#but he died with a hairless face

[eatdirt420]

In regards to my last post, though nobody asked, I find the name Gaius Julius Caesar deeply personal to me because Gaius Julius Caesar was a silly guy that died in a silly way just like John Fredrick Kennedy in da Lincoln. I feel the same way about President Garfield (not the cat) (the dude) (and NOT Andrew Garfield) (I know not of his first name, nor if he really has one) (he gives me George vibes)

[petew21-blog]

Uncharted territory

Danny made sure that he had everything. His costume of Nathan Drake from Uncharted was amazing for this year's Comic Con. He was inspired after he saw his bully dressed as him for Halloween. He needed to be better, but unfortunately he didn't have the muscles to show off. So he went for the shirt.

The bully looked so good. Danny even saved the photo from his instagram and jerked off to it, imagining that he would go to Comic Con as him. He would definitely get a LOT of attention.

He was about to head out to wait for his friend Martin to pick him up. But before leaving he decided to fully use his costume and play one last quick game of Uncharted before leaving.

Danny turned on the play station, excited to start his immersive experience.

The game launched and Danny clicked continue. But something was different. His controller was vibrating and overheating. Something was wrong. Danny felt a force pulling him into the game. He wanted to let go of the controller, but it was too late.

He opened his eyes. Gone was his nerdy room with comic books and a computer set. He looked around to see the jungle surrounding him. He looked down. His Nathan Drake outfit now fit way better then before. But his hands were entirely different. They were strong, veiny and hairy, not like his teen body. His shirt was strechted over his bulking pecs and the buttons of his shirt did a really bad job of covering his hairy torso.

"Oh no" he said out loud noticing the sudden voice change. He put his hand up to his throat to feel the protruding adam's apple. His hand continued and felt the stubble on his face.

"No fucking way" he tried to search for something that would show him his reflection, but the only thing he found was his knife. He pulled it out to take a look at his new face.

"Holy shit. I'm Nathan Drake! No way!" his manly voice was so erotic.

He turned around and grinned.

"I am Nathan Drake. And I am in my own game of Uncharted, with fictional characters and no one who could judge me." his grin was now even more apparent. He immediately ripped off his clothing he had on.

His body was sweaty from the humidity of the jungle, but also from the thrill Danny was now experiencing. He took a whiff of his new armpits. "Ooooh. That smells so... manly!" his hands traced the hairy line of his chest over to his abs. "These are amazing"

He came back to try out his nipples. They were really sensitive. He played with them for a while.

And the jawline! Danny would kill to look like this forever.

Everything was different. No more skinny arms, no more hairless body, no more struggles to grow a beard. No more...

He froze in place. There was one thing he definitely needed to check out

His hand made its way aggresively into his pants. There it was. A beautiful thick meat. Danny felt the weight of it. It was perfect. He never even hoped to be such a stud.

He was ready to enjoy his body fully, but something happened. He started moving through the jungle. His shirt appeared back on his body. His body was moving as if something else was controlling it. There was a background music, which was more and more intense every second. The mission started. He had to fight for his life. But Danny felt as if he had no control of it. And the thing that controlled him did so many stupid mistakes. And then it happened. He died. Danny felt the pain in his body. Overwhelming and liberating at the same time. He closed his eyes.

Danny was forced to open them again. The mission restarted. "What the hell?" someone was playing the game. And Danny was now trapped as Nathan in the game.

The first death was one of MANY. Danny stopped counting after he reached number 28. He just prayed for it to end soon.

Meanwhile, in front of his Playstation sat his body, playing the Uncharted, grinning.

"I'll teach you how to play the game. I'll show you what it's like to die over and over again!"

Nathan was making sure to let Danny Die in his body as many times as possible.

His phone was vibrating.

"Hey. Yeah I'm ready. I'll just close the game and will meet you downstairs." Nathan tried the best impression of Danny to not raise any suspiciouns.

Nathan grinned mischievously.

He ran to the car.

Martin:"What took you so long?"

Nathan:"I had to fix settings in my game. It was too easy."

Martin:"Ok. You ready for comic con?"

Nathan:"Yes, sir"

Danny's struggles unfortunately did not end, because Nathan made sure to leave the game on and not only that. Nathan somehow messed with the settings and the story. Nathan's enemy - Atoq Navarro was now present after every death Danny went through.

What was horrible wasn't his presence, but the fact that he was 3 times bigger and his only goal was to fill Nathan's body with his cum. EVERYTHING was 3 times bigger and Atoq needed Nathan filled up.

Danny:"I hope they come back from Comic Con soon. I'm not sure how many fillings I can take." but Danny knew that he was now a character in the game. There were no limits for his pleasant suffering.

Anonymous request from Inbox

What about a swap between a cosplayer and the character in game? Like someone cosplaying as Nathan drake from Uncharted getting swapped with the ingame character while the ingame character gets put in the real world to play the video game?

[abdy-18]

hc of today:

Twilight actually enjoys fashion a lot jhdsj he really likes buying nice clothes for him and his girls, ironing his suits, taking care his hair, having skincare and generally looking good, although he tells himself it's not out of vanity, but because looking good has always given him privilege XD.

Probably when he was little his mother would pick out cute little outfits for him just like he does now with Anya, but when his mother died he literally lived on the street and there was no one to take care of little Loid.

For obvious reasons, in the army he didn't care about his physique, the guy didn't even shave, but apparently he had such good genetics that he still looked relatively “good”

And then he came to WISE and they said, “He's got a pretty face, but he looks like shit” and then he got the glow up.

He is like those videos in which they find stray dogs and in the before they are malnourished and hairless with fleas and in the after they are healthy and full of hair

Did I just compare Loid to a dog? a malnourished stray dog with fleas? Yes

Don't blame me, that would probably be Sylvia's description of Rookie Twilight

He has more in common with Bond than he thinks XD

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - Second round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

Propaganda in favour of Primo Levi by @itsmalombra

What to say about Primo Levi? Jew, a leftist until his death, Holocaust survivor (thanks to beng a chemist, he was considered useful by the SS and wasn't killed as soon he arrived to Auschwitz), he condemned with decades of advance the first cases of violence from the just started Israel occupation aganst the Palestinians, having still care for the difficulties that many jews like him were experiencing in Europe. He is one of the author you have to read if you want to understand the contrast and the difference between anti-semitism and anti-sionism. The horrors he endured were the cause of hid death in 1987, possibly by suicide.

About his relationship with other italian jews who moved in Occupied Palestine/Israel but at the same time his distrust to Menachem Begin policies and latent antisionism: Levi was clearly inspired by them, but not enough to follow their example and join his fate in the postwar period to the Zionist project in Israel. He had a complicated relationship to the country. […] Like other Jews, Levi kept up with news from the region, especially during times of crisis. His responses to two of these crises reveal a strong attachment to Israel on a personal level but also some sharp differences with the country’s policies. His criticisms were political and generally lined up with the views of the Italian Left. They came to a head in 1982, during Israel’s incursion into Lebanon in Operation ‘Peace for Galilee’. […] Much of public opinion in Western countries, including Italy, turned against Israel, especially following the Christian Phalange militia’s massacre of Palestinians in Sabra and Shatila in September, 1982. Levi joined his voice to the protests, signing letters urging Israel’s withdrawal and calling for Begin’s retirement from office. In turn, he himself came under criticism from prominent leaders of the Italian Jewish community, who called for communal solidarity at such a time. Fearing an intensification of hostility against Jews in Italy as a result of vehement anti-Israel and antisemitic demonstrations breaking out across Europe, they also thought it unwise for Jews to join their voices in protest against Israel, as Levi and others were doing. Levi’s Italian Jewish friends living in Israel, some of whom lost family members in the country’s War of Independence and subsequent fighting, also spoke out against him. ‘I retain a close sentimental tie with Israel,’ he confessed at the time, ‘but not with this Israel’. [source]

Another article about this important part of him is here, unfortunately is in italian.

I don’t think there is another author as representative of the Holocaust horror (and war horror in general) in Italy like Primo Levi, considering also is eminence in contemporary literature, his interviews with Philip Roth or Judith Butler, him being the namesake of various international associations against discriminations and violence like the Primo Levi Center, the raw and vivid power of his writing and poetry:

You who live safe In your warm house; You who find, come evening, Hot food and the faces of friends: Consider if this is a man Who struggles in the mud Who knows no peace Who fights for crumbs Who dies because of a No or Yes Consider if this is a woman, Nameless and hairless Without strength to remember Vacant eyes and a womb Cold like a frog in the winter: Consider the fact that this has happened: These words I suggest: Etch them on your heart When staying home and going out, Closing your eyes and rising back; Repeat them to your children: Or may your house crumble, Illness bind you And they turn their faces away from you.

If This Is a Man, Primo Levi, 1947.

To describe his importance not only in the italian, but also european and world-wide canon, it takes months and pages of space, a thing that sadly now I don't have, but if you, readed, have never heard of him, you have in front of you so much of books, essays, poetry and writing by Levi that will let you amazed by his depth of though and sensivity, but most importantly, vote now for him👆.

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

Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Through The Poral: Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: A mystery girl comes through the portal with Ford. Little did anyone know she has a bigger connection to the brothers than anyone thought.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, age gap, flash backs, mentions of hopelessness, age gap (reader looks 21)

Pairing(s): Stan x platonic!reader, Ford x platonic!reader

A/N: Retelling of a Tale of Two Stans. The events and ideas are based on a theory I have about the Nightmare Realm. This is in no way canonically true, just my theories based on what we canonically know about the Nightmare Realm. 

40 long years of waiting. Waiting and wondering whether the time would come if I would ever be able to go home again. 40 years of hiding in plain sight from the one they call Bill Cipher, a dream demon who reigns over the nightmare realm, the place I have resided in for 40 years. Unaged and unchanged physically, but mentally I feel like I’ve lived for centuries.

When I first arrived in the nightmare realm, I had found refuge with a group of asteroid miners. I wasn't sure how much time had truly passed when an unknown man joined us, Stanford Pines. He told us stories of how he managed to get there as escapes Bill's grasp.

That was a long time ago. It seemed longer than what it actually was. Stanford had gone off and managed to hop between dimensions, and here we're I standing at the ready to take down Bill for good, his quantum destabilizer complete and in hand. 

“We have one shot at this.” Stanford whispered to me. 

I nodded in agreement, but as we went to strike, a rift opened up in front of us. Stanford, knowing the stakes of this mission knew that either we walked through, or Bill would and wreak havoc upon our home dimension, so with a heavy heart we walked through entering back into our home dimension. 

It felt surreal. After being gone for so long, I was finally back home. Yet, where I stood was not familiar to me. I recognised nothing. A dark space that was placed, I assumed, underground. I could hear the whirring of the machine as it fizzled and died. Home, a place I'd long forgotten, yet this place felt nothing like that. I felt like I was an imposter entering a realm I did not belong in.

Stanford and I stood silent. Taking in our surroundings. Unmoved by anything the people standing in the room were saying or doing. That was, till a man in a fez spoke up amongst the group. 

“Finally, after all these years long years of waiting, you're actually here! Brother!” The man opened his arms, a goofy grin spread across his face.

Then Stanford punched him square in the face before speaking, “this was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal. Didn't you read my warnings!?”

Never had I seen Stanford so angry. Usually he was calm and collected. Even still, he may have lashed out, but he wasn't yelling, he was calmly speaking down to this man that claimed to be his brother.

“Wranings, schmarnings. How's about maybe a thanks for saving you from what appears to be some sci-fi sideburn dimension.”

“Thank you? You think I'm going to thank you after what you did 30 years ago!?” Stanford raised his voice for the first time since I met him. He always was soft spoken, and kind. Never have I heard someone draw such anger out of him. Not even Bill himself.

Something didn't seem right. The physical confrontation, the yelling. It all screamed something more beyond the surface of what I knew.

Stanford had pinned his brother to the ground after dodging his punches. That's when I noticed the three of us weren't alone. There were three others that joined us in the dark, dingy underground. 

“Hey, hi, Mabel here. Quick question, what the heck is going on here?” A girl in a pink hand knitted sweater spoke up. 

“Stan, you didn't tell me there were children down here. And some sort of large, hairless gopher.” Stanford quickly gained his composure as he looked between the three people we didn't even notice. The larger man chuckled at Stanford's comment, seeking unphased. I took quick note of this.

“They're your family poindexter. Shermie's grandkids.” Stanford's brother, or Stan as he supposedly goes by, gestured to the two young kids, I'm guessing, were twins.

“I-I have a niece, a nephew?” Stanford's voice turned to one of fondness before he knelt down in front of the girl, Mabel, reaching out to shake her hand, “greetings. Do kids still say greetings? I haven't been in this dimension for a really long time.”

“Woah, a six fingered hand shake, that's one finger friendlier than usual.” Mabel beamed.

Mabel's twin brother, who had been absolutely silent up until now, finally spoke up, “I-I can believe it. You're the author of the journals.” The boy then began to hyperventilate and almost threw up.

This whole thing felt like a lucid dream. I let Stanford get used to the new information he had received. I, on the other hand, had nothing to take in. I again, was lost in the world of unknowns. Maybe I no longer had a home to look for anymore.

“There'll be time for introductions later. But first, tell me Stan, are there any security breaches? Does anyone else know about this portal?”

“No. Just us. Also, maybe the entire US Government.”

“The what!?” Stanford's face was fuming. I never saw him so angry.

They all looked through the window where the security footage showed the government outside searching for Stanford’s brother and the two young kids. Everything was so chaotic right now, which I hoped wouldn’t be the case when we entered our home dimension. I guess chaos followed us wherever we went.

“Okay, it’s alright. We’ve got a while before they find this room. We just need to lay low and think of a plan.” Stanford stated, the calmness returned to his voice as he pulled out the journal he had picked up off the floor, and began to write in it.

“It looks like we’re going to be stuck down here for a while. Who wants to tell us their entire mysterious back story, and also, who is she?” Mabel stated, finally pointing in my direction.

“This is Y/n. She is a friend I met on my travels. Yes, though, I have some questions about all of this myself, Stanley.” Stanford finally introduced me.

Stanley? I had not heard a name like that in 40 years…a name so familiar to me yet so foreign all at the same time. An old friend from home. A friend I left behind all those years ago. There was no way this was the same Stanley. Right?”

“Stanley?” Mabel’s brother asked.

“But your name is Stanford.” Mabel pointed out.

Stanford’s face and mine said it all. What the hell was happening here? What had happened in the time Stanford was gone? Why had his brother assumed his identity? I hoped we both got the answers we needed.

“Wait, you took my name? What have you been doing all these years you knucklehead?” Stanford turned angry again.

Whatever happened between Stanford and his brother, it still hit a nerve with him. Something about Stanley made Stanford’s normal demeanor turn angry. A side I never thought he had. He was cunning for sure, but downright hateful was not on the list of traits I had listed for Stanford.

“”Okay, okay, okay. I know I have a lot of explaining to do. It all started a lifetime ago…” Stanley began telling his version of his life growing up with Stanford to everyone.

As he spoke, things started to piece together slowly in my mind. There was a reason Stanford and I were brought together. The more they spoke the more I connected my life to the eldest Pines twins. I reached into my pocket, there I kept a picture of my dear friend that I left behind. The one person I wanted to get back to the most. Stanley Pine.

“The old me was dead, and I faked a car crash to prove it. By day, I was Stanford Pines, mr. Mystery. But by night, I was down in the basement trying to bring the real Stanford back. I couldn’t risk anyone learning the truth and sabotaging my mission. So, I lied to everyone. The town, my family, your parents. Even you, kids.” Stanley finished his story.

Everyone was so enthralled in the story that the brothers were telling, we all forgot about the government agents upstairs. Dipper, I learned was the name of Mabel’s brother, had a device in his bag that could erase people’s memories. Stanford hooked it up and changed the frequency to sync to radio headsets.

We all plugged our ears as Stanford set the device off. Soon enough the agents were dazed and confused about where they were and what was going on. Stanford greeted them and sent them away, pretending to be a government official.

“Nice work Stanford.” I smiled as I walked up to him.

He smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder, “thank you, Y/n. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better. It’ll take some time to adjust, but I feel like I know you better than I did before, and your brother as well.”

“It’ll take us both some time to adjust, but I promise, as soon as we get settled in, and things quiet down, I’ll get you back home where you belong.”

I shake my head, “no. You and I are a team. I’m not leaving your side. Plus,” I pull out the picture of Stanley, “I think my home is here now.”

Stanford took the picture from me, “i-is this?”

I nod, “I didn’t recognize him at first. He’s older now, and with that fez, I couldn’t see his hair, I always said that was his most defining feature.” I laughed softly.

Stanford smiled softly, “I think you should get some rest. You and Stan can discuss this in the morning. I know of a room you can stay in, if it’s still there that is.”

I nod as Stanford leads me inside and to the room that he said used to be his. It consisted of just a couch and wasn’t much, but it was a place to rest my head at night, and probably more comfortable than a cold gravel ground.

I was settling in as I heard the brothers talking. Stanford said that at the end of the summer he was to give him his house back, his name back, and the Mystery Shack business was over with. I could hear the pain in Stan’s voice, and I felt sorry for him, but after what he told us today, I didn’t blame Stanford for being the way he was. Stan hurt him badly, and I didn’t blame Stanford for holding it against his brother

I was finally settled in when Stan knocked on the door. I sat up and invited him in. He had a few more blankets in his hand that he was ready to offer up.

“Y-you settling in okay?” He asked softly.

I nodded and smiled, “as good as one can. It’s been so long since I laid on anything other than the ground in years.”

“Ford tells me you’re originally from this dimension too?”

I nod, “yeah, I’ve been away for I think 40 years…the world definitely seems different now than it did in the 70s.”

“Th-the 70s?”

“Yeah, I know, kind of a while to be away from home. No trace left of me. Nothing left except my failed experiment.”

“Y-you didn’t happen to grow up in New Jersey too, did you?”

“I actually did…” I hesitate whether I should tell him I’m exactly who he thinks I am, but I also didn’t want to assume that’s where he was going, and overwhelm his mind.

Stan just nods and goes to leave. Before he does, he says one final thing, “how is it you haven’t aged a single day, toots?” With that he walked away, closing the door behind him.

[zais-zafu]

things I manifested through subs I started creating

I wanted to create a master list for all that I manifested but Idt that's possible cos we manifest all the time + I manifest a lot of things per day/week, so here's just what I got out of my own subs over time!

