#and i figure i can make another set in the future with the other things i wanted to include

[t-u-i-t-c]

Taiya & Genba │ Lap 3

"Genba has just lost track of his wheel. That's all."

+ bonus

[obeymeluv]

Enchanting a Fae - Malleus x Reader

A random Malleus x Reader

Malleus isn't sure why he comes to your dorm so often. His booted feet take him there automatically, he supposes. If Lilia were to ask him, he's just making the rounds on his usual haunts and looking for pieces of forgotten grotesques and gargoyles in need of cleaning. Ramshackle was a prime destination for all things forgotten and dusty, after all.

Perhaps it can also be a home to things muddy and sopping.

A small smile twists the edges of Malleus' lips as he blinks rain from his emerald eyes. It's ironic that he, future King of Briar Valley and fifth most powerful mage in the world, was caught unaware by the weather.

How very human. It's a beautiful experience, to drown in the quiet hush of rain.

He steps lightly but with purpose, long shadow breezing up the walkway to your door. It swells as lightning tap-dances behind him. Thunder rumbles, much like the sound he tries to swallow down as you crack the door open hesitantly, face melting into one of welcome.

Oh, child of man...Malleus feels the warm swirl in his chest tighten as you take his hand and pull him inside. He ducks his head, finally remembering to pull his horns down enough so they don't scrape the frame like they have in the past.. "Fae are supposed to be invited in," he reminds you. "And I told you, you always have a standing invitation." you say with a gentle dismissiveness that both humbles and endears him. You continue to show him that you care not for his title or his princely demands. You treat him like all the others. He does his best to stand on the welcome mat you thrifted, afraid the water will rot the ancient floor and leave you with something else to fix. You scurry back with towels and some spare clothes that smell like human. Not you, but human. Malleus can't stop the angry rumble in his throat as he realizes that smell is probably from your human friends at Heartslabyul. Clothes for other men? Disgusting. You always forget he has another set of vocal chords and he excuses the noise as 'clearing his throat'. "It's all I have," you murmur, unsure now if you should take the offer back. He can tell you're still debating that uncouth noise, the slip of the tongue.

"I accept your generosity." Malleus knows it won't be a perfect fit, but it would do better than your clothes. Not that he didn't like the idea of adorning himself in your scent. Turning away from you a little, Malleus removes the purple striped belt at his waist and undoes the many gold buttons on his curious coat. You can't tell what the black shirt is underneath but it sticks to him and you find yourself trying to tear your eyes away and commit him to memory all at once.

Not in the creepy way! Just in the 'I've never seen Malleus in just gloves, a shirt, pants, and boots before' kind of way. He's none the wiser, realizing he has a real problem on his hands. The gloves he chose are water resistant but they've somehow gone flush against his slick skin and feel more like a seal than a savior. His draconian nails cannot save him, blunted and useless in the leather. Should he use his teeth? What if he hooked them on the edge of a horn and just shimmied it off? You can practically read his mind and grab his hand before he can raise it near his head. "Don't do that! You'll ruin them!" you give a huffy laugh at his simple, boyish logic and it takes every ounce of control from all his decades of walking upright to keep his tail from smashing a hole in your floor.

He watches you drape the loaner clothes around your neck like some sort of scarf as you motion for his hand.

Your hands are almost cartoonishly small in his as they trace the stitching and try to feel for any buttons or ridges. Small, but so considerate and so warm. Dragons run warm from the fire and magic in their blood but he cannot explain why your touch is absolutely radiating and searing him in the most comforting way through the leather. He almost hopes you never figure out how to take them off so you can just fiddle with his hands forever. Malleus relaxes into your touch, basking in the care and attention.

His hopes are dashed when the glove separates slightly from his lax wrist and you free his hand. You pull off the other one. If he had no shame, he'd make a cool request for you to hold them and warm them. "Boots off, then change." you give him a small rag for his hands and point to his feet. Delighted and somewhat surprised to be your willing subject, Malleus obeys and starts to take off his boots.

He braces himself against your wall with one hand, mindful not to put himself through it like he almost did the mine tunnel at Beanfest. One boot off, he wrestles blindly with the other. Malleus is much more interested in how you tend to the pitiful fire in your fireplace. Your back is to him and whatever you're wearing leaves you shapeless but cozy. The embers crackle in the hearth, the light dancing across your face in a way that makes something baser claw at the pit of his stomach.

Shiny thing. Dragons like shiny things. You would be a most gorgeous shiny thing. Always ethereal, no matter what you're wearing or doing. If you would permit him, you would be his most valued treasure.

His heart sings at the thought, almost tying itself in a knot. That low, tingling feeling comes back to him and Malleus wants to croon his Dragon Song. It would fall on deaf ears, so to speak, as you have no dragon blood to appeal to. "Your eyes are doing that thing again." Malleus flinched a little, green fire sparking in his mouth as a warning puff of smoke dissipated between you. He didn't realize you'd come upon him again. The dragon relaxed, turning his head away as he exhaled the building smoke through his nose before it could send him into an undignified coughing fit.

Lilia had been consulting his grandmother on some behaviors as of late and both arrived to the same conclusion: he's experiencing draconian puberty. 'The thing' his eyes do are a sign of said puberty. It is the unfurling of all his emotions, the dilation of his eyes signaling his interest and trying to draw you ever deeper to him. In a way, it is a thrall, but it leaves him at your mercy as much as it should leave you in his.

Somehow, you don't take it as hard. If his world wasn't a sudden explosion of the scent of your skin and soap, the heat of your body, and the curious fondness with which you look at him, he would ponder this injustice further.

But he does not. Right now he can't even find the words for a simple lie, a diversion, as he breathes in the smell of you and tries not to melt. To have you touch him right now would be the worst thing but he's never wanted it more. He wants so badly to sink his fangs into your wrist, your neck, and let you wear the affectionate bruises like a family crest. His family crest.

"You're supposed to be getting changed," you admonish him.

"Mmm, but I can't," Malleus refrains from snuggling into the small towel you're blotting against his face. He closes his eyes and tries to sense the heat of your hand through the fabric as you move carefully around his lashes. "I'm being tended to and it would be rude to interrupt," he teases.

"No point in giving you dry clothes if you're going to get them wet putting them on." you laugh. He swallows thickly as you brush his throat dry. "Now go change," you swat him with the rag. Body towel and clothes in one hand, damp footprints follow Malleus to a spare room.

As he suspected, the clothes were ill-fit for his frame. Spade and Trappola were smaller than he was, being human and all. It was another thing entirely to get the shirt over his head without shredding it on his horns. He's afraid to move his arms too much and hopes he's not offending you by pulling the pants low enough to give his tail room. You've just finished laying his clothes out on dry towels before the fire and he's grateful.

It is a dying fire. You have a small supply of kindling and old papers to feed it but he doesn't think it will be enough. "I would like to repay your generosity with a gift. May I?" "You know you don't have to get me anything," you wave him off. He's not sure if it's a human trait or a you trait but you don't take easily to gifts.

"But it is practical and will serve us both," he knows he's caught your attention. He can see you trying to figure out what kind of gift that would be. Malleus approaches the fire, kneels down, and breathes it in. Dragons who can breathe fire, like himself, can convert outside sources of heat to their fire on rare occasions. You jump when he spits out a green flame and it roars to life, casting the walls in jeweled light and emitting a heat you didn't know you missed.

"Cozy!" you chirp. It was a gentle kind of heat that would be perfect for snuggling under a blanket. He sits on the other end of the sofa, a respectful cushion between you, and rests his head on a hand as he looks at you.

"And it will last much longer! You needn't fret about it getting out of control, either. It is my fire, and I can control it." he sees the beginning of sleep on you. Malleus grew up with Silver and was all too familiar with the slow descent into a nap. You make a valiant effort, he will give you that. You're in the middle of a soft argument about being rude to company and Malleus laughs despite himself.

He dropped in uninvited. Certainly that's more rude, yes?

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, the fae more amused than he has been in a long time as your eyes get heavier. You look stunning in the green glow and he can't help but think you'd look just as ravishing in black.

In a crown. On a throne. In his bed. All of these things have the Dragon Song welling up in him again. The buzzing in his chest closes off his ears; Malleus jumps to alertness as you tug gently on the ends of his dark hair. "You let your hair down. It'll get weird if it dries in a ponytail holder."

It takes some effort, but he untangles it from his hair. "What shall I do about you, Child of Man?" he muses. "I will be forever indebted to your attentiveness."

"Did you find anything cool on your walk? You always show me." your eyes twinkle with the vestiges of consciousness. This is your one final push before succumbing to sleep, he can tell. He did, in fact, find things to show you and had forgotten them until now. When you're drenched, everything just feels heavy and soaked through. Malleus fishes the random items from his coat pocket and settles back down on the couch.

You've seen all manner of things at this point--feathers, polished rocks, twisted roots that looked interesting, pieces of statues, actual gems--and it never gets old. He presents you with a rock carved into the shape of a bear, a chunk of what might have been an old cup, and a ring.

The ring doesn't catch your eye right away. You're too busy playing with the bear. He wiggles his hand so the firelight catches it and you still. Malleus takes the bear from you, flipping your hand over to slide it on your finger. "A gift, my dearest."

"Malleus, I--" you start to protest.

"We fae are no strangers to offerings, both giving and receiving. It would be a disservice to present you with anything less." he speaks over you, his words gentle but commanding. He kisses your hand.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of dating him. It just seemed a little silly--a random no-name person and the fae prince? What kind of cliche was this?

A handsome one that was staring you right in the face.

"If you'd like more, the best I can offer you is a kingdom." he teases, lounging back against the sofa. He said it so casually that it caught you off guard. You're face is almost unbearably hot and Malleus chuckles.

"A whole kingdom?" you finally recover. "I'll take it."

Oh, there it went. Malleus felt the trap snap shut on his heart. This was the lethal moment Lilia warned him. He was helplessly smitten and enchanted. Irreversibly so.

"Truly?" he's before you in a second, one hand around your waist and the other holding the one with the ring. "Now is not the time to jest, Child of Man. I offer you my heart in earnest and the reply must be just as true!" he's staring up at you through his bangs and you swear you see more scales on his forehead.

"W-Well, yeah," you stutter. "I wouldn't mind. Just kind of thought we would do more dates and stuff first," your face was heating up again.

"We shall, as many as you like!" he's scooped you up in one arm, cradling you to his chest. You threw your legs around him so you didn't fall backwards but he doesn't notice, pulling your other hand over his shoulder. "Every day, even! As soon as the weather clears, in fact!" "But it'll be dark out!" you protest. Malleus probably could change the weather if he wanted but that wouldn't stop the ground from squelching and things being nasty. He stopped excitedly rambling about walks and things to do.

"We've walked in the dark before?" he doesn't understand why you don't want to go out this particular time. "And I have seen you to your door, safe and sound every time."

"But we're already here. Together. Inside." you explain slowly. "Maybe we could...cuddle...a little."

Oh yes. Splendid idea! Malleus all but dives for the couch at the suggestion. It is a paltry nest but it's yours. You're still recovering from the recoil, glad he fell back first and didn't squish you.

Did you just hear something rip? You hope he didn't break the couch. You don't get much time to think about it as he pulls you close and tucks you under his chin like he's been rehearsing it with a pillow. He's just the right combination of soft and muscle, of guard and gentle as he figures out where to put his hands. He settles for one supporting his head and the other cradling yours.

It's very awkward because he's mostly off the couch but he can't be bothered. You're slowly drifting to sleep in his arms and he's never felt more joy. He watches with deep interested, practically holding his breath as you sleep. Faes don't need as much sleep as humans but he doesn't think he could sleep if he tried because you've been courted by him!

Malleus is roused by his phone sometime later. The couch is small and cumbersome to him but it's held up. He begrudgingly untangled himself from you to answer it, long arm just reaching it on the table.

"Yes?"

It's Lilia. "Where are you, young man? We've been trying to reach you!"

He had fifteen missed calls from Sebek, eight from Lilia, and some text messages from Silver.

"Ensnared, I fear." Malleus smiles into the crown of your head. "I'm doomed to languish in absolute bliss. It's a very powerful enchantment, you see."

"Taken the leap, have you, Malleus?" he could hear the smile in Lilia's voice.

"I have, and I've landed in something quite wonderful."

