#but like people here bitch about ridiculous shit too you just cannot escape that on any platform you go to

[bhaalsdeepbat]

honestly the best way to experience BG3 fandom is to split up between reddit and tumblr. tumblr is there for your in depth scene and character analysis, but reddit is there with all the lore and specific plot point details. like they're ON IT collecting canon info lmao

[mickstart]

what do you think are some iconic/memorable schumi moments? i just got into f1 and would like to know more about him bc somehow i can’t really find anything like that about him.... just stats which are incredibly impressive but i can’t find anything about how he behaved or just anything about his personality..... thanks <3

:) Hi anon, thank you for unleashing the beast.

Ok I love you for asking me this thank you SO MUCH. Welcome to the circus I’m glad you’re here! Also yeah, Schumi is often talked about in terms of statistics and not as a human, Which is a shame bc like! Schumi is fascinating and the dynamics on the grid in late 90s F1 is so much fun! Also, this is mainly going to be late 90s -> early 2010s stuff bc I was born in 98 so uhhh I didn’t properly witness ANY 90s stuff and had to learn about it.

OK so I got super carried away but I’ve divided this into 3 sections: Drives/races that I think showcase some of his talents, human moments we need to talk about more, and Chaotic Little Bitch moments. The key thing to remember w/ Schumi is that he personally tends to be nice but as soon as you put him in a competition, Bastard Mode activates like a cat’s pupils going wide.

I am so sorry for the following short essay. Also some crashes are briefly mentioned but only ones with absolutely no injuries and there’s no details.

Chaotic Little Bitch Moments

Schumi debuted as a SUBSTITUTE driver for Jordan when one of their drivers was in police custody (yes. really.) The highest a Jordan had qualified all year was 10th and in his DEBUT at SPA, one of the toughest tracks, in the middle of the season, Schumi qualified that Jordan 7th! THEN his clutch failed before the first lap was even complete, but Benetton and Jordan WENT TO COURT to fight each other to sign him for their team before the next race in Monza. He couldn’t debut normally he HAD to cause a scene and set the tone.

The Red Strings of Fate: He qualified 7th, his iconic 7 starred helmet, his first victory next year was ALSO at Spa - his first complete race would be at Monza, Ferrari Holy Ground, and he finished 5th which 👀 1) he was immediately racing with The Greats. 2) Mr 5 Championships With Ferrari.

Winning a race by taking a stop and go penalty on the last lap, crossing the finish line in the pits, and making such a complicated argument about said penalty that in a hearing that was SUPPOSED to be Mclaren protesting the race result the stewards scrapped the entire penalty and the 3 who awarded it handed in their licenses??? Iconic.

Austria 2002 where Rubens was ordered to give the win to Michael. And then Michael fucking made him stand on the top step on the podium like “oh no no no RUBENS deserves this” and made a big SHOW out of it and its like “Michael stop you’re not making it heartwarming you’re making it WORSE Michael STOP” The Tension of germany 2010 podium VS the theatricality of THIS podium.

Team orders were banned because of this which also makes this indirectly responsible for Fernando Is Faster Than You having to be a coded message. You can’t escape him,

Blocking Alonso in Monaco qualifying and then, years later in 2010, overtaking Alonso technically illegally at Monaco (the race was ending under safety car, but the safety car doesn’t lead them over the line it pits and they’d crossed the safety car line and the regulations were NOT specific about the rules) and getting a 20 second penalty bc Damon Hill was a steward. Haunting FERNANDO specifically at Monaco like the ghost of christmas past? Getting a harsh penalty because ANOTHER driver he’d fucked over was a steward? Forcing the FIA to rewrite the rulebook to account for his nonsense when he was in his FOURTIES? I don’t know another chaos king.

Winning the 1995 championship by crashing into Damon Hill, getting AWAY with it for some reason, and then trying to do the same thing in 1997 to Villeneuve, failing to do so and simply rebounding off of him harmlessly, almost COMICALLY, and beaching his own car in a gravel trap at which point the FIA said “I have had ENOUGH of you Wacky Races Man!” and disqualified him from the entire championship

Forcing Mika off the track so bad at Spa 2000 that Mika realized the only way he was gonna be able to get past him was to re-invent the overtake and go for it whilst they were passing a backmarker. (The overtake itself is at 2:05 in the video but the build up to it is Important bc the key part it’s not just badass, it only happened bc Mika knew who he was dealing with.)

Spa 1998 was a Ridiculously Chaotic race it truly was the Mugello 2020 of its year, and after a crash at the start that took out almost the entire grid Schumi accidentally collided with Coulthard later in the race. (The teams used to have a spare car at every race then, so the race was able to continue after a restart.) This wasn’t a racing thing, Coulthard was getting lapped. So something in Schumi SNAPS, and he storms down the pitlane and tries to fight Coulthard while the mclaren and ferrari mechanics both hold him back and finally drag him away. He projected into the future, saw Coulthard was gonna talk non-stop shit about Seb, and acted accordingly.

Monaco 2012 Pole don’t talk to me about this I still can’t believe the audacity of this man to get the only pole of his comeback, at MONACO, at the ONE RACE where he had a 5 place grid penalty to take!!

In general, I know Cheating Bad but. I HAVE to admire the brainpower it must take to have the rulebook so memorized that whilst driving an F1 car Schumi could spot a loophole the size of the eye of a needle and then dance through it, forcing the FIA to add ANOTHER page to the rule book specially for him bc nobody else even REALISED that loophole existed.

Human Moments

A quick rant about Mika and Schumi’s entire friendship. After Spa 2000 Mika goes up to Michael, says something like “Don’t ever do that again” then they’re friends again. They had this mutual understanding that Racing was not Reality. This goes all the way back to their F3 days they were rivals AND friends for their entire career. They truly were the Sewis of the era if Sebastian was like 50% more evil. Their entire dynamic is “You’re the only motherfucker in this pit lane who can handle me”. Schumi would do some bullshit and every other driver would throw up their hands in frustration and Mika would just go “Okay” and drive better to put him in his place bc he was the only one who could keep up, and Schumi very visibly LOVED that he’s grinning after Mika owns his entire ass with that overtake at Spa. They were unstoppable force meets immovable object and I’m so sad their rivalry isn’t more talked about bc the way Mika is the only driver who can get him to behave like a normal human being is SO entertaining.

This is a sad one so I won’t link it but he started crying in the 2000 Monza press-conference with his brother and Mika when he equaled one of Senna’s records. The press kept trying to ask questions about it and Mika just has this death grip on his shoulder and tries to get them to stop or let them take a break and it’s so sad but also important to know about.

Once said he didn’t want Mick to race in F1 bc the pressure of his name would put Mick under so much stress and he wanted his son to be happy. (He fully supported Mick in his endeavors! But only after making absolutely sure it was what Mick wanted, and making sure he knew he could just race for fun if he wanted and it didn’t have to be F1)

This whole interview just after Mick was born with the Schumacher family. Special shout out to Gina on his head the entire video and also Corinna talking to the press while Michael is captivated by Mick. Me too Michael.

Once allegedly pleaded to take a stray kitten home from the track?

I reblogged this yesterday but. Sticking like glue to Sebastian at an F1 test and immediately being like “This is my new son he’s gonna go far”. There’s a lot of pictures out there also of Michael being a guest at the karting races Seb went to as a kid and baby Seb visibly losing his fucking mind at being given a trophy by his idol. Every day of my life I think about him trying to ruffle Seb’s hair through his helmet at Brazil 2012

WInning the championship in 2000. Him thanking the entire team individually and pausing mid-celebration to kiss his wife Corinna so tenderly it’s in the F1 opening. Also, the way it literally cuts from the rest of McLaren looking like they’re attending a funeral to Mika grinning at him and hugging him fucking SENDSSSSS me.

Schumi was a little shit in all the 2010-12 press conferences like, lowering Lewis’ chair, playing with a microphone wire, but ESPECIALLY corrupting baby Seb and getting him to mess with Nico Rosberg.

He’s just GOOFY! Like I refuse to let him be remembered as a terrifying force of nature he was so goofy kind of similarly to Seb. PLEASE watch this incredibly awkward interview he did with Coulthard on a golf buggy where they both had to pretend they hadn’t thought about murdering each other at least once. I think Sky F1 should force Brocedes to do this when covid’s over. “Do you mind if I drive?” “Yes.”

EDIT: I CANNOT BELIEVE I forgot the 1999 Canada press conference where Eddie Irvine and Mika Hakkinen get into a water fight and Schumi immediately grabs a towel and hides behind it and is like “I had NOTHING to do with it” 🥺 adorable, actually

A lot of people at Ferrari, including Rob Smedley (who was on the other side of the garage with Felipe Massa so not in his inner circle) have said that a lot of the success of the team came from Schumi’s LEADERSHIP more than anything, that he’d make the team get together to bond all the time. When Schumi moved to Ferrari in 1996 they were NOT dominant. He did the same thing Lewis did - went to a team that everybody said would be a huge mistake and helped build them up behind the scenes.

THIS bit of the Canada 2011 Rewind where his engineer gives him the strategy and he’s like “... OkaAaAaAay?” and then when it turns out to be the wrong strategy he cheerfully tells them it’s too late. Little shit.

Speaking of Mercedes I also wanna say that like. They were a MESS in 2012 and his car DNF’d because of a failing on their part MULTIPLE times. (In Canada qualifying his DRS was stuck open and they couldn’t close it.) He did not say a single bad word about them EVER even though the press used this to attack him non-stop as washed-up and bad without Ferrari to cheat for him. At Ferrari he was the exact same with the team, any bastard antics Schumi had for his rivals did not extend to the engineers and crew.

OK this one is soured bc Top Gear is trash BUT if you were like, a kid in England who followed motorsports? Schumi’s fake reveal as The Stig on Top Gear was like the coolest, sickest thing,

Please view this image of Schumi and Mika when they were young and stupid

Iconic Races

ok so I have limited myself to a few races that show off some of his key strengths!

Hungary 1998 / France 2004 - STRATEGY/SPEED - Schumi switched to a 3 stop strategy in 98 and a FOUR STOP strategy in 04 and won both races. In order for the strategy call to work he’d have to basically make every single lap a qualifying style ‘flying lap’ and you best fucking believe he DID THAT. God I fucking miss when Ferrari was the king of strategy.

Argentina 1998 -  has it all. Talent, battling Mika, pit lane mind games with mclaren, and bullying coulthard xxx

Spain 1996 / a majority of the wet races - RAIN - One of Schumi’s nicknames was Rain Master bc he was so fucking good in the wet. If it started raining and you were a Schumi stan you were cackling evilly before the red lights even went out. I single out 1996 bc it was his first win for Ferrari and it was unexpected but in most wet races, even Canada 2011 post comeback, you can see Schumi thriving.

Malaysia 1999 - Schumi missed pretty much the entire second half of the season with a broken leg, came back for the last 2 races with everybody murmuring about whether he would struggle, and immediately put the Ferrari on pole. Also worth noting is that he was the number 2 driver for these 2 races bc his teammate Irvine was fighting Mika for the championship and he went along with that without complaint, allowing Ferrari to win the constructor’s championship if not the driver’s.

Monza 2002, 03, 04, or 06 just because it has the energy of the tifosi kneeling at the feet of an idol to their red god.

Brazil 2006 - Fuck All Y’all - Schumi’s last race for Ferrari. He got a puncture and ended up almost lapped, and then drove his way back from that to 4th bc he couldn’t go out without reminding us he’s a bad bitch.

Monza 2012 - Defending - Don’t tell F1 Twitter that there’s actual footage of Lewis and Michael having a genuine lengthy battle on track but DO watch Michael defending like a motherfucker and Lewis breathing down his neck for half the race we need to talk about this more.

Valencia 2012 - This isn’t necessarily anything special but I cried in my living room over the only podium of his comeback so it goes on here. It doesn’t have the same impact if you haven’t been watching him struggle with the car for years, DNF-ing from car failure most of 2012, and having BBC F1 telling you he’s washed up every single weekend, but you can just enjoy one of the best drives of FERNANDO’S entire career as he DRAGS that Ferrari by its hair to a home grand prix win and then watch the crowds embrace him like jesus and also Schumi being happy on the podium. Also, the very start of this clip from the press conference: him forgetting what language he’s supposed to be speaking 

Basically, Schumi was a hyper-competitive ambitious bitch who turned into a goofball as soon as he switched the engine off. This is by NO MEANS everything if I was making an exhaustive best races guide I’d do more research and another post but I hope this is what you were looking for?? THANK YOU SO MUCH for letting me go MAXIMUM SPECIAL INTEREST and I apologize.

[lovesangyeon]

Selfish

pairing: haechan x reader

genre: angst / slowburn(?)

content: slight curses / wedding day / bestfriend haechan

word count: 3.3k

summary: it's donghyuck's wedding day ㅡ a day you both realize that being selfish was sometimes needed in life

i actually don't know how to tag this or anything. it's my first time writing in this platform. hehe <3 I'm not that good of a writer as well. I just... really wanted to atleast write my ideas. 🥺

The boy in front of you, no ㅡ the man in front of you gave you a warm yet a weak smile... which you return of course, looking into his eyes with love and regret and happiness, all at the same time.

Lee Donghyuck stood there in front of you, all in his beautiful glory wearing a black suit with his hair styled in perfection. His eyes shined and his sun-kissed skin glowed with the sun shining directly at him through the wide, transparent window. You’ve always thought it was weird yet so fascinating how he had always been such a perfect representation of the sun. 

Bright, Positive, Hopeful... yet sometimes too hot and irritating.

No matter what it was, he always had a special place in your heart. He was your bestest friend after all... your top confidant, your ~bitch~ who's ready to argue with another bitch for you - he said. 

In fact, he's too special that at this very moment, it made you weak and heartbroken.

The two of you stood far away from all the guests in the venue of his own wedding... taking advantage of the remaining time before his wedding coordinator call him out to prepare.

"I still can't believe it" Donghyuck said, sighing.

"I know", looking back at him through your gleaming eyes. 

"I really don't want to go through it"

"I know" You said again and both of you chuckled, though, it wasn't really a happy one. "It's for your family"

Donghyuck sighed. He didn't have anything to say about that. He knew it all too well too and he didn't like it at all. Who, in their right minds, would like to be in an arranged marriage just to save your family's business? not him of course.

"Cheer up, okay? Jisoo is an amazing girl, you'll catch feelings soon" You said and gave him a weak pat on his shoulder and a weak smile.

Donghyuck grabbed your hand and brought it down to play with it. He looked down at it and had a look of which you cannot explain... you hoped it was regret.

Regret because he wouldn't be able to be with you, go on trips with you, movie marathon nights, stargazing, random dinners and maybe... just maybe, ask you to be his... but no, you know it was a one-sided love for you. Everyone around you, even your and his guys friends said it wasn't... but you just don't believe it.

"I don't think I'll ever catch feelings for her" Donghyuck said. A sigh escaping his lips again as he looked up and caught your gaze.

"Why not?"

"She's... different" He said and bit his lip. "I just know she's not the one for me. she's not my soulmate."

You shook your head with a chuckle. You took your hand away from him and gave him a teasing push. "Now when did you - Lee Donghyuck - start believing in soulmates? you used to tease me a lot for it!"

"Hey, I really did think you were ridiculous for believing in such things!" He said and smiled, but just like any other smiles that day... it immediately turned into a sad one. "Until I had to experience this arrange marriage shit"

Your smile fell. "Hyuck..."

Keeping the eye contact with you, Donghyuck leaned on the glass window and took your hand again. It was comforting for him. You were the comfort he always had and will always want. 

"I just-" Donghyuck started but was cut off when he heard his name. He turned his head to the voice, not letting go of your hand.

"Donghyuck, you need to go for a solo shot and prepare by the aisle" His friend, Johnny, appeared together with Yuta, Your brother’s best friend.

"I-" Donghyuck started but sighed and looked at your eyes again. You were so sure his emotions mirrored yours. It showed sadness, pain, and regret, but then there’s always a voice in your head doubting it.

 "I'll see you at the altar?"

You wished he meant another thing. But reality is a hard pill to swallow. 

You bit your lip to stop saying anything else. You didn't speak as you felt your throat started to feel heavy and clogged, your eyes gleaming, and your heart breaking. The end of your adventures with Donghyuck was nearing. Today, it was the end. 

The both of you looked into each other's eyes and it felt like you were carrying the world on your shoulders. You didn't answer his question, instead you gave him a weak smile and squeezed his hand one last time. "You're gonna be okay"

Donghyuck swallowed down what he wanted to say and just nodded. He looked down at your hands and played with your fingers. He gave your hand a squeeze too before letting go. He looked at Johnny and walked over to him. "Let's go then"

"Alright" Johnny nodded and Donghyuck went ahead. Johnny gave you a sad smile which you returned. "I'll stay here for a bit" Yuta said and waved at Donghyuck and Johnny who were walking away.

Donghyuck turned his head back one last time, giving you a look. There it was again. Sadness and regret. He wanted to stop time more than ever and not go through this damned wedding. 

You smiled at him and gave him a pretentious thumbs up.

When they were far enough, Yuta scoffed. "I can't believe you're fucking letting him go just like that"

"He's not mine to keep" You said and took out a letter from your pouch. You handed it to Yuta and smiled. He shook his head as he also took out a plane ticket from his coat pocket. The two of you exchanged items.

"Here, I was able to get you one that leaves in exactly 30 minutes. Your brother took care of your luggages already" Yuta said as he handed it to you. "My sister already got the keys of your new home there. No one knows the location of it, not even me, not even your brother... it's just you and her" 

"Thank you, Yuta" You said and sighed. 

"Are you sure about this? He's gonna be really sad when he doesn't see you walking down the aisle with his best man" Yuta said, knowing full well that Donghyuck specifically asked and made special arrangements that you walk down the aisle with his best man, Renjun. You were his best friend after all. 

"It's better than him seeing me sad and in tears while walking... it's better than seeing him get married to someone else" You said and started to walk away, Yuta walking beside you as he accompany you back to the now empty changing rooms.

You stopped by the door and sighed. "I'll see you around then?"

Yuta scoffed. "Around? You won't even let my sister tell me where you're living. I just want to atleast make sure it's safe. Osaka is big."

You laughed and said a quiet sorry. There was comfortable silence after that and you heard Yuta sigh again for the nth time.

"I don't get you two... all of this could've been solved if you just confessed to each other.” He shook his head and looked into your eyes. “The lovey dovey eyes you give each other is very much known to every one. The frustration and sexual tension when we're all out drunk in clubs and parties are hard to miss. The hand holding, the skinship, the smile, the genuine care the two of you give each other daily should be in a fucking book of world records... and yet here you are, avoiding him and his-"

"He doesn't feel the same" You cut him off.

"Yes he does! What are the two of you so afraid of!" Yuta said, frustrated and running his hands through his hair. "If you two are just honest with your feelings, then you don't have to go out of the country to avoid this shit"

"Yuta..."

He sighed again. Understanding the dilemma. Even if it was obvious, no one knew what Donghyuck actually felt for you. Yuta gave up. "Fuck it. I'll just miss you. The guys will miss you. All of us are frustrated as fuck because of you two"

"I'm sorry" You whispered and looked down.

"Hey, I- damn it. Come here" Yuta said and pulled you in for a hug. "Take care, alright? Take all the time you need to forget... take all the time you need. I'm sorry"

The moment Yuta hugged you, the tears you've been holding back fell... and you sobbed in his embrace.

You really did want to stay.

To have more fun with them and Donghyuck. 

To be able to hug them like this and Donghyuck. 

You really did want to tell Donghyuck how much you loved him... but it wasn't easy. You just didn't want to be that selfish, especially when his family's business was in the brink of falling and this was the only thing left to do. Even your own family business can't help them.

"Shh... it's okay... you'll be fine. everything's gonna be fine" Yuta said as he lightly pat you on your back in his embrace.

Donghyuck was fidgeting when the music started. 

First of all, he was getting married.

Second, he didn't want to be here.

and third, he just wanted to escape and bring you with him.

but he didn't want to be selfish. it was his family after all. 

Donghyuck looked around, finding the pair of eyes that gave him comfort even though he knew you weren't gonna be in the crowd. In fact, he made sure you're gonna be walking down the aisle with Renjun... and even though he wanted to see you walking down the aisle in another situation, this was better than not seeing you at all.

He caught the sight of Jeno and Jaemin in the crowd and they gave him a small nod. Beside them was his other friends including Yuta. He gave them a smile but some of them bit their lip and gave him a familiar sad smile he's been sporting since morning.

Everyone was looking back at the doors to open and reveal the special people in his life, plus the bride. It was taking too long and Donghyuck bit his lip in nervousness.

Finally, after a few second, the doors opened only to reveal Renjun who looked slightly in panic and was walking over to him in a fast pace.

"Oh no... did the bride runaway?" Donghyuck heard someone from the crowd whisper and he felt somewhat weird about it. How was he supposed to feel if she really did? 

"Donghyuck!!! " Renjun whispered, alarmed, as he reached the front of the aisle. All eyes on him, including the music players, and the priest.

"What's happening?" Donghyuck whispered back. 

"Y/N's missing!" Renjun said, a panicked look in his eyes.

"What? What are you talking about?" Donghyuck said, eyes wide open.

"I swear we looked everywhere. The changing rooms, bathrooms, the garden, the parked cars... everywhere! she's gone! Her phone cannot be reached." Renjun said and Donghyuck's father who was nearby heard the information.

"Let's start without Y/N, Donghyuck. I'm sure she's just around and will be here in a moment. She supports you." His father said, attempting to calm him down.

"No! This will not start without her!" Donghyuck argued.

"Donghyuck, c'mon..." His father said, knowing all too well it was impossible to argue with him when it came to you. Even his parents were very much aware of you two.

"I'll look for her" Donghyuck said, about to get out from where his standing but his bride's mother was already at his side, gripping his arm.

"Start now, Donghyuck!" She hissed with a threat.

He was about to answer back when Donghyuck, in his peripheral view, saw Yuta stand up and walked out. Yuta was the last person with you. Maybe he has an idea of your whereabouts.

Donghyuck pushed her arm away. "Just give me two fucking minutes, okay?"

The women gave him a stern look and Donghyuck's father apologized in his behalf. He then walked through the aisle, Renjun following him behind while trying to avoid the eyes and whispers echoing the venue.

Donghyuck passed by all the other people standing outside - his entourage totally unaware of the situation - and ignored their calls.

"Donghyuck, man? why are you here? You should be inside"

"Donghyuck?"

"Bro, what's wrong?"

"Yuta!" He called out and the man stopped and looked back.

"Shit" Yuta cursed.

"Where's Y/N?" Donghyuck asked.

Yuta turned to look at him and scratched his head. "Uhh-"

"Donghyuck, what's happening?" A girl's voice said and Donghyuck froze. He turned back and saw the girl he was supposed to marry, all beautiful and dressed up.

"Y/N's missing" Renjun said and sighed as he answered Jisoo's question. 

"Oh... she's supposed to walk with you, right?" She asked and Renjun nodded.

Donghyuck turned his head back to Yuta. "You're the last person who was with her? Where is she?"

"Uh... fuck it" Yuta said and brought out the envelope from his coat. "Here. I'm supposed to give it to you during reception but fuck it. You and Y/N are impossible!"

"What's this?" Donghyuck asked as he grabbed the letter.

"Just fucking read it!" Yuta said and sighed. He looked over at Jisoo who was confused.

Haechan hesitated for a second but opened the letter.

To my sunshine,

Hey.

How's the married life? ㅎㅎ

I know, I know. It's only been a few hours. Stop calling me dramatic in your annoying little head. ㅎㅎ 

Yuta probably gave this to you already, right? I'm sorry if I wasn't there at your wedding. I know I promised you I'll be there until the end but just this time... I let myself be selfish.

Donghyuck sighed and tried his best to calm down. 

Did you know... 

These past few months of preparation.... no... this whole year since your wedding announcement have been the saddest and darkest moment of my life? My sun who has always been shining beside me was slowly being taken away from me.

Donghyuck... I...

I like you.

No.

I LOVE YOU.

Donghyuck paused and suddenly, he can't breathe. Suddenly, his whole body felt weak. Did he read that right? 

I don't know when it started.

I don't know how it happened.

but it has been there for a while now and I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be your best friend, yet I kept this secret from you. 

I love you so much. 

Even the smallest of things that you do for me makes me feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world. I started seeing you as a man I loved instead of the boy who always annoyed me and always took me wherever he goes.

Your simple texts of good morning, your annoying surprise visits in my room, your simple way of buying me my coffee before morning classes, buying me smoothies, taking my books from my hands when it's too heavy, driving me to my library visits, microwaving the popcorn during our marathons, taking off your gloves right away when I don't have them, and even when telling me I look ugly when I try on your stupid adidas caps but telling me I look beautiful without it.

I've always wanted to tell you but I don't want to risk what we have. I don't want to lose you. 

But let me be selfish just this once. 

I love you and I know after this, our friendship will never be the same... but this will hurt less than pretend to be okay and see you everytime with Jisoo.

I'm going somewhere else to try and forget. I'll be away for a while.

Please don't try to look for me.

Even though Yuta, Johnny, and my brother Taeyong knows I'm going to Japan... they do not know where my actual home will be.

So please let me forget.

Even though it's hard since we've basically been together since we were 5, I'll still try my best.

If I can love you this much, then I'm sure I can undo it, right?

Take care of Jisoo, alright? she's a nice girl. I'm sure you'll find her good traits and fall in love. 

Bye Hyuck.

"Fuck" Donghyuck cursed as he crumpled the paper in his shaking hands. Tears starting to form in his eyes.

"She left a while ago. When you left her with me, she only had 30 minutes before her flight." Yuta said and looked down at his wristwatch. "Just 3 minutes and her flight leaves... She told me to find her a flight that you won't be able to catch up"

Donghyuck gripped the paper tightly in his hand with anger and sadness and regret. "And you let her!? You fucking let her do that?"

Yuta sighed at the curses of the younger guy, but he let it slide this time. "She's my friend too Donghyuck. She's Taeyong's sister... I cherish her a lot too. And as much as I want her to stay here, you both suck at expressing your feelings and I don't like to see her hurt"

"She's in love with you, you know... and I know you're madly in love with her too"

Donghyuck looked at Jisoo in shock as she spoke. "What?"

"It's pretty obvious for everyone, Donghyuck. The two of you are so caught up with the fear of losing each other and what you have if you confess... but look! not confessing just took the both of you here" Jisoo softly said and frowned.

"You knew I liked her?" Donghyuck asked.

"Yeah. I'd know how someone would look at the person they love. Especially since I've given the same look to someone else" Jisoo said, momentarily looking at someone and Donghyuck missed who it was, too distracted.

Donghyuck swallowed in the information. The paper in his tight grip felt heavy. He always thought the two of you were too close and too comfortable with each other to just be bestfriends. He always thought you felt the same but there were times where it was doubtful. 

"Go after her!" Jisoo said, cheerfully.

"What?" Donghyuck's eyes widened.

"No one knows where she'll be" Yuta said, reminding her of that fact.

"Doesn't mean you have to let it stay that way" Jisoo said, countering what Yuta had informed. Encouraging her supposed to be husband.

"What about this?" Donghyuck asked, pointing at all of the decorations and the eyes of the entourage staring at both of them. “You’re supposed to be stopping me, Jisoo.”

"I'll handle it" Jisoo whispered, patting his shoulder and pushing him away. "Go!" She cheered enthusiastically and shooed him away.

Confused but happy, Donghyuck smiles at his supposed to be wife that was pushing him away. "I'm sorry Jisoo, you're gonna be all over the news as the heir and bride who got left behind"

"Pfft! That's gonna be funny to look back to in the future! Atleast it’s not divorce! Don't worry about it, now go! Take whatever steps you have to find Y/N!" Jisoo giggled and waved at him.

Donghyuck smiled at her one last time and looked down at the paper in his hand. He looked back up at Yuta who had a sheepish smile.

"Guess I'm going to your country, Nakamoto" Donghyuck said and smiled at his older friend.

Yuta gave him his signature smile back.

Donghyuck turned back and walked out of the venue.

Even though he wasn't sure where to find you once you land in Japan, he was more than willing to do anything just to be with you and tell you just how much he loves you back... even more than you could ever imagine. 

This time, he’ll be selfish and think of only you and him.

Thank you for reading hehe.

I hope to post more stories soon! <3

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson- Chapter Three: Therapeutic Activity

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point during treatment one evening, Shane goes to her own veteran for advice, and takes the first step toward happiness…hoping beyond hope that everything doesn’t blow up in her face.

Masterlist with links to all parts HERE!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, yet… ;) But maybe I should be putting language warnings in here…there are some bad words. And not to spoil but…there might be a bit of kissing in this one…

Author’s Note: Guys, I cannot stress to you enough how much I am enjoying telling this story. My goodness. To sort of combine my passions of writing and Henry with something I know so well like therapy (I’m a secretary like Heather, not a therapist), it really just makes me happy. The next chapter is already done, also, it was initially part of this chapter, but it felt too long, so I’ll be posting it separately later. I know, I’m a tease. Have Henry spank me. Lol.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

"This sounds…kinda dumb…" Sy expressed his thoughts on today's warm up with Shane.

"Oh, trust me, it looks even dumber than it sounds. But it works. And it's easier on your knees than doing it the right way. You ready?" he looked at the treadmill, inclined at 3% grade as if it was Everest itself, and looked back at her. "I'll start slow." she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You know just what to say to a girl." he teased as he stepped up, still gingerly, even after eight weeks of therapy. Crutches mercifully jettisoned two weeks ago. He was on his way to being his fighting fit self. With a foot on either track beside the belt, but facing away from the control panel, he waited for her to press start. He took a breath and nodded.

"Test the belt with your bad foot first, and then when you're ready, step down with it. Remember what I've told you about which foot should lead when ascending and descending stairs or hills?"

"Good go to Heaven, Bad go to Hell. So I go up with the good leg and go down with the bad leg."

"A+ student. Okay, when you're ready…any time…Sy, this is an hour session…I have to kick you out in 55 minutes…chop chop." she cajoled him, but he wasn't budging.

"It feels…weird going this way, Shane." If she had been a less kind person, she would have called it whining…she called it nothing, instead.

"I know. Do you need to walk backwards around the clinic a little more to get you used to that sensation?"

"Hell yeah. If that means you're gonna spot me like you did before…felt kinda like dancin'." it was a perfectly legitimate and above-board treatment strategy. They stood back to back, Shane guiding Sy as he practiced walking backward and pushing off with the extensor muscle group, which had been weak. Sy had suggested holding hands, but Shane had compromised with the idea to link arms. Not that she wasn't dying to hold his hand…she was. But that had not been the time. The time was still weeks away. At least.

"I was thinking I'd have you try it with Jordan. He's got a free hour right now. And I can assess your technique. How does that sound, Twinkle Toed Romeo?" Immediately he placed a tentative foot down onto the slow moving belt trying to adjust to the odd sensation of walking up a hill backward.

"Ah, so I now know that all I have to do to get you to do something silly is threaten you with Jordan. Filing that away for a rainy day."

"Come on, you're breakin' my heart, sunshine."

"Aww, don't be ridiculous. I've seen therapists do way more embarrassing things to their patients in the name of treatment."

"Tell me!"

"Sorry, but it's classified information. Protected under the Health Insurance Privacy and Portability Act. I could literally get fired for telling you, and there are way cooler things to get fired for!" She'd always said it. And she meant it. She didn't fool around when it came to HIPPA, and there was no way she was gonna lose her job over a stupid slip like that.

"Any examples of things you'd rather get fired for?"

She thought for a few minutes. She used to have a list.

"Hmm, telling off my bitch of a boss," he looked shocked at her use of a bad language word, which he'd never heard from her. She nodded. "Telling off an asshole patient," sleeping with a patient…

"What about sleeping with a patient?" It was late in the day, the only person still there was Heather in the office, and a few therapists still documenting. Nobody in the gym to hear him echo the thoughts in her head. As if he could read them as clearly as a page in a book. Large print. She looked at him in shock.

"Sorry. That was over the line."

"It was…but…"

"But?"

"But…it would not be the least cool reason to get fired."

"It wouldn't?" she shook her head, reluctantly.

"Especially if the patient was…amazing, and kind, and…fucking gorgeous…"

"Young lady, that language today, I have never!" he exclaimed clutching at his broad and beautiful chest.

"I know, but, Sy…this is all hypothetical, and theoretical, and IF I was GOING to get fired how would I CHOOSE for it to happen and WHAT policy I would go against. People don't just CHOOSE to be fired, you know?" she was nervous and rambling.

"You know what people also don't choose? Who they care about, and have feelin's for. Who they--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sy." She couldn't hear him say the word he was going to say. She couldn't let him start that. Not when there was too much complicating their situation.

She walked off to her treatment room, needing some space.  Some time.

She didn't get that space or time. Sy hobbled in behind her, looking like a man on a mission. And she knew from his war stories that his missions tended to be successful…even the one that got him his walking papers wasn't a total loss.

"Sy, you still had like, five minutes on the tr--"

His big hands found the sweet spot where her neck met her skull. He took a big breath and closed the distance between them, his lips landing light as feathers on hers, her soft skin welcoming the roughness of his beard, though everything else about the kiss was terribly gentle. Almost chaste. Even his beard wasn't so rough that she worried about beard burn…she'd be filing that away for later, as well. Against her willpower and better judgement but in full cooperation with her desires and instincts she began kissing him back, daring to deepen it by opening their mouths a bit, and sliding her hands up the back of his red tee that sported a black skull. All of his shirts were entirely too tight, but you'd never catch her complaining. Even after several months away from active duty and really, most activity at all, his body was still so solid and powerful.

"Ain't that a daisy…Fuck, I've wanted to do that since my first appointment." he chuckled, lightly.

"Sy…"

"Don't. Don't try to argue or tell me you don't feel it. This energy between us. I've seen it in your eyes, Shane. I've felt it when you touch me. It ain't nothin, sunshine. It's a whole lotta somethin'."

"I know, but I need this job. And I WANT this job. Being a therapist is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Helping people. People like you. Getting them better. It's what I was meant to do. And there's no place like this in the area for me to treat such a diverse clientele and build my skill set. It's not without it's problems, but it's where I'm meant to be."

"I get that. And you should do what you were called to do. You're too good at this not to do it. But Shane, isn't it worth pushing back on some policy if it could mean you get to have some personal happiness, too?"

"I'm worried they'll make me choose." Actually, it was more than that. She was worried about which choice she'd make. Giving up a ten-year career with excellent benefits despite its pitfalls, or giving up someone she could hardly stop thinking about, who made her heart pound when he smiled, and who was rapidly shaping up to be someone she could see herself sharing a life with…making either choice terrified her for very different reasons.

"You shouldn't have to choose. Any boss who'd make you deny yourself what we could have just because of some ridiculous policy…well, they ain't worth the gas that brought 'em to work today. Y'understand me?"

She nodded, smirking at his idiom, "You don't know my boss."

"Well, maybe I oughta GET to know her, if it's like that. I have a way of throwin' my weight around, case ya hadn't noticed." he shot her a smug grin.

"Ya don't say?" she retorted, brimming with sarcasm, literally still wrapped in the evidence of said weight in the form of his muscular arms, warm and thick, encircling her. Even though she felt like her life was up in the air, she had never felt more safe. "I'll try to have a chat with her about it this week. Our schedules rarely align, and usually that's how I like it, but I'll try to move some things around if nothing naturally falls into place."

"I'll be happy to lend my voice or even come talk to her, if need be." he offered, ever the gentleman.

"I appreciate that, Sy, truly. But I think it would be best not to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have several more treatments to get through today, though. You didn't finish on the tread mill, do you think you're warmed up enough?"

"Oh, darlin', I'm plenty warm." he grinned down at her sliding a hand down her side.

"Shit, am I gonna have to start being extra careful with what I say to you until this gets sorted?"

"I really doubt it'll matter, Shane. Ain't much you can say I can't make dirty." she could tell by the satisfaction on his face that this was a point of pride for him.

"Lay down and shut up."

