#and develop in unexpected ways so it doesn’t feel like there’s nothing going on

[lovechoerrymagic]

after i finish toradora i think i’m gonna rewatch/catch up on haikyuu!! i miss all my lil volleyball guys :(

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Summary: Lt. Riley sure has been taking a lot of smoke breaks lately. Strange that you always seem to disappear at the same time too.

Author's Note: Just a quick little one shot I came up with to get me back into the swing of things and give you all a little snack for what's to come.

“Again?” Soap questions as he watches the lieutenant stand up from the back of the table, cigarette pack in hand. “Ye have a real problem mate. Swear yer married te those things these days, always havin’ te go out fer another smoke. Ye should get some help fer yer addiction, L.T.”

Lt. Riley doesn’t stop to reply, moving his chair back in without missing a beat. “Maybe I’m just tryin’ ta have an excuse to fuckin’ leave so ya can’t persuade me into stayin’ for more of your inane drivel,” he returns dryly. “ ‘Sides, it’s gettin’ late.”

Soap rolls his eyes skeptically at the statement. “Whatever ye say,” he chuckles, brushing off the comment like nothing and letting the lieutenant walk off without consequence, something rare for the mouthy sergeant, but Lt. Riley is too preoccupied to pay it much attention.

From your place at the table, you carefully sneak glances to watch as the hulking form of your superior locks eyes with you for only a second before he makes his way over to the door of the mess hall and opens it to step out into the night air. You force yourself not to linger too long in his direction, redirecting your attention back to your fellow operatives that still sit around you chatting even though dinner had ended some time ago.

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to pick right back up where it left off, though you stay silent as you slowly try to fade yourself out of the group without anyone noticing your absence. The heated topic of the best explosive types has everyone engaged and you see your opportunity to leave and slip out undetected.

Too bad you don't notice a couple eyes dart your way before they turn back to one another to share a knowing look and a smirk. Yet nothing is said out loud and you make it out with incident.

Stepping out into the cool night, you find it odd that there are no signs of life near the door, no 6’4” military officer propped against the brick smoking. The unexpected absence makes your heart leap, but as you let your eyes adjust to the dark you catch movement off to your side. At the edge of the building you can just make out the dissipating wispy trail of vapor as it floats up towards the sky. Bingo, that’s what you are looking for. Turning your feet in the direction of the smoke, you make your way over, the soles of your shoes crunching over the gravel scattered along the ground and echoing off the walls of the building. You don’t have far to go and as soon as your body rounds the corner, your wrist is grabbed up by long fingers into the palm of a large, rough hand.

You know this grip intimately.

“Lookin’ for somethin’, pretty girl?” the familiar gruff voice hits your ears as your body is pushed back first into the rough surface of the wall.

Tilting your head up, you look directly into that skull-masked face and instantaneously a smile spreads across your lips. “Was looking for someone, actually,” you answer confidently, a bit of playfulness to your tone.

Hooking your thumbs through the front belt loops on his jeans, you pull him in closer so that he is pinned against you. “And wouldn’t you know, I just found him,” you say.

Fuck, did you have to play on his one weakness so early?

“Was wonderin’ when you’d fuckin’ break away,” he chuckles to disguise that fact that your little maneuver has caused his pulse to race violently through his veins.

Those large, greedy hands find their place on the curve of your hips and he wonders if you can feel his thudding heartbeat through his touch as he stands there in the silence with you. He’s waiting patiently for what comes next, the simple ritual you've developed that you put into practice whenever you’re alone together. Right now he is still under the guise of Ghost and only you can bring out the man behind the mask.

Searching his chest to find the neckline of his shirt, you dig your fingers inside and find the edge of the fabric keeping his face hidden from you. You tug at the balaclava to free it before you pull it up and off his features, bunching it together and pushing it to the top of his head so that he wears it like a beanie. And suddenly there he is: not Ghost, not Lt. Riley, but Simon, your Simon in the flesh once again.

“Didn’t want to make it too obvious,” you return as you take him all in, fingertips following the line of his cheek, “the others aren’t that oblivious; they’ll put two and two together if given enough clues. We could get caught, you know. How long till they figure out that I always seem to go missing whenever you go for a smoke?”

There is a coolness on your hip now as one of his hands finds its way around the back of your neck to hold you in place as his thumb smoothly caresses over the delicate skin of your cheek in long, slow strokes. “Don’t care anymore,” he mutters as his gaze lingers at your eyes before they drift down to your full lips. There is a yearning in his chest watching them part as he drags that same thumb heavily across the length and it blooms as he hears the quiet sigh you release at feeling his touch over that sensitive bit of skin.

“It’s gettin’ harder and harder ta keep my hands to myself whenever you’re ‘round.”

He leans in as he holds you steady by the back of the head, his face getting closer and closer until his balmy breath wafts over your bottom lip. It’s intoxicating the way the presence of your mouth lingering just out of reach makes the skin on his tingle with anticipation and he suspends you both in the tantalizing feeling of the moment for a few seconds without speaking, just letting the sensations play out.

The agonizing depth of his need pools in the pit of his stomach, making him clench his hand around your spine as it overwhelms his body. “Don’t wanna have ta keep holdin’ back.”

Being pressed against you, you can easily feel him take in a shuddered breath. “Get such a fuckin’ cravin’ for your lips sometimes it feels like I’m goin’ insane,” he whispers the words into your face, his nose gliding against the tip of your own as his mouth ghosts over yours until you tremble in his grasp as his temptation overwhelms you.

Your heartbeat pounds hard against your ribcage and you can hear it in your head. His intensity is enough to make you dizzy, your vision hazy at best as you are consumed with him and only him. No one has ever had this much control over you, but with Simon it is effortless the way he owns all the free space in your mind so that it takes the most minimal effort to have you falling apart, melting in his hands.

In the shadow of the mess hall, hidden in the dark with just you and him, the world seems to completely fall away. Whatever waits outside that moment for you both is forgotten, pushed aside to make room for the need you share for each other.

“Simon,” you moan his name, your eyes fluttering closed as your desperation overtakes you and leaves you begging for him to break the distance still between you.

God, the way his name falls so sweetly from your lips makes him just as feral now as it did the first time he heard you use it. He is insatiable in the way he is willing to do anything just to hear you say it again.

The air outside tonight is cool, but the atmosphere between your bodies is heated from the sticky, warm breath that you both share between your mouths, the proximity of your bodies, the rise in blood pressure that makes your skin hot to the touch. It’s getting harder to breathe and yet the thought of you pulling away from him before he can get his fill of you is torture.

“Swear I’ve never missed someone tha way I miss ya when I have ta stay away,” he says, followed quickly by a groan into your face as you place your palm on his sternum to feel the weighty rise and fall of his broad chest.

Your touch is exhilarating and suddenly his whole body is aroused as if struck by lightning. Unintentionally, his hips move on instinct and begin to grind into yours, the growing bulge in the crotch of his pants making him desperate for more friction and you immediately meet his need with your own. That last shred of his sanity is waning fast the more you both rub yourselves against each other until out of the haze filling his mind and distracting him from his goal he finally finds the last bit of clarity to speak before he completely falls apart.

“Christ, I will never get enough of ya, sweetheart.” And with a brief pause, Simon inhales and leans in hungrily to capture your lips with his.

His mouth dominates your own with urgency, as if at any moment you will be snatched from his hands and he will be left starving for the sensation of your mouth tangling with his.

Your back is slammed into the uneven texture of the brick, jagged bits of clay grating the skin of your back through your t-shirt from the force of your lieutenant aggressively capturing your mouth over and again. Sweet spit and heated lips mingling as he insatiably devours your kiss to leave a wreck of flesh behind on the lower half of your face that only burns for more of his embraces.

Shrouded in the dark your bodies melt together with yours being swallowed by the bulk of his, those bulging muscles along his abdomen pressing into you, pinning you to the wall until you can hardly catch your breath. You hold onto him to keep him from drifting, two tight fists balled up with his shirt as your need overwhelms every sense in an intensity that is shared like an electrical current through your bodies.

Large, coarse hands cup around your face, tilting your head upward to him as his tongue juts out from between his teeth and over his lips to prod against yours until you open your mouth and allow him to shove it in. That thick muscle fills the cavity full as he explores, feeling you, tasting you, memorizing the inside of your mouth. The nicotine on his breath is still pungent from the cigarette that is glowing discarded on the ground at your feet, its sharp notes dancing over the surface of your taste buds as you suck on his tongue.

His knee finds its way between your legs, pressing up into the wall behind you so that the bulk of his thigh is pushed against the mound of your sex, giving you access to something you can ride as your desire intensifies. The stimulation is like a catalyst and without hesitation you begin to roll your hips into it.

Simon is pawing desperately at your clothing to get beneath it and make contact with as much soft, warm skin as his hands can enjoy when a sudden loud clang somewhere close by breaks you both out of the spell of your lust. Two heads return side to side in search for the source of the noise, only to find that nothing is out of place. But the moment is broken and you are both now fully aware of how exposed you are just out in the open.

“Meet at mine after lights out, yeah?” Simon says through heavy panting, holding your face cupped between his hands as he struggles to gain back his composure, at least enough to cross base without drawing attention to himself and the bulge straining against the front of his jeans.

You nod, scrambling to regulate your own quick breathing.

He quickly pulls your face back in for one more feverish kiss before releasing you, pulling down his mask, and briskly heading off into the night. It's still about an hour you have left to wait and though you know that it isn't that long in the grand scheme of things, as you clench your thighs together, you know it won't come soon enough.

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

Imagine GER just finding darling and bringging them to Giorno out of nowhere (as a first meeting, Giorno not knowing darling beforehand)

My stand brought in a stranger and I end up obsessed with them?! That’s a wild thought for Giorno honestly.

Also don’t ask me how this devolved into a weird mix of headcanon/scenario either

I’m seeing somehow, some way, GER anticipated Giorno’s potentially developing feelings for you. He’d be so bewildered his own stand brought him a person, it’s so unexpected that the two of you end being confused not quite sure what to do at first. Since Giorno is the head of the mafia now, he has all sort of potential issues that could arise in it, thus leading you into danger.

There’s really no time in being upset at his stand, there really isn’t a point either. The blond decides to profusely apologize firstly, and he’s not quite sure how you got here. He puts on the gentlest smile he can muster deciding to guide you through this confusing situation. Ironically all of this worrying about you, probably leads to an obsession.

He of course has Mista help him through this, and to no surprise his jaw is wide open when Giorno straight tells him his stand brought you there.

You are eventually taken home, with seeing little of the estate Giorno was staying on. He distracts you as much as possible with casual conversation, he even rides home with you, knowing that’s still a compromising position on both his and your end. He’s certain you’ve accepted what happened and will likely keep it to yourself. The blond could likely leave it be, if he drops it now everything would be fine…

He doesn’t end up dropping it however, it starts off slow, with him keeping an eye out for any increase in crime in your area. Small little excuses that Giorno tells himself needs to be addressed. He ends up figuring out where you work, maybe stages a few people around other local businesses. Unbeknownst to you, you were now under the protection of the mafia.

Any criminal issues, or even abusive behavior is abruptly addressed and taken care of, it’s almost frightening how quick it happens. You’re rather unnerved at how some people look the other way when you walk by. Especially those you might have had a hard time with. There’s a few times you feel like you’re followed, but nothing comes of it. But hey that little garden you had bloomed to life so much, it looked like something out of a fantasy.

You had a feeling who was responsible for all of this, aside from the garden. (You had no clue Giorno was behind helping that flourish). What were you supposed to say? You couldn’t exactly call the police? And you knew people would just tell you to keep your head down. Did you do something wrong?

Ah your heart was starting to palpitate from panicking, one of your coworkers asked if you were alright. You tell them you think you need to go lie down, luckily they were understanding and happy to cover the rest of your shift. Leaving you to walk home shortly after lunch, your eyes casted down on the ground.

Nothing would happen…it would be okay. Yeah, just breathe….

Getting home your hands tremble while putting your key into the keyhole. A click and turn later you rushed inside, until you spot something in your kitchen. It wasn’t there this morning, at least not in the state and type of flowers that were there.

A vase that you usually put cut flowers in, which before you were left for work were in a sad, wilting state, and needed to be composted or thrown out, were replaced by a gorgeous bouquet. There was even a butterfly on one of the petals, slowly opening and closing its wings. You couldn’t really keep your eyes off it either…

It was beautiful, but it sent a sense of dread through you rather than comfort they usually would. Who ended up placing those there? They seemed to know what they had been doing with how they were cut.

