#and I still haven’t got the pen settings the same yet

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 7

A/N: Right, this might get a little confusing, but you know how we (English speakers) kind of went from Latin, to old English, to Now English? I’m substituting those for the Old Language, ‘Middle Language’ (the transitional phase—completely made up), and whatever the common tongue is for Prythian? Yeah, sorry about that!

Warnings: none…? I don’t think…?

Word Count: 5,587

-Part 6- -🌌🌠- -Part 8-

You stare at the page, heart in your throat.

Stare at the page, and reach for a pen.

Who is this?

Ink stains the white paper, and stupidity heats your features. He probably left it as a taunt. It’s not like he’s going to respond. You groan, setting the pen down, covering your face with your hands. Mother above. Definitely not your smartest moment. Reach to flip the paper over—not wanting to be reminded of your naïveté.

More ink has appeared, just below your scribbled question.

You may hide your intelligence around your family, but that won’t work with me. Smarten up.

The words burn your features. Scowl at the paper.

Forgive me for not anticipating the paper to talk back, Eris.

It vanishes the second you’ve written the sentence, leaving you blinking at the empty space on your desk. Winnowing isn’t possible within the House of Wind—you’ve heard both Rhysand and Feyre say it before. Yet note passing seems completely acceptable, for some reason. You suppose no harm can derive from simple exchanges.

You’ve been surrounded by magic for nearly two years. It’s shameful to still be taken aback by its multi-faceted ways.

A reluctant smile gilds your mouth. That’s Eris alright. Readjust your hold on the pen.

And it’s embarrassing to rely on stupidly long words in attempt to prove your intellect. Just say it’s versatile.

The parchment disappears, then returns. Nothing’s been added.

Amusement brightens your mouth, raising the writing instrument, poising it to attack. The words dance on your tongue, weapons to provocation: You have a bad attitude to being spoken back to. But you shake your head, instead choosing compromise for your next reply.

Did you want something? I doubt you simply dropped in to say hi. Unless this is your way of making sure I got the book?

Perhaps it was my way of seeing where you fall in this alliance.

Brow draws together. He obviously means the alliance between the Night Court and him, but where do you fit into it all? How does this show your placement? What does he even mean, where you fall? Take a deep breath, release it. It will do you no good to fall for his own provocation.

I hope you were satisfying enlightened, then, you write back.

Quite.

Stare at the neatly scripted response. He’s leaving the conversation for you to direct. First thoughts go to where he acquired the book, but somehow you feel that’s not the direction he wants you to take this in. So, sighing, you stumble straight into the trap he’s laid out.

Why haven’t you told anyone?

Paper vanishes again. Takes a minute to reappear.

It’s pretty blackmailing material. Why waste it in common conversation?

Lips purse together as you read his reply. Manipulative indeed.

Whatever you think you’ll be able to extort from me, I can guarantee you’ll end up disappointed.

Not the family favourite?

Blink at the speed of the response. Like quicksilver. Vague amusement warms your chest—how clear the mockery is. Disconcertingly comforting to know he doesn’t change. The same in every form. Precious constancy. Lower the pen to parchment.

I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?

And I suppose you’ll hide beneath the guise of observation, now?

It certainly isn’t warfare. I’d think you’d be practiced at spotting pretty, bladed words.

Again, the parchment vanishes, leaving you in the silence of your own room. Feet tap anxiously upon the clear wood, leg vibrating as you wait on him. Realisation smacks you upside your jaw—you refuse to sit here wasting precious seconds for whatever nihilistic response he carves out for you. Instead, you turn to the anthology, flicking to the index, peering at titles. Searching for one that will catch your eye.

I’m flattered—you’ve sharpened your tongue since we last sparred.

Roll your eyes. Lips quirking at the inherent Eris-ness of the response.

Wooden swords will only serve me for so long. Why not experiment with steel in a controlled environment?

The parchment vanishes, and takes its time to reappear. Time you spend scanning titles, pondering their contents. Maybe you should ask why he gave it to you in the first place. Certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.

Paper reappears.

You think merely because there are entire courts between us that makes you safe?

Peer at his reply—try studying it. Does he want you to be wary of him? It seems unlikely, somehow. He wouldn’t be able to get anything from you if you’re afraid of him. He should be encouraging you to feel at ease speaking with him if he wants something.

Do you make a habit of being as unpleasant as possible to every person you encounter, or am I just lucky?

A smile warms your mouth as the paper vanishes, fantasising how irritated he might become. From your words! Exhilarating!

Eyes land on a title that piques your interest: Movement of Light. Brow narrows with interest, flipping to the registered page number eagerly. Upon the parchment, beside the tightly knitted words, lays a neat diagram. It appears to be of a rectangle with two small holes punctured through its thin mass. Interesting…

Do you make a habit of keeping secrets from your family?

Lips purse. Cutting to the core, again. Manipulative as he may be, he’s certainly skilled at finding the right bruises to target. You wonder if it’s a skill he’d been taught through books or word of mouth, or if, perhaps, it was a nastier kind of education. Shake your head free of thoughts, pulling away from the book.

Having no secrets at all is stupidly idilic. Are there any other misconceptions you would like me to clear up?

You’re surprisingly cynical for your age.

Strange how having one’s mortality ripped away will do that to a woman.

Even you can hear the bitterness bleeding through. But the words have been written, and the paper has disappeared, so there’s no use trying to take them back. Even if you’re mentally cursing yourself for allowing that kind of opening. Surprised at how easy it is to be caught up in conversation with him. Or sparring, as he so eloquently puts it.

Wonderful immortality not treating you well?

Again, with the taunting. Amusement and something else prickles beneath your fingertips. Irked.

I’ll admit, it’s not quite as spectacular as I might’ve thought once upon a time.

That seems measured enough.

I thought humans were raised to hate us.

Observe the words—how they sit on the parchment. The contrast between your short scribbles and his elegant font.

Might a deer not wish for a wolf’s strength?

Parchment again vanishes. Once you’ve counted to three, you turn your attention back to the book, scanning the passage of writing. Brows narrow at the leap in language—words you’re unfamiliar with. A photon? Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning. Where’s a damn glossary when you need one?

Paper reappears—you take a moment to pull away from the volume.

Have you always been in pursuit of grandeur?

Brow narrows at the question.

I’d say I’ve always been rather passionate about not starving. So I suppose I did once think having three hot meals a day would be utter luxury.

I would have rather rotted away than be forced to live amongst vermin.

A surprised laugh flutters from your chest, amusement sparking within you again.

You’re much too stubborn for such a miserable end, Eris; too bitter to resign yourself to such a fate, either.

Parchment vanishes. One. Two. Three. Return to the volume, start at the beginning. Where your eyes were intended to land. Sighing, you scan the title: The Foundations of our World—Stuff. Brow narrows, lips quirking upward at the vagueness of it. Stuff. Such a lack of precise articulation, yet here it is, in an anthology of noteworthy discoveries. Somehow, this piece had been selected as important; important enough to be the base for the entire book. Strange…

Eye roll across the tightly stacked letters, mind pulsing as words soak into your brain, thumping dully as blood rushes through your ears. Take everything at it’s basest nature, reduce it down to the fundamentals, and what sort of building blocks are you left with? What makes up the world as we see it?

‘Take the prefix a- from the middle language, and combine it with the Old Language verb to cut, creating the name for the indivisible: atom. The smallest bits of matter that can exist independently.’

Intrigue returns with crushing force, making it near impossible to tear your eyes from the volume when the parchment reappears. How long has he been writing? Maybe he was preoccupied.

And yet I understand it was the youngest of you who took up her weapons and headed out into the wild. For how adamantly you protested against my lack of action regarding something I could easily correct, you seem to appear quite the hypocrite. Why didn’t you go out into those woods?

Blink away the memories of frost. Of sweat-stained clothes, and matted, knotted hair.

Getting a little personal with the questions, don’t you think?

Writing to me at all is much more personal than you should ever be getting—I’m sure your friends would agree. Yet there you are, pen in hand, thinking up your next counterattack.

The reply comes with surprising swiftness, allowing you only a brief glimpse of the following passage. Just as you’re beginning to grasp the core of what the essay is talking on.

You write with the confidence sight, you reply, eager to return. Yet he seems to have put his own distractions aside, as the response follows promptly.

Magic is a wonderful thing.

Blood ices in your veins, limbs stiffening, tongue turning leaden.

You’re lying. The House is fortified with wards; practically impregnable.

Yet here we are, corresponding. Does your High Lord know what you get up to behind closed doors?

Heart spikes in your chest, fingers trembling just a little as you lower pen to paper.

You clearly want something; you’re not going to get it if you spook me away, so quit the games.

Very well, but I’ll admit I indulged in the thought of your discomfort.

Release a heavy sigh—he doesn’t somehow have a window into your room, able to watch every move you make. Surely that would be too far, even for his manipulative ways. Skin prickles at how easily he slid beneath it—fingertips brighten.

You share that delightful, sharp-written humour with your youngest brother, you know that?

The parchment vanishes, then reappears in a matter of seconds. You laugh to yourself.

Touchy subject, Eris?

The second you dot the question mark, the door swings open; you yelp, jumping in your chair, shoving the parchment away. Vanishes again a blink later, slightly crumpled from the violent rejection.

“I knocked…” Feyre supplies, features tightening with concern. “Did you not… Oh.” She blinks, peering at the door frame; the threshold. “I suppose it must have been set up to block out exterior noise, too.” Sighs. “I’ll get that fixed at some point. Seems a waste to have a sound barrier up if you’re unable to hear what’s going on outside.”

Swallow heavily, trying to look normal. Like you weren’t knowingly communicating with the heir to the Autumn Court throne. Blue-grey settles upon you, fingers fidgeting in your lap, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. Everything feels unsettled. Her brows arrow, “you’re… What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” You reply, quickly. Far too quickly to be normal.

Lips quirk. “Writing to Bas?” She teases.

Heavy sigh whooshes from your chest, deflating a little. “How do you know about him? I haven’t even mentioned him to ‘Lain,” you say lightly. Something flashes through her eyes, too quickly for you to decipher. “Az mentioned you had someone after you,” she laughs, stepping into the room, door closing behind her. “I had no idea it was so serious,” she smiles, the happiness so inappropriate with the context you have.

Shake your head in denial, “he’s just a friend. There’s nothing else going on.” She gives you a look to say she doesn’t believe you. “I’m serious,” you insist. “There’s nothing romantic going on.” That part’s true, at least.

Feyre laughs again, then shifts on her feet. A strange quest seems to overtake her. “You know things are different here,” she begins softly, “to how we lived as humans.”

Heat flushes your features, making you groan. “Oh my gods, Fey. I am not having this conversation with you.”

“I’m just saying, if you want to get out there…see the world…maybe a few males, too… That’s fine. That’s stuff we can do, now. Well, you can do.” She amends the last part. After all, she’s the youngest, and already has a mate, a husband, and a child. An entire family. The epitome of womanhood.

Shake your head adamantly, “please, stop.” You grimace. Her lips quirk, mischief in here blue-grey eyes. She’s so lively…spirited. Bubbly? But calm, too. When did she become so adult? She seems to have aged in the blink of an eye.

(Why didn’t you go out into those woods?)

She shifts again, peers around the room—it’s a superficial move. She’s buying time, building up to something. “Your floor’s clear,” she notes, nodding to the clear wooden boards. Nod in response, trying not to wring your fingers. You were doing nothing wrong. He had spoken first. Nothing to be guilty about; no one got hurt. It’s fine.

“About our last interaction…” she begins, quietly. Spine stiffens, heart spikes. “I wasn’t trying to find something wrong with you; I’m sorry it came out that way.”

Exhale softly, shoulders lose their tension. Smile easily, waving her off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I understand. I’m sorry for lashing out at you, it was unfair on my part to act that way.” Her eyes narrow on you. Keep up the smile. “Is this your way of saying you just don’t want to talk about it?” She asks, softly. Blue-grey shimmers with sincerity.

Lips begin to ache with the stretch. “What are you talking about? We’ve made peace, there’s no need to exacerbate this.”

“Do you not want to talk about it?” She reiterates, keeping calm and quiet.

“What is it?” You laugh, turning to face the desk, eyes flitting to the volume. Scan the page; absorb nothing. “What you said last time. About being a burden.”

Body stiffens, breath catches.

“Fey, I’m getting tired,” you excuse, voice steady.

“You’re tired a lot,” she replies, quietly. Still watching. “Maybe Madja should take a look at you.” Sigh. Lean back in your chair. Tilt your face back, peering at the ceiling. “I’ve had a long life,” you murmur up to the white wallpaper, “I’m allowed to be tired.”

“You’re barely twenty-two.”

“And a lot has happened. I’m allowed to be tired.” You repeat, not looking at her.

Silence stretches between you. Gentle, but taut.

“How about you?” You ask, shifting the conversation over. Turning to peer at her. Your younger sister. Feyre blinks, then nods her head. “Good. Wonderful.” Watch her silently. Mark the lowness of her lids. “Nyx still waking you up?”

Nods again, smiling faintly, traveling somewhere distant. Somewhere foreign to you. “Eight days a week,” she laughs quietly. “Rhys and I are taking turns looking after him during the nights. Despite his work-load.” Sighs, pushes hair from her cheek, tucks it over a pointed ear. “He’s been great. Supportive, attentive, perfect. I keep trying to get him to let me handle Nyx, but he’s insisting it’s a joint effort. Wants to be there in a way his father…” she trails off, eyes misting.

Nod your head slowly. “And I suppose you want to be there in a way our mother…?”

“Yeah,” she replies thickly. “I guess that’s part of it.” The quiet turns viscous, coagulating into something almost translucent.

“I read some things…” you begin gently, “about the turbulence of motherhood.”

Her features lift into a smile, “oh, don’t worry about me. Rhys and I are working through it. It’s difficult, but everyone’s there when the strain starts to set in.” You blink away subtle surprise. “Mor’s always up for taking him off our hands for a day or two. It’s the same with Cass and Nesta,” she laughs fondly. “Amren…well, she’s Amren. And Elain’s great at making little treats here and there. Smiley faces out of his breakfast and things like that—he loves it.”

You nod slowly. Blink. “That’s great.” Again the silence creeps in.

Then she’s shifting on her feet, and. You just know—

“What kind of person is Bas?” She inquiries, not at all subtly. Nosey.

“He’s my friend, and nothing else.” He’s much more than a friend, but there’s no way to explain that without an entire Court’s worth of misunderstandings and uncomfortable questions. Still, she nods, but remains in your room. “And he… His intentions?”

“Feyre,” you scold, incredulously.

Your younger sister doesn’t flinch. Keeps her gaze straight. “Okay. Okay,” she sighs, holding up her hands in defence. “I’m wary of him.”

“Please, you can trust me he’s harmless. To me, at least. I’m sure if someone swung at him he’d be the type to swing back, but that’s besides the point.” You leave out the part that you’re fairly certain he would be the one to also somehow provoke a fight. He can be pretty provocative when he wants to. Not always in a bad way…

(…a hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.)

“I just want you to be careful,” she says quietly, eyes misting, going somewhere far away. “Males…people can be unkind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Amarantha, Tamlin… You nod your head, “I understand. But Bas…I can trust him. So please don’t doubt him; please don’t doubt me either, in this decision.”

Feyre nods again. Silence stretches, then she straightens. Pats the doorframe. “Well, I’ll have this fixed as soon as possible. It’ll need to be disabled, than I can remake it—so you’ll be able to hear people coming. It’d be awful if you got yourself hurt from being startled by one of us.” She gives you a sweet smile, then disappears out into the hall, door clicking shut behind her.

Unsure if it’s her silent feet or the sound barrier that prevents you from hearing her disappearing footfalls.

————

Skin is itching, fingers burning. Heart spiking.

Burning, burning, burning. Hands on fire.

Vision blurs, floor spinning. She’s on the ceiling.

Crash into a wall, bone crunching. Stumble to the kitchen.

Water. Where’s water. Burning skin. Charring fingertips.

Liquid drips down cheeks, splashing onto knuckles.

Scraped raw, searing pain. Bone splintering, nails peeling.

Cool water fills the sink, drown her hands.

Sweet strangulation, dulcet deprivation.

Lovely oblivion.

————

Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out.

Chest deflates, keeping your body straight but relaxed—imagine sinking into the mattress. Cheeks puff up with the exhale, calm and quiet. Sit silently. Allow the world to fade. Tension seeps from your shoulders, muscles relaxing the way you’ve practiced. Now to make sure you don’t drop off instead.

Empty out thoughts, settle into the silence. Float away on a breeze. Imagine hands being set aglow. No. They are aglow.

Eyes remain shut, tight. Picture the radiant green seeping onto your skin, setting it alight.

Fingers twitch, bones itch. Teeth grind. Nails heat.

Eyes open in time to catch the glow as it fades, sinking back into your skin. A flicker of Starfall, then nothing. Sigh heavily, back slumping, shoulders sloping. It’s something; most importantly, it’s progress. Day three of fourteen. Slow movements, slower response. Gently stoking the flames.

Remove the light from your world, lids closing, return to the darkness. Seeking solace. Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. In. And out. Fingertips warm, but eyes remain closed. Don’t acknowledge it. Can’t look or feel for it. Allow it to grow in the back of your mind, allow into latch into your blood; flourish. Swirling and billowing, gaining momentum until it can move on its own, until it can function without nurture.

Keep your back turned to the power, allow it to remain unseen. Pull it upward; hear as it cracks and fizzles in your head. Rapidly dividing…splitting at high-speed…multiplying until it boils and bubbles. One cleaves another in two…into three…nine…

(…Twenty-seven, eighty-one, two-hundred forty-three…)

(…two-thousand one-hundred eighty-seven, six-thousand five-hundred sixty-one, nineteen-thousand six-hundred eighty-three…)

(One-million seven-hundred-seventy-one-thousand one-hundred forty-seven.)

Heat burns your fingertips, flashing pain blaring so rapidly, sparking like lightening across your palms, splintering phalanges…down into the carpal bones, nearing your wrists.

Vision blasts into view, pupils contract to tiny dots, shrinking away from the pale green light that’s blazing from your hands, barreling up your forearms, crackling past elbows, bolting up, up, up… Muscles seize, contracting against the hot itch scrambling your flesh, twisting at sinew. The blinding light dims, eyes peeking open as it dulls to a quiet luminosity, tinting your skin. Feels like poison ivy…the nettles by your old estate.

Swallow, staring at the radiance. Almost mesmerising enough to block out the burn. Throat itches, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deep breaths. Ease in. And out. Deep and easy. Calm and quiet. Collected.

Slowly, warily, you rise from your bed, door swinging open on the house’s command. Silently pad down the hallway, arms and torso concealed well by your dress, cardigan hiding the faint incandescence of your wrists. Hands—no way to hide them. Ignore it for now, you need a drink. Deep and easy. In. And out. Calm. Quiet and collected.

A glass waits for you on the table, walk steadily forward, fingers tremble as they clutch the cup. Water vibrates inside, tiny ripples fluttering across the surface. Effervescent bubbles shimmer at the base. Grow larger, swelling into compact air, fizzing up. Simmering in your hands. Tension coils your shoulders, brow dampening. Liquid heats up, boiling into a volatile mess. Bubbles pop at the surface, scalding water splashing onto your knuckles.

Scream as glass shatters, burning your bare feet as the liquid sprays.

Heart spikes, glowing brighter, inching up your arms, over your shoulders. Crawling across your collar bones. Muscles knot, tangling over themselves as they seize in terror. Power coils closer, snaking toward your throat, slowly…slowly…

“What—”

Hazel pierces into you, flicking over your hands, marking the shards of glass. He appeared in a flurry of darkness, shadows pulling back once he’s materialised in the doorway. Eyes already scanning for the source of distress. Fix on the slow spread of toxic green as it tip-toes higher. Hits a barrier. It’s a small hesitation—but it’s enough. Magic flickers, recoiling from your clavicle, enough hesitation to be quashed. Like a weight sinking down, an avalanche of rock crushing vermin, bones crunching beneath the pressure. Incandescence shoved away, dripping down your arms, cut back to your fingertips.

Sweet relief washes over you, waves of coolness cresting from your forehead to your toes. Lovely reprieve. Exhale heavily, spine nearly collapsing beneath the strain, leaving a slight glimmer to your fingertips, nails curved and warped from heat. Stagger back as he silently moves toward you. Scarred hands reach out, wanting to touch; wanting to steady.

“Are you—”

“Don’t,” you bark, snapping your arms closer to your body. Feel their unnatural heat as it singes the fabric of your dress. His nostrils flare, scenting the charred material, shadows flicker.

Call breath into your lungs, soothing. Deep and easy. In and out. Calm and quiet. In. And out. Calm and collected. A familiar scent has hairs raising at the back of your neck, eyes flicking up to lock with hazel. Closer than before. Despite the heat.

“What was that?” He asks, the deep roughness of his voice curling across your breastbone, soothing the heated skin like a balm. Swallow heavily, keeping your hands tight to your torso. Turn away; move to the sink. The tap turns on independently, cool water sizzling as it washes over trembling hands. Cold metal mollifies your skin, a comfy weight around your neck. The tiny barrier your magic had hit. Tripped up on.

Azriel doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel him nearby, standing at your side. Watching silently as the water fizzles and hisses, the last of the glow dimming from your fingertips. How close he’d come to touching the blisteringly hot skin. Slowly, the cold begins to souse into your digits, running smoothly over your hands, no longer bubbling or evaporating on impact.

The house has already cleared away the shards of glass; dried the pool of scalding water by the time you’ve dried your hands. Flaky, and ashen. The smooth, creamy texture seemingly been ravished by the heat. Yet all you felt was a slight itch to begin with. You don’t make any attempts to conceal how quickly you want to escape the room, but you’re kept where you are. Waiting…waiting for him to change his mind about keeping your secret. After what he’s just seen…

Feet are pinned to the boards, muscles unwilling to obey your mind as you explore them to turn and leave. Arms feel leaden, stiff and immovable. Wait for the compromise to be retracted. Hands tremble, teeth faintly bite onto your tongue. Wait for the condemnation. For being so foolish; stubborn.