"Yes, MA'AM!" he complied with a little too much enthusiasm. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes with amusement or grow increasingly feral…apparently there was room for both as long as she didn't act on the latter. Yet.

~~~~~~~~

She dismissed Sy for the day, instructing him to behave himself until she gave him the all clear, and even then, if she got the green light to see him outside of therapy, sessions would still be about getting him stronger, and not flirting. Or at least mostly. They settled on a 90/10 ratio by the end. She was a weak woman.

She went into the office where one of the senior therapists, Anita, was still charting and snacking on some pretzels.

"How was your day, Nita?" she asked affectionately. Anita had been her mentor since she started with the clinic over ten years ago, and was now part time, flexing toward retirement. She'd miss her.

"Oh, long, Miss Shane. As they tend to be more and more these days. What about yours?"

"Ah…just…nothin'." she shouldn't go into it all until she talked to Susan, their boss.

"Mmm, that's no nothing nothin', that's a something nothin'. Come on, kiddo. Spill." she offered Shane one of her pretzels and kicked out the chair next to her. Again, she was a weak woman. She took a pretzel, sat, and chewed it for a moment, collecting her words.

"What do you think about…starting relationships with patients?" she searched her reaction for any snap judgement or emotion, but only a narrowing of her eyes occurred.

"Is this about that Captain Sexypants who just left?"

"I'm going to kill Heather. I'm not the one who came up with that nickname and I'm not the one who started the whole having feelings conversation. I was going to be miserable until he was discharged, at least."

"Why would you need to make yourself miserable, Shane?"

"Because the policy. About dating patients."

"Technically the policy only says you shouldn't treat family/close friends if you feel you wouldn't be able to maintain objectivity or would be uncomfortable yourself. But that you should disclose any relationship to your supervisor for review."

"See, what's Susan gonna say?"

"Who cares? The policy is the law. And the board of directors governs the policy. Not her. Tell her in an email if you can't work out a time to talk to her before you see him next. Hell, I sent my boss a memo back when I started dating Ron. And look at us now! 20 years strong."

"No way!?" Shane was flabbergasted. She had never known that Anita's husband Ron had once been her patient.

"Oh yes. I wasn't long out of PT school, my first husband had passed away and I needed an income, so I got my PT license and about a year into working here, Ron got put on my schedule. I knew from the eval, he was meant for me. So I typed up a memo, sent it to Morton, our boss at the time, and told Ron I was free on Friday after work."

"Sy just…I don't know, we have this…connection…a spark. I've never felt it with anyone else."

"Are you concerned that seeing him socially would affect how you treat him here?"

"I'm more worried keeping my feelings for him bottled up while I treat him will get so distracting I'll become less effective."

"Well, then, if you get any push back, tell Susan that." Anita said. "Just be forthright. Honest. And speak with integrity. She'll have no cause to refute it, then. And send it tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Anita. You're the best."

~~~~~~~~~

Shane spent too long, probably an hour, at least, drafting her email to Susan. It read:

To: Susan DeForrest

From: Shane Benton

Subject: Re: Treatment Policy

Susan,

I wanted to bring to your attention a situation that has presented itself with one of my patients. I have been treating him almost exclusively for several weeks now, apart from my week on PTO, and he has progressed to both of our satisfaction as well as the ordering physician. However, we have come to be quite friendly and he has expressed great interest in seeing me outside of therapy. This is something that I too would like to engage in, and I plan to accept the next time I speak with him.

From my understanding of the policy, the only thing that would prevent me from treating him as a social acquaintance would be my own comfort level and ability to remain objective. I have every confidence that my objectivity regarding his case will remain intact. I am also completely comfortable with it, and if that changes, I will transfer him to another therapist. Furthermore, I have no doubts that I will be able to maintain the highest level of professionalism throughout our treatments.

Thank you, and if you feel we need to discuss any of this further, please let me know.

~Shane Benton, DPT

And send…whew. She needed a big glass of wine tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Up Next: Chapter Four- E-Stim

[darkpoisonouslove]

I'm offering you an empty salt shaker - asks 2, 5, 6, 15 (go ahead, I know you have something XD), 16, 20, 25 (about Bloom searching for her parents storyline)

Starting this again because guess who accidentally hit the key combination for undo and lost half an answered ask! This bitch right here.

I answered 2 here.

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?*

Not that I can think of. It’s usually the source material that ruins things and fandom is tasked with fixing them later.

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?*

I didn’t hate it but Bloom x Icy was incomprehensible to me. Fics helped a lot and so did other posts from here and there and I can see it now. Also, I totally couldn’t see Griffin x Codatorta but that changed, too. Though, that was less fandom and more trashcankitty12 with an ask that made me think about it a little more in-depth so it was pretty much me roping up myself into yet another ship. But ooh, I also don’t think I had considered Palladium x Avalon before fandom but, yes, indeed, it is right there in canon. And I was so puzzled over the Riven x Nabu content I was seeing but after watching seasons 3 and 4, I can totally see where this is coming from. The people are right. That is a bromance right there.

15. Unpopular opinion about the manga/show?

I have no idea what is popular and what isn’t (but you’re right that I have something aka A LOT) so I’ll just list my strong opinionsTM, okay? I will try not to dump on Bloom too much also because it is not a secret that I don’t like her so there is no need for me to go in too much detail.

4kids is the superior dub. That is probably the most controversial opinion I hold. But don’t worry, I’ll try to top it and up the ante. XD

I love Enchantix but it has so many flaws as a concept and even more as an execution and the thing that is really pissing me off is how obviously centered around Bloom’s arc it is. It was clearly created for the advancement of her character and the other girls’ stories came as an afterthought which is why Tecna’s Enchantix was total bullshit. And for having a transformation that is specifically created around Bloom, hers was bullshit as well. I think they should have let her reearn it in order for her to be able to use all of its functions like miniaturizing. Also also, at so many points it totally sounds like Bloom is not upset about the fact that Domino and all of its people were destroyed but about the fact that that means she won’t get her Enchantix. Which btw was a hasty conclusion because at the time Enchantix became a thing, she was still on a mission to find her parents which would have definitely been a way to earn her Enchantix and she had a sign that they were alive. So her angsting over not getting an Enchantix because of what happened on Domino was bad form on the writers’ part.

That spell for good decisions in 1x05 was one of the show’s lowest and most ridiculous moments. It was only included to flaunt in your face how naturally being a leader comes to Bloom because “See? See!!!!!! She can make a good decision without using magic to help her!” So can the majority of the population (note that we are talking about ONE good decision, not an unbreakable sequence of such). She ain’t all that special. Plus, Tecna was written wildly OOC there in order to boost Bloom’s stats so to speak. I’m sorry but Tecna would’ve known that three against four doesn’t give them advantage since they are freshmen and the Trix were seniors at the time. God, that scene was stupid.

Flora is the most boring character in seasons 1-3, fight me about it.

The writers totally had no idea what they were doing with the witches throughout most of season 1 which is why Griffin’s characterization in that season is so inconsistent. Also, wtf was that in 1x06? She straight up tried to kill a bunch of 15-year-old girls. Take a chill pill! I’m glad they figured out a much better balance with her later on.

Not using the fact that Cloud Tower is a living organism more was a fucking wasted opportunity. Especially in season 3 when Valtor took over it. That could have made everything so much better. Also, the witches should have been used more. They were interesting but deserved so much better in terms of development.

Sky should have just fucking died in 2x10. What were these resurrections and Bloom getting healing powers out of nowhere for a total of 5 seconds? You know, that could have been a good setup for a Bloom x Diaspro romance. It would have been so much better if they’d gotten together right after 1x17 and dumped Sky’s sorry ass. Also, Diaspro deserved better.

Riven is the best Specialist but he is especially better than Sky. Remember 1x22 when he was trying to escape CT? He was trapped deep in enemy territory with monsters everywhere and so high above the ground, yet he found his way out. Sky would’ve fucking died out in the open at Magix against one single monster if Bloom hadn’t shown up to rescue him. And the show has the gall to imply that Sky is a better Specialist than Riven is? Please!

The teachers should be fined and sued for emotional and physical damage they haven’t protected their students from. Especially the Alfea teachers who in 1x02 practically admitted that the witches might maim a fairy and they still won’t do shit about it. Nice one!

Griffin and Valtor is canonical subtext and I have nothing more to say about this. It is all there.

Valtor up until 3x18 and Valtor from 3x19 to 3x26 are two different people and the prior is superior in every way. The show ruined him in the last third of the season because there was no other way for Winx to defeat him.

Speaking about Valtor, his whole thing with the Trix is despicable and I hate it so much. It is extremely cringy on their part and extremely underhanded on his and I can’t stand it. Not to mention that it is wildly OOC for the Trix because they are obviously better than that.

I cannot understand saying that Bloom x Valtor is love-hate. I see only hate.

It is ridiculous how easily the Trix beat Griffin in season 6 and how they nearly take control over CT in season 2. And it is also ridiculous that she had to wait for Winx to unspell CT in season 3. She is a teacher, the headmistress of the most prestigious school for witches, a veteran and has been Valtor’s partner (and he himself admitted that together they were unstoppable which means that she has to be pretty powerful and even somewhere close to his level of power). Can the show stop acting like she is defenseless?

The teachers should have been used more. It would’ve been so much better if they were there to at least help Winx if not lead their battles. And it would have made much more sense. Also, how come Ediltrude and Zarathustra literally disappear when it’s convenient and then reappear again (like they did in season 1 when the witches went to Alfea)? That’s just bad writing.

Sky is adopted. He doesn’t resemble Erendor or Samara neither in appearance, nor in character and I hate them enough to headcanon that he was adopted but nobody knows because they don’t want to have claims that he is not an “official” heir of the throne because he isn’t part of the bloodline.

Mike and Vanessa are much more parents to Bloom than Marion and Oritel are, especially when the latter were first released from Obsidian, and the fact that Bloom starts calling them Mike and Vanessa instead of mom and dad after she learns she has other parents is abysmal. Also, they are literally the best parents ever and I love them to death. (I also like Marion and Oritel but Mike and Vanessa are definitely the superior pair of parents if we’re ranking them. I like the idea that the two couples are actually super close and love each other like relatives, in fact.)

What the fuck is up with the magic in this show? There is literally, like, NO FUCKING CONSISTENCY WHATSOEVER! You can’t blink without the rules of it changing in some way. But what am I saying? That would imply that there are any rules which is just not true. Also, there is no clear distinction of how powerful anyone is after season 1. The balance of powers especially between Winx and the Trix is pretty much whatever works for the episode. Same for Winx vs Valtor. The fuckery on that account is unreal. Plus, some of Bloom’s major power explosions happen due to her getting angry. According to the official Wiki - “While practicing or harnessing positive magic, one must keep a compassionate heart, primarily by keeping their thoughts and feelings clear of all negativity, making them capable of attracting positive energy more easily. Thus, if one is plagued with negative thoughts or feelings such as sadness, anger or fear, then their magic will grow   weaker until they may even be left incapable of casting magic until said feelings pass.“ Read that and then read it again, let it sink in. According to the rules of the Winx universe, during some of Bloom’s most powerful moments she was actually using dark magic, not light such because it was fueled by rage. Way to keep it fucking consistent. And that is not just Bloom! FLORA out of all people attacks the Trix in rage in 3x12 when they hurt her sister aka she was also using dark magic at that situation (and then you have Wizgiz scolding Mirta for it in SotLK like it is a sin to use dark magic, smh). In some instances I would argue that it was more of determination to protect rather than anger which I would say would still result in light magic. But The Flora thing, Bloom vs Stormy in 1x09 (Bloom even says she got so angry so that was not a case of protectiveness), Bloom vs Icy in 1x26 and Bloom vs Valtor in 3x14 were definitely rage aka dark magic. And then Bloom is all “fairies don’t have any demons”. Guess again, bitch! Also, writers, you need a dictionary to start comprehending the words you are actually writing?

Now that I think of it, the whole arc in the Resort Realm was bullshit. If it is a magic-free realm, nobody should have any magic in it, period! What is this bullshit that you can use Charmix and Gloomix there because they have higher magical energy? That absolutely doesn’t matter! If there isn’t any magic in the entire realm, having a higher amount of magic in you will not matter because you still can’t use it... because there isn’t any in the realm!!!!!! What the hell! Honestly, the writers can’t comprehend what words mean and that is not the only instance in which it shows.

Someone told me that SotLK is better than Magical Adventure and I don’t mean to offend but that is simply not true. Magical Adventure is leagues above SotLK even if it has some structural problems. Like, literally everything is better. Bloom and Sky are even likable and communicate!!!!!!!! Literally when have you ever seen a better moment for their relationship than in Magical Adventure? If it had been all like that, I would have liked them as a couple.

I think I got everything that comes to mind rn out. Might think of more at some point. I was done and then came back to rage some more because I remembered I had more material.

16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?

I would have them make smart decisions because 99% of the shit they pull is so stupid it is unreal. I literally cannot tell how they are still alive. Oh, no wait! Plot armor. Yep, that’s it.

But if I had to pick something specific? Bring Nabu back. I sure as hell wouldn’t have killed him. That was an asshole move and I have no idea what the hell the writers were thinking when they wrote that.

And my second choice is - implement a magical system into the series because there isn’t one. Magic always works the way the writers need it to work to pull off their bullshit plot even if it contradicts everything that we’ve seen before. Please, for the love of god! Consistency is already dead; stop stabbing its corpse!!!!

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom?

Purest ship? Lmao, asking me this question is underhanded. XD If you mean no drama, then Flora and Helia Mike and Vanessa. But I think my actual answer would be Griffin x Faragonda because they have been through so much that we know of or we can deduce and they still stuck together. Sure, they had their ups and downs but it is obviously a love for life that has lasted through so many obstacles and keeps lasting. The reason why I can’t say the same for Mike and Vanessa is because we don’t really know that much about their relationship with each other. But anyway I love both these ships so much.

If you’re talking about a canon ship, though, then Brandon and Stella (I do not recognize the stupid relationship drama in season 4 as canon). He did lie to her about his identity in season 1 but it was for his friendship with Sky (alternatively, for his job and duty as Sky’s squire). I just love how obviously in love Brandon is with Stella and how much Stella doesn’t care about anything but him. She didn’t care that he was a “commoner” and - one of my fave moments - in 1x08 she only cared about his well-being rather than the competition. It was adorable and they are adorable and I love them so much. Pure serotonin, right there!

25. How would you end the Bloom searching for her parents storyline/Would you change the ending?

I would certainly change the logistics of the whole thing because, boy, did it make no sense at all. As for the actual ending, I’d argue that physically finding them is not the end of that storyline and she needs to “find” them emotionally as well which would definitely take more time than SotLK cared to address. Like, she got them out of Obsidian and boom, everything’s fine! She literally doesn’t know them! Those are her parents and she doesn’t know anything about them! Their touch and their voices are unfamiliar to her even and they have missed on so much that they will never be able to get back and you’re saying that everything is fine? Yeah, right.

I would have had her spend a year on Domino with them before season 4. The school year that started in SotLK? She spends that with them. Possibly even the one that starts in Magical Adventure as well. She learns everything she can about them and the family history. She also learns how to be a proper royal because she is the Crown Princess now and she has no idea what the fuck she is doing. I would have made seasons 4 and possibly 5 about that and added more politics in it. Layla and Stella are also princesses who will run their kingdoms one day so we could have had adventures in political relations with Winx Club. They are pretty famous so I am sure there would be rulers of other lands that see them as threats and don’t like them. There could have been tension about that and the whole thing with Domino being the planet of the Dragon Fire could have been addressed. Who would dare oppose them when they are the most powerful force? Are they the most powerful force after the 17 years the planet spent as an ice block? Are there old alliances to be reforged? What is the political climate in the Magic Dimension? All absolutely fascinating questions that would have helped the worldbuilding and made place for Marion and Oritel in Bloom’s life and in the show. We could’ve gone back to the feel of season 1 when they also had other things going on besides the big baddie of the season and it could have been a little more episodical with a loose theme to connect the season and the overarching story of Bloom finding her parents and her place in the world she was born in. That could have been positively epic... And a great way to retain the cast because the Company of Light were allegedly friends so we could have seen Marion and Oritel reconnecting with Griffin, Faragonda, Saladin and Hagen. There could have been resurfacing debates left over from the war. Kingdoms angry at Domino for something that happened back then in order to include flashbacks with the events. AND that would work out with the fact that the Ancestral Witches were still around and could have led to another epic battle that wouldn’t end with the destruction of a whole planet. Like I said, there were amazing possibilities... and they were all wasted.

Well, this was long... and just what I needed. I hope some (civilized) discussion will spark out of that because I am tired of screaming in a void and I want people to talk to me.

[cynthiaandsamus]

Custom Toonami Block Week 69 (Nice) Rundown

Code Geass: So this episode is kind of a ride, like fuck. We kinda yadda yadda how Lelouch fucking escaped from Nunally’s sinking airship and just have Rolo sitting over him in bed kind of conflicted that he’s still stuck on his old little sister, so therefore he programs the tvs in Lelouch’s train to blast Nunally’s appointment but it’s funny because he probably didn’t even have to do that because directly after that Lelouch runs into the station and Nunally shit is just everywhere, like I get it’s a metaphor but it’s just funny that Rolo had to plan for him to run into something Nunally-related only for him to run out of the plan and run into ten times more Nunally shit. Then we get Kaguya claiming herself, Kallen and CC as Zero’s harem directly followed by a depressed Lelouch hypnotizing a bunch of street punks to exercise, about to do drugs and asking to fuck Kallen, like this episode is fucking ridiculous and parts are hilariously contrived, thankfully Kallen slaps the shit out of him and Rolo’s like “yo bro we don’t need that bitch, come on and live it up in this ridiculously racist system and the one place where it’s slightly less racist with me” and then they go back to school and have the “Happiness is Like Glass” scene which is genuinely amazing and moving, like for all the weird zany stuff that happens in the first part of this episode, this is a little oasis of pure sincerity and quality where Lelouch makes a promise he knows he won’t be able to keep. Inspired by this amazing moment, Lelouch returns to the Black Knights with the thought of “Maybe there are other reasons to destroy an oppressive dictatorship aside from my one ridiculously crippled sister” which he probably should’ve thought of before. And then he defeats Suzaku’s navy with the power of FUCKING BUBBLES, like yeah, this episode is right back to being crazy ridiculous but Lelouch is back and wants in on Nunally’s special zones… okay, phrasing.

Inuyasha: So we open with a scene of Kagome playing cards with Miroku which is genuinely adorable if pointless, but it just makes me laugh that Miroku and Sango seem to know all the rules of the game but are still stumped when Kagome tells them they’re Playing Cards, probably a culture thing. Anyway, Inuyasha has to kill a Barrier Demon to get the power to break barriers, which is a bit of a conundrum because Barrier Demons have, you know, barriers, which Inuyasha currently cannot break. Worse still said demon is a little girl and a half-demon like Inuyasha which understandably puts him in quite a quandary. Inuyasha does his usual thing of “Let’s just go in swinging and figure out the rest later but Shiori’s grandfather deflects the admittedly cool-looking Water Wind Scar Inuyasha throws at them with Shiori’s barrier. Shiori’s mom is all “Gimme back my daughter you said you’d stop attacking us if I let you have her” and he’s all like “Well make me, I have a fucking barrier and can hold you hostage” so everyone’s generally pissed off about the situation and Shiori’s granddad with the long name sends all the bat demons to go destroy the village which makes no fucking sense because the only reason she’s still cooperating is so they won’t hurt her mom, without her she has no reason to keep doing it but I guess he’s hoping having nothing to live for will make her do what he says out of nihilism or some shit.

Yu Yu Hakusho: Yusuke gets to face off against Suzaku, the final boss of the Saint Beasts and the gang get to demonstrate the teamwork lessons from this arc by doing a reenactment of the jumping Bahamut scene from Advent Children so Yusuke can get up the tower to fight him. It’s really pretty cool how they splice in Keiko’s Day of the Dead montage with Yusuke fighting Suzaku, tying things together thematically and culiminating in Yusuke and Keiko both fucking decking their opponents. I also really like how Yusuke’s so confident Keiko won’t go down to a zombie hoard so easily, like she’s not a fighter but she’s smart and has got guts so he’s pretty sure she can last a while while he pretends to punch Suzaku with his shoes. Overall a really good start to the fight that means Yusuke still has to wiggle his way out after using his Spirit Gun already and Suzaku still has a lot of shit to pull.

Fate Zero: So Saber and Lancer do their fight and there’s a bunch of fightnobabble talk that someone who’s actually held a weapon in their life would probably enjoy but to me is just “Oooh cool jabbies, flashing lights” which is still fun. Basically everyone’s watching though, Kirei has his ninja squad on the job, Kiritsugu’s Black Ops is monitoring things and Iskander is watching from the Radical Highway Bridge from Sonic Adventure 2. Eventually Iskander is like “Well damn they might kill each other if this keeps up” and Waver’s like “yeah duh.” And Iskander shows who wears the booty shorts in this relationship by storming into the fight against Waver’s wishes cause he wants to fight everyone anyway. So yeah, giant lightning chariot in the middle of this First Boss battle.

Konosuba: Now that the party’s all formed the group settle into a daily routine of Kazuma being Megumin’s wheels for her Explosion training, Aqua being a waitress and Darkness doing… probably better not to think about what Darkness is doing. Anyway, Megumin bombs the shit out of a Dullahan’s castle and before the Dullahan can call his friend Celty to come kick her ass, Darkness gets hit with a death spell and he issues a challenge to Megumin to come to the tower of the Four Saint Beasts and (wait wrong anime again) but Aqua just breaks the curse on her own and they just don’t bother showing up. In the manga this is really funny because Aqua’s in a maid outfit from her waitress job and just does it like it’s nothing and then they show a panel later of the Dullahan waiting for them like “The fuck when are they getting here…”.

Sailor Moon Crystal: So for some reason even though we only have three of the five Sailor Guardians, Luna decides this is the time to give a recap and reintroduce our protagonists for the first part of this episode. Anyway there’s a big party to celebrate a dated princess Di reference that’s kind of in poor taste at this point and Usagi and friends get in based solely on having fancy dresses and being hot, man I had no idea getting in with rich people was that easy. Anyway, Usagi gets a new tiara because of love and shit and gets an upgraded Ancient Egyptian Laser Beam from the moon. The Four Kings show up to be all “Ha-ha! You defeated my demon but now there’s all four of us and even though we still think you have the crystal and outnumber you and there will never be a moment when you’re weaker than this we will now… LEAVE FOR NO REASON!” like the logic of people in this show oh my fucking god. But of course the dated princess reference’s treasure isn’t the crystal they’re looking for and Tuxedo Mask kisses Sailor Moon while she’s asleep which is definitely sexual assault there was no fucking consent there, I don’t care if they’re moon soul mates or whatever she barely knows who he is and wasn’t conscious. But yeah Luna calls him out on his shit and despite clearly being an ally he has to be all edgy and be like “Well maybe I’m a friend, maybe I’ an enemy, who knows~” because I think he gets his power from how mysterious he is, like he’s going to be utterly useless if anyone figures out who he is, not to mention Luna already knows his identity but for some reason doesn’t tell Usagi. Idk man I just have a hard time following the logic of this fucking show…

Durarara!!: So yeah, this is the “The Yagiri Family is fucked” episode Namie has a weird fucked up brocon yandere thing going on, Seiji’s an asshole that because of having two stalker yanderes going after him has become a fractured manchild that thinks love is everything and pretends he knows shit but knows less shit than pretty much everyone around him and has his sister do all the shit for him. But yeah, Celty sees Seiji with the girl with her head and freaks out, and Shinra A DOCTOR if you remember says “Hey maybe your head just attached itself to a corpse Parasyte style” like either he’s a terrible doctor and really thinks that or this is a smokescreen to make Celty think her head has moved on and she should too which is a fucked up level of gaslighting. But yeah, Mikado takes Head Girl, Seiji keeps stabbing people with pens for some reason, luckily it’s mostly Shizuo so it doesn’t do anything, and Izaya’s just like “oh shit, chaos, I’m down”. Basically everyone is awful in this episode except for Mikado who just wants to help and doesn’t know shit, Celty who’s doing her best, and Shizuo who’s just awesome as usual.

[impulsivelycontentious]

No one reads this or connects it with my other online identities but since I've removed personals involvement from my other social media stuff, and I feel like bitching, I am jsut gonna go ahead and do it.

So I have brain damage. Yeaaaaars ago I threw up so hard I actually ripped open the inside of an artery in my neck, and it threw a clot, and that clot did some nasty shit on its way on through and out.

No doctor noticed for two weeks.

Everyone else did.

Good times.

Anyway.

So now I have a damaged brain. Brains don't grow back. Some areas can regenerate a few cells - notably the prefrontal lobe - but mostly brains fix themselves not by regenerating like skin does, but by rearranging the cells we have to fire to fancy new configurations.

This has been quite the ride. Because shit, it changes things.

I don't even know how much of my personality is consistent. No idea. Let alone everything else.

I have memory loss my nurologist won't akowledge because it falls short of dementia. That was the bar. "You don't have dementia, you know what year it is." Gee thanks there chief.

Anyway.

My brain wasn't too stable to begin with. I have always been prone to logic leaps that occur very quickly and not necessarily in ways other people would make them. My mind is jumbled and a little random and things collide all the time that probably shouldn't.

This has become much worse since the brain damage. See, my brain keeps wiring shit together. Shit it really shouldn't. It changes who I am, what I think, what I can think.

It's actually quite terrifying to realise you're a sack of geletine misfiring lighting at itself.

So anyway. To the point. Yes - I have one of those. Probably. It's somewhere in here.

Oh right, no, another detour. I'm autistic. "Oh yeah, they definatly didn't screen girls when I was a kid because how the fuck did they miss this otherwise" autistic.

Back to the point.

Recently I had this sensory processing ... Whatever the fuck that was. I call them.idssocistive episodes. I don't know how accurate that is. But my mind unhooks from my sensory data. Everything feels muted and unreal - sound, sight, touch, heat. Name it. It's wrong.

I hate these.

It gets particularly nasty because there are nurologicsl consequences. See, my concious mind ramps up it's interpretation of sensory data. It goes all in and leaves the rest of my existence stuffed in this tiny little box without enough space to do dick.

One effect of this is I suddenly become highly obsessive. I think it's a comfort mechanism, I require the same stimulus over and over again or to somehow mentally connect it to the same element. Of course, it could also jsut be that obsessive behaviour towards interests is part of who I am. I am autistic. I DEFIANTLY go all in when something fascinates me. But not... Not like this.

Do you have ANY IDEA how many times I watched starwars 8 in 72 hours? Any clue? Holy fricking ... Something. I watched it fast. I watched it slow. I watched it skipping ahead 10 seconds every 10 seconds. I dissected that thing in micrscopic detail.

It gets better. Because mere hours before I got hit with this episode... I was not a starwars fan.

Nope. I watched it. It was ok. I wasn't going out of my way for it.

And suddenly. Wham. Episode 8. All the time. I watched some 7 and 9 as well but it was like it was entierly because eit was connected to 8.

I cannot even.

And while this is happening, *I know*. I know. I really do. I know this isn't my normal behaviour. I know this isn't my wheelhouse. I know something is deeply, deeply wrong in my brain.

I think it might actually be an ok movie, honestly. But not THAT good. And now it's one of my favourite things. Forever. I have no idea if it's actually good. Did I not give eit a chance the first time? Is my obsessive brain simply emotionally hooked up how? Fuck, I don't know.

So that's why I'm posting today. On this day. May 4th.

I'm seeing a lot of star wars today and it's making my brain tickle with it's own ridiculousness.

Not the whole point though. Because it lasted 72 hours (I watched dit one more time after that and if wasn't near as intense).

But what happened AFTER my 72 hours as an obsessive raylo (oh yeah. I went there. I'm not even ashamed. I am also compeltely content with the end they got, because I do not see that shit working out).

Brains don't regrow. They rewire.

And suddenly, I'm drawing. Like... A lot. I filled pages of doodles. Sketches. I redrew a peice I'd been working on for about a month in a few hours and damnit, it was good. It's not professional quality but I'd never down anything that well before. This goes on for another day. And then I started a story, and I wrote 2000 words all at once.

I'm dyslexic. And words are severely impacted by my brain damage to the point it can cause me phsycial pain to force my thoughts in to words.

And here I am. Going nuts on my phone. The words just spilling out and again - damnit, it was good shit.

My brain was abstracting. Where the concious sort had been shunted, it wasn't directing the abstracting aspect of my mind.

And I was making cognative leaps. My brain was wiring itself together for creativity.

For another 24 hours.

And now, dear reader, we get to now.

I have written 200 words in the last 2 days. They feel wrong.

I started and stopped a dozen images. None of them feel right. And there are objective quality differences.

I can still draw a bit. If I'm not tired. I'm almost always tired - it's neural fatigue, it comes with surviving a brain damage.

I have somehow brain damaged my way in to better skills.

And it's... It's not a good feeling.

Doing it the first time and watching something take place in front of my eyes I don't recognise was like magic. It was euphoric. Amazing. Exciting.

Realising as time wears on that the ability to do this is intrinsically tied in to the way ones brain handles brain damage and sensory processing issues?

Not a great feeling cats. Not at all.

I find myself staring at a document willing words on tot he page that just aren't there anymore and feeling so frustrated I could scream.

Whose idea was this anyway? Why can't I keep my rewiring?

It's so hard dto explain the feeling of loss.

It's not me who did these things. A version of me, yes. But not the one we are keeping.

The one we keep struggles to hold a narrarive in her head and the narrator's tone took 3 rewritten to preserve for a single paragraph.

I don't want to stop. But how do I keep going? I'm not the author anymore and I've always struggled with adopting the tone of others.

So yeah. That's where I'm at. And I wanna talk about it. Because I don't want to be alone. But I can't escape the feeling I'm being dramatic. Terribly dramatic. And so talking about it is hard. How much is my own spin and perception and how much is real?

Did this really happen?

I think it did. But like every story I tell, I don't know. Memory loss. Cognetive issues.

I just wanna tell stories and draw. But the words hurt and the art makes me tired.

It's frustrating is all.

I hate being lighting geletine.

In case you're wondering what kind of cognative leap happened:

That one is april 4th.

And that one April 28th.

🤷‍♀️

Fucked if I know, really.

[winterromanov]

Maybe a college Bucky one where he’s being playing games out of town, and trying to study for exams and he’s just so tired but trying to keep going and reader makes him nap and relax and it’s just very Soft ☺️

pairing: bucky x reader (set in the same universe as this fic)

Trying to play football and also be a competent college student is an Incredibly Difficult Feat. You know this, because watching Bucky vault himself from away games to home games to mid terms to finals is about the most exhausting thing you’ve ever seen. If he’s not studying he’s at practice, and if he’s not playing he’s in an exam. It’s like watching a manic, sleep-deprived whirlwind, living almost entirely off coffee and takeout noodles.

He’s not taking care of himself. He’s pushing and pushing and pushing, trying not to let anybody down--as if he could ever do that.

“You don’t have anything to prove,” you say, as he crashes face-down on the bed in your dorm, the night before he leaves to play a game at Harvard and minutes after his Cold War history deadline. You’ve not seen him eat anything the last twenty-four hours. “Look--you won the last game. Steve said you could sit this one out.”

A vague mumbling comes from your bed. His face is smothered by the pillow and he’s too exhausted to even turn over, so you poke his ass with your foot. His hand reaches out, reflexes still ridiculously quick, pulling you onto the bed with him.

“Sorry, love,” you smirk, curling as close to him as your tiny mattress will allow. His arm pulls you close to his waist, palm splayed across your back. His heartbeat is unrelenting beneath his shirt, thudding between you. “Didn’t quite hear that one.”

His head shifts so you’re basically nose-to-nose, his grin sleepy and delirious. He’s gonna pass out any second. You’ve seen it many, many times before in the last hectic few weeks--you’re probably gonna see it a few more. “I’ll be fine after nap. Promise.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep before I can force a pizza down you,” you warn, and he laughs, deliberately snuggling into the pillow and letting his eyes flicker closed. You can’t resist--running your hand through his hair, along his face. Kiss his forehead. “Goddamn it, Buck. You’re making it very difficult for me to look after you.”

“You being here is enough,” he says softly and before you have chance to reply he’s gone, lost in some dream. You slowly creep out of his embrace, making the pizza for him anyway. By the time you wake up the next day his body is a phantom shape in your bed but the pizza is gone--he’s left you a bright pink post-it note on the plate. Scribbled in his usual scrawl are the words thank you always favourite girl.

-

we won!!! harvard ain’t better than us at FOOTBALL

wish u could have been there

renaissance lit is being a bitch :(( well done you STAR. miss you more every moment so get back quick

should i hijack the bus and speed down the freeway

if you must

consider it done

love you

love you more than anything

-

The next game is thankfully a home one against Yale so you can at least keep an eye on him--you’re just protective, that’s all, not wanting him to burn out in front of you. There’s a lot of gym sessions and library cramming and a grand total of one dinner date at his apartment, where you made a pasta dish with as many vegetables as you could think of in as possible (his mom had sent you a message afterwards with immense gratitude because her son needed his greens, damn it). The following evening you’d wrapped yourself in one of his jerseys and sat in the bleachers alongside an injured Sam--injured and bitter about it--and waited in the lights and the noise for the game to begin.

“Bucky tells me you’re worried about him,” Sam interjects rather suddenly and when you blink back, he shrugs his non-injured shoulder nonchalantly. “Not that I blame you. That dude just doesn’t let up, does he?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shivering a little. The November air is cold, even wearing Bucky’s sweater. “He keeps telling me the season will be over before long, but I...I don’t want that to be a couple of weeks too much for him, you know?”

Sam hums thoughtfully. Around you, the crowd practically fizzes with excitement, covered with facepaint and aggressively chanting team songs at the opposing side. You’d never been to a college football game before you started dating one of the team’s star players, but you have to admit, the atmosphere is kinda addictive. Watching Bucky play is kinda addictive.

“If I know Bucky, and boy do I know him,” Sam eventually replies, squeezing up closer to you as more people gather into your stand. A girl is openly staring at you both--it doesn’t happen that often, but more so at games. People know Bucky, and Sam, so people know you. “He’ll get through this all okay. He always does, (Y/N). I’d been pretty damn surprised if he doesn’t make captain next year.”

You stare at the bright, clean grass of the field, and think of a boy so fucking exhausted from trying to balance his life that he can barely function half the time. Bucky would be an awesome captain. You just don’t want him to become a dead firework because of it.

-

The game ends up being pretty close but Yale just snatch the victory. It doesn’t mean that they can’t win the season, but. Bucky makes his way over to your stand at the end of the game like he always does, taking off his helmet and mouthguard. He also looks extremely deflated, like he always does when they lose.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking his face in your hands. He looks angry at himself. And you know what he’s thinking. I should have pushed harder. “Shit happens. You were still amazing.”

He kisses you over the barrier in a display of affection you were once too shy to give away in public, but you need him as much as he needs you. When you break apart you plant a chaste, gentle peck on his jawline, running your thumb over the shadow. 

“You two make me sick,” Sam interrupts the moment, arms folded. Bucky flips him off while smiling sweetly and you can’t help but laugh. “Honestly. Didn’t ask to be violated, but here we are.”

“Payback for every single time I’ve walked in on you doing unspeakable things with the girl from the top floor on our kitchen counter.” Bucky snaps back teasingly. You like watching the banter unfold between the two of them. You’d be worried if Bucky and Sam weren’t taking the piss at every given opportunity.

Sam gestures pointedly at his injured right shoulder. “I cannot believe you’d treat a fallen comrade like that. I’m disgusted.”

“And so was I when I saw the state of the kitchen counter.” Bucky gives you one last kiss, clutching your hand. “See you after I hit the showers, yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting.” Your promise him, and his eyes glow just a little brighter.

-

When Bucky facetimes you from Brown the very next week, he looks like he hasn’t slept for at least three days. His Ancient Chinese history exam is literally a day after he arrives back from the trip and he’s frantically cramming in his hotel room in Rhode Island, while also trying not to fuck up the team’s chances of winning the season.

“Just one more game after this,” his grainy voice says on the other end of the video feed, head lolling against the headboard of his Holiday Inn bed. You wish he was in your bed. God, you wish he was in your bed. “And the season is over and I don’t have to be away from you ever again.”

“I don’t think your mom would like it if I stole you away for Thanksgiving.” You joke, tongue poking between your teeth. His lips curve, half a laugh escaping from his chest.