Poor butterfly, did it accidentally get trapped in here too? You could at least relate to the feeling of being trapped. Free to roam but enclosed in a strange space at the same time? Was that really freedom?

[leosficlist]

Post Series 2 Rec List

Compiled for you here is a collection of BBC Johnlock stories that diverge from canon after the Reichenbach Falls, and Sherlock's time away. A few include Johnlock pre-TRF, but most focus on their relationship developing after Sherlock's return.

Phantom Vibrations by camerasparring 2.3k words

John knows exactly how Sherlock functions. Sherlock constantly needs to know where John is.

notes: fluffy, follows John recounting all the times Sherlock has disappeared on him until he returns for good

Always by addicted2hugh locked 6k words

A study in Sherlock, or: The years it took John Watson to fall in love

notes: their relationship pre and post reichenbach

The Zebra Sheets by agirlsname @agrlsname 13.7k words

Sherlock is back from the dead and he's exhausted. So is John. They go on a holiday to a faraway cottage and unexpected truths are revealed.

notes: loved the pacing, felt so dreamy and sensual, they just adore each other so much

Hesitance. by Ireallydontcare443 3k words

Sherlock begins to notice certain parts of his behaviour have changed... drastically, and eventually so does John.

notes: Sherlock has ptsd after returning from the fall, and John fumbles while trying to help him the best he can.

Practising by liriodendron 5.7k

"Sherlock Holmes’ return to 221B Baker Street had gone, initially, exactly as he had expected. Upon discovering him sprawled nonchalantly in the sitting room when returning from a shift at the surgery, John had punched him in the jaw. Twice. That had, of course, been a near inevitability and any other reaction would have been cause for worry."

notes: John is lovely, Sherlock goes a bit stir crazy with how much he loves John, John flirting and teasing Sherlock

as we are defined by the_arc5 4.8k words

People assume things about them, but nobody really gets it. Nobody really understands what they are. Of course, John isn't quite sure he understands, either.

notes: John thinking he is worth nothing to Sherlock and pining for him before the fall, getting together after Sherlock's return

Pulse by FinAmour 3.5k words

“I can’t believe you left me this way,” he says to me with an expression of immeasurable sadness. “And there are countless things I need to know.”

Heaving a sigh, he tightens his grip around my wrists. “But not now. All I need to know now, Sherlock, is that you're real.”

He stands there silently, eyes closed, feeling the beat of my heart at his fingertips, and he doesn’t let go for a very long time.

Sweet Thing by peevee 2.4k

In the living room, jars covered every surface.

Clusters of them - every shade from the palest gold to treacly black - on the floor and on the tables, piled on the mantelpiece and on the chairs.

notes: Sherlock nudging himself back into John's life after the fall, no Mary, kissing covered in honey

Survival Instinct by shirleyholmes 7.1k words

Prompt: After Sherlock's "comeback" John starts obsessing with constantly making sure he's alive (checking his heartbeat etc.)

“Don’t. Just- come in. It’s cold and—you look like you came—“

“Back from the dead?” Sherlock suggested.

notes: checking pulse, John coping with Sherlocks return, nightmares, overall fluff

Victory Shag by  loveanddeathandartandtaxes for scullyseviltwin 3.5k

It becomes habit. Solve a stressful case; have sex.

notes: fwb to lovers

Things We Swore We'd Never Do by liriodendron 2.7k words

After hunting down the last of Moriarty's network, Sherlock finally returns home to John. John's response surprises them both. Not entirely devoid of emotional content, but pretty much PWP.

' “Okay…” said John slowly, straightening his shirt. “That was…um…unexpected.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe we should…talk…?”

“Talk. Yes. Definitely,” Sherlock agreed absently, eyes fixed on John like a hawk’s, watching his every movement.

“Good, yes, quite… we should…sit and…talk…”

And then they collided again, as if drawn by an elemental force.'

The Mission to Flirt by MutedSilence 9k words

Turns out John has been staring at Sherlock like a love sick teen. Greg decides that John just needs to flirt. So, he does. Sort of. He certainly tried to at least.

notes: lighthearted, found from searching ‘fluff’ & ‘first kiss’, John figuring out how to flirt with Sherlock

All This Time by stopthat 3.6k words

It’s something we struggle with, still, after all this time.

“We share a life,” John says, eyes searching. “Have you ever wanted anything more from me?”

notes: first ch is Sherlock's pov, second ch is John's pov, stumbling love confessions and first kiss.

Quickly Run Away by stopthat 5.3k words

A few weeks after Sherlock's return, he drags John to his childhood home in Yorkshire. There's just something about the place. It says a lot about how Sherlock views their relationship, he supposes, that he’s brought him here—or it would, if it were anyone else.

Lush by stopthat 3.6k words

They stare at each other for entirely too long, suddenly unwilling to break their shared gaze.  John looks, as he often does, like he has something to say.  But then the barman flips on the overhead bulbs, dousing the pub in horrible fluorescent light, and with a small sigh he stands, a bit wobbly on his feet, and hauls Sherlock up with him.

[admirationandromantics]

Christ this is self indulgent and u can def skip if u dont wanna do this but

headcanons on older!ceo!Chris who ends up crushing on younger!alt!reader?... omg.. it would be like the worlds most unexpected pairing and he's just like obsessed with her because he definitely has always had a thing for alternative women 😵‍💫

she makes him feel young and alive lemme tell you...

( IT SHOULD BE ME DAMN IT )

Yeah hun, it should be you (or me, but whatever). Okay, so just to lower your expectations, I’m not that good at writing age gap stuff, or just people in completely different phases in their life, so please don’t go too hard on me. Anyway, I really like the thought of this, and of course I’ll deliver for my favorite requester <3

He’s the CEO of some big tech company, which actually started with him just developing a small office app, which then exploded and expanded. 

You meet at a conference, and your eyes immediately go for him, a little older than you usually would go for, but look at him! Not shameful at all, but you make your way there, asking about him and why he’s there. He’s enchanted by your energy and interest. You’re young, but still interested in all of this? 

You’re an app reviewer, and just writes about the negative and positive aspects of new developed games, tools and designs. No wonder, but you’re quite the nerd. You and Chris get the conversation going, everything flowing graciously. That is, until a man walks up and whispers something in his ear and he excuses himself. 

A bit defeated, you bite your lip. As if something was going to happen, right? He’s a real man, older, life planned and settled. You just got this job, and have been doing fine in your small apartment for a couple of years. Suddenly, the microphone turns on, and the conference starts. To your shock, this “Chris” is THE Christopher Hartley. You can’t divert your gaze from him, watching intently as he explains something you’re not paying attention to. His eyes meet yours, and a small smile creeps upon his lips. 

After this, he gives you his number, so now all the cards are in your hands. After a couple of days, you finally decide to text him. Nothing much, just asking if he’s up for grabbing a coffee. Of course, he replies straight away!

You go on your coffee date, a bit of tension, but that’s gone as soon as you start talking. You guys literally talk for hours upon hours, about video games, movies, and a bunch of other stuff. Chris feels in his element again, especially considering he doesn’t have as many friends his age who would want to talk about this. 

No wonder, he develops a major crush on you. Asking you out to dinner and cafe dates, a romantic undertone to absolutely everything. He starts getting nervous and fidgety all the time, hands often having a mind of themselves. For example, while leading you out, it rests on your lower back, or when helping you down, it grabs your hand in his. Small, gentle touches which makes both your stomachs flutter. 

FInally, he invites you over, telling you that he’s got one of the games you’ve been talking about. You sit beside each other on the couch in his fine home. Not wearing his usual suit, but rather a set of comfier clothes. 

Little does he know, you thought this invite was for something else. Hopes were getting up, core was getting heated. You were even wearing a matching set! Hot and bothered, occasionally rubbing your thighs together. Chris notices, basically spying on you from the side, watching intently and imagining freaky stuff. Oh, shit. He’s wearing sweatpants. Were you really doing all this, right next to him? 

He pauses the game, and you’re so flustered you can’t come up with a response. Before you know it, his lips are on yours, slowly testing the waters. You don’t have time for taking this slow, so you press yourself against him, leaning over and straddling him. “Fucking hell” he mutters against your lips, hands starting to wander as he's been craving all this time.

[duckprintspress]

“A Truth Universally Acknowledged”: Teaser Post the First

Happy Sunday everyone! The crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology, A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice,” is off to an awesome start. Four days in, we’re nearly 70% funded already! This campaign only runs through December 5th, so we’ve got a ways to go and not much time to get there, so do be on the lookout and if you want to back, don’t miss your chance.

We have a LOT of contributors to this anthology, and not a lot of days of campaign, so I’ll be packing a lot of teasers into each post over the next week and a half. Today, I’m sharing crops by two artists and excerpts from three stories! 

-

Story Teaser: A. D. Williams

Title: Silk Gloves and Second Chances

Excerpt:

Caroline had never thought of herself as anything less than sincere. Had she danced around the truth at times? Of course. A lady was not to give away her true feelings unless it benefitted her. She had learned early on to smile and titter, elegant fingers lifted to her lips. To turn her head as she dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, wisps of carefully curled hair doing their utmost to hide the lack of moisture. As long as one had developed the skill, it was not difficult to shift a gentleman’s opinion.

She had thought, for a time, that all women were like her if they held sufficient wit. That they all played the same game together, keeping a careful eye on their cards and hiding the winning hand against their breast.

Until Miss Bennet.

-

Art Teaser: Max Jason Peterson

Title: Dueling Darcy

-

Story Teaser: E. V. Dean

Title: Along the Way

Excerpt:

I thought the envelope would be thicker. More money than I’ve ever seen, yet thinner than my thumb. Beige. Unimpressive.

It’ll take me forever to pay it off. Hell, the way the prices are going, gouged by war and greed, I’ll have to sell my kidney to settle it.

I need that envelope so I can leave his suffocating flat. I had expected Daniel’s home to reek with old money and new tech, but was met with a shrine to adventure in places I couldn’t afford to even dream of: regional art, foreign instruments, travel photos. The couple eating diamond-shaped fruit straight from a strange tree in the photograph behind Daniel seem to laugh at me.

Daniel puts the envelope down with a thump and covers it with his clean, pampered nails. “What do you need it for, Martha?”

I don’t like his tone or his question. He agreed to give me the money when I begged for it; now he might take it away if he doesn’t like my answer. Like it’s even his damn business.

Yet as long as the money is in his hands, I have to play by his rules.

“My sister’s missing.”

-

Art Teaser: Jagoda Zirebiec

Title: Moonlight

-

Story Teaser: Genevieve Maxwell

Title: Must Be in Want of a Wife

Excerpt:

Thoughts of Maria Lucas persisted long after the guests had left for their own dwellings and estates. Surprise suffused Georgiana as she caught a glimpse of her moony expression in the reflective surface of a decorative wall panel. That was an expression she hadn’t seen on her face in years—not since she’d almost made the biggest mistake of her life. The initial surprise soon dissipated, and Georgiana couldn’t help but realize she was excited—not frightened—by the prospect of her crush. There was nothing artful about Maria Lucas, so she felt safe from repeating the mistakes of her past. In fact, Georgiana was looking forward to spending her weeks in Hartfordship with a lovely, unexpected friend.

-

Be on the look out! There’ll be more teasers out every day now through the second-to-last day of the campaign (skipping Thursday, sorry). We hope you love them!

Interested in what we’ve shared? Check out our Kickstarter campaign today!

[houseoffourcats]

What Do You Need to Know Right Now? Pick a Pile & Find Out!

22 July 2023

CW: Illustrated nudity

If you like this reading, please leave feedback! Also, if you’d like your own personalized reading, check out my Etsy page. Thanks for your support!

Pile One:

The Chariot - II of Cups (Reversed) - VII of Wands (Reversed)

This reading went in an unexpected direction, with the powerful indication of movement toward victory depicted in the Chariot paired with two Minor Arcana cards that seem to contradict its positive connotations. With both Minor Arcana cards reversed, though, it seems to me that they’re linked in such a way that their upright meanings should also be considered.

