#autonomy art study

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Izutsumi character study

[zombiegirl789]

Mtt fusion!! By @dearmizumi

Really wanted to draw this guy and had fun playing with the colours^^

Killer sans by @ rahafwabas

Dust sans by @ ask-dusttale

Horror sans by @ sour-apple-studios

[menomodumps]

I saw this stupid fucking post screenshotted on Pinterest and inspiration struck me so hard that I immediately stopped studying chemistry and pulled an all nighter to make possibly the best piece of art I’ve ever made I’m so proud of myself and so mad at myself at the same time adhd is a wild ride sometimes anyways

Art inspired by stuff I found on Pinterest part 4

TW: rape, blood, violence

[trans-axolotl]

ID: [A poster created by Sean Saifa Wall and Micah Bazant of a Black parent holding their child. They are dressed in white and almost seem to be glowing, in front of a backdrop of multicolored waves that look like DNA strands. Colorful text reads "Protect Intersex Youth."]

"A Framework for Intersex Justice

Intersex justice is medical justice. Intersex surgeries hurt everyone.

These medical violations bring immediate harm to the child who is subjected to them.

Parents who consent to medically unnecessary surgeries participate in a culture of shame, silence and stigma, perpetuated by doctors, that allows these surgeries to continue. Parents are often left to fend for themselves as they navigate shame and guilt. The issue of parents consenting to these surgeries is especially complex when societies believe that children don’t have individual rights and that parents are always acting in their best interest.

Medical practitioners such as pediatricians, obstetricians, urologists, social workers, and endocrinologists all play a role in upholding an institution that continues to harm children with intersex variations. The practitioners, in turn, are protected by hospitals and state laws that grant them immunity.

This is why intersex justice is important.

Although the framework is evolving, the following is a definition of intersex justice co-created with Dr. Mel Michelle Lewis (they>she), an Associate Professor of Gender/Sexuality in Studio and Humanistic Studies at Maryland Institute College of Art: Intersex justice is a decolonizing framework that affirms the labor of intersex people of color fighting for change across social justice movements. By definition, intersex justice affirms bodily integrity and bodily autonomy as the practice of liberation. Intersex justice is intrinsically tied to justice movements that center race, ability, gender identity & expression, migrant status, and access to sexual & reproductive healthcare. Intersex justice articulates a commitment to these movements as central to its intersectional analysis and praxis. Intersex justice acknowledges the trauma caused by medically unnecessary and nonconsensual cosmetic genital surgeries and addresses the culture of shame, silence and stigma surrounding intersex variations that perpetuate further harm.

The marginalization of intersex people is rooted in colonization and white supremacy. Colonization created a taxonomy of human bodies that privileged typical white male and female bodies, prescribing a gender binary that would ultimately harm atypical black and indigenous bodies. As part of a liberation movement, intersex activists challenge not only the medical establishment, which is often the initial site of harm, but also governments, institutions, legal structures, and sociocultural norms that exclude intersex people. Intersex people should be allowed complete and uninhibited access to obtaining identity documents, exercising their birth and adoption rights, receiving unbiased healthcare, and securing education and employment opportunities that are free from harm and harassment. This framework serves a radical vision where intersex children are protected and survivors of genital cutting are cared for and respected. We owe that to intersex people and we owe that to ourselves.

The implementation of an intersex justice framework should include the following components: 1. Informed consent 2. Reparations 3. Legal protections 4. Accountability 5. Language 6. Children's rights 7. Patient-centered healthcare."

-Intersex Justice Project, founded by Sean Saifa Wall, Lynnell Stephani Long, and Pidgeon Pagonis.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

|| Sanchez ||

Requested? ☑️

Circa: October 1943

Summary: Upon being shot down on his last mission, Major Gale Cleven finds himself in the company of a female officer -and not one from the 100th. While already inclined to show solidarity, the increasing threat towards his fellow officer forces him to act. The jeopardy such action puts him in is more than he could have ever estimated, as is the fallout upon finding women he knows in the stalag

Cast: Cleven, Sanchez, Demarco, Brady, Egan, Kendeigh, Lu Smith, Ida Brady

Author’s note: the first portion of this segment is in the immediate time frame of Gale being downed. The second portion follows the events of What Took Him So Long? the mirroring of both these segments will hopefully prove enjoyable but I worry perhaps confusing

Content Warning: due to the disturbing content listed below the cut, I understand some may choose not to read this segment. If you’d like an abridged summary of the events herein to keep up with the series, I’d be happy to supply that 💋🌹

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply 18+ additionally for this chapter there are warnings for depiction of rape. This entire arc was produced on popular request, i have tried to portray the brutal events found herein in the most elevated and respectful terms I found effective. I would not call it graphic, however, it’s not vague either. And it’s rape. Male and female. Depiction of rape and discussion of past rape. Violence as well, obviously, fucking Nazis, ptsd from said assaults, choking, hints of childhood trauma, mentions of medical experiments. General cloud of dread. With light at the end of the tunnel.

Note: my blog and writings are strictly 18+, this means that we are all adults here enjoying free connection and art. The themes of this particular story are mature, at times harrowing and for some, potentially intolerable. No worries if the latter is your case, feel free to move on or block tags. On the other hand, please take responsibility for your reading, I provide warnings as a courtesy but I cannot cover them all and if something doesn’t sit right, please exercise adult autonomy and make your way to the nearest exit. Xo

When Gale extended his hand to aid the next prisoner up into the truck, he hadn't anticipated one so small or so brown. Busted knuckles that had rivulets of crimson pouring over copper flesh; he was mildly fascinated by it. His concussed mind flashed to ‘Lu Smith and her shaded face, before belatedly realizing it was indeed a woman’s lighter frame he was hauling in beside him to the shrill insistence of German threats.

The woman who flopped on the bench opposite him, legs spread wide and boots braced with a brow like a thundercloud, was not Smith. And for that Cleven was relieved.

Last he had seen of Ida and Graham’s fort, they’d been carrying on over Breman, and while he had every reason to think few had made it back, who’s to say they weren’t lucky? And Ida could fly a tin can on the fumes of an alcoholic's breath. Smith wasn’t here, Ida either, and he tried to arrange his mind to that, to not even let the doubt creep in, and instead took to studying the newcomer in between the passing of more downed airmen filling the benches.

The incessant barking of their dogs must have been half strategy, the throbbing in his back working its way into his head as the minutes went by. It had taken too long for them to be brought to Luftwaffe jurisdiction, he knew that much, even with giving them the benefit of the doubt for wartime communication failures and muddy roads. He’d been well read and prepared and braced for the outcome of being downed since before they left the states, grilled his men on procedure, on their rights, their privileges as prisoners of war, also on their duties to silence. The fact he’d never truly thought it would happen to him didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly knowledgeable about the requirements.

So far Cleven had managed not to say a single word to anyone, the farmer with the pitchfork probably didn’t speak English and a wheezy “please don’t kill me” seemed like a flaccid bunch of last words that Gale refused to let off his tongue.

Instead he let them haul him to the nearest company of Wehrmacht soldiers and had been marched for ages by them, had seen and given Benny a nod when his column of prodded, sheepskin wearing sad bastards merged with Buck’s column of the same. Kendeigh hadn’t been there; crew get themselves killed in a hard landing as often as an exploded plane.

Cleven thought about breaking the silence now to ask the woman opposite where the hell she came from, her patches not what he was used to. But no, bad precedent, he stayed quiet and watchful as the Krauts pushed the last of the men into the overcrowded truck and snapped the tailgate shut. Someone could easily make a run for it by jumping out, but the jeep following behind at a steady few yards with a bristling assortment of machine guns suggested against it.

Once the truck began to move, Benny leaned forward beside him on their jostling journey and motioned in an ingratiating arc at the woman’s patches. “I don’t know those.” he said what Gale had been thinking, half yelling over the clamor of voices and the roar of the truck engine, “Looks half like varsity shit.”

Gale wasn’t sure his kindhearted co-Pilot meant those sorts of digs out of innocence or as a tactic to get reticent folks to defend themselves with the very information they might has previously withheld. As said, Gale didn’t know, but he knew it never failed. The woman went from scowling at Cleven -a pastime she had set herself to with such diligence that every time he tried to make discreet observance of her she already had her eyes on him- and turned to Benny.

“201st, fighters.” well that explained nothing and everything. “Sanchez.” she offered Benny after a beat, maybe knowing her name was hardly damning considering her looks.

Kinda like how Benny looked and sounded likely to have a name that started with “De-“ and a dog named meatball. “Eagle Wings, huh?” Benny nodded at the patch. “And a uh, uh triangle.” he couldn’t make it out all the way from his seat, but Buck could -the patch read ‘Mexico’ above a magnificent spread of Eagle Wings with a green triangle as the body.

They were all a long way from home.

“Aztec,” Sanchez tweaked it, “Aztec Eagles.”

“Mexican?” Benny asked, the accent wasn’t one he commonly heard in Philly but even crappy shows and movies got some things right, and Benny had seen his fair share of westerns.

“Sanchez.” she repeated instead and was back to scowling at Buck.

They seemed to drive for all day, until the light began to dim and what was a pleasant day turned into a misty chill as evening grew near.

The truck came to a halt at last, barbed wire and mud about them and the painted checkpoint arm whirled by as they drove into the dulag and came to a final stop. In the quiet that followed the cut of the engines, the rain was suddenly audible, pattering on the canvas above them. At the resumption of barked order and harsh commands the prisoners stood up, gingerly hopping out of the truck with just enough quickness not to be hit and just enough slowness not to be shot. Didn't help much anyway, muzzles were pointed quite liberally around here and you just had to hope the trigger fingers weren’t so generous.

The dulag guards turned away a good seven of those remaining after the packed truck had dispensed its human cargo. They didn't have enough room.

Go up further, to the next one, go to Frankfurt -those seemed to be the directions.

Directions their drivers and guards took poorly; it was late, it was drizzling and Buck could guess how little they enjoyed the on-edge detail of ferrying outnumbering prisoners around the countryside. They cut down on the number of guards, five to go with: a driver, two in the jeep, one more in the cab and another supposed to be with them in the truck back.

After a bit more haggling, the Dulag accepted three more prisoners. Cleven made sure to stay put, he didn’t know the foreign arguments well enough to decipher all but half the protesting seemed to be over who got Sanchez. And he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her here without a superior officer as defense. A dulag guard had hopped up into the truck and shined his flashlight at Buck’s markings, that’s when he mentioned something about Frankfurt.

Benny didn’t move without Cleven and so, when the truck took off again into the evening gloom, it was Buck and Benny and Sanchez and another hapless kid who looked all of fifteen and was, according to his over liberal offer of conversation, a scared shitless waist gunner.

“They’re arguing over you.” Cleven finally chose to speak up. It could get rough, the guards’ distinction of her. He felt it with a premonitory dread that came from too many right predictions as a child. He hated this feeling, he hated how right it usually was, he hated how it was usually met with folks telling him he worried too much. He’d taken to not saying much the older he grew, watching things play out, grieving over foreseen misfortunes all on his own. Until he met Bucky. But right now he had to speak up, this time he had to.

Yet Sanchez remained scowling, “They argued over you.” she retorted.

Gale gave her a tight smile, “I’m a major.”

“I’m a lieutenant.”

“I can see that.” he proceeded cautiously, “But they just took in a baker's dozen of lieutenants. No problem. But they didn’t take you.”

“Didn’t take him either.” she nodded to Benny.

“His captain’s ass never left the seat.” Cleven said, “You were on the ground, ready, they put you back. I’m tellin’ you, if they can’t decide who you are, where you go, I’m gonna need your assurance you’ll fight like hell with me. For recognition of it.”

-Just don’t say I worry too much, Gale thought desperately, he could almost feel Bucky’s gentle squeeze of his shoulder, like shaking out the tension in a cat as he said the same; his back was so stiff he thought it might snap if Bucky did it now but -but John wasn’t here. Thank Almighty God.

“You know you look more German than most of our guards.” Sanchez replied and Benny suddenly snapped to attention beside him at that. “I’m not assuring you of shit.”

“He’s not a damn spy!” Benny insisted, more loudly and vehemently than was maybe best with guards all around.

“You know this how?” she asked, unmoved.

“He’s my goddamn co-Pilot.”

“Pilot?”

“Ya think he just ripped his own cheek open for a part?”

Sanchez swayed with the jerk of a pothole and shook her head, “Maybe you both are.”

Smart, and a worse worrier than himself. Cleven liked her immensely and stared out the flap of the tarp, watching the rain pour down, dusk fully settling over everything outside and the trailing jeep’s headlights poured into their little haven, whiting-out his vision of the road.

“I’m not leavin’ this seat ‘till a Dulag takes you.” he told her, it was all he had to give. For her part she seemed determined to wait and see before expending any thanks. He didn’t expect it.

They weren’t in any city when the truck brakes checked them in a squeaking lurch, followed by the sound of tires turning off gravel and into squelching mud and then the echoing silence of the engine being cut once more. This wasn’t Frankfurt, and this was no engine failure. From the headlights of the following jeep, all Gale could make out was trees. So many damn trees. It had stopped raining.

“This isn’t Frankfurt.” He remarked to the guard sitting with them, the sullen fellow had not said a word for five hours and he didn’t start spilling now.

The others made an appearance when they joined them in the truck, hopping up with muddy jackboots and the clatter of what seemed to be a portable camp stove, along with rucksacks, utensils and the like. They unwound rope from the cloth neck of one sack and poured out oats, and another seemed to have been wrapping some preserved sort of meat. Gale eyed the discarded rope where it lay on the floor with the lust of a man used to working with what he was given, while Benny stared with barely concealed longing at the now simmering concoction on the tin stove.

These guards made conversation, or at least they tried. But not even the scared little gunner was in the mood to reply, and so it remained one sided. His boys hadn’t eaten since chow this morning at the crack of dawn, and Cleven didn’t blame them for their hunger but his own stomach was in loathsome, uneasy knots, and by observance of Sanchez’s wary sullenness, he figured he wasn’t alone in that. A dinner break for the Germans was one thing, he guessed, but the solitude was oppressive along with the forced proximity of all these grinning enemies stirring and chopping their porridge bits and laughing amongst themselves on the benches and floor next to them.

When they offered Demarco a hunk of whatever they had prepared, to his credit, Benny didn’t even acknowledge them. Their offer had been mocking enough, even without understanding the language.

“You must be hungry, ja?” The one with sergeant stripes cajoled, greasy teeth flashing, the muggy smells of rain and sweat and steaming food were all so noxiously trapped under the tarp, Gale had to bite his cheek to keep down the salient precursors of vomit.

The sergeant tried it on Sanchez next, insistently holding out a hunk of the meat impaled on the knife tip. She wouldn’t even look at him and that was an admirable thing until it served to anger him, and the man reached out, hand snagging in her waistband and hauling her smaller body beside him on the bench with ease. Benny was almost to his feet when Cleven fetched him back with a grip of his own, sitting him down firmly.

He managed to keep his voice perfectly neutral when interrupting the man’s flashlight lit perusal of Sanchez’s frozen features, “Hey, she doesn’t mean any harm, you let her go now.”

The sergeant looked up, less surprised to have gained a reaction from Gale but maybe at hearing his voice at last. “Only trying to be good hosts, ja? She von’t eat. Neither you?”

“Just not hungry.” Gale countered mildly.

“But ve must thank you,” the Sergeant laughed, and Sanchez stayed stiff as board in his grip, shying away from the still offered meat as much as the touch “so many parcels of gifts you drop.”

“Let her go.” Gale insisted, gently.

“She not drop zeez parcels?” The sergeant asked.

“She’s not a bomber.” Gale grit his teeth, “I do the dropping.”

The sergeant pulled her jacket apart in curiosity, thumbing at the patches, “Not’z a bomber?” Cleven felt his tongue go numb as the man tugged at her clothes, it was a curious inspection so far and yet- “Then it’s you should be given meat, ja?” The man left off his tugging and rose from his squat on the floor to approach Gale, the man was huge upon closer acquaintance, “For Hamburg,” he insisted through gritted teeth, his anger more palpable up close, and he pressed the meat to Gale’s tightly shut mouth, “and for ze little ones you turned to ash with your parcels.”

Gale kept his jaw locked and his mouth shut, eyes meeting the sergeants’, unblinking and unsorry.

“Open!”

Gale didn’t obey. The man sighed as if he were actually a host turned down. Gale could feel Benny’s eyes on him, wary, careful, his whole posture shockingly good at blending in, a damn good man to have next to you in a place like this.

“We have no beer,” the man confessed, knife and meat still pressing insistently, “or else we would offer it for such heroes. But not to fret, you have provided refreshment, ja? Full belly and beer iz ze best, full belly and a voman iz better.”

Carefully Gale turned his head away from the offered chunk, “That's a prisoner of war, not a woman.” He saw how little effect that had and added for benefit, “And your superiors are waiting for her.”

The man scoffed loudly and turned towards his men who were, Gale could now perceive past his bulk, scraping the last of their tin plates without so much as looking at the bowls -they were eying her. With intent. The kind of intent Gale wished he didn’t recognize but he did, carnival dins and race tracks after dark being hardly the best places to grow up unless you wanted to learn how often folks really would act on their worst impulses.

Not tonight, not if he could fucking help it. By Benny’s taut posture beside him, he knew he had an ally in the assumption that this would end in a fight. He eyed the rope lying on the floor.

“Eat with us.” The sergeant insisted, “She von’t be alive to tell on you, prisoners make a run for it all ze time. Must be shot. Ve’ll let you fuck her too.”

Oh Jesus- “Your superiors know-“ Cleven reminded, voice starting to shake in rage from the keyed up adrenaline he was barely keeping a lid on.

“-zey know emergencies happen.” The man snapped, almost annoyed at Gale’s persistence, as if he expected less protest from an airman at the prospect of one of his own being abused. “Zey would send more guards if zey cared as much as you ‘sink.”

The men had finished their bowls, they set them aside on the bench, pushing the stove away as well. Clearing the floor.

“Or fuck, oh fuck.” the gunner kid, who Gale had almost forgotten about on his end of the bench, began to panic, sounding like he was retching his prayers.

