#either way my brain is Going and my photoshop is In Flames

[saltpepperbeard]

i see you, color symbolism, I SEE YOU

[kenthenugget]

My Classroom Neighbor (Idk what to title this)

So the other day I was watching a video by a youtuber named Optimus, whom I watch from time to time. In the video, he was covering a story about this, frankly, spoiled college girl who bragged about missing deadlines for assignments and projects on twitter. And whom melted down when, to no ones surprise but her's, got booted from the class by her professor. While the story itself was another example of reaping what you sow, it did remind me a person who's story I'd like to share with you guys today. While this person didn't brag about missing assignments or freak out when the was dropped, I did have a front row seat to someone basically failing a class because he did little to nothing of the assignments. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The student in question was in my graphic design course during the Fall 2021 Semester. I first saw him the week after classes had started, not showing up until now due to something that was happening in his personal life. After that he chose his spot and said spot just so happened to be right next to where I sat, which is how I got the "front row seat" so to speak. I guess I cant be referring to him as "the student" for this whole thing so I'll just be calling him Steven, a name which might make more sense later on.

On the surface, there was nothing particularly outstanding about Steven but what I did notice and would quickly take notice of was the fact that he didnt seem to pay attention at all to the lecture. While the person sitting to my left would have photoshop or illustrator open following along with the lecture, to my left would be Steven either on google maps, smacking his thighs or looking shit up on google images. The one thing he looked up the most were seagulls (get it? Steven as in Steven Seagal...Seagulls?). Although, there was this one time where he searched up Donald Trump and when I noticed him doing it, he literally moved his monitor so I couldn't see it. Not going to lie, it made me chuckle.

He also didn't seem to do any of classworks/homework too? How do I know this? Well during the moments in class where there wouldn't be a lecture going on, we would have 'Critique Sessions", where would show off our work in front of the class, completed or not. At no point during the semester did I see Steven's work presented on the board. That and he seemed to be occupied with google maps and birds to realize the professor was giving us a homework assignments. In hindsight, he was quite a weird one. He would come, drop of his stuff, disappear out of the classroom for about 10 minutes, come back in, do his usual stuff then leave.

At this point, you're probably wondering if Steven had some sort of learning disability, like adhd or autism. And looking back, I feeling he probably had either or both. Now before you start flaming me, I'd like to point out that I have autism and adhd as well, so don't think this is coming from someone who likes to hate on neurdivergent people like the trolls on kiwi farms or 4chan. I am well aware that stuff like adhd and a.d.d can severally effect someone's ability to focus, however, I dont think its a be all end all excuse. Because adhd cant effect someone's motivation or drive to get work done. I struggle with focusing on shit but I also dont want to miss a deadline, weather it be webcomics or school. So that drive to get things done on time and not half ass anything overrides any distractions that might come my way. For school, I've always had high grades and its sort wired an instinct into my brain to do well in classes. And I was particularly motivated during this semester. My first year of college was awful, mostly due to mental health struggles I had been dealing with throughout 2020 and the first half of 2021. Because of this, I didnt perform as well as I would have if I was in a better mental state. It was because of that realization that, following a summer of improvement, I made it a personal goal to do better in college to make up for my poor performance.

So in a weird way, I personally saw Steven as a twisted reflection to how I was in 2020/2021; unfocused and lagging behind the rest of the class. But instead of it being only visible to him in the privacy of his own bedroom during zoom classes, I had a front row seat to his antics. Although I cant be sure if was suffering with the same mental issues that I had at the time. As for the autism, he did seem to have an obsession with Seagulls, like I said, and the metric system. Not really sure how this ties in with all of this.

Anyways, this brings us to the end of the semester. Steven had no only done none of the homework assignments and but one of the in class assignments, he hadn't done the take home midterm either. I was wondering if he make a turn around for the final project, which would be due on the 18th a Monday, with the latest hand ins going until Wednesday the 20th. We were given two weeks to work on it, and then came Monday, the actual last in class session. And I was not surprised to find that he hadn't done it. I guess that's a bit misleading. He did start it but he wasn't even close to finishing it. I wasn't paying too much attention to his computer since my eyes were directly set on the presentations, but what I did see was a blank document with a type face on it. That's it! I was kinda shocked but not surprised since he didn't even do the take home midterm which the professor did give him shit for. After we presented all our projects (except for Steven), and after the professor gave us some departing words, we were dismissed for the day. It was at this point Steven turned to me and said quote for quote, "Wait is it over?"

"Yeah", I replied, "Everyone dropped theirs' (aka final projects) into the dropbox" (our way of handing in assingments)

At this, he muttered "oh shit" under his breath and I tried my best to contain my laughter as I packed my things and left, while overhearing him and the professor talk about something. Most likely trying to explain why he did 0.1% of the work for the class. I found this moment so funny that I wrote it in my journal shortly after and forever immortalized this moment. Needless to say, I don't think Steven passed the class, and I doubt he would have been able to make it up by Wednesday as well. If he couldn't focus to use the 2 weeks working on his final, then there was no way he could do all of that and more within a couple of days.

And that was the last I saw of Steven. I saw him walking down the sidewalk to the nearest bus stop while waiting for my dad to pick me up that same day but after that, I never saw him in any of the classes I signed up for after that. I know its not a guarantee that you'll see the same people in each class you sign up for because of how big college is, but I wonder if he became too unfocused to sign up for any new classes too. I'm not quite sure what the moral of this story is, if there is one anyway. I guess don't waste you're parents money because college is expensive XD

[mrvelocipede]

Oh hey! In spite of not actually expecting to get that far, I managed to come up with some response to a Botober prompt every single day in October. I’ve decided that means I don’t have to feel guilty about not doing NaNoWriMo. I mean, I wasn’t going to do NaNoWriMo anyway, but now I also won’t vaguely tell myself that I should be doing it.

Some thoughts on fractals, illustrations, and Botober:

In 31 days, I posted

1 photoshop manipulation 1 hastily-staged photograph 29 fractals

Of the fractals,

1 was old stuff completely un-altered (flame alphabet) 3 were re-workings of existing parameter sets (the super hero skull, parts of a cow, dangerous drops) 25 were entirely new 1 used an imported image (mouth mouth mouth), the rest were built entirely out of various coloring algorithms.

This was way more than I had intended to produce, way back when the prompts came out, and I decided to try doing something with a few of the phrases that initially caught my attention. I figured I might end up making half a dozen images or so, scattered over the course of the month. Probably that's how it would have worked out if I'd tried to stick to just one of the four lists of prompts, instead of deciding to pick out my favorite bits from all of them.

The AI prompts were very well suited to fractal illustration, especially the ones where the bot got stuck in some kind of repeating phrase. They’re so delightfully absurd and specific, a good match for my own style, since I’ve never been able to decide if it counts as abstract or representational. It ended up being a very absorbing and self-indulgent exercise, finding just the right fractal structures to use as basic frameworks, then putting together layers of different coloring methods to make the visual effects I wanted. They’re a kind of optical illusion, I suppose, where there are just enough suggestions of shape and color and whatnot that your brain fills in the rest.

The self-indulgent part was that I really got to dig into what I know about different formulas and how they behave, and put all the pieces together in very intentional ways. For instance, the Mandelbrot set is entirely connected, and standard Julia sets are either completely connected or completely disconnected “dust.” But for the prompt about the small rocky islands, I knew I was going to want a formula that was neither of those, but which had discrete islands as part of its basic structure. So I had an excuse to go rummaging around in formulas that I don’t normally use, and it was really fun. 10/10, would Botober again.

Is there something similar to impostor syndrome, except that instead of being convinced you're terrible at what you're doing, you're pretty sure you're good at it, but it's an intrinsically worthless thing to do? Because I've definitely improved my skills at using fractals to illustrate unlikely concepts. If only those skills had any conceivable use whatsoever.

[seblaine-rph]

it'd be so easy to do a s1 redo with age appropriate characters. you could have all the fun s1 drama and storylines but with characters that are 21+ and even alternative fcs to give it a twist, it surprises me there aren't any active rps like that around

Despite the one (super problematic) redo rp we can see in the tags, there aren’t any others. You’re right. And they are really easy to open up, run, and figure out plots and stuff for because you already have a full seven seasons worth of script to work with if you ever get lost. There have been rps like that before, which might be why there aren’t any now. Nobody wants to be the person that takes a thousand years to make a whole rpg only to get spammed with anons about how unoriginal and they are as thieves. I don’t think anyone looking to do a redo rp should feel like they might get harassed for theft, but it might happen. I can see gleerp sending out anon hate if another season one glee redo in college were to open up, even if they made their original. But it’s not like there’s anything unique or new that the admins over there created themselves, so there’s nothing for them to claim as intellectual property. If it were a season one redo with a twist, that might be a different story if someone were to snatch the unique twist. But it shouldn’t apply to the basic skeleton of a redo rp because you’re redoing something that someone else made, it’s not your original brain child.

Nobody wants to be the person that takes a thousand years to make a whole rpg only to get no apps either, because the community is pretty much dead and nobody applies to anything that their current friends aren’t already in. I wish it wasn’t like that, but it is. For this second issue, it would be nice if people were more open to joining things that aren’t made by their friends. If we could get that “I’ll join anything that looks interesting based on the plot and nothing else” energy back, we’d have a lot more rps in the tags. Graphics used to be the hot button, where nobody would app if the graphics weren’t stellar, but now it’s about friends. I remember seeing photoshop-less groups popping up a few years back to retaliate against the super pristine, elitist, you have to spend approximately ten lifetimes and sacrifice your first born to make a successful rp mentality, but those aren’t around anymore. I think that in general, the grpc and rp in general has been starting to really die off and wind down because people are no longer comfortable joining anything but their friend’s rps. So new people try to take their hand at admining an rp and in the past, that could have succeeded but in this rp climate.. it just ends up closing. Because people beg and scream for original rps all day and all night, but they won’t join them. The only rps in any of the tags that I’ve been able to find lately ALL have the same plot: open fandom or oc, everyone magically poofed from their hometowns and woke up here for no reason oh well here we are, let’s just write like that’s normal and nobody is going to be upset about being uprooted at all. The only rps I’m seeing in the grpc tag that are really active are just open town, no plot rps. All of the original ideas that I’ve seen started have all died off before they could even begin. Nobody seems to realize that by not applying to rps that are run by other people, they’re refusing to cross pollinate masterlists and create new breeds of friends that can blossom and flourish. If we all joined any rp we wanted to, we’d be making a ton of new friends left and right. Instead, we’re quarantined to our own friends and will only rp with the same people we’ve been rping with for five years. Think about it. If we all made our own rp, but refused to join anyone else’s rp... how are we going to get members in our rp? If nobody is joining anyone else’s rps? It’d just be the one admin per group and nobody else. You have to reach out and cross pollinate to keep the rpc active and fresh. I really do think that this right here is the number one killer of all things roleplay these days. I do still have places to rp but I have heard so many people complain about how hard it is to get their rp masterlist to flourish. 

