#and through my brothers steam account at that

[nervousyoungcritter]

tfw you find out the ex you thought fucking died is actually alive and totally fine

[sarahlancashire]

made a new goodreads account bc i read we have always lived in the castle last night & i need to talk about it and also i want to get Better About Reading so anyway i figured now is a good time to share my external links, if anyone cares you can find me on:

goodreads: lisaswain

letterboxd: rosmullens

spotify

steam: bitchofthewilds

pinterest: withintheshadows

evil elon musk platform (twitter/ x/ whatever the fuck): sapphicpsych

[submattsmxmmy]

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, heavy step sibling kink, risky, fingering, teasing, edging, ruined orgasm, degradation, humiliation, unprotected sex, squirting, roughdom!stepbro!chris, bratty!stepsis!reader

🖤 author's note: 🖤 this is my work! i promise i didn't steal it. this is my backup account. :) someone reported this fic on my first account. :( if you don't like the content, don't read, but don't ruin other people's orgasms. (it's only hot when stepbro!chris does it!)

this is part two of holdyourbreath, and you can read part one here 🖤

🖤 summary: 🖤 when you decide to get all bratty with chris at the family dinner table, he's not going to let it fly, and he doesn't care who's in the room with you.

holdyourbreath part two

You trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen for dinner, and the delicious smell of barbecue chicken wafted through the air. You scoffed and rolled your eyes after making eye contact with your annoying step brother, who was seated at the family table.

You thought he was revolting and vile, and you secretly couldn't stop fantasizing about him since he shoved his throbbing, hard cock down your throat a few weeks prior.

Your dad and his mom were both still cooking, standing in front of a sizzling pan and a pot of boiling water on the stove. "I made your plate for you," your dad told you, motioning to the table behind him. Of course, your place at the table was right beside Chris, and you begrudgingly took your seat next to him, tugging down on the hem of your skirt as you situated yourself.

"Glad to see you finally come down. My mom made me wait to eat until you were at the table, too," Chris rolled his eyes at you, taking a bite of chicken. "Oh, no. Did you have to wait for something for once in your life?" You pouted your lips at him, mockingly, picking up your fork to take a bite of your steamed vegetables.

"Are you talking back to me right now?" Chris said is a raspy, hushed tone, placing his hand firmly on the inside of your thigh. You widened your gaze and looked up at his hypnotic blue eyes. Surely, he wouldn't do anything with your parents right there. They might have had their backs to the two of you while they cooked their own dinner, but it was risky.

"I said, are you talking back, princess?" Chris leaned in and whispered into your ear, but his voice still sounded agitated and angry, even in a low whisper. "You wouldn't," you responded back, narrowing your glare, smirking, and keeping your volume low.

Chris took this as a challenge. He moved his hand from the inside of your thigh, slid it up your skirt, and started moving your panties to the side, and as he slipped two of his fingers inside of you under the table, he watched your smug smile fall and become a desperate, needy expression. "Oh, but I would," Chris replied softly, willing to do anything to prove you wrong.

You were enthralled by how easy it was for Chris to act nonchalant, his right hand dipping below the table, exploring your hole, and his left hand, holding a drum stick while he bit into it, holding eye contact with you the whole time. He acted as if everything were completely normal.

You tried to maintain the same facade, taking bites of your food and trying to remain as composed as possible, but the way Chris ran his fingers up and down your wet folds, teasing your clit, had you in shambles. He stimulated your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing small, tight circles as he watched your eyes starting to roll back in your head.

"Be better at concealing your pleasure. Fucking whore. You're gonna get us caught," Chris growled in a volume just above a whisper. He roughly shoved his fingers back into you, but he kept his thrusts long and slow, teasing you.

"How do you guys like the chicken?" Your dad asked, peeking over his shoulder. "It's so good, daddy," you managed to get out, biting your lip after to keep any moans from escaping. Chris pulled his fingers out of you for a moment and looked into your eyes as he licked them clean.

"Mmm, delicious. I haven't tried the breasts yet, but the thighs are so tender and juicy. Compliments to the chef," Chris replied with a shit-eating grin on his face, shoving his fingers back into your heat. He was obviously talking about the chicken.

"Thanks, Chris. I'm glad you like it," your dad said, completely oblivious to the fact that Chris was manhandling his daughter under the family dinner table. "Good job. He's hard to please. So picky," Chris' mom peered over at your dad.

"Nothing wrong with being picky. I just know what I like," Chris responded, casually carrying on conversation with your guys' parents while he looked into your needy eyes, his curious hand dipping into your pussy.

You fixated on the way Chris' fingers curled inside of you, stimulating your gspot. You could feel every detail of every bone of his long, slender digits as they penetrated you, and you savored the incredible sensation.

"Like that, step sis?" Chris leaned in and rasped into your ear while he watched the pitiful expression carved into your face as you started getting close. You nodded, your heart nearly thumping out of your chest and your palms drenched in perspiration. You didn't know how you were going to hold it together through your climax.

Chris could read your face. He knew how badly you needed to cum, but he couldn't reward you for talking back. Plus he knew how pathetic you were, and how impossible it would be for you to act casual while finishing all over his fingers, so he removed them just as you were at the tipping point.

He had built you up just to ruin your satisfaction right before you could release. The corner of his lips curled into a malicious expression as he watched the light leave your eyes.

"No. Please," you whispered, grabbing his hand and trying to put it back where it was, but he tugged it away before you could. "I had to wait to eat because of you. Now it's your turn. Don't hold your breath, princess. Or do. But you might die waiting," he smugly chuckled next to your earlobe.

"Mmm," He licked his fingers clean once more and withdrew all attention from you, going back to eating his chicken. "Please," you nudged him in the leg with yours under the table as you begged him quietly to keep going. He didn't bat an eye at you. "Chris, please," you whined a bit louder while your parents were distracted and talking amongst one another.

He loved the way you begged, but he was going to make you wait regardless, and he wasn't going to so much as look at you for the rest of dinner. You felt pitiful, pleading with your step brother to make you cum with his fingers while your dad and his mom were in the same room as you while he blatantly ignored you.

You soon gave up, shutting your legs, frowning down at your plate, and picking at your chicken. The rest of dinner was quiet and uneventful. Both your parents sat down at the table with you guys, trying to pry into the details of your personal lives, but you and Chris gave them just about nothing to work with.

And how could you? What were you supposed to tell them? You were upset because your step brother had ruined your orgasm? Or that you were incredibly sexually frustrated all the time because Chris had cum in your mouth a couple weeks earlier, and you couldn't stop thinking about it?

You gave them one-worded answers and excused yourself from the table after you'd finished eating.

Thankfully, it was Chris' turn to clean up after dinner tonight, and while he was in the kitchen doing the dishes, you thought about how good it would feel to relieve yourself, but you needed Chris as much as you hated to admit it. You could never recreate the way his fingers so effortlessly reached certain places. You could never recreate the feeling of your step brother's cock in your throat.

Plus, you were worried that if he caught you getting off without him, he'd punish you further and make you wait even longer to cum.

So, instead you collapsed onto your bed, deciding to take your mind off your throbbing clit and bury yourself into a book you'd been meaning to read but hadn't picked up yet.

Several hours later, your step brother barged into your room. "Give it to me," Chris demanded, climbing onto your bed, hovering over you and holding out his hand to take something from you. You gave him a confused look. "My book? Since when do you read?" You laughed at him.

"Shut up, slut. You think you're so fucking hilarious. I know ya have it," Chris accused you. "Have what?" You asked nonchalantly, laying on your back and flipping through your book, trying to pretend you weren't getting massively turned on by the way he spoke to you.

"I know you have somethin' that's mine," Chris growled at you quietly, narrowing his eyes. "Fuck you. I don't have anything that's yours," you rolled your eyes, kicking him away and chuckling at him. "Talk back to me one more fucking time, slut," Chris whispered, giving you a look of contempt and pushing back up against you. He kept his voice low so he wouldn't wake your parents who were asleep down the hall.

"Fuck you, Chris," you snarked back, laughing at how pathetic he was being. "Last chance," Chris said, nudging open your thigh with his knee. "Beg for it," you smirked, clocking the desperation in his eyes. "You've done it now," Chris rasped at you, forcing your legs open with his.

"I said you have somethin' that's mine, princess. Hand it over," Chris said in a growl. "What do I have that's yours?" You asked, getting turned on by the way he was on top of you, pushing your thighs apart. "That sweet, juicy pussy. Just because it's between your legs doesn't mean it isn't mine," Chris whispered, unzipping his jeans, and in one fell swoop, he'd pushed up your skirt, pulled your panties to the side, and without much warning at all, he stuffed you full with his cock.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and gasping as he stretched you out, still holding your book. "I'm all the entertainment you need, fucking whore," Chris smirked at you, ripping the novel out of your hands and tossing it on the floor. You nodded at him, lost for words.

The thrusts he delivered were slow but hard. "Fuck. You don't need any foreplay or anything do ya, doll? You just take it so willingly," Chris said in a low but dominant voice. "Unless you've been up here, playing with yourself," he glared at you.

"I promise. I wasn't," you shook your head, trying to keep a straight face while he fucked you, but every time he slammed his cock into you, you let out a pathetic little whimper.

"Better keep quiet so Mom and Dad don't hear me ruining your pretty little pussy," Chris rasped at you, putting his hand over your mouth. You slowly nodded, giving him your most desperate stare.

Your eyes started to roll back into your head as his thrusts picked up speed and power. You couldn't believe you were letting your step brother fuck you senseless, and you couldn't believe how much you loved it. Your muffled moans became louder as he took what rightfully belonged to him, and you couldn't have given it up more easily.

He looked at you with his mesmerizing blue eyes that were usually so good at concealing his dark desires, but you could see through his facade more now than ever. He loved this. He loved watching you submit to him. "Fuckin' whore," he breathlessly grunted through his slightly parted lips while he relentlessly hit your sweet spot over and over.

"You're such a naughty girl. Almost came all over my fingers while your dad was ten feet away from us. I bet you loved it. I bet I could take you anyway I wanted, anywhere I wanted, and you'd let me," Chris growled under his breath. You nodded, grasping pathetically at the blanket beneath you, your knuckles losing color while you squirmed under Chris.

"Getting close? Wanna cum?" He cooed, watching the way you started to lose control of your body. You nodded at him, his mouth still stifling your pleasured sounds. "I'm gonna remove my hand, so you can beg for me, but you better stay quiet, and you better not talk shit to me. Got it?" He said through gritted teeth. You eagerly shook your head yes, and he did as he said he would.

"Beg me to let you finish," he whispered, biting his lip while he slid his cock in and out of you at an incredibly steady and fast pace. "Please. Please let me cum," you quietly whined, using every bit of your might to keep yourself from cumming without his permission.

"Come on, slut. I know ya can beg better than that," Chris replied, maintaining his stamina while he drove you closer and closer to the edge. "I need it, Chris. Please let me cum. Please. I'm begging," you softly whimpered, tears starting to form in your eyes.

"That's it. Beg a little harder," Chris devilishly grinned down at you. "I'll do anything for you, Chris. My pussy's all yours. Please let me cum. Please please please. I can't take it anymore," you begged in a needy whisper.

"You look like a pathetic fuckin' mess," he made fun of you. "I am a mess, Chris. All for you. I'm such a little whore. I can't hold out this long. I need to cum more than anything," you pleaded with him, still trying to keep your voice down, but miserably failing.

"Cum for me," he finally said, smirking at you, getting off on the fact that he got you degrading yourself while you begged. "Cum on my cock," he repeated, his voice becoming more breathy as he chipped away at his own orgasm.

You did as he said, clenching around him rhythmically while you violently shook beneath him as you tipped over the edge. It was such a powerful orgasm that you really felt like you were falling. Your stomach dropped, and you found yourself grasping at anything, scratching Chris' back and tugging on your sheets while your climax relentlessly overpowered you.

It ripped through you, leaving you an even more pathetic mess than before. Of course, you were familiar with what an orgasm felt like, but there was something unique and even more powerful about this one. That's when Chris' eyes widened as he peered down at the mess you made on him and the sheets, and he came shortly after, having realized he'd just made you squirt.

He waited until the last second to pull out, stroking himself to orgasm while he busted all over the inside of your thigh. His grunts were deep and louder than either of you anticipated. His face was contorted in an expression of pure pleasure, his jaw falling slack and his eyes glazing over. He loved the way his thick, white substance glistened on your flesh.

"Holy fuck. I didn't know you were a squirter. That's so fucking hot," he smirked, licking his lips and narrowing his gaze. "I didn't know either," you responded, panting and laughing.

"You really are a little slut. Squirting all over your step brother's dick," Chris said, pulling away from you and stuffing his drained cock back into his pants. "Well, princess. You made your bed. Now lay in it," Chris sneered at you and disappeared from your room.

thank you for reading. this shit was too fucking good to not re-upload. i will be uploading part three to this account once i write it, but for the sake of ease, i'm not tagging anyone in the third part. you'll just have to look on my masterlist on my main account. thank you. 💖

[sommerbueckers]

My Brother's Best Friend pt5

(I was quite literally logged out of my tumblr account...and I wasn't gonna do smut this chapter but since I took so long to come out with this I decided to bless ur horny asses. enjoy😏)

I stood still in the shower, letting the hot water run through my hair and down my back. The steam fogged up the glass doors and filled the bathroom, reminding me how long I'd been in there. I could hear the faint ringing of my phone from under the water, it was the second time it had gone off and I was beginning to worry that I was missing something important.

With a quiet sigh, I shut off the shower and stepped out to grab my towel. Leaning over the counter, I tapped my phone, eyeing the two missed FaceTime calls I had from my best friend, Noelle. We were supposed to go to the mall together to get some Christmas shopping done, I called her back to make sure plans hadn't changed.

"Hello?" I said when she picked up.

"Hey, you almost ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, I gotta get dressed first."

"Okay, well, I'm on my way" she told me, getting into her car.

"Alright, text when you're outside" I responded.

She nodded and hung up, my home screen picture of the two of us reappearing. I clicked my phone off and walked into my room, pulling open my dresser. I decided on a sweatsuit, the Minnesota air was brutal in the winter. Letting my towel drop, I grabbed a pair of panties and began to slip them on.

"Shit, at least buy me dinner first" a voice laughed from behind me.

I jumped at the sound, instinctively covering myself as I turned around.

Paige stood there with the cockiest smirk on her face, her arms crossed as she leaned against my shut door. She had on a red hoodie with black sweatpants, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears. How long had she been standing there...And why hadn't she said anything?