Gale met Benny’s eyes, then down to the rope on the floor, then back up. It was good to have a man who got it. Always got it, his Benny.

“Can I go first.” Gale asked, and held his breath.

“Vat?” The sergeant lowered the knife in surprise, the meat chunk slid and fell to the floor but neither cared.

Gale let his lips twitch, his eyes conspired, “I don’t wanna catch whatever shit you fuckers got.”

He could hear more than see Sanchez begin the thrash on her bench but she made no progress, maybe already being held. “And you von’t tell?” the sergeant asked.

Gale gave him a look that could be universally interpreted as ‘whadda ya think?’ and bent to retrieve the meat nugget from the muddy floor, right by the sergeant’s boot, the rope was just out of reach. When he straightened his back he popped the soiled peace offering in his mouth, he chewed it loudly, the rush of an imminent attempt thrumming so strongly in his body it replaced the queasiness for a moment. The sergeant clapped his hands together, once, in appreciation for the despicable deal.

Gale knew they wanted nothing more than sport of him, it was no comradely favor to allow him to go first, it was blackmail and it was likely something worse once he got his pants down. But they could all play along, he just needed to get close to her. They had her jacket off already, her boots, too.

This didn’t really have a chance in hell but if she was like Ida, or Smith or anyone else, she’d rather be shot barefoot than have this happen to her. Gale supposed dying with German ham stuck in his teeth was about a draw with being killed via pitchfork prongs through the belly.

He didn’t process much when he stood up: not beyond the two paces it took to get to her, the men holding her on the bench seat and wrestling at her clothes, the way Benny didn’t say a word. He really was thinking of Benny in those paces, hoping his co-pilot was ready -it didn’t occur to him even once that Demarco might be as fooled as these sick fucks around them, letting go of her all too quickly at the prospect of a degrading show.

Cleven had his hand around her necktie, pulling her off the bench before he’d even really registered being close enough, he’d forgotten how to hold his face for this act but maybe the mad determination passed for lust, he didn’t think of anything but yanking her up when he felt a sudden, stinging slice against his right cheek. She’d been waiting for this moment, smart thing had a penknife hidden somewhere, it was something one of the Banshees would have pulled, and the mirroring slice was disorienting enough that he wasted a good two seconds in smarting surprise as warm blood trickled down his chin and the guards began to shout.

Someone else wrested the knife from her grip, someone else held onto her wrist now, his moment of shocked pain wasted his fucking plan.

Still, he tried.

Cleven yanked her further toward the middle of the space, spun her around despite her incessant clawing -and maybe the actions seemed to the guards in accordance with his plan, plus some anger from the wound. He didn’t know what they thought, he only knew that no one halted him, they just gathered closer to see, never expecting it, just as he didn’t expect to manage it when he got her turned to the open flap of the tarp and bodily hurled her out its back, into the night.

Benny must’ve tripped the first one, a clunky helmet clattering as the guy fell flat at Cleven’s feet, right as he turned around to help. It wasn’t ever gonna be a nice fight, or a likely chance for her to have even a ten second start but it was something besides sitting on a bench and watching them violate a fellow officer. He’d have done the same for Benny. Just as Benny now looked pretty resigned to dying in this fight, getting in a couple of excellent, unapologetic punches with the next guard who manned up and realized what was what. -It’s gotta be a let down to be keyed up for a nice orgy in the woods only to end up having to play guard again. Gale wanted to manage to kill one before he got shot, that’s all he really wanted anymore.

And for the girl to get out, for all the girls to get out wherever they were.

He was grappling with the closest one, the guy nearest the flap who almost managed to give chase to her right away, when he felt something that gave him a chill of horror he never expected. Rope; he registered it slipping down his chin, making him let go of his opponent to try to slip his fingers between the twine and his collared throat -too late. He felt himself bodily yanked back, a burn in his throat all consuming and the sudden deprivation of air turning him into a desperate mess, nothing useful about his scuffing feet and clawing hands.

They were giving orders to go after her, and two men were scrambling out the back as Gale began to sag. From his new position gasping on the floor, Gale could see that they had a gun to Benny’s gut, while the gunner kid hadn’t needed such firmness, he was braced at the back of the truck in absolute terror.

Well this was over faster than desired but -to be expected. Fuck.

“Halt.” Cleven felt the sergeant’s boot kick at the side of his head, emphasizing his order to cease his struggles.

World grew fuzzy then, not at all like drowsy sleepiness in a hammock but instead like being caught in the river current when you thought you’d managed to strike the ford just right. Gale’s pulse thudded between his temples like the blows of a sledgehammer on his skull, his lungs burned, the cuts on his cheeks blared their pain like screaming infants demanding to be heard above the rest of the pain and terror and fury. He could taste the blood gushing out of them from the pressure, the cuts spurted and dribbled down into his already choking mouth.

What a way to go.

He felt cold air, he felt himself drug and a painful drop to what was likely muddy ground, felt himself dragged some more and his own finger -wedged between the rope and his throat- hurt him worst of all, that knuckle digging into his windpipe.

When some slack finally came, it was minimal, only enough for his body to heave and gag and try to force air into collapsed pipes, enough for sounds of cries and shots and clanking metal to flood into his consciousness. He was either at heaven’s gate or on the cold hard ground at eye level with the beaming jeep headlights -that would explain the blinding glow in his vision.

Or else, heaven wasn’t half what it was cracked up to be.

Someone or a few someone’s, were standing over him and he could see then that he was tied by the makeshift noose to the trailer hitch of the truck, tarp flaps widened far above him like stage drapes. Was Benny still alive in there?

“Maybe you defend her because you too are female?” One guard suggested while prodding at his crotch with a boot, and that made Gale’s frozen, sluggish, oxygen deprived blood begin to pound. “Hübsch.” they complimented him repeatedly -pretty, so very pretty. Too pretty for a man. “We should check, ja?”

He spared one single hope, that Benny wasn’t watching. He didn’t hope they wouldn’t act on their threats, and he hadn’t any hope left that he could actually save Sanchez from what they were even now wrestling her to the ground for. But it felt worsened somehow at the idea of his co-pilot seeing him this way, he yanked his head against the noose and regretted it after. The constriction made his eyes burn, and all his efforts were once again concentrated on grappling with his breathing as they tugged at his clothes and made sport of discovering he was not, in fact, lying about being male.

They laughed, they touched, they said he was some mistake. A face like that had no business owning a cock. He wished he knew less German, in fact he knew little but there are kindnesses and there are cruelties that need no articulation to be understood.

The earth beside him, the mud beneath Sanchez’s hands, was tilled up from her nails, like furrows for planting and her face was so near his when they threw her down, he could make out the spit and blood on her lips.

“Should I?” One was saying and they had their knife out, Gale’s panicked mind had a generous moment of hope that they would cut the rope, that he would soon be able to breathe again. Or else his throat, and he’d not breathe anymore. Both sounded perfect.

They cut open his flight suit instead, a hand heavy on the back of his head, turning him fully over, and then there was the feeling of a warm and sweaty body beginning to roll on top of him.

The mud was cold beneath his cheek, smooth on the forest floor, none of the rough gravel of that endless road, only mud and pine needles sticking to his face now, their knobby little ends roughing up the older wound on his cheek. Every time the guard pushed closer, it scraped him -that blade to his other cheek. The metal tip glittered in the periphery of his one good eye, shining from the headlights.

Sanchez had begun to scream.

Hoarse, wounded, fox like.

It felt very much like a demented dream, even down to the hunter’s attitude above him, the grunts, the prey-like waiting for the lethal blow. He wasn’t sure how long he had floated with only her wounded cries as a grounding agent when he felt a splatter against his lower back and consciousness came back with a heave of his chest and a revolt so strong he fought again against the noose. Predictably, it only tightened. There was cold on his skin then, when the man drew away, fresh night breezes mocking the mess he’d made of Gale, kerosene and exhaust fumes ruining the smell of soil beneath him. Then the heat was back, someone else draped over him, and Gale dug his fingers into the earth too, readying for what the other had spared him. It didn’t matter, if they tired themselves out with him, that was one less -now two less- to use her instead. There had been only five.

This one flipped him over, Gale went easily, both hands occupied straining to get even a finger between the asphyxiating pressure of the rope and his throat.

“He is easier now.” he heard the man laughing, foggy, hazy, unfairly. “The bitch has gone quiet, maybe he will make music, huh?”

Gale frantically turned his head to seek her out, desperate to find her alive -she couldn’t be dead. Not just from this, surely not, what could they do to kill her?-but his own vision was spotting and his throat spasmed in protest. They surely could kill them this way, they could do anything they wanted because they could kill them. And no one would ever hold them to account.

His poor girls. What were they doing to his poor girls?

It burned enough to jolt him awake again, both the forceful entry and the smack to his cut cheek. They wanted him awake, aware, he refused to look at them. This was reminiscent, bright lights and unwanted hands and all but the carnival music missing. He kept staring to the side at her, and at her face, at the way the headlights lit them both up like a carnival spectacle and cast the shadows of their tormentors in looming, grotesque proportions against the treeline. She had her eyes closed, face almost suffocated in the soil, balled fist growing lax beside his own, just out of reach. She didn’t even react when the next replaced the other. There were only five, Gale repeated to himself, there were only five.

No, no, no.

“Smith,” he begged her, “Smith don’t fuckin’ give up on me now.”

His poor girls.

Gale’s own voice made him cringe, how hoarse it was, how young, what a beg it sounded like, how punctuated each word was with the winding pain of a fresh thrust. But her eyes flew open at his call.

Sanchez, her name was Sanchez, he reminded himself. And Smith was with Ida, probably throwing the ball at the flack house after making it back from Breman. She had to be. He didn’t want to live in a world where Lu felt what he felt now as the man shuddered inside him, used him like a skein, a shell, a vessel, hot breath stinging at his cuts.

“Stay with me Sanchez.” he muttered, wondering if he had it in him to do the same. He didn’t have the luxury of ignoring his tormenter any longer, he felt his face gripped and turned, cuts smarting beneath calloused fingertips, cheeks being squished like Bucky used to do in play. The yeasty splatter spit landing on his own tongue was somehow more revolting than all the rest. He gagged, he struggled, his body was on fire.

Smith was screaming again.

There were only five.

He refused to remember more until there was a sudden absence of the heat and the breath and the tearing pain, and if he wasn’t so drugged on misery he might have thought everyone seemed a little rushed at the end. Not how he expected them to be with all the time in the world to wipe their pricks, close their pants, pull out a pistol and deliver a headshot. One apiece here in the mud. See ya there, Benny, he thought dismally, not bothering to open his eyes.

But then there were sounds of squealing tires and the roar of engines and the white bright glow behind his eyelids grew in intensity until he realized -in a fumbled state of what felt like being redressed- that someone else had pulled up to this horror show. There’d only been five and now- now, oh fuck, he didn’t think he could, no, no, no, he yanked at his noose, half hoping to strangle himself or at least be caught fighting this.

If he didn’t know much German when lucid and keen, he certainly wasn’t adept at deciphering the angry babble above him when half dead, half uncaring about listening for an order to flip him over for the next or to blow his brains out. No, no he was far away in the Silver Wings and Maureen’s boot was dug into his shoulder as she turned himself and Egan into scaffolding, all to smoke the club’s ceiling with testament of their survival for their 20th. No big bash like for 25 but it had been a milestone, as terrifyingly hopeful as it had been all too fortunate. He’d seen her cry for the first time that night, hands shaking, admitting she felt in her bones they’d not be lucky, that she’d never really thought about this part, not when she joined up, about getting so close and now she wanted to see it through she was sick to death of the idea of seeing it though being a fiery death. Well, Gale knew now she’d managed to jump, she’d not known fire.

But what else, oh what else?

Next time Cleven woke he was face down on the same old bench seat from hours before, burning ribs nothing compared to the lapping flames below his waist. The truck beneath him was moving and his cut face was only partially gentled by the feel of someone’s meaty thigh beneath him. Horrified, he startled up, hating the idea of being someone’s pet after-

-but it was Benny, looking busted as hell but alive and holding onto him lest he jolt off the bench with the next pothole. As far as he could feel, Gale had his clothes on, muddy and cold and it was daylight and they were moving. A guard he didn’t recognize was on the opposite bench near the flaps, watching them curiously with a rifle slung easily over his lap. He had wings on his lapel.

Sanchez was sat as far from him as possible near the front of the truck, alive and looking for all the world like she might kill the sniffling and unharmed gunner on the floor.

“Luftwaffe.” Benny informed him and Gale winced at their good fortune before giving his friend a pat and letting the sludge of insensibility take over again.

————————————————

“What was done to you: I am horrified.” Lt. Hausmann’s eyes were warm but his smile was cold, as cold as the holding cells, an odd dichotomy, opposite to most but not foreign to Gale. “I have heard they had intentions to hang you, yes? You, a prisoner of war. An officer. Horrifying, base, cowardly, I can only apologize for my countrymen’s attitude, they will be held to account. Was there anything else? I shall make a note. Are you well? Was there anything else?”

“There was a fighter pilot with me.” Cleven did not miss the eagerness in the man’s body language when he let loose his voice at last, hoarse from the rope and suppression of his cries. He’d been sat at this frigid desk with its proffered whiskey and smokes for half an hour already. “She was brutally raped, Lieutenant. And it is my understanding she is under Luftwaffe command now. Held here. I’d like you to make note of both, treat her accordingly.”

“Appalling.” Haussmann insisted, pen scritching away at his pad, “Noted, I-i will see that they are brought to account. Appalling. And you, Major, were you treated well? Besides your throat, I mean. Satisfactory? Honorably? I will make a note.”

The gnawed and broken thumbnail he’d bitten off hours ago slipped from between Gale’s molars. His teeth grated against each other for a split second. It was the only sound that filled the room. There’d been only five.

He passed Benny in the hall when they drug him back to his cell. But he never saw Sanchez again.

———————————————-

He didn’t see Sanchez again, not until a month later when she came with Smith. And all the others. Not until after a month of a John Brady biting through his lips with well placed anxiety over the absence of their female fellows. A month of Gale acting like he actually thought they were alright. As far as he knew, the boy’s sister was fine. Until she came through that gate, head shorn, cheek disfigured, half her buttons missing and a look in her eye that was half fury, half woe.

He was angry for Ida, but she didn’t belong trapped in a dog run with all these men. So Gale protested.

“If it can happen to you-“ John Brady had the gall to suggest at the gate, to suggest something Cleven had never confirmed. But Brady was like that, and Cleven had stopped his fight against the girls' inclusion all the same. Perhaps his fight had been less about the rules being broken, and more at the idea of having to see any more of their mistreatment, being witness to it, his rank proving useless once more. Never again. Not if he had to barter the golden gates for their safety.

———————————————--

“You ok?” Cleven asked Brady on the second day after their arrival as he counted out the syringes on the rough hewn table, one by one. He didn’t doubt the kid’s promise to get the supplies but instead the stalag doctor’s elusive provisions and willingness to comply. But sure enough, there was one for each of the girls, and a spare.

Brady gave him a tight lipped nod before expounding, “Sunnuvbitch wouldn’t dish on the iodine, I could see the damn relief package right there behind him but -no swabs. Dry stab. I guess.”

“It’s ok.” Cleven insisted, eyeing him still; he had his coat bundled about him even indoors but the buttons of his shirt beneath were redone, Gale knew that because they skipped one and started again wonky, wrong buttonhole, twice over. Like they’d been redone in haste. It hadn’t been that way when he left. “These are what we need.” he glanced up from his task at Hambone who was animatedly informing Benny of his visit.

Cleven had tried at subtlety, listening in with discretion but he couldn’t help it anymore, too curious himself. “You went with him, yeah?”

“Yes sir.” Hambone gestured to his newly smoothe cheek, stitches gone.

“So, what’s he like? The doc?”

Hamilton gave a signature sneer, “Weird as fuck and a little weirder than that. Wouldn’t fuckin’ shut up.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Yeah!” Hamilton insisted, pissed off by it apparently, “On and on about psy- psycho -sam-“

“psychosomatic.” Brady rescued him boredly.

“-reflexes and shit. On and on. Just want the stitches out, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Cleven agreed. Waiting for the shoe to drop. He stared at the extra shot, his stomach curdling. “Just want some shots.” he added, eyes drifting up to land on Brady and his sightless stare at the opposite wall that bunked his motionless sister.

“Yeah, that was a whole other debacle.”

“Oh?” Cleven prodded, the picture of nonchalance as he started to divide the shots into groupings. He was seeing things, he was projecting, he was doing what Egan told him not to ever do -assume what has been is now what is. What he’s experienced is what everyone else has. He knew that deep down, but there was a brittle bravery to Jack Brady these days that reminded Gale too much of his own fraudulent brand of survival.

“Hammy it’s- how about you leave off.” Brady muttured. “Don’t bother the major with it.”

“Weird as fuck.” Hambone confirmed stubbornly.

“I’m the one who asked you if you thought he was weird.” Brady corrected, irritated enough by impression to continue.

“And it was! I said he was.”

“I’ve been telling you guys.” When Brady said it, it was without heat. “Him and his stupid little hammers.”

“Yeah what was all the hammering for?”

“Reflexes, Hammy. Psychosomatic.”

“Weird as fuck.”

Gale bit his tongue so hard he hoped it cleared his head before daring, “He make you take your shirt off for it?”

There was a pause in the slapping sounds of the card game ongoing behind him, Kendeigh and Demarco and Crank all freezing at the question.

“He keeps checking the shoulder.” Brady finally said, it was admittance enough.

“And the fuckin’ knee.” Hambone chipped in.

He shrugged, meeting Cleven’s eyes stubbornly, “He’s obsessed with reflexes.”

“You hurt your knee landing?”

Brady’s flat line of a mouth tugged up wryly, his eyes flitted over to his sister's motionless form. “A tad. Uh, the shots sir, he said they go in the hip. Didn't have the pamphlets, no instructions.

“I remember.” Gale had some knowledge of it, they’d all gotten a few vaccines in training, and he knew enough to ask for them in the first place, to help with whatever the poor girls might have contracted. His own eyes skittered to Kendeigh who sat at the table, making a poor show of holding her deck of cards. “Well, you first?” he pleaded.