“That’s why she personally invited you to stay with us for the holidays. She’s worried you might sneak in there first and drag me to Virginia. She already knows I’d go wherever you go.”

Your smile is kinda wistful. “Except when you go to Rhode Island.”

“Except when I go to Rhode Island.” He repeats, sighing dramatically. He rubs one of his tired eyes. “Ugh. Who thought coinciding pre-Thanksgiving exams and football season was a good idea, huh?”

“I have no idea, but I’m prepared to have words with them.” You tilt your head. “Don’t work too hard, yeah? It’s one exam. It’ll all be okay in the end.”

“I know, I know.”

You want to keep talking, on and on until the early hours like you do sometimes, because time is apparently not real when you and Bucky are on the phone together. But he needs sleep, and you need sleep, and occasionally you’ll do things for the greater good. “Good luck for tomorrow. Brown won’t know what’s hit ‘em.”

“They better not,” he jokes, “Will you be live-streaming the game?”

As if you wouldn’t. You can’t pretend that you always know what’s going on or any of the rules, but you always try to watch him if you can. He’d do the same for you, over and over and over. “Already got the tab open on my laptop and everything.”

Bucky’s grin is near effervescent, even through your patchy wifi connection. “I love you more than anything, you know that?”

“I may have had an inkling.”

-

hello y/n 

HELLLOOOOO

u know brown are the best losers because they lose and give you TEQUILA

omg are you drunk

never been DRUNK IN MY LIFE!!!! but im at this cool party and stEv e has found a girl and i miss u

i miss u so much . and like i just do generally 

whenever ur not ar oUnd 

oh sweet boy. you are very drunk.

im serious though

sometimes i think about how much i love you and it scares me

because then i th ink what it would be like if you wreent there 

and that makes me so fucking sad i cant breathe

y/n

y/n ???????????????

hellooo 

have u gone to bed

no, just messaging steve to make sure he gets you back safe. im not going anywhere. just please please look after yourself. love you always

-

“I’m sorry about those messages I sent you last night.”

You grab him in the tightest hug possible, his hold all still hanging off his arm, rain spattering down from dark clouds outside his apartment block. You hold him for at least ten years, you reckon, because the thought of him being so fucking sad he can’t breathe makes you so fucking sad you can’t breathe.

“You’re a terrible drunk who says things that make me emotional.” You laugh tearfully into his sweater and he grips you even harder, if possible. The shards of glass jabbed between your ribs start to dissolve as you inhale every single part of him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I know.”

-

His last game is the day of your renaissance literature exam and for once you’ve been the one not eating and relying on caffeine, anxiety lingering round your jittery bones like an irritating ghost. Your interactions with Bucky are a battle between you wishing him aggressive luck for what could be the winning game while he equally aggressively says your exam will go fine, they always go fine, it’s an easy A for sure. 

Your exam isn’t until the afternoon so you spend the morning pacing about your bedroom looking at a sporadic mess of post-it notes on your wall declaring quotes and context that you hope will just stick in your brain. When Lizzie from down the hall says there’s a package for you you don’t actually think much of it, too busy to deal with something you’ve probably forgotten you ordered from Amazon--but she makes some comment about how fancy it is, wrapped up in striped paper.

Your name is in print across the front so it doesn’t leave a clue on the sender, but as soon as you rip into it and find a bundle of things nestled between tissue paper, you know instantly. It’s kind of embarrassing you didn’t click sooner. 

Dear Y/N - you’ll ace it, favourite gal. 

You try not to break down in sleep-deprived and emotional tears as you pull out a brand new sweater in your favourite shade of burgundy, a vintage copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, three different kind of Hershey’s bars and a dumb little teddy bear wearing your college jersey. He’s sent you a fucking care package. He’s away at Princeton, and he’s sent you a care package, because exams drive you crazy and he’s just... Well, he’s Bucky.

-

i got your present

have i ever mentioned that i love you

i may have had an inkling

-

He doesn’t really leave you a choice, does he? Besides, the game is only at Princeton, and if you catch the train the moment you escape the uneasy warmth of a crowded exam hall you should be able to get there in time. 

You’ve never been to Princeton stadium before, but you grab one of the last tickets available and rush onto their crowded bleachers just before the game is about to begin. The lights are heady, the atmosphere is electric, and you’re about to watch the man you lovingly, completely, unrelentingly call your own play the game he loves almost as much as you at a stadium forty miles from home. 

hey steve, you text his closest friend, hoping he’ll see it, get buck to look at the front of the stairs near block d when you come out

y/n if this is what i think it means he’s going to lose his goddamn mind

:)

When the team runs out you notice the number five on his jersey straight away, a constant fleeting image in your head from the countless games you’ve seen him play. Even from a distance, Steve’s eyes catch your own and his arm starts gesturing violently in your direction, Bucky taking a couple of moments to catch on.

It’s a good job the game isn’t due to start for a few more minutes, because absolutely nothing can stop him from automatically sprinting to your side of the field and kissing you senseless, cameras and crowds be damned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he says on a dizzy outtake of breath.

“Couldn’t miss the last game of the season, could I?” You gently push his chest, urging him to go back to his team. “And neither can you. Go back to them. I’ll be waiting.”

He steals your lips for one more second, giddy and pumped full of adrenaline. “I really lucked out the day I met you, didn’t I?”

His mouth is hot. Hot. Unmistakable. Real. Always, always real. “Not as lucky as me.”

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[unseelie-bitch]

Season 1 Episode 6: A Fanatic Heart [Part Two]

I mean Fara is doing her best to be a good leader but I'm still pretty convinced she's going to die

FakeMusa is doing her best and I support her

Actually fuck OFF Terra you have NO RIGHT to ask that of her, much less EXPECT it

Also just a lil bit of FakeMusa analysis, she is not only feeling her boyfriend dying, but also all of the pain and terror and regret and anger of everyone else in that room. Of fucking COURSE she's going to get overwhelmed

Also also imma say she like, felt the death of her parents or something because that's been a building subplot all series

"He's in pain" ...so you want FakeMusa to feel it instead. Wow real good friendship there, Terra

Also it's bad enough that Terra's asking this, but for her dad, a TEACHER, to ask this of a first year who hasn't even learnt that technique yet, is fucking ridiculous

Called that

Well they kept the Musa Dead Mum plot... and now I'm upset

Don't FUCKING touch her Terra. People shouldn't have to expose their trauma to be allowed to say no - FakeMusa needs a hug but NOT from you. You want to talk about consent issues? Because this whole subplot is a big fucking red flag.

The one thing Fate got right - which I am certain wasn't intentional - is the neurodivergent coding of Musa. Like, the headphones to block out painful or too much stimuli is actually really well done (hence why I think it was an accident)

Sorry was Terra actually unbarricading the door? Sacrifice the many for the few is it, Terra?

Oh shit it JUST wants Bloom

Fara Bloom literally TOLD you they were just after her

I'm actually so mad that FakeMusa is negotiating her personal boundaries due to an adult and her supposed friend bullying a child

Oh Bloom's floating. Okay. We don't have the budget for wings but the fire fairy can float for no apparent reason

FUCK OFF SHE ACTUALLY JUST GOT FIRE WINGS FUCK OFF THAT'S ACTUALLY WORSE THAN NO ONE GETTING THEM OH MY GOD AT LEAST STICK TO YOU OWN SHITTY WRITING RULES

Why are some of them super easy to kill and others take like... a whole thing

Oh shit she can turn them back into people. Right okay, feel like that should have come up sooner

Dowling is such a good mother and I'm so afraid she's going to die. There's way too much time left for nothing else to happen and Rosalind is just rocking about

FARA LOOKS PROUD AND SHOCKED BY HERSELF OH NO I'M SCARED

Sorry Terra that crossed a line. I actively hate you.

Oh Beatrix just fully lied about being an orphan, she has a dad

Oh no he's not her bio dad

So Riven and Dane are villains with Roz now. Right

"Cooler?! I love Tinkerbell!" "Of course you do" good friend banter but I despise Terra now so can someone else have banter with Stella instead?

Aisha you didn't even introduce yourself how would Bloom's parents know who's talking to them

"Bloom transformed" no she fucking didn't she got shitty fire wings that have made me SO ANGRY. That's not a transformation it DOESN'T COUNT

None of you are considering the possibility that the whole "Blood witches" thing was a lie? No? Eveyone just tells the truth all the time always, even Rosalind?? Right okay. I hate this bullshit show

Also you canNOT just throw in a term like "blood witches" in the last fucking episode. That's a fucking joke Weed Boy

Sky is having Sad Boy Hours

Ooh a Sad Boy montage

See Bloom's going to talk with Dowling and I feel like it's going to go badly because NO ONE IS LOOKING FOR ROSALIND

Bloom is finally being open and honest with Dowling and accepting her as a mother figure so she's DEFINATELY going to die. These death flags are waving in my fucking face

BLOOM ASKING FOR A HUG AND FARA'S LITTLE FACE OH MY GOD I'M SCREAMING THIS IS SO SAD AND CUTE

Also from Fara's face: when was the last time she got a hug oh my god

AWWW THIS IS SO SOFT AND SAD

FARA IS FUCKING CRYING OH MY GODDD

That's just not what a figurehead is. You wanted to becime a symbol. There's a rather large and important difference

THE REASON FARA'S UPSET IS BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T WANT TO BE SO UNAPPROCHABLE THAT BLOOM HAD TO ASK FOR A HUG SO UNCERTAINLY OH MY GOD

I'm so angry that she's getting this development now. In the last 20 fucking minutes of the season

SHE BROUGHT THE WHOLE SQUAD BACK HOME LMAO MIKE'S FACE

Stella is so awkward and cute I love her why didn't we get HER FROM THE BEGGINNING

Also if this important conversation happens off screen I will feel robbed

And it's happened off screen. That is bull-fucking-shit

Sad montage of their baby... yikes

Oh the mother is leaving. #NotMyVanessa

This montage is bullshit I wanted a CONVERSATION

Okay but the Winx actually acting like friends is cute

So Riven and Dane went missing the night the school was attacked and no one's seen them and you just... aren't worried about these literal children? What kind of bitch-ass school...

Oh the Solarian army has FINALLY arrived

Stella ain't here lads

Oh fuck OFF Queen Nightlight

You're arresting Silva??

Sorry there is literally NO fucking way Sky's dad is alive. I mean he clearly is and is clearly Beatrix's dad but that makes no sense. Shit writing at it's shittest

Stella's mum is CLEARLY involved in this shady shit

Also what kind of justice system...?

Hello there Bitchboy King

Fara vibing with the freshly burried corpses

Okay Rosalind is here and I'm scared for Fara's safety

Also apparently no one was aware the Burned Ones used to be people. I had assumed that was common knowledge but apparently that was supposed to be a secret reveal at the end that I worked out... so long ago. Come on lads

Also also I'm so scared because Sword Dad is being arrested and now Fara is alone with Rosalind and I feel like Fara is going to get murdered and replaced by Rosalind while Sword Dad is replaced by Sky's Dad

Oh Rosalind knew about the Burned Ones being people

Rosalind is a really good villain but she scares me and also her actress is still shit

The dragonfire is now the "Dragon Flame" and created the Burned Ones. I just. I'm so out of fucks to give

And Bloom has it too. Shook

Of course she risked kids to test Bloom - have you MET this woman she's shady as fuck

Dowling is talking about how she finally saw the light when she stepped out of Rosalind's shadow and clearly this a whole "I've escaped your abuse" thing and I'm so happy for her. And also terrified because she's definately about to die

If I leave this on pause Fara doesn't have to get murdered

And Queen Exposed Wire is in fact a part of the coverup. Shocked

I like that Rosalind is explaining everything. I genuinely do appriciate a good villain monologue

FARA DON'T GET AGGRESSIVE WITH HER SHE'S GOING TO KILL YOU STOP I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE

DON'T WALK AWAY FROM HER OH MY GOD YOU THREATENED HER THEN TURNED YOUR BACK SHE CAN AND WILL KILL YOU FARA WHY DO YOU THINK SHE'S ABOVE THIS

I'm so fucking upset. She just. Snapped her neck. Lifted her up and murdered her. I'm actually on the verge of tears it was so brutal. I cannot believe they made me care about Fara in the last fucking episode only to KILL HER OFF

Did she just speed-rot Fara's body?? I'm so upset. I'm so fucking upset

And now all the Winx who were actually happy and getting along are coming back to this shitshow

Brian Young is a fucking criminal. Thank fuck that's over

[normallee]

Living Conditions || Nadia and Norma

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Norma’s apartment PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @normallee SUMMARY: Sometimes when you rob people, you get a little more than you bargained for.

There was a window open on the fourth floor of the apartment complex that Nadia was scoping out, but all of the lights were out, and that was really all that she needed to decide it was the apartment she was going to be robbing for the night. Usually, things weren’t so cut and dry, and, typically, the process took a little longer to figure out, but she was feeling adventurous, reckless, dangerous. If nothing else, the climb up would be an experience. She’d just have to be careful not to fall. The last time she’d fallen out of a window had been a real bitch, and she didn’t want a repeat, even if it had ended up with meeting a cute zombie. Not that it mattered now of course. Shaking the thoughts away under a flickering streetlight, Nadia pulled her hood over her head and pulled herself up onto the fire escape. With ease, she made it up to the fourth floor and began making her way to the open window, her feet sure of each step. She’d always felt most comfortable when she was out on a ledge. She made it to the window in no time and went in feet first. Brushing herself off as she stepped in, Nadia allowed her eyes to adjust to the light. As she looked around the room, they widened. “What the fuck?” she whispered, half in awe and half in horror. The lights in the apartment flickered like the streetlamp outside, illuminating the strange apartment and the object of Nadia’s bewilderment, the only thing she could focus on: green flamingos.

Well that had been a very successful day at Bottomless Booty. Norma had hummed the bottomless birthday song all the way home to her apartment. She had made a lot of well earned tips tonight and was very confident that she would be pleased with the amount of money that had come home with her. When she got to her door, she paused and flipped through the many keys on her key ring. She had no idea what most of them went to, but she had observed that human often carried more keys than necessary and she figured fighting with them was part of the standard ritual. After about a minute in front of her door, she finally foud the right one and turned open the door and flipped on the switch. She sighed and put her strange handbag that did not carry hands oddly enough. Her hat went on the coat rack (which seemed inappropriately named but alas) along with her coat (that one made sense). She was about to head to her living room to live there when she noticed there was something unusual in her apartment. Another person. “Hello? May I inquire how you ended up in my apartment?” She looked around. Yes, this was in fact her apartment. It had all her things, the trophies she had bought, the framed photos from the craft store, and the green flamingos. She supposed it was possible that another very normal household held nearly identical items, but it was probably very unlikely that it was all in the same spots.

“Uh, hi.” Nadia blinked, looking at the woman that walked through the door. She was dressed… strangely, but, inside this apartment? Made sense, honestly, in the way that fucking nothing made sense. “You know, I’m gonna level with you, I am. I came here to rob you, I really did. I’m now, currently, rethinking that.” She squinted at the photographs around the room. Was that a fucking stock photo? “Definitely rethinking that.” This woman, clearly, wasn’t human. Not with an apartment that looks like something that came out of one of those strange catalogues that had all of the weirdest, most random shit in it. She couldn’t even decide what decade some of the shit came from. It reminded her of her gran’s old house back when she was little, a random hodgepodge of things that didn’t really go together at all crammed into one living space. “Yeah, no, I’m not gonna rob you at all. Seriously, not worth it.” She couldn’t even figure out what would be worth taking and wouldn’t be. Bluntly, she asked, “What are you? Fae or something?” Fae usually didn’t know how to be proper people.

“You came here to rob me?” Norma stood and blinked a moment before looking around and trying to find something to use as a defense mechanism. She saw the coat rack and struggled to pick it up. It was very heavy, solid wood! The salesman said it was good and sturdy. It very much was. And it was very much too heavy for her to lift. “Why would you rob me?! Thief! That is very rude, why would you do such a thing?!” she shouted as she whipped around and looked for another weapon. She decided the garden gnome was a decent weapon. In fact she was not too distressed of losing her items, but she was told burglars were dangerous and she very much valued her life. And the perception that her life was fragile and human. Her brows knit together in confusion as she wielded the garden gnome in front of her. “What do you mean it’s not worth it? I have been told all of my items are very valuable. You should be so lucky as to rob me!” Her confusion persisted as she asked if she was fae. Her jaw dropped and she gasped. “Fae? Fae? I would never be a fae, why would you assume that I’m as fragile as a winged little--” She stopped and blinked. “I mean, I am very very human, how dare you suggest otherwise! I am very normal, so completely and totally normal!”

“Uh, yeah.” Nadia watched the woman, arms crossed, as she attempted to pick up the coat rack. Nadia would have reached for her gun, but she didn’t feel a need to. Not yet, at least. “Because you left the window open? Really, you were practically asking to get robbed.” Her eyebrow raised as the garden gnome was raised valiantly towards her. A fucking garden gnome inside an apartment complex. Surprisingly, not the weirdest item around them. Though, it was probably one of the worst weapons this chick could have chosen. She felt the woman’s muted confusion, another confirmation that she definitely wasn’t human. “All of your items are very valuable? Please. Those flamingos wouldn’t get me thirty bucks. Try again. Currently, I see nothing worth burglarizing here.” Were they really arguing about whether or not this place was worth being robbed? Fuck, this was strange. At least no one was attempting to call the cops yet. “Okay, fine, not a fae, but you’re not human.” Nadia looked around the apartment as if to prove her point. “Seriously, I can’t think of a human that would live here. It’s too odd. Not normal at all.”

“I do not think an open window is an invitation, you… you… whoever you are!” Norma huffed. She liked fresh air. It got so stale and disgusting without the windows open. As big a fan as she was of indoor plumbing, the same could not be said for the current air quality. “Thirty bucks? You would trade thirty male deer for them? I think that’s very valuable indeed! Do you know how hard it is to get thirty bucks in good condition? It’s very hard, miss burglar, let me tell you,” she said, waving the garden gnome around for emphasis. Her tone didn’t remain pleasant for very long, not after her actuation. “I am human,” she said, facade slipping ever slightly, hard determination and ire in her eyes flashing through for a moment. “All of these are human items, are they not? Find me one thing in here that’s not normal or mortal. I’m aware they are very stupid but so are--” This buglaress had tricked her. “I’m not sure who you are or what you are, but you cannot come into people’s homes and call them fae or non human.”

“It’s definitely an open invitation,” Nadia said. “You practically put a neon sign that said Enter Here in bright, bold letters in front of it. I can’t be blamed for my actions.” She paused, then gave a winning smile. “You can call me Nadia.” She’d change her name once she left White Crest. Who knew? Maybe she’d go by Cordelia again. Or maybe she’d use Janet as a fuck you to that nosy medium child. Prove that she didn’t care. “No, not-- Like, you know, thirty dollars. Not fucking deer. Who trades in fucking deer anymore?” What a fucking weirdo. Still, this was probably the most interesting interactions that Nadia’d had in quite some time. She wanted to enjoy it. “Sure, these are human items, but having an overabundance of stuff doesn’t make you human. And if you think all of it’s stupid then you’re probably right! Most humans like things to look, like, neat and orderly and like they belong, not like,” she motioned around them, “you know. I’m just calling things like I see them.” She put on her most sympathetic face. “Look, I’m an expert in blending, and I can look at you and see that you’re struggling. I would love to help you in this matter. Seriously.” For a price, of course.

“I did not invite you in, Nadia. An open window is not an invitation or else vampires would be able to enter any old open window with no worries! That’s completely ridiculous that you would suggest such a thing.” Norma huffed and plopped onto the couch, arms crossed, gnome in her lap. “Deer are far more valuable than strange pieces of paper that only mean something in specific locations!” She knew she shouldn’t give up so easily but she was so frustrated. Nothing about being human made sense and she was thoroughly and utterly done with having to try and pretend to care. It was maddening. “You’re being incredibly rude is what you’re being. I put a lot of thought and care into these items. I shopped in several stores and walked down many aisles to acquire them. Just like every other hu-- person does!” She sunk a little further into the couch. Maybe she should give up, let the bounty hunters claim her. It had been a decent run. There wasn’t much point in living without her powers anyway. It was very tedious. “You’d help me?” Norma perked up at her offer but tried to hide her interest. “Not that I need any help, thank you. But if I did. What would you offer me?”

“Well, I’m not a vampire,” Nadia said, adopting a dry tone. “So I operate by totally different standards.” She crossed her arms but kept relaxed. Her stance was easy, and when the woman sat on the couch, she asked, “Can I sit?” and then she sat anyway. “Okay, in, like, hindsight, deer are totally more valuable. You can eat them, you can make stuff out of them, just super good stuff. But, unfortunately, we live in a society where little pieces of paper mean a helluva lot more than just straight up deer.” She shrugged. “Sometimes honesty comes off as being kind of rude. I hate to say it, but it’s true. You didn’t put much thought into these items at all, though. I mean,” she looked around and frowned, “some of this shit looks like you just found things with the most reviews online and then bought it. Or maybe you walked into a store and saw the biggest stock and thought, ‘huh, must be important ‘cause there’s a lot of it’ and then bought it. Which, you know, super fucking valid. But…” and she allowed it to trail off. Nadia gave a soft smile, keeping all the bite out of it. “Of course I’d help you. Of course. I’ve been doing this for, well, awhile, you know? See this?” She motioned to her body. “Not my body, but a lot of people think it is. I’m pretty fucking convincing with it, too. I’ll even help you get your apartment more aesthetically human.” Then she brightened, as if she’d just got an idea. “Say, do you need a roommate?”

“I noticed that. Most vampires are far more polite than you are. They’ve had time to learn manners.” As if proving her point, this Nadia sat before actually waiting for Norma to answer. She pursed her lips but let it slide. For now. It was also highly disturbing that this human woman seemed to be able to pinpoint so much about her after one short interaction. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did! Because that's what huma-- I mean what everyone does.” Norma was not sure why she was even trying to hold onto her cover any longer but she was determined to try. She refused to lose this game to human intelligence. That was almost as bad as losing to an ape. For a while longer, she held her arms against her chest and kept her look of disapproval on her face, but the mention of her body made Norma’s head tilt involuntarily. Not her body? Well that was strange. Perhaps she was a demon possessing a human, that would be fun. And admirable. Though when she thought about it, more than likely she was a ghost of a deceased human which was tragic. Though she did understand them wanting to hold onto life a little longer given how awfully short their mortal lives were. “You climbed through my window to rob me. Why should I trust you?” Norma asked. She paused for a moment and considered the options before following up with,“Are roommates… normal?”

“I’m afraid I would rather be honest than polite,” Nadia said somberly, as if it was a great sacrifice. “Plus, most vampires have those wicked fangs, so I think I’m far safer to be around.” Of course, Nadia was also a wicked shot and fought dirty, so she and a vampire might be evenly matched in terms of dangerousness. Maybe the scale tipped more in her favor. She’d picked Nadia Diaz as a host, in part, because she looked like she couldn’t hurt a fly. Still, the woman in front of her didn’t seem too worried that Nadia was dangerous, although she could tell she was at least vexing the other woman a little. Nadia smiled widely, pleased with how the night was going. Sure, robbery was fun, but this? This could be an investment, a safe haven to return to should Nadia Diaz’s little friends get close to finding her. If she had someone on her side, then there was a greater chance that could eventually ride off into that wide blue yonder. Or fuck around in the Bahamas for the rest of her life. Whichever one came first. “Well, I told you what I was here to do, right? I coulda lied. I coulda just left out the window again. But I want to help you! And I have no reason to lie.” She did her best to keep her features controlled, but Nadia could practically feel that she’d won this one. “Oh, roommates are super normal. A lot of people have them! And, I promise, I’m a real good one.”

“I don't think that most hu-- people like that,” Norma said in response. She likely didn’t have to keep insisting she was human, but she attempted to do so anyway. Just in case. Perhaps it was still a test, after all. She still had no way of knowing that this wasn’t a bounty hunter who had climbed through her window, primed to take down Xmucane the fury. So for now, she was Norma Lee the human until proven otherwise. “I mean, there are plenty of reasons for you to lie. I can name several if you like. I’m not sure saying you’re not lying is thoroughly convincing. Anyone would say that no matter what. At least that’s what I’ve been told.” She really wasn’t sure that this woman had good reasons to lie, true, but nonetheless, there were many reasons that one might. And it was hard to trust a human. Let alone one that climbed in through her window and disapproved of her green flamingos so thoroughly. “But roommates are normal?” She considered her options. “And you could help me blend in.” Her face scrunched again in thought. “I have to ask, what would you be getting out of this? Are you extorting me for money in return? Because if so I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“That’s because most people want to be coddled.” Nadia snorted. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you the kind of person that wants to be coddled?” She doubted it. This woman, whoever or whatever she was, didn’t strike her as that kind of person. She barely stuck Nadia as any kind of person, really. Just a strange, interesting creature who kept green flamingos in an apartment. Fascinating, really. “Well, I told you why I was in your apartment, didn’t I? If I was gonna lie about anything, it’d be about the fact that I was planning on robbing you. I even told you that I took this body from someone else.” Because it was hers, now. She had to believe that, couldn’t keep saying that it wasn’t. She won it, fair and square, even if it was with the help of a few dumb kids that wouldn’t know exorcise from exercise. “I’m not lying to you,” she said, trying to keep her expression as sincere as she could. She needed this. She needed a legitimate place to crash. “Roommates are seriously normal, and all I want is to be said roommate. I’ll give you advice on how to…” appear more human, “fit in with society better, and you give me a place to sleep that isn’t a shitty motel or the back seat of my car. Don’t worry,” she grinned, sharp but still saccharine sweet, “I won’t need to extort you for money. I’ve got other people for that.” She leaned forward. “I promise it’ll be fun.”

A fire blazed behind Norma’s eyes at the word coddled. She hardly wanted to let a mortal talk to her like this. Coddled. How dare she. Still, she pursed her lips and took a deep inhale. She had to be normal, mortal, human. That sometimes meant playing nice, as she was told. ‘That is an interesting point. I suppose you would have no reason to lie at this point.” Norma was sure she was likely within her right to throw this woman out of her apartment, possibly through the window she arrived through. However, she did not want police involvement that would come from the likely injuries post throwing so she scrapped that idea. She contemplated it. She had nothing to lose from this sort of agreement, did she? It’s not like this Nadia knew what she really was and it seemed rather clear she was not a bounty hunter. And if she was, all the more reason to learn more about her. Keeping enemies closer, or something to that effect. “Okay. If you’re sure this is normal, I will accept your help in exchange for a place to stay. That is what you’re proposing, correct?” Norma asked. Her earlier mentions of fae came flooding back with the word promise. Norma narrowed her eyes, as if it could help her see through any potential glamour, but there was no indication one way or another. “Okay. Where do we start?” she asked, bouncing up from the couch, chipper and eager to begin her lessons. Whatever those were.

Grinning at the influx of emotions, even if they were muted, Nadia grinned. “I like to provide interesting points.” This was going to be fun, she could tell, and it was such a fucking win. She could feel the woman debating with herself, and Nadia knew she’d pissed her off. She couldn’t be bothered to care, really. She even kind of liked it, the way it filled her, made her want to fight it out. She relished in it, would probably go through with these feelings later, after she left. “It’s totally normal. And that’s exactly what I’m proposing. I think you’ll find that this is gonna be great for both of us.” It would be. Nadia would get somewhere to sleep, along with some entertainment, and maybe this woman wouldn’t end up staked in a back alley. Sure, she wasn’t a vampire, but, damn, she was as weird as some of those fuckers were. She leaned back where she was sitting and looked around. Heaving out a sigh, Nadia stood up. “We start…” Her eyes locked onto the beady eyes of one of those fucking flamingos. “We start by making this place look like a normal person in their twenties lives here.” She didn’t know what the fuck there were gonna do with this stuff, but it sure as hell wasn’t staying in the apartment.

[notjanine]

2020 in books!

the only kind of new year’s resolution i made as a naive baby last january was to try to read 40 books for the year. (i read 37 in 2019, for context.) well, with all of my commuting time eliminated and an increased need for immersive escapism, i ended up surpassing that goal three times over lmao (thanks library ebooks!)

idk how to summarize my year in books in a way that makes sense but

(f) = fiction, (nf) = nonfiction, (p) = poetry.

books that rewired my fucking brain:

braiding sweetgrass by robin wall kimmerer (nf)- GOD?!?!?! good. dr. k is right. ostensibly a book about plants, but actually a book about shut up and go outside. consumerism and capitalism are doing their damnedest to fuck you up, but you can just choose to value different things. take care of yourself by taking care of your environment. etc etc.

wasp by richard jones (nf)- lissen. when i got this book, my wasp-phobia was so severe that i had to put it away face down on a high shelf because there are wasps on the cover and i couldn’t bear to RISK even GLIMPSING them. now i am like... a wasp evangelist. (also due to the bugs 101 course on coursera it’s so good.)

wag by zazie todd (nf)- i have a dog, but i am NOT a Dog Person (i.e. i love my dog, but please keep yours away from me, thanks.) this book helped me understand my little guy better, plus it gives actionable tasks and activities to do with and for your pup! plus, y’know, learning about things you’re scared of helps to lessen that fear. i’d recommend this to anyone who has, wants, or regularly interacts with a dog.

a closed and common orbit by becky chambers (f)- is this series complete fluff? absolutely. am i fundamentally different after reading this one? maybe.

the best we could do by thi bui (nf)- this is so far outside of my personal experience but somehow still made me come to peace with my relationship with my mom?? and it’s barely even about that?? idk. this is probably objectively the best book i’ve read this year.

books that were just fun as hell:

mexican gothic by silvia moreno-garcia (f)- this book made me YELL out loud

death on the nile by agatha christie (f)- i grew up on agatha christie shows, but never actually read her before this year! she really was That Bitch. read this before the movie comes out

cosmoknights by hannah templer (f)- i read this in one sitting through the worst headache i’ve had in years. it is a goddamn DELIGHT. this book has everything: spaceships. mech suits. fighting the patriarchy. a perfect otp. fun art in bright colors with clean lines. onomatopoetic WAPs from before the song gave that hilarious context. 800 lesbians. this is an antidepressant in graphic novel form.

stiff by mary roach (nf)- ms. roach is like the 4th most represented author on my bookshelf because she 1. stays writing about shit i’m interested in and 2. manages to talk about gross and ridiculous things without resorting to sensationalism. it takes skill to write a hilarious book about corpses.

black sun by rebecca roanhorse (f)- excellent sexual tension between a horny siren pirate and a hot doomed... monk, kinda? set in the pre-columbian gulf of mexico with magic and shit.

cuisine chinoise by zao dao (? n/f)- this graphic novel about chinese food history/mythology is BEAUTIFUL.

the color of magic by terry pratchett (f)- you’d think a hardcore douglas adams stan would have gotten to this sooner, but no, i had to date a nerdy white boy to get here. it’s fun though! i’m not gonna read them all, but this one was good. bonus: contains one (1) great himbo.

gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir (f)- like 500 pages of action and mystery and jokes and space necromancy. harrow the ninth gets a special mention bc it has a meme reference that took me out so hard i had to close the book, lie down, and groan for an entire minute before continuing.

other minds by peter godfrey-smith (nf)- i love octopuses. on one tma bonus ep, jonny sims says that if a creature can choose to do evil, then it’s a Person. octopuses are People. but anyway frfr this has an explanation of the evolution of consciousness that is cool af. (this one is much better than the other recent popsci octo book which i will not name out of politeness.)

the perfect predator by steffanie strathdee and thomas patterson (nf)- i read this bc my microbiology prof recommended it and it’s cool as heck! it’s got adventure, drama, mystery, Science-with-a-capital-S. i’m biased bc i’m a bit of a microbes nerd, but i had a blast with this. (but only bc we know going in that everything works out okay; if i hadn’t known that, i would have been TOO stressed!)

books that were a little less fun but still very readable:

my sister, the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite (f)- i couldn’t find this as funny as other people bc i, too, have a beautiful sister who’s an insufferable narcissist, so it hits a little too close to home, but. it is a wild ride.

piranesi by susanna clarke (f)- idek what to say! i went into this one blind just bc it had a cool cover and title, so i guess i’d recommend that for other people too.

the sixth world series by rebecca roanhorse (f)- monster hunting! a post-apocalyptic take that doesn’t feel tired.

the shades of magic trilogy by v.e. schwab (f)- easy escapism. some ideas feel a little first draft-y, but idk, it’s also a pretty simple premise (which isn’t a bad thing). it’s a decent urban fantasy set in ~georgian?-era london. very actiony. suffers from a bit of i’m-not-like-other-girls disease, but i didn’t even notice until book two or three, so.

the only good indians by stephen graham jones (f)- starts off a little ??? (and reeks of being Written By A Man) but picks up. the pacing’s great and there’s just a super fucking cool monster.

robopocalypse by daniel h. wilson (f)- this reads like a tv miniseries so much that i can’t believe it isn’t one yet.

confessions of the fox by jordy rosenberg (f)- not my usual cup of tea, fiction-wise, but still compelling. a fresh take on the white-male-english-professor-self-insert? but not insufferable. gets weird!

spinning silver by naomi novik (f)- rumplestilstkin, but make it interesting! a great, richly-told fairy tale, but like, large scale. good to read on a cold day while you’re wrapped up in a blanket with some hot tea.

interior chinatown by charles yu (f)- compulsively readable. a couple things bugged me, but not enough to make me dislike it. a fun companion piece to how to live safely in a science fictional universe. i like this guy’s style.

cannibalism by bill schutt (nf)- COOL. mostly covers the animal kingdom (fun), spends too much time on the donner party (less fun), ends with a SPICY take on prions that i cannot get out of my head!!!

buzz, sting, bite by anne sverdrup-thygeson (nf)- BUGS! broad but not overwhelming, neither dumbed down nor overly scientific, short enough to finish in a day or two. recommend this to literally everyone.

books that made me want to read everything else in the author’s ouevre:

the time invariance of snow by e. lily yu (f)- this FUCKS but it’s too short!!!

an unkindness of ghosts by rivers solomon (f)- okay this book is SO good and so well-written and interesting and blah blah blah all the good things, but... the whole time, i was just like?? why???? why is this what you’re choosing to write about??? (i did also read the deep and blood is another word for hunger after this one, and i did like them both, especially the latter, but i think they can do better! like i think they could write a perfect book and i am gonna be *eyes emoji* until then.)

the space between worlds by micaiah johnson (f)- a fine debut novel, but i want to see her do something a little more... idk, refined? i think she overreaches here, like it’s a little... idk looper? this is how you lose the time war? there’s a better comparison, but i can’t think of it, but you get the idea. and then halfway through it shifts gears to mad max. there’s something weird about one of the central relationships, like it’s not complex enough to take as long to resolve as it does. idk idk. there are just a lot of little nitpicky things. it’s not bad! but i think she can do better and i look forward to finding out.

postcolonial love poem by natalie diaz (p)- thinky! like i tried to read this before bed, but it’s not the sort of thing to parse out while you’re falling asleep, it requires more attention than that.

books that Learned Me Somethin:

smoke gets in your eyes by caitlin doughty (nf)- i am a self-professed death obsessed weirdo, fascinated by death and mourning, but i didn’t know all that much about what happens to a body between the dying and the funeral! this book isn’t big, but it covers a lot and doughty’s writing style is engaging and honest. it’s very memorable.

queer by meg-john barker and julia scheele (nf)- i’m gonna be totally honest and say Queer Theory is above my intellectual pay grade, but this book takes you by the hand and explains the basics.

vitamania by catherine price (nf)- LMAO my fellow americans, never take a supplement. this book is great and well-researched, but normal folks don’t need to read it, just listen to season two of the dream podcast, which definitely cribbed from this.

vegetable kingdom by bryant terry (nf)- this is a fine cookbook, my favorite of his that i’ve read so far. gets a special mention bc i had a religious experience just reading one of his kohlrabi recipes. absolutely gutted that i didn’t have an opportunity to try it this year, since the pandemic put the kibosh on all family bbqs.

the best american food writing 2020 edited by j. kenji lopez-alt (nf)- this really is just a great collection.

are prisons obsolete? by angela y. davis (nf)- yes.

i moved to los angeles to work in animation by natalie nourigat (nf)- before reading this, i had basically zero knowledge of how the animation industry works. now i know like three things.

the secret lives of bats by merlin tuttle (nf)- BATS! okay this book is more about the adventures of being a bat scientist than it actually is about bats, but there are bats in there. insectivorous bats basically shit glitter, you should know this.

books from valuable perspectives:

hood feminism by mikki kendall (nf)- a breakdown of who’s getting left out of feminist spaces, why that’s happening, and why it shouldn’t be happening.

all you can ever know by nicole chung (nf)- a (transracial) adoptee’s take on adoption and learning more about her birth family. the personal storytelling of this one really stuck with me.

motherhood so white by nefertiti austin (nf)- a single-mom-by-choice’s take on the foster system/adoption process. walks you through some things i always wondered about and some things i wouldn’t even have thought about.

this place by kateri akiwenzie-damm et al (? n/f)- i, like a lot of non- native americans, only know that history in broad strokes. getting this many highly specific stories in one dense and beautiful book felt like a lucky find. and taking that perspective into the future in the context of that history is v good.

empty by susan burton (nf)- eating disorder stories are important to me bc i care about food so much. this one is so relatable- not in its specificity, but rather its generality. it’s easy to empathize with her perspective because it’s like, Oh, i don’t have that exact problem, but i struggle with different problems in a very similar way. (feels like the opposite of roxane gay’s hunger, in a way.)

obit by victoria chang (p)- this exploration of grief is... woof.

short story collections are hard to evaluate bc you’ll never read one where every single story hits but i generally enjoyed these:

a thousand beginnings and endings edited by ellen oh and elsie chapman (f)

how long til black future month? by n.k. jemisin (f)

her body and other parties by carmen maria machado (f)

books i revisited:

the broken earth trilogy by n.k. jemisin (f)- i read the series backwards this time and like... i can’t really find any faults in these books, man. they’re just the best.

everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too by jomny sun (f... but is it really?)- half of this book’s sales are from me buying it for other people bc it’s the only way i know how to say i love you. i reread it every time just to make sure it still feels right and it always does.

other honorable mentions:

white is for witching by helen oyeyemi (f)- not to pit two bad bitches against each other, but this book does what akwaeke emezi’s freshwater was trying to do. it’s a little weird, a little haunted, a little of a lot of things. read this only in the dead of winter. (and with stephen rennicks’ score for the little stranger playing in the background.)

homie by danez smith (p)- there’s a lot going on here, but this just made me crack a smile a couple times in a way that no other book of poetry has ever done.

the murder of roger ackroyd and murder in mesopotamia by agatha christie (f)- That Bitch!

blues by nikki giovanni (p)- she sure has some Things To Say

the three-body problem by cixin liu (f)- interesting concepts, but... idk something’s missing? felt weirdly soulless to me. i’m probably not gonna read the sequels. but it did make some points!

the sisters of the winter wood by rena rossner (f)- i’m a slut for shapeshifting, okay. but this is a good fairy tale, it works!

parable of the sower by octavia butler (f)- i read this in march, when the pandemic was just kicking off and boy that was not the right time. def my least favorite of hers so far, but an octavia butler i don’t love is still better than a hell of a lot of other books. no idea when or if i’ll get to a good enough headspace for the sequel.

faves:

saturnino herrán by adriana zapett tapia (nf)- i got to learn new things about my mans and see some of his paintings i’ve never even seen online! GOSH.

on food and cooking by harold mcgee (nf)- yeah yeah, i’ve already mentioned this book half a dozen times on here this year, but i don’t care. this book lives off the shelf in my home bc i reference it like every other fucking day. this book is a part of me now.

