#and after that David was still present but barely

[im-thekeeper]

Marvel: we need a book about Nightcrawler

Si Spurrier:

Marvel: can you make it less about Legion?

Si Spurrier:

Marvel: less?

Si Spurrier:

[blackleatherjacketz]

Hook, Line and Sinker

Eric Northman (True Blood) x Female Reader

Summary: After Eric threatens your brother to pay off a large debt, he expresses his interest in a different form of payment.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Dubious Consent, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation, Death Threats, Swearing, Face-Grabbing, Glamoring, Hair Pulling, Biting, Vampirism, Blood Sucking/Drinking, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink

Word Count: 2.9k+

Tags: @jessicafangirl @differentcatcat @spice-honey

Read more Eric!

Your brother had always been caught up in the wrong crowd, conning people and moving from state to state to avoid the repercussions of his actions until they finally caught up with him. You just never thought that you’d be there with him when that finally happened. You never thought that the people, the monsters that he had crossed would ever throw bags over your heads and toss you into the trunk of their car to present you in front of their ‘boss’ he had to answer to. You never thought that he’d be dumb enough to cross a nest of vampires, of all things.

This boss is much different from the image you’d cooked up in your head from beneath the black pillowcase. Although he still appears pale, cold and callous from his perch behind his desk, he isn’t that dark, brooding caricature of a vampire you expected to see. His presence is still heavy, warming your body in a blanket of unease from across the room as cropped blonde locks frame his handsome face, but there’s something else there. There’s something more in that split second that he glances your way, almost as if he was fighting the urge to take a longer look, but that could just be the trauma talking.

He takes his time folding his slender fingers together as he speaks to your brother, not even bothering to look over at him while negotiating his terms. It’s almost as if he’s bored of the inconvenience of his presence, annoyed that he even has to do any of this at all. You can tell this isn’t the first conversation they’ve about this, but figure that it may very well be their last. And just like that, with a wave of his hand, one of your captors grasps onto your brother’s arm and turns him away from you despite his many pleas and protests.

“She stays here until you come back.” He looks at you intentionally this time, eyes burning his promise deep into your soul with words clearly meant for your brother.

“What?! No! She doesn’t have anything to do with this, Eric! I was asking her for money! That’s why I was with her!” David pleads as the woman begins dragging him across the room toward the open door. “I’ll get your money, I promise!”

“We’ll see.” Eric states calmly, almost to himself as the sound of your brother’s begging fades out into the darkened hallway, muddled by his scurried footsteps.

You start to run over to the doorway, trying to see which direction they’re taking him in, to get one last look at your brother before the night swallows him whole, but you can barely move. Like in one of those nightmares you can’t manage to wake yourself from, your feet seem to get heavier with each step you take as you feel yourself being pulled back to the center of the room by your host’s words.

“If I knew David had such a pretty sister, I would have threatened him a lot sooner.” Eric starts as he busies himself by looking over his ledger, his long fingers scaling down the page before looking back up at you intently. He holds your gaze with a long azure stare, so dark and serious that you can’t bear to look away, even if you tried. “Now I see why he was keeping you from me.”

“Keeping me from you?” The phrase sounds just as odd coming out of your own mouth as it did his, your voice providing little balm over the idea.

“Don’t pretend to be so naive, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.” Eric stands up, moving around the desk toward you in a blur faster than your brain can even begin to register. He stops just a few feet short of you, forcing you to gasp as your muscles tighten in anticipation of what he could do to you in a matter of seconds. If he wanted to. He’s so much taller than he seemed from behind the desk, his shoulders now towering well above your eye line as he takes another slow, purposeful step in your direction. “You’re not nearly as afraid of me as you should be.”

“I’m afraid,” you reassure him shakily, still stunned in your tracks.

“Are you?” He lifts your chin with the tips of his fingers, that cold stare of his softening just a little as his lips curl into a devious smirk. “Or is it something else?”

You wrack your brain of all the vampire trivia you’ve learned over the years, trying to recall if they could read minds, or if that was just something you saw in a movie once. Is it that blatantly obvious that you’re attracted to him despite the situation your brother’s put you in? Has the gift of fear not properly disguised your complex reaction to his large size and good looks? Or is this just a lucky shot in the dark?

“It’s something else,” you hear yourself admit to him before you even decide to tell him the truth. Why did you just do that?

“I could see it all over your face the very second you walked in here.” He grabs ahold of your chin and squeezes until your lips purse, smiling as if he’s won some kind of prize for calling you out on something completely out of your control. “Humans aren’t nearly as good at hiding their emotions as they think they are.”

He chuckles and lets go of your face, turning his back to you before slowly walking over to his desk as a cascade of hormones trickles into your bloodstream. That sudden absence of his touch makes your body ache for another embrace, craving that hit of oxytocin more quickly than you’d ever anticipated from a mere stranger.

“How much does he owe you, exactly?” You attempt to reconnect, stepping toward him as he turns back around to face you.

Maybe he just wants you to ask for it… to beg for what you want in exchange for your brother’s life, but that’s not something you’ve ever done before, not something you’d ever lower yourself to do. The least you could do is try your best to negotiate your way out of this logically.

“A lot,” he answers flatly.

“How much?” You try to stand your ground, looking up at him resolutely as his beautiful features start to heat you up from the inside out.

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

“Jesus, fuck.” You utter, unaware that your brother’s habits had gotten him this upside down with the most lethal of all creatures known to man. There’s no way he’s getting out of this without your help.

“Jesus Fuck is right.” The vampire grins as he makes another move in the unspoken game that you’re playing together, reaching out to touch a lock of your hair and smelling it before laying it back down onto your shoulder. “You seem like the smart one in the family, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that your brother hasn’t been able to pay his debt to us for some time.” He licks his lips as he looks you over, his gaze moving back and forth from your mouth down to your neck in rapid succession. “And that he’s pushed things just far enough that we’ve had no other choice but to take extreme measures.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Your heart sinks in your chest before dropping down into your stomach, straining the muscles in your torso at the thought of him paying the ultimate price for his stupidity. Sure, the two of you had fallen out of touch over the years because of his habits, but that didn’t mean that you wanted him killed over them. You just wanted this all to be over and done with. Then it hits you; you’re reminded of what your brother was doing business with… not who. “Are you going to kill… me?”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t have to come to that.” The blue in his eyes begins to shrink as his pupils dilate, escaping to the far recesses of his irises as he closes the gap between you. “It’d be such a waste.”

“But I don’t have that kind of money,” you think out loud, still trying to logic your way out of this.

“Oh, I know.” He smirks, the seductive confidence now oozing out of his pores. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t help him.” He traces his finger over the artery in your neck as it pumps a more potent cocktail of fear and arousal into your bloodstream, forcing your lips to tremble. “Fortunately for me, you were in the right place at the right time when my men picked him up.”

“Fortunately?” You repeat, realizing now that it’s too late for mundane negotiations, that it’s far too late to fight your body’s natural urges.

“You’d do anything for your brother, wouldn’t you?” Eric’s fangs suddenly emerge as he touches more of your bare skin, revealing his true nature as his chest begins to heave.

Oh God. “I’ve never been bitten before,” you whisper without pulling away from his grasp.

“Never?” He leans down and whispers into your ear, the deep musk of his cologne surrounding you in a heady haze as his thumb presses against your racing pulse. He carefully wraps the rest of his cold fingers around your neck, holding you in place as he inhales your scent. “You haven’t even thought about it? About how good it might feel?”

His words turn your insides to quicksand, his breath hot on your skin as you dare to think about his fangs sinking into your flesh. You honestly hadn’t wondered about how it would feel until just now, your mind jumping ahead to the image of him latching onto your throat and tasting your blood before you’re able to give him an honest yet quiet answer. “No.”

“Not even now?” He slides his other hand between your thighs, triggering your most human response as that moisture begins to collect beneath the fabric of your jeans, soaking through the cotton of your underwear as your body takes over. “It only hurts at first.”

“My brother will find a way to get your money.” Your last ditch effort at peace is futile at best, knowing full well that it’s only a matter of seconds before your carnal desires win over.

“Will he?” Eric releases his grip on your neck only to grasp onto your hair, tugging on your scalp just hard enough to expose your throat. “I think we both know how hopeless your brother’s case really is.” He pulls tighter, jutting your chin up toward the ceiling as he turns you around and walks you back toward his desk like a rag doll. “Maybe I should just keep you here to start paying off that debt of his. I’m sure you could be of use.”

“Keep me here?” Your view of the ceiling tiles shifts in and out of focus as he slides his hand beneath the hem of your pants, lifting you up onto his desk while sliding his fingers between your soaking wet folds. Goddamn, that feels good, oh god… he’s really good at that. But wait a minute… Keep you here? How long was that going to last? How long are YOU going to last? “I don’t want to die.”

“Who said anything about dying?” He grins as he settles in between your legs, pushing his fingers inside your eager entrance as a salacious shade of hunger washes over his face.

His bite somehow takes you by surprise, the sudden piercing pain worse than you imagined as it breaks your skin, shooting daggers up through your spine. That sharp sting only lasts for a second though, his tongue massaging your skin as it works to lap up the hot flow of blood that leaks out of the corners of his mouth, racing down your neck and onto your clavicle. His needy moans vibrate against your throat as his fingers delve deeper inside you, his thumb rubbing delicious circles into your moistened clit, flooding your senses with a deadly concoction of agony and ecstasy.

So this is what all the fuss is about.

You start to moan along with him as he stimulates your most sensitive area, only no sound bothers to escape your lips. Your breath is stifled by the intoxicating mixture of cortisol and oxytocin flowing through your veins and into his mouth, halting any complex brain functions you might otherwise have at this moment. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tightening onto his golden locks in order to hold him against you in this morbidly sensual embrace.

He pulls more of you into his mouth as your strength begins to dwindle, greedily licking the length of your neck before nipping at your chin and jawline in between hungry attempts to clean up the scarlet mess he’s made of your skin. Those tiny little nips quickly turn into affectionate kisses on his way up your face until he reaches your lips, parting them with his blood-soaked tongue.

“Eric,” you’re finally able to moan, whining as his fingers slide out of your sex just in time to unfasten your jeans, leaving a trail of slick up your pelvis as he pulls them off your legs.

“You taste like a dream,” he smirks, your blood smattered across his face like a wild animal, the excess dripping down his neck and onto his chest, stirring something more primal in you than you’ve ever felt before. He can see it in your eyes as he runs his tongue across his teeth, holding his thumb against your bite in order to slow down your bleeding for the time being. “You like it, don’t you?”

You nod in silence.

“I knew you would.” He leans in close and kisses you again, letting you taste the iron of your blood until enough of it fills your mouth that you have no other choice but to swallow. It goes down easier than you anticipated, still hot and fluid down the back of your throat as Eric bites into his own lip, mixing the saltier flavor of his blood with yours. He smirks as you lean forward to kiss him back, no longer afraid as you take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck the spit and blood right off of it.

He has you now; hook, line and sinker.

Your desire for him increases exponentially as if your very life force depends on the continuation of his kiss, on the certainty of his touch. You feel that your very soul is connected to his now, tethered more deeply than you ever have been with anyone else. Your groans become louder as he lazily licks the blood off your tongue and teeth; his hunger for you only growing along with yours as you both continue to consume each other.

Making quick work of undoing his own pants, he shoves them down past his knees to reveal the evidence of his own arousal, grasping onto your thigh to make room for his hips.

Jesus Christ, he’s even bigger than you thought he’d be. Fuck. This is really happening, isn’t it?

“And to think that I was your first,” he snickers, stroking himself with his opposite hand as he spreads the remainder of your blood left on his palm over his enormous girth. He lines himself up with your dripping wet cunt, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your length as waves of red hot bliss shoot up into your core before he pushes inside.

You cry out as your body takes him in, inch by undead inch as that rare connection between you only tightens like a rubber band pulling you two together as he bottoms out against your thighs. He only gives you a second to adjust to his size, pulling out just a little before slamming his hips back into you without mercy, sheathing himself within your walls before relentlessly repeating the motion again and again. That tingly red heat from before turns scarlet as it burns its way through you, igniting every neuron in your body as he quickens his pace, grunting as he hits that bundle of nerves inside you the way only a man who’s been alive for centuries would know how.

It’s as if he’s unlocked something within you that so many men before had tried and failed to open, expanding your pleasure throughout every tissue in your body from your capillaries right down to your fingertips. Bright, blinding lights flash before your eyes as your toes curl and your back arches, distracting you from his mouth latching onto you once again. You can feel his thrusts becoming more frantic, each pass over your slick special spot triggering another explosion of ecstasy as your muscles clench down around him, draining him of his more prized fluid as you both shake together in unison. His moans turn into groans as he drinks more of your blood, shifting into feral growls against your mangled skin as your heart rate eventually comes down from your climax.

“Fuck!” He pulls his fangs from you as he licks and kisses his way back up to your lips, a thin coat of your blood now covering you in a ruby red sheen as his come drips down your thighs and onto the floor. “I knew I could use you.” He winks before pulling out and kissing your forehead. “Only forty-nine thousand dollars to go.”

[beelmons]

Mandatory team-building exercise

Pairing: BAU x Fem!BAU!Reader (becomes Hotch-centered) Genre: Smut (18+, minors are not encouraged to interact or read this story) CW: unprotected sex (i do not encourage), slight exhibitionism (not really, but ppl know stuff), jealous!hotch (a lil only), hoeing around, reader is bisexual Word count: 6,795 (very sorry about this) Summary: After a night of drinking, your boss proposes a bonding exercise so the team can get even closer: Everyone must make out with you, and you have to choose who kisses best. A/N: I got too carried away with this, no idea if i did any good, but here you go. Tag list (tagging everyone who reblogged and voted hotch): @ssamorganhotchner @montyfandomlove @hotchners-sweetheart @hey-dw @cassiemartzz <;3

Best part of going to O’keefe’s was wrapping the night up at Rossi’s, slightly tipsy, laughing about everything, and generally enjoying the genuine personalities of your friends, no masks or guards up, which was something hard to do at work. David’s house was a place where you could bare your soul and still feel safe. 

“...and I swear, everyone just thought it was the most normal thing.” JJ said while swinging her glass of wine around, and the people around her let out a light laugh. 

“I bet Rossi could agree with that, couldn’t you?” Morgan directed the question to Dave “After all, it’s your fault that we don’t get to fraternize with other agents, ain’t that right?” his comment made everyone laugh once again. 

“No, no, never within the same department. I was in the bureau during the 70’s and 80’s, you didn’t get that many women out here, let alone in the BAU. By the end of my career, we only had two female agents in this unit and I had already been married thrice. So, do the math, if I had wanted to sleep with someone from the same unit, it would have had to be…” he made a pause for dramatic build-up “well, Gideon.” 

The entire team let out a disgusted yet amused grunt at the mere idea of seeing two of their former bosses interacting in such fashion. You watched Spencer’s face be particularly crumpled, he was possibly picturing it in vivid detail by accident, consequences of having such a bright mind, so you decided to grab the hand that was holding his long island tea and push it gently towards his lips. You giggled at how he automatically obeyed and swallowed down a rather big gulp of his beverage. 

“I’m just glad these are problems we don’t have to face in the BAU, you know, fraternization between agents.” Hotch said, taking a sip off his glass. 

The silence that took over the group was deafening. Accusatory looks were being exchanged between everyone, and they could notice how certain glances lasted longer than appropriate. Hotch didn’t usually stay long enough to see how the nights ended, when everyone was too hammered to call their own cabs, or too impaired to question themselves whether the person they were kissing was or was not part of the team. 

“Well, I think this is a conversation you kids should have without your parent present.” David, who was way faster at reading the situation compared to the unit chief, got up from his chair, leaving his glass by the table. Aaron sighed in what seemed like disappointment, and immediately followed Dave's actions. “No, no.” the older man quickly put a hand on his shoulder indicating him to sit down “I think it’s better if you stay; do some bonding. I’ll be in my room, sleeping, don’t be afraid to be noisy, the place is soundproof, just make sure to leave the alarm active once you leave.”

Incredulity washed over the unit chief as he watched his fellow team leader walk away from the situation. The eyes had turned to him instead, silently questioning about the decision he was going to take. It was a bit awkward to discuss your personal affairs with your boss present, sure, but it’s not like you didn’t have a relationship with him. Hotch, reserved and all, knew each member to a level of intimacy that few others could be able to reach, and had protected them in ways no other superior would approve of.  

“Whatever I hear today will come through the ears of your friend, not your superior, but there’s no discussing this back at the office, understood?” the boss clarified as he went back to his seat, his hand reaching for the scotch he had left on the table. There was a second of doubtful silence, people were unsure how safe it was to share such private, and risky, information. Hotch started to catch up, feeling slightly unwelcome and bothersome, so he let out another sigh.  

“Elle was Reid’s first time.” you spurted out of the blue, trying to ease the anxiety that was probably growing within your superior. 

“Hey!” your partner yelled out, being sat next to you on one of the couches, clearly offended that he was the scapegoat to the situation. 

“Greenaway?!” Morgan asked from across the living room. 

“Do you know any more Elles, Morgan?” you said, your eyes rolling. 

“How did you even land that, kid?” the dark-skinned man continued to ask. 

“I’m not really a fan of discussing my sex life out in the open, which is why this was told in confidence to my close and dear friend” the young doctor shot you a quick glare with a hint of anger on it. 

“Oh, so now it’s a sex life?” JJ teased. 

“Totally.” you said, taking a sip of your own drink before continuing “Because he told me this two minutes before he shoved his tongue in my mouth, and his fingers down my pants.” 

“No way!” Prentiss let out while everyone else laughed in surprise, Hotch’s eyebrows simply slightly raised at the confession. 

Reid was sinking on his seat, his ears reddened from the looks that he was receiving. You made sure to squeeze his thigh lightly and shoot him a smile, which deflated the uneasiness that he was feeling. You didn’t mean any harm, and there was no wrong in letting the secret out in front of your most cherished friends, they would have found out one way or another. 

“Morgan and I made out once.” Garcia interrupted the teasing in order to protect her favorite boy wonder from any further teasing, and Derek drew a smug smile on his face at her affirmation. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Hotch contributed with an absolutely unphased expression, or so until another idea ran through his mind, his brows furrowing in concern “Hold on, was this on company time?” both suspects froze in their place and exchanged questioning, guilty looks. Regardless of the answer, their expressions had been enough to give them away “you know what? it’s better if I don’t know.” 

“That office is certainly cozy, don’t you think?” JJ said once again, her eyes traveling between you and Penelope. 

“Impossible.” Derek’s eyes spread wide open, his jaw basically dropping “Please don’t tell me the three made out in Garcia’s office and didn’t invite us to watch” he let out in a pleading, hurt tone. 

“Four.” Emily barged in. 

The men in the room seemed to melt at the revelation, the expression being quite literal for Morgan who slid down the chair in defeat, landing on his knees as if he had been shot in the cruelests of fashions. Spencer could only furrow his brows and let his mouth fall open, already trying to picture the situation. 

“Was it like, taking turns on each other? or the four of you putting your lips together in one single kiss?” the blond asked in order to assess the spatial situation better. 

“I’d say it was kind of a free-for-all sort of situation.” Prentiss answered him. 

“At some point, I’d close my eyes and whomever’s lips came to mine, I was fine with it.” JJ commented, earning a flirty giggle from the rest of the girls around her. 

“You women are killing me.” Morgan said once again, but a sudden epiphany seemed to come through his brain, and he turned in your direction with a pointed finger “Wait a second. That means you have been through everyone’s lips?!” he said in surprise. 

“You’ve made out with her too?!” Garcia said in an offended tone. 

“Christmas last year, got a little carried away with that mistletoe kiss.” he admitted “But nothing further than that.” 

Everyone’s eyes turned to you, the crowd had a mixture of accusation and admiration on their faces, depending on who you looked at, and their staring was making you a little uncomfortable, if you were being honest. 

“Have you all looked at yourselves? This is a ridiculously hot group of people. Being bisexual is very hard with a team like this.” you argued in your defense and decided to down whatever liquid was still inside your glass. Their faces seemed to light up with a hint of shyness. Everyone thought so, of course, but compliments on your physical appearances were not something you exchanged frequently. It was nice to hear once in a while. 

“Did you ever end up sleeping with someone?” Hotch’s question took everyone by surprise, yet they were intrigued enough to allow him to ask uninterrupted. 

Your eyebrows raised with slight offense “Come on, Hotch, I’m not a slut. The closest I have come to was Reid, and even so we stopped because I didn’t want to jeopardize our jobs.” you complained. 

“Sorry, that was not my intention-” he began, until Reid’s question cut him off. 

“Who’s the best?” he asked. 

“Spencer!” JJ yelled accusingly. 

“No, no, let the kid ask.” Morgan put a hand in front of JJ’s chest, trying to keep her opinions from coming out. Yet again, you were put as the center of attention, but you decided to shrug off the question. 

“It’s not like I keep track of each time!” you let out, pushing your friend by the shoulder playfully at his suggestion “Most of them were really far apart from each other, and it only happened once with each one of you.” you clarified, your eyes traveling to Aaron, as if you were trying to justify yourself to him. 

“So, what I hear is: if they were to happen one after the other, then we could find out?” Emily questioned in your direction. 

“There’s a pretty spacious coat closet by the entrance.” Reid pointed out. 

“Oh, we could make it into a competition, and whoever wins gets to sleep with her!” Garcia blurted with a little too much excitement. 

“Wha-” you tried to complain in confusion “Stop your horses, I don’t even get a say in this?!” 

“No.” Hotch stated. The way his eyes were stern, yet completely determined, caused a sensation in you that could only be described as lust. He was always commanding, but there was something about him instructing you to do the dirtiest things to your coworkers that had gotten you excited “This is now a mandatory team-bonding exercise.” his words came out almost like an order.  

There was yet another exchange of looks, this time excited ones, between the team members, and they decided to look at you for approval. “Okay, but sleeping with me is one hell of a prize, and I don’t seem to be getting anything out of this. So, how do I win, and what do I win?” 

“Seems fair that you have a reward as well if you achieve your desired result. How about, if no one is able to convince you to sleep with them, you get one of their vacation days each.” Hotch proposed. “Garcia and JJ, since the two of you are committed you don’t have to actively participate, but you will place a bet on the member you think she’ll most likely succumb to, if you win, you get the loser’s vacation day.”  

Your mouth crooked with pleasure, an expression that your partners mimicked. You were feeling exposed, in the good way, in the kinky way. You still took a second to consider, you knew there was no going back if you agreed to this, but yet again, these were the people you had trusted your entire life to, your job, your safety, your dignity. They would never do anything to undermine you, and their respect for you wouldn’t waver for something like this. 

“We have to set some rules, though.” Spencer weighed in “Only mouths and hands allowed in the erogenous zones.” 

“You worried that if we allow something else you’ll lose?” Morgan teased.

“Mhm, sure, we know what you’re trying to compensate for with those biceps, Morgan. I’m not afraid of you.” his friend teased back. There was a short moment of playful conflict between the two, when Derek pretended to jump menacingly towards Reid, yet he was stopped by Penelope’s hand on his chest. 

“Okay. I’m game.” you agreed along with a nod of your head “Who wants to give it a try first?” you asked, taking a look at the entire group. 

Bunch of eager hands raised at the cue. Morgan’s and Prentiss’s almost touching the ceiling as they competed to see who could raise it higher. JJ and Penelope, who were unfortunately not single at the moment, could only laugh at their little quarrel. Your finger moved rhythmically, pretending to select at random while humming a classic ‘choosing’ song. Ultimately, your digit landed on Prentiss and you wiggled it to indicate her to follow you; she stood up to reach for your hand, allowing you to lead her towards the closet by the entrance. 

She locked the door behind her and turned around with her hands extended towards you, trying to find your body in the pitch-dark small room; your eyesights finally adjusted to the lack of light and you could barely make out her shape. 

“You sure you’re good with this?” she double-checked once her limbs landed on your waist. 

“Em, I love the commitment to consent, but stop talking.” you ordered. 

Within seconds, your own arms wrapped around her neck urging her to come closer; she obliged, happily, and her own head bent forward to meet your lips. You could taste the faint flavor of her balm, which you identified as piña colada. 

Her lips moved slowly, yet sensually, the hands that were gripping your hips pulled them closer, and you could heart the rustling of your clothes rubbing together. After a couple of seconds, her tongue began to prod your bottom lip, ever so chivalrous asking for permission. You chuckled amusedly at the gesture, and she took advantage of the opening to slip in. 

Emily liked to take her time, not really taking control, more like exploring a place that always felt familiar and was revisiting just then. On your side, your fingers curled into the slightly messy hair, and your body rolled on its own to be feeling more of her against you. 

You could feel her hand dragging upwards over your clothes, she traced the side of your body and caused your shirt to come up a little bit, the cool air felt interesting against your now hot skin, and so a sound slipped past your lips. It was Emily’s turn to laugh, pulling away so she could make out your eyes. 

