#deliver us; prison au

[second-wife-playbook]

"I-I think it's a n-n-novel." She said, keeping her voice down. "W-We c-can r-r-read it after d-d-dinner."

Mostly because her stammer was so bad it would make any bedtime story impossible to understand after a while. She couldn't do the voices, or speak clearly for long. Although she was having moments of clear tongues around Striker...for whatever reason-

"H-Here." She passed it through. "Y-you read it f-f-first."

Deliver Us from Evil

((A closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook ))

Warning! NSFW content (namely torture and violence)

((the dialogues are all in English, aside for a few exceptions, but whenever you see a sentence with a * it means they are speaking Italian.))

––––––––

Vatican City, Italy, 9:00 p.m.

The flickering glow of candlelight cast long shadows along the towering walls of St. Peter’s Basilica, illuminating the gilded arches and intricate mosaics with a warm, ethereal glow. The haunting melody of Gregorian chants filled the sacred space, echoing from the Altare della Confessione and filling every corridor with its solemn resonance. The faithful gathered near the altar, their voices melding into a single, haunting wave of prayer.

Cardinal Graziano Malaspina moved quietly down one of the lesser-used hallways, the sound of his footsteps almost swallowed by the vast silence of the basilica. For once, he did not join the chants, choosing instead to observe from the edges, shrouded in the quiet solitude of the basilica's shadows. Tonight, he felt an odd sense of disquiet—a subtle, unspoken tension that seemed woven into the very air.

He paused at a window, glancing out at the nearly empty square below. The marble and stone, so familiar to him, seemed to almost breathe in the stillness of the night.

Cardinal Malaspina was a striking figure, his presence commanding yet refined.

Standing tall with a lean, dignified frame, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had risen swiftly through the Church’s ranks.

His Italian heritage showed in his dark, deep-set eyes, which held an intense gaze that could both soothe and unsettle in equal measure.

His hair, thick and precisely combed back, was a distinguished blend of salt and pepper, echoing the silver that flecked his well-groomed beard. The beard itself was neatly trimmed to accentuate the strong, angular lines of his face, adding an air of wisdom to his appearance. His nose, prominent and finely shaped, gave him a slightly aristocratic look, one that complemented his quiet, reserved demeanor.

Despite his relatively young age among the cardinals, having just reached sixty, he bore the wisdom and experience of a man who had seen much in his time with the Church. His crimson cassock fell in sharp lines around him, pristine and orderly, each detail carefully attended to—a testament to his meticulous nature and devotion to his duties.

He cast a wary glance over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dim hallway for any sign of movement. Satisfied that he was alone, he reached out to the statue of Archangel Michael, knelt down, made the sign of the cross and pressed a small lever concealed along its back.

With a low, almost imperceptible rumble, the statue shifted, rotating on its pedestal to reveal a hidden doorway nestled behind it. The faint hum of machinery stirred, as if acknowledging a secret it had kept for centuries. Beyond the doorway lay a narrow elevator and a spiraling set of marble stairs, both leading downward into the unknown.

Without hesitation, Cardinal Malaspina slipped inside, feeling the air cool and thicken with a sense of sacred secrecy. Once he crossed the threshold, the statue resumed its original position, cloaking the hidden passageway from view. To any passerby, it appeared as though nothing had changed, the Archangel Michael standing steadfast in his silent vigil.

As Cardinal Malaspina descended deeper into the hidden chambers of St. Peter’s Basilica, the echo of his footsteps was joined by those of Guido, his loyal aide and confidant.

Dressed impeccably in a black suit, Guido inclined his head in a respectful bow, murmuring:

*“Your Eminence.”*

He fell into step beside the Cardinal, his tone low but crisp as he relayed the latest report.

*"Our Hunters returned from the United States. They found the hotel but...the demon was already dead. By electrocution, in a swimming pool."*

Guido's tone conveyed his disappointment, though he continued smoothly, *“The Infestor had been haunting the hotel, taking human lives one by one. But by the time they arrived, someone had gotten there first.”*

The Cardinal sighed, a brief flicker of frustration crossing his face.

*"A pity. Such a rare specimen could have proven useful to us in Project Divine Justice. There’s always something new to learn from their nature—if only we can get to them first.”*

They walked past sleek, reinforced doors, which opened into a series of rooms unlike anything one would expect beneath Vatican City. Hidden behind the walls of faith and tradition, the Order of Saint Michael the Archangel’s underground headquarters resembled a modern, highly-equipped facility. Laboratories buzzed with scientists in white coats, analyzing samples and conducting experiments on demon blood, bone, and essence.

In a separate room, instructors led young initiates in the arts of demonology, each student pouring over ancient texts bound in leather, annotated with both Latin prayers and weapon schematics. Further down, hardened agents trained with exorcism rituals and weapon drills, preparing for their next assignment.

Cardinal Malaspina felt a surge of satisfaction as he moved through the corridors, taking in the power and purpose of OSMA’s sprawling network. He had dedicated his life to making the Order one of the most formidable forces the Church had ever sanctioned, one that could confront Hell itself.

In recent years, however, Project Divine Justice had brought his ambitions to a new peak, aiming to capture demons directly from Hell to ensure no secrets were left undiscovered.

*"Of course, it’s more difficult than ever to secure our...acquisitions,"* he mused aloud, glancing at Guido.

*"Few demons are allowed on Earth, and those that do break through are often killed on sight.”*

Guido nodded.

*"That’s why Crimson remains indispensable. With his network, he can bring us exactly what we need, directly from Hell itself.”*

A sly smile tugged at the corner of the Cardinal’s mouth.

Crimson, the demon mafia boss who commanded such power within Hell’s underworld, was a key ally.

For the right price—and perhaps a few thinly veiled promises—Crimson delivered the demonic specimens they needed, hand-delivered to OSMA’s agents, allowing their experiments and training to proceed in earnest.

Their path led to a heavily secured door, marked only with a cross etched into blackened metal. Cardinal Malaspina paused for a moment, laying his hand on the door.

*“When we unlock the true nature of these demons, Guido, the world will be prepared. Humanity will finally be safe from these creatures.”*

"Dio è con noi, Eminenza."

"E noi siamo con Dio."

[azmageddon]

Silence

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian's twin!healer!reader

Summary: When you get stuck Under the Mountain, your mate finds the sudden silence deafening.

Warnings: none!

a/n: Based on an anonymous request! Requests are so fun! I love exploring ideas I never would have thought of. Keep them coming! This all takes place within the same AU where reader and Azriel kept their relationship secret from the IC (besides Cassian).

Azriel's POV

The silence was deafening. Never in the last 450 years had he felt such empty silence. The bond was never closed. 

But now it was silent and cold. The golden thread that joined him to you floated from the middle of his chest, right at the center of his soul, into nothing. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing until he saw stars, willing this to be a dream he would wake up from. But Azriel knew better than to think this was a dream. He never slept anyway. 

“Keep Velaris safe,” Rhys’ voice had said. “And don’t come after us.”

Rhys’ voice was calm, yet commanding. It was the demand of a High Lord: something Azriel physically couldn’t ignore. 

At first, he didn’t understand the command. What did he mean, don’t come after us? Keep Velaris safe? You and Azriel had just been having a mental conversation, gossiping over the abhorrent fashion of the Autumn brothers, when Rhys’ voice interrupted you mid-sentence. 

But when Azriel reached back out to you to ask what the warning meant, he was met only with the thick, suffocating silence. 

The bond was never closed. It stayed open when you were hard at work: treating the injured, delivering babies, or easing the pain of Illyrians’ clipped wings. It stayed open when you were angry, or sad, after an argument, especially if you wanted him to feel particularly bad about it afterward.

The bond was never closed. Not when he went on missions for weeks at a time. Not even when he dragged Rhys’ prisoners to the dungeons of the Hewn City and did unspeakable things. You were his comfort. Your shared emotions were what grounded him, reminded him that life was worth living. They were a constant in his life, as effortless to absorb as breathing. 

You had become his inner voice; his conscience. His reminder that he wasn’t the villain of this story. Now that it was gone, he wasn’t sure. 

For 450 years, the bond was never closed, a vow the two of you had made when you accepted the mating bond. But now, that silence was louder than any battle or war he had ever partaken in. 

The memory of when he had found out you were mates played in his head. Azriel couldn’t keep the memory from flooding into his mind and the guilt that came along with it every time he remembered. 

You, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, watching him with worry in your eyes. 

“How long have you known?” He remembers asking, venom lacing every word he spat at you. He was angry and embarrassed; how could he have missed all the signs? How could you keep such an important, life altering secret from him? He couldn’t show that embarrassment, couldn’t show weakness, especially not to you. So he chose anger instead. 

“Since the day we met,” you replied, taking a step and trying to close the gap between the two of you. Instinctively, Azriel took a step back, the shock turning his embarrassment to shame and anger to rage.

“I was eleven when we met, Y/N,” he hissed, implying the absurdity of the time frame. Nearly a century of his fate was kept a mystery to him. Cassian had joined them at that point, pointedly observing that Azriel wasn’t taking the news well. A thought surfaced in his mind. Turning to Cassian, he has to refrain from advancing on his longest friend. “And how long have you known?” Cassian’s silence was the only answer he needed.

Azriel shook his head to clear it, choosing not to remember how you cried at the way he turned away and left you with your heart in his hands, just for him to crush it. 

It all made sense after your confession. He never understood why you insisted on being childhood friends. He was broken and lonely and disowned by his own family, but you had always shown true kindness and friendship. As you grew together, you slowly evolved into innocent adolescence first loves, and eventually adult lovers. It wasn’t until your untimely move from Illyria to Velaris to work for the late High Lord that Azriel never saw you again. That is, until the first war with Hybern and your admission of the truth. 

After Azriel had recovered from the initial anger and shock, your best kept secret had become a shared secret as the two of you accepted the bond. He still remembers the first time he heard your voice in his head. Your lovely, soft voice that wrapped around his mind like the sweetest honey. 

“Old age getting to you?” You teased as Azriel took what looked like a painful blow to the stomach from Rhys during training. 

He was so taken aback by your voice that he even turned to you, thinking you had said it out loud. But you weren’t looking at him; you had your back turned in a combat sequence with your brother. 

The momentary lapse rewarded him with another hit from Rhys, this time on the side of the head. 

“Everything alright, brother?” Rhys asked, concern flooding his voice. 

But Azriel only smirked and turned back to his brother to begin again. 

“You’ll pay for that later, love” he responded through the bond and could have sworn that he saw you falter in your training from his peripheral vision. 

How could he have let this happen? How could he have not foreseen that you would be taken from him? A mysterious invitation calling for the High Lord and his second in command to attend a party Under the Mountain? What kind of Spymaster couldn’t ascertain the danger that now all-consumed the other half of his soul?

Azriels felt something hit his knees, the sting traveling up to make his teeth chatter. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and saw that he had fallen to the ground of the Townhouse. Cassian quickly knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders to keep him from total collapse. 

Azriel stared at Cassian and saw his lips moving rapidly, but no words came out. He furrowed his brows in confusion. What was he trying to tell him? 

In fact, Azriel heard no sound at all besides the buzzing silence in his ears and his own mind hurling insult after insult of his own sad excuse of being a mate. 

But wait…that was it. Cassian had turned to the others and Azriel was able to read the words on his lips as he spoke to the remaining Inner Circle in the room: She’s his mate.

All at once, too many voices spoke and the sounds came rushing back to Azriel. As if he would keep him from dissolving through the floor, he gripped onto his found brother for dear life.