(yt channel link)

okay so far, I created these subs + results:

° dad does what I want sub

at first I dreamt about dad a few times & in my dreams he reflected back my affirmations + now he is much kinder, generous, and loving too <3 now it's been a while since that and it is so funny how the old story just switched (I even low-key forgot how dad was like before). my dad really conformed to what I affirmed for that now he's the least of my problems + someone I feel safe with and loved by

° perfect lips sub

my lips are much fuller and vibrant, actually they are kinda tearing up bc of how much larger they got lol (they're healing fast tho so dw + I think they're just a lil chapped cos of the heat & some dehydration) & as an update they healed and I am in love with them now, they compliment my face perfectly!!

° best driver sub

I got my license (even when I really gave and asked dad to lemme drop and was sooo done with lmao)

° hairless sub

I listen to it every once in a while and it is nice to see how my whole body is losing hair and really looks hairless (probs lost like 50% of my hair in the 3d)

° 'your life is perfect' repeated 100k+ times sub

this is one of my favourite subs cos it was a start of a new era when it came to how I formulate my subs. I got such a shock when I first listen to it and it is an umbrella aff so I can't exactly provide results but I feel grateful, peaceful + I see much more beauty, opportunities, and fun in my life!

° 'I / you are perfect' repeated 500k+ times sub

this sub is crazy! I remember I woke up, ran some errands, then created it and listened to it for like 4 times then I got SO sleepy like my mind was super tired even tho I jusy started my day (probs cos of the amount of affirmations like it is that powerful!). ever since I started listening to it I have become so aware of myself and changed a lot on the inside (I think my ego died a lil lol). I really feel much happier with myself in a way that is detached from my ego :)

(ofc these subs are not the only way I practice the law but subs are one my main ones so I hope you felt motivated by these results!)

[maxbruiser]

*Desperately shaking your shoulders* Where is the Viking Fic!?! I need it!! I want it!!! ;0;

uhh here’s the first draft of chapter 1 if you wanna see.

untitled Viking fic, chapter 1:

 Long ago, before civilization existed, the beasts of the earth first roamed the lands. Animals which were made and born of the flesh and blood of their mothers, then were returned to the earth when they died. 

Then came the creatures from the heavens, who were made of magic dust in the place of flesh and bone. When they died, their bodies would be turned back into dust. These beings called themselves “monsters”. Among them there was peace.

Beasts and monsters could be found in all corners of the earth and lived amongst each other in the competition of “kill or be killed”.

Another being which owned a flesh body like beasts and possessed strong magic like monsters also walked the same earth as the beasts and heavenly creatures. Where they went there was war. These were humans. They- 

“What do they look like?”

Red stopped mid-sentence and rolled his eyelights, tired of being interrupted by his little brother again for the umpteenth time tonight. He laid his gaze on the image of his younger brother Edge sitting cross legged on the sleeping mat beside him. 

Their skulls’ angular features were illuminated in the lamplight. Sharp teeth and crimson eyelights shone brightly in the darkness of the tent. The amber glow of the lamp flickered as the flame fought against the draft. 

“What’d who look like?” Red asked impatiently.

Edge scooted closer to his brother and elaborated, phalanges laced and held tightly against his ribcage in wonder. “The humans brother! What did they look like?” 

Red blinked at him and thought for a moment, trying to remember how his father told him the same old story when he was a babybones. Come to think of it, he didn’t really know what humans looked like either. Well, he supposed, when a story is passed down through several generations without being written down, details tend to get lost.

He shrugged it off. Most of them have probably died out already anyway from starting stupid wars with themselves. Humans were stupid like that. Or so he was told.

“Hairless. With flat faces. That’s how Dad described them anyway.”

“Hairless?” Edge echoed, unclasping his hands and bringing them eyelevel. He was hairless. Other monsters weren’t. Did he look like a human?

“Yeah, and wrinkly too probably.” he said with a grin, sniggering at the reaction it brought out of his little brother.

“Eeeww.” Edge wrinkled his nasal ridge at the imaginary image of a huge hairless beast shaking a spear in threat. 

“Mhmm. And not only were they ugly, but they were strong too.” Red raised his arms above his head and flexed in example.

Edge snorted at his display. “Their magic was?”

Red nodded. Lowering his hands to brush the stray fur strands from his parka trim away from his face. He continued. “A single human soul could defeat an enemy army of more than a thousand monsters.”

Edge’s brows raised in surprise before furrowing into a glare. “A thousand monsters? You’re pulling my leg bone.”

The older skeleton sighed and laid on his back. It was getting late, and he was already plenty tired from walking from one merchant post to the next. But he’d stick it out. After all, the fate of the wealth and prosperity of their homeland was riding on his shoulders.

“I aint. And If you don’t believe me, then you can paddle your way back to the island and ask Dad.”

Edge huffed, head lowering as he let his fingers trace over the stitching pattern of the mat beneath him.

“Maybe I would if we weren't already so far from home.” he shot back, unenthused.

Red sat back up a bit, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Edge. “Says the babybones who blubbered and begged me to come along.” Red teased. His little brother bristled at his words, an offended gasp sounded from him.

“I AM NOT A BABYBONES!!” Edge screeched. Red was quick to clamp a hand over his loudmouth little brother’s teeth, shushing him and holding a finger to his own with his other hand.

“SSHHhh! What are ya tryin’ ta do? Wake up the whole mainland!? Fine! You're not a babybones, just please keep it down!”

Under normal circumstances, Red couldn't give a rip about how loud and annoying his brother was, but that was back in their home on the island, not camping behind a random trading post in a paper thin tent!

A beat of silence passed before Red’s hand slipped away from Edge's mouth, narrowly avoiding being bit by him and losing a phalange.

“M’not a babybones.” Edge mumbled, fishing out a brown, tattered blanket from his pack and shaking it out over himself. He didn’t bother undressing or even taking off his scarf, knowing that as soon as he woke up he’d have to be back on his feet and hiking to the next town in search of traveling merchants. It also didn’t hurt that his day clothes added a bit of extra warmth to help ward off the biting cold of the late Autumn. Not that he needed it, he was a skeleton of course. ‘The cold goes right through him’ as his brother would say. But he liked the little bit of comfort it gave him.

He pulled the blanket over his head and rolled over, curling up as he did so. From under the blanket Red heard a quiet and muffled “finish the story”.

He settled again, this time choosing to rest on his side. Now, where was he?...

Another characteristic that separated humans from the likeness of monsters was that their souls were inverted and held a color that would predict their greatest attributes. A crimson soul represents the trait of a human’s strong determination, orange equated to bravery, yellow meant justice, green kindness, cyan patience, blue integrity, and violet was perseverance.

At some point in Red’s storytelling, Edge had rolled back over to face Red, eye sockets peeking out from under his covers.

 “They sound like they’d make great warrior allies.”

Red held back a laugh, instead letting it go as a sigh. “Yeah? Well, maybe they woulda been if they hadn't all died tryin’ ta kill all the monsters.”

“What!?”

“Yup. Humans’re evil. Strong magic and a soul trait couldn't beat us. Now they're all dead. G'night.”

Red blew out the lamp and rolled over.

“Hey!” 

Red ignored Edge and tried to get comfortable on the floor mat unsuccessfully. Its thin design allowed them to be lightweight and easy to travel with, however, being easy luggage didn't mean comfortable. Like sleeping on a napkin-

“Ow!” Red yipped, hovering his hand over where Edge just kicked him in the back.

“But how? I thought you said a single human soul could defeat an entire monster army?” Edge questioned, clearly unsatisfied with the story’s ending.

‘Fuck it, he ain’t gonna let me sleep until he gets an answer.’ Red thought bitterly.

He rolled back over and said to him;

“Cuz they were already fighting among themselves that’s why. Couldn't stand each other already. Add another war on top of that mess and it just wipes them all out.”

Red’s glowing eyes find his brother’s in the dark 

“Monsters help each other. Humans don't do that. That's why we're still here.” 

He takes Edge’s silence for the end of the conversation. And a long night.

He shrugs off his parka and lays it over the both of them, the thick fur material giving them more insulation than the old blanket ever would.

“Get some sleep. The next post is farther up than the previous ones.” 

It’s still in the tent. The sound of the wind whistling is the only noise. The brothers find solace from the cold under their coverings. They drift off to sleep

[scaly-freaks]

Wrote this on a whim. I don't know what it is exactly, but it IS Feyd-Rautha so be aware there is violence and bodily harm.

The Fremen language rolls down the back of the throat like honeydew on silk. It is a vat of unspoken secrets, a hiss in the dark, a revelation. When they cry out for their false messiah, the lie turns holy.

Spoken on the Planet of Giedi Prime, the honey turns to amber, and she is a fly trapped at its centre, forced to experience her own disintegration.

Last night, Feyd gave her a music box.

She lay curled up in a puddle of her own piss, and thought how wasteful. A stillsuit would have made much better use of it. But when the liquid crept across the floor and touched the burns on her face, her flesh cooled. She might have imagined that part. After all, when she awoke this morning, the burns were as red and as mangled as they were when Feyd-Rautha first struck them into her flesh in front of his entire family.

He left the music box beside her head.

Inside, were her mother's teeth.

He did not kill her mother. Her mother died ten years ago. But he killed her father, who carried her mother's teeth in a pouch around his neck. They were his lucky charm, he used to say, his deliverance. She'd wonder if he ever kissed them, just to remind himself what it felt like to kiss his wife all those years ago, to run his tongue over her pearly teeth and feel her laughter bubble against his lips.

Teeth are an intimate gift.

"Wakey-wakey, Fremen mouse." His voice is guttural, a corpse dragged across gravel, each word slick behind blackened teeth.

She saw him bite a chunk out of one of the Baron's hairless boys and the wound was edged with the same ebony that drips from his saliva. There was no blood. Just black, greased like tar and infected. In her worst moments, when the hallucinations have her gripped by the throat, she sees a black hole grow in his mouth, beckoning.

When her answer to his whistle is not forthcoming, his boot presses into her soft, unblemished cheek. The pressure of it forces the burns on the other to scream in protest against the dungeon floor. It looks smooth and polished, but as with everything on Giedi Prime, the potential for pain is woven in like veins through marble. The texture of it is like a hundred thousand tiny shards of glass, and her ruined skin feels the scrape of each one.

"You did not like my gift?"

"I adored your gift."

"Why have you not opened it?"

"I did not think my hands were worthy."

He pushes his boot down harder and a prolonged keen of pain is finally yanked from her bruised ribs. Rabban is easier to fool. Feyd sniffs out insult like a shark to blood. Her injuries are proof.

"You still have fight in you."

"If I lost it, I would no longer have the pleasure of your visits, my lord."

He digs his heel into the underside of her cheekbone and the agony threatens to blind her. Drool slips from her open mouth and blends in with the piss just inches away. She pictures tearing off her flesh and flames swallowing her in one fell swoop, burning too hot and too quick to cause pain. She would chew off her own tongue to end it if she could, but who would care for her mother's teeth?

"Then I will visit you again, sayyadina." The honey of the Fremen language turns to mockery and acid on Feyd-Rautha's tongue, an acerbic jumble of syllables that burn just as horribly when they fall onto her ears. "You will crumble like sand between my fingers. And you will become as they are, just another pet."

They.

The Harpies, cannibalistic and violent, eyes blank, mouths leering.

One of them draws forward, prepared with a knife, as she has done every night Feyd has come to visit. It feels like the worst of the punishment. She tenses, shivering like a leaf, and cannot form the words to beg him for this one thing and prove him right -

That she is breakable.

Please don't cut my hair. My father loved my hair.

The harpy gathers it into her pale fist and lifts the blade high. Just before it falls, Feyd's hand rises, a single finger held out in command. His pet cocks her head, a mewl caught in the back of her throat. They are soft with him, curious as pups. She wonders who they were when their lives had meaning and their names tasted sweet on their parents' tongues.

He signals for the harpy to drop her hair and the woman accedes without question. He reaches down to lift the lid of the music box, the teeth inside gleaming like pearls in the pallid light, and then steps over his captive's body to leave.

A soft, whirling rush follows as the harpies scurry in his wake.

Her minds falls silent again.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Please, darling.

Eleventh doctor x fem!reader  18+

Tw/Cw: First time face-sitting for reader, anxiety, oral sex, cunnilingus, praise.

Are you up for sitting on my face? With a smile on his face, he took your hand and began guiding you to the bedroom.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

"What?" His brilliant green eyes sparkle with fake confusion as he turns to face you, his brows wrinkled.

"Pardon, you mean your lap, right?" You chuckled while displaying a perplexed look.

Doctor looked about as smug as he ever did and when he wasn’t shouting with rage over aliens and Daleks attacking, a mischievous smirk tended to be his default expression. His softer moments, weren't so secret as but were expected to remain serious, existed behind the closed doors of the TARDIS.

He wasn't accustomed to being kind. Things like falling in love were absent from his existence, which was what it was and what he had been compelled to become. The more you'd been with him, the more he'd warmed up to gentler times, but as a patient teacher, you'd been helping him better comprehend that aspect of himself. 

💫💫💫💫💫💫

“That’s the face of somebody asking me to do something I’m not so sure I can do.”

“Yes, you can. It will be simple. All you need to do is move that lovely body a bit so you can sit comfortably on my face.”

"Doctor, you won't be able to breathe."

His fingers drummed on his warm, hairless chest, and a little sigh of exasperation from his lips. He urged you to move up closer by rubbing his hands over your thighs out of impatience. His eyes were slightly tinged with mischief as he peered at you.

"Remember that I'm immortal, dear, and you won't hurt me in any way. If your gorgeous face had the power to kill, I would have died long before now.”

"Not the most comforting words."

"Look, everything will work out. Would you kindly stop worrying, come up here, and sit on my face now, sweetie?

You dragged your moist core past the white splatter of his own sperm that covered the smoothness of his stomach and away from the front of his exhausted cock as you crept a little higher.

“Please, darling. Come give me a nice little taste.”

"Trying this has the benefit of keeping you quiet for five minutes."

"If you last that long at all."

On either side of his head, you extend your legs wide, keeping your knees apart, being careful not to grab his brown hair. Weary of your hesitancy, the doctor grabbed your ass meat and pulled you down more quickly. It was nothing unusual to you, getting eaten out, but you weren't used to face-sitting, and you were shocked at how much the doctor seemed eager to do it. With as often as he got his mouth on you when he made time for sex, it ought to have been no shock how much he desired this.

“Sweetheart, you're awfully wet for somebody acting so shy about this,” he teased, tongue darting out for one slow lave that dipped into you and drew up, all along towards your clit. 

"I'm not nervous. I simply don't want to put you in harm.

He hummed against your mound in a way that showed how doubtful he was of your explanation and how indifferent he was to any more justifications. If there was one thing you knew the doctor desired, it was moans rather than contemptuous remarks, another probing lick that gathered up your essence. There was no doubt that it felt wonderful; a few tongue-to-clit passes caused you to relax closer to his lips with less hesitancy, enjoying the comforting sensation. Doctor looped his arms to wrap around your thighs as another moan, this one contented, rumbled softly against your core.

When you peered down, you could see his eyes closed in pleasure and focus, his mouth making wet noises between your thighs, and the deep pink of his tongue repeatedly dipping over your bud. As you watched him for a little while, your head craning back when he gave your clit a strong suck, it was quite the sight, one that made you bite your lip.

Doctor—Fuck! His silky lips encircled your clit as you shouted, and he sucked forcefully, tapping your thigh to confirm that he wasn't joking.

He quickly developed an unrestrained appetite. He did it anytime he desired you. Instead of eating you out, the doctor feasted on you, slurping and moaning at your delicate folds like a guy enjoying his first taste of a fine dessert. In order to get a better taste of your distinct flavour, he pushed his tongue into you while forcing his nose on your clit. Then, his lips closed over the swelling nub once again. You ached more and more as he used his tongue to assault you, reaching down to grab his hair.

You stilled not more than a few seconds after you realised what you’d been doing, gasping and lifting off him as far as his grip would allow you to.

 You gazed down at the doctor, who seemed both startled and irritated as his breath fanned across your cunt and his forehead wrinkled.

I apologise! I didn't think!

"Why did you stop, darling?"

"Because I started riding your face the way I ride your dick!"

"What's the issue, my love?"

You gaped at him, and the doctor licked his already shiny lips while shaking his head as best he could with your thighs around it.

"Oh, dear one, you weren't harming anything at all. Do me the honour of coming back down here now, please. Stop worrying so much, ride my face, and tug my hair.

To prove that he's fine and dandy, the doctor dragged your hand back to his hair, giving it a light pat of reassurance as if to wordlessly say that you could pull to your heart’s content. Sighing and trying to take his words to heart for real the second time around, you lowered your body again and resolved to let yourself enjoy it. Your cooperation was rewarded with pleasure as the doctor's tongue twirled around your clit to show you how happy he truly was.

It felt great, and the way he rubbed your clit in a frenzy had you loosing every last piece of restraint that had held you back. The feeling of control was addictive, especially since the doctor didn't give up his mouth frequently. Eventually, the doctor allowed you to use his mouth as you needed to, following your motions instead of guiding you into his moist caress. As if he were a god to pray to instead of an extraterrestrial with time-lord abilities, you rode his soft tongue like a woman under a spell and moaned his name, feeling so lovely that you could cry. 

Even while his lips generally inflicted the sweetest destruction on your body, his grunts, muffled and rumbling against your sodden flesh, and his fingers playing your nipples took you to a climax unlike anything you'd ever experienced. An electric sensation that tingled over your skin caused you to shiver. The doctor kept stroking your tightening core and responding clit until you began to draw away for a break, even after your hips stopped on their own. 

He voluntarily let you go, and as you pulled yourself off of it and fell boneless on the bed next to him, you saw a glimpse of his face. His gentle smile was so wide that he seemed as content as a man who had just won a huge sum of money, and his chin glistened from the quantity of arousal you'd gotten all over it. He was almost as breathless as you were. A few more tears drop from your lashes, even though the intense feelings are fading and leaving your chest feeling light.

"I guess I didn't have to worry after all."

"You see, I told you."

Without the sonic screwdriver this time, the doctor shuffled and turned onto his side to examine you. He hasn't yet removed the evidence of your orgasm off the bottom portion of his face. He proudly displayed his slickness, which, in your opinion, he had well earned.

In order to remove any remaining tears and any faint mascara stains you may have, the doctor's hands softly cup your face and his thumbs swipe beneath your eyes. He bends in and gives your lips a tender, affectionate kiss before stroking your arm and up in a calming manner.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Cause You Had Nothing Better to Do (AO3)

Carol Perkins/Barbara Holland || ~10k, complete || Part of the Steddie Upside-Down AU, but can be read as a stand-alone with some background info: Barb never died, Steve gets possessed by the Mindflayer instead of Will. || hut/comfort || Angst and Fluff and Smut || developing relationship || getting together || falling in love || mutual pining || porn with plot || smut || fingerfucking || frottage

Smut begins 6k in, the beginning and end is outlined with red asterisks (***), for skipping purposes.