[5amfries]

It’s so busy today! There’s only three people here with a cafe full of steadily frustrated people and you have to double as a barista and cashier.

You wonder how your going to through the rest of your shift as you complete the transaction for the woman in front of you and usher in the next customer.

When you look up to greet them, your smile falters momentarily, your eyes coming into contact with a broad chest, way wider than anything you’ve ever seen on another human.

You follow that strong line between this man’s pecs, very pronounced beneath his seemingly too tight, black turtleneck, up to his face. It felt like an eternity to get there, tilting your neck back farther back than expected, but when you do, you’re met with the scariest face imaginable.

Anger and impatience oozes from this man, sticks to the surface of your counter and leaks out of him like an overfilled bathtub. It almost appears as though the atmosphere around him is darkened in color.

Not only is his size encompassing, but his attitude as well.

He wears a deep set frown, lips twitching to hold back a snarl. Beneath his hat, he glares poison into you with his, otherwise very beautiful, aqua colored eyes. They promise nothing but violence.

The man is extremely frightening and yet you can’t look away. He has you trapped in place, until his lips parted to release a deep rumble of a voice.

“Excuse me.”

His thunder shakes you from your trance. It makes you jump a little. You blink and refocus, remembering that you have a job to do. You smile and hold your hand up to your register, ready to take the man’s order.

“Hi! Welcome to-” You begin, but are swiftly interrupted by another thunder strike.

“What’s taking so long?” The man asks, eyebrows furrowing even deeper.

“I’ve been waiting in line for ten minutes and there’s only been four other people in line.”

He pauses and takes a look around the cafe, before gesturing towards the crowd of people who fill it.

“And how long have these people been here? It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to wait this long to get my order taken, then have to wait an hour on coffee.”

You’re taken aback by this man’s force, but quick to bounce back. This isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with a pissed off customer and it surely won’t be the last.

“Hey! Are you listening to me? Good grief…” The man commands once more. You try to shake the chill that runs down your spine as the man scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Stupid bitch…” He mutters under your breath, but you catch it.

It’s a shot through the heart, brings a sting to your eyes. You didn’t deserve this grilling. This isn’t your fault and you and your coworkers are trying your collective best.

“… S-Sir, I’m sorry, but-” You start, but the man stops you again.

“No you’re not.” He snarls. “If you were, I wouldn’t be standing here wasting my life waiting to pay for overpriced coffee.”

Your fear and sadness flips at his words. Now, you are angry. The man’s bad mood has now taken you over, creeping up your arms and seeping through your skin.

You grind your teeth, clench your jaw and switch your weight to your left side.

It takes a great deal of power, but you return the man’s glare with a steady gaze of your own. You still had to keep a level of professionalism, even for the worst of assholes.

“I’m sorry that you had to wait for so long.” You reply, voice calm and neutral, but you can’t help the underlying annoyance that runs through it. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“As you can see, we are very backed up at the moment, and we’re trying our hardest to serve everyone properly.”

His scowl darkens more, if possible. “That’s not an excuse.”

You continue. “But it is the truth. We can only work so fast, our machines can work only so fast. If you still decide to stay with us, I cannot give you a definite time limit on when it will be done, but I can promise that it will be a high quality product.”

The man becomes silent, but doesn’t let up his glare. This time you challenge him and do the same. If this jerk had a problem, he could ask for your manager or leave. You prefer the latter.

The quicker he was out of not only your store, but your life, the happier you’d be. You never understood why people would take the time to complain and put workers down instead of simply leaving. You weren’t keeping him here.

After a long pause, the man pushes back his long, white coat and reaches into his pants pocket, roughly pulling out his black leather wallet. He takes six dollars out and slams it on the counter.

“Large vanilla latte. Extra shot. Make sure it’s soy. ’M lactose intolerant.”

The tension that had stiffened your body over the past few minutes resides slightly. You type in his order, then ask for his name.

“Jotaro.” He answers, turning away from you to head toward the lobby.

“Okay, your change-?”

“Don’t want it.”

With that, he leaves and sits in the far corner of the cafe, away from the swarming crowd.

Luckily, that man, Mr. Jotaro, was your last customer at the register, now it was time to return to the bar. You smirk as you pull a ticket. After this drink would be that man’s and you’d make sure that you made his drink and make it special.

♡

It’s been about an hour since the man ordered his latte.

He seemed to have been pacified well enough, having had no complaints the entire time he sat. Just sipping on his coffee as he flipped through whatever was on his tablet.

From time to time, you look up and check on him. You had mixed whole milk with the soy and added whipped cream and let it melt into it so he couldn’t tell. For someone so concerned about their intolerance, he didn’t seem to be too affected.

You sigh. It’s a solemn victory, but at least he’s quiet and you’ve survived the rush and that’s all that really matters.

♡

Jotaro’s sweating. It’s a mix of nerves, rage and his body counting down to it’s explosion.

His stomach’s been contracting and writhing beneath his skin. The combination of agonizing cramps and squirming worm-like acid that fills him has him throwing an internal fit.

Everything hurts! And the sickly belches he keeps rumbling in his throat bring nothing but a disgusting, burning aftertaste.

At this point, he’s desperate to touch. His abdomen is in dire need of a rub and a heating pad. He knows the real relief he’s searching for is in releasing the gas that’s been gradually building in him for the past hour.

He should have left the second he got his coffee. He looks over to the counter where he finds the barista he had chewed out earlier. Their eyes catch each other and the barista is quick to look back at whatever they’re doing.

He then looks back at his empty cup, stares at it with sudden interest. Did they… do something to his coffee. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s pissed someone off and they’ve retaliated.

Jotaro’s heart drops at the realization. He might have been a little too harsh. Maybe he deserved a spiked coffee.

A sudden dip in his stomach has him lurching forward. His jaw clenches, trying to hold back the pain from showing. There’s a loud ringing groan that follows the cramp.

It’s noticeable over the light music that twinkles throughout the building. The crowd that once filled the cafe has dispersed and now only he and two other customers reside there.

He’s lucky that they have earphones in to not hear. Discreetly, he brings his hand to his lap and rubs at his bloating belly.

It turns into a mistake as he pushes a pocket of air that rushes to his bowels and out of him in a airy fart. It ends on a bubbly note and it rolls off the wooden chair he sits in. The volume of it has him blushing.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. And yet, another escapes him immediately after, but louder this time. Jotaro stiffens, eyes wide as he takes another look around. The customers are still in their own world. The baristas are busy at work, their machines overpowering his noise level.

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. If he could just wait for a calm period and not shit himself when he stands, he’s home free.

His stomach roars and stabs him. He huffs a grunt and forces out another short but noisy burst.

And then another.

Jotaro frowns and looks down at his stomach, inwardly commanding it to stop. As if in defiance, it grumbles fiercely and brings up a belch that resembles a dragon. It rumbles on for way too long and is loud enough that the barista who put him in the situation looks up.

Their cheeks flush and they return to work in faux ignorance.

Jotaro sighs, leans into himself a little from subconscious embarrassment. If he could just-

A large bubble inside fills him and slips downwards. His hand flies to the bottom of his stomach. The pain’s intense to where he wants nothing but to get it out, society be damned.

He leans in farther, pressing and massaging his middle to coax out the monster inside. It doesn’t disappoint when it is released. Deep and wet sounding, it stretches on and on and actually burns him coming out.

Jotaro doesn’t need to smell it to know that this one’s going to be the one to alert the cafe of his dilemma, with the way it had decided to stew within him.

To add insult to injury, he burps, three times in succession, an alarm to those in his toxic zone. These bring attention from all of the baristas. They stop momentarily to look over at him, while the smell of his last blast has the customers around him looking up from their computers.

They have the familiar expression of disgust and confusion as they search for the cause.

It doesn’t take them long when Jotaro releases another rippling, sick sounding fart, that’s quickly followed by a neverending string of short blowouts.

“Sir, are you okay?” One of the baristas calls out, her face of concern and repulsion.

“Holy shit!” The youngest customer exclaims, his hands clasping over his face at record speed.

Jotaro rolls his eyes, holding back an annoyed huff. It was over now, no use in trying to hide. He sits back in his chair, his coat falling to his sides over his extended belly.

He claps a hand over its peak and lets a belch rattle inside his closed mouth.

His eyes cross over to the barista who served him. They still stare in shock. He can see the regret in their eyes. It almost makes him laugh.

“I’m fine.” He answers, blowing out another burp after.

His stomach rolls, bubbles fill him at a alarming rate. Yeah, he’s not going to make it.

Jotaro takes out his wallet and drops a hundred on the table, before picking up his things and putting it in his bag. He hopes the barista who did this knows it’s for them.

He stands, a continuous, bubbly moist expulsion leaving his backside.

“Your bathroom won’t be though.” He mutters as he storms towards the restroom, leaving the lobby with one last voluminous belch.

[omgokiguess]

wow guys i just got out of rehab today

first of all. it was so terrible except for some of the people there. but also a couple of the people there really sucked too.

the staff was TERRIBLE. they were literally so mean and power hungry. i was friends with basically every patient (except for the few shitty ones) and was really nice to them.... like i took in this innocent 20yo girl who started calling me her big sister and i helped this 21yo girl so much with her anxiety..... like i took care of everyone that i could and i stuck up for everyone that the staff treated like shit. and the staff was so fucking rude to me. the whole staff said so many times “we have no problem giving you extra phone time/computer time to take care of things like work, aftercare, legal problems, financial problems, etc” but literally every single time i asked to call work or call my lawyer or anything i got a no. it literally took me two full weeks to get things straightened out with exelon and i literally got let go from anthro because they would just not let me get on the phone so that’s cool. i never once was able to speak to my lawyer or my pre-trial officer. neat. also i got in a pretty heated fight with this one bitch employee who told me i was disrespectful because i asked her superior to open the laundry room for me because i had my period and needed new underwear out of the dryer. we were like screaming at each other and she ended up being sent home for four days. two guys actually ended up leaving randomly and left all their shit including their phones and wallets. that’s how bad the staff was.

the doctor was really good and knowledgeable and helpful and i really liked him. he was really chill. but i do have to say he really was pushing meds on not just me but everyone. i didn’t get on any meds though, and honestly one of the nurses congratulated me for not getting on meds when i left. i thought it was fucked up that i was the only person not on meds. we’re just alcoholics.... there’s no way we’re all fucking psychotic or something. nobody was on less than 2 meds besides me and i would say the average number of different meds was about 4 for somebody my age.

the staff just really frustrated me. it’s rehab so obviously there are a lot of rules for the sake of having rules and i honestly did not have a problem with the rules even though a lot of them were very silly. like you would not find me complaining about the unhealthy food, the fact that they said the gym would be open certain hours but was actually never open because they were “understaffed,” that our bathrooms were locked from 7:30am - 9:30pm and 25 people had to share two toilets, that there were essentially no covid-19 precautions, that somebody checked where i was every 15 minutes, that smoking a pack of cigarettes a day is okay but the juul is not, that i had to get the actual doctor to approve me using contact solution or allergy medication, or any other stupid thing they enforced. i literally only complained about the fact that i couldn’t talk to my employer(s), couldn’t talk to my lawyer, couldn’t talk to my pre-trial officer, couldn’t figure out my aftercare, couldn’t call my therapist, and that the staff spoke to me like i was either an idiot, a delinquent, or like i was a bitch.

i did put up one little stink though. this bitch that worked there, if we were in our rooms, when she checked on us she didn’t knock she just fucking opened up the door, so i decided to just chill in my room and read in the nude one day cause i knew she would just open the door without knocking... and wouldn’t it be fun for her to have to deal with the sight of my entire bush..... so i went for it lmao. she told the entire staff that she walked in on me LOL and the “director of operations” (this woman is truly a dumb cunt) asked my roommate, who was a 45 year old MD from lake forest, if she wanted to switch roommates (???) and dr. nancy my hero was like “um no i actually lucked out with erin and also diana should learn to knock.”

anyway, nancy and brittany my two fave people, left on the same day which really sucked but whatever. then sam left which also whatever... i loved her too. and then..... oh god i hate to admit this so much.... but then michael came in. he made it in 3-ish days before i left.

i literally have NO IDEA why this would be, but okay the protocol is before you go to rehab you go through alcohol detox in the hospital, so i was an inpatient in the hospital for 5 days. i slept through most of that because they put me on valium for those 5 days so that I wouldn’t experience the hells of alcohol withdrawal. i’m glad i was asleep for most of it though because there was nothing at all to do, they had like 3 different crossword puzzles and no TV but as it turns out..... i wasn’t in the alcohol detox section of the hospital.... for some reason they put me in the psychotic wing..... there were only 6 patients total in that wing and i was the only person living in reality. one woman escaped the hospital because she thought her husband was telling her to leave, and the other 4 men were handcuffed to their beds. i was the only person in there with any sense of reality, and i had gotten there in the middle of the night so i was unaware of other wings in the hospital. on my last night there, they moved me to “2 north” aka the normal alcohol detox wing, which probably had 100 people in it. so in the morning we all had breakfast together and i was like WHAT THE HELL..... I COULD HAVE MADE FRIENDS HERE.... and that’s when i met michael. i knew him for like a full 90 minutes total in inpatient but we were literally instant best friends. we met because some old men were telling me jokes trying to get me to laugh and he was sitting nearby and he was like “so how old are you like 35?” and i was like “you’ve got to be kidding me fuck you....” and he was like “yeah lol i’m kidding” and i was like playing back, like “so how old are you like 45?” cause he looked about 30 and he was like “yes” and i was like okay bullshit so he showed me his hospital band and it said 45..... and i was like okay this is ridiculous. anyway he had been to the rehab i was going to before so he told me about it and he gave me a note for sam and i just thought he was really cool. he was getting ECT treatments which is “a treatment most commonly used in patients with severe major depression or bipolar disorder that have not responded to other treatments. ECT involves a brief electrical stimulation of the brain while the patient is under anesthesia.” aka it’s literally where they put those diodes on your brain and shock you. he got 16 treatments. i thought he might end up back in rehab with me. but he spent like 2 full months in inpatient which is super abnormal, almost everyone is there for exactly 5 days like me. anyways

so michael shows up right before i leave and the big question is WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME...... i spent like 3 days with him nonstop and we can probably all see where this is going but.... this dumbass of course falls for him....???? there were some cuties in rehab and i had NO INTEREST in any of them but idk michael is just kind of.... the personality i’ve been looking for.

couple problems. 1. i have a boyfriend. 2. michael is 5′6″ .... (???) .... 3. i cannot get his fucking stupid smile out of my head and i’m hoping i was just sexually deprived for weeks and this is just a dumb thing BUT

idk my boyfriend like made all these promises of things he was going to do for me while i was in rehab and he kind of didn’t follow through on any of them. i really basically only told him and my sister that i’m going to rehab and my sister lives in boston and so i kind of assumed he would do the things he promised he would do, which clearly was stupid on my part. i can’t rely on him. i should have learned that by now... if i want something done i have to do it myself. i didn’t even ask very much of him. he basically promised four things. 1. he would take care of my guinea pigs. 2. he would check on my car to be sure it doesn’t get impounded 3. he would clean my room before i get back and 4. he would bring me the stuff i need (contact lenses to fucking see, hairbrush, tampons, other necessities) since they wouldn’t let me leave hospital care between detox and rehab. the only one of those he did was take care of my guinea pigs, which is essentially nothing because he goes to whole foods every day and his MAID cleaned their cage.

and idk, we were allowed 10 minutes of combined computer and phone time a day (which is literally nothing), and i always called him and ignored the computer because i thought he would want to hear from me and i would want to hear from him too, but at least 30% of the time i left phone time upset and crying. i mean i was turning my whole entire life around and it took him 13 days just to check to see that my car wasn’t impounded, and he had the audacity to complain that he was overwhelmed with all the stuff he had to deal with on my behalf even though it was literally just feeding my guinea pigs and then he had his own work shit. i suspect he’s taking more adderall than he should again. but i can’t even complain. his dad found the lawyer that may end up saving my life. 

and anyway. he never ended up cleaning my room (he wasn’t even gonna clean it himself, he was going to hire someone to clean it and he couldn’t even do that even though he promised. i don’t need it i just kind of thought he was gonna keep his promise), and it took him 5 days to bring me the stuff i need. i kept in one pair of dailies for 5 days (i wore my last pair over from detox) and went blind for 2 days. my rehab was only 20 minutes from his house, a straight shot on the never-crowded 294. i left him with all of my debit cards and pins too, and bank logins so that he wouldn’t have to pay for anything i needed. 

and idk then when i talked to him, whenever i complained about rehab he would just kind of be like “this is why you should have gone to PSI” which is where he went to rehab for marijuana.... which costs and arm and a leg because his dad will pay for anything for him and he doesn’t understand that i’m paying for this myself. and i didn’t want some cushy rehab. i mean yeah i didn’t want the staff to be such a load of cunts but i didn’t want his cushy frilly rehab experience. i would have really liked my program if there had just been better people working there. and he wanted to talk about my sobriety so much and like.... i don’t want to talk about it with him. idk in his head i think he thinks i’m taking his exact same journey and like i’m NOT. like it’s not even the same drug. he acts like he totally understands and it’s like... yes there is a lot he understands but there’s a lot that’s different and there’s no way ANY two patients ever went through the exact same thing, ESPECIALLY when it’s different drugs!!!!

and i’ve been with him since about 1p today (he was late to pick me up, it was supposed to be noon, which he promised he wouldn’t be late, and him being late was also something i brought up a lot in rehab because it caused me so much stress..... i just KNEW he was gonna be late and it caused me a lot of anxiety and i told him this so much and he was still late) (and anyway the point here is).... i’ve been with him since 1 and he just keeps saying weird stuff about alcohol. which is EXACTLY why i didn’t want anybody to know i was going to rehab. like after eating hospital food for weeks i wanted to go to a nice restaurant and most nice restaurants serve alcohol.... which is FINE like i was not gonna drink.... but he kept saying things like “we probably shouldn’t go to a pub” or “lake forest food and wine hmm better not go there” and it’s like..... i’m fucking HUNGRY i purposely didn’t eat the hospital food because i wanted to eat good food and it took us till 2:30pm to get somewhere because he felt the need to beat around the alcohol bush.... and every time alcohol came up in conversation (which just HAPPENS because that is how life is....) he’d be like oh sorry shouldn’t mention that and it’s like I CAN HANDLE IT..... i literally finally said to him “wow I’m so glad I didn’t tell anyone i went to rehab because if everybody talked to me the way you’re talking to me that would make me want to drink”

and also right before i went to rehab i told him i was afraid i wasn’t going to like him anymore if i was sober. and boy was i right. and adding michael in did not fucking help. i told myself i would never like somebody fucking shorter than me but i can’t fucking help it. i’ve never liked people for their looks anyway and his personality is just fucking perfect. i can’t get his voice and his smile out of my head. and i trust him to be sober. i really do. this was his first relapse in five years, and he only spent one month drinking before getting help. and i think we could be sober together. 

idk maybe i was just so sex deprived that i was just horny or something. i don’t know.

i start online intensive outpatient tomorrow at noon. this week i have it wednesday thursday and friday but it’s gonna be different every week and somebody is going to at least speak with me every day. i’m doing it through derek’s practice and i told him to make sure i have a lot of homework.

i’m not sure how or when i’m going to get back to work. i don’t even really care though. i can always get another job. and after talking to my sister and working through some therapy at rehab, i almost think it’s best to move anyway. i think it would really help me to get away from my parents.

idk. my life is just so in limbo right now. i can stay on FMLA leave for 3 months and on my upcoming court date, that will mark one month. i think it might be wise to use the whole three months. it also might not be wise though because i need things to do. maybe if i could just get back to anthro.....

anthro terminated me in the weirdest way and i think my lawyer can get my job at anthro back for me with a simple letter. that might be the best thing for me right now. 

not to mention.... i haven’t been back to my apartment yet but.... the gold coast has been destroyed. i don’t know what i’m going back to at this point. this is really sad sad sad to say but i don’t think i will be living downtown chicago anymore, once i find some other solution or once this lease expires, i’m leaving. maybe i’ll stay in chicagoland but probably not. if i do stay in chicagoland i’m gonna be living in the suburbs. but i think it only makes sense to get out of here. i think it makes sense to go to the southeast. florida or atlanta or north carolina or virginia. california is always on the mind too but to move there i think i need to be really really confident in my sobriety.  

[crystalelemental]

Before I shift into my game playing for the day, I have been going through Thracia.  Thoughts under the cut.

Full disclosure: I am cheating at this point.  I have the codes on and do not give a fuck.  I hit Chapter 4 and was pretty much done the instant I opened the north gate.  For anyone who likes a bit of karma, though, it turns out the cheat codes I’m using also affect the enemies.  If I turn on “100% re-move,” then enemies also get to go again.  If I turn on max movement range, the enemies get that too.  Though that one was funny, because it gave it to the children in 4X, who then booked it in one turn.  If I add stat modifying codes, the enemies are all that strong too.  I did find a workaround by applying them only at the end of chapters when the enemies are all dead, but guess what.  Sometimes the codes stop working and your stats return.  Which led to Leif having the stats he had back in Chapter 4, and getting immediately hit by a Sleep staff from all the way across the map.  I did not find out until after beating it that Sleep, and all status conditions, do not wear off at all.  So the map was impossible to complete.  Because Leif was fucking asleep, and no power in earth or heaven would wake this sleepy bitch.

I think this is the best indicator of why I’m not enjoying Thracia.  Even while cheating just to blitz the game, it’s still a pain in the ass.  There’s still all manner of nonsense that can just throw off your entire progression.  And what’s worse?  If it weren’t for the fact the game is just too finicky and obnoxious to want to play fairly, it would have nothing holding it back from being one of the best in the series.

Story?  Excellent.  I love this.  I think it stems from my general love of side stories.  Blazing Blade is still my favorite after all.  Leif’s progression just within Thracia is great to follow, and it’s really engaging to see him work through this rebellion.  It’s also great to have the game focused on other antagonists.  The major ones, like Travant and Ishtar, have made brief (and great) appearances, but there are new antagonists to focus on because again, you’re not the main story.  I love that shit.

Characters?  Fantastic.  Like, granted, it suffers in the same way as every game that pre-dates support conversations, in that a lot of the cast is pretty one-note and then doesn’t do anything.  But there are more prominent faces in general, and they’re all really good.  Leif is a great protagonist.  He’s got the right amount of fire in him, and I’m actually stunned he’s not more popular.  I know it’s because Thracia isn’t popular, but I feel like he’s the same general personality type as Hector, who people love.  Driven, intense, ready to throw down at a moment’s notice, and honest to a fault.  Also it’s really, really funny to me how your advisor (who I don’t trust for shit) tells you about the child hunts, and Leif is like “Shut the fuck up, that’s not real.”  Olwen does it too, which is also funny.  She’s fighting on this side, sees the children in cages, and is like “I just thought this was some kind of liberal propaganda.”  Although man, I really love Olwen.  She’s great.  Trying to stab Kempf is absolutely the correct move, and her decision to defect as soon as she learns the truth is the correct course.  I can’t wait to hate Reinhardt because he won’t defect despite knowing the truth.

Eyvel is the best.  I adore her, what an absolutely fantastic early-game pre-promote unit.  Granted, she’s basically gone forever now that she’s turned to stone, but she’s so good while she’s conscious.  Mareeeta’s just as good.  Everything surrounding her and the Shadow Sword is super compelling, and her conversation with the Bishop was incredibly powerful.  Dagdar is really interesting, not just in what’s good about him, but also in his faults.  He’s trying to live an honest life, like Eyvel showed him to, but at the same time he’s so caught up in this lifestyle that people are dying under his care because there’s no food.  I love how that whole arc was another instance of where the hardship stems from and the why of a situation, blurring those lines between who’s good and who’s evil until it all seems like a matter of circumstance.  That’s my favorite.  Even the minor freeblades have some great dynamics, and while they don’t get much past that point, your recruits in Chapter 4 all get really funny dialogue that makes them feel a lot more fleshed out.  This is probably the best job you can do with character development in a game that pre-dates support conversations.

If there are any characters I don’t like...Lithis?  I don’t care for him.  He’s stuck around, so he’s not a complete flake, but he doesn’t seem to really stand for anything, he just goes along with you to not die, and his only motivation seems to be attempting to get into Safiya’s pants.  Not happening, my friend.  Not while I’m playing.  Also not a big fan of Dalsin, who only joins when you save his sibling who was taken for the child hunts.  Entirely because he works for the enemy, and when you recruit him, he says that he joined because they said his family would be spared.  So you’re willing to toss everyone else’s families into complete disarray and sorrow, as long as you’re unscathed.  Okay, Dorcas.  I also don’t know how to feel about Pan.  He seems alright?  Like, he’s one of the honorable thief types, and his talk with Lara does suggest he’s decent, considering “I used to love watching you dance until I realized you were still a kid” implies that, once he found out she’s underage, he stuck it back in his pants and was like “hell nah.”  I just can’t get a good read on whether he’s actually good or mostly a shitheel trying to pretend he’s doing good, so like...to be determined.  Also, hate to say it, but Nanna isn’t that interesting.  I don’t dislike her, but I’m also not as invested in her as I want to be.  So far, she’s been kidnapped, protected by Eyvel, saved by Leif, and has kinda been silent since.  Maybe more modern games have spoiled me, but I expected the protagonist’s love interest to have more to say and do.  But I guess we are still in the Kaga era, so...

The maps themselves do remind me a lot of the GBA era, and retroactively, I can really see Thracia’s influence on them.  I got up to Chapter 14, and the map layout is identical to the one on the Sacae route in Binding Blade.  If I have any serious complaints, aside from general enemy difficulty and my dislike of the capture mechanic, it’s that enemy formations are a bit too genealogy.  “What does that mean? “ Everything is a goddamn block of the same enemy type.  Like here’s your block of 10 armor knights.  Here’s your block of a bunch of cavalry units.  Maybe it’s bias, because a block formation like this is probably more accurate to general warfare tactics, but I like when things are spaced out instead of placing things in a massive blob.  Oh, also the Escape mechanic is hilariously dumb.  They spell it out, thankfully, because if they hadn’t I would’ve killed myself.  Apparently, if Leif escapes before any of his allies, those allies are lost forever.  For some reason.  Now, if they hadn’t explained that?  My solution would’ve been to open the door and fucking book it with Leif to end the chapter.  And I would have lost everyone.  That’s such an annoying mechanic, especially since it still happens even if there are no enemies left on the map.

I’m also not the biggest fan of some recruitment procedures.  “Capture this boss to recruit them when you go to Chapter 12x!”  Okay.  My best unit is dealing 3 damage with the capture command.  Also his tome can poison, and if it does, there’s no way to remove that status during the chapter.  He’s on a fort that gives +10 defense and heals most of that damage.  I’m supposed to do this how?  Like I actually can’t figure out how some of these conditions are supposed to be met without cheating.  I really, truly cannot.  It’s overall very similar to the GBA era, but just a lot more ridiculous and obtuse.  I’m sorry, like...who would have thought to capture a boss and hold them until the end of the chapter?  And you’re expected to do that twice!  I just...I dunno, man.  Sometimes Thracia feels super obtuse.

Overall it’s...really not fun to play, but is fun to experience.  This really feels like a game that I would adore if it were given a remake that make it less stressful to play.  Instead, it’s another to add to the pile of “Fantastic concept and I love it in general, but can’t stand playing it without cheating.”

[artificialqueens]

This Time Around (Scyvie) - Miss Bianca & rbcch

rbcch’s a/n: “i would fuck yvie, she would get me stoned afterwards.” - scarlet for entertainment tonight.   sometimes dreams do come true and you get yourself a new ship and the collab partner of your dreams, usually you just have to pout long enough. we’ve had so much fun writing this, i hope you have as much fun reading this, and come and tell us what you think. we would love to chat about this au with you guys, and our ask boxes are open. say hi to me on @lesbianpearliaison, or find me on ao3 where i’m rbcch and always thirsty for feedback !

Miss Bianca’s a/n: so…it’s finally done! those of you who follow us have been hearing about this particular collab constantly for over a month, and we are so incredibly proud of how it turned out. working on this project has taught me what true, 50/50 collaboration looks like, and has also proven to me yet again how utterly obsessed i am with rbcch and her writing, and i cannot wait to work more with her in the future - both to create more within this AU, and to work on other projects outside of it. please let her, and/or myself, know what you think of this! you can find me @scarletoddly on tumblr, and as MissBianca on ao3.

Summary: Yvie processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.

Or, Scarlet takes Yvie’s cigarette, and Yvie takes her home.

Word Count: 27.2k

*

Yvie barely dodges another body, groaning under her breath in frustration and squeezing between two strangers as she keeps her gaze fixed on Adore’s back so to not lose her as they make their way through a busy Brooklyn bar. The heat in the smoky interior is sudden, a contrast from the cool air outside, and Yvie considers taking off her leather jacket briefly, before wrapping it tighter around herself for security instead.

As always, Adore seems far less bothered to be in a crowded space like this, much more at home. She practically bounces off the bar once she reaches it, her body landing heavily against the wood, both forearms resting on top. Sighing, Yvie grits her teeth and shoulders yet another person to the side, positioning herself next to Adore stiffly.

“Damn, you’re really losing your touch,” she deadpans. “Couldn’t you have found us somewhere with a nice crowd?”

Adore quirks an unimpressed eyebrow at Yvie, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth, then lets her eyes dart to the opposite side of the counter. “Y’know, seems nice enough to me.”

Yvie follows her gaze to a bartender with her back turned, then down to said bartender’s ass, and rolls her eyes.

“So I’m just here to be your wingwoman, right?” she sighs. “That’s why you dragged me out on this Thursday night?”

They always do this whenever Adore manages to force Yvie out of the apartment or her art studio; Yvie grumbles about it like a little bitch and Adore acts generally unaffected by her complaining. In reality, Yvie’s roommate is one of the few reasons she even goes out, and they both know it, regardless of how much Yvie bitches about it.

“Oh, right,“ Adore snorts, grabbing her black hat by the brim and adjusting it on her washed-out brown hair. “As if you don’t get pussy without even trying every time I drag you off your ass and make you be around people.”

Yvie opens her mouth to protest, and then, drawing blank, closes it, leaning her chin on her fist and huffing out a heavy breath. No matter how many times the conversation turns to her seemingly wild and adventurous sex life, there’s really no way for her to dispute misconceptions without spilling her guts. So instead, she just rolls with it, plays her well-practiced part of the laid-back, detached womanizer.

“Besides, I don’t need a wingwoman,” Adore adds, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. “The ones I pick land in the palm of my hand. Literally.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yvie can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes her, so she counteracts it with a roll of her eyes. “Seriously, shut up.”

The music gets louder, then, pressing in around them, and Yvie stiffens her spine, straightens her shoulders so as not to collapse inwards. Picking up a flimsy paper napkin from the bar, she starts pulling at it with her blunt fingernails, tearing off tiny pieces and rolling them between her thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey,” Adore says, her hand resting on Yvie’s forearm and her tone surprisingly soft. “If I let you breathe in oil paints and cigarettes any longer, you would’ve died, bitch. You gotta get out more. Y'know, social life, and shit.” She waves her free arm around. “Fresh air. Y’know, stuff.”

“I love how this is your definition of fresh air.”

Adore brushes her off and turns back to the bar, just in time to come face to face with the very bartender whose ass she was so unabashedly eyeing earlier. Adore looks at her like she wants to swallow her whole without chewing, and knowing her, that’s probably exactly what’s going to happen later tonight. Unsurprisingly, the bartender stares back, lips slightly parted, like her breath just escaped her, and there’s no missing the satisfied look in Adore’s eye. Yvie looks at them in mild disbelief mixed with a dash of annoyance, and, when it becomes clear that neither of them is going to move, clears her throat pointedly.

“Can I get a Guinness, please?” she says loudly, probably too loud to use talking over the music as an excuse. “In a bottle, please.”

The bartender’s mouth opens farther, and Yvie glances at Adore to find her roommate grinning darkly and repeatedly clicking the ball of her tongue piercing against her teeth.

“And one tequila,” Yvie adds curtly, ripping a larger piece off the paper napkin. “You know, as soon as you’re free.”

“Huh?” the girl hums absentmindedly, finally tearing her gaze off Adore. “A shot?”

“No, a bottle.”

The girl shoots Yvie an annoyed leer, seemingly snapping out of it the rest of the way and snatching a bottle of tequila from the one of the refrigerator sinks on her work unit and pouring a shot. She puts it on the counter in front of Yvie, topping it off with a slice of lime and a little pack of salt, then opts for one of the real, floor-length fridges behind her. Adore resumes staring at her ass but doesn’t forget to call a low Actually, make that two, babe after her.

“You done?” Yvie mutters while the bartender is looking away, shooting Adore a look and tossing a rolled up bit of napkin at her. “You’re fucking shameless.”