“Better than last time?” she asked, her face not leaving yours. 

“Mhm.” you could simply hum, still breathless from the session. 

“Do you have enough material to work with, judge?” she teased, her nose grazing yours in a playful manner. 

“You will be hard to top, Em.” you admitted to her as your body pulled away. 

“Not the first time I’ve been told that.” she joked “I’ll send in the next contestant, who do you want me to get?” 

“You know what? Just send in whoever you’d like, surprise me.” 

She smiled before sneaking out of the narrow room. You were left alone with a bunch of coats and purses, your idea building anticipation within yourself. Spencer or Morgan, who would come through that door? You were dying to know. Although, if you were being honest, there was only one other person you wanted in there with you. However, you weren’t sure if the team-bonding exercise applied to him as well, he was the sole pair of lips you were dying to taste, and still the only ones you hadn’t. 

Your train of thought was interrupted by the opening of the door; you jumped slightly in your place, and the man that was entering the room could notice. 

“Whoa, sweetheart, you that excited to see me?” Morgan chuckled at your startled reaction, and he swiftly closed the door behind you. 

“You’re a pleasant surprise, yes.” you said trying to ease your nervousness. Morgan made you particularly uneasy, not for anything bad, you were just sure that man had some sort of a psychic ability, he would always guess what you were thinking without even opening your mouth. 

“You were expecting someone different, weren’t you?” he stood before you, towering over your body. 

He took a couple of steps forward and you retracted until your back eventually hit the wall, he continued to pace forward until the gap between your bodies almost disappeared; being caged in by him, your hands traveled to your front, and they landed on his chest, almost as if you were trying to put some space in between you. 

He caught up to your actions, observant as he was, and so he raised his own hands to cup your cheeks. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness once again, and you could see the natural glim of his as he looked into you. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, alright? We can just pretend like we did until Hotch gets his turn.” he reassured, and your mouth dropped open. 

“Why would you-” you started to try and justify yourself, but he cut you off with a laugh. 

“I’ve got an eye for tragic lovers.” 

You sighed a little bit; Morgan had to be a mind reader, there was no other way. As if he was doing just that, his arms fell back to his sides and he stepped back to give you more space. Your hands desperately clung to the front of his t-shirt, not allowing him to escape any further from your grip. 

“Hold on.” you told him “There’s no need to pretend, he already thinks we’re going to do it, so what’s the harm?” 

The room was a bit too dark for you to make out his specific facial expression, but you were sure his eyebrows were raised in a startled surprise. 

“Damn, you’re good at convincing.” without further delay, his hands darted back to the position on your face, and he used them to pull you forward. 

You felt his lips on yours immediately, he was less gentle than Emily, but nonetheless chivalrous. You had to grant him access to your mouth, and he quickly obeyed your desires. His fingers moved back to the nape of your head, keeping you in place against his mouth as his tongue danced fervently around yours. 

Your hands had moved back to his chest, using them to stabilize yourself since his strength and mild roughness was making you lose your balance. You couldn’t help the slight squeeze that you gave his pecs, being that they felt firm under your fingers. Derek took your initiative with the touch as an invitation to do so as well. One of his arms fell down, and sensually slipped to your lower back, he was cautious, lowering inch by inch in search of any sign of complaint or rejection, but you didn’t provide  any, and his palm gently began to caress the area of your ass. 

Your hips rolled unconsciously against his, his breath hitched inside his throat as you did so to the point where he had to pull apart to catch it back. He didn’t want to leave you unattended, therefore his head tilted to the side to take a gentle nibble at your jaw before he moved down to your neck. The hand on your neck joined the other on your rear, adding much needed pressure to his front; you let out a pleased sound, and it was his sign to retract. 

He stole a quick, last peck from your lips before he pulled back. “I think I’ve done a good job.” he said with a cheeky tone.  

“Certainly, contestant” you went along with the joke and he answered with a laugh “Please send in the next test subject” he nodded at your instructions and calmly walked out. 

Thanks to Morgan’s comment, you realized that Aaron was probably game as well, and the mere thought of him appearing behind that door at any given second was making you nervous enough to begin pacing around the small room. You yet again reacted when the entrance was open again, and you must have made a movement or expression that indicated disappointment, because Reid pursed his lips at the sight of you. 

“Not who you were expecting?” he asked before he closed the door behind him, and you could notice the tint of sadness in his voice. 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” you reached out towards him in an attempt to find his hands, and when you finally did you pulled him closer to you “You know it’s always a delight to make out with you.” you tried to reassure him. 

“It’s mutual, you know?” he said, his hands still in yours. 

“I figured, I am an excellent kisser” you teased. 

“That’s not what I meant.” his voice seemed more stern than usual “You and Hotch.” 

You were thankful for the darkness that didn’t allow the blush of your face to be seen; after a couple of seconds, you cleared your throat, trying to avoid sounding too hopeful. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to kiss me” he added “Plus, I don’t know how comfortable I would be doing so while you think of another man.” 

Your eyebrows raised at his candor. Vulnerable Spencer could always sway you, mostly because you knew none of his words ever held an ill intention. He was honest to a fault, and you always felt compelled to soothe his anxieties. 

“Then be good enough to make me forget.” you almost let out as a whisper. 

You knew it would have to be up to you to take control with him, so you cupped his face and quickly dragged him down to your level to press a kiss to his lips and shut up whatever other excuse he was going to emit. Spencer was much more familiar with your lips compared to others, barely any foreplay before his tongue was already massaging yours sensually. His fingers gripped your hips in a similar fashion he had done before (that one time you were telling the rest of the team about). 

He pushed you backwards a bit, having you pressed against an already too familiar wall, and you could feel his knee slipping past your thighs, right in between them. His lips continued to work around yours, gently nonetheless, but you could feel the grip on your hips getting tighter, and you realized he was trying to move them, bringing friction to your front. 

A light moan slipped past your lips straight into his mouth, so his body moved forward to press against you a little tighter. “Isn’t that cheating?” you took the opportunity to say. 

“It’s not.” he answered before taking another kiss away from you “My mouth is where it’s supposed to be.” 

You giggled at his logic; Spencer was just that good when it came to loopholes. You were too focused on the pleasure that was taking over you as your clothed crotch continued to rub against his leg to actually care. Your hips started to take a rhythm on their own, and your kiss turned into a session of adjoining lips panting in unison. His fingers kept digging further into the skin that he had managed to expose due to the movement. 

At some point, your head dropped back to allow yourself to get lost in the moment, and you felt his lips attack its base with open-mouthed, yet non-invasive, kisses. Your legs began to shake and Spencer pressed against you to keep you up, your light orgasm running within every vein of your body. 

He let out a light chuckle as he pulled away from you, making sure you could keep your balance. “Bet Morgan didn’t do that” he said proudly. 

You hit him in the arm and pushed him towards the door with a smile, watching him smugly prance his way out. You laughed to yourself to disguise the anxiety that began to overwhelm you. You made sure to fix your clothes in a somewhat presentable manner, and you unconsciously pressed yourself back against the wall, as if you were too scared to meet him face first. 

Your heart felt like jumping straight up out of your chest when the knob finally twisted the damned piece of fine wood open. For the brief moment the hall light illuminated the insides, your eyes met, you could see the startle in his eyes once he noticed the way you stood there seemingly frozen by his appearance. He couldn’t bear the sight, his hands immediately darting to your face without having even shut the entrance. In a blink, his entire presence was right by yours, and his nose rubbed desperately against your own, almost as if it had taken all of his strength to stop himself from kissing you right away. 

“Can I?” he asked in a mutter. 

“Yes.” you barely let him finish his question when you answered. 

Your firm and resolute agreement was nothing but a turn on to him, and his lips pressed passionately against yours without a second thought. You struggled to catch your breath as he devoured every inch of your now plump skin. His hands were nowhere near quiet, either, they presumed permission to explore as well and traveled south to where your lower-back, and any work you had done to tidy your shirt was long gone, being that he was heavily bothered by the fact that you were clothed.

The tip of his fingers were carefully memorizing the areas where your skin curved, every so often gripping selfishly with the intention of leaving at least a faint mark. You wondered how he could keep going without taking a break, and as if he could read your mind he pulled away.

“That’s plenty to be able to judge your performance.” you joked, suddenly aware that this had all begun because of a silly game you had tipsily come up with. 

“I’m sorry.” he said, his hands fixing themselves on your face instead, keeping it still to have you at the same level as him. 

“What for?” your eyebrows furrowed questioningly, even if in the darkness he couldn’t quite see your expression. 

“It’s not enough for me.” his lips smashed onto yours once again with a similar force “Please tell me this urge isn’t one-sided.” he tried to reassure himself. 

“It’s not.” you hurried to clarify, and your hands tugged at his shirt to serve as guarantee. 

Aaron reached for the hem of your top and swiftly pulled it over your head, giving your aching lips a second of rest. Once your breasts were partially freed, you noticed him bend over, and one of his hands moved the remaining fabric away to expose your nipple; the way his mouth so hungrily latched to it made you shiver with pleasure, your right limb moving to his hair, and the left one covering your mouth to stop the loud moan from coming out. He didn’t take long to bring your other nub attention as well, and caged, throaty whines began to fill the room. 

You could feel his erection pressing against your hip; he would roll them from time to time just as a reminder of the effect you had on him. You couldn’t process all that, though, if you were being honest, his every move, kiss, and suck driving you further away from sanity. As if his mouth wasn’t already doing wonders around your chest, you bolted up when you realized one of Hotch’s hands had found its way inside your pants, toying with the elastic band of your underwear. 

“Aaron.” you removed the cover from your face to let out an aroused moan of his name. 

He finally let go of your upper body, his back straightening to be close to your face once again “Tell me,” he almost whispered “when he was doing this to you, were you thinking of me?” 

When you didn’t jerk away from his touch, he moved past the last restrictive garment, and one of his digits trailed up your entire slit, an experimental feeling to gather your reaction. To his pleasure, you melted into his touch, and the lack of light didn’t allow you to see the wide smile it generated on him. He took advantage of your approval to slip his finger inside your cunt. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he teased as the aforementioned began to painstakingly slowly twirl within you “Tell me, is there anyone else that can make you this agitated? So wet, so desperate to be touched?” 

“N-No” you tried to answer in one go, however, the way the tip of his finger caressed your walls in search of reactions was not allowing you to think straight. 

“I’ll ask you again.” he said, his tone ever commanding “While he was touching you like this, did you secretly wish it was me?” he kept pressing his initial line of questioning, that you were too gone to remember it was about your little anecdote with Reid. 

His wrist twisted in a way that allowed him to penetrate deeper, owning a moan that you tried to subtly suppress. 

“Yes!” you cried out in the lowest tone you were able to, still oddly aware that the rest of your coworkers were outside. 

“Let him know.” he basically growled against your ear, you lacked contact in your lower body for a second, only to let out a loud, uncontained whimper once he added a second finger to the formula. You grabbed for dear life onto his biceps, trying to keep your balance as he continued to thrust his fingers inside and out, your head also laid against the crook of his neck, unable to keep yourself facing him as he spilled dirty nothings in your ear. 

“Aaron, please.” you begged as your hips tried to get him even further within you “I need more.” 

The arm that was helping you keep still moved so his fingers could tangle in your hair, his grip allowed him to tilt your head back with a gentle tug, not quite enough to hurt you, but firm enough to force it a little. 

“I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget every word but my name.” his mouth pressed against yours once again to give you a reaffirming, rough kiss.

He removed his hand from your downside, and it energetically began to search around for the top he had removed earlier. Unable to find it, between other pieces of clothing and the darkness of the room, Aaron decided to remove his own shirt and hurried to throw it over your shoulders. 

Your face reddened at his intentions, he was trying to cover you so the rest of the members wouldn’t see you literally half naked. Once he was comfortable with how many buttons he had hooked, he grabbed your hand to guide you outside the narrow closet. 

Unfortunately for the both of you, and his subordinates, the only path towards the guest rooms, that Dave had prepared earlier, was to follow the hallway that crossed the living room area on the side. You braced yourself mentally, your hand covering your face as you began to feel the confused sights of your coworkers during your little parade. 

“Last one out set the alarm.” you could hear Hotch command, but you didn’t dare to look back at your friends, or him for that matter. 

The rest of the group simply stared at how their shirtless superior was dragging a girl, their very best friend, who was wearing his shirt over what was obviously a barely clothed chest, to the rooms their other boss had prepared for a very specific purpose. They exchanged puzzled looks in complete silence until Emily spoke up. 

“Anyone know the alarm code?” she asked. 

Back to you and Aaron, he had chosen the closest door he could find open. As soon as you stepped in, he grabbed your hips once again to press them against his, his erection made itself known against them, and you couldn’t help but to curiously wander one hand down. Your foreheads met and so did your eyes as you palmed his front; he let out an airy quiet moan. 

Not able to take his frustration any longer, he twirled in his place along with you, making you stumble and fall on your back on to the bed. He landed right on top, his palms against the mattress cushioning the fall so he wouldn’t lay his entire weight on you. 

There was no exchange of words, only a quick glance at your covered bottom that you understood as a command. Your back arched upwards and he could steal a glance of your perked nipples rubbing against his lent shirt. Shortly, you began to wiggle underneath him to remove the pants that you were pushing down along with your underwear. Once you were exposed, garments missing somewhere around the area, Aaron sat on his knees to unbuckle his belt. 

The second his member became exposed, you let out a pleased gasp, which prompted him to smile in a rather shy way. Your legs subtly spread apart, revealing more of your intimate parts, and he understood that as an invitation to enter. His tip trailed slowly up and down your entrance, but before you could complain, he began to push in. He was as desperate as you were, and the way you let out a soft whine at his size. 

Once he had pushed all the way in, he reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers together and pushing them all the way over your head. He could get a clear view of your face and breasts, and once he made sure you had adjusted to him, his hips began to move. Another moan escaped your lips, so he leaned down to meet his mouth with yours, planting a passionate, deep kiss to it. 

You could feel yourself being filled by him, soft noises coming out of your mouth into his at the gentleness of his thrusts. Said gesture, however, wouldn’t seem to last long, and you noticed in the way the grip of your hands felt tighter with each one. 

“No one else can touch you like this.” he pulled away from the kiss to focus on the side of your neck, you felt his lips attach to the skin and roughly suck on it. Aaron pulled away to admire the redness that spread on the spot, proud of the mark that he knew it was going to leave. 

“No one else.” you reassured, your back arching a little at the pulsating pain on your neck. 

“Good girl.” he praised, his hips snapping with a particularly rough thrust that caused a low ‘fuck’ out of you. 

“Don’t hold back your voice.” 

He repeated his movement, and this time you squirmed trying to free your hands, a loud, throat-deep whimper resonating around the otherwise empty room. He smirked at the volume of the sound, yet his hips continued to pound in you, the initial slow movements gone from his rhythm. 

“Aaron…” you whispered in between moans “I want to cum.” you tried to beg. 

“Not yet, sweetheart.” his eyes glimmered with certain darkness

His hips changed angles even when his current speed wouldn’t give in, the way he was pushing now allowed your clit to rub slightly against his lower torso with every thrust, probably so he wouldn’t have to use his hands and set yours free. 

“I need to know I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.” he growled “I need you to say you’re mine.” 

“I’m-” you were about to start talking when he snapped his hips roughly, and you could feel him slide all the way in, his balls making a loud clapping sound when they hit the skin on your ass. The sound you made was loud, almost like a scream, and you were sure whoever was still outside certainly heard it. 

“What 's that? Couldn’t hear you.” his mouth had curled into a smug smirk. 

“I’m yours, Aaron. I’m all yours.” you cried out, your wrists once again twisting in an attempt to free themselves. 

He muttered another praise and let go of your hands, which could only fall flat to your sides and grip onto the sheets of the bed; he leaned back to be sitting on his knees once again, not allowing his member to slip out of you, and grabbed at your hips to slide them onto his lap. He held them in position as he continued to thrust, but one of his thumbs snuck to the upper part of your cunt, rapidly teasing the sensitive nerve bundle. 

You kept slightly gritting your teeth, your walls clenching around his shaft without mercy, and even if it was not obvious on his face, you could tell by the way his member throbbed inside of you that he was about to reach his limit as well. 

“Cum.” he suddenly commanded, and you didn’t need anything more. 

You allowed yourself to be engulfed by your climax, your body twisting itself and your hands pulling at the fabric beneath them, your legs also curled, basically pushing your partner in your direction, not even giving him the option to pull back. 

On his part, his head was thrown back, and you could see the way his adam’s apple bobbed with the loud groans he let out, his fingers gripping tighter on your skin, however this time the mark that his hold would leave was a complete accident. 

He didn’t pull out once he had spilled himself completely into you, instead, his body dropped forward, his arms slipping under your body to hold you close to him, head on your chest, eyes closed, just trying to take in the fact that he had just made love to you. 

“Aaron?” you said with a curious tone, your arms wrapping around his back and allowing one of your hands to tangle in his hair. He answered with a short hum, too tired to give you an actual answer “Does it bother you that I made out with the rest of the team tonight?” you asked, nervous that it would have hurt him in any way. 

“No.” he said matter-of-factly “As long as I only get to do it from now on.” 

You shared a light chuckle, and without noticing, the both of you drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning was a bit awkward for Rossi, being that he was not expecting to see the entire team, save for you and Hotch, curled on his living room furniture. JJ, Reid, and Emily had curled up together on the larger piece, while Morgan and Garcia cuddled on one of the individual seats. The clearing of his throat woke everyone up in a startle, and they looked around confusedly for the missing members of the group. 

“What the hell happened last night?” David asked no one in particular. 

“We were playing a game, and we must have fallen asleep waiting for it to end.” Garcia said with a slightly suggestive, yet groggy, voice, and Rossi decided it was better not to ask. 

“By the way, how do we interpret this?” Emily asked “Who won?” 

“Do you even have to ask?” Morgan scoffed, and Emily shrugged in defeat. 

“Then, who won between the two of you?” Reid asked, pointing at JJ and Garcia. 

“No one, really.” Jennifer replied. 

“What? You both failed? Who did you choose?” Morgan inquired. 

The blondes exchanged looks to see if they had had the same thought, and so they replied in unison once they had figured they were correct. 

“Spencer.” their tones were flat, almost as if the answer was obvious. Reid lit up in a smile, wiggling his eyebrows victoriously at Derek. 

“What?! No way you would just pick him!” he was baffled at the answer. 

“Girls talk, Derek” Penelope told him “Let’s just say Elle reviewed his service with five stars.” 

The group broke into a shared laugh, and Rossi only interrupted so he could inquire on the whereabouts of his friends. 

“Where’s Aaron?” he prompted. 

“One of the guest rooms.” Reid said. 

“And is he with…?” Dave continued. 

“Yup” the five members said in unison, referring to you. 

“Also, Rossi, if you don’t mind, I kind of have a design suggestion.” Spencer turned in the direction of his superior

The older man raised his eyebrows, curious about the words that were about to come out of the younger’s mouth. “Let’s hear it.” 

“Please make all the rooms soundproof.”

[oh-stars]

Recognition

Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1257 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

“What time will you be home?” Eddie asks, perched on the couch like a bird, elbows on his  knees and sitting on his heels, toes straining under his weight. He feels like a little gremlin, body needing a way to expel all the energy his boring day off built up while Steve’s been at work. 

Steve sighs and adjusts his tie in the mirror by the door. “If all goes well, eight?” 

Eddie groans and falls back, limbs flailing. “If they expect you to go to school after hours, they should at least pay you,” he says, face squished into the fabric. It’s miserable being on different schedules. He’s been working at the plant until the construction is done on his shop, which means weird hours and being completely off rhythm with Steve. He barely sees the man! 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Steve huffs as he smooths down his shirt, walking towards him. He carefully bends over to kiss Eddie’s pouting lips, laughing at him. God, Eddie’s so glad this man is his. He’s too precious to let go. “I’d stay if I could,” Steve says softly. “You know I hate going to these things.” 

Eddie sighs, giving him a small smile as he touches up the few strands of Steve’s hair that were betrayed by his hairspray. “I know,” he says. “I could always come with you.” 

Steve shakes his head, cheeks pink. “Thank you, but you, uh, really don’t want to go to a boring PTA meeting. All they’re going to do is fight over which classroom should get the crayons.” 

“I’d go for you, Steve,” Eddie says. He sighs again and pushes Steve away. “Go so you can get back.” 

“I love you,” Steve says, stealing another kiss before he finally stands up. 

“Love you too,” Eddie says, smashing his face back into the couch. “I’ll be here, rotting away until you return, my sweet knight.” 

Steve shakes his head and grabs his wallet and keys off the coffee table. Then he’s gone, with the rumble of the Beemer and the faint sounds of David Bowie announcing his departure. 

Eddie lasts a whole three minutes before he’s shooting up off the couch and pacing around the living room as he thinks of something he could do to occupy his time. He’s done about as much housework as he could manage for the day, he doesn’t think he could practice anymore today or write at all with how depleted his creative juices feel, and he knows nothing good comes on TV on Tuesdays in early January. 

That’s how he ends up piddling about Steve’s desk. Steve keeps all his papers that need to be graded meticulously organized, with the ones that are fair game for anyone to grade (aka the ones with scoresheets) in the blue folder. On days where Eddie’s brain was too much, when he couldn’t even look at his guitar without feeling pain or pick up his pencil to be creative in any fashion, he needed something to do to get the excess brain energy out. Robin’s much the same way, so Steve started setting aside his pop quizzes and multiple choice tests in the blue folder for either of them to grade if they needed. Otherwise, he’d get to it eventually. It’s mindless enough to calm their brains, they feel good helping Steve, and it helps give Steve more time to focus on the essays and presentations that need more time to be graded. It’s a win win all the way around. 

The blue folder isn’t as full as normal, but there are a few worksheets Eddie can take care of for Steve. He reaches for the sticker book and the purple pen (Steve’s signature grading color) in the mug Wayne gave him that’s an apple with a little worm for a handle that he uses as a pencil cup. That’s when he sees the PTA flyer. It’s jam-packed with information and minutes from the last meeting, but in big, bold letters at the bottom of the flyer, Eddie reads:

Join us to honor this year’s Teacher of the Year, Mr. Steve Harrington, eighth grade English. 

Eddie puts down the blue folder, the pen, and the flyer. He’s still for exactly one minute before his body goes into flight or fight mode. Within ten minutes, he’s dressed in his nice date clothes and his hair is tamed back into a tight bun, threatening to snap the band. 

Time crunch or not, he drives like a bat out of hell. He has plenty of time to get to the school, they live close enough, but he needs to make a few stops first. All in all, he gets there right as the principal is starting the meeting. 

He tucks himself in a corner in the back, watching the whole thing patiently. The problem is, he can’t really see Steve. Eddie cranes his neck and bounces on his toes, trying to find a way to make it to one of the seats in the center of the auditorium, closer to the stage. 

His opening comes after the chorus does a performance, when the parents at the front scurry their students away before the meeting can continue. First off, rude, but it works in Eddie’s favor. Steve’s award is next and Eddie isn’t missing this. 

Eddie slips into the front row as the principal starts shifting gears, whispering to the vice principal as the crowd settles. 

She announces Steve to a polite applause, but that’s just not good enough for his Steve. 

His palms ache with how hard he’s clapping, just shy of letting out a loud ‘whoop’ – and he’d do it if it wasn’t for the pretty way Steve’s face and ears are pinkening up. Their eyes meet as Eddie beams. 

“Hi,” he mouths, trying so hard to not vibrate out of the seat. 

Steve’s smile softens as he gives a wave of appreciation to the crowd, eyes darting back to Eddie. As the principal sings Steve’s praise and when she hands over the microphone for Steve to say a few words, Steve’s eyes never leave Eddie’s. It isn’t until a few of his students get up to speak that Steve finally looks toward the speaker, his shy smile turning into one of pride. Eddie knows he could care less about the words themselves (it’ll be later tonight that Steve will have a crisis and finally let the kind words sink in, where he’ll cower into Eddie’s body and panic over how much these kids trust him), but rather seeing how brave his kids are for speaking to a crowd this big and doing it so well. 

The award is the last part of the meeting, so after another round of applause, everyone is dismissed. Eddie jumps up to meet Steve at the bottom of the stage. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Steve says as he jumps down. 

“I wanted to,” Eddie says. “I’m proud of you,” he adds as he bumps their shoulders together. 

“I’m just doing my job–”

“Stop,” Eddie says kindly, “you deserve this.” He grabs Steve’s hand and gently tugs him toward the exit. “C’mon, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate.”

“What about my car?” 

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow.”

Steve’s blush is even stronger up close, but he doesn’t fight Eddie. And it’s an absolute privilege to watch as Steve gets all shy again when Eddie presents him with flowers once they’re at the van, stammering his thanks as Eddie kisses his cheek swiftly. 

