#but i have most certainly lost the fuckin thread of it so.

[saintfrenetic]

somehow gardening autism is not a garden-variety autism and, i for one, am frutrated by this

[adelaidedrubman]

for NSFW headcanons: lingerie for John and Jestiny (fingers crossed the fish lingerie appears)

HI skelly THANK YOU skelly the fish lingerie does indeed make an appearance!! unfortunately that’s the only instruction i know how to follow because this is way over the sentence limit and doesn’t actually have any real smut. sorry.

summary: jessie cleans up nice. 

wordcount: 900 

warnings: sexual themes/situations (no explicit sex). property destruction (one sided) and verbal berating (mutual). standing johnjess warning. 

John had grown so accustomed to getting himself worked up for the familiar sight of Jestiny coming to bed in her standard baggy, oversized t-shirts that at best hinted at the outline of bare breasts beneath whatever crude and flaking graphic was plastered on fabric falling to settle past her thighs that he frankly never even allowed himself to imagine the possibility she could ever emerge from his en suite bathroom wearing anything else. 

Hell, he hadn’t even thought she owned proper lingerie — not by any serious definition, anyways. The mismatched sets of busy, garish prints of cartoon hearts or double-bunched cherries that occasionally cried out beneath tattered synthetic lace warped by careless trysts with the ‘tumble dry high’ cycle could hardly be called as much. 

He certainly didn’t expect her to ever adorn the delectable curves of her body with something as glitzy, ornamental, and damn appealing as what she currently strolled over to his bedside in — the force of that signature sturdy yet bouncing gait with sculpted arms swinging at her sides making breasts rise and fall in rhythm from their place hoisted up by iridescent brassiere, the rich greens licking its sides striking the most alluring contrast with the flaming red of her hair (both above and below) only to blend into a vibrant pink gradient that brought out the blush of her lips (both above and below) as the material tapered towards the middle and stretched in a thin strip across her toned stomach. 

And as he rose from the bed to meet her he noted even more tiny, intricate details, as if she had decided to make up for lost time by selecting something all the more baroque. From the tan tone of the fishnets stretched over muscular legs to the braids of translucent plastic that made up its supportive straps to the heavy, opalescent pearl suggestively seated at the front of the panties (it was misplaced slightly to the left, he thought, but he appreciated that the vision was there nonetheless). 

“My, my,” he purred as fingers rushed to undo the tie of the silk robe serving as his own loungewear, half-undone and barely pooling at his elbows by the time she grabbed him by them to shove him against the wall. “Someone decided to clean up nice tonight.” 

“I clean up nice every fuckin’ night,” she growled against the dip of his neck before tracing her tongue along it. “I just decided to do a little extra this time.” 

“And to great appreciation,” he hummed, reaching a hand up to drag along the swell of her cleavage. “You look divine.” As his fingers fell to the fabric of the bra he noted the scalloped lace with shimmering threads interwoven gave the illusion of fish scales. He gave a low laugh at the sight, winding a lock of copper hair around his index. “My little mermaid.” 

He felt her breath hitch against his throat. Oh, she must have liked that. 

“And how lucky I am to be your Prince —” 

He felt the grip of her hand vanish from the crook of his arm, and something heavy thud against the wall beside his skull. Oh —?

“Fuck. You.” 

The remainder of her body heat vanished as she took two long steps backward, eyes narrowed into a glare. “I’m sorry, what —” 

“Fuck,” she repeated through gritted teeth, her hand shooting towards the dresser beside them to quickly snatch one of the model airplanes resting there, “you!” she shouted in punctuation as she slammed her hand against the wall once again, this time shattering the plastic of the model where she struck. “The little mermaid?!” 

“Why the fuck would you do that?!” he demanded, eyes darting between the broken bits of what was once a perfect replica of a skyhawk on the ground and the woman who’d so viciously destroyed it. “I was paying you a compliment, you ungrateful, belligerent —” 

“The little fucking mermaid?!” she screamed, snatching another, larger airplane from atop the dresser and bringing it down to meet the leg she jerked upward to snap it in two. “I —” she sucked in a deep breath, stomping her foot atop one of the halves of the model and crushing it further, “am a fucking rainbow trout, you goddamn asshole!” 

“Well, that —” John hissed, falling to his knees at the pile of broken plastic and jabbing a finger towards it, “was a McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom II!” 

“It was a fucking kid’s toy, you immature, overgrown brat!” she snarled. Hypocrite, he thought as he watched her storm towards the door. “But maybe putting it back together can keep you busy tonight, since I sure as shit won’t be!” 

“And where the hell are you going, exactly?” he snapped as she threw open the door to take her outburst into the hallway. 

Her fists clenched into tighter balls as she swung her head back to look over her shoulder with a parting glare. “Fishing!” she shouted back before slamming the door shut behind her, the angry thump of bare feet stomping against cedar continuing to echo through its insulation.

“Fuck!” he screamed back inarticulately at the closed door, swinging his hand forward to send the broken plastic flying to scatter along the floor. 

He drew in a few more ragged breaths in an effort to compose himself before jumping to his feet and dutifully chasing after her. 

He preferred those damn t-shirts to lingerie after all.

[tlcartist]

lmao I’m very casually (and begrudgingly) dipping my toe into the waters of Threads and someone said it feels like tumblr 2.0 and I fuckin CANNOT. They literally don’t even have hashtags how do you figure??

I feel like public opinion on Zuckerberg has changed overnight and I’m the only one who still remembers that he’s shitty. Like, you all realize that they’re just luring us into a false sense of security and as soon as we get comfortable they’re going to kill everyone’s reach and drown our feeds in ads just like they did with IG right? You all realize that this is still owned by Meta right? The same Meta that was trying to convince us all that we were going to love into the metaverse and lost BILLIONS of dollars because of being so out of touch with reality, Meta. You’re all acting like Zuckerberg PERSONALLY coded the fucking platform calm down. Like it’s FINE but it’s definitely not reinventing the wheel or anything.

I think people were so stubborn about sticking with Twitter and a Twitter based format that seeing literally anything else feels refreshing. I’m going to continue using it but Tumblr 2.0 it most certainly is not.

[tommymillerx]

Tommy eyed his partner closely upon hearing his initial response, not entirely reassured by it. It bothered him deeply, knowing Poe wasn’t completely fine. But he supposed there was no one way to think about something like this. That’s why they had to work through the pros and cons, come to an understanding about it. So, Tommy didn’t push, recognising his partner was safe and that had to be enough right then. He listened, mind whirring as Poe continued on, knowing he had a point. For the most part, the bond seemed one-sided, and that was a relief. Like every time I’m around you. Tommy looked over at that, thoughts interrupted, small smile on his face despite himself. Though their relationship actually spanned five years, it technically only became official a few months ago, Tommy finally knocking down the wall he’d had up from day one. Hearing statements like that, no matter how casually stated, warmed him from inside out, reminding him how lucky he was to have Poe to call his own. How glad he was that he had torn that wall down.

Knowing the situation was serious, and required his full attention, Tommy shook off the other thoughts, well aware the love he felt for the man beside him was a rabbit hole he could get lost down forever. “The Winchesters are decent,” he nodded, although there was the latest drama to consider. “But beyond being Victors, hunters, long-time Rebels, and practically joined at the hip, I dunno much about ‘em. Not as people. Might have to do some digging. I know we can’t exactly change anythin’ here, but at least we’ll know who we’re dealin’ with, right?” Without permission, Dean had been pulled right into the centre of their lives. Tommy had to know what kind of man he was.

“Hey,” he started, seeing Poe’s expression, the tension that strung his shoulders as he spoke of Coin. Tommy reached out, tugging a clenched hand free, threading their fingers together instead. “I know this is.. a fuckin’ lot. I know some days it feels like she’s everywhere, y’know, finger in every damn pie. But we’re gonna work this thing out. Make it work for us, not against us. She might’ve wanted ‘em as soldiers, and that’s screwed up, but that doesn’t change the fact they got brought back to begin with, and they get to be with their loved ones again. They’re free now. In a way.. you’re helpin’ Dean be able to do that. And,” he leant forward, trying to catch Poe’s eye, trying to reassure. “You ain’t alone. Lotta’ folks here in the same position, and they know a hell of a lot more about this than we do.” He nodded reassuringly, thinking of Pansy. She’d certainly be able to fill them in. “I’d say we got some house calls to make, don’t you?”

He was quiet for a while, thinking it through, trying to recall what he knew of the bond. “I can think of another pro, y’know. Yeah, it’s a… real weird invasion of privacy, and it’s all happenin’ without either of y’all’s consents. But like you said, you feel too much, he’s gonna know. And that means if you’re ever in danger, or somethin’s real wrong, he’ll know that too. I dunno, mi alma, a guy like that on our side, knowin' when you’re in trouble, maybe even where you are? I’d say it’s not all bad. I like the sound of that, anyway. That someone else is watchin’ out for you, too.” Allowing Poe to consider that, Tommy lifted the hand he held to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Coin had taken almost everything from everyone they’d ever met, but Tommy refused to let her take this. There had to be a positive side to it, something they could work with.

“God damn is right,” Poe agreed with a nod, watching closely as his partner seated himself, trying to gauge his reaction. A second opinion, from someone he trusted entirely, would certainly help him decipher how he felt about it. How he should feel. Poe wasn’t the only person to have received such news, stories of non-humans finding their bonded were becoming more frequent around Alexandria, but it was the first time they’d been involved so closely. Certainly the first time any of them had been chosen. Considering his past with Coin, of how intertwined their stories had been, perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that Poe had been linked. Turned into a target. But still, it was, and so soon after finding Tommy’s family, an unwelcome revelation. As soon as they’d began to find their feet, something had pulled the rug up from under them again.

Mimicking Tommy in finding a chair, Poe seated himself next to him, elbows resting on the oak table in front. He was unsure how to answer, because physically he was fine, but the emotional answer left much to be considered. “I am. I think I am,” he confirmed with a nod, before elaborating. “Technically speaking, it won’t affect me much. The distance, the emotions, the mind hopping - they all affect him, not me. It’s not something I have to deal with day to day. But it’s uh – it’s the lack of control, from my end. I feel too much, he feels it too. Like every time I’m around you, he’ll know.” Poe gazed off as he considered it, the pros and cons that Tommy had mentioned. 

“He seems like a decent guy, from what we know. He’s not out to use this against me. I’m sure he doesn’t want this either, but apart from that, I’m not really seeing an upside. It’s like he’s a puppet, one I’m pulling the strings of, but on autopilot. I can’t control it, and neither can he.” Poe shook his head, thinking of Coin again. Of how she still managed to get inside his head, even now. “I think this was her cruellest game of all. Exploiting the dead, using them as weapons. Coin’s gone, and we’re still picking up the pieces, still being surprised. It’s not Dean’s fault, it’s hers. All we can do now is try to work with what all the shit she left.” 

[fruitcoops]

Accidental Family

Hey folks! This is one of two fics for the six month celebration of this blog! Woohoo! Blood on the Ice is one of the most popular series I've written, and expanding it into Josie’s (@prohibitionincurls ) Winging It world with her was unbelievably fun. Disclaimer: one of the OCs has ADHD and it is a central theme of the story--while Josie based some of his characteristics on her own experience, we both recognize that this is not a one-size-fits-all situation. Thank you again for six amazing months, and I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love,

Eve <3

TW for mentioned injury

“Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me,” the kid whispered in a wavering voice, sounding much younger than he actually was as he left the penalty box.

“They’re not going to kill you,” Bowie soothed, still watching the tunnel where Remus had disappeared mere minutes earlier. From what he saw, there had been a bit of blood, but the bruising didn’t look too bad. Then again, there had barely been enough time for anything to visibly swell before he was whisked away.

“Can I just stay in the box?” Felix cast a look toward the Lions bench and his voice cracked. “They can’t yell at me in the box, right?”

“Hey. Look at me, Marty.” Bowie took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “The Lions are good guys. They’re not going to hurt you, but you did just fuck up one of their best friends. What would you do if someone hit me in the face?”

“Come on, man, I’m a terrible fighter. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend your honor after something like that. It was an accident. Do you think they know it was an accident? Should I go tell them?”

“I know. They know. Loops definitely knows. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re a little cold at first.” He ruffled the rookie’s hair and turned back to the game; the Lions were moving fast and brutal, slicing right through their defense for yet another goal. Shit. Felix clearly felt bad enough already--losing the game wouldn’t make him feel any better. 

They ended up losing the game.

Bowie had figured it might happen; he would have had the same fire if it had been his teammate that got clocked like that. Hell, he used to have the same fire when he and Remus had played together, so he completely understood. 

That did not change the fact that once they got home, Felix was still borderline inconsolable. The 18-year-old wasn’t technically billeting with them, but the apartment he was renting just so happened to be in the same building, on the same floor, and right across the hall from his and Simon’s. This led to an informal adoption of the rookie and he was around their house at least five times a week, if not more. 

Felix Martin was a good kid, and that idea was confirmed when Kronk immediately took a liking to him; the cat loved nobody but the three of them. Bowie was grateful that he and Simon were there to quell some of the homesickness that came from moving out to a new city on his own for the first time. The transition was always tough, but they could provide a little support.

They parted ways from the team when the bus got back from the rink and drove to their building in silence. Once they made their way up the stairs and down the hall, Felix moved to go back to his apartment. 

“Nope,” Bowie said immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the door to his and Simon’s place. It wasn’t a good idea for Felix to be alone right now--there was nothing to do alone after a loss aside from beat himself up about it, and Bowie would be damned before he let that happen. 

Simon and Kronk were perched on the couch, but they both moved into the kitchen as soon as the door clicked closed. Simon took one look at the pair and carefully wrapped his arms around Felix; the kid practically melted. The three of them stood there for a moment until Simon pulled back a bit and tilted his head toward the living room. Felix nodded and Bowie followed the two, sharing the couch with Simon while the rookie curled up in the large armchair diagonal to them. 

He...well, if Bowie was being honest, Felix looked like hell. He chewed his lower lip like an anxious beaver and fiddled with the loose threads of the closest armrest; everything about him screamed discomfort. Bowie caught Simon’s worried glance in his periphery and let out a slow breath, trying to relieve at least a little of the tension in the room.

“You don’t have to relive it if you don’t want to. I saw the game. But if you want to talk about it…” Simon trailed off with a significant look.

Felix sighed and his shoulders caved in a bit. “It was just one of those moments. All of a sudden, I didn’t really have a grasp on what was going on, which feels like shit because I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I dunno. It was just...bad.” 

That was it. Bowie knew Felix had seemed a little off. When Felix mentioned he had ADHD at the start of the season during one of their ‘getting to know your neighbor’ chats, Bowie hadn’t thought much of it. But as they grew closer, he began to notice when Felix forgot to eat or drink, or got overwhelmingly excited about something, or when he suddenly spaced out. It wasn’t just Felix being Felix.

The whole team stepped up and became intensely protective, of course. They not only helped him remember meal times, but also scheduling, directions, and everything in between. Bowie felt especially responsible for reasons he didn’t entirely understand--there was just something about the kid’s sweet heart that struck a chord.

He also knew that Felix was highly emotionally intelligent, but had no concept of whether people liked him or not. He was someone who assumed the worst, all the time. So, Bowie decided to do the only thing he knew would work: after a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his phone out, tapped a few buttons, and pressed ‘call’.

“Hey, Remus, are you alive?” 

An amused snort came from the speaker even as Felix blanched. “Hello to you, too, Bowie. Jeez, you’re worse than Sirius.  I’m one hundred percent alive, just a little swollen. Your rookie’s got a helluva shot, but maybe tell the kid to hit the puck and not my face next time.” 

Felix flushed red and put his face between his knees, though hearing the laughter in Remus’s voice and knowing that he was okay clearly took some of the weight off his shoulders. Bowie whooped internally and shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, the kid’s got spirit, but he’s also got ADHD. He’s great most of the time, but sometimes under extreme pressure he can’t figure out where the fuck he--or anything else around him--is. Something about focusing or neurons firing the wrong way, maybe? Either way, it’s why he’s a terrible fuckin’ driver.”

Felix flopped back against the chair with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to know how far away the cars around me are based on the mirrors? And how am I supposed to park?!” 

Remus’s laugh echoed once again. “Don’t ask me, kid, I’m not allowed to drive, either. Not because I’m ADHD, but because I’m terrible at it.” 

“You can say that again!” a muffled voice called from behind Remus. 

“Please excuse my fiance,” Remus said politely. “He’s a jackass who’s trying to make me lay down again.”

