#achilles sees the beard. he wants to touch the beard.

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! What is your stance on Patroclus with facial hair?

Love it, sexy as hell, next question

(ALSO funny you should ask that now seeing as I worked on the next HFB chapter today which is in part about Pat's facial hair lmao like how did you KNOW)

[katerinaaqu]

@prompted-wordsmith

This is for you because your small story was amazing so I want to create one in return! And since you want Helen to speak up more here is a little interaction pre-departure from Troy between Helen and Odysseus because why not!

The city hadn't yet stopped smoking from the night of massacre. Helen feared it never would. The smell of burning wood and asbestos was sticking on her clothes and hair; bitter reminder of the events of the night before. Helen didn't want even to think of the lingering smell of blood; metal and water that she had touched. It was as if everything was red now; hands and heart and bloodshot eyes. She hadn't slept that night or the night after it. She feared she never would again.

She could still feel that this was partially her fault; both the beginning and the end of it. She knew the Horse was a farse; a well-staged plan. She chose not to alert the alarm. She had chosen her side once more. And now women and children and men at Troy were laying down dead or worse. She remembered seeing Andromache being dragged out of the city in chains along with other women. They were to be sold as slaves or given as prices to the kings of the Acheans. The once proud queen was now crying woefully; mourning her husband who was killed. She had been dragged out of her husband's tomb where she went to seek sanctuary. That was the ultimate hubris along with her father-in-law Priam who she heard from a conversation had been slain upon the altar he hoped would grand him his life. She heard it was Neoptolemus, the young man who carried the blood of Achilles in his veins and apparently his rage and temper. Who would have known that a child like that could be so cruel and blasphemous? So full of rage? Helen could not see her infant son in her arms as she was taken away. She didn't even dare to ask. For a brief second Andromache raised her head and her honey eyes stuck within her blue ones. The look was almost accusatory as the tears had given her face reddish lines. Or perhaps it was the self inflicted scratches that she had made in her woe. That second lasted longer than it should be before the queen was dragged away.

"That could have been me..." she thought

However her position was not much different. As she was standing at the peer, she was always guarded by a soldier; obviously her husband wanted both to protect her but also obviously he didn't trust her. Helen couldn't say she blamed him but it still hurt. She was seeing Menelaus talking to Odysseus, sorting out the details. Helen watched her husband and her former fiance in wonder. Indeed how strange fate was! How different the two men were! She could tell Menelaus's auburn hair from kilometers away as they were held together by a band around his head. He was well built and strong, seemed dressed in sunlight. Odysseus next to him seemed the opposite. He wasn't tall. He was barely average, a few decent inches shorter than her husband and a good head shorter than her brother-in-law however he seemed wider in shoulder and his chest resembled a wall dressed in a coat of dark curly hair. His head was adorned with black hair that seemed golden under the setting sun: bushy and curly like a ram held together by various little bands that held his curls tamed under his leather headband. His beard was equally bushy and shaggy even if he had obviously tried to make himself more presentable from the night before. His onyx eyes were bottomless holes. The man seemed tired; prematurely aged that day. Helen knew that he had a similar burden to bare with her. How strange indeed, she thought. The man seemed like coming from the night. And yet he seemed darker now; his shoulders seemed heavier than before.

"Take her home safely"

Odysseus's voice drew her out of her daydream. His voice was hoarse and tired. He seemed aged before his years. Helen remembered again the flamboyant young man that was supposed to court her. Sure his eyes filled with premature wisdom and intelligence gave him an aura of age but she could remember his laughter and smile seemed those of a teenager as if trying to persuade people of his actual age. Now that teen was gone. He was a man now; long past that first youth; a Sacker of Cities.

"Otherwise all this would have been for nothing!"

The timbre in his voice; the seer accusation, hurt her much more than anything besides her husband's distrust. No, at least Odysseus...the wise and prudent Odysseus should understand. Menelaus nodded to his loyal friend and shot her with yet another look. Helen couldn't decide if it was angry or closer to sad. As he walked away she turned again to look at Odysseus. The man barely saw her with the corner of his eye but spoke nothing. Helen couldn't bare the silence any longer.

"Odysseus..." she finally spoke, "Why? How can you be so cruel?"

"Cruel?" His voice was full of disbelief, of anger that made his chest rise like the tide

He turned to her walking like a lion ready to pounce. Helen stood her ground though. She stuck her ocean blue eyes deeply within his black ones.

"Cruel?" He repeated, "I've lost my son's first 10 years because of this war!"

"This war wasn't my choice!" Helen felt the need to defend herself against him.

"It commensed because of you!" The accusation was finally spoken outloud, "Menelaus started this because of you!"

"I didn't know he-..."

"YES YOU DID!" Odysseus finally bellowed making her take a step back, "yes you did...you just didn't think!"

He turned her back at her. He was about to leave but he didn't seem done yet.

"The blood of many brave Acheans is on your hands..."

That was way too much. Odysseus should know better than hurt her this way! This was unfair even if spoken through pain and anger. Bravely Helen held back the tears that burnt her eyes. He wouldn't see her weep!

"If I told you..." she began with the best voice she could master, "...that gods play games with us all the time...that they cloud our judgment... Would you believe me?"

Odysseus looked over his shoulder but spoke nothing.

"You of all people should understand" Helen whispered

"What does it matter what I'd believe?"

"It matters to me!" Helen replied firmly. "Please, Odysseus...at least you...at least you should believe me..."

Odysseus seemed ready to reply but the last minute he stopped himself. He chose silence; cruel and cold silence. He began walking away. Two angry tears ran down her white, rosy cheeks. No she couldn't leave it this way!

"ODYSSEUS!" She yelled after him, "you're a hypocrite!"

That stopped him to his tracks as he turned around.

"What?" He asked almost scandalized

Helen was shivering from top to bottom and her knuckles turned white from clenching them too hard.

"Do you think you're any better, Sacker of cities?!" The last one was spat like an insult like a curse, "do you think your hands are clean? You say that the war commensed because of me! That so many Greeks died because of me! Then what about you, Odysseus? What about all the Trojans killed in the city in that bloodbath?! What about all these women and children that are now piled up to be burnt or eaten by dogs and vultures? Who is to answer for THOSE Odysseus?"

Odysseus of Ithaca was frozen in place, shaking in anger but so was she. And she wouldn't be stopped now. She was Helen of Sparta, Helen of Troy, Helen the daughter of Zeus!

"It was your plan, your scheme that got the Greeks inside the holy city of Troy! It was your idea that gave them the way to sack it!"

Odysseus, the eloquent man seemed now unable to respond. He seemed stripped out of his furious anger although some of it was burning inside. Instead he managed to utter

"This massacre wasn't my choice..."

A sound between humorless and mocking laughter and cry came out of her mouth.

"Oh so you tell me you didn't know? You didn't know that the Greeks who were away from their homes, wives and children wouldn't unleash all their piled hatred? Didn't you know they would burn the city that kept them away from them to the ground so it wouldn't rise again?"

He didn't respond. Helen knew he couldn't.

"You say the blood of the Greeks is on my hands. Then the blood of Trojans is on yours!"

Odysseus seemed to have trouble breathing. She had hurt him and she knew it. Perhaps she had simply voiced everything he had in his mind all those days. She could remember how tenderly he spoke of his wife and son. Her husband used to say he identified himself as father of Telemachus not son of Laërtes. Women and children...his son and wife... He seemed ready to either lash at her or leave. However as always The Man of Many Ways sighed and did the unexpected; he spoke again.

"It doesn't matter whether I believe you or not, you know. What it matters is if he does"

Helen took a glance towards Menelaus from a distance. He was preparing the ship. She sighed and returned her gaze towards the man they called "equal to gods".

"But do you?"

"Yes" he finally admitted, "yes I believe you"

Helen sighed in relief. It was her thanking to him

"There is fate between us, Helen..." Odysseus said hoarsely.

Helen didn't need to see his face behind his wide back to read his expression.

"Yes" she replied, "you could have been my husband"

"I am glad that I'm not"

That husky whisper made her look up in wonder. She didn't expect that answer.

"You don't deserve me" the son of Laërtes said, "and I don't deserve you"

He barely looked at her again over his large shoulder.

"I see now why my cousin loved you" whispered she

"And I see why he loved you." Replied Odysseus, "why he started a war for you. Not for his pride; for you. You were indeed worth it..."

He looked at her again for the first time for a while.

"You and I have both blood on our hands" he said grimly, "you, the starter of war, hold the blood of many brave Acheans upon you...while I, the one who ended it, the Sacker of Cities, will have to live for the rest of my life carrying the deaths of Trojans upon me... Women and children..."

He covered his face with his large hand and turned around. He was sobbing.

"Women and children..." he whispered again, "Penelope...my sweet Telemachus...children... infants no older than he was..."

Helen was afraid to ask. She didn't want to know. She had met enough horror for a lifetime. She wanted to move on. She wanted to forget.

"Get home safely, Odysseus" she wished to him, "Husband to Penelope...father to Telemachus. I hope you will get what you wished for..."

"You too, Helen, kissed by the sun like golden Aphrodite...daughter of Zeus. Farewell Queen of Sparta..."

He walked away. Helen heard his voice yelling orders to his men like the expert sailor he was. Helen sighed and smiled so slightly. The title he used...was addressed to her. Odysseus had recognized her admitted her but also signaled her, her fate. She knew now she had a second chance to rectify everything; first for herself and next for everyone else.

The journey had come to an end. A new one was about to begin.

Okay guys I am so sorry I have no idea why or how but yeah...this... I hope you liked it.

[thatbigbisexual29]

Next Time, Kock! (Hades)

akasjhfdkjdfhdkjhdkddskjbsdkidfsj I'm such a bad blog owner- hello everyone!! So, I'm not dead! I just keep forgetting to write and post blehhh. But! I have something that isn't too long but I hope everyone enjoys it! And if people continue to ask, maybe I'll make a sequel? Who knows lol. Also, this fic is a tiiiiiiiiiny bit suggestive but nothing gets extreme. Anyways, I'll leave with this byeeeeeeeee!

“Gods I wish I could stay here forever…” exhaled Achilles as he sat next to his lover. Patroclus chuckled and leaned closer into the warrior. The two gazed at the Lethe while a soft breeze made the grass dance around them. They were so content, so happy, so at ease. It was certainly a shame that it couldn’t always be like this. But that made the time they shared all the sweeter.

“Mm, yes. It is a pity that you work for that, how did you say… ah right, ‘blundering oaf’ named Hades. If I had any say, I’d tell him he doesn’t need a bloody guard for his bloody chambers.” Patroclus was about to continue complaining before Achilles, while chuckling, shushed him.

“Easy now, Pat. You wouldn’t want him hearing you. You’ve got no idea what he’s capable of. Let’s just be glad I’m here now, hm?” The dark haired man rolled his eyes and smiled. The blond always has a way of calming him down. Yet he found it rather annoying when he had something on his mind. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to spoil this moment with any of his bitchings. That didn’t mean he couldn’t suggest something else.

The elder of the warriors began twirling the blond’s hair, admiring its length and color. Achilles smiled as he was toyed with, enjoying how his partner’s calloused fingers picked him apart with such gentleness.

“You irritate me so, and yet, I can’t seem to get enough of you,” Patroclus purred into Achilles’ ear. The blond warrior shuddered at his lover’s voice, face becoming hot instantly. He adored all this attention… until Patroclus started to kiss his ear. The scratchy and unkempt beard and mustache that the older warrior sported was quite itchy. And, believe it or not, Achilles was equally as sensitive to it.

“Ah!” startled, he yelped at the touch. Patroclus was quick to pull away, worried for his lover, until a familiar thought filled his brain. He smiled mischievously as the two made eye contact. Achilles was still blushing and it only continued to grow.

“Still? After all this time?” the older teased. Achilles' brows furrowed as he turned his gaze away all huffy like.

“Don’t even start, Pat. I came here to see you and reLAX!” Achilles yelped again as Patroclus easily pushed him to the floor and leaned over him, chuckling at his partner’s embarrassment. Achilles drank in his happy laugh and he began chuckling as well. They lovingly gazed into each other’s eyes, basking in each other’s presence. Patroclus reached down and cupped Achilles’ face. Achilles leaned into his hand and held his own over it.

“You are such a cock, it’s unbelievable.” The infamous warrior commented.

“Oh really? That must be why you like me so much~” Patroclus cooed back, enjoying as Achilles blushed brighter than a tomato.

“Augh! You’re insufferable!” he said playfully as he weakly attempted to push the older man away. With no such luck, Patroclus decided to strike.

“Aw, too bad for you~ Because you can’t help but love me~ And my incredible cock~” Patroclus laughed and nuzzled his lips against Achilles’ ear, kissing and nibbling the spot which left the poor blond in stitches.

“Ah! Ahahaha! Wouhould you- fffhaha! Stohop! Cohome ohohon! Ohoho bollocks- Pahahahat! Quihihit, would you? Oh youhu penis!” Achilles swore and squirmed under his lover, not actually fighting against him. He missed this side of Patroclus. The playful and careless side that he saw more of on the surface. The way they ran and played together meant so much to him. Having Patroclus act like his old self did… things to his mind. He wasn’t about to make him stop now.

“Penis, cock, balls, dare I say testicles? My my my Achilles, is something on your mind?~ Naughty boy~” Patroclus now kissed the crook of the blond’s neck which resulted in Achilles hilariously arching to the side to create a C shape with his body. He scrunched his shoulders and tilted his head so Patroclus was stuck in a way. He could easily move, but where would be the fun in that?

The older man nibbled his lover’s neck and bathed in his boyish laughter. Something he hasn’t heard in some time. He slid his hand down Achilles’ side and cupped his hand on the small of his back, brushing his thumb against his hip bone. His other hand was placed on his knee and easily slid up his thigh, under his tunic.

A small gasp left Achilles’ lips. His hand swiftly gripped his lover’s wrist. The two paused and locked eyes. They didn’t even need to speak to have a conversation with each other. Achilles nervously smiled and shook his head. Patroclus raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Patroclus,” said Achilles.

“Achilles,” cooed Patroclus.

“Umm, hi,” breathed Zagreus.

Wait- Zagreus?!

The warriors whipped their heads towards the young prince who stood by sheepishly. His face was bright red with embarrassment as he looked to his feet, shuffling them nervously and scratching the back of his head.

“I- sorry, you two. I didn’t want to bother you but…” he trailed off.

Realizing the state they were in, Achilles shoved Patroclus off him in a panic and stood quickly, his face also red, but he tried to play it cool.

“Ah, ahem, no worries, Prince! Patroclus and I were just… we were just… just…” he too trailed off as his confidence dipped, deciding to look away and shield his eyes instead.

Patroclus scoffed and stood next to his lover, brushing himself off and fixing his hair. He gave a stink eye to Achilles before fixing his face to greet Zagreus.

“We were enjoying our alone time, that’s what we were doing. Although, it wouldn’t kill you to knock next time.” Sass dripped from his voice as he offered Zagreus one of his many belongings. The prince stepped forward and hurriedly picked one from the bunch.

“Ah, right, right, my apologies, sir. I-I’ll be going now.” The poor prince stumbled over himself while trying to make it to the door, not even thinking to pick one, just running right through in an attempt to exit this awkward atmosphere. Patroclus sighed and looked back at Achilles. His face was still burning like fire as the soldier sat down and groaned.

“I can’t believe he saw us like that… all across each other like horny teenagers… ugh…” While Achilles felt disgusted with himself, Patroclus laughed. The blond turned to his lover with confusion in his gaze. The older man sat beside him, giggling.

“Why are you laughing? Wasn’t that embarrassing for you?” Achilles asked which only resulted in Patroclus giggling more. His laughter was always so contagious, so naturally, Achilles’ half hearted frown turned into an amused smile. Patroclus placed his hand on his lover’s back, steadying his titters, and sighed.

“It's refreshing to see you so embarrassed. Reminds me of our first time~ Do you remember when your tent mate walked in on me-”

“Patroclus!” Achilles exclaimed and his lover burst into laughter once again. Feeling childish (and slightly vengeful) the blond pushed Patroclus onto the ground and dug his fingers into his ribs. Not expecting this, Patroclus barked out a laugh and attempted to hug and protect his chest. Achilles straddled his waist with ease as he continued to tickle the man beneath him. The blond chuckled as he exacted his punishment, soaking up his lover’s loud laughs.

“How have you no shame??” Achilles playfully demanded.

“Becahahahahahause Ihihihihihihi’m dead! Wait whait wait no, not there- Achilles no- No! NAHAhahahahahahaha! Ahahahahahaha youhuhuhuhu fffffffuhuhucker!” Patroclus cried out with mirth as Achilles let his tickling fingers climb into his armpits. The man tried rocking back and forth to dislodge those cursed digits, but they weren’t going anywhere.

“A fucker, am I? Well no wonder you like me so much~” the blond teased. He heard Patroclus’ laughter spike, so his joke must have worked or flustered him, or both.

A few more tickles and wandering hands later, their time did end. But it only renewed the couples’ excitement to see one another.

‘Gods only know what I’ll do to him,’ they both thought.

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 32: Morning to Midnight Pt. 2

Something was gnawing at Achilles after Shane left. He had tried to pick up his story where he had left off, but found that the words—which had flowed so easily just six hours ago—were now dammed shut. And he was starting to get a headache… figures.

Perhaps he ought to take a leaf out of the book he had shared with Elliott at the end of last summer and… take a bit of a break.

*****

He and Alex had missed their morning jog today, as Achilles had had to prepare for school. In retrospect, it probably would’ve been a good way to get out his nervous energy. Alas. Hindsight was 20/20.

Jogging at night was a peculiar thing. Achilles rarely ever did it; he was, after all, a morning person. It was cooler, of course, and obviously darker. But it was the different sounds of the night that Achilles felt transformed the landscape the most—chirping crickets in lieu of chattering squirrels, the hoot of owls instead of twittering robins.

The world felt smaller once the sun went down.  

