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zara-renata · 22 hours ago

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So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year.

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year.

Maybe.

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth.

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now.

They’re still kind.

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it.

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day.

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path.

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence.

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive.

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets.

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago?

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath.

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying.

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil.

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen.

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard.

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free.

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own.

Not a burden.

Never a fucking burden.

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it.

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it.

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose.

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has.

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him.

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing.

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter.

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you.

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?”

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say.

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky.

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter?

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you. “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge.

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree.

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows.

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time?

Just yourself.

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom.

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself.

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing.

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering.

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it.

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you.

You smile at him.

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him.

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do.

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again.

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead.

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree.

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly.

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck.

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #my fanfic

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moonberry69 · 2 days ago

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Some of the comments about Raf's spicy card make me kind of sad. Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinion so no hate to the people who share this opinion about his card.

I've seen quite a few people comment on how they thought Raf's new card was disappointing because the spice level wasn't the same as the other guys. Some have also commented on how most of Raf's cards are disappointing overall due to him "holding back" and that's why a lot of people prefer the other guys over him.

I think it all boils down to preference and the guys' individual personalities. Raf's cards, like all the guys, display his personality (one side of it anyway). He holds back because he's afraid due to past events. He isn't boring. He's hesitant, scared, and traumatized and all of that revolves around the woman he is bonded to, madly in love with, and desperately wants. Raf is also a deeply passionate, emotional lover. That isn't boring. It just isn't they type of love everyone wants. His card was emotionally charged, sensual, and romantic. It displayed Raf's spicy love language, which isn't as aggressive as the other guys. He's softer and gentler when showing how much he loves and cherishes her. Despite everything he's done or is involved with, he is a pretty gentle guy. His cold, aloof, and brutal attitude toward others is what he has to maintain if he wants to survive, protect, and accomplish his goals. He went feral in his hotel room once his restraint snapped. He was needy. The way he grabbed MC and carried her before throwing her on the bed. The intense make-out session and his annoyance at being interrupted by the phone call. The way he grabbed her and pushed her up against the window because he couldn't bare composing himself anymore and was desperate to have her. Raf exhibited the entire card how difficult it was for him to hold back how much he wanted MC. Raf is just a romantic and poetic man and he's softer than the other guys when it comes to love making.

That isn't for everyone and that's cool, but to call him boring shows a bit of a misunderstanding of him as a character, I think.

His card also focused on some easter eggs lore, Raf dealing with some heavy thoughts/ feelings about himself, MC, and their relationship, and he and MC deepening their relationship. It also showed MC being so tender, honest, and sincere with Raf and her feelings towards him and the way she kept reassuring him so openly made my heart melt. This card had it all, to me. I love that it wasn't all “smut” but a mix of everything.

I do wish his kindled scene would have been a bit longer and I really don't like how we are shown almost the entire scenes in previews (with any of the guys/banner cards). Overall, though, I thought Raf’s card was perfect.

Again, no hate to anyone that didn't like the card! Just thought I would share my thoughts/opinion.

#lads #love and deepspace #lnds #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel

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alwaysonthemend · 2 days ago

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A/N: Happy belated new years, everyone! I hope each of you had a wonderful holiday season. Apologies for this being a day later than intended – I hope you all enjoy it.

Thank you for sticking with me even though I've been MIA lately <3

(and if you saw me accidently post this last night... no you didn't)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / minors dni / typos, probably / cussing / unrequited love (but not really) / p in v sex / unprotected sex / fluffy smut / jake being amazing

Word Count: 7k

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There was really no one to blame but yourself.

No matter how many times you had tried to logic your way out of this being your fault… well. You always came back to the same conclusion. This was entirely, irrevocably, and utterly your own fault.

Holidays have never been the easiest for you – seasonal depression coupled with a healthy dose of loneliness has never been a mixture that makes the Christmas season particularly enjoyable for you. Not that you weren’t learning to be okay with being single; not at all. In fact, you would much rather be alone than settle for someone who doesn’t treat you right. But something about the holidays just seems to make all that hurt and loneliness more powerful than usual.

Christmas day had been alright – you had spent the day with a few loved ones and exchanged gifts and shared a meal. Looking forward to seeing the people closest to you had been what got you through the dreary, cold days leading up to Christmas. But now that the day has come and gone, now that you’re stuck in the weird in-between of Christmas and New Years, you find yourself particularly lonely.

So, when you had received an invite to a company New Years party, you had been less than thrilled at the thought of spending another New Year with nosy coworkers who cared more about getting to know someone for gossip than actual friendship. You were even less thrilled at the prospect of yet another New Year of being single. In fact, you’d been quite content with skipping the event entirely, but you’d made the mistake of mentioning the affair to your best friend Jake, who had been helping you with some home renovations the week before. He had promptly scolded you for being a spoilsport, insisting on an alternative way to spend your New Years Eve.

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“I don’t want to go alone.”

Jake grins and rolls his eyes playfully at you. “So dramatic. Just come with me to my family’s get together, then.”

“Oh Lord no.” You exclaim. “That’s even worse! I don’t know most of them, other than Josh. I can’t just invite myself to a family function.”

“You’re not.” Jake quips, plopping down beside you on your sofa. “I’m inviting you to my family function.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jake looks at you unimpressed, narrowing his eyes the way he does when he’s thinking. “There’s only one alternative, then.” Jake continues to stare, waiting for you to ask what he means. When you don��t give him the bait he’s looking for, he continues on anyway. “I come to your office party with you, then.”

“How is that the only alternative? I do my thing, you do your family thing. That’s the alternative.” You can feel yourself growing frustrated the longer this argument goes on – Jake may mean well, but he’s like a dog with a bone sometimes and just doesn’t seem to know when to quit… and right now seems to be one of those times. You don’t want to go to someone’s else’s family function; you don’t want to go to a stupid office party – let alone by yourself; you would much rather just be alone at home.

“I can’t let you spend New Year's Eve at a shitty office party or alone here. That would make me the worst best friend ever.” Jake leans backwards onto the sofa, dramatically tossing his head back to rest on the back of the couch. “Besides, it’s in the contract.”

“Jake, nothing is in that damn contract. You made it up.” The Best Friends Contract was something that he had announced was in existence a few years ago in order to explain away his reasoning for always paying for your food when the two of you hang out. “The Best Friend Contract states that a good best friend must never turn down being paid for when the other is more than happy to cover.” You’d called bullshit on the first utterance but it has unfortunately stuck as his go to excuse for anything he did that you tried to argue with him about.

“Don’t you disrespect the contract like that.” He reaches up and pinches a bit of your hair at the ends with his fingers and tugs a little. “It clearly states in the contract that a best friend never lets the other spend New Years Eve alone.” He tugs again just to be a little shit and then grins widely at you. “I don’t make the rules, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you literally do.” You swat his hand away from your hair, fighting back a smile of your own. “And besides, even if you did show up at my office party, it would end up being awkward.”

“Elaborate.” He demands, reaching up to mess with your hair again and then pouting when you smack his hand away for the second time.

“You know how nosy my coworkers are. They’ll all be asking all night if we’re dating and I’ll have to explain: no, he’s not my boyfriend; no, he’s just my best friend; and yes, he’s a guy and yes, he’s still my best friend.” You huff dramatically – you’ve dealt with it all before with him at parties or events where people can’t seem to understand that a man and a woman can be best friends without it meaning more. “It’ll be awkward and annoying for everyone involved, Jake.”

“So we pretend.” He replies simply, shrugging as if it’s an obvious conclusion. “Just say we’re together and no one will be the wiser.”

“Jake… how on Earth do you think that will be less awkward?”

He just shrugs in answer, still grinning like an idiot at you. “It’ll be fun. Like a game.” He leans in closer, his grin turning a little wicked. “Unless you're scared.”

“Of what?” You demand, trying to ignore the way your stomach feels like it’s doing back flips when he looks at you like that.

“Dunno.” He leans back, looking completely innocent again. “You tell me.”

You sigh, knowing that he’s already won. “Fine.”

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The thing is, you don’t know his siblings or the rest of his extended family very well, but you know how much Jake loves them. So why on Earth would he rather come with you as a fake boyfriend to a shitty office party instead of spending time with them? You’d asked him as much… demanded, even, why on Earth he wanted to skip spending the night with his family. He just smiled at you like he’d been doing for the entire stupid argument and said it was in the contract – a best friend never lets the other spend New Years Eve alone, even if it means pretending to be a significant other.

So here you are, waiting anxiously for him to come pick you up. You had chosen a long dress for the occasion – just a little too tight in certain areas that you normally don’t like to draw attention to, but it was a little too late now to find something else. You’d styled your hair the way you normally do, though you had added a little more makeup than usual and a glossy lip to top off the look. You’ve been ready for the better part of an hour now since you always tend to start getting ready early when you’re nervous.

I have no reason to be nervous, you keep telling yourself, it’s just Jake. But that last part is exactly why you’re nervous. You still have no idea why he’s so willing to do this for you – why he’s content with being a fake date at an office party where he doesn’t know anyone instead of spending a fun night partying with his family. Not to mention, the thought alone of Jake in a nice suit makes butterflies erupt in your tummy.

What if he’s only doing this out of pity? What if he’s miserable the whole time? What if it’s awkward pretending to be together and he regrets ever agreeing to this? What if-

The questions swirl through your mind at such a constant rate that you’re quite sure you may vomit from the nerves before he ever even arrives. You’re moments from texting him and calling off the whole thing but then comes the knock at the door – and you know that he’s the only person it could be.

Steeling yourself and resolving to act like a big girl, you rise up from your seat on the sofa and open the front door.

“Wow.” The word slips from your lips without your brain being able to fully process, yet you can’t think of anything else to say. Jake has always been attractive – going from being a cute young man when you first met to the handsome one standing before you right now. The all black outfit suits him; black always does. His hair is freshly washed, the ends delicately curling against his shoulders. His usual necklaces adorn his neck, with a few extra bracelets and rings added to the ones he usually wears.

Chocolate eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles, his head tilting just barely to the left as he regards you. “I hope that was a good “wow” and not a bad one.” He glances down, a tiny hint of shyness to the action.

“No. It-” you clear your throat, “it was a good “wow.” You look very handsome.” You’re quick to recover, mentally shaking yourself.

“And you look wonderful.” His eyes give you a once over, making you feel both emboldened by your choice of dress and slightly embarrassed. “I’m a very lucky man to have you as my fake girlfriend.”

The joke breaks the slight awkwardness of the moment and you laugh softly. He’s always been good at that.

“And I’m a lucky fake girlfriend.” You grab your bag from the hook on the wall and step out into the chilly night with him. He hovers beside you as you lock your door, and then the two of you walk side by side to the warmth of his waiting car.

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Your pulse is racing as you and Jake enter your office building. It only gets faster still as the two of you get onto the elevator.

“Nervous?” Jake asks as you press the button for the correct floor. The doors closing feels like a curtain call of doom.

“A little.” You shrug, but Jake’s concern for you is written all over his face. “Some of my coworkers can just be a lot.” You explain, hoping that will be enough explanation for him and he won’t go digging further into your other fears for tonight.

“I’ll just use my natural boyish charm.” Jake grins and loops his arm with yours as the elevator dings.

“Boyish? You’re almost 30.”

Jake gasps dramatically and then tugs you off the elevator and towards the party that’s already been started for a good 30 minutes. One of the TVs on the wall has been turned to a countdown for midnight. You recognize many of the guests, though there are several that you don’t – likely other people’s plus ones that you’re sure they’ve been dying to show off. Though there’s one woman that stands out… the one woman that you absolutely didn’t want to see tonight.

“Who are you death staring at?” Jake murmurs into your ear, startling you a little. When did he move that close?

“Her name’s Jess. And she’s a stuck up bitch.”

“Woah.” Jake's eyes widen at your harsh words and looks back towards her, his eyes giving her a once over. “She’s definitely, um..” Her dress is skin tight and short, barely covering anything. Big hair and high stilettos makes it so that she sticks out like a sore thumb. “She’s definitely got a style.”

You giggle a little at his attempt to be nice – in all the time you’ve known him, you can’t think of a single time when he’s ever insulted a woman’s appearance or choice of dress, even when it’s totally warranted.

“Aaand she’s walking over here.” Jake supplies, making you scowl at him.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed.” You say lowly, clenching your teeth in what you hope is a convincing smile. “Jess! Hey.”

She smiles widely at you, flashing her overly white teeth. “Y/n! I didn’t think you would show tonight.” Her perfume is so strong you’re pretty sure you’re already getting a headache by the time she makes it to you. You begin to explain that Jake wanted to come but she’s quick to interrupt you as soon as her eyes land on him.

“Well it’s certainly lovely to meet you.” She purrs, stepping closer to him and practically turning her back to you. “I’m Jess.” She extends her hand, which Jake shakes just barely before dropping it again.

“Jake. It’s nice to meet you as well.” His smile is tight, mostly forced, but she either doesn’t care or is too stupid to notice.

“Now tell me how you managed to snag this handsome young man, Y/n?”

Already your heart rate is starting to pick up, anger and hurt at her apparent disbelief that you’re dating him making you want to reach up and rip her obnoxious strip lashes off her eyes. Even though it’s the truth, your brain not-so-kindly reminds you.

“Well, I-”

“We’ve been friends for years.” Jake interrupts you, taking a side step closer to hook his arm with yours once again. “Naturally, I fell in love with her the very first time I met her.” Those chocolate eyes find yours, a comforting warmth in them that instantly makes you feel better. “But I only recently managed to work up the nerve to ask her out.”

His tone is sickeningly love-struck, so believable that you have to stop yourself from openly staring at him in shock as he speaks. You find yourself nodding along, more than happy to play along that you’re both in love with each other.

“Of course, I had feelings for him the whole time, too.” You squeeze his arm a little. “Just never thought he felt the same. Turns out we were both oblivious.”

“But here we are.” Jake turns to look at you again as he speaks, those warm eyes making you feel all melty and gooey inside.

“Here we are.”

Jess, for her part, manages to seem utterly crestfallen as the two of you speak, as if she had known Jake for years and been in love with him, too. Eventually, she turns her nose up in the way she does when she feels offended and plasters a saccharine smile onto her painted lips. “Well how sweet is that?” She asks, though gives no time for either of you to speak further. “Well, there’s still plenty of people for me to see tonight so you two enjoy yourselves.”

She’s gone before either of you can reply, disappearing and leaving nothing but the smell of her sweet perfume.

“See?” Jake asks, tugging you towards the refreshments. “Not so bad.”

“Sure.” You scowl but gratefully take the cup of punch that he offers you.

–

A few other coworkers come to say hello, with the two of you giving the same performance each time you get asked how the two of you met. It gets easier, and each time it happens you can almost picture the story that the two of you weave – Jake shyly admitting he’s been in love with you, you declaring you love him back, you kiss, happily ever after, blah blah blah. It’s too easy to imagine and you find yourself wishing that you were anywhere but here with anyone but him.

Jake glances towards you, probably noticing that you’re standing there as stiff as a board, trying to look romantic and in-love while sipping punch like it’s a secret weapon against the sheer discomfort you’re feeling.

“Hey,” he nudges your shoulder with his, “at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

You turn to look at him, rolling your eyes at the teasing grin that awaits you. “I don’t know how you’re doing this. This is a nightmare.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s funny watching people try to act like they’re nicer than they are.” Your heart warms a little – Jake very rarely ever complains, no matter how shitty a situation, so of course tonight is no different. His suit is a little wrinkled now from almost an hour of milling about and mingling, and his tie slightly askew in a way that’s almost charming, but also makes you want to reach up and fix it. You hate that you notice things like that about him. “Besides,” he continues, taking a sip of his own punch, “you have plenty of practice with being around these people. You should be used to it.”

You snort at him. “Yeah, well, there’s a difference between working with people and pretending that we’re, you know, in love around them.”