“Are you hurt?” Words thud dully against your ears, keeping your hands as out of sight as possible, hidden beneath the sleeves of your cardigan. Nod dutifully. “I’m okay,” you murmur. Lips are numb, mind buzzing faintly. Floorboards spin ever so slightly, blurring in and out of focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. Calm and collected. In. And. Out.

Boots appear at the top of your sight, just a little way from your own. Far enough not to be intimate. He holds out a scarred hand, palm facing upward. Almost expectant.

Blink away the dizziness. Flesh tingling…wriggling beneath your skin. Nails itching.

Wait silently to see what he’ll do.

Continues holding out his hand, waiting patiently to see if you’ll offer up your own. Remain rooted to the spot, numbness crawling beneath your sleeves. Mind buzzing with confusion at the outstretched palm.

Slowly, he begins reaching for your wrist, as if to inspect the results of the experiment. Analyse the consequence. Examine.

It topples you into motion.

Turn on your feet; quietly scamper off down the corridor. Behind the safety on your door.

With the wooden barrier in place, plus the sound block on your room, you can truly feel forgotten for a while. Like time’s stopped.

————

The shower had your blood moving again, temperature cooling to a regular heat. Mind working again, mentally cataloguing every thought you had, every twinge of unusualness that could have been the signposting you should have noticed to prevent that rapid surge of…burning.

Peer down at your hands, almost absently. Aside from the slight roughness to your skin; the chapped dryness to your knuckles, there’s nothing to show for the bone deep itch that had manifested within your flesh. Just the texture becoming sandpapery. Flaky.

A dark blue towel is draped over your shoulders like a shawl, preventing the damp ends of your hair from saturating the changed dress.

(What was that?)

It stopped almost out of nowhere. One moment, steadily spreading throughout your body, the next, it seemed to stumble. Like hitting a bump of some kind. Something that disturbed its momentum. Peer down at the necklace that’s sitting comfortably around your throat, resting just above your collar bones. In the dip of their joining point.

The small, glass pendant hanging from the bronze chain sits innocently on your person. Fingers brush over the map in wonder, curiously feeling. Cool metal contains the accessory, lead encapsulated within a gleaming polish. Even the underside has a pretty finish. Lead, bronze, and glass. Maybe some ink, but that’s all it is. No secrets carved to its base, no hidden compartment. Just a simple ornament, yet something about it disagreed with you. Thank the Mother.

Fingers play with the charm as you take a seat at your desk, reopening the volume. Rusty red leather creaks as you turn to your page, more than willing to submerge yourself in learning. The candles flicker as you ease out a breath, taking in the familiar scent of parchment and something pleasantly spiced. Maybe it’s an Autumn Court scent.

Crumpled paper lands on your desk, settling comfortably between the two large pages of the anthology.

It may surprise you to learn I have better things to do than spend all my hours writing to you.

Stare at the neat, elegant script. Debate the merits of responding willingly. Returning to this strange sparring match would be acknowledging your interest. There’d be no way to talk your way back to innocence. Putting pen to paper will mean…

And yet here you are, Vanserra, writing back to me.

Oh, you hope that irritates him. Hope he sends back something vicious. Something to make you spark awake again. To light up the numbness that’s turning your world monotone.

Would you like to tell me where these wrinkles came from?

Lips tug at the edges, but remain set in a dull line. Lower your pen to the roughed-up parchment. Fingers dry and somewhat cracked in the low light.

Nonsense, Eris. You don’t look a day over thirty.

Picture the way his sharp caramel eyes blaze with ire at the brazenness. Maybe his palms also heat when he’s in a mood. It’s a little comforting to remember power probably didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe. You’re making assumptions, though.

And you don’t dress a day over fifty. Considering Rhys’ wealth is at your fingertips, you have the fashion sense of someone who’s still destitute.

Mouth parts as you read the response. Brows flicking up your forehead. Harsh…

A smile quirks the corners of your lips.

I’ll have you know I dress for comfort. You’re the one who cares so much about prettification. Maybe I could visit your personal beauty parlour sometime, Eris?

Parchment vanishes, allowing you time to peer down at the diagram before you: a small rectangular table. There are various squares left blank, while others are filled in with one or two letters. The boxes that do contain letters attached are numbered, correlating with asterisks further down the page, displaying a full title.

Who would ever accompany you? It’s bad etiquette to visit a tonsorium on one’s own.

The smile fades after a few moments. Who would go with you if you wanted to visit somewhere? Elain? Feyre? …Mor? Shake your head, pushing away the dismal thoughts he’s brought to your attention. Divert elsewhere.

It’s worst to not entertain your guests. What a miserable (and sour) host you would be. I think I’m actually quite glad to not be visiting anytime soon.

Try to return to the anthology; find yourself awaiting his reply. Leg tapping against the floorboards. Minutes pass while you attempt to absorb more of the text, but nothing’s sticking. Like there’s a fog passing through your brain, stopping you from taking in the wonder of the world. More minutes tick by—the sky a solid dark blue the other side of your window. A few other candles gleam alight, and you murmur your thanks to the House. Flame flickers in response. Oddly comforting.

Eyelids start to feel heavy, weighing into your vision.

You don’t realise you nodded off until you wake from your nap. The desk is still void of a reply; you wearily peer around your room, attempting to orient yourself. Knuckles itch to be scratched, still rough to the touch. Gaze settles on your door. Perhaps it’s a little scary that you wouldn’t know if something was lurking directly the other side. Wouldn’t be able to hear any heavy breathing, or the scrape of steel. Deep breath, because there’s nothing there.

Stand to draw the curtains, but hairs stand on end. Remain still for a few seconds, centring on the feeling. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Brow knits in concentration, absently drawing the curtains, turning back to face the entrance to your room.

(The only exit.)

Sigh in frustration. It’s not good to give into your…however you’re feeling. It will only encourage your mind to exacerbate whatever problem its fabricated. Still, you find yourself opening the door, peering down the well-lit corridor. Nothing there, no strange feeling, no lurking presences. Just your mind finding something to react to, creating a madness to subject you to. Deep breaths. The House of Wind is secure. Safe, and secure. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen; you won’t get hurt.

Deep breaths, heart lowering its pace.

Move to bring the door to; notice something on the ground, beside the frame.

Crouch down to pick up the small tin. Bring it inside, door swinging shut as you hold it up to the light.

Peer at the neat label. Pop open the lid; look inside.

It’s a small pot of hand cream.

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[milfjuulpod]

Guidance, Ch II

lunch, coffee, perfume, emails

read chapter one here

A/N: heyyyy sorry for my absence my writers block is insane rn….anyways i hope y’all enjoy the second chapter, lmk how u feel abt it and what u wanna see! also- i have posted both of these chapters on my ao3, same username. ok here u go bye

-

The office you resided in was dark, a soft light illuminating from the computer screen, gentle music playing from its speakers. The desk was littered with papers, folders, notes, pens—it was quite the mess. Ava had dropped off a stack of reports on students, those who were falling a bit behind and needed a bit of help. So naturally, you quickly got to work. You knew when you arrived at Abbott that you wanted to help as much as possible, and there was no point in waiting to get started. Sure, it was only the first couple of weeks, but you figured it was best to get a head start on things.

Thus, you launched yourself into work. Most of these students had struggled all last year, and you decided to take some preventative measures to help both the students and teachers. Organizing the files into different piles, you heard a knock at the door. You invited whoever it was inside, and were met with a delightful surprise. “Hi Melissa, how can I help you?” You asked, taking your eyes off of the mess sprawled in front of you. “I think you might be the one who needs help, kid, what's all of this?” She asked, almost laughing at how disheveled your workspace was.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, as Melissa took place in the seat across from you. “Ava dropped off some files on students, so I’m trying to make plans for them for this year.” She looked at you with such care at that moment, before returning to her usual demeanor. “Well don’t run yourself into the ground before we get halfway into the school year, I have a feeling your desk is gonna look like this a lot,” she teased. You replied with a quiet yes, and went to turn the music down before Melissa stopped you.

“Hold on, is that Italian?” She asked, trying to hide the smile on her face. Glancing at the screen, you realized what was playing. “Yeah, it's called Salvatore, by Lana Del Rey, I listen to this song a lot.” Her smile grew at your statement, and took mental note of it. At this point, you wondered why Melissa came in here, she still has yet to say. As if she read your mind, she spoke again. “I came to bring this to you, I had some extra and wasn’t sure if you’d eaten already, and I’m gonna guess you haven’t,” She gestured to the desk once again before setting down a tupperware in front of you. As she stood up to take her leave, she said, “I hope you like this Italian food as much as you like listening to the language,” and walked out of your office. You felt nearly as warm as the food sitting in front of you. 

       

When five p.m. rolled around, you figured it was about time to call it. Many plans were made for students, the rest would have to wait until tomorrow. You packed up your things to leave, when you remembered the tupperware sitting on the edge of your desk. Melissa’s tupperware. Hoping she didn’t leave, you grabbed it and rushed to her door. Unfortunately, her lights were off and the door was locked. Looks like that will have to wait until tomorrow too. 

      On the way out, you were stopped by Janine. “Hey! how’s the first week going?” She asked, excited as ever. You told her about the work you had done, and what was still left to do. “I just gotta take this home and wash it now, it’s Melissa’s.” Janine’s eyes widened at that statement, making you feel like maybe you said something you shouldn’t have. “Oh, Melissa gave you that? It took weeks before she even remembered my name, let alone give me something,” She shuffled on her feet nervously. “I hope she’s not trying to butter you up for anything,” Janine’s rambling was cut off by Gregory pulling up to the two of you. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

      Walking to your own car, you wondered what Janine could’ve meant by that. Melissa had been nothing but kind to you, what could possibly make her say that? Sure, the older teacher had a bit of a tough exterior, but she already took a liking to you. Janine’s words echoed in your head, and the anxiety grew as you thought about what Melissa really wanted from you. 

        

The following morning, you walked to Melissa’s classroom with her clean tupperware and coffees in hand. One for you, one for her. You were just going to return her dish, give her the coffee, and leave. Nothing more, nothing less. The crush on her was a bit ridiculous at this point, you barely knew the redhead, and yet you wanted nothing more but to learn everything. Knocking lightly on the door, you let yourself in. “Good morning, you left yesterday before I could give this back to you. Oh, and here’s a coffee as a thank you.” You greeted Melissa with excitement. Except she didn’t match the energy, at all. She didn’t even look up from her computer as she quietly said “thank you.” 

        Okay, maybe you were planning on staying a bit longer and chatting with her before getting to your own work, and you felt a bit defeated. Silently, you left the classroom and walked to your own office, wondering if Janine was right about Melissa. It was hard to focus on work feeling this way, and slowly, but surely, it was lunch time. Opting to work through it, you didn’t visit the break room with everyone else. You missed Melissa anxiously looking for you in the break room. But her best friend didn’t. 

        

“Why do you keep looking at the door? Are you waiting for someone?” Barbara asked the woman next to her. Melissa glanced at the cameras, before deciding to lie. “Uh, no. Just…paying attention. You can never be too careful.” Barbara knew what that tone meant, but decided to let it go. Playing the events from this morning back in her mind, Melissa felt a little bad for ignoring you, and this made her upset. Why did she care? 

      “You’re shaking the whole table bouncing your leg, Melissa. What’s going on?” Barbara questioned. Melissa just sighed in response and leaned back in her chair. With a stern look from her friend, she started talking. “I don’t know. That new guidance counselor came by this morning to return my tupperware and I was busy so I didn’t really say much. And then she just left, but what was I supposed to do? She got me coffee too, I didn’t even realize until she was gone. It was good though, I haven’t been to the place she got it from. Maybe I should ask her where it is? Or…I don’t know…” The redhead trailed off. Across from her, Barbara tried her best to hide the shock from hearing her friend’s words. 

       “Why are you overthinking this? I’m sure she’s fine and wouldn’t mind you inquiring about the coffee. Go, before the break is over and I have to hear about this all over again tomorrow morning.” Barbara laughed as Melissa rolled her eyes, but she stood up to go searching. 

     

  You, on the other hand, decided to pick up a sandwich from the corner store across the street for lunch. Upon returning, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you opened the office door. “Melissa! Oh good god you scared me, what are you doing in here?” You whisper-screamed, adrenaline still rushing for a moment. “I had a question for ya,” she replied, so casually. As if it was normal for her to sneak into your office while you were out. Come to think of it, you remember locking the door, how exactly did she get in?

       “A question that couldn’t wait for me to get back from the store? And that’s my chair, scooch it,” You set the sandwich on the desk and leaned against it as well waiting for Melissa to move out of your seat. She didn’t. “Sorry for being so short with you this morning, kid. I was a little overwhelmed with making plans for both of my classes, but thank you for the coffee, that was sweet.” She smiled at you sincerely, and if this is what you get for buying her a coffee, it might become a daily thing. “Where did you get it by the way?”

        “Oh! It’s this new place that just opened up by my apartment, Opus. I’ve been a few times already, might become a regular there,” you told her. “Yeah, that makes two of us.” Melissa stood up to leave, and without thinking, you grabbed her hand to stop her. “Wait! Did you say both of your classes? You have two?” 

        Melissa was visibly surprised at your physical touch, but she didn’t pull back either. “Yeah, a combined second and third grade class. Gonna be a great year,” She informed you, rolling her eyes in the process. You let go of her hand finally and took in what she said. “If you need any help, with lesson plans or grading, you know where to find me.” 

        The teacher took your hand again and gently squeezed it before letting go, “Thanks hon, I’ll keep that in mind. And next time you need lunch, you know where to find me,” She said with a smirk before walking out the door. Sitting down, you took in the smell of her perfume that coated the area for a few moments more. The sweet scent was quickly forgotten when you looked at your computer screen. Many emails, forgotten assignments, but what caught your eye immediately, was a new email, from Melissa of all people. 

       Forgot to ask while I was still with you, but would you want to meet this afternoon or later this week to help me with some planning? Maybe we can enjoy a coffee inside the shop this time. Let me know. 

-Melissa Schemmenti

[umeoniii]

daddy’s bestfriend, kenny

!: corruption kink, age gap, reader is 18+ obvi, innocent virgin reader, reader calls kenny “uncle” they aren’t related it’s just what she calls him, fem reader, guided masturbation, size kink,

{\❀_/} ( • • ) />♡<\

you sat on the couch of your parents spacious living room, skipping through the channels of the tv trying to occupy yourself until your parents left for their anniversary vacation.

they were leaving you at home for 3 days to your own discretion. you were happy to be alone for the few days, you could use your mothers makeup and look through her clothes all you wanted to now.

your mother walked into the living room putting on her earrings. you already knew she was going to try and set a bunch of rules.

“y/n honey, while we’re gone make sure to watch the house. also if you decide to invite over friends text me, and also make sure to feed princess, if we run out of food make sure to get ‘kitty’s delight’ not the cheap kind…” you drowned out your mothers voice, blabbing on about the same things.

“y/n! are you listening to me?” she says snapping you out of your trance.

you nodded your head watching your father come down the stairs in his suit.

you stood up and walked your parents to the door and kissed them goodbye. you walked back over to the couch plopping back down. before your father walked all the way out the door he turned around and walked back towards you, who was yet again skipping through channels.

“also honey, you remember my good friend kenny? the one who used to watch you alot when you were younger?”

your ears pricked up as soon as the name rolled off his tongue.

“yeah, why do you ask?”

“well he might come over to make sure you stay in check. so keep an eye out okay angel?”

you gave your father a long stare before opening your mouth, “im old enough to watch the house, i dont need a babysitter.” you whined standing in front of your dad.

“i don’t care honey, i’d feel safer if there were an older adult in the house with you.” he walked back to you giving you a kiss on the cheek.

you watched as he walked back to door standing with your mother, who blew you a kiss before closing the door. you stood at the window watching as their taxi drove them off.

turning back to the living room you turned off the living room tv and went into the kitchen getting yourself a snack. a piece of the strawberry cake from their anniversary gift.

after you finished your last bite you remembered, uncle kenny’s coming over!

you ran up the stairs, quickly going to your room taking out cuter lounging clothes. your bathroom was your next destination hopping into the shower washing yourself with the strawberry cream body wash you got from the mall the other day.

you wasted no time to shave your entire body and to wash and do you hair as well. you hopped out drying your body off, and greasing up.

you dried and combed through your hair fixing it into a ponytail with a ribbon. after you were done modding your appearance you ran back into your bed laying down. you checked the time on your phone. damn, it took me 3 hours to do all of that? n’ he’s still not here…

you looked over to your nightstand drawer and opened it taking out your diary as well as your pen.

you wrote, “today my parents left me home alone! they acted like i couldn’t watch the house, im in college im pretty sure i can… they’re gonna be gone for a few days, 3 at most. and guess who’s gonna come over? guess! kenny is! my, i’m lowkey nervous but im happy because i haven’t seen him in a lil while.”

it was honestly odd what you had for your father’s friend. you’ve always had a little crush on him. you found many of his attributes attractive. you liked how he towered over you, how he was always very nice to you and overprotective of you. you felt icky at times with the way he made you feel, but you couldn’t help yourself.

while thinking you heard a knock at your door.

it must be kenny! you got off your bed and peered through the blinds seeing kenny’s black truck. you ran down the steps quickly and stopped at the front door. you looked through the peephole seeing kenny’s tall form standing with a bag in his hands.

you opened the door swiftly to be greeted with a large smile on his face. you jumped and gave him a big hug, his large arm wrapped around your hips.

“hey kiddo” he said

“hi kenny” you backed up from the hug, motioning him to come inside. the two of you walked in standing in the living room.

“you’ve gotten older since last time i seen ya’” he said, you noticed how his eyes drifted to your breasts before he quickly looked back at your eyes.

“it hasn’t been that long.” you scoffed, “ what’s in the bag?” you inquired following him to the couch.

“nothin’ my stuff, also i gotcha something.” you watched him pull out a stuffed puppy out of a separate box he was carrying. it was pink with a white bow tied on it. you smiled with bright, wide eyes.

“i knew you liked this kind of cutesy stuff so i got it for you at the store.” you opened it, staring in awe at the white puppy plush that sat before you.

“what did you do with the last one i got for you?” he asked.

“oh, the bunny? well it sits on my bed!” you told him thinking about how you cuddle with it at night as if it were your uncle.

“that’s great, so where am i gonna sleep at?” he asked yawning.

“the room next to mine, you want me to show it to you?” you asked sweetly.

he gave you a nod. you walked up the stairs with kenny behind you. you walked down the long hallway past your parents room and yours and right to the guest room.

“here it is.” it was a nice cream colored room. it had a queen sized bed and a tv.

“you can use my bathroom kenny if you need it m’kay? my parents hate even when i use their bathroom.” you gave him a soft smile as he took off his boots. you walked out leaving him alone.

you walked back to your bedroom putting the dog plushie on your bed. you layed down on your back getting your phone and putting in your headphones listening to your music.

you sat on your bed lying down until you felt a light tap on your thigh. you sat up quickly turning to kenny. you saw his mouth moving not hearing a word leaving his lips. you took off your headphones to hear him clearly.

“huh?”

“i said im about to take a shower y/n, help me out will ya?”

you both walked inside of your bathroom. you showed him where everything was and how to work the shower. he took in the scenery of your restroom.

“damn even the soaps shaped like a lil animal.” he chuckled inspecting the soap, while you lit up your candle.

he pulled out his razor and you walked out sitting back onto your bed.

you pulled back out your diary writing more of the day’s events and also writing some reminders. a few minutes later you heard the door creak from the bathroom as kenny stepped out.

beard shaved off clean, towel wrapped around his waist, and dripping wet. you looked at his hair sticking to his body and you couldn’t help but look down at his happy trail that wrapped around his navel and went down. you looked at him lips parted before you turned around, the heat of your body almost making you sweat.

“sorry i left my clothes in the room, forgot to bring them with me to the bathroom” he chuckled, you watched as he walked out going to his room.

kenny left the clothes on purpose, so he can see your little flustered face as he stood half naked in front of you. he wanted to see just how long it would take to make you break.

he dried off in his room and put his clothes on. he stayed in his room letting the tv entertain him occasionally checking in on you until you came in asking him if he was hungry. you eyed the tight black shirt he wore, outlining his muscles and biceps. as well as the pajama pants he wore.

“hell yeah i am.”

“well i’ll be in the kitchen, i’ll make us something good to eat.” you smiled walking off.

when kenny heard you walk down the stairs he creeped into your room slowly.

he loved how you liked cutesy things, everything in your room was a pastel color or pink. you had cute trinkets and posters all over your room. he looked through your drawers looking at your lacy panties and bras.

what’d he do to see you in only them.

he turned around towards your bed catching a glimpse of the pink journal with stickers laying on your ditsy rose comforter.

he sat himself on the bed softly looking at the cover of the book y/n’s diary DONT read further.

he chuckled to himself before reading forward.

he wanted to know more about you and how your life has been since he last saw you. he hasn’t talked to you consistently in about a year and he didn’t wanna nag you by asking, so he took matters into his own hands.

and boy was he was surprised at the contents of the book. it started off normal about things you did in your day, what you ate, what you wore simple things. sometimes his name would be mentioned. and the things said with his name were always about your feelings twoards him or how you thought about him a lot. one struck his eye though.

“last night i had a dream about my uncle kenny, a very weird dream. i don’t even wanna write about it because it was so dirty and yucky. usually these kind of things come with your subconscious, i mean yeah i like kenny a little more than i should. but i don’t think i like him in the way shown in my dream, that’s weird and nasty. and i’m not like that, i’ve known him for so long, he’s like my uncle. i think i’ll just try to forget about it and get ready to go to work…”

you had a crush on your uncle kenny. and surprisingly he liked you a lot too, he thought you were always such a cutie. when he saw you on your 18th birthday something in him changed.

he knew your father would murder him mercilessly if he knew how he felt about you, but he couldn’t contain himself. kenny closed your diary and layed it back on the bed the way it was originally.

