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ladykissingfish · 3 years

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Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Five // Kisame

Kisame

Ah, this. He goes to stand under the little plant, feeling mildly apprehensive. Who in their right mind would want to lock lips with someone (some creature) like him? Still, everyone else is a good sport, so he figures he needs to be one, too.

Konan

Kisame blushes fiercely when Konan walks up. He doesn’t have romantic feelings for her, not precisely ... but she is a woman, a beautiful woman, one who is his friend and who doesn’t ever seem frightened or disgusted by a person like Kisame. She approaches him and stands there quietly, her face slightly flushed. He takes a deep mental breath and then bends down (quite a ways, as their height difference is significant), gently cups her cheeks, and gives her a very soft, light kiss on the lips. He has to remind himself to be careful; Konan is no doubt a tough woman but at the same time, she feels so delicate and breakable. He notices, as always, how warm she is, how velvety her skin. When the kiss is over, they both pull back from each other, smiling.

Pein

By this point, Pein (Nagato) is getting a bit tired of this game. He understands that it’s normal for “parents” to kiss their “children” to express love; but he never had that growing up, so this all seems foreign to him. Still, though, as is the case with things such as this, he doesn’t want one child to feel as though he’s being neglected. So he very quickly kisses Kisame’s cheek, and invites him join him later on a walk (the Pein body needs exercise to keep it vital, and Kisame goes for long walks in his spare time).

Deidara

Kisame is one of the first people within the Akatsuki that Deidara made friends with. He reminds the blonde of his own partner Sasori, in that both are older and carry an air of maturity and wisdom. But there’s a big difference between Sasori and Kisame: the shark-man has a surprising (and extremely well-hidden) sense of humor. Unbeknownst to the others, Kisame has actually helped Deidara pull off numerous “pranks”, including super-gluing Hidan’s scythe to the wall while he was out, and “being artistic” with a paintbrush on Tobi’s mask when he was asleep. Deidara walks up to Kisame, and Kisame lifts him off his feet (wondering why everyone around him seems so damn tiny) and plants a smacking kiss on his forehead. When he sets Deidara back down, both burst out laughing, unable to help it. “Your lips are freezing, old man, hm!” “When’s the last time you washed your hair, kid? There’s enough oil in there to fuel an entire village!” They laugh so hard that tears roll down their faces, until eventually Deidara wanders away, still chuckling to himself.

Sasori

Like Pein, he’s grown quite weary of this game. But he rather likes Kisame; there’s only about a four year age difference between the two, and Kisame is a calm, quiet somebody for Sasori to talk to in an organization that often lacks either trait. Kisame bends down to him and Sasori kisses his forehead. He notes the difference in temperature between this one and the other, full humans. As he goes back to his room, he wonders if there’s any possible way he can ask Kisame, without offending him, if he could take a vial of his blood to study. Kisame and his hybrid heritage fascinate Sasori, and when something peaks his interest, he can’t rest until he’s examined it in full. What were his parents like? How does Kisame respond to various human diseases? Would Sasori’s poisons gave the same effect on him as they would on other members of the Akatsuki? A lot to think about, and something that stays in the back of Sasori’s mind for some time to come.

Hidan and Kakuzu

“Ah?! It’s bad enough kissing you bastards but now I’ve gotta kiss fish-breath too?!” Hidan is somebody that Kisame really doesn’t care for. He finds the man to be too brash, unpleasantly loud, and he abhors those heathen-like “prayer rituals” of his. If all of that superfluous blood and gore is necessary for immortality, then Kisame is happy to stay as he is. Hidan’s complaining only gets louder, the closer he gets to Kisame. So he pretends to lean in to kiss Hidan’s cheek ... and instead uses his teeth to bite Hidan’s ear clean off. Hidan is so startled that he flinches backwards and falls, landing on that damn scythe of his. Kisame laughs so hard that he nearly chokes, and he apologizes to Kakuzu who comes out of his room upon hearing all the swearing (as Kakuzu is the one who needs to sew Hidan’s ear back on, and give him stitches from the scythe-wound in his back). Kakuzu just shrugs and says that Hidan probably had it coming, and while he’s there he decides to get his turn over with. It’s odd; Kakuzu reminds Kisame of his own father (or what little he can remember of him, anyway). He’s always looked to the old man as a friend and mentor, and Kakuzu trusts him to the point where he’ll lend him money with no questions asked AND without charging interest, which is truly a rarity. But kissing for these two would just be too damn weird. They both feel it, so Kakuzu opts for a firm handshake instead. Hidan bitches about this to no end, but Kakuzu only tells him to shut up or else his ear is going to remain permanently detached.

Zetsu

To Zetsu, Kisame looks (and smells) like a scrumptious seafood delicacy. Zetsus never been much one for fish, but Kisame’s half-humanness provides enough of a temptation to thoroughly entice the plant-man. But Zetsu is nothing if not calculating, and he knows that in a fight, it’s more than likely that Kisame would be the victor. The closest Zetsu can get to devouring him is to kiss him, so he does. He strides up to him, grabs his face, and plants a kiss on the guy’s lips. Unable to help himself, he uses his tongue to lick the inside of Kisame’s mouth, which startles the latter and makes him quickly pull back. A good thing he did, too; because Zetsu was mere seconds away fro throwing inhibitions to the wind and trying to eat the man. Zetsu apologizes and goes away, leaving Kisame relieved (and a bit digusted: Zetsu tastes like how wet fertilizer smells).

Tobi

Although Kisame would never admit this to anyone, Tobi legitimately scares Kisame. Being part animal, he’s learned to distinguish different types of scents from those he interacts with. Tobi walks around all day acting the fool, but ... he has the sharp, deadly odor of a predator. Because of this, Kisame firmly believes that Tobi is much more than he presents himself; and he’s the Akatsuki member that Kisame would be least likely to turn his back on. Still, though, this is a game and everyone is playing; and Kisame can’t very well let on his true feelings. Tobi approaches him (“Guess its Tobi’s turn, eh, Kisame-san?”) and, as he had done with Konan, moves his mask to the side so that just his lips are exposed. He smiles, and something about his smile makes Kisame’s heart beat a little harder than normal. And Samehada growled, something that rarely happens. Tobi seems unnerved by Samehada’s reaction, and he hurriedly kisses Kisame’s cheek and pulls his mask back into place, uttering something about being hungry and shouting for his “Senpai Deidara” to help him make food. Kisame breathes out a sigh of relief once he’s out of the room.

Itachi

Itachi Uchiha. When Kisame first met this kid, he was meeting somebody strong, talente, highly intelligent ... and an absolute emotional wreck. A trait that never showed to the others, only Kisame, and only subtly. Teary eyes when discussing families, a look of remorse when sent on missions that would destroy human life ... and then there was the sickness. Kisame doesn’t think Itachi knows that he knows that he’s ill, but he does. It’s in everything, from his blocked chakra channels to his trembling hands, to the deep coughs he emits when he thinks everyone else is asleep. Likely he feels his sickness is atonement, of a sort, for the crimes he committed against his own clan and his family. But still ... Kisame doesn’t believe he’s ever met somebody warmer, or somebody that he’s more honored to call his friend, than the slim young brunette standing in front of him. “Itachi-san, if this makes you uncomfortable, you know you don’t have to kiss me.” Itachi tilts his head, studying Kisame’s face with those damn eyes of his. Under Itachi’s gaze, Kisame becomes a person. Not a freak, not some abomination, but a person. Itachi steps forward and cups Kisame’s cheeks, leans up and gives him the softest, most gentle kiss that Kisame could ever imagine. But his hands are cold (cold even to someone with a low body temperature like Kisame) and his breathing labored. After the kiss, Kisame, done with everybody now, puts a hand in Itachi’s shoulder, guiding him back to his room. He’ll make him tea, he’ll sit with him a while, maybe read to him until he falls asleep. He doesn’t know how much longer Itachi will last but he does know he intends to be by his side as much as possible until that dreaded day comes.

#the akatsuki #under the mistletoe #kisses #kisame #itachi #konan #pein #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #zetsu #tobi

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fandom-puff · 4 years

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Exhaustion

Pairing: Jon Snow x reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve been up for well over a day, helping Queen Sansa with returning winterfell to its former glory. Jon, back from the Wall now that Greyworm has ventured to Naath grows increasingly concerned for your health as you wear yourself to the bone

AN: so yeah this is totally a season 8 fix it bc we all got incredibly screwed over :) can you tell I’m not too fond of Danaerys after about... season 1? Anyways I love writing for game of thrones lol! Gif creds, as always, to the owner <3 ALSO: YNN= your nickname

Warnings: sleep exhaustion, season 8 spoilers

“There is damage to the wall, my queen, the entrance to the castle as well. The stables were burnt by dragon fire, the armoury... well, most of it is gone. The statues of the direwolves are also destroyed, more so than when the Bolton’s were here,”

Sansa nodded slowly, her hands grasping the ornate wood carvings of the arms of her throne. She looked sideways to you, her closest friend and most loyal advisor, a lady from a lesser house in the north. You turned to the fellow Northman in front of you and surveyed him for a moment.

“For now, we have little need of an armoury. For any horses who survived the dragon fire, we will source wood to build a temporary stable so they may sleep out of the cold,” you said.

“Lord Bronson, please see that the horses are kept sheltered and that any builders hired are paid adequately for their time,” the queen addressed her newly appointed master of coin. “As for the damage to the wall of the castle, we need stone and men to rebuild it. Scope around for volunteers in the keep, they too will be paid for their extra work,” the man nodded and bowed to his queen. “As for the statues... have the Smithy melt down any damaged weapons and use the steel to remodel the Direwolves,” the master of coin scribbled down the funds and nodded.

“That is all, my queen,” the man said.

“And what of the Northmen? Those nearer the wall will have been hit hard by winter and the night king. The harvests were poor, the livestock is weak. We have an excess in our own kitchens. I want hearty food and good ingredients delivered to the villagers to ensure they survive until a more permanent solution is found,”

“Your highness, perhaps we should send a raven to your brother in the south? Out of loyalty to you and his ally, the North, arrangements can be made between the Crownlands and their ports and the fertile grounds of the Reach? Just because the North is now independent does not mean we ought to sever trade links entirely,” you said slowly, your hands clasped in your lap.

Sansa was quiet for a moment. You could see the internal struggle between wanting to do everything herself without help from the south, and wanting to keep the people fed and strong. She turned to you slowly. “Have a message sent to Bran,” she said firmly, nodding slowly to show she trusted you. “Surely there are resources we can trade with Kings Landing. Have another sent to Highgarden, I believe the Reach was relatively unscathed by the Mad Queen,” you bit back a smirk at that nickname. “They have always been fond of our embroidery,” you nodded. “Thank you for your report,” Sansa turned again to the man in front of her. “We will set to work as soon as possible. You are dismissed. Go and see to your wife, my Lord, I believe she is reaching the end of her pregnancy,” she smiled kindly, and with a low bow, the man left the hall.

With no one in the room but herself, you and the master of coin, Sansa sagged into her throne.

“You’re doing wonderfully, your highness,” you said gently, smiling softly at her. “Winterfell is almost restored and I have never seen a ruler show such compassion and sensibility to her subjects. The King of the South will help us- he probably knows already. And if need be, I will tell my brother that I’m staying at winterfell a while longer, should you need me. I trust him not to run my House’s keep to the ground while I’m gone,”

Sansa smiled at you with appreciation, and she soon gave you leave while she went to visit her Maester. As you were reaching the door, she called out. “YN! I’ve had word from Castle Black. Jon is returning to Winterfell. He should be here tonight,” you tried to hide your excited smile, and couldve sworn you saw a sly smirk tugging at Sansa’s lips as you bowed slightly and hurried off to your chamber.

Jon was coming back! You had been furious when the unsullied had him banished to the wall for killing the Mad Dragon Queen. From the moment you saw Danaerys, you did not trust her in the slightest, having heard the stories from across the Narrow Sea. In your eyes she was a glorified tyrant, as mad as her father and as deceptive as Queen Cersei. You knew she was almost nothing without her dragons, which caused more harm than good. Breaker of chains, she had called herself, when in reality she forged chains of her own- bend the knee or die was not a free choice, it was a threat, and had Danaerys Targaryen taken the throne as she was adamant she deserved it, you would’ve been slaughtered for your loyalty to the North, to the Old Gods, to your family, your friends, and not to a glamorous tyrant who would surely burn Westeros to the ground just as her father had planned.

Once returned to the north, you and Sansa had spoken of Jon a few times, and Sansa always got a mischievous glint in her eyes when you did. She must have planned his return, as he had no real need to stay beyond the wall after the Unsullied left for Naath. Smiling to yourself, you set to preparing yourself for dinner, asking a few passing maids to help you draw a bath. Unlike most nobles, you helped the maids, rather than watch them, and spoke kindly as you heated the water for your bath. Once there was enough water, you thanked them and allowed them to leave as you bathed, washing your hair and scrubbing your skin. Once towelled dry, you rubbed sweet smelling oils into your skin, before slipping into your smallclothes and a simple, yet beautiful, dark green gown, discretely embroidered with your house’s sigil at the trim of the neckline and up from the wrists of your long sleeves. Lacing the dress up at the side, you sat in front of your mirror and set about sorting out your hair, towelling it dry and braiding it around your head. Finally, you fastened a simple silver chain around your neck, your sigil hanging over your heart.

Smiling to yourself, you stood, leaving your chamber and walking to the Great Hall where dinner was normally held. When you slipped through the door, however, the room was empty, only a few candles lit. Frowning, you turned, hearing the sound of two sets of footsteps as Sansa and Jon rounded the corner. Sansa trailed off from what she had been saying and smirked slightly as she pushed Jon towards you.

“Er... Lady YLN,” he spoke in his thick, northern burr. You repressed a shiver and have him a bright smile.

“Jon! Just YN, remember?” You said, slowly walking towards him. Gladly, he accepted your embrace, and you buried your face into the thick furs at his shoulder, not caring about the flecks of snow. You pulled away and beamed at eachother, before Sansa cleared her throat.

“I thought we’d take dinner in my chambers,” she said. “The three of us reunited,” you both nodded and followed your queen. “Jon, I’ve had a room prepared for you, there should be a fire to warm you and new clothes there too,”

“But, your majesty, I... I took the black. I’m in exile,” he said lowly, frowning.

Sansa merely smiled and carried on walking. “No. You were in exile, therefore unable to take an oath of any sort. That, however, was when the unsullied insisted on ‘justice’. The unsullied are settled in Naath, and furthermore, you are a Northman. The north is an independent kingdom. Therefore, you are released from your exile,”

You shook your head fondly at your friend as you entered her chambers, were a maid was laying out the table. She turned when she heard the door and sunk into a low curtsey. “Thank you Amya,” Sansa said. “This looks wonderful,”

“Yes m’lady,” the young girl said, smiling proudly as she was dismissed.

Once fed and watered, the three of you retired to Sansa’s personal chamber, drinking wine and sharing anecdotes. Already smiling serenely from the wine at dinner, having more was making you feel a little floaty. You stifled a yawn as you fiddled with your necklace as you listened to Jon. “YN... you look exhausted,” he said softly, tipping your chin up to face him properly. The flickering light of the hearth highlighted the growing bags under your eyes and how glazed over your eyes were.

“‘M alright,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Can stay up a bit longer. Finish your story,” you insisted, but your eyes were already fluttering shut.

Sansa pursed her lips. “YN... after last night’s small council meeting, did you even go to sleep?” She asked gently. “And today... we’ve had about 15 lords and 12 smallfolk coming in for audiences, all of which you attended...”

You smiled slightly. “Was in the library last night, Sansa...” you mumbled. “Needed to look up the logistics and the finances,”

“Oh, YNN, we have a Maester and master of coin to do that,” she said gently, reaching over to place her hand over yours. “What about when the maester called for a break?”

“I went to start on the letters to my brother and the King in the South,” you mumbled. “And Highgarden...” you let Sansa hold your hand and give it a firm squeeze, still nuzzling you’re face into Jon’s furs as the last two days finally caught up with you. “Nodded off at my desk, though, so I’ll have to start the letter to King Bran again,”

Sansa frowned. “YNN, you’re working too hard. I appreciate it immensely, but I cannot expect you to help me if you aren’t taking care of yourself. Tonight you will rest, and when morning comes you may rest some more. You are allowed to care for yourself, alright? You must. Because without you by my side, I question everything I do. I need you by my side. The north needs you in excellent condition. And so does Jon,” you nodded slowly in understanding, but her soothing words and gentle tone were lulling you to sleep. “I want to make you my hand, YN. But first, you need to sleep,” you nodded again and let out a mumbled ‘yes, my queen’ as you finally turned your head fully into Jon’s furs and let exhaustion take you.

What felt like an eternity later, you were jostled awake. You let out a small noise of complaint and nuzzled you’re face further into the soft thick furs in front of you, your fingertips brushing a lock of curled hair...

“Jon?” You whispered, barely audible.

“Shhh, I’m here. Gotta get you to bed, YN. no arguing, now. Queen’s orders,” you nodded, and mumbled ‘alright’ as he carried you to your chamber. He found your bed already turned down, and gently lowered you into it, letting you wriggle out of your dress. He averted his eyes as you tugged the covers over yourself, despite it being dark. You settled into the pillows, already drifting deeper into your slumber, when you heard the door creak open.

“Jon?” You murmured, reaching an arm out for him.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?”

Your eyes were shut and you were practically asleep, but you heard the door shut and lock and the sound of heavy leathers and cloaks hit the ground. Best of all, you soon felt the safe warmth of Jon pressed against your side.

Tag List: @diksy1112 @zodiyack @soleil-dor @sleepylunarwolf

#jon snow x you #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones reader insert #got #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #request #fluff #game of thrones season 8 fix-it #anti daenerys #pro sansa stark

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passivenovember · 3 years

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Chapter Six of : If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields

Billy goes home less than an hour after Steve suggests they play operation. When he looks at Billy with eyelashes Neil Armstrong could see from the moon and suggests they cozy up among the coffee table books to do some lasting good in the world; get the tooth out of that guy's dick for him--

Billy has to get out of there.

It was too much.

The house. The colors. The fabric. The smell of Steve's shampoo, which is less like peeled lemons and more like funeral flowers, the longer Billy sits around getting sunburnt under the intense light of a man who wasn't interested in him beyond starched collar friendship.