“Mmm,” Adore hums, clearly not at all perturbed by Yvie’s attitude. “Remember that time you forgot your keys and fingered that girl in the hallway outside our apartment? What was her name? Anna? Akasha?”

Yvie narrows her eyes. “A'keria, I think. Your point?”

“Fuckin’ shameless.” Adore winks at her.

With a shrug, Yvie thinks back to her encounter with A’keria. Her lips had been sticky with her lipgloss and tasted of cherry, and Yvie had swallowed her broken gasps off her mouth as she had pressed her against the wall next to their front door and worked her fingers into her panties and then inside her. Like most of Yvie’s hookups, she hadn’t stayed the night. In fact, she hadn’t even made it into the apartment before ordering herself an Uber, rhinestoned acrylics clicking against the screen of her phone, cooing lazily about how men will never know how to touch women like another woman does, and isn’t that a damn shame, as she’d given Yvie’s arm a squeeze. She had been long gone when Adore got there with the keys, and Yvie had tasted the stupid, sickly-sweet lipgloss on her tongue for hours afterwards.

Good thing she had never particularly liked cherry flavors anyway.

Yvie grimaces and turns to busy herself with the shot to avoid continuing with the topic. Swiping the slice of lime over the back of her palm quickly, she then pours the salt over the sticky trail and grabs the glass, unceremoniously lapping up the salt and washing it down with the alcohol. Once she’s sucking on the lime, she decides to turn back to Adore.

Her roommate is now chatting up a dark haired girl perched on a stool beside her, repeating her seductive routine as if out of habit, hardly bothering to pause when the bartender sets the beers down in front of them.

“Thanks, babe,” Adore says carelessly, picking up her bottle and flashing the bartender a smile before looking back at her new conquest.

Yvie tries to drill into the back of Adore’s head with her gaze, but conveniently, this seems like the only time Adore’s focus is unwavering. The girl may not be able to hold a coherent conversation for longer than a few minutes at a time, but she’s always been able to hold a woman’s attention for as long as is necessary to get something that she wants — that something, more often than not, being to get into their panties.

“Watch my beer, Delano,” Yvie scoffs and pushes her own bottle in front of Adore. It’s hard to tell if Adore hears her. Yvie finds she doesn’t particularly care.

Pushing through the crowd is even harder than it was when they entered, and Yvie isn’t sure if it’s because of the fact the place is even more packed now or because of the way she feels almost claustrophobic without Adore as her lifeline. It’s a grimy bar, the kind where the floor is sticky with more than just wax to prevent it being slippery and the surfaces are in the constant state of something questionable chipping and peeling off of them. The air feels as dim and smoky as the lighting, hard to breathe in somehow, and Yvie knows her skin and clothes will stink of cheap beer and marijuana by the time they finally head home.

There’s a pool table on the right behind the bar counter, occupied by a guy and a girl who arches her back and pushes her ass up when she bends over the table in a way Yvie isn’t completely convinced is necessary. There’s a row of soft seating against the left wall, the velvet covering the cushions probably rich red where the fabric dye hasn’t worn off from the bodies rubbing on it. The round tables are situated every couple feet or so, almost all of them already taken and slowly filling with empty pints and glasses and bottles.

Yvie counts the scents of dozens of different perfumes as she shoves and ducks her way through the thickest part of the crowd, all of them oppressively heavy, a few of them familiar. She wonders if she’s taken any of these women to bed, wonders which one she’ll end up taking to bed tonight, wonders how many of them are just waiting to fall into the arms of someone who can take care of them proper, soft and needy and looking for one night where they can be the one who uses and then leaves rather than the one who’s left.

She reaches the back exit, shoulders drawn in towards her body, and glances behind at the clusters of bodies in the darkened room briefly. She places her forearm firmly against the door and chews the inside of her cheek, wonders if being the one who always stays behind will ever get easier.

The fenced smoking area is pleasantly empty, the night too young for people to be chain-smoking through packs upon packs just yet. The air outside is even cooler now that she’s coming from inside the bar, and she shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket, her fist instinctively closing around the old refillable lighter in one of them. Pushing the jacket closed in the front, she strides over to lean against the brick wall. There’s a weird realization that the door takes longer to close behind her than a door that light logically should poking somewhere at the edge of Yvie’s consciousness, but she pays it no mind, instead shaking one of her hands out of the pocket and retrieving the pack of cigarettes stored there. She thumbs it open and is abruptly distracted by the sound of footsteps, the sudden warmth of another body next to her.

A slender hand enters her line of vision, snagging a cigarette from the pack before withdrawing again, and Yvie looks up and directly into the heavy lidded eyes of her unexpected company.

She processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.

“Got a light, daddy?”

The woman’s drawl is smooth and sweet, and Yvie’s visceral reaction is anything but. She’s got the cigarette dangling between her fingers, hovering near that goddamned mouth, and the way she tilts her head just a little makes it clear she’s fully aware of the disarming, arousing effect she’s having. Yvie can’t bear to look at her knowing eyes or the tilt of her lips as she purses them more, so she drops her gaze lower and regrets it immediately as she’s met with the soft curve of her cleavage instead. It couldn’t be clearer that the woman is braless, hardly supported by the flimsy material of the red dress she’s wearing, nipples poking through the fabric, begging for attention, and Yvie feels as if she’s being suffocated, snaps her gaze away, fights the desire to curse aloud.

She twists her arm and pulls the lighter out, quickly pushing herself off the wall with her abs and stepping closer. The woman leans in, cigarette securely between her lips and palm flying up to shield the light, and Yvie flicks the lighter and stays breathing in her rosy fragrance exactly as long as it takes for the cherry to turn bright orange and not a second longer.

Slumping back against the cold brick, Yvie lights her own smoke and eyes the woman out of the corner of her eye. She wears what appears to be a grey men’s blazer, draped over her shoulders with her arms outside the sleeves, and Yvie toys with the possibility that it’s probably her boyfriend’s, or some guy’s she was flirting with before coming out and deciding Yvie was her daddy instead. The garment falls lower than her dress, which isn’t really much of an accomplishment, seeing as her dress doesn’t fall low at all, instead creeping up every time the woman tugs on the fabric to cover more of her chest and revealing the milky, flawless skin of her thighs. The hand not occupied with the cigarette is grasping a glass, fingers around the rim, long french tip nails blatantly evident against the golden liquid inside. Yvie’s eyes wander up her chest to her brown hair, coarse and loose, the kind of messy that’s a casualty rather than a deliberate choice, falling to just below her shoulders but so voluminous that Yvie thinks her hands could get lost in it.

Yvie likes the hair. It’s one of the few things about her that doesn’t scream straight girl looking for an easy fuck. Unfortunately, she really, really likes everything else, too, despite or maybe even due to it, in fact, screaming exactly that. It’s just her luck, that she always feels this pull towards girls who only want her for the night, just to try it out, get whatever she can give them before they go back to men. Yvie steels herself, hoping she’ll be able to resist falling into that trap once again.

The woman is regarding Yvie back, far less subtly than Yvie hopes she is. Yvie watches as she takes a drag, her pillowy lips puckering, and then blows out a cloud of smoke, her gaze lowering to survey Yvie’s abs, revealed by her crop top. She brings her glass up, that pretty mouth of hers staying open as her tongue pokes out, curls, attempts to catch the straw and misses miserably. The woman pouts audibly, and the situation is so absurd that Yvie chuckles and shakes her head, her resolve to keep her distance already starting to crumble.

The woman clearly goes to say something to that, but before she can, the back door creaks open again and a bouncer sticks his head out, startling them both.

“No drinks allowed outside,” he informs them, pointing at the sign above Yvie’s head that states exactly that. “Take it inside.”

The woman looks frustrated, ready to protest, but the bouncer raises an eyebrow and she deflates quickly, letting out a noise somewhere between a huff and a whine. Yvie stares, almost disbelieving, as the woman just lets her freshly lit cigarette fall unceremoniously from her fingers onto the concrete. Brushing off her fingertips on the lapel of the blazer, as if getting rid of invisible ash, she looks Yvie up and down one last time, seeming almost wistful, before turning to wobble back towards the door.

Practically gaping, Yvie glances rapidly between the still lit, wasted cigarette on the pavement and the graceful curve of the woman’s calves in her heels as she yanks the door farther open and begins to step inside. The bouncer disappears, but the woman stays put for a moment, propping the door open with her ass, her fingers curling around the doorframe as she stares at Yvie determinedly. Closing her mouth, Yvie stares right back, taking a drag of her own cigarette in attempt to hide how completely thrown off her guard she is. The woman sighs, licking her upper lip and pausing as if deciding how to properly articulate her thoughts.

“’M gonna find you later,” she says finally, nodding and pointing at Yvie. "Later.”

She vanishes, and the door slams shut, leaving Yvie alone with her burning cigarette and racing thoughts.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she curses and angrily stomps on the smoke the woman left behind her, crushing it under her boot and then grinding it into the pavement with a couple vigorous movements for good measure.

She finishes her own cigarette in record time, smoking like she has a point to prove or a lot of pent up tension and fury to release. Yvie finds herself angry often, probably too often, but rarely quite so heated as she is now, swept up into such a confusing rush of feelings that she can’t identify whether the source of the heat is her head or her gut or somewhere lower, between her hips, or her thighs, or if it’s just the cherry of her cigarette burning too close to her fingers now and setting her skin on fire.

She doesn’t stop until she can taste the filter, and it annoys her even more, because she’s left with the harsh taste of cardboard on her tongue in lieu of much smoother, softer tobacco. Shuffling her fingers so that she’s pinching the butt between her thumb and index, Yvie snappily stubs it out on the seam between two bricks on the wall like it personally offended her. Tossing it to the ground, she stares down at what remains of the other woman’s discarded cigarette, and shakes her head, jaw clenching. She should be relieved, she thinks, that the woman had departed before she was able to tempt Yvie even more, but the only clear feeling in her mind is frustration.

Collapsing back against the wall, Yvie lets out a deep breath, pushing one hand through the short curls on the top of her head and shoving the other into her pocket, probably a bit more aggressively than necessary. Finding her pack of smokes there, she rubs her thumb against it, contemplates lighting up another to occupy herself for awhile longer.

As if she’s hit a light switch, Yvie’s mind is suddenly filled with the image of the woman’s face as Yvie had lit her cigarette earlier, her eyes downcast, her palm visibly soft in the glow of the single flame. The sweet, heady scent of her perfume seems to fill Yvie’s senses once more, mixed now with remainders of the acrid smoke, and Yvie isn’t sure whether it’s really lingered so long in the air around her, or whether all of it is in her head. She wonders whether the fragrance was only rubbed onto her neck and her wrists, or whether she could find it tucked into the woman’s cleavage as well, nose into the valley between her breasts and breathe the mixture of sweat and sweetness and skin until her head is spinning and the saliva pools under her tongue.

Yvie shuffles her feet on the ground like she wants to kick something and scoffs at herself loudly. She decides to forego another cigarette and head back inside instead to escape her own mind and the woman occupying it.

The bar feels a little bit louder, a little bit busier, a little bit smaller than it was upon her exit, but at least the smell of hard liquor snaps Yvie abruptly back to reality and drowns out anything else she might imagine she’s still sensing. Defensively crossing her arms on her chest, Yvie tries to push through stacks of people with as little physical contact as possible while she scans the room carefully. She doesn’t pay attention to light brown manes of the girls surrounding her, doesn’t turn her chin ever so slightly towards any floral perfume she notices, most certainly doesn’t feel her stomach clench every time she catches a flash of red in her peripheral vision. She’s looking for Adore, she tells herself firmly, and only Adore.

Adore finds her instead, her lazy drawl barely reaching Yvie over all the other noise as she passes the table her roommate seems to have relocated to. Yvie stops in her tracks and wheels around, taking in the image before her. The first thing she registers is a dark-haired girl, perched in a lap. The second thing she registers is that the lap is Adore’s. Yvie can’t tell if the girl is the same one Adore was chatting up at the counter or not, and she wouldn’t be surprised either way. One of Adore’s arms is around her waist, and the other one is extended toward the table where she’s toying with a beer bottle, another, empty one right beside it. The girl is raising a glass above her head and swaying her hips to the music, only her position makes it look like she’s grinding on Adore’s thigh rather than dancing, and she looks so obviously gay that Yvie feels like punching something.

Yvie leans solidly against the table, stares at Adore with an eyebrow raised. Before she can speak up to get Adore’s attention, the dark-haired girl reaches over to snatch Adore’s hat off of her head, giggling and pulling it on so it rests lopsidedly over her own curls. Adore laughs in return, far more roughly, tugs the girl closer by her waist and sticks her tongue out with her mouth still open as if she’s about to lean in and lick the girl’s chest.

“Is that my beer, Delano?”  Yvie asks indignantly, cutting in before Adore can do anything inappropriate in front of her, or God forbid, remind her of what she wants to do to a certain wild-haired woman who she’s trying very hard to keep out of her thoughts.

“Dunno,” Adore shrugs, batting her eyelashes with a smile that’s somewhere between charming and predatory. “But I drank some, so… if you took a sip you might as well just be giving me a big, wet kiss.”

“Bitch, I paid for that!” Yvie exclaims. “You can’t just drink my beer.”

“Chill,” Adore says, forcing the hand that’s not currently pushing up the dark-haired girl’s shirt into the pocket of her jeans and pulling out a crumpled up twenty that looks like it’s been to hell and back again. She chucks it onto the table, and puts both hands on the girl’s waist. “There, ‘kay? Go to the bar and get yourself somethin’ nice, give me and Violet here a minute alone, huh?”

“Wow, you learned her name,” Yvie observes, a heavy note of sarcasm in her tone as she nods and grabs the bill from the table. “Damn, guess someone found her prize early tonight.”

“Go get your beer before you scare her off, Yves,” Adore snarks.

“Fuck you,” says the prize in question playfully, cupping Adore’s neck to pull her closer.

“Later, babe,” Adore says with a grin, leaning in. “Can do whatever you want to me later.”

“And that would be my cue, then,” Yvie states loudly and turns on her heels, starting to walk back to the bar.

Adore is like this, with women. She falls in love for a night, and then falls out of it with equal effortlessness before the new dawn has even begun to break. She picks girls up one by one, like little gadgets or toys, and tries them out, fiddles with them, charms them with her carelessness and her disinterest and her wolfish grin until they’re practically eating from the palm of her hand. And then, she drops each one just the same, forgets names, deletes numbers from her phone as easily as she gets them. With Adore, there’s never a second date, never a text back, only a new girl with a new flavor on a new night. It leaves a bad taste in Yvie’s mouth, always has. She can’t understand how anyone can live like that, without any sort of emotional connection or intimacy, and remain intact and happy and carefree like Adore does.

Yvie herself certainly hasn’t been able to.

Of course, she’s served by the same bartender as the first time around. The woman looks somewhere past Yvie, and Yvie knows she’s hoping to see Adore trailing behind. When she realizes it’s not in the cards, she fixes Yvie a blank look.

“Can I get two shots?” Yvie asks her.

“Tequila?” the bartender asks back.

Yvie knits her brow together and licks her lower lip before replying. “Actually, make it vodka.”

The bartender nods and slams two shot glasses on the counter in front of Yvie, then grabs a bottle and fills them up. Yvie hands her the note and swiftly takes the shots back to back while the woman disappears to ring her total in and get her change.

She’s just putting the second glass down when she hears it, and she instinctively snaps her head around before she can think better of it. It’s a rich, throaty sound, not quite a girly giggle but undeniably a cute laugh nonetheless, and Yvie frantically looks for the source.

She’s standing a little distance away, closer to the pool table, and she’s still wearing the godawful blazer that is just the first on the list of things Yvie wants to rip off of her. It’s too dark and too far away to actually tell, but Yvie is pretty sure she’s pinching the straw of the drink she’s holding between her ridiculous nails and taking tiny sips, her sinful mouth puckering. There’s someone with her, a tall, slender blonde with a head of hair even longer and messier. Yvie doesn’t bother giving her more than a glance, her eyes moving back to the woman she can’t seem to get out of her mind. She bites her lip, watches the woman’s head tilt back gorgeously as she laughs again, and wishes she was biting there instead, under her strong jaw, ruining the fair skin until the mark she’s left is as angry as she feels.

Inhaling slowly through her nose, Yvie tears her gaze away, turns once more to face the bar and lean against it, finding her change along with a receipt on the counter and the bartender still nearby. “Can I get a Guinness, too, please?”

The bartender nods wearily, heading back to fetch it from the fridge, and Yvie taps her fingertips against the wood of the counter, chewing on her lower lip now, wishing something would distract her from the places her imagination is going and the way the seam of her jeans presses between her legs when she keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot. The white paper of the receipt catches her eye, and she flips it over, pursing her lips. To her surprise, there’s a phone number written at the bottom, scrawled in black ink. Furrowing her brow, she stares at it for a second, still too distracted by the undercurrent of dirty thoughts filling her mind to figure out why it would be there. She’s startled out of her thoughts by the bartender setting the beer bottle down in front of her, and pointing at the writing she’s been staring at.  

“That,” the bartender says loudly, “Is for your friend.”

“Right,” Yvie nods, suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and folds the receipt carelessly. “'Course it is.”

She’s not gonna call you, Yvie thinks to herself, wishing she had the nerve or the right amount of alcohol in her system to say it out loud. Instead, she gives the bartender one last nod, grabs her beer and the receipt, and heads back towards the table.

That’s the thing with Adore. She always gets numbers, always has ink scratched on her hands, always has a woman trying to get a text back, for a coffee date or a second hook-up or a concert nearby. Yvie gives her a hard time for never replying, prods her teasingly, wonders aloud when anyone will ever be good enough for Adore Delano. Come on, we’re the same, you never do second dates either, Adore always replies, giving her a punch on the arm, and Yvie laughs humorlessly. They’re not the same, but Yvie won’t ever tell her that, won’t ever confess that she rarely gets numbers and never even gets first dates, only ever drunk girls with long nails and one-sided sex.

It’s funny, how carelessly Adore keeps throwing out something Yvie would kill to have.

Spotting a trash can, Yvie briefly contemplates sparing Adore the trouble this time around and throwing out the number herself. She decides against it after a moment, curling the receipt inside her fist and shoving it into her jacket pocket, electing to give Adore a chance to not be an ass about it, just this once.

Violet has moved to straddle Adore’s lap by the time Yvie gets back to the table, her elbows placed on Adore’s shoulders and her ass propped up just enough for Adore to have room to grab handfuls. Adore’s other hand is lost in Violets curls, probably planted on the nape of her neck to pull her closer as they make out with little to no regard to their surroundings. Tiredly, Yvie rubs her temple with the heel of her palm, the short hair of her undercut tickling the skin, and announces herself by resting the bottle on the table.

“God, can you two just get a room already?” she huffs, her whole body tense from frustration, practically itching to get her hands on a woman like Adore’s doing right now, despite her disapproval - preferably a certain woman in particular.

Adore tugs on Violet’s hair to force her to break the kiss and move to the side so that she can face Yvie. “Uh, I dunno, can we?”

Violet fidgets a little, her hands starting to wander on Adore’s body like she’s not about to let anyone interrupt them.

“C’mon, babe, gimme a minute here,” Adore chuckles and grips Violet’s waist, lifting her and depositing her on the couch next to her like she’s just a doll and not a full-sized human being. Violet just readjusts Adore’s hat on her head and reaches for her still unfinished drink on the table, instantly initiating a round of flirty glancing with someone nearby. Almost impressed, Yvie takes a sip of beer, figures that maybe Adore has finally met someone whose disinterested attitude matches hers.

“What do you mean, can you?” she asks, picking up where the conversation had left off.

“Can I like, use the apartment? Or is your headboard gonna be banging against the wall like usual?”

Yvie glares at her, feigning affront and trying to avoid the train of thought that the mention of her banging headboard leads her towards. Adore just stares back amusedly, licking her thumb to swipe at a smear of lipstick on the corner of her own mouth.

“She could join us,” Violet suggests coyly, still making eyes at someone a table over as if she doesn’t really care one way or another. Yvie isn’t sure whether she’s serious, can’t tell if she ought to respond with a resounding no, or just laugh it off. Luckily, Adore cuts in before she’s forced to make a decision.

“Nah, babe, Yves already found herself a girl for the night,” she says easily, as if she’s not at all taken aback by the situation. She directs her next words to Yvie. “So who’s the lucky lady? Can tell she’s got you all worked up already.”

“Does it fucking look like I have a lady with me?” Yvie demands, the pent up frustration combined with Adore’s teasing finally causing her to snap.

“Looks like there’s one you want so bad you’re about to fuckin’ explode, or something,” Adore replies, shrugging, unbothered by Yvie’s outburst.

Yvie takes a breath, sets her jaw and forces herself to calm down. “There’s no lady,” she says firmly, taking a sip as if to punctuate her words.

However, when she lowers the bottle from her lips, she can’t help instinctively turning her head in the direction of the pool table where she last spotted the woman. She’s still there, so much faster to locate now that Yvie knows what to look for, and Yvie hates the ease with which her attention gravitates to where she’d rather it didn’t. The woman is farther away now, and it’s harder to make out details, but Yvie’s imagination and vivid memories of their short interaction fill in the blanks rapidly, reminding her of pale, creamy skin, of pink lips wrapped around Yvie’s cigarette, of how very touchable she’d looked.

“Right,” Adore says, drawing out the word and snorting with laughter. “Sure there isn’t.“

Flipping Adore off, Yvie takes another sip of her beer, not bothering to take her eyes off the woman on the other side of the bar just yet, taking her in for a few moments longer.

“Your minute’s up, I want attention again,” Violet informs Adore.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” Adore says, beaming like Violet’s the most charming thing she’s ever seen. “C’mere.”

Yvie watches as Violet climbs back into Adore’s lap, gripping her bottle far too tightly as Adore’s hands quickly wander to inappropriate places. She averts her gaze once more, unsure if she’s doing so out of politeness or out of envy, and allows her focus to narrow once again to the brunette by the pool table. She and her blonde friend are making their way towards the bar, now, and Yvie resumes drinking, keeps an eye on the two women as she leans back against the table.

The blondie says something, gesturing languidly as she speaks, and Yvie’s woman shrieks in response, slapping her bicep and shaking her head, her hair bobbing with the movement. The friend just throws her hands up and shrugs animatedly like she’s daring the woman to take it or leave it. The two of them reach the bar, and it hits Yvie a moment late that she’d thought of the woman as hers. She closes her eyes and curses internally, abruptly needing to be far more inebriated than she currently is.

If asked about it, she’d never admit it, aloud or even to herself, really, but maybe Adore had a point when she claimed Yvie’s already set her mind on someone for the night. It’s not like Yvie is planning on taking the woman home, but she’s also well aware the chances of her convincing herself she wants anyone else are as slim as they’ll get, and she’s lived this exact scenario enough times to know how it’ll play out in the end.

Yvie pulls herself out of that negative train of thought swiftly, watching as casually as she can as the two women take shots and pointedly ignoring the way her body tenses when the brunette licks salt off the back of her hand. She doesn’t think of that tongue lapping over her lips and pushing into her mouth after, doesn’t think of it circling one of her nipples before teasingly dropping lower and tracing down her abs, definitely doesn’t think of the place she wants it so bad it physically aches, simply because she doesn’t allow herself go there as a rule of thumb. Wishing for it has never accomplished much anyway, and somewhere along the road Yvie has learned it’s better to keep one’s expectations realistic.

“So are you gonna go get her, Yves?” Adore says loudly. “Or d'you wanna take Vi up on that offer to join us after all?”

Yvie glances over to find Adore peering at her from over Violet’s shoulder, both hands pushed in Violet’s back pockets now, and fixes her with a look that she hopes properly communicates how utterly unamused she is.

"You got that strap-on, don’t ya?” Adore prods, grinning mischievously. “We could use that for sure.”

“Didn’t realize you need outside help to keep your girls satisfied, Delano,” Yvie retorts. “Losing your game, huh? Problems with stamina?”

“Maybe some of us can just… take more, if you know what I mean,” Violet purrs, a seductive little sparkle in her eyes as she turns to look at Yvie.

“Okay, now, let’s not get carried away there,” Adore says roughly, clearing her throat, pulling Violet’s hips against hers in a smooth motion. One hand slides out of Violet’s back pocket, moves up to catch Violet’s chin, drawing her easily back in with what sounds like a low growl. Her touch is visibly firm, and she seems a mixture of amused and annoyed, like someone handling a kitten who’s started to crawl off in the wrong direction. She pulls Violet in to kiss her again, and that’s when Yvie stops watching.

She glances back at the bar, expecting to see her woman leant against it still with another drink, but she and her friend are gone. Cursing under her breath, Yvie takes one last sip of her beer before discarding it on the table and pushing her hands into her jacket pockets in frustration, one fist closing around her lighter reflexively. Among the familiar things she normally keeps there, she finds a folded piece of paper and remembers the receipt with the bartender’s number. She spares a glance at Adore, finding her with her hands sliding up inside Violet’s shirt, and once again contemplates whether or not to give her the number at all.

Before she can rule against it, Adore’s hands slide higher, and Yvie realizes she’s fiddling with the hooks of Violet’s bra, apparently determined to undo them. The way Violet curves her back looks awfully helpful, like she’s not even attempting to stop Adore. Yvie thins her lips and decides she’s feeling spiteful enough to interrupt them and not be sorry about it. Retrieving the receipt, she slams it on the table, making sure her palm comes in contact with the surface hard enough to produce a sound.

“Wha?” Adore peers over Violet’s shoulder, mouth open.

“Bartender gave you her number,” Yvie says coolly. “You know, the one with the ass you liked so much?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adore says after a pause that’s slightly too long, her hands now resting on Violet’s lower back. Violet grabs one of her wrists, and slides her hand back down, her fingers clasped over Adore’s to press them against her skin, sliding their two hands into her shorts as if to prove that her own ass is just as likable, and probably more so.

With a gravity-defying eye roll, Yvie turns back to face the room, an annoying but very persistent part of her hoping she’ll see the woman, but she has no such luck. Almost obsessively flipping the lighter in her fist she gives Adore and Violet one last glance. They’re completely engrossed in each other, Adore’s mouth on Violet’s ear now, and by the way Violet keeps squirming against her, Yvie could bet anything the stuff she’s whispering is extremely filthy. Tightening her jaw, Yvie decides it’s definitely time for another smoke.

What was the eerily quiet smoking area has now turned into something even louder than the bar itself. Yvie has to force the door open, and when she finally slips outside, the two girls smoking right in front of it barely disrupt their lively chatter to move aside and let her through. Drawing her shoulders up and trying to make herself as lean and small as possible, she shoves her hands into her jean pockets and sidesteps around the circle of people, set on making her way to the wall so she’s not out in the open like this.

There’s a consistent stream of people against her, opting to get back inside, and it takes her a while to push through the crowd and spot a suitable space, near the edge of the area. As she reaches it, her shoulder knocks into someone’s back, and she mumbles an apology as she settles against the wall. The person beside her moves away from the wall, assumedly to allow her more space, and Yvie glances over and feels her stomach drop.

She’s staring right back at Yvie, and even when her eyes are widened in surprise and her mouth forms a tiny ‘o’, she somehow manages to look sultry. She’s not wearing the blazer anymore, which makes the dress appear even thinner and flimsier, and she’s holding a cigarette halfway to her mouth and apparently forgotten. Yvie leers at it, registers the white filter instead of the orange of her own smokes, catches herself thinking she doesn’t want the woman smoking anything but her L&Ms, preferably lit by none other than herself, and hates the intensity and possessiveness of the thought enough to try and physically shake it off.

“Hey!” the woman blinks and points at Yvie with her cigarette. “You’re the mean daddy with the light.”

Yvie stares, her brain slowing down as all the blood rushes between her legs, her hands going slack in her pockets. The woman’s heated gaze is wandering slowly over Yvie’s face and her upper body, and when she brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a long drag, Yvie swears she feels it. She’s not holding a drink this time, no chance of her being forced back inside, and her slender shoulder is leaned against the wall, and it would be so easy to advance on her, so easy to say just the right thing to make her sink into the brick and beg to be touched, and Yvie wrestles with the raw desire that’s been biting at her heels all night, resisting the urge to fall all the way into the trap.

“I’m not your daddy,” she husks lowly, pretty sure she’s not convincing anyone at this point, not even herself.

The woman takes a step closer, her shoulder still connected with the brick and dragging on it, and before Yvie can will her own feet to work in order to back down, she outstretches her arm and hooks two of her fingers through Yvie’s belt loop. “You wanna be?”

It’s primal, really, the way Yvie grabs her upper arms and pushes her against the wall, her own frame shielding the woman from the rest of the smoking area as she presses one forearm next to her head and places her other hand on the woman’s hip, her body acting long before her brain catches up. The woman’s eyes widen again, the impact punching the air out of her, and for a split second Yvie feels bad about her roughness, but that thought evaporates as soon as the woman’s tongue slips out and wets her lower lip, the corner of her mouth twisting up mischievously.

“Thought so,” she rasps out, still breathless.

Yvie doesn’t let her gasp for air, surges forward and locks their lips, kisses her to shut her up, to wipe that expression off her face, to leave her lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. She’s soft against the wall, barely any resistance to the hard press of Yvie’s body, her mouth opening easily with a faint whimper like she’s begging to be taken, and Yvie hates her for every bit of it. She hates herself, too, for how she gives into it, how she lets herself go and digs her fingers into the woman’s hip like she’s trying to leave bruises, how she deepens the kiss, how her skin heats up and her head goes dizzy with wanting and wanting and needing.

She pins the woman down with her hips, the insistent pulsing somewhere in her core causing her to search for any friction she can get. The woman responds by lightly nudging into the contact and clasping Yvie’s biceps, the leather squeaking under her long nails. It angers Yvie, reminds her of how she’s doing the exact opposite of what she planned to, should sober her up, but then the woman moans and brings one of her hands to the nape of Yvie’s neck to pull her closer, and Yvie is gone again.

Her hand is slipping up the woman’s waist before she knows it, practically of its own accord, thumb pressing deep into the underside of her breast and palm holding her ribs securely against the wall. The woman’s chest is expanding and contracting rapidly, pressing into the touch, and Yvie allows her to break the kiss but doesn’t move her hand away. Catching her own breath, she watches that pretty mouth gape open, lips darker than before and slick with spit, pupils so wide Yvie could fall into them, her head dropping back against the brick and exposing the shallow curve of her neck.

The air is thick with perfume and cigarette smoke and desire, and Yvie tastes vanilla as she runs her tongue over her own lips, her lungs still almost achingly desperate for oxygen. The woman looks gorgeous, so ardent, so pliant, so very willing, and for a moment, as Yvie watches the frantic heaving of her chest, feels it under her palm, she forgets what’s pissing her off so much to begin with. The woman meets Yvie’s eyes, and tilts her chin up a few inches, turning her head just a little and baring her throat, and it’s somehow teasing and an invitation all at once and Yvie throws caution to the wind, rubs the pad of her thumb over the woman’s hardened nipple and leans in to take what’s being offered.

Yvie’s tongue touches skin first, searching for the woman’s pulse, and her eyes flutter shut as she finds it, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the spot, far more gently than she intends to. There’s a shudder that runs through the soft body against hers, and nails digging so hard into her biceps, and a needy whine as the woman squirms. “Daddy…” she gasps, and Yvie hisses, drags her teeth against the skin. “More.”

Her voice is a shade darker now, prominently turned on, and Yvie wonders whether the rest of her body is, too, wonders if she’d feel it were she to reach under the dress and cup the woman’s cunt, if she’d be able to smell her arousal on her fingers, maybe even taste it after, wonders if the panties the woman’s wearing are soaking as fast as Yvie’s own are upon being called daddy and having an eager body under her own. She has to stop herself from letting her hand explore, instead forcing her leg between the woman’s and pushing her thigh up, higher until she’s pressing it against her heat.

The woman moans again, clawing at Yvie’s jacket, her hips rocking into the contact, and Yvie is sure that her tiny dress is rolled up too far by now, sure that people are watching, and she catches herself wanting to be seen, wanting everyone to know what’s hers, even if superficially. Yvie sinks her teeth into the woman’s neck and feels her melt, whining gorgeously as Yvie closes her lips around the skin and sucks.

The thing is, Yvie has no claim to lay, but some untamed part of her needs to mark the woman up so that whatever man comes after her knows she’s already been taken and used, ruined for him, ridden like a racehorse and put away wet. The remaining anger surging in her chest at the impulse, Yvie shoves her thigh tighter between the woman’s, stopping her from rocking forwards and trapping her firmly against the wall, mouth still working at her neck. It’s so very easy, to sink her teeth into the soft flesh over and over until the sighs the woman’s letting out are intertwined with tiny sobs.

Before long, Yvie stops biting, her lips still latched on the skin, and lets her tongue gently circle the spot. The woman shivers with a mumbled noise and goes even more slack than she’s been, staying upright only because Yvie’s body is right there to steady her.

Yvie pulls back a little, her gaze scanning the sight in front of her, the woman’s tight grip on her shoulders keeping her pressed close, holding the two of them still. The woman’s breathing is rough, her pout prettier than ever, her eyes unfocused and glossy as if they were watering while Yvie stayed on her neck, the mark blooming perfectly below her jaw. Her hair is even messier now, and one of the straps of her dress is threatening to slide off her shoulder. On some weird reflex, Yvie detaches her arm from the wall and moves to readjust it, and the woman’s hand snaps to grab Yvie’s wrist.

“So,” she drawls, her voice low like she needs to clear her throat. “You gonna feel me up outside a cheap bar all night, or are you gonna take me home, daddy?”

Yvie narrows her eyes, disbelieving that despite their position, the woman is still keeping up the façade of power play and making demands like she isn’t literally depending on Yvie to stay standing. With a scoff, she shakes her head and begins to lean farther away, and the woman raises an eyebrow at her.

“…Or do I need to find someone else to give me some dick and get me stoned afterwards?”

Yvie stares at her, open-mouthed at her nerve, the last of her resistance destroyed by the image of her spread out and taking Yvie’s strap how Yvie wants her to. After a moment, the woman cranes her neck a little, her gaze starting to wander over the other people in the smoking area as if she’s searching for that someone else. There’s no rational way she would be able to collect herself and advance on anybody in the state Yvie’s reduced her to, but Yvie has given up all logical thinking a good while ago, so she acts instinctively, her hand flying up from the woman’s breast to wrap around her throat, thumb under her jaw forcing her eyes back to Yvie’s face.

“I’m going to fuck that attitude right out of you,” she growls, articulating each word carefully.

The woman’s reaction is instantaneous, a rapid intake of breath and her thighs clenching together on either side of Yvie’s, a faint whimper escaping her. Yvie has to suppress a victorious smirk, knows she’s probably leaking, wonders if there’ll be a damp spot on her jeans where the dark fabric is pressed against the woman’s panties.

“We’ll see about that, daddy,” the woman says breathlessly, clearly struggling to get the words out, a stinging contrast to the smugness of what she’s said.

Yvie lets go of her and straightens her posture, stepping back and rolling her shoulders. “Oh, we will.”

Spinning around, she starts toward the door, expecting the woman to follow suit without being told. As she makes her way through the crowd, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and opens the Uber app, swiftly ordering them one. The faster she gets them out of there, the less time she’ll have to reconsider her shitty life decisions and regret everything. She’ll have the entirety of tomorrow morning to do just that, anyway.

She doesn’t glance back until she’s at the door, and just like she assumed, the woman is trailing right behind her, slightly unsteady in her heels. Yvie isn’t sure if she’s wobbly because of the alcohol or because she’s so worked up she can’t recompose herself proper. Either way, there’s something so very precious about her in that moment, and Yvie despises how small and cute she looks as she’s hugging herself and how Yvie’s insides twitch with the need to keep her safe.

“Aren’t you cold?” she barks out, furious with herself for even thinking that.

“Nah-uh,” the woman shakes her head animatedly, her arms still wrapped around her middle. “‘M pleasantly warm.”

“That’s alcohol talking,” Yvie snaps, and then, before she can scold herself, adds, “Here, take my jacket.”

