#blows another to volume nine.

[etruatcaelum]

On Magic.

When the Gods of Light and Darkness created humankind as their masterpiece, each gave the new beings two gifts: from Light, creation and choice; and from Darkness, destruction and knowledge. They meant for this to be their final act of creation—the keystone—the binding signature, as it were, on their hard-fought truce.

For a time, all was well.

Before long, however, it became clear that the creatures of grimm posed a dire threat to human existence; one humankind simply could not withstand. As humanity’s number dwindled, the God of Light—who had never warmed to his brother’s beloved creations—saw an undeniable reason to dispense with the monsters once and for all, but the God of Darkness would not hear of it. Instead, he proposed a more… indirect answer. If humankind could not meet the ferocity of the grimm with equal fire, then the fault surely lay with him, in his failure to give what they needed to thrive in the world he had made. The mistake, then, was his to rectify.

Although Light distrusted his brother’s intentions, he agreed reluctantly that he could find no fault in that reasoning; and so the God of Darkness swept over the world to whisper a new secret into the ear of every human he could find.

The divine gifts they had been given—the blessings of creativity and change, willpower and insight: these were no mere traits. Each sang with the touch of divine power, for humankind was made in the image of gods. All they needed to do was master the tools they had been given: and this was magic.

When the brothers left Remnant, they carved their gifts out of Salem’s soul; but once learned, a secret is not so easily taken back. No longer could she practice magic using the gifts of her creators—but they had given her more than just their blessings.

They had given her curses, too.

Infinite life, and infinite rage: the life-giving waters of the fountain of light had flooded her lungs and burned within her still, bright and searing as if she’d swallowed the sun. Lost and forgotten in that crucible of eternity, what was left for her but to master it?

And, when she remade herself in the lightless depths of the pool of grimm, she learned another secret, too: that power can be taken, and nothing is ever truly lost.

When humanity flamed into new life from the ashes of what came before, it did so by no power but its own; by no hand of any god, by no magic of any gift. The brothers left Remnant a desolate ruin, accursed and rotting. What shines in the souls of the living now is the radiant scar of the truth she knows: and this is the secret called aura.

For many lifetimes, Ozma was the only person who walked the planet’s face with the brothers’ gifts interwoven with their soul. Blessed as they were, they wielded the phenomenal magic of the gods—but the aura of humanity lay dormant in their soul, and in their hands dust became no more than pretty gemstones.

They thought nothing of it, at first. The God of Light had told them that humans would rise again lessened, mere fragments of what they were when the gods smiled upon them: so they did not question the fading embers of power they saw flickering in the hearts of mortal men. Not until years became lifetimes and the brutal wheel of futile centuries ground them down to aching bone did the alienation of divinity truly begin to lacerate; and then they retreated into solitude for many long and painful years.

The wizard in the story divides his magic: the truth is that magic is not a thing you do but a thing you know, and what Ozma gave to the first four maidens was not the magic but the means. Their names were Bruma, Imber, Iubar, and Vina: each entrusted with a gift that was not truly Ozma’s to give.

So they relinquished the blessing of their creators; so magic intertwined with aura and remade itself into something stranger and wilder than before: the maidens do as they will, unbound from death, and every now and then a child is born with silver eyes.

[iamthecomet]

Shade

Kinktober Day Nine - Voyeurism Rating: Explicit Pairing: Aether/Rain, Implied Aether/Swiss/Rain. Featuring: Swiss using his shadow powers for evil good. Voyeur Swiss. Anal Sex. Anal fingering. Oral Sex. Masturbation. Everything is super consensual I promise. Word Count: 1.3k Aether and Rain have some fun. Swiss watches.

Tagging @askingforthesun because I know how much you love Shadow Swiss ♥.

Read it on AO3 or under the cut.

Swiss watches. It's what he does best. His favorite pastime. Slipping into the shadows. Standing in the dark corner next to Rain's hearth. 

His fingers have gone all wispy. Arms too. He's melted into the dark. Eyes watching through the veil of his own shadows. 

Rain makes a little gut-punched noise. Breath hitching. Hips rolling, shifting from side to side like he's trying to throw Aether off. But they all know better. 

Rain's close. Two of Aether's thick fingers buried inside of him. That hot mouth around one of his balls. Suckling. Rain whines. Fingers fisted in Aether's hair. 

Swiss bets himself that Rain will start begging in thirty seconds. That feels generous with the way he's writhing. Desperate for Aether's mouth where he really needs it. 

Swiss grinds his palm down on his zipper. Hisses at the pressure as Rain's whines rachet up in volume. Rain keeps looking at the shadowy parts of his room. There are a lot of them. The water ghoul prefers it dark. The fire is dying in the hearth. The whole room is a shadow.  But Rain looks anyway. Eyes blown wide, hazy with pleasure. He searches. Knows Swiss is here somewhere but not where. 

Those glassy cerulean eyes slide over Swiss and he grins. Nerves alight. Stomach twisting at the chance of being found out. At the way Rain looks right at him and sees nothing. Eyes darting to another part of the room just before Aether adds a third finger and they roll back in Rain's skull. Exposing white to the ceiling. 

Swiss pulls himself out. Hard and warm in his palm. When he looks down he doesn't see himself. He isn't corporeal at all, not really. But he can feel it all. He isn't about to question the mechanics of his earthly powers. Not now. Not when Rain is spread out before him like a feast and he's got his dick in what passes for his hand. 

He fucks into his fist in time with Aether's fingers. They're drenched in Rain's slick. The squelching sound they make with every thrust makes Swiss feel insane. He has to slow down or he’ll blow all over the floor before the main event even starts. He squeezes himself at the base and holds. Dick twitching in his hands as Aether scissors his fingers and Rain finally starts to beg. 

“Aeth, Aether. I need–you’ve gotta–more.” 

Swiss would really make him beg. Would needle a please or seven out of the water ghoul’s lips before he even thought about touching his cock. But Swiss isn’t the one between his legs. Isn’t the one pistoning his fingers into that lithe body. And Aether must be feeling merciful. 

Aether pulls his mouth from Rain’s balls with a wet pop. Then licks a stripe over Rain’s neglected cock. It kicks against his stomach. Spits more pre that Aether laps up. Swiss can see it all. The sheen of it on Rain’s belly. The way Rain’s chest heaves as Aether laps at him. The shiny head disappears between Aether’s lips and Rain keens. 

Noisy as ever. Fingers fisting hard in Aether’s hair, curled around his horns, hips bucking up into his mouth. 

Swiss would never let him get away with this–but Aether does. Allows Rain a few moments of fucking his mouth, of controlling everything. Aether makes the prettiest noise when Rain pushes a little too deep and makes him choke. 

Swiss can barely stand it. Can’t keep his hands still now. Curls one around his balls, rolls them between his fingers. With the other he starts to stroke again. Slow, steady. Hoping that if he goes easy on himself he’ll last. 

He leans against the wall behind him. Tips his head back against it, watches through lidded eyes as Rain grinds his dick into Aether’s throat with a low groan. Aether takes it all, fingers of his free hand pushing Rain’s thighs wider apart. Exposing more of Rain for Swiss to see–to watch as Aether pushes a fourth finger in. 

It’s delicious agony, watching Aether take Rain apart like this. Not being able to touch. Hidden by shadow. He wants to pull Rain’s head into his lap. Wants to stroke his fingers through Rain’s soft curls. Whisper sweet things to him while Aether pulls him apart. 

Aether doesn’t indulge him much longer. He pulls off of Rain’s cock. He pulls his fingers out of his ass. They shimmer in the low light and Swiss wishes he could taste them. Wants Aether to walk over here and shove them down his throat. But that doesn’t happen. 

What does happen is that Aether feeds that slick right back to Rain. Shoves two of his fingers into Rain’s mouth all the way until Rain chokes and gags on them. Swiss’ stomach flips at the sound. He wipes the other two across Rain’s cheek. Leaving a sticky smear that Swiss swears he’ll drag his tongue through once this is over. 

Swiss thinks Aether knows where he is. He’s perceptive even without his quintessence to help him. Swiss is even more sure when Aether starts arranging Rain on the bed. Picking an angle that will allow Swiss a side view. That makes sure he will see every slide of Aether’s cock into Rain. 

Rain raises an eyebrow, starts to ask why Aether’s moving him, but Aether just smiles down at him, cutting off the words at the knees. 

“Thought you wanted to give Swiss a good show?” 

“Where is he?” Rain asks, leaning up on his elbows, head on a swivel. His eyes pass over Swiss again and Swiss has to squeeze his balls hard enough that it hurts to keep himself from cumming right there. 

“Don’t worry about that, Raincloud,” Aether whispers, leaning down to catch Rain in an easy kiss. Just lay back and look pretty. 

Rain does–it’s effortless. Swiss can’t take his eyes off of him in the best of times. It’s impossible like this. He’s flushed, eyes glazed. Body taut as Aether starts to push in. The fat head of Aether’s cock pops past the rim and Rain’s eyes slam shut. His back arches deliciously and Swiss has to dig his fangs into his lip to bite back a groan. 

Aether sinks in slowly, easily. He gives Rain a few moments to adjust and then he starts to fuck him. Slowly enough that Swiss can savor every inch of Aether’s slick length pushing in and pulling out. From this angle he can see the way Rain tries to suck him in. Can see the way he’s stretched tight over Aether’s girth. 

He won’t last like this–Satanas, he doesn’t want to. 

“Touch yourself, Raincloud,” Aether orders, voice tight. Rain does, long fingers dragging down his belly and curling around his cock. 

Swiss matches Rain’s rhythm, twisting his fist around the head of his cock the way Rain does. Mirroring the motion. He’s dizzy with it. Pleasure zipping up his spine as Aether fucks Rain, and Rain spills pre all over his own fingers. 

Rain gets tenser and tenser. Eyes wide as he stares up at Aether. Whining louder and louder with each thrust. 

 “Gonna–gotta–you’re gonna make me–oh fuck–please.”

“Just like that, Rainy,” Aether nods, sweat beading on his brow, growling low and wrecked as Rain clenches down on him. “Cum for me.” 

Rain gasps, mouth open in a silent scream as his body goes taught. He inhales, eyes rolling widely in his skull as he finally starts to cum. “S–fuck- Swiss,” Rain moans, finding his voice again.  Body jerking as the wrong name spills from his lips, his eyes finally finding Swiss’ through the swirl of shadows. Locking on as he paints his stomach and Aether growls, barreling toward his own finish.

Swiss’ breath hitches. His balls draw up. He cums harder than he ever has in his life.

[myreia]

DIVERGENCE OF THE HEART

CHAPTER NINE: NASCENCY

Chapter Rating: Explicit Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 6,520 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

Aymeric’s chambers are dark, the lights long extinguished. Shafts of blue-grey light filter in from the windows, freezing rain lashing against the panes. The storm is persistent. Perhaps it will break in the morning, once it has worn itself out.

Aureia kisses him, too distracted to think much of the prickle of cold air against her bare skin. She grips his shoulders, gripping him tight, jostled by his steady pace. Giddiness bubbles in her heart and she can’t quite keep herself from laughing. With anyone else she would protest being carried, but with him it feels right. She is vulnerable in his arms in a way she has never been with anyone.

The feeling is intoxicating.

“A moment, if you would,” he murmurs against her lips.

She smiles. “I suppose I can allow that.”

A low, husky sound rumbles in his throat. He sets her down gently, her feet touching down on cool floor. She clutches the blanket to her chest and patters across it, passing from polished wood to thick carpet as her eyes adjust to the dim light. His chambers are large, comfortable yet organized. Judging from the neatness, either he doesn’t spend much time here or he is insistent on keeping things tidy.

Pop.

Aureia flinches, her heart leaping into her throat, and glances over her shoulder. Aymeric’s face glows in the dark, illuminated by the soft glow of a struck match. He lights the candelabra on the bureau and blows the match out, waving away the trail of smoke. Picking it up, he calmly crosses the room and attends to the remaining candles, flooding the chambers with light one by one.

She turns, taking in her surroundings. A large bed below arching windows. A couch and a couple of large armchairs by the hearth. A worn writing desk stained with ink and scratched with marks from years of use. Bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes, some as thin as a broadsheet, others as thick as a Sharlayan tome. Their spines are not stamped with titles and their pages are marked with pieces of paper. If she had to guess, these aren’t books but rather journals—a whole history of thoughts and observations, recorded over the years.

Her heart pounds. Has he written about her?

“There,” he says, kneeling by the hearth. A fire roars to life, crackling pleasantly. “As I said, only a moment.”

He looks up, staring her with a thoroughly smitten look. She arches an eyebrow and return his gaze, her fingers toying with the blanket as they rest against her collarbone. It clings to her body, the soft blue fabric pooling at her feet like the train of a gown. She shivers, her exposed back prickling with goosepimples.

“Are you cold?” he asks, rising to his feet. He looks strangely incomplete, standing before her in his trousers and boots and nothing else. “Forgive me that I did not think to light it sooner. This manor’s chambers are too drafty for their own good—”

She shakes her head, a smile on her lips. “I’m not bothered,” she says.  

He hangs his head and laughs, grinning sheepishly. Scratching the back of his neck, he runs a hand through his dark hair and brushes it off his forehead. “Another moment, if you would, Aureia,” he asks. “Please.”

Her heart thrums and a warm, affectionate blush rushes across her cheeks. She has never seen him so unsure of himself. He projects such confidence in his daily life that she never imagined he could be self-conscious. And, of course, there was their moment just now. The way he kissed her on the floor of his study. That certainly was not the act of a self-conscious man.

Perhaps this is a reminder that people—everyone—are more complex and contradictory than most give them credit. There is an ebb and flow. And if she has learned anything tonight, it is that there is a difference between Aymeric the Lord Commander and Aymeric the man.  

She nods. “Take all the time you need,” she says gently.

He smiles, grateful. She wraps the blanket around herself, tucking it securely beneath her armpits, watching as he paces across the room. Returning to the bureau, he turns his back on her and undresses methodically, removing his boots and trousers with disciplined movements.

Aureia stiffens, a fist pressed to her chest. Two very different nations, two very different wars. But she knows what it is like to strip bare in the army barracks, your naked body just another among hundreds. There is no time for personal boundaries when efficacy is in need.

Aymeric pauses, silent, and rests his hands against the top of the bureau. Firelight glows against his pale skin, dancing across the taught muscles of his lower back. She can sense his hesitance, as if he is fighting with himself. She does not know why for certain, but thinking on it now, she can hazard a guess. He told her he has shared himself with only one other. A boy, long ago. She knows too well how relationships between comrades-in-arms play out. How they so often end.

Perhaps this is as new to him as it is to her.

She swallows a lump in her throat. It was because of him that she could admit to her own personal anxieties tonight. But she never stopped to wonder whether he would have his own.

“Aymeric?” she asks softly. “Are you—”

“Well,” he interrupts. “I am… well. Simply lost in thought.” He inhales a deep breath and pulls the top drawer open. He withdraws a small bottle and pauses, staring at it with a strange look on his face. He sets it aside and continues rummaging, slipping something small into his hand, clasping it tight. “Aureia, I must ask… May I be frank?”

She takes a step towards him, the blanket rustling around her. “You don’t have to ask permission.”

“I am… It is a question of courtesy. I would never wish for you to think otherwise.”

“Aymeric, you are the politest person I know. Frankly, I don’t think you have an impolite bone in your body and I wonder whether it would do you some good.”

He chuckles and hangs his head. “You are right, of course. Nevertheless…” Trailing off, he glances over his shoulder and meets her eyes. “I wish to make love to you tonight. Fully and ardently, have no doubt of that. Would that I could allow us to be swept away in the passion of the night, but there is a matter I must needs address. It would not sit well to leave it undiscussed.”

She tilts her head, confused. “What is it?”

“You are a mage. Have you much experience in the art of healing? The astrologians have methods, I have heard, to protect against such things—”

“I’m not an astrologian. Aymeric, what are you talking about?”

He pauses. “I am a bastard. This you know. I may love you, Aureia, but I will not risk fathering a bastard of my own.”

“Oh…” The sound escapes her lips, shaky and uncertain. It is strange to hear this now, confirmation of what she has suspected intertwined with a grave subject. He loves her. Of course he does. But there are very real concerns that come with it.