And he's not mad at Steve. Isn't on his way to punch a hole in his drywall, or anything, but he's mad at himself. Mad at his heart for kicking up a cloud of pink smoke when Billy stands and says he'd better get going.

And Steve's face falls like snow that covers Billy's driveway, that glues his feet together.

"Papers." Billy says quickly, searching for the coat he knows he didn't bring up the drive.

"Newspapers?" Steve goes along with him, adjusting the yellow bandana behind his ears. He turns with a swoosh of his orange rug robe to dig through the shelves on the wall. "I have some here. Old ones, new ones. There's an edition from 1985 about the mall burning down, it's pretty interesting. Would you like that?"

"Sure, I'll, uh--" Billy takes the yellowing pages from Steve without really thinking about it, jerking away when Harrington lands too close. Close enough that Billy can see the specks of green in his eyes. "I meant. Teaching papers. Assignments." The newspaper smells old. Like books and dust, and faintly of spilled bong water from the pipe of a baghead teenager long ago. "I have to grade papers."

Steve doesn't take it back from him. "I thought you taught kindergarten."

"I do."

"Kindergarteners write papers?" Steve's hair flops across his forehead. Like big, wavy puppy dog ears on either side of his face.

Billy has to force his tongue to stay in his mouth, his eyes to stop staring. "I meant, like. Spelling. Numbers. Rudimentary bullshit." Billy shakes the newspaper at puppy dog Steve. "Declan Parks can't even tie his own shoes, so--"

"Alright. Okay." Steve says sweetly, pushing Billy's hand back to his own chest, fingers wrapping around his palm. "Take it with you. There's a lot of history in this town, mythology and folklore--rumors of bloodsucking aliens and evil scientists camping out under the power plant." Steve doesn't let go of Billy's hand. He grins instead, dimples popping like fireworks on his face. "We're a regular Twin Peaks ripoff. Read about it, let me know what you think." And.

Steve doesn't back away. Doesn't back down.

"I'll give you a ring sometime." Billy says suddenly.

"Okay."

"Yeah, alright, uh." Billy backs toward the front door, two finger salute making pink skies land on Steve's face. "Thanks for the grub. I'll see you in the driveway, or--"

Steve laughs, following Billy to the door.

"Around. Yeah, Steve, I'll--"

Steve places a hand on Billy's shoulder and the world stops spinning. Melting right off the bone. Billy fights to get air in his lungs as Steve brushes a lock of hair from his forehead, fingertips lighting Billy's skin on fire.

"See you around, neighbor." Steve says.

And Billy knows, feels in his bones, that he'd do better moving across town.

It keeps snowing.

Morning noon and night, wood nymphs piling on ice and hail down on a town of 36,000 people until Billy feels alone. Like an animal trapped in a beige house on a white street that exists in a bubble. A snow globe immune to light and sound.

There's a period of days where school is cancelled and Billy runs out of things to keep himself occupied. All the books have been read and returned to their place on the shelf. All the films watched and replayed until Billy draws his own conclusions, until the characters feel like his own.

On the first day Billy feels like he's losing his mind.

He orders groceries. Picks up some thermal socks. Considers making a pie or something from scratch, like his mother used to do before Neil went missing on Christmas Eve, but. He doesn't have a rolling pin.

On the second day he drags a chair over to the window and stares at the warm, peachy light from Steve's upstairs window as it shine on the drifts that gather and climb toward heaven. Billy thinks about that living room as if it were a vision from some other planet. A universe crafted in the image of virality.

Billy thinks about Steve and wishes he could be like that.

Wide eyed. Free.

On the third day, Megan says Billy should begin preparing for spring.

"We're snowed in." Billy mutters, cleaning up the polish on his toes. A gorgeous matte eggplant color that proves--spring isn't on his radar.

"You're getting bogged down with the ice and snow," Megan reiterates, pen scratching across the page so loudly that Billy can hear it with the phone on speaker. "Before long the flowers will bloom again. The sun will shine, it's something everyone has to prepare for. Rebirth, growth--"

"I don't have a garden."

"Don't be a shitter, Billy." Megan sighs, but he can hear the smile in her voice. "We can work with that. Would it do some good to plant one?"

Billy starts painting his other foot. "I don't want to stay in Hawkins forever."

"That's understandable."

"And I have plans this spring." Billy twists the cap onto the nail polish, swinging his foot around in the air as if that'll make things move faster. "Max and I want to go hiking back home. I'm supposed to help my mom get the boathouse ready for the summer, and I don't want to start something permanent in a place I can't see myself settling down in--"

"A couple marigold bushes are not permanent, you could kill 'em off with a single neglectful week in the summer and you know it." Megan falls silent, only the click of her pen left behind. "This move has been rough on you, and it's been rough on your body, and it's been hell on your space."

Billy shrugs. "It's been fine on my space."

"Have you even finished unpacking?" Megan demands, strictly business.

"I don't want to set down roots--"

"You've lived in Hawkins for two years, Billy, and you haven't finished unpacking."

A lump appears in his throat, just like that, just. Choking the air from his lungs. Megan must hear Billy swallow, or sense the shift in the air because her voice goes soft around the edges. Pliant. "It's a new cycle."

Billy tries not to think about Max. "Alright."

"Time to blow the cobwebs away."

"Dust the spider houses." Billy says to himself. He tries not to think about their garden back home, the fertile smell of fresh Earth somehow finding its way to Hawkins despite Billy's efforts. He misses Mammoth Lakes. He tries not to think about it. Then; "Max is coming down for my week off."

"That's not until March."

"So?"

Megan sighs, like Billy should get it by now. "That's way into the spring season, what you need this year is to get a head start." She scribbles something down on the page again. "We've been through this before. You're beyond me spelling out what you need. You've been my client long enough to know the type of person you are, Billy."

He smirks. "Yeah, and what kind of person is that?"

"Someone who likes to open his doors and let in the fresh air." She moves some papers around, voice firm. "Bright colored walls, and bird baths littering diverse lawns even though they turn to green slime when not filtered properly. The kind of man who likes to shop second hand because 'everything has a soul--'"

"Are you reading from my journal?"

"Need I go on?" Megan lets Billy mull it over for a moment. Lets him draw is own conclusions. When she speaks again it's like Billy already knows what she wants to say. Already believes it himself, but. That's never stopped her before.

"We were just talking about Steve last week."

"We're always talking about Steve," Billy snaps. "Last week, and the week before that, and yesterday and tomorrow--"

"Perpetually." Megan teases. "I know. But you said you liked his house. That's what we discussed last time; not Steve or his hair or how embarrassed you are about the rats--" Billy wishes everyone would let that part go. "But his house. The way it made you feel."

He can see it in his minds eye--Megan leaning forward, legs uncrossed on her big hammock chair, blue and gray glasses catching the glint in her eye as she pokes through his spirit and lands at the root.

The bone.

"What is it you liked about Steve's place and what is it you hate about your own and where is the through line?"

She gives him homework. Student and teacher.

Billy hates homework, but. He jots the instructions down in his notebook anyway and wonders, distantly, if the skies will continue to open above his head and if he'll ever learn to accept it.

On the fourth day Billy's power goes out.

Just like that.

With no bang or whimper it's just there one moment and gone the next.

One minute he's watching Wayne's World, wrapped in five blankets and eating soup from one of those bowls with the built in straw, and the next he's submerged in darkness. Looking around the living room like a startled chicken, still slurping down tomato soup and hoping it's just a surge.

It's not.

Billy finishes his soup.

He manages to keep the feeling in his toes even as he wanders around the house lighting every candle he can find, sticking towels over the cracks in his front door and remembering to turn the faucets on drip so the pipes won't freeze overnight.

Outside the storms keep raging.

Billy can't see the end of the front porch, so he grabs his blankets and heads to bed. Remembers to plug in his phone, on the off chance that the power will come back on while he's out, and Billy feels good about himself for a lot of reasons. For remembering his Midwestern Winter Survival Skills, and buying thermal socks when he went shopping last week, and as the temperature keeps dropping Billy feels himself drifting off.

Warm and safe in his cocoon of blankets, he wonders if the power has come back on when someone bangs on his bedroom window.

Billy sits bolt upright, hissing as cold air manages to snake in through an opening near his feet. The knock comes again, louder this time, and Billy thinks about what he read from that article in the Hawkins Post dated July 5th, 1985.

"Billy?"

Harrington is wrapped in a blanket.

That's all, just a knitted monstrosity of orange and green draped across his shoulders, paired with a black hoodie and the care bears scarf that haunts Billy's dreams. He's got yellow gardening gloves on his fingers and, over his head of wavy brown hair, a pink beanie that reads, If I Die of Aids--Forget Burial--Drop My Body on the Steps of the FDA, in teal block letters.

Steve Harrington could break hearts.

Billy's heart is floating through the air, just. Decimated. As Steve smiles and taps on the window. "I tried the front but I figured you were asleep." He says.

And it takes Billy a minute to find his voice. He opens the window, grimacing at the snow on the ledge that topples in. "What are you doing?"

"I cleared a path. Around the house. By the propane tank." Steve says, gesturing with his stupid little gloves. "I took care of the driveway for you. And put some ice melt down, brought some firewood up to the door."

"Wait, what?"

"I just picked some up from Melvalds yesterday, it's no biggie--"

"The powers out." Billy grumbles, using the corner of his blanket to scrub at his face. "Shouldn't you be stock piling layers, like the rest of us?"

"'S not so bad at home."

"It's colder in here than it is outside."

Steve jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Mr. Bane's auditioning to be a starfish on my mattress."

"Push that little fucker over the edge."

Steve leans back, gripping the window ledge with an easy smile. "I could never do that. We have a system--I let him sleep on my bed every night on the condition that he doesn't shit in the hallway anymore." Steve lifts one hand and taps his forehead, pleased as punch. "Work smarter, not harder. Right?"

And that makes Billy blush. Either from the image of Steve's fat Mainecoon running the show or the fact that Steve lets it happen, even on the coldest night of the year.

It's sweet.

Steve's sweet. Like sun tea with extra sugar, just--

"So where does that leave you?" Billy muses, picking at a loose thread on his pillow case just to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. "It's too cold for the floor, and the living room's gotta be drafty, right?"

Steve shrugs, leaning against the window pane and looking over his shoulder, as if daring the ice to fall again. "I have an extra blanket or two, should be alright."

With his head turned that way Billy can see moles--dozens of little chocolate kisses sprinkled over Steve's skin, swirling and disappearing under the hood at his neck.

He's beautiful.

Billy thinks the moles could taste like cinnamon or nutmeg. Hot chocolate with little drops of citrus enriching the flavor--

"You could sleep here." Billy's mouth says.

Steve stares at him, eyes wide, but. Not surprised. Not mean. "Really?" He asks, folding his arms on the window pane and studying Billy's face. Forehead and eyelashes and back again, like maybe this is a joke. "You'd let me sleep on the couch?"

"Sure."

"What makes you think your places' gonna be any better?" Steve demands.

Light.

Teasing.

Billy shrugs again and his stupid blanket slips off one shoulder, revealing a strip of hoodie that may as well be his bare fucking skin, the way Steve's eyes track the movement. Filing it away for some unknown purpose even as Billy rights himself again. He feels every bit like the heroine in those shitty dieback erotica's his mom still reads every Saturday morning. The window lets in gust after gust of frigid air and Billy decides that he isn't going to beg.

"I'm not going to beg," Billy reiterates, though he doesn't sound convinced. "Come sleep at mine or don't, that's--"

"Unlock the front door," Steve says, and then he's gone, rainboots leaving a trail of footprints to show that this was real.

That one night, with ice covering the trees and fields like a blanket of hope, Steve was real.

#harringrove #jaz speaks #it feels good to be writing this one again #I love writing things that have callbacks to weather #it's such an important #often overlooked part of our daily lives #anyway #i hope you enjoy this part!!!

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castlehillwhump · 3 years

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Whumpy Drabble

So I found this random story in one of my whumpy writing inspiration documents, and I kinda liked it, so I just polished it up. I haven't really written anything else with this character, nor is it really a fleshed-out universe, but I had fun writing it anyway!

TW: Trauma, injuries, panic attacks, implied torture, implied captivity

“So after everything you’ve been through, all the things you’ve survived and endured, do you think you’ve changed? Are you still the same person who fought so hard to earn the right to lead us?” The dazzling young blonde reporter fixed Daniel with a heated stare.

Daniel took a deep breath and rubbed the moisture off his palms on his too-tight suit pants, suppressing a wince at the movement. The reporter had been warming him up for the last few minutes, tossing him no-brainers, joking around with him, flattering him. Now they were getting to the real purpose of the interview. Daniel had known to expect this, had prepared his words well, but still the question hit him like a bag of bricks. Daniel took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He noticed the way his shoulders had tensed and allowed them to relax with his breath.

“I’m a firm believer that every experience changes little things about the way we see the world,” Daniel began. So far, so good. “And yes, some things do change us more than others. The things that I’ve seen have definitely impacted the way that I see the world now, but if anything, they have only made me more determined to prevent these kinds of things from happening. They’ve shown me what can happen when we forget about the people on the margins of society and ignore their needs, their suffering.”

Daniel paused, took another deep breath. Stay on script, stay on track, speak in short sentences. He was painfully aware that each of his next words would shape the way the public viewed him forever. “So yes I’ve changed, but I’m still the man you elected, still the leader that I was before. I’ve just taken time to see things from a new angle, and I’m back with a renewed wish to help this empire remain the top in the world.”

The reporter was nodding emphatically, but his eyes were narrowed very slightly. “Well that’s all very nice to hear, but I am curious about some of the phrasing you chose to use. Are you saying you sympathize with your captors?”

Shit. Maybe the reporter wasn’t as dumb as Daniel had initially thought. He took another breath, tried to ignore the pulsing ache in between his ribs. “All I’m saying is that I believe we’re all a product of our environment,” Daniel said- his mouth moving and Janine’s words spilling out. “Some people’s environments are more fertile than others. If there are things we can do to nurture every child, not just the well-off ones, we should do them.”

“But how can you believe that all people are good after what those people did to you?”

Daniel needed a drink-- and maybe some of those painkillers that he’d been on. When had he taken them last? His head was absolutely killing him, and he could feel the dull edges of his injuries beginning to sharpen again. He wanted to reach up and scratch the spot where the sling met his neck, but he didn’t want to draw attention to it, didn’t want to show weakness any more than he had to. He just had to get through a few more questions.

Daniel realized that the reporter was still staring at him, his eyebrows lowered dramatically, his head cocked just slightly, his hair combed back, not a strand out of place— the perfect model of concern. He practically glimmered under the harsh spotlights.

Daniel was suddenly acutely aware of his own appearance, of the cut across his eyebrow, his swollen jaw, the sling and heavy bandages wrapped around his left arm. The makeup had covered up most of the injuries, but Janine had thought a moderate amount of damage would help his image. He just hoped they couldn’t see the bandages under his shirt.

He’d forgotten what the reporter asked. Mouth dry, Daniel asked for a repeat of the question.

“-- after what those people did to you.”

What those people did to him. Daniel clenched his hand again and tried to remember how to breathe. The reporter was waiting for him, and the red light above the nearest camera glared at him, reminding him that this was a live interview. Daniel needed time to think, or he needed some air, or maybe he just needed to be away from these people, away from the cameras, away from the glaring lights. He heard himself say something and then there was a cool glass of water being pressed into his hands.

He lifted it to his lips, the spotlights glinting off the edges of the cup, highlighting every small movement Daniel made. The water tasted good, but the fuzziness was still building between his ears, and the lights were so unbelievably bright, and the pounding in his head had grown into a beating presence, demanding his attention at all times, and he couldn’t see straight, he couldn’t think straight, and that fucking reporter hadn’t moved an inch. Daniel closed his eyes.

What those people did to him. Daniel scoffed. What hadn’t they done? And of all people to bear the shame of it all, it had to be him, leader of the strongest empire on the globe, most celebrated warrior in all nine kingdoms, Daniel Chuvinska. If anyone could survive it, it would be him. Or at least that’s what Janine had said. That’s what the papers had said. That’s what the reporter had said earlier. But it wasn’t what they actually thought. Not really.

When they looked at him now, instead of seeing a leader, a warrior, he knew what they would see. He could practically hear their whispers, weak, traumatized, Chuvinska. Damaged Chivinska. Did you hear what they did to his arm, did you hear how they made him scream. I heard they kept him chained. I heard he sat in his own shit for days on end. How can he lead us? How can he keep us safe? Damaged, weak, helpless. He’s no leader. He has to go, he has to go. He has to go.

Daniel tried to steady his breathing, tried to root himself in the moment like he’d been doing since he was young, but something was off. The world was tilted, and every grasping attempt he made to right it just pushed it further out of whack. He suddenly could no longer stomach the reporter’s questions. He suddenly could no longer bear the lights, the makeup, the cameras. He felt his body move without any conscious thought. He was saying something, talking to the reporter. It might have been polite, but more than likely it wasn’t.

He knew he should sit back down. He should sit back down and finish the interview. Reassure his people that he was safe and sound and unaffected, reassure them that he didn’t need to be replaced, make them feel glad that they elected him, make them grateful that he was home alive. But he couldn’t make himself do it. He couldn’t do it. He was moving now, away from the lights, and thank god for that.

He was only two steps away from the stage before Janine was in front of him, barring his path. She was talking to him, her voice pleading, urgent. She was probably reminding him how important this interview was, how absolutely crucial it was that he maintain his image, but Daniel’s eyes were fixed on that glowing red exit sign over her shoulder. He wanted to push past her. His mind felt blank except for that all-too familiar need to get away, to be anywhere but here, to find somewhere safe, small, controlled.

He glanced again at the exit sign that meant his salvation. He was still several long paces away, and there were people moving all around blocking his path, but he’d push past them if he had to. He’d bust his way out of here if he had to. He just needed to be anywhere else at all. But Janine was still in front of him, still talking. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and Daniel flinched back violently at the contact, his heart beating wildly. Janine stared up at him, mouth parted, hand still outstretched slightly, eyebrows drawn, and he knew he’d really fucked up. He could read the calculation behind her eyes, could tell what she was thinking. He’s weak, he’s scared, he’s not worthy. Not worthy.

Daniel finally found his breath, finally found his balance again to push past Janine, even as she called after him, to push past the camera men, the sound techs, the PAs. He finally made it through the exit door, and he was flying through the back hallways until finally, finally, he was in the cool November air.