Felix smiled, though it was a bit pained. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier. That stick was totally on me. And--I mean, I heard some of the guys talking afterward and it sounded like you got pretty banged up, so I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.”

“Hey, woah, you’re fine,” Remus soothed. Bowie recognized his ‘talking to newbies’ voice and hid a smile in the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s the name of the game, after all. Did Bowie ever tell you about the time I accidentally checked him into a wall? Or when I broke his visor with a puck? For context, this was when we were on the same team.”

“Or that time you kicked my legs out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ice during practice.”

“That one was on purpose.” 

Bowie glared at the phone, but Felix was snickering and his grin was genuine. It calmed him a bit. “Thanks, Loops.”

“No problem, kiddo.” Remus paused for a moment, then mumbled something inaudible to someone in the background before clearing his throat. “Bowie.”

“Yes?” Remus had never been a wild card, per se, but he certainly had a knack for asking strange questions out of the blue.

“Did you accidentally adopt a child or do my ears deceive me?”

Bowie was about to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then he took a moment to think, looking back and forth between Simon and Felix. “Fuckin’--maybe I did, Re, but he’s ours now. And if that’s the case, I’m going to formally request that you tell your fiance to quit being mean to my son.”

Remus laughed on the other end of the line. “Will do. Felix seems like a sweetheart, I’m glad he’s got you two.” 

Bowie nodded with a slight smile, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “So are we. I can practically sense Sirius hovering, so go let your boyfriend fuss over you for a little while.” 

An offended noise came from Remus’s side, followed by a lower laugh and the click of the call ending. 

Simon looked Felix dead in the eyes. “I’m seconding the ‘kid’ thing. You may just barely be a legal adult, but it doesn’t mean we can’t adopt you. Congrats on your new gay dads.” 

Felix’s bright laugh sent a wave of relief through Bowie. “You guys are only, like, eight years older than me.”

“Silence, spawn,” Simon said, pointing a playful finger at him as his grin widened into something sweet and lopsided. “Now both of you need to come eat something. I made cookies while you were getting pushed around for a living.”

Bowie was still worried about Remus’ face--he made a mental note to call the next day to check in--but all his concerns disappeared as Felix scooped the cat up for a snuggle and followed Simon into the kitchen. They may have lost the game, but he would lose a million Cups to keep that moment forever: his Simon fussing over them both, his cat purring in pure bliss, and his kid settling into place at last.

[novelconcepts]

anything that involves freckles. go nuts

Gonna go ahead and double up on a recent request of @scavenger-rey‘s, while we’re at it. Just for giggles.

Jamie has a surprising number of freckles. Not that it’s Dani’s business what hidden secrets are stamped into her skin. Not that Dani needs to be looking at her skin at all. 

Not that she can help it, either, with Jamie doing things like this. 

“You look warm, Miss Clayton,” Hannah points out, depositing a tray upon the little table with an arch smile. “Perhaps you’d like to take a leaf out of our groundskeeper’s book?”

Dani shoots her a sharp look, remembering just in time two very important details: one, that she has only known Hannah for two months, and therefore is not quite at the slapping at her arm in frustration stage of friendship; and two, that Hannah does not know what’s going on in her head every time Jamie’s around.

Hannah might suspect with the certainty of a particularly clever detective breaking down a fourth-grader’s criminal activity, but she does not know, and that has to count for something.

“She doesn’t--usually do this.” Heaven help her, was that her voice? Her voice, which is generally high and quick and never tinged with that particularly raw shade? 

“She does when it’s hot enough.” Hannah sounds entirely unimpressed. “Every time, I have to spend half the afternoon explaining to Flora why she’s required to keep all her clothes on.”

Someone should probably have that talk with Jamie, Dani thinks wildly. Someone should definitely explain to Jamie, in no uncertain terms, how dangerous it is for her to be waltzing around the grounds in overalls and a sports bra, her hair pulled out of her face. Someone should definitely get across to Jamie how it is utterly distracting, and not the least bit professional for someone like Dani--who is a co-worker, who is meant to be keeping children out of trouble, and has somehow found it’s much harder to keep herself out of it instead--to deal with.

“Water,” Hannah advises. “Before you keel over. Would you like me to tell her it’s making you uncomfortable?”

Judging by the raised brow, the tilt of Hannah’s smile, the barely-restrained note of amusement in her voice, it’s clear she knows uncomfortable isn't exactly the word. Dani shakes her head. 

“No. I’m. I’m fine.”

“Ah,” Jamie says cheerfully, right on cue. “Hannah, my love, you are a godsend.”

She’s just there, pressed nearly to Dani’s back, reaching over for a glass of ice water. She’s there, and her skin is rosy with the lightest sunburn, and Dani thought Hannah was being cheeky about the whole keeling over jab, but on second thought--

“All right, Poppins?” Jamie’s free hand has wound around her forearm, she realizes. Jamie is looking at her with mild concern, she realizes. Probably because she is quite literally swaying in place.

“Hot,” she croaks. There are freckles on Jamie’s hand, too--and wrist, splashed at random up her arm. There are more than a few on the bare curve of her shoulder. She’s still mentally tallying them up when Jamie presses her gently toward a chair. 

“Didn’t dress for it,” she observes, looking Dani over with worried eyes. “Should take off that jumper before it kills you.”

Have to keep it on, Dani thinks nonsensically--though, it’s true, she had dressed for the gray of this morning, not the heatwave the afternoon has become. Still. Have to keep it on, and maybe add a few more layers, besides, because she can’t let herself linger on what she might look like to Jamie otherwise.

Can’t linger on how Jamie’s eyes might drift over her skin if she were to strip down to a tank top and shorts. Can’t linger, worst of all, on how it might feel if Jamie were to pull her aside--

“Poppins?” Jamie is waving a hand up and down in front of her face. “Right, enough of this. With me.”

There’s a gentle command in her voice Dani finds herself following without thinking. She catches herself taking two steps away from the chair, pauses, stands there looking helplessly back at Hannah.

“I,” Hannah says magnanimously, “think I can manage the children. Go.”

“C’mon,” Jamie adds, and now her hand is in Dani’s somehow, her fingers tightening around Dani’s like this is the most normal use of her body. She gives a light pull, and Dani is suddenly trailing along at her heels, trying desperately not to stare at the back of her neck, the skin shining up from the break in denim at her side. 

Freckles, she thinks wildly. I shouldn’t know she has freckles. 

“You still with me?” Jamie is tugging her, she registers, toward the greenhouse. She gives a shaky nod. “Good. Would hate to have to give you mouth to mouth.”

“You don’t give mouth to mouth for sunstroke,” Dani replies in a voice she still doesn’t recognize. Jamie sends a smile over her shoulder.

“No? My mistake.”

It’s not flirting, Dani tells herself. Jamie is her co-worker, one who keeps to herself and doesn’t have any reason at all to flirt. Jamie is just being kind, worrying over her now, because Dani’s gone and lost her mind over skin and freckles and the spot at the back of Jamie’s neck that leads her brain helplessly into wonder what that tastes like territory--

“In,” Jamie says, gesturing to the door of the greenhouse. “Got a spare set of clothes you can borrow.”

“I have clothes,” Dani points out. Jamie laughs.

“I’ve seen your clothes. They’re not going to help today.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” This is good. This, a mild flush of irritation, distracts nicely from the way Jamie looks crouching beside a trunk Dani’s never noticed beneath one of the tables. 

It almost distracts from the way Jamie looks up at her, a teasing grin playing around her mouth. 

“They’re well and good,” she says, “for carting around after the little beasts. Here. Got nothin’ in pink, ‘m afraid.”

She’s holding up a white t-shirt with the sleeves shorn off--the frayed threads at the shoulders suggest Jamie cut them free herself, possibly in the middle of a workday--and a pair of denim shorts. Unable to find a polite method of declining, Dani accepts. 

“I’ll...just go up to the house to change, I guess--”

“Nah.” Jamie twists around, hands in her pockets, making a point of gazing off in the opposite direction. “Silly to waste the time. Go on, before Hannah thinks I’ve lured you off to commit a murder...”

It’d be kinder, some part of Dani thinks. Standing with Jamie’s clothes clamped against her chest, sweat creeping down the back of her neck, watching Jamie tip her head back and whistle, is entirely painful. 

Particularly when Jamie, evidently registering the lack of rustling fabric, chances a glance over her shoulder and adds, “Unless you need help there, Poppins?”

Dani grimaces. Jamie grins. For a moment, she thinks the rest of the afternoon will become this: staring at one another in a sweltering greenhouse, Jamie watching her like she knows exactly what Dani has been trying so hard not to think about lately.

Jamie smiling like she’s got no problem with Dani counting up all those freckles. 

“Okay, okay, turn around.” She heaves a sigh, waiting for Jamie to rotate back before hauling the sweater over her head. It’s impossible to deny the relief that floods in the minute she’s free of it, and how much better Jamie’s shirt feels against her sticky skin. 

The same cannot be said for the shorts.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she says before she can stop herself. They are, admittedly, nearly the same height and close enough in build for most things--but does Jamie really wear these? 

“Only when it’s this fuckin’ hot,” Jamie says, still facing the other way. Dani closes her eyes. “Ah, you didn’t mean to say that part out loud, did you?”

“Just--they’re so--” They’re not shorts, she thinks, trying to tug down the hem. They’re like two tiny squares of fabric haphazardly stitched together. The pockets are longer than the pants themselves, for Christ’s sake. “You wear these around people?”

“Just the ones I like,” Jamie says idly, and Dani hates herself a little for being disappointed she’s never seen them before. 

“I can’t face Hannah like this, she’ll laugh herself sick.”

Jamie, at last, twists at the waist. Her eyes drift down Dani’s frame, her lips parting slightly. 

“They, um. Feel less short when they’re on me.”

Dani is going to combust, and then there will be nothing to worry about. No freckles. No shorts. Certainly not the drag of Jamie’s eyes up her legs. Dani combusts here and now, and gets out of all of it almost painlessly.

“No, hey.” Jamie is closing the gap between them, reaching out. Her hands find Dani’s, prying her clawing fingers away from the hem of the shorts. “If you feel weird, you can put your jeans back on. Was only trying to...to help.”

Her voice has gone weirdly slack, Dani registers. Weirdly breathy. Her eyes are still wide, still fixed on Dani’s legs, a color rising in her cheeks that has little to do with her sunburn. 

“What?” Dani asks--less because she wants to know, and more because she can’t stand not knowing. Jamie’s fingers are soft around her own, her breath seeming to hitch in her chest.

“Nothing. You, ah. Have freckles.” Jamie gives her head a shake, blinking rapidly. Her hands fall away from Dani’s. “Never noticed before.”

She’s staring at Dani like she’s never seen her before, and Dani suddenly wonders what courage would look like in this sweltering room. If it would look like hooking a hand around the strap of Jamie’s overalls. If it would look like pulling Jamie in. Letting Jamie press her back against the nearest table. Letting Jamie’s fingers trace up beneath the hem of these ludicrously-short shorts. 

Courage, she thinks, would taste like sweat and mint, like freckles mapped under a curious tongue. It would sound like Jamie’s voice muffled against her neck, the snarl of a zipper lowering in an otherwise-silent jungle of glass and greenery, the thump of a shirt tossed recklessly to the ground--

“Right,” Jamie says, and swings back a step. Her smile is sitting crookedly on her lips, a funny little tilt that makes her look younger, somehow. “I should--should get back to work. Just. Just toss ‘em wherever.”

Courage, Dani thinks, wanting so badly to grasp her shoulder as she turns. She could. She could close her fingers around nearly-bare skin and sink her mouth against the back of Jamie’s neck. She could slide a hand up Jamie’s stomach, pull her backward, feel her tremble under a hungry kiss tattooed to the freckles at her nape. 

She could. 

If she were just a little braver. 

But Jamie is already walking away, one hand tousling her hair nearly out of its bun. Jamie is already walking away, faster than Dani’s ever seen her walk anywhere. 

You, ah. Have freckles, she’d said in a voice like a woman dreaming. Dani bites her lip. 

The shorts, she thinks, could have their uses after all.

[ghost-in-the-hella]

My first fill was amazing, I'm just being greedy now so no pressure: #8 amberpricefield?

Congratulations, you finally got a living Rachel in one of your prompt fills!

---

“Ugh. It’s boring in here.”

“Chloe, if you start messing around with your phone, I will scream. ‘No lights’ means ‘no lights.’” It’s too dark to see Chloe’s pout, but Max can hear her exasperated huff from somewhere across the small, dark shoebox of a room. 

“But what if--”

“No, not even if you keep the brightness down all the way!” And now Max has lost her place. Her fingers fumble carefully over the crisp edges of the film reel, feeling for the small holes and trying to count them. If she doesn’t trim the film leader evenly, she’ll never be able to get it to spool into the developer tank properly. And she’d rather not have to trim it more than once, because if she cuts up too high she’ll be ruining the first shot on the reel. It doesn’t help that Max feels utterly unmoored in the dark, like the walls and floor have disappeared and she’s floating in a sightless void. “Miss Henderson said even the light from a glow in the dark wristwatch could be enough to ruin a roll of film, and we are not going to waste weeks worth of photographs so you can watch Vines instead of being patient for ten minutes.”

“Told you we should’ve made her wait outside.” Rachel’s amused voice is closer to Max than she would have expected. Even though it was obvious how tiny the room was when the light was on, once the light went off it immediately felt huge and cavernous. Max can hear the smirk in her voice, and for a moment she’s distracted by the mental image of the way her lips are certainly curving. 

Max shakes her head to clear it and starts counting the holes again. “She’d just open the door because she’s bored and ruin our film anyway. At least this way we can keep an eye on her. Well. An ear.”

“Boooooooooooooooring. B. O. R. I.”

“Chloe…”

“N. G. BORING.”

Max sighs heavily. She probably should’ve just come to the darkroom herself some day right after class. But Rachel needed to develop her film, too, and the project is due in three days, and Chloe actually seemed interested to know what kept her girlfriends occupied for some many hours out of the week, and, well… It had seemed like a nice way to spend some time with them both and get some work done at the same time. Until they shut the door and she was immediately reminded of just how short Chloe’s attention span can be when she doesn’t have any form of stimulus in front of her.

“You sure you want to keep an ear on her, Max? I’m starting to think we should be keeping a muzzle on her instead.”

“Ooh, kinky!”

Max could swear she’s feeling Chloe’s breath on her neck, but Chloe’s voice doesn’t sound that close so it’s probably just the lack of light playing tricks on her. “Shush, you. This is hard enough without you distracting me.”

“Here, let me help you.”

Familiar fingers ease over Max’s in the darkness, long and smooth and stronger than they look. A warm body presses up against her from behind, solid and grounding. The smell of cigarettes and Chloe’s sweat floods her senses. Max is grateful to the dark for masking the blush she can feel rising swiftly to her face. “O-okay.”

Rachel giggles somewhere in the darkness and Max’s blush intensifies. “Smooth, Price.”

“What? I’m helping.”

To Chloe’s credit, she is actually helping. She holds the film steady for Max, careful to not get fingerprints on the film itself, and Max is able to snip a clean line that she’s almost positive is passably even. It’s much easier to thread the film into the developing tank, too, with Chloe holding it in place as Max spools the film, slotting the holes neatly onto the pegs (and Max tries not to go dirty places with that, because she’s absolutely certain that if she said that out loud Chloe would pounce all over it).

“That’s it?” Chloe asks. “Dude, that was hella easy.”

“Yeah,” Max scoffs, “because you weren’t trying to do a four-hand job with only two.”

Chloe snickers and Max swats her shoulder. She runs her hand down Chloe’s arm and grips her hand. Chloe tangles their fingers together. The room is still a void, but there’s ground beneath Max’s feet now, and she’s starting to relax.

“Hey, Chlo, if Max is done why don’t you lend me a hand?” Rachel suggests.

“Sure,” Chloe chuckles. “Where are you?”

Max can practically feel Rachel rolling her eyes. “Chloe, this is practically a broom closet.”

“Uh, yeah, a pitch black broom closet. Fuckin’ Narnia was in a closet, dude.”

“A wardrobe,” Max corrects her. 

“Whatever,” Rachel sighs. “Just… follow the sound of my voice. Marco!”

“Polo!” Chloe shouts gamely.

Max giggles helplessly as Chloe tugs her around the tiny room. It’s nice not to be alone, she thinks. Even if Chloe can be a pain sometimes, Max loves the way her presence fills any room she’s in, whether it’s an itty bitty darkroom or an entire shopping mall. After so many years apart, Max loves to have her close.