Out of habit, he followed his old route before he had revised it with Alex. Down through Cindersap, turning east past Marnie’s ranch into Pelican Town. From there, north through the community center, past the parking lot and the railroad, up into the low mountains and finally, to the mines.

He stopped.

It was far too quiet for him to be mistaking the voices for anything else. Whispers. Murmurs at the back of his head, urging him forward into the black, black cavern.

One step forward. Then another. He had nearly crossed the threshold into the mines when a firm hand on his shoulder broke the spell. He jumped, ready to fight.

“Who’s there?”

It was hard to see under the half moon. There were no street lamps this far out of town.

“My name is Marlon,” came a voice, low and gruff. “Why don’t we have a chat?”

*****

Achilles had never visited the Adventurer’s Guild—why would he, he wasn’t an adventurer. Never had been. Nevertheless, he had let this mysterious Marlon lead him further east of the mines—a bit of a hike for someone who seemed to have had a bad limp—to a cozy little cabin with a quilted bed, a bearskin rug, and a rip roaring fireplace.

He had seen Marlon before at a few of the festivals, but they had never spoken. The man was hard to miss, with his mop of grey hair, eyepatch, and, most strikingly, missing arm.

“That’s Gil,” Marlon said, shooting a nod at a thickly bearded man in a red pork pie hat dozing in a rocking chair by the fire. “We own this here Adventurer’s Guild.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Achilles said, extending a hand to Gil, who didn’t respond.

“Mm. Pay him no mind… here, take a seat, let me get you something to drink…”

Achilles sat on a wooden stool in the corner as Marlon grabbed two tankards of ale from the kitchen and set them on the round table.

He also brought back with him a tiny bottle filled with a strange, purple liquid.

“You’ve been enchanted, son,” Marlon said, pouring the liquid into one of the tankards and handing it to Achilles.

Achilles didn’t touch his drink. “Pardon?”

“Be around his magic as much as I have, and you begin to recognize the signs. Wasn’t a big enchantment, I don’t think, but if you want it to go away, I suggest you drink that drink. Then again… perhaps you’re happier not knowing…”

“I apologize, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Marlon sighed. “You have any run ins with that Rasmodius lately? Wizard put a spell on you, son.”

“A spell? On me? Why would he have—” Wait a minute.

When was the last time he had seen Rasmodius? Achilles had visited him, at his tower to discuss… something. Something important? Something about spirits or something about…

“…the mines. I think it was something about… the mines.”

That bastard had put a spell on him! Why Achilles oughta—

A strange cough, that may have been a laugh, came from the back Marlon’s throat. “You remembering now? Bits and pieces? Yeah. Could speed up that there process if you just drink that up. I promise it’s not poison.”

Emboldened by his sudden rage, Achilles downed the ale.

The effects were instantaneous—Corvus, the spirits of evil, all of it—the memories came rushing back in a flood.

Marlon only watched Achilles impassively. “Yep,” he muttered, taking a swig of his own just as Achilles leapt to his feet.

“The mines—we have to get to the bottom of the mines by Spirit’s Eve, there’s—there’s a portal or something we have to destroy, we have to stop the evil spirits—”

“Slow down, son.” Marlon held up a hand. “You take a breath, now. I already know ‘bout what’s going on down there. Have known for quite some time, really, been trying to do something about it these last couple years… well, more than these last couple years…”

“The Wizard though… he said…” What had he said? That afternoon, when he’d enchanted Achilles. “He said not to worry? He said he had a plan—”

“He also bewitched you, so who are you gonna trust here? Nah.” Marlon shook his head. “If we wait for Rasmodius, we’ll be waiting the rest of our lives, son… I’ve long learned you can’t depend on cowards like him. Gil and I’ve had take matters into our own hands.”

More pieces were continuing to fit themselves together as Achilles sorted through these sudden spotlighted memories. One memory in particular began to shine differently under this new light, and as if prodded with a taser, he jolted up.  

“Abigail.”

Marlon merely continued to gaze at him, expressionless.

“You’ve been training Abigail. Abigail’s been going into the mines to—to find this Portal, or whatever. To destroy it.”

A stiff nod.

There is already one undertaking the task. That’s what Corvus had said. He must’ve been referring to Abigail.

Marlon waved for him to sit back down. “You know what a Portal is, son?”

“I… I tried researching it, it’s just a doorway, right? From the Spirit Plane to our Plane?”

Marlon nodded. “Portals have been around far longer than any of us. Thousands of years old— hundreds of thousands of years, maybe since the beginning of time. A way to travel directly between the Spirit Plane and the Physical Plane without going through the Astral. But they were all destroyed after the Spirit Wars. Or so they thought, I guess…

“After that, the only way to travel across was through them Elemental Walls. And even then, you need approval from the Arcane Council or something like that, and from what I understand, that happens ‘bout once in a blue moon. Had to be that way, you understand? Don’t want no more war, this made sure the Planes were kept nice and separate. Spirits can’t stick their noses into our stuff, we don’t stick ours in theirs.

“But Portals. They’re not like the Walls, they ain’t man made, ain’t regulated. Old magic, they be. That’s why they had to be destroyed back then. But now that we know there is one… well, the spirits just’ve been having a field day. They’re using that them Portal down there to get into our Plane easy peasy. Causing a lot of trouble, and more’s just on the horizon. See how that’s a problem? See why we gotta destroy it?”

Achilles nodded. “I- I think I’m supposed to help Abigail— destroy it. But does she need help?”

She had seemed so cool and confident just the other day when Achilles and Alex had bumped into her—sure, some scrapes and bruises and burns, but she seemed to be holding her own well enough down there if she was still in one piece and able to whistle about it all.

Marlon sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that… I can only say that you are one of five in this town who could help her, should she want it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Only a select few members of this town are capable of seeing the mines truly for what they are—a damned hole, rotting with evil spirits. It has nothing to do with ability, nothing to do with skill. Only blood. Only those directly descended from the original inhabitants of Stardew Valley have the potential to connect with these particular spirits in some unique way or form.

“Abigail is one, through her mother, Caroline. Alex is one as well, through his grandmother. Shane and Lewis, too. Myself and Gil. And you.”  

“That’s nine people. You said five.”

“Well, we’re not going to throw Evelyn down the mines now, are we, son? Or Lewis, though we all may want to… And Gil and I? Well. We’ve been there once before, son. Look at us. We’re in no condition to go again…”

Achilles spared another glance at Gil who, still dozing in the rocking chair, didn’t seem to have even stirred at his name.

“You’ve been down there before? What happened?”

Marlon shook his head. “That’s a story for another time.”

Well all right then… Then again, judging by his and Gil’s condition, it was likely a traumatizing story. Perhaps it was best not to push.

“I’ve been on the hunt for a suitable, shall we say, candidate, for lack of a better word, for many a year now…” Marlon continued, thumbing the handle of his ale. “As I’m sure you already know, everyone connects to the spirits differently… Sometimes the gift skips generations all together—I found that likely was the case for Shane. He’s never showed any what sort of connection to them spirits.

“Alex, of course, would have been the most natural choice to go down the mines, strong lad that he is. It was a real blow to learn the spirits had such a bad reaction to his psyche. Was the same way with his grandma. And one’s gotta not only be strong of arm, but strong of mind down there…

“As for you, son—well, I left an invitation in your mail box back in the Spring after I had heard you had been seeing them forest spirits. But you never stopped by the guild, and, well—I didn’t want to press. You can’t very well force someone to risk their own life, can you now? I figured you just weren’t interested.”

This was news to Achilles. Had he known, way back in the Spring—would he have gone for it? But what even was “it,” really?

“I must’ve… missed your letter.” Maybe it was finally time to start checking his mail…

“I’ve been peculiarly lucky with young Abigail,” Marlon mused. He began to tap his dirty fingernails against the side of the plastic tankard. “Girl’s been real enthusiastic, and her connection to the spirits is ‘specially strong. Those magical gifts of hers are real well suited for the task at hand, they’re very grounded in the physical, but even so, the further she descends into the mines, the more I worry… and now that it’s Fall… well. You said it yourself, son. We’re running out of time if we want to get it done this year.”

“Perhaps I can talk to the Wizard,” Achilles offered. Oh yeah, and get your memory all futzed up again, huh? “Does he know Abigail’s doing this—perhaps if he realizes the stakes that are at play, the risk Abigail is taking—”

“It’s no use,” Marlon said, impatiently waving his hand as if he were swatting a fly. “I’ve tried to tell him—we made a deal once, to keep each other informed. I’ve even made the trek all the way out to Cindersap to that damn tower of his, me and my bad leg and all, to try to talk to him face to face but he never sees me… our history… it goes back too far… No. There’s too much pain there…”

Well, Achilles supposed now was “another time,” as Marlon launched into his story.

“The original Adventurer’s Guild trio was me, Gil, and Mona. Mona Jasper. Like Gil and I—and like you—ol’ Mona could trace her bloodline directly to the original founding members of Stardew. But back in those days, we didn’t know anything about the mines. We were just out there doing some good ol’ fashioned adventuring.

“She was able to communicate with spirits naturally, much like yourself, from what I understand. But Mona also possessed a physical connection, like Abigail, that allowed her to sense and track and interact with their presence. It’s a rare thing to have both, but it does happen… even rarer to know you have both. Then again, Mona herself was a rare thing in a number of ways…

“She practiced magic. Studied it, made sure to learn and cultivate and practice the many magical gifts she wasn’t born with. Became a bit of a jack of all trades—you see, Mona was more than just an adventurer. She was a scholar. Always reading the history books, making records of her own….

“And it’s because of that that she was the first to map out precisely where them keystones for the Walls stood in Stardew Valley—Cindersap Forest where Rasmodius went and built his tower, the mines, the land where the community center now stands, and… well I forget the rest, it was never my specialty… but all places steeped in ancient magic and used by the old mages to help build and hold up the Wall.

“Mona pieced together that there was something real bad starting to leak from them mountains. Bad spirits coming into our Plane—but how?

“Now hear me, son. This is when Mona realized—the Elemental Walls should be impossible to break through. In order to destroy one, it’s gotta be weakened on both sides: in the Astral Plane and in the Plane the Wall’s protectin.’ The Astral Plane side of things is a mess and has been for centuries, but it never mattered. How can a wall be damaged from the inside if a Spirit can’t get inside anyway?”

“But the Portal…”

Marlon snapped his fingers. “You got it, son. The Portal. Them evil spirits were leaching into our Plane through that and we didn’t even know. They were supposed to all be destroyed… but them spirits were leaking through, and because of that, were able to destroy the keystone at the mines, thereby weakening the Wall something terrible…

“But unlike the Walls, Portals are also tethers. Lucky for us. Means you can’t venture too far from where the Portal you come through is unless you’re real powerful. It’s why the mine fell so fast, but it’s taken years for them to take down the community center, only the strongest of ‘em can venture that far from the Portal. But as the Walls grow weaker, the evil spirits grow stronger… the junimos are still fightin’ back, but I don’t know how much longer they’ve got it in them… And if that falls, well… I fear for the Valley.

“Anyway, Mona decided we’d have to destroy the Portal once and for all. But she couldn’t go down alone to fix it though—she wasn’t powerful enough. Who was?

“So we went together. Mona, Gil, and I—we began to clear the mines, digging our way deeper and deeper. I know you’ve been down there once before, but you don’t understand. What you saw? Doesn’t hold a candle to what we had to deal with, son. Near impossible to navigate—there was no elevator. Every day, we had to start from the top and try to get down as far as we could as fast as we could. The monsters were worse back then. The spirits even more so.

“On a good day, we’d hit the 50s or 60s—sometimes the trapdoors would remain in the same place, or the floors would remain clear. Those were the lucky days. But more often than not, we’d be starting from scratch every day, unless we were brave enough to stay the night. We spent a week down there once, the things we saw…” Marlon shuddered. “Never again.”

Achilles interrupted Marlon here. “That’s insane— what happened, how’d you get an elevator?”

At these words, a shadow crossed Marlon’s face, and his one eye darkened. He dragged his fingernails against the wooden table.

“Rasmodius.

“He arrived out of nowhere one day. Bidin’ his time for nearly a year until comin’ to us saying he had… heard through the grapevine that something was happening in this here Valley and thought we’d need his help.

“And you know what? He did help. At first. I’ll give him some credit—he started joining us, and we were able to make more progress. He was able to make the mines more navigable, I’ll give him that. He created the elevator system; it couldn’t send us beyond where we had already dug, but at least it meant we didn’t have to start from the beginning every day.

“But then we reached the 100th floor and everything changed.

“Now Rasmodius was getting cocky… arrogant prick, started saying that he didn’t need us, that we might as well just leave it all up to him to save the day.

“We had an argument that night… it was late. And nearly Spirit’s Eve.

“Now you have to understand—it’s a tricky, tricky balance. From Mona’s research, you’ve got to time it so you reach the bottom the week of Spirit’s Eve when the Walls are at their weakest—need them weak so that people like us who ain’t no freak prodigies in magic can interact better with all things Spirit Plane. That includes the Portal.

“But if you wait too long—the closer and closer to Spirit’s Eve you get, the more the balance of power shifts towards the spirits. So the best time to go is Fall 22. And the worst is Fall 27. You got it? And once it hits Winter, well, you’re out of luck. The mine resets itself, almost. You gotta start back at the top. Start all over.

“We had reached the 100th floor on Fall 26. It was bad. Real bad. We told Rasmodius it was too dangerous, too close to Spirit’s Eve, who knew how many more floors there were? We were real tired—we said to him, why don’t we start again next season. We’ll be better prepared, we’ll have a functioning elevator.

“But he didn’t listen… so the night before Spirit’s Eve—”

“So Spirit’s Eve Eve?”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Please continue.”

“So the night before Spirit’s Eve, Rasmodius went down without us. His gifts were different from ours—he’s not from the Valley, he’d never have been able to beat the mines himself. But he was a mad man, absolutely convinced he was destined to save Stardew on his own. And so he went down alone.

“Now Gil and I would’ve been fine leaving him for dead,” Marlon spat. “But not Mona—no, she raced down as soon as she caught wind of his plans, and, well, we were the Adventurer’s Guild. We couldn’t leave her. So Gil and I quickly followed…”

Marlon closed his good eye here. A pause. A deep, deep, rattling breath. Knuckles white as they shook in their grip of the edge of the table.

“It was the worst swarm that we’d ever seen. Gil and I, we just weren’t prepared—we didn’t have as much magic in us as Mona or Rasmodius. Within seconds, Gil was knocked out cold. Brain damage.” Marlon looked over at his companion. “Hasn’t been the same since. Falls dead asleep at random hours, real bad migraines… it’s a hard life.

“Me? Lost my arm, very near lost my leg to them terrible spirits and a misplaced bomb. Magic was swirling everywhere. Couldn’t see. It was over in minutes. It’s a wonder we got out at all… We came to in the hospital. Mona wasn’t there. Just Rasmodius. He said she had stayed behind, told him to get Gil and I out…

“And you can’t help but wonder… did she stay behind? Or had Rasmodius left her? We put up a gravestone… but there’s no body there. Suffice to say… something happened that night. Who it was—or what it was—only Rasmodius and Mona know and one isn’t sharing and the other isn’t here to share.”

Marlon sighed, shaking his head as he took another swig of ale to steady himself.

“But over the next few months, as Gil and I recovered—we realized records were disappearing. Most of Mona’s journals, all her records of the mines, her research, all gone. Destroyed? I don’t know. But I’ve long suspected Rasmodius… nobody else had any reason to meddle… why he did it, I don’t know. To stop other folks from trying? Makes you wonder what really happened that night…

“Interestingly, the worst of the monsters and spirits have drawn back since that night. There are fewer monsters in general, really, from what I’ve been able to piece together from Abigail and a couple of trips I tried to take in the years after. The elevator was damaged—overridden by bad spirit magic, my guess, which is why I suspect it works the way it does now, all gotta be on one floor for it to work. But, hey. It still works, and that’s what matters… why that all is, the easier monsters and stuff, I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s Mona. Somewhere down there still, working her magic as much as she can.

“Abigail’s been able to make pretty steady progress day by day. If you’re interested in helping, I can train both you and her, though it’s rather late in the game. She’s been doing good work, but another body can only help, can’t it? No chance you’re good with a sword?”

“Ah… I used to be a nationally ranked fencer, but I suppose they’re not really the same, are they?”

“Eh…”

Achilles bit his lip. Mona had, presumably, died. Gil and Marlon permanently disabled. Sure, things down in the mines seemed to be going dandier than they had 40 years ago, but even still…“I’ll… think about it.”

Marlon nodded, his face still rough as stone. “We can always push to next year… though Abigail’s made such good progress, it’d be a real shame. And the spirits are closing in more and more with each passing day… I’m just nervous for her. If she reaches Level 100. Things may be real better so far, but after that… she’ll be in brand new territory. What’s down there? What’s left from our last trip 40 years ago? Anything?”

Then again, leaving Abigail out to dry seemed rather cruel. Although on the other hand, how helpful would Achilles be really? A season was scarcely enough time to learn how to use a sword.

But didn’t Corvus say in some roundabout way that this was… for lack of a better word… his destiny? Didn’t the Wizard even, once upon a time, say that perhaps the Valley would need him?

But dying?

What was he willing to pay for having a purpose? Is this what he really wanted? He ought to want it—the quest, the glory, the goal. But thinking of descending below ground to battle monsters only made him nauseous.

“Do you think you really need me? Not a leading question… just want… your thoughts. Corvus said that the task would need two people—”

“Corvus?”

“Ah. Some… shadow spirit I met in a cave at Sunspray.”

At this, Marlon narrowed his eye. “You spoke to a shadow brute?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting… I’ll have to chat with Gil about that, that stuff was always more up his alley… I don’t know what this “needing two people” is all about, but we can always use the help. But as I said earlier, I don’t believe in tellin’ someone they oughta risk their life…. the decision is yours. If you don’t want to participate, that’s your right. But you stay close, you hear?”