He took the first deep breath he’d been able to muster and let it out slowly. He leaned back against the door he had just burst through and let his head rest against the cool metal as his heart gradually regained a normal pace. What had he just done? Daniel slowly let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the dirty cement in his expensive suit, and for the first time since he’d been back to civilization, Daniel let himself cry.

#whump #my writing #whump writing #whump community #whump drabble #implied captivity #implied torture #kidnapping #angst #panic attacks #'whump'#'whump writing'#wow i can't believe I'm actually posting my own writing #never thought that would happen again #but here we are #mypost

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commander-orca · 4 years

Text

COTW FANFICTION

CHAPTER 7: FEELINGS INTO THE FOG

At bedtime, Orca repeatedly recalled Suoh's words about the dead. He had read all kinds of things about the Mud Whale’s traditions in the Empire's archives, both accurate and wrong recollections, modified or entirely rewritten to the glory of the Country. He had read about the making of their wicker baskets, used to transport their dead and had suspected that the power of the Daimonas must be lying dormant somewhere at Faleina’s core. But Orca had never heard of the Walls of the Dead. And yet, he believed it without hesitation. Sometimes one could hear funny voices in the air and he knew from his sister that many people had had strange visions.

The nights that followed turned out to be less restful than the previous ones. His new home, which had seemed to him a hamlet of peace and safety, conducive to restorative sleep, now gave him the impression of entering a funerary monument. The atmosphere in the room did not seem much more welcoming to him, but hostile and cold like the tomb of the dead. The simplicity and space he had enjoyed now took on a meaning of desolation. Obviously this was only a subjective impression, the fruit of Suoh's thoughts, the small room had not metamorphed before his eyes. But despite these injunctions to himself, Orca felt changed by this revelation.

He felt he was starting to lose his mind the longer he stayed locked up here. He could barely sleep a few hours in this bed, thinking about those who had lain there before. From time to time he found himself kneeling in silence, whispering apologies, begging for forgiveness. One night, he had hugged one of the walls, pressing his ear to the wall, wishing to feel something, but certainly not waiting for an answer. He was a little angry with Suoh a few times, regretting his previous insouciance. But those moments never lasted long since he esteemed Suoh and considered that his ignorance, that sleeping in the innocents’ beds unaware, without care for their lives torn away, would have been much worse.

His sister and Itia had noticed the deterioration of his state. When he emerged from the war councils and they took him out to eat, they were attentive to the dark bags which hollowed out his eyes and his pale face. Orca had decided not to mention the issue; he knew they would offer him a kind of sympathy he didn't deserve.

That day, Orca and his sister were sitting in the palm grove, resting on the brown grass. They were sharing a bowl of fried rice and handfuls of steamed vegetables, sheltered under a large shrub leaf. Faleina was unrecognizable; silently cutting through the waves and not a bird to accompany her on her way, she swiveled from time to time to change course. This autopilot navigation reinforced the spectral aspect the mist assigned to any object that was not at fingertips. The clay waged a fierce battle, its only weapon being its will to stand firm and hold the walls. The curtain of gray clouds enveloped the landscape in an opaque fog and it seemed to them that, beneath this torrential rain, the island harboured them only, the long palm and the few blades of grass which bent in the wind, not far away. The abandoned meadows and bare windows gave some reason to believe that at least. Both had folded their legs to avoid getting wet, to the side and against his chest for Lykos, who watched the water fall from the sky, thoughtful. There was something gloomy about this weather, like a curse creeping in, slowly poisoning the air.

"You look absent," Orca said, trying to strike up the conversation.

Even though he was eloquent and could boast about being able to improvisine galvanizing speeches, talking aimlessly in order to hang his audience on his lips or lose it, his sister was a different matter altogether. Facing her, he froze, overwhelmed by his incapacity. She knew everything about his superficial oratory, as she knew everything about his inner sensibility. It was this undeceivable look that was most unsettling. His strong alter could have taken on the task, of course, but this one was just only a fool when it came to feelings. He was abrupt and insensitive. Orca wanted to follow Kannavi's advice in spite of himself and make room for the Orca his sister knew intimately. Even if it meant being vulnerable.

"And you look preoccupied," Lykos replied, his worried eyes making their way through her hair.

Orca bit his lip, tempted let her remark fall flat.

“I simply don't like this weather. Falei- No, the Whale is as though hands and feet tied in the dark ”.

Lykos nodded, understanding. A slight smile hollowed out her cheeks and her fingers began to play with the strands of her braids.

“I disliked this before too. There has been a few days like this since I got here but ... It distressed me ”.

Orca refrained a burning urge to get closer to her. Instead, he darted discreet eyes into her face.

“But no sooner did the rain fall that the people here all raised their arms to the sky, as if they were thanking or praying. It was explained to me that it is because it doesn’t rain often on the Whale and that it is a sign of fertility and luck.

-They celebrate the rain ...? His brother whispered, watching the flood now with brand new eyes.

However, it did not go without saying that this unpleasant feeling did linger. The mood on the island was gloomy and the rain falling like a cage chasing them endlessly. But if the Whale was already a cage in itself ...

They fell into a new silence that lasted a little longer this time. And, for the first time, Orca seemed to notice this significant space between them. This ambient coldness which paralyzed them both. Her sister's body was stiff, curled up on itself, her chin resting on her knees and she was standing away from him. They weren’t saying a word. It was laughable; the man had hoped that his arrival on the Whale would be the trigger for a revived bond. But this tense atmosphere did not fade away and although so close, it was undeniable, they were still and always within a universe of each other. 'I would like you to stay,' her sister had said. However, the past was not intact. It had not waited for them to meet again to start moving forward. Dressing in colorful clothes, walking barefoot on the sand, living on love and fresh water was a nice interlude but it would not be enough. It wouldn't be enough to forgive his mistakes, nor to erase that look of distrust in her sister's eyes. Never enough to erase the terror she must have felt when he had forced her to live as a wildling, when he had forced her to see her friends die before her eyes, or when he brutally had had her kidnapped in Amonlogia.

" Brother... "

Orca flinched slightly at the words. They were too tender to name the destructive relationship they had had in recent years.

"… You're pale these days. Is something bothering you?"

The latter shook his head sharply. He didn't want to worry her. It was nothing.

"Everything is fine."

“I hope so," Lykos said, looking away from him.

He would’ve wished to scream, to tear his lungs to evacuate this frustration which rotted in him like a parasite. But how could he admit to her that he knew no way to get to know her again. That he couldn’t risk being close to her again... His heart had been torn anyway when he had realized his wish and his subsequent efforts in order to get closer to his sister, had only pulled them away from each other even more. What were they doing here? They were two strangers who had loved each other. This period was over. What held them here were the chains of nostalgia for their childhood. They were not and could not be for each other, what they had been in the past.

"Forgive me ..." Orca whispered almost imperceptibly.

His sister turned to him, taken aback.

"For what?"

Her hand automatically came to her heart and grabbed her garment. She didn't like the look her older brother showed when he was losing himself in thought and seemed to slip away from the world, inflicting loneliness on himself even when in good company.

"Big brother, I have already forgiven you" - Lykos' eyes searched tirelessly for his - "When we were on Karkarias. No need to continue torturing your mind”.

Orca lowered his head lower to the ground. He would have liked to disappear.

"Forgive me ... I forgot how to be a good big brother ..."

Lykos' surprise turned into an expression full of reassurance and gentleness. Her fingers found her brother's and she came to press her palm against the back of his hand. The action was confusing for both of them; Lykos felt a shock wave run down her spine and beside her, felt her brother also dumbfounded, his jaw slightly left open. It was neither the cold, nor their frozen skins, nor the rain that had just redoubled in intensity, but suddenly they were shaking. Lykos was the fastest to come back from it.

“I don't think you’ve forgotten. I just think… You're afraid to try again ”.

Orca tried to deny it as his self-esteem would have liked, but he could see deep down that it would do no good. It wasn't the first time he had been told these words. He was hiding his face into the sand and he knew it.

"The Whale is already taking effect, isn't it?", he breathed, the sound of his voice dimming into the wind.

"Yes ... It shows. I can see the emotions on your face ”.

She knew from her own experience that feelings did not flourish in the same way or at the same rate within everyone. In her case, it only took a few days to be able to feel with force her own feelings that the island allowed to release. Although at first it didn't seem like a release, rather a brutal form of torture. Lykos looked at him without further detours now, scrutinizing every detail of his face. His long locks waved in the breeze, revealing the pallid scar and she could see it all; a dozen feelings escaped from a jerky flutter of eyelashes, the curvature of his mouth, the tilting of his head or the slight agitation of his crimson irises. She wasn’t hoping to understand what was going on in her brother's mind. He was probably not suffering as much as she had, he who had occasionally had access to the sarx since he had graduated in the army. This sensation was certainly not that painful since he had been able to feel each of his emotions intensely in his veins during his time on that island. That island ... What was it still called?

"Does ... does that mean your dream has come true?"

Their eyes met and Lykos' heart leaped out of his chest. She was out of breath. If in that moment the earth had cracked in two, taking away everything, she couldn’t have noticed anything other than the flame which ablazed his pupils.

"If your dream came true, then why aren't we happy ...?"

Lykos lowered his lids over his eyes for a second. Something was burning in her chest. Her hand on his squeezed it tighter and intertwined their fingers tightly.

“On Karkarias, I told you that I wanted our minds and hearts to be able to meet. We still need some time, that's what I think. But I am sure of this wish, this time we will succeed. And everything will be ...

-Everything will be as before? You know that's not true ... "

The remorse in his brother's eyes was reflected with the clarity of a window glistening in the sun. The sight was sharp, but Lykos put up with it the best she could. It was hard to tell herself that she could forgive everything, but at the same time, what could she do other than throw herself into the arm of the one she loved most in the world? She felt that the only way she could stand the sight of all this pain because she too was overwhelmed with regret. Regrets that she had not been able to save him, to keep him from becoming that terrifying and dangerously disillusioned man. Remorses that she had been the cause of everything that had happened. If only she hadn't crossed that bridge on that cursed day ... It was the only way she was able to counter those sharp waves of pain cutting like knives through her stomach. Because she was looking into a mirror and seeing the reflection of her mistakes.

"Yes ... Nothing excuses what you did. The others made it clear to you. But you have been used. You had lost everything then, even your reason for living and you were acting on despair. They’ve done terrible things to you more than one would have solved with death. But you did not die. And your remorses will repent you”.

Orca's mouth twisted and his eyes were swollen with water. He refused to cry. It was stupid. It was all he had done since he had arrived, cry.

“Brother... “

The hand holding his fingers was cold. And yet, the one that came to contain his cheek and bring him comfort was warm. It couldn’t resist it, he couldn't continue to keep his distance. Drawing the comfort he was looking for in this gesture of tenderness, he turned to his sister and sagged in her arms. His face was on her neck and her sister's hands held him close to her, pressed against his shoulder blades. Since when had she grown so much?, was a question that vaguely crossed his mind as he tried to lean against her body. He had never noticed ... Maybe because he had always wanted her to stay small, the one he had to protect...

"I wouldn't have wanted you to see this ..."

But their roles were now reversed.

Lykos held him against her, hugging his trembling body as if trying to contain his tears.

"I know. I know it ... But I'm so happy to have seen all of that. Because now I finally understand you. We can finally meet halfway ”.

Orca made a muffled sound and his chest heaved in a jerk. With both his hands he framed his sister's face. Her oh so precious face.

"This man ... This man who held you and Itia captive, who threatened us, Chakuro and me ... He hurt you ... I promise you, I’ll do anything to destroy what is left of him."

Yes, their roles had now reversed, no matter what he would do and no matter how much he wanted to go back. Things were moving forward, whether he chose to take an active part in them... Or let himself be carried by the flow.

"Brother... You know... You still are the person I love most in the world."

But surprisingly, some things never changed. Even after the crossing of Hell. Orca hugged his sister for a long time. As long as she was there he felt alive and also felt their dream was just around the corner. In the thick mist of that macabre day, it was the only thing he could see, this dream glowing would be the lighthouse guiding them.

#cotw #cotw fanfiction #orca #lykos #lycos

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kaysreadingarchive · 4 years

Text

Hold The Front Line: Part 1

Pairing: Genji x Reader, Reaper x Reader, Jesse x Reader, Soldier 76 x Reader, Hanzo x Reader

AUs: Omegaverse

Warnings: Cursing, threats, discrimination, self -hate, kidnapping

Word Count: 3,472

A/N: Some of you might be thinking, are you continuing Loyalty to the Pack and that other Far Cry fic? Yes, I am, I just wanted something new to write instead of crazy cult leaders. I had started to play more Overwatch and I got inspired. This fic really only started for my own amusement and I wasn't initially going to post it, but then I thought why not? So, I did it in hopes that people might enjoy this. Thank you all for supporting me and my stories and I hope you enjoy this! And like always, give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand.

Masterlist Omegaverse Rules

----------

The smell of both alphas and omegas was strong in the large, open cafeteria. People were beginning to make there way in and the line was getting longer each minute, full of people waiting for their breakfast. You happened to make it just in time, the line was not as long as yesterdays. You could finally get the good stuff without a threatening alpha or omega getting in your way. Those muffins were gonna be yours.

You fell into the line right behind Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge. They seemed nice enough, well for being both alphas. Being a beta didn't really give you any brownie points. If you were a beta, you were basically a plain Jane with nothing to offer the alphas or omegas or some betas for that matter. You didn't go through a heat or a rut and your fertility was average, not like the high fertility of an omega. Omegas were pretty rare after the omnic crisis, even more, rare than before. But, it seemed like the Overwatch base was different. There were more omegas and alphas than betas, which seemed impossible.

"What ya think, Roadie? I 'ave a feelin' this is gonna be good!" Junkrat yelled out in excitement as he stared at the food. Roadhog could only give a small nod and a grunt to his friend. Mako was always quiet, and you guaranteed you've never heard his voice before.

"Like I was saying, you gotta choose what Dr. Ziegler told you to eat. It won't be good for the pups." A random agent stated, cutting in front of you. He was helping what appeared to be a pregnant omega, from the smell, get in line. The alpha cut right in front of you! You gave the couple an annoyed look, but the alpha looked back at you and growled, the scent of a warning mixed into the air.

"Watch yourself, beta." The alpha hissed. The omega could only give a doleful look at the scene, she didn't know what to do. This is why you hated both alphas and omegas. Alphas were too intense and omegas acted too innocent. An omega wouldn't know a thing about the real world, their alphas sheltered them way too much. There were even specific meal items that were just for omegas. It was the healthiest options you could get, but then the unhealthy stuff was left to the betas to eat. Alpha meals were made of mostly protein and such. They were muscly enough.

You closed your mouth and looked at the ground, waiting for the line to move. As you made it to the food, you notice the omega help herself to the omega meal plan. You know you shouldn't watch, but you just felt conflicted. You've always wondered what being an omega might feel like. Being pampered all the time and alphas clamoring for your affection. Being the attention-seeking whore that omegas were. You had never seen an omega without getting special attention. If you were an omega in Overwatch you were given a mate or mates to spend a heat with as well as nicer housing, better jobs, and better pay.

You finally got your food and made your way to your usual table. It was in the corner of the room and no one else sat there, which you liked. You didn't want to be bothered with drama. For being an organization made up of grown adults, there was a lot more drama than a high school.

As you sat down, you looked around the cafeteria. It was really filling up now. Even the big shots were receiving their meals. You noticed some of them sat at their table at the very front and center of the room. Reinhardt's massive back covered most of the table, but you could see the back of both Jack Morrison and Ana Amari. Jack was your boss, you had to like him. He was like any other alpha and Ana was the sweetest omega you had ever met. You've only met her on one occasion, but she felt like a mother the minute she pulled you in for a hug.

Reinhardt seemed nice, he looked like he appreciated a good laugh. He always seemed to have a smile on his face. He seemed too happy for an alpha. The only other big shot you had met was Lena. She was nice from the very start, talking about her omega, Emily, constantly. For once, an alpha talking about their mate didn't bother you as much as it usually did.

You turned back to your breakfast, not really feeling hungry anymore. You poked at you eggs on the plate and let out a sigh. You brought a mouthful up to your mouth, but immediately retracted it when you smelled something sickly sweet. The smell of an omega in heat. You looked over at the trashcans and saw a small man leaning over it. You could see each alpha around the room turn their heads at the smell. Some of them even began to growl. You couldn't believe this was happening. If people learned to take their suppressants this wouldn't happen.

You sat down your fork full of eggs and got up from your table. You walked over to the omega and touched him on his arm. The small man jumped up at your touch and flinched away from you. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, begging you to take him away. You grabbed his hand and began to lead him away from the cafeteria. You led him down the hallway after hallway after hallway until you came to the medical wing. You found Dr. Ziegler's office and opened the door. Dr. Ziegler stood next to a cot, looming over a body. Green lights glowed from the form and light reflected off of metal. "Oh, Lance. You're back. Thank you, Miss. (Y/N) for bringing him here. You can lead him to the extra cot." The doctor instructed, helping the body sit up in the cot. It was an omnic. A metal face with green highlights looked back at you.

"Thank you, Angela. I believe my implants will be fine now." Wait, implants? This wasn't just any omnic, it was a cyborg. You didn't even bother paying any attention to the omega, Lambert was it? You could feel your boots practically drag on the ground from him trying to get to the cot with your extra weight. You both disappeared behind the privacy curtain as you got him settled onto the cot, pushing the want to roll your eyes at his moans deep down.

The omega practically stank of pheromones and his hand was sweaty from the heat. At that moment you were glad you weren't special. You didn't want to be known as a person who had to spread their legs for their own health. What a waste of time.

You hastily stepped away from the bed and made a mad dash for the door. Before you could sprint down the hall, the cyborg from before turned his head to give you a good look. Probably thought you were an omega because of Lance's stink. The very thought of being an omega made disgusted shivers run down your spine, but the smell of alpha wasn't helping either. It wasn't as strong as Lance's, but it was still very evident. You quickly turned your (e/c) eyes from the green visor and practically slammed the door on the way out.

You ran as far as the shooting range before the bright green asshole caught up to you. He was much faster than you and more diligent. He practically spotted you from a mile away. Before you could even dodge into another hallway, his metal-covered hand had already caught yours.

"Let go!" You forced through gritted teeth. You tugged on your left hand, but his grip only got stronger.

"Not before I thank you. Angela wanted me to say thank you for bringing Lance to her. His Alpha wouldn't have gotten to him on time." The word alpha alone made you a tinge jealous. Why couldn't betas have friends with benefits? Why did the omegas get all the good shit? It just wasn't far.