She hadn’t considered this would be a fear of his. She hadn’t considered it at all. Naïve, perhaps, but she hadn’t though she would need them anytime soon. Foolish. She has no desire to be pregnant, to have children. She should have thought of this sooner.

“I… I know of certain spells, but I have never cast them. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

The slightest bow of his head and he looks away. The distance between them stretches out before her, feeling far farther than it should be. She wonders whether she should go to him, whether seeing him face to face would ease the awkward rawness of this conversation. Or would he prefer she keep her distance all together?

She waits for him to speak, but there is nothing but silence. From this angle she can see nothing but his bare back; he leans against the bureau, contemplative and lost in thought, the passionate urgency that overtook him before all but vanished. Biting her lower lip, she tugs the loosening blanket and pulls it up, thinking through her next words carefully. “But I can learn,” she continues. “We can wait for this. We don’t have to do anything tonight. Being with you now is more than enough for me—”

“I wish to wholeheartedly. Painfully so. Do you?”

Her heart flutters, her stomach in knots. What she mistook for a loss of passion is clearly more than that. The memory of his mouth on her lingers—not simply the sensation of it, but the joy that overcame him as he brought her to rapture. He wants to make love to her. She wants to see him happy.

“Yes,” she breathes. “You have no idea how much.”

He exhales a long breath, collecting himself, and turns his head to look at her. “By the Fury…” Relief spreads across his face. “I worried that my words may have pushed you away.”

“I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”

“I have my means.” He opens his palm, showing her the small flask within. “Alchemy may not be as reliable as magicks, but I am certain it will prevent that which I fear. Or so Artoirel has assured me.”

Somehow it comes as no surprise that he has had this discussion with the Fortemps heir. One a bastard, the other whose incomparable brother was illegitimate. Illegitimacy has shaped both their lives, albeit in different ways. Of course they would have voiced their concerns. “I would trust his word,” she says. “And the word of your alchemist.”

He smiles, grateful for her reassurance, and downs a dose of the tonic. Returning the flask to the drawer, he pushes it shut and glances over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on her. “I have not said it yet tonight,” he says. “But by the Fury are you beautiful.”

Aureia raises an eyebrow and paces across the floor, the blanket rippling behind her. “Oh?” she asks lightly, raising her head.

He smiles and turns around, back leant against the bureau, elbows resting against its undecorated surface. He glows in the firelight, the flickering flames bringing a flush to his skin, the scars dulled by the warmth. He looks so lanky and unassuming, unfurled that way. Far too delicate for Ishgardian standards, but beautiful in his own right.  

Her gaze wanders over his nakedness, taking him in. All of him.

“If you do not believe me, I will proclaim it again—”

She laughs and steps into him, pressing herself to him as she rises up on her tiptoes.  

“—and again and again—”

She throws her arms around his neck and pulls him down, kissing him deeply. He seizes her face in his hands and leans into it, swaying slightly as she grips him tight. The blanket slips loose and falls from her body, pooling at their feet. Neither of them pay it any heed.

Aymeric cradles her, a hand on her lower back, the other at her breast. His hips roll against hers and she gasps at the pressure, hooking one leg around him. Desperate not to break the kiss, he seizes her by the waist, his hands digging into her ass, and lifts her up. She shifts her weight, balancing carefully, and grips him tight. Her fingers brush his collarbone, nails digging into his shoulders as she grinds rhythmically against his hardening cock.

The feel of her bare flesh against his makes her heart race. This is different from before, when there was clothing—however minimal—between them. He groans softly, the sound muffled in their kiss, and the rigid pressure rocking pleasurably against her. Heat pools between her legs as she imagines him moving inside her, excitement and nervous anticipation fluttering in her chest.

For something she once held in trivial regard, something—perhaps in a desperate attempt to comfort herself—she herself mocked, the sudden importance of the moment hits her like a thunderbolt. A shock to the system, an understanding of herself she once would have denied. The physical desire for him is strong, exciting yet foreign, aching like a fresh bruise she cannot keep herself from prodding.

And it terrifies her. Perhaps it is the fear that it will not last, that this feeling is fleeting and will be gone come morning. Perhaps it is the fear that it is simply fabricated, a bogus emotion that she has tricked herself into believing. Perhaps it is the fear that she fed herself a lie for too many years, that she was never as broken as she believed herself to be.

Aymeric gives her a deep, lasting kiss, his lips tugging at hers as he draws away. He is breathless, panting from the fervor of kissing her and the effort of carrying her. His nose brushes her cheek and nuzzles her gently, trailing open kisses across her jaw and neck. When he sucks at the tender flesh at the base of her throat, her breath catches and she swallows a moan, trembling with sensation. Her hips buck, moving rapidly now as she grinds against his cock. She is caught with indecision, torn between the desire to feel him inside her and the desire to put her hands on him and discover all the secret spots that drive him wild.

It is the first that she wants, she realizes with surprise—and badly. The second will come with time. But the first… She doesn’t know why it is important to her, but she knows that it is. He has already made her come tonight. Her own experiments—conducted out of boredom or curiosity or during the sporadic times when she felt like indulging her fantasies—cannot compare. She can satisfy herself, sure, but with him… Someone she trusts. Someone who is keen to know her better than she knows herself…

It is different than doing it alone.

Only moments ago in the study, she would have been happily content with their entanglement on the floor. But now she knows what she wants. He gave her something precious. She would give it back. She must return the favour tonight.

It’s the natural progression for a pair like them, isn’t it? The culmination of sex. Or maybe she’s had the idea planted in her head from years of listening to friends’ escapades, reinforced by those damn romance chapbooks. Two people joined together, moving as one.

Aureia trembles, her dark hair falling around her ears, brushing her collarbone. She puts her hands to either side of his face and pulls him to her, capturing his mouth with hers. He groans as her tongue slips inside his mouth, her breasts pressing against his chest. Her hands rake through his hair, tugging roughly.  

“Put me down,” she murmurs urgently. “Bed, now—”

“Aye, bed—” The words are barely recognizable through his breathless gasps. He cannot stop kissing her. “‘Tis here—”

His arm slips across her back and he lets go, dropping her to the mattress. The height is greater than she expects and her stomach drops. She whoops in surprise and throws her head back, startled laughter bubbling out of her in a rush. He chuckles and grins, following up quickly with an open kiss. Her legs spread, a foot rubbing idly against the edge of the bed, making room as he lays on top of her. His weight presses into her and he runs his fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her forehead. He kisses her lips, her cheek, her throat, her breasts, eager to explore. His tongue runs across her nipple, circling it, and tugs it into his mouth. Her neck arches and she moans, wriggling beneath him from the sensation. Her hips rock, thrusting upwards, and her cunt brushes against his erect cock.

His tongue lavishes her breast, spurned on by the sounds escaping her lips. He runs a hand across her thigh, his touch feather-light, stroking the inside. She shakes, heat coursing in her veins, anticipation coiling deep inside her. He dips a hand between her thighs, rumbling at the heated slickness he finds there—and stiffens. She can sense his hesitation, wondering how best to touch her. She reaches between them and takes his hand, pressing his fingers to the sensitive nub, and murmurs her wish.  

He strokes, unpracticed, but confident from her direction, and lavishes her breast with his tongue. Pleasure blooms and she falls back, eyes closed, sinking into the soft covers. She indulges herself for a few moments of bliss, gripping the covers in her fists and twisting them between her. His fingers draw a rougher kind of desire than his tongue, slow and steady—but indulge too long and he may very well push her over the brink.

Her stomach tenses, core muscles tightening as she dances along the edge. Opening her eyes, she shoves her hands into the mattress and pushes herself up. He raises his head and she kisses him roughly, her lips crashing against his, and rakes her hands down his back. The scars are rough beneath her finger pads.

He leans into her, chasing her kiss. His cock nudges her cunt. She shakes at the touch, the anticipation driving her mad.   

“I want you inside me now,” she says, throat raw and breath ragged.

“Now?”

“Now.”

He pauses, drawing back. His weight on her vanishes, cold air rushing over her body, and she tilts her head in confusion. He reaches behind him, fingers scrabbling for the small bottle on the bureau, and opens it. He pours the contents into his palm, silky oil shining on his skin, and returns to her. He kisses her, lightly, chastely, his hand fumbling between them. She gasps, lips moving against his, as he massages the oil into her. She is impossibly slick now, pleasure coiling tight.  

She murmurs his name, the syllables lost in their kiss. He takes his cock and guides the tip to her entrance, pushing carefully.

The pressure sears. Her stomach tightens, her breath caught in her throat. Pain. A kind she has never felt, one she cannot comprehend. One she does not want to acknowledge.

It is not supposed to hurt, is it?

Is it?

She knows what others have said in passing, a collection of mismatched tales from friends about embarrassing first times and awkward first nights, recounted after there has been too much to drink. Pain if you don’t relax, pleasure if you do. A pinch here, nothing bothersome. Use oils to ease into it. The first time is the worst.

Hilda never had an issue, or so she said. She shrugged indifferently when she mentioned it and downed another pint.

Aureia exhales a breath. This isn’t pain she feels. This is… discomfort. Expected. It will pass soon.

He pushes further. She sucks in a breath, biting the inside of her lip, desperate to control her expression. The sear worsens, a bright, burning pain that can only remind her of her flesh on fire. The night in the Praetorium. Lahabrea in Thancred’s body, the sheer incensed power of his magicks melting her clothing into her back, branding her skin—

She closes her mind. Don’t think of that, don’t think of that.

The stretch is unbearable. Burning, cutting, ripping, as if she is being torn open. She cries out and wraps her arms around Aymeric’s neck, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. “I can’t,” she whimpers. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

At once the stretch is gone and the fire vanishes, though an echo of it remains. Throbbing. Stinging. She scrunches her face, tears panging in her eyes, and clutches desperately at him. Any sense of pleasure is long gone.  

“Aureia,” he says gently, confused and concerned. “What is it? What is wrong?”

“I can’t, I can’t, I fucking can’t—” 

The bedframe creaks and the mattress sinks, dipping with his weight. Aymeric climbs onto the bed and pulls her into his arms, laying down on the cushions. She curls into him, head buries into the crook of his neck, a hand thrown across his chest, fingernails digging into his shoulder. She trembles, shaking, her throat an awful twisted mess. It would be easier if she could cry—she can live with the embarrassment—but the tears refuse to fall.

He rests a hand on her back, his touch warm. Gentle. Patient. “Did I hurt you?” he asks. “I did not think… I did not know—”

“It wasn’t you.”

He pauses. “Aureia—”

“It’s me. Just another bloody thing about me that can’t be normal.” 

Broken. Still. What a great joke from the gods—if it wasn’t her understanding of attraction that was fucked up, then something else had to be.

She exhales a trembling breath and raises her head, wiping useless tears from her eyes. The pain has faded to frustration. To anger. Perhaps it’s her own damn fault, building this moment up in her mind. Of course nothing would come of it. Who was she to expect a moment of blissful happiness?

He falls silent. It is the first time she has seen him truly speechless.  

Just say something, Aymeric. Please.  

But he does not. Her gut twists, the heat of shame coursing through her. Abruptly, she sits up and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, determined to save herself from her embarrassment.

He catches her arm, his fingers resting gently on her wrist. Her heart leaps into her throat. Shaking, she turns her head and meets his gaze.

Aymeric returns it, steady and resolved. “I said I wished for nothing other than you in my bed tonight,” he says. “Do not go. Please. Stay with me tonight.”

“But…” Her words fail her. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For… oh gods, fuck.” She sinks back on the bed. The grand four posters stretch high above her, a canopy of blue and gold dark in the candlelight. “I want this. I want this with you. And I can’t do it. I don’t know why.”

He pauses, drawing his knees up into his chest, his back to the headboard. “I wish for it, too,” he says finally. “But that it did not happen is not some great failure on either of our parts. And certainly not on yours. I would not be such a fool as to place so much importance on a single intimate act, though assuredly I have heard otherwise from certain… members of aristocratic society. Those who would pale at the mere mention of alchemical tonics and astrologic magicks in the same breath they mock the serving maid taken advantage of by her lord.” 

She rolls onto her side and stares up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“And again I would ask—what for? I am in love with you. There are countless ways to make that love known, ones that would not see you hurt. I would rather lavish you with my fingers and tongue a hundred times than cause you pain. I have heard the braggarts in the barracks, the dastards in the halls, Temple Knights and dragoons both. I have known too many uncharitable men who would put their pleasure above all else and I deem it abhorrent. I will not strive to be one of them.”  

She pauses. “But you…”

Aymeric smiles and holds out a hand. She sits up and takes it cautiously, allowing him to pull her into an embrace. She settles next to him, head on his shoulder, her legs curled beneath her. Though she is sore and aching and still sensitive from her near climax, she feels content. Happy. There is a warmth in her belly like a hearth’s fire, burning slow and strong.  

He wraps an arm protectively around her. “This is but one night,” he says softly, planting a kiss to her forehead. “The first of many. If this is important to you we shall pursue it, but I do not wish to do so in haste. There is nothing but time ahead of us.”

She threads her fingers with his and leans into him. He is firm and soft and solid, an unwavering presence that she so desperately needs. Sitting here with him, in his chambers, on his bed… It’s such a far cry from the cold alley and its lantern light, pressed roughly between Thancred and a stone hewn wall. A reminder that she is safe with him. That she is better with him. With Aymeric.

She doesn’t know if she could open herself to anyone else.

Aureia sighs and curls up against him, listening the steady rhythm of his heart, the gentle rise of their breath. Outside, rain beats against the windows, drowning out the musical plink of hail hitting the rooftops. Inside, the hearth crackles merrily, chasing away the cold. She stares into the flames, watching the fire dance across the coals in an array of gold and oranges and reds.

“Not the night you were expecting, was it?” she asks after a moment.

A fond chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat. “I expected to spend a full night drafting missives,” he replies. “I imagined it would go like so: at a bell past midnight, Marcel would enter with a fresh pot of tea and depart, doing his best to hold his tongue. At three bells past, my hand would ache and seize. At dawn, Lucia would find me bent over my desk half-asleep and gently scold me for neglecting my well-being. Perhaps even remind me that I am and continue to be sorely dreadful at delegation.”

“Does that happen often?” Her fingers toy with his hand, brushing his palm and wrist.

“More oft than it should.” His kisses the top of her head. “To be perfectly frank, the missives can wait for tomorrow morn. I much prefer this evening to the one I had planned.”

She smiles. “Well, I am very glad that Marcel didn’t try to deliver you that pot of tea. Or he may have witnessed something he would rather not.”

He laughs. “He may be stubborn and set in his ways, but he is keenly observant and respectful in his own way. I suspect he will have words with the staff to stamp out any rumours before they begin.”

Her heart sinks. This is the last thing she wants to think about. “I suppose there will be talk,” she says wearily. “I wish there wouldn’t be—”

“I trust my staff to keep our confidence. The Borel name has not been above scandal and they have some practice keeping their lord’s secrets. Their lips will be sealed.”

She nods, though it does nothing to ease her doubts. He speaks with such certainty that she does not want to argue with him. “Is it selfish of me?” she asks after a moment. She rests a hand against his chest and traces idle circles across his skin. “I don’t want anyone to know about this. About us. Not yet.”

“To want for privacy is not a selfish act.”

“I know, but still—”

“Believe me, Aureia, if there is one thing I have learned from all my years in the public eye, it is that you do not owe anyone the secrets you keep behind doors. That part of you is precious. The public can and will think what they want of you, but you are not obligated to share every last part of yourself.”

She raises her head and meets his eyes, affection blooming in her heart. How does he understand her so well? No matter how deeply she cares for her fellow Scions, none of them could properly conceive the crushing weight on her shoulders as her notoriety grew. The expectations, the assumptions, the rumours. Far less important than hunting primals and Ascian plots. 

And so she kisses him. Softly, gently, compelled to show him how much he means to her. He sighs huskily as she deepens the kiss, entranced and enchanted by her touch. Her hands wander across the planes of his chest, mindful of the scars, and an idea takes hold.

“Aymeric,” she murmurs. “There’s still something I want to do. If you’re willing.”

