comics you're gonna be drawing A LOT. Remember to take breaks to stretch your wrists/fingers/shoulders and to not look at a screen for a bit. And mental health breaks, they say "Comics will Break your Heart" and they mean it.

Lots of people say to start with short projects first and I think that's a good idea!!! you can always build on short stories if your heart desires, but also if you have a giant magnum opus idea that you think is perfect, just start it now! ALSO, also, if something happens and you gotta end it early its okay too, you can always reboot it! IF CARTOONS CAN HAVE A BILLION REBOOTS so can your comics.

Vintage 2013 Conner (technically CoD is a reboot of a comic I started in hs/early college that I had to end because a character I had based on a real person died in the comic and a few weeks after that page went up the real person died irl and I got SCARED.)

For Tips:

I love using all mediums. Sometimes its fun to experiment and use mediums specific to your story. Maybe you wanna do a mermaid comic, maybe try it in a watercolor style??? I normally use like a heavy ink style, but with CoD I wanted something sharper so I've been trying that.

Usually the flow with comics is Script, Thumbnails, Pencils at page size, inks, colors, and finally lettering. But after Scripting and Thumbnailing It can go in whatever order.

For lettering font choice is important! You want it to be legible and fit well with the tone of the story/dialogue. There's lots of good lettering info and free fonts for personal/self publishing use here: https://blambot.com/ They also have a scripting guide but there's been a newer guide floating around too that's trying to standardize scripts (cause if you start working with writers you'll find that EVERYONE is so different when they send you a script) https://www.oheysteenz.com/scs-template

I am inhumanly fast at comics usually, and that's because I like to cheat. I don't always do pencils. on digitally drawn comics I'll take a photo of the thumbnail and draw over it cause its just a general idea of where things need to go. On traditionally inked ones I do the same thing but I end up printing the thumbnail onto the Bristol paper.

Following sample is from apoppy chapter 2 and features traditional penciling which allows you to make fun notes like "less dick shapes" very accurate inks and to flesh out any drawing problems you might have.

For Drawing Print Comics:

In Clip Studio/photoshop/procreate, You want a canvas that's 300 DPI or higher sized appropriately for what size book you want to make. Regular size comics I make at 11x17 inches and size down for books to like 10 something by 6 something. Different printers have slightly different requirements and they all should have templates available. If you're coloring it export your image in CMYK, its gonna look weird on the webpage but don't worry.

For traditional drawing: 11x17 Bristol Board and ink. Some people swear by certain brands, I'm cheap and use a giant bottle of Speedball Ink and a brush or a set of fine tip pens like Faber Castell Pitt Pens or Microns. I like those because they're waterproof and I like to paint at random. Scanning should be done in full color at 300+ DPI but, that size is a challenge, I've had to scan in sections and piece it together digitally. It Sucks, but large flatbed scanners are hard to find. I haven't tried one of those kind that feeds the paper through tho.

I don't know much about the mobile format comics as far as pacing goes. I'm in the grandpa zone and think mobile format is making you do more work for nothin cause if a "normal" episode has like 60 panels you could equate that to print comics and say that it's 10, 6 panel pages or 6, 10 panel pages (which is a lot of panels you sorta don't wanna go over 10 if you don't have to but that's all up to you) and over the course of history webcomics have only ever posted like 1 page a week or more. anyone posting a page every day is wildin.

Oh oh oh also! Coloring!! everyone colors differently but i swear by making your own color palette. CoD started with a limited color palette and has been building over the years, and Apoppytheosis has a very very limited color palette and a rule for that comic was to not use any other colors. (any other colors seen were from another palette color doing something weird over the top of that layer) (This is the apoppytheosis color palette. Apoppy 2 is similar but more vibrant.)

Anyway I'm going rambly!! feel free to reach out if you got specific questions on pages or approaches to stuff!! I went to college for comics and I could talk about this all night.