#and how technically they had even less privacy than I first thought

[autisticwriterblog]

Watery's sauna

[ms-demeanor]

any thoughts on the new post that staff went scorched earth on which is now making the rounds abt tumblr live? it basically screenshots all the tos and claims if you've ever opened the app (or in some rbs, unsnoozed live) tumblr has gotten your data. on the one hand i feel like this is fearmongering, but on the other its true that MOST sites have your data as is so its pretty standard. you seem pretty knowledgeable abt data gathering so i was wondering abt your take

This is going to be pretty unkind but watching tumblr users interact with staff and live is a great primer on how conspiracy theories happen.

Nobody on this fucking website knows how to read a ToS, nobody on this website knows how anything fucking works (sorry, this is not a dig at you but how would tumblr "get" your data from you clicking or unclicking live; the only data that tumblr has on you is the data that you have put on tumblr what data do people think that clicking the "new" button is scooping up that is anything beyond interactions or posts or IP addresses which are the things that tumblr already has information about like you do not introduce new information into the tumblr ecosystem by clicking a button you haven't installed anything you haven't changed permissions on your browser if everyone is so goddamned scared about live stealing their data i strongly recommend they stop using anything but public internet through an anonymizer and making sure location data is shut off on all of their devices and anyone who is flipping their shit about the type of data that live is collecting but who is using chrome on any device needs to chill the fuck out about live and flip the fuck out about google)

this is like that post about twitter's content policy that circulated the other day or that post about deviantart's content policy that circulated ten fucking years ago nobody knows how to read legal documents and nobody knows how to read technical documentation and this comes together into unholy matrimony on the no reading comprehension at all moral panic website

live never violated the GDPR it was just rolled out in the US first but the entire userbase decided that because it hadn't been rolled out simultaneously in the EU and the US that it was SO UNSPEAKABLY PRIVACY VIOLATEY THAT THE EU HAD BANNED IT FOR ITS CRIMES with, like, nothing whatsoever backing that up because, again, even at its most intrusive Live collects about as much data as Twitter or Yelp, both of which are *capable* of meeting GDPR standards with that level of data collection (even if musk sometimes makes decisions that violate GDPR).

Live is significantly less intrusive than any facebook product, than Amazon, and than any Google product. If you use youtube logged in, don't worry about live, the horse is out of the barn and tumblr is the least of your worries *regardless* of live. If you regularly use Google as a search engine please god learn how to evaluate and compare risks across platforms because Live is like a coughing baby compared to about a dozen things that most highly online people interact with every single day.

If you don't want to use live don't use live. Clicking the button doesn't magically transfer your secret FBI file to tumblr and even agreeing to the ToS doesn't share anything that tumblr doesn't already have if you don't continue to interact - if you don't interact with live after agreeing to the ToS it's not collecting any data except your non-interaction.

For everyone who is losing it over Live just turn off your goddamned location on your fucking cellphone and turn off your location on your goddamned computers and that's it, you're good, you're fine, relax. If your response to "turn off your location" is "but I need it for _____" then don't worry about Live, whatever "_____" is was already collecting and selling your data.

Do you use an activity tracker? Congrats, you have much, much bigger privacy issues to worry about than tumblr live.

Okay but also I yelled about that post and the very many ways in which it was incorrect in January.

And I happened to take an archive of the page at that time because I'm a paranoid motherfucker.

And if you want my guess as to why staff went "scorched earth" on that post it's probably because if you scroll down to the bottom of the page on the archive, OP calls on everyone looking at the post to send a kind fuck you to the CEO then tagged his tumblr.

If you look at the other posts that went scorched earth in relation to tumblr staff they were also posts that very pointedly directed a lot of ire at a single staff member.

I don't think that any individual tumblr staff members are above criticism and I don't think that staff as a whole is above criticism but part of learning to read a ToS is understanding that someone can be shitty and vague and use TERF talking points and skirt the line and be technically okay under the ToS while someone can have a legitimate gripe about another user being horrible and manage to violate the ToS by accidentally spinning up a harassment campaign or suicide baiting someone.

Shitty people like nazis and terfs thrive on being edge cases. They are very good at finding a boundary and standing juuuuuuuuust on this side of it and going "la la la I'm not violating the ToS, you can't stop me!" and that blows and it leads to a lot of people encountering a lot of shitty stuff on a lot of websites but personally I'm pretty glad that there's a lot of gray area because when you cut out gray area that's when you see things like It's Going Down getting banned as extremist content alongside white supremacists. Please continue to report nazis and terfs, and when possible go deep into their pages to report because a pattern of behavior is more likely to get recognized as hate speech than a single post that gets reported a hundred times. Please block as many people who it's harmful for you to interact with as possible because it's clear that staff is not going to do the kind of work protecting users that users would like staff to do.

However I just can't get angry on behalf of a blogger who got nuked for saying "Hey everyone who hates this feature that we all hate please go tell the CEO to fuck himself at this URL specifically" - that is an extremely clear violation of the ToS because it is absolutely targeted harassment.

So now tumblr-the-userbase is going off on its merry conspiracy way skipping through fields and lacking reading comprehension and saying "users are getting banned for reporting the crimes of tumblr live and its gdpr violations" and ignoring the fact that the post was nuked because the last line was saying "hey everyone, let's all individually tell the CEO to fuck off in messages sent directly to him that are certainly not going to include any threats, exaggerations, gore, etc. etc. etc."

If I were to make a post that had 50k notes and the last line was "and while you're at it, please send tumblr-user-ms-demeanor a personalized message telling them why they're a terrible person so they know what we think of them" it would absolutely be reasonable to say that was harassing that user. And that post did it with the CEO. Who is not above criticism (and I have my criticisms! I don't think he really gets tumblr and that's a problem!), but jesus fucking christ don't tag the goddamned CEO or any other staff member in a call to action asking users to send them messages saying "fuck off" this is literally the stupidest thing I've ever seen a tumblr conspiracy theory coalesce around.

Anyway thank you for giving me a place to vent i've been getting more and more pissed about this for three days. Everyone feel free to kindly tell tumblr user ms demeanor to fuck off.

[mrchiipchrome]

Helmet

W.C.- 1,7 k

prompt 8. -Loving you was a hazard, so I got my heart a helmet. prompt 11. -Oh I’m down on my hands and knees, begging you please. prompt 13. -I’m feeling so tired, really falling apart.

A/n: this started out as a song blurb, but it became too long. anyways if you want to request there's a prompt list linked in the masterlist :)

-----------------

You knew it was risky to date the ‘fuckgirl’ of the team, but as she flashed you that cheesy loving smile, all those worries slipped to the back of your head. She was no longer the hot girl that your teammates told you to stay away from, she was just your Leah.

Your Leah that would kiss you oh so tenderly, your Leah who would look you in the eyes and tell you she loved you, your Leah who had you convinced that she’d changed. Your Leah who wasn’t yours.

When you notice the first signs of your declining relationship, you outright chose to ignore them. To this day you can’t understand why you did what you did, maybe you had inherited the same naivety as your mother, maybe you were just too in love with the blonde. 

Either way, it didn’t matter, not when she wasn’t yours to love.

When Leah started password protecting all her devices like she had done in the earliest stages of your relationship, you should have packed your bags and left. But you didn’t listen to that gut feeling that told you something was up, now you know to always trust your gut.

Then came the secrecy, the one that made you feel so stupid and like you were a stranger in your own relationship. Leah would leave you at random points during the day, claiming that the physio needed her to come in for a ‘quick session’, technically she wasn’t wrong it was just a different type of session than you thought.

After that most of the sweet, intimate moments began to wither away. You no longer got a kiss goodbye nor did you get to do something as simple as hold her hand. And when you finally did get an intimate moment with her, it was like she didn’t mean her actions. She didn’t mean the kiss she would press so feather light to your lips, the kiss that once meant so much. 

Leah was slipping through your fingers, and the worst thing was that there was nothing you could do about it. 

But it was really when she started to come home with gifts after her every outing that the pattern truly emerged. It was eerily similar to how it had been when your father had been having an affair with his secretary. You feel so incredibly stupid when all the puzzle pieces finally fall into place, of course history has to repeat itself. I mean it was just your luck.

No matter how disgusting you feel at the thought of invading Leah’s privacy, it was essential for you to get your proof.

So when Leah decides to take a shower at your place after another ‘session’ with the physio, you take the opportunity to look through her phone.

It only takes you two tries to get it unlocked, the woman having the audacity to have it as your birthday. It takes even less time to find the proof you need, the overly suggestive comments between her and one of the assistant physios telling you everything you needed to know about their less than appropriate activities.

By the time Leah exits the bathroom in one of your fluffy towels, you’ve already screenshotted it and sent it to your phone, the naked photos on her phone so revolting that you have to keep yourself from throwing up all over your expensive rug.

“What are you doing with my phone?” Leah questions carefully, her wet hair splayed over her strong shoulders and dripping onto your floor.

“What in the fuck does it look like I’m doing Leah fucking Williamson?” You shoot back at her, the usually overconfident woman retreating back at your tone.

“It looks like you’re invading my privacy.” You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips, Leah always finding a way to flip all the blame onto you.

“I can’t believe you, I’m not even sure why I’m surprised. Of course that’s what I get for dating a fuck girl.” The offended look that appears on Leah’s face only makes you chuckle harder, the mask of finding the whole situation funny hiding the hurt you felt at her betrayal.

“Baby, I promise it’s not what it seems like. We’re only friends.” Leah hurries the words out, trying her hardest to make you believe them.

“Oh it’s not what it seems like, IT’S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS LIKE!? ‘I had fun last night, we should do it again sometime;)’ or maybe ‘Be careful, I think Y/n’s on to us.’ that does not sound like something I’d say to a friend.” The firmness in your voice worries center back, never having heard it sound like that.

“Baby please, I didn’t mean it-” 

“You’re pathetic and a FUCKING HAZARD TO LOVE Leah Williamson! I mean, I knew the whole ‘love’ thing would be risky, but god damn it Leah loving you is a hazard and I really should’ve gotten my heart a helmet while I had the chance.” You finish off your rant, moving towards your own door fully intent on leaving her there in your apartment. 

Just as you pass her on the way to your door, Leah grabs hold of your hand tightly, willing you not to go out the door.

The blonde soon found herself on her knees in front of you, your frame towering over her. 

“Baby, I’m down on my hands and knees begging you to not go. I love you so much and that girl was a mistake. I promise, just please give me another chance.” Her desperate voice rings out through the apartment, and the slight chuckle that escapes your mouth is enough for the tears to start streaming down her face.

“Get up. GET UP I SAID! I’m not going to accept any of your pathetic attempts to get me to forgive you. You knew exactly how I felt about cheaters yet you went and cheated on me, congratu-fucking-lations Leah, you lost me the second you started sleeping with that tramp. Now I’m going to give you four days to get your shit out of my apartment or else I’m burning it, you understand?” Leah nods her head frantically, her wet tears landing on your cheeks where you wipe them away.

Continuing on your way to the door, Leah’s choked up voice stops you in your tracks for the last time.

“Where are you going?” Sighing, you respond as quickly as you could, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m staying with a friend, don’t contact me and don’t try to find out who I’m staying with. I have proof of your affair so don’t even try to test me.” And with that, you’re out the door, leaving Leah to pick up the pieces of her heart she herself broke.

The rain soaks through your hoodie and all the way down through to your socks. Just great, of course the weather had to match your mood.

The alkaline water falling from the sky mixes with the tears falling down the vicinity of your face and paints a painstakingly beautiful portrayal of how it feels to love someone even after they’ve wronged you. How it feels to be betrayed the way you were.

Arriving at the house where your favorite lives, you can’t help but feel completely defeated when they open the door, the fight no longer in you at all.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Beth asks you as she swings the door open, seeing your slumped over form, despair written all over your face.

“She fucking cheated on me” You cry, Beth holding your rain soaked sobbing body in her arms.

As Viv appears around the corner she looks questioningly at Beth, but the woman holding you just gestures to the upstairs area. Viv gets the hint quickly and disappears up the stairs to get you some dry clothing, your current ones plastered to your skin like a second skin.

“I loved her so much and she cheated on me. Why’d she cheat on me Bethy? Am I really that hard to love properly?” The sobbed words feels like a stab in the heart for the older woman, she knew she should’ve told you exactly why Leah was bad news.

“Shhh shhhh, it has nothing to do with you sweetie. Leah’s bad news and she’s truly stupid for doing that to you.” Viv rejoins you, patting your shoulder awkwardly while trying to help Beth console you. It only gets her a glare, and she makes the motion of going to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“I’m feeling so tired Bethy, she’s really succeeded in making me fall apart this time.” Beth leads you over to the bathroom and hands you the dry clothes to put on, the comforting smell of them leaving you to think about how Leah’s used to be equally as comforting.

Back at your apartment, Leah sits slumped over on the shiny hardwood floor, tears streaming down her face. The realization that she just destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to her came like a punch in the gut.

She’d never loved someone like you before, having been hurt the same way she just hurt you so many times before. Leah can’t help but think back on the beautiful times you had together, the feeling of being so incredibly loved, something she’d never felt from a romantic partner before.

She had gotten scared of her own emotions and she had hurt you in the process, if she could she would go back and stop herself from ever texting that girl back.

Like a wise woman once said, you never know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it.

At the same time, you’re laying with your head in your best friend's lap and your feet in your other one’s. Tears slip down your cheeks and color the older woman’s pant leg a darker version of its earlier shade.

Yeah, the next time your friends warn you about someone, you’re sure as hell going to take their advice.

[reminiscingtonight]

Public Relations

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

[WOSO Masterlist]

Being a public figure meant not having an ounce of privacy in your life. 

You’re more than proud of the part you played in the 2019 World Cup and subsequent international matches, but there’s no denying how much you treasure the moments you could keep your personal life more… personal.

That’s why when you and Leah first started dating, neither of you were in a hurry to publicize it. 

Technically you guys were in the same circles before you even got together. Same sport aside, you actually first became friends with Keira. You had become friends with Keira when your national teammates went over to Man City during Covid. After one too many video calls with Rose, Sam, and Abby in which Keira had the unfortunate act of being caught in the background, it seemed almost inevitable that you became friends. The two of you just clicked.

So yeah, you were already somewhat in the same orbit. Now how did Keira tie into you and Leah getting together?

Well let’s just say after a night out spent with her best friend, Leah woke up with a pounding head, a sinking feeling she did something stupid, and a returned DM.

[I think you’re pretty good looking yourself too]

Leah’s drunken initiation didn’t disappoint. It didn’t take too long for your flirty messages to turn into something genuine, and before you knew it, the two of you had been dating for almost a year.

Dating Leah has been nothing but bliss. The distance sometimes wreaked havoc on your sleep schedule and wallet, but Leah was worth the late night wake up calls and frequent flights overseas.

The two of you had just started talking about being a little bit more public with your relationship, ready to stop hiding as much. On your last trip out to see Leah, you even posted a picture of you at her game. Leah has always loved the sight of you in her clothes, so your surprise appearance, dressed only in her jersey and clothes you stole from her apartment only set to light her heart ablaze.

While you were taking the soft coming out approach for the public, you didn’t think you were hiding much from your teammates. You never shied away from taking Leah’s calls in front of them. Hell, if memory serves right, some of them have even almost walked in on you as the two of you were… let’s just say having a less than family friendly call. These were the people you thought of as family, the first people you told anything to. You were sure they were already well aware of your affections for the English defender. 

Turns out you were wrong.

It all began with the end of an international window. 

You’re chilling in the locker room, basking in the joy of another successful game while scrolling through your phone. It’s easy to ignore the numerous notifications of congratulations. You’d reply to them all eventually, but there’s only one text thread you’re seeking out. 

While you were on the field, Leah’s been blowing up your phone with her play-by-play reactions. Seeing her live reactions as the game was progressing, despite the late hour in England, only made your heart flutter. You smile at the texts, sending a quick heart back before making a mental note to call Leah after she’s gotten a couple hours of sleep. 

When you tune back into the noise around you, you catch the end of some plans to go out on the night. 

“So what do you say? Let’s go out, party, maybe get some cute girls’ numbers?”

You look up to see Sonnett wiggling her eyebrows at you. The smile on your face is genuine, a bubbling laugh coming out to accompany it. “I’d be down to go out, but I think Leah might be upset if I follow through on that last part.”

“Who?”

Your head tilts at the confusion clear in Sonny’s voice. “Uh, my girlfriend?”

It’s almost as if your words bring about a halt to everyone’s celebrations. The locker room goes strangely quiet as everyone stares at you weirdly.

You blink, confused by the sudden lack of noise. “What?”

Kelley’s the first one who seems to get her bearings back together. “What-- who-- girlfriend? Since when have you been in a relationship?”

“Leah Williamson,” you start, not even having the chance to answer the second question before the room erupts.

“The England captain?!”

“No way!”

“Since when?”

“I call BS! There’s no way you could’ve hid something as big as this!”

You’re a bit insulted at their lack of faith in you, but you choose to give them all the benefit of the doubt. Everyone’s busy in their own ways, maybe if you just explain it well you would jog their memories. “Why do you think I went to England during the offseason?”

Your team still looks unconvinced, each of them exchanging skeptical looks with one another.

“I literally have an instagram post with me wearing her jersey at one of her games.”

Kristie taps at her chin before snapping her fingers. “Wait, that Arsenal pic from last February?”

You nod, thinking that this is it. The post would 100% be enough to convince your teammates. After all, you were wearing Leah’s jersey. Not to mention, the [(S)he likes my American smile] caption that pretty much spoke for itself.

Only Sonnett doesn’t seem to think so, shaking her head in disbelief. “Nah, this is fake news. No way you have a girlfriend. Let alone bagged Williamson. Like c’mon, choose someone more believable.”

Rose sends you a knowing look but doesn’t jump in to help you. Leave it up to the only person in the locker room who’s more than aware of your relationship to the English captain to not say anything. If anything, she looks amused at your inability to convince the others of your relationship with Leah. Fucking Rosemary.

“Hey don’t worry about it.” Sonnett's smirk has you doing everything but ‘not worry’ about it. “I’m sure the great Leah Williamson wouldn’t mind you sliding into her DMs. After all, who could say no to a face like yours?” 

The defender leaps away when you lunge for her with a murderous expression plastered on your face. 

---

Rose is the first to meet you when the game ends. You’re both sweaty as hell, legs bruised all around and sore. All you have to do is take one look at the grin on her face to know you’re not going to like whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.

“A little birdy told me you have a visitor.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “One word and I will ‘accidentally’ tell Sof about your drunken confession.”

Rose’s cheeks instantly flame red. 

“What was it you said? Something about her--”

The midfielder shoves hard on your shoulders, nearly knocking you over but efficiently cutting you off. It’s not a secret how much Rose likes Sofia. Sofia’s honestly the only person on the team who isn’t aware of the younger girl’s crush on her. You’re half tempted to lock them in a room together to speed up their coupling, but you’re not that evil.

“Anyways, tell the little birdy to mind her own business too unless she’d like me to tell Luce some cool secrets of hers as well.”

Your friends love playing dirty, but so do you. 

Leah’s not hard to spot. She looks beautiful dressed in your blue Reign jersey, a matching beanie on her head.

“Hey stranger.”

“Hi, you’re wearing the wrong jersey,” you grin, taking a minute to appreciate your last name on Leah’s back before you’re eagerly pulling her in for a hug. 

She pulls away with a snort, rolling her eyes at you. “I’m wearing your club jersey, what more do you want from me?”

“I know, but don’t you think you’d look more fabulous in my US jersey?”

“Don’t push it.” But the sparkle in her eye tells you it wouldn’t take too much for it to happen. Leah may be fiercely loyal to her Lionesses, but she did love you quite a lot. 

By the time she’s set to leave, you’re heavily debating whether or not you should book a last minute ticket to go with her. It’s only Leah stealing your phone and her reminders of how much you love your own club that stops you from following through. There’s lots of tears and kisses when you drop her off, heart already aching before she’s even through the airport doors.

Leah waits to make an instagram post until she’s already back home, but you can’t help but still feel the little flutter in your heart at the picture she chooses. 

Taken the night of the game, she’s still wearing your jersey, though your name and number are partially obscured. You’re not visible in it, but she’s sticking out her tongue at you and throwing out her signature hand gesture over her shoulder.

[I like your American smile 💙]

---

It seems as if Leah’s visit to Seattle is more than enough to convince your teammates of your relationship, but the general public still remains steadfast in their beliefs of your “lovely friendship”. You wanted to laugh when you read the countless [friendship goals!!] and [imagine visiting your best friend on the opposite side of the world] comments on Leah’s post. To you, it seemed like a further stretch for you and Leah to be best friends than lovers, but then again, they said the same thing about Kristie and Sam before they posted a picture of them making out with each other. 

When you slyly suggest doing the same, Leah correctly calls you out for just wanting to make out with her, not that she has any objections to doing so. In the end, the two of you agree to just table the discussion until you’re reunited again. With the US going over to England for a friendly in just a little over a month, the two of you are set to meet up again soon anyways, so waiting a little longer wouldn’t be too much of a burden.

When you first arrive in London, you’re instantly herded to the hotel, no pit stops, no detours to see your girlfriend. Megan’s sure to poke fun at your pout while you’re in the car together. 