--

Ao3 Link

Thank you @lady-lostmind 💜

[ofmdrecaps]

10/29-30/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Con O'Neill; Nathan Foad; David Fane/Rachel House; MCM Comic Con Coverage w/AdoptOurCrew; In Person Events: Calypso's Birthday in Pittsburgh; Fan Spotlight: Gay Pirate News Hour; NeverLeftPodcast; AMuseOfFyre: Badmintons!; Love Notes;

Hey lovelies, my dad is once again trying to come home from the hospital tomorrow, and I am learning how to help with wound care, and tube feeds, so I have been completely and utterly wiped after coming home from that while also working full time (and no sleep because my kiddo had too much candy)-- so to be honest I have been taking some time to rest and doodle because I need it for my mental health! I'm slowly catching up, things are gonna be a bit bare bones while I get back into the groove of things. Hope you're all staying healthy and safe out there!

= David Jenkins =

Just a lovely picture of David and Kinga from earlier this year that Kinga shared a couple days ago.

Source: Kinga's Instagram

Also-- David's been sharing the adorable twerking gif by @smolbus over on twitter!

Source: David Jenkins Instagram

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys is keeping up with his Daily Doodles on his Substack! The last one there is.. uhm, well very specific (I love these goofy doodles btw I hope he never stops, reminds me of the Buttons McGinty illustrations). Check out the Darby Daily Doodles on his Substack!

Source: Rhys Free Substack

There are still tickets available for Rhys's Indianapolis show on Nov 7 at Helium Comedy Club! You can still get tickets here. The St Louis - Nov 8 - Helium Comedy Club is sold out!

If you're going to the IN show-- one of Rhys Buddies is really catering to the Rhys Darby fans and trying to giveaway his red solo cups that have been touched or looked at by Rhys! I'm so glad they know just how feral everyone is for Rhys Lightning.

And a quick clip of one of Rhys's Routines from the 25th anniversary!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Helium Comedy Club Indy (@heliumcomedyind)

Source: Helium Comedy Instagram

= Gizmo & Bumbles Darby =

As you know, I can't resist cat content, especially of Gizmo and Bumbles, so here you are-- Thanks Rosie for keeping us fed!

Source: Rosie's Instagram stories.

= Taika Waititi =

Taika was out at the world series, and the Dodgers won!

Source: Taika's Instagram

= Samba Schutte (and Con) =

Reminder! Samba's Death by Cheese class is one week away! Sat Nov 9th, at 10am PST online with Be Momentus!

Also check out this very goofy video of Samba and con Re: The dish you'll be making!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

Source: Samba's Instagram

= Nathan Foad =

When Nathan's not interviewing Kristian at cons, he's out with friends!

Source: Michelle Collins Instagram

= David Fane / Rachel House =

Moana2 just broke the 2024 record for most day 1 ticketing presales for an animated feature! Congrats Rachel, David, and Taika! So excited for you!

Source: Fandango's Instagram

= Con O'Neill =

After the recent showing of 'The Men' starring Con at the Alnwick Playhouse in the UK, Con did a Q & A with Rebecca of The Northern Film Blog! Check out the article below!

== MCM Comic Con Coverage ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew and their correspondents were kind enough film and transcribe some of the questions Nathan asked kristian at his panel at MCM Comic Con a couple weekends back! I'm sharing a screencap + the link to their tumblr posts with the videos (tumblr only lets me share one at a time on any given post) so please head over there and check them out! Question 1: "Nathan asks Kristian about his personal style and how the way he presents himself has changed over the years."

Question 2: Regarding Kristian's first time working with Revlon

Conversation About Kristan's Life Part 1

Conversation about Kristian's life PART 2:

== In Person Events: PA ==

It's that time again! Harold's Haunt in Pittsburgh PA will be hosting another Calypso's birthday, this time on Nov 9 at 6 pm!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Ringa Sunn (@ringasunn)

Source: Harold's Haunt Instagram

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Gay Pirate News Hour =

It's time for another Gay Pirate News hour! Catch it on Our Flag Means Fanfiction's Youtube at 1PM PT/ 4PM ET!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Instagram

= Never Left Podcast =

New episode of Never Left! This time talking about Flags! (Part 1!) Check it out on your favorite listening platform on their linktr.ee!

Source: Never Left Podcast Instagram

= A Muse Of Fyre =

Our crewmate @amuseoffyre is back -- this time with the Badminton's! The Nigel flicking off the camera one is legit the funniest thing I've seen all week. Love it!

Source: Amuseoffyre's Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies, just a quick one tonight. I feel like TheLatestKate is basically just following me around because she always has new and appropriate love notes each week. Please please please go easy on yourself right now, you're doing so much, I know we all are. Please be kind to yourself, drink some water, and take a few extra moments of rest. You deserve it (whether you did a million things today, or just survived). Take care lovelies. See you soon.

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Source: The LatestKate Instagram

[emilysholster]

Satisfied (David Rossi x BAUAgent!Reader) Pt. 2/2

Summary: the tension building between you and Rossi becomes hard to ignore when he invites the team over for dinner

Tags: NSFW, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected PinV sex (let’s assume reader’s on the pill), couch sex, dirty talk (praising, pet names), (fem!reader)

Translations: stella (star), bella (beautiful), gattina (kitten), dolcezza (honey)

A/N: this ended up being so long omg but something about this man gets my [creative] juices flowing

Read Part One

You made your way over to an empty seat next to Emily, desperately trying to ignore her knowing smile. Thankfully, the rest of the team seemed to be none the wiser, much to your relief.

“Alright, let’s play,” Rossi said, taking a seat on the couch across from you, next to Hotch. “As long as boy genius over there agrees to be dealer.”

Spencer sighed, once again banished from playing because of his ability to effortlessly win every time. However, the young doctor did enjoy keeping track of everyone’s cards nonetheless, trying to determine who would win before the round was even over.

And so began a friendly but competitive game of poker. Your head wasn’t exactly present as you kept replaying what had happened in the other room. It also didn’t help that you kept catching Rossi’s intense gaze throughout the game, the smirk on his lips indicating he knew exactly where your mind was.

Rossi won the first round (“nothing beats years of experience” he claimed, with a pointed look at Reid). Emily won the second, after which Hotch and JJ went home to their respective families as it was getting late.

Penelope won the third. You weren’t doing great at the game and also took pity on Reid, so for the fourth round you were the dealer. After he inevitably won, he also headed home. Another round later (which Rossi won again) and the rest of the team decided to call it a night. Derek offered to drive Penelope and Emily home, as the two winners had had more than their fair share of drinks.

Penelope and Emily chanted a drunken rendition of “We Are The Champions” as they struggled to put their shoes and coats on. You nearly bent over from laughing as they sang loudly in an exasperated Derek’s face. Rossi, fighting laughter himself, offered to help the poor guy. Taking hold of Emily’s arm while Penelope grabbed Derek’s, he walked them out to Derek’s car, leaving you inside.

Smiling to yourself, you began clearing up the glasses and the remainder of the plates, walking them over to the kitchen. You tried not to think about how it was going to be just you and Rossi left in his house, but you couldn’t help the butterflies low in your belly. After placing the dishes in the sink, you noticed a bottle of wine off to the side, still half full. Why not?

You pulled two glasses from the cupboard and opened the bottle as you hummed along to the music that played. Caught up in your own thoughts and with your back turned, you hardly noticed that Rossi had returned to the kitchen.

“What’re you up to, stella?” He asked, making his way over to you.

You turned and handed him a glass, staying leaned against the kitchen counter, almost mimicking your position from earlier. “Did you manage to get the girls in?”

“Barely,” Rossi chuckled, accepting the glass gratefully. “Morgan’s going to have his hands full.” He placed himself directly across from you, leaning against the island and studying you with dark eyes. There was a moment of silence as the two of you sipped your drinks, each watching the other.

“Now, tell me something, Y/N,” Rossi said, breaking the silence and slowly approaching you. He gently took the glass you were cradling and placed it on the counter along with his before his hands came to rest on either side of your hips. “What exactly was missing from my dinner that left you less than satisfied?”

It was impossible to ignore the heat between your legs now, your body thrumming in anticipation. You took in the sight of Rossi’s parted lips and slightly dilated pupils as he waited for your answer.

So you gave it to him. “This,” you stated simply, before closing the distance between the two of you and pressing your lips to his. Rossi immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. Soft sighs and moans escaped both of you as your tongues explored eachother’s mouths.

You pulled away to catch your breath and Rossi effortlessly moved to place kisses along your jaw, not wanting to take his lips off you for a moment. “Dave,” you sighed as he reached the sensitive skin of your neck.

One of his hands remained wrapped around you while the other gently kneaded your breasts through the fabric of your dress. He brought his mouth back to yours, mumbling “Beautiful,” before capturing your lips again.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you pushed yourself tight against him, feeling his erection pressed between the two of you. You reached your hand down and rubbed him over his pants, making him open his mouth against yours in a sharp gasp. “Y/N,” he groaned. “Couch, now.”

Giggling, you let go of him and walked over to the couch, pausing as you reached behind you to tug the zipper of your dress down.

Rossi beat you to it, coming up behind you and unzipping your dress. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” His breath tickled your neck, leaving goosebumps behind as he helped you out of your dress.

He all but pushed you onto the couch, your back against the arm rest as he knelt on the couch in front of your legs. You could see his breathing was erratic as he admired your figure, scantly clad in your matching underwear set. You trailed a hand down towards your panties, spreading your legs while Rossi watched you like a hawk.

His breath hitched as you pulled your panties to the side, exposing your glistening folds. Unable to help himself, he palmed his hardened cock through his pants, watching as you slid a finger down and collected your juices before bringing your finger to your mouth. “Mm,” you moaned, sucking on your finger earnestly. Rossi’s mouth parted in surprise at the salacious act.

“You dirty girl,” he grinned before he quickly moved to position himself over you, his mouth back on yours in a deep kiss. His hand pulled the cup of your bra down so he could pinch and tease your nipple with his fingers, making you moan against his lips.

Rossi moved his mouth down, pausing to unclasp your bra and free your tits before attaching his mouth to your nipple, sucking and biting as you threw your head back. As he alternated between your breasts, you found yourself lifting your hips to grind your mound against him.

Rossi moved to press his mouth against your ear. “Desperate, are we?”

You whimpered as he nibbled at the shell of your ear. You were desperate; your clit throbbed and you could feel your wetness slowly leaking into your panties.

Rossi moved himself off you suddenly, making you whine at the loss of contact. He unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it to the side before bringing his hands to your hips and sliding your panties off. He lowered his head between your legs, placing kisses up your thighs until his mouth was inches away from your centre.

“Dave, please,” you moaned, lifting your hips to get him to give you attention where you needed it. You could feel his breath against your clit and it was driving you crazy.

Rossi used his fingers to spread your folds apart, allowing him to admire the way they glistened with your juices. “Please what, gattina? Use your words.”

“Please eat me out,” you practically begged, unable to handle more teasing.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he hummed before bringing his mouth to your centre.

“Fuck!” You groaned. His tongue was nothing short of heavenly; circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth. He alternated his attention between your clit and your opening, using his tongue to slurp up the juices that collected between your folds.

You could feel your orgasm approaching as Rossi continued his ministrations. You buried your fingers into his hair, pushing his face against your core. You could feel him moan against you as he sucked your clit back into his mouth, his eyes focused on you panting above him. Your legs clamped around Ross’s head and you cried out as waves of pleasure rocked through you.

When you finally relaxed, Rossi brought his mouth back up to yours. “I love the way you taste,” he mumbled against your lips. You moaned into his mouth, already feeling warmth pooling low in your belly once again.

Rossi lifted himself from between your legs and stood in front of the couch. He helped guide you onto all fours, your hands now gripping the back of the couch while he stood behind you.

You were practically dripping in anticipation when you heard the sound of Rossi unbuckling his belt and his pants dropping. His hand gripped your hip to steady himself as he slowly rubbed his cock along your slit. “You’re so wet for me, bella,” he husked as his cock dragged through your folds, pressing against your clit.

“Please, Dave,” you pleaded, making the agent’s cock twitch against you. Your grip on the couch tightened as he nudged your clit repeatedly with his cock. “I need you in me.”

You gasped as he suddenly slid into you, his thick cock filling you right away. “God, Y/N,” he hissed as your walls clenched around him. “It’s like you were made for me.” Both of his hands now gripped your hips as he let you adjust to his cock before starting to thrust into you slowly.

You groaned at the feeling of him sliding in and out, and he picked up the pace as you relaxed around him. Rossi seemed to know just how to make you cry out, his cock repeatedly hitting the sweet spot inside of you.

One of Rossi’s hands left your hips to grab your shoulder, pulling you flush against him. You were now kneeling on the couch as he continued fucking you from behind, the new angle even more pleasurable.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room, your bodies sticking to each other as they became slick with sweat. “Fuck,” you cried out, your voice shaky as he pounded into you. “Your cock feels so good.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say those words out loud Agent L/N.” Rossi husked in your ear. He was close, and judging by the way you were milking his cock, so were you. He pulled out suddenly, grinning at the frustrated sound you let out.

“Come here, gattina. I’m not done with you yet, don’t worry.” He sat down on the couch and pulled you over so that your legs were on either side of him, your dripping cunt hovering over his cock.

Rossi guided his cock back into you and you sank down until you were completely filled by him again. You leaned forward and placed your hands on his shoulders for support as you began moving your hips up and down his cock.

Rossi began matching your movements, thrusting upwards into you. You watched with pleasure as he groaned at the feel of you clenching around him, the knot within you tightening with every thrust.

“That’s it, ride me, dolcezza. Ride my fucking cock.” Rossi grunted as your hips snapped against his, tits bouncing in his face. He took one of your nipples into his mouth while his thumb began rubbing circles around your clit. Your head was cloudy with pleasure, making it difficult to speak. “Dave,” you cried out, the wave building inside you on the brink of crashing.

“Come for me, gattina. You can do it. I want to feel you come all over my cock.” Rossi panted below you.

His words were all you needed to go over the edge; you let out a groan, rocking your hips against him as your hole clenched around his cock. You moaned his name over and over, your nails digging into the bare skin of his shoulder as your orgasm rocked through you.

“That’s it, Y/N, good girl.” Rossi moaned as his cock twitched inside you. He captured your lips with his, groaning into your mouth as hot spurts of his cum shot into you.

You slumped against him, both of your foreheads pressed together and damp with sweat. Rossi pressed a soft kiss against your lips before gently helping you off him.

He stepped back into his boxers before disappearing. In that moment, the couch felt like the comfiest place in the world and you felt your eyes closing.

Rossi returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water. “Up, bella,” he said, handing you the water as he helped you up. As you soothed your parched throat, he used the cloth to wipe down your skin and between your legs.

Satisfied with his work, he pressed a kiss into your hair. “You were amazing, Y/N.”

You smiled up at him before meeting his lips in a kiss. “So were you.”

Rossi took his shirt from the floor and gave it to you to put on before walking with you upstairs. You used his bathroom, smiling to yourself at your ‘just fucked’ reflection: hair messy, makeup smudged, and lips swollen.

You returned to the bedroom and joined Rossi in his bed, sighing as he pulled you close. Your head rested against his chest, his own head over yours while his arm was slung over your waist.

As you closed your eyes and snuggled into him, you heard his voice from above you. “Well? Are you satisfied now?”

You laughed into his chest at the question. “Yes, Dave. I’m satisfied.” You answered, pressing a kiss against his skin before the two of you gave in to the pull of sleep.

[xappetites]

i'm not completely sure what this is i'm just real emotional about Frank Fucking Woods, same universe as this

This is a long time coming. Too long, where Frank is concerned. Thing is, they haven’t had time for it, with the constant driving back and forth to the VA, the hospital, the physical therapy, and the dragging bureaucracy of honorable discharge. Then David started getting nightmares —which is perfectly understandable for a kid his age who suddenly finds himself with no one in the world except Frank—, and Bell’s real good with nightmares.

So it’s been months since Frank’s had this: Bell’s perfect ass in his palms, her laughter in his mouth and the graceless bumping into shit on their way to the bedroom. The little shushed giggle as she tugs the armrest to straighten him down the hallway, freeing the foot paddle from the corner.

Trying to keep quiet is another new thing, since there’s a sleeping child a couple rooms away, but he’s not letting go now that he has his hands on her. In fact, Frank has half a mind to run her over and try carrying her himself just so he doesn’t have to stop touching her. But then she’s opening the door wide for him and this is why he suffers that sadistic fucker of a nurse at physical, so he can still maneuver his ass onto the bed and his own damn pants off when he wants to fuck his wife.

Bell laughs under her breath, kicking off jeans and underwear, moving to straddle him where he finally settles against the pillows.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

“Here.” Her answer is half whisper, half moan and goddamn, she’s already slick for him. She arches, presenting her tits so Frank can manhandle them free and nose at the warm, soft space between them. “For your frown.”

Frank’s cock reacts before he does, so do his hips. There’s a delightful ache in sliding against her, twitching, pretty much on instinct. Pulling at her waist and groaning into her mouth.

“You’re a little minx, aren’t you?”

“I have good reason to be.”

He’s always been a sucker for Bell’s smiles, from way back when he expected to babysit Adler’s shiny new automaton and instead got a toothy grin in the middle of a firefight —that for a long time made him wish he’d just been hit. But the one she gives him, perched in his lap and rocking against him until his cock catches and slides smoothly inside her, spears him straight through the heart.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” She says and she’s wearing this ‘home after a long day’ kinda smile, with eyes narrowed so Frank can’t tell she’s tearing up until the drop escapes down her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

And he’s right there with her, choked up to finally have a minute for just her, the same old Bell squeezing his heart between her pretty palms, no matter how everything has changed.

“You got me, honey. All of me.”

All that’s left of me, he doesn’t say, because it’s depressing when he’d really rather fucking not. What he does manage, comes out barely understandable, pressed against her mouth and it’s a little bit pathetic anyway, but Frank can’t care when she’s chuckling into a filthy kiss and tightening around him.

“Oh, you like that?”

Bell pulls back, laughter turning into a giggle as she wipes the tears. And this time the pressure of her muscles on his cock is purposeful.

“I do.”

“All that cock just for you, huh?”

She bears down at that comment, rides him so slow and deep that she has to shush the very loud groan it pulls out of his throat. 

“The cock and all the rest,” Bell doesn’t falter in the rhythm she starts, works him like her pride’s on the line, “your laugh and your eyes, and the way your beard burns. All mine.”

God, what a fucking sucker she makes out of him. Frank’s never been a man to speak his affections, it’s too much to put on the line, to have his heart out there like that. Especially now that he’s even more convinced that loving the likes of him is poison. So he sneaks a hand between their bodies, shifts their balance with firm circles over her clit and tries to squeeze the truth into a single word.

“Yours.”

Despite his better judgment and not exactly to her benefit, as far as he’s concerned, but it’s true. It’s enough. All it takes for Bell’s orgasm to hit full force. A thing of beauty, dimmed quiet but so intense, her thighs shake. Aching in the pit of Frank’s stomach for a long second because he can’t flip her under him anymore, give those pretty legs a break and pound her full while she melts into the mattress for him.

She laughs, though, breathless. And she kisses him with a sort of manic joy, face glowing and hair sticking to her forehead; picking back where she left off, rolling her hips ‘till he’s emptying himself inside her, panting like a dog and —for a single shining second— content to the bone.

Hers.

Suspended in a moment where it doesn't matter that they’re sort of sticky, staving off the chill only by virtue of clinging to each other. Then Bell climbs off for long enough to get a warm, wet towel that she uses to clean him and herself; before tucking them both in with easy banter. Talking up a storm in what Frank suspects is an effort to distract him until she’s curled sweet against his side.

In the morning, when it’s the sun bright through the window that wakes them, Frank finds it’s the first night David’s slept through without screaming his way out of a nightmare. He lets Bell wash his hair, in the brand new, spanking bench she got installed in the shower. And he figures he’ll find his way through this. Even if it’s embarrassing, even if it’s painful.

For all the shit he’s survived and all the things he can still do, he refuses to let this be what fucking kills him.

[ineffably-smote]

Macbeth, David Tennant - A very subjective, spoiler and emotion filled review

Just walking out of seing Macbeth at the Donmar and I have Feelings. Unsurprisingly, I primarily went to see it because David Tennant was in it. I love the play, big fan of Shakespeare but the trip to London was most certainly motivated by a very specific actor. Hence the highly subjective review. Fortunately, I also happen to quite like Macbeth. We studied it at school, and it holds a special place in my heart (back then, Hamlet was my favourite Shakespeare play but honestly, after tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. Anyway, I digress). It was my first time actually seeing an actor I’m a fan of in real life, so obviously the entire time my brain was just going oh my god that’s David Tennant oh my god that’s David Tennant like I actually could not comprehend it. The man I’ve spent hours staring at on a little screen is suddenly real, and right there. So yeah, that took me a hot second.

(Excuse the piss poor image quality, I took this with shaky hands without looking or bothering to focus the cam)

The Staging

Still starstruck and a bit dazed, one thing really really stood out to me: the staging. It was so, so good. I knew it was going to be minimal from the pictures I had seen, and it was, but it was also so insanely real. There were barely any decorations, and half the cast and the musicians were hidden behind a glass screen doing background noises and gestures. From where I was sitting I could not see them much, but could definitely hear them which added to the overall atmosphere. The stage was also really tiny, and the play benefitted incredibly from it. All the action was happening in one tight space that had been put to use incredibly well, particularly the banquet scene but I’ll come back to that because it deserves its own paragraph.

The way they chose to do the soliloquies was so fitting - all the actors start to move in slow motion - everyone else slowing down and just the characters speaking moving was so good, it made sense.

The Headphones

I’m a bit mixed about the headphones. They were amazing for the vibes, we could hear whispers and they really heightened some of the emotional speeches in the play - because when someone is struggling with guilt and trauma it makes sense for them to be mumbling rather than yelling. So that was really great. However, especially in the scenes where the actors where yelling/ loud I preferred to take them off a bit cause it felt more real that way. I’m so used to hearing actors voice on recordings, it does hit different when you can hear them for real. But, as I said, personal preference and that’s what’s nice, you can take them on and off as much as you want.

Famous Speeches

There were three speeches I was quite interested to see how they were going to be adapted - scorpions and dagger for Macbeth, and out damned spot for Lady Macbeth. These are classic, everyone knows the words, the plot but they managed to make it feel real in a new and touching way. I think here the headphones were quite helpful because they allowed the actors to actually whisper parts of those lines. They were so subtle, so embedded in the text they felt so natural which imbued them with all their power. I saw in a review Cush Jumbo’s out damned spot speech be described as “haunting”, and I wholeheartedly agree.

The Macbeths

I didn’t like Macbeth, the character, very much when I first learnt about him. His actions didn’t make sense to me, I couldn’t quite comprehend in my 21st century little brain how he went from I’m super loyal to the King to I will freely murder children for shits and giggles. But now, now I understand. It makes sense, it’s believable. And that’s a mix of the acting choices and teh overall setting. Like the opening scene, instead of presenting Macbeth as a glorious hero, he is presented to us as a traumatised hero. He spends the first few minutes washing the blood of his clothes, haunted by noises from the battlefield. And that sets the themes quite nicely, not ambition, as Tennant specified in an interview, but guilt and trauma. There are so many ways to interpret Shakespeare, that’s the beauty of it, and I think this version of Macbeth just resonated more with me (maybe because ambition I don’t quite understand but guilt I am intimately familiar with? Or maybe because it was David Tennant? I don’t know, probably a bit of both). Tennant delivers a convincing Macbeth. Yes, you can see his ambitions play out, but also his fears, his guilt, and that makes him into a complex three dimensional character that you want to understand.

And I absolutely loved this version of Lady Macbeth. Not just a powerful woman who bullies her husband into become an evil murderer (because again, here we can see traces of that in Macbeth from the start), but an ambition woman in love, with her husband, with power, and not quite healed from the trauma of loosing her child. Again another review said she is more of an enabler than a manipulator and I quite liked that description.

My Favourite Scenes

God the banquet scene. The one with the ghost of Banquo. An absolute masterpiece. I did not expect that scene to hit that hard. It was raw, it was powerful and even if Tennant was facing away from where I was sitting, even without seeing his face I could feel the emotion, the whole audience could. In a video essay on Tennant, @davidtennantgenderenvy highlighted how in almost every role he played, there is it is the classic Tennant breakdown moment, and breakdown moment it was. Not with tears, not as expressive as he sometime is but just enough for a King trying to hold it together but fear and guilt breaking through. I was absolutely overwhelmed and it was beautiful. The set up for the scene was amazing too - there were ceilidh, celebrations, I adored the contrast between these fast pasted scenes and guilt ridden whispers of the couple. And the way everyone sat down around the stage and suddenly it looked like a banquet table ? Just perfect.

Another really cool moment, less on the emotional side but more on the visuals was when Macbeth goes to get the second prophecy from the witches. Almost the whole cast is there, running around, moving, almost dancing and it gives the whole thing a mystical atmosphere. There’s smoke, Macbeth falls, is carried up high Jesus style, cowers, rises, it’s so busy and insane all the while there are whispers and whispers in the headphones - it manages perfectly to feel like a mystical moment.