He nuzzles her cheek, his hands stroking her hair. “What is it that you wish?”

“I want to touch you. I want to give you what you gave me tonight.”

He pauses. He knows what she has asked. “There is no need. Giving you pleasure was more than enough to satisfy me, there is no favour to return—”

“I want to.”

Aymeric meets her eyes. He gazes at her softly for a moment, the depths of his affection laid bare, and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers brush the delicate point. “Then yes,” he says.

A burst of happiness bubbles in her chest. She grins and kisses him, trailing a hand down his chest. Breath hitches in his throat as she slips her hand between his thighs and along the length of his cock. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says with a laugh, still entangled in the kiss. She feels no shame nor embarrassment in admitting it. Not with him. She has imagined such things before, but touching another person cannot compare.

His arm wraps around her, holding her tight. “I… I can show you,” he says, breathless already. He closes his eyes, swallowing a grunt of pleasure. “But this is… ‘tis good… ‘tis…”

She strokes him, coaxing a moan from his lips. She can feel him shaking. His hand slides across her back, fingers scraping inadvertently against her scars, but the sensation hardly bothers her. She is too captivated by him to think now. The small trembles as his pleasure builds, the stuttering gasps, the way her name falls voicelessly from his lips… To see him undone by her touch makes her heart flutter.

He groans, dark hair falling damply across his forehead, and catches her hand, pulling it away. She pauses, watching as he spreads the damp wetness from his tip across his shaft and strokes himself.

“Like so,” he murmurs, his voice raw as he tugs and pulls. “‘Tis good… The oil… if you can…”

She has never heard him explain anything in so few words. Determined to follow through, she gives him an aching kiss and pulls away. Seizing the open bottle from the bureau, she coats her fingers and palms in it and returns to the bed, the mattress creaking beneath her weight as she carefully straddles him. He lets go as she takes his cock and drags her hand across it, following his example. He groans, gasping for breath, and leans into her, burying his head in her shoulder. She grins with delight.  

She strokes faster now. His hips move, his cock throbbing in her hand. He locks eyes with her and she cannot look away. The way he stares at her—captivated and enraptured, wholly hypnotized by their shared rhythm. For as long as she has known him, he has kept himself tightly controlled, every expression he makes, every word he speaks precise and exact. She can count on one hand the number of times he has let the façade slip, choosing passion over reason.

This moment cannot compare. This moment is beyond. His love for her is ardent, infectious, burning bright. There is nothing in the world now save for her and him. Time slows and they are hanging in the balance together, all worries and concerns and pressures bled away.  

A guttural moan rips from his throat.

He seizes her face in his hands, crushing his lips to hers. She kisses him back with delirious yearning and her hand does not stop moving. He cries out, the sound muffled in their kiss, and she pulls him through his climax, letting him spend himself in her hand.  

He collapses against her shoulder, trembling and shaking, his breath coming in uneven gasps. She holds him close, stroking her fingers through his hair, and extends her slick hand away from them, careful not to touch the covers. They made more of a mess than she expected.

Aymeric exhales a sigh, stirring against her shoulder. “My thanks,” he says quietly. “My love.”

She kisses his brow. “Yes,” she breathes. “Do you have any idea how happy this has made me?”

He chuckles. With one last kiss, he shifts his weight and she rolls off him, allowing him to rise from the bed. He strides to the bureau and rummages through it, pulling out an old shirt. He cleans himself off and sits on the edge of the mattress, taking her forearm gently in one hand. She watches, startled, as he wipes her hand. After everything they have done tonight, this single gesture is strangely one of the most intimate.

They are silent for a moment, sitting side-by-side with their knees knocking against each other. Aureia leans her head against his shoulder and gazes across the room. The pervasive chill that had settled in the air is long gone, chased away by a fervent heat. Whether it is from the hearth or their activities, it is hard to tell. Perhaps both.

She wonders what comes next now. Should she kiss him and leave, returning to her dingey half-forgotten room in the Forgotten Knight? Perhaps it would be for the best; they would avoid unnecessary explanations about her presence at the manor should anyone call on him tomorrow. But she doesn’t want to leave. She wants to stay. She wants nothing more than to curl up with him beneath the covers, embrace him, hold him, burrow against his warmth. She seeks his touch, but it is no longer one of desire—it is one of comfort and safety and affection and…

Something else she cannot say.

You should ask. Just ask. Do you think he’s going to ask you to leave? Kick you out into the freezing rain?  

“Aureia?” Aymeric is looking at her, concern in his eyes. Nothing gets past him, it seems. “Are you… are you well?” 

She rests a hand against his forearm, fingers clasping his wrist. His pulse beats against the pad of her thumb. “I am,” she says.

He bunches up the shirt and lets it fall to the floor. A heavy pause before he speaks, as if he is considering his words carefully. “Do you have regrets tonight?” he asks hesitantly.

“Regrets? No. Gods, no. Never.”

“I ask only because I wish to have certainty—”

A realization clicks in her mind. He’s called you my love. Gods, Aureia, you need to say something back. 

“—though even as I say so, I would not ask you to shoulder or assuage my personal fears. You are dear to me. More than any other. That is a truth I would proclaim from the seat of Halone herself if I must. I do not wish for this to be the only night I share with you. I would look to tomorrow. And the day after. And every day that is yet to come.”

Her heart pounds. Deep within her, she can feel the creeping anxiety crawling back in. She has done so much to keep it at bay, but she cannot stave it off forever. What has she done to deserve someone like Aymeric? Someone warm, patient, and unashamed of how much he loves her. Who has done nothing but shown her honesty from the very beginning. There is a raw earnestness to his affection, one that envelopes her and protects her and shields her from harm.

But even a shield can be used to suffocate. There is a part of her twisted up with fear, wondering whether this is too much too soon. Too fast. He is in love with her, that is for certain, and he is dear to her. But she doesn’t know if she loves him in return.  

Not yet.

And so she takes his hand and twines their fingers together in her lap, her gaze refusing to leave his. “Coming here tonight was one of the best decisions I have ever made,” she says firmly. “I want this, Aymeric. I want to be with you. How could I regret the choices that led to that?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I am being foolish, am I not?”

“We all have our moments.”

She embraces him, wrapping an arm around him, and snuggles against his chest. Her hand brushes by the scar above his navel, gentle against the red and knotted tissue. Where had she been that night? Caught in a snowstorm on the outskirts of Falcon’s Nest during the long journey back to Ishgard with Thancred in tow, straining herself to conjure enough fire-aspected aether to keep them warm and alive. He was different then, not the jaded, bitter mess he has turned himself into. Though now she wonders how much of it was a façade. He listened attentively while she informed him of everything that had happened after his disappearance. Perhaps his uncharacteristic silence and lack of customary quips and jests was a sign.

When did it go so terribly wrong between them? He may be alive and breathing, but some days… some days she feels she has lost a friend as surely as if he had died.

Aureia exhales softly and puts the thought from her mind. She is not—cannot concern herself with him anymore. Not when there is someone who cares so ardently for her in her life now.

She sits there with Aymeric for a moment longer, the pull of sleep lulling them into a gentle stupor. When he strokes her hair and kisses the top of her head, it is the only invitation she needs. They find their way beneath the covers, tangled together against soft cushions and between silky sheets. She curls into him and rests her head against his chest, one leg thrown over him as she holds him tight. His heart pounds against her ear, in rhythm with her own.

“Aymeric?” she murmurs, voice muffled.

His fingers twine in her hair. “Hm?”

“I… I love you.”

Her stomach twists the moment her words leave her lips, even as he pulls her tight and presses a kiss to her mouth. Is it a lie? A fabrication? A half-truth? She doesn’t know. The puzzle of her life is too complex, her emotions too snarled and tangled to make any sense. Right now, in this moment, she is desperate for the ease of simplicity for once in her life.

He loves her. Nothing is simpler than that. And if telling him that she loves him in return brings him joy, then she is satisfied with that. A white lie that will become a truth.

Some day.

One day.

That is the best she can do for now.

A note & some thoughts: The condition Aureia displays in this chapter is called primary provoked vulvar vestibulodynia and affects around 1 in 6 AFAB people at some point in their lifetime. It occurs when the pelvic floor muscles spasm in a protective guarding response. There is no specific cause (and not necessarily a result of sexual trauma, as some gynecologists assume it to be). The is an involuntary reaction of the nervous system, making penetrative sex extremely painful or physically impossible. Symptoms can be relieved or reduced through physical therapy with a pelvic floor specialist, but relapse is very common. There is a taboo discussing pain during sex, at least in western cultures. We’re still in an age of “lie back and let it pass”—it’s easy to dismiss pain as something insignificant that goes away with enough arousal or lube, or to just force your way through it for the sake of your partner. It is distressing to want to have sex in a particular way, but to be physically unable to do so. And with cisgender M/F couples, penetration is often the climactic sex act, the one everything builds towards with everything else counting as foreplay. Erotica—especially in fanfic—is often a fantasy. Fall in love with the right person, have mind-blowing sex with them. But I think it is neat to expand on what can be included in that fantasy, and explore different aspects of communication, love, pleasure, and respect in the context of sex. Sometimes that includes when things go wrong or when an unexpected issue arises. This is one of the more vulnerable sex scenes I have written since many of Aureia’s struggles hit a personal note for me. But it was very cathartic to get this down on paper. Thank you for reading. 🖤

[dragynkeep]

transcript of miles' cameo for holly. cameo linked here.

miles: uh - hi holly, hi, miles here. gosh, i know i'm a little late in saying this but i just wanted to say [singing] happy birthday, to you! happy birthday to you! happy birthday dear holly, happy birthday to you, oh!

uh, so yeah. just a little something i wanna get off my chest: sorry i wasn't around, uh, july 6th — i was getting married! that's pretty neat. so, i turned my cameo off for a bit but uh, i'm back. &, & was happy to see such a nice message from you.

i'm glad you're a big fan of rwby, i'm glad that bumbleby has made you very happy — it made a bunch of us very happy — who were working on the show. you asked if i could provide any behind the scenes, little secrets or anything about bumbleby which is uh, a hard question 'cause i don't think there's much uh, to talk about.

but i did think it might be interesting, of just like something i learned working on uh, a show that had a romance in it that then ended up blowing up: that was like just a crazy experience — shipping's wild dude. like shipping's really wild. when we first started the show, planning things out & getting to work on stuff, we were all bright eyed & bushy tailed, had no idea what we were getting into.

& you know we had blake - beauty - from beauty & the beast, everyone thinks she's cute & pretty & wants to date her. she's a bisexual queen. & so we were like, "yeah!", everybody should like — not everybody — but it would make sense if a lot of people were like, into her. & it would be fun to play with like, being a teenager & like being in teenage relationships & crushes & flirting & things like that.

& you know, i think early on we thought like it might be cool to do sun, this "sun - blake faunus connection", he's obviously like very dashing & handsome, he's charming & charismatic. he's a big ol' flirt. & so we were like yeah, it'd be kinda fun to have blake interacting with sun in a "will they, won't they" kind of manner.

& then over the course of a much longer relationship with yang, having uh a really special friendship then turn into like, "oh my gosh, is this maybe more than a friendship" & the insecurities that come with that. plus all the drama & baggage that's surrounding those two characters in everything they went through at the fall of beacon & with the white fang. & now we're at like, finally after nine volumes, are able to both be in a place where they felt like they could admit their feelings with one another & trust in one another.

i'm really, really, really happy with how bumbleby has come to be: but i think if i were to go back & do things differently, i don't know if we would be as like, cavalier like the "oo, she kinda into sun" sorta' thing cause that seems to just make people really angry.

which was never like, the goal!

the goal was like, "hey, let's recreate that teenage crush, mix of emotions with like different people" & y'know when maybe one person might like somebody but they're just not in the emotional or mature enough space to have a relationship. like, relationships are really messy & complicated!

& sometimes you can look back & be like "maybe that could've been something but not with the person that i was then. maybe the person i am now but, the person i am now is going off, we're going off in different directions, doing different things."

& we thought that would be like, cool & y'know as realistic as you could get in a real y'know, 'shonen anime', kids fighting monsters kind of story.

um, but yeah i think that was — shipping stuff got really, really heated! far more than any of us could have ever perceived. um so yeah, i think that was the bit of behind the scenes i could give that, we were shocked at how like adamant people were for like "this ship versus this ship! your ship is baaad! my ship's good! yeah well you're being a big butthole about it"

everybody got real angry! like guys, calm down: we just wanna try & have a little bit of fun. & ultimately, write a really, we wanna do a really slowburn relationship with blake & yang.

& i mean i get why like, if people thought that blake & sun were cute together, being like "aw man, i thought they were really cute together." but that's the magic of fanfiction man! i'm sure there is a series of events that could've ended up with y'know, blake & sun together or blake & ilia together.

man. like i said, relationships are really complex & sometimes it's just not being in sync with the person in a certain time of your life. so yeah, i mean that's just my opinion though, please for the love of god [laughs] please don't post this video & be like "ah rwby writer admits blah blah blah!"

this is just my two cents that i wanted to give a little, my opinion for your birthday since you asked so kindly. i hope that's the kind of behind the scenes info that you enjoyed & found interesting was all of us learning how, how meaningful these relationships can be & how dangerous it can be to flirt with different characters in spaces & try & dabble in that.

like, "who's she gonna end up with" thing. i don't know if i ever wanna do that again. that ended up being really stressful [laughs]. i don't know, you never know.

anyways i hope you have a really happy birthday, i hope you take care, thanks so much for the cameo request.

[randomvarious]

Chicago Blues Playlist

Blowing the dust off of this excellent playlist of mostly overlooked Chicago blues goodies that I haven’t made any alterations to since all the way back in 2019! This week I’ve added five songs, four of which are by Sunnyland Slim, a very gifted pianist and vocalist who originally hailed from Mississippi and then moved to Chicago in the early 40s, only to become an integral part of the Windy City’s own storied postwar scene.

Now, my favorite add of his with this update is a song called “Highway 61.” There’s another version of this song that’s already on this playlist that was officially released on the b-side of a 7-inch single back in 1956 for Cobra Records, but this version is soooo much noisier, with booming percussion, loud harmonica, guitar, and Slim’s yowling vocals to cut through it all, along with some piano work from him on the instrumental bridge too. A really terrific song with somewhere around 4,200 Spotify plays.

Sunnyland Slim - “Mary Lee” Sunnyland Slim - “That Woman” Little Milton - “Looking for My Baby” Howlin’ Wolf - “Smokestack Lightnin’” Sunnyland Slim - “Highway 61” Sunnyland Slim - “It’s You Baby”

And this playlist is also on YouTube and YouTube Music too.

So this update now brings us to 30 songs in total that amount to 91 minutes. And I know that my corresponding YouTube playlists usually come with added bonus tracks that can’t be found on Spotify at all, but that’s not the case with this one; everything I’ve wanted on this thing so far is on both Spotify and YouTube. But, just so you know, eight of the final nine tracks come off of one of my favorite blues comps of all time, Jewel Spotlights the Blues, Volume 2, which consists of songs from the great Shreveport, Louisiana-based Jewel Records. On YouTube, the artists on this album are credited correctly, but for some reason on Spotify they’re all misattributed to Lightnin’ Hopkins 🤷‍♂️. So, to clear up any confusion, for most of those final tracks on this playlist as of right now, here’s who they’re really by:

Magic Sam - "Everything Gonna Be Alright" Otis Rush - "Double Trouble" Buddy Guy - "You Sure Can't Do" Earl Hooker - "Blue Guitar" George "Wild Child" Butler - "Put It All in There" Buster Benton - "Spider in My Stew" Buster Benton - "Money Is the Name of the Game" Willie Dixon - "New Way of Lovin'"

A little bit of soul next week.

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!

[middleearthpixie]

Wanted Man ~ Chapter Six

Summary: A price on his head, Loki of Asgard finds himself stranded on Earth and in need of one woman's help in order to free himself from the bounty and try to reclaim what he sees as his rightful throne in Asgard.

McKenna Carlin just wanted to put a horrible day behind her. She had no idea that things would get worse before they get better…

Pairings:  Loki Laufeyson x ofc McKenna Carlin

Characters: McKenna, Loki  

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.3k

Tag List: @fizzyxcustard @court-jobi @guardianofrivendell @piggledy-higgledy @evenstaredits

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here! 

