#all hail the mother of pink!!!!!!

[lewisvinga]

my girls | lewis hamilton x wife! reader

summary: nobody knew lewis was married, let alone with a child, until pictures of him from the paparazzi were leaked

fc; karoline lima + cecilia militão

notes: real ones know a rainha ceci🗣️

masterlist !

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris, and 20 others

yourprivateuser: good morning my husband decided it was a good idea to go out into a crowded restaurant in são paulo last night thinking we weren’t going to get caught !!

landonorris: he’s a bit slow u know

yourprivateuser: so true

lewishamilton: lando?? y/n??!!

lewishamilton: i said i’m sorry 🙁

yourprivateuser: ceci and i are upset at u xx

lewishamilton: what do i have to do to make it up to you 😔

yourprivateuser: ceci and i need new matching bags

lewishamilton: pink??

yourprivateuser: you know us so well😁

lewishamilton: anything for my girls

landonorris: gross

lilymhe: ur fine as hell i want u

yourprivateuser: i want u

alex_albon: lewishamilton do you see them??

lewishamilton: sadly i do💔

lilymhe: we’re having a private moment here !

carmenmmundt: ceci’s smileeee🥹 i miss her so much!!!

yourprivateuser: lmk which race you’re going to!! ceci misses her auntie carmen too!!

liked by ynhamilton, georgerussell63, and 2,753,928 others!

lewishamilton: my favorite girls.

tagged; ynhamilton

ynhamilton: ceci and i love you so much 🤍

lewishamilton: i love both of my girls very much

username: YOOOO

username: i fucking knew it

username: omg is that really his daughter

georgerussell63: all hail queen cecilia!

lewishamilton: 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

mercedesamgf1: welcome y/n and cecilia to the mercedes family!💙

username: crying cecelia is so cute

username: so were the twitter threads right about cecilia being your daughter ???!!!

liked by lewishamilton, lilymhe, and 1,203,937 others!

ynhamilton: us when dada spoils us

tagged; lewishamilton

lewishamilton: gotta make sure my girls are happy!

ynhamilton: trust, ceci and i are very happy💙😁

username: need to know how she manifested lewis

username: wait, DADA????

username: was it not obvious, she smiles just like lewis

username: y/n is a milf

lilymhe: look at those cheeks🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 i miss herrrrr😭😭😭😭🤍🤍🤍

ynhamilton: we miss u🥹🥹🥹🥹 swear she almost said lily the other day💅💅💅

lilymhe: i’m literally like her step mother except im married to u😝

ynhamilton: so true wife

alex_albon: hello💔

lewishamilton: i learn to not say anything to avoid a grumpy y/n

yourbsfusername: queen ceci is so smiley, we love to see it!

ynhamilton: all thanks to her dada, of course!

liked by ynhamilton, yourbsfusername, and 2,639,028 others!

lewishamilton: if you told me 2 years ago on our wedding day, that i’d have a daughter that’s the perfect combination of us, i probably wouldn’t have believed you. thank you for blessing me with our sunshine, cecilia. i am eternally grateful for everything you do. happy mother’s day, y/n.

tagged; ynhamilton

ynhamilton: oh!🥹🥹🥹🥹

ynhamilton: give me a minute while i compose myself pls

lilymhe: she’s crying btw

ynhamilton: i love you sosososo much 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 i probably wouldn’t have believed you either! so grateful to be the mother of our daughter and most importantly, your wife 🥹💗

lewishamilton: you deserve it all💙

username: im sobbing this is so cute

username: sleeping on the highway tonight

username: ME AND WHO

username: ‘our sunshine’ excuse me while i cry

mercedesamgf1: happy mother’s day!💐

liked by lewishamilton, yourbsfusername, and 1,938,038 others!

ynhamilton: happy father’s day to the worlds greatest husband and father. thank you for always making sure that queen ceci and i are happy and taken care of. thank you for all the joy you bring us, we love you!!

tagged, lewishamilton

lewishamilton: my girls🩷

georgerussell63: what’d u do, now he can’t stop smiling in the garage

carmenmmundt: oh like you aren’t the same!

lewishamilton: i love you both so much, my queen and queen ceci 💗

ynhamilton: cecilia says she loves her dada very much🤍🤍

username: lewis hamilton, 7 time world champion, being smiley over a father’s day post, we love to see it

username: what the actual fuck they’re so perfect

username: actual parents

username: i want what they have

username: the picture of lewis and newborn ceci omg stop

username: THE lewis hamilton being married for 3 years and having a daughter was not on my 2023 bingo card

[thoughtsafterdark]

Hospitals and Airports are the closest modernity can come to reaching the Divine

Have you noticed how some places seem immune to time and social conventions. Like airports, those monoliths of now. Harsh lights burning and souls criss-crossing, tongues melting together into a writhing throng of humanity, a steaming cesspit of consciousness. Steeped in camaraderie yet drenched in isolation. The electric blue arrivals sign glares with neon brightness at 3am, a beacon that signals the end of the road.

Here comes a family of 4 on their way home, crossing through automatic doors into the balmy drizzle of a British night, carrying their loot of straw hats and cheap pendants, tan lines and peeling red lobster skin. A girl no older than 5 limps after her parents and older brother. She lugs her bright pink unicorn behind her and hugs the hood of lilac pyjamas close, rubs the sleep out of her eyes whilst her mother shouts at her to hurry. Soon she’ll tuck herself into bed, in the attic of their ordinary red brick London row house, and she’ll watch the sun peak over the trees in the back garden for the first time in her life. It will become a core memory she will think fondly back on for years to come.

By the first class lounge they hurried past, a man in an impeccable suit (Sheep’s wool, the finest money can buy. The grey colour of the Thames on an early morning) paces back and forth restlessly, briefcase in hand, phone in another. Gold amber eyes like a hawk, close cropped black hair and neatly trimmed beard, square pocket matching the deep tan of his shoes (authentic leather). He is barking orders to someone in Arabic, closing deals, building empires. A bloodied napkin he used to stop a nosebleed earlier falls out of his pocket and winks up at the scaffolding exposed ceiling, high and arching like the dome of a cathedral. He’ll make the sale, then visit the airport bathroom again before hailing a cab to the closest 5 star. In the morning, the maid who took the job to send money to her ailing mother in the Philippines will find his cold stiff body and scream. She’ll call the police and be taken in for questioning. She never signed up for this.

At the hospital coffee shop – two streets and half a lifetime away - a 4th year med students sips on a cortado like her life depends on it. Caffeine surges through her veins, bracing her for the day ahead. Unbelievable how exhausting trying to take up as little space as possible can be. She hates the spiel, it’s the same every time. A new dawn, a new face, a new team. The introductions, the smiling, the grovelling, the headache. She’s 5ft flat with bright orange hair, aspirations for Neurosurgery and a bright pink notebook, so why would they take her seriously.

It’s 8:30, and she’s scheduled for 9am clinic, so she has time for a hurried breakfast today. (Eating any earlier makes her gag). Small mercies. The off-red stained scrubs she nicked from the theatre changing rooms cling to her like a second skin preparing to moult. She squirms in them, the comfort undeniable. They make her feel like she belongs. They make her feel like an imposter.

Her table – she comes here so often; she thinks of it as hers - sits right by large windows overlooking the main entrance and staircase. She sees it all from here, her quiet unassuming throne. The doctors and nurses, physios and pharmacists. Rushing rushing, running, stressing. Wishing, hoping, waiting, waiting, waiting. For the shift to end, for the time for bed. For this rotation to change, for the exam to pass. We’ll go on that holiday next month, next year. When money isn’t tight, when things are more settled.  Before they know it they’ve wished their lives away.

Their patients understand, all too well and all too late. The same father with the IV drip and the metal stand comes down here every morning to see his daughters. They run up to him, he holds them close and beams. But his grip is getting weaker, smile is getting thinner. He doesn’t answer when they ask when he’s coming home. It’s funny what we can’t hear when we’re too busy wearing stethoscopes. Next month she (I) will be stationed on the Psych ward. We’ll have to do it all again, but maybe they’ll hear me this time. Maybe it’ll get easier.

Between them all and among them, if you squint and unfocus your eyes during one of those ungodly hours at the Starbacks across from Boots and WHSmith, leaning against a grey white pillar you might see him.

He is the spectre that haunts airport lounges and waiting rooms alike, the handsome stranger with the black snapback and the beats headphones and the khaki shorts. The one who lives out of a rucksack and wears a travel pillow like a crown. With the kind eyes and crows feet, and honey chestnut curls. He is that boy from your high school everyone liked, with a kind word for everyone; the one with a charmers smile and the charisma to bullshit his way through anything. The one who – when pressed for future plans, would laugh and shake his head, looking down bashfully. “I just want to travel for now, see where it takes me. I want to see the world”, he’d say, eyes twinkling with the possibilities. On someone else, the words would likely merit a telling off, they’d be seen as the paper thin excuse to fuck around and get high. But he seemed so genuine, and his teeth were such a dazzling shade of brilliant white when he smiled, even the strictest careers advisers couldn’t resist.

He lives in those moments, the liminal fabric between worlds that’s so hard to put your finger on. Blink and you’ll miss him in the old alleys of Rome, the spark of his cigarette lighter blending amongst the city lights.

You’ll find him among the most remote hiking trails of the Peloponnese, laughing with local shepherds and German tourists alike, sitting on jutting rocky cliffs and admiring the blue Mediterranean below. If you really pay attention, you’ll see his staff isn’t like the others. Something suspiciously like a pair of snake slithers up and down. You could swear you heard them whispering just now, but when you look again it’s just a wooden stick.