“kenny dinners ready!” you called out to him

he walked down the stairs to the scent of tomato soup and grilled cheese.

“smells good, y/n” he looked at you sitting down at the island

“really? i tried something different and quicker today”

“looks good as well.” he said nearly drooling over his plate. kenny ripped a piece of his sandwich and tossed it to the persian long haired cat meowing on the ground. the two of you ate quietly sometimes making eye contact with a soft smile.

“hey does your parents have a liquor cabinet or somethin’ ?”

you nodded, walking over to the cabinet standing on your tippy toes trying to reach it. kenny came up behind you with one of his hands on your hip the other reaching for your dad’s rum.

you felt a tingling sensation with his hand touching you so intimately like that. he went to another cabinet grabbing two glasses, the both of you taking your seats on the soft cushions.

“y/n you’re old enough to drink ain’tcha? have some.” kenny saud slyly pouring some into a glass for you

“well no kenny, i don’t really like it…” you said hesitantly

“c’mon it ain’t bad, i’ll help you out if you need it.” he smiled at you

you nodded sipping at the liquor and you hated it. you swallowed it only because kenny was watching you, but the burning sensation in your throat almost caused you to purge right on the table. he saw you were struggling and got you a bottle of water.

“here, i ain’t like it my first time either.” he chuckled rubbing your back as you downed the water.

a little while later you and kenny were finished, and you and him went up to your rooms separately. you sat in your bed and put your journal back into your bedside drawer.

you layed in your bed thinking about how flustered your uncle made you that day. the way you felt when he walked in front of you basically fully exposed and the way his big hand laid on your hip.

you got the weird sensation again, you tried to squeeze your legs shut in attempts to make the feeling go away. you turned off your lamp and drifted to sleep next to the barrage of plushies on your side.

you woke up later on to a suddenly heavier feeling in your bed, turning to your side you saw kenny asleep right next to you. you gasped audibly, slapping his arm trying to get his attention. he woke up giving you a confused look before realizing what he had did wrong.

“what are you doing?” you whisper screamed

“im sorry honey your bed looked more comfortable.” he said, you noticed his shirt was off which made the heat grow even rapidly.

he looked at you, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“ya‘ know, i know yer’ lil secret” he whispered into your ear.

you looked at him genuinely confused, “what secret?” you grabbed the lighter next to your bed, lighting up your candle.

“don’t play dumb with me doll. the little book that was lying on your bed, i read it.” he said sitting up

you thought deeply into it before you felt your heart drop.

oh my god, kenny read my diary. you tried your hardest to keep your composure, but it was clear that you were shocked and scared.

“don’t worry honey, i ain’t angry or anything. tell me, what was your dream about?” he asked looking into your eyes

“i um, it was about…” you cupped you hands around his ear, “we kissed” you paused abruptly, “ an- and we had… sex but before things really got started i woke up.” you whispered shamefully into his ear.

he looked at you, your heart almost pounding out of your chest.

he picked up on how nervous you were feeling , “you okay?” he asked you, sultry voice making your hairs stand up.

“yeah well, it makes me feel… icky.”

“icky? how?”

“first of all it’s weird because you’re like my uncle, kenny. and second i get this weird tingly feeling sometimes.”

he pulled you closer to him, to where you were almost on his lap, he snaked his arm around your waist and layed his hand on your thigh. “what tingly feeling?” he hummed in your ear.

you hesitated embarrassed to tell him how it felt.

“c’mon tell me sweetie, i wanna help you try n’ get rid of it.”

you grabbed his hand and drifted it to your clothed heat.

“oh, so your cunnie’s what’s achy hm?”

he pressed his finger onto your panties making you gasp. he rubbed it slowly causing you to writhe under him.

“you a virgin y/n?” he said still rubbing your clit through your panties.

you nodded vigorously grinding onto his finger.

“good girl, i don’t want you being with any of those nasty little boys, okay?”

you nodded.

“have you ever touched yourself down here before?” he said nibbling at your ear lobe.

“n-no sir” you stuttered

he removed his hand feeling how damp your panties got.

“m’ gonna teach ya a little something okay?”

he grabbed your hand and trailed it to your panties. he took his hands and ripped your panties, the cold air on your exposed pussy made you tremble.

“kenny i really liked those.” you muttered softly

he held your hand with his and showed you how to touch yourself.

“whenever you get to thinkin bout me just get your fingers and rub em’ on that little bump right there you see?” he slid you all the way onto his lap. the hairs on his chest rubbed against your back. he layed his head in the crook of your neck taking in the scent of strawberry pound cake perfume.

you layed your fingers on your clit rubbing it slowly while he helped you move your hand.

“just like that.” he groaned into your ear.

you felt the tingly feeling become more disperse throughout your body. you moaned softly rubbing your clit. you felt how hard kenny was while sitting on his lap.

kenny moved your hand from your cunt, replacing it with own fingers. he sped up the pace making you squirm more, your thighs closing.

you felt the tingly feeling build up but then it suddenly vanished as your orgasm crashed over your body.

“mm kenny” you whined, your thighs squeezing his hand as you wiggled uncontrollably in his lap.

he kissed your neck as you breathed in and out. he then picked you up and layed you back onto your bed barely giving you time to recover. he spread your legs before pulling down his pants.

a look of dread and confusion took over your face as you looked at his cock. it was long and curved over his tummy. his head was swolllen and leaky. you closed your legs and shook your head.

“what’s wrong pretty? it ain’t gonna hurt, promise.” he said kissing your cheek and prying your legs back open.

he spit onto his fingers and rubbed it onto your vulva before lining his head to your hole.

“im gonna stuff ya like a fuckin’ apple pie.”

he pushed himself into you, softly groaning while doing so. you watched waiting for him to be all the way in. he pushed the last of himself in quickly, causing you to let out a yelp.

he was balls deep inside of you, your legs on his shoulders. he slowly thrusted himself in you. you whined softly to yourself. it was more painful than you imagined, he was so big compared to your virgin body. you felt yourself stretching out after every thrust.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, your headboard squeaking from all the movement.

“how would yer’ daddy feel? if he knew how dirty you were getting for me?”

“upset” you hiccuped, his skin slapping against yours.

“damn right he’d be, so you can’t tell him about this. that his best friend is fucking the hell out of his daughter.” he said rubbing your cheek

you felt guilty, but at the same time you couldn’t help it, you wanted more.

“kenny it feels so good, c-can you go a little faster.” you said shakily

he sped up causing tears of pleasure to run down your hot cheeks. you felt the way his tip rubbed against the ridges inside of you, it made you feel an emotion you’ve like none you’ve ever experienced.

“fuck, you’re so tight honey, im trying so hard not to cum.” he held you closer to his chest biting the tender skin of your neck. you yelped from the sudden feeling of his teeth in your neck, but weirdly enough you liked it.

you liked the full feeling he gave you, the pang of pain you felt when his cock expanded your virgin cunt, you loved it. he slid his hands up your gown groping and squeezing your chest, you wrapped your legs around his waist holding on to him as tight as possible.

“you don’t know how many times i’ve imagined this day. how many times i’ve came into my hand thinkin’ about you.” he grunted, his body slamming against yours.

you started to feel a pleasurable sensation, like something intense was building up inside of you “k-kenny” you sputtered, voiced shaky from all the movement. he looked at you still thrusting, “i feel it again, the weird feeling.” you whined clawing at his back. he didn’t answer your inquiry and instead sped up.

you felt the feeling build up even more as the ribbon in your tummy snapped. you moaned loudly tensing your body and cumming all over your uncle kenny. you gasped for air while kenny continued to thrust into you, his pace getting sloppy.

he pulled out before grabbing your cheeks and forcing your mouth open.

“stick out your tongue like you’re licking a popsicle alright?” he said jerking himself over you.

you obliged.

a few pumps later his semen spewed from his swollen, dark red tip. white covered your tongue as you kept it hanging out of your mouth.

“swallow it like the good girl you are.” he said, his big hand resting on top of your head.

you swallowed the thick, salty liquid with a slightly embarrassed grin.

kenny grabbed you by your cheeks indulging in a deep kiss groping your body more.

little did you know he was planning to repeat this again tomorrow.

。

a/n: only few ppl on this app will understand how bad i need kenny ψ(｀∇´)ψ

a/n2: i hate to be the bearer of bad news for the south park fans, but this is abt kenny ackerman from aot Σ('◉⌓◉’)

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! Only if you don't mind, are you up for a Snippet Sunday? Thank you so much for your Patrochilles fics, I love all of them soooo much♥

Thank you, I'm glad you enjoy my fics! I've been working on a western AU (aka patrochilles but make them cowboys) so here's a snippet from the first chapter:

The boy that’s standing at the ranch’s threshold is the last thing Achilles would have expected to see. He must be about fourteen, fifteen at most; his face is dark and sunburnt beneath the shadows of his wide-brim hat, his neck glistening with sweat in the waning light. He holds himself up tall, though it’s clear by his posture and his clothes that he’s been travelling for the better part of the day, perhaps longer.

“Are you lost?” Achilles asks him. It isn’t very often that they get visitors this time of day, or evening. 

The boy gives him a long, level look, fidgeting with the strap of the pack hanging off his shoulder, which seems to be his only possession. “This the Pelides ranch?” he asks, voice hoarse and scratchy with exhaustion. His soft drawl sounds vaguely southern, but not from a place Achilles can easily discern.

“The very same.” 

“Is the owner home? Mister Pelides?”

“Who’s asking?”

The boy tenses. “I’d rather speak to him direcly, if it's all the same to you.” 

Achilles gives him a careful look-over, his thumb tucked behind his belt. He doesn’t look like a desperado—too young, perhaps, for that, though Phthia's been seeing more and more of them— and he’s no peddler either; he's got no wares to sell that Achilles can see. His clothes would have once been of good make though they’re now worn and dusty, and the silver spurs on his boots mark him as anything but a laboring man. Whoever he is, he must have been well off… at some point.

Achilles hesitates for a moment before he gives the dogs a clipped command. They all sit on their haunches as Achilles swings the door open to let the boy in. He waits for Achilles to bar the gates again and lead him up to the house’s front porch, where Peleus and Chiron are now curiously watching. 

“What’s your name, son?” Peleus asks, a friendly yet cautious smile on his lips as they ascend the porch steps. 

“Patroclus, sir.”

“And what’s your father’s name, Patroclus?” 

Patroclus’ jaw clenches. “I ain’t got none, sir.” 

Peleus’ expression softens just a little with genuine compassion at this. His father's always had a soft spot for those without family, home or hope. "Well, I'm really sorry to hear that." He rocks a little back and forth on his rocking chair, his smoking pipe dangling from his lips. “What can I do for you, Patroclus?”

“Looking for work,” Patroclus says without preamble. “I'm strong, and I work fast. I can bale hay and buck barley and clean the cattle pens, and fix them fallen fence posts what I saw on my way in—or anything else that needs fixing.”

Peleus considers this for a long moment. “Hay season is still a ways away,” he remarks thoughtfully. “And I’ve got enough men for the fences and the barley and the cattle. Come back in a month and I’ll have work for you.”

His tone is dismissal enough. Peleus pushes himself up and turns towards the house, missing the boy’s face that instantly falls at his words. Patroclus' dark eyes go wide in alarm and his mouth works soundlessly for a moment, lips cracked by the heat and the sun. He must have been out under the blazing hot sun of the valley for days, weeks by the looks of it. His hands are soft though, delicate fingers tightening over the brim of his hat. Hands that probably haven’t known half the work they claim they have.

Achilles’ heart clenches, inexplicably, at this.

“Calving and foaling season is almost upon us,” he tells his father carelessly. He picks up the old saddle he’d set aside before the boy showed up, and starts absently working on the stitching again. “Last year we were running ourselves rugged day and night; sure would help to have another set of hands around.”

Peleus stops short. Patroclus stares at Achilles, but his surprise lasts only for a moment before he hurries to say, “I’ve worked with cattle before, and I’ve grown around horses. I can ride a horse and train a horse for carriage and for riding and muck out the stalls. I can do anything you tell me, and I won’t ask for nothing more than a hot meal and a place to sleep.”

He doesn’t say ‘please’ but Achilles can almost hear it, at the tip of his tongue. He catches himself silently begging his father to take the boy in.

Peleus stays quiet for a long minute, his face obscured by the smoke of his pipe. “Pay is ten drachmae a day, plus board and lodging. The men’s bunks are full; you’ll have to sleep in the barn for now. This alright with you?”

“Yes, sir,” Patroclus says, and the palpable relief in his voice is almost…heartbreaking. “Thank you, sir.”

[vodika-vibes]

Pen-Pals

Summary: When you're assigned a pen-pal for one of your classes, you expect to make a friend, at best. You definitely don't expect Tup to become something more to you.

Pairing: Sailor! Tup x Reader

Word Count: 4569

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: I am, like, 85% done with my Prince!Boba fic and decided to write this instead. Whoops.

Tagging: @the-bad-batch-baroness

Divider by saradika

“Alright everyone,” Your gaze drifts from your notebook up to the front of the classroom, where your teacher is trying to gather the attention of her class, “As you all know,” The teacher continues as soon as she has everyone’s attention, “I have been working to set up this pen-pal program with men on the front lines, as well as men on the naval ships-”

The room dissolves into groans and you roll your eyes, “Miss,” One of your classmates calls from the back of the room, “You’re a Rune teacher! Not a language teacher!”

The teacher slams her hand on the table, and the room falls silent immediately, “I already have pairings made up for all of you,” She says through ground teeth, “And you are going to write at least one letter.” She falls silent as she glares around the room, and then she’s all smiles again, “Now when I call your name, come up and get your assignment-”

After class ends, you leave campus quickly. The worst thing to do would be to remain and listen to the rest of your classmates bitch about this, admittedly weird, assignment. Why a Master Level magic teacher, who’s students were all adults, is creating a pen-pal program is beyond you…but grades are grades.

Plus, she gave you a stack of these really neat envelopes that will teleport the letter to the recipient the same day it’s sealed, and you really want to take a look at the runes that allow that to happen.

You push open the door to the store your grandparents own, and walk through the shop, into the back, and up the stairs. “I’m home!” You call as you open the door that leads to the house proper.

Your grandfather doesn’t look up from where he’s burning something into a piece of wood, “Welcome back,” He says, “How was class?”

“The teacher finally managed to make her pen-pal dreams come true,” You reply as you place your bag on a chair and walk over to the table, “What are you working on?”

“You tell me,” Your grandfather replies as he pushes the schematics over to you.

You turn the paper so you’re able to read it properly, your fingers lightly tracing over the written runes, “It looks like…hm…a warmer of some kind?” You asked.

“Very well done,” Your grandfather praises as he glances at you, “It���s a commission that came into the shop, they want a clothing warmer.”

“And you’re making it out of wood?” You ask doubtfully.

“Just the frame, kiddo. It’s going to be cast in steel when I finish this bit.” Your grandfather rolls his eyes, “You know your grandmother, she’s already got the forge fired up.”

“At least she loves her job,” You counter as you turn the schematics back towards your grandfather.

“True enough, she does love metalworking.” He beams at you, “So, who’s your pen-pal?”

“Dunno, I haven’t opened the envelope yet.” You reply as you grab a cookie out of the jar, and take a bite, “Unless you need me in the shop, I’ll probably head to my room and get started on that.”

“Such a diligent student,” Your grandfather teases, “We’re all set in the shop, for now. Killian actually showed up for his shift today.”

“You know you should fire him, right?” You say as you break off a piece of your cookie and toss it into your mouth.

“Ahh. I can’t do that. He’s Bernie’s son!”

“I didn’t know that leeches could look human,” You mutter under your breath.

Your grandfather points at you, “Behave.”

You hold up your hands, “Okay, okay.” You finish your cookie, “Since you don’t need me, I’ll just go to my room.” You grab your back and head out of the room, though you turn and start walking backwards so you can still see your grandfather, “I’m just saying, if I didn’t show up for work three times a week, I’d get fired.”

He shoots you a disappointed look, and you muffle a laugh as you turn and head down the hallway to your room. Though you do take a moment to open the door to the basement, where grandma’s forge is located. You don’t hear her hammering anything yet, “I’m home, grandma!”

“Hi, baby! Don’t come down here, there’s dust and smoke everywhere!” She calls the warning up the stairs.

“I can see it, Grandma. Have fun!” You hear the sound of delighted giggling, and you’re pretty sure you hear her crowing something about copper, but you decide that you do not want to get involved.

You very carefully shut the door to the forge, and watch as the fire suppressants flare to life down the hall and across the floor, and you shake your head and walk down to the end of the hall.

The house you share with your grandparents is a decently sized place, all things considered, even if it is oddly shaped. The fact that the only way to get to the basement is from the second floor, rather than the first floor, is odd. Though you don’t put it past your grandparents to have designed the house that way intentionally.

Your room is the smallest room in the house. 

It’s small enough that your grandfather had to make you a loft bed with a desk and a bookshelf built underneath, but you really don’t mind. The smaller room is easier to clean, and it means you never have to invite people over.

Useful, since you don’t actually have any friends.

You hang your bag on the hook on the bedroom door, and pull out your class books, the stack of envelopes your teacher gave you, and the simple envelope with your name on the front.

You sort everything, and then you sit at your desk and you slowly open the envelope. 

The first thing that slides out is a picture. A young man with dark skin, curly black hair pulled into a bun, and brown eyes is showcased in the picture. He has a tattoo of a teardrop under one of his eyes.

You set the picture to the side and pull out the slip of paper inside the envelope. It’s not even a full sheet of paper, it’s just a ribbon of paper with a few words written on it. His name is Tup Fett, he’s a few years older than you, and he’s stationed on the Resolute, a naval ship.

Well, you suppose. It’s something at least.

You open your desk and dig around for a moment, before you pull out a picture album and flip to the very end. You grab one of the most recent pictures of yourself (a professional picture you got made for your grandmother’s birthday a couple of months ago) and you slide it in the envelope that your teacher supplied you with.

And then you grab a blank piece of paper, from the stack of specialty stationary that your aunt gave you several years ago and you’ve never had any use to use, and then you just…stare.

What does one write to a pen-pal anyway?

You tap your pen against the paper for a moment, and then, when nothing comes to you, to start doodling flowers across the top and around the edges of the paper.

And then, once the paper had over two dozen intricately drawn roses, you started to write. 

Starting with an introduction and then an apology for all of the roses you drew on his letter. And once you started writing, you found that you couldn’t stop.

One page very quickly becomes three, and that’s when you decide to stop. You sign the letter, and then add a postscript saying that he doesn’t have to reply if he doesn’t want to.

And then you pull the picture back out of the envelope, and fold it in the letter, and, before you can start second guessing yourself, you shove the whole thing into the envelope, address the front, and seal it with a touch of magic.

Nothing happens for a moment, and then the envelope flashes twice, and vanishes.

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

When the men on the Resolute were told about the pen-pal program, Tup wasn’t convinced that it was a good idea. He’s still not convinced that it’s a good idea, but so many of his brothers are-

As a Private, Tup doesn’t expect to get a letter. Or to be lucky enough to get a pen-pal at all. After all, the Commanders and Captains and higher ranked brothers are sure to be chosen.

Which is totally fair. He does not begrudge his older brothers their ranks, he knows how hard they’ve worked to get to where they are, especially since some of the natborns they work with seem to think that there’s some favoritism going on.

Which is categorically ridiculous. Jango doesn’t play favorites. It’s why Cody works on a warship too. It’s why everyone except Fox works on a warship, and the only reason Fox doesn’t is because he’s in charge of the Mandalorian Guard. And the Police Force. And the Royal Guard.

Anyway, Tup is convinced that he’s not going to get a pen-pal, so he doesn’t even bother with considering it.

Which is why, when he steps into the room he shares with his batchmates, and he sees a letter on his bunk…he’s not really sure how to react.

He carefully picks it up and sees that it’s addressed to him, and so he just stares at it for almost 30 seconds. And then he lays down on his bunk and he slowly opens it.

Tup pulls out three sheets of paper, and his lips curl up into a smile, and that smile grows when the picture falls out of the letters. He picks it up and looks at it, at you, for a long moment. And then he turns the picture over and reads the information on the back.

Your name, the date it was taken, and a note in neat cursive, “I got professional pictures for Grandma for her birthday, but she only kept one, and gave the rest away. I did manage to save this one, though. So…here’s me.”

Tup flips the picture back over, and grins at the image of you. Cute. So very cute.

He sets the picture down on his chest, he’ll have to remember to beg Rex for some tape later so he can hang the picture on his bunk, and he opens the letter. Tup is more than a bit surprised when he sees all of the roses drawn on the first page.

And when the very first sentence is both an introduction and an apology for all of the flower doodles, he can’t help but release a quiet laugh, joy blossoming in his chest. 

Tup reads his letter three times before his older brother bursts into the room. “Tup!” Hardcase says, “Why did you skip dinner?”

“I was busy,” Tup replies as he sits up, and then he grins and holds up the letter, “I have a pen-pal.”

Hardcase blinks at Tup, twice, and then he lunges at him, “I want to read it!”

Tup swears loudly and twists, his feet catching Hardcase’s chest plate and pushing him back, “It’s not yours, dikut!” Hardcase lands with a loud crash, and the door to the room opens again.

“Tup? Hardcase?” Rex looks between the pair of them, “What are you doing?”

“Tup got a pen-pal and he won’t share.” Hardcase says from the floor, “Tell him he has to share.”

“That’s not at all how that works, Hardcase, and you know it.” Rex replies flatly, and then he glances at Tup and flashes a small smile, “I’m happy for you, vod. I have the envelopes in my office, you can get one in the morning.”

“Thanks, Rex.” Tup replies with a relieved sigh.

Rex just grins at him, and then he bends over and picks up a small square of paper, and his grin grows, as he looks at it. “She’s cute, Tup.” He offers the picture back to Tup, “I’ll go get some tape so you can hang the picture.”