Leah’s nothing if not professional, so it would have been hard to convince her to house you on that first night anyways. Still, you can’t help but sulk in your hotel room. Leah texts back a picture of Georgia guarding her door.

[G says you’ll see me over her dead body]

You know you could take the midfielder. But it’s the sentiment that counts. 

By the time the actual game rolls around, you’ve been training like crazy, not having enough downtime to miss your girlfriend much. Before the game starts, the two of you still send each other good luck texts. You’ve sent one before the other’s games since you started dating, and although you’re pitted against each other tonight, neither of you wanted to break the streak yet.

When Hemp scores the first goal not even ten minutes in, you know it’s going to be a long game. 

It’s a constant back and forth. 

Sophia scores.

Then Georgia. 

You don’t get too much time on the ball. Millie’s been marking you close all game. You’ve been forced to pass the ball almost instantly every time it makes it to your feet, and you wouldn’t be a striker if it wasn’t starting to get on your nerves.

But then suddenly it’s as if all of the stars align. When Andi pokes the ball out, you’re there to receive it. The second you have it, you’re making a break for it. With your blood pumping in your ears, you dodge white shirts, Mary’s yellow one set in sight.

From the corner of your eye you see Lucy streaking towards you. You don’t even have enough time to divert before she’s sliding.

It’s a good tackle, but your momentum keeps you going. The ball soars out of bounds while you go flying over Lucy’s outstretched legs.

You land hard, sliding a few feet before staying down. You rest your head on the grass, all the noise sounding like a faint ringing in your ears. It doesn’t take long before a hand is resting between your shoulder blades, rubbing softly. You don’t have to raise your head to know it’s Leah.

“I just need a second,” you wheeze out, trying to pull some air back into your lungs. 

Your girlfriend hums in response, but doesn’t leave your side.

When you finally make it to your feet nearly a minute later, Leah hasn’t moved an inch, only taking a step back when you give her hand a light squeeze. Lucy gives you an apologetic pat, the whistle sounds again, and just like that, the game’s back on.

The closer the game gets to half-time, the more antsy you get. Player after player sends in more than a couple shots towards goal, but nothing seems to go through.

And then it happens.

Trinity rockets the ball right past Earps. 

You’re the first to reach her, screaming right into her face. “Let’s fucking go!” 

The twenty year old accepts your hug with vigor, letting out a surprised yelp when you lift her into the air. 

When the game ends in a 2-2 tie, you know it’s a well deserved draw. 

You carefully make your way around the field, shaking hands and hugging where necessary, all the while keeping an eye out for your girlfriend. It’s only minutes but feels more like a lifetime before you make your way over to her. Leah gives you a toothy grin, brushing a stray piece of hair off your face when you reach her. 

“Hi baby.”

“Hi,” you breathe out, not caring how you practically melt into Leah when she gets her arms around you.

The blonde chuckles, arms briefly tightening before she’s leaning back to give you an appreciative once-over. “Nice job today. You played great. Definitely gave our backline a run for our money.”

“Thanks babe. I guess you did a fine job too.” Your grin betrays your amusement. 

Leah rolls her eyes at you, a hint of a smile on her lips. “So do you want me to strip right now, or?” Leah puts her hands on the hem of her jersey, giving you an expectant look.

You know exactly what she’s asking for, but you decide to play coy. “Oh, now you want to wear my jersey? I dunno, I might give it to Keira.”

You pretend to scan the field for Leah’s best friend, but your girlfriend doesn’t even bother humoring you. Leah narrows her eyes. “Guess I’ll be going home alone tonight then.”

Though mostly likely empty, her threat still has you quickly scrambling to pull your jersey off, practically knocking Leah over by how hard you shove your jersey into her hands. 

Later that night, you and Leah post the same picture. You’re in England white and she’s in US blue, your arm wrapped around her waist. You’re laughing at something Sanchez said off to the side while Leah’s looking at you with a look that can only be described as lovestruck.

The English captain’s caption is a cute and simple heart.

Yours on the other hand--

[History will say we’re roommates 👯]

kmewis19: they’re lesbians, stacey

lavellerose: moms

keirawalsh: moms

sophsssmith: my otp right here

leahwilliamsonn: don’t be getting all sentimental now 🙄

lavellerose: lmao someone’s in the doghouse

.

Safe to say, everyone gets the message.

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaid Pt.7

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Sandor Clegane Smut: Praise Kink, Oral {m receiving}, Breeding Kink, Fluff. )

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

The Wedding itself was rushed.

They received Lord and Lady Stark's blessing to use the Winterfell sept to perform the ceremony, and Septon Chayle was more than willing to help once he was convinced neither you nor Sandor were being forced against your will.

Which wasn't technically true, but honestly it just seemed easier to go with it than fight against it. If it had to be anyone, you thought as you entered the great sept decorated with carved masks of The Seven, at least it was him.

Sandor's house was too new to have a cloak to slip over your back, and even if they had it would have been in the Westerlands. Instead they used his regular riding cloak, which was warm and woolen.

The king presided over the ceremony, along with Cersei who looked as if someone was sticking a knife between her ribs to keep her there. Prince Joffery had insisted upon coming out of morbid curiosity. Perhaps he thought they would drag you into the sept kicking and screaming. Princess Marcella tailed her older brother, convinced the wedding would be a romantic affair.

"One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever"

The kiss was a surprisingly soft one, his whiskers prickled your cheeks, but his lips found your almost out of instinct. They were warm and insistent. When he pulled away, you wished he hadn't.

"Congratulations, you two" Chayle nodded, gathering his official looking robes around him. "I wish you both a long and happy life together."

"Thank you, Septon." You nodded politely. Sandor didn't even acknowledge him as he left, looking to the royals with hard eyes that begged the question of "now what?"

"Well now" Robert grumbled, "That's that settled then. Right?"

"Yes, Your grace." You curtseyed meekly, tucking your small hand it to Sandor's gloved one.

"We should give you a minute." Cersei breathed, "Come darlings, the Starks are feasting us tonight we should get ready."

The matriarch led the royal family out of the sept, the door closing with an echoing clang.

"Are you okay?" You whispered, squeezing his hand slightly. "You haven't said anything."

"Fine" He nodded, "You?"

"Good." You confirmed. "You don't think they expect us to..." You led off into the open air.

Sandor grunted, "No one's going to force you to fuck me, if that's what your worried about."

"Hey" you snapped at him, pulling his arm with surprising strength so he was facing you. "First of all, No one could force me to do anything I don't want to do if they tried. Secondly, it's less the act of fucking you I'm worried about and more the complete lack of privacy."

"Oh" Sandor's brow arched, "Now she's worried about privacy. If you had thought of that before, we wouldn't be here."

You knew he was just teasing you from his tone, and you bumped him with your hip slightly. "Fuck you."

The sept door opened slightly, drawing you attention as the queen slipped through the crack.

"Your Grace" you breathed, "Are you-"

"I'm fine." She nodded, "Robert is satisfied. it seems we are off the hook for now."

She eyed the two of you together with a strange glow behind her eyes.

"Have you two...?" she tried to find the words, "I have arranged for a room below to be made up for you. I know it's not much of a wedding, but for the marriage to be legal you will have to-"

"We figured." Sandor grunted, seeming almost embarrassed.

"Sweetling," Cersei eyed you, "would you give me a minute with your husband? Alone?"

"Oh" You blinked, "I- Of course Your Grace. I'll be outside."

The pair of them watched you go before Cersei turned to The Hound with a cold look. She wanted to blame him, yet couldn't.

She wanted to punish him for getting close to you, even if it wasn't his fault.

But it would do her no good to make an enemy of him.

"Clegane, I want you to know how grateful I am for your cooperation in this."

Sandor didn't respond, not bothering to point out he didn't really have a choice in it.

"However, if the rush of things I know some details have been overlooked." Cersei continued, "How well do you know your new wife?"

"Well enough." Sandor shrugged.

"She's special, you know" Cersei impressed upon him. "As loyal as any pet and as sweet as can be. And so trusting."

Sandor's attention was on her, but Cersei couldn't tell if her words were making any impact, which was frustrating.

"If you plan to rape her tonight, I will make sure you never leave this wretched castle alive."

Sandor swallowed at this, caught fully off guard but trying hard not to show it.

"I hadn't made any such plans, Your Grace" He said stiffly, "but the night is still young."

Cersei's face twisted in rage at his implication, wanting nothing more than to have his ugly head mounted on the castle gates.

------

The room was tucked away in the lower levels of Winterfell. You had expected it to be cold, but instead it was pleasantly warm compared to the temperatures above ground.

The chamber itself was mostly empty. These rooms hadn't been used in years; the steward had assured you as you were led down the stairs by torchlight. Sandor had to duck to enter the doorway, finding you sitting on the large bed waiting for him.

"You'd think they'd have let you finish early, all things considered" You joked, moving to help him settle in. You had been sent down earlier, but mostly because queen had not yet figured out what to do with you.

You carefully helped him remove his plate armor bit by bit, until he sighed from the weight being lifted off of him.

He hadn't spoken much; he never spoke much. But particularly now it was worrying, mostly because all you wanted was to talk your nervousness away.

"Sandor?" Your hand moved from his arm to his face, "Please, talk to me. Say something, anything, if only to make me less nervous about all of this."

Sandor sighed, "Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

"Well." You began, "Do you want to do this tonight?"

He stopped at the question and looked at you.

"Because it's okay if you don't." You assured him, "We've been around each other for over a month and you've never tried to...Well I just thought it you wanted to, you'd have tried by now."

He considered this a moment, sitting on a spare chair to get more on your level with his legs spread out lazily. You moved closer to him as his large hands guided you between them.

"You think I haven't thought about it?" He confessed, "You think all those days you spent following me around, those nights you spent sleeping in the stables I didn't imagine dragging your foolish ass into my tent and fucking that kicked puppy look off your face?"

You flushed at this, leaning against his thigh hesitantly as if to ask permission before his hands gripped your waist and pulled you up to straddle his lap. Your toes barely scrapped the floor on either side of him.

"When you let the queen fuck you so the whole camp could hear, do you really think I was the only one who wasn't imagining making you moan like that?" He leaned forward, face less than an inch from yours. "You think when that fat fuck of a king said told us we'd be getting married, a part of me didn't say 'Fucking Finally'?"

Brushing your nose against his cheek, you felt your body begin to quiver on his lap.

"Sandor" You breathed against his ear, "Gods, hold me."

He obeyed, wrapping his arms around you to press your body to his tightly. You breathed in his scent of leather and smoke, hands crawling up and down his back and shoulders to memorize every ridge and groove of his muscled body.

Slowly, you began rocking your hips against his. Grind yourself against him until you felt a hardness so long it almost frightened you grow under the fabric of his trousers.

He was so warm; his body was like a furnace. Radiating heat that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket as his hands stationed themselves on the swell of your hips and guided your movements.

"Sweetling" His voice was a growl, so different from the way Cersei's sweet voice taunted you. This was a rumble, deep and heavy, "Fuck, keep doing that, and we won't even make it to the bed."

You whined but stopped obediently, allowing his hands to peel you off his lap and standing you on your own two feet.

"Good Girl." He smirked, eyes scanning you like a search light. "You have two choices, either you strip for me yourself, or I tear those clothes off of you. Your choice."

Gods did you want the second one, but you only had three dresses to your name so instead you began to strip at an achingly slow pace, tightening the spring both in both your bodies and knowing it would make it feel that much better when it snapped.

"That's it, nice and slow" Sandor's hand slowly cupped his hardening cock through his pants as he took in the sight of your body, the other hand working to take off his belt and loosen his strings. "Now, come here."

You obeyed, instinctively getting on your knees as you settled between his thighs. You purred hungrily, rubbing your face along the inside of his thigh and nestling your mouth over the imprint of his cock but waiting patiently for him to give permission to fully take him.

A growl formed in his throat like rolling thunder, his hand finding your hair and struggling not to press you down harder.

"Please," You whimpered, trying to seem as appealing as possible.

Sandor chuckled darkly at that. "Please what?"

"Please let me take your cock out." You persisted, "We've waited long enough for each other. Please don't tease me, Sandor."

The sound of your voice whining out his name, begging for him, made the Hound harder than he's ever been.

"Whatever you want."

That was all the permission you needed, quickly clawing past his small clothes and slipping the large, warm head of his cock down your throat.

You reveled at that sounds you managed to coax out of him, having caught him off guard and unprepared for how eager you'd become. His grip on your hair had become painful, so you gently urged it down to the back of your neck, allowing him to scruff you like one does a pup and guide your head up and down.

"Gods" He choked out as you took his deeper.

You knew he was too long for you to take fully, and so pumped the remainder of his length with your hand, allowing your other hand to wander between your legs.

The way your moans vibrated around him almost sent the hound over the edge, knuckled white from gripping the arm of the chair her found himself unexpectedly trapped in.

"Fuck, Fuck!" Sandor didn't usually finish quickly, but the look in your eyes as you swallowed his load told him that had been exactly what you wanted.

Breathing heavily, he tried to catch his breath as you climbed back onto his lap, cunt down drenched and dripping from touching yourself for him.

"Darling" You cooed into his ears, "I haven't worn you out too quickly, have I?"

"Fuck that." Sandor growled, grip tightening around you. "You're not getting off that easily, you evil little minx."

"Good" You grinned, kissing a line up his neck along the scared half of his face, "Because I'm not stopping until we're both half dead and sure you've fucked an heir into me."

Sandor rumbled, snatching you off his lap and throwing you over his shoulder. You laughed at this, kicking your legs eagerly as he delivered you onto the bed and pinned you under his weight.

"Your precious twins told me what a sweet girl you are." He taunted you, pinning your wrists by your head. "How trusting and innocent"

He ducked his head down to take a nipple into his mouth. The heat of his tongue and the gentle pressure of his teeth making your back arch and press your breast firmer against his face. Your moans came in sharp, quick gasps as one hand released your wrist in favor of massaging the other breast with rough, calloused palms. Your freed hand flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as you cried out.

"Do they know?" He pressed, scrapping his teeth over your tit before switching to the other side, "What an eager little slut you are? How happy you were to hop into bed with me?"

You wanted to shake your head, but in truth you weren't sure if he was actually expecting an answer. Instead, you tried to move your mind away from them and onto your husband.

"I don't want to talk about them" You confessed, "Oh fuck, just like that, Darling."

Sandor hummed thoughtfully at this.

"You don't want to think of them?"

"No."

"No?" Sandor, shifted upwards and turned his attention from your breasts to your neck, sucking so hard it would surely bruise. He rubbed the length of his cock up and down your slit teasingly.

"Then how about I fuck you so hard, you forget their names? Would you like that, sweetling?"

Your moan came out as a growl as you clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin on top of you.

"Answer me."

"Yes" you begged, "Gods, Sandor I can't take much more waiting."

And you didn't have to. Sandor's knees began to push your legs apart as he lifted up enough to strip off his shirt and trousers.

He was large, larger than you had previously taken and your hesitance must have shown on your face, because instead of crawling back on top of you like he planned, he instead rolled over so you were on top straddling him.

The tip went in easy enough, but his cock grew girthier as you slid down, and by halfway you found yourself panting.

"Easy" He hushed you, "Go slowly."

You nodded, carefully bouncing on what you could take so far. It was far more filling than any you'd taken before, and it was as if something inside of you shifted with each little bit you took.

"Fuck' You whimpered; eye twisted closed in focus "I'm not sure it'll fit."

Rough fingers found your clit, shocking your eyes open as it rolled and pressed against the sensitive bundle.

"Ah" You gasped, instinctively rolling your hips and rocking to the tempo. "Oh Gods,"

"That's it" Sandor breathed, watching as a bit more of his length sank deeper into your cunt, "just relax and take it like I know you can."

Your core began to tighten as his fingers pressed harder and his other hand began to guide you in sliding up and down the length of his cock, taking it a little deeper each time.

"Good girl, sweet girl" Sandor's breath was getting heavier, closing his eyes to focus and to push his release off as long as possible. "Just like that, fuck."

After thinking you had grown accustomed to his size, you bounced a little harder and cried out in shock. Sandor's cock filled you to the hilt, your hips pressed together as close as possible.

"Sh, sh." Sandor wrapped one arm around your waist and one round your shoulders, shifting into a sitting position while still buried deep inside of you. "Breathe, just breathe."

"Fuck" You gripped his broad shoulders, "it's. deep" you spoke between gasps.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No." You shook your head. "No, I just need a minute."

Sandor didn't protest, instead focusing on the shifting and pulsing walls wrapped around his cock, desperately attempting to accommodate him.

"Look at me." He breathed.

You obeyed, leaning back to face him fully.

It was a level of intimacy you had never experienced before, or even thought possible. Him being buried so deeply inside of you as you straddled his hips. Chest to chest, both breathing heavily.

You looked him in the eye, frowning for a moment before reaching up to brush away the shaggy hair that hung over the scarred half of his face.

"There you are" You whispered playfully, trying to break the tension enough to relax.

"Gods" Sandor breathed, "You look beautiful like this."

Entwining your fingers behind his neck, you rocked your hips slowly, not allowing his length to withdraw entirely before rocking back as before.

This time you kept him nestled deep inside of you as you panted and ground against him. The friction reached your clit, sending lightening through your hips and urging you forward.

Sandor groaned, feeling you clench around him as you chased your high. Your hands tangled in his hair and pressed his face to yours, catching his lips and exploring each other's mouths with curious tongues and eager lips.

"Fuck" you squealed into his ear, locking your arms around his neck. "I'm so close. So close, please. Gods, ah"

Your words came as nearly incoherent ramblings, hips bucking and grinding against him desperately until a flood of pleasure filled you.

It wasn't like with Cersei, or with Jaime. They had been fast, and brutal. Their pleasure came like a bolt of lightning hitting the back of the skull.

This pleasure came like a flash flood, filling you quickly and lingering as your muscles spasmed and tenses in an unknown rhythm. It ebbed away slowly but left you warm and glowing.

When Sandor realized you were cumming, he allowed himself to release deeply inside of you, flooding your womb with his seed and a heat that filled your stomach.

As the flood ebbed away, the two of you sat there, still connected and not wanting to separate.

"I want to stay like this." you begged him in a whisper he couldn't bear to deny. "Please."

Nodding, he pulled the blanket that had fallen half off the bed over the two of you as you leaned on his chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. Neither of you spoke, only lulling each other into sleep with gentle touches and heavy breathing.

[julieverne]

Maura never compromised quality in anything.

Except humans.

They were all imperfect. They all required compromise.

Garret hadn't been able to stand up to his family for her. And there was the whole murder thing too.

Edward hadn't been able to stand up for his family for her.

Ian was a criminal, but he'd have been perfect if he could stay in one place longer than two weeks.

Dennis had made her compromise her morals. And tried to kill her. No one was perfect, but still.

When it came to pearls and silks and jewelry, Maura never compromised. When it came to hiring staff, she never compromised on their qualifications, no matter how socially awkward they were.

When it came to people Maura let in her heart, she compromised.

There were her birth parents, for example. A mobster who looked at her like she was a sunset. A doctor that loved a mass murderer. Biological parents that loved her fiercely and remotely.

And Cailin. Not that she was a criminal or perfect, she was just... a teenager. And that required compromise. But Maura did love her too. She was smart - the Martin genes, Maura assumed - and when she was thoughtful she always managed to dismantle Maura's misconceptions of selfish teenagers.

And then there was her adopted family too. Constance - Maura had longed to feel loved by her, but she'd known she hadn't deserved it. Finding the circumstances of her birth revealed part of the reasons, but Maura had taken what little she could get until Jane called them both on their bullshit.

And Arthur. Maura lied for him. He was a weak, reclusive, cheat. But she loved him too.

And then... her other family. The Rizzolis.

Maura liked privacy and social rules, things that calmed her. The Rizzolis never knocked, never asked if they could come over.

Except Jane. Even though it had been years, Jane usually knocked if she hadn't asked Maura if she could come over, or if she hadn't driven Maura home, the assumption being she would be invited inside. Jane knew her so well she could usually diffuse whatever other social situation was upsetting her - like any of the other people on her list.

Maura still had to compromise with Jane. She had to make guesses at work. She had to do delicate technical work with Jane breathing down her neck. But the intent coming from Jane wasn't entirely selfish when this happened. It was Jane trying to encourage her, trying to be supportive, usually realising when she wasn't and excusing herself.

Maura didn't have to make herself smaller to fit in beside Jane. She didn't have to trim off parts of her personality and discard them to talk to her. She could just exist without compromise. She could sleep soundly with her head on Jane's chest.

Maura looked for certain things in a partner, the first and foremost being sexual attraction. But that had steered her wrong in the past, so perhaps that was all she would have to compromise.

Jane stirred beneath Maura's cheek, and Jane's fingers brushed through Maura's hair a moment later, Jane's chest rising as she yawned. The moments like these were always perfect. They made Maura feel cherished and loved. She'd marry Jane, if she could, have this every morning even if she had to swear an oath of chastity for the rest of her days. There was no sex in the world that felt as good as waking in Jane's warm embrace. There was no better co-parent she could ever find.

But Jane's fatal flaw was her relentless rejection of anything that wasn't pure heterosexuality. So Maura made the compromise, and once more took what she could get.