And Rachel… Rachel’s taken a bit of getting used to, if Max is honest. Returning to Arcadia Bay to find her long lost best friend and first girl crush in a hot and heavy relationship with the most popular girl at Blackwell was… a bit of a shock. That Chloe and Rachel were both so open to welcoming her into their lives - and, eventually, into their relationship - still blows her mind.

Max never thought she’d have one incredibly beautiful and amazing person be interested in her. So to have two?! And to have them be the two coolest, most gorgeous, funniest, smartest, most talented, most amazing people she’s ever met in her life?! To have them like her?! To have them love her!?

Sometimes Max has to pinch herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming.

Max is spared the trouble of pinching herself by a sudden pat on her head. “Yo, space cadet. You still with us? Rach is ready for the lights, and I am hella ready to go destroy some burgers at Two Wales.”

Max double checks to make sure that her developing tank is properly closed and light-tight before squeezing Chloe’s hand and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m still with you.”

[phoebehalliwell]

The problem with Phoebe is she's inherently selfish. She works to overcome it, but it's still her biggest flaw. Getting arrested for theft well into her twenties, lying to her sisters about Cole, becoming the Queen of Hell, her entire baby arc, the list goes on. And I think a lot of fans assume that selfishness means she's at fault for Cole's behavior, when that's the fault of his own selfish tendencies.

honestly? i love selfish characters, or just like,,, characters who aren’t really like good people. like they’re not evil or anything, but like,, they’re not these beacons of piety and moral righteousness. they’ll be petty and hold grudges and put their own needs before the greater good because quite frankly? it’s a lot more relatable. and it makes the moment where they choose to do the right thing a lot more gratifying than if they are just morally upstanding people who you can always trust to do the right thing. i thought phoebe could have been a really great character to follow this arc, but it just never landed.

for starters, phoebe would never really screw over any random person, she would go out of her way to save innocents (for the most part). she never worshiped her own life over her duties as a witch, that was more piper’s deal, so that was never her burden to overcome. almost all of her poor decisions didn’t harm innocent bystanders, they only seemed to hurt those closest to her. the prime example of this is her relationship with cole and her lying about it. she very much left all of her sisters at risk for her own personal needs. her going to save cole in the underworld and prue dying while she’s down there, cole becoming the source and psychologically torturing paige, it’s all her putting her own comfort above the comfort of others. but like here’s the thing. she’s not being selfish, necessarily. she’s being stupid. she’s not choosing her happiness over the happiness of others, she’s choosing her happiness and oh my god why is everyone so upset what happened i certainly could not have done anything wrong why is everyone mad at me?

the reason i personally really like to see selfish characters is because they’ll know which choice is right and which is wrong, but the wrong choice is enticing because it’ll bring them more comfort. they know it’s wrong, but are they willing to be a bad person and sit comfortably with it? sometimes the answer is yeah. and that’s really interesting! you snitched on your friend for a reward, now you’re safe with a large amount of money rather than still in the weeds? are you a dick? yeah. but you’re safe. it’s nice because it really asks the audience would you do differently? if it came down to it, would you stay in danger / a lower standing / a difficult position and stand by your moral code? or would you put your own needs over what’s right? i like a little honesty. i wouldn’t always do the right thing. sometimes i know i would act selfishly. but i’d know i’d be a bad person doing it, and i’d be okay with that.

we don’t get that with phoebe. she never thinks she’s in the wrong. and maybe if this was only from her point of view, we could be manipulated into believing her. but it’s not. we’re in the attic with paige as cole drives her to madness. we see the pain paige is in, and then we get phoebe acting pissy towards paige for distrusting cole. phoebe didn’t see what happened. she doesn’t realize she’s choosing the “wrong” option. but we as the audience know, and we’re rightfully mad at phoebe for picking cole over her sister.

so by the point cole starts deteriorating, we’re already accustomed to phoebe as the dick, phoebe as the bad guy, but not even in a fun interesting maybe maybe not relatable way. she’s just a dick. and when cole comes back from the wasteland, stuffed full of hellish powers and clearly edging towards a breakdown, we’re ready to slap that label on her again. but the situation’s different here. in this case, she acknowledges cole, she acknowledges the situation, and she realizes what she’s doing is leaving him high and dry. and she does it anyway. this isn’t her dismissing paige and she had no idea what paige was going through. she knows what cole is going through. and she choose not to help him. and i don’t blame her.

cole took a lot from phoebe. he tried to kill her on multiple occasions (pre- confessing his love), he often became between her and her sisters (there was almost always a choice of standing by cole and protecting him or sticking with her sisters, and she almost always chose cole, which you could argue resulted in prue’s death), she turned her back on her family for him, she got infected by the source via her antichrist baby, everything, and when it came down to the final choice, stand by cole as her killed her sisters or stand by her sisters as they killed cole, she chose her sisters. and that fuckin takes a lot out of you. this was maybe all within what? a year? of just having the world you known taken from you, flipped upside down, torn apart, and the common thread throughout it all was cole. now, cole came back saying he wanted to be a good person. that’s great. it’s not phoebe’s responsibility to hold his hand and lead him to that. and it’s well within her right to be upset that his only intention is to get her back. that if he didn’t have to be a good person to win her back, he wouldn’t, because he expresses next to no remorse for the pain he’s caused people and he makes no moves to make ammends. what he does is performative, and she knows that, bc he plainly lays out his intentions. he hurt her, even if that was not his intention, throughout their relationship, and to know his sole purpose back on earth is to rekindle that relationship....... like,, it is completely understandable and reasonable for her to reject him. she does not owe it to him to rake herself across the coals so he can live some happy ending.

so if you want to argue that phoebe not wanting to put herself through another heartwrenching experience after all the trauma she went through broke cole, you can say that. but like. coles sole purpose in returning was to be with phoebe. he had the entirely selfish fantasy of getting the girl despite all the literal hell he put her through, and that he could live that way forever. i have seen people say that cole wanted to be good and phoebe drove him away from that, but that's never what cole wanted. cole wanted phoebe, she pushed him away from her. if he truly came back to be good, he would have cut his losses, left the city, dealt with heartbreak, and tried to start anew. im not saying being rejected by someone who you genuinely believe is your soulmate doesn't suck absolute ass. but like. you were married to her. it didn't work. it really hurt her. you can see that. she really doesn't want to be haunted by your ghost. and bro, she's kinda mean to you. stop pushing it. don't think you'll knock her past some breaking point her she stops hating you and suddenly wants to try again. phoebe did not push cole past his breaking point, cole tried to push phoebe past hers and lost himself in the process

[chorusofravenousangels]

Tagged for D/s and hypnokink

You make an announcement. Aloud. Speech is good. It keeps you going in a direction when the internals start looping. In your powerful voice, you announce, you portend:

“My sleep schedule is fucked. But! I’m getting somewhere. So that’s killer.”

“Because academia is like that, in my limited experience. Academia is the eternal balancing, it’s tearing up the boards of the steamship and using them for fuel to make harbour. That’s where I am now. I’ve got this plan. And it’s impossible. But it’s not, somehow.”

“In a week, I’ll have the paper done. Complete! Forever. And then I can sleep.”

“Aaand yeeet, I cannot conceive of existing, with a paper done, a week from now! What I can conceive of, just barely, is drinking enough coffee, and getting enough sleep, to read through thirteen articles and one introduction of a group of collected essays on the cognitive science behind the perception of colour, and make helpful notes to reference later. Not only that, I’m fuckin jazzed about it. The coffee is helping with that, but this late in the game, I can see progress. I am Achieving Concrete Goals besides one book a day, which is a shitty but necessary goal.”

“And that is why! I! Am! Powering myself up in the mirror! Baby!”

“What is up, Rosalie! I am up! At noon! Which is plenty of time to read! So! Great! Job! Okay.”

“And then! After that! I will even shave my damn ass legs!”

“Whoof. hello gay Rosalie. It is but a day in Shakespeare’s garden, and Shakespeare hast bitten thee on thine... leg, or something. Ugh. Bad job Rosalie, minus three points. Run a lap.”

You lean on the counter.

“It.”

That’s a start. Direction.

“Would be good to have the time for this nonsense. But I don’t. I don’t. As much as I have feelings, I do not.”

“What I do have is awareness of O’Connor’s principles of, fuckin, white balance and microtint, and there are the theories around ultraviolet, which, I know. I am actually aware of that stuff, and I have notes. So four days is, yes, less than I wanted, but. Cry me a river and all, I can’t do anything else tonight, so I have to either try to sleep, or try to... do work, sooo...”

You play with the taps for a few seconds pointlessly, on and off in both hands, the way that fucks with the inner workings over time. Reading, writing, the entire scope of the project, sleep, shower, gender, the impossible chasm of the future, the weakness of your frame. You’re looping, you’ve been silent for too long.

“So. Fuck it. Okay. What can I even do right now. I can. Take a shower, and chill for a second, and decide.”

Shower cap. Water on, wait for it to get hot. Bathroom fan. The habits, the ritual of the shower makes it hard to talk. Narrating your thoughts interrupts your half-thought actions. You try a couple of times.

“So. After this, um... maaaybe food? Have I eaten? I kinda had a meal... maybe should I order Indian?...”

You drop back into musing silently, though, and your body does the things it needs to do. Razor, shaving cream, warm your stomach under the hot water before you shave below. Your wandering mind tells you it’s glad you’ve got these little affirming rituals, at least, and you resolve to order food and give up on figuring things out for now.

Lavender soap on the shelf as you shave. A lovely birthday purchase, a luxury that makes you smile every time you see it. Little floral touches for Rose-a-lee.

Hey, you’re smiling! Great work, you! And then food, probably! Oh, oops, stopped shaving, next step. Shoulders. Does everyone have to shave their shoulders? You hear about shaving your back, but shoulders seem uncommon. You should ask Miranda.

You mean, later, obviously. That’s decided.

Rinse, hot, soap, loofah. Scrub through the normal bodily paths that loop like a jumpsuit over and around your feet and then back up the backs of your thighs, the lower back and the places you can’t quite reach alone. Rinse.

Just for a second, your hands and face press the cold shower wall. Just thirty seconds, feeling something between sexual energy from the ridiculous fuck-me pose and exhaustion held behind your eyes in strained pouches, letting the cool and the hot bathe you, germs be fucked. Just a bit, listening to the music of the shower.

Oh, it’s music now! That’s where you am in the sleep cycle. White noise becoming snatches of music. Sometimes it’s radio voices announcing car commercials or football games, but you like the music best.

A little moment of beauty.

Your ear gets lost following hundreds of little threads, reminded of dozens of songs, drifting on the overwhelming soft wash of noise like ghosts in fogbanks.

You realize you’ve been listening to (imagining you’re listening to) an old Jason Mraz song for what feels like half a chorus, and cackle at the absurdity as you warm your face in one last wash of hot water.

“It’s the remedy, baby! Fuck yeah! It’s the experience! It is extremely a very dangerous liaison!”

Your love of your own stupid, bold, confident voice fills the tiny, misty room, and you can’t help laughing again. “Yeah fuckerman! I’m back! Indian food and probably even a fuckin book after. I eat books for breakfast! And Indian for dinner!”

And like that, you’re balancing again, not like the steamship captain weighing fuel against structural integrity. Like a bicyclist at full speed on a narrow path.

“The only trick is not stopping, right?”

You stare into the mirror. Your eyes are wide, your skin is filthy. So close.

You’re forgetting to breathe. You gasp air.

This is al

“most certainly because I haven’t stopped.” Mumbling is not great. Feeling oily is bad. So.

“Gotta shower. Edit shape. I will be in it, and also, in the shower. Hell yes. Rosalie, baby, you done did it.” Pants off, clothes following, messy pile. “So close.”

Socks, underwear. “Full pot of coffee maaay have been too much. No. Relevant. Necessary. I am very smart.” You giggle a bit. Keep yourself talking. Give yourself direction before you wander off. Shower! Filthy. Wake you up, get yourself a shave! “Hell yes.”

“Hell. *Yes*.”

Shower cap, glasses on. “Babe, I’m tryin,” you murmur. Left a sock on, fix that. More coffee? “No. Shower time, baby girl. Gotta get in there.”

“Listen,” you slur. You do better, speechwise, stepping into the heat. “Listen, schweetheaht.” That was on purpose so it’s okay. “We both know you’re barely holdin’ it togethah. So. Fine. Soap an’ stuff, and maybe... a nap? Nooo, nap is a bad idea. Mmph, need to ed-dit. So. So.”

You are staring blankly at the razor. You don’t have time for the razor. You don’t have attention for the razor. You can raze later. You’ll call a TV station and hold a fund-razor.

Oooh this is bad. Soap. Soap face. Habit begins. “Yesss. Lavender.” Soap across you in silence, my brain hardly holding onto anything.

It’s a bit foggy, actually. Oh, yeah, glasses still on. For razor. You grumble and toss them onto the laundry heap. You miss and they clatter across the hard tiles but they’re fine. Fuck. Soap. More soap. Not using the loofah. You groan in frustration, but hell, you’re almost done now and at least this will get the academic sweat smell of the all nighter off of you.

“Too many coffee times.”

There. Rinsing clean. Front...

Back.

Front again, listening, because something. Is that the Carpenters? Or someone covering the Carpenters. No, now it’s “Lovefool”. Which is the Cardigans, not the Carpenters, but close. Oh, and now it’s that orchestral bit from the Beatles, the one song. With the yellow matter custard gross bit?

You surprise yourself with the press of the cold corner of the shower stall against your back and ass. Losing your balance is also bad, but a determined part of you knows you can’t go to sleep yet. Standing here might be as much as you can manage for a minute or two.

Don’t slip.

The music is still there with you, though, and you don’t want to talk or snap yourself out of this half-daze in case it goes away, because it’s beautiful today. Strings arpeggiate thick, beautiful chords. Shadow voices hum and cross over and back again in loops, open into luxurious, unafraid vowels, shimmer as they become brass sections that move in soppy, overdramatic unison, no oom-pahs here. Everywhere you direct your attention there is something, so you don’t, you let it wash you as the water washes you.

You think to yourself, Is this dying? Am I dying?

You think to yourself, If I am, it’s beautiful, and you don’t move.

The throb of the music is like crystals shaking together, like wind chimes strung together into nature’s gamelan, and you wish you had the brain to understand any of it, and then that’s swept away in wonder too with the hum of what is both radio static and impossibly a terribly beautiful sequence of chords buzzing fruit scents and lightning into the air sweet April mornings bright grandfather clocks the sound is become all senses black and yellow spinning glorious disco ball spearmint moan and soft, soft thunder until in an instant you have seen her and before you know it it stops

You do not know how long it takes you to come back into your mind, but you dimly register that by the time it happens, she has straightened and is facing you. You hardly know how you know she is she, because she is a dimly curling shape in the shower-fog, slim shoulders and hair that drifts to one side, the suggestion of eyes where drops patter off or through her and glimmer. Then you remember you heard it through the music.

You wish you had your glasses, but you’re not moving. It’s you and her, and the music has stopped, and you know what that means because you’ve heard enough of her song.

The shower hisses and splats without her voice, and you miss it achingly already. Deeply. You’re speaking.

“Please don’t go. Please stay.”

The woman in front of you... you don’t have your glasses you wish you could read her expression, but in fog and myopia she is a double suggestion, and so you don’t realize she has come closer until you feel

something

on your ear, thrilling like a drop of ice cold water as your nerves try to understand, and then

close to you

she sings.

You awaken--

No.

You come to in the computer chair, three-quarters through your editing, dressed in fresh clothes, and somehow it feels impossible to stop, which makes sense, after all you’re on a roll, and then the thing is done and it’s only 1PM, plenty of time to go drop it off and head back home, and you’re on the bus, and you’re home, and you’ve done it, your stomach is full of lunch, and it’s time to sleep, but first, you walk into the bathroom and stare into the mirror, not quite believing it happened, that you did it all, that

you never

do your makeup

when you go out.

Gingerly you close the bathroom door. You remove your clean clothes reverentially, fold them, place them on top of the laundry pile (you are not leaving the bathroom now, not on the cusp of this). Your hand moves to the water-stained steel shower faucet, badly cleaned four months ago, and hesitates. But you’ve always needed to know answers to terrible questions, and so, Rosalie, you turn the faucet on and leave the bathroom fan off, like you did this morning, and you steel yourself, and you step into the shower.

A minute passes, and there is no music. Your chest grows heavy with the heartbreak of it, with one beautiful hallucination ardently believed. Sleep deprivation has made a fool of you, and the pouches behind your eyes start to hurt with the power of your own deception.