Paige had never seen me fully naked, anytime we hooked up I'd keep my shirt on or she'd move my panties aside. Skin to skin contact just felt so much more intimate, and I wasn't sure if Paige and I were there yet. Actually, I wasn't sure we'd ever be there.

My mouth fell open at the sight of her. She wasn't supposed to come home for another two days, I had it marked on the calendar in all caps -- Micah's name was there too obviously...

"What're you doing here?" I asked with wide eyes.

Paige frowned playfully, "I thought you'd be happy to see me" she said, pushing herself off of the door and climbing into my bed. She laid there with her hands behind her head, eyes shamelessly looking over me. I covered myself even more, biting my lip. Paige laughed and shook her head, "Get dressed if you want to."

I got changed as quickly as I could, pulling on my sweatpants and my tank top. I wanted to wait until right before I left to put the hoodie on. I had planned to do my curl routine and a full face of makeup, just really taking the time to get myself ready, but all that went out the window the second I saw Paige.

The blonde had this ability to take complete control over me, whether she meant to or not. I couldn't think straight with her around, my mind becoming a chaotic mess as I tried to anticipate anything that would happen. She made me feel like I was everything, like nothing else mattered when we were together. The way she looked at me when she fucked me, like I was a prized possession, the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

I finished putting my earrings in and spun around in a cloud of perfume.

"You're so cute" Paige commented.

I set the bottle back on my vanity and walked over to her, "So are you."

"Yeah?" she raised her eyebrows, sitting up turning her body to face me. She pulled me in to stand between her legs, her hands holding the back of my thighs.

"Mhm" I nodded, a sudden shyness overcoming me.

Paige knew the effect she was having on me, her smile gave her away. She stared directly into my eyes, and then I watched them roam over the rest of my face. It reminded me of how I had burned the image of her face into my memory right before she left a few weeks ago. I had done it because I was so in love with her that I was scared I'd forget what she looked like, although the click of a button on Instagram could remind me in an instant.

But why was she scanning mine? I wasn't leaving and neither was she. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

"Did you miss me?" she asked.

"Of course I missed you" I laughed.

She shrugged, "Just making sure." After a minute of silence, and her continuing to stare at me, she said, "I missed you too."

I bit back a smile, looking away from her, "Whatever."

"Come here" she said, pulling me into her lap. I straddled her, placing my hands on her stomach and tilting my head. She massaged her thumbs into my hips through the thick fabric of my sweats and smiled up at me. "I really did miss you, Summer" she said.

I nodded silently.

"Hey," she said quietly, "I mean that." She leaned in and placed a kiss on my cleavage, "I missed you here," she placed another kiss on my collarbone, "and here," another kiss - this one on my neck, "and here," and that's when I felt her hand go between my legs, "and especially here."

I felt myself getting warm, a feeling I had grown accustomed to when it came to being around Paige. Her lips met mine in a soft, slow kiss. It was different than a lot of our other kisses, than all of our kisses actually. It seemed like we were both trying to savor the taste of each other, like when it ended there wouldn't be another.

Paige was like a drug, I'd rank her up there with things like heroin and cocaine. You tell yourself that you're just going to try it, a one and done kind of thing. But then the opportunity to do it again presents itself, and you've done it before so what's the harm? After that you start to think about it more, putting yourself in situations where you know it'll be there to give yourself an excuse to use it, to be around it.

You don't even register the addiction until you're so deep in that there isn't a light on either side of the tunnel. You're just surrounded by utter darkness. It's at that moment, when instead of craving some kind of savior or miracle, you crave more of what's breaking you, that is when the realization hits you...

Paige's lips connecting with my jaw pulled me from my thoughts. I tilted my head slightly to the side, my eyes fluttering shut as I focused on the gentle feeling.

"You smell so good," Paige murmured against my skin, pulling me closer in her lap.

I moved her face in front of mine, attaching our lips for the second time. She didn't waist any time picking up the pace, her grip on my thighs becoming tighter as she pulled on me hungrily. I eagerly moved my lips against her, the desire to feel her burning like a fire within me. She bit my bottom lip, a soft whimper spilling from my mouth. Paige smiled into the kiss as she slipped her hand underneath the waistband of my sweats.

My phone pinged from the dresser across the room at the same time that Paige's hand came in contact with my clothed cunt. She teasingly ran her fingers up and down my core, my wetness dripping out of me and soaking the fabric of my panties. My phone pinged again. Paige moved my underwear to the side, beginning to rub circular motions on my clit.

"Paige..." I moaned breathlessly, hardly able to hear myself over the arousal that clouded the entirety of me. She hummed, trailing kisses down from my neck to my cleavage. Leaning back and arching further into her, I allowed her more access to me. She left marks wherever she sucked, following up with a lick to soothe the skin. We needed to stop, I needed to stop this.

I went to say something, to tell her that I had to go because Noelle was waiting outside for me. But my words came out as nothing more than a cry when I felt her plunge two fingers inside of me. The sting that occurred was masked by the pleasure that came with it. Her lengthy digits skillfully pumping in and out of me with ease, dancing around in the pool of juices that she had created.

She brought my face down to hers with her other hand, planting a sweet kiss on my lips. "Ride my fingers, c'mon, be a good girl."

I nodded my head, unconsciously pouting as I moved my hips with her fingers inside of me. Her fingers were deeper than they had ever been before, and she was looking at me with such admiration and pride, she was proud of the mess that I had become, the mess that she had made me. My eyes watered and my mouth fell open, I tightened around Paige's fingers. "Good, clench around me just like that," Paige whispered.

"I--I," I stuttered out. I clawed at her shoulders through her sweatshirt, firmly holding onto them. The sound of her moving in and out of me filled the room and she matched the rhythm of my hips. Her fingers turned so expertly inside of me, hitting my spot repeatedly.

"I want you to come all over my fingers," the blonde said into my ear, "I want them covered."

When Paige quickened her movements, I released all over her, just like she told me to. My body shook, and Paige used her other hand to hold me close to her, my head buried in her neck. She ran her hand up and down my back, placing short pecks on my shoulder and whispering sweet things to me. "So good for me," she praised with a smile, "so pretty when you come."

I reciprocated her smile when I finally pulled back from her, my glossy eyes staring into her own. My phone pinged for the third time, grasping both of our attention. Paige furrowed her eyebrows, "Who's blowing up your phone?"

I sighed, "It's Noelle, we're supposed to go Christmas shopping."

"Right now?" she asked, her face falling slightly when I moved to climb off of her.

A knock sounded on my door. Paige sat up straighter, adjusting her hoodie as the knob turned and Noelle face appeared in the crack. The sight of Paige on the bed, of me standing awkwardly next to her, of the bed itself as the covers were bunched up and wrinkled. She looked between the two of us, her surprised expression turning to one of suspicion.

"I've been texting you..." she started, her green eyes staring at me.

"Yeah sorry, Paige and I were just catching up" I breathed out, glancing at the blonde that was still seated on the bed.

"Catching up on what? She's been gone for two weeks."

Paige snorted, "Good to see you Noelle," she then turned to me, "I'll see you, yeah?"

I nodded, "Yeah."

Noelle and I watched as her lean figure exited my room. When she was sure that the taller blonde was out of earshot, she marched toward me and scanned my face. "Your cheeks are red and your lips are puffy..." her mouth fell open as she said, "You two had sex."

"No we didn't-"

"Don't you dare lie to me," she frowned in disbelief, "we tell each other everything right?"

I nodded silently.

"Good. So, we're going to go to the mall, we're going to shop, and you're going to tell me every. single. thing."

[saltnsugarbear]

there's no one else around (you're touching yourself) (18+)

summary: By pure accident, you stumble across the home page of your manager's brother's cam site. But neither of them have to know, right?

title from: "Wet Dream" by Wet Leg

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: MDNI!!! male masturbation mention, what is technically sex work, camshow/cam work, afab reader genitalia, vaginal/clitoral masturbation, rabbit vibrator you're my best friend, pillow humping ummm, don't think there's anything else

side note: HI BEAR WITH ME I FEEL LIKE THIS IS SHORT BUT TRUST WE WILL GET BETTER WITH TIME

You should not be here. By here, you mean Lip's cam site.

You stumbled upon it completely on accident. It had been a long week, and you needed to blow off some steam, and your friend had suggested looking into cam sites for something more interpersonal than just porn. So it was safe to say you were surprised when, in the top twenty for the local area, Lip Gallagher was streaming.

You only know it's Lip from the triangle tattoo on his chest that you have not stopped thinking about since you saw it.

You should not be here. You should not be entertaining the idea of watching your coworker, your manager's brother. Your mouse is hovering over the video, the stream playing in the small display on the sites front page. But Fiona doesn't have to know, right?

That's what you keep repeating to yourself as you go through the process of making an account (of course Lip would set his page to accounts only, why wouldn't he, it's the best way to insure money is made.)

That doesn't stop you from feeling slightly embarrassed by it. Fiona doesn't need to know, Lip doesn't need to know, nobody needs to know.

You make your user something meaningless, something he wouldn't be able to tie back to you. Once you get the minimum access... It's enough to make you blush, mouth going dry as you take everything in.

In most of the thumbnails, you can only see Lip's chest. In a few of them... Well, in a few of them, you can see more than just his chest. So much more.

There's a few items on his site that require a subscription fee and... Well, you're not ready to commit to that just yet. The streams will do, for now.

You're quick to roll out of bed and grab your headphones from your shelf, wasting no time connecting them to your laptop and putting them on. Once you're sure they're connected, you quickly click on the stream, not leaving any room for hesitation as the video loads.

It is. A lot.

The stream only takes a few seconds to load up before it's playing on your screen. You move by muscle memory, putting the video in theatre mode.

You haven't even looked at the live chat as it blows by, little pings and animations dancing on the screen. You're not taking in any of it.

All you can see is Lip. All you can focus on. The only coherent thought in your mind is him.

"Fuckin' hell-" Lip grunts in your headphones. Your eyes are wide as you take in everything you can. You can't even be bothered to get yourself off, you feel like you'll miss something if you tear your attention away from the screen.

You've chosen an interesting stream to start with.

Lip's body is framed perfectly. It's different from the other thumbnails, more of him being shown. His arm is extended, bracing himself on what you can only assume is the wall beside his setup. His chair is positioned sideways, a pillow folded in half and positioned snuggly in the angle of the chair. The leg closest to the camera is extended, giving him a firm footing as his other rests on the seat of the chair.

If you hadn't already taken your jeans off, you'd be fighting with yourself to get them off as quickly as possible.

You're glad that past you had the forethought to place your vibrator beside you, and all you needed to do now was take off your own underwear. Lip's home page was enough pre-game that you don't have to play with yourself too much to slip in the silicone toy.

You have to hit a few buttons before you land on the setting you want. Timing the grinding of your hips with Lip's movements and the rhythmic vibrations of the rabbit is tricky, but you manage to match the pace as best as you can.

Lip repeats this pattern of thrusting into the pillow, punctuating each one with a firm grind against it and then stilling before starting up again. The motions are enough to drive you mad, letting yourself shut your eyes and pretend the toy inside of you is actually Lip as he groans in your ear about how tight you are.

He encourages you and the audience to edge yourselves for as long as you can. To keep yourself dangling on that edge of release until he tells you to let go.

He gives you the clear right before he lets himself come. He doesn't have to tell you twice as you grind against the rabbit buzzing against your clit. The feeling is damn near overwhelming as you gasp softly, listening to the way Lip grunts out praise and curses.

You slam your laptop shut before you can watch him end the stream. Your chest rises and falls heavily, staring up at your ceiling as your brain registers what you just did.

Fuck.

The pit in your stomach when you see Lip walk in makes you feel sick. You knew he was working today. You're not sure why it jars you so much, but the overwhelming anxiety that seeing him gives you... It's enough to make you regret seeing his cam page.

He spends enough time talking with Sierra on her way back to the bar counter that you can cash out your register. Despite your rush to go, you get everything settled nicely in the pouch you need to take back to Fiona.

When you look up, your stomach drops when you meet Lip's gaze. You're quick to turn around and flee the front counter before he can leave Sierra's side.

"Fi am I good to go?" You walk into her cramped office like a whirlwind. You're already untying your small apron from around your waist and folding it in your hands.

"Yeah. Everything okay?" Fiona looks at you, brown eyes wide and searching your own. You nod quickly, tucking your apron in your waistband and placing your till money on her desk.

"Peachy," you tell her, placing your hand on her shoulder and giving a quick kiss to the top of her head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Fi."

Fiona gives your hand a quick size before you're slipping out of the office, stopping at the locker that stores your and Sierra's belongings. You're quick to swing the door open and grabbing your bag from the top shelf. The way you jam your apron into your bag is a little more aggressive than you usually handle things but you are determined to leave before you can run into Lip. Once you close your bag and slip it over your shoulder, slamming the locker door shut after you and turning quickly on your heel.

You're a bit too in your own head, not paying any attention as you head out of the small employee area, not bothering to check if someone else is coming back there.

That is your mistake, colliding hard with someone else. You're hands act on their own, grabbing at the shirt of the person you ran into to keep yourself balanced.

"Whoa-" Goddamnit.

You shut your eyes and momentary curse whatever cosmic being has it out for you today. Once you know you're steady you quickly let go of his shirt, bringing your hands close to your chest and step back a little.

It would be your luck that on your way out the door you would run into Lip Gallagher. The very person you're trying to avoid facing.

"You okay?" Lip's voice is caring as he speaks softly.

"Fine," you say, looking for a way to slip past him. He takes up most of the walkway, and there's that sour taste in your mouth. Your brain is sending mixed messages, guilt, and disgust at yourself, but your cheeks feel flush with Lip so close to you. Maybe it's his own body heat...

"Y'sure?" Lip asks you gently. "Y'look all..."

The gesture Lip makes is confusing, simply just motioning at your whole body, and it makes you want to disappear into the shitty paint job on the wall.

"Great. Just need to get home, so uh.." You gesture behind him, hoping he'll get the idea so you can brush past him.

"Oh shit. Sorry. I'll see ya tomorrow then?" Like he's sad he missed you on the shift. The sentiment makes your stomach flip, and you have to fight it down as he slips by you, his chest brushing your shoulder so you have to turn if you want to keep looking at him.

"Uh, yeah.. Pulling a double, so I'll be here all day." You're not at all keen on the idea, but one of the girls had practically begged on her knees for you to cover her shift.

Lip huffs and shakes his head with a disbelieving grin. "I'll see ya then.."

He does that nervous habit he has, scratching gently at his nose with his thumb as you give you a small wave as you leave. The interaction is only... Slightly bizarre, if you put it mildly.