[lareinenoir]

BREAKFAST

C.E x WOC Reader

Summary: Chris Eats you for breakfast

Disclaimer: not my gif. 18+ *smut* oral(reader receiving) short one shot 🙂

Reblog and comment. I want to get to know y’all. Bye ❤️ ****

You had just woken up and about an hour ago and Chris and I had just been laying in bed watching Doc Mcstuffins. “What do you want for breakfast?” You asked him as he continued to watch TV.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged “We could order in.” He says but his eyes were on the TV.

At some point, he had taken one of your headscarves from the drawer and put it around his neck pretending to be a Doctor examining Your body.

“Mmmm your legs are are so smooth, tell me, Mrs. Evans, did your husband shave them for you?” He asks looking up at you with one of your caramel legs raised on his shoulder as Chris placed a kiss on your ankle. You giggled as he kisses your Achilles massaging your feet.

Rolling your eyes, Chris traces his fingers over your toenails and you replied, “I do. He shaves my legs every week. Sexy right?”

“Mmm.” He nodded taking the headscarf and wrapping it around your ankle. “I’m just going to check and see if he missed any spots.” He smirked lifting the other leg on his shoulder and laying his tongue on your shin as he put pressure on your calves and rubbed them up and down. you sat up on your elbows as he tied the other end of your headscarf to your ankles.

“Everything alright Doctor?” You asked innocently blowing a loose strand of your hair from your view. He hushed you and snuck his head under your legs where your legs stayed rested on him. You laughed and Chris’ beard continued to tickle your legs as one hand touched your thighs as his slippery tongue moved up.

“May I say, Mrs, Evans, your choice in clothing today is very accessible.” He smirks eyeing the white t-shirt you stole from his side of the closet. And the green lace thong you wore.

“I dressed up for you, Doctor.” you moaned watching him eye what was between my legs. Your ankles were tied so you weren’t in charge of taking them off. Was this how we were going to start the morning. Chris kissed under your thigh and Y/N moaned impatiently. “It’s all shaven for you, do you wanna see?” you questioned folding my lips as a chill ran up your spine

Chris didn’t look at you right away. He licked his lips and you saw his mouth open. Was he drooling? His fingers traced the thong and Y/N quivered at his soft touch. Your toes curled as he aguishly pulled the thong from around your waist and sliding it down my knees. You looked down and he eyes you with a smirk.

“I think I know what I want to breakfast.” He said scraping his tongue on your inner thigh with long strides. “She’s open.” He breathed against me as you spread your arms on the bedsheets. “Pink on the inside.” He said as you stared at the ceiling feeling his gaze on your neck. “A little wet. Are you nervous Mrs. Evans?” He asked sarcastically making me roll my eyes. “She is presented so well. Just the perfect amount of fuzz to keep my mouth warm.”

“Mmm.” You grunted through your mouth as his hands snake their way under your hips to support you. “I’m glad you approve, Doctor. I’ll have to let my husband know.”

“I will begin the pelvic exam.”

His mouth came off your thighs and he bit his lip. Chris squeezed your hips as the pad of his thumb rubbed up and down against your love handles.

“Slow.” You whispered

“Slow?” He questioned

“Like you said, I’m a bit nervous.” You smirked back laughing. Not to mention you wanted to drag this out. “I want your exam to be very thorough.”

He laughed quietly and you felt the breath from his nose graze the tiny hairs on your clit. Your mouth opened to breathe in a sharp breath as a parade of goosebumps trailed your skin. His mouth connected with your sweaty cunt and his tongue got to work.

Your lower back lifted a little off the bedsheets and you breathed out a low moan. Chris’ beard added to the soft tickly sensation that crowded below your waist. He tilted his head sideways and sucked the right side of your walls as if he were kissing them. Gripping the sheets, he moves you closer to his mouth and continued to tongue the inside of your tangy walls.

“Chris…” you moaned taking a fistful of the bedsheets as he began to lick over and over.

“Good job baby. Lemme hear you….” He said crossing over your clit. His lips folding to gently pull at the tiny button releasing it making a nice soft slapping noise, to repeat it all over again.

“Ah, Chris!” You breathed out and took in a sharp breath. Giving yourself permission to take hold of the back of his head breathing out labored breaths as he licked your cunt. “Eat it.” You coached pushing your pelvis against his mouth as you massaged your clit with your other hand. “Eat your pussy.”

He moans against your skin pealing his lips on and off your damp folds as you throw your head back. Your hand ran itself through his hair massaging his head as you bumped your pelvis against his lips. He met them in sync as your body quivered with a trail of goosebumps.

“You’re gonna squirt for me, baby.” He said as you feel a quick tight pleasure inside of yourself. Your leg began to shake and your hands went back to gripping the sheets.

“I’m gonna squirt for you.” You nodded looking down at him. You knew your body. This was the way to your best orgasms.

You always enjoyed oral sex Or fingering. Chris took a liking to your kitty when he walked in on you shaving it one time. A bunch of water and the vibrating of his beard trimmer against your clit became a fun time. He even shaved his name with your pubes one time before going to town. His tongue moved with speed against you and something about his beard tickled you even more.

Your toes curled as Chris took his mouth off your folds his hand rocked against your swollen clit. He was fast and he looked you in the eyes with a curled smirk.

“Cum for me. Cum all over me. Come on baby…” he said with anticipation.

You let out short breaths feeling your legs close around him. That sweet tightness returning, pushing its way to the front of your body. Some of it spilling out, paving the way. The small excitement Chris displayed as he chuckled against your warm heat.

“I’m gonna-“ Chris rubs it faster and a little more spills out. “I’m cuming! I’m gonna cum! Fuck!” You moan as the pulsating river drives faster. Your eyes squeeze shut as you arch your back and the river bursts through the dam making you shoot up like a geyser in pure ecstasy.

Chris’ mouth spread all over your sticky folds slurping every drop of your juices. You laughed in excitement flopping your sweaty back onto the bed. He laughed too, lapping up the last of your juices and licking the little crevices between your thighs. He sat up and untied the headscarf from your ankles and settled himself between your legs resting his chin on your chest.

“How was your doctor's visit?” He asks as you watched him lean sideways laughing.

“A good visit. A really good visit.” You nodded You both burst out laughing and he kisses your chin as you cup his face. “You still wanna go get something to eat? I could post mates.”

“Actually, I’m full.”

THE END

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A/N: If you want to be removed LMK. This is the permanent tag list.

[thestuffedalligator]

On a small farm outside of a small town in Canada, a horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers on horseback rode out through a hole in time and space.

One of them had a thick leather glove, on which a golden eagle perched. Its handler reached up, slipped the little hood off the eagle’s head, and flicked his wrist. It took off, caught a thermal, soared in a lazy arc, dove, spread its talons forward, and then hit a window with a thunk.

Daniel DiSebastian, who was fifteen and on the other side of the window, stared. The eagle had managed to sink its talons into the mesh of the window screen before it stunned itself. It was hanging upside down. Over it, Dan saw a horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers standing in formation in his neighbour’s field.

He stared for a moment longer. Curiosity won over self-preservation, and he walked out onto the porch of the house for a better view.

There was a ripping noise, the sound of panicked flapping, and something huge and tawny swooped low over Dan’s head. He ducked and only just managed to see the golden eagle fly in a wide circle back towards the horde of waiting soldiers. He heard a distant shout. Then two-hundred-and-forty of the soldiers drew their bows and fired into the air, creating a screaming cloud of arrows that blotted out the sun before raining down in a lethal shower.

Eighty-seven of these arrows hit Dan.

Dan died instantly.

He got better. When he did, the horde was already gone.

*

Eleven months later, Dan was mostly sure that whatever had happened that day eleven months ago had not, in fact, happened.

He was very happy to accept that it hadn’t happened until he walked into a Tim Hortons for a coffee and a donut and walked out to find a golden eagle perched on the sign for the drive-through.

Dan blinked. The eagle blinked. It took off with a heavy thump of wings, and Dan noticed the four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers on horseback in the parking lot.

There was a whistling noise. Dan was hit by one-hundred-and-seventy-nine-arrows.

Dan died instantly.

He got better. The horde was gone again. One of them had stolen his donut.

*

It was already dark when Dan and Cameron Burnaby walked out of the theatre.

“God, what a bad movie,” she laughed. Her breath came out in puffs of vapour in the November air.

“Like not even so bad it’s good,” Dan said. “It’s so bad it goes all around the world and crosses back into bad.”

“It’s supposed to be the last one, right?”

“That’s what I heard?”

Another puff of laughter. “Hope,” Cameron Burnaby said, grinning. “That’s what you hope.”

A huge bird took off from the sign over the theatre. Cameron Burnaby oohed at the sight and watched as it flew away.

Dan looked at her. This was nice. It was slow, but it was nice. It was nevertheless slightly spoiled by the little anxious voice that banged around in his hindbrain. It had been a year since his last attack. It was bound to happen eventually, and he had no idea how to bring it up in conversation. ‘So, I see you like the Mongolian beef and broccoli. Speaking of Mongolia, have I ever told you that I’ve been killed by Mongols four times?’

He had to tell her. But maybe he didn’t. Maybe they were done. It had been a whole year. Maybe killing him four times was enough for them. Surely killing somebody once was enough for most people, right?

Cameron Burnaby turned back at him and grinned. “So!” she said. “Was it the worst horror movie you’ve ever seen?”

He shook himself out of a vision of archers on horseback. “Nope, not even,” he said, walking forward again. “There was this one movie that came out last year. It’s about a guy who kidnaps tourists and turns them into walruses, it’s amazingly—”

Dan slipped on the ice. His leg flew up from underneath him. He felt sudden weightlessness and there was a crack as he landed on the sidewalk.

Everything hurt. Stars flashed across his vision. They faded to reveal the face of Cameron Burnaby, mittens clasped over her mouth. “Are you okay?” she asked.

No, Dan thought. “Yep,” Dan groaned. He pulled himself up onto his elbows. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

Cameron Burnaby offered him a hand. He took it, she pulled him up to his feet, and the two were suddenly standing much closer than he had expected.

Dan swallowed. He was suddenly aware of a thousand tiny details. The snowflakes that hung in her hair. The freckles on her nose. The shape of her lips. The terror in her eyes which were looking at something just over and past his shoulder.

He was briefly aware of seventeen arrows hitting the back of his skull.

Dan died instantly.

He got better. Cameron Burnaby was retching in the snow.

“What the fuck was that?!” she finally said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a mitten.

Dan considered a variety of responses. He decided that they all sounded stupid. He settled for the only one he knew was accurate. “A horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers,” he sighed.

“They – you—” She gestured wildly. “Your face.”

Dan winced and eased himself onto the sidewalk. “I didn’t want you to see that,” he said.

There was a pause. “Has this happened before?” Cameron Burnaby asked.

Dan thought. “Yeah,” he said. “Five times, counting this one.”

“So this is just a thing that happens.”

“It – yeah,” he said. “I think so. It is.”

Cameron Burnaby nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

Another pause. A car drove past. Cameron Burnaby stood up. “I’m going to go.”

Dan nodded. “Right,” he said. “Some other time?”

There was no answer. Dan closed his eyes. He laid down on the sidewalk and listened to the crunch of snow under boots until they died away. Snowflakes landed on his face, tiny pinpricks of cold which stung and faded almost instantly as they melted.

There was a thump. Dan opened his eyes and looked over. There was a golden eagle standing there, twisting its head to glare at Dan.

Dan glared back. “I hate you,” he said. “I really, deeply hate you.”

The eagle, apparently satisfied with the answer, took off.

Another two-hundred-and-forty arrows sprouted from the sky.

Dan died instantly.

He got better. Physically, at least.

*

Dan had made the account because it had been five years since his date with Cameron Burnaby.

He looked it over again. The picture wasn’t great – he had tried several different angles and decided that he just didn’t have any good angles – but he was at least a little proud of the summary. Bi fella seeking someone to run from these time-travelling Mongol hordes with. Is that a metaphor? Contact me now to find out. Likes: coffee shops, people watching, history podcasts, dislikes: horses, arrows, people on horses with arrows, the CW show Arrow.

It was a long and glorious joke. Just like him.

He closed the app when he reached his car. He needed to drive. He didn’t have a specific location in mind. He just needed to drive somewhere. Anywhere.

Sometimes on drives like this, he’d drown out his thoughts with gory history podcasts. This time he let his mind wander.

Here he was. Daniel DiSebastian, twenty-four, killed by time-travelling Mongols twelve times. The butt of some cosmic running gag. Living in a cheap, empty condo in the city.

He turned a corner. Even the streets were empty this late at night.

Supposed to be empty. Dan turned onto the highway and was faced with a horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers.

The car squealed to a stop. Dan stared. He’d studied – or at least, he’d listened to a few podcasts about the Mongols. They could pull back the string of a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound bow twelve times a minute and could carry one-hundred-and-fifty arrows in a quiver.

A part of his brain wondered what they could do to a 2004 Chrysler Sebring.

The rest of his brain said: Fuck it.

What happened next happened very quickly. Dan heard the engine scream as he floored the gas. He heard one-hundred-and-twelve arrows drum on the roof of the car. He saw another twelve as they punched through the windshield. Through the web of cracks he thought he saw movement, saw the cavalry part like a sea.

Then he was in the middle of the horde. Horses and men and spears were tangled around him, a whirlwind of screams and smells. He felt the car lurch as it ran over something. A few bodies threw themselves onto the hood of the car and were thrown off. Something landed with a thump on his roof.

And then he was on the other side.

The car screamed through the dark until it found its way back to the parking lot of his condo. Dan parked quickly, threw open a door, ran out, and retched onto the asphalt.

“Who’s the joke now!” he screamed between gags. “I’M DANIEL MOTHERFUCKING DISEBASTIAN!”

The parking lot echoed his name. His breath was ragged, and his throat burned. He felt his heartbeat slow to the point that he could make out individual beats, and then he noticed the arrow stuck in his sternum.

He touched it gingerly. “Oh fuck,” he hissed. He tried to pull it out. “Fuck me, seriously.”

Something went thump behind him. Dan turned. A thirteenth-century Mongol soldier had let go of the roof of his car.

He was holding a curved knife.

Dan died slowly.

It was, he decided, a lot worse than dying instantly.

So here he was. Daniel DiSebastian, twenty-four, lying on the asphalt, killed by time-travelling Mongols thirteen times. He stared up at the sky, trying to see stars through the haze of the city.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A profile picture of a man with a beard and a tattooed feather on his neck had sent him a message.

I’ll bite. Is it a metaphor?

Dan looked at the profile picture. He looked up at the sky. He wiggled his thumbs in thought before he tapped out a response. That’s a great question.

*

Their first date was that Saturday.

They went to an old book shop. They bought each other a book. Theo had bought Dan a copy of The Song of Achilles, and Dan had almost managed not to laugh, and promised Theo that he’d explain the joke later.

They walked out of the shop together.

The sun was blotted out.

Dan died instantly.

*

He woke to the sound of running feet.

Panic started to seize up in his chest – oh god they were here they wanted to crush their enemies and see them driven before them and hear the lamentations of the women – when he heard the shrieking giggle.

Panic paused. Mongols didn’t giggle. Did they? No, not as far as he knew. So it wasn’t Mongols. Who giggles? Kids?

The kids across the hall. Of his apartment. Yes. This was fine.

Adrenaline sizzled on contact with relief and boiled into seething indignation. “Somebody’s daddy should have been castrated,” he muttered.

Theo twisted beside him. “It’s like, eleven in the morning, babe.”

Dan glared at the stucco surface of the ceiling. “Fine,” he said. “They get a pass. This time.”

Theo snorted. He turned his phone of with a click, and he rolled to wrap his arm over Dan’s chest. “Don’t get maaad at them,” he said, nuzzling his chin into Dan’s neck.

“I’ll get as maaad as I want,” Dan said, the whine of the defeated.

An hour later, Dan pulled on his pants. “Remind me what we need again?”

“No, I’ll go with you,” Theo said. “I can’t trust you to buy groceries anymore.”

“Rude.”

“Rude and true. We still have fifteen bags of Tostitos.”

Dan sighed. “Is that just going to be a thing now?” he asked. “The Tostitos Incident?”

“I already have your tombstone planned. ‘Here Lies Daniel DiSebastian. He Once Bought Twenty Bags of Tostitos Chips By Accident.” Theo wiggled his fingers in the air to draw quotation marks around the words ‘By Accident.’ “We Don’t Know How It Happened Either.”

Dan wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, it’ll look great next to yours. ‘Here Lies Theodore Oliveira, Stung By Bees Forty-Five Times Specifically On The Crotch.”

“Now hold on.”

“We Don’t Know How It Happened, But We Can Guess!”

Theo shook his head. “Cool,” he said. “Cool, cool, cool. So because I learned a thing about Cleopatra, I’m the guy who wants a vibrator made of bees.”

Dan shrugged as he pulled his coat on. “I mean, you seemed pretty keen about it.”

“Fuck you, Tostitos.”

“Mm. Love you too, Cleo.”

When they were in the parking lot, Theo said, “You know I love you too, right?”

Dan looked over. “Yes?” he said. “We’ve been living together for a year, babe.”

“I know, I know. It’s just—”

“If you didn’t then I’m shit at reading signals.”

Theo grinned. “Yeah, your Bi-dar is total garbage.”

“I can’t connect to the Bi-Fi.”

“You need some…” Theo grimaced. “Bi-focals? To see who’s attracted to you?”

“That was terrible, Theo.”

“Yeah, but you’ll get bi.”

Dan snorted. “Jesus Christ. Anyways. You were saying?”

Theo shrugged. “I dunno. I said fuck you, and you said love you, and…” He blew the air out of his cheeks. “This is the longest I’ve been in a relationship, and I think I know what’s normal for us? But sometimes I’m not sure I know.”

Dan laughed, grabbed the lapels of Theo’s jacket, pulled him down and kissed him. “Fuck, I don’t know either. But I haven’t been normal in years, Theo. This is a ‘not normal’ I can take.”

Theo smiled. “How’re you feeling today, by the way?”

“Good!” Dan grinned. “I’m feeling good.”