"We fae are supposed to trick and trap, not the other way around! But...at least you're safe. Make it known that I will not tolerate--"

"Any eggs before marriage." Malleus rolled his eyes. He'd only heard that a million times recently.

"If you're not back at Diasomnia in two hours, I'll break that enchantment myself. Understood?"

"And if I object?" Malleus challenged, patting your head as you began to move.

There was a moment of silence. "I shall tell your grandmother."

Malleus hung up.

That might do the trick, he thought, brows raised. His grandmother was from an older generation of fae who were still entrenched in anti-human beliefs. Would she love you because he did? Could you enchant her, too? One look at your sleeping face, so at peace and pressed up against him, had him convinced.

Yes, he was pretty sure you could enchant any fae. It certainly worked on him.

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, cunningulus, f!reader, squirting, fingering, alcohol use, voyeurism Synopsis: after the war, you and Shigaraki spend time together while the rest of the League prepares for the final mission. Excessive drinking leads to a moment of intimacy between you and Shigaraki, with him tasting your cunt for the first time. Unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend Touya unexpectedly returns early and witnesses the scene A/N: this piece was commissioned on my Ko-fi page by my beloved @shonen-brainrot - I'm sharing this fic with her consent. Thank you for commissioning me, baby! I hope you enjoy it! Friendly reminder to everyone else: my writing commissions are open :)

MASTERLIST KO-FI COMISSIONS: OPEN

You spent a mere three months as a member of the League of Villains, yet during that brief period, you actively contributed to planning the Paranormal Liberation War. Despite the apparent "loss," you understood that, among other things, you achieved a strategic victory. After exiting the stage with Tomura and his other allies, you needed to keep a low profile, and so you did. Leveraging your quirk, Speed Recovery, you became a highly valuable asset to Shigaraki, aiding in the recovery of his injured allies.

Amid this intense three months period, you cultivated an unexpected understanding with the most enigmatic figure in the organization — Dabi. Astonishingly, he turned out to be the long-lost son of the Number One hero, Endeavor. Before you fully grasped it, you found yourself low-key "dating" - an understated term for the intensity of the connection. It encompassed spending endless hours together, engaging in profound conversations, and gradually closing the physical distance between you two.

Yet, an undercurrent of unease lingered as you sensed Tomura's discontent. Was he possibly envious of someone as seemingly ordinary as yourself? The uncertainty hung in the air, casting a shadow over the dynamics within the group.

You devoted considerable time meticulously plotting the retribution, even as you witnessed Tomura's growing anger and frustration. Reassuring him, you affirmed the intricacy of his plans, confidently asserting that soon you would unveil a lesson for the heroes, showing them their rightful place.

After the devastating War, Tomura visibly bore the weight of stress, engrossed in devising his next set of plans.

One evening, while the others were away preparing for the final mission, you and Tomura remained at the hideout, sipping from a shared bottle of vodka. The conversation delved into the details of the plan and the sacrifices it would inevitably demand.

Tomura took a sip, his crimson eyes fixed on you. "This mission will change everything. Sacrifices are inevitable."

You nodded, the weight of the responsibility settling in. "Yeah, but it's necessary. For a better future."

He smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "A better future, huh? How optimistic."

You chuckled, recognizing his penchant for cynicism. "Well, not everyone can be as optimistic as you, Tomura."

He leaned back, fingers tapping against the bottle. "Optimism won't save us. Practicality will."

You smirked, appreciating the contrast in your perspectives. "Practicality and a bit of optimism won't hurt."

Tomura scoffed, taking another sip. "You're incorrigible."

You raised an eyebrow. "Coming from you, that's a compliment."

He chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a rare smile. "Maybe. But let's not get too sentimental. We have work to do."

As the night wore on, the shared bottle of vodka dwindled, leaving both you and Tomura with a growing sense of intoxication.

"Thanks for the refill," you slurred appreciatively, the alcohol already making its presence felt.

Tomura, seemingly affected by the spirits as well, mused, "Can't believe Dabi didn't teach you how to drink."

You chuckled, the room swaying slightly. "Guess he missed that lesson."

With a nonchalant shrug, Tomura rose, tossing the empty bottle effortlessly into the trash bin. He went to a nearby cabinet, retrieving another bottle of alcohol and two fresh glasses.

You protested, waving your hands, but he poured you another drink, raising an eyebrow. "How are things between you and our lovely Todoroki, by the way?"

The question struck a chord, and you frowned, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the sudden turn into personal territory. "Well, you know, complicated," you replied evasively, taking a sip to buy some time.

Tomura leaned back, swirling his drink, his gaze fixed on you. "Complicated, huh? Must be quite a story."

You sighed, the alcohol loosening your tongue. "Yeah, it is. But we manage."

He nodded, taking a thoughtful sip. "Managing is something, I guess."

You attempted to shift the conversation away from your relationship with Dabi, bringing up other topics, but Tomura proved relentless. With a cocky grin, he circled back to Dabi, probing for more details.

"Come on, spill it. I want to hear the juicy bits," he taunted, swirling his drink with an unsettling confidence.

Sighing, you relented a little. "It's not that interesting, Tomura. Just the usual ups and downs. Nothing to discuss."

He leaned in, a dark glint in his eyes. "Ups and downs, huh? Sounds like there's more to it."

You rolled your eyes, realizing that steering the conversation away from Dabi was an uphill battle. "Can we talk about something else, Tomura? There's a whole world out there."

He chuckled, his laughter carrying a sinister undertone. "The world can wait."

As the night wore on, Tomura's questions became more probing, his tone growing darker and more insistent. He seemed to revel in the discomfort he caused, savoring every tidbit you reluctantly shared about your tumultuous relationship. Tomura got up, the creaking floorboards announcing his movement as he paced around the room. He cast a sly glance in your direction, the dim light highlighting the eerie grin on his face. "You know," he began, still walking, "I always suspected there was more to Dabi. But Endeavor's son? Now, that's interesting."

You shifted uncomfortably, eyeing him as he continued to circle the room. "Yeah, surprising, right?"

He chuckled, a sinister edge to his voice. "Perfect, actually. Vengeance is a powerful motivator. It'll make him even more useful for our cause."

Tomura took a place beside you on a worn-out couch, his arm casually wrapping around your shoulders. He poured another drink, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

You gave a weak smile, feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze. The tension heightened as his arm tightened around your shoulders, and he handed you the freshly poured drink.

"To unexpected alliances," he proposed, raising his glass.

You clinked yours against his, the liquid burning down your throat, the room spinning with a mix of alcohol and Tomura's ominous presence.

As Tomura poured another round, he seemed undeterred by the growing level of intoxication. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol.

In the midst of another casual conversation, Tomura, with an unsettling nonchalance, steered the dialogue back to Dabi. "Did he fuck you already?" he inquired abruptly, his tone cutting through the drunken haze that surrounded you.

Your cheeks flushed, and you visibly squirmed in discomfort at the unexpected and personal nature of the question. "It's none… None of your… Bussiness, Tomura," you hiccuped.

"Come on now, spill it. Did he or didn't he?" he pressed, a mocking grin playing on his lips.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the question. "Tomura, that's really none of your business…"

Tomura's grin widened, and he leaned back, seemingly pleased with your discomfort. "Sounds like a yes to me. Dabi's got taste, I'll give him that. Was he a gentleman, delicately tending to your needs, or more like a dog in heat, just claiming what's his?"

Your face burned hotter as you bit your lower lip, desperately downing the glass of vodka, and quickly covering your mouth after. "Something in between," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred.

Shigaraki chuckled darkly, throwing his head back. "Mmmm, I see. What a pity then. You deserve to be taken care of, baby. Such a little, pretty villain," he reached his gloved hand out and touched your cheek. The gloved touch sent shivers down your spine. "Did he eat your pussy?"

The nausea welled up inside you, and all you wanted was to escape to your tiny room and lie down. You nodded, managing a weak, "Yes," hoping it would satisfy Shigaraki and put an end to the uncomfortably intimate interrogation.

Tomura grinned, placing his glass on a tiny coffee table. He simply leaned in, crushing his lips onto yours without seeking your consent.

In your intoxicated state, attempts to push him away were feeble. His lips bore the flavor of vodka, but strangely, you found yourself not entirely opposed to the unexpected kiss. A part of you didn't mind what was happening at all, so you casually moved your lips against his in a dance influenced by the haze of alcohol.

Before you could fully comprehend the situation, his gloved hand, adorned with only two fingers covered by a black leather, slipped between your thighs and beneath the plain skirt you wore. His touch started at your thigh, skillfully massaging the soft flesh, while slowly ascending.

A gasp escaped your lips as a strange warmth began to build within your abdomen. You cursed yourself for reacting this way to your boss. You shouldn't be feeling like this; after all, you had a boyfriend. What would he think if he knew how Shigaraki's touch was affecting you? You blamed the intoxication for clouding your mind, and even if you desired to push Shigaraki away, you felt powerless; your hands seemed to weigh a ton.

Gloved fingers teased you through your panties, eliciting a gasp that escaped past your parted lips. You bit down on your lower lip, the sensations proving intoxicating, clouding the last remaining rationally-thinking parts of your brain.

As your head lolled back, resting against the back of the couch, Shigaraki licked the column of your neck. "Shhh, shhhh, it's okay. Ain't gonna hurt ya, sweetie. I just wanna make you feel good, like Dabi never did, I bet."

Shigaraki pushed the fabric of your panties aside, his touch careful as he rubbed against your folds, discovering they were already slick with your excitement. He grinned, licking his lips. "Look at you," he chuckled, hiccuping a little. "Mmm, already so wet for your boss. That's the attitude I like."

Shigaraki rose from the couch, a hiss escaping him as his pants grew uncomfortable, his dick tenting the fabric. He knelt down, parting your thighs, and took hold of the sides of your panties, skillfully tugging them down your legs until they were off completely. Bringing the garment to his nose, he sniffed it like a wild animal, licking the damp spot on the material and growling in anticipation. "Fuck," he muttered, his other hand palming himself through the fabric of his pants.

As the man licked a stripe along your slick folds, a loud whine escaped your lips, and you leaned back fully against the couch. Slowly, you brought your hand to your mouth, covering it as if to prevent all the moans from escaping. It felt so wrong, yet oh so right at the same time.

Shigaraki closed his lips around your clitoris, fervently sucking the swollen bud into his mouth. This left you writhing beneath him, moaning like a cheap whore you apparently were at that moment. His bare fingers, devoid of glove, expertly rubbed your entrance as Shigaraki continued to lap at your slick folds. The obscene noises he made filled the air, his head shaking left to right to increase the friction you sought with every roll of your hips, each movement trying to push your cunny further into his face.

"O-Oh, God…" you whimpered.

Shigaraki chuckled slightly before slipping his tongue into your entrance. It was the moment you arched your back, sliding one of your hands into his white hair, tugging it to bring his face and mouth closer to your heated core.

He skillfully fucked you with his tongue, his gloved fingers simultaneously massaging your clitoris, causing your wetness to spill all over his eager tongue. "Mhmmm," he grunted, still palming himself through his pants.

Lost in the throes of passion, neither of you heard the door opening. Little did you know that the rest of the League had returned to the hideout.

Dabi stood in the doorway leading to Shigaraki's office, his turquoise eyes wide open as he witnessed the scene unfolding before him — his boss, someone he had once considered a friend at some point, and his girl, getting laid.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki resumed lapping at your entrance, growling like an animal at your scent and taste. In contrast, you were already a moaning mess.

"I fucking love your little cunt," Shigaraki declared, kissing your swollen clitoris before returning to licking your dripping hole.

Dabi felt anger and jealousy building up within him, but he also sensed some primal desire. Casually closing the door, he walked over to the two of you, nonchalantly dipping down next to you on the couch. "Well, well, I see you two are having some fun, huh?" he growled.

It was then that you snapped your eyes open, instantly attempting to push Shigaraki off your pussy.

However, your boss simply looked at Dabi lazily, and after kissing your cunt, he straightened up, wiping his lips from your juices glistening there with the top of his palm. "Todoroki, you're back already."

Dabi scoffed. "What do you fucking think you're doing, Tomura?" Dabi growled, igniting a little blue flame on his left palm while his right one rested possessively on your knee.

"And what does it look like? I'm eating her cunny out," Shigaraki replied, a wry grin on his lips.