Fiona slips out of her office, leaning against the doorframe as Lip walks over to the lockers.

"They seem... Off, to you?" Fiona asks Lip as he grabs his rubber apron. He spares Fiona a glance before he brings the apron over his head.

"Off?" Lip asks.

"I don't know... Like skittish? Flighty?" Fiona tries to explain the feeling that's nagging at her brain. You left in such a rush and left her no room for explanation when you brushed her off.

"A little," Lip shrugs. "Just seems like they wanted t'get out of here before gettin' dragged into more work."

Fiona hums softly, crossing her arms over her chest. Lip nods before shutting the locker softly before leaving the backroom, leaving Fiona to mull over your interaction.

The rest of your week follows the same cycle.

Going to Lip's site, getting off while he streams himself getting off, and then trying not to face him the next day.

The only one who really seems to notice your quick get aways everytime Lip clocks in is Fiona. The not knowing makes her fidgety and agitated, becoming noticeably short with people until eventually she snaps.

"Did you do something to piss them off?" Fiona grills Lip as they watch you bid Sierra goodbye before slipping out the door to the restaurant.

The look he gives his sister is offended. Offended that she would suggest he had done something wrong when he barely had the chance to talk to you this last week. It did strike him as peculiar that you managed to slip away whenever he clocked in or found a way to switch shifts so you two no longer worked similar shifts anymore.

"Why do you assume I did something wrong?" He asks. Despite his defensive position, he wracked his brain for any possible interaction that could have caused your change in behavior.

"Because they only ever leave like a bat out of hell when you come in!" Fiona exclaims.

"Well, maybe you should ask 'em, since I didn't do anything wrong." Lip says, glancing around the restaurant as he stacks dishes in his bin.

"Oh, don't give me that!" Fiona turns to him, lightly smacking his arm with the till pouch in her hands.

"What?" Lip jerks his arm away from her, as if it actually hurt. He's just merely offended by the action.

"I have asked 'em! They just say their fine and leave as quick as they can!" She sets the pouch on the counter beside the register and rests her chin on her hands.

"Maybe you did something." Lip shrugs, mouth quirking up to squish his cheek up so his eye squints slightly. Fiona turns to glare at him, but he's not looking at her. Busy doing his job.

"What would I have done that would piss them off?" Lip comes up to settle beside her, setting his bin down as if he really needs to give it some thought.

"Well, let's see-" Fiona cuts him off with a hard smack to the chest.

"Let's see nothing, asshole.." Fiona mutters, leaning against the counter as she stands up straight and watches the people walking by.

"It's gotta be somethin'." Lip shakes his head slightly, picking his bin back up.

"I'm gonna figure it out." Fiona promises her brother.

"Yeah, you do that. I'll uh, I'll be in the back doin' dishes while you try figurin' it out." Lip claps Fiona on the shoulder, gives her a quick squeeze, and heads for back of house.

Fiona huffs at him before glancing back at the sidewalk. She's going to figure it out, whether it's a big secret or not.

Fiona will find out.

[spdrvyn]

Perhaps a request for Miggy x scientist reader? Reader is a a former Alchemex scientist who used to work with Miguel. They have been working in spider HQ ever since the beginning of spider society. Both of them have been too busy to realize the bottled up feelings and emotions that is about to burst….

breaking beakers

miguel and a reader that's been by his side since day 1. since the treachery of alchemax, you've been loyal to miguel and his cause for protection of the multiverse. read bit by bit how your relationship with miguel develops, even if it's only something as simple as helping him administer rapture.

angst. drug usage (rapture). panic attack. absolutely love this request! i've never written a story where the reader was already a part of miguel's past so this is new and exciting for me. thank you, anon! i put my own twist, i hope you still enjoy reading ♡

dividers by @cafekitsune

breaking breakers

When you got paired up with your workplace's assigned asshole, you were more than concerned for your career than ever. 

Miguel wasn't easy from the start. Arguments were one after the other, followed by complete silence in the lab due to the inability of either of you to take accountability. You had never really heard him talk or engage in conversation properly unless it was to scold or correct you for making, according to him, a quintillion mistakes. 

It stretched you thin, you were close to asking the higher-ups to give you another partner, but you knew that they would ignore your protests so you put up with it. Besides, talking smack with your friends outside of work helped. Though, you knew that they were getting a little tired from it as well. 

After a particularly harsh argument with him, you couldn't retaliate with anything witty to say. You sulked in your own corner of the laboratory for a while, until Miguel silently placed a small, steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk. 

That moment had triggered the beginning of your actual relationship. Sometimes, the room would still be strung tight with tension, but it was better than awkwardly hanging around each other and waiting for yet another fight to start. It slowly turned into Miguel giving you rides home, Miguel buying more than just coffee for you, and Miguel staying at your place after he dropped you off.

Then he quit. 

Or did he get fired? Liberated, in corporate terms. You didn't know the full story, you got a new lab partner one day, Miguel was gone, there was no coffee on your desk anymore. There was no comfortable silence. 

It was difficult to get a hold on him with the moments that followed, you knew well that he had a tendency to brood, but never for this long. He didn't leave you on read, your messages weren't even going through. You searched his name up on social media and found nothing, a thousand other Miguels but not your Miguel. You reached out to his brother after a lot of thinking, but he couldn't come up with an answer either because his family didn't know where he went either. 

Perhaps it shouldn't have upset you as much as it should have, Alchemax viewed their employees as expendable toys. You didn't mean to get attached to him, but you had breached that line very long ago ever since the first shouting match. He was your friend now, no corporation was going to get between at least trying to talk again. 

When you had gotten a message from an unknown number, there were only two possible answers. A telemarketer or Miguel. Likely possibilities, a fifty percent chance for either. You thanked God that it was the latter. 

The power that was held in that conversation had changed the trajectory of your life forever. Miguel helped arrange a time for you to meet, the second you caught sight of him, it erupted a feeling in you that you just couldn't bring yourself to describe. 

He still looked like him, but otherwise different. His face looked more sunken in, eyebags, lines you hadn't seen on his face before. He was definitely taller, his physique was more built as well. What caught your attention the most though was his eyes, crimson red and deliberately drained of light. 

Miguel, what happened to you?

It was a long, overly extensive talk. You shouldn't have broken down over it, the events that lead up to his timely demise at his job. It wasn't your place to cry over his misfortunes, but he looked like he didn't have it left in him to cry so you took that place for him. Alchemax was your breeding ground for innovation and evolution of human society, a little shady around the edges, but you knew that you'd still be helping people in the end. After this, your hopes in that place had been quashed. Clearly if they were heartless enough to treat one of their top geneticists like this, they wouldn't be any better towards the safety and care of the populus. 

So you quit your job immediately. Miguel invited you to Spider Society and you gladly agreed, you were in no position to really decline. Besides, it was a good way to get you back on your feet again. You had become acquainted with the people that passed by in what used to be headquarters back then, Miguel trusted them with his life it seemed (despite him not being able to admit that himself though).

You'd find yourself in HQ more than in your own apartment at that point, you enjoyed being there. You had closer friends, Spider-People were better company than mad scientists anyway. You helped Miguel make this new, exciting thing from foundation to the top. It helped you become more social, it made you more comfortable opening up to people again. 

You just didn't know that it was doing quite the opposite with Miguel. 

You had blamed yourself for not noticing sooner, for not picking up the details that he wasn't doing as fine as he thought he was. When you found the doors to his office locked, you already felt your heart begin to race. You called out to Lyla and she was more than willing to answer back, "He's going through something, he hasn't really been taking his Rapture doses recently and-"

"Let me handle it," you said, firmly. "I can help him. I can fix it." 

Lyla looked at you, just looked. She didn't feel, she wasn't supposed to feel exactly. She could act like it, her programming allowed her that at least. She made perfectly calculated decisions and perfectly calculated reactions to them, when she noticed a problem, she was supposed to fix it. 

You weren't as accustomed to Lyla as other people, but you were aware of that as well. In spite of that, she still managed to be the light in conversations most of the time. Literally, when it was the dead of night, just you and Miguel strewing and caking together more reports, she'd find ways to make it more entertaining. 

That means if Lyla looked at you like she did, with so much uncertainty and inner conflict. It was like her code turned to beat like a human heart, you could hear it in the swift moment of silent she'd left you in. The hiss and whir to Miguel's office doors reeled you back in, Lyla sighed. She shouldn't sigh, she never sighed. 

"Do the right thing," she wished you off. God, I hope so, you thought to yourself. 

It was dark, obviously. You were used to it, ever since Miguel told you about how sensitive his senses can get, you didn't really mind at all. There was still light that peeked from the corners, a small monitor here and there, maybe a secret window you just didn't know about. It was cozy sometimes even to evade the blinding sunlight and stay in the darkness with Miguel. But that's not at all what it felt like when you entered. It did not embrace you, it suffocated you.

There was no accompanied noise either, no beeping from a monitor, no whirring of a machine, and no idle chatter with him and Lyla like there would always be. It was the purest form of silence, the sound of your breathing and the small pats of your shoes against the cold, metal ground was all you could hear. 

Miguel's platform was placed high up, there was absolutely no way that you could get to him without using a web shooter. Unless you could somehow convince him to lower his platform, which you really didn't want to do in the case you might accidentally say something stupid. 

"Miguel?" You yelled, stupidly. Though, it would be more stupid to try and propel yourself up to the height of his platform. One option results in humiliation until the end of your life while the other option could result in the end of your life. You weren't really looking forward to experiencing the latter.

You thought you heard him mumble something, but before you could call out his name again, he answered back. "Get out." 

The absence of cruelty in his tone was prominent to you already. He didn't have the heart to speak so coldly to you in the first place. No, he sounded scared, fearful, whether it was of you or himself, you were yet to find out the reason why. The priority right now was to talk to him, properly.

"Are you sure about that? I have a, uh, really important work file that I need you to review! The multiverse is at stake here, Miguel. Come on!"

Silence. For a few seconds. Before you heard the unmistakable click and whir of his platform, it makes its slow descent down towards you. Miguel begun to enter your vision, he had a chair pulled up and he was hunched over on his desk. Rare, you knew he liked to work when standing (oddly enough). 

"You're a bad liar," he grumbled, not even facing you as he said it. You sighed as you stepped onto the platform, placing your hands on your hips. 

"I wasn't lying, but your doors were locked and Lyla told me that there was something going on here." Miguel mumbled something else under his breath that you couldn't catch, he simply goes back to what to whatever he's doing. Which you really couldn't allow, but you couldn't push yourself into this. With him, there was always some sort of process. 

You took the moment to observe your surroundings, it was unbearably messy in here. A feat that he'd somehow been able to achieve despite being way past the age of papers, there was clutter everywhere. From beakers, liquids of mysterious origin pooled around from here to there, and even... Blood?! 

Your attention had snapped back to Miguel and that's when you had started to notice, how his shoulders rose and fell faster than usual, his hands ruffled in his hair, the rapid successions of his breath. 

"Miguel," Shock the process. Shock waiting. He clearly wasn't okay, you knew that to the fullest now. In three short strides, you were already by his side. "What's going on?"

He shook his head. Okay, you didn't want to press him too hard into talking, but this wasn't something that you could leave alone. Hesitantly, you placed a hand on one of his shoulders. He flinched, so did you, but right now, you needed to be the strongest person in the room so you kept your hand there. 

You tilted your head to the side, just so you could see his face, but he avoided your gaze. What entered your sights however was a discarded needle gun, yet to be picked up, and a few claw marks on the table. 

So this was the Rapture that Lyla was talking about. You hadn't a single clue what it was when she mentioned it, you pretended because you thought that she'd lock you out if you hadn't. Even then, there isn't much you could deduce aside from the fact that it was a drug Miguel had to take. You heard very little about the Rapture studies back in Alchemax, it was very classified, and you wish you would have pried more. 

"Do you need help with that?" You asked, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. Your thumb drew small circles into the muscle of his shoulder, his hands fell from his hair to his sides. He slumped back against his chair with a big sigh, and he nodded. 

Shakily, you picked up the gun. There was no seat for you to take, so you decided on sitting on the table. When you leaned down, the nanofabric of Miguel's suit had dissipated, revealing the fullness of his arm to you. You attempted to steady your hands over the exposed skin, Miguel doesn't even wince as the little needles pierce through. 

It will probably take a little while for the vial to empty out. You stewed in the silence with Miguel for a while, you'd usually use this as an opportunity to make conversation, but judging from his current state, he probably isn't one for talking. 

You released the breath that you were holding in when it was finished, you set the device for the side. Your hand remained on Miguel's shoulder the whole time and it tightened as you asked, "Is there–"

"No. No, I'm sorry. I'm just-" Miguel took a deep breath. "I'm- not ready to talk about it right now. It's a lot, sorry for bothering you."

He still wouldn't look you in the eye, you looked down to his hands and saw him tugging and pinching at the fabric of his suit. He'd calmed down a little now at least, but still. You couldn't help but feel like you've failed somehow, you tried to put on what's supposed to resemble a smile to him. "Okay, that's fine." 

When he dismissed you and let you (told you) to leave him alone, you promised yourself that you'd wait. You'd wait for him to be ready.

But maybe he never will. 

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: Baby Fever

Taking into account everything except what's in my personal space, it's a fairly normal afternoon in the Center Marketplace. Selasi's humming a popular song as he shovels another batch of rolls into his oven, the regular shoppers are bustling between the merchant's stalls, and the steam from my cup is wafting as gracefully as ever into the bright blue sky.

Oh, shoot that's a burning hazard isn't it, patronsdangit -

"Language!"

And the cheeky greeting from the magician appearing suddenly in front of me isn't helping.

"Fudge you, I'm trying not to be a bad influence."

"You? A bad influence? On who - oh, hello."

I glance down again just in time to move my cup away from the dimpled, chubby hand grasping for its boiling contents. The one-year-old in my lap looks up at me and grins. I look back at Asra with a smile. "I don't want to be a bad influence on this one."

They're already taking a spot at the low table, putting themself and their bag between the baby and the walkway to the stairs. As responsibility-averse as he is, it doesn't stop him from lending the toddler a steady hand as they wobble out of my lap. While the other steals my pumpkin rolls -

"What's their name?"

"This is Nasha." The tot gives me a gurgling giggle, grasping at the edge of the low table while they bounce on their feet. I brush a stray dark curl out of their face. "Their parents needed an afternoon out and know I used to babysit, so they called in a favor. I hope you plan on replenishing those."

"He already ordered a second batch." Selasi approaches with a basket for the table, steam rising through the cloth from the rolls underneath. "Hello, little one. And what are you old enough to eat? May I hold you?"