I get this ache - and I, I thought it was for sex, but it's to tear everything to fucking pieces. -Ginger Snaps, 2000

***

There’s a fucking bat full of nails clutched between her palms and Carol Perkins swears she just coughed her entire fucking heart up onto the broken down bus Barb had just ditched her on. Barb’s shoulders have always been broad, jaw firm, eyes flinty, but Carol’s pretty sure there’s a fucking monster out there, and all the other girl’s got is an abandoned tire iron. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dustin mutters under his breath where he’s hunkered down beside her, staring out the window with wide, adoring eyes as a high school junior walks out to face death like it’s any other Tuesday.

“She’s insane,” Max whispers, but even her usual bitchiness is tinged with a level of hero worship that Carol cannot live with.

These are all fucking kids, and she’s what, four inches taller than the shortest of them? How is she supposed to protect any of them no matter what deadly, suspiciously blood-splattered weapon Barb pushes into her hands?

“She’s awesome,” Dustin says, grinning gummily like this is cool to him.

“She’s going to die,” Carol hisses, unimpressed by how shrill her voice comes out. If she’d known letting this little twerp get into her car would lead to this, she might’ve shoved him out on his ass.

The thought’s punctuated by the meaty thwack of Barb’s crowbar connecting with something Carol’s pretty sure isn’t the dog Little Red’s been insisting it must be. Then, Lucas shouts out, “another one, two o’clock!” from his vantage point out the top of the bus, and there’s another one. 

“She’s going to die,” Carol says again, despairing, even as she tightens her fingers around the baseball bat, takes a deep breath, and heads toward the door. “Don’t leave the bus.”

“What are you doing?” Wheeler whines, but she doesn’t care. The kid’s a twerp, and besides, there’s something three seconds away from leaping at Barb’s back.

The door squeaks as she wrenches it open, loose on hinges that haven’t been oiled in years. She wastes precious seconds yanking it closed behind her, and for what? The flimsy piece of metal and glass isn’t keeping anything out. But Barb had told her to watch the kids, and she’s abandoning her post. So, she closes the door and prays to a god that’s never called her back that the piece of shit holds.

“Behind you!” Carol calls, and Barb turns, crowbar arching with her momentum and smacking the thing directly in its horrible face.

The first one’s still circling Barb like a vulture, though, so Carol runs and stands at her back, covering all sides.

“What the hell are you doing?” Barb spits, but she backs up a step until she’s pressed against Carol.

She’s short enough that her head hits the solid plane of Barb’s back, and she feels small, suddenly inadequate in her body, and she hates it.

“Saving your ass?” Carol says, voice cracking as she finally gets a clear look at the thing that’s definitely not a dog.

Its paws are all messed up, like human fingers that never quite grew all the way, and it’s naked and hairless, glistening in a way she hasn’t seen outside of plucked chickens at the grocery store. Its mouth’s a furled pucker, almost funny to look at until the thing opens up to shriek in her face and she catches sight of what looks like hundreds of canine teeth, each pointing directly at her.

Carol can feel her mouth moving, but she can’t hear her own voice past its shrieking, can’t parse her thoughts as she clenches the bat and swings with all her might into its gaping maw.

The hit of the bat doesn’t seem to do much, but then the nails get stuck in the fleshy bits of its mouth between all those teeth, and when she yanks it free, the thing yowls and skitters back on its impossible legs.

Something black and oozing splatters across her, obscuring her vision until she reaches blindly up to her face and rubs it off with the sleeve of her cardigan. It’s viscous and sticky against her skin, and even as she keeps her bat raised, she shudders at the feel of it dripping off her hair and beneath the collar of her shirt.

She doesn’t notice she’s lost track of Barb until the other girl’s back slams into her hard enough that she barely locks her knees in time to stay on her feet. They press against each other, Barb’s warmth the only thing shoring Carol up and keeping her on her feet as that thing starts scurrying back toward her, mouth open wide with an inhuman shriek.

She swings again wildly, missing entirely, but it still shuffles back a few feet at the remembered pain of nails rending flesh.

Both the things circle them now, hemming them in. Carol matches Barb step for step as they spin in tandem, trying to keep each in their line of sight. Carol’s arms feel like leaden weights as she holds the bat upright, trying to mimic Tommy’s stance during his brief stint as a baseball benchwarmer.

“We’re fucked,” Barb mutters, and Carol finds herself inexplicably laughing as she keeps her eyes trained on the thing’s absence of eyes.

“Always thought it’d be Steve at my back when I died,” Carol says, grin more a baring of teeth than a smile.

“I thought it’d be Nancy,” Barb replies, voice strained.

Carol wants to turn and see the expression on her face. She knows the way Barb’s eyes go flinty and hard when she’s insulted, or the way she smiles when Munson says something endearingly stupid. She wants to know what her mouth looks like when she’s facing death down.

But they’re still circling, a dance where if even one of them falters, they both go down, one after another. So, she keeps staring down her prey, and when one lunges, she swings.

Her shoulder’s wrenched with the swing, but when she pulls the nails free from its flesh, the circle’s bigger now, those things giving her and her bat a wider berth.

“I’m not so bad though, huh?” Carol asks, and she’s still smiling, not-blood splattered against her teeth. She licks it off without thinking and gags at the taste—seaweed gone off.

Barb snorts. “Speak for yourself,” she replies, back pressed once more against Carol’s. “You’re the worst person I know.”

Carol laughs, braying and sharp in the quiet of the junkyard. She opens her mouth to reply, but then Lucas shouts, “there’s another one, six o’clock!” and she screams instead, wordless and enraged.

They can’t take three of these things, can’t even really take two. So, when she feels Barb swing her crowbar, she swings her own bat, spins wildly, grabs Barb’s wrist and bolts toward the bus faster than she’s ever run in her life.

“Go, go, go!” Dustin’s shouting, door propped up and body half out the open door against all of her orders, as if his wild gesturing will somehow make them faster. “Come on!”

Carol shoves past where he’s partially obstructing the door, tripping to safety. She falls, knees hitting the metal floor of the bus hard enough that she can feel it in her jaw. She lets go of Barb’s wrist, but not quickly enough to stop the other girl’s downward momentum. Barb ends up sprawled along Carol’s back as Carol lays there stunned, the children scuttling around them to secure the now-closed door of the bus.

The not-blood’s cold enough that she can tell herself that’s why she’s shivering. Barb’s body heat against her back is almost shocking. She wants to sink into it and let this nightmare play out without her. But something connects with the bus hard enough to shake it, and Barb jerks her up, leaving her seasick on dry land.

Barb rushes to the door, and Carol watches, stock-still as it crumples like wet tissue paper against the thing’s claws. Barb beats the shit out of it, glistening with sweat as she raises her tire iron and brings it down, again, and again, and again.

The kids rush past her to huddle in the back, and Dustin’s got his stupid walkie-talkie out, his voice begs for assistance that they all know isn’t going to come in time. Carol shivers as he says, “we are going to die!” with a fierceness beyond his years.

Carol stands, an island in the middle of a horror movie, waiting to be eaten alive. The slut always goes first, and there’s been writing on the boy’s bathroom wall for years.

Barb will protect the kids. Carol can just stand there, waiting for the inevitable final breath to fill her lungs.

But then Little Red screams, and Carol’s bolting for the back of the bus without thought, bat raised high in her shaking arms. They rip the fucking emergency exit at the top of the bus wide open, and one of those things is slinking through, chittering brokenly.

It’s too far up for her to reach, but Carol swings anyway, violently back and forth like she’s got a torch and she’s trying to light the thing aflame. It shrieks, saliva dripping down onto her face. She screams back, loud enough that her vocal cords protest and crack. 

It closes its mouth and looms down at her, silent and menacing before turning its head like a dog scenting the air and disappearing from view entirely.

The bus is silent in its wake as they all stand, listening to the braying of these monstrous things grow farther and farther away.

Carol turns to Barb, a compass pointing true north. Barb’s already looking back. There’s black ooze splattered across her dorky glasses and the swell of her cheek, and she’s still clutching onto her crowbar, mouth a firm line.

Carol trembles beneath her gaze, a shiver running down her spine. The moment elongates, neither of them blinking. Like this, it’s just the two of them—no monsters, no children to protect, nothing but the absence of warmth where Barb’s back should be pressed up against hers.

She doesn’t want to take her eyes off Barb. It’s absurd; they’re not even friends, barely acquaintances, but it’s like the past however the fuck long its been with the other girl pressed up against her back has hollowed out a spot within her.

If she can see Barb, they’re both alive. If she can feel Barb, everything is fine.

“What happened?” Lucas asks, and his voice breaks up the quiet moment.

Barb looks away first, turning back to what’s left of the door to peer out into the junkyard. Carol watches, unmoored without Barb’s eyes on her, Barb’s back against hers, Barb’s skin beneath her fingers.

The door rattles as Barb swings it open. It clangs against the side of the bus with the momentum of her swing, hanging loosely by the one hinge it's still attached to.

From her vantage point, Carol can’t see past the broad plane of Barb’s back to what’s outside. She’s still got her crowbar in her hand, but she lets it hang loosely at her side as she leans out of the bus.

Dustin leans into her space, peering around her into the junkyard. “You guys scared them off,” he says, turning to smile up at Carol as if she’d done anything aside from scream and flail.

“As if,” Carol scoffs, rolling her eyes, but there’s a bubble of warmth unfurling in her chest as the kid just keeps smiling gummily at her.

“They all left at once,” Barb cuts in. She steps out of the bus, and Carol’s heartbeat kicks up as she loses sight of her entirely. Carol rushes after her, almost bowling Wheeler over in her haste to keep the other girl in her line of sight. Barb’s looking into the rapidly darkening forest. Carol can just barely hear the monstrous howls of those things, drifting toward them on the wind. “They’re going somewhere.”

And that’s how Carol ends up tromping along the woods with Barb, a gaggle of kids trailing behind them. For such obnoxious dweebs, they’re being shockingly quiet right now, their whispers barely carrying to her ears.

Barb’s not saying anything at all, but she’s using the tip of her crowbar to push branches out of their way, holding each one back long enough for Carol to clear the obstruction before letting it swing back, unimpeded.

“Can’t believe monsters were what you were all hiding from me,” Carol says, cutting through the suffocating silence. “I thought you were all fucking or something.”

Barb snorts and elbows Carol gently in the ribs before stepping back away, maintaining their carefully cultivated distance. “You really think it’s more likely that I’d willingly sleep with Steve Harrington than that there’s monsters?” She says it like it’s absurd. As if monsters with more teeth than hair hadn’t just tried to eat them.

“I don’t know,” Carol replies, biting her cheek against a laugh, "he did always have a thing for bitchy redheads.”

“Fuck off,” Barb replies, but she’s suppressing her own laugh now, Carol can tell.

Carol watches the way the edges of her lips tug up, like she can’t help herself. She’s so caught up in watching the other girl, that she doesn’t notice the root Barb had already stepped neatly over until her foot’s caught on it and she’s sent sprawling in the dirt.

The twerps all snicker, but Barb doubles back immediately and bends down toward her, hand outstretched. Carol takes it.

“You okay?” she asks. Barb’s hand engulfs hers, enclosing it entirely in her warm skin as she pulls Carol back to her feet. Carol stares up at her, breathless beneath the weight of her big, brown eyes. “Carol.”

Carol shudders, then nods, squeezing Barb’s hand, not looking away from her face.

“You’ve got a little…” Carol says, gesturing with her free hand to her own cheekbone. Barb lets go of her hand to swipe at her own cheek, missing the black ooze entirely. “Here, let me.”

Carol reaches across the space between them. Before she makes contact, Barb flinches, leaning away, so Carol pauses, hand hovering in the air between them. Only when Barb leans incrementally back toward her does Carol let her fingers settle against Barb’s cheek. Most of the stain brushes off, staining her fingers black, but there’s a cluster of stubborn, partially dried flakes still staining Barb’s pale cheek like invasive freckles.  

Carol smooths her fingers gently over them, reveling in the warmth of a living body beneath her hands. Barb shudders, so she does it again before pulling the sleeve of her cardigan down over her fingers to use its abrasive cuff to scrub the rest free.

“Thanks,” Barb murmurs, barely audible even in the quiet of the night. Carol pulls her gaze up from pinkening cheeks to meet Barb’s eyes, hand still raised to her cheek.

She gets lost in Barb’s brown eyes, watching, almost hypnotized as her pupils dart all over Carol’s face like she’s looking for something. Carol doesn’t know what it is but finds herself hoping she’ll find it there.

Barb leans closer, a blotchy red high on both of her cheekbones. Carol gasps, just once, entirely lost, but then Mike fucking Wheeler interrupts the moment with a whiny, “can we go?” and Barb immediately leans back, averting her gaze.

Barb turns around without a word and continues on. Carol��s at a standstill, hand still raised, cupping the air like she’s still holding Barb’s cheek in her palm, even as she watches the other girl’s back grow smaller in front of her.

“Hello?” and it’s Dustin this time, pushing at her back. “Let’s go!”

“Watch it,” Carol hisses but she follows Barb’s disappearing back further into the trees.

***

Things keep happening. Barb should be used to it by now, after last year’s Upside-Down debacle, but it’s worse this time. She’s somehow ended up in charge of Mike Wheeler and all his shithead friends.

Even with her brother in the thick of things, Nancy’s conspicuously absent. Jonathan, too. Last year had been bad. But she’d had backup, and a plan.

Now, she’s just stumbling around in the dark, Carol Perkins trailing behind her close enough that she keeps kicking her fucking heels every other step. Barb makes a valiant effort at being mad about it, but it all blusters out before she can get a real steam going.

Her cheek’s still warm where Carol had cupped it.

Barb clenches the tire iron more firmly in her hand and picks up the pace, Carol hot on her heels.

Any warmth flees the farther they walk in. The sound starts small, then grows the further in they go. Each step is a struggle. Nancy would investigate – she’d follow the sound to its source, no matter what it takes, all in the name of answers.

That’s what she’d done when Steve had been missing. But Steve’s back now, and Barb’s steps are faltering.

It’s like the Demogorgon all over again – these things’ shrill calls travel straight to her nervous system, sending signals to her feet to flee. Before she can, she’s breached the trees.

There’s a cliff face in front of her so she stops, holding her arm up to halt any of the kids before they go stumbling off the edge. 

It’s too dark to see much. Still, they all squint down, trying to catch sight of where the monstrous screeching is echoing up, ricocheting off the cliff’s face. Dustin whips out a flashlight, trying to shine it down to the ground, but the beam of light is swallowed up in the darkness, illuminating nothing but air.

“I don’t see anything,” Dustin says.

Barb rolls her eyes just as Carol says, “no shit.”

Lucas, inarguably the best of the bunch, lifts his binoculars from where he’d left them dangling from a string around his chest and squints through them.

“It’s the lab,” he says, leaning forward like that will somehow make him see more clearly. “They were going back home.”

“Let me see,” Barb demands, holding her hand out beckoningly toward him until he pulls the binoculars from around her neck and places them in her waiting palm without complaint.

She presses the eyepieces hard against her glasses, trying to get them close enough that her eyes focus. Once the image becomes clear, it takes her a minute of swinging them around until she focuses on the target.

She can’t see much past the fluorescence of their security lights, just the edge of a building ensconced in trees. But the sounds are converging on that point, and it sounds like a lot more than three of them.

“Shit,” Barb says, stunned into inaction.

What’s there to do? The place is going to be fucked, and they’ve got two close-range weapons between them.

But then Mike Wheeler peers around her and says, “isn’t Will in there?” in the smallest voice she’s ever heard.

Dustin swears and begins hailing another code red. Barb doesn’t turn away from the lab, afraid that if she turns her back, they’ll all converge on a different single point, and it’ll be them.

“I read you,” Will’s crackling voice comes through Dustin’s walkie talkie. “What’s the situation?”

The sound of fireworks cracking off one after another sounds in the distance. It takes her a moment to realize they’re gunshots. Then the screaming starts, barely audible from this distance. How could anyone be in there and not know the situation?

Is Steve in there with him?

Is Eddie?

“Demodogs are converging on the lab!” Dustin yells over the cacophony those things are making. Demodogs? Is that what they’re calling them? “I repeat, Demodogs are converging on the lab!”

“Hop’s at the lab!” Joyce’s voice comes through, just barely audible like she’s talking from far away.

Barb thinks she should care about the way Joyce’s voice cracks. Chief Hopper’s mostly a good guy who doesn’t deserve to be eaten by a Demodog. As if anyone does. But Joyce said he was at the lab, not we.

“There an adult with ya?” And that’s Uncle Wayne.

Barb sighs with relief, finally turning her back on the lab and shepherding the kids back the way they came, while they all squabble over the walkie talkie.

That’s Eddie and Steve accounted for. If they were in trouble, no way in hell would Wayne leave them alone.

They run to the car on Wayne’s orders, and Barb floors it to the Byers house, Carol in the passenger seat, the kids arguing in the back. Then she’s fighting the Demodogs again, this time with Wayne at her side, Carol hunched over her best friend.

Barb doesn’t feel safe again until the Demodogs are dead, and she’s hunkered down in the back of an unmarked van, Carol pressed tight against her side, like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

The bat feels right in her hands, like it fits the grooves in her fingers perfectly, even after all this time without it.

She might never let it go again.

It’s a struggle not to get out of the van and beat Billy Hargrove’s face in with it, but Carol Perkins is rolling around on top of him, fists flying, and someone’s got to watch her best friend while she’s busy.

She keeps Steve behind her, bat raised in case that creep takes even one step toward them.

Her palms feel bare when Max snatches the bat out of her hands, wielding it against her own brother.

Things happen fast after that. The de-possession of Steve Harrington leaves her breathless and shaking in clothes soaked through. She huddles into the passenger seat of the van and watches Carol drive.

She’s not a good driver, a little too fast, taking curves too wide, but with her best friend passed out in the back seat, Barb can’t blame her. It’s not until they’re parked and climbing out that Carol whispers into her ear, “I don’t have my license.”

Barb’s laugh is too loud, undercutting the somber mood surrounding them. Carol nudges into Barb’s side, looking pleased enough that she kind of wants to strangle her.

They’re separated once they reach the hospital. Barb endures the doctor’s examination with as much grace as possible, staring at the closed door of her exam room as they bandage her minor scrapes.

Carol had been much worse—a bruise already swelling up the side of her face, cuts on her palms, god knows what else hiding beneath her clothes.