"She's fucking mine, and you're fucking aware of that," Dabi reminded.

Shigaraki chuckled darkly, waving his hand. "Oh, don't be such a dog in the manger. I didn't fuck her, yeah? Just licked her tiny cunt. That's not a fucking crime, is it?"

Dabi breathed angrily through his nose. "I can see you got fucking turned on just by her taste," he scoffed, glancing at the tent in Tomura's pants.

Shigaraki unselfconsciously palmed his dick, tilting his head to the side. "Can you blame me? Look at her, such a little naughty villainess we have here. And her taste is intoxicating."

Dabi scoffed again. "Imagine that I know, as I've fucked her many times already."

Tomura ran his bare fingers up and down your cunt. "Don't be angry at her, it's my fault. We got a little too wasted, and I kind of couldn't stop myself when I smelled her wetness," Shigaraki explained, pointing his chin at the coffee table and the empty bottle of alcohol and glasses.

Dabi shook his head in disapproval and reached his hand out, catching your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting it so you faced him. "You're such a naughty whore, getting wet for him? Pathetic."

Your cheeks were still flushed. "S-sorry, Touya…" you whined pathetically.

Dabi looked into your half-opened eyes. He couldn't deny the twitch in his pants as he saw you so vulnerable and exposed. The idea of letting some other guy fuck you while he watched had always lingered in the dark corners of his twisted mind. Now, the opportunity presented itself. "You liked him licking your cunt, hmm?"

You bit at your knuckle, slowly nodding your head for yes.

Dabi sighed. "Fine. Make my girl cum," the scarred man ordered, looking at Shigaraki. "But don't you fucking dare to put your fucking, pathetic cock into her. That's exclusively mine privilege."

Shigaraki cocked his eyebrows, "Who do you think you are to boss me around, Dabi?"

Touya grinned nastily. "Seriously? Your cock already makes a damp spot in your pants, man. I know you want her. So give her what she wants. Make her fucking cum. Let her decide which one of us eats her pussy better. I'm sure she's gonna choose me."

"T-Touya, I.." you started, but your boyfriend placed his fingers on your lips, sealing them.

"Shut up and spread your legs wider like the good whore you are," he instructed.

You nodded hesitantly, following his words.

Shigaraki grunted, seeing your pussy spreading open just for him. He instantly dived between your legs, lapping at your folds again, making slurping noises and eating your cunt so intensely that the base of his nose nudged your swollen clitoris, making you whine.

Dabi watched the scene with a stoic expression attached to his scarred face. He reached one of his hands around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him so you rested your side against his chest. His other hand grabbed the hem of your skirt, hoisting it up your hips to provide himself with a better view of your drenched cunt and Shigaraki diving between your legs.

"You're such a needy whore," Dabi whispered into your ear, moving the arm he had wrapped around your shoulders to unbutton your shirt and fish out one of your breasts from the cup of your bra, fondling it gently. "So fucking wet. Look at the mess you made on this bastard's face."

You were whining, resting one elbow on Dabi's lap, moaning even louder as you felt his hardened cock making a bulge in his jeans.

Shigaraki slipped his gloved fingers into your cunt, massaging your inner walls.

Dabi grasped your chin and tilted your head, sloppily kissing your lips. Your tongues danced together.

Shigaraki spat down on your pussy, spreading his saliva all over your folds with his thumb. After that, he returned to sucking your clitoris while finger-fucking you.

You moaned in Dabi's mouth, breaking the kiss to bite your knuckle again as your thighs trembled after Tomura hit that super-sensitive, spongy spot deep within you. "Fuck…" you whispered, your eyes watering. "Holy shit."

Dabi chuckled darkly. "That's it, doll, let it go. Cum. I know you want to cum."

"Yes, d-daddy," you moaned and reached both hands to slip them in Tomura's messy hair, bringing his face closer to your dripping cunt to ride your orgasm all over his tongue and lips.

"Don't you fucking dare to stop licking her cunt. Stick your ugly tonuge out," Dabi instructed, and to his surprise, Shigaraki obeyed.

You grinded your pussy against you boss' flexed tongue, moaning louder and louder until your pussy clenched around his fingers, leaving you trembling all over your body, moaning and panting.

Of course, Dabi decided it was not enough, so he reached his hand down your body to gently rub your clitoris, only to spank it with his heated up fingers a few times.

You bucked your hips more until you squirted all over Shigaraki's face, moaning both their names as if it was the last prayer of your life; your runny juices covered your boss' chin, nose and lips, dripping down his cheek to his chest.

Shigaraki also panted and groaned, the damp stain on his crotch expanding, signaling he just came, too.

Dabi kissed your cheek, glancing down at Shigaraki. "Look at you, boss, getting so turned on by a mere woman. That's surprising," he rose from the couch, adjusting his hardened dick in his pants. "Now excuse me, I'm taking my girlfriend to my room so I can fuck her the way she likes the most," Todoroki easily scooped you up in his arms. "Oh, and thanks for preparing her for me. I appreciate that a lot."

[loosescrewslefty]

Screaming, crying and OBSESSING over the way Anya and Demetrius are on opposite sides of the Neurodivergent scale and also far more similar to one another than either one realizes. More than any other character we've seen so far, it feels like these two are Yin and Yang, opposite sides of the same coin.

Demetrius easily absorbs facts, figures, and other information that follows a set pattern. But people confuse and frustrate him, and he deals with that by not dealing with it. Anya has the ability to understand more about strangers she passes on the street than people who see them regularly ever could, but traditional academics can overwhelm her so she is resistant to studying. And yet both of them are othered and seen as abnormal by everyone around them, building a wall between them and their peers that they both find difficult to overcome.

Anya tries to fit in through masking, pretending as hard as she can to be normal (with limited success) but Demetrius has given up after going so long without anyone helping him better understand others which leads to him disassociating in social situations as a self defense mechanism, to get in and out as quickly and painlessly as possible while telling himself it doesn't matter.

Except it does.

Demetrius didn't need to ask about Damian's stella. But he did. Because he wants to find some sort of common ground with his brother even as he reassures himself that it doesn't matter and he doesn't care. He doesn't pick up on the fact that this makes Damian feel self conscious, that he's comparing his one stella to Demetrius' six and worried their father will love him less for not being as successful. Demetrius doesn't understand how the subject switched to Donovan at all, and shuts down hard when their father is mentioned. Just like he did when Damian called and asked him to be a bridge between them way back when.

(Demetrius warning Damian not to get his hopes up about Donovan coming to meet him also conflicts with his internal dialog about how the people around him don't matter and he doesn't need to care about understanding them. If it actually doesn't matter to him, then he wouldn't care if Donovan blew Damian off.)

Circling back to the original thought though, I desperately hope that we're going to get Demetrius and Anya interacting directly with one another at some point in the future because I have a feeling that Anya's blunt, child-like nature will lead to her just directly telling Demetrius the things that are eluding him when he interacts with others, demystifying all the unspoken social cues he's supposed to yet cannot intuit for the first time in his life. And he is going to be in awe of this child for her ability to not only understand others, but translate for him when he cannot grasp whatever it is they are trying and failing to say to him.

Demetrius could appreciate Anya's abilities, rather than being afraid of or disturbed by them. And they could both understand the feeling of not fitting in with the crowd. Of knowing that others regard them with fear and contempt, or want to use the things that make them different for their own purposes and treat them like they are just a tool instead of a person. The potential is there for a very interesting platonic relationship between two kids who have spent their whole lives feeling like their differences alienated them from everyone else in their life, and in Anya's case a fear that the discovery of that difference would lead to her losing the love of everyone important to her in her life.

[makingqueerhistory]

Listen, you were given one wild and precious life, please do not waste it by dividing yourself and others from community.

I have this friend, who was in the process of figuring out some things around their identity, and again and again, they separated themselves from the queer community for some reason or another, giving distance as a form of imposters syndrome, and it broke my heart because they were a part of my queer family. Not in the static way of knowing a person's exact set of labels and being able to quantify where they may have landed on the Kinsey scale, but in the way that mattered.

They were my queer family because I knew I could rely on them to listen and reshape their view of the world again and again to make room for me. They were my queer family because they loved me and my wife fiercely and with an ardent devotion that is usually saved for biological relations. They were my queer family because I knew I could rely on them to fight for my queerness and be outraged when I was just exhausted.

Just as I believe that you can be a queer person and never choose to connect with the queer community, I also believe that you can be deeply embedded in the queer community without ever having to identify as queer.

Anyways, so much love in my heart for queer family today. From the past, the people who have known and kept secret, who have known and loved, who have known and learned. From the present, the people who are working to understand, the people who care so much, the people who are angry when we are scared. And, of course, in the future, thank you for joining us, thank you for being family, thank you for holding the world to a higher standard.

[st4rtar0t]

Helping your recognise your superpower

I'm currently doing donation based readings to pay for my tuition fees. DM to purchase a reading!

Thank you so much for your time and energy and I hope you have a great day ahead!

Picture 1

Your lust for knowledge is your superpower. And I know you may think that is a lame power to have but I do want to your realise that knowledge is everything. The more knowledgeable you are, the more mature you become. Maturity comes from a sense of understanding and experience. The way you're always ready to learn new things makes you unique. Some of could be an higher achiver, or your sense of self comes from your academic performance. I think it's good to be knowledge but don't bring yourself down when you don't perform well. Give yourself time to learn and revise.

Your another superpower is your ability to look at situations from different perspectives. You know sometimes our pain clouds our vision making it difficult to acknowledge the hurt of others. But not for you, no matter how bad your situation is, you wouldn't let your emotions cloud your judgement Which is an remarkable ability.

Your faith, whether in yourself, in others or in something greater than us all, gives you strength and resilience in times of difficulty. Your belief in humanity, your trust in kindness and your faith in the possibility of a better future awaiting us uplifts not only you but also the people around you.

Picture 2

Your planning is your superpower. It's like having a secret weapon in life. When you plan, you're like a master strategist, able to foresee obstacles and navigate around them. You can set goals and figure out the steps to reach them. Planning helps you stay organized, focused, and prepared for whatever comes your way. It's not just about making lists; it's about taking control of your future and making things happen. So, embrace your planning abilities, because they can truly make you unstoppable. Some of you could be INTJ/ENTJ.

Your another superpower is your protectiveness. It's your ability to shield and guard the ones you care about, keeping them safe from harm. Just like a superhero, you have an instinct to watch over others, anticipating dangers and swooping in to shield them from harm. Your protective nature is a strength that shines brightly, offering comfort and security to those around you. Embrace this superpower, for it is a reflection of your love and dedication to keeping your loved ones out of harm's way. you may think that this makes you more feminine but caring for the people that you makes you stronger. Your constant transformation is your superpower because it means you're always evolving, learning, and adapting. Instead of being stuck in one way of thinking or doing things, you embrace change and use it to your advantage. You're like a chameleon, able to adjust to any situation or challenge that comes your way. This flexibility allows you to grow stronger, wiser, and more resilient with each transformation. So, don't fear change, embrace it, because it's what makes you unstoppable.

Picture 3

Your love for others is your superpower because it has the ability to transform lives in ways beyond imagination. When you extend kindness, understanding, and support to those around you, you create an atmosphere of warmth and positivity. Your love has the power to heal wounds, mend broken hearts, and inspire greatness in others. It's a force that spreads joy, brings people together, and fosters deep connections. Through your love, you become a beacon of hope and strength, capable of uplifting the spirits of those who may be struggling.

Your powerful presence is like a superpower. It's all about how you carry yourself and how you make others feel when you're around. You don't need special abilities because you are your own strength. People notice you without you having to do anything flashy. Your confidence and the way you connect with others make you stand out. Your presence is like a magnet, attracting attention and admiration wherever you go. It's what makes you truly remarkable.

Your voice and the words you choose have immense power. When you speak, it's like magic weaving through the air, touching hearts and minds. The tone, pitch, and rhythm of your voice can convey emotions and messages in ways that no other form of communication can. And the words you select? They're like arrows hitting their target, shaping thoughts, inspiring actions, and building connections. Whether you're calming a storm with soothing words or igniting a fire with passionate speech.