She looked a little cross but she didn’t fight him, she rose from the table with stern imprecations on anyone skipping over her turn and cast about for a place. Gale put his hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to a corner by the bunks, it was really all the privacy he had to give.

“You’ll have to undo my belt, Ida had to do it up-“ she flashed her swollen hands again, “-my hands.”

“I got you.” he whispered, gently reaching around and loosening the belt so that her borrowed trousers sagged enough for him to get at the meat of her hip.

Johnny was rolling Ida over in their bunk beside him, and Gale wasn’t sure who should give Ida her shot but he supposed her brother was the best candidate. Much as he hated the boy having to. But, perhaps, it wasn’t the worst thing he had to do tonight, and that made Gale’s stomach sour. He willed his hands to steadiness and undid the cap off the needle.

“Jesus Christ.” Johnny was suddenly exclaiming, hoarse and infuriated, Gale glanced aside and saw the boy had uncovered a hip alright, with his usual meticulous precision, and still, there wasn’t a spot of skin on Ida not green or else blue or else near to black. Gale stared back at Maureen and the jagged little scratches on her hip, crescent moon ditches, the blooming bruise here and there and swore not to count his blessings.

What did he know? Nothing, he knew nothing about any of them really. Except he knew such injuries didn’t have to show to hurt like hell. He drove the shot home with merciful force, squeezed in the stinging contents and retracted it, smooth and fast as anything.

“Hell, fuck, damn! Son of a carpet wearing Methodist-“ Maureen hopped around on her one good leg in barely contained frenzy at the sting.

Gale tried not to smile, “Bad huh?”

She scowled back at him in between pained giggles, “If I could give yours just for pay back, I would. Damn!” she held her hands up up once more and Cleven kept his eyes above, “But I can’t, sorry, can’t help with the other girls either, fucking useless.”

Johnny was standing, straightened up again, syringe empty, sister still just lying there. Bucky Egan out cold beside her. Gale couldn’t even allow himself to question if those two would be alright. They had to be, he didn’t think he could make it without them, make everyone else make it along with him. “She didn’t even budge.” Jack muttered.

What was there to say to that?

“She didn’t make it all the way here just to fuckin’ die.” Kendeigh assured him while straddling her chair again, voicing her peculiar brand of kindness and her true opinion on Ida Brady, “She’d never be so wet. They had a whole day to kill her on that train and they didn’t manage to.”

A day? A train? Gale didn’t know what to make of it; he was just glad that Bucky was dead to the world for now and not getting riled again by every new tidbit so that Gale would have to talk him down and also administer shots to a bunch of traumatized women.

“We’ll help sir.” Crank offered to him as he stood over the divided piles of syringes again.

“Alright,” Gale agreed, “but some may wanna give it to each other instead, you let them. Give ‘em space. I don’t think they’ll fight it, they know they need ‘em.”

Benny sauntered up beside him, flicking at the supplies, “This one yours, Buck?” he asked casually, fiddling with the spare.

Gale glanced at Brady and found him looking back at him. “Yeah.” He told Benny. “For the cuts.”

“Here, let me-“ Benny was already at it. Gale tugged his waistband down to assist, just enough to expose a sliver of pale hip and leaned a little over the table, there were bruises on his hipbones, he knew, but they could be from anything.

It did sting like hell.

“Alright you take those, and that’s enough for, yeah-“ Gale divided the supplies to each man, lingered just a moment as they went into the hall to brush by Brady, and murmured to him him lowly, “That was real thoughtful, thanks. You need one?”

To the credit of his poker face, the boy didn’t startle a bit, except for an infinitesimal flutter of an eyelid. “No sir?” he asked as if that were an idiotic question.

It was the only way Gale knew to ask him: to ask about something more. -Tell me son, just tell me you need a shot and I’ll know I’m not imagining shit. That I’ve not become paranoid and irritable and callous, too.

But then, “No sir?” and that incredulous face that left even the strongest man feeling like a dunce.

Well, that was it.

“I’ll help you tell them.” Maureen was by his side suddenly and Gale appreciated that, Smith was the only other female Lieutenant and he could use Kendeigh’s unapologetic pragmatism. “Ida told them she’d ask for remedies. Think she meant for pregnancies but, this is a start.”

There really wasn’t much of an announcement to be made; who didn’t understand what penicillin was needed for? It was needed for the dreaded thing that was hung over every bathroom stall door at canteens and on the underground in London, warning of having too good of a time and catching something. No one needed explanations, even though Gale watched their faces as Kendeigh announced and helped distribute the shots one room after another, he was trying to detect if any were hesitant or unconvinced. He found none.

He did find Sanchez, across one identical wooden room and still in her jacket with the eagle patch. She must have washed her face with the others, the mud was gone. When they locked eyes he saw a hard and warning look harden her eyes further; it made his cheek throb. Stonefaced, she broke the stare after a moment and advanced to grab her allotment, even as her fingers dragged along his palm, even when she passed him, Gale could not get her to resume it.

In one of the last rooms he went in alone -Maureen was delayed with one of the girls doing poorly, one who was not well enough to rise from her bunk. “They about drowned her” Maureen told him casually, and that was something else he dreaded learning about.

“Drowned?” he’d repeated a bit dumbly, and he deserved her

annoyed face.

“To get info from us.”

“Us?” he repeated again, low and slow, “You too?”

She gave him another of those looks before nodding at the last parcel in his hand, “Go take care of Smith’s girls before Johnny gets to them first and helps them with all the tenderness of a mortician.”

When Gale had stepped back into the hallway, Johnny’s voice could be heard still two doors down with Benny, fighting a fine line between helping and making themselves scarce. Personally, Gale felt Johnny was a gentle fucker when he needed to be. This wasn’t one of those cases, none of the girls wanted pity from them. Or acknowledgement even, judging by Sanchez’s cautioning venom.

In the last room, Smith and Tong had the girls sorted efficiently, and it was a little thing to ask the ever obliging Graham and the other men to step out briefly. Same old script here as before, Gale felt in a numb sort of loathing for his lack of originality -he distributed a shot a piece and apologized for the lack of iodine to sterilize the injection site and they all assured him it was fine, and everyone knew he was apologizing for far more than the lack of iodine and they knew that they’re assurances were more than about it either. Gale liked these girls for how well they knuckled under, it had made them pretty great in the crews after a shaky mission. They shoved a bad thing down as well as the next man, and if they punched their bed frames at night or cried in the showers, just like how it was for his men, that wasn’t Gale’s concern.

Only Lu Smith’s face went off script when he pressed the needle and its cartridge in her hand, something besides tight lipped thanks or a nod of efficient understanding. There were questions in her eyes, dancing slow and swirly and blatant as sorghum specks in molasses. A rich dark pool of uncertainty. Some girls were already discreetly headed for corners of the room to make the stab or else rolling up a shirt sleeve and insisting to the giver that they wanted it given there. Lu glanced away from him only to watch these proceedings with something like fear and then she was looking back at him, a hesitant plea written on her face. He didn’t know she was scared of needles.

“Major, is Ida awake?” his lieutenant asked, voice scratchy and a little closed, like how it got when she tried her hand at professionality or had to present a solution in front of a crowd. “I need to ask her something.”

That was a remarkably vague sentence, not at all professional. “No, she’s not.” He told her, watching as the fear grew more pronounced around her mouth and chin, “You ask me, Lieutenant.”

“May I?”

“Course,” Gale nodded his head toward the door, “step out here.”

He strode down to the very end of the combine, by the locked double doors, just far enough away from the windows not to invite a guard to come in and give them shit about it. The bright orange lights of the camp came in from the general darkness outside, glowing through the always dusty glass and making Smith’s skin shine a pretty bronze, even with the dark spots on her chin. Those made his blood thud quicker. It was quiet down here, as private as he could get.

“What’s up Smith?” he urged.

“I’m sorry sir I-I’ve got a few questions.”

“Told you to ask, Lieutenant.” Gale reminded, “So ask.”

“Yes sir.” She’d developed a tick since he’d last seen her, an odd sort of hugging of herself, arm crossing her chest and hand gripping her opposite clavicle, fingertips curling just over her own shoulder. “It’s about the shots. Ida’s been teaching me but she never mentioned about those.”

Gale took a deep breath, only the faintest bit of mirth left at the reminder of the ‘condom balloon’ incident. Ida had needed a stiff drink after taking her engineer aside and informing ‘Little Lu’ those were rubber socks men put on their members, and not in fact balloons. And yes, Benny had lied out of niceness, and yes men’s bodies sprayed things like cattle’s did when they got excited, and yes it’s for the purpose of making babies. Gale had heard all this from Ida after three stiff shots she’d downed like medicine, she’d relayed it in a perfect montone and Gale had not asked but she told him all the same, then said she needed to hit the sack and Ida Brady was gone while Gale remained at the bar with his cider and shaking shoulders. The memory had been amusing only weeks ago, when Douglass came to loot Benny’s footlocker for more rubbers and they’d all made a joke about Smith having beat him to them -for balloons.

“Everyone else seems to know and want them and I’m the slow one again.” Smith was muttering, a petulant look of annoyance crossing her young face, angry at herself.

“It’s about the guards.” Gale murmured.

Smith looked so hurt by that he wasn’t sure where he’d misstepped, but then, “Is it for what they did? Or is it such a sure they’re gonna keep hurting us and these- how do these help, sir?”

Gale startled and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder out of pure, gut instinct to impress on her his next words, “Not a single thing is goin’ to happen to you again, not like that, you hear me, Lu?” he shook her a little and it dislodged her own hand from her chest.

“Yes sir.”

“These are for anything you might’ve caught.” he tried to explain, coming up short and he knew it. If Bucky were here he’d use all manner of crass slang and common vernacular phrases to jog the poor girl’s memory about magazine advertisements, the sorts that warned of ‘diseases’, the underground posters and the bathroom stall flyers urging chastity or safety. Gale could not manage it back then and he couldn’t now. “Diseases Lu.” he tried again, “Men who aren’t- careful, or- disciplined, they, they spread diseases to the girl they’re with. Uh, with- intimately. If they’ve been with other girls before.”

He hoped to God that Ida had used the word ‘intimate’ when educating Smith on these finer yet so utterly crude aspects of human interaction. ‘Intimate’ seemed like a word Ida Brady would use, he thought he recalled her accusing him of being intimate with Kendeigh. Maybe the accusation had been ‘fraternizing’. Or ‘getting familiar’. Gale wasn’t sure, he only recalled that it had not been complementary and he had blushed into the floor under her stare but her accusation had been vague. He knew Ida had been vague.

Was she equally vague with Smith? Did that mean Smith was as uneducated as she’d been before Ida gave her an ineffectually Catholic lesson?

“They can spread it with-“ Smith paused only a minute before deciding to trust him, “-with their bodies? Like a wound?”

Gale gave her nod, trying to stay teacherly, “With their bodies. Yeah. They don’t need wounds it comes from- well, other places. Intimate places they- look, Smith if you weren’t hurt that way, you don’t need the shots.”

Grueling as this conversation was, nerve wracking as her dense innocence could be, it fed that traitorous bit of hope he’d been harboring since he lost all hope for himself that she might’ve been alright. It wasn’t fair to Kendiegh or Ida or Sanchez or any of the others to hope for that, but none of this was fair anyway. Maybe her lack of comprehension was a kindness.

Smith’s eyes were latching onto one surrounding thing and then another, a good long beat between each new object, not darting but roving, now latched on the doorframe and now on Gale’s coat buttons and then on to the glass window panes beside them as if she could see through the bubbled glass out into the dark yard. He could tell by her change in breathing more than the light when she began to cry.

“I didn’t want the girls to think I’m stupid.” She admitted, and she was definitely crying, “I’m their officer, I should know these things.” she explained, lips going into a full tremble, all the harmless jokes of before suddenly not a bit funny, “But I don’t know at all, I didn’t know they’d-“ Gale kept his hand on her now jolting shoulder, spending a little too much time thinking how to mould his own face to some correct expression for this as she began to crumble, it was better than watching too closely as she broke apart, “When they beat us and put the bags over our faces I- I expected it. It wasn’t right, we weren’t treated like prisoners but, I expected it. Ida had told us. Then they started saying things to her, the ones that could speak English and I-i really didn’t know what they meant, not at first until they started- oh Major, they, they started touching her, like lovers in a movie.”

Lu had her eyes squeezed shut like that would get the image out somehow, one brief flash and Gale could remember everything about laying there and seeing Sanchez’s face -and he knew nothing wiped the image out. “They had her chained to a bar and they kept doing that,” she went on, “It was over her head, the bar was over her head and I could tell how much she hated it, and she couldn’t do anything and they weren’t hurting her anymore, they were- they were touching her. They stopped beating her and started touching her, sir and I- that’s when I realized that, there could be something worse. They wanted us to start giving up ranks, and they kept doing that until we did and I wanted to give up then more than any time else. Just to make them stop doing that to her.”

Gale squeezed her shoulder and she jerked under it but cried afresh, she stayed still next to him and just kept crying. “Smith, right here and now I need to know if you’re alright.” he steered her away from memories back to now, as gently as he could, “Ida is gonna be alright, and she’s proud of you, and she expects you to take care of her girls, you hear me? And I need you well for that, Lu. I need to know if you’ve been hurt.”

Smith pulled herself back into a shaky composure, her neck still trembling so badly her head made tiny little jerks from time to time. “They did hurt me.” she agreed.

“Hurt you where you need these shots?” he gently clarified, hoping she was catching on, dreading the confirmation all the same.

“They put -they kept putting themselves inside me.” she got it out, her face dazed like she still didn’t understand it even as her voice cracked from a soul deep knowledge of the wrong done, “I didn’t know they could- they could use their bodies like that. I didn’t know. They kept doing it.”

-There had been only five.- Gale felt his belly lurch, some bowel deep memory of the same torture taking over him, like a haunting he couldn’t prevent. He’d thought he had it locked far down enough, hardly thought on it these days, but maybe he’d shoved it down to where it hurt in the first place, with his belly in knots all again and Sanchez’s cold face sneering and Benny’s worried eyes making his stomach shake and salt flood his mouth. He wanted to vomit.

“Oh Lu.” he muttered ineffectually, “C’mere.” and he had her hugged and cradled to his ratty jacket before his ingrained and temperate habits could interfere. He had her turned to the doors, her sobbing eyes pressed into his sweaty layers and it was better that way. With his lips pressed to the crown of her head he watched the rest of the hallway go on without them, men going back into the rooms once the shots had been administered, Benny darting into one with a bucket in hand. Gale saw Brady as Brady saw him, only making a small pause in his stride as he watched Gale hold Smith before he turned away, face still a blank slate, the boy went back to his sister.

Maybe if Gale had been closer or the hallway brighter he might’ve seen the same hurt and tears there as he and Smith were sharing, but Brady wasn’t close and he wouldn’t say and maybe Gale was a fool to think his own experience wasn’t a fluke. But Brady just went back to Ida, and Gale still felt the damning weight of the shot in his palm even as he hugged Smith’s narrow shoulders.

His own hip still smarted from the injection, -the shot for his cuts. Just his cuts.

“I’m sorry sir.” Smith was trying to say in between sobs, no doubt finding her emotions galling in the face of her prized professionalism.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be fine-“

“I know.”

“I’ll be fine i just, I didn’t know-“

“I know, Lu.”

“It hurt so much.”

“I know.”

She pulled her face away, he was glad to see that while it was puffy and reddened, she looked far calmer. The suddenness of her recovery should have warned him. “Do you sir?” she whispered, pained.

“What?”

“Do you know, sir?” she asked again, harmless yet intent, “Did they hurt you that way too?”

Gale felt a rush of heat, heat and numbness where his hands fell from their grip on her and shook by his sides instead, and he hated his limbs for that betrayal. Heat, like she could see it so clearly on his face, like the harmless cuts on his face really spelled it out. Everyone’s suspicion of them put him on edge, wondering what was wrong with his bearing, his walk, the way he took a seat, that somehow exposed him. With her dark, pitying, horrified little face staring up at him, he felt like he was back on the bench with Benny holding him there, knowing most likely why he had to lay on his belly and not his back.

“Smith you can’t-“ Gale sounded young again and he hated it, when he was ready he began again, and this time he sounded like Major Cleven, “-don’t ever say shit like that again, alright? You can’t say shit like that. Not about- men. Not about me.”

She looked affronted and close to tears again, but his tone couldn’t be helped, last thing this stalag needed was news their Major had been so easily overcome. “I was just asking sir-“

“Not something you ask a man.” he informed her. “Like ya said, there’s lot of things you don’t know, it’s alright. But you don’t ask that, Smith.”

Harsh but necessary, he told himself again. Except she looked less hurt now and closer to something like anger, if her kind self could be angry. He’d seen her get angry when someone kicked a dog once. He’d seen her angry after a shit mission. She looked close to it now, like some grave injustice was firing her up. “But it can happen to men.” she was suddenly wise and he picked a cuticle bloody in trance-like distress, his face was motionless, “I know because they- they can put themselves both places.”

Fury took the place of numbness in his being and he grabbed her again, pulling her close and tucking her under his chin, she made a wounded noise when their chests collided despite the layers, but she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back. “They’re never gonna do that again, Lu, never again. I’m gonna make sure of it. Bucky’ll make sure of it.” he swore, his voice gone so low it shook. “They hurt you other places?”

Smith shook her head against his chest, “I’ll take the shot, sir.” she murmured meekly. “Would you give it? I don’t want the others to-“

“Sure, Lu.”

He waited until she pulled away, her eyes downcast but the look on her face broke no argument that she wasn’t in a humor to be less than her rank. Gale shifted the shot in his palm and bit his lip, willing away any sentiment about it.

“Goes in the hip. Mark my words, those bicep shots that Tong went for- gonna hurt for ages, you don’t need that. Lemme put it in your hip.”

Smith nodded and cast a furtive glance behind her at the empty hall, only looking down again to undo her belt when Gale moved his body to block any hapless onlooker.

There were bruises when he gently aided her in tugging the drab olive aside, some nearly as dark as the ones on Ida and welts from what looked like a belt strap, even on the high swell of her hip. Gale knew the smarting bite of a belting.