The tot looks up from where they're digging through Asra's bag, Faust nudging the no-so-baby-friendly contents out of reach and dodging their grabs at her tail. They stare wide-eyed at the burly baker before lighting up the market corner with a drool-filled smile. I hoist them up by the armpits and hold them out in Selasi's direction.

"They turned one last week. Do you know how to hold them safely?"

"Oh, Selasi knows all about how to hold the small ones, yes he does." He takes the toddler on one arm, cooing and rocking them back and forth. This is a side of him I haven't seen before. "Look at how many teeth you've grown, my tiny friend! If I remember right, you're old enough to be eating honey now, aren't you? Selasi's brought you a little dish and spoon for a nice treat, if your decaying-mind-friend says it's alright."

I groan at the nickname. "Not you too - and yes, their parents said they can eat honey now. Just be careful about -"

And I'm interrupted by an excited screech from several booths away.

"Is that a baby with brainrot?! Hi baby!!"

Portia sails into view, her brother dragged behind her by the coat and away from the newly-established leech stall where he was probably about to sink half his savings. Julian stops struggling and straightens up as soon as he spots the baby on Selasi's arm. "My my my, what do we have here -"

"Awwww, can I hold them? Please?!"

Portia's curls are going to stand on end if she tries to contain herself any longer. I nod, but Selasi seems hesitant to let go of his new friend. "You should be careful, they've just eaten some -"

"Fear not! I shall rescue you, small one!"

It's like watching a train wreck in slow motion as Julian uses his long arms to reach over Portia's head, plucking Nasha from the baker's grasp and seating them on his arm. The baby looks at the newcomer in surprise and decides to introduce themself by smearing their honey-covered sticky fingers down the doctor's cheek.

"Well, aren't you a - hrck - nnghck!"

Determined to explore further, the wide-eyed tot sticks their full hand into Julian's mouth mid-sentence. What follows are a series of chokes and gags as they reach deeper, giggling at the funny noises the doctor makes as he tries his best not to bite them. Portia adds injury to insult, yanking him down close enough to take the baby by tugging at his ear.

"Hey, you little cutie, what's your name?" She cradles them on her hip, cooing sweetly at them while her brother hacks and coughs behind her.

Julian straightens with a wince. "I think they went for my uvula -"

"His what-a-wha?"

The loud question behind them makes Julian jump, Portia eye-roll, and Asra grimace. I lean to peek around my visitors at the ex-count fast approaching us. "Hey, Lucio. It's a 'uvula', the hangy-down thing at the back of your mouth."

"And this little stinker tried to grab it? HAH!" He cackles, the loud noise making Nasha begin to curl in on themself. Portia tightens her hold on them, reconsiders, and then shoves them into the arms of the large shadow that's been lurking in the background for the last five minutes.

"Don't you call them that! That's brainrot's baby!"

Lucio freezes, face blue-screening as his eyes jump wildly between me and the baby nestled in Muriel's frozen hold. Asra snorts into their hand. Julian gives me an oddly thoughtful look. "Technically speaking, he is old enough and has the anatomy to have one safely, and he does seem, ah, quite comfortable holding one ..." Portia slowly nods along, taking a long look at me.

I ignore his mumbles and her stare and address the sputtering journeyman. "Nasha isn't my baby, they're my friend's baby, and I'm taking care of them for the day." I turn to where Muriel's adjusting his hold on the one-year-old. "You good?"

Nasha looks up and meets his eyes, pinning him with a four-toothed, honey covered smile. I swear I can see him melt. "... yeah."

"Since when do you take care of babies? I thought you were a writer. Let me see it -"

I brush Lucio away as respectfully as possible. "They're not an it, they're a baby, and your arm is way too sharp to hold them with that gauntlet on it."

"As to why he takes care of babies, he used to be an au pair, if I'm remembering correctly. You must be quite fond of children."

I didn't see Nadia approach with all the ruckus, but now she's standing between Lucio and Muriel and trying to give the baby in question her signature gentle smile. She's a little too stiff to pull it off. I can see Muriel's comfort levels disappearing with the growing crowd and reach over to relieve him of his charge. Nasha curls up in my lap, visibly relieved to be held by someone they know, and nestles against my shirt with a quiet sigh.

"Kids? Nobody likes kids, they're terrible at parties - OW! That hurt, Noddy!"

Nadia's smile is genuine now as she turns back to me, visibly curious about my answer. "Well?"

I chuckle, giving the tot my tattooed arm to poke and prod so they stop trying to snatch and eat Asra's shiny blue stone necklace. "I like them." Nasha leans back in my hold, eyelids drooping and squirming sleepily as I clean the honey off their hands and mouth with a spare cloth. It's hard to hold back the smile when they snuggle further into my arms.

"I've always wanted to have kids of my own. You get to cherish this tiny person through all their ups and downs, and teach them what unconditional love looks like while they figure out who they are and come into their own. And then one day, they're able to go out into the world and build their own life, while you cheer them on and watch them flourish."

I can feel myself flushing from the impromptu sappy speech. "Not to say that everyone should want kids! They're a lot of work and time and a serious commitment so I totally get why others wouldn't want -to - uhm -"

The six misty gazes I'm met with when I look up at my visitors makes me falter. Julian and Nadia look like they've seen a miraculous revelation. Portia and Lucio are hungrily eyeing the way Nasha dozes against my neck. Asra and Muriel are watching me reflectively, lost in thought and smiling quietly at the way I tuck the toddler's blanket around them.

I back up against the wall and make a show of snapping my knees shut, curling myself protectively around my charge. "I didn't say that I wanted to start having babies now, I'm a trans man, that shi- that stuff's complicated and I don't have the money!"

"Mpreg -" Portia coughs into her elbow, and I send her an annoyed look.

"Gee, thanks for the reminder of how taboo I'll be, Portia, let's hope I don't turn into someone's personal fetish or ick."

"Hey," Lucio cuts in with a slight pout, "Why didn't we have any kids, Noddy?"

Nadia fixes him with a stone-cold stare while everyone else looks at him in horror.

"Oh, you know why."

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. xi: Peace of Mind

Chapter Summary: As the Greens plot their ambitions, the very Prince they plan on putting the crown on can barely contain the tent in his breeches.

Word Count: 4033

Sneak Peak: But before he could dive his fingers in between her heaving breasts, a third voice broke through the static of his empty brain.  “Shyla!” “I wasn’t touching her!” Aegon sprang away from the brunette, bum sliding to the far right of the balcony until his back hit the wall.

Warnings: Aegon chapter. Dunno if that's a good thing or not at this point.

T H E  G R E E N S 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“The Starks have departed from White Harbour with the Manderlys,” Otto leans back in his chair, right leg extending under his desk as he regards his daughter sitting in the armchair across from him. “They should be arriving in a sennight. The Baratheons will arrive before them, of course. Borros is already not pleased that we cannot house him and his four daughters in the Keep.”

“Hm,” Alicent hummed, looking down at the steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. “Between the Celtigars, my cousin’s family, and Rhaenyra’s lot, we will be at full capacity at the Holdfast. Is there no room elsewhere? Perhaps near the north towers?”

“Mayhaps, but we will need to work night and day to prepare whatever rooms we find to be acceptable for them.” 

“It will be better than a series of tents, I’d wager,” Alicent tried to reason. “From what I’ve heard, his daughters are spoiled and wouldn’t want anything less than stone walls and carpeted floors.” 

Otto hummed in agreement, “Luckily the Starks are of stronger mettle. It is only Cregan and his sister that accompanies them.” 

“What of his younger brother… Rickard, was it?” 

“Fated for the Wall, I’m afraid. He will remain in Winterfell.” 

With a nod, Alicent allowed silence to fall between them. 

Ever since her husband regained his health, Alicent was relieved of her duties from the Small Council; she was no longer needed to be Viserys’s regent, much to her chagrin. Alicent hated not being present during the meetings; it was her only semblance of power and influence as Queen, and now that was taken away from her. With having no way of knowing what was going on within the Realm, she couldn’t offer her sage advice or a woman’s perspective. The men of the Council lacked the gentler approach. Now she had no choice but to rely on second hand accounts from her father and Lord Larys Strong. 

“And is there any news of Lord Corlys? The last I heard, his body was still lost in the Step Stones.” The Lord of Driftmark had been absent from his seat for nearly ten years following both deaths of his only children. He had spent that time keeping control over the won lands, ensuring the Triarchy did not gain occupation of it. However, in his efforts, he was ambushed and had his throat slashed, though his body had not been recovered, there was no way of knowing if he had survived or not. Until now, that was. 

“One of his men found him,” Otto reached for the thin leaf of paper that the raven had delivered. “He is unconscious, but back at Driftmark. The maesters do not know if he will survive.” 

The Queen hummed sadly, fingers tapping the mug in her hands before taking a tentative sip. There will be contention regarding the succession for Driftmark. By name, she knew Lucerys would be the one to inherit, but.. Well, the truth of it laid as obvious as his dark hair and eyes. 

“Have we heard from Rhaenyra yet?” Alicent finally asked the only question she had been thinking about all day. 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Alicent tried to contain the eagerness behind her eyes. Otto continued, “Maester Gerardys wrote to us, explaining that their reluctance of leaving Dragonstone was due to the babe Visenya’s health. She’s a sickly child, from what I’ve learned, and it is believed she will not survive to see her first name day.”

Alicent visibly paled, her shoulders sunk as her back rested against the seat. An unsettling pit in her stomach formed that not even a generous gulp of tea could remedy. 

“Poor Rhaenyra. To possibly lose a babe – her only daughter,” She shook her head, as if ridding herself of the idea of putting herself in those shoes. If she had lost Helaena, Alicent did not believe she’d survive her grief.

“It would be quite a tragedy…” Otto nods, leaning forward as a sigh filters through his nostrils. “But we cannot question the Stranger… He does not discriminate, and is never fair.”

Alicent shut her eyes, willing her ears to pretend she did not hear her father. Perhaps it is because she’s a woman, perhaps it is because she’s a mother, or perhaps it is because she still loved Rhaenyra, but either way she could not bear to hear such callous sentiments through empty philosophical religious sentiments. Especially from her father, who had a direct involvement in the reason why there was a crater between her and her childhood friend. 

Clearing her throat, she changed the subject, “What about Daeron? When is he due to return?”

“Soon,” Otto replied simply, his eyes casted down at his papers. “Gwayne and my nephew’s family are on the road, and Daeron will follow him on dragonback shortly after. I sent a raven warning him to ensure he takes Tessarion straight to the Pit as soon as he arrives.”

Alicent’s brow knitted in confusion, “What’s the urgency?”

“The Cannibal has been spotted circling the Kingswood,” The Hand’s brow also furrowed, “Gods know why. That old beast hasn’t come this far inland since Aegon the first.”

Alicent ran her teeth over her bottom lip, “You think he will hunt for dragons in King’s Landing?”

“They don’t call him The Cannibal for nothing, Alicent. Perhaps there hasn’t been enough hatchlings at the Dragonmont to placate his diet.”

“And what about Vhagar? She is vulnerable.” 

“If Cannibal wanted to attack her, he would have done so ages ago. She’s bigger than him, possibly older– who knows. That beast has been here longer than the Iron Throne. Besides,” Otto splays his hands on his desk before pushing himself out of his chair. “Aemond has her flying around King’s Landing, ensuring he does not approach. With any luck the beast will give up and go back to his cave in Dragonmont.”

“Unless he decides to attack farmers and travellers,” Alicent watches her father move to a table where a jug of wine sat.

“He doesn’t attack humans – unless provoked. And no one is foolish enough to try to claim him. He’s wild, untamable, and loathes Targaryens.”

“That does not ease my mind, father.” 

“We have it handled,” Otto brought his goblet to his lips, taking a modest sip. “Worry your mind with something more important, such as the marital fate of your children. The King wishes to marry Clement Celtigar with Helaena.”

Alicent stood up straight in her seat, eyes wide, “But she is to marry Aegon.”

Otto nods, “We should have done that long ago. We must deter him from that idea, and consider another match. He wants to unite the Celtigars with the Targaryens, then there are plenty to choose from.”

The queen swallowed, knowing who he was implying, “There are still Daemon’s girls… Surely one of them would be a better fit to be the future Lady of Claw Isle.”

“As I suggested, but his Grace does not wish to speak on behalf of his brother. And you know Daemon… he will do the complete opposite to what is told of him.”

“There is Daeron–”

Otto lifted his hand up to stop her, “Alicent. Please… You cannot skirt around this any longer. Aemond is your second eldest son – he must marry.” 

“He does not have to marry a Celtigar,” Alicent bent forward as she placed her now tepid tea on his desk. “It is a wiser match to pair him with one of the Baratheon girls. Daeron is of similar age to Bartimos’ younger daughter, Shyla. You cannot deny that it would be perfect.” 

Otto stared at his daughter with dwindling patience, his hand gripped the back of his chair as he looked down at her as a father would to a stubborn daughter. He supposed he would have to tell her of his plans for Daeron sooner or later, and now seemed the best possible timing. Particularly since he needed her to be compliant if he was going to succeed in the strategic marriage alliances he wished to orchestrate.

“I’ve had Daeron keep a correspondence with Floris Baratheon for the past few moons. They have become quite familiar and fond of each other – Lord Borros is aware, and he approves of the match.” 

Alicent launched herself from her seat, rounding the desk towards her father, “You did what?” Otto opened his mouth, but the question was rhetorical, and she was not going to let him speak. “You cannot make such decisions without my counsel, father! I am Daeron’s mother! I have the final say on who he is betrothed to!”

“Alicent,” her father stepped towards her, towering over her form and reminding her of how little power she actually has. “Daeron’s name has not left your lips for moons at a time. He is the son of Oldtown, raised by your uncle, brother, and cousins! You should be happy for him! The boy will marry a lady from a great house, who he has found friendship with and may even love!” 

With pursed lips, Alicent’s face blanched at every word, slowly shrinking away from him. 

Otto heaved a heavy sigh when he absorbed her expression, and then downed the rest of his wine before placing it onto his desk. 

“Aemond must marry one of the Celtigar girls, to appease your husband, your King. Despite the bad blood between them, Valeana Celtigar is the smartest choice. She is Bartimos’ eldest blood daughter, and her mother was a Lannister. She has the blood of two of the richest families in the Seven Kingdoms, the Crown’s treasury would be overflowing with her dowry alone.”

“Is that what this is? You will force two people who hate each other into a marriage just for gold?”

Otto waved dismissively, “Aemond does not hate Valeana. He only fears her. That will change once her belly swells with his first child.”