It really would be easy though, and to be honest it would probably get more people involved in it than the pedophilic alternative. It’s 2021, not 2012 despite what my dyslexia might want to say about it sometimes; most people have learned how to spot and avoid a dumpster fire and with all of the people going to jail for internet activities that involve pedophilia and cp in 2020 and 2021 (I thought we learned the lesson with the former Glee actors much earlier than now, but I guess not), it’s no wonder people are avoiding pedo rps. You really have to want to engage in pedophilic activity to be hard-headed enough to not age the characters up appropriately and cause no actual harm to yourself or anyone else, it’s not like it used to be when people were dim enough to do it without thinking. Like twincest, incest, and other problematic behaviors that used to saturate the community... the silent time where people ignored the nasty and joined anyway while pretending to not see anything they thought might be problematic are over. We’ve all seen prominent figures in the grpc being torn down from their pedestals for engaging in problematic behavior, pedophilia being one of those things that people are getting mass hate for. So it really is a fight to keep writing it. You have to go through being dragged through the mud and hated on in order to cling to these things nowadays. To me, that just makes it even worse. Not only are we all advanced enough now to be beyond the 2012 insanity, it is also costly to a person’s reputation and ability to go through life without being flamed by anon hate to continue to live by offensive behavior in a way that wasn’t “real” back in 2012. Not to mention, we’re all 9 years older than we were back then. So we should have matured 9 years and we should be 9 years further away from being invested in children having sex and writing out the whole “teenage sexual awakening” and “coming of age” stories. Maybe 9 years ago when we were all 18, it might have been closer to relevant and something cathartic, but why on EARTH would someone that is around 30 years old still NEED to write children coming of age if not because they’re pedophiles? That’s the one argument I always see for this. But I want to write a coming of age story, but I want to write about my character maturing as a teenager and finding adulthood. WHY? Why do you want to do that? Why do you want to write that? Why do you want to obsess (because let’s be real, we all obsess over our muses and their relationships and lives) over children having sex? Why? Why can’t you write an appropriate coming of age story for someone in college? Why is it that the characters being 14 is so integral to your smut and your plot and your needs as a writer?

You’re also risking the law, as I’ve stated many times. Feel free to Google what happens when the FBI decides to look at your internet history and finds pedophilic content there. And the FBI will get involved if it’s a bigger case, like a roleplay group that contains a dozen members that are all tied to the pedophilic content. You can even Google “roleplay” with that and you’ll find horror stories of people being sentenced to 10-25+ years in FEDERAL PRISON for roleplaying the 18- having sex. That alone, if your morals are weak, should be enough to keep you away from writing pedophilic content. I just don’t see how anyone could ever say to themselves that they needed to write 14 year olds having sex SO BADLY that it was alright with them if it meant they had to go to prison for it. That’s making these people’s need to write child porn sound like an addiction. Nasty.

I honestly, truly, definitely, genuinely do not understand. You have to be a SERIOUS, GENUINE, SERIOUS PEDOPHILE with a SERIOUS PROBLEM to be willing to write in a group like gleerp that has minors having sex in it. Look at the risk. I do not ever want to be able to understand how the “reward” of being able to write 14 year olds having sex with each other is going to outweigh the negative risk. Even just your run-of-the-mill, every day pedo is going to be too scared to do something like that, because the risk outweighs the reward. So.... I just don’t understand how 30 year old adults are so invested in these characters NEEDING TO BE children in order for them to want to write them. Like... Age them up to an appropriate age and make it a college rp and have exactly the same plots and exactly the same things and exactly the same everything except suddenly it’s appropriate and not pedophilia or... keep them kids and get hated on daily and risk getting yourself and everyone else in your group locked up? 

I think the choice is clear to any sane individual. 

[moonbeambucky]

Baby

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 5860 Warnings: fluff, angst

Summary: A bad date turns around when you find love in the last place you expected.

A/N: This is my submission for @interestedbystanderwrites 2k MCUxDirty Dancing Follower Milestone Challenge My prompt was “Go back to your playpen… baby.” Thank you as always to Sam @buckyofthemyscira for beta reading 💕 gif not mine

Terrible weather began a terrible day but it all turned around when he walked in…

Winter’s icy grip still held on firmly despite it technically being Spring. The temperature was barely climbing higher each day as thick grey clouds settled themselves in the sky making you wonder if you’ll ever feel the sun’s warmth again. It was cold and being near the banks of the Erie made it colder.

Rain beat against the window of your office from steady flows to heavy downpours that rattled you in your chair. You gave a quick glance at your umbrella at the foot of your desk, thankful for its companionship on a day like this when the clouds can’t make up their minds about whether or not today would be when they decide to unleash an apocalyptic flood upon the world.

The end of the work day was nearing and you were looking forward to going home so you could get ready for the first date you’ve been on in a while. After your previous relationship ended it took you a while to get back on your feet and put yourself out there.

It had been about a month since you matched with Danny. He was a junior partner at a law firm not far from your own office making you wonder if you’ve ever unknowingly crossed paths before. After all the talking and texting you decided to go on a date. You were down for a more casual meeting at a coffee shop but he insisted on a traditional first date dinner.

That wouldn’t have been so bad except his choice of restaurant, the most upscale and expensive place in the heart of Cleveland, made you extremely nervous. You weren’t going to disagree with his suggestion, even though you’d be a lot more relaxed getting to know him over tapas and drinks. Danny seemed really excited to go there making you think maybe he was trying to impress you.

A chill had set in the air causing you to shiver and regret not wearing pants. Your navy dress was form fitting and a modest length, and any remaining skin was covered by dark tights and tall boots. Tiny pebbles of gravel crunched underneath your footsteps along the soaked brick of the paved road. Large puddles reflected the lights of the bars and restaurants flanking both sides of the street covered in a sea of pedestrians enjoying their weekend despite the day’s weather.

You spotted Danny under the sign outside the restaurant, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. As you approached him you called out his name and were greeted with a bright smile as he looked up to see you. His arms wrapped around you for a welcoming hug bringing you in close.

“I’m so glad you look like your picture,” he said, pulling back to look you over again. “It’s such a turn off to meet someone that looks nothing like their picture.”

Your head quirked to the side thinking that was a very awkward statement to make especially to someone you’re first meeting. Still, you brushed it off thinking maybe he’s had a few experiences where people tried to present a version of themselves they no longer are.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I’m a little nervous and you’re… so beautiful,” he continued, a wide smile plastered on his face.

Danny held the door open for you and when you were led to your table he helped you out of your coat and pulled out your chair.

He peered over his menu to smile your way and when you caught his gaze you smiled back.

“That’s a beautiful dress.”

“Oh thank you I– ”

“I’m so happy you dress classy. Men don’t actually want their girls to show off a lot of skin in public, some things are meant for their eyes only.”

What… the fuck. Your classy dress was hiding the steam that was rising from the blood boiling beneath your skin.

“Well it’s not up to men or anyone to tell someone how to dress,” you sneered.

Danny’s smile turned sour on his face. “Comments like that are probably the reason you’ve been single for so long. Now that I’m here I can teach you how to act like a lady.”

“What you need to do is learn manners and respect,” you said, placing the menu on the table.

Pushing out your chair you grabbed your things and headed for the door. There was a bit of commotion behind you with Danny calling you a bitch but you held your head high, with pride strengthening your stride as you walked out of the restaurant without turning back.

Deliberate heavy footsteps carried you down the block and away from your disaster date. So much for putting yourself out there again. If Danny was able to fool you so easily by hiding his true nature it didn’t give you a lot of hope for the future. You were tired of being alone and were really hoping that Danny could have been the connection you were looking for.

Playful laughter of a couple walking hand in hand passed you only twisted the knife in your broken heart. You felt like shit and truthfully didn’t want to feel anything at all for the rest of the night. There were plenty of bars along the street you could have chosen to drown your woes in but they were filled with too many happy people that you could not be around for fear of bursting into tears. You wanted– no, needed to go somewhere quiet; a place where you could disappear.

Thunder loomed in the distance making you walk faster, hugging your coat closer to yourself with your hands shrugged together in the pockets, distancing yourself from the lively streets, walking quickly so you could get to the outskirts of the trendy neighborhood.

The journey to your unknown destination ended when you stumbled upon a bar that called you like a moth to the flame. Dingy, black exterior with peeling paint and no discernible name. The weather had fogged up the bottom half of the windows with mostly-working neon signs advertising name brand beers, blocking the rest of your view into the place.

Flashes of red peered through the soot black door, also peeling, covering up the former bright entryway for one shrouded in mystery. It seemed like a place you expected would offer moonshine from a questionable barrel and considering your current state of emotions you wouldn’t be surprised if you took up the offer.

Silver numbers of the address were drilled into the heavy door you pushed open revealing everything you expected. Rock music from decades past drowning out the groans of people that want to escape the world outside. It was loud but not blaring, just enough to fill the void of empty space in the room.