Jane hadn't realised Maura was awake, and her fingers roamed gently over Maura's back. She could feel the longing and regret in Jane's touch, and it made her want to weep.

But Jane was the person who taught her not to accept less from the people in her life, so reluctantly she raised her head and looked Jane in the eyes.

"I would like a civil union. For tax purposes. I'm not going to find anyone I love more than you, and I'm sick of trying to pretend I ever will."

Jane looked as though Maura had hit her.

"But we're not - I'm not -"

"We don't have to be. It can just be like this. I don't want or need anything other than what we already have, I just want you to know. That you're the person in my life. I don't think it's romantic or sexual, but I feel like - you know the Greek myth where people were created with four legs and arms and two heads, and Zeus got mad and split them in half, destined humans to seek forever for their other half? I'm done looking."

"What if I fall in love with someone else?"

"Why didn't you go be with Casey?" Maura asked. "The truth."

"I couldn't leave you. Not for him. Not for anyone." Jane looked away as though she was ashamed. "What does it mean?"

"I think it means we are each other's primary relationship. Even with Jack, I never felt like I was home until you were here."

"And we don't have to... hook up or anything?" Jane whispered.

Maura chuckled. Jane was nothing if not predictable. "We don't, Jane. You've fulfilled all the rest of my criteria for a partner. Not the society and education criteria I used to have - that left me with people like Garret and Edward. Not the criteria for attraction, because I had that with Dennis and Brad and Giovanni, and see how they worked out? My criteria have changed, and I would only consider committing myself to someone who doesn't care about my fortune - you don't. Someone who doesn't care about my gang affiliations - you don't. Someone who stands up for me, someone who puts me first, some who protects me from danger. Someone who sees all of me and cherishes all of me, not just the parts they like."

"That's how I feel about you," Jane said lowly. "Someone who doesn't see me as broken, someone who doesn't mind my crazy family and my awful hours at work. Someone who makes up reasons for me to hold them so I don't have to admit that I need to be held. I just - I never saw myself with a woman. Or without a - a relationship with sex in it."

"We can try sometime," Maura said, "but it's not as important to me as having the relationship we already have. I'll never expect it from you, and I'll never be hurt that you don't want it for me."

"We can revisit that, can't we?" Jane asked. "If anything changes. You're gorgeous; you should be with someone attracted to you. Someone who desires you."

"I get to decide who I deserve," Maura said sternly. "And I had no choice. The only choice I've made is to tell you."

"What if things change if we don't work together? You once said we were situational friends - work friends."

"If I called from the airport -"

"I'd come get you."

"What if it was a time-sensitive child abduction case?"

"I'd come get you," Jane reiterated, and as far as Maura could tell she meant it. Not that she'd call her away from a case where a life was at stake, but she'd always known Jane would put her first.

"How are we going to explain it?"

Maura sighed. The concept that love like this could exist without a sexual element - there were clearly romantic elements, the way Jane always opened doors for her, the way Jane held an umbrella over her, the way Jane looked at her when she thought she wasn't looking, the way Jane looked at her even when Maura was looking - was relatively new to her.

"They used to call it a Boston Marriage, although now I believe it's called a queerplatonic relationship."

"That would make us queer," Jane said, her nose scrunching. Maura shrugged, liking the way her chest moved against Jane's.

"I've been considering myself heteroflexible for a while. If I weren't asking you this, I'd be dating women instead. I'd just rather be - with you. In whatever context you'd take me."

"Okay," Jane said, and Maura smiled. "I mean. Not okay, not just yet. I mean, okay, I'll think about it. I'm not opposed but this is all new to me. You've been thinking about this for a while."

"I have," Maura admitted. She let her head drop back to Jane's chest, and it didn't feel like a compromise at all when Jane's hand threaded through her hair again, Jane's steady heartbeat lulling her back to sleep.

[nine-of-words]

Lunar Conjunction (August)

M Cambion x M Werewolf Reader

Wordcount: 5929

Content Warnings: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex (Reader Tops), Knotting, Transformation, Scars, Eye Injury (Old), Prosthetic Hand

Sheesh, these characters have existed in one form or another for more than a literal decade now. I wrote this as an anniversary present for Mason last year, so it’s full mushy - but it seems fitting for these two to be the first ones I post here.

One day I’ll make the unfinished project they originated from, but it’s unlikely that it’ll be anytime soon. I just can't resist revisiting my dearly beloved gay immortal steampunk werewolves every so often.

Looking out at the empty planetarium is almost eerie, with how devoid of other signs of life it is in the otherwise populated museum housing it. 

Though, it’s made less unsettling knowing it is only this empty because you've bought out every other ticket for the rest of the evening. Normally you would avoid such a flagrant, wasteful show of your wealth, but in this case, you only had your beloved's happiness in mind.

After a full day of city sightseeing, you wanted to ensure he would be relaxed enough to truly be able to focus on this experience - to really drink it in. Something that simply wouldn’t have been possible for someone of his disposition in a theatre packed full of people.

…And, perhaps a bit selfishly, you wanted to have the privacy to watch his reaction to something this precious, completely unimpeded by the presence of random strangers.

"Oh, what a grand room this is…" August wanders down the aisle between rows of seats ahead of you, looking around at the open space in the middle when he arrives there. “Some sort of theatre?”

True to his inquisitive nature, he’s been trying to piece together what you’ve had planned since you mentioned you had a specific activity scheduled this evening, whereas the itinerary has been loose for the rest of the day.

"Very spacious in the middle. If it weren’t for the seats, it almost resembles a ballroom…" His voice trails off with a hint of suspicion as he glances back at you.

“Do not fret," You chuckle. "I would not dream of asking you to ballroom dance again."

"I would hope not, not after last time." He turns to face you and his eyes glint mischievously before his expression softens. "Though, I don't think I would decline, when it's just the two of us to ourselves like this…"

Reassured he won't have to stumble through stiff and jerky ballroom dancing, August defaults to what he does best.

"So, not a ballroom, not an average theatre as it lacks a stage… I would think it must be some sort of playhouse, but there is no stage."

"No, neither of those. Though it is technically a sort of theatre."

“Hmm… And for what function would the floor be made of glass, exactly?” He strokes his chin in thought, the way he often does when he’s deep in analysis, his hooves making light clicks against the surface as he wanders. “It seems a strange choice for purely aesthetic reasons…”

“You will see very shortly.” You say, stealing a glance from the pocketwatch in your breast pocket.

Right on time.

As if checking urged the minute hand to finally lurch forward, the overhead lights click off in unison.

Spooked at the sudden darkness, August reaches for your hand, slightly hesitantly in his lack of vision, whispering your name softly for reassurance.

"Everything is okay. The darkness is part of the experience." You give his hand a squeeze.

"O-oho- You haven't brought me here for anything untoward, have you?"

"Hmh. No, though now that you have put the thought in my head, it sounds like an excellent plan for a later date."

Before he can make the playful response you are anticipating, the ethereal, electronic music starts filling the room, signaling the start of the presentation.

Typically during shows like this, there is an announcer reading off a script of helpful information about the cosmos. You had suggested they take an extended break when you unofficially reserved the planetarium for the time slot. 

You're sure they're skilled in their own right, but August could surely run circles around them, just based on the limitless time he now has to devote to his precious interests. Moreover, you knew that the majority of August's enjoyment of this would be bubbling over with information to share with you.

The glass wall wakes up from its dormant, translucent state, now shifting between deep,velvety dark blues and cold violets. Astronomical bodies of various sizes dot the space- Stars, planets, comets - a reflection of all of Hearth's cosmos moving in a slow arc around you, spinning gently on an axis as it does around the actual planet, impossibly far above you.

“Oh…!”

The reflected light of a shimmering asterism passes over his face as he looks up in awe, making his golden eyes almost sparkle like stars themselves in the night against the indigo-hued shadow of the theatre.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It is called a planetarium."

"Planetarium, planetarium…" August repeats, committing the word to memory. "I- I've never seen a place quite like this before... It is almost beyond comprehension, just how glorious it is. It's like an orrery, but an illusion across the entire room?"

"An interesting comparison. I suppose it is simply a large, intangible orrery - at least in principle."

"But however does it work? It must be magical in nature, surely!"

"Thread-based illusion, cast upon a Ley grid within the glass."

"How marvelous!" August gushes. "I never would've thought to apply Thread to Ley in such a manner… But now I have quite a few experiments to try when we get home, hah-"

He looks down for a moment to cradle his chin in thought, then recoils.

"Ah-!" August yelps in astonishment, seeing that the projection extends over the glass surface of the floor as well, producing a weightless effect. "That's why the floor is made of glass!"

His hand clutches your arm for stability. Even with your firm constitution, the illusion is tricking your body into feeling the sensation of floating weightless, out in space - or at least, what it might feel like, so you’re sure it’s having a similar effect on him. You place a supportive hand on the small of his back, in case the sudden impression of free floating makes him unbalanced.

Soon, your protective hold has let August relax, and he’s become completely enthralled 

“There’s the Elven Diadems, northern and southern; and there’s Rowena seated on her throne, then the Chained Prophetess is over there…”

His eyes sweep the artificial sky, looking for something specific.

“Ah, there they are. The Warg and the Hunter’s Hound.”

“One of your personal favorites, if I recall.” Your hand squeezes the dip of his side affectionately.

“Yes. They were my favorites before as well, but now they seem to have a lot more of a meaning, coincidentally…” He chuckles, leaning into your touch. “Oh, look at that!-”

You continue listening to him gush about the various heavenly bodies for quite a while, completely smitten by his passion for the subject, as you always are. 

Eventually, his voice grows hushed, his commentary spacing out until eventually you’re watching in silence. After a while just taking in the splendid view together, you realize that the end of your allotted time is drawing near.

“It will be time to depart, soon.”

He blinks, seemingly startled out of his awe-struck trance by the deep timbre of your voice. He’s had the tendency to falter at loud, booming voices for as long as you’ve known him, and while you’ve made a lot of effort to soften your voice over time, the ingrained projection needed for your orders to be heard over the tumult of battle is hard to fully tamp down, even after all this time not needing to use it.

“Have you enjoyed it?”

“I… I have. Everything that you’ve shown me today has been so new and bright and… simply stunning… I’ve had a wonderful time.”

He is being genuine in his appreciation, but even the small mask of a smile can't hide the streak of melancholy in him - not from you.

"What is vexing you?"

“It’s just… It’s all a bit…”

His voice wavers slightly before his thought fades into nothing.You patiently wait for him to continue, but when he struggles to find his words, you offer the next word for him.

“Overwhelming?”

He nods in affirmation, looking more guilty than anything else as a set of tears streak down his cheeks, brows furrowed and soft lips pouting.

“Take a deep breath, and then another.” You direct, and he complies. You use a calloused hand to wipe away his tears, then graze over the golden smattering of freckles on his cheek, then finally to gently tuck a strand of loose golden hair behind one of his gracefully pointed ears.  “Good. Now, tell me what is haunting that lovely mind of yours.”

“I could have gone my whole life without ever encountering something of this nature if even the slightest thing had been different. How many other precious things are out there that I’m completely unaware of? That I’ll never discover- That I don’t even know exist to look for? Let alone things that are truly unknowable to us in the first place… Must I always be in the dark about something or another? It… It’s a terrible, hungry thought.” 

You wrap your arms protectively around him and draw a hand across his back in soothing strokes.

Living one’s entire life on Rowena Isle was as an insulating experience for him as it was for you, after all. The culture shock when you started to learn what the rest of the world beyond the sea had to offer was a truly harrowing experience, so of course it would be for him, as well…

“My apologies, beloved. I did not consider how taxing all of these new experiences at once would be for your psyche. I should not have rushed the process.”

“N-No, you needn’t apologize! You've done nothing but try to share something very special with me, and I am truly thankful.” August sputters, his hands finding the fabric of your shirt and clutching close to you for comfort. His bright eyes turn up to gaze at you once again, still glassy with emotion but at least no longer spilling with tears. “Everything you've shown me on this trip has been so amazing! I don't regret it at all, even if I was uncomfortable at times. I’m simply… not expressing myself well, is all…”

“Still, perhaps it would have been more wise to introduce them to you at a slower pace. It was never meant to bring you to tears; at least no ones of sorrow.”

“It is… not a bad sorrow.”

You allow him the time to gather his thoughts, holding him secure in your arms.

“It’s true that it’s all new and… and the ramifications are so frightening to me, and yet… There is something about that which is so absolutely marvelous.”

The familiar spark of curiosity is clear in his voice once more.

“Oh, is it?” You realize you haven't given your lover enough credit. 

He may be of a gentle and timid disposition, but he is by no means a fragile soul, and he's proven that to you time and again. To be that stunned by something so foreign and immediately bounce back with renewed interest and vigor - that is the August that you know.

“Yes. For the longest time I thought the stars were completely out of reach to someone like me, and yet- in this room someone has managed to capture their very essence and hang them on the walls.” He lets out a shuddering sigh that morphs into a bewildered laugh. “I am a small speck in this dark endless sky, but it means there will never be a shortage of new, bright things to come to know- to grow to love.”

"You undervalue yourself. You are worth every star in the sky to me."

“Whether I am worthy or not is… debatable. More importantly, though I am small, I am not alone.” He says, voice barely louder than a breath, and his slender, soft fingers graze up the sides of your face, affection clear in his touch. "You are here with me."

“That I am. There is no place I would rather be.”

“It’s such a shame it was a short visit.” August sighs again, this one much lighter, as he hugs you tightly. “I think I could stay here in the dark with you for days on end.”

You can’t help but feel validated that your idea to bring him here was so successful in the end.

“I will build you one at home, if you would so like.” You whisper into his ear.

He looks up at you and his eyes grow wide - they might as well be twinkling in reverence.

You feel his body press flush against your solid trunk, guiding your head downward with his gentle hands at the back of your neck, to press loving kisses to your lips.

“I will take this as a glowing endorsement.” You chuckle low between each peck.

Clearly swept up in the emotion, it doesn’t take long for the kisses to deepen, his fingernails lightly digging into your neck. He groans a soft, sweet noise of desire against your mouth.

It takes all of your self control to not sweep him off his feet and start groping him right here. He seems to be thinking much the same, the way he’s rubbing his torso against yours.

He says your name, the quirk of a naughty smile on his face.

“You know I only have one thing to offer you in return.” Signs of lust creep into his excited expression, his desperate grip, his breathless voice; but most of all, the thick, pheromonal scent hitting your nose. “Will you have it?

“I would take you right here, if I were a more reckless man.” You growl deeply, feeling the words rumble out from your chest. “But the evening grows short, my love; The moon is almost seated in her throne. We’ll need to get back to the hotel first, lest some poor museum worker get the shock of their life.”

“Hhm-” August huffs an affirmative laugh against your lips.

Luckily, you had the foresight to book a hotel only a brisk walk away. The nagging pull of the nearly risen full moon is still able to be squashed down - you've been doing this a very long time, after all. So, despite your skin itching and muscles straining, you're at least able to keep yourself restrained - for now.

You're barely inside the privacy of your hotel room until your mouth has found his, and your hands have found his body, creeping up under his buttoned shirt to feel the soft skin of his sides. Your fingers clench against his flesh, threatening to elongate into savage claws.

Neither of you bothers with flipping the light switch; not only is it not needed given the fact that you both have the ability to see in darkness, but because the room you booked has a glass ceiling designed for stargazing, letting more than enough late dusky light into the room to see what you’re doing. The convenient view of the night sky was a major contributing factor in your decision, and it provides more than enough lighting for this.

"Mmn." August hums in appreciation of the pressure in your grip and places both of his palms on your chest, feeling your hard muscle through the knit of the sweater you wear. 

Those dexterous hands of his move to the hem and pull it up, a lilt of amusement in his voice against your lips as he continues. 

"Firstly- I enjoy the look of this sweater on you far too much to see it torn to shreds."

You pull the garment up over your head, tossing it to the nearby wardrobe. August shifts his hands’ attention to unfastening the shell buttons on the crisp white shirt underneath.

As soon as he's gotten your shirt open, he lets out a pleased sigh, lovingly appreciating the carved lines of your chest and torso with his hands. He traces his fingers along scars old and relatively new, causing your nerves to prickle from the dulled, numb sensation of the various pinkened streaks on your flesh. The sensation clashes loudly with how eager your skin is to change, itching to sprout fur.

"And we can't forget this." August's hands raise to the sides of your face, gently hooking under the strap of your eyepatch and smoothly raising it off your face. He tosses it onto the wardrobe with your sweater. Fingers gently touch the scars around your ruined eye as well, softly kissing your cheekbone, before trailing down your jawline to your mouth, slowly speaking how much he adores you through tender action. 

His tongue sweeps yours and you feel his attention shift to unbuttoning your trousers. Even the graze of indirect pressure on your groin is almost unbearable, every nerve ending in the area lit up and overly sensitive. Before he can fully unfasten the fly, you interrupt him.

"Undress." You break the kiss and command with a growl, through quickly sharpening teeth. You release your hold on him to allow him to do so. "I do not trust they will stay whole if the task is left to me."

August says nothing in response but moves out of your grasp, towards the bed, turning to face you when he gets there. He smiles coyly, unbuttoning his own shirt now, much more leisurely than he had yours. You watch with intense interest as more of his bronze skin is gradually revealed, barely keeping yourself together. The cold light from above glints off the metal ring of the collar on his neck.

He lets the dress shirt slip from his shoulders and fall to the floor, then continues working at the many buttons of his well-tailored, high-waisted trousers. 

You're barely hanging on as you watch - between the pull of the imminently rising moon and the strong sense of desire for your partner pooling in your core.

After a torturously extended period undoing them, they crumple in a pool at August's hooves, along with what's left of your composure when you take in the sight of him, completely bare save for the collar around his neck and the strappy black underwear he's wearing. He looks at you expectantly and beckons you with a flick of his finger, a bulge of arousal clear through the minimal fabric left covering him.

You stalk forward, not yet creeping on all fours, but certainly more predatory in stance than is the norm for your normally immaculate posture. You seize him by the hips and forcibly move him backwards onto the bed. You stand at the foot of it, looming over him.

August lets out a huff of air from the impact, but it's quickly replaced by small noises of pleasure as you lean over to kiss and drag your teeth down his chest, down to his soft stomach and along his cut line. You grip the back of his legs possessively and press his flesh harder against your mouth - hard enough to leave marks, but not nearly hard enough to break his skin.

Your teeth snag on one of the straps at his leg, and you rend it in two, the stretchy fabric retracting with a snap against the soft fat of his thigh, causing August to yelp. The noise incites you further, and you completely obliterate the remainder of the garment without a second thought, fiercely ripping it from his body, the sound of tearing fabric making your skin tingle and pupils constrict. He’s rendered nude, nothing left providing him any cover save for the shapely, warm gold ombre of fuzz framing his cock and thighs.

“C-Careful.” August breathes, more of a feeble request than a command as he looks warily down his torso at you, the threat of your pointed teeth dangerously close to his delicate, now very exposed dick. Given its engorged state and the needy, familiar expression of excitement on his face, you take the statement as a friendly reminder more than one of true concern.

You draw yourself up, pulling one of August’s legs up with you with ease, hooking his calf over your well-built shoulder. He’s held aloft, his upper back and forearms the only points of contact with the bed. His loose golden hair tumbles downward around his face, pulled by gravity.

With his leg secured in your thick palm and the weight of his body stable, you rummage through the pocket of your trousers until your hand finds a familiar glass vial. 

One of the unexpected benefits of having so many magically-inflicted scars is the salve you use on them to reduce the lingering pain of mana burn also doubles as an excellent personal lubricant - it differs slightly from the silky, floral scented formula you typically use in the bedroom that August is so fond of, but it’s far from the first time you’ve used this as a replacement in a pinch, and it’s not drawn any complaints so far.

After popping the top off the vial, you smear the oily substance onto the cold metal of your prosthetic hand. You don’t use it for this every time, but it keeps things interesting when you do; moreover, with your state as it is, you feel it’s the safer option to avoid any unfortunate slips of your restraint that would result in a sharp claw in such a critically vulnerable area.

August helpfully opens his unsecured leg wider, watching you prep your hand in obvious want. Once you’ve sufficiently slickened your fingers, you recork the vial and toss it aside.

You take an indulgent moment to tease your finger at the base of his spaded tail, relishing in the small noises of mixed pleasure and ticklishness he makes, and the way his body squirms at the sensation. Then, two smooth, slick metal fingertips easily sink into his entrance, drawing a gasp from him. You can feel the tremor run down his body through his legs from the sudden shock of the unwarmed metal. 

“Yes-” He sighs in appreciation and presses back against your encroaching touch as best he can despite his awkward positioning, immediately seeking more.

You draw your fingers out and press them back in, getting deeper with each repetition. Working him open, you spread them apart and swivel them, set on touching every little space of his inner walls.

It only takes a bit of stroking and stretching his insides for him to be relaxed and whining in need, likely due to the sheer amount of training you've done with him over time. 

He groans pitifully, wriggling his hips to try and get your now thoroughly warmed fingers even deeper, to no avail. Knowing him, if he had any ounce of leverage in this situation he’d be trying to climb on top to ride you by now. 

Instead, he whimpers and resigns himself to his fate, wrapping the hand that’s not stabilizing himself on the bed around his cock and beginning to stroke himself.