Jake laughs a little. “I think you were doing just fine. But our little charade has become a bit lackluster.” He grins a little, the mischievous one that he does when he’s up to nothing good. “Maybe we could work on a kiss or something. You know, really sell it.”

Your eyes widen as you choke on your punch. “I– what?”

“Okay, maybe not a kiss.” Jake adds on quickly after your reaction. “But we’re barely convincing anyone right now. You look like you’re getting ready to ask me about the office coffee order, not like you want to whisk me away for a midnight kiss.”

Okay, so maybe he’s a little right on that one. You glance around, trying to think of anything other than kissing Jake, when your eyes land on the makeshift dance floor.

“Come dance with me.”

“Um.” Jake answers eloquently, “I don’t dance. You know that.”

“Actually,” you begin, already tugging him forward by the arm, “I’m pretty sure that it’s in the contract that you have to dance with me.” Jake opens his mouth to say something but you speak before he can. “And don’t say it’s not. You make shit up about the contract all the time. It’s my turn.”

Jake groans. “Fine.” He mutters, scowling at you as you tug him through the people who are already dancing with their significant others. It’s only 11 minutes to midnight now according to the countdown so you figure everyone is gearing up for the big New Year’s kiss. “But only for you.”

Your stomach does stupid little somersaults when he says that but you ignore them. The room had been filled with the chatter of voices but as soon as you press closer to Jake they grow silent, as if the world beyond the two of you completely disappears. Jake stands awkwardly, his hands hovering just barely above your waist, unsure of where to land. His gaze maps out every inch of your face except your eyes and a tiny blush dusts his cheeks.

“Are you blushing?”

Jake scoffs, his palms finally settling fully onto your hips. “No, I’m not blushing.” He stage whispers at you, though you’re pretty sure no one is paying enough attention to have heard him. “I’m nervous. I don’t dance.”

Although you feel equally as flustered – probably more so than Jake, you feel oddly at ease this close to him. You choose not to examine that feeling too deeply at the moment. “I can tell…” you tease, taking one of his hands off your waist with your own. “We hold hands with this one.”

“Oh.” He mutters softly, his gaze flickering to your shoes. He offers his hand for you to take, looking as if he was offering a fragile gift.

Hyper-aware of every minute rise and fall of his chest with each breath and every flutter of your own heart, you take his hand. “Right.” You answer, smiling a little at him, noticing every single detail – of his warm fingers, of their roughness, of how perfect his hand feels in yours.

The music shifts to something a little more lively as the countdown hits 7 minutes now, though you and Jake have yet to actually start dancing.

“So, um…” You begin softly, trying to fill the silence that is quickly becoming awkward. “I guess we just… move around a little?”

Jake’s eyes find yours, comedically widened and you can’t help but laugh at the fact that this is what finally has broken his cool demeanor.

“Right. Moving. Moving is good.” Jake’s voice is a little higher than normal and it makes you feel better about your own nerves. “We can, uh, move.”

“You lead.” You remind him, starting to move slowly back and forth with him. “Right? You’re the guy.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” He answers dryly, making you giggle. 5 minutes to midnight. “I thought you were the one who knew how to do this…”

“I do!” You answer, a bit more enthusiastic than you’d meant. “I mean, I do know how to dance. But I’m not… you know, leading.”

He takes a breath, his hand sliding down a fraction to hover over your lower back. You stiffen for just a second before your body relaxes into the contact. “Okay. Leading. I got this,” Jake mutters, his voice carrying an unexpected determination.

Your movements start out a little awkward and timid, but soon the two of you find rhythm with each other, the nerves melting away bit by bit until it feels as if the rest of the world grows muffled – the two of you in your own little universe.

“Not so bad, right?” You ask him, glancing up into those chocolate eyes of his and trying not to get lost in them.

“Nah. Not bad.” He smiles at you, then glances at the countdown on the wall. “Three minutes.”

You nod, your mind suddenly filling with thoughts of what this would feel like if it was real… what it would feel like to kiss him to bring in the new year. It makes your chest squeeze to think about so you say instead, “Thanks again for coming with me to this. I don’t know why you did it… but thank you.”

“Told you… the contract.” He grins but it softens after a moment. “But really, I’d rather be with you, anyway.”

His answer gives you pause. He doesn’t mean… right? Surely he doesn’t mean anything other than that he just enjoys your company as friends. You want so desperately to believe that it could be more. “I feel the same.” You reply quietly. “I mean that- that I would much rather be with you, too. Even at a stupid New Year’s party.”

Jake smiles, a tiny huff of laughter escaping him. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your face, smell his cologne. His eyes lock with yours and you can’t do anything but stare back. “Speaking of New Years.” His eyes cut to the countdown and then back to you.

Everyone around you begins to count down from ten, their voices blending together – becoming muffled as you once again lose yourself in his gaze.

9….

He wouldn’t be here tonight unless he really wanted to be.

8…

He chose to be here.

7…

With you.

6…

His hand tightens its grip on yours.

5…

Your heart is pounding – so loud it’s like a drum pounding in your ears.

4…

The damn contract… years of wanting him.

3…

God damn it, you’re tired of being afraid and he doesn’t move at all when you lean in.

2…

His eyes flicker to your lips. Fuck it.

1..!

Your lips hit his cheek as he turns his head at the very last second. Stunned, you pull backwards, whipping your hand from his. He looks just as surprised as you do – perhaps even more so. For a moment, neither of you move. The people around you cheer, their excited movements blurring as everything around you moves in slow motion.

“Y/n, I-” Jake cuts himself off as you shake your head, taking a step back from him. Then another. The shame and embarrassment hits all at once, stealing your breath. “Y/n, wait-”

“No!” You shake your head again, walking backwards from him even further. “I- I can’t-” The words won’t come. Nothing you say could ever fix this. Letting instinct take over, you do the only thing you can think of – you turn and run.

People complain and shoot glares as you shove through them, though you pay no mind to anything except getting as far away as possible from him. Distantly, you can hear him call your name again but you don’t look back. The elevator doors open and you practically throw yourself into it, pressing the close button over and over again as you see Jake making his own way through the crowd. In what you can only imagine is an act of pity from the universe, the doors close before he makes it.

–

You manage to hold the tears in until you reach the dark street outside. Fireworks boom in the distance and you can still hear the excited chatter and whoops from inside. The hot tears burn as they run down your face, no doubt ruining your makeup. You must look a mess, but you don’t care. You glance around at the deserted street. He drove. You don’t have a car. But you can’t spend another second with him.

“Y/n!” The building doors slam open and out he comes, his eyes wild and frantically scanning around until he sees you. “Y/n, please!”

You take off running down the pavement. Well… you take off running the best you can in the heels that you had spent so much time picking out because you wanted to impress him. Like a fucking idiot, you think bitterly.

You barely make it 15 feet before his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you backwards and stopping you from going further. He looks so upset, so affected that you almost fall for it. Almost. “What?” You bite out, tugging uselessly at his grip.

“Y/n… please. Give me just one fucking minute to explain.” His voice sounds just as wrecked as he looks.

“There’s nothing to explain. It was a stupid mistake. I don’t- I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

“Just one minute.” He begs and you feel your resolve crumbling. Of course it does. It’s him.

You nod. “One minute.”

“I—” His voice breaks, cracking under the weight of his own panic. He runs a hand through his hair – the way he does when he’s stressed or upset. “I don’t know how to—god, I’m just—I don’t know how to say this.”

“I’m an idiot. And I—I’m in love with you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling out in a rush, like they’ve been stuck in his throat for years and now that they’re coming out too fast to control. “I know it—god, I don’t know why I never said it before. I don’t know how to… to keep pretending I’m just your friend when every time you laugh, or make a stupid joke, or chew on your lip when you’re thinking… it kills me because you’re my best friend and I’m not supposed to love you. But I can’t stop it. I can’t. I’m just—fuck, I’m in love with you.”

What feels like millions of emotions and thoughts hit you all at once, each one slipping away before you can pull a coherent thought together. “Then why… why did you do that?” Confusion, hurt, doubt – each one digging its fingers into the little tiny seed of hope in your chest and throttling it before it can form.

“Because I’m an idiot.” He stresses again, his fingers tightening on your wrist. Without even thinking, you step closer to him, as if your own body is betraying you. “Because I’m scared of fucking this up or of losing you and I can’t-” he rubs his palm over his face with his free hand, his expression scrunching up in frustration. “I didn’t know what it meant. I’d made that stupid joke about us kissing and… and when I realized what was happening I panicked.” The chocolate of his eyes is dimmed, glazed over now with unshed tears. “I was afraid that maybe it didn’t mean anything. And I couldn’t- I wouldn’t survive kissing you and it not meaning anything.”

“But it did!” You insist, finally breaking free from his grasp. “It meant everything.” You wrap your arms around yourself, the chilled breeze finally starting to get to you now that you’re standing still.

“I know. I knew it as soon as I saw your face after and I knew that I’d fucked it up. I knew I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life because it would have meant everything to me, too.” His hands drop defeatedly at his sides, shoulders hanging low – the perfect picture of a man heartbroken. “Let me make it right.” The words are more of a plea, his eyes so sad that you want to reach out and comfort him. “Tell me I can make it right.”

There’s a part of you that wants to keep hiding it forever, to keep burying it deep in your chest where it can’t hurt you. But the louder part of you is tired of waiting, tired of burying it, tired of being afraid.

“I forgive you,” you take a step towards him, closing the gap that had felt like it stretched out for miles, “and I understand why. And I- I love you, too.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his lips find yours at last, his hands finding your hips and guiding you closer to him. You can feel the heat of his skin, the heavy rise and fall of his chest. You can taste the fruity punch from earlier on his tongue, coupled with the taste of him. And you want more of it – more of everything. You want to touch every inch of his skin in the way you’ve always wanted but never been allowed.

He pulls away after what could have been minutes, hours… you can’t tell. All you can focus on is the feeling of him. “I will spend a lifetime making up for what I did to you tonight.” He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “I will spend a lifetime making sure that I never see that look on your face ever again – by my own actions or someone else’s.”

“A lifetime?” You ask, loving the feeling of the word on your tongue. A lifetime. A lifetime of him, said so simply – as if he cannot fathom any other ending after this.

“Two lifetimes,” he continues, “three, even. As many as it takes.” His grin turns a little wicked. “Starting with tonight?”

The sudden wave of desire that hits you almost makes you dizzy – you feel yourself nodding, you feel the heat rising from between your thighs and spreading throughout your body like a wildfire. Years of waiting, of wanting. And now you have him. “Take me home, Jake.”

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉

Your heart is pounding as the two of you tumble through the front door of Jake’s home, both sets of hands exploring each other as his tongue explores your mouth. The ride here is hazy, nothing but a blur as Jake kicks the front door shut behind you. You’ve been to his house plenty of times before so you pay it no mind as Jake starts leading you further into the house and towards the stairs, knowing that his bedroom lies waiting for the two of you upstairs.

You both stumble at the top of the landing, nearly falling over and making you giggle. Jake grins, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards his room. He kicks that door shut, too – and then he’s on you once more, gently pushing you back to the wall. His body cages you in, the feel him pressed so closely making you feel weak in the knees.

“Is this okay?” He asks lowly, his fingers delicately tracing your skin at the tops of your thighs, just barely dipping underneath your dress. Compared to the kiss the two of you just shared, it’s an innocent action, but it feels even more overwhelming because it’s him doing it. At your nod, Jake’s hands continue to explore, his rough fingertips moving higher up and hooking in the elastic band of your panties. “And this?” You nod again and he tugs them down your legs and you step out of them. “Tell me what you want.” Chocolate eyes, almost black, lock onto yours.

“I want you.” You answer him, finding yourself just as breathless as a teenager during her first time.

“As much as I’ve dreamt of hearing that,” he murmurs, “more specific.”

You feel your cheeks grow hot, the words that want to spill out seeming crude in such a delicate moment. But the unbridled want in his eyes makes you say them anyway. “I want you to fuck me.”

He growls a little, a deep rumble in his chest, at that. His hands find your waist and he guides you away from the wall, gently pushing you to the bed. The edge of the mattress presses into the backs of your knees and he guides you to sit.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” He answers, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. Deft fingers wrap around your ankle as he lifts your foot slightly and begins to undo the straps of your heels. “But I won’t be doing that tonight.” He lifts your other foot and you glance down at him in confusion. “There’s a million things I want to do to you,” he continues, both shoes now off and placed neatly by the nightstand. “Kiss you, taste you,” he rises, stepping between your parted thighs, “but I won’t be fucking you. I don’t want to do that to you tonight. Ask me what I want to do to you.” He demands softly.

“What,” you can’t help but stare at him, your heart beating so fast you fear it may burst from your chest, “do you want to do to me?”

He grins like a kid in a candy store. “I want to make love to you.” He slips his fingers beneath the straps of your dress and slides them down off your shoulders. “Is that okay?”

Lifting your hips as he helps you out of the dress, you nod. “More than okay.” Summoning every ounce of bravery you have, you reach out and slide his jacket off his shoulders. It falls to the ground alongside your dress. You grab his tie and haul him closer, crashing your lips to his. Frantically, you help him undo the buttons of his shirt, then his slacks, leaving both of you in nothing but his boxers.

“Let me look at you a minute.” He breaks the kiss and pushes you backwards onto the bed. You do your best attempt at scooching backwards in what you hope is a graceful, sexy way, but he pays it no mind. His eyes roam your skin, lingering on your bare breasts, then down to your exposed pussy. You want to cover yourself, to hide yourself away from his piercing gaze but he stops you from moving away with his palms settling on your knees. “Don’t do that,” he whispers, spreading your thighs further, “don’t hide from me. You’re perfect. Stunning.”

Jake lowers himself between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs and pulling you closer to him. His eyes lift to yours. “Let me taste you? Please?” He begs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

It’s the “please” that gets you, slick dripping out of you even more. You nod your head. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then the other side. Then a little higher. Hips squirming, you mutter his name. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing.” Another kiss, this one closer to where you want him, but still too far. “I’m taking my time. I want to remember every second.”

Finally, his tongue laps against your aching clit and you cry out, one hand fisting in the sheets and the other reaching down to tangle in his hair. Jake moans against you, his eyes closing in concentration as he circles your clit, toying with you, seeing what movements make you squirm the most. His brows furrow as he dips lower, his tongue pressing just barely into your entrance before swiping back upwards to your clit. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever done before – he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever had before. He’s paying attention, finding what makes you tick and using it to coax the warmth in your lower belly to spread.

You feel yourself arching upwards, grinding your soaked pussy against his mouth. He groans into your heat, two fingers now prodding at your entrance as his tongue never lets up. His fingers press in deeper, stretching you out as you climb higher and higher to a peak that you know you won’t return from. Cracking your eyes open, you peak down at him again, and you can barely stand the sight that awaits there. His eyes are still closed, his brows drawn together with determination. His mouth attached to your clit and his fingers hidden inside you, curling so deliciously. But what really gets you – the final nail in the coffin that sends you so deep into pleasure you fear you’ll never return, is the way his hips grind desperately into the mattress, as if the very act of bringing you pleasure has rendered him unable to wait for his own.

“Jake, I’m gonna come.” You warn him, and he only nods his head in answer, his tongue working harder and his fingers faster at your broken warning. Your orgasm is a steady build, starting deep in your belly and working its way outwards, engulfing every nerve-ending with white hot pleasure. Distantly, you hear him moan as your thighs tighten around his face, as your walls clench around his fingers.

Your body is trembling when he finally pulls away, his fingers then instantly being brought to his mouth. He sits up, his eyes closing again as he licks your release from them before they open again and find your dark gaze. He gives you a lazy grin, his chest and face flushed. “I knew you’d taste sweet.” He tells you, climbing his way upwards towards you to kiss you. You can taste yourself on him and you already want more of him.