The long bar glows like whiskey in the sun. An older woman with dark hair shows off defined arms in a black muscle tank top, popping the cap off a beer she slides to a man at the end. There are only a few patrons sitting far enough apart from each other so they don’t have to make conversation. This place doesn’t look like it gets much traffic but what it does have seems to be familiar faces; a home for those who don’t fit in anywhere else, and right now that included you.

Boisterous laughter roared over the guitar riffs and you look to see a group of denim clad men crowding around the only pool table in the back. Dry, dusty hands chalk the pool stick as dry, dusty men make the best of their evening, just as you planned on doing.

Cracked peanut shells that litter the floor crack even more as you walk towards the bar. The old stool squeaks as you settle on it, slipping your arms out of your coat you hang over the back. Twisting forward again you see the bartender walking towards you. A friendly smile wrinkled the corners of her thin lips set against leathery skin as her smoke graveled voice asked what you’ll be drinking, because she knows you’re not there for the nuts.

“Jack and Coke,” you replied, not bothering to force a smile back.

It’s understood in the downward slope of your eyebrows and the corners of your lips that feel too heavy to ever lift again. A worn coaster is set in front of you with the mixed drink followed quickly behind it and soon you find one corner of your mouth twitching with gratitude for her haste.

“Name’s Sally. Let me know if you need anything else,” she offered before settling back towards the middle of the bar to get another round for those playing pool.  

The glass is cold, the drink is strong and instantly you feel relief along with the urge to hiccup and burp at the same time. Your hand covers your mouth as you try to do both silently as your other hand digs out your phone so you could delete your dating app.

For now this is what you needed, to delete the memory of Danny whose name burned your mouth worse than the strongest liquor. You didn’t want to deal with any other potential matches either, not tonight, not for a while. With another gulp of your drink you confirmed your decision, to delete men (temporarily) from your life, and that’s when you saw him.

Tall, tan, toned… he was… making your brain stutter or maybe that was the alcohol? Possibly both considering he was the most good looking man you had ever seen. He was photoshopped perfection in real life, an actual god. But what the hell was he doing in this place?

Sex on legs strutted out from the back, looking unfairly handsome in black jeans, a simple white t-shirt and a blue track jacket. He reclaimed his spot at the bar, the corner seat at the end leaving only a chair between you.

The glow of the bar bathes him in honey and his voice was just as sweet as you overheard him order a drink, flashing Sally a megawatt smile, the slightest crinkles surrounding his smoldering blue eyes. That’s when you recognized him. He was certainly a god made flesh, the god of gymnastics Lance Tucker. A gold and silver medalist that somehow ended up in some shit hole bar in Cleveland.

Blue eyes shifted your way making your face burn under the realization he caught you staring. Your lips pulled to a half smile before taking another gulp of your drink and grab your phone, highlighting with a notification. It was an automated text reminding you of your hair appointment tomorrow but it served as the perfect distraction to keep your nose down at your phone and not at the face of the man whose eyes you felt were burning through you.

A smooth voice pulled your attention away from your fake distraction. “What brings you here?”

Looking up you see Lance, elbow propped up on the counter and leaning his dimpled chin into his hand while the other was loosely splayed out beside his drink.

“You don’t look like someone that comes here a lot,” he continued, since you were in a slight state of shock by the fact that he was speaking to you in the first place.

You swallowed a smile, noting the way his body angled towards you now, awaiting your answer. There was no sign of impatience anywhere, but a genuinely curious smile slowly stretching across his face.

“I could ask you the same,” you said, lifting your drink to your lips to mask the surprise you felt by replying in such a bold manner.

“So ask me.”

The bubbly drink lifted up a burst of laughter with equal parts shock. You were surprised enough by your own response to him, never expecting him to reply this way. With no expectations from him you decided to roll with this conversation, knowing it would serve as a better distraction than dwelling on your bad date.

“Okay,” you began, shifting in your seat to face him. Shifting your eyes towards his hand you watched as he played with the condensation on his glass, dragging the wetness in slow circles as he anticipated what you might say next. “What brings Lance Tucker to a no-name bar in Cleveland?”

His face scrunched together as he held in a mixture of pride and embarrassment, licking his lips before swallowing back the rest of his drink. “So you know who I am,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded and broke the slightest bit of tension that hung in the air, remarking how you didn’t think anyone else had recognized him. He seemed to relax under that notion, hoping it was true. Lance has had a good portion of his life publicized but now things were different.

“Well that’s not fair, I don’t know your name,” he smirked.

After telling Lance your name you watched his lips whisper it back slowly, as if it was a secret he wanted to keep all for himself.

He leaned in closer and you felt compelled to do the same, bringing you inches away from his enticing features. “So, you want to know why I’m here?” he said, dragging the suspense out of every syllable.

“Yes!” you shouted.

Lance smiled and chewed on his bottom lip as he watched you laugh as a result of enthusiastically shouting. Your laughter washed over him in calming waves that lifted his heart. A year ago he would have rattled off some line that would guarantee him getting laid but a lot has happened in that time and he was a new man, trying to make the best of his new life in a new city.

“I’m here because of my daughter,” he said low and soft, with happiness lighting up his face like a sunrise over the horizon.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed, regardless of knowing the details he was about to explain, it was sweet to see the love he had for his child. Lance continued filling in parts of his story you had heard bits and pieces about. To be honest before meeting Lance you didn’t care about celebrity gossip, learning most news involuntarily through social media posts or the occasional office buzz.

Lance’s story in his own words was more fleshed out from what you knew and strikingly honest. He began coaching Maggie Townsend after her win in Toronto, he slept with her because she was “young and hot” and for nine months they tried to be in a relationship for the baby but that ultimately failed due to countless fights with Maggie screaming at him for ruining her career.

“To be fair, I kinda did,” he admitted.

Lance left Los Angeles for Ohio to be near his daughter Olivia who was now nine months old. He had an apartment in the city because “Cleveland is better than that shit town Amherst” and also because he needed space from Maggie. He hates it here but it’s a sacrifice he’s making to be there for his kid.

“Your turn,” Lance said, nudging a glass your way from the next round Sally poured.

Whether it was Lance’s candor or the Jack Daniels you felt comfortable in opening up to Lance as well, telling him how excited you were to go on this date, the first one since your breakup with your ex.

“It felt like I had been talking to one person this whole time and then he sent his evil twin to go on the date.”

“What an asshole,” Lance said, swallowing back his drink. He was thankful you walked on out that idiot because it lead you here with him.

Lance was easy to get along with as you slowly empted your glasses discussing this new city he moved to, finding out as many tips as he could about the best places to go while you listened to all of his complaints.

“It’s not that bad,” you joked. “Wait until winter though. That’s the worst.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not looking forward to that. Maybe I could take Livi to LA for a few months…” he wondered out loud, knowing he was lucky enough to have her for a few days a week. “You ever been?”

“Once when I was a kid. My family went to California and did all the touristy stuff, Hollywood Boulevard, Disneyland.”

“Well LA’s a lot better as an adult,” Lance playfully chuckled. “Plus it’s got everything, except winter.”

Lance winked and you burst out laughing, watching as his own eyes crinkled with delight as he joined you.

“Another round?” Sally asked, clinking the empty glasses together as she grabbed them.

Mischief simmered in Lance’s eyes as he asked you, “Want to have some fun?” Your brows knitted with confusion until you heard him ask Sally for two shots of tequila. Ahhh, fun.

She came back with three glasses, one filled with lime wedges and two empties, setting a salt shaker down beside them. You thanked her as she filled the shot glasses as Lance picked up the salt.

Your cheeks were already burning from the drinks you had but now it felt like every part of your skin was scorching under Lance’s gaze as he watched your tongue dart out to lick the back of your hand. With a smirk plastered on his face he poured out the salt to cover the wetness on your skin. It was difficult to not look at him do the same, watching his bright pink tongue expertly swipe at his hand sent an ache straight to your core.

He lifted the shot glass waiting for you to do the same, and with a nod to show you were ready you both licked the salt from your hands, swallowed the burning liquid in one gulp and sought out the lime for relief.

The glasses slammed on the table with vigor, a bit sloppily in your case as you realize a shot after two drinks and no dinner might not have been the best idea. The music has faded to a loud hum as you sit as still as possible, trying to reign in your head that felt like it was floating like a balloon through a storm.

Lance’s tongue darted out once more to swipe over his lips. That shot hit the spot in helping to erase the memory of an earlier fight with Maggie that had him seeking out a bar to begin with. Meeting you certainly kept his mind off things. You were easy to talk to, funny, beautiful and as he looked over towards you now, spacing out hard.

“You okay?” he leaned in to ask, as you felt his hot breath against your ear.

Your head felt miles away while your eyes, glossed over with a haze, were focused on seemingly nothing straight ahead of you. “Yes,” you lied at first, “No. Can we maybe get something to eat?”

You didn’t hear Lance’s answer but saw him leave money on the counter to cover the tab for both of you. You stumbled a bit to get off the stool but he was there to hold you steady. With your coat slung over his arm, Lance helped guide you to the door.

The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool enough to feel amazing against your heated skin and instantly you felt a little bit better. With Lance’s arm around you tightly you walked a few short blocks to small plaza with a lineup of food trucks. There was a variety to choose from, some with just desserts that looked so good but you knew you needed something a bit more substantial.

“Burgers?” you suggested, looking at Lance for any objection, not that he would; you were his top priority now and he made sure you got whatever you needed to feel better.

The line for the truck was long but it seemed to go by quickly and once you had the food in your hands you could not wait to dig in. Your mouth opened wide to take a large bite of the burger, loving the way the juicy meat mixed with the melted cheese and buttery bun.

“This is so good,” you attempted to say with a mouth full of food, chewing as much as you could while trying not to spit anything out.

Lance smiled at the way your face glowed under the fairy lights strung throughout the tree branches above you. He was happy to see you smiling, knowing he had a small hand in turning your night around.

“Feelin better?” Lance asked as you both threw away your trash and began to lazily stroll down the sidewalk.