He is the patron of us wanderers and travellers, those of us with movement in our blood and restlessness in our hearts. The ones who beget the will of changing winds and shifting tides. The ones who can’t allow themselves to sit still, lest the dust settle and the coffee get cold. The mortifying ordeal of being seen and known. Or the ones that carry a hearth with them, in the bottom of a suitcase, in the heart of a trailer. The ones who move and weave through the Earth not because they are running but because they are coming home. He dances and jokes with the kids amongst campfires, always welcome, always a pleasure. And if he helps them pick the odd lock, swearing solemnly to secrecy, who are we to judge.

His bronze skin smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, vanilla and cedar and a thousand other spices. He reeks of incense and market stalls, moles and freckles tell the story of trading routes and old silk roads, of cotton shawls from Alexandria and silk from Pekking. His fingers and eyes twinkle with the good-natured mischief of petty thieves and sleight-of-hand magicians, tricksters and circus performers. He picks apples from behind ears, presents jewel necklaces to his lovers.

She sees him now, amongst the patients. He helps an old lady up the steps, pulls a balloon out of his back pocket to the delight of a sick child. She locks eyes with him and they nod at one another She has been seen now, and known. Perhaps she’ll find him again one day, if either stop running.

[emjiroki]

Good Graces

Priest! Satoru Gojo x Reader ft Bishop! Suguru

Warnings: explicit scenes and language, corruption, religion, taking of virginity

A/N: Sorry everyone for this being a day late! got a horrible migraine yesterday and couldn't finish this. But we're back with our second fic of kinktober! Hope everyone enjoys!

likes, comments, and reblogs treasured like gold

“Be it done unto me according to thy word” You said, finishing the last line in your repeated Hail Mary prayer.

“How many was that?” Satoru asked you, his palm running over the redding skin of your cheeks where he had you bent across his lap. 

“Nine” You breathed, trying to gather yourself before the next onslaught of swats. His hands were so cool against your stinging flesh. 

“One more,” he said softly and sternly, " and your sins should be forgiven then.” 

Your sin? Looking too long at Bishop Suguru at Mass this evening. 

The Priest did not take kindly to being “so blatantly ignored” by his favorite congregant. 

You always sat front and center, right within the ethereal gaze of your Priest, listening to his sermons with riveted attention at the clear calm of his voice sending goosebumps across your flesh. 

People whispered of him being heaven-sent, a divine being, someone molded by God himself. 

But if people knew the things Satoru had taught you in the privacy of his office and the walls of his home, They would say other things. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee” You began, raising your hands in contrition as the blood rushing had your head swimming.

Smack

“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb”

Smack

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen”

Smack

You took a deep breath, not wanting to let your voice crack as you swallowed thickly. 

“Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to thy word”.

Smack

“A bit heavy-handed there,” Suguru said from across the desk. 

“Not at all Suguru, She needs to learn to keep her eyes on me and me only” The white-haired priest said with a ruthful smile. 

“Seems like you have problems with control, Satoru,” Suguru replied, taking a sip of his tea, “She can’t even look at another man, despite your interest and temptation by her being a sacrilege”. 

“How could I not be tempted by her?” Satoru asks, moving you up to straddle his lap with your back to his chest, your skirt still down on the floor at his feet, “I would break every holy vow I ever made to have her”.

These two men talking about you as if you weren’t in the room spread half bare on your priest's lap was doing things you never expected. Your skin was warming, your breath getting a little more heavy, and wetness beginning to leak from between your legs. 

“Just look how pretty she is Suguru,” Satoru implored, his long fingers moving down to trace over the hair at your mound and down to your clit, glistening with your arousal, “So wet and pink all for me”. 

You gasped as his fingers dipped into your entrance, just enough to make you clinch. Satoru pulled his fingers away shiny, groaning low in his throat. 

“Try this pure ambrosia and you'll see what I mean” Satoru said, extending his hand across the desk. 

You expected Suguru to refuse, roll his eyes, maybe say something nasty but no. As if pulled by a leash he leaned forward and enveloped the light haired man's fingers, sucking your arousal off his digits with a gleam in his dark eyes. 

“Hmm I suppose I do see what you mean” Suguru hummed.

“I knew you would see it my way," the white haired man smirked, “and you want me to ruin you, don't you Angel?”. His breath was warm against your ear as his hand moved down to free himself of his pants, his election hot and hard against your leaking cunt. 

“Please” you whispered, rutting your hips down and catching the head of his cock along your rim. 

“My sweet one,” Satoru murmured as he hooked his hands under your knees, “so ready for me”. 

You squealed and kicked your feet as the first inch sank into you, pushing tenderly against your virgin wall. 

“shh shh I'll be easy” he said, flashing his blue eyes to Suguru as he leaned back in his seat. 

You could feel Satoru's hands shake a bit as your pussy clenched around him and tried to suck him in. Your arousal leaked out around him. You gasped as Suguru leaned forward with a questioning look in his eyes as his hand raised towards your mound, the look in his eyes asking for permission. 

His finger moved down to rub circles against your clit, a low moan bubbling up your chest as pleasure shot through your body. 

“I don't remember telling you that you could touch her,” Satoru said in a warning tone. 

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission” Suguru replied, a soft smirk on his lips as Satoru sucked his teeth in annoyance. 

You cried out as Satoru plunged the rest of his cock in, a ring of blood around the base of him staining the white hair there pink as he began to move you slowly up and down. 

“She's so… tight fuck” He hissed, his heart pounding against your back and his abdomen flexing. 

Your senses were going haywire. The pleasure from Suguru’s fingers rubbing your sensitive clit and Satoru’s cock stretching you out, Satoru’s warm kiss against your throat, and the murmured words of encouragement had your blood running hot. 

The burning knot that had formed in your stomach seemed to be shredding at the seams the longer this onslaught continued, debauched sounds escaping your mouth sounding so foreign. 

“I’m- God Satoru I’m-” You moaned, your toes curling.

“Cum for me Angel, bring me to heaven” Satoru practically begged. 

A sharp cry filled the room as you hit your peak, wetness dripping down to slip between your cheeks and onto the cloth of the chair. 

When Satoru moved you off to lay against his desk, your head was barely clear. His cock glistens with a mix of your cum and virgin blood.

“How many more of those can we get from her Suguru?” Satoru asked, his hands moving up to rub and tug on your nipples. 

“As many as she wants,” Suguru said, “The better question is, how many does she deserve for taking you so well her first time?”

[go-learn-esperanto]

I argue that Grian resonates so well with the trans community because that boy has all the best genders you can have:

Very pink and girly pop idol

A furry superhero 🐔

A femboy superhero

The spreader and mother of the mycelium collective (all hail the mushrooms)

A normal furry (guinea pig)

BE NOT AFRAID (Biblical angel like entity beyond your comprehension)

A furry ghost (salmon)

Princess Leia

Off brand Sherlock Holmes

I don't know if NPG counts but if it does Demon with autism stuck in the closet

Hippie

Mumbo's clingy girlfriend

An absent father

Highschooler suffering from The Horrors

A nuisance

[warmcoals]

Queen Mom (queen of mothers, mother-queen, just her name too @frankenfran) is a benevolent, powerful, and only slightly evil ruler. hailing from unknown fae lineage, she is capable of manipulating her garb, appearance and size at will, tho she prefers to hold onto one look for years at a time. her charm magic is well known to all her loyal and adoring subjects, and she is always generous with attention and adoration for good girls. she is a doting queen and a natural mom.

her aesthetic is right at the intersection of classically regal and emphatically magical. she built her fashion foundation out of original rococo nobility and derivative, OTT lolita styles. this, combined with mahoushoujo final-form color coordination and overdesign, means every hyper feminine fit for this queen is Big: big hair, big accessories, big power. she tends to prefer pink and white/black and gold colorways, but frequently mixes the two, and isnt afraid to dip into the rainbow as she sees fit.

her outfit inspirations are:

magia baiser (mahoako)

marie antoinette (berubara)

godoka (pmmm)

edea (ff8)

[cyberwhumper]

  If Rex had to choose, he’d rather be out of ammo than options.

        Unfortunately, the man upstairs has a habit of not giving the Lone Wolf much of a choice, ever.

        He reloads, growling under his breath, pressing his back against the rough-hewn table he flipped to fashion a makeshift barrier. Montez is panting, eyes wild, the mother-of-pearl inlay on his pistol grips tinged sickly pink with the blood on his hands.

        “Your call, lobo,” he says, craning his neck for a glimpse of the doorway past the table. They’re deadlocked; the posse behind them can’t storm in without getting lit up by a hail of bullets, but the two of them apparently chose the one damn hovel in town with no back door, and it’s only a matter of time before the Sheriff makes the call to smoke them out.

        It’s what Rex would’ve done back when he was on the lawman’s leash, chasing bounties across the desert. Figures. He has all sorts of ideas for how to take the two of them down in this situation, but he’s dryer than a well in August when it comes to getting them out of it. He blames Montez. Kid’s making him stupid by association.

        Not that he isn’t fond of Montez. Well. More than fond. He’s a firecracker, Victory is; damn good with the horses, can cook half-spoilt salt pork into something almost palatable, holds his liquor but never his tongue, and those clever hands know their way around Rex’s body in ways he never thought anybody would. Taking the job of hunting Montez down is probably the best mistake the Wolf ever made.

        ‘Course, if this day keeps going the way it has been, it’ll be the last one, too. A weird sort of peace settles over him, watching the kid run his tongue over bloody lips.

        “Hey,” Rex says, rough but soft. “If we ain’t make it out of here…”

        “Cállate,” Montez shoots back. “C’mon. Just tell me what to do.”