When McKenna opened her eyes, she immediately regretted it. She was pretty sure the light actually sliced her eyeballs in half and split her skull in the process. She winced as she swallowed. Cottonmouth. Ugh. What on earth possessed her to drink all that wine? She knew better. She absolutely knew better.

She rolled over to squint at the clock. Ten after nine. And what was that smell? 

Bacon. It was frying bacon.

She groaned, dragging the pillow over her head to block out both the light and smell. Loki had probably eaten the entire pound of bacon she’d bought just yesterday. It was probably just as well. She had the horrible feeling she’d throw up if she tried to eat something like bacon. 

“Are you awake?” 

Loki's voice wasn’t quite a whisper, but it wasn’t its usual volume, either, and she burrowed out to squint at him. Her eyes refused to focus well and her thoughts were far too muddy for anything more than a mumbled, “What?”

“I wasn’t sure whether to wake you or if I should but let you sleep,” he replied, his voice still low. “How do you feel?”

“Don’t ask."

“I thought as much.” He pushed away from the doorjamb to come into the room, and as he did, she saw the coffee cup he held in his hand. “I also thought this might be in order.”

“That was nice of you, thank you.” She slowly sat up, the covers pooling at her hips, and shoved her sleep-mangled hair out of her eyes. “You have no idea how much in order. How many glasses of wine did I have?”

“I stopped counting at four.”

“Holy crap. I never drink that much.” She accepted the coffee, her eyes closing at the comforting aroma rolling away from the creamy surface. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

She sipped. It was perfect. Neither too bitter nor too sweet, and had just the right amount of half-and-half in it. “Did it snow in here last night?”

He grinned, leaning back against the dresser. “For a little while. You remember that?”

She nodded gingerly. “And butterflies. Sparkling butterflies. I wish you could teach me to do that. I’d be a riot at parties.”

“It isn’t something that a Midgardian can be taught, I’m afraid. Otherwise, perhaps I would.”

She swallowed another mouthful of coffee and the flash of a memory exploded in her mind. She was in his arms. Pulling him down. “Did I do anything embarrassing last night?”

“No.” He held her gaze and shook his head. “You looked half asleep, so I brought you in here and covered you. I went back to my sofa and your cat did his best to smother me while I slept.”

“Good. I thought…” she caught herself and shook her head. “Good. I’m not much of a drinker, but some days you just have to say to hell with it, you know?”

“I know.”

“You look nice today,” she remarked, taking in the jeans and black tee shirt he’d worn outside the dressing room yesterday. The sleeves were rolled back to his elbows. He must have showered already, for his hair was slicked back from his face, but curlier than it had been the previous day, and left damp patches on his shoulders. “If you want, you can use my blow dryer. Your hair was a lot sleeker when you first came here.”

He smiled, dragging his hand through it to sweep it away from his face. “What is a blow dryer?”

“It dries your hair using forced hot air.” She set her empty coffee cup on the nightstand. Her belly seemed a little more settled now. “Did you make breakfast?”

His jaw went slack. “Oh, damn. Excuse me.”

She chuckled as he darted out of the room, but not before the smoke detector in the hallway went off with a piercing wail. She threw back the covers and lurched up from bed, grabbing yesterday’s towel from the laundry basket, and sprinted down the hall, where smoke plumed from the kitchen to torture the smoke detector.

The towel snapped as she waved it frantically beneath the detector, but the shrieking didn’t abate. Then, a bright flash burst before her eyes and she leaped backward as the detector exploded into million shards of plastic and went silent at last.

“The noise was driving me mad,” Loki explained, waving away the rest of the smoke. “Can you replace it?”

“I can. I’m not so sure I want to, but I can.” She stared at the shattered remnants of the smoke alarm. “Was that bacon?”

“It was. Now it’s mostly ash.”

“Bacon’s no good for you anyway. And it can be tricky. It goes from fat to ash like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Put the pan in to soak and I’ll find something else.”

“I’ve already eaten. I was making it for you.”

She paused at the refrigerator and turned to him. “For me?”

“I thought you might be feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Wow, Loki doing something nice? I thought that went against your grain.”

“I’m not a monster, you know” he told her. Then he paused and grinned. “Well, maybe I am in some ways.”

“But not nearly as much as you want people to think. At least, I haven’t seen it, anyway.” She tossed this over her shoulder as she tugged open the door and bent to peer inside. Nothing appealed to her. She closed the door and turned to find him at the sink, filling it with water and dish soap. The pan sizzled as he sank it into the suds.

“I never wanted people to think of me as any sort of monster,” he said quietly, drying his hands on a dishtowel as he turned to face her. “I was an adult when I learned my entire life was a lie, you know. I was raised to believe I was the son of Odin, as much his son as Thor. And all I ever wanted was to be seen as Thor’s equal.

“In fact, not only am I not Odin’s son, I’m not even Asgardian.” He glanced down at the towel in his hands and went quiet. The obvious question hovered at her lips, but she managed to hold it back, to wait as he gathered his thoughts, drawing the towel through first one hand, then the other before looking back up at her. “I am actually the son of the king of Jötunheim, the Frost Giants.”

“You’re a giant?” The question popped out on its own, but she couldn't help it. He was taller than her, but not exactly what she would consider giant at all. “Sorry, I just—you don't look like a giant, you know?”

“I am, but I’m not. Laufey, my true father, cast me out when I was a baby, left me in the woods of Jötunheim to die.”

Sympathy rushed through her and without thinking, she whispered, “Oh, how barbaric…”

“Well, I survived. Odin found me in the wake of a battle against the Jötunns. He took me in and raised me alongside Thor.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too terrible. I mean, he’s also a king, right? And that means you were raised as a prince, weren’t you?”

“I was, yes,” he nodded, tossing the towel onto the counter, “and he continued to lie to me until only recently, when the truth of my parentage came out. Did you know, in Asgard, parents tell their children the tales of the Frost Giants in order to entertain them at bedtime or prevent them from getting into mischief. They are precautionary tales, much like your Grimm fairy tales. And the Jötunn are the monsters of every story. And that’s who I was, in actuality. The very monster of whom they spoke.”

“No,” she shook her head, “they’re wrong about you. And Odin was wrong to lie to you for all those years. But, you aren’t a monster at all. At least, not now, anyway. I mean, I know what you did in New York, and I know what you did in Stuttgart, and God knows you probably did more of the same in other places, but, I don't know… you seem like a decent guy to me right now. And I know that sounds really weird, considering what I know you’ve done, but still.”

She walked over to him and touched him on the arm. “I don’t think you’re a monster at all. Well, not any more, anyway.”

“But I am. Or I can be.”

“Aren’t we all at times?” She reached up to rub her aching forehead. “The last time I spoke to my mother, we got into a fight,” she murmured, staring at the soap bubbles in the sink. “Brain cancer is a horrible thing—it changes you, the treatment changes you—and she lost the ability to censor herself, to filter out the things most people don’t say to your face.

“And I got angry. I yelled at her. Told her I didn’t want to come up to see her anymore because I couldn’t keep hearing the same terrible things about myself. How I disappointed her. How I failed her. How I was the embarrassment of the family. I just snapped.

“Anyway,” tears stung her eyes and she blinked to hold them back, “I left and the next morning, my phone rang at two AM. It was the assisted living facility calling to tell me she was gone.” Her throat squeezed shut and she swallowed hard against the lump rising in it. “My last words to my mother, who was once one of my best friends, were angry ones. I screamed like a lunatic at a dying woman and never got to tell her how sorry I was. Or how much I regretted those stupid, angry, meaningless words…”

No matter how hard she blinked, the tears refused to remain at bay. Her breath hitched again and she went stiff as Loki's hand came to rest on her shoulder and he turned her toward him.

“You didn’t mean them, though,” he murmured, wrapping her in his arms, pressing her head against his chest with one hand.

“But I still said them,” she replied in a shaky whisper. “So you’re not the only monster. Not by half.”

His voice rumbled against her ear, pressed firmly to his chest. “And I was locked in a dungeon when my mother was being run through with a sword. We’re both monsters, I suppose.”

“Well, in my defense, I wasn’t trying to take over the world.”

It was a calculated risk, and she was relieved to hear the laugh rumble up from his chest as easily as his voice did. “True. I was more creative.”

She pulled away to look up at him. Not quite forty-eight hours ago, she didn’t even know he really existed and now? Now she thought they were on the verge of becoming friends.

But there was something else, a look in his eyes as he turned them to her. Her heart skipped a beat. Then sped up. His eyes softened. 

He was going to kiss her.

Joy.

Horror.

Damn.

But then, he cleared his throat and broke away from her. “I’ll scrub the pan if you wish to shower.”

“Right. Shower. I’m going to go do that now. Shower, I mean. And you can wash the pan.” As she talked in her too-cheery, too-fast voice, she backed away from him and gestured with her thumb over one shoulder. “So, that’s where I’ll be if you need me. The shower.”

Her cheeks burned as she turned and practically sprinted back to her room, where she locked the door and sank against it, thunking her head against it. “Smooth, jackass. Real. Smooth.”

She showered and dressed for the warm weather in shorts and a dark blue tank top, and this time, didn’t bother to blow dry her hair. What difference did it make, seeing as how it would only frizz in the humidity anyway?

When she returned to the living room, it was to find Loki sprawled out on the sofa, Cinder curled up in his lap, purring loud enough for her to hear. “My cat likes you. Not many people can say that.”

Loki grinned, scratching Cinder under the chin. “Animals like me in general. Always have.”

“You have a way.”

“I must.”

Cinder yawned and stretched, then suddenly puffed up and let out a long, low growl as he glared at the door. McKenna turned to see what he was growling at, and as she did, it felt as if all of the hair on her body stood on end, the way it did in the winter, when the static electricity built up in the air. She took a step toward the door.

Loki must’ve felt it as well, for he lifted the cat from his lap to set on the floor and rose from the sofa. “McKenna, move away from the door,” he growled, gesturing with one hand for her to back up.

“But, I don’t see—” 

Loki lunged at her then, knocking her off her feet and onto the floor, where she let out a low groan of pain as he pressed her hard into the wood. “What the—”

She didn’t know what was worse, the blast or the shock wave that rocketed through her. It felt as if the entire building shook, just as it had when Loki crashed into her apartment, only this time it was worse. The door blasted into bits, only pieces were left hanging sadly on the hinges, and smoke filled the entire apartment. Cinder yowled and took off like a shot and Loki's voice sounded very far away as he said, “Are you all right?”

The ringing in her ears made hearing him very difficult, but she nodded. “I think so.”

He climbed off her and caught her by the elbow to help her to her feet. “We need to go. Now. Is there a back entrance?”

She shook her head. “No, but there’s a fire escape just outside my window in my room.”

He propelled her down the hallway, toward her bedroom. “That’ll do.”

“Wait! My purse!” She dug her heels in and he nearly fell over her. “My car keys are in it. I’ll get that, you grab the duffel out of my closet and throw clothes, toothbrushes, stuff like that in it. Who the hell blew up my door?”

He reluctantly released her. “I think I’ve been found.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

He gave her a push. “Your keys?”

“Right!” She darted into the kitchen and grabbed her purse, then turned and sprinted after him down the hallway as several armor-clad somethings—Chitauris—rounded the smoking doorway into her apartment.

She tried to grab Cinder, but the cat was too fast, darting out of her reach and out of sight. Hopefully her neighbor would find him and keep him until she was able to get back. 

A white beam shot past her, over her right shoulder, and the heat burned her cheek. Her scream was involuntary and she ran faster than she thought possible, to find Loki at the window, hand out, duffel in his other one.

He grabbed her, practically tossed her out, and they clambered down the rusty fire escape. Her blood pounded through her temples, her knees like jelly as several more laser blasts rocketed past her to chip away at the buildings on either side of her in the alley.

The car alarm beeped and she threw herself into the driver’s seat, shoving the key into the ignition and yanking it over as Loki dropped into the seat beside her. The transmission whined, the tires squealed, and the acrid scent of burnt rubber filled the air as she tore out of the visitor’s space she’d parked in, and they flew out of the lot.

“What the fuck was that?” she screamed over the ringing in her ears. 

“Chitauri,” he muttered. Actually, it probably wasn’t a mutter, but since her ears refused to work properly, that was just how he sounded.

Her hands shook. Her entire body shook. It was a wonder she didn't drive into something, she shook so badly. Tears clogged her eyes, a sob choked her throat, and she hoped to God Cinder was okay. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she roared out onto Route 18 and went south, trying to put as much distance between them and Brunswick as possible.

Just beyond East Brunswick, the speed limit rose to sixty-five, the traffic lights disappeared, and the traffic itself thinned out enough that she could actually do the speed limit. As they passed the second exit for Freehold, Loki finally spoke. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to reply. The ringing was gone and her hands were steadier, but she was still heartsick over the cat. “I lost Cinder.”

“Cats are resilient. He’ll be fine.”

“He’ll be fine? Loki, the door to my apartment was blown apart. How is anything going to be fine?” She twisted to glare at him. 

He sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. “I don’t know.”

“Right. And neither do I. And you said they wouldn’t find you.”

“I didn’t think they would.”

“But they did.”

“I know.”

She sighed, slapping the steering wheel with one hand. “And how do I explain that to my landlord? How do I tell him that a race of space monsters blasted my door to bits on the hunt for a fugitive Asgardian god? He’ll think I’ve lost my mind, and I’m not so sure he’d be wrong.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. I just—we’re going south because that’s what side of the highway I was on. So, I guess the shore, maybe. A lot of people are there and it’s easy to fit in, to blend in and get lost. Especially this weekend.” At his puzzled look, she added, “The Fourth of July.”

“What is the Fourth of July?”

“The day our forefathers signed the Declaration of Independence and broke us away from England. It’s a big deal for us Americans. And they flock to the Jersey shore on holiday weekends. Especially this one.”

With that, she exited for Route 34 and easily merged into traffic. It was early enough in the day that there wasn’t much traffic there, either, and she didn’t know where she was going until they came into Bay Head.

There were several Bed and Breakfasts along Route 35 and she smiled as they passed the Winchester. At the next street, she turned left and into the small parking lot behind the enormous Victorian B&B.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a bed and breakfast. You know, an inn.” She switched off the ignition and sank back into her seat, rubbing her eyes. It was only a little after noon and she felt as if she’d been awake for a year. “And the first thing I’m doing is taking a long walk on the beach to keep myself from going completely to pieces.”

With that, she got out of the car, taking the duffel bag with her. Loki followed her up the wide steps of the wraparound porch that was half veranda and half outdoor dining. He said nothing, but remained behind her as she checked them into a room. One with an ocean view. She didn’t care how much it cost.

Well, actually, she did, but she’d worry about that later. Right now, she just wanted to go above and take inventory of what Loki might have packed for them. Then, definitely a walk on the beach. Before she went completely to pieces.

Their room was a corner one, painted a tranquil soft blue with beautiful maple trim, and overlooked the white sand beach and beyond that, the gray-green Atlantic Ocean. The windows were perpendicular to each other, wide open, their gauzy white drapes fluttering in the warm ocean breeze.

There was, however, only one bed—a four-poster monstrosity with a gauzy canopy that matched the drapes. But that was a minor detail they could work out later. Besides, how likely was it she’d be able to sleep anyway? She moved to the rear window to get a better look at the water. She needed all the calm she could get. Every little noise made her jump.

Just like the car horn that blared somewhere in the distance. She jumped and Loki joined her at the windows, saying, “McKenna, I—”

“Please, just don’t say anything.” She let out a shaky sigh, shaking her head as she forced herself to concentrate on the people on the beach. Little kids built sandcastles and splashed in the surf, while older kids and teens played in the waves, which looked good enough to boogey board all the way up to Route 35. 

“Of course. You’re right.” He stepped away from her. “I’ll just leave you to your thoughts, then.”

She nodded, her gaze never leaving the beach, not even when the door opened and then shut and she was left alone.

With a sigh, she turned away from the window. Loki had left the duffel on the bed, and she unzipped it. Her dry laugh sounded more like a choked sob as she dumped it out. He’d packed her toothbrush, but no toothpaste, two pairs of shorts, a pair of jeans, two long-sleeved tee shirts, one tank top, and at least a week’s worth of underwear. Oh, and one bra. And nothing of his made it in.