There was a thump. Dan looked over and saw a golden eagle take off from the tailgate of a parked truck.

“Actually, hold that thought,” he said, taking a couple steps back.

Two-hundred-and-thirty-nine arrows came screaming out of the sky.

Dan died instantly.

He got better. He heard Theo asking if he was okay.

“Please tell me you saved the donuts,” he muttered.

There was a pause. “Y’know, you keep saying that, and I’ve never actually seen them steal anything from you.”

Dan screwed open an eye to glare. It didn’t last. Theo was squatting on the pavement next to him with his chin in his hand and a smile crinkling the corners of his mouth, and goddammit, he was cute.

He tried anyways. “Excuse you, how many times have you been killed by thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers?”

Theo shrugged. “Exactly zero,” he admitted. “But I’ve seen you get killed by thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers three times now, and I have the benefit of watching what they do while you’re out of it.”

“Oh, what, so someone else stole that donut? Some asshole was like, ‘Oh dope, a dead kid and a donut, yoink!’”

Theo grinned. “I’ve seen weirder things happen.”

Dan stared up at the sky. “Y’know what?” he said. “Totally fair.”

Dan got up and lived.

At least until eight months later. But he’d get better.

[summersun4youforever]

✨ Tag 9 people to learn more about their interests!

tagged by my fav @loulovehome thank you pu hope that this quells your curiosity! 

MUSIC

fav genre? not to be that person but i think i have a toe in most genres, i suppose my favorites have got to be anything taylor swift does, pop punk, r&b pop/new age r&b, and bluegrass

fav artist? again, not to be that person but i love so many artists! let’s do this based off of genre: taylor swift, 1D, 5sos, massive focus on ZAYN, the Avett brothers, and counting crows

fav song? fav song of all time (since i was young) is going to be come around by rhett miller but more currently i’d say you are in love by taylor swift and dRuNk by ZAYN

song currently stuck in your head? i have no idea how it got there but i have stressed out by 21 pilots stuck in my head??

5 fav lyrics? ok let’s do this kids. edit: this went in a “fav love song lyrics” way so sorry in advance.

1)  I hope that I don't sound to insane when I say / There is darkness all around us / I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me / And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin' (January Wedding - The Avett Brothers)

2)  Hands around my waist / You're counting up the hills across the sheets / And I'm a falling star / A glimmer lighting up these cotton streets / I admit I'm a bit of a fool for playing by the rules / But I've found my sweet escape when I'm alone with you (Disconnected - 5sos)

3)  This is the worthwhile fight / Love is a ruthless game / Unless you play it good and right / These are the hands of fate / You're my Achilles heel / This is the golden age of something good / And right and real (State of Grace - Taylor Swift) 

4)  What if I changed my mind / What if I said it's over / I been flying so long / Can't remember what it was like to be sober / What if I lost my lives? / What if I said "Game over"? / What if I forget my lies? / And I lose all my composure (Back to Life - ZAYN)

5)   I never said I was perfect / Or you don't deserve a good person to carry your baggage / I know a few girls that can handle it / I ain't that kind of chick, but I can call 'em for you if you want / I never said that you wasn't attractive / Your style and that beard, ooh, don't get me distracted / I'm tryna be patient, and patience takes practice / The fact is I'm leaving, so just let me have this (Jerome - Lizzo)

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS

fav book genre? murder mystery and young love!

fav writer? jane austen, lisa jewell, and rick riordan (nostalgia ok?!)

fav book? the way i used to be my amber smith, rebecca by daphane du maurier, and then she was gone OR watching you (both by Lisa Jewell)

fav book series? i guess the whole percy jackson situations? i have everything RR every wrote, and i liked it all but i havent touched the older ones in ages

comfort book? not one specifically but the nancy drew books

perfect book to read on a rainy day? bird summons by leila aboulela

5 quotes from your fav book that you know by heart? i hope i can name five...

1)  “The point is, life has to be endured, and lived. But how to live it is the problem.” “I am no traveller, you are my world.” (both are My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier)

2)  “And I’m terrified he’ll see through the tough iceberg layer, and he’ll discover not a soft, sweet girl, but an ugly fucking disaster underneath.” (The Way I Used to Be by Amber Smith)

3)  "I cannot make speeches, Emma," he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing. "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” (Emma by Jane Austen) (sorry for the length, the shortened versions were not cutting it for me)

4)  “Read, read, read. That's all I can say.” (The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene)

5)  “...amazing how boring you can get away with being when you’re pretty. No one seems to notice. When you’re pretty everyone just assumes you must have a great life. People are so short-sighted, sometimes. People are so stupid. I have a dark past and I have dark thoughts. I do dark things and I scare myself sometimes.” (Invisible Girl by Lisa Jewell)

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary (im a very judgmental reader) | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? i like dramedies, mockumentaries, and procedurals 

fav movie? ive got a massive list on my phone but ill pick Doob (No Bed of Roses) and 3-Iron as my favs for today

comfort movie? 2000s romcoms, im talking clueless, 13 going on 30, how to loe a guy in ten days, ten things i hate abt you, legally blonde

movie you watch every year? mamma mia and all listed in prev question

fav tv show? too many, currently im rewatching arrested development

comfort tv show? new girl

most rewatched tv show? new girl

ultimate otp? shawn and jules from psych (ultimate bc ive been watching since diapers literally)

5 fav characters? winston bishop, stiles stilinski, bellamy blake, clarke griffin, lydia martin

tv shows or movies | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

super fun even though it took me an hour lmao, I'm tagging @technosoot @hometothecanyonmoon @sassylilnoodle @sushiniall @rosegold-thorns no pressure and sorry if youve already been tagged!

edit: i somehow managed to forget what i consider to be one of the greatest opening verses ever???? so bonus lyrics:

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog / Where no one notices the contrast of white on white / And in between the moon and you / The angels get a better view / Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right (Round Here - Counting Crows)

[extravalgant]

the seven main schools (+ astral & shadow) as flowers

NOTE: i did not dive too deep into researching for this and most of the information i got for this post i got from this site . please dont come after me if i get a meaning wrong IM TRYING MY BEST!!! moving on

this is going to be a LONG POST so sit tight

myth - clematis (also known as traveller’s joy, old man’s beard)

i chose clematis mainly for its meaning: representing artifice, ingenuity and mental beauty. i think part of being a conjurer means that the world is only as big as you make it, and part of it is utilizing your imagination to its fullest extent. mental beauty and ingenuity go hand in hand with being creative, but artifice, in this flower symbolism, means to be cunning or be deceitful. i also think this comes from cyrus drake also being your teacher, which means he would teach in a style that would want you to exploit the weaknesses of the creatures that you summon (that being, calling their true name) in order for them to do your bidding. 

“Myth dwells between Fire and Ice, for that is where the shadows lie, and Myths are the shadowy forms of thought made real.”

storm - gladiolus (also known as a sword lily)

urgh.... storm was such a hard school to choose a flower for @_@ according to the wizard101 site storm is also based on creativity, but since we already had that sort of meaning attached to myth, i decided to go with the next best thing which is that gladiolus represents strength, strong character, honor and moral integrity. i feel like it’s pretty well known fact that storm is a hitting school, and a pretty well known one at that - their reputation as a power school is pervasive through all wizarding circles. i feel like this is also where a diviner’s sense of pride comes from - being able to one-hit ko enemies and brandish your power proudly. 

amazingly enough, the wizard101 site also addresses this, saying that, “the Storm School will train its student wizards to do a lot of damage. Storm Wizards have the ability to unleash high amounts of damage from an early level, which is good, but they place too much emphasis on power, and therefore suffer in terms of accuracy.”

placing too much emphasis on power... very interesting indeed

death - papaver (poppy)

death was ALSO a super hard school to pick a flower for. i debated between the dracula, the poppy, and the spider lily before deciding to settle with the poppy. I chose poppies in particular because “Poppies have long been used as a symbol of sleep, peace, and death: Sleep because the opium extracted from them is a sedative, and death because of the common blood-red color of the red poppy in particular.” source 

I FEEL AS IF THE SPIDER LILY WOULD HAVE BEEN TOO EASY OF A CHOICE but i wanted to encompass all the meanings that death has and has been associated with. some people associate death with peace (at being in a “”better place””), and some people sometimes to describe it as “sleeping” to a younger audience with no death awareness. also heres a nice little excerpt from the w101 site: “Death is about ending and closure. All things pass eventually, and time cannot be held back forever. Wizards devoted to Death Magic, known as Necromancers, understand this fact about everything around them and strive to face it without fear.”

ice - magnolia 

as soon as i saw this flower and its description it was PERFECT for ice. magnolias represent longevity and perseverance, due to the fact that magnolias are believed to have existed even at the beginning of time. the ice schools main theme is about persistance - which is to say, that if you’re patient and determined, you will collect the fruits of your labor in the end. 

the school page even says this, noting that “The Ice School will train its student wizards to take high amounts of damage and survive.” To thaumaturges, it is simply about surviving to see the end of the battle, and that’s what their play style involves. both magnolias and thaumaturges have that in common : persist and survive.

fire - ixora (also known as jungle flame, flame of the woods)

it was also hard choosing a plant for fire, seeing as so many plants can be described as “passionate” in a symbolic sense. it was between this and orange tulips, but i felt that both the names “jungle flame” and “flame of the woods” both fit fire’s theme. that being said, ixora’s represent passion - the core of fire’s development and description. it is the “bright, burning flame of raw emotion sweeping over everything.” (w101)

fire wizards mainly utilize damage over time spells, which reminds me that a frog boiling in a pot will leap immediately out of the water if its too hot, but will stay until it dies if the water’s temperature reaches steadily. while fire’s general message are that it may consume everything it touches, and how pyromancers are quick to anger and tempestuous, fire plays the longer game by slow roasting their enemies until it is too late for them.

balance - cosmos

when i saw this flower and its meanings there was literally no chance any other flower could compare omg

balance is described as finding the equality of everything and harmony. they are described as broad-minded, taught to be considerate of all things, as well as their own place in the world they live in. cosmos, in this case, represent order, peace, modesty and harmony -- all things which are important to a balance wizard. balance thrives in the company of others, simply because it was made in mind to help others in the heat of battle. “The Balance School will train its student wizards to be effective in group play.” (w101)

however as a result, they may appear as stand-offish and impassive, unable to choose a side or make a choice. such is life when you’re raised to consider all factors of every choice you make - every decision feels heavy.

life - achillea (also known as yarrow)

named after the greek hero achilles, legends would say that his soldiers would treat their wounds with this. source 

i chose achillea for life simply for the fact that it represents healing and protection, as well as it being used it being a versatile plant used to treat a variety of maladies or sicknesses - it’s been used as a medicinal plant for a long time across the world. 

life embodies “the spirit, the force of awareness and existence. It is about constant growth and movement.” (w101). theurgists are described as having simple pleasures in life, in revelling in the idea of the living, breathing, planet around you. it utilizes the song of creation, using it to weave life where there was none previously. it definitely has powerful roots in the canon storyline - i just wish it was utilized more through its play style. 

(astral) star - aster (also known as starwort, frost flower)

ok i dont have a deep meaning for this im sorry . i mainly chose aster simply because “aster” is derived from the Greek word “astron”, which means “star”, and because of the shape of its flowers. pretty simple reason but ill try my best to do it justice

however, aster is represented by patience and elegance -- star magic may be a lesser form of sun magic, simply because it is meant to power yourself rather than your spells. i think theres something inherently elegant about an aura wrapping itself around your figure, bending to the whim of your spells, as it both enhances your health or your spells. 

(astral) sun - datura (also known as devil’s trumpet)

Datura symbolizes power and caution. It is a powerful and deadly plant, but also a major religious and cultural symbol.

i chose datura’s for sun because sun is all about power -- datura is highly poisonous and very dangerous to be around. the main deal of the sun school is that they use spells to make their own stronger - it has the “power to endure, power to persevere, and power to change”. we don’t get much of a canon explanation for how sun magic works outside of battles, but i imagine that you have to be careful with sun magic, because as we know - absolute power corrupts absolutely. aint that neat

(astral) moon - protea

protea’s represent ingenuity, diversity, transformation and courage. a big part of moon magic is that it is all about change. changing your spells, your body, your thoughts -- it is symbolized by the moon because it goes through many changes (the tides, the phases of the moon, etc).

i feel as if moon magic might be one of the harder magics to master out of all the astral schools - the transformation into something else may not come as easy as star auras, or that it simply may be too hard on the caster in question, having to change their physical appearances and battle tactics to fit into a new one.

shadow - rhododendron

rhododendron’s represent temptation, caution and danger. 

despite how pretty it looks, the stems, leaves, and flowers can be poisonous to humans and pets if ingested. i feel as if that describes shadow perfectly -- the pleasant sight of these pretty flowers is enough to entice a person (wizard) forward, but you must be careful with how you handle this plant, or else you will end up facing dire consequences. (backlash)

shadow magic as a whole can be very tempting to those who seek it -- offering power that scales above others. but it is an advanced magic, and those who seek to play with it often end up paying the price with their lives (in this case, morganthe was crushed underneath the weight of power that shadow gave her). shadow can give you an upper hand, however, if used right -- and the wizard, for the most part, is using it right. 

shadow is mainly a cautionary tale of not playing with higher, advanced, magics with the wrong intentions.

[godsofhumanity]

CLASS OF THE TITANS (2005-2008) | REVIEW

so here’s a show that I used to watch as a child but couldn’t actually remember almost a decade later! then i discovered that it was about greek mythology and i knew i had to watch it again, and it is soooo worth it.

OVERVIEW:  The descendants of Achilles, Artemis, Hercules, Jason, Narcissus, Odysseus, and Theseus are summoned to New Olympia on a mission to save the world from Cronus, who wants revenge after escaping from 4,000-years imprisonment.

RATING: 8/10. the show is honestly actually quite accurate to a point,, and i actually learnt new things about greek mythology from watching. there’s a lot of thought put into the storyline, and it’s really great to see.

AVAILABLE ON: youtube (Retro Rerun has all 52 episodes)

NOTE: there is an unaired alternative ending you can watch here. skip to 3:50.

THINGS I LIKED:

- greek myth au where Pan is a DJ who goes by the name of “DJ Panic” and uses his music to make plants grow wildly and kill off the human race >:D

- literal dad Apollo with a full belly and beard???? what a hottie

- EVIL CRONUS!!! what a great villain!!!!! he has everything you could ever want in a villain:

evil smile, evil laugh, evil motivations, wears black 24/7, follows a red/black/grey/white colour theme, is tall, says “ta-ta” and waves like a posh british person, says the line “come to daddy” when referring to a monster, grins a lot, wicked eyebrows, black hair with a lethal streak of grey, sharp cheekbones, is polite in a condescending way, mocks people, has cool scythe weapons, hires dumb henchmen.

- Hephaestus where he isn’t dumb or bullied by the other olympians!!!! he’s smart and a little feisty, and he has a special boot for his leg!!! he’s probably actually one of the most essential gods in the story!

- Zeus is not portrayed as a playboy.. if you want King Zeus, Leader of the Greek gods and Pursuer of Justice- this is the show for you <3

- Hermes being a dad and scolding his son, while also being proud of what a great thief he is (this is about Autolycus)

- using the version of the Arachne myth where Athena curses Arachne because she was pissed at how good Arachne was. i do think that Athena must have been a little bit vain as demonstrated in Paris’ myth AND the Arachne myth so i’m glad they chose this version. however, Athena acknowledges that perhaps she was unjust, and Arachne acknowledges that she shouldn’t have been so egotistical about it- and they make up, and Arachne is turned back into a human <3

- Hera’s battle armour transformation

- Orion and Artemis T-T Orion’s transformation from the sky was very awesome and creative,, and it was very touching how he and Artemis made-up <3

- awesome story line!! it’s very well written, and it explores so many different aspects of greek mythology- some stuff i hadn’t even heard of until i researched further!

- makes mythology easier for children to understand, without dumbing it down too much. Cronus even refers to Hera, Poseidon AND Zeus as his children, despite Hera and Zeus being married- but it’s done so that it doesn’t sound weird, which is an incredibly brave decision for a kids’ show

- portraying the descendants of the heroes as being of various cultures- this is something soooo tricky to do i feel, and so many people do it in a way that completely erases the fact that greek mythology is GREEK! here, the greek gods themselves are still greek, and the main protagonist (Jay) is also Greek,, but they make it completely plausible that since thousands of years have passed, the Greek hero bloodlines have mixed with other cultures and thus their descendants are of other cultures besides Greek. i thought this was a very clever way of having diversity without it being at the expense of authenticity. 

- the soundtrack was pretty cool i thought, and the animation very smooth

- classifying Narcissus as a “hero”.. idk,, i just thought it was a funny idea and Neil’s power being “luck” was hilarious

- everytime Jay said “Cronus!”

- if you like the HC that Poseidon has no idea how to swim due to him taking advantage of his ability to control the sea, then there is a scene towards the end of this show where Poseidon is literally drowning due to the fact that he doesn’t know how to swim T-T

- the ending!!!!!!!! aghhhh Cronus ur the baddest of them all King <3 really wish there was a season 3, but at the same time, it was a good place to stop.

- Herry’s grandma whacking Cronus. get his ass Queen!

THINGS I DIDN’T LIKE:

- i guess rewatching as an older person, i never realised how misogynistic some of Archie’s lines were.. like, i love Archie as a character- but some of his lines, especially those concerning Atalanta, were so possessive and weird and it’s odd because none of the other characters are like that. 

- not something that i didn’t like per say, but i kinda thought from the first few episodes that it was Jay and Atalanta that would be together, but then Theresa came and it became Archie and Atalanta (punks stick together) and Theresa and Jay (good kids/leaders stick together) which was a little stereotypical i guess,, just something i observed

- alternative ending- i HATE the way Jay’s finger just kinda,, “wiggles” at the end like he’s still kinda alive after a piano has been dropped on him T-T

- Odie complaining every two episodes about how he’s “underrated” and “unappreciated” just because he’s the nerd character. the geeks on the team are literally so essential to the team’s success,, like the team would literally die without them and i’m a little sick of the trope where the nerd throws a temper tantrum because they’re the “weak link”... STOP IT! i want to see the nerd being on equal footing with the team, and understanding that they are just as valuable as the brawns of the team.