Tup takes the picture and mutters something in response, before he hides the picture in his pocket.

“You’re not going to be able to hide it for long, vod.” Rex warns, “But I’ll make sure that no one tries to read your letters.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Tup replies easily. “They can get their own pen-pals if they want to read letters.”

Rex laughs, and claps Tup on the shoulder, “I’ll be sure to mention that. Come on. Let’s get you your envelope and some tape.”

“I thought you said I had to wait until the morning?” Tup asks.

“You’re not going to sleep, Tup.” Rex counters with a roll of his eyes, “You’re far too wired. Letting you write the letter now will at least keep you occupied until you do fall asleep.”

“...thank Rex.”

“This is the only time I’ll allow it, Tup.” Rex warns as he points at Tup.

“Yes sir.”

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

When you wake the following morning, and carefully maneuver yourself down the ladder and onto the floor, you notice that there’s a letter sitting innocently on your desk.

You stare at the letter, pleasantly surprised.

You honestly didn’t expect a response at all, let alone one within 12 hours of the initial letter.

You yawn and sit down. You can hear your grandparents moving around down the hall, and you know that you really should save this to read later…but you have a few minutes, right?

You carefully open the envelope and settle back in your seat, and start to read.

Thank you for writing to me, sarad! I can honestly admit that I wasn’t expecting a pen-pal at all, especially not one who is so talented. I really liked the roses, so please don’t apologize for doodling!

It was also really interesting to hear about your class. I wasn’t aware that there were magic schools…but I suppose it does make sense. There’s not nearly enough wizards in the world for everyone to have an apprenticeship. I admit that I’m not sure what runes are used for, but you seem very passionate about them. Is that because of your grandparents? You mentioned them, and their shop, a lot.

I can’t tell you where I am right now, it’s not allowed, but I can tell you that we’re still several months away from returning to Mandalore. I miss solid ground…and my own room. More my own room than solid ground, if I’m going to be completely honest.

Sharing a room with 5 other men? Not fun. The fact that they’re my brothers somehow only makes it twice as bad and ten times more annoying.

Oh! The picture you sent me is currently hanging on the wall in my Berth. Not in my bunk, just…on the wall…next to the mirror. I’m so sorry, my brothers are idiots and they insisted. Hardcase made some paper flowers and taped them to the wall around your picture. I’m still not sure why.

It’s okay though, because Cap gave me permission to beat him around the training room in the morning.

I suppose I won’t be too hard on Hardcase. The splash of color is nice. If you wanted to send more pictures of anything, it would be nice. But please don’t feel like you have to.

Anyway, I have to wrap this up now. It’s late and I do have work I need to do in the morning.

Thank you again, Sarad, for writing to me. I hope you will again.

Yours, 

Tup

P.S. Hardcase says hi.

P.P.S. Dogma also says hi.

P.P.P.S Hardcase says that if you want to send some candy, that would be nice. He wants fruit flavored hard candy, I’m partial to peppermint, personally.

P.P.P.P.S. This is the last one, I swear. Hardcase swears that fruit candy is better, he’s wrong. I’m pretty sure he was dropped on his head as an infant.

By the time you reach the end of the letter, you’re giggling. Tup sounds so fun, and Sarad is a very nice nickname.

More pictures is definitely do-able, you have an entire box filled with random pictures you’ve taken over the last few years, though you’re not sure how to get candy to them.

Maybe if you put the candy in a box and then tape the letter to the top? You’ll ask grandpa, he’ll know.

“Angel!” You hear your grandfather call from the hallway, “Breakfast!”

“Coming!” You shout back. You carefully lay the letter in an empty box, planning on collecting as many letters as Tup decides to send you, and then you hurry out of your room. “Hey, grandpa! I have a rune question-”

The letter you eventually send back to Tup at the end of the day is attached to a box full of candy, cookies, and various pictures of places and people. You also added some stationary for Tup, and you’re pretty sure your grandparents added a few more pictures of you.

You eye your grandmother suspiciously for a moment, “Are you planning on adopting Tup, Grandma?”

“Hm? Oh, no dear. I’m in the process of planning your wedding to him.”

“...Grandma!”

“What?”

********

Tup blinks at the box sitting on his bunk.

He’s fairly certain that the pen-pal thing isn’t supposed to be a daily thing, but he’s not complaining. At all.

He grabs the box and sits on the floor as he carefully opens it. And then his jaw drops.

There’s a bunch of different types of candies, a container full of cookies, a sweater, and a box that, when he opens it, reveals an entire stack of pictures. Tup absently flips through the pictures, most are of various places around Mandalore. Though some are pictures of his Sarad through the years.

Tup pops a peppermint into his mouth, and carefully peels the envelope off the front of the box, and opens it.

Hey Tup!

I have to admit, having a letter to read as soon as I woke up this morning was a surprise. Though it was a pleasant surprise! I didn’t think that you would want to write back to a babbling college student. I’m glad that I was wrong!

It would be nice to be an apprentice to a proper wizard, but, well, only the wealthy or the lucky actually have that chance. And I’ve never been either, so I made due with what the college can offer me. Not that I’m much of a magic user, honestly. You’ll never catch me running around throwing fireballs or summoning lightning. I’ll stick with my safe, clean, runes.

You said you don’t know much about runes, but to keep this from becoming a lecture-Runes can be used for a lot of things, but mostly they’re useful. Like…I have runes sown into my boots so that they don’t get dirty, even if I jump in a mud puddle. And I have a locket my grandparents made me that acts as a rudimentary tracking charm. (I really need to get them to remove that, I’m not five anymore after all.)

And I do lean more to runes because of my grandparents. They raised me since I was four. My parents and older siblings decided to take a world tour…and just never came back. It doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers my grandparents, though. They feel like I should miss them, and I really don’t. How do you miss something you never had?

Anway.

What’s it like living on a ship? I imagine it’s cramped and you don’t have much space. At least you’re with family, I suppose. Though if I had to be in close quarters with any member of my family for a long period of time, I would commit murder, so it’s best that I’m not.

I don’t mind that my picture is hung up, your picture is hung up over my desk after all. But I did send some more pictures so maybe you can reclaim the picture of me and replace it with something a bit less…embarrassing? Though I think grandma snuck some more pictures of me in your care box.

I hope you like the sweater I got you. I wasn’t sure as to your size, so I got a size up from what I thought you might wear. And I know the Resolute’s color is blue, so I just grabbed that color, so you can wear it on shift, maybe? If you don’t like the color you can send it back, and I’ll get you a different one. Promise.

Anyway, my lunch break is almost over, so I had better go. I have to go scream at one of my grandfather’s employees…he showed up five hours late for his shift. Who does that??

XOXO

Sarad

P.S say hi to Hardcase and Dogma for me

P.P.S There is enough candy in the box for you and Hardcase, but please don’t feel like you have to share with him.

P.P.P.S Also, you’re both wrong. Chocolate is the superior candy, and I will fight you on this.

Tup grins at the letter and immediately pulls the sweater on. It’s a bit too big on him, but it’s warm and he loves it. He opens the box of pictures and starts going through them. All of the pictures with his Sarad in them get put to the side to get hung up in his bunk, while he leaves the others on the desk so the Berth can get properly decorated.

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

It’s been almost a year since you first started writing to Tup, and you still hear from him almost daily. Of course, you’re just as guilty as he is of writing daily letters.

And sending gifts. So many gifts.

Though, in your defense, most of the things you’ve gifted him have been sketches and doodles. Though you did send him a new hair clip that your grandma made for his birthday.

He also got a cake, courtesy of your grandfather.

You spin your pen between your fingers as you stare at the almost finished letter.

Well, the letter is finished, technically you could send it as is, and it would be fine. After all, Tup would be docking soon…as in today, and you can finally see him face to face, but-

But.

You nervously gnaw on your lower lip and, before you can second guess yourself, you add a hastily scribbled postscript, and then you shove the letter into the envelope, and seal it.

The letter glows, and vanishes, and you stare at the spot for a moment. 

Well. It’s out of your hands now. Now all you can do is wait.

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

Tup stares at the letter in his hands wide eyed. He wasn’t expecting another letter, not since he’s so close to returning home, to being able to see you in person.

But you sent a letter anyway, and while the majority of the letter is normal stuff, it’s the postscript that has him thrown for a loop.

I’m looking forward to meeting you in person. I’ll be there when the Resolute docks, Grandpa already said I can have the day off. So don’t worry about replying to this letter!

XOXO

Sarad

P.S. I love you

He reads the postscript over and over and over. There aren’t any more envelopes. He can’t reply to you, even though he wants nothing more than to send a reply, even if the reply is only four words.

He fights the urge to hunt Rex down and demand one more envelope, though he knows his older brother is absolutely not going to give him another envelope, even if there was another envelope. Which. There is not.

“You alright, vod?” Dogma asks, as he looks from Tup’s anxiously bouncing leg to the way he’s impatiently tapping a rhythm out on the paper in his hand.

“What? Yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Great.”

“Right. You wanna try repeating that in a way that’s more believable?” Dogma asks dryly.

“...Sarad loves me.”

Dogma stares at him, silent, “Vod. You’ve been in love with her for six months. Why are you freaking out about this?”

“Because I want to tell her.”

“Great, you can tell her in person. In two hours.” Dogma replies.

“But-”

“No buts. Just relax, vod.”

The last two hours pass by in the blink of an eye, and Tup shifts nervously. This is the first time he's been able to meet you face to face, and he's nervous.

Only a little.

Because you're great! And you're so kind, and whenever he talks to you, or thinks about you, his stomach flips, and he feels like a cadet again.

But he's still nervous. He's not Rex or Jesse or Fives, all of whom ooze charm as easy as breathing. So there's always the chance that you'll see one of his brothers and choose one of them.

Regardless of what you had said in the letter.

And then the ship is docking, and he's disembarking and he sees you, and you're just as ethereal as your pictures showed-

And you see him, and your smile is blinding, and then you're in front of him, and your arms are around his neck, and he's stumbling backwards, and Rex has to catch him -

Tup can't help but laugh as he curls his arms around your waist, "Hi Sarad." He breathes out, and all of his nerves vanish as though they never existed to begin with.

“Hi,” You reply, your arms settling comfortably around his neck, “Did you get my letter?”

“I did,” Tup replies.

“And?” You ask, some anxiety passing through your gaze.

Tup grins at you and catches your lips with his own, one of his hands leaving your hip to cradle the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He can hear his brothers wolf-whistling him, and he breaks the kiss, though he remains close enough to kiss you again, when he wants to, “Is that an answer?” He asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

And your face is red, and your eyes are bright, “I’d like to hear the words anyway.” You whisper, uncaring of the audience…and you do have an audience.

His grin is boyish, and both of his hands move to cradle your face between his hands, “I,” He kisses your forehead, “Love,” he peppers light kisses across your cheeks, and nose, “You.” His lips catch yours in an even deeper kiss. “How’s that?”

You giggle and tilt your head slightly, “I think it’s perfect. A perfect confession for a perfect Tup.” At this point, the audience has moved away, with other couples reuniting across the docks.

He kisses you again and again, before he finally pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “Remind me to write a letter to your old teacher for introducing us.”

“She’ll be unbearable, Tup.” You whisper up to him.

“We can allow it, for a little bit.” Tup whispers back.

“Grandma and Grandpa are dying to meet you, can you leave?”

“My shore leave officially started the moment I stepped off the ship. I would love to meet your family.” He ghosts his lips against yours, one more time, “Lead the way, Sarad.”

[tiressian]

Debate? Heated argument?

What about a quarrel because someone is... jealous. 😌🤭

But honestly, I've been waiting for you to write a jealous fic/sex trope. 🥺👉👈

You're in luck 😂 I have a scrapped jealousy scene from Hello Nurse that has kissing, on the house:

content warning for Naoya lmao, rated high T, sensuality, cussing

I’m getting laid, Shoko decides.

Ideally, she’d prefer a targeted lobotomy: erase everything about Satoru that makes her stomach tie up in knots, but anyone who’s manifested such a Cursed Technique has yet to step foot through the school gates. The thing about Satoru is he’s insufferable but also oddly considerate in unexpected ways, and these two facets of him are in constant harmony, which is frustrating, because he also has the nerve to be consistent about it.

Satoru’s stopped munching on her party-sized bag of potato chips and is staring at her.

“Oh,” Shoko says, realising after a pause. “Said that out loud, didn’t I?” Satoru nods slowly.  Sorry. What were you talking about?”

“My annual ‘End of Summer; Zero Deaths!��� party,” he says. He goes back to munching. Shoko got the salt and vinegar flavour out of spite, but that doesn’t stop him from stuffing it down by the handful. “Ish gonna be ‘allow-een-feem.”

“Halloween-themed?”

Satoru nods, swallowing. “Yeah, costumes. You’re coming right? Who knows; you might even get lucky.”

“Who are you going as?”

“The Dread Pirate Roberts,” Satoru says, puffing out his chest briefly.  Probably another character from all those movies he watches, Shoko assumes. “Wanna go matchy matchy? I think red suits ya.”

“Ha-ha.” Stupid Morgue joke, she thinks. Stupid Satoru, making the same one every year, as if it’ll magically land if he does it enough times.

“Worth a shot.” Satoru shrugs. He tips his head back to empty the rest of the potato chips down the hatch.

“Satoru,” Shoko says, suddenly remembering.

“Yo!”

“What kind of woman do you like?”

Satoru is briefly serious, thinking about it. The moment he smiles, Shoko knows she’s in for mischief. “Hmm, well. I really like women who like me.”

Shoko groans.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Such a copout.”

“How’s it a copout?” Satoru scoffs, and as convincing as it sounds, Shoko’s ears are highly attuned to filtering out the bullshit.

“Plenty of women like you.”

“Still doesn’t mean my answer’s a copout.”

“Yes it is.” Satoru gives her a blank look. “You’ve noticed all those women liking you; you’ve at least figured out your preference if you haven’t acted on the fact by now.”

Satoru smiles coyly at her. “What an intriguing diagnosis. What makes you so sure I haven’t?”

There’s a fine line between teasing and flirting. Satoru is a deft hand at blurring that line no matter who he talks to. Five years ago, it made her heart race—until she realised he did that with everyone. Now it just triggers an involuntary eye roll.

“I’m not,” she says while Satoru chuckles. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“It’s Six Eyes, not Six Hundred Eyes. Shoko, come on; I look like the kinda guy with that kind of time on my hands? You know my schedule.”

Another cop out. “I do know your schedule. I also know you have a knack for making space when it’s convenient.”

“Heaven forbid a guy practices time management!” Satoru throws his hands in the air.

“Favourite body part then,” Shoko says. Satoru tilts his head. “Are you a tits man or are you an ass man?”

Satoru snorts, then busts out laughing. He catches the marker pen Shoko flings at his head and sets it down calmly on her desk.

“I’m definitely an uncomfortable man,” he says.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not Shoko, I really am uncomfy.”

“Look, I’ll get the ball rolling: I like guys with nice bodies. That’s why I asked Suguru out,” she says. “See? Nothing you need to think too hard about.”

“Clearly.” Satoru says, catching her in a stare down. Eventually Shoko relents, unnerved. She looks away, digging into her labcoat pocket for the comfort of a cigarette. Stupid man, stupid consistency. “That strung out, huh…”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Shoko sighs. She balances her cigarette between her lips while she feels around her pant pockets for the lighter. It takes a couple of flicks before she finally gets a flame going. Satoru is quiet as he watches.

“Come to my party,” he says eventually, all teasing gone. “You never come.”

“I don’t like the noise.”

“Plenty of quiet corners. And beer.”

“What if I don’t want to wear a costume?”

“Then you’re drinking water.”

“Alright, compromise: I’ll come and I’ll wear a costume if you answer the stupid—”

“Hands,” Satoru says, heading off her rant at the pass with a smile.

Shoko closes her eyes and takes a drag. There’s never any comfortable middle ground when it comes to attention from Satoru. Always the extremes of barely enough, to have her noticing the days between his last visits and his current one, and too much all at once, filling her space with his presence until she feels suffocated by it.

“It’s stupid though,” he says.

“Liking hands isn’t stupid,” she says on an exhale.

“I mean liking only one part of a person. People aren’t made to be experienced in parts. You take them whole: good, bad…kinky.”

Shoko opens her eyes and finds him grinning at her, clearly having added that last part just to get a reaction out of her.

Shoko gives him nothing. She’s had enough years training herself out of knee-jerk reactions. She closes her eyes again and brushes the delusion aside.

“You’re weird,” she declares.

“I’m marking you down as Attending,” Satoru says. “Wear a costume—an actual costume—or you get no beer.”

He goes, leaving her office door open behind him so it can ventilate. “Smoking kills,” he says over his shoulder.

…

The party is in full swing when Shoko finally steps out of the elevator onto the penthouse floor. Sanji (Nanami) is there to let her in before he excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at Shoko’s outfit, but then Nanami tends not to bat his eyelashes at most things. 

“Utahime’s already drunk,” he explains. “I have to go hold her hair. There’s a walk-in closet where you can leave your coat.”

Satoru, or ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts’ is in the kitchen, finding entertainment in watching a zombie (Itadori) and a witch (Kugisaki) race to see who can shotgun their cokes the fastest while a mummy (Maki) boredly stands off to the side, eating from a skewer. 

There’s a large icebox filled with beers set up by the couches. Shoko passes the kitchen as she weaves her way through the throng toward it, pretending as if she isn’t unnerved by the stares following her until she hears glass shattering. When she turns her head to the commotion, she finds Satoru standing there, staring at her like a deer in headlights, with the same blush she’d seen weeks earlier creeping across his face. 

Yuki’s about to have a field day. 

She gives the downright flabbergasted pirate a polite wave in greeting, careful to hide her glee. Then she continues on, retrieving a beer from the ice box and making herself at home on the empty space of couch that Two-Face (Naoya Zen’in) of all people has just cleared out for her. As she crosses one leg over the other, he leers without an ounce of shame, which seems to be a common denominator for these clan types. Then he shifts closer, draping an arm casually behind her head on the couch’s backrest, bringing her into his domain. He smells nice, Shoko will give him that much. 

“Well hello nurse,” he greets, in the pompous tone of a man very used to getting his way. “You’re a long way from the Infirmary.” 

The current leader of the Hei is a walking red flag, a veritable patron saint of Rotten to the Core. The name Zen’in is a warning label all its own already, but by god does this man work to make sure it stays that way. Shoko knows this, every woman in the jujutsu world knows this. 

But Naoya is also hot and she came here to get laid. She’s already accomplished her primary goal of wiping Satoru’s perennial smirk off his face, and that’s worth celebrating. Shoko considers both truths as she pops open her beer. She decides just for tonight she doesn’t care if Naoya doesn’t respect her. He’s never needed her like everyone else in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s needed her, come crying when there’s something to be fixed. 

Feeling wanted, even if it’s by Naoya Zen’in of all people, is way too nice of a thing to not smile about.  

“Yes, I walked all this way just to sit here with you,” Shoko tells Naoya.  

...

Naoya gets a phone call from the clan head and excuses himself to the balcony to answer, which is good timing for her, because she needs another beer. Most of the drinks have sunk lower in the icebox on account of the ice melting, so she has to bend a bit to reach. She feels a few of the eyes in her immediate vicinity fixate on her ass as she does, but it can’t be helped. She’s just straightening up, two cans in hand when her back brushes up against a wall that wasn’t there before and smirks as she turns. She didn’t expect Naoya to be done with his clan business so quickly, but she’s far from bothered; it just means she can get to her business too.   

“Aww did you miss m—oh,” Shoko realises, chuckling. Satoru has taped fake anime girl eyes into his blindfolds which are a hilarious contrast to the tension radiating off of him. He crosses his arms any tighter his head’s going to pop off like a cork, she thinks. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. What an honour.”

“Nice costume,” Satoru says. His smile is so fake, Barbie’s probably ringing him off the hook to sue about it. 

“Thank you. I think I might actually be getting lucky tonight, so I appreciate the suggestion.”

The fake smile on Satoru’s face splinters. “Naoya? Really? You couldn’t find anyone else to talk to?”

“It’s so fascinating Satoru; I don’t think he recognises me. Do you think he remembers what you and Geto did to him during Goodwill?”

“What you and me and Geto did to him, you mean.”

“Bygones. We’re adults now, Satoru.”

“He isn’t.”

Shoko smiles, poking him in the chest. “Oh? I don’t think you have any authority to say how an adult’s supposed to act.”

Satoru bats her hand away and holds up a gloved finger, which he probably assumes is supposed to lend him some kind of gravitas but in Shoko’s eyes he just comes across as petulant. “I got enough authority in this finger, nay, my pinky—” he says, wagging it in her face, “to say that that guy’s a hundred percent garbage dressed up in a fancy suit.”

“Well, no one else is interested in talking to me, garbage or no garbage.” 

Satoru gestures between them. “I’m talking to ya aren’t I?”

“Doesn’t count; you’re the host. My point stands. No one’s rushing to talk to me.” 

“Because they saw Naoya talking to you.”

“Why’d you invite him then?”

“Because he did me a solid.” 

“Ahh so he’s only ninety-nine percent garbage then,” Shoko says, and Satoru twitches, one corner of his mouth fighting a smile. 

“You’re smarter than this Shoko.”

“It’s sex, Gojo. Nothing to be smart about.”

“Well the sex you’re after is political.” 

As if she needed the reminder. Satoru looks at her expectantly. Shoko purses her lips, considering. 

“What if I asked him really nicely to let you off the hook?”

“Snowball’s chance in hell that’s happening. Look at him, Shoko: throwing his weight around, already enacting his terrorism over there.” 

Proclaiming Naoya as a terrorist is a step dramatic even for Satoru, Shoko thinks, as she follows where he’s pointing. “What, like he’s marked his territory? That is so ridic—” she cuts off with a snort at the scene on the balcony.  

Naoya is still on his phone, leaning on the railing, his back to the entire world while he nurses a beer.  The other party guests who were on the balcony before him have all instinctively crowded to one side to give him a wide berth.  