“Of course not. It’s still in bags in the living room. That is, if I still have a living room.” She eyeballed her purse and on impulse, grabbed it to dig out her cell phone. The battery was at fifty percent and her charger was sitting on the desk in her teeny spare room. Wonderful.

Still, she unlocked it and punched in Shannon’s number.  It went straight to voice mail, so she swore under her breath, waited for the beep, and said, “Shay, it’s Kenna. I—I need you to go to my place and look for Cinder. He got out on me and I had to get out of there because… well… it’s a long story. I promise I’ll tell you when I talk to you and don’t freak out about my door. It’ll all make sense when I explain it.” She paused, rolling her eyes. “At least, I hope it’ll all make sense, but who knows? Just—call me as soon as you can, okay? Thanks.”

She clicked off and tossed the phone on the bed with more force than really necessary. It bounced up from the dark blue quilt, hit a pillow, and then toppled to the floor. She left it there and left the room as well, tucking the key into her pocket as she made her way below and out onto the beach.

***

When Loki found her, it was nearly four, and she sat on the beach, eyes shaded by one hand, just staring out at the water. A good deal of the people had left, and she still hadn’t heard from Shannon. The day was not looking up.

His shadow fell over her and he gestured to the sand beside her. “May I?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I was just a little freaked out earlier.”

“I know. And understandably so.” The sand squeaked as he sat and rested his arms on his drawn up knees. “And there is no way for me to begin to express how sorry I am I brought this to you. Understand this, I didn’t intentionally land in your apartment. I had no control over where, only what realm.”

“I do understand. But…” She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow, exhale. “It’s more real that I imagined. It’s like watching A Nightmare on Elm Street and finding out you’re in the movie. Only it’s not a movie, it’s really happening.”

“A what on what street?”

“It’s a movie. You know, moving, talking pictures. It’s a horror movie from way back before I was born. Only, this isn’t a movie. There are real creepy-crawlers out here looking for you and they don’t care who they shoot at to get you. Look at this,” she turned to him, lifting her hair away from her right cheek. She’d discovered the pink burn streaking just below her cheekbone when she was putting her toothbrush in the bathroom. “And we need to go shopping again. You didn’t bring anything.”

“I was far more concerned with getting you to safety.” Now it was his turn to stare out over the water. “That was all that mattered to me at that moment.”

“They’re going to find us again. Maybe not now, or not right away, but they will.” Without thinking, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “And then what?”

He sighed. “I will let them capture me.”

Her cheek stung as she peered up at him. “What will they do to you?”

“Most likely I’m for the axe.”

She shivered. “No. Maybe there’s another way.”

He didn’t respond and she didn’t press. Instead, they sat there in companionable silence as the beachgoers thinned and the wind picked up. She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself and wishing she’d brought out one of those long-sleeved tee shirts. 

Finally, he broke the silence. “I think we should head back. I’d like a look at the menu here.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day. Not since dinner last night, actually. And for the first time since the Chitauri blasted off her front door, she was actually hungry.

Loki stood, offering her his hand. She accepted and allowed him to draw her up to her feet. He held her hand and surprised her by threading his fingers with hers. His hand was warm, large enough to engulf hers, and it felt very comfortable. 

He glanced down at her. “This reminds me of Asgard. The water is the same color.”

“I bet Asgardian oceans are cleaner than ours. We’re not good caretakers when it comes to this planet.”

“I’ve noticed,” he remarked.

[burlveneer-music]

VA - PRAISE POEMS 9 - A journey into deep, soulful jazz & funk from the 1970s - aha, there is a new one!

After 8 years and 8 volumes, the Tramp Records crew invites you to join them on yet another enlightening journey into soulful Jazz, Folk and AOR from the 1970s and 80s. This 9th volume contains sixteen (almost) forgotton Soul, Jazz and AOR/yacht rock nuggets from between the mid 1970s and early 1980s. One of the many highlights is the opening track by Ronnie Miller, balearic soul at its very best. But that's just the beginning. Praise Poems Vol.9 covers a wide selection of genres, from AOR (Leaves of Autumn, Mirage and Germany's own People) to pop-soul-rock (Stroke, Tom Miles and Jan Lewis Group), from Terry Callier-type folk-soul (Danish-Swedish singer & guitarist Mikael Neumann, Babe and the previously unreleased "Love Is Not For Real"), to jazz (Dianne Elliott and Phil Palumbo), completing the set with a couple of melancholic soul and psych beauties, most notably AOH's mind-blowing "The Answer Lies In Love". Very few compilation series' release as many as nine volumes and those that get that far often start to run out of quality music or meander too far from their original artistic direction. That certainly is not the case with the "Praise Poems" series which leaps from strength-to-strength as our team of compilers and researchers continue to unearth lost and often overlooked music from an era long gone. Many of these records were released in small quantities as private pressings or by small regional labels. Obviously, those labels neither had the budget, expertise, nor options to promote their releases in a sweeping way. Therefore the majority of these artists failed to find the wider audience their music so richly deserved.

[kitkat4406]

A Killer Love

TW- Mentions of death, mentions of blood, mention of poison, fighting, crying

Pairings- Logan x Remus eventually

Part nine > part ten > Part eleven

“Aren’t you cold?” Logan asked, the wind blowing leaves up from the gutters and side alleys. He scowled a bit at the leaves trying to get into his hair and mess it up. He rolled his eyes as a little kid jumped around on the sidewalk stomping on the crunchy leaves. 

“Remus?” Logan looked down at Remus. Kill him, he’s not worth it, see the blood spill from his-

“Huh? Oh yeah- sorry” Remus smiled, rubbing at his red eyes again. Bleed, drug him, kill, kill kill- “I’m not all that cold, I’m alright” He smiled softly.

“Are you sure?” I’m not hurting him, it’s Remus… he thought to himself, grimacing as his... less than pleasant thought doubled in volume. Remus nodded.

“I’m ok!” He grinned. He gasped suddenly and Logan’s eyes snapped over. “Logan! We have to go get ice cream!” He laughed with a soft blush dusting his cheeks. Logan smiled, raising a brow. Poison the ice cream, cut him up, watch the blood drain from his face, burn him with a hot iron- 

“It’s fall, it’s already cold enough” he chuckled. Remus frowned, make him smile, but then lit up.

“Then you and I can share a jacket to warm up!” Remus giggled. Logan rolled his eyes with a soft smile. Remus took his hand, pulling him along. Make it so he can’t stop smiling, cut it into him.  

“Shut it” he whispered harshly to himself, closing his eyes tightly. He just wanted to spend time with Rem-

“W-What?” Remus whispered, dropping Logan’s hand. Logan’s eyes widened, looking up. “I-“ Remus stepped back, tears brimming his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Remus- I was just-“ Logan fought with himself, looking for a believable lie. Tell him the truth and watch him run, then kill him. A dead man tells no tales- “I was over thinking something- I swear on my life-“ Remus shook his head, sniffling. 

“You're lying-“ He whispered, his voice cracking at the end. 

“No im not-“ Lies lies lies lies, lies are so much fun

“Stop lying!” Remus cried, taking another step back to counter Logans step forward. “I can see it on your face- I’m not a fool!” Remus said loudly, clutching the front of his shirt as he tried to breathe. “I know what you're doing!” Logan held his own breath. He knows too much

“I- Remus I swear- I’m sorry- I was trying to-“

“To shut me up I know- I know I’m annoying but you didn’t have to string me along!” Remus yelled at him. Logan flinched at the yell. How dare he… punish- kill- torture- nobody yells at-

“You aren’t annoying Remus-“ Logan whispered. “You aren’t- that’s such a falsehood that I can’t believe you even said it- your creative- you share your ideas- you are in no way-“ Logan looked away, steeling himself. “You are in no way annoying” Logan whispered. “I am sorry for saying what I did, I didn’t mean to say it aloud. I was simply over thinking and spiraling. I apologize” Logan whispered, looking at the pavement with shame. Lies, it’s all a lie Logan breathed deeply, shaking his head. “I’m sorry Remus” Remus choked on a sob, shaking his head.

“I want to go home-“ He whispered, going past Logan quickly and leaving for the nearest bus stop to take him back to the edge of town. Away from Logan. Logan made no move to stop him, knowing it was most likely for the best. He walked home silently, hands in his jean pockets.

He caused enough damage today anyway.

[ronmanmob]

The Hunchback of Notre Dame: Has your muse ever faced any kind of discrimination or oppression for an aspect of themselves that they cannot change? How has this experience shaped their attitude toward that aspect of themselves? Have they ever perpetuated any kind of discrimination or oppression against others, whether unintentionally or deliberately? {ML & MH}

Classical Literature Meme

Upon a slender pedestrian bridge above a dual carriageway at perhaps half eleven at night, Ron sat beside Beth. He had his tobacco tin open in his lap and was mid-way through making up his tenth rolly out of filter, rizla and baccy measured by eye when her curiosity caught his ear. The topic paused his work for a beat; made his mind drift through the annals of his memory until it snagged where it needed to - on something he could share. Before he did though, Ron bought the part-rolled cig he was working on to his lips and ran the paper's adhesive edge by the tip of his tongue before folding it closed. Cigarette number ten wasn't for the tin though. This one Ron set between his lips and lit.

"--There's two fings abaht me I can't change, luv" he said, blowing a breath's-worth of smoke away from Beth before turning back to her. "Two tha's th'sort yer askin' abaht at least. Me sexuali'y, 'n me-" He gestured to his head, not wanting to say skizafrenia out loud. He'd not heard the word all day. It was a reprieve he didn't want broken.

"Me sexuali'y I've 'ad shit ovah. Y'sort'a expect it almos' i's tha' common - everyfin' fr'm side-eye glances t'avin' me teef kicked in in an alley when I was eighteen or so. Maybe nineteen. Tha's where I got-" Ron tipped his chin back and inclined his head slightly, gesturing to the scar that'd once been a wound so deep it split his chin open. "Twelve stitches-" he said, settling back as he'd been, chin dipped and shoulders hunched against the nip in the air. Another drag on his cigarette was puffed away from Beth before he spoke again. "-B'cause I smiled in th'wrong lad's vague direction on me way aht'a gay club..." Ron shook his head slowly, his gaze shifting somewhere middle-distance-ways. "I'll nevah undahstand it" he said, disbelief and confusion making his voice briefly quiet. "-Ow th'notion 'ov affection, want, off a membah ov y'own sex is so 'orrific tha' y'instinct is violence..."

Into the night another smoky exhalation escaped.

He'd need another cigarette soon if he kept this up.

"Anyway." Back to usual volume now; back to Beth with his full attention. "Tha' fuckery - s'cuse me - it didn't scare me inta no closet. If anyfin' it did th'oppasit. Ain't nuffin'a 'ow I love tha' I 'ide. I live openly. 'N if people don't like it, if they seek t'deal wiv it wiv violence, well..." A flicker of something horrific wisped through Ron's expression. "I ain't eighteen, ain't nineteen no more, aye? --Th'rest though-"

Another gesture to his head. He would not use that word for it; wouldn't dignify it with its name. Not this evening. He'd not get so easy an answer out about it either though. That was the rub. This topic...It was a difficult shape in his mind; one he found putting words to a challenge, no matter how long he'd had to practice and how much he knew, now, about how his brain worked and didn't work.

"--Th'rest I don't wear like armour." A thought begat a frown. Rephrase. "Not tha' me sexuali'y's tha'...It ain't armour. I's...ahtside. Y'look 'ard enough f'long enough, y'll see it - much as I don't fink y'd clock me day t'day 'n fink Oo yeah, 'ee's not straight. Bu' th'rest...I can't do tha' wiv it. 'N tha's..."

Silence fell as Ron dredged his mind for the words he needed. To fill it, he lit cigarette number nine with the embers of number ten and took a drag which he blew towards the dribs and drabs of traffic whizzing by below them. Ten's butt, pinched out, was popped into the open lid of his baccy box, and an attempt was made to tease out what he wanted to convey in words.

"--Is it...discrimination...oppression-- I don't know if i's them when i's off family...off friends...Maybe th'bettah word's...reaction? I dunno, bu' wha'evah it is...Was...I learned off tha', 'n off th'world generally-- People like...me..."

A slight wince of frustration flickered across Ron's face, silence coming again as he struggled to catch hold of the whorl of thoughts he had round this specific topic. Dark eyes fell briefly closed as he breathed through a spike of frustration and then, looking down at the traffic, he tried again.

"--I may be wrong in wha' I learned...I 'ope I am, 'n th'world's brightah than th'180 me ma'm 'n bruvvahs did when I got sick...Bu' wha' I learned off them was tha' change-" Another gesture to his head. "-It brings fear off them close t'yah-"

YOU AIN'T MY FUCKIN' BRUVVAH!

A second wince - pain this time as the light in his eyes froze; as they stilled, fixed on the middle distance among the dribs and drabs of traffic. What Ron said next sounded like hard work to get out, like a growl through a dry throat.

"-Fear 'n worse."

He swallowed, stole another drag on number nine - held it in 'til he couldn't no more then breathed it out into the night sky. In the aftermath, when he spoke again, he sounded more like himself; pensive, tense, but himself.

"I learned it ain't f'acceptin'...I's like a wound tha' y'forced t'walk rahnd wiv like it ain't there b'cause God-for-fuckin'-bid someone y'don't want t'notice notices...'N I know tha's wrong-"

Eyes on Beth then. There was an almost pleading edge to Ron's voice.

"I know i's wrong b'cause I ain't wha' all'a them fink me c'ndition makes me - not me family, not th'public, not no fuckah...So me life's turned on unlearnin' all them fings I learned off them closest t'me, bu' as well..." Pleading became something closer to resignation. "I know...there ain't no Pride f'a sk-"

Tension. Everywhere.

Ron clenched his teeth, barely rescued his fag.

He would Not Use That Word. Not this evening.

"-F'me" he amended, that second's pique pulling back like the tide. "So tha' bit...Tha' bit I don't wear openly." Another drag off number nine; eight waiting in the wings.

"--N'me...I ain't prejudiced. I discriminate against them tha' does it t'me - don't care th'nature'a th'person. Come f'me b'cause'a 'oo I love, I'll break yah in 'alf. Come f'me b'cause'a 'ow I am, same goes. 'N if I witness it -- some twat in an alley kickin' ten bells aht a gay lad or a bi lad or girl; some twat 'arrasin' someone b'cause they're wired different--" A slow, disgusted head-shake. "They'll meet th'devil twice on their way dahn, once when they get there 'n once in Ron Kray."

[theharbor]

‘well fuck the heavenly order of things.’

DESPITE HER IMMEDIATE SINGLE WRY CHUCKLE, IT TAKES JO A WHILE TO ANSWER WITH WORDS. instead, she gazes out the window, into the scattered trees, the way they draw into one copse and then another the deeper she looks into the woods to the side of where they've parked the car, an isolated yet central point of the island, for ease of transport to any call they're likely to receive on this shift. familiar motions, certainly, although the volume of idle time out here still takes some getting used to. in the city, she rarely suffered from a lack of available tasks, anything to keep her wandering mind occupied and as far away as possible from every thought she endeavors to keep tucked away inside a lockbox within her own head. fat lot of good that had done her in the past, of course. still divorced, still broke, still out here in the middle of fucking nowhere with a partner she barely knows and certainly doesn't trust - no matter how many times liza assures her he's perfectly pleasant and charming with her. people are almost always perfectly pleasant and charming with liza, who bestows upon everyone the gift of the benefit of the doubt, whose warm energy can bring a smile to almost anyone's face. but where liza is as bright and lovely as a rhododendron, jo might as well be a blackberry bush, providing little opportunity for any sweetness unless one's willing to brave a mess of thorns.

through the crack of the open window, into the misty coastal rain settling over the pacific northwest greenery, jo blows a thin line of smoke, then lifts her hand to ash her cigarette out the window into the dirt. it's somehow grayer out here than across the sound, quieter, like the deep breath before the plunge. finally, she turns her head to regard @recknng out of the corner of her eye, still not yet responding, allowing his words to marinate in the stale air between them. ten or fifteen years ago, she would have been deliberately quicker on the uptake, stumbling over herself to prove her own cleverness, her own formidable sense of humor. but she's a different creature now, gladly so, some days, while on others, she feels she'd gladly disappear into these woods. besides, she can't imagine that version of herself sitting here beside navarro, soaking in some sensation bordering between dread and boredom. for all her caution, for all she plants her heels against the idea of opening herself up to her partner - a sentiment quite clearly mutual between them - there's no ignoring some shared sense of bone-deep exhaustion, thick as the scent of petrichor that hangs almost perpetually in the island air.