- Daedalus’ android counterpart was actually insanely freaky,, as was Cronus’ robot version, especially when it’s skin started to melt off in the fire :0

- Artemis being one of the 7 “original” heroes... Atalanta was literally right there?? also Hippolyta? Penthesilea? idk,,, odd decision.

[tomhardydallasstarsgirl]

FUCK.YOU.ANGEL.REYES

Chapter 3.5

Angel Reyes x Black Reader

Warnings: Crude Nasty Hot and Dirty Language. Oral Sex Unprotected Sex. Female receiving. Bodily Fluids

Summary: You return to Santo Padre after being gone for nearly 15 years. Your life and also others will change. Affecting everything you hold dear including your Mayan MC Family.

Not requested by anyone. This is a short Chapter solely dedicated to Angel basically being Angel. ENJOY PEEPS!!!

Pic credit by @claytoncardenas_angels from Instagram

A thunderstorm has arrived to Santo Padre with howling winds, loud crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning. You were asleep after yet another lengthy round of sex with Angel who was holding you close as you two were asleep. That was while the moon was out. But, now it’s a different story as you two are awake again. Just like the raging storm outside there’s a whole different one of pain, passion and so much pleasure going on under Angel’s roof as he just has your back pinned against his heavy shower glass door as a mixture of cries and lustful pleas are mixed with the hot showering steam. You have your legs around him his tall solid figure as he drags more orgasms from your body. That feeling that was once wrapped so tightly in the pit of your stomach was never reached or challenged by any man before Angel also which wasn’t many either. He has single-handedly been able to push, tease, manipulate your body to the edge as he’d watch you dangle before taking the plunge into the abyss of ecstasy. His eyes, teeth, voice, lips, thick ringed fingers and deadly tongue have all done a insurmountable assault on you. Of course, not including that Double XXL King Cobra big dick energy swinging between his legs. Its funny how even before letting him touch you in such an intimate way he latched onto you in more ways than one. He occupied your mind loving there rent free as he eased into your heart little by little and grabbed a hold of your soul by revealing himself by warming up to you. He pulls you out of the shower as he dries your body slowly and on purpose. Then he walks you back to his bedroom. Grabs a blindfold covering your eyes as he sits you down at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t move mama. I’ll be right back”, he whispers as he kisses your lips softly disappearing for a minute.

All you can hear is the rain falling with the heavy winds as your breathing was steady until you felt the nearness and warm heat of a body coming near you. What you can’t see is that Angel is carrying a small tray in tow as he places it on the floor near your feet. A pair of strong hands touched your thighs as rough pads of his fingers trace the outlines of them as your breath slightly quickens. The feeling is making you nervous but, at the same time it’s exhilarating. Once the touching stops he stepped away from you heading toward the head of his bed. You can hear as if something was heavy and chained was being put in place at the headboard.

He comes back to you as he stares at you as you anxiously chew on your bottom lip while your curiosity is like a runaway train. He grabs a strawberry as he holds it in front of your face rubbing it against your lips.

“Hmmm is that a strawberry daddy?”, you ask as a smile appears on your face.

He doesn’t right away as he dips it in chocolate dripping down his thick finger as a he places it toward you lips as you take a bite. You moan at the taste as he watches you lick the extra chocolate from your lips. He nearly finishes the rest of it as he holds the last piece on his own lips. Moving closer to you as you pull him in taking the rest into your mouth as he lets out a feral growl as you suck on his bottom lip. He’s suddenly overheated and his dick is hard as fucking steel as he grabs you picking you up placing your body flat on his bed.

“Damn my necklace looks beautiful between these breasts I’m going to lick and suck the hell out of”, as your mouth waters with anticipation.

He grabs each of your wrists as they become shackled to his headboard while his hard dick keeps brushing your left leg as a yelp escape your lips. He laughs under his breath as he leaves your legs free.

“Alexa. Play Living Room Flow for me”, asks Angel.

“Sure thing Daddy. Anything for you”, the feminine voice responds back to him as you raise a quizzical eyebrow and shaking your head.

Suddenly music comes thumping from his sound system as Jhene sultry voice seeps through his sound system.

I’m so glad you called right on time

You must have just read my mind

If we skipped the small talk, want you now

But, I don’t have to stay til mornin’

I don’t have to, I don’t have pack no clothes

I am really not that lonely

We finished, we finished and I will go

 You gasp and hold you legs together for the simple fact that Jhene gets you in the mood for sex. Unless Angel knows now that her music is your Achilles heel and makes you melt to do just about anything.

He doesn’t say a single word as you only hear his heavy ragged breathing as you pool between your legs. So there you are chained to Angel’s headboard with a blindfold over your eyes when you as that moment feel him snake between your legs as your heart jumps into your throat. Suddenly hear as if something is being shakened in a can when something cold is applied to your belly button as you jump from the coldness of it. A split second later it hits you that this man is putting whip cream on your body so you know what’s going to happen next. His hot tongue laps up every drop of the whip cream as you want to free your hands from the cuffs to touch Angel so badly as you bit down on your lip. You call his name repeatedly as he continues to torment you slowly. He grabs your hips to hold you in place.

“You keep your fine ass still dulce. Or else”, he demands as you stay still not wanting the latter of his threat.

You’re body is still as a board as you feel a sticky and dripping sensation on your skin running between you breasts and on top of your hard as diamond nipples. A slow and agonizing slick trail of his tongue leaves you gasping and begging as he sucks up the honey. Putting your body in hyper drive as you feel two fingers dip between your folds as the pad of his thumb making tiny circles to you clit.

“FUCK ANGEL!! Make me come daddy!!!”, you when as he circles your clit faster as your hips move too.

He must’ve felt you were close to euphoria as he whispers to you.

“I told you to not move didn’t I?”, he whispers in your ear as your breath is ragged and uneven as rubs your clit as your upper body slowly leaves his bed.

Just as you were about to cum for him he removes his hand as you growl in anger.

“WHAT FUCK YOU DO THAT FOR ANGEL”, as you yell at him in frustration as he laughs at you.

“What fucking part of be still you don’t understand little girl? I fucking meant that shit”, as he toyed with you some more.

He then grabs the chocolate syrup as he dips his thick finger into it. He drizzles the syrup onto your folds and clit as he grabs your legs pinning you down so you can’t move an inch. He dives in laying his tongue flat as he suck up the syrup as he gasp and cry his name. You so badly wanted to touch and grab onto Angel as he assaulted your pussy with his stiff tongue and thick full beard as tears fall heavily from your eyes.

“Daddy please let me touch you baby”, you yell in a crying sob as you beg Angel for relief.

Of course, Angel being the brick wall he can be licks deeper and faster as you pull at the restraints wanting to be set free. You’re thinking to yourself as your running full steam ahead as Angel is nearing you towards that infinite orgasm you’ve been within reach as tears fall faster from your eyes as your so want to squirt all over his beautiful beard. Just as your nearing the finish line you whisper his name non-stop and he does it again pulling back from you as your now beyond pissed as your now cussing him out.

He does nothing but, guffaws with such cockiness you are practically beside yourself at this point.

“I fucking hate you Angel Reyes. I literally can’t stand you right now”, as you spew anger and cuss words.

He grabs you by the waist as he yanks your lower half toward him as you attempt to resist him.

“Colibri this is a losing battle of you trying to fight and rebel against me. Especially since I know you want Daddy to stretch out this tight ass pussy you been waiting for. All you want to do is wet and squirt all over this dick too. So, when you think you denying me you actually denying yourself”, he whispers in your ear as his tongue flicks your lobe as it sets your body a blaze. You cry uncontrollably as you plead with him to satisfy you so desperately. To a certain extent he’s enjoying this teasing game of cat and mouse he has going with you. But deep down he just wants to fuck you so hard that he’ll be the only man on your mind. He wants to be so consumed with all of you physically and mentally it’s tearing him up to an extent to see you begging, crying and pleading for him to fuck the living day lights out of you. So, he lets bygones by bygones and gives you just exactly what you needed. As another song ends he asks Alexa for another request.

“Play When we by Tank for me”, says Angel as a moan escapes from your lips.

He removes the restraints from your wrists as he softly kisses them, he goes for the blindfold as you move your head from his reach.

“Leave it on daddy. I just want to feel you”, as Angel rolls out a growl from his lips as he’s turned on and his dick is bricking up for your pleasure.

“Get on all fours baby. Head down ass up”, commands Angel as his voice has gotten deeper.

You bite your lip as music pours out from his system again.

When we

When we

Mmm

When we

Go

 I like it when you lose it

I like it when you go there

I like the way you use it

Angel rubs his nose along your folds as you hold onto his bed sheets.

I like it that you don’t play fair

Recipe for a disaster

When I’m just try’na take my time

Stroke is getting’ deep and faster

You’re screamin’ like I’m out of line

His tongue is flattened against your clit as circles and sucks on as you gasp for air

“Don’t stop daddy don’t you dare fucking stop. I wanna come all over your beard please”, as you spur him on. You feel to finger hook inside your center as you buck your round ass against his face. He lets out a moan telling you that he likes it as you pump against his stiff faster. His licks against your clit are more sloppy and profound as you start to shake uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck Angel it’s right there daddy take me to it pleeeease”, you beg as he starts to smacks your ass cheeks one at a time back at forth. Those butterflies in your stomach start to flutter out of control as you take to jump.

“Come for daddy baby. Wet up your beard you love so much” as you lose your mind as you spasm against his bed.

Without noticing “Wet the Bed” is playing as a split-second later Angel enters you from behind filling you completely drawing all the air from you as he steadies himself inside you. He pulls your hair to meet his long deep strokes as he reaches around to rub your swollen clit. You come instantly as you slowly try to pull away from his deafening strokes as he laughs at you.

Bring it forward, don’t you run run

I don’t want to be a minute man

Baby you’re just like a storm

Rainin’ on me girl, your soakin wet, ooh whoa

 He grabs his cell phone feeling himself at the moment as he starts filming. He snaps a couple of salacious pics of his dick penetrating in and out of you as your moans and cries mix with the skin to skin contact getting louder over the music.

 “Fuck girl I love hearing the sweet sound of my dick slapping against my pussy and sweet ass. This is the money shot right here Colibri”, he grunts as he strokes faster connecting to your sweet spot over and over. His strokes are erratic and slowly losing control. He regains as he grabs your waist as he flips you on top of him as he strokes upward into you as he grounds his feet into the mattress.

“You’re mine forever Senorita”.

“Always and forever Mi dulce”.

“No one can’t take my place baby.”

His words alone spare you nothing as you come for him again.

“You hear me? Unless I must remind you again”, as his hot breath is against you ear sending you into over load as he digs his thick fingers into your skin leaving noticeable bruises.

“Yes daddy. Please remind me”, you moan as Angel flips you onto your back as his darker side kicks in. He removes the blindfold as he see you teary brown eyes as he rubs them away. He grabs your legs and pins your knees to meet your shoulders as he moves back and forth inside of you

His beds starts to rock back in forth against the wall as he digs deeper and harder into you. Sobbing cries are grabbed from you as you dig your nails into his skin as you hear his bed creak back and forth from him pounding into you.

“Soy tan adicto a ti papi”, you moan to him as he kisses you with such power behind it his kiss leaves you a sobbing muttering mess.

“Mi Mundo, Mi Todo”, Angel whispers to you as he bits your bottom lip again.  

Your eyes glaze over as you dig your fingers into his hair as your signal to him that you about to cum again.

“Come with me daddy. Let me feel every drop of that pearly essence inside of me”, you whisper as you two come together as so strong that you both yell to the top of your lungs.

You both stay in the same position as you both began to breath evenly again as his head is resting against the crook of your neck.

“I love you Angel Ignacio Reyes” you whisper as your fingers play with his hair.

“Te quiero Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N” as he kisses your neck softly.

“Angel I thought the frame was gonna give there for a bit” as Angel laughs at you comment.

“Nah, Colibri that’ll never happen. It’s too strong like the one who sleeps on it”, gloats Angel as you two slowly doze off to slumber as rain continues to fall.

Angel slightly adjusts his big body between your legs as there is a creaking sound.

“CRASH”, as the frame and headboard come apart.

Your eyes are wide as saucers when you realize what you said has come to fruition. Angel looks you in the eye as you attempt to suppress you sniggling giggles of laughter.

“Hmm maybe you should’ve let me come those 3 times you denied me and that would’ve never happened Angel”, you boasted.

“WHAT THE FUCK”, yells Angel as you can’t help but, laugh out loud as he tickles you.

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | July 27-August 2nd 2020

Another big one this week! I discovered a new writer, can you guess who it is? 😆 

Complete

[Bucky is typing] by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 4K | Mature): Steve just wants to wind down, post mission, with the silly cupcake game Clint downloaded onto his stark phone. He doesn't know who 'Bucky' is, or why he's texting Steve so aggressively. He doesn't mean to answer the phone and argue with the charming voice on the other end. He certainly never meant for the arguing to be interpreted as flirting... But maybe he should just go with it? Maybe Bucky is exactly the leap Steve needs to take, to find his way in the world again.

d-sides and rarities, Chapter 11. balcony + fairy lights  by Deisderium/ @deisderium​ (Shrunkyclunks | Teen): Pepper's PA keeps helping Steve with gala events and public appearances. Steve's trying to keep it professional. Good luck with that.

Helping You Out by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (PWP | 3,7K | Explicit): Steve is not having a great time here... attempting to find his own prostate. So of course, Sam's gorgeous best friend Bucky chooses this exact moment to walk into Steve and Sam's dorm room unnanounced.

Saké It To Me by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Shrunkyclunks | 8K | Teen): Being roped into speed dating was not how Bucky imagined spending his Friday night, especially when he realises some of these people might just be a little bit over his pay grade. But then Steve sits down, gorgeous, friendly and full of genuine warmth. Within mere minutes he manages to completely charm the pants off Bucky (or so his future self hopes). So why then, after such a strong connection, didn't Steve call him?

Tap That by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Meet-cute | 2K | General): When Steve is distracted while waiting at a busy crosswalk on the way to an important meeting, he inadvertently meets the man of his dreams - but only after making the most mortifying social gaffe of his life.Red faced and apologetic he tries to forget the incident.But sometimes when things go wrong - they suddenly turn out spectacularly right.

Pressure Points by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 3K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes hates to fly. And this flight is starting out worse than normal. Except for the hot, built, blond sat beside him... Who has shoulders for days, a voice like molasses, and some very interesting ideas about how to ease Bucky's anxiety... (Part 1 of 💙 Pressure)

Under Pressure by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 6K | Explicit): Bucky is still high off the sexy encounter he experienced with the super hot guy from his flight yesterday.Only today is not turning out quite so great. He could really use some more of that stress relief that Steve doled out so graciously on the plane.And he left Bucky his number right? Which means Bucky could just call him... See if he's busy...He's doing it - he's calling him. It's ringing. (Part 2 of 💙 Pressure)

High Pressure System by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 8K | Explicit): So Steve ran out on him.Ran out saying 'I'll call, you' which everyone knows means Bucky just got ghosted. Except it turns out his booty call might be more than Bucky bargained for. How deep is he willing to dig to chase the answers to his questions? And why is he finding it so impossible to say no to this guy? Steve Rogers, who ARE you... (Part 3 of 💙 Pressure)

Pressure Rising by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 7K | Explicit): Waking up in a farmhouse, on an apple orchard, in the arms of a man who could bench press a minivan, with eyelashes like a disney princess and shoulders like a greek god is Bucky's fantasy turned reality.Except this is sort of a kidnapping.And his life might be falling apart in the real world.And Bucky might not give a shit, because Steve Rogers is like a drug, and Bucky just can't get enough.Also, it turns out, maybe Bucky is a drug for Steve too... (Part 4 of 💙 Pressure)

Pressing You Down by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 8K | Explicit): Steve Rogers is a master tactician, a supersoldier, a born leader. So why is it, as the team are closing in on an epic mission, two years in the making, that Bucky Barnes (and his thighs, lets face it, men have bled for less) and the possibility of he and Steve having a future together, might be enough to compromise everything his team have worked so long for.Actually, maybe it doesn't have to...Maybe everything is about to work out exactly the way Steve wants it to.Well... A man can dream. (Part 5 of 💙 Pressure)

💙 and the next by mcwho (Time traveling | 12K | Explicit): They have him in the common room of all places, and they won’t let Steve see him. or: a time-travel glitch lands 1936's bucky right in 2025 steve's lap

Reading in progress

Adorably awkward by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 32K | Explicit): The one where Bucky uses Steve's car window as a mirror and Steve can appreciate the view...

WIP

💙 Heirloom by 2bestfriends/ @addyetc​ (Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage | 4/5 | 17K | Explicit): King Steven Grant Rogers of Aphekion is only 20 years old. He relies on the wisdom of his advisors, the strength and honesty of his people, and the love and kindness his mother left to him. He wants nothing more than to honor them all by bringing peace to his kingdom. So much has been sacrificed already. If he must sacrifice his hope for love, then so be it.

💙 Revenance by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​, SinpaiCasanova (The Old Guard AU/The Song of Achilles AU | 2/? | 5K | Mature): And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Or, the one where Steve and Bucky are immortal and used to be known as Achilles and Patroclus.

💙 With Only You by brucespringsteen (Time Travel | 6/9 | 35K | Explicit): Steve, semi-retired and still a bastard who doesn’t follow rules, touches a cube that sends him to 1938, eighty-six years in the past. He takes it well. Bucky, twenty-one and baby-faced, takes it even better.