The Chariot indicates that you will be finding a strong sense of purpose (if you haven’t already), and will be going at full speed toward this goal. It’ll be at a pace that works for you, though; not careless, but focused and exhilarating. There’s a problem, though: in the way of your charge forward will be one of your closest relationships. This is someone you’ve been inseparable from for a long time, with whom you’re on the same wavelength. Maybe it’s that you will have been neglecting a friendship in favor of pursuing a romantic partner, or putting aside a relationship in favor of working all the time toward a work-related or creative goal. If your focus were to be directed toward a cause, it may be something that alienates the other person, making them feel like they don’t even know you anymore.

The presence of the reversed VII of Wands next to the reversed II of Cups strongly suggests that you will need to step back from pursuing your goal to protect this relationship. You’ll have to back down on something important in this. Either way it will leave a bad taste in your mouth, but you’ll regret losing the close connection you have more in the end. If nothing else, when you do inevitably encounter a major hurdle in reaching whatever you’re trying to accomplish, you don’t want to be alone in facing it. This could very well be a “lose the battle to win the war” type situation, where backing down on some part of your goal or the specific plan to reach it will allow you to take some time to repair the relationship while finding another way forward. If the other person doesn’t like a potential partner of yours or strongly object on a political issue, you may have to agree to disagree and put that particular topic to the side for at least a while. In any case, make time for them, and let them take the lead for a while in deciding what to do and talk about so they know how much you value them.

Pile Two:

Knight of Cups - The Emperor - VIII of Swords

This reading reminds me of nothing so much as a classic fairy tale narrative - the knight in shining armor gets handed a quest by the king (or in this case the Emperor) to rescue a damsel in distress. This adventure-based reading is backed up by the fact that both Knights and VIII’s are cards of action. But it can’t be that simple, right? After all, the Emperor is both literally and figuratively (as a Major Arcana card) the central figure here. Still, court cards generally influence, rather than be influenced by, the cards around them.

In any case, you’re the Knight of Cups here, the main character of this particular adventure. You’re kind and idealistic, and likely have been waiting for a “quest” in life for a long time. That being said, you can be a bit flighty, and haven’t faced and overcome the sort of challenges that you’ll meet along the way yet. The Emperor, therefore, is not just there to give you a sense of purpose in this case, but help you fulfill it. He represents discipline - firm but not harsh. Whether he’s an actual person who inspires you to take action or a discipline in and of himself (such as a course of study), he’ll help you develop the perseverance you’ll need when things get tough. In particular, he’ll help you learn to use your head as well as your heart in the face of difficulty - you’ll need it!

The “damsel” is probably not an actual, single person. Likely it will be a group of people (or animals) that you want to fight for in one way or another who are trapped in overwhelmingly terrible situations. Maybe working on behalf of survivors of domestic violence, for instance, or becoming a cancer researcher to develop better treatments. However, you’ll find that the situation is more complicated than you thought; it’s a multifaceted issue that will require many different, careful, and informed approaches. There will be elements of it that even your preparation with the Emperor won’t have touched on. Figuring it out will allow you to better help more people, though, and maybe teach others to do the same. You might not be able to save or protect everyone, but every single person matters, and your efforts will matter greatly to them.

Pile Three:

X of Cups - IX of Swords - The Star (Reversed)

Oof, this one is pretty rough-looking one, save for the X of Cups there at the beginning. The contrast between the X of Cups and the IX of Swords suggests a conflict between your actual situation and your framework for understanding it. The reversed Star as I see it here is more of an explanation than anything, which can be used to better understand and shift that framework.

The good news is that everything’s going to work out for you! You have great friends and family - birth and found - who make you feel loved and seen. Your work and hobbies will inspire and fulfill you. You’ve come through a lot, but it’s all worked out. Except, it seems too good to be true. When you’re on your own and not doing anything to keep your mind occupied, you start thinking about how easy it would be for all of it to fall apart. Maybe you’ve had nightmares or even flashbacks about what came before and how it could happen again. Whatever it was, it was incredibly traumatic, and it shattered your trust in the world. You want to move on, but you don’t know how without letting your guard down… and that, you figure, is when the shoe will finally drop.

The framework you developed in response is there to protect you from ending up in the same situation you were in, or help you brace from the full effects of doing so. You can’t really think your way out of this, or just decide to believe something different when it flies in the face of your experience. Having faith and letting things go are made to sound much easier than they are. You may want to seek outside help. I can’t give medical advice, but I would strongly suggest doing some research on some of the newer interventions for trauma survivors. If an approach shames you, though, or doesn’t work for you, don’t try to force yourself to fit into that framework. In any case, it’s okay to take time to recover, and the people around you will stay by your side to support you.

—

I hope you enjoyed this reading! If so, please reblog or comment with feedback, and check out my Etsy page for personalized readings. Thank you!

Oh, and here’s a picture of Sam doing a blep:

[triptychgrip]

Fic Rec: Power Exchange between Ace/Dom Yuuri and Allo/Sub Viktor

Back with another post-canon fic rec, this time with a gem I discovered during my recent Ace Yuuri reading kick (speaking of which, I would LOVE if you shared your favorite ace-spectrum works, too).

Note: this work contains explicit sexual content and is only available to registered Archive Of Our Own users (i.e. I am unable to link to the story itself)

In part 3 of the excellent series japan’s ace, katsuki yuuri by ao3 user FullmetalChords, after an unexpected drop-in on Viktor masturbating — an incident that Viktor feels/expresses major guilt around, not wanting Yuuri to feel that he thinks their relationship is lacking in any way just because they don’t have sex — Yuuri develops an idea around how he might be able to bring Viktor sexual pleasure without feeling pressured into doing something he doesn’t want.

I love reading Dom/sub intimacy between Yuuri and Viktor and absolutely love the way in which this fic went on to depict a perfect middle ground for allosexual Viktor and asexual Yuuri to share in a new experience together (hint: it involves vibrating sex toys with Yuuri largely being in a different room for the vast majority of the scene).

Below is an excerpt that captures the incredible care between them that this story portrays.

—

He sets down the knife, rinsing his hands before going back to the vibrator, this time slowing it way down. He’s rewarded with impatient, breathless sounds coming from the bedroom.

“Ahnn… fuck, I can’t…”

There’s a slight whump that comes from the bedroom, and Yuuri’s head snaps in its direction, unable to keep from feeling a little alarmed.

“Color, Vitya?” he asks, letting his voice carry through the doorway, finger still hovering over a button on the remote.

He hears Victor laugh, breathlessly.

“Green,” comes the immediate answer. “Ohh, green, Yuuri, green…”

Reassured by the answer, he changes the pattern of vibrations, simultaneously ramping up the speed once more. A garbled rush of Russian obscenities is the only reply he gets. It’s clear, just from listening to Victor, that he’s enjoying this immensely.

Yuuri is amazed, in fact, by how much he is enjoying this. What he feels isn’t arousal, per se, but is more of a… tender feeling. Knowing the absolute trust Victor has placed in him, that the man he’s admired, the man he’s longed for, the man he loves, is entirely at his discretion. That kind of trust is a heady responsibility, and Yuuri is honored beyond words that Victor has allowed him to have it.

—

I highly recommend the entire 4-part series, and part 1 in particular is an excellent character study of Yuuri’s feelings around his ace identity.

Below is another excerpt (from part 1) that made me melt 😭 🥰

“If I asked you to kiss me,” Yuuri says, his mouth feeling very dry all of a sudden, “would that… would that be enough?”

Victor’s eyes meet his with that warm smile Yuuri loves so much. Corners of his mouth curling up, showing off the dimples that the cameras never get to see. It’s all the answer Yuuri thinks he needs, and then Victor bends down, just slightly, to press his lips softly against Yuuri’s. It’s reverent, like Yuuri is Victor’s dearest treasure, and Yuuri thinks he might cry at the tenderness of it.

When Yuuri thinks of eros, he thinks of flames curling the edges of newspaper, consuming until nothing is left. It’s the kind of love he still has no idea what to do with, a demand where refusal only means losing it altogether. This kiss is not a demand. It doesn’t consume, doesn’t take anything Yuuri isn’t freely giving.

—

Last but not least, if you are aware that the writer (FullmetalChords) is on tumblr, please let me know; I would love to tag them in this post, but did not find any profile with that username.

[acediaedeus]

surprise, surprise! what I am about to write will not be focusing on Ichigo, grimmichi or even Grimmjow. in an unexpected twist of fate I will actually be talking about Inoue Orihime and ichihime.

and frankly? I’m upset. and also very much done. so so unimaginably tired of all these canonical relationships made by mangakas desperate for a way to continue the story, to please the audience. because in this race to meet the expectations they create these soulless, superficial and seemingly loveless unions. they please only those who do not want anything beyond the cliche of “main character gets the girl in the end”. those who want a pretty picture to look at. no need for any depth, the masses will eat it up like starving dogs anyway, right? that’s what I feel happened to naruhina and sasusaku.

at least ichihime look like they love each other. you just know Kazui will grow up right, because he doesn’t have a perpetually absent father. so all in all Ichigo and Orihime are actually amongst the few lucky canonical spouses who don’t have a wagon of issues.

my gripe is with the way their relationship was set up. in this they are very similar to naruhina. an obviously infatuated girl and a totally oblivious boy? yeah... we are constantly showed face first into Orihime’s feelings for Ichigo, and I don’t have a problem with that, not really. I think the way Kubo portrayed her inner turmoil (her being jealous of Rukia) was phenomenal actually.

what I do have a problem with is:

I am not sure we went a single chapter with Orihime in it without a ‘btw she has a crush on Ichigo’ moment. like, atp we’re more likely to forget that Ichigo is a Shinigami, than about Orihime being in love with him. so it seems like her whole character is there JUST to like Ichigo and be the damsel in distress, when she could be so much more.

there aren’t ANY substantial moments where we can do nothing but concede that ‘yes, Ichigo does have a crush on Orihime too’. whatever moments we get don’t seem significant or serious enough for that. and I know there’s a time-skip, and obviously feelings could grow and develop in that time, but… it’s just icky how we only see Orihime obsessing over Ichigo, and not the other way around.

and you could claim that it’s because Ichigo has to deal with so much bullshit, so there’s no time left to see his feelings. but it’s objectively a terrible argument, considering what Inoue goes through while still having time to stop and drool over Ichigo.

anyway, do I hate ichihime? no, I like them. I’m as pleased with them as I could get with a canonical heterosexual relationship. they suit each other, they love each other, it’s all good. I’m just not getting anything out of them, that’ll make me go ‘damn, this is GOOD’. it’s adequate, I’ve had better.

but if I had to choose who Orihime would end up with it’d be a woman. either Tatsuki or Rukia. could be both. her relationship with Tatsuki is so… ughhh, it’s scrumptious. it’s giving what ichihime wishes it was giving. and her ending up with Rukia is also incredible, because we know Rukia considers Orihime her best friend, she likes her a ton. we also see Rukia worry about Orihime in this very tender way… oh god. and on Inoue’s end it’s how she’s jealous of Rukia, her beauty, grace, power, skills, bravery. do you see where this is going? I’m just saying, very sapphic of her.

ichihime is that comphet couple that start dating in high school, and last until their early 20s at which point they figure out both of them are gay.

[i-didnt-do-1t]

‘Walk you Home’ Katherine doesn’t like walking home late by herself and an unexpected offer gets extended by Morris Delancey. (Part 1)

cw for possible themes of threat I think? language no worse than used in the show. If there’s anything else let me know :)

It was late. Later than she intended when she had decided to go to her office earlier that day. It was nothing urgent, an article to get finsihed for the weekend, a local robbery. Hardly big news but better than the flower shows she was subject to before the strike, and then she got caught up on the half finsihed article on Sawyer’s desk. It was a piece on the development of labour unions across the city following the Newsies success over the summer. It was- well. She wasn’t saying she could’ve written it better.

But she could’ve written it better.

She resisted the urge to write a few notes for him and leave them on the desk, subtly nudged beneath some loose paper, but they all already thought she was a bitch anyway, not that she cared, and she wasn’t about to start handing out work for free.

It did however result in it hitting half eleven before she stood up and pulled her coat on again, flicking the dim yellow lamps off as she moved down the stairs.

In retrospect maybe she didn’t think this through.

It was dark. The streets were quiet aside from some distant yells she didn’t want to think too hard about, she’d read enough articles, she knew enough about the crime rates in this area, in New York in general, to know it was not the best. Not the safest.

Damn.

It was a 20 minute walk, thirty minutes at most, back to her house.