It doesn’t take long for them to set her loose. She peeks through the open door of Steve’s hospital room, but Carol’s not there, it’s just Ms. Byers and Will sitting dociley at Steve’s side as he slumbers on.

Placing her vulnerable back to the wall, Barb drops to the cold linoleum outside his door to wait. Her head tips back, eyes closed as she listens to Will and Ms. Byers quiet voices.

Something nudges Barb’s leg, and her eyes shoot open. Carol’s peering down at her, the toe of her shoe pushed up against Barb’s thigh. The palm of one of her hands is wrapped in white gauze, and there’s something shiny lathered across her swelling cheek.

She’s still covered in Demodog blood and dirt. Barb doubts she looks much better.

“What are you doing?” Barb asks.

Carol snorts. “What am I doing? You’re the one on the floor.”

She holds out her hand, palm open and beckoning. Barb takes it without thought. Carol attempts to pull her up, almost going down herself until Barb raises to her knees by her own power.

Once she’s up, Carol doesn’t immediately let go. Barb trails fingers soothingly over the gauze on her palm as Carol peers into Steve’s hospital room.

“Have you heard anything?” Carol asks.

Barb shakes her head before realizing Carol isn’t looking at her. “No.” They both stand there for a moment, staring at Steve Harrington’s sleeping form, hand in hand. “We should go home.”

Carol whips her head around, a mean snarl on her face. She looks half-feral, cardigan ripped and stained, hair plastered to the side of her head, the only clean thing on her the pristine white of the gauze on her hand. “What?”

Barb squeezes her hand, resisting the urge to shush her like she’s a spooked horse. “We need to rest—”

“But—”

“—and Eddie’s not going to leave,” Barb continues, talking right over her, “so someone needs to be ready to relieve him when he drops.”

Carol continues glaring for a second before rolling her eyes with a muttered, “boys.”

Barb’s hand itches to reach out when Carol drops her hand. She doesn’t, just takes two quick strides to catch up with Carol as she starts off down the hallway without a word.

“Wanna call your parents?” Carol asks. “We’ll need a ride.”

Barb grimaces. Her Mom will be worried by now, and it’ll only get worse if she strolls in covered in dirt and unexplainable grime. She’s not ready to face her suffocating care.

“Think I’d rather walk,” Barb mutters.

Carol’s lips quirk up, and she grabs Barb’s wrist, fingers like a brand on her skin as she pulls her along. “Come on.”

She’s pulled to the van where they’d abandoned it in the parking lot. She doesn’t protest when Carol pushes her into the passenger seat. 

“I thought you didn’t have a license,” she says, already buckling her seatbelt. 

Carol does something Barb can’t quite grasp to the dangling wires of the van, and the engine sparks back into life. She looks back to Barb with a wild grin, not bothering with her own seatbelt before backing out of the space and peeling out of the parking lot. 

“I think we’ll have bigger legality issues if we get pulled over.”

Barb hums, watching the trees and houses blur past. They’re not going in the direction of her house. She can’t bring herself to care. Just the thought of walking through her front door makes her shudder. Wherever Carol brings them, it’s bound to be more peaceful. 

“We could’ve walked,” Barb replies, not looking away from the window.

“You would’ve dropped.” 

She’s probably right. Even seated, Barb’s legs feel shaky with fatigue, and the bumps and bruises on her body ache with every movement. Barb sighs, slumping further into her seat as the miles pass by. 

Carol pulls into the driveway of an unfamiliar house. They both sit, staring up at it for an endless moment before Carol pulls at the dangling wires and the engine cuts out, leaving potent silence in its wake. 

She shuffles into the back to grab the bat from where Max had abandoned it after whatever the hell they’d done when they’d taken the van for a joyride. 

“Come on,” Carol orders before jumping out of the van and jogging up to the front door with energy Barb can’t understand.

Barb follows Carol inside. 

***

Carol closes the front door behind them both. She pushes her face against the closed door, sighing as the silence of her vacant house falls over them both.

“Carol?”

She lets herself droop against the door for a second more, tired beyond what words can convey, before dropping the bat beside it like a discarded umbrella. It thunks ominously against the hardwood. She hopes the wood scars.

When she levers herself back fully upright and turns to face her guest, Barb looks just as exhausted, the drooping of her eyes amplified by the round lenses of her glasses. They’re covered in mud and blood, both red and black, so Carol turns without a word and leads the way toward the bathroom. 

When she opens the door, her Mom’s clothes are discarded on the floor, and there’s remnants of make-up all over the sink. Carol looks down at the proof of her Mother’s existence and feels nothing at all. She bends down to grab a clean towel from beneath the cupboard and places it into Barb’s waiting arms.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Carol says quietly, shuffling past Barb and closing the bathroom door behind her.

The separation cuts, so she hurries into her bedroom to rummage through her dresser for something suitable to wear. Barb’s bigger than her, both tall and broad, so she digs through her drawer until she finds a sufficiently oversized shirt and a pair of Steve’s sweatpants.

She stares down at the bundle of clothes for a moment before pulling out a cozy pair of socks as well.

The bathroom’s unlocked when she makes it back, shower already running, so she opens the door and puts the pile of clothes on the toilet. But when she turns back to the door, she can’t bring herself to leave.

She closes the door and jumps up onto the counter to wait.

Barb’s glasses are abandoned beside the sink. Carol picks them up gently, holding them up to her eyes to peer through. Barb’s eyesight must be atrocious, because even looking through them for a moment leaves her queasy.

Without getting off the counter, she turns sideways on her perch to run them under warm water. When the stubborn black stains persist, she uses her fingers to gently smooth hand soap over the spots. They slowly disintegrate under her ministrations, leaving black drips in the basin of the sink.

Carol turns off the water and wipes them dry on the cleanest part of her shirt.

That done, she stares at the closed curtain, waiting for Barb to emerge so she can have her turn.

It doesn’t take long before the shower shuts off entirely, bathroom quiet aside from the dripping of the leaky showerhead. Barb must know she’s in here because her hand reaches out to snag her towel from the rack without pulling back the curtain, and when she finally opens it, the towel’s wrapped securely around her body.

She’s still dripping, hair a curly wet mess atop her head.

Carol gazes at her, transfixed. Barb tends toward long-sleeved shirts and full pants, so the freckles are a surprise. They travel down her shoulders, fading until they disappear entirely beneath the towel. Her skin’s pale aside from the mottled bruises on her knees, and she’s full of soft, rounded curves.

Carol’s fingers twitch against the porcelain lip of the counter as she stares thoughtlessly at the sliver of Barb’s thigh that shows in the gap where the drapery of the towel doesn’t quite close.

Barb clears her throat, and Carol raises her eyes back up to her face. She looks strange without her glasses, eyes somehow smaller in her skull. “I brought you clothes,” Carol says, not looking away from her.

Barb’s eyes flit around the bathroom until they catch on the clothes folded neatly on the closed toilet lid. She nods, stepping carefully over the lip of the tub, now dripping on the linoleum of the bathroom floor.

Now that the shower’s free, Carol’s skin damn near itches with grime. She slips off the counter and slides past Barb, her shoulder brushing Barb’s arm. She hopes none of the filth on her body transfers to Barb’s clean skin.

Carol slides the curtain closed before stepping out of her clothes and tossing them onto the floor, piled atop Barb’s own discarded attire. She stands there, naked and chilled straight through, listening to the sounds of Barb shuffling into clothing Carol hopes will fit her.

She waits for the sound of the bathroom door opening. It doesn’t come.

The water’s already hot when she turns it on. Her shoulders drop immediately, all that tension she’s been collecting in her spine for days sloughing off by increments. She shoves her whole head under the stream.

It stings against her bruised eye, but she doesn’t care, too relieved to watch all that grime swirl down the drain. Only once the water runs clear does she fumble for the shampoo and soap, sudsing everything up until her skin’s squeaking.

She half-assedly smears conditioner through her hair but doesn’t let it sit long. Barb’s too quiet out there.

There’d been a half-assed attempt to keep her bandage dry, but they’re sloughing off her palm by the time she’s done. She wads them into a ball and tosses them into the corner of the tub to be dealt with later. 

She follows Barb’s lead and grabs her towel before opening the shower curtain, more for Barb than for propriety's sake. No need to add more traumas to the day.

Barb’s sitting on the toilet lid, polished glasses back on the bridge of her nose, hair toweled off but still wet and uncombed. The shirt’s slightly loose on her, but Steve’s sweatpants are just a smidge too tight around her ass and thighs.

Her eyes are closed like she’s been dozing, but they’re clear when she opens them at the sound of Carol’s voice.

“You good?” she asks, waiting until Barb nods to make her way out of the bathroom, dripping steadily on her Mother’s precious carpet on her way to her bedroom.

Carol doesn’t close the door, so Barb follows her inside. She pulls out her pajamas – the fuzzy set of shorts and long-sleeved shirt covered in cute little bears – turning her back to Barb to cursorily dry herself and slip them on without undergarments.

When she turns back around, Barb’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in front of her, already looking her way. They look at each other in the bright light of Carol’s room. She feels stalled out, overwhelmed to the point of inaction by the few things she needs to do before she can crawl in beside Barb.

Barb clears her throat. It clicks dryly, and Carol’s fingers clench in on themselves. “Where am I sleeping?”

Carol stares down at her from across the room, feeling stupid and slow as she tries to make her brain think. “Right there,” she replies, gesturing half-heartedly at the bed Barb’s already perched on. “Climb in, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Carol turns without waiting for an answer, each step she takes away from Barb twinging with danger until she’s damn near running to the kitchen.

She gets the bread out of the breadbox by rote, pulling peanut butter from the cupboard and strawberry jam from the fridge and laying it all down near the silverware drawer.

She makes them both the way she likes them—crunchy peanut butter spread thick, jam meticulously pressed all the way to the crust’s edge. They should eat a real meal, but Carol’s repertoire starts and ends with sandwiches, and even cutting a slice of cheese sounds insurmountable right now. So, peanut butter and jelly it is.

It's a struggle to balance the plate stacked with both sandwiches and a couple of waters already, but she still goes back for the bat, bending to squeeze it in the clutch of her armpit, hoping the nails don’t gouge her as she rushes back to Barb.

Barb’s eyebrows raise when she sees the bat, but she doesn’t comment from where she’s already beneath her pink paisley sheets, glasses lined up neatly on her bedside table. Carol loosens her hold and lets it drop harmlessly on the carpet at the foot of her bed, black flaking off where it’s caked onto the nails.

She’ll have to find somewhere else to hide it in case either of her parents poke their heads into her room.

She’d slept with a comfort stuffed animal until she was twelve and Tommy’d made fun of her. Now he’s stuffed beneath her bed, watching over her the only way she’ll allow. The bat’s a new kind of comfort object, but maybe she can put it under her bed with Mr. Rabbit, both watching over her from different kinds of threats.

“You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?” Carol asks, already sliding into the bed beside her and putting the plate in the space between their legs.

Barb reaches out to grab one of the water bottles from Carol’s hands, and chugs it to the dregs. Carol watches her throat work, enraptured. She only answers once she’s wiped the water from her mouth and picked up one of the sandwiches.

“Nope.” She takes a big bite out of the sandwich, and then continues around her mouthful, “thanks.”

Carol follows her lead. There are crumbs everywhere, neither of them bothering to eat over the singular plate. Something ravenous opens within her as she eats, the queasiness of malnutrition fading into a need to be filled.

She’s still hungry when she finishes, but just the thought of walking all the way back to the kitchen feels like an insurmountable journey.

Carol drinks her water and lays down on her back, staring up at the harsh overhead lighting. Clearly sensing the same issue, Barb stumbles out of bed to flip the light switch. Carol watches her stand there, stationary in the darkness of Carol’s room.

Carol reaches her arm out to pull the chord on her bedside lamp, letting its diffuse light filter through the room. Barb’s shoulders slump with the force of her sigh. She closes the bedroom door and crawls back into Carol’s bed.

When Carol reaches back over to turn the light off now that Barb’s ensconced in the safety of her bedding, Barb grabs her forearm, halting the movement. She can feel the warmth of Barb’s body pressed all against her back, over her shoulder, around her arm.

“Leave it on,” Barb asks, breath ghosting over the back of Carol’s neck.

Her breath shudders out of her, and she drops her hand. “Sure.”

The light’s dim enough not to blind them in the night, but when Carol flops back onto her back, she can just make out the popcorn indents of her ceiling. Barb doesn’t move back, so they’re pressed together, shoulder to thigh.

Carol holds her breath, afraid that any movement on her part will break the spell and Barb will scoot back to her side of the bed properly. Instead, Barb trails her hand down, fingers brushing lightly over the skin of Carol’s arm until she reaches her hand. Carol flips her hand over, palm in the air, fingers open just enough for Barb to slide hers in.

Her wrist’s at an awkward angle, so Carol scoots closer until her arm’s got enough give to twist. Barb rubs her thumb against the back of Carol’s hand, and her breath shudders out of her on a sigh as she slumps further into Barb’s side.

She rubs her bare foot against Barb’s calf, toes getting caught in the loose fabric of her sweatpants. It’s like in the forest all over again, she wants to get closer, closer, closer, until she can feel Barb’s heart beating within her ribs.

Proof of life.

She wants to slide her hands beneath Barb’s shirt and feel her soft skin give beneath her fingernails, taste it beneath her tongue. She’s still hungry, and tired, and Barb’s alive beside her.

She feels Barb pull on her hand, a barely perceptible nudge to get her closer, and Carol can’t stand it anymore, all the space and clothing between them. She twists further, thigh over Barb’s lap and levers herself up with the hand not still clasped in Barb’s own.

When she looks down at her, Barb’s lips are parted, and she’s already gasping, eyes half-lidded as she looks up into Carol’s own. She squirms a little on the bed, gaze dropping down to Carol’s lips.

She grasps the invitation with both hands, brushing their mouths together gently. When Barb makes no move to buck her off, she swings her leg more firmly over the other girl’s waist, and deepens the kiss, sucking Barb’s bottom lip into her mouth and biting down until she writhes beneath her.

Her face aches as she opens her mouth wider, but she doesn’t care. Carol loses herself in the paisley pink sheets full of crumbs, a beautiful girl beneath her, bathed in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

 ***

Barb’s damn near suffocating on Carol’s breath. She breathes it in greedily, makes no move to pull away as Carol drags her tongue against her gums. She opens her mouth wider, following the trail Carol’s tongue leaves with her own until they brush against each other.

Her hands are clutching at Carol’s hips hard enough that it must hurt as she tries to drag the other girl’s body even closer. She can feel Carol swivel her hips, grinding against Barb’s waist like she can’t help herself. Barb uses the grip she has on her hips to make her grind against her again, and that’s what makes Carol pull her mouth away with a gasp.

She’s panting like a dog in heat, lightheaded with oxygen deprivation. Barb opens her eyes and immediately groans at the sight of Carol, head thrown back, tangled wet hair partially blocking the look of ecstasy on her face. Her sleep shorts are riding up indecently high on her thighs, bunching at the crotch with the friction of her movements.

The hem of her shirt’s askew just enough to show a thin strip of the pale, unblemished skin of her stomach. Barb trails her hands up without thought, letting them clench at Carol’s waist instead. They look huge against her, almost connecting in the middle when Barb squeezes. She pushes her fingers up further until they disappear beneath her shirt entirely.

Carol’s ribs are bony beneath her grasp, contrasting with the soft give of the flesh of her breasts where her thumbs just barely brush against the bottom of them. Her eyes dart up to Carol’s face, and their gazes lock.

Carol’s lips are swollen from kissing and wet with saliva, and her pupils are blown until her eyes are all black, fathomless in the low light of her bedroom. She doesn’t look away until she’s reaching down with sure fingers to the hem of her shirt and pulling it off in one, quick movement.

She’s not wearing a bra. Barb knew that, but the sight of Carol’s nipples still shocks her into stuttered breathing. They’re a darker pink than Barb’s own, verging on brown. Barb’s fingers twitch against Carol’s ribs, thumbs trailing a line against the underside of her small breasts, transfixed.

She might’ve stalled out there for hours, barely breathing if Carol hadn’t covered both Barb’s hands with her own and slid them up until her nipples were covered by the palms of her hands. Barb’s eyes dart back up to Carol’s face to find her eyes closed, as she bites her lip hard enough to blanche it white.

Her breasts are small enough that Barb’s hands hide them from view entirely. She experimentally squeezes them both. They feel nice in her hands, but Carol doesn’t even twitch. So, she trails the fingers of her left hand down the curve of Carol’s waist until she shivers. She adjusts her right hand until Carol’s dusty nipple peaks through the gap between her pointer and middle finger, then squeezes tight.

Carol shudders as her nipple perks up. Barb switches hands and does it to the other, harder this time until Carol’s hips twitch in an abortive movement to grind against her waist. Encouraged, Barb squeezes Carol’s hip, letting her nails dig into delicate flesh as she guides Carol’s movements into a dirty grind.

She groans, bending forward to lick into Barb’s mouth like she can’t help herself. Barb moves both hands to her hips, trying to pull her impossibly closer as she opens her mouth wide.

Barb’s squirming beneath her, too turned on to stay still as she’s consumed. As if sensing her need, Carol shifts on top of her, until she’s straddling Barb’s thigh. She grinds against it, her knee just barely brushing against where Barb’s wet in her sweatpants. Barb writhes, trying to get any pressure.

Carol grabs Barb’s knee almost harshly as she yanks it up and open. Still straddling her other thigh, Carol grinds forward, dragging her clothed cunt against Barb. She can feel it now, the rough drag of her sweatpants against her swollen labia. She shudders with it, letting her thighs spread wider, giving Carol a bigger space to work within.

Carol shifts her hips, changing the angle of her thrusting until Barb groans as pressure’s finally applied to her clit, closing her eyes in pleasure. Carol’s manicured nails dig into the meat of Barb’s thigh, holding her stationary as she grinds against that same place until Barb’s breathing is ragged.

When Carol starts making these delicious little moaning sounds, Barb opens her eyes, desperate to get a look at her. There’s pink high on both of her cheeks, and she’s looking down at Barb like she wants to eat her alive.

Barb might just let her.

She’s shuddering with every breath. Barb wants to taste the air coming out of her mouth, let it slide onto her tongue and swallow it down. Her breasts are shaking with the pressure of her thrusting, the erratic expanding of her lungs. The blush is traveling down her neck, splattering her chest with red. She wants to run her tongue along the edges of it, see if she can feel the heat of her pooling blood.

She wants to taste and touch everything, carve it all into her sense memory to get off to during lonely nights to come.