" I take it you're not religious, " she says rather flatly, tapping the fingers of her free hand against her thigh, inhaling again from her cigarette to give herself another moment to consider. personal details aren't really her thing anymore. if they were, maybe she would have said that her mother had been all new age when she was young. how she spent three years swearing on the healing properties of gemstones when jo didn't feel weel. another three unsuccessfully trying to raise chickens within city limits, during which jo took on most of the burden of care for the damn things and their smell. about accidentally sampling marie's special mushroom tea when she was nine and how they didn't go to the emergency room because of her then-pregnant mother's fears that they might take away both her kids. about how convenient teenage jo found marie's shitty and obvious weed storage - until liza became old enough to ask questions, when suddenly it became another reason for jo to fight with her mother. she might say that, apparently, marie's found jesus now by way of her husband, for some fucking reason, and that now the subject of church just can't help but arise ever goddamn time she allows herself to talk to that woman, as if it might just be the cure-all solution to jo's veritable cauldron of issues.

she says none of that, of course, none of those anecdotes she's shared too quickly and eagerly in the past. it's never done her any good in the past and she doesn't see why that should change.

" probably for the best. never made much sense to me, personally. not sure I could handle working with someone trying to sell me forgiveness I don't want from a god I don't believe in. " she gets enough of that on the rare occasion marie decides to roll into town, she thinks as she exhales again through the crack in the window. another pause hangs between them as she finds him again out of the corner of her eye. the impulse always strikes, to try to pry, yet to try to put as much distance between them as possible. " not that I think you'd make much of a salesman anyway. feel like you'd be probably one of those apocalyptic fucks catastrophizing about how the world's gonna end any second and we should all beg for mercy about it. as if I'd believe for a second after the shit I've seen that any god who exists cares about mercy. "

[baekxytocin]

100 Days My Prince - Part 59

Part 59 – 42 Hours

Fluff

Romance

Little Smut

Character:

Baekhyun

Reader

‘Just buy a new one’

437 words

You laugh softly as you open your eyes slowly. Your husband, Byun Baekhyun, who was still on top of you since earlier tonight, is awake, and moves in and out of you again.

“Hubby…. Umm…. Let’s sleep more…. We need to wake up at 6, ummm…. It’s not like we have 42 hours more to sleep” you can’t help yourself but moan when he already moves.

“One… More…. Ugh…. Umm…. It’s still 1 am, ugh, ugh….” he locks his hands with yours, and eventually, the excitement slowly builds within you.

He slows down a little, but when he moves the bottom part in circles, you feel an electric shock sent all over you. You grab his hands harder. He sees you enjoying the new move. “Do…. you…. like it?” he tries to ask in the midst of the excitement.

“Ye…. AHH! YESS!!” You try to answer him, but he does the same move again, sending another electricity in you, making you vocalise a high pitch.

You purposely move your waist a little higher. He feels it, and he goes deeper, groaning and biting your neck again.

“Hubby….” this time, you want to change position. He takes a look at you while still moving. You grab his waist with your legs and flip side to side. He finally let go of your hands. You take the chance to speed him up; at the same time, you are worried that he may be too sleepy in driving later in the morning.

You hug him. You blow softly on one of his ears and then return the love bite to him. You could hear him grunting at low volume, but you want more. As you caress his chest, you rub his sexy nipples as well. As expected, his grunt grows louder. “Darling, no…. you make me….”

“I need it now, I want…. together” you feel hard to finish your sentence. He understands you and he climbs back on top of you.

“Let’s come together….” this time, he moans and screams together with you as he accelerates his movement. Both of you do not care who is going to hear your screaming anymore, as both of you want to reach the finish line together.

And finally…. Another room of cloud nine reach that night. As usual, your husband drifts to sleep after kissing and bidding you good night, but he flips you side to side so that you can get a comfortable position to sleep. “But hubby…. the mattress….”

His response makes you laugh.

“Don’t care. We can just wash it after we return home or just buy a new one.”

To be continued….

Uploaded on: 22nd January 2023

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[gashinabts]

anti-baby fever| (m)

Word: 4.5k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, established relationships

Genre: comedy, fluff, smut, angst

Summary: jungkook gives you a Mother’s Day gift as a joke, now your mom thinks you’re pregnant.

Warnings: smut, multiple orgasms, nipple play, fingering, fondling, creampie, impregnation kink, jk loves titties, unprotected sex, anxiety, suicide mentioned, crying, a messy argument

a/n: My family celebrates Mother’s Day on tenth so happy Mother’s Day! Idk if there’s any mom armys lol. But here’s something for you guys and hope you enjoy this!!! comment and tell me Whatchu think...remember that your comments and support are what motivates me to write 🥸🥸

read next—> anti-romantic

“ Happy Mother’s day!,” Jungkook hands you the bouquet of flowers. The last time you checked, you didn’t have any kids. If anything you despise kids, the thought of their sticky grubby hands always reaching for their ipad made you shudder. Your mother always scolds you for not having maternal instincts, but you could care less.

You grab the flowers staring at the pretty petals. “ We don’t have kids,” you remind your boyfriend. You look at him, biting the inside of your cheek, Jungkook looks hot with his hair tied up, some hair strands framing his face.

“ Well, you are always taking care of me,” he gives you a boyish smile and then pecks your cheek. “ Also, I do be sucking your titties.” There are people around you guys and you grow red in fear that they heard this conversation.

“ Jungkook,” you give out a harsh whisper, pushing his body away from you. “ Why am I still with you?” It’s more of a question to yourself. Despite being together for nine years, you still get startled at his crude jokes and raunchy humor. Just how he was when you guys started dating in highschool.

“ One reason is because we have an apartment together that’s under my name. The second reason is because I am cute. Another reason could be because you love me, I’m still hoping you love me…” he shrugs coming closer to your side and throwing his arm around your shoulder.

Your finger touches your cheek, making a contemplating expression, “ Hmm, it is definitely the first reason.”

Jungkook laughs at your expression, then bends his down, coming close to your ear biting your earlobe. You yelp at the sudden pain, bringing your hand to tug at it. “ What about the unlimited supplies of mind blowing orgasms?” Jungkook chuckles as you groan loudly.

----

The apartment is sparkly clean after spending an hour cleaning it with Jungkook. He is currently taking a shower and humming to a song as you pee in the toilet. “ Babe, can you wash my hair?” Jungkook asks as soon as you flush the toliet.

You scoff, “ You have two hands,” you wash your hands.

“ Wow, thanks for informing me. But babe I like when you use your nails on my scalp, it makes me feel all tingly and good.” Jungkook opens the sliding shower door not even waiting for an answer. The clothes are on the floor and you are now massaging his scalp with his expensive hair conditioner. Leaving a strawberry scent in his nice shiny hair. “ As much as I complain...you do know how much I love coddling you, Jungkook?” You say with a smile as he turns his head slightly, showing his sparkly eyes.

“ Of course I do, babe. I really appreciate it when you do things for me,” his warm voice leaves butterflies in your stomach. There is a comfortable silence as you continue your action until a discussion about a topic you don’t want to talk about. “ I called my mom to wish her happy mother’s day. And she is asking about children again,” his voice is barely carried over the water hitting the floor. Your fingers continue to brush his strands.

The devil on your shoulder just wants you to pretend that you didn’t hear him but what good would that do? “ What did you tell her?” You reply with just as little volume he is speaking.

“ I told her it is something that we are not planning at the moment. Maybe in a couple years,” he turns around showing you his doe eyes. “ Y/N-”

“ The conditioner smells nice. You were right, it makes your hair look lucious,” you veer the conversation. Switching spots with him, finally washing your own hair, your face is now facing away from him, just staring at the wall. You hear Jungkook sigh and you ignore it.

----

Jungkook is out with your dad at the grocery store buying a small cake for your mother, who is coming over. When she arrives she talks about your sister’s children the whole time. Showing you an endless amount of photos which you have already seen since your sister sends you pictures of them all the time. “ Isn’t she adorable?,” she shows a picture of your niece eating ice cream.

“ Kinda,” you shrug your shoulders. Yeah, your niece is cute but you sometimes like to joke around. The food is finished cooking and you plate it on the table, serving your mother who is still gushing over her phone.

“ Well, when you have kids I won’t be telling them they are cute,” she gives you a look. The look of disapproval that you witness too many times.

You place the last plate of food down. “ Then I won’t have any. See problem solve,” you laugh.

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. Her eyes look at the center of the table at the flowers in the vase. The flowers that Jungkook gave you this morning. “ Those are lovely. They look fresh,” she comments, touching the petal of the pink carnation.

You mindlessly speak, “ It’s mother’s day gift from Jungkook,” you laugh thinking about his dorky smile. Jungkook should be here any minute but you miss him right now. He makes these dinners go by faster and more fun.

“ Are you serious?” Your mother’s eyes widen and she sits up straighter.

“ Yeah,” you nod, setting the last plate. “ Why-” Then you come to realize why she is so flabbergasted. No, you are not pregnant. You take birth control everyday. There’s even a special alarm on your phone that shows on text, yeetus the fetus, when it goes off. “ Wait Mom I-” you are about to explain until your dad and Jungkook come walking from the door.

“ Hey honey, why are you crying?” Your father's eyes widen at the sight of your mother. Jungkook stands by the door with the same expression then looking at you with his brow arched.

“ Y/N is pregnant. I’m so happy right now and very proud of her,” she sniffles. Proud? You cringe at the choices of words but that is not what is important right now. Your father pats Jungkook's shoulder awkwardly and then comes to your mom. Jungkook finally gets back to reality and walks towards you, eyes begging for an explanation or recap to what is going on.

You tug at your hair, “ Jungkook gave the flowers as a joke,” you let out an exasperated sigh. Your mother's face immediately turns sour and your father sits down on the chair before a storm appears.

Her eyebrows pinch together, “ A joke? What would the punchline even be?,” she looks angry. You and Jungkook look at eachother, not wanting to explain what it was because who wants to tell their parents that your boyfriend likes sucking on their titties.

Pulling the chair out for you, Jungkook guides you to sit down, “ It was something silly. Let’s forget about it and eat this delicious meal that Y/N made. We got your favorite cake too,” Jungkook says while smiling. Although the few minutes of dinner were awkward, your boyfriend managed to make it more comfortable and charm his way with your mom to make her keep laughing every five minutes.

----

The face mask is cooling your tired skin as you scroll on your phone as you lay on bed. Looking at some tiktoks and casually laughing at some. Jungkook’s head is laying on your lap and doing the same, until he gets tired of his algorithm and decides to watch yours. “ Get your big head out of the way,” you playfully push his wavy hair.

“ That’s not what you said this morning,” he laughs. He grabs your phone and places it on your side of the dresser, not forgetting to charge it.

“ Eww gross, Jungkook,” you fake gag but smiling at his bunny smile. His fingers take off your mask and toss it in the trash bin, he leans forward kissing your lips. “ I wasn’t finished with that,” you look at your mask, you still had ten more minutes.

“ Too bad,” he kisses you more. His tongue begging for entrance, and you immediately allow it feeling his tongue brush against yours, lost in the feeling of warmth. Jungkook pushes you to lay flat on your back, and goes between your legs, his hands feeling your bare stomach due from the shirt rising up. Jungkook pulls his head away, looking at you with sultry eyes.“ You look so pretty,” he comments, then traveling kisses down your neck, leaving small marks. “ I remember the first time I saw you in class, you had me already on my knees for you,” his voice muffled against your neck. He closes his eyes trying vividly to remember the exact outfit you were wearing.

Your hand trail to his hair combing it as he continues to suck and blow on the marks he is leaving. “ Yeah? I thought you were a prick. I still can’t believe you hit me with a volleyball to get my attention,” you laugh when he groans.

He immediately pulls away pouting, “ Okay I was an idiot to actually listen to Taehyung’s advice. Can we forget about it?,” he kisses you before you can answer. The kisses become more desperate, his hands going towards your boobs, fondling them. Being the person Jungkook is he burrows his head under your shirt, mouthing at your breast. Wrapping his mouth around your nipple, sucking it leaving you arching your back. His other hand twists and pinch the other nipple, then soothing it when his warm mouth wraps around it.

You want to see his face but it is covered by your shirt, so you just have to imagine his pouty lips sucking on your nipple and his pretty eyes looking content. Jungkook always liked to have his face stuffed between your breasts. Sometimes just doing it when he is bored, he says he likes feeling close to you and makes him feel some sense of comfort. At first you were taken aback when he confessed his kink to you but you grew to like it. “ Does my baby like sucking on my tits?,” you ask while quickly taking off your shirt, wanting to his face. “ Mmm,” he nods, not wanting to take his mouth off. His hair is on face, and you push it back exposing his forehead. Continuing to relish in this moment, you breathe heavy, and watch him suck. You get more wet within the seconds, wanting to relieve yourself at how turned on you are on. “ Jungkook, fuck me,” you moan when his hips grind against you. The hard on is giving you some sort of relief, as it rubs your covered privates.

His hand travels down your panties, rubbing his fingers against your now wet panties. Spreading it and teasing you from the actual experience of his fingers massaging your folds. He sucks on your nipples harder, but then switches to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. The sensation of his lips and fingers are overwhelming, making you moan and cry out in pleasure. “ I think I’m gonna come?” You don’t mean to question it but you do, never experiencing an orgasm just from nipple play and some light fondling. Maybe there’s something different about the air tonight but it feels so fucking good. He moans, the vibrations sending more pleasure, his other hand kneading at your other breast. Moaning his name you hold tight onto his hair, coming hard and riding the waves of pleasure.

Closing your eyes in disbelief, your body feels like you're floating in space. Jungkook's lips finally unwrap and look at the sight of your swollen erect nipples. The spit makes them look shiny and pretty. He looks at your angelic face, and kisses your lips, “ That was fucking hot,” he confesses. “ So fucking hot,” he tugs off your sort and panties. Immediately his fingers touch your folds loving how warm and wet they are, he pushes one finger in and you let content sigh. “ You like me sucking your tits huh?,” he asks even when he knows the answer. He puts another finger in your entrance, and thrusts it slowly, watching your hips move to try to speed the momentum. “ Answer me,” his face gives you a serious look.

“ Yes!,” you toss your head. “ I love it when you suck on them. It feels so good,” you close your eyes, and see little white stars. He chuckles at your desperate state, when your hands go to his, trying to get him to finger your faster and harder. Deciding to play along, he stops his movement and lets you take control of you using your hand to make his finger thrust into you. “ Jungkook, please just fuck me,” you whine at his teasing.

His fingers leave, and you watch him quickly take off his clothes, he uses your arousal pumping his hard cock and staring at your glistening cunt. “ I’ll fuck you, my dirty girl” he goes to search for a condom but you stop him.

“ You don’t need a condom,” you mindlessly say, you just want him inside of you already.

His eyes widened, “ Are you sure?,” he asks just in case. Your head nods quickly and pulls him down so you can kiss him. His cock enters you, stretching you from his girth, you moan into his mouth. He waits a couple of seconds until you urge him to continue, your legs wrap around his small waist that you are sometimes jealous of and make him thrust deeper in you. “ Fuck, baby,” his voice is deeper and brows furrowed at the intense pleasure he is recieving. This is the first time in his life he has ever entered you with no condom, he can’t think straight, he doesn’t ever want to leave this position.

Your hand traces his shoulder muscles, “ Does it feel good?” You ask with a teasing smile.