“Cassian,” Azriel groaned, finding his voice at last. “Cassian, she’s gone. I can’t feel her.”

“We will get her back, brother. I promise.”

[angelfishe]

>> 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

>> prince scaramouche x reader ( manhwa AU )

You were suddenly reincarnated or transmigrated to one of your novels as one of the villainess of the story, using your knowledge of the novel and world you will find a way to escape your original fate and live

( scaramouche pov )

Art by @XIAOJIAJU Twitter

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Side story my other < fic >read it first if you want more understanding

<< seems you guys enjoy the fic about prince scaramouche so I decided to create a side story from his point of view, I will make a part 2 if you guys want >>

Kunikuzushi's life has never been easy in the first place, he is the prince as well as the first born of the shogunate which means he's gonna be the future heir soon of the throne.

He has tutors and lessons 24/7 non stop, he wishes to have fun on the outside world but he's unable, this castle is his prison and he wishes to be more free than rather be locked up in his room. His mother doesn't even acknowledge him even tho she cares for him she doesn't know how to express it as well of her being busy with duties.

And as expected being royalty he has to choose a bride soon, the line of exquisite as well beautiful noble ladies are lining up waiting for him to choose but not one caught his attention all of them are snobbish as well to clingy.

His mother has enough and set up another meeting with another noble lady and then he has to choose one.

Originally he was opposed to this idea, but he's unable to go against his mother's wishes.

When he finally met you, he originally thought that you were weird, you were open minded as well not very obedient unlike his other suitors a personality unfit of a noble.

Due to this personality, you were not very liked by the other nobles as well others saying he shouldn't marry this barbaric woman with no respect but he pays no attention.

Sometimes you and him would sneak out of tenshukaku, to hang out and go to inazuma city, you seem to be very popular since the locals very much knew you and he of course has to wear a disguise to avoid getting caught

When the day is over you and him would go to a cliff and admire the sunset, but little did you know he was admiring you, your hair, your face, your eyes everything about you is radiant as if the gods hand crafted you by themselves he immediately knew who he wants to spend the rest of his life as well the one who will rule the nation right next to him.

Recently he noticed that every time you visit him, you will be covered in bruises and he is always the one that bandages you up and sometimes kisses the injury.

One time he once heard that you were confronted his mother and bolted towards the throne room afraid that you would be punished and was about to open the door he heard you talking to his mother saying how he always wanted to have a normal relationship with him a mother and son relationship. He stops and listens to you talking about how he's the sweetest person and begs his mother to spend time with him I guess it reaches his mother because she started to spend time with him.

Everything started to glow when you were around, everything in his life that was wrong was fixed by you, you are his sun that shines upon the world of his.

He made a promise towards you of becoming the best husband and that nothing will do you apart from him the original vows were till death do us part but for him he will find you and love you in every universe and will find you at any cost.

Recently there's been a rebellion between the watatsumi island and he's been busy training as well helping strategizing with his mother and generals. So which means he Less you but it's fine because after this war ends he can marry and see you everyday as his queen and wife. He could already picture it until it was suddenly shattered

Until "that" day happened his mother was supposed to deliver a speech with him and you present in the back suddenly a group of watatsumi soldiers appeared and tried to ambush them, one of the soldiers threw a spear towards you and everything was slowing down in his vision... He watched as the spear pierced towards your beautiful kimono and blood poured from the wound and you fell down on the floor.

He stood there stunt and was about to approach your body until multiple guards tried to drag him from you, all sanity burst thru the window he struggled and fought against the guards that were trying to bring him to safety tears shout out from his eyes, your corpse getting further from his vision and release an agonizing scream calling your name until he was drag back to the palace.

When he was inside the castle walls, he released a large wave of electricity killing the guards that were holding him from you. He felt empty, for the next 2 months he locked himself inside your room and held your kimono non stop until his mother intervened and wanted him to snap out of it.

He felt empty, you were his light and now you were there was not even a body he wasn't unable to say goodbye one last time, was it painful when the spear pierced you, was it quick so you don't experience the pain and this question circled around his head he swore he would revenge you and punish whoever opposed of him.

First he will punish your clan for laying their filthy hands on you, they were soon punished by hanging. And when one of the elders of your clan begged him to spare them "I'm pretty much sure young master you have a heart" he replied with "no, it was taken from the moment when she died" and the execution was soon continued.

No one dares to oppose him not even his mother could stop the hatred from his heart, he trained non-stop and at night he would go to your room and hold your kimono and talk towards it as if it was you.

He punished anyone who opposed him even if it was a small mistake no one can escape his raft, he ruled with an iron fist.

Until one day a diplomat from Snezhnaya one of the harbingers of the tsaritsa appears to discuss some matters he was known as the "doctor or Ill dottore" he was rumored to be a necromancer having the ability to raise the dead this catch his eyes and approach the doctor.

He ask whenever or not that can bring back the dead and the doctor replied with yes but it comes with price he need to have the body of the disease person in order to bring back the dead unfortunately your body was taken by the watatsumi.

Soon the doctor started to teach him the arts of necromancy as well as dark magic but it comes with a price but don't worry you are worth more than anything even if he falls in the eyes of darkness.

Don't worry he will have you back soon, you and him will get married and live happily ever after he promised

[nona1323]

Change of clothes AU "Deal with the Time"

This episode is small, but important. It begins, ironically, not in the house, but in the sands of Chronos (for more details, see separately). While in his domain, Chronos summons Chrysa (Χρυσός [chrysós] – "gold"), a scorpion created by him from his own sands.

Titan takes her away to be the personal guard of their new prisoner, since Chronos himself will not be able to monitor Hypnos all the time. Initially, Chronos does not lock Hypnos in time or in a cell because of his own triumph – he likes to play with chthonic and watch how he hardly accepts a new reality, and is also forced to obey him. But, importantly, Chronos initially does not plan to leave Hypnos, albeit chained, conditionally free to move around the House on a permanent basis. Initially, this is rather a temporary measure, until Chronos has played enough with a new toy, so that after throwing it into the camera and/or putting him on pause, depending on how quickly Hypnos will give the key to understanding Oneiros. As you can see, everything is not going according to plan and it turns out to be a little more complicated.

Chronos returns to the House and picks up the package that was delivered by the servants, and then goes to Hypnos. The first meeting of Hypnos with Chrysa takes place: Chronos introduces her to chthonic with a grin, and Chrysa quickly runs from the titan's shoulder to his arm. Chronos pulls it out, and scorpio finds himself dangerously close to Hyp's face, definitely scaring him, even if he doesn't show it. Chrysa jumps off Chronos and runs away, quickly losing herself in space, Chronos puts the package on the table and, saying that he has something else for Hypnos, opens it.

This something turns out to be clothes, but not easy. As you can see from the illustration attached to the post, it consists of two parts: the lower red chiton and the upper blue peplos. And, well, the fabrics they are made of are what is really of interest to us. They were spun and woven by Persephone and, to Hyp's horror, by Nyx, respectively. Chronos found them in the House when he was settling in and changing it for himself. And now he finally had a chance to use them.

How freely Chronos treats things that do not belong to him is insulting to Hypnos. Especially when it comes to the fabrics of the Mother, because she herself wove them from the night sky and stardust. And this is if you do not take into account how valuable and rare these canvases are considered among the gods also because of their properties and beauty alone. In addition, the outfit itself is sewn with the help of a night spindle, which also angers Hypnos. Chronos has no right to dispose of these things, and yet he does it, and Hypnos can't stop him in any way.

Chronos hands the outfit to chthonic, and Hypnos is forced to accept it with undisguised anger. After that, Chronos asks (demands. He demands) Hypnos to change clothes. The god of sleep waits for the titan to leave, but Chronos just sits down and watches. Hypnos realizes that Chronos is not going to leave the room. They have a silent duel for a while. Chronos ends it with a quiet remark: "I can just rip your clothes off. Your persistence will only make things worse."

Hypnos clenches his teeth and turns away. Slowly, he takes off his chiton, feeling the burning gaze of the Time on himself, and then he changes clothes as quickly as possible, remaining with his back to the titan. Before he can fasten the last fibula, Chronos tells him to stop. Hypnos freezes.

The Titan slowly approaches him.

"Turn around," Chronos's voice is calm.

Hypnos turns slowly and tries not to think about the bed behind them. Chronos looks down at him, and then holds out his hands. He fastens the last fibula, the hourglass symbol, his symbol, himself, stroking it contentedly after, and then his hands run lower, straightening all the folds that arose due to the haste of Hypnos. He is forced to stand and wait for the titan to finish. He's angry, but the last thing he wants is to provoke Chronos now. 

Chronos steps back and looks at he with a satisfied look. "Yes, you look much better this way. And now – give me these rags and trinkets."

Hypnos has to collect his clothes and jewelry and hand them over to Chronos. He won't see his chiton for a very long time.

To sum up, Hypnos will look like in the picture almost throughout the entire plot, although some details will be clarified later. 

The author of the art: @do-n0t-be-afraid

Masterpost AU "Deal with the Time" here

The description of the au is here

(English is not my native language, sorry for the mistakes)

[cressidagrey]

You are the best thing that's ever been mine - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: Sao Paulo 2024. The Dutchman delivered a defining drive…but maybe there is a relationship that could also use some defining. 

Warnings: Jos Verstappen, angst, crying, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation

Author Notes: Hi, hey, hello! Apparently I write F1 Fanfiction now?! Also this is the first time I am trying a social media au so my Canva Skills were put to the test. (Disclaimer: I kinda put legibility over authencity, so twitter doesn't look like twitter and messages looks like...something).

Also huge thanks to @onebigfangirlworld and @leodette for holding my hand with this 😘)

The checkered flag waved and GP was in his ear: "Wow. It’s been a long time coming, mate, but, boy, was that worth the wait. You are the man."

Max pulled in a slow breath. His heart was beating fast with the exhilaration of the race, with the thrill of victory. He had won. The first time since the Spanish Grand Prix. From P17 to P1.

"OOOH YES!! What an unbelievable race, guys! You know what that is? Simply lovely."

"Max, that was amazing. 17th to first. That was a world champion’s drive. You were absolutely a class of your own today, " came Christian's voice over the radio.

There was something in his tone of voice...something that scratched something at the edges of Max's brain.

"We had an...incident at the garage today," Christian said carefully. "I would like to start this with saying that Ariel is fine."

Max didn't like the sound of that. An "incident" at the garage? That didn't sound good. And he didn't like the way Christian's tone was all cautious, as if he was bracing for some kind of reaction.

He swallowed, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. "What happened?" he asked, his hands clenching around the steering wheel.

There was a pause, and Max could almost picture Christian gathering his thoughts. "Jos," Christian finally said. "He said some things, and he..." another pause. “He slapped her."

Max's mind blanked out.

He slapped her.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened so much it made his knuckles white. His heart was suddenly racing again, but not from the race. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueled by anger.

"What do you mean, he slapped her?" he asked through gritted teeth.

His father had done what?

"Exactly that," Christian replied, his voice firm. "He was yelling at her for no reason, and he slapped her. It was completely out of line, and it's absolutely unacceptable behavior. I've already dealt with him, sent him away. Max, I didn't tell you earlier because I knew it would only distract you in the race. I didn't want you to worry or get worked up."

He couldn’t talk. Couldn’t bring out the words. 