"Do you think I care about an omega in heat? That omega and any others are the least of my concerns." You all but sneered. The cyborg quickly let you go and just gave you a look. His mood switching from gratefulness to hurt. It didn't matter to you anyway, you weren't here to make friends.

"You cared enough to bring him to Dr. Angela." His voice just screamed saint. He thought so highly of himself because he was an alpha. They were all like that. Self-absorbed, egotistical, and any other synonym for pure asshat.

"I cared about not seeing an omega get eye fucked by every alpha in that cafeteria while I was eating. Now, kindly leave me alone before I punch you so hard in the dick that you can't knot." The cyborg hastily put his hands up and walked away from you.

You finally let out a sigh of relief as you watched him turn into another hallway leading back to the medical wing. You honestly didn't feel like dealing with any alphas today, but luck was not on your side. This place was crawling with them. Their scent had practically soaked into the walls by now.

The sounds from the gun range were more apparent after all the yelling. It sounded like only one person was using it. Good, you wouldn't need to communicate and you could get out some of that anger.

You opened the heavy steel doors and peeked inside. McCree was the only one shooting at the moment. He held a firm grip on the "Peacekeeper" as he shot each bot one after the other. You slowly tiptoed to the gun rack and grabbed a small revolver off the wall. You quickly loaded the chambers with bullets and walked to the farthest bot. You just hoped and prayed he wouldn't look over.

Jesse McCree was one of the few alphas you could tolerate. He wasn't that stuck up and he was hilarious once he drowned one or two full bottles of tequila. Yet, being an Alpha comes with the typical features. He was a bit egoistic and flirty, but not as bad as the rest of them. He knew when to shut up. He had the right scent to him and he was pretty fit because of the alpha specialty gym and food plans.

Alphas, Omegas, and Betas were usually separated with these types of setups. Each type had its own locker room, gym, and room floor as to not gain attention from the opposite. The beta facilities usually being more cramped and with older equipment. You betas always got the short end of the stick.

"(Y/N), I didn't see ya there darlin'." You continued to ignore him as you hastily shot six rounds into the metal chest plate of a bot.

"I would prefer if you didn't see me, McCree." You didn't even need to look to feel the smirk that had spread itself across his face. He was quite handsome if you had to admit and respectful to boot. Any Omega would be lucky to have him.

"No need to get ta get sassy with me. I know how you are. Ya made that very apparent talkin' to poor Genji out in the hall." So that was his name. Genji? Past Blackwatch agent Genji? Turned monk Genji with that hippie omnic that was always in the outside gardens? Figures as much.

"So that's his name. I didn't much care for him. All alphas are after one thing anyway. An omega to fuck, I'm just glad I'm not one of you pitiful souls." You slowly lowered your revolver when the empty chamber began to click. You hastily loaded it again and stole a side glance at the cowboy. McCree held a small frown on his face. He was used to you making these comments. He listened to hundreds of them and all he could tell himself was that they made you feel better.

Something had happened to you in the past to make you resent omegas and alphas. Whatever it was, it made you an absolute bitch sometimes.

"Not all alphas and omegas are like that. Some of us just wanna offer an omega a good mate and a purpose." It was like Omegas needed a fucking purpose, to begin with! They already had one! Have pups and live a cozy life free of responsibility because of an alpha. What did betas have? Absolutely fucking nothing.

"Why give omegas a purpose when they already have one? Waste of time if you ask me." McCree's frown got deeper and before he could even open his mouth to backfire, Athena's voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

"Talon agents attacking Districts 15, 16, 17, and 18. Scramble appropriate teams to transport hangers." An alarm began to sound and red lights flashed in the gun range. Athena then went on to rattle off different teams. When his name was called, McCree gave you a small smile and a wink before he ran out to gear up.

"Team 4 Agents: Genji, Mercy, (Y/N), Soldier: 76, Roadhog, and Junkrat to transport hanger D." Great, out of all the people it had to be Genji. The alpha you just screamed at 10 minutes ago. You wasted no time in putting the revolver back and exiting the gun range.

You ran as fast as you could to the beta locker rooms. All your gear was stuffed into a tiny locker in the corner of the room. You pulled out your uniform and got to work on bucking all the buckles and zippering all the zippers. It wasn't as armored as other agent uniforms. You weren't made for combat, you were more of a scout. Slipping past enemy defenses to report back. The only equipment you had was a high-resolution cloaking device, a mask to hide your face, and a small energy pistol strapped to your thigh.

Winston had designed this pistol especially for you when you were promoted to field agent 3 months ago. Winston was just in a league of his own. He cared for his teammates more than words can describe. Also, he was a beta to boot. He understands what you go through and he quickly became a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.

You gave your black and orange uniform a once over before you snapped the mask into place and holstered the pistol. This didn't feel like an ordinary mission. Somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach was a gnawing pain. This wasn't going to end well, but how? You simply just pushed the feeling down and walked out of the locker room into the transport hanger. You saw crates being loaded up by different workers and team members spilling into the transport.

You walked in only to be greeted by the same glowing green visor as the medical wing. Genji just watched you as you took a seat next to Junkrat, who was giggling away with Roadhog over a small bomb he held in his prosthetic hand.

"Just you wait Roady. Those Talon blokes won't know what hit em. This new batch is more explosive than tha last!" More chaotic giggles followed while Roadhog just simply nodded and went back to reading a book he held in his lap. A Composition of Shakespeare's Greatest Works. Who knew Roadhog would like something like that.

Junkrat and Roadhog had never given you any trouble before. They never had really fit the alpha formula as many others had on the base, which made them good in your book.

"If your gonna just ignore me, I'll just find someone else to botha." You watched as Junkrat scanned the transport. His eyes first landed on Genji. Too peaceful. Then Mercy. Too kind. Then Soldier: 76. Too serious. Then finally you. All you could do was just stare as Junkrat stared back. Genji was also involved in this staring contest, but he tried to focus on Mercy's voice, but every now and then he would look back.

"Tha names Junkrat and my tubby mate over 'ere is Roadhog. I thought I've seen ya before, you're that new field agent. I must say, your aim might be better than McCree's. Ain't that right Roady?" The large man could only give a small nod before he returned to his book.

Both you, Junkrat, and occasionally Roadhog had talked about various weapons until the transport landed. Throughout the trip, Genji's eyes didn't stop staring at you. It made a few shivers run down your spine as you felt the alpha pierce through your back. His scent was just as strong as his gaze, it almost made you vomit in your mouth from the smell. You even tuned out Junkrat a few times to give yourself a pep talk. You're a beta, you're fine. He would never want a beta, he's an alpha. An entitled alpha.

Once the transport landed, you immediately went into action. You didn't listen to the game plan, you don't need to. You had your own mission. Get to enemy territory and report back. That was it.

You turned on your cloaking device and slinked into the back alley's of King's Row. Strangely enough, there were only 3 Talon soldiers on the way to the enemy camp.

That gnawing feeling from before was back and worse than before. Your mind was screaming for you to turn back and run away. Various homes on the street had broken down doors. It was if someone forced their way in. This can't be good. You continued to follow the path of broken doors until you came to an old brick building at the far end of the street. Various Talon soldiers were stationed at the entrance. It was easy to slip past them with your pistol drawn just in case.

You stepped into the main room at the end of a long hallway to see nothing. No computers or plans were evident on the walls or tables. Nothing that could give a hint of what Talon was up too. Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps walked towards the door. With your cloak still on, you slipped underneath a table near the door.

A figure in black swept into the room. Black smoke dripped off him like tar and two large shotguns were strapped to his sides with the musk of an alpha. Reaper, it had to be. Another figure followed him. One you didn't recognize from your other field missions. They were tall and lanky, dressed in blacks and neon purples with the scent of a beta.

"Gabriel, you are aware that if we don't find one soon, this experiment will fail?" This was the voice of a woman, an Irish one at that. They had moved to the table in the center of the room and the woman began to tap her long nails on the wood in frustration.

"Do you think I'm not fucking aware of this! My job doesn't require me to find little..." Reaper had stopped talking and sniffed the air around him. Beta. A beta was here and it wasn't Moira. You could only watch as he stared right at you. Right through your cloak. You couldn't move your body at of seare fear. Reaper slowly walked to you and grabbed your arm from under the table. He dragged you out and could only laugh as you tried to escape. He roughly lifted you from the ground, breaking your cloaking device in the process. You could only watch as he grabbed your pistol with his other hand and crushed it to bits. Your jaw just fell open as the metal pieces fell to the ground.

"She will do fine." You turned to see Moira approaching, her mix-matched eyes formed slits and her thin lips pulled into a smirk. She unclasped your mask and grabbed your jaw when she got close enough and inspected your face, taking in a deep breath of your beta scent. The mask laid on the ground and was soon shattered with the heel of her boot.

"Just fine for a beta." That's the last thing you heard before a gunshot rang through the room. You looked down to see one of Reaper's shotguns smoking and pointed directly at your abdomen. A hole was gapping through it and blood began to pour from the wound. The pain only washed over you seconds late, leading you into complete darkness from the agony.

For the first time in your life, you felt the need to call for help.

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lilithite · 4 years

Text

When Lilith invited me to bite the fruit

This is my personal story with Lilith, not intended as gospel

I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian household in Texas, a state in the Bible belt, in a town of 2,000 people. My family consisted of my mother and little sister. We were all very tight knit. So tight knit, in fact, that my sister and I would walk around the house naked if we felt like it because it was just women in the house and we were all family. We always went to our Assemblies of God church every Sunday (here is a link to Assemblies of God beliefs to give you an idea of the kind of church it was https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assemblies_of_God_USA), read the Bible, and prayed often. My mother would get up at 5am every day just to pray for a couple hours. She made sure we were sheltered from the secular world. We only listened to the Christian radio stations and our media consumption was monitored. She even looked through our phones. Even though I felt naturally drawn to the spiritual, I felt a disconnect from Christianity.

When people would speak in tongues at church I would feel weirded out, then feel guilty about being freaked out because it meant I doubted God’s power. Even though I was genuinely pious I would never “hear God’s voice” or “felt him” or anything like that. I have read nearly 90% of the Bible and the verses felt hollow. I could never become friends with the other kids at church, not because I was snobby, but because I couldn’t relate to them. When I went to church I would try my hardest to “be in God’s presence” but in the end I would just go through the motions. I had plenty of biblical knowledge and faith, but it always felt like God just didn’t want to get involved in my life.

The first truly spiritual moment I ever went through was when I was deer hunting with my dad when I was eleven. We were in the hunting stand on a clear, crisp fall morning when I saw sun rays breaking through the pine trees and landing on the Earth. It was like someone hit the on switch for the woods and colors and details revealed themselves. I involuntarily let out a small gasp and instead of chastising me for making noise (he has a short temper), my dad whispered, “That is the sunlight reaching the Earth.” The emotion that swept over me as a stared at the forest was ineffable. I remember thinking that this was nothing like I had ever experienced in church. I had, for the first time, felt connected to a divine force. Ever since this experience church felt like a parody. I knew, in my soul, that there was something in nature that was sacred.

When I was a teenager I would question and air my grievances on rules I deemed unfair. I was labeled sassy and rebellious. To be clear, I never smoked, drank, partied, or had sex. Hell, I never even dated or sneaked out. I just wanted privacy and more freedom. I wanted to hang out with friends after school. To be allowed to attend different events without my mom hovering. My mom and her friend concluded that I had the demon of witchcraft and rebellion inside me and I needed “deliverance,” which is our church’s term for an exorcism. I had not practiced witchcraft (yet) but according to a demonology class (it was more like a cult) that was sponsored by the preacher’s wife, the demon of rebellion also ruled over witchcraft. The friend came over, grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted for Satan to leave my body. I was a little confused because I thought it was just a demon possessing me, not the big man himself. Anyway, she started to shake my shoulders rather hard so I just decided to go along with it and thanked her for getting rid of the demon. At no point did I ever believe I was possessed by a demon, but I was freaked out none the less.

When I was 18 I was kicked out because of my “rebellious nature” and refusal to take medicine that was forced upon me for a mental illness I was never diagnosed with. I could either take the mystery medicine and be allowed to stay home, or refuse and get kicked out. I made my choice and finally bit the forbidden fruit. For the first time I felt true freedom. I started to think for myself and form my own opinion on issues. I became a feminist, pro BLM, pro LGB and a socialist. When I was living by myself I officially renounced my Christian faith but still felt the spiritual spark I felt that morning in the woods.

I had always loved to read and since I was no longer chained by Christianity I could check out whatever book I wanted at the local library, which was a regular haunt of mine. One giant book caught my attention titled, “The Mists of Avalon.” I want to be clear that this was before I knew of the horrible things that the author did. At least I was supporting a local library and no profit went to the author by my doing this. Anyway, I became fascinated by the goddess worship mentioned in the book. I wasn’t even familiar with goddess worship and knew nothing, but I felt drawn too it. I started doing research and the first thing I came upon was Wicca. Wicca seems to be the first thing that many newbie spiritualists come across. I started practicing witchcraft but nothing ever felt right for me. I practiced the craft on and off but I eventually let go of Wicca entirely because it just wasn’t for me. I felt the most connected to goddess worship but the mother goddess and triple goddess archetypes just never felt right for me. I do not want kids but it seemed like every goddess out there was either about fertility or being a mother figure. I knew there was a divine female force out there, but I could not find one calling to me.

One night I had a dream. It was vivid and purple. I could hear a woman’s voice talking to me, strong, low, firm, and partly terrifying. I forgot most of what she said except for the last part. She called herself The Abortion. This was the most clear dream I have had in my life. A quick Google search lead me to Lilith, who is called the Patron of Abortion. I saw in her story parallels to my life; she abandoned God and an easy life in the garden for liberation. She refused to be submissive to Adam like I refused to be submissive to my mother’s boyfriend. She appeared as a snake to liberate Eve, and I always loved snakes since I was little, even though I was told snakes were the devil’s animal. In a tarot reading the animal card I drew was snake. Lilith was not seen as a mother goddess or part of the triple goddess archetype. She is a goddess of liberated women, of child free women, of birth control and abortion. Of course, many people worship different sides of her and my word is no gospel, just my personal experience.

When I was raped, Lilith kept me from conceiving. Lilith blessed me with a rebellious and inquisitive nature that desires freedom and independence. She extended her hand out to offer me the forbidden fruit, and I took it and bit it. It tasted bittersweet. It tasted like freedom. I had to leave my Garden of Eden, which was my family and Christian faith. But once I tasted the fruit of knowledge of good and evil, my eyes are open and I can never go back. I do not want to go back.

#lilith #pagans of tumblr #paganism #goddess #dark goddess

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lilhemmo · 5 years

Note

WHY HAS NO ONE ASKED FOR ARRANGED MARRIAGE!AU SWEET PEA?? I would like that and love confessor ;-)

send me two au’s from THIS list + a ship/character

a/n: please please please love this!! i love arranged marriage au’s lol hope you guys like it too!!

THIS IS OVER 5K WORDS SO BE PREPARED FOR SOME ANGST AND FLUFF AND LOVE

The day you are engaged is the first day you meet your betrothed.

He’s tall with dark hair and deep eyes to match, towering over you as he walks towards you with your father in tow. He’s speaking to him and they’re smiling, which you hope is a good sign.

“My love,” your father reaches out to you and you walk towards him. He grins and you force yourself to mimic the expression, “Please meet Pearson Sweetwater, your betrothed.”

“So nice to meet you,” you force the words from your lips. You swallow thickly, introducing yourself by name even though he probably knows it already. He reaches his hand out, and you accept it. His lips are warm against your knuckles and if this weren’t an arrangement, you might admit that he were handsome and alluring.

But this is an arrangement, so you refuse.

The wedding is set for three months from now, and you are not going to be any part of it. You won’t pick the flowers, or the wine, or even the color scheme. You won’t support this patriarchal event because you don’t agree with it. It’s the least you can do to put your foot down where it counts.

You hardly see Prince Sweetwater in the time between when you were introduced and now, two weeks later.

He catches you off guard one night when you’re tending to your horse, Peaches. You’re brushing out her mane, considering taking her on a ride, when he materializes out of nowhere.

“Milady.”

You gasp, clutching your hands over your heart. You sigh when you make out his frame in the moonlight, relief flooding your shoulders.

“I apologize if I startled you, milady,” he takes a gentle step forward, using his hands as he speaks. His throat bobs as he approaches you, “Your father mentioned the stablehands prepared me a horse to ride for tomorrow. I just wanted to get acquainted so she wouldn’t be startled when I took her out tomorrow.”

“That sounds…” you pause, licking your lips, “reasonable.”

Prince Sweetwater smiles, looking down at his feet, and you take the moment to drink him in and appreciate his physique.

“D-Do you want to go for a ride?” you find yourself asking. “I, uh, I know the best trail.”1

He is quick to answer, “I’d love to.”

You mount your horse and he does the same, being ever so gentle and speaking to her sweetly. He pats her neck and grabs the reigns, holding them firmly in his grasp. You look over the back of your shoulder and smirk.

“Ready?”

Prince Sweetwater nods to answer, a gentle smile on his lips as you both urge your horses to trot forward.

You guide him towards the lake, but just before you get to the clearing that parts to the shore, you dig your shins into your horse and Peaches begins to gallop. You laugh to yourself as the wind whips through your hair, breeze chilling your skin.

You pull up on the reigns to heed your horse by the lakeshore. You turn Peaches so you can watch as Prince Sweetwater struggles to tame his horse into going at the speed he would like. You’re laughing as he approaches, his hair a mess and his cheeks bright red from embarrassment.

“I should hope that this will not be how our entire marriage will be,” he says, breathless, with a smile on his lips.

You shrug, a light smirk tugging your mouth skyward, “What can I say? I like to keep my company on their toes.”

You both slide off your horses and tie them to a nearby tree. Together you walk down the lakeshore, watching as the moonlight glints off the water. You’re silent for the first few minutes, but it is the Prince who breaks the quiet.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he turns his head to look at you, a wild curl hiding his forehead. Prince Sweetwater licks his lips, “I hate that this is how we met. I wanted to come and visit sooner, I didn’t want-”

“It’s okay,” you reach out and touch his arm. You shake your head, as if that will give him further affirmation, “You’re a good man, Pearson.”

“You can, uh,” he stutters as his cheeks grow redder, “you can call me Sweet Pea.”