        “Cállate yourself, jackass.” Fondness. Right. Christ. “M’serious. We had a good run, kid.”

        Victory looks over at him, those big brown cow eyes bright with pain. He got winged before they made it under shelter, blood turning the sky blue of his chambray shirt to red-black. There’s a reason the Wolf always wears dark colors, himself. He doubts Montez even knows Rex got hit too.

        “...yeah,” the kid says, quiet. “Yeah. We really did, man.”

        “If you get clear o’ this. Head back eastwards.” Victory starts to protest, but Rex cuts him off. “Get back to Miranda’s ranch, you hear me? He ‘n Ortiz will take care of you. Owes me a favor.”

        “What about you?”

        “If you bite it?” Rex grunts, hefting his bandolier back up onto his aching shoulder. Plenty of lead. No goddamn plan. God help the both of ‘em. “Then they better hope they get a head start.”

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

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[yuwuta]

You know I’m here to listen to you ramble about every AU ily give us the pacific rim NGE 🤲🏽

- @yuutito

aleks beloved, thank you for always enabling my rambling 💞 this is the kinda ask where i wish i could draw because there are such vivid images of what each jaeger/mech would look like to me but for now consider the following in the yuuta verse: 

hiromi and kento used to be co-pilots on the same jaeger, and despite having average drift compatibility, they had a near perfect streak. there were theories that judgeman would be even more successful with a single pilot, and ultimately hiromi was the better fit, which works out in the end because it turns out kento and satoru are a near perfect match in terms of compatibility, holding the record for a co-pilot duo. kenjaku is a much less predictable jaeger, but satoru and kento are the only pair to co-pilot it and survive. 

the zenin family has snuck their way into jaeger mechanics and government control of them. they almost exclusively build and fund mechs for their own family members, and have their own training program they put their pilots through to ensure that they are the only ones able to pilot the robots. other big families and government sectors don’t like this, but the zenins fund so many refuge relief and engineering programs, that nobody can say anything. 

the only good thing is because they tailor the mechs to their pilots, the drift compatibility of the co-pilots matters much less. 

toji is the first person in history to solo pilot a jaeger, and proves that solo piloting is possible, but only in extremely rare cases. he piloted alongside megumi for a while until playful cloud was put out of commission and toji retired to focus on stealing the zenin’s training regiment and teaching it to other pilots in training. megumi’s co-pilot is now yuuji, and sukuna was a jaeger was sponsored by the gojo family (which the zenin’s are still mad about)  

the zenin’s wormed their way into the financial and political side of things, but the gojo family is famous for their pilots and engineers. satoru’s mother and father were hailed as one of the greatest pilot duos, and even though they never wanted satoru to become a pilot, their deaths inspired him to take his training seriously. his cousins and aunts and uncles are a mix of co-pilots and engineers. it’s expected that yuuta become one or the other, but after rika’s death, he decides on the pilot route. it seems to be the fate of the gojo’s that the death of a loved one leads the path to pilot training. 

rika’s parents were scouted by the gojo family and the government to help build mechs. they packed up everything to move to sendai and begin their research and construction. rika was that little kid running around the hangar and yuuta was much less enthusiastic and much more scared one tailing behind her. even though her parents were brilliant engineers, rika always loudly proclaimed her dreams of becoming a pilot. when she dies, her parents memorialize her dreams by designing and naming a jaeger after her, and they only think its right that yuuta be its pilot. 

yuuta and rika have always been a special pair, and so even though their actions concerning you are far from normal, it’s not a surprise either. yuuta was asked to be rika’s pilot, but he also did it because he thought it was the right thing to do. but now, as yuuta watches you recover after he/rika saved you after an attack, he knows that wanting you is the wrong thing—but if he found you through piloting, if he found you through rika, how wrong could that be? how bad could a pilot really be—they’re the heroes after all, right?

anyways enough about yuuta’s pacrim au, time to talk about other ones teehee

there’s a pink wolf in your dreams and it always saves you from whatever impending doom is heading your way: a pack of hungry coyotes, the unstable ledge of a cliff, a group of angry huntsmen with arrows and pitchforks. it’s been this way every since your last co-pilot died in battle, while you were still connected to him. you try to make sense of it, try to find comfort in the savior of your dreams, but the natural human response is to scream and shout and wake up in cold sweat when face to face with a wild animal in your face. so, the instinct kicks in when you tiredly roll into the sparring room and the newest recruit has a head of pink hair and scar over his left eye that mirrors the one of the wolf in your dreams, is to run away as fast as you can. it’s futile though, because itadori yuuji is more than the wolf in your dreams and your destined co-pilot, he’s your soulmate. 

in a sort of post-war world, you and kento are very comfortable in your retirement. you have the respect of the entire world, support from every government, enough money to last multiple life times. the jaeger program is kept in effect, but at a much smaller scale due to the reduced likelihood of an attack; so, when the radar picks up the possibility of another attack years after the last one, kento isn’t happy to hear you’ve volunteered yourself for the war efforts. there are new recruits, younger recruits, even other experienced recruits who never fully retired—he doesn’t understand why it has to be you. he just got happy with his life with you. it turns into a whole argument, and ends with you leaving for your old base by yourself. your old jaeger has long since been retired, and you feel nervous stepping into the cockpit of a new mech after all these years, but much of it dissipates when you step in to find kento already suited up and waiting for you, because there’s no way he’d let you go out to war without him by your side. 

it’s a poorly kept secret that you and megumi are soulmates. with an almost perfect drift compatibility and a lifetime of friendship to solidify your coordination and teamwork, the only mystery is why you two refuse to actually date each other. your argument is that there’d be no privacy or true intimacy in that relationship—you and megumi are already, always, physically in each other’s minds; dating wouldn’t leave room for anything more. megumi’s argument is that he’s simply waiting for you to realize that you’ve been in his head long before your first drift sequence. when people aren’t wondering about the status of your relationship, they often take note about how even though you and megumi are co-pilots, you resemble pilot and mech more often than not: you have the controls and megumi seems to carry out your every command. 

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

Friendly Sex - Chapter 5 - The Cafeteria

I have flashed my creative licence in this chapter and borrowed some dialogue from The Duffers Brothers, because let's face it we all fell in love with Eddie in the cafeteria and the woods scene, but I have slightly re-jigged the context. We also have a flashback. Here be smut and feelings.

Chapter warnings: (MDI) 18+ only, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, p in v sex, dirty talk, swearing, consensual use of the word slut again, mentions of drugs, spit as lube, slight pain during sex? I am terrible at warnings

"It's a promise "

Eddie's words were ringing in your ears as you selected your outfit for the day. Not that you were picking an outfit to catch Eddie's attention, just like you hadn't intentionally put on a lacy baby pink underwear set. It just so happened to compliment your outfit, an off the shoulder baby pink sweater, paired with a simple black skater skirt and your converse, cute and practical that’s all.

"Sprout, hurry up and get your butt in the car or you're going to be late!" Your Dad calls up as you finish applying your lipstick, it was a little beat up from Eddie's antics but still usable. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, you grab your purse, jumping into the idling car on the drive.

"Little overdressed for school aren't you kiddo?" Your dad asks after a couple of minutes

"Uh - they're taking some random pictures of the seniors for the year book today." You reply absentmindedly, flicking down the vanity mirror rooting through your bag for your compact blush.

"Sprout, I may be old but I'm not dumb, are you dating?" 

You pause in your search, you hated lying to your dad, but if you were being technical about it you weren't dating. Having casual sex with the local outcast, sure, but definitely not dating. 

"No Dad," you laugh uncomfortably, "I'm not dating, there's no one I want to date, well apart from Steve." You add, checking over your appearance in the mirror one last time as he pulls into the school parking lot. 

"Ok kiddo, I believe you." His tone said otherwise. "Am I picking you up after school?" He asks as you climb out. 

You go to respond but the air is suddenly filled with the sound of heavy metal and the screech of tires, Eddie, you stare as he spins the van recklessly into a parking spot earning the glare of some jocks nearby.

'I do whatever I want to, to ya

I'll nail your ass to the sheets

A pelvic thrust and the sweat starts to sting ya

I fuck like a beast!'

"Sprout, you ever bring a boy like that home, I'll send you to live with your mother permanently." Your dad says watching Eddie in clear disapproval.

"Uh huh." You mutter weakly, holding onto the car door tightly as Eddie kills the engine.

"So am I picking you up?" He asks again.

"No- uh, I'm going to watch Rob's practice." You reply distractedly.

Eddie spots you from the other side of the car park, a shit eating grin spreading across his face sending a shock of arousal through your body. "Bye Dad." You say quickly, shutting the door and heading off in the opposite direction.

"Hey dingus!" Robin hails you from Steve's car which has just pulled up behind you, Dustin and Mike squeezing out from the back; Hellfire Club t-shirts emblazoning their chests like Eddie's little minions. How they all managed to guilt trip Steve into giving them a lift everyday you'd never know. 

He raises his hand in greeting, a smile on his handsome face, you wave back your heart doing its usual sputter.

‘It’s going to be a long day.’ You think to yourself.

The cafeteria was a hive of activity and noise, Robin talking at the speed of a freight train as you grabbed your food trays, barely allowing you time to add in sympathetic noises. 

“I mean, am I really that invisible?” She asks you desperately.

“Of course you’re not Rob, maybe she was just focusing on the class.” You offer supportively, heading to your usual lunch table.

“Focusing on the back of Dan’s head more like.” She grumbles, taking a vicious bite out of her slice of pizza.

“Didn’t you say she laughed at your David Bowie joke last week?” You ask, remembering how excited she had been.