She shrugs it off, steps closer to the woman, intending to merely drape it over her shoulders like the blazer had been earlier, but the woman stretches out her arm, clearly expecting Yvie to put it on her. Too surprised to protest, Yvie helps her into the jacket, cursing at herself internally for doing something so caring when she knows she ought to be getting as far away from the woman next to her as possible. Yvie moves backwards again, watches her pull the jacket around her body, almost like she’s snuggling into it, the worn black leather swallowing her up and making her look petite and somehow even more feminine than before. Her eyes narrow prettily, her hair fluffy around her shoulders, and Yvie’s chest is suddenly tight at the sight of her. Clearing her throat, Yvie folds her arms beneath her breasts and turns to head inside, needing to get away, not liking the way her breath catches and her stomach twists as she stares at the woman in her clothing.

“Meet me at the exit in ten, our ride is on its way,” she throws over her shoulder before entering.

Adore and Violet are intertwined pretty much the same as they were when Yvie left, Violet still on top of Adore and their lips connected. Adore’s hand is quick to withdraw from where it’s been fitted between their bodies when Yvie kicks her shin to get her attention, and Yvie tries not to think of the place she suspects it was.

“I’m getting outta here,” Yvie announces curtly, raising her voice over the music. “Give me an hour’s head start?”

“Sure, I could do this for ages,” Adore says agreeably, drying her fingers on Violet’s shirt and then wiping her mouth with the heel of her palm, only accomplishing smearing the two colors of lipstick even more. Violet’s hands are still wandering over Adore’s upper body, and Adore makes no move to stop her. “Where’s the chick?”

“Not here.”

“Neither is your jacket,” Adore comments, and it should be nothing more than a casual observation, but the suggestive tone of her voice rubs Yvie the wrong way.

“I was hot,” she bites out, lying through her teeth and too sexually frustrated and pissed at the situation to give a damn. “And it’s none of your business.”

“Guess the smoke break didn’t calm you down, huh Yves,��� Adore says with a snort.

“I wasn’t smoking.”

“Yeah? What were you doing, then?” Adore smirks wickedly. “Or should I say ‘who’?”

“Are you going to leave or not?” Violet cuts in rather sharply before Yvie can clap back, looking over her shoulder. “We were kinda busy here.”

Adore turns to Violet with a shitty laugh escaping her. Yvie opens her mouth to reply, but whatever snarky one-liner she was thinking of gets stuck in her throat when she senses a leather-clad arm snake around her own bare one, and then, just a beat later, a warm, delicate hand clutching hers tightly. Yvie’s whole body locks up and her heart sinks before starting to hammer in her chest, every fibre of her being resisting the intimacy of the contact until she feels a little sick. The woman’s body presses closer still, perfume making Yvie’s head spin, and when her chin comes to rest on Yvie’s shoulder, Yvie can’t help the way her breath catches, can’t help gripping the woman’s hand instinctively.

“Ready, daddy?”

Her voice is loud enough for Adore to flip around in their direction. There’s a playful crinkle in the corners of her eyes, her full lips stretched in a grin as she turns her gaze to Yvie, and Yvie watches, almost like in slow-motion, how her expression darkens. It’s like witnessing the amusement gradually drain, the way Adore’s brow furrows and her mouth adopts a displeased tilt, her hand sternly grabbing both Violet’s wrists to stop her from groping her waist.

“No,” Adore says.

“Yes,” Yvie replies pointedly, shaking her head so slightly it’s hardly even noticeable, like she’s prohibiting Adore from saying it aloud.

“Are you, like, serious right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Delano?” Yvie feels tenser than ever, and realizes that she’s holding onto the woman’s hand even more tightly now, but can’t bring herself to relax. The woman’s chin tucks into her shoulder, her hair brushing Yvie’s jaw and her other arm winding around Yvie’s so she’s practically clinging to her with her whole body. Yvie’s not sure whether the gesture is meant to be soothing or possessive, but there’s disarming surge of emotion in her chest nonetheless, and she grits her teeth in an attempt to suppress it.

“C’mon, not again.” There’s no amusement in Adore’s gaze now, and Yvie has to wrestle with herself so as not to raise her voice.

“Drop it,” she hisses.

“You made me promise not to let you,” Adore presses.

“I said, drop it.”

“I swear to fucking God, Bridges.”

Yvie quirks an eyebrow, fixing Adore a challenging look. “What are you going to do about it?”

There’s a pause, the two of them staring each other down as Violet shifts in Adore’s lap with a sigh and the woman pressed against Yvie wriggles slightly, her thumb rubbing against Yvie’s forearm as if attempting to dispel the tension.

“Sooooo, It’s super nice to meet you both,” the woman speaks up finally, drawing out her words, a barely perceptible note of sarcasm in her tone that Yvie thinks someone less observant might miss. Her head lifts from Yvie’s shoulder abruptly, as if she’s just recalled something, and Yvie glances over at her, furrowing at the woman’s cocked eyebrows.

“Oh, I never said,” she says, blinking. Yvie tilts her head, confused. “My name,” she continues with a nod, almost as if she’s proud at herself for having the information, and Adore snorts loudly. “It’s Scarlet.”

“Good for you, babe,” Yvie says snappily, decisively ignoring the unvoiced question and leaving the woman with nothing but daddy to call her. “Our Uber is here, let’s go.”

She starts to pull the woman — Scarlet, she mouths soundlessly, as if she’s trying to see where the name fits on her tongue, how it tastes — away, stiffening slightly as Scarlet’s free hand wraps around her bicep, and then stops in her tracks, looking back over at Adore. “An hour, remember.”

Adore scoffs, her attention focused on Violet once more, and shakes her head. “Like you’re gonna need that long with that one.”

Clenching her jaw, Yvie turns on her heel, yanking Scarlet after her, intent on getting away from her roommate as fast as possible. Scarlet squeaks, giggling a little, seemingly completely oblivious to the implication of Adore’s words, and allows Yvie to drag her through the bar. There’s a fresh flame of the same outraged fire that’s been burning inside Yvie all night kindling anew, licking at Yvie’s skin. She doesn’t know what she’s so furious at, if it’s Adore or the fact Yvie slipped up and allowed her to see her girl of choice, or that Scarlet isn’t an exception as much as she is the rule, not an ounce straighter than Yvie’s previous hookup had been.

The thing is, there’s no malice in Adore’s actions, no ill intention, only the traces of worry left over from before Yvie had developed a thicker skin and learned to hide how much it hurt every time, when Adore had been left to pick up the pieces and drag her out of the dark places she fell into. She had made Adore promise to stop her should she attempt to relapse, that much was true, but like any addict, she had found ways to get her fix without anyone knowing about it, lacking the self control and self esteem to stay away from women like Scarlet. That’s why Adore never saw her girls, just heard the creaks of the bed and the moans and the wild, exaggerated stories afterwards.

Yvie slows her pace once they’re out of Adore’s line of vision, keeping a tight grip on Scarlet and shooting an icy glare at anyone who gives them a second glance. With the way people start to move out of their path, it doesn’t take too long to reach the exit, and Yvie keeps her focus straight ahead until they’re outside, pausing briefly on the pavement under the arched awning.

“Is it here?” Scarlet asks, and Yvie looks over at her.

It’s brighter out front of the bar, the lights under the awning illuminating her features in a new way, and Yvie’s throat feels uncomfortably full. Her eyes are a cool blue, almost gray, and they’re wide and soft and inexplicably trusting, the smudges of eyeliner even more worn now, and Yvie itches to get her hands on her again, to keep her this close, permanently within arm’s reach so no one else can touch her.

Instead she grabs her phone from the pocket of her jeans and, like the fool she is, checks the model of the car picking them up despite the information being of no use to her whatsoever, as if she has any knowledge of car models and will be able to identify this one and guide Scarlet there with the same confident composure she’s been maintaining all night.

“It’s here, it’s a Hyundai Sonata, apparently,” she mumbles, lifting her gaze and scanning the cars parked against the curb of the sidewalk as if one of them is going to tell her it’s the one.

“Huh,” Scarlet muses and glances up, too. “It’s right there.”

She’s pointing to a dark blue car pulled up to the corner nearby, her other hand still clutching Yvie’s tightly, and Yvie squints at the car, then looks over at her, more than a little dumbfounded that the tipsy straight girl who’s been clinging to her arm and playing ditzy all night can pick out a car model in a matter of moments. Scarlet blinks back at her, as if there’s nothing at all strange about the situation, and all Yvie can think is that either one of her previous boyfriends must’ve taught her, or that she’s a bit drunker than Yvie had thought and entirely untrustworthy.

“You sure?” Yvie says, just to be an asshole about it.

“Positive,” Scarlet confirms, a drop of venomous sweetness in her tone. Her free hand wraps around Yvie’s bicep again, and she bats her eyelashes a few times, nails digging into Yvie’s skin so there’s no mistaking the catty, teasing edge to her voice. “What, Daddy, shouldn’t a lady like you know all ‘bout cars?”

Yvie’s stomach drops, and she grimaces, hating how Scarlet’s words go straight between her legs, hating that her attitude is somehow a turn on. “I have a bike,” she bites out, picturing and then immediately dismissing the idea of Scarlet straddling the back of her Yamaha, dress rolling up and her thighs against the leather of the seat. “I don’t need to know.”

“Ooh,” Scarlet coos, leaning in closer and shaking her shoulders a little, and Yvie can’t decide if she’s mocking or not. “So the biker jacket isn’t just for the look?”

“No, it isn’t,” Yvie says simply, refusing to indulge Scarlet’s playful provoking and starting to drag her toward the vehicle she pointed out.

It isn’t until Scarlet is shooting her an extremely satisfied look and climbing in the backseat that Yvie realizes she automatically held the door open for her. Scolding herself mentally, Yvie slams the door shut with the amount of force that will most likely drop her rating by at least two stars and circles the car to get in behind the driver.

The interior is nice, with R&B music playing softly and dark leather seats. Scarlet is settling herself onto her side of the backseat, making little humming noises as she wriggles in place and pushes her hair back, her tongue poking out slightly and her expression serious, as if her temporary comfort in the back of someone else’s car is absolutely essential. She takes her purse off her shoulder, setting it between her and the door, and then readjusts Yvie’s jacket on her shoulders and, after a moment of hesitation, slips her hands into the pockets. There’s something so endearing about how she does it, her movements unsure for the first time all night, and there’s a part of Yvie that wants to reassure her that it’s okay, but then she remembers it’s her jacket, and it’s all her stuff in the pockets, and she imagines Scarlet fisting her lighter, rubbing her thumb over the words carved into the metal, and the thought makes her uncomfortable, almost anxious. She wrestles with the desire to take her things back, tries to swallow past the unjustified panic in her throat, and presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth instead, turning to look out of the tinted window.

“So,” Scarlet starts and Yvie barely constricts a groan. “Was that your friend back at the bar? She seemed… very nice.”

“Roommate,” Yvie says.

She doesn’t bother to look at Scarlet, even though she wants to, and resists the urge to express any amusement at the other woman’s tone. Scarlet, it seems, speaks the same language as her, sarcasm, and is just as fluent as Yvie herself. It shouldn’t mean anything, that connection, it doesn’t mean anything, really, but it makes Yvie like Scarlet, consider that they’d maybe get along, could perhaps, in a different world, be something more than two incompatible women using each other for sex and weed and one night of feeling anything at all.

“Oh, I was there with my roommate Pearl too,” Scarlet chirps, seemingly not perplexed by Yvie’s curtness. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” Yvie says in a tone that hopefully conveys she does not, in fact, find it at all hilarious.

There’s another soft hum from Scarlet, and then a pause, the rustling of the leather audible over the music that’s playing. Scarlet gives a little sigh, one that sounds rather dramatic, and Yvie pictures her pouting from not being paid enough attention. After a moment, Yvie notices motion in her peripheral vision, and glances over to find Scarlet leaning forwards, her arms wrapped around the passenger seat in front of her.

“Nice car,” Scarlet says to the driver, a man whose name Yvie read just a few minutes ago but can’t be bothered to remember. “Leather seats were extra, right?”

Yvie zones out once the man starts to reply, stops paying attention the moment she realizes he’s not even given a yes or no answer, and instead begun a long narrative about cars and prices and luxury models that Yvie can already tell is going to be exhausting. She doesn’t understand much of it, and finds herself staring at Scarlet while the woman is focused on something else, watching her lips slowly curl up into a little smile as the man rambles away. Yvie feels the frustration building all over again, unable to explain Scarlet’s behavior as anything other than flirting with this random Uber driver simply because he’s male.

“Darling,” Scarlet cuts in, her low, amused voice interrupting him mid-sentence and making Yvie shiver, convinced by the feeling in her abdomen that she might turn into a puddle right there against the seat. “I know how car prices work. The question was rhetorical.”

There’s no missing a condescending tint in Scarlet’s words, and the driver shuts up abruptly. Yvie senses a chuckle rise deep in her chest, and she tries to suppress it, failing and coughing it out in the end. Scarlet, looking entirely too pleased with herself, pats the driver’s shoulder and then lets go of the seat in front of her and falls back into her previous position. Yvie can’t decide whether she’s more amused by the situation or aroused by Scarlet’s handling of it, and she finds herself crossing her ankles to press her thighs together, her gut twisting as she feels how damp her panties are. She watches Scarlet fuss with her purse out of the corner of her eye, and clears her throat, aware now that Scarlet hadn’t been flirting at all and feeling a bit bad for the assumptions she had made.

Clearly noticing that she’s got Yvie’s attention again, Scarlet shifts in her seat, rotating her upper body a little. “So, what do you do for a living?” she asks casually. like she didn’t just scalp their driver and they’re just in the middle of the game of 20 questions.

“I wait tables,” Yvie grunts.

“Where?” Scarlet continues.

“In a restaurant.”

Yvie doesn’t give the conversation room to expand, not about to share her life’s ambitions with a woman she’ll never see again after tonight. She doesn’t mention that she wants to paint for a living, that she rents a small studio space crowded with giant canvases and turns them into messes in her free time. She doesn’t mention that her work is usually too conceptual or odd to interest buyers, or that the lack of inspiration in her recent pieces has slowed her down and made her work even less lucrative, either. After all, Scarlet had asked about her job, not about her dreams or the local art community she’s trying to work her way into, alone, by sheer force of will.

“Well, that’s nice,” Scarlet says, after a moment of pointed silence that Yvie ignores. “I work at an upscale vintage shop.”

Taken aback by how unlikely the occupation is, Yvie glances over, and is met with Scarlet’s smirk as the woman pushes her hair back and shrugs.

“Unusual, right?” Scarlet agrees. “I always say that I sell shit no one needs to people who don’t need anything at all.”

“You undeniably have a knack for that,” Yvie says with a snort.

“I once sold a cheap candelabra to a rich tourist for ten times its worth by claiming it had been owned by Elizabeth Taylor and used in one of her more obscure films,” Scarlet announces. Her casual tone implies it’s nothing all that impressive, but the way she tilts her head from one side to the other and glances upwards impatiently makes it very clear that she’s boasting and expects praise in response.

“Impressive,” Yvie says dryly, not intending to indulge her.

Scarlet huffs and starts toying with the hem of her dress, drawing Yvie’s gaze like a magnet to her pale thighs. She stares for a moment, her stomach dropping as she teeters on the edge of spiraling into filthy fantasies once more, and then forces herself to look away. They’re stopped at a red light, and Yvie notices the driver leering at something in the rearview mirror, taking only a second to follow his line of vision straight to Scarlet’s cleavage. Yvie tenses up, furious at his nerve and her own possessive instinct, only narrowly resisting the urge to snap at him to keep his eyes off of what doesn’t belong to him. She settles for knocking her boot against the back of his seat and staring him down in the rearview, hoping the look on her face conveys her desire to kick all the way through the upholstery and shove her foot up his ass.  

Before she can act on her fantasies, they round the familiar corner and Yvie’s apartment building comes into view. “Here’s fine,” she tells him in an unimpressed voice without waiting for them to drive closer to the entrance, itching to leave the vehicle already and get Scarlet as far away from this creep as possible while she’s at it.

The guy parks next to the sidewalk and Yvie cracks the door open before they’ve even stopped moving, hopping out of the car and glancing back to make sure Scarlet is following. Instead of using her own door, Scarlet slides across the leather of the backseat and exits through Yvie’s side. Yvie impulsively grabs her elbow, as if ready to tug her closer to herself if need be, and pulls her out of the way to throw the door closed without another word.

Letting go of Scarlet’s elbow, Yvie slips her hand under the jacket to rest it on the small of her back instead, feeling Scarlet lean in closer at her touch with a pleased hum. Yvie glances over her shoulder to see the driver watching the two of them from the car, and narrows her eyes, wishing she could burn a hole in his window, until he starts to pull away from the curb. Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she opens the app to rate the ride, and Scarlet shakes her head.

“Give him a bad rating,” she says, her lips close to Yvie’s ear, and Yvie can practically hear the sneer in her voice, feels it go straight between her own thighs. “You saw the bastard staring.”

“Two steps ahead of you,” she assures, her thumb sliding on the screen quickly. Come on.”

Locking her phone and pushing it into her back pocket, she starts guiding Scarlet to the entrance. Scarlet stumbles just a little before finding her step, but it’s enough to justify Yvie keeping her hand on her back. The night isn’t at all warm, and the chilly air against Yvie’s bare skin gives her goosebumps. She imagines Scarlet’s thighs must be the same way, imagines they’ll still feel cold under her touch when she’ll spread them, imagines stroking the skin with her palm to get the blood flowing right before she pinches, imagines Scarlet whining and opening her legs more at that, and suddenly she feels hot all over, a little unsteady herself.

The elevator of the building is probably straight from the 80’s and sounds like each trip up is its last one, so Yvie takes the stairs whenever she doesn’t have a tipsy girl with her. She presses the button, Scarlet leaning against her, and recalls the only hook-up who she hadn’t done this exact thing with — a girl named Kahanna, who’d taken one look at the elevator and teased that she’d race Yvie up the stairs instead. Although they hadn’t quite raced, Yvie had realized quickly that Kahanna hadn’t been joking about her premium gym membership or her daily runs when the woman had pushed Yvie down onto the bed and ridden her like a stallion, moaning and cursing, leaving Yvie to do nothing but grab her muscular thighs and watch her tits bounce in her bra.

Kahanna hadn’t ceased surprising her after that, either, had crawled down her body and sucked herself off of Yvie’s strap like a pro. Yvie had grabbed a fistful of her curls to guide her head, closed her eyes, and imagined that she was guiding Kahanna’s head between her legs, instead, grinding her pussy against the woman’s tongue like she so desperately wanted to, fantasizing that maybe she wasn’t straight after all. Kahanna had left shortly after, chirping her goodbyes from the doorway, and Yvie’s fingers were on her clit and her mind still on that same image before Kahanna was even out of the building.

After she’d come, she had gone to the balcony to lose the last of her feelings in the cold night air along with her cigarette smoke, reminding herself almost bitterly with every drag that no one would ever bother to waste their time trying to take care of her in return, and that maybe it was better they didn’t, that she was too much of everything, too difficult and too picky and not worth wanting that way.

The space in the elevator is big enough for them to stand apart without touching, but for some reason Scarlet stays attached to Yvie’s side during their ride up, her hips nudging against Yvie’s thigh so subtly it would be barely noticeable were Yvie’s senses not sharp and overly heightened. There’s a pause between the elevator coming to a stop and the door clicking in a signal of being ready to be opened, as always long enough for Yvie’s heart to jump to her throat in fear and remember why she hates the damn metal box so much. She rushes to push out, her fingers wrapping around Scarlet’s waist now to keep her steady as she pulls her along. Once they’re on solid ground again, it’s only a few steps to the apartment door, but getting there takes longer than it ought to with the weight of Scarlet’s body against Yvie’s slowing them down and proving to be exceptionally distracting.

“My keys,” Yvie mutters, fumbling with the leather of her jacket, and Scarlet perks up a little, sliding her hand into the pocket before Yvie can find it.

With a triumphant little noise, Scarlet pulls out the keys, waggling them between her index finger and thumb, unreasonably proud of herself. Yvie shakes her head, moving out of the way and directly behind Scarlet instead to give her room. After a moment, she rests her hands on the woman’s slender waist and slides them down to grip her hips, thoroughly enjoying how Scarlet shifts and pushes her ass back against Yvie at the touch. There’s a number of keys on the ring, and Yvie wonders how long it’ll take her to find the right one, an entertained smile on her face as she presses closer to Scarlet’s back, turning her face into her brown hair to breathe in the scent of roses and cigarette smoke and faint coconut from her shampoo, noses the locks and lightly blows at the back of her neck to tickle the skin. Scarlet huffs, and Yvie leans in to see, brushing her lips over the corner of Scarlet’s jaw teasingly and watching the woman’s hands grow even shakier in response as she finally tries the right key.

The lock turns with a characteristic rusty noise, and Yvie moves farther into Scarlet’s space, palming the fronts of her hips, one foot lifted off the ground as if she’s mid-step, ready for the door they’re currently nearly crushed against to swing inwards as soon as Scarlet manages to press on the handle. Her body is so set on the movement she’s prepared to make that it shocks her when instead of wobbling forth, Scarlet swiftly twists around in her grasp and slumps against the wooden surface, fisting the front of Yvie’s crop top and pulling her with her so their bodies collide heavily and slamming their lips together urgently, as if she’s been craving the taste and the contact ever since they left the smoking area earlier and has had enough of waiting.

The kiss is different from those they shared back outside the bar, less teeth and more lips, almost gentler, but just as passionate and fiery. Yvie moans into the impact, caught off guard by Scarlet initiating like this, her control wavering for the first time tonight, but then Scarlet suddenly opens her mouth to invite Yvie’s tongue to explore, the willingness of the action shifting the power balance once more in Yvie’s favor. Scarlet’s whole body is so receptive to every single movement that Yvie’s knees buckle a little, the effect of having someone at her mercy like this dizzying and electrifying. She digs her fingertips into Scarlet’s waist harder, tries to convince herself it’s to ground the other, but then she bites down on Scarlet’s lower lip, and Scarlet whimpers so gorgeously that suddenly the point of contact is to anchor Yvie instead.

“Daddy,” Scarlet whines quietly, like she’s pleading, trying to load the word with everything she wants Yvie to do to her, and Yvie feels herself throb in response, just a single twitch of her core that makes her want to double over.

With determination, she reaches past Scarlet and grabs her hand that is still securely planted on the door handle, and presses down ardently. The door gives way, falling open behind Scarlet’s back, and the two of them stumble into the apartment, their lips still connected, barely staying on their feet. A part of Yvie just wants to take Scarlet right here, right now, shove her against the wall next to the entrance without bothering to slam the door shut and pull her panties down, have her hook her leg around her waist and feel her heat and wetness on her fingers, hear how broken her moans get as she pushes in with two, three, maybe even four of them and opens her up proper. However, there’s another part of her, the one that wants to dick Scarlet down, ruin her cunt for every other person who has her after, see her stretching around her strap and begging for more like a little cockslut, and this part is far louder, turning everything else into static white noise in the background.

“My bedroom. Now. Right now,” Yvie grunts between kisses that have become just ruthless colliding of their mouths, no finesse to it.

Scarlet lets out an agreeable noise, high-pitched and desperate, and Yvie pushes the jacket off her shoulders, ignores the heavy thump as it falls to the ground, not even making an attempt to collect it like she normally would, unable to think of anything except Scarlet squirming on her cock, dripping and whining and grabbing for her. She presses them back towards her room blindly, attacking Scarlet’s lips like she wants to devour her, needing to leave them bruised like her throat, dark red, claimed and sore long after Yvie finishes with her. Scarlet winds her arms around Yvie’s neck, practically clinging to her as she struggles to match her pace, and Yvie bites down on her lower lip and grabs a handful of her ass, squeezing roughly and eliciting a pained gasp. The bedroom door is right there, and Yvie slams her free forearm against to force it open, quickly catching it with her foot  as soon as they’re inside and kicking it closed with a resounding thud.

It only takes Yvie a couple short seconds to shut the door, but it’s enough time for Scarlet to lift her knee and pull one of her heels off, her other hand still on Yvie’s neck. She hastily drops the shoe on the floor as Yvie starts moving toward the bed, still backing her up, and Yvie momentarily remembers that an intoxicated woman in one heel is a health hazard and she should probably slow down, but then Scarlet clings to her even tighter, like she’s surrendering, giving it all up for Yvie to have, and Yvie promptly stops thinking, lets her feral side take over again.

Scarlet doesn’t waste a moment longer either, manages to step out of her other shoe, and suddenly the angle changes, Scarlet now so much shorter than her, small and delicate and breakable in her palms, and Yvie wants to curse, wants to ravage and wreck her, wants to draw her impossibly close and snarl at anyone who comes near her. She recoils at the thought immediately, worked up and furious with herself and ready to break something, her hands flexing on Scarlet’s body as she throws the other woman onto the bed with a growl.  

Scarlet stays where she’s been discarded, sprawled out on the comforter without readjusting her position, like a little sex toy eager to be used. She looks up at Yvie through half-lidded eyes and draws her knees closer to her body as her chest keeps expanding visibly, allowing Yvie a brief glimpse of her red panties before she closes her legs, just long enough for her to notice how very wet the material is, nearly soaked through. Yvie sucks on her own lower lip, gnawing the skin, and raises her hand as if she wants to caress Scarlet’s shin, almost contemplates leaning over her and kissing her dirtily, almost dreams about scratching the strap and covering Scarlet’s frame with her own instead, pressing her into the mattress and making her come on her fingers over and over again until Scarlet is simultaneously begging her to stop and pleading for one more. But that isn’t what Scarlet asked for, that’s never the thing girls like Scarlet ask for or want, and Yvie has trained herself to stop feeling conflicted between lusting to get her hands on a woman proper and needing to prove her point, has chosen to go for as little skin on skin contact as each situation possibly allows.

As Scarlet arches her back a little and pushes her hips forward, her muscles noticeably tensed, Yvie swears she can smell her cunt, practically tastes it, and the saliva pooling under her tongue in response makes her curse under her breath as she turns away abruptly and makes her way over to her closet. She digs her fingers into the knotted laces of her boots, untying and then yanking them off with unnecessary fervor, as if they’ve done something to upset her. The jeans go next, shoved down along with her underwear and left in a heap on the floor after she reaches her closet and opens the door, temporarily obstructing her view of the bed.

The toy is where Yvie always stores it, thoroughly cleaned after the latest use and put on one of the middle shelves for easy grabs. Yvie snatches it and puts the black harness on without delay, doing up the waistband and securing the straps around her thighs, pulling on them just a tad too hard so that the material is digging into her skin painfully whenever she moves. Shortly considering taking her top off and deciding against it, not wanting to show her bare chest, she loosely wraps one of her hands around her cock and grips the side of the closet door with the other, halfway closing it and glancing back over at Scarlet.

The sight she’s met with leaves her feeling like she’s short of oxygen, blood rushing in her ears and pulsing between her legs. She unconsciously squeezes the toy in her fist, her knuckles undoubtedly turning white, as if that will provide her with the sensation she’s aching, throbbing for. Scarlet is propping herself up on her elbows, pinching her lip and staring at Yvie coquettishly, but the glimmer in her eyes isn’t what mesmerizes Yvie to the point of freezing up. Her legs are now spread in the most obvious invitation to fuck her, and she’s removed her panties, her pussy out on display.

As if in a trance, Yvie lets go of the door, moves closer to the bed, her gaze glued to the gorgeous bare cunt being presented to her so shamelessly. It’s the hair that catches Yvie off guard, makes her giddy and unsteady, visibly soft and brown like the locks on her head, framing her perfect, silky pink lips. She’s glistening with wetness, so abundant that it smears over the insides of her thighs, and Yvie can see it dripping slowly towards the comforter, can already imagine the wet spot that will be left after she comes, can picture her pussy convulsing and clenching and leaking around her cock.

Scarlet’s eyeing Yvie just as hungrily, her pretty mouth opening slightly as she sees the toy and then closing immediately while she licks her lips and tries and fails to suppress a pleased smirk. Yvie reaches her and circles her fingers around one of Scarlet’s ankles, harshly twisting her wrist to screw Scarlet’s thighs farther apart, and Scarlet lets out a sharp hiss and attempts to lift her hips off the bed, like she’s offering herself to Yvie and fully expects to be taken, too. Scarlet’s scent is heavy in the air now, unmistakable, intoxicating, and Yvie swallows thickly, realizes that she’s started jerking her own cock, slowly and languidly as if out of instinct. Unable to bring herself to decline Scarlet’s silent proposal, Yvie releases her ankle, trusting Scarlet to stay spread for her, stretches out the hand that’s not busy with her strap to rake her fingers through the curly hair. It’s just as soft under Yvie’s touch as it looks, long enough for Yvie to be able to tug on it should she choose to, and it makes Yvie feel some type of way. She stops at the top of Scarlet’s pussy, rests her palm there and lets her thumb stroke the hair, her own stomach churning in a way she’s not completely accustomed to.

“Daddy…” The word comes out as something between a breath and a whine, Scarlet’s voice weak and wanting as she presses up into Yvie’s touch.

Yvie bites the inside of her cheek, hard, feeling her own thighs tense in response to the name, the burning in her gut stoked into rush of heat. Letting go of her cock, she rubs her thumb over the shiny inside of Scarlet’s thigh before dragging her fingers through her folds slowly and teasingly, collecting wetness on her fingers, her lips parting at the sensation. The corner of her mouth lifts at Scarlet’s jagged breathing, control firmly back in within her grasp now.

“Daddy’s gonna get her dick real wet, huh?” Yvie husks, her voice low and gruff, withdrawing her fingers to inspect them almost absentmindedly. Scarlet whimpers, squirming, her reaction to Yvie using the title herself immediate, and Yvie dangles her fingertips over her strap, watching the liquid drip onto the silicone for a moment before wrapping her fist around the head, rubbing Scarlet’s wetness onto the toy like lube. “You gonna take all of me in that pretty pussy, babe?”  

“Please, daddy,” Scarlet breathes out, twisting in place desperately, her gaze focused intently on Yvie’s hand on her cock, as if she might force her hips forward and try to take it before Yvie has decided to give it to her. “Want it now.”

Her tone is a mixture of whiny and demanding, as if she’s calling the shots, and Yvie loathes the way her brattiness is just as arousing as it is infuriating. Needing the power back in her hands, Yvie leans in, hooking her fingers into the front of Scarlet’s dress as if to pull her closer, getting right up in her face and watching her expression go slack, her body weakening noticeably in response to Yvie’s sudden, intimidating closeness. Her gaze still fixed on Scarlet’s wide eyes, Yvie tugs downwards, feeling the material stretch and then relax as Scarlet’s tits pop out of the garment, the woman beneath her letting out a choked gasp.  

Pulling away slightly, Yvie lets go of the thin fabric and cups one of Scarlet’s breasts instead. It’s soft, fits perfectly in Yvie’s hand, the flesh almost shapeable, giving under Yvie’s fingers with close to no resistance, and Yvie slides her thumb over the nipple, feels it stiffen instantly, and crooks the digit to press on it with the blunt edge of her nail. Scarlet hisses, pushes her chest out, her back curving off the bed gracefully, and Yvie chuckles, mostly to conceal her surprise at how easily Scarlet yields. She squeezes the breast once more, then winds her wrist back, giving it a sharp slap with her palm and eliciting a gorgeous, strangled cry from Scarlet, barely suppressing her own groan at how perfectly it bounces against Scarlet’s chest.

“Asked you a question, babe,”  she prompts thickly.

Scarlet blinks up at her, eyes glossed over and pupils wide, looking like thinking isn’t something she cares to engage in right now. “Want your cock, daddy, please,” she forces out finally.

It’s not a proper answer, Yvie suspects she doesn’t even recall the initial question, probably doesn’t remember anything past her needy pussy and overbearing lust, but it’s enough to drive Yvie crazy nonetheless and make her stop prolonging this. She plants her fingers on Scarlet’s chest, right below her collarbones, and pushes down. Scarlet instantly flops on the bed, her body reactive like she trusts Yvie, and Yvie feels a familiar surge of protectiveness emerging somewhere between her gut and heart.

She ignores it, grabs Scarlet’s spread thighs instead and tugs her closer to the edge of the bed. Scarlet manages to somehow open her legs even wider, her hand crawling up her own body until she reaches her tits and starts playing with them, and Yvie feels lightheaded. She takes her cock, guides it between Scarlet’s lips, and slowly teases it down her slit before stopping at her entrance. Moving her hips forward just a little, Yvie presses the tip into the pool of wetness with her fist, slowly starting to push into Scarlet, needing her to feel every centimeter, needing to hear her pants and whimpers as every inch stretches her just a little more. The tightness of her makes Yvie curse and groan quietly, and Scarlet makes a desperate noise in reply, forces her hips upwards into the contact, her cunt swallowing most of the toy all at once as she lets out a long, throaty moan.

There’s a part of Yvie that’s impressed and riled up, a part that makes her own core clench in response to seeing Scarlet take the thickness of the toy so quickly, but it’s drowned out by the wave of freshly renewed annoyance that rushes through her and makes her vision hazy. Growling and pinning Scarlet’s hips to the bed with a hand splayed on her abdomen, Yvie watches her slide off of the toy, leaving it slick and shiny as it bounces free. She pinches the inside of Scarlet’s thigh harshly in retaliation, darkly pleased at her pained whimper, and then guides her cock back to Scarlet’s entrance. After a moment of allowing the woman beneath her to squirm, Yvie pushes back in, far quicker this time, snapping her hips and eliciting a sob from Scarlet as she’s forced to take all of it.

Yvie freezes once she’s bottomed out and watches how the crease of Scarlet’s brow smoothens out as her expression grows spaced out in bliss. They both stay unmoving for a moment, their labored breathing the only audible sound in the stillness of the room, and then Yvie slips her palm down Scarlet’s abdomen and leaves it resting on her pelvis.

“Fuck, babe,” she drawls huskily, and Scarlet immediately whines in response. “You feel so fucking tight.”

There’s a sharp inhale, eyes squeezing shut, and a lip being crushed between teeth. The reaction is immediate, too uncontrolled to be played up, and it confirms what Yvie was already suspecting. She gets off on this, Scarlet, she gets off on them suspending disbelief, on Yvie acting like she can feel her around the toy, talking to her like her men probably do, and Yvie is willing to give it to her, and not because it’s a turn on for her too, which, it is, but because Scarlet’s responses are too delicious to pass on.

“Your tight little cunt feels so good on my cock,” Yvie continues, purely to entertain herself.

Scarlet lolls her head to the side, breaking the eye contact, as if she suddenly feels too shy and wants to hide her face in the comforter. It’s so overwhelmingly cute, so simple and raw and honest somehow, and it makes Yvie’s skin itch, makes her insides ache a little, and she hates it. She doesn’t quite know how to deal with it, so she does the only thing she can think of — thrusts her hips to fuck into Scarlet.

Scarlet sobs, a shattering little noise, and Yvie is sure she’s going to bury her face in the thick material she’s lying on and not even look at Yvie while Yvie brings her to her orgasm. Instead, Scarlet turns her head in Yvie’s direction, her expression unreadable.

“How’s this, daddy?” she lilts and lets her gaze dart down.

Yvie follows her line of sight, glances down where the base of her cock gets lost in Scarlet’s hair, her pussy stretching around it so prettily. She’s confused for just a split second, unaware of what she’s searching for, but then she suddenly feels the muscles of Scarlet’s lower stomach tense under her palm, sees the toy twitch just a little as if of its own accord, and fuck, Scarlet is clenching her cunt.

“You’re a little cocktease, aren’t you?” Yvie grunts, winding her hips backwards and then rocking them back into Scarlet hard enough to make her breasts jiggle, the other woman wincing out a moan and clearly struggling to focus her eyes on Yvie’s face.

“What if I am?” Scarlet breathes, her mouth hanging open, tongue dragging over her upper lip briefly. “What are you gonna do about it, daddy?”

Yvie’s stomach flips, and she curses quietly, rotates her hips a little to watch Scarlet’s face contort, hear her broken whimpers. She knows that she’s got the better of Scarlet, knows full well that she’s already hers, malleable and needy and desperate to be worked into whatever shape Yvie likes. But somehow, despite all of that, Scarlet is still provoking, still being a demanding little thing despite how clearly her body betrays her at every slight movement Yvie makes, and all of it is so unbearably attractive, so filthy, so bratty, and Yvie can’t help but love all of it, can’t resist rising to every taunt.