Yes. Marking his territory does sound like something in the realm of what a man who only viewed women as playthings would do.

“It’s fine,” Shoko decides, turning back to Satoru. He’s staring at the ceiling for no discernible reason, a blush high on his cheeks. “What’s with you?”

Satoru mumbles something. 

“Pardon?”

“I said Naoya sucks.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Now quit being a bad host and go save those poor balcony guests if you care so much. I’ll tell you about the sex tomorrow if I’m still alive.”

She squeezes his arm and leaves him staring at her back, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. 

...

On the spectrum of funny, Naoya is decidedly a lot less funnier than Satoru, which Shoko didn’t think possible until tonight. If there’s anything ‘funny’ about Naoya, it’s the way his gaze occasionally drifts to Maki from time to time. But Shoko also wants to get laid, and clan dynamics incestuous or otherwise are far down her list of things to be judgemental about, so. 

It’s an excruciating twenty minute conversation, to say the least. 

Shoko can only imagine what she looks like, smiling politely, and occasionally giggling, initiating contact by slapping Naoya lightly on the arm as though scandalised. She’s fervently relieved Utahime’s too drunk to see her subject herself to this, but Naoya’s staked his claim and it’s not as if anyone else is stepping up to the plate. That said, by virtue of his family name, rancid as his personality is, Naoya has to have no shortage of people lining up to throw themselves at his feet for the favours or protection being a Zen’in guarantees. He should be adept at seeing through bullshit pandering, especially since it’s not as if she’s going for the Oscar here. There’s a moment during their conversation where she thinks she sees intuition flash across Naoya’s face, but it seems to be unfounded when he inevitably cracks another unfunny joke and finally rests a hand on her knee. Shoko smiles as she takes a drink of her beer, dimly aware of the sound of glass shattering, amused by a different punchline:

Naoya is just like every other man. 

...

And so is Satoru, apparently.

Naoya gets another phone call and Shoko won’t lie: it’s amusing to watch the people on the balcony part like the Red Sea the moment he steps out. She makes her way to the kitchen while Satoru herds everyone into the living room for some party games and starts assigning them up into teams. 

The first game is charades. Shoko clears an entire tray of beef skewers while she watches, perched on one of the stools behind the kitchen counter. The only thing more entertaining than watching charades is watching drunk people argue technicalities for points. 

The stool beside Shoko scrapes against the floor. Satoru steals the last beef skewer before she can get to it and cleans it off in one bite, chewing with more gusto than seems necessary since every piece has been cooked until tender. 

“You n’ Naoya gettin’ real cozy,” he remarks. 

“As cozy as one can get, sidling up to a viper’s nest?”  Shoko guesses, smiling. 

“Well at least you don’t need me to tell ya.”

Shoko watches him pull a tray of dumplings over and steals the one he was about to pick up as revenge, popping it into her mouth and smiling innocently back at him afterwards. Satoru mutters something under his breath and picks up a different dumpling. 

“You know, Gojo,” Shoko says while they eat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted Zen’in-kun for yourself.”

Satoru chokes mid-chew, beating a fist against his chest. Shoko claps him behind the back a few times to help dislodge it, admittedly with more force than required. This sudden burst of protectiveness is appreciated but unnecessary. Naoya and his ilk could stand to attend a gender studies class, but it’s not like she’s setting out to screw a scumbag curse user.  

Satoru summons an unopened can of soda, and—after an expectant look from Shoko—a beer from the icebox with Blue. It’s as he’s sliding the beer over that Shoko notices the red smears on his wrists. 

She jerks his hands towards her before he can drink so she can examine them closer. No wounds, just remnants of his reversed cursed energy kicking in, and fairly recently, too, judging by the strength of his residuals. 

“What happened here? Fistfight with a knife?” 

“Tch, no. Pyrex dish exploded.”

“What? How? Why? Those are supposed to be oven safe.”

“Dunno,” Satoru says. He clears his throat unnecessarily and tugs his hands back. Shoko sits back and watches him eat, a hundred percent certain he’s being evasive and trying to figure the angle. 

“Never pictured you with a guy like Naoya,” he mutters, before he freezes, eyes wide, like he didn’t mean to say it aloud. 

Too late for him, Shoko pounces. She leans against him, smirking. Shoko doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, maybe it’s the costume giving her a boost of confidence, but she curls her fingers over his forearm, idly scraping her nails against the muscle she feels through the black silk of his shirt. Satoru stiffens at the contact, face pink, but he doesn’t move away.  

“Oh? You were picturing me with guys? I didn’t know your schedule had space for ‘that kind of thing.’” 

“Oh like you don’t have time picturing me with women. Miss ‘what’s your type?’”

Shoko drums her nails against Satoru’s forearm and sighs. “For your information, I only asked because Yuki wanted to know.”

“Yuki?” Satoru repeats, frowning at her. If Shoko didn’t know any better, she’d be tempted to say he looked disappointed. She presses on, tracing an ’S’ in his arm with a nail, amused at how every line in Satoru’s body seems to draw tighter the longer she does it. He’s never been the ticklish sort, so it’s fascinating.  

“What kind of guys, Gojo? Go on, tell me. You’ve been so vocal tonight, don’t stop now.”

“Good guys.” Satoru’s tone is clipped. 

“Look at Mr. Eloquent over here. What’s a ‘good guy’? Define it for me.”

“Ha, easy: anyone at this party who isn’t Naoya.”

“Anyone, huh…” Shoko lets go of his arm and glances to where the rest of the party guests have gathered, engaged in the most intense game of Pictionary she’s seen, gaze sweeping over the faces she knows.

Kiyotaka’s kind but too awkward. Mei Mei could be fun, but would probably lord it over me if she doesn’t try to swindle me first. Utahime’s already asleep. She tilts her head at Nanami whose lap Utahime has claimed dominion over for the foreseeable future. 

“I guess that’s true,” Shoko admits. Satoru nods in that self-satisfied way of his that she’s used to and pops open his soda. “Do you know if Nanami’s seeing anyone?” Shoko asks and Satoru spits out his drink. 

“Nanami?” He manages, recovering. Sheesh, from the look on his face you’d think she’d just declared that Suguru was right this whole time and that she’s going to buy a ticket on the genocide train. 

“Why not? Isn’t he a good guy? Or would Haibara be a safer bet. He’s nice and I like his face.”

“Well, yeah, but.”

“But what? Is he taken?”

“No, he’s just.” Satoru glances to Nanami and then back to her, managing to look even more put out, which is dumbfounding, considering Naoya as her only other alternative. “Nanami? Seriously!”

The last part comes out so sharply that Shoko startles, and she sees from the way Satoru registers her reaction that the outburst is instantly regretted. She’s used to seeing him emotional, but always as a third party watching him rant at Ijichi. Being subject to that ire is as sobering as a shock of ice water to the face. 

Shoko pops open her beer and skulls it, feeling her hands shake. She can’t deal with being sober right now, because then she’d have to contend with the knowledge of the ‘good guy’ sitting right in next to her never, ever, slowing down enough for her to reach him.

“Sorry,” Satoru mutters, massaging his temples. “Didn’t mean to snap. Hosting’s been a real pain. Think I’ll should just… I dunno, hire out an izakaya next time.”

“That’s the smartest, most adult thing you’ve said all day.”  

“Tch. I should confiscate your beer.” Satoru continues to press his fingers to his temples, brows knitted together, eyes closed.  

“Another migraine?”

“Yeah. From watching you slobber all over roadkill,” Satoru grumbles.

Shoko rolls her eyes and swivels his chair to face hers. Satoru cracks an eye open, looking at her quizzically. 

“Here.” She pulls his hands down, replacing them with hers along the sides of his face. Satoru closes his eyes. 

She’s done it so many times it’s muscle memory at this point. Locking in on the pressure built up behind his eyes takes her no time at all, and even less time to remove it completely. All in all the process takes no longer than five seconds, but Satoru’s expression remains pinched, so she lingers. She waits for him to move away, because he’s always the first to do so, always laughing awkwardly when he does. It’s a rejection she’s built an immunity to from sustained exposure. 

Satoru finally moves, but not in the way she expects. Both his hands come up to cover hers while he turns his head in towards one of her palms. When she feels him press a kiss into her skin, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers to gauge her reaction, she feels her entire body still as the realisation sinks in. 

Hands.

Satoru smiles as he tugs her in, his eyes flickering to her mouth. Shoko goes without any resistance, feeling heady from the rush of emotions flowing through her. 

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of evening the playing field, that for all of Satoru’s ethereal beauty, the allure of it is always instantly dispelled by the first thing that comes out of his mouth. For years she’s considered herself immune—and to a greater extent, special—because it’s never happened to her. She’s heard every conceivable off colour thing this man’s said, always felt an innate certainty that with all the years she’s spent supporting him, there’s nothing he could ever say to make her want to turn and run. 

Until tonight. 

The validation of every thought, every feeling, the alleviation of every doubt she’s ever had about the possibility of him returning her feelings; uplifted to heaven in a single gesture only to be dragged straight back to hell in the next. Ruined by the first thing out of his mouth, just as their lips are about to touch:

“Don’t go with him.”

Shoko pulls her hands back, too shocked to even derive some satisfaction from the way Satoru’s face falls. Her body moves automatically, muscle memory kicking in as it registers the grief, discerning no difference to her losing someone on her operating table, or completing an autopsy on a former colleague. She hops out of her stool, calmly goes over to the sink and washes her hands, dries them methodically like she always does, pausing to take in a pile of cracked glass and ceramic swept haphazardly into a corner, red streaks lining some of the larger pieces. Shoko decides she doesn’t care. She strides out of the kitchen and continues to the balcony towards Naoya, past everyone having a blast at karaoke, too drunk to pay them any mind. Satoru follows, ashen faced and stricken. 

“Shoko? What’s the matter? Why are you—”

Shoko reaches Naoya and snatches the phone out of his hand, ending the call. Naoya raises an eyebrow at her afterwards, a cruel smirk promising retribution on his face even after she hands back his phone. The few other people on the balcony scatter, heading for the safety of Satoru’s living room. 

“The last woman who gave me attitude,” Naoya says, advancing, “I had her—”

“Don’t care,” Shoko says briskly. “You’re hot, I like your face and I want to sit on it. You can fuck me however way you want after. We doing this or not?”  

Naoya’s smirk widens, gaze raking greedily over her. He takes another step forward. “Alright, feisty. Your place or mine?” 

“Neither,” Satoru cuts coldly in before Shoko can answer, looming over Shoko’s frame like an overgrown shadow. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s my decision,” Shoko snaps, but Satoru’s attention remains fully focused on Naoya. She turns and prods him in the chest, which is the same thing as trying to poke steel. “Oi. Don’t talk like I’m not here.”

“Naoya-kun.” Satoru says, as politely as he can manage through clenched teeth. He tries to put a placating hand on Shoko’s shoulder but she immediately shrugs him off. “I think you should go. She’s only going to use you.”

“I don’t mind,” Naoya says, really more to Shoko’s cleavage than her face. Satoru’s eye twitches. Shoko inwardly rolls her eyes. 

Men. 

“Well if he’s leaving then I’m leaving too,” Shoko declares. 

Satoru frowns at her, confused for all of two seconds before he clicks. 

“Wait…what the hell, you’re mad at me? The hell did I do?”

Shoko pointedly ignores him, looking at Naoya. “Well?”

Naoya’s gaze shifts back and forth between her and Satoru, briefly perplexed before his smirk returns. “No idea what the hell’s going on here, but I’ve seen you—” he nods at Satoru— “watching me like a hawk, and you—” he nods at Shoko— “chatting me up all night. You both want a piece? Fine by me, but I get to top.”

Satoru doubles over laughing. Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. Naoya crosses his arms, watching the two of them, waiting for an answer. 

Satoru finally recovers, dropping a hand on Naoya’s shoulder. He shakes his head. “Not even in your wettest, wildest dreams, Nao-chan.” 

Shoko is already halfway to the hallway while Naoya shakes him off, digging into her pocket for her phone to call a cab. Satoru swears under his breath as he pursues, only a few steps behind her. 

“Shoko! What did I do?”

“Ieiri?” Naoya spits out, aghast. “Fuck! I knew she looked familiar!”

...

Satoru’s hallway feels twenty times longer than it initially felt when she arrived, which is doubly annoying because he remembers he can teleport, and does so, cutting her off at the halfway point. Shoko barely manages to stop herself from walking into him. She tries to shoulder past but he catches her wrist. 

“Why are you mad at me? What did I do? Back in the kitchen—look if you don’t want me that’s fine, but—”

“Don’t go with him,” Shoko deadpans. “Seriously.”

“Because he sucks! Why are you being so—”

“The second I start paying attention to someone else then suddenly I’m worth—”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Satoru says, looking hurt. “I didn’t even know you liked me like that until five seconds ago. Give a guy a chance to catch up will ya? I didn’t even know I had a cha—” 

“What? Of course I like you like that, stupid dumb idiot! I’m still here, aren’t I? After everything, Satoru!” Shoko hisses, just in case karaoke isn’t loud enough to drown out their argument.

Satoru recoils from the outburst, startled. 

I’ve fucked it up. I’ve fucked it. Whatever, I’ll live. 

Shoko exhales and soldiers forward. Given time, none of this will matter in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m sorry. Look, it’s just. I put you first, I put everyone else first. I always have. I’m not complaining, I know my role in all of this. I just thought for once it was the other way round. And it felt nice…until you opened your big fat mouth.”

Satoru just stares, saying nothing. 

She takes that as her cue to leave, brushing past him. She makes it about two steps before he catches her wrist. 

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything,” she says quietly, feeling too petty and small to look him in the eye even as he tugs her back, that same hand moving to cup her cheek. “I just need—” 

She breaks off as Satoru kisses her.

...

Shoko will give Satoru this much, the man knows how to kiss. It’s just as well that he does, because it’s good enough to stop her from wondering about all the other people he’s kissed before he finally got to her. His free hand weaves around, supporting her back so he can tilt her, smiling against her mouth briefly before he pulls away and straightens, taking her weight as she sags against him, her hands resting on his chest. 

It takes Shoko a few seconds to bring her brain back online, which would be mortifying, if Satoru didn’t also look like he was having just as hard a time catching his breath. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, possessing only enough braincells to grin goofily at her from ear to ear. 

“Y-yeah,” Shoko says, just as intelligently, feeling a sudden hunger thrum throughout her body, sharp and hot until it’s all she can focus on. The equation’s simple enough: she wants him, he clearly wants her; the answer to said equation is even simpler: what the hell are they doing just standing around for? 

Satoru clears his throat. “Sooo,” he starts, conversationally. 

Shoko curls her fingers into his collar and drags him back to her mouth, a hand sliding up the nape of his neck to card through his hair.Satoru makes a noise as his back hits the wall, hands flailing  uselessly in the air as he kisses her back. While he’s so distracted, Shoko goes for his belt, unfurling his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Satoru makes another noise and catches her wrists, holding them up and out towards her sides. Shoko adapts, slipping her tongue into his mouth, pressing the length of her body up against his and rubbing against him. It works like a dream: Satoru’s grip on her wrists starts to slacken, moaning into her mouth—

“Yo! Gojo-sensei!” Yuji calls from the living room, the equivalent of cold water dousing the fire between them. “Your turn on the mic! Anyone seen Gojo-sensei?”

Satoru breaks away from Shoko’s mouth immediately, panting hard as he puts distance between them.  He straightens, hands shaking as he tucks his shirt back into his pants, attempting to work his hair into some semblance of the ‘stylishly’ dishevelled look it was before Shoko got her fingers in it.  Irritating as it is, Shoko will concede this about the interruption: it’s a nice ego boost on top of the catharsis of having her feelings returned, being able to admire her handiwork and let her imagination run wild on what else she can inflict upon this man. 

“Probably sucking face with Ieiri,” Naoya says drily, in a rare display of leaving his self-centred bubble long enough to concern himself with other people. Shoko always assumed that was only something he did in battle.  

Satoru just shoots a dirty glare towards the living room, blushing profusely.  

Haibara busts out laughing. There's a loud thud and Naoya coughs. “Hahaha! Good one Zen’in-kun!”

Shoko tries to approach Satoru again, but finds she can’t get within two steps of him, thanks to his Infinity. Satoru’s clearly realised that any attempt at restraining her requires their bodies to be touching, thereby opening himself up to further exploitation on her part. He’s probably also considered sitting on her or tying her up, but has wisely refrained because he doesn’t want her more annoyed than she currently is. Shoko huffs and plants her hands on her hips, pursing her lips. 

Stupid idiot, Shoko thinks, peeved, moving to lean against the wall opposite Satoru as a peace offering. Always smart only in the nick of time. 

“Don’t be crass,” Maki says, murmurs of agreement following. “Everyone knows Ieiri’s too good for that idiot.” 

Shoko nods in agreement. Satoru looks as if he’s just taken enough mental damage for his own soul to vacate his body. 

“And how much are you willing to bet on that?” Mei Mei chimes in, scenting blood like the dirty capitalist she is. Someone groans. “What? You think this manicure grows on trees? A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Thought you wanted me,” Shoko says quietly.  

“You fucking kidding me?” To his credit, he does look both apologetic and similarly frustrated about the situation, raking a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping longingly, hungrily over her, triggering an almost automatic lust low in her belly. He gestures wildly at all of her. “You’re wearing a nurse costume and stockings, for fuck’s sake! I got half a mind to barrel you over my couch.” 

“So why don’t you?”

Satoru chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, dunno if ya noticed, but half the jujutsu community are on that couch right now.”

Shoko fights a smile. Stupid man and his capacity to only be funny in the worst of times. 

“I hate you,” she says, managing to keep an even tone about it.

Satoru still smiles, eyes twinkling. “Aww, don’t be like that.”

“No. I hate you.” Shoko enunciates crossly, turning her head away before he realises that charm can be weaponised against her. “I’ve liked you all this time and this is the thanks I get. I don’t even want to think about all the credibility I’ve lost wearing this stupid costume. I got half a mind to go running back to Naoya.”

Silence.

“I mean,” Satoru mumbles to his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought you’d come as Buttercup not… I mean I’m totally not complaining but I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“What was that?” Shoko snaps, an eye twitching. 

“Nothing!” Satoru says quickly. He must have lowered his Infinity, because in the next instant he’s in front of her, taking one of her hands into both of his and squeezing. Shoko scowls up at him, feeling her resolve falter at the utter earnestness in his eyes. Damn him. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Good things come to those who wait, right?”

Shoko finds herself smirking. “If you say so,” she says. 

She snatches back her hand and turns on her heel, striding confidently back to the living room. If there’s anything she knows about Satoru, it’s that Paragon of Patience he is not.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru mutters, trailing a few steps behind. “Shoko?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Shoko lies. 

...

If it’s a battle of wills Satoru wants, Shoko’s happy to accommodate. Thirteen years of observing the man, be it fighting or teaching or goofing around has taught Shoko that he does not possess a single reserved bone in his body—ironic, considering the one she’d felt growing against her stomach five minutes earlier. He’s been spoiled by having Ijichi as a pressure valve to let off the steam before too much of it can accumulate, but Ijichi or no Ijichi, it’s not as if he’s ever had any trouble articulating his grievances. 

Armed with tonight’s realisations, Shoko’s determined to become the most difficult grievance for Satoru to ever have the displeasure of trying to ignore, let alone protest about. She may have agreed to wait, but that doesn’t mean she’s rolling over and letting the time pass uneventfully for him. She’s spent enough of her twenties doing that, thank you very much, and fuck him for making her wait. Dark corners her foot.  

At the very least, it will be an interesting stress test to see how many contrived, misinterpreted scenarios it’s going to take to crack him. Her money’s on Nanami as a heavy hitter, but Haibara could be a wild card, which is why he’s up first. It’s free amusement for her either way. 

Haibara is cheerfully munching his way through a tray of pull-apart cheeseburger sliders and occasionally singing along with whoever’s got the microphone at karaoke. Shoko reclaims her seat at the kitchen island beside him while Satoru passes, taking the microphone from Yuji at the front of the living room by the TV. Satoru clearly isn’t concerned because Haibara’s the guy who takes everyone at face value, and wouldn’t know a flirtatious line if she sat beside him and had a name tag that read ‘Hi! I’m Flirting With You’ sticky-taped to her bosom. 

“Ayy, park it there, Shoko-san!” Haibara greets, grinning at her through a mouthful of beef and cheese. He doesn’t even get distracted by her boobs which gives Shoko a newfound appreciation and respect for the guy.  Haibara may not be special grade, but he is an anomaly amongst his peers, with that endless optimism. 

“Hey Yu,” Shoko says, smiling and actually meaning it for once, “how’s life treating ya?”

“Better now that you’re here. So good to see ya out and about!” Sauce dribbles down the corners of Haibara’s mouth.

Shoko realises her cheeks hurt because her smile has turned into a full blown grin. In another life, she’d let that unpretentious charm of Haibara’s sweep her off her feet. Just her luck, falling for a serial schemer instead of someone so wholesome and uncomplicated. 

“What?” Haibara says. 

“You got a little…” Shoko can’t help but laugh when Haibara uses his tongue to try to mop up the sauce, only succeeding in spreading more of it around his mouth. 

“How’s that?”

“Better.”

“Awesome!”

“No, you idiot, you got it everywhere,” Shoko laughs. 

Haibara just shrugs like this is his life now, nothing to do except roll with it, which is just the most Haibara thing ever. 

And seeing a mess and feeling a responsibility to clean it is unfortunately just the most her thing ever. Shoko grabs a napkin and leans forward, beckoning for Haibara to follow suit. “Come here then.”

“Okay!”

Shoko wets the napkin with water from an opened bottle and wipes away the sauce as best she can from Haibara’s face while he giggles. 

“That tickles Shoko-san,” Haibara says, when she pokes his cheek. 

A few more daubs here and there and, “Perfect,” Shoko declares at last, leaning back. 

“Thanks!” Haibara says. He grabs another two sliders and stuffs them into his mouth and there’s more sauce dribbling out than before. 