💙 Sergeant Barnes and Colonel Rogers: Lessons in Lust, Longing and Inappropriate Erections. by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 1/4 | 5K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes is a decorated (though young) Sergeant in the United States Army, a Ranger with the 75th regiment, a sniper of unparalleled skill; he still expects his first day as an Avenger to be challenging. He is not at all prepared for the greatest challenge to be one hot as fuck, steely eyed, Colonel Rogers. More specifically, he is not expecting the greatest challenge to be keeping his dick under control whenever Colonel Rogers, with his broad shoulders and his authoritative command and his fucking thick, gorgeous beard, enters into Bucky's immediate vicinity.

💙 Tender is the Ghost by Hark_bananas/ @harkbananas​ (Post-WS | 6/12 | 70K | Explicit): This thought is uncontrollably followed by another one: I’m not alone anymore. He looks over his shoulder, through the kitchen door, to where Bucky is sitting at his usual place at the head of the dining table, and he feels an unconstrainable smile breaking out across his face, the barest hint of threatening tears along its bright edge. Bucky is still looking past Steve’s left ear, but slowly, gingerly, one side of his mouth quirks up. Steve feels giddy, he wants to shout, or faint, or something to relieve the carbonated pressure that is bubbling up inside of him. Instead, he laughs, short and cheerful, and opens the oven door. (Part 2 of Tender is the Ghost)

💙 A Call to Motion by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​ (Uni AU | 2/? | 16K | Explicit): He was a jock, he did ballet, what more can I say? (aka: Steve’s football coach sends him to learn ballet to improve his game, Bucky is the dance TA tasked with teaching him).

💙  Bespoke by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, ABO AU | 7/10 | 72K | Explicit): “I love you, too. So fucking much,” Steve answered. His voice sounded cracked and exhausted, an exposed nerve ending in the shape of a man. “Some days I still don’t believe you’re real. Feels— feels like somehow, I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know you.” Bucky smiled softly at that and felt his heart threaten to explode. Still straddling his lap, he reached a hand up to cup Steve’s cheek. “You’ve always known me,” he stated, simply. “I was made for you, remember?” (Part 2 of 💙Compatible)

💙 Songbird by chicklette/ @chicklette​ (Singer Bucky, Fake relationship | 13/15 | 61K | Explicit): At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top. Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

[johaerys-writes]

Once Upon A Dream

Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Prompt: Reincarnation!AU

This is my entry for Day 1 of @patrochillesweek 2020, where reincarnated Achilles and Patroclus meet in Victorian London! I hope you enjoy :)

Read here or on AO3!

***************

The rain pattered softly against the roof of the carriage as the horses pulled it through the grand gates of Lord Angove’s estate. It was just an hour’s drive from London, away from the bustle of the city, yet to me it seemed like the entire city had somehow found itself there. The long carriageway was filled with coaches, horse hooves clopping on the now muddy ground, lords and ladies in their finest outfits crowding before the manor’s entrance. In the dusk that was falling, the lit up windows looked like stars, gates into another realm, perhaps. It appeared almost dreamy, in the way the golden light of lamps and crystal chandeliers flickered and trembled, in sharp contrast to the darkening sky, to the shiny black wood of the coaches, the elaborately dressed figures that wove amongst each other like schools of fish, languidly drifting in warm, tropical waters.

“Let’s go,” my father said gruffly as soon as the carriage had stopped, snapping me out of my reverie.

The raindrops dampened the top of my head, the shoulders of my fine coat. It was amongst the finest I owned; my father had insisted I wear it, though it made me feel even more out of place than I already did. I followed him up the glossy marble steps, through the manor entrance, into the grand ballroom the footmen led us to. Chatter rose from every corner. Luxurious and decadent it was, without a doubt, with high, domed ceilings and elaborately carved columns, with exotic plants and odd artifacts that graced the walls. Lord Angove’s trading ships went far and wide, and they often brought back animals that no one had ever seen before, spices that burnt your tongue if you tried them, wines that were said to steal one’s wits after a couple swigs. The entire room seemed to be an extravagant display of wealth. Father disliked Lord Angove, of course, as he did most people. Including myself.

“Stand straight,” he hissed at me. “Don’t slouch.”

I sighed. “Yes, Father.” I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin. It was a hot evening despite the rain, and the scent of wet earth that drifted through the open windows mingled with the smell of freshly poured wines, of fine perfumes, of food being cooked in the kitchens below. I slipped a finger below my collar and carefully loosened it, taking in a breath. I hadn’t wanted to come, but Father had insisted upon it; so, I had acquiesced. And now I was paying for it, with a head that was already heavy and sore, and an undershirt that was slowly, yet steadily, growing damper.

I sipped on the sweet, red wine in my glass, wishing it was cool instead of uncomfortably lukewarm, when a wave of laughter drew my attention to the far end of the room, where a cluster of people gathered. Someone amongst them had just said a joke, I presumed, a rather hilarious one, judging by their reaction. That someone was standing in their midst, sipping on his wine, eyes glittering with mischief and satisfaction while the others howled. They were all young lords, their clothes were fine and well made, much finer than mine. Frills and ruffles, silks and velvets, thread of gold and silver embroideries on their sleeves, their doublets, their expensive vests. Perfectly groomed hair, beards and moustaches on comely faces, yet they all looked coarse and dull compared to the man they were all so affectionately peering at. His garb was simple compared to theirs, his hair gathered in a simple tail at the nape of his neck, strands of spun gold that glittered in the light as he moved. The colour of his skin was rich and slightly tan, like he’d been under the sun all day. He had this air about him, polite yet just a touch indifferent, like the doings of those around him did not interest him as much as they all assumed they did. Graceful, yet casually unaware of it; eyes as keen and sharp as a hunting cat’s. He smiled when someone whispered something in his ear. Peony coloured lips widened over teeth white as peeled almonds, and it seemed to me that the room grew a little brighter; he laughed, and his chin that lifted slightly exposed the soft, fawn-smooth skin of his throat.

I caught myself staring, and quickly looked away, but curiosity nagged at me. Who was this man?

“The Prince,” my father said, having noticed me watching.

I gaped at him. “The Prince? I thought he was studying in Rome.” So, that explained his tanned complexion, the golden, sun-kissed hair. Or did it?

“He’s recently returned,” Father continued. “The King’s health is failing, and he has been called for. He’s the most sought after bachelor right now. Dozens of families are clamouring for his hand. Soon, he’ll be the most powerful man in England.” He shot me a sharp and harshly appraising look. “This is what a son should be like.”

His words drove through me, like a lance. I pressed my lips firmly together, looked away from him. I hadn’t asked to be the way I was. I hadn’t asked to be small and weak and unremarkable in every way. I hadn’t even asked to be there, in that stifling, suffocating room, yet there I was. And no one was thanking me for it, or looking at me with glittering eyes, like they all seemed to look at him.  

The man in the distance said something again, and the others laughed and cheered, raising their glasses to him. Anger rose in me, slow and dull; and something else, something dark and sinister, like jealousy, that coated my tongue and made it taste bitter like bad almonds. Prince, I sneered, inside my head.

As if he had heard my thought, his gaze snapped to mine. Green and vibrant, twin emeralds that sharpened and focused on me. I stood, frozen, a deer before bright lights. Everything around me faded in the background, the people, the music, the jests and the songs. It was like time had stopped, and there was nothing else in the world, other than the two of us, gazing at each other from a great distance.

I jerked my eyes away, feeling heat travelling up my cheeks. It was not polite to stare. I shouldn’t have done it, yet something tugged at me, something that I couldn’t quite decipher. I turned back to him, but his attention had been diverted elsewhere once more. He seemed to have entirely forgotten I was there. He probably had.

Later, after the food had been served in the expansive hall and everyone had eaten and drank their fill, I had no desire to remain in the stuffy room. While my father talked with Lord Bramante about the King and the current state of affairs, I quietly slipped away, leaving the talk, music and commotion behind me. A few servants eyed me warily and bowed hastily when they passed me by in the otherwise empty corridors of the manor, and I nodded in acknowledgement, hoping that I hadn’t strayed too far, into areas of the house I was not supposed to be. At that moment, though, it didn’t feel like I wasn’t really supposed to be anywhere. The day had dragged on, and I was weary, and I wanted nothing more than to return to my own house, in my own room, and lock myself away from that world that did not agree with me.

I had heard that Lord Angove was a lover of the arts, and that was no lie. I passed room after room whose walls were almost entirely covered by frescos and large paintings, depicting idyllic scenes or scenes of battle from famous legends and stories. I followed them curiously, standing before this one or the other, noticing their details, the soft or dynamic brushstrokes, the colours, the emotions. There was one in particular I wanted to see, one that was said the Lord had acquired at great expense, painted by an artist who was supposed to be a master of his craft and had been dead for at least a hundred years. It would be hidden in some of the inner rooms, I guessed, so I followed the trail, looking for it. When I finally found it, I realised I was not the only one that sought to admire a piece such as that.

The Prince was standing before it. He was alone this time, without his loud entourage. He somehow seemed even more kingly without it. He looked serene, entirely absorbed; his silence and stately grace his only companions. I stood at the door, unsure whether I should intrude upon his quiet meditation or withdraw before he had noticed my presence. Before I’d managed to make up my mind, he turned to look at me with those keen, feline eyes of his.

“Come,” he told me, and his voice carried that effortless command that seemed to come so naturally to him. I obeyed, though somewhat grudgingly. I disliked being told what to do, yet he was the Prince. The heels of my shoes clicked on the polished marble floor as I approached, coming to stand beside him. His gaze had drifted from me to the painting before him once more.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. His voice was bright and clear like freshly melted snow, with a soft cadence to it that reminded me of the sighing of mountain winds, the trill of songbirds hidden in thick foliage, maple leaves stirring with the breeze. A stream flowing over polished rocks. Rose quartz crystals glittering in the morning light. Painted constellations on a domed cave roof.

Orion, I thought to myself, conjuring the shape of the stars in my mind. The Pleiades.  

I started at my own knowledge. I didn’t remember ever studying the names of constellations. I did not even know that place that sprung up in my memories, yet it felt like I did. Like I had been there, once. Perhaps in a dream.

I took a breath to clear my head and looked up at the large, magnificent painting, brushing the odd images away. The scene depicted was a large and messy one; a proud warrior was standing on his chariot, his golden armour glinting in the sun, his spear poised to be thrown, while scores of horses and chariots ran behind him. Awe gripped me the more I stared at it. “It is,” I replied, softly, as if scared to disturbed the man in the painting from his sacred mission.

“Are you familiar with the story of Achilles?”

“Of course,” I said. “Who isn’t?” My tutor had made me memorise the entire first book of the Iliad when I was little, had made me recite it to him word for word. I was never drawn to ancient myths and legends of battle, their ferocity felt odd and foreign to me, yet the legend of Achilles always held a place of wonder in my heart. A fearless warrior, the son of a goddess, a god himself- a human. A friend. A sworn and loyal companion. His devotion always at odds with his might, his arrogance, his hubris. How could I not know about his story? How could I not be drawn to it?

The Prince nodded, his hands folded at the base of his spine, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “Do you believe that he and Patroclus were lovers?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.

I choked in the act of swallowing, and my lungs spasmed in a fierce coughing fit. I wheezed and gasped through it, glancing wildly around me. If anyone had been there to hear-  I did not even want to think about what they would have thought. Lovers? I shivered. Such statements, such words were unthinkable, unutterable, unnatural.  

I did not want to admit that the very same thought had troubled me for nights on end.

He was watching me calmly, his gaze steady, while I gaped at him, my eyes wide as saucers.

“No,” I croaked, “of course not. They were friends, companions, not- not that. ” I blinked, and something like hope rose in me, swelling in my throat. “Weren’t they?”

He turned back to the painting. He stayed silent for a moment before he said, “Would you lay waste to an entire city for a friend?”

“If… if it was a good friend.”

“Would you keep his dead body in your room for days?”

“I-”

“Would you ask to be buried with him, for his ashes to be mingled with yours after you died?” His eyes focused on me, steady and relentless. “Those of your friend?”

I would, if it were you.

The thought came to my mind suddenly, unbidden. It was one of my own thoughts, yet it did not feel like mine. It was as if there was someone else whispering at me, or some hidden, forgotten part of me, struggling to break through. It shocked me to my very core, as much as it gripped and pulled at me. At that moment, as we gazed at each other, I knew it that, should he die, the world would lose something irreplaceable. Something beautiful and bright and true, and wasn’t that a crime to make all other crimes pale in comparison?

I tried to look away, tear my gaze from his but I was caught, pinned, unable to do anything else other than return his stare. His eyes were seas of forest green, and I was wading through them, breathless and eager to get somewhere, to find something. What, I did not know.

My mouth was dry when I tried to speak. "I… am not sure," I managed finally, after what felt like ages. "Perhaps."

He watched me in silence for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, softer than it had been. "It always makes me wonder," he said. "The depth of his devotion. The magnitude of his grief. His… love. Simply put. I do not understand it, yet it pulls at me. It begs to be understood. To be made sense of." The Prince's attention was on me entirely now, as if there was nothing and no one else in the world for him right then. He tilted his head to the side, studying me. "Have we met before? I swear you look familiar."

There was no haughtiness to his expression, no mock or ridicule. There was interest, and earnest curiosity, as if my answer would shift something significant inside him.

"I don't believe so,” I replied, the words catching in my throat. “I'm sure I would remember." He was indeed familiar, I realised. I studied the contours of his face, sculptor perfect, the smooth skin that stretched over his brow. I followed the line of his jaw with my eyes, the tendons of his delicate throat. There was a grace in those features, soft like a woman's, but angular and precise at the same time. He looked like no one else I’d ever seen, yet I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. I knew, with a certainty that startled me, that I knew him.

The sound of his laugh, rich and clear like a babbling brook. His hair under the bright midsummer sun. The amber light of a fire catching in the emerald depths of his eyes. His hand in mine. Moments of happiness and grief, of quiet contemplation, and moments when my heart beat so hard I thought it would burst. A thousand little moments, like fireflies in the night, crowding forward.

“Maybe in a dream,” I whispered, before I’d even realised I’d spoken.

He considered my words carefully, holding my gaze, as if I’d said something of great wisdom.

“Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “In a dream.”

The rain, soft like distant whispers, pattered gently against the window panes.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 11

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 11: Louise’s life is threatened

Warnings: Violence, attempted assault 

         Alfie took pride in the fact he was trying to control his temper. He wasn’t very successful but at least he tried. When it came to punishments, he did everything to keep it out of sight of Louise. She would witness the occasional backhand or cane whack to the knees but that was it. Her dealings in the bakery were purely administrative. The shadiness and the blood never involved her.

           Unfortunately, things were coming to a boiling point. The Italians were suspicious of Tommy's relationship with the Russians as well as the Peaky Blinder’s feud with the Changrettas. So, Sabini reached out to Alfie, attempting to bury the hatchet yet again and hopefully gain the alliance back in case the Shelbys made a move.

           Alfie wasn’t in the mood, but he decided it could be helpful to at least hear Darby out.

           “One last thing, Tommy called about something. He says it’s urgent. I guess he wants to meet as soon as you can.” Louise kept in stride with Alfie, her arm linked with his. “I said maybe you could meet with him tomorrow morning.” She handed him the note for a reminder.

           “Right,” Alfie tucked the slip of paper away in his pocket. “I’ll call him back later tonight.” He stopped mid-way down the cellar hall and turned to face her. “You’re the fucking best, d’you know that” His eyes wrinkled with a smile, adoration in his gaze.

           “For answering the telephone?” Louise teased with a coy smile. She stepped closer to him, smoothing down his loose white shirt.

           “Nah, just for everything.” He murmured and kissed her forehead. “Love having you ‘round.” His thumb grazed down her cheek. The brief tender touch sent chills down Louise’s spine.

           “Alfie.” Ollie’s voice came from down the hall. A group of men was following behind him.

           Louise had never met Darby Sabini simply because Alfie kept her away from any meetings with him. Yet, he had no power over what happened next.

           “Alfie,” A mustached man greeted as they approached. “So glad you agreed to sit down with me. I’ve missed you, old friend.”

           Louise could feel Alfie tense up beside her. “Lou, go upstairs.” He muttered to her.

           She opened her mouth to speak but the Italian men were blocking the only exit to the stairs. So she had no choice but to stay near him.

           “And this must be the secretary you’ve kept hidden from me. I’ve heard the word about how protective he is of you.” Sabini tipped his hat to her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

           Louise tried to ignore Alfie’s clear displeasure. Instead, to keep the peace, she smiled politely. “Louise Barnes, it’s nice to meet you as well.

           “Alfie, how could you keep such a beauty locked up in a place like this?” The Italian tutted. The two men at his flanks sported faint smirks. One was eyeing Louise too much for Alfie’s liking.

           His upper lip twitched and he waited a beat so he didn’t explode. “You want to fucking talk business? Or are you wasting me time?” No matter what he did, the anger continued to grow the longer they stood there. The more time they spent with Louise the more uneasy he got. Tension was thick in the air and he knew something was up.

           “I should be off anyway.” Louise tucked the diary under her arm. She touched his shoulder to offer some sort of comfort and courage to keep his cool. “I’ll just be upstairs.”

           “No, no.” Sabini waved a dismissive hand. “You can stay.”

           The man to his left smirked. “Yeah, we want to look at her during the meeting instead of Solomon’s fucked up face.” He spoke to his partner in Italian. He didn’t bother to speak quietly because he wasn’t aware of Louise’s grasp on the romance languages.

           Louise narrowed her eyes. “Pardon me?” She spoke with venom in her voice.

           The man furrowed his eyebrows, obviously not considering the possibility she could understand him.

           “Don’t you dare speak about him like that.” She snapped. “He is more a man than you ever will be.” She shot back.

           Alfie couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Looks like you fucked up, mate.” He drawled. “She knows more languages than you know words.”

           Disgruntled, the man’s hand twitched but Ollie had already confiscated their weapons. Sabini sighed. “This is about you and me, Alfie. Now I’m hearing you’ve gone weak because of a woman.”

           Alfie gripped his cane tightly and tilted his head to the side. “Be foolish to think I’m weak now.” He cocked an eyebrow. “See, I know things, right, things ‘bout Tommy Shelby that you don’t. Things that could fucking ruin him, mate.” He gave a faux sigh of burden. “But since Tommy’s such an old friend I think I’ll honor his secrecy.” He ignored the curious side-eye that Louise gave him at the mention of a Shelby secret.