“I need you inside me.” You demand, your hands mapping out every inch of his skin that you can reach before hooking in the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down.

Every inch of him is just as perfect as you’d imagined it to be. A perfect length and mouth-wateringly thick. His swollen head is flushed and glistening with precum. Slightly bashful, he leans down and kisses you again.

You reach between your bodies and wrap your fingers around him. He draws back and whines, his body going tense as you work him a little, smearing his precum over his throbbing length. “Fuck, Y/n.” He mutters, placing his forearms on either side of you. After a few pumps, you guide him between your legs, lining him up with your entrance. He starts to press in slowly, his lips wrapping around your left nipple and sucking softly as he sheaths himself inside of you. Both of you cry out softly, your quiet, panting breaths mingling with the other’s. He fills you perfectly, the stretch so delicious you never want to be without him inside you again. “You feel…” He never finishes, instead moving over to suckle at your other breast.

“Move, baby.” You beg and he instantly obeys you, drawing out from you and then pushing back in, his pace slow but pointed and powerful. Your hands grip his shoulders, sliding down to hold tightly at his biceps as he rocks into you.

He pulls away from your tit to look down at you, his pupils so wide his eyes look black. The bed frame creaks with each powerful thrust of his hips. “I won’t last with you looking at me like that,” he murmurs, seizing his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” You fight to keep your eyes from fluttering shut – you want to see his face, to see the way it contorts and twists in pleasure.

“You feel even better.” He brings his thumb up to your lips, dragging it across your bottom lip before pressing into your mouth. You suckle at it, moaning around it. He moans too, then pulls the digit from between your lips and drops his hand to rub your swollen clit in time with his thrusts. “Need you to come first, angel. Wanna feel you squeeze around my cock.”

You can feel your second orgasm building, your body starting to tremble as he starts to move faster, his cock twitching inside of you as you both near the edge. His lips part, desperate little groans filling the air between you as he fights back his own release. “Please, baby.” He urges, and that’s all it takes. The band inside your belly finally snaps, your vision going white around the edges as your orgasm rocks through you. He thrusts into you frantically, working you through your release before pulling out of you, ropes of hot cum painting your lower belly as he finishes.

Both of you are left panting, the meaning of what just happened and the weight of what’s been confessed tonight settling over the two of you like a weighted blanket.

“I love you,” Jake offers, pressing his lips to yours for another kiss, “and I’ll keep kissing you as many times a day as you’ll let me to make up for the one I didn’t give you at midnight.”

You can’t help but grin up at him, already knowing that no one could ever hold a candle to the man who’s gazing down at you with nothing but reverence in his eyes. “I love you, too.”

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉

Fin

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synergysilhouette · 2 days ago

Text

12 nitpicks with "Baldur's Gate 3"

This is a game I hadn't expected to love as much as I do--I think it's one of the best I've ever played--but just to play DA for a second, I thought I'd be nit-picky with some things about it (not that I'm ungrateful, Larian!)

Halsin's romance is rushed and lackluster--Halsin can only be recruited if you join the druids and tieflings against the goblins, and his storyline is only covered in Act II of the game with the Shadow Curse. Afterwards, he's just along for the ride, and if he becomes a love interest, you only get one romance scene followed by flowery words from him when addressing Tav, and the nature of your relationship is confusing, since Halsin finds the word foreign, emphasizes (optional) polyamory, and the implication from other love interests is that you're just sleeping with him. Seeing how the game was eventually patched so you could recruit both Halsin and Minthara, I do wish that it was made that way to begin with, with both of them having more pronounced arcs throughout the story. I have heard that they had cut content, so it'd be nice if it was reinstated someday.

2. The female companions are racially more diverse than the male companions--This isn't really an issue for me, but an observation; for female companions, we have a Githyanki, a drow, two half-elfs, and a tiefling, while for male companions we have two elves and three humans. I suppose they didn't wanna experiment too much for male companions, but I could've seen Halsin as a half-orc like Jord, and Wyll a dragonborn--not that I'd trade out their designs as-is; that's just an observation.

3. We get Yenna in our camp, and she adds nothing--After having the spirit of nature AND a tiefling with newly discovered magic powers in our camp in Act II, getting an average human kid in Act III just because felt dissatisfying. Yenna will come up to you, regardless of whether you're invisible or not, when she will tell you that she can't find her mom. After talking with her, she'll appear in camp a few days later and ask to stay. You can say "no," but it's a weird option anyway. Plus if you do as I did and just misty step off the cliff into town to avoid talking to her, she will still be Orin's victim if the others are not available, even if you never meet her (note: I do not know how this works if the other options aren't available and Yenna is dead). And even when you rescue her, there's the guilt because her mom and her cat are dead, so you kinda feel like you have to let her join. I'd much rather keep Arabella, or find a way for Thaniel and Oliver to bond and then separate, with one of them joining us on the journey if Halsin is recruited. Or another option...

4. Lae'zel and Shadowheart have similar storylines--While the details are different, the overall plot is the same; both women find out that they've been lied to by the culture they've grown up in, and have to decide how they feel about it. The difference is that Lae'zel can choose between helping Vlakith, Orpheus, or stay out of the Githyanki conflict, while Shadowheart just gets to choose between following Shar or turning her back on her. That said, Shadowheart's storyline is much more satisfying and emotional since the goddess erased her memory and now she has to decide how to take that. With Lae'zel, she never really evaluates what it means to be independent like Shadowheart does, first swearing loyalty to Vlakith, then joining Voss when she seems to be lying, and becoming intent on freeing Orpheus when she finds out he's been kept away. Only at the end can you tell her to find her own path. Because her culture highlights strength and a warrior lifestyle, the similar arc she has to Shadowheart can't be executed as well. In fact, one unique thing about Lae'zel's storyline never comes into play during the main story: the githyanki egg. She'll mention feeling bonded to it, and will say it hatched during the epilogue, and that she named him and wants him to choose his own path in life (which doesn't really fit if she chose to stay with Vlakith or Orpheus, imo). It would've been nice if Xan was hatched and kept in our camp, or if the egg is taken from us immediately after leaving the creche, and we have the option to rescue Xan from the SoB and let him join us.

5. Astarion's viewpoint/approval doesn't change--I'm in the minority here I'm sure, but given the sympathy people give Astarion due to his past as an abuse victim and Astarion learning to love himself, I do wish the change was a bit more impactful, with Astarion showing more compassion for others and certain altruistic or optimistic choices earning his approval. Even in Act III, there are a couple of times you get to say you can't believe he's letting his family be led to the slaughter or think of harming them. He'll respond that they're screwed anyway or that no one else looked out for him except you. It doesn't feel like as much progress has been made, and even after Cazador's mission, he's still himself, just with less burdens and more closure. His epilogue epiphany of people not minding you committing murder if it's bad people feels like something he should've learned along the way.

6. Romance initiation is based on the afterparty, for the most part--People will say that initiating a romance isn't dependent on the goblin/tiefling party, but I've only had ONE time where I had the chance to begin a romance began afterwards--or at least, one time where it was someone I was interested in (there were a couple times Lae'zel flirted with me). In my experience, it's very difficult to start a romance after the party, despite having a lot of approval. I'd rather there be a perpetual romance option to pick when talking to a companion, and them accepting once you have enough approval, rather than them coming to you.

7. Karlach's only ending is the "bad/sad" ending--As many will tell you, there was a planned Upper City portion of Act III that included furthering Karlach's quest, with the ending we got in the final version being the bad ending if we neglected her quest. I understand cutting content, but since literally EVERYONE ELSE'S fate is dependent on your decisions (Shadowheart and Lae'zel's loyalties, Wyll being a devil or not, Astarion completing the ritual and killing the spawn, killing Minsc and Jaheira leaving, saving Minthara, Halsin's resolving the Shadow Curse or not, Gale giving into his ambition), Karlach should've gotten the same treatment. If a section had to be removed, they could've moved her quests to the sections of the game that we did get.

8. Getting Minsc when we could've gotten Rolan--While Minsc is a neat companion to have, his lack of a storyline (outside of his recruitment) and being a non-romanceable companion makes him feel almost like a wasted slot to me. If we wanted to add another male companion, I definitely feel like Rolan would've been a better companion, coming across as a cross between Astarion and Gale due to his cockiness and ambitious nature. It'd be fun if he was recruited in Act II after rescuing his siblings; honestly, he wouldn't be on any worse footing than Minthara and Halsin for having limited content, but Rolan has the added benefit of having family that we can interact with, joining Wyll and Shadowheart as the few companions who do. In fact...

9. Only plot-relevant backstories--Okay, this is a real nit-pick, but that's the title of the post! For the most part, characters only mention their past in relation to their quests, though there are brief exceptions: Wyll, Minthara, and Karlach mentioning their mothers, and Tara mentioning Gale's mom. Maybe I just didn't get the dialogue, but I do wish we got more about each character's childhood/backgrounds--and not just in a one-convo-type thing like the aforementioned individuals. I guess I have to give Astarion a pass since he says that after being a vampire for centuries, he can't even remember his eye color, let alone his life before, aside from being a magistrate (which I find SUPER interesting). Plus it'd be interesting to hear more about old flames like Gale and Halsin mentioned, and the conquests Astarion reunited with as spawn.

10. Act II slimming down the number of tieflings--If you do nothing to help the tieflings or side with the goblins during the raid, all of the tieflings die. However, even if you side with the tieflings and defeat the goblins' leaders, several tieflings will die anyway. When cultists corner them in the shadowcursed lands, Zevlor is distracted by the Absolute while the other tieflings are kidnapped and brought to Moonrise Towers, find their way to the Last Light Inn, or are killed on the spot--or in the case of Arabella's parents, killed after escaping the cultists and trying to hide. While these things happen in war (or cultist territory), it felt disheartening to see that the people you went through all the trouble of saving died anyway. It's almost a waste.

11. To be young--This is really scrapping the bottom of the barrel, but I do wish we could make Tav look a bit younger (I think you can look younger than this picture, but this is just a visual aid). I also have this nit-pick for some of the companions, but I'm sure a mod for that will eventually be approved.

12. Getting companions to romance each other--This isn't something I need as much as the other things, but it's still something I thought about when watching origin playthroughs. To my understanding, they're all pansexual (personally I imagine Karlach, Astarion, Lae'zel, Jaheira, and Minthara as male-leaning pansexuals and Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart, Minsc, and Shadowheart as female-leaning pansexuals while Halsin is middle of the road; no idea why, just the vibes), and it'd be fun to pair them up together. Not saying there are endless combinations; I can imagine Gale/Astarion wouldn't be something that exists in the Tav route (especially after Astarion straight-up told me he doesn't want an open relationship/polycule with Gale), but Karlach/Wyll, Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Jaheira/Minsc, Karlach/Gale, Gale/Wyll, and Astarion/Halsin are ships I think of being possible.

Don't kill me! I already love the game as-is, but I did want to point these things out. I was also gonna include a other nitpicks such as the option to have kids/discussing it and Aylin/Isobel being active companions and not just space fillers at camp, but maybe I'll save that for another nitpick post.

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likeabxrdinflight · 3 days ago

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I think it's possible that this reading of Elphaba's green skin could get lost in the many possible metaphors that could be applied to it, so I want to talk about the very first way I interpreted her skin when I was just a kid.

I had a horrendous eczema as a child. I was born with it. and I'm talking like, scaly red patches, scabs everywhere, flakes of dead skin that looked like dandruff in my hair, constantly scratching myself and bleeding all over my clothes. It was on my legs, my arms, my skull, even my face. It was especially bad around my eyelids. And nothing treated it. I took pills, I slathered myself in creams and moisturizers, my mom used every hypoallergenic detergent and soap she could find. We had dust mite covers on everything, hard wood floors in my room, I was never allowed to have curtains or too many pillows- didn't matter. The eczema persisted.

Thankfully I've (mostly) grown out of it. But you can imagine school wasn't the most fun place for me as a kid. I heard every possible insult in the book- I've been called every version of reptile you can think of, scabby, scaly, gross, ugly, asked if I had chicken pox or measles, told to "put on some lotion" or "take a shower," stared at, laughed at. Because I went to Catholic school I also heard more than one joke about leprosy. On and on it went. Before I was ever called "queer," I was called "lizard skin."

So I probably don't need to elaborate much more on why I related to this line: "Shouldn't a girl who's so good inside have a matching exterior? And since folks here to an absurd degree seem fixated on your verdigris, would it be all right by you if I de-greenify you? And though of course that's not important to me, 'all right why not,' I'll reply!"

I don't want to take away from the racial reading of Elphaba's skin color. Especially now with her being portrayed by a Black woman in the movie. That reading was always there anyways, but Cynthia certainly brings it more to the forefront. She's obviously pulling from her own lived experiences as a Black woman and being marginalized for the color of her skin and the cultural origins of her family and putting all of those emotions into her portrayal of Elphaba, and it's a beautiful thing. It really, really is, and I felt such empathy for that. It shines through so much in Cynthia's performance, especially in "the wizard and I." But I also don't want to lose this reading of it- the disability or skin disorder or disfigurement lens through which you can interpret her green skin. Because that was how I first related to Elphaba, before even the queer reading- I saw a nerdy girl with glasses being mocked by her classmates for the condition of her skin, and I thought, "she gets it. Someone gets it."

#wicked

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aringofsalt · 1 day ago

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roomie's been watching below deck so.... au time?

the 118 as a yacht crew. bobby is the captain obviously. hen's the first mate (google tells me this is called officer of the watch? first officer? idk she's second in command) with eddie and ravi as deckhands. chim is usually chief steward, maddie is usually the stewardess. buck just took over as chef.

but chim and maddie just got married and are taking off for their honeymoon, so bobby's called in a favour and brought in tommy and lucy to fill in as stewards (maybe he and lucy run a plane tour thing but this is the off season so they were happy to fill in for the extra cash)

bobby, hen, and chim have all worked with tommy before he moved on to whatever it is he and lucy do. the way they talk about him they obviously like and respect him, but they make him sound like a total hardass, super dedicated. so buck is expecting a dude like, older than bobby, maybe, some grizzled no-nonsense old man who takes no shit and runs a tight ship.

and then the person who shows up is, well, tommy. of course he's amazing at his job and a stickler for the rules (when he wants to be, anyway...) but he's also far younger than buck was expecting and really funny and sarcastic in a way he can appreciate.

they have a charter and it goes pretty smoothly, they get along alright for the most part but tommy seems to be focusing on buck, actively looking for things he's doing wrong. in his mind he's trying to help, he knows bobby loves this kid and it's his first time running the kitchen on his own so if he can point out things to fix, why shouldn't he help the kid improve? but he never actually says that that's why he's doing it, so on buck's end he just kinda feels picked on and it stings a little. tommy gets on super well with hen and bobby, he even bonded pretty quickly with eddie, and obviously he and lucy are a tight little team, so buck feels like the odd one out, and of course he's not going to examine why he wants tommy's attention on him, right?

but all in all the first charter goes smoothly. the second is where things get dicey. it's a bunch of older women who basically just want to drink and dance for four days without their husbands and kids and they are all obsessed with the men on board. they love bobby, but he of course spends most of his time captain-ing, so eddie and tommy get the brunt of it just because they are the most available. they make requests like wanting them to serve dinner shirtless and stuff which bobby draws a hard line on.

but there's one woman in particular who really takes a shine to buck. any time she can corner him, she does, asking him questions and making special requests and just generally being a nuisance. he's not a fan of the attention especially since he's feeling under a microscope with tommy but she's a guest so he's as polite as he can be while focusing on his job.

maybe she corners him one night, super drunk from dinner, trying to kiss him. buck got in shit for having a little fling with a passenger once before, so when tommy comes in and sees what's going on, he's sure he's getting fired, even though he's trying his hardest to get her off of him without hurting her. but tommy surprises him: instead of buck getting in trouble, he's telling her to get away from him and get out, and that he's going to tell bobby she's harassing the crew, and she better go sleep it off because she'll be off the ship in the morning.

to buck's surprise, she listens, and then tommy's checking on him, making sure he's okay, and buck is like what the fuck? i thought you didn't like me? and tommy's just blinking at him like of course i like you?? i've been trying to bond with you and give you advice???

they talk more over the next couple days—the woman does indeed get kicked off, and the other guests tip them very well because they feel guilty—and when the guests leave and they're let loose on shore for a night, they basically ignore the rest of the crew and flirt outrageously. lucy, eddie, and hen have a little betting pool going on over who's going to break first but they disappear in the blink of an eye so nobody sees who makes the first move.

the next morning they proudly stumble out of tommy's room together and they're pretty much inseparable for the rest of tommy's time on board.