Descent Into Madness & other cool things

For Macbeth, having the kid running around scene after scene, haunting him, and then scene where he kills him - GOD it’s powerful. Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness was so well characterised, I also loved the glass on the background that locked away some of the cast. Just wild. The actor that played Malcom actor was also really cool, and Macduff and Ross, big fan of all of them.

Overall I am overwhelmed with emotions. Tennant is truly one of my favourite actors - from Good Omens to Staged, Jessica Jones, even Harry Potter but also Mad to be Normal, Nativty, There She Goes, Around the World in 80 days, Doctor Who (god I’ve started a list, never start lists cause you’ll forget people) and so, so many more, I was truly beside myself with excitement and expectations for tonight. And it did not disappoint. I do not want to leave the theatre and I pray they release a recording of this because I want it imprinted on my soul.

(Side note: I don’t know how to use tumblr very well, for some reason whenever I try to reply to ppl it posts from my other blog? Anyway @raquel-and-sergio is in fact me)

[hyrules-warrior]

There needs to be more fics focusing on Joel’s PTSD and other issues after returning to Jackson.

I mean the guy has finally opened himself up after loosing his daughter. He was having panic attacks in episode 6, had full on dissociative episode with the events at the hospital. This guy has issues and finally being safe with Ellie in Jackson, those will start to come out as he relaxes for the first time in 20 years.

There are pancakes for breakfast at the canteen one morning. Joel gets in two bites before he goes white faced and barely makes it outside and between the buildings before he violently throws up everything he has ever eaten in his life and sits there hyperventilating and shaking until Ellie finds him and he comes back to himself. Sarah and him were supposed to have pancakes for his birthday breakfast that last day......before.......

Ellie has horrible nightmares, but so does Joel. Terrifying dreams of failure, of dying in that basement and leaving Ellie alone, of failing to make it to the surgeon in time to stop the surgery, of letting David......... He wakes up and has to stumble over to Ellie’s room to check on her just as much as she does for him after her dreams. Sometimes he is so shaken he has to wake her to make sure she is okay. But usually he just sees and hears her breathing and that is enough. He will settle in the window seat of her room with a gun and keep watch the rest of the night. Unknown or maybe just not acknowledged by both, Ellie herself sleeps the best the nights when he does this.

He has moments of high anxiety where he just has to lean against something for a few moments and breathe through it to settle his ringing ears and pounding heart. He isn’t even sure of the triggers most of the time, it seems to come out of nowhere. He also has sudden moments where he totally checks out but still functions. He is thrust back into survival mode and usually after has no idea why and barely remembers what happened during it. He closes right off, seems to stare at something far away instead of who is with him, his responses come out in his “asshole voice”, cold and distant. People just think he is grumpy, had a rough night or something but Ellie knows better. If she is there she works to keep people off of him and remove him from the situation in case that has triggered this shut down moment. When Ellie is with him her voice and touch grounds him, is the lifeline he tugs on to swim back to the present. It takes 10 times longer to drag himself back if she isn’t there.

His stab wound was major and the first aid done on it was understandably not the best. It never really heals right and remains sensitive. It pulls uncomfortably sometimes and aches horribly on cold winter days or when the pressure drops before a storm. And the phantom pains....... He wakes some nights from feverish dreams of the basement swearing he has just been stabbed all over again. The pain so fresh and sharp he thinks someone broke in and stabbed him there with a red hot fire poker. The first time it happens the wounded animal noises he lets out unbidden scare Ellie so bad she thinks he is dying and her extreme fear is what brings him back to the present. In the future he tries to hide it, dealing with his pain in silence (or attempted silence). Ellie still seems to know though and will silently come into his room and curl against his side allowing him to slowly settle. Or if the pain comes during the day she will push him into laying on the couch and get out the hot water bottle. Heat and seeing Ellie alive and well seems to soothe the pain, chase the winter away from his memory. 

Just like with Ellie’s trauma, these things begin to fade with time and attentive care from the one he needs most.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

I understand the story of marat and his assassination event

But who is lepeletier?

Because I saw a drawing for him by louis David and I learned about his death which happen to be the same as Marat so yeah .. I wanna know about him.

According to the biography Michel Lepeletier de Saint-Fargeau, 1760-1793 (1913), its subject of study was born on 29 May 1760, in his family home on rue Culture-Sainte-Catherine, a building which today is the Bibliothèque Historique de la Ville de Paris. His family belonged to the distinguished part of the robe nobility. At the death of his father in 1769, Lepeletier was both Count of Saint-Fargeau, Marquis of Montjeu, Baron of Peneuze, Grand Bailiff of Gien as well as the owner of 400,000 livres de rente. For five years he worked as avocat du roi at Châtelet, before becoming councilor in Parliament in 1783, general counsel in 1784 and finally taking over the prestigious position of président à mortier at the Parlement of Paris from his father in 1785. On May 16 1789, Lepeletier was elected to represent the nobility at the Estates General. On June 25 the same year he was one of the 47 nobles to join the newly declared National Assembly, two days before the king called on the rest of the first two estates to do so as well. A month later, during the night of August 4 1789, he was in the forefront of those who proposed the suppression of feudalism, even if, for his part, this meant losing 80 000 livres de rente. Four days later he wrote a letter to the priest of Saint-Fargeau, renouncing his rights to both mills, furnaces, dovecote, exclusive hunting and fishing, insence and holy water, butchery and haulage (the last four things the Assembly hadn’t ruled on yet). When the Assembly on June 19 1790 abolished titles, orders, and other privileges of the hereditary nobility, Lepeletier made the motion that all citizens could only bear their real family name — ”The tree of aristocracy still has a branch that you forgot to cut..., I want to talk about these usurper names, this right that the nobles have arrogated to themselves exclusively to call themselves by the name of the place where they were lords. I propose that every individual must bear his last name and consequently I sign my motion: Michel Lepeletier” — and the same year he also, in the name of the Criminal Jurisprudence Committee, presented a report on the supression of the penal code and argued for the abolition of the death penalty. After the closing of the National Assembly in 1791, Lepeletier settled in Auxerre to take on the functions of president of the directory of Yonne, a position to which he had been nominated the previous year. He did however soon thereafter return to Paris, as he, following the overthrow of the monarchy, was one of few former nobles elected to the National Convention, where he was also one of even fewer former nobles to sit together with the Mountain. In December 1792 he started working on a public education plan. On January 17, Lepeletier voted for death in the ongoing trial of Louis XVI (saying only ”I vote for death” without giving any further motivation) Three days later, the former king was sentenced to said penalty. That night,  Lepeletier went over to Palais-Égalité (former Palais-Royal) where he dined everyday. The next day, his friend and fellow deputy Nicolas Maure could report the following to the Convention:

Citizens, it is with the deepest affection and resentment of my heart that I announce to you the assassination of a representative of the people, of my dear colleague and friend Lepelletier, deputy of Yonne; committed by an infamous royalist, yesterday, at five o'clock, at the restaurateur Fevrier, in the Jardin de l'Égalité. This good citizen was accustomed to dining there (and often, after our work, we enjoyed a gentle and friendly conversation there) by a very unfortunate fate, I did not find myself there; for perhaps I could have saved his life, or shared his fate. Barely had he started his dinner when six individuals, coming out of a neighboring room, presented themselves to him. One of them, said to be Pâris, a former bodyguard, said to the others: There's that rascal Lepeletier. He answered him, with his usual gentleness: I am Lepeletier, but I am not a rascal. Paris replied: Scoundrel, did you not vote for the death of the king? Lepelletier replied: That is true, because my confidence commanded me to do so.Instantly, the assassin pulled a saber, called a lighter, from under his coat and plunged it furiously into his left side, his lower abdomen; it created a wound four inches deep and four fingers wide. The assassin escaped with the help of his accomplices. Lepeletier still had the gentleness to forgive him, to pray that no further action would be taken; his strength allowed him to make his declaration to the public officer, and to sign it. He was placed in the hands of the surgeons who took him to his brother, at Place Vendôme. I went there immediately, led by my tender friendship, and my reverence for the virtues which he practiced without ostentation: I found him on his death bed, unconscious. When he showed me his wound, he uttered only these two words: I'm cold. He died this morning, at half past one, saying that he was happy to shed his blood for the homeland; that he hoped that the sacrifice of his life would consolidate Liberty; that he died satisfied with having fulfilled his oaths.

This was the first time a Convention deputy had gotten murdered, and it naturally caused strong reactions. Already the same session when Maure had announced Lepeletier’s death, the Convention ordered the following:

There are grounds for indictment against Pâris, former king's guard, accused of the assassination of the person of Michel Lepelletier, one of the representatives of the French people, committed yesterday.

[The Convention] instructs the Provisional Executive Council to prosecute and punish the culprit and his accomplices by the most prompt measures, and to without delay hand over to its committee of decrees the copies of the minutes from the justice of the peace and the other acts containing information relating to this attack.

The Decrees and Legislation Committees will present, in tomorrow's session, the drafting of the indictment.

An address will be written to the French people, which will be sent to the 84 departments and the armies, by extraordinary couriers, to inform them of the crime against the Nation which has just been committed against the person of Michel Lepelletier, of the measures that the National Convention has taken for the punishment for this attack, to invite the citizens to peace and tranquility, and the constituted authorities to the most exact surveillance.

The entire National Convention will attend the funeral of Michel Lepelletier, assassinated for having voted for the death of the tyrant.

The honors of the French Pantheon are awarded to Michel Lepelletier, and his body will be placed there.

The president is responsible for writing, on behalf of the National Convention, to the department of Yonne, and to the family of Lepelletier.

The next day, January 22, further instructions were given regarding Lepeletier’s funeral: 

On Thursday January 24, Year 2 of the Republic, at eight o'clock in the morning, will be celebrated, at the expense of the Nation, the funeral of Michel Lepeletier, deputy of the department of Yonne to the National Convention.

The National Convention will attend the funeral of Michel Lepeletier in its entirety. The executive council, the administrative and judicial bodies will attend it as well.

The executive council and the department of Paris will consult with the Committee of Public Instruction regarding the details of the funeral ceremony.

The last words spoken by Michel Lepeletier will be engraved on his tomb, they are as follows: “I am happy to shed my blood for the homeland; I hope that it will serve to consolidate Liberty and Equality; and to make their enemies recognized.”

In number 27 (January 27 1793) of Gazette Nationale ou Le Moniteur Universel, the following long description was given over Lepeletier’s funeral, held three days earlier:

The funeral of Lepeletier Saint-Fargeau was celebrated on Thursday 24 with all the splendor that the severity of the weather and the season allowed, but with such a crowd that it could have been the most beautiful day of the year. At ten o'clock in the morning his deathbed was placed on the pedestal where the equestrian statue of Louis XVI previously stood, on Place Vendôme, today Place des Piques. One went up to the pedestal by two staircases, on the banisters of which were antique candelabras. The body was lying on the bed with the bloody sheets and the sword with which he had been struck. He was naked to the waist, and his large and deep wound could be seen exposed. These were the mournful and most endearing part of this great spectacle. All that was missing was the author of the crime, chained, and beginning his torture by witnessing the sight of the triumph of Saint-Fargeau. As soon as the National Convention and all the bodies that were to form courage were assembled in the square, mournful music was played. It was, like almost all those which has embellished our revolutionary festivals, the composition of citizen Gossec. The Convention was ranged around the pedestal. The citizen in charge of the ceremonies presented the President of the Convention with a wreath of oak and flowers; then the president, preceded by the ushers of the Convention and the national music, went around the monument, and went up to the pedestal to place the civic crown on Lepeletier's head: during this time, a federate gave a speech; the president dismounted, the procession set out in the following order: A detachment of cavalry preceded by trumpets with fourdincs. Sappers. Cannoneers without cannons. Detachment of veiled drummers. Declaration of the rights of man carried by citizens. Volunteers of the six legions, and 24 flags. Drum detachment. A banner on which was written the decree of the Convention which ordered the transport of Lepeletier's body to the Pantheon. Students of the homeland. Police commissioners. The conciliation office. Justices of the peace. Section presidents and commissioners. The commercial court. The provisional criminal court. The department’s fix courts. The electorate. The provisional criminal court. The department's criminal courts fix. The municipality of Paris. The districts of Saint-Denis and the village of L’Égalité. The Department. Drum detachment. The seal of the 84, worn by Federates. The provisional executive council. National Convention Guard Detachment. The court of cassation. Figure of Liberty carried by citizens. The bloody clothes worn at the end of a national pike, deputies marching in two columns. In the middle of the deputies was a banner where Lepeletier's last words were written: "I am happy to shed my blood for my homeland, I hope that it will serve to consolidate Liberty and Equality, and to make their enemies known.” 

The body carried by citizens, as it was exhibited on the Place des Piques. Around the body, gunners, sabers in hand, accompanied by an equal number of Veterans. Music from the National Guard, who performed funeral tunes during the march. Family of the dead. Group of mothers with children. Detachment of the Convention Guard. Veiled drums. Volunteers of the six legions and 24 flags. Veiled drums. Volunteers of the six legions and 24 flags. Veiled drums. Volunteers of the six legions and 24 flags. Veiled drums. Armed federations. Popular societies. Cavalry and trumpets with fourdines. On each side, citizens, armed with pikes, formed a barrier and supported the columns. These citizens held their pikes horizontally, at hip height, from hand to hand. The procession left in this order from the Place des Piques, and passed through the streets St-Honoré, du Roule, the Pont-Neuf, the streets Thionville (former Dauphine), Fossés Saint-Germain, Liberté (former Fossés M. le Prince), Place Saint-Michel and Rue d'Enfer, Saint-Thomas, Saint-Jacques and Place du Panthéon. It stopped front of the meeting room of the Friends of Liberty and Equality; opposite the Oratory, on the Pont-Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine; in front of the meeting room of the Friends of the Rights of Man; at the intersection of Rue de la Liberté; Place Saint-Michel and the Pantheon. Arriving at the Pantheon, the body was placed on the platform prepared for it. The National Convention lined up around it; the band, placed in the rostrum, performed a superb religious choir; Lepeletier's brother then gave a speech, in which he announced that his brother had left a work, almost completed, on national education, which will soon be made public; he ended with these words: I vote, like my brother, for the death of tyrants. The representatives of the people, brought closer to the body, promised each other union, and swore on the salvation of the homeland. A big chorus to Liberty ended the ceremony.

According to Michel Lepeletier de Saint-Fargeau, 1760-1793 (1913), civic festivals in honor of Lepeletier were celebrated in all sections of Paris, as well as the towns of Arras, Toulouse, Chaumont, Valenciennes, Dijon, Abbeville and Huningue. Lepeletier’s body did however only get to rest in the Panthéon for a little more than two years, as on February 15 1795, the Convention ordered it exhumed, at the same time as that of Marat. It was instead buried in the park surrounding Château de Ménilmontant, the properly of which the ancestor Lepeletier de Souzy had purchased in the 17th century and that still remained in the family.

One day after the funeral, January 25, Lepeletier’s only child, the ten and a half year old Susanne, who had already lost her mother ten years before the murder of her father, was brought before the Convention by her step-mother and two paternal uncles Amédée and Félix. It was Félix who had held a speech during the funeral and he would continue to work for his seven years older brother’s memory afterwards too, offering a bust of him to the Convention on February 21 1793, (on the proposal of David, it was placed next to the one of Brutus), reading his posthumous work on public education to the Jacobins on July 19 1793, and even writing a whole biography over his life in 1794 (Vie de Michel Lepeletier, représentant du peuple français, assassiné à Paris le 20 janvier 1793 : faite et présentée a la Société des Jacobins).

The president announces that the widow of Michel Lepelletier, his two brothers and his daughter, request to be admitted to the bar, to testify to the Convention their recognition of the honors that they have decreed in memory of their relative. It is decreed that they will be admitted immediately.

One of Michel Lepeletier’s brothers: Citizens, allow me to introduce my niece, the daughter of Michel Lepelletier; she comes to offer you and the French people her recognition of the eternity of glory to which you have dedicated her father... He takes the young citoyenne Lepelletier in his arms, and makes her look at the president of the Convention... My niece, this is now your father... Then, addressing the members of the Convention, and the citizens present at the session: People, here is your child... Lepelletier pronounces these last words in an altered voice: silence reigns throughout the room, with exception for a couple of sobs.

The President: Citizens, the martyr of Liberty has received the just tribute of tears owed to him by the National Convention, and the just honor that his cold skin has received invites us to imitate his example and to avenge his death. But the name of Lepelletier, immortal from now on, will be dear to the French Nation. The National Convention, which needs to be consoled, finds relief to its pain in expressing to his family the just regrets of its members and the recognition of the great Nation of which it is the organ. The Nation will undoubtedly ratify the adoption of Michel Lepelletier's daughter that is currently being carried out by the National Convention.

Barère: The emotion that the sight of Michel Lepeletier's only daughter has just communicated to your souls must not be infertile for the homeland. Susanne Lepelletier lost her father; she must find now find one in the French people. Its representatives must consecrate this moment of all-too-just felicity to a law that can bring happiness to several citizens and hope to several families. The errors of nature, the illusions of paternity, the stability of morals, have long demanded this beautiful institution of the Romans. What more touching time could present itself at the National Convention to pass into French legislation the principle of adoption, than that when the last crimes of expiring tyranny deprived the homeland of one of its ardent defenders and Susanne Lepelletier of a dear father! Let the National Convention therefore give today the first example of adoption by decreeing it for the only offspring of Lepelletier; let it instruct the Legislation Committee to immediately present the bill on this interesting subject. I ask that the homeland adopt through your organ Susanne Lepelletier, daughter of Michel Lepelletier, who died for his country; that it decrees that adoption will be part of French legislation, and instructs its Legislation Committee to immediately present the draft decree on adoption.

This proposal is unanimously approved.

Susanne being adopted by the state would however lead to a fierce debate when, in 1797, this ”daughter of the nation” wished to marry a foreigner. For this affair, see the article Adopted Daughter of the French People: Suzanne Lepeletier and Her Father, the National Assembly (1999)

Right after Barère’s intervention, David took to the rostrum:

David: Still filled with the pain that we felt, while attending the funeral procession with which we honored the inanimate remains of our colleagues, I ask that a marble monument be made, which transmits to posterity the figure of Lepelletier , as you clearly saw, when it was brought to the Pantheon. I ask that this work be put into competition.

Saint-André: I ask that this figure be placed on the pedestal which is in the middle of Place Vendôme... (A few murmurs arise)

Jullien: I ask that the Convention adopt in advance, in the name of the homeland, the children of the defenders of Liberty, who, for similar reasons, could be immolated in the vengeance of the royalists.

All these proposals are referred to the Legislation and Public Instruction Committees.

On Maure's proposal, the Assembly orders the printing of the speeches delivered yesterday at the Panthéon, by one of Michel Lepelletier's brothers, Barère and Vergniaux.

If it would appear David never got to make a marble monument of Lepeletier, on March 28 1793, he could nevertheless present the following painting of his to the Convention, which isn’t just a little similar to his La Mort de Marat.

(This image is an engraving of the actual painting, which has gone missing)

After Marat on July 13 1793 (the very same day the plan for public education Lepeletier had been working on was presented to the Convention by Robespierre) became the second assassinated Convention deputy, we find several engravings etc, depicting the two ”martyrs of liberty” side by side.

In the following months, even more people would be join the two, such as Joseph Chalier, a lyonnais politician executed on July 17 1793 and Joseph Bara, a fourteen year old republican drummer boy killed in the Vendée by the pro-Monarchist forces.

Lepeletier’s murderer, 27 year old Philippe Nicolas Marie de Pâris, a man who the minister of justice described as  "former king's guard, height five pieds, five pouces, barbe bleue, and black hair; swarthy complexion, fine teeth, dressed in a gray cloak, green lapels and a round hat” on January 21, went into hiding right after his deed. In spite of his description being published in the papers and a considerable sum of money being promised to whoever caught him, Pâris managed to flee Paris and settled for a country house of an acquaintance near Bourget. He there ran into a cousin of one of the owners. When Pâris asked for food and a bed, he was refused and instead disappeared into the night again. In the evening of January 28 he arrived in Forges-les-Eaux and stopped at an inn, where he came under suspicion once he started cutting his bread with a dagger after which he locked himself into his room. The following morning he woke up with a start as five municipal gendarmes came bursting into his room and told him to come with them. Pâris responded that he would, but in the next second he had picked up his hidden pistol, placed it into his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Searching the dead body, the gendarmes found Pâris’ baptism record (dated November 12 1765) and dismissal from the king's guard (dated June 1 1792), on the latter of which had been written the following:

My certificate of honor. Do not trouble anyone. No one was my accomplice in the fortunate death of the scoundrel de Saint-Fargeau. Had I not run into him, I would have carried out a more beautiful action: I would have purged France of the patricide, regicide and parricide d’Orléans. The French are cowards to whom I say: Peuple dont les forfaits jettent partout l'effroi,  Avec calme et plaisir j'abandonne la vie.  Ce n'est que par la mort qu'on peut fuir l'infamie Qu'imprime sur nos fronts le sang de notre roi. Signed by Paris the older, guard of the king, assassinated by the French.

Learning about what had happened, the Convention tasked Tallien and Legrand with going to Forges-les-Eaux and making sure the dead man really was Pânis. Having come to the conclusion that this was indeed the case, the deputies briefly discussed whether the body ought to be brought back to Paris, but it was decided it would be better if it was just buried "with ignominy.” It was therefore instead taken into the nearby forest in a wheelbarrow and thrown into a six feet deep hole.

Finally, here are some other revolutionaries simping for honoring Lepeletier’s memory just because I can:

…a tragic event took place the day before the execution [of the king]. Pelletier, one of the most patriotic deputies, and who had voted for death, was assassinated. A king's guard made a wound three fingers wide with a saber: he died this morning. You must judge the effect that such a crime has had on the friends of liberty. Pelletier had an income of six hundred thousand livres; he had been président à mortier in the Parliament of Paris; he was barely thirty years old; to many talents, he added the most estimable of virtues. He died happy, he took to his grave the idea, consoling for a patriot, that his death would serve the public good. Here then is one of these beings whom the infamous cabal who, in the Convention, wanted to save Louis and bring back slavery, designated to the departments as a Maratist, a factious, a disorganizer... But the reign of these political rascals is finished. You will see the measures that the Assembly took both to avenge the national majesty and to pay homage to a generous martyr of liberty. Philippe Lebas in a letter to his father, January 21 1793

Ah! if it is true that man does not die entirely and that the noblest part of himself survives beyond the grave and is still interested in the things of life, come then, dear and sacred shadow, sometimes to hover above the Senate of the nation that you adorned with your virtues; come and contemplate your work, come and see your united brothers contributing to the happiness of the homeland, to the happiness of humanity. Marat in number 105 (January 23 1793) of Journal de la République Française

O Lepeletier! Your death will serve the Republic: I envy your death. You ask for the honors of the Pantheon for him, but he has already collected the prize of martyrdom of Liberty. The way to honor his memory is to swear that we will not leave each other without having given a constitution to the Republic. Danton at the Convention, January 21 1793

O Le Peletier, you were worthy to die for your homeland under the blows of its assassins! Dear and sacred shadow, receive our wishes and our oaths! Generous citizen, incorruptible friend of the truth, we swear by your virtues, we swear by your fatal and glorious death to defend against you the holy cause of which you were the apostle; we swear eternal war against the crime of which you were the eternal enemy, against the tyranny and treason of which you were the victim. We envy your death and we will know how to imitate your life. They will remain forever engraved in our hearts, these last words where you showed us your entire soul; ”May my death,” you said, “be useful to the homeland, may it will serve to make known the true and false friends of liberty, and I die content.” Robespierre at the Jacobins, January 23

Wednesday 23 [sic] — We went to Madame Boyer’s to see the procession. I saw the poor Saint-Fargeau. We all burst into tears when the body passed by, we threw a wreath on it. After the ceremony, we returned to my house. Ricord and Forestier had arrived. I was unable to stop my tears for some time. F(réron), La P(oype), Po, R(obert) and others came to dinner. The dinner was quite fun and cheerful. Afterwards they went to the Jacobins, Maman and I stayed by the fire and, our imaginations struck by what we had seen, we talked about it for a while. She wanted to leave, I felt that I could not be alone and bear the horrible thoughts that were going to besiege me. I ran to D(anton’s). He was moved to see me still pale and defeated. We drank tea, I supped there. Lucile Desmoulins in her diary, January 24 1793

…Pelletier's funeral took place this Thursday as I informed you in my last letter (this letter has gone missing). The procession was immense; it seemed that the population of Paris had doubled, to honor the memory of this virtuous citizen. The mourning of the soul was painted on all the faces: it was especially noticed that the people were extremely affected, which proves that they keenly felt the price of the friend they had lost. Arriving at the Pantheon, Lepelletier's body was placed on the platform prepared for it; his brother delivered a speech which was applauded with tears; Barère succeeded him. Then the members of the Convention, crowding around the body of their colleague, promised union among themselves, and took an oath to save the country. God grant that we have not sworn in vain, that we finally know the full extent of our duties, and that we only occupy ourselves with fulfilling them! In yesterday's session, Pelletier's daughter, aged eight [sic], was presented to the National Convention, which immediately adopted her as a child of the homeland. Georges Couthon in a letter written January 26 1793

How could I be so base as to abandon myself to criminal connections, I who, in the world, have never had more than one close friend since the age of six? (he gestures towards David's painting). Here he is! Michel Lepeletier, oh you from whom I have never parted, you whose virtue was my model, you who like me was the target of parliamentary hatred, happy martyr! I envy your glory. I, like you, will rush for my country in the face of liberticidal daggers; but did I have to be assassinated by the dagger of a republican! Hérault de Sechelles at the Convention, December 29 1793

For a collection of Lepeletier’s works, see Oeuvres de Michel Lepeletier Saint-Fargeau, député aux assemblées constituante et conventionnelle, assassiné le 20 janvier 1793, par Paris, garde du roi (1826)

[queer-whatchamacallit]

So I watched all of season 3 already (SPOILERS)

Of course I loved it; how could I not?