“ Yes, so fuck good,” he answers with a hard thrust. His hair goes into his sight of vision, and pushes it back, “ I’m going to have to only fuck this pussy raw,” he leans back, resting his weight on the back of his thick thighs, to see your whole body. Your breasts are moving and down at the intense speed he is going at, and your thighs jiggle at his hard thrust. And he really loves the sight, after this he might have to fuck your thighs and tits. He moves his hands to your tits and slaps it, leaving a few red hand marks.

More dirty thoughts are coming to his mind that he tries to push to the back of his mind but they can’t help be resurfaced. Like the thought of your tits being filled with breastmilk, he wonders what taste it would leave in his mouth. He likes to imagine it would taste like warm honey. He shakes his head looking somewhere else, but then imagines the thought of your stomach looking swollen and round. If you would hold onto your stomach and pat it like the pregnant women he sometimes sees at the grocery store. His thoughts are interrupted when you moan his name and beg him to touch your clit.

His hand easily finds your clit and rubs it as his thrust becomes more frantic. Your insides are warm and you could already feel your orgasm approaching. His cock hitting that specific place that makes your eyes roll back and toes curl. “ That’s it baby, come for me,” he commands. His fingers rub more quickly, making you cry out his name as you cream around his cock. He drops his body down kissing your neck, as you pulsate around him. “ Fuck, I’m close,” he groans, he can feel his thighs clench tightly.

“ Come inside me baby,” you moan into his ear, “ fill me up,” you bite his ear lobe. When those words came out of your lips, his mind went haywire thinking of your pussy being filled with his sperm. Within three more thrust he came inside you, moaning your name as empties himself into you. He lifts his body off of you eager to see the image he was wishing for, pulling his cock he watches as the come spills out of your entrance, his finger automatically pushes it back in not wanting to waste any, watching the hole swallow the white substance.

A surprised moan leaves your lips, not sure if it was the feeling of him pushing his own come into you or the way his eyes are darkly looking at your cunt. You close your legs before he can do anything else, “ It’s a good thing, I’m on the pill,” you get up and use the toilet. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, only letting out a soft hum, and putting on the underwear on the floor. He walks into the bathroom, watching you wash your body quickly, he hands you a towel and you kiss him on the cheek. “ So today was a disaster,” you put on panties and a Jungkook’s big shirt. You were still not over the fact that your mom thought you were pregnant.

“ Maybe I shouldn’t give you flowers on mother’s day anymore,” Jungkook chuckles, entering inside the sheets of the bed.

“ I mean you don’t have to worry about that,” you laugh. “ It’s not like we are ever going to actually celebrate mother’s day together,” you comment, also laying on the bed.

Jungkook bites his tongue, wondering if this is the time to actually talk about the future. It makes him wonder if you ever want to have kids with him. Sometimes it hurts when he tries to talk about it but then you switch the conversation. “ Can I confess something?” He asks looking at you, and you smile and nod. “ When your mom said you were pregnant, a small part of me wished that was true,” he whispers even though there’s only the two of you in the room.

Your eyes widen, not sure on what to say. “ I-why?”

“ I want to have kids with you. Not right now but in the future when we have a house and maybe a swimming pool,” he looks carefully at your expression. But notices the immediate lack of eye contact, something you do when you're nervous or unsure of something.

“ Can we talk about this later?” You ask not wanting to roam in this specific topic.

Jungkook sighs and sits up, no longer in his comfortable position, “ No let's talk about it right now,” he looks at you still laying down. Frustrated that you aren’t saying anything after a minute past. “ Y/N, do you ever want kids?” He watches you sigh and also sit up.

You shrug, “ I don’t know. It’s something I don’t think about. Maybe?” It’s true though, when you were younger your friends would often talk about how much kids they want, and you would cringe. Like why were they already planning that when you guys are still in middle school? It’s something that you can’t imagine. “ Do you want kids?” You ask Jungkook who looks more serious than ever. You always thought that men didn’t really have the need to have kids, just only having them because that is what their partner wants. It’s something that society pushed towards you, like your mother was always the one taking care of you and your sisters while dad just sat on the couch and watched tv.

“ Yes, I want kids,” his answer is quick and confident. It’s not something he always wanted. For example, in high school the thought of having kids scared him. No one wants to raise a baby when they are barely solving calculus problems. And in college there was more freedom than ever, he could hop club to club with you and not need to worry if the baby is sleeping well. But when you guys graduated college and settled down in an apartment, he envisioned the idea of having little kids run around in the house. He knows you would be a wonderful mother, you are so caring and thoughtful with him.

There isn’t much to say, “ Cool,” you lay back down after fluffing your pillow.

The devil on his shoulder is urging him to stand his ground. “ Is that all your gonna say?,” Jungkook sighs loudly.

“ What else has to be said? You want kids and I’m still not sure if I want any,” you get up again sitting the same position as before. Can’t you guys talk about this after you get married and have a house?

“ No, you always do this. You always ignore what I want to talk about, even when you see me trying to make a peaceful conversation you turn the other cheek disregarding my feelings. Like when we were taking a shower, you totally shut me down,” his hands move faster as he speaks emphasizing on some words.

“ I don’t like talking about that stuff,” you scratch your arm getting frustrated too. “ The thought of having kids just weirds me out okay? You're like putting a kid in this shitty elitist world and saying ‘ hey now it’s your time to try to figure out life out, oh and you have to pay for health insurance and college while you're at it because the government doesn’t give a shit about you’,” you ramble.

“ Y/N, c’mon be serious. Why can't you be serious when we are talking about our future? Just like in college you didn’t want to live in the same apartment because you thought I would get tired of seeing everyday so you decided to share an apartment with another man, a fucking man” Jungkook is finally expressing the feelings he has been withholding, it’s pouring out of him like a leaking faucet.

“ Oh my god, that was like four years ago and you are barely bringing it up,” you claw at your hair. “ We just shared an apartment, it’s not like I was giving him good morning blowjobs. And I am being serious, can’t you see me talking about this to you right now. As much as I am uncomfortable talking about kids I am still speaking to you about it,” you get annoyed when he rolls his eyes.

“ I did talk to you about him but you shut me down-”

“ I was only roommates for him for four months, Jungkook.”

“ Doesn’t negate the fact you only care about your own feelings,” his eye twitches.

This is the biggest fight that has ever erupted and you know this isn’t going to end well. “ I fucking can’t stand you right now. I literally declined my full paid college scholarship to Berlin for you and you say that shit right now,” you feel your eyes watering not because you are sad because you cry when you get angry.

Jungkook scoffs, “ No, because you were scared to be in a new country without me. You didn’t want to lose me and got batshit suicidal when we took a two day break-” Jungkook didn’t mean the words to come out but they did. He could physically see the words coming out of his mouth and it makes him feel nauseous. The room is filled with tension and silence, and he can see the way your shoulders drop. “ Y/N-” he wants to apologize but it’s probably too late.

“ No, you’re right I do only care about myself. ” You let out a hollow laugh and wipe the tears streaming down your face, and lay down on your side not wanting to face him. Of course he had to stab your heart with the sharpest glass.

He doesn’t say anything but watches your back, he wants to wrap his arms around you and tell you that he’s a fucking a Grade A asshole and he’s sorry but he thinks that you don’t want to hear his voice. He gets up and turns off the lights, and lays back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The minutes pass by but he can���t go to sleep. His mind keeps replaying the argument.“ What if I can’t give you what you want? Is that going to be the end of us,” he hears you whisper. His head turns immediately, you’re still facing away from him. “ I keep thinking what if I am just holding you back, that I only care about my feelings. Like when you asked me to marry you in college and I said no because I wanted to wait until we graduated and have good jobs.”

Jungkook hands covers his eyes, “ I only want you, Y/N. I could care less about a wedding and baby. I think the reason why I’m wrapped into all that is because I’m scared that you don’t want any of that with me. That maybe you don’t see a future with me...I always have this dream, actually more like a nightmare, it starts off by you breaking up with me and then one day in the future I see you having a picnic with a faceless guy and you pregnant while playing with your other children,” Jungkook hears you rustling with the sheets, he takes his hand off and sees you staring at him. “ Stupid, huh?”

“ Yeah.” he laughs at your answer. “ It is stupid because it is very unrealistic. I would never break up with you, you are the only one for me. I love you, Jungkook. I love you so fucking much, you’re the only one in this entire universe that could truly make me happy.” Your hand grabs his and you caress it, leaving kisses on his knuckles. “ I don’t like thinking about the future because I know that everything I want and have is right in front me.” Jungkook finally turns to his side facing you and brings his large hand to your cheek caressing it.

“ I love you, so so so fucking much baby,” he brings his face close to you kissing your soft lips. He pulls away and tugs your body towards him so no space is left between you two. “ I love everything about you, all I can ever think about is you,” he whispers into your hair, hands rubbing up and down you back. Few minutes pass as you also lightly scratch his back with your nails making his body feel content and relaxed. “ Y/N, I want to apologize for the insensitive comment I made earlier. I can’t believe-”

“ Jungkook, it’s okay.” You breathe in his nice scent. “ We both said some things we didn’t mean, we’ll talk about it more in the morning” you kiss the mole on his neck. “ Let’s sleep. All that fighting made me tired,” you yawn and he chuckles.

“ Let’s not fight again,” he hugs you tighter, not wanting to leave your body. “ Can I suck on your titties? I can’t sleep right now,” Jungkook laughs when you immediately pinch his butt but your hand lifts your shirt up showing him your bare breast and he happily gleams at the sight.

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

Do not repost, translate, or alternate my work in any way, onto any platform. I do not take plagiarism lightly.

[mazikomo]

For the Sake of a Fight

inspired by @aromansoul​‘s amazing art of boxer!Silco and my ever present fixation on Jacob at the fight clubs

Arcane and Assassin’s Creed crossover because sometimes you need to write your blorbos beating the shit out of each other

AO3 link 

1,476 words 

SWF, canon typical violence 

The air was stifling but it was nothing compared to the mines he had grown up working in. Silco disregarded the mud and cheap ale under his boots as he shoved his way forward through the crowd. His eye was finally healed enough that he could venture out and the shouting had drawn him to the area. Its volume increased the closer he got. Finally, he was able to lean his forearms on the railing to watch. The fighting ring was crude, likely thrown together with scraps from the construction happening all around the deep pit that had been the chosen location for the fight club.

It seemed he had arrived in the middle of the night's events. There were four men in the ring but it didn’t seem to be an even fight as three were all focused on the one. He was a shorter man with a stocky build and slicked back hair that was falling into his face. However, that didn’t seem to impede him one bit as he smoothly dodged another blow. He grabbed the man by the arm that had just swung past him, twisted it back, and with a firm kick from his boot in the middle of the man’s back, sent him flying into the edge of the ring. The man instantly doubled over the blunt railing and even from the distance, Silco knew ribs had been broken.

Silco saw a grin on the slick-haired man’s face as he turned to his remaining competitors. In a flash, he struck one in the gut, grabbed his wrist, violently twisted it until the man was on his knees. He then shoved his own knee into the lowered head and still managed to spin around in time to catch the other attacker with a kick to the thigh. The man was thrown off balance and it was easy to grab and toss him into the other. A loud clunk! resounded as heads collided and both men slumped down. They were out cold.

A strangely dressed man with a large B on his hat with tickets stuck into its ribbon entered the ring and stepped over the pair. He grabbed the arm of the victor and hoisted it into the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, once again our victor is Mr. Frye!” Some erupted in cheers while others threw their tickets onto the ground with a scowl. Those who were truly angry stomped them into the mud as if that would earn their lost money back. The man continued, “Are there any who think they can beat the champion?!”

Silco lifted himself from the railing. Just the thing to let off some steam.

—

Jacob’s eyebrows rose as he watched the lithe man duck under the railing and step into the ring with him. He couldn’t weigh more than nine stone sopping wet. There was something about the way the man carried himself though, calm steps and head held high. Jacob stopped short when he saw the man's face. A lidless, blazing red eye met his gaze and Jacob felt as if it was looking straight through him. The eye was surrounded by mangled flesh that appeared as if it would fall off from the slightest agitation. His no doubt now curious stare was held with a confident one in return as if challenging Jacob to dare pity him. The man clearly came to fight.

“You do this kind of thing often mate?” he asked.

The man rolled his shoulders and shook his arms out. “Stalling with conversation are we?”

Jacob shrugged, “Have it your way then.” and just like that the atmosphere shifted. The fight was on.

They paced around each other. Fists held up but neither making the first move. If he was completely honest, yes he had been stalling. Jacob had lost track of how many opponents he had fought somewhere around the third round of the evening. He was only in the current match because the crowd had yet to dissipate.

He studied the man before him again. There seemed to be something boiling under his skin. Jacob knew the feeling well enough. Most of his time before arriving in London had been spent in various pubs and back alleys getting up to no good. If that’s what his opponent wanted then he was happy to provide.

He took one more steady breath and drew a punch back for the man’s left side. His strike was swiftly blocked and a counter blow contacted with his stomach. So the red eye still worked then.

The man made for another blow but Jacob quickly side stepped it. He returned the shot to his stomach with his own and added in another for good measure. While the man hunched over his gut, Jacob grabbed his shoulders and head butted him. Practice had made it so the move did not affect himself as much as his opponent.

The man shook his head and snarled. He was broadcasting his moves and Jacob easily ducked the incoming swing to his head. He clenched his hands in one another and swung his body upwards, driving his elbow into the man’s nose.

—

Silco spat out the blood seeping into his mouth.

He lunged at his opponent. The familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins for the first time in months. His blows were blocked but he didn’t care. After being cooped up for so long he had an excess of energy that needed to be let out.

An uppercut to his opponent’s jaw finally landed and Silco quickly followed up with a kick to his side. He grabbed his opponent’s hair and in quick succession delivered three punches to his face. On the forth, he released his grip and let them fly backwards.

His opponent grinned back at him with blood in his teeth. “Feisty one aren’t we?” He mocked.

Silco flew forward again, eager to punch the smile off his face. However, once again his opponent side stepped his punch. He felt hands grab his arm, but before the foot he knew was coming could connect with his back, Silco yanked his arm to his chest. He lurched in on himself and flipped the man over him flat onto his back.

—

Jacob stared up bewildered. He did not think the man had the strength for that but clearly he was wrong. A muddy boot came into his view and he quickly rolled out of the way before if could connect with his face.

While the man stumbled Jacob shot to his feet. “You know, if you wanted to sweep me off my feet, you could’ve just bought me a drink.” he teased.

The man responded with a swift punch but Jacob easily ducked it. He jabbed the back of the man’s shoulder then followed up with a swift right hook. This time, he was able to land a blow onto the red eye. His previous suspicion was confirmed as blood instantly welled within the cracks of the mangled flesh.

“Red looks good on you!”

Something must have snapped in the man as suddenly he was on him in a fury of strikes. Jacob managed to block most but a blow to his stomach had him doubling over. Immediately, a bony knee was brought up into his nose and Jacob’s head flew back only to be struck again with a fist. An eye for an eye it seemed.

—

Silco threw his opponent from him but the man only stumbled back a step and flashed that stupid grin again. Silco quite literally saw red as he shot forward once more. His fists were wild as he swung, not even aiming anymore.

His opponent hunkered down for the worst of it. Silco’s blows continued to strike braced arms and he eventually realized it was futile. He took a step back and raised his leg. However, his opponent quickly latched onto the opening and a sharp uppercut connected with his head while his own foot slammed into the man’s knee.

Silco fell onto his back with a spinning head. A thump to his side told him the man had fallen to his knees. That wouldn’t do. He may be down but there would be no victor for this match. Silco managed to brace himself on his side and in a last ditch effort swung his leg into the man’s side sending him sprawling.

They both laid in the mud panting. Through the ringing in his ears, Silco could hear a bell ring.

“Seems the bookie’s seen enough.” the man next to him chuckled. “Name’s Jacob by the way, Jacob Frye.”

“Silco.” Jacob seemed to wait for him to continue. “just, Silco.”

“Alright, well Silco, I could use a spitfire like you in my gang. What do you say?”

Silco lazily turned his head to look at Jacob.

“I don’t take orders.”

[proserpina-magnus]

☘️ - NSFW alphabet

James Potter if haven't done one

This is a little choppy but I hope you enjoy it! Mwah.