He remembered the commotion he had heard, the wordless screaming that had happened…he hadn’t been able to make out the words…but he could just about imagine how it must have…

And alone the thought of anybody, especially his own father, laying his hands on Ariel in anger…it was making him ready to go to prison for life for outright murder. 

Jos had put his hands on Ariel. 

On Ariel. 

Ariel. 

The best thing that had ever happened to him. The one person in his life that he knew was going to have his back in every single way every single day. The one person that had never backed down from his temper, that had never hesitated to call him an asshole… who had been there for him for years. 

Who knew him better than he even knew himself sometimes. It was…

It was infuriating. 

Ariel was his. Nobody got to lay his hands on her unless they wanted to deal with Max himself. 

"How is Ariel?" he bit out sharply.

"She's a bit rattled," Christian replied quickly, and Max could hear the hesitation in his voice. "A bit shaken up understandably, but she's okay. The medic checked her out. She's...she vomited afterwards." That sent a cold shard of worry down Max's spine.

She had already looked pale and green around the gills that morning but he hadn’t quite… Max hadn’t really thought that that was…anything but…

Ariel hated wet races, even when she had never outright said it. Max had thought that it was just her nerves and not that anything had been physically wrong with her… but then she had had seafood for dinner the evening before, maybe that hadn’t been a good choice…

But whatever it was,  Max couldn't help the image of her pale, shaky, and vomiting flashing through his mind.

"I'm coming now," he said firmly, his decision made in a heartbeat. "I’m coming to the garage right now."

"Max, you just won a race," Christian protested, his voice concerned. "You're supposed to be celebrating right now."

He didn't care. All he could think about was her. He had to see her, he had to make sure she was okay.

"I'm not celebrating anything until I see her," he retorted, his tone brooking no argument. He didn’t care what he was supposed to do. He needed to see her. He needed to see her now.  "Is she still with the medic?”

"No, she is taking a nap in your driver's room," Christian answered after a moment.

The news brought a wave of relief through Max. 

At least she was resting, and safe from Jos' reach.

"She's sleeping. She's fine. At least get weighed first, alright?" Christian pushed him. "I'll talk to the FIA, maybe we can sneak you out for a moment before the interviews start?"

To say that he was furious about it was an understatement.

Max had never been so angry in his whole damn life.

The anger was a living thing inside him, an inferno of righteous fury. How dare Jos confront her like that? How dare he put his hands on her? The very thought made him grind his teeth to the point that his jaw ached.

For the first time in his life...that win didn't matter to him. At all. 

The win...he had won. That would normally fill him with pride, with satisfaction and the adrenaline of accomplishment. 

But it meant nothing right now. 

No win in his life mattered if he was going to lose Ariel. 

Nothing mattered without Ariel. She was the only thing that mattered. 

Nothing compared to the thought of her being hurt, of her being at the receiving end of one of Jos' outbursts. 

Max could deal with his father’s poisonous words. His father could say whatever he wanted to him. But Jos hadn’t. 

Jos had spit his venom in the direction of the most important person in Max’s life. Had dared to put a hand on her. 

And that meant…that the fury that burned in Max’s gut was all-consuming, a fire in his veins that burned away everything else.

When he finally brought the car to the designated stop, he unclipped himself and climbed out...Normally a win after such a long drought...it would have made the Red Bull garage erupt.

This time the usual celebrations after a race were replaced by a somber mood. Everyone was there of course, congratulating him on the win, but the usual cheer and happiness were missing. Everybody's mind was still caught up in the events that had taken place during the race.

Christian was the first to greet him. He patted his back firmly. "Well done, mate," Christian said, his voice quiet. "It's been a long time coming. You deserve this one."

Somehow he mustered a thanks, even when the fury was still coiling deep within him. 

The need to be by Ariel’s side, to reassure himself that she was fine, was almost overwhelming.

And instead of doing just that, there was the media waiting for him. 

Of course there was. 

They were like vultures, circling the winning driver, waiting for their chance to ask questions and take pictures. Max hated them at that moment, hated every single soul of them. 

Max had never wanted to strangle the media more. His jaw was tight as he was bombarded with question after question about the incident in the garage.

“Have you heard about what happened?” 

“Do you know what it was about?”

"What was said?"

The questions were relentless, and he could feel his anger simmering just under the surface. It took every ounce of his control to keep himself from lashing out. "I just heard about the incident," he said, keeping his tone icily even. "I don't know anything yet. I'll talk to Ariel as soon as I am done here."

One of the reporters, a little more brazen than the others, piped up with a question. "There are rumours that Ms. Cane is...well...expecting. Is there any truth to that? And if yes, are you the father?"

The question stunned Max into a moment of silence. 

What was…What the actual fuck? 

It took him a moment to process the question, to comprehend what the reporter was insinuating. Pregnant? Ariel? With his baby? The very idea was...it was sending him into a tailspin.

Regardless of whatever everybody else had ever thought...there had never… nothing had ever happened between him and Ariel.

She was his best friend. The person he trusted most in the whole world and he quite simply adored her.

It wasn't that he didn't want her. 

He did. 

That had never been a question. From the very first time he had ever seen her...he had fallen a little bit in love right then and there, in late 2019...fallen in love with the blue eyed girl with the bright red hair that had smiled at him in that meeting room.

She had never once taken any of his bullshit. Had never once backed down from any challenge he issued… had met him head on, her shoulder squared.

Ariel had grown too important too quickly for him. He was utterly terrified of fucking it up. Of losing her. What if she didn’t return his feelings? What if she did and then they ended up divorced down the line and hating each other?

At least like this… he could have her as his best friend. That would need to be enough. 

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. 

But to be asked that question...to be asked if she was carrying his child...it was like pouring gasoline into an open fire. It just made the possessiveness well up inside him like a tidal wave. 

He wanted to snap. He wanted not to answer at all. He wanted to tell the media to fuck off and leave him the hell alone. He wanted to answer that question by giving the reporter a bloody nose. 

"That's a very personal question," he said, his eyes cold. "The answer is no. To both questions.”

Another reporter, not satisfied with that answer, piped up. "There have been rumors though," he started. "About a possible relationship-"

“My personal life is not up for discussion,” he cut him off sharply. "Ariel Cane is the best thing that has ever happened to me. She has been my best friend for the last 5 years and a vital part of our team. Ariel is..." he trailed off, trying to figure out how to phrase it. How to express the enormity of what she meant to him. And when he finally spoke, he was surprised at how easily the words came. "She's incredibly important to me. Ariel is a remarkable woman, who I respect immensely. And a day doesn't pass, where I don't appreciate having her in my life," he continued.  He had to defend her, to make it clear that what was between them was not what the media liked to portray it as. 

The reporters looked a little stunned at the outburst. The room fell silent, everyone digesting his words. Max didn't care.

 He had said what he needed to say, and had set the record straight. The last thing he wanted was for her to be dragged down because of him.

Someone finally broke the silence. "What about your father?" another reporter asked carefully. "Will you talk with him?"

The mere mention of his father brought the anger back into the forefront of his mind. He ground his teeth, his hands clenched into fists. Max felt the anger flare up inside him again, hotter than before.

“I will. He won’t like what I have to say,” he snapped. 

"Don't you think that your father may have had a reason for slapping her?" one reporter piped up.

"No," Max's answer was sharp and immediate. "There is absolutely nothing that would justify what he did. And if my father ever dares to even think about getting close to her again, I will make his life an absolute living hell," he said, his voice quiet but deadly.

The reporter looked like he wanted to press the point, like he wanted to dig further. But Max was done answering questions now.

"That's enough," he said firmly, his voice brooking no further argument. "Now I would like to go and see my friend and beg for her forgiveness."

He didn't wait for a response, the need to see her taking over every other thought.

He didn't fucking care anymore. If the FIA wanted to fine him, they could do that. He had more money than he knew what to do with after all.

He turned away from the reporters, ignoring the last of their shouted questions, and made a beeline for the Red Bull Garage. He didn't stop, didn't slow down even when Team Officials tried to talk to him.

All he cared about was getting to her. Getting to her and making sure she was okay.

Next Part

[ukiiseikou]

rofan au where aventurine is a duke who acts as the advisor or some close subordinate to king veritas ratio and reader is a princess from another country that was kidnapped as a political hostage oh the love triangle hsjsjsjwj??

all's fair in love and war.

aventurine x f! reader x veritas ratio. thank you for the ask <333 mwaaaah xx

you're a princess of a small country caught between two major kingdoms vying for power over the continent.

you didn't go without protest and fight, but the king's men took you by force and separated you from the rest of your family. the king had hoped that by using your freedom as a bargaining chip your father would eventually cave and agree to join his side of the fight.

at the castle, you are miserable. despite the silk sheets and velvet chairs the room that they placed you in is a prison. the maids refuse to look you in the eye, doors are slammed and locked in your face, and the food is too salty for your taste. you eventually start taking matters into your own hands, refusing to see anyone, talk to anyone, and refusing to eat the food that's delivered to you every day on a silver tray.

duke! aventurine tries to make your stay as comfortable as possible to earn your complacency. he brings you flowers from your home kingdom and tells the palace cook to cool it with the salt. you make any requests, and it's granted the next day - all thanks to the duke, of course. he ignores your resistance and simply talks to you, even if it's like talking to a brick wall.

"two can play this game," he shrugs and laughs. he spends the entire day sitting in your room, watching you like a hawk while fiddling with a coin in his hand. neither of you cave.

"you will do well to stop throwing a tantrum. the king would hate to see you starve to death before you are returned to your family," he grasps you on your shoulder one evening and says to you lowly. you shrug him off.

king! veritas you see less often. compared to aventurine, who drops by everyday, the king is always in his war room or on a diplomatic meeting or meeting the council. however, when he is free for dinner, he always makes a request (read: orders) for you to join him.

you find him a little stiff and standoffish, unlike aventurine, who smiles easily, is always taking the brunt of the joke, and always crowding and intruding into your space. but you know both of them are just as sly as the other, a match made in heaven, maybe, specifically sent to torture you.

you would expect a political prisoner to be treated with more malice and cruelty, but the king steps around you like you're made of glass and deals with your complaints and tantrums with patience.

you find the king is somewhat of a intellectual, able to match your words with his own carefully thought out ones. the first time you offered your own opinion on a matter at the dinner table he had the gall to say "colour me impressed", like you aren't a princess versed in literature and diplomacy.

you actually catch him a lot in the royal library, once it's open for you to peruse (thanks to aventurine bringing it up once to the king). he sometimes sees a book in your hand and offers his own thoughts on it - and if you've finished it, he asks what you think of it.

you spend long hours talking about books, his research, and general politics. he even says you make better company than aventurine, because at least you can keep up with his thought process.

as the war nears it's end and ratio's kingdom seems to be coming out the winning side, your father finally remembers his kidnapped daughter and requests to see you . he eventually starts a process of aligning himself with the king, first by proposing a marriage of alliance, afterall, you are a princess, and surely any noble would be glad to take your hand! you know your father is eyeing the literal king himself, and through a letter he tells you to up the flirt with him. but as always, your letter is intercepted by the duke, who hasn't left your side since you've arrived, and proposes to you that a marriage to a duke is just as viable and perhaps even better! afterall, you would not have to deal with the court and the responsibilities of being a queen, and enjoy more freedom as a duchess. that is... if you are willing, of course.

a/n: writing this felt highly unethical guys please don't fall for your kidnappers no matter how nice they are. anyways who would you pick LMAOOOOO

[wynnyfryd]