#all my knowledge of yachts is from this stupid show SORRY #i just think this would be so good #it's in my potential wip pile but i wanted to share #911 #bucktommy

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growthhyp · 4 hours ago

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The Garage Sale IV

"Fuck, where is that little shit?" Abe muttered under his breath, his ginger hair glinting in the fading sunlight as he stomped outside the college campus. His beefy arms flexed with each step, the veins in his neck bulging with frustration. He'd been looking for Aiden all day, his usual smug smile nowhere to be seen.

Aiden, the nerdy black college student, had somehow managed to outwit Abe, the burly jock, and it was driving him insane. His eyes scanned the crowded area, looking for the skinny kid who always seemed to be lost in his own world of books and tech. Aiden had always been an easy target for Abe's cruel pranks and homophobic slurs, but today, he had evaded the jock's grasp.

But as Abe was about to give up and admit defeat, his eyes caught a glimpse of a garage sale, set up in the driveway of a quaint suburban home. The sight was peculiar, a stark contrast to the modern college buildings surrounding them. Amongst the clutter, a hulking man stood, his muscles bulging beneath a tight bright blue tank top that was doing its best to contain them.

Curiosity piqued, Abe approached the garage sale, his eyes scanning the assortment of items laid out on tables. "Hey," Abe called out to the muscular man, his deep voice echoing in the quiet space, "you haven't seen a nerdy guy come through here, have you? Skin and bones, probably tripping over his own feet."

Jack looked up from the chair he was sitting and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Abe with a quizzical expression. "Nah, man, no one like that's been here. But I did have a customer come by earlier, though." He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand, his biceps flexing as he spoke. "Dude was built like a brick shithouse, like me. You might've missed him if you weren't looking for someone… well, smaller."

Abe's eyes narrowed at the description, his mind racing with thoughts of Aiden teaming up with someone like Jack to outsmart him. "What'd he look like?" he asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Jack looked up from his task, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, you know the type. Big, brawny, probably benches more than you weigh." He chuckled, his deep laugh reverberating through the garage. "I don't think he was your typical bookworm, if that's what you're worried about."

Abe felt a flicker of annoyance at Jack's teasing, but he couldn't help but be a little intrigued. He stepped closer, his eyes lingering over the muscular man's form. "What was he here for?"

Jack shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the movement. "Just picked up some old gym gear, said he was looking to bulk up."

Abe nodded, his eyes still scanning the garage. The absence of other customers was odd, but he shrugged it off. Maybe everyone was just avoiding the scene of the jock's frustration. "Thanks anyway, man," he said, turning to leave.

But as he took a step away, Jack called out, "Hey, what's your name?"

Abe spun around, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "Abe. And before you ask, yeah, I'm a college student."

Jack's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, so you're one of those jocks, huh? Play football, get all the girls?" He winked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Abe nodded proudly. "Yeah, exactly. I'm on the college varsity team, and I've got more notches on my bedpost than I can count." He flexed his bicep, the muscles rippling like waves of power beneath his skin. "So, what's your deal?"

Jack's smirk grew wider. "Well, Abe," he said, leaning on the weight bench, "I'm an alumni of this very college. But let's just say, I didn't spend much time playing football." His gaze drifted off for a moment before he snapped back to the present. "But enough about me. What's got you so riled up about the nerdy guy?"

Abe felt his cheeks redden slightly at the question. He'd never admitted to anyone that he had a grudge against Aiden. "It's nothing," he mumbled, looking away. "Just a little… rivalry."

Jack raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing through Abe's facade. "Rivalry, huh?" He stepped closer, the scent of sweat and metal wafting from his body. "Look, Abe, I know your type. You're the kind of guy who thinks the world owes you something just because you can bench press more than anyone else. But let me tell you a little secret." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Being a jock doesn't make you untouchable. And sometimes, the quiet ones have more bite than you think."

Abe's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He'd never been talked to like this before, not by someone who wasn't trembling in fear. But Jack's confidence was oddly compelling, and he found himself listening intently. "What's your point?" Abe spat out, trying to sound tough.

Jack's smile didn't waver. "My point is, maybe you should cut the guy some slack. Everyone's got their own battles to fight." He straightened up, his towering frame seemingly growing larger in the confined space of the garage.

But before Abe could respond, Jack's eyes fell on a dusty old jockstrap hanging from a makeshift clothesline strung across the garage. "Speaking of which," Jack said, plucking it down and holding it out to Abe with a flourish, "you might like this."

Abe stared at the piece of clothing in confusion, his brain struggling to piece together why Jack would be offering him underwear. "What the hell is this?" he snarled, his voice laced with skepticism.

Jack's grin grew even wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "It's a jockstrap, buddy. Perfect for guys like you." He stepped closer, invading Abe's personal space. "It'll give you the support you need, keep everything in check while you're out there playing your games." His voice was smooth, like honey, and Abe couldn't help but feel a strange pull towards the garment.

"But I already have one," Abe protested weakly, his eyes flicking between the jockstrap and Jack's intense gaze.

"Ah, but this one's special," Jack said, his tone like a siren's song. "It's not just any old jockstrap. This one's been worn by champions, men who've pushed their bodies to the limit. It's like having a piece of history, a symbol of strength and endurance." He held it out closer, and Abe could almost feel the power it contained.

Abe stared at the jockstrap, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Why was he even considering this? But Jack's words were like a drug, and he found himself reaching out to take it. "What makes it so special?" he asked, his voice gruff.

Jack leaned in closer, his breath hot against Abe's ear. "Let me show you," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. Before Abe could protest, Jack had turned him around and guided him to a makeshift changing room in the corner of the garage. "Just slip into it, feel the difference," he encouraged.

As Abe reached for the curtain, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake. But Jack's confidence was infectious, and he found himself drawn to the mysterious allure of the jockstrap. He pulled the curtain aside, expecting an empty space, but what he saw made his jaw drop to the floor.

There, sprawled out on a bench, was a hulking black bodybuilder, his muscles rippling even in his state of unconsciousness. The man's dark skin was like midnight velvet, stretched tight over muscles that looked like they'd been chiseled from marble. His eyes snapped open, and for a split second, Abe thought he saw a flicker of recognition in them. But then the man's gaze went vacant again, and Abe realized it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

He quickly pulled the curtain shut, his heart hammering in his chest. "Jack, what the fuck?" he hissed, spinning around to face the grinning man.

Jack chuckled, a knowing look in his eye. "Oh, I'm sorry about that, Abe. Didn't mean to startle you." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "That's just my buddy. He passed out after a heavy workout. You know, sometimes these things happen when you push too hard."

Abe's heart was racing, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "It's… it's fine," he stuttered, his cheeks still flushed. "I just didn't expect to see… that."

Jack nodded, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Understood. But let me make it up to you. Why don't you come over to my place, and we'll get you into that jockstrap properly?" He winked, and Abe felt a strange mix of excitement and unease. The muscular man led him out of the garage and into the house, the door creaking open to reveal a small but well-kept living room. The scent of musk and sweat filled the air, a clear sign of a man's domain.

The bathroom was dimly lit, with a single bulb swinging gently overhead. The tiles on the floor were a bit sticky under Abe's sneakers, and he couldn't help but wonder how much sweat had been spilled here in the pursuit of Jack's Herculean physique.

Aiden had always been the object of his derision, but now, faced with this stark reminder of his own physical inferiority, Abe felt a peculiar mix of envy and admiration. He'd never seen anyone so… massive. And there was something about the quiet confidence Jack exuded that was undeniably appealing.

Shaking off the lingering image of the unconscious bodybuilder, Abe stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him with a click. The room was smaller than he had anticipated, with barely enough space for the toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that looked like it had seen better days.

The jockstrap still in his hand, Abe couldn't help but feel a strange thrill at the idea of wearing something so intimately connected to the kind of strength and power that he had always craved. He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes tracing the lines of his own muscular frame, the reflection of his chiseled abs and bulging biceps staring back at him. But it wasn't enough. Not compared to what he'd just seen.

With trembling hands, he peeled off his own underwear and stepped into the dusty jockstrap. It was snug, but as he pulled it up, it felt like it was molding to his body, fitting him like a glove. He could feel the fabric hugging his crotch and the waistband digging into his skin, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it was… empowering.

As Abe tightened the straps and adjusted the pouch, a sudden warmth began to spread from his groin up to his chest. It was like a hot liquid was being pumped through his veins, filling him with energy and a strange, newfound strength. His muscles began to tense and expand before his very eyes, his reflection in the mirror becoming more and more like the men he had seen in Jack's garage.

His white tank top, once snug across his broad chest, started to strain and stretch, the fabric groaning under the pressure of his swelling physique. The seams grew tight against his skin as his pectorals bulged outward, his biceps and triceps ballooning with power. He flexed his arms, watching in amazement as the veins grew more pronounced, his muscles swelling with every beat of his heart.

Aiden stumbled back in shock as his legs grew longer and thicker before his eyes. His calves, once slender and barely noticeable, exploded in size, each muscle fiber becoming more and more defined until they looked like they could crush a walnut with ease. His feet felt heavy, the bones in his toes cracking and shifting as they morphed into a shape that could support his newfound bulk. He looked down at them, his eyes wide with terror and awe, his sneakers now seeming like children's toys around his monstrous feet. The mirror in the cramped bathroom was now almost eye level for Abe, his reflection towering above him.

He reached down, his hand shaking with anticipation, and touched the thick, engorged member that jutted out from the jockstrap. It was hot and pulsing, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. His fingers wrapped around the base, and a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through him, making his knees buckle. He hadn't felt anything like this before, not even when he'd scored the winning touchdown in the last game of the season. It was a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, and he couldn't help but let out a low moan that echoed off the tiles.

As Abe's hand moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thoughts grew hazier. The faces of the cheerleaders who had once thrown themselves at him grew distant, replaced by images of muscular men, their powerful bodies entwined in passion. He felt his cock thicken and lengthen in his grasp, the sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It was as if the jockstrap was feeding his desires, transforming him into someone new.

The once cocky jock felt his swagger dissipate as a strange sense of vulnerability washed over him. His thoughts were no longer filled with conquests and one-night stands, but with the tender touch of a strong, protective man. The idea of being dominated, of being filled, sent shivers down his spine. He didn't know why, but he craved it with an intensity that scared him.

As Abe's hand continued to work on his newfound monster, his ass began to swell and round out before his eyes. He felt it expand. It was as if the jockstrap had unlocked a hidden chamber of desires within him, sculpting him into the receptive partner he never knew he wanted to be.

With a final, guttural groan, Abe came harder than he ever had before. The force of his orgasm sent ropes of cum shooting into the air, painting the tiles with his essence. His legs gave out from under him, and he crumpled to the floor, his back thumping against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. He remained there, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as the last drops of cum dribbled from his cock, mixing with the sweat that now coated his body.

As the aftershocks of pleasure faded, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Abe like a tidal wave. His eyes grew heavy, and without realizing it, he leaned back, his head lolling against the coolness of the bowl's edge. He didn't fight it; instead, he allowed his eyes to drift shut, the sounds of his own heavy breathing filling the small bathroom. His muscles, which had been so taut with arousal, began to relax, his body going limp.

Before he knew it, Abe was asleep, sitting awkwardly in the toilet bowl. It was a position that would've been uncomfortable for anyone else, but in his exhausted state, it was almost like a cradle. His legs sprawled out before him, his two hands are resting on the floor to keeping from toppling over. His face was a picture of serenity, the kind of peace that comes from the most intense of releases.

===

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garage in an orange glow, Aiden's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, the sleep still clinging to his eyelids like cobwebs. His body felt… different. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand in a way they never had before, and as he sat up, his newfound muscles rippled and flexed beneath his skin. He looked down at his body, his eyes widening in shock.

He was no longer the skinny, unassuming college kid he'd been just a few hours ago. Aiden had been transformed into a creature of power and beauty, a colossus that could make any man's jaw drop. His chest was now a wall of muscle, the definition sharp enough to cut glass. His abs looked like they'd been sculpted by a master artist, each ridge and valley a testament to his newfound strength.

As he took in his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He felt different, as if he'd been born anew. The shy, nerdy exterior was gone, replaced by a cocky, arrogant swagger that seemed to ooze from his very pores. He liked the feeling of power that surged through him, the way his body had changed so dramatically.

The light outside was dimming as he stepped out of the bathroom, the setting sun casting long shadows across the garage. He walked to the door that led to the house, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty space. He didn't bother knocking, instead throwing it open with the newfound confidence of a man who had nothing to fear.

In the living room, Jack looked up from his workout magazine, his eyes widening at the sight of Aiden's new form. The smirk on his face grew into a full-blown grin as he took in the young man's towering presence.

"Jack," Aiden slurred, his brain still foggy with the aftermath of his transformation. "Where am I?"

Jack chuckled, his eyes raking over Aiden's new form with unabashed admiration. "You're at my place, man. You had quite the experience in the changing room, huh?"

Aiden nodded, still trying to piece together what had happened. "Yeah," he said slowly, his voice deeper and more gravelly than he'd ever heard it. "I remember buying some clothes from you. But I can't seem to find them."

Jack's eyes lingered on the bulge in Aiden's black briefs, which was now tenting obscenely with each step the young man took. He could see the outline of Aiden's cock, thick and long, straining against the fabric. It was clear that the transformation had not only altered Aiden's physique but also his libido.

"Don't worry about it," Jack said casually, his voice a smooth purr. "You bought that black hoodie and those jogger pants, but I think they're a bit too big for you now." He winked, enjoying the confusion and arousal that played across Aiden's features. "I left them in the guest room for you. Why don't you go check them out?"

Aiden nodded, his gaze lingering on Jack's bulging biceps before he turned to leave. His hips rolled with each step, the fabric of his briefs stretching taut against his engorged cock. The musky scent of male arousal filled the air, thick and potent.

Jack's offer to spend the night was like a siren's call to Aiden's newfound desires. He stumbled down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of his transformation and the insatiable hunger that now consumed him. When he reached the guest room, he pushed the door open with a low groan, the wood creaking in protest. The room was sparse, with a single bed in the center and a small dresser in the corner.

He didn't bother looking for the clothes Jack had mentioned; instead, his hand found its way to his throbbing cock, still trapped within the confines of the black brief. The fabric was sticky with his cum, but the feeling of his swollen length in his hand was too much to resist. He began to stroke himself, his eyes glazed over with lust as he took in the new landscape of his body.

Each pump of his hand sent a new wave of pleasure through him, and he couldn't help but moan softly, his body now a playground of unexplored sensations. He'd never felt so alive, so… hungry. The thought of going back to his old life, his old body, was like a distant memory, a faded photograph that no longer held any appeal.

===

Abe's eyes snapped open as he sat in the toilet bowl, his mind racing to piece together the events that had led him to this moment.

He glanced down at his transformed body, the muscles rippling and bulging in a way they never had before. His hands moved to feel his chest, his fingers tracing the deep valleys and rock-solid peaks of his pecs, his thumbs grazing his erect nipples. His cock, now a thick, pulsing beast, strained against the fabric of the jockstrap, begging for attention. He felt his cheeks redden at the realization that he was sitting in the toilet, his massive legs taking up most of the space in the cramped bathroom.