"Oh, is that how it is? We have just barely gotten started." You huff, critical. "You are in for a very long night if you cum this early, August."

"Nnh-" He trembles at hearing his actual name from your lips and looks up at you with pleading, glassy eyes, his breathing already to the point of panting. Precum dribbles down onto his stomach. "It'll be- Mmngh- be a long night either way…"

“Just look at you. Greedy.” You chide in a low growl and press a particularly hard prod against the fleshy bulb inside of him. “Absolutely lecherous, as is usual.”

“Mmhm-” After an open-mouthed, full body shudder, he smiles, complicit and smug, and bucks his hips forward into his hand. "I think- ahh- you quite enjoy it."

His adorable ears flick, turning more canine as his arousal heightens. It becomes difficult for him to resist shifting form in response to strong emotions, rather than him being bound to the pull of every full moon, as you are. Despite this, he's never been the best at practicing self-restraint…

“Indeed,” A smirk forms on your own face, as a lustful groan builds in your chest, watching the sight of him pleasuring himself while your fingers plunge inside of him with the same goal. “You must truly want a planetarium all to yourself.”

Your words are just barely intelligible at this point as your grasp of speech unwinds. It’s usually the last thing to go, and given the full claws on your hand now digging into the flesh of August’s leg and the restlessness coiled in your body ready to snap- the itching, burning rippling through your veins, up to the surface of your skin - your full change could happen at literally any moment, now.

“I do- I want everything you have to give!” He cries needily, his now pronounced fangs a flash white between his dampened lips. ”Give me everything!” 

You make an affirmative noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl, in place of what would normally be a ‘Very well’ from you.

You pull out your fingers, making August whimper weakly in protest, and hastily push aside your already partially removed trousers and the soft fabric beneath, freeing the heavy girth that’s been straining against its confinement since you set foot back in private.

Once your hips align with your target, you push your cock inside of his prepared hole - he does deserve it, after all.

“Uungh!” August groans loudly in pleasure at your intrusion stretching him, letting his full voice out. He’s come a long way from the timid, excessively shy person that wouldn’t make so much as a peep the first time you had sex. “Nnngh-”

 You cradle the arch of his spine, firmly keeping up the leverage taut as you begin to pump inside of him. As soon as you start a modest rhythm, his hand completely forgets its task - both of his palms move to the bed at his sides, balling fists in the sheets. 

Painted nails lengthen into a long pair of glossy claws of his own. You can hear the sound of tearing fabric where they pierce the mattress.

It’s difficult to start slow. He’s so soft and welcoming, and warmer by the second. His ass pulls you in as much as you’re pushing into it. The pressure of his walls is sublime, squeezing tighter around you every time he clenches - a small pocket of personal hellfire.

Wisps of blue have cropped up in the darkness, casting ghostly, flickering cold light below. 

“S-Spirits, that’s so good!” He moans, his brow knit in effort, and sweat starts to visibly bead on his forehead. His voice echoes slightly now, in the ethereal way it does when his demonic nature asserts itself. “More, more!”

Appeasing his request, you pick up the pace and force of your thrusts, increasing in intensity until the wet sound of your flesh slapping against his pervades the room. 

Your senses are so heightened from being close to your change that you can feel every minute sensation in a concentrated manner. The way he feels, the sounds, the sight of him, his thick, pheromone laden smell, the consuming heat of his body- The rising level of your excitement is seemingly the last straw, pushing your restraint to finally snap.

You’re unable to resist the urge any longer, now being under the light of a risen full moon. Your body starts to transform in totality. The pain of the situation is mercifully lessened to nagging discomfort by just how many moons of this you’ve endured.

Silvery grey fur sprouts on the back of your hands first, then runs up the skin on your limbs before spreading out over your body, the itching finally assuaged. Your muscles swell and twist, your joints snapping from the pressure. Your spine extends into a full, bushy grey tail, and your ears stretch and raise, two furry, perked triangles. Your nose and mouth grows and splits into a fully lupine maw - long and full of razor sharp fangs, frothed slobber already dribbling from your pulled lips from being so worked up.  Your bulk nearly doubles as you reach your fully monstrous werewolf size - everywhere - shredded off what was left of your clothes that hadn’t managed to be disrobed.

You can feel the inside of August’s body tighten around your thickened, elongated cock, the organ filling him further to make room for its mass. You’re stopped from plunging to the hilt by the quickly swelling bundle of flesh at the base of your phallus. It grinds wet against the tense ring of muscle at August’s entrance.

“Aaangh- B-Big-!” August throws his head back, all attempts at eloquence abandoned as he grunts and gasps, trying to adjust to the sudden change in girth inside of him. His forked tongue hangs out of his parted mouth, the shock of blue complimenting his tan skin beautifully. “Al-Always S-So big- Mnngh!”

A growl escapes your chest through your bared newly minted fangs, so aroused and driven on by primal lust that you’re unable to slow your pace even slightly. Your clawed mitts grip him tighter, and your robust, furry quads thrust your throbbing cock into him harder and faster, as deep as the tighter fit and the sudden spherical flare will allow.

Your mechanical claw moves from the small of his back to the crook of his knee on his free leg and pushes upwards, spreading his legs open as far as possible, trying to facilitate cramming your knot inside him. 

After a few more ragged pumps into him, you can feel some progress. August’s hole stretches in small increments, taking more of the swollen bump bit by bit. Deep growls escape your throat with each savage thrust. 

With a particularly strong jerk of your hips, the resistance finally yields. Your fat, over-swollen knot pushes past the fleshy ring with a pop, quickly sucked up into August’s body.

“O-Oh- Nnngh-” 

You’ve barely been moving a few moments before your lover tenses below you and his hole contracts around you as hard as it can, preventing you from pulling out of him.

"Aa-anngh-!" August's body is wracked by tremors below you, his voice broken by intensity as he cries out, and his claws puncturing the bedding. He hits his peak fast, cum streaking out of the tip of his swollen head. 

Because of the steep angle you're holding him at, his spunk lands on his own face and hair, some even getting into his open mouth where his tongue lulls out. Given his dreamy, blissed out expression, and the frantic heaves of his chest, he doesn't seem to mind much at all.

He watches you with the same glazed, reverent expression, keeping himself clenched and you tied to him as you continue. You thrust ferociously with a primal lust, despite the lack of room to draw out. 

The tight squeeze feels divine - every slope of August’s inner walls bearing down and rubbing you in a sweet embrace. You chase down the building feeling of pressure in your lower spine, still growling low. Your movements become harried and wild, and finally, your balls tense up. The growls in your chest turn into a full blown snarl as you spout a fountain’s worth of cum inside of him, continuing the movement of your hips as you empty your load.

After the spasms subside, you use the increased amount of lubricant to draw yourself out of him, an overflow of your own seed filtering out in absence of your cock.

“Aaah-” August groans breathlessly, wincing at the lack of fullness as he holds his undoubtedly sore abdomen. “U-Uh?”

He lets out a noise of surprise as you use your grip on his knee to flip him over, shoving him farther up the bed, so that he’s chest down, on his knees- his round, perfect ass propped in the air.

“N-Not finished, huh?” He pants breathily, lust rising in his voice again. “Go ahead, use me as you see fit- Nngh-!”

He’s cut off as you grab his hips and sink your still rock hard cock into him to the hilt once more, the force knocking the air out of him.

You continue to wildly rut into him, filling him with more rounds of cum, then repeat several times over. You carry on long after he passes out and the gathered wisps have extinguished themselves, using his limp body for relief far into the wee hours of the morning. Eventually you fully exhaust yourself, and pull out of him one last time before collapsing to sleep beside him.

Some hours later, you wake to golden morning light beginning to filter in from the glass ceiling, a man once more in the warm rays of the sun. 

You sit up and roll one of your shoulders tentatively, your weary bones creaking with your movements. In your stirring, you notice your lover is also awake, watching you groggily from his position laying on his back next to you.

“How do you fare this morning?” Your brow knits in slight concern, always worried that despite him assuring you otherwise, that one day you will physically hurt him beyond repair. “Sore, I assume.”

“A little sore, yes. And quite sticky…” He laughs, noticing your look of concern and countering it with a loving smile of his own, reaching out to grab your hand. He places a light kiss onto your hardened knuckles. “Moreso hungry. Absolutely ravenous.”

“We shall have to fix that, then. I have a few places in mind for breakfast, but it seems whichever is the closest one is in order.” You shift your weight to rise out of the bed, when you feel his palm catch your forearm.

“Wait,” August says softly, pulling you back before you can leave the bed. “Lay with me a bit longer, if you would.”

“... Of course, my beloved.” You settle back against the headboard, shifting to hold him in your arms, his warm skin soft against yours. You could never fail to oblige him. “We can have something delivered, if you prefer.”

After sorting out the food order, a few minutes of tired quiet pass. August sighs a contented, thoughtful sigh, his body still limp and relaxed as he draws a hand slowly across the soft hair on your chest.

“Mmm, now, that is the sound you make when having a particularly poignant thought.“ A husky, affectionate chuckle rumbles in your chest. “Just what topic has you pondering this deeply so early, my dear?”

“Oh, nothing too philosophical, truly. Mulling over all the things I experienced on this trip.” He laughs lightly in response. “Everything is so new, but most of the things weren’t so different from those at home; just some minor permutation on the same idea. Even that beautiful glass room that holds the night sky - the planetarium - is still the same night sky I’ve seen while stargazing so many times before, just seen through a different lens.”

“That is true. Living long enough reveals that very few things are completely original. Especially when home is particularly stuck in its old ways… so much of the outside world has taken and improved upon what is there.”

“Yes. But how beautiful it is, that there is still a vast unknown that remains to be found in things that are so familiar, just by turning them in the light.” 

“You know,” You say and lay soft, venerative kisses on his face and neck, drawing a sweetly affectionate, drawn out hum from him. “Perhaps you should take up poetry - I think you are simply a natural.”

“Perhaps I will consider it…”

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[michaelmilligan]

Midam week day six: SECRET

By now, Adam knew many secrets of the universe.

In the beginning of their acquaintance, Michael had been very cagey (pun fully intended), but even an archangel can only entertain himself for so many centuries without spilling some gossip about the work behind the scenes, or the time before time.

So Adam was very aware of which archangel had fumbled the construction of what star, causing the first supernova, and who had always complained about what particular law of physics.

He knew how the universe worked, down to the smallest parts in existence. Knew what made an angel tick, and what separated them from the archangels.

He knew how God worked, in all the ways that Michael knew it. Not that it was relevant anymore – God's power had been released into the world when Jack had stepped down from the position. Sometimes, you could still find remnants of it, pieces that had clearly been part of something bigger before. But mostly, it had fused with the energy around it, becoming a natural part of the world.

All that was a secret too, Adam supposed, though he tended to forget that not everyone knew God had been a bitch and had been dethroned for throwing a tamper tantrum. (Only to be replaced by a three year old who had been less prone to such tantrums, and who had been wise enough to abolish the position entirely.)

So at times, Adam would make a comment, a totally innocuous one in his opinion, and his co-workers would look at him like he'd grown a second head.

This was a difficulty Adam hadn't really foreseen when thinking about getting a 'little job': That he had apparently forgotten how to interact with normal people. Or rather, he technically knew how, but he was so used to only ever talking to Michael that it was hard to re-adjust.

Sometimes, Adam would forget that they weren't alone, and talked out loud to Michael. His co-workers probably thought he was talking to himself. But it got so bad that he sometimes forgot someone else was talking to him because Michael was making a funny face, or commenting from the sidelines. Not so great when you're currently talking to your boss or a customer, and suddenly ignore them.

The thing was, pretending to be a regular human was hard, and so it came as no surprise that Adam had trouble actually holding down a job. Which might also have something to do with him playing hooky all the damn time to go sight-seeing, or just chill in his bed. Both of which were Michael's fault, because he kept instigating these things.

Technically, they didn't even need a job. Turned out Michael could just get them everything they needed, including money, though Adam was a little reluctant to rely on him like that. It felt like cheating. Besides, having a job made Adam go out into the world instead of just staying inside his little bubble of archangels (yeah, several, at least sometimes) and the cashier at the grocery store around the corner.

So what if the people at his job (and possibly also the cashier) thought he was weird? Or if he couldn't keep a job for more than a month? At least he was trying.

JENNA NEEDS TO STOP HAVING PHONE CALLS DURING WORK. SHE'LL GET FIRED, Michael said one day while Adam stocked some shelves.

Huh? While Adam had noticed that his co-worker Jenna always seemed to be mysteriously absent when she was needed, he hadn't known what it was she was doing. How do you know she's on the phone?

I CAN HEAR HER.

Right. An archangel's senses was far better than those of a human. Still, it was impressive that Michael could hear a conversation that Adam hadn't even been aware of.

Michael groaned. SHE'S BREAKING UP WITH HER BOYFRIEND. AGAIN.

Again?

THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK. I WANT TO SAY IT'S ALWAYS THE SAME ONE, BUT I'M NOT ACTUALLY SURE.

Adam laughed, then ducked his head when a customer looked at him weirdly.

You know this is a breach of privacy, right? You really shouldn't be listening in on them.

WELL I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING WHILE YOU'RE WORKING.

Adam sighed. Michael, we talked about this. If you want to go somewhere else while I'm here-

NO. Michael wasn't using a projection right now, but Adam could feel him pouting. YOU'D JUST GET TIRED AND HUNGRY AND CRANKY.

Excuse me! While Adam was pretty sure that yeah, he would get all these things, that didn't mean Michael had to put it like that. You wouldn't even be here to suffer me being like that, so what's your point?

MY POINT IS THAT NOT ONLY DO I NOT WANT TO EXPERIENCE THAT MYSELF, I ALSO DON'T WANT YOU TO GO THROUGH THAT.

Awww, babe-

BECAUSE YOU WOULD BLAME ME FOR AT LEAST A YEAR IF I LET THAT HAPPEN. There was smugness radiating off Michael.

Ugh. You're a baby. Adam, remembering what he was supposed to be doing, put the last items on the shelf, a little more forcefully than necessary. Just as he started leaving the aisle, he spotted Jenna coming back

ASK HER HOW HER EX-BOYFRIEND DAVE IS, Michael urged him.

No, shut up, that's creepy.

HATE IT TO BREAK IT TO YOU, BUT SHE ALREADY THINKS YOU'RE A CREEP.

… She does?

YEAH, SHE WAS TELLING DAVE ALL ABOUT IT. AND LAST WEEK, SHE COMPLAINED ABOUT YOU TO HER FRIEND ALLISON, WHO APPARENTLY TOLD HER TO 'SNITCH ON YOU' TO THE MANAGER IF YOU EVER DID ANYTHING WRONG.

Oh! Was that why the manager had called him to his office on Thursday? Adam narrowed his eyes, then put on a smile when Jenna noticed him.

“Hey Jenna! How's Dave?” Adam asked cheerfully.

Her face fell immediately, eyes almost bugging out of her head. While she was still gaping, obviously unable to form an answer, Adam turned away and walked off. Let her think he was a creep or whatever.

At least he was able to keep a boyfriend. For several hundreds of years, no less.

Adam grinned. Maybe he should rub that in her face, actually.

If he already had a reputation as a weirdo, he might as well go all out.

[nopoodles]

Free Fall

#FFF210 The Sand Ocean @flashfictionfridayofficial

Couple of things before you hit that delicious read more with the story beneath.

It's under a read more because it's a canon part of a larger story that doesn't come out until next year (and I technically haven't announced yet).

And yes, it does, (again technically) contain spoilers for said thing. (Small ones like who lives and how) So if you hate spoilers but like indie novels about pirates, maybe give this one a miss.

Finally, It's a completely self-contained piece of flash fiction but, much like my short sotries from nopoodles.wordpress.com it can (and in this case has) also be turned into a longer piece.

Anyway 932 words here we come!

Nat had got used to the swash of the sea against the sides of the ship, had got used to the sensation of constant sway. But when the crew had agreed to head to The Dry Sea Pirate Port, they had all warned Nat that it would be a wild experience compared to the rest of their time on board.

Nat wasn’t foolish enough to point out that their experience on the ship didn’t exactly count as simple or easy. Prisoner held for ransom didn’t exactly make for ‘tame’.

Still, they had slipped into a safety line and made their way up the rigging. If nothing else, it would at least give them some semblance of privacy, more than they could expect to find elsewhere on a ship like this one.

“When you said ‘Dry Sea’, I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly what I imagined.”

“What did you picture?” the rigger, Kajal asked, settling next to Nat on the crossbar of the sail.

Kajal had no issues staying upright, even with the blistering wind blasting them both from behind, filling the white sails below them to puffy clouds. The deck below seemed tiny from up here, even Bear and Aleksei turning to miniature versions. Nat, on the other hand, clung tight to the crossbar with their hands. “I don’t know,” they sighed. “Just… I can’t say I would ever have even imagined the ship would somehow be able to sail right through sand like it’s an ocean of its own.”

This was the most obvious venture into the Unknown World that Nat had managed thus far. They had grown up at the origin point of most modern oceanic maps – the Endrish navy had expanded further into the seas than most others. At least most other map making societies. Maybe they were just pushy about their own map designs.

Still, nobody else dared travel into such unchartered space as these but for pirates. Nat’s first experience of the Unknown World had probably been the Siren’s Waters, but Nat couldn’t have begun to explain where they were. Their first experience of semi-chartered Unknown World was the Pirate Port in Shenai. The place Nat’s world had seemed to settle into this version of normal.

Normal. A laughable concept. Particularly here where the sand parted in front of the bow of the ship, completely akin to both a ship through the swell and somehow like the few times Nat had seen a field ploughed. That was a comparison they had never thought to make before. But, then again, Nat spent most of their time aboard looking back over what had passed.

The sand itself glittered gold, almost blinding with the level of sun at this time of day. Maybe it was always like this. Always bright. Always this dry heat that seemed to steal all the moisture from one’s mouth.

 “It’s the Dry Sea,” Kajal said.

“Thank you for the clarity.” Nat’s voice was dry.

Kajal gasped. “I can’t believe it’s already affecting you.”

In the distance a sparkling something surfaced from the sand, dipping back underneath like a whale or a dolphin but far larger than either. That was definitely something that ate ships like these. And Nat doubted they’d be able to convince it with clever words to leave them and the rest of the ship alone.

“If I was less afraid of falling, I’d push you.”

“You’re wearing a safety line. Falling isn’t a problem.”

You’re. Nat pulled their attention away from the horizon, away from that blistering sand, and to Kajal, relieved to find the rigger sporting their own safety line, one clearly designed specifically to fit their body in a more comfortable way than the rope harness Nat had wriggled into.

“I’m sure having my chest bruised before I meet the Pirate Lord of the Dry Sea would be incredibly helpful, but I think I’ll avoid it if I can.”

Kajal snickered. “A fair point.”

Ahead of them, a palace loomed out of the sand, seeming to float impossibly over the landscape, held up only by wavering heat lines. Nat knew better than to believe their eyes in this situation. They’d read enough stories – fictional and factual – to know that hot weather mirages were a thing. Still, there were heat mirages and then there was the fact that Nat was physically on a ship heading through the sand like it was water with its own currents. And they had thought sirens would be the weirdest thing they’d come across on this voyage.

“I should get ready,” they sighed.

Kajal shrugged, shoulder shifting close enough to disturb the fabric of Nat’s shirt. “If you want.”

“I think you’re a bad influence.”

Kajal gasped again, lifting a hand to almost cover their mouth. An obvious mockery of Nat’s typical dandified tendencies. “How could you say such a thing?”

Nat laughed hard enough that their seat unsteadied. Their heart leapt into their throat at that feeling of freefall, cut short only by their desperate clinging to the crossbar below them.

Kajal threw a steadying arm around them, hand catching against the still tender and sensitive line of scars decorating their way down Nat’s arm. Their flinched enough from that gentle and unintentional contact that their hastily aborted fall took over.

They found themself swinging wildly across the deck, safety line wrapped around their torso contracting, crushing their ribs in an iron grip.

A hand steadied them and spun them around to face the owner. He looked somehow both less and more imposing upside down. “We’ll be there in less than an hour.”

“Thank you Aleksei.”

© Will Soulsby-McCreath, feel absolutely free to reblog but you need my active written permission to share it anywhere else (and I'm not currently giving that)

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

This post… started out as a way to post a little clip from an old Daniel Kitson radio show, because I had something happen in real life recently that somewhat mirrored an awkward situation there, and I thought of responding the way they did on the radio show, which I thought would be funny. But the post got a little out of hand as I explained the real-life event (I mean… technically I guess the radio show was also real life, but they feel like fictional characters), so it’s turned into one of those “here’s a story from my life” posts, with a bit from the radio show at the end. That’s what’s behind this link.

I often forget to say things like this, please let me know if you ever wish I’d post more warnings about anything I post about, but trigger warning in this one for a bit of talk about people losing too much weight on purpose. Not a significant part of the story, but it’s in there.

So, I have this friend from New Zealand. In previous posts in which I’ve written stories from my life, I’ve given people I know pseudonyms for privacy (even though that’s a bit silly, no one would know even if I used their real names), and I’ve named them after comedians. I’m going to name my friend in this story David, because he’s a Kiwi, and he has what I can only describe as “David Correos energy”. One of the most wild and excitable people I’ve ever met. Recently got diagnosed with ADHD and everyone’s reaction was “Wait, you weren’t diagnosed with that before?” Great guy. No control over anything.