“Did you wash these?” he whispered to her, crouching to better see his work as he made a harbor of unmarried muscle between his thumb and index finger, bunching up the meat of her leg and holding it for her to relax into his touch before he jammed the shot home.

“When we showered.” Lu wasn’t crying anymore but her voice matched his in its softness, tense anticipation for the jab mellowing the longer he kept her staid under his hold.

“Good.” he commended her, voice muffled by the needles’ cap between his lips.

She only stiffened when he drove it in, pressed down on the plunger with his thumb, kept his hand gripping her hip, shaking the muscle just so, “Loosen up.” he ordered, it would hurt less that way. Cleven heard her take a breath and try.

When he stood straight again he took the cap from his mouth and clicked it back on the needle, acting like it took great concentration and focus to do so, all while she pulled her trousers back up and refastened them discreetly. Her cheeks were wet once more, either from before or she’d begun crying again.

“You ok?” he asked.

She gave him a long series of nods as she got on top of the embarrassed anger. “Yes, thanks Buck.”

“I’m right down there.” he reminded, thumbing at his own quarters. “You feel the least bit sickly or- or anything, you come get me. Same for your girls.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, well get in there Lu,” he patted her toward her room, “one thing the krauts are picky about here is bedtime.”

Smith sucked in a breath between her teeth, a shuddering thing, “Alright, I’ll remember. Bedtime.”

“So you’re gonna remember bedtime and what else?” Gale catchized her.

“Bedtime and that…you’re -right down there.”

“Very good, Smith.”

“Night, Buck.”

“Night, Lu.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

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[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Dire Crowley - Raven Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: Well met. Come, at this academy I shall teach you the art of magic.

Summon Line: Is something troubling you? You may tell me anything. After all, I am so very gracious!

Groooovy!!: This is the prestigious arcane academy, Night Raven College. Never let go of that school pride.

Home: Did you call for me?

Home Idle 1: It's not only the students who look forward to the holidays, but the faculty as well. And that includes me, of course!

Home Idle 2: Why do I interrupt class from time to time...? Don't say it like that! I'm simply popping in to give a firm hand to all the lollygagging!

Home Idle 3: Oh no... It seems my shoes have become a little scuffed. I'll have to polish them to sparkling later.

Home Idle - Login: Are you doing well over at the Ramshackle dormitory? ...No, no, there's no need to answer. I can tell just by the look on your face that you are absolutely satisfied.

Home Idle - Groovy: It is a relief to see you properly diligent in your studies. Now, if only those other care-free students would learn from your example.

Home Tap 1: That ghost camera was just gathering dust deep in storage... Ahem, I mean, it was stored securely. Please handle it with care.

Home Tap 2: I don't interfere with the lifestyle and conventions of each particular dorm. I thoroughly believe in a student's right to autonomy... I also have no time to spare.

Home Tap 3: You wish to see me at my full strength? it seems you know no fear... As your Headmage, I can't help but worry.

Home Tap 4: Hey! Grim-kun stole and ate my snacks again! Please keep a proper eye on him!

Home Tap 5: Eh, you want me to help you with your studies? Oh, I'm so sorry... If I teach you, that would take away the other professors' purpose of being here.

Home Tap - Groovy: It is a great help to have a diligent and capable student such as yourself. Please continue to look after our problem children, prefect.

Duo: [CROWLEY]: This is a good lesson for you, Grim-kun. [GRIM]: I don’t need you teachin' me nothin', Headmage!

Requested by Anonymous.

[suncaptor]

Sam’s birthday is coming up, and @seasononesam and I (@suncaptor) thought it would be fun to celebrate with an entire week of appreciation! Any type of creation is welcome, from gifsets, to art, to fics, to meta. We just ask that triggers and NSFW content be tagged and no w* content is included.

Please tag all creations as #samweek2024 so we can reblog them, or @ us if you’d like/tumblr’s tags don’t work

Prompts:

All prompts are specifically related to Sam Winchester

Day One (April 26th): Fusions: your culture, field of study, science, space, favourite music/books, interest, etc, & Sam Winchester

Day Two (April 27th): Favourite Sam Arc / Pre or Post Canon / Home / Liminality

Day Three (April 28th): LGBT+ Sam / Favourite Sam Relationships / Sam & Family

Day Four (April 29th): Neurodivergent Sam / Mental Health / Sam & Healing

Day Five (April 30th): Psychic Powers / Demon Blood / Lucifer

Day Six (May 1st): Autonomy / Abuse / Trauma

Day Seven (May 2nd): Happy Birthday Sam!

Also please don’t worry about being strict with the categories! If there’s something about Sam we didn’t include (as obviously there are many things we could have added) that you want to talk about just include it in the category it fits most or post on the final day!

We also acknowledge it's later than we sent the post out last year, so do know if you only participate one of the days/the final day/post late we would still love to see it and are just excited about new Sam content!

If you want you can also post fics to this AO3 collection!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Yvonne De Carlo (Frontier Gal, The Ten Commandments, Casbah)— Although most famous for playing Lily Munster in The Munsters, Yvonne De Carlo had a successful movie career throughout the 1940s and 1950s, appearing in such films as “The Ten Commandments”, “Sea Devils” and two Munster movies later in life.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Yvonne de Carlo:

The woman who brought Burt Lancaster to his knees.

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[librarycards]

hi sarah. feel free to delete this if it’s too much, but do you know of any work (academic, personal essays, art, etc) about grieving someone who’s died to suicide/wishing they were alive while also grappling with how to square it with your anti-psych, anti-carceral, pro-bodily autonomy politics? for reference i’ve read Alexandre Baril’s paper on Suicidism before and may revisit it in this light, as well as aleks thom's writing on disenfranchised grief and your lovely recent poem about suicide, but i’m sort of at a loss about where to look for other work about the intersection of these specific topics. many thanks and much love in advance

thank you so much for asking! i feel strange saying "i'm sorry for your loss" because it's clichéd and trite and you've heard it a billion times before. i am sorry, though, and i am equally sorry that you carry your loss into a world that is so deeply hostile to everyone affected by suicide – loved ones, those who have attempted, those who have completed, those who are dealing with suicidal thoughts, all of us.

i think that perhaps the most useful thing to remember is a bit simpler and a lot more challenging than can be conveyed in a paper or poem. it's that peoples' bodyminds are their own, including when they treat said bodyminds in ways we on the outside don't like. this is true for people who do all manner of "unhealthy" and "self-harmful" things, and as loved ones, it's incredibly fucking hard to witness, especially when the consequences are deadly.

suicide grief, and in general, work by loved ones and caregivers to those of us who experience extreme states, is pretty tough to find in the area of Mad studies. this is partially justified, given the degree to which we've all been spoken over and around by abusive "caregivers." yet it also denies the simultaneity embedded in basically any Mad community: we are all both, because we're all together and hurting at once.

i actually have two friends who have written about their own experiences as suicidal + Mad people who have lost close people to suicide: MT Vallerta, a scholar-poet [check out In Memoriam], and poet S.G. Huerta [you should read their poetry book, Last Stop].

Sophie Lewis also wrote an intriguing piece that touches on suicidality, death doulaing, and kinship.

Emily Krebs studies suicide/bereavement from a Mad crip abolitionist perspective, and is worth checking out.

i think it's also a good idea to remember that a way to honor those who have completed suicide is to take better care of suicidal people who are still alive. it only does more harm to suicidal people to approach ideation/attempts carcerally, and indeed encourages more covert, risky, and isolated methods rather than open dialogue. here are some ways to honor - not only support, but truly honor, trust, and respect suicidal people:

candidly speak about death, self-harm, and "dark thoughts" - and what to do around them - before and outside of immediate crises. be explicit in your intentions to support those who are actively suicidal before the next crisis occurs. ask people their preferences - who should you call? is the hospital ever on the table, and if so, under what conditions? who will be there to advocate for them when interacting with carceral authorities?

be candid about how their actions affect you, without placing blame. when someone attempts suicide, everyone they love is affected. this is not the person's fault, but it is something that needs to be addressed in community. here's an example from my own life: a dear friend was forcibly hospitalized after an attempt. i had been a main support person of hers in previous crises, when we lived near each other. when we spoke about her experience months later, i admitted that i felt "guilty" and as though i had somehow caused her to be institutionalized by living in a different place now. she admitted to me that she felt "guilty" for having "let [her loved ones] down" and "letting" her health deteriorate. we were able to find comfort and commonality in our affective experiences, and have become better friends for it.

cool it with the solutions. ask for consent before doing anything, but especially giving advice. many people kill themselves, or try to, because they feel cornered - often for very logical reasons (poverty, oppression, abuse/complex trauma). the adage that a poor person probably has more financial wisdom than a rich advice-giver holds true here, so don't immediately offer tips unless they've asked for them. sometimes, suicidality isn't connected to anything concrete, either, or a person's reasoning doesn't "make sense" (duh). if someone has the courage and trust to come to you with their feelings of suicidality, what they need most is someone to listen, to take them seriously, and to afford them the same personhood that they would have otherwise.

when people disclose thoughts of suicide, they take an immense risk in terms of their safety and credibility, and they do so because it is not possible to be a person alone. but, we also need to hold simultaneously that the individuals who do their best to support a loved one, but are not equipped to do so, are also not at fault for somehow "killing" them. suicide is incredibly complex, and suicide grief perhaps even moreso than other types of grief.

i also don't have concrete answers as to what to do about this conflict between our emotions around suicide - wanting to save a person we love, wanting them to stop hurting, being willing to do anything to keep them around - and imagining a world against and beyond the institution in all its permutations. but i know we will move toward it together through open conversation and trust and collective risk. much love and respect to you for asking such a challenging question during a heartbreaking time. <3

[kiarastromboli]

Teach me 4 (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Part. 1 Part.2 Part.3

Mesterlist.

Warning: Bit of angst, Smut content, don’t like it = don’t read it :)

Summary: Two years have passed since Chris and Y/N's breakup. Many things have changed, but apparently not the feelings Y/N has for Chris. But how will her return to Boston for the summer holidays unfold when she knows she hasn't moved on?

Note : I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this fourth part. I just wanted to make sure I did it right. Despite everything, I'm still afraid this part won't please you as much, and I apologize if the result isn't what you expected. I did my best.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

"Julia, stop, that's enough," I said, bursting into laughter at the excited screams of my best friend on the other end of the line.

"Stop?? It's been almost 2 years since we last saw each other, y/n. How do you expect me to keep calm when I'm going to see you in less than 24 hours?" She said, overexcited, and I could hear her fidgeting in every direction.

Indeed, it had been a while since I left Boston. After my parents sent me to the other side of the country, I started researching universities nearby. At the end of high school, I wasted no time in enrolling and starting my studies.

I had successfully completed my first year at the university, and now it was summer vacation. My parents agreed to let me return to Boston to enjoy my break with them and my friends.

As for my relationship with my parents... Let's say things are different, but the distance imposed on us did me good. I had finally started to live for myself, and many things had changed in my life. As for them, they were content because my results were excellent, and they could see that I had gained autonomy and maturity since my departure.

Anyway, two years had passed, and my life had changed a lot, but I was so happy to finally be back in Boston.

"Yeah, I know," I said, chuckling. "I can't wait to see you and the others," I said, turning around to lie on my back in my bed.

"We'll have to organize a party for your return!" Julia screamed in my ears.

"No, Ju, please, that's enough," I said, moving the phone away from my ear a bit, which she had just shattered again.

"Huh huh, anyway, you don't have a choice. Mom's not here for 3 days, and it's perfect for the party we're going to have when you get back!" She said, emphasizing the word 'party.'

"Juliaaaa!" I said, sighing. "Who are you even planning to invite to this party? It's not like I had a hundred friends back in high school," I said, laughing.

"We don't care, y/n. Who would refuse a party in a big house during summer vacation? I'll invite our group of friends and then check with the old art group from high school." She started to say, "Oh, and why not the football team! And the lacrosse team and the school mascot! Oh my god, I wonder if he still has his costume; that would be hilarious!" She said, laughing.

The Lacrosse team, Chris.

From that moment on, my mind went on pause, and I didn't really pay attention to what Julia was saying.

It had been so long since I had heard about him. After my departure, I hadn't received any news from him. And it was my fault. Every time Julia tried to talk to me about him, I immediately shut down. I thought with time the pain would fade, but it was false. Four months after my departure, my heart still bled as much as the last time he passed by my window. I had done everything to stop thinking about him and turn the page, and I had done it so well that I almost forgot that by returning to Boston, I would also be returning to him.

"Y/n, are you listening?" Julia said, raising her voice, bringing me back to reality.

"Huh? What? Sorry, Julia, I'm exhausted. I think I need to rest for tomorrow; the journey will be long. Can I call you back later?" I said, stuttering a bit, still destabilized by my thoughts.

"Yeah, sure, don't worry. See you tomorrow. Love you, bye," she said warmly.

"Love you, bye," I said with a small smile before hanging up and placing my phone next to me.

Chris.

Is it normal that my heart still bleeds so much for a high school crush? Am I just too sensitive? Is it because he's the only man I've ever let into my heart until now?

Questions kept piling up in my mind, and no matter how much I shook my head, they wouldn't leave me.

Anxiety eventually took over the excitement. What will happen if we see each other again? Will we even meet? Does he still think about me too? Is his heart still bleeding as well? Did he drown in sorrow when our story ended?

More and more questions. I better close my eyes; tomorrow is a big day...

_______

My morning passed extremely quickly. I woke up a bit late, so I was in a hurry. I got ready quickly, gathered my things, and said goodbye to my roommate not to miss my flight.

My parents picked me up at the airport, and I didn't expect warm hugs, but it was still hurtful to barely get a 'how are you?' The whole ride to the house was filled with discussions about my results and how my life was going there.

It had been a while since I saw them, so I just decided to suck it up, smile, and play the perfect little girl I always portrayed in Boston.

"No, I'm just saying that just because your results are satisfactory doesn't mean you don't need extra courses, you know, those things look good on your record," my mother continued to ramble when we finally arrived home.

God, this journey felt longer than my high school years!

"Yeah, I know, Mom. I'll think about it; can we discuss it later? I'm tired," I said before leaving the car.

Once my suitcase was unpacked, I thought I would have a moment of respite to finally collapse into my bed and rest from this exhausting start to the day. But that was without counting on the stormy arrival of my best friend.

"Y/NNNNN!!!" she screamed, rushing towards me to hug me.

With fatigue and confusion, it took me a few seconds to realize it was indeed her standing in front of me, and suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by my emotions. Tears started to well up, blurring my vision.

"Oh my god, Ju'!" I said, stammering and nervously laughing.

"If you start crying, you know I'll cry too, so stop that right now," she warned me, furrowing her brows not to start crying herself.

"Sorry, sorry!" I said, chuckling and wiping my eyes. "I missed you so much!!" I said, shaking my hands before hugging her again.

I spent the rest of my day with her, talking about everything that had changed in my life since my departure, and for the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely good.

I felt like I was recharging, regaining all the positive energy I had been missing.

"Anyway, you know me; I wasn't going to let a jerk like him talk to me like that. So, I preferred to end our relationship, and it's for the best!" Julia told me.

She had just told me about her latest relationship with one of the lacrosse team players from our high school, and as usual, I couldn't help but think of him.

"Are you sure everything's okay, y/n? Since I started talking about Tom, I feel like you're not really here anymore?" she asked, concerned.

"No! Well, yes, it's okay; don't worry. It's just that—" I began to say before cutting myself off with a sigh. "It's nothing; it's just my return here made me rethink everything that happened before I left," I confessed.

"You mean what happened with Chris?" she said, giving me a sympathetic look. "Sorry, I know we're not supposed to talk about him. Excuse me, I forgot—" she added before I interrupted her.

"No, Julia, it's fine; it's okay. I'm better; I assure you it doesn't bother me anymore," I lied, smiling and grabbing her hand. "I'm better, I promise it doesn't bother me anymore," I lied.

"You know I love you," she said, smiling and squeezing my hand.

"Yeah, I know, I love you too," I replied, chuckling.

After this little discussion, Julia stayed overnight at my place. I eventually gave in and agreed to have the party at her house.

Deep down, I had a bit of hope to come across Chris. I know I shouldn't, but it's stronger than me...

I mean, I would like to know what he's become. Has he continued with lacrosse? Did he go to university? Or has he found a job he's passionate about? Does he still smoke? Has he rebuilt his life with other girls after me?

In a way, I wanted to know to reassure myself that he was doing better and that what I did didn't hurt him too much.

But on the other hand, selfishly, I hoped he had waited for me, that he hadn't seen other girls, and that he was still hoping, just like me, that one day we would meet again.

And God, I know how contradictory it is of me to hope for that when that night I made it clear to him that there would be no chance of things working out. But no matter how much I fought against what I wanted, I knew that my heart was still in his hands, and his alone.

I hate myself for being so stupid and not being able to move on, even though it was just a relationship between two completely lost teenagers for a few weeks.

But I had never experienced anything so genuine. Every conversation, every look, every caress, and every kiss haunt me...

They're still there in a corner of my mind, even though I try to push them away and tell myself it's for the best. My soul screams at me to find his. Maybe that was my punishment—for making him believe that our story could last, for making him believe that the girl he truly loved existed when it wasn't the case.

_________

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you that the lacrosse team is here tonight?" Julia asked me for the hundredth time today.

After our little pajama party at my place last night, we went to her place in the afternoon to prepare for the party tonight.

We were finishing getting ready, and people were supposed to arrive any minute.

"Ju', as I've repeated to you throughout the day, it's fine, it doesn't bother me. And besides, if you don't invite the lacrosse team, what excuse will you find to invite your little Tom and make him regret it?" I said mockingly to tease her.

"Ahaha, very funny. You know very well that I would have found a way, one way or another, to make him regret it!" she added, giving me a playful punch on the shoulder, making me chuckle.

"No, more seriously, y/n, if you're not ready to see Chris tonight, I don't mind kicking the lacrosse team out of the party," she added, becoming serious again.

I sighed before responding, "You know, anyway, I can't ignore him for the rest of my life."