Right.

Well.

She could do that.

Realistically she didn’t have a choice, no matter how dark the alleyway to the left of the street looked- like it was never ending- she had to get home otherwise her father would have her head in the morning and the office would likely take the keys from her.

Katherine was not a coward, she decided, and stepped out into the street.

It took two seconds to turn her back to the never ending alleyway in the corner and lock the door. The distant yelling was still distant, which was good. However the new contender of much closer drunken singing was significantly less so.

She stood a little straighter, rolling back her shoulders, and started her way home.

The streets were familiar but eerie at night, the only time she’d been out this late recently was when she had been at Jacobi’s with a few of the boys a couple weeks back, and all of them had refused to let her go anywhere by herself. Her father was not thrilled when she returned home after ten with a group of at least twenty boys in tow, waving at him over her shoulder, bitter smiles, the occasional smirk etched on their faces as they stared him down.

As Katherine had turned back to say goodbye to them, one of those smiles she was trying so hard to hide from her father creeping up on her lips, she was fairly sure she saw Specs flip him off.

It was sweet of them. How they had seemingly taken her in as one of their own.

And she had to admit, she’d appreciate having one of them with her right now (admittedly, all them was a little excessive and it had only been the once and she was fairly sure it was specifically with the intention to see her house and piss off her father a little (it worked).

Still, the yelling seemed to be getting closer.

She let out a breath, feeling the the beginnings of anxiety starting to curl in her stomach. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but at this point she knew how to repress it fairly well. So she pushed it down, tipped her chin up a little further, and didn’t look down the alley she was passing.

In retrospect maybe if she had she would’ve seen the man before he started speaking to her.

“Well, ain’t that a sight.”

The voice was cold, and she could hear the smirk in his tone, the way the cruelty seemed to lick around the words.

She tried to ignore the rising panic that was creeping up her throat, hell, she was going to be sick, but she was not going to give him a reaction, and keep moving forward, faster than before, dress lifted up around her ankles.

“What? Cowboy not offer to walk you home?”

Katherine’s jaw tensed at the words, the tone, and stopped short. She recognised the voice, had heard it a few times around her father’s office, and distantly when she visited Jack in mornings before he got his papers. And while maybe the familiarity provided some comfort, standing around to chat to Morris Delancey wasn’t an activity she was planning to partake in if she could avoid it.

“He didn’t know I’d be staying late.”

“It ain’t safe for a lady to walk home this time a’ night y’know.”

She inhaled harshly through her nose in an attempt to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Just over his shoulder, there was the dark of the entrance to the alley he emerged from and to her right, the open street- gas lamps dimly lighting it, casting shadows on the open brick of the building walls. She could run, if she needed. But she had no doubt that morris was faster, especially with what agility came with the lack of layers of pedicoats.

“Because of boys like you lurking around?” She said, maybe not her wisest move but Katherine had never been good at keeping her remarks to herself.

“Worse than me, maybe.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and twisted his head to the side, following her gaze up the street before it landed back on her again. “Let me walk you home.”

She took a step back, he noticed obviously, made a display of looking down to her feet and back up but said nothing.

“I’m sorry?”

“I can walk you home.”

“Why?”

“Because I came out for a smoke and youse lucky I ain’t one of those drunks that hangs around here.” He pulled a rolled cigarette out of his pocket, and a pack of matches. “Maybe daddy never told you cuz you’d always be out with chaperone or some shit but bad things can happen to girls at night round here.”

She had to admit, to herself, if not out loud, that he was persuasive, not that it took much and since she’d left the building even if it had hardly been two minute ago the distant yelling and not so distant sound of footsteps was unnerving.

“So you help all the factory girls walk home then?”

“Who do you think I am? You think I got time to be walking back n forth all day? Like I said I’m going out for a smoke. I’ll walk with you.” He shrugged, and lit his cigarette, shaking out the match. “Sides’ you’re Kelly’s, and I think he’d get a real kick outta this don’t you?”

Her mouth set in a thin line.

“You just want to mess with Jack then?”

He shrugged,

“Mess with cowboy and I won’t find your body in some dingy alley in the morning, win win for me.” He made a show of looking round into the alley he’d emerged from. And then gestured over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to go. I know what women are like these days, with wanting rights n all.”

She only worked her jaw harder at the half smirk that appeared on his face and she knew he was just working to get a rise out of her. He was good at it, and she’d heard enough from the boys to know that he wasn’t going to stop either.

The alley behind him, though, looked extremely dark. And she couldn’t argue with him, she was lucky that only he had come out of it. She set her shoulders, and tipped her chin up.

“Fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, blowing out smoke. “Fine?”

“Better late than ever to try and be a gentleman I suppose.”

“Ha, yeah I’ll let Oscar know.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

sensible compromise

Early-era Jessica/Leto... this prompt challenged me but also I had an immediate idea (yay missing moment from a past fic!) so here we are. PG-ish and also on ao3.

Prompt - laughing like a little kid (thank you @meremontage )

This looks wrong.

Strange enough that she is considered desirable enough to show off, strange enough that her counterpart has encouraged this, but… Jessica is nothing if not adaptable, and if that man wants her as a pretty trinket there are worse fates, and-

She’s going to figure out a more sensible compromise, she decides as she looks at herself in the mirror. This is a few compromises too far.

When her counterpart had suggested that it might be alright if she made herself more presentable – suggested in the quiet of night after intimacies, echoes of his hands still on her skin, near-irresistible and she ought to hate him for it – he had not bothered to clarify his preferences, and Jessica has so little baseline, and if she’s made a few choices that look too much like she does not know herself…

There is nothing elegant about this awful pink dress. The lines of it might be alright in a different color, perhaps, but the color is wrong on her skin and it shows so much of her shape and that had felt like the point, like that’s probably what her lover wants and maybe he could’ve said that and maybe-

She looks vividly wrong. She will do this tonight, be what is asked of her, and after this she won’t wear anything more vibrant than metal-gray for a year, maybe even longer, and-

Her fingers twist her hair up into a sensible spiral bun, something she can tether yet another strip of see-through pink silk to, and it won’t be enough to hide how she’ll blush to match, and-

A knock on her door snaps her out of what could be a deep spiral of self-loathing, just slightly unexpected and yet she knows, she knows-

She continues to place hairpins as she crosses the space, one hand still making them perfect as the other opens the door, as she-

She has developed her list of complaints about her placement in the year she has endured it, but the sight of her counterpart is rarely one of them. Something effortless about him, made for his positions, not like her, not-

“This is… a surprise,” he says, not even trying to hide how he’s eyeing her. Respectful but still looking, and she knows how much of a change this dress is from her normal black cocoons but still-

“A pleasant one, I would hope.”

“More of one than I expected. I’d heard…”

“You owe me,” she hisses, and she knows this is fine and safe and good, something apparently alluring about her moments of stubborn personality. “I will behave, but-“

“There goes my question about your comfort.”

“You wanted to see me in color.”

“That is… certainly a color.”

Jessica takes a step back, allowing him into her spaces. This is new, hesitant still, moments she knows will not end with-

“Do you like it?”

He glances away for a moment, and she catches the attempt at composure, the where-do-I-even-start that seems to define so many of their interactions and somehow makes her warm and-

“Should I ask how much plausible deniability you’re after? How many bodies might turn up?”

A small smile crosses her lips, a soft sound almost a laugh, something in her breaking, something in her-

“That’s where you start?!”

“You do look suspiciously like a greenhouse flower…”

She knows he doesn’t mean harm. If she is physically disappointing, as she still occasionally suspects she might be, at least her lover has been tactful about it; a comment like this, in that low clear voice, is not-

Oh, the absolute nerve of him to say exactly how she feels. She should hate him for it, should manipulate, should-

Instead, situational overload has its way and Jessica closes her eyes for a heartbeat, composure slipped, delight and playful little noises and she is not-

“You owe me,” she repeats, and it feels different now, like-

“I’d thought… if you’re capable of listening to anyone, I haven’t seen it yet, and… I’d expected something more subtle, not…”

“You don’t like it.”

“There is no tactful way to-“

“Yes or no question.”

“You’re unfair.”

“You asked for-“

“Not this.”

Jessica knows she ought to feel worse, ought to blame herself for such dramatic misunderstanding, but-

“I am never doing this again. No more…”

“Lighter shades of gray would have been less surprising than-“

“Understood.”

“You are… quite beautiful, and I do want to see that, but… not such obvious…”

“So it does look that bad?”

He glances away for a heartbeat. “You look different. Different may be a little…”

“You don’t need to be cautious with me.”

“Not cautious so much as unable to find the right words for…”

“Greenhouse flower,” she repeats. “Some horrific one that’s trying to eat its corner of the greenhouse because it doesn’t get enough attention.”

“Yes.”

“Understood.”

He slips one of his hands into a jacket pocket and pulls out a small box. “I… had meant to… at least that thing has a decent neckline…”

Jessica twirls around to present her neck, and at least this horror of a dress twirls pretty, and-

The necklace is delicate silver, and his fingers linger on her skin for a moment too long and she leans into it, the little patterns traced before he backs away, before-

“Do you like?”

“Yes. Might be a little…”

“Something needs to seem like you.”

He’s trying, she thinks. He’s trying, just as she is, and maybe that will make them decent to each other, maybe-

“Thank you.”

[agents-of-virtue]

Secret Santa(New Year's?) 2k23

Another year, another Secret Santa! (Despite it being way past Christmas, but who cares? Time is an illusion.) Any way! @agent-sentinel-official I am your Secret Santa/New Year's person! Hope you enjoy!

Birds of a Feather

Years.

Decades.

Centuries. 

Millennia. 

They all start to bleed together after a while. Joan doesn’t remember when he stopped counting the turn of a new year. So New Year’s Eve and Day were just that to him. Days. Nothing special. But it was still amusing to see everyone around the manor do their own rituals and observances for the day. All mainly the more mortal agents and officers, but a few of the immortals (or at least those harder to kill) were having their own fun. 

Joan decided to take a break and go out on to the back section of the porch. It looked out over the vast garden that was still slumbering under the winter snow, but plenty of evergreens still stood strong and proud against the bright white covering the grounds like a thick down blanket. He just didn’t expect to see Walter out there, bundled against the cold with a pair of binoculars. 

“Walter?” He scanned over the man. It looked like he hadn’t moved in a while. “What are you doing out here? No New Year’s traditions?”

“This is the tradition. A newer one, at least.” He gestured out to the snow covered grounds, keeping his voice low. “Every year for the past couple years, if not decades, there have been some irruptive waves of birds looking for food farther south than they normally go. It’s not the best thing ecologically, I guess, but it’s still nice to see the birds every now and then. I think something just draws them to the manor.”

Joan’s head tilted slightly to the side. “Birdwatching? Never thought of you as a birder before. The fishing and what not doesn’t surprise me.” He thought back to the hawk he saw flying the grounds ever so often through the years. It was even circling high in the sky now. “Is that your hawk? I always wondered why it never really left the manor grounds...”

The younger immortal smiled. “That it is. Nursed it back to health and everything.” Walter put his binoculars up to his eyes again, looking towards the hawk then back over the grounds. “I guess having all the time in the world allows you to develop habits and hobbies that you wouldn’t have with a normal lifespan.”

Joan was quiet. That was true. The amount of hobbies he’s picked up throughout the years was a perfect testament to it. Maybe this was another he could pick up. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. Feel free.” Walter gestured to the plenty of open rockers left out on the porch. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get to see something unexpected now that there’s two of us out here?”

He couldn’t help the small, soft laugh that left him as he eased himself into the old wooden rocker. “Maybe. Who knows?”

They both sat in silence, the sounds of the manor settling against the cold and occasion woodland creature filling the space for them. It was peaceful. Even if they didn’t see anything spectacular or even anything at all, Joan would consider this a good moment. And he hoped Walter would too. 

“Hey Joan?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t turn from the garden and neither did Walter. 

“Happy New Year.”

“And to all that come after.”