I first met him in 2013, when he moved up to Canada to train for a year as part of his goal to quality for the 2014 Commonwealth Games, with the goal of using that as a step on the road to the 2016 Olympics. He’d kind of outgrown the scene in New Zealand, needed to challenge himself with new training partners, so picked a different country. He chose Canada for a few reasons – we have a bigger community in this sport than they have in NZ, but smaller and less intense than somewhere like the US, and therefore easier for a guy who’s not from there to just walk into a room and start training with them than it would be it would be in the US. He got a year-long Visa, found a temporary job in Canada, messaged my friend and I who ran the team here, and joined our room.

He was a lot of fun, and quickly became friends with my friends and I from the team. His girlfriend moved up to Canada with him, and even though she wasn’t an athlete, she hung out with the team and we became friends with her too.

That year, I was training with a university team in a city about five hours away, so I was between my home city and that other place throughout the year. I saw my friends, as well as David and his girlfriend, whenever I went home. David and I got along well, started keeping in touch even when I was in the other city. This led to me getting permission from my university coach to bring David into that room sometimes, so he could train with my university teammates, get even more variety of partners. So he’d sometimes go with me to that other city, sleep on my couch, train in the room.

Also during that year, he had to travel to various Pacific Islands to compete in various Commonwealth Games qualifiers (he was competing as an NZ athlete, so he had to beat all the other people from Oceania to be their representative at the Games). He won them all, and got his spot. In July 2014, he came with me to the other city for the last few weeks before he flew to Glasgow for the Commonwealth Games, and would then fly from Glasgow back to NZ, being done with his year in Canada. It was sad to say goodbye to him, but we really enjoyed those few weeks.

For three weeks, he slept on my couch, while training for the Games. He was cutting a lot of weight for the tournament. Honestly, it was a lot of weight even by the standards of how much most people cut for international tournaments, it was fucking dangerous and I do not condone it, and as a coach I would never let an athlete of mine do it. But I wasn't his coach, and it, wasn't my decision, and I did understand why he was doing it. He cut almost twenty kilos in a few months. It’s what he had to do, because all the other categories were taken by people he couldn’t beat – the only category he had a chance of winning was twenty kilos lower than what he weighed naturally. So he did it. He made that cut for every qualifier, and then for the Games. It wasn’t a smart idea, but it did work. I can't say I blame him. People will do a lot for a dream. And besides, I've done my share of stupid dangerous weight cutting too, even if never as much as that.

Anyway, the point is that he was a bit miserable for those few weeks, since he had his food and water so severely restricted, but we made it fun anyway. We’d get home from practice and then lie on my living room floor late into the night because he didn’t have the energy to do anything else at such a late stage in the weight cut, talking and watching videos on my laptop. He showed me funny things from New Zealand. We watched those deck commercials over and over and they made me laugh too hard. We bonded over Flight of the Conchords, of course, the one NZ thing I was a fan of before I met him.

That was the first time I ever saw Tim Minchin. I still remember David saying “I have to show you something!”, and he grabbed my laptop and brought up this video. I watched it, and I remember my first reaction was – this orange-haired man gets it. Please show more of him. I would like to see more from the orange-haired man who gets it. We ended up watching all his videos together, and for years after that, every once in a while I’d have a night of watching Tim Minchin videos on my own. I still do that sometimes.

The 2014 soccer World Cup was going on at the time. David was obsessed with it, even though NZ were not in it (maybe they were at one stage, I don’t know, they weren’t in it by the time he was staying with me). This was the only time, before I got really into British TV in 2020, that I had an idea of how popular soccer is outside of North America. I was vaguely aware, before, that outside of here, soccer – the thing I know as a game little kids play and then usually grow out of and no one is serious about it – is actually a wildly popular sport and also called football. But I didn’t really know that until I lived with a Kiwi during the World Cup, and he could not stop talking about it, despite having no connection to the teams. And despite the fact that, you know, he was training in his own sport, for his own major international tournament. He still managed to find time to care a lot about people he doesn’t know playing a sport he doesn’t play. On the night of the finals, he convinced me to go with him to a pub to watch the game, by agreeing to pay for my drinks. He wasn’t even able to drink, because he was cutting weight. He paid money to have to watch his friend drink alcohol that he wasn’t allowed to have, just so he could watch that game in a pub.

On one of his last nights in the country, my university hosted a big tournament. David didn’t compete, because it was too close to the start of the Commonwealth Games and he didn’t want to risk getting hurt. I did compete, and had one of the worst tournaments of my fucking life. Lost all three matches, quite badly, at least one to a girl I should have beaten. Afterward, my team had rented a whole bar downtown to have a big party for all the athletes from across the country who’d come to town for the tournament. David and I went together. I got very drunk, because I'd had a terrible day. He was sober, and still happy to hang out with me all night, and then stay up watching stupid things online at my place afterward, and it cheered me up a lot. He was a good friend.

A couple of days later, he flew out to Glasgow for the Commonwealth Games. A couple of days after that, I woke up at 5 AM to watch his match on the livestream. He lost it, and was out of the tournament, and that’s how fast a whole year of work toward something can dissipate. I gave it some time before I messaged him to see if he was okay, and of course it was rough day, but he was all right. He was already refocusing on the next goal.

My friends and I kept in touch with David and his girlfriend over the next couple of years. He stayed on that road to the Olympics that he’d started, and he got there. Managed to qualify for the Rio Olympics in 2016. He also proposed to his girlfriend, and some of my Canadian friends and I planned a trip to New Zealand for his wedding in fall 2016. Big year for him, that was.

His Olympic story was heartbreaking. He made it all the way there. He qualified, which took years of work (okay... to be honest, he was an alternate, but the guy who beat him got caught for steroids so David got to go in his place). He cut the weight, again. He flew to Rio. His name was on the draw sheet. He walked in the opening ceremonies. He got all the team gear, and even swiped a couple of extra official New Zealand Olympic Team shirts, which he game to my best friend and I when he saw us at his wedding. I still wear mine all the time, I love it.

Anyway, he did all that, and then the day before he was supposed to compete, he did some light training in a practice area, he fell the wrong way on a knee that he’d injured before, and aggravated the injury again. His knee popped out, immediately from what I’d heard, and he couldn’t get up. His teammate had to help him up the stairs and out of the room. He couldn’t walk. If he’d been able to do anything on that knee – anything at all – he’d still have competed. It was the fucking Olympics. He just wanted to be able to say he’d competed in the Olympics, even if he lost quickly due to his injury. But he couldn’t walk well enough to even go out there. He had to pull out of the tournament the day before competing.

He was devastated, of course. My friends and I heard all this from his girlfriend, who had gone to Rio with him and was messaging us as it happened. I remember struggling with whether to message him, I didn’t know if I’d just make it worse. I ended up going with a “So sorry, hope you’re okay, I’m here if you want to talk” message, and he took me up on that, seeming grateful for the chance to talk about it. There wasn’t much to say. It was just a fucking awful situation.

Two months later, my friends and I flew to New Zealand. We spent two weeks there. David’s girlfriend was Australian, and the plan was for them to live in Australia after being married, but the wedding was in New Zealand. David’s wedding was a few days into the trip, and then we spent a week and a half with ten people (me, David, his new wife, three of my friends who’d traveled with me from Canada, and a mix of Kiwis and Aussies who were their friends from down under) in an 11-seater van, traveling all around the South Island. It was incredible and beautiful and an amazing experience, and it nearly fucking killed me. By the end, I was sleeping in the van because I could not handle one more second of the hostels that were full of people, I could not handle going that long without alone time. It was really, really hard for me to spend so much time constantly around people. But God, the country was beautiful. We did horse riding tours. We hiked in amazing places. We saw seals and penguins. We saw oceans and mountains. David’s bachelor party was at a cabin in the middle of nowhere and we had a massive bonfire and it was one of the most fun nights of my life. I loved the whole trip, except the parts where I was having a breakdown from lack of downtime and too many people I didn’t know. I loved it and I hated it but I’m very glad I went. And it was good to see David again. I’d missed him.

Oh, also, while we were on this trip, one of my friends from Canada got along with Australian woman who was also on the 11-seater van adventure, and they ended up keeping in touch and beginning a relationship. A few years later, they got married, and now he lives with her in Australia. Which is great and I’m very glad he’s happy and everything, but also, fuck Australia for taking my friends away.

We stayed in touch with David and his girlfriend-turned-fiance-turned-wife, both before and after his wedding. They had a kid about a year after they were married, and of course all my friends in Ottawa were excited to see pictures. We had a big group chat with David and his wife and some of their Kiwi and Aussie friends that we’d met on that trip, and our friends in Canada that they’d been friends with when they were here, and once every couple of months or so we’d do a big video call with anyone from that group who wanted to join.

They came up to Canada for my friend’s wedding, when he married the Aussie friend of David’s Aussie wife. At my friend’s bachelor party, David sat down on the couch with me, while quite drunk, and admitted that he’s been a father for a year, and he’s not sure he’s cut out for it. It’s so much harder than he’d expected, he hadn’t been ready for how much is life would change, he loves his son so much but it’s so very hard. I’d never heard him say that before, I don’t know if he had said it to anyone else. It felt like something he needed to get out and he didn’t know who to talk to about it. I don’t even remember what I said to him. I tried to comforting and a good listener and whatever I could.

A year or so later they had another kid. And sometime after that, I started losing touch with them. When the pandemic happened, I kind of shut down. I stopped reading the group chat with David and the other Kiwis/Aussies. Their video chats got more frequent in the early days of the pandemic, and I joined on the first couple of them, but then I stopped doing them altogether. I was just struggling too much with losing my sport and everything, and I dealt with it by throwing myself hard into distractions (British comedy) and trying to bury my head and forget that the rest of my life had ever existed.

In the last year or so, I’ve been trying to slowly get back to stuff, including getting my friendships back. I’ve been seeing the people I know here again, but didn’t resume contact with David. I did, however, hear about him from my friends who were still talking to him and his wife. And my friend who moved to Australia to marry their friend lives fairly near them (they all live in Australia now), sees them regularly, and sometimes talks to my friends and I in Canada about how they’re doing.

What I started hearing earlier this year was that they’re not doing well. That David and his wife were fighting a lot, mostly stemming from issues with how to parent and how to run a household. A few months ago, I heard they separated. I wanted to reach out to David, especially since I don’t know how many friends he has who are not also close with his wife. He’s not from Australia, so his friends out there are people he knows through her. My Canadian friends know her at least as well as they know him, because she hung out with them at a lot when they were in our city. I’m in the slightly different position, in that I know her, but not as well. Because I was living in that other city for a lot of the time, I saw him through the sport, but not her so much. My friend told me he’s been talking to David’s wife a lot, as she clearly needs someone to vent to about their relationship problems, but the fact that he’s talking to her means he can’t really be there for David in the same way. He said he thinks David is struggling with not having anyone to talk to about the relationship problems, because everyone’s kind of on “her side”.

I thought I’d like to help David, give him someone to talk to if he needs it. I do like his wife. I think she may well be objectively “right” in whatever’s going on there. But if he needs someone who knows him better than they know her, I’m that, or at least I used to be. But it’s been so long since I’ve been in touch with him, I didn’t know how to bridge that.

Last night, I finally did. I was out with some friends, we got talking about David, I said I wish I’d reached out to him, they told me that from what they’re hearing he could really use someone to talk to, so I just messaged him. Said I know it’s been a while, but I was thinking of him and I miss him, what’s up? He replied almost immediately, saying he misses me too, and all of Canada, and he’s doing terrible, how am I? It took about three messages for him to say… well, not to trauma dump or anything, but me and [wife] separated a while ago and it’s been rough.

And I realized… I don’t know what to say to that. I mean, I know how to do the “being a friend” thing and asking him how he is and what happened and how he’s dealing with it. But I don’t know how to specifically respond to that specific message. What do you say when someone tells you they’ve had a breakup, and you knew that already, but not because you heard it from him? Oh… right, yes, I heard about that. Heard you had a breakup. What’s up? Doesn’t that seem like a weird thing to say?

Anyway… that’s what this whole post was leading up to. This story that got wildly out of hand, because it was meant to just be a way to say I thought of a thing from an old radio show last night and that made me laugh. I was trying to work out what to say in response to David, whether to tell him I already knew or not, and it came into my head that what I should say is “Oh yeah, I heard about that, could I use it to segway into my next song?” Because that is apparently the appropriate response to having someone suddenly tell you about their breakup, as determined by Mr. Gavin Osborn.

Finding it difficult to work out what to say to David last night gives me even more appreciation for what fucking awkward position Gavin Osborn was in. I mean, at least I was just chatting over Messenger, so I had some time to think about my answer before writing it. I wasn’t in a phone call, having to say something immediately, and that phone call wasn’t live on the radio. What are you supposed to say to that? Besides, of course, “Oh yeah, I heard about that, can I use it to segway into my song?”

Okay, the context is: it’s April 25, 2007. Steve Hall and Daniel Kitson are in Melbourne for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, and they are on the radio together, from 2 AM to 6 AM. Steve Hall has been broken up with quite recently (by a woman they did not name, but I’m almost sure it’s Danielle Ward, I’ve heard her say enough about an unnamed ex-boyfriend on Isy Suttie’s podcast to know the stories match up, I know too much about these people), and is having something of a breakdown about that. Daniel Kitson is going between making fun of him, and sometimes holding back a bit because it sounds like such a genuine breakdown that even someone who could get as vicious as 00s-era Kitson is taking pity on him. At one point, Steve requested that listeners call in if they want to sleep with him, and he was not joking. I mean, he was kind of almost joking. But clearly not actually joking.

Gavin Osborn has called in from England, because Daniel Kitson asked him to do that so he could sing a song on the air. Kitson and Osborn chatted for a bit, and then while Kitson was trying to figure out the technical aspects of having Gavin’s song played, Steve Hall decided to join the conversation.

I just think this is an amazing exchange. What an amazing thing to say to someone, live on the radio: hello, nice to talk to you, the promoter of a gig you did dumped me. Imagine you’re Gavin Osborn, the most easygoing and affable guy in the world, and you’ve called into a radio station because your friend Daniel wants you to sing a song, and then the 100 balls of self-loathing stacked on top of each other under a trench coat that’s sitting next to him says that to you, and you have to decide what to say back. And what an amazing decision of how to reply. Oh yeah, I heard about that, can I use it to sing my song? There’s a break up in it. So it’s like your anecdote.

Anyway, I did not say that to my friend, I just said sorry to hear it, and now we're talking, and I'm really glad I finally did it. He told me he'd been wanting to message me too, as it's been so long. The point of this story is, reach out to your friends if you want to, the time that's passed probably matters less than you think, they'll probably be happy to hear from you, the initial awkwardness of "It's been a while" is worth it. And if you know someone's having a hard time, be there to talk about it if they want to. Just... maybe not live on the radio. That might not be the appropriate setting for it.

[collecting-stories]

Inventory - Daryl Dixon

Request: you can write anything tbh! just something small and sweet, if you don’t mind :) (daryl anon)

A/N: This is honestly just random established relationship fluff or something.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You weren’t entirely sure that you liked Alexandria. It felt like someone had captured the old world in a time capsule and you were viewing all the things that you had forgotten about. Shower pressure and hot water and actual running water weren’t things that you took for granted and you’d practically cried in the bathroom when the toilet flushed but all the other parts felt uncomfortable. Like clothing that didn’t fit you anymore. You weren’t Daryl, waiting with his hand on a gun for the moment everything went to shit, but you certainly weren’t about to done a cardigan and act like a soccer mom getting ready for a bake sale either. You would let Carol handle the assimilating and gossip. Or at least the former, the latter, you couldn’t escape.  

“I wouldn’t’ve pegged him as your type.” Olivia mentioned, hellbent on making inventory a gossip session.  

“What?” You looked away from the open garage door to where Olivia was stacking cans of corn and writing down their number in her composition book.  

“Daryl. I noticed you watch him a lot...is that like, you guys got a thing going on or you just looking?” She asked.  

You paused in your rearranging of cans to look back out the garage door again. Daryl was across the street talking to Aaron and Michonne and you tried to formulate an answer that made sense for Olivia and for you. She hadn’t technically asked if you were ‘together’ (that ominous word that felt so weighty when you said it to yourself) but she was definitely asking for a definition. Were you more than friends, absolutely. That wasn’t even something you needed to think about. You certainly weren’t sharing beds with your friends the way you did with Daryl. But he’d never given any definition to your togetherness and somehow, even defining it felt like such an archaic thing. Another piece of the old world pulled from the time capsule.  

“I mean...” you shrugged, “both I guess?” There was a thing, for lack of a more concrete term, but you also liked looking at him a whole lot. You’d been enjoying looking at him for a while now and sometimes on the road you’d thought, if something happened, who would you look for in a crowd. It wasn’t just that you liked the view, it was that feeling of something that anchored you into the moment, made your head a little less dizzy, made all this more bearable.  

“I guess he’s not bad looking.” Olivia laughed a little, her cheeks reddening at the thought and you wanted to agree. He most certainly was not bad looking. And you had told him so plenty of times, in the privacy of your own room. “He doesn’t seem very...” she paused, looking over at you as if she had caught herself speaking out of turn.  

Small talk and social etiquettes felt like something you’d left behind too, far too used to being direct with people. It almost felt odd for her to be so unforthcoming.  

“Friendly?” You asked. She didn’t need to say it for you to know what she was thinking. It seemed to be a consensus throughout Alexandria. The community had differing opinions about all of you but the one thing they all agreed on was Daryl’s lack of acceptable behavior. He wasn’t particularly friendly with any of them (aside from Aaron maybe) and he acted more like a caged animal than someone who was grateful for shelter and protection.  

“Uh, yeah.” Olivia nodded, pink cheeks staining darker, “I mean, I’m sure he talks to you, of course...it’s just, I’ve never found him to be particularly...warm.”  

Warm, you felt like the word echoed in your mind once she said it. You’d never really spent too much time thinking about the way you would describe Daryl, he was just, himself, and that was it. You didn’t linger on what he was, what you expected him to be. Even if you didn’t ever think of yourselves as ‘together’ you knew exactly what you were.  

You thought about offering up a defense for him, explaining that he was warm. He was being wrapped in a blanket on a cold night or feeling the sun on your shoulders in the early morning. It wasn’t something you considered often, that you felt like you needed to name, but you knew it right away. The words came on the tip of your tongue, like you’d been waiting to think them. But you didn’t get the chance.  

Daryl came up the driveway while you were staring at him and the softest of smiles graced your features as you watched him, giving a small wave. Maybe you wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t been talking to Olivia but, as Daryl held your gaze the whole up the drive, you were reminded of when you might’ve categorised his behaviour as more shy than reserved. Now it felt like he held back because he chose to, deciding what parts of himself other people got to see. When you’d first known him it was more a defense mechanism than an ordinary occurrence, and he’d never been comfortable meeting your eye.  

“Did you come to help with inventory?” You teased, already hearing the grumbled response in your mind before he said it.  

“Just passing by,” he replied, glancing over to the far corner where Olivia was still sitting, notebook open in her lap. “Morning.”

You wondered if she was scrutinising the interaction. Trying to see for herself what you saw in Daryl, as if that was possible.  

“I’ll go check to make sure we’ve got all the dry foods from upstairs.” Olivia announced, standing from her spot and bumping her chair back against the sorting table. It rattled but nothing fell over and she went so quickly out of the room she looked like she was power-walking.  

“What’s a matter with her?” Daryl asked, taking your water bottle from the ground by your chair and unscrewing the cap so he could drink some.  

“She was asking about you, weren’t your ears burning?” You joked.  

He glanced down at you, unamused, before finally taking the bait, “why’s she asking?”  

“Said I stare at you all the time.”  

“So quit staring.” He capped the water bottle and set it back in its place before fiddling with different cans on the shelves, pulling them off and reading the labels.  

“Easier said then done,” you replied, grabbing your notebook off the shelf in front of you, “besides, I don’t wanna forget what you look like.”  

“Why? You going somewhere?”  

You scrunched your nose at his words and shook your head, “no, but you are right…saw you talking to Aaron.”

“Think ya watch me just ta spy on what I’m doing.”  

“I’m right though, you two are headed out?” You asked.  

“Don’t make it something it ain’t…I’ll be back in a few days time.”  

Daryl was good at coming back when he left, you knew it from experience. He’d come back when he’d left with Merle, he’d come back when he’d left to find Beth, when he went off on his own to hunt he always came back. As sure as you were that he would leave, you were just as sure he would find his way back again. It wasn’t something you had to think about or reassure yourself of but sometimes it was easier to give in to that worst case scenario that sat in the back of your mind.  

“I know,” you said it like you were promising him, “but that’s a few days without seeing you…who am I supposed to look for?”  

Daryl set down the can of beets he was looking at and walked the short distance back to you. His hand wrapped around the end of your ponytail and he gave a gentle tug, guiding your head all the way back so you were looking straight up at him. You thought it was probably a good thing Olivia wasn’t here, she’d seemed scandalised enough at his presence in the room, you could imagine all the things she’s knock over if she saw him now, one hand holding your ponytail and the other on your neck as he leaned down and kissed you.  