“Much, thank you. And thank you for paying back there.” Your steps were small and deliberate, unsure of where you were walking with him but it felt like the end of the night and truthfully you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“It’s nothing,” Lance said, smiling as his fingers accidentally brushed against yours. He wanted to take your hand, lace your fingers with his and see where the night would take you.

Reaching the corner of the sidewalk you waited to cross as cars zoomed by, not paying attention to the car that drove through the giant puddle of water by the overflowing sewer. Dirty water splashed and rained down on you and Lance as you shrieked out of surprise by the freezing cold wetness.

“Oh my god!” you shouted, wiping water from your eyes.

Lance stood there in shock, his white t-shirt now see through and clinging to the sculptured muscles of his stomach. You couldn’t help but laugh some more at his face, his wide gasp turning into a wider smile as he saw your drenched hair and clothes. He remembered a time with Maggie before they had gotten together, screaming at the top of her lungs when a teammate threw a water balloon at her. But here, drenched in disgusting water that’s been pooling on the dirty street you were laughing your ass off.

Lance cupped your face and crashed his lips to yours, abruptly stopping your laughter that quickly turned into moans he was desperate to swallow. His lips were soft against yours though his tongue was rough, on a mission to taste every part of your mouth. Your hands ran through his damp locks in an effort to grab hold of anything that could confirm this was real.

Reluctantly you broke away for air but kept your forehead pressed against his as you panted heavily, desperate to feel his lips against yours again. The blue of Lance’s eyes retreated fully, revealing a deep lustful gaze that spoke volumes for how you both felt. Your tongue glided over your lips as before you closed this distance this time, kissing him with no intention of stopping.

Lance’s apartment wasn’t far and you found yourselves there, removing sodden clothes from your bodies in a frantic haze. His body was burning hot with desire and your lips traveled all over his chiseled form. Skin to skin, slapping against each other in the throes of passion. Sweaty, hungry, eager kisses chasing after your swollen lips.

“Baby,” he grunts, gruff and needy with every thrust inside you. “Baby,” he whispers, soft and sweet like a prayer as you soar to the heavens together.

Every inch of the room is coated in a primal musk as two sweaty, sticky bodies rested together under the cool thin sheet, with sleep overtaking you both.

Warm light filtered in through windows gently stirring you awake, making you wish you remembered to shut the blinds like you normally would. Your fingers dug at crust from your eyes as your head pounded against the pillow that felt too soft. Looking over to the nightstand you searched for your alarm clock, instead finding an unfamiliar lamp. This morning seemed… off. 

The bright light was too painful so you turned your back to it, coming face to face with the reason why everything felt different.

Lance Tucker was fast asleep, his face smushed into the pillows; his pillows in his apartment where, judging by the clothes strewn across the floor and delicious ache between your legs, you had sex.

Your hand rubbed behind your neck, feeling a sore trail of love bites left from the night’s activities. Now you remember, and quite frankly you don’t know how you could have ever forgotten your mind blowing time.

If the Sex Olympics were a thing Lance should win the gold in every category. He was a generous and skilled lover, who brought you tumbling over the edge several times. But now with the sheet wrapped closer to your chest and your head feeling like it’s in the middle of a construction zone, you worried about what he might say with a more clear headed mind.

Would he regret taking you home? Should you slip out while he’s sleeping and forget this ever happened?

It was too late to make any decision, Lance groaned sleepily, opening his eyes to find you beside him.

“Mornin’ baby,” his parched mouth groaned out, his lips pulling slightly into a smile.

Baby. The pet name you apparently earned last night, falling sweetly off his lips. Lance pulled you close to him so your head could rest on his shoulder. You were both exhausted and hungover, but spending a lazy morning tangled in each other’s arms didn’t seem so bad.

A few hours later you woke up for real, with a splitting headache you wish wasn’t real. Lance made coffee that helped a little bit, though when he pressed his lips against your temple for a soft kiss you definitely felt something. Not cured of your hangover but the stirring of butterflies in your stomach. You left shortly after with his number in your phone, a wrinkled dress and sex hair that was worth missing your salon appointment over.

You hadn’t expected to hear from Lance, in fact you convinced yourself he wasn’t going to text, making each day you hadn’t heard from him a lot easier to deal with but as your phone buzzed with an alert a big smile overtook your face and instantly you felt relief.

Lance had apologized for not being in contact, he had Olivia for the past few days and he was focused on her. Of course he had nothing to apologize for, you really enjoyed hearing about the mess she made while eating or how he played with her.

“If you’re free tonight I’d like to see you again.” He held his breath hopefully letting out a sigh as he beamed widely at your answer.

Seeing Lance became a regular thing except on the days he had Olivia. You respected the time he spent with his daughter and didn’t dare intrude. Other times you were together, back at the food trucks trying a bit of everything, exploring the city hand in hand with Lance slowly coming around to other positives about living there aside from you.

Most nights were spent at his place, cuddled up together on the couch binge watching the latest series or in bed where your body trembled with aftershocks of the Earth shaking, hot white pleasure you had experienced. Above all, Lance had found a way into your heart as if he was always meant to be there.

Lance’s handsome face appeared on your phone and you quickly swiped to answer the call.

“Hey baby,” Lance greeted through a yawn. “Livi had me up all night, I’m exhausted,” he continued, trying to talk above the noise of traffic around him but not too loud to wake up Olivia in the car seat.

“I’m sorry about that babe. I could have driven if you wanted,” you offered.

“I’ll be alright, plus…” he sighed, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to bring someone new around Maggie. I don’t need the headache, I’m sorry baby, but I appreciate it.”

After driving back and forth Lance came over for dinner since he was too tired to make something himself. Above the sizzle of the frying pan you heard his groans, looking up to find his shoulders slouched, head in his hands on the table.

Adjusting the knobs on the stove you stepped away briefly and walked towards Lance. Your hands skimmed across the hard planes of his back up to his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles as he groaned appreciatively under your touch.

Maggie had fought with him again, this time about Olivia’s first birthday. She wanted to plan an extravagant party and got angry that the children’s party venue, that she had months to book in advance, would not squeeze her in.

“She’s so frustrating. She got it in her head that LA was bad and things would be better back here but clearly she forgot that Amherst hates her.”

“Why?” you asked, applying more pressure as he you felt his muscles tense up the more he spoke about her.

Lance reached his hand back to cover yours. “It’s my fault. It always is,” he sighed.

The sizzling grew louder so you placed a kiss to his cheek before going back to tend to the cooking. “Don’t say that Lance.”

“It’s partially true. She abandoned this town for me, to train, and then…” he gestured with his hands. “She hates me because of everything that happened.”

The opportunity to talk about Maggie seldom appeared. You had a lot of opinions about her that you kept to yourself. It wasn’t your business and you didn’t need to add fuel to the fire they were trying to curb for Olivia’s sake but something inside was itching for you to find out.

You and Lance had been seeing each other for a few months and you loved him though you hadn’t said it out loud yet. You hoped he knew it in your actions, just like you felt it from him in the gentle ways he held you at night, the longing looks, the bright smiles. You wouldn’t push him to say the words to you but part of you needed to know how he felt about her.

“Do you hate her?”

Lance straightened up in the chair, staring contemplatively before answering. “No. She’s the mother of my child, I don’t hate her.” But do you love her?

Lance’s warm scent invaded your senses as your lips were pressed together. He would be leaving for Olivia’s birthday party, with your colorfully wrapped gift in hand. You wished you could go with him, hoping that one day everyone would be able to get along.

That night Lance was supposed to call but you didn’t hear from him. Before bed you said goodnight via text, figuring he was tired after such a long day. He didn’t return your text until the following day, apologizing for the delay. He had caught a stomach bug and didn’t want to trouble you with anything.

Two days later you finally heard his voice. “I’m sorry baby,” he weakly groaned. He was cancelling your weekend plans again, needing more time to recuperate.

Lance didn’t sound like himself, but you attributed that to all the vomiting. He was a nightmare when he caught a cold last month so you can’t imagine how he’s been handling everything a stomach bug entails.

A week had passed and each day without him felt like an eternity. Lance was surely better now so you decided to surprise him, hoping he regained enough of his strength to go for a stroll with you on this beautiful day.

As soon as the elevator doors opened to his floor you wished they hadn’t. At the end of the hallway was Lance, his hand cupped around Maggie’s cheek, his tongue going further and further down her throat.

The ding of the elevator alerted them to your shocked presence. You wanted to run, to go back home, to somehow wake yourself up from this nightmare because that’s what this had to be. Instead, your shaky legs carried you towards them against your will in search of answers.

“Lance, I…I don’t understand…” you began.

A sharp laugh pierced your heart like a million arrows, each one tipped with poison in the form of lies and betrayal.

“Is this who you’ve been wasting your time with Lance?” Maggie asked incredulously, still laughing as she looked you up and down.

The ability to speak had left, your voice abandoning you when you needed it most. Your mouth hung open, trembling as you looked at Lance wondering why.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said softly with regret. “Maggie and I are… we’ve been…”

“We’re together,” she smirked, lacing her arm through his as if she was claiming her prize. Maggie won the gold, again, this time in the form of Lance.

Lance couldn’t meet your gaze. He stared at the floor, lifting his eyes to your trembling hands. He felt terrible lying to you and even worse now with you standing in front of him, deserving of a better explanation than what he could give.

“We thought it would be best to try… for Olivia. After her birthday we…”

It made sense now why he hadn’t called when he came home that night, he hadn’t; and he had been lying ever since. You broke at the realization.

“How could you do this to me?” your voice cracked as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“I thought we had something… I lo…” The word died on your tongue, you couldn’t say it. It wouldn’t change what happened and you couldn’t forgive him.

Maggie rolled her eyes hard, “Pfft, this girl whines worse than Olivia. Go back to your playpen… baby.”

Baby. The nickname that rose from the flames of lust now turned to ash.

Muffled cries from inside the apartment draw everyone’s attention towards the door.