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: A day or two after ‘Ready or Not’ (late September) LOCATION: Texas PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Kaden (@chasseurdeloup) SUMMARY: With the shock of Monty being dead passed, he and Kaden find another day to talk more about what that means, and the cowboy admits to the darker aspects of his past. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

The days following their pit stop in the Tennessee bar had felt different for a number of reasons, but Monty wouldn’t describe any of it as feeling worse. Not by a long shot. Part of him worried that he’d pushed things too too far and too fast, but another part of him knew that was a silly thing to stress over. Why were people so afraid of saying they loved someone? Monty could easily rattle off a list of people he loved, and while there might have been different types of love for each person, why was romantic love the big taboo? It didn’t make sense, when you really thought about it. And for most people, life was too short to not say what you felt. Even though eternity stretched out in front of him, he still felt guided by that principal. After all, he’d spent a century keeping himself turned inward, and what had that afforded him? Loneliness. That was it. 

Then, of course, there was the matter of him being a… dead person. Which was probably the more important of the two developments. Kaden had been kind enough to not launch into a thousand questions as soon as he figured it out, but Monty knew they'd come eventually. They had to, he'd not even been clear about what kind of undead he was. And maybe it didn't matter to Kaden, but the cowboy had no clue how much he actually knew—though if that slayer had been a friend of his, there was probably a good chance he knew enough. But then… he had heard once that hunters were supposed to try and keep normal people from finding out about the supernatural, so maybe Kaden knew next to nothing. There was only one way to find out. 

The opportunity arose while they were camping out in the car after a day of hiking in the Palo Duro canyon. The sun had already set and the stars overhead were beginning to shine brightly in the darkening sky. They were rummaging through the cooler for dinner options when Monty sat back with a laugh, looking up at Kaden and shrugging his shoulders. "I guess I don't have to… perform at mealtime, now, huh?" With a meek but understanding sort of smile, he tucked his hands beneath his legs and just watched Kaden instead, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I… ate before we left. Maine, I mean. And I have—well, I’ll have to figure something out in another couple days or so. It doesn’t… keep well. But I was just sort of… going to figure that out when the time came,” he admitted quietly, realizing how foolish it sounded.

—

Kaden knew to expect the unexpected on their road trip but they were barely halfway to their destination and he’d encountered surprises he could never have predicted. It probably should have been more of a shock to learn his boyfriend was undead rather than the fact that Kaden had used the words boyfriend (and the other word; the big one) but he was used to the supernatural seeping into every aspect of his life. The rest? Not so much. Not that he was complaining, it just felt like new territory. All while being completely the same. 

Granted, the fact that it wasn’t the most surprising part of it all didn’t mean that Kaden didn’t have questions, plenty of them. They had all bubbled up in his mind ever since that night but he’d pushed them aside. The fact that Monty was undead hadn’t affected them much before this moment so it was unlikely to make a big difference now, either. At least, that’s what he told himself. Not to mention, he much preferred to focus on the other development in their relationship as much as possible. It was easier, too. It didn’t beg any questions of him: how he knew what undead were, how he knew what Ivy was, why he was friends with her and what he really was. 

He didn’t know when they would cross that bridge, start asking and answering the questions that went left unsaid. It wasn’t on the drive there and it hadn’t been during their hike earlier but it seemed like now that they had settled into the back of the truck to eat was the time. Made sense once Monty explained. “Oh, uh yeah,” Kaden replied, surprised that it hadn’t occurred to him that was the case before that very moment, “guess not.” Putain, his cheeks flushed as he remembered all the times he’d cooked for them or insisted that Monty eat something. And he just went along with it and pretended for his sake. Not that Kaden had any idea what else he was supposed to do. He knew it wasn’t either of their faults but he still felt stupid and a little guilty all the same. “Guess that means there’s more for me.” He tried to play it off with a small smile as he reached into the cooler for the various cheeses and cold cuts they’d brought for on the road makeshift charcuterie plates. 

His brow raised at the net comment. Already ate before they left. Already ate what, exactly? “Well I know you don’t need blood bags. Considering that hike we just went on.” He gestured at the canyon nearby, transformed by the night and starlight but no less wondrous. “Pretty sure this trip would have been a lot harder if you couldn’t survive in the sunlight.” He didn’t want to make any of this heavier or more awkward than it already was, but bits and pieces of his lessons from his past that he thought were long buried kept floating to the surface. 

He hadn’t studied the undead with the depth that he had shifters for obvious reasons but that didn’t mean no one had taught him the dangers of the undead: how easily their kind spread, how they could destroy a town, and how they would consume life until there was nothing left. Among other things. He knew that parts of what he’d learned about the supernatural growing up weren’t always completely true, that he was painted the picture of only the worst possible scenarios without any room for nuance, and it was clearer more than ever looking back at Monty with those images invading his mind. He couldn’t overlay the two images, no matter how hard he tried. But the nagging thoughts of danger, warning, alert, was impossible to shake off completely. Old habits died fucking hard, even if he hated it.

Kaden sighed and tried to shake the thoughts from his mind, focusing more on the rest of what Monty had said, trying to finish putting the pieces of the puzzle together. If he needed something to bring with him, probably didn’t feed on nightmares. Or whatever it was furies needed to live. So that left one option, assuming that there wasn’t some strange special kind of undead he was unaware of: zombie. Monty was a zombie. Ate brains to survive, turned humans with a bite zombie. 

Right. Alright. Kaden exhaled, unaware that he’d tensed up in the moment. Nothing had changed, he reminded himself. This was still Monty. This was still the person he professed his stupid fucking love to the other day. “There’s probably a small town with a local butcher or two along the way,” he offered with a small shrug, hoping that he was on the right track and looking over at the cowboy for confirmation. “That’d work, yeah?”

—

As the carefully worded guesses began, Monty felt embarrassment creep up his spine. Kaden was right, though—one undead option was immediately eliminated thanks to his love of daylight. Which left others, of course, many of which he knew little to nothing about. There could be five hundred different types of undead, and he'd never know. So he stayed quiet as Kaden went on, probably working through a checklist of the things he knew in his mind (and how many things was that?) before reaching the bottom. Apparently it brought him to the correct conclusion, because a butcher was precisely what he'd need at some point during their journey. Okay, so maybe there weren't five hundred different kinds of sapient undead, then. 

Lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck, Monty nodded. “Sí, that would be... helpful.” He sucked in a sharp breath, fear clawing its way up his throat. Fear that now that Kaden had more or less pinpointed WHAT he was, there would be assumptions. Assumptions he needed to quash, as quickly as possible. 

“I—I need you to know, Kaden, I'm not—I don't—” It was always challenging to talk about these things, but especially when he cared so deeply about what the other person would think of him when he was done speaking. Closing his eyes, the cowboy let a beat of silence pass while gathering his thoughts and arranging them in his mind in a way that made sense.

“I don't know what all Ivy told you about... people like me, and I'm sure there are some really terrible ideas out there, but, um...” He stuffed his hands between his legs to stop himself from fidgeting quite so much, but he still wasn't able to meet Kaden's gaze. “I don't... hurt people. I do everything I can to not hurt people. That's why I started the farm in the first place... sure, we sell dairy products, but it's more a source of food for people like me.” He bit his lip, shoulders hunching in discomfort as he weighed the pros and cons of outing everyone on the farm. “Daisy... she's a zombie, too. They all are. I would only hire... undead. To give them a place to live if they needed, and food to eat that wouldn't hurt anyone or leave them... dealing with that trauma.” Trauma he knew too well. “But... I am not going to sit here and act like I've never made mistakes. I have. But I just needed you to know that I try so, so hard to avoid them, and make up for the ones I cannot take back.” His voice wavered with the heightened emotional state that came with admitting he'd killed innocent people before, and that was only talking about the ones that'd become food! He had yet to mention all the unspeakable acts of violence he'd committed back in the late 1800s... or that he'd even been alive then. God. It was so much to cover.

—

Kaden’s brows knit together as he watched the cowboy struggle with his words. It only took a beat for him to know what he was trying to say. That he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t need to say another word, Kaden knew that already. The second he learned that Monty was undead, there was no doubt in his mind that was the case. Considering he already did everything he could not to inconvenience people, it was never a question on Kaden’s mind. His chest tightened, filled to the brim with sympathy. He set aside the paper plate of food and reached out for a hand, but Monty had tucked both of them away and so he settled on laying his hand on top of the man’s leg, ready to take his hand whenever he set it free. 

As much as he wanted to interrupt, tell him that it didn’t matter, he listened, trying to take in what the man was saying rather than just brushing it off in his own mind as trivial details that changed nothing. And while he was pretty damn sure nothing about what he said was going to change how he felt about the cowboy, he figured he should face the thing rather than continue to pretend everything was normal. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to interrupt Monty every five seconds to tell him that he knew as much.

Well, most of it. His head tilted as Monty revealed that the farm was more than just a dairy farm and that Daisy and the rest were more than just normal employees. “All of them?” he asked, still trying to put the pieces together. Putain de merde, an entire farm full of undead and he had no clue. He almost laughed trying to figure out if his mother would be more disappointed that he overlooked an entire population of undead or the fact that he was dating a zombie. Really was a toss-up. Still, once the fact had settled in, he put together the rest of what Monty was saying. Kaden knew he built the farm partially to help people down on their luck. It was something he admired about the man already. But this? Learning that it was all to help the undead from harming others, from ruining their own lives? Putain, even if hadn’t told the man he loved him already, it would have come out now and he couldn’t keep the stupid smile from his face. 

As much as he wanted to address that, there were a few things he had to say first. “Hey. You don’t have to explain yourself. I mean, I’m glad you are but…” Right, now who was the one struggling to find the right words? He squeezed Monty’s leg before continuing, hoping that even if his words weren’t right, there was still some sort of comfort there. “I trust you.” He wanted to find Monty’s gaze but it was cast away for the moment. “I know, I mean I’m guessing you didn’t always have control over… I don’t know. But I trust you. That you wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not if you could help it.” He took a deep breath before speaking again, unsure if he should say what was on the tip of his tongue. “And… And that you wouldn’t hurt me.” His voice was quieter, but no less sincere. Putain, maybe he was stupid for thinking that, for holding onto that hope, his mother and sister would certainly say as much, but that didn’t change the fact.

“The farm…” He wasn’t even sure where to start. “Merde, I was already in awe of what you managed with the farm, mon couer. But this?” He shook his head slightly. “It’s incredible. I’m–” He didn’t know how to pin down what he was feeling with words. There were too many and not enough all at the same time. It was Kaden’s duty to help protect people from the supernatural, to try and make the world a little safer. Killing no longer felt like the right answer but he’d been struggling and stumbling to find better solutions. And here he was, sitting next to someone who already managed what he couldn’t on a larger scale than he would have imagined. And that man was apologizing for his shortcomings. It was unreal. He leaned over, trying again to catch Monty’s gaze, hoping that maybe if he couldn’t find a way to say any of it, he could convey it somehow. “I know that you said you made mistakes. And that… I mean I know there’s more.” As much as he wanted to look at the zombie with rose-colored glasses, Kaden wasn’t that naive to think that he’d been perfect. He wasn’t judging. He wasn’t either. “But that? The farm? That’s amazing.” 

—

All of them? Monty nodded in silent response, looking a bit fearful. It was a big thing to admit, and while he trusted Kaden completely, that anxiety that came with another non-undead knowing the truth about the farm would not be pushed aside. 

And that you wouldn’t hurt me. That was the big one, wasn’t it? Zombies ate brains to survive, and human brains were the cream of the crop. The coveted meal. But God, that wasn’t what humans were to him. And he… he was just glad Kaden could see that. Understand it and accept it. Of course he did, otherwise he’d have abandoned Monty on the side of the road the moment he’d realized he was dead—and Monty wouldn’t have blamed him. 

He looked at the hand on his leg, feeling his throat constrict. Kaden took advantage of the silence to weigh in on the farm situation, and honestly Monty was thankful for it, because he hadn’t really been sure where Kaden stood before that. That said, the praise made him just as uncomfortable as praise always did, and he shifted beneath the other’s touch, releasing his hands from the weight of his own legs and shaking them out for a moment before scooping Kaden’s hand up into them. “It isn’t amazing,” he argued, recalling how he’d let Alberto get murdered by that slayer, and how all the other vampires had slowly left after that. There’d always been less of them at the farm, and he supposed that they must have felt like he favored the zombies over them. He couldn’t blame them, either. “It is… the very least that I can do.” He gave Kaden’s hand a squeeze, finally looking up at him. “There is… something else I should tell you,” he said softly, his dark eyes jumping between Kaden’s. “I’m…” He drifted off for a moment, considering how best to phrase it. “... I was born in 1867.” Not a fact that mattered, except that it meant he was old. Very old. And while that might not mean much in the face of immortality, it would perhaps mean more in the arena of explaining some of his behaviors and habits. It might make it easier for Kaden to understand him, given how little he’d changed in all that time, aside from losing his nerve and becoming a coward. 