💖 2024 Steddie Fic Recs 💖

@thefreakandthehair and i were talking about how so many of the fics we can name off the top of our heads are from right after the show came out because we were still actively making rec lists back then, so:

in no particular order i present to you an incomplete list of fics i love that were published or completed within the last two months

short fics (<10k)

Found God In A Tomato by @beetlesandstarss 5.7k | rated M | fluff, text fic

syrupy sweet strangers to first date fic. without spoiling anything, eddie is a flustered cutie and steve is a fuckin' menace who's lucky he's so hot

he tightened he grip by @steddieas-shegoes 1.3k | rated E | crack not treated remotely seriously

Mickala beloved your commitment to the bit makes me wanna commit myself to you 💍

Slide It In by gayhandshake 1.8k | rated E | multimedia crack

another truly impeccable work of crack fic, i laughed so hard at the first image that i made it the icon for my private discord server

what's that sound? (there's a funny man at my door) by @jewishrat420 4.8k | rated M | spicy six text fic

laughed out loud at this fic so many times i really don't know what else to tell you. as a matter of fact, i went to look at my bookmark note to see what else i had to say about it when i read it, and my note just says "fucking hilarious i laughed out loud like 6 times" 💀 did not do not will never know what else to tell you except that the phrase "the goyim of gender" just randomly pops into my brain once every four or so days now

medium fics (10-20k)

In the Kitchen or the Tulips by @teddywesworl 44k | rated E | telepathic soulmate AU

this fic said "watch me flip this trope inside out like a freshly cubed half of an avocado" and then DELIVERED. i finished this fic and then stared at the side of my husband's head for long enough that he looked over and went "wtf are you doing" lmao hush baby i am contemplating the implications

they're going to send us to prison for jerks by @greatunironic 16k | rated E | social media AU

okay firstly the premise of this fic is so specifically and delightfully unhinged; love that i'm not the only one who looks at a random tiktok account and manically whispers to myself "there's a fic in there somewhere." secondly the execution is a 10 outta 10 outta 10 outta TEN

long fics (50k+)

Sneaky Link by @morningberriesao3 152k | rated E | onlyfans au

the sex is HOT the boys are dumb as goddamn ROCKS what more do you need? oh, what's that? you do need more? sick because this fic also has: the tags "cum slut eddie munson" and "everyone is gay (because i say so)", chrissy the homophobe slayer being the cutest little spy, and jason getting his ass whooped, like, spiritually. on a spiritual level. physically unharmed but that boy's soul is missing teeth do u understand what i am saying

podfics!

it was love, love alone read by @reena-jenkins 21min | rated E

am i technically reccing my own fic on my own fic rec list? you bet your sweet ass i am, i don't even care how tacky that is reena's performance is hilarious and deserves to be listened to at least 40 more times while doing the dishes

relax (lay it back) read by @flintandfuss 1hr 10min | rated E | yogi dom steve x sub eddie

listen if i'm already being gauche then i gotta include my internet wife's belated birthday present to me, like i gotta. morally and lustfully obligated.

Schiava by @teddywesworl read by aheada_lettuce 1hr 30min | rated E | kas!eddie AU

said it once already today and i'll say it again, i cannot believe one of the best reading voices i've ever heard belongs to a person i mentally refer to as fucking lettuce LOL anyway this read is incredible and i have listened to it Times(tm)

and lastly, if you want more recs (like, 348 more specifically), you can browse my full list of public st bookmarks here

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Souls-like AU: What you need to know about The Puppetmaster!

Ah, Caine. The man, the... uh, silly guy with the weird teeth head.

First things first, Caine is NOT an AI, despite claiming himself to be one when he introduces himself to Pomni. He is a full-on human being, and was just as trapped as everyone else is (it's simply easier to claim he's the AI gamemaster, which is sorta half-true).

But... due to him being one of the creators of the Souls-like game, The true AI Gamemaster had chosen to take out it's anger by puppeteering Caine via it's strong influence.

Thus, becoming the mad Puppetmaster.

To ensure full control over him, the AI had Caine's empathy levels blocked, turning him into a whimsical but unpredictable sociopath who moreso cares about letting the players be a part of the game forever, rather than anything else that would be detrimental to player comfortability and fun meter.

Despite this however, the AI isn't actually mind-controlling Caine, It's processing powers could never take over an entire human brain no matter how much it tried; it is simply influencing his thought patterns, ideas and emotions to a much, MUCH darker level, as well as amplifying his traits down to the negatives like a parasite.

So in The Puppetmaster's isolation and desperation for interaction, he's chosen to keep players inside the game for as long as he wants.

The AI even talks to Caine openly sometimes (it comes in the form of the heartpiece blinking and glowing in a pattern), though usually when they're alone.

When this happens, it seems like Caine is simply on a "one-sided" conversation with the air that could easily come across as a madman's insane ramblings to any sane being that encounters him at that moment.

Now, what about Pomni?

She's his s/o in real life, how does he feel about her being present in the game?

Well, he strongly feels something, that's for sure. It constantly flickers between adoration (natural) and possessiveness (influenced), But to Pomni, he's just being one hella weird guy with no respect for personal space.

Still, due to his empathy levels being blocked, he can't help but feel nothing whenever Pomni dies from a boss. After all, it's just a quick snap with the fingers, and then she's back to life like no big deal. All good and dandy, right?

Who cares about the technicalities of death when you could bring someone back over, and over again?

What about Able?

Able's his good brother. Sure, there were times when Caine felt inferior compared to Able's intellectual talent, but Able always comforted Caine whenever that happened, and all would be fine between them.

Though now.... this tiny bit of inferiority complex has turned into full-blown jealousy and paranoia, thanks to the AI's influence.

This was a major factor in Able's imprisonment inside The Patriarch's body, which is a process that's usually dangerous (since the AI and the human consciousness could mix, coughcoughjustlikehim), if it weren't for the fact that Able had a way around the code to prevent it from completely mixing with him.

Able's case is special, since The Patriarch was already a part of the game before his arrival. Able's defiance against the Puppetmaster resulted in The Patriarch becoming Able's physical prison instead of a traditional "player-turned-boss" scenario, where the players' moveset, iconic traits and thought process become a template for their boss AI counterparts.

What about the "Face The Puppetmaster" ending?

Instead of cutting it's losses, the AI doubled down on it's efforts; taking on both Able and Pomni and further amplifying Caine's already massive jealousy and paranoia into a full-on anger breakdown over the "betrayal".

This ultimately leads to a fatal flaw that allows Pomni to strike the heartpiece when it's at it's lowest (from using all of it's processing power) and even deliver the finishing blow, which destroys the gamemaster completely with the help of Able completely removing the AI itself from the game.

Thus, freeing Caine from the strings of the Puppetmaster persona.

[greedandenby]

Transcript of all the French dialogue in Interview with the Vampire S2 E03 "No Pain".

You asked, yours Frenchly delivered. Bonne lecture ! (long-ass post incoming)

(did not use timestamps as these may vary, but rather scene descriptions)

Armand’s Children of Darkness:

Coven vampire: La mort punira toute infraction de la première et de la cinquième des grandes lois.

Armand sees Lestat at the theatre (performing Marivaux’s Le Triomphe de l’amour):

Lestat (as Arlequin): Ah ! Vous êtes donc des femmes !… (vous êtes deux) friponnes !… et par-dessus le marché, un honnête homme !...

Armand: Tu es le bâtard de Magnus. Je sais que tu peux m’entendre, mon enfant.

Lestat: Qui m’appelle « enfant » ?

Armand: Il est mort, n’est-ce pas ? Je peux prendre soin de toi. Je peux t’apprendre ce qu’il ne t’a pas appris. Viens à moi.

Lestat (as Arlequin): Mais de quoi s’agit-il, mes libérales dames ?

Armand: Viens à moi.

Lestat (as Arlequin): Encore plus honnête.

Armand confronts Lestat and Nicolas:

Armand (to the coven vampires): À la maison.

Coven vampires: Oui, maître. Désolés, maître.

Lestat (to Nicolas): Tu es si distrayant dans la fosse que je ne me rappelle plus du texte.

Nicolas: Je ne peux pas lire mes notes quand j’entends tes pieds sur le plancher… Nous allons nous faire attraper.

Lestat: Je l’espère… Entends-tu cela ?

Nicolas: Par-dessus tes incessantes divagations ? Comment pourrais-je entendre quoi que ce soit ?... Qu’est-ce ?

Lestat: Là… Quelqu’un me regarde.

Nicolas: Tu es toujours au centre de l’attention.

Lestat: Il pense que je ne sais pas qu’il est là.

Nicolas: Est-ce encore de la poésie ?... Viens plus près de mon oreille. Je peux seulement comprendre quand tu t’approches.

Lestat: En pardessus.

Armand: Gardes-tu ce garçon comme aide-mémoire ?

Nicolas: Lestat, connais-tu ce gitan ?

Armand: La solitude que tu ressens, il ne l’atteindra jamais. Sois avec les tiens.

[Side note: they translated « the loneliness you feel, he will not reach it » for « atteindra », but i think Armand is actually saying « il ne l’éteindra jamais », in the sense of « he will not extinguish it ». It makes a LOT more sense.]

Lestat: Et abandonner mon gilet à carreaux ? Mon col jabot ? Vivre comme une larve ?

Nicolas: Lestat, que se passe-t-il ?

Lestat: Rien. Il n’est rien… Bonne nuit, homme étrange !

Armand: Lestat ! Là !

Nicolas: Lestat ?

Lestat: Nicki !

Armand: Tu ne lui as pas révélé ta vraie nature, n’est-ce pas ?

Lestat: Quel est ce pouvoir ?... Je n’ai pas ce pouvoir !

Armand: Mais tu l’auras. Tu as le sang de Magnus. Tu gâches ton potentiel en menant cette vie-là.

Lestat: Relâche-le ! Relâche-le !!!

Armand: Et voici un buveur de sang !

Lestat: Qui es-tu ?

Armand: Je suis Armand. Je suis le chef de ton clan.

Lestat: Nicki !

Armand: Ramène ton gilet chez les larves, veux-tu ?

Lestat confronts the Children of Darkness:

Armand: Je suis heureux que tu sois venu. Il est sain et sauf.

Lestat: Il est saigné. Il ne se réveille pas… Est-ce si amusant de vivre dans une telle saleté et la puanteur ?

Coven vampire: Nous devons servir Dieu au travers de Satan et au travers d’Armand.

Lestat: Ah… Une trinité crottée.

Coven vampire: Tu vas attirer la colère de Dieu sur nous avec tes péchés !

Lestat: Qui sont ?

Coven vampire: Tu vis parmi les mortels ! Tu marches dans le temple de Dieu !

Lestat: Il parle de l’homme triste avec les mains clouées ? Ah… Bien. C’est un arbre tombé. Raboté simplement pour les simples d’esprit. Du même arbre, on fit le pied d’une table et, là, une flûte ! Rampez hors de cette prison qu’il bâtit pour vous… Dieu… Satan… Armand… Est-ce vrai ? Hm ? Nous sommes les Dieux. Vous êtes les Dieux !

Lestat visits Armand:

Lestat: Que s’est-il passé ?

Armand: Je pourrais parler jusqu’à la fin du monde sans jamais te dire tout ce que tu as détruit ici.

Lestat: Nous sommes seuls. Satan ne nous écoute pas… Comment transformes-tu l’air en feu ? Comment bouges-tu des objets par la simple force de ton esprit ?