“Great, now you woke up our daughter,” Maggie huffed, stomping off into Lance’s place.

Silence drowned the hallway as you stared at each other. With every tear that fell Lance felt worse He fucked up, big time, and there was nothing he could do to fix this.

“Y/N.”

He whispered your name like the first time he said it, the night you found each other in the last place anyone would think they could find happiness. Lance took your hand and you wanted to pull it away but you couldn’t. You were pathetic, still desperate for his touch, one last time.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed back a tear before it could drop, letting go of your hand and going back inside his apartment.

You were paralyzed, crying like the baby you truly were, moving only when you heard their voices through the wall. Slowly you turned back to the elevator, descending to the lobby and back out onto the street with nowhere to go.

Beautiful weather began a beautiful day but it all turned around when he walked out…

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

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[kingbuckley]

This is a long long long fic dump for bellarke fics. They are in no particular order, varying lengths, some aus some not--but there are summaries! so enjoy i guess.

There's A Nap For That

Based on that post: "If you both agree to take a nap instead of going out, it’s a date." Or: The one where Bellamy and Clarke keep taking naps together. You know, platonically. See also: Let Them Rest.

Flowers Fade, But The Internet Lasts Forever 

the one where Clarke finds out the hard way that having two separate Twitter accounts and a hopeless crush on Bellamy Blake don't exactly mix.

And They'll Hang Us In The Louvre

“Well I mean, I can always give you a hand. If you want.” By the time her brain has managed to catch up with what she just said, his eyes have already snapped over to her and she pretends to be engrossed in the salt slowly dissolving around the rim of her margarita. “Really,” he says flat. “What are friends for, am I right?” she says breezily, looking anywhere but at him. 

Chemical, Physical, Kryptonite

four times Bellamy and Clarke try to be friends with benefits, and one time they stop kidding themselves.

the fire is coming

Clarke's jaeger goes down on a Thursday.

one night to push and scream (and then relief)

Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin are FBI agents sent undercover as a married couple to infiltrate the Wallace family organized crime ring. Great plan, except for the part where they hate each other.

and dream how wonderful your life will be

Clarke has known Bellamy Blake for two months when she finds out two completely unexpected things about him: he's married, and he has an eight-year-old son. He's also getting a divorce and he needs a roommate, and she's got a spot. It's complicated.

long day

bellamy + clarke as co-dependent, twenty-something roommates (or, the one in which they’re dating already but don’t know it, and bellamy only realizes he has a heart when it breaks)

neither lost nor found

Bellamy Blake arrives on campus and Clarke's magic suddenly starts going haywire.

Spent a Dollar on This Ring

Clarke has never considered that raising a baby together would come into the equation when she started sleeping with Bellamy Blake, but here they are.

regardless of warnings the future doesn't scare me at all

After an argument with her mother about her unplanned pregnancy, Clarke Griffin ends up back in the small town where her father used to live, spilling her sob story to a sympathetic bartender. And then, somehow, she ends up moving in with the bartender and her brother.

Going Courtin’

Five times people thought Clarke and Bellamy were together, and the one time they said "Screw it" (and it blew up in their faces).

live my life without [coming up for air]

The first time he meets Clarke, it's three in the morning and all he's wearing are his boxer shorts and a bad case of bed head.Series

Or, You Could Always Google It

Someone really should have warned Clarke that the first step to becoming internet famous would involve acquiring a nemesis. (Or, Bellarke as rival YouTubers, basically.)

Maybe the World'll Look Like This Forever

Clarke and Bellamy have been friends since he transferred to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Now he's taking down dark wizards and she's patching him up when he comes home.

magic always does happen

In their third year, Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake are found jumping out of the third-floor Charms classroom window with nothing but a Levitation Charm and a whole lot of hope.They are young, and they believe magic can be made without wands.They spend the next six days side-by-side in hospital wing beds, still arguing over whether it’s “levi-O-sa” or “levi-o-SA”.

A Date With Botticelli’s Niece

There's no way Bellamy's going to let his sister go to sit for an artist who posted an ad for a nude model in a coffee shop. Not alone. That's how people get stabbed. It's just not safe.

Once Again

Five times Bellamy and Clarke disagreed with each other (and one time they didn't).

Nightly, Beside the Green, Green Grass

As a kid, Clarke always wanted one of those friends who climbed into her window whenever they wanted to. And when she meets Bellamy, she gets one.

The Nature of My Game

It's some douchey frat boy who gives Clarke the idea for a "Come in for a free flower if your name is..." sign, and she honestly has a lot of fun with it. She's just not expecting anyone to complain that she'll never put his up. That's some weird Rumpelstiltskin shit.

Occam's Razor

As far as Bellamy's concerned, bachelor auctions are creepy, even if they're for a good cause. But it's Octavia's cause, and she's his baby sister, so of course he agrees. He didn't think Clarke was going to be there. And he definitely didn't think she was going to bid on him.

looks on tempests, and is never shaken

four times Bellamy helps Clarke out, and one time Clarke helps him out.

Believe Me, There's a Better Frankenstein For You To Bride

Two weeks before her wedding, Clarke finds out her fiance is cheating on her. Weirdly, it wouldn't be that much of a problem, except that it's her job to give people relationship advice, and screwing up her own relationship this hard could reflect poorly on her. So she figures she can just marry someone else. That works, right?

The Great Outdoors

Bellamy's life doesn't get worse when Octavia realizes the magic phrase to get him to come on social outings is "Clarke's coming," but it definitely gets busier.Still, it's hard to resist. He's maybe a little pathetic.

I'm Way Out of My Depth Again

Bellamy is pretty sure he's going to stop having sex with Clarke at some point. But he's not going to be the first one to bring it up, because maybe if he doesn't, they can just keep going.

Forever and/or Down in Flames

Bellamy needs a place to live, Clarke needs a new roommate. No one thinks it's a good idea for them to move in together, but they're not letting that stop them.

We Came Out on Top

Bellamy, Clarke, and the trivia night rivalries only they care about.

wherever you're going, i'm not far behind

Bellamy and Clarke are both single, and fucking, and it's going to be fine.

It's Something So Surreal

On one level Bellamy doesn't actually have a problem with the fact that he gets a text message from a number he doesn't know with an attached picture of a hot girl in a fancy lingerie set. He just assumes it's some sort of weird sex app trying to lure him in. After all, no one has boobs that fantastic; it's got to be photoshop. On another level, it gets him riled up about the objectification of women and he's probably going to talk Miller's ear off about it later that night. But then he gets another text that just says, yes or no?

Love Doesn't Discriminate (It Takes & It Takes & It Takes)

Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin are soulmates. Too bad neither of them knows it.

I dreamed you a sin (and a lie)

Clarke's in the FBI, Bellamy's the grandson of a mobster, and they've got to work together.

Drops of Gold Like Sparks

Whenever their apartment is too quiet, Clarke and Madi settle into a local coffee shop to catch up on work and homework. Clarke steps outside to answer a call, and Madi asks the most erudite-looking person within shouting distance for help with her history homework.

Forty Yards

Bellamy and Clarke are caught in the crossfire of an Eligius/Wonkru battle, and in the fury of it all, Bellamy refuses to leave Clarke behind.

The Dark Side of the Morning

It isn’t the first time Bellamy has found a sword pressed to his throat, and God knows it probably won’t be the last. At this rate, his neck is going to be one massive scar before the year is up.

See Me In Hindsight

the one where they're project partners and maybe, perhaps, friends. (And maybe, perhaps, more.)

Explain The Infinite

Clarke’s pretty sure you’re supposed to like your soul mate. She really wasn’t expecting Bellamy Blake.

Just as You Are Mine

Clarke seals an alliance with the Broadleaf clan by marrying Bellamy Blake.

But Dear, Don’t Be Afraid Of Love, It’s Only Magic

Apparently all of his classes at Hogwarts are trying to tell Bellamy that he’s in love with Clarke. He needs magic to mind its own business, because he’s known how screwed he is for a while now.

Don't Take No Sorcery

Clarke and Bellamy wouldn't describe themselves and friends, per se, but they have an arrangement. And in a place like Hogwarts, it's only in a clever young witch or wizard's best interest to have an unexpected ally or two.

Maybe the World'll Look Like This Forever

Clarke and Bellamy have been friends since he transferred to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Now he's taking down dark wizards and she's patching him up when he comes home.

he said, she said

If there’s one thing that’s common knowledge amongst the Hogwarts student body, it’s that Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin hate each other.

can't control my feelings, can't control my thoughts

When Jasper accidentally gifts Clarke a love potion, everyone she interacts with starts acting...weird. Everyone, that is, except Bellamy.

where dwell the brave at heart

Usually their fights end in doors slamming. Or furious necking in the common room. But really, there's not much difference between the two.

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

The rivalry between Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin is a thing of legends, but it doesn't exactly stop him from making out with her either.

mapping the curve of your lips and the smell of your skin

She smothers a laugh into her hand just like he knew she would, and he works very hard on schooling his expression into one of annoyance and boredom. But she's there next to him and she's laughing, small sounds slipping out between her fingers, and it's so very hard for him to resist turning to her and laughing with her.

Let's Hope for Some Love

Bellamy's pack is a mess and Clarke is some sort of weird werewolf whisperer.

I wanna raise you to be like her

Bellamy was just trying to take care of his sister - but somewhere along the way he bought a building and started his own orphanage. Now he has a house full of kids, running around, getting into trouble, and wanting good homes. Obviously, Bellamy finds himself loving each one of them like his own life.

our hearts are oceans, our ribs are cages

He lifted himself onto his knees, and suddenly his torso was in between her thighs. Clarke took the opportunity to rest her forehead on his shoulder. The weight of keeping it up was giving her a headache. He tugged at the shoulders of her jacket and peeled it off her limp arms. Then they were at the hem of her shirt, ripped and torn and bloody. He swept it up and she flinched when his knuckles grazed her bare skin."Come on, now," he said softly. "We've gotta get you cleaned up."