"Julia, I know you're worried about me, but it's behind me, I promise it'll be fine," I reassured her with a reassuring smile.

She began to open her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell at the entrance.

"Well, it looks like the party is about to start!" she said all hysterical, and I followed her downstairs to welcome the first people.

In the span of thirty minutes, the house filled with teenagers ready to have a blast.

There were mostly people from our old high school; we barely knew half of them, but as Julia had told me, no one refuses a party in a big house like hers during the summer vacation.

It quickly turned into chaos; people were absolutely everywhere, and bottles of alcohol were aplenty, but still no sign of Chris on the horizon.

The party was in full swing; it was almost midnight, and in my despair of not seeing Chris show up, I ended up giving in and joining the game like everyone else, downing drinks one after another, which was not really in my usual habits.

Maybe it was better this way; the more alcoholic beverages passed through my throat, the less Chris haunted my mind. After all, maybe that was my solution.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" I said, bumping into a guy with my head down, making him drop his phone.

I bent down to pick it up before him, and when I raised my head, I came face to face with a face I knew all too well.

"Y/n?" the tall brunet said, looking surprised.

It took me a few seconds to realize it was indeed Matt in front of me.

Chris's brother...

"Oh my god, Matt," I said, surprised. "You're the last person I expected to see tonight!" I said, chuckling.

"And I thought you were on the other side of the country!" he said, also chuckling before opening his arms to hug me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked once our embrace was over.

If I had been a little more sober, this situation would probably have worried me, but at the moment, I was just happy to see him. Matt and I had spent very little time together, but just enough for meeting him at this party to make me super happy.

"I came back for the holidays," I replied, smiling.

"Oh, that's great," he said, smiling too. "You could have at least let us know!" he added, laughing.

"Hey, relax, I just arrived yesterday," I said, rolling my eyes.

Our conversation quickly ended, giving way to an awkward silence. So, without really thinking, I asked him the first question that came to my mind, "Did you come alone ?"

"Oh, um..." he began to say before taking a pause, as if he didn't really know if he should continue or not. "No, I came with my brothers," he said, clearing his throat and running his hand over his neck.

Chris is here.

Suddenly, everything clicked in my head; it was obvious how stupid my question was.

My head started spinning; alcohol seemed to take hold of me even more. It was as if realizing he was there for real had suddenly spiked my blood alcohol level.

"Are you okay, y/n?" he said, placing his hand on my shoulder, looking worried as he saw me pale.

"Um, yeah - yeah, don't worry, I'm just - I've had a bit to drink, you know, it's not really my thing!" I said with a nervous laugh, trying to hide my distress at the moment.

"Do you want me to get you a glass of water? Or something else? I'm sorry if it's me who put you in this state by talking about—" he started to say before I cut him off.

"No! - Matt, it's fine, everything's okay, it's not your fault. I'm just, I just need some fresh air, that's all," I added.

"Um, okay, do you want me to come with you?" he asked, and I could feel how uncomfortable he felt for me at that moment, and that was really the last thing I wanted.

"That's really nice, Matt, but it's okay, thank you. I'll be fine," I told him with a smile before walking towards the exit.

As I moved through the crowd, I prayed not to run into Chris. I didn't want to see him. I thought I was ready and that it was what I needed, but the state I am in right now proves otherwise.

Fuck this shit, I'm going to need more alcohol for sure to handle this.

In my rush towards the exit, I grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I saw lying around, whiskey - it couldn't get any harder.

Damn, will I ever manage to move on? Am I destined to feel like this for the rest of my days?

Finally reaching the front door, I felt my eyes fill with tears, making my vision completely blurry.

Once outside on the porch, I placed the bottle on the small coffee table there, sat on the outdoor couch, and allowed a few tears to flow.

I could hear the muffled sound of music inside, and paradoxically, the cicadas and the silence of the night outside.

A few minutes ago, I was fine, happy, enjoying the party with my friends, and it took me going back to thinking about him to ruin everything.

Physically, I wasn't doing that bad; I didn't feel the need to vomit or anything. I just had a bit of a spinning head and trouble standing up.

Mentally, though, it was a different story.

My sobbing was interrupted by a noise coming from a little further in the garden.

I raised my head with a start to scan the surroundings, wiping away my tears. I especially didn't want anyone to see the only girl crying at this party. I was already not considered a cool girl at school, but this would have been the icing on the cake.

There shouldn't be anyone outside; Julia had made it clear that she didn't want anyone in her mom's garden.

I spotted a silhouette in the dark, and eventually, I caught the smell of a joint. So, I sighed before getting up to get closer.

"Get out of here, idiot! Julia doesn't want anyone in her garden. It's not that complicated to follow such a simple rule," I shouted at the stranger, rolling my eyes.

He approached me until he reached the point where the porch light could illuminate him.

I took a step back, completely thrown off when I recognized his face.

"Sorry, I just got here. I didn't know we weren't allowed to hang out in the garden," he replied softly, keeping a reasonable distance from me.

"Chris?" that's all that could come out of my mouth at that moment; I was completely bewildered. What was I supposed to do at that moment?

My tears started to flow again, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

Chris stood there, not saying anything. He was as lost as I was at that moment, but I could see that seeing me cry was far from a pleasant thing for him.

He seemed hesitant, shook his head, and muttered to himself, rolling his eyes, "Fuck this."

The next moment, he took me into his arms, letting my head rest against his chest. It was as if he understood without me needing to express myself.

I broke down, letting my tears flow; that's what I needed—his arms around me. He held me tight, and I simply didn't want this moment to end. With my right hand, I clung to his t-shirt as if my life depended on it.

"Y/n, shhhh," he whispered, caressing my hair when my breathing became irregular due to my sobs.

I couldn't breathe; I felt suffocated. The more tears that fell, the worse it got, but, on the other hand, it felt good. All these emotions I had buried, all these tears I had prevented from flowing, were finally coming out.

"Y/n, calm down," he said, grabbing my cheeks with his hands and bringing his face to mine to look me in the eyes.

"Hey, look at me, look at me, breathe, everything's fine," he reassured me, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"I-I'm so—" I tried to speak, but I couldn't stop crying.

"I'm so sorry, Chris," I said with a broken and fragile voice, shaking my head.

"Y/n, it's okay, stop," he said, pinching his lips, and I could see tears welling up in his eyes, despite his efforts to suppress them.

"What I did—" I started, trying to calm down, "what I did to you—I had no right to do that. I'm sorry, Chris," I said, letting my head fall once again against his chest and starting to cry even harder.

"Y/n," he said, seizing my face again to look at me, "Y/n, I’m not mad at you. Look at me, I'm fine, everything's fine; it's behind us."

"It's not behind me, Chris," I told him, shaking my head and stepping back.

"It's not behind me at all. It continues to eat me up inside every day! I tried for two years!" I told him with a forced laugh, wiping my tears. "Two years, Chris, two years trying everything to get you out of my head and to stop hoping that things would go back to normal!" I added.

"Y/n—" he said, passing his hand over his face before I cut him off.

"How can you not resent me after what I did to you!?" I said, completely lost.

"Because that's life, y/n!" he said, raising his voice and advancing towards me.

"Because people come in and out of your life, tearing your heart out against their will!" he added, and I just closed my mouth; I didn't expect him to express himself like this.

"Y/n, I could have chosen to hate you, yes, it's true! I could have chosen to keep acting like an idiot and keep destroying myself slowly, as I did in the first months after you left!" he continued to say, carried away by his emotions.

"But what would it have served? What would it have served to keep making the same mistakes all my life?" he asked, and I simply nodded, dumbfounded.

"Y/n, I tried to hate you to make the pill go down more easily, believe me. But how could I hate a girl like you?" he asked, tears in his eyes.

"How could I hate the only woman who managed to open my heart and show me that there's always hope?" he continued, this time advancing towards me, and my heart started racing in my chest.

"I got my act together because you deserved someone better. You deserved to know that I was doing well, and I knew! Believe me, I knew how much you blamed yourself," he said, wiping my tears.

"That night when you told me straight in the eyes that you no longer loved me and that you no longer believed in us, I knew you were lying to protect me," he said, and I felt tears flowing again.

"You lied to me to protect me without even thinking about yourself. You put me before you, where no one had done it before," he continued, tapping his chest.

"Chris—" I said with a weak voice.

"No, I don't blame you, y/n. I don't blame you because I know you simply didn't have the choice to do that," he said, wiping my tears.

"And these last two years, I lived in doubt because I wasn't sure 100%, but when I saw your gaze on this porch, all my doubts flew away, and now I know," he said, plunging his eyes into mine.

I looked into his eyes; I had managed to regain normal breathing, and everything he had just told me had calmed my heart.

The open wound in my chest, bleeding and letting all my distress pour out, was closing.

I didn't know what to add; I didn't know what to say to him. It felt like a million things were happening in my mind, but what could it possibly mean?

And then my thoughts escaped my mind, fixating on his blue eyes, his pure eyes, his sincere gaze fixed on me.

I had forgotten how beautiful this man was.

I became aware of his warm hands on my cheeks; my heartbeat quickened, and I thought I saw a glint of desire growing in his eyes.

The silence became heavy, yet neither of us wanted to say anything.

Our faces slowly approached, and my eyes juggled between his and his lips.

What was happening? Was it supposed to be good? Or bad?

I wanted to throw myself at him, yes, but was it correct? Was it the alcohol? Did I misinterpret what was happening?

"Chris—" I said in a soft, almost inaudible voice before he closed the gap between our lips.

Shivers ran through my entire body; it was soft and so good.

His soft lips moved perfectly against mine.

One of his hands resting on my cheek slid down to the small of my back.

Meanwhile, my two hands found their place on his chest, and our kiss deepened.

This kiss, originally meant to say ‘welcome home’, quickly became more profound.

Our tongues collided; things escalated. The hand that rested on my waist descended to grip my hip, while one of my hands left his chest to settle on the side of his neck.

I felt something reignite in me, something I hadn't felt in a very long time: desire.

I became aware of what was happening, and I snapped out of this trance by stepping back and opening my eyes.

I caught my breath before telling him, "Chris."

"I'm sorry," he said, catching his breath too.

"We can't do this; we can't revisit this. I'm back in Boston only for the holidays," I said, shaking my head, trying to think of something else.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me; I shouldn't have." he said, running his hand through his hair.

"It's okay," I said, stepping towards him and placing my hand on his shoulder.

"I just found you again when I didn't think I'd have this chance; I want to do things right," I confessed.

"So, does that mean we're friends now?" he asked, and his question tore at my heart because, of course, I didn't want to be just friends. But things were too complicated for us to allow anything more.

"Yes, it means we're friends," I said, smiling slightly, and he returned a smile.

"I missed you," he said, hugging me.

"Missed you too," I replied, "feels like it's been ages since we last caught up," I added, chuckling.

"You must have hundreds of things to tell me then," he said, separating and smiling.

"I don't want to spoil your evening with my stories; it can wait," I told him, running my hand through my nape.

"Y/n, I went out to smoke a joint alone because this party is really lame," he said, rolling his eyes, "so believe me, I'd rather sit here with you and listen to everything you have to tell me."

"Hey, it's my comeback night, you're not allowed to say it's lame!" I told him, offended, giving him a shoulder punch.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" he said, laughing, before sitting on the couch, and I followed suit.

He took a joint out of his pocket, and before lighting it, he turned to me. "Hmm, want some?"

"Oh no, thanks, I'll stick to this tonight," I said, grabbing the bottle I'd left on the small table.

"Whiskey?" he said, surprised, "who are you?" he joked.

"Shut up, idiot, I grabbed the first bottle I came across on my way here," I said, rolling my eyes.

The conversation flowed naturally between us; it was almost as if we had never been apart. Of course, in two years, both he and I had changed a lot, so it was a bit strange. However, that connection, that complicity we had, seemed intact.

I'm not sure how long we stayed on that porch, talking, but the bottle I had drunk was already half empty, and Chris must have been on his third joint since the beginning of our conversation.

"I can't believe you told him that!" Chris said, laughing.

"I warned you; I'm not the helpless little girl I used to be," I replied, chuckling and shrugging.

"Yeah, I saw that," he said, gradually stopping his laughter.

The silence returned, and I was lost in my thoughts, already quite tipsy and in a curious mood.

I had been hesitating for several minutes, debating whether to ask him a question. The more I drank, the more I wanted to ask, even though I knew it wasn't the best idea.

"Chris?" I finally said softly, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" he simply replied, turning his head towards me.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked him timidly.

"You just did," he said with a smirk.

"No, seriously, stop it!" I said, laughing and giving him a shoulder punch.

He straightened up, turning completely towards me, resting his head on his hand with his arm leaning against the top of the couch. "Seriously, I'm listening," he said, still with that sly smile.

His eyes were red and squinted because of the weed, and I won't lie, it made him quite sexy... or maybe I had had a bit too much to drink; what was I even saying?

"Have you dated other girls since we broke up?" I asked, instantly regretting it.

"Y/n—" he began before I cut him off.

"Sorry, that was a dumb question. I don't know what got into me," I said, hiding my face with my hands.

He chuckled at my action. "It's okay; I don't mind answering if you answer too..." he said, shrugging.

I removed my face from my hands to look up at him.

"But are you sure you really want to hear my answer?" he added.

I just nodded.

"I've slept with other girls, yes," he began, and I cut him off without thinking.

"How many?" I asked, sitting up.

"I don't really know, two or three, but they were just casual things, especially at the beginning when I needed to distract myself," he explained, feeling the need to justify himself.

"Okay... and why?" I asked.

"Why what?" he asked, confused.

"Why casual? In two years, you had plenty of time to find another amazing girl to be with. You can't make me believe that as the first one to fall for you, no other girl wanted you," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I didn't want to..." he confessed to me. "I— " he started before sighing, "I'm not sure if it's a good idea to explain why," he said, looking away.

"No, tell me; I want to know now," I urged him.

"Y/n," he said, looking me in the eyes.

"Chris, please, it's okay; we're just talking," I said, eager to know more.

"None of those girls were comparable to you," he admitted, "and I know it sounds silly, but it's just the truth. I couldn't get interested in those girls, and it wasn't their fault; they were interesting, and in another context, it might have worked with them," he said honestly.

"But my mind kept comparing them to you; none of them talked like you," he started saying, "none of them laughed like you," he added.

"None of them kissed like you," he said, looking at my lips, and I felt my panties dampen at that. Fuck.

"Every time I slept with another girl, I couldn't help but think of you, your body, and your moans," he said, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't stop thinking about how your lips wrapped so perfectly around me," he said, and I had to slightly open my mouth to get more air.

He shook his head, snapping back to reality. "Anyway, until now, I haven't been able to settle down with another girl because the only one I have in my mind is you," he said shyly.

I stared at him, mouth agape. I was dying to have him; everything he just told me had me way too excited.

"And you?" he asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I said, clearing my throat.

"And you, have you dated other guys?" he said, chuckling.

"Oh!" I said, blushing. "No, none," I replied timidly.

"None?" he repeated, surprised, and I simply shook my head from side to side.

"And how many guys have you slept with then?" he asked.

I took a moment to answer, embarrassed by the situation.

"Y/n, it's okay; you can tell me. I just told you mine!" he said, rolling his eyes.

"I-" I said before sighing and biting my lip, and he furrowed his brows.

"None..." I said softly.

His eyes widened at my response.

"Are you serious?" he asked to make sure.

"Stop it; you know very well that I'm not the type to sleep around," I said, feeling awkward.

"No, I know that; it's just hard for me to conceive that you've managed two years without sex," he said with a smirk.

"Wait, what does that mean?" I said, furrowing my brows.

"Y/n, when we were together, you played the innocent a lot, but you can't deny that you were just as horny as I was, if it’s not more…" he said, laughing.

"Chris!" I said, bringing my hand to my mouth before chuckling as well.

"No, I'm not saying it's a bad thing; on the contrary, it was something I loved about you," he said honestly.

"I even found it rather sexy..." he added, shrugging.

I squeezed my thighs together at that moment, and Chris noticed because I saw his eyes leave mine and land on my thighs.

"We should change the subject," I said, taking a deep breath and running my hands over my thighs, a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry, I didn't know it would have that effect on you," he said, unable to help but smile.

"It's okay," I said, biting my lip.

We looked at each other for a moment, both feeling a bit awkward.

His eyes briefly shifted to my chest, and that was the last straw for me.

Without thinking twice, I straddled him, immediately connecting our lips. He didn't waste a second to put his hands on my hips, making me moan.

He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth, and I started rocking my hips against him, making him groan in response.

His hands came to grip my hips to stop my movements, eliciting a frustrated groan from me.

"Y/n, this isn't right," he said, separating our lips.

"Chris, I don't care," I said, reconnecting our lips instantly. I was too hungry to stop there.

My hip movements resumed, and I could feel his erection through his jeans.

My hands were on his cheeks, and his hands firmly held my hips.

"You said we should do things right and that we were friends," he said, separating our lips again.

"Y/n, you've been drinking, and I don't want it to be something you regret tomorrow," he added.

"Some friends sleep together sometimes..." I said innocently, playing with his necklace.

He bit his lip and looked away. If there was one thing that could make this man weak, it was my way of acting innocently with him.

"Y/n," he said, closing his eyes and letting out a frustrated groan.

I knew I could make him crack; I just had to tease him enough.

I buried my head in his neck to kiss and leave a few love bites.

He tossed his head back to give me better access. "Fuck..." he whispered, and I slowly resumed my hip movements.

"Y/n, stop this," he said weakly, still with his fingers dug into my hips.

"Make me stop," I whispered in his ear before leaving a trail of kisses on his jawline.

"Y/n," he said in a firm voice this time, grabbing me by the neck to make me face him. "Don't play with my nerves like that."

"Chris, please," I said, gripping the wrist of the hand around my neck.

"I'm the one asking you. It's just a favor we're doing each other as friends," I said with a slight moan. "You help me fill the void I've felt for 2 years, and I give you the opportunity not to have to just imagine fucking me for once," I added.

"You said it yourself, no girl moans like me, no one kisses you like me, and their lips don't wrap around you as well as mine do," I continued to convince him.