Because I watched seasons 1 and 2 together though, I think the difference between 3 and the previous ones feels more pronounced to me, but it feels like it’s on a different path, and I think I like it.

After the first couple episodes, I noticed that it’s either presented as a montage or a long dialogue scene, and for those dialogue scenes, characters don’t multitask anymore. They never have anything to do with their hands, and they just talk to each other in spaces they don’t interact with.

And they’ve done this to a lesser extent before, but they repeat things in the dialogue a little too much. Nonnegotiables and c-folds were barely words to me anymore

Now, with the critiques out of the way, the writing is so good it hurts

But my god are those dialogue scenes great sometimes. When Richie and Carmy are bitching at each other, it still manages to feel incredibly tense and nerve-wracking with no other action and no music behind it. The conversations between Donna and Nat fucking killed me. There’s so much shit there, but there’s so much love too. Tina and Mikey’s conversation is so good omg. There’s already so much chemistry and just caring there. And my god, Carm’s conversation with NYChef/David Fields. There is no sympathy there. Carmy hurt so so much, and Chef doesn’t even remember his name. He does not care. Fucking hell dude.

And oh my god, I’m going to be thinking about the montage in episode 1 for forever. I’ve written a lot of fanfic for The Bear, so I sometimes think about it in this overly poetic way, but there was love here. There was a love for creating something. Maybe it used to be more technically difficult, but for a thousand different reasons, Carmy cooking in the modern day is so so much harder.

The way everyone slowly starts to buckle under the stress of the kitchen is devastating. Carmy panics during service, vision going blurry. Richie forgets a birthday. Syd couldn’t imagine having the energy for another project, but this one is destroying her so badly that she’s been heavily considering taking the out and jumping ship to Ever. Everyone seems so worn down, and it’s so rough to watch sometimes.

And the way they show new relationships of the cast this season was PHENOMENAL. Syd and Pete talking about food and the agreement thing? Absolutely adorable. And the Ever funeral was fucking genius. I cannot tell you how much I have wanted Syd and Luca to meet, and Carm seeing NYChef/David Fields again is a nightmare come true.

Anyway, there’s probably so much more I’d love to say, but I’m just going to let it rotate in the mental microwave some more.

[pjisskullourful]

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

🌼Damiano × reader

part 29 [series masterpost]

NSFW 🔥 filthy horny playtime for adults only

° Damiano David/female reader insert

wordcount:: 9,015

° request from my shopping star anon: I was doing some thinking on how to make a sexy situation without having to do it riskily/near other people right, then I saw THIS. Sex JENGA. Now, hear me out. [...] Write stuff on Jenga tiles, leave a few blank then mix them up. Make a tower without looking at the writing [...] it gets progressively sexy ;) and you gotta see how long you can last before it leads to hot desperate sex bc both are horny mfers who are being teased [requests are soo fucking open!][but commissions get priority- book one here]

° lyrics stolen from britney spears

You stirred awake as you rolled over in the bed, your eyes cracking open a little. Immediately something caught your interest - a bright rectangle beaming light directly onto your boyfriend's face. You moved closer to him, glancing up at the window to try to orientate yourself in this rented room. The world outside was still dark, in stark contrast to the phone Damiano was staring at.

You had to concentrate to regain your bearings, bringing the hours before you had fallen asleep back into focus. Christmas night - Damiano and his family had still been awake and enjoying their shared time together when you had retired for the night. You had been feeling sluggish after eating too much of the dinner Damiano and his mum had made. But the others had remained in the festive spirit, reminiscing and laughing.

There were no sounds coming from the other side of the shut door, leading you to believe that you had been asleep for many hours. You felt rested as you started to come into awareness more-and-more.

You got Damiano’s attention by resting your hand on his chest as you moved in closer. “What time is it?”

“Two.” He replied as he began to wrap an arm around you.

You paused from snuggling into his side, lifting your head as your eyebrows jumped up. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I don't know, I couldn't find any sheep.” He said.

You were perplexed, wondering if you hadn't heard him properly. You lifted your head from the pillow, turning your bleary eyes to the screen of his phone. The layout and colour scheme looked familiar, he was just playing Alchemy Stars, nothing out of the ordinary. You had never played the battling game yourself, but so far as you knew (and according to what he had mentioned in the past) there were no sheep included. What would their place be in the RPG?

“Sheep?” You asked.

He took his eyes off of the screen, looking at you with a little smile developing on his lips. “Yeah, there were no sheep for me to count, how could I possibly fall asleep?”

“Oh.” You said and you shook your head. “That kind of sheep. But aren't you tired, baby?”

He locked the screen and started to put his phone aside. “Well I thought I was…” He rolled over, facing you and you found a good reason to pull yourself further out of your slumber. “But then I've been laying here and just not falling asleep. I guess I'm not done with the day yet.”

You scooched in closer, the tip of your nose almost touching his. “Is there anything I can do to help you fall asleep?”

“Do you know where I can find some sheep?” He asked.

“I would definitely have to Google that.” You said.

He started to stroke the tips of his fingers against your cheek. “What if we were just awake together?”

“Okay.” You said with a smile.

There was a familiar kind of stirring inside of you as he moved to close the distance between the two of you with a kiss. His fingers continued to caress your cheek while his other arm slid around you. Your bare chest was brought to his body, feeling a warmth greater than the comfort of the blankets.

“You fell asleep pretty fast, huh?” He asked.

“Yeah, my tummy was all full and there were no other presents left for me to open, why would I stay awake?” You replied.

“I'm not surprised that you were asleep by the time I got up here. But I thought you might have stayed awake for a bit and spent some time thinking about your little assignment.” He said, the dim light from outside showing you his face.

You knew exactly what he was talking about, there was only one assignment. It was something he had thought up, it went along with a gift he had bought you. This was one of the gifts that you had opened in your room, a handful of items that there shouldn't be an audience for the unwrapping of, strictly for you and your boyfriend.

Sex Jenga - you didn't know how he had found this item. It was a version of the stacking game that came with modification stickers. There were blank rectangular stickers that you needed to write on before placing them on the individual pieces.

Your assignment was to plan the sexual prompts, each tile needed a different risque action. You weren't sure that you could come up with fifty-four sexy ideas. The instructions had come with some examples but you didn't like all of them.

“Honestly it didn't even cross my mind, ‘cause it's not like we're on the verge of playing it. We can't play it while we're in a house full of people.” You said.

“Actually we could, we would just have to play the quiet version.” He said.

“What, like right now?” You asked.

“Yeah, are you busy with something else?” He replied.

“Why don't we do the assignment together? And we do it lying down just like this? ‘Cause you might end up getting sleepy, in the process you could find those sheep.”

“Okay, if that's how you wanna do it.” He said.

“You're gonna be better at this than me because you're not half-asleep like me.” You said as you rolled over and started reaching out for your phone.

“It's not a competition, kitty. We're working on the same list.” He said. “I’m not expecting you to force yourself to stay awake. Look, put your head right here…” He patted his covered pectoral. “And you can drift off again if you need to.”

You relocated your head from the pillow to his chest, his closest arm draped around you. You kept your phone in your hand, triggering the screen to re-illuminate. “No, I think I’m probably more likely to stay awake now.”

“Great. Well, I have one rule…” He said before he paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Actually, two rules.”

“Alright, what are they?” You asked.

“No pussy suggestions.” He said.

“What, so what am I supposed to do, just write cock worship for every block?” You asked, disbelieving.

“No, no, no.” He said, starting to laugh a little. “I meant no wimpy suggestions. You can make as many about pussy as you like. But it’s a dirty game, don’t give me a bunch of tame ideas. Don’t write something like kiss my neck, something like that should become: give me a hickey.”

You nodded as you opened a blank document on your phone. “Alright, I’ll only write stuff that I would do just in private, or Ethan’s backyard.”

“That’s the spirit.” He said. “The next rule is that we both get vetoes.”

“Great.”

“You will have five, and I get…” You looked up from your phone when he paused, and you found he was smiling more broadly as he watched for your reaction. “Ten.”

You were almost too surprised to contain yourself. “What?”

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want to make too much noise.” He playfully chastised you, squeezing you tighter momentarily.

“How is that fair?” You asked, making the effort to keep your voice low again.

“I’m the Daddy, I have extra responsibilities, therefore I’m entitled to extra benefits.” He said. “Do you see the fairness in that?”

You made a show of pouting. “Yeah, I guess.” You took your eyes away from his gloating face, looking back at your phone, with your thumbs poised for typing. “Can I put give a hickey on my list?”

“Sure, but don’t leave out that idea you had for cock worship.” He said.

“Well I just wasn’t sure what time limit to put on that. Obviously there needs to be one because you would be down for hours of that. But what’s too long and what’s too short?” You asked.

He nodded, looking more thoughtful again. “You’re right. Because this is about the tease, we don’t want to push it too far and have the game going for a ridiculously long time. Let’s say ten minutes is the absolute maximum- anything longer than that, we should just ditch the game and call it sex. How about nothing shorter than two minutes?”

“That sounds good.” You said, entering these parameters into your phone. “Sounds fair.”

Your list started to grow and you were feeling less sleepy by the second. You found that the ideas flowed once you tapped into the inspiration of thinking about these activities in relation to your boyfriend. You imagined things you would want to do to him, and the ideas began to multiply almost effortlessly.

But the trick was to not give the fantasy too much time. If you dedicated too much time to the image, then it could have an effect on you that went beyond mere distraction.

The beating of your heart got a little more noticeable. You squirmed even closer to Damiano and began caressing your foot against his leg.

Thinking about how things would feel could really get you going, which you needed to avoid. You didn’t want to get so turned on before the game had even begun (all of the blocks were still neatly packed away). He would surely take delight in teasing you over how quickly you got turned on.

He seemed pleased with your progress when you provided an update. He didn’t take issue with any of the prompts that you read out. He helped you determine how many cunt spanks. You weren’t surprised when he said your idea of cockwarming should have two stickers - one for five minutes, another for a ten minute stretch.

He shared some of his prompts with you. There was taking the other player’s underwear off and performing a short strip tease. He had included ice play, which you simply had to veto given the current season.

There were the occasional duplicates, both of you interested in the same idea. When it came time to combine your lists, you agreed to let some prompts show up on two stickers. Making out was the kind of thing you would happily do more than once.

The sky outside was still primarily dark when you finished the master list, despite the hours that had gone into the activity. He wasn't any closer to falling asleep. You didn't think you would be able to drift off again until your thoughts came to a satisfying conclusion.

You didn't discourage him when he got the box open and started to write on the provided stickers. You dressed yourself in your pyjamas and set off to get some water from the kitchen.

When you returned (shutting and locking the door behind you) it was to find him setting the tower up.

“Now you’re gonna know where each block is.” You stated. “The game is gonna go exactly how you want it to. Is this another one of your Daddy extra benefits?”

He added another level of blocks to his tower. “You are really over-estimating my memory.”

“You remember all of those song lyrics.” You said.

He made a face. “There are several compilations on the internet that would argue the truth of what you just said.” He carefully stacked three more tiles. “I shuffled them up as best I could and I’ve been adding them with the stickers facing down so that I’m not seeing where every exact block goes. I haven’t been trying to rig it, or whatever.”

“Okay.” You said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress so that you could watch him getting closer to a completed, seventy-five centimetre tall tower. You couldn’t see any of the stickers, giving his statement complete believability.

“Were there any signs of life out there?” He asked about his family member’s current activity.

“No, it seems like everyone is still tucked in.” You said.

“It’s almost as if they’re too far away to hear anything that we do in here.” He said.

“Yeah, yet.” You sarcastically responded, speaking quietly as you lifted your glass to your lips, having another drink.

“So what’s your final answer?” He asked. “Are we gonna play, or should I indulge the masculine urge to destroy something five seconds after completing it?”

“No, don’t destroy it. We can play.” You said and you moved to join him on the floor, sitting opposite him, the tower between you. “Let’s see if there is a quiet mode for this game.”

He depleted the scattered pile next to him by placing the final three blocks in their uniform spot at the top. Then he looked at you, wearing an encouraging smile. “I think you should go first, because it’s your gift.”

You considered the neat tower, with all of the stickers out of sight it looked like you were about to partake in a regular and innocent game. You had no idea what you were on the verge of uncovering. You reached without trepidation, your eyes set on a block at the side.

You got it free without any threats to the structural integrity of the rest of the tower. You turned the piece over and found his handwriting - the innocence of the game was immediately dispelled.

You licked your lips as you showed it to him, reading it. “Receive oral for two minutes.”

“Fuck yeah, starting with a bang.” He said.

You laid the tile carefully across the top, starting a new level. “Am I supposed to count or something to keep track of the time?” He kept a safe distance from the tower as he started to move toward you, crawling on all-fours. “Because I don’t know how specific I will be with that. If you’re giving it to me really great, I might forget what order the numbers should be in.”

“Aw, babygirl might get a bit dumb?” He asked. “It’s okay, we’ll use a phone timer, that can help us to not get so carried away, hm?”

“But not too loud.” You insisted.

He rolled his eyes as he stopped and fetched his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He began tapping his fingers across the screen. “It won't wake anybody up. I'll show you.”

He set the timer for a few seconds, the tone coming clearly through the speaker of his phone. He let it trill a handful of times before hitting the button to silence it. He looked at you as you waited. You listened as carefully as you could, ready to hear even the slightest stirring.

But it didn't come. The bedroom that the two of you were in was positioned the most separated from the other bedrooms. The noise from his phone couldn't carry the distance to his family members, it seemed.

“Okay? How about you tell me who's always right?” He asked, moving in to get so close to you.

You smiled, your cheeks heating as you let those paranoid thoughts go, no longer letting them slow you down. “Daddy is.”

“Mm-hmm.” He said, his nose bumping against yours before his eyes moved down. “Seeing that options about taking clothes off are still in play, I guess I'll just sneak these cute pants and panties down to your knees for only a minute.”

“Sounds good.” You said, changing your position so that you were resting on your knees.

You draped your arm around the back of his neck, stealing a kiss. He kept kissing you, not needing to look at what he was doing with his hands. He secured the waistband of your printed p.j bottoms and your panties in his grasp at the same time, taking them down together. You had altogether stopped trying to hear anything beyond this bedroom.

The home’s central heating kept you from feeling a terrible chill as he got these parts of your body uncovered. You moved, placing your ass down on the floor.

He considered you with a hungry look, before getting distracted by picking his phone up again. “Okay, two minutes.” He set the timer and put the phone aside, you put your eyes on him instead of paying any attention to the countdown. He bent down and moved his head between your thighs. But he spoke instead of letting you feel his mouth instantly. “Kitten, you’re- how long have you been wet?”

You huffed impatiently. “Don’t go wasting my minute with talking.” You began playing with his short hair as he brought his face right up to your pussy. “You’re on the clock, I’ll do the talking.”

He complied, letting you feel the swirl of his tongue at your entrance. He pushed it briefly inside before swiping up, setting your clitoris as his focus. Your eyes fluttered shut as you sank into this intensity. Your blood rushed into this area as he alternated between kissing and licking the hood.

“I guess that wetness has been building up.” You said as he continued at this dazzling massage. “When we were making the list, I was being a good girl and concentrating on the task Daddy set for me. And stuff like two minutes of sixty-nine isn’t an abstract concept. Thinking about all of it had an effect on me, I’m only human.”

Your fingers glided between his short strands of light hair. The persistent work of his tongue had you feeling the spread of an enticing heat beneath your skin.

Your legs started to feel like jelly when the sound of the timer reached your ears. You bit into your lower lip, feeling like you needed a bit of extra help to keep you from swearing. You couldn’t let him think that it was beyond you to take this teasing, not this early into the game.

You felt him move away and the timer was halted, but you kept your eyes shut. You took a pause before letting this moment end. You acknowledged the new feelings inside you, a different kind of energy rushing your veins. It wasn’t enough to intoxicate you, not yet.

“Alright, my turn.” He announced.

You opened your eyes, finding that he was facing the tower, with no interest in helping you fix the position of your pants. You covered yourself up again, your desires shrinking enough for you to concentrate on other things.

He picked out one of the tiles. “Give a sexy lap dance.”

“Ooh, very nice.” You said, keenly rubbing your hands together.

“You have to let me play music for this, just give me one song and I will play it extremely low.” He said as you got up, going back over to take a seat on the mattress. “It will be awkward if I try to do it without music.”

You kept to yourself your disagreement with him thinking that he could ever look awkward while doing a sexy dance. You just nodded as you got comfortable, legs dangling from the side of the bed. “Alright, one song.”

He got to his feet, his eyes down as he used his phone. You had some guesses for which song he was going to pick.

“It's going to be a fully-clothed sexy dance?” You asked. “‘Cause it's not the strip tease block, we haven't gotten to the clothes off bricks yet…”

“It's good, this way I know you'll be paying attention to my dance moves ‘cause you won't be distracted by looking at parts of my body.” He said, prompting you to roll your eyes.

The electronic beat started to play from his phone, softly, barely any louder than the two of you had been talking. You weren’t surprised when Britney Spears’ voice joined the music.

‘Hey, over there, please forgive me…’

He dropped the phone onto the bed beside you, freeing up his hands for the dance. He smiled, his lower lip held between his teeth as he shimmied his shoulders, stepping closer to you. He parted his legs so that he could stand directly in front of you, his legs on the outside of yours. He bent forward, at the same time grabbing the back of your head. He brought your face flush to the centre of his chest, shimmying as if he could motorboat you. This made you giggle as you played along, shaking your head.

‘Wanna whisper in your ear, make it clear, a little question…’

He propped one of his feet up on the bed, directly beside your ass so that his thighs could be spread even further. He started to roll his hips, a smooth and rhythmic thrusting into the air directly in front of you.

“Yeah Daddy, give me those Magic Mike moves.” You said, giggling less now.

He slightly pulled up the bottom of his shirt, letting you see the trail of hair that led down to his pubes. “I’m gonna do moves that make Magic Mike look like Basic Michael.”

‘...would you hold it against me?’

“I feel like they do a lot of shit like this…” He said as he put one of his hands on your shoulder to help support himself.

He stopped those smooth rolling of his hips, instead he jutted into your face, then back-and-forth. The thrusts had a more aggressive quality, as if he were demanding your attention, rather than just encouraging it.

With his crotch filling the majority of your vision, you couldn’t help noticing that beneath the fabric of his pants, you could see the movement of his cock. You could see the way the shaft bounced and swung, it greatly interested you.

“Yeah, they get stilted with their super-macho-ness.” You said.

‘I want more, wanna see it. So I’m asking you tonight…’

He quit doing his little impression so that he could spin around, putting his back to you. He bent forward, his hands going to his knees as he put an arch in his back. Then he started to bounce his elevated ass, going in time with the relentless beat as all of your attention was secured.

‘So if I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?’

He backed up until he could place himself almost in your lap. This was when he threw his ass even higher into the air, making you giggle when it almost smacked into your face. He was undeterred, gyrating smoothly through this slightly slower part of the song, leading to the breakdown.

‘And show me how you work it out…’

He sat down on your lap, now grinding himself on your thighs. You felt the friction between you as he grinded back-and-forth, so close to you, but not lingering.

He picked up one of your hands by the wrist, putting it where he wanted it. He placed your open palm on his pectoral, then started to gradually guide it down over the material of his shirt. At the same time he was doing some body-rolls, all of his movements measured and sensual.

‘’Cause you feel like paradise and I need a vacation tonight…’

He was dragging your hand closer to his crotch, the rest of his body in constant motion. You wished you could be writhing with him, getting carried away.

But you were very aware of the time limit, refusing to let that slip from your mind, no matter how good he felt. You heard the music beginning to fade out and he slowed his movements before stopping altogether.

He stayed in your lap as he fetched his phone, stopping it from playing another song. You wrapped your arms around his middle and took your chance to give him some kisses on his neck.

“That was great. You can always hold your body against me.” You said.

He chuckled as he started to stand up. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll pull that tile again later and you can have an encore. Your turn, kitty.”

He knelt down next to the tower and you resumed your spot on the ground, your cheeks feeling a little warmer than before. You made a calculated move as you went for a new tile, nudging one out from the middle spot. You got it free, leaving the rest of the tower undisturbed.

“Receive five spanks.” You read aloud, when you looked up, you found him grinning widely.

He changed his position, taking his ass down to the ground. He crossed his legs in front of himself, patting his thighs. “Get across Daddy’s lap. Now, the fact that you’re still wearing pants should muffle the sounds of the actual spanks. But when it comes to the sounds that you might wanna make… I guess I’ll just have to put my hand over your mouth.”

“Good thing you’ve got a solution for everything.” You said, starting to move toward him.

He continued to smile until you turned so that he was no longer in your line of sight. You moved your body over his legs before you lowered yourself down. Your chest and tummy rested on him, and you arched your back. He reached around, placing his fingers over your lips, holding firm. Immediately you liked the way this felt, needing no control.

This was a position you would have been more than happy to stay in. Your heart was fluttering as you tried to prepare for the first strike, you were so excited.

Then his palm collided with your asscheek and your breathing halted. Warmth bloomed into the pit of your gut and you were certain there would be new moisture coming into your panties. If you had been totally alone, you would have moaned to show him how pleased you were. Instead you boosted your butt up higher for him.

You felt his hand near your ass but the sharp collision didn’t come, he had a question first. “Should I do five overall, or five spanks per cheek? So then we could have an even number…”

With his hand still firmly over your lips, you didn’t have much chance to respond. But it seemed he didn’t truly need your opinion because you were soon feeling the next spank.

The noise was muffled, the sharp and crisp snap replaced by a dull thud. But it felt just as effective as it always did. You could tell that he was putting so much of his strength into the strikes and you were certain that beneath the fabric your skin would be filling with rosy colour.

The third and fourth spanks were delivered to each cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as you awaited the fifth spank. There was so much more you were craving. You wondered where the tile with pussy spanks written on it was in the tower.

He gave you another powerful slap, then seemed to stop. He was content with this odd number, letting out a contented sigh as he relaxed the hand that held your mouth.

“I’m very impressed by how quiet you kept yourself. I’m a little surprised, actually. Good work, baby.” He said.

You accepted that no further spanks were coming and started to move yourself out of his lap. You could feel that your heart was still racing a little as you braced yourself with your knees on the ground. “Thank you.”

He gave you a kiss that was over way too fast before he put his attention back on the Jenga stack. He picked out a new tile as you settled in the spot next to him.

He was getting up in the same second that he had added this tile to the top of the tower. He narrated as he grabbed the waistband of his pants. “Take your underwear off- finally we’re losing some fucking clothes in this game.”

You waited to start your next turn so that you could watch. He took the sweatpants off entirely, then pulled his briefs down. As soon as they were removed, he got the pants back on. You could give his cock a very brief, visual assessment before it was covered again. There wasn’t much stiffness to notice - you would have to remain patient for the time being.

You picked the next tile, finding the potential key to getting him erect. He was sitting next to you and you showed him the sticker as you read it. “Give a rim job for six minutes.”

His eyes instantly lit up. “I was hoping that one would come up before the tower got knocked over. Do you want me to get on the bed, or I’ll just lie down where I am?”

You placed the tile at the top of the stack. “If you’re comfortable here, you can stay as is.”

“Easy.” He said and he grabbed his phone before starting to move. He repositioned until he could get his chest down to the floor. He laid down mostly flat, taking a moment to bring his pants down, exposing his ass for you. He got the material around his knees, giving you access only to what you needed.

You got yourself down, lying some of your body over his legs. You braced yourself with a hand on each buttcheek as you bowed your head lower. You gently eased the cheeks apart, revealing his hole. It was a pleasing sight and you were ready to focus all of your passion on this target.

You began by spitting onto it, your aim ensuring it landed practically perfectly. This made him immediately flinch, his head raising.