“Make you beg.”

Yvie’s pointed words hang heavily, deliberately, in the air, and Scarlet’s eyes widen, a moment passing as she appears to hold her breath, mouth moving like she wants to shoot back a reply. Yvie stares right back at her, raising an eyebrow in challenge, and then Scarlet weakens, her muscles visibly loosening as she lets out a shuddering exhale, her cunt softening and giving more easily under the press of the toy.

“Please?” her voice is barely a rasp now, less demanding than pleading, and she wets her lips, makes an effort to roll her hips as if she’s teasing Yvie’s cock, trying to get her to move, and Yvie wants to ruin her, wants to fuck her pussy open proper, make her feel it for days, use her as long as she likes and then leave her to stumble back home wrecked, unable to walk straight or think about anything but the ache between her thighs.

“What’s that, kitten?” Yvie impels mockingly and lightly nudges her hips, just to keep Scarlet on edge. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please, I, oh, ooh,” Scarlet’s words come out in a rushed, incoherent bundle with no breaks between, and Yvie gets a feeling this isn’t something she’s used to or even really good at. A brat like her probably gets fucked plenty without having to work for it any, and as enraging as the thought is, Yvie’s own growing urgency and earnest aren’t making denying her very easy. “I… Please, daddy?”

“Please what?” Yvie tries again, shifting her hips once more, and watching Scarlet’s chin tilt up and her eyes roll back as she gasps. Realizing she must be tapping at Scarlet’s spot just right, she presses Scarlet’s hips into the bed to keep her still, teases her with another slight thrust.

Scarlet moans and arches, her head turning from one side to the other, an incoherent mess of words dripping from her lips as she strains against Yvie’s hand, making it an effort to keep her in place, and Yvie can only catch a garbled please and need and daddy, daddy, daddy. It’s not the response she was looking for, not what she’d normally settle for from a hook-up who she told to beg, but somehow, when Scarlet is the one rambling and gasping on her cock, it’s more than enough, and Yvie can’t keep herself from moving any longer.

Digging her fingers into Scarlet’s thighs, Yvie forces them farther apart, pinning them down with a grunt. She jerks her hips backwards, watches the toy slide out of Scarlet so smoothly as Scarlet winces, tries and fails to chase it. Yvie catches her breath for a moment, staring at the gorgeous wreck of a woman beneath her, the perfect spread of her pussy and her legs, her breast spilling out between her own fingers, and then gives up the fight and slides her cock back in with low groan.

Scarlet’s responding cry is raspy and desperate, and Yvie has to strain to hold her still as she finally starts to fuck her properly. Finding her spot again takes only seconds, and Yvie presses her thumbnails into Scarlet’s soft skin and adjusts her angle to hit it on every pass, biting down on her own lower lip and nearly drawing blood as she struggles to comprehend just how unbelievably sensitive Scarlet is there, how her cock simply brushing past it makes her thrash and twitch and let out broken moans, her free hand making a mess of the comforter beneath her.

“Oh, oh, daddy,” Scarlet pants, her eyes glazing over, her hips still determinedly pushing forwards as if needing Yvie even deeper. “God, you’re so big, I —”

Her teeth gritting, Yvie forces Scarlet to still with a shove of her arms, and slams into her, making her cut herself off with a choked gasp. “Shut up and take it,” she growls, punctuating every word with a thrust, moving faster and faster now, not meaning her order even a little and knowing Scarlet won’t obey regardless.

Scarlet nibbles on her lip and manages to stay quiet for approximately half a second, and then there’s words again, barely cohesive fragments of pleas interlaced with occasional frantic sobs, her voice turning higher in pitch with every snap of Yvie’s hips. Yvie’s pace is becoming more erratic, as relentless as Scarlet seems to be. She’s soaked, so much so that Yvie can hear every inch pressing in and pulling out, filthy wet noises filling the quiet spaces between Scarlet’s desperate gasps. Yvie thinks there will be a dark, damp spot on the comforter under her when they’re done, thinks the wetness must be collecting in the creases between Scarlet’s ass and thighs, most likely between her cheeks too, thinks how it probably makes her skin itch almost unpleasantly and finally notices how wet she herself is, gets angrier at the realization and fucks Scarlet like she hates her, like she means it.

With another string of pleas and praises, Scarlet lets go of the fabric she’s been ruining in her fist, leading it slightly crumpled in her wake, and allows her palm to dance over one of her thighs, stopping at her crotch for just a short moment and then pushing her fingers between her lips. Yvie feels herself go a little numb as she witnesses Scarlet aim directly for her clit, so visibly swollen and pink and perfect, undoubtedly sensitive and pulsing, aching to be touched just like Yvie’s own is. Scarlet slides her fingertips over the spot with a satisfied moan, her chin tilting up again and her eyes falling shut, and then she utters a breathy Oh, my God, daddy, right there and Yvie remembers how to use her muscles.

She pairs the slap she places on Scarlet’s wrist with another thrust of her cock, and Scarlet produces a wounded sound, immediately withdrawing her hand and pulling it close to her chest, her other hand moving to rub the stinging skin. She pouts up at Yvie, like she disagrees with such interruption, and Yvie can’t hold back a scowl.

“You said you wanted my cock, you’re gonna have to come on my cock,” she grunts. “Desperate little things will take what’s given and not an ounce more.”

Without awaiting Scarlets reaction — not that there would have been an intelligent one, concluding by her unravelled state — Yvie hooks her arm under Scarlet’s knee and lifts it closer to herself for a deeper angle. With the first roll of Yvie’s hips in the new position, Scarlet practically squeals, head thrown back as she rocks against the toy, pathetic and unrhythmic, her hair strewn across the cover, undoubtedly a mess of tangles that Yvie wants to drag her fingers through and tug as hard as she can. She imagines Scarlet on her stomach, ass raised to take her cock, back curved as Yvie pulls on a tight handful of those coarse locks, and swears she can feel the sticky arousal dripping down her own thighs.

Scarlet isn’t managing words any longer, just dry sobs and moans, slipping on and off of the strap so easily. There’s hardly any resistance left, just the sounds of her groans and her wet cunt, taking all of it so well, as if she’s made just to be filled by Yvie’s cock, wincing and squirming with the emptiness on every backstroke.

With a soft grunt and strength Yvie didn’t know she had left, Scarlet lifts the leg that’s not trapped in Yvie’s grip, and hooks it around Yvie’s waist. Her calf flexes against Yvie’s lower back, drawing Yvie nearer still as if desperate to get her as deep as possible inside and keep her there. Yvie wants to slap her thigh, push it away, but then Scarlet lets out a needy whine, and she’s looking at Yvie with that pout, lips so much more swollen than before, her glossy eyes are so wide and trusting, and Yvie presses closer and starts to thrust more shallowly instead, too enraptured and too far gone to make herself deny Scarlet anything.

They’re entwined so thoroughly like this, the proximity of their bodies making it ridiculously easy to tell when Scarlet’s muscles tense in a brand new way, like she’s chasing something and needs to release, melt into a puddle right beneath Yvie. It’s impressive, how undone Scarlet has come with just Yvie’s cock against her spot, no other stimulation, and the thought is nagging at Yvie, making her question what a girl like Scarlet could possibly be after that men can’t give her all the same, but then Scarlet cards her free hand through her own hair and pulls a little, eliciting a raspy groan from herself, and Yvie forgets everything else.

“Daddy, gonna—”  she cries out and tries to raise herself off the bed even more.

Yvie forces her lower by her hipbone, and then, almost absentmindedly, fits the same hand between them and places her thumb against Scarlet’s clit. Scarlet immediately whines and jerks like the impact is too much, like she won’t be able to handle it, the muscles in her thighs spasming so hard Yvie can feel it against herself.

“C’mon, babe,” she finds herself commanding. “Come for me.”

She presses harder against Scarlet’s clit, feels it twitch under her thumb, and then the response is like a chain reaction as Scarlet lets go, piece by piece of her body rapidly falling prey to the force of her climax. The jerk of her chin, her fingers pinching too hard at her nipple, the gorgeous broken moan on her lips, the clench of her cunt around Yvie’s cock, so tight and perfect it’s difficult to keep moving and fuck her through it, and Yvie can feel the burn in her own abs as she draws out Scarlet’s pleasure as long as she possibly can, still firmly set on making this the best fuck of Scarlet’s life.

It feels like ages pass before Scarlet’s body relaxes, and she begins to wince a little in response to Yvie’s slow thrusts, seeming too sensitive inside now, the convulsing of her pussy with every nudge against her spot too much to handle, becoming more intense and painful than it is pleasurable. Yvie rubs her thighs, and unhooks her leg from around her, holding her hips firmly as she slowly pulls out. Scarlet catches her breath, hand moving down to drift over her core almost wonderingly, the way one might touch her lips after being kissed, as if trying to confirm it was real, as if she’ll find some imprint on her soft skin as evidence. Her legs fall open on the bed, and Yvie isn’t sure if she’s protecting herself from the ache of having them pressed together or showing off the mess Yvie’s made of her, her folds spread, wetness smeared all over, caught in the curly hair, leaking out of her still and dripping slowly down.

Another few long moments go by before Scarlet starts to shift, prompting Yvie to finally tear her gaze away from her pussy and notice the rest of her, nipples still stiff from how she’s been pinching them, eyes still struggling to focus as she looks Yvie up and down. She pushes herself up on her elbows, shaking out her hair and taking a deep breath, and then starts to move towards Yvie, scooting her hips off the bed and then wriggling onto the floor, forcing Yvie to take a small step backwards in surprise to accommodate her. She lands in a messy heap on the carpet, taking longer than should be necessary to position herself on her knees, her limbs clearly shaky, and oh, of course she’s one of those girls, Yvie realizes, one of the sort to clean herself off of Yvie’s cock after coming on it, the kind of woman who wants to keep the fantasy even longer, make believe that she can take care of Yvie in return like this.

There’s a moment of complete stillness, and Yvie contemplates sinking her hand in Scarlet’s knotted locks, grabbing a fistful and holding her in place while she fucks her face, deep and thorough thrusts until Scarlet is drooling around the toy, making a mess similar to the one between her legs. It won’t really bring Yvie any relief, won’t ease the aching want in her gut and  lower, but it’ll be something to think about when she’s pressing her own slender fingers inside herself later, parting them and enjoying the way it burns so right, just another bunch of visuals she can turn into fuel for her imagination.

Before she can do it or even decide on it, before she can surge her hips forth and coax Scarlet’s mouth open with the tip of her cock, Scarlet leans in slightly, her thumb and index finger closing around the base of the toy delicately. Yvie gets stuck instantly, studies, as if hypnotized, how Scarlet presses very close to the harness, snuggles her nose into Yvie’s crotch, breathes in like she’s trying to smell Yvie’s arousal, like she’s savoring the scent. It’s enticing to look at, so fucking hot and enchanting and unfair, and Yvie couldn’t tear her gaze away even if she tried. Scarlet whimpers quietly, sounds almost needing, almost genuine, and then her tongue is suddenly dragging along the underside of Yvie’s cock, collecting and tasting her own slick, and Yvie’s whole frontal lobe short circuits. Scarlet reaches the head of the toy, licks her lips as if making sure she didn’t miss a drop, and wraps her pretty little mouth around the crown immediately after.

Hazily expecting her to take more of it, Yvie pushes her hips forward, a weak movement without precision or vigor, but instead there’s a subtle click of the buckle, and the next thing Yvie knows is her harness sliding down her legs. Yvie freezes, her eyes widening, and feels her stomach drop as Scarlet whimpers and buries her face in Yvie’s thigh all at once, tongue lapping at the inside, so close to where she’s dripping, as if she’s searching for the flavor. The sensation is so unfamiliar, so right, and as Scarlet pulls back again, looking up at her with her chest heaving, Yvie feels as if the ground is vanishing from under her.

“All for me, daddy?” Scarlet breathes the words more than speaking them, her pupils so dilated Yvie is dizzy with it.

She reaches for Yvie’s thighs, prying them apart gently but persistently, and Yvie lets her, stepping out of the harness helplessly, captivated by the look on Scarlet’s face and the way she’s touching her, and it’s as if control of Yvie’s body isn’t in her own hands any longer.

“Oh,” Scarlet sighs, and her fingers dig into Yvie’s skin, and Yvie realizes with a jolt that the acrylic nails she’d noticed earlier are nowhere to be found, scrambles to think what could’ve happened to them and finds that she hasn’t the brain power. Scarlet looks up at her, eyes pleading. “Oh, I want to… can I…”

Unsure how she’s managing to stay on her feet despite her shock, Yvie nods wordlessly, unable to fully wrap her head around what’s about to happen but so very desperate for it that she can feel her own cunt throbbing.

Her hands remaining in place, Scarlet leans in slowly, almost like she’s stalking her prey before going in for the kill, leaving Yvie the deer in the headlights, standing stock still and trembling in her grasp. Scarlet wets her lips, and then her nose is running over the trimmed hair, breathing Yvie in again. The first touch of her tongue is electric, the warm tip pressed right against the hood of Yvie’s clit, and the shudder that runs through Yvie’s body is too much, too uncontrollable, the whole situation entirely out of her comfort zone, and she almost grabs Scarlet’s hair to pull her away, but the contact is gone before she can. Yvie gasps in air, unsure whether she’s relieved or upset, shaken at how overwhelmed she is by the barest contact, needing more and hating that she needs anything at all.

Scarlet seems unfazed by Yvie’s responses, encouraged, in fact, her hands moving inwards to spread Yvie’s lips with her thumbs, and then her tongue is tracing across them languidly, a filthy moan vibrating against the flesh, and Yvie’s mind goes blank again, a whimper leaving her before she can stop it.

Scarlet places another long lick along the length of Yvie’s pussy, the tip of her tongue flicking teasingly against the clit when she reaches it and her lips pressing a kiss above it right after, and Yvie feels her own shoulders droop, almost says something, but before the sentence is even fully formulated, Scarlet leans away, craning her neck to gaze at Yvie and resting her head against the side of the bed. Yvie’s stomach drops in disappointment, her first thought being that Scarlet just wanted to try it out, perhaps to have a story to tell, or maybe to see if she likes it and shortly deciding she didn’t. Yvie hates the way the feeling dwells, but it’s nothing compared to the wave of nausea that follows suit immediately. She didn’t like it, realized it’s not worth it, that Yvie is too much work and not enough return, not something she should or would or needs to put any effort in.

Scarlet keeps staring at her, almost perfectly still, and Yvie wants to cover her own mouth with her palm, wants to look away, but can’t bring herself to, too frozen and sick to move at all. She loathes their position, loathes how bare and mortified she feels, rendered defenseless and caught in a vulnerable position just because she let herself be blindsided after avoiding it so successfully for ages.

“God, you taste so good,” Scarlet breathes finally, tongue working its way across her upper lip, and it’s like all of the air rushes back into Yvie’s lungs at once in a soft gasp as the whole earth seems to shift below her, assumptions and insecurities starting to crumble, her mouth falling open as she suddenly identifies the slack expression on Scarlet’s face as heart-stopping, overwhelming arousal. “Daddy…”

The title hangs in the air, exhaled carefully and helplessly, almost like a prayer, by the woman on her knees before her. Scarlet’s head lifts from the bed, and her fingers wander over Yvie’s thighs, lips moving soundlessly as if murmuring devotions as her gaze dances over Yvie’s still body, and when she finally speaks again, the need in her tone makes Yvie dissolve, as if she’s sugar on Scarlet’s tongue.

“Want you, want to…”

Her eyes are hazy and heavy lidded and slow to move, her touch is earnest and careful, and her voice is barely there, raw and raspy, forcing out the words as if they’re the truest thing she’s ever spoken, and Yvie can’t help but believe her. She blinks, hard, nausea replaced with tingling warmth that twists in her gut and slowly starts to spread outwards, filling her whole frame with the dizzying, sunlit sensation of being wanted.

Defenses weakening for the first time in as long as she can remember, Yvie tries to catch her breath, inhale and exhale through the heat under her skin. She reaches out her hand almost tentatively, carding her fingers through Scarlet’s messy hair, and feels the other woman nudge against her, just leaning into her hand for a moment and then tilting her head so she’s looking up at Yvie, the plain, honest desire on her face making Yvie’s stomach swoop.

“Please fuck my face, daddy?” Scarlet says, eyes fixed on Yvie’s as she nuzzles into her hand. Her tone almost sweet, as if she hasn’t just said something unbearably filthy, and Yvie tenses, feels herself leak, knows her pussy will likely drip on the carpet any moment.

She grunts, mostly to hide the way Scarlet has left her speechless, a rare occasion where her silence isn’t conscious rather than collateral. Fist tangling in the coarse hair, she tugs sharply, and then twists her wrist to guide Scarlet’s head closer. The triumphant little sound Scarlet lets out prickles Yvie’s skin, crawls up her spine and tingles the nape of her neck, and she allows herself to suspend her disbelief just like Scarlet had done earlier.

“Filthy,” she spits out the first thing that comes to mind, pushing her hips up and dangling her pussy just an inch or so above Scarlet’s face, her hand forcing Scarlet’s head back slightly.

“That’s right, daddy,” Scarlet purrs, pleased, satisfied, like she couldn’t be prouder of the fact Yvie noticed, and the sensation of her hot breath against Yvie’s folds makes Yvie’s stomach drop and lock up.

“Gonna show me how filthy you are, aren’t you, baby?” Yvie mutters through gritted teeth.

Scarlet nods eagerly, her movement restricted by Yvie’s grip. It’s followed by a confirming noise as if she’s impatient to let Yvie know how much she desires this, and she struggles to close the distance, bury her face in Yvie’s cunt, but Yvie’s hold stays iron. All of it makes Yvie inhale a little easier, makes her feel like she’s still in the driver’s seat, pulling the strings, collected and composed and not at all vulnerable, and they’re both probably well aware that in reality she’s putty in Scarlet’s hands, but Scarlet is willing to pretend, and that’s enough for now.

Yvie’s still for a few beats, torturing herself with the way her stomach keeps tightening and her heart keeps skipping in anticipation, and then, when it gets a little bit too much, she ruts down against Scarlet’s parted lips.

This time, when Scarlet’s tongue connects with her cunt, she shudders even harder, groaning and wrapping her fist tightly in Scarlet’s hair. She grinds against the contact instinctively, rubbing her clit against the soft warmth, swearing she can feel the shockwaves from the touch all over her body, and Scarlet responds with a needy whimper, her mouth opening wider and her tongue pressing hard right where Yvie wants it. Her blunt nails dig into Yvie’s tensed thighs as Yvie holds her still to rock against her, as if it’s getting hard to breathe, but she only presses closer, and Yvie can feel herself clench and leak in response, Scarlet’s tongue quickly and messily lapping up the wetness.

Needing more, requiring Scarlet even closer, Yvie bends her knee and props it on the bed, spreading her cunt open wider and providing Scarlet with better access. The way Scarlet laps over her clit with the new angle makes her groan so loudly she shocks herself, and when the tip of the other woman’s tongue starts pressing slowly into her opening, Yvie can’t help but force her hips forwards, crushing Scarlet’s head back against the bed and trapping her own hand in the process. Scarlet’s muffled, ecstatic moan sends a thrill down Yvie’s spine, and then her tongue slips inside, licking eagerly as if desperate for the taste. The dirtiness and enthusiasm of her movements makes Yvie’s head spin so badly she nearly blanks out, managing in a moment of coherence to be glad she has the bed for support.

Scarlet eats pussy like she can’t get enough of it, and for a moment, something about her motions and ardency makes Yvie feel like she’s worth it. Scarlet pushes her tongue into Yvie as much as she possibly can, licks inside like she’s thirsty for it, and then withdraws a little and twirls the tip around Yvie’s entrance as if she’s trying to open Yvie up. Yvie mutters a string of profanities, her fingers instinctively flexing in Scarlet’s hair, nails scratching the scalp, and as she frantically nudges forth, Scarlet closes her mouth and rubs her puckered lips against her slit. It’s not even a little bit enough after all the sensation, and Yvie growls, yanks and twists on the locks in her fist, the heat building in her gut when the gesture has no effect, Scarlet’s pout remaining pressed against her folds.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Open — open your mouth, or I’ll fucking do it for you.”

The responding whimper from Scarlet is gorgeous and pathetic, her lips parting in accordance with the command as if she’s helpless to do otherwise. Her fingernails scraping against the back of Yvie’s thighs desperately, she manages to place a filthy lick over Yvie’s entrance before Yvie shifts, getting the contact where she craves it. She can practically feel herself throbbing as she grinds against Scarlet’s tongue, the stimulation so intense, so aching, so good that her eyes start watering.

Scarlet’s a dream, and at the same time, so much better than what Yvie’s imagination is capable of creating, eagerly figuring out Yvie’s tempo and adjusting to it, meeting Yvie halfway, participating rather than just submitting to being used to get off on. As soon as Yvie loses her rhythm, slows down a bit, Scarlet picks up, her mouth dragging over Yvie’s pussy, her teeth grazing the flesh lightly in a manner that makes Yvie gasp and gives her chills, and then, when the rocking of Yvie’s hips becomes completely intermittent, Scarlet closes her lips around the clit and sucks.

There’s a swift flick of Scarlet’s tongue over her clit, and Yvie feels like a live wire, heated as if there’s a current running under her skin, sparks swimming behind her eyes, whole body ready to catch fire at any moment. Scarlet whimpers weakly, and then she’s humming, lips vibrating against Yvie’s cunt, and it’s so much and so intense that Yvie feels her bones melt, a wild cry leaving her lips as her pussy pulses and twitches, her orgasm taking over her body and making her vision go dark for a moment. She’s aware of her hips rocking against Scarlet’s face, of the wetness slippery between them, of her own teeth sinking so hard into her lip it hurts, and there’s heat spreading all through her, radiating all the way to her fingertips, hot enough to burn through something.

It rages for a while, the wildfire inside her, drowning everything in the smoke except Scarlet, solid and sound in front of her, and the rush of adrenaline and ecstasy in every tiny blood vessel of her body. Yvie feels delirious on it, like there’s not enough oxygen in her lungs, like the atmosphere is too cloudy for her to breathe in properly. It isn’t until Yvie manages a greedy intake of air that the flames start dying out, sizzling as they retract inwards and settle somewhere between her hips, leaving her skin a sticky, sweaty mess in their wake.

Finally regaining traces of control over her own muscles, Yvie stops jerking against Scarlet. Her knee sliding off the bed, she stumbles backwards, legs shaky, breathing still ragged, and vision blurry around the edges. Scarlet doesn’t let go of her thighs until Yvie steps out of reach, like she’s set on keeping her close but can’t muster the energy to go through with it, and when Yvie slips through her fingers, she tiredly drops her hands in her lap. She shrinks a little, like she was upholding her posture only because Yvie was trapping her, keeping her spine straightened, and her head falls back against the side of the bed.

Scarlet’s a wreck, her hair visibly tangled where Yvie’s been  gripping it, her lids even heavier, her lips puffy and glistening with Yvie’s wetness, smeared all across her chin, too, and she’s so fucking gorgeous it stings just a little, a sharp stab somewhere between Yvie’s ribs. She’s gulping in air, her still exposed tits heaving, and she’s staring at Yvie all dazed, like taking Yvie apart ruined her more than anything else tonight, and then suddenly her hand shoots up, one finger swiping over her slick lower lip and slipping into her mouth.

Yvie stares at her, an aftershock clenching her pussy as Scarlet sucks lazily. Her legs feel so unsteady she thinks she might collapse, and her brain is sluggish, processing information slowly, consumed with the warm tingling in her gut and between her thighs and distracted by the sex goddess in front of her, trying to puzzle out where her assumptions about Scarlet had gone so wrong. Scarlet pops her finger out of her mouth and inspects it with dark eyes, and Yvie manages to hold onto a thought long enough to try to articulate it.

“You — nails,” she manages, pointing at Scarlet weakly.

“Huh?” Scarlet gazes up at her open-mouthed, pink tongue dragging over her lips. She makes a movement like she wants to stand, hand tugging Yvie’s covers halfway off the bed and her legs tensing, and then pouts, apparently not having the strength to do it herself.

“You had nails, before,” Yvie says, her voice hoarse but more sure now. Instinctively moving forwards on wobbly legs as she sees Scarlet struggle, she offers her hands, pulling the smaller woman to her feet with more effort than should be required, her muscles feeling like they’re made of chewing gum.

“Oh.” Scarlet nods slowly, maintaining her grip on Yvie’s hands, her bare chest bumping against Yvie’s clothed one as they come nearly face to face. “They were — they were press-ons,” she says in a murmur, blinking earnestly. “I um, I took them off in the car. Wasn’t gonna keep ‘em on when I was going home with a woman as hot as you.”

“You’re not straight,” Yvie exhales, unsure if she’s asking or just stating, almost awed, squeezing Scarlet’s hands tighter as the realization washes over her again.

“What?” Scarlet stares at her, seeming utterly baffled, like she doesn’t even understand the question.

“You like women.”

“Of course?” Scarlet says, her brow furrowing. “I’m a lesbian.”

Yvie feels her throat tighten, as if she might choke or gasp or start crying. Scarlet looks so confused, her pretty mouth slightly open and still glossy from Yvie’s wetness, and Yvie is surging forwards to crush their lips together before she can help herself, the kiss a clumsy bumping of mouths for a moment before Scarlet catches up and reciprocates, lets Yvie taste herself on her tongue, the flavor so entirely different than the sticky lipstick she’s grown accustomed to that it makes her heart skip a beat.

The kiss isn’t long, Yvie breaking off to gasp in air, her hands curled around Scarlet’s gently. The woman in front of her looks even more dumbstruck now, chasing Yvie’s lips instinctively as she pulls away, her body leaning in closer as if magnetically drawn towards her, and she’s still so unbelievably responsive to every move and touch that it takes Yvie’s breath away.

“What was that for?” she mumbles, tilting her chin up to peck Yvie’s bottom lip.

“Nothing,” Yvie dismisses, ignoring how the gentle contact makes her dizzy, trying and failing to make her voice emotionless and disinterested.

She lets go of Scarlet’s hands all at once, and turns to grab the strap-on from the floor, hesitant once again to show any of her emotions or vulnerability as she steadily comes back to her senses. Scarlet hums softly behind her, seeming unconcerned, and Yvie sets the toy aside to be cleaned later, turns around to find Scarlet with her thumbs hooked into the top of her dress, pushing it down over her hips and leaving her entirely naked.

Yvie’s first reaction is dumb staring, her gaze drifting over Scarlet’s soft breasts, her slender waist and her tummy, the smooth curve of her hips and the brown curls between her thighs. Her second is confusion, wondering why Scarlet would undress after sex, if she’s planning on staying the night, why she’d plan on that without bothering to ask. Yvie opens her mouth, ready to object, and then closes it again, realizing after a moment that even though the women she brings home never stick around, Scarlet is different, and she doesn’t particularly have an objection, can’t actually believe that for once she won’t be abruptly left behind.

“So,” Scarlet says, drawing out the word, her tone teasing and playful again as she leans back against the bed and tugs on a lock of her hair, every bit the brat Yvie’s known she is since the beginning. “Where’s the weed, daddy?”

Her stomach dropping at Scarlet’s attitude, Yvie swallows hard, pussy suddenly interested again, her fingers practically itching to grab for Scarlet. Ignoring the impulse and arousal, she quirks an eyebrow, watches Scarlet’s responding pout, the bossy tilt of her head. The other woman’s arms cross under her tits, squishing them together, and the sight makes Yvie’s brain go blank for a moment.

“Right,” she grunts through her teeth, set on restoring her front. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“And the dick,” Scarlet says solemnly.

Rolling her eyes, Yvie mostly fails to suppress a chuckle, her composure already cracking again. Scarlet beams at her, her expression a combination of pleased and hopeful, like eliciting the reaction out of Yvie is the greatest thing she’s ever accomplished. Yvie sucks on her lower lip, fighting the twitch of the corners of her mouth before it spills into a full smile and shoulders past Scarlet to pull the comforter and the covers off the bed.

She gestures for Scarlet to climb in, and belatedly realizes she’s offering her side of the bed, but that stops mattering as soon as she sees Scarlet crawling across the sheets, round, perfect ass flawlessly in the air, the fair flesh oh so tempting. Scarlet flops onto the mattress face first, humming contently and going from a seductress to an adorable little thing in a split second, and Yvie’s rib cage suddenly feels oddly restricted. Shaking her head as if to get rid of the sensation, Yvie follows, readjusting the pillows so they can serve as a backrest. Beside her, Scarlet shuffles and turns, sitting up against the headboard and making a show of getting comfortable just like she had done in the Uber. Yvie lets her fidget in peace and leans over her to reach for her smoking materials, conveniently stored in her bedside drawer.

“Your fingers are so long,” Scarlet observes. “You should finger me next time.”

Yvie stills mid loading the grinder, the little baggie of weed still unsealed in her lap, and snaps around in Scarlet’s direction. The other is clearly examining Yvie’s hands, face thoughtful and the corner of her lip crushed between her teeth.

“I should…what? Wait, next time?”

“D’you finger yourself?” The question is so unexpected, so unabashed, that Yvie’s body locks up again. “You’d moan so pretty with those inside you.”

“Um,” Yvie says, stupefied, and, without looking what she’s doing, grabs another pinch of weed from the baggie and deposits it in the grinder, rubbing her fingertips together to brush the remnants off. “I — yes.”

“Oh, so you do moan pretty?” Scarlet prods her coyly, a little smile on her lips. “You sure did with my tongue in you, daddy.”

“Not half as much as you with my cock in you,” Yvie shoots back, unsure whether she’s teasing or defending. “You’re a screamer,” she adds, and Scarlet’s mouth opens in affront.

“Well, if you had the daddy of your dreams dicking you down after feeling you up outside a shitty bar, you’d be screaming too,” Scarlet returns, wiggling her head sassily.

“Sure, babe,” Yvie chuckles and screws the lid closed, immediately starting to grind the weed, the familiar clicking filling the room.

“Mean,” Scarlet huffs, narrowing her eyes, her pout pronounced and playful.

Looking at Scarlet, Yvie sticks out her tongue in response, mocking her right back. Scarlet’s eyes widen comically, all the traces of flirting disappearing as she freezes, her mouth slightly agape.

“Oh — okay, maybe not fingering next time,” she breathes.

Realizing that Scarlet’s reaction is fluster over seeing her tongue, Yvie quickly presses her lips together, feeling a little unhinged herself. Glancing away, she rotates the grinder a couple more times and then deems the job done well enough to begin rolling. Retrieving a paper and a filter, she starts evenly distributing the weed, moving with a tiny bit more precision and caution than necessary to avoid looking at Scarlet as long as she possibly can.

Scarlet’s words feel as if they’re etched into her brain, and Yvie can’t help the downwards spiral of her thoughts, the way her mouth waters and her gut twists at the idea of getting between Scarlet’s thighs. It’s been so very long since she tasted a woman, so long since she’s let herself indulge in something so up close and personal, never wanting to risk the embarrassment of doing something unwanted and unrequested, always worried the intimacy of the act that she loved so much would make it even more of a slap in the face when the women inevitably left her hanging.

Pinching both ends of the paper between her thumbs and index fingers, Yvie tucks one side over the weed and rotates the filter in a single swift motion. As she brings the blunt up to lick the paper, she hears Scarlet gasp and then honest to God whimper next to her, and her mind is made before she’s even finished rolling.

Tossing the materials aside, Yvie grabs the glass ashtray she keeps on her nightstand along with a cheap plastic lighter and sets it on the bed close to Scarlet. She taps the filter against the back of her hand impulsively before placing the joint between her lips and lighting up. There’s a sound of burning paper and then Yvie tastes the weed, inhales on reflex, and holds the smoke in for a moment. She looks back at Scarlet only when she lets it out, and finds the woman pressing her thighs together tightly, nibbling on her lower lip, her darkening gaze fixed on Yvie’s mouth.

Yvie hands her the blunt, clearing her throat to get her attention and prompt her to move. With a little oh, Scarlet takes it, immediately bringing it to her mouth without shifting her eyes from Yvie’s face, and taking a slow drag. Yvie watches her cheeks hollow and grits her teeth against her arousal, feeling her pussy twitch as she remembers Scarlet sucking on her clit.  While Yvie is busy staring, Scarlet offers the blunt back, but instead of taking it, Yvie just shakes her head.

“Aren’t you gonna smoke with me, daddy?” Scarlet purrs after she exhales the cloud of smoke, her voice noticeably thicker now. “Deemed you someone who likes getting high after sex.”

Yvie suppresses a shiver and moves closer to her, utterly entranced by the sight of Scarlet smoking her weed naked in her bed, briefly tempted by the possibility of shotgunning before she dismisses the idea for another time. Laying the tip of her index finger on the bruise she’d left on Scarlet’s throat, Yvie drags it across her chest slowly and lightly, swirling around her nipple before rubbing it to elicit a whimper and moving farther down, over her tummy and finally to the inside of her hip, the rest of her fingers joining the first to slide softly over Scarlet’s curls and between her thighs that open for her so easily, cupping her pussy gently.

“No, baby,” she says lowly, immensely satisfied by the wide-eyed expression on Scarlet’s face and the way she nudges into Yvie’s touch. “I’m gonna eat you out.”

“Fuck,” Scarlet chokes out, her legs immediately moving farther apart. “Please.”

Wasting no time, Yvie maneuvers herself on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, snaking her arms around her thighs. Scarlet’s cunt is shining with wetness, her scent strong and prominent again, and Yvie revels at how easy it seems to wind her up into this state. She pulls Scarlet a little closer, a tiny yelp escaping the other woman as she slides on the sheets, but she quickly catches up and settles against the pillows, pushing her hips up for a better angle, her heels digging into the mattress either side of Yvie.

Yvie turns her eyes up, studying the dreamy expression on Scarlet’s face. The blunt she’s holding close to her mouth has gone out, and Yvie thinks she’s starting to recognize the tendency to forget the stuff she’s smoking whenever something mildly more interesting emerges, and it should be infuriating or annoying at best, but for a reason unbeknownst to Yvie, she finds herself endeared instead.

“Want you to smoke while I do this, babe,” she says and it comes out far too tender to be considered a command.

“Okay,” Scarlet says anyway, a perfect picture of obedience. “Okay, daddy.”

She puts the blunt back between her lips and blindly pats around the sheets until she locates the lighter Yvie left next to her. With trembling fingers, she attempts to spark up again, the process taking more than a few tries before she manages to get a proper flame and suck in another cloud of smoke. Scarlet exhales unsteadily, her heavy-lidded eyes blinking at Yvie, rotates her hips just a little as if in invitation. Yvie drops her gaze back down, enjoying the view before her, taking in the gorgeous contrast between Scarlets pink, still swollen pussy and the brown of her damp, unruly hair, considers, for just a second, how she wishes she could capture the colors in an abstract painting, but then Scarlet’s clit spasms visibly as she clenches around nothing, and Yvie’s mind goes foggy.

She presses in closer so her nose is tickled with the hair just above the cleft of Scarlet’s pussy, breathes her in open-mouthed, dragging her lips oh-so-gently over Scarlet’s folds. She laps her tongue tentatively, blindly along Scarlet’s slit, and groans quietly, the taste so strong and distinct, the warmth driving her crazy, her head already swimming even though she’s just barely begun. Scarlet’s mewl is weak and needy and perfect, the light, lingering touch making her hips cant forwards, and this time, Yvie doesn’t make much of an attempt to stop it, doesn’t force Scarlet’s stillness, instead dipping her tongue deeper to flick against her entrance and savoring the feeling of having a woman so responsive, so alive, so wanting under her mouth.

One of her arms slipping farther around Scarlet’s thigh, Yvie strokes her nails through the hair, then spreads Scarlet’s soft folds with her thumb and pointer finger. She teases her tongue up to tap at Scarlet’s clit, coaxing another whine out of the woman beneath her, and then drops back down to get another taste of her wetness.

Scarlet’s leaking so profoundly, and combined with how Yvie herself is salivating, she knows they’re making a mess, can feel it coating her lips, trickling downwards, so untidy and filthy, foreign and intimate in the way Yvie has longed for so bad she’s succeeded to convince herself she’s never needed it anyway. Yvie licks over Scarlet’s entrance to lap up the slick, not wanting to let any go to waste before she twirls her tongue around the opening and starts edging the tip in.