           It was Darby’s turn to get riled up. “You’d protect those fucking savages? Let them come into London and muck about like they own the place?” He demanded, his face growing an unhealthy shade of red. “Those gypsies need to be dealt with!” He said in a warning tone.

           “They do, yeah.” Alfie lazily ran his hand over his beard. “But I’ll be doing that on me own, won’t I? Don’t need you, ‘specially not after your men insult both me and me dear Louise.”

           Sabini stood there fuming for a few moments. Then his eyes shifted to Louise. She tried to hold her ground but his cold stare was crippling. She subtly moved closer to Alfie to reassure herself. “Y’know, it’s a shame.” Darby’s voice evened out again and he began to look smug. “Some men believe they have no weakness. They think they’re invincible. But men like that usually fall the hardest. Do you agree, Miss Barnes?”

           Louise swallowed but couldn’t speak. She wasn’t sure exactly what Sabini was getting at, but she had a gut feeling. It had something to do with her.

           “What do you think would happen to Alfie Solomons if something were to happen to his Achilles Heel?”

           Alfie lost it. Ollie and Louise had to hold him back from attacking the man. “You fucking threatening her?” He roared. “You absolute cunt, I’ll put you six-feet-under if you even think about hurting her. I’ll fucking rip your fucking guts out, fucking cut your head off and stick you on a fucking pike!” His threats echoed through the narrow cellar hall. “Then I’ll move onto the next of you fucking wops!”

           A few of Alfie’s men ushered the Italians back upstairs and out of the building.

           Alfie reached behind him for his gun tucked in his waistband. His hand shaking violently.

           “No, no, no!” Louise grabbed his wrist when she saw what he was doing. “You’ll only make things worse.” She dug her fingernails into his skin so he wouldn’t fight against her.

           Alfie was in such a state of rage he could hardly hear her. He stared at the stairs where the Italians had just disappeared. His temper got the better of him and he wanted to follow Sabini and blow his brains all over the bakery.

           “Alfie, stop!” Louise and Ollie had to keep pushing him back. “Go!” She shoved him towards the empty cellar and slammed the door behind them. Ollie stood by the door just in case Alfie wanted to make another attempt at following Sabini.

           “Those fucking Italians…I swear…” His words slurred together from the white-hot anger coursing through his veins like strong alcohol.

           “Sit down.” Louise pulled his gun out of his waistband and emptied the bullets onto the table.

           “He’s going to fucking pay…” He kept pacing and ranting.

           “Alfie, sit down.” She dragged a chair out. “Now!” Her voice overpowered his and bounced off the stone walls.

           The man grumbled but sat down. His hands continued to shake, itching to strangle the life out of Darby.

           “Look at me.” Louise knelt down in front of him. She latched her hands around his wrists like shackles. “Alfie, look at me.” She urged again.

           He finally let his eyes fall on her. “He’s going to try an’ use you against me.” His gruff voice started to lose its ear-shattering volume. “I knew this would happen, I thought I could be more careful but I was fucking foolish to…”

           “They wouldn’t dare do anything of the sort.” Louise let go of one of his wrists to touch his cheek, directing his eyes back to her. “Sh, love, just take a deep breath.” She murmured.

           He couldn’t muster up the strength. His heart was beating unbearably against his chest. Fear mixed with anger caused his stomach to twist up in knots. “Just like fucking Tommy Shelby.”

           “No.” She interrupted him again. “That’s not going to happen. They know what the Shelbys are doing to the Changretta’s, Sabini wouldn’t make that mistake.” Whether or not she believed that or had any merit to speak on it wasn’t the issue. Louise was confident in Alfie’s ability to protect her.

           Alfie reached out and took her face in his hands. His blue eyes studying her beautiful features. He would never let someone take her away from him, especially not a rat like Sabini. “C’mere.” He stood and went for the door.

           Louise held the empty gun just to keep it away from him as he cooled off. They returned upstairs and Alfie brought her to his office. She closed the door behind her and went into his desk.

           “Alfie!” She snapped when she saw him draw out another gun.

           “Calm down, s’not for me.” He set it on the desk. “M’giving it to you. Gotta teach you how to defend yourself, right?”

           Louise stared at the loaded revolver. “I don’t know if I want to carry that around.” She said quietly.

           “I need you to. Give me peace of mind.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

           She walked over and set the empty gun on the desk too. “Alright, but only because you want me to. And I’ll probably never have to use it.”

           “Rather you carry it and never use it than need it and not have it.” He nodded curtly.

           She stopped in front of him and touched his cheek. Every inch of him was so familiar. She internally scoffed at the idea that anyone would think he wasn’t beautiful. To her, Alfie was gorgeous. And he was hers.

           Alfie didn’t want her to know how worried he was about Sabini’s cryptic threat. He started taking precautions where he found necessary. Since they were living together, it was easier to assure her safety. But there were moments when he was uneasy. If he had to leave for longer than a few hours, Alfie made sure she was well guarded even if Louise didn’t realize it. He wouldn’t skimp on protection if it meant keeping her safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           But he couldn’t always be there especially if Louise made her own decisions.

      ��    That night, Louise realized she’d forgot her scarf at the bakery. She decided to return to retrieve it. Alfie was working late and hadn’t eaten either so she parceled up a dinner to bring.

           The sun was gone and the stars had just started to weakly speckle over the city. Camden had become so familiar to her now; she accepted it as her home. Her sense of security was shattered just a moment later when she heard someone come up behind her.

           Before she could look back, rough hands grabbed her. A cloth muffled her scream as she was dragged into a nearby alleyway. She was shoved to the damp ground, her hands and knees scraping against the stones.

           “Scream and I’ll cut that pretty little face right off ya.” The man snarled with a sinister grin. “Louise Barnes, right?”

           Terrified, she slowly nodded. A Surrey girl raised in the protection of wealth never thought she would be subjected to such violence. She wasn’t taught to fight. Some of her friends knew how to fire a gun purely for sport. The first time she saw such violence was from Daniel. But she felt too weak to fight back. Only a few times, when Daniel was staggering drunk, was she able to defend herself. Then, under Alfie’s protection, she’d felt safe again. She let her guard down and even stopped wearing the knife on her thigh. She wasn’t worried something like that would happen to her. Once she saw the glint in the blade, she realized how naïve she really was. Dread and the fear of death soaked into her skin like a sickness.

           “My boss has been looking for you.” He informed her and grabbed her by the hair.

           Louise bit back a yelp of pain as he yanked her to her feet.

           “You’ll make me some good money once I bring you to him.” The man traced the blade’s tip over her cheek. “It’s all business, love, Sabini just needs a little something from Solomons.”

           So Alfie had been right. Louise started to cry, shaking in fear. She had been so sure she was protected.

           “But you might be fun to play with ‘fore I hand you over.” He dragged the knife down and to Louise’s horror; he started to cut the clothes off her.

           No.

           Her mind returned to a night when Daniel forced himself on her. He stunk of gin and his hands were too rough. She yelled at him to get off but he didn’t. So she reacted in the only way she knew how.

           The instincts returned back to her and she sharply kneed the man in the groin. He cursed and doubled over in pain.

           It gave her enough time and space to react. Ever since Sabini’s threat, she carried the revolver per Alfie’s request. Her hands shook as she retrieved the gun from the holster on her thigh and pointed it at the man.

           He straightened up after the pain subsided and laughed when he saw her gun. “You think you know how to use that, love?” He taunted and lunged at her.

           It was a blur. Louise pulled the trigger.

           The humor slipped right off his face. The bullet lodged through his chest. Blood started to spread through his shirt and he collapsed to his knees. A blank look of shock overcame his features.

           Her ears rang. In a panic, she ran from the alley straight to the bakery. Wide-eyed, her dress in tatters, she rushed inside.

           Ollie was nearby and dropped everything to meet her by the doors. “What happened?”

           Louise just shook her head. She had no idea how to form the words.

           The young man turned and called for his boss. Once he heard the alarming yell, Alfie left his office.

           A sickening feeling overwhelmed him when he saw Louise standing there with a loaded gun in her hand and another man’s blood spattered on her face and coat. “Lou…” He hurried over to her.

           The words came out without warning. “I just killed someone.” She blurted. “I shot someone. I just shot someone.” The rambling mess came out too fast for her to process.

           “Okay, tell me what happened.” He carefully took the gun out of her trembling hands. He handed it to Ollie who tucked it into a handkerchief.

           “He said Sabini wanted me. He tried…he tried raping me.” Fresh tears sprung to her eyes. “I didn’t know what to do.” Her knees buckled so badly she thought she would collapse.

           Alfie enveloped her in his arms to keep her upright. “Sh, s’okay love. You did the right thing.” His voice quivered with anger. Sabini had just made a deadly mistake.

           Louise sobbed in his arms, her fingers curled around his shirt. “I killed someone. I killed him.”

           Alfie rubbed her back and motioned for Ollie. “Go find him.” He commanded in a hushed whisper. “If he’s dead, go dump him on Farringdon to send that fucker a message. If he’s alive, you bring him back here.”

           Ollie nodded and left with a few other men.

           Alfie scooped Louise up and brought her to his office. “I’ve gotcha, love.” He whispered and sat at his desk. She curled up in his lap and refused to let go of him. He wasn’t sure what else to say to her. His brain was spinning at the idea she was nearly ripped away from him just like Grace Shelby had been taken from Tommy. He was so angry he didn’t know how to articulate it or even act. He could only hold her to reassure himself that she was still there.

           A little while later, Ollie came to the office. “Sir.”

           Alfie looked up and could see it in his face. He nodded. “Get Ishmael, have him bring the car ‘round. Take Louise home, I want four men in front of the flat. Make sure Evelyn doesn’t go out either. I don’t know who else Sabini will go after.”

           Alfie carried Louise to the car and promised she would be okay if she let go of him. He kissed her cheek and said Evelyn would take care of her until he returned home. Ishmael and Ollie drove her back to the flat while he went back to the bakery. He descended to the cellar and found the man bound and gagged. His gunshot wound was still bleeding and his front was completely soaked. He looked delirious from the pain.

           Alfie rolled up his sleeves and stepped towards the man. Rage built up when he saw the scrawny man who tried to attack his Louise. He lifted his cane and pressed it right against the gun wound. The man screamed and thrashed about in agony.

           “Oh fuck, does that hurt?” The gangster faked concern. “Sorry, mate.” He eased up on the wound. “Tell me who you work for.”

           “Sabini.” The man coughed up a bit of blood. “Please, call an ambulance.” He begged.

           “Yeah, alright, an ambulance.” Alfie chuckled darkly. “After what you’ve done? Mate, you’re going to wish for death once I’m done with you.” He cracked his knuckles. “It’s gonna be a long night for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent tag: @sansajonsastark​

Tag list: @vehement-care​ @kimmietea​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @fire-treasure-iii​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist 

[harrisongslimited]

An Impossible Task - A John Wick Fanfic

A/N - Smut. **18+ readers only please**. Just a short smutty chapter for a Sunday afternoon!

T/W - sexual encounter, swearing.

Chapter 9

Cassie awoke before the sun  in the same position as she did the morning before with John spooned up against her, his arm draped around her. His dog was sleeping at the foot of the bed, stretched almost all the way across it.  She felt warm and safe up against John’s body…come to think of it, she always felt warm and safe when he was with her.

Getting up and going to work was something she wished she didn’t have to do. She’d rather stay where she was, content under the covers and John’s protective arm. Cassie moved slightly and John let out a sigh, rolling over onto his back. She followed him, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on her one elbow to watch him sleep.

Delicately, she moved the hair from his face with one finger. Early morning light filtered in her room through the sage green sheers on the window, leaving one side of his face in shadow and the other side in darkness. He looked so peaceful, she decided not to wake him. Awake, even when appearing to be relaxed, he was like a deer in the forest, always keeping a keen eye out for trouble. She tried to imagine what his childhood was like and she figured it was so far removed from her own that she would never be able to picture it.

A low hum came from the back of his throat and he stretched his legs out. His eyes still closed, Cassie leaned onto her back as he slowly moved on top of her, his arms on either side of her shoulders. John’s eyes opened to half mast, his legs gently moving Cassie’s to slip his legs in between hers.  He nestled his lips on her neck, then teasingly kissed her  face, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her chin.

“You’re going to make me late for work,” she sensually whispered in his ear.

“Uh huh,” he mumbled back, kissing the front of her neck.

“C’mere,” Cassie said to him as she took his face in both her hands to bring his lips to hers.

John’s mouth closed around hers as his hand did an appreciative slide down her naked body with a feather light touch. Cassie wiggled against his hand and giggled. John suddenly dove underneath the covers and began a whimsical trip down her body with his hands and then ran a finger down the sole of her foot.

“Shit John, that tickles….,” she laughed, looking down the bed. Cassie tried to pull her leg back, but John wouldn’t let go. “Right,” she said suddenly taking up the challenge and flipping the covers up and over her head. “This is war, Mr. Wick.”

Cassie went on a hunting mission to find out where John was ticklish…lightly touching every area of his body she thought might be sensitive. Every spot she tried, he would purse his lips and shake his head. Finally, she discovered his Achilles’ heel was his kneecaps and as she made contact with his knees, she heard him bellow out a laugh that made her feel so good. She’d never heard him laugh like that, unrestrained and free.

With the covers flying around and the bed shaking, John’s dog fled from the bed and took a spot on the floor near John’s side of the bed. “Sorry, boy,” John said to him with a laugh in his throat.  When John came up for air from under the covers, his hair was straggled in hundreds of different directions causing Cassie to break out in laughter.

“What?” he asked Cassie, knowing full well his hair looked like he put his finger in an electrical socket. “Too much? Too soon? What?”

Cassie’s side was beginning to ache from laughing so hard. He had a little boy look on his face that went well with the blown up hair. From a sitting position she pulled her legs up to ease her laughter and the only thing she could see on John was his head. The rest of his body was under the covers.

Crawling up to her from underneath the comforter, he warmly kissed his way up her body to her lips as Cassie lay back down and placed her arms around his neck.

“I’m definitely going to be late for work now….,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“I know,” he answered as his lips came down on hers. Cassie’s mouth opened to him and his tongue teased her lips before slipping in. She felt electric shocks crawl slowly up her back as he kissed her passionately over and over. Feeling dizzy and drunk as his tongue searched her mouth, her hands went up to his hair and she ran her fingers through its messy silkiness, pulling him in even closer. John eased back and looked at her.

She brushed his face with a tender hand and pulled him down to her, John nibbling on her neck. As he moved his hips, he entered her slowly and when he was fully inside her, bucked his hips and then stopped moving.

“Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear, his voice heavy and low.

“But John, I want to move,” she answered him in a breathy voice, beginning to shift her hips.

“Don’t move, baby,” he said again softly in her ear, his body completely still.

His breath in her ear was giving her goosebumps; her body  filled with shivers. “John, I need to move….,” Cassie told him, breathlessly. “I need to move….”

“I’ll tell you when to move,” he continued to whisper in her ear. “I’ll tell you.”

Cassie stopped trying to move, but her body and mind were on fire. Her pulse and breath quickened, the pupils in her eyes dilated. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt a light sheen of perspiration form on her upper chest. Cassie felt herself begin to come undone.

“John..,” she called out, her fingers digging into his back. “Dear God, John.”

He finally told her to move and she began to shake beneath him. Her hips urgently went up to meet him and he thrust inside her again and again, quicker and faster, in a cadence all their own. Suddenly, it had built up beyond anything she had ever experienced and she began to orgasm. John maintained the powerful rhythm they had started as her body jerked and trembled beneath him. He bucked his hips into her until Cassie heard him call out her name with a moan and he released inside of her. He continued to thrust into Cassie until it became erratic, and stopped.

Breathing heavily, they met face to face and smiled at each other. John kissed her fully on the mouth as Cassie felt his hair fall down around her face.

“Jesus Christ,” Cassie exclaimed, still trying to catch her breath, her face close to his.

“Shit, Cass, shit,” John offered, his breathing beginning to settle down. He kissed her again and laid his head on her shoulder. She covered the side of his face with her hand and ran her fingers down his beard to his neck. Cassie continued to stroke his stubble with a gentle hand until he withdrew from her and rolled onto his back.

She turned with him, curling up beside him and feeling John’s strong arm wrap around her as her head lay down on his shoulder. After a few minutes, he sat up to pull the comforter over them and returned to his spot with his arm around Cassie.

“You are an incredible lover,” Cassie whispered.

“It takes two, Cass, it takes two, but do go on…” he joked.

“You’re magnificently handsome,” she began, her finger tracing an imaginary line down his chest. “Your eyes could melt the Arctic. You’re gentle, generous, considerate and patient.  And your hair….dear God, your hair just calls out to be touched as does your lovely muscular body. You also have a very sweet ass and kiss like a world class, gold metal champion. You are, indeed, a Sunshine Superman.”

“Cute,” he laughed, pulling her in to kiss the side of her face. “You’re beautiful,” he said as his hand formed around her cheek. “You’re beautiful and sensual and you carry a womanly mystique that is captivating. You’re honest and open, funny and smart. I could get lost in those eyes of yours and if I was a betting man I’d bet that every man who gets to know you falls in love with you.”

“John,” she whispered, the curve of her nose against his neck; her arm around his chest.

“I know Cass,” he whispered back, kissing her temple. “I know.”

[famous-aces]

Henry David Thoreau

Who: Henry David Thoreau

What: Author, Philosopher, Abolitionist, Activist, Naturalist, Critic, Surveyor, Yogi, Historian...ah, Jeez, what wasn't he?