James Potter NSFW Alphabet

Reader: tried to keep it as nb as possible )

Warning: pure smut and no editing

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Super comforting and he’s really affectionate. He loves to massage your back (which will probably lead to another round). And he does that cute thing where he’d rub his nose against yours. He’d cover you in blankets and literally would hand feed you if he could. He basically forces you to drink water as well.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your thighs, he likes placing his hands on them and laying in between them.

He likes his stomach since he’s worked really hard on it over the last couple of years with quidditch.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He will wear a condom only if you want, but he’d much prefer to go without. He’s pull out game is strong as fuck and he usually cums over your ass or thighs, sometimes even stomach.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

James wants to do collaring and he’s been fascinated and keeps daydreaming about being your good boy or having the opposite and getting you a collar that says “daddy’s _____” (preferred nicknames like girl or boy, etc).

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s pretty experienced without actually have experience, he wants first times to be important so he was actually waiting for the right one (which happened to be you). He can definitely find his way around your body with ease, who knows how he knows how to do it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, he likes have your knees over his shoulders and takes his sweet time making the moment last as long as possible.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a sap so he try’s not to be humourus, he wants the sex to be romantic and he can’t risk turning you off with one of his lame dad jokes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s a mess, he’s tried to shave it, comb it, trim it, it’ll just grow back. It definitely matches his head hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Like said before, James wants the sex to be romantic. He likes holding your hand and kissing your shoulder’s and lips until they're rosy. He just wants to take care of you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Pretty often, he gets stressed sometimes so he’ll just get out a quick wank before heading to class in the morning or late at night.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He has a ton, d/s is very present and the roles switch between you both often. Power play is a must and he has a big thing for bondage, he loves all the different knots and shapes, he thinks the ropes look pretty against your skin. There’s others like makeup, he weirdly finds it attractive when mascara runs down your cheeks.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Usually in his dorm, he prefers to have his time and spend every second admiring and taking care of you. He rarely would want to do something out of order and he needs a quick notice before trying a new location. He usually promises you he’ll satisfy you later if you become needy during class or at hogsmeade.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Everything, fuck me eyes go along way for him. Sometimes you don’t even mean to get him going and he’s rushing you up to his dorm. He likes the uniforms too, he’d purposely mix up your robes or house ties just so people would know you’d belong to a certain wizard.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’d like spanking to a minimum, but the second he sees blood he freaks out. Even bruises make him worry and he’d begin to cry and kiss over it, promising you he’d never mean to hurt you and he’d be super careful next time.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving it, since he likes the stability of cumming down your throat. But if he’s subby he’s prefer to give you pleasure, he just wants to please you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends, sometimes after a quidditch game (depending if he won or lost) he’d take it out on you, rough and fast sex was a must so he could released all of his pent up tension. But then he’d get really soft and gentle to soothe over the rough behaviour. If he’s subby, he’ll let you control everything.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Personally he doesn’t like it, a quick blow job in between classes is alright with him or even a quick fuck in the showers in the changing rooms, but he prefers his time and he’d rather have you all to himself for a few hours.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not necessarily, he likes boundaries so you both talk over them often and he’d just do whatever was in the green zone. Sometimes if he’s being a hard dom he’ll try a risky move, wait for you reaction and depending on that he’ll keep it up or drop it immediately.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh boy… he’s not the Gryffindor quidditch caption for nothing. He’s athletic, charming, and a golden retriever boyfriend. He definitely can go for 4 or 5, depending on his mood and on time, since it doesn’t take much to make him cum.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t, he’s a bit embarrassed but he definitely isn’t opposed to watching you play with yourself. He actually loves mutual masterbation and he enjoys watching you show him all the things that make you feel good.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He hates teasing you but loves when you tease him, every little look or if you grab his arm for protection, he’s creaming in his pants. Whenever you whisper in his ear, even if it isn’t sexual, he’s gulping and fixing his trousers.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Subby James moans a lot, he whines and whispers and he likes to talk. But more dominant James groans and whispers cusses (which is the only time he rarely swears because he hates cuss words).

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He enjoys morning sex way to much, he likes the sunlight beaming in and the slow and groggy movements due to being sleepy, he loves the little whines and enjoys the cold air from the morning cooling off his hot skin.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A solid nine inches, come on he’s James Potter. He’s quite proud of it too, smirking whenever he see’s a tummy bulge or even when you have trouble standing after sex.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s high to the extreme, he never knew how horny he truly was until he began to date you. Every day he wanted to take you to his dorm and try new things, he wanted to be cocooned in between your legs.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he’s had a long day, it doesn’t take long. He’s a gentleman so he’ll kill you to sleep before he passes out, but sometimes you’d get back from the bathroom and see him sprawled out, a big grin on his face.

--

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[butterbeerblurbs]

morning sighs (what a sight) (f.w.)

💌 : quiet mornings at the burrow are one of the many things fred loves.

he loves it even more with you in it.

📝 word count: 1,169 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸 morning fluff

💬: no comment :-)

the sun gently makes its presence known by cascading on the burrows. casting small shadows that slowly grow harsher as the big orange globe rises up and assumes its position to overtake the night, turning it into day. fred remains laying on the couch, tossing around only to frown at the lack of presence that’s supposed to greet him when his arm extends out to the back of the sofa.

he peels his eye open, one by one before groggily sitting up. his face scrunches at the warmth bathing his skin, snapping away from it to look at the kitchen’s direction. a silhouette that moves past the orange light makes him rub his eyes, trying to focus. when he does, his smile only grows wider.

the pair of you had fallen asleep on the sofa instead of the bed in his room due to... late night activities (no, not that kind). let’s just say playing card games can get competitive that it turns into a small wrestling by the fire, which then escalates to an impromptu stroll outside in the night and returning back home all tired. a mutual agreement that the stairs was not worth it and using the couch as an excuse to be closer than you would’ve been on a bed.

fred pushes himself up and stables his weight on the floor with his feet planted on the wood before making his way towards you. he’s certain no one’s awake yet, and taking a quick glance to the clock, the small hand points at six, while the other points to nine. it was a quarter to seven in the morning, of course the household was still asleep. he’d like to get some more sleep as well, but can’t contain himself to at least drag you with him.

before he can though, he’s standing by the doorframe to the kitchen, watching you as you carefully maneuver around the island to make a cup of tea. he stands on his tiptoes to see that ah, she’s making one for me too. grinning, he approaches you and patiently waits as you pour the hot water into the porcelain cups. once the kettle is set aside, he’s unable to resist the urge to snake his arms around your waist, pulling your frame towards him. your gasp is quickly replaced with a sigh of relief, your palms smoothening over the bare of his skin as fred warms you from the back.

“g’morning, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple before deciding to rest his head beside yours.

“g’morning freddie,” your voice mirrors his volume, on the same wavelength as it breathes into the tranquil. he takes this moment of silence to gaze into your eyes staring back at him. so pure and just... full of love. fred doesn’t understand and won’t ever comprehend how he got this lucky.

and most certainly, this is one of the memories fred was certain he’d see flashing in front of his eyes before his final breath. the orange glow ever-so-gently kissing your skin, the smell of lavender from your hair brewed with the steaming cuppa english breakfast tea on the counter, accompanied with the sound of your voice humming a soft tune with your nose brushing against his. there was an idle moment where your eyes merely open, under the hooded gaze of sleep wearing heavy on you, freddie still thinks you look absolutely breathtaking as he stares at you like this is a dream... he’d die a happy man if it meant his last day was tomorrow.

he’s interrupted by you when you’re suddenly too far from comfort (mind you, just a step away, still closely pressed to him) as you gently press a cup of warmth to his hands. he gladly accepts it with a murmur of thank you, gorgeous and proceeds to follow your eyes out the window, across the horizon, basking in nature’s morning wake. 

every now and then, however, fred always finds himself staring at you instead. the burrows was beyond beautiful, nature merging together with the place he calls home. but when fred has you in his arms, sipping warm tea, making you smile in the midst of the quiet morning, adding you into the equation created a recipe to take fred’s breath away.

“i love you, freddie,”

ah, there it was. as if he needed to breathe. screw lungs and their function, eh?

“j-jeez, y/n, way to startle a man awake,” he almost chokes on his tea and it makes you chuckle. humor was always the one thing fred knows how to use and when to use. laughing was and if not the thing that fred could switch on from you because... he just thinks you look so pretty when you smile, what more laugh? he’s made it his life goal to make you laugh as much as possible, and he hasn’t failed a single day.

“by the way,” he calls out quietly, earning a soft hm from you as you turn to face him. when you do, his free hand cups your cheek and he drawls you in to press your lips together. initially cold, now warm from the tea that you can taste on fred’s tongue, brewing at dawn. when you lean back to take a breather, fred chases for your lips once more, eliciting a breathy giggle that he swallows with a kiss, and another, and another, and-”freddie! i can’t breathe!”

“see! now we’re even,” he huffs, placing his cup of tea onto the counter and making you do the same. you blow your hair from your face and frown up to him, “and what did i do?”

he smirks, and you almost regret asking (no you don’t).

“taking my breath away,” he wiggles his brows, almost exaggeratingly.

“you’re so silly, fred weasley,” you lightly hit his chest, and he captures your hand after to guide them around him, “yet, i love you more and more,” 

you feel his arms tightening around you as he groans and throws his head back.

“you can’t keep doing this!”

“doing what?” you’re laughing at the way he stomps his foot.

“this! being so god-damned perfect and making my heart do things. merlin, woman! just take my lungs then!”

before you can rebuttal, a voice almost scare the daylight out of both of you.

“i’ll take them if you don’t need it anymore, bloody hell it’s seven in the morning! seven!” ron chastises from a good distance away from the kitchen, currently sitting on the sofa and is now mumbling to himself on the sofa.

“aw, poor ickle ronnikins all worked up?”

“why i oughta-!”

((”ron?”

“yeah?”

“are you still interested in taking’s fred’s lungs?”

the boy narrows his eyes at you, “you’re not actually serious about it, right?”

you only deadpan at him and he clears his throat, “okay, that sounded idiotic,”

“i have an idea for a prank,”

“...you see, this is why i approve of fred being with you.”

“so are you in?”

“am i?!” his excitement is bubbling, inching closer towards you, “i’m all in.”))

[mikauzoran]

The Shipping Continues

I’m still reading through the Vanitas no Carte manga to practice my Japanese, and I have some more favourite moments from Volume Four to share. ^w^

First off, Noe completely losing it when Dr. Moreau tries to touch Vanitas.

Dr. Moreau was just asking Vanitas if he could extract one of Vanitas’s eyes to study it, and Noe has had enough.

Vanitas says, “Hey. What are you doing? Stop it.” because Noe is going to blow their cover to which Noe replies, “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. Dr. Moreau, I’ve got a mountain’s worth of things I want to say to you, but...calling people by a number like you’ve been doing with your ‘Number Six-Nine, Number Six-Nine’...cut it the hell out!!!”

I like that Noe just drops all pretense of politeness here and snaps. ^.^

A side note on Dr. Moreau: I really love the allusion to the 1896 book by H. G. Wells: The Island of Doctor Moreau. (Have people heard of it before? ^.^;) It’s about a mad scientist who’s made these hybrid human-animal creatures on this island that the narrator gets shipwrecked on. My favourite character is the pink sloth creature. It’s an interesting book, and I always love when contemporary fiction references classic fiction. The references make me happy. ^w^ It’s like finding Easter eggs.

This is another great scene. Vanitas was about ready to give up, but Noe inspired him to keep trying. Actually, what happened was Vanitas was going to have everyone leave and seal the room until the monster consumed itself and disappeared on its own because there was no way for them to get the cursed one out of the monster in order to purify them. Noe convinced Vanitas to jump into the monster’s void-like maw in order to perhaps save the cursed one from inside of the monster.

Only, they didn’t know that that was going to work. For all they knew, they were going to their deaths. Instead of letting Noe go in on his own (because Noe wasn’t giving up, and he was going whether Vanitas went or not), Vanitas decided to go with Noe, knowing that it could be a suicide mission. It’s kind of romantic in a twisted way that Vanitas picked possibly dying with Noe instead of letting Noe go alone and then sealing up the room to let the monster eat itself out of existence.

But what I really like about this scene is the dialogue!

Vanitas: That’s the cursed one who created “Predator”. (The kanji says “shadow figure”/“silhouette”/“shadow monk”, but the furigana reads “puredatouuru”.)

Noe: It’s okay. We can win.

Vanitas: Ha. “So long as we’re together”?

This is a callback to a scene in Volume 3:

Here, Vanitas has just asked if Noe can win against Roland (I’m guessing that’s how you spell his name. In katakana, it’s “rooran”. I’m guessing that’s the French name “Roland”). Noe says, “I don’t know...but we can win. So long as we’re together.”

A note on my translation: That’s not literally what Noe says, but that’s the vibe. In Japanese, it’s “oretachi nara”. Literally, that means “so long as it’s us”. The emphasis is on “tachi”. “Ore” would just mean “me”. “Tachi” makes it plural, so Noe is emphasizing that so long as it’s him and Vanitas, they can win. It feels more natural in English for me to translate that as “so long as we’re together”. 

I love the above scene of Vanitas and Noe laughing together after having pulled it off and narrowly escaped death. I also love Roland looking on in awe at a vampire and a human laughing together. 

You can tell he ships it. This is his “and then a shipper was born” moment.

Above is another great scene. Amelia comes in to give Vanitas a message, and Noe is still sleeping. He’s just fallen out of bed with a loud crash.

Amelia: Noe-san?!

Vanitas: Oh, so he’s fallen out of bed again?

Amelia: Uh... Is this...really okay?

Noe: *soft, breathy snore*

Vanitas: Hey. Don’t get close to him. He’ll turn you into a body pillow.

I love the implication that Vanitas knows this fact from personal experience. How else would he know that Noe latches onto and snuggles anything and anyone within reach when he’s asleep? Vanitas has definitely gotten snuggled before, and I want fan art. XD

Honorable Mentions from Volume Four:

This scene. I won’t translate it word for word, but Vanitas is getting worked up because Noe refuses to take one of the Chasseurs hostage. Vanitas says that if Noe doesn’t like Vanitas’s way of doing things, he can just go because Vanitas doesn’t want to be around people with Noe’s soft way of thinking. Vanitas is afraid that if he spends time with people like Noe, Vanitas will eventually go soft too, and then he’ll end up dead.

I really love the depth of Vanitas’s character. Sensei has done an excellent job with him in particular (though, all of the characters are wonderful). His psychology is fascinating. He’s obviously been through a great deal, and he’s adapted in order to survive. He’s scared of letting people in because being the way he is and being a loner is what’s kept him alive and safe up until this point.

I’m really looking forward to seeing how Noe slowly chips away at the walls Vanitas has built around himself. ^w^

This is my other honorable mention. After Noe and Vanitas escape from the catacombs, Vanitas collapses next to Noe and slumps against Noe’s back. It’s really precious.

He closes his eyes and sighs, “I’m tired”. I love the trust and vulnerability here. Vanitas obviously feels safe enough around Noe to let his guard down. ^.^

My Love Letter to Yen Press:

Once again, if you’re interested in reading Vanitas no Carte, you can get it in English from Yen Press. I really love this publisher because they do an excellent job of staying true to the original text. When I was in high school and couldn’t read manga raw yet (either because I couldn’t get my hands on it or my reading level wasn’t sufficient for what I wanted to read), Yen Press was my favourite because I felt like I could trust them to translate the manga how I would myself.

When I was little, you couldn’t trust the people who were dubbing anime into English. They did ridiculous things to sanitize anime for kids’ consumption like editing out all of the cigarettes and guns. They changed dialogue so that characters who had been hinted at being queer in the original were no longer queer in the English dub. They did silly things to localize the anime like changing onigiri into donuts and whitewashing the characters. That was my main motivation for teaching myself Japanese. I wanted to be able to tell for myself what was actually being said and going on. Yen Press was one of the companies I could trust to be faithful to the original in their translations until I was able to read the original on my own, so I’m sure they’ve done a fabulous job with Vanitas no Carte, if you’re interested in checking it out. ^.^

Okay. That’s it for me for now. Do you guys like me talking about my favourite scenes? ^.^; I know my Ladybug followers are probably like, “What is she on about?” XD Thank you for indulging me.