But of course you can’t give up here, and so you open your mouth to say,

That is--

You want to say,

...something, but nothing comes out;

and as you think back over the course of the day, you can’t remember speaking to keep yourself on track. You remember direction, and doing what was necessary; you remember being at peace and powerful.

You can’t remember speaking at all since this morning, and when the music returns, behind you, close in your ear, a part of you in the thrill recognizes a new member of the spectral choir, before you are gently washed clean of thought and the thrill is all that is left.

[comeallyelost]

The Handmaid’s Tale 3x11 Thoughts

THT is finally picking up and I am split between being super excited and just generally frustrated that they had all these filler episodes with barely any movement for the majority of the season. But anyway, he are my thoughts on the main storylines of this ep:

1. Commander Winslow and the attempted rape scene

Okay this whole sequence was exceptional and exactly the catharsis I argued this season was in dire need of. June's narration of "treating it like a job" and the way she kept faltering in her delivery and in trying to convince herself one more time was fuckin A+ right there. 

June's actions in this scene were reinforcing the opening of the episode when Eleanor had Joseph at gunpoint. June told Eleanor "We all could have done something." In this scene, at this time, she DID something. It's inherently tied to post-Gilead June. More so post-death-of-Natalie June. She's refusing to remain complicit. At this point, she has nothing left to lose. I read a post earlier about how this scene and how THT in the past has glorified the idea of sexual assault victims fighting back and about how that should not be celebrated as a way to deal with sexual violence because that option is almost never available. But I'd argue that Moira, Emily, and now June in fighting back had/have very real consequences to face. And in all of their cases, they fought back at times when they'd reached their lowest point. In S1, Moira was resigned to a short life at Jezebel's until she found June again and June had told her that Luke got out. For Emily, she had just been mutilated by Gilead and took direct action against the regime by running over the guardian. Later with Aunt Lydia, Lawrence was able to get her out before she could face any consequences. 

Gilead drove them to become these people, but not before they had been worn down to the point that they decided for themselves there was no worse punishment than the existence they had already resigned themselves to. And the only one of the three who has not suffered a direct consequence for her actions has been Moira thus far (because she made it out). Emily was shipped to the Colonies after her outburst. And people are most certainly coming after June. The Marthas may have bought her some time, but she is not in the clear.

All I’m arguing is that these three characters’ actions in regards to fighting back is, within the context of the narrative, believable and--yes, for me--celebrated by the audience who has witnessed them be raped and beaten down over and over and over again. Our heroes have triumphed in a small way and that’s what we’re here for. We’re rooting for them. Mind you, they have not triumphed without consequence or repercussions. And I, as an audience member, am not expecting this to be the norm in situations of assault in the series, but its their spirit of resistance, of resilience that’s shining through that I am happy to see on screen. And also, its their stories that are getting told. The stories of the survivors of Gilead and how they made it through.

Now, I don’t know that the victims of sexual assault in this series will get the screen time they deserve regarding working through their trauma. Just like the racism issue on this show, this could be handled much better. It just might be the case that the coping/recovery aspect won’t ever be addressed. Or it might be that in the midst of all that is happening in Gilead at the moment, in order to survive, June is dealing with the here and now and won’t be able to cope with her issues until she’s out. We caught a glimpse of what it was like for Moira and Emily as survivors of Gilead. Granted, it was not nearly enough, but hopefully that’s something the writers will build on.

SO

Despite all of the above, I am torn between the relief and catharsis this scene gave me and the show’s complete and utter lack of exploration of Commander Winslow’s character. Like, YAY the fucker is dead and he died in the most satisfying way the audience could have asked for. But he was supposed to be a villain this season, no? THT had it all set up and then left his character on the back burner. What was gonna come of his relationship to Fred? What was his role in all of the extradition stuff. I’m just so frustrated with this wasted potential. And I legit thought for a second there in 3x06 that they hinted at him being sexually into Fred. 2.  The Waterfords

Perfect, wonderful, the arrest scene is the scene we all needed at least four episodes ago. And I loved how Tuello was super no-nonsense about it and straight up just grabbed Fred the second he was in Canada. My only qualm with this whole thread is why did it take so long with nothing of substance filling in the time? Like, the story could have moved forward so much faster. 

Serena is up to something, I know she is. I really wasn’t sure if she set Fred up or if she was trying to work something out with Tuello and it all just went to hell. She is just as much a war criminal as Fred is so I’m curious to see how this plays out and what kind of deal she struck/will strike with Tuello. 

The only reason I’d suspect she set Fred up is because their whole trip played out like a long goodbye where they relived their greatest hits and spoke a lot about the what-ifs of their lives. But to my knowledge she still wants the baby back doesn’t she? Did the whole enforce-the-Ceremony thing really change her mind AGAIN? Like, bitch lost her damn pinky finger and she bounced back from that? When not long before being de-fingered she helped Fred to rape June? Whatever she’s up to, I honestly hope she suffers for her actions as well.She doesn’t deserve Tuello’s treason and coconuts.

3. June, the Marthas, and her crusade

Ngl, I'm getting really excited for a mass exodus of children from Gilead. I'm still iffy on the whole setup of it, because again, June has no reason to be spearheading any of this. Especially if the Marthas already have something in place. It feels like they acquiesced too quickly in that scene in the Lawrence basement. But June's attitude of "it has to work" and getting Lawrence in line  and later that Billy guy to agree to her plan was pretty great. 

I think the believability factor is hindered by the fact that she is working alone. Like, yes, she’s trying to get all these moving pieces to work together, but even though she has the character traits of a leader and we’ve seen that for the most part she has not relinquished her sense of power despite her position, orchestrating a move like this doesn’t realistically happen over the course of a few days and persuading a couple of people. It’s looking too easy given how damn complicated so many other things in Gilead have been. It’s like another version of convenient plot armor. 

But also shoutout to the Marthas for their badassery!

4. Other thoughts: - Next week’s trailer we FINALLY have some Canada scenes.Seeing Luke also made me realize how much I miss the flashback scenes too :(

- I’m liking Commander Lawrence more and more each ep and I low-key loved the fact that he raided all the art museums lmfao

- I feel like Beth’s character is being wasted. Why can’t we know more about her and what she gets up to? I like her.

- Also where are Alma and Janine? Weren’t they helping?

There’s only 2 eps left and I feel like there is way too much ground to cover for there to be a satisfying ending for all the characters. Sigh.

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 36

“Nooooo, I don't want to get out in the cold anymore, let's stay here forever” she whined as Jared got up and held open her coat for her, “ok, stay here where it's busy and crowded, or sacrifice half an hour and walk ourselves warm to end up in our cosy, warm room with comfortable couches and a ridiculously warm and soft bed?”. Harper rolled her eyes “You don't play fair” she sighed, “all is fair in love and war” he grinned and grabbed her hand as he guided her out of the coffeeshop where the icecold and windy street greeted them. “So, going home..that's quite a big deal, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” he put his arm around her shoulder and held her tight to his side walking down the street, “yep..it's not that I want to, but I need to know..I need to know why they hate me so much..why they always treated me differently than my siblings” she sighed deeply, her warm breath mixing with the cold air formed a foggy cloud “it's not gonna be your average 'meet the parents' moment, I can tell you that much”. The despair in her voice was almost unbearable “I think it's real brave what you're doing” he squeezed her shoulder “so any tips on what aristocratic families do these days? Maybe I should get into golfing or cricket or something? I want to blend in because I don't think your parents will be expecting some long haired musician/actor as their son-in-law”. Her hiccuping burst of laughter wrapped a warm blanket around his heart “son-in-law? Uhm no, my parents certainly won't be expecting that, ohh wait, maybe we should tell them we're married, they'll go ballistic!” she kept on giggling. “And you? What do you think about marriage?” he blurted out, he needed to know, Harper stopped in her tracks all serious of a sudden “Marriage? Nothing but heartache and misery, I swore to myself a long time ago that I'll never be nobody's wife, I've never felt the need to be ayone's possession which is basically the definition of marriage, isn't it?”. 

Jared didn't know whether to hug her or be dissappointed, he'd never given marriage any thought but hearing her say the word, triggered something hidden deep inside of him, what would it be like to grow old with her? it definitely wouldn't be boring, on the contrary, it would be adventurous and very rock 'n roll, he could actually see his unborn children in her eyes, really beautiful kids if they looked like their mama. “Yeah, I guess it is..do you make any distinction though between marital possession and sexual possession?” he pulled her against his body with a very dirty grin, “now you're talking! I'll always submit to such an exquisitely skilled lover of your caliber, although I think you're holding back where I'm concerned, I think there's so much further you want to go where sex is concerned, don't you? Let's say that I'm convinced you're into something a whole lot more kinky than just spanking my ass” she wiggled her eyebrows. Why not push all my fuckin' buttons at once, you little minx? Dingdingdingding! “oh really? You're convinced, huh? Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out, so if I were you, I would get that sexy ass to our bedroom RIGHT NOW!” those last shouted words made her giggle “ohhhh goodieeee” she clapped her hands in delight, wasn't she just amazing? A girl that was so excited and looked forward so much to getting thrown and pushed around a room and a bed was an absolute keeper, his heart beat so hard in his throat and his groin ached behind the zipper of his trousers seeing her giggle and skip away from him, he quickly caught up with her breaking down in a fit of laughter when he saw her lose her balance on another strip of ice.

'Bang' went their erotic bubble the minute they set foot inside the hotel, “there you are! We've got a million interviews lined up, you should be glad someone around here remembers the PR” Shannon came stomping over to them. Harper hung her chin against her chest, she just couldn't get a break around here, could she? All she wanted was to get some much needed lovin' from her man, who had kept his distance last night too, bleeegghhhhhh, what did a girl have to do round here to get fucked senseless??. “Sorry, I have..” he scrunched up his nose, feeling absolutely guilty as he cupped her face, “it's ok..you have a job to do, I understand” she tried not to pout, “I'd love it if you came along” he tried to twist her arm. “You kiddin? Get out into that cold again? nope, na-ah, no sir, no way” she shook her head trying to keep it light and funny between them, “alright, why don't you go warm up the bed then, be back late afternoon, we'll have some time together before the show” he whispered. “I don't want to be a wet blanket, but..” Shannon moved closer trying to get their attention, Harper took a step back and mouthed a silent 'go, it's ok', “alright, alright, ok, lead the way Mr. PR-man” he growled at his brother as he reluctantly turned on his heels and followed Shannon out with a sigh, signing to her to keep in touch during his absence. Ok..what to do? More coffee? Ugh no, her blood pressure was through the roof more than enough already, go to a museum? Nope..out of the question she went out into that cold again, then what? Read a book! Yessss, perfect idea, she hadn't read ever since she got to Europe, Jared and her job here had absorbed most of her free time, curl up under the covers and get lost into another world, she asked her key and almost ran to the elevator.

Oh those dreadful interviews with their copy/paste questions, he hated how he had always thrown up a wall around his personal life in the past, because right now he wanted nothing more than just talk about her, then he wouldn't miss her as much, hold it, hold it, hold it, take a step back, you are not turning into one of those ugly codependent couples you hate so much! You are so not! Fuck it, yes I am, ok ignore and focus back on the question and the interviewer, hope it's better than those ugly glasses she's wearing. 'Beep', no, focus on the question, before they think you're an absolute asshole, oh sod it they already think that anyway, he dug his phone out of his pocket and kicked Shannon's leg to answer the next question, he had a mail to read and that was far more important right now.

From: HCDeRobiano

To: BJLCubbins

Subject: shock!

Jaylicious,

' A leg went over and she positioned herself, ligned up his dick with her entrance and slowly, ever so slowly she pushed down and impaled herself with a loud, blissful moan'

Uhm, what the fuck is this? So, I went online to get inspired for my next painting and I bumped on some real cool stuff on this site called 'Tumblr' and what do you know? I get these suggestions to also check some extra cool dude called Jared Leto, curious as I am, I check and..well, well, these girls are writing the hottest stuff with you in a very kinky main role. Are they ex- or current groupies of yours? Because they all seem to write from reality..and there's so many out there, I'm flooded by an exuberant amount of smut. Oh and then there was all these threads about what a jerk you are in bed too, they're calling you all sorts of horrible names..what is that all about? that sounded a whole lot more real from real groupies.

My eyes hurt from reading way too much stuff about you, why did I ever decide to get online?

Confused Coco

From: BJLCubbins

To: HCDeRobiano

Subject: Re: shock!

Babe,

Get offline, now! So you went 'there' huh? How do you think I feel reading all those stories about myself and their fantasies about my sex life..they make me look like some kind of pornstar in those fics, but they're 'just' fans ('just' is an ugly word, but they're my meal ticket, you know what I mean) I swear I've never touched or met any of them in real life, they're just stories, those stories on Tumblr come from the imagination of some very dirty minds :). That other stuff you're mentioning is a site full of slander I tried to shut down, but no matter how hard I try, those trolls just keep on popping up and haunting me, don't believe what's being said, please! Yes some of those things happened a long, long time ago, but never the way what they're saying, it's difficult to explain..

All you have to know is that I love you veryveryveryvery much, ok? You're the only one that matters!

Don't go running off again, just wait for me and we'll talk, all through the night if that is what it takes to believe me!

Your 'Jaylicious' (I like it, you're so original, where do you come up with these nicknames?)

WHAT??? slander?? but it actually happened? Of course it happened, what did he think she was? Retarded? Did he ever see that interview with Howard Stern she had just seen for the first time, where some sleazy pornstar talked about Jared's 'monster' that obviously had given her as much pleasure as it gave her? Of course he had, and he expected her to get offline the minute she found more info about his past in half an hour than she had gotten out of him in weeks? Put the phone down, just put it down and grab your book, relax, of course he had a past, she had one too, and she knew that he was no choirboy, that much had been obvious during each sexmarathon they had so far, but then why did she feel a little dirty right now? Don't be a hypocrite, come on, ok book, where was I? She browsed for a few seconds but then threw the book back on the nightstand, ok not able to focus, fine, TV then, she flicked through the channels like a maniac, ooohh some more 'Catfish' reruns then. 'Beep' the screen of her phone lit up, and she quickly grabbed it thinking it was Jared, 'Happy now? You destroyed everything, after everything I did for you, is this how you repay me? I'll never forgive you for this, I'm on my way to New York right now and I swear I'll have you and all your godawful paintings evicted in no time, so you won't have a 'home' to come back to'. Harper sat up in shock gasping for air, Sean..oh god no, her fingers trembled as she pressed down on his name and held the phone to her ear, pick up..voicemail, fuck! Text him back 'Sean, no I'm not happy, how can I be happy when the person I thought was my best friend tried to kill me, just because he feels rejected!? Have me evicted, fine by me, but don't touch my paintings, please, I'll beg if needs be, but please don't destroy them, they mean more to me than anything or anyone in this world, please Sean?' there, sent, with an aching heart and close to tears, for fuck's sakes Jay, will you just come back? I need you here, I need someone to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be alright. A tear found its' way down her cheek, followed by a whole lot more and she didn't even try and stop them, her heart nearly burst in her chest, she just wanted to be happy, just to lead a simple, uncomplicated life devoted to painting and creating, but that wasn't gonna happen soon, was it? Oh Jay, please, I need you so much right now..call him? No, he was working and she wasn't ready yet to show him just how silly she was being  at times, he'll be here, just let out all those stupid tears right now so he can hold you later without having to see what a mess she really was, no, no, her sadness was her own and nobody else’s business.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Anam Cara (Chapter 12)

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4)

(Chapter 5)

(Chapter 6)

(Chapter 7)

(Chapter 8)

(Chapter 9)

(Chapter 10)

(Chapter 11)

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? You’ll be okay?” Luna asked Murphy for the billionth time as she had her arms wrapped around his middle and he placed a kiss to her head.

“Aye m’love, I told ye I’ll be fine. We’ll be back at 11pm and I’ll just be downstairs aye?” He soothed as he rubbed her back. Luna had decided to take matters into her own hands, if Connor wanted things to be special and Murphy to be scarce from their apartment then that's exactly what she would do. But now she was feeling bad as her darker-haired twin was ready to leave. Murphy had managed to drag the plan out of her after she bought candles and roses home from the store, she thought he would rib her a little and take the piss out of her, but instead, he smiled and made himself as helpful as possible to anything she needed. He offered to go down to the bar, Doc closing it for the night and only letting some regulars in so Murphy would be safe from prying eyes. She felt a little bad that it seemed like she was putting a lot of effort into this with Connor whereas Murphy didn’t get anything like that, but he assured her that sharing her first time with her was enough and his brother needed this. It warmed her heart how much the brothers cared and looked out for each other, always having each others back. Sure there had been jealousy on both parts already but for the most part, they were always looking out for each others best interests.