—

“The least you can do?” Kaden repeated, confusion etched into his face. “Monty, that’s well beyond what most people would or could do. You know that, right?” Clearly, he didn’t know that much, otherwise Kaden wouldn’t have to sit there arguing with the man that he’d done something impressive. He sighed to himself; he’d fight that battle later. 

There was more? Putain, how was there more? He could feel his pulse pick up despite the fact that he was doing his best to tell himself it couldn’t be as shocking as the secret that Kaden was hiding. Not sure that thought helped much. He ran his thumb along the top of Monty’s hand, waiting for whatever shoe was about to drop next. For a moment, he thought he was still waiting, that there might be more than the year he was born.

That was until Kaden repeated the year again in his head. 1867. Eighteen. Not nineteen. Eighteen. Putain de merde. “So that would make you…” For some reason, he thought he could do the math in his head right there on the spot. Bad assumption. “Well, uh, over a hundred, yeah?” He furrowed his brow and tried to run the numbers over again. No, yeah, over one hundred years old, for sure. How many, he wasn’t sure yet. Not sure how much difference it made at that point. “Putain de merde,” he said to himself as he ran a palm down his face. “That’s a long time to– Especially as a–” As a zombie. That was exceedingly old for a zombie, he was pretty damn sure. At least the way hunters spoke, most were so volatile that they didn’t make it more than a year. “I knew you were older than me but, uh, didn’t expect that much of an age gap.” He let out a small laugh and rubbed the nape of his neck with his free hand. 

Something occurred to him. Maybe it was because the rest was too hard to process properly. “So you– I’m the first person you… Even though you’re….” That seemed impossible. Hell, he hardly believed it when he didn’t know that his boyfriend was over a century old. “Sorry, just, that’s… I mean that’s a long time to…” Right, he wasn’t making this better, that was for sure. A hundred years and he’d never– 

Wait. A hundred years ago. The world was so different back then. Very different. And suddenly the pieces started falling into place and it all made a lot more sense. “Never mind,” he said softly, giving the cowboy’s hand another squeeze, feeling the cool skin beneath his own. He practically had the callouses on the man’s hand memorized by this point and it was strange to think that they were built up even longer than he’d thought, built up over a century and then some. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot more stories to share, then,” he said with a smile. And he wanted to hear all of them, as many as he was willing to share. 

—

At first, all Monty could do was nod. Yes, well over a hundred years. And yes, all of the baggage that came with that. Some of which the man was slowly piecing together—Monty watched carefully as details occurred to Kaden and shifted him from one microexpression to the next, trying very hard to not feel embarrassed or ashamed by these things. He knew what Kaden would say, after all—that none of it mattered, and that Kaden already loved him exactly the way he was. Still, as Kaden voiced his bewilderment that somehow, in all that time, Monty had never found someone to be intimate with, the cowboy could feel the urge to withdraw swell in his chest once more. But it was okay. It was okay, because the rest of the information seemed to catch up with Kaden's questions and he pushed the question off the table for Monty. There were a lot of reasons Monty had never pursued that with anyone, not least of all the fact that he'd come from a time period where following his heart would have probably gotten him killed. People assumed, given enough time, that one could conform to new societal norms. But how long had that been normal? How long, really, in the span of a hundred and fifty six years, would Monty have been able to hold a man's hand and not be ostracized for it? On top of that, he hadn't even understood it himself, conditioned as he was to think that he ought to have a wife by now. It was confusing and upsetting and the zombie had simply abandoned all thought of ever loving anyone, assuming that it must have just not been in the cards for him. 

Of course, meeting Alan changed that. Alan, the first person he'd allowed himself to get close to because of their mutual circumstances, and the first openly gay man he'd ever met. Not that he'd made any kind of effort to meet people in the past, but with one foot already in the door, it'd been a shock to his system to realize that perhaps there was hope for him after all. He'd just had it all framed wrong in his head. 

And now Kaden understood that, though perhaps in fewer words, but... the warmth that had settled in his eyes spoke volumes, and Monty felt like he could cry again. Kaden was shifting from the cowboy's lack of experience in the realm of romance to his abundance of experience in the general arena of life like everything he'd been admitting was a non-issue, and it floored the zombie. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I won't... bore you with the lonely in-between,” he said softly, chuckling in spite of himself. “From the time I died in 1904 to when I arrived in Wicked's Rest, I did my best to blend into the background. I was as boring as they come, and never got to know people.” A beat. “But... my best stories come from when I was running with Hector and his gang.” Another beat. “As you can guess, the life of an outlaw was not one short on violence. So... I can keep those to myself, if you prefer.” 

—

Died in 1904. Kaden tried to wrap his head around it. 1904. Monty had died before anyone Kaden had ever known was born. It was impossible for him to imagine what life had been like back then. He could sure try, though. Didn’t love the picture he came up with. “I doubt you were boring. Even then,” he said, nudging the man with his knee. His head tilted as his brows raised as he continued, though. Did he just hear the words “gang” and “violence”? “You were in a gang?” he asked, brows practically threatening to reach up to his hairline. “How the hell did that happen? You? Of all people, in a gang?” He kept trying to picture it and the vision never came into focus. He was going to need help really believing this. 

Kaden twisted to face Monty a little more, trying to see if it made anything make more sense. Didn’t help much. It didn’t seem possible that the man that apologized to the table for accidentally running into it had been violent at any point in time. Then again, he’d lived a few lifetimes by now. Kaden had changed plenty in the last year or two. He supposed maybe it wasn’t entirely out of the question that Monty had changed even more in the time since he died. “You’re going to have to tell a lot more stories before I believe you were an outlaw,” he said with a teasing smile. “I’m, uh, not a stranger to violence,” he offered. It felt like a risk to suggest it and his eyes darted away for a moment. Putain. Didn’t know how he was going to explain that. He hoped he wouldn’t have to and his eyes found Monty’s again. “You don’t have to hold anything back.” 

Kaden wanted his partner to be candid as he was willing to allow himself be. At least, he thought he did. Maybe he’d regret it once everything was laid out in the open, once he heard the tales from his past both before and after he died, but he had to hope that wasn’t the case. Especially not now while a million questions danced on the top of his tongue. He figured he should let Monty decide where to start, though. “I want to hear it all. Whatever you want to share.” 

—

Monty might have questioned Kaden’s admission of being comfortable with violence if not for the fact that they both had spent time in Wicked’s Rest, and now it was clear to him that Kaden was at least aware of many of the same supernatural things he was. Which always meant violence, no matter how much you tried to escape it. Did it really matter what kind it was? 

Letting out a soft scoff, Monty dipped his head, looking down at his lap. He’d not really… talked to anyone about this before, but if there was ever a person to share it with… “Well… okay. Don’t—just—remember that things were different back then, sí? Just remember that.” He took a breath and lifted his chin, his gaze finding Kaden’s in the dim light cast by their lantern. “It wasn’t really… a choice? Um. I mean it was a choice, but the alternative was… dying.” He frowned, realizing something in that moment that he’d never considered before. “... now that I think about it, if I had just let them kill me that night rather than kidnap me, I’d be stuck forever as a… what, nineteen year old? Twenty?” He shrugged, giving a light chuckle in spite of the grim story. “I guess it was the correct choice, ah? Anyway… they had raided the ranch I worked at. Killed most everyone else, but decided to take me with them.” A pause. “Hector decided to take me with them. They walked me for two days back to their camp out by the mesas, then tied me to a little tree for a while after that. Until I’d proven my loyalty.” It had been a decidedly unfun time in his life, but he’d gotten through it. “I am not sure what Hector saw in me that he liked, but he did… keep me around. And after a while, I… I felt at home with them. They were not good people, but they had become my people.” He wasn’t sure if he could admit just how much of it had been his loyalty to Hector and Hector alone, fearing that it would make him sound… pathetic.

One couldn’t be certain if it was better or worse that the cowboy was unaware of a little thing called Stockholm syndrome. 

“I was a good thief, a good… actor, and a good marksman.” His gaze danced up toward the sky avoidantly. “There were families in the gang. Children younger than myself, mothers… we did what we did to take care of them. If they were happy, then Hector was happy. And if Hector was happy… I-I was happy.” His expression had become hard to read, flitting somewhere between upset and wistful. “It was… a confusing time in my life.” The admission came out slowly and in a hushed voice. “But it was also when I felt happiest, I think. I did enjoy life on the road, with wagons and horses and tents. Robbing people was not my favorite thing, but I was good at it, so they took me with them. Aside from that, you know, I was mostly caring for the horses.” He gave Kaden’s hand a squeeze, dragging his eyes back down to look at him again. “But… I did kill people. Not always in self defense.” He sniffed. “I did as I was told. I did it to… to keep the others fed, clothed, and healthy. I can’t take any of that back now, so it’s why I just try to… to help as many people as I can. To try and even out the scales. Tip them for the better, some day.”

—

It was hard for Kaden to process it all. It sounded like a strange dream or a nightmare he was describing, not Monty’s very own life. It was so long ago and so far away that it felt closer to a fairy tale than reality. It was almost embarrassing to remember the times when he was a kid playing cowboys, trying to lasso Keira and chasing her around like she was the cattle. Now here he was, sitting next to someone who didn’t play at being a cowboy out in the wild west, but who was actually there. And not just there but someone who was a real gunslinging outlaw. Hard to imagine. 

He sat and he listened, did his best to take in every word Monty spoke in order to paint in more details onto the picture in Kaden’s mind of who the cowboy was and who he used to be. He didn’t realize just how many gaps there were to fill in before they headed on the road. Not that Kaden hadn’t left out plenty of details of his own past. He wasn’t judging so much as trying to reconcile two very different portraits layered on top of one another. He kept close to his partner, leaned in and held tight to his hand. He didn’t need to feel a pulse to know that the man was nervous and struggling to delve into some of the less pleasant details. 

It wasn’t long before he could see why. His eyes didn’t stray from Monty as he spoke, as he described the terrible things he’d done and how it was also when he was happiest. And he wasn’t sure what that added up to. Kaden had been prepared to accept that Monty had killed people by accident, that he lashed out when he first turned and didn’t have control or didn’t understand what he was. He was ready to hear some of those stories, to file those away as supernatural bullshit. So when Monty said he’d been part of a gang of outlaws, that he stole and lied and killed, Kaden didn’t know what to do with that information, how to feel. Some part of him wanted to twist away, give into the disappointment and disgust at the thought of the cowboy murdering people in cold blood. Another was more than fucking aware that he was the last person who should be throwing stones, not while there were already cracks in his own glass house. 

It was like a heavy weight was placed on top of Kaden’s shoulders, the weight of Monty’s actions with his own. The weight that being with this man was, in a way, excusing it or accepting what he’d done. And Kaden certainly had his own weight to carry, his own pile of heavy burdens to lug around. His own choices and actions he regretted. He knew how desperate he was not to carry that weight alone, how hard it was to shoulder it all alone. Andy and Alex helped, of course. Either way, he knew he didn’t want to let Monty carry that all by himself. It would be a lighter load if they shared it. 

“Can’t say I expected that,” he said once he finally found words between the silence. “That you…” Killed people. Before he was turned. While he had full control over his actions and choices. “You can’t take it back. You’re right.” His thoughts drifted to his own actions and he couldn’t be sure who he was talking about just then: Monty or himself. “But. I can’t even picture you like that.” He shook his head. “It’s pretty clear you’ve changed. That it’s not who you are now.” He looked down at their joined hands as he traced circles with his thumb. “Now that you can make your own choices.” 

His heart ached and once again, he couldn’t be sure if it was because so many of Monty’s choices were stolen from him in his past or if it was because the same could be said about himself. He couldn’t quite unpack what part this Hector really played in all that, it was too much for the moment. Kaden figured he’d hear more later. He could figure it out then when he knew more. “I know it’s not– I mean, I don’t know how much it means coming from me. But for what’s worth, I forgive you. I mean I’m not exactly a stranger to bad choices, either.”