Armand: Demande-t-il, tout en dansant dans les cendres… Tu as fait de ton Nicolas l’un des nôtres ? Est-ce que le garçon a accepté le don ?... Trop fragile. J’aurais pu te prévenir.

Lestat: Il s’en remettra.

Armand: Certainement pas.

Lestat: J’ai une idée.

Lestat performs for Armand at the theatre (again, Le Triomphe de l’amour) :

Lestat (as Arlequin): Oh ! Mes mignonnes, avant que de vous en aller, il faudra bien, s’il vous plaît, que nous…

(As Lestat) Ils viennent accompagnés, séduits dans un élan collectif. Ils rient ensemble, pleurent ensemble.

Armand: Qu’est-ce, pour un vampire ?

Lestat: Une opportunité. Hamlet est mort sous les coups d’une lame empoisonnée, mais l’acteur qui gît sous leurs yeux respire encore. Dans ce temple, croire protège. Annonce que tu es un vampire. Bois le sang à la vue de tous. Mets en scène les rituels de ton clan, pas depuis les égouts mais depuis le premier balcon.

Armand: Je n’ai pas de clan. Tu m’en as privé.

Lestat: Au contraire, maître.

(as Arlequin): Je n’ai encore qu’un commencement d’envie de n’en plus faire.

Outside the theatre:

… assouvir vos cruelles envies au théâtre des vampires !

At the theatre performance:

Victim: J’ai tant d’années ! Tant d’années !

Theatre vampire: Des années ? La mort ne respecte pas l’âge !

Armand: Regarde comme ils sont immobiles. Ils croient vraiment que c’est une pièce de théâtre. Des clous sur une porte à Wittenberg. Tu as mené une réforme, Lestat.

Lestat: Nous l’avons fait ensemble.

Armand: Tu fais une meilleure Mort.

Lestat: La faux fait tout le travail.

Armand: Après une centaine de nuits ici, tu t’ennuies déjà ?

Lestat: Seulement avec le jeu d’acteur… Allons-y.

Armand: Ici ? Maintenant ?

Lestat: C’est une loge spacieuse.

Armand: Il nous observe.

Lestat: Il devrait regarder sa partition.

Armand: Lestat… Je t’aime.

Lestat: Oui… Je t’aime aussi.

Aaaand that's it (for now), folks! Will do subsequent episodes if there's more French in them (more likely than not!). Bisous !

Episode 2 here

Episode 4 here

Tagging the peeps who requested: @nalyra-dreaming @indelicateink @chicalepidoptera @zailafaneez

[dat-town]

baby, you and me are a twisted fantasy

Characters: marine biologist intern!Leehan & siren!female reader

Setting & genre: dark urban fantasy au, angst

Summary: Donghyun finds a captured siren in the basement of the oceanology institute he works for and falls more in love with the sea while you learn that maybe not all humans are all bad.

Warnings: birth name used, blood, needles, cut wounds, captivity, unethical experiments, mentions of unorthodox surgical procedures, bodily alterations (MC’s scales are removed), starvation, drowning, crying, ideation about killing and dying, minor character deaths, lip-to-lip contact that’s not really a kiss? (this gets pretty dark ngl sorry)

Words: 4k

Author’s note: title from aespa - hold on tight. @restlessmaknae, you wanted angst, so i deliver… with love tho! see you in a few hours! <3

Donghyun was in love with the ocean before he was in love with you.

You hated him and everything he stood for before you even met him.

Physical pain was one thing. The way you could feel your lungs collapse, the thirst for just one drop of water before you suffocate, the blood dripping down when one by one your scales were torn out, the burn in your sea-soaked skin drying up…

Being a lab rat was another. It was white coats, needles and gloved fingers prodding into your slippery skin, touching places they shouldn’t with no questions asked. You wished you had enough power to fight back. To scratch, to bite, to kill.

But a bathtub worth of chlorine water was only enough to keep you alive, just barely. You knew they were doing it on purpose, they were smart enough to figure out that they couldn’t keep you locked down if you were stronger. They knew it when they fished you out of the ocean and let you starve, let your skin turn dry and warm. When the first fever hit and your scales started turning stone-like, they finally put you into water from your humid prison just so they could keep experimenting.

You had your eyes closed, too exhausted to move, to react, but you heard their whispers in the white of the room. Human language wasn’t that hard to understand, not with their greed and cruelty. You swore to yourself you would hurt as much as you could at the first chance. You would leave as much damage as you could before ending it all. You would rather have it your way then letting them cast you away like a used toy when they finished taking you apart.

The ocean didn’t forget after all.

Something cold touched your perched lips and your tired eyes fluttered open, waking from your dreamless sleep.

It was his eyes, the first thing you saw. They were the color of wet sand at sunset. They were gentle and kind with the warmth of the Sun. You flinched away nevertheless because you knew this dance, you knew this trick and you wouldn’t fall for it.

Even if every fiber in your body screamed for the water in the glass the boy brought, you turned your head away, letting your long, air-dried hair cover your face. Your cheek pressed against the cold tiles, a little comfort as you ignored the pain of moving with not enough water in your body. You breathed through your mouth harshly, something that didn’t come naturally but you had to learn to do anyway with the poisoned tap water barely reaching your waist in the small space you could call yours.

“You should drink.” Kind Eyes said and even his voice was gentle despite being deep like ocean waves. Humans were so two-faced. How could they lie with not only their words but with their voice too?

“I promise it’s just water,” he added cautiously and anger flared in you.

He knew then. Of course, he knew. That the water they brought you was not to help you but to make you less of a trouble when they unchained you. It made you drowsy, you couldn’t control your own body and dulled your senses. At least it paled the pain too, so when you were lying on their operation tables, you saw the wounds more than you felt them. You were full of zigzag white scars, healed only by water because you were the ocean’s daughter. Such a disappointing one, fallen into the trap of humans.

“Please,” the boy’s voice trembled and it was the last straw because he didn’t get to do that. He had no right to plead when he acted like he was doing you a favour and you were saying no.

You leaped towards him as fast and as hard as you could, your elbow knocking the glass out of his hand that went flying to the ground, leaving shreds of glass and water puddles all over. The metal dug into your wrists as the chains harshly kept you back, your face merely a few inches from the boy’s as you glared at him.

He didn’t even flinch nor did he pull away at the closeness. The other white collared men all looked at you with either disgust or with very human hunger in their eyes. But all of them were afraid of you. They all had their little needles prepared in case you attacked, in case you bared your canines like the predator you were.

This one, he seemed more fascinated than anything. He looked at you like you were a wonder and maybe that was the worst. You wished you could scare him. You wished you could taste his blood to have these humans taste their own medicine. You wished you could drown him in the chlorine of your poor excuse of a bathtub. You wished he stopped looking at you like that.

Because you didn’t know what to do with that.

Somewhere further down the hall of the basement a door opened and closed.

The boy with honey brown hair and doe eyes snapped out of his stupor and quickly stood up, looking around. He looked at the broken pieces of glass on the ground, quickly swept them under the sink with his shoes before looking down at you. His eyes were full of something you couldn’t name. You didn’t see this look on any human before him. It made you hate him even more.

The boy didn’t come back again after that. Not alone at least.

There were footsteps of four people. You could tell with your eyes closed. One of them was the bearded older man who ordered everybody around. He always talked about you like you were his trophy in a fatherly tone yet he treated you like a ragdoll. His voice alone made you want to tear his skin with your nails until he bled, preferably from his artery. 

“What you will see, Donghyun-ah, is strictly classified. You cannot tell anybody about this. It could be the discovery of the century. Our institute would be the first to…”

The man kept talking but you tuned out his voice. You became good at that: pretending not to feel, not to hurt. You kept your eyes strictly locked on at one point while the man whom the others referred to as senior doctor touched your turquoise scale-covered fin. You kept your mouth in a firm line when he pressed down hard enough to hurt. You clenched your teeth, breathing through your nose, willing yourself not to move while he grabbed your hair roughly to push it aside, revealing the gills at your neck. You stayed still like a statue, your eyes straight on the boy and his eyes full of horror. You could hear his heartbeat pick up like whispers of the ocean in a shell but you couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or dread, fear or something else. You kept eye contact nevertheless because you wanted him to see it: that you weren’t afraid, that you weren’t there to humor them. You were a survivor, a force of nature, you were the ocean itself and you would have your vengeance one day.

It hurt. Breathing.

The scales on your chest, just above your breasts were still healing from the metal digging into your skin where it was the softest. At weak moments like this, you just wanted to sleep, sleep forever. Become one with the water and the stars.

Sounds of approaching steps alerted you and you braced yourself for one more round of unwelcomed sterile touches and pain. You didn’t let your guards down even when it was the boy with the soft eyes. He might not have been the one cutting and pulling out scales from your skin one by one but he could as well have been. One day he would be.

He approached you slowly but not out of fear. He moved deliberately as if he didn’t want to scare you. He had a cloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. You eyed him warily as he sat down at the edge of the tub.

“I’m going to pour it on you. It might be cold,” he whispered and something deep inside you wanted to snort because this boy clearly had no idea how cold the deepest parts of the ocean were. But you kept silent, gritting your teeth, mentally preparing yourself for the burn, for a trick, for anything other than ease for the pain.

But then the water touched your skin, familiar and ocean-scented, dribbling down from your shoulders across the valley of your chest to your turquoise scaled tail and you felt a little bit more alive. You felt like you could finally breathe and your scales shone just a bit brighter and the angry red scars faded. You didn’t intend to let it show but your shoulders shrugged in relief. Maybe that gave the boy the courage or maybe he was reckless by nature but he moved closer.

“Your wrists,” he explained and before you could have protested, he lightly dabbed over the wet cloth along your metal-cut wrists tied to the not working tap, helping them heal too.

For the first time, it was you who studied him. The way he leaned over you to reach your arm. The concentration on his pretty face. The way his fringe fell over his honey eyes. He was beautiful in his fragile human way. Centuries ago he could have been a prince or a sailor you would have seduced into the waters.

He was so close you could hear his heartbeat clearly like the little chimes on fishing boats. Water was filling up your veins but you could still feel your hunger grow. It would have been so easy. He made himself an easy prey. It made you wonder whether it was just a ploy, whether they were testing you, whether he wanted something in exchange. He must have had some ulterior motives because humans were selfish creatures. Even if he wasn't, his death would have been a small price to pay for freedom.

You didn’t move even when the boy pulled slightly back to check on his work. Not when his gaze lowered to your face and your eyes met. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips and you would have had to barely push yourself up to meet his. You imagined kissing him until all oxygen left his lungs, leaving his lips chapped and bloody.

You could have drowned him. Right there. In the water of his own body.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?”

You barely recognized your own voice. It had been so long since you had sung, even longer than you had spoken a human language. It surprised the boy too. His eyes widened and he blinked in confusion, but didn’t pull back.

“I could kill you now. I want to kill you,” you told him coldly because he was one of them and they deserved it.

The boy didn’t even flinch.

“Why aren’t you then?” He asked simply, so calm as if he knew no tidal wave came crashing.

“I don’t know,” you admitted because your only explanation was that he was an odd one. “Why are you helping me?”

You weren’t naive enough to expect the truth but you weren’t sure if a lie or pity was more humiliating.

“Nobody would deserve this,” came the answer as if he wasn’t one of the white coated people, as if he didn’t see you as a mere test subject.

“Not even a monster?” You asked with a tilt of your head because you had heard what they said about you, about your kind. You knew the tales mothers used to tell their sons about the beautiful, dangerous beasts of the sea in order to keep them from wandering around. You weren’t more of a monster than those men though. Not even with sharpened teeth and claws.