“I have been standing here for so long,” You whine, batting your arms around just enough to make your point but not enough to pierce your skin with the pins holding the fabric in place. “This is miserable.”

Your seamstress scoffs, “Milady, this is no way to treat your staff. Do not be ungrateful.”

“I am not ungrateful, just particularly unkind,” you sneer. “This is an affair of the patriarchy, not of me. Why don’t you have my father and the Prince sit through this miserable affair?”

The seamstress, Julianne, chuckles at your outburst, “Would you like to see the Prince in a wedding dress?”

You roll your eyes, “Does that mean I get to wear the pants?”

Instead of antagonizing you further, Julianne returns to her work and may stab you with her needles accidentally on purpose.

You cannot help it when you make your way to the kitchen. The servants there will make you anything you like, and right now you would like nothing more than a piece of dense cake and a large cup of fresh milk.

“That kind of day, huh?”

Sweet Pea’s voice makes your throat bob, and you almost spat out your milk. He smiles as he joins you at the table, leaning across it. The servants try to offer him something to eat, but he waves them off with two fingers in the air.

“I have been poked and prodded as if I were some sort of rat under experimentation,” you grumble. You stab another piece of your cake and belligerently shove it between your lips with a scowl.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had to spend the entire day with your father, discussing how to merge our kingdoms,” Sweet Pea rubs his face with his hands and you can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Talk about a difficult afternoon.”

You reach out and grab his hand in your own. Over the past few weeks, the two of you have developed some sort of camaraderie, an understanding of sorts. It keeps you sane to discuss your days with one another, as no one outside of the two of you could ever understand how the other feels.

“I would rather be in meetings about how to feed our people and how to keep the servants warm at night than be sewn into a dress and berated with peonies versus lilies.”

“Lilies,” he looks you in the eyes. His cheeks burn but he speaks anyway, “I-I like lilies.”

Biting your lip, you match his gaze, “Lilies it is.”

You thread your arm through his as you walk through the garden. It’s warm out, so you’re wearing a lighter gown that is gauzy and flows with the breeze. Your hair is up, allowing the wind to send a chill down your neck.

“I finally understand your pain,” Sweet Pea tilts his head downward to you, “I’ve had to do my fittings, and it’s misery.”

“Well, I’m glad I have someone to share it with.”

The two of you walk further through the garden, and Sweet Pea pauses for a moment to pluck a bright yellow flower from the bush. He turns, facing you and a bright smile tugs on his lips. He reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes and in the process, tucks the flower behind your ear.

You blush, “Thank you, your Highness.”

“Oh, stop that.” Sweet Pea runs his thumb down your jaw bone. He can’t fight the smirk, “You know I hate that, especially from you.”

“What was it I said the night on the lake?” You lean into his side and allow him to wrap an arm around your midsection. “I like to keep my company on their toes. I can’t let you believe I will make your life easy, my prince.”

“At least I won’t be wed to someone without a brain.”

Sweet Pea holds you close, so close that neither of you notice the group of royals looking on from their balconies, observing the budding relationship between two betrothed.

“They are starving, father!” You shout, your voice ringing out in the castle hallway. Your cheeks are stained with tears as you cry out for your people. “We cannot sit idly by while the neighboring kingdom is offering an alliance, and food! We must do som-”

“You will head your place, child.” Your father’s hand shakes by his side and you wonder for a fleeting moment if he may strike you across the face for your belligerence.

“I will not stand and watch while my people suffer,” you seethe before unceremoniously stomping out of the room.

Sweet Pea finds you later, pacing in the stables. Your cheeks and eyes are bright red from your tears and he feels a small piece of his heart break at your appearance.

“Darling,” he squats beside you and cups your cheek between his fingers, “What are your tears for?”

You swipe at your cheeks and sniffle, “My father will not accept the truce with Edenburg. His ego will not allow it, even though they offer the resources that our people need.”

“Edenburg would storm the halls and take the crown,” Pea smoothes your hair. He smiles sadly, “A king could not afford to provide an alliance to Edenburg. They would steal our land, our people, out from under us.”

“Look at you - we’re not even married and you’re already speaking as if you’re the king.”

Sweet Pea scoffs at your comment and instead of snapping at you, he kisses the crown of your head. He sighs, “Maybe we could expand the farming land? There are unexplored plots to the east and the south. They are probably rich with fertile soil, as the mountains would provide minerals in the run off from the heavy rains.”

“I cannot watch another one of my people suffer because we cannot provide,” you say with a firmness even you are surprised with. You muster a steady voice, “We sit, high and mighty in the castle with our food and drink, while they struggle to find clean water and some bread. We can provide for them, but we are too busy stuffing ourselves to pay attention!”

“Come here.” Sweet Pea opens his arms and you find solace there. His lips are buried in your hair and your arms find their way around his midsection. You sob into his shoulder, the sadness of your people a contagion as it seeps into your bones and culls itself in the form of your tears.

The next day, Sweet Pea is at your room early in the morning. He knocks on the door, asking if he may enter your chambers. You know how this will look, what with the wedding still weeks away, but you don’t care. You don’t plan to bed him.

“Get dressed, but not in your usual attire.” Pea is breathless as he speaks, his own clothing confusing you. He is wearing generic brown pants and a green tunic, nothing special, nothing telling of his status. His hair is mussed, his dark eyes shining.

You do as he says, a simple dress adorning your frame and flat shoes on your feet. You pull your hair back into a braid and don’t bother with any powders on your face. Sweet Pea offers you his hand and in haste, the two of you make your way to the stables and ride your horses off into town.

“What are we doing?!” You screech as you breach the castle gates. The guards let you by, on Sweet Pea’s authority, and you’re riding down the trail into town before you know what’s happening.

“I packed the horses with supplies,” Sweet Pea motions to the backs of your steeds. Surely, they are packed down with satchels and baskets, filled to the brim with food and water.

He smiles over his shoulder, and you feel your heart beating quickly in your chest.

You visit houses, attempting to remain anonymous so there is no attempt on either of your lives. You give out food and water, and commune with the commoners. They tell interesting stories of the town and the wedding soon to be had for the princess who lives alone in the castle.

Before too late, it is evening and the air has cooled to a balm, settling on your face and neck. You are around a fire with the fellow villagers, the meat and fruit you brought to them being passed to one another and shared - as it should be.

“I hear that the Prince is handsome,” a young lady pipes up, a bashful blush on her cheeks.

You nod in agreement, deciding to mess with your companion, “Yes, I hear that he has beautiful eyes and a kind heart. The princess is lucky.”

“I hear that they are in love,” another teen girl speaks. She brings her bowl of soup down from her lips, “I hear that it was once an arranged marriage, but now they are so smitten with one another, they spend every waking moment together. How romantic?!”

One of the younger ladies looks to you, “Do you believe in true love?”

You lick your lips, your heart in your throat. You take a deep breath and force a smile, “I used to. My father and my mother were very much in love, but she fell ill. Had she not been courted to his side, she might not have died. She may have been able to live on and love another.”

“But she loved your father!”

“And it killed her,” you quip, your eyes stinging with tears.

Sweet Pea goes to grab for your hand, but you are standing to your feet and mounting your horse before he can react.

The wedding is a mere week away and you feel more overwhelmed than ever. You’re up to your neck in last minute decisions, none of which you really want to make, and everyone is looking to you. You want to crumble, but your status and your ego won’t let you.

You’re tasting desserts to be had at the after-party when he finally notices the tears brimming in your eyes and the paleness of your cheeks.

“Everybody out!”

The servants scatter in mere seconds, leaving the dining hall bare save for you and the Prince.

Your facade breaks and you sob into your hands.

“We’re getting married, Sweet Pea!” You cry, your voice shaken. You sniffle and swipe at your face, “This is all for our wedding, to unite our kingdoms and build an empire.”

“Yes?” Pea phrases the word as a question as he slides onto the bench beside you, thighs touching. He pushes your hair from your face and gently drags your hands away so you can no longer hide your expressions.

“Do you not want to fall in love and marry her?” Your eyes are honest as you beg him for the truth. “Do you not wish to have your true love?”

“My princess,” he starts, a gentle smile on his lips, “I am beholden to you in a binding that I cannot break. You are my dearest friend, and I would not wish to have anyone else by my side as we go into this next chapter of our lives.”

“That’s just it, Pea!” You shout and stand to your feet. You snort out a sarcastic laugh, rolling your eyes, “I don’t want it to just be the next chapter of our lives! I want to love the father of my children. I want to love my life partner. I don’t want to throw away my entire life for someone to halfheartedly stand by my side and call me wife. I want someone to want me, to love me!”

You spit on the ground, “I cannot take this any longer.”

Before you allow him to speak, you are gone between the double doors.

Sweet Pea has never felt fear in the same way that he does now. It is the day of the wedding ceremony and he is in the most uncomfortable of fabrics. His stockings are itching and his shoulder pads are stiff. He is stood at the edge of the alter, awaiting your arrival that he fears may never come.

You surprise him, though, with both your appearance and your beauty.

The ceremony proceeds as expected, predestined vows are shared and wine slips down your throats. You take one another by the hand, and the fated words are spoken by the priest.

“Do you take this Princess to be your lawfully wedded wife?” he asks, turning to Sweet Pea.

He is sturdy, as always, and he does not hesitate as he replies with his lines. He then takes the ring - the most stunning of rings - and slips it onto your finger. He gives you a look, as if telling you that this is your last chance to turn it all down and go your separate ways. And you know that he is honest and true, that he would let you go without a second glance and never hold you accountable for whatever happened next.

You interrupt the priest’s words with your own - “Of course I do, now give me the ring.”

The crowd erupts into laughter and the ring bearer places the gold band in your shaking fingers. You slide the ring onto Sweet Pea’s large fourth finger, your hands hovering over one another for a moment too long to just be an arranged marriage.

The priest ducks his head and says the final words: “You may now kiss the bride.”

You suppose you should have practiced this part, but Pea does something to surprise you. He takes you by the jaw and turns your cheek so his lips just barely touch the corner of your mouth.

Everyone sitting in the pews begins to clap, throwing flower petals as the priest declares you husband and wife.

It is not until later, when you are alone in your chambers, that you ask him why he did it.

“I want you to have your first real kiss with the person you love,” he speaks honestly. “I couldn’t take that away from you. Even if it means it isn’t me.”

The two of you share a room, share a bed, but you do not share the same body, not yet. Sweet Pea sleeps on the very edge of the bed, keeping his warmth and his body as far from you as he can without falling on the floor. He respects you - he waits for you to dress before using the facilities. He does not sleep in the nude and he normally wakes before you, so you’re used to being alone when you open your eyes first thing in the morning.

This morning you decide to go exploring. It has been eight months since the two of you were wed, and yet nothing has changed. You have not been declared Queen, your father has not stepped down. The tension between your country and the Sweetwater’s has ebbed, which was the entire point of your arrangement, so you’re delighted.

You pass through the halls, greeting your servants as you go by. They smile at you and wave in return. You’re not questioned as to where you’re going, but you know in your soul where your journey will take you.

The pads of your feet take you to the stables, where you see Peaches perfectly groomed and ready to take out for a morning trot.

You’re surprised to see Sweet Pea in the stall next to Peaches, but his back is to you. You reach your hand up to get his attention, but realize that he’s speaking to someone else. Instead of interrupting, you duck under the nearest stable wall and wait until he’s gone.

“I-I can’t just-”

“You can, and you will, Sweetwater.”

The voice is oh-so familiar. It is the voice of Sarah, your closest maiden. She is the one who brings you the doctor when you are sick or sneaks you an extra dessert after dinner is over. She is the one who ends your fittings early and always picks you the most suitable fabrics. She is your most trusted maiden, the one who you would do anything for.

Why is she meeting with Sweet Pea?

“I love you,” Sweet Pea grunts out. “I love you, and I don’t want to live my life without you. I cannot stand to be under the sheets without your body to keep warm, to give me shelter. I cannot continue on without knowing that you will stand by my side and be my partner in life, and in love. I have been in love with your soul and your spirit since the day I met you, and I cannot contain it any longer. Will you be my wife?”

You didn’t expect your heart to drop from your chest to your feet. You didn’t think that you would spill over with tears fat enough to coat your cheeks. You didn’t believe that you would begin to shake until you can’t tell which finger is which in the blur.

The ferocious side of you wants to turn around and rip them limb from limb. How dare they conspire behind your back to have a secret marriage? Sweet Pea had all but given you an out the day of your marriage, had he not thought he could do the same?

You push yourself away from the stable and force your legs to carry you up the hill and back to your room.

That is where you stay, that is where you never leave.

Sweet Pea is no longer allowed in your quarters. There is a secret chamber that is attached to your own, and you have Elizabeth, an older maiden, lead him to it. You have the servants move his clothing and bathing materials to the secret chamber, getting rid of anything that reminds you of him.

He beats on your door the first day, begging you to let him in, to tell him what is bothering you.

Instead, you become the silent princess.

Word spreads that the princess has fallen ill, which is why no one has seen her in three months. Rumors sprout from different mouths, some believing that you have found a new lover, some believing that you are highly contagious, and others believing that you’ve been murdered or taken your own life in your grief.

Only you know the truth - you have fallen ill to the sickness of unrequited love.

Months pass, and you really do feel like you’ve begun to catch an illness. You decide that you must get out in the sunshine, so you wake early the next morning and sneak down from your room to the stables. You push away the feelings that wind like a vice around your heart, remembering the last scene that played before your eyes when you were here.

“Peaches, you are my only friend now. This is a horrid place, full of liars and harlots,” you swing your leg over to mount your horse. You smack her on the backside and she carries you to your favorite place, the only place that can calm your errant mind.

You spend all day at the lake, soaking in the sun and dipping your toes in the water. You have cried until you have no tears left, your energy sucked out of your very soul until you find a rejuvenation here at the lake.

Finally, you fall asleep against the tree trunk, ankle-deep in the lake water with Peaches napping a few feet to your left. There is a book in your lap, but you forgot where you were minutes ago when your eyes began to grow heavy.

When you wake, the cool of night has taken over and the moon casts a shadow against the lake. Your toes are wrinkled and your horse is restless, but you know you must wait until later to go back. Others will spot you if you leave too soon.

You return to your novel, but your concentration is broken when Peaches begins to neigh and whinny, her eyes off in the distance. You grab the knife you stashed in your satchel, unsheathing it as you get ready to use it.

“Slow down, Princess,” the smooth voice speaks and your heart breaks all over again, “it’s just me.”

“Get away from me!” you shout, shoving the knife in his direction. “Do you not understand?”

“I understand that you’re hurt,” Sweet Pea takes a delicate step forward, his hands in the air. “What I don’t understand, is why.”

“I am not beholden to you, Prince,” you shout. The knife shakes in your hand. “I do not owe you an explanation and neither do you deserve one!”

“Darling,” his voice is sad, heavy, “please don’t do this. Please talk to me.”

“You don’t deserve me,” you shake your head. You swallow thickly, tears forming in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. “You don’t deserve to have me beholden to you on behalf of your people. You got what you wanted, and now I am your slave!”

“Princess, I don’t know what you speak of. I don’t understand. Please help me to understand.”

You can’t help it that your heart softens at the sight of him. His eyes are so deep, his hands so inviting. You miss his hugs, you miss him holding you around the shoulders and burying a kiss in your hair.

“Please put down the knife,” he implores you, his voice breaking. “You don’t want to hurt me, I know that. I know you’re hurting, but you don’t want to hurt me. That is not who you are.”

“You don’t know me!” You snap, gripping the knife even harder. “You never knew me! You used me to get what you wanted, to get what your kingdom needed and then you began your own personal affairs. Why shouldn’t I run you through right here, right now?!”

“For one, that knife is too small to run me through. You would cause some damage, but you wouldn’t kill me.” Sweet Pea takes another step forward and daringly wraps your wrist in his fingers, slowly prying the weapon from your hand. “You’re hurting, please let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” you whimper feebly. You shake your head, tears still falling, “I want to be free of this burden.”

“What burden, darling?” Sweet Pea asks as he tosses the knife across the meadow. “Please help me to understand. I’ve missed you.”

“Do not lie to me,” you seethe through your teeth. You glare up at him, “Do not pretend that you do not occupy another’s bed. I gave you that chamber as a gift, and you dare flaunt it in my face?”

“Another’s-wh-what?” Sweet Pea flounders to put the pieces together as your sadness chips away to anger. It builds in your stomach, a fire being stoked in your belly. The heat crawls up your spine and flushes your cheeks.

“Did you ever think that we could love each other, Pea?” Your tough facade finally breaks and you let a sob seep out of your mouth. “I thought that I could push past the lack of natural love born between two people and see that I had to fulfill duties for my kingdom. I thought that I could learn to love you, that I could be okay with our arrangement. I thought that-”

You lick your lips and look up at him, meeting his glassy eyes with your own. You stand strong, shoulders square and jaw defined, “Was any of it real, Sweets? Any of the conversations and the hand-holding and the secret-confiding?! Or did you string me along until you no longer needed me? Was I but a means to an end?”

“What are you talking about?!” Sweet Pea grasps you by the shoulders, holding you square in front of him. “All I’ve ever done is love you!”

“Don’t lie! Do not lie or I will have you beheaded for it.”

Sweet Pea’s lips part in a cry and he drops down to his knees in front of you. He grips the backs of your thighs in desperation, tears of his own traveling a path down his cheeks and dripping onto the ground below.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he speaks. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that I was beholden to you, even if not of my own volition. My heart took one look at you and decided that you were the end for me. I would die by your side, chained to you at the soul.”

Sweet Pea ducks his head against your stomach, burying his face into the fabric of your dress. He sniffles, and when he speaks his voice is muffled by the clothing, “I tried my hardest to keep from loving you because I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t love me back, but the more time I spent with you, the harder I began to fall.”

Looking up at you, he continues, “I fell and I fell and I fell and then we were wed. I wanted to kiss you so feverishly that day, but I had to restrain myself because I knew you did not love me. How could you? I came into your kingdom, stole your hand in marriage, and forced you into a life of captivity. You are a free spirit, unable to be tied down by anyone, even me. I could not bear it if I was the reason that you felt chained.”

The rawness of his voice makes your soul ache and you cannot stop the tears as they fall relentlessly down your cheeks. He takes a short, labored breath and continues on bearing his heart to you.