But it was when his hand moved to his face that he felt the most shocking change. Abe's fingers brushed against a coarse, unfamiliar texture. A beard had grown, thick and dark, framing his chiseled jawline and giving him the look of a Viking warrior. The feel of it was strange, but also surprisingly comforting.

With a shaky breath, Abe stood up, the jockstrap feeling like a second skin around his waist. His body felt heavy, but in a good way, as if he'd been filled with something primal and powerful. He took a step forward, his legs moving almost of their own accord, and stumbled out into the hallway.

"Jack," he called out, his voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "Can… can I talk to you?"

Jack looked up from his magazine, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "What's up, Abe?"

Abe took a tentative step into the room, his newfound bulk making him feel vulnerable. "Sir, I… I just wanted to talk to you about something." He couldn't quite find the words to express his confusion and fear.

Jack barely glanced up from his magazine, his eyes dancing with amusement. "What's on your mind, Abe?" he drawled, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Abe took a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort of holding in his emotions. "Jack… Sir," he began, the word slipping out despite his best efforts to sound assertive. "What… what happened to me?"

Jack's smirk grew, his eyes dark with an emotion that was both thrilling and terrifying to Abe. "You don't remember?" He teased, his voice thick with something that sent shivers down Abe's spine.

Abe's heart hammered in his chest, his mouth dry. "No, Sir," he murmured, the word slipping out again. He felt his knees want to buckle but he held his ground, his new muscles straining under the weight of his own body.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his muscular arms folded over his broad chest. "It's okay, Abe. You're just a little overwhelmed by your new… attributes." The smirk on his face grew wider, his eyes glinting with something that made Abe's stomach flutter.

Abe felt his cheeks burn, his heart racing. "But… I don't understand," he said meekly, his voice cracking. "What happened in there?"

Jack looked up from his magazine, his eyes piercing through Abe's soul. "You don't need to know, Abe," he said, his voice firm yet soothing. "All that matters is that you've been given a gift." He took a sip of his water, his biceps flexing with the movement. "Why don't you just accept it?"

Abe swallowed hard, his knees feeling weak. He wanted to demand answers, to shout and rage against the unfairness of it all, but something in Jack's tone kept him in check. He nodded, his head bobbing slightly, his eyes downcast. "Yes, Sir," he murmured, the word slipping out again like a reflex.

Jack's smile grew even wider, his eyes gleaming with dominance. He pointed a finger towards the guest room. "Why don't you go on in, Abe," he said, his voice low and authoritative. "You're more than welcome to spend the night. It's late, and I'm sure you've got a lot to… process."

Abe nodded, his heart racing. He didn't know why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement at the idea of being so close to the muscular men he'd just seen. He padded down the hallway on silent, bare feet, his cock still straining against the jockstrap. When he reached the guest room, the sound of heavy breathing and the slick, wet sounds of flesh against flesh filled the air.

He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. On the bed lay the form of the hulking muscular man, his hand moving rhythmically up and down his monstrous shaft. The man's muscles rippled with each stroke, the moonlight streaming through the window casting shadows across his gleaming skin.

"Sir," Abe whispered, his voice hoarse with a mix of awe and arousal. "What's your name?"

The man on the bed looked up, his eyes hooded with lust. For a moment, there was something eerily familiar about those eyes, something that sent a shiver down Abe's spine, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I'm Aiden," the man on the bed rumbled, his voice deeper and more confident than Abe had ever heard. "And as for you," he said, his eyes raking over Abe's transformed body, "you're just a pitiful excuse for a man, aren't you?"

Abe felt his jaw drop, he'd never heard anyone speak to him like that, especially not someone who had been so weak before. But as he took in Aiden's powerful frame, his own muscles flexing and bulging, he knew that the tables had turned.

The anger he'd felt earlier was replaced with a deep sense of fear. The person he'd bullied for years was now his equal, maybe even his superior. Aiden's hand was still wrapped around his own cock, stroking it with a confidence that was unmistakable. Aiden looked up at Abe, his eyes gleaming with something that could only be described as hunger.

Abe felt his breath catch in his throat. He should've been furious, but instead, all he could manage was a stuttered apology. "I'm… I'm sorry, Aiden," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to… to treat you like that."

Aiden's eyes narrowed, his hand never stopping its relentless pumping. "Sorry isn't enough, Abe," he said, his tone dripping with authority. "If you want forgiveness, you'll have to earn it."

The room was thick with tension, the scent of male lust hanging heavily in the air. Abe felt his body respond, his cock swelling even further in the jockstrap. He licked his lips, his mind racing with confusion and arousal.

"You want me to… to do what?" he stuttered, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

Aiden's eyes never left Abe's as he spoke, his voice firm and commanding. "You heard me, jock. If you want my forgiveness, you're going to let me claim your ass."

Abe's breath hitched, his cock pulsing in response to the raw dominance in Aiden's voice. He couldn't believe the words he was hearing, but his body was responding in a way that was undeniable. He felt his cheeks burn with a mix of shame and arousal as the reality of the situation sunk in.

With a tremble in his voice, Abe whispered, "Yes, Sir." He took a step closer to the bed, his knees wobbling with anticipation. Aiden's hand never stopped moving on his thick cock, the sound of his palm slapping against his abs echoing in the stillness of the room.

Aiden patted the bed beside him, his eyes still locked on Abe's. "Come here, boy," he said, his voice a seductive purr that made Abe's knees buckle even more.

With a whimper, Abe took the final steps to the bed, his body feeling like it was on autopilot. The jockstrap was soaking wet from his own precum, and his cock was painfully hard, begging for release. He'd never felt so powerless, so… submissive before, but something about it was intoxicating.

Aiden leaned back, his abs flexing as he positioned himself in the center of the bed. With a smirk, he wrapped his hand around the base of his massive cock, which was now pointing straight at Abe's trembling hole. "Ready to be my bitch?" he taunted, his voice a gruff growl that sent shockwaves through Abe's core.

When Aiden's cock finally made contact with his hole, Abe couldn't help the loud gasp that escaped his lips. It was hot, like molten lava, and it sent a bolt of pleasure shooting through his body that made his toes curl. He felt his knees buckle slightly, but Aiden was there, his strong hands on Abe's shoulders, holding him in place as he pushed the tip inside.

Aiden's eyes never left Abe's, the hunger in them growing more intense as he felt the tightness of Abe's body give way to his massive girth. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, watching as the jock's face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. Aiden's own moan mingled with Abe's as he sank deeper, the feeling of being sheathed in tight warmth unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Aiden's hand gripped the base of his cock, his thumb brushing against Abe's prostate with every thrust. The jock's moans grew louder, filling the room with a symphony of need and want. Aiden's hips began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping skin growing more intense with every movement. Aiden felt a sense of power wash over him, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Abe's eyes rolled back in his head as he took in the sensation, his body arching off the bed to meet Aiden's thrusts. He'd never felt so… full before, so completely consumed by another man's desire. His own hand had stilled on his cock, his focus solely on the feeling of Aiden's massive length claiming him, stretching him wider with every push.

Jack sat in his living room, the sound of the TV playing in the background as he heard the muffled moans coming from the guest room. He couldn't help but smile to himself, knowing that Aiden was giving Abe the ride of his life. He'd seen the transformation before; it was always a thrill to watch a new customer discover the power of the clothes he sold. And Aiden had proven to be a natural at it, wielding his newfound dominance with a finesse that Jack hadn't seen in a while.

The noises grew louder, more urgent, as Aiden felt his orgasm approaching. His muscles tensed, and he began to hammer into Abe's willing body with increased ferocity. Aiden's hips were a blur as he chased his release, his teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Aiden's massive cock was a piston, driving into Abe's tight hole with the power of a freight train.

Abe's moans grew more desperate, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to accommodate Aiden's relentless pace. His own cock was a leaking faucet of precum, painting his abs with a sticky sheen. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he bit his lower lip to stifle his screams. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, but Abe didn't want it to stop. He craved the feeling of Aiden's dominance, the way he filled him up and made him feel alive in ways he never had before.

Suddenly, Aiden stiffened, his eyes snapping open to stare into Abe's. "Take it," he growled, his voice deep and primal. "Take it all, you worthless jock." Aiden's cock swelled even more, and with a roar, he came deep inside Abe, his hot cum flooding the jock's insides.

Abe felt the warmth spread through him, filling him up until he could take no more. His own orgasm ripped through him like lightning, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum that shot across his abs, painting them in sticky white streaks. The force of it was so intense that he saw stars, his body trembling uncontrollably as he climaxed harder than he ever had before.

When the tremors subsided, Aiden pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening in the moonlight. He looked down at Abe, his expression unreadable. "You're forgiven," he said, his voice still thick with lust. "But there's one condition."

Abe's eyes widened, his chest heaving with each breath. "What is it, Sir?"

Aiden leaned back on the bed, his newfound confidence oozing from every pore. "If you want to stay forgiven," he began, his voice still deep and authoritative, "you'll be my boyfriend. And since we're already roommates," he smirked, "we can enjoy each other's company… whenever we like."

Abe looked up at him, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and desire. The thought of being with Aiden, of being owned by him in every way, was something he'd never considered before. But the way his body responded, the way his cock was already starting to swell again at the mere mention of it, told him that he wanted it more than he could ever admit.

"Y…yes, Sir," he murmured, his voice still hoarse from the screams that had torn from his throat moments before. "I'll be your boyfriend. Anything you want."

Aiden leaned over Abe's trembling form, his own chest heaving with the exertion of their encounter. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of the jock's cum-covered abs, his newfound power still resonating through every nerve in his body. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a towel, and tossed it to Abe. "Clean up," he said, his voice still laced with dominance.

Abe took the towel, his eyes never leaving Aiden's as he wiped himself down. The reality of what had just transpired was setting in, and he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. He knew he'd never be able to look at Aiden the same way again, but he also knew that he didn't want to. He liked this new dynamic, the way Aiden made him feel… alive.

"Thank you, Sir," Abe murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Aiden smirked, his hand resting casually on Abe's thigh. "I think it's time we expand our little circle," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "We'll go back to Jack's garage doon, and you can help me pick out some clothes for my nerdy friends. I think they'd look good with a little… boost, don't you?"

Abe nodded dumbly, his mind still reeling from the events of the night. "Of course, Sir," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with surprising ease.

The room was silent for a moment, the only sounds the rustling of the sheets as they both adjusted their positions. Then, Aiden spoke again, his voice filled with excitement. "I've always wanted to play football," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But I never had the body for it. Now, I think I might just be able to make the team."

Abe's eyes widened at the suggestion. "The football team?" he echoed, still trying to wrap his head around the new world he found himself in.

Aiden nodded, a smug look on his face. "Why not?" he challenged. "I've got the body for it now." His hand absently caressed his new abs, the muscles rippling under his touch.

Abe stared at Aiden, his mind racing. The thought of his former tormentor joining the football team, let alone playing alongside him, was surreal. But he had no power to refuse. "Y…yes, Sir," he murmured, his voice still thick with submission. "I'll talk to the coach tomorrow."

The two muscular men lay there for a while, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. The tension in the room had shifted from anger to something else entirely. It was a bond, a connection forged in the heat of passion and power. They were equals now, but with a dynamic that was unmistakably skewed in Aiden's favor.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #nerd to jock #jock tf #personality change #male transformation #straight to gay

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benjiclarington · 2 days ago

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'Done nothing wrong' and 'for no reason' are not mutually exclusive. The reason was the enforcement of a clause that even you have seemed to had a change of heart about... Yes, it's harsh, but we would have had to do something had this not resolved itself, Baxter. Because 'this clause is in effect except for this couple' wouldn't work. Not legally and, arguably more importantly, not socially. Especially in an environment like ours where the hostility between the Queens is already so constant, keeping it to three incident reports a month is considered a win...

Would I have felt bad? On a personal level, of course. And on a business level, I would have extended him a hearty but reasonable severance package. I also would've immediately spoken to Enrique over at The Peacock, Róisín at Irish Gold, Jerome at the Beast Chamber, and Augustine at The Gallery to put in a good word and hopefully negotiate a reasonably similar rate for him at one of their establishments, [he pointed out lightly.] We were never going to just... throw him to the wolves, Baxter. But we were going to work within the confines given to us, [he pointed out lightly.] Because that's what works long term.

I have never once called you stupid or purposely tried to talk down to you, Baxter. What I've been trying to do--perhaps not well--was appeal to your logical side at times where it's obvious your emotional side is taking the lead.

You own a business. Many of the employees are your family and friends. And that's fine in theory. But you cannot allow that to cloud your judgement when push comes to shove. We still have to be evenhanded with our policies. We still need forms. We still need contracts. We still need incident reports. Really, we need all those things more because of the extra element of so many close ties on the payroll...

None of that should be seen as an insult or as some indication that trust isn't enough. It should just be... procedure. A must that doesn't necessitate much additional thought until something flags otherwise. It should be like... renewing your renter's insurance. Does having renter's insurance inherently mean you don't trust the people that live in your building? Of course not. But you still have it just in case.

You hired me to worry about the long term. And the long term means remembering that I'm not the only person who's going to be looking at our documentation, or our hiring choices, or what policies we do or don't choose to enforce and why. Tax auditors... liquor licensers... government agencies... they'll be checking in periodically even if there's never a single complaint filed about this club--partially because the previous owners ran this club so poorly and partially because that's what they're supposed to do occasionally anyway. ...And I won't even list all the others that get involved if something does get filed as I'm sure I've labored that point more than enough by now...

My overall point, Baxter, is that just because I've spent 30+ years learning how to keep emotions out of it, doesn't mean I don't have them. Or that I derive some kind of... pleasure from doing the logical, business choice--especially when someone's livelihood is on the line. But that's the field I've chosen. And whether you realized it or not at the time, it's the field you've chosen, too--or at least you have if you actually want this club to continuing running when you're no longer in the state.

If this is just a short term endeavor for you, that's fine. Let me know. But if we want this business to survive long term, one of us will have to make those hard decisions. And that's what I'm here for--not because I want to, but because I recognize it's necessary.

...Baxter. ...Why do you have it in your mind that all I want to do is fire the people close to you for no reason? [Atlas asked quitely. Was that... hurt in his voice?]

[Atlas turned his chair to make sure Iris and Marv were still preoccupied in the kitchen before continuing.] Listen... I know we haven't been in lockstep lately, but... I always thought we agreed on at least the broad strokes for what you wanted for The Flame's future and the expectation of you wanting me to do what's necessary to keep it growing and managed in a better way than the previous owners...

...I... If it isn't working out... you can just tell me.

#baxter #atlas

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additiva · 17 hours ago

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There's some really lovely asks in my inbox which I've been holding onto because life has been hard recently. But thank you thank you thank you I love you, and here's a little snip from the a/b/o fic for your patience and love.

Below the cut ->

Someone on the internet has to know more than him about this whole.. thing.

-----

On Thursday afternoon, Max stashes himself away in a corner of the hospitality, demolishing a sandwich with one hand and clicking on his laptop with the other.

Sexuality.

Max is an expert on his own sexuality. He’d figured it out the usual way. The way everyone did, he’d thought.

With Charles, it doesn’t seem so simple.

Then, with Charles, nothing has ever been simple.

He navigates to Google, and taps out his query.

Is my--.

His what? There's no way to describe their relationship at the moment. He clicks his nails on the mouse pad, thinking. Best to keep it simple probably.. even if it's not really accurate.

Is my boyfriend gay?

A thousand results pop up, unhelpfully summarised by Google’s shitty AI as: probably.

Max clicks his tongue, irritated, and scrolls through the available results.

I caught my boyfriend with another—nope.

Why does my (24O) boyfriend (25A) keep watching alpha-alpha por—nope.