Alicent furrowed her brow and shook her head. Her fingers carded through her auburn tresses in frustration. Then turning around to collect herself, her slender digits moved from her hair, down to her throat. 

“She will not forgive him,” She finally spoke. “Did you know that they had to amputate her foot, and part of her leg? Just under the knee.” 

There was a heavy pause before Otto replied in a softer voice, “No… I did not.” 

Alicent turned to him again, brows upturned worryingly, eyes glossy with tears of frustration and guilt, “What happens if Aemond cannot gain her trust? What if Bartimos refuses?”

Sighing through his mustache, the Hand of the King leaned against his desk, “He may marry the younger one… But if Bartimos even refuses that proposal, then… Then, The King will take it upon himself to marry Helaena to Clement Celtigar, and everything we’ve worked hard for will be in vain. Aegon will have less claim to the Throne than Rhaenyra and Daemon’s legitimate Targaryen children. He must marry his sister if the Realm is ever going to see him as Viserys’ true heir.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“There you are!”

Aegon jostled, jumping in his seat at the unwelcome surprise. The bottle he was nursing spilled some ale from the rim and onto his thighs. 

“Bastard, I’ll have you hang– Oh, Shyla Celtigar!” His voice heightened, his lips twitched to hold his faux grin. “What— What a lovely…lovely surprise. How, er, did you find me?”

He was sitting on a balcony in the far east tower, not at the top, but quite near it. The space lacked foot traffic, which he preferred. Hiding from Shyla wasn’t even in the forefront of his mind – in fact he had forgotten about his little stalker for the last two days, since that night had happened. Aegon’s mind had been otherwise preoccupied with other things, other someones. He just needed a reprieve, a quiet, lonely place where no one could find him… 

He should’ve known better. It was Shyla afterall.

“I saw you by your lonesome from the Serpentine Steps,” she grinned, all gums, as she helped herself to a seat on the balcony’s edge next to him. Her hands immediately found his unoccupied one, and caged it in her fingers. He tried to slyly pull away, but she had a surprising strong grip. “I was thinking about when we should tell our parents about us. I thought we could wait until everyone arrives, but I am just too excited!” She bounced around on her spot. “The sooner, the better. We could be husband and wife by the end of the moon’s cycle.”

Aegon chuckled nervously, and took a large gulp from his bottle of ale with a shaking wrist. 

“Oh, no, no��� I don’t think–” 

“You know Aegon,” She shuffled her bottom and got closer to him, and batted her eyelashes. “This tower is very empty. We’re alone up here.”

He felt a nervous burp bubble through his teeth, “Oh, but if you were able to see me from the steps then— Oh, oh~” 

She had taken his hand, then proceeded to slip his middle and pointer finger through her lips… and started to suckle on them. Heat collected to his groin, and Aegon’s mind turned into a battlefield between team common sense and team needy cock. And like always, his cock was winning by a landslide. Due to the feeling of her tongue circling the tips of his fingers, his mouth popped open to let a whimper escape.

Aegon swallowed, “Shit.”

Shyla slipped his fingers slowly out of her mouth, then had them trail down her lip and chin slowly, proceeding more south. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” His resolve was dying, and the memory of why he was even trying to avoid her in the first place started to fade in the haze of a rosy coloured lust fog. 

But before he could dive his fingers in between her heaving breasts, a third voice broke through the static of his empty brain. 

“Shyla!”

“I wasn’t touching her!” Aegon sprang away from the brunette, bum sliding to the far right of the balcony until his back hit the wall. When his eyes finally registered who was standing at the entrance of the rounded empty room, he heaved a great sigh of relief, and his lips pulled into a giant, grateful, grin. “Lady Valeana! What-wh-what another lovely surprise.” 

The blonde raised an eyebrow at him, then turned back to her sister, “Mother has been looking for you. You need another fitting for that dress.” 

Shyla pouted, “But I’m busy! And how did you know I was here?”

“I can see you from the Steps clear as day,” Val glanced at Aegon when she said that. “Ought to be more careful. Someone might think your purity is compromised, and then father will be forced to send you back to the Isle.”

Shyla’s eyes widened and her back went rigid straight, “He wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t!”

“He would!” Valeana nodded, eyes mockingly wide. “You’d embarrass him, and the entire house. He will be forced to send you away and make you become a septa.” 

Shyla sprung to her feet with a gasp, then moved so far away from Aegon that one would think he was the predator in the room (which would be a fair assumption). 

“No! No! We weren’t doing anything! I didn’t– Aegon?”

“No, no, your sister was perfectly chaste,” Aegon was quick to say, pretending to give the girl a secret nod and wink.

“See!”

“I believe you, Shy, but the court may not. Luckily I saw no one around, so you got off lucky. But mayhaps you should find mother before someone does come around and makes up defamatory rumours about you and our family.”

Shyla nodded, arms all jittery as she collected her skirts and turned to Aegon to give him a stiff curtsey, “Thank you for being a gentleman, my prince. If you may excuse me, my mother calls.”

Aegon nodded, “You’re–” he coughed, then crossed his legs. “You’re excused, my lady.”

The two waited as Shyla was out of the tower, stepping briskly down the Serpentine Steps with her back towards him.

Aegon turned to his saviour, “Seven bless you, Valeana Celtigar. If you hadn’t come when you did–”

Val lifted her hand to stop him, “Hm, yes, I know. Bad decisions, weak will, crazy sister.”

She walked over to the balcony, sitting at the far end, ensuring there is ample space between them should someone actually spot the two sitting there in the tower, alone. 

Aegon hadn’t seen her since that night, at least not this personally. She was spending a lot of her time with his sister and by herself it seemed. He caught her a few times from atop a parapet, sitting alone in the garden or next to the Heart Tree. He thought many times to come down to converse with her, to see how she was doing, but the idea felt foreign to him. He wouldn’t know what to say, nor was he equipped with dealing with womanly emotions should she get hysterical on him. 

In truth, he was scared of something else entirely. Something he couldn’t quite recognize. 

“I never got a chance to properly thank you,” Valeana finally broke the silence. “For that night. It was very kind and… honestly surprising.”

“Yes, well–” He cleared his throat. His hands gripped his knee as he kept his legs crossed, “It was-it was no problem at all. It used to happen to Helaena quite frequently, and I– Well, It’s just something I picked up over time.”

She smiled gently, genuinely, and it forced Aegon to swallow thickly. 

“She told me. It still surprises me.”

“What? I can be kind… I can be…I don’t know, benign?”

She laughed, soft and airy, “I’ve never known you to be either of those, so yes, it is surprising.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” he gave a stiff shrug. “I don’t have the shiniest of reputations. I’m no Ae— Hm, sorry.” 

Val tilted her head, “You can say his name, I’m not going to fall into a fit over it.”

“I don’t know what provokes you.”

“I’m not that sensitive,” she looked down at her hands. “That was the first fit I’ve had in quite a while.” 

Even if she wasn’t looking at him, Aegon gave a nod in lieu of not knowing how to respond to that. He opened his mouth to ask a stupid question, like how the weather was treating her, or if she had seen any interesting birds lately. Anything to change the topic… He was terrible at poignant conversations. But she beat him to it. 

“I have done a lot of thinking.”

“A terrible passtime, I find.”

“Possible. Probably,” She looked up at him, “I’m going to forgive him.”

“Who?”

“Aemond.”

Aegon’s legs loosened, and then he leaned forward with a raised eyebrow, “Why in the world would you do that? He’s been a monster to you. He does not deserve your forgiveness.” 

She tilted her head at him, “With that logic, then I should never forgive you either. Your brother may have severed our friendship and betrayed my trust, but you took copious amounts of delight in cruelly teasing me and my sisters in our shared youth. And I do mean cruel… I’ve never forgotten a thing you’ve said.”

At that, Aegon turned away, unable to face the shame of the past. His shoulder hit the back of the wall again, and in a swift moment he picked up the forgotten bottle of ale to occupy his hands.

“You shouldn’t forgive me then,” he finally replied. “I was– am a cad,” Aegon brought the bottle to his lips and took a small gulp. He shook his head then, and looked back at her. He nearly regretted it by the way she was assessing him, green marbles full of a warmth that he did not deserve. “What changed your mind?” 

Her hands stiffly went to her sides, palms pressed against the stone ledge they sat on, “Helaena made me see things a bit more clearly. I pushed Aemond away the moment I got here, and –” she sighed heavily. “He is reacting defensively. He was right, afterall, I was making it more difficult than it needed to be. Had I been more cordial with him from the start, we might’ve become– Ugh, I’m just tired… I’m tired of being bitter. I just want peace of mind. I need to apologize to him, and allow him to do the same.”

Aegon’s shoulders sagged a bit; he wanted to groan so exasperatingly. Here he was, dick still hard, and Valeana was over there making him feel feelings and all that nonsense. 

“I’m not going to pretend to support your decision,” Aegon said, emphasizing it with a brandish of his half drunk bottle. “I honestly don’t know why you like my brother at all, to be perfectly honest. He’s a tightass, so full of himself, and a massive bore– Sorry! I digress. I don’t agree that he deserves your forgiveness, let alone your apology, but… I’ll help, if you need me. Only to keep your peace of mind. I don’t want you running through the corridors at night crying again. I need sleep, too.”

She smiled sweetly again, and Aegon mentally cursed when his cock twitched between his legs. When Valeana scooched closer to him to put a hand on his arm, he pressed himself further into the wall.

“Thank you, Aegon. You’re not as much of a cad as you think you are.” 

Aegon melted into the stone that caged him in. He partly wanted to just slip through the gaping balcony and meet the Stranger at the base of the tower, but her hand on his arm grounded him in place. He cleared his throat and adjusted himself, with legs still crossed and hand still clutching his bottle like a life preserver. 

It was difficult to look at her for this.

“Yes, well… I don’t know if I entirely agree with you… But, for what it is worth, Valeana… I am sorry. For, y’know, everything I’ve done.” 

He could see her swallow down her emotions as much as he did, and he found himself captivated by her neck as she did. When his gaze moved north, he openly stared at the purse of her lips, and how she moved her tongue over to relieve the chapped skin. 

“I appreciate the apology, Aegon,” her hand squeezed his arm. “And,” air filled her chest, pressing the neckline tighter over her bosom, and it was taking his last shred of willpower not to look down. “I forgive you.”

His purple eyes shot up to hers. 

Val gave a soft laugh, “Gods, what a weird thing for me to say.”

He laughed too, albeit more nervously, “Yes, very weird.”

She pulled away, and he could finally relax his muscles. “I’ll make it up to you for what you did for me,” she declared as she sat up, hands smoothing out the wrinkles of her simple vermillion gown. “I’ll get Shyla off your tail. She has a fickle heart, so it is only a matter of diverting her attention onto someone else.”

“Poor bloke,” Aegon eased himself from the wall he was clinging to. “I mean – your sister is just lovely–”

“I am well aware she is deranged, Aegon.”

“You said it, not me.”

With a hand running down her face, Valeana gave a soft chuckle, “Right… Well, I should be going. Are you going to remain here?”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his leg, “Y-yes. I have, uhm– some business to attend to.”

Her brow knitted, “Business? What possible business could you– Oh,” she caught his eyes flickering to his crotch. “Oh! Oh, Gods, Aegon, this entire time?”

Aegon cringed, his lips pulling downward as he sucked his teeth, “Yes. I’m afraid he won’t be put down until I take care of’em. Once the little bugger is up, he’s up.”

“Seven Hells, Aegon!”

“You’re welcome to stay and show me more of your gratitude–” The woman’s hand raised ready to strike him across the face, “It was a jest! A jest!”

Notes: I know this was very non Aemond heavy, but I needed to get some plot points through that's going on in the background. Though I'm hoping to get the next chapter out sooner than intended, because it's a good'un.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter V: We Don’t Have to Talk About it.

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev.

songs for this chapter: cool about it by boygenius, pink pony club by chappell roan

summary: the celebrations for Chris’s return continue, this time with the first Corroded Coffin show in years!

a/n: everything i write in these chapters makes me want to write more LET’S GOOOO. keep an eye out for a new tab in coming chapters ;)

chapter tags: mean!eddie, mean!reader, fighting, weed, drinking, angst, hurt/no comfort, talks of adult content creation | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog/comment/like to support the author!

—

You are determined to have a lazy, relaxing day off. Your brother’s gone out for a job interview, so you once again have your apartment to yourself. You start by indulging in a greasy homemade bacon egg and cheese sandwich, made on a toasted everything bagel slathered in butter. You savor it with sips of coffee consumed on your front porch, hoping your nextdoor neighbors aren’t awake yet to pollute the area with cigar smoke.

When you’re finished eating, you pluck the book you’ve been reading from its spot on the couch and make your way to the bathroom. One compromise you’d refused to make when apartment hunting: you needed a bathtub. No walk in shower bullshit. You’d gotten your wish with this old duplex, the bathroom, though a garish purple color, came with a beautiful clawfoot tub.

You let the water warm before plugging the drain, peeling off your pajamas and wrapping yourself in your soft, freshly washed robe. You have a routine on days like this. You’ll take a bath, smoke a joint and sip your coffee in the tub while you read at least three chapters before the water gets cold. You queue your On Repeat playlist, not willing to skip around every song in your library. The music sets a nice ambiance humming through your bluetooth speaker as you sink into the warm water, bubbles creating a soft blanket over your naked form. You release a sigh as you slip up to your neck, relishing in the warmth engulfing you. When your muscles feel loose, you dry your hands on the towel you’ve set aside, and pluck the joint from the ashtray. The sweet smoke fills your lungs, causing a pleasant burn in your chest. You exhale slowly, grabbing your book from the makeshift side table you’ve put together.

Currently, you’re halfway through Normal People, your copy a bit worse for wear, pages water stained and spine snapped in several places. It’s already punctured your heart a few times, you can’t help but feel frustrated for Marianne. The high buzzes pleasantly in your brain as you read, creating vivid pictures in your head from the words on the page. Marianne morphs into you, and for some reason Connell has grown long, curly locks and grown an affection for silver rings. All of this, set to the musical stylings of Boygenius in your steam filled bathroom. You’re supposed to feel at ease, but there’s a coil tightening in your belly you’re not sure how to stifle, making your chest flutter with excitement.

It becomes nearly impossible to focus on the story, so you set your book aside in favor of your phone. You’re careful to hold it above the water, scrolling through your various feeds to see what your friends are up to.

Stevie (@ thehairington): i’m never letting rob aux again for as long as i live

rob (@ lilbirdie): not MY fault ur a big baby!!!!!

b (@ babybeez): … do i wanna know what song ?

rob (@ lilbirdie): pink pony club! i thot it would be fun!!

b (@ babybeez): oh ur evil

Stevie (@ thehairington): RIGHT!!!