Better to Give Than to Receive

Clarke means to give Bellamy a coupon book with chores she'll do for him for his birthday. It's cute, she figures. She actually gives him a coupon book for sexual favors. She goes with it.

One of Our Own

“What do you mean, you found a baby?” Octavia demanded.

Livewire

Clarke Griffin finds 'Atlas' written on her wrist and Bellamy Blake sees flowers bloom on his skin.

Please Don't Get Me Rescued

Bellamy wants to handle his leukemia on his own. Clarke just won't let him. (Happy Ending; No Major Character Death)

now the world is ours to take

in which Clarke and Bellamy realize, that maybe, just maybe, their delinquents are all grown up.

Slow It Down

a one-night stands results in a little surprise.

And I Love This Place, the Enormous Sky

The Skaikru needs an ally, and the Delphi Clan is willing. It might not be their tradition to seal such alliances with a marriage, but Clarke Griffin has always done what her people need. Bellamy can't help admiring that. So he goes with her.

in the silence between worlds (that's where I'll find you)

everyone knows Bellamy and Clarke are in love except for Bellamy and Clarke.

Inconceivable

"Well," Bellamy says dryly, "this whole diplomacy thing sure is going great."

[feynites]

*flings some nsfw, polyamorous concert au dirthalene in @selenelavellan’s general direction*

Fear fiddles around with the straps of their stockings, fighting back the urge to swear.

They’ve worn a lot of odd outfits for a variety of gigs. The giant bunny suit stands out in recent memory; a costume for a charity Halloween ball. But usually they’re content to leave things like heels and corsets and garters to Deceit or, occasionally, Dirthamen. The clothes are a safety hazard in and of themselves. The shoes are impossible to run in – well, impossible for Fear to run in – and the wide variety of straps and buckles and zippers involved just seem doomed to catch sensitive skin in unyielding places. Welts, cuts, infections… unnecessary risks.

At least, they think, the clothes are in their size. How Des got their size, they aren’t sure. They suspect Deceit, and they have a long and fitting retaliation planned, involving some highschool photographs and a certain MySpace page on the Wayback Machine. But that’s a matter for another day.

Today’s matter is the need to get Des out of his apartment for at least half an hour, so that Selene and Dirthamen and Deceit can all set about decorating it, covering the place in balloons and streamers, and setting out the cake they ordered from the erotic bakery down the street. And after two failed attempts and an increasing amount of desperation, as the countdown to the surprise party grew nearer, Fear had resigned themselves to their fate.

They know what will get Des moving.

They finally manage to get the stockings lined up right, and double-check their bustier. Which they have no bust for, but the questionable article of clothing seemed intent on making up the difference with some well-placed black roses. The skirt swishes around their hips as they pick over the pair of steep high-heels, and make their way out of the bedroom. Des has been trying to get them into an outfit like this for quite a while, now. It was a quest, according to him.

Fear supposes his preoccupation has its uses, sometimes. They’re not actually embarrassed to be seen in revealing clothing. They just don’t like attempting to walk in the stuff – and they’re not a big fan of giving Des the satisfaction, either.

He’s much more amusing when he’s being denied.

Stone silence greets their emergence back into the apartment’s main room. Fear glances up, and raises an eyebrow as Dirthamen and Deceit regard them with surprise, and Selene looks equal parts shocked and flushed.

“I can get you twenty minutes, guaranteed; it will take him that long to get here,” Fear offers, striding towards the kitchen counter, where they’d left their phone charging. “Any longer than that and you’re on your own, though he’ll probably make a point of being obnoxious for at least a few minutes more. You should head out now. Text me when you’re almost there, and I’ll call him over.”

They work their feet into the godless shoes, standing in the kitchen, and then start trying to figure out how to angle their phone to take the necessary picture. They’ve faked Des out a few times, just to try and make a point. Using store mannequins or obvious photoshops, mostly. So this one will probably have to be a convincing whole-body shot to get him to actually come over.

Deceit is the first to recover.

“Here, I’ll take the picture,” he says.

“You all owe me,” Fear declares, handing over their phone. Selene looks like she’s slowly scraping her jaw up off the floor. Her fingers are twitching; apparently she and Des share more than a few kinks in common.

That would explain the lace underpants they found in Dirthamen’s sock drawer. Definitely too big for Selene herself.

“At least you won’t have to give Des an actual present,” Deceit reasons.

“As if I would have given him one anyway,” Fear counters. They paid for the cake, after all.

Deceit makes them move into ‘better light’, then, and fiddles with the phone, despite the apparent need for haste. But before Fear can get too annoyed he finally snaps the necessary picture. Their pose isn’t precisely alluring, but then, they don’t think it needs to be. They’re wearing the outfit. That will probably do.

“Alright, shoo,” they instruct, waving towards the door. “I’m not wearing this for your amusement.”

“Would you, though?” Selene blurts.

Dirthamen nudges her towards the exit, as her cheeks flame, and Fear considers.

She does have a birthday of her own coming up.

“Maybe,” they concede, before stepping out of the heels again. Selene makes an odd sound, which they ignore, as they stride back to their room. Apart from the initial struggle of putting it on, the outfit isn’t actually as uncomfortable as they expected. Probably by virtue of fitting properly. Still, they are not a fan of the bustier – it seems like the kind of thing that could break and jab wires into their ribs, under the wrong circumstances. They take it off, first, and then shimmy their way back out of the skirt, as they hear the apartment door close. The outfit comes off easier than it went on.

Part of the point, probably.

After a few moments they are down to the stockings and the brightly coloured panties.

They consider, and then take a second photo. This one of their lower half.

Just in case Des is resistant to the bait, for some reason.

Then they finish changing out of the whole mess, and pull on a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black undershirt. Fear settles onto their bed, and turns on the television. Surfing through some of the channels until Dirthamen texts them to announce that they’re almost at Des’ place.

They open a chat to Des.

What are you doing?

There’s a pause. Mercifully, not long.

Having fantasies about you ofc ;) ;) ;)

Fear rolls their eyes.

What will they claim as repayment for this?

They think Dirthamen and Deceit are going to be doing their laundry for the foreseeable century.

What kind of fantasies? they ask.

Pick your poison baby I am all full of wicked ideas

And no punctuation, it seems.

Fear supposes that’s enough preamble, and attaches the first picture to their next reply.

Something like this, perhaps?

Another pause ensues, longer than the first. Long enough that Fear feels the need to comment again.

If you’re touching yourself, you should know that it is actually me in that photo, and that the clock is ticking on how long I plan to stay dressed like this.

…omw

They snort.

You’re at the apartment right???

Yes. Move quickly, birthday boy.

They reconsider.

But don’t violate any traffic laws.

Des’ response is quicker this time.

No promises ;) ;) ;)

Fear checks the clock, and then settles back again. They give it ten minutes, before some unnamed whim has them considering the second picture.

…Well.

It is Des’ birthday.

And they suppose they could give him something to make up for the inevitable disappointment.

They send the second photo.

Tick-tock.

No response for several minutes.

Then,

Baby stay JUST LIKE THAT just right where you are I am c o m i n g

Fear can’t quite fail to take that opening.

What, just from the photo?

No response. They suppose he’s driving, though, so they probably shouldn’t test their luck any further. Unless… oh. Selene has the car. So he probably hopped on a bus, then. That should give them even more time.

Fear finds a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress and finds themselves drawn into examining the corset dresses a soon-to-be-bride is critiquing. Not much different from the bustier, in fact. It’s interesting how context and colours can change so much about clothing. The consulting team has moved on – possibly into another episode; it can be hard to tell – by the time they hear a distinctive thump from the fire escape.

They blink, and then head over to the window.

They’re not entirely surprise to see Des wedged up against it.

“Noooo…” he moans against the glass, staring at them.

Fear frowns, and pulls open the window.

“It’s dangerous out there,” they snap, reaching over to yank Des inside. “Take the stairs, you lunatic.”

“I forgot my key,” Des admits, looking distinctly forlorn and rain-soaked, and just pathetic enough that Fear actually feels a little bad for him.

A little.

“You should have buzzed me,” they counter.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking with my higher brain, if you know what I mean,” Des counters, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

They take it back. He can fall down the fire escape.

“Ugh,” they say, checking the time. “Go home.”

“Are you at least still wearing the panties underneath the sweats?” Des counters, eyeing them up and down.

Fear purses their lips. He’s not even wearing a coat. And after a moment they decide that they can be magnanimous, as they turn, and head for the laundry hamper next to their closet. They pluck the panties up from the top of it, and then toss them at Des. He catches them easily enough, and his cheeks actually darken as her realizes what he’s holding.

“Not wearing anything under the sweatpants,” they say.

Des starts moving towards them, but they raise a forestalling hand.

“No,” they say.

“Aww, but sweetums-“

“No.”

Des’ disappointment lasts for a moment, before he, of course, bounces back.

“I’m keeping these,” he declares. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“No,” Fear says. “I’ll get you a bag, and you can go home, and touch yourself in your own bathroom.”

“Tease,” Des accuses.

“You have photos, now,” Fear counters.

“Oho, believe me, I am going to make full use of those-“

They throw a spare canvas shopping bag at his head.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Fear says, as if they didn’t invite me here,” Des replies, but he doesn’t actually seem all that put-out. “Admit it, you get off on making me run around at your beck-and-call. Winding me around those pointy fingers of yours.”

Fear shrugs.

“Why would I deny it?” they counter. Though they don’t usually like to give him this much material. Still, it’s not as if they actually dislike Des. Disdain him sometimes, sure. But there’s a reason he’s part of the group, and it’s not just because Fear enjoys watching him have sex with Deceit and Dirthamen and Selene.

Though they do enjoy watching that, often enough.

“You’re such an odd duck,” Des tells them.

Fear makes a ‘shoo’ motion, and picks their phone back up. Interlude over, and discussion concluded. They won’t be making anymore ‘overtures’ for at least a month, now. Des will have that time to get tired of the material they’ve already given him.

He’s heading back, they send to Selene.