[wrizard]

wrizard's super basic guide to y-chromosome-based identification!!

for those interested, on this fitzcovery day:

a dear friend asked me to explain why i felt completely insane about the phrase "genetic distance of one" and, as usual, i got overexcited and wrote an entire thing about it complete with goofy images! it's on twt HERE, but i figured it would also be nice to pop it up here also. SO. with the caveat that it has been many years since my last bio class and this is VERY OVERSIMPLIFIED. here's

Human DNA is grouped into chromosomes. We generally have TWO of each chromosome: 22 pairs (numbered 1-22), plus one pair of sex chromosome (typically either two X-chromosomes (XX), or one X-chromosome and one Y-chromosome (XY)). That's 23 pairs, or 46 chromosomes, in total.

When producing sex cells, matching chromosome pairs will RECOMBINE (swap bits of information) - eg. one Chromosome 4 will remix itself with the other Chromosome 4, making TWO UNIQUE C4s. When the cell splits into two sex cells, each sex cell will carry ONE unique C4.

That's sexual reproduction! Every new offspring is genetically unique - new combinations of traits pop up quickly, and if they improve reproductive fitness, can be passed on to future offspring. This allows for rapid adaptation and changes in a species over time.

But what about Y-chromosomes, which don’t have pairs? They can't recombine in the way paired chromosomes can - which means Y-chromosomes pretty much only change via mutation (errors in copying DNA). Mutation is VERY slow, especially compared to recombination.

This means that when an XY parent passes down their Y-chromosome to a child, chances are high that chromosome will have few, if any, changes – as opposed to X-chromosomes, which recombine in both XX parents and children, shuffling genetic information all over the place.

Due to this slow rate of change, Y-chromosomes can be more easily tracked through the generations than other human chromosomes. A Y-chromosome might be passed down nearly unchanged for hundreds of years from genetic father to genetic son.

GENETIC DISTANCE refers to the measurement of difference between two sets of DNA. The lower the genetic distance, the more closely related the two samples are likely to be. A genetic distance of 1 means the samples are close to identical.

Because we know how slowly Y-chromosomes change over time, we know that if the Y-chromosomes of two people have a low genetic distance, this implies that those people are paternally related – even if the two people live/lived hundreds of years apart.

In the case of Captain James Fitzjames, genetic data was extracted from a set of unidentified remains (a molar from a disarticulated mandible). 17 genetic markers from the molar’s Y-chromosome were compared to the Y-chromosome of a confirmed paternal relative of the Captain.

Those 17 markers were the same in both samples, giving the two Y-chromosomes a genetic distance of one – meaning, with the genetic information available, the living relative and the unidentified decedent are more than 2000 TIMES more likely to be paternally related than not.

EDIT: DOIP I MISREAD THE CHART 16 of 17 match, not all 17!!

Along with all the information we have from the historical record, the context of the remains, and this new comparative genetic analysis, we can safely conclude that this particular set of remains belong to Captain Fitzjames.

160 years isn't long in the grand scheme. Every identified set of remains is another reminder that these were people, not just a distant curiosity. It's humbling to remember not just that we have identified Cpt. Fitzjames, but that still, today, we have a genetic distance of one.

Photos and Y-chromosome comparison chart taken from Stephen, Fratpietro, and Park's paper "Identification of a senior officer from Sir John Franklin’s Northwest Passage expedition" from the Journal of Archaeological Science: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352409X24003766?via%3Dihub

hope my nonsense is helpful and/or informative and/or at least made you smile!! if you like this sort of thing :) cheers doves

[aventurineswife]

Could I request the Astral Express trio (you can choose Stelle or Caelus) with a reader (GN) who is also a member of the Express who is like an older sibling? Reprimanding them when they get hurt, or comforting them when they're upset?

No One is Alone

Summary: Life aboard the Astral Express isn't just about fighting enemies or exploring new worlds—it's also about looking out for each other. As the team's older sibling figure, you take it upon yourself to reprimand Dan Heng and Stelle after they return from a mission injured. Through scolding, comforting, and heartfelt conversations, you remind them that they're part of a team and don't have to face their struggles alone.

Tags: Astral Express Trio x Reader, Platonic, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Dynamics, GN!Reader, Protective!Reader, Team Bonding, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries (non-graphic), Mild guilt/self-blame themes, Emotional vulnerability and introspection.

The hum of the Astral Express filled the air, a comforting backdrop to life aboard the interstellar train. You sat in the lounge, scanning over a datapad while keeping half an ear tuned to the faint commotion from the infirmary. It was a sound you'd become all too familiar with since joining the crew.

Dan Heng and Stelle—recovering from yet another scrape they shouldn't have gotten into.

The infirmary door swished open, and March peeked out, her expression torn between amusement and sympathy. "They're ready for the scolding..." she chirped.

You sighed, setting your datapad aside. Rising to your feet, you felt the weight of your role—neither a fighter nor a strategist, but the de facto big sibling of this unconventional family.

The scene in the infirmary was almost comical. Stelle sat on one of the cots, a bandage around her upper arm, her usual unbothered expression firmly in place. Dan Heng stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, looking stoic despite the gash on his shoulder that hadn't been there when the mission started.

"Care to explain?" you began, arms crossed and gaze level.

"It was just a minor miscalculation." Dan Heng replied calmly.

"A 'minor miscalculation' doesn't leave you bleeding, Dan Heng," you said pointedly, turning to Stelle. "And you—didn't I tell you to call for backup if things went south?"

Stelle gave a sheepish shrug. "I thought we could handle it."

"You thought wrong." You sighed, your tone softening as you crossed the room. Grabbing a chair, you sat between them, your expression gentler now. "I know you're both incredibly capable. But even the best make mistakes. You're part of a team—you don't have to shoulder everything alone."

Dan Heng's gaze flickered to the floor, and Stelle's shoulders slumped slightly.

"You don’t need to push yourself to the point of breaking to prove anything," you added, standing to place a reassuring hand on each of their shoulders. "We're in this together. If something happened to either of you, we’d all feel it. And you’d feel the same if it were March, right?"

Both nodded, though they didn’t meet your gaze.

"Good. Now, promise me you’ll call for help next time."

"Promise." Stelle said, a small smile tugging at her lips. Dan Heng gave a slight nod, his stoic mask cracking just enough for you to catch the faintest hint of guilt.

Later, in the privacy of the archive, you found Dan Heng surrounded by stacks of books. He looked up as you entered, his expression as composed as ever.

"You didn't just come here to read, did you?" you asked, pulling up a chair.

"...No," he admitted after a moment, his voice quiet. "I thought I could avoid putting others at risk by keeping things to myself. I didn’t think about how that might affect the team."

You smiled softly, resting a hand on his. "Dan Heng, you're not a burden. You're not just running from your past anymore—you’re building a future with all of us. And we need you to trust us enough to let us help."

He hesitated, then gave a small nod. "I'll try."

Later that evening, Stelle found you in the lounge, sitting with a warm drink. She plopped down beside you, her usual confidence dimmed by something you couldn’t quite place.

"You were right," she said, uncharacteristically subdued.

"About what?" you asked, setting your drink down.

"About asking for help." She stared at the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes. "I’m used to going it alone. But... it’s different with you guys. It’s like, I know you’ve got my back, and that’s scary because now I care. You know?"

You smiled, ruffling her hair like a younger sibling. "That’s not a bad thing, Stelle. Caring means you’re not just surviving anymore—you’re living."

She leaned into your side, her head on your shoulder. "Thanks, big sibling."

"Anytime," you said, wrapping an arm around her. "Just stop scaring me with the near-death experiences, okay?"

"I’ll try." she mumbled, and for now, that was enough.

(yonagi on X)

[alwayscorvus]

Hi!! Can I request Jiyan from Wuwa with a scary reader? I mean, the other Midnight Rangers might be scared of the reader because of her/his constant smile in ABSOLUTELY any situation

Jiyan x scary reader

scary!malereader x Jiyan, fluff;

Bruh I got 4 request for Jiyan on the same day (02.10) and I am absolutely excited and terrified at the same time. Imma write everything at some point, but uni has started so it can take a while. Thanks a lot anon! Hope it's acceptable

M/N was definitely a special figure in the ranks of Midnight Rangers. Although he didn't hold the highest position and wasn't making the most important decisions, his name was known to everyone. And it brought a real fear among the Midnight Rangers.

But what's quite surprising, all this terror wasn't caused by his strength, outstanding achievements on battlefield, demanding nature or nasty character. No, M/N was a total opposite of cocky, narcissistic or mean. He was just-... kind. Too kind.

And as ridiculous as it may sound, everyone who screwed something up, always begged deep inside that their punishment wouldn't be handled by M/N. Even general himself, who mustered up a demanding manner in face of crisis, seemed like much safer option than you and your legendary approach.

Rumor had it that one day, many years ago, when a military traitor was brought back to the camp, cries of suffering had no end. Witnesses mentioned a small, shabby building, set far from a center of base. That's where the man, who betrayed entire army by leading them into a trap and taking their lives, got placed. Bitter soldiers - victims who lost they family, friends, disciples - visited this place numerous times. And although, eventually, traitor survived and lived to see a fair sentence, it all didn't go without bruises.

In order to keep military self-judgment from being too harsh someone had to guard a traitor. Several of youngest recruits were assigned to do this task. One of them was M/N. Many were worried about how this gruesome sights might affect such a young man, with an optimistic approach to life. Who always burst with positive energy and found advantages in every situation, even the worst.

However, all fears died when they saw a face of M/N, crossing the doorstep of a building. Smile adorned his face.

Anxiety was born.

For the record, there was also a moment when more than one person fought for general's heart and favor. And not every candidate was fair in their actions. Even though it was already known behind the scenes that Jiyan and M/N had a thing for each other and that they were forming a relationship, someone was shameless enough to interfere in that.

Intruder's ploys were extremely nasty. Especially when looking at M/N's vulnerability, due to the fact that both partners were still young and not ranked high enough to be able to reveal themselves in front of military authorities.

However, it was hard to tell what was more shocking. Intruder's actions or M/N's reaction.

Because to everything, M/N responded in one only way:

Intruder “accidentally” poured hot soup on M/N?

Smile.

Intruder questioned M/N's abilities and brought up his fails?

Smile.

Intruder claimed that he would be a better partner for Jiyan?

Smile.

Intruder allowed himself for too much in a bar and grabbed Jiyan at the end of his back?

Smile.

And leave intruder with a twisted arm. But, that's a topic for another story.

Whatever happened one thing was certain. No matter how much it annoyed M/N, upset or made him angry, M/N still managed to react with a smile. And that's precisely what was most horrifying about him.

That big, wide smile combined with blank eyes. Sight that gave chills.

Belive me when I tell you that in the whole Midnight Rangers there was no one more scary than M/N. If new generations of soldiers had children in the future, they would definitely scare them with frightening stories about M/N.

Despite the fact that M/N was only one of many coaches in army, it was hard to find a person more respected. Even if this respest was brought by fear… After all, in order to submit, the most rebellious soldiers needed something more than admiration towards the great Jiyan.

Like in the past, todays also, M/N's dark aura was working wonders.

It was truly naive to think that anyone could avoid training with M/N by lies.

Two skinny boys shook with fright as they saw at whom they had just bumped into. Panicked, they were shifting their gaze from one to another.

-Oh boys. Where are you running like that? - you asked with fake confusion - Didn't our training begin just a minute ago?

Your disciples swallowed their saliva with a big difficulty. What were you doing here?! Weren't you supposed to be with the rest?

-Ah right! -you started with excitement, almost as if you had just recalled something- Your teammates reported that you were bedridden sick.

Youngest began to stutter.

-But wait! This isn't a bed, is it?

Boys could barely stand the tension. Whole lives flew before their eyes. And all possible punishments they could receive for insubordination. Starting with bathroom cleaning, month's service as kitchen help, plenty of extra push-ups or worst of all... individual hand-to-hand combat training with M/N himself… not even to mention about reporting to top units.

But instead of hearing a stern reprimand or punishment, M/N blessed them with nothing else than a smile. Beaming, barely natural.

Recruits' knees softened under your murderous, almost insane stare. Controlled by anxiety, they quickly bent in half, heads almost reaching the ground. Hysterical apologies and pleas for mercy reached your ears.

You frowned at this and tilted your head slightly to the side, truly amazed.

-Jiiiyaaan - miserable, you cried out your partner's name and he turned towards you with curiosity.

Without much delaying, you snuggled into your sitting partner's back.

-I think that they don't like me...

You announced with a pouty face and hid your head in the crook of his neck. Jiyan stroked your hair with affection.