Where: American (active largely in the US)

When: July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862

(Image description: a photo of Henry David Thoreau from 1861, it is obviously in black and white but has faded to sepia. He is a white man in a jacket and what appears to be a scarf or cravat. He has a long, tired face, circles around his eyes. He has a thick beard and mustache and slightly messy hair, his hair is dark but graying.  End ID)

You have probably heard this name even if you don't know why. He is best known  for his memoirs, essays, and his role in the founding of the Transcendentalist movement. His progressive philosophy remains relevant to this day. His influence has lasted well over a century and he served as inspiration for the likes of JFK, Martin Luther King Jr., Hemingway, Tolstoy, Shaw, Gandhi, among dozens of other names of equal note.

Thoreau was a Transcendentalist through and through, meaning he believed in the inherent goodness of humanity and nature in conjunction with science, and the power of the individual. His writing is generally practical, thoughtful, detailed, and observant, and he wrote extensively on a number of subjects. Perhaps most notably on environmentalism (he is one of the inspirations for and a precursor to the 20th century environmentalist movement), nature, ethics, simple living, direct action, civil disobedience, abolition, tax resistance, anarchy, among countless other topics.  

Thoreau's most famous and popular works include Walden, which is the published version of of the diary Thoreau kept over his two year social experiment at Walden Pond (written beginning in 1845, published in 1854), "Civil Disobedience,"  which helped both Gandhi and Dr. King form their philosophies, and states that in an unjust society the just must rebel, (it was originally titled "Resistance to Civil Government or Civil Disobedience", 1849), "Walking" an instruction manual on how Thoreau thought, observed, and wrote (1862), "Slavery in Massachusetts", a speech given at a rally to protest the re-enslavement of escapee/fugitive slave Anthony Burns (1854) and Excursions, collection of essays, published posthumously in 1863 with biographical introduction by fellow author and Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson.  He also wrote on John Brown and his execution ("A Plea for Captain John Brown" [1859], Remarks After the Hanging of John Brown [1859], and The Last Days of John Brown [1860]).

(Image description: a replica of Thoreau's cabin in Walden. It is a very small wooded. Cabin in a clearing, one room at most, brown/gray in color. It has a white multi-paned window and a brick chimney in the back. The whole cabin is not much taller than its door. Behind it is a shed or outhouse.  They are surrounded by trees. Touching one of the closest trees is a brown metal statue of a man walking, presumably Thoreau. End ID)

Probable Orientation: Gay ace or possibly aroace with a desire for a male QPP.

I am very confident in Thoreau's asexuality, if a little shakier on his romantic orientation. As far as anyone knows (and his life has been repeatedly and heavily scrutinized since the 19th century) Thoreau never had a romantic or sexual partner. He was a public figure with a wide circle of friends, someone would have known at some point during his life and if somehow a partner escaped notice the historians who dedicated their lives to studying his life specifically would have uncovered them. Thoreau wrote on male/male relationships, some more platonic, some queerplatonic, some vagulely romantic, none sexual.

Thoreau, like Elizabeth I, is one cishets hold onto, turning away from the idea he could be anything but heterosexual regardless of the evidence to the contrary.  Like Andy Warhol he is one exclusionists refuse to acknowledge was ace, although they have even less of an argument here. Many aphobic fans of Thoreau are terrified by the idea that maybe, just maybe, the thing Thoreau loved most was nature. Some outrageous arguments from either side include: one historian claimed a poem Thoreau wrote for a man was actually meant for that guy's sister, some say he was being hip in writing about Achilles, some say he was too repressed to have sex, especially since he was gay. One blogger got heated in his admantness that Thoreau wasn't ace but was "a human being with feelings and needs." Nice aphobia there, dude.

But here is the thing about any of those arguments: Thoreau broke every other rule in his culture. He was not afraid to be different, and separated himself from society.  He was all about the individual breaking away from society and its traditions and going with your human nature. Thoreau did what he believed to be right.

He had a following, many friends and aquaintences, almost certainly suitors, he spent a lot of time alone in the company of men he seemed to find attractive e.g. Tom Fowler (who was his sole companion and guide through Maine) and Alek Therien (who visited Thoreau alone at Walden). I firmly believe that his percieved "prudishness" was not artificial but came from a genuine disinterest and failure to even really understand sexual attraction (his journals imply as much, you will see). If he did sleep with any of these men Thoreau never documented it, not even in his own journals. But what he did articulate in letters is that society's refusal to discuss sex/physical relationships was proof of its problems. Sex was natural so dismissing it wasn't. 

His feelings about sex are contradictory, he thinks it must be natural but he also finds it repulsive and dirty. He makes note at one point of how beautiful pollination is (he is quoting and translating J. Biberg but agrees with the sentiment and indeed only uses the quote to prove his point on the beauty of sexless flowers), but he vilifies or dislikes human intercourse. Thoreau seems to like the idea of sex without the sex, he likes closeness more than intercourse. He wants to like sex but can't, the closest he gets is the desire for these things to be open.

Quotes:

Hang onto your hats. There are some long ones here, but Thoreau, like Chopin, is pretty overtly ace. Like he couldn't make it clear without waving an asexual pride flag, would be hard considering it was invented in what? 2010? And Thoreau had already been dead 148 chaste, chaste years.

"What is commonly honored with the name of Friendship is no very profound or powerful instinct...I do not often see the farmers made seers and wise to the verge of insanity by their Friendship for one another. They are not often transfigured and translated by love in each other’s presence. I do not observe them purified, refined, and elevated by the love of a man…I do not often see the farmers made seers and wise to the verge of insanity by their Friendship for one another. They are not often transfigured and translated by love in each other’s presence. I do not observe them purified, refined, and elevated by the love of a man…Nor do the farmers' wives lead lives consecrated to Friendship. I do not see the pair of farmer Friends of either sex prepared to stand against the world...Even the utmost good-will and harmony and practical kindness are not sufficient for Friendship, for Friends do not live in harmony merely, as some say, but in melody. We do not wish for Friends to feed and clothe our bodies,--neighbors are kind enough for that,--but to do the like office to our spirits…[the ideal friendship] will make a man honest; it will make him a hero; it will make him a saint. It is the state of the just dealing with the just, the magnanimous with the magnanimous, the sincere with the sincere, man with man.”

-Henry David Thoreau, from his journal 1839. This entry on friendship the hope for something deeper than what most people call by that name, but still looking for friendship. He is looking for a partner, an emotional, spiritual, partner. This quote could be read as romantic or queerplatonic. You know which one I am leaning toward, queerplatonic, especially because he specifies these relationships as unique from marriage (which he equates in other texts with sex and maybe romance) also he was writing while on a trip with his brother, John, to whom he would later dedicate the publication after John's death in 1842. But it could easily also be a sexless romantic relationship, what he is looking for is not explicitly either.

The following are all from 1852 letters written by Thoreau to his friend and proofreader Harrison Blake. One of these letters was overtly written on the subject of "Chastity and Sensuality" and contains his complicated feelings on sexuality:

"What the essential difference between man and woman is, that they should be thus attracted to one another, no one has satisfactorily answered."

(Note: self explanatory)

"If it is the result of a pure love, there can be nothing sensual in marriage. Chastity is something positive, not negative. It is the virtue of the married especially. All lusts or base pleasures must give place to loftier delights...The deeds of love are less questionable than any action of an individual can be, for, it being founded on the rarest mutual respect, the parties incessantly stimulate each other to a loftier and purer life, and the act in which they are associated must be pure and noble indeed..."

(Note: in the above quote he seems to believe that in marriage sex must eventually stop because there is something better. As if they have gotten the sex stuff out of the way.)

"Love and lust are as far asunder as a flower-garden is from a brothel.

(Note: this was part of his description for his disdain for human sex vs human love, his confusion about sex but love of human relationships. It is part of that desire for sex without sex thing I mentioned but harsher than his tone in a later letter.)

"'The organs of generation, which, in the animal kingdom, are for the most part concealed by nature, as if they were to be ashamed of, in the vegetable kingdom are ex posed to the eyes of all ; and, when the nuptials of plants are celebrated, it is wonderful what delight they afford to the beholder, refreshing...'"

(Note: this is Thoreau quoting and translating J. Biberg. Part of the same letter as the brothel line. In this letter he discusses how perturbed he is by sex and lust, but how it should be something beautiful. He celebrates pollination, while finding human sex distasteful, again sex without sex.)

"The intercourse of the sexes, I have dreamed, is incredibly beautiful, too fair to be remembered. I have had thoughts about it, but they are among the most fleeting and irrecoverable in my experience."

(Note: Also self explanatory)

(Image description: the original title page of Walden. It has an illustration on it drawn by Thoreau's sister Sophia. Above the illustration it reads "Walden; or Life in the Woods by Henry D. Thoreau, Author of "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers". Then is the illustration showing Thoreau's cabin, it looks very much like the modern replica if with a slightly different treeline.  There is a path leading from the cabin down to the bottom of the image directed at the words below. The text continues after the drawing "I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake the neighbors up. -Page 92. Boston, Ticknor and Fields. M DCCC LIV.". End ID)

[flatstarcarcosa]

house/home

Ship: wilson and wilson at large warnings: exploration of trauma and PTSD, references to abuse note: this ended up being similar to the last thing i did, what started out as a simple headcanon exploration turned into an emotionally charged, rambling piece that at one point, turns into a story. it has not been proof read yet. 

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slade and i discover pretty quickly after the move to vermont that simply packing my shit and taking care of any lingering obligations in florida i was tied too is not, in fact, the entire solution to my problems. 

which of course ties into the larger theme of our whole relationship at this point in that we’re both just constantly attempting to run away from our problems, our pasts, our trauma all while scolding each other and saying it doesn’t work like that. 

he finds i don’t get settled right away. or even within a few weeks or months. the vermont house, for all purposes, for the longest of time, is not my house. it is not my home. i quickly default back into the same mindset i have had my entire life, drilled and beaten into me since i was a child that if someone else has paid for it, if someone else has bought it, if someone else has acquired it and is allowing me to use it, 

it is not mine. it is theirs.

which of course, that’s not the mindset that slade is coming from. he picked the vermont house because it made the most sense logistically. it was already there, sitting and waiting. filled with belongings he could never fit in elsewhere, filled with dust, filled with ghosts of memories past. 

it made sense to use it. 

so when we finally arrive, both regretting the initial idea of turning the move into a road trip, my things are waiting in storage containers. two large ones, sitting in the driveway and blocking access to the detached garage. 

the house smells of pine and wood and must, having been shuttered up for so long. he comments that he can’t exactly remember the last time he was here, and he opens windows and adjusts the thermostat as he moves through. 

everything is decorated in warm colors and wood, brown furniture and carpeting, and old linoleum in the kitchen that has seen better days. it’s distinctly him, and his presence coats everything i touch, as if his absence has meant nothing. 

which it probably hasn’t. after all, a house is four walls and a roof and completely unconcerned with the on-goings inside it.

my things get moved in at an easy pace, boxes stacked out of the way in the basement while we try to figure out placement. 

slade jokes we’re both going to have to pick and choose on the books; my amount added to his exceeding the capacity. he comments something about adding more bookcases in his study, and he trails off when he mentions something about adeline always wanting that done years ago. 

there’s pictures of her in his study. her, and grant, and joey. more pictures of the three of them alone or together than there are of slade with them all. one in particular, that i find by accident stuffed behind a novel about Achilles, specifically has slade’s face cut out of it. i don’t ask. i don’t have to. 

over the next few weeks my presence adds to his. 

we have a fake argument about the two batman statues i have, me putting them on shelves in the living room only to find them in absurd places the next day. he puts one in the freezer, another in a garbage can. 

my small collection of novelty mugs makes it’s way into the kitchen, along of course, with my shot glasses. we decide to donate my coffee maker, as slade’s is bigger and still functional. 

at first we come to what seems like the logical conclusion that my bedroom items will go in his room; in the master bedroom. we put my bedframe in the basement, wrap the mattress for now and leave it leaning next to it. my sheet sets go in the closet, i add my pillows to his bed. 

my shampoo and my facial cleansers sit next to his in the bathroom, our toothbrushes resting in the holder. my cologne next to his. my clippers in the box under the cabinet, next to a tiered container holding make up. my nail polish nestles next to his beard trimmer. 

as the weeks go by, little by little i try to claim the offered spaces as my own. 

i wake up one day to find he’s changed the living room furniture, i’m not sure why, and he seems oddly evasive about it. he jokes something about one of the kids throwing a party once, someone leaving nasty stains. he always meant to replace it. 

he always meant to do a lot of things, he says. 

i realize we’re both being crushed by our own innate guilt, whether rational or not, and that all we’ve done is try to run away from it again. 

and of course, it hasn’t worked. it doesn’t work, it will never work, because you cannot run from these things. they are a train, and you cannot outrun a train. 

i find myself wide awake one night, the sound of him breathing softly and measured next to me, and i’m staring up in the dark at a still unfamiliar ceiling and i realize that nothing is right,

none of this is right, none of this fits. 

i am not, yet, accustomed to this new space. im unused to the noises of the house settling, the noises inside and out of it, and i lay there in the blinding dark desperately searching for something familiar to latch onto before i sink to the bottom 

and i find nothing. 

even his warm, solid form right next to me isn’t enough to tether me to the present and once again i’m overcome with the unalienable need to run. 

he finds me on the back porch hours later, having apparently rolled over and noticed my absence, half a pack of cigarettes butted in the ash tray next to me, another one trailing smoke into the sky from my hand. i am still not calm enough to speak, and knowing that i will have to feels like a vice on my chest.  

my mind races to prepare answers, the raging urge of self-preservation steering towards the right answers, and the correct answers, and the answers the other party wants to hear, and it is a habit i never foresee myself breaking. 

the entire time i am screaming at myself to stop because it’s not necessary and it is not appropriate. and logically, i know this. my brain acknowledges the commands yet tells me so sorry there’s nothing we can do to stop this, it’s a train after all. 

he picks out a cigarette of his own, gently pulling the lighter from between the fingers on my other hand. he sits down on the edge of my seat, to my right of course, always to my right and the side he can see from. he exhales a lungful of smoke and for a few moments, the questions don’t come. 

my brain stops misfiring, the synapses all seeming to come to a stop as they compare now to then and finally decide, yes 

yes we can stop now. 

yes, you were right, now is not the same as then. 

a semblance of control returns to my body as he reaches behind me to lean on the back of the chair. 

“where’d you go?” he asks, casually, simply. as if that’s the most logical question to ask, as if that makes perfect sense, and i almost want to scream

because it absolutely is.  

and yet, even still, “what?” is all i can choke out, and i know my attempt to cover it with a cough from the cigarette is as see through as glass, but i do it anyway.

“you went somewhere,” he says, tapping ash. his fingers trail up my back, coming to rest at the nape of my neck, his thumb rubbing circles against my hairline. 

“i...i don’t know,” i say, and i want to cry all over again because of how far away and how small i sound. 

“hm,” is all he responds with. he nudges me with a knee, and i slide over and allow him to sit fully. i stub out my cigarette and immediately reach for another one, and he flicks the lighter and doesn’t comment on the chain smoking and for several minutes we say nothing. 

i know he’s waiting on me to invite him in. to give a cue, a sign that yes i’m fine now and yes i will be fine and yes i will give you a new list of all my problems and you can find out how to fix them, because that’s what you constantly try to do, because that’s all you know how to do, even to the point of creating problems just so you can solve them.  

and i cannot give him that because i know deep, deep within the most choked off parts of myself that there are just things that cannot, will not be fixed. 

and they cannot be run from, either. 

but they can accommodated. they can be unearthed and they can be tended to and they can be allowed to breathe and perhaps if i stop trying to strangle myself into the submission of others, i could get a foothold in my own mind. 

“could you maybe...move my bed and some of my stuff in the basement to one of your spare bedrooms?” i ask, and i hope that the fearfulness i’m feeling at daring to ask for something to be done for my comfort isn’t drowning my words. 

he lets out a smoky sigh, tilting his head back and looking up at the stars as he brushes his fingers against my steaming cheek. 

“i forgot how much you need a space of your own,” he says. my brain, still partially controlled by ghosts pulling on the strings of trauma, searches desperately for anything in his voice to justify the panic. for the annoyance, the exasperation, the condemnation, 

and yet there is nothing to find. 

“of course,” he says, “we can clear out one of the spare bedrooms and we can move as much of your stuff into it as you need.” 

he stresses all the right words in all the right ways so that it doesn’t come across as sarcastic or demeaning in response to my obvious needs and for a moment i could swear i black out as everything that i’ve fought for so long to snuff out explodes into sparks. 

i drop my cigarette at one point, completely unaware i’ve done it as i lean forward and press my head into his chest, fingers coiling into his shirt and he slips an arm around my waist and tugs me closer, leaning me against his hip in what feels like a practiced motion that he’s done hundreds of times.  

“i’m sorry,” i say, breathing the words into him. 

“that’s fine,” he says. “you’re fine.” 

“i know,” i say. 

we fall into silence for a while, interrupted only when i hear him sniffing, and for a moment i think is he crying too, now? did i start this?  then suddenly he’s swearing, jumping out of the chair and nearly knocking me to the porch, and i’m so startled all i can do is blink like a confused animal as i register the smell of smoldering wood.

“your cigarette is burning a hole in the porch,” he says, stepping away to turn the light on. 

and as i watch him go to reflexively grind the cigarette out with his foot, stopping when he realizes he’s not wearing shoes to turn and grab one of my boots from our shoe stand just outside the door, i can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up from my core. 

i hear a train whistle in the distance, and i can’t make out if it is a real whistle, or my auditory wiring misfiring, and i don’t care. i’ll ask him tomorrow, if there’s train tracks somewhere nearby, because it settles in the back of my mind that there will be a tomorrow, and a day after, and a day after that, and it wraps around me like a fuzzy jacket. 

he offers a hand and i take it, and it slips down to my waist as he leads me back inside. 

“you know, you don’t have to try to burn our house down to get my attention,” he says as the door slides shut behind us, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he speaks. i catch sight of the moonlight streaming in behind him, and it imposes on my eyes the sight from what feels like so long ago, 

the sun light beaming down on him in a florida parking lot as he looks down to grab for the dog’s leash, a stranger in my home saving my only friend from running head first into traffic while hunting a lone lizard

and i think what are the odds, 

that then is, in fact, so similar to now.