Carol grinds against her just so and her head tips back, eyes closed against a moan of her own.

She wants to stay here in this moment, feeling the steeped pleasure of a beautiful girl taking what she needs from her. She’ll take what she’s given and be happy with it, no better than a pillow to be rubbed off against.

But then Carol’s nails rake hard against her inner thigh and Barb cries out, the feeling of it zinging straight to her core, back arching up off the bed with the heady feeling of it.

“Look at me,” Carol demands, voice raspy with exertion.

Barb’s eyelids flutter open. There are red nail marks along her thigh, Carol’s fingers pressed into the end of them hard enough that her flesh flexes and gives beneath the pressure.

She digs her nails in again, blanching Barb’s pink skin white as she hisses, “at me.”

Barb’s eyes dart to her without conscious thought, following her command, like Carol’s holding a string, puppeting her around with her every fleeting whim. There’s no other choice when Carol’s telling her what to do in that tone of voice.

Her pupils are huge and black, irises not visible with her lids at half-mast. They close almost entirely once Barb meets them, and like that was all she was waiting for, Carol throws her head back and grinds against her once, twice, thrice, before shuddering on a long, drawn-out moan as her orgasm wracks through her.

Barb gasps as she watches Carol shiver, collapsing against Barb’s raised thigh like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, hair covering what must be a spectacular look on her face. Her breasts are rubbing against Barb’s inner thigh with every shuddering attempt to breathe.

She’s never been this turned on in her life.  

Barb slides her hand beneath the too-tight hem of her sweatpants, threading her fingers through her pubic hair, and pressing her middle finger into the edge of her clit. It’s a dry slide, but she rubs it again, and again, and again, too revved up to do anything else.

She’s too lost in sensation to notice what Carol’s doing until her hand’s wrapped around Barb’s wrist and she yanks it out of her pants. A horrible whine bursts out of her throat as she tries to buck up into fingers that are now pinned to the pillow beside her head as Carol looms over her looking fucked out and rabid.

Carol looks into her eyes, and Barb has a second to wonder if this is just a thing for her before she feels Carol’s small hand slide into her sweatpants and press directly into her clit with unerring accuracy. She throws her head back into the pillow, back arching until Carol uses her weight to push her into to the mattress.

She presses against it for a few more seconds before sliding her fingers down through Barb’s folds. She whines at the loss until Carol presses one of her fingers into her, and she loses all her breath entirely.

She’s fingered herself before, but her hand always cramps before anything ever comes of it, and the angle’s just off enough that she gives up before anything starts to feel good.

Carol has no such compunctions. She presses her finger in, deeper than Barb’s ever managed. She fucks it in and out a few times, slow and concentrated, before she pushes another finger in along with the first.

It doesn’t feel like much more than pressure until she thrusts back in and her fingers curl.

Barb gasps, arching up against Carol as she continues to thrust into her, unerringly hitting that spot inside that makes her toes curl. The sounds her cunt’s making in the quiet room are loud, a wet schlicking sound with each press of Carol’s fingers that might embarrass Barb if she could focus past the heat building within her.  

It's deeper than anything she’s ever felt before, a pressure building in her abdomen and creeping into the rest of her until she’s a live wire. It’s too much. She tries to close her thighs against the feeling, but Carol’s between them. Barb clutches onto the sheets beneath her as Carol squeezes her wrist, pushing into her more firmly as Barb writhes against the feeling of being consumed. 

She’s on the edge of something, an abyss she’s not sure she wants to fall into. She’s thrumming, electrified as Carol takes what she wants from her.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

But then Carol twists her arm, fingers still thrusting within her as she presses the heel of her hand down, rubbing harshly against her clit, and Barb seizes, entire body locking up with the power of her orgasm as she comes all over Carol Perkins’ fingers.

Sparks fly beneath her closed lids as the feeling goes on, and on, Carol’s hand working her through it between her locked thighs. She’s lost in it, gone to the sensation for a timeless moment.

Carol continues fucking into her until Barb feels her body go lax, thighs splaying without anyone holding them in place. Aftershocks twitch through her limbs as neurons misfire, sending her muscles spasming.

The sound Carol’s fingers make as she pulls them out is embarrassing, made more so as Barb feels her wipe off the excessive wetness onto her pubic hair. She cracks open her eyes just in time to watch Carol stick her tacky fingers into her mouth and suck.

Barb throws her arm over her eyes and groans with breath she doesn’t have to spare as Carol laughs, pressing the warmth of her body into Barb’s side. 

***

“This never happened,” Barb says, shuddering in the aftershocks, neck red with exertion.

Carol tucks her face into Barb, sinking into her until her blooming smile is hidden in the armpit of her shirt. Her whole body’s tingling, from her thighs all the way up to the roots of her teeth. She bites down on the buttery soft material beneath her, grinding her molars into it until Barb shoves her off.

Her arm’s still covering her face, hair a riot of red curls atop her head. Carol wants to smooth them back, tuck them behind her ears even if they spring back up. But, Barb’s pulling away, still flushed from sex, so she asks, “can it never happen again a few more times?” in the hopes of making her laugh.

She just groans, but her forearm lowers enough for her to glare at Carol, and that’s progress in and of itself. Carol grabs the softening with both hands, walking her fingers up the underside of Barb’s arm until the offending hand is slapped away. 

“Aren’t you still dating Tommy?”

Carol’s dangling fingers curl into a fist, eyes dropping to her stupid fucking duvet cover, no longer able to meet Barb’s fierce glare. The truth is, it hadn’t been like this with Tommy since they’d lost Steve. The truth is, she’d forgotten Tommy even existed while she’d been lost in Barb’s eyes, and had been happier for it. The truth is, there’s a vacant spot on her back where Barb’s is supposed to be pressed, and her hands feel empty now if she’s not clutching a bat full of nails, and it’s been two fucking days. 

The truth is, Carol’s not sure she can unravel truth from fiction anymore.

She’d followed a kid to a junk yard to fight fucking monsters, poured boiling water on her best friend to de-possess him, and fucked a girl who’s name she hadn’t even known last year. 

Reality was stretched to the point of breaking. 

But, it’d all started to coalesce back together between Barb’s thighs. She’s not ready to let it fall apart again.

Carol rolls onto her back and stares at her stupid popcorn ceiling, fingers fisted around the empty space where Barb’s hand should be. As Barb regains her breathing, the silence settles between them like a third, stilted lover in her bed. 

She’s not ready to share.

“Tommy and I haven’t really worked since Steve left,” she tells the ceiling. Part of her, a stagnant, wounded part, will always want that time back, when it was just the three of them being unrepentant assholes together. But those times have been gone longer than she’s been willing to admit. It’s time for something new. “It was only a matter of time.”

Barb makes a little humming noise, like she’s listening but doesn’t know what to say, so Carol does what she’s always done best: talks. “You know, it’s weird. We barely know each other, and I think if you left right now, I’d spend the rest of the night clutching the baseball bat to my chest and hiding in my closet.”

Barb clears her throat, says, “it was like that last time.” When Carol looks at her from the corner of her eyes, she’s lowered her arm, and she’s staring at the ceiling, too, shoulder to shoulder. “With Nance and Jonathan.”

Carol snorts, already knowing the answer as she asks, “what, you fucked them, too?”

The blush on Barb’s cheeks that had finally been receding, returns with vengeance, painting her face and neck a splotchy red. Carol still wants to lick it, so she swivels her head away and stares back at the ceiling, hand still clenching on empty air. 

“No,” Barb whispers, soft and private just before she feels her fingers ghost over Carol’s fist. 

She loosens it just enough that Barb can pry it open. Carol shudders as Barb’s fingers thread through her own, caressing the delicate flesh between them until they’re linked– Barb’s hand dwarfing her own in its hold. 

Carol squeezes, and Barb squeezes back as they stare up at the ceiling in silence and think of their sins. She’s coming up empty, though. She’d do it all again to feel Barb’s hand in hers.

“You’ll break up with your boyfriend?” Barb asks. 

Carol smiles, letting go of Barb’s hand just long enough to flop back against her chest, this time turned toward Barb like a flower to the sun. 

“This your way of asking me to go steady?” she asks, flicking her eyebrows up suggestively.

“Fuck off,” Barb says, but it sounds tender, and she wraps her arm around Carol’s naked back and pulls her closer. 

She’s still laughing as she reaches up to press her mouth to Barb’s, soft and lingering, all heat sucked out of the moment. Barb’s lips move against hers, gently enough that Carol inexplicably feels as if she might cry. 

When the kiss breaks, she stays close, breathing in the air that Barb expels. People look weird from this angle, proportions skewed with perspective, but she can see all the freckles on Barb’s nose, each of her pale eyelashes, the ruddy complexion of her cheeks.

She leans down to lick a stripe up Barb’s cheek, mapping out the warmth of her blush as Barb laughs and tries to push her head down and away while keeping her arms clutched around Carol’s waist. 

“Stop that!” Barb cries, but she’s laughing. 

So, Carol bites Barb’s cheek, just once, face aching with the width she has to open her mouth. Barb’s skin tastes clean on her tongue, fragile beneath her teeth. When Barb pushes her again, Carol lets her jaw relax. 

She tucks her face into Barb’s neck, teeth tingling once more. Carol brushes her nose back and forth against Barb’s soft skin, eyelids heavy tucked into the darkness of her body.

“We should go to sleep,” Carol says, wondering what time it is, but unwilling to turn around and take a look at the glowing red numbers of her alarm. 

This has been the longest day of her life, and she’s a little afraid to let it end.

“You’re the one fooling around.”

Carol smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin of Barb’s neck before replying, “I think that was both of us, dear.”

Barb wacks her in the back in response, but immediately starts rubbing up and down her bare skin after. Carol melts, boneless at the feeling of Barb’s warm hands, like a spooked horse being soothed. 

She can hear Barb’s heartbeat beneath her head, feel the expanding of her lungs with every even breath. There’s no room for silence to settle between them. This moment is too loud. 

“Will you go with me?” Carol whispers, lips brushing against Barb’s skin with every word.

“Of course,”

Carol smiles again. Her mouth’s going to start aching against the strain, unused to utilizing those particular muscles this frequently. “I didn’t even say where.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Barb replies. Her fingers trail up Carol’s back to play with her hair. It’s tangled enough that Barb’s fingers immediately get stuck, so she begins delicately unpicking the knots. “I’ll go anywhere, as long as it’s with you,”

Carol’s still fucking smiling. It feels wrong, somehow, to let this warmth in. Steve’s in the hospital, burns on his back that she put there. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he wakes up, doesn’t know, not really, if he’ll wake up at all.

But those are worries for tomorrow. She can’t bring them into this moment. Won’t. It’s too fragile already. 

So she says, “let’s go to bed,” and presses one last kiss to Barb’s neck. 

They squirm futilely, attempting to get Carol’s comforter up and over their bodies without getting off of it. It would’ve been easier to stand, but they’re safe, and warm, and Carol’s reluctant to create even the smallest space between them. 

They don’t turn out the light. 

Thank you @queenie-ofthe-void for the beta editing! As always, you make everything I write so much better <3

[agentrouka-blog]

How GRRM works a fall arc.

209:

Dunk's finest moment, and a rare bright spot in the asoiaf depiction of chivalry: He faces off against Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen (who would go on to accidentally kill himself with wildfire trying to become a dragon) to defend a helpless Dornish peasant, and as a result seven knights willingly come to his defense in a trial by seven, among them the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

Egg hated Arion so much his first reaction upon seeing him was to seethe "Kill him".

259:

What became of the dream of dragons was a grievous tragedy born in a moment of joy. In the fateful year 259 AC, the king summoned many of those closest to him to Summerhall, his favorite castle, there to celebrate the impending birth of his first great-grandchild, a boy later named Rhaegar, to his grandson Aerys and granddaughter Rhaella, the children of Prince Jaehaerys. It is unfortunate that the tragedy that transpired at Summerhall left very few witnesses alive, and those who survived would not speak of it. A tantalizing page of Gyldayn's history—surely one of the very last written before his own death—hints at much, but the ink that was spilled over it in some mishap blotted out too much. ...the blood of the dragon gathered in one... ...seven eggs, to honor the seven gods, though the king's own septon had warned... ...pyromancers... ...wild fire... ...flames grew out of control...towering...burned so hot that... ...died, but for the valor of the Lord Comman... (The World of Ice and Fire - The Targaryen Kings: Aegon V)

When we meet Egg, he is mistaken for something he is not. Naked and hairless emerging barefoot from a body of water. An egg. Unhatched.

Dunk and Egg is the candy GRRM uses to lure you into a tragedy of failed idealism and bitter corruption.

His specialty.

[carbuncle-paws]

I've made a pokemon AU for Peter :3 yaaaay! Doubt I'm the first to draw him as a sneasler but I'm not gonna let it stop me.

Some information!

Sneasler ♂ lv???

Dark / Poison Ability: Insomnia (might change this) Lonely nature + quick tempered Main Attacks: Slash, Lash Out, Dire Claw/Poison Jab, Hone Claws/Nasty Plot Lesser used: Bite/Crunch/Jaw Lock, Close Combat, Thief, Endure, Spite

Design notes:

Very tall (6'5'') and thin, even by species standards.

Completely hairless (and featherless) and by extension, no facial or feet markings. Torso and poison are discolored (both blue)

Ripped off both his forehead and chest gems, there are faint scars where they used to be. The one on his chest is covered by a gem you gave him.

Wears a hood made from a Mightyena's pelt.

The back of his claws (the blue part) is razor sharp, they're basically gigantic knives. If getting backhanded by them doesn't kill you, the poison probably will.

From a distance or in dark lighting, he can be easily mistaken as a human. He can also speak our language (just like meowth), his voice is raspy and a bit deep, perhaps from an injury.

The PeterAU x Reader story outline below, if you're interested!

Character/Story notes:

(OOOPS this sort of became a whole story teehee oh well. This is basically what my outlines look like but I probably won't make this into an actual fic. So, enjoy!)

He has no name, but wouldn't mind if you gave him one.

He grew up with a fascination for humans, and even learned to speak our language, but was betrayed by the ones he had trusted. He almost died, and was left hideously disfigured in the eyes of his species (furless/featherless and discolored). For a long time he hated all humans, and would murder any unfortunate enough to enter his territory. Until he met you.

He saves you from being eaten by a pack of Mightyenas, which goes against his usual hatred for your species. He stalks you through the mountain forests for a while, thinking that he'd gather reasons why you deserve to die so he can savor killing you himself.

Instead... he gets attached, and that infuriates him. From the shadows, completely unbeknownst to you, he helps you return to civilization. He looked forward to forgetting you, and going back to the worldview he's comfortable with.

But then you keep coming back to his territory, which is bad for two big reasons. He doesn't like the effect you have on him, and the area is dangerous... he doesn't want you getting hurt. So, without revealing himself, he tries multiple times to show you how his mountains are no place for a human. Nothing works. Ironically, he also does things to protect you from real threats.

His fleeting attachment for you grows into a burning obsession in time, and he wants so badly to interact with you. But not only is he a pokemon... he is also ugly.

One day he slips up, and you spot a glimpse of him through the trees, but it's too shaded and you mistake him for a person, and you call out to him. Instantly understanding what you've mistaken him for, he tentatively responds, but refuses to leave his hiding place. You figure he's just shy, but are happy to see another person who isn't afraid to visit these mountains, which have a horrible reputation. Probably because he's been killing people, but you don't know that. It's a shame, because you find it so beautiful up here...

Visiting him becomes routine for you. He says some really weird things, but the way he views the world is so unique and refreshing, and you form a fast friendship. He is very stubborn about remaining out of sight, but does start altering his appearance so he can stop worrying that the occasional glimpse you do get might give him away. He tailors a crude Mightyena hood for himself to obscure his face and ears.

He becomes desperate to spend more time with you, especially when you start talking about moving away someday soon, away from the town full of people who don't understand you. He wants to go with you... he wants to be your pokemon, but thinks you won't accept him as he is. His past with humans has him believing that trainers only value beautiful or strong pokemon. So he starts doing crazy things to prove his worth. Like, killing the strongest pokemon in the area, and leading you to its corpse to gauge your reaction. He hoped you'd be in awe and wonder what could've felled such a beast, and then he would reveal that it was him... but instead you were terrified, and sad for the dead pokemon.

It shakes him, makes him hate himself so much more. If a monster isn't what you want... then he'll just have to become human for you. He destroys the parts of himself that makes him different from you, starting by ripping off the gems on his chest and forehead. His claws will be next... but the pain and blood loss from just the gems is too much, and almost kills him. You find him while he's passed out, and although you don't recognize that he's who you've been speaking to, you rush him into town and save his life.

He wakes up in a pokemon center surrounded by strange humans, and freaks the fuck out. He wounds one of the nurses badly and would've killed someone he didn't hear you screaming at him to stop. The future he built up in his head, of either becoming your pokemon or close enough to a human that you might accept him, shatters in an instant. He runs, breaking out of the building and mindlessly fleeing into the mountains. You're shocked by his reaction, and something about the silhouette he makes as he escapes through the trees is familiar...

The people in the town know that he must be the monster that's been killing people, and at the same time, you realize that he's actually the boy from the mountains. Your dear friend. An armed mob storms into his territory intent on revenge, despite your protests. They locate his den and start a fire to smoke him out or kill him via burning or suffocation.

You had followed them, and when they start the fire you try to physically stop them. They're stronger though and throw you to the ground, yelling insults at you for defending such a loathsome creature. They kick you into the den so you can burn with him.

You hurry further inside but can't seem to find him... instead, he finds you. He lunges from the shadows behind you, not realizing who you are, pinning you to the ground and snarling in your face. He would have ripped your jugular out with his teeth if you hadn't wrapped your arms around him and hugged tight, instead of fighting him off like he expected. It confuses him and he thrashes to get away but you don't let go, and he slowly comes to his senses, realizing that it's you.

Why are you here, after everything he did? That he's done, his reputation as a people killer? You know who and what he is now, but you're still here and the way you hold him, whispering soothingly into his ear... Is this really happening or has he finally lost his mind? He breaks down and squeezes you back, sobbing into the neck he'd been seconds away from tearing his teeth into.

Smoke starts robbing his den of breathable air and brings the both of you out of the moment, forcing you to confront the situation at hand. You try to run back to the exit first, but it's engulfed in flames. He takes you further inside, to where he usually sleeps, and light shines through a crack in the rocks above. He pushes you up to it and you crawl out, but he's too big to follow and he urges to go without him. This is the fate he deserves.

But you refuse, and start tearing at the stone and dirt above the opening with your bare hands. It finally sinks in, seeing you desperately trying to save him, just how much you really care and maybe... maybe that means his life might be worth living after all. That he deserves another chance.