-Who do you mean?

-Everyone

You broke down more and squeezed your boyfriend tighter. Frustration in your voice contrasted significantly with Jiyan's deep calmness.

Jiyan bit his lip slightly. He quickly recalled his conversation with Ningwei from the past.

They were sitting in a military bar at the time. Though late hour made all the other soldiers return to their bunks, it was also an ideal opportunity to reveal a few secrets in a honest talk.

Jiyan wasn't first to start topic like that. He didn't feel a need to inform everyone about his relationship status. It was your private business. And if anyone really wanted to know about it, they could figure it out by themselves. In the end, after many years of knowing each other and being in relationship, you two became more and more bold in displaying your feelings for each other. Or rather more reckless… Without even knowing, you started to share scraps of your routine with world outside of your abode. Some began to notice that two of you had something more in common than just a simple friendship. But no one had the courage to say it out loud.

Except for Ningwei. His personality and history with Jiyan allowed him to do more. Besides, he was worried about his captain. And he wasn't the only one. Everyone in crew was concerned, even just by your close "friendship". They were anxious about leaving their beloved general alone with you. Jiyan was such a good person. Always caring for others and putting they well-being above his own. He made sure that soldiers lived in good conditions,. Tried to send them on leave as often as possible. And never failed to extend a helping hand to any victim who lost their home in the fires of battle.

They feared that in his generosity, Jiyan might be naive, forcibly seeking kindness hidden in others. In their blind imagination, they felt as if they were leaving a helpless lamb to be devoured by a big, scary wolf.

-You nad M/N... are you- are you sure about?

Jiyan tilted his head slightly to the side and sent him a questioning look.

-Are you sure that you two are a good match? You know, M/N is-… he is- he's-…. -though it never happened to Ningwei, this time he couldn't get words out of his mouth. He was too afraid of Jiyan's reaction. He didn't know how Jiyan could respond to bad words about a person most important to him. Or rather, Ningwei knew. Tragically. Not in Jiyan's peaceful way.

Ningwei slowly sank down into his chair under Jiyan's gaze. Suddenly, a predatory side of general, usually revealed only in heat of a battle, became more and more real.

-...scary?

He finally finished, without much confidence, and Jiyan only furrowed his eyebrows more. He didn't quite understand what Ningwei meant. Were they really talking about the same loving M/N? This man was smiling even when others did him wrong. When they accidentally tore his jacket or forget about a gift for him.

Jiyan also recalled that one situation in the bar.

When that one soldier…, Jiyan couldn't really remember his name, got a little too close to him.

At first Jiyan didn't think too much of it. But when he felt a touch on his back, in a place meant only for you, he immediately tensed up.

You responded almost instantly. Before Jiyan had a chance to do anything, you were already by his side, grabbing stranger's wrist in an iron grip. You gritted your teeth and sent intruder a deadly glare. Man hurriedly straightened up and took a few steps back. But it was too late. A frantic smile crossed your face.

And although a whole bar had to separate you (including a panicked Jiyan), at the time, general was feeling oddly proud of his caring partner.

-I am sure that they like you very much... Maybe they are just only a little-… - he wanted to add a word “afraid” but eventually he bit his tongue and didn't finish.

He didn't want to make you upset. He himself didn't know if you did it on purpose or unintentionally. Whether it was just your act. Way to gain respect. Desire to make fun of squad. Or perhaps simple innocence in attempt to show kindness by most obvious gesture - smile.

After all, in private of his company you were a completely different person. You treated him like a real treasure. Spoiling him and being the sweetest boyfriend possible.

Jiyan truly couldn't understand what they all were talking about.

[ren-054]

Tiny AIW Excerpt…

(This doesn’t guarantee a bigger story in the future, have mercy on me pls /lh)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

(prologue thing?)

They took away everything I had left to hold onto. Everything but them, at least. It almost felt freeing, a relief, in a strange way.

The scent of flowers was thick and sweet to my senses. My thoughts slowly blur together as I drowned in the heavy aroma.

No longer did I have to uphold myself as a person. In this land, responsibility was merely a word. A silly word, at that. I was being offered the chance to be freed from the pressure of my former life on a silver platter by the people who have unfailingly proved their devotion to me again and again. Who would I be to deny them?

Gentle hands of cool metal joints and warm motors take my own of flesh. There is an unspoken promise in our grasps.

Out there, there wasn’t anything waiting for me. Really, I had submitted to my fate long before I came here. Before I met them.

I would miss the surface.. My friends.. My brother..

If I just stayed right where I was, surely I’d be happy. He said so. They both did. And I believe them, as much as they believe in me that I’ll stay. I have nowhere to run, therefore I’d never think to walk.

Here, I’ll be safe. Here, I’ll be happy.

• • • • •

(Main excerpt)

“Sugarcube!~ It’s time for tea!”

I shift as a voice rouses me awake and I groan in protest. I felt so warm… I didn’t want to get up… Get up…

Get up from where?

Eyes snapping open, I sit up, finding myself on a grass and wool-stuffed mattress. A warm blanket made of soft fibers had been wrapped around my body, shrugged off when I began to scan my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit and the air was crisp, making me imagine the walls were made of stone or perhaps bricks. Unfortunately my vision wasn’t the best without my glasses. Candles were lit about the room. There were no windows, but there was a lone door on the far wall. Was I underground?

“There’s my little sunshine!” The same voice from before warbled, followed by the clinking of porcelain. “Come! Come! Before your tea gets cold!”

With bleary vision, I turn toward the voice. At a small wooden table set in the middle of the room sat a familiarly flamboyant red-clad figure with their knees up to their chest as they tried to sit in one of the child-sized chairs. I began shuffling off the bed, brushing myself off.

“M-Mister Hatter?” I mumbled as I walked over. “Wher—“

The Hatter tutted at me before I could finish, placing a delicate finger up to my lips. “Dearest little dewdrop, I told you, you can just call me Sun!”

“Uh, Sun?” I eyed the liquid the bot was pouring into the cups. Yellow flower petals and flecks of green herbs floated prettily along the surface of the unknown brew.

“Hmmm?” Hatter hummed, the swirls in his eyes seeming to glow with warmth at the sound of his name.

“Where am I? I didn’t fall down another hole again, did I?” I rubbed at my eyes. “And have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

“Oh! Those are right here!” Dodging my first question, the Hatter pointed at the other side of the table which sat the other teacup along with the distinct sheen of my lenses against the candlelight. “Come on! Have a sit with this lonely hatter!”

“Ah, right.” I nodded before taking my seat across from the bot, putting my glasses back on once I sat. Ah, vision at last.

The first thing I realized was the room was dingy, dustier than I expected. Before I could really notice any other finer details, Sun piped up once again.

“Very good, my dear,” he praised with a light laugh that made me nearly blush. “Now then, where you are. That’s a simple one!”

I leaned in with anticipation. With a relaxed—almost smug—gaze, the Hatter answered.

“I brought you home.”

[sepublic]

I like how Luz and King, whose arcs involve their relationship with fantasy because they're kids (in contrast to Eda, who is much older and has different baggage), have different relationships with those fantasies; Esp due to what those fantasies were.

King drops his wholesale; His fantasy was about being a tyrant who destroyed his enemies, which is inherently destructive in practice. And with him realizing how much power he DOES wield now, and must be responsible over -both in his friendship with the Collector and status as a Titan- it makes sense he just abandons that completely, especially in foil to a certain witch hunter. And he abandons that fantasy because it wasn't actually what King wanted, and he's figured that out now. His fantasy admittedly started off as a delusion fed by Eda, too.

Luz still keeps hers; She's just learned to maintain a healthy balance, deciding when and when not to embrace and pursue it. This can be attributed to Azura being far less about destroying enemies; Aside from the Gildersnake, it seems most of her stories are on the friendlier, mundane side, with things like sports and growing plants. But we do see how even the former can get distorted and hurt others, hence Wing it like Witches. Likewise, Luz holding onto her fantasy is her way of keeping her father Manny alive, and embracing her weirdness, who she is as a person, etc.

There's a dichotomy with these siblings' fantasies, and even the origin of them; King's came about as Eda humoring him, but not knowing when to make a distinction for her kid. Meanwhile Manny gave Luz's fantasy to her, and it was about keeping her spirit alive, and not just the fun... But the fun matters too of course. So Luz's relationship with her fantasy is her relationship with Manny, because of its inspiration in Dana receiving Pokemon Red from her father before his death. So she can't just drop it, Luz needs to learn to live with it healthily like Eda learns to live with the curse, etc.

And it's a way for Luz to continue her living relationship with her other parent Camila, who understands now, and wants to cultivate fantasy in her daughter and even herself again to bond over; Something Luz initially refuses out of self-loathing, and a misguided attempt to reconnect with Camila when she thought the opposite -pursuing fantasy- was what pulled them apart. But it was because of the death of their wonder and the enforcement of that by the system, and mother and daughter finally rekindle their light in For the Future together.

You can also see Titanlights' relationship with fantasy through the Titan, another parental figure whom is mutual for these sibs. The Titan is the setting and thus embodies a lot of the show's themes; The Titan is Just Some Dude after all of the insincere, destructive hype of being a God. And this is how King wants to follow. Likewise, the Titan explains to Luz that she needs to forgive herself for her dream's unintended side effects, and by passing his power onto her briefly, allows Luz to live out her dream as much as she can, and remember that afterwards. Luz internalizes both the Titan's mundanity and encouragement for her healthy relationship with fiction, and King gets his new dream by seeing his dad's spirit in action, as well as a personal message; I loaf you.

[pinkthrone445]

-Baila conmigo-

(Dance with me)

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:Fun, soft, first time knowing someone

Warnings:I don't think so

Summary:Mel finds you sad in a bar and decides to step in, not knowing that life will bring you back together again.

(This is the song that they dance together)

One more month without a job call, you had tried in all the schools and positions and no one accepted your degree because you were from another country which they did not consider very superior although you had an excellent and valid degree.

Your mother's voice resounded in your head like a drum, she insisted over and over again that if you left the country your degree would be useless and you would end up working in something you didn't like or that you would end up returning to your country devastated and sad. As you emptied your glass in one gulp, you took her words into consideration and thought about whether it would be the right thing to go back home. The money you had set aside to go live there was about to run out and it was time to make a decision about your future, a pretty quick decision.

It was already late and you were too drunk to decide at the moment, you sighed and leaned your head against the table, how sticky it was made you sigh again. The noise of a glass being placed near you made you raise your head again, a redhead on the other side of the bar was smiling empathetically at you, with a bit of worry in her eyes

-"It's on me"-she said pointing at the drink beside you, it was the same that you were drinking before-"It looks like you need it"-You frowned

-"And you don't look like my bartender..."-you answered and she laughed, a gorgeous soft laugh that you could hear over the music

-"That's because I'm not... I'm on this side of the bar because I'm the bartender's sister... He is an asshole, but putin up with him has privileges, like free drinks"-she said with a gorgeous smile that distracted you for a few seconds

-"I appreciated, but I already had too many... And I still don't feel better... I think it's time to go home" - You answer and she looked at you curious

-"What are you trying to escape from with the drinks?"-she pointed all the empty cups by your side

-"Home... Reality... Being a unsuccessful grown-up?" - You answer looking at the drink with love and want

-"I feel you" - she answered and walked to the other side of the stool to sit beside you with a beer in her hand-"I'm far away from where I picture myself years ago...but that doesn't mean I'm unsuccessful or that you are, you have many years ahead of you yet, plenty of time to figure it out" - she said with a smile and you took the drink

-"I feel like a failure right now, I came here to get a nice job and be happy and now I'm drowning my sorrows in a glass while I reconsider going back to live with my mom"-You muttered embarrassed under your breath

-"I had to get a roommate to help me pay the rent because the money I do is not enough, who is more pathetic? Keep in mind that I'm much older than you" - she laughed drinking from her bottle

-"Hey, this is not a competition, let me be the sad one tonight" - You jocked and you both laughed-"Thanks for the drink... And for the company, you are helping more than the 4 glasses that I already had... Also, for being way older than me, you are very hot"-You said and she looked at you surprised

-"Are you flirting with me right now? You don't even know my name" - she said nervously

-"First I was admiring you... Second, we already stablish that I'm very pathetic, so I had nothing to lose if I said that... And third, I'm (Y/N), nice to meet you" - You said having another sip and she laughed

-"I'm Melissa, nice to meet you too... You are funny" - The redhead looked at your mouth smiling

-"Maybe is the alcohol talking, a few moments ago I was very miserable, but I'm glad to know that I can pursue a clown career if my teaching one still doesn't work" - You slurred your words a little bit

-"I bet they would pay you better that what we teachers make nowadays" - she said finishing her beer

-"Maybe you could be a clown too, you already have the red hair, no need for a wig" - You said without thinking, maybe that would have offended someone else, but instead made her laugh

-"I like you kiddo, you would be definitely a good kid's teacher...witch is your specialty?" - she asked curious

-"I'm a Spanish teacher..."-you looked at her, her eyes were green with little brown dots and the fluorescent lights of the club made them shine in a particular way that made you feel attracted like a moth to the light.