It was a softer kiss than the hold implied and you considered the juxtaposition of Daryl’s softness and roughness your favorite thing about him. It’d taken a while, to see the soft bits, but now you saw them all the time. How he kissed you so comfortably, like he’d always been doing it. His tongue brushing your bottom lip almost teasingly but he pulled away before you could do more, standing back up straight and dropping his hands. He gripped the back of your folding chair and you leaned against his hand, feeling them press into the skin between your shoulder blades, bare from your tank top. You kept your head tilted back, a little more comfortably though.  

“When do you leave?” You asked, half expecting him to tell you he was headed to the gate now. Your brain still felt a little dizzy from the kiss but that was a normal occurrence.  

“Tomorrow morning.” He replied, letting go of the chair to run his knuckles along your spine. “Shouldn’t be longer than a day or two.”  

There was a quieter bumping noise and a soft curse as Olivia peeked back into the doorway, a few boxes of pasta haphazardly held in her arms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”  

“It’s alright,” you replied but truthfully you were just being nice. Because Daryl had already retracted his hand you felt goosebumps on your skin in his absence, as if your body was trying to chase the sensation of him.  

“Ya need help?” He asked, motioning to the boxes as she dropped them onto the sorting table.  

“Would you mind? I’ve got another laundry basket full of them to bring down here and I dropped like five on the staircase.” She explained, following after him to point them out.  

Daryl disappeared through the door, Olivia right behind him, and you went back to organising the latter half of the alphabetically arranged cans. Olivia tended to be more loose-lipped than her other Alexandria counterparts and you couldn’t help imagining her asking him questions, trying to dig out some part of a person under the cold exterior he’d given off while he was here. Searching for the warmth she thought was lacking. They weren’t gone long, Olivia’s chipper voice carrying down the stairs.  

Daryl came through first, laundry basket piled high and the slightest hint of a glare as his eyes met yours, as if you’d somehow put him up to the task of helping.  

“You can set them on the sorting table,” Olivia instructed, “I’ll go through them once I’m finished the canned goods.”  

Setting them down, Daryl just nodded in agreement. You stopped from saying you’d see him tonight, in case that information was somehow on a need to know basis. But he was obviously being less purposefully withdrawn than you’d thought because he took another sip from your water bottle before telling you the exact thing you’d been too reserved to say.  

“I’ll see ya tonight,” he promised, putting your water bottle back and giving your ponytail a playful tug before leaving back down the driveway.  

You watched after him until he turned the corner and was out of eyesight.  

“I can see why you like him so much…” Olivia finally said, getting your attention as you looked back at her.  

“What?” You asked, wondering if he’d said something to her that changed her mind.  

Her cheeks tinged pink again and she looked down at her notebook, “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything…just, you know, wanted to bring those boxes in.”  

You nodded, prompting her to continue.

“I saw him kissing you…” she let out an airy sigh, “I’d be staring at somebody all day if they kissed me like that.”  

[rocorambles]

Meeting in the Middle

Pairing: Sakusa x reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Misogyny, Controlling Behavior, Degradation, Non-Con/Rape, Spanking

Summary: Sakusa shows you that he’s more than capable of meeting you in the middle and listening to you for a change. But be careful of what you ask for.

A/N: This is for the Poly Wives Angst Collab~ RIP us and our never ending collabs we create for ourselves.

If someone had told you five years ago that you’d be dating one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors, a professional athlete fawned over by media and fans nation-wide, the epitome of the strong and silent type, you would have laughed in their faces. What is this? Some silly fairytale? The childish checklist of “things I want in a boyfriend” you’d written in middle school?

But life has a funny way of working and you find yourself in an obnoxiously lavish and rowdy nightclub, made only more crazy by the surprising appearance of some VIPs.

It seems like volleyball has somehow become Japan’s national sport overnight and although you aren’t necessarily the biggest follower of anything remotely athletic, even you know exactly who the rambunctious trio catching everyone’s eyes are.

You can’t deny there’s more than just a bit of appeal in the way their button up shirts cling to toned muscles, but you’ve never been one for crowds and you stray to the emptier corners of the establishment to avoid being swept by the crowd of excited fans. But when Atsumu cheesily winks and flirts as he signs scandalously bared skin of female fans, you mockingly gag, only to whirl in embarrassment when you hear an amused snort from behind you.

“Not a fan of Miya Atsumu?”

Staring wide-eyed and slack jawed when someone asks you a question is very rude and you want to answer. But you don’t trust yourself with basic human speech when Sakusa Kiyoomi is staring at you expectantly. So you shake your head side to side instead, heat rising to your face at the small upward curve of his lips.

“Neither am I.”

Atsumu never lets the two of you live down how he’s the one who technically brought you together, even if it was at the cost of his pride. (You chuckle when you remember his loud squawking when Sakusa recounts the dialogue exchanged at your first meeting.) But even months later, even after Sakusa has officially introduced you to the rest of the MSBY team, even after they’ve accepted you as part of their cozy and rowdy family, you can’t stop feeling impostor syndrome.

Dating Sakusa still feels unreal and you can’t help but feel like you’re living someone else’s life, stuck in a rose-tinted dream, playing dress-up and make believe as you parade around in clothing far more luxurious than you’re used to, whisked around on your lover’s strong arm as you follow him around the world from match to match. And as lovely as it is, you long to truly make this relationship your own, to feel the rawness and grittiness of love and life, to experience the charm and comfort of being true to yourself and knowing Sakusa loves you just as you are.

But your desire to be with him, to call him your own trumps your own wishes and you find yourself quickly backing down everytime you suggest something that he’s quick to turn down, desperate to appease and please him even at the price of your own desires.

He’s never outrightly rude about his preferences, never raises his voice. But somehow that makes the judgement and disdain in his dark eyes that much more apparent. You remember a rough day of work you had, the relief you had felt about being able to swiftly swap your constrictive work apparel for a pair of worn-in shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Your outfit would certainly not win any fashion awards, but you blissfully sigh at how comfortable you are as you call a local pizza shop, ordering delivery self-indulgently.

You could feel yourself becoming one with the couch you’re lounging on, the television playing in the background. But even in the hazy in-between of sleep and alertness, your eyes snap open when the door opens and you lazily smile as your boyfriend enters your shared apartment, returning from another grueling practice.

“You look like you’ve had better days.”

Your smile slips, anxiety flooding through you as you self-consciously curl in on yourself while his lips purse, eyes scrutinizing your sloppy appearance.

“Umm, yeah...tough day at work-”

“Maybe you should freshen up with me. You might feel better in a...real outfit.”

You know better than to think that it’s really a suggestion, cursing yourself, humiliation coursing through you when you think of how foolish you were to get so comfortable so quickly. You’ve seen the caliber of the women who lust over your boyfriend unabashedly despite his long-time relationship with you. You need to try harder. You need to be better.

Self-deprecation rips you to shreds as you painstakingly groom yourself, donning a dress you know Sakusa loves, applying a full face of makeup and a spritz of his favorite scent. And despite how exhausted you are, how much you’d rather be slumped on the couch, gorging on a slice of pizza, it’s all worth it when you see the appreciative look in his gaze as his eyes rake over your figure.

But worry gnaws at you once more as the doorbell rings and his eyebrow raises questioningly at the interruption. It’s a painful walk of shame as you plaster on a fake smile, tipping the delivery boy, the usually tantalizing smell of cheese and grease only making you nauseous as you bring the box to the dining table.

“What is that?”

“Dinner…”

Your voice trails off and you feel so small, so pathetic as Sakusa’s face borders disgust as he observes the offensive item.

“You didn’t cook?”

The disappointment in his voice has you spewing excuses and apologies, your heart shattering when he merely waves off your ramble, telling you he’d order a salad from elsewhere and to enjoy your meal.

You never order pizza again and a steaming hot plate of freshly cooked food is always waiting for Sakusa when he returns home while you patiently wait for him with a painted face and impeccable outfits.

Your friends and family tell you how grateful you should be, how envious they are as they oggle your latest high-end designer pieces, cooing over how picture perfect the two of you always are, staring wide-eyed at your gorgeous home, not a speck of dust or object out of place. Who would have thought that you would be the epitome of the ideal housewife in such a short time?

Yes, you wonder. Who would have thought? Certainly not you.

If only they knew how deep down the deception goes, how lost you are in this pretend world you’re stuck in. And your heart twists and turns when your friends share about the little and big spats that happen behind closed doors, giggling and sighing in an understanding you’re not part of when they playfully complain about how much work love is.

But it’s always worth it in the end because the good always outweighs the bad if you’ve found the right person (not to mention the makeup sex is a bonus). Or so they say, but you wouldn’t know what any of that feels like. Sakusa doesn’t leave room for any arguments, any disagreements, any hint of anything less than a perfect relationship.

Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you feel like you’re in a cheesy porno, dressed in the prettiest white slip dress decorated with dainty lace and a string of pearls around your neck. You feel like a doll as you’re positioned on the bed, eyes demurely looking down, letting Sakusa do as he pleases while he guides you, calloused hands roaming over your skin. You’re sure he means for it to be pleasurable and intimate, and you can’t deny that he knows your most sensitive areas, shuddering when he grazes over your hardening nipples. But there’s a coldness to his movements, a calculating aspect in the way he examines you, dark eyes scrutinizing every inch of you as if they’re looking for a blemish, a reason to lecture you on not taking care of yourself.

Yet as predictable and standoffish as he is, he does know how to pleasure you and you writhe underneath him, moaning, lower lips dripping in your own arousal. But you whimper when he growls at you to stop moaning so loudly, to stop acting like a slut.

“I’m dating a lady, not a whore.”

The words cut you, pain and emptiness mixing with the rising pleasure, muddling into a confusing and overwhelming mess insides of you. You don’t trust yourself to speak, hot tears pricking at your eyes, unsure whether a moan or harsh words would slip past your lips. But you know that neither will work in your favor, so like always, you hold your tongue, doing whatever you can to keep your lover happy. You close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the tightening knot inside of you, submitting to the waves of pleasure that crash over you as you cum, fingers tangling in the rumpled sheets, back arching in ecstasy.

Only when Sakusa is asleep, his back turned to you, the two of you cleaned and freshened up, do you let your tears stream down your face, feeling more alone than ever in your shared bed.

You hold out longer than you should, much longer than you should, in the hopes that things will improve, that Sakusa will loosen up, reveal his true self to you, let you reveal your true self to him. It’s just early dating jitters, early relationship issues. Things will get better.

Except it’s months later and things aren’t better. If anything, they’re worse and you can feel the weight of his expectations and the stress of perpetually living by a prewritten script crushing you.

It’s time to put an end to this charade.

It’s just another uneventful night and you idly stare up at the ceiling as you wait for Sakusa to join you in bed. Your heart is racing, throat feeling dry and choked up as he slips under the covers. You’re terrified, of Sakusa’s reaction, of ending everything, of starting from scratch. But you know it’s the right decision and when he finally settles in beside you, you begin to speak.

There’s only the sound of your trembling voice as you quietly tell him how you’ve felt all along, how everything has felt so prim, proper, fake, how everyday just feels like another session of rehearsing your lines, making sure you meet whatever standard he’s set for you. You want passion, real love, fights, laughter. You just want to be yourself. You just want to be with someone who loves you exactly the way you are.

“Kiyoomi, maybe we should break up. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I don’t think I’m what you want. I don’t think I’ll ever be what you want.”

“You’re right. Despite how much time, work, money, and patience I’ve spent to better you, you haven’t changed at all.”

You’re left reeling from the matter of fact harshness of his words, the slight exasperation in his tone, as if this is all your fault, as if you’re just a bothersome misbehaving pet.

“Prim and proper? Passion? Fights? So you’re tired of manners? Tired of being a respectable woman? You just want to fight and fuck like animals?”

You open your mouth to protest, anger licking at the open wounds his verbal assault leaves behind. But before you can retort, the air is ripped out of your lungs in a stunned yelp as your body is swiftly flipped over, your face shoved into the mattress until it’s a struggle to breathe, fabric and cushion all you can taste.

Your arms flail as you struggle to breathe, nails clawing at the sheets, arms trying to push yourself up against. But it’s no use against Sakusa’s strength and just as specks of black begin to enter your vision, fingers tangle with your roots and you gasp as your head is harshly jerked up, neck bending painfully back, jaw forced open from the strange position.

You whimper, tears beginning to blur your sight as a calloused hand turns your face until you’re staring at a condescending impassive countenance.

“If you want to be treated like a slut that badly, I’ll be a good boyfriend and give you exactly what you want. Ass up. Now.”

There’s no room for disobedience and spurred on by fear and pain, you listen, awkwardly shuffling into position, shame heating your face at how exposed you feel. But it’s only the start and you scream as a heavy strike lands on your bare ass, more and more blows raining down upon you, until you’re sobbing for mercy, agonized cries forced from your mouth, thighs trembling at having to support yourself through the torture.

Your upper body slumps in relief when the hits finally stop, but you flinch when fingers methodically prod at your entrance. You instinctively try to lurch forward, away from the touch, but it’s no use and you clench your eyes in humiliation at the sloppy wet sounds betraying your arousal.

“This is the wettest I’ve ever seen you. You really do like being used and treated like a bitch.”

You wish you could deny it. You wish you had the spirit to talk back, maybe even spit on that handsome face. But all you can think of is how full you feel as Sakusa’s cock slams balls deep inside your dripping hole, how deep he is inside of you from this angle, how overwhelmingly pleasurable the mix of pain and lust is as he uses you like you’re nothing more than a warm breathing sex doll.

All you can do is lewdly moan and take it, tears slipping down your face, drool seeping into the ruined sheets, eyes rolled back in your head. The coil in your stomach tightens and tightens no matter how hard you try and hold it at bay, desperately trying not to cum, not to inadvertently admit your body’s betrayal as it succumbs to every thrust. But it’s too much, the unfamiliarity of this brutal pace, the overpowering sensation of his tip reaching new depths inside of you, and you shatter to pieces, pussy convulsing, body twitching, pleasure like you’ve never felt before surging through you.

All through it Sakusa continues his relentless rhythm, a sneer marring his flawless face as he watches you suffer through your orgasm, writhing underneath him. It’s disgusting how much you love this, pathetic, pitiful, and yet he’s harder than he’s ever been, more turned on than he ever thought possible. And all it takes is a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of you, a strong hand holding you still and tight to him as his groin presses against your ass, not an inch of space between the two of you as he paints your insides white.

Maybe you had a point all along. You’re absolutely filthy and wrecked and he grimaces at the tear, sweat, and sex stained mess he touches as he shoves your exhausted body away from him. Yet there’s a certain appeal to your disheveled appearance, how ruined you are because of him.

How beautifully you break.

Well if you have no desire to improve yourself, he can learn to meet you in the middle, learn to let you be the low-life whore you have no desire to move up from. After all, that’s what you said love is, right?

Accepting each other’s differences.

[glimmerglanger]

cody in most of bush league: no homo

cody ten minutes after accepting he's gay: im gonna make an honest man out of ben

if youre feeling it i would die to see their wedding/marriage shenanigans

olgsecond asked: Hi! For the Bush League snippets, if you have any thoughts on the boys' wedding. What a chaos would Cody's siblings + Anakin make on the wedding?

zzqueen126 asked:

Helloo, snippet request! Could you write a small bit about their wedding? Also i nearly cried over the snippet about meg, it was incrediblly written tho

byrningembers asked:

Oh my God, Ben's POV of the locker scene hurts so much 😭😭😭 I know you're wrapping up the snippets shortly, so may I request any scenes you have in mind for the wedding?