“I wanted you to love me so badly that I wanted to propose to you like a proper lover,” he admits quietly. “I-I wanted to give you my own ring, a ring I received from my great grandmother.”

Sweet Pea withdraws a ring from his pocket, producing a simple gemstone slotted against a silver band in front of your eyes. Your lip trembles and you stutter, “B-But Sarah-”

“It all makes sense now.”

He laughs, standing to his feet, “I was practicing on Sarah. I needed to run through my speech before I went to the castle to speak to you. I had a whole evening planned. I made us a picnic basket to take to the lake - I even helped Janie in the kitchen to cook your favorite tarts.”

Pea’s face falls as he turns the ring in his fingers, “And then I found out that you were banishing me, refusing to see anyone. A piece of my soul died that day when you refused to let me in.”

You reach up to cup his cheeks in your hands, “You were going to propose to me? After we’d already been wed?”

“I know it’s foolish,” he admits, “but I wanted us to have our own story. And I love you.”

Fresh tears surface and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. You swallow thickly and sniffle before whispering, “I love you too, Pea. I-I’m so sorry I didn’t come to you before.”

“Doesn’t matter now, my love,” he nudges his nose along your jawline, leaving a fire everywhere he touches. “All I need to ask you now is…”

Sweet Pea drops to one knee, the ring in his hand. Before he can muster up the words, you’re tackling him to the ground and kissing him senseless.

Your lips are on his relentlessly. His hands hesitate, but soon he is gripping you by the hips and kissing you back with fervor. Your teeth knock together but you don’t care how sloppy this kiss is. It is long overdue.

“I want to be your life partner,” Pea whispers against your neck, kissing over the hot flesh there. He drags his tongue and teeth down your shoulder to your collarbone, murmuring along the way. “I want to stand by your side and see you as my equal. I want you to be mine, body, soul, mind. I want every piece of you.”

You gasp as his teeth are bared against your skin, sending a shock of excitement down your spine. He smirks with his lips still at the crook of your jaw, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Your hands are in his hair, bringing him back to your lips so you can kiss him again. It’s deeper this time, and you wonder if you’ll ever want to come back up for air.

Thankfully, you have the rest of your life to figure it out.

#sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea one shot #sweet pea blurb #sweet pea fanfic #sweet pea fanfiction #riverdale #riverdale x reader #riverdale imagine #riverdale one shot #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #my writing

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maknaesdancersrappers · 6 years

Text

drippin’ love

a/n: this is it. this is the dream i had

warning/s: corny title, period sex, mentions of blood, handjob, fellatio, cussing

You’re sure you look stupid: sitting on the side of the bed, hunched over and gripping sheets by your thighs, and stifling your pained sobs.

“Baby,” you hear from behind you and the soft steps on the carpeted floor walking towards you. “Here.”

Looking over your shoulder you see Jaehyun handing you your painkillers.

He sits down beside you after you take it from him and proceed to swallow the pill. His hand soothes down your back as you make a sound of disgust while reaching for water.

Like most, if not all, women, you hated your period. Your cramps practically render you useless; paralyzed with pain every time Aunt Flo visits. Along with the crippling pain from your abdomen, your back aches and your breasts are sore; all because you failed to give your uterus a fertilized egg.

It’s not like you and Jaehyun haven’t tried. Since you got married a few months back, both of you have foregone with any sort of birth control you’ve been using since your relationship first started.

“Is there anything else you want?” He squeezes your shoulder and softly kissing the other.

Sometimes you’re convinced that you don’t deserve him. It amazes you that he’s still with you despite all your period induced meltdowns and mood swings.

“I just want to lie down.” You say with a little sniffle.

“Okay, let’s lie down and maybe try to nap. Sound good?”

You nod, wiping at your snot and tears like a child and leaving Jaehyun amused at your actions.

He pulls back the blankets for you to climb under and slip in after you, scooping your shoulders with one arm to cradle you against him. Settling under the warmth of the blanket and molding your bodies together; your head and hand on his chest, a leg draped over his upper thighs, and his hands running through your hair and along your arm.

“I hate being a girl. Why am I a girl?” You grumbled, pressing your cheek more against his chest to savor his body heat.

Jaehyun lets out a quiet chuckle, having heard the same annoyed questions multiple times before.

You angle your head so you could look up at him, “Would you have loved me even if I was a boy?”

Without a second thought, he’s quick to reply: “Of course.”

“Really?”

He hums, “I’ll miss your boobs, though.”

You snort.

“And your sweet lil’ pussy, too.” He adds under his breath, sounding almost regretful of his answer.

“Would you suck my dick?”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking about it for a few seconds. “Yeah, sure. I’ll show you how you do it to me and feel how good it makes me.”

By this time, you can already feel his cock stirring under his shorts, just above your thigh. “Would you eat my ass?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I’d eat it out now, if you weren’t on your period.”

“Oh.” It was only a joke, but now you just want to get your period over with and have him eat you out. “Can I go down on you?”

“Yeah, we can even 69.” He pats your head a couple of times before running his fingers through your hair once more, still thinking you were asking under the thought of being the same sex.

“No, Jae,” You whined, moving your hand over his cock, “I mean right now.”

“Oh. Oh,” He moans at the light pressure you put on him.

Resting your head back on his chest, you continue your ministrations until he’s half hard and you slip your hand under his shorts.

“Where’s your underwear?” You look down to make sure you hadn’t felt wrong; thinking maybe you had slipped your hand into his boxers with his shorts, but you can clearly see the absence of the clothing article.

“I understand why you forego wearing a bra at home.” He breathes out, fingers twitching on your shoulder.

You stretch your arm a little more until your fingers brush over his balls and your palm is rubbing the tip of his cock. “It feels good, right?”

“Amazing—both,” He stutters, doing his best not to grind against your hand. He seems to regain his senses and resume playing with your hair, placing chaste pecks on your head.

You move so you could reciprocate; slotting your lips over his and engaging an open, lazy kiss. His tongue is moving languidly over yours, creating the wet sound that filled in the silence of the room.

When his cock was fully hard and longer in your hold, you part away from him and shift closer to his groin, wincing at the prominent pain still present on your abdomen. Doing your best to ignore it, you take his length into your mouth until it’s barely grazing the back of your throat before pulling away, lingering along the tip.

Jaehyun exhales, dropping his head against the pillow for a moment as you bob along his erection with a firm grip at the base before looking back at how your lips practically swallowed him whole.

“I should be taking care of you.” He groans, unable to stop his hips rising up. When he feels your tongue prodding the underside of his head, he pushes you away, “Baby, I need to be inside of you.”

You stare at him with disbelief, “I’m bleeding.”

“I honestly don’t fucking care.”

You’ve heard that nothing is really wrong with period sex; it’s just unsanitary. You never thought of doing it because you always assumed Jaehyun would be grossed out by it.

He sits up and kisses you, “Please, baby? I can make you feel good.”

“I know.” You murmur, “I know you do... but the bed—“

“I’ll clean it up. That’s nothing you have to worry about.”

He continues to kiss you, silently coaxing you to agree with his thumb drawing little circles on your cheek.

You pull away, biting down on your lip in contemplation. There’s no harm in trying and this is the man you’re going to be with for the rest of your life, you might as well spend another first in your relationship. “Okay.” You meekly whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod, “But... let me just take care of something.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Keep that cock hard.”

Jaehyun laughs, replacing your hand with his and already pumping himself as you dash into the bathroom. “Of course.”

As soon as you close the bathroom door and flick the light switch on, you grab two used towels that were going to be tossed in the laundry anyway and a roll of tissue. Setting them on the counter, you shrug off your oversized shirt and pulled down your sweatpants, along with your underwear.

You took care of your tampon next, pulling it out and gauging how heavy your flow was before wrapping it in tissue before tossing it into the bin. It was your third day and it was either hit or miss with how heavy you bleed, but luckily it wasn’t as bad as the first two days.

With one last final internal pep talk with your reflection, you gather the towels and tissue into your arms and walk back into the room.

Jaehyun was also naked now, looking up at you as you came back while grinding his palm against the tip of his cock.

“Last chance to back out and just have you cum in my mouth?”

He helps you lay the towels down over one another before grabbing your waist and pinning you on your back above them. “You’ve been hurting for days because of your cramps. I should be making you feel good and I’m not coming until you do.”

You can’t stop smiling when he kisses you again, his hands travelling up your body to cup your breasts and kneading them.

“Gently—my boobs feel sore.”

“Are they? Aw,” Jaehyun leans down to nuzzle his nose between them before kissing each of your nipple. “My poor baby.”

Paranoia hits you when you feel yourself gush down there and you’re just bleeding out onto the towels.

Jaehyun sits back, parting your legs and eyes trained on your core as he gives himself a few more strokes. If there was blood leaking out, he didn’t seem to care at all as he lines himself to your entrance and pushes in.

Your mouth drops, both in pleasure and in surprise at how easy he enters you. It doesn’t sit well with you at the idea that your period blood is acting as lubricant, but all that worry is pushed aside when Jaehyun starts to thrust.

He has a light grip on your hips, picking up his speed bit by bit. With your boobs being sensitive, you hold them together with an arm draped over your chest. As he continues to thrust, he guides your legs around his waist and tilts closer to you, using his forearms to hold up his weight above you.

Face to face, you feel yourself flush as if you haven’t had sex before. This somehow was more intimate—how your body is making you feel like the absolute worse and gross for almost a week every month yet here he is; not caring that you’re literally bleeding where his own intimate part is entering, putting your well-being and satisfaction first before his, and simply just loving you no matter how demonic your PMS mood swings can become.

“Do you feel good?” He breathes, hips moving in a steady, fast pace.

“Ye—Oh my god, yes!” You cry out when he angles your hips upwards. You brace yourself on his shoulders, gasping at the sudden oncoming orgasm hurling towards you.

Jaehyun brings his mouth down to your neck, sucking harshly on the skin beneath your jaw while keeping a hand rested over your chest and thumbing your pert nipple.

Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to cradle his head against your shoulder as he manages to pound into you faster than he already was, tipping you over the edge and pure ecstasy floods into your system.

He gathers you into his arms in one fast motion and sits both of you upright, sitting you on his lap as he chases his high with slow, hard upward thrusts; hands gripping your ass. “Fuck, you’re so amazing.”

“Babe—“ You gasped for air, resting your forehead against his. “Y-you are—too.”

He grunts with one particularly hard thrust that finally made him come undone. You can feel him twitching inside of you and the warmth of his seed spreading up your stomach.

His arms wrap around you, burying his face on your neck as he catches his breath.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” You sigh, kissing the side of his head and threading your fingers through his hair.

“Did you enjoy?”

You hum in approval. “I most definitely did.”

Jaehyun kisses the closest patch of your skin he could reach. He pulls away, looking down to where you’re connected but you stop him.

“Ugh, are you really going to look?”

“How else am I going to clean up? We should have done it in the shower.”

You cling onto him, “We should.”

It takes a second for him to understand what you meant after you refused to let go of him.

“Oh— are you okay, though? Are your cramps gone?”

“They are. My back doesn’t hurt as much either.”

He cups your breasts, weighing each one with his hands. “And the twins?”

You snort at the nickname, “They still feel heavy.”

“Are you sure you want another round in the shower?” He runs his hands up and down your back.

After reassuring that you definitely want to go again, he rises up the bed with you in tow like you didn’t weigh a single pound. He carries you to the bathroom, nipping at your neck and cheeks that left you giggling like a schoolgirl.

a/n: that’s where the dream ends—the good part at least. i woke up bc a package came and when i tried to go back to sleep for round two, all i dreamt of was that handsome nct manager scolding us for having sex with curtains open bc a sasaeng taped the whole ordeal and release screenshots to the public 💀

#to be edited when i wake up in 12 hours #nct smut #jaehyun smut

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thefandomdirtymind · 5 years

Text

The man next door

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning : mention of masturbation, Fluff

A/N: After reading that interview from Men’s Journal and watch the video with Jay Lena and his car. A lot of idea came to my mind about having Chris as the sexy neighbor. Obviously I couldn’t resist to put the car and Dodger in it. I hope to maybe make it a series of it but before that I want to know if you like the idea. The other will probably contain more smut that this one, for the first shot I think a fluff one was better.

* English is my second language so i’m really sorry if some sentence sound weird of my grammar isn’t right.

You just couldn’t believe it. After almost a year at often glancing at the house of your always absent neighbor. It had now a car in the alley.

When you first came to visit your present house.The previous owner, an old but, sweet lady having a really bad taste in decoration, had tell you that you will probably never have problems with him. The man have another house somewhere and only be there few times in the years, he will certainly not disturbing you that much.

It was without count your fertile imagination, who’s though of this empty house like one of these too quiet and scary mansion in these old vampire movie. You also have find it funny that a person wanted to have a second house in a quiet place like Massachusetts. Once in a while, your imagination was trying to found what kinds of people he could be: A rich man trying to hide a mistress ? An old man having a house in Florida or somewhere where the sun always shine, or maybe a thief trying to stay hide between two robbery. But, now that you saw this car, nothing seems to fit.

The engin, green like one of these little soldier you had when you were a child, was a beautiful vintage Chevy Camaro. You didn’t have to be an expert to know that that car almost cost the totality of your annual salary.

Pulling out of your torpor by a series of barks, you step back, watching a caramel brown and white tornado of fur starting turning around your legs. Unable to resist at his joyful expression and his sparkling eyes, you put a knee on the floor and happily pet him without hesitation.

“ Hello you” You tell, trying to avoid the pink and wet tongue of the dog.

“ Dodger ! Dodger !? Where are you buddy ?” A masculine voice call.

And then, like that, all of your odd theory suddenly blow up. The man definitively wasn’t a grandpa.

Turning the corner of the house like a model, Chris appeared to your view. Sporting a short beard, he was wearing a tired grey shirt and a dusty jean. Hidden by a pair of round Ray-Ban sunglasses, his eyes, seem for you, like the last piece of a puzzle having for picture the revelation of where you already saw him.

Getting up on your feet, you offer him a shy smile.

“ Ho,hi, I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t scare you, this big guy really like people” Chris said, responding to your smile, trying to stop Dodger to disturbing you “ You” pointing your house. “ You’re the granddaughter or the grand niece of Mme Greeder I guess.”

“ No, I...I live here. Mme Greeder left to live with his son and his family now. Due to her age it was too much for her to clean a hole house.” You admit, trying harder that ever to remember where you had seen this bearded piece of a man.

Rising his eyebrows in a surprise expression, he finally removes his glasses flashing you his perfect blue eyes and offering you his large hand, inviting you to shaking it. “ Oh! That make us neighbor then. Nice to meet you, I’m Chris...” He said.

“ Evans ! “ You exclaim suddenly, having a flash of a blondie version of him in a super hero movie. “ I’m sorry, I just... you looked familiar and my brain just...connect the piece together” You stutters, aware of how much stupid you was look like at shouting his last name.

But, Chris was only smiling, probably used to it now.

“ Well, you had four chances to having the good one. I’m kind of glad you had guessed right. It’s always a bummer to disappoint somebody ” He happily tease you, his hand catching yours for a firm handshake. “ And your name is...?”

“ Y/N Y/L/N “ You answer, shaking his hand, your gaze lock in his.” I work at the public library in town.”

Releasing slowly your hand, he makes you a smirk before petting the head of Dodger.

“ I still will miss the cookies of Mme Geeder” He mock. “ They were hard as a rock, but it give it to you the sugar rush of your life “

Laughing at your own memories of these cookies, you nod of the head.

“ Yes, they were somethings. Mine isn’t bad either, even if they don’t have enough sugar in them to make you see noises” You joke, smiling a little more, the initial shock now pass.

Busting into a large laugh, your, now favorite sound of them all. He bites his lips, making suddenly your knees feeling weak.

“ That’s a good one. I... “ He said, watching at his house “I have to go. It’s been an eternity since I came back here, for more that few days and if I wanted to finish it before the night, I really have to quit your delicious company”

“ That’s ok, don’t worry, I was on my way to the grocery anyway” You explain “ I was just... admiring your car” You half confess.

“ It’s a beauty right ?, it was a gift by Robert Downey Jr. “ He proudly tells, a soft grim on his lips “ Hey, when you will not be busy and I will have clean clothes we could go to a trip with it, bring Dodger feel the wind in his fur ! “

“ Oh, yes that could be cool “ You smile, surprise by the rapidity he had decided of this plan.

“ Good, then we will discuss of this later , have a nice day Y/N “ Chris said, shaking your hand a last time, keeping it a little bit longer. “ I hope having the chance to taste these ‘not that bad’ cookies of yours “ He joke giving you a last smirk before returning behind the house, his dog on his heels.

---------

Some hours later, when the moon was high in the sky and the street pole was chasing the darkness of the street. You was slowly washing the dishes of the dinner you just had, your mind busy thinking at the many task you had to do the next morning.

Lifting your eyes, a now old habit of glance at the house, you found it now alive and illuminated. By the window of his kitchen, you even could catch a view of Chris, lifting some boxes, the muscles of his arm stretching the thin coton of this same old shirt he was wearing that afternoon.

Feeling it like invading is privacy, you force yourself to turning your gaze away of the muscular show he was unconsciously offering. It was only when you put your glass in the buffet that you saw him. Standing in front of his own window, the box open on the counter, he was waving at you, a smile dancing on his lips.

Waving back at him, you feel your cheeks blush. Did he saw you watching him previously or do he just saw you right now and decide to act beyond adorable. You never know, but, when he stop waving a you, returning at his work.

Leaving the window, you sit on your couch, closing your eyes. It’s been a while since a man had making you feel that horny and warm at the same time for such small things.But, here you are, your brain flashing you with vision of this casual and sexy Chris, only few feet of you.

Submerge by the now naked image improve by your imagination. You head to your room, wondering if even after a good fun with yourself, you will still need to take a cold shower. Yes probably, you think. You didn’t know for how long he will be stay in Massachusetts, but, a things is sure, it’s will not the last time Chris will make you feel wet.

#Chris Evans #chris #evans #chris evans x reader #Chris evans reader #Dodger #neighbour #neighbor #Chevy Camaro #captain america #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans imagine #steve rogers imagine #Marvel #Actor

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 5 years

Text

@thecorteztwins

Once again, I’ve taken a silly, stupid idea and turned it into a silly, stupid ficlet. Hope I got Fantasma’s voice even slightly right.

“When you said you wanted to eat my meat, this wasn’t what I expected,” the red-haired mutant protested, thrashing against the dough that held him bound. Phyllo dough was rolled thin, but enough layers made a nice, snug cocoon.