-"Ohh that's cool" - she smiled and you looked the other way

-"It would be cool to find a job with it"-You insisted and she slapped your arm-"Hey!"

-"Stop mopping about it, more chances will come" - She commented to you and you grabbed her hand with a frown

-"Just because you're pretty doesn't give you the right to hit me miss"-You said leaning closer to her squinting your eyes at her, she pulled the arm that you were holding to bring you closer

-"But being pretty has worked for me many times to get out of many things, are you sure that I can't hit you? I bet you would love it in a different situation in a different part of your body" - she flirted back and you smiled looking at the way her lips moved when she talked and how her tongue licked her lips to make them look more shiny and full, you were about to lean more but she pressed her hand on your shoulder stopping you from going any further - "Do you know how to dance?" - she asked and you nodded a little bit dizzy-"Take me to dance then, a Spanish song is playing and I want to know what it says and also how to dance it properly"-she demanded and you laughed standing up and reaching for her hand

-"Whatever the lady wishes" - The redhead got up from her chair smiling as you directed her to the dance floor. You knew the song that was playing very well, you had heard it too many times in your house growing up, it was one of those songs that your mother played at home that you hated but when you grew up you started to sing and love.

The song started slowly and you brought her closer to you by running your hands over her soft arms until you reached her hands and took them firmly, bringing her body closer to you and placing one of your hands on her waist, leaning her hips a little to yours. You gently moved your hips from side to side making her follow you to the rhythm of the beginning of the song while your other hand went up a little and landed on the side of her body almost on her ribs holding her firmly to be able to guide her more easily.

It was funny that the song talked about how no one knew were the night would end, nobody knew what would happen tomorrow, if you would be together or not or if the world would end or not, if you would be the perfect person for each other, end up loving or hating each other... That you should not think too much about the future, this moment was unique and you were alive and you should enjoy that. Nobody could known the end and life was like roulette that will turn no stop, you should let your heart decide what you are feeling tomorrow and just enjoy the present time.

The rhythm began to go faster and you moved away from her to give her a little turn and stick the front of your body to her back making her dance from one side to the other, the redhead followed you well and moved her feet quickly following yours, easily following the rhythm of the salsa you were dancing.

Every time the song slowed down, you stuck her closer to your body so you could gently shake your hips together while you singed the lyrics and when the song went faster, you moved her a little bit away so you could do some spins or some easy tricks. The two complemented each other well and people noticed it and began to make space for the two of you to dance, earning some applause and encouraging comments.

The redhead seemed to enjoy the dance and the attention as she had a smile from ear to ear and her hands squeezed yours every time she looked into your eyes, eyes that shone in a particular way with a lot of joy.

When the song ended you gave her a little spin and a little hug, her laughter reached your ears and that made you smile. You were both agitated from dancing so much but smiling too much. Without letting go of your hand, she pulled you off the dance floor and ordered some lemonades for both of you. The dance and her smile had made you feel sober and quickly awake, so you were grateful that she didn't order something with alcohol in it again.

-"That was so much fun!" - Melissa said over the music and you focused on her smile while you had your drink

-"You surprised me, I thought you didn't knew how to dance that kind of music" - You said laughing and she smiled

-"I've been in a few dancing clases, I never said that I didn't danced, I asked if you knew how to... What did the song say?" - She asked, gently pushing you in a playful way with the side of her hip

-"It talked about how nobody knows about the future and how you should enjoy the present and do what you heart wishes without think too much about it..."-you said and blushed a little bit but the darkness of the bar didn't let it show

-"And what is that your heart wishes right now?" - she asked grabbing your jacket and pulling you closer to her, your eyes immediately went to her lips-"Maybe a kiss?" - she played and you nodded, too dumb to speak-"That would be only fair after such an amazing dance" - she said before slowly getting closer to you and pressing her lips to yours, thing that you inmediatly reciprocated grabbing her waist and bringing her closer. Her lips were a little bit salty for the heat of the dance and a little bit sour for the lemonade, but at the same time it was sweet with a cherry taste from her lipstick, it was addictive. Your hands clenched more to her body at the same time the kiss grew more deep. She parted her lips a little bit and you swipe your tongue in her lips after getting in her mouth. Her tongue danced with yours even more expertly that the dance you had minutes ago. Her hand went to your neck and her nails scratched the skin softly and playfully, making you whimper, thing that made her smile on your lips.

You wanted to keep kissing her all night long, but time run out when her phone rang. With an annoyed moan, the redhead pulled away a little and looked at her messages, her happy face diminished a little and she gave you a sympathetic smile

-"My roommate it's waiting for me outside, tomorrow we have to work and I don't have my car here, I'm sorry..."-she said and you smiled caressing her waist

-"Don't worry, thank you for making me feel better, I had a lot of fun" - You said honestly and she put on her jacket

-"Thank you for the dance...Do you want to go out tomorrow?... if you are still here in the country..."-she asked messing with you and you nodded smiling-"I'll send you a message then" - she comment and gave you a last peck before going away.

You were too happy and she was too rushed to realize that you hadn't exchanged numbers or anything, thing you didn't realize until the uber dropped you at your home.

As you changed and removed your makeup, you couldn't help but smile from remembering the things and the fun time you spent together.

When you got inside your bed, you were about to fall asleep when your cell phone rang lighting up your room, when you picked it up and opened your email, you almost jumped out of bed when you read that you had a job offer, at an elementary school replacing a teacher, for the next day. You quickly got out of bed to look for an appropriate outfit and leave things ready for the next day, you knew that it would be difficult to sleep now with such much excitement.

Thoughts about the redhead and her kisses took a back seat when you started planning the next day's classes.

The next morning, even though you had slept little, the excitement made you feel fresh as a lettuce. When you got out of your car you put your bag over your shoulder and squeezed the straps in your hand, with the other, you took your necklace, giving a small kiss to the medal you had around your neck to ask for good luck before entering the building.

Before you could take a step inside, some firefighters arrived and took everyone out of the school, confused you waited outside with some of the students. While you waited, you started talking to some of the teachers to learn a little bit about the kids and the classes. Some of them explained you a few things and were happy to have a new teacher in the school, others were talking about what caused the alarms to go off and didn't payed attention to you. They only stoped talking when they were being interrupted when one of the fire captains walked through the school doors

-"Okay... So, apparently one of the students had been smoking in the bathrooms and activated the smoke alarm..."-he said but you immediately stoped paying attention to him when you saw a special redhead walking behind him, like the sight of an oasis in the desert, that familiar face gave you a little peace to see her there... And also a little/much anxiety

-"We found the little rascal with Melissa, she sniffed him out" - one of the other teachers said

-"One sniff and I'm back to when..."-Her gaze met yours and for a moment her mind was filled with memories from the night before and she forgot how words were used - "Back... To... Nevermind, the important thing is that we found him"-she said and looked the other way avoiding your eyes going with another older teacher.

After some time and talks, the school resumed it's course.

Ava stopped you at the entrance to give you your pass and explain a couple of things that you almost didn't hear because you were focused on the redhead who was bringing the children to her classroom

-"... And Melissa is the other second grade teacher, so if you need help, you can ask her, because I can't help you... I mean, I can but I don't want to"-The principal said and you nodded smiling to her shily before walking away to your classroom to meet the children, looking sideways at the redhead who stopped next to the school principal once you were gone

-"She is hot, isn't she?" - Ava said checking you out while you walked away and Melissa looked at her frowning

-"Isn't that inappropriate to say at school about one of your coworkers?" - The redhead asked and Ava laughed

-"No if she doesn't hear it... Besides, I saw how you looked at her... Maybe she can feel uncomfortable with that too"-The principal remarked and the redhead rolled her eyes and went to her classroom, thinking what would be the appropriate way to address you now that you would be working there.

_______________________________________________

I'm back bitches! Bye

[queer-ragnelle]

could you please elaborate on how anachronisms are a feature not a bug? It's probably an issue of "kill the cop in your head" but despite knowing others have done it I find it difficult to accept *I* can mix elements from 1200s france and 600s england (for example).

The Arthurian literary tradition has never been Historical Fiction. Ever. And for many, it's not a detriment, but part of the appeal!

Sure, there are some Arthurian books that set out to be Historical Fiction, that is, pinpoint the era during which their story takes place and sticking to it. They may include historical figures to help immerse the story in that era. That's all well and good. But those stories contain anachronisms. Arthurian Legend has always "mixed elements" of the author's current era with their limited understanding of the past, it has always contained magic, it has always contained characters firmly cemented in mythos that were never considered to have really existed. It's a literary tradition built upon the stories which came before, not a transcription of factual events because we frankly don't even know squat about who Arthur "really was," if he existed at all.

I understand your perspective, I really do. I briefly had an editor who suggested female knights weren't Historically accurate so I should write them out. Gromer and Merlin both perform magic in the prologue, the events pertaining to the Green Knight are mentioned, but gender-neutral language when referring to knights (who this editor insisted should all be cis men) was a step too far. Around the same time, I had a sensitivity reader suggest that Gawain wasn't racist enough to Ragnelle (a Persian woman) and he should call her, his future wife, in my queer romance book, "a savage." Hand to my heart Anon that's a quote I had to read on my manuscript with my own two eyes. And I say to these people, "Are you lost?" Because even though I disclosed the nature of my books before letting these people read it, clearly it wasn't a good match. Literally kill the cop in your head and protect yourself from anyone who makes it more difficult by insinuating the Historical accuracies should be upheld, especially as it pertains to misogyny or racism. Excuse my French, fuck them and fuck that.

This hesitation to write "mixed elements" can come from the false idea a "true" or "objective" way to write within a Historical Era exists. There simply isn't. Unless you have a time machine, you will inevitably rely on anachronisms to bridge gaps both narratively and because the information simply doesn't exist.

Let's use your example to talk about narrative anachronisms first. Say you're writing in 600s Britain (since England didn't exist yet) but you want your character to stand in the stirrups. Ah nuts, they didn't have stirrups yet! That's okay. We're gonna borrow the stirrups from 1200s French version of the stories so your character can do what they need to do. Persia Woolley did this exact thing in her first book Child of the Northern Spring; she wrote Palomides into the story as a means for the Round Table to receive stirrups from the East and this upgrade is something which gave Arthur's knights an edge over others. Another instance could be women riding sidesaddle. Generally speaking, it was meant to keep women's knees together for the sake of modesty, but it also made sense from a practical standpoint as riding astride with ankle-length skirts was cumbersome and simply never done... or was it?

My good friend Alisoun from The Wife of Bath rides astride! Geoffrey Chaucer you madlad!! So while the general Historical fact, that women rode sidesaddle, still stands, they did so except when they didn't! Is this used to mark Alisoun, a fictional woman, as unconventional? Yeah, duh. So it would still be Historically accurate to have the majority of women riding sidesaddle. Alisoun can do things real women of this era weren't allowed to. But the point is this illumination casts doubt on the idea such a thing was unheard of. A woman riding astride wasn't automatically descended upon by a mob that stoned her to death. You can write her riding astride and no misogyny happens. The same could be said for female or transmasc knights, as I explained here. So you can write in a reason why this specific anachronism is present in your story, (Palomides brought the stirrups, Alisoun is a bad bitch who does what she wants, Marine and Silence are proof of GNC knights, etc). It might put you at ease about including it.

But you simply cannot do it for everything. You would spend more time reassuring the reader you're aware of the inaccuracies than you would be telling your story. Every Historical Fiction author in the world can corroborate this.