“She was just being polite.” Robin mutters miserably you can tell it’s going to be an all-lunchtime funk, so you busy yourself with picking the orange segments out of your fruit cocktail.

“ …sodomy, suicide and even murder!” You glance up quickly hearing Eddie’s voice ring out from a couple of benches over, the usual gang laughing at his antics as he climbs up onto the table, talking loudly so it carries across the cafeteria. 

“-but - as long as you’re into band, or science, or paaarties -” He sneers surveying the various cliques, before rounding on the jocks, “-or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!” He yells, making the whole cafeteria fall silent. 

You see Jason Carver stand up, looking pissed. “You want something freak?!”

Eddie sticks his tongue out, making devil horns with his fingers, and you can’t hold back the laugh that escapes you, it draws his attention and he winks quickly; shaking your head with a smile as he jumps back down carrying on with his rant the words drowned out by the return of the usual noise.

“Since when did you find Eddie Munson so funny?” Robin asks you suddenly, you realise with a jolt that she’s been watching the entire exchange, you shrug nonchalantly.

“I don’t, it’s just, he's got a point.” You mutter, shoving some fruit into your mouth.

“Mm, fair,” she agrees with a nod “,but not about band though.” she adds quickly, which launches her into another frenetic monologue about band practice tonight and whether she can get Vicki to laugh properly this time.

You zone out completely, eyes on Eddie, who is staring intensely at you as he chews on a pretzel, you raise an eyebrow at him in a silent challenge, watching a grin creep across his face. Biting your lip coyly, you pick up a piece of syrupy fruit with your fingers, tongue laving at the sticky juice running down your hand; it’s a dangerous move so close to Robin, but it’s worth it to see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, you smirk in satisfaction popping the grape into your mouth.

“I’m gonna get rid of this.” You say to Robin, picking up your tray. 

“Yeah, I should get going, I've got “Mrs. Clickity Clackity next period, why didn’t I drop history when Tammy left?” She asks with a groan, handing you her own tray, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Because you’re a glutton for punishment. I’ll see you at 5.” You call as she walks away.

The tray station is just behind Eddie, you can feel his eyes tracking you as you move across the floor, swinging your hips a little, making sure to pick a low shelf knowing that it would give him a flash of your panties as you bent over. Feeling accomplished with all your teasing, you turn to leave only to walk straight into his chest.

“Oh! I’m sorry sweetheart, please excuse me, I didn’t see you there!” He chimes innocently, placing a hand on your hip to steady you.

“Whatever, Munson.” You say coldly, playing up to your supposed indifference towards him, you feel him quickly slip something into the waistband of your skirt with a pointed look, and then the exchange is over. You push past him, adding  “Just watch where you’re going next time, jerkoff.” for good measure, as he bows out of your way.

You wait until you’re back at your locker to read the tiny scrap of paper.

‘16:15, the picnic bench. E.’

The sky was overcast by the end of 8th period, a slight chill in the air making you regret wearing a skirt as you picked your way through the overgrown path to the picnic bench. Funnily enough it was at the bench where you and Eddie had your first proper encounter nearly 3 years ago, you were a clueless frightened sophomore looking for some weed to ease your panic attacks, making covert enquiries the same name had come up each time; Eddie Munson. 

You had approached him tentatively in the corridor unsure how to go about it, tapping him gingerly on the shoulder as he shoved pristine looking textbooks into his locker, he jumped, turning quickly like he was about to punch you.

“Jeeeesus, where the hell did you sneak up from sweetheart?” He gasped, unclenching his fists.

“I-i’m sorry!” You squeaked, taking a step backwards.

“Hey, you’re fine, it was my fault.” He said soothingly.

This was a bad idea, you probably didn’t have enough money, or he’d just laugh at you, or worst of all you’d get caught by your dad.

“You ok?” He asked, reaching a hand out, but dropping it as you flinched slightly “You need something?” He pressed, emphasis on the word ‘something’.

You nodded sheepishly, eyes darting at the passing people in the hall.

“You know where the old picnic bench is in the woods behind the gymnasium?” He asked quietly.

You shook your head, biting your lip, cheeks burning. He sighed pulling a sheet of paper from his locker sketching a crude map for you to follow. “Meet me here after last period, we’ll get you sorted out.” 

Eddie was sitting at the bench when you arrived, a battered tin box open on the table.

“Take a seat.” He offered, you perched lightly, legs jiggling with nervous energy. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay? No one ever comes out here. We’re safe, I promise” He said with a reassuring smile.

“Okay.” You replied quietly, watching with interest as he pulled out various baggies.

“So I'll do you a half ounce for, uh… 20. What do you say? It’s plenty of bang for your buck, should last a while.”

“A half?” You asked, feeling stupid, thinking you’d just be buying some pre-rolled joints.

“Wow, you really are green around the gills huh sweetheart?” He said with a small laugh, but it wasn’t unkind. “Look you can tell me to mind my own business, but, what do you need this stuff for anyways? I mean it’s not meth but a sweet little thing like you, you sure you wanna do drugs? He asked seriously.

“I - i, uh get these panic attacks, thought it might help.” You mumbled pulling on your sleeves nervously.

He nodded in understanding, expression softening.

“Ok well, seeing as it’s your first time and you’ve opted to score from me, an excellent choice by the way,” He said with a grin. “I'll do you a deal; twenty-five percent discount for the half, that’s fifteen bucks.”

“Yes, thank you.” You muttered with a small smile back. “If I give you $25, would you teach me how to make them - please?”

You had spent the next hour with Eddie, watching intently as he rolled joint after joint, telling you about the different kinds of weed, the best papers. Giving you a standing ovation when successfully made your own, even if it was overly fat and wonky, staying with you as you took your first hit with trembling fingers, rubbing your back when you choked on the unfamiliar smoke. You had left the clearing that day promising him to go slow on the supply, and to come back to him when you needed a restock, he would only take $15.

Unlike your first meeting, Eddie wasn’t already there waiting for you. You sit on the tabletop, legs swinging idly, leaning back on your elbows to stare up at the birds flitting to and fro.

You hear the snap of a branch and suddenly Eddie’s face is hovering above your own,standing between your legs, making you squeak in fright.

“Eddie, you fucking psycho!” You shout, trying to punch him but he grabs both your arms hauling you up against him.

“Ah, ah, play nicely sweetheart.” He coos, nipping at your left ear lobe.

“That was a real dick move, you know that?” You grumble still trying to tug your arms out of his grasp.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings princess, there could be anyone out here. “ He smirks devilishly, so you simply glower at him.

“Aw, now don’t look at me like that baby, especially after that stunt you pulled in the cafeteria.” He warns, mouth descending on your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You breathe out shakily, trying to stop yourself from pressing forward to chase him, as he pulls away with a disbelieving look on his face.

“Really? That little show and tell you did with the fruit cocktail and the tray, you’re lucky I didn't fuck you there and then.”

You gasp sharply, hips bucking unconsciously at the thought. 

“Such a little slut.” He laughs in awe, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, finally releasing your arms, you immediately tangle your hands in his hair, while he moves to grope at your ass.

“Jesus, I've been thinking about this all day.” He groans, dragging you closer to the edge of the table to grind his pelvis against yours, hissing as you leave a trail of bites along the straining column of his throat. He picks you up suddenly, your legs automatically wrapping around his middle.

“Ed’s I swear to God if you drop me.” You say threateningly, clinging tightly to his shoulders, but he simply sits on one side of the bench, back to the table with you straddling his lap.

“Oh shut up you little brat.” He taunts, pulling on your hair slightly in order to slam your mouth back to his, free hand kneading the flesh of your ass under your skirt; rings sure to leave bruises.

You can’t help but rock your hips, tongues clashing, hands pinching, nails scratching. He breaks apart from you to pull your sweater over your head, eyes sparkling in delight at your lace covered breasts. 

“This is a very pretty bra, baby.” He murmurs, placing a few open mouthed kisses to the pushed up mounds, “I think it matches your panties?” He asks with a smile, you nod wordlessly, feeling his hand go back under your skirt, exploring fingers trailing over the delicate fabric. “Did you put this on for me princess?”

“Yes.” You whine quietly, as he slips the fabric to one side, the chill air making your pussy clench.

“Such a good girl.” He praises, swiping a thick finger through your wetness before slipping into you with ease, making you shift up against him, head buried in his neck. He’s almost cradling you as he works his finger into your soaked cunt, placing kisses anywhere he can reach, murmuring encouragement until you shiver in his arms.

“You cold?” He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours, you nod gently which turns into a whine of protest as his finger slips from your tight heat. Shifting about awkwardly, he slides his jacket off, before helping you into it using the collar to bring you back to his warm lips. “Gotta look after my girl.” 

Your heart skips a beat, my girl, keening softly against his mouth, you unbuckle his belt finding he’s gone commando today, his cock hard in your fist as you pump him slowly but firmly, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He lets out breathy little moans at your touch, before pulling your hand away, hurriedly extracting a condom from his jeans pocket, you play with your clit as he rolls the condom on; both of you staring at the other pupils blown wide.

“C’mere sweetheart.” He pleads softly, holding his cock up so you can sink down, you let out a pained hiss, the stretch at this angle stings, your pussy not used to the intrusion so soon after the last time. 

“Ed’s, i-it’s, ah!” You whimper, nails digging into his back, tears springing in your eyes.

“Slow down baby, it’s ok, I've got you, you’re safe.” He lifts you back up slightly, spitting into his palm spreading some over his cock, the rest he rubs into your cunt, thumb circling your clit as he lets you lower yourself back down at your own pace.

“Oh!” You hiccup, there’s still a stretch but his ministrations on your clit cause pleasurable little sparks that shoot up your spine.