"It's just a one-time thing. After that, I swear we'll be just friends for real, please, Chris, I need you," I pleaded.

I don't know if it was the alcohol or simply the lack of sex, but I never thought I'd be capable of saying such things to a guy in my life.

"Just a one-time thing?" he asked.

"Just a one-time thing," I replied, nodding.

"Fuck, this is so fucking wrong, y/n. What are you doing to me?" he said before kissing me again without removing his hand from my neck.

He slid his hand under my dress to grab my ass and massage it while helping me grind against him.

"Mmph, Chris," I moaned into our kiss.

"Shhhh," he said, slapping my ass.

I started pulling at his T-shirt to signal that I wanted him to take it off.

"Not here, princess," he said, smiling against my lips before separating them. "Stand up," he ordered, and I obeyed.

He stood up as well, firmly grabbing my hand before guiding us inside.

We quickly made our way through the crowd, passing by Nick, who tried to stop us, but Chris simply ignored him, too busy at that moment trying not to bend me over one of the tables in the house to fuck me in front of everyone.

We climbed the stairs, and Chris opened the first door he saw, which happened to lead to Julia's room. If she finds out about this, she's going to kill me.

He slammed the door shut behind us, making sure to lock it.

Then, he pressed me against that door, tightening his grip around my neck just enough to restrict the blood flow, causing my head to spin.

He wasted no time in forcefully removing my dress, it was so abrupt that he could have torn it if he wanted.

"Chris, be careful, take it easy," I said, chuckling, before he silenced me with yet another kiss.

"Don't ask me to fucking take it easy when you've spent the last 10 minutes teasing me on that damn couch, y/n," he said, removing his T-shirt.

He took off my bra, adding, "I fucking missed you."

The next moment, he slid his hands to the back of my thighs and lifted me, making me moan in surprise. It seemed like the hold he had on me back then hadn't changed.

He reconnected our lips, heading towards the bed where he tossed me, making me moan again from the sudden force.

"Chris," I sighed in a heated breath as I sat up, facing him at waist height.

But before I could reach for his belt to undress him, he violently pushed me back. "You'll move when I tell you to move. Have you forgotten your manners?" he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

His gaze was dark and intense; he could have threatened to kill me, and I would have moaned because of how much he affected me.

"Touch yourself," he ordered.

"What?" I said, feeling my face turn all red.

"Don't make me repeat myself; you heard me," he said authoritatively.

I swallowed hard before starting to take off my panties.

"I didn't tell you to remove your panties," he said, interrupting me.

"But—" I began to say before he cut me off.

"Is it so hard to be a good girl, Y/n? In two years, have you forgotten everything?" he said, shaking his head.

His words made me even wetter; I dreamed of one thing only: feeling him inside me.

"No, sorry," I said before starting to make circular motions on my clit through my panties.

He licked his lips, slowly removing his belt without taking his eyes off me.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Without hesitation, I stood up, still looking at him innocently in the eyes.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Y/n," he said, holding me by the chin.

His compliment made me immediately smile and blush.

"Your wrists," he asked, letting go of my chin, and I handed him my wrists.

With his belt, he tied my wrists together before kissing me.

He leaned towards me without breaking our lips to signal me to lie down on the mattress, which I did.

He separated our lips for a brief moment to press my arms above my head. "Don't move," he whispered before sliding his lips into my neck.

"My poor baby, I can't believe you've abstained for 2 years," he said before descending his kisses towards my chest.

"Now that I'm here, I'll take care of that for you, my princess," he said, circling one of my nipples with his lips to kiss it.

"Chris, please," I moaned, wriggling a bit.

"Shhhh, be patient, believe me, I won't stop there," he said before starting to descend his kisses towards my lower abdomen.

The closer he got to my thighs, the more I felt like I was losing my mind. It had been so long since I had felt that burning desire between my legs.

"Fuck, Chris, stop, please, I need you," I pathetically begged when he started to kiss my pussy through my panties.

He just chuckled at my pleas before removing my panties and diving his head between my legs.

He surrounded my clit with his lips, and I couldn't hold back the moans that escaped my mouth at that moment.

Lost in my own pleasure and especially completely carried away by the sensation of his tongue against me, I brought my two hands, still tied, to his hair to hold on.

He lifted his lips from me, making me raise my head towards him. "No, don't stop, Chris!" I said desperately.

"I told you not to move, Y/n," he reminded me, placing my hands back above my head.

"I'm sorry, I had—" I was interrupted in the middle of my sentence by his hands abruptly grabbing my waist to turn me over.

"What are you doing?" I said in a surprised moan when he grabbed my hips to put my ass in the air.

"This way, you'll have a much harder time moving," he said, and I could hear the smugness in his tone.

He kissed the base of my lower back, making me shiver, ensuring that my head remained pressed against the mattress below me.

He then placed a few kisses on my ass before resuming his work between my legs.

One of his hands kneaded my ass while he teased my entrance with the fingers of his other hand.

"Oh my—Chris," I said when he accelerated his tongue movements.

The sensation in my lower abdomen that I hadn't felt in so long was building up again; I was extremely close.

"C-Chris, I'm gonna cum," I moaned, burying my head in the pillow to try to muffle the sound of my moans.

"Give it to me, baby," he said, inserting two of his fingers into me and reconnecting his tongue to my clit.

"Fuck, Chris!" I exclaimed, feeling my legs tremble, and within seconds, my orgasm overwhelmed me.

Chris didn't detach his lips from me; he continued, and his fingers didn't slow down either. "Chris, I- I can't," I told him, breathless.

He detached himself from me at the sound of my words and turned me over again onto the mattress to kiss me.

I put my hands, still tied behind his neck, to bring him impossibly closer to me, which seemed to amuse him, judging by the way he smiled against my lips.

"You taste so fucking good, baby," he complimented me between our kisses, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

I was still very sensitive, but I wanted more, I needed more.

So, I tightened my legs around his waist so that his erection pressed against my pussy.

"Are you that impatient?" he chuckled before reaching between our bodies to unbutton his pants, and I just nodded.

He straightened up to completely remove his pants and boxers before returning to position himself between my legs.

"If it hadn't been so long, I would've edged you for hours," he said, rubbing his tip against my thighs without entering.

"Chris, please, stop talking—" Before I could finish my sentence, he entered me without warning, making me moan in harmony with him.

"Oh my god, y/n, fuck, you're so—" I didn't let him finish his sentence, immediately capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

He started moving inside me slowly, taking care to go all the way in with each thrust.

Our lips were still connected, our tongues perfectly synchronized—everything was perfect with him.

His pelvic movements accelerated, prompting me to throw my head back to moan once again.

"God, I'll never get tired of the sounds you make. Fuck, it's too good," Chris said, moaning as well, his head completely immersed in my neck, where he left fiery kisses.

"Chris—mmph," I started to speak but couldn't formulate my words correctly. Chris fucked me so well that I lost my words.

"What, baby? What do you want?" he said, seizing my chin to make me look into his eyes.

"I want to—fuck!" I said, moaning and closing my eyes. I felt him everywhere in me; it was too good.

"You can do it, sweetheart. Take your time," he said with a smirk, not slowing down.

"I want to touch you," I said, moaning again. "Please, Chris, I need to feel you," I begged.

He momentarily straightened up without pulling out to unfasten the belt around my wrists.

"Here you go, baby," he said in a soft voice before kissing me again.

This time, my hands went into his hair, neck, and back. I dug my nails into his back and biceps, completely controlled by my pleasure, and began to feel all these sensations invade me.

"Chris, oh my god, I'm so close!" I whined.

He sat up on his knees without pulling out. I moaned as he grabbed my legs and pulled them closer, penetrating even deeper.

"Mmmh, Chris," I moaned, raising my head to look at him.

"Shhhh," he said, placing my legs on either side of his head and encircling my knees with his arms to make sure I couldn't move.

He began thrusting into me at an unbearable speed, and the new angle allowed him to go really deep. His eyes were fixed on the lower part of my belly, where he could see himself entering and exiting. "Fuck," he exclaimed, keeping his mouth open.

"Chris! Chris, fu—god, don't stop!" I said, feeling my orgasm hit me hard when I started clenching around him. He spread my legs again to kiss me while still penetrating me, allowing me to ride out my orgasm.

He gradually stopped his pelvic movements while continuing to kiss me. Our kiss was tired and messy, but he didn't stop there.

We were both catching our breath. He separated our lips, pressing his forehead against mine. We stayed like that for a few seconds before he straightened up and withdrew from me, making me moan because I was still extremely sensitive.

I expected anything but what he did the next second. He grabbed me by the hips and turned me over again, pushing me on all fours.

"Chris, what—" Before I could finish my sentence, he started pounding into me without mercy, making me cry out in surprise and pleasure.

"Oh my fuck, Chris, I can't!" I told him, burying my head in the pillow once again.

"Yes, of course, you can. I know you have one more for me," he said without slowing down this time, bringing his fingers to my clit, making my eyes roll back in my head.

It felt so good, but I was still too sensitive; he didn't give me enough respite. I felt like my heart was going to give out from the intensity. I couldn't help but moan, even though I was unsure if I really wanted him to stop because I could already feel my third orgasm approaching.

"Do you really want me to stop?" he said in my ear, slowing down and pressing his chest against my back.

When he slowed down, I felt my orgasm slipping away, and I thought I was losing my mind. "No! Don’t stop, I can take it!" I said, shaking my head.

He wrapped his arm around my throat to hold me in place "that's my girl," he said and sank his teeth into my shoulder, mixing pleasure and pain in the best way possible. He sped up again, his fingers massaging my clit, and his shaft going as deep as possible, making me see stars.

I was close, and so was he; I could feel it in the way he moaned. "Y/n, oh my—"

"Chris, I'm so close," I cried, feeling my orgasm on the verge of exploding.

"Give it to me, baby. Fuck, cum for me, princess," he said, and that was all I needed to climax. This one was more intense than the others, stronger and more hypnotic.

After a few more thrusts, Chris also came, moaning my name in my ear. "Oh my god," he said, breathless, before pulling out and collapsing beside me.

I didn't move a muscle, too exhausted from everything that had just happened. "Are you okay, baby?" he asked, concerned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath," I replied, chuckling.

He laughed too before getting up to find something to clean me up. After a few minutes catching my breath in Chris's arms, we decided to get dressed and join our friends downstairs before someone noticed our absence.

And when I say someone, I obviously mean Julia, who will probably kill me when she finds out I slept with Chris in her bed.

Before leaving Julia's room, Chris kissed me one last time. "I missed you so fucking much," he said.

I chuckled before replying, "I missed you too, but we need to leave this room now." I said playfully, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder.

We finally left the room, and our paths separated when we arrived in the living room because Nick needed to talk to Chris privately.

I was about to join my best friend when I felt someone grab my arm.

I turned to see who it was and found myself face to face with a girl with brown hair and light eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked me, full of rage.

I was completely confused because I didn't know this girl at all, and I didn't understand why she was addressing me this way.

"Hmm? Y/n, who are you?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

Her eyes widened when she heard my name, and she let out a fake laugh at my response.

"I'm Tess, Chris's girlfriend!" she said with a big smile before approaching me. "So I suggest you keep your distance from him if you don't want me to bash your little depraved slut face!" she said, pushing me before turning on her heel and walking away.

Chris's girlfriend?!!

What the fuck?

Taglist: @chrisloyalgf @christopherscamopants @blahbel668 @thematthewlover @mattsturnioloarchive @carolinalikesthings @bernardsgf @whicked-hazlatwhore @hearts4chris

[eldritch-spouse]

Shags get obsessed with a girl that works at an art store where he gets his supplies. She's laid back and chit-chats with him about any projects he's working on.

[Okay but what if you had a really strange thing going on?]

You like this little freak.

Yeah, okay, that's a bit of a mean thing to say. But can you be blamed? There's no word that fits him more aptly than freak. Not even in the physical sense, there's a lot of variety in mushroom monsters, you know some of them can be tall and gangly like Shags. He's just bizarre.

The way he speaks, moves, conducts himself. You swear, not a single mannerism this monster makes feels natural or reflexive. Even the way he seems to intensely wait and make himself an obstacle until you initiate conversation with him... God, even the fucking topics of conversation, it's like he makes an effort to speak in riddles.

In this rather boring dead-end of a job, seeing this weirdo bend and squeeze through the doors like Samara about to crawl out of the TV is the highlight of your shift.

That's why he's your favorite client.

He's been standing still in the same supplies isle for too long, you already know what he wants.

" Having trouble finding something, Mr Shags? "

As if, he probably knows this store better than yourself.

In fact, he outright told you he used to be a client before you started working here.

He murmurs a response too quietly to interpret, forcing you to come closer. And, predictably, as soon as you are within grabbing distance (not hard to achieve when you're a lamppost of a monster featuring branch-like arms), a spider hand slithers onto your shoulder. It's cold, he's always a little cold.

You're urged in front of a shelf, his head looming over yours.

" Ahh, I need your honest opinion on something... If you don't mind? "

This is the paints section, a mural of hues that hurt the eyes.

" Sure. "

" What shade of orange do you think I should get? "

You love these questions. Because never once does he elaborate on what he's creating or why he wants you to choose. It's happened many times before. What size of canvas should I get? What pen should I get? What sketch books should I get?

You like the strange autonomy of getting to pick, offering him the same level of context he does to you.

Absolutely none.

" Alloy. " You point.

Shags reaches towards it with little effort, snagging several little containers with his root-like digits. The hand on your shoulders tightens.

" What a choice. Thank you very much, my dear. "

" No problem. "

It takes a bit of shifting before the hand on your skin is lifted.

You stroll back to the cash register with a small smile and occasionally observe the monster in the same way you'd study an animal at the zoo.

It's strange how little he moves sometimes. Initially, you thought it was just so he wouldn't drip ink everywhere, but it seems to be a part of him now. Blending in with all his other vaguely creepy mannerisms. Mr Shags gets all his items at a snail's torturous pace and finally, finally approaches you.

" How are the latest projects going, Mr Shags? " You start while scanning the paints first.

The shroom actually seems to frown for a second. Fingers busy on the balcony. " Not as smoothly as I wished... "

Tap tap tap.

" My latest muse and I, our chemistry, I'm afraid it has no substance. "

" Oh? " Your eyes deviate to his face for a moment.

" Yes... Something tells me it's time to move on. But I do want to honor our time together with one last, preserving piece. "

Tap tap tap.

" Mhm. Sounds good, I hope the next one works out. " Frankly, you're not sure what he's talking about, but you usually never are to begin with.

" Me too. " Then he smiles again, and you get the distinct feeling his stare has turned into a more scrutinizing one.

Far from the first time, it doesn't scare you like it did initially.

It's pretty funny, actually. You started out thinking this guy was some kind of loser looking to harass you, to intentionally make you uncomfortable. Nowadays he's more of an entertaining almost-friend.

Tap tap tap.

" Will that be all, Mr Shags? "

" Shags. "

He's told you to call him just by his name a couple of times. You always ignore it, but he keeps trying anyway.

There's a silent beat.

During your first years of work, the lack of action would have made you antsy enough to break the silence, which is what you know he wants you to do. But now, you have no trouble staring back placidly until he continues the conversation.

Apparently, the shroom enjoys that continuous challenge, because his grin widens slowly.

" You have a peculiar facial definition. " He eventually rasps.

A nothing statement, not quite a compliment, not quite an insult, definitely said to confuse and prompt a question. One you don't give him the satisfaction of hearing.

" Thanks. " The customer service smile has an edge of playful smarm this time.

Tap tap tap.

" ... I would enjoy sketching you sometime. Your facial expressions are intriguing. "

This is essentially his way of asking you out, you presume.

" You've drawn me before. "

He's even given you the pages, pencil depictions of you caught in a selection of moments. Mostly bored to tears and staring at the little universe between the cracks in aged walls.

Shags tuts. " It's quite different when the muse in question is part of the experience. I much prefer it that way. "

You can't help the hint of a snicker that tugs at the corners of your lips as you bag his items to hurry things along. Not that there's anyone else inside right now.

" Mm. And what if we don't have good chemistry? "

The shroom monster hands you his card, not even caring about hearing the total.

" I think we both know that wouldn't be the case. "

Tap tap tap.

It's only a few moments of intentionally creating suspense until you hand him all his new belongings and card.

" See you soon, Mr Shags. "

His grin only twitches for a delightful glimpse of a second before he carefully takes his possessions and leaves.

Playing with fire is fun.

One day, you'll get burned.

[handweavers]

something i really love about amrita sher gil's work is how often she identified herself with other women of colour across class lines and continents, like so much of her work was a critique of orientalism & particularly western men's hypersexualized depictions of women of colour in art & her work repeatedly strove to recontextualize brown women's bodies as a way of 'taking back control' from white men artists and the academy. and she was someone who had studied art in france and was personally familiar with it; she won a gold medal and was elected an associate of the grand salon in paris, and notably she was the youngest person and the only asian of any gender to have received those accolades. her experiences as not only a punjabi sikh but also a hungarian jewish woman informed so much of her work, and she chose to reject the western academy and focus her work and sense of self on india and impoverished, low caste indian women in particular. and considering her death at 28 is most commonly attributed to a failed abortion - which couldn't be safely accessed as a struggling artist in lahore in 1941 - there is something about her work's emphasis on women of colour's bodily autonomy that just breaks my heart

[trans-axolotl]

hi! What is peer respite?

hi anon! I love talking about peer respite :D

Peer respite is a community-based alternative to psych wards. They offer 24/7 short term crisis stabilization-usually for around a week to 2 weeks. Unlike psych wards, they are completely voluntary and all the staff are people with experience with mental health/extreme states/being in the mental health system. Staff are extensively trained in peer support and mental health first aid, and oftentimes staff members will have other degrees in mental health or healthcare related fields. Usually, peer respite is in a house and it is a homelike environment where you can leave at any time, can have visitors, can have your phone, and can bring comfort items and preferred activities. At peer respites, there are no restraints used, no strip searches, and no solitary confinement.