Above, Scarlet moans around the filter, her hips jerking into the contact slightly, and Yvie glances up just in time to witness how she closes her eyes and throws her head back in pleasure, gradually blows out a cloud, the smoke playing at her lips in intricate swirls prior to tracing higher and dissipating. The way this position exposes her neck is exquisite, the blooming mark clearly noticeable, her strong jawline defined, and Yvie feels a little overwhelmed, wishes she could capture this, and, using the only outlet she has right now, works her tongue deeper into Scarlet’s cunt. Scarlet cries quietly, head falling farther back against the headboard, breathing growing heavier, the rise and fall of her tits driving Yvie mad, and as she bites on her lower lip and chokes out something incomprehensible, the blunt goes out once more.

Yvie pulls away and cranes her neck to gently plant her chin on Scarlet’s pelvis right above her pussy instead, still looking up at her in fascination. “C’mon, Scarlet,” she murmurs when there’s no reaction from the other.

Scarlet jolts like she’s only now coming to, previously too lost in her hazy desire to pay attention to her surroundings. Meeting Yvie’s eyes, she blinks stupidly like she’s trying to get rid of blurriness and focus her dilated pupils, and suddenly there’s a tiny, wondering smile on her lips.

“Say that again,” she whispers in a rasp.

“Hmm?” Yvie hums, absentmindedly trailing her fingers on Scarlet’s inner thigh.

“My name. Say it again, please.”

“Oh,” Yvie breathes out. “Scarlet.”

The name is titanium on Yvie’s tongue, full of weight, interlacing with Scarlet’s taste until Yvie can’t tell them apart, and Scarlet’s corresponding beam pulls at Yvie’s heartstrings in a way she isn’t sure she can justify just yet, not this soon.

“C’mon, Scarlet,” Yvie repeats thickly, swallowing in an attempt to clear the dizzying weight of the emotions in her head. “C’mon, baby, try again,” she coaxes. “I want you smoking for me, remember?”

Whimpering, Scarlet squirms, stares down at Yvie pleadingly. Yvie whispers her name one more time, sweetly, and watches as Scarlet weakens and moves to do as she says, fumbling for the lighter again and struggling to make it work. Unable to resist the small smile that nestles into the corner of her own mouth, Yvie lifts her head, hides it with a gentle kiss pressed to the place where her chin had been. She glances up just as Scarlet manages to raise the flame to the end of the blunt, and then presses her lips to the edge of Scarlet’s hair, near the fold of her hip, lingering there as the warmth of her skin sinks into Yvie’s like the first touch of sun in the early springtime.

“There you go,” Yvie hums easily, feeling Scarlet breathe in more than seeing it, hearing her whine on her exhale.

She moves back down again slowly, her gaze on Scarlet’s features, the need in her eyes, the softness of her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she takes another hit immediately after the first as if desperate to do as she’s told, keep it lit this time. When she’s faced with Scarlet’s core again, Yvie feels like all the air has been knocked out of her, Scarlet seemingly twice as wet as before, folds slippery with it, juices dripping onto the sheet below her and pooling at the source.

Shaking herself out of her staring after a moment, Yvie swipes her tongue over the length of her, collecting the slick and groaning helplessly at the taste and the rise of Scarlet’s hips in response. Not wasting any time, she circles her arms farther around Scarlet’s thighs, slips her hands down to pry her folds apart with her thumbs, and thrusts her tongue inside of Scarlet once more. The heady flavor makes her gut twist, the clench of Scarlet’s channel so unbelievably tight and needy, and Yvie can’t believe she’s kept herself from this for so long. She pushes deeper, eliciting a moan, and realizes that now that she’s had Scarlet on her tongue, she can’t imagine how she’ll be able to do this with anyone else, or go back to not doing it at all.

As if she’s unable to keep still, Scarlet slides down on the sheets, her back arching and her free hand clutching one of the headboard bars, nails clawing at the wood like she’s trying to ground herself. She drops the half-finished blunt in the ashtray, and then her fingers are pressing into the back of Yvie’s neck, not necessarily to pull her in, just to keep her close as her hips repeatedly push up and she grinds her pussy against Yvie’s mouth. She’s probably taking it too far, crossing some sort of line Yvie knows she should and does have, but there’s strings of please and more and oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod tumbling off Scarlet’s lips, and Yvie is drawn in head over heels, wants to indulge her so bad it hurts.

With the new tilt of Scarlet’s hips, it’s even easier to fuck into her, even easier to raise the pitch of her voice and make her breathe in gasps and pants, but its not enough, somehow, and Yvie needs to have her absolutely overwhelmed, no coherency left in the words spilling from her lips. Laying the pad of her thumb against Scarlet’s clit, Yvie starts to rub slow circles, and the reaction is instantaneous. Scarlet cries out, jerking uselessly as if it’s too much when she’s still so sensitive, but Yvie only presses harder, more insistent with her movements now, and it’s only moments before Scarlet surrenders with a sob, her thighs opening wider as if she’s inviting Yvie to have her way with her, and Yvie lets herself get lost in all of it, in the taste and the sensations and the sounds, in Scarlet’s willingness and complete trust in her.

There’s a prominent trembling of Scarlet’s muscles under Yvie’s touch, uncontrollable and steadily increasing, and Yvie can conclude she’s close to coming undone. She almost wishes she could move up Scarlet’s body, trace her lips over her ear and growl a command to come, or maybe just press kisses under the lobe and talk her into it in a murmur, come on, baby, let it go, give it up for me, gorgeous, that’s it baby. But Scarlet is dripping everywhere, covering Yvie’s chin and lips and cheeks with wetness, and she’s fluttering around Yvie’s tongue so addictively as she begins to tense further and further, and Yvie knows she couldn’t move if she tried. She works her tongue harder, as if she can press the words into Scarlet’s walls, and hums instead of speaking, sending vibrations through her folds, coaxing the climax out of her with the merciless movements of her thumb on her clit.

When Scarlet orgasms, she does so with a low moan, her pussy pulsing against Yvie’s face and under her thumb, her thighs spasming and trapping Yvie’s head between them. Her hips jerk into the contact, once, twice, and then she’s falling back onto the mattress, crying out softly, like this is finally too much and she can’t bear to be touched any longer, is trying to escape Yvie. Withdrawing her tongue, Yvie laps softly over her entrance to collect the wetness, as if there’s still remnants of thirst to quench, and removes her thumb from Scarlet’s clit. Her arms tight around the other woman’s thighs, Yvie lays her palms on Scarlet’s lower abdomen instead, pressing her hips solidly into the bed to keep her steady and anchored as she comes down.

Staying where she is, on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, Yvie turns her head slightly and noses Scarlet’s silky inner thigh, litters little kisses everywhere she can reach and listens as the pattern of Scarlet’s breathing pacifies and evens out slowly.  Scarlet’s intakes of air are raspy, her exhales long and shattered, and her frame quakes with aftershocks, forcefully at first and then with decreasing intensity and frequency, until she eventually goes completely boneless. They lie there like that, bodies not quite intertwined but still skin on skin, and Yvie tells herself it’s to let Scarlet catch up, pointedly ignoring the way the tightly wound knot in her own gut begins to untangle, leaving her limbs the pleasant kind of heavy and achy.

“Come here, baby,” Scarlet calls in a quiet murmur after a while.

Yvie pushes herself up on her arms, set on just flopping onto the bed next to Scarlet, and hesitates for just one faltering moment, a little disoriented and caught off guard by the sweetness of the pet name. Her pause gives Scarlet enough time to curl her fingers around the base of her skull and grab onto Yvie’s shoulder, tugging her up her body almost urgently instead, as if she needs the weight of Yvie against her, needs her close. Yvie goes willingly, sliding up between Scarlet’s legs, heart in her throat as Scarlet’s hands move to cradle her face so carefully, her gaze wandering over Yvie’s features with an expression Yvie can’t identify.

Yvie opens her mouth, immobilized all over again, wanting to say something but completely lost for words, and Scarlet shakes her head lightly, pulls her in and brings their lips together before she can make an attempt. Yvie gives in to it easily, jaw relaxing as she lets Scarlet take the lead, kissing her slow and thorough, like she’s trying to reassure Yvie of something. She sucks Yvie’s lower lip into her mouth, tongue and teeth pressing into the flesh, and then releases it with a quiet pop.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Scarlet mumbles against her, sounding almost adoring, her thumbs tracing over Yvie’s cheekbones.

Yvie nearly gasps, her chest constricting, and then Scarlet’s kissing her again, needier now, letting out an almost inaudible whine as she nuzzles closer. Her tongue is pressing eagerly into Yvie’s mouth, and Yvie thinks she’s searching for leftover hints of her own taste, or maybe just trying to suffocate Yvie with the nearness of her, to draw all the oxygen out of her lungs so that when she lets go, Yvie will fall weakly onto Scarlet’s chest with every last defense broken down to useless pieces, nothing left between her cheek and the gentleness of Scarlet’s touch, the warmth of her skin.

When they finally break apart, Scarlet holds Yvie in place still, pressing lazy, close-mouthed pecks on her lips, and Yvie keeps her eyes shut, tries to will her head to stop spinning and loses that fight miserably, feels like Scarlet could draw any confession from her breath right now if she wanted. Her grip on Yvie starts to loosen slowly as she lets out a sigh and tilts her chin up to place one more kiss on Yvie’s mouth. Yvie opens her eyes, watches as Scarlet settles back against the pillows again with a satisfied, sleepy smile on her face and her puffy lips shiny with saliva.

“Want my blunt back,” she announces in a purr, blinking up at Yvie.

Yvie almost chuckles at the demand, props herself up a little farther. “Oh, do you?” she husks, lifting an eyebrow, smiling right back at Scarlet and tilting her head towards the ashtray. “It’s still right over there, technically. You could just grab it.”

Scarlet lifts one of her hands, makes a weak and uninspired effort to reach for it, and then sighs dramatically, shakes her head with a pronounced pout. “Nah-uh. Can’t.”

This time, Yvie doesn’t even attempt to hold off the wave of endearment that washes over her, Scarlet’s blatant attitude so very charming to her. She feels herself soften in response, the tension in her shoulders and neck weakening as both her body and mind relax. Barely stopping herself from kissing the pout off Scarlet’s mouth, she rolls her eyes instead, opting for sarcasm, but, as she deducts from Scarlet’s smug little face, ending up looking quite fond instead.

“Brat,” she says, unable to shake the sensation it comes out praising more than anything else.

Scarlet just hums like Yvie’s making a fair point that she can’t really argue with, and Yvie rolls her eyes again, grabbing the blunt from the ashtray and tapping it against the edge before she gently brings it up to Scarlet. The other takes it between her lips, still no move to indicate she’s going to do anything herself, and Yvie scoffs, pulls back a little to allow herself space to click the lighter, and then snatches her rolling materials off the bedside table and sits back against the pillows.

“Are you at least gonna smoke it yourself, or do you need help with that too?” she quips, fingers quickly working on a new blunt.

“Ha-ha,” Scarlet says dryly and blows some smoke in Yvie’s general direction.

“Try not to let it go out this time,” Yvie comments lowly, and Scarlet shrugs, seeming unbothered.

“Hurry up and finish, I wanna cuddle.”

Yvie doesn’t try to stop the smile that plays at her lips, eyes narrowing as she finishes up with her rolling and sets the materials aside again, bringing the blunt up to light it. The smoke is satin, smooth and rich, and it fills Yvie’s lungs in a way that oxygen never could, satisfying the craving she didn’t realize was there until it was already being eased.

“Hey,” Scarlet says, as if something has just occurred to her, and Yvie glances over at her quizzically. “You never told me your name.”

“Yvie.” She replies before even thinking it through, instinctively giving Scarlet what she wants, and is shocked when it doesn’t feel like a mistake, instead feels like something she should’ve done far sooner. “It’s Yvie.”

“Yvie,” Scarlet repeats, and it’s soft on her lips, her tone wondering, as if she’s exploring how it feels. “Yvie, Yvie, Yvie.”

Her heart beating noticeably quicker, Yvie holds the next puff of smoke in as long as she can, willing it to slow down, trying to regain her composure as Scarlet mumbles her name a few more times and stares up at her so searchingly.

“You gonna stop calling me daddy now?” Yvie asks once she’s sure her voice won’t shake.

“I will literally never stop calling you daddy,” Scarlet says, her voice level and completely serious, looking Yvie dead in the eyes. Yvie lets out a laugh before she can help it, and Scarlet grins all at once. “But Yvie suits you,” she adds, and pats the bed next to her. “C’mere and lay down with me, Yvie.”

Refusing to let herself overthink it, she scoots downwards so that she’s reclining, and waves her hand at Scarlet, indicating that the other woman should move closer instead.

“Hm?” Scarlet hums, squinting at Yvie. “No, I don’t wanna move.”

“Baby,” Yvie says after blowing out a cloud of smoke, amusement audible in her voice. “We’re not laying in your wet spot.”

“Oh.” Scarlet blushes, a cheeky little smile on her face, and Yvie’s ribs feel suddenly too tight, affection swelling in her chest at the sight.

Scarlet finishes her blunt and stumps it out against the darkened, ashy glass, making sure the cherry is out properly before leaving the stub in the ashtray and handing it to Yvie. Yvie turns her attention elsewhere for just a split second to set it down on the mattress next to her thigh and flick her own blunt against the rim. That’s enough time for Scarlet to slide closer on the sheets and plaster herself to Yvie’s side, one leg immediately tangling with Yvie’s and a palm being flattened against Yvie’s abs right below the hem of her crop top.

As if on autopilot, Yvie immediately lifts her arm to accommodate Scarlet better, and Scarlet slips under it easily, allowing Yvie to wrap it around her and feeling so comfortable and warm and just the right size for snuggling. Yvie clears her throat like she’s ashamed of the thought, and while she takes another hit, Scarlet’s hand starts climbing higher unhurriedly, up and up, under the top and slightly to the left and suddenly she’s cupping Yvie’s breast.

“Um,” Yvie lets out with smoke. “What are you doing?”

Scarlet swipes a firm thumb over the nipple, pressing down a little harder when she’s right in the middle, the rest of her fingers digging into the flesh adamantly, and nuzzles her face into the side of Yvie’s neck, pecking the jaw.

“Feelin’ you up, daddy,” she murmurs sweetly, dropping another kiss just beneath the first. “I love your tits.”

“Shut up,” Yvie chuckles lowly.

“Mmm,” Scarlet muses, kissing Yvie’s neck once more and squeezing the breast. “Why don’t you make me.”

“I am so not falling for that,” Yvie informs her and side-eyes Scarlet who produces a meek whine in response. “But I like your tits, too.”

“Aw, thank you, daddy,” Scarlet says through a yawn. “They like you too, especially when you made them bounce when you fucked me. You should definitely do that again soon.”

Puffing on her blunt, Yvie lets the smoke fill her lungs and seep into the very fibers of her being before releasing it and replying to Scarlet, a lazy smile on her lips. “Oh, is that so?”

“Uh huh,” Scarlet hums, snuggling closer, forehead pressed to Yvie’s neck and her cheek resting against her collarbone.

The thought that Scarlet fits perfectly beside her reemerges, and Yvie mulls it over, contemplating the weight of Scarlet’s head against her shoulder, the dizzyingly soft press of her breasts to her side, the way her leg curls around Yvie’s as if she’s a vine climbing a pole. Yvie continues smoking as Scarlet yawns again, mumbling something incomprehensible, and wonders why the feeling of interlocking with her like a puzzle piece doesn’t make her stomach sick with fear. Putting it down to the weed and the orgasm, Yvie lets go of both thoughts and sinks into Scarlet’s warmth, her lids lowering.

Scarlet’s breathing starts gradually growing deeper and heavier, as if she’s seconds from falling asleep, and the idea of keeping her on her chest like this while she drifts makes the back of Yvie’s throat prickle. She tries to swallow against the lump of emotions forming there, still almost unable to believe that Scarlet wants to be close to her like this, even after everything that’s happened. She stubs out her blunt, placing the ashtray on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

“Babe,” she whispers, bouncing her shoulder lightly to attract Scarlet’s attention, worrying for a moment that Scarlet will roll over or go away, like a cat who’s settled in her lap and will only stay in place if she refrains from moving a single muscle.

But Scarlet only produces a little wincing noise and clings to Yvie even harder, and Yvie catches her breath, her head tilting back as she processes that Scarlet is holding onto her like this, loathing the prospect of stirring her right now or ever doing anything to disturb her comfort in any way, even temporarily.

“Baby, I need to move us,” she tries again. “Come on.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet whines. “‘M comfy.”

“You’ll be even comfier once I lie down with you, I just need to adjust us real quick.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet repeats, her voice fading toward the end like she can’t stay awake long enough to finish her half-hearted protest.

Tightly hugging Scarlet close to herself, Yvie cautiously sits up, the calming effects of both weed and her orgasm as well as the desire to maintain the peace of the now quietly snoring woman on her chest preventing her from making any quick movements, Scarlet mutters something, but it’s muffled and feeble and barely audible, and Yvie twists her arm to blindly reach behind her back and reposition the pillows the best she can without fidgeting too much or letting go of Scarlet.

As she lies down and pulls Scarlet farther onto her chest, the other unconsciously moves her hand from Yvie’s breast to circle her arm around Yvie’s middle, and hides her face in the fabric of Yvie’s top. Yvie pushes her own spare arm behind her head and settles, lets her eyes flutter shut.

In an hour or so, she’ll wake up to Adore bringing Violet home, swinging the front door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall and falling into the apartment. They’ll both be far drunker than they were when Yvie last saw them at the bar, and Violet will be giggling loudly while Adore will be whispering dirty promises to her in a voice that isn’t nearly as hushed as she apparently imagines it to be. One of them will walk into a piece of furniture, and their ensuing laughter will finally make Scarlet stir and slur out something in her sleep right before she’ll cuddle a little bit closer to Yvie, and that’ll force Yvie to give up her plan to get up and go shout at Adore in lieu of holding Scarlet tighter and allowing herself to doze off again, a weird, unfamiliar feeling dwelling in her chest at the realization Scarlet hasn’t gotten up and left yet.

The next time Yvie will wake up after that, it’ll be morning already, the bright light of the low November sun shining through the curtains she forgot to close. Scarlet will be gently tugging her legs open, looking up at Yvie wonderingly and asking if she please may, daddy in a sugary little tone. Yvie will nod and close her eyes again, let Scarlet’s warm tongue take her apart until she’s unable to hold back moans, and then she’ll bask in the afterglow and watch as Scarlet throws one of her flannels over her naked form and informs Yvie she’s going to get something to drink.

All of that will happen, but right now Yvie doesn’t think ahead, doesn’t ponder the future at all. She just lets contentment wash over her in tides and enjoys the lightness of marijuana in her fingertips and the weight of a body on her own, pulled safely down to earth by the limbs draped over her and the feeling that this time around, maybe no one will leave or be left, curled so sweet and secure in her chest.

-

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Last night I got to thinking, for no real reason, about how the AA6 portion of the Bullshit Defense AU doesn’t have a climactic plot. Like, the AA1 segment doesn’t either - there’s no equivalent to Turnabout Goodbyes, of course - but it’s just really funny after the AA4 and AA5 bits, where they expose Kristoph as the bastard he is, and catch the Phantom, that after all that, the only mildly interesting thing that happens is Trucy gets arrested for murder and Nahyuta has to prosecute his brother’s half-sister and Thalassa calls Retinz a bitch in front of the entire courtroom. 

Like the revolution happened ~14 years ago, Amara’s been back on the throne since, Nahyuta and Apollo have spent half their lives as royalty and Rayfa has never known anything but growing up in the palace a princess with two older brothers and Amara and Dhurke as her parents.

Except then I was like “wait, what if I can figure out drama to happen in Khura’in anyway?” and of course that’s exactly what I’ve done. And it’s too detailed in some parts and broad-strokes in others because, yknow, I worked through it last night and have other fic to write even though I spent all day so far on this uhhh 3.6k “summary”.

-

Ga’ran was not a popular queen for the ~9 or so years of her rule. Really, she’d be outright hated if she wasn’t playing the “my sister was assassinated” card for sympathy. Her criminal justice ““reforms”” are swift and brutal and not only send every defense attorney underground into the rebellion, but also some prosecutors as well, the ones who have concerns beyond simply winning. Among the prosecutors that stay, it’s a free-for-all of making shit up, calling retrials when things don’t go their way, etc etc - hey, if Ga’ran did it in her trial with Dhurke, then they can too!

Plus, Dhurke was quite popular in his own right, not just “Amara was a well-loved queen so people liked her husband as well.” He successfully defended himself from the charges that he was Amara’s assassin - it was Ga’ran calling a retrial, claiming that he forged evidence, that sent him running. And while Ga’ran tried to claim that Dhurke’s disappearance was suspicious, that if he was truly innocent he’d have nothing to fear from a retrial, and while some people accepted that, there were others who thought that Dhurke’s disappearance was actually Ga’ran disappearing him, and her claims that he was still out there leading a resistance were entirely fabricated to justify Ga’ran claiming extra power and cracking down on all defense attorneys and everything else. Which I mean, Dhurke is still out there, but point being, lots and lots of people aren’t buying Ga’ran’s story.

Plus, Inga is embezzling millions of the people’s tax dollars, and that’s not helping this new regime be popular, either.

This is all background to say, when Amara announced that she was alive, that Ga’ran framed Dhurke for the fire, that the people of Khura’in welcomed her back to the throne with open arms, even if she was no longer a goddess in their eyes, having admitted that she had been fooled, that she had been wrong, and that she made a terrible mistake in trusting her sister and not just her family had suffered for it, but the whole of the country had.

As part of their legal reforms, to clean up the mess that Ga’ran made of the courts and the country, Amara eliminated the death penalty. After Inga signing off on every execution warrant without caring, after Ga’ran wielding death sentences to defendants as a weapon against defense attorneys who she saw as threats to her political power - how could she continue to allow it, no matter the crime, no matter how clear the evidence and proof, when her people, because of the cruelty experienced within their living memory, will always be wondering, fearing, that their queen allowed the execution of an innocent? 

Which means that Ga’ran was not executed. Some of people of Khura’in were understandably crying out for Ga’ran’s blood, and treason is a capital crime, but Amara’s kind heart never wanted to see her sister dead at her word. And outlawing such a punishment, no exceptions, means that she could point to that and say - “I am not allowing my sister to escape justice. What I am doing is not adhering to her kind of justice that so ruined this country and so many lives. No more of that, ever.”

(Amara knows, of course, that Ga’ran was not trying to murder her; because Amara knows that Ga’ran cannot channel spirits. And Amara knows, of course, that if Ga’ran was capable of channeling, Amara would have burned to death in that blaze. Ga’ran kept her alive because she needed her. It wasn’t love. It was necessity. But in Amara’s heart of hearts, down in the core that still hurts no matter how many years have passed, she still loves her sister. Her own sister. Her little sister. How could she sentence her to death? How could she see that through?)

-

And this is all not to say also, that there weren’t a handful of people who had preferred Ga’ran’s rule. They were corrupt and power-hungry prosecutors, or grifters also involved in embezzling tax dollars, or so on and forth. That kind of people. And while Amara and Dhurke and Datz try their hardest to root out those people, get them properly punished, return what they’ve stolen from the country, they’re also busy with, like, everything else, fixing and reforming the justice system, reinvestigating every case Ga’ran oversaw to exonerate every innocent convicted under her rule, making reparations to the families of any innocents executed. Some of the people who were profiting most from Ga’ran’s rule slip through the cracks because of what Amara prioritizes. And they aren’t exactly happy at all about Amara being queen again.

But it’s pretty hard to get anyone else on your side when the country is just relieved that they’re not going to be convicted of a crime after a sham of a trial where they have no defense and the prosecution is making up evidence, so life in Khura’in goes along well and peacefully for more than a decade, with only the briefest, barest whispers of discontent from the sort of people who honestly deserve to be discontent because they’re greedy assholes.

-

Trouble begins to kick in after Rayfa’s fourteenth birthday. (This is, by the way, her worst birthday ever because Apollo always comes home for her birthday and Nahyuta is always around, except Apollo got blown up a week before, and his best friend is in the hospital in a coma from being stabbed, and Nahyuta ran off to LA after him to make sure he’s alive, and they’re still there, Nahyuta trying to help Apollo and friends wrap their heads around the absolute catastrophe that began with the Space Center bombing and is still happening.)

She’s been doing the Divination Seances for over a year, though rather sparsely and only on trials where either Nahyuta and/or Dhurke is there. But now she’s performing them more frequently, and also Nahyuta isn’t around because he’s planning to spend the short long-term in LA. (“Everything Apollo has told you about how fucked up the American legal system is true, and then some,” Nahyuta says. “They need all the help I can give and also a lot more.”)

Rayfa becoming more of a public figure, though, is something of a catalyst. It’s been so long that most of Ga’ran’s supporters have either left the country for somewhere they can be corrupt without the Queen’s right-hand man personally showing up in their houses to casually threaten them with a knife, or just given up. Except Ga’ran, languishing in prison, certainly has not given up, and her first real plan in fourteen years is to begin undermining her sister’s rule simply with rumors. Put some cracks in the foundation. Ga’ran is good at getting into people’s heads, and she hasn’t really managed to sway some of her guards to her side, but she has instilled some doubt in Amara in them, and she can work with that. She’ll create more doubt about Amara’s capacities as queen.

Whispers start going around the capital, and then out of it, that Rayfa isn’t actually Amara and Dhurke’s daughter, that Dhurke is a blight on the bloodline and no daughter of his could channel, and Rayfa is Ga’ran’s daughter, stolen from her when Amara reclaimed the throne. Critically, Ga’ran was never exposed as not being able to channel spirits; she was already guilty of arson, prosecutorial misconduct, and high treason, and that’s just from the time of the fire to when she was crowned, not even getting into everything she did as queen. She’d done enough to rot in prison for life without Amara announcing that she’s also an illegitimate queen. She was an illegitimate queen enough because Amara was still alive and the crown belongs to the eldest sister. Amara, at times too kindhearted, keeps her little sister’s secret.

So Ga’ran’s still in contention for the throne, technically, kinda, if she can pin the fire and Jove’s death on someone else again, if she can throw someone under the bus for her decisions as queen with the DC Act - ah! Inga! You’re still alive, too, rotting in a different prison! You’re a good scapegoat! There, another step of the plan figured out.

Ga’ran’s not planning on asking anyone to assassinate Amara, not yet. She wants to get her hands on the Founder’s Orb first, get that spiritual power, and then she can take out Amara, secure in the knowledge that she can prove herself a valid queen.

For now, she’s just testing the waters by claiming that Amara is a daughter-stealing whore who’s been taken in by Dhurke’s wily defense attorney lies just like the rest of the country. And probably other, increasingly outlandish rumors, that no matter how ridiculous they are, are enough to set Amara on the defensive and make people start to wonder about the functionality of the royal family. That she had Nahyuta exiled for [insert any number of stupid reasons here] and the “he went to America to visit his brother” is a cover story so that nobody realizes how much turmoil there is in the palace. That Apollo isn’t an adopted orphan but is Amara’s illegitimate son with Datz and that’s why he so rarely comes back from abroad, because Dhurke doesn’t want him around.

(“Listen,” Dhurke says, and everyone knows whatever he’s about to say is gonna be stupid as hell. “If Amara wanted to cheat on me with Datz that’s her prerogative because I’m pretty sure I’ve probably cheated on her with Datz?”)

(Amara sighs. Datz starts laughing and nearly chokes on a bite of apple.)

Then they find out that the Founder’s Orb has been stolen, and this crop of sudden, weird rumors comes into perfect clarity. Certainly they have an idea that Ga’ran was behind it in some way, especially given the claim about Rayfa, but they couldn’t figure out why beyond her being bored. Now they know what they’re seeing. Death by a thousand lashes, or a thousand little rumors adding up with this very big Founder’s Orb matter to paint a picture of Amara being an idiot and a fool and untrustworthy and a backstabber, and her rule as ineffective, if Khura’in’s greatest treasure went missing under her. And they know what they say about the Founder’s Orb, its ability to grant spiritual power to anyone, and they know that yes, yes, this is Ga’ran having bided her time, finally striking back.

But they don’t know how she’s getting word to her people - they don’t know who “her people” are - they don’t know where the Founder’s Orb is. They have nothing to tie back to Ga’ran, nothing but their very logical suspicions, but they don’t know what to do with that. They can’t make another case against her just on that, not without being hypocritical to the ideals and principles they’ve reformed their legal system on. And Datz would go and personally guard Ga’ran himself and put her in solitary where he’s her only contact to the outside, to know for sure no one can talk with her, but that would mean leaving Rayfa and Amara, and he also doesn’t trust anyone besides himself to properly bodyguard them, now, so it’s just a fucking mess.

Helping them investigate the stolen Orb are Maya and Misty - Maya, who’s been back for a few months after going home when the courthouse bombing happened, and Misty who came to visit her daughter what felt like 10 seconds before this shit started. Maya can play the bumbling tourist really well, and she understands Khura’inese much better than she speaks it, while Misty feigns not being able to understand or speak anything - she’s rusty, certainly, since it’s been so long since she herself visited Khura’in for her training, but she knows much more than she lets on.

Then Beh’leeb Inmee, who in her free time was looking into the Founder’s Orb matter along with her husband, is accused of murdering a monk, and everything really starts spiraling to shit. Beh’leeb, with investigation assistance from Maya and Dhurke, successfully proves that it was self-defense, and her attacker was someone else who’s been caught up in this Founder’s Orb theft and what’s looking more and more like it’s gonna be an attempted coup. And probably sooner rather than later.

Misty returns to LA, with Rayfa who is using a forged American passport - Datz has a fuckton of contingency plans, let no one ever say he’s only an idiot - under a fake name with the surname “Fey”, posing as Misty’s niece. With the situation in Khura’in becoming more dangerous for the royal family and their closest friends, Amara and Dhurke and Datz decide the best thing to do is get Rayfa the hell out. She doesn’t want to go, which is why Misty goes too - both to make sure she does in fact leave, and to protect her if it comes to it. Maya absolutely refuses to leave, though; come hell or high water she wants to help her distant cousins sort this out, and Misty can’t physically drag her away. So Maya stays.

Apollo and Nahyuta, meanwhile, know that it’s getting to be a mess back home, but they don’t realize how much of one until Rayfa shows up on the doorstep, jet-lagged and exhausted but still absolutely livid that she’s been dragged all this way. She wanted to visit LA but not like this, dammit!

Meanwhile, back in Khura’in, two very important things happen. Ga’ran escapes from jail. And Datz finds out where the Founder’s Orb went: to Kurain Village. Maya immediately tells Mia, who tells Apollo and Nahyuta and Rayfa, and when Misty tries to stop them Mia’s like “hey Mom remember the time that instead of talking to me you nearly got yourself killed for Maya’s sake? Yeah you aren’t allowed to tell us what’s good or safe for me or them. We’re going up to the village to get that Orb, see you later.”

So Mia, Apollo, Nahyuta, and Rayfa go on a family bonding train ride up to Kurain Village. There, they find the same canonical situation - the Orb hidden and Dr Buff dead. Nahyuta and Apollo go spelunking and nearly drown again; Rayfa hangs out with Pearl and gets more quality bonding time with another of her distant cousins; and when the boys get back thoroughly waterlogged but with the Orb, Atishon shows up to tell them that they’ll see him in court for the Orb - they’ll see him and his attorney. Mia.

The royal siblings understandably demand to know why Mia has turned on them. Atishon says it’s because she’s seen the light and knows what’s best for both her village and their kingdom. Mia doesn’t look them in the eyes. Rayfa curses out Atishon in Khura’inese, and watching his reaction, Apollo realizes: he doesn’t understand a word of it. He tries to catch Mia’s eye, tries to indicate in some, any, way, and then he asks her again, “Why?”

And she answers, with a very broken pronunciation and accent, but still understandable Khura’inese: “My sister.”

“What did you say?” Atishon demands, and Mia lies, “I told them to fuck off, since they aren’t getting the mesage in English.”

They know Maya; Apollo least, but Nahyuta got to know her pretty well on their trip to LA from Khura’in back in December, and Rayfa was, just a week or two ago, seeing her investigate the missing Orb, and vehemently protest returning to LA when she could help find the Orb and help her family, the ones here with the crown, being undermined by a sister. (It hits close to home for Maya, still.) They know Maya is on their side. They know something’s damn wrong. They call Datz and ask him to find Maya because something’s happened.

In court the next day, it’s Apollo and Nahyuta, with Rayfa in the gallery behind them sometimes shouting at them, up against Mia and Diego. Someone casually observing could be forgiven for thinking Diego doesn’t have a clue what’s happening and is accidentally undermining Mia’s case. He actually does know what’s happening and is actively undermining Mia’s case, per her request, because he can play the idiot better than she can, drag this out longer without Atishon getting suspicious, give a little more time for Maya to be rescued. And they don’t hear back about Maya, but they do prove that the Orb needs a spirit medium, and Rayfa knows Ga’ran’s secret, that she can’t channel. Amara’s the only other medium in the country; Maya’s got to be safe.

Atishon gets arrested for murder, and Apollo, Nahyuta, Rayfa, Mia, Diego, and Misty rush off on a plane Franziska gets for them to Khura’in. Mia is biting her tongue the whole time trying not to make a jab about what happened the last time Diego and Misty banded together to save Maya. (She’s really, really trying.

“What’s the plan? Get stabbed and stranded on top of a mountain again?”

Fuck, she was trying.

Instead of answering, Diego takes out his phone and starts sending a message. “Lana and I bet on how long it would take you to say something.”

“I’m going to break your fucking neck, Diego.”

“Not hers?”

“She’s not the one who stabbed my mother on a snowy mountaintop and spent 36 hours feeding my little cousin snow and cold gravy.”

“That’s because she was in prison at the time!!”

“Why is every family I’m part of so fucked up?” asks Apollo, who neither knows this story nor wants to know.)

And honestly I don’t have details that worked out of what goes down when they get back to Khura’in. Maya is rescued. Ga’ran tries some bullshit, but in this universe the only thing she really has going for her is charisma and a handful of supporters. She doesn’t have the throne, she doesn’t have murders to frame Dhurke and Amara for. (Unless she had one of her people murder Inga in jail and tried to blame it on Datz. Ooh, actually that could be a fun plot.) She’s been proven to have committed murder (Jove). If she can be queen, it’s only as a tyrant, having killed everyone in her way, but she’s still got a handful of people who are willing to kill for her. They can put her back in jail, as they should, but she’ll still have her people. They have to get rid of that factor, soundly ruin her so that no one would ever believe her whispers of temptation for power and riches.

So Apollo and Mia realize that the way to take her down is still with the Founder’s Orb. She can’t channel. If they just announce that fact, her supporters aren’t going to believe them. If Amara announces it, same thing. But what they can do is bait her with the Orb and the Holy Mother’s face, forcing her to completely humiliate herself in front of the whole country, proving once again that she has absolutely nothing to offer anyone.

(Also side note, this would be the first time that Apollo and Nahyuta and Rayfa have ever met their aunt, and it’s to find that yeah, she’s as awful as all of Datz’s stories that Amara claimed were slightly exaggerated.)

The Orb goes back where it belongs; Ga’ran also goes back to where she belongs, which is jail, along with everyone who was willing to do murder for her and break her out of jail. The rumors about how the royal family is actually a dysfunctional shitshow are soundly quashed by seeing Apollo and Nahyuta and Rayfa return with the Orb to support their mother and stop their aunt. (Actually  the stupid rumor about Apollo being Datz and Amara’s kid doesn’t quite die, but the fact that they’re no longer under siege and struggling to plug the holes and expose Ga’ran’s plotting means that it’s honestly kinda funny now, to most of them. Apollo’s mortified and wishes that Dhurke and Datz would stop joking about it. They will not.)

Anyway after that, everything calms down in Khura’in again and Pearl and Trucy and Thalassa fly out to Khura’in so that they can all meet the rest of their family, and the biggest problem anyone has is Nahyuta has to decide whether he wants to stay home and help prosecute the people involved in this shitshow, or return to LA and help his new friends there with their perpetual shitshow.