“You’re the farthest thing from one.” Doe Eyes spoke in the softest tone like he really believed what he was saying. Like he didn’t see your anatomy on a blueprint in those white walled operating rooms. Like he didn’t hear the rumors about you spilling the blood of his peers on capture day. Like the only thing keeping you back from tearing him apart wasn’t hanging on a loose thread.

So this time, you did snort.

“You have no idea.”

They starved you for two whole weeks. You could only keep track of days due to the unexpected daily visits and yet, they would have never guessed that your condition wasn’t worsening rapidly thanks to one of their own.

“I’m sorry,” the boy apologized in his honey voice after the sea water he brought healed the newest puncture wounds on your bare shoulder and you looked up at him in question, confused. “That I can’t do more.”

You couldn’t say you understood him. He was on neither side. He wasn’t with those men who just took and took and took nor was he brave enough to go against them and let you go. He was neither good nor bad yet he was doing more for you than anybody had ever done. You weren’t used to kindness like this, neither from humans, nor from your own kind, so you were wary of him and his apologies. If you had been meaner though, you would have told him that it wasn’t that he couldn’t, it was that he didn’t want to. But you weren’t the type to bite the hand that fed you. And who were you to blame him for his selfishness when you were the same? You both just wanted to survive in a harsh world.

His name was Donghyun, you finally remembered. It burned into your brain cells as clear as the scalper’s cut was into your tender skin when they forced the surgical tool into his trembling hands.

You saw the tears pooling in his eyes and you really didn’t understand why he was crying. You were used to the pain. You were used to being hurt.

Maybe he wasn’t used to being the one to do the hurting but his hands were at least kinder than anybody else’s.

Donghyun sat on the edge of your bathtub when you awoke. The first thing you noticed was that his hands were still shaking. The second was that one of his cheeks reddened in the form of a palm and something heavy and angry pressed down on your chest seeing him hurt.

Comfort didn’t come naturally to you, it wasn’t in your nature yet looking at him then you wished it was. You wanted to reach out to touch, to hold, which was so unlike you catching yourself doing so hit you like a heavy wave. For once, you were relieved that the chains held you back and you couldn’t move. It would have been a mistake to start caring now.

Yet, you started humming an old sea melody, the rhythm of waves washing up the shore on beautiful, calm mornings to fill the silence. It wasn’t enchanted like your singing but this was the most you could do. It wasn’t comfort, it wasn’t care, just to fill the silence, you told yourself.

Still, Donghyun looked at you in awe, his gaze mellow like you were a miracle and not just something broken. It somehow made you feel worse. He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. Not without glamour.

The next day you carved four lines like a sculptor into the doctor’s old face. His blood was still under your nails when they dumped you in the damp metal cage with no water at all as a punishment. Your tail laid uselessly on the ground and your scales felt heavy on your body. Like this you really felt like a fish out of the water.

Time went differently without having Donghyun around. You didn't even notice how much you got used to his presence until you started missing it. You replayed his voice, gentle and deep, imagined his eyes on you, kind and free of judgement, naive, over and over again.

“Do you miss it? The ocean?” Donghyun had once asked.

It had been a stupid question. It was like asking if you were missing the oxygen but you answered nevertheless. If he wanted to make small talk so bad, you might let it just to hear his voice.

“Every breath.”

“How is it? Tell me about it,” he had prompted softly and you soon learned that he was fascinated by everything you told him about your home, a safe haven and a doom all the same. You had thousands of stories about how vicious the sea could be, how cold and unforgiving, but just as much about its beauty and Donghyun drank them all in. When he told you about the time he learned to swim or when he saved a turtle, you realized: he was nothing like the other white coated men who just wanted to take and take from the waters until they could. Until they drained it from its wonders… and horrors, like you. Donghyun was different, he just wanted to observe and understand. Not that you needed or wanted his sympathy. Or so you told yourself.

When Donghyun held your hand for the first time, you thought you were dreaming. It didn’t seem real. His touch was feather-like, butterfly wing touches against your dry skin. He was so careful as if you could crumble just from his fingertips.

“Hey.”

When you heard his voice, you wondered whether your mind was playing games with you. Whether the lack of water was starting to drive you to insanity finally.

You opened your tired eyes slowly and in the dimly lit basement room, Donghyun’s elegant features came out a little hazy. Or were you dizzy just from the thirst?

“I’m getting you out,” the boy said so confidently as if it was the easiest thing to do. If it wasn’t too exhausting to move an inch of muscle you would have laughed at him. Without the sea, you were nothing. You were less than a pretty shell.

In that state of yours, barely conscious, you couldn’t tell how he managed it: how he got you into a wheelchair or where he got the key to your chains or the card that opened every door but the next thing you knew was rain and wind hitting you in the face, sand and sea on the horizon. The salty air made breathing easier.

It was a typhoon, you could tell. It was the sky’s wraith and oh there was a reason why storms were named after women.

You were halfway down the beach right next to the research institute when the white coated monsters noticed your absence amid the chaos the typhoon caused.

“Stop! Kim Donghyun, don’t you dare!” The doctor’s voice boomed like thunder then it was followed by bitter disappointment when Donghyun didn’t even falter. “I knew she put you under her spell, you stupid child.”

Two long sentences full of curses later the ocean welcomed you in her waves like a benevolent mother welcoming her ungrateful child back in her embrace.

It was like food for the starving, like a drug for an addict in rehab. Being back in the waters made you feel a heady kind of powerful, like you could do anything. You could feel the waves coming, you could taste the salt on your chapped lips, you could feel the hunger and anger come back in full force. You could have just left. Now being able to swim freely without chains, without anybody holding you back, you could have just headed towards the deepest part of the ocean and never look back but you didn’t even think about leaving like that. Not when you could finally sing.

You will drown them all, you thought, a little wicked, because wasn’t it cosmic justice? Letting the sea take them after they had taken you from your motherland?

You could feel the enchantment building up around you, its sound was carried through waves and thunder, the storm helping you make a symphony. Surrounded by the water and its fury you felt power surge through your veins and just like that your siren song filled the air. It really was a bit like a spell, just as much you were a sea witch.

You watched with a content smile as the old senior doctor and all his followers struggled to get to you in the water, getting deeper and deeper. You let them drown one by one as they couldn’t keep up with the storm brewing and the heavy waves took them under. You didn’t pay much attention to most of them, your focus was on your main torturer, the old man, the doctor. You swam up to him with a sweet smile watching his face morph into a blissful grin at your closeness, then you grabbed him by the collar and dragged him underwater. You pierced your sharpened teeth through his wrinkly skin and bled him out like it was poison. You wanted him to suffer like he had done to you. Like they deserved.

Vengeance never tasted so sweet.

It was like waking up from a long slumber when you came to consciousness. Rage and adrenaline had left your body by then, leaving you exhausted in the calm after the storm. The beach was left in ruins all around and that was when you realized that something was wrong. Something was missing. Or rather, somebody.

Donghyun.

In your haste and delirious state, you forgot that even though he helped you, he was human too. That if he stayed close, he was just as affected by your song as all those sailors over the years. Him of all people, the only one who thought you weren’t a monster.

“No,” you whimpered when the realization hit you. “No, please.”

Frantically you looked around, swimming towards the part of the beach where the wheelchair was left, broken. That’s where you found him, near the rocks, lying in the sand, unconscious. Even as you got closer, you couldn’t hear his heartbeat and it was your fault.

You crawled over the sand, right to his side. Even in this state, soaked and pale, sand sticking to his skin and hair, he looked like an angel. But he had water in his lungs and a barely beating heart.

You could have left him there and nobody would have batted an eye, nobody would have even known that you killed one more but the thing was: your kind might have been selfish but you were loyal too. He had saved your life, so now you owed him.

“Come back,” you whispered as you leaned over him, watching his pretty, calm features before pressing your lips to his, evaporating the water from his body just enough to let him breathe. When you pulled back, you could still feel the soft tingle of his lips on yours and you waited until a flutter of his eyelashes showed that he would awake. Then you slipped back into the sea, out of sight, as if you hadn’t even been there in the first place.

You watched from a distance as he was found by an elderly couple and he looked around confused. You watched as he was treated with the kind of care and kindness you could have never given him because you belonged to the cold deep ocean sea and he belonged to the warm soiled land. You had no future together, nothing but a fever dream fantasy.

And if he heard your humming at night when he walked on the beach, some would have called it haunting but some would have called it a confession.

Because you weren’t made for love but he was. He deserved it all and this was the most you could give him. The love of the ocean, untouchable but always present.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so please ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for. 🤓 :

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

@justheretoreadthhx

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@justheretoreadthhx

[artificial-radiance]

oh i love the Path Through the Woods au omg!!! can you tell us about the voices? what are they like and how they are foils to the monsters and such

i cant wait to see all of the other monsters :DD

is the a princess version of the narrator too or is the story different?

(note: this ask was received earlier in March, and I have been working on answering it since -- ty for your patience <3)

For that last question, I imagine the Narrator being the same horrible old crow, though my writing style is certainly different from how he's portrayed (I love describing things way too much) so writing him has been a small bit of a struggle - I need to practice portraying him. As of finishing the list below, I've gotten more confident writing him as I've played him for friends. The story is very different, and he has taken matters into his own hands differently - wanting you to walk into your death through believing him.

For your first question, I'll keep that all under a read more! But for a generalized idea, the Voices here are based on the Shifting Mound's descriptions of the Vessels and how they were described as hearts.

Over the course of writing this, there have been a few renames. They'll be noted <3

While not a voice, "you"/the player are called the Runaway. In tandem with the Voice of the Stray, she is the chapter 1 Princess. What she can arm herself with is different per chapter, and there's implications her appearance changes as well.

The Voice of the Stray is your inverse - if you are armed, she is more passive, and if you are unarmed, she is colder. This is in reference to how the Princess in Ch 1 changes personality based on if you enter the basement with the blade or not.

She was previously called the Voice of the Princess, then the Voice of the Captive, and then the Voice of the Runaway before getting to this point.

The Voice of the Accused is based on the Prisoner. She lays out what she thinks directly and pointedly. She doesn't say more than she needs to, prefering to watch and think things through quietly.

The Voice of the Cutthroat is based on the Adversary. She thinks in directly actions and has the will needed to make you do things.

She was originally called the Voice of the Rival. I thought this was too on the nose and looked to change it, taking Cutthroat from the Voice of the Trapper.

The Voice of the Dove is based on the Damsel. She thinks the Warden means the best for them, and is entirely willing to trust him and do what he says. While she won't suggest violence herself, she can deliver with unflinching cheeriness.

The Voice of the Exalted is based on the Tower. She sees herself as powerful and in charge of the situation. She's calculating where Cutthroat is impatient, and belittles those she doesn't like.

She was originally named the Voice of the Divine, then Voice of the Mystic. The former was too on the nose for me, and the second a little out of place for her personality.

The Voice of the Faithful is based on the Witch. She isn't trusting of others, having faith in herself rather than others. She isn't shy of suggesting trickery and betrayal if the circumstance could benefit from it.

She was originally named the Voice of the Tested before changing it because it didn't feel or sound right.

The Voice of the Haunted is based on the Spectre. She's relaxed for the most part, and one of the more pleasant voices to be around. She's willing to trust anyone that extends a hand to help.

She was originally named the Voice of the Dreamer, and then the Voice of the Drifter.