Each peer respite is a little different, but I can tell you about one that my friend works at who is a social worker with lived experience of psychosis! When people decide to come to the peer respite, they usually make a plan for how they want their stay there to look like. Peer support workers will lead optional life skills/coping skills groups throughout the week, as well as other group activities for anyone who wants to participate. There is self-advocacy education, crisis planning options, and art wellness activities. Everyone is assigned a personal support worker who they can go to any time they need a check in or one-on-one support. Staff and guests work together to cook meals, and the entire stay is free of cost.

Since peer respite is an alternative to the psychiatric systems, most peer respites do not provide traditional therapy or psychiatric medications. Most peer respites will work with you to set up outpatient therapy services if you're interested, and I know a lot of people who continue to see the outpatient providers that they already have throughout their stay at peer respite.

A lot of people who go to peer respite have really positive experiences, and there's been several studies done looking at the outcome of crisis stays at peer respite. A lot of people speak positively about the homelike environment, being able to get emotional and crisis support without the fear of institutionalization, and being able to have autonomy about what your days look like, what choices you make, and what healing looks like to you. Some people stay at peer respite and are still able to go to school or work for the week while knowing that they have a safer environment to go back to.

Peer respite is not a perfect solution for everyone's experience of crisis. If you need a longer term stay, are looking for immediate clinical therapy, are someone who is searching for immediate medication support, or who needs immediate physical medical care--peer respite might not be able to meet your needs. Each peer respite house is going to be different, have different staff and visitors, and different policies, and some people might just not feel comfortable in a particular peer respite house. It's shitty and I hope this changes, but some peer respite houses are inaccessible, will have policies around drug use that might prevent people from staying, or have policies that prevent people who are homeless from staying. So, peer respite definitely isn't a perfect solution or something that can meet everyone's crisis needs, but is a really cool option that I hope continues to become available in more states.

Here's a directory with links to peer respites in the US, and here's research done about peer respite!

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-eight

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: I said I was back, and I meant it! Anyway, if you haven't read the last update, this is the second update this week. That's right. New Chapters 67 and 68. NSFW-ish warning.

Aelin was exactly seven minutes early to her interview. She’d spent the last week emptying her closet and putting together the perfect outfit – a sweater dress, tights, and boots that were just the right level of put together – and mapping out exactly how long it would take to get to Xavier’s house, so she could feel the most prepared walking in. She would not be late to the most important meeting of her life. No way.

She slid out of the jeep and waved goodbye to Rowan, who promised to be waiting at the closest coffee shop until she was ready to be picked up. She assumed it’d be around thirty minutes, but she honestly had no idea how long this interview would take. It wasn’t like she had any experience. Looking around, Aelin took a deep breath and took her first step down the long driveway and toward her future. She gained confidence with each step, feeling her stride lengthen and solidify as her chunky boot heel crunched the gravel beneath it.

They were definitely in the wealthier part of Orynth, closer to where Lysandra’s family lived. Sprawling lawns and expertly manicured greenery dotted her winding path. It felt so different than her own tiny street with closely stacked duplexes and shared family homes that she felt a small tug of insecurity before reminding herself that she was prepared for this. Both her dad and Rowan would attest to that. She’d put them through their paces, going over the “best answers” to potential questions that ranged from her favorite book (The Secret Garden — to lead into her thoughts on why lack of autonomy within the disabled communities is a problem) to what she planned to study (an interest in biology and pre-med with flexibility to also take liberal arts classes) all the way to challenges she’d had to overcome and how she’d  personally be an excellent addition to the Wendlyn community. Those were too complicated to boil down into small snippets. But she had the bullet pointed lists laid out in her head, ready to be explained and fully ready for engagement. Honestly, as nervewracking as this whole situation was, she felt prepared. She reassured herself one more time, scrolling through her list of answers over and over, until she reached the oversized front door. In the middle of it all was a door-knocker so large and cumbersome she hoped she could lift it.

Another deep breath. She could do this. No matter how rich and fancy this person was. Whatever laid on the other side of that door, she was ready and prepared for.

She inhaled, filling up her lungs with extra reassurance, but as she lifted her hand to raise what was surely a heavily weighted solid brass knocker, the wind was completely knocked from her chest. Of all the things she had prepared herself for, she had not anticipated this one single thing that could fully derail her.

Before Aelin knew what was even happening, she could feel herself shrinking at the sight before her. She’d know that perfectly coiffed hair and polite smile anywhere.

“Mom?”

“Aelin,” Evalin said, leaning in to kiss her on both her cheeks, surely leaving behind smudges of her burgundy lipstick on Aelin’s pale cheek.

She leaned back and looked Aelin up and down, her crystal eyes pausing and practically flinching at the tiny snag in Aelin’s tights. She’d only had that one pair and even went over it with clear nail polish to make sure it wouldn’t pull or run more, fully assured that Xavier wouldn’t be looking at the side of her shin where her boot met the tights. But she hadn’t anticipated Evalin’s eagle eyes pulling apart every slight detail, searching for anything out of place to berate her for. “Don’t you look lovely,” Evalin continued, though the downturn of her lips as she touched Aelin’s sweater dress gave her real feelings away. Evalin chuckled as she stepped aside, letting Aelin enter into the large dark foyer. 

“Why don’t you take off your coat, darling?” Evalin said, reaching her hand out.

Aelin cleared her throat, trying not to let the slight choking feeling overtake her and draw in a steady breath as she finally got out a soft, “Mom, what are you doing here?”  

If Evalin was fazed in the slightest, she didn’t show it at all. But Aelin had never felt so small. She had worked so hard to put together this outfit, and now that her mom was looking at it, she knew it was all wrong. The sweater dress had been put through the wash one too many times, tiny pills forming in its most worn spots. Evalin would have shaved them off. Or bought Aelin a new dress. She’d make sure that Aelin had a fresh haircut, none of her desperately-in need-of-trimming dead ends left unevenly past her shoulders. She tugged at the sleeve of her sweater dress as her coat disappeared from her shoulders, suddenly feeling naked without it. There was a tiny thread coming undone from the hem of the sleeve, and she knew that without a doubt Evalin would clock it. The woman missed nothing. She should have tugged it and tried to remove it immediately, but all she could feel was shock and horror. Needing something to do, she untucked her hair from behind her ear, letting it tumble forward, but of course that was the wrong thing to do. Aelin could never do the right thing. Be the right way. Be good enough to keep her mom happy. To keep her around, even. 

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat as Evalin frowned and straightened her shoulders back, warning Aelin silently to do the same. As she retucked the thick gold wave behind Aelin’s ear, her furrowed brow melted away, replaced by a smile only reserved for others. 

“Xavier, please meet my beautiful daughter, Aelin,” she said with a sweep of her hand. It took everything in Aelin not to flinch as the hand gestured toward her. Instead, she donned her most polite smile — ruing the way it felt like an Evalin reproduction — and bowed her head and curtsied, instinctively.

Xavier chuckled. “Oh, my. Look at that,” he said as his elbow nudged into the air by Evalin’s side. “Impeccable manners, of course. I would expect nothing less from an Ashryver,” he continued, his tone light as he ushered Aelin further into the cavernous foyer.

Xavier was everything she should have expected but was somehow unprepared for. He was Evalin in male form. His thick blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, swooping gently over his forehead in a way that told Aelin is had taken hours of work and product to get it to look so natural. He was tall but reedy, like someone who spent a lot of time mixing up green smoothies, per his personal trainer’s request. His navy suit was clean and pressed, sharp with creases that told the world he was someone with something important to say. Shiny cufflinks glinted in the mid-afternoon sun, and Aelin knew if she looked close enough they’d be monogrammed with a flourished script.

“But no need for formalities,” he continued, oblivious to Aelin’s turmoil. “Your mother and I go way back. In fact, our parents’ parents go way back. Evie and I were friends long before our time together at Wendlyn.”

Aelin nearly choked at the use of the nickname for her mother. She’d never heard anyone address her as anything other as her full name, and it took Aelin aback that this man was not only allowed to use this familiarity but received a smile in return for it.

“We were bred in the same kennel, as my father used to say,” Xavier said scratching at his too clean-shaven chin. It was red and shiny and Aelin wished she could stop staring at it and listen to him again. “I can’t remember a holiday I didn’t spend with the Ashryvers,” he droned on.  But Aelin’s mouth was faster than her filter. 

“But I’m not an Ashryver. I’m a Galathynius,” she said. Two pairs of eyes widened but melted quickly back into an amused gaze. 

“Hi, ho. A spitfire, just like her mom. That’s the Ashryver spark for sure,” Xavier said, ignoring Aelin’s growing discomfort.

Because she wasn’t an Ashryver. She was a Galathynius. 

“Who, me?” Evalin batted her lashes and giggled, feigning innocence. Flirting. Aelin’s mom was flirting with this man. This alum. Right in front of her. She swallowed again, biting down the ire rising in her throat. She hated it here. She would do anything to send a fire signal to Rowan to come and pick her up immediately, but, no. She had an interview to complete still. An alum to impress. Aelin could feel her heartbeat quickening as she realized that she still had an interview to complete. That her mom would bear witness to this whole thing. She just wanted to get it overwith and be out of her presence as quickly as possible.

“Can we get started?” Aelin cut off the man, who was clearly surprised. 

“Ah yes,” he fumbled with his thumbs and shoved them into his pocket before taking one back out and gesturing down a long dark hallway. “The study is right this way.”

Study. So formal.

She looked down the long hallway and tried her best to grasp at any of the tendrils of her waning confidence, but it was fruitless. Aelin had never felt so out of place, like such a fraud. Here she was, pretending to be Wendlyn material, but that wasn’t her; that was Evalin.

Evalin, who had grown up with this man, knowing that her future held the glowing promise of a Wendlyn future. Evalin walked through this home as if she belonged there, looking completely at home. But as Aelin traversed the dark portrait-lined hallway down to the study, she could feel the sharp stares of the painted faces judging her with every cautious step. You don’t belong here, they seemed to mock, their pinched noses and haughty smirks watching as Aelin’s chunky boot heel step on the delicate mosaic tile beneath her feet. She didn’t want to think about how expensive these fancy floors were, and the fact that her $20 boots were most likely leaving black rubber smudges against them.  

While Lysandra’s family home was fancy, it was nothing like this – whereas her house was bright and wide and open and modern, this expansive home was dark and crowded with ornate moldings and décor that felt like it could close in on Aelin at any second. She managed to keep her feet steady, despite the long walk down the seemingly never-ending hallway. She could hear Xavier maintaining casual conversation with Evalin, but Aelin stayed quiet, fully focusing on maintaining her stride and praying that she wouldn’t stumble and fall or accidentally break something. Foreboding crept up Aelin’s spine as Evalin fell into pace beside her and smoothed out the fabric of her sweater dress against her back. She could feel her picking off an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder just so she could dig her fingers into her bicep and pull her close. 

“Behave, please,” Evalin whispered through clenched teeth, causing Aelin to stumble, just as she’d feared she would. “Careful, darling,” Evalin drawled in a much lighter tone. “These floors are priceless.”

“You break it, you bought it,” her mother and Xavier said in unison as he pushed open the door to his study. They both laughed as it was something hilarious from their youth, but all Aelin heard was – You’re not one of us. Again and again and again.

Aelin blinked at the harsh expanse of daylight that filtered through the floor to ceiling windows lining the wall of the study. Thick burgundy drapes were pulled back to allowing a shock of grey-white sky to cast its milky pallor over the dark wood room, somehow leeching it of any warmth, despite the burgundy and mahogany color scheme. 

“Ah yes, it’s quite the view, isn’t it?” Xavier chuckled as he gestured to the frost-laden yard that seemed to go on for miles and miles. “You can see the mountains in the distance on a clear day. When we first bought this place, the neighbors behind us were trying to plant trees in our view, which turned into a bit of a legal battle. But it ended up alright. We bought them out, and now we have a perfect view.” His voice was haughty with pride at the notion of buying someone out of their home. Aelin’s stomach curled at the notion that one person could be so selfish. But still, she put on her best smile and nodded politely. Evelyn would tolerate no less.

Still smiling smugly, Xavier waved Aelin over to the large leather loveseat where Evalin was already perched. But Aelin didn’t want to sit next to Evelyn. She couldn’t think with her hovering so close — all her well-prepared answers had floated to the recesses of her memories, blocked by the constant perusal of her mother’s perfectly controlled facial expressions. But as Xavier slid into the arm chair across from them, Aelin was at a loss. There was nowhere else to sit. She’d have to sit next to her mother.

As she slid onto the stiff couch, the skirt of her dress rode up slightly, catching on the leather. But before she could even it out, Evalin was there, doing it for her. Always hovering. Always watching. Aelin didn’t even realize that Xavier had asked her a question, until she heard her mother’s sharp whisper. “Don’t be rude, Aelin. Answer.”

“Hm?” Aelin’s head whipped up, watching Xavier face lips tug downward into a slight frown.

“Xavier was just asking what you’re interested in studying?” Evalin repeated, her blue-grey eyes staring a hole into Aelin. 

Aelin knew she had an answer for this. She’d talked about the phrasing with Rowan over and over about why it was actually a benefit that she wasn’t completely sure what she wanted to study yet. That it allowed for… curiousity? Flexibility? No, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. The words were completely mixed up in her head, and she couldn’t make heads or tales of them. With every flash of her mom’s eyes, Aelin’s rehearsed answers disappeared further and further until all that was left was a gaping black hole of confusion in her anxiety-addled brain. What was she supposed to say? She had no idea. Literally none. She couldn’t do this. Oh god. She couldn’t do this.

Aelin swallowed back the threat of tears as she croaked out a quiet, “I don’t know.”

“Aelin has many interests,” Evalin jumped in, placing her perfectly polished nails on Aelin’s knee. “She’s trained in ballet and is extremely creative.”

She should have said something about how she had just joined Orynth’s Dance Company. About her time spent teaching last fall, how dancing was for fun and she wasn’t sure she’d want to pursue it professionally but she loved that Wendlyn had recreational dance teams she could participate in. That was the answer she’d rehearsed. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth and brain work together.

“Ah, so perhaps a performing arts major?” Xavier asked. “I myself studied the bard and was in a play or two back in my day. Wendlyn has a thriving theater department. We even have quite a few celebrity alums,” he continued, oblivious to Aelin’s complete mental shutdown.

“No,” Aelin said. Apparently she couldn’t even explain more than that. She could see the corners of Xavier’s eyes tightening uncomfortably as he watched Evalin’s hand grasp Aelin’s knee – the edges of her dark red gel tips sinking into Aelin’s tights, as the conversation plummeted into a dead silence.

“Right,” Xavier cleared his throat, clearly at a loss. Aelin could feel her stress welling as he continued, hopeful, knowing that her next answer was sure to be another disappointment. Just like her entire being. “Well... perhaps you’d like to tell me about why you’re interested in Wendlyn?” he asked.

And though Aelin knew she had a full essay response for that exact question, she simply shrugged and let him continue his list of questions, each one said with less curiosity as Xavier realized what Aelin had feared: she wasn’t Wendlyn material. And with each question and answer, Aelin knew her chances of getting into college with Rowan were quickly disappearing.

. . .

Aelin had been in a mood in the days following her interview with Xavier and she who shall not be named. But, she was trying her very hardest to keep a smile on her face and pretend like she was totally fine. Mostly because today was Rowan’s first lacrosse game of the season, and he needed her in the stands cheering him on, not sulking about her botched interview. It wasn’tthat she wasn’t a fully supportive girlfriend, but she wasn’t feeling particularly into lacrosse — the sport that was fully responsible for handing Rowan a future that she so clearly wasn’t going to be a part of. She wanted him to do well, but an uncomfortable feeling of panic was pressing against her chest, and it was taking everything in her to put a smile on her face. And Aelin was a lot of things, but a spectacular actress was not one of them.

To Rowan’s credit, he was letting her feel her feelings without pushing. He’d asked how the interview went upon picking her up, and Aelin had simply snapped and said, “Bad.” When he pushed for any more information, she shut him down completely and she could feel a thick wall of armor rising. She’d been furious, practically shaking with anger, but for some reason, hadn’t want to share her mom’s surprise appearance with him. She’d told him that she’d talk when she was ready, and even though she knew he wanted to push, he accepted what she’d asked for. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She had other things to think about. Like figuring out any other plan for her future that still included Rowan.

Which is why that Friday morning, she donned her green and gold best, tied her long braided pigtails with the #47 ribbons she’d decorated in puffy paints last year, and woke up early to grab a few special treats for her boyfriend on his big day. Before this whole debacle, she’d asked Maeve if she could make a batch of Rowan’s favorite peanut butter cookies, decorated like his jersey, and sure enough, they were waiting on the counter with two coffees when she let herself into their townhouse. She could hear the shower running upstairs, along with a loud blaring bass of one of Rowan’s pump-up playlists, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and push aside any traces of residual insecurity and focus on Rowan. It was his big day, and she knew he was nervous. He always was.

Within minutes, she heard his heavy step skipping every other stairs as he descended into the kitchen where she was waiting, and his smile upon seeing her there temporarily melted away her bad mood entirely. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over receiving that look from him.

“Happy game day, Captain,” Aelin said, smiling widely.

His arms surrounded her, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, as he leaned in and pulled her against his chest. He smelled warm from his shower, and she took a moment to inhale the comforting scent of his pine body wash combined with something just innately Rowan.

“Coffee?”

She held out the cup in his direction, but he ignored it in favor of kissing her. Who was she to disagree? She let herself melt into it, letting her anxieties disappear for the moments his mouth was on hers.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, and she couldn’t help but laugh against his lips.

“You saw me less than nine hours ago.”

“Too long.” He pulled her even closer and went back in for another kiss, this time with more fervor. His tongue slid between her lips, and she could feel herself getting slightly carried away as their bodies pressed together even tighter. Her grasp on the coffee cup in her hand was getting dangerously loose when he finally pulled away, resting his head against her forehead and bringing the coffee to his lips.

“Mmmm. Delicious.”

“Me or the coffee?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

“Both.” He leaned in and kissed her one more time. “I wish we had time to go upstairs, but…”

“Someone has a game to kick ass in today, and missing first period is probably a bad way to start that off, huh?”

He nodded sadly, but the mischief didn’t completely leave his green eyes as he looked her up and down. “But maybe during lunch?”