“That’s it sweetheart, nice and slow.” He encourages, his free hand stroking up and down your back, you move with a bit more purpose pulling him in for a needy kiss, as you take his cock fully.

“Oh good girl, shit.” He pants, feeling you seated completely, his spread legs trembling underneath you as he tries to hold back from thrusting straight away. 

“‘M’ok now.” You say quietly, starting to ease yourself up and down, the spit and your own arousal from Eddie’s movements on your swollen clit helping you to glide.

“You sure baby?” He asks.

“Yes, Eddie, please move.” You whisper, and his restraint snaps, hips moving up to meet yours, using his strength to lift you by the ass bringing you back down on heavy thrusts, your arms braced behind you on his thighs. It’s intense, your lips staying connected by a thin trail of saliva, foreheads pressed together, swallowing each other's moans.

“Sweetheart, i’m - fuck - i’m not gonna last.” He chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut tight, teeth clenched in concentration. 

“It’s ok Ed’s.” You say, sucking on his neck with a dreamy sigh. “You can cum.”

"FUCK!" He slams his fist into the wood of the bench, and it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen, his hips pulsing upwards drawing out his orgasm. You move to get off of him but he holds you steady, cock still seated inside you, circling your clit with intent.

"Come on baby, I wanna get you there too." He growls, biting your bottom lip, your body wound too tightly, hanging off the proverbial cliff, hands braced on his chest. "Give into it princess, my sweet little thing." Your eyes snap to his in recognition, harking back to your first meeting, and it takes you by surprise, tipping you over the edge, back arching into his touch as you cum.

You allow yourself to be held, Eddie’s arms smoothing over your thighs and lower back, you press your head into his collarbone and feel his heart racing. 

“That was something else.” He sighs, moving a strand of hair behind your ear.

You smile breathlessly, checking your watch. “Shit, I gotta go, Robin’s got practice and I said I’d watch.” You say regretfully.

He nods in understanding, holding your gaze, fingers still tracing over your thighs, before you can stop yourself you kiss him, it’s slow, delicate and filled with a significance you weren’t ready to discuss. You catch yourself, feeling like you’ve just stepped over some invisible line, you practically jump off of him, stripping his jacket off in haste and throwing it to him.

“I’ll call you later.” You shout, jogging out of the clearing, pulling your jumper back on as you go, leaving Eddie half dressed and utterly bemused.

Taglist: @avalon-wolf @eddiemunsonsgf2

[ilikeapples01]

The Empress posing with two of her sons and their mother (all hail empress pink au) (art by kishinpain)

https://www.reddit.com/r/AllHailEmpressPinkAU/

https://twitter.com/kishinpain/status/1709568445598007461?t=t7BkJxO3hBQTaagpa9IheA&s=19

[atinyjules]

MY BALLERINAS - JENO

Pairings: Dad!Jeno x Female oc

Genre: fluff, established relationship, dad au.

Warnings: none

Characters: Jeno, Jaemin, Haechan, Si-ah (4), Soo-ah (2), Chaein (3), Chaeyeon (2), Bomin (4), Haerin (2)

An hour after Jeno had taken a time out from decorating the backyard with pink mesh drapes, everything you would possibly need for a tea party and a lot of pink decor he woke up with a groan, rubbing his eyes. Letting out a sigh as he stretched his body and yawned.

Being the sole male of the household was hard work, especially when both his daughters loved hosting tea parties. But he wouldn't have had it any other way. He was in the process of preparing one such tea party. The girls would be back home in an hour from their cousins place so he had to finish getting everything ready. And it did not help that his wife was in Paris for a performance.

"Okay, I'm done!" he exclaimed in victory and looked at his masterpiece with pride.

And as though on queue, the familiar sound Jaemin's cars pulling up in front of the house caught his attention as Jeno went out to greet his two princesses.

"Daddy!" He picked up Si-ah who ran to him and engulfed her in a tight bear hug.

"Hey Princess! You had fun?" she nodded at that as Jaemin got out of the car with Soo-ah fast asleep in her baby carrier on his right and Haerin in her carrier on the other side.

"Hey Bomin!" Jeno greeted his nephew who hugged him and greeted him.

"Hi uncle Jeno!"

"I hoped they weren't a menace to you." Jeno asked as he took Soo-ah's baby carrier from Jaemin's hand.

"Of course not! They were well behaved like Princesses, just like their mama right Si-ah?" Jaemin said to which Si-ah agreed almost instantly.

"Okay, that's great." Jeno said as Jaemin gave him a smug smile.

"I mean they do get it from their mama's side of the family." he said earning a sigh from Jeno.

"If you say so." Jeno said as they laughed it off and went in.

"Woah...I'm impressed." Jaemin said looking at the set up as Si-ah and Bomin gasped.

"Daddy! It's amazing!!" Si-ah exclaimed and hugged her father who grinned proudly.

"It's sooo....Pink!" Bomin exclaimed earning a loud chuckle from his father.

"It's a tea party Bomin." Jaemin told his son who only groaned in response.

"But I'm a boyy!"

"Shut uppp it's beautiful! It's just like my mommy! Elegant and cheek!" Si-ah said as Jeno chuckled.

"Chic, Si-ah, chic." Jeno said as she nodded.

"Oh!"

"Am I going to be the only boy?" Bomin asked Jeno who shook his head.

"You have me and your dad!" Jeno replied as Jaemin nodded his head when a car pulled up in front of the house.

"All hail the Princesses of the Lee Empire!!" They went out to see Haechan putting out a red carpet towards the door.

"What in the world-" Jeno was cut off by Haechan.

"Shush! Its a royal tea party! Chaeyeon come over here with your sister!" he said as a toddler clad in a poofy blue ball gown came out of the car with her little sister who were a matching blue gown.

"HII!!" Chaeyeon exclaimed loudly and went to hug Si-ah, Soo-ah, Bomin and Haerin.

"Shh! Baby, Haerin and Soo-ah are sleeping!" Haechan whispered to his daughter.

"OH!!" She exclaimed loudly causing everyone to flinch.

While the kids were going about their tea party the fathers were all watching them with loving eyes from the kitchen.

"Aren't they adorable~" Haechan cooed as Jeno and Jaemin agreed while snapping pictures.

"Too bad Eunbi has work, she would've totally loved this." Jaemin said referring to his younger twin and Jeno's wife.

"Yeah...she wanted to be present for this but there's always next time." Jeno said as Haechan chuckled.

"I bet Bi chose the girl's outfits." Haechan said as Jeno chuckled.

"Yup, I thought you wouldn't notice." Jeno said as Jaemin snorted.

"They're literally wearing pink matching ball gowns with a swan tiara...the whole look screams Eunbi." Jaemin said as Jeno looked at his daughters trying to mimic their mother's dance steps with love and adoration.

"Yeah, it does...gosh I love them so much." Jeno confessed as Haechan chuckled.

"Look at us, fatherhood turned us into goddamn softies." Haechan said as Jaemin smiled looking at the kids.

"I'm not complaining though, fatherhood made us happier even though the circumstances were out of our control." He said and looked at Jeno whose eyes were fixated on his two princesses.

" I definetly am a lot happier with the three of my girls." Jeno said as they continued watching the kids try ballet with the sound of Si-ah and Soo-ah's music box playing in the background.

Whether the circumstances were out of his control or not Jeno knew for sure that he won't regret nor plan on doing so anytime soon. Whether it meant having to be surrounded by pink his whole life and organizing tea parties, if it meant that he gets to be with his Ballerinas for the rest of his life he was willing to do it for eternity.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Moonlit Affection

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Malfoy!Reader

Warnings: age gap (age of reader is 18), some minor inaccuracies concerning timeline

Words: 3500

The harbingers of death. Their cloaked figures approach you yet you knew the faces behind the Death Eater masks.

Many were hailed from the most influential wizarding families; the most pure.

You lost count of how many were crammed into that long room. They immersed themselves with the shadows and confused you.

Some had their claws digging into your younger brother’s shoulders and arms, holding him down as he squirmed through discomfort and pain. Behind him was the triumphantly crooked grin of the Dark Lord himself as he praises Draco. The Dark Mark branded on his forearm, Draco’s gray eyes host tears of his unvoiced anguish. Devastation lined every inch of what once was such a youthful face.

You didn’t have to be a Legilimens to hear the thought that Draco was screaming at you as his eyes were round with horror, trained on you.

Run.

Save yourself.

There doesn’t need to be two sacrificial lambs.

Voldemort would not be satisfied with only one Malfoy sibling though.

He wanted both of you under his control.

You swat at what few hands grip into your clothes, attempting to pull you closer into the swarm.

If you had been smaller, you would have run into the safe arms of your mother. She’d always kept you safe.

When you turn, a plead heavy in your mouth, you lose all hope. She couldn’t help you nor could your father. But her eyes screamed the same thing Draco’s did:

Run

When the first safe place you could come up with popped into your head, you fled with your wand and a bag of Floo Powder. At the nearest, accessible fireplace, you dive in and let loose the powder as you say clearly where you desired to go.

A Few Months Later

You’re jostled awake by Molly screaming throughout the Burrow for everyone to get their butts up.

Taking a few moments to wake your brain up, you kick off your blankets off of you. You psych yourself up for the triathlon you had grown so accustomed to since leaving Malfoy Manor.

You booked it out of the attic and down the stairs, pushing pass Ron very easily but running into trouble when Ginny bumps into you and throws you off your balance with a wicked grin.