“Oh! I was gonna ask you to tell me when you were ready for the timer to start.” He said.

You considered telling him that you were indeed ready. Instead you showed him, applying your tongue to his hole. You moved it up-and-down across his opening, spreading your saliva further in this intimate crevice.

“Alright, it’s set.” He told you.

You warmed the area some more by guiding your tongue up-and-down a couple more times. Then you trained the tip of your tongue to his hole, swirling it around repeatedly, appreciating the taste and texture of this natural ring.

You held his cheeks firmly apart and started to see how much of your tongue you could get into this tight area. Beneath you, you felt the muscles in his legs tightening.

He let out a shaky exhale. “Eat that asshole up like you fuckin’ love it.”

You were so happy to know that you were having such an effect on him, it inspired you, making you want to see what other reactions you could draw out of him in this way. You sank your tongue in a little deeper and he lifted his hips from the ground, pushing more of his ass into your face.

You held his cheeks so firmly that your fingernails started to press into his supple skin. You curled your tongue up, taking it up to the roof of his hole. You began massaging this spot thoroughly, wanting to make him overcome by delighting tingles.

“Babygirl…” He whimpered, the tone of his voice brought butterflies into your tummy.

He reached back with one hand, grabbing for the back of your head. He didn’t need to worry about you retracting, you were having too much fun for that. The way his asshole fluttered keenly against your tongue was making you feel more-and-more proud of yourself.

You began to bob your head a little, giving him more motion to enjoy. He let out a low, happy hum in response to this progression. Your lips pushed against his hot and wet skin, then eased back. But you were soon going forward again, burying yourself into him so gladly.

“Fuck, you’re makin’ it real hard to care about this game.” He said. “I’m so tempted to cancel the timer and just let you play around with your tongue ‘til you find that g-spot and it gets fuckin’ impossible for me to not cum all over this carpet.”

You swirled your tongue inside of him, wanting to indicate to him that you were interested in continued exploration.

But the timer began to ring, interrupting you from going any further. Before you could follow through with your idea to just keep going, his hand left the back of your head. It was clear that he wanted to proceed with the game as he started to lower his hips back down toward the ground.

He laid flat as he noisily tried to catch his breath. “That got me… I was seein’ stars.”

You licked your lips as you sat up. You were feeling powerful, there was a swell of accomplishment inside of you.

“It’s your turn, Daddy.”

He sighed before slowly starting to make the moves to lift himself from the floor. He wiped a hand across his face, it sounded like he hadn’t yet fully caught his breath. Before his dick could be covered by his pants again, your keen eyes did another quick assessment. Now he was definitely hard, which made you feel even prouder.

Seemingly he didn’t want this to disrupt the game because he promptly pulled his pants up to their earlier position. As soon as his cock was tucked away, he put his attention back on the tower. You admired how his length stretched out the front of his pants for an extra moment, or two. You refocused when he began to read aloud.

“French kiss for four minutes.”

You instantly got closer to him, trailing your hand up his thigh. “But who makes it French?”

He added this new tile to the top of the steady stack. “You were just working your tongue, why don’t we give it a little rest?”

“Okay.” You agreed as he set the needed timer.

Then he turned to you, smiling as he brought his hands up to either side of your face. You were smiling as well, you could feel the tension that was between the two of you - you were so keen to break it.

Your mouths met, both of you holding your lips apart straight away. Lips quickly collided before you felt his tongue, moving forward without hesitation. At the same time his thumbs caressed your cheeks, which were filled with giddy heat.

Your hand was resting high up on his thigh and you were consumed by temptation, thinking about how you could easily escalate this situation. It was a little ridiculous how easy it would be.

But that would go against the point of the game. You knew that if you wanted to remain in a position where he would call you good girl, you couldn’t try to assume any control. If all he wanted to do was French kiss, then you wouldn’t do anything more.

You just caressed your fingers against his thigh, instead of reaching your hand any higher. You got your other hand further away from his dick by wrapping your arm around his middle.

The consistent massaging of his tongue against yours was wonderful, it was inviting you to surrender and just melt for him. Your sense of time passing got lost as you just enjoyed feeling so close to him.

You were just as unhappy to hear the trilling of his phone’s timer this time around. Maybe he was feeling something similar because he didn’t instantly conclude the kiss. He kept his mouth on yours as he took one of his hands off of your face. He retracted his tongue, changing his approach to cover your mouth with kisses. As you tried to match his speed, he silenced the ringing.

You were getting a little short on breath as he slowly brought an end to these kisses. He drew back after giving your lower lip a suck.

“Your turn, pet.” He said as you began to open your eyes.

You were reluctant to move away from him, but you did it. You hoped to pull a good block, something that would add to the intimacy.

“Grind on your partner’s ass for nine minutes.” You read before you looked at him, checking for his reaction.

“Saucy.” He said. “I figure we can both take our pants down so that it’s more fun than dry humping.”

“That sounds great.” You said, adding to the top of the Jenga stack.

You were getting excited by the thought of getting stimulation directly on your cunt. With his phone in hand, he laid down, flat on his chest again. He pushed his pants down to just above his knees and you did the same, taking your underwear down too (it was even damper than before).

“I’ll start the timer when I feel your pussy on my skin.” He said and you agreed.

Your head was rushing with anticipation. There was already a quiver in your cunt as you thought back to occasions of grinding on his thigh. With how much you were already turned on, you wondered if an orgasm could be secured, if the right technique was employed.

“What are the, like, rules? I don’t wanna do it wrong.” You said, holding yourself back from straddling him yet.

“There are no rules- well, just that you have to stop after nine minutes. But you can grind however you want, however feels best for you.” He said.

You licked your lips as you nodded. “Right.”

You lifted one of your legs, passing it over him as you shifted your body weight. You kept yourself balanced with your knees on the ground on either side of his hips.

“Oh yep, that’s a very wet pussy.” He said in response to you lowering yourself to sit on his butt. “You’ve been really enjoying our game, haven’t you kitten?”

You leaned forward, putting the pressure on a different part of your crotch. “Mm-hmm, it’s heaps of fun.”

You put your hands to your labia majora and eased them back, then you pushed your exposed clitoral hood onto his skin. It was immediately receptive to the pressure and you smiled, pleased by this beginning.

You could stimulate yourself even further by thrusting your hips, testing out how much you could move. The pleasure radiated out to more of your body, making you want to press harder. You put more of your strength into your motions, quickly rewarded and feeling like you wanted to melt even more.

“I said there was no wrong way to do this, but I think you've found the exact right way to do it.” He said. “Keep having heaps of fun for me, yeah?”

You rocked your hips faster and harder. “Yes, Daddy.”

You didn't care about the time limit, you had no interest in holding yourself back. Your thighs clenched against him as you rode the waves of pleasure higher.

When you got an idea you didn't pause, wasting time on consideration. You simply started to bounce yourself on his ass, creating quick collisions that had you feeling more sensitive. You couldn't help the quiet whines that came with this.

“Oh, are you a bunny now? Bouncing around back there.” He observed.

“It’s almost like when my Master spanks my clit. But not as good.” You said before another whimper slipped out of your mouth. “But it’s still very good.”

You switched back to grinding before you could tire yourself out too much. You enjoyed this more sustained pressure on your clitoral hood and the warm tingles it made you feel. You grabbed for a handful of his shirt as you kept dragging your clitoris back-and-forth across his skin.

“You’re practically painting on me with all that cum.” He said and it was true that his butt was getting quite slick in your claimed path. “I’m gonna make you clean your desperate mess off of me with your tongue.”

“I’ll do it.” You said immediately.

“Yeah, I know you will.” He said.

You felt his body tense beneath yours, but you were too concentrated on your own tempo to put thought into what he was doing.

But you started paying attention when he arched his back to push his ass more firmly into you. This was followed by him matching your rhythm. He rocked back into you, giving the activity on your clitoral hood even more impact. You could feel how it rattled you, deep down at your core where it was inescapable.

You latched your other hand onto his side, gripping him here as your need became all-consuming. You gave everything to your rutting, trying to not slip off because your body was screaming out for the pleasure to continue.

“Do you like grinding on that ass, you needy little toy?” He asked. “You’re so desperate to get off and so fucking turned on, all without Daddy even touching you. I can go back to playing my game and you would probably come anyways.”

He picked up his phone and you saw Alchemy Stars on the screen again. There was something tantalising about having him partially ignoring you. You didn’t know why it appealed to you, making your heart thump harder in your chest.

You started to experience unpredictable twitches in your limbs and you acknowledged the pressure in you to simply fall apart. Your chest swelled as you relentlessly rolled your hips, the motion carried through to his body.

“Please, please…” You whispered between your ragged breaths. “Can you please pause the timer, please? Don’t let it- please pause it before it-... please?”

“That’s kind of going against the point of the timer, my little toy.” He said.

You huffed but you didn’t let your tempo suffer, you were going to keep at it for as long as you were allowed, drawing nearer to the release. “No, I know, but, please? I think I could come and- please?”

“Here I was thinking that you wanted to play a fair game.” He said, the teasing in his tone as appealing as it was frustrating. “And pausing and manipulating the timer definitely takes some of the fairness away.”

Again you acted on an idea without fully thinking it through. As you kept riding his butt, you looked to your side and how far the tower was from you.

Not too far, so you stuck your foot out. It connected with the stack and, with a loud noise, the Jenga tiles went flying. You managed to knock over all but the bottom two levels, smiling at the outcome - game over. He stopped writhing, but you weren’t willing to yet.

“Okay, I lost, now we can fuck.” You said cheerfully.

“God, you really are desperate, aren’t you?”

You put your hands up to his shoulders, instantly holding so tight. “Yes, please fuck your desperate kitty, Daddy.”

“Yep, we will.” He said and you stopped moving finally, wanting to conserve some energy. “But not on the bed.”

You began climbing off of him. “That’s fine.”

He propped himself up a little and pointed over to your carnage. “You’re going to lie down there.”

You walked on your knees across the floor, going to where the majority of the blocks seemed to have landed. Once close enough, you swept your arm out, pushing the tiles out of the way.

He interrupted before you could get most of the mess cleared. “Hey, when did I say you could move those?”

“But isn’t this where you told me to lay?” You asked.

“Yeah, you’re going to lie on top of the tiles.” He said and you just stared back at him, waiting for him to admit this was a joke. Instead he added to the idea. “You don’t get to sabotage the end of the game like that and just escape all punishment. That was naughty of you, toy. So take your punishment and lay on the tiles.”

You decided to take on his challenge. You didn’t think the discomfort would be a problem for very long - getting fucked was sure to be a strong enough distraction.

You grabbed the bottom of your shirt, taking it up and over your head, showing him just how willing you were. As he watched, you started to take your pants and underwear off.

You were feeling a little unsure, but also excited, this was the emotion you chose to show. You moved, lifting your butt. You got yourself closer-and-closer to the ruined stack, until you had no choice but to lower yourself onto it. You watched over your shoulder, seeing the disarray getting nearer.

The firm ridges pressed into you, at all different angles and in so many different spots. But you didn’t let that discourage you, putting more of your weight onto the blocks. Their edges dug into your skin even more, hints of disbelief in his expression at the sight.

You laid back, fully giving your body to this strange and unfamiliar feeling. On top of the uneven surface, you got yourself as flat as you possibly could. There were some gaps in the arrangement of blocks where your skin rested against only carpet - for an inch or two. But it wasn’t enough respite for you to feel comfort, you put the luxury of feeling comfortable out of your mind for now. It was the reward you could earn.

He ditched his shirt as he came closer. In the way he was looking at you, you could tell that he was impressed, and that felt better than lying on any bed. He looked at the space in front of him, making sure he didn’t put either of his knees down on top of the pieces. Meanwhile you focused your eyes on the front of his pants, his stiff dick straining against the material.

Before getting any closer, he pulled them down and you got to see his boner bounce free. Your breath came in quick as you watched him take the pants off, and keep them off.

He took a pause, looking at the assortment of tiles around your legs. He picked up some, tossing them out of the way so that no part of his body had to go on top of them.

He got himself positioned in between your parted legs and began to lean down. “Do you still like your Christmas present?”

“Mm-hmm, thank you for getting it for me, Daddy.” You said.

He started to climb on top of you, forcing you even harder into the rigid Jenga tiles. But you didn’t make any complaints, gladly letting your mouth become preoccupied with kisses.

You drew some comfort from how good his body felt on yours, enjoying that uninterrupted feeling of skin on skin. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as your tongue teased at his lips.

He began grinding into you and you were rushed with a sense of gratitude when you realised there was no timer on the verge of going off. There wasn’t any holding the passion back now. Your body was dominated by his, his moves purposeful and increasing the intensity.

You held onto him tighter when you felt his tip stretching your already aching pussy open. All of your excitement and those building sensitivities finally had focus.

He whined in response to your tongue coming into his mouth. You explored along the roof of his mouth as he eased more of his length inside of you. Quivers of anticipation started at your core as his hips drew nearer to yours. Your walls parting perfectly to accommodate him.

Feeling him buried in so deep brought a needy moan from you, it happened before you had the chance to worry about controlling your volume. With how receptive your pussy was, you didn’t really have the space in your mind to spare a thought for the world beyond this bedroom. Concerns that had felt so big and present were so easily dwarfed by the promise of more pleasure.

He brought an end to the kiss. And before you could possibly plan your next move, he placed his open palm over your lips. You opened your eyes as he kept his hand here.

“You’re very worked up. So I’m gonna hold my hand right here to keep you from getting carried away and embarrassing yourself, okay?” He said.

You nodded your head. He used his other hand to brace himself, placing it on the floor. Then he started to experiment with his range of motion, rutting into you, without much urgency at first. As he put more power into his movements, your body shifted, making the tiles move and drag a little. They clattered against one another, creating a strange kind of music.

He found the right way to move and the pumping of his hips gained consistency. He worked at a quick rhythm, your inner-walls fluttering in response to the stimulation.

You took your legs away from the rigid blocks, gaining a little relief by wrapping them around his waist. The rest of your body continued to experience the uncomfortable sensation, you were sure your skin would bare the marks of the tile’s edges for a few hours.

As you swung your hips with him, he was able to move deeper. You felt his swollen tip rubbing against your walls, taking your excitement to the next level.

It didn’t take long for you to match his tempo. You lifted your hips up higher-and-higher, getting your ass away from the hard Jenga pieces as well. It also served the purpose of giving his every plunge into you more impact.

You were making more noises behind his hand, a quiet whining as each thrust felt better than the last. You had started to shiver, getting truly overrun with these Heavenly sensations.

There was a different tone in his voice when he spoke next, but he was still in control enough to keep the volume low. “Letting me fuck you on these blocks ‘cause you’re just so fucking needy.” You nodded your head, eyes wide as you beheld the determination on his face. “I like it when you’re needy…

“It suits me really well…” He said, snapping his hips down harder between your legs. “‘Cause Daddy can take care of your needs better than anyone else ever could. And Daddy loves taking care of you, even when you’re naughty.”

His rhythm raced ahead of you, taking you by surprise. You were too floored by his energy to know how to match him at first. You kept your hips in motion, squirming through this escalation.

Now he was fucking into your g-spot, making you want to fall apart from your core. Your eyes rolled back, your release seemingly so close.

“Always gonna take care of you.” He said before his head dropped, resting on your shoulder as all of his energy went to that relentless snapping of his hips. “Always.”

As you stared up at the ceiling, stars came into your vision, changing the appearance of the paint. You wanted to plead with him to let you have the orgasm. But with so many other things demanding your attention, it was hard to think and you couldn’t figure out how to do that with his hand still held over your mouth.

“Always, alw…” His word transformed into a whine, a desperate sound just for you.

His next strokes into you were accompanied by a feeling of extra heat in your cunt. He was starting to unload, more cum drawn out of him with every movement.

You started to disappear into your release, overcome beyond anything else. You soared, forgetting about the tile’s edges making your skin sting in certain places. You were flooded by only pleasurable sensations as you writhed between him and the Jenga pieces.

“Okay, okay, okay…” He said, sounding a little breathless as he took his hand off of your face and rocked his body weight back. “Get up from that shit, I can’t believe you-...” He sat back on the ground and grabbed for your hands.

With his help, you sat up, the tiles noisily shifting beneath you, digging in anew. But you weren’t paying the feeling much attention, not while you were still feeling the giddiness of your orgasm.

You climbed off of all of the uneven blocks, going to the safety of your boyfriend. You placed yourself in his lap and he put his arms around you.

You looked back over your shoulder. “Did I fuck up any of the stickers?”

“Oh my God, I do not even slightly care about that right now. I just need to make sure you’re okay.” He said.

You turned your head to look at him, but he had already extended his neck, his head held so that he could look at your back. “Of course I am, what are you talking about?”

“The blocks didn’t hurt you too bad?” He asked, his fingers hovering near the short lines scattered across your back.

“No, it didn’t feel good, it sucked, actually. But it wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t getting-a-tattoo level of pain.” You said.

“Okay.”

You readjusted and put your hands up on his face, directing him to look at you. “I promise that I’m fine. That was a lot of fun.”

A smile began on his lips. “It was, wasn’t it?”

In the echo of all of that energy, you stayed attached to one another. You discussed each of your favourite parts of the scene, its effects could still be felt through your body. You told him which tiles you wished had been pulled and he reassured you that a follow-up round would be played once you were home.

Your request for aftercare was very simple: sleep. He agreed that he was feeling quite tired now, willing to give falling asleep another attempt. There were no more complaints about having no sheep to count.

The relief that you felt when your body reached the mattress was a little unreal. The comfort flooded you immediately and you were so grateful as all of those bad sensations fled from you.

You were the little spoon and he turned the lamp off, no longer needing to look at the temporary marks on your back.

Your eyes travelled to the nearby window and you lifted your head from the pillow. “Shit, the sun is literally starting to come up.”

“Shh, just close your eyes, you won’t even see it.” He said and he placed a hand over your eyes.

»»————-　♡　————-««  

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[lady-in-the-lair]

Hii after tld I am trying to read the comics but I don’t know where to start, can you recommend me anything pls:3

Thanks for asking! Here are the most symbrocky of the comics. There are other good Venom comics, but this is where I'd start to fill in everything the movie left out:

“The Hunger” 1996 -- that's where I got my Tumblr banner image from. The most symbrock of any of the comics, in my opinion, even without saying anything outright. It explores the bond between Eddie and Symby and has a uniquely dark, eerie tone without going overboard on the edgelordness. I bought the whole volume it's collected in just for that storyline.

Mike Costa run, starting at issue #5 (the first four issues feature Symby getting abused by its host to the point that it regresses and is unable to speak properly. Eddie only shows up in Issues #5). I'm still unclear on why Eddie asked Liz Allen out other than to no homo a run full of "my love," "my darling," and literally giving birth together...clearly, it did not work.

"First Host" -- the Mike Costa extra featuring the symbrock baby, Sleeper.

Marvel Presents #5 (2019)  -- It's a collection of Marvel stories, one of which features Eddie and Symby getting intimate. I have mixed feelings about choices made in part of the comic, and the art is terrible, but the actual intimacy is great! Also, it's barely PG-13, it's all implied and more psychological than anything else and inspired me to write a fic, it was so validating.

For non-specifically symbrock content after the cut!

David Michelinie wrote some great general Venom stories I recommend checking out. Even without overt symbrock (which is just one aspect of the characters!), and the absence of Symby's voice, you feel like he gets the characters and his writing isn't all doom-and-gloom.

"Venom: Seed of Darkness" (Len Kaminski, who also has good content) -- Not symbrock; this takes place while Eddie is still a reporter, but it shows how and why he'd bond so closely with Symby even without their mutual hatred of Spider-Man. Everyone is afraid of the alien monster he's reporting on; he's fascinated and even sympathetic iir.

Carnage (2015) -- It's dark and spooky and while it features Eddie, he's bonded to a different symbiote and the symbiotes are not the focus of the story. I like it for the Lovecraftian elements and characterization of Eddie, who seems more like himself than in other recent comics--a bit of a himbo, trying to do the right thing, loves kids, and is generally respectful of women (bunch of female characters in this one).

I also like the Agent Venom comics, though Eddie only briefly appears and Symby is bonded with Flash Thompson, the soldier who lost his legs in the movie. Those are just generally solid action comics with some character development for Flash.

I do not personally recommend the other pre-Costa 2000s Venom comics, as they mostly feature Eddie and Symby hating each other to various extremes and being generally very OOC. This is the era when Venom got dark and edgy and weird in a bad way, with Eddie going off the rails and Symby having a variety of awful hosts. Some good stuff to cherry pick, like Symby still loving Eddie when it sees him in that Anti-Venom getup, but generally bad, bad, bad imo.

I'm only current as of the beginning of Donny Cates's run, as I didn't like where he was going with it and the Look How Dark and Edgy This Is of it all. He also was disrespectful to fans who shipped symbrock (despite it being canon in the Costa run) and tried to no homo it...by having them co-raise a son and having Symby tell Eddie "I love you." Whatever he intended, he clearly backed away from the symbrock so hard he bumped into himself. All that being said, he does explore what Eddie and Symby mean to each other and packs in some good grieving from Eddie when he loses Symby (....who is a dog at the beginning of the run...)

Still, I'm sure there's a lot to like in there even if his dismissal of fans and worship by dudebros has always left a bad taste in my mouth and I stopped reading relatively soon.

I'd avoid Venom: The Madness, too. Hate that one!

Something to be aware of is that both Eddie and the symbiote are very different in the comics than they are in the movie! It varies from writer to writer, but Symby isn't as vocal and sassy and Eddie is just a different character with certain constants that didn't make it into the movie much--a difficult childhood with a distant father, loves kids, uses big words, Catholic, bodybuilder, generally respectful of women (okay that might just be my opinion after reading a lot of comics and cherry-picking the series I like--do not read Venom: The Madness!), and wants to protect innocents, his defining trait.

[lastbluetardis]

What Makes a Family (1/?)

Summary: Single parents Rose Tyler and James McCrimmon come together to embark on a whirlwind, passionate romance that seems to be the happy ending neither of them thought they'd get. But when James's past comes back to haunt them and threatens to tear away everything they've built together, they must find a way to weather the storm that will either break them or draw them ever closer, all while answering the question of what it means to be a family.

💜 It's back!! This is the new and improved version!! 💜

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Teen, ~8800 words

AO3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“We gather here today to remember the life and love of Jeremiah “Jimmy” David Stone, beloved son, partner, and father.”

The words rang hollowly in Rose’s ears, like they were being spoken from very far away. She barely felt like she was present, like this entire day was happening to someone else. The small body she held in her lap shifted, forcing her to snap back to the present scene. The child’s big blue eyes blinked owlishly as her three-year-old son, Matthew, fixed his gaze on her.

“That’s Daddy,” he said in that whispering way of toddlers that really wasn’t a whisper at all.

“That’s right,” she murmured, smoothing his cornsilk blond hair away from his face. “Hush now. Can you sit nice and quiet for Mummy?”

“Uh huh,” Matthew said, slumping back into her belly.

The priest at the front of the church shot her a sympathetic glance, his pale gaze flitting between Matthew and David, Rose’s nine-year-old son. If anyone in the church was annoyed by Matthew’s interruptions, they didn’t show it—nobody would dare chastise a child who’d just lost a parent.

Rose reached over and silently wrapped her hand around David’s. Her son gave no reaction that he felt her touch, sitting as still and silently as he’d been doing these last four days since the accident that claimed the life of his father. She was so useless, unable to offer anything other than hugs and kisses and words of affirmations to her children, while she raged against the world for forcing this tragedy into their young little lives.

“I’m hungry,” Matthew stated, drawing muffled chuckles from those sitting around them.

Rose had prepared for this. Matthew’s stomach was as unpredictable as a summer storm, and she made sure to always have snacks on hand for him. She reached into her purse and rooted around until she felt the cool plastic bag that contained dry cereal.

“Thank you!” Matthew chirped when she handed it to him.

“Shh, baby boy. We have to be quiet.”

“Indoor voice,” he said, and to his credit, he actually whispered that time.

Rose pressed a kiss to his fair hair and tried to tune in to the priest and ignore the nagging urge to get up and leave. Why should she be allowed to sit here and mourn a person she didn’t actually miss? Any moment now, people would realize she was faking her bereavement and would call her all sorts of nasty truths, would clue in her kids that she wasn’t actually sad that their dad was gone.

Beside her, David rested his head on her upper arm, sniffling softly. Her heart squeezed. She scooped him closer into her side, squeezing him as if that could do anything to help him through this awful day.

On her other side, her mother rested a comforting hand on her thigh. Rose knew there was no love lost between her mum and Jimmy; hell, her mother had been the only person to know Rose was looking for a new flat for herself, ready to leave the relationship that had been slowly crumbling for nearly three years.