—

“You are right. That is not who I have been for over a century.” He’d seen the truth of the matter when Hector had turned his gun on him. He understood that it had to have been a horrific thing to witness, but they’d still been close. They were close, weren’t they? And yet there had been no love in Hector’s eyes as he stared at Monty, bloodied and surrounded by corpses but coming out of his frenzied state. Hands stained red, shaking as he reached for him. Eyes wet with tears as he begged for forgiveness, for compassion, for help. There was nothing in Hector then but rage and fear, primal and overpowering, catching his breath in his throat as he pulled the trigger. And then again. And again. That’s when Monty had woken up. As he fled, abandoning the only thing he’d ever loved, scorned by it… he realized he’d never truly been his own person. 

“And… thank you,” he breathed. “It means everything coming from you.” He looked down at their hands, ashamed. “I think—I think I was only happy then because I finally felt like I belonged. Even if we did things that were bad, things that haunted me when I tried to sleep, it was the first time I had ever felt… like I was cared for. Like I was wanted, like I’d been chosen.” Pulling his gaze up again to meet Kaden’s, the cowboy smiled weakly. “And I lost that, for a hundred years. I would not let it back in, because I feared… I feared ending up like before. But then I moved to Wicked’s Rest, and I met Daisy, and Alan, and you, and—” He lifted his free hand to remove his hat, tossing it into the corner of the truck bed. “It is… so much a… better kind of want, now.” It had only taken finding the right people, finding the right community. Monty released Kaden’s hand so he could instead frame his face, his dark eyes jumping between Kaden’s as he continued to speak. “I think our bad choices have maybe… reached an end, sí?” He smiled again and then kissed him, and there was nothing careful or hesitant about it this time. His body twisted, rising from the tailgate as he tucked in a leg and straddled Kaden’s lap, digging for more. For things he’d never felt before, and things that had been buried so deep and so long ago, he thought they’d died with him on that warm night in 1904.

[liquorisce]

marked

pairing: knives/vash [trigun]

rating: E | read on ao3

There is love built into the stitches of Vash’s body. 

Along the patchwork of bruises and scars that will never fade, presents from his most dearly beloved humans, Knives has always seen it for what it was. The high brow, the perfect lines of his nose, the pucker of his lips: Vash was made to love. He’d seen it when he was younger, it taunted him day in and day out. Every day of his sweet smile, the innocent flicker of his lashes as he adored Rem. 

His body was so full of it, it spilled out of him helplessly, wasting away on the undeserved. 

Right below his chin, along the sleek lines of his neck, right above where his shoulder blades dipped, bloomed another bruise, this one dark and purpling and insidious in a way the others weren’t. Remnant of the way his brother loved him: viciously, wildly. 

...

Among the two of them, Vash has always slept first. Easily. Soundly. When they were children and they shared a room— Companionship, Rem used to say, Don’t ever leave his side, do you understand? He needs you more than you know— even then Vash would fall asleep first. Mid-conversation, his sing-song voice growing groggy with tiredness. And then Knives would be left to his own devices: staring at the bed beside his, where Vash slept without a care, happy, sated somehow, satisfied with his little world. 

Do you ever wonder what’s out there? Or where we’re going. Why we're here. 

Yeah, he says. Eyebrows scrunching thoughtfully, Twisting his mouth sheepishly.  I do. 

… Why we’ve been kept here.

Vash shuts his eyes. Clamps his lips together. Like he doesn’t want to acknowledge these questions. It doesn’t matter, he says quietly, after a moment. As long as you’re here with me. 

… As long as I have you and Rem, nothing else matters. 

Knives clenches his fist so hard he draws blood. 

After they stumbled upon Tesla, or at least what is left of her, Vash developed night terrors. Knives didn’t sleep anymore. He stays awake, alert for the moment his little brother wakes up with a choked scream. 

“Nai,” he whimpered, half-desperate, half-questioning. The first night it happened, Vash completed his question. “Can I— Is it okay if I—“ 

I’m your big brother, Knives thought. “You don’t have to ask,” he whispered. And Vash scrambled into his bed. Trembled into his side and soaked his shirt until the soothing feeling of Nai’s fingers against his back had burned warm trails into his skin, lulling him into a tired, broken sleep. Soft hiccups faded into unsteady breathing. 

It warmed the crook of his shoulder where Vash laid his head.

Knives stared at the ceiling with a double-edged intensity. What they’d done to his kind… was horrific. He turns his head to the side, resting his chin above Vash’s soft blonde head. Vash lets out a soft moan and burrows into him further. 

What they’d done to his brother was unforgivable. 

But even as he thinks it, his hand on Vash’s hip digs a little bit deeper, pulling him closer. Indulging in what this had brought him, unexpected like a gift. In terrorising Vash, he received this; this moment of comfort that he gives and he takes, this moment where he is everything to Vash, this moment that he doesn’t have to share. 

Because tomorrow he will sit across Vash at the table, Vash and his hands holding a human-made fork and knife, eating human-made food, smiling up at Rem like this moment between them didn’t mean anything anymore. 

… 

Even now, a hundred and fifty years later, Knives has a hard time forgiving it. Even now, when Knives has Vash in the palm of his hand, having inserted himself into his mind in the most irrevocable, irredeemable way possible. 

Even now, when there is nobody else in Vash’s carefully manufactured world except for him, Knives resents it. His eyes skim the tragedy written across Vash’s skin— his golden, human-like skin— in shades of darkening blues and he resents it. Resents the crescent moons, the ragged triangles and the scraggly lines tearing across his little brother’s spine; resents that somebody else left this sort of permanence on Vash’s beautiful body.

Knives brings his lips to the little mark that he left on Vash’s neck, the only one that truly belonged there. The one he painted on his skin with an open mouth, with Vash’s breathy voice resounding in their little enclosure, begging him to fuck him harder, bruise him harder, kiss him just a little bit harder. 

It’s so easy he thinks, as he runs his thumb across Vash’s throat, so easy to abuse this poor boy and squeeze him for everything he is. For every drop of love that he has to give. But even as he loves, this is what he gets in return— hate-filled violence. 

Vash stirs against his brother as he kisses him. A sweet arch of his back against his brother’s chest. An even sweeter, sleep-drunk whimper of his name. “Did I wake you?” Knives asks, even as he knows that he did. 

“Hmm.” Vash rubs his ass against Knives’s growing erection. “I don’t mind.” 

“You don’t mind, huh.” Knives is thick between Vash’s legs, poking and prodding his legs apart before Vash says anything. The truth is, when it’s like this between them, simple— Knives brushing the sweat-slick hair out of Vash’s face, pressing his member into Vash’s weeping hole— a little puzzle piece filling the gaps in each other, Knives didn’t care much for what his baby brother claimed to mind. 

His teeth sink into Vash’s shoulder as he fucks into him, Vash’s pussy moulding around the shape of him, sucking him in like he belonged there. Because he already knows; he knows how empty Vash is, how much it hurts for him, emptying himself of all that love, how much he craves for his brother to plug the emptiness and fill it with his own kind of love. His darker, more demanding, possessive love. 

As he fills him, all the way to the hilt, giving him every inch, Knives tells him all the ways he intends to fill him up until Vash will never have to experience that kind of emptiness ever again. “I’ll never leave your side, Vash,” he murmurs, breath hot on Vash’s ear.

Vash throws his head back, dark blonde hair matted to his forehead. “Nai,” he whimpers. 

Knives liked it many years ago when Vash clung to him and cried. He likes it even more, now, when Vash clings to him and moans. 

Knives is greedy for it, eager for more. Eager to hear his baby brother confess his dirty desires the way it spills from his own mouth. But that’s all he ever gets: broken, desperate moans of his name, Nai, Nai, Nai, like his life depended on it. Like he never knew what to ask for. 

Like he didn’t know if he wanted to be here. 

Even when Vash comes— a filthy, obscene sight— mouth open, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, his brother’s name slurring at the edges, drenching Knives’s cock, he doesn’t ask for anything more. In moments where Knives is at his weakest, he tells himself it’s a prayer. Vash has been without him so long he is praying. Praying to what has now become the centre of his universe. Nai, Nai, Nai. 

But on nights when Knives can see a little more clearly, the post-orgasm clarity barging in unwelcome, he sees it for what it is: Resistance. The bent of his body and the sturdiness of his mind. The last part of his baby brother that he is yet to break. 

Vash lets out a little hiss at the sudden intensity of Knives’s grip on his hips. 

The mark Knives had left on his collarbone had begun to pale. Knives watched as what had bloomed like an infectious stain on his pretty skin now faded like the mark of a transient lover. 

… Like it was never meant to last. 

[inkykeiji]

clari!! hi!! how are you? i was just wondering, how would touya-nii react to reader being drunk off her ass? like genuinely drunk, not just tipsy? especially after a fight they had? would he punish her, or would he wait for her to sober up?

hi anon!! <3 i’m okay, how are you?? i hope you’re doing well <33 AH okay let’s get into it!

tw: toxic relationship (emotional manipulation + abuse), stepcest

alright so! if this were to happen within my AU, it would most likely happen somewhere between part one and part two of the main series, when she doesn’t actually know touya has a strict rule against drinking, and when their relationship is still new and developing! it’s highly unlikely to occur later on in their relationship: basically, if she *knows* she isn’t allowed to be drinking, if he’s already made this rule very clear, then there’s no way she’s going to purposefully and intentionally disobey touya-nii’s rule and be a bad girl.

as an aside just before we dig into this: i was just saying this to another anon but like as touya-nii and reader’s relationship further develops—and the longer they are together—the more controlling and possessive touya becomes. in the beginning, obviously he wanted her to be his, but he also regarded her as a toy and nothing else (which is why when those scary feelings of love pop up, and he feels like his whole chest is caving in as his heart cracks at the mere thought of her with someone else or of her disobeying him, he tries so hard to push them away, shove them down into his stomach and drown them in the acid) and thus wouldn’t be as hurt or as upset if she pulled a lil stunt like this, and would see it as more of a game than anything else—an opportunity to play with her and exert power over her and make her cry those pretty, pretty tears. tho interestingly enough, an incident like this is exactly what would make those scary, unfamiliar, vulnerable feelings flare to potency and proportions he's never experienced before + don’t make sense to him, and that would concern and terrify him. his own unexpected and strong reaction would frighten the hell out of him, and this may potentially cause him to come down on her a little harder than he normally would have, taking that extra anger that he’s feeling towards himself over his feelings out on her as a release.

ANYWAY to answer ur questions:

if it happened between part 1 and part 2: first and foremost, he would definitely wait for her to sober up; his mind games don’t work if her mind is this fuzzy and fucked up, and that’s no fun at all. he would, however, be extremely cold towards her as he put her to bed, and even blackout drunk, she’d be able to pick up on his mood, prompting her to be extra clingy and asking him what she did wrong and why he’s being so mean. he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, of course, instead responding with something passive aggressive like you know what you did or we can talk about that in the morning, sneering on his way out of her bedroom. he’d be sure to lock his bedroom door so she can’t sneak into his room in the middle of the night, so she has to stay in her own room and sleep alone, and that in itself is a form of punishment—the pre-punishment, if you will.

when she’s finally awake, coherent and sober, his reaction would be fairly similar to what i discussed in this ask, basically! he’d be cautious of going too far and would tread carefully in an effort not to blow all of his progress with her as he draws her further and further into his clutches, into his control. like i said in the ask i linked you to above, he’d mostly play on her insecurities and berate her for being such a bad girl, for going out and doing such bad things; even if she was mad at niichan and upset over the fight, intoxication is never the answer and he’s so disappointed. i do think that he’d act a little harsher, a little crueler in this situation than in the one i linked you to, raising his voice and shouting and slamming his fist against things (the table or the nearest wall) as all of the anger he feels for his haywire emotions bleeds through his pores.

his fury would only compound her fear, terrified that what she’s done is irreversible, unforgivable, and that she really is bad, right to her core, and he would fucking love this. because, to him, all of her terror and her tears and her desperate begging to be back in his favour, to be his good girl, proves to him that she will never do such a thing again; the thought won’t even cross her mind, and that alone makes it all worth it.

this technically pushes her further under his thumb and his control. she’s now going to question and second guess and over-evaluate all of her choices after this incident, asking herself if touya-nii would approve of the decision she’s about to make.

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil Village

So, although Deus Ex: Mankind Divided was (and very much still is) supposed to be next in the gaming queue, I somehow spent Christmas playing Resident Evil 8: Village.