Didn’t matter who beat who to the breakfast table because Fleur and Bill were already seated. Bill was piling on his plate all that constituted a proper breakfast for a blossoming werewolf. Arthur Weasley has his newspaper propped open, making quiet comments to himself here and there. Fred and George who’d been visiting for a few weeks now make it a point to get their hands on as much food as possible so that there was none left for you or their actual siblings.

Outside the windows was a winter wonderland. Not even the garden gnomes dared to come out.

While Christmas morning would be spent at the Weasley’s, dinner was to be had at the former home of Sirius Black, Grimmauld Place. After his death, it had been passed down to Harry Potter, his godson.

Now how exactly had a Malfoy ended up so close to the Golden Trio? When Umbridge was ruling Hogwarts in the absence of Dumbledore, you’d become somewhat of a mentor and friend to not just the Trio, but all their friends as well. In a way, you protected them against your younger brother who’d become a tyrant helping the wretched witch in pink. While you weren’t always able to get them out of trouble, you did your best while also pretending to be the perfect pure blood everyone expected you to be.

When they learned of your self-exile from the Malfoy family, that made you even more amazing in their eyes.

You missed your family, despite how wretched their alliance to the Dark Lord was.

Harry and the others rallied around you. Their support and love reduced your homesickness though you knew it would never really go away. Not when you feared for all of them. Draco and Narcissa knew yet it was too late. If they didn’t abide Voldemort’s every whim, they would be killed but not before the Dark Lord tortured them until their minds were fractured.

Molly beams at you as she’s placing more food on the table for the three stragglers. “Merry Christmas (y/n)!”

Needless to say, your mornings started off great when Molly Weasley was there. “Marry Christmas Molly.” You pull up a chair and a clean plate is magically rolled over to you. Not wanting to get left behind, you start to place food onto it’s surface. The spread on the table was absolutely magnificent.

Even though room was tight and elbows nudged against your sides, it was already looking to be one of your favorite Christmases. At Malfoy Manor, your dining table was so long that sometimes you had to raise your voice a bit if you wanted to say something.

The conversations were filled with laughter opposed to the mutters of conspiracies and duties.

Presents were carefully packed away in Molly’s bag. She’d be the first to go through the Floo Powder. Everyone waited for their turn, Ron and Ginny especially excited to see Harry and Hermione. Christmas at 22 Grimmauld Place were always festive. This would be your first.

Once you pass through to the other end, you shake yourself off just before Hermione is throwing her arms around you in a warm welcome. You giggle and wrap your own arms around her. She gives you an extra hard squeeze before releasing you. Her eyes examine you in that meticulous way they always do, ascertaining how you were feeling about the holiday.

A congenial smile easily graces your lips, especially when you see everyone else greeting one another in a warm embrace.

Including someone else you hadn’t expected to see. Your former DADA professor: Remus Lupin.

You reel back for a split second, composing yourself and attempting to keep your wits with you. Your secret shame had always been the crush you’d developed on your professor when he taught at Hogwarts for such a brief time. Comparing him to the boys of your own age, none of them could even begin to shine as bright as Remus Lupin.

The way he always dealt with everything with a level head and a calmness that was infectious. He had such a kind heart too. Different from the arrogant pure bloods in your house. Him being a werewolf never deterred your affections for him. Now it made you admire Professor Lupin even more. You too were now an outcast. A pariah. You understood how disconnected one could feel from the rest of the world.

Were it not for Harry and his friends, you’d be lost.

When Remus gets to you, he offers you an extra wide smile. “It’s nice to see you again, (y/n). I’m sorry to have heard of you and the rest of your family but I’m happy that you were able to get out while you did.”

You think back to your mother and brother. Still stuck and still serving the Dark Lord.

Lacking a response, Remus notices your sudden quietness and the scars on his face seem to soften as his eyes glow with empathy. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears.

“You may not believe it now, but everything will be okay.” He whispers to you before the rest of the Weasley clan fills the living room of Grimmauld Place. Remus gives your shoulder one last squeeze that symbolizes his support and goes to greet the others.

Where his hand had been still radiated with his warmth. You focus on that to control your own cauldron of emotions.

Swallowing back the hard lump in your throat, you put on a smile as Harry goes up to you for a greeting.

Everyone emanated such joy around you. It made up for your own biological family.

The dining table was long and elegant, filled with silver saucers, beautiful china, and best of all succulent meat and potatoes. You’d sat between Harry and Hermione while Remus was right across from you. He seemed to take special care toward you, asking if you would like gravy or if you wanted a refill of your drink. Your eyes were constantly catching his when you were listening to someone else speak.

Maybe it was the wine that you were now able to consume thanks to your age, but every cell in you was buzzing and making your body warm up. Or maybe it was Hermione laughing and occasionally bumping against you.

Fred and George left early that night as they had to open up their shop the following morning to set up for their holiday sales.

The Golden Trio were sent to bed while the older crowed stayed up for more spirits in front of the fire.

In retrospect you should have been more conscience of your alcohol tolerance since you were much younger than the rest of your drinking partners.

By midnight, Molly and Arthur had passed out on the couch while Bill and Fleur had decided to retire half an hour ago. Fleur’s face, usually pale like porcelain, was flushed red from the drink and knew her limits. Bill helped her up the stairs. Possibly the first and last time you would ever see Fleur stumble and look anything but graceful.

Leaving just you and Remus lounging in front of the fireplace. He’d replaced your goblet of wine with a tall glass of water to save yourself from a gnarly hangover the following morning.

You’d drank some of it but set it aside, not wanting to loose this good buzz that had you relaxed next to your girlish crush. Drinking had at least made talking to him easier as both of you updated the other on your life since his time at Hogwarts.

The crackling of the grand fireplace was a soothing background noise as you and Remus relaxed in front of it, accompanied by the gentle snores that came from the slumbering Molly and Arthur.

From living with them, you experienced first hand ho warm love could be. You knew your parents loved each other, but their affections were given behind closed doors. The Weasley parents were never ashamed of embracing or kissing one another in front of you.

It did make you a bit envious but also gave you hope for your future; you wanted a love like their’s.

The thought of love has you overly aware of the man sitting next to you, how his scars are illuminated from the fire's flame. Soft brown eyes catch you admiring the bridge of his nose that a scar cuts through. His finely tapered jawline appeared to have just been shaved as there was a ghost of scruff on him.

Immediately you avert your gaze and awkwardly laugh out an apology.

"Something on my face?" Remus starts to pat down his features with his hand.

You giggle while shaking your head. "No. It's just. . . I don't think I've ever gotten to really look at your face before up close. You were always at the front of the room. Out of reach."

He smiles at your words and you notice him relax where he had frozen when he caught you staring at him. "Not much of a face to look at."

Puffing out a breath of air you disagree with his assessment. "I would beg to differ. It's a handsome face. Scars and all."

Definitely not a man your mother would choose for you. If was up to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, you would be married to the cream of the crop of the pureblood world. Someone others would immediately think was conveniently handsome.

Looks wasn't what had drawn you to Remus in the first place.

"Not that appearances matter." You mumble, now drunkenly voicing out your thoughts. "It was your heart, your humanity, that attracted me to you in the first place."

If you hadn't been preoccupied with your thoughts, you would have noticed Remus' eyes gawking at you, the drink slipping from his hand and almost spilling all of its contents onto his lap.

"Wh. . . What?"

"Hm? Oh don't be modest." Your head lolls on your shoulders, words flowed out of you with ease. "You must've known. . ."

"I had no idea."

"For a Slytherin who wasn't used to warmth, you were like sunshine." From the corner of your eye you observe him and the flush that had spread across his face that hadn't been there before. Not even when he was several drinks in. His side profile was visible to you as he stared intently into the fireplace, jaw clenching then unclenching as he struggled to come up with a proper reply.

"Sorry, is that weird?"

Remus shakes his head and finally tilts his face to look at you. "N-No. Not at all. It's normal I suppose. I just. . . Don't see the appeal. Why want an old man like me when you could have any young wizard of your age. . ."

That makes you snort. "Because wizards my age are twats." You feel success when he laughs at that. "And you're not an old man. Dumbledore was an old man. Not you."

There's a spell cast over the two of you as silence hangs over. You try and gauge what he's thinking from the depths of his eyes.

The kiss happened so fast that neither of you knew who initiated it. Naturally your lips fell upon the other's.

Sweet with the bitter hint of the wine you'd been sharing. Against your lips you felt the groove of a scar on his bottom lip as you move your head to deepen it.

His body trembles but he reciprocates, placing his hand on the side of your face in a cupping motion. Remus was tender with you, treating you like glass so that you wouldn't shatter from his touch. If he broke you though, you wouldn't mind in the least bit.

A loud snore from Arthur has both of you flinging away from one another with bruised lips and warm cheeks.

Remus is instantly on his feet, apologizing as he quickly leaves the room.

You stare at where he had once been. Alone and quickly filling with shame.

The following morning, you dread joining everyone in the dining room for breakfast.

Sleep had evaded you all through the night; haunted by the kiss you shared with Remus. In the moment, your heart had soared all the way to the heavens before crashing back down cruelly to earth.

It had been something you'd never thought would happen and when it did you were conflicted.

He had fled from you so fast.

By even muggle laws, you were of the age of consent so what the two of you had done wasn't necessarily wrong. But. . . you were starting to feel ashamed for it. Remus must have been creeped out since you were much younger than him. Matters weren't made better by the fact that you were a close friend of Harry's.

When your courage was finally gathered, you slip on your morning robe (courtesy of Molly) and head to the dining room. But just before you enter the dining room through it’s double doors, you hear voices coming from the sitting room where just last night you and Remus had shared a kiss.