Somehow, after the birth of their second child, Rose had begun growing in a different direction than her boyfriend. She didn’t know exactly what had happened, if it had been something silently brewing for years that she never addressed; nothing obvious had catalyzed it. Well, not until six months ago, when she learned her boyfriend was cheating on her with one of his colleagues. Funnily, after the initial jolt of anger and betrayal, Rose felt nothing at all. If anything, a sense of peace settled over her, giving her the confidence and motivation to begin actively searching for a way out of her lackluster and loveless relationship.

Regardless of what she did (or didn’t) feel for her late boyfriend, regardless that he hadn’t been the best partner to her since Matthew had been born, Jimmy had been a damn fine father, and her eldest child was in emotional agony. She’d be damned if she left him alone in his grief.

The funeral passed as painfully as any other. Rose could feel the prickle of pitying stares directed at her and her kids, and she willed time to move faster. Listening to the eulogies was the worst, as Jimmy’s friends and family stood at the front of the church and spoke about how wonderful Jimmy was, how deeply he’d be missed, and the hole he’d left in the lives of everyone who knew him.

But finally, it was over. The only good thing about being a supposedly grieving partner was that she could gather up her kids and escape rather rudely without people actually thinking she was rude.

“Let’s go home,” she murmured to her kids, holding David and Matthew’s hands while she guided them away from the throng of people wanting to give her their last-minute sympathies and sorries.

She threw one last lingering glance to the closed casket that concealed the broken body of her late boyfriend, her gaze flicking to the photograph of the blond man with the crooked smile that’d had her falling head over heels at fifteen.

Goodbye. I hope you’ve found peace, wherever you are.

Rose didn’t know what exactly she believed regarding an afterlife, but she hoped there was something. A realm of tranquility where the best of everyone shone through and there was no hurt or anger or resentment. Yeah, that sounded quite nice.

As she moved to turn fully away from the casket, her eyes landed on a middle-aged couple; the woman was sobbing uncontrollably into the chest of the man: Jimmy’s parents, whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since that night in the hospital after Jimmy’s accident, when his mother had screamed and raged at her, hurling insults at her that had hit their mark and still stung, even days later.

Rose quickly looked away, not wanting to draw their attention or their ire, and continued ushering her boys out of the church.

oOoOo

The tides of grief ebbed and flowed, more mercurial than a storm at sea. There were moments when Rose was perfectly at peace with what had happened, and then there were days when she raged at the unfairness of it all, certain that all joy had been sapped from the world, never to return again.

David was a husk of the boy he’d been, and Matthew melted down any time she was gone from his sight for more than a few minutes. She wanted to shake David, to jar loose any emotion at all in his little body, to beg him to please pretend. But how unfair was that, to force a child to fake normalcy when his world had been irrevocably changed, just so she would feel a bit better about the whole thing?

Rose prayed to any deity that cared to listen for the patience to guide her kids through these tumultuous times, and spared a prayer for herself to have enough energy to keep herself and her family healthy and whole. It felt like she was doing everything wrong, and in her worst moments, she was sure her boys would’ve been better off if she and Jimmy had traded places. Surely David and Matthew needed their father more than their stupid, useless mother.

Rose was at her wits end, and lost her temper with her kids more often than she would’ve liked. Matthew forgave her outbursts quite readily, while David seemed wholly unaffected by them, which was somehow even worse.

The straw that broke her back was when the boys got into a heated fight, with Matthew pestering Rose and David about when Daddy was coming home. David eventually shoved his little brother with enough force that he stumbled a few steps back before falling to his bum a couple inches from the coffee table in the center of the living room.

Rose watched in horror as the scene unfolded, her mind showing her visions of Matthew’s head cracking open against the solid oak wood of the table.

“David!” she shrieked, rushing to Matthew’s side to make sure he was okay. Apart from loud wailing, he was uninjured. “What were you thinking?!”

“He won’t shut up!” David shouted, and Rose was taken aback by the vitriol in her son’s voice. This was a complete about-face from the shadow David had been in recent weeks. “Dad’s gone and he’s dead and Matthew won’t shut up!”

Rose’s heart ached, and she tried to soothe her crying child while keeping her attention on her eldest.

“He doesn’t know any better,” she said hoarsely, at a loss with how to deal with this sudden and violent emotion raging through her son. “He’s three.”

“He’s stupid and I hate him!” David screamed, his face going bright red as tears welled in his eyes. “I hate him! I hate you! I hate this stupid place! I hate it all!”

He then promptly stormed down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his brother, and slammed the door shut.

Rose was left reeling, completely numb and on the brink of tears herself. Matthew was still screeching, tugging at her arms because she wasn’t consoling him thoroughly enough. At least that was one thing she could do. One thing she could fix. She scooped Matthew into her lap, and within moments, he was happily chatting to her again and asking to play kitchen.

David didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night, and refused the dinner Rose brought to him. The bedroom door was locked, and though she had a pin that would pop the lock from this side, she wasn’t quite ready to break David’s trust. If he wanted privacy, she could give him that.

It didn’t stop her from sitting outside his door for the rest of the evening, while Matthew watched a film with his grandmother. Jackie, bless her, came over for dinner every evening to help Rose with cooking and getting the kids to bed.

It was almost the boys’ bedtime when David emerged. He paused upon seeing her on the floor. His face and eyes were red and swollen, and Rose wanted to haul him into her lap and squeeze out all of his pain.

“Sorry for what I said,” he muttered, rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels.

“I forgive you,” she said, having forgiven him hours ago. “David, I’m so sorry. I really am trying my best here. But I need some help. How can I help you?”

He merely shrugged and said, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And I don’t expect you to be fine for quite a while.”

David stayed silent, and when she didn’t elaborate, he stepped around her to use the loo, then went right back into his room.

And that, it seemed, was that.

The following weekend, her mother and best friend conspired to get her out of the house. Rose had been wholly consumed with her kids since Jimmy died, and as a result had become a hermit, distancing herself from everyone and everything she used to enjoy doing. Part of her didn’t think it was fair for her to carry on with a vivacity that had been stolen from Jimmy. Another part of her felt it cruel to partake in anything that could be considered “fun” when only a few short weeks had passed since she’d lost her boyfriend.

“You can’t stay locked up forever,” her friend, Shareen, had said. “It’s not good for you, which means it isn’t good for David or Mattie. You need to be at your best for them, which sometimes means doing something just for you.”

Rose hated that her friend was using her kids as a counter-argument, but she couldn’t exactly fault Shareen’s logic, which was how she ended up in a black dress that clung to all the right places, being hauled out to the lively streets of Friday-night London. Her mum was staying overnight to watch the boys, and Rose kept her phone glued to her hand in case one of her children needed her to come home.

They didn’t.

The hours passed, and by her fourth martini, Rose had forgotten why she’d been so hesitant to go out. The music was loud, reverberating deep into her bones as she danced the night away with her friends. Shareen had recruited their mutual friend Keisha for the night; of the trio, Keisha was the wildest of the bunch and could make any outing memorable. It was Keisha whom Rose had gradually drifted away from as motherhood took priority over clubbing, though Keisha’s friendship was one that could be picked up with ease, no matter how long they’d gone between speaking.

Rose was toeing the line between tipsy and drunk when a brown-skinned man with close-cropped black hair sauntered up to where she stood at the bar, waiting for a new drink.

“Can I get that for ya?” the man asked, his deep voice ringing with that familiar Cockney accent she’d grown up around.

“Sure,” she answered, blinking through the dim lights to make out the man’s features. He was handsome enough, she supposed.

The man introduced himself, but it was impossible to hear over the din of the pub. Richie? Ricky? Dickie? Whatever. She found she honestly didn’t care, and so she replied, “I’m Piper,”, giving the name she and Jimmy had been considering for Matthew if he’d been a girl.

The lie fell off her tongue so easily. The whole night was fake anyway, a brief respite from the hell that had become her life. She had merely stepped out of time and into a new life for these few brief but wondrous hours.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Rose barely contained the eyeroll, and instead grinned a wide, flirtatious grin she hadn’t flashed in years. Fuck it. If she was going to play pretend for the night, she was going to act her heart out.

“Let’s dance,” she shouted over the thumping bass.

The eager expression on his face told Rose that was what he’d been hoping for. She gulped down her drink, ignoring the burn as it went down, and let herself be pulled onto the dance floor.

Time ceased to exist. There was nothing except the alcohol in her bloodstream and the solid heat of this man’s body against hers. When he bought her a shot after four songs of dancing, she accepted. And when he pressed his mouth to hers, she let him. She threw herself into it, missing the simple pleasure of a kiss, missing the quickening of her pulse and the throbbing heat rushing through her. He palmed her rear, hauling her hips to his, and she could feel his interest growing behind his jeans.

“Wanna get out of here?” she whispered, placing her lips right against the shell of his ear.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled.

Alarm bells should have sounded in her head, but there was utterly nothing as she let this stranger pull her though the city and to a little hotel that charged by the hour.

The sex was… fine. Not the best she’d had, but certainly not the worst. For a glorious moment in time, she let the agony of the last few weeks melt away and she became Piper, this stranger of a woman who let a stranger of a man take her to a hotel for a mindless, carefree fuck. She let herself drown in ecstasy, in the closeness of another body pressed to hers, skin on skin.

Richie/Ricky/Dickie passed out after he’d finished. Whether that was due to the sex or the booze, Rose didn’t know, and she didn’t care to find out. She slipped out from the sheets, used the loo, and started gathering her things. Through it all, this man whose name she still didn’t surely know remained dead to the world. Looking more closely at him, with the yellow glow of the hotel lamp illuminating his features, she thought he looked like a boy who used to live on the estate when she was growing up. But she blinked, and the resemblance was gone.

Rose left some money on the nightstand to cover the hotel fee, then hailed a cab. She’d given the driver the address to her mother’s flat before she even processed what she was saying. It would be empty, what with her mum staying over at Rose’s place, and solitude was something Rose was craving.

The trip took all of ten minutes, then Rose was letting herself into her childhood home. Not much had changed, apart from her old bedroom having been converted into a room for the boys to sleep in when they visited.

She made a beeline straight for the bathroom as the weight of her night crashed down around her. Piper was gone, dead and buried in that motel room with Richie/Ricky/Dickie, and Rose had risen from the ashes, horrified by all her choices. What had she been doing? What had she been thinking?

She shucked off her clothes and scalded herself in the shower, wishing that the water could wash farther than skin level, to cleanse out the pain that had become her daily life, cleanse the rot of emotions that festered deep within her soul.

When the water turned cold, she dragged her weary bones from the shower and dressed in clothes she kept in her old room. She spotted David’s stuffed wolf and Matthew’s stuffed dinosaur sitting on the bed, as if waiting for their little masters to return, and Rose crumpled. She curled up on the mattress and hugged the toys tightly to her chest, tucking her nose into the soft creatures. They smelled like her boys, and she ached for them. Not only them, she ached for Jimmy. She ached for the life he should have, ached for their family that had been torn apart. She just… ached.

The wailing of her phone interrupted her misery, and she cursed when she saw Shareen’s name on the screen. Rose answered, but before she could get a word out, her friend screamed, “Where the fuck have you been?!”

“Sorry, I…” I let a total stranger fuck me in a hotel. “I needed to get some air.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Shareen continued, still shouting. “We thought you’d been abducted, you stupid fucking arse!”

“Well, I haven’t been,” Rose snapped.

Both women went silent, and Rose could hear that her friend’s breathing was as heavy as her own. After a beat, Shareen asked quietly, “You all right?”

The lie was right there, on the tip of her tongue, but all Rose managed was a weak, “No.”

“Where are you? I’m coming for you.”

“My mum’s,” she said, rubbing at her stinging nose as tears started welling.

“Be there soon.”

And sure enough, ten minutes later, a series of knocks sounded from the front door. Rose kept hold of the stuffed animals as she went to let her friend in. The moment Shareen saw her, she threw her arms around Rose. The weight of her friend’s embrace, the strength in her arms, was her undoing. Rose’s knees buckled, and Shareen slowly lowered them to the ground, until they were sitting in the same position as when Rose found out she was pregnant at sixteen.

“Shh, I’m here.” Shareen planted a kiss to Rose’s hair. “I’ve got you, babe.”

Thank God someone did, because Rose didn’t have the strength to hold on anymore. Her life wasn’t meant to be like this. She wasn’t meant to be left with two children and no partner to help her. Jimmy was supposed to be there. Even if he had been a shitty partner, he was supposed to be there.

“I can’t do this,” Rose rasped, chest tightening until she could barely breathe.

“Yes you can,” Shareen murmured, squeezing tightly. Then she repeated exactly what she’d said all those years ago, when that damning pregnancy test sat on the floor in front of them. “It’ll be hard, but you can do it, ‘cos you’re Rose motherfuckin’ Tyler.”

oOoOo

That disastrous night out had been good for one thing: it lit up a spark inside Rose that she hadn’t felt since the night a pair of police officers knocked on her door to tell her that her boyfriend had been involved in a serious accident. But she didn’t want to dwell on those memories. The Before Times, she called it in her head.

She refused to let the energy of her home be sullied by all of the hurt, grief, and rage of Jimmy’s passing. Not that she was going to force her boys to move on before they were ready, but she wasn’t going to sit idly by and do nothing to improve their situation.

And so Rose spent weeks poring over her finances, doing more maths than she’d ever done whilst in school to figure out what the new household income would be. While she would be missing out on Jimmy’s half of the income—which wasn’t insubstantial—she no longer had to budget for all his reckless spending. It had often been a point of contention between them, how he wanted instant gratification with anything that caught his eye.

In the early years of their relationship, about a year after David had been born, Jimmy had admitted to her that he really wanted to make his dream of being a professional musician a reality. He’d been in a band for years and they were trying to make it big when Rose got pregnant. Kudos to him, Jimmy had left the band and found a job to help support Rose and their new family.

So when he’d told her of his dream, and knowing he’d shelved it for the last two years for her and their son, Rose agreed. She still loved him enough at that point to want it for him. She picked up extra hours at the retail shop she worked at, and worked hard to climb her way to a team lead position. She’d also begun taking art commissions, designing logos for small businesses or creating various pieces of digital art for random people on the internet who were willing to pay her real money for her drawings.

Despite the extra income, it didn’t make up for the construction job pay Jimmy had been bringing home, and the family found themselves barely staying afloat. Jimmy, to his credit, admitted defeat when, after eighteen months of trying to make a name for himself, he brought home even less money than he had with his teenage boy band.

But that debt had begun to snowball out of control, and horrible as it was, Jimmy’s death was the one thing able to put an end to it. Half of his death benefits were enough to pay off all their old debt, and with the other half, Rose figured she could put down a decent down payment on a house.

In her years as a freelance digital artist, Rose had made a nice little name for herself. As long as she didn’t spend extravagantly, she should be able to make her commissions and Patreon subscribers pull her family through for a little while longer, with their finances being further padded by the survivor benefits Rose would receive until the boys reached legal adulthood.

She was ready to drop it all, though, the moment their finances grew unstable. In a heartbeat, she would find the best-paying work she was qualified for to keep her and her boys out of any more debt. Rose remembered all too well being a child of a parent who struggled financially; it had placed undue stress on her mother, which had caused her mum to have a short temper and an eventual resentment towards anyone who appeared to be even slightly well-off. Rose didn’t want that for herself, or to subject her boys to that sort of behavior.

Rose debated for ages about where she wanted to move. On one hand, London was all she and her kids had ever known, but on the other, it was full of memories and ghosts of Jimmy. Not to mention bloody expensive. While she began her house-hunting search in London, she gradually expanded her search parameters to include cities and towns farther and farther away, because otherwise she would be downgrading to a smaller home with a higher monthly payment.

It was a shock to the system to see how expensive some of these homes were—all she’d ever known was the rent payments of small flats—so she had to constantly remind herself that a monthly mortgage would be right on par with her monthly rent. She could do this. She would do this.

Half the battle was researching everything about each house that caught her eye. She needed to make sure the neighborhoods were safe and the schools were good, but she also wanted quick and easy access to public transportation, since it was often easier than driving. Not to mention that her mother had never learned to drive, so she was utterly reliant on public transportation.

God, her mother. Jackie would lose her mind upon learning Rose was moving away to a new town. Her mum was a creature of habit. She visited all the same shops and restaurants, had the same friends for the last twenty years, and stayed in the same flat that she’d lived in with Rose’s father when he’d still been alive. London was home for her mother, but to Rose, it was just a city.

Rose would have to tell her mother sooner or later. But not right now. Not until Rose found exactly what she was looking for.

oOoOo

“I don’t think we can stay here anymore, Mum.” Rose absently sloshed her wine around her in glass, electing to stare at the swirling liquid rather than her mother’s bright blue gaze.

“Too many memories?” she asked sympathetically. “Can be a blessing or a curse, I’ll tell you. I couldn’t bring myself to leave behind all traces of your dad. But you… well, you weren’t exactly planning to stay forever.”

“It’s just, David is having such a hard time,” Rose whispered, feeling tears prickling at the backs of her eyes as she recalled the phone call she’d received earlier that day from her child’s teacher, informing her that this was the third time this week that David had spent his lunch period sitting quietly by himself, not touching his food, not engaging with his classmates. This behavior was becoming the new norm, apparently, with David isolating himself with every passing week. “He won’t eat. He won’t go outside and play with his friends. His friends don’t come to visit. He won’t talk to me. All he does is sit on this stupid bloody couch and watch the stupid bloody telly. He doesn’t even care that Mattie controls what they watch. He’s just… he’s empty, Mum, and it’s killing me.”

The tears spilled over and Rose set her wine glass on the table to instead grab a handful of tissues to press to her eyes. The sofa cushion dipped beside her, and she was soon ensconced in her mother’s arms, breathing in that familiar scent that somehow made her start to cry harder.

“I need to get him out of this flat,” Rose whimpered, clinging to her mother. “I’m trying to find him someone to talk to, but all child therapists of any worth are full up, and his school counselor is bloody useless, sayin’ he’ll get over it all in a few months and I should carry on as normal. But it’s not normal. His life will never be normal again.”

Her mother stroked her back in long, slow lines, making soothing shushing noises while Rose blubbered into her jumper. The agony that had been eating away at Rose for the past two months was boiling over; she had this primal fear that her baby boy would waste away in front of her very eyes, and that she’d never be able to get him back if she didn’t do something to pull him out of his head.

But what more was she supposed to do? She made him all his favorite foods and had a variety of snacks on hand, but even then, he only picked at it all. He’d visibly lost weight, and not even the supplemental high-calorie protein shakes his pediatrician recommended were helping. She’d broken down one night and tearfully begged David to eat. He had diligently swallowed every piece of the chicken nuggets and broccoli on his plate and, when he was finished, said, “Sorry I made you angry,” which had sent her spiraling further, requiring her to retreat into her bedroom and scream into a pillow. When she’d returned, David was plopped on the couch beside Matthew, who was happily munching on a second plate of nuggets, watching Paw Patrol.

She gathered David up into her arms and he nuzzled into her, saying, “My tummy hurts.”

She stroked his hair and apologized, telling him he should only eat as much as his tummy says he needs.

“I don’t want you to be angry,” he argued.

“I won’t be,” she promised. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I just want you to be healthy. And we need to eat a balanced diet of meats and fruits and veggies to be healthy, right?”

“And po’sicles,” Matthew chirped, eyes glued to the television.

Rose rolled her eyes but smiled at her youngest. “Only popsicles after we’ve had our healthy dinner.”

After that night, she hadn’t had as much trouble getting David to eat his dinner, but he ate portions similar to Matthew’s, and even then, sometimes food was left on his plate. It killed her every time he asked, “Did I eat enough?”

Presently, Rose sniffled and pulled back to wipe her running nose on a tissue. Her mum sat back too, but didn’t move from Rose’s side.

“We need to get out of here,” Rose repeated. “Somewhere new. New school, new home, new everything.”

“Well, there are loads of schools in the city. I’m sure you can find somethin’ better for the boys. You didn’t think about schools when you and Jimmy settled here. Now you can.”

But Rose merely shook her head, knowing she was about to break her mum’s heart. “No, I mean… we need to get out of the city. Out of London.”

Her mother merely blinked, then furrowed her brow. “What d’you mean? You can’t leave the city, you have nowhere else to go.”

Though she knew her mum didn’t mean it cruelly, Rose’s hackles rose.

“I can go anywhere I’d like,” she snapped.

“But… what’ll you do for work? Your friends are here. I’m here.” Her mother’s voice warbled, and her eyes shone wetly.

Rose’s irritation bled away, leaving her exhausted, which seemed to be her only state of being lately.

“We need a fresh start,” she murmured. “I need a fresh start. And I don’t want to be fightin’ you about it. I really need your support, Mum. Please. I feel like I’m goin’ mad. I’m suffocating.”

Her mother, to her credit, just swallowed thickly and nodded. Rose curled back into her mother’s arms and contented herself to sit quietly while her mum played with her hair like she’d done when Rose was a small child.

“Found anywhere nice?” her mother asked, her voice carrying a forced lightness to it. At least she was trying.

Rose shrugged, but the little neighborhood she’d spotted online was still sticking in her mind. She reached for her phone. “I keep comin’ back to this one.”

She pulled up the house listing for a four-bedroom two-bathroom home in West Sussex, a borough called…

“Crawley?” Her mum wrinkled her nose. “Really, Rose? Sounds all… I dunno… slithery. Snaky.”

Rose giggled. “I know. But isn’t it cute? The boys could have their own room. Their own bathroom too, which’ll be nice when they become teenagers.”

She shuddered at the thought of parenting teenage boys, and forcibly shut those worries down to be dealt with at a later date. “And look. I can make this into a guest room for you.”

Her mother was quiet for a few moments, scrolling through the photographs of the home. Rose knew them all by heart at this point, and had been mentally decorating the space for weeks, as though it was already a done deal that this would be their new home. She hadn’t even seen it in person yet. Hadn’t driven through the neighborhood or its surroundings, and yet, something told her deep down that this was the opportunity she’d been looking for.

“Well,” her mum said after five silent minutes of scrolling through the photos, “my mate Bev has a son who’s in the real estate business. Let me call her up, see if her boy knows someone in this Crawley town. Get us an appointment to see the house.”

Rose melted closer to her mother. “Thank you.”

Her mum’s only response was to kiss the top of her head.

oOoOo

“Here we are!” Rose crowed, ramping up the excitement in an attempt to pass it along to her children.

Matthew was sold, as he had been all morning, nearly vibrating with excitement at moving to a new house. The boy gasped in delight as he took in the semi-detached house they had just pulled into the driveway of. The garage was open, revealing the boxes and pieces of furniture Rose hadn’t yet relocated into the house during the weeks-long preparation for move-in.

The little house Rose had found in Crawley was everything she’d hoped for, and the minute the house tour had ended, Rose had put in an offer. It was a little more money than she’d hoped to spend, but the house was in perfect shape, with no renovations or replacements needed. Plus it was big enough for her little family to grow into for the rest of boys’ childhoods without feeling like too much space.

“Gramma! S’Gramma!” Matthew squealed upon seeing a familiar face step out from the garage. “And Auntie Reenie!”

Rose was forever grateful that her best friend had taken the day off from work to help with move-in day. Her boys adored their auntie, and Shareen told Rose she hoped her presence today would comfort them and assure them that she’d still be a permanent presence in their lives.

David, meanwhile, was stoic and silent, no different than most other days. It squeezed Rose’s heart nevertheless.

“Let’s grab our suitcases and take a look,” Rose said, putting the car in park then exiting to help her youngest out of his car seat.

However, David beat her to it, and had expertly unclipped his brother from his seat before slipping out of the car. Likewise, when Rose opened the boot of the car, David hoisted Matthew’s Jurassic Park suitcase out before grabbing his own Captain America suitcase.

“That was very kind of you,” Rose praised, brushing a hand through her son’s hair. “Thank you for helping your brother.”

David flashed her a small but genuine smile, and knocked his head further into her hand. She took it as an invitation for a hug, which he readily reciprocated.

“Ready?” she whispered into his ear.

“Ready.”

Matthew had left them behind to sprint up to his grandmother and Shareen, so Rose placed a hand on David’s shoulder and kept pace with him until they joined the small group.

“If you’re this excited about the garage, wait ‘til you see inside,” Jackie drawled, ruffling her grandson’s hair.

“Le’s gooooo,” Matthew said, spying the door that led into the house proper.

Rose nodded for her mother to open the door to let her children get their first glimpse into their new home. She half expected Matthew to sprint right in, but instead, her three-year-old galloped to his brother and took his hand.

“David le’s go! Le’s go see! C’mon c’mon c’mon.”

The boys abandoned their suitcases and rushed inside. Rose’s heart hammered with nerves and she picked up her sons’ luggage and followed them in, Shareen right on her heels. While she knew deep in her bones that this fresh start in a new house would be good for her kids—particularly David—it didn’t stop her from fearing they would hate the house and resent her for making them leave behind the life they’d known in the Before Times, when their dad was still alive and life was bright and shining.