He joins your efforts and uses his claws to pry apart more of the stone. It takes a gargantuan effort, and he starts to pass out as the oxygen in his den dwindles. You grab onto his arm and pull with all of your strength, and against the odds are able to drag him out.

You're both exhausted and completely out of breath, but you drag him into another embrace anyways. You tell him to never ever sacrifice himself like that again, that he's so important to you and you'd be devastated to lose him. You ask him... if he would go with you, away from here, and although the strong emotions that overtake him have him choking up too much to respond with words, the way he holds you back is all the confirmation you need.

Together the two of you travel far, far away, going on an adventure that explores the best and worst that humankind has to offer, and form an unbreakable bond.

Aaaaand that's it! Sorry if it's pretty cheesy hahahaha it's just what my brain went for in the short amount of time I wrote this up. Again, probably not going to write an actual fic out of this (or at least I won't consider it until my current one is finished) but I had a lot of fun and it was a nice little break before delving back into Angels Fall. Hope you guys liked it too >w</

[ptn-imagines]

Hello hello!!

Notorious cat anon asking once again for Langley and f!chief but what if chief brought a cat or two she found on the streets home

Like the cat distribution striking the two lol

The idea of a sphinx cat that hates Langley and loves everyone else was too funny. Otherwise known as: Langley competes with a fucking cat for her girlfriend's attention.

F!Chief bringing a street cat home to Langley

The first thought Langley has is that this creature is the ugliest thing she has ever seen in her life. It’s an exaggeration, of course, but the cat definitely isn’t the cute and fluffy type people think of when they think of felines. In fact, it doesn’t have any fur at all, which is what contributed to the initial reaction in the first place.

After realizing that Chief is in fact holding a cat, and not some hairless Mania abomination, though, Langley smiles. It’s just a sphinx cat, albeit a particularly thin and ragged one. And though she won’t admit it aloud, being cuddled up with the Chief like that certainly lends it a great deal of cuteness factor.

Langley can’t help but tease Chief about picking up strays – a little nod to her Sinners, though of course, this time the Bureau’s new resident is a stray. She pretends to hum and posture about keeping more animals in the MBCC, but Langley already knows she’ll be letting the cat stay. She appreciates the intelligence and independence of felines, though it certainly doesn’t hurt that Chief is looking at her with the wet eyes of a stray kitten herself.

However, it becomes almost immediately apparent that the cat hates Langley. He’s cuddled up and purring without a care in the world in Chief’s arms, but the moment the director approaches, his claws are out and he’s hissing and spitting with vindictive fury.

Judging by the look on Chief’s face, Langley figures she’s expecting her to take back her approval now  that the cat has lashed out at her. Instead, Langley just chuckles and says that as long as nobody gets hurt, the feline can be as grouchy as he likes.

She finds out later that she’s the only one the cat hates. He’s more than content to curl up on the laps of literally anyone else in the Bureau and be stroked. In fact, naming duties ended up falling into the hands of some of the younger Sinners – they decided on “Fluffy.” For a hairless cat. Langley is amused.

Fluffy lives a pampered life in the Bureau, and he’s soon allowed to come into hypnotherapy sessions to soothe nervous Sinners. If he’s not cuddling up with one of the inmates or rubbing against their legs, though, he is almost always with Chief.

This includes, somehow, every time Langley needs to go see her. He kicks up a fuss whenever she appears and if they lock him outside the room, he won’t stop howling and scratching at the door. It amused Langley at first – at least until she realized she was competing with a damn cat.

Still, Langley is neither cruel nor heartless, despite the reputation she’s carefully curated for herself as the Silver Spider, and she won’t deprive the Bureau of what has become an integral member of it. So, instead, she changes tactics.

Despite her incredibly busy schedule, she takes time out of it to go and sit in whatever room Fluffy is in. At first, it goes exactly as one would predict – he goes into his usual feline hissy fits, yowling up a storm, though Langley notes he never takes a swipe at her unless she gets too close.

As time goes on, the yowling dies into low growls and then into suspicious glaring. When she walks into a room one day and Fluffy looks at her only for a moment before going back to sleep, Langley can’t help but smile. Meanwhile, everyone else in the Bureau suffers from increasing confusion as to why the Director of the 9th Agency is spending more and more time doing… nothing?

The crux of the whole plan comes one day when Langley walks into her office and finds Fluffy curled up on her chair. Mission: befriend Chief’s cat, success.

It’s a relief to not be competing with a cat for Chief’s attention anymore, and as for Chief? Well, she’s just glad Fluffy no longer screams bloody murder whenever Langley walks into the room.

[chershire23]

Bones In The Ocean

One piece x reader one-shot

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of Depression, self harm and suicide and also death. This story is gonna be pretty angsty because I feel sad rn.

The Straw Hats had just made port on a new and unfamiliar Island. It looked completely uninhabited aside from wild animals so they figured it would be a good place to stock up on food and other reserves before continuing on their journey.

"FOOOD!" Luffy screams in excitement jumping off the ship, Ussop and chopper following close behind. The three of them laughing and playing as they run across the beach. The rest of their crew mates watch on in amusement.

Robin and Nami lay out their lawn chairs and umbrella on the beach, hoping to relax a bit before the hard work began. Sanji with hearts in his eyes prances over to them carrying a tray of freshly cut fruit and two smoothies. "For you my lovely ladies." He swoons handing them their drinks and snacks.

"Thank you Sanji." Robin and Nami say at the same time before looking at each other and letting out small giggles at their joint responses. "Hey Ero-cook, mind making us some food and drinks if your serving them?" Zoro calls out as he practices his sword technique. Sanji turns to him with a snarl. "Get it your damn self moss head!" He shouts and it ends up escalating into a screaming match between the two.

"Heh, they can't go two minutes without fighting can they?" Franky asks Brook as he looks over the ship for any damages needing fixed. Doesnt seem so, Yohohoho." Brook say with a laugh as he tunes his violin. Chopper chases after Luffy and Ussop before suddenly stoping, he could hear something. It sounded like, singing.

"Hey guys quite down and listen for a moment I hear something." He calls and everyone stops what they're doing trying to hear what Chopper does.

"As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea I remember the fallen, do they think of me? When their bones in the ocean forever will be

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew To a place where my hope died along with my crew So I swallow my grief and face life's final test To find promise of peace and the solace of rest."

A sorrowful feminine voice fills the air. It was slow and filled with emotion. They listen intently before it stops once more becoming too quite for them to hear once more. They all look to each other everyone filled with all sorts of emotions. Fear, curiosity, sadness, and worry. "I know this song, its a song sang during most pirate funerals." Brook states looking straight into the tree line.

Everyone else looks out as well, "Luffy, what are you thinking?" Zoro asks the younger man who was staring intently into the jungle. "I think, someone needs our help." He says before walking into the dense jungle. The rest of his crew follow and the further in they walk the louder the voice gets.

"As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea I remember the fallen, do they think of me? When their bones in the ocean forever will be." The voice continues leading them on till they reach a small clearing.

There in the middle of it sitting in front of a large grave sight sat what looked like a mink. A female mink that greatly resembled the hairless sphinx cat. Dispite the Sphinx having naturally very wrinkly and hair free skin hers had more wrinkles then normal and from the looks of it was covered in Tattoos.

A sad, sorrowful sob then echos through the clearing. Sanji is the first to react, "Madame, are you alright? Do you need any help? He questions, knowing the first one had an obvious answer but he asked it anyway. The woman's body jerked in surprise before her head slowly turns to look at them revealing blue eyes that have sense been dulled by sadness and time.

"People," she lets out a breathless gasp as she quickly turns the rest of her body to look at them giving the crew a good look at her. Her body was indeed covered in tattoos, as shown by the very little clothing that she wore. Even her eyes had tattoos surrounding them. "Who.... who are you all she calls out her voice raspy and quite like she didn't believe what she was seeing.

Sanji stepped closer to her holding out his hand willing for her to take it so that he may help her off the ground. "We, are the Straw Hats, I'm Sanji the ships cook." He introduces himself. The woman stares at him before slowly and hesitantly reaching out a hand to take his. Upon their skin making contact she flinches away, as if surprised that her hand didn't faze through his.

"May I ask for your name my lady?" Sanji asks as he helps her to her feet. "H....Harmony, Spindle D. Harmony." She says as she looks at each and every one of them unsure that she's not hallucinating. "Well Harmony, I'm Luffy the captain if this crew and the future pirate king!" Luffy exclaims before introducing the rest of his crew.

Harmony listens and watches them intently as one by one the crew is introduced to her. Finaly when introductions were over Robin asks the question they'd all been thinking. "Miss Harmony, if you don't mind me asking how did you end up here and for how long," her voice trails off as she looks back over to the giant grave.

Harmony pulls herself away from Sanji before walking back over to it. Placing a hand against the stone. "We shipwrecked twenty years ago," she begins her voice soft. "We had no ways of fixing the ship so we thought we'd stay, and wait for someone to come by hoping for a rescue. We waited for weeks and there was no sign of anyone." She continues on her voice slowly filing with pain.

"Suddenly one by one my crew fell victim to a nasty disease. We had no medicine left to treat it and none of the herbs our doctor found were helping. Then one by one they started dying, my devil fruit prevented me from catching the disease. And so I watched, as each and every one of my friends died before my eyes. And I couldn't save, any of them." She says her eyes once more filling with tears.

"It wasn't a slow death either they suffered.... greatly and I couldn't help them. I failed them as a Captain and more importantly I failed them as a friend." She finishes with a sob her body heaving as the tears fell down her wrinkled cheeks like waterfalls.

"They did not deserve it! They were good people and I let them all die! I dont deserve my title!" She cries, her body collapse to the ground. The crew's reactions ranged from shock to tenderness as they witnessed womens emotional breakdown. Luffy was the first to move, crouching down beside the weeping captain.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a warm, comforting embrace."We're here for you, lady!" he declared, his voice steady and soothing. "You didn't let them die! you fought alongside them until the end, That's something to be proud of!"Chopper, ever the empathetic one, joined Luffy, his small form fitting snugly against her side. He gently rubbed her back, offering a silent gesture of comfort."You're not alone anymore, ma'm," Chopper reassured her, his voice soft and calming.

"Robin's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she watched her comrades provide solace to the grieving captain. She took a step closer, her hand reaching out to lightly stroke at her head. "You have survived so much, Madame. Your strength is remarkable," Robin said, her words carrying a weight of understanding. "Perhaps, with time, you can someday find peace and move forward from your losses. "Franky then spoke up in a serious tone. "I know how it feels to, to lose the ones you love. We all do."

"How? How could I ever be rid the this guilt that plagues me?" She wonders looking up at them. "Well you could start by getting off this Island, and we could help you with that." Nami says placing her hands on the older woman's shoulders. "I dont think I have the strength to leave." Harmony mumbles her voice soft.

"We could lend you that strength. I lost my crew once to. But they helped my find my way out of the shadows and depths of survivors guilt. We could do the same for you." Brook announces holding out his hand.

Harmony stares at him for a moment searching for any sign of deception. Seeing none she takes his hand in hers. "But, im so old now. I don't think I could be of any use to you anymore." She says uncertainty spilling through. Brook let's out a laugh, "Oh I doubt you're older than me my lady, and I'm 88 years old."

Harmony lets out a snort, "I believe I have you beat by seventy years, young man." She states a playfulness she hasn't felt for years surging through her.

"WHAT THAT WOULD MAKE YOU ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD!" Ussop exclaims in shock as he and the others look at her in complete shock.

"Yep and on top of my age, I don't think you want someone who's..... Broken, on your crew. I'd only be a burden." She says that playfulness being drowned out by sorrow ans self hatred. "Broken? I don't see anything wrong with you." Luffy states staring at her in confusion.

Harmony lets out a shakey breath before lifting her arms, there carved into her skin and covered up by tattoos are scars, dozens of scars. Scars big and small cover the entirety of her arms. The crew stares on in shock. "The devil fruit I made extended my life so long im practically immortal. I can take a bullet or blade just like anyone else and bleed, but the fruit heals me before any fatal damage can be done. Its a cruel joke that fate played on my the day I ate that damned fruit." Harmony finishes her eyes closing in pain.

Robin is the first to speak, "to be immortal yet tormented by over a century of regret and guilt. It must be a weight unlike any other." She kneels down in front of the woman placing a hand on her knee. Zoro with a stoic expression carefully asks, "If you're immortal, what drives you? What compels you to keep moving on as the world changes with each passing year?"

Harmony's ears perk up at the question, "now thats the question isn't it? nothing compels me to go on. you want to know how many times I've stuck my own pistol in my mouth and pulled the trigger?" She asks harshly a bitter taste enveloping her tounge with each word.

The sudden, stark confession left the crew momentarily speechless, their faces etched with a mix of shock, horror, and a deep, unsettling sadness. Even Luffy, usually the most energetic and carefree of the group, stood frozen, his bright smile replaced by a look of grim understanding.

Usopp's eyes grew wide, his body quivering slightly as he struggled to process the gravity of Harmony's words. "W-wait… You… You've tried to…?" His voice cracked, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud threatening to unleash a torrent of despair.

Robin's gaze never wavered from hers, her black eyes absorbing the weight of the confession like a sponge drawing in water. She nodded slowly, a silent acknowledgment of the captain's torment. "It's a cry for help, a desperate attempt to escape the curse of immortality," she whispered, her voice heavy with empathy.

"But you didn't give up," Chopper added softly, his small form seeming even more vulnerable beside the towering figure of the womans. "That means there's still hope, that you can find a reason to keep living." His words were a gentle beacon of light, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there was always a glimmer of hope to be found.

"Oh you sweet summer child," she states looking at the tiny reindeer. "I gave up years ago, but you know everytime I pulled the trigger I always end up waking up and spitting back out the bullet." my expression is grave, full of self hatred and pity. She flinched as suddenly a straw hat is placed on top of her head making her look up. All of the straw hats were looking at her.

Luffy had a small grin on his face, "We can help you find a purpose again. Join my crew! We can learn a lot from you and your time sailing the seas!" He exclaims wanting nothing more than to help this woman get her fighting spirit back. Nami chimes in as well. "We many not be able to change your past but we can build a brighter future. together, we can find joy ans meaning in the present!"

"We accept everyone on this crew for who they are, flaws and all." Ussop states as he turns his head with a playful smirk.

Harmony pov.

I looked at all of them. All these young souls who are ready and willing to help me find my way back into the light. "If I am to join your crew could I still keep my old pirate name?" I hesitantly ask them.

"Well its who you are isn't it? Of course you can keep your old name. What was it?" The blue haired man, Franky asked me. "Madame Sphinx, that was the name I when by as Captian of the Anubis pirates."

"Well then Welcome aboard, Madame Sphinx!" Luffy exclaims taking his hat back from my head. The rest of his crew follow suit in cheering and excitement. "He reminds me so much of you, old friend. His smile is almost identical to that of yours, Rodger I think you would like this lad." I think to myself as I follow behind them as they lead me to their ship.

3rd person pov.

Harmony follows behind them as the rowdy bunch go about preparing a feast for the celebration. But they were so caught up in their joy they failed to notice something was happening to their new friend.

Her body was glowing with a ethereal golden glow. She slowly started turning translucent. Noticing what was happening to her own being and knowing what it ment Harmony begged whatever deity was listening to let her new friends know what happened to her.

"There you are captain we've been waiting for you!" A males voice suddenly rung in her head. She looked out and saw the figures of her old crew beckoning her to them. Her first mate and husband Jax a male dog like mink with brown fur was the one who had called out. "We've missed you my love. Its time to come home now." He whispers to her.

suddenly her body and the forms of her old crew disaperate in a golden light. Before vanishing into the heavens.

"Hey Harmony whats..." Sanji trails off seeing as Harmony was suddenly no where to be found. "Guys Harmony's gone!" He shouts as he rushes off to look for her. The rest of the group stop what they were doing and follow his lead calling out for their new friend.

"Everyone get over here, I found something!" Ussop shouts and they all rush over to meet him. When they get to him he's standing in front of a statue. One that has since been overcome with moss and vines. Luffy, zoro and Sanji make hast to remove as much as possible.

What is revealed to them stuns everyone into silence. It was a statue of a younger more lively version of the woman they had met. And there carved in the stone below her feet read these words.

Spindle D. Harmony

Loving captain, wife and an amazing friend.

May your spirit live on forever even when your

name is forgotten by history.

The crew looked on in Silence when Luffy suddenly removed his hat and bowed his head. The others following suit, all of them saying a silent prayer. Thanking the gods for giving them the chance to put the woman's spirit to rest. Brook then takes out his Violin and begins to play. Everyone begins singing the words.

"Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land And I paddle away from the brave Island's white sands To search for my long ago forgotten friends To search for the place I hear all sailors end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea I remember the fallen, do they think of me? When their bones in the ocean forever will be

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew To a place where my hope died along with my crew So I swallow my grief and face life's final test To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea I remember the fallen, do they think of me? When their bones in the ocean forever will be

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand I shed a small tear for my home upon land Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes And my boat listed over and tried to capsize I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea I remember the living, do they think of me? When my bones in the ocean forever will be

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss I'm not sure what I want, but I don't think it's this As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind As I live all the years that they left me behind I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea I remember the fallen and they think of me For our souls in the ocean together will be

I remember the fallen and they think of me For our souls in the ocean together will be."

[pattydia]

for the post about fic prompts in the inbox - maybe something about tappert? 👀

It’s not something Eugene mentions to the others as he’s recounting the story — its likely something he’ll take to his early grave — but when he first found Tappert sitting there, stock-still and smiling, surrounded with viscera and blonde hair dyed red, he hadn’t felt frightened, or disgusted, not really. Just sorry. Sorry in the way that he feels sorry for the emaciated dogs who descend on the cold battlefield like vultures to lap up the gore, their ribs showing through patches of burnt, hairless skin.

Because Tappert is the smallest guy in the squadron, stature-wise, but his raucous laugh and go-to-hell drawl and skill with a gun all give him the wherewithal of a much larger man. But when Eugene knelt beside him in the dirt, turned to mud by blood and piss, he had looked like a child. Pink-cheeked. Skin and bones. As if Eugene could have folded him inside his coat and carried him away from the wreckage.

So Eugene hadn’t felt frightened until Tappert held up his hands, big and bruised and pulpy, and said your move. He hadn’t felt frightened until he saw the red string laced between his fingers, a child’s plaything, delicate and complex and impossible to recreate alone.

Hey, he’d said, voice thick and faraway sounding, Tappert. Come on. It’s alright. You’re alright.