“I’ll miss you.” She whispered as she took a deep breath and inhaled his scent, calming her nerves instantly.

“I’ll miss ye too m’girl. And don’t worry, it’ll be perfect.” He smiled before cupping her face and kissing her lips softly. He didn’t want to leave her, he never did, but he knew that his brother needed this to happen so they could just move forward from all the trauma that happened from when he got shot. It was also one step closer to the three of them together, something that he and Connor had spoke about a lot and couldn’t wait to happen. They had never shared a girl before and they were excited about it, especially with their beautiful angel. He squeezed her before letting her go completely and smiling at her as he left the apartment.

Connor would be home in anytime soon, Romeo had taken him shopping to get him out of the apartment at Murphy's request and Luna was trying to get everything ready. She felt a little silly, all of it was so cheesy, but if he wanted special, he was fucking getting it. She lit the last candle in their room, rose petals were scattered from the front door of the apartment to the bedroom and even on the bed. She had some music playing quietly in the background to set the mood and she was stood there in some sexy lingerie that she had promised Murphy he would get to experience after his twin. And of course she had to try it on for him, just so he could make sure his brother would approve, and it certainly got Murphy’s approval. It was black and stood out in stark contrast against the pale porcelain skin she had, Murphy told her she looked like a fallen angel before he nearly stole her breath away with a kiss. She smiled at the thought and then she heard the door open, butterflies going crazy in her stomach as she wondered how her lighter haired twin would react.

Connor walked into the apartment and noticed how nice it smelt right away, like vanilla. As he shut the door he noticed the petals on the floor and looked at them confused for a moment, his eyes following the trail until his eyes laid upon his lass stood in the doorway of their room wearing the sexiest underwear he had ever seen. Or maybe it was just the fact it was Luna stood before him that made it the sexiest thing ever, he didn’t know but he didn’t really care as his eyes drank her in greedily. His mouth went dry and his pants got tighter as he stood there, actually unable to move or come out with a smart ass remark like he usually would. The lack of response made her furrow her brow and she dropped her hands to her sides disappointed, making Connor stalk over to her right away.

“I’m just lost for words mo chroi (my heart), ye look absolutely incredible.” He whispered before kissing her deeply, his hand threading through her long hair. Her small hands fisted his shirt and she moaned into his mouth as he pulled a little on her hair. The brothers both kissed amazingly but they kissed so differently. Murphy’s kisses were always hungry and needy, almost desperate, like he needed them to breathe. He was the impulsive one of the twins and it was easy for him to get swept away in the moment. It was fast and hard with him, whereas Connors kisses were sensual and slow. Each move was calculated and planned meticulously. Even when things got heated he always remained in some control of himself, unlike his twin who seemed to lack the same self-control. He broke away with a dazzling smile and she smiled back up at him.

“So what's all this then?” He asked curiously as he looked around.

“You wanted special so...” She smirked as she slowly started to undo his belt, making him swallow hard as he watched her. He has waited so fucking long for this, putting it off for ages and now he was finally going to be with her.

His heart was beating out of his chest and his hands were trembling slightly as they rested on her hips. His belt hit the floor with a clink and she looked up at him slightly nervous. She had only had sex that one time with Murphy and as much as she was trying to be in control and take charge, she was a little anxious and it was all still so new for her. As if reading her thoughts Connor took charge as he peeled off his shirt and threw it across the room, his eyes never leaving her. He watched as her small hands rubbed along his toned chest and torso, her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake and he shuddered at her touch. She fumbled a little with his button and zipper on his jeans before pulling them down a little and letting him step out of them, leaving him in his tight boxers with his erection straining against them. She glanced up at him, her big eyes shining at him, she loved the effect she was having on him, it empowered her. She rubbed him from outside of his boxers, palming him in her hand and he moaned as his eyes fell shut. She could make him cum just by doing this, he was ready to take her and he was afraid he would just go off without warning at this rate. He gripped her wrist stilling her motions and grinned at her.

“Feels too good love.” He smiled, his voice low and deep and making her tingle a little. He reached around and unclasped her bra, slowly pulling it from her small frame and letting it drop to the floor. His eyes took her in, admiring her as his hands softly came to her breasts and kneaded them, making her moan. The noises she made were like music to his ears and he wanted to hear more. Dropping his head a little he captured her nipple in his mouth and he swirled his tongue around it before sucking on it. She gasped and gripped his hair, making him groan and be more enthusiastic with his ministrations. He started kissing her breasts and moved up her chest to her neck and then to her ear.

“Bed. Now.” He commanded, making her swallow hard as her heart beat rapidly in her chest. There was something with how dominant he sounded that made her body shiver. She bit her bottom lip and smiled at him, his dick twitching in response, and she crawled onto the bed, making sure he had a good view of her ass in her lacy underwear as she did. He watched her carefully with lust filled eyes as he took in her ass as she situated herself on the bed, the normal composure he could keep, waning away. He rid himself of his boxers, watching as her eyes were drawn to his cock as it stood to attention proudly, he noticed how she licked her lower lip a little and he couldn’t just stand there and watch her anymore. He crawled onto the bed after her, hovering over her as his lips captured hers in a slow but deep kiss. She returned the kiss as she fisted his hair again and his hand drifted to her panties, slipping in his fingers and feeling how wet she was.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered to himself before he started rubbing her clit, making a delicious moan leave Luna’s mouth. He growled and removed his hand, his fingers hooking into her panties and yanking them off desperately. He placed himself between her legs once more and kissed her hard as he slowly entered her, making her back arch and gasp as he filled her up. He stayed still, just kissing her deeply as she adjusted, he needed some time himself so he didn’t just spill himself inside of her right away, feeling how warm and tight she was around his cock. As she brought her legs to wrap around him he started to thrust slow and deep, groaning into her neck as he tried his hardest not to cum. Luna felt like sparks were shooting through her body, she almost forgot how good it felt to be filled completely with MacManus and she moaned freely as his thrusts increased in pace. She smirked a little, wanting to try something, and she pushed him off, making him unsheath himself in the process. He looked at her with a furrowed brow thinking she had changed her mind but he was quickly rolled onto his back, watching her smirking down at him. He couldn’t help but smirk back finding it incredibly sexy how she was being but he wasn’t expecting her to suddenly sink down onto his cock, making him throw his head back as he cried out in pure bliss.

“Fuckin’ hell!” He gasped. He had to grip her hips tightly to stop her from moving for a second before he just came instantly. She stayed still watching him, loving how his face looked when he was right on the brink of tipping over the edge, how dark his eyes went as he furrowed his brow in concentration, a sheen of sweat covering his head. He ran his hands up the smooth skin of her sides, dipping into the curve of her small waist. She was a vision to behold as she sat there with him filling her up, her long dark hair flowing down around her as her skin shone in the light. His hips jerked up and she took her cue to start rolling her hips to his, finding a rhythm that felt good. Connor couldn’t hold in his noises as he moaned and growled, cursing in various languages she didn’t know, his grip tightening on her waist as she inflicted this pleasure onto him. He had never felt this good in his entire life and he knew it was more than just standard sex that made it feel this good. She was moaning wantonly, loving how good the position felt, how deep he was. She couldn’t help how she started to ride him, hard and fast, the pleasure just consuming her and it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

“Oh fuck!” Connor moaned, struggling to keep hold of the last tiny bit of composure he had left. He didn’t want to cum just yet but she was riding him and he wasn’t in control at all, he had no choice as her warm tight walls started tightening around him, letting him know she was close too. He pulled her down to him, kissing her deeply, both of them moaning into each other's mouths as they got closer to the edge. One hand gripped the back of her neck keeping her face over his as the other went to her ass, pushing her faster and harder as he desperately sought out his release.

“Cum wit’ me mo chuisle (my pulse).” He moaned, nipping her lower lip. That was all she needed to hear and she clamped down on him, both of them crying out loudly as Connor's hips bucked wildly and they both found their bliss together, him spilling himself inside of her. After they rode it out she practically collapsed onto his chest, where he held her close, kissing her head. They were both sweating and panting as they came down from their highs. She lifted her head and smiled lazily at him, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen from their kisses, his heart constricted a little at the sight of her as he smiled back. He pulled her in for a slow kiss.

“Táim i ngrá leat, mo aingeal álainn. (I am in love with you, my beautiful angel.)” He whispered against her lips, making her sit up a little and look at him questionably.

“What does that mean? Murphy said the exact same thing to me after we had sex for the first time.” She asked curiously. Connor looked at her torn as he let his large hands softly trail up and down her sides, debating if he should tell her or not. They may have told each other they love each other but it was once, and this was a step beyond that. No, he couldn’t scare away their angel, she wasn’t ready yet. It also shocked him a little that Murphy had already said this to her, although he should have known the fucker wouldn’t have waited, he was just grateful she hadn’t asked him what it meant because he had no doubt his brother would have told her.

“Doesn’t matter mo chroi (my heart), c’mere?” He asked as he pulled her down, too tired to argue she complied and lay back on his chest with a smile on her face.

“Worth the wait?” She asked jokingly as his hands rubbed her back in a soothing manner, making her sleepy.

“More than worth it love.” He smiled, emotion clear in his voice as he held her a little tighter. It may have been a little faster paced than he wanted for their first time but he enjoyed every second of it. He heard her breathing start to even out and he knew she was falling asleep, so he pulled out and rolled her onto her side and spooned her, his hand around her waist as she laced their fingers together.

“I love you Connor.” She whispered sleepily as sleep started to take hold of her. Those words made his heart feel like it stopped beating, he thought he would never get tired of her saying them.

“I love ye too my angel.” He whispered back and kissed the nape of her neck before they both fell into a deep slumber.

She wasn’t sure what time it was when she felt the bed dip in front of her, Connor still behind her holding her tight. She opened her eyes and saw a drunk Murphy sat at the edge of the bed taking his shoes off swaying a little, already shirtless. She watched him from where she lay as he shucked off his pants and climbed into bed in just his boxers. She closed her eyes as he rolled to face her and as his hand came to wrap around her, he smirked at the fact she was completely naked. He palmed her breast and her blue eyes opened and met his, watching her intently as he pinched her nipple gently, making her moan. His smirk just grew at her noises and he let his hand slide down her small body and he started rubbing her clit, making her squirm a little and bite her lip.

“So wet m’love, ye just can’t get enough can ye?” He smirked, his speech slightly slurred. He started to kiss her neck, sucking a little as he rubbed her slowly. She was getting into it when his hand stilled, making her frown and glance down at Murphy. She was about to say something when she heard a soft snore escape his lips and he instinctively nuzzled her neck, and she realised he had passed out on her, he had fucking passed out in the middle of getting her off. She didn’t know whether to be amused or be angry, so she shoved his hand away from her as she chuckled and shook her head.

“Little shit.” She mumbled before closing her eyes and going back to sleep, feeling Murphys arm wrap around her waist under Connors in its usual place.

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Honest Pay for an Honest Job

AO3 Version

Relationship: Samilen Jawantal (OC)/Reader

Rating: General Audience

Summary: You're an immigrant to the continent of Eorzea, looking for work where there was little where you came from. You settle in Gridania in the hopes that you'll be able to find a job, but quickly realize that most folk aren't too kind to outsiders. 

In desperation you travel to Quarrymill, but along the way you meet a rather peculiar miqo'te named Samilen Jawantal. He is sweet, though a little awkward, and helps you find a place for yourself in the settlement. 

It just so happens that you two become friends along the way.

Note: If it helps, this is the outfit and general scenery I had in mind while writing Samilen ;3c

When warned that the Black Shroud could be difficult to navigate, you assumed it came only from a place of misunderstanding. The guards who had offered such cautious words saw you as but a newcomer to the lands of Eorzea--and likely assumed everywhere would be hard to navigate. Though it may be true that you'd been on the land for only a scant few weeks before venturing outside the city of Gridania, you're certainly no child--how confusing could it be to find your way around?

In short: extremely.

The Black Shroud was not named such without reason. It felt very much like a shroud of trees hanging over you, being hard to navigate and harder still when there wasn’t any sunlight to keep the path visible. It felt very much like a maze. Everything from the trees to even the animals seemed happy to taunt you at every step.

From the main city-state of Gridania, the small town of Quarrymill didn't seem very far. A full day of walking at most, since you couldn't afford a chocobo porter or had the luck to come upon a passing wagon.

Of course, a day of waking seemed naught of risks when planning it from behind safe walls and surrounded by multitudes of people.

You're edging on terrified. The sun is perhaps only an hour from dipping out of the sky and leaving the Black Shroud very fitting of its name--already you've lost sight of the dirt path once beneath your feet, and with darkness closing in you'll have even less a chance to find it.

All you wanted to do was look for work.

It's why you came to Eorzea in the first place, as you wanted no game or overwhelming fortune, no recognition beyond a pocketful of gill to earn you a pillow beneath your head and food in your belly. Be it fate or sheer dumb luck, your heart couldn’t bare the thought of getting caught in such a dismal situation after working so hard to get here.

There’s a map rolled up and hidden somewhere in the bag slung over your shoulder, but it’s long-since lost usefulness to someone who can scarcely read it. It wouldn’t matter anyway as direction is not the issue at hand--all you’ve got is to follow the southern pathway--it’s your speed that bothers you the most. A couple wrong turns had cost almost two full hours. If you’re lucky and keep a swift pace you may get to Quarrymill sometime after dark, but…

There’s little use thinking about it. You’re beyond the point of being able to turn around.

The noises of the forest have almost become pleasant. From the insects to the wind and trees to the animals hiding out of sight, it’s almost like white noise. Considering that you had been listening to it since the first footfall outside of Gridania’s main gate, it doesn’t take very long for you to realize a new sound drifting through the air.

It’s odd enough to give you pause, actually stopping yourself so that your ears have no extra footsteps to listen past--and yes, there it is, a sudden noise differing from the others. It’s off to the right of the path a ways, distant in the way that all forest noises are but close enough that you feel compelled to get closer.

A man? You think it’s the voice of a man echoing between the trees, but it’s hard to be certain if what you’re hearing is cries of anguish or something else completely--and you have already heard a plethora of odd noises proven rather innocent in but your first several days in Gridania. It only takes one time to mistake the shrill cry of a opo-opo as a young child for you to learn that the forests are not to be underestimated nor disrespected.

Even so, the noise lingers for long enough that your feet start to move before your brain has time to think the decision over. By the time you’re off the trail and quickly stepping around various rocks and underbrush, the noise has shifted ever so subtly so that you can make out words.

“For Twelvessake,” you hear the voice echo through the air. “Stop shaking! You’re not gonna make this any easier on ‘ya by moving around like that.”

You get nearer to the source, keeping far from the swing of low-laying branches as you push them out of your way. A couple of them still hit you regardless.

“You know I’m helpin’ you, just….stay still….”

The voice gets clearer in as many moments as it takes footsteps before you finally catch the source in your vision. There’s a small break in the trees, not so much a clearing but a small patch of land where none seem to grow outside of thick grass and moss covering small rocks.

You stop off the edge of the trees, feeling a burn in your lungs from the running and a curiosity swimming in your mind. This would be the first person you’ve met after hours along the trail--perhaps they may be able to aid you in some way.

A treant stands tall in the center of the clearing. The beast is mighty in size, but not nearly as large as you imagined they could be from the stories murmured by the Gridanian guards. It stand at but the height of a man and a half, it’s form reminiscent of a tree that has uprooted itself and begun to walk about. Its limbs are long and many in number, face almost indiscernible from the bark-like texture of its body.

Perhaps this one is young? You know too little to be sure, though your eyes flick to the next thing to catch your attention before an answer seems important enough to consider.

There’s a man tangled in the treant’s branches, a man whose voice rings out as the very one you were following but a scant few seconds before. He seems to be reaching for something, an item also tangled well within the leaves and vines that must make up part of the creature’s body.

You find yourself staring at the scene for a few moments before you realize that the item is a net; the mesh is thick and broken in places, but a piece of trash tossed aside by some careless hunter.

It seems to make movement difficult for the young treant, something that the man seems keen to change despite the fact that he too seems almost as entangled in branches and vines of the creature’s upper form.

You have heard poachers were common in the Black Shroud. You heard talk about them amongst several of the guards, often with venom lacing their words, but had the luck not to run into one just yet--the forest alone seemed to be intimidating enough without a morally-dubious individual in your way making things worse.

You take a few steps closer and manage to catch a steady glimpse of the man, enough to realize that he’s a Miqo’te and, if going by his hair and complexion, a Keeper of the Moon.  