Rose followed the sounds of her youngest son’s excited chattering, silently observing her kids take it all in. The garage opened into the kitchen, where Matthew had found the plate of biscuits Shareen must’ve made. Shareen worked part-time at her sister’s bakery, and had picked up quite a few tricks in the baking department. The chocolatey biscuits were melt-in-your-mouth soft and so rich that Rose nearly moaned.

“They’re safe for Mattie, too,” Shareen said when she spotted the three-year-old stuffing almost a whole biscuit into his mouth.

Rose knew that her friend would never bring over any sort of food that would set off Matthew’s lactose intolerance. Shareen was one of the handful of people she trusted to treat her son’s dietary restriction seriously, unlike some of Jimmy’s friends who swore it wasn’t that big of a deal, leaving Rose to deal with the miserable child and his hours-long diarrhea and stomach cramps.

“Thanks, babe,” Rose said, knocking her hip against Shareen’s.

Shareen winked and followed the kids through the new house as they explored.

“Look David, our table! An’ chairs! ‘Dis is where we eat. An’ look, our couch is here too! How’d’it get here?”

Rose stifled a chuckle. How odd it must seem to a child to have all the furniture they were familiar with suddenly in a brand-new location. Like magic.

“Mummy and Grandma moved it here,” Rose said, kneeling behind him and giving him a loose hug. “Remember when we put things in boxes at our old house? Everything you had before is here for you now.”

Matthew gasped. “My dinosaur bed too?”

“Why don’t we see if we can find it,” Rose whispered conspiratorially.

Matthew once again took his brother’s hand before racing off to explore more of the house, hollering, “Where’s my beeeeed?”

The boys streaked right past the living room to the steps that led to the upper floor. The three adults followed dutifully.

“MY DINOSAUR BED!”

Rose was sure the entire damn neighborhood heard her son’s shriek of joy. She poked her head into one of the bedrooms in time to see her three-year-old flop face-first into the duvet with the Jurassic Park logo printed across the front.

“IT’S HERE!” Matthew’s words were muffled into the fabric but the sentiment came across perfectly.

Rose crouched beside her son and rubbed his back. “Are you happy?”

“Oh yeah,” Matthew said, and he turned his head to the side to flash a broad grin at her. It melted her heart almost as much as it broke it, to see her late-boyfriend’s smile on her little boy’s face, and she scooped him up for a hug.

“Hey, wanna see a surprise?” she asked, kissing his chubby cheek.

He nodded vigorously, and watched her like a hawk as she flicked on the inconspicuous black cube that sat perched on his nightstand. It didn’t do anything of note, and Matthew frowned, brow furrowing. 

“Look up,” Rose hinted.

Matthew did, and let out a squeaky “ohmygosh!” as he beheld the blue lit-up pattern of a brachiosaurus on his ceiling.

“A dinosaur light!”

“Mhm. Watch this.” She pressed a button on the side of the lamp, and the long-necked dinosaur changed into a triceratops, also in blue. She pressed the button again, and now a velociraptor projected in blue light on the ceiling.

“My turn, my turn!” Matthew said, peering closely at the button his mother had been using. He pressed it, and gasped in delight to see a stegosaurus projection.

Again and again, Matthew pushed the button until he cycled through all ten dinosaur types the lamp came with.

“I know your favorite color is blue, but let’s see what happens when we touch this button,” Rose said, motioning to the button adjacent to the dino-swapping one.

Matthew dutifully pressed it, and squealed when the tyrannosaurus on his ceiling turned from blue to green. He pressed it again, and it turned from green to red. He cycled through all the colors of the rainbow before returning it to blue.

“‘Dis is the bes’ lamp ever!” He flung himself into her arms and gave her a wet, sloppy kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“What do we say when we get a present?” his grandmother reminded from where she leaned against the door jamb, drinking in the scene before her.

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, baby boy,” Rose said, hugging her child just that much closer, relishing the weight of him in her arms. Before too long, he might not want hugs and kisses from his daft old mum, but for now she cherished the affection her child loved to give and receive. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

Once they’d spent an appropriate amount of time oohing and ahhing over Matthew’s room, the four Tylers and Shareen meandered down the hall towards the second second-floor bedroom. Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she watched David enter the room. 

She’d had such a hard time with decorating her eldest’s bedroom, because lately, he showed no interest in anything at all. With one exception…

“Iron Man! David, s’Iron Man!!”

Just like he’d done in his own room, Matthew flopped onto his brother’s bed, his face buried in the arc reactor in Tony Stark’s chest that was printed upon the duvet.

“Pew pew,” Matthew said, voice muffled.

Rose gnawed on the corner of her thumb, watching David like a hawk.

After Jimmy had died, Rose wasted hardly any time before cleaning out her boyfriend’s things, wanting to get over him as soon as humanly possible. She mostly worked alone, not wanting to upset her kids to see her emptying their flat of anything of their dad’s that she didn’t want or couldn’t use.

Her boyfriend had been an avid comic book reader and collector, ever since she met him when she was fifteen. He must have had hundreds of Marvel comics stashed around their house. Rose piled up the dozen or so boxes of comic books in their living room, intent on reaching out to collectors or other various shops to see if they’d be interested in taking them off her hands. But when she dragged out the last box, she was surprised to see David sitting cross-legged on the floor, an open Captain America comic book in his lap. She silently observed him, barely breathing. For fifteen minutes, Rose stood still as a statue, watching her eldest finish the comic he was on, then move on to a new one.

“Hey,” she’d called quietly.

David jolted, and quickly placed the book back into the box.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

“No, wait. Don’t apologize.” She set the final box on the floor and crouched in front of her son. “Did you like that comic?”

He shrugged, a little too casually, and said nothing more.

“They were your dad’s,” she said unnecessarily. “But I think he’d love for you to have them. Do you want them?”

A spark that had been missing from David’s eyes glowed ever-so-slightly, and he shyly nodded. Rose grinned in encouragement, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Your dad didn’t keep them very organized. I think I see a Spider-Man in there with some Captain Americas. Wanna see what we’ve got to work with?”

Again, David nodded, and without further prompting, folded himself back onto the floor. They’d spend the next hour and a half going through all of the volumes Jimmy had collected over the years. Rose had nearly wept to see her son actively engaging in an activity.

Presently, those comics sat on a bookshelf in the corner of the room opposite the bed, hundreds of thin little books stacked in neat piles. Rose had splurged a bit and ordered action figures of all of the main superheroes David had liked best; those figures decorated the shelves, watching over the book piles that belonged to their respective hero.

David noticed them and smiled. He picked up each action figure, inspecting them carefully, then turned to Rose and skipped up to her, arms opening to fling them around her middle. He squeezed as he whispered, “I love my room. Thanks, Mum.”

Rose’s eyes burned, relieved and overjoyed that her child was excited about something. It had been far too long.

“You’re very welcome, baby boy,” she murmured, using the nickname she hadn’t used for him in over five years. “I love you.”

“Love you,” he parroted, still holding her.

She stroked his hair, breathing him in, then said, “Things’ll get better. You’ll see. This house will be good for us.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I think so too.”

oOoOo

The first day of school always brought about some nerves, what with Rose having gotten used to having her boys home every day for two months, but this year it was almost unbearable. Rose bit her nails down to the quick as she watched the clock relentlessly.

David had seemed fine when she dropped him off at Arcadia Academy that morning, but he always seemed “fine” nowadays. While he wasn’t as sullen and withdrawn as he’d been in the winter and spring months, he was far from the bright, bubbly child she’d known for the first nine years of his life.

Not even the art commissions Rose really ought to work on could distract her from the panic that David was miserable and wasn’t making any new friends and hated that he left all of his old friends behind at his old school.

She had called his teacher, Miss Clara Oswald, a few days before the term began to explain their situation. Clara had been genuinely sympathetic and supportive, and had given Rose the contact information of the school counselor, Mr. Danny Pink, who was supposedly one of the best in the region.

“You can set up appointments for David for the after-school hour, if you’d like. I’d suggest you do that sooner rather than later to get yourself on the schedule. Or I can work with Danny to find a time when David could go during class time.”

“After school sounds preferable,” Rose admitted. “I don’t think returning to class after a therapy session would be… Well, therapy can be hard, is all.”

“Oh, don’t I know it.”

And so Rose had done exactly that: she’d gotten David an appointment with Mr. Pink for every other Wednesday beginning in the middle of September. Hopefully those sessions would help him more than the ones he’d had with his previous school counselor, who’d suggested David distract himself with things he liked to do, and who’d scolded Rose for not doing more to bring David out of his shell.

Rose also hoped her youngest was faring well in his new nursery class. Matthew had been in tears, clinging to her legs and screaming for her not to go when she’d dropped him off. Bless them, the nursery staff waited patiently for him to calm down, and even let Rose stick around for a few extra minutes to show Matthew around his classroom. His teachers, too, knew that Matthew was getting over the death of his father; while he’d adapted much better than his brother, Matthew was much clingier and quicker to melt down than he’d been in the past. The boys’ pediatrician assured Rose this was normal behavior, and all she had to do was love him through this transitory period of his life. The doctor had also helpfully given Rose a few info pamphlets on childhood grief and trauma, just in case.

In the end, Rose had had to leave her whimpering child at the school or else she never would have let him go. Logically, she knew her toddler would be fine after a while, but it didn’t stop her from imagining Matthew sobbing non-stop, thinking his mummy had abandoned him and would never come back for him.

Those heart wrenching visions were enough for her to collect her youngest from nursery a half hour early. She apologized profusely to his teachers, but they seemed to understand the situation, both her perspective and Matthew’s, and merely smiled before leading her to her child.

“He did so well today,” one of the teachers, Miss Ruby, praised. “He settled down about ten minutes after you left. He made a few new friends and did a wonderful job of telling us when he needed to potty.”

Rose nodded absently. “He’s been trained for almost a year now.”

The teachers seemed rather impressed by that, and Rose couldn’t help the little flash of pride. At least she was doing something right, in this parenting department, even if it was as insignificant as teaching her child the proper location to empty his bladder and bowels.

Matthew was squatting beside three other children when Rose poked her head into the classroom. Thanks to having a big brother, Matthew had learned early how to play with other kids, rather than around them. It seemed like the vast majority of children were parallel playing, with a small handful—Matthew included—actually playing with a doll’s house and acting out various family scenes.

She watched quietly, not wanting to disturb the kids, but Matthew happened to glance up and spotted her immediately. He squealed, dropped the toys, and sprinted to her, shouting her name. He barreled into her open arms and wrapped himself completely around her.

“Did you have a good day?” Rose asked, rocking him slowly from side to side.

“Uh huh, I have new friends! C’mon c’mon!” He wriggled, and when she set him on his feet, Matthew grabbed her hand and tugged her to the group he’d been playing with. “Dat’s Jamie an’ Nancy an’ George!”

Rose said hello to the children, who merely blinked at her.

“Dis’s’my mummy!” Matthew said proudly. “I’m goin’ home now. Bye!”

He didn’t wait for a response before tugging on her hand and leading her out of the classroom, as though he’d been doing it his whole life.

David’s school was a few blocks away, so by the time they made the walk, kids were beginning to trickle outside to find their respective adult that would take them home. Cars idled in a long queue, while other parents, like Rose, were gathered around the school grounds to collect their child. While Rose did have a car that she could use to pick her kids up from their respective schools, it was much easier to catch the bus and avoid the traffic.

A handful of teachers stood guard at the school doors and on the walkway leading to the front drive. Rose did a passing glance over the adults shepherding the children out of the building. She spotted David’s teacher, Miss Clara Oswald, leaning casually against the doorframe, chatting with a tall, lanky, brown-haired bloke Rose didn’t know, and a dark-skinned man Rose recognized as the school’s counselor, Mr. Danny Pink.

Rose had told David she would be standing beneath the school’s giant maple tree at pick-up time, so she made a beeline for it, praying her son hadn’t checked there only to find her missing. She was in luck: she waited for all of thirty seconds before she saw the slightly disheveled mousy brown hair of her child among the sea of little blondes, brunettes, and gingers. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a wave before bounding up to her.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered, folding him into her arms and pressing her nose to his hair. “I missed you. Did you have a good day?”

“Mhm,” he replied, giving her a good squeeze before letting her go.

“Make any new friends?”

David shrugged. “It’s the first day. Everyone’s new.”

Rose sighed, but couldn’t exactly fault his answer. She remembered all too well the awkwardness of the first day of school, and how overwhelming it was to meet a new classful of fellow students. It must be doubly awkward for him, not knowing a single soul at the new school. Rose brushed off the ever-present anxiety that screamed at her that she shouldn’t have taken David away from his old friends.

Matthew began chattering to his big brother about his day at nursery, but dutifully allowed Rose to take his hand and guide the two boys to the bus stop a few blocks away that would take them home.

[actual-changeling]

for @ellie-licious, love you meg <3

-

Ellie doesn't sleep.

She should, every cell in her body is begging her for a break, exhaustion puling on her bones, but she can't. Her skin is clean of blood, hair brushed out and tied back again by Joel when she couldn't get her hands to listen to her long enough to do it herself, but still. Ellie can't sleep.

The fire has died down over the last few hours, but the glowing wood continues to ward off the cold, and Joel's chest against her back keeps her warm. It's the safest she has been in ages, knife in her hand, gun a few inches away, and with Joel finally awake and capable of protecting her if needed. For some reason, it makes everything worse.

Paranoia comes to life beneath her skin, bugs crawling all over her body, making her itch, and her breaths are oddly light without the weight of her panic, only Joel behind her keeping her tethered to the ground or she would float away with the last wisps of smoke rising from the campfire. Whenever she closes her eyes, there's none of the darkness she would welcome at this point, just a sea of red pulsating to the beat of her heart.

Joel's left hand rests on the wooden floorboards below them right beside her thigh, fingers splayed out to keep them from shaking; the tremors started when he brushed against her hip and she flinched so violently it almost send both of them toppling to the floor. They still haven't stopped. Maybe she should be the one shaking, but despite the electricity in her veins jerking her back to the present whenever she gets too close to drifting off, her body is cold and still.

She feels like a statue, pristine marble forever changed by the imprints of angry hands around her wrists, her arms, her chest, her-

No amount of sculpting will smooth out the marks she will have to carry around with her until her body finally gives out and decomposes, peace and innocence found only in the cool dirt where fire and ash can no longer reach her, safe from the snow.

"Joel."

It is the first word she has said since he found her, and Ellie slides down a bit when he shifts, startled, hands fluttering uselessly in her periphery, too scared to touch, of what her reaction might reveal. She hasn't been able to look at him, not since he washed the blood off her face with movements so gentle her mind almost didn't trust them to be genuine.

Ellie turns around now and kneels in front of him, lowering the knife to the floor, vision so clear his features are almost piercingly bright.

"Joel, I'm cold."

Hold me, she wants to say, would say if her voice wasn't so broken she is scared it will turn soft words sharp. Make it go away, make me feel something else, something good.

She is still wearing the same sweatshirt, blood sprinkled along the neckline, smelling of metal and smoke and whatever remains of her innocence, and she can't decide if she wants to throw it into the fire and see it go up in flames or keep it close to her chest as a reminder that he is dead, that she killed him, that he won't come after her.

Joel is quiet, features pained, concerned, rage barely contained, and she wonders if seeing him kill David would have brought her the same relief or if this was something she simply had to do on her own.

Help me.

His hands are safe, she has seen them damaged and bloodied after beating someone to death for her, felt them taking hers and pulling her behind him, the last line of defense between her and a world that seemed determined to take the parts everyone else had left behind, too rotten for them to be of use.

The knife clatters to the floor, knuckles aching with the sudden relief, and then she is falling into him, clinging to his chest and begging him to cling to her, too, to not let her drift away or seep into the frozen dirt, to keep her alive, real. Joel is warm, so warm, his body melting beneath her and rearranging itself to spin a cocoon around her, weaving and stitching his words into her skin. He smells like fire and gunpowder, protection, like blood and the basement she knows will be haunting both their dreams, still alive, like cold snow and the promise of spring.

I got you, baby girl. I've got you right here.

[morganas-pendragons]

Blood Stained Booths | Joel Miller

Filling in this request:

hi sweet thing!

can i req the fight scene with david in tlou but instead of ellie, it's the reader and joel comforts her in the same fashion?

warnings: descriptions of violence 

update: I intended to have this out by the time episode 4 aired, but I'm the maid of honor in my cousin’s wedding and my mental health is TRASH right now, coupled with the fact I’ve barely had time to do ANYTHING I enjoy. this is 1/2 requests I currently have in my inbox. they’re still open, as I do want to write for Joel, and I'm hoping to have the other one out by episode 5. please be patient! :) 

tag: @ironmandeficiency​ @kayleezra​

***

In a universe where Ellie's sister meets David instead of Ellie...

He'd seemed nice, at first. They always do. Everyone out in this world is coming from an angle, looking to prey on whatever weaknesses they can exploit.

Your weakness seems to be Joel. Or, to David, whoever you're currently trying so hard to get your catch back home to.

The only problem is that you won't tell him where or who that is.

Better you then Ellie, right? She's still so young. It doesn't matter that what little innocence she does have is gone. If there's even the slightest possibility of it remaining, you will move heaven and earth to ensure she can keep it for as long as she can.

That was part of the reason why you offered to go hunting for her. Give her time with Joel - in the off chance your luck ran out and he really did leave you - and you time to gather your thoughts and prepare for that possibility.

You'd lost track of how much you cried. You had only just allowed yourself to accept that you were in love with Joel. To even consider a future that he was not a part of when he'd become so.. critical to who you were now, being the object of your desires and a quiet promise for a future, was not something you were willing to do.

That was why you agreed to go with David. To do what he needed you to do because all you wanted was the meds: And David made promises to give them to you.

You should've known better. You should've known that everything came with a cost.

***

You'd left with a whisper of a kiss and a promise of return. The air was cold, bitter cold, and the only thing that Ellie could really do to occupy the time she now had on her hands was tell stories to Joel.

Joel, who didn't hear a word of them, but she knew he was there. She knew he was there because not one time did she move her hand away from where it was pressed over where his heart beat.

His heart was still beating. He was still alive.

Joel might not have been present in the moment but she told her stories anyway. It was the only distraction from thinking about all the things that could potentially be happening to you.

***

He's too nice. He's nice in that way that makes your skin crawl because he just wants to know too much.

After returning to the shack where the three of you had initially had your first conversation, you shouldered the rifle he'd given you and watched as David knelt to tend to the fire he'd built beforehand. You were trying not to let your mind run idle to Joel and Ellie and if they were dealing with the bitter cold as well as you were.

Thank God for gloves.

"You've got gloves!" David remarks. "I’m jealous, especially with this cold. That's lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," You mutter. "Next you're gonna tell me everything happens for a reason."

David nods. "I do believe everything happens for a reason, ma'am," He says. "There was an incident a few weeks back where I sent out a group of my men to scout the surrounding areas. Only a few came back. They had told me that the rest had been slaughtered by, and get this, a crazy old man, a woman with a shotgun, and a little girl."

Your blood runs cold.

Despite the palpable tension in the air and the way you refuse to deviate from where you've aimed the rifle at David's chest, he gives you the medicine anyway. He gives you the medicine but now your skin is crawling and every atom of your being is screaming at you to run.

You know they'll catch you if you run.

It's better to do the thing people never expect when they took at you: Manipulate. Manipulate your way out, and that's what will keep you alive.

But again... you still don't know the cost.

Will it be your life or his?

***

Joel wakes with a strangled cry of your name. His dreams had been bathed by fire and doused in blood, and the last thing he'd seen before being woken to the bitter cold and worried expression of Ellie at his side was you.

You. Dead, gone, vacant eyes staring into nothing from the floor beside the blood stained booths.

  “Joel?” Ellie is standing frozen in the doorway that leads out of the garage, trembling hands wrapped around a newly steamed can of soup. She clearly hadn’t anticipated him being awake yet. 

  “Yeah-” His tongue is drier then the Sahara and his mouth tastes like it’s had blood sit in it too long, but he’s alive. His heart is beating. That is lucky. “Yeah, kiddo. ‘M here.” 

And then Ellie is off in her usual rambles, but this time it's clear concern over the fact that her sister has not come back yet. You were supposed to go find medicine for Joel’s injuries. 

That’s when he finally feels it. It’s not the same piercing, agonizing pain he’d felt upon impact with the rebar. It’s lessened considerably but there’s still enough to hurt. 

Dark eyes flicker to the windows of the garage door. Joel’s stomach is turning just with the thought of something happening to you. When the images from his dream flicker in and out like the scenes from a movie behind his heavy eyelids, he squares his jaw and winces as he slowly rises at the waist to sit up on the mediocre thing they’ve called a mattress. 

  “We’re gonna go get her.” 

The look she gives him is sharp enough to cut through glass. “You’re delusional,” Ellie snaps. “And were, until recently, half dead. Unless you intend to bring me with you? It’s a hard no from me.”

Well, Joel isn’t in the state to argue. 

That's why he lets a fourteen year old help half drag him out into the snow in search of you. 

You better not be dead, Sunshine. 

And God help anyone who even threatens to try to hurt you. 

*** 

You broke his finger. You’d sauntered up to the cell door, all sweet and seductive to try and get him within your vicinity, and then he’d howled as you snapped his finger through the bars. 

David slammed your head against the door in retaliation, which was most likely why you weren’t seeing straight as you stumbled through the snow storm in search of the closest place to hide after your impromptu escape. 

It was also likely how he was able to track you. Injured meant slow, and slow meant dead. 

The only thing keeping you conscious was the thought of being able to fall into Joel’s arms when all was said and done. Even if you got back and he was dying, you’d hold him until he went cold. 

Because that’s what you do for people you love. 

The restaurant is engulfed in flames now. You’re stuck, truly stuck, and the only way to get out of here is by charging David directly and taking him on in a fight. 

So be it. 

The sound you let out as you charge David from behind and drive your knife deep into his shoulder blade sounds like a wounded animal.. Like you’re tired of being in hiding, tired of the running, tired of acting like you’re afraid. You drive your knife in just enough to make him throw you off his back, and then you’re diving for the nearest booth as his machete very nearly makes contact with your arm. 

A bullet flies over our shoulder. You keep running anyway, desperately blinking black spots from your vision. 

His fist slams into your temple as you crawl toward your knife. You can feel your strength draining away, and your resolve with it. Maybe it would be better if Ellie was with Joel when he goes. She’s the one he loves. 

It’s okay. You’ll make your peace with it in the end. 

  “You know, it’s okay to give up,” David jeers. “There’s no shame in it.” He pauses as you trudge forward and ignore his snide remarks. “Mmm... guess not. Not really your style, is it? Seems like you’ve got something to fight for!” 

He flashes in front of your eyes, even as your fingers graze the wound to your head and come back red. 

Hm. 

David’s fingers are forcefully tangling in your hair to press your head to the floor as he straddles you from behind. “You can try begging.” 

  “Screw you.” 

And then his fingers are wrapping around your throat and squeezing. Squeezing and squeezing and squeezing just long enough that your fingers can wrap around the hilt of the machete and pull. 

The machete comes down. Once, twice, three times, more. You keep seeing Joel. His smile. The one time your sister made him laugh. The way your body involuntarily shivers when you act like your ankle is acting up just so you have an excuse to ask him to help you walk. He does. It usually involves his arm around your waist. 

His fingerprints are branded onto the skin of your hip now. 

The booths once reddened by the fabric they’re made of are now stained with blood. 

Those blood stained booths hold the memory of what was your first brutal kill. 

They also hold the memory of the first time Joel held you like you were his last precious thing to protect, to cherish, to cradle. To preserve something that Joel felt so perfectly encompassed the beauty this world was robbed of. 

If Ellie was the innocence lost, 

You were the beauty taken. 

  “Sunshine! Sunshine, stop-” And then he’s there, there and real and alive, cradling your face in his hands and wiping the blood away from under your eyes with your thumbs. Just the sight of those dark irises is enough to reduce you to tears. “It’s me. It’s me, I promise, it’s just me.” 

You barely have the breath to get the words out. Everything hurts. It always hurts, even more around him. “The things I thought he was gonna do,” You murmur shakily, clutching the fabric of his jacket to try and steady yourself. “Joel-” 

  “Sh... darlin,” He’s quick to hide you in his chest as he surveys the building to ensure there is no other perpetrators hiding around corners before hiding his face in your hair and thanking whatever God may still exist that you are still here too. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

That’s the first time he nearly says it. Those three words he never thought he’d feel again, never allow himself to experience again. 

It’s okay. It’ll be his own secret for now. It’s too precious to say aloud. Saying aloud means it’s more likely that you’ll be taken from him too early. 

Joel’s heart can’t handle that again. 

As you leave the smoldering remains of the restaurant, Joel is deliberate in his choice to hold your hand as tightly as he can, smoothing the pad of his thumb across blood stained knuckles. 

Joel will wash them clean as much as he is able. It’s the least you deserve. 

If Ellie was the innocence lost, and you the beauty taken, Joel is what remains of the men who devout their entire lives to ensuring that those who remain like you both continue to be that way. He is the protector. 

And God help anyone who tries to keep him from it.