He wasn’t alright, of course, but Eugene didn’t know it then.

Now, in the attic, Tappert looks the same as he did on the day he killed all those boys. Fragile. Folded into himself. Eyes enormous and wet and gleaming. Eugene looks at his dirty, freckled face and swallows dryly and feels ill.

My father was a milkman, Tappert is saying. My mother was my dead mother, now a memory. When he grabs Eugene by the collar Eugene can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, heavy with the scent of dirt and rot.

“Are you sick?” Eugene asks, pressing a palm into Tappert’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Quit your worrying,” Tappert drawls thickly. “You sound like my wife, nancy boy.”

“You’re married?” Eugene didn’t know that. He doesn’t know much of anything about the guy, even now.

“Not anymore,” Tappert says, grinning. It’s not a nice smile; his eyes are fixed and glazed. “She died with my baby in ‘er belly.”

“Oh, god.” Eugene looks at the ground so he doesn’t have to look at Tappert’s twisted face. “I’m so … sorry.”

“You know God don’t love us, right?” Tappert continues, bony fingers hooking beneath Eugene’s chin and lifting it so they’re nose to nose. Eugene shivers wildly. “You’re dyin’ for your country and He still don’t love you, turtledove.”

Eugene nods. They’re so close that he can smell Tappert’s sour breath, can see the stains on his teeth from years of cigarettes and weak coffee and bile.

“I know.”

This answer pleases Tappert; he pats Eugene on the cheek. His eyes spark.

“That’s good. Real good. Now take off those fuckin’ glasses, pet. Lemme see your face.” Tappert’s voice is low, lower than Eugene has ever heard it.

Eugene’s stomach twists. He feels his face go hot and red.

“Tappert, come on. You’re sick. You’ve got a fever, you’re not well, lay down.” He thinks of calling down to the others for help. He thinks of the rifle slung across Tappert’s lap.

“I’m right as rain,” Tappert says, still grinning. He reaches up and takes the glasses off himself; Eugene hears them clatter to the rotting attic floor.

“What are you —“ Eugene asks, heart jackrabbiting in his sternum, mouth filling with saliva.

“There,” Tappert interrupts, licking his lips. Self-satisfied and cruel. “Knew it. Pretty as a picture, you are.”

“I don’t …” Eugene can’t think. Tappert’s gaze is so intense, pupils blown, tear tracks shining pink and clean through the dirt on his cheeks. Eugene is distantly aware of something terrible happening under his own kit, below the belt.

“God don’t love us,” Tappert repeats, “so it ain’t like you gotta worry about fallin’ out of His favor.”

“Tappert,” Eugene says thickly. “I’m not —“

“Christ,” Tappert groans, irritated, hands massive and deft on the tarnished buttons of Eugene’s jacket. “Neither am I. It’s wartime, pet.” He laughs like that explains it, explains everything. The noise goes right between Eugene’s legs.

Tappert puts down the rifle and gets on his knees. Eugene wonders if he’s hallucinating as Tappert hooks purple fingertips beneath his waistband. Eugene wonders if he’s snapped, fully and finally, when he feels Tappert’s mustache scrape over the skin below his navel.

Tappert reaches into Eugene’s military-issued trousers and takes his dick out; Eugene stares at the ceiling and tries to quiet his breathing. Tappert’s calloused palm is so hot around him that it feels like a brand.

“Oh,” Eugene breathes, and Tappert laughs.

“Anybody ever did this to you before?” Tappert doesn’t wait for an answer; instead, he seals his mouth around the head of Eugene’s dick.

Nobody ever had done it to Eugene before, so the feeling — warm and wet and tight as any woman — forces a shout from him, makes his hands come down and grip frantically at the thick wool of Tappert’s cap.

Tappert makes a little snorting noise and when Eugene dares to look down his shining eyes are crinkled like he’s laughing. His lips are red and his ruddy cheeks are hollowed and he’s gazing at Eugene through his thick blanket of eyelashes as he works his head up and down.

Eugene’s hips buck up; he can’t help it. He can feel himself hit the back of Tappert’s soft palate and the hum that vibrates through him as he gags.

“Jesus Christ,” Eugene whispers. He reaches down and thumbs a tear off of Tappert’s shining face. He feels numb. He feels like he’s watching himself from the corner of the room. He thinks of acrid smoke and bombs and the sounds men make before they die. He thinks of skinny dogs and red string and blonde curls on detached heads. He digs his fingernails into his palms and comes down Tappert’s wet throat.

“There we go,” Tappert says afterwards as he gets up off the floor, wiping his swollen lips. “It’s alright. Don’t you cry, turtledove.”

Tappert shoulders his rifle and disappears down the creaking staircase. Eugene reaches up to wipe his face. His fingers come away wet.

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @metztlilua based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, T

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3.

Your Sister’s Sons?!

—

Silence ruled the halls of the mountain kingdom of Erebor like no yule season before. 

Dwarves ran around in morose silence, dutifully carrying decorations around and shoving them however they could into the most festive and welcoming look that they could achieve on such short notice.  The chants and festive music could be heard outside the palace, closer to Dale where the garlands and the lights of the candles surrounded the city halls.  Its citizens prepared to show off the very last of their harvests in baked pies and jams that they brought to the center of town.  But inside of Erebor, there was nothing but dead silence and a thick air of awkwardness that suffocated those who were not royalty. 

The line of Durin had given the news of what, on any other occasion, for any other kingdom with a history different than theirs, and a population who didn’t know that Princess Dis had TWO sons instead of one, might have been wonderful news.  Yet, this Yule season, with the snow falling down slowly, it felt like a dragon had swooped down from the sky again and taken everything in its path. 

Fili and Kili, the two said sons of the kingdom, stood side by side in the shadow of the royal gates, the weight of realization heavy in the air.

Fili’s voice was light as he tried to get the right words out, “It’s for the best…"  He paused and tried again, “maybe if…"  Then gave up and settled for, “Kili, I am so sorry.“  Looking to comfort the brunet, he reached out his hand but stopped mid air, fearing that to touch him after receiving such news might be the thing that finally threw him off the edge and he might fully break down. 

“It’s not your fault,” Kili interrupted, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“But Tauriel…”

“Forget about her,“ he interrupted a second time, half a smile on his pale face.  The youngest of the Durin line avoided looking at Fili, avoiding having to see his brother’s perfectly blue eyes shiny with sorrow at this moment seemed like an impossible task.  They both stared into the makeshift decorations of what would be their wedding ceremony.  Yes.  Both of them.  Together.

To Thorin Oakenshield, the idea of having to name a heir (a heir who wasn’t a Durin at that),  was almost as much torture as had been the years he had been away from his home, as torturous and treacherous as the road back to Erebor had been for him. 

With the dragon to slay, the Arkenstone quest, and the battle of the five armies, along with the reclaiming of Erebor, he had been able to push back the task long enough. 

But, sadly for him and his unorganized plan, (or lucky for whatever was brewing inside his brain that he wouldn’t share with anyone in the company…not even Dwalin), the dwarf lords and the kingdoms that they ruled demanded answers.  So in order for Thorin to be officially crowned, he needed a successor, a candidate of sorts in case anything were to happen to him before he had children of his own.  The short answer to that question was Fili.  But of course, it wasn’t that easy.  Fili had to be in a sort of relationship that promised heirs to carry on the kingship legacy of the dwarves and, again, sadly mainly for Thorin, the blonde was about as unattached to everybody as they came.

Kili on the other hand was an abomination (and probably even a danger) to name heir because not only was he too young, too wild, and absolutely too hairless, but the last time Thorin checked, Kili had a thing for a maiden, yes, but an elven maiden at that. 

The last thing needed for the king to start TRULY ruling and making a change and a dignified new life for his people was to name a successor.  So now, almost eleven months after he first set foot in Erebor, he had finally called the council of the dwarf lords to speak to them of his chosen heir, Fili, and his upcoming marriage that would bring new offspring through Kili. 

The table, filled with high ranking dwarves from all over middle earth stared at him, bewildered and silent.  

Dain was the first to speak,  "Your sister’s sons?"  He mumbled, like hoping he just was not paying enough attention and didn’t quite understand what Thorin said. 

"Yes, Fili and Kili.” He pointed to each of them, silent in their seats, eyes wide, mouths hanging open. 

The room erupted in complaints and sounds of disgust and disbelief, fists slammed against the tables, and hands waved around in the hopes of being heard, a few common concerns being thrown around “your heir will marry his brother?!” “HOW exactly will two MALE dwarves bring new offspring to Erebor” “have you lost your mind?!” and others. However, Thorin remained seated and calm, his eyes clouded over and chin rested in his hands.

When the chatter finally died down, Balin spoke, “What is the reasoning behind this?"  His tone unreadable. 

"There is no hidden meaning, Master Balin.  Fili is my chosen heir, and he and Kili will wed.  That’s it."  He raised his hands to either side of his head to make sure the room didn’t become a zoo again before speaking, "As king to be, it is my responsibility to find an heir that belongs to the line of Durin, is it not?" 

When no answer other than calculated head nods came, he continued to speak, "And as king, it is also my responsibility to act in the best interest of Erebor.  As of this moment, I need to be able to start making decisions for my people.  I cannot and will not wait around until one of these two decides that he’s finally ready to settle down.  Further, I WILL NOT name a heir that is not from the line of Durin.  It’s as simple as that."  He crosses his arms over his chest when Dain opened his mouth to complain, probably ready to call him pigheaded.  "This is nothing but a technicality,” he continued calmly, “the other kingdoms don’t know of my nephews relationship and who is to say that I will not have a child of my own before the time I die?" 

The room fell quiet.  Eyes looked down at the table, taking in Thorin’s words trying to find something wrong with what he said.  To the dwarf lords, a decission like the one Thorin had just comunicated seemed unorthodox and quite frankly like a torture for the son’s of Dis, but it was true that no rules were being broken.

"I hope you know what you are doing,” Uri Firebeard mumbled, just as annoyed as he was the second prior, opting to gather his things and exit the room.  It was decided that Fili and Kili were to marry each other and none of their opinions were asked. 

Shortly after, the Kingdom of Erebor was reunited to share the news to them, too.  Fili and Kili stood side by side next to Thorin, awkwardly staring ahead as if whatever was on the horizon could help them.  There was no riot, no questions asked, nothing but quiet and pure shock in the eyes of everyone except the dwarfs of the company, who more than anything, wanted to know what was going through the brothers’ heads. 

The ceremony was celebrated in the same month as the yule festivities, quiet and uncomplicated.  Fili handed over a bead he made for Kili to wear in his hair, more bashful than he had never been before.  He dropped it, neatly wrapped up in a cute little box with a bow he made of yarn on the brunet’s palm before slowly reaching to his hair to braid it, pretending like he hadn’t dreamed of braiding Kili’s hair like this for far too long now, like he didn’t put so much effort into the bead that the tips of his nails hurt for days after, and Kili on the other hand, recited a musicalized poem he pretended that he wrote the night prior and not back on the journey to Erebor, when he first noticed how the blonde’s eyes shimmered under the night sky. He accompanied the song with his violin.  Thorin tied their hair together in a braid, carefully winding the strands of blonde and brunet hair into one before announcing to shocked Dale and Erebor inhabitants that they were indeed married.

_________________

Married life had become a sort of duty for the princes of Erebor to fulfill. Like a show that now one asked for neither did they enjoy. 

At least once daily, they had to parade around dressed up and holding hands, watched constantly by the King and the Council.  They sat quietly on the benches of the Garden, talking calmly and sometimes even joking, the nature of their relationship was barely different if not for the constant touching that Thorin was adamant about. 

“At least hold hands!  You used to do it all the time before!!” he said,

It was true they used to hold hands a lot, especially during the quest after Goblintown when they didn’t know if they would see each other again.  But holding hands on a random afternoon whilst being watched, like an item to check off a list, seemed stupid to the both of them. 

Then at night, it was settled that they were to sleep in the same room, in the same bed, like any married couple would. Lucky for them, they are pretty used to doing that. Growing up in the blue mountains where they were not royalty, they had to share just about everything. 

Thorin hadn’t completely lost his mind and asked them to consummate their union (mind you a member of the council should be present for this) but the truth was that sleeping tangled into each other’s arms wasn’t as good as it used to be in the Blue Mountains.  Now, in Erebor, things were pretty messed up and having to wake up to a blushing and mortified maid staring puzzled at their shirtless figures wasn’t a fairytale to either of them.  But the worst part of that was, to Kili, that touching Fili now seemed like the most inappropriate thing ever. 

Before, when Kili caught himself even thinking of running his fingers through pools of golden hair, tracing a cheek or holding Fili’s  hand, he forced himself to stop. He refused to let himself imagine the feel of soft lips and how they would move, pressed against his own. Each thought a betrayal, a breaking of the unspoken moral rules that bound the dwarfs… possibly every single thinking creature in middle earth. The taboo of them together was so deeply rooted in Kili´s brain, so admittedly unordinary, that it was an unthinkable topic.  A relationship between them would never flourish.  If not for the fact that they were SO undoubtedly related, then because Fili had never shown interest in any dwarf that had even a faint resemblance to Kili.

Or that was until now that the unnecessarily complicated relationship they had (and by they I mean Kili with Fili and not the other way around) got even worse with the push of Fili´s Princely duties, forced to marry Kili out of nothing but compromise to his (their) people and his (their) king. And in this sick twist of fate, Kili found himself even more compelled, ever tormented with desire that meant nothing but sin. Unrequited love was something he could handle (he had handled it for over twenty years by the time they arrived at Bilbo’s house). But to have Fili so close, so entirely at his mercy, day and night, was unbearable. The situation forced them together, glued side by side, with Thorin and the council’s expectations of touches, even  kisses. It was like a sick joke, a cruel test of strength he never wanted to face. Every time they were required to show any form of romantic affection, it made him grimace and shudder, the weight of his broken promise (that  one he made to Fili  all those nights ago, during their night guard) was eating him alive.

“As long as we don’t have our hearts,” Fili had said, his voice quiet but steady, like he was trying to teach him a lesson he barely understood himself.

“We’re safe,” Kili had repeated, just as softly, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. He bit back whatever feelings were bubbling up, locking them away before they could escape.

But now, with his heart wide open, practically handed over for Fili to take, Kili felt like the worst creature in all of Middle-earth.  And yet, every time he was near the blue eyed dwarf, his heart wouldn’t listen. It kept pounding so loud it drowned out the guilt. It felt like a betrayal he couldn’t control, no matter how much he hated himself for it; it was like he was exploiting his brother’s kindness, taking advantage of Fili’s innate and unyielding instinct to please their uncle. Each act of love twisting the knife deeper into his soul. 

On the other hand, Fili had found an honest to mahal punishment in their union; of course he could see Kili was suffering. Fíli saw it in everything he did, he dreaded the tiny flinches, the way his smile would twitch right before their hands met, the grimace that stuck for a second too long when their fingers brushed. It was killing him. Every touch, no matter how small or forced, felt like he was hurting him. Fíli knew a thing or two about duty, about sacrifice, but this was different. This wasn’t about protecting his naddadith, he was breaking him. Every moment they were pushed together left Fíli drowning in the same guilt; guilt about the way he enjoyed the fleeting touches.

Was he traumatizing Kíli without even meaning to? The idea kept looping in his head, leaving him restless and quite frankly, nauseous. At night, when Kíli finally fell asleep wrapped around his arms, Fíli just laid there, staring at the ceiling, going over every strained little smile, every shiver. The touches that should’ve been comforting or at least seemed natural were now a minefield, and he didn’t know how much longer either of them could take it. 

The next time they had a chance to be alone, FIli brought it up almost without thinking, just desperate for something, anything, to feel normal again.

“The quest… feels like a lifetime ago,” he mumbled, twisting the wedding bead they both wore between his fingers. The carved object caught the dim light, a constant, silent reminder of what they were stuck in.

“Like a million years ago,” KIli replies with a soft laugh, his voice distant. Standing by the window, watching snowflakes drift down onto pale green leaves. The peaceful pace of its landing didn’t match the storm brewing inside him

“Do you… miss it?”

“Miss it?” Kili turned slowly, giving his bro… his husband, a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hands instinctively went to the bead in his hair, fidgeting with it as well. Then he laughed louder, trying to brush off the question. “What’s there to miss? Traveling day and night? Sore feet? Wet socks? Thorin dancing around Bilbo? Oh, and don’t even get me started on Bofur’s snores…that sound is seared into my soul forever!”

Fili chuckled unconvincingly. He could always see through Kili´s dodging, throwing out jokes like a shield like he always did.  But this time he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“I don’t mean any of that,” he said, his voice quieter now.  He stared down at the bead in his hand, spinning it slowly, like the answers to their situations lay within it.  “I mean… not knowing what would happen next. Hoping. Dreaming about Erebor.” His voice caught for a moment, but he pushed on, glancing at Kili like he was testing the waters. “Dreaming… about her.”

The brunet froze, his smile vanishing in an instant. “Her?”

Fili hesitated, a little startled by the reaction then swallowed hard. “I know you must miss her, Kee. I’d miss her too… if I were you.” i think he leaves out, not really able to relate to the situation. He paused, struggling to find the right words.  “Being stuck with me,“ he paused to signal between them weakly,  "Like this… it’s not fair. You didn’t ask for this.” His fingers tighten on the bead as he added, almost too quietly, like he was already regretting it, “You could still see her. If you wanted… I’d cover for you.”

For a second, the younger stared at him, like Fili had said something unthinkable. Then his hand dropped from his hair, and his voice came out cold and sharp. “That’s not really something you get to offer.”

Fili flinched at the edge in the brunet’s tone, far more used to his cheerful and harmonious voice.  “I just thought…”

“Well you thought wrong!” Kili snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to the window, his jaw tight, cheeks burning hot. “Just… drop it, Fee.”

The words hit like a door slamming shut in his face. Fili blinked, stunned, his stomach twisting.  Whatever he’d been trying to do, it had clearly gone horribly wrong, and he wasn’t even sure why or what hurt more,  the fact Kili had yelled at him or the fact he rejected his idea so angrily even though he was only doing it to protect him from, well, himself.

Kili’s voice startled his eyes back to him, quieter this time but no less sharp. “Didn’t I tell you to forget about her?”

The blond didn’t answer right away, but his gaze stayed steady on the brown eyed dwarf.  Somehow he looked ten years older than he actually was. Kili’s jaw clenched as he turned away, his shoulders tense.  “This is my responsibility, Fee. You’re not the one who has to fix it. You’re not the one stuck in this mess.” His voice was thick with bitterness. “Let it go. It’s not your problem.”