Even the most serious and intensely research heavy Historical Fiction will contain anachronisms. It's literally impossible to be 100% accurate. Let's say you scour contemporary sources like letters or writings, you're still forced to interpret those either through the inevitably biased author and/or whoever translated it (their word choice, what passages they omitted, etc). (I had to navigate this myself while researching Iranian Zoroastrians through Arabic-written sources, ie, the conquerors' interpretation of the people they sought to eradicate. On top of that, the text is then translated into English for me to read it. The document I end up researching from becomes many steps removed from authenticity, and yet it's all there is; the Avestan or Persian language texts with first hand accounts are scant to none, and also translated into English.)

Best case scenario: you have an artifact, in hand. You can still only glean so much from something that's degraded over many years, something that may be an outlier in and of itself, the authenticity of which could only be corroborated through the help of an expert, someone who is, just like you, living in the present and must make educated guesses with the resources available (carbon dating, context clues, chemical testing of materials, etc).

So sure, you could read in the documentation that this Historical figure had a mustache. A comb alleged to be used for facial grooming was found, which may lend weight to the supposed accuracy of the writings. But unless the documentation also says what color the mustache was, and the length, and the style, and during what point in this person's life they wore the mustache, and whether they also had side burns and beard, your interpretation is based on an inference and likely anachronistic. Even if you have a really detailed text, that's one source. That Medieval author could be a big liar! Maybe they got carried away embellishing their favorite king! Or they cut out the parts which made their favorite king look bad! Or they slanderously depicted their enemy king as depraved to make their favorite look even better by comparison! Every writer has their own agendas. We have no way of knowing the extent of it!

Now I want to circle back to anachronisms that aren't tied to a story element but perhaps something as simple as bridging cultural gaps or practical means in the story itself. By that I mean you cannot know every detail of their lives. What exactly did their Church services look like? How exactly did the nobles' spirituality differ from the lower class? We cannot know for certain and will inevitably fill in the blanks with what we understand of Christianity today. You will more than likely include foods they didn't eat out of necessity because the resources are so scarce or limited or for your own sanity. In book 2, I wrote Agravaine describing something to Ragnelle as "the color of a carrot." Well. They didn't have carrots back in 6th century Britain. They were imported through trade with the East which was a long time coming yet when Agravaine said this. Early Medieval people had other root vegetables, but what were they called? What color were they? Certainly not neon orange carrots thick as the hilt of a sword like we have today. But I left this in anyway because it's a single line. It's so brief as to be insignificant, it's meant to quickly call to mind a color the reader can identify easily. It works on a subtextual level as well since Ragnelle, a Persian woman, would know what a carrot is in the 6th century. So it's only half anachronistic. To me.

On the other hand, in book 1, Gawain and co are in Persia. There Owain and Gaheris eat peaches for the first time. They call them "stone fruit," as they've encountered other fruits with pits, but not these. Gromer, a native, explains they're called "peaches" and they come from China (a place he has personally visited, so he knows). None of these words would've been in Medieval dialogue, but the History of that fruit, which we now call a "peach," is sound. Because it's a moment of cultural connection, and Owain is shown carving peach pits for the rest of the book, and still doing so in book 2, grounding this in as close to Historically sound facts as I could was important.

Now if Owain wanted to bring that peach pit back to Britain and grow a peach tree for his wife Laudine, could that happen? Well, Britain's weather conditions are not at all appropriate for it and the soil probably isn't right and he's not exactly known to have a green thumb. But anachronisms are a feature, not a bug. It's not an "inaccuracy" to write this successful endeavor because I did it on purpose! It is "accurate" to my story! Not an oversight, but a creative choice made with intention. Now I've extended the use of the "prop" and maintained that cultural connection I went out of my way to include. Perhaps later, once Ragnelle has settled at Camelot, she would enjoy a piece of fruit from her homeland as a gift from Laudine. Now the whole thing has come full circle and become enmeshed with the story in such a way the readers won't say "Hey! How does Laudine have a functioning green house in 6th century Britain? That's absurd!" Yeah, well, not any more absurd than Owain's pet lion or his battle with a dragon.

I think this is perfectly okay to do even if you don't have the magical elements. Nothing in the exchange about carrots relies on fantasy. The peaches don't either, not until there's suddenly a functioning greenhouse made of perfect panes of glass. People did travel great distances even in that era. You're not obligated to point to a specific instance of this thing happening Historically for it to be valid in your story. Arthurian authors have literally never been concerned with that. More importantly, neither have the readers! But there are exceptions to many of the "rules" or preconceived notions Historically which can help support your narrative choices if you desire to seek them some of the time. You have a few Modern Arthurian authors writing Historical Fiction, but Bernard Cornwell also included magic and a ton of characters from the Mabinogion, Edward Frankland did the same with Gwalchmai and Olwen, and Henry Treece wrote Cuneglas so strong he could T-pose with two grown men standing on each arm as a display of his strength. Push those boundaries, everyone is! It's fun!

Reading more will help. You'll be able to see what your boundary of anachronisms are. What irks you while reading? What did you notice as inaccurate and not care about? What anachronisms did you enjoy best? Researching a lot will also help. Get a very thorough understanding of the era and location you intend to write in. Then you'll better understand where the gaps in knowledge lies and what you'll have to add anachronistically to fill them. I assure you no one is going to be angry if you write Gringolet as a big beautiful stallion instead of a more Historically accurate little fluffy pony. You'll drive yourself crazy if you get hung up on every detail.

That's all I got. Arthurian Legend frees you from this "Historically accurate" headache. If you're still having trouble, perhaps ask yourself if you what you actually want to be writing is Historical Fiction instead. That's totally cool too! But nobody who enjoys Arthurian Legend is concerned whatsoever with Historical accuracy and you shouldn't be either. So write whatever pleases you! Take care, I hope that helps clear things up a little. :^)

[covetyou]

no shortage of sordid

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x m!OC (unnamed) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: very dubious consent (not from reader), oral sex (m receiving from m), voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, brief mention of food and allusion to hunger, unnamed m!OC, m/m, Joel is not exactly gay he's just a domineering asshole, drug reference word count: 3.1k summary: Your deal with Joel has changed into something else, something different to when you first came to his door asking for help months ago. But, when you try to take him up on your new arrangement, you're met with something you never expected.

A/N: this was originally a much shorter deleted scene from the start of the dark caress of someone else. I took it out because it was too much and after writing that chapter I told myself I would avoid writing threesomes for as long as possible, because god damn it there's too many body parts. well, me, fuck you, this is threesome adjacent and not technically a threesome at all.

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Six days. That's how long it takes for you to cave and admit you want him. It takes you another two to do anything about it.

The first time you make the trip to Joel's apartment, no pills necessary, you're faced with silence and a door that won't open.

With an hour break between your jobs the next day, you make another attempt. But, you barely make it through the market when you see him trailing behind Tess, hulking figure parting the crowd with ease. You don't stop to see where they're going, instead choosing to turn on your heel and head back the way you came. The less you know, the better. Using the cards he handed back to you nine days ago, you stop by a street food vendor on your way to your next job, eating your first hot meal not only of that day, but that week, the warm food soothing more than just the emptiness in your stomach.

It takes you much longer to convince yourself to try on the third day. Your thoughts hadn't immediately gone to Joel Miller that morning. You had toyed with going for a walk, with seeing if you could pick up more work. But soon your hands ache, bones creaking in their joints as you clench them once again, trying to stave off the want in your belly with the pinch of nails digging into your palms.

Fuck it. You're going. Whether he's there or not, the need to get out of this apartment far outweighs the desire to stay warm inside it.

So, one gray trudge across a gray Boston to a gray apartment block later, you're at his door. Again.

Only this time there's not silence on the other side.

You can hear a murmur - undoubtedly Joel by the heavy rasp of a wry laugh that follows it - and a garbled whimper.

And, of course, you could leave. You could turn your back and leave Joel up to whatever it is, whoever it is, he's doing in there, but you don't. You knock, wanting him to know that even if he's occupied, you showed up. You came to him, not for pills, but for sex. For want, for desire, for the ease of the ache between your legs and the itch in your palms that just won't quit no matter how much you make yourself come.

Even with company, he doesn't make you wait long.

So it's not that you're not expecting the shuffle of two sets of feet. Or the thud on the door, heavy and dull like something big had caught itself before falling down. You knew he wasn't alone and, after all, the only thing you could really expect when visiting Joel was that nothing would be as expected.

No, that's not what surprises you at all.

What surprises you is when the door drifts open a fraction, a disembodied hand reaching through and pulling you through the gap, dragging you inside. What surprises you is tripping over his shoes, only they're not his shoes, the feet turned the wrong way up to belong to the all too familiar man standing before you.

What surprises you is seeing a man on his knees in front of Joel Miller.

It surprises you so much, you don't even notice as the door clicks shut and the hand that dragged you inside pulls you once again to stand at his side.

From here you can get a full view. There's a man on his knees in front of Joel. Joel's pants are unbuckled and pulled low on his hips. And then, the entire scene becomes very, very clear.

There is a man on his knees in front of Joel with his cock in his mouth.

So, when Joel looks at you with a glint in his eye, you're suddenly rooted to the spot, staring between him and the man beneath him. A smirk from Joel tells you you've been looking a little too long so, embarrassed and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you spin around, turning to inspect the back of a chair as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, not the man currently bobbing his head up and down on Joel's length.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he drawls from behind you. "Ain't no fun for me if you ain't lookin'."

As you always do where Joel is concerned, you do as you're told, taking a deep breath as you turn back to watch the man swallow down Joel's cock. You'd seen this kind of thing before - turned down the wrong street at the wrong time more than once only to see someone on their knees for someone else, earning yourself a wink or an insult for the privilege. But you never stayed to watch. Yet, here you are, staying and watching either because it was Joel, or because he asked, you weren't too sure.

The why doesn't exactly matter, you figure, not when your cheeks were rapidly heating and the wet patch in your panties was doing nothing but grow.

"Think he likes the audience too," Joel is saying, nodding down to the guy on his knees. "Don't you?"

You can see that he does. There's a hard bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that looks much harder than the cock currently in his mouth.

"Dick always so hard for a straight guy. Think you like being a cocksucker." Joel gives the man an awkward pat on the head and huffs out a laugh, looking away from him to look back at you.

"Likin' what you see, sweetheart?" he jokes, casting dark eyes up and down your body. He can't see much. It's still fucking freezing, which is no surprise for a February in Boston, and you're still wrapped up against the elements because of it. But you know his gaze is looking through all of it, seeing through the layers straight down to your flesh, to your hard nipples and the wetness between your legs. He raises that infuriating, knowing, eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes.

"'m serious, you gotta keep lookin' or I'm never gonna come," he says then, and you drag your eyes back in an instant. You briefly wonder why - how - he would never come from this until it hits you.

Having a man suck his dick isn't Joel Miller's idea of a good time. Whoever the man on his knees is, he owes Joel. Maybe just like you did, or maybe worse. It doesn't matter, because you're not witnessing a blow job, you're witnessing a fucking business transaction.

And so you laugh - not at Joel, or the man, not really, but at the entire fucked situation and the world that brought you to this place.

"Y'hear that?" Joel growls down at the man. "She's laughin' at you."

Pinching his eyes shut, the man groans, and you swear you can see a dark patch starting to form on the front of his pants. It almost feels wrong, looking at another mans bulge like this when Joel's cock is right there, disappearing in and out of the strangers mouth at a languid pace. You can't even ask his name - his mouth too full to get out more than a garbled moan. Maybe names don't matter either.

Joel's eyes haven't left you, and yours haven't left the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He's harder now, softness completely gone now that you're here to witness it. Giving and watching a blow job are so much different to what you expected. There's a wet sound in the air, for one. That rhythmic, wet noise of a throat being fucked was usually masked by your own moans, made easy to ignore by the distraction filling your mouth. But here, several steps away, it is loud.

"That's it. Keep your eyes right there," Joel murmurs before pointing to your outer layer. "Unzip your coat, lemme see. Get those pretty tits out for me, sweetheart. Don't mind him. He ain't gonna look. Are you?"

The man groans again, keeping his eyes shut as his head bobs on Joel's cock, taking an impressive amount of him down his throat with each movement. There's a small shake of his head, and while you don't believe him, you find you don't care either. You don't know the man on the floor any more than he knows you, and you have a feeling he's likely to keep his mouth shut once he leaves Joel's apartment today anyway.