In fact, if it wasn’t for his long silvery hair, you wouldn’t even be able to make out the shape of him dangling in the treant’s branches.

He reaches out, fingertips just barely curling around a few threads of the net, and tugs a part of it free. The creature seems to offer a bittersweet cry of relief, leading to the Miqo’te finally being able to crawl closer to the object of it’s disdain and more properly begin untangling it.

It takes only a minute or two once he had a proper reach, and you merely watch as the broken mess falls in a heap to the ground, followed quickly by the much more elegant thump of the man as he lands in a crouch and all but glares at the object in obvious disgust.

The treant shows only the barest of thanks in simply not attacking the man, instead waddling off with heavy footsteps deeper into the thickets of the forest.

“Now I have to haul this thing to Quarrymill,” the Miqo’te mutters to himself, one hand dragging over his face, the other perched on his hip. “Just fuckin’ fantastic. I’m a botanist, not a-.”

The snap of a twig beneath one of your feet silences any words following, and instead catches his attention with the quickness of a lightning bolt.

His face turns instantly towards you, eyes wide for a moment in shock as his thoughts seem to catch up with the revelation that he is not the only person in the clearing. Not alone at all.

You expect him to say something to you, perhaps even laugh and ask something like ‘what are you doing here?’. You expect nothing specific in all honesty, but you at least ready yourself for some sort of question from him.

You get none.

For all that you heard him cursing up a storm but a few moments before the man is now discernibly more quiet, not a single noise falling from his lips even though it’s obvious you took him by surprise.

At least you’re able to get a better look at the man now that he’s not buried in branches and leaves.

He’s short, at least for a man, with a dark complexion that reminds you much of a shadow. His eyes and hair stand in stark contrast however, with the golden hue of his gaze earning the most of your attention. Silvery locks are pulled back into a braid, though the rest of it hands over one side of his face.

The man is dressed well, thick leather jacket probably protecting him from most of the cuts and scratches he’d otherwise have earned from the treant’s branches. He at least lacks much of the armor and gear you’d expect of a poacher, though he’s not nearly geared well enough to be a Gridanian guard of any sort.

“Um,” you find yourself feeling a bit unnerved beneath his gaze. “I’m actually heading to Quarrymill myself and uh--I heard you were going that way yourself, sir?”

He says nothing, though at least now his gaze has left you and falls instead to the pile of broken mesh netting. After enough time that you’re beginning to think that he’s outright forgotten you and your question, he finally turns back to look at you with a perceivably softer look on his face.

And then his hands move.

Not so much in simple gestures, but movements reminiscent of something more; a communication that takes but a few short moments before you realize the motions as handspeak.

It seems a little odd for him to use such a form of nonverbal conversation since you had heard him speak and curse just a few moments ago, but your brain jumps right over the curiosity and instead begins to decipher his words without delay.

‘What’s someone like you doing out here in the forest?’ he asks, movements sharp and practiced--indication of experience, fluidity and perhaps even a tinge of annoyance within the words.

You begin to move your hands in answer, but the man quickly shakes his head.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ he gestures to his ears as if the notion had been obvious, though a flush of color over his cheeks keep the gesture from seeming too aggravated. ‘I can hear you just fine.’

After a moment of continued confusion you finally offer the man your name, trying to be as polite as possible in fear that the very help you sought for would slip between your fingers and, honestly, you did come upon this man a bit suddenly.

“I’m looking for work in Quarrymill,” you explain, hoping such fear would not leak into your words or tone.

‘Refugee?’

“I prefer the word ‘traveler’.”

A twitch of amusement pulls at the corner of the man’s mouth as one of his hand perch on his hip again, stance turning casual.

‘It all means the same to most folk in Eorzea.’

The sentiment is honest and nonthreatening, which is admittedly a breath of fresh air when compared to many others you’d spoken with in Gridania. Though you hold little knowledge of the continent’s history or cultural perspective outside of what you’ve heard in your travels into its borders, you know enough that many of her people don’t take kindly to foreign souls--or perhaps that just might be the scarce few in Gridania that a lack of luck forced you to meet.

The man’s eyes linger on you through the thought, golden and heavy in weight--there’s thoughts behind that gaze, ones you can’t hope to decipher.

‘My name is Samilen,’ the man finally signs, spelling his name with deliberate motions to make sure you understand before hurrying on. ‘Consider this your first job offer.’

He didn’t need to elaborate for you to understand what he meant by it, having just enough time to understand his words before Samilen turned and started pulling some of the thick netting into his arms.

You catch a glint of an axe on his back. There’s ornate symbols etched into both the wood of the handle and the wrought-iron metal blade--all of which look foreign to you, but it catches your attention and interest all the same. A woodsman? Did he live out here?

His eyes flash back at you before your thoughts can linger much farther into question, spurring you forward to try and pull the other half of the heap into your arms.

The netting is scratchy against your hands, biting into your skin by its own weight alone, but it’s easy enough with two people that you can ignore it and focus more on the shuffle of your feet so as not to trip on an errant vine.

“So,” you start, feeling a little awkward in the sudden silence between you and the stranger. “You live around here?”

Samilen looks at you after a moment, one brow perked and lips pursed together.

“I mean, I’m not trying to assume anything,” your words feel like they’re starting to press together, little more than a mush of noise leaving your mouth as you try to fill the air with noise. “Lots of people said Quarrymill was full of jobs for physical labor--in need of lots of building supplies, they said--and I noticed you’ve got an axe and, well, maybe y’know some people and...”

You almost have to force yourself to stop talking, flashing a gaze and forced smile to the Miqo’te in hopes that you don’t sound as awkward as you feel. Samilen blinks at you after a moment before making a gesture with his arms still holding the net. The movement is muffled, but otherwise able to get the message across as hot embarrassment fills your cheeks.

Of course.

“Ah,” you say, quickly taking the lack of speech from him as something running deeper than mere preference. “Understood. I’ll uh, ask you when we get there.”

You expected for the ‘when’ to be far after the sun had disappeared from the sky and the moon taken its place. If you were being at all honest with yourself, in fact, you would have worried deeply about finding yourself in the forest at night, surrounded by trees and underbrush that you could scarcely navigate during the day.

Samilen didn’t seem to share this same worry as you.

He paid the setting sun little mind as he directed the both of you onward through the forest, making odd twists and turns against the dirt path--if he didn’t have such a firm, assured look on his face, you would have questioned the man as being as lost as you had been by yourself.

And it’s a good thing you didn’t question him, for as soon as the sun’s last trickles of light hid themselves from the sky you found yourself stepping into the settlement of Quarrymill, among the bustling merchants and other travelers who were also hastily trying to get find safety within it’s tall, sturdy walls.

Even so, Samilen carefully directed the two of you into the small outcropping of homes and stalls, weaving through people and chocobo-drawn carts of goods.

It isn’t until you’re able to drop the netting beside one of the many merchants’ stands that you realize how sore your arms have grown, muscles aching and burning from the weight, the strands of the mesh having started to dug into your arms that there are marks (however temporary).

You gaze down at the pile. What use could it have for anyone now, you wonder, curious if Samilen had something in mind to make him want to bring it here--or perhaps it was an action out of concern. After all, you had seen the damage the abandoned item had to but one young treant--if the man was indeed a local, a woodsman at that, you can understand why he’d feel obligated to remove the mesh from the forest.

You tune back into the world just as your attention cycles back to Samilen.

Some fulms away he stands in front of the merchant’s stall where you both had left the net, conversing with a woman on the other side. His expression is soft and his motions languid--there’s familiarity in it, as in the way she regards him in kind.

“Y’know I can’t pay you fer’ it,” the woman says gently, gesturing towards the broken pile of mesh beside her stall. “Ain’t in the business of dealing with junk.”

Samilen smiles widely, as if at some unknown joke between them, and signs something too quick for you to catch.

The merchant laughs makes a waving gesture with her hand towards the net.

“Always makin’ a compelling offer, Jawantal. I guess I can’t say no to somethin’ free.”

It’s only then that the woman’s eyes flash in your direction, interest as obvious as the half-cocked smile over her lips.

“Oy, makin’ new friends are ya?”

Samilen blinks, then looks to you in but a flash of surprise (or perhaps embarrassment?) before realization dawns over his features, seemingly having forgotten you were still standing there.

‘We were both heading to Quarrymill,’ he signs after a moment, looking back at the woman. ‘I wasn’t about to carry that thing by myself if I could help it.’

The woman hums, leaning forward on the edge of the stall with eyes that seem to wonder more than what she asks.

She gestures for you to come closer and so you do, figuring that it’s not exactly proper to hold a conversation from a distance. It’s not as if you can feign disinterest or even unawareness of the conversation anymore.

“I’m a traveler,” you say at last in desperate hopes to set off on the right foot, stepping up beside Samilen and offering the woman your hand and name in the same breath. “Got a little lost getting here from Gridania, but I suppose I’m lucky enough to have run into Samilen here.”

She takes your hand with a smile, grip firm but not painful, and gestures towards herself with an almost trained motion.

“The name’s Edith Cater. I run this fine little establishment right here-” she knocks her knuckles against the surface of the wooden stall, then gestures to the small home behind her tucked against the cobblestone wall protecting the town. “-been sellin’ fish in Quarrymill for as long as I can remember. Y’might see my wife runnin’ around and cursing her luck at the fishes in the rivers--Svana is her name.”

The friendliness of the conversation is different from what you’ve grown used to, a difference that comes like a breath of fresh air after several stays of taking in nothing but fumes and smoke.

Edith hums and, glances towards one of the nearest entrances to Quarrymill, her eyes laying firm on the guards switching their shifts on either end of the large archway of stone and wood.

“Couldn’t have gotten here quicker either.”

You see a motion from the corner of your eye as Samilen signs something to her--a question, given his confused look, but too quick for you to decipher plainly.

Edith crosses her arms against her chest.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet--them kedtraps have been gettin’ mighty ornery the past several suns. Makin’ it real hard for anyone past sunfall.”

After a moment, the woman chuckles. “-Well, harder than usual. Not like they’re known fer’ bein’ nice.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Kedtraps?” the question rolls from you lips, too quick for your mind to wonder if it’s a stupid question. “I’ve never heard of something like that before.”

Samilen gestures for your attention, grabbing your gaze to fall upon him as he turns to face you, half-leaning against the stall.

‘They’re a type of seedkin,’ he signs, looking pensive in his motions. ‘Dangerous if you can’t avoid them. Very aggressive. And annoying.’

He repeats the last motion with a grave seriousness, then drops his hands with a sigh.

He sounds tired, as if the news had done enough to pull what little energy was left in his body.

You got your answer as Samilen turns to Edith and purses his lips.

‘I’ll take care of them in the morning, I might know what’s causing such a swell in their numbers.’

“I’m sure the guards’ll thank you for it plenty,” Edith says with a quirk to her smile. “I know it’s been makin’ it a challenge for anyone to get here safely coming from the West and South, Hurtin’ business something fierce for everyone.”

The sky has grown dark by this point, the sky dark and painted with stars that seemed to grow more bright by the breath. There would be little use to do anything now, leaving questions and curiosities best to be taken up again when the sun has risen.

“Is there any sort of inn around here?” you find yourself asking, caring little if it’s Edith or Samilen who has an answer for you.

Edith as it turns out is the first to do so--and her answer is merely laughter. She chuckles with a hand over her mouth, obviously taken for surprise by her own amusement and tries her best to stifle it back down.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry--” she glances about the town, bustling with its array of people, many native and so few travelers. “--you picked the worst time for that. There is a little place across the way, just over by the Northern entrance, but it’s been full-up every night for the last couple weeks.”

You follow her gesture towards what you assume is the building she’s talking about.

It’s small, easily missed if you weren’t already looking that way, and there are already several people hustling in and out of the front door. There’s a gentle billowing of smoke coming from the top of a chimney and the lights are already bright from inside.

It hardly looks as if it could room a dozen people.

You feel your heart fall into your stomach as you hurry away from both Edith and Samilen, only vaguely remembering to thank them for their time as you quickly move out of earshot to whatever they say after you.

It takes a few minutes to get through the small crowd of people bustled around the building but you eventually get inside.

The inn’s front room is neither spacious nor claustrophobic, but settled rather comfortably in the middle of the two. For being in a small settlement in the middle of the Black Shroud, it’s surprisingly well-kept; there’s a fire going in a fireplace against one wall and a collection of wooden chairs surrounding it. A rug decorates the floor beneath your feet in vibrant colors and designs that must have took a person weeks to make--perhaps even months.

At the center of it all lays a desk, a single elezen man manning it.

He has a book in-hand, a title you don’t recognize, and reads lazily over the pages with tired eyes behind messy brown hair.

He looks at you as you approach.

The gaze doesn’t last for more than a scant few moments, but it’s long enough that you almost feel...awkward. He looks you up and down before his eyes finally meet yours once more.

You’re unsure if you need to say something first or if it can simply be assumed you’re here for a room--it doesn’t seem to matter either way as the man already interrupts any greeting you have with a sudden, distasteful tone.

“If you’re here for a room,” he says, finally looking back to his book. “I’m sad to say that there isn’t another one available; we’re booked up for the evening. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

Your stomach twists at the words; he doesn’t sound sad at all, rather disinterested and eager to have you leave.

“There surely has to be something available.” There just has to be, you tell yourself. “Even the smallest room or just a bed, I have the gil to pay for--”

The sound of a finger tapping against the counter between you stops the words before they start tumbling from your lips.

“What part of ‘none available’ do you not understand?”

For a moment you stand there, silent, his of annoyance hanging over you even as he looks back to that stupid book in his hands. When you don’t immediately leave from both the front desk and his sight, the man even gestures a hand as if to wave you away.

“No loitering. Go find charity elsewhere.”

For a moment, you wonder if he can tell that you’re not from Gridania. Perhaps the worry is silly, perhaps it’s far-fetched to consider, but you have the inkling in the back of your mind that he’d have a far more positive response if you were perhaps someone else. Someone native to the area.

The hardest part is that you can’t tell for certain--at least in Gridania people were far more open about their discrimination so it was easy to tell in but a single conversation who was friendly and who was not.

Angry, biting words settle in the back of your throat at the thought. There are plenty of things that you can say to the man, plenty more you could argue about, but none of them really matter--the last thing that you want or need is to pick an argument with someone especially as you know there’s nothing to be won.

You turn on your heel to leave.

Before you have the time to take even one step, you’re stopped immediately by a pair of hands as they come to rest on your shoulders. You’re moments away from apologizing to whomever it is that you’ve nearly run into, but their familiar face stops the words before you speak them.

It’s Samilen standing in front of you, his hands warm over your shoulders and expression stoic and calm. You don’t recall him following you in your haste to get a room, but he looks at you with gentleness in his golden eyes.

Don’t leave, the expression seems to say.

So you don’t.

Samilen steps around you after a breath, approaching the front desk with a level of care in each step. He starts to sign silently just as you turn to watch the scene unfold. The man behind the desk seems more attentive to the miqo’te, actually setting down the book as he watches Samilen’s motions.

“Oh! Mr. Jawantal,” there’s an obvious shift in tone in the man’s voice as he regards Samilen. “Are you turning in for the evening? Sergeant Dreyeux said you’d be staying again tonight--said he needed to speak to you about a kedtrap issue as well, if you’d seek him out--the room of course is ready for you, as always.”

When Samilen doesn’t respond after a few long moments, the elezen finally seems to get the hint to glance over behind him--to see you still standing there. He blinks, a moment of confusion passing over his face as he looks back to Samilen.

“Did you...bring a guest?”

Samilen nods.

‘They are with me,’ he signs, motions quick and almost too sharp to catch from behind him. ‘I didn’t realize you treat some travelers like that. It seems I have more to talk to the Sergeant about than just the kedtrap problem.’

He lets a moment slip by in stillness, as if contemplating a thought before continuing the motion of his hands.

‘...perhaps Quarrymill isn’t a place for me to frequent if you’re prone to discriminate others this much.’

“Sir, we don’t have room for just anyone to stay here,” there’s a stumble as he responds, his voice sounding weak and insincere in simply how sickly sweet it falls from his lips. “I’m charged with ensuring the rooms are available only to hard-working travelers and merchants who bring gil to Quarry-”

‘So you mean to tell me you could tell that by only a glance?’

Samilen’s motions are growing a little forceful and jerky. You can almost feel the aggravation in even his silent accusation.

“I mean--Mr. Jawantal you must understand that they're simply not the sort we need at Quarrymill, they look-”

‘I understand that I have not lived my life as a proud keeper miqo’te with constant discrimination from men like you-’ Samilen all but stabs a finger towards the man and, if you listened hard enough, you may even hear a low growl rumbling through the air. ‘-to stand by and let you shame someone who is willing to work an honest job for an honest pay.’