They get a thumb’s up emoji back, as Des finally gives up, and leaves.

He’s gone for less than five minutes before they get another text from him.

Send nudes? <3 <3 <3

Fear sighs.

They already regret everything.

 ~

 Selene’s birthday goes a little differently.

Fear buys a pair of dark ballet flats, that match their stockings, and pull a pair of leather booty shorts and a see-through tube top out of the pile of offerings Des has subsequently managed to ‘ply’ them with. The tips of their hair are bleached and dyed blue for a concert, so they throw on some blue eyeshadow and a sapphire choker, and a matching ring. Big enough to be useful, just in case they have to punch someone.

It’s one of the simpler outfits they could don for this occasion, but it still takes them nearly the longest to get ready. When they emerge from their room, they spy Des, hovering next to the windows. If Fear is black-and-blue, Des is black-and-purple, wearing a pair of thigh-highs and a silky dress that looks like it was vacuum-sealed to him, and absolutely will not cover his ass if he leans more than an inch forward. Amethyst earrings drip towards his shoulders. Safety hazard, Fear thinks. They could catch on something.

Deceit is wearing a dress, too. His is black lace, not much longer than Des’ little number, with dark green stockings and a… mesh veil? Over his head. With emerald hair clips holding it in place.

Fear blinks.

“Why do you look like a slutty widower?” they ask.

Deceit just grins.

“It’s my theme,” he informs them, with a wink. “I like to think I’ve just buried my fifth… no, sixth husband. There’s some debate about the first one, it was mostly a common law type thing. But I still got all of his money when he died so tragically young.”

Deceit bats his eyelashes.

Fear gives up. They should never have given him an opening. Des looks like he wants to join in, now.

“Are you on the prowl for husband number seven?” he asks, not quite moving away from the window.

Deceit purses his lips, and then shakes his head.

“No, I think at this point what I really want is to find a gaggle of attractive people, and settle down into some kind of polyamorous commune. It’s time I started thinking realistically about my romantic goals. I’m not getting any younger, after all.”

“Good point,” Des agrees. “You are getting pretty wrinkled…”

Deceit narrows his eyes, and then produces a faux crocodile leather clutch from somewhere, and pulls a make-up mirror out of it. Fear levels Des with a look, but he’s already gone back to staring out of the window, snickering to himself.

Dirthamen emerges, then. His heels click as he carefully walks out of his room. His own ensemble is all-black, with a fitted corset, mesh stockings, and matching fingerless gloves. His skirt swishes with his every step, and he’s going slow. But he seems mostly satisfied.

“Is this acceptable?” he asks.

Des offers a low whistle of approval.

“I’m in raptures,” he declares. “Are we sure it’s not my birthday?”

He moves away from the window, and Fear pre-emptively catches his hand before it can settle on their hip. Nudging him over to Deceit instead.

“You are thematically appropriate,” they assure Dirthamen.

“Selene pulled in,” Des adds, waggling his eyebrows to let them all know that if they heard a double-entendre in there, it was entirely intentional. Then he slips one of his hands up Deceit’s skirt, and gets reproachfully slapped away again.

“End of the evening. End,” Deceit reminds him.

“You people ask so much of my self-restraint,” Des sighs, but folds his arms to himself, at least. “Ten bucks says Selene gets in through that door and we never make it to the club.”

It’s lingerie night at one of the local hotspots. Des found the venue himself, said it would be a good choice because of the floorplan, and the lack of overwhelming crowds. Plus, there was a drag show. A nice change of events, watching someone else perform.

“I’ll take that bet,” Fear decides. Selene likes dates. And she’ll probably be too dazed to protest any plans for… twenty minutes? That’s their guess, anyway. They head over to the closet, and start pulling out the trench coats they’ll all need to make it to the venue without being arrested. Or solicited.

They’ve just settled the pile onto the arm of a nearby chair when they hear Selene’s key scrape in the lock. Fear knows Des told her that they were going out for her birthday date tonight. They couldn’t do anything earlier, unfortunately; they had a recording session that they couldn’t reschedule. But Des had spent the morning with her, anyway.

“The only movie at the nearest theatre was…”

Selene looks up, as she finishes getting in through the door, and then freezes.

Her eyes go wide.

The keys fall out of her hand and hit the floor with a distinct clunk.

“Happy birthday!” Des exclaims, raising his arms, and shaking his hips a little. Enough so that the edges of his skirt flutters.

Deceit offers a wink, while Dirthamen glances down at himself. Obviously uncertain if the outfits have gotten a good response, or a bad one. Fear gives Selene a look over, for their own turn. She’s wearing neat white slacks and a blouse, with her comfortable pumps. They head back over to the closet and pull out one of their white dress jackets, extracting it carefully from its hanger bag. It will go nicely enough with what she’s already wearing that – especially with the four of them in tow – she’ll look just fine for the club.

“…Uh…” Selene manages, her gaze flitting over all of them, now, as if she’s not sure where to put it.

Eventually it settles on Dirthamen. To no one’s surprise.

“Is this alright?” Dirthamen asks her.

She swallows hard enough that Fear can hear it, even with their back turned, and then just manages a fervent nod as her face gets redder and redder.

They stride over, and offer her the jacket.

“Here,” they say. “It is lingerie night at one of the local clubs. We thought we could go, and have a nice time. There is a drag show, and the boneless wings are reportedly quite good.”

Selene mechanically accepts the jacket from them, and stares at their chest.

“What?” she asks.

“Put the coat on,” they advise, a little more gently. “It is chilly out.”

Her brows furrow, but she seems to relax a bit once everyone starts sliding into their trenches, in turn. Then she seems to recollect herself, and puts on Fear’s jacket, before she bends down and retrieves her keys from the floor.

“We’re going out in public?” she checks, a little faintly.

“Mmhmm!” Des confirms, negligently buttoning his coat before he reaches over and links an arm with hers. Then he leans in and whispers something in her ear. Fear doesn’t hear him, but whatever he says has Selene’s face darkening all over again, and embarrasses her enough that she raises a hand to cover it.

“Des,” she hisses.

“What?” he replies, with utterly unconvincing innocence. “I thought you’d appreciate knowing. I certainly do.”

Selene thwacks his arm.

“Desire,” Fear says.

Des makes a face.

“Ugggghhhhh, do not,” he protests.

“You’re driving,” they inform him. “You know where the club is.” And if his hands are on the steering wheel, then they won’t be wandering elsewhere.

The man lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But no more full-names, unless you want me to start calling you Enfanim.”

“I have no objections to that,” Fear informs him.

“Unfair,” Des mutters. “I’ll shorten it, then. Feefee.”

Deceit snorts, and Fear rolls their eyes, and sidles up to Dirthamen so they can help him if he trips. Not that he can’t navigate heels fairly well, but this pair is tall even by his standards, and they have visions of him getting caught between the elevator doors, or tumbling headfirst down the apartment steps and concussing himself.

Selene consequently ends up wedged between Deceit and Des as they make their way down, her equilibrium gradually restoring itself once they’re all covered by the trench coats. Though, not entirely, if the way her eyes keep flitting down towards their shoes are any indication.

“I feel over-dressed. Or… under-dressed? I’m not sure which,” she admits, once they’ve successfully made it to the car without incident.

“You look fine,” Fear assures her.

“Better than fine, mistress,” Deceit asserts, playfully.

Selene makes a sound of protest.

“Let’s not – no,” she decides. “It’s my birthday, no calling me that. We’re not making that a thing.”

Fear pushes Deceit into the front seat of the car, so that he doesn’t spend the whole drive nuzzling Selene like a remorseful limpet, and nods in agreement.

“They’re just playing,” they say, as Des slides into the driver’s side, and leaves them to squeeze into the back with Dirthamen and Selene.

“I know,” she says, and lets out a long breath. Then her lips twitch. “And I definitely don’t mind. I just need a few minutes to adjust. Never had four gorgeous people take me on a sexy lingerie date before.”

Fear nods in acceptance, and Dirthamen takes Selene’s hand. Threading their fingers together, as Deceit and Des squabble over which bridge to take to get to the club. It ends up being a longer drive than planned due to traffic, but not too bad. The club itself doesn’t have much of an exterior. But inside the atmosphere is colourful and exuberant, with a variety of scantily-clad people running around in corsets and bustiers and thongs and thigh-highs. The queens are in full form, with hair blown out in abundant curls and sequins aplenty, and their table gets them a very nice view of the stage.

It doesn’t actually take that long for Selene to adjust, once they’ve sat down. Des goes to procure drinks, and comes back with a bunch of colourful cocktails for them, and the atmosphere is good. Lots of compliments going around, playful flirtation and raunchy jokes. Fear keeps an eye on the other patrons. There a dwarven man at the bar who keeps looking at Des, and a human woman at one of the tables who is giving Dirthamen one of those ‘where have I seen that face before’ glances. After a few minutes Fear gets up and has him switch seats with them; it puts his back to the woman and settles Fear between Des and the man at the bar.

Selene ends up nestled between Dirthamen and Deceit by the time the drag show starts. It’s a good performance. Lots of audience interaction for parts of it, and the singing is very pleasant, Fear thinks. Bombastic, as expected. They make sure to leave substantial tips, especially for the queen who gestures to their table and then lets out a low whistle.

“Honey, are those all yours?” the vashothi performer asks, twirling a finger.

Selene actually beams, her cheeks flushed just a little bit from her cocktails, now, instead of embarrassment. She puts her arms around Dirthamen and Deceit.

“All each other’s,” she says, looking almost giddy about it.

“Aww,” the queen replies. “Well I guess no one needs to ask what you’re happy about tonight.”

“It’s her birthday,” Des pipes up.

Fear almost smacks him, as Selene’s expression turns worried. But thankfully, the performer doesn’t do anything more than drum up a round of applause, before launching into the next part of her act. And Selene relaxes again, enjoying the show. One of her hands slides under the table, and after a few minutes, Dirthamen shifts, and his own face starts to get a little flushed.