My boyfriend has started borrowing my clothes. Is he—nope.

Max clicks his tongue with dissatisfaction; okay, he needs to be more specific.

He contemplates, then tries again.

How to know sexuality

That proves more fruitful.

Specifically, it brings up a quiz. Max clicks into it, setting down his sandwich to slide his laptop to the close edge of the table.

Max scrolls through the questions. He can answer these for Charles, he’s pretty sure.

For the next few minutes, he reads intently, thinking hard, trying to put himself in Charles’ mindset.

He picks up his sandwich again, and takes another big bite.

Too big.

A chunk of lettuce topples to the floor.

No. Max complains unintelligibly around his mouthful of bread and chicken.

Fuck.

He pushes the laptop back to stand, and slouches over to an adjacent table to steal the napkin someone’s left unattended there.

The movement inconveniently draws Christian’s attention, and he catches Max to discuss the afternoon’s PR engagements.

Max nods along, fairly disinterestedly, and having secured the napkin, makes a beeline back to the mess he’s left on the floor. The lettuce has some sort of dressing on it, and it’ll be disgusting if it starts soaking into the carpet. He waves Christian along with him, giving only the barest of responses as he bends down to collect the lettuce and scrub haphazardly at the floor.

Reasonably pleased with his efforts, he stands, and doesn’t notice that Christian’s gone quiet.

When Max turns back to him, his eyes are wide, and locked on the still-bright laptop screen.

Have you been confused about your sexuality for a long time? The question prompts.

Yes. Max has very clearly selected.

He lurches forward to snap the lid shut.

There was nothing on the screen to expose Charles, but it still feels sort of.. private.

“Uh, sorry about that.” He offers mildly, passing Christian to drop the dirty napkin into a bin.

That done, he comes to stand by the table again, fishing in his brain for some recollection of what Christian was trying to tell him.

“So anyway, interview later? At two?”

Christian seems to thaw a little, shaking himself out of some brain fog.

“Three, actually. In the garage. But Max--.”

“Okay, three.” Max parrots, taking out his phone to make a note. “In the garage. I will be there. Thanks. Anything else?” He sort of wants to finish his sandwich. He needs to meet GP soon.

Christian watches him carefully.

“No, that’s all.” He turns to walk away, then hesitates. “Max, I—is everything okay?”

Max has just taken another bite, and slows his chewing, tilting his head in confusion.

“Yes? With me? I am fine, why?”

Christian gestures minimally to the laptop.

They both look toward its closed lid, then back at one another.

Oh.

“Oh!” Max hurries to explain, tripping over his words. “No, this was not for me. This was for.. someone else. I, of course, am straight.” Mostly. Mostly straight.

Christian nods slowly, frowning.

“Well, Max, you know it would be fine, if—if you were. I know it can be difficult, with the media…”

Max appreciates the sentiment. But it’s unnecessary, and he’s actually sort of running late.

“Okay, thanks. I’m not, though. I’m just—I’m fine. I’m normal. Also, I have to go, sorry.”

Normal, he berates himself immediately. Why did he say that? Stupid.

He grabs the laptop off the table, tucking it under his arm, the sandwich secure in his other hand. He needs to meet GP in a few minutes, and he’ll get pissy if Max is late.

As he turns to say goodbye, Christian catches him again, with a clap on the shoulder, voice very gentle.

“It’s also okay if you’re not ready to talk about it. But if you ever need to, I hope you know you can talk to me.”

Max stares, alarmed and trying to figure out how to detangle himself.

“Thank you, but there is nothing to talk about, actually.” Christian nods, looking vaguely concerned, but finally lets him go.

Max goes, and puts the whole thing out of his head, satisfied that Charles’ secret is safe.

-----

Ok that's it. Just a silly bit. Come whisper in my asks or my dms 🤍

#sexually agnostic omega charles #fic snippet

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drag0nagedatingsim · 1 day ago

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I also want to talk about this game's black and white ruthless approach to morality that illicits a kind of injustice in me that I haven't felt since I was a young teen being forced to read Christian books and the "morally gray" character dies after realizing they're wrong or is murdered by the "good guys" because they're "bad" because the ultimate redemption is death and/or throwing your whole life away and/or eternal suffering (hell).

1. Aelia. Worst villain of the game. "I am Gotham's Minrathous's dark truth." BWAHAHA insert venatori dog jpeg. You could replace her with a regular model Venatori. Neve deserved a villain with presentation. With build up. Whose philosophy genuinely challenged her. Aelia's accusation that Neve secretly enjoys Minrathous being broken is an interesting train to follow but falls flat because Neve is not privileged (poor family, only mage) and anything she's done is undone. It's an empty accusation with no merit because we can't have flawed, conflicted protagonists. And then she's either killed or packed away in Gotham City prison or whatever.

2. Treviso.

a. The Butcher served cunt for one scene and died. I should have gotten a carpe diem moment where I could buy his info with my body. Like that scene in DAI. Yes I remember that. Give it to me Bioware.

Like Rook's knocked over and their whole ass is out there. My thoughts were unholy

Anyway they HAD an interesting character and then they gave him the Orsino treatment.

b. Governor Ivenci. THEY WANTED ME TO HATE THEM SO BADLY! But the raw annoyance in Ivenci's voice. The way they're so DONE. The way they're right!! The lack of compassion Ivenci is shown by the narrative! Remember the Crestwood Mayor? The lady in Emprise Du Lion? Alexius? Remember when antagonists were given room for development? Remember being able to spare Samson or warn Calpernia? Ivenci SURRENDERED. They were pushed to surrender because THEY KNEW AND SAW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO TREVISO BECAUSE THE ANTAAM HAD ALREADY DONE IT TO OTHER ANTIVAN CITIES. Ivenci KNEW what would happen and made the hard choice. This was a trolley problem. There was no good answer. The Crows would not be able to fight them off. And to top it off, the reason the government is useless and there's no army IS BECAUSE OF THE CROWS. The city is defenseless BECAUSE OF THE CROWS. Ivenci did what they thought was necessary and the Crows refuse to take responsibility while pinning all the blame on ONE person. Ivenci is a scapegoat. And what makes me even more pissed is Rook's sanctimonious attitude as a Crow. "You didn't prevent the massacre, the postponed it!"

You know that's good, right, Rook? You understand how that's good?

I guess the lesson here is only Crows are allowed to backstab and betray. Which brings me to:

c. Illario

What's this guy's deal even? Like knowing him from only in-game, I get Loki-levels of can't help himself but be silly and fly too close to the sun in the name of being better than everyone else, but I've read posts saying they took some of the nuance out? He's the one villain who gets spared. Privilege of being born rich and the cousin-brother of the First Talon I guess. Despite having an affair with Zara. Who literally bathed in blood. And selling out to Elgar'nan and the Venatori. Who was responsible for Treviso being blighted in the appropriate world state. Remember when Ivenci dies in that one but Illario is just put in timeout ok moving on

d. Zara Renata

Bathed in blood. Sacrificed LOTS of people. Kind of boring for all her build up. The way her features went wizened and pointy probably could have been done in just about any other way. Literally any other way.

3. Anaris and Cyrian

a. Anaris.

He's just kind of. There. I guess Cyrian stumbled across him? And now he wants to sacrifice everyone in a big ritual!!! Because that's what we do!! You know when you wake up craving a cheeseburger and sacrifice a dozen people in a blood ritual to age the perfect cheese to round the sammich out? Average Veilguard villain behavior.

b. Cyrian.

"Here's what I propose: You talk to him, distract him. I flank him, then knock him out! And then we take him home and he gets therapy. Who the fuck knows what Anaris did to him."

"Oh no I'm just gonna talk to him."

"....... You're going to try to take the mask off though, right? Right? Bellara he's right there. He's RIGHT THERE TAKE THE MASK OFF TAKEITOFF."

Okay well at least he magically overthrew the millennia-old otherworldly being'a influence off with the power of friendship! We got through to him! This is a perfect example of how people who are forced into bad situations get taken advantage of, but there's hope! Find a support network and you can get out of your abusive situation. <3

.....Annnnnd he's dead. Well at least he was redeemed in death. <3 <3 <3 Bellara doesn't even have to mourn him much because she already got used to him being dead. <3 <3 <3 No we won't even try to give medical aid, fuck you.

4. The Dragon King

a. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Anyway.

b. Shathann.

Fridged mom. "You wouldn't hit a mom with a slate would you?" to "You wouldnt hit a mom with a slate but you'd hit a mom with her slate ok."

I'm putting her in the "antagonist" category because she sort of served as a kind of obstacle to Taash but mostly I wanted to complain about her being fridged.

c. That one antaam who says "We take your tamassran!" exactly like that. Poor grammar and all. "We take your woman!" How is this game SO fucking sanitized and yet SO goddamn offensive with the antaam at the same time. HOW.

5. Davrin

a. Isseya

I like her and her story. I think they still could have executed it better but I didn't hate it. She felt more confused and hanging on than just pure evil. I pitied her. Would have been nice to see if she could get the Architect treatment but we aren't allowed to have villains other than those who are either 1. dead. preferably dead. or 2. imprisoned (only applies if rich or nemesis is batman)

6. Emmrich

a. Johanna Hezenkoss

Alright so maybe I'm biased but at least she's got STYLE! PANACHE! PRESENTATION! GIANT! FUCKING! MECHA!! SKELETON!!! Disembodied hand! Spiteful skull! And she finger guns. I won't pretend Hezenkoss could probably go even farther in a different story, like if we could convince her to ally with us by promising her resources for her research, or something, but still. I liked Hezenkoss. Frequent Emmrich W.

7. Harding

Harding's antagonist was herself. I liked this actually. It was a different format from all the other villains. After playing the anger ending, I can say I'm fonder of that one. I do wish her embracing the Titans' rage versus compassion had had more narrative consequences. But I like her final "prayer and proclemation" at the end there. Waiting for Harding to drop that single.

8. Evanuris.

a. Elgar'nan

[Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted]

And I should have been able to [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] in [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted]

Jokes aside I'm disappointed the Blight apparently "dulled" his mind. It's like we're replaying Solas's rebel game but on storyteller mode. All this build up and while I LOVE his VA, none of his speeches measure up to Corypheus' monologues about breaking into the Black City.

b. Ghilan'nain

[Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted] [Redacted]

I'm not spamming those again but you get the point. 10/10 design. Love her. Curiosity turned to malice. I just wish we saw more of her downfall and what happened to Andruil. Underutilized. I was also expecting to find one of her labs.

c. Evanuris overall.

They needed more? I know they're the main villains of the game and have plenty of screen time, but at the same time we need more. More interactions berween Rook and them. Just more clues into their motivations. I dislike the idea of them wanting to Blight the whole world. It makes them too easy to hate. It's too easy an enemy to kill. Make them a tragedy.

9. Solas.

We should have been given the chance to side with him and bring the Veil down.

"bUt tHe wOrLd STaTe"

I don't care about the world state. Neither do the devs. I HIGHLY doubt your specific ending where Harding leads the distraction and Emmrich is crushed by rocks will carry over to future games. The ending where Rook is pulled into the Veil with Solas won't, either.

"Those are bad endings!"

And? They're a non-canonical ending. Give me more non-canonical endings so I can see what happens.

EA can afford it.

#veilguard critical #datv critical #i think i've about reached the end of everything i have to complain about #ive beem spamming these tags these past few days but thats bc when i spend too long on one post #it ends up spiraling into caps and large text LOL

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taiarchive · 2 days ago

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Hearts and Sleeves: William Beckett Interview

30/04/2005 Interview by Nathan Wrann

THE ACADEMY IS... NOT A BUNCH OF JUNKIES!

The first time we saw the The Academy Is... was in New Jersey opening for Something Corporate. It was a few weeks before their debut CD 'Almost Here' hit the street and we were completely blown away. William Beckett has the stage presence of a rock star, the music was right on and the songs, oh the songs are catchy as hell. When we finally got the CD a few weeks later the tunes were still fresh in my and sounded familiar. The Academy Is... came to Hartford, CT to play at the Webster Theater on April 22nd so we took some time to sit down with lead singer, William Beckett and ask him some intimate questions about rumours, regrets and world domination.

Hearts And Sleeves: We're going to do something a little different for this interview. I took one or two lines from each of your songs on Almost Here and have come up with a question inspired by that line. I'm not interested in knowing what the meaning of the lyric is because I think that's for the listener to decide.

William: Okay.

H&S: So we'll go ahead and start. In 'Attention' the line is: 'It's not like it hurts that much anyway.' What hurts you the most?

William: Fear of failure. And failing in anything.

H&S: In 'Season' the lyrics are. 'We're shaping up to be all you wish you could have been.' What do you wish to be?

William: I wish to be someone that people look to are are inspired by and can learn something from as far as what I'm doing with my art. And I'm taking it on a global level. With a lot of the bands that we've toured with and stuff it's very evident that they have sort of a narrow scope and their goals reflect that too. It's like 'dude I'm just touring and drinking and we've screwing girls and it's awesome' So for me I want to use this indie scene as a vehicle, you know. One way to put it is when my parents were younger there were bands like U2 and The Beatles...

H&S: When your parent were younger there was U2? 'cause when I was young was when U2 first came out.

William: My parents are young though. They're like 40.

H&S: I'm 31 so they're 9 years older than me.

Kimberly [H&S Asst Editor]: Oh my God. [ed note: Age sneaks up on you so enjoy it while you can].

William: Like Zed Zeppelin and Pink Floyd and band from their generation that really stood out. Like band that they loved when they were 16 years old and they still love being 40 years old. A band that they can grow with. A band that you can constantly relate to. Those are the bands that end up moving mountains and inspiring nations. And transcend language and transcend sex and age. And transcend social class and things like that. And that's what I want to do.

H&S: A related question then is what do you consider success? But I guess you've pretty much just answered that.

William: It's not a dollar sign for me. But I understand that it's a business and I'm a smart guy and I'm going to make money doing what I love. But there's that ultimate goal at the end of the road and that's that global inspiration.

H&S: In "Slow Down" the line is "Take back everything you've ever said." Have you ever said anything that you want to take back?

William: Ummm. I think at times. For me I'm always honest. I was actually thinking about this a few weeks ago and I wrote it down. I thought it was an interesting thought. Honesty should never be relative but your delivery of it should be. I think that sometimes I've said things to whom ever and said things that I could have said differently but there's no use living in the past.

H&S: and another line from "Slow Down": "You kiss me like an over dramatic actor." Have you ever considered acting?

William: Oh man. Every day. My one big regret from high school was not getting into theater and not getting into musicals and things like that because I think I could have benefited so much more than I did doing nothing.

Kimberly: Teen angst.

William: Yeah right. It's that shitty teen angst.

H&S: I DON'T WANNA JOIN A CLUB!

Kimberly: Try going to Catholic school. You wanna see angst?

William: I used to play baseball and then I stopped playing and I started playing guitar and carrying around a notebook and wearing "emo" glasses and wearing tight pants. And then I was the "gay kid." I was the "gay kid" who went out with all of their ex-girlfriends.

H&S: In "The Phrase That Pays" you sing: "Some things I may have taken for granted again and again." What do you now realize that you have taken for granted in the past?

William: Easily everybody in my life that helped me get to this point. Like my parents and my close, close friends and my girlfriend. I think I take all those people for granted daily. I constantly try to remind myself that while I have this personal goal that's like: "I want to do this, for other people." At the same time I have to acknowledge the balance between this life and life back home with my parents and everyone that I love and everyone who loves me and has always supported me. It's easy to get selfish and get so wrapped up in yourself. When you're so self sufficient as well and you're not de pendent on anyone for so long and you've forgotten what it was like to be dependent and how much you need them. So yeah. Everyday.

H&S: "Black Mamba" "We've got one chance to break out and we need it now." How is the record doing?