Shoko tosses the used napkin to an empty part of the table with a sigh. As Haibara goes back to eating, she tunes back into karaoke just in time to see Satoru’s head whip back to the lyrics rolling across the LED, his jaw slightly set. 

[mugzymiik]

Hello I just wanted to pop in and ask about your oc Bug :3

Specifically her backstory, I’ve seen snippets of her lore throughout your account but I’ve yet to find her whole backstory explained in one post (wouldn’t be surprised if you made a post like that but I haven’t found it) so yeah I just wanted to ask what her backstory is. Her lore seems super interesting :D

oh good. you'll regret this /j

buckle up :3

‼️CW: ABUSE, NEVER DIRECTLY DESCRIBED. I HANDLE THIS WITH CARE.

She was meant to be the Yellow Hero, but she ended up coming out gray and powerless- the most they could do was levitate anything lighter than a ballpoint pen in weight. So, you can probably tell how that went. Ae was thrown to the side for another, stronger Hero to be created: Gold.

Her initial assigned caretaker, Redd, did. Not Take It Well, to say the very least. He was a nobody his whole life, he saw having a Hero as a way to make a name for himself, and was very pissed when he found out that Bug was defective.

Bug was okay with her 'needing to be replaced' at first- after all, Paradise did need a proper Hero. But, when Redd began expressing distaste towards aer mere existence, ae grew bitter. The Trees put them in this position. They'd set her up for failure!

And so, her story started off horribly.

3 years into Redd's abuse, the Pink Corruption started up again. Bug had heard that Heroes could shatter if the Corruption damaged them enough... And also, let's just say that she'd been hoping for a certain yellow triangle's downfall. Totally nothing to do with the 'shattering' thing . . . Totally.

Eventually she ended up joining the Main Gang™ (all of the Heroes are matured at this point, I should mention :>) after she saw them passing through town- and they followed them, and by the time ae was spotted the group was too far to return aer, so they just took her along with them. (Also, the others had mixed reactions upon finding out that Pyrare knew of her existence because he was told upon receiving Gold. Gold was especially pissed.)

Anywho, back to Bug she was... Not fun to have around initially, not at all. Picking fights with the other Heroes (or, trying to), challenging anyone that said anything, etc... But, they eventually calmed the fuck down after some of the group (mostly Tsavorite, I'll mention) was actually nice to them.

...Ae liked that.

At the end of the Corruption, she does TIO alongside the other Heroes (and Cyanide) I'll mention, I'm not sure how exactly just yet (still figuring it out) but she does end up doing so. Fun fact: as they were fighting, they smacked Gold and went "oops." Afterwards, ae was exhausted due to the sudden surge of power because 1. her connection to the Trees of Life had just been restored, and 2. she was unmatured and not prepared at all for that exact same surge of power. Ae didn't care though. She started bawling her eyes out from happiness that day.

Once all of that was over, she was assigned a new caretaker, a hexagon monster named Hexalace. The status of 'caretaker' was now fully stripped away from Redd (about damn time), and Bug could begin her new life, with lots of healing ahead of her. But- she'd be okay.

She had to be.

I don't have very many specifics set down after this point yet, but she did get matured eventually by the groups Zef, FantomenK and Kubbi.

Anyways yeah they fistfought Gold a lot and often got into trouble because of it. But after a long while Hexalace finally convinced aer that hey, no matter how much you don't like him, this isn't right.

So Bug debated on it for a while and apologized to Gold. They hugged by the way.

-

and uhhh. that's all the important bits :D heres some trivia (that you didn't ask for but Bug /silly)

most of these are copied and pasted from some part of another post but its fine 👍

she often has anger outbursts bc like. Redd (i want him dead /neg) didnt teach her anything at all in her entire life. and so she was never taught how to healthily manage her anger

most, if not all, of their nicknames consist of just. bugs. Moth. Firefly. Bee. Wasp and Hornet are used a lot by the other Heroes (in an endearing way ofc). Beetle is by far everyones (esp including Bug's) #1 fav tho (she secretly named her journal "Beetle" but she wont ever admit it)

Bug got nervous at just the idea of maturing and they straight-up screamed when they got the first piece for them

before she was finally given her abilities and was able to float (so before the corruption ended) she struggled to climb onto tall stuff like chairs n things like that. and one time one of the other Heroes or caretakers noticed her struggling to do smth like that and just picked them up and set them down on it and she almosr cried

ae abso-fucking-lutely can buzz

ae's an avid birdwatcher. ae will talk to HOURS about it to Hexalace (Hexalace is TERRIFIED of birds BUT she tries her best to listen anyway

before she ended up apologizing to Gold for being a bitch she started going out of her way to do little things for him- very simple things like finding something he was looking for and leaving it in his windowsill during the night. (said example scared the shit out of Gold)

she listens to the other Heroes' rambles about their interests a lot and thats how she got into most of her own (she tinkers with a bit of technology thanks to Gold, in fact. shut up im inserting my headcanons here /silly/lh)

ae eats uncooked spaghetti noodles bc so do i

anyways Bug

[mochidreambubble]

From Golden Grove, Love Sunset Bird

[ongoing fic]

Ao3 link

Chapters on Tumblr ~ 1 2 3 4 (you're here!)

previous - next (WIP)

{Baxter doesn't know it yet, but when he's back from his dance circuit, he owes you the biggest milkshake.}

[I left a long note on the previous chapter so it may be worth looking through that if you'd like to know about how this fic may be going on forward?

Also chapter title will say step ‘1.2’ because this happens the next year after Step 1. A short interlude of a chapter if anything. Chapter title makes sense in context, I promise.]

Out of all the seasons, you can say for sure you like summer the least . No amount of pictures or pretty postcards of Sunset Bird in this season would deter you from that. 

It was your first summer in your new home though, so that was something. Summer, when you lived in the city meant trips to the pool sometimes, and small carnivals set up in the parks. You mainly got dropped off at the library or at dozens of art or drama week-long day camps before Mama had to make a mad dash to work.

At least things were going to be pretty different this summer. You even had a camping trip with the Murrays coming up soon! A little weird to be spending summer break with a teacher, as both Tamarack and even Qiu would remind you, but it was going to be so much fun! You had your school activities too, but you were mainly looking forward to all the sleepovers and adventures your two friends promised to do.

Well, it wasn’t really gonna be different from what you three usually did, but summer break just made it extra special. You knew that all three of you would still prefer the season that came after, but it's not like it could be autumn all year round after all.

As you think of the two of them, the fact that they weren’t with you made itself known even harder. Qiu had promised to hang with Darren and Tamarack had left a note for you that she was helping out Granny today. Mama still had work to do, and with no activities on your list, you decided it was time to get some new postcards and stationery. Maybe some stickers too! Anything to distract that you were by yourself today…

You liked the cosy post office of Golden Grove, and you’ve been there enough times since you moved in that the people working there knew your name. They even knew you were sending letters to your pen pal! 

You were skipping to your destination when you spotted Mr B.A.W, looking at a window display of the bookstore. You can’t say for sure if Baxter liked you. He was always really nice, and he was never mean to you or Tamarack, but it felt different from how he treated the original members of the Boys Club.

Baxter recently dyed his hair, the dark grey now unmistakable to be black. He was still dressed in muted tones, just like the first day you’ve met him. You haven’t seen him in anything as eye-catching - blue beanie aside. 

He didn’t seem to notice as you walked closer, so you stand on the tippy toes and whispered “Hey Baxter, watcha doin’?”

If you caught him by surprise, you couldn’t tell. He simply smiled and turned to you. “Simply browsing the new books that came in. Hello to you too.”

You on the other hand, liked him quite a bit. You both had the same two favourite colours and Baxter always had the best taste in books. He had recommended quite a list when you asked and enjoyed them thoroughly. 

You bounce back and forth from your toes to the back of your foot, swinging as you look at the window display too. “I’m surprised you aren’t hanging out with Autumn and Darren today.”

Baxter gives a small snort and sighs. “I’m afraid biking with the two of them right now would not be the best of ideas, considering the dance circuit is around the corner.”

Oh right, Autumn had mentioned something about that too, that Baxter was going to be away for a little while. “Right, around California and some other places nearby, right? Make sure to bring back snacks for us.”

“If I can manage,” he simply shrugs.

“You don’t sound very excited.”

“Do I? Hm, it’s simply another round of contests, so it’s not as if I’m travelling to play.”

“Boo,” you stick your tongue out at him. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Baxter? C’mon, think about it for a bit! Dancing out of town, new places to be!”

You clasp your hands in a sudden thought. “Oh, oh!” You felt like glitter and starlight as you pictured it. “What if you, like a mysterious stranger, sweep someone off their feet and you start some type of fairy tale?”

He raises a brow, one side of his mouth upturned. “I had forgotten for a moment that you’re quite fond of such romantic ideals.”

“I’m serious Baxter! You fit the look of a prince, you know?”

He snorts again. “Mm, I suppose I do have the family fortune for it.”

“Not only that silly! You dance, you’re charming. Whose to say you won’t be someone’s Prince Charming, hm?”

A car honks catches both of your attention before he could respond. It was one of the Ward’s family car. Baxter looks back at you apologetically.

“It may not be midnight, but it seems my pumpkin calls, fair friend,” he gives you a bow and you laugh, returning it in kind. “See you when I get back.”

He turns to enter the car as you call out. “You owe me a milkshake or something if I’m right! You’re totally gonna meet someone!”

Your Mama wasn’t back yet, so you went up to your room to unceremoniously dump your shopping bag into your bed. You’re half tempted to call your Mermaid pal, but you weren’t sure if they’d be home. Their summer always seemed to be filled with activity, more so since Cove arrived. 

Calling them up seemed to be a more common thing between the two of you these days, but that didn’t mean you stopped sending them things. There was just something different about a letter, postcard or package. It was nice when you got to hear their voice for the first time, and Cove was there too!

Last time you managed to check in with your Sunset Birdies, they had just returned from a short road trip. Apparently, some silly loft-sharing shenanigans and pretty nature walks were in the mix. You were promised pictures of trees from said walk.

“Mine won’t look at good as yours but you asked for them, so no complaining!” Your Mermaid friend had always insisted the pictures from you were always nicer somehow.

Said letter had yet to arrive, sadly. Your own letter was sitting on your desk, still blank. Not much had happened on your break, mostly the same ol` same ol`. It’s funny you can say that when it hadn’t even been a full year in Golden Grove, but Tamarack and Qiu had managed to make a stable rhythm in most of your day-to-day.

You ponder for a moment, wondering if you should write about your short encounter with Baxter. You’ve never really mentioned him to your pen pal at all. You’ve written about Darren a few times though. With a shake, you decide against it. It be kind of out of the blue to start talking about your elusive kind-of a friend. Pity, as Baxter would be in California for a short bit too. You’re not sure when would your letter arrive anyway, and you don’t know when and where exactly Baxter would be during the dance circuit. 

You think it be kind of funny if the two of them met by chance though. But what even were the chances of that happening anyways?

[last note from me: sweats in: look this was gonna be a Cove/OL1MC fic but since the last time I wrote this fic at all like… Uh…. A lot of Baxter related stuff happen and uhhHHHHH so Maybe it will also Baxter/OL1MC fic also. IDK, I haven’t added the Baxter ship tag on Ao3 yet-]

[callsignspark]

soft-tober | 11 | Billy Avalone

soft-tober is about experiencing the joys of October with loved ones. each day is a fall-related one-shot for one of the couples from my Dagger, Sword & Shield universe, plus a few extras! today is Billy and Aaron with “I don’t like scary movies.” “I’ll keep you safe.” from this prompt list.

If you’d like to be tagged for soft-tober, please send an ask!

word count: 1.6k

soft-tober masterlist | main masterlist | divider credit here

warnings: implied homophobia but nothing is actually said, this takes place in a vague time during the late-2000s before DADT was repealed bc I haven’t nailed down their exact timeline yet, some miscommunication but it gets resolved

callsignspark disclaimer: my blog is an 18+ space; minors do not interact - you will be blocked. I do not consent to my work being copied, run through an AI generator, translated, or posted elsewhere. I do have an AO3, where I eventually will be cross-posting my works.

11. “I don’t like scary movies.” “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Oh, for the love of god!” Aaron slams his hands on the table, wincing even as he does it for fear of the librarian kicking them out. Again. “You have got to stop.”

“Stop what?” Billy feels dumb asking, but he’s actually not sure what’s annoying his best friend.

“The fidgeting, Billy! Tapping the pen and bouncing your knee, you’re shaking the entire table!”

“M’sorry.” His voice is tiny, scolding himself for not being able to do anything right lately.

“I know,” Aaron sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I just really need to finish this paper, so I need quiet right now.”

“I’ll go.”

“You don’t- I don’t want you to go, Billy. I just need quiet for the next hour.”

Billy sucks his lip into his mouth, he’s been jittery all week, and today has been worse than any other day, unable to sit still. Things have been tense between them since last weekend, and he doesn’t want to make Aaron even more mad.

“I don’t think I can.” He quietly admits, ears burning.

His best friend glances up from the textbook he’s furiously flipping through, taking in the bashful expression of the man across from him. Aaron opens his mouth, but Billy’s stomach growls, interrupting him.

“Have you eaten dinner? Why don’t you go grab some food?” Aaron suggests when Billy shakes his head. “Leave your stuff here, and by the time you come back, I should almost be done.”

“Do you want me to grab you something?”

His heart skips a beat when Aaron gives him a small smile. “Nah, that’s alright; thanks, B.”

Billy returns the smile, tidying his side of the table and pushing his chair in before heading to the student center. Should have grabbed a sweatshirt, he thinks as he steps out into the chilly Thursday evening. The setting sun stealing the warmth out of the air, making him shiver.

During his walk to the student center, he contemplates the same thing he has been doing all week, trying to brainstorm how to fix things with Aaron. He hates how stiff things got after he apologized.

The two of them had been hiding outside the house, drinks in hand, as they took a breather from the lacrosse team’s annual Halloween bash. Neither of them had put a lot of effort into their costumes. Billy just wrapped some white tape around a pair of broken sunglasses to be a nerd, and Aaron was Michael Phelps, plastic gold medals around his neck to complete the look.

He looks so hot.

That thought had been the start of Billy’s downfall. After that, all he could do was stare and admire his best friend’s body - his male best friend - as his brain got fuzzier from the alcohol. Then Aaron caught him staring. Normally, he would make a joke, and they’d laugh, move on. But that night, he had just stared back, taking a sip from his red solo cup as brown eyes roamed his body.

A splash of beer dripped down his bare chest as he lowered the cup, soaking into the waistband of his swim trunks. Billy watched the liquid trail down his roommate's solid chest and strong abs of his roommate, only stopping once it was absorbed. When their eyes met again, Billy made the first move.

Lukewarm beer splashed their legs as they collided, and Aaron pushed Billy against the rough siding of the men’s lacrosse house, using his two-inch height advantage. Then they were kissing, tongues intertwining, and hands roaming, unable to get enough.

I’m kissing Aaron. I’m kissing my best friend. God, he’s so warm.

It had been a great kiss, the best kiss of Billy’s life until it got interrupted by his teammate.

“Fritz! Yo! Where are you, dude?” Tansey yells, causing Aaron to pull back enough to breathe. “We need you for pong, man!”

“You should g-”

“We shouldn’t have done that! I’m sorry!”

Aaron freezes, his face shuttering closed like it does whenever his feelings are hurt. A face Billy has never been the cause of in their nine years of friendship.

“What.”

It’s not even a question. There’s no emotion behind it.

“No, not like that!” Billy tries to explain, but his tongue is tied, the alcohol making it hard to think.

“You should go; sounds like they need you.”

Aaron had walked away, rounding the corner and leaving Billy panting against the house, their cups littered by his feet. That’s where Tansey had found him and forced him into a beer pong tournament. He had woken up the next day on the couch, Aaron sitting in the armchair across from him.

He had been kind enough to wait for Billy to finish throwing up before yelling at him. Reminding his best friend how hard it is to be gay and that Billy was the one to make the first move so he doesn’t get to make him feel bad for kissing back.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

“And the best way to do that was by telling me we shouldn’t have done that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then how did you mean it?” Aaron is across their living room, and Fritz wishes he was closer; all the thinking is making his headache worse. “Billy, I need to know what you meant. I need to know if I need to move out.”

“What? You can’t move out!”

“If this isn’t a safe space for me, yes, I do.”

“You’re safe with me! You know that!”

“Am I?”

“Of course! Oh my god, Aaron.” Billy stands up, walking to his best friend. “You’re always safe with me; I’ll keep you safe.”

The twenty-one-year-olds stare at each other, emotions swirling around them. They have been friends since middle school and have dealt with bullies and Aaron’s family ridiculing him for his suspected sexuality. Billy has stood strong next to him the entire time. It had never mattered to Billy who Aaron had a crush on, just that he was happy.

Aaron blinks, his green eyes watery. “Billy, I need to know what you meant.”

He’s been trying to figure out how to answer this question for the last twelve hours; he knew this moment was coming.

“I meant that we shouldn’t have been drunk.”

“You wanted to kiss me?”

“I moved first.”

Aaron absorbs that information, nodding in realization that Billy had been the one to initiate the kiss. “What does that mean for us?”

And this is the moment he hoped wasn’t coming.

“You’re my best friend-”

“If you don’t want anything, just say so.” Aaron harshly cuts him off.

“That was the first time I’ve ever even thought about kissing a guy, Aaron! I don’t know what I want! All I know is I don’t want to lose you. You’re my best friend, and we’re about to graduate. We’re not going to see each other for months, and who knows how much we’ll be able to talk.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they don’t have cell service in Rhode Island.”

“Aaron, c’mon, you know that’s not what I meant. I’ll be going through officer school, then flight school, and you’re gonna be in California, in law school. Those are things that don’t leave a lot of free time. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I want right now. But I couldn’t take it if we weren’t friends.”

Aaron had agreed, not wanting to lose the friendship, but told Billy that he needed space. He had agreed, thinking it would be a few quiet days around the apartment. But now it had been a whole week, and they were still being awkward around each other.

Billy is drowning his sorrows in chicken nuggets when he overhears some freshman girls talking about the horror movie double feature the theatre in town is hosting. It gives him an idea.

“We should have our own marathon!” He tries to convince Aaron on the walk home, hoping that quality time will smooth out the roughness of the past week.

“I don’t like scary movies.”

“I know, but I’ll keep you safe.”

The words leave his mouth in a softer tone than he meant, changing the air around them and stopping them on the sidewalk just outside their apartment building.

“Yeah?”

“Always, Aaron.”

“Okay.”

“Also.” Billy takes a deep breath, aware that he’s about to change things and make them much harder. “I’ve been thinking about it. We should go out tomorrow night.”

“What?”

“I want to take you on a date. You’re my best friend, and I’m pretty sure we’ve been in love for years now.”

“You’re not gay.”

“I don’t think so? I’m still attracted to women. But I want you, Aaron.”

“William.” Aaron breathes his name, the one that’s never used. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he ushers them inside and up to their apartment, not speaking again until the door is locked behind them. “You’re going to be in the Navy. You’ll get kicked out if they catch you!”

“I know. We’ll have to be careful, but not having you at all would be so much worse than having to be quiet about us. And they’re going to repeal DADT someday, and then we won’t have to hide!”

“Billy, I don’t think you’re thinking about this fully.”

“Aaron, all I’ve done this week is think about how to apologize to you and if you’d want to go with me to Sophie’s for dinner tomorrow.”

Aaron blinks at him, wide green eyes the only thing betraying how flustered he feels. “You’re taking me to a pizza place for our first date?”

Billy’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. This time, he’s the one to push Aaron against a wall, trying to pour all his feelings into their second kiss.

“We can go wherever you want to go for dinner.” He pants, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt when Aaron squeezes his waist. “Just as long as you say yes.”

“Pizza is fine, Billy.”

“You’re saying yes?”

“Yes, now c’mere.”

@gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @princessphilly | @hangmanssunnies | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @katieshook02 | @hellojameshowyadoin | @aristotles-butthole | @atarmychick007 | @whatislovevavy | @kmc1989 | @sometimesanalice | @laracrofted | @yuckosworld | @mika-darling | @bradshawsbaddie | @bobblebobsbae | @ohtobeleah | @withahappyrefrain

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 20: Hamper

(this one got away from me, and touches on an aspect of WoL's adventures dear to me. Also it's not a FFXIV Write anymore without nebulous future Iyna)

Outwardly, Sharlayan hadn’t changed much in the last hundred and fifty years or so. The buildings were still primarily the native white stone in rounded styles with columns, the tiles of the streets were still blue. Thaliak’s statue still watched over Scholar’s Harbor, and the Last Stand was still the best restaurant in the city, Debroye keeping it much the same as it always had been.

Thankfully for the city, other restaurants had cropped up in the intervening decades.

Iyna still preferred the original, though, and only in part because she had known the owner since the girl was a student during the harrowing Final Days. In part because of the sea breeze coming in with the view, far enough from the docks to not worry about the less pleasant underlying scents that would affect one’s appetite.

And in large part, the nostalgia; memories of old friends at the tables a pleasant one, whenever she visited. Iyna was getting sentimental as she grew older.

It was Debroye herself who served her now, setting a tantalizing lobster dish before Iyna. “I’m gaining weight just from the scents,” Iyna joked. “What have you done to improve even this classic?”

“I can’t give away all my secrets, now that I have real competition in this city,” Debroye said. “But I will say certain spices from Tural do help.”

“Gods, it’s been so long since I went West,” Iyna said idly. “Perhaps I should take a vacation, once done with this commission for the Forum.”

“I haven’t seen you take a vacation in over a century. I’d say you’re about due. Meanwhile,” Debroye looked around. “If you don’t mind, you might have company for your meal.”

“Oh?” Iyna raised a brow as she began to snap apart the crustacean.

“I’ve a history student at the counter with a few burning questions for someone who knew the Warrior of Light and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. And being a good student, she recognized you by sight alone and is about to jitter off her seat.”