And having now finished this damn game on three different difficulties, developed an addiction to the Mercenaries challenge mode, discovered a host of unexpected feelings about Ethan Winters & family and that Heisenberg bastard, and read a godawful amount of fic… I’m still a little undecided how surprised I should be that it sucked me in so hard.

Because on the one hand, if anything in that crazy franchise was going to get me, clearly it was going to be the one full of vampires and gothic horror tropes (not to mention being set in that one mysterious region of Romania we all know from the Hammer films, where everyone speaks English for no particular reason). Looking back, I’ve been in and out of horror-adjacent fandoms since, oh, about when the first Venom movie came out – maybe this was the next logical step.

On the other hand, it’s an FPS: a genre I only grudgingly came around to at all a matter of months ago. And though my days of saying I don’t do FPS are now undeniably behind me, it’s also a horror game, and (all recent records aside), when it comes to horror games, I am a wimp. The kind of wimp who watched playthroughs of P.T. back in the day going holy fuck I could not manage to walk down a corridor in this shitshow the atmosphere alone would smother me alive. The kind of wimp who noped the fuck out of Portal on the very first level featuring turrets (holy shit, they’re shooting at me? Those are bullet holes in the wall! Is that MY BLOOD on the wall? Oh my god how am I not already dead oh my god) and never came back.

What made the difference this time? Well, apparently my general aversion to shooting people doesn’t so much apply to lycans and zombies, and horror games are much easier to deal with when you’ve already watched a Let’s Play of the whole thing, and know what you’ve signed up for. Or maybe I’m just old and jaded enough that I’m not as easily scared by pixels as I used to be. It certainly helped that Village leans more towards the shallow, action end of the survival horror pool. But as for That One Bit that everyone talks about when they discuss how RE8 made them shit their pants, I can only admit that the other thing I learned about myself watching those playthroughs of P.T. is that ‘screaming mutant foetus monster’ is exactly the point at which my brain gives up on terror and just goes “…well that’s just a bit gauche, isn’t it?” (Don’t talk to me about those don’t-look-away walking dolls from the DLC though. That bit got to me like no screaming foetus ever did.)

No, the really odd thing about me suddenly falling hard for this game is that, well, it didn’t get me at the time. Much as I’ve enjoyed watching apparently the whole rest of the internet being brought together in mutual horniness for the incomparable Lady Dimitrescu, the whole step-on-me-mistress-thing has never really been my jam – and though I did watch that Let’s Play of the full game way back when, nothing about it grabbed me enough to become really fannish about it at the time.

What changed? Well, we can partly blame a couple of youtube channels I’ve been casually following lately by folks who were also big Resident Evil fans. But the tipping point may have been my questionable decision to watch a playthrough of the new Shadows of Rose DLC at exactly the wrong (or perhaps right) time of the month, resulting in me bawling my eyes out and discovering feelings about the Winters family I never knew I had.

All that said, actually buying and playing the base game was one of those random whims, entered into with 0 expectations I was actually likely to finish the thing. I mean, the factory section alone looks like such a slog.

…so it turns out that (putting aside the hassle of navigating the place) the factory can be a ton of fun once you’ve figured out what you’re doing.

What can I say? This is a game truly brimming with personality, the dark-fairytale vibe utterly works, the campy OTT villains are a delight, I will gladly fight anyone trying to tell me Ethan’s a boring nothing of a protagonist ­– and having had the time to get past the “GDI game is this guy supposed to be a lycan or not? MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND!”-annoyance* that stopped me from enjoying Heisenberg properly while watching the playthrough, this time I fell for him hard (and wound up shipping him with Ethan, so fandom has got me again). The ending delivers, the horror elements are on point, and it’s just damn good fun to play.

Doing my first run on Casual difficulty was my one mistake. It’s the mode most widely recommended to the inexperienced player, but either that’s a recommendation calibrated for folks playing with a controller rather than a keyboard, or all that time playing Deus Ex (which, I remind you, is heavy on stealth takedowns and 3rd-person-cover mechanics that do not apply here at all) prepared me better than I realised, because Casual difficulty bored me. The mechanics, world and story still carried me through, but I did not die a single time that wasn’t thanks to an insta-death mistake. There’s no way to change difficulty mid-game, and you’re far enough in by the time you really get to find out how difficult combat was going to be that I didn’t feel like restarting. But having finished the game, I was hungry for a real challenge.

So this is when I noticed New Game+ was an option – as was unlocking infinite ammo for many weapons – and rationally deciding that replaying on only Standard difficulty with the added advantage of all those upgraded guns wasn’t going to cut it, I jumped difficulties right up to Hardcore mode.

This, too, may have been a mistake. The very first lycan attack had me running to the Internet for advice on how to survive it (it turns out the accepted strategy is basically to just hide in a cellar for as long as possible, then leg it into the next house and climb halfway up a ladder, where you’re very hard to hit). But with that milestone cleared, I found my groove, and had a much better time (though I certainly died a lot more this time through). Even with all the upgrades, it was pretty damn punishing in places – but punishing in the way that forces you to really engage with the mechanics (or at least learn to love the good old ‘set a mine and back away’-strategy). And I’m pleased to say that unlike DX:HR, RE has proper difficulty modes: we’re not just tweaking damage ratios, enemies also get much faster and more aggressive at higher difficulties – not to mention those damn lycan archers now apparently have the accuracy of a sniper.

Having beaten the game on Hardcore, I was pretty well done (there’s an even harder mode, Village of Shadows, but I wasn’t looking for that much punishment). But any lingering doubts about how fully I’d embraced the shooty-bang-fun-times side of Resident Evil gameplay were well and truly put to bed by the time I’d discovered the Mercenaries bonus game.

This mode sets you up with limited weapon selection up against a hoard of easy-to-kill enemies, scoring you higher the longer you can keep a combo going. Again: not the sort of thing I expected to suck me in, but anyone who’s ever watched me play a rhythm game will know that I can be a real sucker for a full-combo challenge. Mechanically, it’s almost the opposite of beating the story on Hardcore, but it forces you to learn layouts of some game areas in ways you never needed to before, and actually seeing numbers for how much damage you’re doing illuminates so many mechanics you were just guessing at.

Better yet, there’s a hoard of stuff you can unlock by playing it, including (as of the DLC!) the ability to play as Heisenberg or Lady Dimitrescu, which is a whole heap of fun in its own right. And if you’re prepared to play long enough to get 25 other achievements (I was), you can even unlock ‘special customisations’ for most of your weapons in the main game – boosting damage even further, or a bunch of other bonuses that I could not resist trying out…

…only, having already beaten the game on Hardcore, there wasn’t much appeal to doing that again, only with less challenge. So… oh fuck, I’m going to play this thing on Village of Shadows difficulty after all, aren’t I?

Honestly: no regrets. Lord knows I’d never survive this mode going on raw (shut up shut up I’M NOT GOING TO TRY), but it’s very doable on New Game+2. And it’s very much the mode for folks who’ve already beaten the game at least twice, because just when you were getting familiar with the story’s pre-scripted roster, this mode mixes it up and throws in new enemies where you don't expect them (and just rarely enough that they’ll always be a surprise). Having trouble with those lycan archers on Hardcore? Well, now there’s more of them, in places you didn’t expect! Had enough trouble escaping Lady D. after she slices off your hand? Ha, now we’ve spawned an extra enemy in the same space, and did we mention that you have no weapons you can use one-handed? (Seriously, good times! And that’s ‘times’, plural, because surviving that one took me a few tries.)

All that said, I’m not sure those ‘special customisations’ were really calibrated for even this difficulty – and they’re vague enough that you’ll find that out the hard way. The magnum’s ‘Extra damage against lycans’-bonus, for example, apparently means ‘can now one-shot even the alfa varcolac miniboss’ (pictured below). And sure, that’s the magnum: but the sniper rifle’s ‘extra damage at range’ can do the same thing. It’s just maybe a bit much.

Honestly, I’d be all for it if the point was to give players who really want that Village of Shadows achievement another way to get it – but then you get to the gauntlet that is the endgame, and all that fancy souped up inventory gets taken away from you for plot reasons.

Actually, I’d put the start of the endgame-gauntlet back at Sturm (last boss of the factory level before Heisenberg), because even though you’ve got your regular guns there, he’s invincible from the front, charges like a mad bull and can apparently target you through solid walls. Then you fight Heisenberg, in the obligatory here-have-a-tank sequence, and neither New Game+ upgrades or special customisations have any effect on your tank. And then you get the section where you have to play as Chris, whose lousy pistol-and-machine-gun arsenal is also unaffected by special customisations (though I can see no good reason why not). And Chris’ section really is a gauntlet, with an uncooperative auto-save, an infinite stream of charging lycans, and another boss fight against some bastard who doesn’t take damage from the front, swinging a giant mace in a tiny arena. All of a sudden, you’re playing the exact same version of this game as someone who never hit New Game + at all.

I died a lot in this section. Seriously, so many times. But I stuck it out, and I gotta say, damn but these higher difficulty modes force you to learn how to play. In case anyone else reading this actually wants some tips: stuck at the Stronghold? The trick is to book it back to the entry passage the moment the first wave starts, maybe drop a mine or two, and use the narrow space for crowd control (same thing works during the second wave – it gets a little less intense from there). Stuck in the factory? Learn to love flash grenades! Sturm? Again: flash grenades! (You would not think a guy with a propeller for a face would be so susceptible, but who am I to argue with results?) Heisenberg? Turns out aiming for those glowing weak points really does make a difference, and your tank can make a MUCH faster dash out of the way of his charge move if you stop firing the machine gun. Chris? God, don’t even get me started on Chris.** (“Oh my god, Chris, your lousy pea-shooter guns have all the stopping power of wet tissue! Get a real gun, you LOSER!”)

After all that, the letdown at the end is that Miranda (the final boss) is kind of a piece of piss. You finally get all your old inventory back, and she takes damage from the front and everything. After dying a stupid number of times reaching every milestone above, Miranda went down in one go. I’d be more unimpressed by this, but after all Ethan’s been through at that point, maybe he kind of deserves it.

Obviously, I had to play Rose’s DLC bonus campaign too, but – much as I loved it for story and atmosphere – it was admittedly less fun to play. That’s probably deliberate: it’s much more down the survival horror end of the action-horror spectrum – aiming is slow and cumbersome, and your options and resources are very limited. Given that you’re playing as a teenage girl rather than a grown man on his second rodeo, that makes a lot of sense… but there’s still not a lot there to have me eager to come back for a replay. (Her final boss battle is a lot more satisfying, though it does suffer from the fact you’re thrown so many new mechanics that just figuring out how you’re supposed to use them is pretty distracting.)

I could go on at this point – as always in new fandom mode, I have so many thoughts on the world, the fandom, the challenge of piecing together the backstory timeline, the possibilities for where this series might go in future, and how poor Mia deserves so much more love than she gets – but that can all wait. The long and short remains: I never would’ve imagined how hard I could get sucked into this game, but I have had such a time learning how wrong I was.

* Look, if a guy who shows up with the lycans, and can apparently command other lycans, is not supposed to be a lycan himself, then maybe think twice before including another giant lycan character who a) wears his coat, b) USES HIS HAMMER and c) never appears on screen at the same time as him. You’ll save so much confusion on the part of your audience, I promise!

** Really? Well, fine.

The game autosaves shortly after you beat the first two varcolacs (I found it helped to go left around the fungus into the field, and use some grenades), and again once you reach the clearing (protip: if you can make it there, everything behind you despawns! There are a couple of real waves of attackers to get through to get there though, plus a slow-but-constantly spawning stream of lycan runners to mask that), then one final time before you jump down the hole. Knowing those auto-save points is useful, because 1) reloading your last manual save point will put you all the way back before the Heisenberg boss fight, which is officially Too Far, and 2) if you pass an autosave accidentally after using up all your supplies and on low health, the next bit is going to be that much harder. To survive the clearing, forget killing everything: spend the first wave hiding behind the house on the right with the supplies (it confuses them), and the second hiding behind the other house with supplies on your left, then climb the ladder to the roof and stand up to target the mould. Don’t climb the roof earlier: the archers will get you. To survive the boss, try to run under his swings when he leaps at you, hit him with a flash grenade every time your pals with the goddamn space laser are ready, target him, then shoot the hell out of the weak point on his back. [deep breath] DONE! (And goddamnit, Chris, if I have to listen to you say ‘I’ve reach the target clearing. Damn this looks big’ one more time, I will shoot you myself.)