You giggle, imagining Steve as he and Robin drive to work, breaking down as Chappell sings, “You're always on my mind / And mama, every Saturday / I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE,” and you wish you were with them. Maybe you’ll go bother them later, once you grow tired of being with only yourself for company. You exit out of Twitter and open Instagram, the first picture when your feed loads being the last people you want to see right now. It’s a picture of Eddie, clearly taken by someone else. He’s sticking his tongue out at the camera, standing in front of The Hideout.

@ thefreakmunson: come thru tonite, corroded coffin plays at ten.

Ugh, right. It’s Tuesday. Your mother is definitely gonna call you to work tonight, and your good mood flies out the window. As if reading your mind, your phone dings, but it’s not your mother.

Eddie (block later.): Is my favorite bartender workin tonite?? ;)

You seem to stab each letter as you reply:

god i fuckin hope not.

he replies only with :(

__

It takes another hour for your mom to text you.

mama: hi honey, i know i tell you every week you can have tues off, but i just got a call from chris’s buddies telling me they’re coming to surprise him tonight. would u mind? i’ll owe u

you love your mom more than anything, but you can’t tell her you’d do it for nothing, because it’s going to be torture. Ever since Chris joined the band when Gareth went to college, you’d been avoiding working Tuesdays even more than before. The band hadn’t played their usual nighttime slot since Chris had come home, so the crowd is expected to be substantial.

yea of course mom, see u at 8

mama: thx baby bee

You look at the clock, the red lights reading 12:00 PM. Still plenty of time to go get your friends to come out tonight, despite them both having to work tomorrow. Luckily, they love you, so you don’t expect to have a hard time. You take your time getting dressed, humming along to the music as you comb your hair and do your makeup. Once you're satisfied, You migrate to your closet to pick out an outfit for tonight. Something devious plays in your brain, and you want an outfit that will draw attention. You want to look hotter than you feel, hoping to trick yourself into confidence in the face of a possibly awful night. You look hot though, in a cropped black t-shirt and form hugging jeans, and take the opportunity to post a long overdue selfie.

—

“Bee!” Robin squeals when you enter the record store, far too excited to see you.”You look hot!” Now she’s complimenting you. Something’s up.

You make your way through the long outdated shop, surrounded by walls lined with records ranging from the 60s to 90s exclusively, and a floor dusty with loose boards that creak loudly with every step. It’s a miracle this place has enough business to stay open. You like to conspire that the owner Mr. Summers is in the Mob, and this place has been his front since it opened in ‘86. You keep that in your diary only, though.

“Should I duck and cover?” You direct the question at Steve, who’s standing at the counter with a big grin on his face. “Not you, too. What’s going on?”

“You’re gonna want to kiss him when you hear this.”

“Oh?”

“Do you wanna tell her?” Robin calls over her shoulder.

“Well actually—,”

“He got us Chappell tickets.”

Your mouth falls open so fast you feel your jaw pop.

“She’s in Indy this weekend, and I happened to have some extra money from, y’know,” Robin holds her hand up, “We do not need to hear about your OnlyFans, Steve.”

Steve shrugs. “And yet, I still let you reap the rewards.”

You squint at him. “Are you doing a bit right now?”

They shake their heads, faces flushed from laughter.

“Seriously?”

“Look me up, stevethestallion.” His tone is even now, all traces of joking gone.

You call his bluff, and type the website you definitely haven’t used before into the browser. When it definitely doesn’t already have you logged in, you type in the alleged username. “One or two e’s?”

“Just one, I can’t compare to Megan like that!”

You shake your head, hitting search. The page loads. The account is behind a 25 dollar pay wall, but the visible follower count reads 35K. The profile picture is faceless, a shirtless torso with an abundance of chest hair, and the smallest hint of a happy trail. You click on it, purely for further investigation. You find your answer when you can see the faintest outline in the background of the same exact Tame Impala poster that Steve has hanging over his bed.

“Oh my fucking god. Hell yeah, dude.” You laugh, and Steve seems to release a held breath. “What, you think I'd be, like, grossed out? This is hot. And a really smart financial endeavor, apparently.”

Robin nods in agreement. “With perks!” The three of you burst into laughter.

When you’ve settled, breathing heavily to avoid lingering giggles, you turn to face them again. “Now, after this I feel even worse for asking you guys for a favor, but I’m desperate.”

“You want us to come out tonight?” Steve doesn’t miss a beat.

You straighten your back, suddenly bashful. “How’d you know?”

He clears his throat, signaling Robin to continue.

“Eddie uh, invited us out.” She rushes out.

You suck your lips between your teeth, nodding stiffly. “‘Course he did, yeah.”

“Asked me if you were working.” She adds, and you meet her gaze, panicked.

“And you said?” She shrugs. “What does that mean?”

“I literally sent him the shrug emoji.”

“I mean, you are, right?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Okay. This is fine. Everything will be fine.”

Robin cages you in, planting a hand on each of your shoulders. “You’ll get through it. Do it for Chappell.”

You lean into the dramatics. “Of course, for Chappell.”

—

Chappell owes you, big time. Tuesdays have gone from a quiet, boring weeknight with less than five hundred dollars in the register by the end of the night. Unfortunately, those days have long since ended since you’d left for college. Every Tuesday, Eddie’s band Corroded Coffin plays The Hideout, despite your begging and pleading with your mom to stop booking them.

“I can’t!” She’d reason, “Not if you and your brother want anything to help pay for my funeral!” She was being dramatic, for the most part. But they did bring in the green, as much as you hate to admit it. Apparently a popular music reviewer had given them a shoutout, garnering them an actual audience. You‘re happy for the guys, mostly. You just aren’t in the mood to be the people pleasing, flirty bartender tonight.

It’s almost ten when the van finally pulls into the back lot. “Where the hell have you guys been?” You hiss when your brother exits the driver’s side.

“Had to make a stop.” The irritation in his voice is palpable. You motion for him to elaborate, and he jerks his head to where Eddie is opening the back door, offering his hand out to help Macy climb out. “Sat in her fuckin’ driveway for twenty minutes.”

You glare daggers at the pair of them, and Eddie must feel them on his neck because he jerks his head, eyes immediately meeting yours. You don’t let up, hoping your expression translates the rage you feel in your gut. Eddie is the first to break the staring contest, looking back to the woman on his arm. She meets his gaze with a glare of her own, and he whispers something to her that breaks her grimace into a giggle. Your palms start to sweat.

“Go, we’ll start setting your shit up. Mom’s hysterical.”

“Okay. I’ll run damage control after. Sorry, Beebs.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not you that’s gonna be sorry.” You send another seething look to the pair walking to the stage door, attached at the hip and without even a halfhearted acknowledgement of their lateness. “Asshole.” You follow the rest of them inside, Chris on your heels.

“Where the hell have y'all been?!” Your mom exclaims when Chris enters the green room, a barely renovated office that fits about three and a half people at a time. You hand your brother off to be berated, and power walk to the stage to set up equipment. Your warpath comes to a screeching halt when you reach the wings, the scene playing out in front of you preventing you from moving further.

Eddie is sitting on a barstool, guitar forgotten on his lap as Macy stands over him, passionately licking into his mouth. Eddie’s eyes are closed, and he kisses her back with little restraint, the tent growing in his pants becoming obvious when the instrument begins to slide from his lap. He catches it without breaking from her, placing it on the stand next to him. You decide you don’t have time to wait for whatever this is to play out in its likely disgusting entirety, so you leave the comfort of the shadows and make your presence known.

“Ahem,” You clear your throat loudly, causing the couple to separate abruptly, each wiping the other’s saliva from their mouth. “Sorry to interrupt, but if you don’t want an entire crowd of pissed off drunks against you, you might wanna let me set up.”

“Hey, Bee.” Eddie recovers from embarrassment quickly, you’ll give him that. You nod in acknowledgment, knowing any words you give him will be laced with unnecessary venom.

“Eddie, baby, you wanna take this to the bathroom?” Macy’s tone is sultry, needy. You almost feel bad for her, being this hypnotized by Eddie’s charm. You wish you could help her, but it’s possible she’s too far gone.

“Yeah ‘course, baby. I’ll meet you there in a sec.” His gaze slides from her to where you stand across the stage, the only sounds coming from the patrons beyond the curtain.

“Don’t make me wait too long.” She slinks away, hips swaying. She brushes past you, leaving the sweet stench of her perfume behind. What demon did Eddie make a deal with?

“So,” Eddie muses, rising from the stool. “You’re workin’.”

“No shit, really?”

“Hey, don’t be mean. Just makin’ small talk.”

“That’s not necessary.” You unglue yourself from the floor, busying yourself with wires and speakers as Eddie keeps talking. “Just thought, y’know, you had tonight off.”

“I did,” You bite, ���but then Chris invited the whole damn state of Indiana.”

“Ah, ‘course. The third homecoming party this week for the lovable Christopher L/n, convicted felon.” He chuckles, and you stop what you’re doing to respond. Something in you snaps, quick and clean.

“Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, and he throws his hands up.

“Whoa, I was kidding!”

“Shut up, I’m talking.” His eyes bulge out of his skull. “You have the audacity to make jokes about Chris, but he could’ve brought you right down with him. You were 18, a goddamn adult. But he kept his fucking mouth shut to protect you. You know who he didn’t fucking protect? When her bullies learned he wasn’t home anymore, or when she had fucking no one on her side and the one other kid she found comfort in never called her again?” You let loose, doing your best to keep your voice even. “You ever wonder what would’ve happened, Eddie? If the roles had been reversed, and Chris had done what you did? Don’t even pretend you’d forgive him for that. There’s something else going on, and I intend to find out what it is.”

He doesn’t interrupt your rant, instead holding your intense stare with apparent ease. When you finish, he waits a beat, letting the metaphorical dust settle. Finally, he answers. “You have to let it go, Bee. There are some things you just don’t wanna know. Don’t need to know. I will never not feel guilty about what I did, but I can’t tell you anything else. I wish I could, really.”

You’re careful with your next words. “But, if I were to figure it out without your help…?”

He catches your drift. “I probably wouldn’t be able to deny it convincingly.” Eddie shrugs, signaling the end of the conversation. “I’ll let you set up. You gonna watch our set?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Eddie snickers. “That’s my girl.” And he walks offstage before you can react to the statement, or demand he at least pretend to help.

—

You make it back to the bar in time to save your mom from the massive line of rabid patrons.

“Where have you been?” She half shouts over the noise, pouring a glass of Guinness for one of Stan’s high school friends, Scotty, you’re almost certain.

“Setting up the stage!” You shout back, failing to hide the irritation in your voice. You turn to the booze hound in front of you. “What can I get you?”

You sense your mom moving closer, still grabbing glasses and bottles to pass across the counter. “No need for the attitude, Beebs.”

“Ugh, sorry. Just not what I wanted to be doing tonight.”

“Oh, and I just adore being here?” She nudges you until you grit your teeth, forcing a smile. “You wanna tell Mama what’s wrong?”

“Nah, not right now. We’ll dish later.” You love gossiping with your mom, but she knows Eddie. She knows what he’s like, what your past with him entails, and she’ll surely have plenty of insight for you.

As you take another order, the house lights dim and the crowd goes wild. You can’t help but turn your head towards the stage, where your brother’s friends have formed a pit in the front, whooping and hollering as the band takes the stage. Chris points to his friends with his drumstick, causing them to jump around, playfully shoving each other to get the crowd moving.

Eddie comes out last, greeted with more wild cheers, a lot of them more shrill than those given to Chris. Girls throw themselves toward the stage, offering their wombs to him like he’s Paul McCartney in the 1960s. You watch, your vision red around the edges, as he blows a kiss to Macy in the front row, and she pretends to catch it. You have to look away to keep from gagging.

—

“Thank you, Hawkins! We have been Corroded Coffin, goodnight!” The band line up across the stage, taking their bows. Next to where you stand with Robin and Steve across the bar, Macy and her gaggle of friends whoop and holler obscenities. It disappoints you, watching such a beautiful woman have her bar set so low.

“Oh my god,” Robin follows your stare. “No fucking way.”

“I know, she’s stunning, don’t remind me.” You rest your chin in your hand, slouching over the bar.

“Of course she is, that’s Macy Miller!”

You blink at her, not understanding why her last name matters.

“She’s the bassist of Statuesque Dolls, they’re the opening band for Chappell’s tour!” The gleaming smile on her face vanishes when she looks at you again. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s Eddie’s latest muse, or something.” you shake your head from the thoughts of Macy onstage. She’s probably irresistible, a symbol of feminism and sex and rock ‘n’ roll.

“No fuckin’ way.” Robin shakes her head in disbelief. “He’s blackmailing her. Or something. Right?”

You shake your head. “Change the subject, Rob. Please.”

“Okay, sure. Steve is a pornstar.”

You burst into laughter. “A popular one! Good for him, really.”

Robin crosses her arms. “Good for him, sure, but what about me?! He’s my roommate, Bee!”

“Come on, you’re paranoid. He probably doesn’t film while you’re home.” She purses her lips, but doesn’t respond. “Don’t be such a conservative.”

She gasps. “How dare you!”

“Hey, ladies!” The subject of your conversation enters your huddle, a beer sloshing in his hand. “How are my most favorite people in the whole wide world doin’?” Steve’s cheeks are bright pink, stretched by his massive smile. His eyes are half closed, like it’s still too bright in the dimly lit bar.

“Someone’s not concerned about opening tomorrow.” You tease, motioning to his frothy drink.

“Oh, Melvin gave me the day off.” He beams, and Robin scoffs. “Sorry, Bob, snooze ya lose.”

“Oh, sure, ‘til I call out and he tells you to cover.” She winks before leaning over the bar to you. “Shots?”

You snort a laugh and grab the tequila off the bar. At the same time you finish pouring the third shot, a fourth figure looms over you. “You all takin’ shots?” Eddie’s eyes shine with eagerness.

“Yeah, you want?” Steve offers, and Robin digs her elbow into his ribs. You grab a fourth glass and slice of lime without a word, feeling the skin inside your mouth break between your teeth.

“Are we toasting?” He looks from your friends to you, and his expression softens. You shrink under his gaze, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said a word to him before the set.

“Um, not particularly.” Robin attempts to cut the tension, but she’s met with no response beyond a confused Steve asking, “What about, to friendship?”

Robin pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Dingus, read the damn room.”

“What?” He giggles, still not getting it. “What did I say?”