“I thought the Craigslist ad was extremely clear,” Fantasma said coldly. “I stated that I wanted someone to devour, body and soul. How could you misinterpret that?” She continued pulling Cortez towards the oven, her massive claws clicking against the cement floor.

“No one would ever possibly think you actually wanted to eat them!” Cortez screamed. “Haven’t you heard of metaphor? Nuance? Innuendo?” His cries were muffled as Fantasma used her long, prehensile tongue to wrap more dough around his mouth and nose. It was kinder to let him suffocate, really, before roasting him to delicious perfection. And she wanted to be kind.

Fantasma wasn’t entirely comfortable with what she was doing. Eating people was a taboo that had been deeply ingrained in her during her short, confusing life as a human. It was easier in her Dire Wraith form – she felt a greater sense of detachment from the entire species. Because that’s what they were - separate species. Humans, mutants, Inhumans, Kree, it didn’t matter. They may as well be poultry or cattle. Humanoids were a delicacy rich in protein, and her children needed to feed.

Still, something nagged at the back of her mind, as Cortez stared up at her in wild-eyed fear. An expression like that might have sparked some pity in her, once, or at least an understanding that she should feel pity. She could imagine the horror and disgust on the faces of her former team-mates if they saw her now, crouched over an oven like that fairy-tale witch. She didn’t want them to look at her that way. She’d hoped the Craigslist ad would bring her volunteers (in her experience, humans were up for all sorts of bizarre experiences), but it only brought misunderstanding.

“Mmmmph!” Cortez tried to scream through the dough.

“I have to do it,” Fantasma said, to herself as much as to him. “My children need nourishment. You understand, don’t you?” Perhaps he wouldn’t. Her bio-scan of Cortez had picked up enough of his memories and personality to suggest that he knew very little of selfless love. She tried to comfort herself with this knowledge.

“You haven’t exactly lived a good life,” she continued, adjusting the oven. It wasn’t pre-heated yet, and she didn’t want to wind up with a burnt crust and Fabian raw and bloody in the center. Her babies could be so picky. “You’ve betrayed and alienated all of your friends and family – the ones that are still alive, anyway. So you won’t really be missed. Consider this a type of redemption for you. You will become a source of life for my family.” She felt another twinge, though. Hadn’t she also “betrayed” her former friends and team-mates? But how else could she care for her children?

“Not missed?! Not missed! How dare you,” yelled Fabian. Fantasma looked down to realize that he had eaten his way through the dough over his face. Mutants certainly had a strong survival instinct. Or at least, this one did.

“I am the very savior of homo-superior! Their leader! I will bring our people into the light of mutant supremacy!”

“You’ll only be food for my own people,” Fantasma retorted. Supremacy she could understand. Wanting to merely exist in public, as her true self, without fear and disgust from humanity (and humanity’s answer to fear and disgust was so often violence). Wanting safety and freedom for her babies. And that could only be achieved if the Dire Wraiths conquered and ruled the Earth – humans would never let them peacefully co-exist. Perhaps, in an odd way, she could relate to this terrible man.

“Fabian Cortez is no one’s snack! You can’t kill me! I’m the world’s greatest lover! Just imagine the mass suicides when all of those beautiful women realize that they will never again feel my touch! Never again be truly satisfied!”

In human form, Fantasma would have rolled her eyes at this obvious falsehood, but it felt awkward in her Wraith form. Still, she snapped her claws together in nervous frustration, hesitating. Fabian should be no more than a cut of beef to her, but watching him struggle, seeing the terror in his face….it felt wrong. Starlight would disapprove. And she didn’t want to disappoint Starlight.

Perhaps there was another way he could be of use.

“A great lover, you say?”

“Yes!” The man’s face brightened. “The very best! I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me!” He was greatly exaggerating, but he had been rather aroused when he first arrived at the warehouse and began rubbing the oil onto his body. He seemed physically healthy, and she had noted a sizable bulge in his pants when she began wrapping the dough around him.

“I need a virile man with a strong sexual appetite,” Fantasma explained, as she began cutting the dough off Cortez. “Some of my eggs still need to be properly fertilized.” The man known as The Presence had failed to complete that task – or rather, she had prevented him from doing so when her former team-mate Starlight informed her of the man’s cruelty and manipulation. He had not been a worthy sire for her brood. She and Starlight had temporarily joined forces to defeat the Presence and toss him into a far corner of Limbo, and she had torn open a portal to send herself and Starlight safely back to Earth – separately. They’d likely be foes if they met again, and Fantasma wanted to preserve the memory of working alongside her friend. Yes, friend, even now.

Cortez was also an unworthy father, but he probably wouldn’t try to control her, and his sexual vigor was a point in his favor. The mutant sprang up, wiping dough off his costume, the fear in eyes changed to excitement, and no small amount of lust.

“If you want virile, look no further! You see what a waste it would have been to cook me! There is plenty of useless flesh in the world, but only one Fabian Cortez!”

“Yes,” Fantasma sighed. “I suppose you’ll do.” She stretched a claw out to flick the oven off.

“You will, of course, change back to your human form,” Fabian continued. “Even for a false face, it was gorgeous. No one would ever guess that you’re a monster.”

Monster. Despite her usual detachment, the word cut her to the core, and she was tempted to simply bite Cortez in half. But she’d need him alive to continue producing seed.

“Not necessary,” she said calmly. “You don’t need me to fertilize the eggs.” She spread a claw out, the eggs clustered across the floor, walls and ceiling barely visible in the dim light. “Just spread your seed across the surface of each one, and be sure to rub it in thoroughly. You’ll know you’ve done the job when the egg glows with…I believe the color is lavender, to humanoid eyes.”

Fabian gaped, taking in the eggs for the first time. He’d been a bit distracted before.

“You….you want me to….”

“It should take about this much for all of them,” Fantasma explained, using her tongue to place a large bucket in front of Fabian. “I realize it may be more than you can produce in a single session, so I’ll allow some rest breaks. And I’ll provide you with proper nourishment. How do you feel about Chinese take-out?”

Fabian stared at the bucket, and back at Fantasma, and then out again at the vast sea of eggs.

“Do you prefer pizza?”

“I um….I don’t know if I can….” He stammered. Fantasma snorted. She shouldn’t have turned the oven off.

“I thought you were the world’s greatest lover,” she scoffed. “Where else am I to find a big, strong man to help me in my hour of need?” The jab at his pride seemed to work, and Fabian straightened, looking a little more determined.

“Well, it’s…unconventional. But never let it be said that Fabian Cortez backed down from a challenge! I’m all the man any woman needs!”

“Excellent. Perhaps you could get to it.” There was a pause. “I can leave, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

“Oh, not at all!” Fabian said. He leered at her. “I was just thinking, this might go better with a little….visual stimulation. That human form of yours is so delectable. There are all sorts of things you could do to help me…fill this bucket.”

Fantasma sighed again. She really didn’t want to shift back – it used a great deal of energy, and she was rather hungry. She’d really been looking forward to roasted Fabian-in-a-blanket. And she’d always felt awkward in her human form. People assumed that she wore a skimpy costume because she was comfortable in her own skin, but it was really the opposite. She’d seen no point in modesty with a body that had been so alien to her, and it served as a convenient distraction in combat or interrogation. It had never properly seemed like her body, even back when she hadn’t known her true nature. The Dire Wraith form felt so right.

But she supposed she should offer Cortez something titillating to hurry this process along. She decided to compromise. While maintaining her Dire Wraith form, she shifted only her chest, allowing a plump, firm pair of humanoid breasts to pop out, and dangle invitingly.

“You may gaze upon this for stimulation. Or perhaps you are, as Americans say, more of an ‘ass man.’” She added a set of buttocks directly below the breasts. Surely Cortez would see something there that he liked.

Fabian’s eyes widened, and he began to scream.

“What? Are they not large enough?” Fantasma let the breasts inflate fuller. Some humans preferred extremely unrealistic proportions on women, she had seen on the Internet. She was reluctantly willing to let him touch one if that would calm his hysteria. But instead, Cortez turned and fled through the warehouse, jumping directly through a window in his panic.

Fantasma slumped to the floor, re-absorbing the ridiculous human parts back into her Wraith form. It was pointless to chase after a man like that. He’d been useless from the start. Useless as food, and twice as useless as a sire.

But what was she going to do? Her children needed protein. Obviously she couldn’t bring herself to eat people – even horrible people like Cortez. As a Dire Wraith, mutants and humans should be no different from other inferior species….but they weren’t. She couldn’t forget her time among them. Couldn’t imagine feeding on her old team-mates – the very thought made her shudder.

Perhaps she’d start with pork. Pig brains were a delicacy, even among some groups of humans, and surely they were of low enough intelligence to be acceptable? It was hard to tell, now. Her newly-awakened instincts saw all life as prey, and if eating humans was….wrong….perhaps eating animals was also wrong?

Never mind. She would find a way to feed her children and remain true to herself. Her children would be different from other Dire Wraiths, but they would be well-cared for. Even vegetarians had their ways of getting protein.

She picked up her discarded phone, and began to scroll through information about recipes and nutrition, ignoring the faint sound of Fabian Cortez continuing to scream as he fled through the underbrush.

Notes:

I think it’s really funny to imagine Fabian being well-hung. It would explain all of his unearned confidence, and you just know he’d be the kind of lover that doesn’t actually learn any techniques. He’d assume that women will just collapse in pleasure at the very sight of it. Fantasma deserves better, obviously.

#fabian cortez #fantasma

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wingletblackbird · 6 years

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I appreciate your nuanced and respectful anti-abortion post, and I want to raise a question that you didn't address. How do you regard medication abortions, which account for about 30% of abortions and can be performed extremely early? Your argument about fetal life wouldn't seem to apply as well at three or four weeks gestation. I'm not trying to pick a fight, just genuinely curious.

Don’t worry I don’t think you’re trying to pick a fight. I can dialogue with anyone on any subject really, so long as we’re both willing to listen and be respectful, even be willing to change our minds if we are exposed to something we hadn’t considered. I actually, generally, quite enjoy a good discussion. ;) I also am a firm believer that as long as you’re sincere, there is no such things as a bad question. I appreciate the ask, and I’m glad you felt my original post was respectful. I was worried about setting the wrong tone.

(On that note, before I get into this, I really want to make sure I make it clear I don’t think women who have abortions are any better or worse than anybody else. I don’t think most people who are pro-choice are bad people either–No more than the rest of us anyway. 1 in 4 people or so in the States, iirc, will have an abortion. It’s ludicrous to suppose they are all horrible people, or that their supporters are. I cannot know what women feel like going into those clinics, but I am given to understand that helpless, panicked, and desperate are common emotions, and if you are not given the proper support, or information, it is hard to make good decisions like that. Beyond even that, people make mistakes. I am not here to judge them, and if any woman is struggling post-abortion, I would say there is forgiveness, and redemption, and support out there for you.)

You’re right; I barely touched on the issue of medication abortions. I felt the post was already longer than most people would care for anyway. Before I get into why I oppose those too, I should stress first that by the time most people know they’re pregnant there will already be a heartbeat, and likely discernible brain waves. Ergo, I think it would be rare that it wouldn’t be blindingly obvious you were dealing with a young child, even without the further evidence I am about to offer that life begins at feritilistaion. To offer a personal example, when my parents were trying to conceive my brother and I, my mom was very in tune with her natural cycles. She always knew when she was ovulating from the left side because she could feel a twinge in her lower back, so she and my dad were able to conceive by brother and I on just the one attempt. Likewise, within a couple weeks after my conception, my mom knew she was pregnant even when it was too early for it to even be detectable by a pregnancy test, so she went to the hospital and asked for a blood test which confirmed she was pregnant. Then she and my dad went to get an ultrasound, and discovered my heart was already beating. That was when my dad went from pro-choice to pro-life, because he realised even at such an early stage, before it could easily be detected, I was alive!

But, of course, what if you have unprotected sex, or for whatever reason you have cause to believe that you could be pregnant really, really early? You’ve pretty much asked for an abortion from the first moment you could possible be considered pregnant. Even then I would say that this is wrong. The child is still a legitimate human being. There is overwhelming scientific consensus on this: Life begins at conception.

First of all, we know that from the moment of conception the individual is alive. They have all the characteristics of a living entity. Cells are the smallest form of life. That is one of the basics of cell theory and biology. Moreover, once fertilization occurs they are the offspring of two humans, and they are humans genetically. Perhaps most importantly they are human organisms. They are not merely masses of tissue, or clumps of cells, because body cells do not have the capacity to grow, and change, and develop the way that an organism does. This is why sperm cells, egg cells, muscle tissue etc. do not have rights, while the human organism does. The zygote, blastocyst, embryo, fetus, infant, toddler, child, pre-teen, teenager, and adult are all humans in different stages of development, and each is as valid as the other. Furthermore, it is expected in our society to protect the most vulnerable of us such as children. To not do so is considered terrible, even monstrous, except when it comes to those who are developing in-utero. This makes no sense to me. Life begins at fertilisation, and if allowed to grow over the course of a couple decades, results into a fully mature adult of our species. This is the scientific evidence. To terminate that development is to kill the youngest of our kind, to deny them to right to continue to grow and learn and change. You would think every stage of human life from the zygote to the senior citizen would be equally as valuable. However, in the interests of profit and convenience, they are not. (Frankly, this applies to many seniors who are mistreated as well, and aren’t granted the respect and dignity they deserve.)

If you look at embryology textbooks you’ll see quotes like this:

Although human life is a continuous process, fertilisation is a critical landmark, because, under ordinary circumstances a new, genetically distinct human organism, is thereby formed. –Human Embryology and Teratology

Human life begins at fertilization.—The Developing Human

Development begins with fertilisation—Langman’s Medical Embryology

Even amongst the pro-choice side we get:

There is no doubt that from the first moments of its existence, an embryo conceived from human sperm and eggs is a human being.—Peter Singer, Practical Ethics

Hence, the moment you terminate a pregnancy, whatever the stage, you deny a life the right to exist. You will never get it back. You will never know what that child could have been.

Other issues that have to be considered with the understanding that life begins at conception is the issue of hormonal birth control, (since I’m on the subject and don’t really get into it in the first post...). I recently read an outraged News article talking about how some politician said that the Pill caused abortion. The man in question was called a religious nut, ignorant, and uninformed, but I rather thought the journalist was. Few people seem to realise that the Pill does not always stop ovulation, and hence, fertilization. While it makes it very difficult for fertilization to occur, it can still occur. If that happens, the Pill will usually result in a lost life, because the Pill also prevents implantation of the fertilised egg by altering the endometrium. This is why many claim that the Pill has the potential to be abortifacient. If you believe that life starts at conception, as I do, hormonal contraception is out. The morning after pill is really just a higher dosage of the regular pill anyway, so really this shouldn’t be surprising.

Taking the next leap from the understanding that fertilization is the earliest stage of human development is the nature of IVF. To promote greater levels of success, multiple embryos are nurtured. They are screened for “undesirable” qualities whether it be for disabilities, or gender. (I’ve already talked about why that’s awful in my original post.) After successful implantation, the other embryos, the siblings of the lucky implanted ones, are terminated or frozen. Moreover, if the pregnancy results in multiples, because all embryos implant, there is often an abortion to reduce the pregnancy to something safer. Some mothers refuse to do this and you get “Octomom.” I respect them for not terminating their children, but it definitely made for some very high-risk pregnancies. The fact is if you are going to say that you believe something, you cannot pick and choose what it applies to. The evidence points to life begins at conception which means artificial methods of conception need to be looked at as well. I touched on this in my viability argument and I’ll just post that again here:

What about embryo adoption though? Did you know that that is possible? That that is even being done? It has already happened that parents who use IVF, and have no further need for the other embryos they have frozen allow other couples who cannot conceive naturally to adopt them. It has been called the earliest form of adoption. Well, how does this fit into the viability idea? If you can take an embryo and implant it into someone else’s womb? What if you can develop artificial wombs? What if you can remove a fetus in the first trimester and still keep it alive? The whole viability argument makes me feel a bit uncomfortable to be honest, because it is so inherently subjective.

As a side note, I wonder how those embryos who were adopted feel when they grow up. They know that they weren’t the lucky embryo chosen by their biological parents. They were the one frozen, unwanted, and then lucky enough to be granted a chance to truly live when they were given up for adoption. How do they feel knowing they have a biological sibling living with a different set of parents? That maybe they have more still frozen? When an infant is given up for adoption, it is usually a loving decision based upon the mother’s, and possibly even the father’s, recognition that they cannot care for the child. Frozen embryos though…they’re just children, or potential children if you don’t recognise them as being alive, stuck in a freezer. Their parents just have no need for them.

Since I’m on the subject I’ll just go all out and talk about that last point too: The family.

I remember reading an article years and years ago about how in a family one child was given away, and one was allowed to stay. It was years ago, so I remember few of the details, but I do remember the parent was confused that the child who stayed kept acting out. Surely since she was the one who was kept, she would have felt more safe? In truth though, the child felt worse because she never felt “safe” in a family where people left. She learned that being loved seemed to be conditional. She wanted to know what the limits were for her. When would she be sent away?

I was conceived right after my mother miscarried my elder brother. He was miscarried so late, he was almost born stillborn, but if he had been born, I would never have been conceived. It’s a crazy thought to me, because I was almost miscarried too. (My mom really struggled to carry a pregnancy to term.) I think sometimes about how it could have been James that was born, and me that was lost. As a consequence, I view my life as even more of a miracle then it already is. My brother died and I was able to live. It’s a humbling thought, and I can’t take it lightly. James is a part of my life, and while my family and I don’t speak of him often, when we do it is with love and grief and respect. My mother even cried once saying she could never have chosen between us, and she wishes she could have raised us both. I often find I want to live a good life, for his sake, as well as my own, and my family’s, and others. James is as important to me. I don’t want to waste the gift I was granted. I wonder though how it would feel if James had been aborted instead. There are, of course, few studies done on the siblings of aborted children, but what I have found indicates grief, anger, and survivor’s guilt–especially those who were once part of multiples that were “selectively reduced”. There have even been developed support groups for the siblings of aborted children who are struggling with it. Abortion rocks the entire family.

One woman who works at a Pregnancy Counselling Centre stated:

“Abortion teaches children that they have worth because they were conceived in the right conditions and at the right time; that they have value because their parents want them. Up to 50% of all American children have lost a brother or a sister to abortion, making it much more likely that they live with a performance view of love: I was born because I was wanted therefore I better perform so they will continue to love me.”