“General academia, or actual project work?”

“Project; she’s fifteen and working on her archon thesis.” At Iyna’s raised brow, Debroye nodded. “She almost beat the Leveilleur’s record for entering the Studium, only missing it due to when her nameday falls during registration—and all without the benefit of family wealth or connections as they had.”

“Not a Viera, I take it?”

“Highlander.”

“Always so impatient, Hyurs,” Iyna noted. “Needing to get so much done so soon, they miss what youth they have. By all means, send the girl over. If nothing else, we can set up a better time to meet for the in depth interview I’m sure she’ll want.”

Deboye nodded, thanking Iyna and returning to the counter. It took about two minutes for the Highlander girl to compose herself and take a seat at Iyna’s table, controlling her underlying giddiness. “Thank you for taking the time to speak to me.”

“Of course,” Iyna said. “What might I do for you, Miss…?”

“Alina Breck,” she said. She was a gangly young thing, not yet filled out to the usual height and broad build of her people. She was fair-skinned and freckled all over, with bushy red hair pulled back in a semblance of a ponytail, curly strands escaping. She had large round glasses over hazel eyes, and wore a simple gray dress, with a wide belt keeping pens, notebooks, and other needed tools on hand. “I was hoping to ask a few questions about your time with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“Very well; though I do have only so much time now. But we can get a start, and if needed, perhaps arrange a longer meeting?”

The girl beamed, the image of a serious wannabe adult scholar breaking for a moment. “Oh that would be great! Ahem. Thank you.” She comported herself again.

Iyna smiled, and let the girl ask her questions, answering in between bites of her meal, sometimes to think.

Also because one did not let a Last Stand Lobster go to waste.

As the hour drew close to when she had to leave to speak to her contacts on the Forum, Alina looked over the notes taken so far. “There are definitely things I want to ask more about, and some things I hadn’t even considered before this discussion, I’m embarrassed to say.”

Iyna shook her head. “Don’t be; there’s always more to discover, even in seemingly well-known topics. It’s why you came to me for this, isn’t it?”

Alina nodded. “I would like to meet again, for sure, and consider some of those questions, especially once I’ve had a chance to check some other sources, but…One last thing I noted…”

Iyna waited. 

“It seems like, well. There were a lot of times Aeryn was on her own, with no other comrades. And sometimes it almost seems by design.” Alina flipped through her notes, a little frown creasing her forehead.

“At times it was,” Iyna said. “I wasn’t there, but when the Crystal Braves betrayed the Scions, for instance, they ensured the group was separated. Particularly Aeryn, with the Sultana. They hoped by dividing the archons and the champion from the leadership, they might have a chance.” Iyna leaned back. “It wasn’t the last time, of course; one of the best ways to try to rein in the Warrior of Light was to separate her from her support; without the other Scions’ knowledge and skills, or those of other comrades and companions she worked with, such as the Garlond Ironworks, adventures could be much harder. Aeryn noted it herself a few times—especially when young adventurers would speak to her, eager for advice, wanting to be like her.

“She often had to remind them that the times she fought alone were the worst; that she was hamstrung without her friends to back her up. There were things she couldn’t do that they could, knowledge they had that she needed. And many of her victories came with help; from her allies, from the dragons, from Hydaelyn Herself. Being cut off from such support was the way to mitigate her strength. Or so her enemies thought.”

Alina tilted her head. “Because she was powerful enough on her own anyway?”

Iyna smiled. “Oh, she was often stronger than even she thought, that stubborn gremlin of a woman. But that strength came from love for those friends, and from them, even when apart.”

“That’s one of the things I’m looking for clarification on,” Alina said. “How she actually stopped the Final Days. Some say she fought only with an enemy at her side; others that the Scions were with her through it all.”

“Both are true,” Iyna said. “Like many others, the Endsinger thought she could deprive the champions of each others’ support, break their hopes, and leave the Warrior of Light without aid. But in that place of pure concept and dynamis, merely physically separating the Scions was not enough. Their hearts were ever aligned with hers.”

Alina wrote that down in her shorthand, thinking for a moment. “I see. I think.”

“Mull it over; we can meet again,” Iyna checked the calendar on her tomephone. Alina compared her own, and they came to an agreeable time, two days from now. “I’ll do some thinking too, and dig through some old notes. I have access to the Baldesion Archives, after all…and might be able to finagle permission for you. No promises, though!” she quickly said as the girl’s eyes lit up.

“Of course, I understand. Thank you, Miss Cauld!”

“Call me Iyna. And it’s been a pleasure, Miss Alina.”

Iyna nodded, paying for her meal—and Alina’s, as one of the constants in life aside from death and taxes is the minimum stipends of graduate students, even one as gifted as this girl—and headed for her meeting with the Forum, a few minutes behind schedule, but they likely would be as well, and would understand her reasons. Losing track of time in academic discussions was another thing that hadn’t changed in Sharlayan.

She thought back on all those old adventures, tapping reminders to herself into her tomephone idly as she went, recalling the times the Scions and companions had been separated, not by choice, from one another. How they had succeeded anyway, often by trusting that the others would do what they must, what they could.

Iyna made sure to note that, too. She smiled and put the tomephone away as she climbed the steps to the Rostra. She did not often dwell on those times in such detail, and it had been some time—she really would need to hit up the archives for writings and reminders of those days—but given the girl’s questions, and the focus on the Warrior of Light’s companions and how they helped her succeed, Iyna was quite willing to delve into those memories.

There was always, after all, more than one perspective to a story, and more than the popular myth. Aeryn had never wanted to be that, and to give due credit to her beloved friends and companions was a gift Iyna was more than willing to offer to her memory.

[skyfall8600]

Day 9: Christmas Cards

12 Days of Christmas with Eddie

Eddie Munson Masterlist

[950 words]

As much as you loved Christmas, there were parts of it that felt like a chore. All of your extended family were states away, meaning that your mother took Christmas cards and photos very seriously to send out.

Eddie often heard you complain about the amount of cards you had to write. Hand cramping, pen ink smudged all along the side of your hand.

He didn’t want to make any assumptions about whether or not he’d make the cut. And perhaps secretly, you liked the idea of surprising him that this year… Eddie would be included on the Christmas card. After all, the two of you had been dating for a few years now and all of your family loved him… once they warmed up to the rough metal look.

“What are we doing today?” He asked, bouncing up and down on your bed. His hands naturally found the stuffed animal nearby to hold.

“I thought we’d just spend the day here.” You replied.

You knew that he wouldn’t think anything of the bright red sweater you were wearing, more often than not you got festive with your clothing. Besides, you had Eddie’s matching sweater hidden away in your wardrobe. Right now, you were just waiting for your mother to give the signal that everything was set up downstairs.

He smirked at you, “Here? In your bedroom? All day?…. Now I won’t complain about that.”

He tried his best to seductively crawl over to the edge of the bed.

“What are you playing at Munson?” You laughed, brushing the curls out of his face.

“We haven’t been alone in ages—“ he whined, sneaking his arms to trap your waist close to his chest.

“We spent all of yesterday together.” You laughed into him, codelling the ever so dramatic boyfriend on the planet.

He rolled his eyes, finally pulling you down onto the bed with him.

“That’s not the same…. We were busy Christmas shopping— I have a different type of busy we should be doing.”

You internally groaned to yourself that the hair you spent all morning perfecting was now messy and tangled from his little antics. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Eddie!” You squealed when his fingers made contact with the side of your ribs. “I thought you meant making out— Not this!”

“Ah— that’s the beauty of it. You snort when you're caught off guard!”

Through all your laughter and thrashing around, the two of you missed the door to your bedroom opening. Your mother stood there, half amusement and annoyance displayed on her face.

“Neither of you are ready yet?!” She said, purposely projecting her voice to be louder than the commotion the two of you were.

Eddie, always the gentleman, instantly retreated his hands and presence from your body and bed. Straightening himself up, he offered a wide toothy smile to your mother.

“Hi Mary.”

“Hello, Eddie. Are you ready for the shoot?”

He gave you a questioning look, where you were still lying down in a fit of giggles on the bed.

“The shoot?”

Your mother gasped, covering her mouth quickly. “You didn’t tell him yet?! That’s it. You two— change and get ready now!”

“Yes, mother…” you groaned. “Give us ten minutes and we’ll be right down.”

Your mother let the two of you be, whereas Eddie was frozen in place. You moved without uttering another word to him, fixing your hair at your vanity.

“Sweetheart— what’s going on?” He said, still not moving a muscle.

“I’m getting ready, thanks to you— my hair is now a mess.”

“Ready for what exactly?”

With a wicked smile you faced him, “For the family Christmas card photos.”

His eyes widened and he finally moved to stand right behind your chair. “You mean— I’m— I’ll be in the photo this year?”

You nodded, smiling brightly. You tilted your head back so your entire neck was exposed as you looked at him.

“There’s one more thing…” you began to say, collecting out the matching red sweater from its hiding place.

“Ta da!” You cheered quickly, holding up the sweater. “I know it’s not your normal style— but mom insisted that this year's theme is red.”

He stood there in shock, and it began to worry you.

“Eddie? Are you— I’m sorry if it’s too much? I’ll tell mom to just wait until tomorrow when your at work—“

“No!” He said quickly, “I, um, I can’t believe I’m included—“

Your smile softened, “Your practically family now Eds, of course you're included. Now… if you’re all on board… pop this on and meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”

Kissing his cheek and giving him the sweater to hold for himself; Eddie stood there alone in your room.

He was quick to change, practically jumping out of his own skin that he would finally be part of a family tradition. He loved living with Wayne, he really did. His uncle tried his hardest to give him a good Christmas, but Eddie always felt that something was missing.

Never was he taken to have professional family portraits. Never did he have photos with Santa.

But times were about to change. And that was never more evident than when he walked down the stairs, scratching away at the slightly itchy wool. And there you wore, smiling and waving him over.

A few small rounds of laughter were echoing around, your mother making sure everyone was in perfect and in place. Your father giving the countdown from behind the camera, almost tripping over his own feet to make it before the timer went off.

“3. 2. 1. Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” Everyone repeated.

When it came time to develop the photo and hand out the Christmas cards, it was clear that no one was smiling brighter than the curly hair brown eyed boy who stood by your side.

——————————————————————————————

Eddie Taglist

@silky-luxe @fentyreligion @littlelunarfox @coconutchumby @eempxth @superflannel @fluffycookies22 @yearwalker96 @cutiecusp @magicalchocolatecheesecake @grungegrrrl l l​@m1rkw00dpr1ncess @dixontardis @buckyslwt @bratckerman @dani-d0rk @musicmoviestv @tomshelbystits @reddisteddie @santaatemypuppy @cherryrevenger @chipster-21 @azaleaforsure @eddielives1986 @luceneraium @loving-and-dreaming

[lucius-the-literary-lunatic]

Save Him - Blood Bound

spoilers for the kill your lover dark urge scene.

i had so much fun writing this, i learned a lot from this session about Floring as a character outside of the dialogue options of the game. this is mostly un-edited and in a different writing style than my other work bc i had originally written it for myself. i did just copy some of the game text, again this was gonna be a private work, but i had the courage to share something so here i am

Another sleepless night haunted Florin, but this one was different. Instead of the usual restlessness, this one was full of pain and aching. His stomach churned, the bile held within unsettled, and with each passing moment, the feeling worsened. After one particularly violent surge, Rin got up, attention drawn to his companions sleeping soundly. His head throbbed as he craved to reduce them all to sinew and viscera. Before he could stop himself Florin found himself outside of Astarion’s tent, faced with his butler. 

SF: He is so afraid. So, so afraid. Of everyone, besides you, who he ought to fear most. You could do so much better, Milord. 

F: What in the Hells do you want? I don’t exactly remember asking for you or your input.

SF: I am here to watch your moment of triumph, my loathly Master. Your clever mind is penning tragedy as we speak. Your repressed Urge yearns to kill. And kill you will. Tonight, the moment you close your eyes, your favorite person will be brutalized. 

F: I didn’t touch Isobel, I have more self-control than you give me credit for. I won’t be repeating the bard.

SF: It is precisely because you didn’t touch her, that you are insatiable. Your Dark Urge will have death, one way or another. Tonight. You like him for more than his looks, but he will never believe that. Why not make him a pretty corpse?

The thought made Florin’s hair stand on end; from excitement or fear, he didn’t know.

F: He’s not dying. I haven’t-...

He cut himself off, not yet ready to cross into such unfamiliar territory. Unfortunately for him, Sceleritas knew his unspoken words and was more than happy to combat any merciful thoughts Florin was having.

SF: Why not whisper it while you twist the knife? Or have a love confession be the final words between you? It is my duty to ensure you are making the right decisions, Master. There was much….. Disappointment at your reluctance to kill the little Moonmaiden. You could kill this one deliberately. I’m sure it will be considered a great show of goodwill. The tithe could still be yours. 

F: It wasn’t reluctance, I would have loved to hang her with her intestines, but it was smarter for her to live. I aim to end her when she’s outlived her usefulness.

SF: I do sincerely apologize, Master, that your Urge does not use the same calculations that you do. The wheels have already been set in motion, there will be blood on your monstrous hands. Good night, sweet Lord.

With Sceleritas vanishing into a flow of red, Florin was alone with his thoughts, and his Urge. For a few moments he watched Astarion rest blissfully without a fear in the world. It was the most at ease he’d ever seen the elf, he didn’t want to ruin it, but his Urge said otherwise. While he still had some common sense Florin reached to wake the vampire, wanting to save him from himself, but his hand wavered; longing to wrap around his throat, or better yet claw it to shreds. Fighting his Urge only brought Florin pain, head pulsing as red seeped into his vision.

F: Astarion… Star.

Seeing the elves' eyes gave Florin just a bit more stability.

A: Well, hello. Looking for a cuddle? 

Astarion’s almost hopeful smile was quickly replaced by a look of concern.

A: Although you don’t look entirely… yourself. What’s going on in that head of yours? 

Something in Florin’s chest curled tight, he didn’t like this. It wasn’t fair. He hated being laid bare before Astarion, being so thoroughly known at just a glance, and yet he found comfort in it… 

F: Now isn’t the time. I need to protect you.

A: Alright, talk quickly then.

F: There’s… Fuck..

As he begins to speak Florin’s head swims with a pounding headache, fatigue filling his body. 

F: I wasn’t in control when I killed Alfira, and it’s going to happen again. Tonight I’m going to kill the person I care about most: you. Unless you can stop me. 

A: How flattering. And disturbing. 

Despite his nonchalance Astarion sat up a bit straighter, clearly taking the words to heart.

A: You could have talked to me before things got murderously bad, you know. We are technically in this together. 

There it was again, that tightness in his chest that only the elf could evoke. 

F: Speaking, I’m good at. With honesty is where it gets complicated…

Words trailing off shadows crept into Florin’s vision, pulling him under faster than he could realize. 

When viridian eyes open again, they don’t belong to Florin. He isn’t himself, he has no control here, tied up beneath the watchful eye Astarion. 

A: This thing won’t have you. It won’t win.

As he spoke the elf leaned ever so slightly closer, clouding the Urge’s thoughts with blood as it tried to bite him.

A: Ah ah ah. We ask before we bite. You’re cute, you know. If you didn’t want me dead, we might’ve been friends. Well, that and the fact that you’re taking control of my dearest deadly flower.

Florin continued to squirm, wrist raw and bloody as his Urge fought against his bindings. 

A: Easy now, darling. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.

Growl escaping, the Urge spoke its mind freely.

F: Your blood will clot for me like liquid rubies.

A: A little too late, but good effort. Now just relax, dawn will be here soon. 

The night passes painfully, Florin feverishly trying to break free and end his torment. But in the end Astarion remained unharmed, no blood to be shed in camp. 

As the sun slowly started to rear its head, Florin was back in his own mind. Heaving himself into an upright position he shook his head, trying to get rid of the shadows at the edges of his vision and the nausea rising in his throat.

A: Welcome back. 

Once cut free Florin sat across from the vampire, mindful not to pay attention to his wounded wrists lest he trigger another bloodlust.

A: I felt for the bard, seeing you like that. Poor Alfira never stood a chance, did she? 

F: No… I always felt there was a reason I stayed away from my blades when I could. Now I know why.

A: And why is that, exactly?

F: All I know is that I have this Dark Urge that requires me to kill, and a butler who encourages it. Not that I need much encouragement. I’m fine killing, I enjoy it, what I don’t enjoy is that it tries to dictate who I kill and when. I didn’t know until after I killed Alfira. The following night he arrived to congratulate me.

A: Your butler.

F: Sceleratas Fel. He said he’d been waiting for my return, found me from the smell of a particularly vicious killing. When we arrived in the shadowlands he came back, instructing me to kill someone named Isobel and I’d be rewarded. I agreed, thinking it’d be easy and of no consequence. When I realized killing her would be more trouble than it was worth, I put the thought aside. Burying the temptation every time we spoke with her. I hadn’t completely given up the idea though, deciding I’d kill her when she wasn’t as useful.

A: Let me guess, neither your Urge nor your butler cared much for that idea.

F: No… At first I didn’t mind the Urge, now… I’m not so sure. 

Looking away from Astarion Florin admitted the last part, unsure how he felt speaking it to himself let alone the man he’d reluctantly come to care for.

A: You’re not alone in this, you know.

Hearing that got the tieflings attention. He looked back to the vampire, surprised when he didn't see any of the pity he was expecting.

A: None of us are. We can even compare notes if you like.

Florin scoffed, half thinking he’d wake up from this cruel dream soon.

F: If your next words are “it’s alright”, I might reconsider keeping you alive.

A: They aren’t. You tried to kill me, of course it’s not alright. But nothing is ruined either. After all, what’s a little attempted murder between friends? Look at Wyll and Karlach, best of buds now. 

Rin couldn’t help but chuckle.

A: But whatever this is, you will get through it. And I’ll be here to make sure you do.

The honesty in his eyes had the warmth returning to Florin’s chest, this time without the lurking thought of him bathed in his own blood. Rin almost enjoyed it, if only it had been a little more familiar.

A: Anyway, it’s a brand-new day. I’m sure we’ll find lots of people for you to kill.

F: I can’t wait.

A: The murders can, however. Until you’ve gotten at least some rest.

F: I-

A: As much as I’d hate to tie you up again so soon, I will if I have to.

After a short staring contest, Florin realized Astarion wasn’t backing down. With a sigh he gave in.

A: See, that wasn’t that hard. If it’s any consolation, the offer for the cuddle still stands.

[babybat98]

Also you know I HAVE to ask about LotR Fantasy AU because I am a sucker and that sounds right up my alley, please!

Ok I feel like I have to explain myself on this one because the phrace 'LotR fantasy AU' sounds just Completely bonkers

It's called this because I realised I don't think there's a term for when you take a piece of fiction, put it in an AU, but the AU is the same genre as the original work. And not in a 'oh it's a star wars star trek AU, with the star wars characters in a star treck world' way but in a 'I literaly made up an entire fantasy AU not realy based on another existing work, and ploped the LotR cast in is sims style' way.

I guess it's technicaly just a regular AU, it just happens to be the same genre as the original work.

So that's what spawned this. It's less of a single story and more of a bunch of random worldbuilding but anyways. The Fellowship would still be a thing, just fighting a different (yet to be determined)evil, and with roughly the same background.

The story beggins with a big royal wedding in this worlds equivalent of Erebor. I was thinking about the wedding being Thorin/Bilbo, but tbh that's mostly an excuse to gather everyone neatly in one place. Gandalf is there as a friend of the wedding couple. Frodo is there as Bilbos nephew, and the other hobbits as his friends. Gimli is there as Glóins son. Aragorn is the heir of a human kingdom, with Boromir being his advisor, and thus invited as neighbour royalty. And Legolas is the youngest prince of the neighbour wood elf kingdom, invited for the same reason as Aragorn and Boromir. This is what gathers everyone together and people begin making friends.

I haven't writen much on the wedding but I did pen down how the three hunters met, with Legolas and Aragorn helping a distraught Gimli find his missing nibling. Legolas helps the toddler dwarfling out of a hole they got stuck in, and keeps runing into Gimli throughout the wedding until they end up friends.

“Greetings!” Aragorn said. “Sorry to disturb you, but we are looking for a red haired dwarfling by the name Thóig. You haven’t seen them?” “Oh we’ve seen them alright!” The dwarf closest to them, a dwarrowdam with ebony hair and yellow ribbons in her beard rose to greet them. “The little pebble has made themself a fine home inside this wall, and has gotten stuck to boot!” She brushed off her dress and gestured towards the opening. “We’re both too big to reach him, but maybe you two will have more luck with those long arms.”  “We’ll see about that, the rascal is pretty far in,” the dwarrow with the lamp grumbled.  Aragorn kneeled next to the opening. It ran parallel to the floor, only a couple of feet long and incredibly narrow. He studied it for a moment before looking up at Legolas. “I won’t fit in there. You’re thinner than me and have longer arms.” Legolas was not too happy with the idea of being even more underground than they already were, even when arguing with himself that it’d likely be an easier fit than old gnarly tree roots. But he was hardly one to leave a child in peril so he got on his stomach and looked into the hole. It continued much deeper than the oil lamp managed to light, but a good bit in he could see two dark eyes gleaming like a cats behind a messy nest of fiery hair. He smiled at the child.

Legolas is also the one with the most fleshed out backstory yet(unlike canon lol). His story goes that when his mom was pregnant with him she was attacked by orcs when walking through the forest. She was mortaly wounded, but managed to make it to one of the oldest trees in the forest and begged for her child to be saved. The tree responded by growing around her until she was burried under its roots. A few months later, around when the baby should have been born, the bark cracked open to reveal a little newborn elfling. Thranduil recognised the child as his son and named him Legolas.