They get a VERY nice wedding! Set post-Coda, some talk about getting up to spiciness, but no spiciness in the fic.

~~~~~~~~~

Neither one of them really had a place that felt like home to their names. Cody had moved far too often for that, and, while Ben had moved around less, he’d never really felt like a part of the communities where they’d lived.

The situation left them with wide open options for where to set up a wedding. They considered the ballpark; Ben teasing him about saying their vows on the pitcher’s mound, and, well, the idea wasn’t without appeal.

But, in the end, they both agreed they’d like something smaller. More private.

So much of their lives were, by necessity, in public.

A small wedding, private, with some friends and such family members as they both wanted to see, fitted better as a choice.

#

In the end, they decided to go somewhere for the ceremony, after handling all the legalities in the courthouse. Technically, it meant they were legally married for a few weeks before the actual ceremony.

“We’ll have two wedding nights,” Ben had said, grinning, when they got back from the courthouse, all but racing to the bedroom, ignoring the champagne and strawberries they’d set aside earlier.

The first was enough fun Cody’d hardly deny him a second.

#

The official wedding took place in an entirely different hemisphere. Someplace hot and sunny with sprawling beaches and the ocean acting as a witness, as well. They had the money to get their guests there, to pay for privacy and serenity.

They couldn’t pay for the weather - which looked threatening - so he just hoped that the storms would hold out until after the ceremony, anyway. He figured he wouldn’t care about how much it rained and stormed when they were in bed together, anyway.

He did feel slightly bad for their guests, but, honestly, there were indoor pools. They’d find some way to entertain themselves, he was sure.

#

Cody’d worried mostly about his parents before the ceremony. There’d been an itching concern that they’d - somehow - show up and--

He didn’t know, exactly. Cause some kind of scene. Protest that he couldn’t marry Ben, maybe. They had security set up, just in case, but neither one of them made an appearance, leaving him and his siblings in peace.

He’d worried about Qui-Gon, too, but for the opposite reason.

At first, he hadn’t known if Ben would even want Qui-Gon there. They spoke little, these days. But Ben had said it did matter to him, and then Qui-Gon had never sent back an RSVP and--

Well. Boil and Waxer had said they didn’t mind going a little out of their way to swing by the farm. To make sure Qui-Gon made it onto a plane. If Ben wanted him there, he’d be there. Cody could do that much, at least.

#

The rest of their family behaved better.

All of his siblings stood with him during the service, Meg in a dress full of gold accents, her hair a little longer than it had been, curling around her face. Anakin even made it, bringing the--well. The woman he’d eloped with some time ago.

As Cody understood it, she’d been one of his TAs at school.

She was roundly pregnant, but that entire situation was beyond Cody’s control. She seemed sweet enough, anyway.

They invited a few other close family friends. Guys they’d played with over the years who they’d stayed close to, starting with Quin - who Ben picked as best man - and Kit from their first team, and including Satine - it seemed only fair after all the help she’d given them with Meg and Boba - and Ahsoka, a friend of Anakin’s who’d become close to family herself after she moved to their city for her college.

It felt--right, for them to all be there as they stood on the sand, the sun setting behind them, exchanging vows and rings. And it felt perfect when they pulled one another close at the end of all the words and promises, and kissed to wild cheering.

#

The reception passed in something of a blur. Cody definitely remembered drinking some champagne and he probably ate a few bites, but he barely recalled it, afterwards.

He noted, as the evening passed, that Rex and Ahsoka - who’d not met before - seemed to hit it off. They’d been sat at the same table by chance, and he caught Rex laughing - loud and surprised - at something she said while they were eating.

Quin dragged Cody’s attention away from that when he stood up to give his best man’s speech - Rex had that honor for Cody - already wearing a wide, unrepentant grin. “I knew these two,” he started, as Waxer, Boil, and Bly all stood, rushing out into the hall for something, “back when they first met, and I guess I can tell you all now that they’ve been like this all along.”

Cody glanced at Ben, who looked just as befuddled when Cody’s brothers wheeled in some kind of portable screen, placing it at the door as Quin went on, “But you don’t have to take my word for it. You see, I’ve got proof.”

There was a wash of laughter through the room as Quin held up his phone, still grinning. He went on, turning in a slow circle around the room, “They’d known each other, oh, three days when I came home to find them curled up like puppies on the couch. And, yes, Cody there told me to delete the photo I took. And I did--but…”

He finished his turn, grinning directly at Cody, and finished, “Not before I emailed myself a copy, of course.”

And he clicked a button, and--

Cody’s chest ached, sharp and sweet, when the screen sprang to life. He’d never seen the picture, only been able to imagine it, when he’d sometimes thought of it over the years. He’d regretted allowing his fear to control him, regretted the loss of that picture.

“As you can see,” Quin went on, as Cody stared at the image, himself sprawled back, Ben stretched over him, his hair long and his face shaved, looking so content, “they were both babies. Look at those cheeks.”

And, after he finished, after the speeches were done, Cody went and found Quin, and pulled him into a hug, and Quin said, sounding smug, still, “You’re welcome, man.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Palliate.

Pairing: Yandere!Witch/Reader.

Word Count: 3.7k.

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Amnesia, Obsessive Mindsets, Mentions of Violence, Blood and Bruising, Mentions of Death.

Mint, to settle your nerves.

That was the first thing he’d taught you, before you were strong enough to do anything more than sit on the edge of your bed and listen. Three leaves if you were desperate, two if you weren’t, and one if you just needed something to focus on, to take your mind off your own hazy thoughts and the places they tended to lead, when you let them wander freely. He said that was normal, that it should be expected. You’d spent so long incapacitated, it was only natural you’d be a little unsteady, once you finally got back on your feet. He said that it’d get better, over time, but you’d have to fight through it. You’d have to give yourself time to let it get better, even if there were little things you both could do to help.

The mint helped. Most of the time, at least. More than most little things did.

You tried to concentrate on the flavor, now, letting it distract you from the sun beating down on the back of your neck, from small bruises forming on your knees as you kneeled between rows of rue and sage and rosemary just far enough apart to let you tug at the weeds invading his otherwise pristine garden. It was a little odd to be outside the small cottage you’d become so closely acquainted with, even if you were only a few paces away, still hesitant to venture beyond the clearing you’d spent so much time observing while you were bedridden. You were still injured, technically, and you’d been told time and time again not to test your own limits. He said you should… You were sure you should be doing something, but—

“Didn't I ask you to rest?”

Right. That made sense.

You weren't supposed to get out of bed, just yet.

A hand came to settle on your shoulder, and reflexively, you glanced towards the man now lingering behind you. You really didn’t need to, though. His voice would’ve been enough, a calm drawl strung out into something playful, fondness coming easily and anger still a long ways off. He’d never gotten mad at you before, but the threat persisted. You didn’t want to be more of a nuisance than absolutely necessary, especially after he’d been so kind to you.

“There’s only so much sleep I can take,” You replied. You didn’t want to be a nuisance, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in bed, either. “I’m starting to think that’s your only trick, uh...”

“Eden, love. Just Eden.” There was a pause, his sly smile turning sympathetic. “Is your memory acting up again?”

“It’s not as bad as it used to be.” You were telling the truth. For weeks, you’d barely been able to hold onto your own name, let alone anything about your eternally patient host. But, Eden (you tried to remind yourself of that, to make a note of it, Eden) was kind enough to give you time. You needed time. You needed patience. “I found the door, didn’t I?”

“And it’s nearly been a week since the last time you wandered into the forest,” He noted as he crouched at your side, earning a small, offended noise and an elbow to his bicep, just forceful enough to warrant a hum, a slight pout, something between a whine and a chuckle. You didn’t want to stare, but you let yourself watch as his expression softened, as his gazed flickered towards the sprout of basil at your feet and a shock of white hair fell over his eyes. He looked like he was going to reach towards you, like he was going to touch you, but he stopped himself, letting his hand slip down to the satchel at his waist, instead, calloused fingers running over the well-worn leather.

You wondered what he kept in it, sometimes. You’d never seen him without it, not willingly, and he spent so long in the forest every day, he kept himself so busy with so many traps and snares and spots of ink littered across hand-drawn maps, it would’ve been impossibly to guess what he thought was worth keeping by his side. He brought enough of it back, bundles of assorted feathers and glass jars full of golden pollen and other things, stranger things, things you could barely catch a glimpse of before they were shoved to the backs of cabinets and forgotten about, on your end, at least. Eden didn’t forget about such important things as quickly as you did.

“It’ll get better,” He went on, finally, just when you thought he’d stopped talking altogether. “And, if it doesn’t, we’ll find a way to make it better.”

He sounded so sure of himself. You wanted to believe him, when he sounded like that. You did believe him.

You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t.

~

Ginger, to alleviate migraines.

It wasn’t for you, luckily. Of all the ailments you suffered from, you’d been left mercifully exempt from headaches and vertigo and all those minor, awful things that would make your life just a little harder than it had to be. If anything, your head was always a little too light, a little too empty, especially after so many hours of following the same unpaved road with nothing to think about but the passing scenery and Eden’s vague instructions, little more than a list of names and goods. Little to go off of, despite his insistence that you be the one to go.

You’d asked why he didn’t just go himself the first time he sent you on your way with a basket of herbs and roots, but Eden had only frowned, shaking his head. He said he wasn’t welcome, not in the marketplace, not in a village that’d already come to know him by name. He said that, if you cared for him at all, you wouldn’t subject him to a full day of haggling in hushed tones with women who refuse to sell mediocre incense for anything less than a small fortune.

And since you did (foolishly) care for him, you went. Not that you were anymore wanted in the marketplace than he was.

You hated it, compared to the cozy isolation of Eden’s home. You hated how crowded it was, how alien it felt to have to navigate the cramped stalls, how the merchant in front of you scowled as he weighed small bags of the exotic, colorful spices Eden was so fond of, the ones that you could never seem to taste the way you were supposed to, judgingly by how liberally Eden used them. He didn’t try to hide the disdain in his voice as he spoke, aged weariness mixed with a self-righteous reluctant. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t used to it, that constant trepidation from people who didn't understand you, from people who didn't care for Eden. At least he was kind enough not to hide it. “Running errands for the witch hermit, again?”

“Eden’s not a hermit.” You tried to smile, to brush it off as if was just another misconception. He wasn’t. You weren’t sure what he was, but he liked people, he liked having someone else around. Or, he liked having you around, at least. He didn’t seem to care much about company, beyond that. “He just enjoys his privacy. We both do.”

“Only a witch, then.” There was a pause, a gruff laugh that didn’t match his grim disposition. Something in the back of your throat tightened, and silently, you wished he’d be a bit more wary of you. Just enough to keep him from speaking so openly. “I’d take what you can and go, if I were you. He takes after his father, and that man spent his whole life makin’ a monster of himself, playing with things no one should. His son ain’t much different.”

It was your turn to laugh, now. “He cries whenever he finds fawns separated from their mothers. He takes in tadpoles he finds puddles. I don’t think Eden is capable of cruelty.” He was a kind man. You’d never seen him be anything but kind. If he had an ulterior motive, if he had a single sadistic bone in his body, you had yet to find it. “He took me in, too, when I was injured. He might be the only reason I have a roof over my head, now. That’s not a kindness I can say very many people have showed me.”

His lips pursed, the barest hints of confusion crossing his expression. It was gone in an instant, and you tried not to linger on it. He thought poorly of Eden, but the mere fact that you were alive – walking and breathing and alive – was enough to earn him your gratitude. Regardless of what a merchant and a marketplace worth of gossip thought. You knew what you believed, you knew what was true, and you wouldn’t let a few rumors convince you otherwise.

Although, you’d be lying if you said that belief didn’t waver, as he went on. “Cruelty isn’t all you have to worry about.”

You opened your mouth. Then, you closed it again, keeping your eyes on the basket still hanging limply on your arm. He wasn’t done yet, not with the spices, not with his poorly veiled warnings, but you didn’t want to listen. You could listen, you would listen, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to believe anything you heard in such a crowded place, in such an awful place.

You just wanted to get back to Eden.

~

Willow bark, to take the pain away.

It’s more of a comfort than a necessity, by now. You used to need it, rely on it, and you still liked to keep a bundle nearby, just in case, for days where the soreness was worse than it should be and you needed something to take the edge off, to suppress that overwhelming ache back into a steady throb. But, you never needed it, not like you used to. Not like you had when your injury was a defining feature rather than an afterthought and Eden’s medical expertise was more of a experimental artform than a practiced skill.

His hands didn’t shake, anymore, as his fingers skirted over your bare skin, following along the outline of your wound, the trail of stitches that stretched from the bottom of your shoulder bone to the center of your rib cage and repeated itself, carrying over again and again and again, forming neat rows of tender flesh and scar tissue that refused to stop any higher than your hip bone. He wasn’t hesitant, not with the needle, not as he pushed it through the long-suffering spots where he’d first messily laid your stitches months ago, and he didn’t have to look at you to recognize the way you shifted, the soft string of expletives you let out, to notice your little attempts to turn your head at just the right angle, flinch at just the right time to—

“Eyes on the ceiling,” He demanded. With a small huff, you obeyed, turning back towards the furthest wall. “It’ll only get worse, if you look.”

You knew that. He’d said as much as thousand times before, once for every day he'd tended to your lasting wounds. You were tempted to try, to insist it was only fair that you got to know what was going on with your own body, but you trusted Eden, and it was easier to tilt your head back than to argue, to search the cluttered room for something more interesting than the boy sitting at your side and your own, nagging discomfort.

You were in his workshop, now, an area separated from the rest of the cottage and filled to the brim with the tools of Eden’s trade – blooming flowers permanently encased in blocks of amber, the shells of insects hollowed out and ground into a fine powder, pots, everywhere, some empty and some not, the largest placed over a smoldering hearth that never seemed to grow dimmer, despite how often Eden forgot to tend to it. There was something inside, a substance you didn’t recognize, bubbling and black as a starless sky. It was already solidifying around the edges of its cauldron, crystallizing into rows of jagged, silvery edges slowly creeping along the coaction's surface like an infection. Like a parasite. Like something that shouldn’t have existed but continued to, regardless.

Eden must’ve caught you staring. The needle stilled, and instead, he took to dabbing something cool and smooth around the edges of your scars. A rag, or a balm, or a dozen other possible remedies. You didn't try to look. “It’s for you,” He explained, as if that made it any better. “One of my father’s incomplete recipes. He never figured out how to stop it from hardening once it’s exposed to open air.” Eden clicked his tongue, pulling the thread he was working with taut, and you cringed, tying to ignore the slight pinch. It didn’t hurt, not really, not like it used to. It didn’t hurt at all, if you were being honest, but it felt like it should’ve. “The color isn’t right, either. And I’ve already fed enough dye into the damn thing to poison a small village.”

You should’ve laughed. You wanted to, you knew it was the reaction he was looking for, but it was all you could do to avert your stare, to let your fingers curl around the edge of the table he’d perched you on. "They really don’t like you.”

“I’ve noticed.” A blunt response, not abrasive, but not encouraging, either. Not as dismissive as you would’ve preferred. “And yet, they manage to stomach my cures regardless. It’s funny how quickly pain softens the heart, isn’t it?”

“They say it’s unnatural.” You were pushing, now. You should know better than to push. You never found out anything good, when you tried to push. “They say your father used to dabble in things that shouldn’t be.”

Eden sighed, pushing himself to his feet. There was a short silence, interrupted only by the sound of glass knocking against glass before he dropped what he was holding, stepping in front of you and cupping your face with both hands, instead, forcing you to face him, to meet his dark eyes. Black eyes. Lightless eyes. A contradiction when compared his tanned skin and warm smile. A contradiction you tried to overlook as he bent down, kissing the top of your head so gently, you could almost bring yourself to ignore it altogether.

“My father was a toymaker and a healer. My mother died in childbirth. He did what he could to take care of me, and there is nothing unnatural about that.” He took a moment to laugh, to hold you, and you couldn’t be help but be thankful for it. Only weeks ago, he’d been afraid to touch you, afraid to watch you break all over again. Now, it was all he could do to let you go long enough for his arms to fall to your waist, for your face to find his chest, his tunic, a place to hide yourself away from the rest of the world. You didn’t want to go back, not to the village, not to the marketplace, not to the lonely, hurtful, desolate world outside his cottage. You didn’t want to go back to a place filled with so many people so determined to separate you from Eden. You didn’t want to return to a life you couldn’t remember, one where you wouldn’t have the man who’d saved you by your side. “He loved his family, just as I love you.”

For once, you didn’t have to convince yourself to believe him.

~

Witch hazel, to stop the bleeding.

You’d need it. You’d need a lot of it, more than you should for such a small cut, a jagged line drawn from the corner of your eye to your opposite check, thin but deep and bleeding, pouring out, washing over your hands as you tried to clutch at your face and rub away the damage, like a child trying to blink away a bad dream. Your legs might’ve been bleeding, too, the sides of your ankles, the backs of your thighs, your skin scraped raw in all the places you’d hit the ground as you tripped, falling over your own feet at your stumbled backward, but you didn’t check, you didn’t want to check, you didn’t want to see how bad it was. You didn’t want to take your eyes off the man in front of you, his towering stature, his grim expression.

His sword, silver and unsheathed and pointed at your heart, as it had been from the moment he first caught sight of you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here, in Eden’s forest, only minutes away from the cottage you’d come to think of as your safe haven. He hadn’t asked for your name, he hadn’t mentioned Eden, he hadn’t said a word to you, not before there was a dagger flashing across your line of sight, a weapon quickly discarded for something more intimidating, something that’d let him stay at arm’s length while he approached you, his stare holding yours, his lips pulled into a thin frown. “I—” You tried, but your voice gave out quickly. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had threatened your life. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so scared. “Please, I didn’t mean to get in your—”

“Stop talking.” His tone was flat, apathetic, the barest hints of rage seeping through a weathered veil of neutrality. Immediately, you fell silent. “Who said you had the right to use that voice?”

You opened your mouth, but you thought better of it, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you bowed your head. You wanted to get back to Eden, back to his cottage. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You wanted to run, but you wanted to get out of this with your head on your shoulders, too. “Are you going to kill me?”

“It will not be a true death.” There was a pause, a reluctant hesitation. You pulled your knees into your chest, your hand still pressed to your wound, but the gesture didn’t seem to earn you any pity. “But, I am going to make this—”

He stopped, abruptly, his head attention towards something behind you. You heard it a moment later – measured footsteps, barely making a sound against the dead leaves and branches that littered the forest floor. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

Not when there was only one person who’d ever bother to save you.

“Adam,” Eden called, already positioning himself at your side. His hand was already on his satchel, toying with the buckle. Like he’d done this, before. Like he already knew it wouldn’t resolve itself peacefully. “There are easier ways to introduce yourself. If you put that sword away, I’m sure (Y/n) could still find a way to forgive—”

“Do not call it by that name.” He was focused on Eden, now, leaving you to fade into the background, to observe as his hands began to shake and he glared, baring his teeth, as Eden had done more than try to play peacekeeper. “That is not (Y/n). It doesn’t deserve to pretend it is, none of your abominations do. It won't bring— It can't—” He trailed off, his sword falling back to his side, his eyes clenching shut. You almost felt bad for him, your would-be murderer, but Eden’s expression remained cold, unbothered. Slowly, almost idly, he reached down, taking you by the arm and helping you to your feet, letting you tuck yourself against him as Adam finally found his voice.

“(Y/n) is dead. Nothing you do can change that.”

A moment passed in silence, still, deathly, frigid silence.

Then, Eden spoke.

“I can handle this on my own.” He didn’t deny it. He wasn’t denying it. Why wasn’t he denying it? “I need you to brew tea, Chamomile. Gather as much lavender as you can on your way home, until your pockets are full and you can’t carry anymore. Can you do that for me, love?”

You nodded, but you were still shaking, still unsure, still so, so confused. You weren’t dead. You could breathe, and you could think, and you ate and you slept and you weren’t dead. “I’m not.” You didn’t know who you were talking to – Adam, still clutching his sword, still ready to behead whoever his blade could reach or Eden, your Eden, the gentle protector who hadn’t looked at you once since his arrival. You just wanted someone to say it wasn’t true. You just needed someone to say it wasn’t true. “I’m not. I’m alive. I’m not de—”

“I’m in love,” Eden said, his voice soft. As if he hadn’t heard you at all. “Why does everyone act as if that’s so monstrous?”

You didn’t want to hear Adam’s response. You didn’t want to hear anything, not from him, not from Eden, and certainly not from your own frenzied thoughts, racing and only growing louder as you ran, sprinting, stumbling through the forest in any direction your legs would carry you. A crooked sob racked over your chest, and reflexively, you moved to brush away the tears blurring your vision, but you couldn’t feel yourself when you should’ve, it wasn’t flesh that met your cheek. Your eyes darted to your hand, a sneer already playing at your lips for whatever mud or decaying foliage had plastered itself against your skin, but…

But, you found a small trail of crystals, instead, silvery-glass that coated your palm, rows of jagged edges that hadn’t been there before, that shouldn’t have been there, where your blood had stained your skin only minutes ago. Or, where you thought your blood should’ve stained your skin. You hadn’t looked.

You hadn’t looked.

You froze dead in your tracks.

Slowly, our raised a hand to your face, to the cut carved into it, to what should’ve been a bloody, bloody wound. Something jagged met your fingertips, but you ignored the slight sting. It didn’t hurt. Not as much as it should’ve. Not as much as you wanted it to.

By the time you pulled away, your hand was covered with it. Thick, cool, forming webs between your fingers as you spread them apart. Dark. A kind of dark you’d only seen once.

As black as a starless sky.

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

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[the-insomniac-emporium]

Lying (Next) To You (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for violence + language Warnings: Blood-drinking/general vampiric shenanigans Summary: There is no goal other than escape. You want out of this castle, no matter what you have to do, no matter the consequences. At first, the solution seems to lie with one of the very women you want to get away from. But what happens when you find yourself genuinely caring for her? Length: 5,934 words

Merely surviving had never been your intention. From day one in this foul place, this unholy castle, you had strived to escape. No matter what, you refused to allow such dismal grounds to be your grave. But leaving wouldn’t be as simple as walking out an unlocked door. It required manipulation, agility, and the willingness to screw over anyone who got in your way. Even those who you would have once called friends, or the closest thing you had to that among the servants. Was that something you were willing to do? Absolutely, without a shred of doubt in your mind. Someday, somehow, regardless of what it took, you’d get out and never look back. For now, though, all you can do is scheme…

—————————

Three targets, each incredibly difficult to get your hands on, each presenting their own unique challenges. Which would be easiest to charm? You were still debating that answer.

First was Bela: The eldest, most responsible, forced to be the “role model” for her sisters. A bookworm (a trait the two of you shared) who spent a fair amount of her freetime in the library. While not overtly cruel, she was still rather violent, especially in cases where she felt her family had been insulted. However, there were whispers that she had a secret weakness: Anxiety. None had caught her in the open throes of an attack and lived to tell the tale. But she had been overheard, more than once, quiet cries or shaking breaths. Trying to talk to her during one of these occasions could lead to gaining her affection- if you managed to do what no other had been capable of doing, that is.

Second was Daniela: The youngest, most excitable, eager to please and desperate to be pleased. Easily interacted with more maidens than either of her sisters, though not always in a good way. Getting her attention could mean getting pulled into her room in the middle of the night, for some “fun”, or it could mean getting drained of all of your blood. Sometimes she did one after the other. Like Bela, she was a bookworm, though she preferred romance novels as opposed to her older sister’s educational texts. As for her weakness? To you, Daniela seemed to be the definition of “undiagnosed ADHD”. Less exploitable for sympathy than her sister, but possibly useful in helping you trick her. At the end of the day, the largest concern with her was her inconsistent behavior, her tendency to flip moods at the drop of a hat- and a drop of the hat with her could feel a helluva lot like a drop of an axe (onto your neck).

Then came the third… the one you didn’t think was worth the risk, whatsoever: Cassandra. Middle child and acting just like it, she was hungry for her mother’s approval, attention, and respect most of all. Bloodthirsty as could be, with a mean streak eight kilometers wide, the truest monster you had ever met. Even her fondness for the arts manifested in malevolent ways. Supposedly, she painted in blood, and made sculptures from the bones of her victims, displayed proudly in her room as trophies. What could you possibly do to earn her affection? What could you ever be to her, other than a plaything or mid-afternoon snack?... Nothing, you assumed, and so you figured you might as well remove her from your list. Somehow you’d have to make do with one of her sisters. As for which one?... You decided to let fate decide, and go for whomever you found yourself with an opportunity to court.