“No, Rob. It’s cool, I like that.” You hold your own shot glass up, signaling your friends to do the same. “To friendship, current and otherwise.” You chance looking at Eddie, and his eyes are already locked on you. He doesn’t look away when you catch him, only tilts his glass towards you before licking the salt from the back of his hand and downing the liquor. He doesn’t flinch, calmly reaching for the lime to relieve his palette. You follow suit, the burning nothing you can’t handle. Being a bartender has its moments, but this isn’t one of the prouder ones.

—

“So,” Your mother starts, spraying the bar with disinfectant as you finally lock the door for the night. “What happened?”

“What?” You pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about, busying yourself with a mop across the room.

“What, what? You’ve been snippy all night. I want to make sure you’re alright.”

You shrug. “Nothing happened specifically. The boys just get on my nerves is all.”

“Boys? Or Eddie?” Your mom gives you her Mother Knows All look.

“Ugh, whatever.” You don’t answer the question.

“Bee, you can talk to me. I know you’re going through a lot, your brother being home and all. You haven’t seen Eddie in, what, two years?”

“Three.”

“Three years! See, you’re taking a lot on at once. You know you can lean on me, right?”

You set the mop back in its bucket and walk over to your mom, picking up a rag and the spray bottle before moving to the tables. “Yeah, I know. But I’m sure you’re also trying to cope with your son being back, I don’t wanna add any more stress on top of that.”

“You’re my baby. Your stress is my stress, always.”

Your walls crumble at her affirmation. “It’s just, who does he think he is? He has the audacity to show his face around here after what he did! And Chris just lets him! It’s like nothing happened, and it’s pissing me off. Making me feel fucking crazy!” You usually don’t swear around your mom, but it all pours out of you. “And he talks to me like we’re buddies, like he didn’t ruin my fucking life when he sent Chris to prison.” You rub your tired eyes, awaiting your mom’s wisdom.

“Have you talked to Chris? Gotten his side?”

You roll your eyes. “I tried. He told me very little. Eddie was no help either.”

Your mom tosses her rag aside and leans her elbow on the counter. “Boys are morons, baby bee. I’m sorry. I wish I could offer something more profound. You’re talking to a divorcee, here.”

You laugh despite your mood. “Are we all just doomed? Forced to deal with this inferior species for the rest of our lives?”

Your mother chuckles. “Probably!”

—

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj let me know if you’d like to be added!

[fishfooddude]

Sorry?

MDNI 18+

Carmy isn't getting a redemption arch after this one.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Carmy set his phone down on the office desk when Natalie had let herself in. She shot him ‘the look,’ the one she’d always give him when she knew he was doing something embarrassing. “Anything you want to share with me, Carmy?” she half-joked as she pulled up a chair next to him. Carmy shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Okay… so, going through Mikey’s finances proved a couple of things. Aside from owning Uncle Jimmy a lot of money, he was also about 30k in personal debt.” Natalie began to explain as she reached for her computer bag; she paused when Carmy’s phone vibrated loudly against the desk. “You need to get that?” she asked, gesturing toward the phone. Carmy shook his head and sat forward on his chair, “Carmen. You can speak, right?” she was annoyed by his sudden mutism. 

Carmy laughed, “Sorry. Just got some stuff on my mind.” he grabbed his phone from the table to see another notification from his newly reactivated Hinge profile. He wasn’t confident when it came to women, but the sudden attention he’d been getting didn’t hurt his ego. Natalie noticed the subtle upward twitch of his lips and shook her head. He was a 31-year-old bachelor with an up-and-coming restaurant, while she still saw Carmy as her annoying little brother most of the time; she’d be lying if she said he wasn’t handsome. She noticed the subtle glances women would give him when the two of them went out together. Natalie rolled her eyes as Carmy slipped his phone into his back pocket, “Okay, so 30k in personal debt? What do we do?” Carmy questioned, trying to keep his mind on work.

By the end of the night, Carmy was exhausted. Not only was running the restaurant proving to be more difficult than he’d originally thought, Mikey was still fucking him over from beyond the grave, and he needed to let off some steam before he blew up. When your account popped up on his ‘Likes You,’ he messaged you immediately and hoped you’d be down to hang out tonight. 

You excitedly walked up the stairs leading to Carmy’s apartment door after the week you’d had; his offer to come ‘hang out’ was just what you needed. There was a familiarity to his face, a warmth you couldn’t place, but the reality was you didn’t care that much. You waited a brief moment between knocking on his door and him opening it. You blushed, realizing he was a lot cuter in person. “Hey.” you smiled as you felt him look you up and down.

“Hey yourself.” he grinned as he moved aside to let you into his modest apartment. The first thing you noticed was piles of cookbooks and the distinct smell of stale cigarette smoke. You turned on your heel to face Carmy and confidently stepped toward him. Carmy smirked and reached out to grab your hips, “I’d ask if you want a tour, but this is pretty much it.” he chuckled as he ducked his head down into the crook of your neck. He softly nipped at the sensitive skin, and you giggled before bringing up how he could show you his bedroom. A groan escaped his mouth as you pushed him off of you. He leaned back and hungrily stared at your body before softly shaking his head. Carmy dropped his hands before grabbing one of yours. He gently pulled you toward a closed door you assumed to be his bedroom. 

As you crossed the threshold, your lips were on his, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Carmy mumbled something against your mouth as his hands fumbled around your torso. He stumbled backward to his bed, pulling you as he tripped over a pair of jeans he’d left on the floor. 

“Fuck.” Carmy breathed as you began trailing kisses down his jaw toward his ear. You giggled at the reaction you were able to draw from him. As you ran a hand down his chest, you felt his hands grasp at your ass. He squeezed you through the sweatpants you’d worn, eliciting a soft moan from you. “Take this off,” you whispered into Carmy’s ear as you fisted the soft material covering his chest. Carmy nodded and followed your command. 

“I showed you mine. You show me yours.” Carmy said as he flipped the two of you over, wedging himself between your legs. You felt his growing length against your clothed core as you reached for the bottom of your tank top. Carmy marveled over your bare breasts before returning to kiss your lips. You clawed at his bare back as one of his large, calloused hands over your newly exposed skin. A whimper escaped your lips as Carmy rolled your nipple between his fingers. Carmy took the opportunity and gently pushed his tongue into your mouth. 

Your hands found the button of Carmy’s jeans and quickly tried to undo it. Ending the kiss, Carmy chuckled as his hand abandoned your breast as he sat back up on his knees to pull his pants and boxers down just enough to release his cock from the denim prison he’d been in. You felt a blush develop on your cheeks as you looked at his penis, “Can I suck you off?” 

Carmy met your question with a chuckle, “Later. I need to fuck you already, sweetheart.” He shifted on his bed and stood up. As he loomed over your body, he pulled you by the hips, so your legs now dangled off of the mattress. Carmy pulled your sweatpants down in a swift movement as you giggled and squeezed your breasts. Carmy pushed your panties to the side and ran a finger up through your folds before landing on your clit. The sudden pressure on the bud of nerve endings made you whine softly, “Fuck me, Carmen!”

Carmy groaned as he rubbed small circles against your clit. You whined as Carmy leaned to the side to open his side table drawer. He pushed the drawer's contents around until his eye caught the reflective foil square he desperately wanted. You watched through squinted eyes as Carmy opened the condom and attempted to roll the lubricated latex down his leaking length. 

You gasped as Carmy started pushing his length into you. “Fuck- you feel so fuckin’ good.” he groaned as he bottomed out inside of you. As he pulled out, you reached your arms up to him; Carmy chuckled and leaned down to press his lips to yours as he began thrusting his hips at a steady pace enjoying the feeling of your pussy clench around him.

Your lips had melted together as Carmy’s thrusts got sloppier; you reached down to rub your clit. He moaned into your mouth as his motions stopped. The two of you were still for a few moments before he pulled his softening cock out of you. You stared up at the ceiling while he disposed of the condom, “You didn’t- did you?” he awkwardly asked. You propped yourself up on your elbows, “I didn’t… Can you pass me my pants?”

Carmy’s lips formed a tight grin, and he obliged the request. You took the pants from him and slipped them on before grabbing your discarded T-shirt. “Hey—uh, I’m sorry.” Carmy awkwardly apologized, and you shrugged in response. 

“Happens to the best of us, Carmen.”

[mademoiselle-red]

Imagining how Lianhua’s household would celebrate Chinese New Year’s Eve…

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, Lianhua announces to Ah Fei and Xiaobao that he’s got their new year’s eve dinner all planned out.

“Trust me,” he says with unfounded confidence.

Ah Fei narrows his eyes. Xiaobao smiles nervously with trepidation.

On Chinese new year’s eve, Lianhua presents his husband and disciple/adopted child with the following dishes:

Vinegar Fish of the Western Lake 西湖醋鱼

Xiaobao’s review: Amazingly, it tastes just as terrible as the version they serve at the famous Hangzhou restaurant Lou Wai Lou.

(Author note: Seriously, don’t order this “regional delicacy” if you find yourself in Hangzhou. Unless you enjoy the taste of unseasoned steamed fish drowning in vinegar sauce. Order any other fish dish. Like squirrel fish 松鼠鳜鱼 or a plain old steamed fish 清蒸鱼. Also, Lou Wai Lou is a tourist trap. Yes it’s got a long history, and was referenced in the Mysterious Lotus Casebook theme song and appears in Grave Robber’s Chronicles, but no, it is no longer good.)

Osmanthus Lotus 桂花莲藕

Xiaobao’s review: All the ingredients are there and assembled correctly. But why is the flower sauce burnt????

Lianhua: I’ve already ruined two pans from trying to make this sauce! The sugar keeps hardening into rock candy and sticking to my pan! (Caramelization is hard 😭)

(Author note: Do order this dish if you travel to the Yangzhou-Nanjing-Hangzhou-Shanghai area. It’s steamed lotus stuffed with sweet sticky rice and covered in sweet osmanthus flower sauce, what’s not to love?)

Bamboo shoot and chicken soup 竹笋炖鸡

Di Feisheng’s review: Even I am finding it hard to ignore the amount of salt that’s in this soup

Xiaobao: This is salvageable. I’m going to boil some water

(Author note: this is a new year staple in my household 😋)

Longjin Shrimp 龙井虾仁

Fang Duobing’s review: This is actually ok. But then again, it’s hard to really mess this dish up. But I don’t taste the tea. At all. It’s just stir-fried shrimp. Where is the Longjin?

Lianhua: Young Master Fang, do you know how much Longjin tea costs???

(Author note: I tried making this dish at home. It is stir-fried shrimp in a sauce that incorporates Longjin tea. It’s hard to get the tea flavor right without it either not coming through or becoming too bitter. The stir-fried shrimp part is pretty easy.)

After dinner, Xiaobao receives a very bulky red envelope from Lianhua and gets very excited. He opens it, revealing eight bank notes, each worth only one silver tael. His face drops and he begins to pout but Lianhua reminds him that he is a broke old man, while Xiaobao stands to inherit one of the largest fortunes in the country.

Di Feisheng reluctantly hands Xiaobao a very thin envelope. “My accountant prepared it for me. I don’t know anyone I’d consider my junior 晚辈, so you can have it.”

It’s one bank note worth 800 silver taels.

Both Xiaobao and Lianhua gasp in shock.

Lianhua: “Do I get one too? You’re a bit older than me, you know.”

Di Feisheng: “Have you got no pride?”

Lianhua: “Ah Fei gege” 🥺

(Note: gege means “older brother” in Chinese)

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Wash Away the Pain #3 - Tech

The fall of Kamino, and the brief reunion with Crosshair, brings up feelings that Tech doesn’t think he can logic away.

Pairing: Tech x gn!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: whump, guilt, hurt and comfort, discussion around choices and emotions, hopeful ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is part of a mini-series I’m writing, where each of our boys will get their angsty shower time.

Each can be read as a standalone or as a continuation. Check out the others in the series: Echo, Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

The soft sound of muffled crying made you pause, stopping before the fresher door.

Kamino had fallen. Crosshair had decided to stay behind. You’d all left, retreating before the Empire could come sniffing.

The atmosphere in Cid’s bar was solemn, the boys nursing drinks and talking quietly as Omega napped in the back. Tech had excused himself, citing some repairs he needed to continue. You’d sat with the boys for a while before checking on Omega. A quick tip of your head into one of the back rooms had reassured you she was still asleep, but as you’d been walking back to the bar, the sounds from the fresher had stopped you.

Lifting your hand, you rap against the door. “Tech?” You call out gently.

Startling at the noise, Tech swipes a hand over his face, brushing away the tears. “I will be out momentarily.” He calls out.

“It’s okay, take your time.” You’re quick to reassure him, not wanting him to believe that he needs to bottle whatever he’s feeling back up. He wasn’t one to burden others with his problems, preferring to quietly work through them while projecting an air of ease to anyone nearby. For years, you’d tended to the boy’s physical wounds as their nat-born medic, but more recently, you’d noticed an uptick of emotional wounds between them all that needed just as much care. “You…want company?” You offer, eyes darting down the corridor towards the bar, catching his brothers still conversing around a table.

Tech contemplates your offer. He knows you’re a good listener and frequently there for his siblings, but he doesn’t wish to bother you with this. He often found peace in his own company and thoughts, but with the guilt and sadness currently churning in his gut, he wonders if it’s healthy to keep this to himself.

Making his choice, he reaches a hand out of the spray of the shower, turning the lock on the door.

The click of the lock is all the permission you need, and you step into the room, closing and locking the door behind you. Tech’s back is to you, rivulets of water rolling down the expanse of tanned skin. One hand clutches at his goggles, the other hanging limply by his side.

Not caring about his nudity – too many years at their side for you to be bothered by it – you step into the shower with him. Smoothing a hand down his arm, you gently squeeze his wrist. Soft brown eyes turn towards you, clouded with sadness. “Talk to me.” You encourage.

Tech’s eyes flit from yours, landing on the wall over your shoulder. “I am struggling with guilt.” He states. Naming his feelings had never been the problem – handling them had been. He knew he processed things differently than his siblings, that they embraced how they were feeling. But Tech…he intellectualised them.

 “And why’s that?” You ask gently, hand dipping down to grasp his goggles, unfurling his fingers around them. You lean out, placing them on the nearby counter so they won’t get damaged.

“Our escape from the cruiser on Bracca was a success. However, I did not account for the falling cone to divert the force of the engine towards Crosshair and ultimately leave him disfigured.” Tech’s admission hangs heavy in the steam-filled air. Seeing his brother – his twin – on Kamino had been painful. Seeing what his decision had done to him, the scarring that now covered the side of Crosshair’s head.

Objectively, he knew it was ridiculous. They were soldiers; scars were inevitable, and they all had them. Some were more visible than others. It was just that they usually came from the enemy, not each other.