You backpedal until you’re in front of the sitting room door which while not a double, was a rather large door. Twisting the knob in your hand you found everyone, including the two other couples that you had been drinking with last night looking rather harsh, attempting to produce what looked like a patronus charm. Wands were held out as thin, blue whisper stream out.

At the moment Remus was instructing Molly in how to produce the charm.

Already, the stag of Harry’s patronus was leaping around the room as Hermione’s otter swam through invisible water in a playful chase with Ron’s exuberant terrier.

Even Arthur was trying his hardest with his eyes squeezed closed and eyebrows scrunched together.

Harry spots you and grins with bright eyes. “(Y/n)!”

“Is Remus teaching Molly and Arthur the patronus charm?” At your voice, Remus jolts and turns. Hurt jabbed at you from the expression he shot you. You hate the way he looked at you now.

Almost clamming up from his reaction, Harry’s voice is something you anchor yourself to. “Yeah! You never know when it will be useful.”

“You know how to do the charm, don’t you?” Hermione puts her wand arm down.

That was a loaded question.

You used to able to perform a fully formed patronus. It used to be a black swan. Now though. . . you doubt you'd be able to conjure up a full bodied one. There were no happy memories for you to call upon.

Now you felt more uncomfortable than you had been as all eyes fell upon you.

Remus, never losing his kindness, walks around Molly and toward you. "Of course she does. All that is needed is the right memory."

Every memory with your family were dampened. There was nothing you could draw upon until you look to Remus' face for comfort. Nothing but encouragement beamed on his face as he nodded at you. The way his eyes glow remind you of last night.

You'd been happy in those split seconds where the two of you had been connected, even if it was brief and he had run off immediately after. It was the happiest you'd been in months.

Taking in a deep breath, you draw your wand from the sleeve of your robe and to the best of your abilities try to implant yourself once more in the memory of last night. The way Remus was so easy to talk to. You confessing your feelings. His lips pressed against your's. The taste of him. Your mind weaved it so beautifully in your head that you could even hear the cracking of logs in the fireplace.

The tip of your wand explodes with a pale blue, a creature with four legs leaps forth. Not at all your black swan.

A large wolf startles Ron's terrier as it comes into existence. Large and powerful.

Everyone stares in awe at the fine creature who turns it's head to look at you and Remus. It blinks slowly before padding over to your side. Even next to you it was ginormous and almost stood taller than you.

When the initial shock wore down, everyone decided to have their breakfast in the dining room. You and Remus were the last to leave and trailed behind.

Once everyone was out of earshot, Remus whispers "I thought your patronus was a black swan."

"It was." Without the burn of alcohol emboldening you, you blush feeling shy. "I. . . I don't know what happened. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. The memory. . . well it could have been the memory I used."

"From last night?" Remus attempts to hide his own blush with his hand. At least you knew it had been on his mind too.

You nod. "It was the first time I'd been happy for quite a while."

Instead of heading to the doors of the sitting room, Remus turns back to the sofas and sits. His cheeks were still pink when he murmurs "I've heard that it's not uncommon for a patronus to change. It can change when a witch or wizard is going through life changes." He tries his best not to look at you when he adds "Like falling in love."

The change of your patronus to a wolf made sense now. It reflected your feelings for Remus.

You hesitantly sit next to him. "I'm sorry if this whole thing has made you uncomfortable."

He chuckles softly. "Don't be. To have a witch as beautiful and smart as you be in love with me. . . I must have done something right with my life then."

"Just being yourself was enough." The corner of your lip twitches up into a smile.

His features become serious for a moment. "I'm not the easiest person to love. Being a werewolf and all will ultimately make things difficult. Plus I'm quite older than you."

Nonchalantly you shrug. "I'm an expert at handling difficult things. Bill and Fleur make their relationship work. I believe you deserved to be loved whether it be by me or someone else, you should take the chance. As for your age, well, I've always been told that I act older than my age. It doesn't bother me one bit."

Remus' hand falls atop of your's. "You're fearless." His voice was filled with admiration that made your heart pick up speed.

Your smile grows. "I just know what I want. And I want you, Remus."

[sweetestpopcorn]

One of the things I love the most about Rhaenyra is that she is not ashamed of her femininity, she revels in it. She knows that an appreciation for pretty clothes in no way hinders her understanding of language, geography, or politics. And unlike supposedly progressive 21st century writers think, she can be just as capable as a ruler without being a warrior or hating her womanhood.

And she wanted a husband and children and to rule over everyone, because these things are not mutually exclusive 👏🏻

Rhaenyra did not want to be a man or "a knight and charge into battle" because that was not Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra wanted a man who was a knight and charged into battle by her side, preferably one with silver hair, a dragon, and a gold cloak who gave her more gifts than she could count #diemad

Rhaenyra was the Realm's Delight, the Dragon Queen, a fashion icon, the best mother of fire and blood, the b:tch every man wanted but only two got, a dragonrider, and the woman the Rogue Prince died for and that he wanted for wife.

All hail Queen Rhaenyra who wore pink on Wednesdays and a crown or tiara every day and made new lines appear on Alicent's face just from being in her presence (and was never her friend) - because YES women can hate each other, just like men can - hatred is not a male thing or something that happens to us women because of PaTrIarChy!

Rhaenyra:

PS: Redacted fans can keep their "Black Queen" we have the Dragon Queen. And no, we don't stan the same character.

[christinescupofcoffee]

Quarter After Twelve

An original story, and my return to original fiction after more than 5 years no less! Big multi-chaptered saga going right for the jugular. Fair warning: this fic goes into very heavy, disturbing, and potentially upsetting themes. Tread carefully if you wish to continue.

ao3 link

A boy on the run from a terror group while looking for his mother and grandparents. A group of kids find themselves with a dead man. A girl being a comfort to her best friend who just underwent surgery. A man staring down the shadow of death turning away from his relationship to live his life. A couple meeting a woman who is just a little “too nice.” And the world is brought to a standstill following a massive solar storm. All of this happened at a quarter after twelve.

Chapter One: Fool’s Gold

I swore that the flashes in the sky would be the thing to protect me from their watching eyes. The aurora blanketed the sky in a veil of orange and pink which made me think of rainbow sherbet, but I had never been in much of a mood to eat at all since the attacks happened. Granted, I had to stop to eat every now and again, and the light show proved to me such was the case.

I had one goal on my mind: find my mother and make the return trip to New York. There was the opportunity to return to Israel where she and my dad hailed from, but I had been born in New York, I only had about ten dollars and fifteen cents in my pocket, and I knew nowhere else to go in such a time.

You would see the tall wiry boy down on the corner with the brim of his hat tipped down low and so you hopefully better not view him as suspicious at all. He stayed posted up by the corner shop with his hands tucked into his pockets and the sides of his arms to protect the delicate flesh of his slightly rounded childhood tummy; the longest black curls in all the land, like streams of ink against cold water, save for a tiny plume of filmy gray hair at the crown as if it acted as his crown jewel. The boy was stranded down in Miami, and yet he dressed himself as if he had wound up in the Great Lakes instead.

That boy was me. Andrew Nathaniel Jacob Goldstein. Andy Goldstein from Brooklyn, New York. The only thing I missed was my yarmulke.

Those guerrilla fighters had found their way over to the mainland and gave quite the invasion. We all saw it coming, but who gives a shit. My father was deathly ill with blood clots down in Miami, so I had to make my way down there from New York anyway. But the last thing my mother told me was I had to be there at his side should he go during the next few days.

I landed in Miami with plenty of time to spare, but once I stepped off the plane, I could tell that they had come for America’s erection first. I recognized the black masks completely over their faces, which in turn spared the sight of their eyes.

The eyes of natural born killers.

The fear in the airport pervaded throughout, and that was before I saw the hostages bound and gagged dead center in the middle of the floor.

I made a run for it, but it was difficult to do so with an overnight bag and an acoustic guitar case over my shoulder. So many of them came after me, armed to the teeth and I had no idea what they had planned to do with me.

I skidded around the corner, and I ran into a pretty blonde stewardess who clutched at me in utter fear. I showed her my guitar case. If nothing else, I wanted that to survive me and to survive them.

“Take care of her,” I told her in a hushed voice. “Her name is Amber.”

The stewardess nodded at me, and she ducked into the alleyway. From what my memory stood, she had disappeared into one of those strip bakeries in the airport.

Also from what my memory stood, they never saw her. At least my guitar was in good hands, and I knew where to find her.

I kept running through the airport, but they caught up with me.

I begged them to spare me. To spare my lips and my tongue. But to them, I was a dirty Jew. A dirty boy who needed to be punished all because his parents hailed from Israel and his relatives all carried the Torah on their backs. They pushed me to the ground and pointed their razor-sharp machetes at me.

They threatened to rob me of my hair as well as my right hand if I didn’t comply.

I also worried about other things, like my hair and my hand could be the least of my problems if I refused.

I lifted myself from the ground. I opened my mouth and I could feel my eyes burning with tears. No amount of lush red wine or alcohol could rid of that horrid taste.

They called me a pig. A fat girly little pig and they told me to stay there on the floor as they took turns shoving their disgusting fat cocks down my throat until one of them came all over my face.

They told me my tongue was worthless all because it traced of Hebrew.

One of them tugged my pants down and shoved something up my ass. Something hard and hot. For all I knew, it was a poker straight from a fireplace.

But then something happened.

Something pulled them away from me and they aborted the plan. It wasn’t the cops, but something lured them away from me. I wound up laying there with that awful taste in my mouth, my body violated, and my heart mortally wounded.

But then I remembered my father.

I picked myself up, and I found my way to the door out to the street. I spat around the ground the whole five block run. Had I not known how to run like hell, run like the wind even with my travel bag slung over my shoulder, I would not have made it in time to visit him in his final moments.