Aelin couldn’t control the burst of laughter that bubbled up her throat. “A pre-game warm up?” she teased.

“Always.” He let his hand fall to the swell of her butt, pinching it lightly and causing Aelin to yelp in surprise.

“Be nice or I’m not giving you your cookies.”

Rowan raised his brow. “You baked?” he asked, rightfully skeptical. After all, he spent most of his time with Aelin and he would have definitely noticed if she’d disappeared to Maeve’s for a few hours without him.

“I had help,” Aelin said, procuring the tray of decorated cookies.

His excitement couldn’t be contained as he leaned back in for yet another kiss, but Aelin knew that if they kept this up they definitely would be late for school.

“Later,” she promised, hoping that would keep her spirits afloat.

But as soon as she waved goodbye to Rowan in the hallway, all her doubts came flooding back. She parsed through every second of her time with Xavier and her mom, wondering if there was any world in which that interview could have been construed as positive, but she knew in her heart the truth. She had bombed. Big time. Not just a minor bomb. That whole afternoon had been a full nuclear wipeout with no survivors left standing. She’d killed her own opportunity, and she’d never forgive herself for it.

By the time lunch came around, Aelin was so deep into her self-pitying wallowing that she felt like she was being suffocated by negativity. She’d hoped that seeing Rowan would brighten her spirits, as it had this morning, but apparently that’d been a fluke. She was just as prickly as ever, barely even smiling when he greeted her with a giant bear hug, spinning her around the hall in an exuberant whirlwind. In fact, her mood was made even worse by the flurry of cheerleaders who giggled in his presence, blushing as they wished him luck in tonight’s game. She practically hissed as one got too close, flashing her canines in feral warning.

“Ease up, Ace,” Rowan chuckled as he led her out to the far side of the parking lot where the jeep was parked.

“Stupid fucking cheerleaders,” she grumbled as she slid into the back seat. She was so in her head that she barely even noticed Rowan driving to their special secluded spot — a nearby parking lot that was midway through some sort of construction when it had been fully abandoned. She was sure the crews would come back one day, but for now, it was perfect for their, uh… needs.

Rowan joined her in the back seat and pulled her onto his lap with skilled ease, as if they’d been doing this for years, rather than merely weeks. But it was good. She was on full autopilot. Aelin’s body knew exactly what to do without being in her brain at all. Her hips rolled against his lap as his fingers tangled in her hair, clashing their teeth together in a harsh mingling of breaths and low groans. She didn’t wait for him as she pulled her top off, and allowed her head to fall back as his mouth trailed down her neck and to the bare expanse of her cleavage. Gods, she loved him so much. What was she ever going to do without this? She tried to imagine a world where she didn’t get to be this close to Rowan, but all she saw was a gaping painful hole in her hear heart. She felt her throat closing slightly and swallowed down the threat of emotion she’d careful kept walled up all week.

“Ace?” Rowan looked up at her with concern, clocking the change in her breathing, but she forged forward. She would not lose any time with him. She’d take advantage of every second they had together. Clothed and unclothed.

“I’m good,” she reassured him,

But she knew he could feel the slight waver in her touch as she reached down to his waist to unbutton his pants. His green eyes flashed in warning, but she ignored it, pulling him into her hand and tightening her grasp exactly as she knew he liked it. Autopilot.

Her hands regained their surety as she continued, lulling Rowan into a state of blissful arousal. She leaned in and bit his exposed throat as he leaned further into the seat, moving his hips into her hand. Her mouth opened and sucked at his skin. Hard. She wanted anyone who saw him to know that he was spoken for. That he was claimed. That he was hers. No matter what. She never wanted anyone else to know him like this, and she could feel her pulse stutter as she even considered the possibility of that. No.

She needed to refocus. Without removing her mouth, she reached for the condom he’d placed beside them on the seat and opened it. She leaned back just barely enough to make room to place it on him, not wanting to give him any space. That was the opposite of what she wanted. She could hear him groan a loud expletive as she slid on top of him and started to move. He fit so perfectly. No one else would ever fit like this. And when it was gone, she’d miss it so, so, so much.

“Oh, Ace.” She thought he was moaning her name in pleasure, but it wasn’t until he said, “Aelin, baby, stop,” that she clocked the tone was actually of concern. His face was blurry, and as she blinked, she felt that her cheeks were fully wet. Unbeknownst to her, silent tears had welled and dripped from the corners of her eyes in full, hot streams. “Baby, stop,” he said again, his hands going to her hips to still her, but her autopilot refused.

“No, it’s okay,” she said thickly. “I’m okay.”

“Aelin, you are not okay. You’re crying.”

She tried to keep her legs in a vice grip around his hips, but he was fully in control as he pulled her off of him and tucked himself back into his pants.

“No, no,” she croaked, her tears pouring out in earnest now. “We can keep going.”

“Ace, we’re not going to have sex while you’re crying.”

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed as his hands came up to her cheeks, wiping his thumbs against them. That seemed to be the thing that cracked her open, a full sob releasing from her mouth as her shoulders shook with the weight of the past few days. Rowan shushed her gently as he pulled her against him, rubbing comforting circles into her back. But she barely felt a thing. All she could feel was the hot sting of embarrassment and shame.

“Do you want to talk about it finally?” Rowan asked, but Aelin shook her head into his shoulder.

“N-no.”

“Okay.”

And she knew that he meant it. He’d sit there, erection still throbbing in his pants as she cried it out silently. That only made her cry harder. She owed it to him to tell him what had happened. She didn’t even know why she’d kept it to herself. Maybe she’d just wanted to pretend for a little longer that the future she’d imagined for them could happen.

“I blew it,” she finally said.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Rowan said. Her body was suddenly exhausted, and she couldn’t sit upright anymore. Or maybe she just couldn’t look at his face during this conversation. Instead, she slid until she was slumped across his lap and cuddling into the soft fabric of his pants. She struggled to calm her breath as he ran his dexterous fingers down her back and up again.

“You may as well break up with me now,” she sniffed.

Rowan’s hand paused on her back and tilted her ruddy face to look up at his concerned gaze. “Ace, I thought we talked about this. No matter what happens, we’re not breaking up.”

“That’s what you say now, but…” Another wave of tears took over as she sobbed. “What if you meet someone else? Some pretty and smart Wendlyn girl who fits into your world?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rowan asked, seeming genuinely perplexed as his finger pushed aside the stream of tears on her hot cheek. “You fit in my world perfectly.”

“But all those girls at Wendlyn are going to be from upstanding families with two parents whose names are on libraries, and I bet they wear real pearls and have perfectly painted nails that are never chipped, and—”

“Aelin, what the fuck are you going on about? Why would I care about any of that?”

She bit her lip, sniffing back another round of tears as she finally told Rowan about Evalin’s surprise appearance and how of course she couldn’t have gotten that interview without Evalin’s help, tugging on those elite strings. And how clear it became that she was anything but that.

Rowan scratched at her scalp, and she leaned into his comforting touch.

“I don’t use the word hate lightly, but I fucking hate Evalin. What she did to you, surprising you like that with no warning was completely fucked up. She should have told you she was going to be there. Leaving you unprepared like that wasn’t going to help your chances, even if she thought being there would. You deserved a heads up. And the fact that she didn’t think you did just shows how little she understands about life. And you.” He took a deep breath. “And it’s okay to feel fucked up about what she did. But, Ace, it’s not okay to think I’m just going to suddenly disappear from your life if you end up at another college. That’s not going to happen. Never. Ever ever. I’m going to be in love with you for the rest of my life. Forever.”

“But—”

He held up a finger to her lips, shushing her. “But also, one person’s review of you isn’t going to make or break your college admission. You don’t know what anyone thinks of this Xavier dude. He could be hated! They could have him interview people as a barometer for who not to accept.”

“That feels highly doubtful, Ro,” Aelin laughed through the remnants of her tears. “But I appreciate your optimism.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s not over until the school year starts. And even then, it’s not over. Best case scenario, you get in with me for the fall. But there are a hundred other things that could happen before then. You could get waitlisted and get in, you could apply to transfer after a semester or a year, if you wanted. Or, other best case scenario, you love wherever you end up, and we still make this work with phone calls and video calls and weekend visits. Because I’m going to love you for the rest of your gods damned life, so stop trying to get rid of me,” he said, poking her cheek with each pointed word. “It’s insulting.” He paused, looking her over thoroughly, and it felt like he could really see through her in that moment, and she could hear his words before he even said them. “I’m not your mom.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” he asked. “Because I definitely don’t have my last name on any libraries. And I couldn’t tell you what a real pearl looks like if a million dollars were at stake. And guess what? I bite my nails, and the only reason Evalin even came around to the idea of me is because Wendlyn became interested in me. You think that I feel like I’m going to magically fit in there, but I doubt many students were raised by their single aunt and grew up working in her restaurant. I don’t have a trust. That’s why I needed this scholarship.” He paused. “If we’re weighing which one of us belongs at Wendlyn more than the other, only one of us is a legacy there, you know?”

“Okay,” she whispered, but the hurt was still so raw, and she felt ragged from her marathon of crying. She could feel Rowan still hard in his pants, and she felt awful. She went to reach for him, but he sternly put her hand back by her side.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“But—”

“We’ll celebrate after I win the game tonight,” he said.

And true to his word, they did.

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt9

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wow two chapters of this in such a short span of time?! Yeah, I'm procrastinating shut up. Not proofread

Warnings: references to blood drinking, ignoring consent/ignoring autonomy, some violence, trauma (that's a given), references/mentions of past abuse

Word Count: 1,760

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“I trade in blood and the potions that can be wrung from it. I’m more than happy to make you one, if you’d honor me with your blood.” Araj Oblodra smiles. It’s not warm or welcoming; something devious dances across her face. It makes you uncomfortable. “With one drop, I can brew a rather potent potion for you. The rest, I keep for myself.”

You can’t hide the grimace that overtakes your face. ‘Sanguineous arts’ already struck an odd chord within you, but asking for your blood? And even going so far as to keep some for herself? “What will you do with the rest?”

“The excess would be used for my experiments. I’m always working to find ways to make stronger potions. Who knows what the blood of a True Soul could do for even a rather simple mixture?”

You cringe. “Not interested, sorry.”

She sighs, scowling. “A pity. Although, perhaps there’s one more thing we can discuss: your friend.” She looks at Astarion, but not as the person he is. Her eyes scan him over like she’s looking at an object, studying a rare work of art. Astarion notices it, too. She turns her eyes from him and he’s relieved to be spared from that look, if only temporarily. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn, at least.”

Astarion slapped on a fake grin. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re all friends under the Absolute.” He lifts his chin, donning an air of confidence. “I won’t bite.”

“Oh I’d prefer if you did.” She smirks. An uneasy feeling settles heavily in your gut. His mask slips. “I assume he belongs to you?”

Your eyes shoot wide open. “Excuse me?” The question has you reeling. It takes you a moment to find your words. “He’s his own person!”

She laughs and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable.” For a brief moment, all you see in her place are the faces of all the loyal subjects under her. She turns to the elf, head held high so she’s looking down her nose at him with a sneer. “Do you have a name, spawn?”

When you look over, Astarion is shifting uneasy in his armor. He’s used to being reduced to nothing - less than human, only fit for someone else’s gain. But it hadn’t happened since the crash. This was… a lot. “Astarion, but hold on-”

“Good,” Araj cuts him off with a smirk. “Now, Astarion.” You want to throw up when she says his name like that. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

He balks. “I’m sorry? You want to be bitten?”

Something otherly and unsettling sets into her face and voice as she speaks. “To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?” Her voice is airy as she says, “Yes, I want it.” You’re fortunate enough it goes back to being somewhat normal when she returns to talking about business. “I’ll even compensate you - a potion of legendary power that forever increases the strength of the one who consumes it. It’s not for sale, but it’s yours if you bite me.”

“I will have to decline.”

“Excuse me?” she scoffs. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you’re squandering it.”

Astarion scowls, creases deepening with the anger in his expression. “I gave you my answer.”

Araj still looks furious when she turns on you. “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

Your hand twitches by your dagger, but it’s not blind fear that rules you. This is entirely different from the Gur. He’d been on the hunt for you, to bring you back to Berdusk and your master. All Araj cared about was Astarion. All she wanted was for him to bite her, even when he said no. This was not fear, this was anger.

“Can’t you understand ‘no’? He’s not going to bite you.” You glared at the drow. Whatever shock you felt before had been pushed aside. She didn’t care about Astarion’s free will, and she never would. She was just like all the others you’d seen that ache for a vampire’s bite.

She gasps like she’s been insulted to her very core. “It’s obvious you’ve let him indulge plenty in your own neck. Is that it, then? You want him all to yourself?”

You don’t know what happened. Everything is a blur, a flurry of motion that makes your head spin. Once you process where you are, ice floods your veins.

Araj is on the floor, staring up at you with wide, horrified eyes. You’re on top of her, legs straddling her waist and a hand at her shoulder keeping her held down. Your dagger hangs mere inches from her eye. And then you realize the thing that stopped you from killing another innocent: a hand around your wrist, pulling the knife away from Araj. Astarion’s hand.

He doesn’t want her to live, gods no. But he remembers what happened to you the last time you took someone’s life through blind emotion. He doesn’t want to see you like that again.

You scowl down at her as you growl out, “He. Said. No.”

She nods fearfully - she’d have agreed to anything you said if it meant saving her own skin. Your fingers loosen around the handle of the dagger and Astarion pries it from your hand. His other supports your waist as you stand up from the drow, backing away toward the others, who all watched with mixed expressions. You don’t turn away from her until you’re almost by the door. Only once it’s shut do your shoulders relax.

“What happened back there, soldier?” Karlach asks.

You sigh and take your weapon back from Astarion. “She… reminded me of somebody.” As you return the knife to its sheath, you shake your head. “Nevermind. Let’s just go.”

-

Astarion clears his throat as he enters his tent. You’re sitting on your bedroll, looking at the different candles you’d dug out of storage. You were running low, and you wanted to try optimizing them to the best of your abilities, until you could find or purchase more. You look up from your work, watching as he takes his seat across from you.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you.”

You tilt your head at him as you set the candles aside. “What for?”

“For nearly killing that vile drow, for what you said back there.”

You half-chuckle. “It, admittedly, wasn’t for purely selfless reasons.” Your hands begin fiddling with each other in your lap. “She reminded me of the servants my master keeps. They all vye for her attention, desperately wishing she would drink from them instead of…” You clear your throat. “When she kept saying you belonged to me, I just- I lost control.”

He hummed, understanding precisely. When Araj saw your scar and brought it up, not knowing he wasn’t the one that gave it to you, her fate was sealed. She would be a corpse right now if he hadn’t acted quickly enough. “I’m grateful, all the same. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same - to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” you asserted. “You’ve spent too long already having to deal with that. And, she didn’t seem like she’d make a good meal.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe so.” His nose wrinkled. “Her blood smelled absolutely foul. No potion would have been worth the stomachache.”

“What’s wrong with her blood?”

“Gods know what. There’s no telling what she’s experimented with in her line of work.”

“Gods willing, we’ll never know.” You reach for the candles again, prepared to pick one out so the very moment this one runs out, you’re not fumbling about trying to bring back the light, but his hand stops you. You look at him again. His face is leaned in close to yours.

“There’s… something else I wanted to discuss.” He can see the bob of your throat as you swallow, but you nod. “I know we both have our own demons to contend with, and we will, in time, but…” He lets out a soft breath. “You… You’re incredible. So many times, you’ve had ample opportunity to turn me away for what I am alone, but you didn’t. You confided in me, despite it all.”

“I trust you, Astarion,” you whisper. He can feel the warmth of your air against his lips.

“I want us to be something,” he confesses. “Something real. I just don’t know what ‘real’ looks like. Not after two hundred years of playing the rake.” He frowns. “Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”

You lean back from him slightly, giving him more room. He misses the way your breath fanned across his skin, but thinking about it for too long puts a vice around his undead heart. You don’t pull your hand from his. “Is this okay?”

He hums softly, thinking. “I don’t mind it as much, if it’s you,” he admits. “It feels… different. A good different.”

Your lips curl slightly into a soft smile. “Then we can keep figuring it out. Together.”

He laughs a little breathlessly, almost shocked by your answer; surprised with how easily you accept his burdens. “You… You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He glides his hand along yours until your fingers are interlaced. Palm to palm, he can feel the callouses that litter your hands, built up from the moment your freedom began. They were still soft, only a few weeks old at best. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next. But I know that this…” He looks into your eyes. You look at him so openly, so earnestly. How could you be the product of your past when he’d ended up the way he did? How could you be so kind despite it all? He smiled. “This is nice.”

---

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[suncaptor]

In the four days leading up to my birthday, January 29th, 2024, I wanted to have an event! It is Supernatural themed because this blog still is (shoutout to everyone still here), but non spn fans feel free to participate. I love to see what people have to create!! All media/art/music/writing is encouraged.

You can also post on different days/multiple from same day or post something very tangential!! if you're really late I'll probably still get to it.

25th: (post Dean Winchester birthday blues) Dean & Alastair // 4x22 voicemail // Kevin Tran // Conor Oberst

26th: fusions: your culture, field of study, science, space, music, interest, etc and supernatural // existential // mental illness, dissociation and/or unreality // liminality (and ANY application of it, from transience, liminal spaces or ritual states, applying it to stuck outside through trauma, abuse, and cycles, "Otherisation", the "you can never go home" of it all, dimensions and supernatural beings explorations, so forth on and on.)

27th: Lucifer &/or vessels (or Sam specifically) // sambrady // Ireland

28th: Xander Harris (btvs) // Jessica Moore // psychic kids // sastiel (especially casifer mention<3)

29th: Sam Winchester and trauma, autonomy &/or OCD // anything that you want regarding me <3

extra bonus to keep extra sastiel posting into the 30th <3 it is @jackexmachina's birthday, I'll still be around, and we both love to see it!

Rules: tag #suncaptorevent or @ me or use this ao3 collection. I am totally fine with dark content, but please use trigger warnings+nsfw tags (and know I might tred carefully with certain triggers for my own sake), and if you're a minor do not use nsfw content. No w*/fluffy sa.mifer content please