You watch him closely, sensing the weight of his words. The shower water cascades down, a rhythmic backdrop to his internal turmoil. Leaning against the cool tiles, you consider your response carefully. “What happened to Crosshair wasn’t your fault. We were in a tight spot – it was that or be incinerated. You made the best decision with the information you had.” You say, your voice steady and reassuring. “You can’t blame yourself for things beyond your control.”

Tech’s gaze remains fixed on the wall, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “I should have calculated the potential consequences more thoroughly. My oversight directly resulted in Crosshair’s injuries.”

You reach out to tilt his face so you can meet his gaze. “Tech, you’re brilliant, but you’re not infallible. None of us could have predicted every variable in that situation. Crosshair chose to have the engines turned on, and with limited time we chose to use the explosives.”

His eyes meet yours searchingly. “I understand the concept of choices, but it does not alleviate the guilt.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips, hand leaving his chin to brush across the near-permanent red marks around his eyes from his goggles. It had taken a while for Tech to accept your touch so freely, and you were still silently pleased every time he didn’t shy away from it. “That’s not the only thing upsetting you, is it?” You push a little. Years by their side meant they were like open books to you.

Tech’s jaw clenches before he sighs, gaze dropping to rest on the hollow of your throat. “The same logic applies. I understand Crosshair chose to remain on Kamino. I accept his choice, but that does not mean I agree.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s okay to disagree with his choice, Tech. You care about him, and it’s natural to feel conflicted when someone you love decides against what you believe is best.”

Tech’s shoulders sag slightly, the weight of his conflicting emotions evident in the slump of his posture. “I cannot help but think that if I had been more persuasive, had found the right words or presented a better argument, maybe he would have come with us.”

Gently, you cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze again. “You can’t shoulder the responsibility for someone else’s decisions, especially when they’re driven by personal convictions. Crosshair is his own person and chose based on his own beliefs. You did everything you could, and sometimes, people must find their own path, even if it means diverging from ours.”

Tech’s gaze finally shifts from your throat to your eyes, and you see rare vulnerability. “I do not want to lose him.” He confesses, the weight of his emotions palpable in the tiny shower space.

“You won’t lose him.” You assure him, your voice steady. “He’s tough, and he knows our comm channels when he's ready. Sometimes, people need time and space to figure things out. We can’t control everything, Tech. We can only control how we respond and support each other.” You tell him. “And thank you, for opening up and telling me how you're feeling.”

Tech nods, your words sinking in, and his stoic demeanour begins to crack as he allows himself to absorb your reassurance, letting a single tear escape.

“I...I appreciate your understanding.” He admits, his voice softer than usual. The vulnerability he’s displaying is a testament to the depth of his connection with Crosshair and the internal struggle he’s facing.

You offer a warm smile, your thumb gently wiping away the tear from his cheek. “We’re a team, Tech. We face challenges together, and we support each other. You’re not alone in this.”

As the water cascades around you both, you stay with him in that small, steam-filled space, providing the comfort and understanding he needs. The air becomes thick with emotion, but it’s a necessary release for Tech, who has spent so much time rationalising and compartmentalising his feelings.

“I do not want to burden the others,” Tech confesses, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“You’re not a burden.” You reassure him. “We all have our moments of struggle, and it’s okay to lean on each other. That’s what makes us strong.”

Tech nods, the weight on his shoulders visibly lightening as he allows himself to accept the support you’re offering. After a moment, Tech takes a deep breath, his resolve returning. “Thank you.” He says, his tone carrying genuine gratitude.

“Anytime.” You reply, giving his cheek a final reassuring stroke before reaching for his goggles. As you hand them back to him, a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

Exiting the shower, you leave Tech to finish cleaning up, knowing he’s not entirely rid of his inner turmoil but might be better equipped to face it.

You dip into the back rooms to change into some dry clothes before you step back into the bar, finding the others still engaged in conversation. Omega is now awake, perched in Hunter’s lap, and the atmosphere, while still sombre, carries a thread of hope. As a team, you’ll navigate the uncertainties ahead, supporting each other through the darkest moments and cherishing the victories, no matter how small.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

[leviathans-watching]

mfil - 12

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-` ♡ ´- a/n: thx for the patience through my 5k event!! much appreciated :)

*NOT CLICKBAIT!!!* when asmo learns that you, the newest exchange student has a youtube account and following somewhat comparable to his own, he decided right then and there not to like you. however, after an unfortunate (and misleading) exchange goes viral, he has no choice but to fake date you in order to save face. will asmo crush you and put you into place like you deserve? or are those funny feelings in his stomach not hate, like he had thought? like, subscribe, and maybe fall in love (with this smau) to find out!!

asmo opts out of a ride home, hoping his walk will be the thing that lets him blow off some steam. god, he is pissed!

out of all of the people in the class, he had to get paired with you! you, the stupid, irritating human!

i’m going to absolutely murder satan, he thinks. this is all his fault. if he hadn’t manifested it…

so he’d been pissed the whole rest of the day, making it that much harder for him to be ‘charming’ and ‘beautiful’ and everything that asmodeus, the avatar of lust(tm) was and that he, asmo-who-was-paired-with-mc, is not.

feeling, that is. of course he’s still beautiful and charming!

“hey, asmodeus,” someone calls, and he turns reluctantly, praying. praying it’s not who he thinks it is.

but god, that asshole, has deserted him. it’s probably michael’s fault this is happening to him.

“asmodeus,” you call again, breathless. what, had you chased him all of the way from school? you really were obsessed with him! you jog up to him and he wishes he had pretended to not hear you. “oh, good! i was going to talk to you earlier in class but you left really quick. i wanted to ask about when we should meet to discuss our project. you’re probably busier than i am, so i figured you could pick the date, time, and location. and also we should probably exchange numbers so we can discuss all of that without having to be in person.”

“oh,” asmo says. of course you want his number. “yeah, sorry, i had to get something from my brother and we only had a small window of time to do it.” in all actuality, he’d hurried out of there so you couldn’t talk to him, then had tracked satan down to yell at him. quietly. because asmodeus doesn’t get angry, at least not in public. but when he got him, satan has been absolutely in for it…

“so, your number?” you prompt, and he realizes it’s been a few moments.

and look, maybe he’s overreacting, or assuming some things, but he has had it with you. “did you ask the professor to be partners?” he asks, barely wrangling the anger in his tone.

“what?” you blink at him.

“don’t play dumb,” he continues, vitriolic. “i know you’re like, obsessed with me. honestly, you should try to hide it better.”

“obsessed? wha-”

“but get it through your head,” he continues, leaning in towards your face. “i don’t like you, and i never will. your youtube channel will never be as good as mine, and if i had it my way, you wouldn’t even be down in the devildom!”

hurt flashes across your face and something sours his satisfaction, just a little bit. he pushes the feeling aside.

“you’re insane,” you spit. “i am not “obsessed” with you. honestly, if anything, it seems like you’re obsessed with me! because newsflash, asmodeus, i couldn’t care less about my following, or yours! all i wanted to do down here was help diavolo and make few friends along the way, but it seems like you don’t want that.” you breathe out a ragged breath. “look, if you really hate working with me, just ask the professor to change. i don’t want to work with a partner as mean as you, anyway!”

with that, you turn on your heel and storm away, leaving asmo to stare after you.

mean? he is not mean!

“fine,” he mutters to himself. “maybe i will talk to the professor!”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[scotianostra]

William Playfair the Scottish engineer and political economist was born on September 22nd 1759.

I read one article about Playfair that describes him as "a kind of Forrest Gump of the Enlightenment" perhaps a bit harsh, I would say he was a bit of a polymath, another source in my opinion is more accurate, Playfair is without doubt to many of you out there "the most famous man you have never heard of" he rubbed shoulders with the era’s many giants, switching careers at the drop of a hat, and throwing himself headlong into history-changing events, from the storming of the Bastille to the settling of the American West.

William had a lot to live up to, his brothers were architect James Playfair and mathematician John Playfair, his father passed away when he was 13 and it was left to John to lead the family and his education.

After serving his apprenticeship with Andrew Meikle, the inventor of the threshing machine, William Playfair became draftsman and personal assistant to James Watt at the Boulton and Watt steam engine factory in Soho, Birmingham then seems to have just wander from one trade to another, the way Gump wandered through life, so you can see where the analogy comes from.

William, was, during his adult life, (takes a deep breath) a millwright, engineer, draftsman, accountant, inventor, silversmith, merchant, investment broker, economist, statistician, pamphleteer, translator, publicist, land speculator, convict, banker, ardent royalist, editor, blackmailer and journalist.

Okay they are not all jobs, but they do put you in the picture a wee bit on the character of the man I think.

Most interestingly in my opinion was his time as a spy in France during the Revolution and was on the scene during the storming of the Bastille. He even helps trigger the first major political scandal in the newly formed United States, a land speculation gone bad involving Washington, Hamilton, and Jefferson.

To go into all of this man's adventurers would take too long, instead I will just tell you that the one thing he did, that has been a part of all your lives, in one way or another, is he invented the graph. Before William invented the graph you had to read through pages of statistics to find things out, the graph, you "get it" in a glance.

In 1786, he published "The Commercial and Political Atlas" , a compendium of bar and line charts representing different European countries’ imports, exports, wages, and other trends for which he had the data handy. As the man himself explained, “Men of high rank, or active business, can only pay attention to outlines… It is hoped that, with the Assistance of these Charts, such information will be got without the fatigue and trouble of studying the particulars.” he went on “No study is less alluring or more dry and tedious than statistics, unless the mind and imagination are set to work,” in the book’s introduction.

His old boss Watt, was sent a copy of the Commercial Atlas for review, and wasn't impressed, called the book “mere plummery” and its author “a Rascal.”

To finish I must say that he was a rather humble man and actually gave credit for the invention to his brother writing, "John taught me to know that whatever can be expressed in numbers, may be represented by lines,” Playfair wrote much later, in the introduction to one of his books of diagrams. “To the best and most affectionate of brothers, I owe the invention of these Charts.”

He was never a success in his lifetime and was seen as a ditherer by Watt.

William Playfair died in 1823, in poverty and relative obscurity, banned from any good society. Slowly, over the next century or so, the supply of readily available data grew—as did the the public’s appetite for it. Bar, line and pie charts began trickling into newspapers and textbooks. Two hundred years later, as we barrel forward into the Information Age, you can’t click a link without stumbling upon some kind of data visualisation.

The next time you come across a graph, remember, like many other notable inventions in our history, take pride in that it was the work of a Scot that gave us these easy to read information "pictures".

You can find more on William Playfair here https://www.atlasobscura.com/.../the-scottish-scoundrel...

[ethernetmeep]

spirit that was once a veterinarian that is somehow able to interact with physical objects. first starts with the creak of a stall door, then writing on walls & papers & eventually text midair that when collided with another person hurts them albeit accidentally. items are also moved to spell things. (weirdly enough set in the house md universe)

another one: i am in a goodwill, similar to a goodwill. small. i am looking through bins of books. i find an annotated & written in copy of one, familiar. it is in red pen. name on first page. i am unsure if i take it, but i do skim through it. there is also something to do with steam accounts & specific wording, steam forums used. one is a pixelated military game, why is unknown. my account name is creamsicle and i believe i have a pokemon trainer as my profile picture, one of the two brothers? one wears black, other white. it was the one with the white attire. i have not played the older games. something about being reminded of a father through formula. 

[yeetus-feetus]

trying to get my previously very homophobic hardcore-christian baby brother to accept the lgbtqia+

Captains Log: First entry

So far he's become accumulated to the idea of two boys being able to have a healthy relationship through his obsession with one Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

Through giving him access to my Pinterest account for something I honestly can't remember- maybe a school thing, he discovered my DC pins and I introduced him to some really cute Damijon art. He was immediately consumed. I left him alone on my laptop and came back to more than three dozen new pins of purely Damijon fanarts.

Note: remind me to make him his own account Jfc!

From Damijon he then discovered Timkon and Superbat. It is an understatement to say he is a fan of bat×super pairings.

I exploited his new obsessions with these ships to make him angry because he's so terribly cute and hilarious when he's angry. How did I do this?

Well, I decided one day that I would break the unfortunate news to him that Jon Kent was in fact already in a relationship with one Jay Nakamura, and Tim as such with one Bernard Dowd. The following outburst from him was immeasurable!

You can imagine my surprise when he screamed at me, demanding I prove such a thing- then afterwards the amount of tears. He refused to speak to me for two while weeks, unless uping the anti on telling me how I was going to hell for being a fag. Hypocritical of him in all honesty considering he was saving pins of boys kissing quicker and more efficiently than I could complete my assignments.

Anywho, I took advantage of this. I like poking the bear, and he's a very cute bear, so I began mentioning Jay and Jon when I felt like seeing his little face get so red with anger it's possible steam might come from his ears. We quickly developed a loose script of back and forth; him getting angry and trying to explode me with his mind, me grinning at how wholeheartedly he defended his most favourite ship between two boys.

Until one day my little brother flipped that script and pulled the rug right out from underneath me and my little game. He proposed Polyamory. Of all thing, Polyamory. Not something you'd expect from the mouth of a Christian boy- especially about three boys.

How and where this primary school kid learnt about the idea of Polyamory escapes me. I have no idea, but the fact he was willing to accept it to disprove my point is almost even more hilarious than his face when he's angry.

I'm so glad, proud in honesty, that he has experienced this growth as a person, that he is accepting of Polyamory- even if it is because of something so silly. It's progress in getting him to stop condemning me and mine to hell. He is willing to accept such relationships now, and all because of my incessant teasing and taunting.

This acceptance extends to Timberkon especially, from what I can tell from the 12 pins he's added to his ever growing collection on my account. Which I am very pleased about, considering my own love for that particular ship. And also, he's realised he can ship Batman with more people than just Superman (though he still hates that I'm a Batlantern shipper).

His favourite Batman ship is now Batman, Superman and Lois Lane as a throuple. He is also open to the idea of Batman dating Talia Al Ghul and Cat Woman as well as Superman. (He is not letting go of the Superbat element, that's fine though).

And, surprisingly, it has also extended to a new show we've been watching together, with my second brother as well, called "Castlevania" on Netflix, in which he's now insisting the main three characters- Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades, and Adrian Teppesh aka Alucard- are polyamorus and all in love with each other.

Note: we are only in the second season as of now.

Which is all excellent growth in my books!

Now my lovely friend @froggyinfear has suggested I introduce him to lesbians next, to further his acceptance of queer relationships. I intend to update you all with the details of my progress in this endeavour with this new Captain's Log.