The Voice of the Hoax is based on the Razor. She likes to lie and oppose most decisions made, though when she's called out on it she's quick to deny most accusations. She likes to have good fun at the expense of others.

She was originally named the Voice of the Snitch, then the Voice of the Sleeve. Her named was hanged because while "Sleeve" was unique, I didn't fully enjoy it.

The Voice of the Solace is based on the Nightmare. She's playful, but impatient, entirely willing to throw tantrums and be cruel when she doesn't get what she wants. She has a strong will to enforce on the body and the Construct.

She was originally named the Voice of the Gentle before I decided it wasn't fitting for her (though you could argue the Solace isn't either - it's more for irony I suppose).

The Voice of the Splintered is based on the Stranger. She's naive, and her mood is unpredictable. She can be dismissive, vitriolic, or fully passive based on whatever stimuli she's given.

She was originally named the Voice of the Resonant, but I didn't fully vibe with it, hence the late change.

The Voice of the Trapper is based on the Beast. [edit] She is pretty decent planner and can read other creatures like a book. She knows what she's doing so long as it involves the element of surprise.

She was originally named the Voice of the Cutthroat, which was later given to the current Cutthroat. I held off from naming her the Hunter/Huntress since it was too on the nose.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

I hear the Marcy angst is very heavy in RiA so i'm gonna list some nice things that happen to her in this AU

Meeting her girls! Anne became her first friend when she visited Newtopia for the first time around age 6 and they've been penpals ever since! Marcy isn't allowed to leave Newtopia but Anne manages to visit every two or three years. She has to keep it all secret from her father, which causes her some pretty nerve wrecking anxiety because she's not allowed to keep secrets, but Lady Olivia always helps her deliver her letters in secret.

Meeting Sasha was a bit more chaotic but perhaps even more romantic. It happened shortly after the beginning of the war, though Marcy had no idea there was a war at all. All she knew was that she had a terrible fight with her father, and then she saw two beautiful, giant herons perched on the towers of the palace. The heavy rain and thunder, and the darkness of night, masked their presence. They were tame - she could tell from the saddles they sported, so in a moment of desperation, she climbed onto one, and when their owner showed up and took the other, she guided them away from Newtopia, into the stormy night. Sasha had traveled all the way there from Frog Valley to release some important toad prisoners, not realizing she was accidentally taking one of her own. She could barely see in the rain and darkness, only realizing she wasn't alone when she reached Toad Tower and a small human girl, probably her age, fell from the other heron's saddle and nearly crashed into the ground - if it weren't for Sasha to catch her. This was bad. Really really bad. She didn't have the forces or resources to resist a direct attack from Newtopia, which would surely be coming when they realized the princess was missing. As much as she'd love to take this oportunity to use her as a hostage, they were in terrible conditions to play that card. She tells her she'll return her as soon as the rain subsides, and in the meantime she plays nice - if she princess didn't know they were at war, well, there was no reason to scare her. She easily earns her trust and tries to get information from her, but she seems too distracted by the fact that Sasha is, well, like her. She calls it "having the same condition". Sasha thinks it's best not to confuse her by telling her their species is called "human". Interrogating her is hard - the princess seems to be the one asking all the questions, and... okay, Sasha had to admit she was adorable. She almost misses her when she's gone.

Getting Joe Sparrow! A gift from Sasha - he arrived to her balcony one night with a note attached to his saddle, telling her to keep him secret from her father. It felt bad to keep secrets, but her late night flights away from Newtopia made her forget everything else.

Exploring the palace's secret corridors with Lady Olivia! Much like her, Olivia grew up in the palace and knew all the little corners to hide and secret rooms to explore. She really likes Lady Olivia. She never feels anxious with her.

Playing flipwart with her dad! It wasn't all bad. Her childhood had happy days too. She had a lot of happy memories with her father. He was nice most of the times.

He put her in that chair when she slept and plugged her to the machine. She has a strange cable port in the back of her neck. He read through her journal. He told her a father's love was the greatest thing there was , and that no one would love her as much as he did. Years later, she thinks he was right. She doesn't think anyone but him could experience love in that way.

The first time Anne saw her with short hair. She'd cut it all a few days back and she was still feeling self-conscious of it, but Anne's face lit up when she saw her, and she tangled her fingers in her black strands and ruffled them and found them so soft and adorable that she couldn't keep her hands off of them. Anne's eyes on her always made her feel special. Her hands, too. Marcy loved to be touched, especially by Anne. She hoped her love of touch never came across as weird, but the feeling of warm, dry skin against hers sends sparks of happiness all through her body.

She disappeared one day without warning. She took with her the box. She knew she'd fought with her family the day before, but she'd thought... she'd thought she'd come to her and Sasha before leaving all of a sudden. She thought she'd talk to them if something bothered her. But she left. Gone without a trace

Sasha teaching her to fight! She preferred crossbows over swords, and Sasha could work with that. She helped her position her body the right way to shoot, sending shivers down her spine. She decided that day that she loved Sasha's touch too. Anne and Sasha's touch had a special effect on her. It was always comfortable. While her father's touch always made her feel uneasy, like she was hugging a stranger, her girls' hands on her arms, shoulders, her chest... they always made her feel so grounded and warm and safe.

She's sure Sasha will never again feel safe under Marcy's touch after what she did to her. Her hands will forever he stained with her blood now, and no amount of "it wasn't you" or "you didn't want to do it" takes the horror away.

Learning Anne and Sasha were in love. After so many years of... well, trying to kill each other, Marcy was always terrified of having to choose between them, but almost as if by miracle, she came together to save her, and seemed to have bonded quite a bit in the process.

It was Anne who brought up the idea. She was worried Marcy would be intimidated by it, as polygamy tends to have unfortunate implications, but she and Sasha hated pretending they didn't love each other in front of Marcy, hated keeping it a secret, hated that Marcy thought she was the only one in their hearts. It felt like betrayal. So... they shyly told her, and to their relief, she was... so, so happy. She hugged them both super tight, and when Anne suggested that they gave the relationship a try, they happily accepted. No more secrets. No more shame, or fear, or distrust, just the three of them and their unconditional love.

Her wedding wad one of the happiest days of her life. She was sixteen, and so were her brides. It was certainly an unusual marriage, but as queen, she could take two consorts if she pleased. Anne's family was there, as well as Sasha's adoptive parents, Percy and Braddock. Lady Olivia was there too. She never thought the day would come. She never thought she'd be allowed to marry, and never in her wildest dreams did she dare to hope she'd get to have both of her loves. Yet here they were, in front of her, about to bond their lives to hers forever. 'Til death do them apart.

[l1tw1ck]

choose my next full fic, i'll share updates if it ends up taking me a long time

Omega Aventurine x alpha reader: non-con, mind break. Aventurine gets arrested and you're given sole control over the matter so instead of sending him to prison, you keep him in your private jail and slowly break him

Stalker dan heng: non-con. You recently joined the astral express as a trailblazer and dan heng began to fall for you. after weeks of collecting your used underwear, taking pictures, and watching you sleep, he decided to make a move while you were sleeping in a hotel

dom joel x sub delivery man reader. you deliver coffee grounds to joel's house biweekly and one day, he offers you some lemonade

bottom scara x top dottore x top reader: non-con, roofies. you and dottore meet scaramouche at a party, drug him, and take him home

bottom simeon x top ghost reader: non-con. simeon is tormented by an unknown ghost

bottom omega simeon x top alpha demon reader. simeon gets his first heat later than normal and you help him out

bottom diluc x top fatui reader: non-con. no visions au. you capture diluc and his crew and make a deal: if he has sex with you, you let them all go

bottom aether x top reader: trans4trans, college au. you met aether at a party and took him to your dorm

i'll try to do the top 3 ^^

[finitepeace]

3 months since I finished Hannibal tv show. Not moving on at all from hannigram.

and here are the fics that i read to soothe the pain and pretend that the mess that is hannigram relationship has been tidied up.

Personal favorites are marked with 🦌 <this is supposed to be a stag but then it turns out to be a goat???>

arranged by time setting.

11 season1 fics, 11 season2 fics , 2 season 3fics, 14 post/before canon fics, 5 fics AU, 2 missing scene fics, 2 collections.

Season 1 divergence

Kissable by FragileTeacup |2,5k words | A Season 1 AU ficlet which explores a simple premise: what would have happened if, after Will had gone to Hannibal's house and confessed to kissing Alana Bloom, he had ended up kissing Hannibal? 

Consenting to Dream by emungere | E, 38k words | A seduction through physical objects. It starts with a scarf loaned to Will on a cold day, but Hannibal, as usual, isn't satisfied with anything small.

🦌 Marriage of Inconvenience by FragileTeacup | 3,5k words E | When Will Graham hears that Hannibal Lecter has been threatened with deportation, he's far more dismayed than he ever thought he would be. But a flippant suggestion from Brian Zeller gives him an idea...

Beau Ideal by Gweezle | E, 21k words | will used to be a model -who might be attracted murder-

🦌 Dancing with the Beast by proser | E, 86k words | In order to catch a mediocre serial killer, Will must pose as Hannibal's date for a series of pretentious social events.

La Maison Rouge by Randstad | 2k words, Hannibal starts to show up at Will's house at the crack of dawn to make him breakfast, killing two birds with one stone: cooking is one of his many passions, and, honestly, Will Graham is climbing up the list.

Hyacinth House by bluesyturtle for Azremodehar | 80k, E,  It all starts with an injury Will sustains while sleepwalking. [Podfic] read by justbreathe

Kindling by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe) | 10k words, e | When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help.

🦌 Separately to a Wood by emungere | 13k words, T, canon-divergence in which hannibal proposed to will on their 2nd day meeting. 

Demolition Lovers by thefangirlingdead | 76k words, E, hannibal got found out early, kidnapped will to run with him and will struggled with the usual ‘i love him but he is a murder’.. 

🦌 Small Repairs by Devereauxs_Disease | E, 20k words, divergence season 1, hannigram keeps finding reason to meet each other 

Season 2 divergence

🦌 The Fox's Wedding by thehoyden | E, 11k, post S2 finale fix-it, hannibal took will to japan

Amourette by Petronia | 3k words, E, divergence on season 2 

I shouldn't feel lonely when you're gone by Angelic_Disaster | 28k words, E, amnesiac Dr. Lecter,

Slip the Veil by ThisBeautifulDrowning   21,844  Post-Mizumono, Will heals, and thinks, and follows his heart. 

🦌 each according to its kind by chaparral_crown | 192k words | Season 2 divergence | instead of taking revenge and planning to expose hannibal, will drop everything and run away 

Where All Ladders Start by emungere | E, 43k, season 2 divergence, hannibal regrets and releases will from prison 

Pattern Break by ThisBeautifulDrowning | e, 72k | No, Will was going to deal with Hannibal Lecter on his own terms. The man deserved to reap what he'd so carefully sowed, didn't he? After his release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will doesn't return to work for the FBI.

🦌🦌🦌 if you will come all the way down with me by coloredink | 7k words, M, they left together with abigail, but at what cost??? 

Season 3 divergence

🦌 their beaks not yet turned red by chaparral_crown | M, 130K words, magical realism, baby lecter!! post 1st half of season 3, hannibal went to trial but his conjugal tryst with will brought a stork delivered gift | After Hannibal is arrested and the trial dates are set, the stork visits Will Graham. With it, it brings a baby, a legally binding birth certificate, and a hope chest full of gifts for her. Nobody except Will thinks this is weird.