A fraction of a second later, you're pulling your jacket open and yanking your sweater up above your tits, baring them to Joel. He murmurs something to himself, fisting his shirt tightly as he holds it up, exposing his belly. It strikes you then how damn distracted you had been every time before now - Joel's fingers, or tongue, or cock working you in such a way that you were brainless and oblivious to the physical affects you had on him. Now, its obvious. Like a man possessed, he watches you with blown eyes, his cock in full hardness now as the man below him works him over with his mouth and tongue.

Dragging cool fingers down your exposed chest, you meet your already pebbled nipples, pinching them and holding back a soft gasp. It's as much for you as it is to get a reaction from Joel, and if he didn't know you were wet before, he does now.

"That's it, play with 'em. And keep watching, sweetheart. Want you to watch when I come down his throat."

It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but certainly not a chore. The man has picked up his pace, sucking and moaning around Joel's length as he slurps it down. He holds back a splutter when Joel's hips buck forward just as you pinch your nipples harder again, squeezing the flesh of your tits in cold palms.

"Fuuck, that's it, keep watchin'. You like that? Bet you want a taste of this dick too, huh?"

You nod, words stuck in your throat as Joel presses the mans head further into his crotch, rocking his hips to fuck lightly into his mouth.

"You needy and dripping over there ain't you?" he growls. He doesn't wait for you to nod, he doesn't need to. "Yeah you fuckin' are. Dirty fuckin' girl, watching my dick gettin' sucked. You like watching, don't you? Say it. Wanna hear it."

"I like it. I like watching, Joel," you say, barely more than a whisper as you become more and more entranced by Joel's cock in the mans mouth.

"Shit. Keep watchin'. Gonna come. Need you to watch."

It's all you can do to hold back a moan, your panties now probably ruined by your dripping, neglected cunt. This was not what you came here for, but watching Joel mumble obscenities and growl filth to you and the man on his knees as he gets his cock sucked was something you never knew you wanted before now. Sure, you want to touch, to play with him yourself. But watching is getting you wetter and wetter without even a finger or the press of your thighs to help you along the way.

"That's it. You keep suckin'. Fuck. Gonna bet you want this load in you not in him, right?"

Nodding frantically, you move a hand to your waistband, a soft plea on your lips, ready to pull your pants down any second. "Please - "

"Fuck - shit - well too bad, sweetheart. You look at that dick gettin' sucked. Shit - gonna come. Look at me. I said look at me."

Your eyes meet his just as they flutter closed. Joel groans a curse, his balls starting to empty into the throat of the man in front of him until he's suddenly tugging the mans hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock. The man gasps, swallowing down what he can as Joel rapidly strokes his spit soaked length, jerking the remains of his spend over the mans face and mouth. His eyes immediately flick to yours, a soft moan having left your own lips the moment Joel started to come, and he groans again, a final spurt coating the mans chin, soaking his facial hair. It's filthy. Not the most filthy thing you know Joel's done, but the most filthy thing you've ever seen him do from the outside. You can't help but stare on in silence, too captivated by the spurts of milky white dripping over the mans face, his eyes still screwed tight. You're aching and desperate to stick a hand down your pants, to feel how wet you are, to touch your clit and make yourself come as you try to hold yourself upright on shaky legs.

Through syrupy blood pulsing in your ears you hear Joel growl down at the man, removing his hand from his hair like it's burned his palm. Then, he's looking to you again, deep brown eyes searching your own before falling down, down to where your hand cups your breast and your other fists the waistband of your pants in a tight grip. He knows - knows that even if you came here already wet and wanting, you were even more so now.

And it's with a smirk and a sharp snap of his fingers that he pulls you back into the room. The man's eyes are open now, avoiding yours as he wipes cum from his face with his sleeve, covertly licking his lips for any remnant taste of Joel. You can't blame him, fuck knows you'd done the same when Joel had swiped a taste of himself over your own lips, but you can't help the jealousy at wanting to taste again too.

It's then you remember your exposed chest, and you yank your sweater back down without another glance to the man on his knees. Joel shakes his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he strides across the room. He goes to the cupboard where you know he keeps a small amount of his stock, rifling through for a second before coming back with a baggy and tossing it down on the floor at the mans knees. He scrambles for it immediately, climbing to his feet and grabbing the door. Joel doesn't look at him again.

"Say hello to your wife for me," Joel calls over his shoulder, and the man scurries away without a word.

Now it's just you and him, his unbuttoned pants the only remaining evidence of what just happened.

You hesitate, partly in stunned silence, partly your brain having turned to liquid between your ears, all coherent thought lost the moment Joel's cum spurted across the mans face. But there's still that unsatisfied ache between your legs, throbbing and making your hand twitch, willing you to reach for him now that he's so close.

Joel sees it, he knows, knows what you came here for and knows what you won't be getting.

"Not today, sweetheart. Couldn't even if I tried," he says gesturing to his spent already dick tucked back into his pants. "Gotta head out again too, so whatever you got goin' on in those panties, you gotta deal with it yourself." He finishes with a wink and a tap to your chin before grabbing a small gym bag from the couch. You hadn't even seen it there, brain too occupied by more interesting things happening in this room at the time.

So it's no surprise, really, when your mouth starts running before your mind can process what it's doing. There's only one thing you're thinking of. One thing, aside from the throb in your core, that you can't stop thinking about, that envy won't let you give up.

"Would you - " your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish while your mind stutters and stops. You shouldn't even ask. There's no answer that can satisfy that particular itch. Not as quickly as you'd want it, at least. If he said yes, he'd already said nothing could happen right now, and if he said no, well... there was something about the thought of him denying you that did something to you too. There was no winning.

"Would I what?"

Of course, Joel had already heard. Even as he potters about the apartment, dumping stuff into the bag from places you've not been paying attention to. He stops, prompting you to go on.

"Would you... Would you come in my mouth like that? One time?"

He stares at you with his mouth open in disbelief. "You want me to come in your mouth?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly so fucking dry you can't speak anymore. You'd been salivating, able to practically taste the phantom flavor of Joel's cum on your tongue just a moment ago. Now, it was like you'd been chewing on bricks, tongue sticky and dry and your teeth feeling like an awkward jumble in your mouth.

"Well, shit. Call the press. Respectable good girl wants to be my little cocksucker -"

"Fine, if you're going to make fun, I don't -"

"Woah, hold on, I'm fuckin' with you. I ain't gonna turn down shutting that pretty mouth up with my dick. Gotta do it more than one time though, sweetheart. You around tomorrow?"

Between jobs and your dad having a day off, it would be a few days before you could come back. Shaking your head, you offer up Thursday instead. It's only three days away. You can make it three more days. Right?

"Thursday works for me. Come by in the afternoon. I'll come in that mouth, and then I'll play with that pussy while I get worked up again," he says before adding, with a cock of his head, "Then I'll come in that too."

And you're dumbstruck - the fantasy you concocted in your own head far surpassed by Joel's own, seemingly thought up right on the spot as he maneuvers you out into the hallway.

"See you then, sweetheart."

He pushes you out of the door, fingers electrified where they touch your shoulder. You expect the door to snap shut behind you, like it has so many times before, but he follows you out into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a wink, he stalks off down the corridor, legs carrying him out of the apartment block too quick for you to keep up.

Later that night, alone in bed and wondering how the hell you're going to last two more days like this, you rub yourself stupid to thoughts of Joel's cock in a mouth that isn't yours.

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Home for Christmas

Written for the day 20 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Alone & Second Chances

Rated: G

Tags: Post-Vecna; Future fic; Everybody lives; Exes Steddie; Rock star Eddie; Single dad Steve; Reunions; Second chances

Notes: Continued from this one

It starts snowing again as Steve parks the car, flakes settling on the windscreen the second the wipers still. 

“Looks like a white Christmas,” he mutters. “You packed your hat and gloves, yeah?” 

Beside him, Leah scoffs. “Yes, Dad.”

“Just asking,” he says. The snow crunches under their feet as they get out to fetch her things from the trunk. “I don’t want a repeat of that one year where you forgot and caught pneumonia. Your mom never let me hear the end of it.” 

She scowls.

“That was three years ago. I’m fifteen, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh yeah?” He throws her duffel at her, grinning when she sags under the weight. “Is that why you left your phone charger on the table?” 

Her eyes go large. “Shit! Why didn’t you tell me? We have to- ugh, hilarious, you asshole!”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Steve smiles, stuffing the charger he just pulled from his pocket into the front compartment of the duffel. Leah makes an annoyed sound as he ruffles her hair. “Now off you go. Say hi to your mother for me.” 

She grumbles something inaudible, but she does stomp off towards the house.

“Dad?”

Steve, already with one hand on the driver’s door, pauses. She’s standing by the porch steps, watching him with a furrowed brow. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come in? For a minute at least?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine, sweetie. You have a great time.” 

He waits just long enough to see the door open in front of her before he ducks back inside the car. When he turns the keys and the radio comes alive, Chris Rea is singing about driving home for Christmas. 

His phone buzzes. 

Steve stops pinching his nose and pulls it from his pocket, assuming it'll be Leah texting him about another thing she forgot. When he sees who it's actually from, his breath hitches.

Hey, big boy. You home? 

*

He's waiting in front of the apartment building when Steve rounds the corner. The snow is still shrouding the world in a curtain of white, and he’s wrapped in about three layers of clothing to protect himself - not only from the cold but also from prying eyes. Steve still knows it's him immediately. Knows from the lines of the tattoo poking out from his scarf, the one that covers the scars on his neck and jaw. Knows from the way he holds his cigarette. Knows from the restless shuffle of his boots in the fresh snow. 

It feels unreal, him standing here, outside Steve’s home. The last time they saw each other was in a crowded concert hall, surrounded by fans and cameras. The last time before that was in another town, in another life, seventeen years ago. Sharing one last cigarette on the porch of the old trailer, the setting sun basking the world in hazy oranges, tears drying on both their faces. It was for the better, Steve told himself with that iron conviction you only have at twenty-one, when you think you have life figured out and know all the answers.

He didn’t know shit, he thinks, forcing himself to get out of the car.

Eddie’s eyes flick up when he hears the door shut, and Steve can see how they grow round and large.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless, a little shy. Not at all like a world-famous rock star who has toured the world and filled whole stadiums. So agonizingly much like the boy Steve used to know. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Steve confirms, watching how Eddie grinds the cigarette under his boot. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Ah, y’know,” Eddie says vaguely. He reaches up a hand to tug on his hair, but comes up short because most of it is hidden under his hat. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought-”

Steve flinches when he lurches forward. Even after all those years, he still doesn’t do well with sudden movements or loud noises. Eddie tilts his head, eyes large and expectant, and it takes Steve a second to realize that he’s holding something out to him. 

A gift bag. It has little Rudolphs on it, and shiny red ribbons for handles. Nestled inside is what looks like a band shirt, and on top of that- 

“Wait, are those concert tickets?” Steve blurts. “No way, I can’t accept these.” 

He raises his hands in defense, but Eddie steps right into his space and shoves the bag into them. Their fingers brush. 

“No takesies backsies,” Eddie winks. His smile is cheeky, but Steve imagines there’s regret in his eyes as he steps away. “They’re not for you, anyhow, your taste in music always sucked. They’re for Leah. Gotta nurture talent when you-” 

“She isn’t even here,” Steve protests weakly. “She’s spending Christmas with her mom.”  

Eddie’s eyebrows arch. “What, and you’re all alone?” 

Steve shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s for the better. She’s got her cousins there, and grandparents who actually care for her. I usually spend a day or two at Robin’s, but she’s taking Vickie to Paris this year, so-” 

“Oh no,” Eddie says, and starts walking towards the door. “Oh no, no, no. This won't do. I'll stay and keep you company.” 

“Wha-?” Steve stutters, following after him, gift bag in hand. “But you can't- … Don't you have- … What about Wayne?” 

Eddie shrugs. “I'll call him, he'll understand. Come on, Stevie, it'll be great. We can rent a movie, order Chinese. Just like old times.” 

Steve, already fumbling for his keys in his pocket, freezes. Eddie smiles back at him, bold and bright, but he imagines there's hope there. Hope and fear and seventeen years of unspoken things.

“Yeah,” he says, and unlocks the door. “Just like old times.”

Maybe they can have this, if only for one day. 

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