William: The record is doing great for the short time that it's been out. We wrote the record that we wanted to write and it's honest as hell. Everything about it is hon est as hell. That honesty is sort of permeating throughout the record and permeating throughout the room upstairs [the Webster Theater stage] and throughout the country. It's doing really, really well. We're really happy with how it's building. It's very natural too. We're not shoving radio down your throat. We're not shoving singles down your throat. It's just a really natural, organic growing experience. Kind of like how The Police built from their roots building it slowly with touring and touring and touring.

H&S: I think one of the things that makes your record great is that it's so personal to you because it's auto-bio graphical. And that makes it personal to the people who listen to it. In "Skeptics and True Believers" the line is "Don't believe a word you've heard." Have you heard anything lately that you just couldn't believe?

William: Most of the gossip that goes around the Net about our band I cannot believe. There's just crazy, crazy things about us. Like, I don't know, there's just some crazy stuff. Like that we're heroin addicts and-hey you checked! I saw you! You looked! [indicating to his arm]

H&S: No I didn't! But you're so thin.

William: Yeah yeah. Like the Rolling Stones or Scott Weiland.

H&S: Now the rumor's going to be that you're the gay guy that goes out with all the girls.

William: Yeah, right.

H&S: They'll take that one line out of context.

William: Oh man.

H&S: In "Classifieds" there's the line: "He's got a decent voice." So where does your voice come from? You're about 90 pounds and you have this big, operatic, theatrical voice.

William: I don't know. I started singing and playing guitar when I was a sophomore in high school and I just sat in my room and played and sang. And sang my favorite songs and learned Beach Boys songs and wrote my own songs right away. But I don't know, my voice is a lot different than it was. It was whiney, I was trying to sound like someone else kind of. Then for this new record I just dropped it all and just sang naturally and it just came out really naturally. I study many, many vocalists but I don't try to emulate any of them other than phrasing. Like phrasing that's interesting or certain enunciation. But I don't think too much about it. Just sing and be articulate.

H&S: No formal vocal training?

William: I've done a lot of research on it. I have a vocal Doctor in New York that I went to because I was really sick on the Something Corporate tour. In Jersey I was sick as hell. I had bronchitis so I went to this Doctor and he gave me steroid shots and this crazy shit. But I have a pre-show ritual and I have a vaporizer with this serum so I put a few drops in and I breathe that in.

H&S: I took another line from "Classifieds" "Will you promise yourself this isn't all we've got." Do you have any plans for the next album?

William: The albums been out for what, like a month? And I've written like 13 songs already. Mike, our other writer has written 10 or 11 songs already. So I'm in this crazy zone where I just love song writing. And I'm just studying Simon & Garfunkel and great songsmiths like Don Henley. You listen to his greatest hits and it's like a fuckin' generation… of '80's movies. But they're all great songs. I'm just really, really excited about writing. I'm not even worried about what the next record is going to sound like. These are just acoustic. Like just acoustic songs that are kind of folky. But for the next record I think that we're going to get a little more rock 'n roll.

H&S: As opposed to?

William: This record sort of covers a lot of bases but I want to incorporate more instruments. I want to incorporate piano and perhaps some strings and percussion and shakers and tambourines. Where we can really focus on making great pop songs with this twist of throwback rock 'n roll. I'm so fucking excited to do a new record because we just want to write like a hundred ballads. Like a hundred Rolling Stones rock 'n roll songs. Just awesome in your face and you can just smell the whiskey on the recording. And a hundred songs that are like this record. And you know on this record each song has it's own little feel, like "Black Mamba" has a flamenco feel. I'm just so excited about writing. But we're constantly touring. We're on the road and then after this we're doing support for Mae. Their new record is great and they're incredible live. We're going to like touring for them. And then we're doing a headlining tour out here on the east coast and the mid-west. Like small intimate spaces. And then we're doing two weeks of Warped Tour. And then we're talking about doing something in late August and then we're going to Japan in September.

H&S: In "Down and Out" "Always up or down, never down and out." What's a high point in your life?

William: Pretty much performing is the highest point of my life. As well as just overall happiness with my view on the world and my view of things. That's sort of what that song is about. It's about all of the bad things that happen to people, that happen to families, that happen to friends. That happen to loved ones. People die. People get divorced. People get raped and domestically abused. And kids see that. And that's not a good thing. But the whole thing is that if you look at it. I'm trying to look at life in a different way. I use this exercise that I try to do every morning. I try to envision both my creative mind and my perception of the world. Lets say that the back part of your psyche is a dark room and you have this little candle in front of you so your only source of perspective is this 4 or 5 inch bubble in front of you and that's all you're focused on. This goes past your view of the world it goes into a writers view of the word as well. A lot of bad art and bad lyrics are from that candle lit view of the world. They're so wrapped up in themselves that they can't just feel around and feel the wall and find the light switch. And you can flip the switch and the whole room illuminates around you and for me that's the rest of the world and that's all of the bright parts of life. It's everything that's happy. But it's also every thing that's not. But with that perspective of the entire world you're taking in every thing, not just this isolated microcosm of life. And looking at things less selfishly and that's sort of the way that I try to look at life. Those are the kind of lyrics that I'm writing a lot of now. Less focused on self I guess. But in a way that's sort of thought provoking in a positive way.

H&S: Well I'm sure you have a different view of the world now than you did when you wrote this album.

William: Totally. I totally do. But it wasn't too far off. I had it. There was an EP that we did before this and it was so self-righteous. I was just out of high school.

H&S: One of those things that you're glad to have out of print?

William: Yeah, I guess. Uh Yeah, totally. But lyrically it was really good. I was really proud of it. I was singing about a lot of really good things. But it was from the wrong angle. It was me sitting with a candle in front of me in a dark room. It was: this is what everyone else is doing wrong in their lives but I'm not going to address what I'm doing wrong. Because I don't want to show you that part. It's what people did wrong to me.

H&S: It's hard to admit that shit

William: Right. I think that's what this record is. I think it's stepping into that. But it's okay. It's okay to have faults. It's okay to make mistakes. It's okay to accept those things and take a deep breath and look around you and notice that there's people that love you. And you're on tour with your band and you're doing what you love. Or you wake up and you have 3 kids and they're doing well in school and you have a loving wife and it's like this is good. This is really good. So that's the direction that I want things to continue to go.

H&S: The final song is "Almost Here" the line I chose was "Hey now we're al most home" What do you miss the most about home?

William: The weird thing about home is, I hate to do this but you've seen Garden State, right? His whole idea of home isn't a place, it isn't a house anymore it's just a feeling of home. And for me I guess it's just this daily feeling where it's regiment ed and I'm used to this but home is when I'm on stage. Home is when I'm talking to people. And talking to fans. That's home to me. I feel it when I'm home as well, you know, in the people around me. I was thinking about that the past 2 days you know, this is home for me. I love it. I mean I miss my girlfriend like hell. I miss my family. But this is home.

H&S: Thank you for taking the time to talk with us and we wish you the best of luck on the road.

#the academy is...#tai #william beckett #interview #2005

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lottesreads · 3 days ago

Text

Why Me? - Part 13

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Forbidden relationship, some angst, some fluff, lying, allusions of abuse, swearing, mentions of sleeping in a car

Word Count: 5500

Summary: The aftermath of what you've done hits you like a truck. Bob is just as blindsided by what you told him, and it's time the two of you have a real honest talk.

A/N: Hello everyone!! I can't believe my last post was in September, it makes me so sad. Anyway, I've been having the worst writers block as well as dealing with work and school, it's been so great. I thought I'd give you a shorter chapter to hold you over, and just thank all of you for sticking around. Enjoy, and happy reading!!

Masterlist

The steadying rhythm of your breathing is what lulled Bob to sleep. A sleep he might add where he didn’t dream. There were no visions of you pulling him closer, or kissing his cheek, his face, his hands. There wasn’t a part of him wondering what it would be like because that’s exactly what he fell asleep to. He’s already living it. For last night at least.

A whine from the side of his bed is what finally wakes him from his dreamless state. He goes to move his head toward the noise, but is swiftly deterred as you stir in his arms. A shift in the night must have caused you to fully wrap yourself around him. Nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, he tries not to shiver at your breath against his skin. He doesn’t think it’s real until he rubs your shoulder through the t-shirt he gave you last night. Your arm tightens around his stomach and for a second he thinks you’re waking up. Until you release another deep breath and he knows this is real. You’re really here.

Sylvia pulls at the side of his sheets with another whine. Glancing over at her, she sits patiently with her head tilted in his direction. Without another look, she walks over to the door, staring at it as if she’s willing it to open on its own. Bob wouldn’t be surprised if the one dog he adopted from the shelter had crazy telekinetic powers, especially this little weirdo. But that’s why he loves her.

With a silenced groan, he lets his head fall back just to take in this moment for one second longer. His hand runs across the smooth skin of your arm around his midsection as he breathes you in. You’re so warm and soft and he doesn’t want to get up. But he doesn’t want to be cleaning up pee at- he slowly picks up his phone from his side table- 7:00 a.m.

Ever so gently he untucks your face from his shoulder, resting your head on his pillow while your arm drapes over the unkempt sheets on his side. He watches you for a second, his hands outstretched over you as if he could keep you from waking if he held still for a moment longer. Without even a wiggle of your fingers, he follows Sylvia to the door, releasing her from the confines of the room as she rushes down the stairs and straight to the back door.

The rain has slowed to a small drizzle, clouds still clogging the sky. A rush of cold air flows into the house as Sylvia runs to the yard. He can’t help the goosebumps that crawl up his arms as he closes the door behind him. Even living this close to the ocean, the rain dampened breeze still remains the cleanest air he’s ever been able to breathe. It reminds him of you.

Not just because he held you close all night, breathing in the scent of rain from your skin and hair. But also because he can really, truly just breathe around you. Especially when he’s not trying to pretend around other people.

He takes in another deep breath before Sylvia’s done and running to the door to go back inside. Her paws pad to the kitchen as she stands in front of her bowl. Just staring.

“Oh, I guess you’re hungry now, too?”, he whispers. He laughs as she tilts her head. He fills her bowl with food, slightly cringing at the echo of it hitting the metal. Last he left you, you were in a pretty deep sleep. He’s only hoping this wasn’t the thing to wake you. The way you didn’t even flinch when he left your side. He didn’t even think it was possible for you to embed yourself even further into his brain until last night. He only hopes you don’t regret it when you wake up. Even if you do, he’s not going to force you into something you don’t want to be a part of. But god, does he want to go all in with you. What that looks like he’s not sure. All he knows is that breathing is easier when you’re with him. And he’ll take anything you’re willing to give him.

Rubbing his hands down his face, Bob walks to the bathroom. Everything’s a little blurry without his glasses, but just walking around his house is something he can manage. After washing his hands, he splashes cold water on his face. Just to make sure he really wasn’t dreaming. And as if the universe had the answer for him, he spots your clothes hanging over the shower curtain in the mirror. Not just your clothes. Your bra and underwear. Which means the only thing you’re wearing right now are his clothes.

Good lord, he needs to get a grip. Being the gentleman his mama raised him to be, he rids himself of the impulsive thought to look over your… intimates, while folding them up in your wet clothes and taking them to the dryer.

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

Oh dear god everything smells like him. Wiping the sleep from your eyes you notice the clothes you’re wearing. Even you smell like him. Wait. Where even is he? It isn’t until you hear the patter of Sylvia’s paws coming from downstairs that you take in a breath of relief. Why you were so worried he would have left his own house you don’t know. But you take a calming breath and steady yourself before taking a look at Bob’s room in the light of day. Or rather the muffled light from behind the clouds outside. There’s a couple scattered pieces of clothing, not any different from any other person. He’s still much tidier than yourself. Your eyes catch on his glasses, simply sitting on his nightstand. You smile at the sight. Just staring at them makes you feel like he’s close.

The sound of something sizzling in a frying pan and the scent of cinnamon and sugar welcomes you as you descend the stairs. Bob’s back is to you as he faces the stove, humming a song you can’t decipher. You watch while he flips whatever he’s cooking. His forearms flex as he lifts the pan, until you’re staring at his chest while he turns around to place what looks like french toast on a plate.

“That smells really good”, you compliment him as he flinches.

“Holy mother-”, he exclaims, attempting not to drop the pan. His eyes grow comically wide as you try to hide your laughter.

“Sorry”, you chuckle.

“No, it’s ok. I just didn’t see you there”, he smiles as he squints in your direction. And you’re reminded of what you swiped from his side of the bed.

“Well how could you? You’re not wearing these”, you ask as you lift his glasses in your hand.

“I’m not completely blind, ya know?”, he defends. He still extends his hand as you pad across the kitchen, giving his glasses to him. His eyes adjust as he puts them on. He immediately looks at you and you grant him a small smile. He gives one right back.

“Hi”, you whisper.

“Hi”, he whispers back. Clearing his throat he motions to the plate of french toast on the counter. “Made some breakfast if you’re hungry.”

“Starving”, you say, pouring syrup all over your helping. “It just so happens that french toast is my favorite.”

“I thought it might be”, he says while plating up his own. You furrow your brow as he sits next to you.

“Why’d you think that?”

“It’s what you ordered when we went to brunch with Phoenix and Rachel”, he responds so casually while he takes a bite. You can’t help but stop and stare at him.

“What?”, he asks, swallowing a mouth full of french toast.

“You remember that?”

“Yeah”, he shrugs. Smiling down at your plate, you take a bite and melt at the cinnamon mapley goodness.

“Bob”, you can’t help but moan, “This is so good.”

“Glad to hear it”, he smiles as he takes another bite. The two of you continue to eat your breakfast under the light patter of rain.

“Is this something you make often?”, you ask in between taking bites of this moan-worthy breakfast.

“Um”, he laughs, “Sometimes. It’s my grandma’s recipe and I try to leave it to the master. Although she hasn’t made it for me since I last slept over. Which was-”, he huffs out a breath trying to find the memory.

“You’re telling me you didn’t have a sleepover at your grandma’s last time you were on leave?”

“Oh yeah, everytime I have leave I’m headed straight to Gammy’s for a sleepover”, he laughs. “But her french toast was always my grandpa’s favorite.”

“Is this your grandpa with the penny?”

“Yeah”, he laughs, “That’s Pappy Floyd for ya.” The two of you continue to eat your breakfast as the rain settles as the perfect backdrop for this lazy morning. When you’re finished you immediately start tending to the dishes in the sink.

“Hey-”, you cut Bob off before he has the chance to protest.

“Floyd, don’t even try to stop me from taking care of a few dishes after you just made me breakfast”, you scold him with a soapy hand. He surrenders with his hands in the air, but soon follows you to rinse and dry what you’ve scrubbed.

It’s quiet. Calm. This feels normal, which in turn makes you feel odd in your chest. His shoulder brushes yours every once in a while and the odd feeling appears in bursts with it. You could see yourself standing next to this man doing dishes for the rest of your- Whoa.

Ok, one dish at a time here. You still haven’t even talked about last night. And it’s creating this itch under your skin. One that you know you have to scratch, but you don’t want him to look at you while you do it.

Unsure of what to do after finishing the last dish, you stare out the window in front of you. It’s stormy outside, clouds covering the once blue and sunny San Diego sky. It’s not unwelcome as the winds calm, just different.

Bob places the last dish to dry and watches as you tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. It reveals the bruise he couldn’t tear his eyes away from last night, and it makes him feel protective again. Like for some reason he should have been there to stop it from happening. Even if it was an accident. He doesn’t want you to hurt. And most of all he doesn’t want to be the one to hurt you. If he goes along with what he thinks you want to do, he is risking your entire career. But if he doesn’t? He’ll miss out on the best thing he thinks will ever happen to him. You.

“Hey”, he grabs your attention, breaking the silence. “We should talk.” You nod solemnly, the domestic morning forgotten as he leads you to sit on the couch again. You knew this was coming. Ok, you don’t know exactly what’s coming, but you try your best to quiet that voice in the back of your head telling you the worst outcomes. You try to ignore it, but as Bob sits in front of you and his mouth starts moving you realize you aren’t paying attention to him at all.