Fear appreciates Selene’s mischievous streak, when it comes out to play.

They let one of their own hands slip down to rest on Des’ thigh, idly stroking the exposed skin above his boots back and forth.

He leans a little closer.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says. “Care to join me?”

“It’s better to go in pairs,” Fear agrees, pretending not to notice Des’ slight pout as they ‘miss’ his meaning, and slide out of the booth. They make their way to the club’s unisex bathrooms, and Des gestures pointedly to one of the stalls.

Fear raises an eyebrow, and folds their arms.

“Did you honestly think I would fool around with you in a filthy public restroom?” they ask.

“I’m an optimist,” Des replies. “But if you’re not interested, I guess I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“If you come before we go home, I won’t touch you all evening. It’s Selene’s birthday, she should be able to appreciate the festivities,” Fear states, moving to check their make-up in one of the bathroom mirrors.

Des makes a sound of frustration, but then gives up.

”Fine. I don’t even know what we came in here for, now,” he says, moving up to the sink next to Fear’s.

Fear declines to mention that it was, ostensibly, to use the facilities for their intended purpose. Their make-up is holding up alright. Better than Des’ – though, they tend to use products that are meant to hold up under stage lights. Des steals some wipes from their purse and then redoes his eyes, leaving the rest of it plainer but also tidier than before.

“Remind me not to get this brand of eyeshadow again, it’s a mess,” he mutters, just as the door to the bathroom opens.

The dwarf from the bar, Fear notes.

They watch him as he moves up to the sink next to Des, and turns on the tap. His gaze drifts up and down Des’ form again, while the man himself mostly frowns at his make-up wipe.

“Having a nice evening?” the dwarf asks.

Des nods.

“Of course,” he says.

“Yeah, you looked like you were here for a good time,” the dwarf agrees.

Fear notes the movement of his hand, and moves quickly. Darting behind Des and grabbing the dwarf by his wrist, before he can settle his grasp onto Des’ backside. Des blinks at the sudden movement, and then turns and raises an eyebrow just as the dwarf wrenches his hand back.

“What’s the big idea?” the dwarf protests.

“You keep your hands to yourself,” Fear snaps.

It earns them a sneer.

“Like you aren’t all asking for it, in those outfits. Why else would you come here? What’s the matter, think you’re too good for me?”

Up go Des’ eyebrows.

“Ew,” he notes.

The dwarf’s face twists, and he makes like he plans on grabbing Des. To what end, Fear’s not sure, but they catch his fist again, and offer him a solid pop to the nose in further rebuke. It’s the button kind, so it smashes pretty easily beneath their knuckles, but without a lot of damage. They opt not to use their ring hand.

Yet.

“Hands off,” they repeat, letting the dwarf stagger back, cursing.

“Sluts!” he accuses.

Des sighs.

“Why do people always call me that when I don’t want to let them paw me?” he demands, mostly of the ceiling lights. “Do you not know what that word means? I suppose you couldn’t spit out something like ‘tease’ with the same amount of vitriol, but at least shift gears into ‘skank’ or something…”

Fear grabs Des by the arm, as he’s in the midst of critiquing his would-be assailant’s choice of insults, and firmly pulls him out of the bathroom.

The dwarf, thankfully, seems too preoccupied with the blood pouring from his nose to follow after them.

“Really,” Des drawls, and then sighs. “I suppose we should go tell someone about the angry molester in the bathroom.”

“Probably,” Fear agrees.

“Don’t tell Selene. She gets upset about these things.”

“Alright.”

They make their way over to the bar, and opt to tell the bartender. It gets Des a free apology drink, if nothing else, which he happily carts back with him to their table, as one of the bouncer goes to take care of their ‘friend’.

Des glances at Fear, as they sit down again.

Then he leans over, and, just quickly, presses a kiss to their cheek.

“You’re a good soul, Feefee,” Des informs them.

“Don’t call me that,” they instruct, but without a lot of genuine annoyance.

It earns them both a trio of surprised looks.

“What brought that on?” Selene wonders.

Des winks at her.

“Private bathroom adventures,” he declares. “Now, who wants to go home and have sex?”

She sighs at him.

 ~

 They do end up going home not too long after that, though. Back to Fear and Deceit and Dirthamen’s apartment, anyway. Fear drives them for the return trip, with Dirthamen cooling off in the front seat – he got a little hot under the collar in the club – and Des and Deceit both paying an awful lot of attention to Selene in the back. Fear’s mind wanders, though, tuning out the rustle of fabric and the hitches in various breaths.

They should think about getting a new apartment, they suppose. Maybe not soon, but, it’s a matter to be prepared for. Moving can be stressful. Better to plan early. Finding a place big enough for all of them could be tricky. Maybe a house would make more sense, at this point. Though they’ve always been a bit leery of getting a house, though. Not enough security. Too easy for one of Dirthamen’s relatives to just pull into the driveway, unless they invested in a gated property.

Fear bounces some numbers around, mentally, tapping a finger against the steering wheel. By the time they pull into the apartment parking lot, they’ve moved on to weighing the variables of different viable locations.

Should they factor in neighbourhoods with access to early education facilities?

They’re probably have to have a group discussion before they could consider that. Children – and the various means of acquiring them – are a complex and often dangerous venture. Not to mention additionally vulnerable, and in need of a lot more security considerations. Dirthamen doesn’t want biological children, they know that much. Where Selene and Des stand on it is less clear. Deceit wants kids at some point. And Fear would have troubles carrying them, for a variety of reasons. Pain not being the least concern.

Adoption seems like a good simplification, if it becomes relevant. Which it probably won’t, in the immediate future, but Fear prefers to think ahead.

They park, and head out to help Dirthamen stand up on his heels. Des and Deceit and Selene manage to emerge from the backseat, flushed and rumpled but still decent, and the five of them make their way back inside with a certain haste in their steps.

They set up in Dirthamen’s bedroom, which has the most supplies and the biggest bed. Selene switches gears from being rumpled by Des and Deceit, into pouncing on Dirthamen, her blouse open and her bra crooked, while Dirthamen tumbles back towards the bed. Deceit and Des start their usual back-and-forth in turn, half quarrelling about who’s going to do what and to whom until Deceit manages to handcuff Des to the bedpost.

“I win,” he growls, and shucks Des’ dress up to his armpits.

Fear takes up their usual station in the bedroom chair, folding their legs and watching the proceedings. Savouring the simmering heat that builds up in them, as Selene mercilessly teases Dirthamen up amongst the pillows, and Deceit carefully fits a condom onto his own erection. Fear opens up the drawer next to themselves, and tosses a couple of cockrings onto the mattress. Selene takes one, but Deceit puts the other aside, and instead sets about working Des open. Lifting his lower half up off the mattress.

Fear continues to sit, still with their legs crossed and their gaze hooded, and continues to watch as Selene sucks Dirthamen until he’s begging to come; and as Deceit fucks Des until he does, clutching the bedpost behind him. As they switch things up a little, and Dirthamen goes to suck off Des – still with his own cock erect and flushed, leaking as he bobs between Des’ thighs – and Deceit presses Selene into the pillows, turning all soft and cuddly even as his refractory period closes, and he switches out condoms so he can thrust into her, in turn.

Fear watches them all drive one another senseless, spending themselves and denying themselves by turns. Selene is the one who finally frees Dirthamen from his cockring, and rides him until he comes inside of her. Deceit uncuffs Des from the bedpost, and rubs gently at his wrists, until Des seizes an opening to tie him up in turn, and then slides the second cockring onto him for the next round. Smirking as he lazily work his hand up and down Deceit’s length, until his hips are bucking in tired-but-still-hungry thrusts. Then Selene and Dirthamen join Fear in watching, the two of them slumped together in sated bliss, while Des strokes and fingers an increasingly incoherent Deceit. All their outfits rumpled and pushed aside, bottoms pulled off and tops askew.

When Deceit begins to beg, Fear gets up from their chair.

They pull a dental dam from the drawer next to it, and make their way over to the bed, next to Selene. No one notices them at first; too caught up in their own activities. But Selene looks over as they settle onto their knees beside the mattress.

“May I?” they ask.

She blinks at them, a little hazy from her own activities, but nods nevertheless.

Fear takes her by her hips, and arranges her at the side of the bed. Legs on either side of them, sex spread out in front of them, as they settle the dental dam into place. They can smell sweat and arousal on her tired, still-flushed skin, as they lean in, and press their mouth to her. The dental dam tastes like peaches. Selene herself is warm and very soft, her thighs still shivering a bit, as they languidly drag their tongue up and down the length of her. Focusing on the changes in her breath, and the shifting in her muscles. It’s not often that Fear wants to perform acts themselves.

But tonight, they do. And, well. It is Selene’s birthday.

They keep their motions slow and savouring, enjoying the brush of her thighs against their cheeks, and the sound of Deceit coming on the other side of the bed. They let their eyes slide shut, and focus on pressing their tongue deeper into Selene. Sucking at her clit, and holding her hips in place, and noting every building quiver and twitch as she gets closer to completion. It’s important to note that, because whenever she gets too close, Fear has to slow down. Rest their tongue and their mouth a little, and keep her from coming too soon.

Their impulses are rare. So, it pays to make the most of them.

But finally their mouth becomes too tired to keep going much longer. So they grip her more closely, all at once. Swirling their tongue over the sensitive cluster of her nerves, as the peach flavour fades, and then they suck at her until she comes in definitive rush. Thighs clenching around their ears, fists balling in Dirthamen’s sheets.

Very gratifying.

Fear gives her thigh an approving kiss, before they pull back, and take the dental dam away.

That’s when they realize the others are watching them.

Des looks a little floored. Deceit and Dirthamen are less surprised, but still clearly affected.

And Selene, for her part, seems pleasantly dazed.

“Thank you,” they say.

Selene manages to raise a hand, before dropping it back down onto the bedspread.

“Anytime,” she murmurs.

Des snorts.

Fear just nods, and then goes to fetch some water bottles and wet wipes.