Fili stood still, the air between them thick with tension. He wanted to say something, but he could already tell it would only make things worse. Instead, he just turned his face away, the weight of Kili´s words crushing him.

The brunet exhaled sharply, feeling a wave of frustration flood through him.  He needed to get away from the scene, from everything. With one last look at Fili, he makes for the door, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.  As he stepped out of the room, his thoughts began to spiral, hitting him like a hurricane.

He didn’t mean to say the things he did or to snap the way he did; of course not. It was just unnerving, discouraging even… how badly Fili wanted to “spare” him from their situation. The real problem wasn’t the proposal itself, Kili knew it was insane to lash out at the blond for trying to make things more manageable for him but it was just another reminder that Fili indeed found their situation unbearable himself.  The problem was Kili’s own damn heart. Of course, Fili didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t want to be with Tauriel, not like that anyway. The idea of it made his skin crawl, not with disgust, he wasn’t blind either… but with the gut wrenching feeling that it wasn’t her he wanted. It was Fili. He couldn’t ignore it or keep pretending that he didn’t feel the pull of his own desire, everything he ever wanted was RIGHT THERE, forced to be married to him but of course he couldn’t let it show that Fili was what he wanted because he might lose him entirely, pretending to suffer was way better than not having him at all. Kili pushed the thought away, pushing a big breath out, and headed for Daisy at the stable.  At times like this, there´s only one place he could think of going

Thorin caught a glimpse of brunet hair darting past him, stomping off like he was ready to battle five armies again. The kid was chewing on the end of his braid again (a habit Dis, Vili, himself, and even Bilbo had all tried -and failed-) to break.

For the third time since Fili and Kili had gotten married (since he had pushed them, maybe a little too much, a little too roughly without their knowledge), Thorin watched his nephew storm toward the stables. He hesitated for a second, wondering if maybe he’d misread things between them. But the thought lasted maybe a second before he let out a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head.

of course not, he KNEW 

He knew exactly where Kili was heading, too. To grab Daisy and ride out to Bilbo’s gardening shed. The little place was tucked in a clearing just outside the castle grounds, surrounded by grass and a sprinkle of white flowers. It had this neat, peaceful vibe, like the chaotic history of the place it was built in couldn’t touch it someway. Kili always went there to clear his head, while Daisy predictably munched on Bilbo’s prized (and admittedly very hard to grow since they were mountain flora) flowers. Thorin could already hear the grumbling that would come later.

But today, the king of Erebor wasn’t about to intervene. Bilbo had just gotten back from The shire and he’d be at the shed, right where Kili was headed. If anyone could knock some sense into that pigheaded, dense dwarf he called a nephew,  it was Bilbo. That left Thorin free to focus on the real goal: talking to Fili.

With a little shrug and a satisfied smile, he turned on his heel, heading toward their room. 

Three knocks came on the bedroom door. Polite and restrained, yet forceful. Fili knew whoever was on the other side wasn’t Kili. And yet, as he said, “Come in,” he let himself hope.

It wasn’t Kili.

Thorin stepped through the doorway, his presence filling the space with a kind of quiet authority he had gained over the years. He glanced around the room like he was sizing up an opponent, his sharp eyes finally landing on Fili.

“You look like shit,” he said, crossing his arms. “What ’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the blond replied too quickly, turning his back to busy himself with something meaningless on the desk. “Everything’s fine.”

Thorin snorted, a low sound of disbelief. “You’re a terrible liar. Always have been, just like Frerin”

When Fili didn’t answer, Thorin moved further into the room, the floorboards creaking softly under his boots. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his posture deceptively relaxed.

“You know, I once thought everything was fine too. Told myself I was happy, that I had everything I needed. But it was a lie.”

Fili paused, his fingers stilling on the edge of a book he wasn’t really looking at. He didn’t turn around. “What do you mean?”

Thorin’s gaze drifted toward the window, his expression faraway. “I was betrothed. I thought I loved them. Thought that was what love was supposed to feel like…comfortable, predictable, easy. I didn’t know any better.”

Fili finally turned, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “What changed?”

“It wasn’t until forty years later that I learned the truth,” the black haired dwarf said, his voice quieter but carrying more weight. “When I fell in love with Bilbo, that day he tried to rescue the ponies” he pauses to chuckle fondly, pulling a genuine smile out of Fili “ I realized I’d never really known what love was. It hit me like a mountain monster fist. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t comfortable. It was terrifying.”

Fili stared at him, eyes dead, something twisting in his chest. His voice was quieter when he said, “Yes, but you and Bilbo aren’t brothers.”

The words hung between them, sharp and heavy.

The blond was expecting yelling. He braced himself for it, maybe even a slap. For Thorin to not understand, to recoil in disgust, to make it clear just how wrong it all was. He didn’t even dare meet Thorin’s eyes, waiting for the inevitable judgment.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, he  let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing as if the tension in the room belonged to someone else entirely. “Yeah… I know” he said, his voice steady, almost soft.

Fili froze, his eyes darting to Thorin’s face, searching for any sign of revulsion. There was none. The king tilted his head, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve always known, Fee. or suspected, I guess. I knew for sure ever since…” His voice trailed off, and his gaze flickered briefly toward the window before returning to Fili. “Ever since I fell for Bilbo, I’ve understood what it feels like to be trapped by something you can’t control. To care about someone in a way that doesn’t make sense to anyone else.”

Fili opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat felt tight, his thoughts too jumbled to untangle.

“I’m not here to judge you. But don’t make the mistake I did, don’t spend your energy trying to bury it. That kind of weight will break you.” Hestraightened, his gaze locking onto Fili’s. “Bilbo and I have it easier than you two. But love, real love anyway, doesn’t care about what’s convenient, or what’s easy, or what the world says is right. It’s messy and hard and sometimes it feels impossible. But it’s real. And it’s worth fighting for.”

Fili looked away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if it’s worth this.”

Thorin’s voice softened; he could see how difficult it was for both his nephews to realize what he had known for almost too long now. “Maybe not. That’s for you to decide. But pretending it doesn’t exist? That’s no way to live.” 

The blonde let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding away, like trying to escape from his chest. “Even if… even if it’s there,” he mumbled, barely able to get the words out, “Kee probably doesn’t feel the same.”

The blue eyed dwarf  laughed, a short, incredulous sound that caught Fili so off guard he almost felt like it didn’t happen. “You are not that dumb, are you?”

Fili blinked, his stomach twisting. “What do you mean?” 

Making Thorin shake his head with a wry smile. “You really think Kili flinches away from you because he doesn’t feel something? Fee… I’ve watched you too for long enough. He’s not pushing you away because he doesn’t care, he’s doing it because he’s scared out of his mind. Every time you’re near, he looks like he’s barely holding it together.”

The oldest of Dis´ sons  frowned, his heart twisting painfully. “That doesn’t mean anything,” no conviction left in his voice.

“Doesn’t it?” Thorin countered, raising a brow. “Then what about the way he’s always looking for you in a crowd, like he can’t stand not knowing where you are? Or how he can’t seem to stop fidgeting whenever you’re in the same room, like he’s trying not to do something he knows he shouldn’t? Or the way he always lights up when you laugh…like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Trust me, Fee he feels it. And it’s tearing him apart just as much as it’s tearing you apart.”

The blond finally let Thorin usher him off of the bed and out of the shared chambers, his thoughts still tangled from their conversation. Every word his uncle had said bounced inside his head, making his heart ache, but more than anything, he felt the pull to help Kili, even if he didn’t want it.

Fili’s feet carried him through the corridors and out into the cold. He didn’t have a destination, but his mind led him to the one place he knew Kili would go when he needed to be alone. The stable was quiet, the air sharp against his skin as he moved toward it; the lights were off but Daisy’s stall was visibly empty and he could see the hoof prints on the snow outside of the castle, leading to the shed; he hesitated, standing in the snow for a few seconds, whatever had happened between them in the room still gnawing at him; Kili had made it very clear he didn’t want or need anything from him (however nice he was trying to be by offering). But that didn’t stop him from finally settling on following him. Maybe if he could just talk to him, really talk, it would all make sense again. He settled for a slow pace that would hopefully allow Kili to chill his temper, his boots sinking into the snow. 

Inside the shed, Kili’s mind raced. He’d just ushered Daisy closer to the flowers at the entrance, his brain dead set on replaying his words to Fili. The creak of the door opening startled Kili back to reality, his breath caught when he saw Bilbo standing there, back from his Shire trip a little too soon, his expression something familiar to the one he had the first day they met; puffy red cheeks and a deep frown, his stance unmistakably firm.

“Kili,” his voice cut through the silence. “Is that the sound of your pony fucking chewing on my azaleas?”

The brunet froze, feeling the weight of Bilbo’s gaze on him. Damn it.

“I’m sorry I… I thought she could just…” he began, but the hobbit cut him off, grabbing Daisy’s reins and pulling her away.

“You know better than that,” Bilbo scolded the pony, his tone sharp. Kili stood there, unable to move, his chest tight with guilt. He hadn’t meant to cause any trouble. He just wanted a little peace and quiet.

“Who or what are you hiding from?” Bilbo chuckled, his voice light but knowing, as if he hadn’t just caught Kili red-handed. The brunet froze, halfway through untying Daisy’s reins. His heart thudded in his chest as he turned, wide-eyed. 

Bilbo leaned casually against the shed doorway, arms crossed, a wry smile on his face.

 “Whaaaat?!” Kili stammered unconvincingly “I’m not hiding!” 

The hobbit raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the high pitched tone of the dwarf´s voice, “Sure, and Daisy just loves hanging out near my flowerbeds for fun. Look, kid, everyone knows this is your hiding spot. It’s practically royal gossip by now.”

Kili let out a weak laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess I’ll have to find a new one.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not the shed they’re talking about, it’s you. They always find a way to be bothersome.” He pushed off the doorframe and walked over, his hand already reaching for Daisy’s reins. The mare huffed softly but didn’t protest as he guided her away from the flowers.which made Kili wince, he did promise her a treat “And before you even think about it,” Bilbo added over his shoulder, “I’ve got something set up for her that isn’t my hard-grown blooms.”

He sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he watched Daisy obediently follow Bilbo. Traitor “Thanks.”

He looked back, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “So, you gonna tell me what’s eating at you, or are we going to play this game where I pretend not to notice it?”

The young prince  let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. “Am I that transparent?”

“No, you’re just not that mysterious. I can read you like a book.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were sharp.Like most of the time “You’re not exactly a locked chest of secrets”

Kili laughed, a short, surprised burst that formed in his belly and escaped before he could stop it. But the sound faded fast, his face falling as the weight of his thoughts returned. He glanced at the ground, his hands tightening in his pockets. Crushing on his own brother wasn’t exactly something he could joke about.

Bilbo sighed and leaned against Daisy, who had found herself thoroughly distracted with a pile of hay. “Alright, out with it. What’s so terrible that you’re hiding out here instead of dealing with it?”

Kili shook his head, looking anywhere but at Bilbo. “Nothing.”

“Kee.” Bilbo’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “This isn’t nothing. You don’t sneak out to the middle of nowhere to sulk over nothing.”

The brunet hesitated, his throat tight. He could feel the hobbits expectant gaze, patient yet persistent, like he had all the time in the world. Finally, Kili exhaled. “I can’t…. I can’t tell you.”

Bilbo tilted his head, studying Kili like he was solving a riddle. An easy one of course “Does it have anything to do with a certain blond prince?”

Kili’s head snapped up, panic flashing across his face. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

“Oh, come on. You think I don’t notice the way you look at him? Everyone notices. Hell, Daisy probably notices.” Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head, causing a pained groan to leave the dwarf´s lips as he buried his face in his hands. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He straightened up, the horse hair finally getting on his nerves enough to pull away,  his expression more serious now. “Look, Kee, you’re really not as subtle as you think. You follow Fili around like a puppy, you lurk over him.  And don’t get me started on the way you light up every time he so much as looks in your direction.”

Kili’s heart clenched, shame prickling under his skin. “He doesn’t feel the same,” he muttered.

“Oh, doesn’t he?” Bilibo complained, raising an eyebrow. “Then why does he always light up when you walk into the room, like the whole world just got brighter? Or sit next to you at every chance he gets, even when there’s plenty of room elsewhere? And don’t even get me started on the way he talks about you, it’s like you put the stars up in the sky yourself. It’s grossly romantic. You think he’s doing all that for nothing?”

Kili stared, stunned. “He… he talks about me?”

“More than you’d believe,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms. “And not just in that ‘oh, my brother this, my brother that’ kind of way. Trust me. He’s got it just as bad as you.”

Outside the shed, Fili stood frozen, unsure of whether to enter or leave. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but the tone alone led him to understand the tension between Kili and Bilbo, but what was exactly going on in there? He didn’t know if he was intruding, but the pull to step inside was stronger than the doubt.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the shed, the cold air from the door pushing through as he entered. Kili and Bilbo both turned at the sound, Kili´s expressions immediately  caught somewhere between surprise and wariness.

Fili hesitated, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “Sorry,” he said quietly, his voice faltering as he realized he had interrupted something.

Bilbo’s gaze softened ever so slightly, though his expression remained firm. “You’re not intruding, Fee,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm. “But you two might want to talk.”

Kili avoided Fili’s eyes, his chest tightening as the words he said to him (You’re not the one stuck in this mess!)  came flooding back. He hadn’t wanted Fili to see him like this, weak and unsure, caught in a mess of feelings he couldn’t control, eyes puffy.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kili muttered, looking away, trying to mask the discomfort. But the words came out quieter than he intended. “I’m fine now”

Fili stepped closer, his concern evident. meeting Kili halfway as he was making for the door

 “Please Kee” he started, his voice low and soft. “I think we do need to talk.”

Kili flinched with the familiar ache rising in his chest when the blond touched his arm. Not now you stupid heart.

Before any of them could refuse to do what was necessary, Bilbo grabbed Daisy by her reins again; far more comfortable with riding now than he was when he first was forced on top of a pony, he hopped on top of her and quickly (half assedly) said his goodbyes before riding of into the distance. By the look on Fili’s face he could tell Thorin had done his job with him, he made a mental note to compensate him for it later 

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, as they made their way inside the shed and away from the cold. Fili turned his attention to Kili, who was already pacing around the room.

That nervous energy was palpable as Kili kept moving in tight, agitated circles, like trying to outrun the conversation that was waiting for him. His fingers gripped and released the hem of his sleeve. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words kept getting stuck in his throat.

Kili’s voice broke the silence first like it often did, silence was one of the things he couldn’t really stand, his words came out in a rush, overlapping with Fili’s.

“Listen Fee” “I didn’t…”

“Sorry” They said at the same time before Kili huffed out and made a sign with his hand for the blond to proceed,  Their eyes meeting, and the silence growing even heavier. Kili shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. He was nervous and restless, caught between the urge to run away and the sense of inevitability that whatever was to happen in the shed would change their relationship forever

“I didn’t mean it,” Fili said quietly, his voice much softer than usual. “I… Shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Kili blinked, his confusion clear. “What?”

“I mean… I was wrong,” He explained, stepping closer to Kili again, trying to meet his eyes; the brunette took a tiny step back, but Fili didn’t let him retreat entirely. “I… Look, I don’t know if you remember, but you made a promise to me, Kee.”

The mention of the promise made Kili’s stomach churn, his entire body seizing with discomfort. He couldn’t help it. The thought of that night felt heavier than anything he´d ever carried, suffocating. His fingers tightened into fists as if that could keep him grounded, keep him from betraying the panic rising inside him.

“I remember,” He mumbled, trying to force the words through his clenched teeth. 

“I was scared,” he continued, voice thick with regret. “Scared of what my own feelings could become, scared of what it meant for us. I thought that if we didn’t have our hearts, we would be safe. That we could stay distant, stay…” He cut himself off. “I thought I could protect you, us.”

Kili’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening at the confession, startled with the far too unbelievable to be coincidental words out of Fili´s mouth but  he wasn’t finished. He could see the wariness in the younger´s gaze, the flinch that had already become familiar. Fili wasn’t sure if he was scared of him now, or of the truth.

“I was wrong,” he repeated, softer now, almost regretful. “The whole idea of ‘no hearts’… it was never really about safety. It was about me being too afraid to feel, to care. I didn’t understand.”

The brunet stared at him, a storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes. He could see the raw honesty in Fili’s words, but it didn’t make things easier. Instead, it twisted something in his gut, a sick feeling that he couldn’t shake.

“But we can’t…” his voice barely a whisper. “We can’t have it both ways, Fee. You said we couldn’t.”

Fili’s gaze softened, his hand reaching out to stop him from retreating any further. “I know what I said,” he murmured. “But I was wrong about that, too. We can’t keep running from what’s right in front of us.”

Kili’s breath hitched as the weight of the words hit him, and he found himself frozen, like expecting to wake up from a dream where everything between him and Fili suddenly got better. There was a moment, a fleeting one, when he thought he might reach Aule, that he had died. But he didn’t. He stayed still, like he was trying to hold back a tide that threatened to drown him.

“I was afraid,” Fili admitted, voice tight. “Afraid of how you would react, of how this would change things. But I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to stay safe. Not when it means I can’t have you.”

Kili’s heart raced in his chest, blanking. He had dreamed of this moment far too many times yet when it came he didn’t even know if it was real, all he knew was that Fili was standing there, close enough for his warmth and smell to seep into Kili´s brain, offering him something that was too dangerous, too impossibly good to be true. And yet, Kili couldn’t bring himself to pull away as Fili grabbed his sweaty hands.

“I.. .” Kili whispered, shaking his head. “I’m scared…”

“I know,” Fili said gently. “me too..”

“Will it be alright?” 

Fili didn’t answer. He just stepped closer, like waiting for Kili to make the choice. For him to finally stop running; the kiss, a real one with no one around, just the two of them out in Bilbo’s little hiding place,it was sudden, raw, desperate, as if both of them had been holding their breath for far too long. Fili’s lips were warm and soft against Kili’s, a contrast to the cold air around them. It was a fast, urgent kiss, lips meeting in a clash of pent-up emotion, as if they were both afraid to lose the moment. Kili’s hands found Fili’s, gripping him just a little too tightly.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, faces flushed, hearts still racing. Kili’s mind was a swirl of emotions, but in the end, one thing was clear. This was real. This was happening.

He looked into Fili’s eyes, trying to find the words to say, but they didn’t come. Fili’s gaze softened, lie he knew exactly what he was thinking 

“I’m not going anywhere,Kee” he mumbled, voice thick with something Kili couldn’t quite place.

He swallowed, his throat tight. “Neither am I.”