I imagine this is particularly understandable for those who were kept because they were a girl or a boy, and the parents wanted a girl or a boy rather than the opposite sex. Do you only love me because I’m the right gender?

The above woman also said:

“I think one of the most difficult things for me to face is a woman who is attempting to justify an abortion for the sake of her other children. I always want to tell them…the best thing for her little ones is to have a brother or a sister. In fact, explaining to sons and daughters a few years in the future as to why they aborted their sibling will probably be the most difficult thing they will ever do[.]”

One sibling described how her mother felt unequal to raising a fourth child so aborted the baby. She was left wondering if she’d been that fourth child, would she have been aborted? It’s an uncomfortable question. Love is unconditional, and that should never be in question, and neither should someone’s right to live. These concepts go hand in hand. The value of a life does not rest on it’s convenience, gender, or health.

This is the heart of the pro-life movement. It is about the inherent dignity of all human life from conception to natural death. It means to be so respectful of the dignity of the human person, you could not fathom supporting anything that would harm them. It means such a fundamental respect for human life that you do not terminate it, rather you do everything you can to support it. It means a respect for life so deep that you do not take the risks of having sex if you aren’t willing to carry a pregnancy, however unlikely it is to occur, to term. It means looking at children as blessing not burdens. It means loving the people you have in your life, young, old, or middle-aged whatever their physical or mental state. It means asking yourself the difficult question: Are people an inconvenience to you? It means pushing for better maternity leave, paternity leave, social services, health care, foster care, adoption services, palliative care, and so on and so forth. More than that, it means being willing to pitch-in and help out yourself. It’s not just about what happens in the abortion clinic. To truly believe in life and love means making a commitment. It will not always be easy, but it is worth it. Abortion may be the “easy” option, but it is not the best one. It shouldn’t even be option at all, and it is devastating in basically every way.

#abortion #boytranscending #pro-life

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tyrionslannister · 7 years

Text

reign sentence starters; pt. 3

( pt. 1 ) ( pt. 2 ) i’m back at it with another compilation of reign quotes! all of them are from season 4, ep. 10. adjust pronouns as needed! as always, some of these might have been slightly altered.

“I’m not sure bedding the lover of the king is a wise idea.”

“I’m glad you’ve come.”

“Might you at last allow me to visit your chambers tonight?”

“You do still desire an heir.”

“We are wed.”

“I don’t have time to discuss this.”

“I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

“You will be an amazing mother.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’ll leave you.”

“I think I’ve made a horrible mistake.”

“You treat me with the same affection you show the furniture.”

“Were you seen?”

“A firm hand is needed.”

“It won’t be easy, but you will be well rewarded.”

“It would be your new home.”

“You don’t care about me at all.”

“We have an arrangement.”

“I’m done helping you.”

“Have you seen Her Majesty?”

“You’re asking me to turn my back on my family.”

“There were things said, by me, that I’m afraid have made you uncomfortable around me.”

“I’ve been preoccupied with my duties.”

“Do you care for her?”

“Things aren’t always as they seem.”

“Love doesn’t need to be a thing of the past for me.”

“My life is complicated.”

“I am your husband!”

“I am your king!”

“I may take things slowly, but you’ll still find yourself breathless.”

“I could be married within a week.”

“I’m just your stud horse, testing your fertility?”

“I know this is meant to be a relationship of convenience and nothing more.”

“You’re young and still so innocent.”

“Being with you feels like a betrayal.”

“You love me too?”

“I know you were only using me.”

“I hate you. More than I thought possible.”

“I need you.”

“Tell me how I can help.”

“You took my life from me.”

“That’s not something I can do.”

“I apologize for my outburst.”

“I do believe it is best that we return to things as they once were.”

“Who do you want?”

“We can’t let him die.”

“I will call you back.”

“You are a good and fair queen.”

“Your people need you.”

“My only regret is that I will no longer be able to serve at your side and protect you.”

“I would rather die than see you harmed.”

“Did you know it was a lie, even as you spoke it?”

“It was no worse than the lies you have told me.”

“Why don’t you kill me now?”

“You’ve destroyed my life anyway!”

“I may still need you.”

“You have cost me much.”

“Enjoy the living hell that is your marriage.”

“That is your punishment.”

“How many gallant soldiers did I send to their deaths?”

“Come with me, please.”

“There’s something you need to see.”

“You saved lives today.”

“I did it for you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“We can’t have him contesting the throne.”

“How many more people will you sacrifice?”

“Was there no other way?”

“You still need a husband.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ve traveled this path before.”

“It won’t be easy standing on the sidelines, seeing me with someone else.”

“You will want a love of your own.”

“It’s very complicated.”

“I expect no more than what we enjoy now.”

“It will not be enough for you.”

“If our love must be secret, then so be it.”

“At least I’ll be a part of your life.”

“Sometimes a king must wield a sword to protect his people.”

“Your people will honor you for it.”

“They loved me.”

“I can still hear the crowd chanting my name.”

“I am so proud of you.”

“You’re looking lovely, as always.”

“This is not exactly the welcome reception I was hoping for.”

“You must not have received my letter.”

“There’s been a change of plan.”

“I am quite recovered.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

“I’m a prince, who gets to do whatever he wants.”

“This does not feel like the time for pomp or pageantry.”

“I appreciate your understanding and sacrifice.”

“Sometimes a ruler must do things they hate for the sake of the Crown.”

“I found strength in your challenge to be a better man.”

“I can take care of you.”

“I can protect you.”

“Might you consider, at last, starting a family with me?”

“We have already started a family.”

“I will be a good father and a good husband.”

“You have my oath.”

#ask meme #rp meme #sentence starters

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sdog1blog · 4 years

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Susan

Danny had left a message with my roommate that he had the guitar and would have it at the shop. The guitar, a Gibson J45 was a model that I'd been chasing, so I was interested, that he believed it was from the 1940's piqued my interest.

Susan had spent the night with me and I asked if she wanted to join me, warning her that Danny worked in a porn shop. She shrugged indicating that was not a big deal, but she wanted to stop at the house she was crashing at to shower and change clothes. So off we went.

I waited in the van, while Susan took care of her hygiene. This was Minneapolis in July of 1980 and the house was a crash pad for left over hippies and misfits that were what was left of the 60's counterculture. I preferred to keep my distance.

Waiting, gave me a chance to ruminate on Susan. We had met a month before, she had just landed in town or maybe it was returned to town after having lived in California for a couple years. She had only been here a few days when we met and I'll admit I was smitten. She may have been the only woman who sent a shudder through my body when I touched her. I had it bad, but there was something about her that bothered me.

To start with, she was pretty vague about where she was from, saying only it was New Jersey and Delaware, why she originally came to Minneapolis and what she did in California. When I say vague, I mean at times she was even evasive.

I looked up to see Susan coming down the walk, I licked my lips in appreciation. She had fixed her reddish-blond hair in the usual pixie bob, a colorful halter top over cutoff jeans that showed just an inch of her ass cheeks all supported by those lovely, long legs on platform sandals. She'd give the regulars at the porn shop an image to masturbate to in the video booths. And looking back, I bet she knew it.

The porn shop Danny worked at was at 5th and Hennepin on the street level of the Lumber Exchange building, a Victorian era survivor. I don't remember who owned the porn shop, it was probably Ferris Alexander, who owned several similar business in the Twin Cities. It was across the street from a couple of the cities oldest gay bars, so the clientele tended to be gay, often seeking anonymous sex.

Before leaving my house, I called my local Gibson guitar expert, who gave me information on what to look for on vintage J45's and importantly, what would be the rough range for the serial numbers. Danny's guitar played well and sounded great, but it wasn't vintage, it was probably 10 years old. It was beat up, lots of pick scratches and the odd ding in the wood, but no real damage, just a well used instrument.

Given that Danny was the seller, it didn't surprise me that the goods, didn't fit the description. Danny reminded me of a friend of my father’s, Chuck. Chuck like Danny were perpetrators of the small con, they never lied, but they'd lead you down a path and like Chuck, Danny always had something interesting to sell.

When we were kids, if one of us wanted something, a TV, a stereo or as teens, something for our cars, Dad would say, he'd talk to Chuck. Chuck being one of those guys who sold merchandise out the trunk of his car, the car always being a several years old Cadillac. The stuff was stolen of course, but you didn't ask questions. Once when I was fresh mouthed teen, my mother told dad that she needed a new refrigerator, he offered his Chuck line, to which I snarkly replied, “Yeah he probably got one in his trunk”. The old man had been drinking and in a bad mood, so it shouldn't have been a surprise when he cuffed me with the back of his hand across my face, the phony ruby ring he wore, opening a crescent shape gash in my cheek. A scar that a surprising number of girls have found sexy. Go figure.

Both Danny and I are from north of Boston and when we met, we both engaged in the game of what city. I guessed that he was from Medford or Malden so I asked him to say Medford, it came out as Mefford, I smiled. It took him a bit longer to figure me out as I has spent the years since high school suppressing my accent. But given a few beers the dese, dems and doses of mill city Merrimack Valley came pouring out. Yeah, Lawrence, but more specifically identifying South Lawrence in a futile attempt to distinguish my origins from the rest of that decrepit place. But Danny could see through that.

While I wandered to Minneapolis after college in search of a fertile music scene away from my family, Danny came earlier when his mother remarried and moved the family to her husband's home in Worthington. To get to Worthington, you go out to Bum F@ck Egypt and take a right. Danny was 15 then and bolted to the Twin Cities right after high school.

Danny's reaction to Susan coming through the door was predictable, he straightened up, wiped the bread crumbs from his chin, brushed off his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair, all in an attempt for him to look presentable. While I looked over the guitar he flirted with Susan, playing Johnny the Dunce and asking her lots of questions, often repeating the same ones, all punctuated with him saying, "we've met before, haven't we" and "where do I know you from?"

After playing the guitar for about 15 minutes, I told Danny, that it was a nice instrument, but I needed to think about it. But I had already decided not to get it.

Out on the sidewalk, I commented to Susan, that it seemed that she and Danny had hit off. She allowed he was kind of cute and a pest. That made me laugh and I followed up with, "Well do you know him from somewhere?" Her denial wasn't completely convincing, just before the no was to leave her lips, her eyes, that were meeting mine, darted away.

Danny called a day or so later, he had another buyer, but wanted give me last dibs, i.e., he wanted to see if I would pay more. Before we hung up, he started, "Ya know, but the way. That chick, the one you were with." "Susan?" I interjected. "Ya her" he replied, "I know'd, I know'd her from some place." I didn't respond and let him continue. "After youse left, I browsed through a few magazines and there she was in the centerfold of Ass Magic, taking a big old dick up the shit pipe." "How can you be sure that the girl in magazine was her?" I asked. He came back with "Oh it's her. I bet she has a small tatoo, maybe a star, about the size of a quarter near her pussy, just to left of her pubes. She also likes suckin cock."

Susan did have a small tattoo on her pelvis, though it was the symbol for anarchy not a star. She did like giving blowjobs, when we first slept together she played with the tip of my cock with her tongue occasionally, sliding down my dick. For a moment she stopped and looked at me mischievously and said, "I have no gag reflex," then consumed me. She swallowed the jizz as well. But anal, no, every time I tried the backdoor, she'd wave me off.

I filed Danny's report in my mind along with her surprise announcement a couple of weeks earlier that she was going to take a few shifts at Augie's to supplement the secretarial work she took from a temp agency. There was more to my lovely friend than met the eye.

In those days I made my living as a musical Paladin, Have Guitar, Will Travel so to speak. Plus banjo, fiddle, bass, mandolin, piano, pretty much if it had strings, I played it. Rock, jazz, blues, country, bluegrass, it didn't matter. What was the progression, which key and hum me a few bars for the melody and I was ready.

Most players I knew formed a band and headed out on the road. Been there, done that and hated it. So I eked out a living sitting in with bands who were missing a player, some solo acoustic work on the folk circuit and serving as a band member for faded rock and country acts who no longer could afford to take a group on the road. Add to that, a bit of session work, mostly commercial work tied to TV and radio advertising and I made a living. After a while I stopped worrying about where the next dollar would come from and just knew that it would come. I was also pretty smug that I'd manage to scrape together enough money to put a down payment on a little house on the wrong side of the tracks in So. Minneapolis, something my friends couldn't dream about.

The following Tuesday, I sat in with a blues band at the Cabooze. Kate, who headlined the band was touted in the local music press as someone who should be the next Janis Joplin. It, if, she only got a chance. Well there were reasons Kate wouldn't go pass being a regional name, but it was impolite to discuss them. Anyway that week she was in tough position as she was missing 2 band members and had firm gigs in the next fourteen days.

Tommy, her lead guitarist, had turned himself into detox and would be spending the next two or three weeks at Hazelden, trying to get straight. Tom was a good guy and while it took about five or so attempts, he finally conquered his demons and was sober for nearly twenty years before he was killed riding home from work on his bicycle by a drunk driver. Cal, her drummer was sitting in the county jail unable to make bail after being arraigned for raping a fifteen year old, he went away for a long time. For me, I had eight paydays coming and a girlfriend with whom I was love struck. Life was good.

Before the show, a friend, Kevin, came by to show me a guitar he just bought, it was the J45 and it was of 1940's vintage he raved. Kev was a bit naive, I chose not to break his bubble. Later when Danny showed up, I confronted him about the lie and he shrugged saying, "people will believe what they want to believe," looked hard at me and walked away.

We started at 9, the crowd was small, but by the end of the set, respectable for a Tuesday and there was energy in the house, Kate could rock. At sets end, the substitute drummer and I headed for the bar, while the rest of the band went off chasing white lines.

Before my beer arrived, Susan came out of the crowd followed by a friend, who's name I didn't catch. I knew she wouldn't be staying as this was a dancing night and I'd pick her up at close. I and every other guy watched her leave, it was those legs and the tight, slut length mini dress, we were entranced. After they left, a guy who drives a cab, mentioned that the other woman looked an awful lot like a hooker that he'd driven around the previous week.

Augie's is also on 5th and Hennepin, across from the Lumber exchange building. Hennepin was a one-way then, heading toward the river with lane for buses and cabs going in the other direction

I came down 5th and was caught at the light. She was waiting in front of the club, the Augie's bouncers standing out front chatting with the bouncers from the Brass Rail. She saw me flash the headlights and walked the 50 or so feet to the corner. She got in, we kissed and I asked her where she wanted to go. "I'm hungry," was her response. "Mama's OK," I asked and she nodded affirmatively.

Breakfast at Mama's was on Riverside, just off Cedar on the West Bank. It opened at midnight, on the weekends, after the bars closed, the line would stretch around the building, But on a Wednesday morning getting a table was easy.

We got home around 2:30 and she went right to bed and by the time I went to join her, she was sleeping like a baby. "So much for a bit of nooky," I thought. Not really tired, I poured a glass of brandy, rolled a joint and went out on the porch. Being alone, in the dark started me thinking, about her of course. What I knew and the new info, that she worked in porn. Also there were other photo shoots and movies in which she appeared, and the possible hooker friend. That last snippet of information was making me paranoid. The coming weekend, I'd be playing with Kate's band in the far northwest suburbs, while Susan would be dancing at Augie's on Thursday and Friday, and then on Saturday working a private party with the suspected hooker.

A couple of years earlier, I'd sworn off stripper girlfriends due to the drama they were bringing into my life. Probably because I had a defective selection procedure, the dancers I dated were emotional toxic waste dumps. Susan wasn't that, but I suspected something that would have been worse, that she was emotionally hardened.

The previous week, I was to meet her at the end of her shift at Augie's after I finished playing a recording session at a nearby studio. The session had gone sideways, when one member of the duo what we were backing showed up too stoned to work. So I went by the club a couple of hours early.

Augie's opened in the mid 40's as a caberet and night club, at some point strippers were added, then the live music faded away and the strippers were what was left. In the early 80's the interior seemed quite like it must have been in the dives hey day. As you came in to the right, was the bar and in the back corner a stage that connected to the back bar and the main bar allowing the dancers to walk up the bar if they chose. In the center, there were tables, but it was once a dance floor and to the left small tables were arranged on risers, each row a bit higher than the one in front.

I entered as she was finishing her stage set, collecting her money and disappearing into the dressing room. The bar stool, closest the street was empty, so I took it. She came out a few minutes later to work the room, having changed to a sheer nightie and a g-string.

She didn't notice me as I watched her work the room. This was in the days before private rooms for lap dances. Working the room consisted of a few things, table dances, company, sitting with a guy and letting him paw you and convincing the mark to buy a $3 bottle of champagne for $30, for which the dancer received half.

She had told me she had never danced before and I'd believed her. But watching her work that night I began to doubt her. She was simply, to efficient and cold. While most of the girls would look away when groped, Susan could look them straight in the eye and smile as some loser felt her up. She sold a lot of champagne.

I was convincing myself that I should enjoy the ride while it lasted but not to become to invested.

Epilogue

A couple of months later, Susan announced she was going back to LA for a while, but would be back. She was gone about a year, when I got a call from her asking if I could pick her up at the airport and could she stay with me till she found a place of her own.

I'd very recently had begun dating a woman, a nice stable person with a normal professional day job. I asked her if she minded, I won’t say she didn’t but didn’t make a scene. We'd eventually marry and she still puts up with me.

Susan stayed with me for about a week and she was clear she had no interest in rekindling our romance. She had set her sights on marrying a doctor and got a secretarial job at a local hospital to facilitate it. She was successful, a nice guy but it lasted only a few years. After that she began meowing and scratching at my door again.

Mostly, but not entirely could I resist her and then she went off and found another husband, who either ignored her behavior or was willfully blind. I guess they're still together. Susan drifted in and out of my life for about 20 years till we had another falling out and I decided to say good riddance.

Danny married one of the girls who worked the peep show, moved to the burbs and had a couple of kids. He left the porn shop and took a job selling cars. He was good at it and eventually opened a used car lot of his own. But larceny and Danny ran in tandem and he was busted for title washing and dealing in stolen cars.

While on Covid-19 lock down, I was browsing a vintage porno tube and low and behold came across an orgy scene that featured her. There was no credit, but using the name of the star(s) I found several more. It seemed her specialty was blowjobs, anal and gang bangs. Never could find a stage name, but she showed up in a few dozen clips. Her memory triggered the urge to write this down.

#SDog1-1

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