A Postcard and a Knife by Canis_cosmos | E, 37k words, divergence from season 3 when chiyoh threw will out of the train to the past and met young hannibal 

post S3 / before S1

God and Glasses by purefoysgirl | 1,1k, G, domestic life of married hannigram 

Lean On Me by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles | 2k words | Written for the airport-related AU prompt: "I fell asleep on your shoulder and you were too polite to move or wake me up AU" with a Hannigram twist.

We Killed a Dragon Last Night and  Sounders of Three by  inameitlater | time travel/loop/groundhog day

🦌 Hear My Soul Speak by DarkmoonSigel | 130k words. WIP. Last updated early 2022.  | An AU about how Will might of met Hannibal differently since they both knew Alana. A dinner party gone wrong or terribly right. You decide. Not Beta Read.

🦌 When the Devil Smiles Back byGoldenUsagi | 26k words |  A remix of Silence of the Lambs, where Clarice finds herself occupied not only with catching Buffalo Bill, but with unraveling the mystery of what exactly happened to Will Graham. And Hannibal knows more than he’s letting on about both.

🦌🦌🦌Bigger than a Breadbox by KatherineKrawl | 4k words, E | Every day at work, Will's lunchbox is filled with decadent creations, prompting questions from curious coworkers. Hoping to solve the matter, he asks Hannibal for a 'simple' sandwich, but quickly learns Hannibal doesn't quite grasp the meaning of this. Or does his boyfriend have an ulterior motive for his lavish lunches?

TKO by sidnihoudini | 16k words Molly deals with the aftermath.

The Shape of Me Will Always be You by MissDisoriental | 279k words, 1st person POV, | post-fall, hannibal left will so will could return to his old life

A Discreet Madness by emungere | 4,4k words, M, post-fall | 

A Damn Slippery Life by Magical_Destiny | 2k words, T, post-fall, molly reacts

Something Else by HotMolasses | 2,1k, T, hannigram talking about that gutting scene...  

🦌🦌🦌 Say Cheese! by Devereauxs_Disease | 6k, M, murder husband’s vacations keep appearing in freddie lound’s tattle crime 

Cold Beds and Warm Cannibals by Devereauxs_Disease | E, 4,4k, smut and overcoming distrusts

🦌Fruitful by Everett_Harte An AU remix of 'Hannibal'. Where they both meet several years before the show, start dating, and get married. And bang, a lot.

AUs

🦌 the true kingkiller by ORiley42 | 41k words, M, there’s even a very well made podfic for it!, hannibal is a mummy and will accidentally freed him. consequence: will fell in love with him.

Ethics & Aesthetics by FragileTeacup | 106330 words, a Regency A/B/O romance | pride and prejudice au

🦌🦌🦌 Remember (that you are) to die by  13empress | 230k words, WIP last updated  2017 | ABO au, amnesiac will woke up with 13 years past experience including being a parent, a one half of murder husband, and a wrongly incarcerated FBI agent 

Oddbodies by toffeecape | E, 72k words | Will is an off-brand sentinel. Hannibal is a reputable guide. What could go wrong?

🦌🦌🦌 Overcoming by purefoysgirl | 547k words, E, A/B/O victorian AU, MY VERY FIRST HANNIGRAM FIC! brought me here and now i'm stuck

Howling Outside Your Door by nobetterlove | 14k words | Content to spend his days on the surgery floor, Hannibal is tasked to present emergency room policy to a Cognitive Science class. He's somewhat reticent, but a single whiff of air changes everything. The professor, Will Graham, is an enigma. A dark bruise covers his right eye and the ripe burnt-sugary sweetness is tainted by a tang of suppressants. How much can finding his true mate really change Hannibal? And when it comes to darkness, where does acceptance lie? 14k words

missing scenes

My Husband by VictoriaAGrey | G, 3,5k words, hannigram being sweet married couple

Mise en Place by WrathoftheStag for Devereauxs_Disease | G, 1,8k, outsider POV -one of the kitchen staff in hannibal’s dinner party- 

collections i'm checking out

In Which Loverboy Lecter Prostrates Himself at the Altar of Will Graham 

Fresh Meat Friday

Hannigram Extended Universe

Trope: From Sex To Love (Valhalla Enchanted) by TigerPrawn | 14k words | the omega prince Charmont is in need of an alpha to see him through heat until his betrothed arrives from a distant kingdom. The recently freed slave one-eyed mute is just hideous enough to be the perfect temporary alpha to service the prince.

Forgemaster by Llewcie | 11k words | Charmont, the newest Dionysus, loses a bet to his roommate Aphrodite, and is required by her to go on three dates with a god of her choosing. Before he even gets out the door, he scathingly insults the gentle, mute Hephaestus, and then must scramble to make amends.

Blood on Steel by MonstrousRegiment | Ella Enchanted/Valhalla Rising crossover, series of 24k words work

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

Disclaimer: I do not own any Planet Puto Character - Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto.This might or might not be a self insert, please don't come for me.

A/N: Am I insane and out of my mind? Yes. Was I in the middle of a creativity block and just pulled this world building shit out of thin air? Also yes.

~Royalty! AU~ INTRODUCTION

"That one looks half decent..."

Lakan smirked as he pointed into you using the sharp end of his sword, not caring if you're already trembling. Is it because of the fear? or maybe it's from being on your knees on the snowy ground with nothing but thin and tattered clothes for god knows how long, you don't really know at this point.

The military general leans down to your level hand grabbing your cheeks roughly and forcing you to look up at him.

"Tell me, peasant. What entertaining stuff can you do? Careful about your answer, your life depends on it." His voice, although very soft and playful has that menacing tone that didn't fail to give you goosebumps.

The ground was cold and the air was thick— filled with cries for mercy as Lakan's troops destroy and slaughter whatever they lay eyes on.

"I- I can play instruments and write poetry, Sir." You stuttered as your voice get struck in your throat.

"We're taking this one home." Lakan grinned at your response before letting go of your face.

"This will do for Maliksi's birthday present. Now let's pack up before the enemy's reinforcements arrive. Just set fire to everything then let's call it a day."

The servants looked at you somberly as you were dragged out of the carriage and into the palace gates, the soldiers handling you roughly. You can't blame them, after all you are nothing but a peasant from the losing side of this wretched war. These people are the ruthless victors, their hands soaked with the blood of your fellow civilians that unfortunately got caught in the middle of slaughter.

"Lakan, what is the meaning of this?" A firm voice caught your attention but you kept your head lowered on the ground.

Makisig quickly motioned towards his courtesans to help you stand up as he walked towards Lakan.

"Oh, if it isn't my own brother, the King." Lakan tauntingly said as he bowed slightly. He's always despised the idea of Makisig ascending to the throne despite being younger than him.

That position was meant for him, yet here he is, reduced to being the general who spends more time outside the palace walls instead of seating on that fancy throne he's always dreamt of.

"Cut it out! What are you doing? You do know that the enemies already called defeat and you can't be taking in anymore war prisoners!"

"Prisoner? That one was a present for our youngest brother."

"A present?! Our brother is nothing like you! He won't enjoy such fatuity—"

"And? Who does he take after then? Everyone here knows that the young prince isn't soft like you! Hell, I bet he'll be a better king than you!"

Makisig's royal guards quickly drew blade and pointed it at the general. They will not stand for any slander against the King. It is a crime of treason afterall and will be punishable by death. The King sighed, "Lower your blades! He's still my brother."

Lakan softly chuckled as he turned to walk away. "See? I told you. Soft. Please have your courtesans clean up and dress that girl, then take her to my room. I'll deliver her myself to Maliksi."

You shivered at the first touch of cold water into your skin as the royal courtesans started giving you a bath. You've literally been in crossfire and to say that you are filthy is an understatement. You didn't even know how Lakan was able to spot you amongst the civilians.

No one was talking, probably out of pity for you and what you went through— your kingdom just lost the war, your town was burnt to a crisp, you watched the others getting killed infront of you. You are someone who lost everything.

After your bath, they dressed you up in a fine dress, probably too grand from what you were expecting, and then they proceeded to put your curly hair up in a bun using an intricate pin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you can't help but admire your reflection. Funny what a bath and some fancy fabric can do.

"You look pretty." One of the courtesans whispered as she gave you a kind smile. All of them looked hopeful and sweet, probably wishing you good fate inside the very walls of this palace just like them. They all lined up as they silently lead you to Lakan's quarters.

"Bring her in and leave." Lakan said from the inside of the room before the royal courtesans can even knock. They did just that but before they finally close the door, they looked at each other before giving you a reassuring nod.

As soon as the doors closed, the royal courtesans raced towards Maliksi's quarters. He wasn't the friendliest towards them, and they will surely be yelled at for disturbing him at this time, but they all know Lakan and the poor fate every other lady went through after spending time alone with him in his quarters. They cannot just do nothing after sending you to your possible doom.

Lakan's room is dark yet you can feel his stares boring a hole to your very being. "Guess I was right, you do look good."

The general smirked as he slowly walked towards you. "A poet and a musician doesn't have a right to look this good. It'll be such a waste to just give you to my youngest brother afterall." He softly said, his hot breath fanning into your neck as he leans in while his hand reaches out to slightly slide the dress down and reveal your left shoulder.

"Maybe I should get a taste first, before giving you to Maliksi."

You grabbed fistfuls into your dress as you held yourself from talking back or trying fighting him off— you knew this man would not hesitate in killing you if you do something as much as turn down his advances.

You can feel warm tears form and trickle down your cheeks, knowing that you can't ask him to stop if you wanted to live.

"I don't accept leftovers, brother. It's rude to gift someone stuff that you already used." A cold voice emerged from the shadows as you felt being snatched from Lakan's grip and being pulled as someone held you gently by your waist.

"Gods! Maliksi, can you stop doing that?! I know that you're the only one blessed with magic among us but just stop popping out of the shadows, it creeps me out. Can't you use a fucking door like a normal person?"

"It's called teleportation magic. I didn't popped out of the shadows, your room is just as dark as your soul. Anyway, you boldly declared this lady as a present for me earlier and I have eyewitnesses. I came here to pick her up." Maliksi nonchalantly said as he rolled his eyes, still holding you close to him.

"It's those courtesans...I knew it! If it weren't for the King's protection, I would've already cut their heads off." Lakan muttered underneath his breath while he gritted his teeth. "Aaaww, come on, brother! Can't we share just this once—"

Maliksi's expression hardened as he looked Lakan up and down. You can feel just how intimidating this man is despite him being shorter than the general.

"I believe we already established that since we were kids....That if you try touching what's mine, I'll be burning your fingers off." The young prince coldly said, his grip on your waist slightly tightening.

Lakan chuckled as he slowly backed away. He wasn't irritated at how his youngest brother is acting— oh, this is so much better than him being a big pretentious softy just like the King.

"As you wish, brother." The general smiled, everything is going according to his plan afterall.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Hi! Welcome to the Royalty! Au that involves Planet Puto (philmytcrea au) characters. I do not own them, they are HC's Original Characters.

Please follow and support them here: https://www.tumblr.com/ask-emilz-de-philz / @ask-emilz-de-philz

I wanted to take time to clarify that this is fiction on fiction.

Yes, Lakan, Makisig, and Maliksi are brothers in this AU.

Yes, we hab King! Makisig here.

Lakan is the oldest, but Makisig was the one who ascended to the throne after their father died.

Yes, there is an ongoing war and Y/N (You/ Reader) is from the enemy kingdom who just declared Loss/ Defeat against Makisig's Kingdom.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND APPRECIATING WHAT I WRITE! ;;