The last thing I told my father was that I would always love him: he needn’t go onto his grave knowing that his youngest son had suffered an assault at the hand of people who hated us for who we are. He needn’t know why I was so disheveled and such a complete and total mess.

He told me to take the framed picture of him with my mother there on the nightstand. Take it with me and always have it on hand when the mood was rough.

It was a quarter after twelve when he took his last breath. The time in which I had to go forth and look for my mother and my grandparents. If it meant I was going to have go back to Tel Aviv to find them, then I had to find out a way to get there. I only had ten dollars on me. Ten dollars but we all had to start somewhere.

My face was still sore from where the big one hit me. But at least I had found my way out of there, and now I was stranded in some neighborhood in Miami with very little money on my person. I had run blindly away from the airport, some few miles from there with my bag over my back, and I found myself in what looked to be the rich people’s neighborhood. There was a small space between mansions, one lined with low little palm trees. I could pitch a camp of sorts and spend the night there: the windows of the houses on either side of me were as dark as night.

I needed to be alone with the aurora as my canopy, anyway. I still couldn’t hardly shake the awful taste from my mouth. I still couldn’t hardly believe that that had happened to me. I put my sleeping bag up off the ground with the fading sunlight as my torch. When the night fell all around me, I would stay there in my sleeping bag suspended up against the trunks of the cluster of palm trees so the gators wouldn’t come for me. Fall had swept over southern Florida, and I knew that a hurricane could come while I was there.

But the aurora, much to my surprise, would then become my nightlight. My nightlight when my mind wandered out to the Atlantic Ocean and the waves that could come upon me when I least expected it. A gentle breeze washed over me, one where I could feel the rain within if I held still long enough.

Come the morning, I knew I needed to head on back to the airport to fetch Amber from that stewardess. That is if she was still there.

The lights washed over me. My own personal rain shower. Though I lay on my side, I could feel something rubbing up against my thigh. I didn’t want to feel anything rubbing against my thigh at all at the moment. But then I remembered the framed photograph of my parents. I had tucked it in there on the inside of my jacket. It stayed in place even as I ran from the hospital.

I ran from the airport. I ran from the hospital. I ran and I ran. I was looking for that veil of color once again. The veil of color to help me dance once again.

I rolled over onto my back: difficult to do in a makeshift hammock, but I managed to keep myself on my back so I could keep my gaze locked on the trees overhead as well as the veil of colors over me.

I ran from the airport, past the beach and the incoming waves. Not a cloud in the sky but I knew the hurricane would come about because it was late September in Miami. Through the brightly colored slums and the black and bright blue Cadillacs posted up all along the sides of the street. I could still feel their hands on me. My tongue on his skin when I never asked for that. They took my iron from me. The iron of being me.

I stopped for a moment, and I looked on at myself in the reflection of a car window parked at the corner. My eyes were gigantic. My heart thundered in my ears. I had been spared of having been cut or slashed on the face, and not a single hair on my head had been pushed out of place, but the wounds were festering on the inside. I had no way of stopping the bleeding and mending, either.

It took me a moment that that particular Cadillac on the corner was a hearse. I closed my eyes and then I kept on running, because I knew it was coming for me next. It was coming for me next, and I had no way of stopping it. It was coming for me next, the way those men in black came after me next.

I ran past a graveyard. The tombstones crawled about the earth, about the swampy landscape around me. There was a cemetery up on Long Island where all my own ancestors were buried, and my only wish was that my own stone would survive the next sweeps of spray paint and keffiyehs under the veil of a sun gone mad.

I ran until I found my place in the trees for the night. 

I lay there, and I kept on watching the colors over me. To dance again. To feel again. To have some kind of good feeling about my body again.

I rested my hands upon my stomach, which stayed soft even after all of that. I was still soft.

It was as if my body told them to spare me, even after I was forced to put my lips on them and even then I still had something shoved up my ass. My body told them to spare me.

Spare me.

I closed my eyes again, and that time I thought about my mother. She never told me where she was, and all I knew was I had to find her again. To find my mother and my grandparents. To dance again. To thumb my way back home.

I opened my eyes again, that time for a look at the sky: the lights still shone about in those thick lovely ribbons, those colorful diamonds in the sky. They would put me to sleep if my own tortured mind would refuse it.

Spare me. I’m just a boy. A boy who needed his mother.

A boy who needed to be healed.

I ran. I was still running away.

[prayers-to-hyliarceus]

Hello! My name is Zelda, she/her, and I am a Faller hailing from the kingdom of Hyrule, along with some of my friends.

hey i'm Link! renowned swordfighting genderless Hylian cryptid. also an unofficial chef, just 'cause i like food a lot. he/they.

My name is Urbosa (she/her), chieftain of the Gerudo. Also somehow an adoptive mother of six and still most likely counting. I love my children very much. This is a threat to whomever decides they want to attempt to cross a line.

Ought to introduce myself as well, I suppose! I am Princess Mipha of the Zora. She/her. Pleasure to make all of your acquaintances.

I'm sorry, six?

I've known you for a while now. One of them is Illanero, and— you can do the math.

I...... see.

Our Pokemon teams are as follows:

Me

Celebi (F)

Satori (Ponyta ✨, M [sie/sier])

Naydra (Dratini, F)

Link (he/they)

Madas (Honedge, X [they/them])

Epona (Ponyta, F)

Koshia (Kirlia, M)

Fi (Kirlia ✨, F)

Shido (Gible, M)

Urbosa (she/her)

Naboris (Blitzle, F)

Blupee (Pachirisu, M)

Daruk (Sandshrew, M)

Mipha (she/her)

Andante (Alomomola, F)

[OOC info below cut!]

hi, Pancake here (@pancake-umbreon) with another intro post because the fourth and final main character has joined the blog! i am so not normal about botw/totk. especially with Zelda :3

pelipper mail/malice is on, but magic anons are not. also no nsfw is allowed! also this is the link for tag navigation!

Zelda and Link are post-totk (totk spoilers will not be tagged, so take caution if you haven’t finished the game), but Urbosa and Mipha are pre-botw. they have not died yet. i do in fact intend to be scheming with this.

note about pink text color: anyone whose text color is pink is a side character! they will not be joining the blog permanently whenever they pop on. hence why characters like Cynthia and Fantina have the same text color.

please let me know OOC if any trigger warnings need to be tagged!

also here's the full-sized profile picture if you're interested :> (tis indeed my art)

additional important note: please do not send me any pokemon or pokemon eggs or anything of the like unless you ask for permission first. unfortunately, chances are that i will say no because i already have their teams laid out.

also, anyone is free to interact! literally anyone! eebies/sapient pokemon, fallers (obviously), etc etc. again, just as long as it’s not nsfw ^v^

[isagrimorie]

Favorite Star Trek fashion look?

For the Star Trek Ask Game:

17. Favourite fashion look? 👙

I think Lwaxana Troi wins the fashion game look. But also you know what? Janeway and her satin pink nightgown was a Look.

The Killing Game era 'fits were also a Look!

But you know who killed it? Mirrorverse-Emperor Georgiou era 'fits. They might be evil but they knew how to Serve looks!

I mean... look at her costume:

All Hail her most Imperial Majesty, Mother of the Fatherland, Overlord of Vulcan, Dominus of Qo'noS, Regina Andor. All Hail Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius

[nightshadewine]

the changeling child

heals fast

granted by the smaller folk,

a babe in white cloth wrapped

since pink nosed bloodied from the womb,

cut puffy toes on metal.

sharpened scrap at the foot

of blue-check hospital bed

set him wailing as the wound closed,

to freshly dried rose skin.

as he grew, fast, so faster did

his blood-bless grow:

broken bones which knit themselves

sooner than the wail;

before the crunch of falling

from the backyard birch

told his mother he had landed.

in the schoolyard were the bruises quick,

and lies only quicker,

purple splotches hazed his face

like cheaply wrought strobe lighting.

broken glasses the only tell,

removed to keep him quiet.

fist-bone claps echoed through

the hard and grey concrete.

miracle said the townsfolk,

and hailed him at the sermon.

pulpit pride of place,

spotlight on him shining;

white-robed boy is silent,

and gold cheeked flock slack-jawed.

the priest cut his neck with the knife,

let droplets fall in wine-glass;

holy fuel fills the bellies,

and his scar is hidden to all.

when in his fourteenth year began to wail,

and soft words would not calm him,

they stopped his staging at the church,

and school friends kept a distance.

child cried phantoms and red visions,

scratching at his bones;

black tongues forked in his eyes,

licking for his organs.

the wise ones could not see an ail,

his healing done so quick,

the priest decried haunted claims:

a boy in want of watchers.

damage done by coddled growing,

he seeks his fix of lovers;

shut him in a darkened place,

his cries will cease in silence.

the mother so she did his will,

turned key in lock of iron

and kept far away the smallfolk.

for three days and as many nights,

the child still wept unending.

scoffs flew by the streetlit house,

and jeers came from the streets.

headlines in the broadsheets bold,

small village sympathies,

usual crowd, did to vapours turn,

and blinds shut soon forgotten.

yet the mother could not tune out his cries,

the four-weight sobbing boy.

flash healing grace could not be harmed,

but his screams defied the name.

haunted pain was but a fancy,

ghosts a fleeting thing.

he flapped his hands above his head,

as though flesh there always bitten;

glassy knives and misty teeth,

it was a childish dream.

but still the boy cried day and night,

and the mother had to wonder;

unlikely tale his hidden foe,

a stranger lie for certain.

but with closing wounds so soon gone

how would any know?