“I’m sorry-”, you shake your head, “What did you say?” His mouth twitches in the corner before he repeats himself.

“Are you feeling ok?”

“Yeah”, you nod to convince yourself you’re doing alright. “Definitely feeling ok. Just a little embarrassed.”

“About what?”, he asks as you look anywhere but at him.

“I don’t know, just showing up completely unannounced last night. And dumping all my thoughts onto you. And now I feel… stupid.” Playing with a thread on the couch cushion, you mumble the last part.

“That’s not stupid. I actually think it’s very brave. The driving through a storm part though, that was stupid.” You breathe a laugh out through your nose as he smiles.

“I know. I just- I had to talk to you. And now… Before you say anything, just know that I don’t ever want to put you in a position to make you do something you don’t want to. But the way I see it, we both know how we feel, now we just have to decide if we want to do something about it.” He chews on his lip while he reaches for your hand.

“Mantis, you mean a great deal to me-”, here it comes. The other shoe is about to drop, and you tell yourself you knew it was too good to be true the entire time. “I just don’t want you to go through with this and regret it.” Regret me, he means.

“Bob”, you try to find the words, “Every regret I have is not doing something. I’m not going to let this slip away from us.” He holds your gaze in silence. “Not if we both feel like this is something worth exploring.”

“I think this is very worth exploring.” That funny feeling crawls from your stomach to your throat. The good kind that turns sour once you realize what it means you’ll have to do to carry this through.

“If we do this, no one can know.” The conversation takes a solemn turn as your hard gaze bores into him. He hangs on to your every word, making sure he doesn’t miss anything. “Not Phoenix, Fanboy, or anyone from work. Not even our families.”

“And if you change your mind? If you-”, get sick of me, realize I’m not actually what you want, “Realize it’s not worth the risk?” He asks with a grimace. You squeeze his hand with a reassuring tenderness, hearing his unspoken thoughts.

“Let’s make a rule right now: No more lying to each other. We can have complete and open communication, so long as no one else knows about what we have going on, ok?” He nods and squeezes your hand. You pause and take a deep breath in before rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “And if either of us want out of this for whatever reason, we have to walk away. So long as the reason isn’t for the other person. No self sacrificing on the other person’s account. It’s fine if we think it’s too risky for ourselves, but we both get to decide where that point is.”

“Ok”, his soft voice washes over you. This is really happening. Oh god. This is really happening. Your heart wants to float out of your body, but you know the secrecy that comes with it. Your heart beating is trying to override the doubts clouding your mind and- You’ve never felt this way about someone before and Bob is just… perfect. This has to work.

“So what now?”, his question breaks you out of your train of thought.

“I don’t know”, you laugh and shake your head, “I didn’t think this far ahead.”

“Oh, you mean when you were driving and running though a hurricane?”

“I mean, yes?”

“Yeah, just- don’t do that again”, he tries to jokingly reprimand you. The grip of his hand tells you he’s really not laughing.

“I’ll try not to”, you respond behind a small smirk. He meets your gaze and you almost want to hide. It’s one thing confessing your feelings to him under the influence of adrenaline, it’s another having him just look at you. You’ve never felt so naked before under someone’s eyes. He clears his throat before looking back down at your joined hands.

“I’m a little rusty, but I think what happens now is that I take you out.” You can’t help the blush that rises from your neck to your cheeks. You don’t even remember the last time someone asked you out, let alone someone you really liked.

“Are you asking me on a date, Floyd?”, you ask under an involuntary smirk. He tries to hide his smile underneath the nodding of his head, but it’s no use. You tilt your head to get a better look at his child-like grin before he looks up.

“I think I am, Mitchell.” There’s a whisper of doubt still lingering in your head, much like the fog outside. He must see your smile drop slightly as you wonder aloud.

“Are you sure?” He turns his hand over so he’s holding yours now, and he squeezes as he pulls to make sure you’re listening.

“I wanna do this right, so if you’ll have me I’d really like to take you out. And- I know we’ll have to be careful.. But I’ll take anything you’re willing to give me.” You would give him the world if you could. Wrap it up in a nice bow and place it in his hands, but you know what he means. There are going to be limits to how this thing between the two of you plays out.

“Ok”, you whisper.

“Yeah?”, he asks, almost in disbelief. Like you weren’t practically begging him to do something just moments ago.

“Yeah”, you smile, “Let’s go on a date.” And then there’s a moment. Another moment where it’s only the two of you, nothing else exists except for you and Bob. You can’t help it as your eyes drift to where Bob’s teeth pull at his bottom lip out of nerves. It makes you feel bad for doubting him at all, but you would do anything right now to tear his lip from his own torture. Maybe provide some relief of your own. But no- you have to take this slow. Do this right. Like Bob said. It still doesn’t stop the pull you feel for him, though.

But as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, the buzz of your phone from the coffee table rouses you from this moment.

“Oh shit”, you mumble as your dad’s name pops up on the screen. “Umm”, you stall as you try not to panic. Bob’s eyes are already wide as they switch between the phone in your hand and your face. “Don’t make a sound. Ok”, you say with a breath. Braving the unknown you tap the answer button.

“Hey Dad, what’s up?”, you ask as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“Hey!”, he responds, and you immediately know he has no clue you left. If he did, he would have started this phone call in a much less cheery mood. “Good to know you survived the storm”, he laughs in relief.

“Yeah”, you respond, if only he knew. “Same to you.”

“Listen, it’s still a bit wet out there but it’s slowing down. So as soon as it stops enough for me to get my bike outta here, I’ll head over.” As your father’s speaking, Bob eyes Sylvia out of the corner of his eye, huffing at her lack of attention. He eyes her as a warning, and knowing he’s all talk, she huffs her first bark. You cough in hopes to cover the noise.

“Sorry”, you apologize through another fake cough, “So when do you think that will be?” You watch as Bob chases Sylvia to the back door, herding her outside for the moment.

“Well, my phone is telling me it’s not raining right now but-”, he grunts and you know he’s moving to look out the window, “It’s still going over here at Penny’s. By my guess, I’d say it’ll slow down in an hour, and I’ll be home by then.” Your gaze moves from the window back to where Bob is standing at the back door, waiting for you to be done to let Sylvia back in. Your stomach turns sour when you realize your time with Bob this morning will be cut short.

“Ok, sounds good. I’ll see you then!”, you reply in a happier tone than you’re feeling.

“Alright, see you soon kiddo”, you can still hear him breathing when you tap the red button. He’s always waited until you hang up first, something he’s done since you were a kid. It was either that or the line would get cut short from him running out of time on the carrier. Even then you’d both talk until it stopped. There were the few odd times he’d ask to talk to your mom, and sometimes you downright refused. It was your time with your dad, not hers.

Sylvia’s paws tap on the hardwood as she walks with Bob in tow back to the couch. You scratch her ears as Bob sits again, waiting to hear the verdict of the call.

“My dad’s going to be home soon”, you say as you watch Sylvia wander off. Bob nods, a furrow appearing in his brow as he thinks.

“How soon?”

“Said in the next hour”, you whisper as you lean your side into the couch cushions, getting a better look at Bob’s face. “I should leave before he gets back.”

“What about your car?”. Shit. You completely forgot about your stupid (up until now, loyal) car. Attempting to run both hands down your face in frustration, you stop immediately on your right side as you’re so pleasantly reminded of the bruise painting your cheek. As you flinch, Bob’s hand comes to hold your hurting side, delicately brushing his thumb just below the discoloration.

You can’t help but lean into the touch, your eyes following his arm up to his face where you melt just a little more at his slight frown. You both don’t want for you to leave. But if you keep going with this, even after your date, this is how it’s going to be. Lying, keeping secrets. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but you feel bad implicating Bob in your transgressions. Even now you don’t want to leave the bubble in his living room.

“This is going to be hard”, you whisper in warning as you hold his hand to your cheek. His frown ticks downward just a smidge as he stares back at you.

“I know”, he sighs, “But it’ll be worth it.” This gets you to smile, and in turn Bob mirrors your expression.

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

Sometime while you were still sleeping, Bob had so thoughtfully placed your clothes in the dryer. You try to ignore the fact that he handled your bra and underwear, but all it does is make you laugh internally at the thought. You’re so sure he must have blushed when he realized your clothes were hanging in his bathroom.

You’re both quiet as he leads you to his familiar truck in the garage. But you’re not shying away from him either. The realization of what you have both decided to do is setting in and it’s…exciting. Well, exciting and scary. No different than the feelings you’ve had before. But it’s easier knowing you’re not alone. Especially as the man in reference opens your door before stepping in on his own side.

He gives you a brief smile before taking a deep breath. You do the same as the garage door opens. The sky is clearing and he lets the light come in. Once safely backed out, he takes your hand from its spot in your lap like he’s done it a million times before. And truly, it felt like he had. That smile however is wiped from your face as you round the street and find your car- crushed completely under a toppled over palm tree. Whoever said it never rains in southern California is a fucking liar.

Bob pulls off to the opposite side of the road as the two of you stare in shocked silence. The roof of your car is completely sunken in as the palm leaves sway with the now gentle winds. And all you can do is laugh. Bob looks at you with a raise of his brow, still a very concerned look in his eye.

“Ok, so… I definitely didn’t think the weather was that bad when I was driving last night”, you chortle.

“What-”, he asks now wildly gesturing back to your broken car, “How is this funny?! That could have been you!”

“Ok”, you respond, now without much mirth, “Bob, I am fine. I wasn’t in the car when it fell!” He goes to say something else, but you stop him before he can. “And I wouldn’t be dumb enough to stay in my parked car in the middle of a storm.”

“No, but you did drive and run through one”, he mutters, almost afraid to hear your response. He looks back at the car through a grimace and you know his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. He’s worried, that’s all. “Just- don’t do that again”, he repeats his sentiment from before. You move back to take his hand and give him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll try not to, I promise.”

Bob so graciously (doesn’t let you leave the truck) offers to inspect your car while you call your insurance company and a tow truck. There’s no missing calls or texts from your dad while you and Bob talk to the tow truck driver, and you frown as your baby is hauled away. No matter what happened in the past ten or so years, that car was always there for you. It housed you, kept you safe, and was a warm place to sleep when you needed it. And now? It was a landing pad for a palm tree.

Your Toyota is carried off into the distance, and you’re taken out of your memories by Bob’s hand over your lower back.

“You ok?”

“Yeah”, you huff, “We should get going.”

Bob finds your hand again in the cab of his truck, and you hold onto it tight. It brings you back to the present and keeps you grounded. Something you’re having a hard time doing when you see your dad dismounting his bike in the open garage.

“Shit”, you whisper. Your dad’s still taking off his helmet he wears once in a blue moon, and you take one last look at Bob. You want nothing more than to keep holding his hand, but at the sight of your dad you loosen your grip and both your hands fall back. “Just agree to everything I say, ok?”

He nods as his breathing picks up and you’re hit with a sudden thought: Can Bob even lie? Guess you’ll find out soon enough.

The two of you hop out of the truck as your dad turns at the sound.

“Hey!”, he greets you with a twist in his features, “What uh- what’s going on? Where’d you go?” He questions as he greets you with a hug. Bob stands a distance away at the end of the driveway and your dad gives him a questioning glance. “Hey Bob…” He waves back with a forced smile. You quickly drag his attention back to you and place your hands on his shoulders.

“So- don’t freak out. But earlier Bob called and said his dog got out and asked if I could keep an eye out for her. Seeing as I wasn’t doing anything and everything had died down, I drove over to help him look for her-” His brows raise and you’re left wondering what his reaction would have been if you were telling him the truth.

“We found her and everything’s fine. And I just want you to remember that I am completely fine…Great, even.” He lifts his brow asking you to continue, hoping it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to seem.

“My car died on the way over, and when we went back to jumpstart it…”, you pull your phone out and show him the pictures you took for the insurance company and he stops in his tracks. He almost scolds you as he releases your name in a breath. You give him a playful grimace as he looks over you in astonishment. Bob clears his throat from behind you as your dad continues to swipe through the pictures.

“Sir- I just want to say I did not ask her to come over, she did that of her own volition. But seeing as it’s my fault she was out in the first place, I am more than happy to give her rides to work while she doesn’t have a car. You know-”, he coughs again, “Since you usually have to stay later at work and…yeah”, he mutters in the end. Wow. Facing Bob, you give him the tiniest of smirks, impressed with his calmness. He tries to shake off his own smile while staring down at his shoes.

“I mean, that’s very nice of you, Bob”, your dad responds while rubbing a hand over his forehead. “But I think I should make her ride with me as punishment.”

“What?”, you whip your head around at your dad shaking his head. “Punishment? Might I remind you that I’m not some dumb teenager you can just ground whenever you want?”

“Yeah, well when you make decisions like a dumb teenager, that’s how you’re gonna get treated.” Your jaw drops at your dad’s stoic expression.

“Sir-”, Bob interrupts again, “I just- I feel responsible. She wouldn’t have been out there if it weren’t for me. Plus you are on my way to and from base. It’s no big deal, really.” Turning your head back to your father, you await his response. Wait, why are you even waiting for what he says? You’re a goddamn adult.

“Ok, I don’t need your permission. I pay my own bills and I refuse to be punished as a grown woman.” You turn back to Bob and decide to ignore your dad for the time being.

“I’ll see you Monday morning?”, you ask. Obviously not wanting to get in the middle of your argument he nods his head and you leave it at that. “Thanks again, Bob”.

“Anytime”, he responds and you see his lips twitch in the shadow of a smile. He shuts it down as he glances behind you to your dad, and you usher him inside as to let Bob leave in a quick getaway. Meaning, without an interrogation from your dad.

You huff as your dad closes the garage door behind you and you try to head to your room. Key word: try.

“Hey, I’m not done talking to you”, he barks to grab your attention. With a scoff you turn around at the bottom of the stairs. You’re reminded of how many times this has happened within the past few months. You were never yelled at or punished by him as a teenager, mostly because you did nothing to warrant that kind of action. But right now he’s making you feel like a child.

“What the hell were you thinking, huh?” You sigh as he places an exasperated hand on his hip.

“Couldn’t tell you if I’m being honest, but I am fine. I wasn’t even in my car when it happened.”

“Yeah, but you could have been.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t. Why is this such a big deal?”

“It’s not-”, he cuts off his raised voice and takes in a breath, returning with a much softer version, “It’s not just your car. It’s that if we didn’t live under the same roof I wouldn’t even know about this.”

“That’s not true”, you argue while he gives you a pointed look. “Ok”, you relent, “maybe I wouldn’t have told you, but that’s only because I’m fine! When there’s something to worry about I’ll let you know.”

“That’s the thing”, he points at you, “You don’t though. You don’t tell me until it gets to a breaking point. Or you don’t even tell me at all.” Ouch. He raises his eyebrows as if saying ‘the truth hurts’. With a sigh, you give in.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. You of all people should know how hard it is to talk about your feelings, though.”

“I haven’t been very accessible in the past and I apologize for that. But we need to take advantage of the time we have now. I want you to come talk to me about anything. The good and the bad.”

“What, do you want like daily reports or something?”, you screw your brow up in confusion.

“No”, he laughs, “But I think we should have check-ins every once in a while. Every fortnight, how about that?”

“I think you’re the only person I know to use that word, but yeah. We can have fortnightly check-ins”, you smile.

“Fine, twice a month. Is that better?” He laughs with you, but you’re still reminded of the gravity of the conversation. You’ve been able to lie to your dad for the better part of- hell your whole life. But this thing with Bob is going to make things a little more complicated.

“In all seriousness I’m sorry for scaring you.” “I’m just glad you’re ok”, he crosses over and wraps his arms around you in a hug.

“I really am”, you sigh. “Bob made sure I was.”

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