“I don’t think you understand, sir, you’re much different than others.”

‘Different?’

Samilen lets the word sit. Anger emanates in thick waves from the miqo’te; you can feel the tension in the air growing taut--the question only remains is if it will snap.

‘...I forget some people choose to see me as equal only when I am useful to them. Thank you for reminding me of that fact so I may bring it up to Sergeant Dreyeux on the morrow.’

The room falls into a cold silence as Samilen’s hands finally fall to his sides. He lets it sit like that for a breath, letting everything sink in before finally motioning a simple question,

‘Is there any available rooms or not?’

The elezen’s eyes break from the other’s gaze.

“No,” he says after a few moments. “They actually are all filled tonight.”

The way he says it confirms your suspicions of before, even if it means there’s nowhere for you to stay. You’re about to drop your gaze and leave the inn to move on to form a new plan of action when a motion from Samilen catches your eye, though it takes an extra second for your brain to make sure you read his words correctly.

‘They’re staying with me tonight then--mark down for one more in my room.’

The rest of the following couple moments is a bit of a blur, as in one you’re standing in the front room with Samilen a few steps in front of you, and in the next he has his fingers wrapped around one of your wrists and gently tugging you behind him.

The elezen at the front desk is saying something or another but you’re at a loss to hear the words--the blood thumping in your ears is loud enough to drown everything out that hasn’t already been numbed by the thick tension of the last few moments as Samilen had argued for you.

The rooms are located off to the left of the front desk, down a long and narrow hallway. There are doors lining up either side, with little numbers painted over the top of the entrance in dark script. The two of you step past all of the doors. Samilen instead moves to the last one, at the very end of the hallway, quickly opens it and gestures for you to go inside.

Whether it’s confusion or an instinctual need to follow the unspoken command, you step inside the room regardless. Samilen steps in behind you and closes the door with a click.

As the man takes a moment to close the door, you have the moment to take in the room itself.

It’s not a large space, certainly when compared to the room you had while in Gridania, but it’s not too small either; you have enough space to stretch out your arms at least three times over in both directions; a small cot sits in a corner of the room, covered in a weathered rucksack filled near-to-bursting with items you cannot guess.

A bow also rests near the bed, coupled with a quiver that looks filled with arrows if the feathered tail-ends are anything to go by. (Was Samilen an archer?)

There’s a set of clothes hanging from what must be fishing line, and a pair of leather boots set with some semblance of care below them.

It’s a humble room, but one that looks lived in; as things would seem, Samilen has been here for several nights already--though if from the gist of the conversation he had with the elezen manning the front desk, that may not last for much longer.

...Speaking of, you slowly realize that Samilen has been very quiet behind you, not even having tried to tap at your shoulder or even moved from the doorway.

Fear starts to bubble up in your stomach from the man’s lack of movement or touch upon your shoulder, so you spin on your heel to get a look at the mute man’s face for some sort of understanding of his thoughts and--

He looks...terrified? Worried, more like, his expression tense and his eyes looking at nowhere in particular for a breath.

He finally looks at you with a form of realization dawning on his face as the situation finally seems to sink in--the realization of what he’s done in but a haze of impulse upon witnessing your mistreatment and obvious need for aid.

The realization that he’s taken you to his own room in the inn and otherwise called you his guest for the evening.

And, in the span of a breath, he looks young. Unsure of himself.

Awkward.

“I uh,” you start to say. “Thank....you? I think? Are you...letting me...stay….with you?”

Samilen himself in the moment is certainly no help to your confidence. His expression remains tensed and screwed up, as if he’s made some sort of mistake--he looks about ready to knock his head against the doorframe.

He eventually gathers himself up, closes his eyes and knits his brows together.

‘Forgive me,’ he signs at last, looking exhausted in the motion. ‘ I…’

His motions pause as he searches for words.

‘...you can stay with me for tonight. Take my bed.’

“And what about you?”

‘I’m no stranger to sleeping on a bedroll.’

You can’t help but narrow your eyes at him, brows tight and expression bouncing between confused and angered by the suggestion.

“This is your room!” the exclamation rings a little in your own ears. “I can’t sleep on the bed while you sleep on the floor!”

Samilen stares at you. His golden eyes have lost the enigma, they are now just the eyes of a nervous man, a man who looks from you to the bed, then back at you again.

‘Ah,’ the word rings more on his face than in his hands. ‘I see, I forgot that might be uncomfortable for you.’

He takes a moment to reassess the situation, looking pensively around the room with one hand up to his chin in thought.

And then, as if with a rapturous idea, his ears prick up and he signs, ‘Then it’s settled: I’ll just sleep outside.’

You feel your face scrunch in confusion even stronger than before.

“What?” the question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. “How is that any better? Why would you sleep outside?”

‘I was under the impression that you were uncomfortable with me sleeping in here with you.’

It’s as if he’s unsure what to do, and barely able to hide that insecurity from sight, if going by how it’s painted across his face.

“If this bothers you, why did you do that for me?”

Samilen blinks and then, after a moment, he finally looks assured of himself again, perhaps even a little curious at being asked the question itself--the same man you met before.

‘Because I couldn’t stand and watch that happen to you.’

He pauses, and for a moment you’re curious if there’s a soft flush of color darkening his cheeks.

‘...I got caught up in the moment and I apologize. I don’t….normally…invite people…..here. With me. Ever.’

Each word is signed with a pause between them, a trailing sentence that Samilen doesn’t seem to know the end of. He lets his hands fall to his sides as he sighs, finally collecting himself from the moment and all of the confusion that came with it.

For all of the oddity of the last few minutes, you find it rather endearing; he holds onto that stoic mask rather well, but it’s obvious that few people seem to be able to get past it. The two of you stand in silence, waiting for the other to come up with something to say.

You’re the one who eventually breaks it, hoping to turn the situation into something better.

“I did want to thank you for helping me get to Quarrymill,” you say at last, feeling a soft smile on your lips. “I don’t know what I would have done if I was still out in the Black Shroud after nightfall.”

Samilen mirrors the smile, only then remembering to make himself comfortable; he removes the axe hanging off his back, tucking the leather strap and holder onto a hook near the door. His top, revealed to be a jacket, follows it--he’s left wearing a simple hempen undershirt that hugs his upper body more, but not to a level that you feel uncomfortable in it.

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ Samilen signs before stepping over to the bed to remove the rucksack. He turns to you and gestures towards it--you can sit down. ‘Consider it repaid by helping me carry that net here.’

You take the offer after a moment, feeling the cot dip beneath your weight.

“Well, I’m still in your debt now--” your hand gesture around you. “How much does one of these rooms cost? I can pay you for this, just name a price and I’ll-”

Samilen waves his hands furiously in rejection as he finds an empty spot on the floor to sit. The offer earns a brief but strong look of disgust from him, the very notion off putting.

“Are you sure? I can give you-”

He still shakes his head.

‘I did this out of kindness alone, impulsive as it was. I’m not….good...with people like this, I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable,’ Samilen sighs and runs one of his hands through his hair, pulling out the tie holding the braid together so that it falls unbound over one of his shoulders.

“I’m...not uncomfortable,” you speak gently. “I’m just...confused? I’m not quite used to people sticking their neck out for me like this.”

If anything, Edith’s kindness was enough to surprise you. For Samilen to stand up for you AND then let you stay in his inn room? That was beyond surprising--that was downright confusing , as if the kindness was far beyond what your mind can handle.

Samilen shrugs, looking young and awkward again, as if he truly doesn’t know how to account for the warmth of his action other than something he just….did.

‘I guess I’m used to my people being discriminated too,’ he finally signs, finally gesturing towards himself. ‘Miqo’te aren’t native to Eorzea; it wasn’t long ago that we were seen as beast tribes. The Keepers especially are still often seen as poachers and leeches in Gridania.’

It explains a lot. His words. Where you had seen his actions as simple kindness, you can see it now as something more--a kinship, in a way, someone who can empathize with the hardships of being seen as an outsider.

‘I’m a really talented crafter in Gridania and I’ve done a lot for the botanists’ guild but...sometimes I wonder if that’s the only reason they treat me equally. Because I’m useful.’

It’s in that moment that you see Samilen for who he is, even if it’s only a glance. Even if it’s just a snippet, you feel warmth blossom in your belly at the chance to know someone in a place still so foreign and scary.

It’s comforting.

But, as the silence rolls on from there, it does give you a few moments to ponder over the situation.

“You said you were going to take care of that kedtrap problem tomorrow, correct?”

Samilen perks at the question, though flashes you a confused look.

You smile and feel confidence grow as you speak, hoping that the idea doesn’t come across as fantastical or silly than how it sounds in your head.

“Do you need any help in that? I am looking to get familiar with the area and well, I see it only appropriate to offer my hands however you need them in the endeavor.”

Samilen’s eyes start to narrow and his hands move in what you assume is already a rejection--most likely, as you’ve seen, because he doesn’t want you to offer out of a feeling of obligation or debt.

You don’t give him a moment to say much, as you are quick to remind him his own words.

“I am looking for honest work for honest pay, after all.”

That seems to get his attention.

‘...what are you suggesting?’

“I help you out with the issue tomorrow and you pay me for that help,” you say, hands starting to fiddle with themselves in a growing worry. “And, y’know, if there’s other tasks you need help in, then you certainly know someone who’s happy to help you with them--for a price.”

Samilen doesn’t look like the type of man to take people’s debt. It’s only at the mention of him paying you that he seems to consider it honestly, bringing a hand to his chin and letting the prospect roll around in his head.

You watch his expression shift. From stubborn denial to consideration, consideration to mulling, mulling finally to satisfaction--all of it within a couple seconds, ending with him glancing up at you with a quirked brow.

‘If you’re willing to learn some new things along the way--because the jobs I take aren’t always easy--’

“I get the feeling few things you do are all that easy.”

‘--then consider it a deal. I’ll pay you to work for me until you decide to find work elsewhere.’

The two of you exchange soft smiles as the situation seems to fall nicely into place. There may be loose ends and people to deal with, but at least the air isn’t awkward and your worries uncomforted. Samilen and you speak together late into the night, bouncing casually from one topic of conversation to another--awkwardness, if any, becomes something endearing of him.

It’s not a perfect start to your new lifetime in Eorzea, but it’s certainly more than what you’ve ever expected to find.

Because as it so happens, this is not just how you find work or even how you and Samilen meet as employer and employee. No, it’s more than simply that:

It’s how the two of you become friends.

[missblushyrose]

Reunion

A/N: Lately, I’ve been thinking about writing my own version of the events after the revolution, more particularly, the scene where Hank and Connor reunite at the Chicken Feed and hug it out. Now, let’s enjoy some quality D:BH wholesomeness!

“Good job, Connor. I’m proud of you.”

‘Thank you, Hank. I greatly appreciate your help, but perhaps it’s best for you to return home and keep out of the crossfire of the war.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Meet me at the Chicken Feed when this is all over?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Yeah, you’d better be. And, uh... Connor?”

“Yes?”

“Um... good luck, and... don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

“Sure.”

Hank could remember the brief exchange he had with the RK800, who had overcome his programming and deviated not too long ago in the midst of the investigation before the two had parted ways (temporarily, the man had hoped). The discourse constantly ran through his mind on an everlasting loop, like a song being played on repeat. He retracted his phone from his pocket to find the current time period emblazoning his lock screen:

7:43 AM

Friday, November 12th

The man was currently standing out in front of the abandoned Chicken Feed food truck, paying no mind to the icy morning breeze that derived from the feverish snowfall that plagued the city of Detroit throughout the past several days. A million thoughts ran about through his mind, like a raging storm, contemplating the outcomes from the good to the bad. And given from the way he was fiddling with hands, Hank appeared to be more focused on the negative circumstances. 

While he was relieved - and secretly proud - to have seen a news broadcast featuring Connor marching through the streets with thousands of androids following behind, he was worried that the newfound deviant may have been killed at a later point.

“Daddy... I’m scared... i-it hurts!”

Hank all but stiffened as he distinctly recalled those spine-chilling words of his deceased son on the night that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The night where a truck skidded on the icy road and his car rolled over. The night where he’d waited for an ambulance as his son lay under the metallic debris. The night... where he could do nothing more than to watch his son die on a hospital bed, calling out to him in fear and pain.

He cast his gaze down to meet a lone piece of silver that stood out from the icy floor beneath him with its glare. It was a quarter. The quarter he confiscated from Connor just before they’ve ended their elevator ride in the Stratford Tower. It seemed to fallen out as he pulled out his phone.

“You’re really starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor.”

Hank failed to mask the bitter smile as he recalled himself snatching the coin out from the android’s hand in the midst of his calibrated coin trick, only to find himself trying his hand at it after abandoning the elevator. 

“Here. I’m not good at your damned coin tricks.”

“You played much better than me, Lieutenant. Keep it as a reward. I have more.”

“Fuck, you better be okay...”  Those words left his lips in a low whisper before he even realized it as he bent down to retrieve the coin, slipping it back into his pocket along with his cell phone.

Years of practice within the confines of the DPD Training Academy had given him the ability to better detect noises that could be naked to those considered to be of the norm. His ears were drawn to the sound of shoes crunching against the snow-capped ground with every step, prompting him to swivel to his left to find a seemingly younger man approaching him, only to stop at no more than five feet away from him. The flickering ring of light embedded into the right of his temple could easily distinguish him from a mere human.

Connor.

A few seconds of tense silence cut through the cool, late-autumn air, only for the tear to be patched by the face-splitting grin that crept unto Hank’s lips. Connor repeated the action and managed to form one of his own. Despite the seeming awkwardness that lingered within, even Hank could see the genuinity behind it.

Without even a sliver of hesitance, Hank strode along the gap that separated the two, closing the distance as he skidded to a halt just before the deviant. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he then pulled an awestruck Connor into him and enfolded him into the tightest bear hug he could manage.

While Connor was immensely surprised by the sudden display of affection and had no idea how to respond to it at first, he instinctively coiled his arms around the lieutenant’s back. He then proceeded to bury his face into the human’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of wet dog, cheap cologne, and alcohol that lingered from the obsidian-hued fabric of Hank’s heavy winter coat. He was rendered speechless, as this was the first time they have truly ever hugged. It wasn’t long before the android began to feel a warm, fuzzy sensation pooling within his core. To Connor, it felt... odd at first, but he soon came to take joy in this newly-developed feeling. He was... happy, as humans call it. He had missed Hank, but the deviant could only wonder if the man he had come to know as his partner felt the same.

The warmth of the shared embrace went on for a prolonged five minutes - neither of them saying a word - before they finally let go, only for Hank to grip Connor by the shoulders at arm’s length.

“Thank fuck, you’re alright,” Hank spoke up, finally severing the relentless silence between them. “I knew you could do it, Connor. When I saw you leading a march with all those androids on the news last night, I must’ve been grinning like an idiot. You have no fuckin’ idea as to how proud I am of you.”

Connor made no oscillation to give the lieutenant a wide smile at his kind words, the fuzzy sensations never ceasing. “Thank you, Lieutenant-”

“Hey, knock off the ‘Lieutenant’ bullshit! We ain’t at the precinct! Just call me Hank!”

Connor blinked owlishly for a brief moment as he quickly corrected himself. “...Of course, Hank. I must extend my gratitude towards you. Without your help, countless other androids and I would not be alive today. Perhaps, I would have remained a machine. While Markus had managed to persuade me to deviate, you were the main influence. Thank you.”

Hank stood in his place, frozen by the android’s testimonial words. “You’re welcome...” He sighed and retracted his hands from the other’s shoulders to fold his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving the former deviant hunter. “So, you infiltrated the Cyberlife tower, led thousands of androids, and, overall, joined a pretty damn noble cause. Question is, what’re you gonna do next, Connor?”

The smile on Connor’s face instantly faded away and his LED transitioned to yellow as if he were attempting to excogitate his future, yet he seemed to be struck by absolute inconclusiveness. “I... I’m uncertain. I was made to pursue and neutralize deviants, and now that the revolution has ended... I don’t know what to do now.”

“You can apply for a job at the station. I sure could use a partner. That is, as soon as my three-week suspension is over. Fowler was pissed as soon as he found out I decked Perkins. Though, I would’ve decked him, diversion or not. He’s a jackass.” Hank couldn’t stop the wry smirk curling at his lips at the mere mnemonic of where he had to confront the federal agent in an act of divergence as he made his way to the archive. To say that he hadn’t wanted to throw at least one punch would be considered a calumny. However, he brushed those thoughts aside and changed the topic. “You’ve got a place to stay, don’t ‘cha?”