It was in the middle of that solstice night, under the never setting midnight sun, that princess Lagoreth and her brother Thondaer would visit their modern tomb. And how fortunate that decision was, for as they stood there the wooden likeness of their mother began to move. The two siblings ran for the palace and their father, bodily dragging him from his throne and into the trees with most of the court on their heels.  Just as they reached the Old Ash a loud CRACK echoed through the woods. The bark of the tomb had split, right down the queen's stomach, still round with the child that would never be born. Or so they had thought! For the bark parted to reveal a small elfling child, sleeping soundly. A boy, with dirt on his nose and leaves stuck in his gold blond hair. And King Thranduil swept the babe into his cloak and his arms, for he recognised his son even as they met for the first time. For with her final breath Lannien had wished for nothing but the safety of her child, and the forest listened. They named the child Legolas, for no other name would have fit him. Legolas Forest-born, Legolas Ash-child, Legolas Greenleaf.

So Legolas is even more strongly connected to the forest than in canon(might have planed to have him get stuck in a cave in at some point. You know. For the angst :3)

[salty-seaz]

Internet Tales and little rants - Mini Story #1 [May contain topics of politics]

[TRAGIC BLUE]

Damien: the one wearing the red cap

Hades: The one with the beads in his locks

_____________ _____________ __________

Damien: “okay so we got the Chris chan documentary, the sharpie pen incident, pretty interesting video essays that I haven’t watched yet… but if you know one yourself then feel free to show me!”

[Hades snickers a little, he hadn’t been this drunk before. Especially with Damien… but he felt weirdly comfortable with him? Typically Damien starts chanting weird shit and acting like Tarzan when he’s drunk but this time he’s chill. But that didn’t matter, what mattered now is that they are both having them together. Even if they probably won’t remember it the next day]

Hades: “Eheh, Ain’t it really funny how there is so much videos of people doing dumb shit?”

Damien: “Yeah, that’s the joy of it. Watching people witness the consequences of their own actions, like don’t act victim if you kept doing it”

Hades: “nah, but imagine their digital footprint?”

[Damien began laughing a little, he knew Hades had a point. But he had another comment to add]

Damien: “Yep, Chris chan for example. For the amount of stuff they done… But yet again, I don’t think it really matters as much people make it out to be.”

Hades: “how come?”

Damien: “because there is actors, celebrities and just people who would say the most racist thing in the book. But yet they’d still have their job. And not only that, they still get their arses wiped for them.”

[Hades nodded, he then suddenly snapped back into remembering that does happen unfortunately]

Hades: “You have a point, this may be off context but Johnny depp for example… During the court case a good majority of it was him being childish as fuck. Like eating candy and doodling in a case about domestic violence?? My guy, if I did that in a court case I would’ve been fucked. But yet people saw it comedic! And what really boiled my blood was when people kept making it about Jack sparrow as if it were a meet and greet.”

Damien: “You absolutely nailed that. When I saw clips of the trial I thought the exact same, though I never really cared. But I don’t think both Heard and Depp are good, like Heard deserves better but she’s a fucking Zionist. So I don’t care about either of them.”

Hades: “Yeah, that’s a fair point. Anyways enough about the whole trial that happened 2 years ago, If we should worry about digital footprint. Bigger names should too.”

Damien: “Exactly.”

[Damien was now just searching for a good tale to read or listen to with Hades…]

Hades: “Damien, I have a video essay I think we’d both like.”

Hey to whoever read this! Thank you for reading. And if you want you can comment what you think and what I should improve! It may not be pirate related in this one or in a lot of the comics but this is only because it’s mainly just comics of the 4 main characters interacting! And you may have noticed but I put a song from Spotify there so you can listen to it while reading so it sets the vibe more!

What is this series?: This is Tragic Blue! A Series I want to keep working on until I can turn it into a big Series one day! And hopefully it going on Adult Swim! But for now I am making little mini-stories and comic type things for now. :-)

The main characters for those who are wondering!:

Damien

Hades

Mei Xiao

Miranda

See you soon!!

[thekimspoblog]

"Sheepdog" (AKA the Kim Wexler Pregnancy fic) Chapter 1

This story takes place at some ambiguous point after the events of Season 5. At the time of publishing, Season 6 hasn't aired. So if you're not caught up, spoilers abound.

Also, Rhea Seehorn, on the rare chance you're reading this... don't. This was written by a lonely crazy person, and posted to a website notorious for being full of perverts. Some celebs get a kick out of reading the bizarre situations their fans would put them through. But if not... turn back now you've been warned.

Close up on the passenger's side of a black BMW. The tinted window rolls down. Kim leans out and holds a pair of binoculars up to her eyes. She surveys the parking lot of the gas station, then pans over to focus on the endless desert that stretches out behind the convenience store.

Jimmy leans over, squinting a bit to try to follow her line of sight. He asks, “Do you think we’re being watched?”

Still preoccupied with looking around, she hesitates to answer, “No… But remind me again what we’re doing out here?”

Jimmy turns around to fish something out of the slightly disheveled stack of papers he has crammed between the driver’s seat and the car door. “This!” he hands a neatly creased Hallmark greeting card to her, “I got this in the mail two days ago”.

Kim sets the binoculars in her lap and opens the card. Inside, the card is printed with an illegibly loopy bible verse scrawled at the top. And underneath there is an illustration done in a somewhat tastefully abstract style: on the left-hand side, there is a meadow full of flowers with a single lamb grazing amongst them. On the right-hand side, there is a mountain towering over the field, and at the peak, a wolf is howling. But that’s not all. In black pen, someone has scribbled a very crude cartoon of what looks like a dog standing guard in between the lamb and the wolf. And underneath in the same black pen, the anonymous sender had neatly written an address. The address of the gas station they were currently staking out.

Jimmy taps on the cartoon dog with urgency. “You see that?! When I was a kid, scammers were constantly coming into my dad’s store and taking advantage of him. One of them, I’ll never forget, looked me in the eye and told me there were only wolves and sheep in this world. Now thirty years later, I get an anonymous letter, in a whole other state mind you, telling me there are also dogs that guard the sheep. That’s not a coincidence”

Kim furrows her brow “I think you’re reaching. Jimmy, this barely even looks like a dog”

“Kim! I never told anyone else about that conversation. You’re the first”

“So what? You think this one con-artist, decades later, sent you a cryptic letter telling you to meet him at the edge of Albuquerque. To what? Say he’s learned the error of his ways?”

“Well I don’t know! If you’re so smart, tell me what you think it means?”

“Assuming you didn’t just get someone else’s mail by accident? … It sounds like a trap”

“It’s not a trap”

“Seriously?! Whoever sent this, they got us to wait at a remote location, in a car hiding three-hundred-thousand-dollars in unlaundered cash, a bloody shovel, and a gun with BOTH our prints on it. And you don’t think this could be a trap?” She shook her head and peered out the window again. “If the Salamancas are behind this, there are any number of ways this could go pear-shaped”

“Nah. This isn’t the Salamanca’s MO. If it was them, they would have already swarmed us. Besides, even if no one meets us here, I’ve got a plan”

Kim unbuckled her seatbelt “Tell me after I come back with a slushie. We don’t know how long this will take, and it’s hot today. Do you want anything?”

“Wait! Don’t go in there! I haven’t told you the plan yet!”

She slumped back in her seat “Which is?”

“My thinking is, this card was warning us about some heist or large-scale hustle that’s about to go down here. Now we’re like the sheepdogs. We assess the situation, identify any shady characters, figure out what they’re pulling, we turn it around on them, and save some poor honest cashier from having his hard-earned money stolen. Save the day, and we walk away with whatever we’re able to con the con-artists out of, burning a hole in our pockets”

Kim scoffed, “That’s it? Hope a grifter shows up and just intercept him? Yeah I’m going to buy some snacks. If that happens, I think I can handle it on my own. You wait out here and keep watch”

“Well yeah but…” Jimmy whined.

“But what?”

“But… I kind of wanted to do it. Seeing as how it’s MY tragic backstory and all?”

She shook her head and chuckled, “It will be fine. Be right back”

“You know there are no blue fruits!” Jimmy called after her as Kim got out of the BMW, “Not even blueberries. That blue raspberry in there? It’s probably dyed with aluminum”

Kim smiled at him, “Mmm. And it tastes SO GOOD”

After waiting a beat, Jimmy picked up the binoculars and watched his wife walk towards the automatic doors. He focused on admiring how well those black slacks fit her. Two-thirds of the way across the parking lot, she suddenly whipped around and glared at him, her hands on her hips. Her arched eyebrow shot him a look that said, “I can see what you’re doing. Are you serious?”

The edge of his mouth curled into a smirk. He couldn’t help it. He was just one man after all.

Once his partner in crime had disappeared into the store, something shiny glinted in the peripheral of the binoculars. Something was beckoning to him near the dumpsters which looked out over the dunes. Was it a chip bag? A lost hubcap? A sparkling new dime? Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t worth the effort to investigate. But a combination of boredom and curiosity soon found him ambling towards the dilapidated concrete patio at the edge of this rest stop.

At first, the source of the flash was nowhere to be seen. But after a couple of seconds of looking around, Jimmy’s eyes landed on something peeking out from the shadow of the receptacles. He picked it up and started to dust it off on the side of his pants. It was a flat piece of silver colored metal. The shape had been cut into the outline of a wolf, with its head low and its front leg raised, as if it was intently pointing towards something. Maybe it fell off a wind vane? Consumed with studying the piece of debris, he absentmindedly continued to shuffle back out of the shadow of the building again. When the first rays of the sun landed on the metal fragment, it illuminated an insignia stamped onto the heart of the wolf; a small circle with a wasp in the center. Like a vampire handling a cross, his eyes grew wide at how instantaneously the steel went from cool to burning his fingers, and he dropped it, only for it to make a horrible clatter as it bounced again and again against the pavement. He smoothed his hands on his shirt while cursing under his breath.

He anxiously surveyed the parking lot. There was no clear view of the store’s entrance from this side of the building. But at least he was able to see if any other cars were pulling in or out from the highway. So far, it was still just his BMW and three cars at the far end of the lot, which it was safe to assume belonged to the employees. He reached into his jacket pocket and began to light a cigarette. He looked at his watch out of habit, but then remembered he had never bothered to wind it. He turned around again to look out over the desert, but then he froze.

A coyote was close. Very close. He stayed perfectly still, still wondering how the animal could have come out of seemingly nowhere. Fear relaxed a little back into curiosity when it became clear the dog wasn’t interested in hurting him. In fact it almost appeared injured; the way it dragged its body low against the ground seemed mewling and unnatural. But just as he was about to feel pity for the creature, it pounced, catching a tiny green/brown lizard in its teeth. It snapped and slurped savagely until the limbs of its prey stopped twitching in protest. And then seconds later, it was gone without a trace.

The enigmatic beast continued to pay him no mind as it stalked over to the dumpster and wrestled a half-empty plastic bottle of water out of the trash. The plastic crinkled first, but eventually yielded to the dog’s sharp fangs, and the contents spilled out into a puddle with a loud “POP!”

“It probably would have been a nice thing to do, if I had bought a bottle of water and poured it out into a bowl for the old girl” he thought as he watched the stray feverishly lap up the spill.

He hadn’t made a single sound to provoke it, but suddenly the coyote’s head snapped up and her eyes locked with Jimmy’s. They weren’t threatening. They weren’t begging. The wild animal just stared at him with almost human intelligence. It was as if at any moment, the teeth could separate and a full soliloquy would come out. Every fiber of its being was determined to impart something onto him. But what?

Then a single thought materialized in Saul’s mind; “Something’s gone wrong inside the convenience store”

__________________________________

Compared to the heat outside, the inside of the gas station felt like a freezer. It was a welcome change at first, but now Kim couldn’t help but keep wandering back to the countertop, where the heat lamps glowed on rotating racks of hot dogs and soft pretzels. Both of which smelled a little too greasy and sour for comfort. “The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde” by George Fame and the Blues Flames was playing over the tinny-sounding retail speakers. Seemingly the only other person in this desolate storefront was the cashier, who kept looking up from his magazine irritably to check if she was actually planning to buy anything. Then she saw it. A person, either a woman or a short man, was obscured head to toe in a dark red cloak, and was slowly gliding from one aisle to the next. It was far too late for this to be a Halloween costume. Too early for Mardi Gras. She wracked her brain trying to remember if she had heard mention of any other festival taking place locally.

Kim kept her distance. She’d casually shuffle to one corner of the bodega, then the other, always opposite the caped figure, and always trying to steal a glimpse of any facial features peeking out from underneath the hood. She’d already picked out a bottle of iced tea, a bag of chips, and a small pack of sanitizing wipes; really she should just pay and leave already. But Jimmy could be heading in to meet her at any moment, and besides, the mystery shopper was continuing to block the exit. There was a display rack of greeting cards next to the refrigerator case of salads and sandwiches. For a brief moment, she thought she saw the same card her husband had received earlier. She stood on her tiptoes to pull it free from the precarious wire cage, but when she finally was able to look inside, the card bore a different poem, and a different illustration of a wolf howling atop a snow flecked mountain. She sighed and placed it back in an incorrect but easier to reach space on the display.

The path to the door was clear for the moment, so she started to pick up the pace as she drew closer to the checkout. But just as she reached the end of the refrigerator case, something blindsided her, catching her in the shoulder and sending her items flying. Kim didn’t lose her balance, but she watched the contents of a fruit cup hit the floor. Purple and green grapes bounced, dribbled, and rolled away in every direction, like a cascade of superballs. Disoriented, an instinct for civil politeness took over.

“Sorry!” our heroine blurted out.

She hastily scooped up the plastic bowl and what few pieces of fruit hadn’t made contact with the shoemarked linoleum. The chip bag and the packet of wipes were in reach, but the iced tea was gone. A masculine-looking hand offered the bottle back to her.

“Thanks!” she exhaled while trading the dropped objects. “Wait…”

It felt like she couldn’t raise her head fast enough. But there it was! A white grinning mask, brown eyes shining from behind the holes, and the figure was covered in a red cloak. The assassin grabbed her by the wrist and stabbed a needle into her forearm.

“Get off of me!” she yelled, whipping around to see if the disinterested cashier had even seen what was happening.

Finally she heard the man shout “Hey, what’s going on back there?!”

The mask whispered in her ear, “You’re pregnant now. Thirty-six hours”

Before she could even reply “No!” the hand let go and the creep was running away, hiking his robes up to reveal baggy black pants and sneakers.

“Lady, what happened?” the idiotic cashier said obscuring her view.

“Chase him!” Kim snapped, pushing the guy out of the way. The red assailant had managed to put yards between him and her, and the distance was growing. Heels were a bad choice for a stakeout. The monster passed through the glass doors and once it was out in the glare of the sun, it made a hard left and was out of view. She kicked her shoes off, but the stitch in her back and her side only continued to get worse. She had to stop to catch her breath.

This alone was worrying; she’d been jogging two miles at least once a week, even barefoot, she knew she could cross the length of the store without breaking a sweat. She leaned up against the wall next to the exit. Any minute, she would go back to chasing this figure. She’d tell Jimmy what happened, and they’d follow him in their car if she had to. Although if she’d been poisoned, she needed to go to the hospital… She could smell the rank grease of the hotdogs all the way over on the other side of the store. It had been bothering her this whole time but now it was hard to ignore. The cracking the links made as they rotated on the metal rods felt like it was getting louder. They were an artificial shade of pink with oily brown charcoal streaks painted on them. Where did they even get this crap?! The whole thing made her want to… Her stomach flipped, and her hand flew to cover her lips. She was going to gag. Turns out she was still able to run quickly enough to make it to the women’s bathroom.

She stood gripping the edges of the sink for a few minutes. Every time she was starting to hope it had passed, another fit of dry-heaving forced her to lean over the basin again. She rinsed her mouth out under the tap, splashed water on her face, and then stared into the mirror. The fluorescent lighting in the truckstop restroom called attention to the dark circles under her eyes. They hadn’t been there when she walked into the store. Kim looked at her cell phone. Even if there was any reception out here, something in her didn’t want to get Jimmy involved right away. She needed a moment to plan her next move alone. The cell phone increased to one flickering bar as she slowly walked out of the recessed hallway back to the aisles. She snatched a large bottle of water from the nearest fridge and took a few apprehensive, guarded sips. The shop looked empty, with not even the cashier at his post, but she was feeling paranoid now, and she had every right to be. It was hard not to notice, that the “Reproductive Health” aisle was only a few feet away, so still barefoot, she fleetly slunk past the racks of condoms and tampons, and pulled a box of “First Response” from the lower shelf, fumbling to grasp it for a split second. Equally as swiftly, she retreated to the wall next to the bathroom door. Kim exhaled nervously while reading the instructions on the back of the box; one more suspicious glance at the empty interior of the building, and then she tilted the hefty water bottle up and took a deep swig.

Her foot wouldn’t stop tapping while she sat cloistered in the toilet stall. Her whole leg was bouncing up and down. In her left hand, her phone was poised to dial Jimmy’s number, though the call wouldn’t get through. She withdrew her right hand from between her legs and stared fixated at the test stick. Two pink lines. Two. She nearly burst out laughing. She flipped her phone closed and held it to her forehead. There were better places to process all this than a dank public lavatory, so she finished up and went to wash her hands.

The minute she crossed the threshold out of the ladies room, Jimmy was all over her.

“My god! Kim! Are you okay?”

“I think I am…” she answered as she looked into his concern-ridden eyes. She still sounded shocked and uncertain herself.

“The cashier said there was some sort of attack. A man in a cape? Kim, I’m so sorry. This whole thing was such a bad idea”

“It was my idea to go in here alone. I should have realized- what are you doing?!”

Jimmy had his own phone out, and it was already dialing “I’m calling 911” he said breathlessly.

“Put that away! Are you crazy?! If you call emergency services, they’ll send police cruisers. And we CANNOT have police see us driving THAT CAR!”

“Are you SURE you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine. The safest thing for us is to go home as soon as possible. We need to… recalibrate”

“You’re sure?”

“I promise!”

“911. What’s your emergency?” the man’s voice came across the speakers, cutting in and out severely.

Jimmy’s mouth was dry, but he put the phone to his ear and bleated “False alarm. Sorry” before hanging up.

She handed him the big bottle of water and they looked at eachother, afraid.

He kept his arm over her shoulder the entire time as they made their way to the sliding glass doors, and though this didn’t do much for Kim’s sense of security, she held onto him, because in truth she was starting to feel dizzy.

“Wait!” she said just before they exited the store. She broke free of his embrace and scooped up the shoes she had earlier taken off.

“We can go to the hospital. It’s really not a big deal” he was still saying to her as they stepped out into the glare of the New Mexico sun.

“I’m not against it. But we still need to stop at the house first, and switch to a vehicle that’s more not-full-of-staged-evidence”

“That part was my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking taking the BMW on an unrelated stakeout”

“Well you never know when we were going to run into Tuco. I figured it was better to have the trap set up at a moment’s notice”

“We’re going to be juggling multiple schemes at once, we really need to stay organized”

“Do we need to hire a second assistant for the under-the-table business, or do you think Franchesca could be converted to the dark side?”

“Look!” Jimmy interjected, frantically pointing out into the desert.

Kim straightened up and squinted out towards the dunes. A sandstorm was picking up, but a flashing light was cutting through the billows of dust. At the peak of an especially high hill of yellow-white sand, a masked figure draped in flowing red robes was looking down on them, its arms spread victoriously wide. He was holding a mirror, and reflecting rays of the sun into beams, which shot down onto the gas station’s parking lot. One of the unsteady beams grazed the shadowed side of the dumpster, and then it landed on the insignia of the steel wolf, which was still littering the concrete patio. The mystery person did what looked like laughing, although the sound didn’t carry, and then turned and disappeared behind the drift.

Jimmy could feel the way Kim’s shoulders tensed up, like she was poised to chase the assailant all over again. But he assured her “We need to get home”

[lucheng-shu]

There is noise in the feywild, always noise, you simply need an ear for it. The sound of the wind in the trees, the reeds upon the marshes whistling. My home always had the noise of some show or another, some chain dancing it's own pattern. I hope you can find some such noise there. No, I know you will.

I would ask from whom you flee, with whom you flee, but I don't believe I can help. Instead, would you like to tell me about yourself? If I'm to be called your lethe, I may as well play the role.

6.7.1069, 8:38

Perhaps it’s an unfamiliar loudness. Perhaps it is quiet because it is deafening. I’ll go to the marshes. The court was kind enough to make me some clothes. I had wanted it to be the same colour as the others; but such is life. I believe it is some kind of lanshan? I’ve never tried this specific style before. I keep snagging my head on branches, so I discard the futou when I can. Don’t tell anyone!

Also, I am not fleeing. I am being saved. I am waiting. There’s not much more to me than that, right now, I have reason to believe that anything important I could say about myself would be intercepted. Whether or not we know who or why, it will happen. It is better to work around this. I think I can say this, though. I worked as a lecturer for a long time in Soleniri. I did nothing substantial, so I left the university to meet up with my partner again a bit further west. He’s made a name for himself there, and I am so proud. I set up a quaint shop for a bit. I hope whoever is in charge of it is doing alright.

If I may, I believe my partner is of much more interest. If you’ve passed Efisio, perhaps you haven’t met yet. Speaking about myself is tricky, but so much flows through my pen at the thought of him. It is much easier to stare into darkness than blinding light, after all. I never told him exactly that this would happen. When I return, I don’t doubt I’ll be apologising for months. He’s the type that means well, but his words aren’t adapted to Common ways of speaking yet. He has good friends to take care of him in this time. We were… not on common ground, for a long time. He’s mellowed with the years, but he’s still a rather bull-headed man, he just is a little bit more eloquent about it. I left him some of my inventions as a keepsake, but he will surely think of it as a taunt when I return. I cannot wait to see his feather’s ruffle. I will laugh, smile behind my hand, and he will glow bright pink. I never got to see him blush when he was… well, nevermind. Perhaps I miss him more than I believe I did before; even with the knowledge that we will reunite.

Again, there is a script here, but this is no play. Say what you feel. I am a guest to this book, it would pain me deeply if you couldn’t be true to yourself here anymore because I inhabit the lines instead of whoever did before. I will talk, regardless. However you tune me, I will play the same note.