—————————

Free time was a rare commodity in Castle Dimitrescu. While every servant did technically get one day off every week, it wasn’t uncommon to end up helping with something unexpected, even if one tried to hide away in the private quarters. For you, it was an opportune time to try and get closer to your targets. So far three weeks had passed since your “decision” to focus on Bela and Daniela, without a single interaction with either of them. Still, hope held fast in your chest, as you made haste towards the library. On this free day you intended to read as much as possible. ‘Twas a two-pronged goal: First, you would increase your chances of running into one of your preferred employers. Secondly, you could possibly learn something through what content you consumed, perhaps to be utilized in later conversations.

Or such was the hope. In truth, you did not make it to the library, nor even anywhere close. A quarter of the way there you were interrupted by an ever-dreaded noise; buzzing echoed throughout the hallway, first far off, but getting closer with every second. There was a particular ferocity to the vibrations that you knew meant danger was approaching. According to the other maidens, this was a distinction that everyone learned over time, assuming that they survived long enough. The smart thing would have been to duck away into an adjacent room in the hopes that whatever sister it was would ignore you. But your endgame weighed heavy on your mind, then forced your feet to the floor. For better or worse, you would be in the woman’s path, ready for whatever she may ask of you.

“You-” a voice snarled, as a hooded figure phased out of the swarm and into your vision. Her head was held high, eyes narrowed as they stared down at you, a snarl twisting her lips. Of course it was her. Cassandra Dimitrescu. The one daughter you didn’t want to encounter. Inside, part of you writhes in self deprecation, feeling as if you should have known better. How often did the other two buzz about so angrily?... Well, certainly a fair bit, but nowhere near as much as Cassandra. Fuck, you think, I’m probably doomed. “I’m hungry. Come here real quick,” Cassandra demands, beckoning you towards her with a single finger. In another life you would have blushed bright red at the sight. A life where she wasn’t a vampiric monster, that is.

Nonetheless, you are quick to obey, masking your anxiety as best as you can. Doing so gets much harder once your gaze meets Cassandra’s, and you see her lick her lips before smirking at you. As soon as you’re within her reach, she’s surging forward, grabbing you by your shoulders, then pivoting, pressing you hard against the wall. You can’t help but gasp at the sudden movements, which only widens her grin. Before you know it she’s running her tongue along your neck. Once more you gasp, this time softer, hating the way your body urges you to lean into her touch. Why couldn’t she simply get straight to the worst of it? Instead she takes her sweet time, slipping a finger beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly, carefully tugging it to the side. When she finally bites, it is terribly sudden. The pleasure comes before the pain, stronger than you would have expected, eliciting a sharp inhale from you that sounds more satisfied than you had intended. Even as a rush of pain follows, you can’t help the red that tints your cheeks.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” Cassandra asks, after licking away at your blood for a few moments, pulling back but not releasing you. Something in her eyes makes you need to respond.

“Y-yes, more than I’d like to admit,” you mumble, barely able to make eye contact. But she seems pleased by this, gently cupping your chin while she looks you over.

“Well then, if you survive… I might just have to drink from you again,” she whispers, before diving right back in towards your neck. This time her touch is far, far softer than before. It feels more like she’s kissing you rather than drinking from you. A strange, irritatingly familiar feeling springs in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but make more of those noises she seemed to enjoy so much. Hell, your eyes drift closed as you take in the surprisingly welcome sensation. When they reopen, however, you give a yelp of surprise, spotting a very awkwardly waiting servant. They were blushing, clearly not having expected to come upon this particular sight. Cassandra perks up at your shock, turning to follow your gaze, then giving an uncharacteristically resigned groan. “Damn it, Ava, is it urgent?” She asks, to which the servant gives a silent shrug. “I’ll be done in a minute. Now, where were we?”

Once more she resumes feeding, casting aside all traces of sweetness, sucking on your wound with reckless abandon. Behind her, Ava gives you a thumbs up before turning away. As embarrassing as the moment felt, you were grateful to xer, glad that xe seemed to recognize your desire for privacy. More than that… if xe hadn’t come along, would Cassandra have remembered to stop before your bloodloss became fatal? There was no guarantee either way. Yet xer intervention felt like a godsend, and you made a mental note to thank xer later. Soon enough Cassandra removes herself from you, pausing only to cup your chin for a moment, meeting your gaze with a smirk. Then she was turning away without another word, following Ava to some unknown destination.

A deep breath, then another, more frantic, the familiar sense of panic growing on the edges of your mind. Now that the feeding was over, you were left trembling with all the fear you had been so adamant about not showing before. How close to death had you come? How close were you now? Only feeling slightly more faint than you had earlier, it felt safe enough to assume you would be fine, if only physically. Inside your mind you were struggling with racing thought after racing thought. How the hell am I supposed to do this with either Bela or Daniela? You think, trying to breathe past the lump in your throat. And why did I have to enjoy that so much? They’re nothing more than means to an end, monsters undeserving of my kindness, of my joy. Your only comfort was the knowledge that this may very well have been the opportunity you had been waiting for; but only if you could shift your aim.

—————————

The difference was subtle, almost microscopic, to the point where it took you a full week to notice. But once you had? Everything felt different. You couldn’t spend more than three seconds in the same room as Cassandra without her eyes following you, watching your every move, sending a rush of both fear and excitement down your spine. Meeting her gaze only made her give the tiniest fraction of a smile. As soon as something (or someone) else caught her attention, however, you were forgotten in the blink of an eye. Yet it was nerve wracking nonetheless. This was roughly what you had hoped for, but you had underestimated the mental toll it would take on you. There was no way to tell whether Cassandra wanted violence, something softer, or her usual brand- a cruel mixture of both. Every second spent in her presence was a roll of the dice, a flip of a coin, either one weighted to put the odds against you.

But you persisted. Escape was not a dream, nor a fantasy, nor some far off cryptid. It was inevitable. Again and again you would swallow your fear until you reached your long-sought destination. No matter the cost, you think, no matter the consequences. Over time, that cost, those consequences, would grow. For now, it was a slice of your sanity. Next? More blood, it seemed.

“Casserole wants you to stop by her art studio,” the note said, cursive hand-writing ever-so-fancy and ever-so-difficult to read. Clearly from Ava, the mildly mysterious (but incredibly helpful) castle servant known for never speaking a word. From what you had gathered, xe was a confidant of sorts for the Dimitrescu family, trusted far more than the average worker. Alas, xe was loyal to the center of xer being, and was rumored to be impeccable at preventing escape attempts before they had even started. If you wanted out of this damn place, you knew you’d have to be careful around xer. Hopefully xe won’t interrupt this time, you think, before tucking the note away in your pocket.

Cassandra’s infamous studio wasn’t terribly far from your quarters, thankfully, though you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to arrive at a specific time. What if she wasn’t expecting you until later? Worse, what if she had been expecting you an hour ago? It’s a dangerous thought, one that could easily spiral into something far more drastic, and you try to reassure yourself, reminding yourself that Ava would have mentioned a time if it was important. In the end, you still found your heart racing as you stood outside the room in question. Pausing to take a deep breath, you center yourself, before raising a hand to knock. To your surprise, you get an answer before your hand even gets close to the door.

“Come in already,” Cassandra chimes from inside. Unsure of what terrible fate you were about to meet, you entered the room, somewhat reluctantly. Despite the myriad of unsavory rumors regarding the studio, there were no immediate signs of brutality. At the worst, the space was fairly messy, though not due to any, ahem, “misplaced” body parts. No, just an overflowing garbage bin, a few unfinished projects placed haphazardly wherever they’d fit, shards of glass in one corner, and tile floor splattered with a Pollock-esque layer of paint. In one word? Chaotic. Such was the type of environment that seemed to suit Cassandra best, the sort in which you imagined she would thrive. But you didn’t have time to examine anything as closely as you would have liked to. “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“No, Lady Cassandra,” you reply, hurriedly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. Then you’re quickly crossing the room, to what looks like a cross between a storage cabinet and a paint mixing station. In Cassandra’s hands, however, you find something less welcoming than a paintbrush: A needle and an empty blood bag. Well, you think, I guess I know why I’m here. At least there’s only one bag, right? “What do you require of me, my Lady?” While the answer was fairly obvious, you didn’t know the specific steps necessary, and it never hurt to be as polite as possible with the Dimitrescu family.

“Just sit down, roll your sleeves up, look pretty, and stay still. Try not to make any noises this time- as cute as they were last time, I have a headache,” Cassandra explains, gesturing towards the room’s only chair. Ignoring the way your cheeks heated up, you did as she asked, trying to get relatively comfortable. It was somewhat difficult to relax, considering who you were with. “Calm down, pet, I’m only going to hurt you a little. That’s more than I can say for most people who end up here.” Why did she have to use a nickname for you? Weren’t you already flushed enough without her teasing you further? Though your flustering does turn to confusion after a moment, as you wonder how she knew how afraid you were. You were under the impression that you were hiding it fairly well. Noticing your reaction, Cassandra rolls her eyes, before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I can hear your heartbeat. Normally I’d find this… exciting. But my head hurts and I wanted to finish this damn painting yesterday. So take a deep breath, little pet, and let me take what I need from you.”

Of course she had to say it like that, and put herself so close to you. You’re pretty sure that your heart skips a few beats in response, though Cassandra doesn’t react beyond a hint of a smile, merely returning to her prep work. First step was cleaning your skin. Admittedly you hadn’t been sure if that step was necessary, seeing as the blood was (seemingly) for art as opposed to testing, but it didn’t exactly surprise you. Besides, there was a chance she’d drink the leftovers, right? Next she double-checked that the needle was properly connected to the blood bag, and that the latter was resting securely on a small stand. With that out of the way, it was time for her favorite part.

“Since your heartbeat has slowed down a little… I’ll let you whimper if you want to- but only once. Consider it a reward for good behavior,” Cassandra purrs with a familiar grin. One hand gently cups your chin, while her eyes look right in yours, just long enough to turn your cheeks bright red. The moment ends as quickly as it started. Before you know it she’s turned stoic again, feeling along your arm for a vein. This isn’t the first time you’ve had your blood drawn, but Cassandra takes no time at all to find the perfect spot, likely from a mix of practice and, well, her vampiric nature. It’s not long before she’s gently gripping your arm with one hand, briefly making eye contact before pushing the needle into your skin. Does it hurt? Hardly. Do you take a shaky inhale, hoping to please your employer, the closest to a whimper you were willing to give her? Oh, absolutely. And does she react? Oh, absolutely. Her eyes light up for a second as she bites her lower lip. There’s something else in her expression that you can’t quite read, however.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” You ask, smiling, voice soft in the hopes of not aggravating her headache. It’s a risk, and one that pays off more than you’d ever expect. Cassandra giggles a tad, eying you with the least mischievous smile you’ve ever seen from her. If not for the needle still in your arm, you might have found the moment charming, or even… romantic. But you pushed the thought away as soon as possible, reminding yourself of your one true goal: Escaping. This was a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself. Even as Cassandra ever-so-gently removed the needle from your arm, even as she carefully placed a bandage over the entry-point, even as she gave you a nod of approval.

“This should last until the painting is done, at the very least. I might need you to make another ‘donation’ next week, though. Except, hmm… your blood is quite nice,” Cassandra says. Her tone is smooth, almost sultry, but her gaze is focused on her work as she starts mixing the blood with… something? You weren’t familiar with this particular artistic process, nor did you want to be. “Maybe I’ll set up a nice schedule for you. Once a month you can be my darling little muse, and once a month you can be a refreshing snack. I’ll even make sure that my sisters don’t do anything that might spoil our fun. Assuming you continue to prove entertaining, that is.” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. In the end you settled for the former, chest thrumming with excitement as you felt yourself getting one step closer to your goal.

—————————

Three months pass by in an easy blur. Just as Cassandra had suggested, you find yourself in her company more often than before. Only twice a month does she take blood from you, for your own safety (which she pretends not to care about), but more and more you find her lounging around where you’re working, obviously by “pure coincidence”. Sometimes she even spoke to you! Teasing here and there, or asking you to do things that she normally did for herself, or scaring you just to hear you make one of your “lovely noises”. Honestly, you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by how attached she had gotten to you, or by how quickly it had happened. Of course, you didn’t even know if she enjoyed your personality… or just your blood. Either way, you found yourself enjoying her presence more than you’d ever openly admit.

Eventually, when the benefits of your budding “friendship” became more clear, you started to enjoy it even more.

It was early in the morning, right when the castle residents tended to go to sleep, and when the night shift officially ended. Minutes prior you had been conversing quietly with Cassandra, dusting some shelves as you did. Now, with your duties done only slightly later than usual, you were making your way back to your quarters. Along the way you were caught off guard by the sound of distant crying. ‘Twas a sound you’d heard many times before, from many different maidens, but this time felt… different. An odd feeling of sympathy sparked in your chest, and you made the brash decision to approach the source of the noise. When you rounded that last corner, when you made eye contact with the trembling figure, you knew that your kindness could very well be the death of you. To think that you had once hoped for this encounter.

“Who’s there?” Bela Dimitrescu snarls through chattering teeth. She’s moving forward, phasing in and out of swarm mode, reaching a hand out to clutch at your throat. Well, you think, at least she’s stopped crying? More so out of being distracted, instead of feeling any comfort from your company. It’s not a terribly reassuring thought, but it’s soon replaced with a mental string of ???? as Bela pauses, grip loosening as she holds you up in the light. “You’re Cassandra’s new favorite. Damnit!” With that she drops you rather unceremoniously. Then she’s turning her back to you, sniffling before wiping the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this, or I won’t hesitate to string you up, no matter what my sister says. Now get lost.”

Except you can’t force yourself to move. There’s a small piece of you that remembers your original plan, another small part feels a twinge of sympathy, and a majority of your brain sees this as an opportunity. What was a little more risk?

“Would you like me to bring you some tea, Lady Bela?” You ask, attempting to keep your tone neutral, lest she think you were judging her. In response, she turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed, thinly veiled rage only outweighed by the remnants of her anxiety. Then she’s stalking forward with cautious, deliberate movements. For a moment she searches your eyes for any hints at your motive. Hoping to ease her worries, you elaborated on your offer, and the reasoning behind it. “I’ve read that holding something warm in your hands, like a mug of tea or coffee, relaxes the brain. I believe it had something to do with mimicking human touch?... Forgive me if I’m overstepping your boundaries, my Lady. I… I felt compelled to ask, to help in whatever way I can.”

“Oh?” Bela hums, the majority of the anger draining from her face. There’s a hint of genuine surprise behind her bright eyes. “Very well, if you say it might… help.” Before you can turn to leave, you hear her clear her throat, and say one last thing. “A little softer than I would have expected from a pet of Cassandra’s.” She certainly had a point. But you don’t bother responding, instead focusing on your self-given task. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you were really Cassandra’s “pet”, or if there was more to your dynamic. Why did you feel so weird about the idea of being a mere “distraction” to her?... Something to think about while you made that tea, you supposed.

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When you assisted with serving lunch the next day, Bela refused to make eye contact, even as you set a plate in front of her, or when you refilled her wine glass. There was a stiffness in the room that you weren’t familiar with. For the most part, Cassandra is more welcoming, giving you a small nod when you meet her gaze. By the time the family is done eating and moves to leave, the sisters are grouping together to speak in hushed voices. While you clean up after them, you cannot help but wonder if they’re discussing the previous night, or if Bela was as adamant about keeping quiet as she had seemed. Regardless, you felt rather good about how the conversation had gone. Hopefully she’s feeling better, you think, surprising yourself. Not that it matters… unless she tells Cassandra, I suppose.

You don’t see her for the rest of the day. It’s a double-edged sword, in a way. On one hand, you find yourself missing her, unused to not interacting with her at all. On the other hand? All the sudden you’re realizing just how involved she’s become with you. Certainly that meant something? Progress towards your eventual goal of escaping? God, you sure hoped so. Thinking about the future, about your plans, lasts you the entire night, thoughts following you all the way into bed. Sleep feels a million years away, and you find yourself staring silently at the ceiling. Unmoving. Damn near unblinking. When there’s the sound of footsteps outside your room, you are more than welcome for the distraction.

“Wake up, little pet,” a voice calls, as your door opens, and someone quickly slips inside. Before you can even sit up, you feel them slide into the bed with you. “It’s too cold in my room. You’re much warmer, aren’t you?” Clearly your darling Cassandra come to entertain herself. Considering how late in the day it is, you feel like you should be upset, and yet you feel yourself daring to wrap your arms around her. For a moment she goes stiff, but she soon relaxes into your touch. “You’re getting so good at knowing what I want from you. Mmm, I think I’ve trained you well,” she teases, shifting onto her back so she can pull you onto her chest. Although you’ve been this close to her before, this is the first time you’ve realized just how cold her skin is. No wonder she wants to sleep with me, you think, blushing at your unintentional wording.

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” you mumble, curling up against her nonetheless. She’s laughing then, without any hint of her usual malice, and you can’t help but laugh with her. When had the two of you gotten so warm with each other? Why did it feel so natural? There’s anxiety gnawing at the base of your skull, threatening to build up into a headache, tugging you away from the softness of the moment. If Cassandra notices, she’s quicker to act than you would have expected. It feels safer to believe that her next actions are a coincidence. Feels… better, when you remember that you are playing her for cheap, that any friendliness is a mockery made for the most bitter of betrayals to come.

“That’s why I’m here, dear. Now hush, I need some rest. With how comfortable you are… I may even let you sleep in,” she teases, before pressing the gentlest kiss to the top of your head. Your throat dries up in response, blush overtaking your cheeks, and you are left unable to speak. The thundering of your heart seems to somehow lull your would-be lover to sleep, while you find yourself growing to love the contrast her chill provides. Somehow, someway, you end up sleeping more soundly than you have in years.

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Another month passes. No opportunities to escape, no grand moves to make in this 4D game of chess, no clever plans to entangle yourself in. Yet you find yourself content. Happy. The work keeps you as busy as ever, but Cassandra often steals you away for her own desires. When she goes to drink your blood, she does so gently, with many soft kisses leading into the big moment. Afterwards she cleans your wound herself, touches as light as a feather, eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. At night, you find her coming to you for warmth almost every day. At first she provides little more than teasing excuses. But in time, she becomes more open, even being so bold as to kiss you on the lips every time, greeting you with quiet “dear”s and “darling”s. It gets to the poin that you cannot sleep without her presence.

Day after day, you find it harder and harder to remember why you were doing this. Was it so bad to enjoy your time with her? Was it so bad to find yourself leaning into her touches, kissing her back, gleefully awaiting your nightly rendezvous with her? Sometimes the thoughts were overwhelming, guilt and shame alike dancing inside your chest. Those days were the hardest to get through. Somehow, again and again, you go to her for comfort. To the very source of your conflict. Every last feeling was driving you towards an inevitable point. A conclusion written in stone, one that had been decided from the very first time Cassandra dug her fangs into your neck.

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Screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming, somehow more pained than that of any maiden you had ever heard, echoing throughout the castle halls, achingly familiar in tone. You had never heard her scream before, and yet you knew that the sound came from Cassandra. Before you can even begin to process your realization, you are thundering through the corridor, towards the noise that rattled your mind so desperately. How could anything possibly hurt her? How often had you seen her push her siblings around, each of them taking hits that could break bones as if they were light shoves? As if the punches tickled? Horror overtakes your thoughts, imagination far worse than reality had any right to be.

When you at last reach your lover, you are frozen in your tracks, eyes wide as can be. There she is, howling with both rage and pain as someone repeatedly slams the butt of a rifle into her head. Behind the fighting duo is a sight you never thought you’d see: An open door. Wide open, enticing, leading straight into the world you had sought to rejoin. You want to leave. God, you want to leave so bad. This is what you have been waiting for- Cassandra has not even seen you yet, too busy grappling with her attacker, movements too slow to be normal. What was wrong? Why were her limbs such a strange color? Was that… frost on her clothes? Or… crystal? Your gaze flickers back and forth between her and the exit, as time seems to pause, memories of the past few months racing through your mind. Goddamnit, you think, this is what I want, isn’t it? Consequences be damned, right? I said I wouldn’t stop for anything.

And so you move, automatically, on autopilot, unable to think about anything other than what you treasured most: Cassandra. One moment you’re standing still in the foyer, the next you’re grabbing a poker from the fireplace. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the movements come naturally, as you surge towards the scrambling pair. In one swift motion you drive the metal rod into the skull of the intruder, hating the sound, hating the splatter of blood against your clothes, hating the feeling of resistance followed by a terrible, terrible give. But the man slumps almost immediately, allowing your girlfriend to shove him off of herself. Still unable to think coherently, you’re throwing yourself into her arms.

“Holy shit, holy shit, oh my god, I- I, fuck. Are you…? Fucking tell me that you’re okay, please,” you ramble, holding the dangerously cold body of your girlfriend close to you, refusing to let go. She’s crying, clinging to you as desperately as you cling to her. But she’s responding in the affirmative. Over and over, saying she’s okay, telling you that it’s okay. Before you know it, she’s the one comforting you.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Okay? Look at me, take a deep breath. If anyone should be freaking out it’s me,” she says, pulling back enough to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s blood on her fingers, making your eyes go wide, but she quickly wipes it off with a scowl. Then she’s caressing your skin again, soft repeating motions perfect for calming you down. “That’s right, see? We’re fine. You’re a fucking badass, darling, and honestly? It’s very attractive.” Now you’re both giggling, you a bit more than her. Because of course she’s flirting right now. It’s an incredible softness. One that you, quite frankly, do not feel you deserve. At first it’s a tiny voice in the back of your head, but it soon grows until it strikes the smile from your lips. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, really,” you interject, as fast as you can, ignoring the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra isn’t convinced, however, and gives you a pleading look. Knowing that you cannot resist her, you close your eyes, sighing, then admit your wretched truth. “The door. Cassandra, the door’s open. I… I came down the hallway and I saw the two of you and I saw the fucking door and I… I hesitated. I hesitated.” There’s a mighty tremble to your voice, teeth and lips shaking. In the moment, you cannot bring yourself to meet her gaze, eyes instead glued to the bloodstained floor. It’s so quiet that you swear you can hear your tears hitting the tile. The air around you is filled with a looming heartache, a shadow over the two of you, hungry for your tears. But the rage you anticipate from Cassandra never comes.

For fuck’s sake, she pulls you closer. She takes you in her arms, making you rest your head against her chest, one hand gently rubbing circles into your back. Shock makes you unable to do anything other than linger limply in her grip. Thankfully, she has more than enough words for the both of you.

“Of course you did. All you ever wanted was to escape, right? And all I ever wanted was to see how much fun I could get out of you before you betrayed us,” she admits, coolly, as if the words didn’t break both of your hearts. At first, you merely start crying harder, realizing that she had seen through you this whole time. Realizing that all of her softness had just been sharpness covered in sheep’s clothing. Except she’s not done talking. “Now look at us. Couple of idiots who caught feelings. So shut up, because we’re in this mess together, now, and I don’t intend to let you go, understood? You-” she pulls back, looking you right in the eyes- “are mine. Besides… you just killed for me. I think that more than makes up for any hesitance, yeah?” Before you know it you’re kissing her. You’re pressing yourself to her, smiling through your tears, forced to pause to laugh at yourself. How ridiculous had this whole affair been? How had you convinced yourself, for so long, that escape was all you had cared about?...

All this time you thought you wanted out. But at the end of the day… you just wanted to go home. How could you have guessed that you would have found a new home, here, in someone’s arms? Despite the surprise of it all… you couldn’t be happier.