“A place?” Connor parroted softly, discombobulation lacing through the threads of his tone. “Well... I certainly cannot return to Cyberlife, especially after I’ve infiltrated their tower and allowed the numerous androids to escape. Jericho is out of the question as well, seeing as it is now in ruins. Additionally, crossing the border to Canada seems like a long shot. Therefore, I... have nowhere else to go...”

Hank couldn’t help but feel sorry for the younger man. However, an idea had blossomed from the back of his mind. It may have been absurd, at least, in the eyes of other humans, but he couldn’t live bearing the thought of the android meandering the streets like some lost puppy. “Y’know, there is another option...”

The yellow LED transitioning into a hopeful cyan, Connor instantly perked up as his auditory processors picked up on the man’s quip. “There is? What is it?”

“Movin’ in with me and Sumo,” Hank finished, freeing the kid from hanging in suspense, a warm grin spreading. 

“After everything that we’ve been through during the investigation... y-you would... invite me into your home?” Connor sputtered with great surprise, the joy lightly intertwining to conjure such flabergast.

“Jesus, for Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype, you sure as hell are dim,” Hank remarked with no real resentfulness as he slid a hand over his face, inhaling deeply before he decided to cast all his cares out of the window. “Yes, I’m invitin’ you into my home! God knows why, but Sumo’s damn near obsessed with you! He misses you! Hell, I missed you! Look, you’re not just my partner, you’re not just my friend, you’re... you’re my family.” 

“Family...?” Connor echoed softly, barely able to hear himself as he stood still, his awestruck expression never once faltering. The android seemed to be so immensely dazed that he could scarcely notice the hand waving in front of his gaping, chocolate eyes.

“Connor, are you still in there? Or did ya blow a fuse or somethin’?” The human’s words hadn’t reached his auditory processors as if they were mute.

Gradually, the feeling in Connor’s legs began to dissolve, leading him to drop to his knees, the snowy floor beginning lightly soak the lowermost of his pants.

“Holy shit!” Hank exclaimed with great shock, quickly sinking down onto his left knee, bending his right leg for support and clutching the android’s shoulders tightly. “You okay, son?” He asked gently, the grey-blue irises in his eyes frantically shifting over the awestricken deviant.

Son? The very phrase echoed through the depths of Connor’s data banks. D-Did he just refer to me as his son...? “I-I...” He sputtered, absolutely stunned by the man’s choice of words. He was, without a doubt, speechless. He had no clue as to what he should say next. “Hank, I-I-” He attempted to speak, only to be reeled into the same pair of warm arms once more, a gruff chuckle flying over his shoulder.

“Yes, you’re my family! What, you think I was kiddin’? Now, settle down before ya short out!” Hank wheezed after his bout of laughter as he seated his chin onto the tensed shoulder, patting the currently stiff muscles of the younger man’s back. “Fuckin’ android...”

Once Connor managed to take a few deep breaths, he immediately returned the favor and lassoed his arms around the plump waist tightly, but he was careful enough to not apply too much pressure, lest it serves as a barricade to the human’s oxygen supply. He leaned further into Hank’s arms and buried his face into the man’s opposing shoulder. At this rate, it seemed virtually impossible to falter the evergrowing beam from nearly splitting the wiring beneath the interior framing of his face. 

After an extensive five minutes, which felt longer to them, Hank broke the hug with a deep breath through his nostrils, grinning at the smiley android that stared back at him. With one last snicker, the older man rose to his feet, helping Connor onto his own with a tight grip on his shoulders. He sighed contentedly and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side-hug as he led the bubbling android to his car. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go home. Sumo’ll lose his shit when he finds out we’ve got one more member of the family.”

To be continued...

[ohporcupine]

[id: a twitter thread by user MagsVisaggs. the thread reads: “hey eggs, whatever you’ve heard about what hormones do, you don’t know the half of it. I was told, when I started at 31, that I could expect “some” breast growth, “some” facial fat moving around, and that was it. The totality of my transformation still boggles the mind.” “I don’t look the same. I don’t have the same nose. My feet shrank. My hands shrank. My pelvis rotated. My skin softened, changed texture, changed *color* on some level. My nails got thinner. My neck narrowed. My shoulders narrowed.” “I didn’t just get “some” breast growth; I fucking BLOSSOMED. I didn’t get “some” facial fat redistribution; I have a NEW FACE.“ “If you were told, like my generation was, that taking hormones after you turn 18 is basically worthless, fuck that. That info comes from gatekeep-y doctors in the 20th century who decided that if they didn’t wanna fuck you you weren’t really a woman. Not joking.“ “Yes, starting hormones before age 18 is WAY more effective. Theyormones are HUGELY powerful and I don’t think enough people realize this. “It can’t change your skeleton,” terfs like to say; well, HRT can certainly impact bone health and density, and ABSOLUTELY impacts cartilage.“ “My nose and feet and hands (I think? I don’t know my pre-E glove size) literally shrank. Shrank! My wife? She lost TWO INCHES OF HEIGHT.” “I’ve seen HRT turn the most muscular bodybuilders into fuckin’ delicate little flowers. It’s insane! This stuff is MAGIC and I want you, anonymous little egg, to remember that. I’ve been on E for six years and *I* still can’t believe it.” “That’s to say nothing of the PSYCHOLOGICAL and (I suspect) neurological changes. Brighter, more varied emotions. Reduced brain fog. Energy. Laughter. Easier empathy. Far less dissociation.“ “I’ve had precisely one surgery. Vocal, three years back. But my dysphoria is just…way, way, *waaaay* less than it was even a YEAR ago, because six years in, *stuff is still happening*“ “I’m gonna level with you: this shit is half the reason the right is so invested in making us go away, because the boundary between the sexes is far more tenuous and much easier to circumvent than they want to you to believe.“ “If you wanna be a girl you can just be a girl.“ at this point in the thread, there is a photo comparing the magsvisaggs pre- and post- transition. the left half of the photo shows a guy in a large red shirt, with scruffy, reeceding brown hair and a beard. the right half of the photo shows a girl in a purple tanktop, pink-ish brown jacket and skinny blue jeans. she is posing for the camera and appears much more confident than pre transition. the photo is captioned “trying to be a dude vs transsexual succubus”. the thread continues: “Granted, there’s a LOT of lost weight in between those two pictures. But that guy there? He was convinced he could NEVER EVER transition because he looked like that and what were hormones gonna do? Everything.” “Don’t tell the cisfolk we can shapeshift, because then they’ll realize we’re all witches”. end id]

Transfems read this thread

[apurpleaddledbaker]

find me and let me stay close to you

@goldnblood

In which Sollux goes to retrieve his lost dog matesprit and pets, cuddles and a discussing occurs.

Skyee 🐦(Gamzee) TC: AnYbOdY wAnNa Be NiCe AnD hElP a BrOtHeR oUt? TC: I tHiNk ThE gReY fAcEs DoNe GoT mE :o( Avery (PS/Sol/Dirk) TA: oh no, whatve they done now?? Skyee 🐦(Gamzee) TC: ThEyS TC: :o| TC: iMmA jUsT sEnD a PhOtO > you send an image of your current self, dark fuzzy ears, tail and all Avery (PS/Sol/Dirk) TA: ah TA: hm TA: B// Skyee 🐦(Gamzee) TC: YeAh :o| TC: I'm FuCkIn SoFt ThOuGh BrO :oO Avery (PS/Sol/Dirk) TA: where are you?? Skyee 🐦(Gamzee) TC: GoOd QuEsTiOn TC: WhErE i Is Is TC: [location in crew territory here] Avery (PS/Sol/Dirk) TA: want me two get you?? Skyee 🐦(Gamzee) TC: I wOuLdN't Be UnApPrEcIaTiNg If Ya DiD TC: i'Ll LeT yOu PeT mE eArS iF yA dO?? Avery (PS/Sol/Dirk) TA: pff TA: iim comiing Skyee 🐦(Gamzee) TC: ThAnK yOu! :o) Avery (PS/Sol/Dirk) TA: 2ure thiing

Gamzee

You, Gamzee Makara, are waiting patiently for the arrival of one Sollux DeCarlo to your current location somewhere within the Crew's territory after he'd said he was coming to retrieve you. You're also doing your best to remain calm which is both incredibly easy and incredibly difficult with your new appendages and senses, difficult because MIRTHFUL EVERYTHING SMELLED SO MUCH WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK and easy because YOUR TAIL IS SO SOFT YOU NEED TO KEEP PETTING IT. All things considered, you're doing ok.

Sollux

Your name is Sollux Captor-DeCarlo, phone in your pocket and no ponger cast arm wrapped in bandages just to make sure your arm is still doing well -- in which, it is. You're on your way to find your matesprit who has been grey'd with magic to have animal like appendeges and when you spot a figure in the dark and you stop in your tracks, cautious despite it being Crew turf. "Gamzee?" You call out.

Gamzee

Your keen ears pick up the sound of approaching footsteps and you freeze, face snapping towards the unknown drawing closer to you with a low rumbling growl. You're about to pounce towards the stranger when your nose picks up the most familiar scents of your matesprit and you relax completely. "Yo SoL," you call in return, words a bit odd with the new larger fangs in your mouth. "gOoD tA bE sEeInG yA."

Sollux

Oh thank goodness it's just Gamzee. What everyone's been through -- what you've been through -- has made you all the more paranoid and cautious of what's in front of you so when you hear his voice all back, you approach a bit more. "There you are. Are you alright?"

Gamzee

You force yourself to focus on Sollux and not the odd feeling of your new ears perking and twitching towards him or the swaying of that new tail of yours, priorities, you have them. You close the distance between the two of you, giving a smile full of sharper fangs than usual. "ShIt'S a BiT tOo MuCh BuT i'Ll FiGuRe It OuT." Your smile softens to something more sheepish, less certain. "ThAnKs FoR cOmInG, i KnOw It'S a BoThEr. SoRrY tO bE wOrRyInG yA sO mUcH."

Sollux

He's close to you and you smile back, not really minding the new fangs -- reminds you of yours -- and you bring your arms around him as you nuzzle him close before you pull away slightly, humming as you press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry. I wasn't doimg much."

Gamzee

You rumble a happy noise low in your chest as you return his embrace, some part of you more than a little happy that he's pressing his scent onto your skin and taking yours for his, very, very pleased. "I sTiLl WiLl, HaTe BoThErInG yA." You press a gentle kiss of your own to his mouth, careful of the new sharpness of fangs against him. You grin at him, a nervous thing, and duck your head a bit so he can observe your new ears better. "wAnNa TrY 'eM oUt?"

Sollux

The kiss was much appreciated before you breathe out a chuckle when Gamzee ducks his head, and there they were -- animal ears that were... tauntingly soft. You raise a hand from his waist to very gently touch them, cautious of his senses, surprised to find it very soft indeed, that you gasp softly. "... they're so soft..."

Gamzee

The appendages twitch under his hand, first away from cautious fingers then towards them when the touch wasn't hurtful. It's really really weird, but good weird, you decide you like this touch. You bark a laugh at his gasped words. "ToLd Ya ThEy WeRe," press a bit more into his hand.

Sollux

Another chuckle and you comb your hand through his hair, scratching gently just at the base of the ear and cupping his jaw, thumbing over his cheek and continuing to pet him. Eventually he puts a little more space between you, you look at him, "Let's head back."

Gamzee

You've very much melted under the scratching and petting, leaning into him and making that rumbling noise in your chest again. Your tail is also wagging strongly but that's still a bit too weird right now so it's being ignored. You almost stumble when he stops and pulls away, whining in your throat as you fix him with big eyes, wait yes, getting back is why he was here, too many scents and sounds to distract and overwhelm. "YeAh," you nod, straightening yourself out. "YeAh LeT's Be GoInG."

Sollux

You breathe out a laugh, it was quiet, before you take him by the hand and you start leading him out of the street you were both in, taking him back to the hideout.

Gamzee

Before you let yourself be lead back to the hideout you stiffen in place and fix your hands, figuring out how to thread your fingers together without cutting into his hand. You hum a pleased noise when you figure it out and then you start to walk, keeping close to your flushed brother's side.

Sollux

You both arrive at the hideout soon enough, and you turn to him as he was lowering himself down the ladder, "Do you want to go to my room for now?"

Gamzee

You need to finish getting down the ladder before you can answer, your nose really hates what's going on right now and adding thinking through an answer probably wasn't the best idea. "I tHiNk So YeAh," Sollux's room smells like honey on a good day and you like the noises of his bees and his turtles home, they're good things you're sure you can handle them. "YoUr RoOm'S gOoD."

Sollux

"Alright," you nod and make your way to your room, waiting a little to make sure he's following and when you're both in your room, you close it to at least give you some privacy. You sit at your desk and sigh softly.

Gamzee

You follow, doing your best to ignore the overwhelming smell of allies, stale blood and old fear as you do and spend a moment lingering near the door when you enter the room. There's so much to process then and you need to take a moment to just breathe through it. When you get it under control you move towards him hesitantly, kneeling in front of him and reaching out to grasp one of his hands in your own. "I'm SoRrY," you repeat, your surroundings making the smell of old pain on your matesprit more obvious. "yA sHoUlD bE rEsTiN aFtEr EvErYtHiNg, NoT hElPiN mE dEaL wItH tHiS."

Sollux

When he kneels, you sit up immediately and frown, shaking your head, and moving to squeeze his hand, "Hey, no, no. You're my matesprit -- I'd do anything to help you, Gamz. And besides, I'm just a little sleepy, not tired. I'm alright, okay?"

Gamzee

You narrow your eyes at him, not quite believing him there but there's certainly exhaustion clinging to him, not lying about that part at least. "YoU sHoUlD sTiLl ReSt If YoU'rE bEiNg SlEePy," you eventually decide on, ears flat and turned down. "YoU dOn'T rEsT eNoUgH."

Sollux

Oh no, not this again. You are not sitting on your work again because someone grounded you. You frown a little more, "Gamzee, I assure you, I've been working minimally. I only finished backlogging this morning when I started again since last night."

Gamzee

"I jUsT dOn'T wAnT yA oVeRwOrKiNg YoUrSeLf," you back off though, no need to make him angry when you can avoid it. You squeeze his hand in your own before starting to pull away from him. "ImMa LeT yA wOrK, tRy To GeT a NaP." Most likely just zone out listening to the room.

Sollux

When he pulls away, you bite your lip, turning back to the screens and you take a moment before you start backlogging not too much, but only to record things down into a notebook. The usual. There's a heavy feeling in your chest.

Gamzee

You make yourself comfortable while he works, steal a blanket and bundle yourself in it, block out the honey and water scent in the air with matesprit smell. You're dozing before you know it, the sounds of buzzing and electronics and Sollux working a nice din to stop thinking to.

Sollux

Eventually, you do finish again and you turn your chair, seeing Gamzee in your blankets and you smile a little, moving to stand and stretch a little, yawning quietly before you sit on the edge of your bed. You watch him quietly before you eventually lie down, slipping beneath the covers and beside him.

Gamzee

You blink a lazy eye open when he joins you, shifting closer to press your nose against his skin, careful of those horns of yours as always, tail shifting to lie across your legs. You wrap yourself around him as much as you can and listen to his pumper working just under his skin. Living sounds, good sounds.

Sollux

You feel gold rush to your cheeks and ears at the movement and the closeness and you close your eyes, wrapping your arms around him and keeping him close to you. You bury your face into his hair, just between his new ears. "I'm sorry."

Gamzee

“WhY?” Hmm, no that sounded sleepy and slurred to your own ears. You clear your throat, one of your ears twitching and probably brushing against him. “WhY’rE yOu ‘PoLoGizIn?”

Sollux

"That I'm brushing away your concern." It was not a good feeling, much like when your father finally told you to take control of your own life -- it was disconcerting.

Gamzee

You almost pull away to look up at him but you’re comfortable here, moving is not something you want to do right now. “DoN’t Be, If I’m PuShIn ToO mUcH yA gOtTa TeLl Me. ElSe I wOn’T bE kNoWiN iT.”

Sollux

"I still shouldn't... Isolate myself though," you murmur, burying your face further into his hair.

Gamzee

"S'aLrIgHt, Ya'Ll GeT bEtTeR aT iT." You both will, learning process and all them miracles.

Sollux

You can't comprehend how accepting and understanding he is. And yet here you are. You press a kiss atop his head before you settle back down.

Gamzee

You make a soft, content noise and nuzzle against him, time for a bit of actual rest.